#but she comes out as a goblin in pictures | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-kr8tor · 11 months ago

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In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

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Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

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privatehousesanatomy · 6 months ago

Note

Can you please write being houses wife and coming home to him trying to do bath and bed time with your toddler and baby?

omg okay i actually have an oc that has two kids with house so all of my world-building is finally being put to good use!!

GREGORY HOUSE X FEM!READER

content includes : house being a girl dad asf

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Kids were never the plan for you or House. You were content living a child-free life, and House never pictured himself being a father due to his relationship with his own father. And then came Amelia two years ago, followed by her little sister, Evelyn, only three weeks ago.

While you were incredibly apprehensive to leave Evelyn alone, even for a few hours, you knew you could trust House to take care of the girls. The way he had taken to being a father so easily after Amelia was born had suprised you a lot, but you had no doubts that he was a good father, and he insisted that he had everything under control.

So, you agreed to grab dinner with Cuddy, who was eager to get you out of the house for an evening so you didn't completely lose yourself in being a mom. Since adopting Rachel, Lisa had realized the importance in not allowing her entire personality to be overcome with being a mother.

By 8pm, you arrived home, and the second you opened the door, you could hear the sounds of water splashing and giggling coming from down the hall.

"Amelia Violette, you've got my shirt all soaked," House groaned, followed by Amelia's little giggles. "I told you no splashing, anyway. Your sister is in the tub, too."

"Sorry dada," Amelia giggled, and she pushed her little duck around in the water. Evelyn was in her bath chair with a wash cloth over her stomach, just staring at House.

As you appeared in the bathroom doorway, you had a smile on your face. "Looks like you've got bath time all under control," you say.

"Mama! Look, bubbles!" Amelia cheered, pointing at the pile of bubbles in the tub.

"I see that," you smile, and House shifted uncomfortably on the floor. "Do you want me to help?" you ask, and he shook his head.

"No, I've got it. You go relax, and I'll have the little goblins come say goodnight when we're done," he said. You nodded your head and went into the master bedroom to get changed into your comfier clothes.

When the girls were out of the tub, you heard Amelia's little feet run down the hallway into her bedroom, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself. Those little girls were your entire world - the greatest surprise you could have ever asked for.

"Amelia, put your pajamas on," House sighed.

"I need help dada," she said, holding up her shirt. It had buttons on it, and her little fingers couldn't figure out how to button it up properly.

"Bring it here then," he said, laying Evelyn on the floor for a moment in her towel before he buttoned up Amelia's shirt. She'd insisted on wearing her Strawberry Shortcake pajamas that night, as she did every other night of the week.

House then got Evelyn dressed in a onesie with strawberries on it to somewhat match Amelia before taking her into the master bedroom so that you could feed her.

"Well hi there, baby girl," you smiled as you took your newborn into your arms, and Evie let out a soft coo. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

House had a tired smile on his face. "I'm almost done with Amelia," he said, and you nodded your head.

"Take your time. I'm getting my baby snuggles," you smiled, watching as House went back to tend to your toddler.

"Alright, pumpkin. Bring me your hairbrush," he said, sitting down in the rocking chair. Amelia grabbed her hairbrush and ran over, handing it to him. House picked her up and placed her on his lap before he combed through her hair.

So much for never wanting to be a father. He'd even learned how to braid her hair a few months earlier, so he styled her wet hair into a braid to keep it from getting all tangled in her sleep.

"Pretty!" Amelia grinned as she looked at herself in the mirror, and House smiled a little.

"Very pretty. Now, go pick out a book and we'll read it before we go and say goodnight to mama, alright?"

"Yay story!" Amelia said as she ran over to her bookshelf, grabbing one of her many princess books and bringing it over.

By the time stories (yes, Amelia had conned three more stories out of House) were read and Amelia was beginning to get sleepy, he brought her into the master bedroom to say goodnight to you.

"Hi, princess," you say as Amelia ran over to the bed, climbing up and into your lap. "Did you have fun with daddy tonight?"

"Yes!" Amelia grinned, clapping her little hands. You smiled and pressed a kiss to her head.

"Oh, you smell so good. I could eat you right up," you teased, making Amelia giggle.

"No eat me, mama," she said, hiding her face. House had picked up Evelyn at this point, lifting her up to kiss her head.

"What about Evie? Should we eat baby sissy?" he teased, and Amelia shook her head.

"No!" she giggled. It was at that moment that Evie spit up all over House, and you burst out laughing.

"Well, that's what she thinks about that idea," you teased. "Evelyn Charlotte, did you puke on daddy?"

House stood there with a look of disgust on his face, holding the infant a safe distance from his body.

"I think you might have to finish bedtime...I need to shower," he groaned, looking down at his spit up covered shirt.

#house md #hatecrimes md #gregory house #hugh laurie #greg house #fanfic #gregory house x fem!reader #gregory house x reader #one shot #house is a girl dad you can't convince me otherwise

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thebisexualdogdad · 8 months ago

Note

Headcanons for dating Felicia Hardy without knowing she's the notorious thief Black Cat.

Felicia Hardy x Male!reader

● you're just a normal guy living in new york city, with a normal job and a normal girlfriend

● (well, at least you think you have a normal girlfriend, you've seen plenty of headlines about the notorious thief Black Cat but never could you possibly imagine that her and your girlfriend Felicia Hardy were one and the same)

● Felicia doesn't talk about her “finance” job much, she says she doesn't want to bore you and prefers to separate business from pleasure anyways

● but you know it's gotta pay well by her luxurious apartment that overlooks the city along with her closets full of expensive clothes and jewelry

● she goes on “work” trips a lot

● most of the time she's still in New york but after you showed up at her apartment one night to surprise her with dinner and wine as she was climbing back through her balcony nearly catching her in her black cat suit she thought telling you she was going out of town for a couple days was safer

● but sometimes she actually does go on trips for heists to change things up and you get pictures from her hotel room saying ‘wish you were here’

● no matter how long you've been together she still flirts with you like it's the first time you met

● and it's become a bit of a game that when you go out she tries to pick you up like you're strangers

● it's how you discovered she is very much a fan of roleplay

● Felicia enjoys romance

● she loves when you plan spontaneous dates around the city

● or bring her flowers for no reason

● but cooking together is her absolute favorite thing

● the kitchen always ends up a mess because she'll toss flour at your shirt to start a food fight

● or put sauce on your lips to lick it off (which usually ends with you making out on the kitchen counter)

● you're out to dinner with Felicia when you notice a guy at another table staring at her

● “do you know that guy? He hasn't stopped staring at you since we got here”

● she looks over her shoulder and knows exactly who it is, “oh that's Peter, he's an old friend and that's his girlfriend MJ”

● “really? We should invite them to join us”

● Peter is super awkward when they do and is trying to figure out if you know about his and Felicia's alter egos or not

● “so Peter how do you and Felicia know each other?”

● “Oh uh- we… you know-” he rambles and Felicia has to save him

● “we used to work together back in the day”

● and MJ kicks him under the table to get it together

● at the end of the night you're walking Felicia home, “Peter and MJ were nice, we should go out with them again sometime, it would be fun to have more couple friends”

● “I'm sure they would love that too” she laughs

● you're watching tv on the couch one lazy afternoon, her legs thrown over your lap when a breaking news story comes on about a priceless jewel going missing with the number one suspect being the black cat

● “it's impressive”

● “what is?”

● “that after all these years spider-man still can't catch black cat, I mean it's not like she's causing any real harm to the city like green goblin or doctor octopus but still, it's impressive”

● she smiles to herself and puts her head on your shoulder

● she wishes she could tell you the truth but for now it's safer for you to not know that the black cat was sitting right next to you

#marvel imagine #felicia hardy imagine #felicia hardy x reader #x male reader #headcanons

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whomstsnek · 2 months ago

Text

Another addition to my Krew early childhood headcanons, featuring Gricko Grimgrin himself!! Ecstatic to introduce you all to Gertrude Grimgrin and, of course, the infamous Uncle Glorbo :)

As per my usual disclaimer, I'm still only half way through canon and I'm sure there's a lot of canon backstory stuff that I'm missing. Also, I don't know ANYTHING about goblins, in Avantris or in DND in general, so uh. Please keep that in mind <3

I envision that Gricko grew up in a pretty secluded goblin camp nestled deep in the swamp. I think that it was a pretty closed society, but the people definitely had a "it takes a village" mentality; goblins, especially in this particular village, are quite good and banding together and helping each other in times of need.

Gricko was raised almost exclusively by his mother for the beginning of his life after his father walked out on them when Gricko was still young. It really took a toll on his mother, and even though she loved him a lot, it took her some time to separate her son from his father. Changing their names back to her maiden name, Grimgrin, definitely helped.

Glorbo entered the picture when Gricko was around 5-6, deciding to come home from traveling abroad after catching wind of Gertrude's situation. He's actually Gricko Sr.'s older brother, rather than Gertrude's, but he felt compelled to step up to help his nephew and sister-in-law where his brother wouldn't.

Gertrude, personality-wise, was always a "tough love" kind of woman, partially due to her own upbringing and partially due to the heartbreak she'd suffered. She had pretty strong opinions about how she wanted to raise her son, hoping that she would be able to give him a great life regardless of their struggles. She's constantly stressed and worried, wondering how to provide for her family and how the future will shape out for them.

Glorbo, on the other hand, is a carefree spirit. He's a lot like the Gricko we know in canon, eccentric and excitable. He's a sort of foil to Gertrude, valuing freedom and self expression, not worrying about the future under the belief that the future would sort itself out. He focused on the present, making sure the people around him were happy in the 'now'. He encouraged Gricko (and Gertrude) to let loose and explore the world around them instead of worrying so much about what's to come.

Naturally, Gertrude and Glorbo butted heads frequently, especially as Gricko got older and took on more and more of Glorbo's traits; in fact, the only thing they could ever really agree on was wanting the best for Gricko, no matter what exactly that entailed.

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biblical-chronicles · 26 days ago

Text

Family dinner

__________________________________________

where Liam pressures Noel into bringing the reader over for Sunday dinner, and to his surprise she is indeed Noel's bird.

__________________________________________

It started small—Noel coming home later than usual, disappearing into his room without a word, or sneaking out without telling anyone where he was going. Peggy noticed first, of course, but she didn’t press him. Liam, on the other hand, couldn’t help himself.

“Oi, where’ve you been, our kid?” Liam asked one evening as Noel trudged through the front door, the strap of his guitar case slipping off his shoulder. “Been sneakin’ round the pub again?”

“None of your business,” Noel muttered, kicking off his shoes and brushing past him.

“None of me—oh, come off it,” Liam said, following him into the kitchen. “You’ve been slinkin’ in late for weeks now, actin’ all shifty. What’s the crack? You nicked summat? Got a secret job? You in a band I don’t know about? Wait, hang on—” He grinned wickedly. “You got a bird, haven’t ya?”

Noel’s shoulders tensed, but he kept his back to Liam, rummaging through the cupboards for a packet of crisps.

“Oh, that’s it,” Liam cackled, leaning against the counter. “You’ve got a girlfriend! That’s why you’ve been sneakin’ about. Well, who is she, then? Anyone I know? Is she daft, like, goin’ for you instead of me?”

“Christ, Liam, shut it, will ya?” Noel snapped, slamming the cupboard door shut.

Liam didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“Tell me who she is! She must be mad. Or blind.”

“God, you’re such a dickhead,” Noel growled, finally turning to face him. “Yeah, alright? I’ve got a bird. You happy now?”

Liam froze mid-laugh, his expression morphing from amusement to shock, as he was not expecting an answer at all.

“You what?”

“I’ve got a girlfriend,” Noel repeated, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Now, piss off and leave me alone.”

Liam stared at him, mouth agape. “You’re takin’ the piss.”

“I’m not.”

“No, no way,” Liam said, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. “You’ve got a bird? You? Bloody hell, she must be off her head. Who is she, then? She real, or did you draw her up in one of your notebooks?”

Noel rolled his eyes, but Liam’s relentless disbelief grated on his nerves. “Shut up, Liam.”

“Nah, I’m serious!” Liam said, his grin creeping back. “Prove it. Let’s see this girlfriend of yours.”

Noel groaned, shoving past him toward the stairs. “You’re such a wanker.”

“Oi, don’t walk away!” Liam called after him. “Show me the proof, or I’m tellin’ Mum you’ve been sneakin’ about like a shady little goblin.”

“Fine!” Noel barked, stomping up the stairs.

He returned a moment later, his face set in a stormy scowl, holding a small strip of photos. Without a word, he shoved them into Liam’s hand and crossed his arms.

Liam blinked down at the strip of photobooth pictures. There you were, smiling and laughing beside Noel, your arm draped casually around his shoulders. The last photo showed you leaning into him, your cheek nearly pressed to his as you both grinned at the camera.

“Fucking hell,” Liam muttered, holding the photos up to the light. “She’s so fit.”

Noel tried snatching the strip back, glaring at him. “Don’t sound so bloody surprised.”

Liam’s grin returned, wider than ever. “I’m not surprised, I’m stunned. Mum! MUM!” He darted toward the kitchen, waving his arms so that Noel couldn't get the photos back.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Noel groaned, trailing after him.

Peggy looked up from the sink as Liam burst in, waving the photos around. “What’s all this racket about now?”

“Look at this, Mum! Noel’s got a girlfriend!” Liam thrust the pictures in front of her face.

Peggy took the strip from him, inspecting it with a faint smile. “She seems lovely, Noel,” she said warmly.

“Yeah, ain’t she?” Liam said, still cackling. “And Noel’s been keepin’ her secret all this time. What a sneaky little git.”

“Give it back,” Noel muttered, reaching for the photos, but Peggy held them out of his reach.

“She seems sweet. Why haven’t we met her yet?” she asked.

Noel sighed heavily. “Because you lot are impossible to deal with. That’s why.”

“Well, how about you invite her over for dinner this Sunday?” Peggy suggested.

Liam perked up. “Yes! Gotta see this for meself, if she is actually your bird.”

Noel’s jaw tightened. “She’s not some bloody circus act Liam, and of course she is mine you jealous little twat.”

Peggy ignored the bickering. “Sunday it is, then,” she said firmly, handing the photos back to Noel.

Noel scowled at Liam, who was grinning like he’d won the lottery. “You’re such a knobhead,” Noel muttered.

“This is gonna be brilliant,” Liam said, clapping him on the back.

Noel rolled his eyes and stomped back upstairs, muttering under his breath.

And that’s how you found yourself standing outside the Gallagher household on a Sunday afternoon, heart hammering and palms slightly clammy. You’d dressed carefully, not too flashy, not too casual, hoping to strike the perfect balance.

Before you could knock, the door flew open, and you were met with the sight of Liam, mid-shout, likely berating someone inside. His eyes landed on you, and for a split second, he froze, his jaw slackening.

“Oh my fucking god,” he said, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He pointed a finger at you like you were some kind of apparition. “No way. She’s real!”

You blinked, caught between amusement and confusion. “Hi?” you said tentatively.

Noel appeared behind him almost instantly, shoving his younger brother out of the way with an annoyed growl. “For fuck’s sake, Liam, move.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you inside, muttering under his breath, “Idiot.”

But Liam wasn’t done. Trailing after the two of you into the living room, he kept staring at you, wide-eyed. “Nah, but seriously. Real. Like, flesh and blood. Not some made-up fantasy in his miserable head. Unbelievable.”

“Shut it, Liam,” Noel snapped, his ears already going red. “Go on, piss off.”

“No chance, mate. I need to see this through.” Liam crossed his arms, grinning as he leaned against the wall, watching the two of you like you were the evening’s entertainment.

Before Noel could retort, a voice from the kitchen cut through the bickering. “Is that her, Noel?”

Peggy appeared, wiping her hands on a tea towel, and immediately smiled warmly at you. “Oh, you must be Noel’s girlfriend. I’ve heard so much about you.”

You returned her smile, your nerves easing slightly. “Hi, Mrs. Gallagher. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Oh, just call me Peggy, love. Mrs. Gallagher makes me sound ancient.” She stepped closer, giving Noel a sly glance. “Didn’t exaggerate, did you? She’s a lovely one.”

“Mum,” Noel groaned, shifting awkwardly.

Peggy laughed, patting him on the arm. “Don’t be shy, love. It’s sweet.” She turned to you, her smile softening. “Well, you’re very welcome here. I hope Noel’s been behaving himself with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh he’s been wonderful. I'm so glad to be here actually, Noel told me a lot about you.”

Liam snorted from his spot by the wall. “Bet he hasn’t told you about the time he nicked—”

“Liam, I swear to god,” Noel interrupted, his glare sharp enough to cut steel.

Peggy shook her head, clearly used to their antics. “Go set the table, Liam.”

“Alright, alright,” Liam grumbled, but not before shooting you one last curious glance. “Still can’t believe this,” he muttered as he shuffled off.

The next half-hour was a whirlwind of introductions and small talk as Peggy finished up dinner and you tried to keep up with the lively atmosphere. Noel stayed close to your side, his hand brushing yours every so often in a quiet gesture of support.

Finally, you all sat down at the table, with Liam directly across from you and Noel at your side. The food smelled amazing, and the chatter was lively, mostly thanks to Liam, who couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut.

“So,” Liam began, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Why’re you even with that miserable sod?”

“Liam!” Peggy scolded, but you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

You glanced at Noel, whose face was already flushing a deep red, and smiled. “I actually like Noel a lot, thank you very much. He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for.”

The words came out before you could stop them, and the table went quiet for a moment. You felt your cheeks heat up as you realized what you’d said, glancing nervously at Noel.

Noel looked stunned for a moment, his ears burning red as he stared at his plate. Then, slowly, a shy smile spread across his face.

Peggy let out a hearty laugh, breaking the silence. “Oh, you two are precious.”

Noel cleared his throat awkwardly, then leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. Your heart fluttered, and you glanced at him, catching the faint, sheepish grin on his face.

“Ewwww, get me outta here,” Liam groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. But there was an edge of jealousy in his tone that made you bite back another laugh.

“You’re impossible,” Noel muttered, rolling his eyes.

Peggy chuckled, shaking her head. “Liam, quit sulking and eat your dinner in peace for once. And Noel, be good to her.”

Noel squeezed your hand under the table, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “Always am,” he said softly, just for you to hear.

When you left later that evening, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d passed some unspoken test. Peggy hugged you warmly, telling you to come by anytime, and even Liam begrudgingly waved you off with a teasing, “See ya, superstar.”

As Noel walked you home, his hand tightly gripping yours, he glanced at you, his eyes soft. “Sorry about him. He’s a knobhead.”

“I like your family,” you said with a smile. “And I like you, too.”

Noel stopped, turning to look at you fully. His gaze was intense but gentle, and after a moment, he leaned in to kiss you. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

__________________________________________

a little idea from me this time because I love Liam being a menace to everyone, hope all you lot like it too xx

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #oasis band #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher one shots #noel gallagher fanfiction #oasis noel gallagher #britpop x f!reader #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction

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samthestrangerthingsfan · 8 months ago

Text

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: Hawkins is home once again, and you're determined to keep your peace. The past comes calling.

chapter warnings: slow burn, motherhood, swearing, childhood trauma, fluff, sweet sweet memories and friends bonding again. <3

a/n: I don't want to give spoilers, but we may or may not have a run-in with a certain metal head in this chapter! :O (just a taste, a lil treat bc you've all been so good.)

chapter 3: Silver Springs || series masterlist

NOVEMBER 4th, 1983

Friday was the best day of the week.

Sure, weekends are great, but Friday night meant movie night at the Munson’s.

“You better not make her watching nothin’ scary, Edward.” Wayne huffed, grabbing his choice of cap from the wall, as well as big winter coat.

Eddie’s hand flew over his heart. “I would never! Not so close to the holidays!”

You threw a piece of popcorn at his head as the laughter bubbled from your chest. “Holidays? It’s not even Thanksgiving!” Eddie motions for you to keep throwing so he can catch one in his mouth. You oblige, but not without a protest of your own. “I would like—no, I demand a comedy.”

Eddie bowed to you, peering up and showing off the piece of popcorn he’d caught at the last second “What m’lady wants, she shall receive.”

The trailer door blew out of Wayne’s grip as he opened it, “Christ, it’s freezin’! Turn the heat on, boy. Your date is gonna freeze to death.”

Eddie gives you a knowing look. There’s no point, his eyes send the message loud and clear. The two of you have told Wayne dozens of times that you weren’t on dates, you were just best friends hanging out.

He didn’t buy it.

“Why does she get the heat? Pretty sure I got frost bite when I got outta the shower today.”

“Because,” Wayne slid his hands into a pair of work gloves as he walked toward you. “I like her and I want her to keep comin’ around.” He bent down, and kissed the crown of your head.

You protested, “I don’t wanna bug you—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Eddie teased. “Ya know you say that a lot?”

“It’s the truth!”

“You could never bug me—ever. Even if you could, who cares? Not like it’s a bad, it’s a good bug you reserve just for me; my bug.”

Your eyes seemed to roll of their own free will, “Eddie.”

He dropped down next to you, putting a hand on your upper thigh as he offered you a twizzler. “Yes, Bug?”

Neither of you had noticed when exactly Wayne slipped out.

You’d compromised that night. Ghostbusters, a little something for the both of you.

About 30 minutes in, Eddie looked at you. He took in how you laughed at something Bill Murray said, how the sound bubbling from your chest made your nose crinkle.

God, he could listen to that sound all day.

When you turned to him, he panicked. Standing quickly, “Uh, shit…here,” he said, not knowing where the hell he was going with the sentence.

Eddie looked around for a moment, what felt like an hour for him was surely only a few seconds. He ended up grabbing Wayne’s old Polaroid camera from the shelf. “C’mon, we gotta take a picture.”

You smiled through your confusion, “Why?”

Eddie shrugged, “Because we never do! And I wanna remember this even when we’re so old we can’t remember our own names.”

“You want to remember a randoms Friday night?”

He nodded. “If it’s a Friday night with you? Always.”

The whirr and click of the camera went off before you knew what was happening. “Eddie, I wasn’t ready! I’m gonna look like a fucking Goblin!”

The timber of his laugh made your heart race. Eddie pulled the film from its slot beneath the lens. “Don’t sell yourself short, Bug. Troll maybe, but never a Goblin.”

You elbowed his ribs at the exact moment he connected with the couch.

“Oof.” He laughed. “C’mon, smile?”

“Fine.”

Eddie put his arm around you, pulling you in close. A second later, the flash blinded you both, leaving you dazed and giggly for the next minute.

You held out your hand, and gestured to where the photo of the two of you was laid out to develop. “Let’s see it then.” You demanded.

Eddie pulled it off the coffee table, looking at it before he handed it to you.

He wasn’t looking at the camera, no. His eyes were on you, and he was smiling harder than he’d thought was possible.

He saw how you were leaned into him, your hand holding his as it draped over your shoulder, the light behind your eyes, the smile he couldn’t get enough of.

Eddie felt it then.

So immediate and sudden it felt like his heart got struck by lightning, and it was then that he realized two things:

That this feeling, whatever it was, couldn’t possibly end well.

And two?

He is so fucked.

It became easier to breathe.

You hadn’t realized just how suffocating life here had become. To be back in Hawkins and still feel like you were hiding and alone. Though now, and in the weeks since you’re run-in with Robin and Steve, it all got a bit brighter and a little less heavy.

Steve was committed to putting the past behind you, a sentiment he all but drilled into your head the first night he visited Maggie and you at the house.

“You did what you thought you needed to do to make it. You’re back now, though. Let us be there for you.”

He also became Maggie’s own personal jungle gym. Whenever they watched a movie or had a snack together, your daughter could be found on top of him in some way. They especially enjoyed watching cartoons on Saturdays; Maggie perched on top of Uncle Cheeseball’s shoulders, because according to her it was the ‘best seat in the house.’

Robin couldn’t be deterred either.

She’s over at least three nights a week now, and Maggie is obsessed—like, seriously obsessed. It’s the sort of bond you watch from afar and admire, the way your friend opened her heart to your daughter. How she’s protected her innocence and encouraged her silliness.

Kids aren’t exactly everyone’s cup of tea. They’re loud and messy and demanding in a totally innocent way. They require you to think before you act and never put yourself first. It’s why any dates you’d been on over the years hadn’t worked out, most people disappeared after they learned of her. Not that you cared, Maggie was number one in your life, and you were damn proud of that.

But now here you are, the life you had been convinced you’d never have was happening before your eyes.

“And ya know what else, Miss M? Your Mom fell right on her butt and slid all the way down the hill!”

Maggie’s laughter echoed off the your living room walls.

“Hey! It was December and Hillcrest is notoriously icy when it snows!” You feigned insult, and tickled Maggie as her laughter multiplied.

“Mom! That’s so silly! How'd you stop sliding?” She questioned.

Robin’s eyebrow quirked up, “Yeah, how did you stop sliding?”

You sighed, embarrassment painting your face. “Steve—Uncle Cheeseball had to catch me.”

The two of them howled with laughter, “Yeah-yeah, laugh it up. I don’t like this, you’re in…cahoots!”

“Excuse me!” Robin objected. “I am a responsible adult!”

Maggie stood with her hands on her hips. “Yeah! Me too!”

You leaned down, kissing her forehead. “Alright, well, it’s bedtime for all adults and former children.”

Maggie whined, but let out a yawn mid-grumble.

“See? Proof.” You booped her nose. “Go on, you have school tomorrow. Teeth, pjs, bed, okay?”

Maggie hugged you, “Okay, Mama. Goodnight, Robby! I’ll see you on Friday for pizzas!”

She ran the few feet to your friend, and squeezed her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, kiddo.”

Maggie, by the grace of God, listened. She was so worn out from laughing and dancing and playing with Robin that she crashed as soon as her little head hit the pillow.

“Want me to take the trash out on my way?” Robin asked, hands full of the nonsense she’d brought along with her.

“Is there a 3rd hand in there I don’t know about?” You nodded towards her, “No, Robs. I got it, I just gotta do the dishes first.”

Robin smiled behind you, relishing in the gratitude she felt having you back. “I-I’m so proud of you.” It was a near whisper, and when you turned to your friend, she had tears in her eyes.

“Maggie is…she’s so cool! And you’re obviously an incredible Mom. I’m just, I’m sorry you felt like you had to stay away.”

Your own eyes burned at that. You walked to Robin and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry too, I’m sorry I didn’t call, or write…I just didn’t know how to—to be here.”

She nodded into your embrace, adjusting the items she cradled. “Well, you’re here now. Anything you need, say the word and I’ll be here, Steve too.”

You pulled away, “I know.”

Robin grabbed her keys with the few fingers she had free. “I don’t mean to ruin the beautiful moment of love and friendship, but have you thought about...him? About what’ll happen if you see him again? I mean, Hawkins isn’t exactly a big town.” She avoided using his name, and that didn’t go unnoticed.

It’s all I think about.

Fingers toyed with the hair tie around your wrist, “I wouldn’t even know…” your voice faded out. “I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it, I’ve been here for a while already, and haven’t even heard anyone mention his name.”

That was true.

Everyone used to talk about Eddie Munson. The troublemaker, the cult leader, the devil-worshipping freak. The boy who was corrupting you, and ruining your future.

These backwoods hicks had no idea just how good he was back then. How kind and gentle and full of courage he was. You couldn’t understand why they hated him, not when you found it so easy to love him.

“I didn’t wanna upset you—“

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reassure her, “it’s a logical question, and sure, maybe I’m avoiding the subject, but I appreciate you looking out for me all the same.”

Robin shrugged as if it was the most simple thought in the world, “Always.”

She left after an additional 5 minutes of arguing about helping you clean, to which you would not allow.

Cleaning up after a long day, while exhausting, was your only time to yourself. It was the one part of the day Maggie wasn’t asking something of you or looking for something or covered in something sticky.

Why is it always something sticky?

The dishes were done, and the counters were clean. You plopped on the couch, and turned on whatever the tv was playing at this hour and had just begun to fold the laundry, when the stink of the trash left by the door nearly had you retching.

“Nope, not waiting til morning…”

“Steve, Steve…” Eddie laughed.

The boy threw his hands up in frustration. “Eddie, I’m serious!”

Eddie slapped his friends shoulder. “I appreciate the worrying, pal. I’m fine, I had one beer let’s see…” the metal head looked at his watch, “an hour and a half ago. Why the sudden concern about my health and safety, hm?”

Steve blanched at the question, stumbling over his words. “T-There was an accident tonight! Drunk driver hit the pole on Cornwallis. Cops everywhere, ya know?”

Steve knew exactly why the thought of Eddie getting hurt or worse was suddenly a new phobia he developed. He had just hoped he’d hide it better than this.

Eddie sighed, “Great,” and stood, grabbing his keys out of his pocket, “back roads it is, gonna take me 20 minutes to get home now.”

Steve stood too, causing Eddie to glance back. He pinched his friend’s cheek, “Would you feel better if I called you when I got home, Stevie?” Eddie mocked, pouting his lip.

Steve pushed him away, “Shut up, man. Fine, that’s the last time I give a shit about my friends.”

Eddie laughed, “Nah, I appreciate it, Harrington. I’ll see ya on Friday right? Still looking your car over at the shop?”

“Yeah, yeah. See ya Friday.”

Eddie left Steve’s apartment smiling to himself.

What a good dude.

By the time he hit Cornwallis, the detour was worse than expected. It took him down several back roads and side streets Eddie is usually able to avoid all together.

Not to mention Forest Hills trailer park is on the opposite side of town from Harrington’s place. Eddie is usually able to zip down Main Street to save some time, but with Cornwallis a no-go, it was an addition pain in the ass to avoid the one-ways.

“Oh come on.” He griped. The car in front of him was going what seemed like negative miles an hour. He whipped the wheel to the left, evading the current route and instead, opting for an old way he remembered like the back of his hand.

Even in the dark.

It was eerie. To be on this street that he'd driven hundreds of times, knowing it wasn't leading to you.

He could practically see you, the way you’d sit on the curb until he got there, bag packed with your essentials for a few days. Wanting to get the hell out of this place before your Dad came-too.

The street was dim, lit only by the few flickering street lamps. He attempted to drown out the glimpses of the past, turning up the radio, and blasting Crazy Train so loud it made his windows shake.

Six houses away.

It was a subconscious entity; these memories shouting from the void and demanding to be remembered.

Three…

The porch light to your old house was on. “Huh…weird.” Eddie whispered to himself.

His van was barely at your mailbox when he slammed on his brakes, nearly getting choked by the seatbelt. He skidded to a stop, and killed the music.

Either he’s high as a kite, or it was you. Standing right in front of him as you dragged the trash can to the curb.

He’s hoping it’s the former.

You, rightfully so, looked like a deer in fucking headlights. Jumping back when you heard the screech of his tires.

But you know that van—you’d know it simply by the way it sounded coming down your street or by the shape of the headlights shining through the Hawkins fog.

The rusted hinges groaned when the drivers side door opened. Eddie was moving, but he wasn’t sure why. Not when very fiber of his being was screaming at him to stay in the van—to keep driving. Did he listen?

Of course not.

Eddie Munson says your name so softly and with such disbelief, it almost sounded like fear coating his tongue.

You, unlike the boy—man before you, were frozen.

That was the first thing you’d noticed. Eddie still looked like…Eddie, just a manlier—a more rugged version of the boy you’d loved.

He had five o’clock shadow covering his jaw. Cheekbones that were more defined, the hollows more pronounced. His hair was shorter, shorter than you remember it, anyway and he wore boots—work boots. Gone we’re the torn-up Goodwill sneakers he’d saved up weeks to buy.

He was in a black henley and dark wash jeans, though he still had his signature wallet chain and denim jacket.

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your dinner churned in your belly.

You could go. You could turn around and ignore him, walking back into your home and do exactly what he did to you.

But you wouldn’t, you’re better than that—better than him.

“W-Why…what are you doing here?” He half-mumbled.

“Minding my own business.” The strength in your voice surprised you.

Eddie was quiet, very uncharacteristically so, before he shook his head…presumably in an attempt to sort out his thoughts.

“But you’re, you’re here. You’re in Hawkins.” You could practically see the proverbial egg shells he was walking on.

Was he…afraid of you?

Good. You thought. He should be.

You crossed your arms, “Nothing ever did get past you.”

He was stuck. Quicksand was pulling him down, holding his body tightly and dragging him into the Earth’s core. He couldn’t breathe, he was dying.

At least that’s what it felt like.

Eddie cleared his throat. “How, um, how long—“

“A while.” You interject.

How long had you been here? How long were you staying? It didn’t matter, the answer is the same.

“And you’re staying here.” He nodded to the blue house he’s rescued you from hundreds of times.

“I don’t see how that’s your business.” You we’re cold, colder than he’s ever heard you.

Eddie took you in now. You were the same in every way that mattered. Older, sure…but still you, and for that, Eddie couldn’t be more grateful.

You had new smile lines. Were you happy? He hoped to whatever God was listening that you were.

“It’s not, shit. I—I know it’s not. I just didn’t know—“

A noise from inside the house startled you. Your head whipped around, fast as lighting.

Shit. Maggie.

“You okay?” He asked.

No, no, no.

Ignoring him, you turn and start walking back to the house, when Eddie calls your name again, not daring to move from where he’d planted his feet.

You all but spit at him, “Leave, Eddie. There’s nothing left here for you.”

And you meant it.

When you were safely inside, you check Maggie, who was sound asleep.

The noise must have been the door, or the wind, but it scared to half to death.

He didn’t deserve to know her, and maybe that’s selfish, but you aren’t ready to share your daughter yet.

Not with him.

Who knows, maybe you never will be.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #ootw

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mistystepmoonbeam · 10 months ago

Text

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 6

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 6: Astarion is hungry, and why would he feed on a strong barbarian when you're right there?

Word count: 2.3K

Whatever took place at the blighted village exhausted the adventurers. Tav had been able to talk his way around the goblins, but the spiders below the town had given them trouble. You recall your own time defeating the spider matriarch, and her many, many children. Between peeling off the webbing and patching up wounds, they were all ready for rest.

You and Karlach had bought some supplies to feed the group, and she was a lot more handy making a stew than you thought she would be.

There was a strange sense of home as you all ate together, without Astarion who took his meal into his tent and claimed he was going right to sleep. Karlach had booed at him but nobody pressed him to stay longer. You wonder if tonight is the night he’ll try to feed off Tav.

When the night begins to quiet down and most of the companions go to bed you find you can hear a hum in the air. Your ears ring with some kind of energy coming from Tav’s bag. You eye it by his bedroll, unsure if the hum is coming from there or if it’s a trick of echoes between the trees.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” a voice says in your ear. You nearly jump out of your skin and turn to Gale, who’s holding up his hands with an apologetic smile.

“I thought you went to sleep,” you say, hand over your heart.

Tav snickers at your fear, tail flicking in the air.

Gale lets out a small grunt as he sits beside you, one leg bent and the other stretched towards the fire. “The spiders had quite the item in their cave, whether they knew it or not.”

Tav reaches into his bag and pulls out the amethyst stone you know unlocks the necromancer’s book. The hum grows, more of an annoyance in your ear than anything.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I believe it goes into this.” Gale pulls out the Necromancy of Thay from his own pack. The gaping mouth, amethyst eyes, all of it the same. You resist the urge to scoot away, because unlike the stone key, you can’t sense anything from the book. “Astarion was keen on holding onto this which is why I suspect he’s moping in his tent right now.”

You eye the book. “You’re not going to open it, are you?”

“Perhaps another time.” Gale sets the book away, while Tav tosses the amethyst into the air and catches it like a baseball. Gale scolds, “Once again, please do not do that.”

Tav shrugs but stores the stone back in his bag. He yawns and looks towards Shadowheart’s tent as if considering something before excusing himself. Bag in hand, he retreats to his tent. You look between him and Shadowheart’s tent curiously.

“I think he’s worried about her,” Gale tells you, drawing your attention back to him. “It took a lot of her power to heal him from the spiders poison.”

“Ah, right.” She has looked extra weary upon her return. “How are you feeling?”

“While I do look forward to a long rest, I wanted to test you.”

“You’re giving me a pop quiz? But I didn’t even review the syllabus.”

Gale chuckles as he stands. “If you can sense the power from the stone, then I believe you can manipulate the Weave. Come.”

You follow Gale towards his tent but he keeps walking until you two are by the river. With a large moon overhead and fireflies dotting the area you can see better than you thought you should.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to do anything,” you say. There’s an excited twinkle in his eye at the prospect of solving the mystery of your past. As much as you want it to be true, you can’t picture yourself using magic.

Gale smiles at you, like he knows something you don’t. Well, he knows plenty you don’t but it seems like it’s something about you.

“I’m going to channel the Weave,” he says, “and I want you to close your eyes and tell me what you feel.”

You step up beside him, literally nothing to lose. “Should I get the staff Tav gave me?”

“No, I just want you.” Gale lifts his hands to start a spell when he clarifies, “Here. I just want—need you right here without any conduits.”

You bite your cheek to hide the smile at his stammering, and nod. With a tilt of your head left and right to stretch your neck, you close your eyes.

“Now, just tell me what you feel.”

You wait for something to happen, a breeze or a sting on your skin, but even the phantom limb is unperturbed by whatever Gale is doing. You shrug. “Nothing.”

Gale’s voice is distant when he responds. “Reach out with your mind.”

Once upon a time you would have asked how to do that, but now you keep quiet and consider trying to move the phantom limb. It’s right there, a weight on the back of your mind and yet…

You clear your throat, shoulders shifting uncomfortably. It’s heavier now, even without actually trying to use it. The cold fear that settles across your chest pierces deeper than anything you’ve ever felt. Your breath quickens until that cold fear becomes terror wrapped around your heart and you open your eyes, ready to tell Gale you want to stop. But instead of the handsome wizard you find a rotting boar head in front of you, on top of Gale’s body. Maggots fall from its eye sockets and the mouth hangs open with a broken jaw, fur matted with fresh and dry blood alike. It squeals at you as if being skewered alive.

The terror bubbles into your throat until it comes out of your mouth as a shriek.

You shoot up from your bedroll, arms blindly shoving at the dark to get the boar-headed Gale away from you and finding nothing but shadows. You lurch, falling to the side when your hands connect to nothing, heart ablaze with adrenaline as you claw at the blue fabric. It’s too dark in your tent to see anything but out of habit you scramble for your phone, your nightstand, something, anything to light up this small space and assure you there’s no threat.

There’s only the bottom of your staff and at the very least you can swing that around to hit anything that might be near you. And you do swing it. It connects with nothing.

The hanging crystals and bones clatter together when you stop after three swipes. Your chest and shoulders rise and fall heavily with each breath, eyes adjusting to the dark.

You gulp down as much air as possible while trying to calm your body. You’re not just shivering, you're trembling from the residual fear of the dream. But it wasn’t that bad. Really, thinking about it now that you’re awake, it was scary but it wasn’t anything worse than what you’ve had in the past. And it certainly shouldn’t have had you shrieking in the night.

Speaking of…shouldn’t someone have come running by now? You listen to the wind blow through the trees but hear nothing else. No questions about what’s going on, and no Tav rushing to your rescue. Maybe you hadn’t actually screamed? You could have sworn…

You aren’t ready to set down your staff, but you’re far too shaky to go back to sleep. Instead you begin to stand only to see movement out of the corner of your eye. Your body is much slower to react, even when on high alert, and in a flash there’s a hand over your mouth and your back is pressed against a warm chest, both of you still on the ground and your legs tangled in the blanket. The intruder's other hand is wrapped around your own on the staff, ensuring you can’t attack.

Your free hand, still healing, fumbles to free your mouth when you hear a whisper, “Shhh, shh, sh.”

“Mstaeeom?”

“No need to wake up the entire camp,” Astarion says. He snatches the staff from your grip while you’re temporarily stunned and tosses it out of reach. “And no need to bludgeon me, either.”

You let out a deep sigh through your nose and lay a hand over Astarion’s to reassure yourself it’s him. You remember his scent, more woodsy than you thought it would be, and your heart rate begins to calm. When his other arm secures around your middle it reassures you more—the tightness of the hold comforting.

“Are you…are you calming down?” he questions incredulously.

You try to answer but can’t speak clearly with his hand over your mouth. So you shift and try to look at him over your shoulder, pressing yourself further into his chest as your head struggles to turn. You can just make out his chin in the dark when he finally releases your mouth.

“I thought you were Gale with a rotting boar head.”

He squints at you, upper lip curling. “I’ll assume that was the nightmare that had you assaulting the air. But…why are you calm? Shouldn’t you be screaming? Struggling? Calling for the others?”

“Why?” When you attempt to shift forward he doesn’t let you, arm now locked securely around your waist since he’s no longer concerned with you fighting back with the staff.

“Because I’m attacking you.”

“You are?” You turn to get a better look at him but he grabs your chin and faces you forward.

He pauses. “I just need a little of your blood and I’ll be on my way. We don’t need to make a big thing out of it.”

“Blood? Shouldn’t you be going for Tav?”

“Why would I go for the bulky barbarian that’s sleeping out in the open when you’re hidden here, weak and ripe for the plucking?” Astarion begins to shift your head to the right to reveal your neck.

“That’s a good point,” you mumble.

His breath fans over your pulse point, but it isn’t some kind of excited or pleasant exhale. It’s more like disappointment or…exhaustion. And he doesn’t bite you.

“Um, Astarion,” you say.

He’s silent.

“If you’re going to drink my blood can you at least do it from the wrist?”

“What?” His question is just another breath.

“It’ll be easier to conceal marks on the wrist.”

Of all things, Astarion shoves you away. He’s quick to get on his feet and step away from you while you fumble for balance. One slender, pale finger points at you. “What’s your game?”

“Go fish?”

His scowl deepens. Watching him work through the slew of emotions and questions would be entertaining, if not for your own nagging question; why is he upset by this? You offered him your blood just like Tav would. So why didn’t he happily accept and tell you to get comfortable? Wait. Why were you so willing to get comfortable and let him potentially kill you? Let’s lock that thought away until we can find out if therapists exist in this world.

“Sorry,” you say. “I’m not playing a game…I just trust you.”

A truly terrible idea. There’s no guarantee this Astarion is exactly like the game but…

“And I owe you right?” you add. “Feeding on me will just be like clearing my debt.”

Astarion frowns but considers your words. “I suppose this means you know what I am.”

You scratch at the spot on your neck he’d been breathing on. “I might have put it together just now. And you’re a better fighter when you’ve fed, right?”

“Well I don’t need any more convincing,” Astarion says, voice turned that saccharine tone. “Why don’t you get comfortable?”

As he kneels beside you you hold up a hand. “I meant it about the wrist.”

Astarion frowns but nods. You roll up the sleeve of your shirt, holding your arm towards him. He sits, one leg bent so his knee faces upwards and the other lays on the ground. There’s a gentleness as he takes your wrist with both hands, lifting it to his lips. If you could see perfectly in the dark this might have scared you more, but the most you could make out were his eyes watching your skin and then the opening of his mouth.

You feel the sting of his fangs, sinking deeper than any wound you’ve had before. Well, any wrist wound, anyway. You look away, not wanting to stare despite the morbid fascination with the act. And you should be…colder, shouldn’t you? Yes, his fangs do feel like ice is piercing your veins but the rest of you is warm—flushed even. But then your head begins to swim, mind too big for your skull, and you sway.

It’s too hot in that little tent. Too enclosed. You gulp as the nausea curls in your gut, the blood seeping from your wrist that doesn’t get sucked away by the vampire now dripping down your arm.

“Astarion,” you whimper. When you try to pull back your arm he keeps you in place, drinking heavily.

Oh gods, you rolled a one.

“Astarion!” you hiss. It’s enough to take him out of his trance, finally pulling his fangs out of your wrist.

“Wha-oh, yes,” he mutters. You watch him wipe the blood on his chin with his thumb and then lick it off. Had you enough blood in your body and again, the ability to see perfectly in the dark, it might have been lewd. But you have to lie down in hopes of making the world stop spinning.

“That was…” Astarion begins but changes whatever he was going to say. “That was wonderful, thank you. Now, I’m off to find something more…filling.”

You turn your head to him as he steps towards the entrance of your tent. Just as he’s about to open one flap he turns to you. “Are you…all right?”

You give him a thumbs up with your good hand and a yawn. “Don’t put any boars in my tent this time.”

Astarion replies, but you’re already asleep and don’t hear anything else the rest of the night.

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat

#reborn into bg3 #reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios

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viennacherries · 11 months ago

Text

LONGING

Dammon/Tav | NSFW | 4,318 words

"The second Dammon spots her for the first time in the Grove he knows he's monumentally and royally, without a shadow of a doubt (and pardon his language), fucked."

~~~

Dammon is completely enthralled with Tav. She's obsessed with him, too, but she makes him wait for it. He gets what he wants eventually.

Read it on AO3

~~~

The second Dammon spots her for the first time in the Grove he knows he's monumentally and royally, without a shadow of a doubt (and pardon his language), fucked.

She's absolutely gorgeous, all petite frame with strong muscles. Her skin is pale and covered in freckles, from her face to the backs of her hands as she shakes his in greeting. She has one of those smiles that tells him she's definitely going to cause problems on purpose. He knows as soon as he sees her that she's the one who saved the Archdruid and took out the goblin camp. She just has that aura about her that tells you she's absolutely deadly. Unfortunately, thats exactly his type.

It's even more unfortunate, because she certainly notices. She can absolutely tell that he's completely smitten with her the minute their eyes meet, and it's when he gets his first glimpse of that smile of hers. The one the says she's going to make his life hell and she's going to enjoy every minute of it. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to it.

Still, he's the absolute picture of cordiality and good manners. He thanks her for helping them, and even whacks a healthy discount onto his wares in the name of repaying her. He is completely polite and entirely appropriate.

She winks at him as she leaves.

He thinks about it for the next tenday.

~~~

When he sees her again at Last Light Inn, his immediate response is relief. The Shadow-Cursed Lands are cruel and brutal, and after what befell their caravan he was concerned her party wouldn't make it through in one piece. Especially taking into account her considerable affinity for finding herself in danger.

She's barely been at the inn a half hour before there's winged ghouls descending on them.

It's the first time Dammon has the pleasure of watching her fight, and it does nothing to ease the burgeoning flame he's been kindling for her in his chest. When he's done analysing her armour and has come to the conclusion she needs heavier plating, he just observes her.

She's lithe and muscular, and she spins around and through enemies as though she's dancing a pasodoble. Her every movement is precise, considered, calculated. She takes each step like she decided she would take it 5 steps prior, confident and assured. Her fighting style is just as elegant and brutal, all up close slashes and jabs that make quick work of her mark. And Hells, the way she wields her blade. It's a huge, hulking thing, just over half her height, but you wouldn't think it with the way she swings it around like it weighs nothing. The blade itself is simple, boring looking, and Dammon swears to himself in that moment he'll make her something better, something as brilliant and powerful as her. Something deserving of her finesse.

The fight's over almost as suddenly as it began, and he watches as she plants her sword into one of the floorboards, leaning on it with her forearms as she pants and tries to catch her breath. A long bead of sweat falls down over her brow, and she wipes it away with the back of her hand, smearing ghoul blood across her face in the process. Covered in viscera, and somehow she looks radiant. She catches his eye, smiles that awful smile of hers, and winks across the room at him.

She finds him later in his forge, while he's busy hammering out an old sword someone's donated to him. Dammon doesn't notice her til he turns to quench the metal and finds her leaning against the wall, watching him work.

"Tav, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He uses his scarf to dab some of the sweat off his brow.

She's got that grin on her face again as she trails her gaze over him, like she's appraising him. "Trust me, the pleasure's all mine."

He's covered in sweat, he can feel it dripping down his back and neck. It makes him think back to the fight earlier, when she was drenched in her own. He thinks about folding her in half, til they're both dripping with each other's exhaustion.

He clears his throat.

"You flatter me, truly," he's quite proud of how even his voice comes out. "What can I do for you?"

She smirks, "well, I was wondering if you had any suggestions? You seemed to be watching me earlier, so I assume you have a comment to make concerning my equipment."

He knows she's trying to tease him, but he nods anyway. He does have thoughts about her equipment, and now she's asked. That means it's not his fault if he rambles for entirely too long about the merits of different alloys.

"Yes, actually. I think you could do with some heavier plating. You favour fighting up close which is admirable, but it puts you directly in the path of your opponent's blade. You need something stronger to protect you."

Her smirk drops. She clearly wasn't expecting him to have actual advice. "I don't like heavy plating, it makes it harder to move around."

He nods enthusiastically, "yes, yes, you're constantly in motion while you fight. I believe your current armour is steel? It's strong, but some of it's integrity and strength has been compromised to keep it light, and even then you're only wearing half-plates. You need something just as strong, but far lighter. That way you can afford to wear more plating without losing your range of motion and speed."

Her eyebrow is quirked, and she looks somewhat impressed. "Interesting. What would you suggest?"

"Mithril, without a doubt. It's half the weight of steel but it's just as strong. You could wear a full set of plating and it'd feel identical in mass to the half-plates you have currently."

She nods thoughtfully, "I'll keep an eye out, then." The smirk finds its way back onto her face. "Was there anything else?"

There's a brief pause before Dammon speaks again.

"You need a new sword. That one's absolutely dreadful."

The laugh she lets out is musical, and it only serves to pour oil onto the flame in his chest. It roars up like an inferno

~~~

It's embarrassing, the amount of time he spends thinking about her. The image of her, pirouetting through the air as she sinks her blade through the skull of a monstrosity, haunts his every waking thought. Even sleep doesn't provide respite from her visage, and he finds himself waking up every morning achingly hard from another unconscious imagining of the ways he'd like to ruin her.

He wants to tear her apart beneath his hands. He wants to have her desperate and begging underneath him. Wants to tie her up and strap her down and use her until she's craving anything he'll give her, helpless and needful and falling apart at the seams. He wants to see the strong muscles in her arms bulge against her restraints as she writhes and pulls at her bindings, itching to touch him.

He wants her to do the same to him. Wants her to show him just how strong she is by pinning him down with one hand and taking what she wants from him.

It's getting really fucking inconvenient, to be honest. He thinks of her constantly while he works in the city, the bustle of Baldur's Gate around him not enough to distract him, the temperature of his forge only stirring the heat within him further. It makes him think of the way she'd looked at him that night at Last Light, like she was ready to devour him whole.

He lays in bed at night and fists his length desperately, smutty book held in one hand almost as tight as his cock in the other, imagining he's hovered over her, devouring her, filling her, anything and everything. It's depraved, the things he imagines, lewd and scandalous.

And then suddenly one morning she's at his door.

He doesn't hear her coming, so he's snuck up on once again as he turns to quench the commission he's working on.

She looks so different, wearing regular clothes instead of armour. It makes her look softer, but she's also wearing short sleeves which show off the muscles in her arms. It makes him a little weak in the knees.

"Tav? I'm glad to see you again! To what do I-"

"Owe the pleasure?" She doesn't let him finish. "To pleasure, I hope."

He's dousing the forge as soon as the words leave her mouth.

~~~

"Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?"

She furrows her brow from her seat on his sofa, "anything stronger?"

"I've got a couple bottles of Arabellan Dry?"

"That'll do." She's smirking again.

He leaves the room to get the bottles and a couple of glasses, and when he comes back she's taken her shirt off.

"Here's what we're going to do." Her voice is firm but playful. "I've taken off a piece of clothing, so I get to ask you a question. You have to answer honestly. If you answer it, you take off a piece of your clothing and then you get to ask me something back. If you don't answer, I put all my clothes back on and I walk out of the door."

He gulps, "what if you don't answer?"

The smirk that graces her lips is absolutely diabolical, "oh, Dammon," the way she says his name is even worse, "I'll answer anything. I'm an open book."

He sits on the couch next to her, pours them both a glass of wine and hands her one. "Then by all means, ask away."

She looks delighted, and her gaze is predatory. "Do you prefer giving or recieving?"

Straight to the point then.

"I like both," he shrugs as he says it, "suppose it just depends on the day and the context. If I had to pick just one, though, I'd rather give."

She nods thoughtfully, but doesn't say anything, watching him expectantly. He downs half his glass of wine and then yanks his shirt over his head.

"What about you? Giving or recieving?"

"Hm. Repeating my question is a bit cheap, but I'll allow it this once. I like both, too. I don't have a preference, really, just depends on my partner." She's barely finished speaking when she stands to unbuckle her bottoms, pulling them off swiftly and sitting back down. The sight of her, dressed in only her underclothes on his furniture, makes his head spin and his other head throb.

"So you like being on top. You like being in charge? Dominating?"

He swallows around the lump in his throat and nods, "yeah. I like... I like making my partner beg." He can feel his skin flushing with the admission, but he keeps talking. "I like making them come undone underneath me until they can't take it anymore. I like making them squirm and give themselves to me entirely."

Tav's breath is caught in her throat, and he realises that she likes it. Wants it. Knowing that fills him with confidence, and he takes another swig of his wine before standing and slowly undoing his bottoms. He pulls them down slowly, teasingly, and he watches as her gaze follows the line of his body. He tenses the muscles in his arms as he lifts the discarded clothes and folds them, and he hears her breathing grow heavier. He places them to the side and sits down closer to her than he was before, lifting her wine glass to her lips and urging her to drink from it. She does, their eyes locked. A drop spills down the side of her mouth, and before she can wipe it away he leans in and licks it from her lips. Her eyes close as she groans in the back of her throat.

He feels high on it. Having her here, knowing she wants him, seeing how receptive she is to him. His next question comes easily.

"Do you like being tied up?"

Her eyes are hooded with lust when she finally makes eye contact with him again. "Yes." She fumbles with the clasp of her bra behind her but fails at undoing it, so he places their glasses back on the table and leans forward towards her, snaking his arms around her back and unclasping it for her. It falls away from her onto the floor, and he takes a breast in each hand. She hisses through her teeth.

"What do you want to do to me?" It's quiet. Sensual. Her voice is absolutely dripping with desire.

"What don't I want to do to you." He smooths his hands down her body, sliding one round to her lower back and slowly pushing her to lay down on the couch as he hovers over her. "I want to tie you to my headboard and taste you until your legs shake. I want to have you begging for my tongue and my hands and my cock. I want to fold you in half and bury myself so deep that you forget what it feels like not to be full of me. I want to absolutely ruin you, if you'll let me."

Their lips are so close now, a hair's width away, and the air is charged around them. When he speaks, it's a whisper against her skin.

"Will you let me?"

She groans out loud and surges up to lock their lips together. It's open mouthed and hungry, more tongue than lips, and they both moan into it as they finally taste each other. His hand is still at the base of her spine and he drags her upwards towards him, grinding against her as he does, and she lets out a beautiful little whimper that has him feeling hazy. He pulls away, just enough to speak.

"Use your words, sweetheart. You want me to ruin you?"

" Yes ."

He tuts. "Say please."

She moans, low and needy in the back of her throat. " Please. "

He stands quickly and lifts her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to his bedroom. She wraps her arms around his neck and sucks and kisses around his collarbone, and the feeling of her skin against his, her mouth on him, has him absolutely feral.

He practically throws her down onto the bed, and she bounces a few times before settling and crawling her way backwards toward the headboard. The sight of her hair splayed out on his pillows and her naked torso against his sheets is going to haunt him for eternity, he's sure of it. He lets himself admire her.

"Stay there, gorgeous. Don't even think about moving."

She nods, reaching up to palm at her breasts, and she looks like a vision. Like a renaissance painting, a beautiful torment put there just for him. Her fingers brush her nipples, teasing and pinching them, and the subsequent hiss of pleasure she lets out shoots straight through him to his cock. It's almost painful how hard he is, but he's going to take his time with her. Going to take her apart and put her back together with his hands and mouth, smelt her down and reforge her into something new.

Dragging his eyes away from her feels like an impossible task, but he manages and turns to root through the drawer of his bedside table. He finally finds what he's searching for: a length of silky material that's meant to be a blindfold, but that he usually shoves between his teeth to bite down on when he's being particularly noisy. He hangs it over his shoulder and turns back to face her, crawling over her and wrenching her hands away from her tits. He pins them over her and she arches up against him.

"Your safeword," he starts "is 'forge'. You say it, everything stops. If you can't speak for any reason, you tap me three times. Doesn't matter how you tap me, can be your hands, can be your foot. Same deal, you do that and I stop completely no questions asked. Repeat it back to me."

She's panting, "safeword is forge. 3 taps. Stops everything."

"No questions asked."

She nods, "no questions asked."

He holds her wrists above her with one hand, trails his other hand down her arms, along her throat, and brings his hand under her chin. "Good girl."

She moans fully at that, arching and writhing against him at his words, and he feels drunk off it. Having her falling apart before he's even started, so helpless and ready for him. It's intoxicating. When he kisses her it's because he literally can't stop himself, he has to taste her. He nips and bites at her lips and she huffs and sighs with every touch, so responsive and so eager, and he could die right now a happy man knowing he's the one drawing these quiet noises from her.

He pulls away from the kiss, straddling her hips and sitting up on his knees over her. He keeps her hands pinned to the bed with one hand, and he pulls the silk length from his shoulder with his free one. She shudders as he drags it slowly along her torso, the soft fabric cool to the touch. He wraps it around her wrists to bind them together.

"Too tight?"

She tugs her wrists apart slightly and bites her lip, looking up at him through her lashes, shaking her head. He ingrains the image of her, below him and wanting, into his brain.

The free ends of the silk he wraps around the post of his headboard, tying them in a tight knot. Lacing his fingers with hers, he tugs at her hands to test it. The knot holds fast, and he hums in satisfaction. He sits back on his haunches to admire her, runs his hands down her arms to come to rest at her sides, squeezing the skin there. There's a little bit of give to her that lets him get a good grip of her, and she wriggles below him.

Her breasts spill towards her armpits and he can't resist, he brings his hands up to cup them both and teases both of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and pinching them into hardened peaks. She lets out more of her quiet little noises, needy and wanton and absolutely delectable. When he leans forward and latches his lips around one of the buds, she arches her back into him, making a choked noise of surprise and pleasure, and his cock aches with how badly he needs her. He teases it with his teeth, laves it with his tongue, sucks it into his mouth and tugs away from her gently until she's a puddle beneath him, and only then does he switch to the other nipple and give it the same treatment while he slowly drags her small-clothes down her legs and off of her.

Everything about her is soft and tender. He's never been with someone who wasn't a tiefling before, and her body feels so entirely different to his own. Her skin is smooth and pliant under his, far softer than he thought she'd be from watching her fight. Her skin is cooler than his, too. It makes him shudder as he positions himself between her legs, holding them wide open either side of his face, with his hands spread over the inside of her thighs.

"What do you do if you want me to stop?" He whispers it against her core, mouth just barely brushing against her skin, and she shudders.

"Safeword, or three taps."

"And the safeword is?"

"'Forge'."

"Good girl. I'm going to taste you, now."

He covers her with his mouth before she can respond, and they both moan in tandem. Her from the feeling of his tongue sliding against her clit, him from the musky taste of her arousal. She's like nothing he's ever had before, completely incomparable, but she tastes rich and delicious and he licks his way into her core to taste her deeper. He doesn't start slow or gentle, he's wanted her cunt in his mouth for months and he's going to enjoy it. He drags his tongue over her in firm, insistent lines, and uses the tip of his tongue to massage her inner walls. It has her keening, crying, shaking, and her legs wrench closed from the sensations. Obviously, that can't stand, so he curls his tail around one of her ankles and pulls , and now it's pulled out taunt and she can't move it any further than an inch in any direction. It also has the added benefit of freeing one of Dammon's hands, and he wastes no time in trailing it around her entrance and slipping two fingers inside her. He crooks them upwards towards her stomach, and she wails, canting her hips further into his mouth and his tongue where it devours her clit relentlessly.

He knows she close, because she can't stop her hips from stuttering, and there's a constant stream of breathy high pitched noises forcing their way out of her. He doesn't let up, increases his pace if anything, and then she's coming around his fingers. He pulls them out enough to fit his tongue underneath her, swallowing down every drop of her as she finds her release, licking her through it. He only stops when he feels three taps of her foot against leg.

He sits up instantly. "Are you okay? Do you want me to untie you?"

She laughs shakily, "no! Gods, no, don't. It was just getting too sensitive."

He smirks at that, "good. Now then," He comes up onto his knees between her thighs, trailing his hands along her stomach. She shivers. "I removed a piece of your clothing. If I'm remembering the rules of our little game right, that means you get to ask me a question."

She doesn't even hesitate, "Can you hurry up and fuck me?" A pause. "...Please?"

He chokes out a laugh, "goodness, Tav, how crass of you."

She groans, throwing her head back, "please, Dammon, I need you inside me like yesterday."

"Hm. Next time, you'll have to ask me nicer than that. But right now I'm so desperate to fuck you I'll allow it. I've waited far too long for this."

She smirks despite herself, "oh? You have? I had no idea , Dammon."

He growls a little in the back of his throat, and scoots himself forward on his knees, lifting her ass and resting it on his thighs. He pulls his small-clothes aside roughly to free himself, groaning at the cool air as it caresses his length, and uses one hand to guide it as he pushes himself to the hilt in one small movement. The smirk dissolves off her face as her lips part in a silent moan. He chuckles quietly.

"Don't play coy, Tav." He grabs both her legs under her knees, brings them together and hooks them both over one shoulder. "You know exactly what you do to me. You know exactly how long I've wanted you." He leans over her slowly, until her knees are pressed up against her own chest. She keens. "You know how long I've waited for this. Don't you?" He pulls out slowly, teases her with just the tip in and out of her. " Don't you."

She throws her head back, eyes screwed shut. "Yes, yes, Gods I knew! I wanted you too!"

He snorts into her ear, "well you have me, sweetheart. Or rather,"

He crashes his hips into her. She keens.

"I have you."

He wastes no time. He sets a brutal pace and it's everything he's needed since the moment he saw her. Her legs presses together makes her so tight he sees stars, folding her in half means his cock kisses that perfect spot within her with every thrust. It's everything he imagined. It's better than anything he could've dreamt of. She's slick and warm and beautiful below him as she cries out his name, hips bucking to meet his own every time he slams into her.

He can't stop himself from rambling, words spilling out of him on their own accord. "Hells, Tav, you have no idea how many nights I spent thinking of you like this. How much I've wanted to take you like this, pinned underneath me and begging for me. Gods, you feel incredible. So wet for me, sweetheart. Tell me how much you wanted me."

She tries and fails, just making noises and taking deep laboured breaths. It's completely obscene and it's perfect.

He groans, "where, Tav? Where do you want me to finish? Where do you want my cum?"

Her moan is downright pornographic, "on my stomach, Dammon, please. Want to see your cum all over me."

Her words have him moving frantically inside her, and when she clenches around him with her second orgasm he's lost to it. He pulls himself from inside her, tugs himself twice before spilling across her torso. He paints her pale, freckled body in his spend and he wishes he was an artist so he could immortalise the image on paper.

When he feels like he can breathe again, he tucks himself back into his small-clothes, crawls his way up the bed to untie her wrists and he rubs them soothingly. She sigh, sounding content and comfortable.

"Are you okay?"

She spits out a single laugh, before descending into hysterics, and it's so infectious. He laughs alongside her.

"Am I okay? Dammon, that was fucking incredible. I'm gonna stay in this bed for the next week in the hopes of a few repeat performances."

He can't help the grin that spreads across his face. "A few, hm? I quite like the sound of that."

~~~

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 requests #bg3 dammon #dammon bg3 #dammon #bg3 tav #smut #fanfic #fanfiction

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oldwritingm · 1 year ago

Text

Creepypasta/MH - Taking a Break With Them

Characters: Jeff the Killer, Nina the Killer, Clockwork, Jane the Killer, Eyeless Jack, Tim/Masky

Jeff the Killer

I doubt he'd remind you to take breaks

The closest he'll get to this is when he needs a break himself and decides to coerce invite you to join him

He likes to unwind with high-energy activities

Literally just chases animals in the woods sometimes

He's crazy fast, too, so he might even catch them

When he's done he'll feel quite restored

Unlike you, probably

"Ah, that was so refreshing!"

"I almost got lost like, five times! How are you that fast?"

On the rare occasion that he wants to do something more chill, or if he lets you pick what to do on your break, it's probably because he just got back from something more high-energy

He's game for most things when this happens

Movie? Sure. Painting nails? He'll take black or red. Just eating a bag of Cheetos in silence? Why not.

The only thing he refuses to do regardless of his exhaustion is take a bath

He HATES baths..... He finds them to be boring and a misuse of time

Plus he doesn't really notice smells (good or bad) anymore, so "nice" soaps are sort of wasted on him

Nina the Killer

Her way of making sure you take breaks is to invite you to take one with her

Even if she doesn't need one, if she thinks you need a rest, she'll step in to help out

Self-care is her go-to

Face masks, manicures/pedicures, hair brushing, makeup...

All while watching the most horrific splatterpunk movie you've ever seen in your life

She thinks it's cute if you get scared or grossed out

Meanwhile she's just smiling broadly to herself while she watches the gore scenes intently

She'll take a lot of pictures of you both as well

"Smile for the cam, Y/n!"

"Ack, no! I look like the green goblin with this mask on!"

"Aww, no you don't! Come on, show off your nails, too!"

She'll treasure those photos forever

Once your masks are off and your nails are dry, you guys entangle your limbs as you cuddle on the couch

If it's late at night, you'll probably end up falling asleep together

If this happens, Nina is definitely sneaking a few more pictures of you sleeping

Clockwork

Though she's not the best about taking breaks herself, when she does take a break it's really nice

She'll come and find you first, asking if you need a break too

She won't force you if you say no

But if you say yes, she'll find a quiet spot for you guys to sit together

She'll get some snacks and drinks and art supplies

While she sets up, you get to pick the music

She won't want to talk while she takes a break, so you'll be needing that music unless you like silence

You'll just sit together for a long time, each of you engulfed in whatever you're doing

She'll offer you supplies, but if you don't want to do art, she doesn't care

You can really do whatever you want as long as it's quiet

And no work allowed!! If it's break time, she doesn't even want you to think about work

If she notices you getting distracted, looking at the door or the clock or something, she'll glare at you until you get back to relaxing

"Hey. Get back to your thing."

"But my deadline..."

"No! Relaxation time. Now relax."

Once you both finish your leisurely activity, she'll let you get back to work if you really need to

Though she'd also just like to sit in silence together, maybe holding hands while you look out the window

Just prolonging your time together as long as you can

Jane the Killer

Likes to go on walks to take a break

She might not always invite you if she needs one, but will force you to come along if she thinks you need one

Prefers nature walks, but walking through the city is fine too

She likes to window shop when she does go on city walks

Might end up buying a little something as a treat

“Those croissants smell pretty good… should we go get a couple?”

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t ask.”

When she goes on nature walks, she packs snacks

She'll walk slowly, but when she finds a nice spot she'll stop and break out the snacks

Also likes to engage in conversation while she walks

Just idle things, nothing too deep or serious

This is supposed to be a break; she doesn't want to be working her brain harder than she needs to

Might play some music when you guys find your resting spot

If it’s really nice out, she might sprawl out and take a little nap

Eyeless Jack

His breaks are more quiet

Not just in the sense that they’re relaxed, but he’s very subtle in discerning when a “break” begins

Like, he’ll just stand up and walk away without a word

You can choose to follow him if you want (he’d appreciate it)

He likes to make hot drinks when he’s trying to unwind

Even if he doesn’t like such things anymore, he finds the process of preparing them to be very relaxing

He’ll be overjoyed if you’re there to drink whatever he makes

Helps him feel less wasteful; or at least not obligated to try and drink it

It’s actually remarkably tasty

If nothing else, you might follow him to go on a break just to get the delicious drink

He doesn’t talk much, he enjoys the silence

Will hold your hand, gently brushing his thumb over your knuckles while you sit together

If you want to tell him about your day or something else non-consequential, he’ll listen

Just as long as it’s not a topic that reminds him of work/responsibilities

Won’t offer much in terms of responses though

Tim/Masky

He struggles to recognize when he needs a break

Usually he just pushes on until he crashes

When he does crash, he’ll just do absolutely nothing for several hours

Not sleeping, not watching TV, literally just collapsed on a chair, staring at the floor/ceiling

Will appreciate cuddles if you find him like that

Don’t expect him to talk though

Honestly you’ll have to be the one to initiate breaks

He likes to go on walks or do something calming to help unwind

Even domestic tasks are calming to him in comparison to his usual work, so you guys might just end up doing a chore together

Folding clothes, doing the dishes, something like that

And of course you’ve got music playing

Or you’re talking about some mundane topic

Exciting topics aren’t very relaxing, so you stick to comfy small talk

“Did you see the sign in front of the diner? They’re open till midnight now.”

“Hm. I wonder why. Maybe they’re trying to compete with the McDonalds across the street.”

It’s sort of a hassle to make sure he takes breaks, but once you get him on one, he’s usually rather pleasant and will thank you when it’s over

But if he’s too stressed about his work he’ll flat out refuse to give it up for one second

Thank you for reading!! Have a good one superstars <33

(divider by saradika)

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #nina the killer #nina the killer x reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jane the killer #jane the killer x reader #clockwork #clockwork x reader #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #tim wright #tim wright x reader #masky x reader #marble hornets x reader

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