#where the hell are you finding the time to stir all this bullshit?

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | iii.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

"Where the hell were you last night?"

You gasp as Chad slams Ethan against a tree harshly. 

"I-I had a family emergency," the brunette stammers, chestnut eyes rounding as they bounce between Chad and the group. "You can check the hospital’s visitor’s log. That’s where I was."

Chad’s jaw clenches, his grip on Ethan’s lapels tightening. "Bullshit, man," he rumbles. "You disappear and my friend gets hurt."

You heave out a weary sigh, rubbing your aching eyes. You didn’t sleep a wink last night. Still, there’s one thing you’re clear-minded about. 

The emergency meeting Mindy called outdoors wasn’t supposed to be about turning on each other. 

A frown carves your brow as you rise from the bench and make your way to your friend. You put a hand on Chad’s shoulder. Despite still having Ethan in half a chokehold, he eases under your touch.

"Chad, come on," you coax him, your tone soft. "Ethan wouldn’t." You turn to the rest of your group. 

Tara’s expression is skeptical. Quinn looks puzzled. Anika carries an air of caution. 

And Mindy…her gaze is narrowed in suspicion as she gauges Ethan from her spot a few feet away. You lick your lips and argue, "Besides, you said you guys vetted both him and Quinn, right?"

Chad gives Ethan one long harsh stare before releasing him. 

"True," he says. 

Ethan staggers back, a careful eye trained on his roommate. 

The breath confined in your lungs flows out in relief. 

Mindy hums, her expression unchanged as she crosses her arms over her chest. 

"Doesn’t matter. Everyone’s a suspect," she maintains. When Ethan brushes past her, she shoves him away.  "Get your Ghostface ass away from me, Ghostface."

A dejected Ethan finds a seat on the bench opposite Tara and Chad. You go sit near him. As your fingers graze his arm in an attempt to comfort him, Ethan startles, his eyes enlarging at your actions. 

"I’m sorry about this," you mumble. In the background, Mindy gets engulfed in an impassioned spiel regarding how to survive horror films. It’s almost like she’s waited her entire life for this moment. You only grant her half an ear, your mind still plagued by the horror of last night. If it weren’t for Mindy dragging you out of bed this morning, you’re convinced it’s where you’d still be…nestled in the safety of your blankets and stuffed animals. "We’re all a little on edge."

Ethan gives a lopsided, bashful smile.

"It’s okay. I’m new to the friend group." His thick dark brows collide into each other as hesitation flutters on his boyish face. He points at himself and stutters, "A-Am I in the friend group?"

A bright smile unfurls on your face with ease. You squeeze his arm in reassurance as his bewildered gaze remains glued to you. 

"Yes you are, Ethan."

The memorial held in Connor's honor flies by in a blur, as you're too shell-shocked to register most of what's going on. 

After a mere few minutes of attendance, you flee back to your dorm, discomfort stirring in your gut beneath the suspicious glares of other students. 

Not very many people encounter one of the infamous killer's incarnations and live to tell the tale. 

It's pandemonium on campus, panic permeating the air now that Ghostface has returned…and not even in Woodsboro, but right here at Blackmore university. 

The rest of the week is worse, hollow and strange. You find yourself questioning the reality of the gruesome scene you witnessed. 

And each time you close your eyes, you relive it. Each time you're transported back to that night. You're shivering on the cold cobblestones, still damp from the afternoon rain, face warm with splatters of Connor's blood. 

Prey awaiting your fate. 

If it weren't for Mindy and the others, you might have gone insane. 

While the dean advised you to go to counseling, you can't bring yourself to do it. At least not yet. All of it is too fresh. Talking about it terrifies you, so you burrow yourself in denial.

And there's also the guilt gnawing at you everyday. You did nothing. 

You cowered, weak and pathetic, while a boy got murdered a few feet away from you. 

It doesn't matter how many times Tara tries to cheer you up about it, reassuring you that you reacted as best you could, a scalding, immovable layer of shame coats your insides.

Still, you try to move on, reclaim a modicum of normalcy. 

Connor’s dead. No amount of tears and what-ifs will bring him back. 

It’s how you wind up in front of your vanity on Friday night, putting the finishing touches to your hair and makeup before you go out to meet with the cheer squad. 

While you’re not too keen on going out, Alana, the team captain, insisted that you need to participate in the trust-building exercises she has planned for the night. 

So you wiped your tears, rose from bed and picked one of your cutest outfits in order to comply with her wishes. 

Besides, Alana has a point. A big match is around the corner and you’d resent yourself if you disturbed the pyramid, or even the synchronicity of the squad’s dance routine…all because you’re too distracted. 

Cheerleading might be silly to some but to you it’s a huge part of your life, one you’re proud of. You like being part of a team. You like being surrounded by friends. You like boosting morale during matches.

You’ll never be the smartest girl in the room but you’re a damn good cheerleader at least. 

As you gauge your reflection, satisfaction blooms inside you. You artfully concealed every sign of sleep deprivation.

You want to display a resilient, happy facade. 

The onset of a smile unfans on your lips but the unexpected buzzing of your phone yanks your focus. 

You pick it up from above the sink.

As you check your phone, your brows crumple in dismay. The number calling is unknown. 

Still, you don’t mull over the weirdness and respond right away, curious who could be trying to reach you at such a late hour. 

"Hello?" you greet, your tone airy.

"Hey, princess. Wanna play a game?" A guttural voice teases on the other side of the phone. 

The breath stumbles in your throat. Your pulse goes haywire.

"I-It’s you," you croak, the room swirling around you as you wobble out of the bathroom.

Your clammy hand clutches the phone. Quickly you remove it from your ear, intent on calling 911 but the stranger tuts you, disapproval dripping from his gravelly timbre.  "Ah, don’t even try calling the police…or I’m going to get upset. Very upset." You freeze. A raucous chuckle vibrates against your cheek.  "And I don’t need to tell you the kind of things I do when I’m upset, pretty girl."

Fear echoes through your trembling voice. 

"What…What do you want from me?"

He laughs again, and it’s raspier this time, playful almost.

"What do I want from you? God, you really are the sweetest thing, you know that? All soft and innocent and just clueless as fuck."

You don’t know why but his words are like a punch in the gut. You feel small, stupid. Tears bead under your lashes. 

"Like, I said, princess…I want to play a game."

"I don’t want to play any game, please," you whimper, shaking your head. 

He hums lowly as the clamor of your wild heartbeats fills your ears. 

"Take a look at what I just sent, princess."

Dread spreads down the length of your spine. Stomach tight, you follow his instructions. You gasp. There’s a notification from an app you don’t even remember downloading at the very top of your screen. 

Your quivering thumb taps the message. 

A new window opens and a video starts playing.

Your hand flies to your mouth, an errant tear streaming down your face. 

"They make such a cute couple, don’t they?" the killer chimes, waving his knife in front of the camera he’s using to film Mindy and Anika from afar. "Would be tragic if something was to rip them apart." 

A shudder rushes through your frame, bile leaping to your throat as it seems like you might throw up any second. 

Clearly he’s standing outside the window of their shared apartment, close enough to cause them harm, and taunting you with that fact. 

"Please, don’t hurt them," you sob, more tears skipping down your cheeks. 

He snorts. "But I don’t have to…as long as you play my little game. Or I can just end it now if you prefer."

"No! I’ll play. I’ll play, I promise."

Your swift reply draws another amused sound from him. 

"Good girl," he lauds. 

For a reason you can’t fathom, his tone elicits a strange tickle somewhere in your center. 

His inflection deepens. "Just do everything I say and it’ll all be fine."

You nod frenetically, forgetting that he can’t see you. 

"Now, lock the door and get on your bed." He pauses as if he just remembered something. "Hm, it’s great that your roommate is spending the night at her boyfriend’s, right? Gives you and I the chance for some quality time with each other, princess."

Feet shaking, you teeter to your bed, shocked that he would even know something like this.

Suddenly, you don’t feel safe in your own room anymore. 

Your chest tightens. 

"You see that teddy bear next to your pillow?" Your mouth drops, your gaze traveling to your stuffed bear. It’s like he’s right there with you, breath ghosting over the back of your neck. "It’s your favorite, right? I know it is because I’ve watched you for so long. You hold it close to your heart whenever you’re sad." Your shock grows, a surge of unease swelling within you. Your hand squeezes around your mouth, more tears spilling. 

Calmly, the killer orders, "I need you to put Teddy at the end of the bed."

"Why?" you squeak, brows knitting in confusion. 

"Because I want to get a good view of your pretty little pussy when you show it to me, silly," he sings.

Heat gathers in your cheeks. "W-What?"

"Just do as I say and don’t worry your pretty head about it," he rasps, voice softer than before. 

You heed his command, collecting your bear to place it at the end of your bed. 

Ice scatters in your veins. It’s probably stupid but the beady black eyes of the bear you’ve had for years, usually a source of comfort, drill holes into your skin today. 

As if he were peering right into your soul…which is silly, so you discard the thought. 

"Don’t hurt my friends, please."

"I won’t if you give me no reason to."

"I promise. I’ll be so good..."

A throaty sound between a moan and a sigh oozing satisfaction ripples in your ear. "That’s what I like to hear," he croons. "See, everything will be fine as long as you listen to me, princess. No need to try and think. Just be a doll and do exactly what I tell you."

Silence stretches as you shiver on your duvet. 

His next words draw a tearful gasp from you. 

"Lift your skirt and remove your panties."

Weeping, you do what he asks. Your fingers quake at the edge of your panties as you pull them down your legs. 

"Yes. Such a good girl." His timbre is hoarse with lust. "What a cute pair, did you wear this for me, pretty girl?"

"I…" Your sentence trails off in a strangled sob as you’re unsure what answer he desires from you. You don’t want to end up blurting out the wrong thing and endangering your friends. 

So you play along. 

"Lie back on the bed and open your legs for me, princess."

Despite being alone in your room with only your stuffed animal as witness, you feel vulnerable as you part your thighs and expose your slit. Your center tingles as cool air hits it.

"Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Wider." Embarrassment surges within you as your lower lips are spread, displaying your wet folds. "Hm, even wider. Don’t be shy, show me everything. I want to picture what being inside you will feel like, princess."

~

[only-lonely-star]

can you pls do a johnny cade smut where him and reader just broke up and they see each other at a party and they have really aggressive sex? thank you!

★ Mine ★

~ Johnny Cade ~

Warnings - This is a NSFW story. You and Johnny are not minors. Drinking, consensual tipsy intercourse, oral sex, choking, slapping, degradation, aggressive sex.

Summary - You spot a familiar face at a party…

Author’s Note - Thank you so much for the request!! This was so actually fun to write because it’s so 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 and kept me on my toes 😭. Enjoy!!🤍

Word Count - 2.1k.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You were anything but in the mood to party tonight. Your most recent breakup with your boyfriend, Johnny, left you in pieces. The constant nudge of your friend, Kelly, was aggravating you more than you'd thought. "Take a drink, come on," she pleaded, the tipsy gleam in her eye unmistakable. "You look a mess. This is a party, y'know..."

You uncrossed your arms, your gaze on the plastic red cup filled with a clear liquid. That shit was straight poison - you'd be vomiting all night from just a few sips. Although to take your mind off of Johnny sounded like a wonderful idea. Parties were supposed to be fun. Drinks, the men, the music - everything. So, you took the cup into your already clammy hands and took a considerably large sip.

"There ya go, drink up," Kelly chuckled, her hand giving your back an affectionate slap. The liquid nearly came right back out from the forceful touch.

You grimaced at the bitter feeling running down your throat, and how your mind already felt cloudy. Drinking was never your thing.

Kelly seemed to have ventured off by the time you glanced up from your cup. You could see her clinging onto a man you hadn't seen a day in your life, a signal to maybe find your own company for the night.

Wandering around the crowded house party felt intimidating as hell. So many options, so many choices of who you could sweet talk with for a bit - at least until Kelly found you. A hand swayed over your midsection, causing quite the disorientated stir from you. A taller man with blonde curls, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket pressed his chest flush against yours. "Lemme take you home," he coaxed, obviously just horny and lonely.

You gave your head a small shake, leaning your body fully against his. This was just a small distraction for you, you didn't plan on actually going home with this guy. He kept on rambling on about trying to get you in his bed, blah, blah, blah...it was all a blur. It wasn't until you registered a familiar pair of eyes boring into yours. Your wobbly legs had already brought you to the eyes before you knew it, pulling away from the other man's grasp. Your lips curled up to a smile, squinting your eyes to have a better look. "Johnny?"

Johnny's expression was priceless. A seething mix of jealousy and irritation was visible in his eyes. He grabbed onto your bicep with a firm grip, startling you in your drunken state. "The hell are you doing? We break up one week, and the next you're with some guy at a party?"

You were dazed, not knowing how to respond without upsetting him further. "It ain't like that, I don't even know him."

"Bullshit," he spoke gruffly, the anger in his voice clear as day. Johnny's grip only tightened, his eyes scanning the wild house party's atmosphere.

"It's not bullshit! Maybe if you didn't leave I could've been with you instead!" The words fell from your tongue in an agitated hiss.

Your bold choice of words caused him to yank your arm tighter, leading you away from the wall he was leaning against. You stumbled behind him, mind fuzzy and emotions swirling. You didn't question it - figuring he was going to take things up with the man you were with.

"You over me? That quick?" he asked, disbelief laced in his taunting tone. You shook your head vigorously, the tipsy state increasing your honesty with him. He'd taken you to a door, leading to what seemed to be a bathroom. The crowded hallway was littered with plastic cups, cigarettes, and articles of clothing such as shirts and panties.

"Good," Johnny replied simply, yanking you inside the bathroom. Others had clearly been in here, small spills of straight vodka all over the counter and floor.

You locked eyes with Johnny. It felt awfully similar to when the two of you would venture off to a bedroom or bathroom like this at a house party. Seeing him again caused a whirlwind of emotions, but mostly desire. You hadn't been fucked since before you two had that massive breakup. Your cunt ached for him.

You were soon snapped out of your thoughts, his hand pressing onto your throat, squeezing it ever so slightly. Your ass was pressed down to rest on top of the pearl-colored countertop, just beside the sink. He stood between your legs, continuously pushing your body so that your shoulders were against the stained mirror.

"You want this?" He asked, the question almost pointless to your drunken state. Of course you wanted him.

"Yes," you croaked out, his hand squeezing your throat tighter. The sensation did wonders in dampening your folds, your body practically begging for his touch.

Johnny used his free hand to unbuckle his belt swiftly, the metal piece falling to the floor in an instant. Your eyes widened, stifling any sudden moans that dared to escape your lips. Before you knew it, his denim and boxers had been kicked aside to the other end of the cold, tile floor. You felt your cunt repeatedly clench and tremble. His hand never moved, he needed to keep you propped upright and under his control. Johnny's other hand pushed your denim skirt up, allowing him access to your cum-soaked panties. He grinned at the sight, knowing he was the one to have gotten you so wet even without entrance just yet. He ran his finger over the wet spot, spiking the fabric further. He gruffly spoke up, locking eyes with you intimately, "You're gonna take all of me."

This was no request - it was a demand. You could almost swear you felt yourself finish right then and there, his authoritative words sending a chill down your spine. Stripping yourself of your shirt and bra, you set it on the other end of the sink. You scrambled to unbutton your denim skirt as well, sliding it all the way down to your ankles for Johnny to finish removing. You did the same with your panties, sliding your body closer to his. He caught on to your eager actions, shutting down the idea immediately. "Sit up," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Johnny~" you groaned aloud lustfully. He slid his dampened tip to graze over your clit. The feeling of his warm pre-cum caused your cunt to yearn for more. Johnny's hand squeezed your flesh somehow even tighter, your breath hitching in your throat.

"God, I missed my pussy," he admitted in a low and lecherous voice. You hummed in response, grinning from ear to ear. Having him confess to you so suddenly only made your desire grow.

He slipped his tip inside your warm and wet cunt, your body taking its time to adjust to his size once more. You let out a shaky moan, your hands involuntarily searching the countertop nearby for something to hold onto. You didn't have enough time to properly adjust before his entire length pounded your insides with a firm thrust. A holler of pure bliss erupted from your lungs, tilting your head back in submission.

"Take the whole fuckin' thing. I ain't stopping 'till you remember you're mine." Johnny declared, his thrusts becoming faster by the second.

You could've sworn your neck had a red handprint on it from the extreme choking he'd been establishing on you. The same could be said about your cunt, Johnny fucking it as he pleased to fulfill his desires.

A low, guttural moan fell from Johnny's lips, his cock deepening inside you. Your body was jerking back and forth so rapidly, your breasts jolting up and down. The pleasure only seemed to increase from there. Your ecstatic expression made Johnny crumble. He lifted his hand to your cheek, striking it firmly before grabbing your chin to force your gaze on him. A wicked smile formed on his lips, "You like that? Fucking yourself onto me? Hm?"

The realization flooded your mind, realizing your body had been subconsciously moving on its own to receive all the more pleasure. You were no stranger to rough sex - you'd constantly find yourself enjoying the occasional slap and swat from Johnny. It made your legs tremble, the burning sensation lasting only a few seconds but having a long-term effect on your desire for his cock.

"Yes... yes, I like it," your raspy voice struggled to reply to him. His hand on your throat squeezed all the right spots, your eyes fluttering shut.

"Yeah? You're mine," he declared again, slapping your cheek once more just to be sure you heard him loud and clear.

His cock slammed into your tight cunt, the sound of your skin slapping his causing a breathless moan from the both of you. You felt your eyes fly open, only for them to instinctively roll back. You were teetering on the edge, Johnny's pounding motion placing you in a state of bliss. He noticed the way your eyes had rolled back, your breathing becoming faster by the second. Your legs instinctively closed on him, the rush of pleasure causing your legs to shudder. Johnny helped you through your climax, slowing his pace as he praised you under his breath. “Did so fucking good for me.”

The constant words of encouragement settled the adrenaline pumping through you, his slow movements finishing you off with a breathy moan. You peered down to see himself holding back from releasing just yet. His cock soaked in your cum slowly thrusting inside you was a sight you quite enjoyed. The wetness surrounding him allowed more movement inside your dripping cunt.

He then pulled out, a groan of frustration slipping out. You blinked back the pleasure, panting and sweating. Your pussy was marked all over - red and bruised yet you'd enjoyed the whole thing.

"On your knees," Johnny spoke suddenly, removing his hand from your neck, a red handprint marked onto your flesh.

You didn't hesitate to do as told, your legs trembling as you stood from the countertop and fell to your knees. Johnny stood over you, grabbing a fistful of your hair so that you could look him in the eye. Your mouth opened just enough for his tip to slip inside, your tongue flicking against it for a brief second. Johnny's head tilted back, a groan falling from his lips. "Yeah baby, taste yourself on my cock."

The words shook you straight to your core, but you went along with it nonetheless. His hips bucked closer to your head, the movements sending his throbbing cock further down your throat. Your muscles tightened, a small cough erupting as your eyes squeezed shut. Johnny cut you a bit of slack, the feeling so relieving you hummed against his skin in reply. Looking up at him with those wide eyes of yours made Johnny push himself further. You could’ve sworn his length made its way to the very back of your throat as he fucked himself into you. Your salivating mouth and small swirls of your tongue sent waves of pleasure throughout his body. His grip on your hair grew tighter, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat at a much swifter pace. Johnny let out a groan, the sound coming from the depths of his lungs. He came to a slow stop, the smirk on his face saying it all.

“Swallow it. Swallow,” he urged, keeping his cock buried down your throat.

You were more than happy to swallow, the adrenaline rush and desire for him fulfilling your every move. You grimaced but swallowed nonetheless - a droplet of his warm cum running down your chin as he pulled himself out. You let out a deep exhale, panting as Johnny held a hand out to you. You steadied yourself up with his help and used the back of your hand to wipe the remains off your skin.

“Johnny, I needed that so badly~” you spoke in between breathless exhales, trying to bring your breathing down to a more natural speed.

Johnny only smiled in response, watching as your figure wobbled beside the counter, your hands on his forearms to keep yourself up. “I know it. I missed you…honestly - I did.”

The words of reassurance fluttered through your heart, a gut feeling arising that your story wasn't over with him. You looked into Johnny’s lustful gaze, knowing he was holding back. “You know you're mine though, right? I don't ever want to see you movin’ on with some guy at a party - you hear?”

Johnny placed a soft yet meaningful kiss on your lips, pulling away in an instant as he awaited a reply. Wrapping your arms around him neck, a few tipsy kisses placed onto his jaw sealed the deal. You were his once more.

[ghost-bxrd]

Burntout! Jason when he wakes up and realizes that overprotective-jason-is-not-allowed-out-of-my-site-because-he-might-disappeer-again mode has been activated for Bruce. Or just how Dick reacts when he finds out Jason is alive again.

Not entirely sure if you mean the prompt where Jason pretends to have been kidnapped by the Red Hood but I’m going with that one! Pls correct me if you meant another prompt 💚

Ok so the first day Jason wakes up in Wayne manor he knows this is gonna be one hell of a ride because when he goes to leave the room (and possibly sneak out) he finds Bruce and Dick waiting right in front of his door. Dick is fast asleep, Bruce looks like he hasn’t had a shut eye in several days and the moment he spots Jason he just kind of— deflates. (Jason had drawn a hard line with Bruce staying in a chair beside his bed the entire night. He’s still pissed af at the man after all)

Dick startles awake only a few seconds after and has much the same reaction, breathing something about a dream before he launches himself at Jason and hugs the living daylights out of him for as many times in the last twenty four hours. (Jason had to throw Dick out of his room much like Bruce, citing some kind of bullshit trauma response as the reason. In truth he was mildly concerned he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from trying to throttle them during the night.)

Bruce and Dick both had multiple micro breakdowns while waiting in front of Jason’s door because on one hand they know how important it is to allow trauma victims to establish boundaries, on the other hand they had to reassure each other every couple minutes that, no, they did not imagine the last few hours and Jason is indeed alive and sleeping just beyond the door.

Meanwhile Jason is trying not to go stir crazy with how he had to go from “murder and mayhem” plans involving torture and taunting of certain bats to “I’m a scared teenager and so happy to be home”. Some of it, obviously, isn’t even an act (certainly not the part where he gets to see Alfred again). But it’s getting increasingly hard to curb the resentment he still feels towards Bruce and Dick.

And TIM, hooo boy. Jason does NOT like having to pretend to like the little shit who stole his colors.

Thankfully (and unknowingly) for everyone involved (especially Tim) Jason ends up taking a grudging shine to the new kid (you can’t keep hating someone who’s got literal stars in their eyes every time they talk to you) and soon scraps his plans of torture and throat slitting for him. Kidnapping’s still on the table though. He’ll have to salvage this situation somehow.

[worksby-d]

Possibly the Best

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Summary: Andy accidentally falls asleep before you on your wedding night.

Warnings: None

Word count: ~700

a/n: Back on my Andy bullshit (jk I was never off it) 🫶

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Finally making it to the door of your suite, it feels like you can't find your keycard fast enough. Who knew you could shove so much shit into a tiny clutch on your wedding day.

All you can think about as you eventually hold it up to the lock is getting out of your dress. It wasn't until you got on the elevator a few minutes ago that you had the chance to realize how uncomfortable you are, wanting nothing more than to take a deep breath after all day without the tight material constricting you.

There's also your husband though... Maybe he's the one thing you want more than that.

He was able to sneak away a couple minutes earlier than you as your goodnights to your lingering family dragged on.

He left with a teasing whisper in your ear, telling you he'd be waiting and ready for you once you finally made it up.

But walking into the room, you’re not met by him. It’s quiet as you look around. You expected him to be at the door, waiting impatiently for the moment to have you alone for the first time today.

“Andy,” you call out without a response.

It's faint snores that finally get your attention as you tiptoe closer to the bedroom. You let out a quiet laugh seeing him on the bed, sleeping in his tux. You can tell he didn't mean to doze off if he made no effort to actually get comfortable.

Dropping your purse and your shoes–that you rid yourself of hours ago–onto the floor, you silently make your way to the side of the bed. Leaning over him, you can tell he's already beginning to stir, but you press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Babe,” you whisper.

Peeking an eye open, his initial reaction is to sit up, but you're in his way.

“Oh shit.” His words turn into a yawn. “Baby–”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, keeping a hand on his chest to let him stay laying there as you sit on the edge of the bed next to him.

“I just sat down for a breather.” He rests a hand on top of yours, rubbing his eyes with his other. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you promise, shooting him a faux stern look for having to repeat yourself. “We don't have to do anything, but you have to help me out of my dress.”

He chuckles at the exasperated groan you let out as you muster the energy to stand up, tugging on his hand to bring him up to sit behind you.

“Well, what the–” He laughs a little and you feel his fingers running along the center of your back. “Where the hell is the zipper?”

“It’s an invisible zipper, Andy,” you sigh, restless as you stand between his legs. “I would have left you sleep, but I'm trapped in this thing without you.”

“Oh, there we go,” he says softly, seamlessly pulling it down once he finds it.

You don't even take the dress all the way off, collapsing on his lap with a breath of relief from just the zipper being undone.

“You're such a good husband,” you tease, tapping his cheek with your hand, giving him a quick kiss before laying your head on his shoulder.

“It’s only been eight hours,” he snorts.

“A good eight hours.”

“Yeah it was,” he smiles. “Possibly the best. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The silence you share is welcome after all day. It felt like every time you tried to enjoy a moment together, there were eyes on you or it wasn't long until you were pulled in opposite directions by your drunk friends.

Thinking about it, you instinctively hold him tighter.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, dear wife?”

You shake your head the best you can as you nestle your face closer to his neck. “No.”

“Then come here.” He lays back, pulling you down with him so you’re on top of him. The movement takes you by surprise, eliciting a yelp from you. “I'll show you what I was waiting for.”

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Tag list: @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @princess-evans-addict @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @turtoix @katiew1973 @harrysthiccthighss @bluemusickid @rocketrhap3000 @mrspeacem1nusone @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @rogersbarber @dilfbarber @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @chaeycunty @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean @t-stark35 @seitmai @reginaphalange2403 @raelorns21

[a-teacup-of-golden-cracks]

You are saying this because you literally don't know anything about @angelbleeding

Apparently she is the self proclaimed drama queen (more like a clown) of anime community. She is a 33-year-old who picks up fight with teen girls, she is trying way too hard to act like she's still in her prime, stirring up drama with those subposts, she has kept her own anon off and writes triggering subposts about people in the intention to hurt them and get this, she turns off her anon so she can talk smack without taking any heat herself, leaving her mutuals to deal with all the hate instead but she doesn't give a rat ass about her mutuals getting harassed, she would still trigger people and stir drama when she knows her mutuals have to deal with the hate, plus she never even apologised that her mutuals are getting harassed because she is coward who can't subpost without having her own anon off. A total coward move. She even went as far as recreating someone's deactivated blog, and when she gets called out, she pulls the victim card like a pro. She has made racist joke on POC women and to top it off she asked a minor to suck her dick, but she acts so innocent and managed to fool people by playing victim every single time.

Wow! Thats a lot of accusations! Can you come off anon and provide me with some sources for them? Surely with so much evidence against this person you'd have no reason to hide on anon, right?

Or maybe you can't and need to just shut the hell up. Almost everything you just said reeks of lies even to my tired 2 am brain. "Still in her prime" prime of what? No seriously this makes no sense and I can't think of anything you could be referring to here.

If shes doing things that leave her mutuals to rot, why are they still her mutuals? And how would people even find out who her mutuals are in the first place?

For the last few accusations, it would've been so easy to provide a link to the posts, even on anon, where this happened. Don't say bullshit like "oh it was deleted" either because that means it never happened or she made a mistake and proceeded to correct it.

Good night and goodbye person who definitely isn't deadeye anon

[acozysoulwrites]

Wasteland, baby | D.D

Description: You wake up to the smell of breakfast and find that Daryl has gotten up early to make it for you!

Warnings: none!

Warm sunlight touches her face, causing her to stir from her sleep. The birds chirp outside, letting her know she is up later than usual.

She blinks slowly, sleep falls away from her body, revealing the achy muscles from yesterdays heard control. Her arm instinctively slides over to where Daryl sleeps, but when it reaches nothing, she turns to see that the archer has gone.

Funny, usually, he would wake her up with him upon her request. She insisted on helping him with his morning duties.

She forces herself up, shivering as the chilly morning air nips at her skin. She slips herself into some reasonable clothes and makes her way down the stairs.

Upon reaching the bottom, a wonderful nostalgic smell washes over her. Cinnamon toast?

Rounding the corner, her eyes land on Daryl. He is dressed for the day, his hair tucked behind his left ear, the other side still hanging in his face messily. He stands over the stove, an egg slowly cooking. He must have gone to the towns pantry earlier.

After admiring the man for a moment, she finally steps into the kitchen. “Hey” she yawns, inching her arms around him from behind, her head resting on his angel wings.

Daryl places the spatula onto the counter and turns around, his arms sinking around her like a warm blanket. “Hey, sleep okay?” he asks.

For a moment all she can do is keep her eyes closed, her face now buried into Daryl’s chest. She could stay right here for an eternity. Right here, where nothing could harm either of them, where she knew she would always be welcome and safe.

“I’m still sore, yesterday must have been harder on me than i thought” she says, pulling herself back to look at him. “I’ll be tip-top shape in no time”. She had to be, bouncing back fast was her one advantage. She might not be alive today if she didn’t push through her pain all this time.

Daryl shakes his head “nah, you gotta rest. No more of this ‘i’m fine’ bullshit” his voice is soft, but she can hear the seriousness.

He lets his arms fall from her waist and turns to flip the egg.

“Daryl i’ll be fine- plus I can’t afford to step down right now. Not with Rosita out for a few more weeks. They need me-” Suddenly Daryl’s hand is squeezing hers and she stops, eyes meeting his.

“I need ya too” he says, his head ducking a bit. He needed her more than he needed anyone else. He’d never admit that, but he’d sure as hell try and show it. There was a time when he couldn’t stop running, he’d pass out at camp before six pm without eating. It took her to care about him enough to stop, so Daryl’s logic was that if he showed her how much he cared, she’d stop too.

Her eyes fall from his, shame rising in her chest. She didn’t want him to worry, but she knew that living in this world made worrying inevitable.

“Okay.” she says simply, her hand holding his tightly now. “I will stay here today”.

Daryl snorts and rolls his eyes. “And tomorrow” he adds, a soft, shy smile on his face.

“okay… now you’re pushing it” she chuckles.

[uldren-sov]

shared secrets

another lil @infamous-if fic because i can't stop even if i wanted to. little bit of background for ms. rodriguez-rose but done in a more "current" time Hope you like! ~2.5k words Seven Lawless is canon and not mine but Camy Rose is :)

✩

The gentle rocking of the tour bus driving down the highway should be comforting, especially at – Camy looks across her notebook in her lap and turns her cell’s screen on – 1:14 AM, but all she can think about now is how fucked she’d be if she got motion sick. What if she was just nauseous this whole time? What if she was so sick she was unable to write songs? What if being sick kept her up all night instead of all these new people with their loud breathing and snoring? Maybe if she was, she would be so exhausted that she wouldn’t care about how Kieran (she thinks) snores louder when he sleeps on one side than the other. Maybe she wouldn’t care about hearing the indiscernible whispers between Seven and Avina in their bunk. 

Maybe she wouldn’t be fucking haunted by hearing Seven asleep and remembering how they had once fit together so comfortably on the most uncomfortable mattress... She fought hard to forget it these past years, but flashes of how fingertips felt along along her spine come back to her now when cradling her pillow can’t settle her enough to sleep, and during nights like these when her mind is just too active to let her body rest.

She stares blindly at her most recent page of half-finished lyrics and sketched notes as her mind’s tires spin in the mud, churning out all these unhelpful anxieties as she uselessly urges her brain to take advantage of this time to herself. Usually as the last one to fall asleep and top 3 of the earliest to wake up, it means she has plenty of alone time even among a crowd of 11 (including Chuck the driver). In those late nights and early mornings, she finds it easier to break through her own bullshit, her defensive ego and caked on charm, and just dare to be vulnerable again. Dare to write again. 

When the words come. 

Sometimes they just don’t. Like tonight where her brain would apparently like to think of literally anything else than sentences with meaning, ending in a word that can rhyme. Still, she’s not about to waste a night when she could be working on something, practicing, getting better. She has to, she must, she can’t stop. Sleep is not an option, lyrics are not an option, so she’ll work on her only other option - a way to improve without bothering anyone.

Slipping her notebook under her pillow and shimmying on some exercise pants she untucks the oversized Soft Violence band shirt – flipped inside out for everyone’s sake – from the waist band and carefully unzips the curtain of her bunk. She steps into the stale, frigid, air and quickly assesses her surroundings. Most of the curtains are closed, those that don’t have it cracked open for the AC, but most importantly everyone seems to be asleep. A sigh of relief as she works her neck and shoulders out after being hunched over her notebook for so long. Nothing about the tour bus is ideal but no one can say that she won’t make the most out of a bad situation. 

She snatches her laptop and headphones from the far corner of her bunk and gives another cursory look around. No one stirs, no curtain opens, no one peeks their head out telling her to go the hell to sleep, but she swears she hears some music from one of the bunks closest to her. Maybe it’s August? Either way, she’s safe enough to continue as she ducks down to where her carry-ons are stashed. She finds the handle of her guitar case and gathers it up along with the rest. 

It’s not uncommon that she would bring her guitar with her, despite not playing guitar in the band anymore. She uses the excuse that it helps imagine the song better and lets Rowan take the lead on the rest. The reality though is one of the few secrets she keeps from her band but it’s definitely not the biggest sacrifice she’s done for their sake. Not by half. It still might be the biggest lie that she keeps from them.

She tiptoes and carefully parts the beaded screen that separates the “bedroom” and the living area. Maneuvering around the space she sets up as close to the front as she can to make sure she won’t wake anyone. Laptop set up in front of her, she’s at least able to keep the curtain in her peripheral as she settles her PRS over her criss-crossed legs, and sets up the rest. Avoiding the red guitar pick with the single casino-style number on it and fishing out one of the dozen others, she tentatively starts picking along her electric guitar. Soft plinking of the metal strings are barely heard over the ambient sound from the bus, but even so, she glares at the curtain, bracing for someone to come out and catch her. 

What fans don’t know, and what she thinks even her band has forgotten, was that Camy was a guitar player long before she was ever a singer. Singing was something that she kept to herself until what felt like the last second. Even then, up until high school graduation, she was lead guitar and a secondary/co-vocals until they started making their own music. But as inevitable as erosion, she phased out of that guitarist role. It was better for the band, it was better for their sound, they told her she was a better singer than guitarist anyways – that one still stings even after all this time – and it was best for Rowan. More than any other reason, she made the change for him. She decided to just pull the pin and give into that eventuality one late night, like this one, to a sympathetic Seven who comforted her for her subtle sacrifice. Stepping out of Rowan’s spotlight, she quickly shifted to rhythm guitar, to only vocals, to lead singer. The audience for her late night playing dwindled to one, up until about three years ago. 

Now, she plays in secret to sharpen herself, she plays to develop melodies she’ll only later hum in rehearsal, and she plays for desperate nights like this. Now, she stares at the curtain for just a little while longer and sighs when she seems to be in the clear. 

Brushing her hair back she slips her headphones on and the strap of her guitar over her shoulder. A bit of warm-up, a bit of practice – a bit of tuning, to be honest – a bit of maintenance, and she begins to play. Slow improvisation finds a melody from the chaos of her mind, a song, a feeling, coalescing in cohesive notes resonating from her headphones. The effect is immediate, like her brain is sighing in relief as notes fall into rhythm, fall into order, fall into something that sounds like music. A quiet contentment and pride settles around her like a blanket hearing her improvement as well, a confirmation that she’s not only her songwriting.  

2:28 AM. She rests for a moment, stretching out her hands as she takes a break. She should sleep. She shouldn’t take a stab at the latest, hardest, solo she’s been practicing off an on for a while now. She should just relax, for once. She shouldn’t cut into her sleep schedule any more than she already does. 

It doesn’t take long before she’s nodding her head in time with the track she has loaded up and the metronome that helps her keep the beat. The notes fly under her fingertips and she allows herself a smile at her progress. She’s a long way from really nailing such a complicated solo, but damn if she isn’t getting there.  And damn if it isn’t fun to learn – even with all the frustration involved with learning it.

Something whispers in the back of her mind as her skin pricks with awareness. In her peripheral there’s a shape looming, framed in the threshold of the living area. For a brief moment she wonders who looks weirder: her, hunched over her colorful guitar with the laptop’s screen blaring light into her face or the person standing there, menacingly, in shadow in front of that ridiculous beaded screen.

Ripping the headphones off her ears she wraps her arm around her guitar like she’s trying to hide it before she straightens in realization. Seven stares at her, stares through her, half highlighted in moonlight half shrouded by the night. The weight in his look is as inscrutable as the rest of him. She’s not sure how long he’s been there – why is he even here? – but if she was going to be caught by anyone, she decides he’s actually not the worst choice. Since the start of the competition, Seven has calmed down a bit, just a bit, and thankfully she can’t see any of that heat she’s come to expect. Yet. 

“Sorry if I woke you,” she whispers. 

“You didn’t.” He shakes his head and yet she can almost taste the lie. She glances past him for any more movement but finding none, she finds his dark green eyes in the gloam. As impossible as he is to read, something about how he regards her now has her breath catching. “Didn’t know you still played.” 

“Technically, I don’t,” she says, shifting uncomfortably as she closes the lid to her laptop. “Remember?” Which is always a risk to say to him now. He seems to hate everything about their shared past, the good and the bad. He shifts in place before wandering closer to lean against the opposite side of the sofa. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he glares out the window as the conflict in his mind already begins to show in the furrow in his brow. She chews on her lip, taking in the way his hoodie is zipped up enough to be respectful yet low enough for her to know he’s shirtless underneath. She has to rip her gaze away before she starts lingering too long on how good he looks when he actually just rolls out of bed and not only when he styles himself like he did. 

She tempers herself with a slow exhale, reminding herself that his opening performance was a song all about how much he hates her, with a performance tailored to aggravate her jealousy, both of which took advantage of her latest confession. Admitting her nightmare to the ghost of love’s past himself, was a fucking stupid move, she'll admit now. Confessing how she was still not over him, no matter how brutally honest it was, blew up in her face - but how could it not? In response, he could not be more clear about the hurt he wanted to inflict or the line he cut in the sand between them.

She wishes she hated him the way that he hated her. 

“With your band,” he says and she catches how he nearly winces at that, “changing up your sound, it’d make sense for you to play.” He shrugs, looking away from her as soon as she looks up to him. She replies with a sigh, pulling the strap off her shoulder and starting to pack her things up. 

“Everything that had me stop before hasn’t changed. All those old reasons. So, as far as they know, I don't anymore. Simple as that, ” she says. Admitting anything to him feels like a risk now, ammunition for him to use as a competitor but – who else can she talk to about this? She’s not one to share, not one to be vulnerable – not anymore – but there’s just still something about Seven that makes her feel … safe. Safe enough to share. He can and has hurt her in ways he knows no one else can, but he’s never shared her secrets. 

That she knows of. Which is a caution she never thought she’d have to guard herself against. Fool me once...

“Why?” She asks.

“Why what?”

“Why do you care?” 

“I don’t,” he snaps. But sighs tightly as he shifts again, their eyes meeting now as slowly that flare of his anger ebbs. “Just, surprised, I guess. If there would ever be a time for you to show off your playing again, it’d be now.” Something warms in her chest as she reads between the lines. 

“Are you sure that I’m even good anymore? Who knows, I might suck now,” she sets her guitar aside and folds her arms over the back of her seat, perching her chin on her arms as she stares up at him. He snorts and she fights a smile off her lips. It’s dangerous how easy it is to let her guard down around him.

“You’re practicing some kind of wild song in the middle of the night? I doubt you decayed down to, like, Smoke on the Water levels,” he says with a scoff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. 

“You could tell it was a wild song?” 

“I didn’t hear any notes or anything but the amount of shredding you played was pretty wild,” he admits and she can’t help but chuckle in response. Warmth blooms through her chest and into her fingertips with the thought that he was watching her and with some level of appreciation.

“I mean, I guess you can say that. But it’s really just Randy Rhoads kicking my ass,” she grins and his face lights up with a smile that makes her heart slam against her rib-cage.

At least until both of them snap up to stare at each other in realization of what was happening. 

She drops her head and clears her throat. “But it’s late,” she checks the time – 3:22 AM – and she rolls her lips as she finishes packing up her things. “Big day of hanging out in a bus tomorrow. Probably should get back to bed.” She ventures as she avoids looking at him until her guitar case is zipped closed. Standing in a rush she almost stumbles back from crashing into him. A second of her heart clenching in her chest until it stills, a second of being closer than they’ve been in years, a second of having flashbacks of dozens, of hundreds, of late nights with her playing in their living room and him coaxing her back to sleep, before he scrambles back and puts some space to breathe between them. 

“Right, uh huh,” Seven replies, tugging his hood over his head and jerking the rest of the zipper up his hoodie. “Yep.”

“Sorry that I woke you up, though,” she says suddenly, gently. Bracing into himself now, he glowers at her for a moment before pulling away further. A couple of steps later, a safe distance away, maybe, and he turns back to her. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like it was loud, I just-” he stops himself as he seems to fall into himself for a moment. “Know what it sounds like and-” She cocks her head in confusion as he glances up to her now, almost panicked as he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Come back to bed.” She arches an eyebrow, jaw dropping a little before he scowls deeper, “I mean go to sleep!” And with that he’s quick to retreat through the curtain once more as she’s left breathless, ambushed, and, in a strange way, comforted by the gesture. 

As she quietly follows after, she carefully puts her things away and slips silently back into her bunk. Despite the lingering heavy beat of her heart, she curls around her pillow now realizing that while her practice quieted her mind, there was a warmth in the familiarity of their exchange that soothed her as well. 

Sleep takes her before the warning against such a sentiment takes hold.

[seijorhi]

Hey Rhi! Hope you’ve been well!

I recently binged through all your Tokyo Rev fics and it made me think of something. I really love the concept of Tailspin with Chifuyu being the one to remember the past timeline. The simultaneous regret of how they treated reader being balanced with this uncontrollable desire to be with her again was so great and really fascinating to me.

It made me think, what do you think Mikey would do in a post-bonten/sink to the depths timeline where those events never happened, but he’s still able to remember them in the new timeline? On one hand, he was in love with reader, but how she was treated by him and bonten was a complete nightmare for her. I guess it depends on which timeline, but do you think that would make him hesitate from trying to find reader in this new timeline (to prevent her from being dragged into his mess of a life) or would he not be able to resist finding her anyway?

hi nonnie first of all ily <33

so if chifuyu's fucked up about it, mikey.... oof. man's got trauma big time.

doesn't help matters that when he was on the brink of complete self destruction the reader became his emotional support pussy person.

on the one hand, of course she's better off far, far away from him and sanzu and kakucho – all of them. it was an obsession, fucked up and depraved and sickening and damn it all to hell if does he wish he could feel that disgust all the time.

it'd be easier that way, to focus the hate inwards and pretend that's all it was. that there aren't nights he doesn't like awake and fucking miss her like a part of him's been ripped away. that his cock doesn't stir at the filthy dreams – memories – that won't leave his head.

on the really bad days, it's like an ache. an itch. incessant. he misses her.

he'd taint her all over again.

so he should leave her alone. stay as far away as humanly possible.

there's a problem, though. two, if he's being completely honest with himself. the first is that along with their whole sordid relationship, he remembers how the reader managed to end up in bonten's clutches in the first place. bonten doesn't exist anymore, obviously, but just because he and his friends aren't running around as gangsters anymore doesn't mean bad men, bad luck and bad circumstance have ceased to exist.

her brother's probably still a bottom feeding piece of shit with a gambling problem. there's every chance he's gonna do something just as stupid this time, and she'll inevitably be the one to pay for it. glass stones and houses and all that bullshit, he doesn't like it. no one's allowed to touch her. no one but him.

the other problem, the one he's less eager to admit to himself, is that he wasn't the only one fucked up over her. the haitani's might not look twice (he thinks. hopes, maybe), and who knows with sanzu, but kakucho? koko? they might not remember any of it, but if they walked past her in the street, bumped into her at a bar, would they feel that pull in their gut? would it spark something?

mikey hates the thought of her in danger, being mistreated – by her brother or by anyone else, but there's a sick, possessive part of him that hates the thought of any of them taking her too.

she was his first.

but even if he shoved that all aside, buried his head in the sand and pretended he wasn't slowly being driven out of his mind by her, the universe is a funny thing. one way or another, it'll work its magic and shove her right back into his path.

some things are just... fated.

[infernalodie]

Hi there, could you do Samantha Carpenter x male!reader where y/n is her boyfriend for 3 years. His also a soldier who is part of the black ops. Sam told him about her past and her dark secret (her biological father is a serial killer Billy). During the movie y/n went with Sam to Woodsboro when she found out her sister was stabbed, also to keep an eye on Richie since he doesn't trust him.

When he finds out Richie and Amber were behind this and doing all of this because they are so obsessed with the original film and how genuinely amazing they believed it to be, their desire for a better sequel serves as their motivation. He went ballistic and said that's STUPID AND Their STUPID and proceed to attack them and win.

a/n: There is two versions of this that I couldn't decide upon, so I put them both in. For warning, it is brutal.

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲 || 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

"𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘴"

Inspo: Nirvana - Something In The Way

Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Male!reader

Summary: Samantha saw a darkness in you...

Warnings: Umm, just super violent and gore, so read at your own discretion.

Words: 2237

DNI IF YOU'RE YOUNGER THAN 18 AND ARE SENSITIVE TO THE WARNINGS ABOVE!

These fucking idiots.

That’s all Samantha could think of with a gun in her face. These fucking idiots don’t even realize the bullshit they have stirred. And even though blood leaked from her interlocked fingers, she knew what was bound to arise. You stood opposite her, a blank look on your face with your eyes focused on Richie. The man raves about why he and Amber decided to murder. Why they wanted to make and be the perfect source material for a slasher movie. How nowadays, they were all shit and basic.

And the longer she looked at you, the longer she saw a thick shade of darkness surround your figure. Like a pure wave of dark energy enveloping your body like a demon clinging onto your back and being absorbed by your body. She’d seen this before many times and it didn’t change the fact that she felt fearful when you entered that state of being. But when she continued to keep her eyes fixated on you, she saw her dad, Billy Loomis. He was whispering in your ear with his eyes focused on her. As if breaking the wall of the dead to give you the extra push needed to enact a bloodbath on these two psychos.

Your nose twitched hearing Amber yell, jaw clenched as you exhaled through your nose. “You killed unarmed civilians?” Your voice was like a drum that silenced the room. From its deep tone and how suddenly it came. Both killers looked at you, almost having forgotten you were even in the room.

Amber couldn’t help but laugh at the question. “Of course!” She exclaimed. “How were not supposed to get everyone here and create this masterful cinema experience? Why? You have some sort of moral compass that doesn’t align with our beliefs?” She mocked.

Glancing out the window, you looked back at the two. “Do you know what I do?” You inquired. “Why this night isn’t going to be easy for the both of you?”

Richie’s face twisted into amusement, looking at his girlfriend who scoffed. “Uh, yeah,” he chuckled. “You’re a construction worker. Grew up in L.A. before going to Modesto to find a quiet life. That’s where you met Samantha and you two happily got together.”

A soft laugh fell from your lips as your fingers began to twitch. Something so small, but with Samantha still able to see her biological father staring at you, lips curved into a smile, she knew hell was rising to the surface. The hardwood floor cracked with the screams of the damned emitting from them and all chanting your name.

Licking your lips, you looked at Richie. “I kill people for a living.”

Both killers couldn’t contain their laughter as they looked at one another. “You?” Amber questioned. “No. No, you build shit for a living, dumbass. You are just canon fodder for the writers to make some side character.”

Samantha’s eyes flickered down to your hand, able to see it close to the glass cup that was on the counter behind you. When she met your gaze, your eyes moved past her and she slowly turned to see a knife. Understanding the message, she nodded. “My job doesn’t look great on an application form,” you said. “But it makes it great to not suspect me of cutting your fucker’s heads off.”

Grabbing the cup, you tossed it at Amber and it hit her in the face, the girl yelled in pain as she dropped her guard. Allowing Sydney Prescott to grab the knife on the island and stab the girl in the stomach. Samantha took the surprise attack and stabbed her knife, stabbing Richie in his shooting hand, making him drop the gun and fall to his knees as he stared at the knife pushed through the back of his hand and through the palm.

Marching towards Richie, you grabbed the handle of the knife and forced the blade into the counter. Causing the man to yell in agony as he held his wrist. “You motherfucker! Fuck!”

“Richie!” Amber sobbed, screaming as she ripped the knife from her stomach and charged at you. Stabbing you in the side, enabling a yell to fall from your lips, slapping Amber across the face where she fell and hit her head on the side of the counter, putting her in a daze. Puffing out breaths, you grabbed the knife in Richie’s hand, ripping it out and slicing open his throat. His eyes were as wide as saucers, hands coming to his throat to try and stop the spurting of blood from the open wound. But you simply grabbed his head and continuously smashed it on the side of the counter.

The three women watching in shock were forced to see the man’s head be cracked right open and pieces of brain matter stick to the pristine counter. But once you were done, you shoved his body to the side and looked down at Amber. Her eyes clouded in tears and fear as she looked between her boyfriend and you. Unable to help the sob that fell from her lips as you stepped over Richie’s body and grab the girl by the ankle.

Straddling her waist, you ripped the knife from your side, grunting. Wrapping your hand around her throat, you plunged the knife into the left side of her chest. Once, then twice, and after thirteen times with Amber’s limbs twitching as she stared up at you, choking on her blood. But before you stop yourself, you looked up at Samantha. Her eyes showed shock and a genuine look of fear on her face. But with her, she could finally see the emotion in your gaze after what felt like hours of you being silent. You’re eyes simply asked, “Do you want me to do this?”

And what felt like a beat of a second, she nodded. Leaving you to look back down at Amber and ground your teeth. “You’re wrong, kid.” Placing the tip of the knife to her forehead, you growled. “I’m the reminder.” With a yell of fury, you brought the knife down and plunged it into her skull. Letting go of the knife and began to pound your fists into her face.

The sheer force and impact shook the house. And each powerful, Samantha flinched until she couldn’t help herself and left. Sidney and Gale followed as they found Tara and helped her out of the house. Stopping at the door, Samantha saw you stand to your feet, your chest rising and falling with your face painted in the blood of someone her sister once considered her friend. Your gaze lifted to her as your nose twitched, sniffling. “I’m sorry.”

Samantha shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I would’ve done the same if you weren’t here to protect me,” she reassured. “But let’s go home.”

Nodding, you stepped over the bodies and made your way toward your girlfriend. She stayed still, feeling the warmth you always provided to her get warmer and warmer until you stood a mere inch from her. Your eyes searched her face, trying to find any source of fear that you had once seen. She was disturbed, but that was natural. Fear from the girl you’d spent three years of your life with shouldn’t be afraid of you after all the things she’d heard you done. If anything, you should be scared of her because she was the daughter of a famous serial killer. But you still slept soundly in the bed with her every night. Even at peace with the possibility that one night she might snap and you would be her first victim.

“Are you afraid of me?” You questioned, voice wavering evidently as your eyes batted back the tears. Not wishing to share too much emotion that you had closed off for so many years. But when her hand touched your face, holding you softly in her warm and smooth palm, one tear slid down your cheek. Glistening under the lighting of the front foyer.

She shook her head, smiling shakily. “I could never be afraid of you, sweetheart.”

(Version 2)

“Richie!” Amber sobbed, screaming as she ripped the knife from her stomach and charged at you. All you did was catch her arm holding the knife, kicked out her feet and resulted in landing on her back. You straddled her waist, ripping the knife from her grasp and holding the tip to her throat.

“What did you call me again? The side character?” You questioned darkly. “You are just another person to be lost in time, sweetheart.” Slapping your other hand on the butt of the knife, you propelled the knife into the center of her throat. Causing her to choke and struggle with your arms which forced her to experience a slow and painful death. Trying to cry and speak, but only finding your hardened features staring down at her with very little to no sympathy for the girl. “And I’m going to make sure your boyfriend is unrecognizable when I’m done.”

When she fell ill of movement or life, you stood to your feet and looked up at Richie. He could only stare at his companion. His partner in crimes. The girl that was lucky that she wouldn’t have to see what you were going to do to her boyfriend.

“You sonofabitch! You fucking killed her! I’m going to fucking kill you!” Richie yelled, thrashing as he tried to reach out toward you without worsening the wound in his pinned hand.

You simply stared at him, blinking blankly at him for a few moments before looking at Sydney. “Take Samantha and Tara, wait outside for the police.”

“What are you going to do?” Samantha questioned, not able to avert your eyes from the crying psychopath. In her mind, she truly believed that her father, in some way, had taken parts of your mind. A demon. A parasite corrupting your mind until you finally were able to rid yourself of its hold.

But after a beat of silence, you grumbled. “I’m going to kill him.” It was straightforward and wasn’t much to be added on. Sure, there were a few ideas of how to make this as painful as possible for him, but you were saving Sam from hearing such traumatic things from your own lips. She’d known the things you did in other countries in the name of America. And you knew about her father being a psychopath and one of the original Ghostface killers. But you didn’t want her to see what you had to do. “Go outside and call the police. I’ll be out by the time they’re here.”

Unable to find a splice of emotion in your eyes, she took your word and helped Gale out of her chair before rushing to get Tara out of the house. Stopping at the door to see you grab a meat tenderizer and turn to Richie with a blank look in your eyes.

“This is not how it’s supposed to go,” Richie exclaimed. “I am supposed to kill you! You and your bitch of a girlfriend are supposed to die! Not this!”

Without leaving so much as a moment to spare, you swung the meat tenderizer and hit Richie across the face. Making the cough and groan from the pain as you grabbed him by the throat and forced him to look at you. “Whatever you thought to be on your side–God, a psycho fandom, that means fuck all now.” Leaning down into the man’s face, you smiled. “You’re in my world now, bitch.”

Finally, when Samantha stepped beyond the threshold outside, she heard the yells and screams belonging to Richie. And with due time, she heard your yell, one final hoorah as she suspected you smashed his head in.

The cops and ambulance arrived. But Samantha and Tara still stared at the house, waiting for you to step out. When the police officer’s urged them toward the ambulance, promising they would make sure the house is secure before they would do questioning, the front door opened. And just like how she saw you before you killed Amber, you stood there with a black essence surrounding your figure. Holding both Amber and Richie’s body by the collars of their shirts. But that didn’t disturb them as much as seeing blood splattered across your face. It was that whatever was left of Richie’s skull and the head was mush. Thin strings of brain matter hanging on by a thread with the man’s skull fragments scattered in the flesh.

Seeing it as well, the cop raised their weapons. “Put your hands up!” Hearing their order, you tossed the bodies off the front steps where they hit the pavement with a thud. “Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head!” You held emotion when doing so, only the faintest twitch of your nose to be seen as the police officers cautiously made their way to you. Looking down at the bodies and visibly paling at the sight of brutality created by you.

But your gaze lingered on your girlfriend, her eyes clouding with tears as you clenched your jaw. “I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

Being handcuffed and forced into the back of a police cruiser, Samantha never let her eyes linger away from you. Because she knew that you would keep true to your promise.

[ficbrish]

"You were my first."

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 2nd - Sexual Frustration, Virginity]

[[TW/CW: Cptsd, blood, gore, self-hate, abuse flashback, casual suicide ideation, intense genitalia depiction (imagined), alcohol]]

Summary: Astarion drinks from a person for the first time.

Expansion of the first bite scene in Act 1. The fourth night of their adventure.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

Astarion and Vistri trusted each other the least out of everyone else.

They were too much alike, cut from the same cloth and that cloth was absolute bullshit. Something always lurked in their eyes behind carefully crafted smiles. All of their expressions were adornments, masks. Even their movements were costumes. The two of them practically made up their own masquerade ball! Always dancing around flirtatiously, getting under each other's skin, ruffling feathers. 

Vistri knew these things, and she refused to let herself trust Astarion because of it.

So why did it feel like a betrayal to find him looming over her bedroll in the dark? Fangs bared, ready to strike. Ready to take. Her heart plummeted before she even had the chance to process what was happening. She opened her eyes and the sight of him dragged her down into a nostalgic pit.

“Shit,” Astarion jumped back the moment she stirred. He’d fucked up, made a bad call, and now Vistri was going to drive a stake through his heart. The glower on her face said it all. He’d been so close to finally tasting a real person, and now he was doomed to die without ever sating his gnawing hunger.

Gods! If she hadn't stopped him...

“The hells!” she raged, shaking off sleep as she stood.

“No, no—It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” he protested, thinking, Surely, this is the end. Vistri was going to kill him. Or one of the others if he put up a good enough fight.

Vistri scowled. The fear in Astarion’s tone and posture was a mirror. His was the exact sort of song and dance she’d put on whenever she herself got caught; when she wasn’t really sorry about anything other than the discovery. It set her heart racing, and made it ache for some reason.

She spoke with a lump in her throat, “Kind of looks like your second murder attempt from where I’m standing.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you!” Astarion explained defensively, “I just needed—Well, blood.”

“Blood? You needed my blood? Who?—Oh…”

Somewhere between Darkvision greys and the orange glow of dim firelight, Vistri saw Astarion draped in new colors. Those red eyes, pale skin, and silver hair of his were not signs of fealty to Lolth as she'd thought, but the markings of another dark god. One, no doubt, more worrying. The scar on his neck wasn’t the shadow of an arrow or fork, but the echo of another mouth. His sharp teeth were... It’s not that Vistri didn’t have her suspicions, it’s just that she’d pushed those thoughts to the edges of her mind. She’d literally been blinded by the sunlight!

It was the first time Astarion ever admitted this to another person, his condition. He couldn't even say the word ‘vampire’ out loud, but based on the various looks shifting in and out of Vistri’s expressions, he wouldn't have to, she’d gotten there on her own.

She hadn’t reached for a weapon, but that was subject to change. Astarion swallowed, her pounding pulse as real in his senses as the smell of hot food wafting through a warm breeze. He watched her observe the hunger as it consumed him, drove him mad. His body shook with the signs.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it…” she muttered, “We even found the boar you snacked on!”

She’d only chosen to go to sleep that night because Astarion had been acting so… so pissy! He'd been equal parts dismissive and condescending that evening whenever they spoke. Vistri thought he didn’t like her much before, but he’d been acting as if he truly hated her—It grated on her nerves! Trance wouldn’t do when its semiconsciousness still left her with a vague awareness of his presence. She needed to get away, and to get away, she slept. Ironic then, how her awareness of him was what roused her now. Gods, she couldn’t get away even when she tried to!

She slapped her forehead, “The pig! Gods I was wondering why you were being such a bitch about the pig!”

Astarion was literally taken aback, “A bitch?—I was not!”

“You just now tried to steal my blood!” she scoffed, “And yes, you have been! All day and evening long!”

“Now, now. Let’s not wake the others.”

Vistri crossed her arms, frowning.

“It’s not what you think—” he said defensively, “I’m not some monster!”

Whether true or not, she could tell he didn’t really believe his own words. Reality was, part of him did and part of him didn’t, and both parts rejected the other. For some reason, it was important to him now that she didn’t believe he was... one of those. For once, Astarion had revealed his dirty secret, and needed Vistri not to let that change anything.

“I feed on animals! Boars, deer, kobolds—” he continued, “Whatever I can get.”

“The latest I recall; I am not a boar or a deer or a kobold.”

Astarion rolled his eyes in desperate frustration, “Yes, exactly! You’re not whatever I can get. You’re what I crave to sink my teeth into!”

Vistri’s breath tripped over her heartbeat and got caught up in its frantic patter.

That wasn’t an unwelcome thought, but… It’s just that he didn’t ask first! It pushed Astarion over into the “unsafe people” category, and she wasn’t allowed to like those people. Shadowheart was right, and Vistri hated him for it as much as she did for finding him ready to prey on her unconscious form.

There was just no going back from that.

“You were looking at me funny last night,” she mused, “This is why you were looking at me like that, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, not breathing.

“Wanted a nibble, did you?” she teased unkindly, holding her fear all the way down in her toes, so as not to risk it slipping into her voice.

“I’m just too slow right now,” he explained with puppy eyes, “Too weak.”

“I’ll say.”

Well, Vistri wasn’t killing him, and now she was starting to act like her usual unserious self. Astarion knew he should really stop there. He was lucky enough to just get where he was now, with her not immediately staking him.

But…

Astarion carefully considered how to phrase his proposal, “If I just had a little blood… I could think clearer. Fight better. Please."

He reminded Vistri of sobering drunks shouting out to bartenders after the pubs had closed. But it was also an ask of her. One that centered on her willingness to give herself away and made her the most important person in his world at that moment. Vistri had an easy answer for those types of inquiries.

She could see the ravenous curse glaring in his eyes. Astarion was all need, and yet he gave her the chance to decide. To be taken, or not?

And what would that be like? If she let him take her? If she just laid back and craned her neck?

No!

Absolutely not! No!

She shut her eyes to think for a moment, almost wishing Shadowheart would stir. Where’s a cleric when you need one most? She could help her say no. Or rather, wouldn’t let Vistri say yes—But she’d be absolutely insufferable about it the whole time!

Vistri fell into Astarion’s eyes the moment she opened hers.

“Gods be damned,” she whined.

“What?”

“Shhhsh! Let me think!”

Astarion’s mind was so consumed by the sight of her throat that he couldn’t come up with a retort. He just swallowed and stared longingly at her.

Gods, he was going to eat her up!

Vistri knew she was already lost, but she still had to fight it. As a last resort, she turned to the tadpoles. Even if she was doomed to give in, she could at least see the moment for what it was. She always considered pushing into someone else’s mind without permission a gross transgression, but if Astarion was willing to take without asking, then the truth was more important than his trust or comfort.

It was as simple as giving in. Vistri reached out to both their tadpoles, blending their minds so she could read his. The door she created only opened one way though. She imagined her mind as an impenetrable abyss. Nothing could breach it. Vistri would peer inside his consciousness without showing him any of her own. She pictured Astarion's mind as a sea, its waters ready to be parted, and dove in.

And as she stole information, memory, the tadpole enacted its own violation, nestling further into her flesh. It touched parts nothing should ever touch and ate things she couldn’t afford to lose. But what would that matter after tonight? Or at the end of their seven days?

“I—What’s this? What’s happening?”

Vistri forced herself to ignore the helplessness in his voice; hold tight onto her regret and push it down. There was no turning back. It already cost too much to catch the faintest glimpse.

She found the most monstrous things inside his head, but Astarion wasn’t the horror. His memories were cracked and quivering, living right at the forefront of his mind. Vistri travelled along their strings and found a hand wrapped around them in the form of dark eyes, commanding him. Feed.

Feed on the rat.

The memory was shame, and it twisted his face. Astarion grimaced as if stabbed, and Vistri hated herself in a way she never had before.

More than a command, that sinister voice was like another brain willing one's body to move. Vistri could feel Astarion's teeth, her teeth, sinking into a struggling rat, body twisting as it shrieked. She choked on the feeling of its fur on her own tongue, as viscerally as if it sat there now. She felt its bones break under her bite. Pangs of disgust and unmet need mixed up together into a particular form of sickness. Astarion was starving, and her rising empathy fueled her rage rather than quelled it. The gnaw at his core was a nightmare Vistri would never forget.

“You ate animals because you were forced to,” she spat bitterly, “Not because you wanted to.”

“I—Yes,” there was no point in denying it after all she’d seen, “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked.”

Astarion spoke with a wave of vengeful revulsion, his glare and tone defensive wounds that made her stomach hurt to witness. Vistri felt like she wanted to bite someone almost as much as he did. Having nowhere to put it made her restless. So she shook her hands to rid them of magical impulses, a nervous habit of hers, “Fuck!”

“Once again, if we could lower our voices.”

“That’s horrible, Astarion!”

What sort of cruel joke was she playing at? Vistri looked sincere enough, Astarion would give her that, but why on Toril would she care? His brows knotted suspiciously.

He seemed a little confused, but Vistri thought that was understandable. Maybe he didn’t know it was horrible and was hearing it out loud for the first time. She’d been there before herself.

“Believe me, I’m well-acquainted with how horrible it all was.”

Vistri froze. Astarion couldn’t be reading her mind, could he? She pulled out her go-to check for such a spell and conjured a graphic image in her mind’s eye. In as much detail as she could manage, Vistri pictured the biggest, bulgiest, veiniest, drippiest penis she could think of. Nothing pretty about it, just vaguely unsettling and truly shocking. As she held that image, she squinted at Astarion and picked apart every aspect of his expression.

She found only sadness there. Invisible bruises, hit again and again, covered his face once she knew to look for them. There was no hint indicating he shared her conjured horror; only an agonized recollection. It didn’t just absolve him, it made Vistri feel quite terrible for thinking of a horrible penis just then.

And if he was really reading her mind… Well… I’m so sorry.

Without acknowledging her mental apology, Astarion spoke again, “So you can see why I’m slow to trust you.”

Especially if she was going to keep poking around his mind without asking. Astarion had been so ready to be rid of her just to hide the whole vampire thing, and now both that and Cazador were out of the bag in the space of one mistake. His own memories played through her head, and for some reason he couldn’t touch hers at all.

“But I do trust you,” he lied, “And you can trust me.”

Vistri paused, gathered herself, and met his deception with one of her own, “I do. I believe you.”

The grins on their faces hissed like snakes. Neither called it out, willingly entering a folie à deux. Both were desperate to believe the lies they told, each other's and their own. In a fucked up way only the two of them could manage, it turned into its own type of trust. It wasn’t real, but it was there.

For as long as they both agreed on its existence.

“Thank you,” Astarion sounded genuine and even tipped his head.

Vistri nodded back, you’re welcome.

But Astarion wasn’t done yet. The ache still rumbled through him, making his mouth water.

“Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he asked carefully with a flourish of his hand.

Vistri raised her brows.

“I only need a taste,” he cajoled, “I swear.”

The pounding in her ears started up again. He offered a thrill she’d never tried before. A vampire. People usually didn’t come back from one of those bites, did they? It was never only just a taste, was it?

“Fine. But not a drop more than you need,” she agreed despite her best intentions.

Astarion sounded a bit shocked, “Really? I—Of course.”

The fact that even he was surprised Vistri said yes was a red flag she was fully aware of. She was very aware. If magic whispered under her skin, self-destructive impulses shouted through it.

“Not one drop more,” he promised, elation breaking through his measured voice. He still couldn’t believe she said yes; that it had been that easy. No one had ever known him for what he was and offered themselves anyway. Maybe he didn’t have to get rid of her after all.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

For Vistri, it was the ultimate moment of truth. She was either someone important enough to spare, or this would be her final night. Astarion would either take only as much as she gave, or use her up completely. It was a true test of value; who they were to each other, and who they were as people.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” Astarion offered smoothly, inviting her back to her bedroll with a gesture. If she came to him willing, there was no reason the moment couldn't be a nice one for the both of them. He had no idea what he was doing and found a certain comfort in the familiar role of hospitality.

Vistri glared at him, reading his genuine attempt at kindness as a sort of gloating insincerity. She mumbled as she settled down, “Could have started out this way if you weren’t such a bitch about that boar.”

“I was not!—You’re ruining the atmosphere now, darling.”

“Atmosphere? We’re in the dirt trying not to wake our companions who are also in the dirt.”

Astarion raised a brow, more amused at her antics than vexed, “Bit more premium than the mud, at least. Now lie back.”

They were going to try this again, with her permission this time. Vistri laid back in her bedroll fully prepared for death. She knew her worth and was ready to surrender to it.

Dirt.

Vistri was dirt. Whatever was about to happen would validate that, and it excited her enough to feel something as much as it choked her.

“I’ll haunt you,” she said.

“What?”

“If you kill me. I’ll haunt you.”

“Right.”

As Astarion crawled over Vistri, all he could think was, finally. The pulse in her throat called to him, reaching towards his like a siren diva. A completely brand-new ecstasy was his to savor, and he kept waiting for someone to snatch it away before he could have a taste. Like always.

Still, he waited. Unwilling to cross a line that would make him lose his prize. He let out a low groan, almost a growl, in anticipation of her signal.

Vistri tried to blink away the warmth that spread over her as he hovered above her. It wouldn’t go away.

She gave up and closed her eyes, making a silent bet with herself, “Go on.”

Astarion lunged forward and pierced her neck so fast it was like the punctuation to her sentence.

Vistri anticipated teeth, not mouth. Turns out his fangs were only there for puncture. The rest of it was all lips and tongue and throat. She knew there would be pain, but it was quick and sharp before throbbing into numbness. It was a strange sensation, but not overall unpleasant.

Their life forces seemed to merge at his bite. He flowed into her and through her as he took, like two rivers meeting at a frothing current. Vistri's breath would be rough and laborious if she wasn’t working so intently to be still and quiet.

Good, little prey.

Her heart beat out such a rapid, panicked tune; fighting helplessly in her chest as she gave herself to him with nothing less than a death wish. Astarion longed painfully for a moment like this for two terrible centuries, and it was so much better than he ever dared to dream. Her dragon blood was cool on his tongue, like frosted cream. The silver scales on her face had piqued his curiosity, he’d wondered before how she tasted. Now he was blessed with the knowledge, he was lost in it. Astarion didn’t exist anymore. Just the need.

He swallowed her down.

Vistri began to think that maybe she should probably stop him.

Probably.

Or she could let him continue. Give in entirely until she was all gone…

Astarion never wanted to stop. All performance was cast aside, abandoned with no grace. The only thing left in control was his cursed nature. His tongue eagerly lapped up the blood against her neck with no sign of stopping.

She let him do as he pleased. Wanted to disappear between his lips. Vistri couldn’t tell if there was something narcotic in his bite, or if that was just…

Gods, please don’t let that just be him. She felt her knees shiver, and almost let Astarion have his way.

Then another thought suddenly shouted above all the others. Maybe he couldn’t control himself. He’d said he trusted her, and if that wasn’t a lie, then perhaps he meant for her to stop him before he lost them both.

“That’s enough,” she reluctantly sighed.

Her voice reached Astarion through the dreamy fog.

“Mhh?” he moaned, yes?

He was still lapping her up as he answered, and his question broke over her skin. Vistri twitched and he mistook it for pain.

Excusing himself, he tore away from the bliss of her neck with a courteous, “Oh, of course.”

A chill came over her as his body left hers. The continued pounding of Vistri's heart grounded her in the reality that she was still alive. She’d survived Astarion's favor. Pressing her hand against the wound to stop the bleeding, she felt a sort of glee wash over her.

Standing across from each other, their chests rose and fell. Wanting more.

“That—” his words faltered, overcome by a mixture of ecstatic satisfaction and lingering bloodlust.

Vistri’s stomach flipped. Renewed vigor was palpable in his very energy, and a genuine smile spread over his gloomy face.

“That was…”

She watched him appreciatively smell the mess left on his lips. Then again delight in her taste, sucking his fingers clean of all remnants, one by one.

“Amazing.”

He wore an even wider smile. Everything Vistri was swirled inside her like strong wind.

“My mind is finally clear,” he continued, “I feel strong. I feel…" He took a deep, smiling breath, "Happy!”

That was the first time Vistri ever saw Astarion take such a complete deep breath. She learned that his shoulders sat naturally lower than she previously thought.

And this was her effect on him. Her blood in his veins.

Something about that made her want to taste him right back.

But she refused to give that urge any attention, and spoke to shake it off, “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight.”

He was grateful to her for rooting the moment in something they could actually discuss. Even if he wanted to share every detail that went into the descriptor of amazing, Astarion wasn’t sure he could put into words what this meant to him.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he smirked, “So many people need killing.”

And Vistri wasn’t one of them.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he bowed, “You’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

It was true, Astarion was plagued with a lingering hunger, having abided by the bounds of Vistri's consent and stopping before he was satisfied. But what really set his feet jittering was the real weight of all these brand-new feelings. No wonder Cazador kept his spawn apart from thinking prey. Even a little taste of all that life brought back so much of what he’d stolen. 

“Wait!” Vistri called out as he turned to strut away into the forest.

They bumped into each other as he twirled back around.

“Sorry,” they both said.

Astarion stepped back. She didn’t.

“Um,” she gestured at her face, “You have…”

He could feel her breasts brushing against his chest, and blinked as if that would help him to ignore it.

“What?” he asked quite shortly.

With an unsure gesture, Vistri reached up to his mouth. Even though she went slowly, questioningly, it was faster than explaining. At least in her current, near-speechless state. She asked with her eyes if she could get closer, and he answered with his own to inch closer, even though they were narrowed and suspicious.

Astarion jumped slightly at her touch but allowed Vistri to wipe her finger along the corner of his grin.

“Little bit of blood,” she murmured, and cleared her throat.

She held up her smeared finger in demonstration, and Astarion had to stop himself from grabbing it and licking it clean.

“Oh,” he said, “My, my! I have made a mess, haven’t I?”

Vistri didn’t know what to say, so she mirrored his smirk. But she didn’t want to just stand there smiling like someone thick, so she rushed herself to say something clever. Which came out thick, “Nothing that takes more than a little wipe.”

He had no idea what she was talking about and just needed to leave, “Right. Well—”

She was standing so close. He could still sense her pulse, smell the blood clotting on her neck. The demons inside him were screaming to tear her apart. Astarion had to get away, but he was held in place.

Vistri was looking at him with such a mix of emotion that it made her a riddle.

Why didn’t she stake him? Why did she let him sup? Trust him at the risk of her life?

Astarion’s eyes travelled from her neck to her lips. Now that he’d had a taste of her throat, he found himself desperately curious about all her other parts.

His stare made Vistri tremble even more than she had in the gods’ damned mind flayer pod! Which was ridiculous! She’d long ago sworn off aristocratic types. The fourth night into an illithid transformation was not the right time to fall of that wagon!

“Off you go!” she playfully pushed Astarion towards the trees, needing him out of sight. She'd normally leave herself, but had nowhere else to go besides her bedroll a few paces from where they now stood.

He obliged, but suddenly turned once more to thank her. Which crashed them into each other again.

This time, they both took a big leap back. Instead of apologizing, they shared a brief look and let out a pressure value-laugh.

Astarion became serious for a moment. His voice sounded softer and stronger than she knew it could be.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

If she answered with more sincerity, they'd both choke.

“Wouldn’t dare let you,” she smirked.

He returned it, then left Vistri alone to nurse her aching neck.

She could still feel his mouth on her skin, and her breathing hadn’t yet stilled. Shit. Now that Astarion was out of sight, she felt her bones calling him back. Vistri shut her eyes tight, willing the wanting to go away.

If it was kind, it would just go away.

There was something bittersweet about how the raw power Astarion now harnessed depended on Vistri’s kindness. A proper hunt would surely be more satisfying. The woods were full of treasure, but they felt empty. So many bodies slumbered in the shadows, but the one he truly sought was in the other direction.

It didn’t matter that she was the first person he ever drank from and had nothing to compare her to. Perhaps it was instinct, but he already knew that nothing else out there could match the fine, exquisite vintage that was her.

Astarion explained it away as just the dragon blood. It wasn’t tied to that drow at all.

It couldn’t be.

v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v

Big moment, that following morning was. Pleasantly enough, none of the others tried to drive a stake through Astarion’s heart upon learning his true nature. Nor did Vistri suddenly change her mind and call for a mob. She even stood up for him. Showed a suspicious amount of understanding.

But that’s how she’d always survived.

A bit of kindness tinged with charm, and lying back, goes a long way.

Astarion seemed the happiest that Vistri had ever seen him. Although, to be fair, they’d journeyed together less than a tenday, and not under the most pleasant circumstances. She’d seen him smile, but not like that. Not like the way he’d been smiling since—

His lips on her neck…

“Augh!” Vistri exclaimed, walking unannounced into Shadowheart’s tent, “I feel like a ripe pile of shit!”

“Were you raised in a barn?!” Shadowheart cried, startled and put out by her new friend’s sudden appearance.

“No, the Underdark—But that’s not important right now,” Vistri answered, too obsessed at the moment to exchange a bit of back and forth, “We don’t have time for an ethics debate.”

“An ethics debate? You just barged into my tent!”

“Because I needed to talk to you!” she explained, as if that answered everything sufficiently.

“I swear, if you hadn’t saved my life…”

“I know, I know! I’m insufferable. Do you have wine?”

“It is just passed sunrise.”

“Yes, and I’m very thirsty.”

Somehow, Shadowheart’s exasperated refusal to indulge her self-destructive habits prompted Vistri to spill everything. How she never felt anything.

How much she felt last night.

“You like the vampire?”

Vistri looked as if Shadow had just spat in her face, and protested, “I do not!”

While she had her crisis at Shadowheart, Astarion was literally skipping through the woods. He couldn’t remember a day where he felt better than he did this morning. With her blood flowing through him, giving back life.

Was this what it felt like to be Vistri? he found himself musing, watching the dapple of shadows dance across his hands as the sunlight trickled through the trees.

Which was a very ironic conclusion for him to draw, considering that she was just now sobbing wildly on Shadowheart’s awkward shoulder.

But Vistri never let him inside her mind despite pushing into his, not after that first initial taste; when they met on the ground in his arms, while his blade pressed into her. Too much was happening then for Astarion to really notice anything, and he only felt a hint of someone else before she instinctually shut her mind off from his. They’d shared a memory, but it was like the directions of a play read aloud, not the feelings of an actor emoted through their eyes.

It piqued his curiosity now that he spent a little time in her company. Had a taste of her.

And like a cat discovering a closed door, he was suddenly possessed by the need to pry it open.

Turns out, things were working out for Astarion better than he could have ever imagined. He could get used to his luck turning around like this. Not only did the rest of his companions accept that he was a vampire without much complaint, Vistri offered to let him feed again.

Before he accepted, it was important for Astarion to make clear that nothing would ever happen again without her say so. He could be better than Cazador ever was—wanted to be better.

“I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together.”

Vistri could feel heat rising in her face. Cheesy little comments of his like that previously grated on her nerves, and now she wanted to giggle.

What the fuck was wrong with her? Did she really want him? Could she really… imagine that as a possibility?

“But until then: No more late-night surprises, you have my word on that,” he promised. Rather sincerely, actually.

It was probably due to some vampiric thrall she must be under, but Vistri decided to trust his words. Every night could be its own test, and a sick part of her hoped he’d break his vow. That he’d prove it was all good to be true; show her who she really was. Prove that neither of them were worth it.

“Thank you,” she said, biting her lip, “And if you don’t mind, I have a vow of my own to exchange.”

“Oh?”

“Pushing into your mind… I wasn’t sure if you were going to kill me, but in finding out, I also… That was for you to save or tell. Not for me to find out. Not like that. I swear I’ll never do it again. Not without asking first.”

Astarion looked a bit devastated; shook it off with a smirk, and then said, “We’re even.”

Vistri was taken aback, “Even?”

“I've only tried to stab you when we first met, and bite you while you’ve slept. A little wriggling around with my mind worm… Well, you’re not better than me after all! In fact, you’re just like me.”

She smiled and looked at her feet, “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

Even the teasing mention of closeness was too much for Vistri to endure, and she hated him for it.

So of course she didn’t want to appear too eager! She waited a whole other day before proposing another late-night snack. Astarion took it to be a reward for his good behavior; not coming back for seconds before he was asked.

The anticipation ate at them even worse after they agreed it would happen that night, and it itched at them all day. Unfortunately, Astarion was a bit of a stress-eater, and quite literally bit off more than he could chew with a large bear that evening before they met up. Draining it just barely replaced what he'd lost, which left him punch drunk and dizzy from his own bloodlessness. Their fun was put off for another night.

Much to the vexation of both.

He didn’t want to wake her that second time, not because he didn’t want her to be present, but because he was doing his best not to be an inconvenience. Vistri wasn’t offended either; he was so obviously sure he was doing her a favor. Oh, but she wanted to be awake for it! Not asleep, not in trance, but there feeling his—

Shit. Bad thoughts! No, no, no.

It was nothing. He meant nothing. She was nothing but a source of sustenance. Vistri had a purpose, and that was that.

She was food.

But then… So was that bandit earlier. Now he was food. Astarion drunk him dry with little grace. Ripped his screaming throat from out of his neck, and the spray went everywhere! Tonight he would gently creep up to her in the dark, at her behest, and take only a little while trying his best not to cause her to stir. It was quite the contrast.

That bandit was a meal. Vistri was a treat.

Then what was this even all for?

Vistri shooed away her curiosity before it meant she had to answer that question herself.

Waiting impatiently in her bedroll, eyes shut tight, Vistri could feel her heart pounding as if it was berating her for their present circumstances.

Oh, hush! she thought, arguing back.

This wasn’t her best performance, pretending to be in the midst of trance as she was. Her focus was elsewhere, searching for his presence through her pores. Her mind froze when Astarion finally began to approach. Even without seeing, she knew he was there; could feel his proximity before he touched her. The very air changed around him, like a storm cloud. Her senses filled with something herbal and sweet, then brandy and heat as his chest crept over hers.

She held her breath, even though deep breathing was the telltale sign of trance. Vistri thought he caught her, sensing him pause for a moment. Then she reasoned she was probably making that up.

But she didn’t. He did pause. Not because he noticed she wasn’t breathing, but because he still wasn’t quite sure this was all really happening. Not just some mad trick of the tadpole.

He swallowed and let himself lean carefully down, until his body pressed into hers. He could feel her heart beating frantically, but in his distraction, it didn’t give her away. Astarion just took it as a sign she was alive. That this really was all real.

His lips met her neck before his fangs. Vistri held back a shiver, taking a deep breath against it. She stifled a moan as one hummed quietly in Astarion’s throat. She could feel it vibrate on hers, neck to neck. Feel her life and power flow into him and through him. Power. Pleasure.

It was palpable.

Astarion’s tongue moved against her skin, swallowing her.

She even lost herself for a moment. As her mind flew blissfully away, her fingers, those sluts, found their way up into his curls.

Her hands grasped the sides of his head. Vistri wasn’t trying to push him away, she just needed to brace herself against the loss of gravity. Astarion didn’t even notice at first. It just felt like part of the whole thing. It was her sudden movement as she jerked them back that brought his attention to her wakefulness.

“Are you not in your trance?” he asked in the crook of her neck.

“No,” she answered with her eyes still closed, “Do you want me to be?”

She was truly the most curious thing to him. Was she pretending to be in a trance to please him? While allowing him to drink from her? Who does that? Astarion smirked, shaking his head, “I thought you’d prefer…”

Vistri opened her eyes and looked into his. She’d been warned her whole life about elves with red eyes.

“No, I—” she blushed, “I mean, it’s quite fun. Is it not?”

“It is?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

She nodded.

“Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“Do you want to-?” Vistri gestured to her neck.

“Right, yes,” Astarion said, clearing his throat. Regaining his cool, he slyly suggested, “Why don’t you crawl into my lap?”

Vistri couldn’t breathe.

Her non-answer was a glorious victory. Astarion could tell he had an effect, a sway over her somehow. He tilted his head back, smiling with confidence, “You do want it, don’t you?”

Lightheaded, Vistri gave in and sat across his knees. Grinning, Astarion grabbed her up into his arms and dipped her dramatically with a slight growl. Vistri giggled, too loudly, and he cupped a hand over her mouth.

He shushed her, “Be still now.”

First, he brought his lips back to her throat. Then his tongue. Then his fangs.

A moan escaped Vistri this time. One, warm hand cradled the back of her neck as he drank from the front of it.

He promised it would be just a taste, and it was just a taste. She didn’t even have to hold him back this time. Astarion stopped on his own accord, before she was ever in any real danger.

When she opened her eyes, Astarion had stars in his. Just a little bit of her, and he was an entirely new person.

Self-satisfied, Vistri grinned, “You’re welcome.”

Sitting up, her head swayed forward like a drunkard and almost smashed into his skull.

“Oh, there you go,” he muttered, steadying her.

Vistri looked up at him, her face so close to his. “I’m okay,” she answered before he could ask.

“Don’t try to get up just yet. You’ll take another tumble, and who knows if I’m feeling generous enough to catch you again.”

“Bastard,” she laughed weakly.

Vistri could smell her blood on his breath. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes so the only thing in existence was the scent lingering between them. She couldn’t imagine liking this so much with anyone el—She shot up so fast, suddenly standing to escape those thoughts.

“Careful!”

Astarion must have been feeling generous because he caught her a second time.

“Oops,” she said, embarrassed.

“You ought to take better care of yourself, darling. I’m invested now.” Funny thing, that wasn't even a lie. He'd never met someone like her before.

Vistri met his grin with performative suspicion, “How heartening.”

Astarion's eyes followed the words as they bounced off her lips. He smiled realizing they were perfectly painted instead of washed clean.

She either swayed or leaned closer. Even Vistri couldn't tell if it was blood loss or an intentional inching of her feet.

“You look a bit peaked,” Astarion said nervously.

“Yes,” Vistri sighed, standing so near, “Off to bed I go.”

Even the air between them pounded. They stayed very still. His breath turned into her breath.

Then Astarion broke the spell, stepping back with narrowed eyes, “Sweet dreams, then.”

“Sweet dreams.”

But there were no dreams.

Just forbidden thoughts that ran endlessly through their minds, until even their muscles ached.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

[crowleys-bentley-and-plants]

hi!! I'm very curious what 'Only human' is about? <3

Hii im so glad you asked!!

The idea is as follows:

What if Crowley lost his memory soon after he got to Earth? What if he now thinks he's an immortal human? What if having no memories is the only thing keeping heaven and hell away from him? What if Aziraphale didn't dare to let Crowley see him for fear of his memories returning? In the present day, Crowley is a private detective, trying to balance putting up with everyone's bullshit and his recurring dream about an angel he made up to ignore his own loneliness. But the dream is getting more intense. And then he finds out the angel is not a figment of his imagination. Although he doesn't look like an angel, just a human, a bookseller of all things. Things are stirring under the surface and people are starting to disappear. Will Crowley be able to find them in time? More importantly, will Crowley be able to stop the apocalypse he doesn't know is coming?

The fic is from Crowley's pov and the chapters are split into present day (with the looming apocalypse) and flashbacks of Crowley through the ages. I really love that i can include flashbacks because i love to explore the concept of immortality and how Crowley would deal with it (however i was starting to regret it a bit because i am so bad at history lmao). But this fic has a LOT of things lol, from awkward encounters between Crowley and Aziraphale to the four horsemen, to the actual apocalypse, to Crowley having a cat named Felis (which personally i think is a very funny name because it's not only a constellation (Crolwey loves stars) but it also literally means 'cat' in Latin lol).

Here's a little (long) snippet from the flashback of chapter four which details the moment Crowley lost his memories:)

Darkness. Then light. All stories start like that, don’t they? Even the oldest one. A flick of a hand, a whispered phrase, and light melts the darkness away, like a radiant dawn dispelling the remnants of the night.

It would be a comfort to know that this is how it felt when Crowley first awoke. His eyes slowly blinking open, like a dormant star awakening in the vastness of space. His hands finding the ground beneath him, pulling him up so that he stood amidst a green meadow, bathed in the gentle glow of a dreamy dawn.

It would be a comfort, but alas, some stories are not meant for comfort. Some stories, it seems, are destined to be penned with a more profound ink—an ink tinted with the gravity of sacrifice, etched in blood rather than the soothing embrace of ease.

And so, Crowley awoke, not to the warmth of the dawn but to the cool embrace of the night. His eyes did not blink slowly open, but flashed wide as he was thrust into a foreign world. His hands, instead of finding the familiar ground beneath him, gripped onto cold, uneven surfaces. The darkness that clung to him was not the gentle prelude to light; it was a shroud, an inky abyss that wrapped around him like a suffocating cloak.

-

Crowley woke with a start, gasping for breath. It was like an invisible hand was pressing his throat shut, and his breath came in little puffs. He was outside, and darkness stretched everywhere he looked, not even a moon above him to illuminate his surroundings. It was almost like the stars were hiding too, like they were too afraid of Crowley. It was a stupid thought, he knew that, but every cell in his body was screaming that something was wrong, that he was wrong. Wrong about what? He didn’t know. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know how he got there. Hell, the list of things he did know was rather short. 

Still, lists made him calmer, and he tried to make one now of the things he did know. 

1. Lists made him calmer. Why? He didn’t know. Move on. Move on. 

2. His name was Crowley. What a peculiar name. What was his last name, though? He couldn’t remember.

3. He was lying on the ground, on cold stones, and it was anything but comfortable, but his whole body was aching, and he didn’t have the strength to get up.

4. It was night. Or at least, he thought it was, because he assumed he was outside. Why did he assume that? He didn’t know.

5. He wasn’t hurt, at least, he wasn’t bleeding. Again, he didn’t know for sure, but he would’ve felt it, right?

6. He was tired. So, so tired. His mind felt foggy, memories slipping through his grasp like sand. If you could even call them memories. 

Panic settled inside him. Why couldn’t he remember anything? But sleep was tugging at his being, making it so hard to focus. A dream, or perhaps a memory, surfaced—a glimpse of a familiar figure or a place he felt he should recognize. Yet, the more he tried to grasp these threads, the more they slipped away, leaving him in a disorienting state of uncertainty.

With a sigh, he added another point to his mental list:

7. He needed to find answers.

The last thing he saw before sleep took him was a distant star, or maybe a comet, flashing across the night sky.

it's a very rough first draft lol and the thing is, the flashbacks aren't even in chronological order (chapter three for example has a flashback to the 1920s lol) which is relevant for the plot (because with every flashback you kind of unravel another puzzle piece yk) but it's also bugging me a bit because i need to write a story in chronological order lol idk so this fic is really making me come out of my comfort zone, but i am very exited about it!!

[floosies]

Radio

early 2000s au

eddie munson x poc!oc

warnings: mentions of drugs, cursing, eventual smut, mentions of abuse, friends to lovers 18+

a/n: i feel like i should explain i'm writing this the way i remember acting as a teenager and how i remember my friends behaving, i feel like teenage angst should be honest no matter how dumb is it looking back at it. also this is gonna be a longer chapter.

Junior Year, 2008

Something had happened during the first couple of months of junior year. Eddie wasn't acting the way he usually had been last year. She noticed it happening before her. He had started ditching again to the point he just wasn't showing up most of the week. His replies were either paragraphs long or nothing and no calls anymore. He wouldn't talk to her at parties anymore either, just sell what he came with and head out.

In his head, Eddie was trying to spare her from his bullshit. His dad been trying to get him to go clear his name at his upcoming trial. Trying to push some bullshit about his mom and how she would have wanted him to do that for her. He hung up on him then and there, he remembered the countless times the psycho smacked his mom around like a ragdoll. He never forgot how he would hold his mom after his dad would leave her with bloody noses or a busted lip. She died trying to get away from him and it was some shit Eddie would never forgive his dad for.

He wanted to do right by Julie and his uncle, but people around Hawkins already saw him one way so it didn't really matter what happened with school. The thing he had left was the band and that was gonna be his ticket out. This was the year he was gonna try to get them onto the warped tour setlist. Fuck school and a diploma, it wouldnt mean shit compared to a platinum record and touring around the world.

Still he tried to do some justice by her, showing up to his classes. Not really doing shit but not causing a stir either. Julie was happy to see him sort of going back to his old self. She tried to figure out what happened and why he'd been awol for the last couple weeks. He brushed her off, and while she didn't wanna admit it, it hurt like hell to have him treat her like that.

Jeff had noticed how his friend had been off with her and at one the band practices he did his best to let her know that she was probably the only girl he actually cared about. Still it didn't feel like it sometimes, and either way they were just friends. As she watched them practice she realized it was probably time to drop whatever she thought was happening.

That weekend she didn't even text him where she was going to be at. They had started going to backyard shows together, usually it was where they'd be if she wasn't feeling up to partying. He started wondering where the hell she was tonight, her calls were going to voicemail and she wasnt replying to her messages. By nine he had messaged everyone he knew about where the parties were at this week, but the only party was at some abandoned house in the woods.

Liquor and weed is a hell of a good way to forget whatever makes you feel like shit. That was something Julie had learned her freshman year of high school, even before Eddie was in the picture, she felt like she was fucking everything up. Her parents had no problem verbally and emotionally abusing her, telling her what she could do better or how they had gave up their dreams for her. None of that shit mattered here, the music was blasting her eardrums and jungle juice was being poured to her by people she never hung out with in school.

It took Eddie a while to find her in-between all the people she was around. Her friend was the first person to notice him, she tried to get Julie's attention, when she eventually did, she pointed at him. Julie turned to look at him waving at her. She just nodded acknowledging him, but not really caring. Maybe he had that coming for how he had been with her lately but it still hurt like hell.

He knew it looked weird to follow her around, but he did it anyways. He didn't want any weirdo near her, usually she was with his friends or nearby him at parties so it wasn't that big of a deal. Eventually she pulled him aside to an empty-ish spot, her head jumbled by everything she'd consumed, she tried her best to sound somewhat sober, "dude I don't know why you're following me. Go have fun like everyone else." Julie had resigned herself to whatever was going to come from this.

Eddie looked at her confused the music was too loud, his head tilting down and his right hand gently gripping her upper arm, "I don't know anyone here. I came because I wanted to talk to you, you havent answered any of my texts or calls." He pulled away, her gaze following his, frustration and every other emotion building up, "is there anything to really be said? I mean you've brushed me off all week. Like cool I know that life is shit but you don't have to be a dick." She shrugged, "listen I just wanna have a good night tonight, I'm not arguing with you here." He shook his head, his voice defeated as he spoke to her, "I don't wanna argue either. I know I've been a dick lately, I'm sorry. Julie you're the coolest fuckin person ever, please I don't want you to be mad at me. I'll do anything! I'll fuckin get on my knees and beg." To which he actually did, this making her laugh and forcing him to get up off the dirt beneath them.

She hated how she couldn't be mad at him. How quickly she made up with him, but Eddie was just someone she couldn't deny. He spent the rest of the night dancing with her and following her around. The night didn't end as planned, Julie had gone to go get her friend away from some guy who was overdoing it, to which he tried to yell at her about cock blocking. Eddie threw one punch and the guy was out, but it caused enough of a scene for them to leave the party early. Julie knew he meant well so she didn't really hold the situation against him and even her friend had thanked him.

-

What neither of them expected was that he would run into the guy at school the following week. He was mostly just shit talking Eddie and his friends, which they were all used to, but by Thursday it had gotten ridiculous. At lunch time Eddie had become fed up of the guy, it was the same insults and shit talk about how it wasn't even a fair fight because he was drunk. The guy followed them to their table in the back of the cafeteria and kept at his bullshit, so biting the bullet Eddie finally told him to "stop barking like a bitch and accept the fact he got knocked out" to which the guy threw his backpack at him. Both her friend and one of Eddie's stopped her from getting in the middle of it as soon as it had started.

Eddie didn't wanna have problems with anyone but this guy had pushed all the buttons. First there was the incident at the party and now he had gone too far, he let the dickhead throw the first swing, which he missed and then swung back. The punches kept going back and forth just trying to get a hit in where ever either of the two could land. He wasn't sure when it happened during the fight, but this guy had thrown his skateboard off him. He'd been carrying it between the straps of his backpack for most of the day before the guy knocked off him.

It happened in less than minute but the action felt like slow-mo. She saw Eddie grab his board and swing it at the guy's face, like that scene in Wanted. The board broke and all that anyone heard was the crack of the wood. People scattered, her friend and Eddie's tried to get her to scatter, but she couldn't or wouldn't, Julie was frozen in her seat at the table. Both the principal and some teachers had showed up, someone called for an ambulance and she was taken to the office as a witness of the fight.

-

The yelling could be heard from the nearly quiet front office, everyone was trying to find out what happened. Staff even tried asking Julie, who still chose not to say anything. She knew Eddie could have a temper but she'd never seen it like that before. He might have done it now, but she was hoping for the best. Eddie and his uncle had been in there for a while with the principal.

She was waiting on her mom to get there. It irritated her that they had called for their parents. Mostly because she knew her mom would hold this situation against her, use it as more ammo against her social life and reason to have her sent to a private school. When her mom finally showed up and sat behind her she started her rambling, "you know Wayne was the better half of him and his brother. Poor man, he should have left that brat to the system." Julie was sure she hated her mother by that point.

After nonstop claim after claim that Hawkins was heading down the drain, it came to halt as the door to the principal's office opened and out came the Munson men looking slightly defeated and annoyed. The principal then called for Julie to come in, her mother giving Eddie's uncle a small hello before entering the office. It didn't take long to figure out that whatever she said was going to royally fuck things up for Eddie if she didn't word it right.

Ultimately she ended up calling the situation self defense even if it did go too far, that she blamed on teenage boys being hormonal and dumb. Her mother wasn't buying it, she kept repeating to her to be honest, which Julie had to assure the principal she actually was being as honest to the situation as she could be. When it was over with Eddie and his uncle got called back in. By then Julie and her mom had left, and he was given a week's suspension, told that he got lucky he was still seventeen (by some months) and that he needed to get himself straightened out.

As Eddie and his uncle left the school premises, they walked out to a shouting match between Julie and her mom. He heard as Julie argued that she wasn't defending him so much as that's just how things really happened. He knew her mom like the rest of the town mostly hated him, but this was as close as he figured she could get to looking out for him. What he didn't expect was to see her mom smack her, before he could even react Wayne had already gone over there.

The two adults were having it out like they knew each other, which maybe in a past life they did. Julie ended up going to talk to Eddie while they spoke, "sorry you had to see that." He shook his head, "are you okay? What the fuck is wrong with her?" She shrugged, "so much for pretending to be a caring mother." He wanted to hold her then and there but he had to stop himself knowing it'd probably get her in more trouble. Eventually the conversation ended and Julie left with her mom still yelling at her. Wayne told Eddie that some people never change.

-

That weekend she didn't go out, she got grounded, her parents took her phone, but left her laptop so she could do homework. Again she was thankful they had no clue how the internet worked. She ended up messaging him on myspace for the rest of the night on Friday and learning that his band had a gig on Saturday. Julie didn't know it, but the way she had vouched for him had taken on a bigger effect on Eddie than what she could have imagined.

He spent that weekend dedicating the band's sets to her, one of his friends recording the videos for their youtube page while she was locked away in her room. Eddie knew he was fucked, he was falling head over heels for a girl he'd only met last year, but it didn't matter, in his mind, he'd known her a whole fucking life time. Even his friends hyped her up for the way she defended him and didn't leave the scene. His uncle felt bad for her, he said he'd known her mom when she their age and she'd really taken a turn. However, his uncle felt that what Julie had done meant a hell of alot more than what most would have done considering it was Eddie. That was all the reassurance he needed to have to know that she was the one.

At the same time as he was coming to realize this, the band was looking for a way in and while he was sure he could multitask, his focus had always been getting out of Hawkins. Now he had to account for an extra stowaway, which he didn't have a problem with at all.

[dangerous-disposition]

My favourite thing in the whole world is how I can spend a week in capitalism hell while literally getting frostbite and then I come onto my little escapism apps to go teehee haha with the gays in my phone about FICTIONAL GODDAMN CHARACTERS to find out that the same fucking ppl are stirring up bullshit drama for no fucking reason and being rude to my friends like please actually grow up.

Like ppl are out here outright fucking lying about shit and why? Bc you don't like someone's headcanon? Youve decided people are Having Fun Wrong? Bc it's not the same way you're having fun? Like ppl are out here MINDING THEIR BUSINESS and creating events FOR THEMSELVES AND LIKE MINDED PPL and you're gonna be out there being rude and belittling ppl or even literally lying about what the mods said about an OPTIONAL EVENT that isn't about or for you???? Like literally do you have NOTHING ELSE GOING ON in your life that you have time to actually care SO MUCH about what other people are doing???? Especially to be MEAN about it?

Genuinely this is the last I'm gonna say I'm just especially pissed bc while fandom shit-stirrers be stirring shit always, this time shit was stirred with ppl I consider friends and I'm peeved. Like literally grow up, we're all just goofing off.

And this is just a general statement I've made a million times: being publicly mean and condescending about ppl having harmless fun, even as a fucking joke, makes you a mean fucking person. Like genuinely, you are an unpleasant, mean person and that's something you're gonna have to come to terms with and maybe hopefully fix that in yourself or at least fucking admit you're mean and unpleasant.

There's a lot of shit that ppl hc that personally? I dislike! But I don't get mean and bitchy about it on my blog where ppl who enjoy those things might see it and feel like I'm making fun of them! I filter tags or words so I don't see that shit! Or I unfollow ppl! Or I just scroll past! And if I rly wanna vent about it, I go to a friend who agrees with me about my feelings on the matter, and we privately bitch about it! But at the end of the day, people are having harmless fucking fun and I'm not gonna fucking yuck their yum where they will likely fucking see it!!! Bc that's how you conduct yourself! Like a fucking kind person!!! In a shared space!!!

Anyway. I've said my piece. This is all I'm saying on it.

Put all that hater energy into shit you actually enjoy and maybe you'll feel fucking better about yourself. Be fucking nice to each other, the world's fucking cruel enough without y'all adding to it, goddamn.

[spacetiel]

happy wedding day destiel i wrote an orpheus eurydice fic

Title: no grave can hold my body down

Length: 6k

Summary:

He thought of Cas’ teary eyes, the way he looked as the black tendrils of the empty collected him, and the way Dean’s mouth refused to move, stunned to silence like the rest of him. Castiel had had to push him out of the way. He knew that there would be very little that could get rid of him this time.

“Have you ever heard of the Greek myths?” Empty Zachariah questions. At his blank-stared confusion, it adds, “Orpheus and Eurydice to be exact.” ~~~ Cas is taken by the Empty. Dean is going to get him back.

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45023290

Preview under the cut!

It takes three weeks of Castiel being dead for Dean to find him. Three weeks of fighting, searching, and begging any being or creature he could find for some kind of answer. He had come up empty handed.

In the end, all it takes is falling asleep.

“Hello, hello, hello,” says Meg, blinking into existence. It isn’t the real Meg, though, because Dean went to sleep and woke up under a pure black backdrop, alone. He always kinda wondered what the Empty was like, having been through Hell. It wasn’t that damn impressive.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks, bluntly. He doesn’t really care about the hows or whys of the situation. They don’t matter.

“So impatient, Dean Winchester,” The Empty Meg drawls out, circling him, “It’s been a while.”

His sense of space is all out of wack here, so the second it steps out of his view it's like a goddamn black hole. It is far too early to lose focus. He tries to follow the sound of its voice.

“Where. Is. Cas.”

“In due time, Dean. For now, I have a question,” Empty Meg grins, peeking back around to meet his gaze. They aren’t what he remembers of Meg’s eyes. Instead what he meets is pitch black and swirling, the kind of darkness he’s afraid of drowning in, “Where are you?”

Dean takes a step back, “I’m not playing your goddamn games.”

The Empty takes a step forward, almost floating as it walks, “If you had to guess? Pretty please?”

“I’m in the friggin’ Empty,” Dean spits. Empty Meg grins at him, hands clasping together.

“Correct you are. Good job, you get a treat! Now, do you notice anything about this place?” Empty Meg lazily gestures around. He can’t help his eyes following the movement, Empty Meg is the only solid thing to focus on. He shifts his position with discomfort.

“Pretty hard to notice anything around here, it’s empty,”  Dean says as Empty Meg goes behind his back once more. He really doesn’t have the time for this bullshit. He turns his whole body to follow it, but the Empty is too quick.

“Except for you, that is.”

Chasing the noise only leads him to face himself. The Empty version of himself, at least. Empty Him wrinkles its nose with a mocking grin, “hard to be Empty when you people are always knocking around. You in particular. You’re human, you were never meant to be here at all.”

“You brought me here, that ain’t my fault,” Dean says, low and warning. He knows the kind of trouble multiple Deans can stir up, even if they aren’t both real. Empty Him rolls its eyes.

“You know what is your fault?” The Empty steps towards him, voice turned venomous, lip curling into a sneer. It knocks its fist against its forehead for emphasis, “You and your little God pounding at my door day in and day out, always crying out for Cas.”

Jack hadn’t said a word to him or Sam since he became God. He assumed- They both assumed that he was taking a lesson from Chuck’s hands-off approach. It isn’t like they hadn’t had problems before, either. He can’t blame the kid for stepping back, even if they’re  family. Turns out, he had been trying quite a bit.

Sam had been sad when Cas died, but it wasn’t the way Dean had been sad. He didn’t quite get why Dean couldn’t so much as look at a trench coat, or his stupid truck, or anything else that reminded him of Cas without trying to put a hole through the wall. Cas had been dead before and Sam… Well, Sam started to get over it. At least Jack understood. ‘Course he did, that was his dad. 

“Give him back then. Sounds easy enough.”

The Empty laughs in his face.

“Slow down, Dean, I’m getting there,” Empty Him grins. In the span of a blink, the Empty switches its shape from his own to the long-dead Zachariah, “I’m here to make a deal with you.”

“What kind of deal?” Dean demands, completely unable to hide his interest. Hope, stupid hope, is only quieted by knowing better. It’s all too good to be true and the Empty still has a lot of power. Even then, what lengths wouldn’t he go to to have Cas back?

He thought of Cas’ teary eyes, the way he looked as the black tendrils of the empty collected him, and the way Dean’s mouth refused to move, stunned to silence like the rest of him. Castiel had had to push him out of the way. He knew that there would be very little that could get rid of him this time.

“Have you ever heard of the Greek myths?” Empty Zachariah questions. At his blank-stared confusion, it adds, “Orpheus and Eurydice to be exact.”

“The name rings a bell,” Dean says carefully. Sam found a book of myths as a kid and didn’t shut up till Dad made him, but it was thirty odd years ago and he couldn’t be expected to remember all of them. That was Sammy’s job.

“The point is, I’m letting you walk out of here, Castiel in tow, with two simple, simple conditions. Think you can do that for me?” Empty Zachariah looked at him as if it was talking to a child, cruel sharpness still lingering in his eyes. 

He didn’t want it to, but hope still hung around his heart. It was a hand, reaching out for what he wanted. Too good to be true.

“Depends, what’s the catch?” Dean narrows his eyes, trying to stay aware of his nonexistent surroundings. If this is a trap, he isn’t gonna fall for it.

“Well, if you were smarter I’m afraid you would already know,” Zachariah says, patting his head mockingly, “I’m going to provide a path out of here, and you are going to lead Castiel out. However, rule number one: you cannot look at the angel until you have gotten out successfully. Rule number two is that no matter how it goes out there, you and that little overpowered nephilim agree not to bother me ever again.”

The story starts to sound a little familiar. Dean steps out of Zachariah’s reach, “So, what? I can’t look at Cas or you’re going to come drag his ass back into the quicksand or something?”

Empty Zachariah smiles, “Or something. No matter how it goes, you agree to leave me alone for all eternity. I’m very tired, Dean.”

“If you’re so friggin tired, why not just let us have Cas back? What’s with all the friggin pageantry?”

Empty Zachariah hums while pretending to think, “Consider it a punishment for annoying me. Besides, I would never cave that easily. Usually I would demand a trade, be grateful I didn’t.”

The mention of a trade with the Empty still stings in Dean’s chest. He’ll be back soon.

“Do you agree, then?” The Empty asks, holding its hand out, “Do we have a deal?”

It had been over the moment a deal was even mentioned. He knew his answer. If he was being honest, he would know what his answer is even if the Empty had demanded a trade. It was too, too easy.

“Fine,” he says, taking its hand, “whatever it takes.”

“Good,” the Empty grins, and disappears.

[talesfromthewanderingbard]

I want to live Ch1

Baldur's Gate 3 canon divergent - loosely following the game story but add a little spice Tav (Wren - she/her) x let's find out. Super self indulgent

Wren had escaped Avernus shortly before the rest of the Elturel Tieflings. She had recovered and thought she was finally able to start a new life - until she was taken by the illithids during their passage over Waterdeep and she once again found herself escaping Avernus. Now back in the material plane, with one of the parasitic tadpoles in her head, she and her newfound companions have to find a cure but what else will she find?

Wren walked the dirt road, listening to Laezel and Shadowheart bicker, occasionally interposed with stirring quips from Astarion. Part of her wondered if she would have been better off sending them to set up camp with Gale but the wizard had insisted they would be better off with her. She wondered now if he had predicted this from the get go. Sure, they were all newly acquainted and with these parasites in their haid she needed all the allies she could get, but after the events of the nautiloid, the ensuing battles and a rather perplexing meeting of the lich who only rattled off some confusing prophecy bullshit her tethers were beginning to fray.

The sound of shouting up ahead pulls her companions out of their interpersonal discontent and to attention as they all move more carefully, preparing their weapons. As they crest an outcropping the scene below comes to view, three mercenaries arguing at the gate of some form of settlement. She assumed this was the Druid grove they had been told about earlier. Her eyes squint and then widen. She knew some of the tieflings perched at the top, and when a tall red skinned tiefling joins she feels her breath catch. Zevlor. He and the lead of the mercenaries continue arguing loudly at the gate as another tiefling Wren recognised… Kanon? Looked between the two anxiously, waiting for instruction. Just as Zevlor finally gives the order to open the gate, the sickening wet sound of an arrow through flesh and bone echoes across the area, fired from a goblin bow. Kanon slumps and Zevlor is yelling. Without thinking, Wren is breaking her cover, bow raised and muttering the incantation for hunter’s mark on the Worg barreling toward one of the mercenaries, following immediately with an arrow that lands deeply in the beast’s side. Her companions also jump to action, Astarion knocks an arrow and fires from beside her, Shadowheart and Laezel moving to take care of the goblins moving on their position.

The battle is bloody, exhausting but thankfully quick. Wren was running low on arrows and had taken more than a few close shaves with returned ranged attacks.

She hear’s Zevlor yell at everyone to get in the gate and is all too ready to oblige, those tethers of patience well and truly snapped. Moving down the ledge, Shadowheart makes to say something but is shouldered past, watching a moment before looking at the others and following after wren. Above them, Wren hears Kanon’s sister, Arka mourning the fallen tiefling and her teeth grit, storming to where she can see Zevlor and the Mercenary leader arguing loudly. The human looked ready to knock the tiefling flat but Wren shoved herself in, doing the job herself as her closed fist collided with the red tiefling’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

“What the fuck Zevlor?!”

“By the hells-” The red tiefling groans, leaning up and looking before freezing as his flaming eyes find recognition. “Wren?”

The human makes a smart ass comment that Laezel fields, ushering the man off as Wren continues.

“You had ample time to open the gate, let them in and have your idiotic bickering, inside and safe but you stalled! You put the three at the gate in danger and Kanon killed! I thought you would have learnt after Elturel!” She saw the pain in his flaming pupils, and knew she had hit a low blow but right now she didn't care. Taking a deep breath, she turns, looking at her companions. “Go find the druid and supplies, I need to help bury a friend.”

The trio didn't say a word, letting her go.

How long had it been since she had last seen some of these people? 4-5 months? Their time within Avernus had been abysmal, a fight to survive. So many had been lost and she herself had barely made it out, stowing away back to the material plane only a month or so before the other Elturel tieflings escaped.

She helps the others bury Kanon, watching as Arka grabs a crossbow, storming further into the druid camp before taking some time to sit by the grave.

Her companions had returned a while later, Reporting the druid they were hoping to find had been caught by the goblins and held at their camp - located somewhere further into the wildlands. Shadowheart had prevented a child from being killed by a snake belonging to the grove’s fill-in leader Kahga, Laezel had interrogated one of the tieflings about the location of some githyanki forces to the north-west and Astarion had found more food for camp and a new dagger, though by honest means or theft Wren really wasn’t sure. The four of them had returned to the camp Gale set up and Wren spent the evening getting cleaned up only to realise that she hadn’t spoken to Nettie, the druid Halsin’s apprentice.

“I mean, we could always send Gale. After all, he missed all the fun earlier”

Gale frowns at the pale elf. “Ah yes, send the wizard in to fix the tumultuous attitudes after our tiefling companion suckerpunched the leader of the tiefling forces. A wise choice.” The sarcasm hits it’s mark and Astarion moves over to Wren, draping an arm across her shoulders.

“Well darling, it seems you are on your own for this one.”

She sighs.

“Fine. Don’t wait up.”

—

[cockslutpadalecki]

Ok here’s one. Steve rescues some public figure’s daughter and she’s a total bratty cunt. Before delivering her home safe and sound steve decides to fuck some manners into her 😏

Sound of Silence

Pairing: Mean!Steve x F!Reader.

Words: 1.3K.

Warnings: non-con/dub-con, bratty!reader, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, a little humiliation, a pinch of degradation, female orgasm, 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: I don’t know if this is what you had in mind but... this is where mine went, heheh. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

Steve wishes he hadn’t bothered with a lot of things today. Getting out of bed, skipping the gym, saving the senator’s daughter. 

Entitled little princess has barely acknowledged his presence since he rescued her, too busy documenting her “near death” experience for social media. Steve doesn’t get it— the need to share every tiny detail about her life, the need to seek a stranger’s validation because her daddy is too busy paying attention to his mistresses than his own kin. 

Her voice grates on him as he drives her home, her slight nasally twang that causes his temples to throb in irritation. Like plucking a guitar string over and over until it snaps. He’s gonna need one hell of a drink and a couple of women or five to cleanse himself of this experience.

“Yeah, that frozen ice guy… Colonel America or something, I dunno,” she mutters into her cell phone as she mindlessly checks her manicure before tutting in disgust. “Shit, you ruined my nails,” she adds, aiming it at Steve.

Colonel America? Is the vapid little bitch for real?

“Sure, I’ll get Sonny to drive me over as soon as I’m home, if the old man decides to ever put his foot on the gas.” 

Steve violently swerves the car to the left and pulls up at the side of the road, his hands shaking as he puts the car into park.

“What the hell are you doing?” she moans, finally pulling her attention away from her cell and hangs up. 

“You can walk from here,” he tells her curtly.

She scoffs incredulously. “Walk? These are Louboutins!” She points down at her heeled feet in horror.

“You got hands, carry them.” Steve presses the button to unlock her door, the distinct click loud in the silence of the car. 

“You promised you’d take me home. What if someone attacks me?” 

Steve watches her eye the long winding road nervously, the old and gnarled trees bowing overhead, giving the road a tunnel-like appearance. 

“Sure they’ll change their mind real quick when you start talking.”

He enjoys the way her brow furrows at that— a mixture of confusion and hurt, and his crotch stirs a little. 

“Just wait ‘til I tell my Daddy about this,” she dramatically huffs again before slowly gathering up her purse and pushes open the door. Steve can tell she’s purposely taking her time, no doubt hoping he’ll have a change of heart and tell her to remain in the car, but he’s giddy at the thought of driving back to the compound in silence.

He chuckles. “I doubt he’ll care, in fact, he’ll probably thank me for leavin’ you out here.”

She opens her mouth to speak, and suddenly Steve is plagued with thoughts of stuffing his cock down her throat to shut her up, but he knows she’ll still find a way to piss him off while she’s gagging on his dick. 

She tuts as she hurries out of the car, hand on the door ready to push it closed when she changes her mind, glaring at him as she leaves it wide open and begins to walk off. 

Fucking brat.

Steve watches her through the windshield, enjoying the view of her ass wiggling from side to side a little more than he cares to admit when she changes trajectory and walks in front of the car, blocking his way. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stares him down in contempt. He feels his jaw tighten as he curls his hands into strained fists, itching to hit something. With trembling fingers, he manages to roll down his window with the press of a button.

“Move,” he calls out to her.

“Not until you agree to take me home, like you promised.”

“Your Daddy promised me you weren’t a stubborn little cunt, but I guess we’re all breaking them today, aren’t we?”

Her features twist at his words, clearly having never been spoken to this way before, but still she stands firm. Steve moves to turn on the ignition, the roar of the engine making her jump momentarily, and his cock twitches again at the sight of seeing her scared. 

“Move out of the fuckin’ way before I get out and move you myself,” he warns. “With force.”

She shakes her head in defiance, shuffling closer to the hood. 

Steve snaps. He shuts off the car and climbs out almost blind with rage, storming towards her in three large strides. Her arms drop to her sides when she realises he’s intent on seeing through his threat, and stumbles backwards a little in an attempt to create distance. 

He’s too fast for her, grabbing at the nape of her neck and yanks her hard against his chest. She slaps out at him, but her blows feel like kitten licks on his skin.

“Ow, let go!” 

“I warned you, didn’t I? Gave you the opportunity to do the right thing, but no, you just had to push me,” he grits out and with one swift move, he forces her over the hood.

She squirms against him, her ass brushing over his groin and he growls deeply under his breath. Steve quickly flips up her skirt, marvelling at her supple and delicate skin before his eyes drift lower, over the dark wet patch staining her panties. His cock swells at the sight and he inwardly groans, suddenly desperate to taste her.

“Did you piss your pants, little girl?” he mocks with a small laugh, using the fingers of his spare hand to run them across the saturated fabric. He shouldn’t be so aroused by the fact she might’ve, but it arouses him even more to think she’s turned on. She bucks against his hand when his fingertips slip over her folds, bunching the damp material between them. 

“N-no,” she stutters. 

“So you always get this wet when you’re scolded, huh?” Steve removes his hand from the nape of her neck to join the other, and she yells when he rips off her underwear in one sharp tug. “Bet Daddy’s little girl has never been told off in her privileged little life.”

She answers back, “F-fuck you asshole.” 

His blood boils, and he hurriedly rushes to open his belt and jeans to pull his hard cock free. She continues to struggle against the hood, but the moment he sinks into her silky heat, all fight in her ceases. She sags against the hot metal, but her pussy tightens harder, clamping down around Steve like her life depends on it. 

She whimpers pathetically, a complete juxtaposition to her incessant talking and he feels his gut stir, enjoyment hot in his veins.

“Now you forget how to speak?” he tuts as he snaps his hips hard, thrilled by the sad little whines she makes. “Couldn’t shut you up earlier, or is it the need for an audience that gets you off?”

“Huh?” She sounds fucked out already. Dumb cunt. 

“Don’t feel like broadcastin’ this to your fans, no? Show them what happens when you disrespect someone who’s just tryin’ to help you?” His words punctuate— harsh and fierce, perfectly in time with his thrusts. 

“I-oh g-god.”

Slippery warmth gushes over his flesh as she tenses beneath him, wave upon wave of rippling heat pulsing and contracting around his cock. 

“Are you coming?” he asks, curious even though the answer is evident. All that escapes her is a thick, swollen moan and Steve laughs, more amused than he thinks he’s ever been in his entire life. “Who would’ve guessed you just needed fucking into silence,” he adds, draping his weight over hers. Her skin is clammy when it ripples against his hips, and he doesn’t miss the way she discreetly pushes back against him, like she wants it.

“But I didn’t say you could come, did I?” he whispers into her ear. “Not until I’ve taught you some goddamn manners.”

***

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