#AND HE DARES TO PLEA NOT GUILTY??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

midnightarcheress · 6 months

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and they said speak now

it's no use, i just love you. pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader cw: nsfw bits. angst (with comfort?). sad yearning simon. sad yearning reader (in denial). enemies to... something. reader is part of tf141. no use of y/n. part 1 | part 2

Simon hasn’t heard from you since that catastrophic day.

the day he turned your life upside down. the one in which he ruined your wedding, blurted out a hushed love confession, and broke your heart by spilling the truth about your ex-fiancé. the day he watched you walk away in a tear-stained wedding dress, without the certainty that you would ever come back.

how much time does someone need to process all of that?

the following weeks felt like years. the days were unbearable, drowning in paperwork in a frantic attempt to keep his mind from sulking on his actions, possible by the strange lack of assignments during the period. did the terrorists take a break? his other option - admittedly the one he would spend most of his time doing - was staring at the ceiling of his quarters for hours as his body created a permanent indent on the mattress, a perfect tailored grave for his crestfallen soul.

the nights were even worse. he kept dreaming about you. sometimes it was warm, you snuggled in his arms, back pressed firmly against his chest while you fidgeted with the fingers interlaced with yours and he planted kisses on your shoulder, your neck, your cheek. sometimes it was ugly, your eyes shooting daggers to his heart and your enraged voice piercing through his eardrum in another daily fight, taking a toll on his mind like a frightful PTSD flashback.

sometimes it was erotic, his eyes savoring the view of your bouncing tits and beautiful flushed face whilst he pounded every inch of his cock in your tight cunt, filling the room with your pretty moans and pleas as he guided you to your third orgasm. sometimes it was horrifying, hearing your agonizing screams and watching you being repeatedly shot while he tried to rush to your position, without ever actually moving his feet, only adding your body to the long list of people he had failed to save.

no matter the scenario, it would always end with Ghost jolting awake to heart palpitations and heavy breathing, struggling to get a hold of himself. as much as your presence would drive him to madness, your absence managed to make his brain spiral. went down an endless rabbit hole and missed every chance to grasp the flimsy rope of reality.

he thought about calling. almost did a few times, glaring at your name on his contact list but never pressing the button, especially after nights out in the pub with Soap. “what ye gonna do about it, Lt? think the lass is gonna give ye a chance?” but in truthfulness, he didn’t know what to say; no words were enough to describe how guilty he felt and how sorry he was. he just needed to hear your voice. know that you were okay, or at least, alive and breathing.

no one really knew how you were, where you were, or when you’d be back; Price only stated that you extended your honeymoon leave for an indefinite amount of time. despite being your captain, he wasn’t going to question your necessity for serenity, after all, he was there when your life crumbled apart - one minute Simon was quiet on his seat, the next he was standing in the middle of the church, twisting the team’s perception of your strained relationship and leaving their jaws in agape.

while Simon deteriorated in remorse, already grieving the lost possibility of you ever being his, you made use of the no-refund policy of your honeymoon trip. a week in an all-inclusive resort by the beach, enjoying the crystal clear waters and the too-many-to-count cocktails to numb your achy heart that almost made you wake up in different rooms a few nights.

still, the only thing the hotel didn’t include on the menus was peace. as much as you tried, your mind kept reliving the wedding over, and over, and over. the memory of Ghost standing up and daring to violate your sacred moment, the sight of his wide eyes when he confirmed your doubts about your then-partner, the troublesome twinge in your chest as he begged for a chance to love you - a relentless feel you’ve been carrying everyday.

seven days at an alleged paradise were not enough to cleanse your spirit. the light waves of the ocean cradling your body couldn’t soothe your distress, as the deep end seemed to have a higher draw on you, luring you to a darker place where you could wallow without shame. misery loves company, i guess.

despite your best efforts, the following weeks were equally bleak. while you managed to maintain your focus out of your own life during the day, the dark blues of the nightfall outlining the nature’s silhouettes seen from your flat’s balcony only brought back the daunting awareness of duty. you couldn’t hide forever. it was time to be back.

your footsteps echoed in the base hallways as you made your way to the conference room, anxiety pooling on your insides and almost making you empty your stomach right there and then. in a way, it was nice to finally be back at work, fingers itching due to the need to hold a rifle and unload an entire cartridge at the first target that comes into sight. in another, you were dreading the idea of coming face to face with your friends after that disastrous day and, more importantly, dreading the inevitable confrontation with Ghost.

your frame on the doorway interrupted Price’s speech during a long awaited briefing for the team’s next mission. the atmosphere in the room suddenly got heavy, crisp air filling your lungs as four pairs of eyes glanced in your direction, taking your unforeseen arrival with the same shock as if you were a mythical creature.

“good to have you back.” the captain said, gesturing to you to join the reunion.

with a silent greeting, your legs made their way to a seat around the table, avoiding the prying looks as much as possible but ultimately failing. their watchful gaze dawned on you like cars slowing down next to an accident site, everybody stopping to see the wreckage and pity the poor life stuck in the rubbish.

but there was one set of eyes in particular that never shifted. without even facing him, you could feel Simon’s glare boring into your figure, urging you to turn your head in his direction, pleading for an ounce of awareness. his heart was beating rapidly for the first time in weeks, your presence being enough to send him to an overdrive and to turn Price’s words into white noise in the background.

in the milliseconds in which Simon looked away, you were gone. the briefing didn't last long and you decided not to linger around after it ended, fleeing the room in a hurry to avert any conversation. he was hoping for an opportunity to check on you, to talk, to explain. to pour out his feelings once again, without the pressure of trying to stop you from getting married, wishing that the time you spent apart was enough to earn at least some compassion from you.

running away from him again almost made you feel like a coward. you had always been able to stand toe to toe with Ghost, rebutting each of his snarky statements with even more venomous remarks, not caring if it would ever truly affect him. he didn’t act like it did. but in that moment, you couldn’t shake the anxiety that dominated your senses.

after years doing it, you knew that working out was a great stress-reliever and you didn’t hesitate on heading to the training room. focusing on a repetitive task that exerted your body to maximum was the easy way out of the teetering breakdown crawling its way to the surface. the sound of dull blows on the punching bag ricocheted in the empty area as you cleared your brain of any thoughts regarding him. it had been a while since you exercised, but instead of getting tired, each punch only gave you more energy, the sting on your fists only fueling your anger to the brim.

“careful there.” the gruff voice filled the nearly silent room and made you startle, quickly snapping your head towards the entrance. Ghost’s tall frame was leaning on the doorway, eyes carefully watching you as you furrowed your brows at him.

he takes a few steps in your direction, easing his way into your eyesight like a stray puppy who just wants a home. you simply choose to ignore him and go back to the punching bag, pushing aside the desperate need to ignite that fire again, to feel the fireworks bursting your chest the same way it did when his warm tongue swirled around yours.

“can we talk?” he asks, searching your eyes for even a hint of compassion but being met with nothing but a cold silence, “please?”

“no.”

your tone is harsh, grating his ears as you keep your stance, landing countless jabs in the sack. Simon is quiet, observing the intensity of your moves and how you don’t flinch despite having sore knuckles at this point. probably imagining it’s my face, he thinks, glancing around the room until his gaze falls on the sparring mat, getting the gears of his brain turning.

“let’s fight then.”

that stumps you and makes you raise your eyes. “what?”

“if you don’t wanna talk, let’s fight. we’re good at that.” he says, already stepping on the mat and stretching his arms, preparing himself for the match.

“i’m not gonna fight you, Ghost.” your eyes roll at the proposition.

“scared of getting your arse beat?” he teases, reminiscing the way he’s used to treating you. he knows you never back off from a challenge, especially coming from him, no matter how insane it sounds. you’re aware of his size and how easily it’d be for him to break you, even with your skills in single combat, but you can’t prevent your blood from boiling at the mocking undertone of his question.

without another second of doubt, you follow him to the mat, making small jumps to get your limbs loose and your blood circulating. his attentive gaze never leaves you, happily taking in your rage over the recent apathy with a pleased grin plastered on his face, the first genuine smile he has in days. at least it’s something.

the first move is his, throwing a quick blow at your head, which you swiftly avoid by stepping back. you’re determined to not let him win, your competitive side always overruling your better judgment. but you are even more determined to not allow him to let you win.

grunts and thuds fill the air as you exchange blows, each strike hitting harder than the previous. “i’ve missed you.” he says, lunging forward to kick your side. you roll your eyes in annoyance, but it’s truly exciting to finally have an adrenaline release in your organism, even if it means confronting the emotional turmoil threatening to spill out of your throat.

“when?” you ask, retaliating his kick with a jab in his midsection.

“when what?” his head tilts to the side, not understanding your question for a second.

his ears perk up as the sound of your screams muffles the gunfire around him. you had managed to disarm the soldier on top of you after being stabbed in the stomach, but the gushing laceration in your abdomen was getting the best of you, blood pressure dropping as a bullet pierced through the man’s skull.

Simon rushes to your side as soon as the lifeless body hits the ground, seeing your blood pooling on the concrete. “bloody hell.” he mutters, quickly applying pressure on the punctured point. your eyes roll as the pain increases, making you struggle to stay awake.

“don’t you fuckin’ dare die on me! keep your eyes open, come on,” he urges, gently tapping your cheeks to keep you conscious while he blasts the comms requesting an urgent medevac, “yeah, just like that, you’re doin’ so good for me,” he coos as your blood stains his ungloved hands, “no no no, come on, please, stay with me, you can’t-”

you use his moment of distraction at your advantage, landing an intense punch on his jaw. he stumbles back a couple steps, already sensing the metallic taste on his tongue. at that, the suppressed anger he’s been keeping under covers during your missing weeks comes to top, hot magma erupting like an exploding volcano. he aims for your stomach. your legs. block your arms. you dodge it barely, but he keeps going.

“the time you almost died in my arms,” he finally answers, gritting his teeth. he’s an enraged man, tackling you to the ground and firmly gripping your hands, pinning you to the mat. you grunt at the movement, heavy breathing hitting his neck as he leans even closer to your face. “you can’t tell me that you don’t feel it too. it’s there. everytime we’re together.”

Ghost’s masked face hovers over yours as you struggle to breathe. you don’t hear the shots around you anymore, only Price’s voice in the comms telling him that evac is two minutes out. you glance at your surroundings, barely processing the sight before falling unconscious again.

your brain shuts down, but somehow you still feel his touch. despite the adrenaline and his familiar roughness, the hand stroking your cheek carries a tranquilizing softness you didn’t expect. a light at the end of the tunnel that guides your way back to the living plane.

your eyes flutter open in the medbay, after feeling a sharp pain on your ribs. Ghost is sitting on the chair near the bed, unaware of your awaken state, looking out the window. his face is still covered, but you catch the slight twitch in the corner of his eyes - you’ve noticed it always happens when he’s too focused on something. you wonder what goes through his mind at the moment. yours can only recall the cracks in his voice as he held you in his trembling arms and pleaded you to stay awake.

“i don’t,” you lie, glaring at his hazel eyes. of course you feel it. the fucking fire that scarred you from the minute you had your first fight. the flame that etched his initials on your chest and marked you forever as his, even if you can’t fathom the idea of belonging to a man like him, “get off me!”

your restless squirms help you free yourself from his grasp, pushing his bulky figure to the side while simultaneously striking multiple punches on his chest. and he just takes it. he indulges your wrath, blissfully accepting your blows with nothing but tenderness. your vision gets blurry as you break the remains of his armor, stripping him of the faint defenses still guarding his heart.

he feels the power of your hits weaken when a teardrop rolls from your cheek and falls on his face. not enough to put out the wildfire devouring his soul whenever you’re near, but enough to turn it into a peaceful bonfire, whose cracks soothe your aches like a lullaby. he takes your wrists in one hand while the other reaches for your face; loving eyes, once so cryptic, gaze at the storm behind yours, signaling that it’s okay. it’s okay to feel it.

you sink into his burly arms, bathing in the heat radiating from him. for the first time, you don’t see Ghost, the shadow that haunts your nightmares and the shell of a broken man, you see Simon. the faceless man in your dreams, the one who understands you by one look, the one that fuels your deepest desires - it being a hunger for love or for lust - and still inflames all of your anger.

“come on, love,” he says, pulling up to his feet and extending his hand in your direction.

your knuckles are hurting, partially from the blows on the punching bag from earlier, partially from your rampage against his body. you take his hand and he guides you out of the mat, sitting you on top of a table. furrowed brows meet his half smile, as he positions himself on a chair in front of you and starts tending your bruises.

“i guess it has always been there,” he says, delicately holding your hands and cleaning the drying blood from it, “the feeling. buried way underneath. i didn’t understand it in the beginning, you’d drive me so insane i couldn’t even look at your face.”

you recall your first encounter with Ghost, feeling the tension of his icy glare penetrating your bones, freezing you on the spot. but somehow also feeling your chest filling with a warmth you’ve never had before. the missing puzzle piece finally returning to its place.

“i know you feel something. the intensity is there, in each bloody fight, everytime we're together, in or out of the field. i’m electrified whenever your hand brushes against mine. i’ve been dull for so many years of my life, and then you came-”

“Simon.”

your sudden interruption makes him stop talking. he raises his eyes from your sore hands to your irises, seeking for a hint of recognition. “this could never work,” you say, letting out an exhausted sigh “you know that.”

yes, he knows that. but he is also not one to evade conflict, especially with you. he doesn’t care how much trouble it’d be to make a relationship with you work. doesn’t care if you wanna change everything about him, put him in a tiny little mold where he obeys your wishes and barks at your command. hell, he’d gladly wear a collar if it meant having you as the one pulling the leash. he’s tired of concealing his emotions behind the persona. he wants you to see him for what he is underneath the pain, the trauma, the rage. only Simon.

the man who craves your proximity, your presence by his side as he lays down to sleep and every morning when he wakes. your sweet scent, your soft skin, your sparkling eyes. the one who craves your touch, reaching for every inch of his body and bringing him closer to the heaven gates in a way that no religion could. the image that feeds his most terrible nightmares and his brightest - and most obscene - dreams.

“we clash all the fucking time. as much as i hate to say it, we’re too alike, too stubborn, we’d repel each other like magnets, we-”

“yes,” he interjects, leaning closer to your face, “we are too alike. that’s what makes us good. tell me i’m not crazy. you irritate me so much because you always know what i’m thinking. what i’m feeling. my weaknesses are all at your display even when i don’t show it. you know exactly which buttons to push and which to leave alone.”

the skull balaclava covers most of his face, but you don’t mind, his eyes are the most important part. they’re familiar. you know every crease at its corners, the place of every single one of his lashes, the nuances of the color. you’ve studied them several times, trying to decipher the enigma of Ghost. you’ve gotten good at it, so his words are true. you know him. know him too much to consider the idea of being together, because the mere possibility of losing him would maim you forever.

“we're too similar because we’re two sides of the same coin. each side with its singularity, markings, engravings, but still part of the same thing, destined to be together, intertwined. two flames meant to combine, to heat each other, become one,” the faltering in his voice surprises you, but you don’t see it as a sign of bad faith. his vulnerability is a breath of fresh air after years of unbreakable security, “can’t you understand it?”

silence.

Simon senses his defeat with your hesitance. there’s no use. he goes back to patching up your hand, finishing the bandages as if it’d seal the wounds he opened on you with his actions. years of pent-up aggression planting the doubt of his true affection for you, and there’s no one else to blame but him. is there really no use at this point? the muscle inside your chest is beating loudly, threatening to burst out of your chest, but the logical part of your mind is still screaming to take back control. it’s a worthless tug of war. the brain may be astute, but it can never outsmart the strength of the heart.

“Simon.” he doesn’t dare to gaze at you, even with your saccharine voice tempting his eyes, too adamant to give more of himself in a seemingly hopeless situation. your hands move from your lap to cup his jaw, forcing his head upwards to meet the smile on your lips. it’s small, timid, soft. laced with something he’d never seen on your face but filled with the confidence you always exhibit. love.

“so,” you breathe deeply, “what now?”

took me so long omg but i think i'm finally happy with it. hope you like it. was listening to 'no use i just do' by hayley williams when i got to the end and i feel like it sums up a bit of the feelings.

also, if you see an error, no you didn't. my brain is all mush now.

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kombuuuu · 1 year

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Thinking ab Miles (42) going to his uncle’s place specifically when him n his s/o aren’t on good terms because his first reaction is going to be to blame himself and his room is just gonna remind him of how guilty he is

“Call them, man.”

“…”

“Miles.”

“Hm?”

“It’s been hours. Don’t you dare let them go to bed without being absolutely positive they aren’t questioning your love for them.”

“But-”

“No buts. The worst thing you can do is go to bed upset with each other.”

“Hey Ma…”

“Miles.”

The sudden cracking of his phone speaker dragged his gaze upward, looking to the skies through fogging windows in seek of solace, strength.

It was quiet, now. The conversation hadn’t even started before a pause halted it into null. He was nervous. And he didn’t know what to do about. And the goddamn skies weren’t answering.

“I—.. I don’t know how to—,” His voice cracked and broke, thick hurt coating his throat. ‘Don’t swallow honey, it’ll get stuck.’

“Miles, please.”

You called out to him, and he swears to the very Moon he’s begging to that he could hear that plea without the speakers. That if you were to ever say his name in such a way, he wouldn’t need the phone to hear it. He’d know—, and he’d run to you like he wished to now.

“Come home.”

Your sullen voice trembled, and he could almost see the tears paint your cheeks. The image of you, in pain of his causing — it was enough to bring a man to his knees. To shred him of his dignity and make him beg for forgiveness.

A dignity he never quite had. He has been begging for you since he first met your eye.

“I will, baby, I will.”

“Please, Miles. I don’t wann’ be alone.”

“Oh, Chiquita.”

He’d make it up to you. He’d buy you enough flowers to last you a lifetime, to outlive your beating heart and flourish along the grave your lifeless body rest in. He’d ruin you for any other man. Raise your standards so high maybe you’d leave him for someone better than him.

And yet, he’d already seared his initials into the space in your heart. Made himself comfortable resting against your lungs and lulling himself to sleep with the breaths you took in.

Maybe you’d leave him for a better man —,

But no man would be better for you than him.

“I’m coming home. Just wait for me, yeah?”

“Yeah..” You mumbled, and he could hear the exhaustion in your voice, the promise of sleep and sound of his comfort creating a calmness after the storm.

He grabbed his keys, basically jogging to the exit and all but ripping the door open. Making eye contact with Aaron, the man gave a curt nod and reassuring smile, something that Miles returned, before he was out the door and halfway down the steps.

“I’ll be there soon, baby, okay?”

“Don’t hang up?”

lI won’t, promise.”

#໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა #across the spiderverse #miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #spiderverse x reader #miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles my beloved #miles g #miles morales prowler #miles morales x you

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another-lost-mc · 1 year

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After the Date [Part 3] | KARASU x gn!Reader

0.7k words | NSFW | Smut | Karasu-centric

Content warnings: Masturbation and pining, multiple orgasms.

Feathered Friends AU: [Part 1] [Part 2]

obey me masterlist | karasu masterlist

It’s after one o’clock in the morning and Karasu can’t sleep.

When he got home a few hours ago, he walked around his house in a daze. He was filled with the unusual giddy excitement that blooms within his chest whenever he gets to speak to you. That feeling felt amplified tenfold after your date.

Your date.

He was so nervous, but he can’t imagine it could’ve gone any better. He can hardly wait to talk to you again. He was tempted to call you earlier, but he was worried you might be tired.

No, he can wait until tomorrow to speak to you again. It’s better to let you sleep.

He got ready for bed as usual, but he’s been tossing and turning ever since. He should be tired, but his mind is racing with thoughts of you. His skin feels sensitive against the sheets - normally silky smooth, but they feel so unpleasant. He’s warm despite the fan blowing on him from the corner of his room.

He sits up with a frustrated huff and takes off his sleep shirt. He tosses it aside and lays down again so he can lift his hips and shimmy off his pants. He feels a little cooler completely naked in his bed, but his body still feels like a livewire.

He strokes his chest absentmindedly while he closes his eyes and waits for sleep, but it doesn’t come. There’s something electric about the way his fingertips trail over his skin. He thinks about you, and how soft your hand was in his, and the heat in your eyes when he kissed the back of your hand—

Karasu gasps when his wandering hand wraps around the base of his cock. He didn’t even realize how hard he was, but the tip is leaking and his arousal oozes slowly down his fingers. He breathes heavily into the empty silence of his room.

He doesn’t usually indulge, and he’s not sure if he should when he thinks about you, but the way his cock throbs in his hand at the very thought of your name makes him whimper pitifully. He can’t resist the urge anymore, and he starts teasing his cock with slow, exploratory strokes.

Something inside him breaks open because he’s overwhelmed with thoughts of you. Not just memories of tonight or the other times he’s met you, but hopeful thoughts for the future.

He thinks about kissing the back of your hand. He wonders if he’ll have the courage to kiss you properly next time. He thinks about how soft your lips might be, and how your lips will taste, and would you dare to open your mouth so he can touch your tongue with his?

He whines when the sensations start to build deep in his belly, but he can’t stop. His hand moves faster, and he touches his chest with his other hand and pretends it’s yours. He tweaks one of his nipples and the sharp pleasure that shoots through him leaves him panting heavily.

He can’t last, he can’t last and he doesn’t want to, not when images of you desperate and wanting flicker through his mind. What would it take for you to touch him like this?

He arches his back when he comes, a sharp cry ripping from his throat while he babbles praise for you under his breath. He pumps his cock as thick ropes of cum shoot up his belly and paint his skin, and only when he’s too sensitive and completely emptied does he finally let his hand fall away.

His body is covered with cum and sweat and his skin is sticky. His throat is hoarse from his whimpering pleas and desperate moans, and his nipples are tender from pinching them while he thought of your fingers or your tongue teasing them instead.

He knows he should get up and shower and try to sleep. He licks his lips and groans when his cock stirs again, already half-hard imagining your taste lingering on his lips.

He wonders if he should feel guilty when he strokes himself back to full hardness, but he doesn’t.

He only regrets he didn’t kiss you properly, and he lets the fantasies of next time take over until every drop of pleasure is wrung from his body.

When he’s sated and can think of nothing else except for you, he finally sleeps.

#obey me karasu #obey me karasu x reader #karasu x reader #obey me oc #obey me oc x reader #obey me x reader #obey me smut #my oc: karasu #x reader #gn!reader #series: feathered friends

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fluffypotatey · 3 months

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"I collar the beast." "Wukong's fangs have been pulled." I can't believe y'all fr. "I get all the punishment and you get to mope." He was moping because he cares and feels guilty, speaking of, THE BINDING SCENE IS SO MUCH MORE INTENSE HERE WUKONG'S SCREAM THE PANICKED STUMBLING ohoho yes. MK: "It's tense in here." Wukong, two seconds ago: yOU tHINK I wANtED tO bE trAPPED dOWN hErE wiTH yOU. Wukong's tail: *cute pokey pokey* "You got demoted!" Ha, also "Nezhy" Oh my gosh, I don't think I caught this last time but Wukong subtly looks over to Macaque who just nods at him ajksms they were feuding and glooming a second ago but now its all silent communication and understanding in a glance. I'm throwing them off a roof. I'm struggling to hear what Macky says here, but I'm going to subscribe to the subtitles with "he likes acting." It's funnier. Also MK's "best attorney monkeys can buy" gotta love thinking about monkeys needing attorneys and also having money and buying things lol. "A pain crab on Monkey King's head." 😭 "Why is it always like this when you come here." actually love this one more because he's so grumpy and I feel like it has a different, funnier implication than the subtitles. he isn't causing chaos AFTER coming here, it just IS. what does that say about the vibes you bring /j. crying at Macky's face at all times, he is the picture definition of a grumpy cat, and then when getting pushed and the absolutely DONE yell of "Wukoooong!" I can watch a whole netflix series of Macky being fed up with Wukong's antics but getting dragged into them. tricky plan demon huh, that's a quick way to silence them after just talking about someone pulling the strings, especially on you MK. also Macky is SO little creachure with his face hidden like a hermit in that cape. "I don't trust anyone who isn't standing here. Right. Now." SAME MACONDO what a shocking statement from your old buddy. more at 11 only on ShadowPeachNews. The writers KNEW what they were doing. Also AHHHHH *looks at you with my big brown eyes* Fluffy I SWEAR I told myself I wouldn't talk about this again until you were able to answer the asks on my last yapping about this, BUT THEY MADE IT SO MUCH WORSE. Firstly, Macky's *voice* for that line delivery is the most solemn dramatic thing I have seen. He lives and breathes the cinema. AND MK I'm really tossing him over a cliff because he just HAD TO GO "He'd get away, right? He always gets away...right?" UGH TFW YOU'RE SO KNOWN FOR BEING THAT GUY WHO FLEES FROM BATTLE that it's brought up this time not for the *dude really???* but as a plea, an attempt at faith, haha he's always doing that...he did it again right? NO BECAUSE THIS TIME HE STUCK AROUND TO FIGHT. and Wukong's constipated expression there bc ohoho some monkey is for sure thinking about the past.

i am, for one, with you on throwing shadowpeach off a cliff bc they make me so unwell in this episode 🫠

for another:

LI JING WHEN I GET YOU!!!!! HOW DARE YOU CALL WUKONG A BEAT AND PULL HIS FANGS!!!!

also i can’t help but think about why Nezha was even there in the first place. because the one the kings summoned was his dad. Nezha wasn’t supposed to be there and yet he comes along 👀 why? my thought is: to plead the monkeys’ case. he immediately tries to defend them to his father and it seems like it’s been an ongoing argument

like sure he rags on Wukong and hems & hahs at him because like have you met Wukong that cheeky lil shit??? his gremlin energy just shoots to 150% whenever Nezha is near. he can’t help it. it’s his DO NOT PUSH red button that he will absolutely push

and Macky’s “why is it always like this when you’re here” to Wukong has such a divorced energy i love it 😍 he knows Wukong so well and is just resigned to it. every time Macky has had to interact with Heaven, Wukong is always there making a scene (he’s not exempt to helping swk but his point still stands lmao)

Wukong’s pout, my beloved

when your ex says the reason he’s mopey isn’t because you got hurt but because he is in jail with you for something you’ve been blamed for. echoing his “NOT THE GREAT SAGE! HE’S GOTTA DRAG EVERYONE INTO HIS MESS!” comment from the memory scroll 👀

what who said that lol that was weird

god they’re so— squishes them and squishes them and squishes them and squishes them and squishes them and squishes them and squishes them and

#lmk #lmk s5 #lmk spoilers #lmk s5 spoilers #lmk sun wukong #lmk six eared macaque #lmk nezha #cannot believe Nezhy is canon 🥺#also in the jttw legend Nezha is SWK’s defense lawyer when Heaven finally captured him and puts him on trial (for Havoc in Heaven)#so i think it’s a nice touch even unintentionally that Nezha is the one defending them against Heaven #shadowpeach #royalty duo #asks

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leighsartworks216 · 11 months

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I Come With Knives Pt7

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Trying to post this quickly so I still have time for a shower before I resign myself to my fate and show up to my class suuuper behind on work. Not proofread

Warnings: blood drinking, bruises, nightmares, references to Astarion's worst memory, slight panic, swearing

Word Count: 2,784

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

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For once, it wasn’t you suffering from visions of your past.

Now that Gale knew what haunted you, even vaguely, he wished to do what he could to keep the group leader in tip-top shape. He had suggested a potion that could remove dreams - temporarily, of course. It was a rather experimental potion, as the inventor could never remember their dreams anyway, and it was unclear whether it actually removed the dreams or simply put the user into a deeper sleep. You certainly weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant relief from seeing her/

No, rather, the thing that woke you up tonight was the sound of someone else’s nightmares. It took a while to process that’s what it was. You woke up bleary and disoriented, and praying falling back asleep now would not ruin the effects of the potion. And then your mind finally caught up.

Soft whimpers and quiet no’s drifted in the cool night air. They’d have disappeared under the cricket songs had you been across camp. Fortunately - or unfortunately - your bedroll was set up right by the tent the sounds came from. The rugs and pillows immediately gave away that it was Astarion’s. And suddenly, you felt rather guilty for using Gale’s potion.

You rub your eyes as you crawl from under the blanket, quietly tiptoeing your way over. You stop at the door, er, flap. Your mind, still moving slowly, chugged to figure out how to announce your presence and perhaps even wake him up (without waking the others) so you don’t just barge right in.

You try knocking, but the canvas just slides right out from under your hand.

You try clearing your throat, but he just whimpers again.

“Astarion?” you whisper-shout. You try again. Still nothing. And your brain can’t find any more options.

Biting back the guilt settling like sludge in your stomach, you take a breath and pull aside the opening.

You’re almost surprised to find a candle burning low in a metal tray, soft orange light fighting back the darkness. You don’t have to struggle to figure out why - he briefly told you of the conditions under Cazador. This was his way of staying out of complete darkness.

He writhed on top of his bedroll, sheets thrown haphazardly around. His hands swatted away at invisible specters, eyes flickering wildly under his lids, sweat gleaming on his forehead. His cries were barely more than single words, pleas to stop or go away. You wondered if you were the same during your nightmares.

Avoiding his hands, you knelt beside him. You didn’t really know how to help, but surely waking him up would be better than this? Better than whatever hell he was experiencing in his mind, be it memory or a hyperbole of events.

You reach out and touch his shoulder. In an instant, his hand is holding your wrist in a death grip. The cold touch of sharp metal is at your neck. His red eyes stare unseeing at you, dark and fearful. Your heart jumps as your tongue turns to lead. This was no empty threat.

He studies you for a tense moment. You’re too scared to breathe, worried he would see it as a threat. You can feel the blunts of his nails digging into your skin, but you don’t dare look away from his face. Any wince, any whimper, any visible or audible form of pain you should be making right now, is locked away. Instinct protects you.

He blinks. Once, twice. And then he sighs. The blade of his dagger leaves your throat first, before he realizes he’s holding you like a vice. Even once you’re free, you don’t move. But, you slowly start to breathe again. You swallow, reminding yourself over and over that this is Astarion.

“You were having a nightmare.”

He huffs and sits up, setting his dagger aside in favor of wiping the moisture off his face. “I know,” he bites out. You slowly, carefully, remove your hand from his shoulder. He doesn’t react. Sarcastically he drawls, “My apologies if I woke you.”

You clear your throat, mind finally starting to clear. “I don’t mind.”

The candle flickered and sputtered as the wick began sinking below the melted wax. He flinched at the encroaching darkness. Your own heart leapt in your chest, unwanted thoughts of what lingered in the shadows coming to get you. Even in a tent, you didn't feel safe.

“I have another candle,” you mumble, eyes lingering on the waning light for as long as you could as you headed for the door. “I’ll grab it.” The tent shuts behind you.

The moon is full and bright, the sun’s reflections scaring away the gloom. Out here, you feel like you can breathe again, but you don’t linger. You dash as quietly as possible over to the camp supplies and rummage through for another candle.

Along your journey, you’d stashed away a veritable horde of candles. Tall, thin candles; fat, stout candles; black, red, white - even a blue one. Though, you’d never used them. The dark terrified you, of course. Even the shadows cast by buildings drew you eyes as you searched for threats. You’re unsure why, but to use a candle to stave away the dark makes you feel weak. Cowardly. It was pathetic to be so scared of the dark, like a child shivering in fear under their blanket, begging their parents to keep a lamp burnt low to chase away the boogeyman.

And yet, this was not true when you considered Astarion. He used a candle at night to fight against the dark, and not once has the thought crossed your mind that he was any weaker for it. At least you know why this is: To your mind, Astarion’s fear of darkness was more deserved.

The specifics of his spawn-hood were largely unknown to you still, but you were too well-aware of the conditions Kir Parthene’s spawn were kept to believe Cazador would treat his thralls any better. Two hundred years in the dark, where you’d barely scratched the surface. It was a terrible way to think, but you couldn’t help it.

You found your stash and picked through until you found a candle almost the width of your hand across and a little taller. It would last for a couple of nights, at least. You closed the chest a little louder than intentioned and scurried under the moon back to Astarion.

You held open the flap, bathing the inside with moonlight. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the bedroll. There was no longer a trail of smoke coming off the old candle. You reached out the new one to him.

He took it with one hand and struck a match with the other, face set as he tried lighting it. Each millisecond the wick does not take the flame, the more dread you feel. You can only imagine grabbing a defective one, too far gone to light anymore, and having to leave Astarion in the dark again to fetch another. When at last it catches, you almost sigh with relief. He places it carefully on the same metal pan as the old one, where its light reaches to fill every corner. Safe.

You continue to stand, uncertain. He’d had a nightmare, but he was never as forthcoming with them as you were, and you didn’t want to overstay your welcome or cross a boundary without meaning to.

“Are you coming inside or not?”

That was as good an invitation as any. You step inside and drop the flap behind you, shutting out the cool white light of the moon in favor of the warm orange glow in here. You sit back down, a foot away. Even if you were welcome inside, you didn’t want to press it.

“I’m sorry,” you say after a moment. “I tried to find the biggest one. I should have left the flap open.”

He produces a wry smile. “I could see perfectly fine, darling. I’m perfectly accustomed to the dark.”

“But you don’t like it.”

He almost snorted, continuing sarcastically, “No, really? Whatever gave it away?”

He’s laying the bravado on thick, creating a barrier between you. You tilt your head with a frown. Even in the short time you’ve known each other, he wasn’t as defensive with his past or Cazador as he could have been. He didn’t like talking about it - you didn’t blame him - but he’d never bury the lead this much.

“What did you dream about?” He looks away, facade slipping. He wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. “Was it Cazador?”

“What else?” he bites, but the bitterness isn’t directed toward you. He scowls deeply, the creases by his mouth becoming as deep as canyons and his eyes as dark as his past. Dark circles had formed beneath his eyes. You wonder when he last ate was.

You’d come up with the compromise shortly after he fed from your blood: He could drain any enemy he wished, feed off any foe you crossed paths with, as long as he left your companions off the table. This was a rather beneficial deal for him, and it was never usually an issue. But the only thing you’d encountered worth drinking for the last few days was the Gur, and you’d taken quick care of him.

Your heart leapt to your throat thinking of ways to help. Most likely, he’d go hunting soon, if only to distract himself from his nightmares, but the animals were never really enough. You could do what you’d done before; cut open your hand and bleed into a vessel for him to drink from. But the thought of blood on your hands again, even your own, made you feel sick. And you sure as hells weren’t letting him near your throat, lest you be reduced to protective instincts and fearful obedience.

There was one way you could help…

With a breath to gather your courage and tamp down the rising anxiety within you, you hold your wrist out for him.

He quirks a brow at the gesture.

“When was the last time you ate?” you ask. He opens his mouth. You cut him off before he can be a smart ass. “From a… thinking creature.”

“I’ll be fine as soon as the next bandit decides to try stealing the clothes off our backs. I’m sure there’s one just dying to raid us as we speak - you do always seem to attract trouble.”

The thought, even as a hypothetical, of someone lurking in the shadows at the edge of camp made chills run up your spine and raise the hairs on the back of your neck. You cursed how easily it messed with your mind.

“Please, Astarion.” You hold your wrist out more insistently, bending your hand back to expose the veins clearly. His eyes trailed along them without even intending to. “If you need food, I can help. I- I’ll tell you when to stop.”

He tore his hungry gaze from your arm to study your face. You were determined to help, even as your eyes flicker uncertainly and your throat bobs with an uneasy swallow. He remembers the spawn who were punished for your mistakes. He wondered if you saw their eyes, wet and pleading, when you looked at him. He frowned deeply.

“Are you sure, darling?” he asked, with a sort of distanced tone. Like he was preparing to test you. “I can’t imagine you’d be too keen to have a vampire biting you again.”

You huff a strained laugh, even as you tilt your head to rub your shoulder against your neck over the scar. If you touched it, you could be sure she wasn’t right there, draining you. “No, but, if you need to eat, I’ll be fine. Just,” you stare unseeing at your veins, “don’t rip anything out.”

He considers you for a moment longer, before loosely wrapping his hand around your arm and guiding you toward his mouth. There was a bruise beginning to form from when you woke him up. You bend your hand further back, trying to give him wider access. When he glances over, your head is bowed toward the ground and your eyes are shut, waiting. He watches intently as he brings it to his lips, merely brushing over the skin there. Your heart skips a beat, though from anxiety more than attraction. It continues to beat a little faster as his breath fans across your skin, coming to a head when he continues, dull teeth gliding over the short expanse of your wrist until his mouth is wide enough around it to get his fangs into position. He fears any longer of this and you’d faint. So, as gentle as he can be, he bites down.

The ice and the draining are familiar sensations, though it stings differently when it’s not coming from your neck. You can feel your blood being pulled through your body to his mouth, until he drinks enough you no longer feel even that.

It’s odd, how different he draws your lifeblood from you. You’re so used to fast gulps that dig teeth further and further in as your master swallows all she can in as short a time as possible. He takes long, methodical pulls, slowly siphoning the sanguine fluid from you. You don’t get lightheaded as quickly, and you’re able to breathe without fear of having your trachea torn out.

Your hand is first to fully numb, fingertips growing cold and pale. You think he’s supporting your arm with his other hand, holding it mid-way up your forearm, but it’s the second thing to go numb and you refuse to look to find out. An easily recognizable haze begins consuming your brain like a fog. It starts light, but grows thicker. You can keep going.

You don’t stop him. As soon as he bit you, your instincts from before kicked in - not a sound, not a single twitch - and you forgot entirely that you could stop him. You don’t know when he does, too numb and tired; you don’t even startle when his cool hand is at the back of your neck, guiding you backward.

He moves his pillow to be under your head as he lays you down. You lay there awkwardly, in a way that will undoubtedly make you ache tomorrow, but he leaves you for now. Instead, he turns his attention to your wrist.

With a roll of bandages from his pack, he delicately wraps the still lightly bleeding puncture wounds and the bruise surrounding it. Your fingers are so cold it startles him. Once he’s finished, he holds your hand in both of his and breathes as hot a breath as he can produce, trying to rub the warmth into them. It doesn’t hold, but he doesn’t let go.

Your lids flutter open, but the eyes underneath are dull and unfocused. You try to speak, but he isn’t sure what you’re trying to say, as it all comes out in one big slurred jumble. He shushes you instead.

“Sleep, love. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment for the words to reach as you stare up at him, but then your eyes slip shut, and he can hear just how quickly sleep lowers your heart rate and evens your breaths. He sighs into the silence of his tent. The flame flickers with the air movement.

He’s satisfied, full. There really is no need for him to go out and hunt tonight. But the image of Cazador hangs just at the edge of his thoughts. The memory that haunted him: his master opening that damned tomb and smiling at the husk of a man within. Smiling at Astarion’s bloody, broken nails and hunger-crazed eyes. He knows it’s all he’ll see if he tries to rest again. Even meditation would not save him from it.

After a moment of deliberation, he resigns himself to his fate. He lets go of your hand and carefully shifts you so you lay full on his bedroll. He pulls the blanket over you, tucking it over your neck and under your chin as he’s seen you do several times before. Then, he lounges back into his mound of pillows, book in hand, and passes the time until morning. He glances up at any small movement you make, at any sound other than your even breaths. It feels silly. But, as he turns the page (though he’s absorbed none of the words on it), he cannot bring himself to even speculate on carrying you back to your own bed.

The candle burns on.

---

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anteroom-of-death · 5 months

Text

Pretty When You Cry

Synopsis: DCI Hegarty picks up a certain type of to-go order.

A/n: shout out to @queerconfusionthings , @malcolmtuckerapologist and my girlie from tiktok who don't have a tumblr. Uh this is a fairly dark fic. Noncon but still fun. Yay. Mix otc meds, please I dare you. (No I dotn.) Maybe I'll do a sequel. Idk. I heart dacryphillia.

The girl was walking through the empty streets, long after midnight. Her skirt, riding up over her ass, tights clearly torn. Her form was hunched over, her handbag slapping the side of her in a rapid pace that matched the wobbly, pained gait.

Her heels were obviously too high.

Drunk, possibly high. Perfect.

This could be fun.

He trailed the car behind her. He was in his unmarked police car; this would be easy. He briefly flickered on the roof lights. Let her know that she needed to stop.

She did, exactly like a deer in headlights. Good, she would do excellently. Compliant, warm looking. She was clutching a poor excuse for a jacket, the whites of her eyes tinged red. She pivoted as she shook. She cleaned some snot off her nose. Or perhaps some other substances.

One could never be sure with these tramps off the street.

He got out of the car and approached her, in clear benevolence.

“You’re out too late, aren’t you? No johns at this hour.” He leaned against the car.

She bit down on her torn, smudged bottom lip. Clearly guilty, clearly nervous, clear admissions.

She seemed unable to form words.

A look of confusion spread across her face. A feeling of warmth and stiffness spread across his lap.

“I’m sorry! Officer? What?” She rocked back and forth in her platform heels, uneasy.

“Solicitation is a hefty fine.” He toyed with his prey. “Seven years and all…”

He took a step forward towards her. She took a stumble back.

“What?” Her eyebrows rose to the top of her forehead. She backed herself into the wall of the sidewalk where she stood. Her heart rate was almost palpable and certainly delicious.

“A cheap whore like yourself ought to know better.” He played the role of stern, yet forgiving cop. “I’ll take you down to the office and book you on something lighter. Disorderly conduct. A minor crime. No need to worry. I’ll probably get you a lighter sentence. Be a good slut and crawl into my car…” He reasoned, popping the door of the side of car open.

“I swear! I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just coming back from the clubs!” Her breath hitched and she showed a smudged stamp on the back of her right hand.

“Don’t resist arrest. That’s an additional sentence.” He lied through his teeth. It was only the vagueness of the law that he could extort. Only violence could up the charges.

“Don’t resist me…” He flashed her a smile as he whispered loudly.

He banked on her ignorance of the laws. Most civilians were oh so ignorant about it. It made his life easier. Especially slow nights like this. He rolled his neck and rested a heavy hand on her shoulder…

“Just get in.”

“I swear! I’m fine! Please let me go!” She begged, pathetically. Tears starting to rim her over-lined eyes. Smudging the thick clumps of her mascara. She started to rummage through her bag.

Oh, she was pretty crying. His cock was almost fully hard. It was all stars and big, sloppy grey-black tears staining her whorish face. A picture of innocence. His cock jumped up and pressed painfully against his boxers. He groaned a bit aloud. The little slut was resistant and kept playing up this false candor.

He got his gun out of its discreet holster and held it to her stomach as he pressed harder down on her shoulder.

“You’ve two seconds to get in. Don’t make me escalate this.” He slid his tone of voice from ordering to almost a mocking plea.

She inhaled and swallowed hard. She started sobbing harder as she easily lost her balance and tripped into the car.

He crawled in and shut the door behind her. It was so difficult to maneuver with his cock practically breaking through the layers of fabric.

“You’re so easy. Aren’t you? Hmm?” He purred as he stroked her face with the muzzle, the front sight grazing the hairs of her brow.

She was beautiful. Her little fists balled up and trying to resist the urge to assault him. At least she was clever enough to not push her luck and actually assault him. She was trembling.

“I’m just like one of your cheap clients. You give me you, and I’ll not kill you.” He bargained, showing her that he would be reasoned with.

“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong person!” She shook herself. Clearly resistant on her part of their little bargain.

He grabbed a giant fistful of her hair and yanked her up and shoved her onto the console, twisting the cuffs he had onto her wrists through the middle of the head rests.

Hegarty put the gun down and unzipped his pants, pulling his already-leaking member out of the fly of his boxers. It was large and pulsing as if thinking on its own.

He pulled up her skirt and tore her tights further. The only barrier left were some depressingly unsexy black panties. Rather basic. Just a flickering of lace around the top and bottoms.

Out of annoyance and a surge of betrayal of this common tramp, he tore them off and balled them into the front of the car. He’d keep them for later.

He looked at her exposed cunt and chuckled to himself quietly. There seemed to be a thin layer of slick coating the lips.

“Good girl, already so soaked for me. I bet your cheap clients just love how desperate you are. You must take cock like it’s nothing!” He pick up the gun and traced it down her spine before resting it at the base of her neck.

He carefully cupped the round curve of her ass with his free hand. It was just right, and perfectly able to be parted cheek by cheek as he marveled at it. This little whore was perfect for him. Just designed to make a good man like him fall.

He would have spent more time marveling at it, but he was giving himself one hell of a case of blue balls.

She needed fucked.

He needed to fuck her.

He scooted himself up further and pressed himself inside her warm and tight hole.

She let herself yelp; it was a small, plaintive tone. Very delicious. His cock twitched inside of her. From her lips escaped a groan. She clearly got off on this. The big, bad man had her here, strung up. Not only were her cries so melodic to listen to, but he felt her pussy moisten around his cock.

“You’re so tight for a prostitute.” He purred. He felt her walls fluttered tighter around himself.

“Cry for me. You might prove your innocence if you do.” He guided her further with the gun moving from her neck to her skull as he lay down over her. He took his arm and flung it under her, arching her head deeper onto the tip of the gun. His hand went down her top and he grasped her breast. It was soft, easily bruised. He pinched down hard and scraped his nails against the tender flesh of her nipples.

A moan escaped her lips, despite herself.

“What a proper slut you are for me. So good.” He dished out the praised.

“Don’t worry, no one can hear you in here. Nor see you. Perform for me.” He said as he slammed his shaft further in and out of her.

She thrashed in her cuffs as she let out a hiccup and coughed hard through her choking tears.

He pulled the hammer once and moved it down to the cervical vertebrae.

“Don’t fight. You were doing so good. Be good. Right?” He pulled his head further and looked at her, he was fully in her now. Her eyes glistening like the shine of a far-off planet. Absolutely breathtaking. "I'd hate to blow your pretty little brains out all over my clean car..."

He gripped her throat and squeezed it hard as he sped up for a while. Her labored breath came out in such a delightful way. He played with the idea of snapping her neck. He could do it; it would be so easy to cover up her death.

Ultimately, he decided against it.

But he did choke her further, harder. His large hands and long fingers wrapped almost completely around her neck. Squeezing it was enough to get him harder yet. He could feel his thumb nail meet the corner of his pinky finger.

He lightly shook her neck as he rotated his dick in her hole…hips thrusting in multiple directions.

He continued to pound into her. She accepted her position once more. Her body relaxed more and more…

He felt her leak in spite of herself. Wet, slick and coming from her increasingly tight cunt. He also felt herself piss herself a tad. (Or was she a squirter? He leaned towards that theory.)

Soon enough, he felt his ball empty into her. He grunted and let himself stay inside her as he slumped over her. He removed the gun and stroked her hair and the raw skin if her neck. It could almost be mistaken for care.

“You did that so beautifully. I can see why you’re doing this…” He cooed into her ear.

He un-cuffed her. Quickly pulling down her skirt and popping open the door from a button in the front.

He quickly put himself back in his pants and reached for his wallet, taking a massive wad of cash and chucked it at her.

He pulled himself into the driver’s seat, and pulled down the window.

“Keep yourself safe and law abiding.” He ruffed out. She was on the sidewalk and grasped herself and her belongings. Tears still leaked from that beautiful face of hers. The makeup was so artfully smeared, it looked like something a high-end label would do if it were grunge-ing out.

He smiled at her in a fair and threatened way.

He sped out away and towards the highway.

☆☆☆☆

Two weeks later- A very confused girl received a parcel in the mail. Kiki de Montparnasse. She didn’t recall ordering it.

A gift note fell out:

Skeptically, she opened it up. It was a halter bra and a thong with matching cut-outs. Mesh, black. There was also a black maxi dress with a mesh torso area…

Everything was exactly her size.

“I’ll be seeing you soon. Keep prepared, little tart. -dci.”

She shuddered and looked around. Unsure of what she felt, she felt herself cry.

She felt on display and exposed. How did he find her? And why?

She placed the box on her bed and stared at it...

What did that crooked cop mean? And why her?

#personal #lol #i wrote this #dci Daniel Hegarty #reader insert #criminal record #dci Hegarty #dci Hegarty x reader #yayyy #peter capaldi

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mrskreideprinz · 10 months

Text

| But Nobody Knows |

Pairing: Kaeya x Gn!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI MY BLOG IS NOT SFW, Heavily selfship coded yet again, He/HIm for Kaeya, No pronouns for Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Reader has hair, Reader has intrusive thoughts, Anxiety, Mental Health Themes, Reader has trust issues rip, Gender Neutral Reader, 1.1k words.

Summary: When one night Kaeya comes home to find you curled up in bed with tears stained to your face, he finds himself holding onto you so tightly that very night, that he feared he’d break you.

A/n: Happy Birthday Kaeya!! I love you, king.

The day had gone by slowly and painfully. Thoughts had poured through your mind endlessly like a rain of misery. You yearned for the moment you could go home and curl up into bed, close the curtains, and cry into the pillows, hopeful the next day allowed you to forget about all the agony you endured. It felt as if your insides were bursting from the seams, like your wounds had been badly stitched up only to be ripped apart in a poor attempt to contain all the turmoil inside of you. You sobbed into the pillows, hiding your face from any poor soul who dared to enter your room.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time before someone came in. Not now, thankfully, but very, very soon. Hours had to have passed you by. The faint light in the room was now replaced with a deep darkness and the air surrounding was cold, so cold. You clawed at the pillow as you felt a pang in your heart, those tedious and horrible thoughts haunting you still. You took a few moments to catch your breath, gasping onto the fabric of the pillow sheets. It was then that you heard the front door to the house open.

Fuck, you thought. Your husband was definitely home. Quickly you wiped away your tears and pretended you were asleep, desperate to escape an uncomfortable conversation you definitely did not want to have. Hearing a light knock at the door you immediately acted as if you were asleep.

“Sweetheart? Is everything alright?” Kaeya asked you with obvious worry in his voice.

No reply from you, but a few tears fell down your face as you squeezed your eyes shut. Kaeya cautiously opened the door, asking if you were alright, again. When he received no response he turned on a nearby lamp and slowly walked towards you, kneeling in front of your side of the bed where you laid. Kaeya said your name, waiting for a response, but still nothing. That’s when he proceeded to move the hair out of your face and reveal your very pained expression followed by fresh tears falling down your face.

He sighed. “Honey, I know you’re awake. Please, talk to me.” He pleaded with you to be honest with him, and you were far too weak to ignore his pleas. You could practically feel the pain in his voice.

Slowly opening your eyes you were met with his, his eyebrows were furrowed into a worried expression and you couldn’t help but feel a tad bit guilty. This is my fault, you thought to yourself. You had to tell him, had to confess your pain even if it felt uncomfortable and violating. Regardless, you chose to lift your head from the covers and tell Kaeya everything that had been running through your mind, all your worries and anxieties, and of course, he was so sweet afterwards. He climbed onto the bed and pulled you into his arms, stroking your hair gently as he told you how precious you were to him.

“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay, sweetie.” He reassured you.

You worried for a moment if he was actually telling the truth, or if this had all been some elaborate plan to get you to stop whining about your pain, but you knew that wasn’t the case, because that just isn’t in Kaeya’s nature to be so cruel. So, to calm your nerves and reduce your anxieties you reminded yourself of that. You reminded yourself of all the good and pure that Kaeya is and was. He would never lead you astray, never harm or deceive you, at least not without the best intentions. So, why should you question his love? The answer was simple, you shouldn’t and honestly, you didn’t want to. Not when he was holding you together, like glue holding a broken vase intact, with all the love and care he was physically able to feel for you.

A few moments went by of your crying when it suddenly subsided and you thought to yourself how lucky you were to have such a supportive man like Kaeya in your life. He was holding you. You were a fucking mess and he was holding you as if you’d turn to dust at any given second. In that brief moment you wondered how fucked up in the head you head to be to question something so intimate and caring as what Kaeya was currently doing for you, but instead of furthering your punishment you allowed yourself to let go. Relinquishing yourself of the burden of human existence and just let yourself be for a moment. Just for once you allowed yourself to love and be loved by a truly wonderful man.

A few minutes had passed and Kaeya had begun to rock you in his arms, shushing you quietly, and reassuring you that everything would be okay. You had begun to weep without even realizing it. Thankfully, Kaeya continued to reassure you that these emotions, these thoughts and worries you experienced, that they too shall pass. Even if you felt the world was crumbling down on you, you trusted his words. Even as you cried in his arms, clenching his shirt, you trusted him, because that’s the one thing you were so sure about. You were so sure that even if the world would go to shit, you could trust in him. And that was more than enough to get you through this difficult moment. So, relaxing your body once more you let it all out. All the tears, sorrow, guilt, and regret, until the time came when the sun would rise and a new day would begin. The next day you awoke in Kaeya’s arms that still held onto you dearly, and felt something new, something different. It wasn’t unknown to you what it was but it was an unfamiliar and unusual emotion for you to be feeling. For the first time in a very, very long time you felt hope. Hope that not everything would be so terrible and daunting all the time, hope that one day you’d wake up next to Kaeya and wouldn’t feel those tears hiding behind your eyes, and instead would feel a bright sensation like no other.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n

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scarredwithcruelintentions · 5 months

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chapter 5: a lament for all things lost

Find the master list here!

CW: Shadowheart being a bitch, overwhelming bad feelings and emotional manipulation

W/C: 3,173

A/N: I am on a ROLL people!

After an unsuccessful hunt, Astarion had given in to the pleas of his distracted mind for rest, though he was hard pressed to find any. He laid awake the rest of the night and into the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning with the blaze of his desire and weight of his guilt. After so many long years of numb, performative intimacy, he was unaware he still possessed the ability to feel arousal. It caught him completely off guard, feeding the roiling cacophony of his emotions.

The feeling had been pleasant, wanted even, when he disassociated it from his body’s natural reaction to the many forced liaisons of his past, but - therein lay the issue. Lust, pleasure, physical intimacy: it was all steeped in profound disgust and loathing learned over two centuries of abuse. He felt ashamed for watching you unknowingly, guilty for taking pleasure in it and, worst yet, revolted by his own body’s response. It had not truly been his body since Cazador turned him, and he found himself woefully unprepared to take accountability for his actions and their consequences.

Lost in the morass of his increasingly loud distress, he hardly noticed when the darkness gave way to dawn. It was not until he heard groggy voices and the telltale clanging of cookware being handled without care that he realized just how much time had passed. He groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face, hunger pains making themselves known at the mixed scents of his companions wafting along the gentle breeze.

Before long, he caught your sweet fragrance in the mix and focused in on it, ears pricked for the soft sound of your voice. You declared today to be a day of rest, claiming that everyone needed to gather their strength for the coming fight with the goblins.

He heard Shadowheart’s derisive snort.

“You just need a day to recover from volunteering yourself as the leech’s dinner.”

You did not deign to respond to her, but she must have seen something wounded in your expression, and it only fueled her line of teasing.

“Lover’s quarrel? Already?” He could hear the mocking smile in her voice and was grateful for his absence from the conversation, lest he slit her throat then and there for her cruel jest.

“We’re not lovers,” you snapped gratingly, “and I was not his dinner. No doubt he found another, more filling meal.”

He recognized his own words from his first feeding as Shadowheart continued to bait you with her snide comments.

“Sounds as though you’re green with envy, friend.”

He heard a dish clatter to the ground and her indignant shout alongside the placating words of the rest of the group, gently coaxing you to ease your grip on her throat.

“Lay off the wine, friend,” he heard you snarl. He smirked with undignified pride.

You presumably stood, addressing the rest of the group.

“We are all exhausted and spread thin by the never ending bloodshed and horror we have been burdened with. By all means, if you wish to join the slain tomorrow, be my guest and ignore my wisdom. But, if you wish to live, to fight another day, you will heed my words and rest. Does anyone else dare question my orders?”

He could almost see the seething expression contorting your delicate features in his mind’s eye.

“Good,” he heard you growl into the answering silence. “Now that’s settled, I’m off to find some peace away from you lot of squabbling children.”

He listened to the grumbled complaints and scandalized murmurs of the rest of the group as the sound of your bare feet across the packed earth receded until it was out of earshot.

“How unlike our vampire trollop to leave his favorite lady companion wanting,” Shadowheart sniffed before she, too, left his hearing radius.

He repressed a pained whimper, the vacuous cavity of his chest constricting with grief and renewed self-loathing at her words.

I will never be anything more than Cazador’s painted whore.

He could no longer smell your comforting aroma on the breeze. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion wandered along the riverbank in the dappled light of late afternoon, thoughts consumed by the ever growing storm of his hatred, fury and terror. He chose to embrace his vampiric nature for the time being and neglected his habit of breathing, the lack of your sweet, floral scent causing a cavernous emptiness to yawn within him.

He passed the oak tree from which he spied on your bathing the previous night and winced. He really should find you and apologize for his deplorable behavior, let alone confess his sin, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet. The swirling vortex of his mind disallowed his focus to reach anything beyond self-deprecation.

As he meandered aimlessly, he registered the melodious sound of a string instrument somewhere in the distance and chose to follow it. Some ways away, he found you sitting in the shade of a massive elm, plucking the haunting melody he’d heard you humming last night. Your voice accompanied the music, rich and sad, singing in a language he did not recognize. It evoked a wistfulness in him for a life he never had, and he stood back to listen to your song.

The final verse came to a close, and he was struck with a vague sense of unease at repeating his actions from the night prior, so he cleared his throat and made his presence known. You startled, looking warily in his direction until you realized who it was, then rolled your eyes in exasperation.

“Sorry to bother you, my dear. I heard the music whilst I was out for a stroll, and found myself captivated. That was stunning,” he murmured, “and terribly sad.”

You shot a cold glare at him before heaving a heavy sigh and relenting.

“It was a lament for all things lost to the passage of time.”

“Such as…” he prompted.

“Life, love… innocence,” you finished in a small whisper.

He felt a pang of deep sorrow reverberate in his chest.

“And the language?” he asked, unwilling to broach the clearly sore subject. You had not pressed him until it had become absolutely necessary, so he thought it only fair to afford you the same respect.

“Olde Elvish,” you answered plaintively.

“I wasn’t aware bardic schools taught Olde Elvish,” he responded, surprised. “I thought it extinct.”

“My mother used to sing it when I was a babe. It always moved me to tears, and one night, after my father’s untimely passing, I picked up her lyre and began to pluck the tune from memory. She taught me all she knew from that night onward,” you sniffled. “I never studied formally as a bard. Everything I know was handed down from generations of musically inclined Weave wielders.”

“I…” he floundered, at a loss for words. A feat not easily accomplished when it came to him, you continued to prove an exception to the masses.

“Why are you here, Astarion?” you groused, looking at him shrewdly as you swiped a thumb beneath your eyes.

“May I?” he gestured at the space next to you, asking for invitation to sit.

“Answer me first,” you bit out.

“I… I wish to apologize for my ghastly behavior yesterday evening.” He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the wave of cowardly discomfort at his honesty. “You must understand, I have been conditioned to fear closeness, vulnerability. All it’s ever gotten me is a knife in the back.”

He opened his eyes at your watery sigh to see you patting the space beside yourself. He joined you graciously, extending his legs and leaning back against the trunk of the sprawling elm.

“And you must understand that I do not mean to repeat the mistakes of all those before me. None of us do. We are in this fight together, whether we like it or not, so we must learn to trust one another.”

Ever the pragmatist, he could see the toll being a leader had taken in your eyes, along with the weary burden of words left unspoken. He had a feeling you knew just what it felt like to be fundamentally deceived, and his chest constricted with empathy. Another foreign feeling only you had thus far been able to rouse in him. He felt compelled to continue his track of truthfulness, and decided to tell you about his hunt gone awry.

“There is something more I must tell you…” he began uncertainly.

You gave him an expectant stare.

“I… happened upon you washing. Last night. When I went to hunt.” The words came out stilted, feeling weighty and wrong in his mouth.

A charming flush bloomed across your delicate face, scarlet tipping your ears and working its way down your bosom. Your eyes and mouth were round with embarrassment, and for a moment he feared that he had made a terrible error in judgment.

And then you cackled, wild and full, and he found himself helpless to do anything other than chuckle along with you. You flashed a blinding smile at him and raised an inquisitive brow.

“Oh? And did you enjoy the show?”

At the reminder of his arousal, the scalding sensation of shame erupted over him in a vicious surge.

“What does it matter?” he snapped, a remorseful sigh escaping him at your affronted expression.

“This is what I mean, Astarion!” you shouted, gesticulating furiously, “You flirt, you tease, you share your burdens with me, and then you brutally shut me out! Every time! What is it that you want from me, because I’m quite tired of the neverending headache of your mood swings!”

“It’s not as if you’re any better!” he yelled in answer, temporarily losing his grip on the brewing storm of vitriol in his mind.

You reeled back as though struck.

“Bloody unbelievable,” you muttered, tucking your lyre under an arm and abruptly standing to leave. “I’ll never get any fucking peace.”

His hand shot out to grab yours, fear of losing the sanctuary you provided making his movements instinctive. You whipped around, expression murderous and preparing to scream.

“Wait,” he exhaled shakily, “Just…wait. Give me a moment to compose myself.”

You shook his hand loose, but remained in place, glaring at him.

“Forgive me,” he whimpered, staring at his knees. The proverbial floodgates burst in spectacular fashion, and he was quickly overwhelmed by the torrent of negative emotions that bled from them. He shook with the might of the onslaught, startled by the salty tang of his own tears. It only made him tremble more hysterically, a surely pitiful sight.

To his utmost surprise, you set your lyre down and knelt next to him, taking his face in your hands. He squeezed his eyes shut in discomfort, another whimper escaping him.

“Please don’t touch me,” he whispered, voice scratchy and quivering.

You withdrew your hands instantly, instead quietly asking, “What would you like me to do?”

“Will you play that song for me?” he asked in a pathetic warble.

“The Lament for That Which Is Lost?”

He nodded imperceptibly, and was immediately rewarded by the soft, sad strum of the lyre. As your voice joined in, he allowed the deluge of feeling to swallow him. He was lost in a sea of emotion, finding his many old acquaintances: shame, dread, rage, envy, hatred, terror, bitterness, apathy. Worst of all was the grief that wracked his body with violent sobs, guilt and regret for the countless wrongs he’d committed, anguish for all the wrongs committed against him.

However, he also encountered many of the new feelings you inspired within him: delight, sorrow, compassion, jealousy, warmth, guilt, desire. While not altogether positive, the feelings you’d introduced him to were a welcome reprieve from the centuries’ worth of misery he’d become accustomed to, and he grabbed onto them like a life raft as he waited out the crux of the storm. ______________________________________________________________

Slowly, ever so slowly, he came back to the present moment and focused on the hypnotic sound of your voice. He knew not what the words meant, but he didn’t need to in order to feel the devastating sense of loss that they carried. Your soft lilt reverberated in his chest, and he took a deep breath in, filling himself with the sweet, musky aroma of your skin. It helped to ease the tide of his agony back into submission, and he opened his eyes to watch the last of your performance.

He found himself enraptured by the beauty of you, eyes closed and immersed in the music much as he had been, the tracks of your own tears carrying smudges of kohl in spidery lines down your face. You were the kind of beautiful that he would have brought back to Cazador were the circumstances different, and it caused his chest to twinge with resentment. You sung the last line and plucked the closing chord, voice wavering slightly as a final tear began its slow descent over the planes of your face.

When you opened your puffy eyes, you gazed directly into his. It felt as if you were looking into the darkest parts of his soul, and he fought the urge to shy away from you. In an act of uncharacteristic bravado, he swung his legs around to sit on his knees facing you. He gently removed the lyre from your grasp and leaned it against the trunk of the great tree.

He reached out tentatively with both hands, holding your face the way you’d held his the night before. Your cheeks blazed in his palms, and an involuntary shiver ran up your spine at his cool touch. You blinked slowly as his thumbs swept the remainder of your tears away, smudging the wispy tracks of kohl in the process. A throaty chuckle escaped him as he took in the smeared stains of oily blackness on your skin, and you leaned forward to be closer to the sound.

“Your laugh is music to my ears,” you whispered, eyes full of tender promise.

He inhaled sharply and gravitated toward you, running a delicate thumb over the swell of your bottom lip, delighted when they parted in a breathy gasp. He could feel the damp warmth of your soft, panting breaths against his face as he leaned closer still, the saccharine scent of jasmine blossoms and orange peel and you so heavy in the air around him that he could taste it.

Just as the space between his body and yours shrunk to an infinitesimal degree, the sharp pain of his hunger returned with a vengeance, and he could not hide his grimace, nor the wince of discomfort that escaped his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, concern laced in the tilt of your brows, small hands coming to encircle his wrists.

The moment broken, you leaned back, removing his hands from your face. It was all he could do not to follow your scent and bury his fangs in your throat.

“The hunger,” he groaned, “it’s inescapable.”

“When did you last eat?” you whispered, eyes round with worry.

“The night I drank from you,” he gasped, the pain wracking him with a shudder that forced his eyes shut.

“Feed from me,” you murmured, his eyes snapping open in exalted bewilderment, sure he’d misheard you.

“What was that?”

“Feed from me,” you said again, louder this time.

He salivated at the memory of your blood across his tongue, wanting nothing more than to be filled with your life’s essence, to be emboldened by it. Then, he remembered the coming battle.

“I can’t,” he bemoaned, “You need your strength for tomorrow.”

“As do you,” you responded, gaze resolute.

“Are you sure? Here… now?” he asked once more, voice wavering equivocally with the fog of hunger hanging over his mind.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nodded in assent.

No sooner had the words left your lips than Astarion’s mouth was at your throat. He hadn’t even given you time to brush your hair aside and bare your neck to him, so starved as he was. With a harsh cry, his fangs pierced the tender skin over your jugular, tongue immediately darting out to lap at the blood spilling from the wound.

He paced himself this time around, both for want to savor his meal as well as that of your safety. He could tell when the initial daze from the bite wore off, your blood taking on a richer, more full-bodied flavor. It almost had a fattiness to it, and it quenched his thirst in a way nothing else had ever been capable of.

Before long, he could feel your body trembling like a leaf in the wind. He hadn’t drunk enough for bloodlessness to be the cause, though he worried nonetheless. It would be so like him to push past the discomfort and hurt you, taking from you the way he had been taken from…but there was work yet to be done in the way of gaining your trust. He was about to pull away when he tasted it - the syrupy flavor of your desire. A low sigh pushed its way past your lips, a sound inaudible to all but his keen ears.

Now, this I can work with. This I can exploit.

He continued to drink, the honeyed taste of you heavy on his tongue. He paid close attention to the way your body responded, quiet whimpers and little shivers steadily giving you away. Your hands clawed at the earth beneath you, pulling up clumps of grass and clods of dirt with their ferocity.

Inevitably, your shivers of delight became shivers of cold, shock setting in and ruining the atmosphere. Hunger mitigated, Astarion begrudgingly pulled back, replacing his mouth with the pressure of his hand to staunch the bleeding. You retrieved the amulet from your pocket with a shaky grasp, whispering the incantation into your cupped palms. Its magic washed over you in an instant, heat and color returning to your cheeks.

“Thank you, my sweet,” he murmured, making a show of licking the last of you from his lips.

You averted your eyes bashfully, lively flush deepening.

“Don’t mention it, dear Star,” you mumbled, eyes widening at your slip.

After a moment of shocked disbelief, a devious grin split his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, darling. Could you repeat yourself for me?”

“I said ‘don’t mention it’,” you spoke up.

“Not that, the last bit,” he replied, expression smug when he caught the sheepish look on your face.

“Dear Star,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes.

“That is indeed what I thought I’d heard. Rather sentimental of you for a ‘headache’, is it not?” he purred, referencing your earlier words.

“I’m plenty sentimental, Rogue, and you know it well.”

“Of course, my dear. I only kid,” he intoned, softening his smile as you lifted your face.

He watched as your embarrassment faded and you returned his smile, something hopeful hidden in the depths of your eyes.

I’ve got you right where I want you, darling.

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2309analysis · 4 months

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TW: Blood, and very, very minor violence.

HEADCANON: So, you remember the giant gap that Casey has? Like, four teeth are missing in his front? So, I got this headcanon that his “best friend,” Nick accidentally snapped them off when playing hockey with him. (Also another headcanon that Casey has uncut and jagged teeth. They’re partially uneven everywhere, and have shaper tips than most. Bro barely ever when to the dentist/orthodontist. I got fucking proof.)

I even got the day, a Saturday. They were practicing for a game. They were around ten or eleven years old. They were goofing off for a while, and running into each other, daring the other they can’t make the shot from whatever distance. Zooming past the other to mess the other up, all fun and lighthearted games.

They both started to get a tad more serious/aggressive, and started thrashing into each other, to skid them off to the other side. Occasionally making each other fall over and trip on their skates. (I headcanon this is why Casey is so great at dodging and jumping up and down on the ice in the first place.)

They both started getting faster, and smarter, making the game a lot easier for disaster. Nick had the puck in his range to hit, he went for it, unknowingly that Casey was trying to zoom past him. For a chance to mess up Nick, and Casey wasn’t paying much attention to Nick’s position near the puck. As in, he didn’t realize how close he was to it.

“Hey, Case- watch out! Get out of the way!” Casey was in the zone, blurring the last part of Nick’s plea’ “- out of the way!” He turns his head around to figure out what Nick meant, “…huh-!” *zoom!* *swish* *crash* Casey landed flat on his back, with splits and mini spews of blood dripping from his mouth. As he deliriously peered down at the ice, realizing the blood was from his mouth, he immediately clomped his hand on his mouth.

Nick practically racing by Casey’s side, and panicked. “Oh my god, I am so, so, so sorry, dude! D-does it hurt, are- are you bleeding?!” Casey looked at him with a sarcastic Expression, with a muffled voice. “No, that was some ketchup I decided to prank you with. Of course I am bleeding, and I think a lost a tooth.”

Nick furrowed his head down, and covering his eyes in extreme guilt. “D-do you want to call your dad? Maybe, go to the doctors? ‘Cause, uh… one of your teeth is next to your left palm.” Casey immediately looks at where Nick is pointing, and groans with agitation. “Great… now I got buck-teeth, and it’s your fault. I already don’t fit well in most school clubs or friend-groups, now, I’ll be debunked from a cool kid to a laughingstock.”

“Sorry, man… want to call our parents, or walk home, or, or, I don’t know, I just feel guilty.” Casey is a naturally forgiving guy, (at least my headcanon that he is) and doesn’t really like holding grudges. “It’s okay, dude, besides, it’s kinda cool thinking about it. Not grand like an adventure, or anything, but I got a story to tell, now. Plus, nobody has this, and, it’s unique! Still mad, though.” Nick chuckles, and relieved that Casey doesn’t care much, and helps him up.

Casey removes his hand, to a tad disgust, two more tooth’s pop out, while the last one is just barely hanging on. Out of annoyance, Casey pops it right off, and kinds just… puts the four teeth to aside, and continues to skate. Both of them try to clean up the blood, and just made it kinda look like something spilt some red juice on the rink. Casey ends up putting them in a bag, gets some wet paper towels to clean himself up, with another one to keep the blood from gushing out of his gums. A begrudgingly bitter visit to the dentist is coming Casey’s way.

Like, look, you can see the headcanon, right? This guy definitely avoided the dentist like the plague. Especially due to the circumstances of 2018, he’d have no real or proper way of taking care of his teeth or hygiene. Donnie might or could’ve helped, but I wholly believe that, as a kid, Casey fought him if he went near his mouth. So, Donnie just gave up, and said, “your mouth, kid.”

#writing #headcanon #casey jones #tmnt 2012 #2012 casey jones #one shot #i think too deeply over silly things #totally normal about this #hear me out #tmnt headcanons #headcanons

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cha0ticspacebi · 1 year

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Trying to date after escaping an abusive relationship is hard. Thankfully Eddie can provide just what you need. Freedom.

Pairing: Dark! Obsessive! Eddie x Naive! Trusting! Female Reader

Word Count: 6.8 K

Tags: Serial killer! Eddie, he kills in the name of love but murders nonetheless, graphic depictions of violence (very Dexter like), possessiveness, obsession, knife play, oral sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, talks of domestic violence, Billy is reader's abusive ex (I'm sorry if you like him, he's my default villain!), other characters make a minor appearance. I’m not creative enough for song lyrics so I pulled out some real dusty ones from my emo days. Please mind these tags, this story is the darkest thing I've ever written! ⚠️ 21+ MDNI ⚠️

A/N: This story is 100% inspired by and dedicated to @eddiethetwisted. If you are here for dark and twisted, Yandere Eddie please check him and @eddiemunsonfuxks out! You won't be disappointed!

divider by firefly-graphics

It’s been 3 years since you escaped from your worst nightmare. 1,095 days since you last had to see his face in that courtroom. It had taken a while for the bruises to fade. It’s taken even longer for the nervous glances over your shoulder anytime you went out to subside, but you felt better. Supported by your friends and a therapy group for other survivors of domestic abuse, you were healing.

“Have you given any more thought to my suggestion?” your friend Barb spoke so sweetly as you had lunch with her.

You pondered the suggestion in question. A few days ago she brought up the idea that you try dating again. Her words and positive sentiments replayed in your mind, just because Billy was a piece of human trash doesn’t mean that all men are. You shouldn’t feel like you have to be alone for the rest of your life just because of what he did. There’s somebody out there meant just for you and what you need– I can feel it!

The truth was you did want to try again. You missed having someone to hold you at night or kiss you goodbye before you left for work each day. But that’s how it began with Billy. He was kind, supportive, loving…until he wasn’t anymore. How can you trust that the same thing won’t happen again?

You sipped your iced tea to avoid answering right away, “I don’t know. I mean I want to but,” she cut you off.

“Just come out to The Hideout tomorrow night with me and my friend Nancy from high school. There’s a local band that’s going to be playing, even if you don’t meet anymore, I’m sure you’ll have a good time!” she smiled brightly at you, adding to her plea and tugging at your heart strings.

“Ok, I’ll come along.”

Billy liked to control everything you did. Who you were allowed to hang out with, where you were allowed to go, not to mention controlling every aspect of your appearance. How you styled your hair. The clothes you wore. Even the colors of makeup you were allowed to use. Everything had to be approved by him. It had taken a lot of hard work to unlearn some of the things he had driven into your mind. It was still a daily struggle.

Even now, standing in front of the mirror wearing a skirt that never would have been allowed felt wrong. You’re showing way too much leg and men will see you for the whore you are– you shook away the thoughts! That was Billy’s insecurity, not yours. He never wanted you to feel good about yourself because that meant you were easier to control.

People wear things like what you had on all the time. There was nothing wrong with the way you looked. Trying to hype yourself up, Barb walked into your place using the key you’d given her and joined you.

“You look so pretty! Don’t change! I can see that look on your face,” she wagged a finger at you.

You jumped, surprised by her sudden appearance but laughed, “Guilty! I was just about to go back to jeans and a sweater.”

“Don’t you dare!” she scolded, “I told you, it’s just drinks. No pressure. We’ll listen to some loud music and have fun.”

You nodded while finishing up and then grabbed your purse. Feeling excited for the first time in a while about the prospect of going out and possibly meeting someone special.

The small, sleepy town of Hawkins, Indiana hadn’t been your home forever but it was where you had settled and weren’t about to let Billy take your home from you too. Unsurprisingly, since Billy never let you go anywhere, you hadn’t been to this particular bar before. It was a hole in the wall bar, a local watering hole filled with a seemingly tight knit group of loyal patrons, thankfully ranging in ages from 20s to 60s. If you had walked into a bar filled with nothing but mean, grouchy looking old men, you’d have turned right around and went home. Still, some of the confidence you had managed to build up vanished as soon as you stepped inside.

“There’s Nancy!” Barb waved at a pretty girl with brown curls on the far side of the room, “Come on let’s get drinks and then join them.”

Meeting a new group of people could’ve gone a lot worse. Barb’s friends were all really nice. You met Nancy, a journalist for the Hawkins Post. Then there was her girlfriend Robin, a freelance painter. Finally there was Steve Harrington, a newly single high school history teacher. You learned that they all went to school together, along with the guys from the band that was playing tonight. It wasn’t long until you had finished your first drink and longed for a new one because much to your surprise, you were having a lot of fun.

“I’ll be right back,” pointing to your empty glass.

Doing things on your own has been a goal of yours since leaving Billy. He had often forbid you from doing things alone, claiming it was for your safety but you learned it was just another thing he wanted to control. Going to the bar to order your own drink was honestly something you never thought you’d be able to do again.

It helped that the bar wasn’t super busy and the bartender looked nice. She took your empty glass and suggested something new that you could try.

“Hey toots,” a gruff voice from beside you broke your focus, “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone on a Friday night?” He flashed you a grin with yellowing teeth and smelled of stale cigarettes, like the one currently clutched between his fingers.

Moments like this tested all your resolve and work you had done trying to recover. It would have been really easy to fall into old habits. Claiming that your boyfriend was in the bathroom or some other excuse and then run as far away as possible. Your therapist had prepared you for the fact that when you were ready to try dating again, you might encounter more thorns than flowers. He was staring at you waiting for a response.

“Oh there you are sweetheart! I’ve been looking all over for you,” a velvety sound hit your ears and sent shivers up your partially exposed spine. With just a slight turn of your head, you were met with a pair of dark brown eyes and a smile you wouldn’t soon forget.

The man put himself right between you and the creep before grabbing the drink that was sweating on its coaster, “Silly girl, come on! You don’t want to miss my show do you?”

You played along, not wanting to miss the escape this man was offering you from your current predicament, “Of course not.” You grabbed the drink from his hand, “Let’s go.”

He smiled and then addressed the man who had been bothering you, “Careful now Gene that pacemaker was just replaced wasn’t it? Would be a shame if you worked it too hard and something happened again.” You could hear the man at the bar grumble something in response but couldn’t quite make out what it was.

Once you had walked a safe distance away you realized you’d still been following this man who you didn’t know. “Um,” You grabbed his sleeve to stop him from where he was still walking ahead of you, “T-thank you for that. He was making me really uncomfortable.”

He turned and gave you a better view of his face. He was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. His dark brown curls perfectly matched his eyes and his smile was even better now that you could admire it properly. He spoke so warm and kindly, “You’re very welcome princess. Men like him are a waste of breath. May I ask your name?”

You tell him your name and learn that his name is Eddie. But the larger development that takes place is when Steve walks over looking very confused, “Munson!” He smacks Eddie on the back, “So what, you two know each other or something?”

He shakes his head, “I am but her humble savior and defeater of evil.”

You can’t help the little giggle that you let out, “He rescued me from some old creep at the bar.” You motioned between the two of them, “Do you two know each other?”

Steve explains that they went to school together and that Eddie was actually in the band you were here to see with your friend. Which must have reminded him that he was needed backstage once again since they were about to go on.

Before departing from you though, he grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on the top of your knuckles, “Until we meet again princess.”

Your heart fluttered more than it reasonably should have. You’d known Eddie for all of 5 minutes and he had already consumed your every thought. He was so sickeningly sweet and kind with every word he had said to you. Then watching him perform only amplified the feelings up to 11.

He took to the stage a few minutes after leaving your side. You had rejoined your group, of course regaling the tale of your sudden savior. As soon as the lights dimmed you heard his voice again coming through the mic. You were mesmerized by the way his ringed fingers pressed into the strings of his guitar and then moved along the neck with ease pressing into a different fret causing a change in the sound. Matching perfectly with the bassline and drum beats provided by his bandmates. You were so lost in his beauty up there that your brain couldn't truly process the weight of his lyrics.

He dropped you off

I followed him home

Then I stood outside his bedroom window

You caught words like bloody, valentine, and love. You wondered how he made a song that sounded so violent seem so romantic.

Standing over him, he begged me not to do

What I knew I had to do

Cause I am so in love with you

His eyes locked with yours the entire time. You tricked your brain into thinking he was singing right to you and no one else. For a brief moment, it’s as if all your anxiety and concerns about coming out tonight never existed in the first place. For the first time in a really long time you forgot about everything you’d been through and allowed yourself to entertain the idea of happiness. Maybe Eddie could make you happy.

After the show he emerged from the back and came to stand right beside you again, “What’d you think of the show sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, a bad habit Billy hated, “It was really good Eddie. You’re a great singer. Do you write the lyrics or is it more of a group effort?”

He took a drink of the beer one of the guys had delivered to him, “It’s all me princess. Why did you hear something you really liked?”

“Well, they were pretty dark but honestly,” You thought back to that first song, “There’s something kinda romantic about the notion of killing to protect the one you love.”

Barb gave you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher, it was quizzical but also hopeful, “Yeah you think so? I mean that song about murder is still murder but I guess the fantasy of it could be alluring.”

Nancy joined the conversation, “I’ll have to disagree. Sorry Eddie,” he nods to indicate no offense taken, “There’s nothing sexy about the idea of killing an innocent person just to show your love and affection for someone.”

Eddie didn’t miss a beat though, “But what if the person wasn’t innocent? What if it was someone who deserved it?”

“That’s why we have a court of law, due process to clear those who are innocent and punish those who are guilty. People who take the law into their own hands are just as bad as the criminals they claim to hate so much,” Nancy made her position clear as day on the issue.

As soon as she was done, you felt you had to speak up, “But what about when the courts that are supposed to protect the victims fail and end up favoring the abusers? Real life just doesn’t work like it does in a textbook. Our court systems are incredibly flawed.” For a second you forgot who you were talking to and that Barb was the only one who knows about your past, “They certainly didn’t help me any. All I got was a lousy restraining order and he got a slap on the wrist.”

The table was silent.

Eddie downs the rest of his beer in one gulp, “Who hurt you sweetheart?”

You felt the burn of the spotlight that was suddenly on you. You had let your guard down and exposed a part of yourself you wanted nothing more than to hide away from the world. Finally the words came but they were broken, “I- it's not important.”

The tone in Eddie’s voice lowered and darkened but still managed to drip with sweetness, “I’m so sorry you think that sweetheart, but that’s not what I asked. Who made you think that?”

You swallowed hard, “My ex Billy.”

For the first time all night, his eyes were on his hands instead of you, “Does this Billy have a last name?”

Your brows furrowed as to his sudden interest in your ex, “H-Hargrove. Billy Hargrove.”

Steve could see your distress and tried to make the conversation shift away from you. After that brief drop in his tone Eddie bounced back and was once again laughing along with everyone. The topic of discussion thankfully drifted further and further away from murder and the morality of killing someone who deserved it. You blended into the background as the old group of friends spent the rest of the evening reconnecting.

After last call was made the bar was nearly empty. Only your group and a few other lonely souls that would rather spend as long as possible at the bar than go home alone remained. One of whom was the yellow toothed creep who tried hitting on you earlier in the evening.

Barb grabbed your hand, “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Actually,” Eddie spoke, picking up on the implication that you didn’t drive here since neither of you seemed to be making a move to grab your keys, “I’ve only had this one drink so I’m good to drive you home if you’d rather save some cash on a cab.”

Nancy agreed but offered an alternative, “Eddie, your trailer is in the opposite direction of Barb’s place, I’ll drive them back.”

You didn’t know where Eddie lived but if he was in the opposite direction from Barb, that meant he was in the right direction for you, “Nancy why don’t I just go with Eddie? That way no one has to drive out of their way.”

Eddie’s face lit up with fireworks exploding on his cheeks and in his eyes, “See Wheeler? It’s a win win really.”

“Will you be alright?” Barb asked.

Eddie wrapped his arm around you, “I swear I will protect her with my life.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze, “She has never been safer than she is right now. Cross my heart!”

Eddie led you out to his van. It was old. The peeling blue upholstery of the passenger seat lifted slightly as you sat down. The engine showed its age too as it started up. You looked around curiously, inspecting the cigarette butts sitting in the ashtray and the two plastic coke bottles on the floor by your feet.

“Sorry for the mess,” he somehow managed to look at you and the road at the same time, “I wasn’t expecting to have anyone in here tonight.”

Now that you were alone you wanted to make sure you thanked him properly for his help earlier, “No worries. I really appreciate the offer to drive me home. Especially after you already helped me, a perfect stranger, out with that little issue at the bar.”

He waved it off, “Don’t mention it princess. A beautiful lady like you shouldn’t have to put up with crap like that, especially from scum like him.”

His words couldn’t help but have a profound effect on you. Billy never called you beautiful. Hot or sexy sure but never beautiful. It was really nice to hear and even thought you felt yourself slipping, there was nothing you could do to stop yourself from falling. You were too far gone already. You really liked Eddie.

He turned on some music, obviously one of the groups that served as inspiration for his own music. You glanced behind you as he drove expecting to see various musical equipment but instead you saw only a black duffle bag, several tarps, and a few loose articles of safety gear like gloves and glasses. You turned back to him, “Where’s your guitar and amps and stuff?”

“My uncle works construction so he sometimes uses the van for work,” he shot his thumb pointing backwards, “It’s pretty dirty back there so we started using Gareth’s truck to move the stuff around.”

“Do you live with your uncle?”

“Yeah, he took me in after my asshole dad got locked up,” he turned down the street that would lead to your house after following your instructions.

You pointed out your house to him and he pulled up into the driveway. To your surprise he got out with you.

“What?” he smiled, “I told your friend I’d make sure you were safe.”

You laughed, “Nothing’s going to happen to me between here and the door though Eddie.”

“I’m nothing if not thorough sweetheart. When I set my mind to something I see it through to the end,” he even opened your screen door for you as you dug in your bag for your key.

“Thank you for the ride Eddie,” you lingered in the doorway for a moment. Waiting to see if he would make a move, granted you didn’t have a lot of experience, but it seemed like he was into you, or at least that’s what you hoped.

“You are very welcome,” he kissed the back of your hand again, “Would you do me the great honor of going to see a movie with me tomorrow?”

“I’d love to Eddie, pick me up at 8?”

“On the dot princess,” he planted one last kiss on the hand he was still holding, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You locked the door behind him and fell asleep for the first time in a while feeling hopeful for the fate of your love life.

• • • • • • •

Somewhere in the forest outside Lover’s Lake later that night.

“Oh, don’t bother begging for mercy now Gene. You shouldn’t have tried to take what didn’t belong to you,” a dark voice speaks low to the terrified man from where this assailant hovers over a nearly broken leg and bloody arm.

His breathing was labored, “Y-you’re i-in-sane!”

The man shrugged, “Maybe. But I did try to warn you about that pacemaker, didn't I?” He knelt down and pressed the tip of his pocket knife into the man's thigh, “Tell you what, since you were good and kept your hands off of her I’ll give you another chance.” His voice lifted and dripped with a touch of mania, “If you had touched her perfect skin with your disgusting fingers I’d be breaking each of them one by one.”

Gene went white but didn’t have a chance to react. The man was speaking again, “If you can make it to the lake before that little piece of metal keeping your heart beating gives out, I’ll let you live. You can even tell them what I did and how that Munson boy is as crazy as everyone says he is!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Unfortunately for him, Eddie had already done a number on him. He was bleeding from several places and had no idea what direction the lake was in. He hobbled frantically and panicked through the forest, desperately searching for the lake. Under different circumstances this old local might have noticed the change in soil texture or the shifting foliage signaling that water was nearby. But at god knows what time in the morning being chased by a madman, he felt the beating in his chest begin to falter. He collapsed to the ground.

“Oh,” Eddie had caught up to him with ease and stood over him watching as the older man struggled to breathe. The silver of his blade shining in the moonlight, “Too bad.”

• • • • • • •

Eddie was precisely on time for your date the next day. He drove the two of you to the theater in town and paid for the tickets.

“Do you want a snack princess? Are you a popcorn girl or maybe something sweeter just like you,” Eddie’s constant flirting was consuming you. It felt so good to be desired in a way you never had before.

“Popcorn is fine Eddie,” you grabbed his hand, “Thank you.”

Everything was going perfect. You had dressed up and not once thought about what Billy would say. Eddie was a perfect gentleman and even let you pick some romantic comedy that Billy never would have seen with you. The movie wasn’t great, it was cheesy and predictable, but that wasn’t the important part. Eddie’s hands never left your skin the whole night. Whether he was holding your hand, wrapping his arm around you, or just mindlessly thumbing over your wrist while the movie was playing. It was the best date you had ever been on. Until you stepped out into the night air of the parking lot following the credits.

“Well well sugar, fancy seeing you here,” a voice you never wanted to hear ever again hit your ears and you froze in place.

Eddie was right there to catch you before you could fall down that slippery slope of fear, “Sweetheart? Who’s this?”

“Who the fuck are you freak?”

“Billy please!” you felt yourself shaking as you tried to speak up for yourself, “I- I still have a restraining order so just leave me alone.”

He stepped forward just once before Eddie cut him off, “You should listen to her. Wouldn’t want to make any trouble.” He looked around, assessing that Billy was here alone, “Seeing a flick all by yourself?”

“Fuck off freak,” Billy looked right at you from where you were cowering behind Eddie, “You’re still as weak and spineless as you were when I left you. Just now you’ve shown your real slutty colors.”

Eddie’s tone dropped again like it had last night when he was protecting you from that guy at the bar, you thought he might address Billy again but instead he pulled you tight into his body, “ Come on princess. Let’s get you home. Something just came up and my evening suddenly looks very busy.”

You didn’t have time to process what could have possibly come up in those few seconds of interacting with Billy but you were just thankful to be back in the car with Eddie.

He was driving slowly towards your house, “Sweetheart? I need you to know I really like you and I have a very important question to ask. I know it might be difficult to talk about but I need to know. Just what did Billy do to you?”

You rubbed anxiously at your legs, “I really like you too Eddie. I feel safe with you. Unlike with him.”

You somehow manage to describe a condensed version of the hell that Billy had put you through over the years you were together, “He was my high school sweetheart but he started getting really controlling, that led to me breaking his rules which eventually reached the point where h-he would hit me, or kick me, always making sure to target spots that I could easily hide with long sleeves or pants though.”

Eddie was quiet so you continued, “I finally managed to get away with Barb’s help and I thought he had moved away after serving his pitifully short jail sentence, but I guess not. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen him since the trial three years ago.”

He arrived in your driveway and grabbed your hands, “You’ll never have to see him again. I swear to you. He’ll never hurt you ever again.”

It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position being pulled in for a kiss from across the center console, but the feeling of his lips on yours was divine. He kissed you like his life depended on it. Like he was drowning and you were his only source of oxygen. Your heart raced and pounded louder when you felt his hands moving down towards your chest. He stopped right at your heart.

“Go inside and wait for me. I have something to take care of but it shouldn’t take long, ok? I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

You obeyed and watched his van back out of your driveway before pulling off down the street.

• • • • • • •

The movie theater parking lot was still busy. Perfect.

Eddie parked his van close to but not directly beside the blue Camaro that he had seen Billy leaving just a little bit ago. Eddie had to plan this timing perfectly. If the movie that walking shit stain was seeing was the average run time he had to work quickly. He grabbed some rubber gloves and pliers from the glove box and got to work hot wiring the Camaro.

It roared to life and he managed to avoid any noisy onlookers tonight. He drove it to the side of the currently desolate highway and staged a scene. Left the headlights on, opened the doors and rummaged through the contents as if someone had disposed of the driver before robbing them blind.

After he was satisfied he took the long walk back along the road not wanting to leave any footprints in the dirt of the forest. He checked his watch as he reentered the movie theater parking lot for the third time that night. If his calculated moves had been correct, ahh right on schedule. Billy was walking out and hadn’t seemed to notice yet that his car was missing.

Eddie hurried to his van and grabbed his signature chloroform soaked cloth and waited in the shadows for the perfect moment to strike.

When Billy was walking past his van to possibly inspect a different row looking for his car, Eddie grabbed him and placed the cloth over his mouth. As they all do, he struggled for a minute but eventually went still. Allowing Eddie to toss him in the back of the van on the tarp he’d already laid out before diving out like nothing had happened and headed for the abandoned lake house he saved for special occasions like this.

Just off Holland road sat his destination.

A few years back, his old supplier Rick, had gotten busted for good this time but his family still paid the bills on this old place so Eddie had started using the old boathouse for purposes just like tonight. When a so-called man made a foolish decision like getting anywhere near one of his girls he’d bring them here. Not that any of his girls ever knew what he had done for them. No one even gave him the time of day, until you. He thought about your perfect face, your smile, your chest, and the way your hips moved as you walked–focus!

He was going to enjoy this kill.

He readied the space and then went to retrieve Billy’s still unconscious body from the back of the van. Now he just had to wait.

The telltale signs that his victims were coming to were always the same. The grogginess, the hazy look in their eyes, and the same inane questions of where am I or why are you doing this?

He was done waiting so he smacked Billy’s face a few times, “Wakey wakey Billy boy. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.” Eddie pulled a knife out from the black roll of cloth that concealed his tools sitting beside him, “You hurt someone very important to me and now I’m going to make you pay for every single time you dared to lay a finger on her.”

Billy’s eyes widened with panic as Eddie stepped hard on the ground towards him. After making the first cut along Billy’s cheek, he got down to business.

Eddie wasn’t usually this messy when he worked, he was colored crimson with this filth’s blood. Even the real pieces of trash who he killed didn’t look this bad when he was through with them.

After enduring his beatings, cuts, torturously slow breaking of each finger, they were usually still recognizable. Not Billy. Eddie had all but bashed his head in and was currently in the process of dismembering his corpse and placing each piece in a duct tape wrapped garbage bag.

Once he was finished, he cleaned up and disposed of the parts where they’d be lost to the lake and even if they were ever discovered, they’d be beyond the ability to identify. Not that Eddie believed even for a second that someone would report a piece of crap like Billy missing.

Besides, he had better things to worry about. He’d gotten a little carried away and kept you waiting longer than he wanted to. So he had to get going.

• • • • • • •

After Eddie had dropped you off, you changed into some soft comfortable pajamas and brewed a pot of tea. All the things your therapist had suggested to do when you got overwhelmed with the feelings of what Billy had done. It helped a bit but the thought of Eddie returning helped more.

He was gone longer than you anticipated but your spirits lifted when you heard the sound of his van pulling up into the driveway.

Carefully you set down your teacup and hurried to unlock the door for him. On the other side of the door however stood a very different Eddie than the one that had left you. He was covered in blood.

“Sorry I’m late sweetheart, I have something to take care of.”

“Eddie!” You panicked and couldn’t understand why he wasn’t panicking too! He was obviously injured from something, “Are you alright? Were you in an accident? Oh god we need to call an ambulance!” You yelled.

He looked down at himself as thought it was raining heavily and the liquid soaking through his clothes was water and not dried blood, “None of it’s mine I promise.”

Your face froze. If it’s not his, that means it’s someone else’s, “E-Eddie? What exactly did you have to take care of ?”

The smile on his face was just as bright as it had been when he picked you up earlier, only now accented by the blood staining his face, “I told you princess. He’d never hurt you again.”

Your stomach dropped. The pieces fell into place. It made you sick but there was a part of you that was– happy, “H-he’s dead?”

“As a fucking doornail princess, can I um, come in?”

“Oh! Yes, yeah! Wait! Should we lay down plastic or something?” you looked to see if his boots had blood on them.

He laughed, “Nope we’re all good sweetheart. Just need to ditch these clothes and use your shower.”

Your brain worked in overdrive trying to process all of this as you waited for him to finish in the bathroom. You didn’t have any guy's clothes for him to change into so you had dug to the back of your closet looking for some old oversized shirts you saved for painting. You managed to find a shirt and then pulled out a pair of sweatpants you thought might fit him. Lastly, you grabbed a trash bag for him to toss his bloody clothes in. Then you heard the shower turn off.

Your voice was quiet as you tapped on the door with the back of your knuckle, “Eddie? C-can I come in?”

“I’d love you to come in here with me sweetheart.”

You slowly pressed the door open and you saw that he had the towel wrapped around his waist, “I don’t know how well they will fit but here are some clothes a-and a trash bag for you know. Your dirty clothes.”

“You’re an absolute dream,” he took the clothes and the bag then motioned towards the door, “Why don’t you wait in your room for me? Can’t have any of this dirty mess getting on you can we?”

Without another word you just nodded and closed the door again. Your weight sitting on the edge of your mattress felt heavier than normally. The man you just met had killed the man who made your life a living hell and you weren’t sad. You should be calling the police and hiding in case he decides to kill you too, but you somehow knew he wouldn’t. You still felt safe with him. Not only did you feel safe but you were pressing your thighs together as that familiar feeling bubbled in your core. You wanted him.

No matter how wrong it felt, you wanted him to come in here and absolutely wreck you.

“You look so cute in those pink pajamas princess,” he was wearing the clothes you’d given him and you felt your cheeks heat up even more. He stepped towards you and sat on the bed with his body pressed right up against yours, “You’re trembling love, you know I’d never hurt you right? Just like I said last night. I only hurt people who deserve it.”

“I think I’m trembling Eddie because I can’t believe the nightmare is finally over, no more looking over my shoulder wondering if he’ll come back one day and kill me,” you looked up into those brown eyes that somehow still managed to look soft and caring, “I know you won’t hurt me, you did this for me right?”

He lit up, “Yes! Yes I did this for you and it makes me so happy that you can see that. It’s my god given duty to protect you and I’ll never stop killing for you sweetheart! I took care of that creep who bothered you at the bar last night too!”

You knew in the reasonable side of your brain that you shouldn’t be feeling this way. That you shouldn’t be turned on by the thought of a man who loved you so much that he was willing to kill anyone who hurt you, or even slightly inconvenienced you. But you weren’t thinking with the reasonable side of your brain.

You crawled into his lap and felt his cock twitch beneath you, “You did so good Eddie.” He blossomed at the praise, “Can I make you feel good now?”

“Just holding you makes my cock hard as a rock, baby. It’s my job to make you feel good,” his hands grabbed at your hips. The pads of his fingers tracing lightly over the skin of your midriff exposed from your crop top.

You rubbed your hands along his shoulders, “Let me take care of you Eddie.” Slipping out of his lap, silencing the little whine that left his lips with a kiss and your hands on his crotch. You rubbed his covered cock before pulling at the waistband of the sweats you’d just worked so hard to find for him. His cock sprang out with a flourish. Your eyes widened and you sucked your bottom lip up into your teeth, biting down to hide your smile.

“Yeah?” he ran his fingers across the top of your head, “You like what you see angel?” He chuckles at your little nod.

“Can I suck your cock Eddie?”

He let out a pleased hum, “Mmm, that sounds great sweetheart. I can’t wait to feel your pretty little mouth on my cock.”

Not wasting anymore time you took him into your mouth and rejoiced in the pleasant stretch his cock gave your throat. He was big and you didn’t even try to stifle the chokes and gags you made as you took him in and out of your mouth.

“Fuck! That’s my good girl, I’m gonna fuck that throat of yours ok?”

“Mhmm!” you adjusted yourself back on your knees as he stood up from the bed. Getting a better grip on your head, he fucked your throat until you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“M’gonna fuck your pretty throat until your gasping for breath sweetheart,” your lips vibrated against him with want at his words, “Wanna see those sweet eyes roll back in your head and then just before you pass out on my cock, m’gonna absolutely wreck that cunt of yours. Sound good?”

He pulled back just a bit to let you answer, “P-please! Thank you Eddie!”

He pressed your head right back down onto him and listened to the sounds of your gags fill his ears, “Such a good girl with good manners sweetheart. Fuck!” He slammed back in harder.

Your brain was turning to mush. Getting lost in the feeling of his length bruising your throat. At some point he pulled out and tossed you up on the bed. He was careful as he slipped your pajama bottoms off but before he could tear your underwear off you grabbed his wrist.

“Knife–” words were hard but you tried to ask in some semblance of coherency, “U-use the knife I saw in your back pocket. Don’t like these ones anyways.”

A devious grin covered his face, “Fuck you really are perfect! My perfect princess.”

He left for just a moment and returned quickly. The silver of the small blade shimmered in the dim light of your bedside lamp. He licked his lips and grabbed the edge of your panties. The metal was cold where it just barely touched your skin. He was careful not to cut you. Just slicing through the fabric like butter on the right then again left, exposing your wet pussy to him, “I’ll just keep these for later.” He tucked your torn panties in his pocket. Then he turned his attention to your bare pussy.

“She’s beautiful princess,” he pressed his thumb to your clit and twirled it in small circles. Delightful whimpers and whines filled the room, “That feel good baby?”

“Yes! So good Eddie, more, more please!”

“Anything for my best girl,” he turned his wrist and with ease slipped 2 fingers into your sopping wetness while his thumb continued attending to your clit.

You screamed out for him, you’d never been touched like this before. It felt incredible! He was reaching places inside you that you could never reach by yourself. Bringing you to your climax faster than ever before, “M’gonna come Eddie! Don’t stop!”

“Never princess, come all over my fingers.”

The building pressure broke the dam and you cried out, cunt pulsating as you squirted all over his hand. The liquid dripped down between your ass cheeks and pooled on the bed.

He pulled his fingers out and you were so fucking glad you opened your eyes to see him licking your juices off his fingers, “Ready for my cock baby?”

“Y-yes Eddie, fuck me please!”

He took great care to adjust your body on the bed and support your head with a pillow before pressing right in with his bare cock. The sensation of his warmth filling you brought you right back to the edge. You didn’t even care that he wasn’t wearing a condom. If he asked you’d probably let him come inside you.

Lewd noises filled the room as his thrusting squished the wetness in and out of your hole. Both of you were moaning loudly without a care. His pace quickened, “M’close sweetheart. Gonna fill you up ok?” His voice was labored from fucking you but it still held that same sweetness, “You’ll look so pretty all round with my baby princess. I’ll take such good care of both of you. You’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.”

With just his mere suggestion it was suddenly all you ever wanted in life. The man who killed your worst nightmare? There was no one else you’d rather start a family with.

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