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boba-beom · 2 months

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*:･ﾟ❅･ﾟskate to my heart | KANG TAEHYUN

pairing: taehyun x fem!reader

genre: oneshot; fluff, bsf2l

summary: after watching taehyun at practice several times, he eventually asked you to watch his last, big game for the season in exchange for a date later the same night. with an uncertified label and known feelings between the both of you, would taehyun end the day with two wins?

wc: 4.1k

warnings: not proofread :< bestfriends 2 lovers, taehyun courting reader, a sprinkle of jealousy, taehyun almost fought someone eep, very little hockey terminology+knowledge (inaccurate representation most likely), physical affection, littlesttt bit suggestive, reader admires taehyun a lot but she gets shy sometimes, lil emotional, minor misunderstangin, taehyun has a super soft spot for reader and ADORES her, confession, a little cheesy, a kiss :>

a/n: requested by anonie! thank you anonie for sending this through <3 I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading! also 'courting' is when one person typically spends time and puts in effort with the person they are wanting to pursue! a little better than the talking stage lmao. I would also like to thank @gyupremacy @junniieesbby and @amoryeonjun for helping me come up with title options for this fic, ily guys (I may use one for a short sequel to this but that's for another day lmao)

a few days ago you had promised taehyun that you would come with him to his final hockey game for the season. in exchange, he made a promise to take you out on a date after, regardless if he wins or not.

and that led you to this very moment.

the sports venue was quite big, just the right size for the local games, with the building accommodating two rinks for figure skaters on the other side and ice hockey on the side you're on, in which you're seated by the acrylic panels so you were one of the closest to the rink.

just for taehyun.

he's the sole reason you've bought new outerwear and accessories to keep you warm within the rink, you even bought a jersey jumper with the colours of the team he is in. perhaps you went the extra mile and personalised it with his surname and birth date number.

"I hope you'll come to my hockey game this weekend. it's the last one for the season and it would mean a lot to me if you came along. and then afterwards I'll promise to take you on a date, please?"

his words echoed in your head as if he had told you just before you arrived at the sports venue. a smile had started creeping up on your face as you remembered the way he almost begged you to go on a date with him; his eyes gentle and his hand enveloped yours.

taehyun's team, rockets, had plenty of fans. some being seated a few rows behind you on your far left. it wasn't hard to miss them from the way you could hear high pitched squeals as soon as the players for rockets stepped their hockey skates onto the ice, watching the team skate past you one by one.

as each player glided past you, the cheers for the team were non-stop, whistles, screams and chants behind you. yet you managed to block them out a little — as if the lack of sounds would help you see better — and your eyes were darting around to look out for one player in particular.

then the crowd started to cheer significantly louder than before. that's when your eyes locked with a pair of large, round ones that had a familiar hold on yours. he sent you a subtle wave paired with a quick wink, and you thank god that you were sat at the front to catch that.

you waved your blue and red striped scarf, that you had bought just for him, as you called out for him and his team name as an attempt to hide the fact you could feel your cheeks heating up.

but taehyun noticed. you couldn't hide that from him.

the game wasn't going to start for another thirty minutes since the players were gliding around for their on-ice warm ups. you observed the way players would get comfortable on the ice, taking in long strides, others in smaller groups to do their crossover drills from one end of the rink to the other.

you noticed some of the crowd coming closer around you, to the acrylic panels since they were able to stand there within the duration of practice up until the puck drop. luckily you remained in your seat and was still able to have some space around you.

a call of your name caught your attention, but you knew it wasn't taehyun's voice from the sounds of it. a player from the opposing team, wearing the black and white kit, had slowed down skating in front of you, and attempted to spark your attention but you remained neutral and kept a tight lipped smile.

"yah! penguin. shouldn't you be on the other side of the rink?" your ears focus on taehyun's voice, muffling the sounds around you.

knowing taehyun, he was just being protective over you but you still had to make sure he didn't get into any fights. the game hadn't even started yet. he made his way past the opposing player, gliding past him as he slowed down right against the acrylic and knocked on it.

you okay? he mouthed at you with a little nod of assurance.

you gave him a soft smile with two thumbs up to give back the reassurance, but taehyun still felt compelled to stay a few seconds longer. he gave you a knowing look with a head tilt and brows raised slightly, but you couldn't help but laugh a little at his determination to make sure you were okay. again, you noded and smiled as you moved your wrists flicking outwards in a 'shoo' motion so he could get back into warming up with no distractions.

it was amusing that that was the first time taehyun behaved assertively in front of another player outside of the game. he usually had good sportsmanship with all players, however, this time around it seemed as thought he was more bothered than you were.

watching taehyun was nothing out of the norm for you since you always offered to come with him during his practices, admiring the way his skin glowed and reflected the light from the ice below him. watching the way he moved from one side of the rink to the other with steady and swift movements while in control of passing the puck was something you were always amazed about.

there had been a few cases when taehyun was free on the ice, face turning to look straight at you since he always knew where you would sit, and once he had your attention he'd quickly wave at you. you knew if you were on the ice yourself you would melt right through.

*:･ﾟ❅･ﾟ

after a good twenty minutes of the game, the first intermission had started. the teams made their way to their designated sides off the rink, rehydrating and even getting something to nibble on within the fifteen minutes they had.

some players came back onto the rink five minutes before the game resumed, skating to their assigned places. meanwhile you kept your eyes out for your best friend, but the same player from the opposing team made a return towards you.

you noticed but you paid him no attention, keeping that same tight lipped smile while your eyes were darting everywhere but in front of you.

he knocked on the clear barrier, and mouthed 'can I get your number?' and gestured his hand to a phone sign in which you slowly shook your head and mouthed a 'sorry'. he didn't seem to take it and asked again, begging at this point. you were about to shake your head again until a player in blue and red skimmed behind him and backed him up against the clear panel.

you stood up to get a better look and it was no other than taehyun. he was about to grab the other player by the collar of their kit until you had your hand flat on the surface and banging it against the acrylic three times to grasp his attention. taehyun's fist didn't reach the collar, thankfully, catching the worry in your eyes and he retracted his unravelling fist.

a sigh left you as you saw him back up from his opponent, your head shaking slowly at him while you mouth 'it's okay'. he was lucky he hadn't gone ahead with it otherwise it'd led to a five-minute major penalty towards him. he still had two thirds of the game left.

once you sat back down in your seat, you readied yourself for the next twenty minutes of the game. the teams were back in their designated sides of the rink, and taehyun was set in his position as center.

you focused on him, knees slightly bent, hands holding the hockey stick and his concentration on the center before the referee dropped the puck. he hits the puck as soon as it collided with the ice, and his movements remained swift and sharp as he and his teammates led the puck to the other side of the rink.

it was clear seeing the puck passed from taehyun, center, to the left winger then right winger, but so many players blocked your vision. it had you thinking the puck had been taken by the opposing team, though in a fraction of a second your ears were filled with the crowd cheering. from the sounds of it rockets had scored a goal, and you looked up at the screen above the rink to watch a quick replay of who scored the goal.

it was no other than the star player who has your heart.

you stood up, cheering and clapping, waving your scarf as you try and find him in your field of vision. almost as if you were in a movie, the hockey players skated aside and taehyun's skating towards his original position, facing you. you could see his teethy smile as he pointed out at you, hearing a few 'ooh's and whistles from the audience.

the pounding in your chest felt like it was about to burst and the heat crawling up to your cheeks were starting to burn you up. you shook your head at him again, this time sheepishly, as you bit the inside of your cheek, refraining your grin but you couldn't hold out and let out an endearing laugh.

*:･ﾟ❅･ﾟ

it was the second and last intermission of the overall game. the game time period had just finished up nicely, rockets' scores in the lead with nine and the opposing team with five. you had a good feeling about rockets winning the final twenty minutes of the game.

there were about eight minutes left of the intermission before they resumed the game, so you made your way through the row to the restroom.

as you walked down the corridor to find the toilets you felt a loose grasp on your wrist, making your gasp hitch in your throat and turn your head to see just the person you couldn't wait to see until the end of the game.

"tae, what are you doing here?" you whispered at him, the confusion on your face clear as day.

"I was too excited, I wanted to see you."

you noticed the way his slightly damp and dishevelled hair was grazing just by his brows, his face glowing from the sheer layer of sweat. and his eyes steady on yours.

"well," you slid your wrist out of his hold and played with his fingers. "we still have that date later tonight, remember?"

you looked up at him and you see a proud smirk on his lips, nodding his head slowly in attempt to keep in his excitement. but the rose hue on his cheeks were a big giveaway.

"I'll see you later then. I'll do my best for you, keep your eyes on me."

taehyun lifted your hand and lightly pressed his lips against the back of your fingers. the familiar feeling of your heart about to burst in your chest returned, and you caught the way the tips of his ears blushed the same pink tinge you saw earlier.

"do your best, my star player." you smiled at him, and he let out a soft scoff intertwined with his laugh. watching him walk away to get back onto the rink and finally letting you go to the restroom.

walking into the restroom you slammed your hands flat on the countertop beside the sink, looking at your reflection in disbelief.

"my star player?! really?" your expression changed when you repeated it again, smiling at yourself and shaking your head. "I must be out of my mind."

you can't believe how fast your feelings were brewing for your best friend. there's always been this unspoken dynamic between you, indirect words that mean something a little more, looks that only has your heart fluttering in your chest — and his. gestures that tended to linger and only either one of you would notice that it was a second longer than what would be considered 'platonic'.

snapping out of your reverie you went to use the toilet before making your way back to your seat. you had the final twenty minutes left and then the evening to talk to taehyun properly.

*:･ﾟ

there were five minutes left until the game was over, and during this game the opposing team had scored three times, bringing the current score for rockets with nine, still, and the opposing team with eight.

you hoped the game wouldn't end in a tie. it would be a shame to end the final game of the season in a tie. rockets were doing so well throughout the past two game, but this third game seemed to be the opposite of what they call 'the charm'.

"come on, come on. just one more point." you whispered to yourself, chanting nervously. your hands gripped onto your jacket, taking it off and revealing your customised jersey jumper reading 'KANG' with '05' underneath in bold.

as soon as you were sat comfortably, you checked the time once more; just under four minutes until the end of the game.

one last point and you'd be celebrating later in the evening.

you watched the puck passed around by the opposing team, almost accepting defeat until the players started skating towards the other end of the rink. rockets had the puck by their sticks and from all you could see, it was being passed repeatedly between the left winger and left defence. losing sight of it again it seems like the right winger had it until you saw taehyun receiving it.

with an extremely quick knock of his hockey stick against the puck, it flew into the goal for the final time this season and the speakers let out the horn indicating the end of the game. the screen above showed the final scores, rockets - 10 / guests - 8.

just in time, and your star player was surrounded by his teammates, each of them skating up to him and knocking the front of their helmets together. watching him being congratulated by his team was so endearing to watch — especially knowing just how much work he's put into this sport, knowing how much he loves it.

the crowd behind you was still full of cheers, whistles and chanting. but your eyes were fixed on taehyun as he took his helmet off, his hair a little more damp and dishevelled compared to when you saw him during the second intermission. that didn't stop him from looking incredible with his face literally glowing from his sweat and the ice reflecting off of the droplets.

he made a beeline towards you for the last time on the ice, a huge grin adorned on his face along with his asymmetrical dimple making an appearance.

was it because his team won? perhaps. was it because you were wearing the jersey with his name and birth date? most likely.

his smile was too contagious you didn't realise when you started smiling so hard, you were laughing a little too. the continuous cheers had you joining in, clapping towards taehyun, all while he mouthed a 'meet me by the foyer'.

after the crowd started moving, you made your way straight to the foyer, watching the audience walk past you as they exited the venue.

you're leaning against a pillar, watching the last strand of the light in the sky disappear through the floor to ceiling glass panels as your stomach was filled up with butterflies from the thought of going on a date with your best friend and making it a joint celebratory dinner.

a pair of hands abruptly weighed your shoulders down, having your heart leap out of your chest as you turn around to a giggly and cheerful taehyun.

"tyun! you were amazing out there!" you exclaimed, jumping up to hug him with your arms over his shoulders and his bag sliding down his arm, only hugging you with one arm around your waist.

"yeah well, I had to put on my best. you were watching." you playfully nudged his arm, biting back your grin but his was too contagious to hold back. "no but seriously, the team did so well tonight. they're going out to celebrate, actually."

your smile faltered in the littlest bit, thinking carefully before you asked him.

"do you want to go too? we can always rain check the date... if you want? I don't mind, seriously." you felt the guilt appear inside you, not wanting to hold him back. you saw how happy he was out there and it wasn't all the time you saw taehyun like that.

"hey, no." taehyun shrugged his bag strap to hang from his shoulder, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, slowly walking out the exit together to toward the car park. "I have a date to go to and I wouldn't want to miss that for the world. I see those blokes almost every week anyway, I'll live."

taehyuns words brought the flutter back in your chest and you raised your hand to hold onto his that's hanging over your shoulder. the evening air was cool and taehyun's freshly washed hair was finally out of his face. from the angle you could see, he was literally the definition of perfection in your books.

letting his words process in your head, all you managed to say was, "ah, you're so cheesy." you let go of his hand to open the car door, sitting inside as you waited for him to put his stuff in the trunk and sit in the driver's seat.

"yeah, but you like it though." his voice had a playful tone, probably with a smile on his face, it was dark in the car. he wasn't even looking at you, buckling his seatbelt and inserting the key to start the car.

yeah. I do.

*:･ﾟ❅･ﾟ

it's almost been an hour since taehyun dropped you home to get ready and he did the same. you texted him saying that you were done and just waiting for him to pick you up, which didn't take too long because he fortunately didn't live too far away from you.

your phone's notification sound went off as he sent you a simple I'm outside text, but that was the norm with him. you grabbed your purse and shrugged on your coat over your dress, examining your final look through the body-length mirror in the hallway before unlocking the door.

a taehyun in a black button down, top button left undone and sleeves folded to a three quarters length up his forearm that matched nicely with his dark slacks was standing in front of you. and how could you look past the bouquet of red roses arranged with baby's breath, elegantly wrapped in decorative cellophane.

"for my beautiful date."

your lips formed a subtle pout as you retrieved the flowers from him, noticing the sheer bow wrapped around the stems.

"taehyun," your voice was meek, just audible enough until you cleared your throat. "these are stunning, thank you, handsome."

you walked back into the hallway to place them in an empty vase in which you emptied out a couple of days ago after you'd turned the old arrangement into dried flowers.

returning to the entrance, you released a heavy sigh while walking through the door, controlling yourself to not gawk at the gorgeous man stood on your porch.

"why?" taehyun stepped aside for you to shut and lock the door.

you could feel him hovering behind you, and you noticed his shadow casted over your shoulder and could be seen against the wooden door.

"because..." your voice trailed.

once you were done checking you had locked the door properly, you turned around, paying no attention that you were incredibly close to taehyun's face, his eyes darting to your lips before looking back up at your eyes. you lost your balance as your back almost crashed into the door if it wasn't for his hand resting on your lower back.

"because?" he parroted.

your chest was slightly heaving, knowing that he could potentially hear your heart drumming in your chest for the nth time that evening.

"um, because... we're gonna be late for our reservation." you hastily slid aside and walked towards his car as he trailed behind you, his hands in his pockets and letting out an amused scoff with an endeared smile on his face.

*:･ﾟ

to your relief, you had arrived just in time for your private reservation and you had nothing to worry about. the restaurant was beautiful — it was elegant. the high ceiling with dark grey marble pillars in each corner of the room to withhold the structure. a contrast from the ligher shade of grey for the tiled flooring.

"how long until the next season?" you asked taehyun, curious as you fiddled with the corner of the napkin on the table.

despite being with taehyun almost on a daily basis, this was something you weren't used to. the atmosphere was a little different, a little thicker and laced with something that hasn't been spoken about, but it's there.

you were nervous. you knew that, taehyun knew that and he could definitely see that. he reached his hand over to scoop up your fingers gently into his, and the motion of his thumb skimming over your knuckles somewhat helped with those nerves.

"this season only finished a few hours ago, ___." the continuous movement of his calloused fingers against yours had calmed you down enough, but you couldn't manage to look him in the eye until he tugged on your hand lightly. "but probably not for another couple of months or so, we'll see."

you both held eye contact, the longest you managed ever since he picked you up from your house. he opened his mouth to say something but you had already beat him to it, starting to speak before you realised.

"I meant it when I said this, but you genuinely looked so happy out there on the rink." he listened and nodded as he let you continue. "just seeing you so passionate about what you love on the ice rink at first hand was amazing, honestly." you let out a half hearted chuckle.

"well, part of it's because you're there to support me. throughout my practices, trainings and today's game." it was your turn to caress the inside of his palm, letting him know that you'd always be there for him. "and I have something to say."

you nod, listening intently.

"if it wasn't for you supporting me throughout, I don't know if I would've even continued up until now. I got this far because of you. and I know you can sense... whatever this attraction is between us too. you're my best friend and always will be," he paused, noticing the way you bit the inside of your cheek. "but I also want to be your lover."

taehyun didn't know if it was the reflection from the hanging lights above you, but he swore your eyes lit up. you didn't know if you were going to cry because you almost thought you were getting friendzoned, or it was because taehyun had cleared the air and asked to be your lover.

worry washes over taehyun's face, setting aside his utensils as he picked up his napkin to lightly dab on the stray tear that fell without your knowledge. he cooed at you, and you weakly laughed at yourself.

"I was afraid you were going to friendzone me for a second." you had taehyun lightly scoff and slowly shook his head at you, but his gaze softened, brows relaxed and eyes twinkling. "I'd love you to be my lover, tyun. and I'll love you twice as much."

your tears brimmed at your eyes, threatening to fall one after the other until taehyun decided to get out of his chair and walk over to you, a knee on the ground while he cupped your cheek and cooed you with sweet, reassuring words.

"I'd be a fool if I friendzoned you," he dabbed away the tears towards the outer corner of your eyes, "you okay?"

you nodded your head in certainty, cupping his cheek and you noticed the way his eyes are so focused on you, holding the galaxy within. the eyes of your best friend filled with nothing but love and adoration for you.

"tyun?" he hums at you whispering his name. "can I kiss you?"

he huffed an exhale paired with a hopeful nod, and his eyes are focused on your lips.

"please do."

you both let out relieved sighs once your lips collided. his hand gently slid from your cheek to the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, melting into one another's touch. his moan got caught in the back of his throat the moment he felt your teeth gingerly tugging on his bottom lip before parting the kiss.

"you're just full of surprises, aren't you?" he chuckled at your expression once you realised what you did.

"well, there's a first for everything, isn't there?" your tone smug with a hint of confidence, taehyun attempted to keep a stoic expression.

"that's so cheesy." he stood up, stroking the top of your head and tucking a few loose strands behind your ear.

"but you liked it though." you replied, and he returned to his seat, facing you with a defeated but pleased look on his face.

"yeah, I do"

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luxtrys · 10 months

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a hundred and ten percent ready.

your first time with anakin skywalker (18+, smut noshy. innocent!reader, cocky asf ani (a warning in itself) size kink. )

you couldn't hear the dramatically aggressive slam of the door to yours and anakin's apartment over the soft music flowing out of your record player. you hummed to the tune, swiping your hand through the chocolate you had used all your muscles to chop into the pot of boiling heavy cream.

anakin watched lovestruck, leaning his head on the kitchen door frame as you let out an excited squeal to yourself while mixing the steaming pot of hot chocolate on the stove. ani was confused the first time you had brought up hot chocolate to him, on the first conversation you ever had might i add. the way you talked about it with so much care and love he thought it was a childhood pet your parents just let you name. you added in the espresso powder and vanilla essence before stirring it with the heart spatula ani had gave you on a random sunday.

once you noticed a few to many bubbles rising to the surface of your beautiful creation, you quickly bent down to be eye level with the stove. as you slowly changed the size of the flame under your pot, you felt a strong arm snake around your waist, pulling your ass into the persons crotch. squealing, you straighten your back instantly as the familiar smell of smoke, sandalwood and cologne enters your nose. "what'chu makin baby?" anakin rasped, bending down to rest his head on your shoulder.

you looked up at him, mustering up the most annoyed face you could. he knew what you were making, you made hot chocolate at-least twice a week without failure. "oo baby don't look at me like that, gonna make me cry" he smirks, leaning down and catching your lips in a heated kiss. you indulge for a few seconds before pulling back, moving your attention back to the pot on the stove "i added espresso powder this time ani! i read it on that blog i like, it said it really brings out the chocolate flavour and i'm so excited to try" he scoffed at how quickly you just ignored the make out session you had just, rubbing your stomach with his hand and shaking his head.

it was only a few minutes before ani was pouring the steaming chocolate liquid into the matching mugs you made him for valentines day, your names etched on each and bunnies and hearts decorating the white cups. anakin always did that job, banning you from it after you accidentally poured the hot chocolate all over your hand and he had to sit in the ice cold shower with you to calm the burning for over four hours, holding you close to his bare chest as you sobbed.

you sat down on the kitchen stools, tapping your acrylic nails onto the marble surface in excitement. "what sprinkles tonight baby?" he asked as he grabbed the whipped cream out of the fridge, he knew the answer because you picked the same every-time, but he asked anyway. "pink and white hearts please ani" you answered, glancing out to the lively city of Coruscant through your endless high windows.

"thank you ani!" you exclaimed as he placed the hot mug filled with hot chocolate, a mountain of whipped cream, small pink marshmallows and little heart sprinkles into your hands. he took the seat next to you, holding his mug filled with only hot chocolate, no sprinkles, marshmallows or cream, you almost broke up with him for that when you first started dating. the whipped cream and marshmallows you got, but the sprinkles? no way.

he wrapped his hand over the back of your chair, effortlessly pulling your chair closer to his so you were touching. you stared at him as his slid his hand over the top of your bare thigh, snaking it up and down before gripping the inside of your thigh, way to close to your heat. all while just staring absent mindedly in front of him and sipping his mug.

you were starting to feel those tingles inside of you, that you coincidently only got around ani. you and ani had done stuff before a few times after you came to him at the first feeling of tingles rising inside of you. he smirked at you then and patted the space on the bed beside him, telling you it was normal and he would help you out. he always helped you out, and you felt like it was time to return the favour. he never told you that you had to though, never making you feel like he deserved something in return, but you were ready. ready for sex.

you stared down at your mug, the little pink marshmallows drowning in the chocolate as the cream melted away into nothingness. you would never pass down a hot chocolate, never. but as you looked between your boyfriend and your mug, you realised you didn't crave hot chocolate. you craved anakin.

the loud screeching of your chair as you pushed it back and your socked feet hitting the floor alerted anakin of your state. your pupils wide and palms sweating as you pulled at the fabric of your - his - shirt. glancing over to see your mug untouched, ani was just about to pull you into his chest and console you at whatever got you worked up this time. but before he could, he heard words that made he nearly spit out the hot chocolate in his mouth.

"i want to have sex with you anakin"

out of all things anakin guessed you were going to say, those words were not one of them. you were shy, even after dating for more than a year, you never just said what you wanted without taking 5 minutes to stumble over your words. and you definitely didn't say words alluding to any sort of sexual activity unless ani teased you to say it after working you up with his fingers buried in you for way too long. "what? can you say that again princess i think i heard you wrong"

"i- pfft- ani you know what i said" you whined, still standing at least 5 feet from him, because if he were to touch you near there again, you might just explode. "nope. i need you to say it again, or you're getting nothing." ok. now he was just being mean.

you always oddly noticed that though. that anytime you guys would do anything down there, ani was just a bit mean. he was always in control, powerful, dominating, but in the bedroom it was like those present qualities were maxed out to 1000.

a flush spread across your cheeks as you huffed. "i- i want to have sex with you anakin" you voiced. that signature annoying cocky smirk spread across his features as he approached you. his combat boots still on his feet from jedi duties and his biceps bulging out of his thin black short-sleeve shirt, you thought you were going to faint.

you noticed again as he stood infront of you how fucking massive he was. he was at least a foot taller than you and could literally crush your body with a single arm if he wanted to. he left goosebumps on your delicate skin as he trailed his fingers up and down your arms making you shiver. he continued on his painfully slow attack of his soft touches before running his hands to the top of your thighs and hooking his thumbs on the sides of your lacy pink underwear.

he stared down at you, biting his lip and all knowing that your underwear was completely soaked because of him. you noticed he was stalled, not making another move and deep in thought. "ani whats wrong?" you asked, no, whined.

"you know this is a big thing baby, i'm fine with helping you out as long as you need me to ok? i don't want to rush you angel. i need you to be very sure you want this." he said softly, drawing circles with his fingers on your thighs.

you weren't exactly sure if it was because you were so horny or just so in love with him, but those words could make you break down and cry.

"im sure ani." he smiled down at you "ok baby, just-. are you 100 percent sure, because not to alarm you but if we start, i'm not sure ill be able to stop" you leaned into him, your forehead resting on the soft fabric of his shirt. "i'm a hundred and ten percent ready ani, promise."

at those words he quickly gripped your ass, hoisting you up into his chest so your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms swung around his neck. your squeal made him even more giddy as all he could feel was you, his thoughts echoed with your giggles and moans and he could practically smell you soaking through your panties.

his dick was straining in his pants as he set you on the soft pink blanket you insisted on putting on your bed. he kneeled down onto his knees pulling you by your feet so your legs dangled off the end of the bed as you squealed. he could feel the need to protect, pleasure and destroy you rise in his body as he reached under the shirt that swallowed your body entirely when you wore it, which was almost always.

he went as slow as he could as he ran his fingers up and down your folds through your panties. you threw your head back at the contact, biting your lip and whining his name. he chuckled at how little he had to do to have you melting in his hands.

as much as he wanted to tease you, he just needed to see you so bad it hurt. he gripped the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head, the site of your bare chest almost making him bust in his pants. "shit baby you gotta stop doing this to me, won't fucking last. you're just so pretty." he had a slight groan to every word he said, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking, making you mewl.

he looked into your eyes as he kissed all the way down your stomach before making it to the waistband of your panties. the cold air hit your sensitive clit as ani peeled of the underwear, staring at the wetness he had created and throwing them somewhere in the room. he licked a thick strip through your folds, gripping the insides of your thighs with both of his massive hands, stopping you from wriggling as he ate you out.

"fuckin' hell baby, this pussy 's gonna be the fucking death of me. taste so sweet" he said, his breath on your clit making you squirm. he needed to be in you, now. but there was no way he was fitting in you without stretching you out first, and he needed to fucking hurry.

he sucked his fingers, teasing your hole before sliding two fingers in at the same time. you gasped, looking down at him shocked, he never did two fingers first. "i know baby, you're alright. just need to get you stretched out ok? you're alright."

you nodded franticly as he pumped both fingers in and out of you, the pain quickly subsiding into pleasure. anakin didn't know how he was going to fit inside of you, because judging how hard your gripping two fingers, he wouldn't even fit three in and he was way bigger than three fucking fingers.

he finally decided to enter the third finger into you, slowly working his way through the resistance in your pussy "n-no ani, it's to much" you were blinded by pleasure, stars clouding your vision as all you could see was anakin.

"you're ok. quit whining and take it" his tone was rough and jagged, and you could not be more turned on in that moment. you whined, struggling under him as he brought you to your first orgasm of the night. you came all over his fingers with little warning, whining into your bed sheets as you gripped and pulled at his hair.

you almost let out an objection as he got up from his spot, but judging by the clouded, stern look on his face, that probably wasn't a good idea. he pulled his top off of his body swiftly, his toned, tan chest muscles straining as he ripped of his shoes. in that moment you noticed how venerable you were, you were lying in front of him stark naked, aside from your frilly pink socks, and he still even has his massive dumb combat boots on.

you slowly gripped the pink blanket under you, about to cover the bottom half of your body before a large hand halted your actions immediately. "i swear to god princess, stop or it'll be the last thing you ever fucking do" he spat, running his fingers up and down your folds again.

you noticed that now he was only in his boxers, his hard on showing through the thin material. as he slid his boxers down his legs, his length sprung out and made you gasp. you had never seen a penis before, but the way your friends crudely described it to you, you did not think it would be this big.

"what baby? you're gonna make me insecure if you keep staring at my cock like that" you huffed at his language, wondering how long it was. you stared at it for another few seconds before deciding it had to be at least 10 inches long, or even more and thick as well. safe to say it scared the shit out of you.

"ani, are you sure its meant to be that big?" he only chuckled at you, making you regret you ever asked that question. "hope so princess, had it all my life"

you reached your hand out, touching it for a moment before you heard ani hiss and pulled back instantly. "no baby its ok, i'm just to fucking horny right now, here" he gripped your hand, bringing it up to your mouth and telling you to spit. you did reluctantly and watched as he brought your hand to his dick.

"ani, thats not gonna fit down there.." you say, looking down to your pelvic area. "we're gonna make it" he smiled sweetly, a devilish twinkle in his eye.

"and just bring it right here" he instructed, guiding you to the base of his dick. you tried to wrap your hand around it, before releasing your hand didn't reach fully around the width of his cock. he groaned and threw his head back, watching as you shyly pumped up and down the shaft of his member. "here, squeeze a bit harder yeah? its not gonna break if you add a bit of pressure baby, promise"

you nodded shyly, tightening your grip on the heavy dick resting in your hand. as he was watching your movements closely, you kept eye contact and you brought your lips down and kissed the tip softly.

"fuck this" he exclaimed, manhandling you to be in the middle of the bed as he followed closely behind you. his dick slapped against his stomach, raging red and dripping with precum.

"you're doin great, bein' such a good girl for me, yeah? just need to be in you right now" you nodded frantically as he used his hand to hold the base of his dick, positioning in right infront of your pussy.

"ani is it gonna hurt?" you ask, his expressions changes from desperation to his soft loving face, lulling his head to the side as he looks straight at you. "just for a bit baby, then it will feel good, ok? you just gotta trust me on this. but if it hurts to much you tell me to stop ok? pinky swear it" you nodded as he quickly brought his pinky up to yours, inlacing it tightly before kissing your finger and letting go. "im just gonna put the tip in first baby, ok?" you nod again, a switch seems to flick in his face and he looks mad, really mad. "fucking words baby" he says before you whine "yes ani" he smiles sweetly, jesus these facial expressions are giving you whiplash.

he interlaces your left hands together as he pushes his thick tip past your walls, you mewl in pain and pleasure, the other hand you have resting on his bicep gripping so hard you're drawing blood.

"ow ani! i thought you just said the tip!" you whine, scolding your boyfriend. "that was just the tip." he states, your comments feeding his already oversized ego as all the blood rushes to his dick. you sit in that position for about another minute, until you announce for him to start moving again.

he enters his dick slowly into you, inching more until he's about half way through your walls. "s-stop. how much more to go?" you feel like his dick is the size of a fucking lightsaber, stretching you out father and father till you feel like you're simply just gonna split in half. "halfway baby, i can stop here for today. dont have to go any further angel" you looked up at him, god, you loved him to much. "kiss?" you asked softly, releasing you haven't even kissed him this whole time in the bedroom.

ani smiled sweetly, bending down and kissing your lips softly. once he pulled away, you looked at him, and then down at his length impaling you. "keep going ani"

he nodded quickly, not even having the might to protest. you breathed through your mouth as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of you. it hurt, it hurt like fucking hell but with every inch he pushed inside you, you felt pleasure pulsate through every part of your body.

you let out one last squeal as he bottomed out inside of you, falling into you as he moaned in pleasure. "knew you could fucking take me baby, such a good girl" you beamed at his compliment as he slowly started rocking back and forth into you.

he was amazed how he hasn't cum yet, but he needed you to before he could. he knew you were close, he studied your moans and your facial expressions long enough to figure out when you were cumming.

"ani g- gonna cum" you moaned, feeling him in every-part of you. "go on baby, right behind you". you could feel his dick empty out in you as you came all over him, scratching up his toned back.

"i love you so much ani" you breathed, pulling and tugging at his hair, his breath tickling your shoulder as he answered. "you don't even understand how much i love you baby, no one will ever understand."

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker drabble #star wars imagine #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #so not proud of this sooo :(#anibear

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troxlerfx · 1 month

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hello!! i am troxler (trox if you're nasty) and you might know me from my xwitter @ broadcastrelay or my old experimental art blog @hand-in-hand-again .

i have a throne account here if you'd like to support my work by helping with supplies & thereby earn my eternal gratitude:

commissions are currently closed & i will update here & on xwitter if that changes!!

i do have discord if you'd like to chat, you can DM me for my username. i'm vision impaired & it's a little easier for me than tumblr DMs (scalable font. properly mapped keyboard that allows me to hit the right keys occasionally. you know 👁️)

i am sometimes slow to respond to messages, but i don't expect you to be available all the time either--i answer things when i have a moment, & i assume others do too ✌️ i have the temperament of a displaced 11th century anchorite, am simply not adapted to the tone & pace of centralized social media.

i also unfortunately cannot voice call or screen share because i am a millennial (just kidding, it's because my phone is almost 9 years old)

learn a bit more about me under the cut ✂️

i was dropped into this simulation in the early 80s, i'm a disabled artist (vision impaired - [ask me about my atrophied optic nerves] - & have some other Issues so i use a cane) & my wife and i host two black cats, roughly 35% of a mannequin, and a whole lot of dolls.

all my art is trad/physical media (haven't figured out a way to make digital art accessible yet. maybe someday!! i like to sculpt in epoxy, plastilene, polymer & stone clay, i like to mold & cast in resin, make & customize various types of dolls, & build puppets; i do custom framed work, mixed media & textile stuff like sewing & embroidery; i paint in oil, acrylic, watercolor, gouache & water soluble graphite & i love ink, markers, crayons & whatever cheap & weird stuff i can get my hands on.

i have a particular affection for props, prop replicas & hypothetical in-universe items, & i like things that are handsome, durable & believable. i'm versatile & innovative, & i'm at my happiest when i'm exploring technical processes. i have quite a bit of knowledge about techniques & materials. i love a challenge!! currently all my sewing is done by hand, i have trouble controlling pedal-operated machines.

my favorite thing is horror coated in a fine layer of nostalgia & sprinkled with history. that seems highly specific, but you'd be surprised how many things fit the criteria. i tend to fixate on characters & concepts & do a lot of art about it - a habit i developed while i was re-teaching myself to draw after the changes to my eyesight. my output is largely therapeutic. sometimes people like it. maybe you will too!!

i have a more reblog-heavy sideblog, @heartshapedsignal , where i can place aesthetics, rb art that i like, Cronenbergpost & generally toss up more intense horror things & keep this one somewhat more tidy + personal-art-oriented. follow if you please; although it's unlikely i'll ever post anything too explicit, 🔞 just to be safe!!

that's all for now!! 👁️‍🗨️📺

#trox talks

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shivunin · 10 months

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Morrigan-inspired scarf!

(Image description in alt) I wanted to capture the asymmetrical nature of her skirt and shoulder adornments, as well as a sprinkling of sparkly things (as any good corvid should have). It is based very loosely on this scarf pattern and the falling leaves motif contained therein (they reminded me of feathers).

This is a crocheted cowl-style infinity scarf made with acrylic yarn and glass, tiger's-eye, and jet beads. I didn't measure it before I put it away, but I have to take my glasses off to pull it over my head if that helps.

The Leliana scarf is about 2/3 of the way done, just waiting on the right shade of purple yarn. Other than that, I think the next one will be a Warden scarf c:

Other Dragon Age Scarves:

Fenris | Cullen | Warden | Leliana

#morrigan #morrigan dragon age #dao #dragon age origins #dragon age #scarf project #crochet #those tassels were a massive pain #i was up until one something last night fixing them #but it is finished now!!

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biancadjarin · 1 year

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modern!toxic!fuckboy!eddie has completely taken over my brain thanks to @newlips and @carolmunson they’re both so amazing plz go read their stuff first!!

this has been on my mind for a few days so… here we are 🫡 ⌚️

18+ warnings: mentions of drugs, sexual situations, shoplifting, cursing. Reader is needy and delusional. Eddie is manipulative.

You sit on Eddie’s lap as he focuses on rolling a blunt, your thighs straddling either side of his. He sprinkles the sticky green buds so haphazardly you watch as probably a gram’s worth spills out of the cigar paper and onto the couch beneath the two of you. “Occupational hazard.” he mumbles with a shrug as your hands come up to cradle beneath his to prevent more wasted weed. While his eyes focus on finishing up the blunt, he juts his chin up at you, signaling to you wordlessly what he wants you to do. You glance at his long pale neck, the fading pink and purple traces of an old hickey you didn’t give him staring back at you. You know Eddie sees other girls, he never hid that. But you can’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach when you think of another girl’s lips on his skin. Eddie has a way of making you feel wanted, special, singular. And even though the little voice in your head is yelling at you to get a grip, he’s not worth the games he puts you through! You keep coming back for more.

You lean into him and begin to nibble at the warm skin of his neck, leaving lipgloss kisses and kitten licks that you softly blow cold air onto to watch the goosebumps erupt on his skin. A small moan plays deep in his throat, almost too quiet to hear, like he’s holding it in. Not wanting to make it obvious how easily you can make him fall apart. When your acrylic tipped fingers rake down his chest over his faded Corroded Coffin shirt and land on his pecs, you feel his heart thumping faster than it was a few minutes ago. If I could just prove to him how much he wants me, needs me, loves me then maybe it could always be like this. Just us. You think to yourself.

“Do you like that baby?” You ask him sweetly, fingers playing with the chain around his neck. “Uhh yeah.” He mumbles flatly. “Feels so good.” His placating should annoy you but it does the opposite. It just makes you more eager to please him. His fingers bring the blunt to his mouth to lick a stripe and he seals it, holding it between his lips as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. You continue making out with his neck, his unruly hair tickling your cheek. He lets out a snort as he reads his texts, the hand not holding his phone rubbing your back absentmindedly. Your brain tells you not to peek over your shoulder at his phone but your eyes wander to the lit up screen, his thumb typing quickly to reply to a message. The name at the top reads Daisy Hideout and the little circle image looks like lips wrapped around the head of Eddie’s- you look away with a shudder before you can examine the picture too closely. As Eddie answers a few more texts you roll your eyes and bite down a little too hard on the vein you’ve been sucking at, earning a fuck and hissed breath from him. “So are we gonna smoke now or what?” you ask, rolling your hips forward and pressing your crotch into his lap. He drops his phone to the side and smirks watching the way you press into him.

“Remember what I told you about being patient?” He teases you as his hands come up to grab your waist, pulling your torso into his face. “I don’t like being patient. Or sharing.” You reply. He shakes his head, sighing as he nuzzles his nose into the fabric of your shirt. Your hardened nipples poke through and he runs his lips over them, letting his nose bump into them as he switches back and forth. “We’ve gone over this y/n.” He begins, “Don’t start acting like I’m your boyfriend because I’m not.” You let out a soft whine and snatch the blunt from his lips. He rests a hand on your hip while he leans over to grab his lighter and ashtray. You inhale as he flicks the lighter to the end of the blunt, tip burning and sizzling a cherry red. He watches the smoke drift out of your nose while his hands continue to roam your body. His right hand bumps into something bulky in your backpocket. His eyebrows pull together as he looks at you questioningly.

“Well then if you’re not my boyfriend, maybe I shouldn’t give you your gift.” You say swatting his hand away. He narrows his eyes at you, “What gift?” He asks as he takes the blunt and inhales. “The thing you showed me at the pawn shop last week…” His eyes go wide as he readjusts you on his lap, sitting up straighter and reaching for your pocket again. His hand slips in and pulls out the shiny silver watch. Your hearts racing with nerves and excitement just like it was the day you stole it. You’d never admit it but you kind of like stealing things. Especially for Eddie. And especially from greasy pawn shop owners who are so easy to distract with a little cleavage and hair twirling. Fuck it, it was probably a stolen Rolex to begin with.

“Holy shit holy shit.” He says as he drops the blunt into the ashtray. “You actually fucking stole this?” You nod with a small shrug, “You said you really wanted it.. d’ya like it?” “It’s a fucking Daytona Rolex of course I like it. And it has the platinum dials too shit.” Your cheeks warm as you watch him examine it closely. “Put it on.” you tell him as you take his hand in yours and help him latch it closed, perfectly fitting around his tattooed wrist. He turns his wrist in the light, little sparkles and rainbow bursts flickering across the two of your bodies. His impossibly warm brown eyes shimmer more than usual, the reflection of the diamonds in the watch making his irises look like a galaxy full of stars. “You.. you stole this.. for me?” he asks you quietly, voice filled with apprehension. You nod, “Of course. I wanted to show you how loyal I am. I hope this proves that.” you say, fingertips gently scratching underneath his chin, pulling him in for a soft kiss. “I’d do anything for you Eddie.”

Eddie looked at the beautiful girl sitting in his lap, her eyes filled with love and mind clouded with infatuation. He wasn’t thinking about this happening when he mentioned to her the Rolex sitting in the Hawkins Pawn Shop was at the top of his to buy list. But he’s happy at this turn of events. “Anything huh?” He has you exactly where he wants you.

masterlist here

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #fboy!eddie #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut

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venus-haze · 1 year

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Adam Raised a Cain (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: The Sinclair house is haunted. It always has been and always will be as long as it’s standing. It’s a house you can’t think straight in, always keeping you on edge. The inhabitants are haunted too, and the longer you stay there, the further into the mire you get dragged by a dead woman’s claws and a man who can’t seem to decide whether he hates you or not.

Note: This fic can be considered a companion piece to Howl, though you don’t have to read one to understand what’s going on in the other. The reader is a woman (who gets put through the wringer again) but no other descriptors are used. It should surprise no one that the title comes from a Springsteen song. I’m going with the draft script where Bo killed Trudy, but it’s only mentioned briefly. Also I headcanon the Sinclairs as being Catholic for the drama of it all, so there’s some of that sprinkled throughout, though I want to explore that more at some point. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Murder. Descriptions of violence involving weapons (guns and knives). Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Kidnapping and prolonged captivity which involves physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome, distorted sense of self. Unrequited crush (reader on Vincent). Threats of harm to one’s self. Descriptions of body horror on a victim and also parental abuse. Mentions of sexual content but nothing explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18.

You didn’t have to meet Trudy Sinclair to know you hated her. Some place between nowhere and eternity, you hoped her incorporeal being ached every time her name was internally cursed upon by you. Her specter loomed throughout Ambrose, a shadow that somehow had a chokehold on your life, but more so on your—captor? boyfriend? fiance? Whatever Bo was to you, he made Trudy your problem too.

The day after Bo brought you up to the house, he made you go back down to Ambrose with him, giving you no indication of what he had planned except to wear black. When he brought you to the church, an odd building you hadn’t noticed before, you wondered if god could even be present in such a place. Regardless, he led you up the aisle, past the wax congregation and up to the coffin that lay before the altar where the wax priest was giving the funeral mass through a recording that played on loop. As if the scenario wasn’t morbid enough, Bo knelt in front of the open casket, and you followed his example, paying your respects to his wax-preserved, deceased mother.

You’d gone to funerals before, seen relatives and friends done up in open caskets, one last hurrah before becoming food for worms. Trudy had been dead for at least a decade, you knew as much, but for a 10-years-dead bitch, she didn’t look half bad, all things considered. Her manicured hands, long red acrylic fingernails filed into what you could only call claws, were gripping a glass-bead rosary—you doubted she was a pillar of piety. Though, you could see her blonde wig was somewhat ajar, revealing what looked like an entry or exit wound on her temple. You knew better than to ask who shot her.

Anything you did around the house was under Bo’s scrutiny, and you were constantly compared to Trudy. For a man who seemed to live on microwave dinners before you started cooking, he sure had a lot to say about every meal you prepared. His most common critique was “Ain’t how mama made it.” Especially for Trudy’s recipes, written in a feminine scrawl on discolored index cards that you painstakingly followed to the letter. Her recipes weren’t good, either. Unseasoned slosh despite living in proximity to the capital of Cajun cuisine in the States.

Bo had seemed glad when you offered to clean up around the house, how quickly it seemed like you’d learned your place within the Sinclair household dynamic. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was with Bo. When you greeted him as expected when he returned home, with a warm kiss and a cold beer, he flew into a rage upon finding you had, in fact, cleaned. He somehow didn’t consider that cleaning involved you organizing belongings and throwing out garbage, ranting about how you can’t touch his stuff and now he can’t find anything.

Mornings weren’t too bad. In fact, it was when things were most domestic with Bo, when you could best convince yourself that you were in a normal relationship with him. Morning sex with Bo was far tamer by his standards than any other time he’d have sex with you, and sometimes he’d actually kiss you during it.

Despite technically not being on a schedule, he liked to be out of the house by 9 to work on whatever he did to keep Ambrose up and running. It didn’t matter whether or not you were an early riser, because he inexplicably was, and expected you to cook breakfast for him each day, a hot plate of whatever was in the fridge and a freshly brewed cup of coffee waiting at his seat by the time he sauntered downstairs. He’d greet you with a grin and a smack on the ass, as if you two were playful newlyweds.

Though you lived in the house, he didn’t entirely trust you, as he’d wait for you to eat your portion of whatever meal you’d cooked first before digging in. Playing house with Bo was far more stressful than you could’ve expected, though you hoped over time you’d get the hang of it. With the glittering ring adorning your finger, it seemed like he expected you to.

This particular morning was a pan of half a dozen scrambled eggs and a few slices of toast. You liked working with the radio on, cooking and cleaning during the day felt far less lonely with another voice around. Only three radio stations got any reception in Ambrose and one of them wasn't even consistent, as you found to your disappointment. Bo’s metal music was a collection of mixtapes made by various victims, which sent a chill down your spine as you briefly considered the implications. With your radio choices being country and oldies, you chose oldies, finding Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday the appropriate soundtrack to your Stepford Wives-esque existence. A lump always formed in your throat whenever Connie Francis came on, no matter the song. She was Trudy’s favorite singer, Bo had informed you one day.

You took your seat next to him, grabbing one of the nearby newspapers. Bo would bring you newspapers or magazines he got from victims. It was how you found out you’d been in Ambrose for nearly three months by the time he let you out from captivity beneath the gas station. At first, you scanned every one for some mention of your disappearance, but gave up hope after a few weeks. Instead, you resigned yourself to ripping recipes out of women’s magazines and preoccupying yourself with crossword puzzles and comic strips.

Still, you found the astrology sections interesting and read yours and Bo’s horoscopes over breakfast each morning. He hated when his was negative, even though he claimed “I don’t believe in that garbage,” so sometimes you’d have to improvise. The news of the world was increasingly foreign to you, and you found the trends and gossip in magazines vapid.

“Whatcha got today?” he asked through a mouthful of eggs.

Though the paper was from two days prior, your eyes drifted to your sign. “Luck in love.”

“Damn right, darlin’.”

“Yours says an unexpected stranger will help you.”

He made a noncommittal grunt, shrugging before downing the rest of his coffee. “I’ll try to make it back here for lunch, but I probably won’t be home till late tonight. You give Vincent a holler if you need somethin’.”

“Okay, I love you,” you said, as was expected.

He didn’t always say it back, but for some reason, he made you tell him you loved him before he left in the mornings. You wouldn’t fight it, not if it made his mood even remotely better than the mildly-pissed-off to furious states that he seemed to operate under. In that instance, he returned the sentiment with an unknown amount of sincerity, giving you a kiss before leaving his dirty plate and empty coffee mug behind for you to clean.

You liked taking your time with your chores for the day. It was easier to cope with everything if you kept yourself too busy to start thinking too much. You flipped to the next page of the newspaper, reading some of the letters to the editor.

Creaking stairs caught your attention, and you looked up from the paper, surprised to see Vincent making an appearance so early. He was more of a night owl and seemed to avoid Bo when he could. The first time you met him was awkward as hell, and you still found it difficult to make eye contact with him over it. Bo had been in the middle of fucking you on the kitchen counter when his twin emerged from his basement ‘studio.’ You were mortified, and Vincent seemed to be as well, since he began backtracking until Bo shot him a grin, “Good ‘a time as ever to make introductions.” At least Vincent had the decency to mostly leave you alone since then.

“Morning Vincent,” you said, petting Jonesy as she ran up to your side. “Breakfast’s scrambled eggs.”

He nodded in response, piling the cold eggs on a plate and sticking it in the microwave. You looked down at Jonesy. She was a sweet dog, but you saw her just about as often as you saw Vincent, since she seemed to be his shadow.

“Do you want coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

He looked at the coffee pot, considering it for a few moments before shaking his head. Unlike Bo, who drank half a pot of coffee every morning, Vincent would switch between coffee and tea in the mornings, at least the mornings you actually saw him. It wasn’t uncommon for Vincent to disappear for days at a time, though you always cooked enough for him, leaving a plate for him in the fridge.

Bo was a creature of habit, as you’d observed his strange and sometimes disturbing rituals living in the house with him, from drinking a beer as soon as he got home each evening to spending at least an hour visiting Trudy’s casket in church every Sunday at noon. Vincent seemed to do things sporadically, getting so involved in his work that you weren’t sure if he consistently ate let alone showered like he should. You knew they were twins, but even when you first met Vincent, you were aware of how different he was from Bo.

Of course, meeting Lester was nothing short of a shock to the system. You had felt like you were going crazy when you saw the man from the highway who’d directed you and your friends to Ambrose in the first place walk into the house with a friendly smile on his face while you were preparing lunch. Then Bo introduced him as his “kid brother” and Lester congratulated you for “shacking up” with Bo. The experience was dizzying and confusing, especially since you ended up getting along with Lester surprisingly well, having the closest thing to a regular, mundane conversation in months. He didn’t come up to the house very often, though.

Compared to Bo and Vincent, Lester seemed normal enough, though he was still complicit in your suffering and that of everyone else who came through Ambrose. You could barely piece together how it all started, when had their mother’s career warped into the surreal hell you found yourself in? Was it inevitable or avoidable?

From the news clippings you’d seen throughout the house, Trudy was undoubtedly talented when it came to wax art, but you couldn’t tell whether the grainy, black and white photos of the wax figures she posed with were real, like how your friends ended up. Then again, Ambrose had been a small, bustling town with real people to notice if tourists went missing. Once the highway was built and the sugar mill shut down, everyone left but the Sinclairs. Not that there was anywhere else for them to go, since Dr. Sinclair was practicing medicine unlicensed in Ambrose and Trudy’s skills didn’t have much of a practical application outside of being an eccentric and volatile small town celebrity.

You noticed that Bo rarely mentioned his father, and when he did, it was only in the context of his mother. There were no stories about playing catch with his old man or going to car shows together. If the myriad of rusted surgical tools laying around the house were any indication, you had a good guess as to how Bo bonded with his father, since Vincent seemed to get most of his mother’s attention. You could practically see Bo–young, devious, and starving for some kind of positive parental attention–kissing up to his father with claims that he wanted to be a doctor just like him someday. He probably ended up with a front row seat to the illegal and risky procedures that Dr. Sinclair performed in the family home. The one time you had to go into the dusty room that was the late Dr. Sinclair’s office, you almost passed out at the sight of the surgical bed that looked far too much like the one you had been strapped to for months beneath the gas station.

By the time you looked up from the newspaper, not having read a word of the letters to the editor, Vincent was gone, and Jonsey along with him. You sighed, figuring it was about time to start cleaning up from breakfast and get to the laundry list of tasks for around the house. As a result of none of the Sinclair brothers keeping up very good care of the place, there was a lot that had to be done in the way of cleaning. You hated it when you had to point out yet another part of the house that needed repairs to Bo. It was necessary, but you sure as hell didn’t want to push your luck by seeming like you were nagging him. Some days you really thought he was going to call it and either bring you back to the basement or kill you. You weren’t sure which option scared you more.

After cleaning up from breakfast, you began the task of cleaning out Lester’s old bedroom. He’d assured you that he had taken everything he needed when he moved into his own place and gave you the okay to throw away whatever you found in there. It would be a long undertaking, as you discovered when you first looked in the room, full of junk and smelling rancid. You had a bucket of cleaning supplies that you kept under the kitchen sink, all of which Bo had bought for you under the pretense that if you tried something smart with the cocktail of chemicals, he’d pour bleach down your throat himself.

Equipped with yellow rubber gloves and a dozen trash bags, you began cleaning your way through the room. It seemed Lester had developed his knack for taxidermy in his childhood bedroom before moving out, as you found roadkill in various states of preservation in a cardboard box. You shoved it all in a garbage bag, resisting the urge to gag at the smell.

Despite the monumental cleaning job before you, you were confident in your ability to make the room habitable–for whom, you weren’t exactly sure, but it’d be better than the state it was in. It had gotten to be a little past noon when you decided to go through one more box before taking a break for lunch. You’d set aside some things you found that Bo might want, figuring it best to check with him after the fit he threw when you cleaned his room.

When you opened a small, dusty box in the closet, your eyes widened upon seeing a pistol laying amongst other junk. You weren’t sure if it was even real, let alone usable, but holding it in your hands sent a shockwave through you. Dropping everything, you sprinted into your and Bo’s room, finding a shoebox with a pair of heels you never wore shoved toward the back corner of the closet. Your breath caught in your throat when you heard the front door open, Bo calling for you. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to be home. Haphazardly, you threw the gun in the box, pushing it back in place before rushing downstairs.

“What’s kept you so busy?” he asked, regarding you with suspicion.

“Lester’s old room. I lost track of time,” you explained, sweat beading at your forehead.

To your relief, he laughed. “Shit, I don’t even wanna think about what’s in there. If you still got an appetite, I picked up somethin’ to eat while I was in town.”

“That sounds great. Let me wash up,” you said, giving him a kiss before heading into the bathroom.

You turned on the sink, holding your hands under the running water until it was too hot to touch, pulling your stinging hands away and staring at them. Less than five minutes ago, you had a gun in your hands, a get out of jail free card, and now you were going to eat lunch with a man who made your life miserable.

Bo had already helped himself to one of the burgers he’d bought from McDonald’s the next town over. You sat down in your seat, munching on the cold french fries that had spilled onto the table. The food wasn’t necessarily good, but it gave you some comfort with its familiarity. He was in an unusually good mood, which you were sure wouldn’t last, so you relished in it, allowing yourself the luxury of pretending you were having a normal lunch with your normal boyfriend. He told you a funny story about a woman falling over in a hardware store he’d stopped in for supplies. Sure, it was mean-spirited, but the way Bo told the story had you nearly doubled over.

“You got a great laugh,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you,” you said, shocked and flattered by the compliment.

His eyes were bright as he looked at you, but it didn’t last. His expression became serious, and he picked up his hat from where he’d placed it on the table. “I better head back out. I’ll see ya later, darlin’.”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, kissing your cheek before leaving.

After cleaning up the mess from lunch, long enough to be sure you were in the clear, you raced back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind you as you retrieved the shoe box from its hiding spot. Adrenaline rushed through you as you picked up the gun, staring at it in awe.

You bit your lip, silently praying to whatever deity may have been out there that if they could give you one thing, it’d be to not accidentally set off the gun while you tried to figure out whether or not it even had any bullets in it. Of course, as soon as it made some kind of clicking noise, you shoved it back in the box. Vincent was more than likely in his studio, but with how he’d spontaneously make appearances in the house, you didn’t want to take a chance.

As you went back to cleaning Lester’s old room, you tried not to let your discovery burn through your mind. It was so hard not to, though, not when for the first time in months you actually had a chance. You had to plan, knowing better than to be sloppy and impulsive when it came to Bo and Vincent.

While Bo liked to have his routine, his schedule could be unpredictable, especially if tourists came into town. You avoided Vincent’s studio, but knew it connected to other parts of town through a tunnel system. Both brothers were capable of ending you in an instant. They knew Ambrose’s layout by heart whereas you’d only actually seen the town on a handful of occasions, and very briefly at that.

Noticing the sky getting dark through the window, you set your racing thoughts aside to focus on cleaning. Easier said than done since you dreaded nighttime, the sunset marking the end of the day, when you’d have Bo’s undivided attention. The evening was routine, as he expected you to wait by the door for him with a cold beer and a warm kiss when you heard his truck pull up outside. The two of you would eat while he talked about his day, but from there, it was a crapshoot. It didn’t matter whether his mood was good or bad, you inevitably ended up manhandled into bed at some point in the night to scratch whatever itch he had.

Bo wouldn’t be back until late, but you weren’t sure what to make for dinner. Sometimes he’d request certain dishes, and others you’d just have to hope he liked whatever you cooked. Even if he complained, he still ate what you served him.

You headed downstairs, dragging the garbage bags filled with junk behind you. While you still had a ways to go before you’d consider Lester’s old room clean, it was nice seeing evidence of your hard work. Calling out to Vincent, you let him know that you were going to bring the trash out. He’d hear you go out there anyway, but you quickly learned it was a lot less trouble if you let him know beforehand.

The night air was cool as you threw bag after bag into the garbage cans outside the house. You weren’t sure where Bo took everything when he’d load up the back of his truck every week. Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed.

Rushing back into the house and out of the cold, you quickly decided to make some kind of soup, hoping there’d be adequate ingredients for it in the fridge. A major downfall of not being able to get your own groceries meant having to rely on Bo to grab the food you requested and not whatever he felt like throwing into the cart.

Just about everything you needed was in the kitchen, and oddly enough, you felt excited for Bo to come home for dinner, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that loomed over you as you chopped and sautéed vegetables. Things always seemed to balance in Ambrose. Bo’s unusually good mood earlier in the afternoon would be matched with a horrific one when he got home.

You unfortunately experienced such in your stint in the basement dungeon below the gas station, the fresh scars on your body evidence of this. As much as you used to pray for predictability, you hated knowing something horrible was about to happen next.

The soup was almost to your taste when you heard Bo’s truck pull up outside. Grabbing a can of beer from the fridge, you tried to hold out hope, you’d go crazy if you didn’t.

As soon as you heard the way he stomped up the front steps, you could feel all of the butterflies in your stomach die one by one. The door swung open to reveal Bo, covered in blood and sweat. Whatever victims had come into Ambrose put up a fight he clearly wasn't expecting.

He grabbed the can of beer from you, throwing it across the room, leaving a fresh hole in the drywall. You ran into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and rushed back into the living room, only to find him sitting at the kitchen table.

You pulled up a chair close to him, setting out the first aid kit on the table. At a glance, it seemed like his wounds were mostly superficial, so you assumed most of the blood wasn’t his. Still, there was a decent looking cut on his forehead above his left eye.

“I swear to god this shit’s more trouble than it’s worth sometimes,” he mumbled.

You didn’t respond, trying to carefully pour peroxide onto a cotton ball, only for some of it to spill onto the kitchen floor.

He grabbed the cotton ball from your hand, pressing it against his forehead as he hissed out, “You sure are too, when all you’re good for is gettin’ fucked. Mama would be rollin’ if she knew a slut like you was in her house.”

Your jaw clenched. You wouldn’t even be in the damn house if it weren’t for him. It wasn’t like you’d invited yourself. He was trying to get a rise out of you, make you feel as awful as he was feeling. That was his M.O. when he was feeling down, drag everyone down with him.

“What? You got somethin’ to say?”

The clock read 13:77 when you reached for the gun you hid in your pocket. Since when did this dress have pockets? Wordlessly, you stood up, firing three shots into Bo’s chest. His expression was almost cartoonish as the chair tilted back and crashed onto the floor, his head rolling away from his body like a bowling ball.

You awoke with a start. The dream seemed so real up until the end. You almost went upstairs to see if Bo was still alive. You had patched him up, and he had made his cruel comments toward you. In reality, the interaction ended with his demanding you sleep on the couch as he wasn’t in the mood to fuck you, and that was the only reason he let you in his bed in the first place. You were nothing short of humiliated and furious when you laid on the couch with a worn out blanket, crying yourself to sleep into one of the smelly throw pillows.

As you shifted, you noticed another blanket in much better condition was on top of you. It felt like some kind of quilt, not that you could tell in the dark. You hated that your broken ass brain made you love Bo regardless of everything he did to you, when clearly Vincent was considerate enough to cover you with a real blanket.

After about an hour or so of tossing and turning, you fell back asleep. With no alarm around, you could only hope to wake up in time to make breakfast for Bo. There were no dreams of gunshots or decapitated heads this time.

A little after six in the morning, you woke up to the sound of Vincent rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. You sighed in relief. Sure, it was earlier than you were used to getting up, but you could possibly sneak a nap in during the afternoon if Bo was out for the day. You hoped he would be.

You looked at the thick quilt that was covering you, noticing dried bloodstains on it. Other than that, it was in pretty good condition and appeared to be handmade. You wondered who made it, and when. Right away you knew it wasn’t Trudy’s work, all she seemed to have cared about when she was alive was wax sculptures and terrorizing her children. It probably came from a victim, a family heirloom they had brought along with them when their trip ended prematurely in Ambrose. The thought made you push the quilt off of your body.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you were surprised to see Vincent still there. He always made his trips upstairs short and scarce.

“Thanks for the blanket,” you said.

He hesitated before nodding.

“Is there anything special you want for breakfast?”

You watched as he opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms.

“I figured you must be the one eating the cereal. Bo got so mad when I tried giving him Froot Loops one morning, I just gave up on it,” you said.

Vincent shrugged as he poured the cereal into a bowl with a worn out Snoopy design on it.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

His head shot up in your direction, so quickly it nearly startled you. You recognized him signing ‘No.’

“Well, let me know if I am, okay?” you said. “I–um–I can go, if you want to eat in here.”

He motioned with his thumb toward the basement. Right. Two new victims needed his attention. Still, you found it odd he even ventured upstairs. Usually he’d have to be torn away from his work by Bo, insisting he needed to take a break. Even then, he’d do so quickly and reluctantly until his sculptures were finished.

You took your time making breakfast but weren’t sure what to expect when you heard Bo coming down the stairs. You’d been on the receiving end of his wrath plenty of times, from blunt knives to bloody fists, you’d taken it all from him–as if you had a choice. Still, he’d never cast you out like that before.

He stood in the doorway almost awkwardly, and you acknowledged his presence with a slight nod. With this, he closed the distance between the two of you, and you tensed up.

“Missed you last night,” Bo said, leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t banished you to the couch.

Those words were the closest to an apology you were going to get. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted to hear him say ‘I’m sorry’. If he ever uttered that phrase, something would have to be terribly wrong. Everything was your fault anyway. It always was.

You shook your head, giving him a forced smile. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

That was it. Your apology and admission of wrongdoing tied up neat in a bow for him. Unfortunately, his expression fell, and you wracked your brain for what you left out of your statement. Clean, crisp, and concise, there was nothing wrong with it. Why wasn’t he happy with you doing what was expected?

He didn’t respond after that, and breakfast was mostly silent. You sure as hell weren’t going to initiate conversation with the man who made what he thought about you more than clear the night before, ruining what had been such a good afternoon that you had been looking forward to him getting home. Trying to pretend with Bo was pointless. He always ran his mouth and ruined it.

You were relieved when he left for the day and didn’t return until late in the evening. Though you did what was expected, as always, there was a coldness to your actions. In your heart, you’d forgiven him for so much despite him not deserving any of it, but the way he treated you the night before stuck with you more than anything else he’d done.

Your cool attitude toward him thawed over the next few days, getting into the normal routine as he graciously allowed you to share a bed with him again after three nights of roughing it alone, him in his bed and you on the old couch that made your back hurt. Three nights wasn’t even that long, but somehow the separation had made him insatiable, as he practically devoured you as soon as you stepped foot in his room. Hours had passed by the time he finally stopped–your wrists were bruised, lip bleeding profusely, salty tear tracks drying out the delicate skin on your face. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Even though there weren’t as many tourists coming through Ambrose, and even during the ��busy season” they were few and far between, Bo almost always had something to do in the wax town or errands to run in the next town over. Lester had come by to visit more often, which lifted your mood. Conversations with him tended to be on the lighter side.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a look at your old room? There’s still a lot of stuff in there,” you said.

“Most of it ain’t mine. I’ve lived on my own for a long time now,” he answered.

“How far is your place from here?”

“Few miles. Maybe you can visit soon.”

What you wouldn’t give to spend a few hours outside Ambrose, even if it was at Lester’s house. You were dying for a change of scenery. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. I’ll have to ask Bo.”

“I can’t see him sayin’ no. He’s got a real soft spot for ya.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you gave Lester a smile before letting him steer the conversation elsewhere. What the fuck about your split lip indicated anything soft was going on with Bo? You didn’t want to begin thinking about how he treated his other partners. You nearly laughed at yourself–as if Bo considered you remotely equal to him. Besides, your affection had shifted toward his twin not long after the blanket incident.

When you weren’t cleaning Lester’s old room or doing routine chores around the house, you’d hang out downstairs with Vincent. You asked him several times if you were bothering him, but as no victims had come through Ambrose in a few weeks, he wasn’t as busy. He worked on projects that had fallen to the wayside in the urgency of creating with his living subjects.

The studio was silent, save for the opera music, but sometimes you’d have long, rambling, mostly one-sided conversations. After months of giving short answers to Bo in fear of his temper, it was nice to vocalize what you were thinking, mundane observations and surface-level feelings.

You knew what Vincent had done, what he was capable of, but when you’d watch him work, shaping and molding the wax like it was second nature, you couldn’t help but admire his artistry. His hands were big and strong like Bo’s, but there was a softness to them. You wondered what they’d feel like on your skin, if he’d hold you, caress you with the gentleness that Bo was deeply lacking.

If Bo was aware you had been spending your free time with Vincent, he didn’t say anything about it. Sometimes you’d look at Bo, trying to imagine his face on Vincent’s body. You’d only ever seen Vincent with his mask on, and there were no photos of him maskless anywhere in the house. You wondered if his expressions would be like Bo’s, if he could channel the same meanness his twin did. In the part of your mind that was still a hopeless romantic, you pictured him looking at you fondly.

To your dismay, a victim had come to Ambrose, which meant you wouldn’t see Vincent for some time. As much as you allowed yourself the silly fantasies in your head and tried to romanticize him as an artist, you knew you’d never be able to stomach that overwhelming aspect of his craft. He was just as much of a killer as Bo, but you never had to witness such.

It was only a matter of time. You knew that, but you didn’t expect it to happen as soon as it did.

You decided to make shrimp fried rice for dinner, having a craving for Chinese food and finding a promising recipe in a magazine Bo had given you. The dish was almost done when you heard an unusual noise coming from the basement. Victims usually struggled before Vincent subdued them, but this sounded different.

As you considered whether or not to investigate, a frantic footfall that definitely wasn’t Vincent’s became louder as they ascended the stairs. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest.

The person before you hardly looked human, and you froze at the sight of him until he uttered a garbled “Help!”

Immobilized by fear, you couldn’t do anything but scream at the sight of the grotesque man before you. Nude and completely hairless, his body was littered with fresh wounds that had been inflicted and stitched up by Vincent.

You scrambled backward, falling on your ass as you heard Vincent storming up the stairs. He grabbed the pan that was on the stove and followed the man into the living room. You could hear their struggle from your spot on the floor until there was a clang and a disgusting gurgling noise. The sound of the pan crashing to the ground made you jump.

Vincent grunted, not sparing you so much as a glance while he dragged the man back downstairs. You tried not to throw up at the sight of the raw, burnt skin on the man’s head.

It took you a few minutes to pull yourself together enough to stand up. Cautiously, you walked over to the door frame, feeling your stomach churn at the mess on the floor. At a loss for how to begin cleaning it up, you grabbed your tub of cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink and hoped they’d do the job.

Your hands shook as you put on the yellow rubber gloves. You tried to use the broom and dustpan to sweep up the fried rice on the floor, only finding it stuck to the bristles because of the blood it had been mixed with in the scuffle. Gagging, you pulled the clump off and threw it into the dust pan. A combination of cleaning sprays at least masked the rancid smell with bleach and lemon, and you coughed every few minutes as you used sponges and paper towels to clean the floor.

Besides yours and your friends’ victimization in Ambrose, you’d never been directly confronted with what the Sinclair brothers did. Bo rarely allowed you to leave the house, and Vincent’s subjects were brought to his studio through the various trap doors and tunnels beneath the town. You’d certainly heard things, but seeing the worst of it for yourself was harrowing.

You scrubbed the floor frantically as you heard Bo’s truck pull up, trying to think of how you were going to explain what had happened in his absence, the snafu in the dinner he expected when he’d come home. Your brain seemed to short circuit as you tried to decide whether to keep cleaning or make a run to the fridge and grab him a beer.

The front door swung open, and Bo’s rare good mood collapsed at the scene before him. You didn’t dare acknowledge his presence, too afraid to speak. You weren’t even sure if you could.

“What the fuck happened here?” Bo asked, observing you cleaning the mess of blood and fried rice on the floor.

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered, your hand shaking as you pointed toward the kitchen. “Vincent—“

“Darlin’, go upstairs,” Bo said.

You looked at the floor and then back up to him.

He grabbed your arm and helped you onto your feet. “Y/N, I want you to go upstairs. Now.”

His rare use of your name caught your attention, and something in you snapped. Calling you by your name as if he knew you, as if he hadn’t made sure Y/N was long dead by the time he let you out of that basement. You wrenched yourself from his grasp and ran upstairs, not bothering to shut the door behind you as you curled up on his bed and began sobbing.

Sure, the incident scared you, and you felt guilty for not doing more to help the man. The feeling that most overwhelmed you, however, was heartbreak. It was stupid to have conjured up a romanticized version of Vincent in your mind, yet it was alarmingly easy to do so when you never witnessed any of his brutality firsthand. He was as violent as Bo, cruel too, but it manifested differently. You wailed at the crushing weight of the realization that you wouldn’t have been better off if he found you first. You would have ended up just like the man in the kitchen, your former friends, everyone else in Ambrose. He wouldn’t have saved you. He wouldn’t have given you a second thought.

As much as Bo made your life hell, at least you were still alive. After years of feeling average and overlooked, he saw something worthwhile in you, worth keeping around—or maybe you were just desperate and weak enough for him to break you so easily. You wanted to claw your insides out for loving him anyway.

“Doll?” Bo asked tentatively by the doorframe, the first time he ever seemed remotely nervous around you.

You quickly gave up trying to respond coherently, rolling over and screaming into his pillow until your throat hurt and your head ached. It wasn’t fair. You tried so hard to show him you deserved to be in his house, in his bed, and it never seemed like enough.

When you looked at him through hazy, tear-filled eyes, you expected to see that all too familiar smug expression on his face whenever you cried. Instead, he was sending next to the bed, his eyebrows furrowed in the closest thing to concern you figured he could manage.

“You got spooked, huh?” he asked softly.

A pained noise came from your throat in response. No shit. You wished he would take the initiative to hold you, to comfort you. You knew better than to hope he cared about you, but at least he could pretend. Instead, to your further disappointment, you had to be the one to initiate any kind of tenderness.

Feeling pathetic as ever, you uttered, “Will you just hold me?”

He sighed, his heavy footfall punctuating his reluctant non-answer. The mattress dipped as he got onto it, wrapping his strong arms around you as he gave you an imitation of the comfort you craved. You buried your face in his chest. His emotional constipation wasn’t entirely his fault. The affection and care that most people grew up with in one way or another had almost no presence in Bo’s upbringing, his wrists and ankles were evidence of that.

Speculation and “what if’s” did you no good, though. No amount of empathizing with him could ever undo a fraction of what he’d done to you, not to mention the dozens of other people who met their end in Ambrose. Suddenly, you felt disgusted by his touch, regretting your request for it in the first place. It was insincere, disingenuous, a way to placate you until next time, and the time after that, and after that, too. Sobs wracked through your body again as you considered going through this song and dance again for the rest of your life, however short or long that would be. To your dismay, he held you closer.

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms. The room was pitch black when Bo shook you awake, claiming you started screaming. You had no reason to doubt him. Despite the darkness and false sense of calm, you had trouble falling back asleep.

The following morning, panic rushed through you when you awoke late in the day, Bo nowhere in sight. All you could think about was how pissed he’d be that you hadn’t started breakfast for him yet. You practically sprinted out the bedroom door and almost fell down the stairs in your rush to the kitchen.

He was already leaning against the messy counter, eating some concoction he’d made for breakfast directly from the frying pan. It was the first time you’d ever seen him attempt to cook. By the looks of it, you could understand why he left that to you.

“Bo, I’m so sorry. I overslept—“

“Don’t worry about it, darl’,” he said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t made it clear in the past that this was one of the few tasks your survival hinged on. “Why don’t you take it easy today. I’ll even bring home somethin’ so you don’t have to cook dinner.”

“Thank you,” you uttered in disbelief.

He glanced at the kitchen clock, setting down the frying pan as if he had a boss who’d chew him out if he was late for work. “I gotta get goin’. I’ll check on ya later.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his—chaste, routine, robotic. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said quickly.

Just like that, he left without incident. Reluctantly, you grabbed the frying pan—a different one from the night before, thankfully—he’d just set down, regarding the slop he’d cooked for himself with apprehension. You weren’t sure if it was edible enough for Jonesy to finish. Deciding to spare the dog from Bo’s attempt at cooking, you dumped what was left of the food in the garbage and while washing the pan, considered what to make yourself for breakfast. You ended up making plain toast before trudging your way back upstairs to yours and Bo’s shared bedroom.

Shutting the door behind you, you dug your shoebox out of the closet and opened it, staring at the pistol that was nestled between your heels. The damn thing had been burning a hole in your conscience for weeks. It kept you on edge, yet was a source of comfort. You knew it wouldn’t last. It’d only be a matter of time before Bo found it, and you tried not to think about what he’d do to you then.

After all, anyone else in your situation would have acted as soon as they found the gun. Instead you sat on it, telling yourself it wasn’t the right time, that you needed to plan more. It was all lies. Bo’s undivided attention was torture, but it was all yours.

Besides, going back to a “normal” life after your months in Ambrose would be a struggle in itself. After the pity wore off, people would regard you with frustration for not getting over it fast enough. You’d seen as much with acquaintances who’d gone through traumatic events. The rest of your life would be punctuated with regular therapy sessions and taking a cocktail of medications to curb the nightmares and PTSD from your experiences. It sounded exhausting, and you were already so tired. You’d rather be broken with Bo than broken on your own.

You spent the next few hours lying in bed, considering where to go from there. Having been confronted with the worst of the Sinclair family, brutal and cruel and ruthless, it was only a matter of time before it consumed you too.

As much as you wanted to sleep, you were afraid to, unsure of what nightmares await if you closed your eyes for too long. Instead, you stared at the wall and thought over everything that happened in the past 24 hours, replaying the incident over in your mind.

Rage filled your chest at the thought of Vincent, who hadn’t paid you any mind since the previous night, not even to check on you. He never did. At least Bo felt bad enough to give you the day off, even though he had no involvement in the incident. You couldn’t believe you had convinced yourself Vincent cared about you. It was always you initiating conversations, making yourself at home in his studio, thinking he might enjoy the company. He was only tolerating you for Bo’s sake.

Your lip trembled as you considered how lonely you felt. If one of them didn’t kill you, loneliness would do it eventually. After all, if you were going to be in such a fucked up situation, couldn’t you have the slightest bit of happiness to make your survival worth it.

Bo returned home not long after the sky became dark. While you went downstairs to meet him, you didn’t rush. You half expected him to be annoyed with you for not having a beer in hand for him, but instead, his expression lit up when he walked back into the living room from the kitchen.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bo said with a smile as he put his arm around your waist.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked at you with a gleam in his eye that you hesitated to identify as adoration. You assumed too much of Vincent and found out the hard way that you were wrong. In your hours of wallowing, you came to the conclusion that if Bo didn’t love you, you’d rather be dead.

“I wasn’t sure what ya wanted, so I went a little crazy,” he said, gesturing to the three Olive Garden takeout bags on the counter. “Figured you probably haven’t eaten today.”

“I need to get something from upstairs first,” you said. “Is that okay?”

He nodded. “‘Course, just be quick. Food’ll get cold before ya know it.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek before making your ascent upstairs. As soon as you walked back into the bedroom, you exhaled, trying to ground yourself despite your thoughts doing laps around your brain. No more talking yourself out of it. If you were going to stay with Bo, you needed him to know you were serious, that you couldn’t take the hot and cold attitude anymore. Either he wanted you, or he didn’t.

Opening the shoe box, you stared at the gun for what must have been a few minutes too long, because you flinched in shock when you heard Bo calling for you from downstairs. Grabbing the gun, you felt adrenaline rush through you as you went back downstairs with it in your hand. You almost wanted to go ahead and fire it just to see what would happen.

His eyes widened, jaw clenched upon seeing you holding the gun. “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it while I was cleaning.”

You cocked the gun, and his chair scraped against the linoleum floor as he got up from the table, lip curled in a sneer. When you lifted the gun to your temple, however, determination seemed to leave his body as he froze in place.

“Do you love me?” you asked.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Put the fuckin’ gun down, and we can talk.”

Your voice was loud and uneven as you demanded an answer. “Do you love me?”

“I—what is this about?”

“I can’t go back to a normal life now. I can’t fucking leave here, but I can’t keep saying ‘I love you’ to a man who doesn’t mean it when he says it back,” you said.

It was the most you’d spoken to him since he brought you down to that basement all those months ago. Used to brief answers from you, the severity of the situation finally seemed to dawn on him. His hands were half raised as he inched toward you, the handler shit out of luck without a taser or tranquilizer to subdue the lion that had escaped its cage.

“I don’t want you to blow your brains out in our kitchen, doll. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya, just put the gun down,” he said, trying not to raise his voice despite the bulging veins in his neck indicating how bad he wanted to scream at you.

Our kitchen. You were holding a gun to your own head and that was the best he could do. Then again, if he really didn’t give a shit, he could have called Vincent up to help, though you’d be dead by the time his twin reached the kitchen. Perhaps he wanted to do it himself, already having your death elaborately planned out and unwilling for you to take that from him. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Our kitchen would do.

He jolted as you slammed the gun down on the table, rattling the silverware. His eyes widened as he looked from it to you. Holding his gaze, you lifted your hand from the weapon and took a step back.

He wasted no time grabbing it, nostrils flaring as he pushed you back into the counter. The cold barrel of the gun pressed beneath your chin so you held eye contact with him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, a scowl on his handsome face, chest heaving as he came down from the adrenaline rush. “Givin’ me half a fuckin’ heart attack while I’m tryin’ to eat my goddamn dinner. I wouldn’t go to none ‘a this trouble if I didn’t love you—“

His rant was muffled by your mouth on his, your hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing his Adam’s apple. He growled into your mouth, setting the gun down on the counter to pull you closer in what was more teeth and tongue to be considered a kiss.

“You don’t got any other secrets you’re keepin’ from me, do ya?” he asked almost breathlessly as he pulled away from your lips far too soon for your liking.

You shook your head. “That was it.”

“Where’d you hide it?”

“Shoebox in the closet.”

His eyes widened at your response. He hadn’t expected you to have it in the first place, but especially not under his nose the whole time. You were either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, probably a mix of both. Yet the fact that you had plenty of chances to use it and never so much as pointed it at him spoke to the desperate devotion you had for him. God, you might as well have just recited your wedding vows.

He licked his lips, “Maybe I can let ya help me out in town sometimes.”

“You mean it?”

“‘S long as you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

You knew what he meant. Being in the house meant you wouldn’t have to deal with victims directly. He hadn’t brought any up to the house for as long as you’d been there. The last you knew of was your friend who had disappeared with him to pick up a part he claimed was delivered there instead of the gas station. This was always coming, your complicit involvement in the Sinclairs’ disturbing cruelty in the name of art or legacy or something.

“Don’t make me kill anyone, please,” you implored, eyes glassy as you teared up.

“It ain’t as bad as people say. The first time makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.”

“Like when you killed her?”

He grinned, giving you a kiss. “Remember what I said when I first brought you up here? I knew I got lucky with you.”

He knew what you were thinking. It wasn’t the act itself that scared you, but rather the possibility that you would like it, that just like him it would be something you did with no remorse.

“One day,” he whispered, voice husky as his blue eyes bore deep into yours, “one day you’re gonna do it too. You’re gonna wanna do it.”

Your voice was barely audible as you answered, “I know.”

“It’ll be the best feelin’ you’ve ever had in your life, doll. I promise.”

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x female reader #slasher x reader #house of wax #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher community #house of wax 2005 #im incapable of writing anything short disease strikes again

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nanawritesit · 1 year

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Random Headcanons I Have For The DDLC Girls 💞

Monika:

favorite pocky flavor is almond crush

loves cappuccinos

wants to learn ballet

does pilates (and is super into the pink pilates princess aesthetic)

is obsessed with skincare

her dream date is a picnic on a sunny day

a dog person, especially smaller dogs

listens to penelope scott and mitski

likes to listen to music on vinyl records

favorite flower is lily of the valley

wants to learn french

loves art museums and studying art history

wears almond shaped acrylic nails

favorite animals are deer and butterflies

favorite movies are girl interrupted, the virgin suicides, gone girl, and jennifer’s body

loves cheesecake, especially the blueberry kind

reads sylvia plath poems every night before bed

Yuri:

wants to study abroad in london

prefers dark chocolate over milk

favorite pocky flavor is matcha green tea

favorite bubble tea flavor is purple taro

spends so much time doing her eyeliner every morning trying to get her wings to match perfectly

has definitely tried slam poetry at some point

listens to black veil brides and my chemical romance

thinks snakes are really cool and wants one as a pet really bad

collects fancy stationary

is addicted to perfume, her favorite scents are jasmine and vanilla

wants to learn the cello

is subscribed to watcher on youtube

listens to true crime podcasts

falls asleep to asmr videos

her favorite movies are all of the tim burton ones, especially corpse bride

has an intense hair care routine

Natsuki:

went through an ouran high school host club phase, she won’t admit it but her favorite host is tamaki

has a full gaming pc setup… pink cat ear headphones and everything

a twitch streamer

listens to hatsune miku

plays cooking mama

convinced all of them to go to a cat cafe

collects sanrio merchandise (her fav is my melody)

loves sailor moon, her favorite scout is definitely sailor mars

wants to cosplay but is too nervous

a crystal collector, has an altar full of rose quartz

HATES exercise

collects keychains and pins of her favorite characters

loves buying cute socks with fun patterns

writes fan fiction on tumblr and actually has a lot of followers

is obsessed with strawberries

Sayori:

prefers pancakes over waffles

has a squishmallow addiction

plays animal crossing

always plays as baby peach in mario kart

favorite cereal is fruity pebbles

only orders hot chocolate at coffee shops

wants rainbow sprinkles every time she eats ice cream

is a huge kpop stan, definitely stans twice and collects their photocards. her bias is probably sana or nayeon

loves christmas and carefully planned out the perfect presents to give the girls, also organized a christmas party for all of them

cuts her own hair

wears a lot of blush and collects different brands, especially ones with cute packaging

ALSO collects sanrio merchandise, but her fav is cinnamoroll

loves studio ghibli movies! especially my neighbor totoro and kiki’s delivery service

drinks chocolate milk with every meal

#doki doki literature girls #doki doki literature club #ddlc plus #ddlc headcanons #monika headcanons #monika ddlc #yuri headcanons #yuri ddlc #natsuki headcanons #natsuki ddlc #sayori headcanons #sayori ddlc

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this-is-me19 · 7 months

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From MollyRobertsmagick.com

I am not affiliated other than an email subscriber and I lover their blog and works.

The golden, misty, mysterious magick of autumn stirs colors in the soul of the Art Witch

Let's explore a bushel of ways to bring your creative magick out to play this season with 13 Autumn Inspired Grimoire Prompts!

1) Record an autumn color collection. Create a page cataloguing the autumnal colors you notice in your environment to heighten your magickal vision and drink in the seasonal beauty

2) Dab cobs of corn with paint or ink. Roll the corn cob onto the page for harvest inspired textured backgrounds or papers for later use.

3) Create a page dedicated to all of the beautiful poetic names for the autumn moons: Harvest Moon, Singing Moon, Wine Moon, Sturgeon Moon. Make up a name for a full moon inspired by your own environment.

4) Write a list of all the teachers you are grateful for: spiritual, craft, vocation, ancestral, animal, digital and academic teachers.

5) Trees are the star of autumn. Dedicate a page to honoring Dryads! Leave your book in a tree overnight for tree blessings and green magick inspiration.

6) Experiment painting with fruit juices to invoke bountiful harvest energy. Try pomegranate, cranberry, berries and wine

7) Use acrylic paint, paint pens or metallic paint to decorate dry leaves with patterns, words of power and symbols for all the blessings of the season.

8) Make a cornucopia shaped pocket. The cornucopia is a powerful symbol nourishment and spiritual abundance. Tuck drawings, magazine cuttings, words or symbols inside the cornucopia pocket to invite abundance and gratitude.

9) Write an affirmation to help you navigate change gracefully.

10) Use boxing tape to create specimen tags of autumn herbs, flowers and leaves. Sprinkle or place your dry botanical specimen on the sticky side of the clear tape. Seal with a second piece of tape and burnish out the air bubbles until the tape is flat. (These make fabulous mini spell book marks!)

11) Compose a letter to Themis, the goddess of Balance, Justice and Equality. (Her feast day is September 28th.) Ask her to imbue you with Reason, Fairness, Truth and Justice

12) Mushrooms galore! Celebrate mushroom magick in your book: Draw mushrooms from life, write a recipe using mushrooms, learn the names of mushrooms in your area or research mushroom myths and lore.

13) Create a dark mirror in your book. Paint one side of a piece of clear plastic packaging or page protector with black paint. Adhere the plastic to your grimoire page *shiny side out*, painted side in. (This gives you a reflective surface.) Draw or collage a frame for your dark mirror and scry away!

#13 Autumn Inspired Grimoire Prompts #art witch #art magic #witchcraft #witchblr #witches of tumblr #magick #beginner witch #witch tips #witchcraft 101 #Molly Roberts #witches #witch community

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sparklecats2009 · 1 year

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cinnamon and strawberry sprinkles (2022) oil pastel and acrylic on canvas 16 x 20 in

#art #mixed media #painting #cats #sparklecats2009 #illustration

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bleedingectoplasm · 1 year

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Three Strikes, You’re Out

Happy Truce to @modordracena! I’m honored that I got to be your backup Truce gifter this year! All of your prompts were so wonderful, but once I read the prompt “Danny/Sam no one knows” I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head. There’s also a sprinkle of the prompt “Eldritch Danny angst” as a treat. I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 here.

Strike One

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kitty,” Danny hisses, pressing antiseptic to his freshly split lower lip. He locks eyes with himself in the mirror, taking in the blood trickling from his nose and the bruises blooming under his eyes. He wouldn’t be shocked if Kitty busted his nose. Again. Her ectoplasmic acrylics don’t stop her from having a mean left hook.

“Danny?” A familiar voice travels softly through the bathroom door. “Are you home?”

Danny’s eyes blow wide with panic and his breath catches in his throat. A furtive glace down at his phone screen confirms his fears. It’s Wednesday. Date night.

Fuck.

“Hey, Sam,” Danny croaks out. He winces as he hears how weak his voice sounds before clearing his throat to try again, ignoring the taste of iron and acid in his saliva. “Hey, Sam, hi. Gimme a sec to finish up in here?”

“For sure,” the wooden doors in his cheap apartment are so thin that her voice is hardly muffled. He can hear the creaking of springs as Sam settles on his worn-out sofa. “You didn’t answer the door, so I just let myself in with the spare key.”

“Yeah, no worries,” he calls back, haphazardly shoving gauze and Neosporin and Band-Aids back into his first aid kit. “I just need one second, sorry.”

“No rush!”

Danny snaps his first aid kit shut and hides it away under his bathroom sink, covering it with spare soap and the box of Tampons that Sam keeps at his place. Normally, he isolates himself for a few hours after getting busted up and lets his healing factor do its thing. Sam may see a few stray bruises here or there, but he can brush those off as the result of a new skateboarding trick gone wrong. If his injuries are really bad, he’ll send a Sam text asking for a raincheck and begging her forgiveness before spending the day sleeping, allowing his bones to weave themselves back together while he snores. Unfortunately, his inability to keep track of time has finally caught up to him. His usual evasion tactics are completely useless now that Sam is already inside his apartment.

Danny gives himself a moment to wallow in self-pity. Before he can psych himself out of it, he snaps his broken nose back into place with practiced fluidity. Unfortunately, the quick motion triggers a new fountain of blood spurting from his nose. He groans a bit as he grabs a handful of tissues and attempts to blot the evidence away. After a few gentle wipes, he peers at his reflection once more. The face staring back at him looks just as bad as it did thirty seconds ago. With a heavy sigh, Danny accepts his fate. No amount of time sulking in the bathroom will make his face look any better, so he might as well head out. No use in prolonging Sam’s inevitable wrath.

Sam starts talking as soon as she hears the bathroom door open. “So, our options for a movie are Saw III and…” she trails off as Danny rounds the corner and comes into view. Her mouth falls open slightly, and then closes, and then opens again.

“Hey, Sam,” Danny offers weakly.

“What the fuck is wrong with your face?” Sam gasps.

“Thanks, babe, you look great too.”

“Danny,” Sam says sternly, “be serious, for once.” Her expression softens slightly as she takes in his injuries. She lifts her hand, and her fingertips hover over his bruised cheek. After a moment of hesitation, she runs her thumb over his broken lip and wipes away a bead of fresh blood. Danny winces, and Sam quickly retracts her hand, the tenderness in her eyes giving way to bewilderment.

Danny chuckles nervously, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “Would you believe me if I said I walked into a pole?”

Sam’s eyebrows raise skyward.

Danny dips his head, allowing his messy hair to block Sam from view. Thank the Ancients he ignored Jazz’s suggestion to get a haircut. Without his bangs to shield him, he’s pretty sure the power of Sam’s withering glare would melt him.

For just a moment, Danny toys with the idea of telling her the truth. He always does, in situations like this. He hates lying to Sam, hates the guilty squeeze of his stomach and the pulsing fear of getting caught. In the years since his accident, Danny’s relationship with the truth has become fluid, at best. At worst, it feels like he’s being held hostage by his own lies. He’s in too deep now. How would he even begin to undo his web of deceit?

Briefly, he imagines a conversation where he finally tells Sam everything. He pictures pulling Sam into a chair, sitting down across from her, and opening the floodgates: Hey, Sam, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I actually kinda died alone in my parent’s basement when I was fourteen. But I’m also sorta alive. I’m some hybrid freak of nature that straddles the barrier between life and death, and my mere existence challenges the tenants of physics that form your perception of the world. That’s right, for the last decade, I’ve been some sort of horrific reanimated corpse. Yeah, you’ve been making out with a dead guy on the regular. Oh, also, I’m Phantom, you know, the ghost kid who hunts his own kind? I’ve just accepted that nearly every other day some ghost will try to kill me the rest of the way. Yeah, yeah, I’ve been lying to you about every aspect of my half-life since we started dating. So, we cool?

It's laughable, really. If he told Sam the truth now, she would never trust him again. Or even worse, she may not believe him. Maybe she would suggest he talks to one of Jazz’s therapist friends or think he’s telling some sort of twisted joke about his own mortality. Danny can take a lot of hits, but Sam laughing in the face of his nightmarish existence would almost certainly destroy him. Danny brushes aside the possibility of honesty in favor of exploring his well-worn list of excuses. Like a slot machine, the reels inside Danny’s mind spin until the arrow finally settles on something halfway believable.

“I got into a fight,” he says finally. The best lies are based on a kernel of truth. “I stopped by Nasty Burger after work, and Dash was being an asshole and…yeah. Things got ugly.”

Sam throws her hands up in disbelief. “You got into a fight with Dashiell Baxter, Danny? What are you, fifteen?”

“I know, I know-”

“We’re not in middle school anymore, Danny! You’re twenty-four, for fucks sake!” Sam plows over Danny’s weak attempt to defend himself. “Not that the weird toxic masculinity vibe you and Dash had in middle school was ever okay, but it’s really not okay now. People won’t do the boys will be boys handwave thing anymore. You could have been arrested, Danny, did you even think about that?”

Danny interjects when Sam takes a breath, trying to deescalate the situation before she gains momentum, “I know, Sam, I know. You’re right, it was stupid, and I didn’t think it through, and you’re right.”

At Danny’s concession, Sam shifts from soapbox mode to a defeated slump. He thinks it helped that he used her favorite phrase twice in the same sentence. She takes a step back from him, crossing her arms and taking a good hard look at him before shaking her head slightly. Danny’s not sure what she was looking to find in him, but it seems he was lacking.

The worst part of hiding Phantom from Sam is when she buys into his story. Her perception of him becomes tarnished, transforming because of something he never did. The disappointment drips from her expression, and shame and guilt and embarrassment all mix into something heavy in Danny’s chest. In moments like this, he wonders what Sam thinks of him. Is the truth is more or less monstrous than the ever-repentant version of himself that lives in Sam’s head?

“Would it make it any better if I told you I got my ass handed to me?” He chokes out, desperate to diffuse the tension in the air.

Much to his relief, Sam huffs out a little laugh. “Honestly? Yeah.” She runs her fingers through her hair with ferocity, like taming her short black bob will also smooth out her frayed nerves. “There’s a joke about justice in there somewhere, but too busy thinking about how stupid you are to find it.”

Danny grins, ignoring the twinge of pain that comes from his split lip. “I’ll give you joke credits anyway, because I’m a generous guy.”

Sam rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but the gesture communicates fondness rather than judgement. After one final sigh, she strides over to him, the heavy sound of combat boots on hardwood underscoring every step. She catches his wrist in her hands, tugging him towards the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up, dummy.”

Danny nods and follows along silently, grateful to be spared the lecture that he most certainly deserves.

He perches on the edge of the tub, and Sam begins to gingerly wipes at his nose with an alcohol wipe, her fingers moving deftly as she cleans his wounds.

Sam’s soft voice breaks the uneasy silence. “Danny?”

“Hm?”

“I love you, but you need to get your act together,” Sam says quietly.

Quiet is not Sam’s natural state. It puts him on edge, ringing in his ears like a warning for an unknown impending disaster. “I know,” he says simply, “I know I do.”

Strike Two

As she pulls into the parking lot, Sam leans her head out of the car window and hollers, “Hey there, hot stuff!”

Danny looks up from his phone and smiles at the sight of his girlfriend in her little electric car. He tucks his phone in his pocket and hauls himself off the park bench. “Sam Manson?” He calls back, “Catcalling someone? The irony is delicious.”

“Nah, I’ve earned my fair share of misandry.”

Danny slides into the passenger seat already perfectly adjusted for his lanky legs. Sam’s chipped black fingernails are tapping on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the screamo song she’s playing. “How was work, dude?” Sam asks as Danny plops his computer bag in the empty backseat.

“Oh, fine. I spent most of the day teaching our undergrad interns how to not destroy the 3-D printer. I really gotta start applying for grad school so I can start doing some real engineering.”

“Uh huh,” Sam agrees, eyes glued to the road in front of her as she approaches a red light.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s sick that the Amity Park NASA field office had any openings at all after we graduated, but, man, I’m tired of being stuck on babysitting duty.”

“Good, good.” Sam replies nonsensically, clearly not paying attention.

“I mean, just yesterday, I chopped off my left foot and gave it to Neil Armstrong, and he barely even said thank you!”

“Capitalism is a drag,” Sam is still tapping the wheel, but she’s now tapping in a random frenzy rather than to the beat of the music.

Danny waits until the car is completely stopped before he nudges Sam’s shoulder and turns down the music. Sam glances over at him quickly in confusion before looking back at the traffic light.

“What?”

“Spit it out,” Danny says fondly.

“What?”

“I know you, dude. You’re jittery, you’re having trouble focusing. You’ve got something you want to say, so out with it already.”

Sam scoffs. “You don’t know me. I’m an unknowable anarchist being of chaos.” She pauses for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. “But in this specific instance, you may know me a little bit.”

Danny chuckles and reaches across the center console to take Sam’s hand in his own. “I’ve had a lot of time to study the habits of one Samantha Ida Manson. What’s up?”

Sam shoots him a sideways glance, and the golden sunlight pouring through the windshield perfectly illuminates the light blush dusting her cheeks. “You’re going to think its lame,” she whines.

Danny shrugs. “Since when do you care what other people think?”

“I mean, I care what you think.” Sam shrugs like the words mean nothing to her, but Danny understands their significance. He knows how hard Sam trained herself to not let anyone in, the willpower she exercised to ignore the spiteful comments people make about her. He remembers the cruel whispers and giggles of their classmates as Sam walked down the hallways of Casper. Sam spent her childhood building walls, and Danny is eternally grateful that she has carved out an entrance just for him. He only knows her because she has allowed him to, and it is an honor that he doesn’t take lightly. However, pointing out Sam’s vulnerability would almost certainly cause her to shut down, so he settles for squeezing Sam’s hand more tightly in his own, hoping the love and gratitude he feels transfers through touch alone.

Sam squeezes back, and after a moment of consideration, she asks, “Promise you won’t laugh?”

With his free hand, Danny traces a small X over his heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He takes a moment to congratulate himself on the pun. It’s tragic that he’s the only person in on the joke.

“Okay,” Sam sighs, pressing her foot on the gas as the light turns green. “So, a while back, I entered this meet a celebrity charity raffle thing. I figured there was no universe where I would win, because your chronically bad luck is fucking contagious, but I figured it didn’t matter because it was like my all-time favorite charity, but today I got an email today that I won!” Sam’s words pick up speed as the car does, excitement propelling her onwards. “I told myself I didn’t care about the contest that much, which I realize now is a total lie because I’m beyond stoked that I won. Maybe it’s an inner child thing, or something? I’m sure your sister would have some thoughts on it, I may just text her. Anyways, I get to meet him, and the money went to a great cause, and I get a plus one, so we can go together!”

“That’s great, Sam!” Danny says enthusiastically. He’s loves when Sam gets fired up like this. He could listen to her talk for days on end without getting bored. “What charity was it for, and who’s the celebrity?”

“The proceeds go to Earthjustice, the environmental law nonprofit I interned for last summer, remember? And the celebrity is…ugh, this is so embarrassing. Remember, you promised not to laugh.”

Sam was right about one thing- Danny is deeply, tragically unlucky. Dread pools in the pit of his stomach as soon as Sam reveals the name of the charity, but he pushes past the growing lump in his throat to ask, “Who is the celebrity?”

Her eyes are dancing with glee, and she giddily wriggles around in her seat, her happiness too large to contain in her body. “Phantom!” She practically shouts the name. “I’m going to meet Phantom! I mean, what are the odds that he would champion the same cause I do?”

The odds were certainly made much higher after Phantom’s girlfriend has spent all of last summer pouring her heart and soul into Earthjustice, coming home beaming with pride and satisfaction despite the long hours and unforgiving workload.

When Action News approached Phantom with an offer to host a meet and greet raffle for a charity of his choice, he was initially taken aback. It was almost inconceivable to Danny that anyone would want to meet Phantom, would be willing to spend an hour in a room with a creature that's all protruding joints and too long teeth and nearly translucent skin. During his ghostly vigilante career, Danny caught on to the fact that no one in Amity Park is quite able to make direct eye contact with him Phantom. Still, Lance Thunder was insistent that people wanted to meet Phantom face to face. Danny wasn’t convinced until Lance used the magic words: Phantom could help people. Then, Danny’s obsession took over, and it became a no brainer. Of course, he had to do the meet and greet, it was for charity. Never mind his fragile ego, he could handle the pulsing horror in a civilian's aura for an hour. Besides, anyone entering the raffle is subjecting themselves to him, right? He surely can’t be blamed for any post meet and greet night terrors. Sure, if one of his old schoolmates won the raffle he’d have to be careful to not give away his identity, but it was worth the risk. Getting to pick the charity of his choice was an added bonus, a chance to do something for Sam, even if she could never know that Danny was the one who did it. He had felt good about himself at the time, excited that he could finally feel connected to Sam while doing work as Phantom.

No good deed goes unpunished, it seems.

Danny doesn’t realize that his hold on Sam’s hand has become practically bone crushing until she pulls away from him, flexing her fingers to release the stiffness his tight grip caused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chokes out, jerkily running his hands through his hair. “I, uh, yeah. That’s great, Sam. Really.”

A stiffness settles over Sam as she curls her shoulders upwards, drawing into herself. “What?” She asks. The word is sharp enough to draw blood.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” Sam roughly hits the button on the stereo, cutting off the music. The silence is stifling. “You’re being weird. Is this a jealousy thing? Because I had a crush on Phantom in fucking middle school? I’ve been over that for years, Danny.”

“What?" Danny sputters. "You had a crush on him?”

“Oh, please, don’t play dumb now. I saw the way you’d stiffen up whenever I talked about him as kids. Admit it, my admiration for Phantom makes you uncomfortable.”

The absurdity of this conversation is overwhelming Danny’s senses. He feels like he’s jumped off the deep end, and water is muffling his hearing and blurring his vision. In his disorientation, he blurts out the first thought that comes to mind. “What’s there to admire about him? He’s grotesque.”

“God, you really are your parents’ child. He’s not ‘grotesque,’ he’s a ghost. He can’t help what he looks like. And he protects the town. Who wouldn’t admire that?”

“I am not the same as my parents, okay? I’m not saying he’s evil, just that he’s not all that nice to look at.”

Sam scoffs. “If you’re settling for attacking his appearance, you really must be jealous. That’s beneath you, Danny.”

The accusation stings, in part because it’s not entirely off base. In the past, Danny’s jealousy for his alter ego had been almost suffocating. As a teenager, he loathed that his ghostly persona was smothered with attention while human Danny had to scrape and claw and beg for an ounce of affection from his family and peers. He was furious that people only noticed him once he died. It took years of struggling with his identity and self-confidence to outgrow that envy.

“I’m not jealous, okay? Phantom is the only green-eyed monster in this situation.” He can’t hide the bitterness in his voice. Once again, Phantom is rearing his head in Danny and Sam’s relationship, warping Sam’s perception of Danny into the worst possible version of himself: a petty, possessive man who feels enough ownership over his girlfriend to prioritize his discomfort over her joy. As much as he hates to admit it, her conclusion is completely logical given the information she’s working from. All she knows is that her boyfriend got upset after she said she planned to visit a former celebrity crush. She has no way of knowing that said former crush is currently sitting in the passenger seat of her car. Danny takes a deep breath, steeling himself to bridge the gap between him and Sam that Phantom has rent open, and tucks aside his swirling self-hatred to refocus the conversation at hand. “I just can’t go with you. I already have plans that day.”

Sam’s quick response is laced with accusation: “I haven’t even told you what day the meet and greet is.”

Damn Sam and her lawyerly logical reasoning. Desperately, he reaches for a coherent explanation, and tries to sound calm and casual as he says, “I know what day it is; I saw the advertisements for the contest online. April 6th, right?”

He can feel Sam considering his words in the stretch of silence that follows, twisting them around in her mind and holding them up to the light to find any cracks of dishonesty. As she lifts her wrist to flick on her turn signal, Danny is dimly reminded of visiting Anubis in the Infinite Realms as he places the hearts on the scale of judgement, weighing souls against Maat’s feather of truth and justice. Normally, Danny would find the idea of Sam holding his heart in her hands to be somewhat romantic. In this moment, it is nauseating.

“Okay,” the final verdict rings out, “I guess that makes sense.” Danny sags in momentary relief before Sam presents him with another challenge. “You already have something on your calendar for April 6th? That’s, like, two months away.” The hurt in her voice is more apparent now that the venom has faded.

“Yeah, I totally blanked on telling you, but I have a work trip that weekend.” The lie slips comfortably from between his lips, even though he hates playing the part of the flaky boyfriend. Or is he even playing a part anymore? Maybe this is just who he is now. Maybe Sam’s perception of him is more accurate than he realizes. Maybe Phantom’s physical distortions are imprinting on Danny’s personality, morphing him into someone unrecognizable.

“Okay,” Sam says again. She sounds tired. Hollow.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” He knows the apology isn’t enough even as he offers it.

“You can’t even try to get out of the trip? This is like…a big deal to me.”

“You know how important this job is. It’s-”

“The steppingstone to grad school. I know, I know. I’m sorry, I should be more supportive.”

Oh, Ancients, now Sam is apologizing to him? After Danny spent the last few minutes disappointing and deceiving her? His gaze flicks around the car, desperate to look at anything else besides Sam’s slumped shoulders and vacant expression. For a moment, he catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, but he turns his head away at break neck speed. He doesn’t want to look himself in the eye.

“I get it, you’re excited. Maybe Tucker is free?”

“Yeah. I’ll ask him.”

Sam reaches out to turn on the stereo once more, the pounding heavy metal a stark contrast to the solemness that has settled over the car. Danny reaches to take Sam’s hand in his own once more, trying to offer an olive branch of affection. When Sam ignores his extended palm, he settles for picking at his cuticles. He peels at his skin absentmindedly, only returning his attention to his fingers when he feels a sticky bead of blood pool on top of his fingernail. Fitting, really. Danny never notices how much damage he’s done until it’s too late.

Strike Three

The signs were all there. Danny just didn’t see them. It’s not that he ignored them, exactly, it’s more like he was blinded by the light Sam brings into every room. The arguments and awkward moments were buried under ecstasy, until all he could remember about their relationship was giggling through kisses and Sam’s delicate hold on his fingers while she paints his nails and how his hand fits perfectly into the dainty dip of Sam’s waist.

Danny separated out his fuckups and fibs from the rest of his relationship, shoving them into the ‘Phantom’ box in the back of his mind. He forgot Sam doesn’t have that luxury, that she doesn’t realize there’s a third person sabotaging their relationship. She doesn’t have the benefit of the truth.

“This isn’t working.” A relationship retrospective runs through Danny’s mind as soon as the words leave Sam’s mouth. He analyzes his mistakes with the same sharp precision he uses to identify the weaknesses of his ghostly enemies. Adrenaline courses through his veins far more intensely than it ever has before, even when he’s been on the other side of a gun. Surely, there must be a way to fix this. It can’t be too late. He can still save the day.

“Sam, can we talk about this?” Danny can hear the panic in his own voice.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, Danny.” Sam’s words are careful, rehearsed. “This has been coming for a while. Today was the final nail in the coffin. We just aren’t compatible, I think.”

“Look, I know today was bad-”

Sam’s snort cuts off his pathetic attempt at an explanation. “Bad? Danny, you missed my law school graduation. ‘Bad’ is the understatement of the century.” She looks away from him, like meeting his gaze is painful. “I spent the ceremony staring at the empty seat next to my parents. I waited for you, and you didn’t come. It was the most important day of my life, and you couldn’t be bothered to show up.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Danny groans, scrubbing at his face with superhuman strength, the sting of his skin grounding him. For the past few hours, Skulker had Danny trapped in a net like a fucking animal. He escaped only a few minutes ago, and his feral instincts are still buzzing at the base of his skull. His brain is chanting that he’s trapped trapped trapped cornered cornered cornered that he needs to escape this fucking nightmare. He’s too wound up to think of a good excuse for his absence. “I let you down, I know I did. I didn’t mean to miss it, honest, I just…I lost track of time. I turned my phone off to focus on work, and by the time I looked at the clock again, it was too late.”

Sam sniffles, then presses the heel of her palms into her eyes, like she’s trying to push her tears back into her skull. When she speaks again, her voice is thick. “That’s the worst explanation you could possibly give. You couldn’t even make up a lie about an emergency? You just forgot? That’s the best you can say for yourself?”

“Sam, I would never lie to you.”

Her laugh is biting. “Get real, Danny. How dumb do you think I am?”

The world feels like it’s crumbling underneath his feet. “I…what?”

“Come on, man,” Sam says, exasperated, “Your fight with Dash? Your work trip? I’m not an idiot. I knew you were keeping something from me. I figured you would tell me when you’re ready, but you never did. I don’t know if you just don’t trust me, or-”

“No,” he says sharply, “never that. I trust you implicitly. More than anyone in the world.”

“Then what is it, Danny? I know you have a right to privacy in a relationship, that’s what all the stupid couple therapy websites said when I looked for advice, but we crossed the line between privacy and secrets a long time ago.”

“You…you’ve been looking at couples therapy websites?”

“That’s not the point! The point is that I need a partner I can rely on. A partner who doesn’t hide things for me. A partner who lets me into every aspect of their life.” Sam’s voice breaks on the last word. She takes a breath to steady herself before forging ahead. “I let you in, Danny. I showed you all the ugliest parts of myself, and I told you things I never told anyone. Why can’t you do the same?”

“It’s not that simple. I know how pathetic that sounds, but it’s just not. I need you to believe me.”

“How could I possibly believe you? I feel like barely even know you anymore.”

“You know me,” he insists. “You’re the only person who knows me.”

Sam sighs the long-suffering sigh of a weary warrior finally admitting defeat. “Then maybe no one knows you, Danny. Because I certainly don’t.”

He can feel his heart breaking in his chest. When Sam’s palms settle on top of his shoulders, Danny practically whimpers, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed at his own desperation. Instead, Danny leans into her warm touch, all too aware that she may never hold him like this again.

She shakes him a bit, like she’s trying to knock some sense into him. Like she, too, wants him to make this right. “I’m giving you one more chance. Where were you today?”

Danny wants to tell her the truth. He really, truly does. But if he told Sam the truth, then she would know. She would know that he isn’t human, that he’s a monster, an eldritch abomination masquerading as a small-town superhero. Realization hits Danny with nearly violent force: Sam’s right. She doesn’t know him. No one does. No one knows him because no one knows Phantom, and no one knows Phantom because Danny doesn’t want them to. Danny hates Phantom, hates looking at his ghoulish features in the mirror and the terror he strikes into the souls of the living. He hates that nothing satisfies him more than the slick feeling of another ghost’s ectoplasm on his knuckles, hates the ever-growing deadly power that simmers within his core, hates the prickling fear that one day he won’t be able to stop himself from going too far. He hates that his parents were right all along: ghosts are twisted, vile creatures. Danny is the ultimate proof of that. Danny doesn’t want Sam to know him, because if she did, she’d hate him too. She must. Wouldn’t anyone? How could anyone not hate him as much as he hates himself?

Words won’t come. There’s no explanation he can give. Danny squeezes his eyes shut, and slowly shakes his head. Sam sighs once more as she peels her hands off his shoulder, and Danny mourns the loss of contact as her residual body heat fades into the cold air.

“I thought so. I had hoped that you would…” The sound dies in her throat. Sam wraps her arms around herself and straightens her back. Danny watches as the maelstrom of swirling emotions in Sam’s eyes are covered by a mask of cool indifference. “I’ll see you around, Danny.”

Watching Sam walk away doesn’t quite feel real. Danny's eyes covered in a watery film that makes everything around him look hazy. He pauses for a moment, waiting for Amorpho to jump out from behind a bush or Spectra to reveal that she’s trapped him in some fucked up fear landscape. But the plot twist never comes. It’s just him, standing in a streetlight outside of Sam’s house, alone. Living in a reality of his own creation.

#danny phantom #amethyst ocean #sam manson #danny fenton #2022 holiday truce #no one knows au #i just think dannys inner turmoil in this au is so so so interesting- especially if he thinks hes a monster #thanks for reading! i hope you enjoy!#ecto writes

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