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“ COS ‘M JUST A TEENAGE DIRTBAG, BABY” “ SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT SHE’S MISSIN’ ”

90s version ! LOSER!ART. POPULAR!READER.

popular!reader often referred to as angel, but her personality isn’t so angelic. she’s often smoking, listening to music she shouldn’t—or messing around with people she shouldn’t (art). angel is rude towards art, but sweet towards her boyfriend and friends. but what does it matter. art’s lucky to even be able to touch such a wonderful thing. angel is nineteen and a first year in college. the only reason she’s so popular is due to her daddy who owns a major business. she’s always dressed nice for her daddy’s special occasions, but other than that dresses like a typical, everyday college kids. wearing tight tanktop, baggy jeans that are rolled up from the ankle, black or white converses (depending the occasions), and long white socks. angels dad can’t handle the sleezy style, but she doesn’t care. because she still gets what she wants anyways.

loser!art is only kept around whenever angel’s boyfriend on a break. he typically doodles, smokes, and is standing on no social status. he often gets high for fun, drinks a lot of pepsi product and manages to keep his hair nice. art is twenty one, and in his second year of college. he’s kept around to buy angel and her friends drinks, but as soon as her boyfriends in the area, she switches up. he petted down style in a sense. art wears a button up that stays untucked, jeans that are and aren’t baggy at the same time, and black converses with long socks rolled up. art only stays in contact with his grandma, and has a rather closed off persona. which is hence, why he’s a loser. though he has a strong passion for tennis and his best friend his patrick zweig (or so he says).

you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, as he clinged to the window sill. “can’t stay long,” you gasped in between the kiss “‘m only staying with my daddy for a week. the. ‘m stuck with my boyfriend. ‘n my daddy’s almost home from his event.” you always had a way of making him needy for you. you knew it—everyone knew it. why did people wonder why your boyfriend kept you on a tight leash when you came back after one of your “trips.” which was one of your booty calls if anything. “i know.” art said in between breathes.

the first time you had tried anything with art—it went terribly wrong, to say the less. he was kissing up on you whenever your daddy barged in. it was imprinted in both your minds. the way art hurried his pathetic wet-hard dick back into his boxers, pulling his pants up, as you sat up, clenching the covers. to say the less, you were in trouble. so you lost your phone privileges. and yes, you were nineteen—but you were still you dads baby. art pressed a kiss against your cheek, “i’ll miss you angel.”

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just so u know, i’d eat BOTH of their churros w cinnamon

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profound desire for blood ໑᱖ dean winchester

cw; vampire!dean x afab!reader — dark themes, angst (??), blood sucking, erm basically kidnapping, reader hints at stockholm syndrome, gorey themes, blood galore (obviously), pet names (sweetheart, my little star), mentions of the vampire diaries which i’m not even sure is time line accurate so stfu please (respectfully) <3

authors note; i love newly bitten vamp!dean he’s such a bloodluster and deserves all the sweet, sweet, sweet blood he can get. i’d give my blood to him by the pounds, you should 2 ! (ten out of ten, would recommend).

DEAN was just as confused as you were. but under different circumstances. yours was being chained to a wooden chair in a dusty, most likely abandoned motel, whilst dean’s daze was his bloodlust. he couldn’t help you cut your hand. not his fault at all.

he reacted in the way he thought was best. to take you to “just” wrap your hand. whose to say that’s not aloud. it was just so much blood. and dean—well dean couldn’t help himself. you have to pity him, you just have to! he’s put in all the effort to keep you safe from the scarey things (even though he was the scariest thing you were experiencing in the moment, whose to say he couldn’t be just utterly delusional about the situation.

blame it on the bloodlust, of course. he’s not really in control of his actions. so blame the bloodlust—because not even he was really in control of his actions. he didn’t asked to be turned into a vampire with no youtube step-by-confusing-step tutorial to help him. so blame youtube. totally. or google). your breathing picked up—were you dead (not quite yet)? “don’t panic yet, my little star.” a hand went to your chin, straying towards the cloth material that kept you blinded. stupid, stupid little star you were. never trust a strange man at the bar. ever.

“i know your wondering—” he slowly took off the cloth off, “why’re your here. but we can get to that later. now, i’m going to care for you.” the vampire whispered hoarsely. you kicked and started screaming, like anyone would do. your neck was sore—you were hungover and bound to a chair. you didn’t like your odds. not one single bit. they weren’t good odds. “hey, c’mon now my little star.”

you instinctively jerked your face away from his hand, your hair falling in his face. “let me go!” you voice trembled. except—your demanding plea fell deaf on his ears. you were stuck here. and the likelyhood of him killing you, well—was definitely up. you hadn’t gotten a chance to see the world yet. you needed to be alive—so you could travel and enjoy things. you thrashed your body around, in hope to escape the rope, or go loosen it, to do something to guarantee your safety.

“sweetheart.” dean said with a soft chuckle that echoed against the walls of the dense motel. “if i remember correctly—you chose to talk to me in that bar, you chose to let a handsome, if i say so myself, stranger.” he leaned down to your dried, bloodied hand, and licked it. he was a cunt sucking bastard. the smell of your sweet blood was just a testimony of your new beginning with dean. the blood that got him salivating for more.

dean straightened his posture and just stared at you. you were pure, cleaner than a water filtration system. tears that tasted like salt damped your face, and you—fuck did you want to leave. it wasn’t fair—to be held captive, when you didn’t deserve it. you just wanted to make some friends. at a bar, we’re you thought a man could actually be identified as a friend rather than a sex crazed teenager looking to hit it. accept you did find that—it was dean. he just want to suck your blood. (maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. to stay with him. to oblige his rules. to be happy with him)

he was almost taken aback from the tears. girls like you, they fought until they died. but you, you seemed to have given up. already. his hand fell away from your neck. and maybe a part of him still had that piece of humanity that he once had before he turned into a vampire. that piece he had when he vowed to himself to protect people. the one the persona of a vampire was slowly chipping away at. dean didn’t want to harm a pretty girl like you. not yet anyways.

your soft sniffles left dean at a pause. he wanted to protect you, he did. you were like a lamb. a sweet, sweet little lamb. but at the same time, he wanted to dry you of your blood like a raisin. it tore his rationality up. “look, sweetheart,” he crouched down forcing you to look at him, despite you not wanting to. “i need your blood.” (desperately). “so i can’t let you leave.” his hand cupped your chin. your breathing quickened as he pressed his nose against your neck, following not shortly after his teeth.

you bit back a scream, rolling your head up. his teeth impaled your neck, and tears spilled into uncontrollable sobs that wracked your body. you don’t know who you pissed off, but it had to be someone important. the biting turned into suckles as blood seeped out of your neck. sweet, victory filled blood. “don’t cry. it’s for a good cause.” he whispered, smoother than whiskey. your face flushed lightly. he’s a vampire. and a kidnapper. this isn’t the vampire diaries where you fall in love with the vampire but in which has proven to be entirely inaccurate. “plus, crying isn’t good for any type of plea.”

though trying to lighten the mood, it took a stark turn of making you sob more. “shut up!” you screamed, only resulting a hand over your mouth and a bang on the wall from the next door. which was almost a command to keep it down. of course it didn’t raise any concerns when someone screamed. it was a motel. what happens in a motel stays in a motel.

“my little star, that’s no way to handle the spot light.” dean teased.

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i just broke my own brain bc wtf why did i say men get pregnant not women

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MASTERLIST OF MASTERLISTS

01. STURNIOLO’S. 02. SUPERNATURAL. 03. MISC

⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

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hey bb !! just wanted to let u know the links on your profile dont work ☹️☹️

thank u sm but i already know that, i’m setting it all up RN !! thank u though

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got my first bot out ‼️

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just got pandora but i’m not picky w my music 😞

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babygirl brat. christopher sturniolo 𝜗𝒞 cw; unprotected sex, (semi)public sex, pinv, brat taming

chris’ hand was wrapped firmly around your throat, tears ebbed at your waterline as you mewled out as he thrusted his shaft into you. god—you fucked up. catching attitude was one thing. being a brat in front of his friends was another.

“shh, shh it’s okay.” he said as he had you bent over in his friends bathroom. you really should learn your lesson, because chris didn’t like hurting you. he liked to fuck you when you were a good girl. but fuck, you were a brat. and soaked about it. his fingers lightly pressed on your cunt from behind as he muttered to you. he curved his fingers, teasing you.

you arched you back, your mouth dropping. a silent moan left your lips, despite really, really needing to talk to him. “christopher, slow down—” a soft moan intruded on your sentence. you rolled your eyes back, letting out soft, baby-like whines.

he stared down at you, whispering in your ear, nipping at it softly. “slow down? sweetgirl, why would i do that? you didn’t have a problem bein’ a li’l brat early, so why care now?” your breathing quickened as he thrusted into you long, slow drags. your cunt clinched his shaft, resting your face on the cold tile of the sink as he kept going.

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cant wait til i graduate cause these people making me MAD like stop freaking pushing on me🤕

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　 high on confessions (pt.2). christopher sturniolo.

as you woke up from your short lived high, chris’ hand still massaging your scalp. “welcome back to the land of the livin’, sweetheart.” he whispered softly.

you nodded, sitting up. the once confession of your love long gone. though you didn’t know the effects it had on him—chris didn’t mention it to you. he never did. not when it was just a innocent, playing with his emotions type of mistake. he wasn’t going to waste his breath on someone who could’ve cared less about what they said. which hence, was you.

to all truths, he was so deathly in love with you to the didn’t want to sell to you. he didn’t want you to be that girl that overdosed on his account. on the drugs he supplied. “you think i could get something stronger next time?” teasing manner.

chris shook his head, “look, about that—i’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“okay, but anyways—so about that dosing,” “sweetheart, ‘m serious.” chris cut his eyes at you, his hand caressing your cheek. “i don’t think ‘m going to be selling to you anymore.”

you felt like your world stoped, to stop selling to you? was he picking favorites or something? “it’s no hard feelings.” he said, wincing softly when you slapped his hand off your cheek. here you thought his hand on your cheek was meant to be a lovey dovey type thing, but no. it was like the anesthetic to let you down slowly. you weren’t sure why, or even what you did to make him do such thing. but he was being a complete dumbass, that was the one thing that was definite.

“take that back.” you huffed. the whole situation was confusing—and every frustrating. chris was acting impulsive, “did i do something?” somewhat. but you didn’t mean it, you were high. plus, he can’t just not sell to you. it wasn’t like he had customers lined up around the back, just waiting for him. he was a low-level drug dealer.

“c’mon—” you spoke, the once façade of being loosely addicted, crumbling. sure, you liked drugs, and pills—but to not get anymore from chris was just to much to bare.

chris looked at you once more before standing up. “you should leave.” “chris, please—don’t—” your hands fumbling to catch his hand. “you don’t have to give me more, i’ll slow down, i’ll—” you tugged at his hands, insinuating for him to sit back down, to talk to you. to do something.

“now.” he said, a little sterner than before. sure—it crushed him to kick you out. but he wasn’t the guy who you should’ve been depending on for help. you needed serious help, you had a dream once. but that dream was lost after your first college party. when your pretty eyes hooked on your first pill. it was a quick move, to hook, line, and sink. you could still get that dream. if he stopped selling to you.

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reblogiuh is cute—erm workin on part two of “high on confessions” tink of it as a mini series for dealer!christopher

tumblr is actually so confusing wtf

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tumblr is actually so confusing wtf

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　 high on confessions. christopher sturniolo.

“chris i love you—” you slurred, fingers lightly drawing shapes his thighs.

he let out a soft hum like chuckle. no matter how heartfelt you got out how many times you bought from chris, a relationship just wasn’t it. “one, your high, two, no you don’t.” stop it, just stop it you were fucking with him—you were high. you had to stop. you were just a very confused, very lost college student. you were mixing up the shear turmoil of the high to love. and that’s toxic. your soft breathes evened out as you grew sleepy. it’s not like he could just turn you away.

you were the stray that stuck with him for some odd reason. “no, you don’t.” he whispered again, chris fixating on you. you were a cute one—that was for sure. though you were throwing your life away for him. and drugs, and other things to. the other things were the thrill of the chase. getting high—the world spinning around you, nonstop. a constant spinning until you succumbed into the arms of a peaceful slumber.

chris’ fingers never strayed from your hair, softly massaging your scalp to relieve you in any way he could. and maybe that was because he actually started falling for his favorite lil buyer. no matter how much he wanted to deny it. he couldn’t get rid of the feeling whenever heat rushed to his face whenever you laid your head on his lap, when you ranted about your day—like who pissed you off, who made you happy or if your day went to absolute shit.

because you were the only thing he had going quite well (so far).

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meet THE AUTHOR. (ˆ꜆ . ̫ . ).ᐟ she.her ; theatre kid, werid kid favoritism (bc their me), jelly cats connoisseur, jackles lvr, chronically christopher’s girl, tashi4sure, y2k shit

links ,, cai, masterlist, pinterest