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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as gore, blood, violence, mentions of bullying, 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 live a simple life with a simple job; find fresh meat. (Part of the Illuminate AU)

Characters: Steve Kemp

Note: Writing Steve was fun in this one and I like the reader. Hope you enjoy it just as much.

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 <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The only bar in the small town is predictably busy that Friday night. The furor of the crowd tamps out the music and the warmth of bodies swathes around the tables. You sit in your usual spot. You don’t often get out during the day, maybe once a week, but you’re there almost nightly.

Watching.

You’ve always been good at blending into the wall. In your solitary corner, you’re close to invisible. It’s astounding how easy it was to fade out of this place. To evade the whispers in the grocery store aisle or the gossip of scandalised old women on the pew. You used to think your unremarkability was a curse, until you made it your talent.

Funny to think you know them all. That you have a name to every face. That your ears prick at the echoes of secrets all around, of the underhanded comments, and the jealous rumours. It makes it all the more easier. You know how to use them all. You’ve made a weapon of what was once your bane.

You sip from your glass of ginger ale and whiskey. You nurse the single drink throughout the night. The moon is waxing but not yet full. You still have time.

You twirl the straw with your fingers and watch the table of men hollering in their jerseys. It’s amusing to see how serious they take their games. And there’s the next table, two older couples straining to hear past the jeers of their neighbours. You drag a finger through the condensation as you suspect a confrontation to boil over.

You sit back as you sense the approach of shadows, bodies weaving free of the web of bodies. You look up at the two women, one with spiraling locks of bleach blonde and the other with an ombre of browns down her strands. Your chest plucks in recognition. There are not just names to the faces, there is that twinge deep in your chest.

The blonde bumps her hip into your table, an obvious ploy. She looks over her shoulder and gives a dripping smile as she touches her cheek. Her green eyes meet yours, beautiful despite the lack of thought behind them.

“Oh, sorry, hun,” she squeals, “it’s so crowded in here. We can’t find a table,” she gives that pretty smile, the one that gets her a free coffee from the same man who expects a healthy tip from you, the one that contrasts the venom of her soul, “you waiting for friends?”

She eyes the empty seats around your table. You shrug and sit back, shaking your head. You measure your expression and keep your gaze dull.

“No, you’re free to sit if you don’t mind me,” you call above the crowd.

You don’t expect her to accept the offer, but you didn’t expect the run-in at all. You feel slightly unprepared for it. The woman sitting alone with her whiskey is not the same girl who used to cower at the sight of bleach blond hair.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she proclaims victoriously and tugs on her friend's arm; you know her too. “Here.”

The woman with the layers of caramel and coffee streaked into her hair turns and gives a similarly fawning smile. That instinctual pandering which overrides most constraints of society. That privilege that only lasts so long and leaves the vessel empty and bitter. A shallow bowl can’t sate the hungry forever.

“I’m Lexi,” the bleach blonde introduces herself as she drops onto the wooden seat. You raise your eyebrows, repressing your disappointment. She really doesn’t remember you. Usually, that wouldn’t be so bad, but how could she forget? “This is Carmen.”

You offer your name in return, thinking that might spark her memories. She doesn’t flinch. Nope, those sleepless nights were not the same for her. You were just the troll under the bridge in her high school fairy tale.

“Don’t know how we ended up here,” Carmen rolls her eyes.

“Fucking Mandy and that idiot she calls a boyfriend. Tonight was supposed to be lit,” Lexi whines.

You’re amused. A whole decade and so little change. Like the rest of the town, it all just stays the same.

“Oh, sorry, hun,” Lexi turns her jade eyes on you, the speckle of amber in them cruelly beautiful, “we don’t mean to just ignore you. We had a party but the host locked us out in the cold. This town is so boring, isn’t it?”

You nod placidly, agreeing without a word. You watch her, waiting for anything, for just a sliver of remorse. She’s too much of a coward to admit it if she does remember, but you want to see it. You want to see the epiphany in those vapid eyes.

“Are you new?” Carmen asks, “I don’t recognize you.”

You shake your head, “I work nights. Don’t get out in the day.”

“Ah,” Carmen nods, “makes sense. Honestly, we need new friends,” she points between her and Lexi, “what are you drinking?”

“Whiskey,” you answer.

“Oh, whiskey knocks me on my ass,” Lexi whines.

“Pfft, you mean it has you knocking others on their asses,” Carmen rolls her eyes, “she’s an angry drunk.”

“Hey,” Lexi elbows her companion, “shut up. At least it doesn’t have me doing splits on the nearest guy–”

Carmen laughs, unbothered by the accusation, “look at us. You must think we’re crazy.”

You tilt your head, “not really.”’

Carmen seems deflated by your non-reaction. The two of them preen with the same expectation. That they will be praised and admired, as if they are worthy of your attention.

“I like her,” Lexi slides her manicured finger along the brim of her glass, “she’s so quiet.”

You look at her half-finished cocktail, then Carmen’s. Your eyes flick back up to their faces. It can’t be their first drink of the night. One more might be enough.

“Let me get the next round,” you offer.

“Oh, and she’s nice,” Lexi squeals. “Hon, you don’t have to–”

“No problem, I know the bartender,” you stand, “what did you want?”

You wait for their orders then duck through the crowd. You smirk as you approach the bar and join the crush of people around it. You found the one and with a few nights to spare.

🌔

Two drinks. Barely worth money but you see little value in that. The girls walk on either side of you, stumbling down the pavement as their vodka-laced breath fogs in front of them. They aren’t dressed for the weather, their short skirts expose them to the nip of the creeping winter. Stupid girls.

You get to the bridge as Carmen sways and stops to lean against the edge of the rail. She grips her hip and bends at the waist slightly, spitting onto the pavement. She burps and pushes her chin up to the glare of silver moonlight.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna hurl,” she gurgles.

“God, Carm, you’re such a loser,” Lexi babbles as her heels clack dangerously under her and she hugs herself with a shiver, “it’s not even one o’clock.”

“Whatever,” Carmen holds her stomach, “I didn’t have dinner.”

“Or lunch, you fucking toothpick,” Lexi shoots back.

“Fuck off!” Carmen stands and stumbles, “you’re always such a fucking bitch.”

You stand back, forgotten in the background of their argument. You want to laugh. So simple that they turn to animals over the smallest things.

“Why don’t you go fucking home then? I don’t want you pissing on my couch again,” Lexi snaps.

“Wha– I told you, that was Gemma.”

“Bull fucking shit,” Lexi shoves the other girl, “you owe me a new fucking couch.”

“Don’t touch me,” Carmen pushes her bag, “go fuck yourself.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Lexi pouts.

“Whatever,” Carmen spins, nearly dropping her purse as she swings her arms out to catch her balance, “have a good fucking night, you whore.”

Lexi cackles as she watches the other girl’s shadow disappear down the street with treacherous steps, heels catching in each crack, as she mutters to herself. You look at the blonde, she’s not even worried about her so-called friend. No, she’s not even clever enough to worry about herself. She’s perfect, just not in the way she thinks.

“Hey,” you say softly. Her eyes round and she bats her fake lashes at you. She’s surprised by your lingering presence but giggles away the reminder, “I know a place.”

“A place?”

“Friday night, there’s a crew down at the industrial park… I really shouldn’t tell you,” you look at your boots, the scuff on the toes, the shorter lace on the left side. “It’s not too late.”

“Oh? A party?” She asks devilishly.

You give her a look and drag your eyes away, “if I take you, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh my god, I knew there was something about you,” she claps her hands, “totally down. My lips are sealed.”

“I mean it,” you warn her, “not even Carmen can know.”

“Fuck that bitch,” she scoffs and grabs your hand, “show me the way, hon.”

🌔

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Lexi asks as she clings to your arm. You have to keep yourself from elbowing her away. Not that much further.

Your footsteps echo across the empty lot, the shadows of the boxy industrial buildings rising to the east and the west. Most of them are abandoned, as lifeless as the rest of this decrepit town. You lead her on, set on the dingy steel doors of the one that used to be the meat processing plant.

It’s dark but for the scant sliver of light leaking through into the night. You shrug away from Lexi as she releases a brrrr through her chattering teeth. You approach the large door and grab the metal crank handle, wrenching it back and rolling it loudly in the quiet din of late autumn.

She steps forward hesitantly. You sense her look back and you turn, knowing she’s come too far to leave now. She rubs her arms as she follows you, poking her head forward as she peaks into the dim space.

There’s a single light shining, a bulb beneath a tin shade hung from a chain. It lends a sinister tint to the pieces of mismatched furniture.

You stand by the door, your elbow against it. She looks confused and disappointed. It must’ve been the same expression you wore that made her guffaw so loudly at your expense all those years ago.

“I thought you said…”

“Yeah, looks like they wrapped up early,” you sigh, “sorry, I can see if anyone’s still around…” you watch her hover at the threshold, “might as well come in. You’re freezing cold.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she breathes as touches her raw cheek, “you’re right.”

The frigid air is starting to sober her up. That’s no good. She enters and you slide the door on the tracks, twisting the lever until it catches. Her heels click over the concrete floor to the edge of the thin carpet.

“There’s some drinks around,” you offer, “sit.”

“Um, maybe I should call the taxi,” she says nervously.

“Why? More for us,” you go to the mini fridge in the corner. The bottles inside clink as you pull open the door, “vodka… oh, you like grape soda? Maybe cream soda?”

“Er,” you hear her sit heavily on the cushion, “sure…” she chatters again, “It is fucking cold.”

You fill a glass with pink soda and vodka. A double but you doubt she’ll taste it through the sugar. You bring it around the couch and place it on the round table by the armrest. You rub your hands together and blow into them.

“I’ll get the heater going,” you say.

You go to the metal radiator near the wall and turn the dial. You hover your hand over it, pretending to gauge the heat as you consider your next steps. You almost want to draw it out and enjoy it but you can’t risk that. No, you have to stick to the plan.

You do wonder what happened to everyone else. Usually there’s at least one straggler. You were counting on the distraction. Oh well.

“I’m just going to get a drink for myself,” you near her again and pull down the fleece blanket from the back of the couch, “here.”

She accepts it gratefully, pulling it around her shoulders before reaching for her drink. You go back to the fridge and open the door. You flip open the small compartment on the door and quickly pluck out a vial.

“What do you do for work?” You ask as you open a drawer in the wooden cabinet against the wall.

“Boring shit,” she nearly chokes on her vodka, “reception at the massage therapist downtown? You know, the only one…” she never had any issue talking about herself, “I make some money on the side doing OF.”

“OF?” You repeat as you pull the plunger of the syringe, “what’s that?”

“You serious?” She slurps between words as you face her, “Only Fans.”

“Oh, of course,” you keep your soles light and flat, trying not to let her hear, “makes sense.”

“Men are stupid. You don’t even have to show ass,” she laughs and takes another gulp.

She drinks down the vodka soda, leaning her head back as you come up right behind her. Her eyes are closed as she tilts her chin up. You easily slip your hand around to jab the syringe into her throat.

Her eyes pop open and she releases the glass. You retract your hand as she coughs and claps her palm to her neck. She sputters and chokes, spitting out a mouthful onto the blanket as she slides forward on the couch.

“What the fuck was that?” She snarls, “you fucking freak!”

“It’s what you deserve,” you toss the syringe and hear it shatter, “you bitch.”

She slumps over and falls onto the floor. She struggles to stay on her hands and knees as she shakes her head, trying to free herself of the rising haze. It’s your turn to laugh as she slaps her hands on the floor desperately.

“Why…” she gurgles.

“I remember,” you declare as you stride to the front of the couch, “I fucking remember.”

You kick her ass and send her face first to the floor. She collapses into a heap, her body going limp. You stare down at her and take a deep breath. Time to clean up this mess.

🌔

You dream of the night before. The long walk to the warehouse, the echoing steps of your guest beside yours, the road winding ahead of you as if it is endless. The building remains distant and unreachable, seeming further the closer you get.

You wake with a start, the digital numbers on the clock glaring back at you. You roll onto your back and rub your crusty eyes. Laying there in the dark, the window bellowing against the thin walls, you wonder if it was real. Not the nightmare, but what came before. It’s like a dream come true.

You hit the button on the alarm clock to disable your alarm. You sit up and push yourself to the edge of the bed. You go through your morning routine; shit, show, primp, dress. Basic. No make-up, no scents, but you're clean and presentable. Insignificant and forgettable.

You pull on your denim jacket and the fingerless gloves you wear even when inside. The place is eternally cold and you don’t have the hide meant for it. Your fingers wander to the silver crescent hanging around your neck, a protectant.

You go out into the hall, quietly shutting your door behind you. You descend the metal stairs, one at a time, the curved structure wobbling slightly.

You see Lexi first. Her blonde hair is tangled and hangs around her drooping head. She’s still out. They usually wake up by now… if they’re alive. You hear the click of the kettle and your attention is drawn to the other figure in the room.

Steve’s dark blue shirt strains across his shoulders as he lifts the stainless steel kettle and pours steaming water into a burgundy mug. You near without a word, not voicing your surprise to see him awake before you. Instead, you pull down a cup of your own from the shelves and fumble through the basket of packets, taking a French Vanilla for yourself and dumping the instant grounds into the porcelain.

“If I couldn’t hear her heartbeat, I’d think she was dead already,” he comments as he stirs with a spoon. “You know I don’t like old meat.”

You roll your eyes and he hands you the spoon to mix your own. You blend until there’s a froth over the mixture. Not milk, you like the bitterness. He turns to lean on the cabinet and considers the blond tied to the steel chair.

“I may have gotten a bit… heavy handed,” you shrug as you blow steam away from your cup, “how did you know it wasn’t my heartbeat?”

“I know yours,” he says coolly, “it skips.”

You don’t comment on his last remark. Instead, you test the temperature of the coffee, the flavour awakening your heavy mind. You stare at Lexi as she hangs forward, arms bound behind the chair. You grin as you swallow your mouthful.

“You’re in a good mood,” he says.

“Not really,” you rebuff, “where are the others?”

He scoffs and crosses one foot in front of the other, “as if I know what those assholes get up to. You know how they are.”

“I haven’t seen Kraven since the last moon.”

“Thank god,” Steve chuckles, “you gotta admit, he’s the worst of us.”

You don’t know about that. Again, you know silence is valuable. Your thoughts, more so. Besides, they don’t keep you around for your opinions. It’s a skill to be okay going unheard.

“Adam… he’s being… Adam. The others, like I said, who knows.”

You nod and take another swig of coffee. Steve stands straight and paces around the room. There is not a sickle goosebump on his skin, he doesn’t shiver, even in only the button-up and his dark slacks. Your jaw aches as it wants to chatter.

You look down at the dark brew. There you are, just the same as you’ve always been, wanting to be a part of a crowd you’ll never fit in with. So you accept the grunt work, you accept being peripheral. You would rather be tolerated than excluded.

He nears Lexi and looks her up and down. “Maybe it’s better they stay sparse, she doesn’t have much on her.”

You roll your tongue and suck your teeth. You stare at the back of her head and your lip curls without thinking. Let him feast. Your disgust turns to content and you let yourself smile.

“What is it?” He asks, the angles of his face catching the early morning light in just the right way. The sun peers in through the square pains set high into the wall. The sight of him almost takes your breath away as his pupils seem to flash silver.

“Nothing,” you lie.

Your eyes wander to the round ornament hung centre on the back wall. Like a clock but without numbers. Instead, the phases of the moon tracked by the ticking gears and iron hands.

“I know when you’re not telling me the truth,” he says.

Does he know? If he did, he would know how you envy him, and at times, even want him. But you know better. You are not like him and it’s clear he won’t let you be like him. That isn’t part of your pact.

You touch the necklace beneath your collar. Your heart flutters as you think of telling him the truth. He squints at you, drinking deep, only to show his tongue in a gesture of revulsion.

“The fucking moon,” he growls, “everything tastes like shit this time of the month… except for fresh meat.”

“Tomorrow night,” you say.

“You know, same as me,” he eyes you narrowly, “come on, pet, stop fucking around and tell me what’s got you so… chipper.”

You put your coffee down and cross your arms. It’s damn cold here. You’ve done your work. You get to go to your room, turn on the heater, and wait out the moon. Just like always. They never cared as long as you brought them a good meal.

“I want to watch,” you whisper.

His brows flick up. That’s the most emotion you’ve seen in him. Genuine emotion. He’s surprised.

“I don’t know about that,” he says, “I don’t know if you can handle that.”

“I can,” you raise your voice, “I want to.”

His nose flairs and his eyes go up to the ceiling, “I’d have to check with the others–”

“But if it’s just you–”

“Pet,” he says tersely and your ears whistle, “you don’t know what you’re asking for. It’s not just about what you’ll see. It’s dangerous. That night, you’ve never felt the way the moonlight fills your veins.”

You look away. Of course you haven’t, they won’t let you feel that. You are just their little minion. A thrall sworn to serve them.

“It’s not a no,” he says to your lack of response, “alright?”

You turn and grab your mug, “alright.”

You take the coffee and head back to the stairs. He’s watching you. You can always feel when he does that. You long for that sensation but at the moment, it only irks you. You deserve to see it happen.

You’ve been waiting years to see Alexis Clover get what’s coming.

🌕

The confusion is expected. They often awake slowly, bleary-eyed, and dazed. Some of them never reach clarity between moonfall. Lexi is silent, eyes open, staring at the wall. She should scream soon. Maybe when she notices you.

You grow impatient. You look up at the windows. It’s a bit early but you’re overeager. You’re not just waiting on the moon, you’re waiting for word from Steve. You haven’t seen him since the morning.

You pull the pocket knife out of your pocket and emerge from the shadows. Her green eyes dart over to you as you unfold the blade. Her gaze falls to the knife, silver gleaming back at her dangerously. The fear in her face contorts to spite.

“I always knew you were a freak,” she sneers.

You stand a foot away as you shift your posture. Your lips twitch and your brow arches without meaning to. You put your chin down as you watch her. She does remember. You knew it.

“Rat girl,” she barks those words that haunted the high school hallways every time you walked down them; the ones she coined herself. “So what is it? You’re going to murder me? You fucking weirdo?”

You don’t answer her. She taught you that. They only ever want a reaction. It doesn’t matter what you say, they’re too narcissistic to hear you.

You grab the sleeve of her shirt as she winces. She tries to wiggle away but the robes keep her in place. Kraven taught you how to tie those knots. You slip the blade beneath the fabric and slowly slice along the seam.

“What are you doing?” She hisses, trying to jolt the chair but she can’t get any leverage. “Please, don’t hurt me,” her tone softens at once as the back of the silver blade grazes her skin, “please, you can untie me and let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

You ignore her pleas. Those are expected too. Usually they mention a spouse or children or a job. They beg and they beg. It doesn’t affect you. No one ever cared what you had. No one ever loved you so why should they get to have what you don’t.

“Carmen,” she gasps, “please, Carmen knows I went with you. She’ll tell someone.”

You laugh and shake your head. You continue your intent task, cutting away her clothing a piece at a time. Some things don’t change, you think sourly. You’re still a plain little mouse compared to her. You hate that even now you’re jealous of her.

“Don’t you care? Don’t you care that people will know you’re a monster? They’ll find out.”

You keep your composure though you want to laugh in her face with glee. You’re not as low as her. You have a sense of grace she could never know. You remember her smug smirk as she dumped her latte on your uniform and called you trash. You mimic it as you rip away the layers of fabric.

“You’ll find out,” you back up, the remnants of her clothing heaped in your arm, “soon.”

You turn and dump her clothes in the rolling bin of scraps meant for the weekly bonfire. It’ll be burned after the moon, along with what’s left of her. You leave her shivering through her fruitless threats and name calling. You climb the stairs, slowing as you come down the walkway to your door.

Steve waits for you, hands in his pockets as he leans on the frame. You meet his eye, only for a second before focusing on the wall behind him. Another symptom of your former teenage angst, your inability to interact like a normal fucking human. Good thing he’s not quite that.

“You know her,” he doesn’t ask, it’s a statement. You’re not surprised he was listening. Even if he wasn’t out there, he probably could’ve heard it all. “That’s… bold.”

“I don’t know her. I remember her,” you correct him.

He hums and brings a hand up to his chin. He taps along his cheek as he thinks. He peers up and down the hallway, then back at you.

“Can’t find the others. Not enough time to go out searching,” he says, “so it looks like it’s just you and me.”

You nod, “oh?”

“The other’s can handle themselves,” he scoffs, “I’m not worried.” He steps forward and you have to fight not to back away. That’s always your instinct, to keep distance, not just from him, from everyone. “So why don’t you keep me company?”

You look at him, eyes blazing as your forehead furrows. You don’t want to say it aloud. You still fear hearing the answer.

“Keep your silver on,” he hovers his hand before the crescent necklace by your collar, retracting his hand quickly, “tuck some wolfsbane in your sock and don’t make a noise…” he instead caress your cheek, “my hunger can get the best of me.”

He pulls away and passes you, brushing closely. You stay as you are, standing stiffly as you listen to his retreat, smiling to yourself. You don’t look back until you hear his door open and shut. He gets a bit more touchy feely during this time. Until the bloodlust is sated.

🌕

Steve goes over the plan. He can’t see you. That’s his one rule. You have the wolfsbane in both socks and your silver necklace on your neck. He tells you to hide and not tell him where. You’re nervous, but more excited than afraid.

You’ve been imprinted. They aren’t supposed to hurt you but there’s an unpredictability laced into the moonlight. You stay above, on the second floor, climbing across one of the thick steel beams to watch from there. It should be safest there, and you’ll have a full view of the scene.

You sit shrouded in shadows, a blanket around you, watching Lexi’s shaking form. It’s colder than even the day before. Her pale skin is turning blue. She shivers and lets out a sob. She quit her screaming much earlier, quickly losing her energy.

“Please…” she pleads before calling out your name, “please let me–”

A shrill howl rises up in the night air. From somewhere outside, distance but close enough to hear. It frightens even you. You brace yourself against the upright shaft that holds the beam as she quivers in a fit of tears.

There’s something else. A scratching and scuffing. A bang and clang, followed by the creak of hinges. Heavy and hot breaths, slickened with slobber as they build in tempo. Shallow and frantic, as if unable to get enough air.

You see Steve lurk along the walkway, just a contorted silhouette as he lumbers to the top of the staircase. He lets out a thick growl and hack, falling against the railing, gripping it as he makes his descent, and collapsing at the bottom.

Lexi sits up and turns her head. She can't see him as his hands hit the floor, as his fingers grow and his nails turn to long shanks. As the fur sprouts from him, thickening as his shoulders broaden and his spine curls. He sets his haunches and pushes himself to his feet, no paws, his snout rising with a soulwrenching howl.

You hug the beam and hold your breath. You pull a hand back to clutch your necklace. Steve sniffs at the air, hot puffs of steam clouding before his snout. Even in this form, you admire him. Dark, silky fur and shining silver eyes. He is forged in power.

Lexi whimpers as she can only hear him. She whines and cries out your name, begging still. Steve pants, huffing into rumbling growls as he circles her. She shrieks as she sees him and his snarls almost sound like laughter. He continues to walk around her, taunting her as he sniffs her bare skin.

He stops before her. You make yourself take a breath. Your mouth is dry and your ears are fuzzy. You feel dizzy at the moment turns surreal. It’s different seeing it.

He leans in, pressing his nose to her stomach until she squirms and sobs. He drags it up to her chest, nuzzling her in a way that sparks a surge of envy. No, he is going to get rid of her. You are thankful for that.

He brings his paws up to her thighs. She whimpers, pushing her head back as she gulps loudly. He sinks his claws into her soft flesh and she screams. He runs his nose along her collar bone and brushes along her throat.

You see the outline of his fangs as he opens up and you suck in your cheeks, squeezing the silver crescent as his jaw snaps shut. The sudden gush of blood has you hypnotised. You blink, salivating as if you can taste her yourself.

The noise of his gnawing, of his beastly hunger, of the shredding of his claws in her flesh, mulches together in your mind. You cannot look away as the ropes fall away beneath the sharpness of teeth and claw alike. As he drags her from the chair and devours her throat until she can gasp and gurgle no more.

You raise your clutched fist to your mouth and press it to your lips, swallowing a scream of your own. Not quite fear, more adrenaline, you suppress the threatening eruption back into your stomach. You grin, you don’t know who deserves this more; you or her.

Steve licks his chops and throws his head up, letting out another blood-curdling cry. For a moment, you think he sees you as his eyes linger. You freeze and wiggle your foot, feeling the scratch of the wolfsbane in your sock.

He moves away from her, tugging what’s left of her carcass to splay across the floor. He watches the shadows in the rafters as if presenting you the kill. He knows you, even when he doesn’t know himself. Or so you would like to believe. So you tell yourself so you don’t panic and fall to your doom.

🌕

Dawn approaches before you dare to come down from your perch. Steve is still down there, somewhere, but the moon is gone. You put your foot on the railing along the walkway and lower yourself onto even ground. You go down to the staircase and descend the spiral.

The smell of blood wafts in the air still. As you step onto the first floor, it permeates your nose. You nearly choke on the pungent flavour.

You hear a groan as you look around. Steve sits behind the couch, naked with only a shorn cushion in his lap. He’s a man again though a wolfish glint remains in his irises. You go to the sink and run the water, wetting a cloth before you go to him.

“Happy?” He asks, giving a scarlet smirk as you hold out the wet cloth.

“Sure,” you answer.

He’s watching you again. You don’t meet his eyes. He reaches up but does not take the cloth. He brings both hands to cradle your cheeks.

“You didn’t like it?” He asks.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t say much,” he insists, “look at me.” Your eyes meet his in a heartbeat. By your pact, you cannot disobey him, “tell me… how you feel.”

You swallow and raise the cloth. You wipe away the blood crusting around his hairline. You clear your throat.

“Like you said, happy,” you answer. He drops his hands and lets you continue. You mop away the streaks along his upper face, into the endless red stain from nose down.

“Just happy?” He prompts.

You look him in the eye again. He can hear how your heart pounds. He must know.

“You’re real fucking sick,” he snickers, “you know that?”

“Yep,” you force out dryly. You know you’re not a good person but what other choice did life give you?

He’s quiet as you clean him. He puts his head back as you wipe down his neck, the tendons tensing and his throat bobbing. You feel a tickle along your knee.

“So fucking sick it’s hot,” he slithers, “stop.” He grabs your hand and moves it away from his neck. There are still patches of red all over his face, almost stained brown. “I want you to smell her one me when I fuck you.”

You squeeze the cloth and pause. You lean back on your heels and look him in the face. He smirks as he moves the pillow away from his lap.

“And I know you want it just like that,” he purrs as your heart flips. He’s definitely heard that.

He keeps a hold of your hand and tugs you closer. He pulls on you until you're right in front of him. He reaches and touches the front of your corduroys.

“Take these off,” he commands and lets you go.

You wince as the demand zips up your spine. Your desire mingles with that eerie compulsion to serve. You drop the cloth and get to your feet. As you stand, you see Lexi’s barren ribcage. You feel a flood of heat inside of you.

You push down your pants, your panties twisting in the thick fabric. You step out of them and kick them across the floor. As you step closer to Steve, he groans.

“Socks, silver,” he mutters.

You retreat and undo the chain around your neck. You toss it to land on your pants and you strip off your boots and socks, hurling them away from you. You go to him again as he reaches up to guide you. He eases you down into his lap, rigid and twitching for you. The sight enlivens you.

He grabs himself, angling himself along your cunt. As his tip touches your folds, you let out an unwitting squeak. You grip his shoulders as he rubs himself against you, your desire slickening him. He prods at your entrance, framing your cunt with two fingers as he spreads your lips wide.

You hold your breath, temples pulsing, ears pounding. You let yourself down onto him, biting your lip as you ignore the scalding strain of his intrusion. You sink your nails into his muscles as he pushes on your hip. He grunts as he feels the brief moment of resistance and you cry out as you sink down completely.

You pant as you hang your head back. You see silver stars as your head thrums and your body shakes. You’re lost in the storm of pain and pleasure. It’s like an electric shock, both agonizing but awakening.

He drags his other hand up your stomach, thumb hooking under your sweater as he urges it up your torso. He reveals your chest and leans in, taking a nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirls around cloyingly.

His fingers glide back to your clit and rolls it firmly. You gasp and tilt your hips, letting out a yelp as zing rises from his touch. You rock again, encouraged by his groans as the rumble into your chest. You squeak as you take him, over and over, riding him slowly as you try to adjust to the feeling of him. Just to the idea of being filled with something.

His nips at your chest, your nipple hard as he suckles and teethes. He switches, taking the other in with a hungry hum. He keeps his fingers working against your bud as his other hand hooks around your back. He reaches to your neck and urges you closer. He lifts his head and nuzzles your neck.

You smell the blood on him. It enthralls you. His heat, his scent, his voice. It all roils around you as you feel ready to bubble over. That building pressure guides your motion. You’re desperate for the promise in his touch.

“You lied,” he snarls into the crook of your neck as you clasp the back of his head and buck against him.

“About what?” You breathe as your fingers weave through his thick locks.

You yelp as the world shifts and you’re suddenly floating over the floor. He puts you on your back as he gets to his knees, lowering himself over you, staying buried in you. He slides back to his tip and presses his nose to yours. His blue eyes bore down into you. Your gaze flits away instinctively.

“No, look at me,” he orders and your eyes snap back to his. He ruts, jolting you against the rug, “you didn’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

You gasp and suck in your lip. You curl your fingers into his shoulder as your other hand crawls up his stomach. You let your eyes wander down to watch his muscles constrict as he fucks you. You moan and tear your gaze back to his face.

“Not anymore,” you murmur.

He chuckles and leans down, puffing a hot breath along your cheek, “I know, pet, you were never innocent.”

#steve kemp #dark steve kemp #dark!steve kemp #steve kemp x reader #illuminate #au #werewolf au #fresh #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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suzukiblu · 5 months

Note

Hi! I love too much of your writing to pick one myself, so can I ask for either transfemme Kon with amazon soulmates or trans Clark but not trans Kon for wip Wednesday?

transfemme Kon and her Amazon soulmoms:

He hears wind whipping through a cape and a thrumming, inhuman heartbeat, and a moment later Kal lands lightly on the street in front of him, frowning in faint concern. Which makes sense, since Kon is currently hanging out with a supervillain and his two favorite lackeys. That is definitely something Kal should find concerning. Kon sure as shit finds it concerning.

“Everything okay down here, Superboy?” Kal asks, his eyes briefly flicking towards Luthor. Kon only wishes Luthor were the problem here.

“I can’t answer that question without confusing myself,” he mutters with a grimace, hunching his shoulders.

“What?” Kal says with a deeper frown.

“Is your presence really necessary here, don't you have an intrepid reporter to compromise the marital vows of?” Luthor asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Please shut the fuck up,” Kon says, gritting his teeth. Fuck, like Kal would ever fuck with Lois Lane’s marriage, she’s his friend. Kon has no idea why she picked Clark Kent over Superman, mind, but if she has a thing for slightly incompetent farmboy reporters with shitty posture, that’s her prerogative or whatever.

He guesses the guy is kinda cute, if you squint. And if, like, you’re a fan of especially hapless and nerdy puppies.

Kon cannot imagine what their sex life must be like, though.

the one where Clark is trans and Kon is not:

“Fucking prick,” Kon snaps, and Match looks unimpressed. She wonders if Match cares about being insulted like that–like, gendered insults or whatever. She wonders if Match is her . . . not-actual-sister. If Match is just as much of a girl as she is.

As Kal isn’t.

She wishes she knew, though it’s not like it matters. Even if Match were a girl, she’d–he’d, they’d, not it’d–still be an asshole. Still be standing here in front of her calling her “difficult” because she isn’t going to let the Agenda chop her up for parts or unzip her DNA again or . . . whatever other fucked-up thing they wanna do with the dead body everyone would still be calling “Superboy”.

Kon can’t let herself die if she’s gonna be getting buried as Superboy. That’s just–not a thing that she can do.

It’s going to happen one day, she knows, but she’s not just gonna lay down and take it.

“Just give it up, Superboy,” Match says with a bored, disdainful expression, posture shifting into aggressive readiness; into a stance that could go from neutral to offensive in about two seconds flat. She’s seen it happen. She’s done it.

They’ve got the same body, after all, whether it’s right or wrong on both of them or not.

“Over your dead body,” Kon snarls, and then she thinks of the cell walls she slashed into with her TTK and throws herself at Match with her fists wrapped in invisible sharp edges like telekinetic brass knuckles. She needs to do damage, make Match think twice and fall back, and do it quick.

Though it’s admittedly not very smart to use a trick that Match could probably figure out how to copy, but when is she ever smart anyway? When has she ever been, even once?

#anonymous #wip: amazon kon #wip: trans clark and cis kon #long post

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writing-the-stars · 2 years

Text

Girls Night

Pairing: Klaus x Fem!Reader, Rebekah x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Pining after Klaus Mikaelson for twenty years has left you absolutely heartbroken. All Rebekah wants to do is alleviate your pain.

Warnings: A Little Bit of Angst, Excessive Drinking (Both of Blood and Alcohol), An Act of Typical Vampire Diaries of Violence. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Hey guys! Here is the Klaus Mikaelson WIP that I promised you all. Don’t worry there will be a part two, so be on the lookout for that! Also, just for the sake of clarity, reader is a Heretic in this one. Thank you always for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day! Here is the link to the song used in this imagine

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

You miserably sit at the foot of your bed in the Mikaelson Compound, a pout resting on your lips as you use your vampiric hearing to eavesdrop on Klaus’s conversation with his latest conquest. You tended to be grateful for the enhanced abilities becoming a vampire granted you, loving the advantages, but on days like this, you cursed your gifts.

Klaus Mikaelson is a man well known for his charm– his long list of lovers over his thousand years supporting that fact. Despite your better judgment, you fell for that seductive nature, just like every other misguided girl on his list. It was bound to happen with all the time the two of you spent together over the last century. It honestly did not come as a shock to you, you just wish you had the same effect on him as he does on you.

For two decades now, you've watched with green-eyed envy as Klaus has brought home his collection of women, wooing and seducing them– a piece of your heart breaking every time. Your head knew that you should let him go and move on, but your heart remained adamant that he was the one for you. You couldn’t free yourself from the burden of his unrequited love even if you tried, and oh how you tried. You once went as far as Australia to attempt at getting him out of your head, but you always found yourself right back in New Orleans. You were drawn to him, connected by some invisible force that pulled you closer every time you'd try to leave.

Rebekah watches you with sad eyes, propped against your doorway as she sees how her brother's libertine behavior is tearing you apart. With you being her best– and one of her few– friends, it upset the youngest Mikaelson to see you so distraught, especially over her bastard brother. But there was nothing that could be done about it, Rebekah knew that better than anyone. The only thing that could alleviate your pain was the man who was causing it.

"You know, it helps if you don't listen," Rebekah informs you, making her presence known. You startle, having been so engrossed with Klaus that you had not heard her arrival. A defeated sigh exits your lips, knowing she's right, but you just couldn't help yourself. Even though you know the pain that comes along with it, you want to hear all the romantic words leaving Klaus's lips. You want to hear if there is a difference in the way he speaks to her than with the other girls. You want to know if Klaus is falling in love.

However, when the conversation turns into something more passionate, you can no longer bear to listen– an uncontrolled heartbroken sob escaping your lips. Rebekah speeds over to you, wrapping you up in her arms as you sob into her chest, supporting the weight of your emotions. She brushes her fingers through your hair gently as she sends a multitude of curses towards her older brother for putting you through so much heartache.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. Niklaus Mikaelson is not worth your tears," she tells you, a sad smile painted on her lips. "Let's get out of here," she offers, lifting your chin up with her slender fingers, "I’ve suffered through many heartbreaks myself and I know the perfect way to get over them."

You allow her to whisk you away, desperate to make the pain go away.

A joyous cheer reverberates from your chest as you drop the unconscious barfly to the floor. Rebekah shares in your delight, finishing off her bottle of tequila, glad to finally see a smile on her best friend’s face. "Bartender, make me another drink!" you command the woman behind the bar with a laugh— her body moving mindlessly under your compulsion.

Your dearest friend saunters over to you, draping her arms over your shoulder. "See, darling, isn't this better than crying over my bastard brother?" she asks you with a grin, her words slurring slightly due to her tipsiness. You nod your in agreement, downing a shot of whatever concoction the bartender created.

You gasp in realization as a brilliant idea pops into your head. "You know what this party needs? Music!" you announce to the crowd of compelled patrons who cheer amusedly, having a fabricated night of their lives. Drawing from the eternal source of magic flowing through you, you turn the bar’s radio on, finding a station that satisfies you.

"Dance with me," you beckon to Rebekah– the two of you wildly jumping in time to the music. You toss your head back, laughing carelessly as the alcohol and blood mix in your system making you feel weightless. The grief of your unrequited love for Klaus Mikaelson is only a mere throb in the back of your mind.

The fun you two are reveling in is interrupted when Rebekah receives a phone call eliciting a frown from you. "Boo," you pout, drawing out the last syllable as she answers it.

"Nik, how wonderful for you to call."

Your frown deepens at the mention of his name, the feelings you had been suppressing starting to rise. You turn to the closest bar patron near you, sinking your teeth in, trying to forget everything. The song on the radio changes and a squeal of delight leaves you. Releasing the guy, whose blood is beginning to pool around him, you begin to dance to the intro of one of your favorite songs.

"Open up to the night

Our bed is underneath a heavy moon

Cast a doubt"

You begin singing along as you climb on top of the bar, grabbing a bottle of tequila on your way.

"Like a shadow walking through the corners of the room"

"C'mon dance with me," you motion to two beer gluttons sitting at the bar, helping them to get up there with you.

"I always thought I'd have a full tank to go

But not tonight, you're running low

I always thought I'd find my own way"

Taking a swig from the tequila, you dance with the two men, swaying your hips to the beat and letting your hands fly freely. You laugh feeling infinite as if this moment will never end. Everything leading up to now and everything that will come after is irrelevant to you, what matters is the limitlessness you feel in this very moment. The absolute freedom.

"Everybody dance!" you shout– the bar denizens cheering their praise as they begin to join in. You cheer, reveling in the joyous atmosphere you created inside the bar, disconnected from the world around you. A hurricane could have just struck New Orleans and you would not know. Taking another swig of tequila, you brace yourself, take a deep breath, and belt out the chorus of the song along with the artist.

"It's driving me crazy, and you can try to lie

But you're not gonna, not gonna deny

No, you're not gonna, not gonna deny my love

And you can run to the hillside, you can close your eyes

But you're not gonna, not gonna deny

No, you're not gonna, not gonna deny my love

You can't deny my love"

Rebekah returns, having finished her conversation with the hybrid, and cheers you on as you jump wildly and erratically, losing yourself in the music. The two of you continue in this manner throughout the second verse of the song– singing, dancing, drinking, and laughing. However, by the time the chorus comes back around, your pity party is ruined by the very man you were having this party to forget.

He watches you from the entrance of the bar– an amused smirk lighting up his face– as you drunkenly dance around the bar top. The smirk falls from his lips when you begin grinding against one of the bar patrons, a surge of rage and jealousy rushing through him. Rebekah, ever the instigator, gives you a round of applause, singing your praises and raving about your performance. A proud grin spreads across your lips at her praise but you weren’t done. Wanting to give Klaus a real show, you pull the man closer to you, leaning in for a kiss, but are met with air. Brows furrowed in confusion, your eyes open to come face to face with Klaus's chest– the drunken man’s heart in his bloodied hand. You frown, realizing the night of fun has come to an end.

"Alright, the party's over. Everyone out!" Klaus yells at the compelled patrons, who are still dancing away in the silence, angry at your little display. "Party pooper," you pout, crossing your arms as Rebekah whines a "Nik," both of you behaving like petulant children.

"Now," he demands and you get down with a sigh, knowing even in your drunken state it’s best not to test Klaus’s patience. You join Rebekah in compelling the surviving bar guests to go home and forget everything they witnessed tonight. Once the last denizen leaves the bar for the night, you turn to Klaus– angry that he ruined your girls' night with Rebekah. "Why'd you do that?" you question him, gesturing to the lifeless corpse on the bar– the irritation clear in your voice, "He didn't do anything. We were just having fun." Klaus sends you a murderous glare and you realize just how furious he truly is.

"Fun? You call that fun. Whoring yourself out to some men at a bar."

Normally, you have checked the Original Hybrid for a statement like that, but given the current circumstance, you thought it best not to provoke him. You blurt, "It was Rebekah's idea!" looking to save your skin and deflect most of his wrath while simultaneously throwing your friend under the bus. The Original takes offense to how easily you gave her up, but you take comfort knowing that she is Klaus's favorite sibling, so she is most likely going to come out unscathed.

"I don't care whose idea it was. You're going home, now." Without a moment’s hesitation, you and Rebekah whisk off to the compound– surprised at how easily he let you off without so much as a lecture.

Part 2

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firenati0n · 27 days

Text

summarizing my wips badly <3 :)

thank you so much to @cha-melodius @bigassbowlingballhead @magicandarchery @anincompletelist @kiwiana-writes @onthewaytosomewhere @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @junebugclaremontdiaz @porcelainmortal @nontoxic-writes for the tags!

this is a fun new game fajslkdfj here is my pass at a few of mine:

chef alex started making it big. had a breakdown. came home. breakdown got worse before it got better. bon appetite.

chris nolan!alex and cillian murphy!henry fuck around and find out, to the delight of everyone but them

alex torments henry on tiktok and everyone on the internet knows henry wants alex except for alex. as usual.

alex is stalked by an invisible man in a trench coat fr and almost throws a jo malone candle at him in fear

love at first flight, alex follows henry all around london. henry does not know he is being followed.

henry is once again down horrendous for alex in another fucking universe. but this time he's a masochist and writes alex love letters on behalf of a girl because he's a fucking idiot

horny and earnest brain worms make alex eat his fist on his first date with henry

the super six are overworked and underpaid public school teachers. pez is a principal and he, as usual, slays

cia agent alex forced to participate in a male pageant and henry falls in love. what a twist no one saw coming.

obscene amounts of pining longing yearning across timelines until they eventually converge bc i am not evil

alex pines for bea from afar but ends up, once again, down horrendous for her pretty brother when bea gets in an accident (how unfortunate for everyone but alex and henry)

henry is cillian murphy narrating his little irish train sleep story on the calm app and alex listens to it on loop to fall asleep bc he would rather do that than confess any sort of feelings ofc

henry hires an escort to be his wedding date bc he is incapable of normal human interaction but whoa the escort is alex. who else is surprised.

you are welcome to send me asks about any of these, and i will ramble on about them and share snips where appropriate :) <3

xoxo roop

open tag and a few tags under the cut <3

@ninzied @anincompletelist @nocoastposts @wordsofhoneydew @myheartalivewrites @rmd-writes @cricketnationrise @smc-27 @dumbpeachjuice @clottedcreamfudge @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @orchidscript @tintagel-or-cockleshells @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @eusuntgratie @getmehighonmagic @captainjunglegym @sparklepocalypse @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @onward--upward @leaves-of-laurelin @priincebutt @duchessdepolignaca03 @ships-to-sail @piratefalls @welcometololaland @affectionatelyrs @happiness-of-the-pursuit @sherryvalli @whimsymanaged @alasse9 @cultofsappho @itsmaybitheway @kill8a @largepeachicedtea

#wip game #roop writes

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hirayaea · 13 days

Text

love and deepspace drabble — “partner”

—“don’t you trust me to wait for you?”

—or, alternatively: the first time they become partners

—xavier/mc

—notes: I thought this would be part of a longer fic. maybe it will be. I have a 5 page WIP with a dozen different scenarios and I don’t know where it’s going. I haven’t written in a long time, and this feels like an ‘in between the moments’ piece more than anything. I’m still in the process of moving so I thought I’d post something I already made a while back while I’m on break! it’s simple and short but enjoy (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

—warning: maybe mild “shooting star” anecdote / myth spoilers

。

You remember sitting next to him, pencil in hand, doodling a flower in your notebook during art class.

“Do you like flowers?” you write at the top corner of the paper, tapping over it twice so he would notice. He is torn between paying attention to you or listening to the teacher, but you both have gotten into enough trouble to know what he will choose.

He glances at you, a small smile on his face, and shrugs. Then he begins writing, “It depends. Do you like flowers?”

His smile is so boyish and cute; it makes your entire face red enough that you have to turn away. Joy blooms in your chest and you have to suppress the sudden urge to smile like an idiot.

When you face him again, he is looking at you, his eyes the reflection of a clear blue sky before rain. The intensity of his gaze causes the heat to spread to your ears and neck; you almost forget yourself, but he mimics you and taps over his note.

Oh, right!

“Yes,” you reply.

He looks pensive before he scribbles again. “What do you like more, stars or flowers?”

You pretend to be deep in thought and tap your pencil on your chin. Then, “I like both,” you write; you’re aware it’s cheeky, and your grin is as wide as it is mischievous. You draw a large star around the flower you first drew, and put a comet tail so it looked like it was shooting off to space.

Xavier shakes his head in amusement. “That’s greedy,” he writes.

You wanted to retort but the sound of loud chatter stops you. Your classmates had begun to move their chairs; your art exercise was starting, and the girls of your class are quick to ask Xavier to be their partner.

You pout and watch them from the corner of your eyes as you begin to pack up your notebook. You clearly weren’t listening to the teacher, so you had no right to complain that you didn’t ask Xavier first when you didn’t even know what was happening.

You’re about to stand when Xavier calls your name.

“Where are you going?”

You pretend to be anything but upset. “I’m off to look for a partner,” you say, brushing an invisible speck of dust from your skirt.

“You’re not choosing me?”

When you look up at him, he looks like a sad puppy, and you try and pretend it didn’t make your heart didn’t skip a beat.

“I thought someone else beat me to it,” you mumble.

The breath he releases is mixed with a laugh. He looks relieved, you think, and before you can try to understand why, he leans forward.

“Don’t you trust me to wait for you?”

You place a hand on his forehead to try and push him away. “You’re too close!” you say, and suddenly everything is warm; he chuckles at your reaction, a sound low and pleased, and the vibrations of his laugh resonate under your palm. The sensation travels through straight through your chest, and your heart is feels tight enough that your head is lightheaded; you’re not quite sure if you’re coherent enough to form a witty retort, so you settle with the truth.

“O-of course I trust you.”

Xavier seems content with that.

With a small smile, he takes your hand.

“Let’s go then,” he rasps, entwining your fingers, “—partner.”

。

—end? or the beginning?

#part of a longer fic maybe #it will make more sense when it’s part of a whole???#love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #xavier #my guiding star #our little planet #seiya continues to ruin my life #aya writes #xavier/mc

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eddiebabygirldiaz · 8 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @lover-of-mine @giddyupbuck @bekkachaos @forthewolves @rewritetheending @wildlife4life @monsterrae1 @messyhairdiaz @spaceprincessem @jeeyuns @rogerzsteven @ladydorian05

thank you my loves! 💖

i am having a really great time putting eddie through it in my 5+1 calls fic so have a taste

Eddie chuckles and braces one hand on the back of Chris’ head as he leans down to bury a kiss in Chris’ curls which smell like citrus and sweat and boy, a youth permeating from him that is so sweet and precious, conjuring images of grassy fields warmed by the Texas sun and rippling rivers and Eddie running with a laughing girl beside him.

It’s a youth he hopes never fades, a youth he has witnessed in Buck, clutched delicately between large, fragile hands, fluttering and glowing and transparent, so Eddie knows it is something that can endure and by god Eddie will do everything in his power to make sure it does in his son.

“I’m glad you're home,” Chris mumbles into his shirt, rubbing his head back and forth across the fabric in a cute little nuzzle.

A sharp pang echoes throughout Eddie, rolling around in between his bones, clanging like some kind of warning bell. He wonders if Chris still remembers or thinks about the days and nights when Eddie coming home wasn’t even a possibility, when he never even considered waiting or looking forward to his father walking through the door because he knew it wouldn’t happen.

Tears rise up into his throat, forcing it to close tight around the wild pressure of them. But they don’t swell in his eyes. It’s been a long time since that happened, since his tears started and ended in the place belong. His tears always begin in the pit of his stomach, pulled from the very core of him where he tries to keep them buried, yanked up by a rough fist that is shaped and scarred like his own, weaving between bruised flesh and cracked bone until the tears become lodged in his throat and he has to make the decision to let them go, to let them complete their journey and fall from his eyes, or swallow them back down into the pit he designed specifically for them.

Eddie swallows them.

“Glad to be home,” Eddie responds, words roughened by the scrape of tears they have to rake across in order to get out of his mouth. He pokes at Chris’ side to make him giggle, the sound so much more beautiful and cherished and sweeter than any that Eddie could release, and its flavor disintegrates his tears enough that the invisible, unmeasurable particles they are composed of go down easily.

tagging: @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @bigfootsmom @anxieteandbiscuits @bucks118 @diazblunt @butchdiaz @shitouttabuck @fiona-fififi @loserdiaz @buddierights @cowboy-buck @cowboy-buddie @bvckandeddie @buck2eddie @try-set-me-on-fire @wh0re-behavi0r @diazass @paranoidbean @folk-fae @fleurdebeton @sibylsleaves @gayedmundodiaz @heartshapedvows @spotsandsocks @transbuck @watchyourbuck @eddiediaztho @king-buckley @transboybuckley @thewolvesof1998 @eowon and anyone else who wants to share!

#buddie #buddie wip #911 #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #buddie fic #5+1 calls #ryan writes #wip wednesday #911 fic #buck x eddie

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yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy · 5 months

Text

Fugging fugg it.

Silco x Genderfluid!Sex Worker Reader WIP

———-

Tell me, is there a specific impetus that determines whether you present as a boy or a girl?'

You glance up from the bowtie you're making with the drawstrings to your pants. His slender fingers, the fingers that were wrapped around your cock only minutes before, splay like a divided fan to frame his face. Two fingers the vertical span of his cheek, the others curled beneath his lower lip. Thoughtful as he studies you.

It is impossible to beat the feeling back--your chest flutters with something light. Gratified. That dangerous, dangerous thing that can lead people off a cliff and into hell if one isn't careful. That thing that you know he can *see* that you have strung between the both of you with an invisible cord, your heart to his eyes, his mouth. That *predictable* sentiment, the hollow, pathetic hunger for affirmation that is far more perilous to possess in the Undercity than recklessness, greed, or sheer stupidity.

He knows, and he sits, a spider balanced on a splay of silk you have woven for him. Enthusiastic, willing pawn that you are. A hint of interest, and you are running.

You wonder if he can read the conflict that roils in your heart, the survivalist’s battle with this embarrassingly predictable nature that plagues the scores of mensch that tread the earth of Runeterra. Brotherhood. Freedom. Power. Does he know how greatly you struggle to remain able in his presence, how small you are made to feel despite his trust in your capacity as a courier and a reconnaisseur?

An obedient peon when necessary, of course, always obedient, but a person yet still, an individual. He must see you struggle. Does it amuse him to see you endeavor not to unravel? Does he recognize your efforts, and how? A mark of hubris, or tenacity? A bug pinned under glass, or a child fumbling toward freedom.

'Or both.' Your tone is dry, bordering on sarcastic. You have faced this line of questioning countless times from people too stupid or too insincere to understand. But as soon as the words leave your lips, you regret them. This was not some alley drunk foreign to the concept of an engaging personality.

To your immediate relief, however, his chest hitches, the most imperceptible exhalation of air let through his nose. His eye flickers off to the side before returning to you. A finger taps his cheekbone. Amusing. ‘Or both.' He echoes.

'We've slept together quite a few times, and never once have you asked me such a thing. Why the sudden interest, sir?' You deliberately add the moniker out of habit, and self-preservation. Let it never be said that you *deliberately* mouthed off to *the* Silco. Post-sex murder is an anticlimactic way to go.

Another soft hum, the note round and warm in the middle. 'Idle curiosity.'

You raise an eyebrow. It's not that you don't believe him, but it's clear that there's more to it. You tell him as much. Politely, of course.

The thread of uncertainty fades. He seems receptive to your reporte today, or perhaps he thinks offering up his motivations will result in a reciprocity that he'd otherwise glean with subterfuge and verbal acrobatics. He pulls back from his desk and opens a drawer by his knee to retrieve a leather book, and beckons you over with a lift of his chin. You tighten the strings to your pants and do as he bids.

It's an almanac for this year. Odd thing for him to have, you think. He seemed more like a newspaper man. Splaying it open on the desk before him, he flicks to the section laying out the calendar months and slides it over to you while pointing at the month of April. If you recalled correctly, you started sleeping together around the end of that month...

At first you don't know what you're looking at. Certain days are marked with a single dot, all through the past few months. Blue, green, and red dots. It takes you a moment to parse out the data, but:

'You've been tracking my gender every time we've slept together?'

'I thought it..interesting. At first there seemed to be a pattern, but by July my working theory was in shambles.' He tilts his head to give you an appraising look. 'You are woefully inconsistent, boy.'

You can’t help it, you bark out a laugh.

He tsks, good eye narrowing in a baleful glare, yet his lips twisted in a way that betrayed his lack of genuine offense toward your outburst. 'I'm glad my confusion is so amusing to you.'

'Ahah, sorry, I just didn't expect this...' you gesture to the book, '..social studies project.' Without asking, you pick it up and run your finger over the neat printed columns. You glance over at him and find him fishing out another cigar from his humidor. Turning back, you shrug. 'You could've just asked.'

There is the familiar sound of the cutter. Snip. 'I believe this would fall more under 'psychiker medicine'.' The cutter lands on the desk with a metal clunk, and then the telltale click-and-flick of the lighter.

Your smile turns sly, and you lean forward, pressing your arms on either side of your chest to push what little flesh existed there into a tiny facsimile of cleavage. 'Would you like me to be a girl next time, daddy~?'

Rolling his eyes mid-inhale, Silco takes the cigar from his mouth and allows a waterfall of smoke to billow from his nose. He flits his occupied hand at your chest as if to say 'put those away'.

You playfully stick out your tongue, clipping it between your teeth, and give a little shimmy before straightening to resume getting dressed. You feel his gaze on your back as you round the desk to retrieve your shirt.

'It would behoove you to watch your cheek where I'm concerned, Darling.’

——-

Uh, these people liked a post I made a long time ago asking if anyone was interested in this idea so you quite literally asked for it.

@spoczkot , @spooklia , @rockz-in-a-box , @fluffydogboo13 , @aftonsfatnuts , @jas-mjp

#silco x you #silco #silco x reader #fan fiction #wip wednesday #my writing

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glittercake · 5 months

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I'm curious about the divorce au 🤧

ohhhh so i'm quite excited about this one. i don't have a whole lot written yet and it's going to be pretty long but i have this little snip.

"You still love Dad." Dominique says. She's got that annoying Bucky-like pull to her eyebrows. Sam admits that he falters for a second. Just a second though. He finds another invisible spot of dirt on the countertop to clean. Scrubs over it vigorously trying to come up with an answer but that twin-tuition kicks in and Dom's head snaps to Aria and they burst into laughter. After a moment of hysteria, Aria composes herself. "Daddy, you ain't ever been a good liar." "Yeah. Because you shouldn't lie,” Sam says. Dom tilts her head sideways. "So you do?" Sam sighs. There's no out now except for playing dumb. "Do what?" "You still love Dad." He hates that their eyes swell with hope. He hates that his heart has already answered for him. "Don't you kids have homework or something to do? Girlfriends or boyfriends to annoy. Rooms to clean. You know that blue sweater you been looking for all week is on that laundry chair. The pile ain't getting any smaller." "Yeah alright, Daddy," Dominique says, resigning with a knowing shit-eating grin--another annoying expression inherited from Sam's ex husband. "But you know what aunty Nat always says--" "Girl, you better get out my kitch--" "--she says no answer is also an answer!" Dominique dodges the tea towel Sam throws at her then darts up the stairs, Aria in tow, giggling like this is funny. It’s not. Sam is goddamn sweating.

send me wip asks

#ask #writing #snippets #sambucky

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oh-no-another-idea · 1 month

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OC vs A Cockroach

Rules: Rate your OCs on how well they’d fare against a cockroach

Thank you for the tags, @mysticstarlightduck and @gummybugg! I'll do this for the Invisible Girl crew :)

Fynn -- 9/10 Like with many things in his life, Fynn is an unwilling fighter. He'd spend a few seconds internally panicking and then grit his teeth and go look for a cup to capture the sad bug and release him someplace else. Lewis -- 4/10 Wouldn't even notice the cockroach, either fortunately or not fortunately. lol. Paris -- 3/10 I think the cockroach would be the straw that broke the camel's back for Paris, if the circumstances were bad enough. He'd be soldiering on, one step away from a mental breakdown, spot the cockroach, and just. lose it. The cockroach would be like "get me the fuck away from this humongous crying bastard" and it would be right. Antonio -- 1/10 We are talking shrieking. Screaming, even. This is the only time Lewis notices bugs, because he rolls his eyes and comes to gently sweep said creatures back outside. Velia -- 9/10 Velia would probably get down on her hands and knees and curiously inspect the bug before casually picking up the nearest thing and killing it without another thought.

Tags for anyone who sees this, and also @reneesbooks @eccaiia @talesfromaurea @autumnalwalker @indecentpause @willowiswriting and @sleepyowlwrites <3

Also putting the Invisible Girl Taglist under here 🏵

@blind-the-winds @drippingmoon @elgringo300 @thats-my-type-writer @sleepy-night-child @writing-is-a-martial-art @viskafrer @croctears @talesfromaurea @necros-writings @ashen-crest @teaflint @princeofthecactus @imaginationxlost @fiercely-raging-writer @memento-morri-writes @outpost51 @josephinegerardywriter @jellybeanswriting @stuffaboutwriting @reneesbooks @charlesjosephwrites @yejidoesthings @sparrow-orion-writes @somealienquill @theunboundwriter @lady-grace-pens (ask to be added or removed!)

#tag games #wip: invisible girl #oc vs. cockroches

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angelasscribbles · 10 months

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Sneak Peek Saturday

I shared this on one of those WIP games but I wanted to share it in an official teaser.

Okay so I'm super excited about this one! First of all @aussiegurl1234 tagged me on Facebook in this.....

And it really gave me All Through The Night vibes... Which is a dark AU by @alj4890 so I sent it to her. She told me I should write a What If/alternate version of her story. I told her she should write it. We talked about it for a while, started bouncing ideas and...well...long story short, I'm writing it 😆🙃

I know I already have so much in process at the moment, but this intrigues me. Paranormal/fantasy is my one true reading/writing love to be honest.

Here is the opening which I previously shared:

The girl ran through the night, heedless of her torn gown and bare feet. She was fleeing for her life and there was only one place she could go, only one place no one would dare follow. One place she could disappear into.

The Black Spire Mountains.

The sounds of pursuit faded behind her as she climbed. Jagged shards of rock pierced her hands and feet as she hauled herself painstakingly, but determinedly up the side of the cliff face.

The sound of the royal hounds baying as they gave chase transformed into yelps and whimpers as the dogs drew close to the foothills.

The horses stopped of their own accord, refusing to cross the invisible barrier between the world ruled by men and the one ruled by monsters.

“She couldn’t have gone in there!” The captain of the King’s Guard spat, “No one is that stupid! Fan out! Search the riverbank, the woods and the old ruins! Find her! Go!”

Hooves clattered as riders scattered in different directions to do their leader’s bidding.

She had no idea how long she climbed but finally, she pulled herself over a ledge and collapsed onto a mesa, heaving the cool night air into her burning lungs as she gasped for breath.

Something howled in the distance. Werewolves? Dragons? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. The real monsters were down below. She would take her chances with the Esseri*.

Esseri is the name I've given supernatural beings in my series Dark Elf, so I'm sticking with that term here. It encompasses all the things like werewolves, vampires, demons etc. Anything that looks human, but isn't. In All Through the Night, there are shapeshifters that alternate between human form and dragon so that's why dragons are thrown in there with werewolves, as they are known to inhabit the dark kingdom.

#sneak peek #coming soon #angelasscribbles #the royal romance #trr au #paranormal #trr #the royal romance fanfic #choices #liam rys #drake walker #Riley Brooks #vampires

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messenger-of-stupidity · 1 year

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Can the Redacted Characters Skateboard

Hi and welcome back to bullshit that I wrote while on a hiatus to avoid actually working on WIPs and then shoved into my scheduled posting so i didnt have to worry about it.

Also if this has already previously been done, can someone please tell me so I can delete it because i dont wanna be a content thief. That always fucking sucks. (I say as I make up things about characters that Erik made up.)

Redacted Masterlist

OKAY LETS GOOO

Starting off strong with the Shaw pack and their respective partners.

David: Man had zero interest in actually learning to skateboard. He preferred learning to drive or ride a bike if he needed transportation. But he learned it with Asher when they were kids. Since being able to drive though he stopped practicing and now he’s rusty. He can skate and do basic ollies but that’s it.

Angel: No. They are clumsy. They get on a skateboard and immediately fall over. Wrap them in bubble wrap because they will get hurt but they will continue trying because they’re stubborn as all hell.

Asher: Yes. I headcanon he’s a skater boy so fucking hard you don’t understand. Man got obsessed with skating when he was in fifth grade and begged David to learn how to skate with him. He got so many injuries, Marie told him that she wouldn’t heal him for his skating injuries anymore. But he kept at it and when David started driving, he would be skitching to David’ car/truck all the fucking time. He also knows how to make his own boards and do a bunch of cool tricks.

Baabe: Baabe started to learn skating in middle school but then stopped. Asher taught them when they got together and now they go to skate parks and go on skating dates every now and then. it’s very cute. Asher made them a matching board to his.

Milo: No. This man sits on a board and uses both his feet and hands to make it move. He can at least balance on it unlike Angel but don’t ask him to push. He will fail and he will fall into traffic.

Sweetheart: They were able to skate in middle school but then stopped because they kept going invisible while on the street and people would try to stop a runaway skateboard. It ended up getting them and others injured so then they stopped. Now they’re too busy to see if they still retain any of their basic street skills.

Darlin: Abso-fucking-lutely. This is their main mode of transportation when they aren’t running. They continuously try to skate through the woods and fail every time because it’s not a stable enough surface. However they are a longboard user since they view street boards as hella cliche and they refuse. Also they like asking Asher to make longboards since he dislikes making the fuckers.

Sam: Yes. Especially post-turning. Man has reflexes and can make the skateboard go zoom with his vamp speed. But he doesn’t do it anymore because skateboarding at night can be kinda dangerous due to low visibility and he doesn’t like drawing attention to himself.

Arden: yes. I just get skater girl vibes from her. I can’t explain why. But I could see Asher making her an eggboard cruiser.

Christian: No. He tried to learn so he could be better than Asher but he fails harder than Angel. Everyone thought it wasn’t possible, but he proved them wrong. Congrats Christian.

Amanda: No. She didn’t have any interest in learning.

Now onto the Solaire vamps!

William: I wanna say yes simply for the mental image of this fabulous man skating down the street while Vincent and Sam stare on in shocked horror, but Imma have to say no. He will finance skateboards, but he doesn’t know. Darlin did try to teach him how to skate with a longboard but he looked at the board then at them and politely declined.

Vincent: Are you kidding me? Of course this flamboyant fucker knows how to skate. He only got better when he was turned. He prefers driving cars, but he likes skitching to one of his cars while Lovely is driving. It’s very fun. But he continuously tries to do tricks with a longboard and fails every time since that’s not what they’re made for. He’s too stubborn to stop though. His streetboard is so scratched up please get it some TLC.

Lovely: They’re in the process of learning because Baabe and Asher told them about their skate dates and they think that’s cute. Vincent is a horrible teacher though so their learning is going very slowly.

Alexis: No. This is commoner activities and therefore below her.

Adam: No. He’s missing a head. Usually pretty important when one wishes to skate. Thoughts and prayers dude.

DAMN squad!

Huxley: FUCK YES! This dude is a skateboarding king. He has a cruiser though since he just likes the chill vibes of cruising everywhere. It’s especially helpful on campus.

Damien: No and it frustrates him to no end. Huxley has tried teaching him, but he’s not able to pick it up. And everytime he gets frustrated he ends up damaging the deck so he stopped trying.

Lasko: No. He’s way too anxious to be confident about his balance so he always falls whenever he tries to put his foot on the back deck. He’s content with just walking, thank you.

Lasko’s listener (Kinda excited to see what pet name they get.): Yes. The confidence that is dripping (heh get it?) from this being is tangible, even from just one video. They seem pretty confident in their abilities, so that would serve them well for skating. Whether I think they do skate or not is still kinda up in the air. I can kinda see them being like that on tiktok teacher who skates around in the building ona cruiser. They give off a really chill teacher vibes (They literally wanted to start up a workplace romance, that seems pretty chill to me) so I could see them cruising down the hall with a stack of graded papers in their bag. Also they would totally skate during a storm. They’re a water elemental so they can probably control the element enough to make sure their wheels don’t slip too much. Lasko did say they were pretty good at their magic, so I could see them having that level of control.

Freelancer: Yes. Huxley taught them, so they only know about cruisers, but they’re okay with this. They get to cruise around campus and everything and it makes them feel cool.

Gavin: He has no need for it, but Freelancer has been begging him so he relents. Huxley and Freelancer are teaching him right now. It’s slow going since he would much rather just tease them both though.

Caelum: No. He can’t. But he’s very energetic when following after Freelancer when he can. He’s happy they found another activity that helps loosen the knots inside them. He’s a hype-boyo.

Meridian and Sovereign storyliners!

Vega: No. It’s a human custom so therefore he has zero interest in it. Also it holds no purpose to further his goals so why would he bother learning?

Warden: No. They were too busy to learn how and they also didn’t really care. It’s just a skateboard, but there are people that need their help. Also they’re too busy trying to fight off the never ending hunger.

Avior: He’s wanted to learn but has been a bit busy the past several months/hour.

Starlight: They know the basic push and ollies so they can easily get around but that’s it. They’ve been a bit busy too. Plus they like walking. It’s good for them.

Cam: (he needs to be here for organization sake) He has a cruiser. It’s nice to be able to to take a small break and just go past some flowers or parks and soak up how everyone is having a pretty good day. He doesn’t get the chance very often though sadly.

Asset: Yes but only because they know everything and have the ability to go through with it. They have never stepped foot on a skateboard and don’t have any plans to.

Marcus: No he’s a whiny little baby bitch. He would fall into traffic.

James: No, he’s a runner not a skater. But we respect him for it.

James listener: Yes. They don’t wanna be a marathon runner like James, but they wanna be able to go with him during his runs so they have a cruiser and they know how to use it. That’s it though.

Anton: Yes. I can feel it in my bones, if the workplace was more chill he would have an eggboard and that would be how he’d get around within the facility.

Anton’s listener: No. I get a gentle plant parent vibe from them. But they like seeing how content Anton gets when he gets to skate.

Brian: (i think that’s his name) No. He just wants to go home to his family bro. Plus he plays tennis (hc). Being a tennis player makes him above skaters. (lovingly said.)

Blake: Yes and he’s annoyingly good at it. He impresses his listener every time he does because they always think he’s not gonna be any good and then he proves them otherwise. Whether they’re dreaming or not when they see this and are impressed is unimportant. What’s important is that he impresses them and has their attention. What, are you not feeling drowsy? Don’t worry about that, look at this cool flip he can do.

Blake’s Listener: They have a skateboard that they have not touched since 3rd grade. So no, they cannot. They don’t remember and they didn’t practice long enough as a kid for it to be in any kind of muscle memory.

Elliot: Absolutely. This is another born, raised, and bred skater boy. He loves putting stickers all over the underside of his deck. It looks like someone vomited the definition of multi-fandom all over it. He also needs to get a new board before his deck snaps in half, but he’s too attached to it to do so.

Sunshine: Yes. After their accident, they were a bit scared to drive again so they learned how to skate in an effort of alternate modes of transportation. It was a necessity. But they met Elliot at a skate park when they were practicing turning and he helped them out. They became friends and then you know how the story goes.

Brachium: No. He has no access but Sunshine has told him about skating and he’s happy for them.

Unempowered!

Aaron: He got interested when Elliot got obsessed and he tried it out but then decided against actually dedicating time to learn. But he gave Elliot stickers to put on the deck.

Smartass: Aaron mentioned that he gave up learning while Smartass was half-asleep. The next morning they went out and bought a board to prove that they were going to learn and be better than Aaron. So they’re in the process of learning and everytime they feel like giving up because it offers nothing for them besides bragging rights, spite makes them continue. We wish them luck on their spiteful journey.

Ollie: No he doesn’t. He was more into playing board games inside then going outside to learn how to skateboard or anything. He knows his name is related to a skating maneuver but that wasn’t enough to make him have any interest.

Baby (Ollie): No. They’re content with playing board games with Ollie. They like being indoors instead of outdoors anyways.

Ivan: He learned but never put his skills to use. So theoretically he knows how to skate but we aren’t sure.

Baby (Pre-Vega’s Ivan): Yes. They learned with Ivan, and actually put the skills to use. So they do know how to skate and it’s a fun hobby for them to learn new little tricks.

Baby (post-Vega’s Ivan): No. They don’t. They didn’t have any interest and still don’t even after being freed and memory modified. Skateboarding isn’t for everyone and that’s fine.

Guy: yes and he’s horrible at it. He knows how but he likes messing up because then he can go to Honey about his “boo-boos”s and try to convince them to kiss the scrapes and bruises better. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Honey: Yes and they’re good at it. Their favorite thing to do when just skating around is a Dragon flip (also known as the 360 dolphin flip) they think it’s fun and they would do it continuously if they could. But every chance they get, they’re at least doing a dozen of them.

Geordi: He’s too anxious to actually be confident (like Lasko) but he really wants to learn. It seems less exhausting than running. He also thinks it looks cool.

Cutie: No they can’t, and street boarders thoughts are a bit too intense for them to even want to learn or try. They know Geordi wants to try, but they aren’t going to mention skateboarding because then they would have to worry about Geordi’s thoughts getting like the street boarder’s.

Regulus: He’s invisible, we will never know if he’s a secret skater boy. He’s very good at doing flips inside your mind though.

Regulus Listener (Precious I think they’re called? Getting Gollum vibes ngl): Why do you need to go outside? Inside you can be with Regulus. That’s all you want, not to see if you can skate. Inside with Regulus, safe from those who want to take him away from you. To separate the two of you. Why are you crying? Oh, he understands. Those are tears of joy aren’t they? Don’t worry, he’ll wipe them from you as he makes you lay dormant to his every whim. Isn’t this the life you wanted?

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