#ray sinclair imagine

[cami040405]

For Charles lee ray and Vincent Sinclair ? (Seperetly) would they be the gomez to readers morticia ? How much do they love and worship the reader? It can be any genre

Vincent Sinclair & Charles Lee Ray X Reader with a Relationship Dynamic like Gomez and Morticia (SEPARATE)

Summary: Imagine Vincent Sinclair and Charles Lee Ray (Separate) adoring their S/O like Gomez adores Morticia, they love them more than themselves and would kill and die for them.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, I loved writing it, I particularly love this couple and being inspired by them to write this was incredible.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent might not speak, but his love screams volumes. When he loves, it’s with every fiber of his quiet, artistic soul.

Gomez-Level Devotion? Absolutely. Think of him trailing behind the reader like a shadow, silently admiring every detail of them—the way they move, their voice, the way they look at his work like it's more than just wax. To him, the reader is muse, protector, and salvation all in one.

Worship? He doesn’t worship with words—he does it through acts of loyalty and obsession. Every sculpture becomes more refined, more emotional when it’s inspired by the reader. He’d craft wax roses that never wilt. He’d memorize the reader’s routines, quietly fixing things in the house before they ever notice it was broken. If someone disrespects the reader? Vincent’s got the tools and the silence to take care of it without question.

Romance Level? Sky-high. Picture candlelight shadows dancing across the walls of Ambrose as he gently holds the reader’s hand, guiding it over a sculpture they “made together.” He’d cherish any touch the reader offers like it’s sacred.

To most, Vincent Sinclair is a shadow in the dark, an artist of eerie genius, hidden behind silence and a mask that conceals more than just scars. But to you, he’s something else entirely. And to him, you are everything.

From the moment you stepped into Ambrose, you brought color to a world of wax—a life untouched by warmth. At first, he watched from a distance. Silent. Unmoving. Eyes behind the mask studying you with an artist’s curiosity… and something far deeper. Obsession? Maybe. Fascination? Undoubtedly. But it was never cruel. Never predatory. Vincent doesn’t take. He offers.

He’s a man of creation, and you became his muse. But not just any muse—the only one who matters.

Vincent carves you from memory in the quiet of night, every flick of his knife shaped by the way you tilt your head when you're curious, the way your eyes soften when you talk to him—even if he doesn’t answer. He sculpts the curve of your smile like it’s something holy. Wax figures of you start to appear in his studio, some only partially formed, others whole—each one a love letter in form, each one a whisper of “I see you. I need you.”

And not one is ever good enough in his eyes. Because how could he ever capture something as alive as you in stillness?

He doesn't say “I love you.” He shows it. Constantly.

You find your favorite books, once lost or forgotten, neatly placed on the dusty nightstand in your room—cleaned just for you; 

The blanket you left on the couch? Folded; 

The mug you chipped last week? Replaced with one he painted himself.

A small bouquet of wax flowers, made by his own hand, left where he knows you’ll find it first thing in the morning;

That music box you mentioned liking as a child? It plays again one evening, the tune echoing softly down the hallway—because he fixed it. For you;

He notices everything. And you never catch him in the act. It's like he's afraid you’ll see and turn away. But he watches your reactions—those small moments of awe or gratitude—and treasures them like relics.

He burns for your approval, though he’d never ask for it.

That first time you take his hand, truly take it, you feel it. He stiffens, startled—not because he doesn’t want it, but because he does. So much. Too much. It’s been so long since someone touched him without fear or disgust. Since someone saw him and didn’t flinch. When your fingers brush his scarred palm and you don’t let go, something in him cracks—not painfully, but softly. Like wax melting under warmth.

He holds on like he might never get the chance again. No words, just a quiet inhale through his mask. And that’s when you know:

He’d die for you.He’d kill for you.But more than anything… he’d live for you.

Vincent’s jealousy isn’t loud. It’s chillingly quiet. If someone dares look at you with impure intentions—or speaks to you like you’re something to be taken—Vincent doesn’t argue. He doesn’t growl or posture.

He simply disappears. And so does the problem.

Later, you might find wax where it shouldn’t be. A strange silence over Ambrose, even heavier than usual. And Vincent? He’ll avoid your eyes, working harder, faster, more violently in his studio until you gently touch his shoulder… remind him you’re still his.

That you chose him.

And that’s when he relaxes again. Slowly. Like a wounded animal learning it’s finally safe.

It’s not a love that asks anything of you. It doesn’t demand.

Vincent gives. And gives. And gives.

Even if you never say the words.

Even if you walk away.

But if you stay?

He’ll protect you from his brother. He’ll shield you from the dark. He’ll carve out a corner of the world where only you and he exist, covered in the scent of hot wax, old wood, and silent reverence.

To Vincent Sinclair, you aren’t just someone he loves. You're the only softness in a world that taught him to harden.

The candle in his cathedral.The heartbeat in a town of silence.The one soul who looked past the mask—and never looked away.

.

Charles Lee Ray

Now Charles is raw, passionate, and chaotic. But when he loves, he’s fire and blood and undying hunger.

Gomez-Level Devotion? Hell yes, but add murder and mischief. He’s the type to say, “You looked at someone else today? Nah, baby, I took care of it.” His version of devotion is borderline unhinged—but he thinks of the reader as his queen, his ride-or-die, the only person who really gets him.

Worship? Obsessively. He’ll call the reader “gorgeous,” “my dark angel,” “soulmate” in one breath and threaten the entire world in the next for even thinking of harming them. He’s a worshipper in leather and blood-stained knives.

Romance Level? It’s chaotic romantic. Expect impulsive grand gestures: stealing jewels to “match your eyes,” setting a place on fire just to say, “I burned it down for you,” and saying “I love you” with every kill he makes in the reader’s name. But he means it. In that bloody, intense way only Chucky can.

.

From the very first moment Charles laid eyes on you, something in him shifted—dangerously. He wasn’t the type to fall. He took. He played. He killed. But with you? It wasn’t just lust or power. It was need. The kind that sinks in deep like a knife to the ribs and never lets go.

To Charles, you were the one thing in the world that made sense. The chaos in his head quieted when you were near. He called you “his girl,” “his baby,” “his goddess of gore.” And he meant it. You weren’t just someone he wanted in his life—you were the reason he still had a life.

Chucky doesn’t show affection like a normal person. Oh no, sweetheart. He shows it in blood and bullets, in stolen jewelry, in whispered threats to anyone who dares look at you too long.

"You know I’d kill for you, right?” - Not a metaphor. He means it. One time, you offhandedly mentioned someone who made you uncomfortable at work. By morning, they were in the news: missing. Charles never said anything. Just smirked. “See, baby? Told you I take care of my girl.”

Pet names out the ass: “Doll,” “Sweet face,” “Murder baby,” “Queen of my rotten heart.” And somehow, even in his gruff voice, they sound like poetry.

Grand gestures, Chucky-style: He once carved your initials into his knife handle—right below his own. "Til death do us part? Baby, you and I skipped that step. We’re forever."

Like a dark priest at a bloody altar. Like a cultist who only believes in you. You’re his constant obsession. You walk into the room, and the world stops. His eyes are always on you. He doesn’t just want you—he claims you.

You're his sanity. His chaos. His tether to reality. He might be covered in blood, coming home from a "job," and the moment he sees you? His voice softens: “C’mere, baby. Missed your pretty face.”

He’d kill God for you if you asked. And when he says things like “I’d gut a priest just to hear you laugh,” he’s not joking. He thinks the reader’s happiness is divine. Sacred. Worth everything.

If you’re Morticia, he’s the bloodstained, cackling Gomez who kisses the back of your hand after slicing someone’s throat. He’d watch you walk by in your flowing black clothes, eyes gleaming like a man starved, whispering, “Marry me again, baby. And again. And again.”

He’d brag about you constantly: “You seen my girl? Smartest, hottest thing on this rotting earth. Could burn this place to the ground and still make it look sexy.”

He treats your body like a shrine: Every scar, every curve, every movement—you’re untouchable to everyone but him. He memorizes you. Sleeps wrapped around you like a possessive snake. And god help anyone who tries to separate you.

When you’re mad at him?: He goes feral. Can’t handle the cold shoulder. Will beg, scream, promise you the world. “Don’t shut me out, baby. I’ll slit my own throat if it means you’ll forgive me. You know you’re my f***ing everything.”

You’re a legend. A nightmare wrapped in silk. A goddess of beauty and power and danger. And he worships you like that. When the world spits venom, he snarls right back. But when you speak? He listens. When you touch his cheek, his whole body melts. And when you say, “I love you” his heart threatens to beat out of his chest.

Because Chucky—Charles Lee Ray—loves like a wildfire. Violent, all-consuming, impossible to control.

And he’d rather die than live without you.

.

[blackenedsnow]

I was the one who made reader have a you her sibling they take care of, just saying, it was so amazing. I love it:D. I have another request. This one was a bit weird and rushed cause like I'm a sleepover with two of my cousins so

Billy Loomis, Bubba Sawyer, Art the Clown, Stu Matcher, Thomas Hewitt, Jason, Michael, Billy Lenz, Pinhead, Tiffany (if you write for her) Charles/Chucky, Bo, Vincent, Lester, Brahms. If you want to add more or get rid of some it's okay. But you can either have it platonic of them being a younger sibling or child (adopted or not) going to a sleepover. Maybe sneaking out to it. They go to find out where they are and find them in a house and they are being loud, laughing, and just being kids

If you don't do platonic (cause I can't remember if you do or don't) then do it romantically and just like the same thing. You can change things if you that helps and sorry about this. But, the request I first made and you did, it was a great and made me smile cause I didn't expect it so thanks for that

slashers reactions to their younger sibling reader sneaking out to a sleepover ; headcanons

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Billy Loomis & Sibling! Reader, Bubba Sawyer & Sibling! Reader, Art the Clown & Sibling! Reader, Stu Macher & Sibling! Reader, Thomas Hewitt & Sibling! Reader, Jason Voorhees & Sibling! Reader, Michael Myers & Sibling! Reader, Billy Lenz & Sibling! Reader, Pinhead & Sibling! Reader, Tiffany Valentine & Sibling! Reader, Charles Lee Ray/Chucky & Sibling! Reader, Bo Sinclair & Sibling! Reader, Vincent Sinclair & Sibling! Reader, Lester Sinclair & Sibling! Reader, Brahms Heelshire & Sibling! Reader

NOTE: Hope you enjoyed this! I could imagine so many of them struggling to hold back but ultimately wanting to let you just be a kid and have fun. Thank you so much for this request; it was a blast to write!

BILLY LOOMIS

You’ve managed to sneak out quietly, thinking Billy won’t notice because he’s engrossed in a movie marathon.

But within half an hour, he realizes you’re gone and his “big sibling” instincts kick in.

He shows up at the house with that intense, unblinking stare that could stop anyone mid-laugh.

Who do you think you are, sneaking out like this?

He’s relieved (and slightly embarrassed) to see you just goofing off with friends.

Pretends to be unimpressed when you’re caught off guard.

He’ll let you stay—for now—

With the most deadpan expression, muttering,

“You could’ve just told me.”

But he’s not about to let you get away with it.

Once you’re back home, he’s the silent-but-deadly type. Just know you’re grounded.

BUBBA SAWYER

Bubba panics the minute he realizes you’re gone, running through the house and making distressed sounds as he searches for you.

He's going to family members and pointing to where your things should be.

The whole family tries to calm him down, but he’s inconsolable until he finds a clue leading him to the sleepover house.

When he tracks you down, he’s so relieved he doesn’t know what to do.

Seeing you safe and having fun brings tears to his eyes.

He’ll probably sit outside the house, just quietly waiting for you to finish.

If you notice him, he might wave shyly or even try to make himself “invisible.”

ART THE CLOWN

Oh, Art knows you’ve snuck out, and he’s amused.

He’s both delighted to have a reason to check in and irritated that you thought you could get away with this.

Appears at the sleepover out of nowhere, scaring the life out of anyone who notices him lurking outside.

Watches silently, only making himself known to you with that twisted grin of his, waving as if to say, “Caught you!”

Doesn't stop you from having fun but does make it clear that he knows—and will remember.

Expect creepy antics as payback when you get home.

STU MACHER

Stu probably wasn’t paying enough attention to notice you sneaking out right away, but once he does..

He's MAD.

Once he finds the house, he’s too tempted not to sneak around and scare the shit out of all of you.

Might throw a pebble at the window to get your attention and then give you a dramatic pout, mouthing,

“How could you leave me out?”

When you get home, he’ll give you a long (and playful) guilt trip about how you left him to "suffer".

THOMAS HEWITT

Notices you’re missing right away.

Thomas doesn’t like you out of his sight, so he feels uneasy, imagining the worst.

He follows you quietly, not wanting to interrupt.

When he spots you through the window, safe and laughing, he stops, taking a deep breath of relief.

Watches you with a slight smile, just relieved to see you having fun.

He’s happy that you’re being a normal kid and knows better than to interrupt that.

Will probably leave you alone and probably won't bring it up, ever.

He would definitely prefer if you let him know though.

JASON VOORHEES

Jason’s heart drops when he notices you’re not in your usual spot, and he’s anxious as he starts tracking you down.

He’s relieved to see you laughing and safe with friends.

Stays outside or hidden, keeping a protective eye.

He doesn’t want to interrupt but also doesn’t want anything sneaking up on you.

Plus, who knows if these kids don't mean any harm?

Might leave little signs outside (like stacked stones) to let you know he was there, just to make sure you’re safe.

MICHAEL MYERS

He’s annoyed.

Why would you leave his protection?

Michael doesn’t even try to blend in; he’s the shadow at the window.

Once you see his white mask peeking in, you know the jig is up.

He won’t cause a scene, but he just stares until you get the message.

When you sneak out to meet him, he’ll give you a tiny “you-know-better” look, but he’s not mad—he just wants you safe.

Doesn’t reveal himself to anyone else, but he’ll stay there the entire time.

When you get home, expect a long, silent stare, reminding you that you’re not as sneaky as you think.

BILLY LENZ

He notices right away.

Billy has a keen eye for your whereabouts, and he’s instantly on the move, tracking you down.

Peers through the window, watching you play with a pout.

He feels oddly betrayed but finds your happiness too endearing to be angry.

He won’t disrupt the fun, but you might catch a glimpse of him outside, holding his hands up in an “I’m watching you” gesture.

When you get home, he’ll tease you nonstop about “abandoning him.”

PINHEAD

This is completely out of the ordinary, and he is both confused and a bit annoyed that you snuck out without informing him.

Appears in his signature, intimidating way, silently observing from outside.

He finds the concept of a “sleepover” curious.

He’s more contemplative about it, watching as if studying some strange new human ritual.

He waits until you’re ready to return and then accompanies you back without a word.

You can expect a very stern lecture when you get home about the importance of communication…

TIFFANY VALENTINE

She realizes quickly that you’re gone and storms out to find you, though her anger’s more worried than anything.

When she spots you through the window, laughing and having fun, her irritation fades into a soft smile.

She won’t interrupt, just stands outside and watches for a bit.

She loves seeing you like this, happy and unbothered.

When you get back, she’ll playfully scold you but then pull you into a hug, reminding you to tell her next time.

CHUCKY (CHARLES LEE RAY)

Chucky’s annoyed at first, muttering to himself,

“What does this kid think they’re doing?”

He’s irritated you’d sneak off, especially without his “permission,” and tracks you down, grumbling the entire way.

When he finds you, he feels an odd mix of pride and annoyance.

He likes your independence but also doesn’t like feeling “left out.”

Gives you a wicked grin through the window, mouthing, “We’re talking later.”

He’ll grumble that “next time, you should let him know,” but he’s proud you managed to sneak out without him noticing.

BO SINCLAIR

Bo is mad and lets you know it.

He’s worried you’re in danger, and when he finds you, he’s that overprotective brother with his arms crossed.

He pulls you aside, lecturing you on safety and probably embarrassing you in front of your friends.

But once he knows you’re okay, he lets up a bit and waits outside for you, a little softer.

At home, he pretends he’s still mad but lets you off the hook pretty easily.

VINCENT SINCLAIR

Vincent’s used to you being close by, so when you’re not there, he’s unnerved and worried.

Tracks you down and watches quietly, almost touched to see you carefree with your friends.

Leaves a little note or sketch somewhere you’ll find it later, a reminder of his presence even when you’re far away.

He’s quiet when you get home, but there’s a warmth to his gaze.

You should him next time..

LESTER SINCLAIR

Lester’s both amused and concerned when he finds you missing.

He tracks you down quickly, not one for letting you go unguarded.

When he finds you through the window, he watches with a fond smile, chuckling at your carefree attitude.

Might knock on the door and make up an excuse to check on you if you notice him, but he’ll mostly just let you have your fun.

Gives you a playful nudge and a “don’t think you’re getting away that easy next time” when you get back.

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE

Brahms does not take this well, feeling abandoned and maybe a bit betrayed.

When he tracks you down, he watches from the shadows, arms crossed, grumpy but protective.

Might stare until you feel his gaze and look over at him, just so you know he found you.

When you return, expect a big fuss, with Brahms grumbling about how much he “suffered” in your absence.

[charliedawn]

Imagine the nurse is pregnant. But she doesn't know who's the father is. Because she wasn't aware when it happen. How would the slasher react to this? (I love your y/n nurse x slasher patient sm!!)

Jason Voorhees

Jason would freeze when he hears the news. You’re pregnant ? And you don’t know who the father is ? His mind races. If there’s even a chance the baby is his, he’d feel incredibly responsible. Even if it’s not, he’d still be protective—hovering around you, making sure you’re resting, glaring at anyone who even thinks about stressing you out. He would also ask to rest his head on your belly to feel the baby kick. It would make his day.

Michael Myers

Michael would stare at you for an uncomfortably long time. Then, he’d calmly write in his notebook:

Whose ?

If you say you don’t know, he’d just stare harder. He wouldn’t ask again, but you’d feel the weight of his silent judgment. Still, like Jason, he’d be protective—just in his own creepy, ever-present way. Expect to wake up in the middle of the night to see him standing by your bed, watching over you like some kind of silent, overbearing guardian. But don’t you think he won’t find who gave you that baby. He will. It is only a question of time.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms would panic. Firstly, he would be like…who did THAT with you ? Oh dear. What if it’s him ?! Wait…you never actually slept together. But you did like share a bed with him sometimes ! "But—but you sleep in my room ! What if it's mine ? What if—"

He would spiral, obsessing over whether or not the baby is his. If he’s not the father ? He’s throwing a tantrum. If he is ? He’s throwing a tantrum and refusing to let you out of his sight. Either way, he’s going to act like the baby is his regardless of the truth. New potential friend unlocked.

Bo Sinclair

Bo would laugh. A sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Damn, sweetheart, you really don’t know ? That’s somethin’. Like I would remember if I got laid and a tiny thin’ was now growin’ inside my belly ? Who dya think it is ?"

He’d act casual, but there’d be a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. Who the hell touched you ? The slashers had made a damn pact that no one was to get too close to you cause’ honestly ? A ray of sunshine like you ain’t found every five seconds. If he thinks he’s the father, he’ll start being way more touchy-feely and even talk to the baby in your belly. If he isn’t ? He might just hunt down every possible suspect and make them take damn responsibility.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent would go completely still. His hands would tighten, and he’d slowly tilt his head, as if trying to process what he just heard. His first instinct wouldn’t be jealousy—it would be concern. If you don’t know who the father is, then were you…taken advantage of ? He’d silently step closer, his protective instincts kicking in. If anyone makes you upset, he’s handling it. And if you were taken advantage of ? He’s making sure the whole Sinclair family gets to hunting down the animal. No mercy.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy would be obnoxious about it. "Damn, doll, not even a clue ? What, was it that good ?"

He’d tease you relentlessly, making jokes about baby names (all of them terrible) and offering to be the worst babysitter imaginable. But underneath all of that ? He’d be curious. Who’s the father ? And more importantly… why isn’t it him ? Because OBVIOUSLY it isn’t him…right ?

Pennywise

Pennywise would grin. "Ohhh, you don’t know ? What a mystery ! Should we find out the fun way ?"

Pennywise is ace. He doesn’t understand sexual attraction. He would be the only slasher you know for SURE didn’t do anything to you. But maybe with a little coaxing he would try stuff ? But not in a mating way, in a ‘you want it, fine’ kinda way. But he NEVER gets out of his suit. So really. Chances he impregnated you are close to 0%. He’d be way too entertained by the chaos of it all though.

Penny

Penny would howl with laughter. "You really don’t remember ? That’s hilarious !" He’d tease you, joke about it, but—he’d also become possessive if there was even a chance it was his. He’d start showing up more, acting unusually soft toward you, like he’s already preparing to be a dad. Because Penny already was before. He liked it. It hurt like hell when Kersh died but, he would be happy to have another chance at being a dad.

Norman Bates

Norman would immediately panic.

"Mother says…says you should know these things…making love is a rather intimate experience and to not remember it is quite concerning." His mind would go everywhere. If he thinks he’s the father, he’d be thrilled—but also terrified. What if he’s not good enough ? What if he ends up like his mother ? If he’s not the father ? He’d be…struggling. A lot. But also if he thinks you were abused ? Oh…He would HUNT that bastard down and make him regret ever being born.

Jack Torrance

Jack would take a deep breath and rub his temples. "Jesus Christ, Y/N."

Jack almost killed his last family. He doesn’t necessarily wish to reiterate the experience. However, he’d also be weirdly supportive—offering to bring you food, make sure you’re taking care of yourself, and making way too many dad jokes. But if he thought he was the father ? Oh boy. You’d have a very proud but chaotic dad on your hands. He’d be unsure, but also excited. He always wanted another child and he thought that being a ghost and all, it would be impossible…but he would be grateful for that second chance.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas would just…blink. A lot. He’d process it very slowly. Then, if he thought he was the father, he’d immediately start taking care of you—making sure you eat enough, checking on you constantly. If he wasn’t ? He’d still do all of that, just while silently brooding in the background—wishing he was the lucky guy.

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba would be excited. He’d start making baby clothes immediately, whether he’s the dad or not. He doesn’t care—he’s just happy you’re having a baby. He’d also be extra gentle with you, making sure you’re comfortable at all times.

Chucky (Charles Lee Ray)

Chucky would burst out laughing the second he hears the news.

"Holy shit, you really don't know ? That’s hysterical !" He’d absolutely tease you about it—nonstop. But the second he thinks there’s even a chance the baby could be his ? Oh, now it’s serious. "Alright, alright, let’s think about this—was there vodka involved ? Because if so, I might’ve had somethin’ to do with it." If it is his ? Oh, he’s absolutely bragging about it. He’d start calling the kid "Little Chuck", talking about how they’ll be a “killer” just like him. If it’s not his ? He’s still invested—just because the drama is too fun to ignore.

Patrick Bateman

Patrick would just…stare at you. No expression. No reaction. Just a long, intense stare. Then, he’d blink, take a deep breath, and adjust his tie. "You’re telling me you don’t know who the father is ? That’s…highly irresponsible of you, Y/N. You disappoint me." Unlike the others, Patrick wouldn’t get protective—he’d get calculating. He’d start analyzing everything. Your habits. Your schedule. Who you were around. He’d probably try to deduce the father using logic, like some kind of insane businessman-detective. "Who was the last man you were alone with ? Statistically speaking, there are only a few possibilities. Let’s break them down." If he even suspects it could be his ? He’d start questioning his entire life plan. He’d stare at himself in the mirror for hours, debating whether or not he could handle fatherhood. But if it’s not his ?

"Well. I hope you’ve at least considered terminating."

Yup. Classic Patrick.

[visceravalentines]

drowning is only as hard as you make it

bo sinclair x gn!reader

2k words. weird melancholy freak behavior. author's thinly disguised smoking fetish. established relationship (lol). Ambrose is lonely. that's it that's the fic.

He always manages to find you.  Every time.  It’s not a game anymore, not really; there’s no use keeping score when only one side is allowed to earn points.  There are no rules, no satisfaction in the victory.  You’d make your way back to the house even if he never showed up.  Today you’re not even hiding.

The row of vacant windows across the street catches the last lazy rays of sunlight.  A few eager fireflies pantomime shooting stars just above the freshly cut grass.  He mows the lawns regularly, every last one of them, dripping sweat in the sticky air.  You think it’s nonsensical.  He doesn’t care what you think.  At least it smells nice.  Nostalgic.  Painful.  

On an evening like this, there should be kids out.  Riding bikes, running through the neighbor’s yard.  Parents watching from their porches.  People chatting, relaxing.  Hell, maybe a dog or two.  But there is only you, and the fireflies.  

The heat of your cigarette creeps dangerously close to your fingers but you wring one last pull off the thing before you crush it against the step.  Scorch marks dot the woodgrain like initials carved in a tree, only better, because they’re anonymous.  Could've been left by anyone sitting sulking on these stairs and pondering ways to disappear.  Plausible deniability.  

Too bad you're the only one here.

You set your hand on the pack beside you, work another one out with your fingers without looking.  It’s all reflex.  It’s all muscle memory.  That’s all you are anymore, something that survives without thinking about it.  

In that shadowy place called Before, you only ever smoked on rare occasions. At parties or bars, always with friends, always a little drunk. You'd never admit it aloud but a part of you used to pride yourself on your restraint–you could stretch a single pack out over a month or more, until the tobacco had gone stale and the cigarettes tasted like dusty paper. Until it was less of a treat and more like a chore to get through the last few.  

Now you drop butts through the grate of your days like maybe you can fill up the emptiness with smoke.  

You sigh and light up, take a drag and let it sweep you up above the gutters.  You imagine the town might almost be pretty from up high.  Hard to tell from here.  

“Didn’t know this house had a chimney.”  

Some part of you remembers what it felt like to flinch when he got this close.  Another part remembers the way you buried your face in his back before he got up this morning.  You exhale nice and slow.  “Thought you knew everything.”  

“Now, we’ve talked about this.”  He leans against the rickety railing, white paint flaking off at the slightest disturbance.  “You know nothin’ good comes from thinkin’.”  

As a matter of fact, you’ve talked about everything already, but that’s never stopped him before.  You’ve heard all the stories sixteen times, could recount his childhood from memory one miserable year after another.  You know where he got that scar.  He knows all about your first kiss.  Eighth grade was hard for both of you for vastly different reasons.  He’s never been to your hometown but he could probably find your old house.  You’ve never met his mother, but you hate her just the same.  Favorite movie, worst fear, where were you on 9/11?  In a zombie apocalypse, he’d choose an ax.  You’d take the shotgun with exactly two shells.  It’s almost romantic, except, well.  

“Hey.”  He slams the heel of his hand against the railing and somewhere along the line, the wood splits with a crack.  “What’d I just say?”  

You look up, jarred loose from your spiral, and he’s shaking his head.  

“Damn fool.  Gimme those back.”  

He reaches out a hand and you slip one last smoke from the pack before you give it to him.  

“Lighter too, baby, c’mon.”  

You hesitate for a second, long enough he has to flex his fingers to make the point.  You hand him the lighter, keep the spare cigarette, tuck it behind your ear.

He peeks into the pack and his lip twitches. “Fuckin’ glutton.  This was full this mornin’.”  

“Sorry,” you deadpan.  

“Sure y’are.”  

You’ve had this conversation too, in just about every house on the street.  You wonder if he ever feels crazy, playing it all out over and over again.  Probably not. He's composed of repetition, a record that skips in the same place every time it's played. You feel crazy, fucking listening to it.  

You watch him work a cigarette loose, watch him hold it in his lips, watch the tendons flex across his knuckles as he lights up. For all the fucking smoke he blows, you still think he looks damn good as he exhales up towards the fading sun. One of life's little cruelties. 

“Y’know, supper ain't gonna make itself,” he says casually. Like he’s trying to piss you off.  He probably is.  

“You sure?” you shoot back, like you’re trying to piss him off.  You definitely are.  

He chuckles, unbothered. “I dunno, baby. Been wrong before.”

“Yeah?  Tell me more.” You're bold these days. Stupid. Dangerous, and not in the same way as the surgeon general's fine print. Dangerous in the present moment. Shaving seconds off your life like taking a pocketknife to a good chunk of wood. But games are more fun with two players. 

He doesn’t want to play, though.  Probably worn out from mowing all those fucking lawns.  He shrugs.  “Nothin’ more to tell.”  

“Pantry’s empty anyway,” you mutter.  The grocery list on the fridge has wrapped back on itself twice over.  He’s been cagey lately, reluctant to venture into town.  You’re down to canned goods old enough to read chapter books.  

“Guess we’ll starve.”  

“Guess so.”  You flick your rapidly shrinking cigarette and watch the ash fizzle frantically down and disappear. The chorus of crickets crescendoes to a dull roar in the silence.  

“You like these, huh?”

You're not sure what he means for a second before you realize he's talking about the cigarettes. You take another drag like you have to mull the taste over, really consider the question. He’s not a patient man, but he waits for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say finally on the tail of your exhale. “Best ones in a while.”

It’s the truth.  He's got his own brand and you like it too, but he's a fucking skinflint, and he only buys himself a pack when he's really hard up. Most of the time he scavenges off corpses and out of glove boxes. And you live off his scraps, so. 

Regretfully, you stub yours out as the flame hits the filter. Your throat is raw, tongue wrapped in the taste of tobacco. Everything in this town is racing to kill you and you wish something would win already. You can feel him watching you, now and always. 

“Somethin’ you need, sugar?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”  

He exhales with relish.  You think about the taste of smoke on his tongue and tobacco on his fingers and you grit your teeth.  He’s a vice in every sense.  

“You pissed at me?”  

What kind of question is that?  You peel a chunk of paint off the stair near your shoe.  “I’m always pissed at you.”  You mean it and you don’t and you’re braced for retribution either way, but none comes.  

“Fair enough.”  

You steal a wary glance in his direction.  He’s covered in flecks of grass.  He shed his overshirt in the heat of the day but it’s back on now, unbuttoned, the tee underneath smudged with green.  He lifts his hat, rubs his brow with the heel of his hand, tugs it back into place.  His face is a little sunburnt in spite of the thing.  

“You wanna fight?”  

You stop breathing for a second, sit very still.  He looks down at you, cocks an eyebrow.  He’s really asking.  

You think about it, really think about it.  Broken skin, broken glass.  No neighbors to scandalize.  You shake your head.  “No.”  

He shrugs, goes back to staring holes in the house across the street.  You almost want him to be disappointed, but his face is placid, expression impassive.  “Alright then.  ‘Nother time.”  

You furrow your brow, look at your shoes.  You pick at the paint, feel it slip beneath your nail like a splinter.  You’d bet five bucks you don’t have that he’ll be back to repaint these steps within the week.  It makes you want to rip them apart so he’d have more to do.  You’re not sure if he’d take that as a gift or as sabotage.  You’re not sure how you’d mean it.  

“How ‘bout we head inside, feel each other up?  See what happens?”  You look at him sharply.  He’s really asking.  “We can do it how you like it.”  

How you like it.  How do you like it?  Does he know?  Do you?

Your expression must be a funny one because he grins.  “What?  You a prude all the sudden?”  

No.  No, but.

You find the words wedged behind your teeth.  “You a gentleman all the sudden?”  

He snorts.  “C’mon now.”  He gives the railing one last yank, almost pulls it loose.  As he rounds the steps he drops his spent cigarette and crushes it underfoot.  “Scoot.”  

You make room on the stair and he sits down heavy beside you, takes up more than his fair share of space, same as always.  He smells like sun and sweat and grass and smoke.  His sleeve rides up and exposes the pink of his wrist.  He pulls it down without thinking about it.  You almost–almost–pull it back up.  

“I’m just tryin’ to figure you out.  Don’t know what the fuck you want.”  

Now that's a dumb fucking thing to say. You want a thousand things.  A meal.  A clock that works.  Cable TV.  An article of clothing that doesn't reek of mothballs and someone else's fear. A normal conversation with a normal human being. Half a goddamn hour to yourself without the urge to lock the doors and set the house on fire. 

Anything.  Anything.  

“A light,” you say bitterly. 

To your surprise, he digs the lighter out of his pocket.  Holds it up to show you, like a peace offering.  He moves his boots down a step, pats his thigh.  “C’mere.” 

You straddle his lap and it’s like you’re walking in and out of a room at the same time.  Your hands find their place on either side of his chest and he’s warm to the touch like a dog lying in the sun.  His fingers play at the small of your back.  You can escape into the maze of abandoned homes or the pattern on the ceiling but you can’t slip away from those eyes at this distance.  They catch you like barbs on wire, as distant and cold as the sky.  

This is how you like it.  His head tipped back, looking up at you.  You run your thumb along the edge of his jaw and he almost–almost–smiles.  

He plucks the cigarette from behind your ear, flips it in his fingers.  You open your mouth.  He sets it on your tongue.  He flicks the lighter, brings it close, and when you breathe in you feel it–the poison of this place, yellow-green, permeating your lungs and all the rest of you.  No use in pretending.  No use fighting the current.  Drowning is only as hard as you make it.  

You wonder if he knows you’d come home even if he never came to find you.  Maybe that’s why he comes anyway.  Maybe that’s why you keep hiding.  So you both have something to look forward to.  Games are more fun with two players.  

It’s not worth thinking about.  Nothing good comes from thinking.  

You start to exhale and he tugs you close, sucking the smoke from your mouth, because he never can let you keep anything to yourself.  Maybe you don’t even want to. 

Your lips touch.  Tangerine thrums behind your eyes.  You’ll go to bed hungry tonight and so will he.  One shotgun, two shells.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he murmurs.  

You’re already working his shirt off his shoulders one-handed.  “Nothing I want.”  

He laughs once, almost breathless, leans back on the stairs so you have to lean with him.  “C’mon now.”  

You toss the cigarette into the dirt to free up both hands.

[pvlvsdog]

X-ray: what I think is down there

Take this as my own personal musings, definitely influenced by people who introduced me to the game. Stuff like that just sticks with me and sometimes it just seems more fitting than whatever alternative I could come up with

Nsfw! Unedited!

Don - giant cock. No other way to put it, I think she has the best of both worlds and while I definitely give her decently sized tits when I draw here, there is a penis down there and it is both huge and thick. Is it clean or taken care of? About as much as her shoe-covered feet are

Heathcliff - a pretty big penis, has some girth and a little of a curve to it with noticeable veins. Not the biggest on the bus but it’s surely up there

Meursault - a penis with well trimmed hair. It’s a bit above the average in length but very thick. Clean, good dick, probably a good time to have it in you

Ishmael - hairy pussy. She doesn’t waste time to trim so there is a decent amount of hair along with a happy trail. It’s well, sort of clean. She doesn’t do anything fancy, probably knows better than to use hand soap but she doesn’t care enough to do anything beyond the bare minimum

Hong lu - I think it would be a penis but I’m willing to hear you out if you think otherwise. I think it’s well taken care of, very long with not a lot of girth to it. Not much in terms of visible veins I imagine

Faust - a vagina covered in white, fluffy hair. She keeps it very clean but doesn’t shave or trim, she sees that as a hassle and the hair doesn’t bother her or anything, if you have a problem with it she figures it’s none of her business

Rodya - immaculately smooth and well maintained pussy. On one hand she doesn’t like to follow fads that are set up by society to make you spend more money, but she also likes to feel like that’s a bonus to what she already has to offer. A bit hypocritical, but that’s a bit of her thing. Like, she likes that she is the most conventionally well taken care of in that area even if she is aware that the mainstream preference doesn’t hold much relevance in the grand scheme of things

Ryoshu - also a vagina. She keeps the hair short for comfort only, but doesn’t like to shave it completely, I think

Outis - again, vagina and yet again hair that is only a little trimmed, not as neatly as Ryoshu’s though. She just does it when she feels like it, it takes up a bit of time and she cares more about resting before another work day. It’s not that well washed either, she just can’t be bothered

Dante - I think they have a vagina. It’s hairless but more so because I generally think their body is pretty hairless to begin with. They try to keep it clean but also I’m not sure if they remember all the proper ways to do so. Probably used hand soap and calls it a day

Yi Sang - honestly this one could go either way. If it’s a penis then it’s average in length, no bigger veins, with not much girth or hair. It it’s a pussy then it’s a nicely washed one, shaved (‘just in case’)

Gregor - PUSSY. VAGINA. I firmly believe in trans Greg and that’s a hill I will die on. I don’t think it’s very clean on trimmed at all. It’s probably pretty hairy too. Most days he doesn’t feel like going out of his way to wash it and just ‘lets the water do its thing’. Would

Sinclair - hhhh I’m sorry but. Personally I imagine a penis and I don’t think it’s very big (both in terms of girth and length). It’s noticeably short and has some light hair around it. He’s the type of person to apologise when undressing in front of you, give that man some confidence please. I also fw some trans Emil art so I’m not saying you guys are ‘wrong’ or anything, I can definitely see that. I just personally think it’s a penis

[rachelsfav-queer]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wednesday (TV 2022) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Enid Sinclair & Esther Sinclair Characters: Enid Sinclair, Esther Sinclair (Wednesday), Murray Sinclair, Enid Sinclair's Brothers, Wednesday Addams Additional Tags: Minor Wednesday Addams/Enid Sinclair, Good Parent Esther Sinclair (Wednesday), Good Mom Esther Sinclair (Wednesday), Enid Sinclair Has Mommy Issues, But they’re resolved!, Good Parent Murray Sinclair, Enid Sinclair is a Ray of Sunshine, Werewolves, Fluff, Light Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, Complicated Relationships, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 01 Summary:

Enid’s first time wolfing out with her family in San Francisco. It goes so much better than she ever could’ve imagined.

Inspired by: @/_feralrats_ on Twitter & @streaminn on his discord with his duckies. Thanks for the inspiration lol

[hellostarposts]

Episode 59 - Recluse

Ronald Sinclair

Halfway House on Hill Top Road

We are finally revisiting Hill Top Road.

Raymond Fielding

The halfway house was a figment of his imagination.

Ray treated them like adults and that is suspicious.

This neighbourhood definitely sounds like it would become an HOH.

Raymond is an entity that forces the kids to behave.

Bleeding tree?

Okay nevermind, this halfway house is the lot where the new house that was being built and the electrician murdered the tree while the priest was praying. Don’t worry, I remember.

Yeah no wonder the non-conforming guy would be a recluse. 

Him going to church is the most surprising thing but in the 40s I’m pretty sure it was mandatory to go.

THE HYPNOTIC TABLE WHAT

I was not expecting a table appearance

Small box that sat in the middle that haf the same pattern as the table. So it wasn’t the pot that was supposed to go in the hole.

Agnes? Suddenly appeared in the house.

I remember her being the spooky daughter who died at the same time as the tree murder happened.

The kiss on the cheek must’ve been like a curse or something.

Definitely a curse to try and pull him back into the house.

The inside of the house isn’t going to be nice is it?

Oh wait, I missed the basement mention.

And here is where the spiders come back in.

Large room and basically empty. Just dirt, no walls.

So no one actually left? They would just turn around and go straight into the basement?

Why is there an apple in the box? Is this some kind of reference that I’m just missing?

I swear if there’s teeth in the apple again.

Is the kiss that Agnes gave him actually like a blessing?

So Raymond was also a flesh puppet for spiders.

See arson is the solution when it comes to bugs. I am not overreacting one bit.

Is Martin a spider defender?

Supplemental

Aw boo hoo people are avoiding you because you’re behaving like a creep.

They are definitely planning something, aggressive therapy.

So back to Hill Top House and once again it leaves more questions than answers. I really dislike how consistently the spiders are showing up. But I must admit, a halfway house in the 40s is a good place to get victims that no one cares about. What the hell is up with Agnes. She was made out to be a villain but she did technically save Ronald. But she was tethered to that tree that was murdered. This place is just a bundle of mysteries and I hate it but am intrigued nonetheless.

I am thinking that the forced good behaviour wasn’t being caused by Raymond but the table. Do I have any explanation for why this is happening, no. And it doesn’t match up with the previous details about the table but maybe that’s the point. It switched up its tactics so that it will never be destroyed. That goes to say, I was Jon to go psycho and smash the thing with an axe.

[lychee02]

An Anemone Flower

Fandom: Purple Hyacinth (Webtoon)

Pairing: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White

Warning: Angst, minor smut

Summary: Kieran doesn't know how he wound up in a relationship with Lauren, but he does know he needs to end it...eventually. A different take on the ending of the factory arc.

Glass Factory

Lauren's face was so close that Kieran could see the texture of her golden irises. Lately, those eyes felt more like a prison searchlight, hostile and accusatory each time their gaze landed on him. But now they reminded him of the sun- the warm kind you opened your window to and breathed in after a long winter.

Lauren smiled weakly at him.

"I know our partnership is a match made in hell, but I’m glad that it was you,” she said.

Despite the loud thumping of his heart, Kieran's chuckle was genuine.

"I'm glad I didn't kill you that night too," he said. “This isn't the way I imagined going, but there are worse people to die with."

His smile fell when he looked at her face glistening with sweat. There was still some time left before the bomb would go off and Kieran wondered if she would make it that long. It was selfish, but he did not want to spend his final moments alone.

Gently, he pulled her to him and stroked her hair. His face warmed when she nuzzled into his chest, and he glanced down at his hand still firmly in her clasp.

There is no point in restraint if we're going to die.

He turned his hand over to interlock their fingers. Looking down at the red covering her glove, he could not help comparing it to the first time they had grasped the other’s bleeding hand.

“Lauren, if this is the end, I have to tell you that I…” He paused and one gold eye peered sleepily up at him. “I’m thankful for you too. Life makes a bit more sense since I’ve met you.”

To both of their surprise, there were tears in his eyes. They did not fall, and Lauren watched a sheen form over the blue. She did not think about what she was doing when she leaned forward to kiss his eyelids and then trail her lips down the wet path on his cheek. Kieran inhaled and Lauren paused, her lips salty and wet against his skin. But instead of moving away, she ran her lips and the tips of her nose across his stubble, taking in his scent. Their eyes closed, and their lips met. It was just a soft touch, but one which left them both shivering and hungry. They kissed again, shyly, and again, this time with more pressure, and then again and again and again. Their lips curled against each other before Lauren opened her mouth and Kieran met her tongue with his own. Kieran made a deep, guttural noise that seemed to come from deep in his chest.

He already knew that Lauren made him feel human, but what was this feeling? He wanted piles of her burying him alive. He wanted to swallow her whole or plunge inside her to be consumed.

They paused to take a breath. Their gazes met, bewildered but already leaning forward again.

There were six minutes left on the timer.

…

Her whole body ached.

Lauren attempted to turn onto her side only for her left arm to strain and protest.

“Easy,” a soft voice instructed her. Lauren opened her eyes and was immediately assaulted by the sun’s blinding rays. She hissed. A moment passed before the swirl of colors she saw coalesced into the recognizable face.

“Kym,” Lauren breathed. Kym and Will's were informs were damp and rumpled; their eyes were red and sunken. Lauren had never seen either of them look so tried, though she supposed they had never seen her so injured either.

Will held out a cup to her, placing the straw between Lauren’s dry lips. Lauren was so desperate for water, that she sucked too hard and immediately coughed.

“Easy,” Kym said again. Will was quiet, but his jaw clenched as he waited for the coughing to stop.

“Everyone else is too preoccupied to notice, or even care, but it’s strange how you lost your jacket, mask, and badge,” he said once she had finished drinking.

Even in her confused state, Lauren flinched. She had never heard Will use such a cutting tone before.

Kym gently placed her hand on his knee. “Could you check on Randall?” she asked. Her voice was unusually soft, and Will wordlessly disappeared behind the curtains surrounding her bed. Kym turned back to Lauren. “We found you with some of the other wounded officers. No one seems to remember you arriving at the scene or being shot, but there was so much commotion it’s not surprising.”

Lauren’s blood ran cold. Where was Kieran? Had he stripped her of her disguise and left her to be found by the APD? What of his injuries? Was he alive?

A stifled sob came from Lauren’s lips, and she tried to hide her face in her pillow. Kym had already cried a great deal in the past few hours, but seeing the misery on Lauren's face, she cried again. “It going to be ok, Lauren,” she said. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”

When Lauren was released from the hospital a week later, Tristan drove her home, trying his best to be upbeat.

“Your time off may do you some good. You could read, or cook, or go on walks…”

Lauren smiled, trying to ease his obvious anxiety. That night, Lucille made spaghetti with meatballs, spinach, and mushrooms- a meal that could be eaten with one hand and contained plenty of protein and iron.

“You need to build up your strength,” Lucille had said. She gave Lauren water and slapped her hand away when she reached for the wine bottle.

“Will and Kym couldn’t make it tonight?” Tristan asked.

Lauren shook her head. “No, they’ve been really busy since the factory blew up.”

At least, that was Kym’s reason. Will had not responded.

“He went on medical leave,” Kym had told her. “I don’t know the details, but I know what happened at the factory left him deeply disturbed.”

Lauren sat up at these words, but contrary to what her adrenaline levels demanded, her body folded weakly. Kym helped her lay back.

“I think he needs some time alone,” Kym said. Lauren wanted to scream.

Alone? How is he supposed to defend himself alone? I’ve been by his side his entire life. I should be with him now!

But she knew that whatever plagued Will now she could not fight off like the kids at the playground. This was something he needed to do on his own.

But why won’t he speak to me!

Kym did not know either. She tried to assure Lauren that it was just temporary, but this explanation did not satisfy her. The fact that Will had never shown anything close to this level of resentment did not make her feel better.

To make matters worse, Lauren kept seeing him. He appeared in her dreams and the shadows she stared at when she could not sleep at night. She occasionally woke during the night, panting, with vague memories of his skin and breath lighting a delicious heat between her thighs. During the day, she saw flashes of his dark hair and his tall form weaving through groups of doctors or laying on another patient’s bed. She heard his voice- just a whisper in the din. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what his voice sounded like. She knew it was deep, but how deep exactly? Deeper than Will’s, but also more likely to be full of mirth, which crinkled his blue eyes.

Since when did she long for him? Since when did she crave him like food? Since when did his absence hurt her? If not for Kym’s hand firmly holding her own, Lauren would have sunk deep into an abyss.

And Lauren was done sinking. She snuck out that night. It took her twice as long as it would normally, but she eventually made it to the cave.

“Kieran?” she said.

It was pitch black. Lauren reached into her pocket and struck a match. For a moment, she saw the torch on the wall before the light went out with a hiss. Grappling in the dark, she lit it and waved it before her.

"Kieran?" Her voice faintly echoed. As far as she could tell, the furniture remained but Kieran was gone.

Something settled over her. Lauren felt like she was choking; like something was cutting off her air. She gasped and a strange cry, like a wounded animal, came from her mouth. She sucked air into her lungs and screamed. She had been bedridden for a week with nothing but a hospital curtain for privacy, and she felt the restlessness stir within her, the frustration of being so exposed yet alone. She screamed again, getting louder and louder and louder each time, and the sound returned to her as if the cave was screaming too.

And then silence. Lauren coughed. Her throat burned but she opened her mouth again. No sound came.

She sunk to the ground and clawed at the dirt. There was something in her head, loudly pounding against the walls of her skull, and she let it drop between her knees. The torchlight had gone out and after a moment she picked herself up, knowing she should leave but not wanting to. She paused outside on the ledge just below the waterfall, feeling small underneath its massive size and the all-consuming roar of the water. Lauren moved further into the cool mist that caressed every part of her until she sees where about fifteen meters down, the falls met the river- a torrent that would surely kill her.

But as she contemplated this, Lauren heard a deep voice whisper her name.

Despite the shroud of mist separating them, Lauren knew the tall figure on the other side of the ledge was Kieran. He moved through the curling vapor as if he was pushing past long gossamers draped from the ceiling. His eyes traveled from her own, around her face, and down her body. Lauren felt each part warm as if his gaze contained fire.

"Lauren," he whispered again. His hand flexed like he was unsure of touching her.

Lauren tentatively let her fingers brush against him before laying her palm against his chest. She let it travel and cupped his face. His eyes closed and his lips parted while his hands gently clutched her waist.

“Lauren,” he breathed. She knew what he wanted to say. When they had sunk deep in the other’s embrace, they had thought that they were going to die. What did it mean now that they were still alive?

It would be safer to forget it happened. Even if the entire city believed Lune was dead, Kieran was still the Purple Hyacinth. Their partnership was not just a match made in hell, but one destined to end there as well.

But they still leaned forward to press their lips together. There was no rush this time, no bomb ticking in the room. They were at peace-as if the falls were a protective barrier separating them from the rest of the world. Time did not exist. Even they did not exist. Nothing mattered, so they did not resist the pull.

“Lauren,” Kieran said. “I love you.”

Lauren was surprised by how unsurprised she was by his confession. It was as if she had always known.

“Show me,” she said.

…

He needed to be quiet.

He wanted to be loud.

Although her hands were calloused, the rest of Lauren’s skin was surprisingly soft. And she was so warm. Kieran had never been so hot before in his life. He felt like he was having a fever dream, palming Lauren’s breasts, and sucking on the flesh of her inner thigh. And Lauren was enjoying it. She let out a strangled moan that made him painfully hard and tangled her hands in his hair.

But after the endorphins subsided, the reality of the situation set in. He just had sex with Lauren Sinclair. Lauren had sex with him. Did she like him? It did not matter. This was dangerous.

When Lauren woke up, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed. “I’m sorry,” he said. She blinked up at him with those golden eyes. “This was wrong. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Lauren brought the blanket up to cover her naked chest. “You were probably thinking that you love me.”

“I don’t.”

The words came out before he could stop them. Kieran cringed and waited for her to tell him off, but to his surprise she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I know why you’re worried, but we’ll figure it out.”

Kieran’s jaw tightened as she pressed her naked breasts into his back.

“The Leader isn’t going to give me time to ‘figure it out.’”

Her grip on him tightened. “That man killed my parents and blew up my friend. I’m not letting him take you too.”

“Lauren,” Kieran pleaded. “He killed my family. I can’t watch you die as well.”

Lauren’s eyes widened at the revelation. “I’m sorry,” she said. After a moment she asked, “How old were you?”

Kieran shrugged. “I was nine or ten when my sister died. She was the last one left.”

Lauren stroked his arm and she felt so good that he could not resist the urge to lean into her. He was not used to talking about his sister- he did not have anyone to talk about her with- and merely mentioning her exhausted him. So, when Lauren asked him to tell her more, he did.

“Her name was Diana. She was only two years older than me, but she was bossy and always acted like she was my mother.” He chuckled. “She ran errands for the Scythe. She didn’t want me involved. But she got TB, and they agreed to pay for treatment if I joined. She died anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Lauren whispered. She kissed his shoulder. Kieran groaned, his fingers skimming the skin of her waist, but then he abruptly extricated himself from her grip. She called after him and he hesitated for a moment, before wordlessly fleeing the cave.

That was the first time it happened.

…

The second time it happened, she came to see him in the archives. Kieran had not seen her in days and was weak to her power. One kiss escalated until Lauren got on her knees and he thought he had died. There was no alternative explanation for why he was gripping a desk in the back of the archives, thrusting into Lauren Sinclair’s mouth.

When he looked at her face, turned almost as red as her hair, he wanted to either push her away or test just how red she could get. It disturbed him. Being an assassin requires one to have complete control over the mind and body- a mere moment of hesitation could mean death.

But Kieran had no control when it came to Lauren. His body reacted to her without his permission. His mind became less clear. His loins stiffened. His heart rate increased (he timed it).

Not to mention he put her in danger. At the glass factory he had the excuse that he thought they were going to die, but everything after that was pure, unbridled selfishness. He should have turned around when he saw her at the entrance of the cave. He was an idiot for confessing his feelings. Sleeping with her was a monumental mistake.

“Lauren, this is dangerous,” he said softly as they fixed their clothing.

“I know,” she told him. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I thought about it and decided you were worth the risk.

Kieran’s heart was pounding. “If I were a better person, I’d push you away.”

“You tried. But you can only resist for so long.”

“I’ve killed so many people.”

Lauren fiddled with the button on his shirt. “We do what we must to survive. I’m not saying it’s good or okay, or even that it’s excusable. But how can I judge the decisions you made when my parents were part of what limited your options?”

A last-ditch effort. “I can’t tell a desert fork from a regular one.”

“They both get the job done.”

“I’ve never been to a ball.”

“They bore me out of my mind.”

“There are so many men who would love to be with you.”

“You’re the only one I want.”

She traced his face with her finger, the light from her eyes shining.

After the sixth time, he stopped keeping track.

…

They continued investigating the Phantom Scythe, but there were only so many hours in a day, and somehow Kieran was always finding himself on his knees with Lauren's legs hooked over his shoulders. He was not even sorry about it. He wondered if this is what love is- wanting another person more than you want your freedom.

“I think that’s one kind of love,” Lauren said when he asked her one night. “But it’s a kind that only lasts for a short time.”

“And then what?”

She shrugged. “And then I guess the relationship either deepens or breaks.”

He hummed. “Did your parents have a good relationship?”

“They did. They used to dance in the kitchen together with no music.”

Lauren had a small, sad smile on her face. He kissed the corner of her mouth.

“You mentioned a friend of yours died.”

The smile disappeared, and she wriggled in his arms. “Dylan. His dad was our gardener.”

“What happened to him?”

Lauren turned her face into the pillow and Kieran realized she was crying. He felt awful. What was wrong with him? Why would he bring up her dead friend? Of course, she would not tell him about it, he was-

“It’s my fault,” Lauren said. “I heard someone saying that Allendale would bring Ardhalis prosperity. They were lying, but I didn’t tell anyone. And when I hurt my ankle, I asked Dylan to go back and ask his father if he could drive me home, and-”

She sobbed and Kieran pulled her to his chest.

“It’s not your fault, Lauren,” he said softly.

“I could’ve stopped it,” she said.

He forced her to look at him. “If someone else told you this story, would you honestly blame them?”

“…no, I wouldn’t,” she admitted.

“Then why blame yourself?”

He felt her shrug. “It feels different, somehow.”

“Because you expect yourself to be a superhero?”

“…yeah.”

”Maybe let yourself just be a person.”

She did not say anything else, and Kieran assumed she fell asleep until her head popped out of where it was nestled against him. Her eyes were still red but her tears had dried.

“How did that come up again?” she asked

Kieran raised a brow. “I asked if love is wanting someone more than freedom.”

“Right!” She grinned. “Why? Is that how you feel about me, subordinate?”

Kieran scowled. “You wish.”

“Is it?” she pressed

“It is,” he admitted.

She brushed the hair away from his eyes. “That’s how I feel about you too.”

“What?”

She looked almost shy as she said, “I love you so much, sometimes I don’t know where to put all of it.”

The hand that had been kneading Lauren’s shoulder paused. Lauren gave him hugs and soft caresses, but she had never told him that she loved him. He did not resent her for it. He was the one putting her life at risk, after all. He never asked her for more. She had given him more than he deserved and, in this respect at least, he would not be selfish.

Lauren frowned at his reaction. “Did you not realize?” she asked.

Kieran shrugged nonchalantly, but his blush betrayed him.

Lauren grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “I love you.” She carefully enunciated every syllable. “I love your stupid face and your stupid laugh- and it really is stupid, you cackle- and that self-satisfied smirk you make when you make a stupid joke, and the way you protect me, the way your hair is always in your face, and I love the way that even when we’re in danger, I feel like it’s going to be okay because you’re with me.”

Kieran froze. He was unaccustomed to such love-so earnest and unashamed and devoid of spectacle. He couldn’t meet her eyes. They were too open and sincere.

And yet, he wanted her to know.

“You make me feel the same way,” he whispered. He pressed her hand into his cheek. “Safe.”

…

Lauren turned out to be right. After some months, the intensity of their lust calmed to a point that they could work without breaks for sex-or fewer ones at least. They fell into an easy routine of discussing phantom scythe business while Kieran made dinner. Although he never asked her to, and protested the first few times, Lauren took to tidying up his apartment. It only felt fair considering how much time she spent there. They fell asleep whispering to each other in his bed. At work, Kieran left sketches on Lauren’s desk. Sometimes they were of her. Sometimes they were caricatures of Hermann or Lukas, or just a flower he had thought was pretty. Occasionally, he left bawdy limericks.

There once was a man named Dadino

Who met a young man named Encino

The pleasures they had

Made them both rather glad

But the neighbors found it obscene-o

“Obscene-o’s not a word!” Lauren protested, unable to suppress the laughter bubbling in her throat. “That’s cheating.”

Kieran brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “There’s no cheating in poetry, darling. You’re too competitive.”

“Or maybe you’re too afraid to lose, subordinate,” she challenged.

Kieran scoffed. “If that’s what you think, let’s hear one of Lauren Sinclair’s brilliant poems.”

Lauren’s eyes widened. She looked so ridiculous Kieran could not resist planting a kiss on her head.

“Go on,” he urged her. “If you’re good, I might give you a treat.”

“You’re trying to distract me,” Lauren accused him. But she still looped her arms around his shoulders.

“There once was a man name Kieran…” she began tentatively. “I can’t think of anything that rhymes with Kieran.”

“Peer-in, fear in, beer in, Sheeran…” he supplied.

She considered her options. “Who really liked Ed Sheeran?”

Kieran doubled over with laughter.

Poetry is not a competition-but if it was, Lauren lost.

Kieran gave her a treat anyway.

…

“You want me to go abroad?”

Kieran forgot himself for a moment and grasped the frame of the confessional window.

“Is that a problem, Hyacinth?”

“What about my mission at the precinct?”

“Lune is dead, what else do you need to do at the precinct?”

Kieran hesitated. “Nothing,” he said.

“I thought you’d be relieved. If I remember, you weren’t too happy about that assignment.” Even underneath the mask, the messenger’s gaze was heavy. “Unless something’s changed.”

It wasn’t a question.

Kieran shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

“Then you leave tomorrow morning.”

The walk home seemed to take forever, and once he was inside, he collapsed to the floor, not bothering to remove his coat or shoes. It was already late, and Lauren was at her uncle’s that night. There would be no time to say goodbye.

There was moonlight coming in through the window. The first time Lauren came over had been a full moon too. He gave her one of his shirts to sleep in and then he cleaned her blood off the table.

Did you think it was going to last, he admonished himself. You fucking idiot, you’ve been living in a dream, and the price is that you have to wake up. Stop sulking and do something.

He rolled up his sleeves and sat at his desk, intending to give Lauren a long, thoughtful explanation. But when he pressed the tip of his pen into the paper, the words became jumbled in his head. What good was an explanation now? Would it quell her heartbreak? Would she feel less betrayed? Was he trying to encourage her to go on a crazy mission to look for him?

In the end, he only wrote three words.

I’m sorry.

[cami040405]

Hello there! Can you do slashers (anyone you choose) x s/o who is a Cheshire Cat. Likes to smile a lot and pull pranks on their partners.

SLASHERS WITH A S/O WHO IS A CHESHIRE CAT

Summary: Slashers with a S/O who has the personality of the Cheshire Cat, playful, smart and plays pranks on them.

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Charles Lee Ray (Chucky), Tiffany Valentine, Carrie White & Pearl (SEPARATE)

A/N: I loved writing this request, it's such a fun and creative idea, I loved it. Thank you for sending this request and for supporting me in writing.

Bo Sinclair

From the first second he saw you, Bo knew you were trouble. The kind of trouble that dances through broken glass and still has the audacity to smile as if you were innocence incarnate.

And he hates that.

He hates how you appear out of nowhere, with that crooked little smile, your eyes always shining with an inside joke. How you tilt your head, weaving ambiguous words, making sure to make Bo suspicious of everything you say.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Why are you frowning, Little Bo?”

“Little Bo.” That nickname. That damn nickname you invented just to irritate him. And it works.

He yells at you at least three times a day. Sometimes, for nothing. “DID YOU HIDE MY LIGHTER AGAIN?!”

And you, lying on the couch, chewing a candy as if the world were a movie: “No. But it’s a good place to start looking.”

You’ve already swapped his toothpaste for glitter. You’ve written “LITTLE BO’S A SWEETHEART” in lipstick on the hood of his truck. You’ve put bunny socks on the tools in the workshop. And yet, you always escape with a little twerk and a smile.

Bo, of course, is a pain in the ass. Explosive. But he couldn’t send you away.

Deep down — deep down — he loves the way you challenge everything he thinks he knows about control. Bo grew up with the need to dominate everything around him. That’s how he deals with life: with strength, anger and silence. And then you come along… someone who can’t be tamed. Who laughs at the storm. Who faces him without fear. And that leaves Bo… obsessed. But also scared. Because you like him. You see that look full of hurt, that constant anger… and you still smile. As if you see beyond.

He never says he misses you, but when you disappear for a few hours, Bo becomes a restless animal. He paces from one side to the other, trying to hide it. And when you finally show up, hanging upside down from a random door frame, saying “Boy, did you miss me?”… he explodes.

“DO YOU WANT TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK, IS THAT IT?!” 

But he doesn’t leave. And you know it. Over time, the insults change tone. They become quieter, more charged with feeling.

“You’re a demon…” he grumbles, running his hand over his forehead, then holding your face with a certain brutality, but without hurting you.

“…but you’re my demon.”

Bo is made of anger and pain. You are made of enigmas and laughter. And, somehow, you complete each other. He anchors you, you challenge him. And in the rare moments when he kisses you—hard, urgent, his fingers tightening around your waist as if you’re going to disappear—you smile.

And he whispers against your lips: “You’re hell with a pretty smile. But I don’t want to go to heaven anyway.”

.

Lester Sinclair

In the midst of carcasses, bones, tar and flies, Lester lives his life half dog, half tired. He is lonely by nature, half-wild animal, half-abandoned brat too much to expect any kind of affection. He was never the favorite. Not by anyone, not by anywhere. Until you show up.

Literally.

On a hot, muggy morning, with the sky low and the air smelling of recent death, Lester is in the woods, dragging an animal that no longer seems to belong to any species, when he hears a voice:

“Do you always treat the dead like this… or did they hitchhike?”

He jumps, startled. He looks back and there you are — standing on a fallen tree trunk, eyes shining like trouble beacons, a smile as sharp as a coyote’s. The way you speak is almost poetic, almost sarcastic, as if each sentence were half joke, half riddle.

He doesn’t understand. No one has ever spoken to him like that. No one appears out of nowhere just to laugh at him. And when he threatens to send you away with a curse word, you just disappear—as if you’ve been swallowed by the forest.

The first few days are a cycle of fright and fascination. You show up whenever you want. Sometimes you’re on the roof of his trailer, sometimes sitting on the wreckage of an old car, other times sleeping in the back of his truck wearing a cowboy hat you stole from him. And always smiling.

You tease Lester like you’re playing with a wolf cub: Take the matches out of his pocket and leave a plastic flower in their place, Turn the radio up to play children’s music at full volume, Paint Jonesy’s eyes with glitter.

He screams. He growls. He swears he’s going to leave you lost in the woods with vultures. But you just laugh. And deep down? He doesn’t want you to go.

Lester starts waiting for you. He won’t admit it, but life becomes lighter with your unpredictable presence. You see him. You see beyond the dirt, beyond the nicotine-stained teeth and the high-pitched laugh. You see Lester behind the trauma—the boy who never got enough love.

“You know you’re not trash, right?”

“Huh?”

“I like abandoned things. They have more stories. And you, Lester, are a whole book.”

He freezes. No one talks to him like that. No one says these things without mocking. But he means it. And then he smiles, as if to say: now deal with it.

On difficult days, when he feels rejected even by his own brothers, you show up with a blanket and an old radio. Turn on some soft music, rest your head on his shoulder, and just be there, existing. And for the first time in his life, Lester doesn’t have to explain himself. You understand.

“You could disappear whenever you wanted, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because you still haven’t learned to smile like you deserve.”

And for the first time, he tries. He tries to smile back, half crookedly, half shakily. But you laugh as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.

Love, for the two of you, is this: A noisy chaos in the middle of silence. A light touch between two broken existences. A mischief that ends in a hug.

Lester has never been one to have hope. But with you close by, smiling like a beautiful secret that only he understands... He begins to believe that maybe, just maybe, destiny hasn't forgotten about him completely.

.

Charles Lee Ray (Chucky)

Charles Lee Ray has always seen himself as the master of chaos. A charismatic sadist, too smart to be caught and too sick to be ignored. Inside that cursed doll body, he carries the soul of a killer who laughs at his own madness — but even he, the infamous Chucky, never imagined that one day he would find himself disconcerted.

You appeared like a mirage in the midst of the massacre: with a feline smile plastered on your face, eyes that shone with mischief, and a way of moving as if the world were just a board game where you played for fun.

At the very first meeting, Chucky tried to scare you by pulling out a knife.

You smiled. “Wow, a sharp blade. I was starting to think you just looked like a stuffed toy.” 

He was so confused that he forgot to stab you. Since then, you have become like two demonic children in a bloody playground. You would change the buttons on his clothes into doll eyes, put glitter on the blades, and put on puppet shows imitating his outbursts.

“CHARLES!” you would say, in a high-pitched voice. “You destroyed the kitchen again, you adorable psychopath!”

He would yell: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” while laughing in the middle of his sentence.

But the scariest thing — and most attractive — was that, unlike anyone he had ever met, you were never intimidated. On the contrary: you would mock him even in his most intense moments. If he screamed, you would whisper with a little smile: “Does anyone need a hug, doll?”

If he murdered someone, you would clap your hands with ironic enthusiasm: “Bravo! Unique style! Reminds me of Van Gogh with a little knife!”

Chucky, used to manipulating and dominating, began to notice something strange: he liked being with you even when he wasn’t killing anyone. He loved your laugh. The way you hung from shelves, speaking in riddles. How you left cryptic messages written in lipstick on mirrors:

“You were good today, but I still doubt you have a soul…”

One day, after a failed (and hilarious) plan involving dynamite, ventriloquist dummies, and a kindergarten, Chucky exploded in anger.

“YOU’RE JUST DOING THIS TO DRIVE ME CRAZY!”

You tilted your head, that same smile etched on your lips. “But, Charles… you’re already crazy. I’m just here to decorate your insanity with glitter.”

He tried to fight. He tried to leave. But he couldn’t. Because, for the first time in his bloody existence, he found someone who didn’t want to change him. He just wanted to laugh with him. To play with the darkest parts of him—and find beauty in it. One night, as you watched the fire devour a failed hideout, the two of you sitting on a bench of burned dolls, he looked at you in silence.

And said, in an almost human tone:

“You’re a problem, doll.”

You smiled, that perfect curve of mystery.

“I’m your favorite problem.”

And Chucky? He laughed. Loudly, the way he only laughed when it was true. Because, at the end of the day, there is no better partner for a monster than another monster who knows how to smile while the world burns.

.

Tiffany Valentine

Tiffany’s love was always noisy. Explosions. Gunshots. Screams. Muffled moans. Kisses that tasted like blood and cheap lipstick. She knew how to deal with chaos, but it was always the predictable chaos of a man who was no good.

So imagine her surprise when she met you.

You didn’t come into her life like a broken door, like Chucky. You appeared subtly—like a spiral of cigarette smoke. A crooked smile, a mocking comment, a presence that made no sense to be there... but that never seemed out of place.

She was sitting in a disgusting bar, trying to forget yet another fight with Chucky. Drinking something strong, staring into space. And then you appeared on the bench next to her, wearing a purple velvet shirt, boots dirty with dirt, and a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“You have the laugh of a woman who has already killed someone she loved.” - You said, your eyes shining.

“And you look like someone who doesn’t know when to shut up.” She laughed out loud. A genuine laugh, for the first time in a long time.

You disappeared soon after, without warning. And showed up three days later at her bedroom window with stolen flowers and a bag of melted chocolates.

Being with you was like sleeping with a fun, naughty ghost. You would appear out of nowhere, sometimes under the bed, sometimes in the mirror, sometimes in the shower (just to see her reaction).

You left letters in her pockets with inside jokes. You hid knives. You swapped her lipstick for neon paint. And worst of all: she loved every second of it.

“You’re a glitter nightmare,” she said one night, watching you dance barefoot around the living room to David Bowie.

“And you’re a goddess of the underworld with a heart of melted marshmallow.”

Tiffany felt something strange:

You made her feel… weightless. No one had ever done that. Not even before she died. But there was a problem:

You never stayed.

You disappeared. Without reason. Without explanation. Like a dream that evaporates when you wake up. She loved you. But she also wanted to strangle you with her own pantyhose.

The last straw was when you showed up talking to a waitress at the bar — and made her laugh. The same laugh that Tiff thought was only hers. At the same moment, she got up from her chair, threw her glass on the floor and pulled you by the collar of your jacket to the alley.

“Are you mine or are you everyone's, huh?!”

“I’m the one who laughs the loudest at my jokes...” - You said that with a naughty little smile.

And Tiffany slapped you.

Then kissed you.

And then she threw you against the wall, anger and desire burning in her eyes. - “If you make me feel small again, I swear I’ll rip your tongue out with my teeth.”

“Promise?” - You smiled.

“Idiot!”

“But I’m your idiot...?”

She didn’t answer. She just smiled. Finally, someone was up to her hurricane.

What Tiffany loved (and hated) most about you was that, even with all that mischievous and slippery way… you saw her. Not as a doll. Not as an accessory for Chucky. But as a woman who had dreams, pain, open wounds.

And you, with your soft words and your surgical sarcasm, said:

“You are more than the blood you spilled, Tiff. You're a badly written poem, but irresistible.”

Those words stayed with her. Like bite marks. Like memories of a love that was both comfort and torment.

Tiff knew that you would never belong to anyone. That your freedom was part of your charm. But even so… she wanted you. She loved you to the limit of love and madness. And sometimes, that was enough. Maybe you would disappear one day and never come back.

But until then, you were hers.

Through the blood, the glitter, the laughter, and the danger—you were hers. And that, to a woman like Tiffany, was more romantic than any fairytale happy ending.

.

Carrie White

The first time Carrie saw you, with your sharp smile and cat-like eyes, was in the school hallway. You appear like smoke, leaning against the locker next to hers, even though she’s never seen you there before. Your uniform is a little disheveled, your eyes fixed on her as if you see much more than you should.

“You look like a storm about to dance.”

She blinks, startled. She runs away. And you just laugh—not mockingly, but as if you’ve just discovered a precious secret.

In the days that follow, you keep showing up. Never in the same place. Never in the same way. One day, you sit next to her in class and mutter riddles about cats, the sky, and flames. The next, you write sentences on the edges of her books in lilac pen:

“A flower that grows in concrete bleeds poetry. I saw you.”

Carrie, used to contempt, is confused. Suspicious. At first, she thinks it’s just another cruel joke. But there’s no mockery in your eyes. Only genuine curiosity. You follow her lightly, almost as if you were part of a dream. You touch her reality with curiosity and unexpected questions.

“If you could set the world on fire with a look… what would you leave intact?” She hesitates to answer.

You smile. “You can add me to the list. I like fire.”

You’re not afraid of her. When Carrie lets out a small flash of her powers—making a pencil explode during an anxiety attack—you just clap your hands and say:

“Brilliant. Quite a performance. Are you going to do it again, or was that just to impress me?”

Carrie, trembling, almost runs away. But you reach out her hand, as if her magic were a gift, not a curse. “You’re not a monster, Carrie. A monster is someone who tries to make a star hide.”

Over time, Carrie begins to wait for you. Even if she pretends not to see. Even if she runs when you provoke her. But when you disappear for a few days—no warning, no note, no riddles left in the lockers—something inside her tightens.

She misses your strange presence, your soft, mischievous voice, your smile that always seems to know more than it should. When you return, you appear on the bench next to her, as if you had never left.

“Did you miss me, little incandescent flower?”

Carrie lowers her head, blushing. “… maybe.”

You lean your shoulder against hers and whisper, “I missed you. Your absence has turned me gray.”

You help her rediscover beauty.

You take her out of school on sunny days, have clandestine picnics in cemeteries (“the dead are great listeners”), and teach her to laugh at little things: like running in the rain, dancing barefoot, or seeing shapes in clouds. You encourage Carrie to look in the mirror—not as penance, but as if she were looking at a living painting.

“Did you know your eyes have shades of dawn? It’s like the whole day is reflected in them.”

Carrie isn't used to compliments. Much less affection. But over time, she begins to blossom. She begins to defy her mother. She begins to look at herself with less fear. She begins to understand what she feels—for you, for the world, for herself—is not a sin. It's power.

And one day, in the middle of one of those afternoons where the sky seems suspended in time, she looks at you and asks:

“Do you… really like me? Or do you just want to see if you can break me like the others?”

You stop and smile—not mockingly, but tenderly. You touch her face carefully, like someone holding ancient and sacred glass.

“Carrie White… I like you like a fire likes the wind. You move me. You enchant me. And I never wanted to put out anything that burned so beautifully.”

.

Pearl

Pearl first saw you in the middle of the cornfield. There was no sound, no wind, no crickets. Just the soft rustling of the leaves and that little smile at the corner of your mouth, curved like a waning moon. You were standing on a scarecrow, dressed in her father’s coat, balancing an apple on your head and an old straw hat.

When she appeared, surprised, you just tilted your head and said,

“I was wondering when you’d be home. The leaves tell me you have the loudest heart on the farm.”

Pearl frowned, but the blush quickly rose to her cheeks. You didn’t look real. Your smile was wide, but it never revealed everything. Your gaze was kind, but mocking. You walked as if the ground were made of clouds and spoke as if you were reading someone’s diary out loud, just to tease.

You showed up there almost every day after that. Sometimes naked among the chickens, saying you were “feeling the energy of the field.” Sometimes dancing in a veil that belonged to her mother, as if she were on stage at the Palace Follies. And Pearl... she laughed. She laughed, something she hadn't really done in so long.

But you also affected her. In a profound and disconcerting way.

You said things like:

“You know, Pearl... you're like a star that fell in the wrong place. So bright, so warm... but everyone here is too blind to see it.”

You saw in her what no one else could: hunger. Not for food or pleasure. But for recognition. For freedom. For applause.

And she began to love that. She began to love you. Or rather... she began to need you. But then the disappearances would come. You would disappear for hours. Sometimes days. You would come back smiling as if nothing had happened, with leaves in your hair and poetry on your tongue.

“I missed you,” she would say angrily.

“Good. Missing me is a sign that I’m working,” you’d say, with that same unbearably charming smile.

Pearl loved you. But you weren’t like her husband, or any person she’d ever seen. You didn’t obey. You didn’t settle. You didn’t fall into the role of devoted lover. You teased her, you challenged her, you made her laugh even at her own jealousy. You were a mirror that danced—never stopped.

And Pearl, oh, Pearl… she wanted to trap you.

She wanted to sew you to her heart.

“Stay with me,” she’d said once, in a desperate whisper, lying with her head in your lap.

“But I’m with you,” you said, tracing invisible lines across her freckles. “Whenever you smile, I appear. Whenever you dance, I exist.”

These words destroyed her. Because you were too real to ignore, but too intangible to possess. And Pearl… Pearl wanted the whole world at her feet. Deep down, she was afraid. Afraid that you would disappear like all the promises of Hollywood. So she convinced herself: if she couldn't have you, maybe she could mold you.

But you... you laughed even at that. "If you try to hold me back, love, you'll end up turning me into one of your pigs. And I'm much more fun alive."

Pearl was torn between adoration and frustration. Between love and impulse. But deep down, she knew: you were the only thing in that gray world that could paint it with colors — even if they were invented, false, fleeting colors.

.

[uncleweed]

Poet/Performer, Collaborations with Walter “Wolfman” Washington, Johnny Vidacovich, Earl Turbinton, James Andrews, Kidd Jordan, Carlo Ditta, Rockin’ Jake, Coco Robicheaux, Andre Wiliams, New Orleans Juice, North Mississippi All Stars, Archie Shepp, Ed Sanders, Bala Tounkare, David Amram, Wayne Kramer, Charles Moore, Daniel Carter, Dee Pop, Calvin Weston, Elliott Levin, Ed Moss & the Society Jazz Orchestra, Jimmie Lee Robinson, James Montgomery, Devil Gods, T.J. Wheeler & The Smokers, Johnnie Bassett & the Blues Insurgents, Bennie Smith, Steve Mackay, Black Mike Henderson, Howling Diablos, Jeff “Baby” Grand, Mick Vranich, Mark Ritsema, Michael Ray & the Cosmic Krewe, Marion Brown, Corey Harris, Eluard Burt, Tim Green, Kermit Ruffins, Willie King, James McCarty, Phil Hale, Thornetta Davis, Lyman Woodard, Harmonica Shah, Kudzu Kings, Afrosippi and others

~~

2013-2016

Poet/Performer, Detroit Artists Workshop 50th Anniversary Concert, Scarab Club, Detroit with the Blues Scholars;

An Evening with John Sinclair, University of Michigan—Flint College;

Barclays Center, Brooklyn with Rodriquez;

Lowell Celebrates Kerouac, Lowell MA with David Amram;

Neal Cassidy Birthday Party, Denver with Tom Worrell;

Sun Ra 100 Concert, Royal Festival Hall, London with Founder Effect;

Double Decker Festival, Oxford MS with Eric Deaton;

Hempstalk Festival, Portland OR;

Mike Kelley’s Mobile Homestead Opening, MOCAD, Detroit;

Viper Madness, Akhnaton, Amsterdam;

Freeing John Sinclair, The Ark, Ann Arbor with Wayne Kramer & the Blues Scholars;

Maine Harvest Ball, Starks, ME with Portland Art Quartet;

Canary Wharf Festival, London with Founder Effect;

Detroit Boom Boom Exhibit, Lille, France

Poet In Residence, New Orleans Institute for the Imagination

CD, Mohawk with Steve The Fly, Iron Man Records

Author, It’s All Good—A John Sinclair Reader, Horner Press

Poet/Performer, It’s All Good—A John Sinclair Reader, CD-Baby Album

Poet/Performer, Keeping The Blues Alive with Adventures in Bluesland, Worldwide Vibe Records

Poet/Performer, Viperism, CD-Baby Album

Poet/Performer, Conspiracy Theory, CD-Baby Album

Poet/Performer Fattening Frogs For Snakes (Volumes 1-2-3-4), CD-Baby

Panelist, Detroit Artists Workshop Exhibit, Horse Hospital, London

2017

Poet/Performer,Vinyl LP Mobile Homeland, Jett Plastic Recordings, Funky D Records

Poet/Performer, Vinyl LP Beatnik Youth Ambient Iron Man Records

2018

Poet/Performer, CD Beatnik Youth, Iron Man Records

Timeline Assembled by John Sinclair @ Bristol UK, May 16-18, 2016 and amended by Iron Man Records Feb 2018.

You can order JOHN SINCLAIR CDs, Vinyl, Books and T-shirts here on Bandcamp.

You can buy Books and Music by John Sinclair in the Iron Man Shop here

[kawaistrawberry21]

Thankyou so much for TAGGING me Mi amor ❤️🌹💋

My man 💖Charles Lee Ray ( child's play )

My boy 💞bo Sinclair (house of wax 2005)

My love 💝Michael myers (Halloween series)

My husband ❤️‍🔥Thomas Hewitt ( The Texas chainsaw massacre )

Tag for @ghostgirl101 @slashersidewhore @slasherhaven @horrorslu7 @asmolfolk @yumeleta @beladusnotsosecertdiary @drowninnoodles @ani-dirty-imagines @aphroditedahlias @rabbitblackx @toxicanonymity @osirisisv

Love you 💋🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Tagged by @rottent33th

Describe yourself in 4 characters!

Ellie Williams (Last of Us)

Benny Miller (Triple Frontier)

Bobby Cobb (Cougar Town)

Joker/John Doe: (Batman: The Enemy Within)

Taggies: @callmecaspurr @soupbabe @blurrymango @ninakuli

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Ray Sinclair

(My borderline alright gif)(Welcome to my first underrated movie headcanons post! This is from the movie Something Wild (1986))

(If you’re going to learn anything about me from this blog then you’ll learn that I’m a big fan of criminals.)

- You and Ray first met while you were dating a friend of his. He’d just gotten out of a stint in prison when you and your boyfriend had happened across him on the street. The two men greeted each other warmly as you stood off to the side, wondering who the hell this guy was.

- Finally, your boyfriend turned and introduced the two of you, letting Ray get his first good look at you. That was all it took for him to decide he wanted you and let’s just say that when Ray wants something...he gets it.

- He doesn’t immediately try to put the moves on you. If there’s anything Ray is its conniving and cunning; he’s willing to wait to make sure he gets things right. He studies your relationship, taking note of its weak points; all the touchy subjects and things that make you incompatible.

- At the same time he gets closer to you, showing you a good time and getting you addicted to the rush of adrenaline and the thrill that comes with being around him.

- Isn’t it sad that a man you barely know brings more excitement to your life than your own boyfriend. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? That’s exactly what he wants you to think but it isn’t like he’s putting up a facade. He’s showing you exactly what it’s like to be with him, he just knows that the lifestyle will be too alluring for you to resist.

- Ray isn’t a great person, he knows that, everyone knows that. He’s a conman, a criminal, a bastard, the list can go on. Him being vindictive and two faced with your ex boyfriend is just the tip of the iceberg but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t actually care about you. He loves you that’s for sure, enough to plot an entire scheme to get you for himself.

- Honestly, all your relationship needed to fall apart was a little push and he was happy to provide it. A little instigation on his part and the two of you were exchanging screaming insults.

- It was only a matter of time before you two officially split up and let’s just say it wasn’t on good terms. Ray was the one who swooped in and comforted you, calling your ex an ass and offering to get your stuff from his apartment.

- To be fair you weren’t all that upset, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You hadn’t realized how much he was dragging you down. You were finally free to do whatever you wanted and so...Ray asked you to run off with him.

- You’d been happily prancing around your room when he first asked, too caught up in your own excitement to hear him correctly so you had to ask him to repeat himself.

- When you finally heard the question you were shocked, the smile faded from your face a bit as you processed what he was actually asking you. Sure you’d wanted to leave your town for a while, see the world a little and live your life but could you really do it, and with Ray for that matter? Sure he was attractive and you liked him a lot but this was a huge step. You couldn’t exactly go back once you’d started.

- It took you a minute to come to your decision. You were free... and you were gonna stay free. You packed up your things, kissed your life goodbye and hopped in the car with him, never looking back.

- Whatever you want to do the two of you will do. Is it considered a date if you’re just living out your lives together?

- You rarely leave each other’s sides and you rarely want to. You’re as comfortable as can be with each other.

- Lots of pda, homeboy would legitimately fuck you in public if you let him.

- His go-to pet name is baby and he calls you it often.

- Ray can be a real sweetheart when he wants to be and he saves all his sweetheart points for you. You’re the only person he’s ever nice to without there being an ulterior motive behind it.

- He honestly thinks you’re the most amazing girl he’s ever met. You’re beautiful, smart, sweet, talented; the list could go on and he’d happily read it out to you if you cant see what he does.

- He loves having you model clothes for him. He’d steal you expensive outfits just so he could watch you try them on and tear them off you afterwards.

- Acting gentlemanly has never been like a conscious decision of his, he just opens doors for you (etc) because that’s what you’re “supposed to do”.

- You do a lot of moving around so get used to being in cars and packing up your stuff constantly.

- Sleeping in the passenger seat of his car while he drives to your next destination. When you’re awake, he likes to keep one hand on your thigh and the other on the steering wheel.

- Ray has no shame and that’s a fact. He isn’t afraid to make a fool of himself for you.

- He always checks on you when he thinks something may be wrong. He may overreact a little in certain situations but it’s all coming a good place.

- You catch him staring a lot, sometimes it’s innocent other times it feels like he wants to eat you alive.

- He’s really protective of you, that’s part of the reason why he watches you so much. He doesn’t like having you out of his sight just in case something happens to you or you need him.

- He finds nearly everything you do amusing. You could be killing someone and he’d find a way to make a teasing comment about it.

- He takes pride in seeing you become more like him. Whenever you do something wild he can’t help but smile.

- He’s probably taught you how to use a gun. You spend some weekends sitting in an isolated area with him, shooting cans off of broken fences and bins.

- Learning how to patch him up and reset his broken noses. Get used to blood, that’s all I’m saying.

-Sometimes he genuinely amazes you with how tough he is. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone in your life that can handle a broken nose like it’s just an inconvenience.

- He likes going through your things so I don’t suggest owning things you wouldn’t want him finding. He does it out of curiosity and boredom rather than suspicion so don’t read into it too much.

- He’s very...convincing. It’s hard to resist him when he asks you to do something or asks to do something to you.

- Play wrestling and just being overall kinda rough with each other.

- He’s one hell of a kisser. He takes your breath away on a daily basis.

- He likes to people watch and make fun of everyone with you.

- He has a thing for your shoulders. He just always seems to be touching them in some way whether it be laying his head on one or wrapping his arm around both of them.

- Late night trips around town. You have a lot of fond memories under the stars.

- Even if he thinks something is silly he can’t help but do it for you just to see you smile.

- Keeping a list of all the motels and hotels that you’ve visited...It’s a long list.

- He likes being able to carry you into your motel room/bedroom after you’ve fallen asleep in his car or on the couch. There’s just something about it that’s so precious to him.

- Sleeping in his shirts with your head resting on his arm and his body pressed against your back.

- Probably has your name tattooed somewhere on him. He also may or may not have gotten it done while in prison.

- Be prepared for a lot of surprises, he likes seeing the look on your face when he catches you completely off guard.

- Likes when you play with his hair. You can always calm him down with it, it’s your own little secret weapon against him.

- Fights are screaming matches but he never lets either one of you walk away. You’re going to fight until things get fixed and that’s just how it’s going to be even if he has to stand by and watch you cool off for an hour. The both of you can go to bed angry with each other but you’re still sleeping side by side and that’s final.

- He hates upsetting you; he always apologizes and knows exactly what to do to make things better though.

- To a certain degree he knows almost exactly what you need and want. Sometimes it’s annoying how right he is about you but other times it’s helpful. You find solace in the fact that there’s certain things about you that he’s just dead wrong about or that he doesn’t know about at all.

- Occasionally, he gets kind of insecure about your relationship because he isn’t sure if he can provide you with the future that you really want. Sure, his adrenaline junky, carefree ways are fun now but how long are you going to think so?

- He has high hopes for you even though you’ve chosen to spend your days with a dirtbag like him.

- He’s often quick to jealousy but he hides it well...to people other than you at least. You know the way he is so you can always spot the little quirks and cues that tell you he’s getting ticked off. That and the fact that he’ll grill you on who “that guy was” after you’ve walked away from them.

- Sometimes he’s ready to start a full on fist fight after hearing someone use a pickup line on you. Other times he likes to stand around and listen to guys talk about or attempt to flirt with you just to see how quickly their faces fall once they realize you’re together. Occasionally he’ll do both of those things just for the additional ego boost.

- He’s willing to fight for a woman like you.

- He likes telling you about his different robberies and schemes. Whenever he commits some kind of crime he just has to brag to you or mock the people he just messed with.

- You’re probably going to have to visit him in prison at least once, just saying. But hey, if you’re with him you already know what you signed up for

- He’s never afraid to admit how much he missed you.

- Even if you broke up with him (probably because of him being in prison, let’s be honest) he’d still be caught up on you and wouldn’t be able to stop himself from trying to get you back by any means necessary.

- He absolutely melts on the inside whenever you tell him you love him, especially if it’s after a fight or when you’re getting back together after a long time apart.

- Ray is a charmer so it wouldn’t be hard for him to get your parents to like him, it’s probably best that you leave out the fact that he’s been to prison though.

- You probably have a Vegas wedding on a whim one night pretty early into your relationship because that’s just how your relationship is. Funnily enough, you don’t regret it one bit.

[lussiane333]

The way you write art the clown is so perfect and it's sad there isn't that much content for him yet so thank you for doing god's work 😩 do you have any hc's of him receiving a lapdance from s/o?

Hello! Thank you for your kind words <3

This one took me some time.. 😅 Sorry for the wait, here it is!

I decided to do more slashers so:

Slashers receiving a lap dance from their S/O 🔥

Art the Clown

He's making facial expressions you've never seen before

We all know that our clown boy is a comedian..

He would take the hidden dollars out of his clown suit and tuck them behind your panties and grin like a madman he is

His eyes never left you, and the way you touched him, breathed against his lips and toyed with your underwear, his gaze seemed almost tender like

But when you knelt spread legged down on the floor and looked at him, he's gawking with an open mouth and dilated pupils

He would do anything for you, it's like you hypnotize him every time and deep down he hates it, but it just feels so good..

He wants to ruin you in his own fucked up way so yeah, get ready for a long night afterwards

Bo Sinclair

You want all of his attention and oh boy.. It's yours

The way you leant back on his lap and grinded against his bulge..

Yeah, he'd whip his cock out and jerk it shamelessly as you move your body against him

He's really into this, he loves watching you show off for him

You make him absolutely feral and he feels like a virgin seeing a woman's body for the first time, but he can't help himself

Don't get me wrong, he's really not seeing this for the first time, but he's seeing someone he loves and enjoys it so damn much

You went from between his thighs to sit on his lap, and groping, teasing and whispering nasty things in your ear quickly turned into you riding him in a reverse cowgirl

He has a secret erotic polaroid collection of you

He loves your body, your moves, everything about you makes him crazy

Charles Lee Ray

He would act indifferent at first

Yeah, yeah, you're hot but he has seen it many times before

Still likes it and won't keep his hands to himself, I mean you two love to put on any kind of a show

His biggest weakness is when you nib at his neck and run your nails down his chest, he's humming in approval, squeezing your ass harder

Praises and degrades you at the same time

"You really are the biggest whore I've ever seen"

"Come on baby, show me that I'm right, oh yes"

He wants you all to himself, but he also wants to show you off so he'd surely make you dance in front of a victim and be like:

"You see that? All mine"

"Show them exactly what they're missing on, baby"

His egoistic ass is so proud knowing that he has someone like you

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains x Reader || Imagines

Who wants some unrealistic fluff for Horror Villains? I sure do, let's do it-

Bo yelling at you, shocking you, and then Vincent coming outta fricken nowhere to huddle with you, hold your hands, and touch foreheads until you feel better. You might get over it quick, but he still want to protect you so he keeps softly squeezing your hands in his big warm talented artist hands and staying close to you.

Sitting in between Jason's legs or in his lap, with your back against his broad chest in front of a camp fire at night so you feel all snuggly and warn against him and with the heat of the fire wafting over to you. The only things that you hear are the fire crackling and the forest around you doing its natural, spooky-yet-comforting thing and, for a while... nothing feels bad ^^

Feeling sad and lonely, just cuz thats what your asshole of a brain is doing to you then, when Bo collapsing into bed with you after a long, exhausting day of his own. He doesnt even get changed, just takes off his hat and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. Then he wraps his arm over you and draws you into him and gives a beyond tired sigh. Ahh, there it is... he mutters, closing his eyes and falling asleep. Everything feels better after that ^^

Begging Freddy to just be a boyfriend for the night- just get into bed with you and wrap his arms around you. You really need it, just for tonight. Just a moment... to feel better. Miraculously he agrees and curls himself around you, his chin on your head, and you just take a deeeeep breath hidden where all you can see is red and freen stripes... and let it out... and start to feel better. Thank you...

Tiffany running you a bubble bath; The perfect temperature with lotsa soft bubbles and nice-smelling bath salts (Caramel, or eucalyptus, or chocolate... something that's warm and non-headachy, and comforting to you), and about a gazillion candles lit up and burning steadily all around you (Non-flickery). When you're ready to get out she has the softest robe of hers for you to wear and gives you sweet cheek kisses.

Laying down on the floor because you're just so overwhelmed and frustrated and just closing your eyes and counting to yourself... until Baby finds you- an Uno deck in her hand. Without a word she deals you seven cards and the two of you play a nice long round without saying a word, or even making faces at each other. It's a nice easy (But not too easy) thing to focus on and the first sound you make in who-knoss-how long ends up being a little laugh when you Draw Four her. She doesn't even mind the betrayal when you finally smile.

... Leaving the room where you were hanging with Chucky all of a sudden and going to your room, and screaming into a pillow because it's been building up for 2 damn movies. He'll hold you from behind for as long as it takes, happy to just lay there drawing patterns into your back (Possibly symbols?? Possibly sigils???) until you're ready to roll over and cuddle him back.

Candyman noticing your sour, upset mood and lifting your head up with his hook under your chin... looking so deeply into your eyes that maybe you start to shake a little under the intensity, and asking in that voice-... are you alright my dear? And you know he really means it, he really cares and he really wants to do something about if you're not okay.

Feeling dizzy and drained due to low-iron or from just not eating well lately when Foxy comes in with bags of groceries. When you look inside, it's all good stuff- bags full of big juicy apples and manderines and sweet, in-season nectarines. And other bags full of juicy broccoli and cobs of corn and lots and lots of snow peas. Also orange juice, and plain yoghurt, and some light crackers. Its a feast of non-heavy, healthy food that'll perk you up and you know he went grocery shopping for you and that just means so much!! You pull him into a hug and you don't even mind the B.O and gas smell ^^

Pamela having you stop working - you can do the dishes later, I know its hard but don't even look at them, - and just sit the hell down in front of the TV. She then puts her adorable baby Jason in your lap to cuddle carefully and turns on a nice long movie you both can watch. You will sit there, smell clean baby head, and watch TV for the duration of this film. Then she'll have a good, hearty meal ready for you, and you'll take a good long shower, and then- if you're well refreshed and still want to- you can do the dishes.

Feeling stressed out and your head won't stop going, so Norman guides you gently, tentatively away from whatever you were doing and to a bench before dissapearing for a moment. When he comes back he has a big book with plenty of pictures inside (Fauna species, or maps, or insects or something) and sits with you for a long time just looking through the pages. Every now and then he'll point at something in particular and stutter out a quiet comment that you nod carefully to, and until you're fully relaxed and engage in conversation with him about them ^^

Chop Top fixing his big noise cancelling headphones to your ears good and firm when you can't stand the random fricken noises anymore and playing music for you - music you like, - good and loud so everything else is tuned out until you're exhausted and ready to go to sleep.

BONUS, because this makes the total no. of imagines 13: Getting sick and tired of 'Sheriff Hoyt' and feeling uncomfortable about the whole stolen identity thing because who you fell in love with was Charlie- so he gets changed back into his comfy flannel and overalls and tells you he's Charlie again, for the night. C'mere, he tells you, pulling you by your waist into his side. You can't stop looking at him in that old baseball cap.

Which one of these would make you feel better??? I'd be so happy with Foxy!

[ali-r3n]

Being Enid’s older sister and the only one to stand up to your mother when she is too harsh with Enid

[multifandomwritings]

Slashers | General kissing headcanons (part 2)

Once more, not too many details about your first unmasked kiss for some of them! That will be its own post:) Some of these are longer than others depending on who I was inspired for x-x Also sorry it took me ages to do the second part to this lol. And sorry for any mistakes!

Don't mind me just adding Dewey to the mix :^) (Yes, I know he isn't a slasher, but he's a slasher character, so...) AND I didn't include Graverobber and Otis here, only because this got kind of lengthy. But if anyone's interested I'll write a separate post for them.

Includes the Sinclair Brothers, Luigi & Pavi Largo, Billy Lenz, Asa Emory, Charles Lee Ray, Tiffany Valentine and Dewey Riley

Bo Sinclair:

- Typically, kisses with Bo are either passionate and overwhelming or lazy and slow. They aren't uncommon with him because I see him as being pretty physical

- He'll pull you into his arms and hold your hips tightly, grinning if you get obviously flustered, enticing him to see how much of a reaction he can get out of you

- Alternatively, he'll pull you into his lap and kiss you surprisingly gently. Perfectly contented to stay like that for quite a while, lazily pushing his hands through your hair and enjoying the gentleness of it

- He is less used to sweet kisses in passing, and intimacy for the sake of just being close with him. If you randomly kiss him and just go about your business or peck his nose/forehead/whatever he'll always chuckle as if he's annoyed, watching you walk off in bewilderment

- Once he's more used to that sort of thing he'll do the same, though not often. Forehead/top of the head kisses are his thing, though sometimes he'll wrap his arm around you from behind and kiss your jaw/cheek

Vincent Sinclair:

- Vincent would be one of the masked slashers to take a little longer to get comfortable removing his mask. Despite the fact that he'd want your affection, he'd be a nervous mess about actually removing it in front of you for any reason

- He wouldn't at all be opposed to any other sort of affection at first though, or even kisses over his mask, on top of his head, etc. But you'd definitely have to be patient with him

- When he does finally take his mask off, kisses with him are heart-stopping, even despite the fact that he isn't the most experienced and is obviously a nervous wreck. However, he'd kiss you with so much love and feeling it wouldn't matter

- Kisses with him can be lazy/slow like Bo, but in a different way? He'd wrap you up in his arms (fingers slightly concealed by his sweater 🥺), relaxing into your hands, resting gently on his face and making him feel warm and safe with you. He wouldn't be in any rush for that to be over, in other words

- Not shy about initiating kisses with you once you're in an established relationship/he's confident and sure you want affection like that. Will appreciate sweet little kisses in passing and will do the same occasionally, but normally, even those turn into something else with him. He's very romantic/full of feeling

Lester Sinclair:

- Touch starved as could be and literally always ready for your kisses. Will never turn you down and will often kiss you in passing himself, just planting big, playful smooches on top of your head, cheek, wherever he can

- Tons of playful pecks whenever he feels like getting a smile out of you. Especially if you're in need of cheering up or you just decide to be affectionate with him randomly, he'll just start smiling and won't be able to resist

- Surprisingly restrained/shy about actually kissing you at first though. Not opposed or anything, just nervous. Turns a bright shade of red and heats up when you kiss him for the first time, melting into your touches and letting out a sharp breath

- But quickly finds himself very comfortable with it, if only because he loves your lips on his. Smiles into your kisses and pulls you close, wrapping his hands around your waist and/or playing with your hair, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, etc.

- All of the Sinclair brothers are lazy kissers more or less. Lester will just lazily grab your hand as you pass by and attempt to pull you over into his lap at random times, giving you a knowing smile. If you just keep going he'll put in a little effort though 👀

Luigi Largo:

- I am 100% convinced Luigi would be totally different around someone he really cared for and respected (and would be very smitten for his s/o). That having been said, I think he'd be adore any kind of affection, kisses being no exception

- Very shameless and affectionate with you, to the point of everyone else having to question how he can be so gentle and sweet with you and so harsh with everyone else

- Would pull you over into his arms no matter where you were and press kisses to your forehead, cheek, etc. without even thinking about it

- Fluctuates between really gentle and over-enthusiastic and rough when he kisses you. Not one for short and sweet kisses himself, although he'd adore them from you, grinning and leaning into them each time

- Doesn't matter how brief your kisses are, he'd always be amazed by you and would adore your affection

Pavi Largo:

- Clingy and touchy anytime he kisses you. Also not one for brief kisses, although he'd find them sweet. However, if you kiss him in passing, he'll often just pull you back toward him for more

- At first, at least. I think as you got more comfortable with each other, he'd actually love random, sweet kisses. You'd make him feel really loved and warm, in a more tender way than he is used to

- Depending on his mood, he would be either a clingy, touchy kisser, barely letting you catch your breath and pulling you to the side anytime he got the chance

- OR very gentle and lazy, just pulling you into his lap, fingers feathering over your face as you spoiled him with affection

- He's not inexperienced by any means, so he'd often easily leave you flustered and breathless. However, you'd soon realize you had the same effect on him, especially when you were softer and more loving with him

Billy Lenz:

- Sloppy, obviously, and unpracticed

- So nervous and breathy at first, but quickly gets overwhelmed and curious, squeezing your face into his hands and allows his feelings to overtake him

- Honestly even that would take him a while to get comfortable with though. Like yes, Billy talks big, but in practice?? It's a different story. Nervous around people generally, especially around someone he has feelings for. It's all new to him so he's eager but reserved and very nervous

- Things can easily get passionate with Billy once you're comfortable with each other, and since he isn't the most experienced, you'll have to guide him along otherwise he'll just be chaotic lol

- If you give him random kisses throughout the day he'll return them in his typical chaotic way, squishing your cheeks before giving you a sloppy smooch and grinning at your reaction

Asa Emory (The Collector):

- As with everything Asa related, it really depends on the context and which persona you're picturing! But even if you only knew him as Asa, I think he'd have a hard time 100% hiding his true self

-...That having been said, it would show especially during intimate moments. He's always somehow cold, even when he kisses you, but in such a strangely intense way? He treats you as a fascination (and with some amount of hesitancy, especially at first) easily making you get flustered and embarrassed with how attentive he is

- Will actually kiss you in passing sometimes, but it's always brief and without much feeling. Actual kisses would be a different story, however. He'd be touchy and curious, kind of brief and strange? He'd pull away often, examining your reactions to him (but fully and happily going along with it if you're more on the eager side lol)

- Sometimes he can be overly passionate as well, getting caught up in the moment and in his curiosities. Things can easily get heated and he'd be somewhat aggressive at times like that, pinning you against a wall or table and wrapping his hand around your neck/squeezing your hips hard beneath his fingers

- Somewhat amused if you kiss him randomly in passing or kiss him first at all really. He finds you sweet, in his own way, and allows it. Despite being pretty cold and such, he would get attached to you in his own way, so affection/intimacy is fine by him

Charles Lee Ray:

- Rough, fervent kisses as he pushes his fingers into your hair or around your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinning into you

- Either really lazy or really passionate. Usually both. Not the most affectionate or sweet ever but he wouldn't be opposed to you kissing him in passing or being sweeter with him

- ...Although he might not always be satisfied with brief, random kisses. Sometimes you get away with it but others he'd make you laugh by pulling you over grumpily and planting his lips on yours

- Would 100% have a habit of kissing you casually/innocently/in passing without even realizing it. Just passes by and plants a kiss on top of your head without even noticing. If you pointed it out he would just outright deny it lol

- Makes you roll your eyes with how unattached he seems and how he'd want to appear as not being clingy or affectionate while secretly always hoping for your affection. Not too proud to admit it if you hold out long enough 👀

Tiffany Valentine:

- Tiffany would adore your kisses, no matter how short or long they are. Quite affectionate herself and often kisses you quickly in passing, loving the sight of her lipstick on your face

- When she actually kisses you though, it's so full of feeling that it can be almost overwhelming. She would be both gentle and rough, but would definitely take her time with you

- Whispered reverences and sweet words, fingernails on your neck all the while. Once she got you to herself, she wouldn't often let you go easily

- Would really love if you kissed her first or really gave her any kind of affection without reservation. She'd never turn you down regardless of where you're at or who's around to see

- Completely smitten with you and would adore that you wanted to be affectionate with her like that

Dewey Riley:

- Very easily flustered. You could so much as innocently kiss his cheek and his ears would go all red and he wouldn't stop smiling about it for ages

- Gentle, sweet kisses that would somehow both make your heart race but also make you feel warm and at ease at the same time

- Smiles into your kisses a lot, he wouldn't be able to help it. Always really touchy but in a really hesitant way, like his hands would hover over you (especially at first when things are still awkward) and he wouldn't know what to do with them

- Playful and talkative anytime he kisses you, often pulling away just to pay you compliments or make little comments to make you laugh

- Would be too shy to kiss you randomly at first, but if you kissed him in passing, he'd adore it. He'd go out of his way to give you opportunities to, lingering around randomly just because he'd adore your affection. Once he was more comfortable and confident, he'd do the same, although not without second guessing himself and hesitating enough to earn a smile out of you