#not a slash fic

[mara-xx217]

(One of) Their First Gifts [Dbd The Twins Commission/OC]

This is a commission for @hexheathen! I hope you enjoy this fic cause I enjoyed writing it~

No Warnings Apply

They told her that it was pointless, but Hex couldn't help herself! Once she sets her mind to something, it's only a matter of time before she gets her desired outcome, no matter how long it takes! (or how many times her face is mauled-)

Hex’s breath came out in short, visible puffs as she struggled to find her bearings in this not quite right rendition of an average suburb, Somewhere U.S.A. She was supposed to find… generators, she thinks? But she couldn’t even find another person as of yet. There were supposed to be three others, right? And someone that’s supposed to hurt you all? It put Hex on edge more than a little… In fact, she was nearly vibrating out of her skin. She’s quite literally a rainbow target… The others that you briefly met were- more or less- dressed in dark colours they could use as a sort of impromptu camouflage while she was here in her neon pink and blue hair and her yellow, midriff jacket and lime green striped socks… 

A stray piece of drywall skid across the floor as her foot made contact with it. It was so loud that it echoed in the mostly empty school building. Hex cringed and hissed between her teeth. That, too, bounced off the peeling walls and made her screw her eyes shut. Is she always this loud? She never really thought about it until now. Hex can be clumsy at times but now that it’s quite literally a life and death scenario, it’s really evident and something that’s got her feeling more self conscious and aware than she’s ever been in her entire life. 

O-kay… Let's try downstairs… 

If someone- or something- is here, it should have heard her by now, right? Even as Hex carefully made sure to not drag her feet across the floor, every step she took was accompanied with a near deafening crunch and the sliding of bits of dirt and debris against the sole of her boots. Something made her stop mid cringe- something large and shiny and sort of box-like in shape-

A generator! 

The apprehension and fear that Hex felt suddenly shifted into giddy excitement. As dizzying as the change was, it didn’t stop her from sprinting- and sliding rather loudly- over to the hunk of silent metal. She looked it over, standing on her tiptoes and hunkering down low to look at some of the various knobs and wires that were sticking out of the machine. 

Uhh… What exactly is she supposed to do with this? 

All that was said to her was ‘fix the generators’. No one ever really told her how to do this. Hex reached out, then pulled away, then reached out one again. Um… Why are there so many things here…? She twisted a knob and jumped as the generator began to hum and chug very softly. 

Oh-! Is she doing it?! 

She twisted another knob and everything was okay. Then she knelt down and began to examine the wires. Yeah, she’s clueless… But Hex still decided ‘screw it’! She pressed some of the bare wire tips together, bracing to be electrocuted or blown up or something… but nothing happened! The generator sounds like it’s picking up speed so she’s obviously doing something right! Feeling confident, Hex reached up to twist another knob but stopped as something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. 

It was something small. Maybe… she only thinks she saw something. Right around the corner from where she crouched in front of the machinery. It was only for a second… but Hex was sure that she saw someone. But someone very, very small… A child? There wouldn’t be a child here, right?! The thought alone was enough to get her to let go of the generator. Which promptly exploded in her face with a loud POP! 

Hex recoiled and shielded her face from the bright sparks. Oh shh… ! She really, really hopes no one heard that! Talk about embarrassing! Still… that little dude that she saw was what she was truly worried about. This is a big, scary place with too many hazards for a little kid! She got up and started to fast walk to where she thought she saw the child peek out from. Rounding the corner, Hex saw…

Nothing. 

I need to at least check the school… 

There’s no way in hell she could think of anything else other than that little guy that she saw… Hex cleared the basement twice, finding no trace of anyone else other than herself down there. Maybe upstairs? She checked the section that she entered from and found nothing. The room across? Nothing… The little reception area? Nothing… There’s only a few rooms left, so Hex doesn’t have a lot of options left. Will she look everywhere for this kid…? Probably. She can’t help it! The poor thing must be cold and hungry and scared… Like how she is now! Probably a lot more than she is, actually! So she looks in the final three rooms.

Nothing.

Nothing…

Ah- 

Yes! There is someone in there! In a corner, Hex sees a very small lump in the corner, seemingly shivering and hunkered over. It looked like a child- Yes! A very, very small and young child- practically a toddler!- that wore not a scrap of clothing on their person. Poor little baby! Hex didn’t hesitate to take her own jacket off as she rushed over to the trembling child.

“Aww-! Shh… Shh… It’s okay, little guy… Or girl- It’s going to be okay! I won’t let a thing happen to you…” She fell to her knees and prepared to drape her jacket over the child… and sort of paused as she saw how different they looked. 

Poor thing… Were they abandoned? They were dirty- is that blood?- and clearly had some deformities. Sharp little teeth poked out of their cleft lips and talon like claws were curled up on their fingers as they held their arms to their chest. Rather than making Hex feel fear, she felt even more determined to help the child. She could tell by looking at them that they didn’t have it easy… As she gently cooed at them and prepared to cover them with her jacket- 

They shivered and turned to look at her. Hex gave a gentle smile. As she was about to reassure them that she was there to help-

-they pounced on her face. 

Hex didn’t realize what even happened at first. The ear-piercing screech the little guy released when they leapt at her face completely disoriented her, and that’s not including the weight of a whole toddler clinging to her face, completely blinding her and slightly suffocating her while their little claws dug into the back of her head and threatened to rip her hair out by the little handful. Hex fell backwards and released a cry of her own, completely muffled and drowned out by the kid’s own battle-like cry to war. She didn’t notice when another person entered the classroom she was currently flopping around and writhing in. 

One moment, Hex’s face was being bitten and kicked by a kid who had a surprising amount of strength, the next, there was a brief tug and she was free. The kid wasn’t removed, but rather, someone had kicked them off of her face. Hex was taken aback, completely shocked and horrified, nearly forgetting how the very child that collided with a nearby wall had suctioned cupped themself to her face and had tried (and nearly succeeded in) to take several chunks out of her poor, abused cheeks. Someone grabbed her underarms and helped her back to her feet.

“Are you okay?! Victor is such a little shit…” The young woman muttered under her breath as she helped steady a shell-shocked Hex, who could only blink and stammer unintelligibly. 

“T-The- T-The k-kid…?” The woman scoffed and shook her head. Her short hair was mostly covered with a beanie that held it in place.

“Nah… Victor ain’t a kid, if you catch my drift. He and that sister of his are the killers of this trial. You’re lucky I was able to find you before she did.” After a moment of pause, the woman quickly added-

“Actually, we should probably move. Just in case she checks in here-” She pulled Hex along, who still was totally dumbfounded. 

“W-Where did they go? Th-The kid…?” The woman waved off her question. 

“Hey- Look, I’ll answer any question you got after we leave here alive. How’s that sound?” Hex nodded, still processing what the hell just happened to her. The woman turned to face Hex with a smile. 

“I’m Nea, by the way.”

Nea, along with several other survivors that made sure she didn’t woefully misinform poor baby Hex, explained to her the new world she had found herself in. And… it definitely wasn’t great. The possibility of actually dying was terrifying, along with the various ways in which she could die in any given trial. The small child that she found, ‘Victor’... He was twins with a woman named Charlotte, who definitely would kill both Hex and Nea if she caught up with them. Especially after what Nea did to her brother… But for some reason, Hex couldn’t exactly blame either of them…

What if they were- or still are- as scared and confused as she is? And even if they weren’t… Hex still feels really, really bad for what happened to Victor! Sure, he latched himself onto her face and tried to rip it off, but Hex wasn’t mad about it! Maybe she came on too strong… Maybe she confused him! She is brightly coloured, after all… Nea punting him into the wall left a bad taste in Hex’s mouth… Wasn’t it a bit… excessive? It must have been terrifying and painful for Victor! And poor Charlotte, too! Oh… Hex can’t allow this to stand! She’s gotta make this right! …somehow. It’s not going to be easy, but she’s already made up her mind! It’s only a matter of time now until she figures out how to show the Twins that she means them no harm and that she doesn’t want to hurt either of them!

God, it was going to be a monumental undertaking, the likes of which Hex has never seen or experienced before in her entire life! She knew that she had her work cut out for herself, but the amount of times that she was mained, mauled, cut, stabbed in the shoulder and sacrificed to the Entity was unprecedented. Even other survivors were at a loss to the sheer number of times that Hex died and suffered injury in trial, even as a newbie survivor. Still… no one could deny that Hex was as stubborn as a mule and twice as durable… 

Upon the next trial, Hex was told that it was highly unlikely that the Twins would be the next killer. They seemed to be two that were rarely seen in trials at all, let alone twice in succession. Yet in this trial, it was the Twins once more! Hex was excited while everyone else groaned in dread. She has a chance to make things right! It didn’t take long for her to find little Victor, scampering around while quietly muttering and growling to himself with his cute little arms close to his chest. Is he cold? Hex began to speak in a soft voice as she crouched down to his level.

“Hey little guy… I think we had a little… misunderstanding the last time we met.” She cooed. Victor suddenly turned to face her, his beady little eyes shining in the light as he narrowed them at her. Hex couldn’t help but to sweat, but she kept herself outwardly calm as she reached out to the little guy. 

“Maybe we could-” Before Hex could finish what she was saying, Victor crouched down low. The words died in her throat as she tilted her head to the side, confused as to what he was even doing. When he suddenly went soaring through the air with a screech, she then knew that things had, once again, taken a wrong turn. 

Victor was pried off by another survivor, in spite of Hex screaming over both Victor’s ear splitting war cries and her own cries of pain that “DON’T- I GOT HIM, I GOT HIM-!” No, she did not have him. Victor left deep scratches along Hex’s jawline, one that would vanish upon the trial’s completion but she would still feel the phantom pains of them long after they were gone. The others were sure this would deter her from going out of her way to make friends- most of them had fallen into the ‘there’s gotta be some humanity left in them’ line of thinking at least once, so they couldn’t really blame Hex… But if anything, this only made her more determined to make peace with the Twins. 

Hex, again, tried to reach out to Victor. Not only did he pounce on her, but Charlotte found her before another survivor did. Only… she didn’t attack Hex. She merely watched for a few brief moments (that felt like an eternity to Hex as she was being mauled) before she called Victor back over to her and left a disoriented and winded Hex on the ground where she lay. This was something different! Charlotte didn’t attack her like everyone said she would! It’s gotta mean something, right?!

The next time, Hex found Charlotte first. The other woman wasn’t aware of her presence, not yet, anyway, and she still had Victor on her person. Literally. Hex wondered if it was painful when he would hop out of that hole in her torso… It had to, right? It looked painful, or at the very least upsetting to her, as she always placed a hand over where he once was and would look down as though lamenting his absence. It made Hex… sad. She frowned as she watched Charlotte stand around, seemingly lost without her twin brother’s hand in her own. Hex wanted to step out and speak to Charlotte… She wanted her to know that it would be okay- that Victor was a ridiculously strong little dude that has no trouble taking care of himself… But before she could even take a breath to speak out-

Victor tackled her from behind and latched onto her head.

This wasn’t working! Hex was beyond frustrated, yet this only made her more stubborn and determined to get her point across! If actions weren’t getting across and words were failing her, then Hex has no choice but to use her final, backup, super secret and failsafe plan to show the Twins exactly what her intentions were: She would give them gifts! 

Flowers were the most obvious first choice. There were everywhere and many of the survivor’s offerings were flowers! Before she could get close enough to Charlotte to give them to her, however, Victor once again came to his sister’s defense and pounced on Hex before she could get too close to her. Okay… fine. What about Victor, himself?

It seemed to annoy him… or maybe he didn’t get the purpose of Hex waving flowers in between the two of them. Like a matador swinging red cloth in a bull’s face, Victor charged at her and proceeded to take a chunk out of her browline while screaming bloody murder. Or was it Hex that was screaming? It was a bust, so she abandoned the ‘flowers for peace’ endeavor she was on. 

Chalk? Maybe they would like to draw with it! Victor bit her fingers when she presented it to him and Charlotte seemed to be like a deer in the headlights- unmoving, unwavering, not even acknowledging that Hex was presenting her a gift in her hands. Or was she just too shy to take it? Hex could have sworn that Charlotte had looked at the little bag in her hand for a split second before looking away, only to do a double take once Hex didn’t immediately run upon seeing her. They were so close to having a connection! Hex just knows it! But Charlotte ended up walking away, calling over a crouched and ready-to-pounce Victor who seemed to be lining up his sight to tackle Hex once more. But he didn’t! They might have left without taking her gift, but this is progress if she’s ever seen it! Hex has begun to get through to Charlotte… now she only needs to get little Victor to understand that she was friend and not foe… or food… 

Hex asked for help, knowing full well that the other survivors wouldn’t really do much to help her. They made their stance very clear when it comes to the killers: ‘they worry about themselves and we worry about each other’. Still, when asked, advice was given and it was something that surprised her greatly. Sometimes, the Entity will gift survivors with things they desire. Some said they just thought of the items and would later find them in their pockets or in other places around the survivor’s camp. Others said they actually prayed to God for it and they received it. Whatever the case… Hex is desperate enough to try anything once….

So she prayed. And to her surprise…

The Entity answered. 

It wasn’t something grand, but Hex had a feeling that what She answered would be something of interest to Victor and even perhaps to Charlotte as well. A little wooden figure of a princess, not exactly pretty or well carved, but strong and sturdy without being heavy or cumbersome. The paint was well worn and chipped but it was of little consequence, Hex thought. Something about the figure was familiar… but Hex still had a feeling that it wasn’t familiar to her. If that made any sense… It was a strange feeling, but one that she shook off as she became excited for the upcoming trial where she could give this to Charlotte and Victor. 

For the first time in a while, Hex happened upon the Twins when they were still conjoined. Charlotte was already on edge and Victor was practically frothing at the mouth as he anticipated attacking Hex with his little teeth and sharp claws. Before Charlotte could set Victor down, Hex cried out-

“W-Wait!” 

Charlotte instinctually held Victor close and took a step back while her brother squealed and screeched as he flailed in her grasp. Hex felt bad for making Charlotte and Victor so uncomfortable… All this time, they didn’t know that she was trying to make friends instead of hurting them in any way. She would have liked to make a special, grand gesture out giving them this gift, but Hex didn’t think it wise. So she carefully presented her closed hand, the head and legs of the princess figure sticking out of her closed fists. 

Instantly, Victor was interested in what she had. Charlotte, though, was clearly on edge and untrusting of Hex and her intentions. She whispered quietly to Victor, who seemed to disregard what his sister said in favour of reaching out one of his small hands in Hex’s direction as he squealed in delight. She raised her other hand in a ‘I don’t want to hurt you’ sort of way.

“H-Hey-! It’s okay… I-I just want to give you both this…” Hex opened her hand to reveal the wood carving, which not only made Victor more excited, but it seemed to get Charlotte’s attention as well. 

Hex didn’t know it, but Charlotte never really had any toys… She had a precious few that her mother made by hand, but Victor would always get jealous and mean when she would play with them. She didn’t really mind though. Victor was just… Victor. He was needy and loud and toys helped pacify him with nothing else would work. That little toy soldier of his, the one that their mother stole for him, became his absolute favorite. It’s one of the only things that remains of their past life. Of their mother… Charlotte was always a bit envious that Victor had this one little thing. She didn’t have anything like that… but Victor would share when she would get particularly sad. The little soldier was nice… but Charlotte wanted something else. She always wanted a cute little dolly of her own, and while what Hex had wasn’t exactly that….

It still was what Charlotte always wanted. 

Charlotte shifted from foot to foot as she focused on the wooden princess. Victor incessantly tugged on his sister’s cheek as he pointed at Hex, crying out in frustration as his sister only stared at the figure longingly. Maybe she didn’t understand that she was giving it to them? Again, she presents the doll, this time smiling as she holds it out towards Charlotte and Victor. 

Hex can tell that Charlotte so badly wants to reach out and take the figurine from her, but she’s still hesitating, uncertain and possibly a little frightened of the gesture Hex presented to her. So Hex decides to gently set the doll down on the ground and she takes a few steps back from it and the Twins. Hex pretty much expected that they wouldn’t go for the gift until she left… but to her surprise, Charlotte stepped forward and leaned down to scoop up the little toy in her dirt covered hand. 

The look of wonderment on her face made all the failed attempts so, so worth it. Victor’s little fingers wrapped around his sister’s larger ones as she inspected the figure. It was too small for her… nearly too big for Victor, yet they both loved the little gift. Charlotte couldn’t believe that Hex was just… giving them the toy, but the strange woman didn’t even attempt to take it back from them, only smiling warmly as Victor moved the doll's arms and legs around while giggling to himself.

Both of the Twins were transfixed by the little toy she gave them. It didn’t immediately fix the tension between her and them, but now, whenever they saw her in a trial, they didn’t shy away from her or try to attack her! Victor approached Hex in a more friendly manner, not jumping on her face but rather attaching to her leg as she walked around the realm as she looked for his sister. Charlotte was still a little aloof around her, but she allowed Hex to approach her as she allowed Charlotte to take her brother off of her leg- or she tried to. Victor would hold on and dig his nails into Hex like he was a koala and her leg was a tree trunk! 

But this was a good start, Hex thought. Charlotte would listen to her talk, Victor would babble enthusiastically in agreement or disagreement… The Twins even started to accept the other gifts that Hex failed to give them before! Charlotte still wouldn’t allow Victor to get too close to Hex… but she would allow her brother to hang around the other woman and play with her while observing them both closely. Charlotte has even begun to play with them both, too! It made Hex happy… She hoped that the three of them would get even closer as they got to know one another better…

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine

[stervrucht]

“We need to defrost the freezer,” Steve tells Eddie when he walks out carrying a tub of ice cream.

Eddie sighs, head resting on his hands while he overlooks the empty shop. “I wish someone would defrost my will to live.”

Steve finds it funny. In a guilty snort sort of way, because Eddie’s jokes are kinda dark and he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh. But yeah, working at Scoops is a drag at times, and Steve understands it at some level.

It escalates from there. 

Steve will tell Eddie they’re out of hazelnut ice cream, and Eddie will get a look on his face that doesn’t promise anything good.

“I’ll hazel your nuts.” Eddie cocks his head, staring at him in that ridiculous sailor uniform with mischief painted on his face.

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

Steve tries to pretend he’s weirded out, but when Eddie laughs at him like that, Steve can’t help but crack up as well. 

But that’s the normal stuff — because sometimes Eddie’s comments are hard to play off, and Steve doesn’t really know whether he’s joking at all.

“Morrison really fucked us over with the new schedule.” Steve frowns at the paper on the wall because they got like four evening shifts that week, including Friday and Saturday, and it’s messing with his dating life — even though that’s barely hanging on by a thread right now.

“I wish you’d fuck me over,” Eddie says as he cleans the glass display window with lazy motions.

It makes Steve stop in his tracks; makes his mouth run dry and his heart rate pick up. But Eddie just stares at him, same smile as always, waiting for Steve to shoot something back.

“Maybe I should.” The words are out before he knows it and Steve feels a little mortified by how much he meant it. When he looks over at Eddie, his lips are slightly parted, cheeks a little red, and the hand cleaning the window has stopped in its tracks.

Steve thinks that maybe Eddie meant his words as well.

[miguel-owhora]

hmmm thinking about a COD ABO au where the 141 live in a society where alphas are typically seen at the top of the pack, with betas and omegas as their subordinates. They're used to omegas being submissive and traditionally housepartners.

Enter the reader: this towering, large, heavyset omega who comes from a different society where omegas are actually on top of the pack, where they're more aggressive and territorial compared to the other two sexes.

The others expect you to roll over, maybe be more submissive, and they're quickly proven wrong when you snap at Price when he gets a little close—and it startles them, because an omega just snapped at the head alpha.

The boys grow intrigued by you, but they quickly learn not to overstep your boundaries; you show them you have no qualms with baring your teeth at them. You're not mean, you're polite and respectful as long as they respect you. However, some other idiot doesn't realize this and gets the idea that you need to learn your place; an omega shouldn't be ordering them around, shouldn't even be a soldier, nevermind be anything but a househusband.

The boys get a glimpse of how different omegas are in your society when they see you force the other alpha into submission, sinking your sharp teeth into the back of their neck, threaten to bitch them if they don't learn their place. Blood glints over your slick spit teeth, pupils dilated and feral with aggression and anger. You hold them in a scruff, pinning them down with your body and strength, until the idiot submits. Only then do you let them go with their metaphorical tail tucked between their legs, and you raise your head, glaring at anyone who'll meet your gaze, and ask if anyone else wants to get bitched.

Gaz has to smack Soap's hand down when it starts to rise, ignoring the chubbing in their individual pants as you dip from sight, with Ghost watching you with dark eyes, and Price eventually calling everyone back to their activities. Though, it's a silent agreement that all four boys slink back to their rooms to rub one off to the idea of you bitching them out.

[ky-landfill]

[upthehillnsfw]

Commission for the Hazelnoot server on Discord!

Based on Sweater Weather by lumosinlove🏒

Click for full version / Alternative

[oldangryslytherin]

tom: why aren't you in Slytherin

harry: I met draco and say fuck that

Tom, turns to draco: this is all your fault

draco: *sweats*

[charcoaledrocks]

hello Tumblr User @pittdpeaches you ruined my life / j

[hairmetal666]

Eddie stands at the edge of the ruined, stinking field, heart somewhere down by the soles of his feet. He watches the grey vines creep across the rotten earth, bracketing the blackened and split pumpkins.

"This can't be happening again," Steve says next to him. There's nothing in his voice, in his expression.

And Eddie doesn't know what to say because it is happening, the Upside Down is creeping into Hawkins, Vecna defeated or not.

"We have to tell the others," is Eddie's response. He doesn't know how he sounds normal when his heart is breaking, when Steve's blankness is killing him.

They walk back to Eddie's van in heavy silence. He can't read what Steve is thinking and that's--they're not something, not yet, but they spend all their time together and it's right there, under the surface, and--

He always knows what Steve is thinking, now. Can read his face like Tolkien wrote it, no matter what's happening, but right now it's empty, unreadable, unfathomable, untouchable King Steve risen from the grave.

The drive back to Hop's cabin is silent. Eddie doesn't even turn on music, his brain can't take it.

Cars fill the cabin's driveway, everyone in attendance, everyone waiting. On the porch, they hear the TV, the tinny whirr of lightsabers. It all stops when they push open the door, movie paused, conversations broken off, every face turned in their direction.

Neither of them speaks. Looking at all these faces, the kids, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Hop and Joyce, the hope and trust, and he can't--he can't.

"Well?" Joyce prompts. She's working a kitchen towel between her fingers.

He nods as Steve says, "it's back."

Eddie expects an outcry, horror, an explosion, but it's quiet. Quiet enough he can hear Steve's soft breaths next to him. Quiet enough he gets to watch as the news hits on each face in the room. It's like a punch every time.

It's so much different from planning the fight against Vecna. There was so much energy, drive, to get it done, to defeat the Upside Down forever. There wasn't silence, not ever, no faces painted with grief. Even when things were at their worst, an undercurrent of hope buoyed the group.

"Are you sure?" It's Nancy who breaks the silence, of course it is.

"It's the tunnels all over again," Steve answers.

"El?" Hopper asks. "Have you--?"

Will and El are looking at each other, Eddie's sure that no one else in the room exists for them.

"We haven't felt anything." El finally says.

"Nothing?" Mike's eyes flick between them.

"Not since Vecna," Will says.

"It's--it feels--" El waves at the back of her neck.

"Blank." Will finishes.

"Blank isn't gone," Erica says.

Dustin hums, eyes distant. "So, it went dormant."

That gets all the kids going, arguing and shouting over each other, and it isn't long before everyone is involved.

Eddie throws himself into it, grateful to be back in a familiar place of planning, discovering what they're up against, fighting. They're at their best like this, all of them, and it takes the edge off the fear eating up his insides.

He doesn't really get a chance to talk to Steve one-on-one, but Eddie's aware of him always, catches the moments in between bickering with Mike and shouting with Dustin and whispering with Robin where he goes distant, empty, just like at the field, just like in the car.

Eventually, everyone trickles home for the night, Hop's cabin emptying until it's just the Byers, Hoppers, and Steve. And since Eddie goes wherever Steve is--

Steve stands at the window in their room, back to Eddie. His shoulders are rigid, and Eddie is--he's scared in a whole new way. Steve is--he's strong, he keeps them together, he. They look to him to be brave, to be the first to jump, and--

"Steve?" Eddie comes up next to him.

His eyes are squeezed shut, fists clenched.

"Sweetheart?"

Steve opens his eyes, tears track down his cheeks. "I don't think I can do this again," he sobs. "I don't think--" He presses his fists to his eyes, like he's trying to force the moisture back inside.

Eddie grabs his wrists, gentle, murmurs, "it's okay, it'll be okay, I've got you."

"How can it be okay?" Steve asks. His face is wrecked and Eddie's heart shatters. "This was supposed to be over, Eddie. We were supposed to be done with fighting, we beat Vecna. So, tell me how it's going to be okay."

He freezes, unsure how to respond. In the end, "you're right," he says. "it's not okay. And I don't want to pretend that it is. It fucking sucks. We did the work already. We shouldn't be right back here like it never happened."

"But we are," Steve sniffles.

"But we are. And you know what?"

"What?"

"We're going to get through this. Just like we did the last time."

"We almost lost you last time, Ed. We almost lost Max. What if--what if--" Steve's eyes fill again. "I can't do this without you," he sobs.

Eddie doesn't hesitate, pulls Steve into his arms, holds him as tight and close as physically possible. "You won't." Eddie soothes. "You won't. I'll be right here with you. I promise."

"How can you know?"

Again, there's only one answer for that. "I don't. But I know I'll never leave your side willingly. None of us would. And I know that we're going to fight--all of us--like we always do."

"How can you have so much hope?" He asks. "After everything?"

"It's hard," he answers. "I'm terrified. But I know I have you, and Robin, and Dustin, and Wayne, and--everyone. We fight for each other, you know?"

"We keep going because we have to," Steve says.

"Yeah, sweetheart. We protect each other and this godforsaken town, no matter how much it sucks."

Steve's laugh is husky and short. "It sucks so much."

"Real trash heap of a place."

"And that's without the alternate dimension and monsters."

"I think we've got a really strong ad campaign for the Hawkins tourism board." The giggle that escapes from Steve is the sweetest thing Eddie's ever heard.

Later, the lights off, Steve pulls him close. "I'm so glad I have you," he whispers, fingers trailing through Eddie's curls. "You give me something to hope for."

[ao3demographicssurvey2024]

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[ghoulsbounty]

Hi! I wanted to request a TH/fem reader and RZMM/fem reader

Maybe like a how would they show possessiveness over someone? A little angsty bc they're big guys and they would definitely manhandle their so in the heat of the moment

How Thomas Hewitt and RZ!Michael Myers Show Possessiveness Over You

Warnings: smut (18+), aggressive sex, slight mention of dumbification, manhandling, bruising/mark making, angst, obsession, stripping, stalking, slight yandere i guess?, possessiveness, canon-typical violence, control.

Words: 2.7K

A/N: Anon, thank you so much for my first slasher request! I love these boys so much and wanted to delve into their intentions behind their protectiveness a little, cause I think it would be very different for both. This is my first time writing a headcanon, I hope I've done you proud. I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

Thomas Hewitt

→ Thomas's struggle with social norms makes his possessiveness glaringly apparent. He perceives everyone outside the family as a potential threat to his happiness, particularly when it concerns you. His demeanour shifts abruptly at the slightest hint of danger; his typically measured movements become swift and aggressive. Despite his efforts to restrain his emotions in public, such as at the Cele Community Centre where you and his mother work, Thomas often finds himself instinctively drawn to your side. His hand firmly grasps the fabric of your shirt, his protective stance evident to anyone who dares to look at you. His gaze sweeps the surroundings with a discerning eye, meticulously assessing each customer until you gently remove his grip and convince him to wait in the back.

→ Thomas's overprotectiveness occasionally acts as a double-edged sword, simultaneously shielding you from harm while subtly restricting your freedom. As a man of few words, he struggles to articulate the depth of his need to keep you safe, resulting in actions that may be misinterpreted as possessiveness rather than genuine concern or fear of losing you. He means well, but it can feel suffocating.

→ Preferring to keep you within his line of sight whenever possible, Thomas's protective instincts often clash with the demands of daily life, leading to occasional conflicts with Charlie over the use of his time. The older man's frustration with what he perceives as your bad influence over Thomas' attention to his work further exacerbates tensions within the household. 

→ Certain areas of the house are off limits to you. The basement serves as a sanctuary for Thomas's work, and he is adamant that you are shielded from the horrors that happen inside. However, he still insists on your presence nearby, perched on the steps that lead down to the space or listening to the radio in the dining room upstairs. Your proximity seems to offer him a sense of security and focus, enabling him to delve into his his task with unwavering concentration and produce some of his best work.

→ Thomas finds solace in words of affirmation and constantly seeks reassurance from you. Despite the intimacy you share and the countless times you've assured him otherwise, he harbours an unshakeable fear that if he loosens his grip even for a moment, you might slip away from him. This nagging insecurity gnaws at him, overshadowing moments of connection, leaving him perpetually haunted by the possibility of losing you.

→ Physical gestures become one your languages of reassurance. You hold his hand tightly, intertwining your fingers as a silent promise that you're there for him. Running your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you becomes a comforting ritual, soothing both him and you. Your touch on his chest, just over his heart, keeps his anxieties at bay.

→ Words also become a source of comfort for Thomas. You express your pride in him, highlighting his strengths and the ways he makes your life better. You tell him how happy you are to have him by your side, emphasizing that he's not just your protector but also your partner. Sometimes, the simplest affirmations have the greatest impact on Thomas. Hearing you call him "yours" fills him with a sense of belonging and purpose, and when you tell him that he's been good, he can't help but prove just how good he can be by filling you with his fingers, tongue or cock.

→ Thomas feels most valued when you grant him your undivided attention and allow him to reciprocate. He revels in spending hours between your legs, skilfully coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your willing body until you're left a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. Despite his efforts to maintain control in your relationship, you always seem to hold the upper hand, which is why he finds solace in reducing you to a thoroughly fucked-out state on his bed. In those moments, with your mind blissfully empty and your body consumed by a primal hunger for his touch, he feels a sense of power and satisfaction unlike any other.

→ Despite this, the mounting tensions within the household, particularly with Charlie, often leave Thomas grappling with pent-up aggression. As the demands on his time intensify, with Charlie clamouring for more of Thomas's attention and you taking on additional shifts at the community centre to assist his mother, Thomas finds it increasingly challenging to maintain his composure.

→ You've become attuned to the subtle shifts in his demeanour, recognizing the tell-tale signs when he's received a stern tongue lashing from his uncle or had a particularly taxing session in the basement. Thomas' simmering rage begins to permeate his interactions with you. His touch, once tender and reassuring, now carries an undercurrent of tension. The few words he mutters in your presence are laced with frustration and discontent, rather than devotion.

→ Despite your best efforts to sooth him, there are moments when Thomas's volatile emotions threaten to overwhelm him. In those instances, you find yourself walking on eggshells, navigating the precarious balance between offering solace and inadvertently stoking the flames of his anger. You are never fearful of Thomas, but these are the times when you remove yourself from his presence when possible. That is, until you learn that the best way to calm him during these storms is with your body.

→ Thomas's heavy-handed nature becomes even more pronounced during these moments of heightened emotion. He handles you with a forcefulness that borders on brutality, moulding and contorting your body into painful positions that elicit tears of discomfort. While he typically refrains from spanking you unless requested, in these instances, his large hand comes crashing down upon your flesh with punishing force, leaving behind welts and bruises that you carry for days. Unlike his usual attentiveness to your pleasure, Thomas's focus shifts solely towards finding an outlet for his frustration, using your body as a means to an end in his quest for release. He bites, scratches, and fucks every inch of you with an almost desperate intensity, seeking solace in the physical connection between you.

→ Yet, there are fleeting moments of clarity when the clouds in his eyes dissipate, and the gentle giant you know and love re-emerges. It's in these moments of vulnerability that you offer him comfort, reassuring him that he can take what he needs from you, and that you will still love him.

→ After the intensity of the moment subsides, Thomas retreats into the solitude of the basement, locking himself away as a form of self-imposed punishment for his mistreatment of you. Despite your efforts to coax him out, reassuring him of your well-being and offering comfort, he remains secluded until he feels ready to face you once more. When Thomas finally does emerge, you're quick to envelop him in the warmth of your affection and reassurance. With a soft kiss to his leather-clad cheek, you convey your unwavering support and understanding, letting him know that you harbour no resentment towards him.

→ In the aftermath of the encounter, Thomas's protective instincts kick into overdrive as he tends to any wounds that adorn your body, his touch gentle yet purposeful. It's in these moments that his true nature shines through—he may be heavy-handed and prone to bouts of aggression, but above all else, he possesses a deep-seated desire to care for and protect you, to make amends for any harm he may have caused.

RZ!Michael Myers

→ Michael's possessive nature over you begins with an intense and inexplicable fixation. From the moment his eyes land on you, something primal within him snaps, and he becomes singularly obsessed with making you his own.

→ He can't quite explain what draws him to the Red Rabbit Lounge that evening, but as he leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath after a harrowing escape from Smith's Grove, he is immediately captivated when you emerge from the back door. Unlike others who shrink away from him in fear, you meet his gaze with a calm demeanour, lighting your cigarette and casually pointing out his papier-mâché mask. Your nonchalant remark about liking the orange because it reminds you of your favourite holiday only adds to the intrigue, sparking something deep within Michael's psyche.

→ Following that initial encounter, Michael becomes an omnipresent presence in your life, a shadow that lingers at the edges of your awareness. You sense him in the periphery of your vision, catch glimpses of his shadow darting past windows, and hear the faintest rustle of his breath in the stillness of the night. He becomes your unseen companion, meticulously observing your every move. He studies your routines and habits, committing them to memory with an almost obsessive attention to detail. Always one step ahead, he waits patiently until the opportune moment presents itself to make his presence truly known.

→ Michael finds immense pleasure in the exhilarating pursuit of you, convinced that you share in his enjoyment of the chase. He keenly observes the subtle signs of your awareness, noticing the wry smirk that graces your lips when you sense his presence nearby. In those moments, he imagines feeling the same giddiness that surges through you when he lightly brushes your hair, a fleeting touch that leaves you yearning for more, even as it vanishes before you can turn around. The first time you called out to him, he battled against every instinct urging him to step out from the shadows and claim you as his own. Despite the overwhelming desire possess you, he restrains himself, savouring the anticipation of the inevitable moment when he would finally make his move.

→ In Michael's twisted psyche, you are more than just a person; you are a coveted prize that he will protect at all costs. He perceives himself as the sole rightful owner of your being, and he harbours an intense fixation on claiming you as his own.

→ As the regular patrons of the lounge mysteriously vanish one by one, leaving a bewildered community in their wake, Michael remains a silent observer, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon you. He knows all too well the allure of your presence, the captivating dance you perform for these men, reminiscent of the performances his late mother once gave. Yet, while others may see you as an entertainer, Michael sees something far deeper—a connection, a possession, a symbol of his ultimate dominance that he must preserve.

→ From the shadows, he watches as you bare your body to these patrons. To Michael, it doesn't matter whether you are aware of his claim over you; what matters is that he sees you as his, and he will go to any lengths to ensure that no one dares to challenge him. In his mind, you are his alone, and he will stop at nothing to secure what he believes is rightfully his.

→ When Michael finally decides to collect his prize, it's in the eerie stillness of the night. He patiently waits in the shadows of your home, a silent sentinel standing rigidly in the corner of your bedroom as he observes your every move. You can feel his presence, an unspoken acknowledgment that he has come to stake his claim on his property.

→ As you undress, acutely aware of his watchful gaze, a shiver runs down your spine. There's a palpable tension in the air, a sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. Yet, despite the unease that courses through you, there's also a strange allure, a primal instinct drawing you inexorably towards him. When you finally coax him from the shadows, he engulfs you in his arms with a ferocity that takes your breath away. The force of his embrace is suffocating, his touch demanding as he grasps and claws at every part of your body. In that moment, there's no denying the intensity of his desire, the need to make you his own consuming him entirely.

→ Michael is not gentle with you; he doesn't hold back his deep urges to possess you completely. He revels in your whimpers and the screams of his name as he stretches you open and takes what he deems rightfully his. His touch is rough, unyielding, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. Each movement is driven by a fierce need to mark you, to ensure you understand that you belong to him and no one else. Every night with Michael is filled with a mix of pain and pleasure. His eyes intense and unwavering, remain locked on you, drinking in every reaction, every cry. To him, this is the final step in owning you, the ultimate act of protecting what is his.

→  Removing the mask takes time. It's one evening, after the intensity of your shared orgasms have ebbed, and Michael lies heavy on top of you. Your fingers tentatively trace the edges of the white rubber mask, sensing his body tense beneath your touch. His hand instinctively reaches out, grasping your wrist to halt your movement, but your lips find solace in the warmth of his knuckles as you plant a gentle kiss, your breath whispering a desire to see him. For a fleeting moment, there's resistance, a hesitancy borne from years of concealing his true self, before he lets you unmask him. His long hair cascades over your face as the mask falls away, revealing the man beneath. In that vulnerable moment, you stroke his sweat-glistened cheek, your fingers tracing the contours of his features as you call him "handsome", perhaps the first time he's heard the word since his mother.

→ Despite Michael's disapproval of your continued work at the lounge, you are unwilling to relinquish your independence completely. He grumbles and fumes when things don't go his way, but deep down, he appreciates your defiance, feels a strange allure in your willingness to challenge him. Although his overly protective nature remains, he secretly enjoys the way you push back against his control, finding a strange sense of satisfaction in the game of give and take between you. A hand on his chest or a kiss along his strong jawline is all it takes for him to soften, his resolve melting under the warmth of your affection. You eventually compromise, only working certain shifts and allowing him to escort you home. As if you really have a choice on the matter. Michael finds your attempts at negotiation endearing.

→ If anyone dares to come between Michael and what is his, he reacts with violent outbursts of rage. His attacks are brutal and merciless, driven by a primal need to assert his dominance and protect you. Unfortunately, you are also not exempt from his aggression, and when he catches sight of you one night, engaged in conversation with a stranger outside the back of the lounge during your smoke break, he snaps. In a frenzy of fury, he swiftly disposes of the man, his actions marked by a sickening crunch of bones as his body is hurled against the brick wall. Then, turning his attention to you, Michael's muscles coil with tension and his chest heaves with barely-contained anger. Gripping your arms so fiercely that bruises bloom in their wake, he shoves you against the wall, once, then again, as if attempting to jolt some some sense into you.

→ With swift determination, Michael hoists you over his shoulder and retreats into the shadows, his purposeful strides carrying you home. But the journey doesn't lead to the bedroom; instead, he deposits you onto the stairs with a roughness that steals your breath. There, in the dim light, he strips away the remnants of your clothing, his actions forceful and unyielding. Again and again, he fucks into you with a ferocity that leaves you screaming his name, your pleas mingling with the echoes of both passion and pain. In those moments, as his protectiveness gives way to possession and consumes you, you find yourself uttering the words he craves to hear—that you are his, and his alone.

→ Yet, even amidst the ecstasy, a shadow of uncertainty looms. You can never be certain that Michael wouldn't cross that final line, that his compulsion wouldn't drive him to take everything from you, including your life. For Michael, protection is not just about control—it's about ownership to the point of obsession. If he can't have you, no one else can either.

[iwillfightgodandwin]

Me, an aroace "can there please be more platonic fanfic?"

Fanfic writers *punching me in the face* "no, how dare you they're gay"

[letteredlettered]

Went to a panel about slash fanfic at a con. Moderator said, "Welcome to the panel about erotica." The words "slash" and "erotica" were used interchangeably throughout. Panel was great.

There was a Q&A at the end so I raised my hand and said these terms seemed conflated. Moderator explained she'd run this panel for 10 years and it started out being about slash but drifted into erotica and she never changed the name. (She also said she was glad I brought it up and would keep it in mind for the future of the panel.) The guy on the panel who writes original m/f erotica said that slash and what he writes are basically the same thing. I said I had no complaints about the name of the panel or the panelists, I was just curious about what slash meant to them, and whether slash by necessity had to include sex scenes to be considered slash.

Two panelists answered that slash was romance between men but usually had sex. Eventually one of them did make clear that slash didn't have to have sex but that it was what they wanted to read. Another panelist said that to them slash really just meant dude romance but people wouldn't read their fic unless there was sex so they felt they had to put sex scenes in.

Person came up to me after the panel. Said they felt I didn't get my question answered. Then they explained that since the 70s, 'slash' has been used to mean m slash m romance, meaning explicit and sexual. Then they said it sounded like what I wanted to ask about was shipping. They explained to me that shipping is just wanting the characters to be together but slash meant sex. They explained that since the invention of AO3, people had begun to use the ampersand to mean the fic had two characters who were friends and that the slash was used to denote ships, but even though that punctuation just meant romance, the word "slash" in the last twenty years had become synonymous with explicit fic. I explained I had been in fandom longer than twenty years and this was not necessarily my experience. They said, "Bye!"

Though they seemed confused as to whether what they personally defined as slash had been mainstream since the 70s or since the last twenty years (the person was 24), they were well-meaning. The panel was great. I'd recommend it to anyone, though I'm not stating the name of the con here because I don't want anyone involved to feel this is really a critique of the panel itself. The moderator in particular was superb.

I think that this conversation just brought up a whole lot of feelings for me. I think it bothers me that people still think that all fanfic is smutty, that all slash requires porn, and that all fic must have porn in order to be read. I am familiar with this conflation and feel perfectly fine going to a panel that I think is about slash fic and finding out it's about erotic lit, some of which is fanfic. After all, I like both, and I recognize that fandom mushes these things together and teasing them out into separate strands isn't something everyone--or possibly even most fans--have any interest in. I recognize that I am pedantic to a degree that most people find uninteresting.

I have a little bit more of a problem with the idea that slash is "basically the same" as het, but this was said by only one of the panelists. If your panel is actually about straight up erotica and not slash, then the problem is just the name of the panel.

What I found the most frustrating, however, is that whenever I have this conversation, I feel like the default assumption most of my interlocutors begin AND end with is this: smut is why we're here. And I just don't understand that. Away Childish Things has 44,800 kudos, and it has no smut in it. My next most kudosed fic has almost 15,000 kudos and tons of smut. My next most kudosed fic has almost 14,000 kudos and it doesn't even have a kiss.

I'm not talking about kudos to show off how many I have, or because I think kudos make a point about quality of a fic. They have nothing to do with quality. But they do have to do with popularity, and the truth is, sex doesn't sell. It's something else. It's not good writing. It's not a great plot. It's not in-character characterization. IT'S SOMETHING ELSE. What is it?

I've had people say to me, "Well, you're lettered; it works differently for you." DOES IT??? Maybe they meant that because enough people know me as fic author, people will read my fic anyway, but let me tell you, it's always been this way for me, long before my fic was really popular. The ones with smut did not get more praise and attention. The ones that PEOPLE LIKED got more praise and attention. Do people like fic that has smut in it more than fic without smut? Some of the time! Does there have to be smut for people to like it? NO.

Have I had people tell me they didn't want to read something I wrote because it didn't have smut? YES. But the point I'm trying to make is, there are people who want to read fic that doesn't have smut in it. THEY are your audience for the fic you want to write that doesn't have smut in it. Fic does not have to have smut to be fic; it doesn't have to have smut to be read.

I think part of the reason I get so upset about it is that slash as we know it today didn't just emerge because some people weren't getting to read smut and they wanted to. It emerged because women and queer people and other marginalized communities were not getting to see what they wanted to in mainstream media. They weren't getting sex scenes, but they also weren't getting queer content, they weren't getting stories about sensitive men that defied patriarchal stereotypes of male toxicity; they weren't getting stories about disabled folks and people of color and folks who are into kink and folks who have different lifestyles. To reduce fanfic to porn is to remove the rich history of why it exists and who it exists for.

I asked earlier what makes a fic popular, and to me, it's exactly this. It's when you read a thing and you feel, "this is really satisfying to my id in a way that I am not getting from mainstream media." And sometimes what is satisfying to your id is very horny anal sex. Other times what is satisfying to your id is Bucky Barnes getting a blanket and facing his trauma. Sometimes it's Harry Potter being trans. Sometimes it's Naruto and Sasuke getting to just hold hands as the sun sets. I have no idea who those two people are but boy howdy do I know they just fucking need to hold hands.

But the other reason I get so upset about it is I'm so fucking tired of reading a great fic that devolves into mediocre mechanical porn that is there due to the collective brainwashing that states that this is the ONLY reason ALL of us are here.

Discuss.

[confessionseddie]

DIAZ

buddie | 3k words | explicit possessive eddie, semi-public sex, proposals, monogamy kink :)

“You know, this name might be on both our uniforms some day,” Buck says, barely thinking, because, obviously it will. One day. But then his own words catch up with him and he freezes, staring unblinkingly at the grimy, really-needs-to-be-hosed-down side of the ladder truck.

Buck wears the wrong jacket.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Take Me With You

A/n: I’m not even sorry he’s so cute I need to drink his unborn children in a salty cocktail

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), mommy kink, whiny Slash (feed gooners), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

All it took was one look and you were hooked, you couldn’t even see his face but he had you.

You liked the music, a friend got you into Guns N’ Roses but you weren’t big on the scene and didn’t know them all too well. Still, the music was good so you took your friend up on their offer when they got tickets to their concert.

Front row, right at the stage. The opening band was cool, Sound Garden, but when Guns came out you were you in awe, specifically with the lead guitarist.

He took every measure to cover his face, dark glasses, a top hat pushed low, his big hair patching up the holes, but his body, those hip rolls and those skilled hands, experienced fingers. A thin layer of sweat coated him and you were ready to climb onto the stage and lick him clean.

Your friend saw the way you were eyeing him and kept making jokes, nudging you when he got close.

When the concert ended you walked out with your friend, at least you almost did. You couldn’t not at least attempt to see Slash again, so you made up some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom and snuck off.

It really wasn’t as hard as it probably should’ve been for you to get backstage but you weren’t complaining, not when Slash was so close, not when you saw him slipping a dressing room just down the hall.

You followed shortly behind, closing and locking the door behind you. You turned back around to find Slash sprawled out on the couch, fly down revealing his thick bush.

He was staring at you blankly, his hat and glasses were set on the table in front of him, giving you the first glimpse of his face, big brown eyes, bushy brows. He gave you a once over and a smile spread over his face; it wasn’t lustful, he didn’t look at you like this was some joke, like he’d ever even give you a chance, he just looked happy to see you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice was nothing like you expected, it was soft and sweet with a rasp to it from smoking.

“I, uh, I’m not too sure, honestly.” You replied. You didn’t have a plan, you had a concept: get backstage, see Slash. You never thought you’d get backstage nor did you think you’d see Slash.

Slash chuckled and gestured you closer. “What do you want to do?” He asked, that smile still on his face.

Your eyes trailed over body again, plush thighs stretching out his leather pants and expensive ostrich skin cowboy boots. “Whatever you want me to do.” Slash’s brows raised at that, of all things he hadn’t expected that, at least not worded in such a way.

He gestured you closer, tapping the floor with his boot to signal for you to sit down. You did just as he asked, kneeling between his legs. “You ever done this before?”

You’re face scrunched. “I’m not a groupie.” You said, grudgingly pulling your eyes from his happy trail.

Slash snorted and shook his head. “No, I mean, like, ever.” He said, cocking his head to the side as he took in your innocent front, doe eyes looking up at him, a nervousness to the way your lips moved and your eyes flickered.

You slowly shook your head, hoping he wouldn’t send you away. Instead he just adjusted his position and pulled his half hard dick out of his pants, stroking himself a few times.

He held his tip to your lips, smearing pre on them as a silent request for entry. You opened your mouth for him and he brought a hand to the back of your head, pushing you down on him.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned, head falling back. “Thank you for coming back here, fuck.” He mused, guiding you to help you bob your head on him. “Squeeze your thumb, it’ll stop your gag reflex.” He said, demonstrating it himself.

He did enjoy hearing you gag on his length, choking on his girth, but this was your first time. He was content with just seeing the struggle, your throat bulging with him, eyes watering and drool beading out the corners of your mouth, trickling down your chin.

You took his suggestion and it did help, not completely but it was definitely better than before. Honestly, you didn’t mind the discomfort so long as you got to watch his expressions, his eyes closing in ecstasy, when he opened them you got to see the need in them as soft whimpers and whines left him.

He had you going slow, dragging this out. “Fuck, I don’t- I don’t even know your- fuck, mommy.” He moaned, eyes crossing as thick spurts of cum shot down your throat, he could barely keep his thighs from locking around your head.

He let go of your head, letting you pull away from him with a few good coughs. You wiped you mouth and stood up, taking a seat beside him on the couch.

Slash threw an arm over your shoulder and pulled you to his side, kissing your cheek. “You sure you don’t want to make your way through the rest of the band?” He teased.

You shook your head. “They don’t all look so pretty when they cum, do they?” He scoffed and pulled his arm back, fixing his pants and standing up.

“Alright, get out, I gotta go.” You chewed your cheek, looking him over, eyes landing on his clothed ass. He turned back to see where you were staring and laughed. “Jesus, what do you want?”

You thought for a moment, slowly bringing your eyes back to his. “I get to choose?” Slash stared at you, you wondered if he heard you at first but then he nodded. “Take me with you.” That sweet, warm smile found its way back to his face.

[oldangryslytherin]

Harry: *falls asleep on Tom's shoulder*

Tom, whispering: if anyone here makes a noise and wakes him up, I'll get rid of you and nobody will ever know