#this is way too long but i'm manic so

[prenchpolar]

i've REALLY wanted a tattoo for like 8 months now but i've only just turned 18 and i'm really scared i'll regret it. just a small one to go under my s/h scars and turn them from something i really regret to something i find funny as fuck. it's a little doodle jump guy, the joke is that he's jumping on my scars - you probably won't get it unless you've played the game. but it's for me. and with the bipolar, i'm worried it'll be a manic mistake. ahh idk i just wanted to get my thoughts abt this out there.

#mental illness #mental problems #bipolar 2 #actually bipolar #bipolar disorder #actuallybipolar #bipolar ii #bipolar mania #mania #manic bipolar #this is way too long but i'm manic so #manic depressive #tattoos #tattoo ideas #doodle jump

[steddiealltheway]

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Steve's knee bounces up and down as he stares at Eddie's near-lifeless form. He doesn't know how long he's been here, memories flashing through his head that he's tried to will away. But it's hard when he knows that this is all his fault. 

He's the reason Eddie's in this hospital bed. 

-:-:-:- 

Steve bounced his leg to the beat that pierced through the trailer. He smiled at Eddie who laughed manically over the crazy-sounding song. 

Eddie turned the knob down slightly and yelled over the music, "You don't have to pretend to like this!" 

Steve just shook his head. "Turn it up louder. I like the way it clears my thoughts." 

Eddie cranked the knob even higher and jumped on his mattress, jostling Steve who just laughed in response and stood up to join Eddie in some crazy dance. 

For once, Steve felt free. He wasn't supposed to be enjoying this. Hell, he wasn't even supposed to be here. But he came up with excuses as he wrapped his arms around Eddie's shoulders, slotting them closer together. 

That's why he was there, right? He needed to play the game Eddie didn't know about. 

-:-:-:- 

"Steve." 

He's shaken out of his thoughts by Robin's hand on his shoulder. He glances at her momentarily before looking back at Eddie. He can't let him out of his sight. 

"Steve, you need to eat. Even his uncle has taken a break from watching over him." 

Steve knows that Robin's confused, he can hear it in her voice. Maybe it's time he finally told her but first, "Please, let me wait until someone else can watch over him." 

"Dustin's in the hall. The hospital is still standing by their two visitors at a time policy, but he can watch over him while you eat." 

Steve's eyes don't leave Eddie's chest which slowly moves up and down. "Why can't we eat in the room?" 

Robin moves to kneel down in front of him. "Steve, you have to leave this room, okay? You need to shower and rest and eat and breathe fresh air. Please, we're all so worried about you. Dustin's already partially lost Eddie, we can't lose you, too." 

Steve pries his eyes away to look at Robin. He nods. He can feel a small ache in the pit of his stomach and a heavy pull on his eyelids. "I need to tell you something." 

Robin grabs his hands nodding. He's not sure when she started crying, but a slow tear rolls down her face following a trail of already smeared mascara. Steve quietly says, "This is all my fault. I'm the reason he's here." He feels his bottom lip quiver before he fully breaks, his loud sobs joining in with the steady beeping of the monitor. 

Robin stands and pulls him out of the chair, letting him bury his head into her shoulder. "It's not your fault the bats got him, Steve. It's not your fault." 

"Y-You don't understand," Steve sobs out as Robin pulls him in tighter. 

-:-:-:- 

Steve's lip quivered as he gripped onto Eddie's shoulders tightly. "I'm so sorry." 

Eddie shook his head as he stared at him blinking, still slightly panting. "I don't understand." 

Of course he didn't understand. He didn't know the terrible thing he was doing. Steve knew this was it. He needed to leave. 

Forever. 

-:-:-:- 

The hospital halls are bright, and the sun is even brighter. Everything is brighter than Steve remembers. It doesn't feel right. 

Robin manages to get him to his home, shoving him into the bathroom with a towel and a stack of clothes. After he gets out, she hands him fresh bandages and his prescribed ointment for the damn bat wounds. 

She manages to convince him to eat a few bites of a grilled cheese she made along with some tomato soup she found in his pantry. Steve eats on autopilot while Robin sits next to him on his couch, eating in silence. 

When Steve finishes half his sandwich, he puts his tray down on his coffee table and turns to Robin. "Do you promise not to hate me after I tell you this? 

Robin chews as a line forms between her eyebrows. She swallows but pauses for a few seconds. "I'm your best friend. I'm going to love you no matter what." 

"You don't understand," Steve says shaking his head, "There's a reason I never told you this before." 

"Told me what?" Robin prompts. 

Steve swallows. "At the beginning of junior year, Tommy and Carol had heard some rumor that senior Eddie Munson was gay. And for some reason, I couldn't let the idea go. So, I suggested that we should play a prank on him... And that I should..." He sighs and puts his head in his hands. 

Robin's hand trails over his back. 

Steve continues in a rush, "I told them I should pretend to be into him." 

Robin's hand freezes on his back, and Steve hears her slightly gasp. 

Steve looks up at her. "That isn't even the worst part." 

-:-:-:- 

Steve smirked when he saw Eddie in the back of his English class scribbling something in his notebook. He had crafted a plan at lunch the day before with Tommy and Carol. It would be easy. 

Steve made his way to the back of the classroom and sat next to Eddie, making a show of digging through his backpack and not being able to find something. He looked up at Eddie and smiled politely. "You wouldn't happen to have a pencil would you?" 

Eddie stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and shock at the concept of Steve Harrington acknowledging him. He glanced down at his notebook and stared at it as if he was apologizing to it. Then, Eddie handed him the pencil out of his hand. 

Steve winked as he said, "Thanks." 

The other boy didn't say anything, he just nodded. 

Steve noticed that he didn't reach for his bag for another pencil as more people filtered into the room. Steve leaned across the way and quietly asked, "Don't you have another one?" 

Eddie shook his head. "I don't really take notes. Just sketch or plan stuff." 

"He speaks," Steve said with a big smile. "What are those sketches?" 

Eddie shifted in his seat and looked Steve up and down before turning his sketches his way. "Creatures and shit from Dungeons and Dragons." 

Honestly, they looked really cool. Steve didn't know that people could actually draw like that. His friends were always more athletic than artistic. "That's really cool," Steve said genuinely. 

"Thanks," Eddie breathed out, turning the book back toward himself as if he were trying to hide it. 

Steve stared at him for a few seconds before he handed his pencil back. 

"Are you sure you don't need it?" Eddie asked, hesitating to take it back. 

Steve nodded, digging into the pouch where he kept several pencils. "I'm sure," he said with another big smile before leaning across the aisle again. "You should show me more of your drawings sometime. And hey, it's Eddie, right?" 

Eddie's eyebrows furrowed as he nodded. "Yeah." 

Steve stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "Steve." 

"I know," Eddie replied but he shook his hand nonetheless. 

Steve ignored the way the touch made him feel like he suddenly couldn't breathe. Instead, he focused on the way he had already made progress in his game. 

-:-:-:- 

"Okay, so you flirted with him a little and led him on a bit." 

"No," Steve insists, "It was more than just the classroom interactions. I went full-on crazy. I would watch him at lunch and make sure he knew that I was watching. I even changed my route to class to make sure I would bump into him in the hallway. Hell, I went as far as to try to change my locker so it was closer to his." In hindsight, he should've known that was going too far. But in the moment, it felt like he needed to get as close as possible to Eddie Munson. 

Robin shifts to tuck her knees to her chest. She looks at him carefully as she asks, "Did you... enjoy seeing him?" 

Steve shrugs, not sure what she's getting at. 

Robin only frowns slightly before leaning in closer and lowering her voice. "I mean, did you have a crush on him." 

"No," Steve says immediately, feeling the same guard come up as it always does when he asks himself the question. Or when someone else has asked him that question... 

-:-:-:- 

"I swear you like the queer or something," Tommy sneered at the lunch table as Carol laughed loudly. 

Steve pulled his eyes away from Eddie and firmly stated, "It's not like that." 

"Really? Because you're looking at him like you want to sample whatever the freak will give you." 

Steve's hands flexed under the table. He didn't know why he was so angry at the accusation. "It's not like that," Steve repeated lowly.  

"Why are you getting so defensive?" Carol asked with a twisted grin. 

He knew they were trying to get under his skin about it, and as much as he didn't want to let them know they got to him, he couldn't stand what they were implying. "Fuck you," he said and stormed out of the cafeteria. He could hear Tommy’s and Carol's grating laughter as he left, furthering his damn anger.  

He stormed into the bathroom and checked that all the stalls were clear before he sat on the nasty floor and put his head in his hands. 

He didn't know why the question got to him so much because it really wasn’t like that. He didn't like Munson. The whole point of getting closer to him was to trick Munson into liking him. 

He started to think that maybe that wasn't so funny anymore. 

The door to the bathroom opened and shut quickly, a lock twisted and closed Steve in with whoever came in. 

He slowly looked up, embarrassed by being caught in this state, but he became even more so when he saw it was Eddie who had followed him. 

"You okay?" Eddie's asked gently, keeping his distance. 

Steve sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "My friends are assholes." 

Eddie snorted in response which caught Steve off-guard. "Sorry," Eddie said with a smile, "It's just that everyone knows that. Or maybe I just especially know that." 

"Then why are you here?" Steve asked, but the question sounded a little too harsh even to him. 

Eddie shrugged then walked over to Steve and slid down the bathroom wall to join him on the floor. "You've been uncharacteristically kind to me these past few weeks. I couldn't be sure that you weren't in a hostage situation," he joked.  

Steve was surprised to find that the joke put him at ease and even made him smile. He smiled further when he saw the way Eddie relished the fact that he cheered him up. 

"Hey," Eddie said as he scooted closer to him. "I've got this secret lunch spot where I usually deal, but it's also great if you need a space away from people. I can show it to you tomorrow." 

Steve's heart thudded a little harder in his chest at the suggestion, filled with nerves and excitement at the thought of spending actual alone time with Eddie. "I'd really like that." 

-:-:-:- 

Steve sighs and looks at Robin who he knows would love and support him no matter what feelings he confesses. He breathes out, "Maybe I did like him like that." 

Robin gives him a sad smile and rests her hand on his.  

"He and I would eat lunch together every Tuesday and Thursday in this little spot in the woods that had a picnic bench and everything. And I started looking forward to those days and when I would pass him in the hall and our class together. God, I just wanted to be around him all the time. He was like my best friend at the time."  

"So, what happened?" 

Steve pinches his lips together and shakes his head. "I kept leading him on. I would report things to Tommy and Carol and they would laugh at him and call him so many damn names. God, then it spread to the whole basketball team because Tommy can't shut his damn mouth. And they'd do shit like high-five me in the hall. They told me I was doing God's work by making sure Eddie's attention was only on me." 

"God, they're such assholes." 

Steve nods in agreement and adds, "So am I." 

"You've changed, Steve." 

Steve shakes his head. "I don't know, Robin." 

-:-:-:- 

Steve felt high out of his mind lying in Eddie's bed with their fingers intertwined. Only when he was high, he felt like he could touch him like this. He didn't want it to go any further. More like, he was scared of it going any further because he wouldn't know what that meant. 

Eddie's head turned to him - his lips only a short distance away from Steve's. He was starting to notice these things more and more around the boy. 

"You're different," Eddie commented. 

Steve laughed and rolled on his side. "How?" 

"Different from anyone I've ever met. Nothing like your asshole friends." 

Steve's smile fell from his face at the comment. He was exactly like them; Eddie just didn't know it. 

"Why me?" Eddie asked. 

Steve glanced up at him. "What do you mean?" 

Eddie rolled on his side, shifting even closer to Steve. "Why did you choose to be nice to me? It felt so damn random especially after you practically never looked at me before." 

Steve's mouth opened and closed, unsure how to answer. Instead, he opted out and replied, "I don't know." 

"Well, I'm glad you noticed me. I don't know what I would do without you at this point." 

"Me neither," Steve replied honestly. 

-:-:-:- 

"I never told him," Steve says, feeling his bottom lip quiver. "God, I wanted to tell him the truth, but I couldn't." 

Robin nods. “I don’t blame you, that’s a hard thing to explain to someone.” When Steve doesn’t reply, she presses on, "So, what else happened?" 

Steve runs both hands over his face and leans back against the couch, unable to look at Robin anymore. "It was a few weeks before Halloween, so I had been leading him on for two months at that point. We were hanging out almost every day. I almost spent the night sometimes because I was over so late just talking to him. But I never let myself. I knew if I stayed once, I would stay every night if I could. " 

"It sounds like you were just being friendly to him. I don't know how he could have misinterpreted it," Robin reasons. 

Steve shakes his head. "I wasn't just friendly. I would blatantly flirt sometimes. Shit, I used to leave notes in his locker sometimes and whenever we were alone, I would usually initiate some contact like holding his hand. But when it was late, and I could excuse the touchiness as a form of sleep deprivation, I would lay in bed with him, and we would just stare at each other. Sometimes, I let my hands wander in his hair, over his face, down his arms basically anywhere he'd let me." 

Robin lets a deep breath out and pauses before asking, "Did you ever do more than that?" 

Steve shakes his head but pinches his nose sharply. He has to own up to it. "Fuck," he sighs burying his head in his hands. "Yes, we did more than that but only one time." 

-:-:-:- 

Steve didn't remember why he was laughing; Eddie just kind of pulled it out of him at times. Besides, it was also late, and they both tended to get a bit giggly during the early AMs. 

Eddie stopped laughing suddenly, so Steve turned to him and asked, "What?" 

Eddie just shook his head in response and turned to stare at the ceiling looking suddenly stoic. 

Steve rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his arm to stare down at Eddie. "Come on, tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours." 

Eddie looked him directly in the eye and said, "That." 

Steve shook his head and tried not to stare at Eddie's lips. 

"You," Eddie tried again. "Do you mean what you say?" 

Steve's heart thudded in his chest. "I don't know what you mean," he lied. 

Eddie's hand shook as it made its way up to cup his cheek. "Yes, you do. Just tell me if I'm reading this wrong." 

He was reading it absolutely wrong, but fuck, he was reading him absolutely right. So, Steve didn't think. He just leaned down and gently kissed Eddie before he pulled back with a shaky breath to say, "You're not reading this wrong." 

Eddie pulled him in again, kissing him. Steve groaned into the kiss, feeling lightning practically spread through his body at the sensation. God, it felt so damn right. 

Steve quickly moved until his body was on top of Eddie's pressing into him at all the right places as they both deepened the kiss. Steve knew he wasn't supposed to be enjoying it, but he pushed the thought and guilt away.  

-:-:-:- 

Steve wipes the tear away from his cheek and takes a deep breath. "I wasn't thinking. And I made it so much worse." 

"Shit," Robin whispers, hugging her knees tightly. 

"After, I freaked the fuck out. I had this whole breakdown, and Eddie was trying so hard to understand. He thought I was just having this sexuality crisis, which I admittedly was, but I was mainly concerned about if Eddie ever found out if it was all a damn joke." 

"It wasn't a joke to either of you, Steve. You would've never gone that far if it was," Robin insists, hand landing gently on Steve's shoulder. 

Steve flinches away from her. "But it was all rooted in a joke." 

"Fuck," Robin says with wide eyes, "Steve, please tell me you didn't tell Tommy or anyone." 

In his heart, he knows that's the only good decision he made. "I didn't." 

Robin breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank god." 

"But what I did was maybe worse in hindsight." 

"How?" Robin asks, sounding horrified. 

-:-:-:- 

Steve walked through the halls on autopilot. He couldn't get any sleep the night before. It felt damn near impossible after his night with Eddie. 

"Steve buddy!" Tommy said loudly, clapping a rough hand on his back. "How's the freak treating you?" 

Steve shook his head and said, "It's over." 

Tommy walked in front of him and stopped him. "Woah there. You look like you've seen a damn ghost or something. What did the freak do to you? Did he try to kiss you or some shit?" Tommy asked with a sick smile on his face. 

"No," Steve stated and looked around the halls before he leaned in and said, "But I found out he's a Satanist. Like he does full-on rituals and shit." 

"No fucking way!" Tommy yelled excitedly, ready to spread the rumor like wildfire.  

"Yeah," Steve said. "I don't think he's queer though." 

"I'm surprised," Tommy laughed. "He looks at you like you're his bitch sometimes."  

"Just into Satanic shit," Steve insisted. 

Tommy got a wild look in his eye. "Maybe we should include that in the basketball hazing this year. First student to witness one of his rituals gets a damn prize." 

"Sure," Steve shrugged it off. "Bet it would scare that new guy Jason shitless." 

-:-:-:- 

"Oh fuck," Robin says, putting her hands over her mouth in shock. 

"I practically started the whole fucking manhunt with that damn rumor. I just thought it wouldn't be as bad as people finding out he was gay. And I somehow thought it would convince people that nothing happened between me and him," Steve confesses. 

"Okay," Robin says, staring off into space before shifting on the couch toward Steve. "Okay, you didn't start the manhunt. And Tommy's the one who spread the rumor, and Jason is the one who took it too far." 

"But Eddie would've graduated senior year if it wasn't for me." 

Robin's brows furrow as she shakes her head. "Wait what? How's that related?" 

Steve runs a hand through his hair. "I ended things the day the rumor spread. But I was such a fucking asshole about it, Robin. God, you're going to hate me." 

"Why would I hate you?" 

"Because it was a Tuesday. And instead of joining Eddie outside, I stayed with Tommy and Carol, looking around to find some girl to use to get over Eddie. Then, I spotted a girl with curly hair and big eyes that reminded me of him..." 

"Nancy," Robin fills in for him. 

Steve nods. "She was my fucking rebound." 

-:-:-:- 

Steve didn't eat lunch that day. He wasn't hungry. He felt fucking sick to his stomach as he looked around the cafeteria, wondering if Eddie would walk in at any moment looking for him. 

His eyes caught on curly hair, but realized it was too light to belong to Eddie. He leaned to the side and caught eyes with Nancy Wheeler. He shot her a wink before going back to pushing his food around his tray. It didn't make him feel better. 

In his last class with Eddie, he sat at the very front of the room, hating the view from there and the way people kept staring at his obvious seat change. He ducked his head when Eddie walked in late and took his seat in the back. 

He didn't take a single note that day. He could feel Eddie's eyes practically burn holes in the back of his head. 

The bell was the only thing that gave Steve relief that day, and he basically sprinted his way out of the building to his car. But he cursed as he dug around his backpack unable to find his damn keys. 

"Dropped these," Eddie's voice said behind him. 

Steve turned to him slowly and didn't make eye contact as he reached for the keys. 

Eddie snatched them back. "Why are you being weird? Is this because of what happened last night?" 

"Nothing happened last night," Steve insisted, lowering his voice so no one could hear him. 

Eddie's pained expression broke Steve's heart immediately. "Nothing?" 

"Nothing," Steve repeated. "And nothing will ever happen again, got it?" 

"Steve-" 

"I'm doing this for you," Steve lied. 

Eddie saw right through him as he always did. "No, you're fucking not." 

"Eddie-" 

"Is this freak bothering you, Steve?" Tommy said, suddenly rushing to his side. 

"No, I was just leaving," Eddie said, turning to stalk away. 

Tommy snorted at the sight and leaned into Steve's side to ask, "You're sure he's not gay?" 

"Shut up, Tommy," Steve said, pinching his nose as he got into his car. 

-:-:-:- 

"He started skipping classes after that. Shit, I practically never saw him in our English class. And he started taking a different route in the halls. God, I missed him so fucking bad." Steve looks down at his hands, flexing in anger at his past mistakes. "He skipped so often that they made him repeat senior year. The next year, we saw each other once when I was with Nancy, and after that it was like I never saw him again. Once again, he skipped and failed. If he would've graduated when he was supposed to, he wouldn't be in this damn mess. Fuck, he would still be alive." 

"He's still alive, Steve." 

Steve snaps, "Is he really? The doctor told us that he may never wake up, Robin. What if he never wakes up? What if I can never tell him this?" A small part of Steve wonders what would happen if he did wake up. Would he actually tell him? 

Steve shakes his head. He doesn't know, but he knows he can't lose him again. It hurt so damn much the first time; he couldn't do it again. "You know how I always say I have no idea what I want?" 

Robin nods. 

"I've lied. I know exactly what I want, and he's laying in that damn hospital bed. I thought maybe I could find someone like him, but I can't Robin. No matter how many dates I go on, no one is like Eddie." 

Robin moves closer to him and wraps her arms around him. 

Steve feels more tears trail down his face as he leans into Robin. "You know, in the upside down, he gave me this bullshit speech about how I've changed, and I'm actually a good dude. Then, he told me something about how I should get Nancy back and it was like a damn dagger in my heart. He told me that she dove right into that water and he wouldn't have done the same in normal circumstances. As if he was trying to tell me that I was right to choose Nancy over him. It's such bullshit." 

Robin doesn't say anything, just pulls him in tighter. 

"He has to wake up, Robin. He has to," Steve wipes his eyes and stands up. "But we have to get back to that hospital, okay? I'll tell you eventually why I can't leave his side, but I just can't today." 

Robin nods and stands up. "Let's go then." 

-:-:-:- 

"If you died today, would you have regrets?" 

Steve laughed. "That's such a random question." 

Eddie smiled up at him. "Come on, answer the question." 

Steve knew that he would have too many regrets to ever be able to list. But he asked, "Would I die right here, right now?" 

Eddie shrugged. "Sure." 

"If I died with you at my side, then I think I would have no regrets. What about you?" 

Eddie smiled up at him sincerely, considering the question for a few moments. "As long as you were by my side, I would be okay." 

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #stranger things #robin buckley

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 10

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Relationship issues, anxiety, self loathing, crying. Angst. Brief mention of asshole ex. Eating related issues. Mention of prescription medication, mental illness and depressive/manic episodes. Pre established throuple. Darling is her/your own tag/warning. Excessive internal monologue. You held onto the hot pan too long, and now you’ve been burnt.

"Look at me." 

"I can't." You keep your eyes clenched tight, so tight it hurts, lungs burning inside your chest. 

"Yes you can, darling. Just open your eyes." Simon's voice is soft, an entreating melody, grit and gravel smoothed out with the gentleness of his words. You get lost in it, the soft murmuring, the easy request, and when you open your eyes, he's still right in front of you, thick palm on the back of your neck, Johnny by his side. "Good girl." 

"I'm sorry." You whisper, and Johnny's brows crease, his fingers brushing along your cheek. 

"Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry for, darling. Ye never do." 

"I didn't-" you gasp for a breath, and Johnny shifts, moving so that you're in front of him, sat between his legs, back against his chest. His hand holds yours, nestling above your breastbone. 

"Breathe with me. Ye can do it." 

"I didn't- I wanted to be better. Be different. I didn't want you to see." You try to explain, try to make sense of it for them. Simon's fingers intertwine with Johnny's, his other hand still firm on the back of your neck, your body cradled between them, in the space that once never existed, a space that now feels like it's been carved out just for you. Johnny pushes closer, holding you tight, and Simon leans forward, forehead touching yours, voice barely a murmur. 

"We've always seen you, darling." 

The floor is a fairly comfortable spot to lay.

It’s comfortable enough, you suppose, as you lay on your back with your eyes fixed on a spot along the ten-foot-high ceiling. Maybe you could paint the ceiling. With clouds. Or a night sky. That might be cool. 

Voices vibrate through the flat, locked door the only thing separating you from them, Johnny’s tone pitching with increasing anxiety, Simon’s cadence soothing, and calm.

He’s calling your name. Calling you darling. Calling you anything to try to get you to come to the door.

You’re overreacting. 

You’re a fool. 

You close your eyes. A night sky might be cool. You could do a lot with the stars, or maybe even the milky way. Get some greens and greys and cobalt in there. Make it look like a long exposure photo. And the moon, you could certainly paint the moon. You’d have to find a ladder tall enough though. And you’d probably need help. You haven’t painted from a ladder in years, not since you did that one mural for- 

“Darling.” It’s Simon. Again. And again, and again, again. Darling, darling, darling. “It’s getting late. Will you open the door?" You keep your eyes closed, but for a minute, your mind fractures, splitting in two, confusing emotions and thoughts bubbling up to the surface.

Don’t think about it. Don’t. 

“No.” You croak out in a whisper. It’s quiet, but he hears it. You know he does.

“Please. I need to know you’re alright, at least.”

You held onto the hot pan too long, and now you’ve been burnt. 

It’s late. The streets are probably mostly empty. You could run down them, if you wanted. You could take a train anywhere. You could take a plane, even, go on a vacation. Go somewhere nice. Go somewhere tropical, maybe get a cute rental, spend some time in the sun or by the oc- 

The thoughts are rapid fire. They spill over, trying to patch up the expanding wound in your heart. They grow and twist, convincing you it’s a good idea, the best idea, to just slip away for a little bit. To go somewhere you don't have feel this, where you don't have to know this as well as you do. 

Don’t think about it. Pack it up. Put it away. 

Johnny’s eyes haven’t left your face. His fingers stroke from the crown of your head and hairline to your temple, your cheek. He’s staring at you like you’re something precious, like you’re a piece of gold, something marvelous he’s never seen before.

“What is it?” You ask, half asleep, drowsy in the bed. You’re still wrapped in a post orgasm haze, cocooned in the soft and sweet of their attention, affection, and Johnny only smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead. 

“Ye’re so special to us. Ah love ye. Did ye know that?” You shrug, ducking your face away, pressing it into his shoulder to avoid his eyes. 

A wave of longing crashes over you. It swells in your heart until tears prick in your eyes, and you take a deep breath to steady yourself. 

It’s so much. So much more than you ever imagined. So much more than you ever thought you could have. 

“She doesn’t.” Simon says over your shoulder. His hand sits on your waist, the touch firm. Grounding. Like a tether to their world. Their love. You turn, nose pointing up towards the ceiling, looking at him through your peripheral, your fingers intertwined with Johnny’s, holding onto them both. Seeing them both. 

“Tell me again.” 

The TV in the living room is on.

You can hear it’s faint murmur, some movie playing on low volume, the guys undoubtedly sitting stiff on the couch, waiting for you to appear.

You stare at the dark, nearly blackened trees that you’ve painted onto canvas, long, broad brushstrokes taking up too much space, bark texturized to appear burnt, nearly dead, forest scourged by a disease or fire, you’re unsure.

“It starts to chafe us.” Us. Us, he said. Us. Him and Johnny. Right?

“It doesn’t seem fair.”

You’re unsure of everything right now. Unsure about how you should feel. Unsure about what’s happening inside your head.

“-sometimes I worry… about it being the right thing…” The more you think about it, the more you start to lose your grasp. Were those his exact words? Did he mean something else?

For the first time in a long time, you think about one of your ex's. You think about a person who made you feel so small, so much like a burden, a horrible, unwanted responsibility, all the time. You'll never have what regular people have, he said. No one will ever be able to put up with this fucking circus. No one will want this. 

Was he right? 

You should have gotten out. The sentiment replays over and over in between your ears, the awful, miserable doubt and fear and sadness picking away at you until you can feel yourself starting to compartmentalize it all, trying to sort it into neat little bins, trying to keep the weight that is sinking to the bottom of your soul from drowning you, trying to build a wall around your heart.

It’s not conscious. It’s like you’re not even in the driver’s seat anymore, not feeling the full effect of your emotions, not letting it in.

It’s how you felt, when you packed your bags the last time. How you felt when you checked into the hotel, like you were on autopilot. Buried beneath a mountain of feelings but enclosed in a glass cage, segregated from it all.

You should have gotten out. 

“I said I was listening.” 

“But I don’t want ye to listen. I want ye to talk, darling. I want ye to tell us how ye’re feeling. We can’t do this if ye’re not able to communicate.” Johnny’s voice is steady, but there’s a hint of anger behind it, a small flare just starting to light. It makes you angry, that he’s getting angry, and it churns in your stomach until you’re biting out a retort. 

“I communicate just fine!” 

“Do ye?” He snaps, exasperated, your head jolting backwards with wide eyes. “Because from where I’m standin’ it feels like ye’re trying to be stubborn on purpose. Like a child.” 

“A child? You’re calling ME a child?” The air in their apartment is suddenly paper thin, and you hold your breath as Johnny watches you with that same, unchanged, irritated expression. 

“Alright. This is over. We’re taking a break from this conversation.” Simon tells you both, fingers sliding over your shoulder, the touch meant to comfort, reassure, but you jerk away. 

You eye your purse, your keys on the counter. 

“I’m just gonna go home.” 

“No.” He rebukes, and Johnny pales. 

“No, darling. Ye just got here, and we missed ye so, so much. I’m sorry, I dinnae mean-” Johnny pleads, crestfallen, and it makes you feel worse. Like you’re failing him. Like you’re failing at this. Like you’re not good enough for it, for them. “Please?” He adds, and you wilt, silence falling over the three of you again, awkward and wrong. 

“It’s alright.” Simon says. “If you want to go. I’ll take you home.” 

“I can get home on my own.” You try not look at him, finding mundane details in the floor, the sink to stare at instead of their faces, resisting eye contact until Simon steps directly back into your line of sight. 

“I’ll take you.” He steps closer, and like there is a magnet pulling you into his orbit, you respond, tilting your face backwards, letting him see everything. The tears. The anger and sadness. The confusion. He’s intentional with his movements, letting you anticipate everything, the movement of his hand, the bend of his body as his lips come down to press against your forehead. “Tomorrow, alright?” He asks and tells with the words, seeking permission, giving command. Tomorrow, you’ll talk. Tomorrow, you’ll get it sorted. Tomorrow, you and Johnny will apologize. And you’ll try again. Like you always do. 

You nod, because the promise of tomorrow, the assurance that this hasn’t all come crashing down, is the only way any of you will be able to sleep tonight. 

“Tomorrow.”

They both straighten on the couch when the door clicks open.

“Hey.” Johnny says softly, hopefully, and Simon says nothing, just watches you like you’re a wounded animal that might try to flee at any moment. On edge. Vigilant.

Your mind turns, but nothing comes out of your mouth. No response. No acknowledgement. Just empty silence that feels like a thousand pounds, all laying on top of the three of you. Suffocating you. Killing you.

You beeline for the bedroom.

Running away. You’re running away. Are you really going to run away? 

The memory of the hotel haunts you, the awful, empty pit in your stomach that could have swallowed you whole, the dark curtains and dark room enveloping you in a never-ending spiral.

All you wanted was to be found. All you wanted was to be home, with them.

All you wanted was your home, the one you built, made, suffered for, with them. The one that you carved out inside your own bones to hold space for two others, not just one. The home that you completely changed your life for, the love that you believed would see you through it all. 

The love that was always them first. The love that you barged in on, knocked walls down, forced yourself inside of. The love that they held for one another, before they ever held it for you. 

Your head feels like it's underwater. 

Did you make a mistake? Should you have sent them away that time? Should you have fought yourself harder?

The bed calls to you. It begs you to lay down in it, to burrow yourself beneath it's soft sheets, curl up on top of it's ridiculous mattress. Get lost in it. Be found in it. Let your boys curl themselves around you in it, let them kiss you softly and make you promises about how much they love you, or how they understand the way you feel.

If you close your eyes, you can almost see the future. Minutes would pass before Johnny crept inside the door, scoping it out. Doing the recon. Looking for you. His heart would soar when he saw you in the bed, his fears allayed, and he'd hold you so tight you'd think you were suffocating. 

If you were lucky, Simon would come and turn your brain off. Johnny would pass you to him and he'd bring your deepest insecurities, your worries to light, dragging them out to be exorcised and vanquished, by the only men capable of doing so. 

Is that what you want? 

Should you have gotten out? 

“There she is.” Johnny coos above you, warm palm cradling your cheek. You blink, fog encasing your mind struggling to clear, and you push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“What-“

“Happened?” Simon finishes from where he kneels next to the couch, concerned eyes trained on yours, not missing a beat. 

You blink. What did happen? Did- 

“When was the last time ye ate something, darling?” Johnny asks, not unkindly, palm at your back to relieve the pressure from your elbows, moving you into a sitting position so he can take the spot on the couch behind you, effectively wrapping you up in his arms as Simon settles on the other side. 

Shame curdles your stomach, hot embarrassment flaring in your veins. You avoid peering over Simon’s shoulder at the disarray of your kitchen, wincing when you realize he’s sitting on a pile of your dirty clothes. 

“I had breakfast.” You whisper, but Simon shakes his head. 

“When?”

“Yesterday.” You try to adjust, to sit more upright, but the sudden movement has your head spinning, and your palm covers your eyes, little groan in your throat. 

“Easy.” Johnny soothes. Your water bottle is in his hand, and he unscrews the lid for you, lifting it to your lips. “Slow sips, darling. Not too much.” 

It’s easier this way, you realize. Easier to do what’s being asked of you, easier to listen than to think. After a few sips, Johnny pulls the bottle away, and wide fingers stroke your cheek. 

“This is what you were talking about. A few weeks ago.” Simon murmurs, concentrating all his focus, all his attention, on you, fingers still caressing your skin gently. Lovingly. 

“I didn’t mean for it to get so bad this time. I… usually have a better handle on myself.” You try to lie, but Simon cocks his head. 

“Do you?” His fingers hold up the scrap of paper, the one with your note to yourself scrawled across it. 

‘You HAVE to, or you’ll regret it.’ 

You bite your lip, but Simon’s thumb presses into it, rolling it out from beneath your teeth, as Johnny rubs your arm, lips soft against your temple. 

“I’m going to take you home. To ours.” Simon tells you slowly, each word deliberate “Johnny is going to clean up your apartment and pack you a few things for the rest of the week.” When you don’t answer, brain slow to catch up, Johnny murmurs in your hair. 

“You have to agree, darling.” Simon watches, silent for a moment before he answers the unspoken question, still cradling your face with one hand. 

“You can trust us.” 

“Where are ye going?” Johnny asks when you appear from the bedroom, hesitant steps keeping him far enough from your body, desperation written all over his face.

“Out.” Your answer is short, sufficient. It feels like it’s coming from another person. You still think you might be underwater.

“Out? No… we need to talk and-“

“I don’t want to talk. To either of you.”

“Darling. Stop.” Simon tries to cut you off, but you turn sharply, away from them both, backpack swinging on your back.

“Ye canae run away from this, from us.” Johnny pleads. “We need to talk about it. Communicate. Like we promised.”

“Like we promised?” You hiss, sizzle of anger breaking through the ice that’s frozen in your veins. “The promise that we made to always tell each other how we’re feeling, the one that he can’t honor?” You jerk your thumb towards Simon, who tries to take a step towards you, only for you to retreat. “Don’t corner me!” you snap, and against your attempt at control, your voice breaks, sob welling in your chest.

Don’t think about it. 

Don’t think about it. 

“It’s alright.” His hands are palms out, cautious. It’s supposed to make him look like he’s not a threat, make him seem harmless. But he’s not harmless. This gaping hole in your heart says so. “We don’t want you to leave.” He implores. “Please. I- let me explain.”

“There’s no need. Everything is pretty clear.”

“No, it’s not.” Johnny argues. “Just, let Simon at least tell-“

“Tell me what? Tell me how it’s not fair? Does it chafe you too, Johnny? You also thinking what’s the right thing? Because it’s an us thing, right? You and him. It’s an us and me. It’s the us that I suffer for.” Your voice crests, and Johnny flinches.

“I made a mistake.” Simon whispers. “Don’t let my stupidity make you question your place in this relationship. We love you, darling. I love you.” Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and you feel the horror of the truth, the confusion about your love for them, their love for you, searing together into a snarled mess.

“If I left you, the both of you, at the end of the day, you’d still have each other. You’d still be together, and I would have nothing!”

“That’s not true. We canae exist without ye.” Johnny sounds broken, hopeless, but you blow by it, dancing around Simon to pull your prescription bottles from the kitchen cabinet by the sink.

“If I died tomorrow-“

“Do not say that.” Simon cuts you off. “Don’t ever say that.” His knuckles are white at the edge of the countertop, expression stricken, and Johnny looks horrified. They both watch you like they’re afraid of what you might say next, what you might do, and nausea pools saliva on the back of your tongue.

Don’t think about it. 

You close your eyes, and search for that underwater feeling. That untouchable feeling, the boxes being packed away in your mind, and try to cling to it, try to shut up the incessant stream of doubt and loathing and everything going wrong inside your head.

They don’t need you. They have each other. 

You chafe them.

Don’t think about it.

“I need…” You trail off, trying to take a deep breath. Trying to organize your thoughts. Trying to hear yourself through the noise of everything else, through the searing pain that’s ripping through your heart.

“It’s alright, darling.” Simon murmurs, encouraging you. “Tell us what you need. Whatever it is.” Johnny’s face has shifted from despondent to hopeful, eyes wide and locked onto yours, while Simon waits, his normal steadfast and patient demeanor nowhere to be found, instead he’s more anxious, more nervous than you’ve ever seen.

You close your eyes again. Your voice shakes when you finally speak.

“I need a break.”

#dead disco #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x reader x soap #female reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghoap

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

How do you think the dorm leaders would react to an rsa student leading/kidnapping the prefect to take them away from the 'villains', and when tracked down to a ledge and arguing with saud dorm leaders, the prefect defends them before getting accidentally pushed off? Just the look of horror on their face before they fall, reaching out for them? Ala gwen in spiderman

(I'm not going to do every dorm leader bc I normally have a cap of 5 characters per ask so if the leader you'd like to see isn't here, please feel free to send in another request

these are also all super long so they're under a cut)

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul had been thinking since the moment you’d been taken. He figured it must be someone with a personal grudge against him, rolling his eyes at the platitude that you would be safer with them than him. The twins are even considering less annoying while he’s plotting out what to do, trying to find a way that wouldn’t leave him vulnerable to another strike while also procuring you from your kidnappers. The fact they even agreed to a meeting proved to Azul that they were a devious soul, hidden behind a mist of chivalry when their wants were just as selfish as anyone at NRC. He comes into the conversation thinking he has everything under control, not in the least bit surprised when it turns into a real fight; his magic is at the ready, hand raised and prepared to do what he must to end this when you move outside of his predictions. He would have to viciously scold you for this later but he’s too worried to think about the angry rant he’ll go on for not just trusting in him to be ready no matter what. When you’re tumbling to the ground, he squeezed the handle of the broom he had brought with him, hating the concept of being in the air but feeling even more sick about all his hard work being for nothing (meaning: he would be heartbroken and would not know what to do with himself should you end up perishing on him here). It’s a little washy, but the carefully thought out Plan B ended with you scooped in his arms, his flying wobbly at best but once there’s a safe place to land you feel much safer with him around. When you ask what might happen to the RSA student Azul simply smiled, telling you not to worry about it as Jade and Floyd wouldn’t leave behind a single trace of what occurred that night.

Idia Shroud:

Idia is fighting a storm of emotions, doing his best to not to lose his cool in such a fragile situation. He had to observe the options before him carefully, hoping his perception skill was high enough to afford him a break. It felt like having someone ripped away from him again, the past repeating before his very eyes, and while he knew the stakes were much less serious than the previous situation he’d gone through, it still set his anxiety through the roof. He considered begging you to just stay in your room like he did so he wouldn’t have to worry about you putting yourself in danger (his thoughts darting away from the concept of you just living in a room with him). Idia isn’t used to sticking his neck out for someone else but he knew you, and he knew defending him if the moment called for it would come to you as easy as breathing. He had Ortho prepared for any QTE’s that might be outside of Idia’s control, thankful that the second controller was plugged in before he arrived as you did exactly as he predicted. He can see the fear on your face and while he does want to call out to you to let you know you’ll be safe, it would be better to keep the enemy unaware of the surprise attack awaiting once Ortho got you to safety. With you out of the way Idia felt much more at ease, the sharp grin on his face appearing almost manic to his enemy, who found themselves wondering if they should follow you off the ledge.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona was doing his best to keep a poker face on. When it came to others thinking they were better than him, he was no stranger, but to know they had taken away someone he loved—he was prepared to show them what a real villain looked like. He navigated the situation carefully, this was just a risky game of chess in his eyes but he didn’t realize quite how risky it was until your life was dangling right before his eyes. He’s not unaware of how something can change in the blink of an eye, the scale could tip in either direction but he had to be prepared. He’s always been quick on his feet and there’s nothing in this world that he’d put more effort into than assuring your safety, even pushing himself to the brink of his magical abilities when he cushions the dramatic fall that easily could’ve stolen your life. The person preaching to him from above has only cemented his view that those who soar so high above don’t consider their own actions as evil, always for the ‘greater good’ which meant you were better off dead than with a ‘villain’ like him. He can’t help but scoff, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them as there’s an unspoken promise hanging in the air: he would kill them without hesitation if they were to ever touch a hair on your head again.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus was shocked at first, secretly hurt, that people on the outside could look in at your relationship with him and consider him a danger to you. He was careful around you, always protective and caring and wanting what’s best for you, so how could that be misconstrued? It made his blood boil to think about your kidnapper trying to turn you against him, and he felt even more powerless when your life was in someone else’s hand so he had to act with caution. He approached with an air of calm that was betrayed by his eyes, the smile not quite reaching them as he greeted your captor politely. He didn’t think he could lead them into a false sense of security because everyone knew to be on guard against him, but he’s surprised the coward even showed their face again. He’s even more surprised to see you attempt to sacrifice yourself for him, reaching out for you and feeling helpless again as you slip right through his fingers; he refused to lose, his hands moving quicker than his brain was as he cast a last ditch effort spell to stop your fragile human body from becoming a stain on the ground. He’s relieved to see that his quick thinking had resulted in saving your life, the vines wrapped around your arms and legs like a comforting hug. He’s thankful he learned how to use the spell without including thorns, but his thoughts are now elsewhere, turning to look at his enemy with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. He tells them they should feel quite lucky that you’re in one piece, as if you had died, Malleus would have tormented their family for generations to come, if he allowed them to exist after this at all.

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle is trying to keep his cool, as Trey advised it was best he do so, but it was hard not to feel anger for the complete disrespect that was being shown. How could they think taking you away from your education would be the best route? From a place that you were thriving? If they thought he was doing a poor job as a dorm leader helping you, than they could’ve offered the criticism personally rather than causing you to break a hundred rules within the span of a day. He has to stop himself from raising his voice or going on a rant when he sees how frightened you are, feeling baffled again that this RSA student considered themself some sort of savior when they weren’t taking you into consideration at all. Even he had to learn a lesson or two in regards to it, and he considers it his turn to teach that lesson, challenging them to a duel that would decide where you would end up. Riddle, trusting in his opponents intent to have an honest duel, turned his back to get in place but is shocked to hear the other person winding their spell up already. Your interference is the only reason he’s in one piece but it was at the sacrifice of your own well-being; Riddle cried out your name, nearly panicking as he missed your hand by milliseconds. He can hear the chanting in his head, the word ‘failure’ stamped with bolded red letters, and he nearly lost himself in grief until he sees that Trey and Cater had tailed him. Now that he knew you were safe his face began to grow red, his complete rage turned on the RSA student who would learn the true definition of ‘off with your head’!

#Twisted Wonderland #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Disney TWST #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Leona Kingscholar #Idia Shroud #Azul Ashengrotto #Malleus Draconia #Riddle Rosehearts #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Idia Shroud x Reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Riddle Rosehearts x Reader

[imfinereallyy]

Spooky Spouse🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️

happy spooky season :) this is for my mutuals @cranberrymoons @penny00dreadful @theheadlessphilosopher @vthx who when I asked about when we think steddie bday's was, it derailed into well...this. And it was too hard to resist.

v brief mention of nsfw

"You want to what?"

Eddie stares at Steve excitedly, practically vibrating in his spot across from Steve in the kitchen.

"We should get married on Halloween!" Eddie shouts.

Steve lets his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he looks at his very manic, albeit very cute, fiance. "Babe, I love you, and for that, I am going to hear you out—"

"Love you too." Eddie interrupts softly.

Steve's mouth curves at the edges; he's sure he has what Robin has claimed as his 'lovesick' smile on his face. "—but why would you want to get married on your birthday?"

Suddenly, Eddie's excitement switches into an embarrassed blush. Hiding behind a finger spun around a soft curl, he mumbles, "...about that..."

Steve sighs and leans back in his chair. He feels the familiar ache in the bottom of his back, scarred road rash that never quite healed right in 86'. If he sits too long in one spot, Steve finds himself fidgety and unsettled.

He wonders briefly if he can convince Eddie to give him a massage later.

Eddie's embarrassment shifts for a moment to concern, eyes wondering where Steve's back meets the base of the old wooden chair they found on 74th Street two years ago. Steve knows Eddie had liked the way the chair creaked like Steve's knee, and that was reason enough to bring it home. Now, though, with the way Eddie holds his breath to see if the familiar creak of the chair will mix with the sounds of Steve's young bones aging, Steve knows he won't have to do any convincing at all.

"I'm okay, Eds. You were saying."

Eddie's face blooms red again. "Okay, only if you promise not to be mad."

"That is never a good sign."

Eddie bites his lip, "What if I told you that my birthday isn't really on Halloween?"

Steve stares blankly, "I know I've had a few knocks on the head, Eds, but I'm pretty sure you can change your name, not your birthday. Having a wedding doesn't mean you get to move your birthday."

"Well!" Eddie jumps, this time with more anxious energy, "You see, that's what I mean; we wouldn't have to move my birthday if we got married on Halloween."

"Okay, you lost me. Am I concussed again? Did we go too hard last night? I know you said you were 'gonna fuck me so good I would forget my name,' but I'm pretty sure this isn't what you meant."

Eddie takes a deep breath before getting on his knees in front of Steve, taking his hand into his own. "Stevie, I mean that I lied. My birthday isn't Halloween. It's actually in February."

"What."

"You said you wouldn't be mad!"

Steve snorts but gives Eddie's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm pretty sure I actually said that 'wasn't a good sign'. I never agreed not to be mad."

"We both know it means the same thing to you." Eddie huffs.

Steve's lovesick smile is back again, despite knowing he should be mad. "You're telling me you've convinced everyone your birthday is on Halloween?"

"...well, everyone but Wayne." Eddie's smile turns sheepish.

"Jesus Christ Eds."

Eddie jumps up from his knees back to his feet. Steve can hear Eddie's ankle crack at the sudden change. He keeps a hold on Steve's hand. "Listen, I had good reason. I love Halloween; I should be a Halloween baby. My death was almost by bats; I mean, by that logic, it's almost full circle."

"I feel like you're D&D'ing me into logic that doesn't make sense. Eddie, are you trying to make it worse?"

Eddie throws his head back and groans, "No. I'm just—I love Halloween. It feels wrong not to have something important on that day."

"So you decided to change your birthday? Ed's that's not legal."

Eddie's excitement comes back tenfold, giving Steve whiplash. "Well, neither is our wedding! So it's perfect! Honestly, very metal of us to be fighting the law on such an amazing day." Eddie's arms flap around in excitement, making their conjoined hands move messily throughout the air.

Steve wants to be mad; he really does. But he can't help it; he just loves this idiot too much. "Fine, we can get married on Halloween."

"Really?!"

Steve stands, bringing his lips to Eddie's hand, then gently to his lips. He murmurs against his mouth, "On two conditions."

Eddie nips Steve's lip, "Anything, baby."

"One." Steve starts, sliding his tongue into Eddie's mouth, just to be a brat, before pulling back. Eddie groans but doesn't protest. He knows that this is the rare occasion it's his turn to be punished. "You have to tell everyone the truth about your birthday."

"Yep, fine. You got it." Eddie grabs Steve by the back of his neck and pulls him back. Consuming him greedily, Steve gives in to the distraction for a moment. Loving the feeling of Eddie's heat pressed against his own.

Steve pulls back reluctantly, a trail of spit connecting the two of them. Eddie whines and paws at Steve's hips, trying to draw him back. "Two, you have to tell me when your actual birthday is."

The heat clears from Eddie's eyes and the sheepish look returns. "Uh..."

Steve starts to remove himself from Eddie, but Eddie scrambles to bring him back against his chest. "Fine. Fine, I'll tell you."

Steve leans his forehead against Eddie's, patiently waiting for him to spill.

"It's February 14th."

Steve's eyes go wide, "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ."

**

this spiraled form all of us being convinced eddie would lie and say his bday is on Halloween. to my mutals, sorry I didn't tag you all it got to long, but this was for you guys ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

#steddie #they are so sick in love #eddie just wants to be the halloween king #rip eddie you would have loved nightmare before christmas #stranger things #my writing #steve harrington #halloween #halloween steddie #ficlet #eddie munson

[ltbunny]

creepy, pervert, boyfriend Mactavish is my roman empire

(fat reader because I'm feral and soap would little gnaw on your tummy like a chew toy [he loves you], excuse my grammar, English is my first language, I'm just bad at it)

CW: dub con-ish, unsolicited pics, consensual somnophillia,

Definitely sends pictures of you to the group chat cause he's so smug about having you,

Soap🧼

look at my bonnie baby

*attachment photo*

2:43am

its a picture of you sleeping against his chest, cuddled up, the flash of the camera in the dark room catching your back rolls and ass, his hand groping your ass and Johnny's smug grin in the back, somewhat visible but really not the center frame.

He sends another attachment, his mouth on your tits as he grins in the camera again, centre frame with your chest this time, maybe even a little video of him sucking your tits while you stir in your sleep, making little noises that go straight to his dick (and gaz's. he's the only other one up right now. simon and price wake up at 5am, they'll see it later)

He always sends more than he intended, but he can't help it, especially when he knows the boys like the pictures too. You're so soft and pliant when you're asleep, letting him spread your legs with ease, no panties, soap convinced you to let his second favourite girl (debatable) breathe, no panties on at night, same goes for his lil swimmers.

You said it was okay....right?

Yeah.

He can use you when you're sleeping, as long as he doesn't yowl like an animal and fuck you awake every night, once in a while is fine, he gets it, he's loud and he wants his pretty girl to have her beauty sleep but its been like 4 days and his cock is hard. Four days is long enough.

He looms over you and strokes his hard cock over your pussy, breathing heavy, his eyes never leaving your soft peaceful face, cooing nasty words with a soft voice.

And.... maybe the sleeping arrangements are fine, but the pictures aren't really... discussed... but that's just for him and the boys. You'll never find it anyway. What you don't know can't hurt you. The group chat could have confidential information! That's what he told you. He lets you go through whatever you want on his phone, nothing to hide, no girls, no cheating, expect his little hen. He says the gc, 'one-four-one', could have sensitive work stuff in it, and obviously, you trust him. You never peer or peak in the group chat. (Not like it has any top secret messages anyway. Why would anyone send confidential information in a whatsapp group chat? Silly girl, he muses, at least this way she won't see anything in the group chat..)

"Fuck, mo luaidh, ye so fucking sexy for me, even when all ye doing is breathing, it's like ye wan' me to cum all over that pretty pussy, your tits are going up and down, doll, fuck you want me to suck em again that bad?"

He grins manically to himself, leaning down and sucking your nipple again, groaning, stroking his cock faster, wanting to cum all over that pussy, it's been a while since you've shaved and he loves it, makes the cum stick better. He leads the tip down to your clit, shuddering at the warmth on his tip, rubbing it along the clit.

Cums right there, on your pussy and outside too, some splattering up to your soft tummy, he grins and snaps another pic.

Soap🧼

Call me Picasso cause i just made some art

*attachment photo*

3:08am

Gaz🧢

Fucking beaut

Get it pumped as the Scottish say

3:09am

He grins at Gaz's text and throws the phone off to the side. He ain't done yet.

(Price and Ghost have Samsing you can't convince me otherwise, soap probably has a fucking Huawei but let's just settle with iPhone for now, Gaz has an iPhone and a burner phone)

(You wake up sticky, covered in dried and some globs of cum and with a weird, salty taste in your mouth, you groan and roll your eyes)

#creepy boyfriend soap #i havent written anything in like 2 years #my love #i would do proper grammar and spell checks and spag #but cba #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 58

part 1 | part 57 | ao3

@steddie-island said i wasn't allowed to cut this lol. cw: angst, canon typical horror, mentions of minor character death

“Lucas called me a ghost today.”

Steve almost laughs, bitter and sharp. Sure. Why not? What’s one more ghost in his passenger seat?

He doesn't really want to talk to her right now, if he's honest. It's been fifteen minutes and she still hasn't apologized for trying to rob him, or explained where they're going, or what spooked her, or why this car ride was so urgent that he had to risk his job for it — a job he actually needs, considering his, well, everything. She's hardly said anything beyond the occasional "turn here" or "next left" while sulking with her forehead pressed against the window.

But he can tell she has something she needs to get off her chest, so he swallows his annoyance and offers, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says back. Doesn't elaborate.

He gives her another minute to gather her words, watches her open and close her mouth a few times in his periphery, but nothing comes out. She scoffs at herself and abruptly changes the subject. “Eddie was being extra… well, extra today.”

“Was he?” Steve asks, his bones itching under his skin. He doesn't want to talk about Eddie. Doesn't want to think his name.

“Yeah, he, uh- he was kinda manic? He was, like, running all over the cafeteria and starting shit with Jason Carver...” And he's only half-listening, anger simmering as she goes on and on, because she promised that Dustin didn't put her up to this. Said that this wasn't some bullshit excuse to get him to talk about Eddie or hang out with Eddie or think about Eddie or kiss and make up with fucking Eddie, and now she's just talking about him, and it-

And it hurts; god, it still just hurts—

"....Then he started rambling about how he can’t wait to get the hell out of here when he graduates.”

Searing-stabbing-burning-sharp. Steve clutches at the flare of pain in his chest, the crushed soda-can feeling where his heart's supposed to be. His head pounds. He follows her next direction onto a winding, tree-lined road, the canopy suffocating overhead, and his skin feels too dry — too tight, too small, shrink-wrapping him inside of it, because he knows where they are now. Knows the tilt of the rusted lamp shade, the shape of the weather brick paths. He's tasted the metal tang of this stop sign in his nightmares.

Fuck. Fuck.

"Cool," he grits out as he drives through the cemetery gates. Past stone and wrought iron, past the empty central fountain. He hasn't been here since July. “Good for him.”

“Steve-"

“Why are you telling me this?" he snaps. He throws the car in park under an old oak and turns to glare at her, barking a frustrated, "Huh?"

Immediately, he feels bad for raising his voice. Feels even worse for the way she flinches away. The naked fear on her face, her hand reaching for the door. He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose. “Sorry. Sorry. Just-" There's a leak inside him somewhere; some infected, gaping hole, and his stupid heart keeps pumping all his blood into the wound. "Why are you-?”

“Look,” she says sharply, "I know it sucks. To talk about him." She's staring at the rows of headstones up ahead, her face gone steely with determination, her shoulders squared, her big eyes wide and a little wet when she turns to meet his gaze. “But whatever you were— whatever happened, it just… it really messed him up.”

Good. "You sound like Dustin."

"Maybe Dustin had a point."

"Since when?"

She throws her hands up, nostrils flaring. "I'm trying to tell you that I think he still cares!"

“Yeah? He’s got a seriously fucked up way of showing it if so!”

“Yeah, well some of us don’t know how to show it!”

And oh.

Oh.

Silence blankets them like dust. Eyes locked; harsh breaths. This has nothing to do with him and Eddie, does it?

Lucas called me a ghost.

Steve sighs and slumps forward, his forearms on the wheel, his chin resting on his wrist. The late afternoon sun is warm through the glass, and his head gives another nasty throb as he looks out over the hill, at the polished stones glinting in the golden hour rays.

His dad is buried here.

A lot of people are.

“Hey,” he murmurs, rolling his neck to look at her. The skin under her eyes is red. "Sorry for yelling."

She sniffs quietly. "Me, too."

He reaches over and gives her hand a quick squeeze, keeping his voice low and gentle. "You know you can just talk to me, right? Max, talk to me. Please.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “It’s nothing, okay?” She sinks down in her seat, crossing her arms to shield herself. “Shit’s just been… it’s just been weird all week. Like- like bad weird, and I don't know if I'm just going crazy, or— I mean, maybe Ms. Kelley's right, maybe's it's just— but it feels like…”

"Like what?"

She holds a hand out flat in front of her; flips her wrist over slowly so her palm faces the sky.

Steve's blood runs cold. He thinks of his own nightmares: the weird visions, the headaches, the persistent haunted feeling.

"I don't know anything for sure," she insists, rushing to reassure him before he can fully start to panic. "Seriously, don't freak out; I haven't, like, seen any gates or anything, it's just— bad dreams. Nose bleeds. I don't know." She hoists her backpack onto her shoulder. "I thought coming here might help."

He catches her by the arm, raking his eyes over her face, looking for any signs of danger. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shakes her head no and tugs free of his grip, and then she's slipping out of the car, letting the door fall shut behind her, and Steve watches her crest the hill while sirens wail inside his head.

—

part 59

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #my writing #my fic #i rewrote this 42 goddamn times #also i promise reunion is still coming #max had a lot to say apparently lol

[morallyinept]

Trick Or Treat? - A Dark!Frankie Morales x Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!Dave York Halloween One Shot 🎃

Summary: It's Halloween and you're settling in for a creepy night alone with a scary movie, when three masked intruders break in. And they have more tricks than treats in mind for you. 🎃

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!Dave York x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 10.5k ish - 'Issa long one. Better grab some spooky snacks. 👻

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶🌶🌶 "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Explicit: DARK/DDDNE/implied noncon/implied dubcon/CNC/free use/anything goes/implied forced/established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/squirting/anal play/restraint/dirty talk/derogatory/some mild degradation/some mild assault in the form of slaps, scratching, biting/jump scares/mentions of clowns & a clown mask image below the cut - eh, some people hate 'em. Dave York comes with his own warning. 🥴

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don't come at me; you've been plenty warned.

Author's Note: Happy Halloween!! 🎃 I'm fully aware that this might not be for everyone, and that's totally fine. You can just move on quietly if it's not for you. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Couldn't think of any better trio of Pedro Boys to mess with you on Halloween, other than Frankie, Joel & Dave.

Enjoy! 🖤🎃

MASTERLIST

The lounge is dimly lit. 

Shadows curated from the trenches of nightmares claw across the walls as you perch on the edge of your worn-out couch, crowded with the mass invasion of mis-matched cushions. 

The eerie glow from the flat screen casts an otherworldly pallor upon your face, accentuating the nervous flicker around your eyeballs that are wide with bulging scleras; watery white orbs in the dark.

The room is drenched in an unsettling silence, broken only by the haunting soundtrack of the horror movie slashing its way across your screen, from which you can’t tear away your fixed gaze. 

Every creak of the house, every groan in the walls, sends fleeting shivers down your spine as you clutch one of the cushions tightly, pulled further into the chilling world of the movie. 

It's Halloween night and the bowl, brimming full of sugared candy treats for the Witching Hour to begin, is resting languidly on the coffee table ready for the barrage of trick-or-treaters bound to harangue you all night long. Until you stop answering the door and devour them all for yourself. It always happens. 

But, as you watch the movie, engrossed in the suspenseful carnage that is about to erupt, slowly bringing mouthfuls of warm, buttery homemade popcorn up to your mouth, you start to regret it.

You always do this to yourself; cue the manic paranoia afterwards, lying in bed and getting freaked out by strange noises rattling around in the house. Turning the light off and running up the stairs really, really fast so a crazed, masked killer - that is purely a figment of your over active imagination, whose just endured copious hours of jump scares - doesn't get you.

As the movie’s tension mounts, so too does your own. Your heart races in sync with the frantic, heavy beats of the ominous bass that vibrates in through your toes. Fear creeps up your spine with icy tendrils, constricting your chest with each suspenseful twist. 

A young Jamie Lee Curtis is running for her life across the screen; a giant man in a boiler suit and waxy mask wielding a kitchen knife is chasing her, and you're yelling at her to run.

Run bitch!

You're invested wholly in the terror of the movie. Your fingernails leave crescent imprints on the fabric of the cushion you clutch, as if they could anchor you to reality amidst the growing dread that consumes you. 

The room’s shadows deepen, feel heavier somehow in the darkest corners and seem to slink and shift in the periphery of your vision. Your mind plays tricks on you, conjuring grotesque shapes from the inky void to float towards you, but any sense of your own mild panic is marred by the screaming on the screen that pulls your attention away. 

The rest of the house is unusually quiet around you, its existence ebbing away. Oblivious to the malevolent, unseen eyes that seem to pierce through the darkness, you continue to fill your mouth with the salty, puffed kernels.

"Run, why are you standing there, just fucking run!" You crunch to Jamie Lee; your eyes wide and the music hammering around you loudly as the killer is in the house with her, and she hasn't realised it yet.

Oh, the irony.

A figure continues to emerge from the swirly shadows, edging towards you in the dark where the light of the TV hasn't reached. It moves with a haunting grace as if it's part of the very darkness it inhabits. You feel hairs prickle up on the back of your neck as you watch the tension on the screen play out. 

You know how this shit goes down; you've seen this movie millions of times, but it still gets you. Still makes you jump out of your skin at the right parts and-

"BOO!" 

A maniacal laugh pierces your eardrum from behind and you screech in absolute terror.

The bowl of popcorn ends up all over the floor as you launch yourself up from the couch like you’ve been tasered, turning and screaming as you hear that sinister laugh morph into one you begin to recognise.

Big, splayed hands reach for you from within the dark and you squeal louder, backing up as the sinister marauder advances on you.

"Hey it's me, muñeca. It's me!" But he's still laughing and it's not fucking funny.

Your heart is trying to make a dash out of your throat and you swear to God some pee might’ve trickled down your leg.

"What the Hell are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?!"

You slap his hands away angrily as he reaches for your shaky ones, and the light from the TV assures you it's Frankie, still chuckling to himself from behind a cheap, neon-coloured clown mask.

"Jesus Christ," you sigh, catching your breath. 

You're still trying to choke your thrashing heart back down into your chest. It's not going down without a rowdy fight apparently as you cough and splutter. "Why would you scare me like that?! What are you wearing?" You query with a shudder as he pulls off the grotesque mask. 

It's a sinister, somewhat ugly clown, complete with rainbow coiffed curls, white cracked rubber for a face and peeling red nose. All your explicit, childish nightmares come true to form and are made graphically real - too real. You shiver again as you see it, now crumpled up in his hand.

"You should've seen your face!" He's laughing again and it's hard not to punch him right now. Or drop kick him in the balls.

"I fucking hate clowns." You growl, shoving him in the broad shoulder, as he tries to pull you towards him, but you resist in protest.

"Hey, it's just me." Frankie reassures, pulling you into the stack of his chest and trying to kiss your cheek in attempted fuzzy apologies, but you still repel him. 

"I know," you say, rubbing your arm uneasily and pouting at him. “It’s not funny.”

"Aww, hermosa. Come here, I'm sorry. Voy a parar, lo siento. Lo siento." He pulls you closer into his strong arms wrapping you up tight for a moment, and closing your eyes you're immediately in your safe place; safe in Frankie’s arms where nothing horrific can get you.

You feel your heartbeat regain its usual steady tempo and your body melts into a heated pool of slush as he soothes you, rubbing his large hands up and down your back.

It's hard to stay mad at him when he holds you like this. 

"Aren't you going to be late?" You murmur a few enraptured seconds later into his warm neck skin; your nose nuzzling into the soft, sparse scruff that roots there. You taste it as the oaky scents of his heady cologne makes your mouth water. 

He groans deliciously, stirring a flurry again in your rib cage, as you run your tongue up towards his ear and suck gently on the lobe.

"Mmm," he smiles blissfully, crushing your bones into his. You feel his hands now sliding down further, past the small of your back, and pawing at the pliable meat of your ass. 

You tug hard on his ear with your teeth and he hisses as you clamp down.

"Ow!" He whines. You snicker up at him. 

"Revenge." You titter. 

“Eso duele,” he gripes, pouting. 

"Look at this mess." Your bare feet are crunching into the popcorn that’s all over the floor as if an Arctic blast has just hit. 

"I'll help you clean up." Frankie offers, tossing the clown mask onto the couch. You make a mental note to throw the ghastly thing in the trash once he’s gone. 

"No, you go. The guys are waiting for you." 

"You sure?"

"Yeah." You nod with a soft smile, and watch as Frankie retrieves his favourite blue cap from his back pocket, unfolds and fixes it back into its rightful place on his tufty curls.

"I'll just be a few hours. Beers and some cards..." He smiles with cocoa eyes.

"Take as long as you want. I'll probably be asleep when you get back anyway." You say grimacing down at the mess.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just gonna finish up the movie then climb into bed early." 

"Hardcore." He teases, pulling you towards him again. 

You kiss him on the lips gently. He wraps his hands around the small of your back and you can feel him. Feel that mounting swell of him against your belly as he stiffens in his stonewash Levi’s. 

The kiss between you intensifies, his tongue slipping slowly into the hungry void of your mouth. A polluting convergence of wanton desire and longing as he murmurs into your wet gums. It sizzles in your bloodstream, warming you from the inside out. 

"Might have to wake you up…" Frankie purrs as you pull away, breathless; your heart thudding, as well as your clit that feels like it’s growing in size and weighing you down.

You grin, clenching internally at the thought of how Frankie specialises in waking you up.

You pull on the lapels of his jacket, twisting the artichoke corduroy, working through the mental images of tossing him on the couch, straddling his face and sending him to the guys with your slick drying in his facial scruff. 

"Go on, get going, you jackass." You warn, bending down to pick up the popcorn bowl. You feel a gentle swat on your butt. 

"Enjoy the movie, baby." He says.

You smile standing upright. "Say hi to Joel and Dave for me." 

Frankie turns back to you, his eyes appearing like black shiny marbles in the dark shadows, and smiles sinisterly at you. 

An hour or so later - the clown mask successfully dumped in the trash ceasing to haunt you - and you’ve already given up answering the door to demanding, greedy little witches, hobgoblins and mummies wrapped up in cheap ply toilet paper. 

The bowl of candy is now nestled snugly in your lap; the floor clear of the discarded popcorn. Your eyes are glued back to the flat screen as you finish the remainder of the movie, sinking down further into the couch so that you’re almost horizontal, as you chew and suck the candy corn clacking around your teeth.

A knock on the door a little while later makes you jump, but you ignore it, deciding the kids in your neighbourhood have had their fill. You reach for your phone - the light illuminating your face in the dark with Frankie’s beaming grin whilst he noogies you set as your wallpaper - to see it’s a little past nine PM. 

You toss it on the couch beside you, absorbing in the movie, reaching into the candy bowl for more as Michael Myers terrorises Jamie Lee to no end.

The door knocks again, this time a thudding hammering.

What the hell?

You pause the movie and get up with the candy bowl, padding over to the hall and towards the front door. The knocks grow louder, more insistent, making you flinch.

“Alright, Jesus!” You call out as you open the door, expecting to see a cluster of snarky little demons holding out their treat bags gluttonously.

But as you wrench the door open, you’re met with only the stark emptiness of the dense night. Frowning, you poke your head out further and see there's only vacant spaces hidden in the shadows of the porch. 

You shut the door, convincing yourself it’s a harmless prank from bored teenagers that you’ve become a victim to.

You run your hand around a niggling crick in your neck from slumping on the couch for so long and head back towards the lounge. 

Before you reach the end of the hall, another barrage of hammering rattles through your body. Turning, you march towards the front door and pull it open again.

“This isn’t funny, you little dipshits!” You holler out determined to catch them in the act. 

Again, there’s nobody there; the street is empty, devoid of any life or wily children making the rounds for poison candied apples. You hesitate, torn between curiosity and a faint bleed of fear haemorrhaging somewhere within your muscles. 

“The fuck…?” You query as a cold breeze nips at the tops of your shoulders as you step out onto the porch.

“Hello?” You call out, nerves already frayed as they're going to get this evening; your patience is running thin.

The eerie silence of the night that greets you back seems deafening as it plugs up all your senses. The breeze restlessly pulls the goose bumps out of your pores and you instantly feel foolish, if but a little rattled. 

Sighing, you retreat back inside. You wait for a few moments, listening, waiting again for the sound of the phantom knocker. You shake your head listlessly and with a stupefied mirth to yourself, even though the lingering sense of unease remains, trying to claw at your ankles.

You bolt the chain across the door before you finally walk away, convincing yourself that it’s nothing more than your paranoid mind left to its jangled devices. 

Of all the nights to play fucking pranks. 

Once the movie is over, you climb the stairs up to bed; washing up in the bathroom, now dressed in your matching shorts and shirt pyjama set, and brushing out the candy now cemented in your molars. 

Once you're sunk into the softness of your mattress, you roll over onto Frankie’s side, missing his shape wrapped around your body and the feel of his breath warming the back of your neck as he snores lightly.

The musky scents of him linger in the sheets and you inhale deeply, reminding yourself that you live in reality and not some torrid nightmare with crazed, masked killers. 

As you drift off, you smile at the thought of him losing at poker to Joel and Dave, and how much shit you’ll know they’ll both give him for it too. 

It wakes you, bleeding into your chromatic unconsciousness and interrupting your stunted, dreamless sleep. 

A sense of unease washes over you, amplified by the eerie stillness that still hangs in the air as you glance the time on the alarm clock. It sears its menacing red vitriol into your sleepy retinas brightly. 

It's just past midnight and Frankie’s side of the bed is still empty. 

You lay still and clammy in the sheets, straining your ears to hear what had interrupted your sleep, trying to discern whether it’s real or if your mind had yelled at you from somewhere in the void, pulling you out with a jolt instead. 

You close your eyes and roll over again, your arm tingling numb from sleeping on it, when you hear it again. 

At first you dismiss it as a product of your overactive imagination, still haunted by the spooky shenanigans of the night, or the creaks in the house coming out to taunt you further for shits and giggles. But it’s there, unmistakably. A faint sound ruminating from downstairs. 

“Frankie? That you?” You call softly, sitting up. 

You listen out, the waves of your heartbeat rolling and crashing into the tide of your eardrums, disturbed only by a siren passing in the night.

You slip out of the sheets and pad over to the bedroom door that’s ajar. You're certain you'd shut it when you came up. 

“Frankie?” You call over the landing and wait. 

There’s a loud clanging noise that startles you and you step backwards. 

Nope!

Dashing into the bedroom, you reach into the closet for Frankie’s old college baseball bat that’s beaten up and splintered to hell, but it’ll serve as some protection.

You grab your phone with the intent to call Frankie to come and kick some ass. You swipe across the screen and dial Frankie’s number. It rings off as your battery dies.

“What?” You murmur as you fiddle around with the wire, certain you had plugged it in to charge, trailing it down to the socket and find it’s unplugged and left loose on the floor. Shit!

The noise from downstairs stirs your attention, making you jump, and you’re more than convinced there is someone in the house. 

“Frankie, if you’re fucking with me again, I swear to God, I’m gonna kill you!” You mumble to yourself, standing up and tiptoeing towards the door. 

It falls quiet and you step closer to the top of the stairs. 

“Frankie!” You hiss out, assuming he’s probably drunk and rattling around down in the kitchen and making a mess, but you also don’t want to take the chance in case it’s not.

You descend down the stairs slowly, quietly as you can muster; the bat firmly in your hand and poised ready to swing. You convince yourself that you’ll be able to take them. Frankie’s shown you a thing or two about how to carry yourself.

Yeah. Come on, you fucker.  

With your pulse rising in your ears, you step into the hall, glancing at the front door. It's still chained up and the dread fully overtakes you.

You raise the bat and round the corner into the lounge. You reach for the light switch and flick it up, but the lights don’t come on at all. You flick it up and down a few times, but you remain in the swamping dark.

Fuck! 

You hear the sound again, and it’s indeed coming from the kitchen. Loud and rustling. 

“Frankie?” You call out gently. The sound stops and you’re certain you hear footsteps. Perhaps, realising that you'd locked him out, he's come home through the back door.

"Frankie, answer me."

You head towards the kitchen, the orange light pooling in from the lamp post outside illuminates the trash can that's now overturned on the floor. You look down and kick it warily with your foot. You think you can see a shadow moving to your left.

The air shifts heavily against the back of your neck, and you yelp, swinging the bat with conviction. 

“Uh-ho, we gotta live one!” A thick voice booms as a giant hand catches the bat mid swing.

The voice comes from underneath a creepy vampire mask, complete with fangs and a bloodstained cleft. He wrenches the bat from you, in easily the biggest hands you’ve ever seen, and you hear it clatter away across the tiled floor. 

You scramble backwards. A leather gloved hand clamps over your mouth, as your arms are crushed behind your back, muffling out your panicked screams. 

You struggle and recoil against the body that holds you in a vice-like grip, despite your legs thrashing like you’re fighting against the tide. 

You glance up behind you and see another mask, this time a ghoul with pieces of skin missing, greets you. It's too dark to see the eyes through the slits. But you can hear his laugh; a cold mist of breathy chuckles as you struggle and fight against him.

His gloved hand presses harder over your mouth drowning out your squeaks into frantic inhalations as you struggle to breathe around it. All you can think of is Frankie. Doing some desperate Jedi Mind Trick shit to conjure him here to beat the crap out of these intruding assholes. 

The Vampire steps towards you, cocking his head and his hulking frame immediately intimidates you, terrifies you even. 

But a flood of adrenaline makes you kick out and your foot collides with his kneecap. 

He growls as he jolts. “Hey now! There’ll be none of that, darlin’,” he warns sinisterly. 

In a nanosecond, that voice registers somewhere familiar in the back of your skull, but before you have time to churn and process it into coherent thought, your arm is twisted further up your spine making you cry out around the gloved hand pressing against your teeth; the pressure making them ache. 

“Grab her legs.” The Ghoul instructs as The Vampire reaches for them and clamps tightly around your ankles as you try to repl against him. 

They manoeuvre you into the lounge where another figure emerges from the shadows, now illuminated by a couple of gloaming candles flickering on the coffee table. 

Your eyes widen as you recognise the gnarly clown mask from the trash, shaking the lit match in his fingers until it's extinguished.

You’re tossed face down into the couch and you scramble, gasping and yelling out as they pin you quickly. 

"Get off of meeee!" 

The Ghoul on your right, The Vampire on your left. Their auspicious, maniacal laughter ringing in your ears; their tight grip cementing you in place, pinching painfully against your skin.

The Clown steps closer peering down at you through the mask; his chest rising and falling, steadily puffed out in his menacing stance.

Your eyes widen as he advances closer, his hands moving towards his belt; thick, long fingers slowly unbuckling it.

You yell out, struggling, but it’s futile. “No, NO!” You kick and scream, the dread poisoning your bloodstream, and they all laugh. 

"Help! Hel-pffh!"

The gloved hand of The Ghoul wraps around your throat murdering your yells into dying croaks that choke out of you like sloppy hiccups. 

"Ain't no-one gonna hear ya, darlin'." The Vampire mocks. "S'just you n’ us, pretty girl. All night." 

The Clown kicks at your ankles separating them as The Vampire yanks your left leg towards him. The Ghoul follows with your right leg and it feels like he pulls it out of the joint.

You're completely opened up, your shorts riding tight up against your centre, and locked into place unable to move. You focus on The Clown and the sinister way in which he moves, head slightly cocked and revelling in your plight; a sadistic voyeur in this cruel fate.

Your breathing is frantic, sucking in too much oxygen making you a little light headed. 

The Clown edges closer, his horrifically masked face craning closer towards yours and you can see those dark eyes staring back at you, unblinking and unflinching.

“Trick or treat?” He simply taunts. 

You’re frozen, paralysed. 

The fear has gripped you tight in a vice so binding that you’re unable to process basic motor functions. Both your fight or flight senses have left you, fled screaming into the night.

You can hear them. All around you. Their rabid voices hitching through the masks; verbal plotting laced with undulating horrors of menace. All the ways they want to feast on you rattles tinny in between your ears. 

Their hands paw at you, tear at your supple flesh like a pack of ravenous wolves; groping, scratching, pinching. Tugging lewdly at the light cotton of your pyjama shorts and shirt. 

The monsters harangue your every sense, flood your synapses with their ill intent. Their white noise deafens you. 

Then, like you've been dunked head first under ice cold water, the sudden awareness of your predicament shakes you with alarm. It's enough to pump fast adrenaline through you like Popeye's spinach as you twist, screech and fight back with all you’ve got.

You’re not sure how you manage it - it's one for your brain to calculate the physics later - but you’re up on your feet, shoving The Clown backwards as he unzips his flies, leaving The Vampire growling.

But The Ghoul is up just as fast and chasing you down as you make a daring dash towards the front door. 

Your fingers rattle clumsily around the chain, cursing yourself that you attached it earlier, unable to get a steady grip on it, when you feel The Ghoul slam into you from behind. 

Your face is crushed hard into the wood as he pestles against you, stars flooding your eyes. You hear him snarling fistules of lava in your ear. He grabs your arms and drags you back. “No you don’t, bitch!” He seethes. 

Now begins the physical struggle that you’re bound to lose. You might have torn at him with your nails, but it barely marks him. Your desperate imploring of him to stop, that he's hurting you, has no effect either. His need is too desperate now for him to even hear you.

You feel his urgency, and realising there’s nothing further you can do or say, your body submits to him as he drags you along with ease - he’s simply too strong for you to fight off - they all are. 

He slams you down, bent forward, over the dining table; your temple and cheek slapping against it, dazing you for a second. 

You feel hands on your body, one hand slipping easily around your throat, the other slipping around the front of your belly pulling you back tight against him.

You feel him, feel the excitement of your helplessness goading him on. Feel that hardness of his twisted desire. Your wrists are restrained at your back, held in place as he easily and quickly manoeuvres them despite your struggles. 

“Please!” You cry out louder.

His voice is rough sounding in your ear. "Don't you dare scream, or I'll snap your pretty little neck!" Foul menace is hissed into you insidiously from The Ghoul. And you know he's not messing around. 

Through the commotion, you hear a chair being pulled out, creaky scrapes, and The Clown takes a seat at the opposite end of the table. He tosses a couple of black cable ties across the polished wood to The Ghoul.

The Ghoul secures your wrists together, sharp and snapping, and you whine with tears pooling in your eyes for them to let you go. To not do this. To please just stop.

The Clown, drawing one denim clad knee up, sitting back in the chair, watches darkly. 

You jut your leg out backwards in a last ditch attempt to not go down without a fight, clocking it into The Ghoul’s thigh and he growls and slams his fist on the table mere inches from your face.

He’s had enough now. 

He tears off his mask and presses his body over yours, suffocating you with his crushing strength. He grips round your chin and turns your head. The face that is presented back to you, smirking with dark brown eyes burning into you like hot embers, renders you useless as he twists your face to meet yours. You can hear your neck crack. 

Oh fuck.

“D-Dave?” You query confused. He grits his teeth, mouth pursed out as he stares you into a weak submission. He's pissed, livid.

You see movement over his shoulder as The Vampire emerges. 

“Cat’s outta the bag, hmm?” The Vampire says to Dave, a hefty hand resting on his shoulder. 

You watch in shock, and with something else starting to flare over your body, as The Vampire removes his own mask, crushing it in his large palm to reveal soft, greying curls slick with sweat in the chocolaty roots. 

“Joel?" You gasp. 

“In the flesh, darlin’.” He sneers through a smile that’s more unnerving than Dave’s fury somehow, completing this picture of terrifying machismo. 

“What is this, w-what’s going on?" You pant, your wrists burning as they struggle around the plastic snare keeping them together and tingling your fingers with numbness. 

Dave’s gloved hand squeezes around your jaw popping your lips open.

“Ssshh.” His leathered index finger pushes tightly to your mouth. Black butterflies dance over Dave’s features. You're tempted to bite down, but sensing this, he pushes another finger in and you heave as it tickles the back of your throat. 

Joel chuckles softly at your plight as he watches you choke around Dave's invading leather digits.  

"So this is what you look like sucking on Frankie's cock, hmm?" Dave taunts.

"Real fuckin' nice." Joel agrees, licking his lips. You catch him palming himself over his jeans and you feel a heavy flutter start to rustle from the grave in your core. 

You try to swallow but your mouth is stuffed so full of the padded leather that your saliva pools out the corner of your mouth and runs down your chin. 

Dave grips the side of your face with his other hand, his hips pushing you against the table. Joel lurches behind him like a stacked shadow, sealing off any gap for a potential escape. 

You want to be furious, you want to push him off you as he pushes his fingers into the furthest reaches of your throat and becomes mesmerised by it as you gag and retch. 

Instead, and in some fucked up depravity stirring from the pits, you melt under his force; enjoying the feel of it and nuzzling into his hand with your eyes closed, until he yanks your hair backwards and holds you still and taut.

You gasp out as he sniffs all over your neck and face like a dog. "Oh, you want this don't you, slut?"

Dave's sudden change in demeanour again does something to you; something wonderfully perverted and untamed. Something unexpected and he picks up on it immediately like a Bloodhound.

He pulls his hand out of the glove, but leaves it in your mouth, pressing it in further until you gag more and your cheeks fill with it.

"I can smell your cunt," Dave says in a voice you don't recognise. It's sinister and deep, yet with a jaunty bounce of a little chuckle on the end of it.

His macabre smile does nothing to appease the angst simmering away inside your stomach. Instead, it seems to intensify it to boiling point and it begins to ache in your gut like a heavy pull.

But then, a surge of devious pleasure swills in your bloodstream, seemingly from out of nowhere; you're aroused by becoming aroused at such a thing. A blooming in between your legs, the slickness of your pussy waking up to join this fucked up tea party. And the feel of your body becoming heated for him makes you sweat.

“Ain’t she pretty, hmm?” Joel taunts. 

Dave runs his mouth over your cheeks; he becomes possessed, animalistic almost as he glides it back and forth, back and forth. You feel his lips drag against yours but he doesn't kiss you, even though you're suddenly desperate to latch onto his lips - to feast on them like you're starved, despite the glove stuffed so unceremoniously into your mouth.

It sends shivers down your body and tingles inside your hair follicles that he’s pulling on tightly. The smoothness of his marble-like jaw, the plumpness of his bottom lip; a kaleidoscopic wonder of him that you've never really paid attention to before.

Somewhere, deep inside of you, you realise you’d always thought Dave was attractive, handsome. And now whilst he’s terrifying and rough, that attraction rears its ugly head and dives haphazardly into wanton lust.

The electric sparks zap down your spine and surges through your nipples that are tightening inside your pyjama shirt. You’re unconsciously squeezing your thighs together as your clit throbs. 

He's right. You do want this. 

"You know, I've always wanted to fuck you." Dave's hand reaches for his belt. 

You see Joel kneel down to your level as your eyes widen. You feel Dave yank down your pyjama shorts as he practically tears them from your legs. 

You sound your resistance out around the glove, but all that comes out is incomprehensible moans.

He swipes between your legs, and his fingers slip over your puffy cunt lips, and it's a dead giveaway at how drenched you are.

You feel Joel pat your shoulder. “S’okay, darlin’,” he soothes with maddening eyes. “We’re gonna take real care of ya.”

"Yeah. Feel that tight cunt that Frankie says you've got squeeze round me." Dave snorts. "Fuck, you're so wet…"

You hear yourself audibly whimper as his fingers find you soaking and wanting. He runs them up and down your fleshy seam and pushes two of them into your folds with a loud, undignified squelch.

He slides further up and knocks against your clit that aches and your thighs judder uncontrollably as he circles it. 

Joel reaches between your legs and takes a swipe for himself. You watch as he sucks your slick from his fingers and smirks. 

“Someone’s ready to be fucked, aren’t ya, darlin’?” Joel says to you. 

You shake your head and it clatters against the tabletop.

Dave moans into your ear, "what a little slut. Wet for me already. What would your boyfriend think?"

You whine as he increases the pressure on your clit, your legs already buckling underneath you. 

"Why don't we ask him, hmm? Hey Frank. What do you think about that?"

Your eyes dart to The Clown, watching you silently with tented fingers. 

"Frank!" Dave grunts again through gritted teeth. "Take that thing off and watch me fuck your girl.” 

A hand goes to The Clown's face and you recognise Frankie's features as they're revealed to you from under it. Your heart surges, feeling heavier in your chest. But Frankie doesn't look how you expect him to.

He doesn't look aghast or in disgust, or furious with Dave and Joel. No. He looks positively delighted and smirks darkly at you as Dave lines himself up against your oozing slit.

Frankie tosses the mask across the table. "Fuck her until she screams, Dave." He says casually cold. 

You watch helplessly as Frankie's lips twist up into a chilling smirk that ices right through your blood. 

You whimper helplessly. Your body is shattered with an agonising realisation as Frankie teases and encourages your plight rather than halting it.

You can feel your heartbeat hammering wildly in your chest cavity - pumping courage into your veins, preparing you for what is about to happen. 

He’s not helping you, he’s not stopping this. You realise that he’s heinously a part of it. Tears well in your eyes, threatening to blind you and it feels like every bone in your body has snapped.

Dave shunts his cock into you so hard, that the table screeches and jostles forward against the floor. Frankie slaps his palms down so that he isn't crushed in the gut by it. 

"Shit! Never knew ya had it in ya, Yorkie-boy." Joel remarks with an impressed grin. 

"Fuck you, Joel." Dave pants from behind you. 

He’s not gentle as he drills in, pushing himself into the deepest parts of you he can reach as he fucks you. Your pussy welcomes him in, sucking around him, despite your body clenching initially.

Slowly, you’re unfurling, you’re taking it, taking him, whether you want to or not. Your mind is still trying to figure that part out.

He’s packing you out and filling you to the brim as he surges into a vile, hypnotic rhythm. You’re gasping around the glove; groaning and moaning as your body performs the ultimate betrayal against you, and starts to unwillingly peak. 

“Mmph, nufffph…” You lament helplessly around the suffocating glove. 

"Look at this slut, coming already. Barely fucked you, sweetheart and you're coming all over me!" Dave cajoles as though he's unimpressed. 

"His cock feel too good in ya, honey?" Joel asks, stroking at your sweat laden face.

You whine, unable to speak with the glove still stuffed in your orifice.

"Oh, I know, darlin'. Let's get that out, shall we?" Joel reaches for the leather and slowly pulls it out of your stretched, dry mouth. "That better?"

You nod, licking around your taut gums. "Uh-huuuah…" You groan as your back tenses and your body arches.

Dave pistons in deep, grabbing a hold of the meat of your hips with sharp, tight fingers. You can already feel the bruises forming as he squeezes around your malleable flesh. 

Joel smiles, grabbing at your jaw, squeezing it tightly in a binding crush of his fingers and stubby thumb. "Tell me how good it feels with Dave’s cock in ya cunt." 

"G-goo-ood." You whimper, snottily. You say it to appease him; it’s what he wants to hear, but Dave’s hitting those spots inside you that creep up your shoulders and whisper in your ear that it does, in fact, feel good.

Your muscles are tense all over your body making you feel like lead, but that building heat is melting it all away until you’re a boiling, metallic liquid running off the table to melt Joel’s boots. 

"Just good?” Joel frowns. “Ya can do better than that. He’s giving it to ya hard, honey n’ you’re telling me it’s just good?” He shakes his head disapprovingly. 

"S-so goo-ood…" you stutter, your words being forced out of your larynx with every brutal thrust Dave gives you as he riles and growls behind you.

"Tell him it's the best fucking cock ya've ever had." Joel prompts with a controlled voice. 

"It's t-the best cock… I've ever ha-haad." You hiccup through your wails.

Dave continues to pummell you. You can't take it anymore, it begins to hurt as he nudges against your cervix like a battering ram. It begins to charge and stew. It begins to turn you out, kicking and screaming by the ankles as your fingertips fizz and your eyes roll back into your skull as though possessed by the emergence of another haunting orgasm, only this time stronger than the last.

It's burning, licking all over your skin and melting you. He's taking from you, owning you. 

And it feels oh so fucking good.

"Oh God, oh fuck!" You cry. “Please! Fuck, yes!” You’re babbling; possessed by the inucubus-like demons that twist and trick and convince you that you want this as they lick at your ear. That somewhere, in the back of your mind, this has always been a dark fantasy that you’ve been reluctant to walk the path of.

You can feel the drool from your mouth pool on the table under you, sticking to your cheek like syrup. 

Joel slaps your face and it stings you back to reality for a second. "Louder darlin'!"

"It's the… aaah-ha! Oh God! The-best-fucking-cock-I've-ever-fucking-had! Aaahh! Fuuuuuck!" You wail as Dave snaps his hips into you and you fold completely in half. 

You're shaking and can't seem to stop, Dave's dastardly grunts filling your ears as you squeeze and flood him. "That's it baby, soak my cock. Just like that you little slut." 

"Ohh. Frankie. Man. That's gotta hurt." Joel snorts as he lets your face go and it falls back against the table with a heavy thunk. You've no energy to keep it up right now as you succumb to Dave’s cock tearing you open whilst your bones dissolve. 

Frankie purses his lips as Joel stands up with a smirk tossed at him. The two men watching you as Dave brutally gives you a pounding that feels like it’ll never let up.

And you kinda don’t want it to. 

“Enjoying the show, boys?” Dave pants around a wheezed laugh. 

He reaches forward and pulls at your hair again, snapping your neck up, your spine bending backwards on itself like a screwed up question mark, as he holds you there in a warped contortion and your body can only take it. 

It shouldn’t feel like this, it shouldn’t feel good and devouring. You should be repulsed, you should be frightened with how he's invaded you. You should be doing everything you can to fight him off. 

But you don’t want to.

You want him to snap your spine in half and eat your insides. You want Dave to annihilate you and pulverise your body into ashy dust. You want him to make you come again. 

“Watch me break your girl in half, Frank.” Dave croons evilly, as if able to read your thoughts. 

“Oh god... fuck... please!" Even your mouth betrays you now, begging him for more. "Dave! Pleasepleaseplease…"

But somehow your cries and begging him only make your orgasm that much more intense. And while he laughs, while they all laugh at you being railed on the dining table, deep derisive chuckles at your utter humiliation by Dave’s hands, you come again right on top of the other; your entire body shaking and trembling as you’re being exorcised of any reluctant demons left inside you.

You want this. You want them all to have their fill and to fill you up. You want to be tossed around and shared by them all. Left muddied and stained. 

"Daaaaaave!" You wail.

“That’s it, scream for me! I fucking love it when little sluts scream. Little sluts who scream like they don't want this cock buried in their cunt." Dave grunts into your scalp and he’s all teeth. 

You’re completely out of breath. Your body is caving into him as he ruts and fucks you harder, deeper and without any intention of stopping soon.

You’re starting to believe it when he said he’d always wanted to do this, always wanted to fuck you. And now that he his, it's more terrifying and wonderful than what you could have imagined. 

You can feel him speed up, really giving you his all, as his breathing starts to wane. His thighs are constant thuds against your ass cheeks, so much so that you imagine the skin between you is now one.

“Fuck!” He yells out. 

When Dave comes, it’s like he’s howling at the moon; turning himself around his bones and sinew as he pants and wheezes like an animal with bloodied carcass strings hanging around his teeth.

You feel him pump into you, his thighs buckling and his hands releasing your hair from around his grip; you feel like you’ve been scalped. 

He lets go of you completely, tossing your used body onto the tabletop like garbage, as his cock slips out and you can feel his come pooling at your entrance. You inadvertently squeeze to stop it sluicing down your thighs as your panting subsides.

You’re dizzy, you’re seeing spots in your vision as you try to remember how to breathe. 

You’re given no remission; Joel’s there immediately as Dave steps back, catching you before you slide off the table into a heap as your legs finally give way. 

“I got ya, darlin’.” He scoops you up into his strong arms with ease, and carries you through to the lounge. 

Joel makes his way with you in his arms; his heavy boots crunching in some of the popcorn spilt on the floor in your earlier fright from Frankie that you'd missed clearing up.

He sits on the sofa, cradling you in his wide lap and stroking through your hair gently. Your arms are aching, feeling like they're on fire as your wrists are still lashed together tightly behind your back. 

You look up, in a heady stupor, to see Frankie still watching from the dining table with a blank, unreadable face and dark eyes, and Dave pouring a glass of water and gulping it back, clearing his throat, naked from the waist down and puffing out his cheeks that are pink with the exertion. His face shines with sweat. 

“Let’s get these off ya, darlin’,” Joel says. 

He pulls a switchblade from his back pocket and you flinch as the blade flicks open. He waves it under your eyelashes and you tense. 

“M’gonna cut ya free. Ya try anythin’ and I’ll slide this into your belly, y’hear me?” He pinches the fat of your stomach under the flaps of your pyjama shirt to emphasise the point. 

You nod frantically as he cuts the cable ties from your wrists. 

Tucking the knife away, he brings your hands around to your front and massages the feeling slowly back into them. They have purple rings around them that itch and weep from raw blisters. 

He brings your wrists to his lips and presses gentle kisses over the broken skin whilst holding eye contact with you.

An urge surges through your fingertips; you feel compelled to stroke through his curls, feel him nuzzle into you at his gentle nature. Run your nose over his facial scruff and see if it smells different from Frankie’s. 

But you don’t, he keeps your twitching hands firmly in his own as he kisses delicately, runs his soothing tongue around the welts. 

“Better?” Joel asks you after a few minutes. 

You nod as he pushes your knotted hair behind your ears.

“Alright, darlin’. Lay back. M’gonna fuck ya now.” 

"Please-" you start in a weak protest. Your body isn;t ready for another pounding yet.

"Shut up. Ya gonna take what I give ya like a good girl." He menaces in the same gentle tone, which is unnerving as it is heated. “In fact, let’s get you down here. Can splay ya out. S’better.”

Joel picks you up like you weigh nothing and lays you on the wooden floor, pushing the coffee table out of the way with his other hand effortlessly. It creaks across the wooden floor.

His foreboding, giant hands grip either side of your pyjama shirt lapels and wrenches it open with a quick yank; the buttons tearing and popping off, some never to be found again.

"Fuck," Joel groans as your breasts spill out at him. He leans forward over you, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking on it, pulling on it with his teeth and making you hiss. 

"Such a nice pair, darlin'. Jesus." He gruffs tonguing around your nipple as it hardens in his mouth. He runs his mouth across the valley and peaks of your breasts, his tongue lavishing attention around those stiff nipples that he teases.

You feel him bite down on the meat of the left one and you hiss as he sucks the skin in around his teeth ferociously. He rises up when he’s left a purple mark. “Something for ya to remember me by,” he says. 

Your eyes water, yet you groan in response to his biting, and shut them as he leaves another mark on your sternum. You feel a sharp sting across your cheeks; you open them again in shock.

"Eyes on me." Joel warns. "Want you to watch me turn ya out." 

“Please, Joel…” You whine, trying to resist him and the way he can simply knead and spread you about with ease like you’re a pliable plasticine doll. But your body is too strung out from Dave’s gruelling punishment. It has no fight left in it.

You try to close your legs, but Joel’s too strong. He wrenches them apart with a simple shove of his hands making your thigh bones crack: his stocky body filling the gap and stopping you from shutting them again as he slots in between like a giant cinder block.

"Don't act like ya don't want me inside ya. I know you've been thinkin' 'bout me doing this to ya. You're a fuckin' tease." 

Joel's always been big. With his broad shoulders and biceps that often strain under his plaid shirts, he's the quieter one of the three of them, the softer one.

A gentle giant that would always come to your aid if you needed him. And he knows how to grill a mean steak when he invites you and Frankie over for barbecues and he makes for the perfect, gracious host. 

But tonight, he's showing you a side of him you never thought could exist. A side of him that's turning you on explicitly, despite the creeping exhaustion and pursed reluctance.

Joel's a Texan gentleman through and through. But tonight, he's a wild fucking animal. 

“Y'gonna hold ya girl steady for me, Frankie? Squirmy lil' thing ain’t she?" Joel grunts as he unbuckles his belt. 

Momentarily, you feel Frankie lifting your head into his lap and securing your arms above your head as you wriggle and headbutt against his thighs. “Don’t fight it, hermosa.” He warns. 

"Gon' make a mess of ya, darlin'," Joel smirks as he shuffles his jeans off and you spy his ominous cock; massively hard and dripping. It's huge, almost comically so, and you gulp. 

Fuck!

"Ya ever had a cock this big before? Gon' break ya open." Joel spits into his palm and smears it all around his fat head as he pumps himself. 

You gasp; a deep guttural howl transmorphing into a silent scream as Joel pushes the head of his engorged cock against your hole and begins stretching you out.

"Oh God… so fuckin’ tight. Ya didn't tell me how good this would be, Frankie." Joel groans through a slack jaw. "Ya can't be keeping this pussy to yourself. That ain't fair." 

You hear Dave snicker in agreement above you as he repositions himself on the couch to get a better view of your plight. 

“Oh fuck…” You cry out as Joel continues to push in further.

Frankie's cock was big, he often left a delicious ache deep inside you for days after. Even Dave's cock you'd feel bruising around your insides in the morning. But Joel? Fuck, Joel wasn't joking when he said he'd break you open.

It burns and sears and you feel so full despite him not being all the way in yet.   

"Fuck Joel, you're… it's too much. I can't-" You protest, shaking your head and screwing up your eyes.

"Suck it up." He grunts as he pushes his hips further into yours. 

"Take it," Frankie grizzles, as you try to thrash against his hands, pinning your arms down. Your whole body feels full of Joel as he finally stills; his full, fat length buried inside you and you can feel yourself rib and pulse around him, already on the cusp of falling apart. You're whimpering and shaking already.

"Well look at that, seems ya can take me after all, sweetheart." Joel smirks, the crest of his hips now pressed flush against yours. The weight of him crushing you somewhat. He looms over you, his gigantic palms flat on the floor by your head. 

"Please move," you whimper around grinding your teeth. “Oh God, Joel, you’re too fucking big-”

"What's that, darlin'? Ya begging me to fuck ya now?" Joel chuckles. "Ya girl's really greedy for cock, Frankie." 

“Fuck her,” Dave encourages. 

Joel pulls backwards and slams forward into you with a hard shunt. "There we go." 

"FUCK!" You wail, water blinding your eyes as they mist over. You feel him; one quick, hard shunt of his cock inside of you and you gasp at the full invading breach as he bottoms out.

Although it feels like he’s ripped right through your back. 

He does it again and your breath is pumped out of your lungs into the air above you as you flounder, trying to suck it all back in. 

Joel's large paws grab at your hips as he kneels up and steadies himself into a brutal pace, rattling your bones with each powerful thrust. 

Your hands squeeze into fists and you glance up at Frankie; a poised smirk over his upside down features, a few renegade curls falling into his face, watching Joel's thick cock hammer into you. 

Joel's grunts fill your senses, mesmerised by the way he looks down to see himself pull back and admire how wet his cock is with you before he raises his eyebrow up and smirks accomplished. “Greasin’ me up good, darlin’.”

“Joel!” You wail as he slams on in again. You’re just a body for him to fuck, a toy for him to twist out of shape and break apart. “Oh fuck, please, nuuaaaahhh!"

Your gasps and cries are soon silenced by Dave straddling your face and planting his heavy balls into your mouth. "Shut up and suck." He commands.

He strokes his now hard cock again, and groans as you’re forced to suck whilst Joel continues to annihilate your cunt. 

Dave smirks at Frankie who’s still pinning your wrists in place. 

You look up at them both, staring into one another as Dave jerks his cock and Frankie holds his eye contact with flared nostrils.

Dave grips onto Frankie's shoulder with a heavy clap. He growls whilst you suck on his balls that have completely filled your mouth, squeaking around them as Joel forcefully pulls another orgasm from you. 

Frankie rests his forehead against Dave's as he groans, fucking into his own fist. 

You see Frankie's lips twitch, whispering to him, but you can't hear anything over your own muffled squeaks and Joel's rabid panting.

You think you lipread Frankie telling Dave to come. To come for him, and that thought alone makes you surge and cry out as you release all over Joel's cock uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, Joel is destroying your cunt as he thrusts deep and with intent on making you feel it; feel him with every shunt that leaves you gasping for oxygen as it's pushed out of you by his dick. There's simply no room in your body for both. 

Your squeaking around Dave's balls reaches a fever pitch and the humming against them only makes him grunt and growl heavier. 

His grip on Frankie's shoulder tightens, screwing up his t-shirt as he pumps his cock faster. He tenses and you feel his balls lurch in your mouth as he spurts ropes of thick ejaculate all over Frankie's denim clad thighs. 

He hoists himself off of you, panting and sitting back on the couch. "Clean him up," Dave instructs you with a click of his fingers. 

Joel pulls out of you and flips you over onto all fours and ploughs back in as you shakily get to licking Dave's come off of Frankie's jeans. 

"Good slut," Dave praises as he sits back on the couch, his arm slung over his face and breathes deeply. 

You feel Joel pry apart your ass cheeks. You feel a wet globule of his spit on your ass and you flinch at it, feeling it cool and sloppy as he rubs his thick fingers around it, teasing your puckered hole.

You then feel Joel's thumb stretch through your rim. You instinctively clench and he growls. 

"Clench and it's gon' hurt. I'll make sure of it." He smacks your ass as you yelp from the sting.

"Relax, hermosa," Frankie instructs, grabbing hold of your face and focusing your attention on him.

You shake your head frantically; the thought of Joel’s cock ploughing in your ass fills you with utter dread and horror. “No,” you implore Frankie with wide eyes. 

“I said, relax.” Frankie says squeezing your cheek bones tightly. You can feel Joel twisting his thumb deeply in your hole.

 A dewdrop of Dave’s come is smeared on your cheek and Frankie scoops it onto his finger and holds it out to you. He hisses, biting his lip as you suck it off, eyeing him the whole time.  

"You're such a good fucking whore for us, aren't you, baby? Quieres esto tan mala, ¿verdad?" Frankie nods encouragingly as you fall under his dark spell. You feel his own thumbs stroke at the sides of your face now as you pant and whine. 

"Yeah…" you nod too, straining not to clench as Joel's thick thumb hooks fully into your ass. 

"There we go, snug as a bug, darlin'." He emits a chuckle that seems to grab at you and shake you with its eerie, sadistic violence.

“Does ya girl squirt Frankie?” Joel asks as you inadvertently start pushing back against him as he fucks you more laboured now.

Frankie chuckles and nods. “Just gotta know the right place to stroke.” He looks back at your face in his hands, sweaty and panting. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

Joel nods in agreement. “I reckon you can squirt for me, darlin’.”

“She can. Let me get some of that pussy.” Frankie says, highly enthused at the prospect. 

Joel pulls out and rolls you on your back as you collapse into the floor. You can see Dave sitting forward, elbows on his knees and watching you intently with those dark eyes. You reach around his ankle and tug gently and whine and he responds to your wanting.

He slips down and slides behind you, propping you up, groping and massaging your breasts.

You catch the glimmer of his wedding band as his hands work your tits and you can only wonder at what Carol is assuming he’s doing this evening.

Those thoughts are cut short as Joel kneels up, slipping his thick cock back inside you, and Frankie lays down beside him on his stomach and starts sucking on your clit. 

You whine, watching intently as Joel’s hand comes down on the back of Frankie’s head, sifting through his curls and groans. His mouth is practically on Joel's cock too, and it does something to you as your body fizzes in response to the delicious sight of it. 

“Fuck!” You cry out, biting down on your lip. 

The pressure on your clit and the way Joel hits that spot deep inside you just right starts to build in your body. It all centres, gathering deep in the pit of your core as the warmth starts to choke you up.

You feel it tightening, bunching. Your toes start to curl, your fingers crack. Your back lifts and arches of its own volition and your thighs shake and stiffen.

You feel a pull, a heavy sensation as you bear down. The pressure mounting, pushing… You see those phosphenes glimmer at you as you close your eyes.

You can hear Dave’s snarls close to your ear, feel his fingers tugging on your nipples. Feel Frankie’s skilled tongue drawing those fast, dizzying circles on your clit. Feel Joel hitting that spot again and again that’s going to annihilate you imminently.

They're everywhere, they're all over you.

Your climax is almost violent; you buck and shudder as you release the pressure, always feeling for a split second like you'll pee, but don't.

You're gushing loudly, and uncontrollably, over Joel’s cock and Frankie’s lips. It bears down again, that weight inside of you erupting as you release. Frankie laps it up like a starving animal as it soaks his scruff. It feels like you’ll never stop. 

“Holy shit!” Dave remarks with a smirk watching you squirt. He squeezes your tits together as you place your hands over his and giggle deliriously. He squeezes your fingers around his. 

The combination of having Joel’s thick cock in your pussy, while receiving a tongue fucking from Frankie makes for a most lewd and unabashed scene whilst your head thrashes against’s Dave chest as he chuckles just as bewildered by it as you are.

You can’t believe it, your cunt is absolutely gushing as the three of them work in tandem to completely destroy you. And you’re loving it. 

Frankie licks his lips that are dripping as he rises up, the collar of his t-shirt is soaked, and Joel grabs a hold of you and fucks harder, quicker. More determined as he nears his own release. 

“Joel!” You wail as you squeeze against Dave’s fingers, feeling like you could crush them.

Finally, Joel comes roaring like an animal, and pumps himself liberally inside of you. 

"Fill her up now, Frankie.” Joel nods with a puff as he pulls out.

The mess that is over the wooden floor between your legs is obscene.

Frankie pulls off his Levi’s, runs a hand through his messy hair, and crawls over you.

"Who's pussy is this?" He asks slipping a finger side of you and feeling the spend of both his friends in there, warm and silken.

"Yours," you whimper.

"Really? I think you need reminding, hermosa. Seeing as you've been such a fucking slut tonight, hmm?"

"Frankie..." you whine as he pulls you forward towards him. He lines himself up with your pussy, pushing in.

"Aah!" You groan.

“Fuck, Joel stretched you nice and good, baby. Shit. You feel loosened up.” He growls thrusting hard and fast. You can only clutch onto him, only whine and groan as Frankie gives you his all.

"My pussy. My fucking pussy." Frankie seethes at you, hips snapping furiously into you. He pants, growls. Garbled Spanish and English flows from his lips as he pummels you.

He finishes inside of you quickly, too riled up from this whole scene to not bust a nut quickly. 

“Got all three of us in that slutty pussy now, don't you?" Dave taunts.

“Which one of our kids ya gon’ have?” Joel smirks as he pats your tummy gently. “Cunt’s filled to the brim.”

The three of them dazzle you, utterly fucking you up. Working together like a team; a gang of insidious spectres dominating and taking their turns with you.

And you fucking love every single second of it. 

After Frankie fills you, Joel pulls apart your legs to watch the cream pie spilling out of you. 

He runs his fingers through it, pushing it back inside you. He then brings them to your face, Dave holding onto your jaw and bringing it forward towards Joel's drenched digits. He rubs them over your lips. "Lick ‘em clean. Taste all of us." 

They all watch with praise and smirks as your tongue moves out tentatively, licking the salty cream from Joel’s fingers until he finally pushes them in your mouth.

Your lips wrap around them tightly as you suck them like you would Frankie's cock.

“Mmm,” you whine, giggling. "You all taste good."

Dave chuckles behind you and Frankie laughs, his chin leaning on Joel’s broad shoulder.

“Good slut,” Dave praises in your ear.

You lay there in a crumpled heap, gradually gathering your thoughts; striving to understand and come to terms with what has happened this spooky evening. 

But initially you’re still too confused, still swimming in a blissed out fracture of reality bobbing along the surface of a choppy existence.

Baffling questions bloom and wilt quickly as you have no answers to appease the turmoil of embarrassment, shame… of pure unadulterated pleasure. 

You can hear the shrill echoes of the guys in the hall, dressed and murmuring with Frankie. You can't hear much, the ringing in your ears from your body being mauled and torn at still hums, but you think you can make out Joel saying something. 

She’s a good sport… Hope she liked it.

Take care of her tonight. Dave adds. 

Ya still coming over Sunday, for the game? Joel checks.

You feel like you zone out for a while, only coming to when Frankie stands above you, towering and looming; his presence breaking the barriers of your heavy consciousness.

The look on his face is unreadable, impenetrable. 

You peep up at him from behind the scraggy mess of your knotted hair, your scalp still aching from how hard Dave had tugged on it. 

"I can't believe you did it." You grin, the concealed violence of this night escaping through your teeth into blissed satisfaction.

Frankie’s cool look instantly melts into a warm sunbeam. "Was it what you wanted, querida?" He asks, crouching down, knuckles running against your leg affectionately.

You nod. "It was better than I could have imagined. Creepy. But so fucking good." You smirk dreamily. "I really got into it."

He smiles accomplished, a faint blush of pink creeping under his eyes and in the crinkles there as he grins. "Good. How are you feeling, you a little sore?"

"My whole body feels like I've been tackled. I think Joel broke me." You start laughing as your pussy flinches in horror at the recall of him stretching you wider than you've ever been. 

"He's a big guy." Frankie chortles. 

"You're telling me. Jesus." You reach down and cup your battered pussy. 

"Come on. I'll run you a bath." Frankie scoops you up in his arms and carries you up to the bathroom.

You plant a delicate smooch on the side of his golden neck. “Thank you for this,” you murmur. 

“Cualquier cosa por ti, mi amor.” He runs his soft scruff against your cheek as he navigates the stairs. You can smell your cunt in it and you smile. 

He gets in the bath with you, pulling you back against his soft belly and soaping your body down with a hot washcloth. Your wrists are still purple; he smiles insidiously, feeling a rush through his cock at the decay of them.

"Did you enjoy it?" You query as his soapy fingers interlock with yours and you feel his breath cool against the shell of your ear. 

"I loved every second of it," he assures. 

"No jealousy?"

"None at all. I trust them. We discussed it in length. I told them anything goes, but no kissing you on the mouth and they respected that. It's all good."

You nod and mull it over, enjoying the hot water soothing the embryonic bruises you know will gestate overnight on your skin. You glance down at the purple bites Joel left on you. You press on one enjoying the masochistic flare for a few moments. 

You think back to so many things, but then you remember Dave and Frankie and that intimate moment you witnessed where Frankie was whispering to him. 

"Have you guys… ever done stuff together?"

"No. No, never." He says. “First time. For all of us actually.”

You nod, admittedly feeling a little swell of disappointment. But it’s washed away by the thought that perhaps they’ll be up for it again, one day.

"Well, this is going to make poker nights interesting now, hmm?" 

You feel his chest vibrate against your back as he laughs. "Yeah." 

"Dave is just… an animal!" You exclaim chuckling.

"Poor Carol." Frankie says, and you both start laughing and find you can't stop for a little while.

You both stay in the water until it starts to cool and the bubbles have all gone, just enjoying Frankie noodling and fussing over you, and relishing how lucky you are as he wraps his wet arms around you, and you could happily drown in the bath water.

It's late; the dawn is on the cusp of rising on the first day in November and you watch as Frankie climbs into the sheets, naked as the day God created him with golden tan skin, pulling you back against his body that moulds itself around yours like warm putty. 

His thumb draws gentle circles on your navel as he buries his face into the nape of your neck. You reach for your phone, previously plugging the charger back into the wall.

“Did you do something to the power?” You query.

He chuckles. “Yeah. I switched off the breaker. Joel must’ve reset it when they left.” He yawns. 

“You guys thought of everything.” You smile. 

"We were in the house for a while. You were asleep." You hear him smirk into you skin.

You smile. You see a message that had come through whilst your phone was off, from Frankie, and click it open.

It's a selfie of Frankie, Joel and Dave outside on the porch with the Halloween masks on, possibly taken moments before they stormed the house. 

Underneath is a message typed out:

You smirk as Frankie stirs behind you, rubbing your back, and you put your phone back on the table and rollover into his arms.  

The light from your phone stays illuminated on your previous message thread with Frankie:

“I love you,” you murmur into his skin as you settle, closing your eyes. You plant a couple of small kisses on his chest.

"Yo tambien te amo, hermosa." Frankie whispers, his fingers dancing slowly in your hair as you finally drift off into an exhausted sleep inside of the Devil’s arms. 

I really hope you got a spooky kick out this story. I'd love to know your thoughts and I hope you enjoyed reading it on this Halloween Fright Night. 🖤🎃

🎃 Re-blogs & comments fuel me! TY!💀

MASTERLIST

#joel miller #dave york #frankie 'catfish' morales #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #dave york x f!reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw dark #jett's pedro boys #jett's writing #happy halloween #fright night #joel miller tlou #dave york equalizer 2 #triple frontier frankie #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat

[toomuchracket]

and this is how it starts (flatmate!matty x reader smut)

this is quite literally day 1 of the relationship. like, condom-gate was mere hours ago lmao. also, someone said just thinking about flatmate matty and girlie literally just after condom gate and they're sitting on the couch and she's just kissing his neck and making out and he gets all flustered n floaty cos he's waited for this for so long 😕 maybe she teases him for getting hard so quickly and it's just sweet, i love them <3 so it's a bit of that too. enjoy <3

matty's not totally sold on the idea of there being a heaven, but his reasoning against it is weakening with every passing second. after all, what else could the situation he's in right now be, sprawled on the living room sofa with you on his lap and your lips connected? there's no other way of describing it.

he doesn't give a shit about description right now, though. or responsibility, or even time itself. all matty cares about is kissing you, softly moving his hands to rest in previously uncharted places on your body, and getting you to make those little whimpers that draw all the blood from his brain and redirect it to his dick. your hands weave into each other's hair, and an instinctive tug from matty has you pulling back and whining his name. he goes to pout at the removal of your lips from his own, but then you grind down harder onto him and drop your head into the crook of his neck; your lips meet the soft skin of matty's neck, and he can't stop the gasp that rips from his throat (or the hardening in his sweatpants).

holy fuck. in the many (many) dreams matty’s had about your lips, not once has he ever dreamt about them in this location. 

what a twat he is.

another choked noise leaves his mouth as your tongue joins the party, and yet another follows when you moan into his skin at the way he clutches desperately at your hips. before he knows it, you're kissing him again, licking into his mouth with such intensity he's half-convinced you're trying to eat him. and he'd let you - his brain and heart have already been consumed by you, after all. why not let you devour him completely?

your teeth sink into matty's lower lip as if you might, and he whines; you giggle against him, and switch your lips back to his neck before repeating the bite, albeit softer on the delicate skin, pulling another wanton moan from him. the pain turns to pleasure in his nerves and ricochets throughout his body so hard that he feels his dick jump, despite the haze of pleasure clouding his senses and brain capacity.

judging by the way you gasp and grind down impossibly further onto your boyfriend, you feel it too. he's aware of your lips peeling from him, and then suddenly your beautiful face appears in his eyeline - your eyes and hair are wild, your lips are swollen from, well, use, and you've never looked more enticing than now. then you smile, and matty has to retract his previous statement. “i didn't know you were so into neck kissing, matthew.”

he's not sure if it's the use of his full name (chiding, teasing, patronising) or the glint in your eye (seldom seen, slightly manic, so fucking flirty) that does it, but matty feels his cheeks flood with colour and heat. you lightly run your thumb across one with a satisfied hum, and matty momentarily forgets how to breathe; when the palm of your hand brushes his throat on its way down to rest on his chest, he almost shuts down completely. but he quickly recovers enough to speak shyly. “isn’t everyone?”

“yeah, but, baby,” you roll your hips slowly against his, groaning quietly as you do, and whisper directly in his ear. “it just got you so fucking hard.”

christ.

matty says as much as he throws his head back against the sofa, and you giggle. he cracks one eye open to look at you, all happiness-glowy and dishevelled in his t-shirt, and he can't help but smile bashfully. “don’t take the piss, sweetheart.”

“i'm not!” you laugh, then smirk. “well, maybe a little bit.”

“fucking knew it,” matty lightly smacks your ass, grabbing the soft flesh and using it as leverage to rock your hips against his. “mocking me for a normal reaction to a kiss in an erogenous zone, you minx.”

“ooh, big word.”

“i’ll smack you again, i mean it.”

“do your worst,” you grin, circling your hips. “although i'll be surprised if you can focus with that - oh, fuck,” your voice trails off into a moan as matty grins and latches his lips onto your neck, sucking a bruise into the lightly-perfumed skin and soothing it with his tongue.

he smirks as he pulls back to admire his work; for all he's dreamed about marking you up as his like this, nothing comes even remotely close to the real thing. “seems to me like someone can't take it as well as she can give it,” matty coos, cupping your jaw and running his thumb over your pouty lips. “that right, baby?”

without breaking eye contact, you flick your tongue against the pad of his thumb - when you hear matty's breath hitch, you slowly slide your lips onto the digit, down to the knuckle, tongue still flicking around it. he swears under his breath, dick harder than he thinks it's ever been, other hand clutching so hard at your ass that he wouldn't be surprised if it bruised. somewhere deep in matty’s mind, there's a little part of him wracked with guilt at the thought of hurting you, sweet, beautiful you, but that part is far overshadowed by just how badly he wants to be inside you right now.

thankfully, you seem to want that too; you release his thumb with a pop and a connecting string of spit, and look doe-eyed at him. he’s not sure if he's ever seen anything so erotic on his life.“no. i can take it, matty.”

something shifts in the air when you say that - it's as if the molecules have gotten heavier, dropping a delicious tension into the atmosphere and knocking all flirty banter to the ground. you're so close he can see himself reflected amidst the desire in your eyes. so close that your breath mingles with his own, hot in the crisp autumn air. so close, and, for the first time, so available for him to touch.

and, god, does he want to touch you.

“you can take it?” matty asks, caressing your cheek and smiling when you nod. “now?”

“please.”

matty groans. “you'll kill me, sweetheart,” he quickly kisses you, smiling into your lips when you moan. “let me take you to bed and you can show me how well you take it, yeah?”

you pout. “wanna stay here.”

“so do i. but we need to go and get a condom, darlin.”

“don't worry,” you lean back slightly and pull the t-shirt over your head in a way matty can only liken to unwrapping a present; he swears when he sees the lacy black bra you're wearing, your tits threatening to spill over its scalloped trim. when you see him looking at your chest, you grin. “like my bra?”

“very much.”

“good. been saving it for you - you know, in case we ever… got to this stage in our relationship.”

matty blinks as the realisation settles in his mind and body. he's so turned on it's almost painful. “really? fuck, baby, that's so hot.”

you shrug bashfully. “got a whole drawer full of pretty underwear i only want you to see. been thinking about this for a while. which reminds me,” you reach into your bra and pull out a small foil square, and hold it up triumphantly. “no need to go to bed!”

matty laughs slightly deliriously. “you had a condom down your bra the whole time? fuck, you really want me, don't you?”

“on this couch, specifically,” you lean in to softly kiss his neck again, then drag your tongue up to whisper in his ear. “dreamt about riding you on it since the day i moved in.”

shit.

his hips buck up at the mere thought, eliciting whines from both of you. “wanna make your dream come true - need it, darlin, need you.”

“fuck,” your hands scramble to pull matty's t-shirt over his head, then pull his face to your own for a searing kiss. it doesn't last long, though, with you soon pulling back to guide matty's hands to the clasp of your bra; he catches on to your ideas quickly, undoing the thing with ease and sliding the bra from your body, while you clumsily balance on one knee at a time to get your panties off. matty huffs out a laugh when you roll your eyes and leave the underwear to dangle on your left calf, and you smile and wrap your arms around his neck. “what?”

“nothing, you're just cute - sit up for me, darlin, so i can lift my hips, thanks,” he replies, shimmying his sweatpants down with a shit-eating grin. “so impatient to fuck me that you can't even properly take your underwear off.”

you raise your eyebrows and tear the condom packet open with your teeth. matty feels his eyes roll back into his head when you finally touch him, pumping his dick three times before rolling the condom onto him - you hum happily at the weight of him in your soft hand. “i don't think i'm the impatient one here, babe.”

you're not wrong. still, disagreeing gives him a perfect excuse to rile you up with a touch, too. “no?” matty tilts his head, sliding a hand across your thigh and between your legs; before you can react, he slides a finger along your slit, catching the sticky arousal and dipping into your dripping cunt. your reaction - a shaky whimper - is incredible, almost as incredible as matty's realisation that it’s him who got you into this state. “oh, baby.”

he smiles when you whine his name, but it drops in favour of a gasp when you replace his finger in your folds with the head of his dick. without breaking eye contact, you gasp too. “matty, can i…?”

“please, angel,” matty moans, hands trailing up to squeeze your tits before returning home to your hips. “put me inside.”

“okay,” you all but whisper. a beautiful smile crosses your face, the sun breaking through clouds. “i love you.”

the way you say that, so giddy… matty thinks his heart could honestly burst. he gently cups your jaw with both hands. “i love you too.”

you giggle, and matty feels your cheeks heat up. “i'm glad i get to love you openly now.”

“me too, darlin,” matty kisses you slowly, passionately, but so sweetly; he wants you to be able to feel how much he loves you through his lips. he pulls back just enough to speak clearly, foreheads still touching. “wanna be even closer to you.”

“hold my hips, then, please,” you murmur against him, smiling and kissing him again when he obliges. shuffling around on your knees for a second, you line matty up with yourself, and slowly begin to sink down onto him. the feeling is mind-blowing for both of you, it seems - matty makes a choked groan at how tight you are, and you whimper as he stretches you further with every bit of him you slowly take. “matty.”

he responds with a moan of your name, rubbing soothing circles into your hips while you take him to the hilt with a series of dazed blinks. despite the pleasure already clouding his brain, matty touches your face in concern. “you feeling alright, darlin?”

“yeah. just full.”

“need a second?”

you nod. “sorry, baby.”

“no, not at all. feels amazing like this, anyway,” he strokes your cheek, relishing the way you melt into his touch. “knew you'd look fucking gorgeous on top.”

at that, you clench around him - he's not even sure you're aware of it, but he has to focus very hard on keeping himself from moving inside you - and speak again. “have you thought about this a lot?”

matty nods, trailing his hand down to your chest. “oh yeah.”

“so have i,” you smile, humming contentedly when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger - when he leans forward to take the bud into his mouth, you whine. “fuck, can i move now?”

“yeah,” matty moans around your tit, before pulling away and leaning back against the sofa. “ride me, angel.”

the sentence hasn't even fully left his mouth before you're obliging; the words trail into a raspy groan as you slowly pull yourself up and sink back down. his eyes want to close from the overwhelming pleasure of you fucking him, but he keeps them open because the sight of you like this is too incredible to miss even a second of. matty has no idea how many times he's dreamt of you doing exactly this to him, alone in his bedroom or hotel or tour bus bathroom, but every single fantasy pales in comparison to the real thing. after all, he couldn't have imagined the way your jaw trembles and your eyelids flutter every time he bottoms out inside you, sending an accomplishment high through his body that makes him feel better than any substance he's ever tried.

he has imagined the way your tits would bounce as you speed up your own bouncing on him. again, though, reality is so much better - not once in his dreams did you whine a plea while he tentatively touched them, or cry his name and clench around him in response to him pinching your nipples. the slight pain spurs you on, makes your hips move faster and wilder and matty's contract in pleasure, and he makes a mental note to remember the effect it has on you for future reference. 

like he'd ever forget any of this. matty’s never felt so good in his fucking life.

when he tells you as much, you beam, and speed up yet again. oh. matty smirks as best he can through the intense pleasure. “you like it when i tell you how good you are, darlin?”

“mhmm,” you nod shyly, adorably incongruous with the way you're slamming your hips down to meet matty's. “wanna be perfect for you.”

fuck. “you are, sweetheart. my perfect girl,” matty sits up to kiss you, and you whimper into his mouth at the slight change in angle of him inside you. he smiles, switching his lips to your neck. “what else do you want, gorgeous?”

“want - oh, fuck - want you to touch me,” before matty even has the chance to respond, you suck his right thumb into your mouth again and lead it to your clit. “wanna cum.”

and who the fuck is he to deny you what you want, especially after seven years of also wanting to make you do just that?

“alright, darlin,” matty smiles, jaw dropping at the way you tighten impossibly further around him as he starts working little circles into your clit. “shit, that feels good.”

“yeah?”

he nods. “keep going, angel. actually, just use me to get yourself off. whatever you need to do.”

your eyes widen. “really?”

“really. wanna see you cum for me,” matty lightly bites the inside of your tit. “used to make myself cum thinking about you falling apart on top of me like this.”

a glint of something flickers in your eyes, something matty can't quite name. “so, if i cum,” you breathily begin, still rocking your hips. “you'll cum too?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

you smirk. “alright.”

with that, you brace your arms behind you on matty's thighs, using them as leverage to fuck him as hard as you possibly can. he gasps, nerves beginning to tingle with the orgasm he's been both holding off and craving for a while now, climax creeping closer with every bounce of your hips and tits; he's mesmerised by you, your beautiful body practically shaking above him as you ride your way to ecstasy, and whines of his name and various swear words and “don't stop touching me, please” pouring from your perfect lips.

matty does as he's told, thumb staying put on the bundle of nerves between your thighs. remembering his mental note from earlier, he brings his free hand down on your ass and kisses away the cry you let out on impact. “come on, sweetheart,” he coos against your mouth. “give in. cum for me, my love, let go for me. make me feel good.”

he leans back to look at you - you look utterly fucked, eyes heavy and teary, jaw slack and lips swollen, but you're so beautiful. when you look at him (probably just as fucked-looking, to be honest), you smile sweetly, but it soon drops off your face as you rush ever closer to the precipice of orgasm. “matty,” you whimper, voice cracking from overuse. “i'm gonna cum.”

no four words have ever sounded better to him. matty holds your face with his free hand; you nuzzle into it, and a wave of love washes over him. “do it, angel.”

your head drops onto his shoulder as your hips fall out of rhythm, and you cry into his neck as your body jerks in ecstasy. matty cries, grabbing your ass and leaning back so he can fuck up into your pulsing cunt as his own orgasm hits. he holds you flush against him as he cums into the condom, then lets you gently flop down as you both recover with panting breaths.

matty's so hazy from pleasure that it takes him a minute to register the chaste kisses you're planting on his neck - you lift your head when he giggles breathily, smiling so widely he's sure your face must hurt. “hi matty.”

“hi, baby,” he kisses your nose. “i love you.”

“love you too,” you give him a little smooch. “loved that.”

“fuck, so did i,” matty sighs, grinning at you. “you're really fucking good at that.”

“only cos it's you i was fucking,” you giggle. “my need to make you feel good outweighed the burning in my thighs. would've tapped out, otherwise.”

matty rubs the offending body part. “will you let me take care of you in return, then? after you've endured the pain and climbed off me so i can get rid of the condom, that is.”

you nod, hissing as you pull yourself off matty's dick and flop onto the couch beside him. he kisses you quickly before he stands, slightly shakily, and removes and ties off the condom; you protest when he places it on the coffee table. “matthew!”

“what? i put it on a coaster. and i'm not leaving it there!”

“still! i don't want used condoms on my good coffee table, even if it's us that's used them,” you stare at him for a second, and then collapse into giggles. “new flat rule?”

matty cackles. “all condoms put in the bin immediately after use. right, hold it for a second, then - and don't give me that face, it was inside you!” he sighs as he bends down and scoops you - holding the condom between your thumb and index finger, mildly disgusted - up bridal-style into his arms. your face softens when he kisses your head as he carries you down the hall. “fancy a bath? it'll help your legs.”

“only if you come in with me.”

he hums, nudging the bathroom door open and setting you down on your shaky legs; you chuck the condom in the bin. “i like the sound of that.”

“good,” you lean up to kiss him. “now please leave the room.”

“what? why?”

“because,” you say, turning the bath's hot tap on. “i need to piss. in peace.”

matty pouts overdramatically. “but i don't want to leave you.”

“out, healy,” you point at the door as matty giggles; you kiss his cheek as he leaves, though. “bring a bottle of wine in when you come back?”

“glasses, too? or just share the bottle?”

you scoff. “you were just inside me, and now you're worried i have germs?”

he laughs. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #flatmate!matty #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

[vroomvroomcircuit]

From all four corners of the world comes my love 4 you

(A/N): This has been written with the inspiration @foreveralbon brought me. I love you and your incredibly mind, honey

Summary: Lando's girlfriend is a seamstress working at a tailor shop. She is repairing his clothes, he is cutting holes into his sleeves. Together, they release the cutest merch

Pairing: Lando x fem!reader

Warnings: None, this is so fluffy, I'm crying myself to sleep. I need a Lando like this

Wordcount: 2.9k

🏎Masterlist🏎 __________________________

(Y/N) thinks she is about to go crazy. Manic even.

Over and over again she patches up holes in her boyfriend’s long sleeves.

And over and over again new holes appear. It’s like this is her Sysiphus task. Just repairing Lando’s clothes day in and day out.

Don’t get her wrong. (Y/N) does this for three different reasons.

The first being that she is a seamstress, working in a tailor shop. This craft is how she pays her rent and food.

The second reason is that she really can’t have her boyfriend go out looking like he just got picked up at the side of the road begging for a warm meal and shelter.

The third reason may be less obvious than the previous ones. Acts of services is (Y/N)’s love language. She is not particularly good at letting people around her know of the appreciation she holds for them. Verbally at least. It’s not the way she grew up. She learned that actions speak louder than words can. So patching up her boyfriend’s clothes gives the young woman the opportunity to prove how much she loves him. She just hopes that Lando understands the meaning as it is intended.

Little does (Y/N) know, Lando really appreciates her patching up holes. What he isn’t a big fan of is when she repairs those that are intentional. The ones in his long sleeves are put there on purpose.

While (Y/N) is meticulously sewing, Lando goes snip snip in the other room with a pair of scissors. He just loves having sleeve paws, but it’s annoying when his thumbs are jailed in.

“Lando, have you seen my scis- What are you doing there?!” He turns around, looking at his girlfriend like a child being caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Freeing my thumbs?” He tries to explain in a small voice, scared that she is about to go off on him for ruining his clothes.

(Y/N) sits down next to him on the ground. “If you have told me you want thumb holes, I could have done it for you. I would hem them for you, so they won’t fry. If you want me to, can I take some of your shirts to the shop tomorrow and work on them during slow times?” The way Lando’s eyes light up makes her wish for a camera to keep the memory of it.

(Y/N) not only fixes the holes in his sleeves.

“Love, would you put another patch on my jeans?” Lando saunters into her little crafting room. When she moved into his apartment in Monaco, he insisted on transforming a guest room into her own sewing cave. It was only fair. He got his gaming room as his hobby room, so his girlfriend needs her own territory too.

The room is filled with different sewing machines, one wall is decorated with threads of all kinds, colors and thicknesses. Several shelves are overflowing with different fabrics of any kind imaginable. Every shade, pattern or reflection that any crafter would kill for. Lando really spoils her and happily let’s (Y/N) run loose in a craft store, draining his credit card to her heart's fullest content.

(Y/N) would feel bad, if it wasn’t for the big difference in salaries they sport. Also, it is Lando’s way of treating his girl. Instead of flowers or a bag he buys her a new Bernina B 325, which is not something she is exactly complaining about. They share most of their expenses, but still, working at a tailor shop will never make you a millionaire.

Currently working on her own project of making a quilt out of scrap fabric for Max’s upcoming birthday, (Y/N) barely looks up to her boyfriend. “Yes, of course, sunshine. Just put it over there and I’ll have a look at it in a bit. Do you have any preference for the new patch? I ordered city themed ones a few days back and they arrived today.”

Without having to be pointed into the direction, the Brit already goes through the drawer that is solely dedicated to the patches (Y/N) accumulated during the last few years.

If he is being honest, that kind of work of hers is his favorite. Lando is just amazed by the different shapes, colors and themes her collection entails and how her delicate efforts bring a new individual mark to his favorite pair of jeans.

“I think I want to go with this one,” he mumbles after sifting through the drawer. Lando places a small rose next to the currently used sewing machine for her to not have to search for it in the midst of the chaos that is going on on the several desks in this hobby room.

He actually loves spending some down time here, especially when his girlfriend is working on her own projects. Lando hides under one of the desks, sometimes scrabbling away on pieces of paper for the next helmet sketch, sometimes answering some important emails on his laptop and other times he lies down between different piles of fabric and takes a nap. Having (Y/N) hack away with the machine, occasionally cursing under her breath when she pinches herself sewing something by hand or the music playing on a low volume brings Lando great comfort.

Spending quality time this way is secretly Lando’s happy place that he visits mentally during stressful patches when he is away.

A couple days later the door to the tailor shop (Y/N) works at rings the bell, alerting her of a new customer. “I’ll be with you in a second!” She calls from an adjoining room, cleaning up her work space from the trims that have been left by the jeans she just shortened.

“How can I hel- LANDO!” The young woman exclaims, rounding the register to jump into his arms. “I thought you’ll return from Australia tomorrow”, she murmurs into his shirt. The thumbs are, of course, able to escape through the holes she recently cut and hemmed like promised.

He laughs into her hair. “I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work like the good boyfriend I am. I also got you something from ‘Straya.” Out of thin air (his back pocket actually) Lando procures a small stack of Australia themed patches.

“Oh, honey, they are perfect. Thank you so so much!” She kisses him all over the face until finally putting her lips onto his. “Just let me close the shop and we can go home and enjoy our evening.” Lando presses another kiss onto her lips, “Hurry up, I can’t wait holding you in my arms again.”

While (Y/N) packs her things up, Lando goes through a stack of different fabrics. One in particular catches his eye.

“Hey love, where did you get this heart patterned fabric? What do you have planned with that?” (Y/N) pops her head in to see what her boyfriend is pointing to. “Oh, that one. The owner was negotiating a deal with a new supplier and wanted to check out the quality. We wanted to see if this one is durable enough to make shirts out of it.”

An idea is forming in Lando’s app, that he quickly puts down in the notes app on his phone.

She emerges from the side room with her back and something else. “Would you try this on for me?” (Y/N) asks innocently, handing Lando a jean jacket. It is a bit oversized on him, just the way he likes.

“It’s pretty nice. What do you need me to model this fo- This is one of the patches I just gave you!” Lando admires the kangaroo that looks like it’s taking a jump on the sleeve. “I thought this would be a fun little project for the season. After every race I’ll put a patch from that country on the jacket. I can also stitch some additions onto it as well for when you get a podium or win or are voted as driver of the day and so on. Just, I thought this could be something cute.” (Y/N)’s face heats up the more she talks about her idea.

Lando pulls her into his arms, squishing his girlfriend as close as possible to his body. “Thank you, you don’t know how much I appreciate the work and thought you put and are putting into this.”

Like the proud trophy boyfriend he is, Lando loves modeling whatever his girlfriend sewed, patched up or created and pimped up in some other way while entering the paddock. Just as he predicted mentally, the fans are going crazy about his jacket online as he wears it on Wednesday for media day.

“I see, (Y/N) loved the patches you bought her. At least dragging me through every craft store in Melbourne that I know of has paid off for you”, Oscar remarks dryly as he watches Lando hanging up the jacket in the hospitality.

“Yeah mate, she sewed it on immediately. It’s her newest project, putting on a patch for every country we race in during this season after the race. She also wants to add a bunch of things for special occasions during the races.” Lando explains fondly the thought process behind the jacket.

As he is leaving the paddock later that day and signing several cards, caps and other merch, some fans ask him where he got the jacket from. “Oh, that old thing? I’ll gatekeep this one. Good luck on finding the store.” He answers a young woman while putting a bracelet she handed him on his wrist.

He hasn’t gone public with his girlfriend yet. The people know that he is in a relationship with Lando having started an already several months long soft launch, that includes their socked feet during movie nights and her backside in beautiful sunset scenes. So nobody knows what she does for work and the two of them want to keep the little bubble of secrecy they have so far going for a bit longer. Out of the public eyes without the pressure of fans and media.

It felt like a scavenger hunt going online and seeing fans and other media outlets trying to find Lando’s particular jean jacket. For the two of them it becomes their evening entertainment, reading up how everyone and their mother are losing their minds from not being able to detect where it is from.

“The chat is asking about that dumb cloth again. Just tell them where you got it.” Max groans, even his own chat during the stream isn’t safe from the assault. Lando, who chills on his bed while waiting for a message from his girlfriend about her being done with work, just smiles. “Come one, please lift the secret. I can’t even roll my eyes often enough times, that is how annoyed I am by this whole thing.”

The Brit loves the suspension around the subject, but gets up and saunters over to the monitors. “Ok Chat, I will only say it once and never again. Get your pens and papers out and write it down. So, this jean jacket with the patches is a designer piece. You can’t get it anywhere else, it was custom made and no, the designer doesn’t want to go into mass production with that one. But I am cooking something up. Just be patient, I feel like I will be able to make a deal for you. I just need to work my magic, but that takes time. My name is not Tinkerbell.” 

His little sass tirade is broken up by the ping of his phone, making Lando scramble for it to see his love’s text. “Chat, do you see how down bad that man is for his girlfriend?” Max ridicules Lando, giving him payback for all the teasing against himself.

While the chat is going insane, with the certainty that this moment has been clipped and will be used for edits by the fans, Lando just smiles at his phone, shooting a quick reply of picking her up. After that he packs his stuff and throws a quick goodbye to Max and the stream, onto the way to the tailor shop.

There she stands, his love in all her glory in front of the closed store. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the building for me? It’s dangerous to be out alone, especially for such a beautiful person like you!” Lando scolds her lightly when he reaches her, taking her bag from her shoulder, throwing it onto his own back.

But (Y/N) presses a kiss to his lips, trying to soothe him. “It’s all ok. When I saw the headlights of your car, I stepped out and closed the shop behind me. I knew that my Tinkerbell was close by in case I needed saving.”

Lando wants to reciprocate the kiss, but stops mid air when he processes her words. “You watched the stream?” That shocks him a bit, because (Y/N) usually keeps out of this part of his life. It’s not really her world, streaming and gaming. So that’s one of the hobbies they don’t share, being the healthy couple, without a horrible codependency, they are.

“No, a friend sent me that clip a few minutes earlier”, she snickers, “Were you talking about me? About wanting to work a deal out?” Lando throws his arm around her shoulders, leading the young woman into the direction of where he parked his car. “I did. Originally I planned on woohing you by a nice candle light dinner and after that I wanted to ask you if you were open with making a few designs for LN4. The fans are going crazy over the pants and jacket. You also have the eye for the details that I love on clothes. It would make me so happy to hold something in my hands that we both worked on, to know that people in the whole world will wear it.”

(Y/N) looks up at her boyfriend, watching his side profile while he is rambling about the meaning of a collab between the two of them. How he can’t stop smiling over the excitement of the prospect of their merch line together, the way his eyes light up, his free hand gesturing while explaining a few ideas he has saved on his phone. She can’t help but press another kiss onto his cheek, effectively quieting him down.

“I will make that collab with you happen. I already have a few things drawn out in a notebook, I was just too scared to show you the sketches, not wanting to intrude or impose myself onto your business.”

Instead of saying anything, he just picks her up and throws them in a circle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He repeats over and over, both laughing about his childish antics.

A couple of months, several trial and errors as well as creative differences later, they stand in a studio, overseeing the photoshooting with the new collection.

“Wouldn’t this be the perfect way to launch our relationship to the public? With your face visible in the pictures?” Lando muses out loud while looking over a rack with hoodies. (Y/N) throws him a shocked look. “I mean, we can take a couple of pictures together with a few articles and also take a few of you individually too. The world needs to know the mastermind of these designs. You need to take credit for all the hard work you have done.” He explains, taking her hand and gesturing to the set up with the other.

She lets the idea rummage a bit in her head. It would be the perfect way to go public, especially since this is the first time her designs are commercially sold. (Y/N) breaks out into a smile, nodding rapidly. Lando can’t help but also smile, getting infected by his girlfriend’s happiness.

Weeks after that the new merch drop gets released to social media. The press and fans are eating up the couple's pictures, finally having a face to the woman, who is able to fluster Lando through text messages alone.

The clothes itself also get the best feedback.

A variety of the jean jacket and patched pants are now available for fans to buy, being able to kind of replicate Lando’s paddock look, coupled with a heart patterned hoodie from the collection.

But nothing gets close to the original with the many hand sewn details on Lando’s jacket, even when fans try to imitate them. A nice side effect is seeing other people picking up the craft of hand sewing and stitching.

Many people swoon over the long sleeves with cut out thumb holes. They especially love the heart shape of the holes.

It’s a perfect detail to the name of the new line.

‘From all four corners of the world comes my love 4 you’ is printed in one way or another on every piece.

Because no matter the distance between Lando and (Y/N), they can feel the love for each other over any distance.

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #lando norris x fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #reader insert #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff

[zivazivc]

Sorry if this has already been asked before but why did the band break up? And did they break up on decent terms? Do they still talk to each other sometime?

It has been asked before, I just never answered jshfbdjcbh I'm still piecing everything together and stuff is changing or getting tweaked all the time, so I'm always super hesitant about answering these types of questions, afraid that people will take whatever I say as the final answer. So basically what I'm going to answer now will already contradict what I told some people already. And maybe in the future the story might go a little differently too (although I'm pretty satisfied with the current events)

Uhhh, get ready for a long info dump. I didn't expect I'd write this much...

Floyd basically stayed with the band for 8 years (from 14 till 22) and got pretty messed up in the process. The rest of the guys are all quite older than him so I guess I could say they were more responsible, or at least had a better understanding of their own limits (also they grew up in this kind of environment or grew up aware of it, while Floyd was oblivious and naive about all of it) and while they do get drunk and do drugs often, none of them are really dependent on them. They are also pretty good judges of character and know how to avoid trouble. Floyd on the other hand drove in with no breaks and constantly got himself in trouble that the rest (mostly Les) had to drag him out of. He also developed bipolar during this time (in my story Floyd constantly fluctuates between being saturated and being desaturated because of this) and his manic and depressive episodes started getting out of hand after his teenage years. (None of them are aware it's a mental disorder that's making him act so out of character.)

Floyd was becoming miserable because of this and all of his problems pilling up, and started blaming Les for the way he was. Les never argued this which only fueled Floyd to blame him more. In the end he was getting so frustrated and irritable that Floyd constantly tried starting arguments with him, even putting him down and getting aggressive at times because Les gets very unresponsive and closed off during personal conversations (guy is a giant onion of suppressed trauma that Floyd is hellbent on peeling open).

Eventually there was one fight too many, terrible things were said, some objects flew through the air, and Floyd walked out (or Hed kicked him out, I haven't decided yet) with the promise of going home and never seeing them again.

So, yeah, it was very messy and Floyd was the primary asshole, even though he's not really to blame either...

But Floyd didn't make it home (was too scared to sneak through Bergen Town to get to the tree (i don't think i can judge him for that either)) and he just returned to the reckless lifestyle, this time without anyone being there to keep him safe. So if he was messed up before, this is the time period where he got absolutely fucked up. This is also when he got heavily addicted to sour worms. And when he chronically slept around (half the time just to get offered free worms or have somewhere to sleep, other times because he was having manic episodes and was feeling hypersexual). (This is also potentially the period when he had the two eggs with that techno troll, but I'm still thinking if I want that to be canon to the story or not.) During this time he also grew to become very anxious and his self-confidence went to shit when he was being himself.

Then after about three years of that, he bumped into Les at some party. He wanted to dodge him out of shame but Les grabbed his arm and manhandled him outside to talk. Floyd felt like shit about the way they had split up and tried apologizing for all the stuff he had said and done to Les, but Les wasn't having any of that because he wasn't angry at Floyd, he was just worried about him. Les is also insanely empathetic like Floyd, and he knew that Floyd never really meant any of it, and that he was just looking for an outlet when he was hurting. Also he does think he is to blame for the way Floyd ended up.

Les wanted to know why he didn't go home like he had said (because that was the only reason Les had even let him walk out in the first place). A few exchanged words later and Floyd broke down telling him all the awful things he'd done, and Les promised to help him, feeling insanely guilty. Floyd wondered if he was allowed back in the band but Les made it clear that the band wasn't good for him and that he was never taking him back. Instead Les helped him go though rehab. I don't think trolls have those institutions (or at least not many are aware of them or how they work (I'm sorry but I refuse to believe the Trolls world has internet and cellphones, Mountrageons can keep that for themselves lol)), so it was more or less just Les finding Floyd a job and his own place to stay in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where he had no option but to detox, and constantly checking up on him to make sure he was doing okay. During this time they grew pretty close again. Or maybe the better term would be that Les slowly started putting his walls down again.

Hed needed a while to warm up to Floyd again. He's almost as protective of Les as Les is of him, and he resented Floyd for the way he had treated him.

Flea is pretty phlegmatic when it comes to any sort of arguing or drama. He was casual about seeing Floyd again, they were never super close anyway.

And Liv, she left the band when she and Hed broke up (haven't decided if that happened before or after Floyd left), so Floyd didn't get to see her again after bumping into Les at the party. And I haven't thought yet if they'd ever meet again somewhere later in life. But if they did, I think they'd both be happy to see each other.

Anyway...

Floyd managed to detox and successfully kept the job for about a year, but then he became manic again and messed it all up. After that he returned to his nomadic lifestyle, but he never fell as hard as those three years again. In my story Floyd's life is a constant cycle of getting his life together and fucking it up and booking to the next place. And he and Les are trapped in a never-ending cat and mouse game where they're both trying to fix each other.

So, uh, Les and Floyd are still very close and see each other somewhat often...

(sometimes monthly, sometimes yearly)

Yeah...

I am so fucking obsessed with them I'm gonna hurl. Please take this song before I combust:

#btw the status of Floyd's and Les's relationship is forever set on 'complicated' #but they are as obsessed with each other as i am obsessed with them #the song is too soft and vulnerable to be something les would sing out loud but inside he does feel it #papa roach is nu metal btw. tho idk where this song stands exactly #trolls #dreamworks trolls #ex bandmates #trolls floyd #trolls oc #les #answered #my art #btw I am only self educated on the bipolar disorder from what i've read and watched on the internet so have that in mind #my intention is to be respectful but i might not understand all of it. especially not the personal experience of those who have it #i'm just some random nerd #so in a way you could say floyd was diagnosed by a nonprofessional lol #i stayed up until 3am last night writing this #today i made the sketch that is no longer a sketch #should i put this post under a cut? it is pretty long #long post

[thestalkerbunny]

I'm not caught up on kitsune lore, actually.

You have come to the right place, my friend.

All I think about is weird fox based lore.

We'll cover the 3 big ones of Japan, Korea and China.

THE FOX BREAK DOWN.

WHY THE FOX?

The fox in many cultures-in this case countries residing in the Eastern areas of the world-have been symbols of mystery, trickery, transformation and deception. This may account to the fact a fox is naturally a very fast and intelligent animal, that is rather nocturnal and has a way to always evade danger that it finds itself in. They're problem solvers. They also scream like women in distress. Or when they're happy-they scream like cars trying to rev up.

THE KITSUNE: Japanese messanger of the gods and local nuisence

The most popular of foxes in media, art and story, the Kitsune story comes from Japan. It has been the subject of movies, games, animes, mangas and even folk tales for generation. To put it simply, a Kitsune is a fox that possesses paranormal abilities. People already believed that foxes were supernatural in general-but with time and age, they'd grow smarter and wiser. A kitsune grows a new tail for every 100 years it lives-with those that have 9 tails being very powerful and with 10 tails earned, will ascend into GODHOOD.

-sound familiar to someone you might know?-

Kitsune and humans have always lived together and gotten along mostly. Fox Urine actually repels rats-so stones soaked in the urine of foxes would be placed near fields; which most likely led to people finding foxes sacred and becoming a symbol of the Japanese Deity, Inari Okami-the God of agriculture-and eventually being regarded as their messengers.

Kitsunes had the ability to shape shift-often doing so into beautiful women (and sometimes men depending on the story) and getting themselves married, but usually getting run off by their spouses' dogs (which they are afraid of) They also have a tendency to reveal themselves when they get drunk or are careless as the tails are the one part of themselves they can't hide properly (which is tricky if you got 9 of 'em.) Beautiful women with certain face structures and high cheek bones are often called 'fox faced'

Kitsune can be good or evil-some of the more wicked ones going out of their way to possesse humans and have to be exorcised to free them.

THE KUMHIO: Korea's nightmare manic pixie dream girl

The Kumhio is my personal favorite-hailing from Korean, the Kumhio (or Gumhio depending on spelling variation) is a fox similar to the Kitsune in many aspects. It's a very long lived 9 tail fox, it has supernatural powers of illusion, shapeshifting and magic. But the Kumhio is different in it's behavior. The Kumhio's favorite meal-unlike the tofu loving Kitsunes-is human livers. And they go about acquiring it in a very interesting way. They will become women (or men) and manage to get hitched up to whoever is most convenient and begin to systematically prey on everyone in the household. First the animals, then the servants, the family, and often times leaving the spouse for last. They are also known to dig up fresh graves to get the livers. They also sport something similar to the kitsune that was not mentioned-a Bead they keep inside their bodies that they can cough up. This is called a Fox Bead. Putting this bead in your mouth can give you IMMENSE knowledge of the sky land and seas. Often times this is only shared by the Kuhio via a sort of 'deep kiss' where it puts the ball in your mouth and then takes it back with it's long unnatural tongue. But most cases have been people trying to steal it/accidently swallowing it. Although humans are a Kumhio's prey-if a Kumhio abstains from killing and consuming a human for 1000 days, it too will become mortal and then can enjoy all mortal perks (getting married, sharing a life span with someone, not being a literal monster) They are sometimes in mythology (depending on who you ask and which variation of the story you read) regarded as a lesser creature, but still very very dangerous. I wouldn't wanna fuck around and find out with one of these puppies.

FAVORITE PIECE OF MEDIA INVOLVING A KUMHIO:

Laon, it's a great horror read, kinda short, but still great. I love it unironically.

THE HULI-JING: Your friendly neighborhood fox ghost

The Huli-Jing is another Fox Spirit, this time from China. Much like Japan, it has the same properties as the Kitsune; Supernaturally weird, crazy long lived, can become god, people tend to like them. Until they do fucked up stuff. One case had a huli-jing posesses an important woman in power and she and her husband while posessed basically started torturing and murdering people and starting a massive revolt against their dynasty. Unlike Kumhios who suck life essence from the mouth (and eat your liver) The Huli-Jing will go the Succubus route and.....steal semen. That's right, the foxes are turning into hot hot women and are stealing your life force via your jizz boys, keep it in your pants. But despite that, many villages in history love the Fox Spirit-a saying going as far as villages shouldn't be established without a fox spirit milling about. They're seemingly friendly provided you pay them the right respects. Many people would have in home shrined dedicated to them to make offerings right there.

TLDR: Foxes are fuckin' spooky, turnin into women, stealin' your semen, your liver and making your goddamn rice grow. fuckin' foxes doin' FOX SHIT.

#TSB ask #Foxes #Fox #Kumhio #Kitsune #Huli-Jing #Mythology #monsters

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 46

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: ugh i'm tiredddddd

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stare in the mirror. Your nose is covered in bandages, your eyes swollen along the ridges, and your lip is puffy and split. Your makeup is ruined and your hair too. You are in tatters, the white dress rent to ruins.

Lapping water pours into the large porcelain basin as you lean on the counter, trying to see yourself under all the damage. After tonight, you don't think you'll be the same as you were. You thought before, you'd known the worst of it.

A new beginning and hopefully and ending.

Loki struts in behind you. He's slightly frantic in the way he paces restlessly around the suite. He goes to the tub, bending with a groan as he dips his fingertips in the water, testing the temperature. He adjusts the faucet and stands again.

His hairline is stained in blood and his face patched with dirt. He doesn't seem to notice as he comes up behind you. He looks at you in the mirror.

“You should wash up, get some rest,” he girds, “tomorrow we have long to go.”

“What about you?” You ask for what feels the dozenth time. 

“I'm fine,” he says despite the dark line of stitches through his brow, “I'm very fine.”

He's addled. You've never seen him anything close to unsettled. Not like this. You turn to face him and he shies away.

“I will let you clean up,” he says, “yes, yes, in the morning, I will retrieve the car and our bags…”

He floats back into the sweet and you hear him shuffling around, “...and we will drive away…”

He's almost manic as he rambles to himself. You stare after him. You leave the door open and slowly undress. As you graze the tender spots along your body, you wince.

Naked, you stare at the rising water. You look down at your body, slices along your limbs, scrapes across your skin, and a bite mark on your breast. You feel sick.

You lower yourself into the hot water but it can't cleanse you of the filth. The steam dampens your face as you lean back, closing your eyes. You're exhausted but the adrenaline lingers, keeping you awake.

He said you're leaving. You're going back home. His home. You're not sure you'll ever have one of those.

After a while, you do your best to scrub away the dirt and blood. You’re weak by the time you finish, barely able to lift yourself out of the tub. You emerge, hugging yourself in a towel as you go out into the suite. 

Loki paces, chewing his thumb as he goes back and forth, back and forth. He stops as he notices you. His lips clamp tight and he wordlessly grabs a white robe from the foot of the bed and unfolds it. He drapes it around you and takes the towel away. You tie the belt and cross your arms.

He pulls back the top of the pure white duvet and steps back. You sit on the mattress as he returns to his route, corner to corner at the foot of the bed. You watch him.

“Mr. Laufeyson…” you murmur.

“Loki,” he stops and faces you, “Loki,” he nods vehemently. “You can call me that.”

“Loki,” you remind yourself, “you should… sleep.”

“No, you must,” he waves you off.

“Please,” you go to get up and he rushes to block you, he stands close to the bed.

“I’ll sleep, when you sleep,” he says, “lay down.”

You swallow. You pull your legs up onto the bed and make yourself recline. He’s making you nervous.

“I’m sorry,” You say, “that I broke the rules again. I should’ve stayed close-”

“No,” he shies away, twisting on his heel, “it was me. I broke the rules.”

“You–”

“I should’ve accompanied you to the stalls. I could’ve waited closeby,” he throws a hand up, “she would’ve never… he wouldn’t… I didn’t follow the rules. I broke the rules…” his voice rises, “it isn’t you. It’s me. I cannot make the same mistake twice.”

You don’t know what to say. No, it has to be your fault. It’s always your fault. You are the one who makes mistakes. 

He stops and lowers his head, fluttering his fingers along the stained front of his shirt. He peeks up through his dark lashes, “you know I didn’t… didn’t want her to do that.”

“What?”

“Sif,” he hisses, “I didn’t want to kiss her… I wanted to kiss you… when we were dancing…” he looks away wistfully, “when I saw you in that dress…”He staggers as if he’s been struck, “sleep, pet.”

“But you…”

“Enough,” his voice deepens.

“I can’t sleep, not if you don’t.”

He shrugs and plays with the loose tail of his shirt, “I’m filthy.”

“Go, take a shower, you’ll feel better.”

“I won’t,” he avows, “not until we are gone from here.”

He turns and marches away, leaving the door open as he disappears into the bathroom. You cross your arms over the top of the duvet and sink into the fluffy pillow. You listen as the shower springs to life and let the tension drain from you. The soft buzz of the pipes puts you to sleep nearly as soon as you close your eyes.

✨

When you wake, you feel heavy. The world comes back in fragments. The music, the dancing, running, falling in the dirt, Fossegrim’s shrill squawking, and a weight on top of you. You sit up, heart racing and look around. Then the rest, fleeing the house, the hospital, and finally the hotel.

You sidle to the edge of the bed. Loki isn’t there beside you. Your stomach plummets as you don’t see him anywhere. Did he leave you?

You get up and fix the loose robe around your figure. You near the bathroom door but a dark shape in the corner of your eye distracts you. There, on the sofa, Loki dozes, legs bent to fit, an arm under his head. You frown, wondering why he didn’t share the bed.

You look around and go to the long table against the wall. You flip the switch on the electric kettle and wait as it hums to a boil. You put a tea bag in each cup and pour the hot water. You take each by the handle and approach the low table before the couch, setting them on the thin coasters.

You round to the sofa and stop before Loki. His face is bruised, he sleeps in a robe as fluffy and white as your own, his hair askew but his face tense. You reach to gently squeeze his shoulder as you say his name.

One eye pops open and his green iris moves to look at you. He opens the other and shrugs you off as he sits up abruptly. You take a step back.

“I made tea,” you offer.

He looks past you to the table. He frowns. He frames his forehead then pushes back his dark hair. He stands and strides away from you. He doesn’t say a word as he escapes onto the balcony, pulling shut the sliding door behind him.

You shake and clutch the front of the robe. It’s worse than you thought. He’s mad. You expect as much. You know you’re going back to nothing. He probably won’t even let you past his front gate. Back to your father to grovel and if he won’t even have you, you suppose you might find a shelter.

You sit, not knowing what else to do, and take a cup of tea. You peer into the steeping depth and sniff. You hurt, from head to toe, but nothing is worse than the pit sinking deep in your chest.

The tea goes cold as you wait. When he comes back in, he dresses in his stained white clothing. You get up and put your cup down. You go to him and he sidles away.

“You must stay here,” he says as he skirts around you. He goes into the bathroom and you follow him, standing in the doorway as he uses the cheap hotel room comb to tidy his hair.

“Why?”

“Pet,” he puts the comb down and reaches for a plastic wrapped toothbrush. “You’ll be safe.”

It’s a kind lie. The one you tell when the truth has to wait. You slouch and inch back on your heel, “right.”

You retreat and walk numbly across the suite. You look out the large windows onto the city. Your head spins again. You should sit down but you don’t think you can stay still.

“I won’t be long,” he says as his keys jingle, “you may call down to the lobby, get something to eat. It’ll all be added to the bill.”

You don’t look at him, “thanks.”

He sucks in air as if he means to say something then lets it out, “not long at all.”

You stay as you are until he’s gone. The door closes, the lock beeping, and you nearly collapse. You wade over to the bed and flop onto it. You just want to sleep but your mind won’t stop.

✨

Loki returns nearly an hour later. He offers a fresh set of clothes and not much else. No explanation, just a sense of urgency and evasive looks. You wonder what transpired at the Odinsons manor but you don’t dare ask. Did he tell them everything? Or nothing at all?

You check out of the hotel, his car waiting in the lot. You’re too tired to think anymore. The motion of the car soothes you and your achy body.

You peek over at him, his shoulders tense, his posture stiff, wondering how he can go on so easily. The bruises on his face, his reddened knuckles, and the blows you saw him take, it has to hurt.

You waver between consciousness and sleeping. The long hours lull you along with the silence. Time feels as if it’s standing still yet passes nonetheless. As he pulls up to the familiar gate, you grasp the interior of the door and sit up.

This is it. The final verdict. He drives inside as the gate rolls shut behind him. He turns off the engine and unbuckles his seat belt. He gets out first and as he struts around to your side, you do the same. You wait for his directive.

“Come.” That’s it. That’s all he says.

You follow him inside. Is this it? Will he tell you to pack your things and go? Perhaps he has a lecture for you, worthy only of those grim walls. You put yourself in danger, it’s your own fault, you’re just a stupid little maid.

Little maid…

Your skin crawls as you shake off the memory. You trail Loki upstairs and down the hall. He surpasses the study and the library, he leads you into the bedroom and you hesitate at the threshold. Oh, that must be what’s wrong. Thor touched you in ways only he should. You have to show him it meant nothing.

You touch his hand as you come close and he recoils. You’re breathless at the rejection. That’s not it either. Well, you don’t have much to take with you. You suppose you should get your things ready.

“The doctor says you need rest,” he speaks at last, “please.” He goes to the dresser and pulls a sleek nightgown out.

“Loki..” you eke out.

“Whatever you need, I can fetch. Of course, I will bring up the bags as well.”

“Loki,” you repeat.

“Some tea, oh, and that gas station junk will hardly suffice. You must have a proper meal–”

“Loki,” you say more firmly, “what’s going on?”

He shakes his head and looks away, “lay down.”

That’s an order. You lower your gaze and obey. That’s the only way you’ve ever made him happy and right now, he’s miserable. You go to the bed and take the nightie. He leaves, closing the door behind him.

You change and he returns not long after. As promised, he has the bags. He unzips yours and finds the volume gifted to you. He hands it over.

“I don’t know how much reading you feel like doing,” he says.

You thank him and slide your legs under the blanket. It does feel nice to relax. Better to be in one place. You lean into the pillows and hug the book. He brings over your laptop and opens it up. You blanch, horrified as he lets the desktop load.

He pulls up the brows and you watch his fingers flutter over the keyboard. You furrow your brow curiously as he navigates smoothly. He logs in and brings up a menu of titles.

“In case you desire something to watch,” he stands and angles the screen towards you, “keep your mind busy.”

“You’re leaving?” You ask.

“There is much to do,” he says, “we’ve been away a while.”

“The doctor said you too–”

“I’m fine,” he insists, yet again.

You relent. He won’t listen to you. It’s as if he barely hears a word you say. He’s so swept up in whatever storm is swirling in his head.

“If you need anything, you may send me a text,” he instructs, “but you will rest and you will go no further than the bathroom.”

“Yes, Mr– Loki,” you catch yourself.

“Very good,” he sets his shoulders and spins on his heel.

When he’s gone, you scroll through the titles on the screen. The colours make your head hurt. You choose a show you recognise, a British serial they used to play on the public channel. You turn down the brightness and close your eyes, listening to the low murmur of the dialogue.

You drift on a shallow wave, not quite awake or asleep. The world sways around you as the actors’ voices garble to a soothing hum. Despite the calm of the moment, your heart is uneasy. This won’t last. You will heal soon enough.

You catch yourself snoring and jolt yourself awake. You groan, stiffened from the tumultuous night and the long drive. Ugh, you need to pee.

You get up and relieve yourself. You take your time washing your hands and splash water on your face. It feels nice as your head rattles with each move. You’re thirsty. You come out into the bedroom, foggy as you shuffle around.

You go to the door. You’ll just sneak down and grab a glass. You can make it that far. The handle doesn’t turn. You jostle it, wiggling it, wrenching it, but it doesn’t turn. Huh?

You shake the door in the frame. Locked? Why? He can’t do this. He can’t lock you in like an animal. But he can for isn’t that what you are to him? Pet.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers

[valenishere]

Sagau Idea

I'm not that good with writing YouPoV's so there may be some odd usage of they's and thems then switching to "you"'s. this'll be stock full of typos so be warned

Mentions of injury, implied murder, blood, and implied cult

It's been a long while since I've gotten into Self-aware genshin aus, reading the fluffiest scenes to straight up gore. And theres this concept I saw about where the creator (basically, you) can make any oc come to life and help them out. (this one read it s really good. They also expanded on it go read it too its a really neat build-up on it. this one)

And as a DnD enjoyer as well... there's this idea thats been brewing in my head whenever i think back to it.

What if in Imposter!au where they're being constantly being hunted... after getting cornered in one of the nations (in the Chasm for example) they get desperate and try out an idea they don't think would work.

While resting after being in the brink of death(again) in a place Teyvat has helped you conceal, your thoughts wander. You think, why is there even a Creator? There isn't supposed to be one. That kinda concept just disrupts everything they know about the game. It's a ridiculous concept. In your delirious state, you think, "I wish that just disappears... Then i wouldn't be..."

Then you remebered the curious ability you've recently unlocked in your "adventures". The ability to create characters, with some limitations. It took you quite a bit to adjust to your newfound ability and its caveats, resulting in a few heartbreaking loss on the way.

But as a DnD player, overcoming the death of your beloved characters quickly is a mental fortitude you've developed. And it's handy that you've already made a few characters for your past sessions before landing in Teyvat. It saved you from being one-shotted right from the start.

Although now... You're down to only one left.

"... I'm so tired..."

The mental stress of being in a constant state of danger, paranoia, hunger, pain, and exhaustion have worn you down to a point where you can't even think up of more characters to make up for the one's that have recently passed. You slipped up so bad because of sleeplessness that your last capable party of characters died and a hole was speared through your gut too.

As you lay bleeding on the cold ground, with only a talking mushroom to keep you company, you wrack your brain to put together a proper character but... you really can't. You can't even think straight. Not with the recent information you've found out.

The so-called Creator is now creating their very own characters, their very own people/army, through alchemy, and is now sending them after you, thus increasing your hunters by double. And on top of the already powerful vision-holders (of course they're powerful, you made them that way), you figured... "Ah... I'm fucked..."

Knowing you might as well be as good as done now, you didn't even bother bringing out the last of your characters to heal you. It's not like healing yourself will make you forget about this lifelong trauma--

... Forget?

...

A fleeting thought.

A dumb fleeting thought. A very dumb one at that.

One that will for sure backfire in your face if you do it wrong. And quite frankly, it could spell the end for this world, even for the one they call Creator.

... But it's not like you have anything else to lose.

And so, within the dim light of the mushroom, you painstakingly start to write. Word for word, cramming everything information you know, as deatiled as you can make it into bringing it into life. A character you've never tried making before. Something that could possibly end your suffering. Or make it worse.

You honestly don't know if you're doing it right. After all, you've never tried something like it before.

"What are you making this time?' the ever so curious mushroom asked.

You grin, a manic look in your eyes. "Either my stupidest... or my brightest idea yet."

It's not long befere you finished. You gaze upon your finished product and you have to say... it's even more fleshed out than your best characters. And that quick sketch you drew... you swear those hollow eyes are following you already. That may be just the blood loss talking.

"That's... one ugly worm you've drawn..." The mushroom hums, like it can just see the monstrosity that you've created.

You chuckle breathlessly, looking almost solemn with what you're about to do. Well... it' not wrong. But...

"This is my kid. Their name is... Falseh. Get along well with them... okay?"

0===|>>>>>.

The very ground trembles as the Lord of Geo strides through the dark tunnels, a dark look in his eyes and a spear in his hand. If his presence wasn't enough, the murderous intent rolling off of him in waves is enough to deter any beasts from crossing his path.

The imposter was last seen slinking around the depths of the Chasm by one of the Tianquan's agents. Although failing to execute the imposter the first chance they got with their incompetence, Morax have to commend the Qixing for being able to find them even in the depths of the earth.

For some reason, the land seems to reject his commands from time to time now. He was baffled as to why his beloved Maker is hindering him in fulfilling his given mission but he's just been informed that the land defiance of him is due to the imposter infecting the land with their vile abilities.

Now, he's even more hellbent on making sure to drive his spear through the imposters heart and presenting it to his Grace. He won't miss a second time.

His eyes sharpens as a he a cavern just up ahead, soft blue light spilling through entrance. Tightening his grip on his spear, the power of Geo gathers in his other, ready to skewer someone five times into death if he so wishes.

He steps through the entrance and immediately lands on a figure, leaning prone under a giant glowing mushroom. He relaxes a bit. He recognizes this place. It's a bit close to the Land of Verdure, Sumeru. He needs to be careful. He can't be caught flaunting his power on another Archons domain after all.

Approaching the figure, he gets a bit surprised as they twitch, looking up to him through their hair. They try to talk, but all they can manage are quiet wheezes.

'Oh. They're still breathing. That's good.' Zhongli kneels down beside them, looking them over. They look like they've been dragged through the Abyss and back. Their midriff is bandaged heavily but it's already bled through, forming a pool of their own blood below them. He frowns lightly. It must be quite a big injury if it's bleeding this much.

Wordlessly, he holds a hand over the injury and channels his power. He's not the most profficient in healing, but he should at least be able to stop the bleeding.

Mere moments later, he have plugged up the injury and the figure is now able to stand up.

"Th-Thank you so much Rex Lapis!" they bow down. Or at least, they bow down the best they can without opening their wound. "Any longer and I would've surely perished..."

Zhongli waves them off nonchalantly as he starts to walk back out the way he came. "It's best you get back to the surface. Your injury needs to be properly tended. And I can see that..."

His eyes drifts to the scattered bloody bandages and practically empty backpack. "You've run out of supplies. It is a virtue to you mortals to know when to give up. Remember that."

"Y-Yes sir Rex Lapis sir! I'll get back right away!" they start to quickly collect their things, haphazardly stuffing the bandages and handbook into the bag, being careful of their injury.

The Lord of Geo just watches for a moment before completely leaving, trusting that they won't make any stupid mistake and go back post haste.

After he has left, you pause in your packing, leaning against the mushroom and slowly sliding down with a shaky breath.

"Y-You... didn't you say he and the entirety of the world was hunting for you?" The mushroom hums in confusion, sharing your tension. "What was that? Heck, he was the one that put a hole through you and he healed you!"

You chuckle breathlessly, the manic look intensifying in your eyes as it dawns on you that it worked. That stupid idea of yours actually worked!

And if you can get to the Creator... you can make this whole concept disappear altogether. Forever.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see it. A large mass of hairless flesh writhing about, multiple tentacle-like appendages potruding out of it. It's slithering it's limbs about, coiling around the mushroom and and back again, and around you as well.

But when you turn your head to actually look, there's nothing there. All you can hear is what seems to be muffled humming, an eerie tune listlessly flowing through the air (but somehow, the sound is the most comforting thing ever).

"Oh it's nothing. I think... he just heard something that made him forget."

#chaotic blabbing #spreadingchaos #genshin self aware #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #sagau impostor au #sagau brainrot #sagau x reader #genshin isekai #A Creature That Sings A Song That Makes You Forget #shi its already 2 in the morning #I wrote this half asleep so dont be surprised if it doesnt make sense #Falseh is pretty easy to figure out #hint it starts with a false and it has multiple heads that can sing #its a homebrew guy but i really like 'im y'know

[elryuse]

Yandere idol gaeul obsessed with her non idol older childhood friend and snapped when she found out he has a gf

Jealous.

YANDERE IDOL GAEUL X CHILDHOOD MALE READER

Gaeul, the captivating idol of the renowned girl group IVE, was the epitome of grace and charm on stage. Adored by millions, she danced to the rhythm of fame, her life orchestrated by spotlights and applause. Yet, beneath the dazzling facade, Gaeul harbored a dark obsession.

Amidst her whirlwind schedule, Gaeul's world collided with her childhood friend, Lee Y/n. His presence brought solace, a sanctuary from the relentless demands of stardom.

"Y/n, it's been so long," Gaeul smiled, her eyes betraying a longing that transcended words.

Y/n grinned back, the familiarity of their bond washing over him like a comforting embrace. "I've missed you, Gaeul. It's like nothing's changed."

With Y/n, she rediscovered the simplicity of laughter and the warmth of genuine companionship. As their bond deepened, Gaeul found herself ensnared in the melody of forbidden affection.

But fate's cruel twist revealed Y/n's devotion to another—a girlfriend whose existence shattered Gaeul's fragile fantasy.

"How long have you been together?" Gaeul asked, her voice betraying a hint of forced cheerfulness.

Y/n's smile faltered for a moment. "About a year now. She's amazing, Gaeul. You'd love her."

Consumed by jealousy, Gaeul's adoration morphed into a sinister obsession. With feverish determination, she vowed to erase Y/n's lover from the symphony of his life, leaving only the haunting echo of her own desire.

In the dim glow of her apartment, Gaeul's manic whispers mingled with the flickering light of monitors, plotting each move with meticulous precision.

"She doesn't deserve you, Y/n," Gaeul muttered to herself, her voice trembling with rage. "I'll make sure she never comes between us again."

From subtle sabotage to calculated whispers of doubt, Gaeul waged a silent war against Y/n's relationship.

"Are you sure she's the one for you, Y/n?" Gaeul's words dripped with false concern, her eyes gleaming with malice.

Y/n frowned, confusion clouding his features. "Why do you keep saying that, Gaeul? She's been nothing but good to me."

As the days blurred into nights, Gaeul's obsession consumed her, a wildfire devouring reason and morality.

But in her fervent pursuit, Gaeul failed to heed the warning signs of her own descent into madness.

"Y/n, please," Gaeul pleaded, her voice cracking with desperation. "Choose me. I can make you happy in ways she never could."

"I'm sorry, Gaeul," Y/n replied softly, trying to maintain composure despite the fear building inside. "I can't just leave her like that."

Gaeul's pleading turned into a dangerous edge. "But she doesn't love you like I do. She doesn't understand you like I do. You belong with me."

Y/n took a step back, feeling the weight of Gaeul's words. "I appreciate your feelings, but I need to do what's right for both of us. You're an Idol Gaeul.. And I'm just a normal guy".

Gaeul's desperation turned into rage. "You're making a mistake, Y/n. She's manipulating you. Can't you see that?"

Y/n's heart raced as she realized the depth of Gaeul's obsession. "I... I need to go now."

Gaeul grabbed Y/n's arm, her grip tight and possessive. "You're not leaving until you choose me. I won't let her have you."

Fear gripped Y/n as she struggled against Gaeul's hold. "Let go of me, Gaeul. This isn't love, it's obsession."

Gaeul's eyes flashed with a manic intensity. "I'll do whatever it takes to make you mine, Y/n. Even if I have to get rid of her."

"What The... ". Y/n Tried to get rid of Gaeul but it didn't do a thing. Gaeul's Obsession for him has grown too far and she would do anything to make sure he stays for good.

"Just be a good boy... And let me take care of thingsss babe..... ". Gaeul slowly carress your cold skin, As she giggles and slowly kisses your forehead.

"YOU'RE MINE NOW... SLEEP TIGHT BABE".

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #sexy content #yandere #update #kpop yandere #ive gaeul #kim gaeul #yandere x reader #obbsessive

[defmxl]

'DANCING ATTRACTS.' - NETEYAM

╰┈➤ Gender Neutral - Na'vi Reader (19) x Neteyam (19)

STORY SUMMARY - Your dancing meant for the ancestors attracts the one and only, Neteyam.

WARNINGS - N/A

AUTHOR'S NOTE -

Finally did a Neteyam one-shot! So happy. I'm in love with him tehe. Twas gonna be a smut one-shot but it just didn't fit so I threw that idea away, blehhh. But anyways to anyone reading, Enjoy!

YOU loved to dance. It had been a passion of yours for so long.

During the Omaticaya festivals you are the main dancer for them and your sister, Inoä, was the singer. You both worked together to sing and dance for the Olo'eyktan and the Tsahik. It was serious when it came to your leaders your dancing was supposed to grace Eywa and the ancestors while Inoä's singing would call for them to join the festival and to watch your dance.

Now you danced in front of Olo'eyktan and Tsahik. But not only them today but the Olo'eyktan's son, Neteyam, he watched intently, every moment you'd turn to face them his eyes were only watching you. In today's sturmbeest hunt he had successfully hunted another sturmbeest down, you weren't surprised; he was very talented. But you were proud so you made sure you shown your best dance that you had been practicing for weeks now.

Since he was young he always loved watching you dance; during the times he'd watch you he was amazed of what you were capable of, the way your body swayed with the music, the way the feathers that decorated your body twirled when you did, the decorative paint that decorated you face and body made you shine, the beads in your hair clinked every sudden move you made, your movements were confident ; You were stunning.

As Inoä's melody soon died down your movements slowed. Hence your dance was done. It was silent the sound of your heartbeat pounded in your ears, you panted lowly as you looked around to the Omaticaya. Then the silence soon turned into loud cheers their loud yips made you smile widely. Your gaze moved from the people to the na'vi you wanted approval from the most. Neteyam stood from his seat clapping loudly, a sky-people gesture, but you didn't mind it; you nervously smiled up at him what you didn't expect was for him to step down to where his family sat, heading towards you.

But the callings of Inoä made you turn away from him. She was waving you over with the group of other dancers. You shook your head towards her, pointing behind you at Neteyam. She seemed to understand so she nodded but to your avail a bigger hand landed on your back your friend, Ayateu, he slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you forward with him. You internally cry when you were being pulled away from Neteyam, looking back you noticed he stopped walking towards you, his lips were pressed together and his brows furrowed. You apologetically wave to him and he only nods to you, turning his back on you to get back to his family.

The night went on after that you were planning to approach Neteyam but noticed some women coming up to him here and there so you decided not to disrupt him. Your friends managed to get him off your mind and you were slightly glad. All of your friends had dared Inoä to drink four cups of the strongest juices but of course it went horribly; she chugged half a cup. Inoä was coughing and gagging wildly you squeal as she grabs your arms weakly, her spit landing all over your face. You desperately try to move away from her as your other friends surround her trying their best to save her.

From afar, Neteyam watched the all of it go down. How your face cringed and you let out a manic scream when a glob of saliva landed on your cheek. He couldn't help but chuckle when you pushed her away and furiously rub the rag across your cheek. But it soon faded when his big-headed brother came in view. Neteyam rolled his eyes and turned to look at Lo'ak as he approached the table.

"Huh? What's so funny? I wanna laugh too." Lo'ak sat back down next to Neteyam with a cup in his hand; with the same drink that was killing Inoä. He desperately looked for whatever Neteyam was looking at but he saw nothing. "C'mon, bro."

Neteyam only waved him off and placed a dry piece of meat into his mouth and began to chew. Lo'ak gave him an annoyed look and started poking at him with his extra finger as well as starting to chant "Tell me."

Neteyam only shook his head and shoved the rest of the dry meat into his mouth. He pointed to his mouth full of food, motioning, "Can't, I'm eating."

But Tuk was Lo'ak's savior. "He was watching a girl, Lo!" She giggled and bonked Neteyam over the head with her hand. The oldest Sully boy stared wide-eyed at his youngest sister in betrayal to which she returned with a evil giggle.

"Oh." Lo'ak's eyebrows raised as he smirked. His head snapped back to the na'vi his eyes scanning them all. Neteyam was sure that Lo'ak wouldn't catch who he was staring at so he triumphantly swallowed the meat and went to reach for a piece of fruit.

Oh boy, was he wrong. Lo'ak's eyes immediately landed on you. Earlier Lo'ak was at the juice's table, checking which one he would like and by coincident you were there grabbing the four juices for Inoä. He always knew Neteyam had an eye for you but he never commented on it. Lo'ak wished he could tease him about it but he remembered the last time he teased his elder brother, Neteyam brought the girl Lo'ak had a crush on for so long around the family mauri straight in the morning without him knowing and that day he felt the most nastiest and I mean nasty. His braids weren't washed nor kept, he hasn't bathed, he hasn't changed his loincloth from the other night, and he had morning breath. So to say the least he almost cried when he saw her, the embarrassment he felt was so unbearable that he didn't leave his hammock for a few days. Neteyam got him when he was in his most vulnerable and Lo'ak knew he could do worse so he backed down.

Well back to important matters. Lo'ak knew Neteyam had an eye for you. Since all of you were young Neteyam would take time out of his day to watch the dancers pratice. No, No, watch YOU dance. At times when Lo'ak joined his brother he saw how Neteyam's eyes would stay on you, he'd hear the small praises that would come out as a whisper when you'd successfully finish a dance you struggled to do, small chuckles would come from him when you'd angrily stomp your feet when you'd get something wrong, or the way his brows would furrow in distaste when you had to dance with another male na'vi. Lo'ak could go on and on but to say the least Neteyam was obsessed.

Lo'ak chuckled evilly as he turned slowly to his brother. "You mean ___?"

Everyone in his family turned to the both of them their conversations died down immediately, Neteyam froze mid-bite. What! He kept his crush on you so hidden how did he know?! Well that was what Neteyam thought. Lo'ak laughed loudly at his brother's reaction as he was about to open his mouth to tease Neteyam. He bolted out of his seat he didn't want his brother annoying him tonight. Neteyam dodged many dancing na'vi as he tried to find a secluded space for him but of course he had to bump into you.

You finally managed to get away from your group of friends to be by yourself and that was the best damn idea you've had all week. You were backing away from a couple who almost bumped into you and your back made contact with a hard chest.

"Oh! I'm Sor-" When you turned around mid-apology your breath caught in your throat when you were looking up at Neteyam. Neteyam stumbled back a bit in shock. Wow so many coincidences happening today.

"___-"

"Nete-!"

The both of you spoke simultaneously. Of course.

"I'm sorry! You speak first, Neteyam." You giggle awkwardly and start playing with your hands.

"No, it's alright. You go first." Neteyam firmly stated. You couldn't help but giggle, he was a true gentleman.

"Have you come to dance?" The smile on your face grew awaiting for this answer.

Neteyam wasn't surprised by your question but he still nervously laughed. "Oh, no."

It was silent for a moment as you just stared at up at him. For Neteyam he felt as if he was making this awkward considering the silence. But, no, you were just trying to build up the courage to ask him for a dance. Mini you in your head was screaming for you to do just do it but the nervousness made your stomach ache. After another long minute you finally grew the courage to ask but it came out much more pathetic than you hope for.

'Well... Would you like to dance?" You whispered loud enough for him to hear. Looking up through your lashes you noticed that Neteyam seemed a bit taken aback. Before you say anything else Neteyam was quick to answer.

"I would love to dance with you!"

The nervousness faded from your body and you couldn't help but jump for joy. You smile grew more prominent and you immediately grabbed a hold of Neteyam's bigger hand. "Alright! Let's go!"

When they reached the dance floor Neteyam was unsure how to start but you started straight away. Once again Neteyam was hypnotized by your movements instead of dancing he just stood and stared at you. In the middle of your dance you look at Neteyam who looked rather dumbfounded but you snicker and shake it off. You reach forward and grab his hands to lead the way and he immediately started moving to beat of the music. You were impressed at how he danced it seemed as if he were to be apart of the dance group you were apart of.

It wasn't long until you decided that you didn't want to dance anymore. But that didn't mean you wanted to stop the night without Neteyam. Eventually you drag him off, far away from the party. You both held each other's hands as you raced through the forest. After awhile Neteyam stops and pulls you to him, you huff as you crash into him. "Hey!"

Neteyam laughs loudly as you let go of his hand and push him away. You playfully hiss at him to which he growled back at you. The both of you circled each other as you growled at each other back and forth, waiting to see who would strike first. You were the one to lunge forward and pinch his nose then ran off into the forest. You were fast but not as fast as Neteyam he seemed to catch up to quite quickly but he stayed behind. At times he'd pull at the tuft of your tail causing you to cry out, trying your best to run faster.

The familiar sounds of the waterfall made your ears perk as a plan formed in your mind. Okay so here we go, you jump in the water and swim until you lose him. Great plan. But it was interrupted when you felt a large body tackle onto you. Neteyam was getting tired of this chasing game so he decided to take it a step forward to stop it so he pounced you. While both tumbled to the ground her protectively wrapped his arms around you to protect you from any sharp objects on the forest floor.

Once you both stopped rolling around you opened your eyes to see Neteyam on top of you. His hand protectively held your head and he stared deeply into your eyes. You felt the heat rise up to your cheeks as you stared up at him. The more you looked you noticed how handsome he was, he had beautiful yellow eyes they were fierce but warm, he had slightly plump kissable lips, and his stripes were beautifully prominent. Braids hid part of his face so you raised a hand and pushed them away to see all of him. In one hand you held his face and the other you held his arm.

Neteyam on the other hand checked for any injuries on your body. He was too caught up in the moment that he stupidly tackled you to the ground. Your dainty hand on his face made him stop to focus on your face. It seemed as if your had and awed look on your face. His gaze went from your eyes to your nose then to your plump lips. You moved your hand from the side of his face to the back of his head, bringing him down to your face. Neteyam gladly let you as his gaze only stayed on your lips.

You ran your hand through his braids for a minute. This felt so intimate. When you were little you'd dreamt of the day of your first kiss and now it was happening. Neteyam had dreamt of this moment as well but only with you. He was glad that it was finally happening. Even though he was nervous he was impatient, he quickly pressed his lips against your own. The kiss was short and tender. Once you both separated you were in awe. Neteyam moved from on top of you so you could sit up, it was silent for a moment.

You both faced the waterfall. Both of you sat side-by-side, you had your knees to your chest and Neteyam sat criss cross. Minutes pass by until you saw Neteyam's hand on your knee, you looked up at him to which he smiled at you. You giggled a little, grabbing his hand you scoot to his side so you'd be pressed together. Neteyam wrapped his arm around your body, pulling you even closer. (If that was even possible.) You leaned into him and you both sat there for the rest of the time. Oh, great mother. You're falling in love.

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