#pls read with warning

[tusks-and-claws]

Cold Love/Hot Blood

Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: “Between teeth on a broken jaw/following a bloodtrail, frothing at the maw”

Miguel is struck with something that he’s never experienced before

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, dubcon by way of pheromones, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, feral Miguel, biting, marking, blood drinking, paralytic venom

Wordcount: 3k

Ao3 link here

-

You opened your eyes, blinking at the soft light from the bleary haze. Wincing, you raised your hand to your head. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it definitely felt wrong. What had happened? You were on a mission. That's right. And it had been going so well, until… until the anomaly villain threw something at you and Miguel. What was it? It had such an awful smell to it. And, where was Miguel?

You traversed the rubble of the abandoned building you were in. You couldn't see him. You shouted out for him.

"Here, I'm here," you heard him from the distance. Following his voice, you found him under some pieces of sheetrock from a collapsed wall. He was pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask.

"Geez, Miguel, are you alright?"

"Been better." His voice sounded strained. "Got a transmission from Jess that she's got hands on the anomaly. We'll meet her back at HQ. You go on ahead of me."

"What? No, we have to-" you started grabbing at the rubble to pull it off of him. He caught your arm before you could keep lifting.

"Please," he said, trying to meet your eyes from behind his mask. "Just go."

"What the hell is going on, Miguel? You're not… you're not acting right. We have to get you out of here."

He brought his hands up, holding his head in frustration. "Please, just do it. Don't make me beg."

"LYLA, please check him," you said, the avatar popping up and saluting you.

"No, don't-!" He tried to catch her in the air but she evaded him.

"His heart rate is really elevated but he seems okay otherwise. I think he's being dramatic. I don't detect any major injuries," she reported. You thanked her and she disappeared.

You crouched down to where he was. "What's going on, Miguel?" Your tone was serious.

He tried to hold your gaze for a moment until he swore and looked away. "That bomb that the anomaly threw… it affected me in a way that it clearly didn't affect anyone else, alright? Are you happy now?"

You furrowed your brow. "I don't understand."

He sighed, his breath shaking ever so slightly. "Itwasapheromonebomb." He said it so quickly and quietly.

"...What?"

"It was a pheromone bomb. Just leave me here so I can wait it out. This is so shocking humiliating- I," he sighed again. "Don't make me explain any further."

You blushed, not sure what to say. But you couldn't leave him like that, half-buried and vulnerable. "Can I at least help you up…? I promise I won't make fun of you. I just can't leave you defenseless like this."

He seethed for a moment, considering your offer. "...Fine. Grab this stupid sheetrock."

You did so, lifting it off of him with some effort. He did his best to stand up quickly. Despite his best, though, you could see the source of his embarrassment. He had a rock hard erection, and a particularly desperate one, by the looks of it. It laid upward, reaching towards his abdomen and pushing up against the tight fabric of his suit, straining. The size of him was nothing short of impressive.

You turned your gaze pointedly towards the ground as he moved away from the pile of rubble. Don't react don't react don't react. Could you pretend like you didn't notice? Even though not noticing was impossible, even from a single glance? You swallowed a lump in your throat, your head swimming with unprofessional thoughts.

Miguel turned from you, crouching down, hissing out a slow breath. "Fuck, it's getting worse," he whispered to himself, his body starting to tremble.

You took a step closer, reaching a hand out to his shoulder.

"Your proximity isn't… isn't helping." He admitted without turning around.

You stopped, silently moving your hand away from him. Touching him would surely make things harder.

"Miguel, I don't think waiting it out is an option for you. You just said it was getting worse."

He swore under his breath to himself. "I didn't mean for you to hear that. This is- shock it- this is completely foreign to me. Never been hit by anything like this before, it's s-so intense."

You winced at that, you'd never heard his voice so pained. But, what was the other option? You shivered just to think about it, your body reacting in ways that surprised you. How could you possibly propose helping him without making him think less of you? Would he even want help from you? Across from you, he was in turmoil, on his hands and knees trying desperately to control his breathing.

“Miguel… how can I help you?” It was a foolish question, a loaded question.

“You know the answer,” he replied from over his shoulder, his tone cold. He cried out again. “I- I can’t- can’t do that to you.”

“What if I’m offering?” You asked, a little too quickly, pushing down your fear and embarrassment for even thinking such things.

He turned further to meet your eyes, though you still couldn’t see his from behind the mask. You didn’t even need to see his eyes, his body language was communicating perfectly on their behalf. His muscles were pent up and quivering. Every breath rocked his massive shoulders. “Why?”

You didn’t think he’d ask that question. You searched your brain for an answer. “Because it isn’t your fault. And I respect you enough that this won’t change my mind.”

His thoughts seemed to be diverting to his baser instincts, his voice becoming a growl. “Need you… to be sure. Don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“I’m sure,” you said.

In no time at all, he pounced, bringing you to the ground. He was on top of you, his taloned fingers caging in your wrists against the cracked concrete of the floor, your arms above your head. You landed with your legs apart and with him between them, his hips desperately close to yours. Your eyes widened at his feral energy, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. He brought his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling. His exhale was shaky. “You smell so good… always smelled so good.”

Your body grew hot upon hearing that. Always? Had he thought about you in that way before? You smiled to yourself as he nuzzled the nose of his masked face into your neck, his hot breath coming through and ghosting over your skin. You could feel his huge frame shaking around you. He brought his hips down to your pelvis, seemingly being as cautious as possible as he began to grind his hardened length against you. His breath quickened at the contact, and he met you again with fervor, stimulating himself on you. His cock was unbelievably hard and hot, the temperature of him coming through both of your suits to meet your skin and overwhelm you. The feeling of him against you was sending shivers down your spine, the pleasant pressure made even sweeter by the promise of more to come. He positioned himself on top of you in such a way that each rhythmic, grinding rock found your clit and teased it with clothed contact.

You moaned lightly, the sound of it causing him to growl into your neck. You lifted your hips up, meeting him with the same tempo so he could grind into you more thoroughly, your bodies now writhing in tandem. His heavy breathing became panting. "Need to… need to touch you." He picked up his head and released your wrists, one hand steadying himself on the concrete, the other reaching down eagerly.

You got the memo, quickly slipping the pants of your suit down and throwing them aside so he wouldn't rip them off for you. You had at least enough hindsight to know you couldn't go back to HQ looking so disheveled. He dismissed the gloves of his suit and retracted his talons as his fingers found you immediately, honing in on the wet heat of your sex. Two plunged inside as he loomed above you, his muscles shaking again as he wet his fingers with your arousal. You shook right alongside him, your reaction bodily, as your back arched and your legs closed instinctively to hold his hand in place and not let him go. His fingers hooked inside of you, already relentless.

"Soaked," he whispered, almost to himself. The word resonated with a deep, animalistic hunger. Without removing his fingers from your warmth, he sat back on his knees and used his free hand to pry your legs open. "Need to see," he said. He watched the length of his fingers disappear over and over. The large hand that kept your legs wide was squeezing the soft flesh of your inner thigh, and he seemed fixated on the way it was yielding to his rough touches. Nearly everyone was small compared to Miguel, but you… you were different. He had his hands on you, inside of you, the comparison was tangible. You were small, soft, and his. His mind swam with how he would take you, how he would sheath himself inside of you until he bottomed out, how he would desperately fill you with his hot cum and hold your hips up to keep any precious drops from leaking out. It took everything in him to not reach down and start rubbing his impatient cock through his suit, but his fevered brain convinced him to keep his free hand on your leg so he could watch you fall apart from his fingers alone.

He was delirious as your walls started to spasm around his fingers, white hot pleasure pooling in your core, threatening to overflow as he kept up his efforts. The constriction of your muscles bolstered him, and he began to go faster and harder, starting to overstimulate you. You threw your head back, hands wildly trying to grasp at something on the concrete floor but coming up short. He removed his hand from your throbbing sex to start teasing your clit with abandon, and you moaned as your body lifted up off the floor.

"H-holy shit, Miguel," you gasped out. "It's- it's so much."

His hand moved so fast against your swollen clit that you could hardly think. The feeling was electric, and your orgasm was dangerously close. Your legs started to shake and tried to close around him again, but he kept them forced open as he intently watched, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. You came and it utterly racked you, your body shuddering as you cried out, hot liquid spewing from you and drenching Miguel's hand and forearm. You squirted on him, because of him. You thought you should be embarrassed, but he gave you no opportunity.

As your head just started to clear, he recalled his mask into the neck of his suit. You quietly gasped at unexpectedly seeing his face. So strong, angular, and handsome. His red eyes looked wild, his mouth was open, his fangs fully extended. He studied his hand, turning it over so the mess you made could catch the light. As it started to dry down on him, he brought the two fingers that had been inside of you up to his mouth, and he licked them both clean. You gaped at him, almost fully unable to process what was happening.

When he was finished, he turned his gaze from his fingers and back onto you, as you sat up on your elbows to watch him. You saw that his cock was still as hard as ever, still pushing to break free. As if reading your mind, he recalled that part of his suit too as he grabbed your legs and yanked you toward him. He rested his cock over your abdomen, once again reveling in just how much bigger than you he was. The hot weight of his manhood on your skin set you ablaze once more and you eagerly awaited him. He thrusted but without penetrating you, sliding himself over you and wetting his cock on your cum. His exhales quaked with anticipation until he could wait no longer. Even on his knees, he towered over you, and so he needed to tilt your hips up further so your entrance could meet the head of his leaking cock. He shifted his grip to your waist, holding firm as you steadied yourself on your elbows and looked to him with bated breath.

He slowly pushed his hips into you, his cock sinking deep into your pussy. The steady penetration had you reeling. You needed to feel him, all of him. Every inch, all at once. It felt like it took ages for him to finally reach the hilt, but when he did, he waited inside of you for a brief, merciful moment. You basked in the feeling of being so full, so complete. He began to pull himself out of you, leaving you cold and empty for a split second until he slammed his entire length back into you, repeating and repeating at an unwavering pace.

Each powerful thrust reached so deep inside of you that it was nearly painful. Immediately, the head of his cock found your cervix and was hitting it with each hard pump that Miguel delivered. Your eyelids grew heavy as your eyes began to roll back towards your skull. His onslaught was so thorough, every smack of his hips against your pelvis reverberating through every inch of your body. The overstimulation of when he fingerfucked you had carried over, and you were already close to losing control all over again. He felt it too, as he growled in response to your pulsating walls.

"This cunt…." He snarled through his fangs. "This cunt is mine."

"Yours," you moaned, meeting his words a little too quickly.

"Going to mark you… so everyone knows."

"Mark me, Miguel." You agreed, not quite realizing what he meant. He started to lay you down onto the ground without removing himself from you, continuing to fuck you in missionary as he brought his face down to the crook of your neck. Your pulse quickened with excitement. He opened his mouth, his breath making your skin somehow even warmer. You wished that you could've seen the flash of his fangs before what came next.

He bit down on you, hard, and you could feel the course of his venom like molten lava through your veins. When the searing heat reached its crest, a soothing wash of warmth followed in its wake, leaving your muscles loosened and relaxed. Blood started to drip down your shoulder, the wet trickle quickly cooling as it made contact with the atmosphere. Miguel stayed latched to you as his tongue met your skin, lapping at the red stream, determined to consume it all.

You submitted to him fully, allowing him to position you how he saw fit so he could fulfill his feral need. His strong hands snaked around your torso to your back, lifting you up with him as he rocked back onto his knees. He helped you to swing your legs around his slim waist and to drape your arms over his huge shoulders. You let your face settle against his neck, the clean musky smell of him overwhelming your senses. His hands found your hips and he effortlessly lifted you up and down on his cock, fucking himself with your pussy like you weighed nothing at all. You moaned into him as you clenched around his cock, your limp body succumbing to the overpowering feeling of him. You started to shudder as your orgasm claimed you with a white-knuckled grip. You whined into Miguel's neck as it hit you with shock after shock, your vision going spotty while your cunt tightened around him.  

He couldn't hold it any longer, and his cock jerked inside of you as he came. You were still getting hit with aftershocks of your own climax, your muscles bearing down to milk every drop of cum that he filled you with. He held you closer and he thrusted himself as far into you as he possibly could, instinctively trying to make sure as little seed would have the chance to leak out of you as possible.

Your muscle control started to slowly come back to you as you and Miguel were chest-to-chest, both of you sweating and heaving. You weakly raised your arms so your hands could tangle with the hair at the nape of his neck. You lingered there for a bit, his strong arms holding you in the place as you played with soft locks of chocolate hair. You finally leaned back to see clarity slowly returning to Miguel's expression, and he looked utterly mortified. He held your gaze as he turned red, removing one hand from your body so he could cover his face.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "What the shock came over me?"

You were struck with sudden fear. "Do you… not remember?" The fact that he was still buried inside you should've been a dead giveaway.

"No, I do," he said, nervously. "I remember getting hit with that stupid bomb, and you helping me, then me wanting to split you in half."

You couldn't help but giggle at that.

"I tried to make sure I wasn't too rough with you. I was still in there, the whole time," he said, taking his hand away from his face to smooth your hair. He stopped when he reached your neck, seeing the bite marks he left. "Guess I didn't do all that well, did I?"

"It's fine. I can take it."

"Clearly," he said, raising his eyebrows, mildly impressed. "Thank you. I… don't know what I would have gone through if you hadn't been so… generous. But… for God’s sake, let’s not go around telling people what happened. We have reputations.”

You agreed, the secret safe between the two of you, the puncture wounds on your neck a silent souvenir.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #smut #my writing #not beta read #this one was for me tbqh #i didn't really know how to end it so pls be nice to me #but dear god read the warnings on this one #also another sleep token reference? on my fics?? it's more likely than you think #im nervous to post this one ahhhhhhh

[thevirtualvalentine]

TAPE FOUR : BOOTY BANDIT !

Staring … Trafalgar D. Water Law 📸

SET SCRIPT : “hii! congrats on 100 followers. could i request a burglar!law x f!reader with dacryphilia or sadism? thank uuuu 🫶”

MATURE RATING(S) : ! NONCON ! SOMNOPHILIA , stalking, sadism (he slaps and spanks you here and there), dacryphilia, degredation, reader is called ‘bunny’ occasionally, unprotected sex, mentions of getting you pregnant, afab!fem reader, ooc law, overall this is very NSFW & be advised before interacting.

DIRECTORS CUT : for thee Trafalgar Law enthusiast @hesmything , sorry this came out so .. dark and disgusting. My first time writing dark content, & thank you for requesting <3

It’d been a week. A week of him watching you go in and out of your house without closing your blinds or properly locking your door. All he really wanted was some shitty belongings to pawn off you, but… you ended up being a favorite part of his day.

The way you dress yourself, how you undress yourself, and he’s particularly fond of the window in your bathroom that gives him a view of your nightly ritual. The way you lather yourself in expensive lotions so carefully… he needs it to be his hands that cascade down your naked curves, reaching places you can’t seem to. A man only has so much restraint, and with you? His patience is wearing thin.

Especially after tonight, he watched as your fingers rammed in and out of your aching cunt, how you couldn’t seem to make yourself cum no matter how hard you tried. Humping your little cunny on your pillow wasn’t cutting it either. That’s why he decided; if he wants something, he’ll simply take it.

It’s the late hours of the night, maybe even the early hours of the morning, but for all he cares you’re fast asleep. Draped in your bedding like the princess you are, bare legs shining against the light of the moon. Law could already feel himself getting hard, your tank top did little to cover your exposed chest. Underwear showcasing a damp spot from how you worked yourself up earlier.

No worries, he’ll take care of it and you. You’re beautiful he thinks, he’ll rob more from you than just some petty belongings. He didn’t even notice how his hand had involuntary began palming himself as he watched you in your own room, need clouding his judgement as soft whines fell from your lips. Tits jostling around as you tossed and turned. He walks over to your side of the bed, kneading your breast and then tugging at your nipple as you lean into his touch. They harden at his ministrations and he groans.

“Naughty girl… having wet dreams are we?” You’re so soft and pliant in his hands, breasts warm as he plays with you. He grins to himself when he pulls a meek mewl from your plush lips. “Bet you feel good baby,” he says as if he knows anything about you. His spare hand finds his own rock hard member. Unbuckling his pants as his appendage traverses down your torso. He has you flat on your back, helping spread your legs while inching his form between them slowly. Following the inhale and exhale of your form as he arranges himself.

He’s pleasantly surprised you haven’t woken up just yet, something sick in his head makes him want to fuck you so good you’ll be begging him to make you squirt. Your body will tell him exactly what he needs to know, evident by how much wetter you’re getting already. “Made me so horny all week, it’s your fault y’know. I’m just takin what’s owed to me…” that’s what he tells himself, but he knows it’s wrong. That’s partly what’s making it so tantalizing for him.

He towers over you, almost not wanting to move and spoil his own splendor, you look so beautiful like this. So comfortable in your sleep, but another thought tells him to fuck that sweet face off of you, to give you something to cry about.

Your arms are splayed on either side of you as he kneels between your legs, putting two fingers on your clothed slit. It makes him even harder feeling the dampness accumulating, but you stir and he pulls his hand away. “Shhh, still,” he says as if you could hear him. Instead he begins to pull your panties down your thighs, eyeing the string of slick that connects you to your underwear. He almost moans at the sight, “fuckkk, what am I gonna do with you.”

Unlucky for you that you live alone right now, but it’s very lucky for him. He can’t bear the thought of waiting to fuck your hole any longer. It’s been gnawing at him all week— now that he’s face to face with it— he can’t help himself. Law wishes he had more control than this, more time to savor your innocent form but the ache in his cock says he needs to act now.

He knows it’ll wake you up, and he knows you’ll be scared; but he’ll prove to you he knows what he’s doing. “Dumb slut gettin wet in your sleep, look at ya drippin all over your own sheets.” Law tugs his shirt between his teeth as he pumps his leaking tip, reminding himself to inch inside you delicately instead of all at once.

He loses it, the second your cute cunt wraps around his tip he fucks you to the hilt. You wake up wincing trying to figure out what the hell was going on and he immediately grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. “Calm down, shhh hey hey, I’ll only get as rough as I need to be.” He felt the way you clenched around him as he slid in, you must like pain.

Oh and don’t even get him started on that look you’re giving him, like a deer in headlights as you babble about how you’ll give him anything he wants if he stops. “I just want you,” your body goes limp when he says this; can’t even free your hands as he starts to fuck his length in and out of your abused and defiled cunt.

He can’t stand to see you sad, he’ll just have to make you feel good enough to stop yammering on about things that don’t matter right now. That’s why he lets go of your wrists, pulling your knees up to his shoulders as he splits you in two. Tears of frustration and embarrassment cascading down your pretty face. “Awww, don’t cry. It’ll just make me fuck you even harder bunny.”

You’ll never forget those eyes, the ones that glow gold as he kisses the inside of your thighs, possessively marking what isn’t his. You can’t help the way that you moan as the tip of his cock reaches your cervix with each repetition of his hips.

“See, knew you’d like it. You’re squeezing me so tight,” he spits out between his own grunts. You can’t stand the fact he’s proving himself right. His cock shouldn’t be making you so submissive so you turn your head away from him.

He slaps you for being defiant, but his strokes into your drooling warmth never letting up. “Look at me, tell me you love it.” And yet again you clench around him like a little painslut, he adores it.

When you don’t answer him he leans over you, angling his hips deeper into your body as he fucks you up the bed. Your tummy bulging from each rough thrust as your eyes begin to roll back. “I said, tell me you fucking love it whore,” another slap to your other face. Causing your cheeks to heat up from the contact.

You can’t even begin to think clearly; whether it be from fear, from how you’re getting fucked stupid by a man you didn’t know, or from how turned on you are. It’s sick and disgusting and all you can do is cry and profess, “love it, I- I love it.”

“Atta girl,” his large hand wraps around your throat as he drills you harder, hips rolling in and out of your pussy as you grow wetter and wetter. “My hole to fuck,” he tells you, dangerously pressing down even further on your neck as your legs begin to wrap around his torso.

“Fu— fuck gonna,” you rasp out, but he can already tell. His eyes transfixed on your tiny pussy that’s currently clinging to his cock like you need him more than oxygen.

He slaps the back of your thigh, sliding two of his fingers in your mouth to prevent you from screaming any further. “Cum for me bunny, go on,” and there’s that shit eating grin of his. The one that lets him know he’s won as you moan and swirl your tongue around his fingers like a trained pet. “Look at you creamin’ for me. What a good girl.”

Your chest is heaving, face sticky with tears that can’t seem to stop. Vision blurring in and out as this man continues to fuck you senseless. Your body simply limp as he moves you according to his will.

He flips you over, not caring if you have time to come down or adjust before he’s sliding himself back in you as if he belongs there. “Cry for me painslut, cmon.”

He berates your backside in swings of his large palm against your sensitive skin. Causing you to scream into the bedding as your mind shatters into pieces. The only reason you haven’t collapsed into the sheets is because he’s the one holding you up like you weigh nothing to him, ushering the full reality of what’s happening.

You’re nothing but a slick and warm hole to be used, he makes sure to remind you of that as he presses the back of your neck deeper into the plush blankets. “Gonna fuck you full bunny, don’t waste any of it or I’ll have to come back and fill you again.”

Your body jostles in accordance with his punctuated thrusts, carving your walls to fit his cock. You’re a whining, sticky, drooling mess and your dumb cunt only continue to flutter around him. “You want that? Want me to fuck a baby in you?” He presses his body weight into you, spreading your legs apart with his knees as he grinds into your cunt. It’s sick, he’s mocking you, his body moves like he’s making love to you and that’s not what this is at all.

But, he feels so fucking good and with the way he’s degrading you. That deep voice of his, it only makes you want him more.

You feel disgusting and humiliated by him and all he does is coo at you like you’re a helpless little bunny. “Shh, just take it.“ He has your hair in his hands as he forces himself inside you. Each and every inch of his fat length ripping you apart. You feel yourself cumming around him again as you whine and claw at the sheets desperately trying to run as he fucks you stupid.

“Oh fuck— you’re so dirty, cummin’ all ahh- over me,” you’re so warm and tight it’s making him lose it. Watching you could never compare to fucking you raw. He bites and licks at your neck to silence himself as his balls start to constrict, “pussy’s milking me. Fuck you’re so good.” His words should make you feel good as he praises you, but it’s nothing but filth as you feel him release his hot load. Bucking his hips faster and faster to fill you full to the brim. He bites hard enough to draw blood as a reminder that he can and will come back to take exactly from you what he desires.

Enjoy? Reblog & click here 2 see more!

#pls good GOD check the warnings b4 reading #came a few times writing his dialogue Ngl #sooooooo ooc but it’s ok he’s flexible #law smut #trafalgar law smut #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x y/n #law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #law #trafalgar d. water law #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece thirsts #one piece smut #op smut

[the-shy-wolf]

Just a FYI, been going through some mental stuff.

But yeah, just wanted to give everyone an update, and I apologize for the scare and that I'm sorry.

Hi everyone, just wanted to say ty to everyone who checked in. Sorry for the worry and my abrupt absence. I had a mental breakdown and made an attempt on my life last week and I've been gone due to having been admitted and getting the help I needed. They put me on new meds and switched my therapist. I've always suffered from extreme anxiety and depression- and I thought I was doing better until we found out recently that our cat Prince had cancer. My partner had to make the difficult decision to put him down Thursday during his surgery bc it was worse than the vet expected. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye bc i was admitted, and I'm having a hard time forgiving myself for my mental breakdown. He was a very loved, very important member of our family. We've have had him since we first got together. I tried to convince myself that our cat was going to be okay, telling people he's going to be okay, that everything would be fine- despite knowing I might have to go through another loss. This on top if work, and people constantly putting me under a microscope on sm- my daily life and things I have to juggle- I think people don't realize that people have other things going on in the background that they can't see. And most people wouldn't know because I'm doing my best to not use friends to vent to. It's hard to publicly come on here and explain things when I really don't want to. I feel bad for not reaching out to my friends and for my mental breakdown. And I feel bad for putting my partner through such a scare again. If he hadn't found me, I wouldn't be alive right now and I quite literally owe him my life. I also treated some of my friends horribly while I was having my episode, and for that I apologize as well. I was not in a good state of mind.

I do plan on continuing my art and comics. Art has always been my distraction from bad feelings. My partner is now helping me plan out panels for Monstrosities and it has been a huge help.

#content warning #pls read at own risk #i keep things vague but idk if people are going thru stuff themselves

[charliemwrites]

Ehheheheh

I really love your drabbles and stories and series and like- I'm begging do you have recs for fics and blogs who you like? Dunno if you've already done this or not, I'm super sorry if I've wasted your time, but like I really like your work and those audios you based the charmed serial killer Simon series off of are exactly my type so the thought process behind my ask was basically-

Okay, they've got WOHDJWHF (positive) taste in audios, their series and writing is just to die for, I'm pretty sure if I wanted to ask someone for fic recs you'd be the perfect choice so like

I beg

Ehehhehe…⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

Hi!!!! Ohhh do I have recs. Sooooo many recs.

This is not an exhaustive list obvs. If you want something specific - like a vibe or a tag, I can absolutely add some more. Same for specific audios, music, tv….

For blogs, obvs the loves of my life @ceilidho, @ohbo-ohno, @eilidh-eternal, @luminousbeings-crudematter. I know I’m forgetting some. It’s not because I don’t love anyone or their work, my brain is just a disorganized filing cabinet.

I think all or most of those blogs have AO3 accounts so PLEASE go to their blogs, find their stuff, and check out their ao3s because OOF

Also on AO3, I really like anything MildLimerance writes.

“Surviving You” by WhisperedWords12

BennyHatter’s “COD Shifter au” is one I’ve read REPEATEDLY. Really good world building and character studies

“I’ll give you anything everything if you want things” by imneednap (HOLY HELL THIS ONE. I read it twice in a row. It… it sent me on the obsessive Johnny path)

“Learning Experience” series by AvaLoren

“Mine & Yours” series by Artemis_Neardos (so intense I always get a headrush)

Now for audios….

Badjhur has sort of become synonymous with COD audios, or a lot of smut audios in general I think?

Run_N-Coke has a great portfolio. (His was the first smut audio I EVER listened to. I had the volume up to high, got spooked, and dropped my phone on my face. Forgave him though)

AmbroseKincaidVA

ScotsLibrarian (he has dom Soap audios to DIE for)

Akuma_asmr

AntiqueVA

BloomingVA

RaidynReborn

Okay and this one is a bit more obscure I think (?) and also please be mindful of his tags because he does NOT fuck around. But if you like REALLY dark audios, Evil-scotsman. A good starter would probs be his sleep paralysis demon one. Gave me some Soap Thoughts™️ that I’m planning to expand on soon :)

#asks #recs #recommendations #suggestions #also pls remember to always read tags/descriptions/warnings #pleaaaaase stay safe #and also come yell at me if you recognize these or check them out and like them :)

[ghosttotheparty]

something like bones and glass

warnings: homophobia; religious homophobia; f slur (several times); brief mention of pedophilia; past child abuse and neglect; violence/fighting; blood; rough sex also on AO3

Steve’s parents come home. Without warning.

Usually they call a few days in advance, just to let Steve know, probably because they assume Steve has friends over, has parties that he has to clean up after, but it’s been a while since that happened. It’s still nice to know when they’ll be home, just so he can prepare himself. So he knows what day he can hole up in his room or escape to Robin’s or Nancy’s.

But he hears their car pull into the driveway as he’s kissing Eddie against the wall by his bed, as Steve is pushing his hands under Eddie’s shirt to press into his skin, as Eddie is pulling his hair, and they both pull away at the same time to blink at each other in confusion.

“Nancy?” Eddie questions, still gripping Steve’s hair, and Steve shrugs.

“She didn’t say she was coming over.” He pecks Eddie quickly before letting go and going to the window. Eddie leans against the wall, watching him smooth his shirt down before he freezes, his eyes widening. “Shit— It’s my parents.”

Eddie’s stomach drops.

“What?”

He crosses the room, joining Steve at the window to see Cathrine and Walter Harrington, pulling suitcases out their car, talking across the roof of it.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, stepping away from the window in case they look up. “Uhm. I can— I can hide up here.”

“Your van in the driveway,” Steve says. His voice is almost distant, and he’s still looking out the window, his face fallen.

“You can say you borrowed it from someone,” Eddie suggests desperately. “Or— Or I can say I’m doing maintenance work? I know about, like, electrical work, we can say your A/C wasn’t working, or—“

“Eddie.”

“Or I— I know about cars, I can say I was working on your car and you invited me in for— for water or something, and—“

“Eddie.”

“And I mentioned music so you’re showing me your tapes, or, like—“

“Eddie.”

Eddie shuts up, staring at Steve with wide eyes, his heart pounding. The front door opens. Steve takes a shaky breath, his gaze unwavering from Eddie’s as something clatters downstairs.

“It’s fine,” Steve says quietly, firmly. “It’s…”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly.

“It’s fine.” Steve shakes his head. They can hear his parents’ voices downstairs, muffled by walls and doors and distance. “We… We’re friends. Right?”

Eddie exhales and nods.

“Come meet my parents,” Steve says with a little eyebrow quirk, and Eddie scoffs. Steve’s smile is fake. Eddie can tell.

“They’re gonna hate me,” he says quietly.

“I don’t care,” Steve says, his voice sharper, and Eddie’s eyes linger on the way his jaw is set, the way it clenches as he looks at Eddie intently. “I don’t— I don’t care what they think. You’re mine.”

Eddie stares at him, his eyes flickering to Steve’s lips.

“Fuck. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Following your lead,” he says softly, and Steve smiles weakly, tugging him in by a necklace for a lingering kiss.

“Hey,” Eddie says as Steve is moving toward the door, and Steve pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve says earnestly.

Eddie follows Steve out the door, hesitating to rip off his battle jacket and throw it back into Steve’s room. He smooths his shirt down and rolls his eyes when he realises what he’s wearing (Judas Priest; there’s a hand holding a giant razor blade, and he wonders why he didn’t just wear a plain black shirt). The chains hanging from his ripped jeans rattle as he walks down the hall and down the stairs, and he tucks his necklaces under his shirt anxiously before he smooths his hair back. Steve pauses at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks quietly, glancing at his chest, at the absence of necklaces.

“Trying to look presentable,” Eddie whispers. Steve stares at him, smiling softly.

“You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.”

Cathrine and Walter’s voices get louder as they head into the living room, where they’re both standing with their suitcases. Eddie lingers by the door, pushing his hands into his pockets in tight fists.

“Hi,” Steve says like he’s asking. Eddie watches his shoulders tighten like he’s bracing himself.

Catherine’s hair barely moves even though she whips her head around to look at Steve. It’s tall and curly and fluffy looking but stiff with hairspray, and she’s wearing a grey pantsuit, her shoulders boxy, and her heels wobble on the carpet of the living room. Walter is also in a suit, his tie loosened, his hands in his pockets.

Eddie takes a deep breath, repressing the simmering anger in his chest as he looks at them, trying hard to keep a neutral, friendly expression.

Steve’s told him about them. About how they left him at home starting when he was nine, and how he was left with nannies and teenage babysitters before that. How they’d lose their shit if he spilled juice on the kitchen floor, if he stained or tore a shirt. How he raised his voice when he was eleven and saw the back of his father’s hand and then the floor, and the gold band around his finger haunted Steve’s dreams.

How his mother constantly, shamelessly, told him it was his fault she wasn’t young and beautiful anymore. That he was the reason his father wasn’t loving and caring, as though Steve ever has any say in his own existence.

“Whose van is in the driveway?” Walter asks sharply, sans greeting even though it’s been a few months since he’s seen Steve.

“Uhm.” Steve turns slightly toward Eddie, who steps further into the room, raising a hand and suddenly wishing his nails weren’t painted.

“That— That’s mine,” Eddie says lightly, putting on a smile.

Catherine’s eyes widen, and Walter stares, facing Eddie. The room is silent except the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle.

“Steven,” Walter says in a careful, measured voice, his eyes trained on Eddie. “Why is there a killer in my living room?”

Eddie’s stomach drops further, his cheeks flaming, and he shoves his hand back in his pocket as Steve says sharply, “He’s not a killer.”

“Steven—“

“He’s not,” Steve snaps, and Eddie looks at him. “Those charges were proven wrong, and dropped, and Eddie’s one of my best friends.”

Eddie stares at Steve, at the firm set of his jaw like he’s just daring his father to argue.

The room is silent again, tense and awkward.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Walter,” Catherine says quietly, breaking the silence, placing a gentle hand on Walter’s shoulder as he and Steve stare each other down. “Let’s be polite to… Steven’s guest.”

Eddie blinks at her, trying ignore the pressure behind his eyes that always comes when he remembers that people actually believe that he’s a murderer. His hands are shaking.

“Your name is Eddie, right?” she says, sickly sweet and so kind it makes Eddie feel nauseous. It reminds him of the way kids in school used to feign interest in D&D, used to ask questions and prompt him to tell them excitedly about it just to make faces at their friends while he talked. Just to complain about how weird he is.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie says tightly.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Eddie?” she says like she’s speaking to a child.

Eddie looks at Steve.

Who’s staring back, his gaze intense, his expression firm, and he nods slightly when Eddie silently asks him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says again. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

She and Walter leave to take their luggage upstairs, and Steve tugs Eddie’s shirt, pulling him into a secluded corner in the living room, and their eyes lock. Steve looks like he wants to cry, and Eddie can hear the way his breath is trembling, and Steve’s lips are pursed to keep them from quivering.

“‘S okay,” Eddie says softly.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve says weakly, still clutching at Eddie’s shirt.

“No, stop,” Eddie tells him gently, moving closer. “It’s not your fault, Stevie.”

Steve inhales sharply, pressing his lips together.

“They are assholes,” Eddie says softly, reaching up to touch Steve’s cheek. “And that’s not your fault, you got it?”

Steve nods, swallowing.

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

He pulls Steve into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs as Steve’s arms wrap around him tightly. “And after dinner we can say my van broke down and you can take me home.” He pulls away to look into Steve’s eyes. “And you can stick with Wayne and me for a while. How’s that sound?”

Steve nods, his mouth twisting, and Eddie’s heart aches because Steve is trying not to cry.

“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers. “‘S gonna be okay.”

“I hate them so much, Eddie,” Steve says. His voice wavers.

“I know, baby.” Eddie kisses him. “I know. But after this we’ll go home. And we can get high if you want.”

“Will you fuck me?” Steve asks in a small voice.

“Absolutely.”

“Cool.” He exhales and pulls Eddie into a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Eddie kisses him again, pulling back when a door shuts upstairs, but Steve tugs him close, kissing him chastely before he carefully pulls Eddie’s necklaces out of his shirt.

“Don’t hide.”

Eddie melts a little bit.

Eddie fidgets with his necklaces while Catherine scours the fridge and freezer for a dinner to her liking, complaining about how unhealthy pizzas are and just sighing when Steve points out that he babysits children. She settles on a lasagna that she finds buried in the freezer and some lettuce. Without dressing. (Eddie thought rich people were supposed to eat better.)

Steve sits next to him at the dinner table. Eddie’s never seen plates on this table. It’s usually filled with cards or dice or maps and drawings and crayons. Steve stares sullenly at his plate, poking at his food with his fork as Eddie chats with his mom as best he can. He can still hear the ticking from the clock in the living room as they talk.

He tells her that he met Steve through Dustin, that he knew Steve at school because everyone loved him, and then he found out everyone loves him even outside of school. That the kids he babysits practically worship him. He catches Steve fighting a smile as he speaks.

The conversation dies down after a while. Under the table, Steve sets a hand on Eddie’s thigh and squeezes tightly. He’s shaking.

Eddie subtly reaches under the table and squeezes his hand, rubbing the back of it gently.

“Mr Harrington,” he says politely when they let go of each other. “Steve said you had work in, uhm, was it San Francisco?”

“That’s right,” Walter says dryly.

“I’ve never been,” Eddie says, trying desperately to keep his voice light. “How is it?”

Walter sighs, taking a bite.

“Not as nice as it used to be.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, taking the opportunity for a real conversation. “Why’s that?”

“Not as clean,” he says. Eddie hates his voice. So pompous and dry like the world bores him. “Posters and banners everywhere, all these fags walks around the streets holding hands. Disgusting.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. In his peripheral vision he sees Steve tighten.

“Oh.” He twists his fork, seeing Steve’s hand grip the table cloth tightly. “Sounds real different from Hawkins.”

“Sure is.”

Eddie shifts so he can press his foot to Steve’s because he can’t lean over and kiss him. There’s a long stretch of silence. Eddie counts seventeen ticks of the clock before he speaks again, the silence unbearable.

“Mrs Harrington, Steve mentioned that you collect pottery.”

When he mentioned it, he said he wanted to smash all of it. Eddie doesn’t say that.

“I do,” she says brightly. “I started collecting when I was nineteen, after I married Walter—“

“Why is it disgusting?” Steve interrupts abruptly, looking across the table at his father. Catherine falls silent, staring at him. Eddie says his name softly.

“I’m sorry?” Walter says, lowering his fork.

“The fags,” Steve says coldly. “If they’re just holding hands. What’s the problem?”

Walter stares at Steve, a challenge in his eyes, but Steve keeps his ground, staring back, unblinking.

“You know why.”

“No. I don’t.” Steve lifts his chin defiantly. Eddie wants to marry him. “Tell me.”

“It’s not right.”

“Why?” Steve says, but it’s hardly a question. He almost growls. Eddie shifts in his seat.

“Men are supposed to be with women,” Walter says, his voice measured like he’s lecturing Steve. Eddie can hear the way Steve is breathing, can see his fist trembling as it grips the table cloth. Eddie kind of hopes it rips. “Homosexuals— They— They go against God’s word.”

A small part of Eddie is happy to see him get flustered.

“Right,” Steve breathes. “God’s word.” He’s nodding, his jaw tensed the way it does when he’s particularly mad. It’s hot. Eddie sets his fork down. “Because God always wants the best, right?”

Walter just stares. Catherine’s hands are in her lap.

“That’s why priests rape little boys when they go in for Sunday school, right? Because they know God’s word.” Eddie looks at him, taking a deep breath. “That’s why you married an eighteen year old when you were twenty seven.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he looks at Catherine, who clears her throat delicately and wipes her lips with her napkin even though there’s nothing there. Walter’s face turns red.

“God also says don’t get drunk,” Steve continues, his voice strong. “And we all know you don’t have an issue with that.”

“Steven,” Catherine says firmly, but Steve doesn’t spare her a glance. The air feels like it’s tightening, like they’re all holding their breaths.

“So what’s the problem with fags?” Steve asks, his cheeks red. “Why do you hate them so much? You’re not better than them.”

“Why are you so defensive—”

“Because I am one.”

Steve is yelling.

Steve never yells, not like this. He yells to be heard over rambunctious bickering and laughter, he yells to be heard across the trailer or the house. He doesn’t yell out of anger. But he is now.

The rooms falls silent. Eddie looks from Steve to his parents, to their wide eyes, and he slowly reaches for the knife next to his plate. He grips it in his hand, his muscles tense the way they were when he was fighting the demobats with Dustin. Ready to move at any given second, like his veins are stiff with adrenaline.

“What are you saying?” Walter says coldly, quietly.

Steve scoffs, humourless.

“I think that was pretty clear.”

“Steven—“ Catherine tries to say, but Steve interrupts.

“But you want me to be clearer? I can be clearer.” He pushes his plate away, toward his dad, and leans over in emphasis. “I like men. And I’ve known for years, and I never told you because I knew you’d try to beat it out of me, but you can’t do that anymore.”

Walter throws his fork onto his plate with a clatter, his mouth twisting, and Steve just grins.

“I can be more specific,” he says in a low voice. He leans back, moving his arm to run his fingers through Eddie’s hair more gently than Eddie thought possible at a time like this. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie,” Steve says. Eddie smiles at him. “And I love him more than life itself, and I love when he holds my hand, and when he kisses me, and—”

Walter interrupts by moving out of his seat, the chair scraping loudly on the floor, his face bright red, as though anything Steve’s said is scandalous. Steve seems to have the same thought, pulling his hand away from Eddie and standing too, his eyes following Walter as he moves away from the table.

“I can tell you more,” he says loudly, defiantly. Eddie scoots his chair back, watching raptly, just in case. “I love it when he fucks me.”

Catherine gasps, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie as he watches Walter’s face redden even more.

“And he fucks me hard,” Steve continues, ignoring his mother as she says his name weakly and begins to cry. “And I fucking love it. And I bet that pisses you off even more, doesn’t it.”

He’s breathing hard, and his whole body is trembling, and Eddie feels prouder than he’s ever felt in his life.

“That I’m the one taking it,” Steve says, quieter as Walter stares at him. “You always wanted me to be a man, but I love it when my boyfriend makes me his bitch.”

Heat pools in Eddie’s stomach. He slides his tongue across his lips, wanting to pin Steve to the wall and kiss his breath away.

“And aren’t you angry,” Steve breathes. “That you don’t have another son to fix the Harrington name.” He’s moving closer to Walter, and Eddie watches carefully. Walter’s hands are shaking, his chest rising and falling with each breath that rattles around in the quiet room. “Because you’re an only child,” Steve says thoughtfully, like it’s a new discovery. “And you only had a faggot,” he adds quietly, close enough to press two fingertips into Walter’s chest as he whispers, “Harringtons end with me.”

The air snaps.

Catherine screams when Walter’s fist hits Steve’s face, and Eddie stands from his chair, his vision red, moving quickly as Catherine cries Walter’s name. Walter is trying to hit Steve again, and Eddie grabs the back of his jacket, jerking him off and holding him back as Steve takes a breath.

His eyes are shining in a way Eddie’s never seen before, with malice and rage and twenty years of anger boiling and bubbling out of him. His cheek is already blooming red, and Eddie can see the subtle mark of Walter’s wedding band. Eddie jerks his jacket again, holding him in place.

“I’m not fourteen anymore, Dad,” Steve says evenly.

The crack of his fist on Walter’s face echoes around the room, and Eddie finally drops the jacket, but not before shoving Walter against the wall hard to disorient him. He steps away as Steve punches him again, watching.

Catherine is yelling at them to stop, her voice shrill and high, but Eddie just… watches.

He’s heard Dustin and the others tease Steve for not winning fights. Losing the fight with Jonathan Byers, the fight with Billy Hargrove. But he’s also heard them all praise Steve for beating demodogs with a baseball bat. And he’s seen Steve throw a demobat into the ground by gripping its serrated tail, seen him step on its wing and rip it right in half before flinging its body away and spitting its blood on the ground. And Eddie’s known, for as long as he’s known this Steve Harrington, that he pulls his punches.

But he isn’t tonight.

Walter’s face and Steve’s hands are painted red with blood, and the sound of them both yelling and Cathrine sobbing and the sound of bone and blood are echoing around the kitchen until Walter is dropping to the floor.

Steve is gripping the front of his blood stained shirt, hitting him and hitting him and hitting him, and Eddie startles at the sound of the front door breaking in, blinking hard and realising that the room is lit up by red and blue flashing lights, that Catherine isn’t in the room.

He steps forward to pull Steve away, his vision focused on Steve as shouts fill the room, but Steve shoves him back and Eddie gets a glimpse of his face.

His top lip is split, bleeding, and his cheek is darkly bruised, and he’s crying.

Tears mix with his blood as they slide down his cheeks, and Eddie knows it must hurt as a tear hits his lip, and even though Steve must not be able to see well, he isn’t stopping. Eddie desperately shouts his name, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him away from Walter, who falls onto the floor, weakly saying something about Steve being a bastard. Catherine is sobbing in the doorway as cops pull Walter off the ground, and Eddie holds Steve back.

Steve is sobbing too, and Eddie’s whole body hurts. He’s saying Steve’s name, trying to get him to look at Eddie, wants to prompt him to breathe in all the way, but Steve won’t look at him, his arms straining against Eddie’s grip. He’s still yelling.

The cops push Walter toward the door as one of them, Powell, moves toward Eddie. Eddie recognises him. He was there when Eddie came back, when Hopper came back. He arrested Eddie once when Eddie was fifteen, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge was Hopper and Joyce Byers filled him on the shitshow that been going on in Hawkins for the past few years.

Powell is staring, wide-eyed, at them, his mouth hanging ajar with an unspoken question.

“He threw the first punch,” Eddie says, gesturing to Walter’s wriggling body as he’s led outside, his voice shaking.

Walter is yelling at Steve, even though he can’t see him. Calling him a bastard, and a faggot. Yelling that Steve isn’t his son.

As soon as he’s out the door, Steve’s body relaxes, and Eddie pulls him close, tugging him into a hug. He’s breathing hard, and shaking so hard that Eddie can feel it even though Steve’s fists are gripping his shirt tightly. The cop looks at them, watching, but Eddie doesn’t care. Let him see.

Eddie holds his face gently when Steve’s crying slows, and he watches the flashing police lights reflect in his glistening eyes and his tears. Eddie wipes a drop of blood from his lip, nodding when Steve’s chin quivers.

“You’re okay,” Eddie murmurs. His hands are shaking too. Steve takes a deep, trembling breath, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie’s.

“My ear’s ringing.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he reaches up to Steve’s right ear, touching it gently. There’s some blood in his hair above it, and anger flashes in Eddie’s chest. He wants to go outside and beat Walter some more, regardless of the cops, regardless of his already garbage reputation. But he doesn’t. Because Steve is clutching to his shirt, and he’s crying.

“Can you hear me still?”

Steve nods, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Eddie pulls him into another hug, moving so his mouth is above his right ear, and he knows he’s getting blood on his face, but he doesn’t care.

“‘S gonna be okay,” he says softly. “I got you, sweetheart, you’re alright.”

Eddie closes his eyes, and they sway, and they can still hear the distant, unintelligible shouting of Walter outside. Powell waits next to them patiently until they part slowly. Steve is sniffling, and Eddie wipes his face, under his eyes, under his nose, wipes away the blood on his lip.

“Steve,” Powell says gently. “You gotta tell me what happened.”

Steve takes another deep breath, swallowing thickly before he looks at Powell, setting his shoulders and jaw again.

“I’m queer,” he says firmly. Powell doesn’t react, just looks at him. “I told him.”

“He hit you first?” Powell asks, reiterating what Eddie said earlier. Steve nods.

“I…” He hesitates, reaches down to take Eddie’s hand, and Eddie laces their fingers, squeezes tightly. “I provoked him. Taunted him.”

Powell pauses, looking out the window to see the cars outside, and he slides his tongue over his teeth, seething.

“Wait here a minute.”

Eddie nods, and Steve leans against him as Powell leaves. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve tightly, pulling him close.

“God, you did so good, Stevie,” he murmurs in his good ear. “‘M so proud of you, baby.”

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. His voice is rough. Eddie kisses his forehead gently.

“I know, baby,” he says just loud enough that Steve can hear him. “But it’s done, okay?” he says. He looks into Steve’s eyes. “You’re done with him.”

Steve exhales, closing his eyes.

Eddie shifts, pulling to guide him to the table, but Steve tugs at his shirt, opening his eyes and leaving a hard, lingering kiss on Eddie’s lips. Eddie closes his eyes, holding Steve until he pulls away, and when Steve looks at him blearily, he lets out a soft laugh that seems out of place.

“I got blood on you,” he says quietly. Eddie scoffs.

“I’ve had worse bodily fluids of yours on me.”

“Gross,” Steve says, grinning, and he winces when it stretches his lip. There’s blood in his teeth.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, pulling him over and pushing him to lean against the table between Eddie’s and Catherine’s plates before he goes to get a paper towel. Steve snatches it from his hand as he stands between his legs, and Eddie lets out a small indignant noise, but Steve shushes him, reaching up to clean blood off his lip. Eddie waits, holding Steve’s hips.

“Love you so much,” Eddie murmurs.

“Love you too.”

“Is your ear still ringing?”

Steve shakes his head before he pauses, tilting his head and closing his eyes as his brows furrow. Eddie takes the paper towel.

“Little bit. Not as bad. I think it’s fine.”

Eddie gently, tenderly wiping blood off Steve’s lips before he presses it to the split, watching Steve wince slightly. He can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his fingertip. It’s still fast.

“Deep breath,” Eddie says softly. Steve closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I got you, baby.”

Steve’s hand finds his waist, holding him tightly as he exhales.

Eddie leans in and kisses his forehead softly, feeling Steve fall forward against him. He pushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, kissing across his forehead, kissing his temple, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s ear tenderly. He whispers to him quietly.

When Powell comes back in, Eddie has to nudge Steve’s cheek gently to make him open his eyes, and Steve turns his face slightly. Eddie pulls away the paper towel. His lip doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

“He’s being held overnight,” Powell says, pushing a notebook into his pocket. “Paying bail, should be released around noon tomorrow.”

Steve nods.

“Your mother’s going with him,” Powell continues gently, like he can see the anguish it causes in Steve’s eyes. “She’s staying at a friend’s tonight.”

“Okay.”

Powell hesitates, looking from Steve to Eddie.

“You have a place to stay?” he asks. Eddie guesses it’s unspoken knowledge that Steve can’t stay here.

“Yes.”

Eddie knows Steve knows he can stay at the trailer for as long as he has to. And Claudia Henderson’s offered her guest room, as well as Joyce and Hopper. Robin’s offered her bedroom floor. Nancy’s offered her basement.

“And you?” Powell asks, looking at Eddie. Eddie starts for a moment, blinking at him blankly before he nods.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay.”

Powell hesitates for a moment longer before he looks at Steve, his eyes shining earnestly.

“He shows up again,” he says carefully. “At your work, or wherever you stay, if he threatens you… Or tries anything.” He points at Steve, so serious the air feels tense again. “You come to the station. You tell me, and if I’m not there you tell Flo, and she’ll find me, okay?”

Steve nods, staring at him, biting his lip.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly.

“And if you need another place to stay,” Powell adds. “Let me know. My wife and I have a spare bedroom.”

Steve smiles weakly.

“Okay.”

“You too,” Powell says to Eddie. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie says, smiling softly.

Powell claps Steve on his back gently.

“You’re a good kid, Steve.”

Steve pulls Eddie closer when he leaves, and Eddie moves between his legs again, touching his hair gently. The blood above his ear is dry.

They stand in silence as they listen to the cars leave the driveway. Three cars. After a moment the red and blue lights are gone, and Eddie exhales.

Eddie gazes at the bruise on his cheek. His lip is a little swollen, crusted with dry blood. After a moment, Steve leans forward, resting his head on Eddie’s sternum, and Eddie runs a hand over his hair gently.

“What do you need?” Eddie asks quietly. “You wanna shower? Go to bed?”

Steve lifts his head and looks up at him.

“I need you to fuck me.”

Eddie stares at him, looks back and forth between his eyes, watching them shine earnestly, and he stands up straight, tossing away the paper towel.

“Turn around.”

Steve grins and stands up, turning around to face the table, already tugging his shirt off and tossing it across the room. Eddie steps up behind him, tugging Steve’s hair to make him tilt his head before he presses kisses along the side of his neck.

Steve hums breathlessly when Eddie pushes him so the fronts of his legs press to the table, and Eddie reaches around him to unbutton and unzip his jeans.

“Colour?” he asks roughly, pausing as he grips the waistband of the jeans, and Steve whines, his head falling back to Eddie’s shoulder.

“Green, baby, please.”

Eddie grins, shoving Steve’s jeans and boxers down his legs and pushing at his back so he bends over the table.

“Spread ‘em,” he says, kicking at Steve’s foot, and Steve spreads his legs, groaning softly and turning his head so his cheek presses to the table. “Pretty boy.”

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie murmurs. He leans over and kisses his back, down his spine. “So fucking much.”

He kneels on the ground behind him, running his hands over Steve’s ass and his thighs, squeezing and kneading before he leans in to bite at him for a moment before he licks across his hole, holding him tightly.

Steve whines loudly, pushing his ass back toward Eddie, who snickers quietly before eating him out in earnest, licking and sucking and nibbling as he listens to the sweet sounds Steve makes above him.

Steve is groaning and whimpering and whining, and Eddie has to pull away to laugh when a plate falls from the table and shatters on the ground.

“Fuck, sorry,” Steve says, laughing, and Eddie stands to find him gripping the table cloth tightly.

“‘S okay,” Eddie says, breathing hard, tugging Steve’s hair so he stands up again, and Steve releases the table cloth. Eddie wraps his arms around him, kissing his neck. There’s some blood on the table cloth, and Steve is drooling, and Eddie smiles. “Love it when you get all wild. My perfect boy.” He lifts a hand, presses two fingers to Steve’s lips, and Steve whimpers, opening his mouth.

Eddie bites his neck as Steve’s tongue swirls around his fingers, pressing desperate kisses around the back of his neck until he reaches his right ear.

“You have any idea how amazing I think you are?” Eddie asks softly. Steve moans, his head falling back as Eddie pushes his fingers deeper into his mouth, pressing into the pooling spit under his tongue. “Love of my fuckin’ life.”

Steve reaches up and pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair as soft noises escape his throat.

“You feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. Steve moans quietly, nodding. “You wanna feel better?”

Steve smiles around his fingers, giggling softly, and he tugs Eddie’s hair as he nods.

Eddie pulls his hand away from Steve’s mouth and takes a moment to look at Steve’s spit dripping over his fingers before he reaches down to press a finger inside him.

“Fuck,” Steve groans loudly. Eddie beams.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, Eddie, I need— Gimme more, baby, please—”

“I’ll take care of you, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs into his ear. “I got you.”

“Feel so good, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles again, biting at his neck, fingering him open as he whispers to him. Tells him how pretty is. He gets three fingers in before Steve finally whines, tugging sharply at his hair.

“Eddie,” he gasps. “Please, please, I—”

“Bend over.”

Steve grins again, leaning to lay on the table again, resting his head so his right ear is up.

Eddie kisses his back before he steps back, unbuckling his belt as he moves to the the counter, noisily opening and shutting cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for.

Steve whines Eddie’s name, looking up at him, and Eddie pulls his belt from the loops of his jeans, shaking the bottle of olive oil at him with raised eyebrows. Steve snorts loudly and lets out a childish, juvenile laugh, grinning and hiding his face in his arms.

Eddie’s always hated this olive oil. It’s Catherine’s, expensive and fancy and ordered from Italy, always hidden away in her special occasions only cabinet. But Eddie thinks this counts as a special occasion, because the man of his dreams is bent over the dining table and Eddie doesn’t want to go all the way upstairs for lube.

Steve’s fists grip the tablecloth when Eddie pushes in, the same way he clutches at the sheets when they’re in bed. The cloth comes up, and a glass falls the floor, shattering, and Eddie laughs again, setting the olive oil down.

“You’re makin’ a mess, baby.”

Steve just lets out a long groan.

Eddie gazes down at him, at the scars that cover his back and backs of his arms, at the mess of his hair. He slides a hand over his back, smearing oil over his skin.

“How do you want it?” he asks breathlessly.

“Hard.”

“Got it. Hold on.”

Steve giggles, gripping the tablecloth, and he lets out a sharp gasp as Eddie snaps his hips into him.

Eddie loves when Steve gets like this. All loose and relaxed, going with every movement Eddie makes. Unfiltered and loud, groaning and whining and almost screaming when Eddie really gets going, his hand to the small of his back. He’s always like this, even when Eddie fucks him softly and kindly like the first time they had sex (or made love, as Eddie put it dramatically once they’d finished. Steve shoved him away and then promptly pulled him closer to tuck his face into his neck.), tangled in blankets in the back of Eddie’s van, breathing into each other’s mouths, whispering and giggling.

Another plate falls from the table.

Eddie is grinning down at him, watching, listening as he swears and moans.

“Eddie,” Steve wails. Tears are sliding down his face, staining the tablecloth.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie says roughly, his hands gripping Steve’s hips tightly. “What do you need?”

“Fuck, spit on me,” Steve whimpers. “Make me yours, Eddie, please.”

Eddie exhales, running a hand down his spine tenderly. (That night in the van, Eddie also learned, to his delight, that Steve is even kinkier than he is. It’s fun.)

“You are mine,” he says gently. “Always.”

He fucks into him three more times as he gathers spit in his mouth, and then he pauses, letting it drip over Steve’s back. Steve lets out a soft yes, almost hissing it, and Eddie smiles down at him, rubbing the spit into his skin as he moves again.

“Eddie, right there—”

“I got you, baby, I know.”

“Eddie, please, Eddie, EddieEddieEddie—”

He presses his hand against Steve’s back hard, fucking him harder, faster, until Steve is sobbing, until the two remaining plates and the bottle of olive oil fall to the ground and shatter to pieces. Eddie laughs again.

Steve comes on the table cloth. Eddie lifts him up to wrap his arms around him when they finish, and Steve’s head falls back against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie doesn’t pull out, just holds Steve close and pulls his necklaces around to hang backwards so they aren’t pressing into Steve’s bare skin.

“You okay?” he asks softly after pressing a soft kiss to his earlobe. Steve exhales.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He presses his hand over Eddie’s forearm, slides it down to lace their fingers.

“Look at that, baby,” Eddie says softly, nudging him so look at the table. Steve’s eyes flutter open, finding it. A mostly empty glass, rolling on its side in spilled water, the pale blue tablecloth uneven and folded and stained with blood and oil and come. “That’s all you.”

Steve exhales, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’d say you helped.”

Eddie snickers into the side of Steve’s neck, his arms tightening, and Steve moans softly.

“Smartass.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Steve sighs. Eddie can feels his pulse on his lips. It’s slower.

“What now?” he asks quietly.

“Shower,” Steve says, squeezing his hand. “And pack.”

Eddie hums and kisses his neck tenderly.

“And then we’ll go home,” he murmurs.

Steve smiles.

“Then we’ll go home.”

They shower slowly, carefully washing each other’s hair and bodies, washing away blood and sweat and come in the hot, running water. Steve’s shampoo smells warm, like cinnamon and other spices Eddie’s never been able to afford to keep in his cabinets. (Nutmeg? Allspice? Eddie doesn’t even know what he would use them for.) After they dry off and dress, Eddie stuffs the shampoo, along with his conditioner and body soap, into a plastic bag to take with them. Steve adds two cans of Farah Fawcett hairspray.

Eddie helps him sort through his clothes, pick what to take and what to leave behind. He finds one of his own sweaters in Steve’s closet as Steve is stuffing a bag with underwear and socks, and he giggles to himself before throwing it at Steve. Steve’s cheeks flush pink, and he wordlessly stuffs it into the bag.

Steve packs most of his shirts, except a few he says his mother picked out, and most of his jeans. Eddie gets a garbage bag for the clothes Steve doesn’t want anymore, and he laughs as makes his way through the kitchen, looking at the mess he and Steve made and next behind. They aren’t going to clean it up. Just because.

Steve’s room is pathetically empty by the time they finish packing. It was already pathetically empty before, if Eddie’s honest. No framed pictures, no keepsakes. No stuffed animals or childhood toys. Steve’s bags, a duffel bag and a backpack, are both stuffed with clothes and soap, with a bottle of cologne and a copy of the Hobbit that he tried to hide from Eddie.

Eddie finds it, of course. And looks up at Steve with a beaming grin, even as Steve rubs the back of his neck, blushing bright red.

“You love it so much, I just…”

Eddie crosses the room and wraps his arms around his neck, swaying like they’re dancing.

“Do you like it?”

“I’m trying to.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Eddie says, grinning. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close. “It’s fine if you don’t.”

“I know,” Steve says shyly, swaying with him again. “Think I’m just a slow reader.”

“‘S okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. “You don’t have a due date or anything.”

“Thank God.”

They go to bed in the Harrington house for the last time.

Eddie wakes up to Steve’s lips pressing down his neck, and he smiles at the ceiling without opening his eyes, tilting his head back to give him room. He hums softly.

“Whassa time?” Eddie mumbles weakly, reaching blindly to find Steve’s hair.

“Six twenty-seven,” Steve says before he licks a slow line up his neck. Eddie groans.

“Forgot I’m in love with a morning person.”

“‘S sweet,” Steve says lightly. “Just relax, baby.”

Eddie sighs, tugging at his hair again, but his hand falls when Steve moves, tossing the blanket up so he can duck under it. Eddie shivers at the gust of cold morning air that hits his body, and then he shivers again as Steve tugs at the waistband of his boxers.

“I’ll make you coffee,” Eddie says breathlessly when Steve comes back up from under the blanket, cracking his eyes open to find Steve grinning brightly at him. His split lip doesn’t bleed even as he smile. The bruise on his face is colourful, reddish purple and blue, and somehow achingly beautiful even as it makes Eddie’s chest hurt like he’s been shot.

“I’d like that,” Steve says softly.

They get out of bed slowly, lazily, and Eddie tugs on one of Steve’s hoodies as he yawns.

Steve always looks beautiful in the morning light. Even in gray mornings like this, he seems to glow brighter than the sun.

Steve goes to the bathroom while Eddie goes down to make the coffee. He finds Steve’s favourite mug in a cabinet, the cute blue one, and he leans against the counter as he waits on the coffee, looking at the dining table and smiling to himself.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by a car pulling into the driveway.

He blinks, tilting his head to listen like he can’t tell where it’s coming from, and he turns around, leaning to look out the window to see Catherine.

Anger flares in his chest, and he’s swinging the front door open before she’s even out of the car, careless to the fact that he’s in his boxers.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks sharply as she approaches the door. Her eyes skim over him, her hands folded in front of her. Her hair isn’t as nice as it was yesterday, and Eddie can see traces of her makeup that ran down her cheeks last night.

“It’s my house,” she says primly.

“Well we’re not gone yet,” Eddie snaps. “Come back in a few hours.”

She takes a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but Steve’s voice interrupts her.

“Eddie?” Eddie turns sharply, looking to see Steve coming down the stairs, and Steve’s face hardens when he sees his mother on the front step. “Oh.”

“We don’t have to deal with this, baby,” Eddie says quickly. “Just get your stuff, we can go.”

Steve pauses, staring at Catherine coldly, his mouth twisting thoughtfully before he says, “No. Let’s have coffee,” in a voice that’s far too calm, too light.

He continues down the stairs and turns wordlessly into the kitchen, and Catherine steps past Eddie.

Eddie shuts the door, his stomach knotting, and he follows them to the kitchen. Steve is sipping from the mug, leaning against the counter, and Eddie joins him, watching with a suppressed smile as Catherine looks at the table.

“What do you want?” Steve asks coldly.

“What happened to the table?”

“Eddie fucked me on it. What do you want?”

Catherine’s face turns red, and she looks away from the table, clearing her throat delicately.

“I wanted to talk.”

“So talk,” Steve says dryly, sipping the coffee. He’s still staring at her, almost seething.

Catherine hesitates, taking a breath and looking at the floor, eyeing the broken bottle of olive oil, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

“I know,” she says slowly. “That what happened last night is not… reversible.”

She looks up at Steve.

“But you are still our son,” she says kindly, and Eddie scoffs. “And I want you to know that you still have a home here.”

“No.”

She blinks.

“No?”

Steve inhales deeply, biting his lip, and he carefully holds the mug out to Eddie, who takes it as Steve crosses his arms.

“I have never had a home here,” Steve says calmly, “Mom.”

“Steven,” she says softly. Like it hurts.

He shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

“I’ve never felt…” He pauses, swallowing. “I’ve never felt safe here. Or— Or loved. I’ve never felt fucking— at home here. This has always been just— just a sad empty… lonely house for the sad empty lonely little boy.”

Eddie looks at the floor, biting his lip as he focusses on the heat of the mug in his hands.

“I know you don’t mean that, darling,” Catherine says softly.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Steve says coldly.

“Steven, of course I do—”

“No, you don’t,” Steve shouts. Eddie flinches, and he turns to set the mug on the counter. “No, you don’t,” Steve repeats, breathing hard. “You don’t know shit about me. You know my name because you picked it, but you don’t know who I am.”

“Steven—“

“You left me,” Steve interrupts, his voice shaking. “You— You left me. Here. With— With teenagers, while you went off on holidays and fucking business trips, you left me here, while I was trying to grow up, and then I had to figure out to be a grown up, all by myself because you weren’t here.”

His lip is quivering, and he steadies it between his teeth.

“You don’t know me,” he says again, quietly.

“Steven, you’re my son,” she says softly.

“I’m half deaf.”

She blinks.

“What?”

“One of my ears,” Steve says slowly, “has no hearing.” He stands up straight, off the counter, and gestures to his ears with a hand. “Can you tell which ear it is?”

She stares, wide-eyed.

“Steven—“

“Can you tell me,” he says shakily, “when my hearing started going?”

Silence.

“Because I can tell you,” Steve whispers. “The fucking day.”

He moves closer, his breathing unsteady.

“July sixteenth,” he says quietly. “Nineteen eighty.”

Eddie grips the counter, biting his lip as he watches. Catherine’s are welling with tears, but Steve doesn’t seem to even notice.

“When your husband gave me a concussion,” he continues, whispering. “And I looked up to see you leave the room, and shut the door behind yourself.”

Eddie’s eyes jump to Catherine, his vision red. Her lip is quivering. Eddie doesn’t care.

“I have had four concussions in my life,” Steve says, holding up four fingers before he lowers two of them. “Two of them… were from your husband. And both times, you left.”

“Steven,” she says weakly, but Steve snaps.

“You left,” he shouts. Catherine flinches. Eddie doesn’t. “You picked him,” he says, pointing toward the door. “Twenty fucking years, and you picked him, again, and again, and again.” He chokes, and his voice breaks. “My whole life,” he says weakly. “You picked a man, who never loved you, over your son.”

Eddie’s eyes burn, and he looks at the ground, swallowing thickly.

“And last night you picked him again,” Steve says.

Catherine stares at him. A tear slides down her cheek.

“So no,” Steve says after taking a breath. “You don’t know me, and you don’t get to. This is all you get.”

He stares her down for a moment, and Eddie blinks his tears back, watching proudly.

“Fuck you,” Steve says softly. “And fuck him, and fuck this house. I’m fucking done.”

“Steven, please,” she begs quietly. “You don’t have to come here, or— or see him, but I still want to be… a part of your life, darling, I—”

“You’re not better than him,” Steve yells, crying. “You let him, you let him do everything he did to me.” He’s panting, and Eddie’s chest tightens. He stands up straight. “You made me hate myself before I was old enough to understand why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, darling—”

“Well you don’t fucking love me either,” Steve yells. He stops short, blinking like he’s realises it just as he says it, and Eddie wants to pull him into a hug, but he also wants to find Nancy’s gun and shoot both his parents for ever making Steve feel like this. “Even if you think you do,” he says softly. “Whatever kind of love you think you have for me. I don’t want it.”

He stares for a moment longer before wiping his face hard and shaking his head.

And he leaves.

Eddie holds his breath, listening as Steve storms up the stairs, listening as Catherine cries quietly, a hand pressed over her mouth. Steve comes back down after a few moments with his bags, and he pauses in the doorway, looking at Eddie, who looks up.

“Go to the van, I’ll be there in a minute, babe.”

Steve looks at him for a moment before he steps close and tugs him by his shirt into a kiss, sliding his tongue into Eddie mouth and holding him close desperately. Eddie pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, closing his eyes and exhaling, tasting the coffee on Steve’s breath.

They’re both breathless when they part, and Steve looks into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie nods, touching his cheek.

Steve goes outside.

The door shuts behind him, and Eddie hears the van door open and shut. And then he just hears Catherine’s soft breaths. And the ticking of the clock in the living room.

He leans against the counter, looking at the floor, hesitating before he looks up at her.

“He is… the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Eddie says slowly, softly, his voice almost echoing in the kitchen. “He is the bravest, kindest, strongest, most— most selfless person I have ever known.”

She’s still crying. But she’s looking at him, listening.

“And you…” He pauses, taking a deep breath, his hands shaking, his lip quivering. “And you fucked… every chance you got to have him in your life. Twenty years. You got twenty years of chances, and you fucked them all up.”

He stares for a moment.

“I can tell,” he says softly, “that there’s… a small part of you… that cares about him. Somewhere in there. So to that… small part.” He steps forward, his eyes burning. “I swear, I will… love him, and care for him, and look after him, and do everything I fucking can to make sure he feels as loved and protected as he is.”

He points a trembling finger at her.

“Because that is a privilege that I have.” He’s breathing hard, his eyes burning, his heart pounding in his chest. “And I will do everything in my power to not lose that privilege.”

He hesitates a moment longer, watching her cry before he turns around and picks up the mug and dumps the coffee in the sink. He rinses the mug quickly and shuts off the water harder than he needs to.

And he leaves. Without giving her a second glance.

He hands Steve the mug as he slides into the driver seat, and Steve laughs wetly, taking it.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

Eddie looks over at him, biting his lip. His face is tear-streaked, his lashes clumped, his cheeks and nose rosy red.

Broken and slowly pieced back together.

His eyes are gleaming, and he looks so awfully exhausted that Eddie wants to tell him to get in the back of the van to take a nap, but he also looks so relieved that Eddie just pulls him into a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “With all my fuckin’ heart and soul, baby.”

“I love you too,” Steve whispers back.

Eddie kisses him again, sucking on his lower lip for a moment and holding his chin gently, and he pauses when they part, taking a soft breath.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Steve says, laughing tearfully again, and Eddie scoffs, blinking tears back as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Who gives a shit?”

Steve giggles, clutching the mug to his chest.

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

#needed to write steve and catharsis #i have a very specific idea of what kinds of people his parents are and i needed him confronting them #especially his mom i actually considered writing a part two just about her life bc I Know Who She Is #(should i do that would anyone read that) #(lmao a character analysis of what is essentially an oc) #anyway #pls let me know if i missed anything that needs a warning #take care of yourselves ily <3 #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #deaf/hoh steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

[plushefemme]

so uh. i wrote some lesbian feedism erotica :)

"daddy, can we keep him?"

contains: threesome, butch/butch/femme, Sir/boy, Daddy dyke, Dom/sub, butch4butch, stuffing, force-feeding, eructo, alcohol, intox, T-dick, butch bottom penetration, face-sitting, fingering, strap, teasing/mild humiliation, praise, under-negotiated kink, mild dubcon

summary: A butch/femme feedist couple go out for dinner, and end up taking their "dessert" to go.

word count: 9,704

♥︎ read on ao3 ♥︎

(you don't need an ao3 account to read and comment!)

#plushe writes #feedism fantasy #queer feedism #wg text #wg fiction #PLS read the content warnings and tags!!!! #it's a touch heavier on the sex part than the feedism but the feedism is for sure there

[free-for-all-fics]

Just binge watched the IWTV series and it gave me many thoughts. No pun intended when I say it made me very thirsty. So I wrote some prompts! Warning: Some of these contain spoilers for the AMC show! Most of these prompts are written with the AMC show in mind, but they can probably be used interchangeably for either the 1994 movie or the 2022 tv series. Whichever version is up to you. Please tag me if you’re inspired by or write any of these ideas. I’d love to read it! ❤️🩸

Content Warning: Almost all of these prompts contain dark themes! Including: Toxic behavior, unhealthy relationships, power imbalances, abuse, racism, murder, and incest. If Dark! Fics aren’t your thing or you can’t handle such themes, that’s okay. These prompts just may not be for you, so ignore them and kindly move on. If you don’t like, then don’t read. Please don’t act as morality police and harass me or others. Don’t start arguments in the comments. Thank you.

1. You meet Lestat and Louis at a ball celebrating your arranged engagement to an odious man you don't love. While taking turns dancing with them, you're rudely dragged away by your jealous and controlling fiancé. Seeing how innocent and miserable you are, they later kill your unwanted groom and take you from your home, eventually giving you the choice to live with them and have a better life as a vampire.

2. You were Lestat's lover and companion heart when he was human. You were forcibly separated when he was abducted and turned into a vampire by Magnus. He believes you later perished in the French Revolution, until he’s delightfully surprised when he finds you in New Orleans while living with Louis and Claudia. You don’t look a day older than when he saw you last, and he realizes you had faked your death over a century ago. As he watches you seduce and feed on a couple of unfortunate humans, he falls in love with you all over again. You’re even more beautiful as a vampire.

3. Lestat feeds on you and drains you of blood to the point of near death. He gives you a choice: Join him in eternal life as his new companion heart and lover, or don't. Help him adapt to the modern world, or he will leave you to die and move on to someone else.

4. Haunted Mansion-esque AU: When Lestat was human, he was deeply in love with you, a black or mixed woman, despite it being unconventional and illegal. You may have had many plans for the future, but your love was like playing a most dangerous game. It ended tragically with you killed and him kidnapped by Magnus and turned into a vampire. But what if you’re reincarnated looking exactly the same as you did before in the early 20th century. Lestat becomes obsessed with you at first sight, discreetly following you around or using his powers to hypnotize you to come to him.

He acts overprotective and possessive when he courts you. Even if you don’t remember him or your past life yet, he’s undeterred in his advances. He’s determined to keep you safe with him and not let such a cruel fate befall you again. If that means turning you into a vampire, so be it. You’re his forever and he’s yours. You may hate him at first, but you’ll thank him for the dark gift in the end. He has loved you in death as he did in life and whether your memories come back or not, he’s going to stay by your side. What if in this life, you’re Louis’s neighbor/friend and he loves you too? Maybe not romantically, but there are many forms of love.

5. You’re Lestat’s younger sister and the only other person he loves in his family apart from yours and his mother. He cherishes you so deeply that he often protected you from your abusive father and other brothers by taking countless beatings and starvations to spare you. While you were only a teenager, you’d tend to his wounds and bring him food and drink. He insisted you came with him and Nicolas to Paris, where he would look after you as your legal guardian until you could be free as an adult woman. But after he was turned into a vampire, he tried to stay away. For years, he kept his distance and watched over you from afar as you blossomed into womanhood, while using his inheritance to send money and lavish gifts so you could live comfortably. He still wanted to provide for you, give you everything he felt you deserved but couldn’t have while living in poverty.

Until something happened that made him hyperaware of your fragility in your mortal state. He realized he was too selfish and loved you too much to condemn you to permanent death. He couldn’t bear it if you were lost to him forever, so he snuck into your house and turned you into a vampire. You live together for many decades before you go off on your own to explore the world. But you still correspond and visit regularly. You’re surprised and delighted when you stop in and discover your brother has a lover and a…sister? Daughter? Are you an aunt now? You’re not really sure what the family dynamic is but you’re happy for him.

6. Crimson Peak/Flowers in the Attic-esque AU: You’re Lestat’s sister. You sought comfort and protection from your abusive father and other brothers through each other, and your unhealthy coping mechanisms spiraled into a toxic incestuous relationship. After taking countless beatings and starvations, you’d tend to Lestat’s wounds and he to yours. While locked away together, you’d silently admire your bodies and touch each other gently, mindful of your scars. Your curiosity gave way to darker thoughts, and neither of you could help the urges you began to feel. Lestat and you are so fucked up. You’re overly co-dependent on each other, you both can be manipulative to get what you want, etc. You and Lestat are aware you might love each other too much, since you’ve had ugly fights fueled by jealousy where you’ve threatened to kill the other.

“If I can’t have you, no one can!”

“Do it, coward. You won’t. You and I both know a life without me would be even more unbearable.”

But neither of you would ever actually go through with it. Despite your issues, you cared for each other and wanted to get into a better situation. Even after Lestat became a vampire and inherited endless wealth, he couldn’t let you go. So he snuck into your Paris bedroom and seduced you. Afterwards, he used his powers to render you immobile so he could kidnap you. He turned you into a vampire and your bond can never be severed now. You may have been livid with your brother for turning you, but even that argument ended with angry hate sex to blow off steam. It’s no different than the many times he killed or otherwise drove away all the men and women who vied to be your lover while you were both still human. You were angry with him then, and retaliated by doing the same with all his lovers. These kind of sibling spats are common. If there’s one thing you both hate, it’s competition.

But still you slept together and all was soon forgiven. As vampires your lovemaking can be bloody and violent but it hurts so good. You can’t hear each other’s thoughts, but are so in tune with one another that you still know exactly what the other is feeling. When everything is good, you either hold hands or embrace without needing to say anything. You have your own coffins, but often crawl into each other’s so you can cuddle within the enclosed shared space where you spend hours talking into the early morning before going to sleep. You’re addicted to each other’s company. To the outside mortal world you may act as husband and wife. This is your eternity. You both fear loneliness and abandonment more than anything in the world, so as long as you stay together, neither of you will be alone and you’ll both be fine.

7. You’re a whore and have threesomes with Lestat and Louis. Unlike Lily and the others, you’re a woman of many talents with a unique spirit, so Lestat and Louis want to keep you forever as theirs. What started out as purely transactional sex and pillow talk has become so much more. They’re addicted to you and each other. Being a human and having sex with two vampires is on another level you never knew existed. Levitating in the air while your body is sandwiched between the two handsome devils, Lestat feeding on you while Louis may refuse to at first before Lestat convinces him to do it. Un petite coup, they call it. The little drink. Not enough to kill you, but just enough to keep them fit. The feelings of intimacy it awakens in you is beyond words. And all your senses are only heightened once your lovers turn you into a vampire. While you have your own coffin, you sometimes share a special coffin that’s big and spacious enough to fit 3 people.

8. You’re a human who willingly lets Louis feed on you in modern day. What Daniel doesn’t know is that you actually live in the house with him and Rashid. They take good care of you after the feedings and it’s like a poly relationship. Daniel doesn’t know how to respond as he watches Louis feed on you while you just nonchalantly talk to him like nothing is happening to you. He finds it so off putting how you hold eye contact with him.

Spoilers: Or you’re actually a vampire who pretends to be human by putting on a good show of acting faint and woozy after Louis feeds from you. You go by a fake name and wear contacts just like Armand. Louis and Armand are your lovers.

9. Phantom of the Opera-esque AU: You’re an opera singer or a First Chair in the orchestra and you’re elevated in Lestat’s eyes due to your immense musical talent. You’re one of the few human attachments Lestat keeps. He acts as your patron, providing you with money and lavish gifts. He visits you in your dressing room before and after performances, where you often get hot and steamy. He sometimes takes you back to his home where you sing and play piano (or another instrument) together. You may not know about his vampiric nature yet, but make no mistake: He will inevitably turn you one day.

10. In the books, Lestat mentions bedding a whole lot of women before he was turned so it’s possible he had children he never got to know. He finds out he had a secret accident baby over a hundred years ago when you, his daughter, show up at his and Louis’ home after tracking him down. Lestat being Lestat, he may not believe you at first, but you have substantial proof: A birth certificate, old belongings of his, miniatures of him and your mother, handwritten letters from the 18th century, etc. And then there’s your uncanny resemblance to him in both physical appearance and personality/mannerisms that even Louis points out. You’re not only a grown adult, but frozen in time. Maybe you had a family of your own before your vampire transformation, maybe not. But Lestat tracking down his descendants could make for an interesting story. Because he’s not your maker, you can hear each other’s thoughts. Lestat wants to know everything about you: Who your maker was, how you lived after parting ways with your maker, etc.

He doesn’t want secrets. In hypocritical fashion, he’ll probably keep secrets from you, but he doesn’t want you to keep secrets from him. You and your father are alike in so many ways, and sometimes that causes you two to butt heads and get into petty quarrels. It’s like an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. It’s like two walls trying to get the other to move. Whenever your father annoys you too much, you’ll block him out of your mind or he’ll do the same to you. From what your mother told you about him, you were expecting him to be a bratty and spoiled prince. She used to say you were his perfect copy and called you princess to annoy you. He does love you and you do love him, it’s just expressed and shown in very weird, unusual ways that don't make sense to anyone else. Your form of affection is unique to only you two.

11. You and Lestat are vampires in a complicated love-hate and co-dependent relationship. It can get very toxic and manipulative, especially since both of you are varieties of possessive and jealous or vain and narcissistic. Sometimes if either of you are bored, you do your best to goad each other into losing any sense of decorum or restraint. Like playing with each other’s emotions is a game. Your arrangement of, “You can fuck whoever you want as long as you come home to me.” quickly becomes “I thought we could have an orgy. You can fuck them and I can eat them.” Your sex life is full of depraved fantasies and decadence you indulge in. A hedonistic existence of drink, drugs, and parties. You’re both different flavors of fucked up, but you’re addicted to each other. You want him dead, you want him all to yourself. He wants you dead, he wants you all to himself. It’s far from healthy, but it’s all you know and neither of you care. You’ve let go of human attachments ages ago.

12. You’re a vampire who’s in a romantic/sexual relationship with Lestat and in his own twisted way, he actually cares about and loves you along with Louis. You were given the dark gift by your maker when you were a full grown adult, unlike Claudia. So you’re like an older sister or aunt to her. Claudia is envious of your mature body and asks you questions of the female sort that you do your best to answer, no matter how awkward they are. Some of the questions she has are similar to ones she writes in her diary. (If you know, you know.)

13. Ghost of Thornton Hall-esque AU: When Lestat was human, he was in love with you, a renowned singer. During a masquerade ball celebrating your birthday, a fire started that quickly spread out of control. You got trapped in the burning building and were killed. You’re the only person Lestat has cried rivulets of blood over in his vampire life. All Lestat has left of you is a necklace you always used to wear. That’s why he’s hesitant to turn Claudia after Louis saves her from the fire and tries to make excuses that she’s too charred and he doesn’t know where to bite. During the Mardi Gras ball, Lestat hears your voice whispering and singing sweetly to him. He may be losing his mind due to fasting, but he swears he can see you in the crowd, wearing the same blood red dress that you burned up in. Your black lace mask hides your eyes from him. He follows you, but keeps losing sight of you in the crowd when other men and women get in his way. It’s like trying to follow a ghost. Finally he catches up to you. When you turn around, you are indeed wearing the very same red dress you wore when you “died”. It’s now charred and black in some areas. He removes your mask and looks into your eyes - your vampire eyes.

14. You and Lestat go out to Lover’s Lane because it’s one of your favorite spots to hunt. The many lovey-dovey couples fueled by passion and sexual desire makes your meals that much more tasty. After you feed together, who could blame you if you also wanted to get romantic and passionate yourselves and make love outdoors or in the car of some victims before you disposed of the bodies? It’s practically like going out on a date anyway. Lestat and you go on date nights like this often. Your dates have also included going to the movies, sometimes watching vampire flicks to laugh at them and have a good time. Lestat uses his vampire powers to make an annoying movie goer who keeps shushing you start slapping himself repeatedly, just to entertain you and himself.

15. The relationship you have with Lestat is…complicated, to say the least. You’re human, but musically talented or have something else about you that makes him very possessive and obsessive over you. Maybe you remind him of his first love, Nicolas. He fears loneliness more than anything, so he tries to make you dependent on and love only him. He tries to isolate you and prove that he’s all you need. He can take care of you and give almost everything you desire. Toxic Lestat is so against you leaving because he doesn’t want to be alone. He lets you know of his plans to make you a vampire, whether you like it or not. It’s inevitable, he’s more than clear in no uncertain terms about that. But instead of rejoicing at his plans to give you this most precious and coveted dark gift, you tried to run away. He killed all the other passengers of the train you tried to stowaway on and blamed you for their deaths. You made him do this by acting out and being ungrateful, their blood is on your hands.

He used the conductor’s head as a macabre puppet to scare you before he coerced you into coming back home. You should be thankful he’s still respecting your compromise to stay human for a little longer after you pulled that stunt. You should show him some appreciation for all he’s doing for you, instead of acting like a spoiled and bratty princess. One time, you get into a nasty fight that ends with Lestat dragging your weak but still alive body outside, leaving a bloody trail. He then uses the Cloud Gift to fly high up into the sky while holding you in his arms. He tells you, “How I’ve waited. I have patiently waited in vain for you to love me as I love you.”

“Let go of me!”

“Anything for you,” he says as he strokes your cheek and wipes away your tears before letting you fall from the sky. As your heart pounds loudly in your ears and can be heard over the whistling wind, you thought surely you’d splatter on the ground below and be nothing but an unrecognizable mess of mangled flesh. But no. Lestat wouldn’t give you the mercy of permanent death. He only let you free fall for a few seconds before swooping down and catching you. As if to teach you a lesson and further prove his point that you need him. You need him to protect you from others and yourself. But who’s going to protect you from him, you think to yourself as you lose consciousness in his arms.

16. During the Mardi Gras Masquerade ball, Lestat had Tom appoint you, his vampire bride, as Queen while he was Raj. After fasting for three days before the ball, you play your part well. Both men and women try to crowd around you and vie for your attention, but you’re very particular about who you hand out boutonnières to. You can see Lestat surrounded by middle aged women he seduced but can’t remember from 10 years ago. They’re still fawning all over him. Ah, these must be the ladies from the Women’s Opera Society. They’ve gotten so old and wrinkly in such short time, poor dears. You use your hand fan to hide your smirk as you try not to laugh when you overhear their voices coated with sympathy. So they really believed him to be ill all those years? Just when he asks which of the ladies did he pull under the stairs during that dull lecture on Don Giovanni, you take that as your cue to pull him away. You can feel the ladies’ questioning and jealous gazes on you as you loop your arm through his and kiss his cheek then his lips.

You’re so radiant, all dressed in white and diamonds. But all the women’s eyes are drawn to the matching rings on your and Lestat’s fingers. You love putting on a good show. Even more so when you’re covered in blood during the after party when you and your vampire family start feeding on the selected victims from the ball. While you walk towards them in a straight line and assert your power, they run and scream in terror. In vain, they try to break down the locked doors and windows. It’s a massacre, a bloodbath, and one hell of a good time. (Whether you know of Claudia and Louis’ plan to kill Lestat or not is up to you.)

17. Vamps inspired AU: You’re a vampire who was turned against your will. During the 1970’s, you met and fell in love with Daniel, a fresh young journalist who was aspiring to achieve more as a writer. You were only together for a few short years before you left. As much as it pained you to do so, you knew you had to leave him before he noticed you weren’t aging and got suspicious. He could have a normal life and hopefully find another love. You loved him so much that you didn’t want to be selfish and condemn him to vampirism. So you parted ways both for his sake and to protect your secret, before he had his first interview with Louis.

Now it’s 2022 and Daniel is an old man. When he’s interviewing Louis again, he’s surprised to see you, seemingly either living with or working for the vampire, just like Rashid. When he questions you, you lie. You say you’re not his past love, but her daughter, and that your mother died. It isn’t until much later in the interview, after Rashid reveals his true identity as Armand that you also come clean. You tell Daniel that he was right about you, and that you’ll answer any questions he has. You spend a great deal of time catching up as you ask him about his life, family, career, etc. And he asks you about your own life, why did you leave, why didn’t you tell him or turn him, etc. (Maybe you’re Armand’s sister and over 500 years old so the sun has no effect on you either.)

#iwtv prompts #iwtv fic #interview with the vampire prompts #lestat x reader #lestat x female reader #iwtv smut #louis de pointe du lac x reader #iwtv 2022 #armand x reader #iwtv amc #fic ideas #random fic ideas #random prompts #pls tag me if you write any of these #I'd love to read it #iwtv spoilers #spoilers #spoiler alert #spoiler warning #interview with the vampire spoilers

[bruciemilf]

It is finished.

omg thanks baby daddy

#also guys it is pretty graphic so I don’t rec reading all of it!!! #not a joke btw the warnings are in the thing pls read with caution!! #asks

[loserchildhotpants]

hello i am sooooooo sad and lethargic and sick and it would make me soooooo happy if you gave my exhaustively researched Titanic!AU w destiel and samwena, Three Princes, a read ; A ;

i didn't put warnings on it (for Reasons) but also jsyk do not STOP reading before the epilogue :)))))

but look! i made art for it and there's songs for each chapter and switching POVs and there's extensive smut and there's booze smuggling and dancing and tragic backstories and pining and all sorts of stuff!!!

is Cas a Russian priest? almost! does Dean have Stage 4 Mommy Issues? you bet! does Sam sweat loudly around a milf that could kill him w a glance? more than once! is Rowena complex and morally grey while still maintaining a likable charm? i - i mean, god i hope i worked really hard on this one, guys!!

if u give it a chance, leave a comment on it or let me know what u thought of it here or on the cursed bird app - my focus is shot rn bc of meds and illness so i can't really get any further w my current WIPs atm and i need external validation or i shall simply whither away to dust on the wind T A T

imma tag folks (if u want me to remove u from the list lemme know slkdhfj this feels a little brazen of me to tag people ?? but everyone im tagging seems so nice and supportive and im a poor little meow meow rn so)

@queerstudiesnatural @starcrosseddeancas @casblackfeathers @casdeanel @emeraldcas @castiel

#destiel #deancas #Three Princes #someonetoanyone #samwena #pls go read it u guys dont understand i know so much abt Titanic now #grabbing these blorbos who are so informed by their canon time period and shoving them into 1912 was a fuckin TASK #i had to study a 1900 accurate world map to figure out how and where people were trekking to and from #then i had to do cultural research on all those places to inform the characters language and behaviors and backstories #i know Author Chose Not To Use Warnings is frightening but have Faith in me my friends #also i hope y'all understand that the dead dove implications are like inherent bc of the... u know... tragedy of Titanic #like the Titanic DOES sink and inherently that's heavy #also it's 1912 and socially things were not... great #especially if u were poor and/or queer #im talking too much in the tags now #see? i am weak and sickly and pathetic

[binch-i-might-be]

NOW JUST WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND. MY UNCLE SAID HE'S REALLY INTERESTED IN WHAT I'M WRITING SO I GAVE MY DAD PERMISSION TO SEND HIM A LINK TO MY AO3.

THERE'S LITERALLY FIRST PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES GETTING PEGGED BY HIS WIFE AND ALSO DADDY KINK CONTENT ON THERE !!

#NOOOOOO FOR FUCK'S SAKE #i warned him about the porn..... i did..... uncle marco if you're seeing this pls don't look at my porn. please you are 60 years old #this might kill you #my dad had never read any of my stuff so he has no idea what's going on there......... #lamb before the slaughter #well i only see my uncle once a year at most so. whatever ! #he might be a tv personality but i'm sure he will not utter a word about gwash getting it up the ass smut on live television #rayrambles

[citrusinicake]

song :: Tarantula Girl by Violent Vira

minecraft screenshots :: Subz' POV | Vitalasy's POV

video overlays :: ink | blood

flowers :: tulips | dandelions

fanarts :: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 & 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 & 23 | 24 & 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40

#blood cw #flashing cw #glitch cw #lsshipping #glitching cw #flashing images cw #mcytshipping #gen shipping tag #mine.edt #vitalazam #pls tell me if i missed any credits or warnings thank you #also if youre one of the ppl included in this edit but you ddidnt want to be pls tell me aswell #i just kinda scoured the tag so i didnt really read anyones bios #spoiler alert for my vsz week day 7 art lol #i mean itll be out in like 4 hours so it doesnt really matter lol #i actually didnt wanna use it but it fit so eh #also i didnt know tumblr had size requirements #it doesnt really matter that much cause if you make it pop out or download it the side bars disappear but still

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Doodles while watching my dad play a game

#if you havent played twilight princess dont read the tags pls ty #last warning >:( #alright anyway #so i had to do diababa because he couldn't get the hang of the boomerang #i think it was giving him motion sickness which is completely fair #i hate the way it spins around the camera sometimes #he got really frustrated at the controls because he's not familiar enough with them to do quick events #like throwing bombs and whatnot #but he's starting to get the hang of z targeting which is what's most important #and he did the entire tutorial by himself #hell yeah dad #i got all the wolf parts bc he didnt wanna do them which is fine by me #i actually like the tear collection sequences now #it only took four seperate runs and me memorizing the tear locations for it to start growing on me the *teeensiest* bit #oh yeah this is a deltarune post #i like drawing ralsei #fluffy boy make brain go brrr #ralsei #deltarune

[leiawritesstories]

PART ONE: JANUARY

Masterlist

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: swearing, fire, an explosion, alcohol, mentions of homicide, other criminal behaviours, mentions of evil people, lots and LOTS of scheming

A/N: hey everyone! today's a holiday in the US, so here's a little present! Enjoy!!!

huge shoutout to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading 🫶🫶🫶

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was past three in the morning when Aelin finally slipped back into her apartment, cursing under her breath as she slammed the window shut, locking out the frigid January air. Winter in Orynth was bitter at best, the north wind intent on viciously slicing through all her layers of clothing, and it had taken her a full minute to warm her fingers up enough for the scanner to read her fingerprint. Shaking stray snowflakes from her thick coat, she hung the garment on the coat rack, unlaced her boots, and gratefully shucked those too, finally able to flop down on the couch with a heartfelt groan of relief, only to immediately jump back onto her feet before the half-crusted blood on her suit could seep into the couch. 

She’d spent at least a few hundred dollars on that couch–no sense staining yet another piece of shitty furniture with the blood of some lowdown criminal. 

Grumbling, Aelin stalked down the short hallway into the bathroom, flipped on the weak light, and turned the shower tap all the way to the hottest temperature. It wasn’t even that hot–damn cheap ass landlord. This apartment was a piece of shit by her standards, lacking basic necessities like reliable hot water, air conditioning, a functional oven, and decent water pressure. Of course, everyone knew that Aelin Ashryver Galathynius would never dream of coming within five miles of a place like that–no, the well-off CEO was known to live in a penthouse apartment in downtown Orynth, in a sleek modern high-rise that absolutely reeked of money. As far as Boss Galathynius’s standards were concerned, though, the place was perfect. Bordered by the industrial district and the shipping district, the neighborhood was just sketchy enough that nobody asked any questions and just classy enough to be relatively safe during the daytime. It was the kind of place where people kept their business to themselves. Perfect for her…needs. 

As the shower creaked and groaned and sputtered out a stream of tepid water, Aelin rolled her shoulders, unzipped the form-fitting black tactical fabric of her suit, and peeled the material from her skin, groaning when she saw just how badly the suit was stained. Fuck, she’d have to wash it, and then get it properly cleaned. Leaving the suit on the floor, she stepped into the pathetic excuse for a shower and turned her face into the spray, allowing the water to soften the splatters of blood on her face and neck. Rutting gods, why in all hell couldn’t there be hot hot water? With this barely-warm water, it was going to take ages to shed her second skin. She sighed and turned the tap as far up as it would go, stood under the water for another few minutes, then grunted and grabbed her soap and scrubbed her whole body, even though the suit and her gloves kept most of her protected from the rather unfortunate side effects of her, erm, nighttime job.  

The soap also helped to loosen up the barely detectable layer of synthetic skin laying atop Aelin’s real skin until it started to peel enough that she could get her hands onto it and peel, pulling it away from her body. It came off mostly intact, only tearing in a few places. Gods, this was such an improvement from the early phases–she still shuddered in remembrance of the beta model that flaked into bits and took her hours to remove. 

In her own skin once more, Aelin scrubbed herself again, then shut off the shower, grabbed her towel, dried off, threw on fleece-lined leggings and a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and dragged herself into the bedroom to flop onto the shitty mattress for about two hours of sleep. 

She woke to her six o’clock alarm, swore at the clock, dragged herself out of bed, and went to scrub her suit as best as she could in the crappy shower. It took the pathetic excuse for hot water ten minutes before it got hot, so she just grabbed the bucket she kept for this occasion, filled it up, splashed in some laundry detergent, and dumped her suit into the mix. Shit, she really needed to invest in dry cleaning. 

With the suit at least partially clean–and the water she’d just dumped down the drain significantly bloodier than most people would consider normal–Aelin rolled her suit up tightly, shoved it into a plastic bag, pulled on her boots and heavy parka jacket, shouldered her backpack, and left the building, thankful that the January morning was dark enough for her to go unnoticed amongst the trickle of people leaving early for work. She kept her head down as she deftly wove through the maze of streets, just one more bundled-up citizen among the many. 

As the sky slowly lightened from blue-black to steel-gray, Aelin slipped into a side alley and followed the narrow street across into another neighborhood, this one lined with cozy brick buildings and clean-swept sidewalks. She ducked in the side door of a bakery, completely ignoring the “Employees Only” sign posted outside, and muffled a violent curse as she accidentally kicked a pallet of flour. 

Irritated footsteps hurried rapidly into the storage room. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you, Ilias, come in the front door before–oh, it’s just you.” 

Aelin waved. “It’s just me.” 

Nesryn Faliq rolled her dark eyes and flicked on the light. “Can I assume you’ve brought the linens again?” 

“If you’d be so kind,” Aelin returned, nodding. “I’ll come take care of them after work today.” 

“You know what happens if you don’t,” Nesryn retorted. She flashed Aelin a quick grin. “I’ve got twenty minutes before opening, boss. You gonna do something useful or just stand there?” 

Aelin chuckled and followed Nesryn into the warm, yeast-scented kitchen. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes before I have to go do hot boss-lady shit.” 

“You CEO girls and your crazy sayings,” Nesryn snorted. 

“Keeps the job fun.” Aelin winked. “Gods know we CEO girls need a bit of fun sometimes.”

For half an hour, Aelin organized fresh loaves of bread onto racks, boxed up muffins and pastries, and did a little inventory. Nesryn bumped her hip in gratitude and left a huge iced coffee on the countertop. “I know you need it.” 

“Thanks, luv,” Aelin crooned in her best British accent, taking a long sip of the sweet caffeinated goodness. 

The baker laughed wryly. “Don’t make too many poor little guys piss themselves, boss lady!” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Faliq!” 

~

“Hey.” Elide poked her head into Aelin’s office. 

Aelin barely glanced up from her computer. “Yeah?” 

The petite woman dropped a slip of paper on Aelin’s desk. “Thought you might want to see this.” 

“Mhmm.” Distractedly, Aelin took the paper and set it by her keyboard, not really looking away from whatever she was busily typing. “Thanks, Ells.” 

“Aelin.” Elide’s voice was not the kind to be brushed off. “I need you to look at that. Now.” 

The steel in her second’s voice jerked Aelin out of her focus mode. She blinked, shook her head, and properly came to attention. “Okay.” She picked up the small paper and scanned the short message, and her eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign of her shock. “What.” 

“Go check on it.” Elide grasped Aelin’s hand and practically hauled her to her feet. “I’ll handle anything that comes to your office for however long it takes you. Go. Now.” 

Barely remembering to close her computer, Aelin hurried upstairs to her other office, rushing through the security protocols, and dropped into her boss chair. She snatched the small headset that rested in the second drawer of her desk and turned it on. The earpiece was barely in her ear before she was barking commands into the device. 

“Boss?” Nox answered within seconds of her ringing him. 

“I need to hear the chatter.” Aelin gave no explanation–she knew Nox would know exactly what she was talking about. 

“Right.” There was a series of clicks and taps on the other end of the line as Nox found the audio he needed her to hear. “Timestamp: 1147 this morning, Orynth PD Channel 074.” He pressed another button, and radio static crackled in Aelin’s ear for a few seconds before resolving into a few male voices. 

He’s supposed to arrive today.

Who?

The special forces officer, you jackass! Didn’t you listen to the captain’s briefing?

The hell would I? He hasn’t said anything useful for weeks. 

There was the unmistakable sound of someone swatting someone else upside the head. Whatever. Special forces comes today. 

Hope he’s able to get some kind of info on this godsdamn case. A snort. If he can’t, I hope to the bloody gods they toss the whole thing, cuz I’m just about done waiting around for some criminal who doesn’t exist to leave evidence of their supposed crimes.

The hell d’you mean, ‘doesn’t exist?’ We wouldn’t be on this fucking case if the criminal didn’t exist! Stakeouts take time, officer.

Not this much time. That was a new voice, Aelin observed, and she could hear the muffled curses and rustles of surprise that followed this new voice’s entry into the conversation. 

Just who the hell are you? 

Special forces. Interesting. Aelin filed that little fact away for later. 

Fine. Welcome to the investigation. Ain’t shit worth investigating, though.

The special forces officer chuckled sarcastically. That’s what all you morons think, isn’t it?

Who the fuck are you calling a moron?

All of you. I wouldn’t be here if you were competent. Where’s the case file? I need it. 

Aelin knew it was bad of her, but gods, she liked this special forces officer. He wasn’t afraid to call Orynth PD out on their incompetence. She listened to the police officers and the special forces officer for a few more minutes before Nox turned it off. 

“That’s pretty much all they said within our range.” 

Aelin nodded, though her master tech hacker couldn’t see her. “Thanks, Nox.” 

“Anytime, boss.” She heard the smirk in his voice. “I’ll keep you posted on their chatter.” 

“As you should.” 

~

Aelin was disappointed. 

It had been over a week since Nox picked up that first chatter about special forces joining the investigation, and as far as she knew, the team hadn’t tried any kind of infiltration into her headquarters. And Aelin would have known if they tried anything–she hadn’t ascended to the top of the criminal underworld without learning a few lessons. Most of them bloody. 

Unbidden, a memory flashed through her mind: the thick coppery tang of blood filling a windowless cement chamber, ropes digging into raw flesh, a man’s leering whisper in her ear. You need to learn how to behave, you little whore. The unmistakable crack of bones. A girl’s scream. 

Inhaling sharply, Aelin forced the memory out of her mind, shoving it back down into the abyss where it belonged. She grasped the small framed photograph she kept on her desk and stared into the laughing eyes of the photographed couple, rooting herself in the unfaltering courage of her parents. I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid. The fate of her company, her business, and all of her people depended on it. 

She practically slept through most of the workday, bored with the interminable waiting for special forces or PD or anyone to make some kind of move. As much as she wanted to be the instigator, Elide and Ansel had both threatened her with various forms of torture if she did “anything fucking stupid,” as they so graciously put it. Aelin had just held up her hands and sworn innocence. Neither of her dear friends believed her for a second. Still, her promise held–she wouldn’t start shit. 

Unless an irresistible opportunity presented itself. 

Tap, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap. Ansel’s knock sounded against Aelin’s office door. The Galathynius office, not the work one. Looking up from her laptop, Aelin checked to make sure her low-lit office was all in order, then snapped to disarm the door’s defense mechanisms. “Enter.” 

The redhead opened the door. “Boss?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Got someone here who wants to talk to you. I think you’ll be…intrigued by what he has to say.” 

“Hmm.” Aelin steepled her fingers, thinking. “Send him in.” 

Ansel jerked her head towards Aelin’s office in signal. Two of the Galathynius outfit’s men, both huge and muscular and bristling with weapons, escorted a bound, gagged man into the boss’s office, dumped him in the chair opposite Aelin, and removed his gag. With a curt nod to their boss, they left the office, taking up guard posts outside the door to make sure nothing unfortunate happened. 

Aelin swept a cold gaze over the man, noting his features–brown hair, pale green eyes, decently muscular, about six feet tall, probably had at least three concealed knives if he was as smart as she thought he was–and hummed softly. “Well?” 

The man drew in a huge, shaky breath. “Well what, miss–I mean, boss–I mean–”

“Drop the act, smuggler.” 

“Galathynius.” He cleared his throat. “Good to finally meet you. My name is Rolfe.” 

Aelin arched one blonde brow. “Rolfe. They call you the Pirate Lord because you’ve managed to perfect smuggling into an art that few can detect, yes? Which does a great deal of service to my little business.” She chuckled softly, dangerously. “They also say you smuggle more things than just drugs, weapons, and cash.” 

Rolfe simply nodded. “I’m not stupid enough to tell you you’re wrong.” 

Casually, Aelin lifted her booted feet onto her desk, languidly crossing one leg over the other. Her shoes of choice were sleek black patent leather boots with a blood-red sole and six-inch stiletto heels that concealed actual stiletto knives. Fashionable and deadly, her favorite combination. “Perhaps not. But you’re clearly also not smart enough to realize I know those bonds aren’t holding you.” 

The so-called Pirate Lord laughed wryly and shook off the ropes around his body. “Should’ve known you’d know.” 

She smirked. “Get to business, Rolfe. I’m also not a very stupid person, and I know full well you didn’t come waltzing onto my territory just to show off your prowess with escaping bonds.” 

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Galathynius, I know you’re very busy destroying all your enemies and all that shit, and I think I can help.” 

“In more ways than just smuggling in my shipments?” 

“Yeah.” His pale green eyes were sharp, calculating. “Y’see, I spend most of my time outside of Orynth, working the waterways, and I hear things. Shippers love to gossip.” He cleared his throat. “I have it on good info–took a little torture, but what doesn’t?–that someone named Cairn Wilkins is coming into Orynth in a couple weeks. Apparently the boss he worked for turned up dead a little while ago, and he’s dead set on getting revenge on whoever the hell did it.” 

“Interesting,” Aelin mused, her face completely calm despite the rapid speed at which her mind was turning. “He wouldn’t happen to have worked for a certain Arobynn Hamel, would he?” 

“That’s the one.” 

“Makes sense.” She tapped her scarlet fingernails on her desk. “Cairn Wilkins is a slimy, dirty bastard who always needs someone bigger and badder to follow. Ugly bitch can’t even form a thought without someone to tell him what to think.”

Rolfe snorted. “Sounds about right. Well, he’s got a decent foundation here under the name Wilkins Trading–you know it?” Aelin nodded. “According to the sea talk, he’ll get here on the 27th unless the weather doesn’t cooperate. Probably won’t waste any time starting his little revenge hunt. And he’s not known for subtlety, so you’ll know he’s here.” 

“I knew that.” Aelin flashed the smuggler a knife-edged grin that made him (and all the others who’d seen that grin) recoil a few inches. “Cairn always did have a flair for leaving trails of blood and shit wherever he goes; it’s probably some misplaced pride in being a dirty criminal. Never did him any good with the law, though.” 

“The ones he hasn’t bought, at least.” 

“Indeed.” Aelin swung her feet down and stood gracefully, leaning her hip against the side of her desk. “My thanks for the information, Rolfe. Have anything else interesting to say?” 

He glanced at the calendar on the wall. “Your next cargo will be here in four days, right on schedule. Want it delivered to the usual warehouse?” 

“As always.” She held out her hand. 

Standing, Rolfe shook her hand firmly. “Just one more thing, Galathynius.” 

“Make it quick.” She flicked a glance at the clock. “I’ve got somewhere to be in less than an hour.” 

He cleared his throat. “Whatever you’re planning for Wilkins, be extra careful. The PD team they’ve got investigating the, uh, murder cases is suddenly a lot more present down in the shipping districts. Special forces is–” 

“Involved, I know. Finally bit the bullet and sent over an officer about a week ago.” 

“Yeah. This officer, though, he’s not just any special ops guy. I barely even knew he existed until he showed up on the investigation, and I always know all the info about the military. It’s because of the job, of course–can’t risk falling for some stupid trap.” 

“Stop blathering and tell me about the man,” Aelin sighed. 

Rolfe swallowed. “He’s a Doranellian, trained up at that military academy they have. He’s relentless, demanding, won’t take any bullshit, worse than a bloodhound for his sniffing around. His name is Whitethorn.” 

“Hmm.” Aelin absorbed the new information calmly. “Thanks, Rolfe. I’ll be careful.” With that, she opened her office door and let the smuggler out. She lifted her chin at the two guards standing outside her door, who instantly flanked Rolfe, blindfolded him–“for security, you understand”–and escorted him out of the building. She closed her door and returned to her desk, mulling over the details. Whitethorn. For some reason, the name sounded familiar. She’d probably heard her uncle say it. 

Uncle Gavriel Ashryver was a good man and an excellent soldier, but he loved to talk about the men he was proud of. It was a wonderful quality in a commanding officer. It was less wonderful when a notorious criminal heard all the information and tucked it away for future…use. 

Not that she would ever betray her uncle by using what he’d shared about his soldiers to attack the special forces base, or any other military base. She had nothing but respect for Gav, for the position he held, and for the skill with which he led the special forces branch. 

She just had a personal interest in keeping the special forces away from her personal business. 

~

Gods. Fucking. Dammit. Rowan was starting to believe that there would never be a week where he was able to do anything without a murder report. This was what, the fourth one this month? And it hadn’t even been two weeks since he started working on the investigation. 

“Where.” Rowan slammed the truck door so hard the vehicle rattled. He stalked over to the pair of police officers standing at the edge of the crime scene, a small part of him delighting in the way they jumped to attention as he approached. “Where.”

“Right here, Lieutenant.” The lady officer lifted a segment of the bright yellow tape marking off the crime scene. “Discovered at 0622 this morning; initial sweep estimates that the time of death was between four and seven hours before the discovery.” 

Rowan nodded curtly. “And the victims?” 

“We’ve left that to your discretion.” 

Finally, someone with a shred of common sense. “Good. I’ll handle it from here.” He didn’t wait for any answer before striding into the garage. 

Inside the relatively small, open building, three forms lay beneath a black tarp. Rowan crossed the space, noting the way the cement floor gently sloped down towards the center of the space–probably designed so that any spills from the mechanical or repair work done there could easily be washed down the drain in the middle of the floor. He pulled the tarp aside, assessed the state of the bodies, and sucked in a sharp breath. 

Bruises, ropes still tied around the wrists and ankles, slashed throats. So similar to every single other victim in the string of murders the Orynth PD hadn’t been able to solve. 

Snapping on a pair of latex gloves and a protective mask, Rowan knelt down by the bodies and carefully scanned the details he could see without disturbing them. His eyes narrowed, his brows scrunching together and forming a furrow in his forehead. That thought he’d had about the MO of these homicides being similar to the previous ones? He threw it straight into his mental garbage. These victims didn’t display any signs of the extensive beating the other victims had displayed, nor did they appear to have been captive for any significant length of time. The only similarity between these victims and the ones he was certain were the Galathynius outfit’s work was the slashed throats. And even that was different in this case–sloppier. Much sloppier. 

“Have them sent to the morgue.” Rowan stood and discarded his protective gear. “Don’t rush the autopsies. I’m not convinced this incident is significant.” 

“With all due respect, Lieutenant, every homicide should be sig–”

“Wrong.” Rowan snorted. “This incident is tragic, as all homicides are, but I have no reason to believe it’s at all related to what we are investigating.” Before the cop could protest, he held up a silencing hand. “Just send them to the morgue, collect any relevant evidence from the scene, and clean it up. We’re not here to deal with petty criminal shit.” 

Which was precisely what that incident turned out to be. 

“You’re certain?” Rowan arched one pale brow, half-disbelieving. 

“Positive.” The medical examiner flipped through her stack of charts and images until she found the right page. “See this? This is his trademark.” She pointed to the close-up images of the throats. “The incision pattern shows that the weapon used was clearly a serrated blade, and we only ever see serrated blades used when Cairn is…active. My theory is that he’s one of those men who do something once and decide that’s the only way to do it.” 

“Classic dumb criminal shit,” Rowan snorted. “All right, we’ll take care of the, uh, cleanup. Thanks, Borte.” 

Borte nodded. “Never a dull moment with this process, is there?” 

“Hardly.” Rowan rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to wish there was a dull moment here and there, but better to have no breaks than too much silence.”

If there was one thing he’d learned in his years dealing with sophisticated criminals, it was that long stretches of silence meant something truly explosive was about to go down. 

~

On the night of January 28th, Aelin went home after work rather than going up to her private office. Her team could handle anything that passed through. She needed to be home, both for the well-deserved night of rest and for the alibi. 

Earlier that afternoon, Elide had dropped a memo on her desk and given a subtle, covert nod as she walked away. The note was short, blunt, and direct. 

It’s all ready. Tonight. 

She strolled into her building, her heels clicking softly on the polished marble flooring of the lobby, and smiled briefly at the few other residents passing by, all of them well-dressed and practically reeking of money. The building was one of the most upscale apartment buildings in Orynth; rent was astronomical to everyone but the people who lived there. With her salary, she could easily afford the penthouse of this place; however, she didn’t like the whole-wall-of-windows design of this penthouse, so she just lived in a normal apartment. 

The elevator ride up to the sixteenth floor was smooth and quick, and she was relieved to see that the hallway was empty. She walked to her door, unlocked it, and let herself in, barely able to wait before the door was locked again before kicking off her heels and releasing a long, long groan of satisfaction. No feeling like sweet relief from those torture devices–she’d never seen the point of shoes that didn’t use their design to hide weapons. A quick glance at the clock on her oven told her she had a few hours before anything…happened, so she decided to indulge in a luxurious hot bath. 

Night had fully fallen when she emerged from the bathroom, stretching languidly, and went over to her wine cooler to select a drink for the night. CEO wealth did have its perks, and one of them was the ability to purchase or be gifted the finest wines her money could buy. She poured herself a glass, checked the time, and went to put on shoes before leaving her apartment, locking up behind herself, and going up to the rooftop. 

From the rooftop of her building, Aelin could see all of Orynth, the sprawling metropolis glistening with the crystals of the city lights. She leaned against the glass half-wall encircling the perimeter of the rooftop, flirting with danger like she was so fond of doing, feeling the evening breeze stir her loose hair. Her wineglass dangled between her fingers, her hold on its delicate glass stem the only thing keeping it from tumbling hundreds of feet to the ground and crashing into a million fragments. She took a long sip, rolling the rich red liquid around on her tongue to luxuriate in the flavor–a symphony of dark cherry, oak, and just a trace of violet as the wine went down. 

The perfect accompaniment to tonight’s…viewing. 

In her head, she counted down the minutes, then the seconds. Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven…. Her anticipation built by the second, her heart rate unable to control its excitement. Settle down, she warned herself. No use celebrating too early. 

Boom. 

Right on time, an explosion. A cloud of thick black smoke billowed up a few miles away at the far end of the shipping district–the Wilkins lot, if she wasn’t mistaken. Blazing tongues of flame followed right on the heels of the smoke cloud, the fire rapidly catching onto the nearby containers and setting them ablaze. The fire only grew, though contained within its boundaries; it took only a minute or two before the mini inferno had devoured what looked to be the entire Wilkins lot and one or two lots nearby, its flames painting the night in flickers of orange and scarlet. 

Aelin took another pull of her wine and drank in the sight of the raging blaze, a small smirk curling the corner of her lips as she heard the sirens screaming toward the scene of the fire. Not that the fire department would find anything worth saving. 

She’d seen to that. 

She remained at the edge of the rooftop until her wine was gone and the fire in the shipping district had been tamed, reduced to curling plumes of smoke drifting away into the January night. The decadent alcohol left a lingering trace of smoke and embers in her mouth, which only made her smirk grow. She knew she’d picked the right wine. Then she stood up and turned away from the cityscape, satisfied with a job well done. Regarding the empty wineglass in her hand, she tilted her head, thinking for a moment. 

Then she lazily draped her arm over the balcony wall and let her fingers go limp. 

The wineglass plummeted down, down, down through the silent winter night and landed with a crash on the frozen cement sidewalk, splintering into a thousand crystal shards. Curiously, though, glass wasn’t the only thing that rose up as the wineglass crashed into the pavement. No, there was something else, visible only for barely half a second–not even enough time to believe it really happened. 

As Aelin’s wineglass shattered against the sidewalk, a small plume of smoke curled up from the impact point, disappearing a blink after it appeared. Almost as if the wineglass hadn’t just broken, but exploded. 

~

Rowan was pissed, and he didn’t give a shit how many of these incompetent PD idiots fell out of his way as he stormed into the police captain’s office wearing an expression that had made more than one seasoned soldier piss themselves. The captain was on the phone with his back turned to the door, arguing with someone on the other end of the line and getting more frustrated with each passing second. After a few minutes, he snapped a string of curses and slammed down the phone, turning to find Rowan standing in front of him, glowering. To his credit, he didn’t jump in terror, just took a long pull of his coffee and braced his hands flat on his desk. 

“What the hell do you want, Whitethorn?” 

“Sign this.” Rowan pushed a document across the desk. 

The police captain grumbled another foul curse. “I’m not signing shit I’ve never seen.” 

“If you want this goddamn investigation to get anywhere, Westfailure, you’ll sign the goddamn paper.” Rowan’s temper was already inches from snapping and it wasn’t even eight in the morning–he blamed it on last night’s god-fucking-damned explosion down in the warehouse district. He and the investigative team barely made it down to the scene before the press descended upon it like vultures. 

Police Captain Chaol Westfall glared at Rowan for a long minute, then snatched a pen and signed the paper. “If I hear one word, one damn word, about you torturing people, I swear I’ll have you booted off the investigation in disgrace.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Rowan scoffed. He turned and stalked out, heading to his own office in the police building. Since becoming part of the investigation, he’d been set up with quarters and an office on the floor assigned to the investigative team. Convenient, but he still preferred going home to the special forces barracks most nights. Now, though, he was seriously considering just moving into these quarters to be closer to everything. After last night’s disaster, he wanted to be as close as possible. 

If he’d been closer last night, maybe that fucking explosion wouldn’t have happened. 

He was still fuming over the absolute mess of a scene they’d all discovered when they arrived at the warehouse. The former warehouse, really, since there was nothing but a few scorched support beams left of the warehouses that had stood on the lot. It was owned–was still owned?–by a man called Wilkins, who shipped medications. And cocaine, if the rumors were true. A small part of Rowan hoped he would find some evidence of Wilkins’s less-than-legal dealings at the explosion scene, but there was nothing left. Literally. Nothing. Whatever had caused the explosion, whatever fuel or accelerant had been used, it had burned hot and swift, destroying everything in its path. 

It smacked of criminal behavior, almost enough for Rowan to suspect this Wilkins man had blown his warehouse up himself. Except for one thing–the utter lack of vehicle tracks. Usually, when a property owner destroyed his own property in an attempt to claim the insurance money, he cleared everything out via a big truck or some other vehicle, which left definite tracks. There were no tracks in the area surrounding the destroyed lot. None. 

Something about that little detail set off warning bells in Rowan’s mind. 

“Lieutenant?” 

“What?” Rowan turned to face the cop who’d addressed him. 

“Over here.” The dark-haired man led him over to one corner of the former warehouse, the most intact bit of the whole place. “We found a scrap of material caught on the pylon; it’s bagged as evidence. Thought you’d want to see it.” 

Rowan’s brows shot up. “You found fabric?”

“Uh, yes?” 

“Shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any fabric that survived this goddamn inferno has got to be made of some seriously engineered shit. Give it to me for analysis, I’ll run it through the labs.” 

“But Lieutenant, you can’t just grab evidence–”

Rowan glared at the cop. “I can and I will. Where’s the fabric?” 

Reluctantly, the cop went over to the police truck and grabbed a single plastic bag out of the dark armored vehicle. “Here. Don’t keep it for too long, though.” 

“Unlike you idiots, I know how to run an investigation.” Rowan took the evidence bag, stashed it in the bag he wore over his shoulder, and returned to his sweep of the crime scene. 

The acrid tang of smoke hung thickly in the air, not dispersed by wind or weather or the team of investigators swarming around the site. Something about the smoke caught Rowan’s notice, so he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, focusing on the scent of the air he drew in. Odd. Typical fires left behind a charcoal-scented kind of smoke, mixed with the odors of whatever had burnt up in the flames. This one had that charcoal tinge, but also something else, something chemical, but not something Rowan immediately recognized–not kerosene, lighter fluid, gasoline, or any common accelerant. 

He shouldn’t be surprised. It was clear to anyone with half a brain that they weren’t dealing with a common incident. Or a common perpetrator. 

When his brain kept coming up blank, Rowan moved on from the smoke scent, tucking the idea away under “ask the lab later.” He finished his walkthrough of the scene and decided to leave the rest of the evidence collection to the police, preferring the quiet of his office to think about…things. Things like just who the hell could have not only emptied out the warehouse without leaving tracks, but also been able to set up an explosion so powerful it burned a steel-beam building down to nearly nothing. And to go completely fucking undetected, which was still the most baffling part. He, Rowan Whitethorn, had over a decade of experience in solving apparently impossible crimes–both as a special forces trainee and a member of the service–and he kept coming up blank. 

This explosion had to be connected, somehow, to the murders, which he firmly believed were connected to Galathynius. It had to be. Call him crazy, call him a crack theorist, but he trusted his senses. Mostly. Right now, he trusted his senses enough to walk into his office, unlock the file drawer, pull out an ugly green manila folder full of random papers, and sift through the stack until he found the one handwritten sheet he wanted. It was a single page of standard, college-ruled notebook paper with a list of names, places, and dates scrawled in his own blocky handwriting. Grabbing a pen, he added the details of the explosion: 27th/28th January, Wilkins lot in the warehouse district, own work? Galathynius? He left the questions there because he wasn’t sure. 

A quick internet search revealed that the owner of the destroyed lots was named Cairn, Cairn Wilkins, a businessman whose company dealt mostly in pharmaceuticals. The name sounded familiar, and it took all of ten seconds for Rowan to connect the dots. This Wilkins was most likely the same Cairn responsible for the most recent murders, the sloppy ones. The Wilkins company imported a significant percentage of both over-the-counter and prescription drugs, and Cairn apparently had standing delivery contracts with over half the pharmacies in Orynth. Perfect cover for a drug trafficker! screamed the investigative voice inside Rowan’s head. 

He filed that observation away for later. 

Grabbing his phone, Rowan pulled up the contact called “Swabs” and hit the call button. The guy on the other end picked up after eight rings. 

“What.” 

“Well hello to you too, Swabs. No cheerful greeting for your old buddy?” 

“Fuck off, tattoo boy,” laughed the scientist. “Hi. Good morning. What the hell do you need?” 

“I’ve got a very interesting little piece of evidence I picked up this morning that I need you to analyze for me. Preferably soon. Fuckin’ PD’s breathing down my neck about every little thing I send over to your lab.” 

“Course they are. Alright, fine, bring it over and I’ll have test results for you in five, six days.” 

“Cut the bullshit, Swabs, I’ve worked with you for too fuckin’ long to believe it actually takes five days for the tests to come back.” While he normally joked and laughed with his forensic scientist colleague, Rowan was not in a joking mood that day. 

“Two to three days. No faster unless you want shit results.” 

“Good. See you in about half an hour.” Rowan hung up, grabbed his bag, and headed out to the garage, striding towards the black SUV he favored. It was a fairly standard police-type vehicle with tinted windows and armored sides, and with the silver Orynth PD logo on the door, nobody would question his driving or his urgency. 

~

It took him exactly twenty-five minutes to get to the lab. Favoring discretion, Rowan had always preferred to use this lab rather than the one attached to the police department–furthermore, this was an independent lab, which meant that none of the scientists asked questions when the Terrasen Special Forces showed up with another specimen for analysis. He parked, jumped out of the SUV, and instantly regretted not putting on a warmer jacket. Fuck, winter in Orynth was vicious. 

“Y’know, parkas exist for a reason,” drawled someone’s voice from inside the lab as Rowan walked through the first set of doors. 

“Piss off, Swabs.” 

“Oh calm down, tattoo boy. Where’s this evidence of yours?” 

“Here.” Rowan withdrew the plastic sample bag and handed it over. “And quit calling me that, Ashryver.” 

Aedion Ashryver chuckled and accepted the evidence bag. “Never.” He and Rowan had been classmates in high school and university, and they’d even been in the same class when they both entered the special forces training program. However, Aedion chose to go down the forensics route after the first year of training, preferring the organization of the lab to the chaos of soldier life. He’d remained a close colleague of Rowan’s throughout the years, and as Rowan went on more missions, Aedion received more and more fascinating little specimens for analysis. Aedion knew more about the murder investigation than anyone besides Rowan–he should, since he’d been analyzing all the little scraps Rowan discovered on the crime scenes. 

“Text me when you’ve got results,” Rowan called, already heading back out into the snow. 

“Will do.” Aedion waved and disappeared into the lab, weaving through quiet, sterile hallways and passing busy lab spaces before he reached his personal lab. He tapped his ID against the reader, and the steel door rolled open, revealing a wide, brightly-lit, high-ceilinged space that hummed softly with activity. Waving to a few of his close colleagues, Aedion went straight for his station, washed his hands, snapped on a fresh pair of sterile latex gloves, sat down, and opened up the evidence bag. 

The sample Rowan had found at the explosion site was a small scrap of fabric, its edges rough and jagged like it had been torn off of something larger. From its size and shape, Aedion thought it was a scrap of clothing; it had probably caught on a sharp edge and torn off. He couldn’t figure out much just from looking with his own eyes, though, so he carefully picked up the fabric using a pair of tweezers and laid it underneath his microscope. Adjusting the lens and the focus, he zoomed in on the material. And swore. 

Holy fuck. This…fabric? He wasn’t even sure he could properly call it “fabric.” It had Aelin’s name and brilliant engineering written all over it. Fuck, fuck, and double fuck. What was he supposed to tell Rowan? Because…well, close friendship was one thing. Blood relationships were entirely another. 

And Aedion Ashryver had sworn many, many years ago to protect Aelin Ashryver Galathynius at all costs. Even if it meant directing others away from her crimes.

~

Three knocks on the apartment’s front door jerked Aelin from her position sprawled on the shitty couch, half asleep. She grumbled a string of curses as she stalked over to the door and shot a glare through the keyhole. Nobody. Not that she really expected to see anyone–criminals were too smart to stay in direct sight of other, worse criminals. So she unlocked the door, pulled it open about half an inch, and stepped aside. The crappy door banged open not two seconds later, shaking on its hinges with the force of the push. 

“God, it’s a shit apartment, but what’d that poor door do to you–fuck!” Aelin shook herself. “Still not used to seeing you in that getup.” 

“Fuckin’ cold,” grunted the man who’d just barged into her apartment. Of course, it was the crappy one near the shipping district, not her actual home. He pulled off his dark blue wool hat, shaking a layer of snowflakes onto the creaky wooden floor, and unzipped his jacket. The unmistakable navy blue uniform of the Orynth Police Department clung to his body, the small metal bar over his left breast pocket giving his name and rank. 

Cpt. Westfall.

“Shit,” the man groaned, blinking rapidly. “Where’s the bathroom, boss? Got snow in the goddamn contacts.” 

“Down the hall,” Aelin returned. “Make it quick and don’t even think about using my good shit, Allsbrook.” 

Ren Allsbrook flashed a crooked half-grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, boss. I like my balls right where they are.” 

Aelin poured herself another glass of wine, poured a small measure of bourbon into a second glass, and settled herself back on the couch, both drinks in front of her. It was only a couple of minutes before Ren emerged from the bathroom, his formerly brown eyes now hazel, carrying a contact lens case in one hand. 

“Much better,” he sighed. 

“Sit.” Aelin gestured to the other end of the couch. “Have a drink.” 

Ren sat and slowly accepted the bourbon. “You didn’t poison it, did you?” 

“Would I tell you if I had?” Aelin rolled her eyes. “You’re not that stupid, Allsbrook, and neither am I. Have a drink. Update me. I don’t have all night.” 

“Sure thing, boss.” He took a sip. “Well, I’m in. It wasn’t even that hard to infiltrate the place–soon as I had this here name and badge, I could go wherever the hell I wanted and nobody asked questions. Pretty soft for an organization that’s supposedly one of the best.” He snorted. “As far as anyone knows, I’m Captain Chaol Westfall, fearless and intrepid head of the investigation into the Orynth Assassinations.” 

“So that’s what they’re calling it,” she mused. “Not very creative. Then again, why should I expect creativity from a pack of idiots who can’t find a shred of hard evidence?” 

“About that.” Ren threw back the remainder of the bourbon. “This special forces officer that’s on the team? He has hard evidence. A fair bit of it, if I believe what he tells me. Every time I ask to see it, though, he deflects–something about going through the lab for analysis.”

“Interesting,” Aelin mused. “Have you seen any evidence?” 

“Oh yeah, there’s definitely some.” He cleared his throat. “Little tiny bits and pieces–ashes, a sample of fabric here and there, a little bit of accelerant, photos of the crime scenes, and the bodies. The bodies are the best evidence we currently have, but the morgue can’t give us anything more than the cause of death and the state of the body leading up to its death.”

“You sounded just like a policeman there, Allsbrook.” 

“I do pride myself on getting into character,” he returned dryly, pretending to bow. 

Aelin snickered. Ren Allsbrook was a notorious spy, well known in the criminal underworld for his uncanny ability to completely assume every disguise he donned. Becoming Chaol Westfall was just another role to him, except that he had a disguise like nothing he’d ever worn. Aelin’s SecondSkin tech was more than a disguise; it was a nearly foolproof way to become someone else entirely. 

“Character or not, you’re doing alright. I suppose I’ll let you stay alive for another week or so, but we’ll see what you bring to your next report.” She drained her wine. “Dismissed.” 

“Right.” Ren stood up and went quickly into the bathroom to replace his contact lenses. He was Chaol Westfall when he re-emerged, down to the fingerprints. That was another little perk of the tech–the fingerprints. Since Westfall was a member of Orynth PD, his fingerprints were on file, so it had been child’s play for Ren to slip into the file archives, pull the prints, and get them to Aelin for copying onto the SecondSkin. “See you, boss.” 

“Careful of the ice, Westfall.” She unlocked her door and let him back out, throwing him a little nod as he walked off. 

Then she locked the door, bundled herself into her winter jacket, gloves, scarf, hat, and boots, climbed through the window, swiftly descended down the rickety fire escape, and strode down the alley, just another shadow–albeit a lethal one–disappearing into the arctic January night.

~~~

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#my writing #until proven guilty #criminal/investigator au #aelin the crime boss au #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #pls check the warnings :) #there is a LOT of illegal activity in this fic and if you aren't comfortable reading that then don't feel pressured :)

[princessxgarbage]

Happy ShiSaku Week!!!

Day 7(I know it's a lil late) @shisakuweek

Title: Surrender

Prompt: (sorry) Murder

Warnings: YES (character death, murder, blood, violence, ANGST)

Words: 2,282

Read on AO3

What a shit job. The estate was quiet in the night, just the silent shuffle of the regular guard and the occasional snap of a deer scare to fill the void. Nothing about the preliminary outline of this job he'd accepted had suggested he'd have any trouble finding his target, let alone have to follow them back to a guarded estate. He should have realized the payment promised for what was labeled as 'simple assassination' was too good to be true.

He'd been scoping the place for a few nights now, he knew when the guards changed, he knew the exits, the layout, he knew exactly where she should be. His weapon was ready; the poison, the antidote. It wouldn't be easy to get to her though, not with the amount of obstacles to get through. 

Maybe he should rethink the importance of actually finishing this job. He could just leave now, call the whole thing quits. Head back to their rendezvous point and maybe get to spend some time together for once before they had to go and find separate jobs again. It was the vicious cycle they'd been caught in for years now. Both of them having cut their ties to their village, him after nearly being dragged into a massacre, losing an eye, and finding out it was all sanctioned by the Hokage himself, her after discovering the truth of it years later. And then that they'd found each other after he'd been in hiding for so many years– happenstance. The odds they'd stay together, laughably small. 

It had been almost two months since they'd seen each other. Had always been safer to take different jobs in separate places. All he wanted was to keep his head down. He was a missing-nin with more than just the average ANBU after him. At this point he hoped they thought he was dead. Really, truly, dead. But he knew if the wrong person spotted him out in the world, they'd be after him faster than he could prepare himself and Sakura to get away. He refused to use his Sharingan anymore. The weapon he was born with, his most recognizable trait. The most feared aspect of himself, that would always scare people away from him. He managed to scare them away well enough without it. He attributed some of that to the scars he carried and the cloth headband he wore to cover the gaping void that once held his eye. His hair was no longer soft and short, it was outgrown, roughly cut and roughly kept. It was harder for him to smile these days. It was fine, he didn't need to be approachable. In fact, he tried not to be. 

Sakura, however, was adored in every village she stopped in. Sometimes she offered protection, sometimes she offered them cheap medical care, usually in exchange for room and board only. She was loved and protected by them. They regaled her as a hero. 

He was just her shadow. 

Not a constant one, one that appeared on the rarest of nights. There was always mentions of the pink-haired doctor saving people, he could track her on rumor alone. Seizing every chance he had to cross paths with her. Slipping in when she was finally alone, raising her alarms so she knew he was there. The game of cat and mouse they'd always play as she pretended he was a true intruder, before laughing and dropping the pretense entirely in favor of trading rushed kisses and reminding each other why it was all worth it. 

They worked apart so they could stay together. They were both wanted criminals, both wanted for the crime of demanding justice and being refused. No one they'd met in their travels would ever turn Sakura in, and he was protected by proxy. He wished he could always stay by her side, he had dreams of staying in one place, growing a garden; having a home again. Someplace she could treat patients safely without the risk that their discovery would ruin everything. But that's all they were, dreams. His only skill was killing, The Leaf made sure of that.

And so he killed. 

He killed for money. He killed for justice. He killed because it was all he'd ever known.

And here he was, ready to kill again.

It was time to move, the current guard was growing tired and reckless. The new guard would cycle in soon. He had plenty of time to slip past their fading defenses before the fresh faced, bright-eyed replacements took their places. 

He knocked out a few of them on his way to the inner sanctum of the estate, stashing away their sleeping forms quickly so they wouldn't be discovered before he could get out of there. He kept out of sight as he worked his way in to the east inner gardens. The target was some noble man's daughter, that truth only evident now as he found his way to her rooms. He wove a quick genjutsu over the shoji door before he slipped inside. 

There was a personal attendant sleeping nearby on a small, comfortable futon. Without taking another step forward, he quietly placed a second genjutsu over the girl to assure she wouldn't hear anything amiss or wake up anytime soon. 

Quickly, he moved to the larger, more extravagant bed in the center of the room. In the center of the mattress, surrounded by pillows and silk sheets lay his target. A young, seemingly helpless woman. He imagined sighing at the ridiculous notion of himself, a trained assassin, standing over the sleeping body of a delicate, nobly raised, helpless woman. This was the job, however. Perhaps he could convince himself she was horribly evil and the world would be better without her. 

It didn't matter. 

He took a silent step forward, drawing his weapon, coated in a poison designed by Sakura for him specifically. 

Then, beyond reason, she stirred. 

Was there a trap he hadn't noticed? Some sort of signal he triggered to alarm her? He cursed himself inwardly, loathe to admit that if he'd been using his sharingan a simple alarm system would not have slipped his notice. No point in using it now, he figured. He swiftly moved out of her line of sight and froze. When she moved to sit up instead of returning to sleep, he cursed himself again.

"Matsu-san?" She whispered. Probably the attendant's name. Hopefully she doesn't expect an answer.

When no answer came, she pulled the sheets back and made to rise from the bed. Shit, just my luck.

Once she was standing he delayed no longer, stepping forward and slicing his nocuous blade through her back, directly through her lung. 

A slick gasp escaped her lips as he withdrew his weapon from her flesh. Shock seemed to overtake her as she turned around to look at the face of her murderer. 

He was not expecting to see recognition wash over her.

She fell forward and he was forced to catch her in his arms, silently lowering her to the tatami. She pressed a hand to her bleeding chest, then pulled it away to look down at the blood. She was confused by its presence, but moreso confused by his. She reached her bloody hand out and clutched tight around the fabric of his uwagi. 

She suckered out a wet sort of wheeze as she tried to speak but the only thing that slipped from her mouth was a small flow of blood. He watched it drip down her chin and grabbed her by the wrist to try and pry her hand away from his chest. Her breathing was hastened, panicked, and stilted as her lungs began to fail her. She tried to speak again, her voice curdled and choking on blood.

"Shi–"

He hesitated and looked into her pleading eyes. She couldn't possibly know him, the idea was absurd. She must have been calling out to death itself.

She shakily rose her left hand, keeping the right still clenching onto him like he would be her last life line. He moved to stop her movement by grabbing that wrist as well. She still managed to form the seal for release, and the henge slipped away.

Long onyx tresses drew back into short, pink hair. Charcoal eyes brightened into jade. A sharp purple diamond appeared on her forehead. Her nose and lips changed shape into something too familiar, something he wished he wasn't recognizing.

"No– What! Sakura–?!" 

The panic was clear in his voice in a way he hadn't expected. He knew the poison she'd created for him was a strong paralytic and de-coa–something– crap! He should have paid closer attention. He could see and feel the poison taking effect as he scrambled to hold her trembling hand over her wound for her.  

"Sakura, I'm so sorry– your jutsu, use your jutsu, please!" Shisui cried softly, keeping his voice low while in the dangerous setting they were still in. 

Why was she here? He was reeling at the circumstances that allowed them to take jobs opposing each other without even realizing.

Her hand started to glow a dim mint green over her chest. He slipped his arm around her and tried to keep pressure to her back, where the wound started. The sudden movement caused her to cough slightly, and blood spluttered from her lips and onto his neck. He could feel the blood from her back pouring over his hands and he could do nothing to stop it. 

He knew he had to stop the effects of the paralytic before it took hold completely and she ceased to be able to heal herself. He tried to remember the traits she listed of her quickest working poisons as they sat in her little home-made lab and she excitedly rambled on. Cursing her for designing poisons that were always too efficient, he released his grip on her left wrist and fumbled around his supplies for the antidote she'd provided for him. Panic started taking over when he couldn't seem to find it. 

"Where is it, where is it, where– fuck!" he cursed, voice raising louder than it should, given where they were and what he'd come here to do. He glanced at the futon where the maid (who was likely not an actual maid, he realized belatedly. If Sakura had been a decoy, she was likely his true target) was still sleeping, his genjutsu still in place. Small mercies. 

As gently as he could, he removed his hand from her back and laid her down on the soft woven floor. When her back hit the mat, she let out a painful squelching hiccup and her entire body convulsed once. 

In an adrenaline powered panic, he ripped his supply pouch from his belt and poured the contents next to them onto the ground. The blood was creeping further and further away from Sakura's body, saturating the tatami entirely as he hurried through his belongings. He couldn't help but keep looking to Sakura as he searched, eye flitting back and forth between her paling face and the pile of supplies. Her hair was completely damp with sweat, and the petal-pink was darkening to red where the back of her head met the floor. Her jade eyes were flickering open and shut as she tried her hardest to breathe and stay awake. She was watching him scramble about for the antidote, eyes wet with fear. He found the small capped syringe that held the antidote as he noticed the light fading from her eyes, followed by the light fading from her hands. 

He ripped the cap off with his teeth, and jabbed the needle into her jugular vein, like she'd taught him. 

Her body was stock-still. 

He tossed the syringe aside and held both sides of her face, the blood on his hands smearing across her cheeks. He moved to rest his knees on the ground, but the horrible squish of wet tatami made him pull back. His eye widened as he realized just how much blood pooled below Sakura. He focused back on her face.

Hovering above her now, he leaned his forehead against hers. There was no more chakra emanating from her fingers. Every breath she took sounded like wading through a bloody swamp. He cursed. He did this. 

"Sakura, please."

She had no answer.

"I'm sorry."

She'd lost too much blood.

"I love you."

She was gone.

Shisui removed his hands from Sakura's face. He reached for a single shuriken where it lay scattered amongst his belongings. 

He threw it immediately into the temple of the girl sleeping on the nearby futon. Killing her before she could make a sound.

He dispelled any genjutsu he'd woven on his way into this accursed place.

He reached down to scoop Sakura's limp body into his arms. He stood and brought her to the bed, placing her softly on the silk sheets, uncaring that the blood would never leave them. He crawled into the bed behind her, leaning against the ornate headboard, and pulled her back into him. He cradled her close as she turned cold, not caring that the bedframe dug into his back uncomfortably. He didn't deserve comfort. 

He settled in with her back to his chest, aware that the blood from her wound was no longer gushing out of her, but spilling mildly onto him. Burning him despite its weak temperature. He wrapped one of his arms low around her waist and held her tight. Then brought his other hand up and tangled it into her bloodstained hair, pressing their faces together. He cried.

And he waited for them to find him.

#shisakuweek2023 #shisaku #my fic #shisaku rodeo #shisui/sakura #cries #naruto #shisui baby boy #read the warnings pls

[alto-tenure]

so I beat 999. it's definitely landed on my "games of all time that I think everyone should play" list, and I think it's interesting to look at the common threads between my choices, because the other picks that immediately float to mind are ghost trick and professor layton and the unwound future. and there's something to be said about how these games work to deceive the player, the unbelievably crazy plot twists, the cast of characters...

but what I want to focus on here & now is how these games talk about death, fate, and grief. unwound future is very much the outlier in how it decides to talk about it; 999 and ghost trick both argue that there's no such thing as the inevitable, that as long as there's a sliver of chance to fix things one should seize that chance. ghost trick and 999 both say "this is always going to happen -- unless you do something about it, and you're the only one with the power to"; unwound future says "this already happened a long time ago; you can't do anything to change it, but you can always move forward. grief can cause stagnance, but it can also make way for better things."

and where they're more similar is in their perspectives on revenge. to get the true ending in 999 you need to make sure Clover doesn't pursue her revenge for Snake; Yomiel is primarily motivated by a revenge he comes to realize wasn't necessary and has only made him worse; Clive's plot for revenge falls apart around him. revenge won't get anyone what they want. Clover's ending can't get her anywhere because the zero bracelet isn't zero and the person who did kill the person she believes to be Snake isn't even dead. Yomiel ends with him on the submarine, betrayed and trapped forever. Clive's scorched-earth approach just leads to him not getting anything of what he wants. revenge doesn't work, in any of these cases.

every action has a consequence. giving Clover the bookmark gives her hope and lets them escape; Ray reaching out to Sissel saves everyone; Claire reaching out to Clive lets him live. even through the darkness of tragedy and impending doom, there's a light of hope, and that hope allows for change.

#zero escape #ghost trick #professor layton #999 spoilers #ghost trick spoilers #pl spoilers #unwound future spoilers #meta #ish. don't look at me it's thematic analysis it can go there #this is very niche i don't expect there to be THAT many people in the center of this venn diagram #but all pl fans reading this need to do yourselves a favor and play 999. and if you do block my spoiler tag #and ask me if you think you'll need some content warnings bc it's 1000% darker in tone and subject matter #i actually started writing this post before i had 100% beaten 999 (i just hadn't solved the last puzzle)