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#I Do Not Need Anymore Wallpapers Or Flooring. I Do Not Need Anymore Wallpapers Or Flooring. I Do N
lunod · 11 months
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Ok so if I play my cards right I can afford a house all by myself on SSDI. 😬🤞
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Lipstick on your face - S.H
Steve Harrington x female!reader
Steve is over at his girls house for the first time
A/n: boyfriend!steve, fluff
Warnings: kissing
Word count: 1.1k
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“I’m nervous.” She couldn't help but smile as Steve hid his face away in her neck, lips brushing her skin, his nose a little cold. She already knew he was nervous, she could tell by the way he had sat in the car for so long, or how long it actually took him to get into the car in the first place.
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She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing him back a little, trying to get him to listen. “My family don't hate you Stevie.” 
He raised his brows at her. But she wasn’t lying, they didn't hate him, they just weren't very keen on him and she often avoided bringing him up at the dinner table but they couldn't sleep at his house forever, she wanted him to stay in her room every once and a while. In her pretty pink sheets. She wanted to see his toothbrush in her bathroom. 
“You’ll be fine.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, rubbing her thumb over the mark of lipstick she left behind. It wasn't nearly a long enough kiss but Steve didn't need to be caught with his tongue down her throat in the middle of the hallway. “We’ll say a quick hello then we can go up to my room.”
She flinched slightly and looked down the hall when she heard something clamouring in the kitchen, her own nerves taking over a little. It didn't matter to her what they thought of Steve but it did matter to her how they treated him and everyone in town was so stuck on king Steve, she hoped they could forget about that.
“Oh yeah?” She felt a hand between her shoulder blades, familiar fingertips brushing her bare skin, making her stomach twist. “Your room huh?” He grinned, running his hand up to her neck, squeezing it just a little less than he wanted too. 
She felt the heat rising to her cheeks, no matter how long they had been going out for he could make her so flustered with just a few words or even a look. He didn't seem so nervous anymore. 
“Yeah, my room.” She smiled at the floor and she could hear Steve’s soft laugh as he let his hand fall, she instantly missed his touch but there wasn't time to pout until he put his hand back because they weren’t alone anymore. 
After a little more than a hello, she was practically dragging Steve up to her room, hands around his arm as a thousand questions were directed his way. He looked a little pale and there were only so many times he could just laugh and lean against the kitchen door frame. He actually slipped once. 
Steve pulled himself from her hold right outside her bedroom door, something he never thought he would ever be doing but if he did not lean against something, he was going to faint or throw up. He chose the pink wall across from her room. 
“I told you.” He sighed, defeated, a little saddened. He just adored her so much, loved her completely and he wanted her family to see that, not to see some kid as they kept affectionately calling him that wasn't good enough.
She bit her bottom lip. “They're just being protective.” Steve tilted his head to the side and pulled a face she knew all too well. She stepped towards him, across the hall, hands behind her back and eyes as doe like as they could get. “I swear.” 
She stopped right in front of him, innocent hands suddenly not behind her back but instead fussing with the loops in his jeans. He could make her forget anything, it was obvious from the way he started to smile.
His girlfriend's family didn't like him and yet he was smiling like a lovesick fool. It was so hard to care about anything else when he had her. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He spoke just above a whisper, in that soft tone that made her chest ache. 
“Someone might have mentioned it a few times before.” She took his hand, ignoring his blatant, head spinning flirting and pulling him across the hall. “Come on.”
And just as Steve expected her bedroom was exactly as he imagined, all soft pinks and pretty flower wallpaper, posters of her favourite movies, favourite singers, heart shaped pillows on the bed and magazines on the floor.  
He only looked around for a second before he was grabbing her hips, pulling her into him, making her jump just a little. She had never had a boy in her room before, no one ever as dreamy as her Stevie. She hoped her diaries were still stuffed in the back of her closet so he couldn’t see how many times her high school self had written out his initials besides her own. 
“Hi.” She smiled softly, remembering that Steve had been nervous earlier so it was okay that she was now. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, like she had before but this one was much longer, then another to her forehead. “Do you wanna-” Another under her jaw. “What do-”
He laughed, that Steve Harrington laugh that could have girls tripping over nothing. “Trying to say something pretty girl?” He held her face, not missing the warmth of her skin against his palms. She looked so pretty like this, looking up at him, trying to get her words out but failing. He loved how in love with him she looked.
“I was but you keep-” She broke her sentence to tilt her head to the side, giving him a knowing look, he was teasing her. “You keep kissing me.” She finished, leaning into his touch a little more, almost wanting to press a thousand kisses to his hand, his wrist, his arm…
“Sorry, I’ll stop.”
“No.” She whined, quickly pressing her lips to his, feeling him smirk against her. She didn’t realise how badly she wanted to actually kiss him, it felt like hours since they had been alone but in reality it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes.  
Steve’s hands came around her waist, keeping her pressed to him, right where she belonged. He muttered something about liking her room, she muttered something that sounded like thank you but neither of them cared to stop kissing. 
They had all night to talk and for him to mock her for her diaries and the posters on the wall, right now he just needed to kiss his girl until she couldn’t think straight. 
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WIBTA for calling animal rescue/welfare on my mom who loves her pets?
My mom has 2 cats and 1 dog. I want to start off by saying that she doesn't physically abuse her animals.
They're in a weird state of being really emotionally spoiled and completely physically neglected. The dog sleeps in bed with her and is always on the sofa, doesn't get told off when he pees and poops in the house, and the cats are always getting cuddles. The cats are getting kinda fat because they're fed a lot.
My mom is an alcoholic and she doesn't look after herself or her home at all. It's been years since she showered or bathed, she goes weeks without changing her clothes except for when she works, her house is genuinely falling completely apart. Cupboard doors are falling off at the hinges and propped up with buckets, doors don't close, carpets are coming up off the floor, wallpaper is peeling, the shower door fell off and shattered, the toilet lid is cracked in half, the floors are too dirty to step on without shoes, the entire house STINKS of animal urine and there are stains everywhere. A couple of years back she had an insect infestation in one of the bedrooms.
Now, my mom loves her pets and really emotionally relies on them. Ever since I moved out she's been alone and has regressed even worse because when she's at home she has nothing to do but drink and watch TV. The pets are her only company most days.
However, her bad hygiene and home care translates to them. It has been YEARS since the dog was walked, and months since he even got a cursory trip over the road to the small grass area outside her house. His fur is always matted, and he recently had fleas (god knows how when he doesn't leave the house but there you go). He has bald patches of fur missing. He pees and poops all over the floors and carpets because he just doesn't get let outside to do it enough - and he runs away or hides when you find it so he 100% knows he's not supposed to, he just doesn't have a choice because he's not able to go into the garden. His claws are always so long they're bothering him when he walks, and as gross as it is to describe there have been COUNTLESS times I've visited and he's had literal shit caked onto his fur around his tail because he's had diarrhea and when I've pointed it out that he needs to be washed my mom brushes it off with "It's only a little bit" and continues to let him onto the bed/couch.
The cats are mildly better off because they can clean themselves, but their litter trays are always OVERFLOWING - like, genuinely, mountains of cat poop piling up in the trays to the point where they're going on the floor because they don't have room in the tray - and one of them is sleeping in a bed that is Caked in vomit stains, clumps of hair, other miscellaneous marks, all of that.
I've called someone about it before when I still lived there, and a woman did stop by to check it out and told my mom that the cat litters were unacceptable, but my mom just lies to them. According to her the dog gets walked twice a day without fail, gets a ton of enrichment, everything, and you can't really prove her to be lying. The woman told her she'd drop by in a week to check on the litters, my mom kept them clean until she came back and gave the okay, and then just went right back to neglecting them and nothing was done about it.
I have no idea what to do anymore but I want to call again and really impress upon them that they're not being cared for. I sent photos and video evidence last time along with an explanation, but it doesn't seem like it got me anywhere at all. I just don't know what else to do. I've brought up the idea of taking at least the dog with me to my new place (it's very nearby so she'd still be able to visit him and I'd be able to walk him up to her house), but she VEHEMENTLY objected and told me she'd never be able to let him go.
I'm not sure what it would do tbh, even disregarding that she'd probably just get a new pet I would be genuinely worried she'd lose all interest in life if they were taken away.
TL;DR Mom's alcoholism means she doesn't look after her pets and they're not being cared for at all, but taking them away would severely impact her mental health.
WIBTA for calling animal services on her again?
What are these acronyms?
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shalotttower · 3 months
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Darling, Darling
Title: Darling, Darling Fandom: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) Summary: The way he cradles you to his chest is almost reverent, like you are something precious. Bubba delivers a lesson after you tried to run away. Word Count: 1500+ Characters: Bubba Sawyer x Reader (female) Notes: Captive Reader, murder (implied), blood and gore (implied), violence, spanking, yandere Bubba Sawyer, cannibalism (mentioned), kinda NSFWish?
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The way he cradles you to his chest is almost reverent, like you are something precious, delicate. Something to be cherished. Hands capable of ripping through flesh with ease carry you down the hall, careful not to bang your feet into corners. He doesn't want to hurt you. You know he doesn't, but it hurts anyway. Everything hurts.
Covered in dust and god knows what else, this house is in terrible shape and it reeks - of old colourless wallpapers, age and grime, of grease and smoke and slow decay. No one cleans here, at least from what you've seen. You make an effort not to look into the surroundings; there's a head on a coffee table and it's enough to make bile rise in your throat. So you focus on a single abstract spot in the distance.
"Please, I want to go home," your mouth feels dry when you speak.
He looks down, concerned eyes and messy hair, then shakes his head. Bubba Sawyer doesn't talk. Well, that's not entirely true. He makes sounds, noises. Squeals and grunts. He hums and whistles sometimes, but doesn't form words like you do. Whole and functional sentences don't come to him, which is likely a product of both genetics and childhood environment.
"Please."
With a quiet whimper he presses his face into your hair, and speeds up. The mask he's wearing today belongs to a young woman, or what once was a young woman, now it's merely skin stretched to a degree it shouldn't be.
No. No, you can't leave; Bubba pats your head to make a point - this is home.
"You can't keep me here," you rasp.
He smooths your back and makes more sounds, muffled by the leather; but he can. He can keep you, Drayton said so. He asked. Begged. Pleaded to keep you and Drayton said yes. Not before hitting him with that thick broom - ouch - but it was okay, because Bubba got to keep you. You're the first girl he has like this, the only girl he has like this since Nubbins died. Bubba misses Nubbins, but maybe with you he won't miss him so much anymore.
He needs you to see, to understand. To not run again.
Up, up the stairs you go, past framed pictures in the shades of brown, grey and black. Past the bathroom with peeling paint, stained bathtub and old medicine cabinet. Upstairs smells better than downstairs, cleaner somehow. The first time he brought you out of the basement was terrifying, you thought that was it. A filthy kitchen and walls caving in - the last thing you'd ever see. He gave you one of his grandmother's nightgowns instead, it had a faint perfume smell. The ruffles reminded you of lace wedding dresses from vintage movies. Bubba tucked you in next to himself, like you were a doll or a teddy, and you spent the whole night staring into the darkness, listening to his loud snores. It was warm, better than sleeping on the floor.
The mattress creaks when he sits you down.
His room is a simple space with a single bed and a shelf, crammed with objects that catch Bubba's eye. There's a crucifix on a wall; the irony of it even being there is almost laughable.
You look up. In a white-frame window the sun is setting, and nothing but miles and miles of cornfields surround this house.
You are in the middle of nowhere.
If he once decides that you're not something worth keeping around but food, then it's over. No one will ever find you.
A sob wrecks out of your throat. He crouches, and before you know what's happening, wipes your tears. Hushing and cooing and gently pressing his big hands to your cheeks. It would be so much easier if you could hate him, if he hurt you out of some deranged and violent instinct. But no, Bubba doesn't do any of those things.
He looks at you like you hung the moon and stars, he tries to care for you. Brings you flowers and plates loaded with food which you can't eat, because one look turns your stomach upside down. Because you know what is it, and he...he just doesn't understand why you keep refusing - Drayton always cooks nice meals and Bubba loves his cooking too.
He feeds you warm milk and bread, applesauce and boiled chicken breast cut into small pieces. Watches you chew with careful attention, lips smacking, tongue peeking out as he copies the movements of your mouth.
You feel sick.
He brings you gifts - broken toys, jewelry snatched from dead women, trinkets found in trash cans or discarded by the roadside. You wear some, because if you don't he gets upset and his shoulders sag. It's like kicking a puppy, and it's so...twisted. Everything about this is twisted, like some grotesque play.
Bubba doesn't hurt you.
Unless Drayton tells him to.
He hates this, when Drayton tells him to, because "you're getting uppity and spoiled". It's confusing - you're not spoiled. You behave well most of the time, eat chicken and never call him names, you're warm and soft and let him hold you at night. He likes that a lot. Bubba thinks it might be love, it's fuzzy inside when you're close, like in those shows Grandpa and Grandma used to watch before they gone still.
But Drayton is the oldest, he's smart and knows best.
You whine softly into the pillow as Bubba slaps your backside and whimpers too each time a croak of pain wrenches from your mouth. He wishes that he didn't have to do this, but you need to learn and be good, not try to run, otherwise Drayton might take you away. Bubba doesn't want this.
Your panties dangle around your knees - blue, lace trimmed - Bubba finds them very pretty, if it was in his power he'd give you all the pretty things to wear.
He swallows and raises his hand.
The flesh jiggles under his palm as he spanks you. Bubba counts in his head - Drayton said seven should be enough - one, two, three, four-
He tries to be gentle, but his strength is not used for being gentle. He has spent most of his life doing manual labor. With bare hands he can kill food. The soft skin of your backside changes color quickly into a bright shade of pink, and Bubba squeezes it for a moment, trying to soothe the sore area.
It doesn't help, tears rolling down your face keep wetting the pillow. He wants to scoop you up and cuddle, press kisses to your cheeks, but Drayton told him no. No kissing or hugging until you learn; "she is manipulating you, dimwit".
Your breath comes out ragged in uneven hitches, Bubba doesn't like how miserable you look, small and fragile on his bed. When your sounds subside to quiet, intense sobs, he makes a distressed whine. He feels bad, so very bad, but maybe next time you won't try to leave.
Six. Seven. Done.
Your poor bottom is bright red and raw looking, Bubba pats it carefully. He rubs cool cream to your skin, the one he snuck from Drayton's drawer, making sure to get everywhere before pulling your panties up. You smell nice - sweaty and salty like after work on a hot day.
You always stop talking to him right after. For the rest of the evening, the next few days or sometimes a whole week, and it's awful. You don't eat chicken, the pretty trinkets lie discarded and you won't even look at him.
It hurts more than Drayton and his broom do.
Bubba sits beside you on the mattress for several minutes, waiting. Waiting until you turn - just a little bit - so that he can tap your damp cheeks dry with a towel and maybe feed you apple slices dipped in honey. If you'll let him.
You don't.
Eventually you crawl under the blanket, stiff and quiet, back facing him. His throat burns, you're mad, you don't like Bubba anymore. Dread unfolds at the bottom of his stomach as the sky outside starts darkening, every time he gets scared that this will be it, that you'll hate him forever from now on.
Hesitantly, he climbs underneath the covers, settles on the very edge of the mattress and wriggles a bit closer every five minutes, in case you'll change your mind and want a hug - the lesson is delivered, so it doesn't matter, Drayton won't know anyway.
But the time passes and turns into an hour, yet still you don't move, not even a peek over your shoulder. He waits longer and then a bit more. His heart drops when Bubba realizes: you fell asleep without saying goodnight.
He watches your back rise and fall, then reaches across the bed to stroke your hair. Somehow his arm curves over your frame, and before Bubba knows it, he moves you closer, closer, up against his chest. Your breath is shaky and rough, but he holds on tight, the same way he'd clutch his favourite things.
Tomorrow Bubba will bring you flowers, some tulips because they are pretty like you, and maybe you'll be less angry. Maybe you'll eat apple slices and sit on Bubba's lap by the stove while Drayton cooks dinner, and won't try to run again. He hopes you won't.
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iconocon · 1 year
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what about me | verstappen
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⚔︎ ✧ (short)
there he was.
a wet max verstappen stood in the doorframe of your apartment smelling like the mini-bar of a cheap hotel and it was not a good look on him. your eyes went from the bird's nest of a hair on his head to the dark wine-red half-smudged lipstick stain on his white collared shirt to the belt around his waist that was left on one notch too big.
"i didn't know where else to go"
"why would you come here"
"i needed you please don't make me go home"
you hated him. hated that he always knew exactly what to say to suck you in, to forgive him for the stupid shit he does but your heart was too big to kick the wet beaten-down puppy anymore so with a big sigh you stepped backward allowing him into the hallway.
"max"
you two knew each other well enough by this point that he automatically tried reaching to take off his wet black dress shoes but I'm sure the rain mixed with the cheap vodka was too much for him and he went tumbling to the wooden floor in a mess. if anything your patience with him was wearing thin and with one glance into your living you would see the big clock above your sofa laying out the time of 3:25 in the morning. so slowly getting down to his height you reached for one foot while he reached for the other, of course, you managed it way before him and even chuckled at the frustrated look on his face as he struggled with the knot he himself made which did all but distract his gaze to your face. the way he stared at you was unnerving, as if he wanted to say something so bad but didn't have the guts to do it and that probably scared you the most because if he of all people was scared to say something it was not something you wanted to hear.
"come"
before you could even say no or turn down the offer the man himself nudged your knee out from underneath you with just his foot laying you flat on ur butt/the wet footprints he made himself minutes before.
"what the fu-"
"i don't know who i am anymore" he interrupted and before you could say anything he stopped you with a hand on your knee as he stared mindlessly with glazed-over eyes into your beige wallpaper abyss of a hallway, "I'm not happy not at home, not on the track, I don't know how to make it okay again" you wanted to reach out and touch him but every time your fingers moved closer to his body he shifted around them so he was just so out of reach which at this point should have been a normal occurrence for you but it still didn't stop the pain in your chest. "i went out and i did what the guys wanted, i drank and drank, and i danced with some girl who only liked me fo-" the hiccup stopped he sentence but the lipstick mark on his collar told the story for him. "i wanted to be okay just for one night" this time you didn't allow him to push his body away from you and instead sat shoulder to shoulder with him grabbing his damp head and pulling it down into your lap. as you ran your fingers through his hair you hummed a familiar song that you both loved as children even going as far to label it as ‘your song’.
max was a tough guy. growing up in the way in which he did he wasn't allowed the luxury of being a crazy teen or a child that could talk back to his parents. he was a prodigy meant to be something greater than all the other kids on the block and you saw it in him the moment you met on track. at that time you wanted to be something too, you wanted to be bigger than all the stars, but reality set in for you too young making you realize that you weren't cut out for the same dreams as your peers however that didn't stop you from being a selfish child then adult and keeping him.
your crush on max was visible from day one, he was all chubby bright pink cheeks and fury. you want to say the first time you realized your crush was the same day he yelled at pierre gasly (one of your now both good friends) for pushing you off track after he broke late in one of the corners making you cry your eyes out because you were finally able to compete for a podium. it was dumb and it was stupid but he was your savior even as children making sure to do everything he could to make you laugh even making himself look stupid to onlookers in restaurants by putting straws up his nose one day when you were sad your mom said you couldn’t have ice cream.
when he too grew up and left it was probably the hardest thing you had to go through because to you he was your peace, your home, but as a teen, it was hard for you to realize at the time that you weren't his. racing took your best friend away, and it was bittersweet because he was so good. he was better than you thought he was, and now your drunk sad best friend was a two-time world champion who could be recognized around the world. for fucks sake he raced in countries you could only dream of on a normal person's salary and even when it felt like you grew so far apart you knew he still needed you as he did now. you were the one person in the world he knew he could come to and cry and cry and do it again until he couldn't feel any more but yet maybe he didn't understand why that hurt you. why right now as he was laying in your arms you were so focused on the way his heart skipped a beat when he snored that your own heartbeat fell in tune with him.
you loved max verstappen and even though you could never be enough for him you selfishly hoped now as you did as children that he would always need you even if that meant waiting forever but, for now, you slept dreaming of what it could be like if maybe just maybe he did too.
AN
this is so short and probably bad but i was SAD and i might delete it idk i haven't written in so long but i have a few in the chamber anyway pls send prompts I love u!
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wardenparker · 5 months
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Red Lipstick
Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: Ghost!reader, drug use (cocaine), mentions of murder, mentions of past adultery, dirty talk, hair pulling, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, fingernails/scratching, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex while high. Summary: When Dieter moves into a new house, the last thing he expected was to end up with a sultry new roommate. Especially one that died almost a hundred years ago. Notes: Blessed Samhain and Happy Halloween everybody! Let's celebrate by having Dieter get both high and nasty.
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"I think you're going to be really pleased with how things are set up, Dee." As his personal assistant, Kendra has spent the last month getting her best and only client packed up, moved into his new house, and unpacked again while Dieter Bravo has been overseas filming. He had decided that the mansion he had been living in, in Malibu, just wasn't doing it for him anymore and she had been dispatched to fix the problem.
This art deco colossus in the Hollywood Hills was her answer — supposedly having belonged to some long forgotten starlet back in the silent era. Poor thing was poisoned by her husband's mistress, if the rumors were true. But Dieter didn't need to know that. Instead, Kendra sweeps him inside the door with an encouraging smile on her face and tries to get him to look around. "If you want anything moved around, you just say the word," she promises him.
“It’ll be fine.” For all his bullshit, Dieter isn’t actually as fussy as a lot of people might believe. He just wants a comfortable, vibey place to relax, do drugs and fuck. He looks around and nods, impressed with how quickly they’ve set everything up. “Kinda creepy. I like it.”
"I found some of the original furnishings in the attic and had them cleaned up. Reupholstered as necessary. I thought you'd like them." Extremely pleased with herself, Kendra looks around the large front hall and smiles. "There is food in the fridge with reheat instructions and plenty of things in the pantry if you want to eat without fuss. Your chef will be coming by every other day like usual. Would you like a tour?"
“Sure.” Maybe it’s a little odd that he’s needing a tour for a home he now owns, but he couldn’t be bothered to actually look at the listings that Kendra had sent him. She knew what he liked and what he didn’t, and he had trusted her to pick the best one for him.
The first floor has all the usual rooms, and considering the place was built in 1920 it has some unusual ones, too. A library and a dining room make perfect sense. The sitting room has been transformed into a relatively normal living room. The conservatory with all the plants Kendra could reasonably cram into it has a big table for playing games at and a bunch of places to sit for when he has people over to work but they want something nice to look at. The former ballroom? She left it sparsely decorated so he can decide what he wants to do with it later. Upstairs, the five bedrooms all have walk-in closets and their own bathrooms, and the largest one has been turned into his new bedroom. The giant brass bed in the attic was way nicer than his so she topped it with his mattress and covered the whole thing in his favorite sheets, blankets, and pillows. His other furniture is all set up, and his assistant has set up all the other guest rooms to be ready to go. “What do you think?” Kendra asks, leading him into the room with dark green wallpaper and mahogany wainscoting.
Dieter frowns and tilts his head at the ornate bed. “Did– that’s not my bed, is it?” He asks, pointing at it. “I would remember being tied to it, and I – I’ve not done that yet, I don’t think.”
“I found it in the attic,” Kendra tells him, passing by the comment with just a half-smirk. “I thought you’d like it.”
"It fucking cool." His eyes are positively excited as he rushes towards the bed and caresses the brass scroll work on the bed. "It's mine? It came with the house?" He can't imagine that someone would leave this badass bed, he wouldn't. It's orate and beautiful, drawing him to it in a way he can't describe. Imagining amazing sex in this bed and the flash of a woman. Just a glimpse as his hand wraps around one post.
“It’s yours.” She’s pleased with his reaction and smiles as he inspects the looming piece of furniture. “I know you have a few favorite booty calls in town if you want to try it out tonight.”
He chuckles and almost agrees but he doesn't. Deciding he wants to spend his first night in the house alone. Settle with it and figure out what kind of vibes it's giving him. "Maybe," is all he says.
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” She nods when he looks back at her and heads for the stairs, leaving Dieter alone in his new house. He has the keys, he has his bearings, and he has dinner already made. She’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.
"Hello?" He calls out, just for fun even as the door has closed behind his assistant minutes ago. He's a firm believer in spirits, knowing that his aura projects out into the universe. It's why he doesn't like things messing with his brain waves like the bluetooth headphones.
“Hello sweetie.” From the doorway of the bedroom that once was yours, you place your hands on your waist and practically hum at the man standing near your bed. He doesn’t have that slick, smooth, buttoned-up look that men of your era did, but he has an undeniable appeal all his own. Not that he can see you — oh no — but at least you’ll have something nice to look at. The last family to own the house your fortune built was rather…unfortunate looking.
There's something. Dieter's skin tingles and he hums as he looks around the room. Swearing that he had felt something. "I'm– uh, I come in peace." He tells the room.
“Aw, sugar…” Tutting, you saunter into the room and cross your arms over your chest. The dressing robe you’ve worn for the last ninety-five years still gives you the feeling of swishing around as you move even though that’s now impossible. “You can’t see me, handsome. Or hear me. Nobody can.”
"Whoever you are..." Dieter's brows lift and he gives a sympathetic expression. "I feel you. Just know that I'm here to live beside you. And get really high."
“Feel me?” It would be too much to ask for it to be true, and you tilt your head at him curiously. “Sugar, I’d let you feel me in a heartbeat.“
"Can spirits get high?" He asks, mostly to himself and he chuckles. "We can get faded together."
“Guess we’ll have to find out.” You laugh softly to yourself. “Might be fun.”
"I'm hungry." Dieter groans, rubbing his stomach and then scratching it. "Gonna go down to the kitchen and get something to eat." He looks around the room. "Don't like– throw a knife at my head or anything, okay?"
That makes you laugh, a deep sound that is unpretentious and unexpected, and you decide to follow him down to the kitchen. The blandness of the last owners had been absolute, but this one is fun. And at least not a stick in the mud. Maybe his food will be worth smelling as well.
Rambling down the stairs, Dieter starts to hum a little tune. One that he doesn't recognize but he swears it from some old black and white movie.
“Now how do you know that?” The sound of the tune makes you hurry up, floating alongside this new man on feet that no longer touch the ground. You’d know it anywhere. The theme from a movie long gone and long forgotten — but that you’d sung yourself into that big studio microphone to be recorded and played for your first ever ‘talkie’. If only you hadn’t died first, you might’ve made a go of musicals.
"What movie is that from?" Dieter loves to get stoned and watch old movies. Having hundreds of channels that include a lot of classic movies, black and whites and even the great era of silent movies. There was something about that time that just appeals to him, the art of acting without saying a word. It took a lot more skill to portray emotion and your intent when you cannot say anything. "I'll have to look it up."
“Bernice Bobs Her Hair…” The film had been full of dances and a few good songs, all wrapped around that darling story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It was supposed to be a breakout. Reignite your star. Instead you were dead on premiere night. “It was called Bernice Bobs Her Hair.”
“B something,” Dieter frowns, cocking his head as he reaches for the fridge. “The chick who was in it died the night it came out.” He snaps his fingers and yanks the door open to see what Kendra had left for him, “Ohhhhh Thai!”
"Thank god I looked good, at least." You huff, crossing your arms again as you try to figure out what he's tying as he takes things out of the icebox.
“Peanut sauce, fuck yes!” He could kiss his assistant, knowing he’s been on a Thai kick lately and she has put all his favorites in there. “I can reheat the samosas in the air fryer. That will be good.” He talks to himself. “Pad Thai, that omelet thing I can never say right. Fuckkkkkkk, she got me the green curry. Imma get fucked up and munch.”
He's got a boyish kind of charm to him as he zips around the kitchen, and if you could you would be leaning back against the counter to watch. As it is, the small sound of your laughter and the smile on your face is private, but you find yourself hoping he might continue to speak to himself out loud from time to time. It's nice to be able to pretend that he is actually talking to you.
Dieter straightens up and looks towards the counter near the fridge. “Oh shit. Forgive me. I don’t know how to live with a – a spirit.” He shrugs. “Do you want to join me? Can ghosts eat? Probably not right? Fuck. That would suck. I’m sorry.”
When he looks right at you, you feel your mouth fall open and your eyes double in size. "You— can you— see me?" It's just a coincidence. It has to be. He can't possibly be looking at you, right? Just...in your general direction...
“I swear to fuck you are right there.” He points at you and sighs. “Or you’re so goddamn lonely you’re inventing ghosts to have someone to talk to, Bravo.” He blows out a breath, wondering when he lost his fucking mind.
"I am right here." Moving away from the counter, you get closer to him and closer, wondering how it's possible at all for him to sense you. If he has any idea who you are. "I'm right in front of you..." you murmur, wondering what would happen if you reached out to try to touch him.
“Right.” Dieter drops his head and reaches up to rub his neck. “Time to do some cocaine.” He grunts, sure that he’s answered his own question. “Or maybe that new shit Kevin brought me.” It amused him to no end that his regular supplier’s name was Kevin. He had him in his phone as ‘Home Alone’ for kicks.
"Ooo, cocaine. How darling and nostalgic of you. I miss cocaine." When he walks away you can't help but sigh. Or you would, if you still drew breath. Instead you occupy yourself in the most entertaining way currently at your disposal: following around the living person in your house.
There's a reason Dieter loves to have ornate or even simple flat mirrors around his home. One, it reflects light and brightens any space up. Two, it's great for setting up a line for coke. Making him think of those 80's parties every time he uses his credit card to line one up to snort, he giggles. "Too bad I don't have one of those fancy rings where you open the little compartment to take a bump." He grunts, knowing he would always have that thing loaded.
“Find my jewelry box in the attic and you’ll find a few beauties.” You hum, setting yourself on the nearby chair to lounge. That’s all you can do these days and it’s terribly annoying.
Once the line is as perfect as he wants it, Dieter rolls up a five dollar bill and bends over the mirror. It's quick, the pain of snorting something up his nose long since faded, and he throws his head back at the rush of pure endorphins. Eyes closed as the feeling settles over him like a warm blanket and he groans, dropping his head back down and opening his eyes.
Only to give a yelp when he spots a woman lounging on one of his living room chairs. "What the fuck!"
“You can see me!” This time there is no mistaking it, and you practically bounce and clap your hands with glee. “Sugar, that magical white powder of yours is a little more magical than you think!”
"Who the fuck are you?" Dieter stumbles back and bumps into a table behind him, rocking the lamp but he doesn't pay it any attention. "How the fuck did you get in. I– look, I don't want a crazy fan in my house. I'll call the police!"
“Call the police all you want, handsome. They won’t be able to see what you’re so worried about.“ It had happened with the last owners — when you had gotten fed up with being ignored and invisible and dead you had gone on a good old fashioned haunting spree that resulted in everything from police being called to exorcisms being performed. The family finally moved out in a rush and the house had been empty for almost ten years. “And darlin’?” You drawl, delighted that he can actually hear you. “You’re the one in my house.”
"Your house?" Dieter shakes his head and blinks again. Swearing that he's on a bad trip, but there is a shimmeriness around you and your hair is very styled. Despite the fact that you are wearing a vintage dressing gown, with the feathered sleeves that seemed to be in every old movie from the classics. He frowns, blinking again and then it clicks. "Oh shit. I know who you are."
“Oh, really?” Practically preening at the idea that he might recognize you since he clearly has seen at least one of your films, you instinctively strike a pose in the chair. “Guess I just have one of those unforgettable faces,” you purr.
"You're dead though." He shakes his head again and throws out a lopsided grin. "But you look really good for a dead broad." He says your name and then pauses. "Right?"
“Right as rain.” You chirp happily. It’s been so long since you’ve even been seen that being recognized again seems like a faraway dream. “But who is this handsome fella that’s in my house with my bed in his room?”
It can't be real. It can't be. You died. A fucking long time ago. Dieter hums, realizing he must be in another one of those hallucinations of his. They are getting more and more vivid the longer he uses. Maybe his agent was right and he needed a stint in rehab. For now, he shrugs and introduces himself. "Dieter Bravo. I'm an actor too. Oscar winner." He adds.
“Oscar winner, huh?” The brag isn’t lost on you, and you bat your eyelashes at him in your old accustomed way. “A big shot.”
"Maybe." Despite his air of arrogance that he wears, Dieter is like most actors. Neurotic and craving validation and love. "To some."
“I would’ve had one,” you toss one hand in the air flippantly, delighted that he can actually see you do it. “But they didn’t start those things until after I died.”
“Really?” He hums and tilts his head. “What year?”
“What year did I die, you mean?” A dramatic sigh from you is an effort since you don’t need breath anymore, but it’s so fun to play. “I died October 27, 1928, sugar. Right here in this house.”
“How?” He asks with a frown. “I mean, you look great. You don’t look dead.”
“Well, aren't you sweet?” A girl does like a compliment now and then. Especially when she hasn’t had one in almost a hundred years. “It was poison, sweet thing. Should’ve known better than to let someone else mix my drinks.”
“You were poisoned?” Dieter looks alarmed, too alarmed for a death that happened nearly 100 years ago, but he’s looking around like the murderer would pop out at any moment.
“Tale as old as time, handsome.” You shrug your shoulders, having had plenty of time to process the betrayal. “My best friend was sleeping with my husband and they wanted me out of the way. Don’t know why he didn’t just ask for a divorce…probably so he could keep my money.”
“Fuck.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sorry. Want a drink?” He asks, feeling comfortable enough to offer a ghost a drink. “Oh shit– no, you wouldn’t want me to pour you a drink. I’m an idiot.”
“If I could have a drink, I’d let you pour me one.” He seems sweet. A little lost. Maybe abandoned. But sweet. Like a puppy that needs to be pet more often.
“I can see you.” He reasons. “Maybe you can. After all…” he shrugs. “Ghosts can’t sit and you're lounging on my chair, sprawled theatrically.”
"Oh sugar, I can assure you that ghosts do sit. We do a hell of a lot of it, in fact. Or else we'd do nothing but float around or stand all day, and variety is the spice of...well...death."
“What else can you do?” Dieter latches onto the conversation with an eagerness that surprises him but it’s not everyday he converses with ghosts.
"I can push things over sometimes." You have managed that early on. Scaring the devil out of your husband and his plaything so frequently that they had abandoned the house and sold it as quickly as possible. "Flicker the lights. Cause breezes. You know...ghostly things."
“Hmmmm.” Dieter moves over to the bar and pours a glass of whiskey. “Come see if you can drink.” He urges you.
"I seriously doubt it, darlin', but why not." Shrugging your shoulders, you lift yourself up from the seat you had been lounging in and saunter over to the bar. It's been a hell of a long time before you were able to do anything at all, and this man – Dieter – is the first person who has been able to do as much as sense you in decades. Why not have a little fun? Once you're standing beside him you reach out, waggling your bejeweled fingers a little before attempting to wrap them around the glass. As hard as you can possibly concentrate, your hand slips right through the glass and the liquid inside, coming up empty.
“What if I hold it for you?” The rational part of his brain is screaming that it won’t work, but there’s this voice that keeps telling him to try.
“Why the hell not?” It won’t work, but it seems to amuse him to try, so you sway closer and tilt your head expectantly.
He's nervous, not because he needs to step closer to you, but because – what if this works?. He might be able to do something no one else has been and thats pretty fucking cool.
You really hate to see him get his hopes up, but indulgently tilt your head back for the liquid to – as expected – pass right through you to a puddle on the floor. “It’s alright, sugar,” you croon softly when he looks disappointed, and ingrained instinct makes you reach like you could somehow pat his face even though you’ve just proven the opposite. Imagine both of your surprise, then, when your cold hand neatly cups his burning hot cheek.
"OH SHIT!" Dieter jumps, nearly pulling away from your touch because of the temperature difference, but then he manages to keep contact. "Oh shit, you're– how? I thought you couldn't– what the fuck?"
“I don’t know— I don’t know!” As panicked as he is, you reel back instantly and stare at your hand, cradling it like it might combust. “I don’t know! That’s never happened before!”
"You touched me! Quick, do it again!" This time Dieter is reaching out for you. Seeing if he can touch a ghost and he yelps again when his fingers connect with you.
“How in the world?” It shouldn’t be possible. It doesn’t make sense. And yet— it’s happened.
"Oh god, are you sure you're a ghost?" Dieter frowns, fingers curling around your jaw, making sure it's not one of those celebrity masks things people sometimes wear. That you aren't tricking him even if he had just watched your drink pass through you. "You feel real."
“You’re the first person to have a feel in ninety-five years, darlin’.” And that in and of itself is why you’re sure this is actually happening. You were there — you remember every single one of those ninety-five years’ worth of days.
“Oh fuck, this is, this is so cool!” Dieter groans out with an ecstatic expression on his face.
“This is unbelievable.” Never in your entire afterlife have you ever tried to touch a living being. When Reggie and his trollop were still in the house you had haunted them right out into the street. The second owners could not have been more oblivious to your otherworldly presence if they had been doing it intentionally. The third had simply bored and annoyed you so deeply that you had spooked them just out of sheer habit. You had lost your zest for haunting for a long, long time. But this? This is utterly remarkable.
“This shouldn’t be happening, right?” Dieter asks, as if being a ghost makes you an expert on them. “What’s different? What’s making this happen?”
“Damned if I have any idea, sugar.” It’s almost too exciting to bear, but you test the thing by flexing your fingers against the rasp of stubble on his face. “But it’s never ever happened before.”
"Is it because I'm high?" He wonders. "My mind is just....in tune with the spirit world?"
“Maybe?” It’s impossible to know for sure, but your hands are making his face with enthusiasm because you’re afraid to touch his clothing and lose this magical ability to touch again.
Dieter reaches out and touches you again. "You feel so soft." He hums. "You've got a hell of a skincare routine."
“Being dead seems to have its advantages.” You joke with a wink. “Can’t wrinkle if you can’t age.”
"So you look like you did when you died?" He asks. "You were fucking sexier than the screen made you look."
“Why, Mr. Bravo, you flatter.” Even though your instinct is to close your eyes against the searing heat of him and how solid he feels against you, you’re fully afraid that if you do, he’ll disappear. And true to form, instead of facing fear, you continue to joke. “But really, gray makeup does no one any favors.”
"It had to be like that, right?" He asks curiously. Remembering the history of cinema classes that he had taken in college. "Because it would show up on film better?"
“Just so.” His hand is so broad it feels like it spans one entire half of your face. “But I always preferred red.”
"Red lips are always sexy." He murmurs, licking his own lips and glancing down at your painted red lips.
“Always?” The question hangs — if he’s going far enough out on that limb to actually be considering what he seems to be considering. And if you’re far enough out on that limb with him to go along.
"Always." He agrees, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip. "Should I– would it be weird if I kissed you?" He asks. "For science?"
“Depends.” If you still had a heartbeat it would be frantic — excitement and nerves crawling up your spine. “Ever thought of kissing a woman born before 1900?”
"Am now." He admits with a self deprecating shrug. "I don't know if it counts, but I had a crush on Greta Garbo when I was a boy."
“Good taste.” You hum, chuckling from somewhere deep in your chest. “She was a hell of a woman.”
"You knew her?" He asks in surprise.
“Knew her?” You demure, all amusement and sly smile. “She was a remarkable kisser.”
"Really?" Dieter's eyes blow wide and he glances down at your lips again. "Are– were you– uh, lovers?"
“One or two parties that got a little out of hand.” A chuckle grows from your chest and you nudge his chin up to close his mouth, delighting in the not so simple act of touching him. “My husband wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with our marriage, I suppose.”
"So you're bi?" It's a fucking interesting development in the conversation and a fascinating one at that. “Uh, bisexual?” He isn’t sure if that phrase was used back then. “You like both sexes?”
“I used to just say ‘adventurous’.” You have heard the term, though. Through the decades you have learned a whole lot about the world.
"Adventurous." He chuckles quietly and smirks. "Then I guess I'm 'adventurous' too." He admits. "But I want to kiss you."
“We can try.” His hands on your skin feel burning when you didn’t think you could ever feel anything again — so wouldn’t it be foolish not to try?
“Let me know if you– uh, feel anything.” He’s honestly not sure if he’s so high he’s imagining things, or this is real, but it feel like the greatest fucking high of his life. Holding onto the silky waist of the dressing gown and leaning in to press his lips to yours ever so gently.
The last fading memory of a kiss that you have is from the night you died, and it is one of the most melancholy things to have past those lips of yours that you can still remember. This, comparatively, is like being set on fire even when it only lasts a second. The sound of a gasp comes from one of you — likely him, all things considered — but you could swear the world has turned on its axis just a touch, in letting the living and the dead collide like this.
Your lips are cold and yet the reason Dieter shivers isn’t because of that. It’s from the tingling, the way that his hair raises on the back of his neck and his cock starts to harden. He’s kissing a ghost and he likes it.
“Impossible…” Yet it’s undeniable. It happened. You both experienced it. A living man and the ghost of a woman long dead, sharing a kiss.
“Again.” Dieter demands, taking a step closer to you and sliding his hand down to your waist. “I want another kiss.”
There shouldn’t be any way in hell this is possible, especially with him now touching your robe instead of your skin, but you can feel him. The breadth of his hand on your back, his chest presses against yours, hot breath fanning over your face and the hardness against your hip. It’s all real. “Happily.” You hear yourself groan out, diving back into another impossible kiss.
This time there is tongue. Making him groan into your spiritual mouth and tighten his hold on you. Unable to believe this is happening and not another hallucination, he pulls back. “Pinch me.” He demands. “Scratch me, something.”
It should surprise no one that the shade of deep red on your lips matches your nails, and even though your eyebrows pinch with the same disbelief and confusion as his, you rake your nails down his forearm and gasp when they leave behind a trail of equally red marks in their wake. “How?” Is all you can ask, knowing that neither of you has an answer.
“I don’t know, but goddamn that felt good.” Dieter moans quietly. He slides his hand up, cupping a breast and pinching your nipple through the silken material of your dressing gown.
The gasp you let out shouldn’t be possible either, but the fact that you seem to be solid under his touch and him solid to yours is exquisite. Coupling that with an arousal like you haven’t felt in almost a century and you’re dragging him back to you by the fabric of his shirt, willing to live in this miracle for as long as it lasts. To feel alive again.
Making out with a ghost isn’t something that he could have imagined when he arrived at his new house, but he’s enjoying it. Backing you up, he presses you to the wall as he continues to kiss you.
It pulls another gasp from you, shocked when you don't instantly evaporate through the wall like normal. Somehow – some way – in touching and being touched by him, you are solid again. You can swear you almost feel your heart beating. Racing out of time as you start to pull at his clothing and he blindly attempts to untie the sash holding your robe in place.
“What the fuck?” Dieter hisses, breaking away from the kiss to look down at the knot on your robe. “Who the fuck tied this?”
"I did." But now, in retrospect, you huff about it along with him. "To discourage my louse of a husband."
“Fuck.” He grunts, shaking his head. “We need– fuck, the bedroom, we need to go to the bedroom.”
"Afraid to let go–" You admit, fingers still tangled in his shirt as you both pant for breath. To pant is such an exquisite sensation that you cannot possibly describe it and you must look positively ecstatic in the moment.
“Then don’t.” Dieter chuckles, deciding that he will be putting the weight training for his last film to good use when he pulls up your dressing gown and grabs your thighs to lift you up. “Fuck, you feel heavy for a ghost.” He grunts as he picks you up.
"Rude." A single swat at his chest is nothing, and you rope your arms around his shoulders to press hot kisses along the column of his neck while he moves down the hall.
Dieter groans, hands cupping your ass he stumbles towards his new bedroom. Trying to remember the way when half the blood meant for his brain is operating his cock. Realizing that you are no longer cold, but almost scorching hot in his arms.
"Your left! Not my left!" You mumble against his skin, giggling and trying to give him directions when you refuse to detach yourself from kissing any part of him that you can manage.
“Fuck. Fucking new/old house.” He grunts. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. You know that? I bet you had all your co-stars wanting to fuck you.”
"A few of them did." His fingers digging into your ass brush perilously close to your pussy and you moan. "But you've fucked some of yours, too, sugar."
“Yes.” He groans, pulling you against his cock. “Fucked them, ate them out, sucked them off. Whatever we felt like doing.”
"Bet you want to add me to that list right about now, don't you, sugar?" The nickname has stuck, and you've decided you like it. Leaning back in his arms and finding both your body and clothing have returned entirely to the corporeal plane, your eyes find his with the same fire he is feeling now. "I can feel how much you want me."
"Fuck, do I want you." He groans, unable to believe that he's ever wanted someone this bad, but how do you explain the attraction to a 100 year-old ghost? "I'm going to strip you down and bury my tongue and cock in your ghostly cunt. See what filling it with my cum looks like." At least here, he's almost certain there's zero chance of catching something or a pregnancy scandal.
As soon as he sets you down on the bed he’s diving into it after you, covering your body with his and drowning in kisses that make your head spin as you tug at the knot you tied in your robe. It is amazing how your skin has warmed up. Gone from being a muted color to technicolor. Like you are being brought to life by his touch. His mouth drags over your shoulder when the silk slips down and he bites. Chuckling in absolute delight when he leaves behind imprints on your skin.
With your head tossed back on the blankets you revel in a moan, looking up at him with eyes that feel hazy but have not seen this clearly in years. “If we only get tonight, let’s make the most of it. Sound good, sugar?”
“Absolutely.” He moans in agreement, ecstatic that you seem to be on the same wavelength as he is. Maybe that’s why this is happening. Your spirit is touching his. “I’ve never eaten haunted pussy before.” He jokes as he kisses down your body and pulls the gown down over one breast to latch onto it.
“Can’t say that again passed tonight.” You chuckle, gasping at the searing heat and eager grasping of his mouth on your flesh. It is electric in a way you have never been able to describe and adds to the incredible miracle that is tonight. “Good thing about being dead is that the pussy stayed shaved.”
“Very good thing.” He mouths from around your breast, hands pulling open the dressing gown when you finally get the sash untied.
The last time you felt a breeze on your skin was so long ago that you moan at it, back arching into him as he exposes your body to the bright electric lights and air from the open window. The fingers of one hand are in his curly hair and your other is pulling at his shirt, wanting him as bare as you are for everything that is to come.
He’s reluctant to let you go, but he has to. Has to hurry to pull his clothes off so he can have the wildest encounter that he could probably never even talk about.
Soft and strong is always how you’ve liked your men, and the corded muscles in his arms and back — when you catch a glimpse — that give way to a soft middle and full cheeks are just your type. When he’s entirely bare and pushing your silk robe away from your body with every ounce of concentration he has, you instinctively spread your legs wide for him to take his place between them.
“Fuck, I’ve never – fuck.” He groans, knowing that you will understand what he’s meaning. It’s not like you’ve done this either from what you’ve told him. Kissing and nipping down your body, it’s interesting to hear you moan at the sensation. “Here goes.” His eyes flick up to your face before he dives into your cunt.
The moan you let out is deep and unbridled, as earnest as you are eager to watch every single moment. You lean up on one elbow to prop yourself up, raking the fingers of your other hand through his hair to get yourself the best view possible. He’s gloriously messy — enthusiasm over technique — and it makes it all the more hedonistic to moan and sigh at the sensations you know are coming from the deepest depths of desire.
You feel real, you taste real. There’s nothing about this that would indicate that there’s nothing beyond a gorgeous, horny woman in his bed and Dieter is here for it. Moaning into your damp folds as he tries to find which flick of his tongue drives you wild.
Everything feels good, and if you weren’t always a ‘the deeper the better’ kind of girl in life, you certainly are in your afterlife. Simultaneously too much and not enough, the not enough side is winning a little more every second. Dieter pushes your thighs wider with his shoulders and shoves a hand up, desperate to feel himself deep inside you, even if it’s just his fingers. Wanting to see how high pitched your breathy moans can get.
"Fuck–fuck–right there, baby. Oh god–" When he finds that perfect place it has your hips rolling and your back arching off the bed, chasing every pump of his fingers and flick of his tongue. The sensations are divine combined with your own hand pinching and pulling your nipples to add another lick of sharp pleasure to the symphony. Even touching yourself feels amazing after so long with nothing at all.
Dieter groans, soaking up the praise, the moans. Doubling down and flicking his tongue even faster as his jaw works open and closed. Despite being dead, your cunt is dripping for him, coating his fingers in slick that makes it easier to push them deeper, curl them up more as he works you open.
Rambling praise takes over, your mind finding a measure of ecstasy in the ability in the simple fact that he can hear you while he is feasting on your pussy and fucking his fingers as deep inside you as they will go. It's only when your scrambled, breathy monologue starts to stutter and break that he knows how close you are – that, and the tight grip you have on his curls as you start to shake beneath him.
Panting, he grinds his hard cock into the mattress. Moaning as you tug on his hair, making his scalp burn and continuing to affirm that this is not a dream. Curling his fingers up one last time and sucking your clit into his mouth as your body bows up underneath his touch. The moment that snaps the thread of tension in your body is when the fingernails of his free hand bite into your thigh at the same point he curls the fingers of his other hand and barely scrapes his teeth along your swollen clit. The force of all three sensations makes your vision go white, and for the first time since all of this began, your eyes fall blissfully shut while your body shakes with the force of your orgasm.
He feels the way your entire body relaxes, slumping down into the bed. Humming to himself as he slowly works you through that blissful high. Keeping his fingers buried inside you as his tongue licks up every drop of your pleasure.
"Hell in a handbasket." Sighing out, you soothe your fingers against his scalp and grin down at him when he licks the last drop of cum from your cunt. "Get up here, sugar. Let me ride you."
“You want to ride?” His head pops up in surprise. He had expected you to want to be treated after so long, but he can’t deny the idea of a ghost riding his cock is appealing.
“Not very fair to make you do all the work, handsome.” Your smile is lopsided instead of pointed now, lazily drawn across your mouth like the human iteration of a contented house cat. “And I wouldn’t want to be rude to my new house guest.”
“Aren’t you technically my guest?” He lets you pull him up and roll him over onto his back. “Since it’s my house now?”
“Semantics.” Once he is on his back, you pin him down with one knee on either side of his thighs and wrap one hand around his cock to pump his length a few times experimentally. The precum beaded at the top is pearlescent and musky, the scent of sex from your own climax filling your nostrils and giving you the thrill of yet another sense coming back to life.
“Oh shit.” He grunts out, twitching in your hand. “I– fucking hell, please, please, put your mouth on me.”
“Ooo, he begs.” It’s a delightful discovery, and you obligingly bend over to kitten lick the tip of his cock just to see how beautifully he’ll groan.
Dieter is a whiny, spoiled little bastard who is given everything he wants because that’s how you treat celebrities, but he will beg. He will beg for anything and everything in bed. Slightly more submissive than most people expect. He moans your name loudly and closes his eyes as his hips rock up.
“Watch, sugar.” Something about it, the magical quality perhaps or what feels like literal magic, makes you want to keep him in this bubble with you. This state of hyper awareness. Your mouth hovers over the tip of his cock and you give it a long kick to get his attention. “You’re gonna watch me just like I watched you.”
Dieter whimpers, opening his eyes obediently. As soon as he sees the length of his cock disappear down your spectorly throat, he moans, twisting his fingers into the sheets under him. “Fuck, fuck, I’m getting my dick sucked by the hottest fucking ghost I’ve ever seen.” The fact that you’re the only ghost he’s seen is a moot point.
You chuckle low, deep in your throat, and it vibrates around his girthy length as you start to bob your head deliberately. Slowly. Wanting to savor every second of this for as long as it lasts. If you didn’t have a mouth full of him you’d be teasing him about the other ghosts he’s seen to compare you to, but you just don’t care. Not right now. Not with him at your mercy.
"Holy shit." He hisses, moaning loudly. "You're so good. Did you just– fuck, spend the last hundred years practicing on a ghost banana?"
It makes you chuckle again, and instead of answering you take him that much deeper. If he thinks you were showing off before? Just wait.
His toes curl, scrunching his feet up as you apparently have every intent of sucking his soul out through his dick. Could he die from a blowjob? It seems possible. “Fuck, baby doll.”
He wanted your mouth so he’s going to get every benefit of your focus right up until he can’t stand it any longer. He throbs against your swirling tongue, twitching in your mouth and against your fingertips where you are stroking the last few inches of his length that don’t easily fit in your mouth — there’s no way you’re ruining your vacation from ghost-hood by accidentally choking on a cock.
"Fuck, do you swallow?" Dieter moans. "You should swallow, I want– oh fuck." You keep sucking, pulling him closer every heartbeat until his vision blacks out, the hoarse cry ripping out of his throat.
Spurt after spurt of hot cum jettisons down your throat as his body bares down on itself, muscles tightening and extremities curling. The man is a geyser and every time he pumps more cum into your willing, waiting mouth you groan loudly and swallow around him. The feeling of being truly alive is not one that you are going to take for granted tonight and he is making it all the more memorable by just giving in to those most basic of human needs. There is nothing sexier than a person who has completely given themself over to the feeling of pleasure, and by the time you lift your head from Dieter’s cock, he has absolutely done that.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" Dieter yelps the last curse, feeling like you are sucking so hard it's to the point that it hurts, keeping him hard. He must have snorted that batch of coke that he had mixed viagra in, because he normally is a one and done for at least an hour kind of guy.
When he doesn’t soften at all after cumming your throat in cum, you pull off of him with one raised eyebrow and smirk. “You still alive there, sugar? Can’t have both of us dying in this house.”
He pants out a laugh and manages to lift his head to look down at where you are grinning up at him, your hand still wrapped around his hard cock. "Not dead. More alive than I've ever been."
“That makes two of us.” Giving his cock another few strokes, you shift forward and comb your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “You want more, handsome?”
“Want everything.” He groans quietly. “You want to ride me, or you want me to fuck you?”
“Want everything.” You echo him with a sly grin and shift forward. “I’m gonna ride you to the edge and then you’re going to fuck me as hard as you can. Got it, sugar?”
"Fuck, I didn't know people were so fucking dirty back then." He groans, twitching against his stomach as you drag your wet cunt over him. "I think I would like it back then."
“The Kama Sutra is hundreds of years old,” you remind him with a throaty chuckle. “So is pornography and promiscuity.” Positioning yourself over his cock, you start to sink down slowly and sigh out in absolute bliss. “Humans have always loved to fuck.”
“Ghosts too, apparently.” He moans, grabbing onto your very solid hips as you settle down on his cock. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”
“Least ghostly I’ve been in ages.” It’s also the first time since death you’ve experienced something as human as being aroused and it’s entirely liberating. “Maybe this thick cock is magic.”
He starts to giggle out of a groan when you clench around him. "Magic stick." He grunts, rocking his hips up. "It attracts allll the ghostly nymphos." He jokes, sliding his hand down to press against your clit.
“They can line — oh, baby — up.” You let your head drop back but your eyes are still open, arms raised up to let your tits bounce as you start to ride him in earnest.
He's never had someone ride him so fucking enthusiastically. It might be because it's the first time you've been able to feel in a hundred years, but he will take what he can get. Unable to fucking believe that this is happening, although the pressure around his dick and the way the bed creaks and groans proves that it's real.
The slight change in the angle of his hips when he plants his feet on the mattress has you crying out again and nearly growling. “That’s it, sugar.” And “Oh Fuck!” And “More, baby.” Echo through the room with the slap of skin on skin. The volume seems to rise along with the pleasure you’re both receiving, so it is nothing short of a beautiful noise the more you ride him.
Breaking in the new bed in his new house is an experience he could never, ever top. His hands slide from your hips up to the headboard and he wraps his fingers around the scrolled metal. Hanging on and using it as leverage to thrust up into you harder.
He propels you forward, losing your balance slightly so that you end up having to brace yourself with both hands on his chest and your tits bouncing in his face, but you really don't think that either of you minds. Instead, your fingertips instinctively dig into his chest, biting half-moon marks into his skin. Leaning forward changes the angle of his thrusts, letting him strike against entirely different places inside you, and you whimper softly without even realizing it when he scrubs against that perfect spot inside you to make you see stars.
“Right there?” His pants, recognizing the glazed look on your face. “Yeah, fuck, that’s the spot.” Despite the drugs that are pumping through his system, or perhaps because of it, he is attuned to the way you react.
"Right there." It has you breathless, how good it feels and how solid and real the feeling is.
"Holy shit." The feeling of you around him has him rolling his eyes back, your cunt even better than your mouth if possible. "Want to see you cum."
It certainly won't take long, not with the way his cock is shredding up inside you, and your previously loud moans are quickly being replaced with high pitched pants the closer you get to your own climax. Having the breath fucked out of you is such a stark difference from the existence you've been leading for the last many decades and it's such a welcome change. It takes barely another minute – maybe two – before you're sobbing out filthy praise and clenching down on his cock to wrench every last drop of pleasure from the moment that you can.
There's nothing sexier than a woman cumming, but you? You take his breath away. Steal it from his very lungs as your lusty sobs reverberates through him. Taking control and rocking up into you, working you through the most intense orgasm of your existence.
“Fuck.” Breathed out shakily as you let yourself fall down to his chest, your fingers comb through his curls and tug on the strands sharply as you’ve found that he likes.
He moans quietly, twitching inside you and humming as he lets go of the bed to wrap his arms around you to roll you under him. Eager to find his own release again and see how it looks dripping out of your cunt.
“That’s it, sugar.” Sprawled out on your back underneath him, you wrap your legs around his waist and tangle your hands in his sheets. “Take what you need.”
Dieter is normally not aggressive but there is something about your tone, your words, that spurs him on. Setting his jaw, Dieter starts to rock into you, keeping his pace harsh. Thrusting deep and moaning when you roll your hips.
Unconsciously mirroring him from just moments ago, you reach above your head and grasp the bars of your headboard. Every time he thrusts into you he shakes the whole frame, bouncing your tits and his curls and everything around you. The bed creaks and threatens to give but you know it won't – this one single piece of furniture is as sturdy as the whole house. It was made for you to fuck in.
"Fuck baby, fuck." Dieter growls, jack hammering his hips as he fills you again and again. Unable to brace his body above yours any more and dropping down to his elbows. He can't believe that he is still going, but he can't stop. He won't stop.
As much he wants to give or take, you are here for every second of it. With his head buried in your neck and the rhythm of his hips starting to stutter, your moan and whimpers are a symphony mixed with his own.
It flashes through his mind that this is some sort of sick hoax, that you are and have always been real, but he can’t worry about that right this second. The second that his mind goes blank to everything but his body’s needs and he thrusts deep, slamming his hips forward and groaning your name as a prayer.
“That’s it, sugar,” you croon again, this time cradling him close as rope after rope of hot cum fills you to the brim.
“Oh God.” Dieter pants, snuggling deeper and not sure if or when you might disappear, so he holds on tight.
“Hardly.” Your typical, throaty giggle rides through your body and you stroke his back gently. “But I’ll take the praise if that’s the mood you’re in.”
“Hmmmm.” He hums and shifts so he is not weighing you down, rolling to his side and bringing you with him. “I’ll give it.” He murmurs, suddenly sleepy after the vigorous sex and starting to come down from his high. “Stay.” He mumbles quietly, rubbing your back this time.
“You’re in my house, remember?” This time your laugh is a little less indulgent, tinged with worry as you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to feel him. Speak to him. Have him see you. “But I’ll try.”
“That’s right.” He smiles, turning his head and pressing his lips to your sweat damp hair. “But this is a spirit friendly bed.”
“I hope so,” you murmur, watching as he snuggles in next to you and lets his eyes drift close with a sigh. “I truly hope so, sugar.”
******
Dieter opens his eyes, slowly peeling them apart and blinking to try to get rid of the gritty feeling. “Baby doll?” His voice is rough with sleep and he had expected you to be weighing him down. “Where are you?” For a moment, for a split second he had thought he dreamed it. His gaze finding its way to the picture on the wall that he hadn’t noticed last night. A portrait of a woman, of you, gorgeously sprawled on a chaise with a sultry smile and ruby red lips.
He is almost convinced that the best night of his life was a figment of his imagination as he moves. Until it catches his eye. Red. More specifically, red lips. The sight of kisses scattered over his body and down under the sheet. Making him lift them to see lipstick wrapped around his cock, hard this morning and it makes him grin.
It hadn’t been a dream.
______
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ineadhyn · 3 months
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Astarion's time in the tomb
And whilst I am at it, here is a more serious short drabble about Astarion's time in the tomb and the day he finally got out. It was probably not as euphoric as one would expect
Inspired by a post about Astarion and the effects of solitary confinement that I can't find anymore.
It's safe for work and not too graphic, but shows the mental damage quite drastically so continue if you feel safe with that. (Ha, I finally figured out how to make cuts)
Light fell onto the fragments of his consciousness. His mind was a disjointed swirl of thoughts and images that no longer made sense and hadn't found connection for a long time. A scraping of stone on stone accompanied the light and with it came voices. Astarion had heard them too many times. They were never real. Nothing was real. Not the faces in the darkness, not the voices, not the blood dripping from the walls - the blood he dreamt would moisten his tongue, but only drowned him in the end. None of it was real. Yet, the visions were better than hunger and silence. Deafness and blindness. Of course, he wasn't really blind. His eyes could pierce through the darkness. But when everything you saw was gray, you might as well be blind. Astarion had seen them all. Everyone who could possibly open this tomb. From his parents to unknown heroes to Cazador. And every time his fingers reached out with longing they only met rough stone. He knew that the images his brain conjured were not real. He didn't react to them anymore. What could he possibly do even if they were real? He had no voice anymore. Had lost it long ago, somewhere in the dusty darkness to his feet. It had rolled down, and since he couldn't turn around, he couldn't find it again. Of course he had screamed. The memory of himself crying his lungs out was still strangely fresh, like an open wound. He had given up quickly. Just a few months later. There was a pale spot of sunlight that wandered along the edge of his prison at regular intervals. Astarion guessed it happened once a day. Not bright enough to burn himself. (He had tried.) He scratched into the stone that locked him, marking how many times the spot appeared since he had been sealed in here. He made 249 strokes. Then he gave up counting. Gave it up like he had given up everything. The screaming, the scratching, the praying. It was endless. Astarion was dust and ash. Astarion was
Skeleton. A skeleton. Armor rattling, jaw gnawing. Godey... "Come on, get out of there!" Out? He didn't understand the meaning of these words. Didn't understand the feeling of bony fingers pulling at his body. Not … Cazador. Not real. Not - "Are you sucking on your own arm? Pathetic. Come now, boy. I don't have all day." A crypt in twilight. Dusty curtains, body parts too weak to bear his weight. Breaking. Collapsing. Dead rat! Blood - Blood - Blood Forgotten. Forgotten how it tastes. Old. Rancid. Wonderful. The first breath. Unnecessary. Freeing.
Seeing, thinking. Astarion looked down on himself. He was naked. The bite wounds on his arms began to close after he’d drunk the rat’s blood. Flesh and skin closed over the bare bones of his fingertips. "Dress up." It was his old shirt and pants. The clothes he always wore. The clothes that Astarion, the spawn, wore. Maybe he was still in there somewhere. Between the threadbare layers of fabric, embroidered into a line of poetry, as if Astarion had known he would need to store himself somewhere.
Godey pushed him forward, and he followed obediently. Back into the palace. Lamps, floors, paintings. His head began to spin, unable to process all the impressions after such a long time with nothing. "Come on, boy." He stumbled on until they reached a familiar room. Bunk beds and peeling wallpaper. Aurelia was there. When they entered, she gave them a glance. His sister wanted to say something, but the sight of Godey kept her silent. Better that way. Even after all the years Aurelia had been here she still feared the kennels.
"Clean him up." Godey pushed Astarion into the room, where he fell to his knees, unable to balance the shove. He sat there as the skeleton left and closed the door. Aurelia approached cautiously. "So, it's true. He let you come back." Silence. "Astarion?" He wanted to answer. He had to try at least. But his voice seemed to still be left in the tomb. Aurelia sighed, then grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up. "I really don't feel like it, but you heard Godey. I have to wash you." Astarion tried to speak again as he sat in the wooden tub that the spawn used for this purpose, and Aurelia poured water over his hair. He flinched away from her touch, trying to do as much as possible himself. "How long?" "Hm?" They probably were both surprised that he could speak. "How long was I gone?" Aurelia set the bucket aside. "A year." Astarion said nothing, only nodded. "I saw faces. And blood, dripping from the walls. It drowned me." Aurelia exhaled. "You were hallucinating. Pull yourself together, Astarion." He stared at her with wide eyes. "I don't mean it cruelly. But you have to pull yourself together. Cazador expects you to bring him a mark today." Astarion continued to stare at her, but the tiefling woman only handed him the soap. "Here, I think you can do this yourself." Then she rushed out of the room.
The gods truly showed no mercy to him.
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alaskaartz · 5 months
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Silk Song RAMBLE.
I have a really hard time containing my excitement so
SPOILERS FOR SILKSONG! do not read anymore of this if you want to go into silksong spoiler free!
OK BUT LIKE- The updated HK wiki was a thing today and I went and looked at the silksong part of it. and OH MY GOD- I know most of these things already but everything about silksong makes me just so excited- silksong has a lot of things that I love and adore already and team cherry really just picked up everything I love and put it into one game, which makes me literally wanna jump around my room cuz I'm so happy
Ok rambling about things now
Up first moss grotto:
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THIS PLACE MAKES ME SO HAPPY. I love moss, and I love lily pads. I love EVERYTHING about this place! I love the atmosphere of it and the feeling it gives off. It feels very comforting in an odd way, with all the moss and plants mixed with what I assume to be bones makes a really comforting place. The enemies shown here are also really really cute, I just wanna hug them, they look like they'd be soft. Something about moss grotto makes it seem like the perfect place to come sit and stay if you needed some alone time, I know that sounds weird but it's the best way I can describe it- Random but in the nintendo treehouse live from forever ago you could see the shell shards ROLL on the ground! and when Hornet walks on the moss it actually looks like she's walking on it! I bring this up because of how cool but more, real feeling? It makes everything feel. The fact that the currency and the shell shards roll on the ground gives it more gravity and just- overall a very cool feel to what it would be like to, idk, hold it? Geo in Hollow Knight kinda bounces around so it's like, not as realistic idk man- Another thing is Hornet, she seems to have more gravity to her, she can't jump as high or walk/run as fast as the knight did making her almost feel, heavier. She seems like she's much heavier than Ghost was
Next up, Deep docks: (the second one is my PC's wallpaper lol)
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Deep docks feels very, hot, for obvious reason. Something about deep docks aesthetic is just SO COOL. I'm writing this part from memory of the treehouse live so if I'm wrong about stuff, sorry I love the rocks and bones in Deep docks, actually I love the amount of bones in most of the screenshots and trailer things I've seen- so cool, but also in deep docks it's really cool to see the bones, rocks, magma, and machinery all mixed together I really love Lace's arena, if you look in the background you can see some moss vines (?) hanging down so that makes me think It's really close to moss grotto, but it also gives her arena a more of an overgrown feel, which is really nice ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT LACE'S CRAZY AIR ATTACK?? That attack is probably my favorite out of all her moves, the way she comes back down to the ground and shakes the whole place is SO COOL- she's definitely gonna be a hard boss for me to beat but DAMN she's gonna be a fun boss Also the fact that Hornet and Lace are just fighting above flowing magma like it's nothing is badass The Citadel:
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HOLY SHIT?? THERE'S SO MUCH I CAN TALK ABOUT WITH THIS ONE SCREENSHOT. The way the floor is makes the room feel very omen and very big. The room also feels old, and dusty- What seems to be torn cloths and curtains around the place makes it seem like that place has been there for a very long time. I assume and guess the Citadel is doing to play a very big and important role in the story of this game, and in the lore of Pharloom. Idk who this warrior is but he seems cool, two swords and everything. There isn't much footage of the Citadel at all which makes me a little upset because this place seems just so, so grand, so big, so IMPORTANT. I also don't know why but the colors make it feel royal. This- Place:
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I'd live here, saying that right now, I'd live here. I'd find a cozy little bell to live in and stay there forever. I know the guy to the right of Hornet is singing so maybe this is a safe space in Pharloom? I would think it to be like how dirtmouth is, shops but also a calm place to be after fighting for your life for the millionth time. It's really cool how bells have been turned into homes, It's a really cool touch to this place and it makes it feel really cozy. I think the bell homes would be hanging from the ceiling, cavern roof, whatever you wanna call it- And the bug either fly or climb ladders to get into the bell houses! This place just radiates safe, and homey- once again, I will find a bell and make it my home.
This:
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Not much to say about it because I know so little about it, but the fact that Hornet is fighting what I assume is I giant robot bug? omg, Also it looks like it's rusting so is it not affected by the magma but affected by something else? Or is that just weird red plants, Idk
Coral Place:
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THERE. ARE. FISH. This place feeds my internal love of pirates, and anything ocean. The coral looks so alive and this place seems like it's gonna have cool stuff in it
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PLEASE TELL ME THIS GUYS IS A PIRATE OR SOMETHING- He looks like a pirate, I'm not the only one who think that right? Like, a knight pirate This arena feels very small and, humid. Probably because it is either underwater or close to water. it seems really misty in there. The fact that the lanterns are held with coral, vine, things is so cool- Also there's pipes in the background! Maybe those are connected to something? I'm not trying to theorize everything I just think the possibilities are cool- I'mma call this the swamp place:
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This looks like a swamp, what kind? an eerie one. It almost looks like there's ash in the air! Also the vine things in the back? so cool, the more faded they get makes this area feel very misty or foggy, which gives it a feeling of, idk, eeriness? spooky? The guy here looks like he's using a fishing pole as a weapon- which makes sense given the amount of water. The grass and, I forgot what those are called. SWAMP REEDS- are really big so it makes this place feel WAY bigger, or hornet way smaller. Not sure but I can't wait to explore this place and Probably get lost along the way.
GEARS:
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I don't know what this place is, what it's for, but it feels almost steampunk so that's an automatic love from me. Also love these little flying guys, they're really cute and yeah- The gears are also super cool! It almost looks like she's inside a clock :0 This place feels warm but not, dry or humid. Just warm, a comfy warm
This section is just stuff I wanna ramble about/add so:
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Cutely going insane over the fact that this place is probably a Giant rib cage
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THIS PLACE. IDK WHAT IT IS OR WHAT IT'LL DO BUT I LOVE IT. JUST LOOK AT THAT BACKGROUND- Like, the 'sky' looks blue. ARE WE OUTSIDE? omg- I also love all the building in the back I just OMGOMG- It also looks like there's giant pipes, maybe it's close to the Citadel? Idk but this place makes me feel so happy I just wanna stare at it, I WANNA EXPLORE-
If you've made it this far thanks- This was the only place I could actually let out my excitement over a game that's not even out yet so- yeah- If you have any questions about stuff I rambled about or said then feel free to put something in my inbox about it so, yeah-
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atlasofsalt · 1 year
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“In which you find comfort by a gravestone”
platonic OR romantic obey me x reader (although cerberus is the only one MC talks to pfpfpf)
tw: slight undertones of a panic attack near the middle- otherwise none!
not really proofread, i copied this from google docs so format is kinda wonky lmao- sorry!
A tired sigh left your lips as you stretched your arms above your head. the soft ticking of the hanging clock behind you was loud, and so was the gentle breeze against the closed window. you could faintly hear the creaking of floor boards, either someone walking- or the old house settling amongst the foundation. It's been hours of still darkness inside your room. The brothers had gone to an important banquet that involved some important nobles and other members of the royal court.
It was rare to be alone here, to hear nothing but blissful silence. to see moving shadows- not from another being, but from otherworldly creatures that reside within the house. At first you were excited! the whole house to yourself for hours on end? What a win! but now it was quiet, empty, and lonely; you felt lonely.
the feelings of excitement left shortly after the second hour. you’d gone to show levi a new release trailer for a game you’d both been waiting for. it was then, you fully realised how you’ve gotten so used to the comfort of another always there. with a sudden pain in your chest you closed Levi's abandoned room with a sigh. you trekked back to your own room and decided to knock out some extra homework you had.
Then the next realisation came when you couldn’t ask Satan for help with the current problem that stumped you. If you needed help, no one was here. That thought really scared you the most. the house was colder without mammon, your first man, to huddle up against. food seemed to taste like ash, your appetite depleted as you stood alone in the kitchen. Beel wasn’t there to tell you his bizarre food combinations.
You gave up on homework and tried to get some sleep, but Belphie wasn’t there to chase the nightmares away. insomnia hit you hard, and Levi wasn't there to distract you with his new animes. tears welded in your eyes and you sniffed a little, wiping your eyes. you just needed some comfort, a simple hug would do even. but Lucifer wasn’t there to make you tea and listen to your anxious thoughts.
Sitting here in the dark wasn’t going to help, maybe a walk? It was far too late for you to feel comfortable going outside alone; nor did you wish to bother anyone at Purgatory Hall. The house itself had halls that seemed endless, so they’d do. Walking randomly you blinked back tears to the best of your ability while lost in thought. You failed in the attempts of calming down and soon tears streamed down your cheeks.
You were alone.
You were scared.
You felt pathetic crying over something so stupid. The childish fear of them never coming back, deciding you weren’t as interesting anymore; it consumed you. The house seemed to creak and groan seemingly in protest at your cries. The candles that lined the faded wallpaper suddenly seemed brighter. The air felt warmer and easier to breathe in. A door to your right clicked, you watched as some unknown force pushed it open slowly. Curiously, you peaked inside.
Stairs that led down were what greeted you, small torches started to rapidly light up. It was a small and narrow walk down- that much you could tell. It was probably a stupid idea to follow them, then again when have you had a good idea lately? Making your way down was easier the further you went as it seemed to stair to widen. At the bottom you looked around and quickly realised where you were.
The tomb.
Lilith's tomb laid in front of you, not a single speck of dust on it. You shivered slightly as- not so fond- memories of your last experience here popped up. Suddenly you didn’t feel the warmth of the fires anymore. You could see your breath with each exhale. Goosebumps on your arms were more noticeable as more appeared. Your lungs felt like they were on fire and you couldn’t breathe. The world began to blur and you shuddered violently, stumbling back into a wall. panic flared up while you desperately looked back to the stairway- only it wasn’t there.
It was dark, cold, and lonely.
‘RUFF’
“what?” you choke out as you squint your eyes. it was far too dark to see anyone beyond a foot- and even then it was nothing more than shifting silhouettes. The ground shook lightly, only causing more fear to fill your heart. Something massive was coming to you- no- AT you fast. “please no-“ you yell weakly and slumped to the floor. Your arms clenched your body tightly as you shook more and more with each thundering footstep.
The beast got closer and slowed. You could see it more now, far bigger than any of the demons. Wide furry body and large gleaming eyes stared you down. It took a tentative step forward and cocked its head to the side while letting out a soft whine. It shuffled closer and sniffed the air around you, it’s long snout stuck in your face. You could see the faint outline of large teeth.
So focused on the eyes in front of you, you failed to see two more heads peering down in confusion. Once you did you let out a sigh of relief and flug yourself towards the shadow cloaked beast. “Cerberus!” You choked out and buried your face in his chest. A loud yip and wet tongue was the response you got. You giggled and pulled away for a moment to look at the hellhound before you. “You scared me buddy. I thought you were some bloodthirsty monster!”
It took a little while till you were fully calmed down. By then the dog grew bored of standing there and led you to his secret hidden dog bed. The thing was massive and incredibly soft. You reminded yourself to thank Lucifer later for buying only the best for such a good boy. You two laid together curled up. While you stroked the three headed hound you talked. You just let loose every thought and feeling you ever had. Cerberus listened attentively with every second that went by- ears perked and all heads cocked.
After you finished your woes you yawned. Exhaustion hit you like a truck and so you showed your petting. You have all three snouts a peck on the nose and nestled in further to the giant, warm, fuzzy ball of fluff. “Thank you Cerby, I needed this.” You muttered quietly before drifting off to sleep. You laid there the rest of the night, your hellborn guardian watching over you the whole time.
When you awoke the next morning you were in bed. After getting ready for the day, you staggered out into the dining room and rubbed your eyes tiredly. You blinked and looked around at the seven brothers eating. Satan looked up from his book and gave you a small smile. “Good afternoon m/c, Mammon managed to save some food for you.” He nodded to the order, who hunched over a plate snarling at the sixth born. Beel sniffled lightly and looked down like a kicked puppy dog.
The rest of the day went wonderfully, you didn’t feel the ugly feelings from the night before. As you walked to Levi’s room you wondered if maybe the night before was a dream of sorts. No one mentioned you sleeping in the same spot their terrifying dog and dead sister slept- so did it happen? As you reached the door you dropped your DDD and swore as you looked for it. The lights had already started to go out for the evening and you were blessed with the eyesight your roommates had.
When you were choosing to give up a creek was heard and your phone seemed to slide to your feet. You picked it up and looked around confused as to who was there; but no one was. It probably should have been more creepy, but it wasn’t. That warm comforting feeling came back as some of the candles flicked back to life. As soon as you stepped foot into Asmodeus’ room though, it was dark outside once again.
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jellydishes · 7 months
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The Tethras family home was old and large --'stately and grand,' Bartrand had called it in one of his more snobbish moments, to which Varric had replied, 'It's fuckoff huge, Barty'-- and perhaps most importantly, the Tethras family home was stuffed full of furniture and mementoes and dust covered hope.
Almost every inch of the place echoed with ghosts. He felt shades of himself running down the halls and scrawling words underneath wallpaper that had been chosen specifically to cover up his indiscretions. He slid a hand down a lintel, feeling the bumps covered up with layers of paint until you could barely tell where Bartrand had carved out lines to measure how tall Varric had gotten.
He sighed, leaned against the doorway, and scrubbed a hand down his face. He almost laughed when it didn't come away caked with dust, after spending the late morning and the entirety of the afternoon packing away some of the lower floor of the house into boxes. Some would go into storage, the rest to be sold or donated to thrift stores. And… now that he had sealed the most recent box with packing tape, he was unable to ignore anymore the weight of what he was doing, which had been settling down upon his shoulders one piece at a time like drifts of the same dust that filled the rest of the house. It made him feel older and duller beneath the mercilessly soft crush.
He tried to drag in a shaking breath, and it tasted like ash. His mother was in that box, and so was Bartrand, and himself. Everyone, he realized, except for his father.
Almost without his being aware of it, his head slowly tilted up and up, towards the sealed room that had been his father's study when he'd been alive. He hadn't been inside in almost a decade and a half, not even now when he was closing up the house and had a proper excuse to do so. He hesitated even to broach the thought. That was his father's space. His sanctuary. And leaving it closed up had become… more than a family habit or way of honoring the dead, it had become a responsibility.
Varric swallowed heavily. Without looking away from that section of the ceiling, he pulled out his phone and entered in the code to unlock it. He glanced down only to pull up Hawke With An E, which he had only recently edited to say Hewk.
The phone rang only once, and then there was a click. "What?"
The words he'd been planning to say dried up on his tongue.
"Varric?" There was a shift of fabric on the other end of the phone. He could almost see Edyiss Hawke shifting the phone from ear to ear as if that would somehow allow her to better hear what he hadn't been able to bring himself to say.
He laughed humorlessly, and raked the hand not holding his phone through his hair. "I need you, Ed. Here," he clarified, clearing his throat. "I need… Shit, I don't even know. A sounding board? Someone to witness my descent into madness?"
"You aren't going mad, Varric," Hawke said. The determination in her voice was thin and crackly. She must have driven to the base of Sundermount to go hiking again. Always said it cleared her head.
He looked away from the chair his mother had always sat in by the window, and towards Bartrand's room. "How do you know?" He asked hollowly. "If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, has family history like a duck…"
"I'm coming over."
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eddywoww · 10 months
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here's the lil snippet, so we'll see. (trigger warning for illusions to childhood sexual abuse and general abuse)
"You should be getting sleep," He said, as if the idea had never occurred to Steve before. As if he was skipping sleep on purpose. "I get that school is a lot but is there any other reason you can't sleep?"
Steve could practically feel his mother breathing down his neck, the scent of her perfume cloying. 
The bathroom, the one back home. With the tacky wallpaper and the big sink.
"Please, just talk to me," She wept at one point, eyes laser focused on Steve to the point of looking crazed. "Please. I need to know. Did he-?"
"Nothing happened," Steve said, bland and flat. Flat, flat, press it in and push it out. Away. She had stared at him, her eyes hypnotically big. Shaking him by the shoulders, shaking him until his stomach bottomed out. Until he wanted to puke. "Mom. Nothing happened. Please, please stop."
Please stop.
"Steve," She had begged, as if he might change his mind. As if he might just open his mouth and let the world spill out. A bottomless pit, his secrets piling onto the ground at their feet. Fit to pick through and examine until she found exactly what she wanted. "I can't- you have to tell me. You do."
She sounded angry then. Mad at him. Your fault, this is your fault, you did this. It has to be your fault and you won't just open your mouth and tell me. 
Steve was 12 years old again, standing in the bathroom on the bottom floor of their house. His mother in front of him, shaking him hard by the shoulders. Begging him to open his mouth and speak.
Begging him to admit it.
Like there was anything to admit to. Like he was the one who needed to confess anything.
"Do you really want to be the only 12 year old who isn't a virgin?"
And the thing was, Steve hadn't known what sex was. He hadn't. He had no clue what she was talking about, the connection between two people.
But it had managed to sink into him like venom then.
Do you?
Do you really want to be, Steve?
Because clearly if you aren't saying anything then you want it. 
"Nope," Steve said, staring past Carl. He couldn't do the eye contact thing anymore, not while he was thinking about his mom. Six years. Six years and he was still here, still hopping between waiting rooms. It felt like a countdown somehow, like he was just spending his time waiting it out. Waiting to see what would happen, what he might resort to. "I'm fine. I sleep fine."
What a pathetic fucking mistake to make.
"You just said you don't sleep enough," Carl noted, like he'd caught Steve in a lie. Like that somehow made any sense at all. "Do you have nightmares, Steve?"
Define nightmares, Carl.  
Steve did have nightmares, sure. Mundane ones about being late to class. Sometimes he tripped and fell in the main hallway at their school and his pants fell down. If he watched a horror movie, he'd maybe dream about that.
Nightmares were nothing compared to the door creaking open and the light from outside filtering in. To the sound of socked feet, both heavy and light. There for different reasons. There in different seasons.
"I sleep fine." Steve said again. Maybe Carl would shut up and listen this time. 
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alostlovergirl · 1 year
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Pulling back: Part 2 to Come back to me
Summary:Tony plans to pull you back in the most disgusting way possible.
Warnings: Impreganation, abuse, mental abuse, PTSD attack, fear, gun mention, really dark themes.
- Note: this is what I meant when I said I had dark themes that I wanted to post. I hope you guys like this.
Nothing felt right anymore. When I woke up, there was a cold sensation in the room, nipping at my skin. It felt eerie and quiet. My apartment no longer felt like home. It felt like prison. I don’t know why. This home has been my comfort place for the last 2 years. The one only safe place in my screwed up world. But, now it felt like someone was watching me and why the hell is my window open.
I just noticed it. My window was open with a little black heart smeared on my wallpaper next to the open window, blowing in cool air. My eyebrows furrowed and I stood up, wobbling on my feet and feeling even colder now. I walk towards the window and immediately get blown in the face with the smell of motor oil and jet fumes. I slammed my window closed as my chest tightened. Was he here? He was here. He knows where I am. My legs gave out from under me as I kicked my feet, pushing myself across the wooden floor. Tears ran down my face and my chest heaved up and down, numbness taking over my body.
“He was here…” Suddenly, my trauma came back in full force. All the progress I made went down the drain as I felt his disgusting hands all over my body. I can hear my screams in the back of my mind, loud music playing, blurring all the sounds in my head. He used to use me during parties, knowing that no one could hear me. I hit the wall, crying and curling up into a ball, screaming to myself. I stomp on my floor, yelling and hitting myself in the face. I started to bang my head against the wall, trying to knock myself out, not wanting to relive this horrible abuse he put me through.
I just sit there in my room, reliving everything until I finally hit my head hard enough, knocking myself out. When I woke up, I was in the hospital with bandages all over my arms. I had scratched up my arms to a bloody mess and my head busted open. Ethan sat next to me, holding my hand. I could feel that he was trembling and that he was scared as hell. “Eth..?” I call out to him, moving my hand up to his face and caressing his face with my thumb. He looked up and lunged forward, hugging me close to his warm chest.
When we finally calmed down, he told me that I had a severe PTSD attack and busted my own head open. I have 14 stitches in the back of my head. I decided not to say anything about what happened, not wanting to worry him or make him think he has to come stay with me in order for me to be safe. I don’t think I can handle anyone in my house right, I just need my space.
I stayed in the hospital for a few days, dreading the day I had to go back to my apartment. I almost thought about telling Ethan, but I just held my tongue, keeping my back turned to him. I tried not to think about him. I know he was there. He was there. He was inside my apartment, inside my room. What am I going to do?
My home looked the exact same. All my little decorations I had laying around to make my apartment a home, but now it doesn’t feel like home anymore. He knows where I am now and I am not hidden from him anymore. I am sticking out like a sore thumb. He knew where I was... That's the thing that's freaking me out so much. He could take me right now if he wanted too.
I am tired of being under his control. I just wanna be able to protect myself from him and his power. I decide to buy a gun, not that it would do much if he had that suit with him. I wasn't telling Ethan because Tony was said so many times that he will kill him if he helped me get away from him. I rather die trying then have my best friend murdered by my abusive ex-husband. I spend the day pulling out my hair with stress and nervousness. I just sit by my bed, shaking. Eventually night hits and I try to stay awake, but for some reason I am struggling to stay awake. My eyes were falling heavy and my head becoming lightheaded. Maybe I will rest my eyes, but I end up falling asleep by my bed, holding my gun. I let my guard down completely, thinking that he won't come tonight.
Tony's POV
She looks so pretty. And vunerable, even with that gun in her hand. She looks adorable trying to protect herself from me. Did I really cause her to get a gun? Does she think that I am gonna kill her? No no.... I am just gonna draw her back to me.
Stepping out my suit and opening her closet. I toss an empty sleep medicine bottle away. I dumped a bunch of pills in all of her food. She could go without drinking but, eating is a no go. The one thing I know about her is that she doesn't goes a day without eating. So, it was an easy task. I dig into my pocket of my dress pants and pull out a dull needle.A needle full of my sperm.
A twisted smile on my face, I act out my sick plan to get my lover back. Undoing the knot on her pj pants and pulling them over her plush thighs, my dick jumps in my pants seeing her pretty pussy. God, I have missed fucking her to submission, but I can't allow myself to do that and ruin my plan. I push her thighs apart and pushes the dull needle in, gently. Slowly, I inject her. I only do this so she won't know that she is carrying and maybe it'll be too late when she figures out.
She will be drawn back into my life whether she wants to or not. That baby will make sure that she comes back to me.
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mrs-munson-quinn · 2 years
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Electric Love ↯ A Eddie Munson Fanfic
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| Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
| Stranger Things Vol.1 Spoilers!!
| TW!! Mentions of death, mentions of abuse, slight bullying, blood, swearing, traumatic past mentioned!!!! Read at your own risk.
| Slow Burn
Next part-> chapter 3
MASTERLIST
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↯ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ↯
“So how have you been, little red” y/n asks as she avoids eye contact with max. While taking a sip of her tea that maxine had made for her. They where sitting in maxs very small dining table. Sitting acroos from each other.
She felt guilty.
It has been a year since billy passed and she’s just now visiting max. Sure there was calls from here in there but that wasn’t enough.
She was to stuck on her grieving to even remember about max grief. She never once properly checked on max who she sees as a little sister.
Max and Billy might have not been close but they cared for each other in their own weird way.
She can still remember max heartbreaking sobs as she was telling her the news about billy. Barely getting a word out.
While she heard max sobs she remembers being in shock. As no tears seemed to escape.
She had felt his death, somehow.
She had been at work when all of the sudden she felt this sharp pain in her chest enough to make her stumble. She remembers whispering Billys name as she felt the worst pain. She felt heartbroken. While tears were running down her cheeks.
She was confused when this happened. She had a suspicion but she chose to ignore it. She knew. But she had hit the first stage of grief. Denial.
Max call that night had given an answer to her assumption.
Max then later on revealed how billy had died. Know well that y/n would believe her. And max trusted her enough. After max told her what had happened she was stuck not knowing if it was a good idead to tell her about being part of the experiments that the girl elven went through as well.
the girl billy had sacrificed himself for.
At the end she had decided that the best thing to do was to tell her. She told her about being kidnapped by them and being sent to the lab in California that no longer existed. She told her how she escaped. And max took it well she was obviously shooked but she still was supportive.
“I been good” max responds while avoiding eye contact just like y/n was.
At the tone of max voice is when she finally decided to look at the red head instead of the flowery wallpaper that decorated the Hawkins trailer.
Thats when y/n took notice of max hunched posture. She took her time studying the girl. Her dark eyes circle that decorated her eyes. The way her nails where bitten which she only has when she’s been anxious or stressed. The way that she was tapping her foot over and over the wood floor, a trait that both har and max had. It quite literally looks like max is carrying the world on her shoulders.
And she just knew max was lying.
“How have you been really” she places a hand on top of the red head hand that was resting on the dining table that was in the kitch of the trailer.
“I-“ she starts while gripping y/n hand for more comfort. “I have been having these nightmares. I cant sleep anymore. If i do i only get a little sleep. And-and i keep getting these horrible headaches. I dont know what to do anymore, y/n” she finishes off whith her voice shaking. As she tries to hold back tears of frustration.
Y/n heart breaking more and more as she sees max break more.
how such a strong girl is now a broken girl.
“Oh. Come here, Red” y/n moves closer to max a pulls her in a hug. A thing both need.
Amd finally max lets it all out.
Y/n strokes max red hair as she pulls her closer. Max hands gripping y/n’s black leather jacket as she cries into y/n chest.
After a few minutes max finally calms out. Max still in y/n arms feeling better afte telling someone what been going on to her.
“I can give you a good sleep. Nightmare free.” y/n says while holding up her hand activating her powers showing the red swirls that moved around her finger making it in to a small energy ball and moving around her fingers.
“Wow” max gasp at the red swirls and at y/n eyes that became a glowing red. This had been max first time seeing y/n powers. She had expected them to be like elevens. No color. And no glowing eyes. She felt entranced by the red swirls.
Y/n just laughs at max reaction.
“Come show me where your bedroom is. So you can finally have a good night sleep” she says while getting up from the chair that she was sitting down.
“Yeah. Follow me” max takes her to her bedroom.
Y/n enters max room. Humming in approval as she looks around max bedroom. The cute decorations. Along with the posters that decorated the walls.
She then sits at the edge of max bed as she pick up the cassette player that was laying across the bed.
Putting on the headphones and pressing play.
Running up that hill by kate bush starts playing on the player. Pressing pause afte a few seconds of hearing it.
“Still your favorite song i see” taking max headphones off.
“You remember” max says with a small smile.
“Of course!. You would always play that song on the record player, when we would have our sleepovers. The sleepovers tha billy hated cause we were so loud we wouldt let him sleep” y/n exclaims with the biggest smile at the happy memories.
“I miss those days” max sighs with sad smile as she sits besides y/n She misses those days when they were all happy. When they would all hang out together. Sure most of the time her and billy were bickering. Or When y/n and her would gang up on billy and do everything to annoy him.
“I know. Me too” y/n says she says while taking max hand.
“Now lay down, so you can finally have a good sleep” y/n motherly voice comes out.
After max got under the covers y/n starts tucking in max.
“Alright then, you ready” y/n ask max.
Max just nods.
“You wont feel anything. But as soon as the magic hits you. You will feel your eyes get really heavy. And then sleep with hit you like a light” y/n moves her hand towards max head as the red huse of magic starts to move aroung her fingers. Finally extending her fingers sending red huse towards max head.
“Later, little red” y/n kisses max forehead as she sees her already drifting of to sleep.
Getting up from the edge of the bed she heads out of the room taking one last look towards max.
***
“Mmh.” Y/n hums trying to look for the right spaghetti noodles that she needs in order to make her special spaghetti dish.
She had decided to go to the store to buy something to make for dinner since max had just had old take out Chinese food in the fridge.
Neil and max mom had gone out on a trip so max was all alone. And since max dosent know how to cook her only opinion was to order take out
Finally finding the noodles she needs she heads towards the cashier. Getting distracted as she looks at the groceries in her hands as she looks to make sure if she has everything she needs.
Not noticing the person that was infront of her.
“Uff” y/n says as she bumps into a hard back all the items she held in her hands falling to the floor.
“I-im so sorry. Its all my fault i was distracted. I knew i should of gotten a basket. My dumbass just decide to struggle. Again im so sorry” y/n rambles while picking up the groceries that fell.
“It alright dont worry about it” the person she bumped into reassures her as they start to help y/n picking up the groceries that fell.
“Eddie?” Y/n looks up as she hears the familiar voice of the boy she met earlier today. Oh how embarrassing. Of course she had to bumped into the cute boy from earlier. She curses her bad luck she seems to carry around.
“Y/n!” He smiles as he recognizes the girl.
“How about i help you carry these to checkout?” slightly showing the groceries that he helped pick up.
***
“So how long do you plan to stay in this cursed town” eddie ask y/n as they head towards check out.
“Im not sure how long yet” she shrugs.
“Well i hope you decide to stay here for long” eddie say as he turns to look at y/n face. Blushing at what he just said.
“Sure” she laughs as she feels heat travel to her cheeks
“Well. Here we are” eddie says as they get in the checkout.
“Thank you for help. And im sorry for bumping into you.” She says with griamce remembering the embarrassing incident.
“You’re very much welcome, angel. And dont worry about it ” he smiles as he trails his eys through her face. It was the first time he has ever felt this giddy with a girl. With the few minutes he has hang out with her hes pretty sure that his smile never dropped. And never has he blushed before because of a girl. She was something else.
“Thank you again eddie for you help” y/n says as she puts the last bag of groceries in her trunk.
Eddie had decide to help y/n carry the groceries to her car.
“No problem angel” he blushe slightly at the appreciation. Making eye contact with the girl. The eye contact lasting a little to long.
“Shit” eddie suddenly breaks the eye contact as he remembers the hellfire campaign he needs to go to.
“I really have to go. See you later ?” He ask at the end heading towards his van. As he faces her walking backwards.
“See you later, eddie ” y/n suddenly gets shy. Making zero contact with the boy. Still flustered from eye contact that eddie broke.
Y/n quickly gets in her car and drives away. Heading towards max trailer
Gosh that boy is something else.
**
Hope you guys liked this chapter!!
Tags: @faefanatic @abbiesxox @yoyoanaria @sleepysl0th03 @ravenwayghwitch @b4i1e7 @nightless @zanmorgan @strangemaximoff
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eldritch-spouse · 1 year
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Just read that one post on how to REALLY escape from Breg and YIKES the hurt on that one. Like, the dudes getting captured and taken back to the same hell hole he escaped from begging and pleading for YOUR help only to see you just. There. With the other staff. LIKE MY GOD. Dude when i read that i was like YIKESS. That musta stung. Bad.
Like I remember reading another post bout what would happen if Breg was recaptured and how he literally killed himself while thinking of you and how happy he was that he met you and managed to live his life. I’m gonna give props to you cause you ended that post PERFECTLY. How in his final moments he’s thinking of how beautiful you are and how lucky that is like thats fucking heartbreaking.
So imagine when he was getting recaptured, he fucking sees you just talkin to the staff so calmly and the real choker is how you look so… relieved? Like I can’t say this enough but OUCH. Can’t tell what his reaction would be but it’s hurt. A lot of hurt. Like I’m sure he’d be too sad and heartbroken and betrayed to be angry. Maybe angry later, But now? In disbelief and is absolutely devastated. Like all this time you were lying, faking everything? When he thought you loved him when really you just put up with him hoping for the day to get rid of him.
That’s so fucken awful. Cause like ya said (i think) he’d rather die than go back to the facility. So no doubt he’s gonna off himself again all while thinking of what you did. Like god that’s a real stinker. Can’t imagine how that felt. Mans gonna be a whole explosion of emotions, Too overwhelmed to handle it all because he’s just thinking of you you you.
Overall, Props to you. You really know how to write some angsty shit. Like genuinely you write really well done! Because truthfully I’ve been binging to Yer Breg tag and i loved him and all your posts! Can’t wait to get a start on your other works, Got my eye on Morell so i might check him out later lol
Ah, this post and this one.
TW: Heavy angst, mentions of murder and suicide.
It would take so long for him to process it, it really would. One moment, his brain starts trying to close that bubble all over again, trying to erase these last few parts of your relationship and pretend that you really did love him, that what you had was real and beautiful- But then, then this wave of endless fury just consumes him, and the need to kill you keeps rising.
If Breg ever got his hands on you, it would be the ugliest scene imaginable. He's sick over the fact that he can't stop craving your love yet knows what a piece of shit you really are- There's a good chance he'd fuck you to death. Fortunately, he's never making it out again. Count your blessings. And thanks to his initial outbursts courtesy of your betrayal, he'll probably remain restrained all the time, so he can't hurt anyone including himself. Suicide isn't an option anymore.
Not without his teeth, with a stump of tail, declawed and perpetually chained to the wall even inside his own isolated cell. Swallowing your own tongue is a lot harder than it looks, you know? His days are spent wailing, haunted by visions of you even as those hellish fucking pumps drain his cocks for hours at a time. If he had the opportunity to see the other groups of captive breeders, subject M197 would let himself fall to the floor and wait for them to viciously tear him apart, but he knows he'll never be given that mercy.
Even if Breg has dreams of dragging your open skull through miles of asphalt-
At the end of the day, he knows he'll do anything if it meant having you back, you finally accepting him. Everyday his body collects new scars and deformities from his futile attempts at fighting back, his sanity peels apart like rotten wallpaper, and he knows that if you didn't love him then you'll never love him now... But it's the only thing he sees when he spaces out anyway.
Because his brain won't move on, refuses to. Delusion has always been his cope, why would this be any different?
[Thenk! It's always been easier for me to write angst than fluff, I like keeping things dark :7. Morell is one of my favorites, hope you like that nutty fuck.]
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A brief explanation (so to speak): I saw this post by @whump-queen and my heart stopped beating. With shock. In absolute awe. Amazing prompt list, i died. Anyway the gods of creativity ordered me to do something with the feels installed and so i did. *cue the evil laughter like some street raccoon cackling over their can of olives*
For Your Own Good
CW: exhaustion, forceful caretaker being an asshole, noncon drugging, feeling humiliated, headache, manhandling, restraints, medical whump, forced into getting medical attention, general whump (let me know if i missed anything!)
Hero couldn’t walk without stumbling. As it was, they barely got through the entrance. 
Their head throbbed, the earth spinning beneath their feet. It was bad. It usually was. But this time– this fight– had been different. Worse. A thousand times worse. Villain had been relentless and Hero could feel every mark that Villain had left on them. Hero wanted nothing more than to crumble into a thousand pieces. Right there. All over the floor.
Breathe in.
Breathe out. 
Hero took another step forward. If they could only get to their room, then it would all be fine. They could lock the door and burrow under the blankets and shut out reality and ignore their bruises and that stupid, stupid headache– 
Hero pressed trembling fingers to their temples.
The throbbing was getting worse. 
They grabbed the stair rail with both hands, pulling themselves forward. 
Black dots swarmed their vision, protesting against the sudden movement. 
Breathe. 
And they climbed the first step, leaning heavily on the rail. Someone cried out in pain. It certainly wasn’t them. They were fine. Fine. Yet their hand slipped on the rail and they barely avoided slamming their head into the yellow wallpaper of the opposite wall. 
“Hero?” 
The voice seemed to come from a long distance away. A very long distance. 
“Hero!” 
Hero ignored them. They needed to get to their room. They didn’t have time for this. Besides, they were fine. 
So long as they remembered to breathe. And not too deeply either because, god, their ribcage hurt along with everything else. 
Breathe. 
Not too deep. 
One foot in front of the other. 
Was the floor supposed to move like that? They couldn’t remember. Couldn’t– couldn’t think. It hurt too much. It all hurt too much. 
And then arms were around them, lifting them off the stairs and down to level ground. One of the team– Medic– was asking what was wrong. 
Hero jerked away the instant their feet touched the floor, skin throbbing where Medic had touched them. Medic couldn’t have known– but it had hurt. It had hurt to have hands wrapped around them, pressing on their ribcage. Besides, Hero felt safer with their back against the wall. 
“Where are you hurt?” asked Medic. Straight to business, as always. 
Hero tried to wave them aside. “I’m not hurt.” Did their voice really shake that badly? Did they really sound that pathetic? Hero shuddered. They just needed to sleep it off. Right?
Medic considered them in a new light. Hero was lying. They couldn’t hide the pain in their words anymore then they could hide the fact they were about to pass out. 
Medic walked forward, taking Hero’s chin in their hand, ignoring their friend’s protests. They turned Hero’s face this way and that in the light. It wasn’t cruel. But they weren’t particularly kind either. They noted the bruises. The exhaustion that could not be hidden. 
Medic’s lips formed a thin line as they dropped Hero’s face. 
Hero shrank back. The fact that they had been too weak to pull away on their own pummeled them, the words repeating over and over again in their head. 
Weak. 
Pathetic. 
“Don’t do that again,” they whispered. “Please.” They didn’t think they could stand having anyone else touch them.
Medic frowned. “You need medical attention.” 
Hero shook their head frantically. “No, I’m fine– I’ll sleep it off, I swear. Just leave me alone. You’ll leave me alone, right?” 
You’re not like Villain, right? 
A tired sigh. “Are you going to cooperate or not?” 
Hero looked away and tried to push past them. Hoping they would let them walk away. They should have known better. 
Medic grabbed their shoulders, pinning their arms behind them. When Hero struggled to get free, they called for the rest of the team. 
Hero couldn’t understand what was said– the roaring in their ears drowned out the words, the black dots in their vision growing. But soon there were more hands and sympathetic expressions.
Hero wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow them whole. This was– this was beyond humiliating. Dragged by their own team, people they had trusted for god’s sake, into the infirmary. They could make out individual words, whispers of pity. 
“It’ll be okay, Hero.”
“It’s for your own good.” 
Hero stifled a scream. This– this– this was far worse than Villain’s brutal fights. Far worse than Villain’s pitiless blows. “Don’t touch me!” 
Please. 
They didn’t listen. 
Medic forced Hero onto a medical table. There was no getting out of this. There was metal underneath them and hands on their wrists and ankles. 
“I hate you,” Hero whispered into the light. It burned. Too bright. They blinked back tears, spitting the words out again, as hard as possible. 
“I hate you.” 
Medic’s expression hardened. They snatched up a needle. “Hold them still.”
Hero squeezed their eyes shut as something sharp pierced the inside of their elbow. The black dots enveloped the rest of their vision. 
The last thing Hero heard was Medic’s voice, unusually sharp. “It's for your own good.” 
A/N: Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or anything! (tho said tag list is currently nonexistent)
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lesbianwriter · 2 years
Text
Hero finally tracked down Villain’s whereabouts. She was surprised when it led to a crappy apartment, given how much Villain killed for money. A cold snake wriggled through her stomach. Would it really be okay to ambush Villain at her most vulnerable?
Stupidly, Hero knocked on the door.
“I am not buying anymore of your cookies—“ Villain stopped and looked at the woman standing at her door. She was most definitely not a little girl pandering expensive cookies.
Hero raised her eyebrows. “You buy cookies?”
“Go—“
“Not yet.”
“Listen up—“
“Nope. I’m talking first.” Hero grabbed the door before Villain could slam it. Villain glared icily. She knew she should’ve expected Hero to be outrageously annoying…like the incident with the closet…but the amount of interruptions that the heroic goody-two-shoes managed to fit in one minute was making Villain homicidal.
“Fine.” Villain’s tone dripped with venom.
“Is this really where you live?” Hero asked, eyeing the mold living in the corners of the hallway. Cracks splintered the peeling wallpaper. Dust scattered into the air with every step on the creaky, faded floors.
Hero, admittedly, didn’t live luxury. Her apartment was small, the water was always cold, and the stairs made people feel like they’re seconds away from plummeting to death, but the landlord took care of the building. He made sure it looked decent and that living there wasn’t a living hell.
Villain’s apartment…
Grumpily, Villain scowled. “Not up to your standards? In case you haven’t yet noticed, I kill for money. You wouldn’t be trying to arrest me, in my own apartment, if i didn’t need to do this.”
Hero’s mouth felt dry. “Then come live with me.”
“What?” Villain laughed. She leaned against her doorframe, the wood creaking with her motion. Considering that it was an ungodly hour of the night to be awake, Villain looked good, Hero had to admit. Maybe better than good.
Her eyes were half-lidded with the lingering drowsiness, hair messily scattered around her face, and her tank top displayed soft muscles.
Opening her mouth, Hero blushed. What she was about to say was definitely not what she planned in her bathroom mirror. “We could be roommates.”
“Roommates.” Villain tested the word of her lips, sweet as a drop of honey on her tongue. She looked at Hero, standing in her doorway and looking too awake for this hour. Roommates.
Villain had fallen into a habit of thinking of Hero as a sunflower. Tall, bright, and durable. Annoyingly so. Imagining living with that when Villain herself was a storm cloud that blocked the sun made her laugh.
“It could work.” Hero insisted. “We save our fighting for work hours…and after work we can just—I dunno—be normal people together? Watch a movie? Wouldn’t that be nice to do?”
“Or I could slit your throat in your sleep.” Villain offered, moving to shut the door again. Jerking foreword, Hero grabbed Villain’s wrist. Villain’s tired brain did not anticipate this level of tenacity at this hour, but this was Hero. It should’ve.
“How about the first rule is: don’t kill the other roommate?” Hero offered. She bit her lip. The landlord was always pestering her about where her friends were and she could change Villain’s life around so she wouldn’t have to be a villain to get by. “Please. You can live somewhere better and we can be normal people around each other. Not Hero and Villain. Just two civilians.”
The other looked at Hero distrustfully. “You barge into my apartment to arrest me at two in the fucking morning and then you ask me to live with you?”
“Pretty much.” Hero smiled, nodding.
Villain worked the logistics in her mind, rubbing at her eyes. She could use this to glean information on the Commission. Sidle up to the naïve sunflower and then block the sun she needed to survive. Villain chewed her lip; she knew her boss would love that. Pay her more, even. More money meant better living for her little sister. And if she killed Hero… “Alright.”
Villain moved in with Hero the next day, both of them setting their own plans in motion.
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