#sinclair 2K

[robotsightings]

Robby the Robot has a faux cameo in S4E14 of Futurama! (1999)

[lavenderstobins]

this is so unbelievably stupid

[evilbookworm]

It’s them it’s them it’s them

[journey-tothesurface]

The thing about Brigid Tenenbaum and Grace Holloway that I find especially interesting is the ways knowledge fits into both their arcs.

Tenenbaum being at the center of the ADAM project means that she knows all the gory details of how gatherers/protectors are made and what the process does to a person’s body. At the same time though, the horror of what she’s done by allowing her research into the hands of people like Ryan, Fontaine, and Lamb (as well as her own self-loathing for being the source of all that suffering) don’t fully dawn on her until it’s too late to do much besides mitigate the damage already done. And then in Bioshock 2, when she returns to Rapture hoping to develop a cure for ADAM sickness and rescue the little sisters from Lamb, there’s a whole decade of new research she has only limited knowledge of. She needs the thinker’s computational abilities to aid her research because as intelligent as she is, solving this problem (of her own invention) wouldn’t be possible for her to do alone before she died. She knows so much and yet due to the nature of the society she lived in and the miracle she discovered, there will always be something new she doesn’t know.

And then there’s Grace. She had no part to play in creating the Little Sisters or Big Daddies, so she doesn’t fully know why their existence is such a tragedy, but if her misguided hatred of Delta for Eleanor becoming a little sister is anything to go off of, she knows something. She knows on some level how wrong it is, but because of her faith in Lamb she’s still willing to accept that the little sisters wandering around rapture are children of the family. That even if he turns them human again, subject delta is stealing these girls from their rightful family, and she remains ignorant of the truth until it quite literally comes looking for her. If she lives, she survives with the knowledge that Lamb was wrong about this, so what else might she be wrong about? And her last words in canon are her saying she needs answers from Lamb about what the truth really is. Grace doesn’t know the exact science of how ADAM works, but somewhere deep in her heart she knows more of the awful truth than Lamb wants her to know, and that knowledge is what drives a wedge between her and the family

And I just think that’s a really cool parallel. Tenenbaum understands the evil she’s created better than anyone but even she has to make peace with how there will always be so much more she doesn’t know; Grace doesn’t understand the reality of what she’s been enabling all these years and has to come to terms with the fact that she knew all along.

[nynnph0]

my bioshock headcanons (and canons) pt.1

(should have clarified this, the ages they are all at the time of 1960, or the time they died. so grace, gil, delta, sinclair are not as old as i think they would be by the time bioshock 2 takes place.)

andrew ryan

jewish - belarusian - russian

6'0 · 54 · 1906/01/26

bisexual (heavy f lean) neutral

sander cohen

jewish - american - czech

5'9 · 53 · 1907/07/12

homosexual ally/phobic

brigid tenenbaum

jewish - belarusian - german

5'4 · 32-35 · 192(5-8)/08/08

asexual aromatic lesbian ally

j.s. steinmann

jewish - american - german

6'1 · 49 · 1911/04/30

heteroflexible ally

frank fontaine

american - italian

5'8 · 42 · 1918/03/15

heteroflexible neutral

sofia lamb

british

6'3 · 48 · 1912/09/23

asexual aromatic ally

(deems love stupid)

augustus sinclair, esquire

panamanian - british - cuban

5'6 · 46 · 1914/07/28

pansexual ally

yi suchong

korean

5'6 · 52 · 1908/12/16

homosexual phobic

gilbert (gil) alexander

polish - romanian

6'4 · 36 · 1924/11/05

homosexual ally

grace halloway

brazilian - american

5'8 · 33 · 1927/11/07

heterosexual ally

anna culpepper

argentinian - caribbean

5'5 · 26 · 1933/09/09

heterosexual ally

reginald (reggie) furey

american - irish

6'3 · 53 · 1905/08/19

heterosexual neutral

jökull (johnny) sigrúnsson

icelandic - finnish

5'9 · 37 · 1923/06/23

bisexual ally

jack

jewish - belarusian - russian - dutch - swiss

6'4 · 4 · 1956/??/??

asexual aromantic ally

mary-catherine (jasmine) jolene

dutch - swiss

5'6 · 30 · 1929/04/30

heteroflexible ally

[brinaarcadia]

Son… I built this place, an' I did rent you out to those Plasmid Trials at Fontaine… an' now now I'm paying for it. Wish I had time to make amends… I — take the lifeboat, it's all yours, just don't leave me like this …

[portalcartoon]

🚌 limbus-company-bus-official Follow

ATTENTION ALL SINNERS

Manager here. I was informed by our PR department that we need to maintain an active "social media presence".

Please listen when I give instructions during our missions. I understand that some of you have... strong personalities, but charging directly at a HE abnormality while screaming "I SHALL VANQUISH EVIL" is NOT an acceptable strategy. Yes, I'm looking at you, Don Quixote.

🪓 crime-of-my-beauty Follow

K

🚬 sangriakill Follow

U

⛈️ revenge-of-broken-heart Follow

N

68k notes

🐣 bird-of-abraxas Follow

Hello, I'm sorry, but I'm very new to bumblr, so forgive my awkwardness.

🇳glory-to-nagel-und-hammer Follow

you still owe me a coin sinclair

🐣 bird-of-abraxas Follow

WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE DOING THERE

30 notes

🪲 verminous-life Follow

Can someone explain why there roach is constantly following me, no matter where I go it will appear

🪓 crime-of-my-beauty Follow

Oh it's pablo! Cute guy isn't it?

🪲 verminous-life Follow

You gave it a name???

🪓 crime-of-my-beauty Follow

We all did

🌇 mersault1 Follow

Didn't we agreed to name it Carlos?

👢 the-odyssey-had-a-purpose Follow

The name is still in the selection process

363 notes

⏰ verdante-s-notes Follow

I still haven't got an answer to the question

Why there is such an endless corridor on the bus

👻 faustian-bargain Follow

This is something you shouldn't worry about.

⏰ verdante-s-notes Follow

It's an infinite corridor, why I *shouldn't* worry about it

👻 faustian-bargain Follow

This place is currently our home.

⛈️ revenge-of-broken-heart Follow

this place looks more like a jail than a home

⛪ fishmael Follow

my room is literally flooded

🔮 its-vicissitudes Follow

There are piles of gold in my room~

⛪ fishmael Follow

WHAT?!

🔮 its-vicissitudes Follow

Sad thing, there is no way to put it out the room

🪓 crime-of-my-beauty Follow

Let me try

🪓 crime-of-my-beauty Follow

Its gone, bus why

2k notes

⛈️ revenge-of-broken-heart Follow

269 notes

🎠 gallop-on-rocinante Follow

995 notes

🪶 the-ideal Follow

Our flowers will lose our bloom one day, all we can do is wait

126k notes

🛶 another-side-of-the-river Follow

Vroom-Vroom

[zolass]

Detectives Attraction Ch. 04 Top Male Reader x Male Yandere Harem

Soo some tension between my stinky winky lawyer and M/n. Might dive back into some spicy sauce again, but can't all be just sex am I right- Didn't think I would drop a chapter today but here we are I'm still thriving y'all

content warning: Dead Body, Gore (maybe some of y'all know the reference of what happened), just tension with Adrian. 2k words

M/n walked to the front door as the doorbell rang, when he pulled the door open he was rather surprised to see none other than Adrian Sinclair standing in the doorway. A neat and expensive looking burgundy button up that seemed to be tailored as it hugged the man’s hips just right while three buttons were open, giving M/n a good look at the fair skin and chest. The top was accompanied with a pair of sleek well-fitting dress pants and black patent shoes, while his chestnut brown hair was styled. 

“With what do I owe the– pleasure that the oh so busy Adrian Sinclair steps foot into the lower class– ringing at my door?” M/n asked, as the other took two steps closer, looping his arms around the taller male’s shoulder, “Well you know– I already got your number so it wasn’t as hard to get your address– kinda,” Adrian mused, his green eyes looking up at the others E/c ones. “Also I knew you would decline and shut me off until I was needed again– if I asked you to go to a new restaurant that opened,” he quickly added, a s M/n frowned confusedly at him.

Letting out a sigh, M/n knew he might regret it later but the stress of the new case he knew a bit of a distraction might help– also as if Adrian wasn’t craving it as well by the way he pressed his body against yours it was pretty obvious. M/n wrapped his arms around the waist of the other, before he pulled the other in with a twist– swiftly kicking the door close as their lips crashed onto each other.

Soft moans left Adrian as he felt M/n’s lips on his.

The kiss was purely led by hunger for each other, with a passionate edge. M/n pressed the other against the kitchen counter of his open kitchen, caging the man between the counter and his body. His hands were on Adrian, one holding the other’s nape to keep the lawyer from pulling back, while the other was on Adrian’s waist grinding their lowerhalfs against each other. M/n webbed his fingers into the brown strands, as he pulled Adrian’s head slightly back making said man let out a moan in delight, before M/n pulled his lips completely off of the lawyer’s. 

“Would you like something to drink?” he breathed out, as he tightened his grip on the hair of the other– as green eyes hungrily eyed his lips. M/n chuckled as he noticed the dazed look, a small breathy moan left Adrian as M/n grabbed a handful of his plump ass, making green eyes shoot up. “What about your cum–” “Yeah no– you’ve never even sucked me off,” M/n chuckled as he pulled back and walked into the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses, “Then it seems to be time we change that,” Adrian voiced out as his eyes scanned over the others body, before he bit into his plump and slightly more reddish lips. 

“How about some wine? Obviously I don’t spend a fortune on a singular bottle, so you’ll simply have to accept cheaper wine,” M/n said as he grabbed a bottle of red wine from a lower cabinet in which he stored most of his unopened alcoholic beverages and two glasses.

Slow steps approached the taller male, as he filled the glasses one fourth of the glass as a hand was placed on his shoulder, while the other hand of Adrian grabbed onto the stem of the glass, before picking it up and taking a sip from the wine. M/n only chuckled as he glanced at the other, before also taking a sip and placing the glass back down.

Just as M/n was about to speak a sudden break of glass made his body go rigid in alarm, a curse slipped through his lips as he quickly grabbed onto his gun that he carried with him as he looked at Adrian, “Stay behind,” he ordered the other in a hushed tone, as he walked towards his study with his gun tight in his grabs. Adrian on the other hand couldn’t help but follow as he swallowed hard, his hands turning slightly sweaty. 

M/n kicked the door that was almost completely closed, open with a harsh kick. His gun was raised, while a masked head popped up, probably rather in surprise before the figure made a dash to the broken window. The detective crossed the room, just in time to grab onto the person's leg, but as something glinted in the light of the silver moon, M/n only had enough time to realize that it was a weapon, as he let go of the person’s leg making them fall, just as a gun went off.

The detective ducked quickly, he only heard a dull impact and a groan, before he decided to look out of the window again, further down in which actually three figures were. One had a gun which had gone off, while another picked up the fallen knife, the focus of the three went back to him and his apartment. The gun was lifted again, as another shot rang through the night, missing miserably into the wall a second time, as they started to run off.

M/n scoffed, “Can’t even shoot a gun right,” the man lifted his own gun, focusing on and aiming at the running figure at the back, before he pulled the trigger once– a hit in the shoulder making his target stumble; twice– a hit into the right calf, enlightening a scream from the person– a man. His colleagues skittered to stops, before aiding him into the alleyway. 

A chuckle left M/n as he turned away from the window, his eyes landing on Adrian who surprisingly looked concerned, “Are you okay? Did you kill one?” the lawyer asked, M/n saw that the man looked genuinely concerned for him, making him sigh, “Yes I’m fine– but looks like I’m going on a hunt,” M/n said as he stalked out of his study– that was once again a mess from someone searching around. 

“Hunt? M/n what do you mean? You’ll follow some stranger that shot at you– twice?! What if they don’t miss this time?!” Adrian’s voice was filled with disbelief and concern, as he grabbed onto the detective’s arm, as M/n was about to walk past him. Said man chuckled, “They have such a terrible aim, they wouldn’t even hit our president– and that douche is the size of you and me combined,” M/n snorted, before he turned serious again, “Adrian– I would advise you to go home– this is the second time someone broke in, and while I know I shouldn’t really care for your corrupted ass– I don’t want you to land in the crosshair of a gun,” e/c eyes looked at the green ones of the lawyer who swallowed at his words, before giving a reluctant nod, “Please call me– when you’re save at home again,” Adrian said as he followed M/n to the front door, before they both stepped out.

After the detective waved the man in the car, he started to stalk across the street to where he hit his target first. Blood was on the ground, M/n checked if he had enough ammunition, before he followed the trail that led into the darkness of the alleyways that twisted and turned around Noxhaven. It didn’t take long until M/n heard a pained groaning in the darkness, which made him quickly shut his flashlight off.

He shifted his weight, before he approached swiftly and quietly. In the silver light of the moon, was a man that sat on the ground between piles of garbage bags. What caught M/n’s attention was the blood that smeared the man’s right leg, and the knife that laid just right beside it. One thing that M/n realized was that the other two seemed to have left him here and fled on their own, which enlightened a cold amused snort from the detective, which made the injured man jump and snap his attention and gaze over to him. 

“Look what we got here– didn’t think you would make it so easy for me to find you after you and your buddies little stunt,” M/n grunted as he slowly stepped closer, making the other grab his knife, which in return made the detective lift his gun, “I wouldn’t try anything– if I was you.” The sight of the gun made the man shrink into himself– dropping the knife. 

The detective took a few more steps until he stood in front of the injured man, “Tell me who sent you– and I might call you an ambulance. But if you don't do well– bleeding out is rather a shitty way to die, no?” M/n chuckled, as he squatted down in front of the man, with a safe distance. M/n tilted his head as he waited, but the man across from him only seemed to tremble with a look on his face that basically spit into M/n’s face, ‘I won’t snitch’ which made the detective scoff.

“I’m loyal– I’m not a snitch, even so the Serpents–” the man’s dark eyes widened as he physically bit his tongue. M/n raised an eyebrow, “The Serpents huh?” a dry laugh left him, “You really seem loyal– but could it be that your IQ dropped when you fell from my window?” a snicker left the detective, as he saw the angry look that morphed on the others face, “You–” the man was interrupted as a low beeping sounded in the almost silent alley.

Eyes wide in horror and panic settled on M/n who in return seemed to remember what that sound was, as the beeping got faster. With a sigh did the man stand up, “You’re really useless for me,” were the only sounds M/n said as he closed his eyes. The sound of a body part being ripped apart with a small accompanied explosive bang, and the amount of hot blood splattering on his face, made the blood in M/n’s body boil. 

Another lead that ended almost in a complete deadend.

E/c eyes opened to take in the scene, empty eyes stared ahead, as half the man’s throat was blown away and the brick wall behind him had a large amount of blood splattered on it. The ground around the detective was not spared, just like his clothes.

Slowly grabbing his phone, M/n dialed a number. 

After a few rings the call was picked up, “M/n? Do you know how late it is–” “Elias– we have a new body,” M/n’s voice was monotone as he spoke, there was a heartbeat of silence, before the person on the other end seemed to spring out of bed, “I’ll be there in ten– give me your location I’ll call reinforcement,” with that the call was ended and M/n simply stood there not stepping from his place.

“This situation really needs a smoke break–” M/n sighed as he pulled his cigarettes and lighter out, soon smoke swirled in the night lifting into the sky until the lights and the familiar sirens came closer. Multiple footsteps closed in on his location, but all M/n did was stand there until he turned his head to see the horrified looks of some of his colleagues, one of them his partner, Elias Hart. 

“Good evening,” M/n only said dryly, and shortly after that a small investigation began of the surroundings and the body, while M/n was pulled away to be interrogated as he was found with the body– alone.

M/n told them almost everything– there was only one small thing he didn’t mention– The Serpents. It was the one group he was after since the beginning of his career, he knew they’ve bribed some of the law enforcements, making it not safe for him to spill any of his leads that could bring him closer.

The chase has only begun.

[visceravalentines]

drowning is only as hard as you make it

bo sinclair x gn!reader

2k words. weird melancholy freak behavior. author's thinly disguised smoking fetish. established relationship (lol). Ambrose is lonely. that's it that's the fic.

He always manages to find you.  Every time.  It’s not a game anymore, not really; there’s no use keeping score when only one side is allowed to earn points.  There are no rules, no satisfaction in the victory.  You’d make your way back to the house even if he never showed up.  Today you’re not even hiding.

The row of vacant windows across the street catches the last lazy rays of sunlight.  A few eager fireflies pantomime shooting stars just above the freshly cut grass.  He mows the lawns regularly, every last one of them, dripping sweat in the sticky air.  You think it’s nonsensical.  He doesn’t care what you think.  At least it smells nice.  Nostalgic.  Painful.  

On an evening like this, there should be kids out.  Riding bikes, running through the neighbor’s yard.  Parents watching from their porches.  People chatting, relaxing.  Hell, maybe a dog or two.  But there is only you, and the fireflies.  

The heat of your cigarette creeps dangerously close to your fingers but you wring one last pull off the thing before you crush it against the step.  Scorch marks dot the woodgrain like initials carved in a tree, only better, because they’re anonymous.  Could've been left by anyone sitting sulking on these stairs and pondering ways to disappear.  Plausible deniability.  

Too bad you're the only one here.

You set your hand on the pack beside you, work another one out with your fingers without looking.  It’s all reflex.  It’s all muscle memory.  That’s all you are anymore, something that survives without thinking about it.  

In that shadowy place called Before, you only ever smoked on rare occasions. At parties or bars, always with friends, always a little drunk. You'd never admit it aloud but a part of you used to pride yourself on your restraint–you could stretch a single pack out over a month or more, until the tobacco had gone stale and the cigarettes tasted like dusty paper. Until it was less of a treat and more like a chore to get through the last few.  

Now you drop butts through the grate of your days like maybe you can fill up the emptiness with smoke.  

You sigh and light up, take a drag and let it sweep you up above the gutters.  You imagine the town might almost be pretty from up high.  Hard to tell from here.  

“Didn’t know this house had a chimney.”  

Some part of you remembers what it felt like to flinch when he got this close.  Another part remembers the way you buried your face in his back before he got up this morning.  You exhale nice and slow.  “Thought you knew everything.”  

“Now, we’ve talked about this.”  He leans against the rickety railing, white paint flaking off at the slightest disturbance.  “You know nothin’ good comes from thinkin’.”  

As a matter of fact, you’ve talked about everything already, but that’s never stopped him before.  You’ve heard all the stories sixteen times, could recount his childhood from memory one miserable year after another.  You know where he got that scar.  He knows all about your first kiss.  Eighth grade was hard for both of you for vastly different reasons.  He’s never been to your hometown but he could probably find your old house.  You’ve never met his mother, but you hate her just the same.  Favorite movie, worst fear, where were you on 9/11?  In a zombie apocalypse, he’d choose an ax.  You’d take the shotgun with exactly two shells.  It’s almost romantic, except, well.  

“Hey.”  He slams the heel of his hand against the railing and somewhere along the line, the wood splits with a crack.  “What’d I just say?”  

You look up, jarred loose from your spiral, and he’s shaking his head.  

“Damn fool.  Gimme those back.”  

He reaches out a hand and you slip one last smoke from the pack before you give it to him.  

“Lighter too, baby, c’mon.”  

You hesitate for a second, long enough he has to flex his fingers to make the point.  You hand him the lighter, keep the spare cigarette, tuck it behind your ear.

He peeks into the pack and his lip twitches. “Fuckin’ glutton.  This was full this mornin’.”  

“Sorry,” you deadpan.  

“Sure y’are.”  

You’ve had this conversation too, in just about every house on the street.  You wonder if he ever feels crazy, playing it all out over and over again.  Probably not. He's composed of repetition, a record that skips in the same place every time it's played. You feel crazy, fucking listening to it.  

You watch him work a cigarette loose, watch him hold it in his lips, watch the tendons flex across his knuckles as he lights up. For all the fucking smoke he blows, you still think he looks damn good as he exhales up towards the fading sun. One of life's little cruelties. 

“Y’know, supper ain't gonna make itself,” he says casually. Like he’s trying to piss you off.  He probably is.  

“You sure?” you shoot back, like you’re trying to piss him off.  You definitely are.  

He chuckles, unbothered. “I dunno, baby. Been wrong before.”

“Yeah?  Tell me more.” You're bold these days. Stupid. Dangerous, and not in the same way as the surgeon general's fine print. Dangerous in the present moment. Shaving seconds off your life like taking a pocketknife to a good chunk of wood. But games are more fun with two players. 

He doesn’t want to play, though.  Probably worn out from mowing all those fucking lawns.  He shrugs.  “Nothin’ more to tell.”  

“Pantry’s empty anyway,” you mutter.  The grocery list on the fridge has wrapped back on itself twice over.  He’s been cagey lately, reluctant to venture into town.  You’re down to canned goods old enough to read chapter books.  

“Guess we’ll starve.”  

“Guess so.”  You flick your rapidly shrinking cigarette and watch the ash fizzle frantically down and disappear. The chorus of crickets crescendoes to a dull roar in the silence.  

“You like these, huh?”

You're not sure what he means for a second before you realize he's talking about the cigarettes. You take another drag like you have to mull the taste over, really consider the question. He’s not a patient man, but he waits for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say finally on the tail of your exhale. “Best ones in a while.”

It’s the truth.  He's got his own brand and you like it too, but he's a fucking skinflint, and he only buys himself a pack when he's really hard up. Most of the time he scavenges off corpses and out of glove boxes. And you live off his scraps, so. 

Regretfully, you stub yours out as the flame hits the filter. Your throat is raw, tongue wrapped in the taste of tobacco. Everything in this town is racing to kill you and you wish something would win already. You can feel him watching you, now and always. 

“Somethin’ you need, sugar?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”  

He exhales with relish.  You think about the taste of smoke on his tongue and tobacco on his fingers and you grit your teeth.  He’s a vice in every sense.  

“You pissed at me?”  

What kind of question is that?  You peel a chunk of paint off the stair near your shoe.  “I’m always pissed at you.”  You mean it and you don’t and you’re braced for retribution either way, but none comes.  

“Fair enough.”  

You steal a wary glance in his direction.  He’s covered in flecks of grass.  He shed his overshirt in the heat of the day but it’s back on now, unbuttoned, the tee underneath smudged with green.  He lifts his hat, rubs his brow with the heel of his hand, tugs it back into place.  His face is a little sunburnt in spite of the thing.  

“You wanna fight?”  

You stop breathing for a second, sit very still.  He looks down at you, cocks an eyebrow.  He’s really asking.  

You think about it, really think about it.  Broken skin, broken glass.  No neighbors to scandalize.  You shake your head.  “No.”  

He shrugs, goes back to staring holes in the house across the street.  You almost want him to be disappointed, but his face is placid, expression impassive.  “Alright then.  ‘Nother time.”  

You furrow your brow, look at your shoes.  You pick at the paint, feel it slip beneath your nail like a splinter.  You’d bet five bucks you don’t have that he’ll be back to repaint these steps within the week.  It makes you want to rip them apart so he’d have more to do.  You’re not sure if he’d take that as a gift or as sabotage.  You’re not sure how you’d mean it.  

“How ‘bout we head inside, feel each other up?  See what happens?”  You look at him sharply.  He’s really asking.  “We can do it how you like it.”  

How you like it.  How do you like it?  Does he know?  Do you?

Your expression must be a funny one because he grins.  “What?  You a prude all the sudden?”  

No.  No, but.

You find the words wedged behind your teeth.  “You a gentleman all the sudden?”  

He snorts.  “C’mon now.”  He gives the railing one last yank, almost pulls it loose.  As he rounds the steps he drops his spent cigarette and crushes it underfoot.  “Scoot.”  

You make room on the stair and he sits down heavy beside you, takes up more than his fair share of space, same as always.  He smells like sun and sweat and grass and smoke.  His sleeve rides up and exposes the pink of his wrist.  He pulls it down without thinking about it.  You almost–almost–pull it back up.  

“I’m just tryin’ to figure you out.  Don’t know what the fuck you want.”  

Now that's a dumb fucking thing to say. You want a thousand things.  A meal.  A clock that works.  Cable TV.  An article of clothing that doesn't reek of mothballs and someone else's fear. A normal conversation with a normal human being. Half a goddamn hour to yourself without the urge to lock the doors and set the house on fire. 

Anything.  Anything.  

“A light,” you say bitterly. 

To your surprise, he digs the lighter out of his pocket.  Holds it up to show you, like a peace offering.  He moves his boots down a step, pats his thigh.  “C’mere.” 

You straddle his lap and it’s like you’re walking in and out of a room at the same time.  Your hands find their place on either side of his chest and he’s warm to the touch like a dog lying in the sun.  His fingers play at the small of your back.  You can escape into the maze of abandoned homes or the pattern on the ceiling but you can’t slip away from those eyes at this distance.  They catch you like barbs on wire, as distant and cold as the sky.  

This is how you like it.  His head tipped back, looking up at you.  You run your thumb along the edge of his jaw and he almost–almost–smiles.  

He plucks the cigarette from behind your ear, flips it in his fingers.  You open your mouth.  He sets it on your tongue.  He flicks the lighter, brings it close, and when you breathe in you feel it–the poison of this place, yellow-green, permeating your lungs and all the rest of you.  No use in pretending.  No use fighting the current.  Drowning is only as hard as you make it.  

You wonder if he knows you’d come home even if he never came to find you.  Maybe that’s why he comes anyway.  Maybe that’s why you keep hiding.  So you both have something to look forward to.  Games are more fun with two players.  

It’s not worth thinking about.  Nothing good comes from thinking.  

You start to exhale and he tugs you close, sucking the smoke from your mouth, because he never can let you keep anything to yourself.  Maybe you don’t even want to. 

Your lips touch.  Tangerine thrums behind your eyes.  You’ll go to bed hungry tonight and so will he.  One shotgun, two shells.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he murmurs.  

You’re already working his shirt off his shoulders one-handed.  “Nothing I want.”  

He laughs once, almost breathless, leans back on the stairs so you have to lean with him.  “C’mon now.”  

You toss the cigarette into the dirt to free up both hands.

[toxicanonymity]

HALLOWEEN Masterlist, 18+

18+ smut, fem/afab reader. Please heed fic warnings and respect my boundaries: My blog is strictly 18+ and I do not give permission to make my work into bots, put it in AI, copy, or translate it. Ty for reading! Check out my main masterlist.

MICHAEL MYERS x YOU

⭐ Wreck (4.3k) *NEW 4/4/25*

Michael makes them watch (1.3k)

Skin Alley (1.5k)

Michael's Castle (3k)

Michael in Ambrose (2k) ft. Bo Sinclair

Obsessive Reader

Gas station (550)

MICHAEL & COREY x YOU

Rock Bottom (22k)

Michael makes Corey watch

MM dream / CNC

COREY CUNNINGHAM x YOU

A lift and two screws (4.5k words)

Corey from the yard (3.8k)

Corey from the Yard pt. 2 (5k)

It's Halloween (babysitting w/ CC) (3.5k)

Dominating Corey in a declining mall (2.5k)

Tighty-whitey workout, interrupted (2k)

You wear MM's mask in bed (1.3k)

Giving head while CC streams (900)

⭐ Good behavior (7.5k)

Birthday Wish (2k)

Give In (4.5k)

Hot Topic

Scrapyard

COREGASM

[ladykailitha]

Crossroads

So I started writing this last night thinking it would be a short little drabble. At over 2k words, it is NOT a drabble. It is a full on fic at this point.

Enjoy!

*

Steve was at a crossroads.

To his right was his mother, calling him sweetly to come back inside so they can talk. Work something out. To stay with her and his father.

On his left was Eddie. Dear sweet Eddie calling out from him to run away with him. To get in his van and chase the sun for as long as they could and maybe find a new place to rest their heads. For a moment or to throw roots.

He could see the two paths before him as easily as he could see them standing before him.

If he went with his mom, they would convince him to give up his friends, Eddie. Well, they'd let him keep the Wheeler siblings and Dustin. But everyone else would have to go. Byers, Max, and Eddie because they were poor. The Sinclairs because they were black. He doubted they would keep him from El, considering who her adopted father was, but it would be a near thing. Robin would have to go. She would be a little too queer for their liking.

He would be forced to work for his dad where the employees would hate him and the managers would resent him. He would marry some dull woman picked out by them and have as many kids as possible.

Pretty much the life he thought he would have with Nancy their junior year of high school. He would be comfortable, well taken care of and absolutely fucking miserable. For the rest of his life.

If he went with Eddie...there would no certainty at all. It would very likely be hard. They wouldn't have a lot of money (the government hush money could only take them so far after all). It would a life on the road as Eddie and his band traveled the country looking for fame and fortune. It would be rough. Five boys in cramped quarters.

It's possible the band wouldn't even survive two days let alone two years.

But Eddie would love him. He would be loved. Not just by Eddie, but Robin and the kids. Nancy and Jonathan and even funky little Argyle. As their friends spread out over the country, Steve and Eddie would visit them all. And maybe someday they'd find their place. Throw down roots maybe even grow a family of their own.

Steve took a deep breath and started walking.

*

Eddie wanted to call out to Steve, beg him to stay. To give him a chance to be something. Together.

He watched in horror and disappointment as Steve took one step and then another toward his mother. He couldn’t look away as Steve reached her.

Steve’s name caught in his throat. Would she at least let them say their goodbyes or would the last memory Eddie had of the love of his life would be his back as he walked back into the house with his mother?

Steve kissed his mother’s forehead and then suddenly he was running.

Eddie barely had time to open his arms before Steve had filled them.

Eddie opened his mouth to ask, but Steve kissed him fiercely. “Come on Eds, let’s go.”

He pulled back and looked Steve in the eye. “You coming with me, darlin’?”

Steve nodded. He looked back at his mother and then at Eddie. “It’s for the best, I think.”

Eddie knew he was right. Knew it was the best thing for everyone. But he still couldn’t believe it.

“All right, baby,” he finally said after a moment of taking it all in. “Let’s go find that horizon, shall we?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah!” He swung into the passenger side of Eddie’s van and Eddie hopped into the driver’s side.

They had sold the BMW for extra cash as the van would be better suited for traveling cross-country in. It had been put in his name a long time ago and it was the last connection to his parents.

Steve kissed Eddie on the cheek.

Eddie laughed. “What was that for, sweetheart?”

“For luck!”

“You my princess, baby?”

Steve laughed too. “The van is in much better shape then Millennium Falcon, sunshine.”

Eddie cackled as he pulled out of the driveway. He was going to start a life with the boy of his dreams. Life really couldn’t be sweeter.

*

When Maureen Harrington saw her Steven start walking towards her, she knew.

She had lost him. Maybe she never had him. He was determined in a way she had never seen before. He was resolved.

“I have to go,” he whispered as though the answer was pulled from him.

She nodded, tears forming on her lashes. “I understand.”

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a ring. She looked at it and her heart sank.

“No, Steven,” she murmured. “Your grandfather gave that to you.”

He pressed it into her hand. “I know, but think of it as my promise to come back. To see you. That I’m not giving up on you, I’m just choosing my own path instead of the one you and Dad wanted for me.”

Maureen clasped it tight her perfectly manicured hands to her chest. “I love you.”

He nodded and kissed her forehead goodbye.

She watched misty-eyed as he ran to his boyfriend, tears streaming down her face. She stood in that driveway until they were both out of sight.

She wiped her eyes and went back inside.

“Where’s that wastrel son of yours?” Clint growled.

“Saying goodbye,” she lied.

“Good.”

He turned on his heel and then said over his shoulder. “I want him in office the second he comes in, you hear me.”

She nodded knowing that he would be angry with her later. But she also knew that he would blame Edward Munson and not her for Steven not staying.

Maureen paused. She did feel a little guilty about that, but it was unavoidable. She slipped into the kitchen. The one room Clint would never enter willingly and sat down next to the phone.

She had work to do.

*

Wayne had just settled in for the night when his phone rang. He heaved a sigh and got wearily to his feet. The government had paid a hefty sum for the witch hunt of his nephew and an even tidier sum for keeping quiet about the monsters, which meant he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life.

But he still got a nice little job down at the local plant nursery watering the plants a couple times a week for something to do. He had just gotten home from that when the phone rang.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“Hello,” greeted the warm female voice. “I’m looking for an Edward Munson, is he there?”

Wayne sighed again. “May I ask what this is regarding?”

“Of course,” she said brightly. “He applied with us a couple weeks ago and I was just getting back with him.”

“Ya just missed him,” he said. “He went on a vacation and won’t be back for a few days.” Weeks, really. But he didn’t want to scare her off in case she actually had a job for him.

“That is unfortunate,” she said softly. “I will hold on to his application of course, but I can’t guarantee the job will be there when he returns.”

Wayne sighed a third time. He knew it had been too much to ask, but it had been worth a shot.

“I appreciate you thinking of him,” he said.

“Of course, you have a good day.”

He cursed his nephew’s luck again. Just as things were starting to look up for him, he missed getting a job by mere hours.

That was the last he thought about that conversation for a few days until a large manila envelope came for Eddie and Steve care of him. The damn thing even read: Steven Harrington and Edward Munson, C/O Wayne Munson.

The boys had gave him permission to open anything that might come from the government or the kids in case it was urgent, but he wasn’t sure about this.

Thankfully he was save from something like indecision when his phone rang.

“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie cried cheerfully. “You’ll never guess where we are!”

“Disneyland?” Wayne guessed with a huff of laughter.

“Aww...you guessed,” Eddie pouted.

“A letter came for you and Steve,” he said. “You two want me to open it?”

He heard whispering and then Eddie came back. “Steve says go ahead.”

Wayne opened the envelope and as he read the contents, he put his hand over his mouth as tears streamed down his face. It took a couple of tries, clearing his throat before he said, “It’s from your mom, Steve.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a bunch of paperwork transferring your joint bank account with your parents to one with Eddie,” Wayne explained. “As well as your information about your trust fund.”

“Oh.” Steve’s voice is breathless. “God. I assumed that they nixed that when I failed to get into college. That’s what it was supposed to be for after all.”

“Not according to the documents your mom sent over,” Wayne explained. “It was supposed to be given to you under one of three circumstances. Getting into college–”

Steve scoffed. “There went that one.”

“Getting married,” Wayne said.

Again Steve scoffed. “Would explain why they weren’t a big hurry for me to get hitched.”

Eddie and Wayne both chuckled in stereo causing Steve to laugh at how similar they were.

“Or when you turned twenty-one,” Wayne finished. “Which means next year the money is yours.”

“How much money could there be?” Eddie asked with a snort.

“By the time Steve gets it, at current interest rates?” Wayne said. “A little over a million dollars.”

“What?” Steve asked, his heart in his throat.

“Yup,” Wayne said. “And according to the bank statements of the new account she set up for the two of you, it has about three hundred thousand in it.”

“How?” Steve stammered.

“Well, according the statements of your previous account that she also sent along,” Wayne said ruffling through the pages, “there were deposits of five hundred dollars a month since you were born. As well as your checks from your jobs; the community center, the mall and of course Family Video.”

“Okay,” Steve muttered darkly, “but that only makes up for about a third of what you said was in there.”

“Apparently your first payment for stopping the apocalypse was put into this account when you were under the age of eighteen.”

Eddie swore. “And they didn’t fucking tell you?”

Wayne hummed. “Looks like there were some large withdrawals at first, but they were put back in only a couple months later.”

Steve scoffed. “Probably my dad and my mom making him put it back.”

“I agree,” Wayne said. “That makes the most sense. So if we add what you got from the government for your subsequent apocalypses, you boys will never have to work a day in your lives unless you wanted to.”

“Holy shit, baby,” Eddie cooed. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It’s all unbelievable.”

Wayne nodded even though they couldn’t see him. “She also lists a couple of good financial advisors. I’ll give them a call and find one that fits, but you boys are free to do whatever the hell you want now.”

“Thank you, Wayne,” Steve murmured.

“Thank your mom, Stevie,” he mumbled. “She’s the one that did everything.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “I will. I promise.”

*

Steve slid down in the cramped little phone booth in shock. They had only meant to tell Wayne that they had made it California and that they were having a good time. He sure as hell wasn’t expect to have his life completely upended.

It was a good kind of unending. There was no doubt about that. But when he made the choice to be with Eddie, he made in spite of money not for money.

Eddie held out his hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go make some noise in the happiest place on earth.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah. I can’t wait!”

As they walked through park slurping on sodas and laughing, Steve knew he had made the right choice.

Because really, falling in love with Eddie was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

*

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @redfreckledwolf @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @itsall-taken @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @vecnuthy

[haddonfieldwhore]

god loves you, but not enough to save you - bo sinclair

bo sinclair x fem!reader

please read warnings !

summary: bo sees you as his next victim. you see him as your last hope

warnings: stockholm syndrome speedrun, implied domestic abuse, language, mentions of death, blood, alcohol and smoking, some religious references sprinkled in, bo is bo

word count: 2k

your eyes fluttered open as you felt your body thud onto a chair with a creak, the metal frame unstable under any amount of weight. it wouldn’t break though. he tightened all the bolts himself; checked everything so nothing would go wrong. as unorganized as this hellscape of a room seemed to anyone else, bo knew where everything was; every pair of pliers, every blade. he was meticulous, sometimes damn near a perfectionist. not that any his guests were here to admire the furnishings.

in the rare instance that things didn’t go how he planned, he himself became unpredictable; became even more terrifying. but this was different. something in your eyes was different, and it drove him mad.

you didn’t scream, just looked around frantically to gather what was happening. everything that had happened. your ankles were taped together, and you were in a basement. your head hurt like you’d been hit with something, as you remembered the road trip you had been on with your boyfriend, nathan.

you remembered the washed out road

the gas station

oh god, where was nathan?

the man from the gas station….. bo…

“yeah sweetheart?” your focus snapped to the face of the man currently restraining you to the chair, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. how much had you said out loud? why was he doing this?

“please - you don’t have to-“ his hand snapped over your mouth, the smell of dirt and gasoline filling your mouth and nose.

“shhhh, if you scream, i’ll have to hurt ya,” he cooed, and you shook your head gently. with your one free hand that remained unbound to the chair, you gripped his wrist desperately, but your touch was gentle; gentler than any touch he had felt in years. he nearly faltered for a second, your fingers hovering over the scars on his wrist. had you noticed them? he wondered.

his hesitation allowed you to softly pull his hand away from your mouth.

“p…please, you have to help me. nathan-“

“you think if you bat your pretty little eyelashes at me i’ll let you go back to your boyfriend?” he taunted, but your eyes went wide and you shook your head, frantically this time, and your hand clung onto his arm tighter now. he pulled it from your grip, looking at your face with a confused expression. what game were you playing?

“no - please, you don’t understand - you have to help me,” you repeated, and as he studied your face, he noticed a smudge on your cheekbone. your skin looked different; he spent enough time looking at the damn wax figures to know what a persons skin looked like. he reached his hand towards you slowly, dragging his thumb between your parted lips, wetting the pad of his finger with your saliva. he tasted of iron, and you wondered if he noticed the way you licked your lips when he retracted his hand.

you winced as he gently wiped the digit across your cheek, removing the makeup to reveal a dark bruise, masterfully disguised behind layers of concealer.

something clicked in bo’s head.

something terrible.

something cruel.

here he was, taking you captive and fully intending to kill you. here you were, begging him to be your saving grace. he smiled darkly, your eyes wide as they pleaded with his.

“now that’s no way to treat a lady,” he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “he do this to ya, sweetheart?” he asked, making his voice sound so sweet, you almost believed it was sincere.

“please,” you begged again. maybe if you said it enough times, you would get through to him. a human part of him, if there even was one. “i’ll do anything you want. just please…. he’ll kill me.”

his rough hands held either side of your face, cradling it as he leaned over your body, caging you beneath him. you welcomed it, like a safety blanket.

this had never happened before. he hadn’t even done anything to you yet, and you were already giving yourself over to him. did you not get it? did you not understand that whatever had been done to you, oh lord he could be

so

much

worse.

it was almost too easy. the chase was half of the game for him. what was the point if you gave up so soon?

he thought about killing you right then. sure, that was no fun - he didn’t enjoy killing people quickly. but it would be so easy to just snap your neck, so delicate in his grasp. just one little twist-

“bo…” you whispered, and his eyes focused again, having zoned out looking at your throat, his chest heaving up and down with adrenaline thinking about just how easily you had surrendered to him. he hadn’t realized that he had leaned closer, so close that he could smell your strawberry chapstick.

you could smell the cigarettes on his breath; the whiskey on his tongue. he captured your mouth with his, teeth tugging roughly at your bottom lip as your heart pounded in your chest.

you shouldn’t like this.

you shouldn’t want it.

but the taste of him makes your head spin.

you reach to touch him with your free hand, but his own hand catches your wrist as you reach for him. maybe it’s instinct; he thinks your fighting back.

you should be.

you know damn well you should be.

the taste of iron fills your mouth again, but it’s not his fingers this time. his teeth have pierced into your lip, staining the kiss with crimson.

“he ain’t never gonna touch you again,” bo whispers as he nuzzles the side of his head against yours, and tears creep down your face.

“promise?”

“i swear to god. he’s never gonna lay another finger on you.”

and he won’t.

you believe him.

this time bo lets you reach for him, your fingers clinging to the front of his stained work shirt that your knuckles ached. the restraints on your other wrist clang against the metal of the chair as you pull at them, wanting to hold onto him. he undoes the leather strap and you reach up, pushing his hat off of his head so you can tangle your fingers through his dark hair. it’s greasy between your fingertips, but you don’t care.

“you look so pretty, darling.” blood stains your lips and your eyelashes are stuck together with tears. you stare up at him like he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and he realizes that you’re long gone already; he’s managed to sink his hooks into you and all it took was one little promise. the devil stands before you and you look at him like he hung the stars. lucifer was once an angel after all, wasn’t he?

a sound above you causes bo to cover your mouth again, gentler this time as he looks up through the grate in the ceiling. footsteps shuffle across the driveway of the gas station, and nathans boots drop dirt through the grate and onto your hair. you screw your eyes shut as you cling to bo, who looks at your cowering form beneath him and smiles.

“i’ll be right back darling,” his hand is still on your mouth as you nod at him with wet eyes, hands trembling as he slowly pulls away.

the room feels cold and empty as soon as he’s gone, his boots heavy as they stomp up the stairs, locking the door behind him.

you breathe a careful sigh of relief.

he’s gone, he can’t hurt me.

he’s gone, he can’t hurt me.

nathan’s gone, bo won’t let him hurt me.

with your hands no longer restrained, you undid the duct tape around your ankles, pulling your knees up under your chin and wrapping your arms around them.

footsteps descend the stairs, heavy again as the stairs creak and the lock clicks open.

you should be scared of him.

you should be scared of the knife in his hand. the blood on his wrist.

you should be scared because he was going to kill you, and he still might. but for now, he doesn’t.

at least for right now, he is your saviour.

he tosses the weapon aside, and it clatters onto the metal table next to him. you watch as his fingers slide a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his breastpocket, and pull one out with his teeth. he lights the end and walks over to you, his fingers tilting your chin up to look at him.

your hand reaches up to wipe a splatter of blood off the side of his neck, and you almost don’t notice the way bo freezes for just a second as you touch him. his hand wraps around your wrist and brings your fingers to his lips, sucking the end of each finger past his lips until all the blood is gone, his eyes never leaving yours.

god, the way you look at him.

he’s never seen anything like it. it isn’t fear.

it’s a look of devotion.

he offers you the cigarette and you take it between your fingers with your other hand.

“you ready to go home?” he asks, and your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“home?” you asked, taking a drag of his cigarette. you didn’t want it, you just hoped it would taste like him, but it just burnt your throat.

“the house, silly,” he smiled, and it almost looked sincere, like he was amused by you. “just up the road?” he was the bo you had met at the gas station again. the charming one. the sweet one.

the house, you thought. that’s right. he had taken you there to get the part you needed to fix nathan’s car, and the next thing you knew you were waking up here. “did you hit your head or something?” he teased, like he hadn’t been the one who knocked you out in the first place. he walked closer to take the cigarette from your grip, the ash falling onto your lap and sizzling against the layer of sweat on your bare skin. he placed a kiss on the top of your head before extending his empty hand to you, helping you out of the chair.

you followed bo up the stairs and realized you had been beneath the gas station, the sun long set outside. you didn’t know how long you had been down there.

“watch your step,” he mumbled, and you looked down at the pool of blood on the floor, and the trail of it, like something had been dragged across the floor and out of the store.

“nathan….” you asked, the word tasted vile in your mouth. you wiped your lips with the back of your hand for good measure.

“vincent took him out of here. no need to worry, darling,” he promised.

“vincent?” you asked, as he pulled you behind him by your hand, his calloused fingers rough as they interlocked with yours. you liked the way your hand felt in his.

“my brother- you’ll meet him later, he’s workin’ right now. he’s pretty quiet but i think you’ll like him.”

“okay,” you smiled - the first time you had smiled since you woke up in that basement. bo smiled back; and while it looked genuine, it was evil.

he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

and it had been

so

easy.

he hadn’t even done anything that he wouldn’t have done anyways - all he did was kill nathan.

but in your eyes he had saved your life.

how twisted is that?

bo tried to kill you, and here you were clinging to his arm, like you’d float away if you let go. as if he was the only thing holding you to the ground.

and he was. and he knew it.

there was no saving you now.

not when you believed you’d already been saved.

bo froze as your feet sped up to catch up with him, and your arms circled around his waist.

you were hugging him?

heaven help you, you really were a lost cause.

“thank you,” you mumbled, your head buried in the front of his shirt. bo laughed to himself, and let his arms wrap around you.

“you shouldn’t thank me, sweetheart,” he replied, the double meaning to his statement flying over your head. “what kind of man would i be if i didn’t help you? my momma - she raised me better than that.”

he couldn’t help but smile to himself. “you can meet her too, one day.”

you smiled up at him even though you didn’t get the joke, and he leaned down to kiss your lips. you decided you would never get tired of the taste of his mouth on yours. his lips like a drug.

“you gonna let me walk or we gonna stand out here forever?” he laughed, as you hadn’t let go of him yet.

“just don’t leave me,” you asked pathetically. you would have got on your knees and begged if you had to, even if the gravel would’ve scraped your knees bloody.

“believe me, darling,” he grinned. “i aint never lettin’ you get away.”

[lavenderstobins]

saving this interaction from twitter bc it still cracks me up

[idk120341]

This is so them like let’s be deaduzz this would be them (the second Max leaves the hospital and wants to vent about everything that happened)

It’s them it’s them it’s them

[luverine]

⊱ 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ⊰

𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰/𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔰:

Virginity (multiple x fem reader nsfw)

Rut (multiple x gn reader nsfw)

Creep (multiple x gn reader nsfw)

Ache (multiple x gn! reader)

Crybaby (multiple x gn! Reader nsfw)

Hands (multiple x gn! Reader nsfw)

Meow (multiple x gn! Reader nsfw)

Sunburn (multiple x gn! Reader sfw)

𝔇ℭ:

Goodnight, Red (Jason Todd x gn! Reader sfw)

ℑ𝔫𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢:

Sweet (sinister Mark x fem!reader sfw) 1k words

ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔈𝔳𝔦𝔩:

Restless (Leon Kennedy x fem reader nsfw)

Taste (Leon Kennedy x gn reader nsfw)

𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱:

Girlfriend (Sable Ward x Fem! Reader)

𝔐𝔶 ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔬 𝔄𝔠𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔞:

Shower thoughts (multiple x gn reader nsfw)

Omegaverse (multiple mha x gn reader nsfw)

𝔖𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰:

Movie glow (Charles Lee Ray x fem reader nsfw)

Swords (fem reader x Vincent Sinclair nsfw)

𝔗𝔬𝔨𝔶𝔬 𝔊𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔩:

Uta x fem reader (fic)

𝔒𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨𝔰:

Shy (Sad Yan x gn Reader nsfw ish) 0.9k words

Spores and Slushies (Jared adrenaline junkie plug x chill gn reader) 2k words

Devourer (Dallon Popescu Yandere! Vampire Hunter x Bitten! gn Reader nsfw) 3.1k words

The Anvil and the Arrow (Orc (Leif) x fem reader) 5.2k words

One: sunrise

Two: moonlight

Three: sunlight

Four: sunshine

Five: moonshine

Moth to a flame (Mothman (Luan) x fem reader) 3.8k words

one: he found you

two: monster fucker reader

three: becoming mates

four: fluffy babies

five: he’s cold

Six: can’t sleep

Seven: want

[venus-haze]

Night Shift (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: Your car’s totaled after driving over god knows what on those dark country backroads. A handsome mechanic named Bo works the night shift. You can’t believe your bad luck.

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is inspired by the deleted intro scene to House of Wax, except with Bo rather than Vincent. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Extremely dubious (non) consent. Threats, transactional sex acts, spit, degradation, rough oral (m. receiving), implied kidnapping. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Hour nine of driving. You were feeling fine, really. At least, you would be once you found a place to park for the night. Worth it to save money on another motel. The coffee from the last gas station you stopped at was long gone. The radio dial couldn’t go any higher. You tried to stay awake and alert by singing along to the staticky radio. 

“Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are—“ POP! “What the fuck?”

The pop sounded more like an explosion the second time around. Your iron grip on the wheel was in vain as your car swerved across the road. The speed limit sign took out your passenger side mirror, a metallic scraping sound accompanying the impact. Switching your foot from the gas to the brake, the scent of burnt rubber overwhelmed you. Finally, your car screeched to a stop, but your heart still raced.

Your hand shook as you put your car in park. Turned on your hazards. Stared blankly at the blinking headlights on the pitch black road. You hadn’t dozed off at the wheel. No way. 

A dull pain pulsed through your chest, and you brought your hand to it. The seatbelt had locked, digging into your sternum as it kept you from any further damage besides the cut in your skin that began dripping blood. Not deep enough to need stitches, at least. You unbuckled the seatbelt, opening the door to stumble out of the car. 

Both of your driver’s side tires had popped. The front passenger tire deflated from skidding on the uneven asphalt. You looked at the section of the road you’d just driven over. Country backroads were riddled with potholes. That could’ve been the culprit. Hard to see so late at night, even with your headlights.

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and flipped it open. No signal. Calling 911 only resulted in a dead dial-tone. At least you tried. Two options left. Stick around and hope someone would drive by and be able to offer help or walk back to the main road. In the hour or so you’d been driving, you’d only seen an old pickup truck drive in the opposite direction. The whole point of going this way was to avoid other drivers and get to your destination that much quicker. Walking back to the main road sounded torturous. There was nothing for miles, and it’d probably be daylight by the time you reached a sign of civilization. If you could even walk for that long. Either way, you were fucked.

Giving in to your defeatism, you walked around to the passenger side of the car. Your duffle bag had flown to the floor, not that you were too worried. It mostly had clothes, along with a few toiletries. When you opened it, however, you found your small shampoo bottle had opened, coating your belongings in soap, including the book you’d brought along in case you needed to pass the time somewhere. 

“Worst night of my fucking life,” you muttered to yourself.

Not bothering to close the door behind you, you sat on the hood of your car and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

You checked your phone’s clock just as it was about to die. A little after two in the morning. Half an hour and nothing. Just you and the sound of crickets. The occasional howl in the night. Rustling in the trees and bushes. You had turned off your headlights to save the car’s battery. There was no reason for anyone to know you were there, hidden under the cover of darkness.

“Hey, you alright?” a disembodied voice asked.

You blinked, bleary-eyed and squinting at the bright lights that assaulted your vision. Throwing an arm up to shield your eyes, you sat up, your back aching. 

“Thought you were dead or something,” the man said, motioning to the bloodstain on your shirt.

“I think I fell asleep,” you mumbled, before jolting awake. You were talking to someone. Someone with a car. “My car got wrecked from the–I don’t know exactly, potholes I guess. I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

“Happens a lot out here. The DOT don’t keep up these roads much. Boss has us drive around some nights just to check,” the man said, throwing a thumb in the direction of the truck behind him. A tow truck. You nearly cried in relief.

He offered you his hand, helping you off the hood of your car, keeping you steady as you got your footing on the road beneath you. Your legs felt sore too. As your eyes adjusted to the odd lighting, you tried to get a better look at your hero. His face was obscured by shadows.

“Mind headin’ over to the truck with me? I just gotta get a look at your license,” he said.

You nodded, following him to the tow truck as you pulled your wallet from your purse. He stood in front of the headlights. He glanced over your license, and you allowed curiosity to get the better of you, looking at his face better. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, nestled next to the cap he had on, dark curls peeking out from beneath it. His work shirt had a name patch sewn into it. Bo. If that was even his real name.

“Checks out to me,” he said, handing you your license back before your mind could begin racing too much. 

“Thank you so much, Bo.”

He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, placing it between his lips. You watched as he lit it with a lighter he fished out from his pockets. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll get your car hooked up.”

“Thirty bucks right?” you asked, digging through your purse for the fee listed on the side of the tow truck. Two crumpled twenty dollar bills were outstretched in your hand for him to take. 

“Hold on now, night shift is double.”

“I can give you my credit card.”

“Cash only.”

“Well, this is all I have.”

He grinned, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You got a lot more that I’m interested in.”

Didn’t even hide the way his eyes raked over your body. It was pitch black out apart from the tow truck’s headlights. How much of you could he even see? You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. 

You scoffed. “I-I don’t—“

“‘Less you wanna rough out the rest of the night on your own. Not sure when the next car’s gonna come through here.”

Your lower lip quivered at the predicament you found yourself in. Whatever. He’d probably make you blow him and be done with it. Hopefully never have to recount the humiliating situation to another soul. 

“What do you want me to do?” you asked.

“Get on your knees.”

You hesitated.

“Ain’t got all night.”

With a shaky breath, you knelt in front of him, eye level with his crotch. The cracked, uneven road wasn’t kind to your knees, but Bo didn’t care. He flicked his cigarette aside, grabbing your face with his rough hand. 

“Lucky I found you,” he said, his gaze burning your skin. “Lotta people wouldn’t be as nice as me if they found a pretty little thing like you alone out here.”

You tensed when he began undoing his belt buckle. “I changed my mind. I’ll wait here for someone else.”

He chuckled. “Too late for that, girl. No refunds.”

That was all it took to keep you there. Trapped. Your gaze kept fruitlessly looking for some sign of help from the road behind him. He seemed to know that no one else would come, smug as he palmed at his crotch before unzipping his jeans.

“Let me see you open that pretty mouth ‘a yours nice and wide for me,” he said.

You opened your mouth, presenting your tongue to him and trying to look at anything but the cocky expression on his face. He spit in your mouth, and you nearly gagged at the taste. Tobacco and beer. Stale. Bitter. You held his spit on your tongue until he said—

“Swallow.”

You did, trying to ignore the feeling of his saliva sliding down your throat.

“Attagirl,” he praised, giving you a patronizing pat on the cheek before prying open your mouth again with his fingers.

Your knees were on fire, and he hadn’t even shoved his cock in your mouth yet. You watched as he pulled it free from his underwear, already half-hard and intimidatingly big and veiny, twitching as if eager to break you. He gave it a few strokes, precum dripping from the head as he positioned it in front of your mouth.

“Give it a kiss.”

As soon as you pressed your lips to the tip of his cock, cold and chaste, you knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. 

“C’mon now, like you mean it,” he chided. “Get a lil’ tongue in there.”

You could hardly see his shadowy grin, but it was clear from his voice he was getting off on your humiliation. Pervert. You shuddered to think of the other women who’d been in your place as you made out with his cock, your lips wrapping around the head, tongue flicking at his leaking slit before pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his shaft. His scent was strong, a sweaty musk that threatened to overwhelm your senses as he pushed your face against his hardening length.

“Shit girl,” he groaned, “you’re a natural whore.”

Suddenly, you felt a painful tug on your scalp, your yelp muffled by his cock forced down your throat, gagging as you tried to breathe. Your vision blurred with tears at his force, ears ringing as you could swear you heard him laughing at your struggle. 

There was nothing you could do but take it, choking out sobs around his cock as he fucked your throat, hips thrusting with a punishing brutality that almost made you wish you’d driven into a tree instead. His cock filled your mouth, giving you little reprieve from him. Your throat burned at the relentless friction, head pounded from the lack of air.

“You’re gonna let me cum in your mouth, ain’t ya?”

You realized when his dark blue eyes pierced yours that he wanted an answer. Humiliated, your ‘yes’ was hardly intelligible with his cock in your mouth. To your shock, he slapped you.

“You ain’t gonna let me do shit,” he taunted through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna swallow it all, slut.”

Tears rolled freely down your cheeks as he pushed the limits of how much of him you could take, your throat constricting around his throbbing cock in panic and bringing him over the edge. He thrust hard when he came, nearly knocking you over if not for his hand firmly buried in your hair. His warm, bitter cum pumped in your mouth, down your throat, though you knew some of it spilled out from your lips despite your best efforts to swallow it all.

When he finally pulled his cock from your mouth, you took a painfully deep breath that burned the back of your throat. He reached down, a sinister gleam in his eye when you flinched. His thumb collected the cum from the corners of your lips, bringing it to your mouth. You sucked it clean, hoping you could silently communicate how much you hated him. He returned your death glare with amusement.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, inspecting it with a grin. “Good girl.”

You winced as you pushed yourself to your feet, drool and cum dripping from your puffy lips, knees split open and bleeding, grit and asphalt deep in the fresh wounds. You could hardly stand, leaning against the side of the tow truck, watching in disgust as he tucked his cock back in his pants and adjusted his cap.

“Alright, I’m a man of my word. Take a seat in the truck,” Bo said, the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. “I’ll get your car hooked up, bring you back to the garage. Might be there a while.”