#house of wax day

[goryhorroor]

my top 30 favorite horror movies

[avocadoraisin]

happy 4/20

[f1nalboys]

Gotcha Something - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!GN!Reader

something short and sweet! happy valentines day guys! enjoy this thing ive been cooking up for a bit and failed at the execution <3

WORD COUNT: 1513

WARNINGS: nice gift gone sexual fr, bo is a perv but hes OUR perv, photos of reader in sexual situations, brief descriptions of wounds and past abuse from bo, stockholm syndrome is our readers defualt setting now, reader has the same scars as bo, bo calls reader his 'girl' but no genitals are mentioned. some nsfw photos and a hint of recorded sex but nothing actually graphic. slight somno mention in one photo. mostly proofread but hey im just a guy

“Happy Valentine's Day, darlin.” Bo places the package onto your lap, sinking down onto the couch beside you. You glance at him with a cocked eyebrow and he grins, something sinister hidden underneath the charming exterior. “What? You ain’t expect me to getcha something?” He asks, placing a large hand over his heart, tsking at you. “You’re my girl, remember?”

He purrs into your ear, the springs of the couch creaking with his shifting weight. He taps the package with his fingers and sits back, waiting. You pick the gift up carefully, letting out a hum at the weight of it. “You wrapped it in newspaper?” You ask, a hint of teasing in your voice, and he snorts, shrugging. “Did a pretty good job, honestly.”

He watches you with an amused expression as you carefully untape the package, pulling the leatherbound photo album out with an awe-filled gasp. “I do good?” He asks you smugly as you fawn over the barely-decorated cover, fingers brushing over the black sharpie. ‘You and I through pictures’ was written in his familiar scrawl, all capital. “Fixed up that old camera I had, been taking photos. Figured I should put it to use.”

“I love it already.” You say and you mean it, you do. You can’t quite remember the time before him, before Ambrose and the suffocating walls of the garage and his house. Leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you look back down at the photobook with a small smile. Flipping it open to the first page you gasp, the smile falling as you stare down at the first photo.

It was a polaroid of you. Taken from behind in the garage, you look at yourself looking at the wall of fan belts, one hand down by your thigh, the other reaching upwards to grab one of them. Whoever had taken this photo, Bo you assume, had been hiding from you, the camera taken at a lower angle, the corner of the counter in the bottom left of the frame. Your eyes drag down to the scrawled message just below the photo. 

“July 17 ‘20. First Time Meeting.” 

“You looked so fuckin’ sexy that day.” Bo whispers, his arm sliding across your shoulder to bring you a little closer to him. You keep looking at the photo. “Knew I had to have you. You remember that?”

You nod your head slightly. “Mostly. It’s hard to remember anything before the garage.” You admit, looking at him. His smile falters, his jaw setting, and you’re quick to continue talking, a flash of panic in your chest. “But I remember meeting you! Your smile, your charm, you know?” You say, forcing a smile, eyes searching his. “I thought you were so cute, I just needed your help to make a move, right?”

“That’s right.” He says, and your shoulders dip as you breathe out in relief. You look back at the photo album, letting your finger trail down your frame in the photo. “Glad you broke when you did,” he purrs into your ear, his hand on your upper arm squeezing tightly for a moment. “That way I got to keep ‘ya. Would’ve been such a waste otherwise.” You hum, agreeing with him. Of course you agreed. Before Bo, you had too many opinions, too many thoughts in your head. He helped you realize your place wasn’t out there in the world, dealing with the headaches of everyday bullshit, it wasn’t here by Bo’s side, helping him get through the day and letting him put up with you. “Keep goin’.” 

He sounds excited, leaning forwards to grab his pack of cigs and lighter from the coffee table, lighting one and taking a puff as he watches you flip to the next page. This photo is dated a day later, but the photo makes you wince. You were strapped to the chair in the garage, your face cut to hell, duct tape over your mouth, your eyes filled with tears and fear. You can barely make out the red and raw skin on your wrists and ankles due to the grain and you let out a shaky breath when Bo’s fingers lovingly run along your wrists, the warped skin warm to his touch. 

You glance up at him and see his eyes transfixed onto your wrists, a pleased smile on his lips. “You used to cry for so long,” He whispers, pressing his thumb against the scar, the cigarette dangling from his lip. “In the beginning. Used to piss me off, kinda like a dog whinin’.” He chuckles, finally letting go of your wrist. “Kinda turned me on, though. Hearin’ you beggin’ me to let you go, to undo your wrists…” 

“Yeah, I know it turned you on,” you say with a slight laugh, tapping the next photo, dated a month and a half later. “See? You even wrote ‘Our First Time’ on it.” This photo does bring a smile to your face. Your face is covered by your hands, dried blood on your wrists, your legs spread wide for him. Your shirt hung off your shoulders and if you think hard enough you can hear the sound of his knife cutting through the fabric. Bo’s jean clad legs could be seen in the bottom of the frame where he was positioned in between your legs. They were unbuttoned and showed off his freckled stomach and the thick line of hair that disappeared under his boxers. 

He had been surprisingly gentle that night, lighting the melted down candles and playing jazz on the stereo upstairs. Bo had laid you down on the dirty mattress, his eyes taking in every single inch of your body, his grip only tightening when you attempted to cover yourself. It had been the turning point for you in some strange way, seeing that side of him. It made you realize that he had been telling the truth; you did love him. 

“Still just as tight,” he says, his attempt at a compliment as he takes control of flipping through the album. Each photo causes you to blush harder, squirm in your seat. A photo of his cock inside you, bruise marks on your thighs. Another showed you on your stomach, wrists held back by his belt, hand prints on your ass. You strapped to the chair with a smile on your face and a fresh cut on your cheek. You looking up at the camera through your eyelashes and a pleading look. A photo of you sleeping and his cock pressed between your lips.

And those were just the photos where you were mostly aware of the camera. 

The end of the photo album had three photos to a page, a quickly scrawled date and word next to each one. The photo of you in the kitchen wearing Bo’s button up shirt at the stove was captioned ‘10/13/21. Cooking.’ The one of you asleep in Bo’s bed was captioned ‘11/08/21. Sleeping.’  You fixing up Bo’s mechanics uniform, 12/23/21. Sewing. You reading a book on the couch, 1/02/22. Relaxing. You with Vincent and Lester at the kitchen playing a boardgame surrounded with pizza and beer, 5/28/22. Game Night. You hunched over a cake with your tongue poking out and a piping bag in hand taken from the hallway, 9/18/22. My Birthday.

“You really took all these?” You ask, glancing at him. He seems a little bashful now, his cigarette smoked down to a stub for once. He shrugs, putting the cigarette out onto the ashtray and settling back against the couch. “I love it, Bo.” You say, your voice cracking slightly. “This was sweet.”

“Yeah, well… figured you deserved it.” He says with a roll of his eyes, eyeing you carefully. Sure, some of the photos were perverted, and it chronicled exactly what he put you through in the very beginning, but it showed that he had planned to keep you from the very beginning. You give him a quick kiss, deepening it by placing your hand on his chest. “Really loved it, huh?” Bo teases, kissing you back. He gives you a sideways smirk when you move to straddle him, his hands instantly resting on your hips.

You fiddle with the top button of his shirt, biting back your own pleased grin. “For your gift, I was thinking…” Bo cocks an eyebrow at you as you trail off before you lean in, whispering in his ear. “Maybe you can get that camcorder from Vinny and use it tonight? Whatever you want?”

“Whatever I want?” He asks, amused, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. His eyes are dark. “Guess I need to do sappy shit for ‘ya more often then if it gets ‘ya like this for me.” He grabs your hand, bringing your wrist to his lips quickly before he’s gently pushing you off of him. “Get on to the bedroom. Don’t think about takin’ those clothes off; I want the camera to see it all, darlin’.”

[gresit]

A MOVIE A DAY KEEPS THE GHOULIES AWAY - DAY 8 ↪ I think it's coming from over there. Yeah, let's follow the smell. HOUSE OF WAX (2005) dir Jaume Collet-Serra

[pixelaffections]

MY BROTHER, MY WOUND

@/bookwyrminspiration / john steinbeck, ‘chapter 9: the piggyback’ / richard siken, ‘crush’ / genesis 4:9 / natalia diaz, ‘a brother named gethsemane’ / ocean vuong, ‘on earth we’re briefly gorgeous’ / taylor jenkins reid, ‘daisy jones & the six’ / john darnielle / @/filmnoirsbian / conan gray, ‘the exit’ / traci brimhall, ‘come the slumberless to the land of nod’ / layana clouet, ‘a love letter to a dead thing’ / anne carson, ‘antigonick’ / michael dickman, ‘killing flies’

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

sam. sam. sammy. started out as a darling 00s emo boy. pretty lad who could've doubled as a frontman in a warped tour band. spiritual baby of my chemical romance's three cheers for sweet revenge. embodiment of his cultural moment and so perceived as too whiny by the narrative and the audience and hated for it. grew up to become a beautiful exhausted woman protagonist for an A24 psychological horror-thriller film. losing her mind. going through exquisite torment. holding it together by a thread, haunted by horrors you would be able to comprehend if the show was still a horror. or at least a drama. too bad she is now stuck in a superhero sitcom where the moment you express a slightly real complex emotion. the audience will start pelting you with tomatoes. for having hysteria.

[pondslime]

Would you rather stay at the Waffle House as a waitress forever?

Elisha Cuthbert as Carly Jones HOUSE OF WAX (2005) dir. Jaume Collet-Serra

[small-sinclair]

Emergency Glass

Whumptober 7: Only for Emergencies, Prompt Idea

Lester Sinclair x Vampire!reader

Tw: starved reader, blood mention, hints that the reader was tortured

Prompt Idea: In need of Blood

When he found you, you were barely hanging on to life. Your eyes were glazed and lost in the murky waters, and your hair was tangled like broken vines from a willow. Your shirt was torn and shred from some animal he didn’t know; he’s never seen claws that big before. Whatever took you out and left you for dead wasn’t in a hurry; it took its time with you as if you were a plaything to its own muse.

Lester was gentle as he scooped your body in his arms and cradled you like a child. You were too light in his hold, and he could see the outline of your bones and veins under your skin and how they connected like a spider’s web. Your cold form shivered as his warmth kept you awake and relaxed. Your eyes fluttered then rolled as he removed you from the hellish waters and twisted tree limbs. You struggled a breath, and he hushes you like a mother towards a frighten child. In a way, you were a frighten child after the past few days in a hunter’s den. You were torn apart then stitched back together in an unforgivable fashion. You felt violated and stripped of what little you had left of yourself, of the line that separates you from monsters. Now, a stranger, kind and true, was carrying you out of the swamp and placing you inside his track with carefulness.

With the rumble of his truck, it roared to life, and he drove down the rough, beaten road to poorly done gravel road. The bitter smell of decay and dried blood was enough to make your mouth water, but you bit your tongue and clenched your jaw. You’re hearing wasn’t the best, but you knew the stranger was speaking to you. The voice was too muffled and quiet due to your ears ringing and buzzing like a light. Hunger was starting to set in, and it was burning a hole in your chest. You don’t attack humans; only animals. But the driver...you could smell his blood from under his skin and it flowed like a clear river. It was enough to make your stomach rumble and your fangs to grow. You felt your eyes change colors to a deep red. Even in his eyes, you saw your reflection and how it made him shiver once he realized who is in his truck.

Lester’s heard stories about what lurks in Louisiana shadows. He’s heard about the string of attacks in the cities and how there seemed to be a hive somewhere. Finding you out in the middle of the swamp after he was done setting up traps for gators should’ve rung alarm bells. But the claw marks on your body and the scratches that marked your body, making you look like a map of tortured and torn souls, should’ve made him run off for his shot gun in the back of his truck, but it only would’ve made things difficult. His hands aren’t as clean as Bo’s or Vincent’s, but it wasn’t as stained or darken by rich blood. It wasn’t as messy as the twins and their twisted artwork.

He saw you as a hurt deer, something that can be nursed back to health and let go into the wild after tending to your needs. He was Whatever called him to stay and help you...whatever possessed him to look after you, he’ll be as helpful as he could be. Besides, it’s his southern hospitality kicking in along with his nature to give a hand. He was always too kind, and it never scared him until the points of your fangs glowed in the starlight.

Lester swallowed the rock in his throat, his Adams apple bobbing like a toy boat down a rocky stream. The smell of his blood was intoxicating, and it drowned you in your own thoughts. If you had a taste, just a nibble, what harm would that do? He may be thin, but he had enough meat on his bones and blood in his system to serve you well and good. Only for emergencies, you bite humans. Only for emergencies, you feed off their blood and hang on their necks like a vise. The worry gleam in his eyes didn’t call you away or scare you; he knew what you needed.

The truck began to slow down until it stopped. He threw the car in park and turned off the engine, killing it with ease. He stayed in the driver seat as if he was reflecting what his next move would be. You watched as he closed his eyes and let out a soft breath.

“I’ll help you,” he said after a while. “I’ll help you, vampire.” His puppy brown and blue eyes looked down at you. “At least lemme getcha in the house before ya bite me, yeah?” When he saw you nod slowly, he unbuckles both himself then you and hops out of the truck. It wasn’t long until he was holding you once more in his arms. “You’ll be a’right, little vampire.” Why did the words make you blush? Why was the nickname repeating in your head over and over? “Les’ll make sure you’re alive after dis.”

Going into his house and heading to his little guest room by the back door wasn’t a long walk. From what you gathered from his little walk, his home wasn’t that big, but it wasn’t too small.

“Oh, I’m Lester, by the way,” he introduced himself as he laid you down. The mattress and cold sheets under your touch was soft like a moss bed, and he watched as your tensed body unfold like a blooming flower. “There you go,” he praises in a hushed voice. “I’ll get a rag; don’t know how long you were out there and—”

His voice trailed and stopped as soon as your pearly white fangs showed through your lips, plumped and bruised. Lester closes his mouth and swallows a thick, awed gasp. To him, you looked just as right as rain. A part of him hopes you drain every drop of him and turn him into a husk of a person. The way the moonlight laid over you like a blanket made you look like royalty. “Right, you need blood, little vampire.”

Lester lowered himself on the bed and awkwardly shifted you to be on top of him. He rubbed your back and turned his head to expose his neck until. You could practically feel it in your mouth even though you haven’t bitten down. You could taste it and feel it flow over down your throat ever-so-smooth and slick. His comforting warmth and slow circles on your back only made you feel more relaxed.

He almost felt like home.

Only for emergencies, you can break down and shatter the glass to that safety case. Only for emergencies, you can feed off humans and drink deeply in rich and sweet blood. Only for emergencies...just until your hunger is gone.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's 12 Days of Ficmas fics: Day One Decorating (Poly!Sinclair Brothers)

Hello all and welcome to my first 12 days of Christmas fic event! This is going to span from the 13th to the 24th to make 12 days even. With fics going up on both the 13th and Christmas itself. I came up with this idea back when Fictober was happening so I've been really excited to get it out to you guys, I hope you enjoy your Christmas present! <3

Notes: Minors DNI, Fluffy, no specific pronouns or descriptions of reader used. This is a Poly fic so if you aren't into that then this isn't the fic for you. SFW.

"Oh come on Bo please!" you pleaded from your spot on the couch. Bo sighed dramatically.

"Darlin' no, It's a stupid idea. who is even gonna see it ?" Bo questioned. You had asked Bo if you and your boys could decorate Ambrose for Christmas this year and maybe even the main house too.

"You, Vinny and Les would see it! plus Les thinks it's a great idea" You argued back.

"Honey of course Les thinks it's a good idea, He's not gonna be the one who's gotta clean it up" He deadpanned.

"No the four of us would put it up together and take it down together, I promise, We could start a new Sinclair family tradition with it!"

Bo rolled his eyes at you and took another drink out of his beer as the front door swung open revealing Vincent coming back from a day at the museum.

"Vinny!" You exclaimed jumping up to hug him "Don't you think we should decorate for Christmas?" you asked him, he shrugged.

"Why?" He signed "No ones around to see it" You groaned and Bo chuckled.

"Thank you Vince, that's exactly what I said" Bo snickered from the couch.

"Vinny WE would see it though! We could start a new family tradition and actually have fun for once instead of working all the time. Lester's already on board with it and if you're with us then we outvote Bo"

Now it's not clear if your convincing worked on Vincent or he was fueled by sibling rivalry and just wanted to oppose Bo. Either way with that, he was convinced.

"Yeah sure, sounds like fun" Vincent signed to you, you grinned and hugged him.

"Thank you Vinny" You said pressing a kiss to the cheek of his mask then turning to look at Bo with a smug grin painting your face.

"It's now 3 against one Bo and the ball is in your court" You said smugly. He groaned and rolled his eyes.

"I'm the only adult in Ambrose, Ya'll 3 are children" He muttered "Fine, if you want to decorate have at it, but like you said I'm not going to be the only one taking it down when Christmas is over"

You walked over to Bo and planted yourself onto his lap for a moment to press your lips against his.

"Thank you baby" You said gratefully once you pulled apart. Bo tried to hide his grin as he wrapped his hands around your hips.

"Yeah, It's whatever"

================================================

"We look like fuckin' idiots" Bo grumbled from his spot on the ladder.

"You said it yourself Bo, it's not like anyone can see you besides us" You snickered from your spot on the ground, making sure Bo and Lester hung the lights straight.

Vincent stood next to you with a light sweater on and one in his hands just incase you needed it, despite Louisiana's lack of cold weather in the winter.

"Sweet pea does it look good?" Lester called from his ladder opposite of Bo's as they held the lights up to the roof of the house.

"Yeah it looks perfect Les" You called back, the two men nodded and started hammering the lights into the house.

"Vinny did you start making those candles I asked you for?" You asked him, He nodded.

"Yeah their almost done, just need to put the etchings in them like you wanted" He signed.

"Perfect Vinny, and we've found the old Christmas tree up in the attic right?" Vincent nodded.

"Yeah all the indoor decorations are still up there, mixed with mine and Bo's junk" He signed once more.

"Dammit Les can't you hold the lights straight!" Bo yelled sucking on his thumb from where he hit himself with the hammer.

"Sorry Bo! I didn't mean it!" Lester exclaimed biting back a laugh at his older brother's misery.

You smiled at their antics before motioning for Vincent to follow you inside to work on the Christmas tree. The boys had taken the liberty of moving the tree and a majority of the decorations into the living room for you to pick through.

Vincent helped with the heavy lifting of setting the tree itself up, while you went through all the ornaments. You smiled to yourself finding the ornaments the boys had made when they were kids.

One particular ornament caught your eye, it was a photo of all three Sinclair brothers before they were separated into foster homes. Trudy must've put it together one year before the boys were taken you figured. You didn't know if the boys would like it being on the tree as their mother was still a sensitive subject.

"Oh Jesus Vince!" You exclaimed when he suddenly put a hand on your shoulder. You could see his eye make it's way to what you had in your hand.

"Oh- i was just-" Vincent placed a finger to your mouth, silencing you before taking the ornament from you. For a second it looked like he was about to put it back in the box before he walked it over to the tree and placed it right in the middle.

He turned around to you to get your approval, you nodded at him with a smile.

"That looks perfect Vinny" He puts and arm around you pressing the lips of the mask to your forehead for a moment as the two of you gaze at the decorated tree.

The peace was disturbed by the front door swinging open.

"Bo I said I was sorry! I don't know what else ya want me to say" Lester said as he made his way into the living room.

"I want you to-, well would ya look at that" Bo stopped when his eyes landed on the tree. More specifically the ornament with the photo.

Lester made his way to the side of you not occupied by Vincent, also giving you a kiss on the head as the 2 of you waited for the oldest Sinclair to give his verdict.

"Whaddya think Bo?" You asked softly with baited breath. Bo's eyes were still glued to the picture of him and his brothers attached to that "stupid" as he would put it, ornament his mom made when they were kids.

"I-I think that maybe...Maybe Christmas ain't that bad" He finally said, his eyes tearing away from the ornament and landing on you and his brothers.

You smiled and walked over to wrap your arms around him in front of the tree.

"So can we do this every year?" You asked with a grin.

"I didn't say all that, I still wanna make sure I'm not the son of a bitch that's gotta take all this shit down" He said putting back on his facade as quick as he lost it.

You grinned at him never the less before laughing, Vincent and Lester joining you in laughing at their grump of an older brother. Though you could've sworn you saw a grin cross Bo's face maybe that Christmas miracle would have to wait until another year.

[klovercrown]

✨🩷✨🩷✨I wanna have a tea party with all of my comfort characters 🩷✨🩷✨🩷

[goryhorroor]

30 favorite horror movies + quotes

[luaalz]

Curiosidade: no Brasil, esses caras tem a mesma voz (dublados por José Leonardo)

Fun fact: in Brazil, these guys have the same voice (Voiced by José Leonardo)

[macabreblublu]

My Beloved Muse

It’s my birthday tmr but I did this for myself and a friend (he and I have the goo-goo eyes for him👀) more than a few weeks ago and what better time than to post it on my birthday? :D

[f1nalboys]

Be My Valentine? - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 722

WARNINGS: none unless u want me to count sickly sweet love :3 maybe ooc bo bc he's being a nice silly sweet fella in this but its my writing and i decided he deserves to be happy so....sue me. not super proofread either <3

“Now what the hell is all this?” Bo’s voice pulls you from your haze of determination, looking up from the cookie you were currently icing. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, mechanics suit half off, undershirt covered in sweat, watching you with both amusement and confusion. You glance around the room and give him a sheepish smile; you hadn’t realized how big of a mess you had made. The ingredients from the cookies, brownies, and icing were strewn over every available surface and, as you look down at the apron you were wearing (which was one you had bought Bo last time you had gone into town,) you realize you were as well.

Shrugging your shoulders you look back down at the last cookie, trying to finish it up. “Making Valentine's day desserts, what’s it look like?” He huffs and you bite back a smile as you hear him stomp towards you. He wasn’t mad; you’ve gotten good at knowing when Bo was upset with you and when he was cautiously curious. “Don’t look! I’m almost done with this, go have a brownie.”

“You made brownies?”

“Mhm, extra chocolate for Vincent and white chocolate drizzled for Les. Don’t touch those, eat the ones I have on the stove.” Bo lets out a soft ‘hmph!’ noise but follows your orders anyways, steering clear of the packaged brownies and cookies you had put to the side. “And be careful! They’re hot.”

“I kill people and you think imma be hurt by a brownie?” Bo questions, voice light, and you can hear the smile in it. It’s followed by an immediate hiss and the sound of the tap running. “Don’t fuckin’ say a word,” And his sheer conviction and knowledge that you do, in fact, want to say that you had told him has you giggling. It’s a snort and then another one, louder, and he’s sighing, and then you laugh again, harder and louder this time and then he’s joining in.

Two months ago Bo wouldn’t have been able to laugh at himself, would have taken your lightheartedness as a sign of you laughing at him, and would have thrown a fit. But now? Now he stands with you in the kitchen, his back to yours, laughing in the shared space. He can feel the love you have for him seep into his lungs with every intake of breath, can feel it under his fingertips when he turns around and squeezes your hips with his hand and pulls you into him in an attempt to calm himself from the laughing fit. 

He can feel it when you look back towards him and kiss him softly, far softer than he ever thought he deserved. 

He can see it when you pull away and look him in the eye with a small smile, when you don’t cringe away from his touch or his looks or his affection. Bo kisses you again and rests his head onto your shoulder. “So, what were ya’ doing that was soooo important?”

“This.” You pull your hand back and he snorts; it was a crude drawing of the two of you (stick figures holding hands, Bo’s having a blue hat, of course) done in icing with the words ‘be my val?’ written on it. You can feel his chest rumble with a small laugh. “Don’t laugh, I did my best! I was gonna write out ‘Be my Valentine?’ on individual cookies but I didn’t have enough so I took the biggest cookie off the tray and did this!”

“It’s beautiful, can’t believe I’m livin’ with a Monet.” Bro says with a smirk. “I mean, damn! Vinny’s gonna be out of a job!”

“Stooop!”

You push against him slightly, grinning, but he holds you tighter. Closer. “I love it.” His voice is soft in your ear and when you look over at him he’s staring down at the cookie, at the shakily-done drawing of you and he holding hands, and he’s letting himself smile. He’s letting himself be loved. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bo. You didn’t answer my question, though.” He looks over at you with a raised eyebrow and you motion your head down at the cookie. “Be my Val?”

He breaks out into another smile and kisses you. “Of course I’ll be your Val, darlin’.”

[our-sinister-night]

Random requested drawings! 🌝

[pondslime]

invasive

bo sinclair x afab!reader

rating: explicit

wordcount: 941 

Reader POV. Your dreams take you to different places, but you’re never too far out of reach. 

EXTREMELY dubious consent as always. Mostly weird prose, but there’s some smut thrown in here as well. Somnophilia, cockwarming. 

A/N: It’s been raining for nearly a week straight where I am. Every single day has been grey. This idea burrowed into my brain and now I’m inflicting it upon you. Similar vibes to poacher’s dream. I just...really wanted to write something that reminded me of the feeling I was trying to capture with that fic. Somnophilia’s been on my mind ever since I read this absolutely electric fic by our lord and savior, @visceravalentines​. Definitely go read it if you haven’t already. It features a lovely man who is not at all like the one in this fic. We should all make out with him instead, probably. We won’t.

You’re lost in a quagmire of green, knee-deep in muck.

You’re running from something, but you aren’t sure what. You feel like it must be close. You can hear crashing, the sloshing of something at your heels. The water is dark here, it’s deep. You need to watch where you’re going, but you won’t. It feels familiar.

Maybe, if you push a little further, you’ll reach the edge of the marshland.

The trees crowd around each other, their bulbous trunks bursting out of thick green algae. It’s so dense here, impossibly heavy with warmth. It soaks through your clothes, bleeds under your skin. If someone sliced you open and cracked your bones apart, you’re sure you'd flare hot. Chalky white and exposed, scattering chunks of marrow over the swamp. 

Things end up here when they have nowhere left to go. They get caught in the hanging moss and become part of the scenery. 

You’ll make a mess of this place, but it won’t matter. There are animals here, bigger than you, and they’ve been waiting. You couldn’t ever run very fast. These kinds of games are about losing.

It wasn’t behind you, anyway. It caught your ankle underwater and pulled you down, tumbled you underneath its weight. You’re spinning wildly, rolling and churning, filling your lungs with water (but it’s so hot here, and you like that stuff).

It’ll play with its food until your neck snaps. Trailing blood in the water, dragging you back to a den squashed in the mangroves. A place of dead things, hobbled together out of reeds and a dozen people’s bones. You wonder if they sparked like yours, if they’re kindling too.

Your body is perched on top of a waterlogged tire and hid away until it starts to rot. It makes it easier to eat when it’s soft like that, when the botflies come. Practical things are sometimes the cruelest.

God, you’ve never been anywhere this hot.

You wake up with your face pressed into the pillow, huffing out shallow breaths. The room is bathed in pale light, milky grey with the faintest wash of blue.

The grey disorients you. There was so much light before. You blink a bit in the gloom. Water is still rushing away above you, beside you. It’s impossible to tell what time it is or how long you’ve been asleep. It feels like forever. You lived and you died long before you were spat out here.

Out of the heat of your dream, you’re surprised to feel your skin prickle with goosebumps. You must have thrown the sheets off in your sleep. The position you’re in feels unnatural, one leg hoisted away from you. It rests on something solid, something warmer than this room.

You feel so full (of water, of bugs in your belly eating away the soft tissue, of life).

Stop, look at the window. You’re not underwater. It’s raining, dripping tears down the glass. You’re awake again and the fullness is the pressure between your legs.  

Bo’s hand cups at your breast, jiggling the flesh to test its weight in his palm. He catches your nipple between his fingers, tugs at it. When he rolls his hips, you let out a soft little noise, mouthing at the pillowcase. His cock pulses inside you, thick and warm. 

He’s already so deep.

“Couldn’t help myself.” He murmurs into your ear. “Not with you movin’ round like that.”

His hand wraps around your thigh, easing you down. You let out a whine as you feel your walls stretch around him. He hisses out a breath, digging his fingers into your skin.

“You’re so wet, baby.” His voice is husky, the rasp of sleep still thick around his words. You can feel how slick you are, how easy it is for him to push in. “What were you dreamin’ ‘bout?”

“You.” You’re not lying, not exactly. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

It’s the right answer, or, at least, the one he was expecting. You’re never really sure with him. It doesn’t matter, really. Your dream is getting away from you now, chased away by his hands and his lips and his cock. You were somewhere. He was there. You remember heat, you remember weight. 

(Or maybe that’s all there is now and you’re getting things confused.)

“Thought you were tryin’ to kill me, baby.” He nips along your neck. You clench down around him, moaning into the pillow. “Asleep, squeezin’ me like that.”

Good, you almost say. If I wrap myself around you enough times, you can’t breathe. Neither can I, but I only need to do it once. 

People get rid of snakes, throw them off into the swamp. They’re not supposed to be there. But this looks enough like their idea of home, doesn’t it? They’ll adapt or they’ll get eaten, and that’s all you could ask for. 

His breath is warm on your skin. You reach back, your fingers curling into his hair. 

“You ready to stop teasin’ me?”

(I couldn’t stomach you if I did. I’m not supposed to be here, anyway.)

You almost ask him if he had the same dream. Was it hard, waiting for the rot to set in? Waiting for softness? Did you taste better like that? Would he do it again if you asked him to? Could you return the favor?

Your hand tightens in his hair, giving it a sharp tug. His teeth are on your neck and it hurts in the way it’s supposed to hurt—scorching away inside you.

You’ve never been anywhere that hot, but maybe he has. Maybe he’ll take you there.

“Yes.”