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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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A Cozy Day In (Emorie) 🎁

Summary: A series of fluffy/smutty ACOTAR winter one-shots! 12 stories for the 12 days leading up to Solstice (December 21).

What are Emerie and Mor up to in Athelwood? Wholesome vibes only!

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Athelwood was frigid, but beautiful, in the winter. Emerie and Mor had managed to squeeze a horseback riding session in the early morning, trotting over frozen ground and surveying the ancient, hilly landscape of evergreen trees.

Though Emerie was unused to horses, she was already partial to Ellia due to both of them having names that start with “E”. And Ellia was also warming up to Emerie, thanks to the apples and carrots Emerie offered every morning this past week.

Emerie was currently curled up at a reading window, reading one of Sellyn Drake’s earliest novels. The author had published the story three hundred years ago, but the smut was still deliciously written. Mor had found it in the top shelf of Athelwood’s library last night, and gifted it to Emerie.

Her lover was baking for their afternoon tea. Or trying to. Emerie slid her eyes away from the passage about a juicy library rendezvous between a lowly Day Court scholar and the red-haired Autumn princess to observe the blonde female flitting about the kitchen. Mor looked mildly panicked as she struggled to keep the tacky dough from sticking to her hands.

“You sure you don’t need any help, Mor?” Emerie called out.

“Nope!” Mor’s cheerful voice was edged with tightness and she whisked melted chocolate in its water bath. “Just sit and relax. I’ll be done in no time.”

It was Emerie’s first time visiting Athelwood, and Mor wanted her first visit to be nothing less than stellar. She’d planned horseback riding lessons and shopping at the local town’s bazaar. Brought out her softest blankets. Cooked Emerie’s favorite foods. Made sure they finished the day with the best sex ever.

Emerie had just finished a grueling week of shipping last-minute clothing orders. If there was anything Mor could do to make things easier, to give Emerie the rest she deserved…

Well. It had been going well until Mor volunteered to prepare afternoon tea. Emerie loved tea just as much as Mor loved wine, so she had to get this right. After watching Emerie prepare tea a million times, Mor figured she could do it too.

The fruit platter of candied clementines, grapefruit, and kumquats was perfect. But the chocolate drizzled cake was slightly burnt at the bottom. And Mor couldn’t get the damned shortbread dough to stop sticking to the cookie cutters and her fingers.

Whatever. Into the oven they went. Mor washed her hands, acutely aware of Emerie glancing over at her every few pages. She had set up a cute little table and tea set in the sunroom. During the summer, golden rays passing through the glass would illuminate the leafy houseplants. During the winter, it became a scenic, but insulated space for a tea party.

Mor had just finished setting everything into their proper positions when her nose detected a whiff of something burning. She scurried back to the kitchen to find Emerie holding the tray of shortbread cookies with an oven mitt.

Or what remained of the shortbread cookies. They looked more like charcoal lumps. “Oh no!” Mor cried, rushing over. “How the hell did that happen?”

Emerie knocked the hardened cookies against each other, cocking her head to listen to the rapping sounds they made. “Don’t worry, I can’t bake either. We can repurpose these by lobbing them at Cassian when he gets on our nerves.”

Mor managed to smile at the thought of Cassian yelping and dodging flying shortbread cookies. “You’re right. At least we have the other sweets. Come, you have to see what I’ve set up for us.” She covered Emerie’s eyes and walked her over to the sunroom.

Emerie gasped with delight. “Oh, Mor, this is so beautiful.” Her velvet wings flapped with excitement as she surveyed the pretty table and the wintery backdrop.

Mor felt a burst of pride at Emerie’s happiness. She pulled a low-backed chair out for Emerie to sit and bustled about, pouring Emerie a cup of tea and adding a teaspoon of sugar and cream—just as Emerie liked.

“The bottom of the cake is burnt, so make sure you cut that part off,” Mor advised.

She had brewed a pot of lavender-infused black tea, having procured the rare leaves from her latest continental trip. Emerie would 100 percent love it. The females clinked their teacups before taking their first sip.

Emerie coughed, wrinkling her face.

Oh gods, what was happening now?

“Um. Did you mix up the sugar and salt?” Emerie asked hesitantly.

Mor’s eyes widened. The unmarked jar of white powder was indeed her salt jar. Not sugar. “Oh nooo,” she cried. “I’m so sorry, Em!”

Mor snatched Emerie’s teacup away and ran off to dump the milky brown contents into the kitchen sink. She sighed. It had been so long since she’d properly courted a female that she was a complete mess. How pathetic for a 500-year old female to not know how to bake, to mix up the salt and sugar, to be wholly inept at—

“Mor?” Emerie’s voice was behind her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, Em,” she said glumly. “I completely messed up our afternoon tea plans.”

“What do you mean? Everything is still going great.” Emerie hugged Mor from behind, resting her chin on Mor’s shoulder. “Don’t stress yourself over this.”

“I’m not stressed,” Mor bit out. “I’m just upset with myself.”

Emerie rolled her eyes. “Practically the same thing.” She paused, assessing her lover’s dejected face. It was unlike Mor to be so affected. Clearly Mor had put a lot of thought into their afternoon tea, and was disappointed with the outcome. “Say, I actually had a surprise for you planned. I was going to save it for tomorrow night, but maybe you need it more right now.”

Mor’s eyes lit up. “What is it?” she asked eagerly.

Emerie glanced at the clock. “Give me ten minutes? Then you can winnow the tea set into our room. And we can take our tea there.”

Mor perked up at Emerie referring to the bedroom as their room. Even after a year of courting, the thrill of being able to share life experiences, places, and moments with Emerie never faded. The fact that Emerie regarded Athelwood as her place as well was a good sign.

Mor arrived to find a whole display of beauty items on the bed. Emerie sheepishly smiled when Mor enveloped her into a bear hug, all melancholy forgotten. “You had a beauty activity planned and you didn’t tell me?!?”

“I told you it was supposed to be a surprise,” Emerie chuckled. “You’ve been working so hard this past month, and I wanted to do something nice for you too.”

Mor clapped her hands. “I’m so excited. Here, let’s get the food onto the bed.” With a flick of her hand, the cake, candied fruits, and teacups levitated over their mattress perfectly.

The females pulled their hair back using fluffy headbands and commenced their spa session. Floral face steaming. Eyebrow grooming. Lip oils. Pasty face masks. Layered moisturizers. Emerie wasn’t an expert on makeup or beauty routines, but she could see why Mor loved these sorts of activities. She was currently giving Mor a shoulder massage as Mor painted her nails a crimson red.

“I’m sorry for my freak-out earlier. It’s just…it’s our week off and I want your stay to be perfect,” Mor confessed.

“Mor, it’s already perfect,” Emerie said gently. “I wake up every morning with you in my arms. We’ve cooked amazing dinners together, and before you disagree, you are an excellent cook.” Mor promptly closed her mouth. “Also, it’s our week off, remember? You need to have a good time, too.”

“Thank you, Em,” Mor said quietly. “Sometimes I can’t believe we have each other to lean on now. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.” The blonde female took Emerie’s hand from her shoulder and pressed it to her mouth in a tender kiss. “Now turn around. It’s my turn to pamper you.”

Mor positioned herself behind Emerie’s wings, kneading the tense muscles in Emerie’s lower back and scratching an itch between her shoulder blades.

“Sometimes I wish I was as experienced as you,” Emerie grumbled. “You’re my first serious relationship and I feel like I don’t know all the ins and outs of romance.”

Mor shrugged. “This is pretty romantic, no?”

“I guess I just feel like such a clumsy novice.”

“Who’s being hard on herself now?” Mor laughed gently, running her fingers through Emerie’s unbraided hair. The dark brown strands were wavy, cascading down the Illyrian female’s back like a dark river. “It’s better to have your first experience with someone you love, someone you trust, than to dive in with well-honed skills,” she murmured.

“But your first experience was with Cassian,” Emerie pointed out.

“It’s true. I trusted Cassian then…and I trust him with my life now,” Mor said, after some thought. “Even so, it was not…not the first sexual experience I wanted. Sometimes I wish you had been born centuries earlier. Think about the memories we could have made when I was young and spry!”

Emerie laughed. “But if I had been born centuries earlier, we may not have met. Without Nesta and Gwyn, I wouldn’t have an excuse to leave Windhaven. Also, the expectations for females in Illyrian were far more traditional back then.”

“I suppose that is fate’s way of telling us that things happen when the time is right.” Mor finished massaging Emerie’s shoulders and leaned against her back, wrapping her hands around Emerie’s waist. It was nice to just sit and cuddle, to match her breathing with the rise and fall of Emerie’s shoulders.

Mor glanced out the window. “Oh look, the snow is coming down hard.” Thick flurries were blanketing the world outside in a layer of white. At this rate, there would be a total white out in an hour’s time. No shopping tomorrow.

Emerie yawned. “I guess that means we need to stay in for the rest of the day. I’m too relaxed and full of cake to move.”

Mor grinned. “Me too. I think this calls for an afternoon nap.” With another flick of her hand, their comfy bed was cleared. Emerie crawled under the thick blankets, draping her wings over the side of the bed. The last few nights were like sleeping on a cloud.

The faelights of the room glowed golden, the air pleasantly warm. Watching the snowfall with Mor curled alongside her was as close to inner peace as Emerie would get during the holiday season.

“I love you, Mor,” Emerie kissed Mor on the lips. “I love being here with you.”

“I love you so much, Emerie. You make every part of my life better.” Mor snuggled against Emerie as well, breathing in her lightly spiced and laundry soap scent. Athelwood had been her refuge from the world for centuries. But it was only now, now that her love was here with her, did it truly become a home.

#emorie #emerie x mor #mor x emerie #emerie acotar #mor acotar #emorie fanfiction #acotar solstice #acotar fanfiction

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kiss-theggoat · 4 months

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Gonna need a part two where the slashers realize their s/o is alive >:’(

Slashers Fix You Up

Slashers Included: Thomas Hewitt, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Asa Emory, Michael Meyers, The Sinclair Brothers

TW: Violence and Gore

Thomas Hewitt:

The wound to your stomach was deep. It tore through deep tissue and muscle, but lucky for you, Thomas knew exactly what to do.

Not only had he been stabbed like that, but he’d become really good at sewing and stitching up human skin.

You woke up, feeling groggy, but immediately recognized the basement you were in. You laid on Tommy’s workbench, shirt off and torso numb.

When you looked down you saw Thomas hunched over you, huge hands trying hard to delicately sew you up, fingers covered in your blood.

You whispered to him, and you could’ve sworn you saw his heart skipped a beat. He jumped up, immediately grabbing the side of your face with relief written all over his face, eyes wide and breath heavy. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he lost you.

Billy Loomis:

Nothing when like it was supposed to that night. Sydney got away, Stu stabbed him too hard, and the worst of all…he stood above you, watching your blood pool on the hardwood of Stu’s living room.

He bent down, putting pressure on your wound while looking around the room, taking deep breaths and trying to think rationally…he needed to get you out of here. He quickly lifted you, trying to ignore your pained groans. He hated seeing you like this.

The moment he got your arm around his shoulders and your feet on the ground, he heard them…sirens. He was conflicted. Relief washed over him. He knew you’d be getting help soon but…if he didn’t run…Syd would tell them everything. He’d go to jail, be found guilty for murder.

In that moment, he didn’t care. He helped you limp towards the front door, pushing it open. You’d lost too much blood…you didn’t even realize that Billy was sacrificing himself to save your life.

Stu Macher:

Stu watched his entire world fall apart when Billy stabbed you. He watched you fall, holding your gushing stomach, blood seeping from between your fingers.

He rushed to your side, hands covering your wound as he laid you back onto the ground.

“Just look at me. Don’t worry, keep looking at me.” He refused to let you look at your wound. He didn’t want you to be scared about how hurt you were. He lifted your hands to inspect your wound…he sighed in relief.

“It’s okay baby…the bleeding is slowing down…you’re gonna be okay…”

Asa Emory:

Asa never expected you to fall into one of his traps. He was beating himself up about it, but there was no time. He lifted you onto his operating table, covering your entire body with gauze.

He started slow, sutures and thread in his precise hands. You were covered in deep wounds, caused by rusty nails…he whispered his apologies, holding one hand as he poured antiseptic over you. It burned, it was unbearable…but you trusted him.

He carefully sewed each wound with a single suture, making sure to reassure you and stop the bleeding whenever it happened. It took him hours, but nothing would stop him from fixing you. Fixing your skin, fixing his love.

Michael Meyers:

For the first time in his entire life, he felt guilt. He felt a storm of emotions, but as he stared at your knife wound- the one his dumbass caused…- he knew it wouldn’t kill you. He’d never felt so terrible and so relieved in his life.

He quickly scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom with shaking fingers. His hands had never shaken before…

He slammed open your medicine cabinet, hard enough to crack the glass, and popped open the first aid kit, sending gauze and band-aids onto the bathroom floor. You’d patched him up plenty of times so it should be easy…right?

Six butterfly bandages, four bandaids, and two complete rolls of gauze later, you felt like you might be suffocated by the first-aid supplies but…he’d tried his best. And, you weren’t bleeding anymore.

Sinclair Brothers:

The blow to the face had broken your eyebrow and sliced your skin, and the fall to the floor left you with a concussion and a sprained wrist. Vincent carried you downstairs gently, knowing he had the supplies to fix you up in his workshop.

All three brothers stayed by your side, and you were never alone over the course of the next week, especially while you were sleeping, until your concussion headache finally went away.

Your face was bruised and swollen and it hurt like nothing else you’d experienced, especially the cut on your eyebrow.

But, every morning when you walked downstairs, you received a kiss on the eyebrow from each Sinclair brother, and they all treated you like you were made of porcelain, even Bo.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #horror fanfiction #slasher x y/n #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #stu macher #asa emory #the collector #michael meyers #bo sinclair fanfiction #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #lester sinclair

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mixreality · 8 months

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ah...

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slasher-male-wife · 7 months

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How horror characters spend their Halloween with you

I wrote about this last Halloween and I wanted to make a better version of it with more characters this time. I am such a slut for Halloween and just autumn in general.

Includes: Asa Emory, Michael Myers, Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, The Sinclair brothers and Severen

Warnings: Murder and violence mentions, Hannibal being a little mean, blood talk in Severen's part (he's a little weirdo)

Asa Emory

He honestly thinks Halloween is a children's holiday. He never even bothered to get Halloween candy before he met you. If you're really Halloween obsessed he'll consider letting you put up decorations that he approves of. It's not cheap Halloween, Christian girl autumn or classic Halloween, its a secret fourth thing.

I can see him favoring vintage Halloween decorations over the newer ones. But he does like the insect and bug themed things you bring home. He wants the Halloween bug decorations to be casual enough to keep out year round.

He doesn't go to Halloween parties and if you bring him to one he's not dressing up. He'd say he's dressed up as an 'entomologist' or if you know his identity as the collector 'a homicidal maniac'.

He probably doesn't like horror movies because he's one of those people who think all horror movies are bad. But if he happens to see a new way he can torture someone he'll happily sit through a saw movie to see how else he can torment people.

He honestly won't eat any candy but as an 'experiment' he'll see how much you can eat before you get sick. Speaking of candy if you want to get up and answer the door to hand out candy you can do that but he's not joining you. If you're going to be out or you don't want to be disturbed he'll be happy to leave out a bowl.

Michael Myers

He's obviously going to be busy with killing people so for a majority of Halloween you'll be on your own. But he will be watching you the rest of the month as you put up decorations and buy candy.

He'll also be sneaking candy from the bags you buy. It might be smart to buy two bags just for Michael to eat on his own. If he's feeling generous he'll share some with you.

He gets some kind of weird enjoyment in seeing if you dress up and what you dress up as. Enjoyment in a Michael Myers kind of way. He likes more classic costumes and ones that have a good amount of effort put into them. He also thinks that he sexy Halloween costumes are just silly.

I feel like if you let him Michael would enjoy picking out your Halloween costume. Like you give him a pen and paper and he picks out what costume you wear, he would love that. I feel like he'd choose something funny to him, like the sheet ghost.

He'll get home in the early morning of November first and if you're still awake he'll spend time with you after washing up. If you're watching horror movies that's even better for him. He'll sit on the couch and watch them with you. Or if he's feeling affectionate he'll even lay down and have you lay on top of him while you watch.

Hannibal Lecter

He's European and to my knowledge Halloween isn't that big of a thing in Europe. He's familiar with Halloween and stuff but he doesn't really celebrate it. If you're really into Halloween he's happy to listen to you tell him all about it.

He's not really in a neighborhood to give out candy in and he also doesn't eat anything that isn't a 14 course meal so if you want Halloween candy you'll have to get it on your own. Even then he'll probably just silently judge you for it.

He's not much of a decorator for holidays, especially Halloween because of how 'cheap' and 'ugly' the decor is. If you try to put up stuff he doesn't like he'll throw it away or if it gets bad enough, tell you to stop putting things up. It all depends on the decorations though.

I can see him making an excuse to throw a dinner party for Halloween. But without costumes or any Halloween themeing and it's just a dinner party on Halloween. If you're someone who likes to spend Halloween watching Horror movies or going to parties Hannibal is fine with that. He won't join you at the parties and he might try to get you to not go but he's happy to watch Horror movies with you.

I can see him trying to cook stuff with pumpkin in it. But I strongly believe that he wouldn't let anyone carve pumpkins in his house. You've seen his clear suit while he kills people and how clean his house and office always is so I doubt he'd enjoy carving a pumpkin and how messy it can get.

Will Graham

Because of his upbringing he never really got to enjoy a traditional Halloween as a child and I feel like he rarely went to Halloween parties, so he's not a big Halloween kind of guy.

If you're putting up decorations you'll have to keep the dogs in mind. I think Will trains then well and that they're well behaved in general but you can never be too careful. I also think he'd find decorating a little pointless since he lives far away from everyone else.

He doesn't buy candy because there's no trick or treaters to give candy to, also again, his dogs. So you can buy candy for the two of you to share but I feel like you'd end up eating more than him.

Because Will is kind of prone to nightmares he wouldn't be super interested in watching horror movies, or spooky kid movies. But I do think he'd be open to the idea of reading scary stories together.

If Halloween is important to you he'll treat it as kind of important too, because he loves you. I don't see him doing costumes, but I do think he'd be willing to put the dogs in costumes for pictures and stuff like that.

Bo Sinclair

He never really got to enjoy Halloween as a child because he had to take care of Vincent and Lester. I also feel like his parents just didn't really like Halloween in general so they didn't celebrate it. This has led into his adult life where he doesn't celebrate Halloween.

He works like a majority of the time. I feel like he'll wake up at any hour of the night to go deal with victims. So trying to convince him to take off Halloween will take a lot of convincing. But he'll eventually understand and take the night off to spend with you.

I feel like he'd rather give up on the town than wear a costume. He'd be like Asa and just wear his normal clothes and say he's something. Like he'd wear his coveralls and say he's 'a mechanic' for Halloween.

He never bought candy before for Halloween but if you buy candy, he's probably stealing a lot of it, if not the whole bag. There's no trick or treaters so he'll happily watch horror movies with you and eat an entire bag of Halloween candy.

Speaking of horror movies he'll complain about watching horror movies until you throw in something like there's nudity in the movies, then he's more willing to watch the movies with you.

Vincent Sinclair

He thinks Halloween is a good time to incorporate more horror elements into his art as if he doesn't already do that. I can see him enjoying the idea of sketching or painting you in different Halloween costumes. They'll probably come from victims but he doesn't think it's a big deal.

He'd love to carve pumpkins with you but he'd be one of those people who takes it really seriously and probably makes some kind of masterpiece on the pumpkin. He'll probably just bribe Lester to get them for you because Bo would say no.

I don't think he has the biggest sweet tooth so he'll probably not be eating much candy, but that won't stop him from bribing Lester to get you some if you want candy. I can see him decorating the House of Wax for Halloween, complete with wax candy.

He'd be open to watching horror movies with you, but I seem him only really enjoying like art house or psychological horror movies, like ones with commentary or just ones that are really odd in a good way. He'll watch more cheesy and silly horror movies but he won't really like them.

I can see Vincent taking Halloween as an opportunity to kill people in more creative ways. Like the classic poisoning candy. I think he'd get more creative with it too, like using fake cobwebs to strangle someone to death.

Lester Sinclair

I feel like Bo and Vincent let Lester have some kind of Halloween. Their parents tried to keep them from celebrating Halloween but the twins scraped up some kind of pocket money to buy candy they could share with him.

Despite him not celebrating Halloween as a child I feel like Lester likes Halloween in a normal way. He likes Halloween and the aesthetics of Halloween. He has decorations but he doesn't usually put them up, but if you want them up he'll put them up for you.

He'll probably have to work on Halloween because he works almost every day. But he'll make sure to get Halloween night off so he can spend it with you watching Halloween movies and doing fun Halloween activities.

Like Will he'd love to dress Jonesy up in a dog costume and take pictures of her. He wouldn't dress up but if you wear a costume he'd be all over it no matter what you're wearing.

Depending on how long you've been with him he might take you to a haunted house outside of town if you're interested in haunted houses. He'd only do this if you've been with him for a very long time. He'd keep a close eye on you while you're out of the house, but he still wants to make sure you're having a good time.

Severen

He's very into Halloween. Even though he lives in cars and motels he still finds fun ways to celebrate Halloween. I feel like he'd binge blood from people dressed as vampires for Halloween.

He's weirdly into blood. Like he'll get his hands purposely covered in blood just so he can rub the blood all over you because he thinks you look hot when you're covered in blood. So on Halloween he'll get really messy with it. I feel like his costume would just be his normal outfit covered in blood. Also he might make out with you while his mouth is filled with blood.

He totally crashes Halloween parties and drinks himself super sick. I feel like vampires have a high alcohol tolerance but they have worse hang overs. But he thinks it's worth it to drink himself sick at a Halloween party with you.

If Halloween parties aren't your thing he's happy to just sneak into a movie theater and watch some horror movies. He'd especially enjoy if you get scared or squirmy and hold onto him while you watch the movies.

He knows you can't have Halloween without candy so he'll either steal candy from kids (unless you tell him not to) or he'll steal some from a store. He can eat a ton of candy before he gets sick and if you can't eat as much as him he'll tease you about it (but he really does care).

#asa emory #asa emory x reader #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #michael myers x y/n #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham x you #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #severen near dark #severen x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher fanfiction

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dyns33 · 3 months

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Firefly

I can't explain why but I like The Collector movies a lot, Asa Emory was a weird character, and so I needed to write something about him at least once

Y/N had met Asa Emory in college.

He already had this strange look and this fascination for insects, which explained his choice of studies. She had never met anyone who wanted to become an entomologist.

The other students were a little afraid of him, when they noticed him, because Asa was very discreet.

Y/N had noticed him, and she hadn’t been afraid of him. She had sat next to him in the library while he read a book about spiders. Her questions had initially seemed to irritate him, he was obviously not used to being spoken to, then he had been intrigued.

For a time, Asa had looked at her as if she were one of the insects he collected, but also as if she were trying to make fun of him. Yet he answered all her questions, adding more and more details and information.

He had no one in his life. No one to share your passion with. He didn't tell her all the details, but he had lost his parents and siblings when he was young.

This loneliness didn't seem to be a problem for him, but over time he got used to Y/N's presence, he looked forward to her questions, and he eventually grew attached.

“My firefly.” He greeted her as soon as he saw her, with a shy smile.

“Why a firefly ?” she asked, laughing softly.

“Because you are a light in my life.”

Y/N might have taken offense saying that a firefly was a tiny, fragile light that would die quickly, but knowing Asa's love of insects, she knew he wasn't going to compare her to a sun or stars. It was even a nice compliment on his part that he deigned to compare her to a Lampyris noctiluca.

Even when insulting people, he never used insect names. That would be an insult to the insects and he couldn't do that.

As with everything else in their relationship, it was Y/N who invited him on their first date. He accepted without seeming to understand what that meant.

The poor man seemed lost when she kissed him. But not necessarily disgusted.

“My firefly, you are the only human being who matters.” he admitted when she asked him if he ever thought about marriage, after more than two years together. "There are only a few insects that practice monogamy, but most die quickly, sometimes during the act of reproduction. But you know how much I hate anthropomorphism. I will be happy to spend my life with you."

Life with Asa was calm. Perfectly organized, structured, like its classification of all arthropod species.

After obtaining his diploma, he had no difficulty in being hired in the largest natural science museum in the city. His name quickly became known in his field.

His frequent nighttime outings and other prolonged outings could have been frightening for Y/N, but he always warned her in advance, preparing his schedule according to the pace of life of the insects he was looking for.

"Rumors are circulating about an unknown species of grasshoppers in a forest. I will probably be gone all weekend."

"Oh. You won't be here for my cousin's birthday ?"

"I forgot. Forgive me, my firefly."

“It doesn’t matter… It’s for your work, it’s important.”

He promised to better note the dates that were important to her, because even though he was very diligent in his work, Asa was a good husband. He didn't care at all about other humans, and therefore her family, but he always tried to please her when he could.

Even though he had a true admiration for spiders, Y/N saw him more as an ant. He worked hard, he never seemed tired, and he often brought home gifts to make up for when he missed an appointment, or simply because he wanted to see her smile.

"Ants don't bring back gifts for the queen, they do this to feed the colony. Plus they work in groups, I work alone."

“I didn’t compare myself to a queen.”

"You could, it was you who worked to create our home. There is no colony without a queen, and there would not be our home without you."

Their house was perfect, but empty. They didn't talk about having children. The subject didn't seem to appeal to Asa. After all this time, he did not talk about his family, visibly traumatized by their disappearance, and his aversion to others, in addition to his complicated schedule, were not compatible with the role of father.

There were his dogs. Perfectly trained hunting dogs, who were only adorable with their master and his wife. But especially with Y/N, who loved to cuddle them.

“My firefly, they have already eaten and they are not allowed to be inside.”

"Oh, Asa, please ! It's cold outside, and they were very good !"

“You mustn’t get them used to it or they will become fat and lazy.”

“Only for tonight, please !”

His colleagues said he was tough. A cold, distant, almost mean man. It was quickly decided that he would no longer participate in school visits, because he did not know how to talk to children or teachers.

But with Y/N, he was gentle. He refused her nothing. The dogs stayed inside, and not just that evening.

The times Asa told her no, it wasn't his fault. The excuses he found always contained the words 'I would like to, but the museum, my colleagues, the insects…'.

No, she couldn't accompany him on his hunts. She wouldn't like it anyway. It was cold, there was almost no time to sleep, and she might be bored.

“I’ll be with you, that’s the most important thing.”

".. .It's always a joy to be with you. That's also why it's better if you don't come. Then I have a reason to come home."

And he always came home, tired, but satisfied with his work, placing a kiss on Y/N's forehead like a ritual, before caressing her cheek while looking at her as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes wide blacks seeming to devour her entirely.

Then came the night when he came home late, very late, with strange injuries and terribly angry. Growling like an animal, he slammed the door so hard that it woke his wife. She found him trying to stitch himself up, mumbling and shaking.

She had never seen him like this. Asa was always calm.

Hesitantly, Y/N asked him if he was okay, and when he looked at her, she was scared for the first time since they met. For a moment, he looked like he didn't recognize her, and was ready to jump on her. Then he took on the features of her husband.

"… My firefly." he sighed, getting up with difficulty to kiss her. "I woke you up. I scared you. Forgive me. There was an incident. I lost several very precious, unique species. But it's my fault, you don't have to suffer my bad mood."

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital ?”

"It's okay, I promise. Scratches, nothing I can't fix myself. Go back to bed, I'll be with you right away."

Nothing forced her to obey. Y/N could have insisted, asked questions, called an ambulance, but she returned to the room, staring at the wall unable to sleep. She didn't move when Asa came to her, holding her close, his face against her neck, whispering that he loved her.

They talked about the incident in the neighboring town the next day on television. An abandoned factory was ravaged by flames. But that wasn't the worst. It was the lair of a serial killer, whom they called the Collector.

The survivors spoke of horrible things. Of torture, of strange experiences. According to police, the man had died in the fire along with his guard dogs and most of the evidence there was nothing left to fear.

Y/N didn’t ask Asa where the dogs were. She tried not to think about it.

If he was waiting for her to ask him about it, he didn't show it. He didn't talk about what happened during the night, behaving as if everything was perfectly fine, and going to work like every day. He would come home, he would kiss her, and he would do it again. The difference was only that he went out less often.

According to him, the season was not good for hunting. And with the problem at his office, he needed a little time, to rest, to repair the place.

This excuse could have worked forever. Of course, Y/N could have called the museum and they would have confirmed that there had never been any serious incidents, but she didn't want to. She continued to lie next to her husband, letting him embrace her tenderly.

Then there was the man's visit. He seemed surprised to see Y/N, as he placed a large red trunk in the kitchen. Almost sad too. He was holding a gun.

"I imagine you don't know anything about it. I can let you go, if you promise not to warn him, and to let me do what I have to do."

"… I don't understand what to talk to you about."

"Your dear husband. The man who kidnapped and tortured me for weeks. You're lucky you didn't see his little collection. He's a monster. He needs to die."

No doubt the man was right. There had always been something strange about Asa, everyone had always known it and Y/N had been the only one to refuse to see it. She had built her life with him, her home. They had to share everything.

So even if he was right, she without thinking grabbed a knife when he turned, convinced that she had understood and she stuck it in his back, at the level of his heart.

When she realized what she had just done, it was too late. The man was lying in his blood in the middle of the room, his gun fallen next to him. Y/N touched nothing, unable to do anything but cry while trying to remember how to breathe.

Asa found her like this, sitting against a wall, when he returned from the office. He looked at his wife, then at the scene in the kitchen, before putting his things down to crouch down next to her.

Like every times, he held her face so that she could look at him and he could kiss her on the forehead. Then with one hand he wiped the blood from her cheek, massaging her neck with the other to calm her down.

"Tell me what happened. Are you hurt, my firefly ?"

"No… He… He wanted to kill you. He said… Oh, my god. He had a gun, I… I was scared… He said you… Asa …"

"Shh. I'll take care of everything. Come on."

Holding her close, he took her to the bathroom where he helped her undress and get into the shower, which he adjusted so that the water was perfect. Taking a bath would have done her good, but he had to leave her alone to clean up, and he didn't want her to fall asleep.

"I'll be back, my firefly. Just sit here, it's okay."

Y/N didn't know how long she stayed under the water, shaking and crying. Not as long as she thought. Her husband quickly returned to help her get up, dry off and put on pajamas.

Although she was not hungry, he insisted that she have tea and biscuits, as it was not good to keep an empty stomach after such a shock, before putting her to bed. He certainly put something in the tea for her to sleep.

The kitchen was immaculate the next morning, as if nothing had happened. The man, the weapon, the red trunk, everything had disappeared.

Unusually, Asa had prepared breakfast. He was always up before her, but he only had coffee, and he often left for work while she was still asleep, coming to place a kiss on her forehead to warn her.

His dark eyes didn't leave her for a second as Y/N chewed her pancakes with difficulty, one hand on the glass of orange juice that she couldn't drink. She looked everywhere except her husband.

Before the intruder spoke, she had already started to have doubts. Questions. Now everything was quite clear, and all that remained was to decide what she was going to do. Asa was also obviously waiting, sitting near her.

The options were vast. Run away, call the police, risk getting killed… Y/N finally managed to lift the glass of orange juice, while thinking of their meeting.

"… Aren't you going to be late for work ?"

"No. I took some time off to stay with you."

“But your collection… I understood that it would take a long time to rebuild everything.”

"It's not as important as you, my firefly. My mantis religiosa. My black widow." he purred, running a hand through her hair, his lips on her neck.

Asa loved spiders. It was a nice compliment, even if she received it because she had killed a man and agreed not to report him to the authorities. He didn't seem to notice her fear, one of the reasons she remained silent.

Only the other reason mattered. And by giving her all these names, like a transformation, he was telling her that he would not harm her, that he did not see her as prey, and that even if she decided to do so, she could devour him.

#the collector #the collection #asa emory #asa emory x reader #asa emory fanfiction #slashers

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spinning-stars · 10 months

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🔪Mini slashers smut fics part 2 🖤

No genitalia is mentioned but its implied AFAB!!!

Slashers (picked straight from the poll)- Thomas Hewitt, Billy Lenz, Asa Emory, Chucky (Human) and Otis driftwood!

⚠️ Warnings- Degrading (usage of the words slut and whore) Bondage, knife play, size kink, choking, oral giving and receiving. (dw I will put a warning to let y'all know when those are coming up)

🌻Thomas Hewitt-

(💥Size kink💥)

Tommy was a bit skeptical at first. He didn't want to hurt you, but he still wanted to please you. Tonight was the night he was actually going to try. He had you down on the bed with your legs over his shoulders. He was going slow and gentle. His hands were positioned on your hips rubbing in little circles while pumped in and out of you. Tommy wasn't that loud, but on occasions he would let out a loud groan. Tommy would hold your hands, while turning into the noise if you made. He would have to bend down and kiss you if you started making too much noise. He softly asked if he could speed up and boy oh boy it got a little rough. His soft thrust became rough and sloppy. Thomas loves looking down at you. He's in utter bliss watching you squirm under his body. His grip on your hands tightens a bit as you both cum. He pulls out and looks at you, "round 2?" He softly asks while putting his hand on your thigh.

❄️Billy Lenz-

(💥Light Bondage, usage of the word slut💥)

Billy had your arms tied behind your back using an old shirt he found in the attic. You were sat on his lap facing him while he used you like a Fleshlight. He may not look the most muscular but he was lifting you up and down by your hips with ease. "FuCK... You dirty slut," Billy groans while biting your neck. He felt you tighten up around his dick. You could feel him twitching inside you as he quickened his pace. "CuM you pretty SluT." Billy sternly groaned. Right after his command you came and shortly after Billy did a final thrust before cumming into you. He kisses your neck a few times before finally pulling out. He then got down on his knees and gently ate you out.

🦋Asa Emory-

(💥Bondage, Knife play💥)

Asa had you tied up in purple rope, suspended a bit in the air. Asa is amazing at rope art, on your chest He tied the perfect butterfly. He was walking around you, he was tossing a butterfly knife back and forth in has hand. He would lightly drag the blade on your hips, side and back but never hard enough to cut you. Every time he would walk back behind you he would stick his fingers in you and bounce his hand in and out and up and down. Asa would make you beg for at least 10 minutes before he would lower the ropes a bit and position himself at your entrance. He starts rather slow but then speeds up when he's close. He will talk you through the whole thing, while adding a bit of teasing here and there. He'll leave soft kisses on the back of your thighs and back. (If you let him he'll leave deep cuts.) He'll tightly grip on to the ropes when cumming. He's a man who whimpers.

🖤Chucky (human)

(💥 degrading💥)

It started out with you and Chucky in a hot tub throwing light insults and playfully flirting. Now Chucky has you thrown on his lap while he's thrusting in you. He had his hand over your mouth to try and muffle the sounds you made. "God damn y/n... Keep quiet now will ya? I don't want anyone hearing me rearrange your damn guts." Chucky groaned as he started to leave hickeys on your neck. Chucky was by far gentle, his thrusts were not the deepest but they were the quickest. Chucky then bit your neck and watched you wince in pain. "What's wrong Y/n can't handle me?" He laughed a bit as he sped up. The second you tightened around his member he slowed down. "Nope, not until I say so," he muttered as he kisses your neck. You try bucking your hips but to no avail, Chucky had full control. "Wow... Such a needy thing are you?... I guess I'll feed into your needyness." He said while speeding up his pace until you both cum.

🦴Otis Driftwood-

(💥Degrading, usage of the words slut and whore, Bondage, knife play, choking 💥)

Otis has your arms chained up with deep bite marks covering them. He was making out with you as he fucked you senseless to keep you quiet. "Keep up whore," he sternly said while choking you. Your body was covered in cum, bites, his name, and hickeys. Otis liked watching you become a hot mess. He loves watching you shiver and squirm under him. It gives him a sense of power, he likes stroking his ego. Your body was slightly sore, but you knew Otis will take care of it. "Ain't you a pretty slut?" Otis voice was raspy now, you can tell he was close. He sped up before he came again, he pulled out and helped you finish again aswell. "Want to go again?" He looks up at you and softly tilts his head.

💚Authors note- Hiii, requests are open! I'll link part 1 below, have a lovely day!

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wildroseanddeadlyscent · 2 years

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bless them slasher fucker writers cause yall are so talented and also helped me to realize I belong to an asylum

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frracturedjaw · 1 year

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Good day/night, author!

I love the details you put in your writing, those tiny details make me foldd

I wanted to request something cause I love your writing, and I wanted to see how you'd write this prompt <3

Slashers with a fem! s/o who sends them suggestive pictures of themselves (referring to the s/o). Could be sliding polaroids under their door/ leaving polaroids for them to see, sending them virtually, etc etc.

Thank you! Have a wonderful day/night, and Happy Holidays!

warnings(s): 🍋, description of s.x acts, reference to female anatomy, blood (only with asa)

a/n: thank god, finally an excuse to be thirsty,, also tysm for the very kind words!! it means a lot to hear from yall :) some of these go further than others, so just drop an ask if you want any of them expanded on.

🔞i check the notes. minors don’t read & don’t interact.

thomas hewitt

* it’s risky business trying to get him the photos without somebody else getting to them first, so you stick them right in the pocket of his apron.

* almost the whole day goes by without so much as a glance from him. he doesn’t check his pockets until the day’s work is finished. but when he does…

* he almost shouts. it catches him entirely off guard. not that he hasn’t thought of you that way, but… taking stuff out of the bedroom is new to him. he’s checking over his shoulders even though nobody really comes into the basement but him.

* he likes it though. he’s a possessive guy. hoyt is always giving him shit, saying he’ll give you what Tommy’s too frigid to provide. this makes his chest thunder.

* you can tell he’s checked the pocket when he next enters the room. his eyes are dark from how huge his pupils have gotten.

* “like them?” you ask allusively, a grin tugging at your features. if you listen close, you can hear the click of the door locking before he’s upon you.

* despite his size, he works smoothly. you’ve reassured him enough by now that he’s confident around you. especially when you’ve shown him vulnerability like that, he can certainly return the favor.

* his shirt and belt go on the floor, and your fingers slide across his scalp when he lays forward between your legs.

* it’s become sort of a ritual for the both of you. he undresses both of you, but you get to take off the mask.

* even in the dimness of the room, you can imagine his blush easily. his cheeks are radiant with heat.

* although he’s usually all about taking his sweet time, this go around, he takes you like a starving man.

* he can’t even be bothered to take your clothes off all the way. two thick fingers, quickly dipped into his mouth, slip past your panties and right into your pussy. his other hand presses you down at the waist, steadying your body against his.

* his hand is large and calloused and scarred, but it works so deftly on your body. in any other case he’d feel guilty for being so greedy, but he needs you too badly right now.

* one heavy hand on your breast, he sucks dark, tender marks into your inner thigh while the pads of his fingers skim teasingly against that one spot that makes your legs go rigid.

* he does that until you’re half sobbing, chest bouncing with each choked breath. he doesn’t tease you like this often, either — he prefers indulging you — but the way you sound crying his name makes him hard as steel.

* “tommy… Tommy, please…” it’s only him that makes you breathy and rushed like this, and he knows it. he relishes in it.

* but he doesn’t keep you waiting forever, don’t worry.

brahms heelshire

* bold of you to assume he doesn’t already have a collection of pictures of you in his attic hideout.

* he might have shown you a few before, just to tease you. there’s a few of you getting dressed/undressed, one or two of you asleep without a top on, and a particularly blurry one that appears to be you with your hand between your legs…

* but he’s absolutely not complaining that you’re contributing. he’s overjoyed, in fact. he takes a particular interest in perverted stuff like this

* he doesn’t spend a ton of time up in the attic since you got together with him, but when he pops up to get something, he notices the addition almost immediately (living in one room for over a decade will do that to you).

* it’s taken in the master bathroom, one of the only rooms he doesn’t have much surveillance on. the tiled walls make it nearly impossible to poke a hole in without taking chunks out that get noticed and repaired immediately.

* he can see a big claw foot tub and a nice wide sink, and one wall with a floor length mirror nearly the size of a door.

* most importantly, is you. naked as dawn, with one leg stretched up on the mirror, and one hand between your legs, revealing your perfect cunt.

* of course, he pulls his dick out immediately. he doesn’t even bother shutting the door to the attic room. just drops to his knees and starts stroking.

* brahms is breathing hard under the mask, barely blinking as he gazes at your glistening pussy and slides one hand up and down his cock, thrusting into his fist.

* he’s loud, too. by the time he’s finished, no matter where you are in the manor, you definitely know. you can’t help but admit, you’re starting to get the appeal in listening to someone else moan your name.

* you’d better get up to the bedroom, though, since he’s ready for a round two with the real thing now.

billy lenz

* similar deal as above, he’s already got some of his own. his selection is much more lewd, though. he’s a little more dedicated to seeing your private moments than Brahms.

* and he’s definitely whipped them out for you, before, too, so you know where he keeps them.

* you’d set the camera on a timer and gotten to work with your favorite toy. in the end, you couldn’t bring yourself to choose a favorite, so you picked a few.

* the first is from behind, and shows the perfect ‘pretty stretch’ he always talks so much about.

* the next is up closer, two of your fingers stringing a trail of lube away from your pussy; you’re confident he’ll like this one.

* the last is of your face, and probably your favorite. tears are hanging from your eyelashes and glittering in the flash, the toy pressed firmly into your mouth. drool dribbles from the corner of your lips and slides deliciously down your chest. you’ve written ‘piggy’ and a heart on the edge of the photo in pink pen.

* the pictures stand out, piled in a neat stack on top of the messy stash in his drawer.

* (there’s also a suspiciously stained pair of your panties in the drawer. you’d been looking for them for ages. you take them back and drop them in the laundry.)

* and just like brahms, you know the moment he finds them. although, he doesn’t bother to even try taking care of his erection by himself. he goes right to you.

* “i’msofuckin’LOVEYOU, sweet-t-t pigGY! sosweetsogoodfor billy, billy l-lovesyouSOmuch, good-d girl, soOOO fuckin’goodforbilly—” his mouth is going a mile a minute up until you kiss him. he can’t help but giggle into it, hands all over you, grabbing, squeezing, pinching. he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s grinding his dick against your hip.

* “—mh, please, pl-l-lease,” he breaks away from you, gripping your arms hard and blushing even harder.

* “use your words, billy.” you smirk, pressing against him. you can feel him throbbing.

* “nngh,” he whines, but does so anyways. “s-suckmeOFF! ple-ease, please…” he can hardly get the words out, he’s so excited. he throws his head back, giggling, only to smash his mouth against yours again.

* you have to pull his fly down and grip his dick hard to get him to pull away again. his speech devolves into mindless whining and giggling as you drop to your knees.

* he’s not awfully thick, but he is long. it takes a good minute of him thrusting into your throat and you jerking away from him, gagging, before you can get him all the way down.

* you know exactly which buttons to press — he doesn’t waste time making you guess.

* he likes it when you press your nose against his belly and swallow, feeling your throat constrict around him.

* he likes it when you maintain eye contact and flutter your eyelashes at him when he says something you like.

* he especially likes it when you drop your tits out and squeeze them. so much so, in fact, that he finishes down your throat without warning.

* it sends you coughing, but he holds you down until he’s finished, keening and chattering praise in your name.

* when you finally lean back, you’re a mess. you’re teary-eyed, chin and neck coated in slobber.

* he’s still twitching and pulsing even though he’s already gone soft.

* better clean up before he gets any more ideas…

billy loomis + stu macher

* they’ve both had wet dreams about this kind of thing. they’ve probably floated the idea to you once or twice and received coy-but-promising responses.

* they both have phones, but they’re both also suckers for physical media; see also their extensive vhs and disk collections.

* Billy finds them first, and immediately drags stu into the bedroom to look.

* stu’s giggling like a schoolgirl as if you didn’t take them yourself. he sobers up when billy points out that you’ve written their initials on your inner thighs in what seems to be sharpie.

* depending on if you’re home or not, they might just jerk off then and there. they’re impatient like that.

* if you are home, however, they slide up next to you on the couch with these shit-eating grins on their faces.

* “didn’t know you had a side gig doing mags.” billy teases.

* “now i can tell everyone i’m dating a pornstar.” stu snickers.

* “except tatum.” you remind him, which only makes him laugh more.

* “c’mon, sweet cheeks,” billy leans you over into stu’s lap, skimming his fingers under your shirt. “give us a private dance.”

asa emory

* the camera had been a gift from him. you can’t be sure if he bought it or stole it off a body, but you’re grateful nonetheless. (who knows what would happen if you weren’t)

* usually you only take photos of things around the hotel. his exhibits, interesting bugs you found crawling around, maybe a shot or two of the sky through a window. he always takes the pictures away. you’re confident he keeps them all somewhere. a small part of you hopes the somewhere is his home.

* at one point — after a particularly long night with your fingers inside yourself, wishing they were his — you decide to take photos of something else. the lighting is dismal and you don’t have anything terribly flattering to wear, but you make it work.

* you’re rather pleased with what you end up with. some five or so photos of you on your knees, eyes wide and doe-like, gazing up as if looking to a master.

* you decide to leave them out for him to find.

* when you next hear the door unbolt, your heart leaps into your chest. you hold statue-still as he locks it behind him, glances around the room, sees the photos. you see something in his expression change as he leafs through them. it’s impossible to read his expression with the mask on, but you’d like to imagine it’s admiration. maybe disgust. maybe want. maybe all of it.

* he sets the photos down where he found them and crosses the room towards you. he’s entirely unhurried. doubt writhes in your gut. your eyes dart to his belt, the knife hooked into it.

* you twitch when he grips your jaw and tilts your head back to look at the ceiling, but don’t flinch away.

* he leans close. you don’t know what he’s doing. he doesn’t ever get this close. you’re sure he can hear your blood thumping in your veins. heat and pressure rise in your skull.

* he breathes in deeply. his lips part. his teeth scrape lightly against the skin of your jugular — you didn’t think he would be able to, with the mask on — then press in. his jaw eases down on the soft flesh of your throat slowly, all the way until you feel his teeth grind against something solid. you think you might be suffocating. you think he might break your trachea.

* a strangled cry slips out of you. you tense even tighter, ready for him to do it.

* instead, he releases with a self-satisfied hum. it might be closer to a growl. you aren’t sure, being preoccupied with the blood rising in the little ring of indentations where his teeth split your skin.

* it stings when he sucks the blood from the wound, but the pain startles you less than his body appearing atop yours. he’s gripping your arms hard like you might try to run. instead, you find yourself clinging to him, legs hooking around his hips; which earns you a chuckle that sounds nearly genuine.

* he’s coaxing out weak sobs and tears for so long, you begin to wonder if he intends to do anything else. slowly, though, he’s bunching up your clothes and peeling away layers. he alternates between biting and lavishing attention on your skin, splitting and bruising the skin with his incisors before smoothing his cool hands across each plane and curve of your body to disperse the sharp pain.

* when he reaches for your panties, your fear spikes again. the sensation of his teeth skimming over the tender flesh of your inner thighs makes you tense up. the reaction doesn’t go unnoticed.

* he curls his arms around your thighs, not breaking eye contact. you inhale sharply when he captures your clit between his teeth. he hasn’t even bitten down, and yet your body’s already prickling in expectation.

* then his tongue slithers out. it takes every ounce of your self control not to lock your legs around his head. you can feel the hot, wet muscle pressing against your hole. your insides burn with lust as he pushes it inside you, tasting you. it drags inside you, writhing and contorting deliciously.

* each reaction earns you an approving hum. to you, it’s praise. to him, it’s positive reinforcement. habit building. another exercise to shape you.

* he wouldn’t admit it, but he craves you the same way. his love is grotesque and cruel, but something about him enjoys pleasuring you, too.

jesse cromeans

* cute, that you think he doesn’t already have his own series of homemade pornos featuring you and him.

* he’d never refuse submissions, though. he has a secret fondness for watching the security footage of his penthouse from when you’re alone in the bedroom, anyways.

* you’ll have left them on his pillow, the glove box in his car, maybe even at his work desk. you’re not worried about anyone else seeing them, since if they did, they’d have a day to live, maybe two, tops.

* he’ll tuck them into his wallet for later and go about his business, maybe send you a sly text, something along the lines of what you should be wearing when he gets home.

* you’re checking your hair and kicking your legs when his car pulls in. you’re up against the window, waving and looking down at him as he gets out. when he looks up at you, you receive only a signed ‘naughty’ in greeting.

* he takes his time at the front door, tucking his shoes into the closet and hanging his coat as if you’re not wearing his favorite pair of silvery-gray lingerie, kneeled right in front of him.

* “my knees are going to bruise at this rate, you know.” you admonish, and the look you receive could turn you to stone.

* “good.”

* “guess i’ve learned my lesson: never sending nudes to you again,” you say playfully. that’s all it takes for him to yank you off the ground and press you against the wall.

* you hook your legs around his hips on instinct and can immediately feel his hard cock through his slacks.

* it takes a moment for him to relocate his tie from his neck to your eyes, but it’s worth it when you hear the mask clatter to the floor.

* “is this a punishment, or a treat?” you wonder aloud, grinding yourself against his crotch as he slides off your panties. his teeth sink into your shoulder at the same moment his fingers find your clit. both, you decide.

bo sinclair

* he is definitely 100% a fan. he’s standing in your doorway grinning the moment he finds them.

* “these are something special, sweetpea.” he drawls, smirking at you. even though it was your idea in the first place, you can’t help but blush. there’s something about his complete and utter assuredness in himself right now that makes you feel especially small.

* “i can’t help but want to recreate a few of these.” of course he’s going to rail you then and there. what else could the photos be but an invitation?

* hardly even takes the time to get your clothes off. there’ll be plenty of time for that later. just tugs your pants down off your hips and spits between your legs, sliding his fingers through your folds only once or twice before pulling down his fly and pressing his cock against you.

* you must have a dumb look on your face — you hadn’t even realized your mouth is open — because he feels the need to pause and lave his thumb across your tongue. “hungry for somethin’?” you can muster only a graceless ‘uh-huh,’ the weeping head of his cock still pulsing against you.

* “good.” then there’s that stretch. every single time, you have a moment where it feels like he won’t fit. you can feel exactly how tight you are around him. every thick, winding vein along the length of him. you only come back to yourself upon feeling his body press flush against yours.

* he fucks like an animal. his breath is ragged and hot across your skin, occasionally broken to bite and suck at your breasts. your ass and thighs have already gone numb from his skin clapping against yours. you can only press your forehead against him and scream for him.

* oh, he’s keeping the photos, too. he’ll even ask for more. he’s sticking them up around the garage, his room, the rear view of his truck. teases you if you complain about it.

vincent sinclair

* nearly creams his pants. i mean it.

* it’s not like he hasn’t seen you naked before, but this is really something else. with pictures, he’s less embarrassed about staring. he doesn’t need to worry about accidentally making you uncomfortable.

* with vincent, you know he appreciates every detail. every curve and plane of your body, the way you’ve got one of his sweaters pulled up just far enough to reveal your slit. he’s nearly drooling.

* “hey,” you’re stepping languidly down the basement stairs — still in his sweater — catching him right as he finds them. he yanks down his shirt over his crotch as if it would hide anything

* you can’t help but grin at him and nudge his hands away so you can straddle his lap, stretching your arms past his shoulders and pushing your chest up to his face.

* he’s kind of frozen in shock, but it’s not hard to tell he’s losing his mind for you, either.

* eventually his eyes raise to meet yours and he tips back the mask to kiss you.

* “i like it when you wear that.”

og myers

* he’s perfectly aware of what you’re trying to do. he knows you want to get him worked up so he’ll fuck you to pieces. and being the person he is, he does the exact opposite.

* sticks the photos in the breast pocket of his coveralls and goes on his merry way.

* days pass. you wonder if he’s even found the photos you left.

* (in the meantime, you’re resisting the urge to touch yourself by just thiiis much. it’s torturous. you’re not sure you want to wait for him to make the first move, anymore.)

* you test the waters by finding reasons to get into his personal space. first it’s just your hand against his. then, you’re up against his shoulder. eventually, you’re perched up on his lap and he’s barely acknowledged that you’re even here.

* “michael,” you hum, face hidden against his neck. he only grunts in response.

* you can’t help but suspect he’s doing this on purpose.

* “i missed you today.” grunt.

* “i’ve been thinking about you.” hmm.

* “michael, i want you.” mhm.

* finally, you flatten your hands against his cheeks and force him to meet your eyes.

* “mikey,” you whine. you don’t mind begging, but this is just excessive. “please, fuck me.”

* silence. you’re about to give up and stomp out of the room to go find your hitachi wand or something when his hand shoots up to your throat.

* in one quick motion, he forces you underneath him on the bed.

* it’s his turn to tease, now.

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hd-junglebook · 3 months

Text

Neutral

Part 2

word count - 3,446

The five of you stood at the side of the cliff, your hearts pounding with anticipation as Finn gripped the rope tightly in his hand, ready to swing across the gap. Finn prepared to make his leap, Jasper piped up, his voice filled with determination. "Wait, guys. Let me do it. I've got this."

There was a moment of stunned silence as his words sunk in. Clarke glanced at him, concern etched across her features. "Jasper, are you sure? It's a long way across." But Jasper was already stepping forward, a defiant gleam in his eyes. "Clarke. Trust me, I can do this."

The rest of you exchanged uncertain glances, but Finn nodded in agreement. "Let him try. We don't have much time."

With a collective cheer, you urged Jasper on as he gripped the rope and launched himself into the air. For a moment, he sailed across the gap with grace, his movements fluid and confident. As Jasper neared the other side, a spear soared through the air straight into his chest, sending him careening off course.

With a sickening thud, he collided with the rock behind him, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

"Jasper!" Clarke cried out in horror, rushing forward to help him. The rest of you watched in shock, the reality of the situation sinking in. You were not alone in these woods.

Finn took charge, his voice urgent as he scanned the surrounding area. "We need to move. Now. Whatever hit Jasper could still be out there."

You stood in stunned silence by yourself, gears turning in your head at the lack of choices you seemed to have in this moment. Clarkes voice waking you back up from your daze. You crouch down out of sight of whatever was out there.

The woods seemed darker and more foreboding now, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs sending shivers down your spine. You looked back at Jaspers figure once more pinned to the rock, catching sight of Monty out in the open.

"Well, this is just fantastic. I always wanted to be stuck in a survival situation with a bunch of amateurs." You whisper to yourself, scanning the woods around you before lunging towards Monty, dragging him by his ear back to the group.

"We are so screwed," Octavia insisted, her eyes darting from tree to tree as if searching for any sign of their missing friend.

Out of nowhere, Jasper's chilling scream pierced through the stillness of the forest, sending a shiver down your spine and causing your blood to run cold. Panic surged through you, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

"Clarke, Jasper. He's alive," you gasped out, your voice trembling with a mix of relief and dread.

But Clarke was already moving, her determination unwavering as she raced ahead, heedless of Finn's warning. "Clarke, wait. Wait! Wait," Finn called out desperately, but she didn't stop.

Monty's voice trembled with fear as he scanned the surrounding trees, removing himself from you side to stand at the cliffs edge once more. "No. Where is he?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with horror.

"They took him," Clarke replied, her tone heavy with sorrow and rage. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, feeling paralyzed as you crouched in the depths of the forest, knowing that Jasper was now in the hands of whatever lurked in the woods.

---

The four of you sprinted through the dense undergrowth, the branches seemed to claw at your skin, leaving scratches in their wake. You reached out, grabbing Octavia's arm with clammy hands, pulling her along with you as you dodged and weaved through the obstacles in your path.

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed Monty and Clarke lagging behind, their breath coming in ragged gasps. "Come on, guys! We're almost there!" you shouted back, urging them to pick up the pace. The forest around you seemed to darken, the sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead seems to diminish with each passing step.

light struggled to penetrate the thick trees behind you, casting long shadows that stretch across the forest floor like fingers reaching out to pull you deeper into the gloom with every step you took towards the safety of the camp.

The distant flicker of the campfire beckoned through the thick brush, you could almost feel the warmth of the flames against your skin, driving you forward despite the burning ache in your legs. Each step was a struggle, your muscles screaming in protest from the relentless exertion of running from Mount Weather.

You pushed Octavia forward through the trees, finally reaching the group, you were met with a scene that sent a chill down your spine. Murphy and Wells were engaged in a vicious knife fight, their faces contorted with anger and desperation.

Clarke stepped in front of you, her voice sharp with urgency. "Wells! Let him go!" she yelled, pushing herself through the crowd to intervene.

“Alright enough you two!” Bellamy growled as he pushed Murphy away from Wells. Meeting Clarkes angry glare before Octavia caught his attention.

He moved with determined strides, parting the sea of bodies like a ship cutting through choppy waters., his expression darkening with concern and anger. "Octavia, are you all right?" he demanded, his piercing gaze locked onto you, unwavering and intense. "You let her get hurt out there? Where's the food you were so spent on getting?”

You bristled at his accusatory tone, your sarcasm dripping like venom. "Oh, sorry, Bellamy, I was too busy dodging spears and saving Octavia to remember to pack you a picnic basket," you shot back, your frustration boiling over. "But you seem to have everything under control, as usual."

Bellamy's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening even further as he took a step closer to you. "Don't play games with me, y/n," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Finn stumbled forward, gasping for breath. "We... we didn't make it to Mount Weather," he managed to get out between labored breaths.

Clarke stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "We were attacked," she announced, her gaze sweeping over the assembled group of delinquents. "They were waiting for us, lying in ambush."Her words hung heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of the dangers that lurked in the woods beyond their camp. The group exchanged worried glances.

Clarke's gaze softened as she addressed her friends, her voice sincere. "Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong," she continued, her eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "There are people here, survivors. The good news is, that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us."

"Yeah, the bad news is the Grounders will," Finn admitted, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their situation.

Wells limped towards the group, grimacing in pain as his voice broke through the tension, his concern evident as he inquired about Jasper's whereabouts. "Where's the kid with the goggles?" he asked, his gaze darting around the group anxiously.

Clarke stepped forward, her expression grim as she delivered the devastating news. "Jasper was hit. They took him," she revealed anxiously. "Where is your wristband?" she demanded, turning her attention back to Wells, her eyes searching his face for answers.

Wells hesitated for a moment before responding, his voice heavy with regret. "Ask him," he replied, gesturing towards Murphy with a solemn expression.

Clarke's frustration was obvious as she processed the information. "How many?" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper as she awaited Murphy's response.

Murphy's reply was chilling in its simplicity. "Twenty-four and counting," he admitted, his tone sinister as he confirmed the number.

Clarke's frustration boiled over, her words laced with anger. "You idiots," she spat, her voice filled with bitter disappointment. "Life support on the Ark is failing. That's why they brought us down here," she scolded, her words a reminder of the harsh reality they faced.

"Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good," Bellamy shouted, rallying the crowd with his impassioned words. "We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner," he declared, his tone defiant as he challenged Clarke's authority as he faced her.

"I say you're not criminals! You're fighters, survivors! The Grounders should worry about us!" His words resonated with the crowd, drawing them back to his side as they echoed their agreement.

You shook your head in disappointment at the shortsightedness of it all, the frustration evident in your expression as you watched the crowd rally behind Bellamy's reckless rhetoric.

Monty pulled you and Clarke towards him, his faced scrunched in discomfort. "What do we do now?" he asked, his eyes darting between Clarke and Bellamy as he sought your guidance.

Clarke's response was firm and resolute, her gaze unwavering as she addressed him. "Now we go after Jasper," she declared.

---

You and Clarke worked quickly to patch up Wells, the urgency of the situation lending speed to your movements as you devised a plan to rescue Jasper. Clarke and Finn's heated exchange filled the air behind you, their voices clashing in disagreement.

Finn remained steadfast in his belief that venturing back into the woods would only lead to disaster. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither should any of you. That spear was thrown with pinpoint accuracy from 300 feet," he argued back.

Clarke's frustration bubbled to the surface as she refused to entertain the idea of leaving Jasper behind. "So what, we let Jasper die? That's not gonna happen, Spacewalker." she retorted, every word seasoned with accusation.

Finn stood his ground, his expression desperate as he countered Clarke's resolve. "It's not an adventure, Clarke, it's a suicide mission," he countered.

"Clarke, we could use Bellamy," you suggested, your voice tinged with reluctance. "He has a weapon. As annoying as he is, we need all the help we can get."

Walking over to Octavia, you handed her a bottle of water, offering her a small smile of reassurance before looking over her leg once more. Clarke approached Bellamy then, her voice commanding as she addressed him. "I hear you have a gun.” Bellamy reply came without hesitation, lifting his shirt slightly to reveal the weapon strapped to his waist.

As he did, you couldn't help but notice the defined contours of his abdomen, the muscles taut and well-defined. Caught momentarily in the act of admiring, you quickly averted your gaze, but not before Bellamy's eyes flicked up, catching you in the act.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he noticed your fleeting glance. "Like what you see?" he quipped, his tone teasing.

You rolled your eyes, unable to resist a sarcastic retort. "Please, Bellamy, don't flatter yourself. I was just wondering if that thing is even loaded," you shot back, your tone laced with playful sarcasm.

Clarke nodded in agreement. “That’s good. Follow me," she instructed, her words leaving no room for argument.

You fell into step beside her, Bellamy shot you both a questioning look, his brow furrowed in confusion. "And why would I do that?" he asked, his voice edged with skepticism. The two you halting in your walking.

You couldn't resist the urge to challenge him back, his self-righteous attitude grating your nerves for the second time today, "Oh, I don't know, Bellamy. Maybe because you're not as brave as you like to pretend," you retorted, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

Bellamy's expression hardened, and he stepped closer to you, mirroring your stance, his gaze intense. For a moment, you almost step back at his closeness, but you refused to back down. "Careful, sweetheart. You don't want to find out just how wrong you are," he warned.

You squared your shoulders, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. "Try me," you mocked, your voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You walked away with Clarke, leaving Bellamy behind. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze boring into your back as you moved further away. A silent challenge lingering in the air.

---

Your focus, alongside Clarke's, remained on locating Jasper, the urgency tangible in every stride as the group trudged through the dense undergrowth. Bellamy's voice, sharp and cutting, sliced through the otherwise oppressive silence.

"Hey, hold up. What's the rush? You don't survive a spear through the heart." His words halted the group in their tracks, prompting a momentary pause in the relentless pursuit. Wells attempted to interject, his voice a soft plea for reason, "We have to find him, Bellamy,” but Murphy's abrupt intrusion blocked his path.

"We heard him scream when they moved him. We have to find him now." You voiced, restraining yourself from punching Bellamy in the face.

The exchange between you and Clarke, a tense back-and-forth of explanations and rebuttals, seemed destined to continue until Bellamy interrupted, his tone brusque and impatient. "As soon as you take those wristbands off, we can go."

“Over my dead body, Blake,” you huffed, finding his insistence infuriating. Bellamy was quick to put on a self-satisfied expression at your remark. Suddenly, Finn materialized out of the shadows, his unexpected presence bringing an abrupt halt to the argument.

"Clarke's right. We need to keep moving. We're not leaving anyone behind."

Clarke spared you one last glance, mouthing a simple ‘sorry’ before walking away with Finn taking the lead of the group. Once they dispersed, you found yourself beside Wells, Bellamy, and Murphy not far behind. Seeking solace in conversation, you struck up a dialogue with him, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy. Every step felt heavy, the worry for Jasper gnawing at your insides.

The sound of a low groan reverberated through the trees, causing both you and Clarke to snap into action. Without a second thought, you both bolted towards the source of the noise. pushing through tangled foliage and dodging gnarled roots. You finally stumbled upon Jasper, his figure slumped against a rock.

Your heart twisted at the sight of him, “Jasper!” you screamed, looking over his battered and bloodied form. Jasper's wounds were covered, a makeshift bandage hastily applied by unknown hands. Jasper groaned aloud once more, relief flooded through you at the realization that he was alive.

Before you could reach him, the ground beneath your feet gave way, the earth crumbling beneath you in a sudden collapse. Clarke's scream pierced the air as she watched you disappear into the darkness below.

She stumbled backward, her eyes wide with fear, before collapsing to the ground herself. The rest of the group rushed to her side, their shouts of concern blending with the chaos of the moment.

In the midst of the commotion, Bellamy's strong grip closed around your arm, your heart leaped into your throat, you locked eyes with Bellamy just as you were about to plummet into the unknown depths below.

For a fleeting moment, there was something indecipherable in his expression, a hint of uncertainty perhaps, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Before you could dwell on it further, you realized his attention was drawn to the wristband on your arm, and Bellamy's gaze flickered down to it for just a moment. Anger flared within you at the implication, and you snapped, "Let go, Bellamy!"

He hesitated, his grip on your arm tightening as if contemplating his next move. Panic overwhelmed you as you teetered on the edge of the pit, "I know you want to let go, Bellamy. Just do it already!" you snapped.

Bellamy's expression remained inscrutable, his gaze flickering briefly to your wristband before meeting yours again. Then, as if coming to a decision, he released you, allowing you to slip further into the spiked pit below.

Just as you were about to plummet into the abyss, Murphy's strong hand closed around your arm. The rest of the group rushed to your aid, their shouts of concern mingling with the chaos of the moment as they worked together to pull you back to safety.

With a collective effort, they hoisted you up from the brink, your heart pounding in your chest as you collapsed onto solid ground once more. Relief washed over you in a dizzying wave, but as you shot a glare at Bellamy, his gaze still lingering on you with an intensity you couldn't quite decipher.

---

Murphy and Finn rushed forward to help Jasper, you stayed back, still trying to steady your breathing after the near fall. The others scrambled to their feet, scanning the forest for any signs of danger. your eyes landed on Bellamy's gun lying on the ground nearby.

Before you could think twice, a low growl echoed through the trees, sending shivers down your spine. Your gaze shot back to the source of the sound just in time to see a sleek panther emerge from the brush, its predatory eyes fixed on Bellamy.

“Bellamy!” Clarke shouted. “Get the gun now!”

Bellamy reached in his waistband, feeling around for his gun coming up short. A look of confusion passed over his face as the panther crept closer to him. For a split second, you hesitated, your anger and resentment towards Bellamy flashing through your mind. ‘he doesn’t deserve to live.’ You thought. But against your better judgment, you lunged forward, grabbing the gun and aiming at the panther.

You fired off a shot, the sound echoing through the forest as the bullet found its mark. The panther let out a fierce roar before getting ready to strike again. You straightened your aim, stepping closer before firing another round. The panther collapsing to the ground with a loud, its threat neutralized.

Breathless and shaken, Bellamy turned to face you with an eyebrow raised. "Guess I owe you one," he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

---

“They're back!”

The gates of the camp swung open, allowing everyone to stream back through the camp, you found yourself lingering behind, lost in the tumult of your own thoughts. Memories of your mother, her accusing words, and the weight of her disappointment flooded your mind.

You recalled the countless times she had blamed you for her circumstances, her voice echoing in your head like a haunting refrain. The sharp sting of her words, the relentless yelling, and the coldness in her eyes all played vividly in your memory.

"You coming?" Bellamy's voice broke through your reverie, pulling you back to the present.

You glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away. "Yeah, I'll catch up," you replied tersely, your tone betraying the turmoil within. Your legs guided you without a second though, taking your place on a log settled by the fire, surrounded by the other delinquents. You let the warmth of the flames ease the tension in your shoulders.

Harper and Miller's banter provided a welcome distraction, their jokes and laughter cutting through the heavy atmosphere that hung over the camp. You found yourself drawn into their playful exchange, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you listened to their witty repartee.

"So, did you hear about the guy who stole a calendar? He got twelve months!" Harper said, laughing to herself while Miller poked the fire next to you.

"Oh man, that's almost as bad as your last joke!" Miller responded, shaking his head at her bad attempts at jokes.

You chuckled along with them, appreciating the light-hearted moment amidst the chaos of your situation. You caught yourself watching Bellamy, your eyes hazily looking over at the line forming in front of him.

"Next!" Bellamy shouted, while Murphy continued to break off the wristbands of each delinquent in line. You watched as he worked efficiently, his movements brisk and purposeful as he conducted his trade.

"Food for wristbands. One at a time, let's keep it moving."

Despite your lingering resentment towards him, you couldn't help but admire his resourcefulness and determination to provide for the group.

But when Bellamy's gaze briefly met yours, you couldn't bring yourself to accept his offer of food, instead choosing to remain seated by the fire, surrounded by the company of your fellow delinquents.

Every now and then, a knowing glint danced in your eyes, a subtle acknowledgment of the secret you held close. While Bellamy spoke with confidence, there was a hint of unease in his demeanor, a flicker of uncertainty that betrayed his facade of bravado.

It was clear to you that he didn't realize you were privy to his secret, the truth behind his presence on the dropship, the lengths he went to in order to secure his spot among the delinquents.

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yazthebookish · 9 months

Text

I also want to collect titles to give a shout out on bookstagram since I often get asked about fanfic recommendations.

So don't be shy and let us know 🥰 These are the most popular ships but if you also have fics for different characters that's fine too!

#gwynriel #elucien #feysand #nessian #emorie #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction

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shadowsxgwynriel · 1 year

Text

At Her Mercy

Day 7: Free Day @sjmromanceweek

Emerie and Mor decide to take their friendship to the next level.

Ship: Emerie and Mor 💋

Word Count: 4,444

Warning: Smut

Read on AO3

“Do you wanna fool around?”

Emerie nearly choked on the vodka shot she just swallowed. She turned to look at Mor. “What?”

Mor gave her a drunken smile. “I said do you wanna fool around?“

Emerie laughed and shook her head. “You’re so fucking drunk.”

The two of them were at one of the last summer parties before the new semester. It was officially their senior year, so almost everyone was at the party. Well, expect for her two roommates. Gwyn didn’t do social gatherings and never attended parties, and Nesta just didn’t like people in general. And their friend Elain, Nesta’s sister, was probably somewhere with her boyfriend, Lucien.

Luckily, Mor loved to attend parties just like Emerie. In fact, that was how they became friends during their freshman year.

“I’m not drunk!” Mor insisted. She might have been more believable if her neck had better balance.

“Whatever you say,” Emerie joked. “And what happened to that guy you were seeing?”

Mor made a face. “The sex was mediocre.”

“I thought you really liked him?”

She shook her head. “I liked his dog. He was just okay.”

Emerie had to laugh at that.

“So?”

“So what?” Emerie asked.

Mor sighed. “Do you want to go back to my place and fool around?”

Her pulse started racing. Mor was a very beautiful woman, practically a living goddess. But she was also a good friend. One that Emerie didn’t want to lose.

“Are you messing with me?” Emerie asked with an awkward laugh.

Mor shook her head. “Nooo. I’m very serious right now . . . and very horny.”

Emerie blinked, not sure how to respond to that.

“I love this song!” Mor suddenly cheered. She jumped up and ran to go dance.

She couldn’t help but watch Mor’s sensual dance moves. Emerie felt her cheeks heat at the way Mor rolled her hips to the beat. She grabbed a beer from a nearby cooler, and took a long drink.

“Come dance with me!” Mor shouted, beckoning her forward.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~

Emerie propped Mor against the wall. “Where are your keys?” she asked her. Mor really needed to clean out her purse, because it was impossible to find anything besides old receipts and about a hundred lipsticks.

“Pretty sure I put them in my purse.”

Great. That was very helpful.

Finally, after rummaging around for more than five minutes, she found the apartment key. Emerie unlocked the door and ushered her inside, which wasn’t easy given that Mor was very drunk, uncoordinated, and wearing heels. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

They walked to the bedroom and Mor collapsed onto the bed. She smiled at her. “Come sit down,” she said, patting the spot beside her.

Emerie joined her on the bed. Mor sat up and undid her ponytail, the blonde locks cascading over her shoulders. She really was the most beautiful woman Emerie had ever seen.

“I wish that I could push pause sometimes,” Mor said suddenly.

Emerie looked at her.

Mor sighed. “Controlling parents can be a bitch, you know?”

She didn’t, not really. Sure, her dad was a piece of shit, but she hadn’t seen him in over ten years. Her mom, however, was the best. They had a close bond, and Emerie was thankful to have her.

Still, Emerie had seen firsthand how Nesta and Elain’s mother could be, so she had an idea of Mor’s plight.

“Why don’t you just tell them to fuck off?” Emerie asked. “It’s your life.”

Mor snorted. “Yes, I’m sure my father would just love that.” She fell silent. Emerie thought maybe she had fallen asleep, until she spoke again. “He wants me to marry the son of one of his investors.”

“Why?”

“So that way they can’t cut ties with him. He thinks if they’re my in-laws then his business will be safe. Even better if I pop out a few grandchildren.”

Emerie didn’t know what to say.

“Damn,�� Mor whined. “I ruined the mood!”

Suddenly, she smooshed Emerie’s cheeks in her hands. Emerie knew she probably looked ridiculous with her face squished and lips puckering out like a fish. “What are you doing?” she asked in a mumble.

“Seducing you,” Mor said. Then she kissed her.

Well, kiss was putting it kindly. It was more like she pressed her lips to hers for five seconds, then collapsed back onto the bed.

Emerie blinked, looking down at Mor. She was fast asleep, snoring softly.

In a bit of a daze, she removed Mor’s heels and tucked her in. Mor mumbled something, but didn’t wake up as she tiptoed from the room.

She locked the front door behind her. She’d give Mor her keys in the morning.

Emerie paused, remembering the brief feel of Mor’s luscious lips on hers. She blushed. Hopefully, Mor didn’t remember that awkward kiss.

Or maybe she could just ask Gwyn to drop them off . . .

The rest of the story is available here 🥰

#emerie #mor acotar #emerie of illyria #emorie #emorie smut #emorie fanfiction #sjmromanceweek2023 #emerie x mor #emerie acotar

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deafsignifcantother · 2 months

Text

is that enough? (nsfw)

♥ summary: asa comes home from the most irritating kill he's had so far, and is less affectionate to his wife as a result. she is not impressed by this behavior at all, and tries to find a way to [stubbornly] cheer the both of them up [very stubbornly].

♥ relationship: asa emory x wife deaf reader

♥ word count: 4.3k

♥ warnings: reader is a brat, lots of murder talk, sex scene ends with a time jump and doesn't finish tbh bc i just wanted to form a story around the paragraph he says LOL.

✦

When I said I would l die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.

✦

You continue to shift around in your bed, the room so dark except for one beam of moonlight. For the last hour, you've gone from staring at the ceiling to lying on your stomach against a pillow.

Asa was not back by now, which raised no such concern; you were just annoyed. He knew precisely what was expected and what time you wanted him home (giving a curfew to a killer? only you).

And alas, as you lay on your side and stare out of the window, you notice the reflection of your bedroom door opening. Asa's head peeks in. His eyes are dull; it's the only detail you can point out in the dark.

You instantly turn and hold your hand out for him to touch. He doesn't respond to you or acknowledge you at all, only stares. His eyes hold no compassion; he stares right through you. It takes a few seconds before he even moves. Your eyebrows furrow while you watch him shut the door before he climbs into bed beside you.

You wrap your arms around him and kiss his shoulder. Is he trying to unease you on purpose? Possibly, or else it's something that happened while he was out.

He's entirely still except for the slow breaths he takes. Noticeable only by the whites of his eyes, he's looking at the ceiling. If he continues acting like this, you'll run up, turn on the lights, and shove your hands in his face.

With the instincts of a devoted husband, he adds motion to the moment of stillness. He lifts one hand. The dark almost silences him. "What?"

You let out a small laugh through your nose. You curl up into him, placing a hand on his chest in case he wants to communicate more--explain himself.

Your throat rumbles as you hum, trying to make out Asa's facial structure, wondering if your voice can get him to smile. But he's unresponsive for more and more seconds until, finally, he moves again; he takes your wrist and uses your hand to sign the word tired on his bicep.

Tension is subtle; it worsens when he turns his back towards you. You gasp and immediately climb over him like the clingy wife you are. You push him onto his back and straddle him.

Your head rings with apologies that you know will come bursting through. If he pushes you off, you won't even argue. In this position, you realize the moon's light hits you, and he can see what you sign to him: "Stop lying to me."

His eyebrows furrow slightly in surprise, and he stubbornly remains still. You have grown quite bold with him. He looks up at you as you glare down at him with your head tilted slightly. The look on your face makes him want to smile, but he needs some entertainment; what can irritate you for the next few minutes?

Both of your hands rest on his chest, and you feel the rough texture of his shirt, one you swore you ironed this morning.

Stubbornly, you remain quiet.

He finally decides to say something, his signs abrupt and aggressive. "I killed someone tonight."

Did you get any blood on the bed when you laid down?

You scowl. "I thought you killed someone every night. Don't take it out on me."

He is visibly unimpressed by your reaction to his confession. You cross your arms, body shuttering, when you realize he had rested his hands on either side of your thighs with only the tips of his fingers touching you. As soon as your body reacted with goosebumps, he lifted his hands again to respond.

"Are you not even a little bit shocked? Are you concerned?"

"Obviously, I'm concerned; this seems to be affecting you." When you sign, your entire body jolts with each sharp movement. "But again, don't take it out on me."

Asa continues to gaze back at you, his expression still not budging an inch. He holds a blinkless stare before responding. Though his signs are not as harsh, his face shows slight annoyance. "You're not concerned about the person I killed. You're more concerned about how it affects me."

You soften a lot, submissively. Yes. You look out the window in deep thought, signing, not focusing on whatever your hands decide to convey. Asa is insanely intrigued by your demeanor. He's remained in the same position throughout your fidgeting, with his eyes following your every movement.

He continues, "This time is different. The way that woman acted was complete defiance," he pauses, "She annoyed me."

"A woman?" You cross your arms, going on the defense. Even though Asa just mentioned killing the girl, you are clearly unimpressed just by the fact that he was talking about her at all.

Though your sudden defensiveness didn't bother him, it was enough to at least raise his eyebrow slightly and pique his curiosity. Your jealousy is amusing and endearing. He knows you understand your role as a wife. You had no reason to be jealous, as he had wholly devoted himself to you, so your jealousy couldn't possibly stem from a genuine concern. Your attitude was enough to make him try and sit up a little more. "Yes. A woman."

You remain quiet, not knowing how to respond. You are grateful to have finally cracked Asa's stiffness. He's charming and always flusters you with his body language.

His hands hesitantly touch your sides, taking his time, one by one, each pad of his fingers making contact with the skin of your thigh. Your spine straightens. He caresses your legs and trails his hands across your skin. Your breath hitches, feeling how cold his hands are. "Was it relieving when you killed that woman?"

At first, Asa doesn't answer your question. Instead, he caresses you. He's relenting and giving you the mood you want from him. You relax more and more under his touch.

He removes one hand, "Relieving?"

He removes the other to form a comprehensible sentence. "Of course, I felt some form of relief. That's the whole point of what I do."

"'That's the whole point of what I do.'" You mock him before going earnest again. "You don't usually talk about it like that, Asa."

How long have you been fighting the urge to act with this much conviction and attitude? Perhaps this resulted from your jealousy; your emotions were most definitely amusing, though. You are a real handful, and you're starting to make it more evident than before.

"I'm just being honest," he replies.

One of his hands returns to your leg, his thumb running against your skin in an attempt to soothe you. "Why do you ask?"

A car driving by lights up the room. You can see his face and how soft his beautiful brown eyes have gotten. His eyes don't match his signing at all.

You smile. "I just like hearing about it. I'm happy you killed her, even if you don't want me to say so."

He lets out a small chuckle as you lean forward and press a small kiss to his temple. You have grown quite bold in your jealousy. He doesn't mind this sudden side of you; it certainly excited him. "You like it when I talk about my actions?"

"It's thrilling," you bluntly admit. "You torture people, but you're so loving to me. What an amazing feeling."

The look on his face puts butterflies in your stomach. With soft nudges, he sits up in bed, letting you move to sit across from him. The moonlight is ideally on his face; he squints his eyes.

You can't help but put your forehead before you kiss him.

Knowing his violent tendencies and brutal actions were enough to excite his wife was the best feeling in the world. You think about his vows and how he had sworn to protect you; he was so powerful, and it made your heart pound and gave your stomach butterflies when he declared that to you.

"Why does torture and death thrill you so much?" His eyes glow with amusement.

"Have we not had this conversation before?" you sign before placing your hands on the bed, kissing his cheek, and sitting on your knees beside him. "I adore you and everything you are."

"I see. My violent thoughts and murderous tendencies are appealing..." He leans up and kisses the side of your face. His hand trails towards your neck. A giggle leaves you, and you lean away slightly, signing the word desire, the movement of your hands slow and flirtatious. He touches the skin of your neck, tracing each ridge of your trachea. You lift your chin and let his fingers examine you.

When he touches your pulse, he smiles and pulls away.

You touch your fingers to your pulse to see if your heart is genuinely going that fast.

With more restraint, he places both hands on your head and pulls you into a kiss. He goes backward, his back landing against the bed while your chest lays flat on his. Your hands instantly go on either side of him to prop yourself up; with his strong grip on your hair, you cannot pull away. His hip bones poke the inside of your thighs; no matter how much you shift, you can't escape the feeling.

One of your hands instinctively flies to his neck, where you press the back of your hand to his throat, feeling the deep grumble of his grunts. He snatches the hand and places it back on the bed. One of his hands goes under your shirt, dragging his fingertips across your skin, just missing the sensitive parts of you. Your skin lights up his heart and tightens his chest. It has always been clear that his love and lust for you would always be unconditional; he can't help but wonder how long he would be able to maintain his composure, knowing you longed for violence the same way he did.

His hands went past your ribcage and towards your hips; a line of goosebumps crossed your skin, and your back arched a bit from the feeling, almost ticklish.

His lips form a smile before trailing down the sides of your neck. He kisses, traveling across your skin to your collarbones, and stops there for only a few seconds. His breath is hot on your skin, and you can almost feel his lustful desires in the way his hands roam your body. Your mouth releases a small squeal, and you hold onto the back of his head, tilting your head away from him to give him more access. You were giving him more access to your neck so easily.

Though he did give in eventually, he lightly kissed and nicked your neck, making you shiver slightly. When he finally gripped onto your hips, you wrapped your legs around his waist, giving no sign of resistance to him. The way your body feels against his is irresistible, and it takes every ounce of his will strength not to suddenly start gripping your thighs and hold you firmly down.

You didn't even know what you were begging for, but your legs tightened around him.

His breath is hot against your skin, and he groans, sending vibrations against you. With one hand propping himself up, he uses his other one to grab your fingers and place small kisses onto them. He could feel his body responding to the mere sound of your tiny squeals. His hands slip under your body and caress your thighs. The word soon is noticeable against you. Kisses and licks trail down your neck, your hands resting on his shoulders, sliding up to the back of his neck lovingly, a sensual touch, a shiver running down his skin. The way you touch him adds to your cute charm; he kisses you, hands wrap around your body, and touches are rougher and more possessive than before.

You grab his hand and put it between your legs; you bite onto his bottom lip, both confident and uneasy. He grunts, lips stinging from your teeth. You are making this a very tempting experience.

You grasp at his shirt and try to pill it up, signaling to him that you want him to take it off. His hand is teasingly stiff between your legs. He has it right where you put it, but he offers no further indulging.

Your voice cracks pathetically, "Baby."

He enjoys every second of this. He starts being gentle, resting his hand on your underwear and palming you in slight movements.

Beyond his composure, his breathing is heavy.

You pant desperately at the contact from his fingers; the sound is loud and primal, and your back arches.

Your hands move sporadically. "Tell me about how you kill them."

He doesn't remove the hand from your underwear when he responds. "I'm not telling you that, sweet girl."

"Please."

A million words are running through your mind. You must fight every itch to close your eyes; you don't want to miss anything Asa might say. His mind is focused on how plush your pussy lips feel underneath your underwear. He starts rubbing his knuckles against you, the sharp joints sending particular sparks.

"Eventually." One of his knuckles bluntly runs over your clit, and you jump from the contact.

"Please." When you sign, your mouth moans, practically shaking his body. Your toes curl as you try your best to maintain your composure, but your thighs start to spread wider. The way your hands start working at his belt makes him smile broadly. He watches you move with pure amusement.

You open his belt and take it out with a single pull, fingers shaky while you quickly attempt to undo his pants.

Asa is taken aback by your sudden movements, his smile only growing sadistically. He's impressed and so in love with you. He helps you unzip his pants, taking it all out in one motion. The way your hands shake is a sight that gets him even more riled up. You move and scoot up on the bed, angling yourself so your upper back can comfortably lean on the headboard.

Just you being this entranced by him makes him want you even more. His touch is getting more aggressive, passionate, and possessive, just as you craved it. The sound of you panting drives him crazy, the shuffling of you taking off your underwear for him.

"Come on, Asa," you desperately motion him close. "Show me that you love me."

He larks onto you. Your toes work at the band of his pants. The way you stare at him while he pushes his fingers into you is an incredible sight. He can't hold back when, in powerful eye contact, you stare at him while the most salacious sound leaves your hips. His body shakes with excitement, and his face looks lusty. Your mouth goes agape, and in embarrassment, you cover your mouth with your hand. He's being considerate by even continuing to finger you and not take you right this very second.

You reach down in a desperate attempt to pull his pants down. Your fingers are weak, and you always get so consumed by pleasure that you can't even think straight. Your husband has learned the best ways to touch you. It drives you crazy.

He removes his hand and signs, lowering his head to inch closer to you. "Is this how you plan on showing your submission and obedience to me? By squirming, growling, and whining like a dog?"

You stare at him with such lust and pleading in your eyes. Time slows as he takes in your expression, your submissiveness.

He jumps to the present when your legs wrap around his waist. You pull him down so fast that he has to press his hand on the headboard to hold himself up.

"Tell me," you come across as commanding now. "Tell me how you kill them."

You caught him entirely off guard. The suddenness of it all makes it even more alluring to him. How you look deep into his eyes pushes him to desire to fulfill your every wish.

"...I'm not telling you." He signs back, his face stern.

"Why?" You growl and tighten your legs around him. Your bodies rub against each other in a stimulating friction. You put an attempt to stop your trembling like you're not on the verge of begging him to fuck you.

"Because I'm in charge here, not you."

"No. Tell me."

Your hand goes down his body and grabs onto his dick, stimulating him and trying to coax him. Your body heats up at your own actions.

You're adamant about having your way. "Tell me," you repeat with one hand. "Tell me, I want to know."

If you continue this way, it'll make him want to pin you down and take you in the most aggressive way imaginable. He stares deep at your eyes and stares deep at your lips.

You smile, not giving up, your hand gripping him tighter, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Tell me about how you kill them," you hope that continuing to ask will make him relent out of annoyance. You decided that if he told you that, you'd guide him inside of you as a reward.

"I will not tell you a thing." He can't stand your insistence anymore.

"Why?" You stop stimulating him, and you remove your legs from his waist, falling onto the bed. He notices that your knees are still spread by his side, giving him room to take whatever he wants. It's both aggravating and frustrating. The fact that you're trying to play this dominance game doesn't sit well with him. He's been too lenient on you.

"...Because there's no need for you to know the details about how I do my killings. All you need to know is the results. Now, shut up and stop pestering me."

"But," you bite your lips with a groan. Your cheeks get warm, and you decide between apologizing and pleading. "It'll turn me on."

Your signs force him to lock eyes. Your expression of shame and embarrassment is very compelling. He smiles and eggs you on. Maybe he will give you what you want. "How?"

"You're handsome. Your hands are big and aggressive; I want to know what they can do." You sign with both hands in a restrained way. "I want you to fuck me as you tell me."

The words make him grin with desire and arrogance.

"Beg me to continue. Beg me to tell you about the killings while you spread yourself open for me."

"Please, sweetheart." You writhe at the sight of his demanding eyes. "Please tell me, please touch me, and tell me how violent you are and how much you terrorize people."

Your eyes are soft and pleading as you continue, "And pleasure me as you do so, I need you, and I want you to control me."

Your begging is something that never fails to drive him completely crazy.

His next sign is simple, his hands become very busy lifting your pelvis. "Fine."

The muscles of your thigh tense as you prepare yourself for him to finally fill you. You love how stern he's acting. You continue begging in hopes that he won't change his mind. "Make me cum, tell me how dangerous you are. I want to see the blood on your hands and hear about what you do to people."

He keeps his eyes on your hands. He verbally repeats your last sentence to himself under his breath. Astonishing, you are. He lets you press yourself closer to him to align him with you. Your hand flails the same sign; tell me.

It's amusing. Asa pauses, no longer continuing, just staring at you. How your two eyes meet feels like a mix of passion and danger. He smiles and hums to himself, moving his hands down to grip your ass. You try to reach down to press him into you, but he moves your hands away, shaking his head teasingly. He's hard and just over your dripping hole; his tip is making contact with your folds and how warm they feel. The wet sound that your labia has, his breath hitching, his hands squeezing onto you, makes him want to take you even more aggressively. He tilts his head, leaning back a bit. He smiles and lifts his hands back up. "...What kind of details do you want to know?"

"I want to know how it feels to torture someone. What do you do?" Your hands move a bit slower, hesitant. "What do you think about?"

He pushes only a bit of himself inside of you. Your upper body relaxes, the light in the room exposing everything about you.

It's poetic.

You bend your pelvis to push him inside a little further. His eyes darken. It's charming, and it reminds you how much you love him. You're surprised he hasn't killed you already.

He puts pressure on your body to keep you still, to keep you from squirming away from him. He forces himself to go completely inside of you. You gasp, grasping his shoulders. He can see and hear your arousal and your voice. The way your body is now tightening around him in a way that doesn't allow him to move in or out is something that makes him enjoy the position he'll have you in. The way your muscles clench onto him brings him to the point of almost losing control.

You once again rewind the conversation. At the mere memory of how this started, you start getting annoyed again about how stubborn Asa is. Your walls pulsate around him in desire, but you don't give in to it just yet, even though your heart is pounding and your head is spinning. You lean back. "Tell me about how you kill them."

"Very violent and gruesome, just how you like it. Do you want me to continue?"

"Continue." Your thighs lessen their grip while you grind your hips against him pathetically, trying to urge him to move once you realize he's not. You growl, desperate, childish.

He stares down at where your bodies connect before making direct eye contact.

"Okay, and what about their screaming and pleading? It makes you so wet." He signs while distracted by how turned on you're getting per each of his lazy strokes. He penetrates you a bit faster and then proceeds to go back to moving slowly. It's as if he can feel your wetness dripping down your body now, soaking his hairs. Your mouth keeps releasing pathetic moans. You hadn't thought about an answer to that question before and didn't have the mind to make any sense of it.

"I need to hear about how dangerous you are as you treat me like I'm an angel," you admit as you place your hands on his shoulders and dig your nails into him.

He begins to pick up the pace more and more, your legs squeezing around his waist to keep you in place while he signs quickly to you. "I'm the most dangerous man you know. I'm the devil. I'm a savage and a monster. I've tortured women to death, ripped their families to shreds, and killed children, all just for my enjoyment. I've destroyed homes, lives, and relationships. I've left a trail of destruction through this city, which I've left bloody and scared. Is that enough?"

"Yes," your hands drop, and your signs are hardly comprehensible. Your body reacts to Asa as if he's been fucking you for hours. "Yes, baby, oh my god." His sentences linger in your head, and you bask in them, repeating them in your mind.

You put one of your fingers between your lips and bite onto the knuckles. The look in your eyes is of satisfaction and intense pleasure. He's finally given you what you want, and you're almost about to cum because of it.

The sight of your lustful eyes and the sound of your moans sends ripples of power through him. He is the one who ultimately controls you, the one you worship.

You squeal when he puts a hand under your knee, stretching your leg closer to you. You can hardly look at him with how dazed his cock makes you, but you're begging for him to tell you he's a killer once again.

You can feel how wet the both of you are, and you bite your lip at the disgusting feeling.

And towards the end of the night, the part of sex where he grips your face with his nails digging into your cheekbones, he keeps fucking his cum into you, not stopping until you've finished as well. Your dry lips let out moans and indecipherable sounds. Your thighs are around him, and your walls are pulsating; your eyes remain shut, and his body trembles at the sound.

✦

He loves it when you sleep by his side, your hand on his chest as you nuzzle into his shoulder. He'll keep his arm around you even after you wake up. There's something beautiful about how you find such comfort in his warmth, as sometimes he considered it a fault. The warmth of his body was a constant reminder that he was human, the same species as all in his collection.

He watches the hands on the clock as they tick. At first, he intended to hope up regardless of whether you were comfortable, as his museum needed tending. But today, he gives you mercy, letting you sleep for a few more minutes. I'll give them five minutes, which became ten and then twenty. The grumpiness overtook him (as if it wasn't his own decision that caused this). He just couldn't find it in himself to wake you up.

#asa emory x reader #asa emory #x reader #x deaf reader #x deaf s/o #slasher community #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction

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kiss-theggoat · 4 months

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How would the Slashers react to Their s/o hasn’t been getting sleep and randomly passed out as they were doing something 🤔

Slashers Reacting to a Sleepy S/O

Slashers included: Michael Meyers, Jason Voorhees, Asa Emory, Thomas Hewitt

Michael Meyers:

You hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. Most nights, you stayed awake with a book or the TV on, sitting anxiously on your bed, waiting for him. Whenever Michael went out late or disappeared for a few days, you could barely even relax, let alone catch a few hours of sleep. This week was particularly stressful for you. Michael had been gone for three days now, no where to be found.

Finally, the morning of day four, you were startled out of your novel to a bloodied and mud covered Michael slamming your front door, shoulders hunched and jumpsuit absolutely coated in filth.

A few hours later, you were scrubbing blood off of Michael’s shoulder, his entire body submerged in the bath you’d ran for him. Now that he was home, and you knew he was safe…you felt your entire body become tired, eyelids feeling like concrete. The warm water and smell of the eucalyptus body wash was lulling you to sleep, and before you know it, you’d fallen asleep, head resting against the wall and hands still on Michael’s shoulders.

He was confused at first, but he knew that you were stressed when he was gone. He stood from the bath, feeling clean and comfortable, and saw you, passed out against the wall with soap still dripping from your hands. He grabbed a towel, first drying your hands and then wrapping it around his waist, finally scooping you up off of the stool you sat on.

He carried you to the bed, laying beside you as he set you down on your pile of pillows and blankets.

Jason Voorhees:

You’d been helping Jason all day, cleaning the cabin, picking up garbage from the lake, taking the wood he chopped back to the shed. It was hard labor, and you had to admit, it was tough to keep up with your early rising, hard working boyfriend.

Jason was busy chopping wood. He swung the axe with ease, slicing through the wood like it was a hot knife through butter. The pile was stacking up, and his little helper hadn’t come to collect anything in a while. He set his axe down, scanning the trees for you. Nothing.

He began to walk down towards the cabin, where he hoped you were. It was hot today, sweat dripped down his neck as he walked. Finally, he made it to the cabin but still…no sign of you. He tilted his head, genuinely confused as to where you were.

But as he looked towards the shed, and there you were. Your skin was glistening, cheeks pink and head resting against the door of the shed. His chest swelled with warmth. You looked beautiful, and as he got closer, he saw that you’d fallen asleep.

He decided that even though there was plenty more work to be done, this was the perfect time to join you for a break. He plopped down beside you, resting his aching back against the shed. He leaned against your side, and when you rested your head on his shoulder, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever be able to get up again.

Asa Emory:

Asa had been relentless lately. You two had just moved to a new city, and of course that meant it was time to start a new collection. He’d been keeping you up for days on end, rambling about his plans and showing you his drawings, collecting new species and documenting them in his journal, all with the lights on.

Usually you welcomed Asa’s rants and rambles but after the move, getting a new job, and taking care of your new puppy, you were absolutely exhausted.

Now, you were seated besides Asa at his desk. He was telling you about something or other about how he wanted to do a collection about something or something…you couldn’t do it anymore. You closed your eyes. You thought to yourself, I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment…

Asa’s head whipped around as he noticed yours fall to hit the desk, a tiny thud sounding as your forehead made contact with the wood. He stared at you for a moment, but knew that his project was important. He leaned back in his chair to grab a small throw blanket off of your shared bed.

He wrapped it around your shoulders, rubbing your back gently as he picked his pencil back up, continuing his detailed sketch.

Thomas Hewitt:

The humidity was killing you. Sweat was beading on your skin and rolling down your forehead, it felt like you might be suffocating down in Thomas’ basement. The smell was off putting, but you’d gotten used to it at this point.

He was sewing, and you couldn’t really focus on what he was making without feeling a tiny bit nauseous, but to be honest, even without looking, you were nauseous. You were overly tired, hot, sweaty, and had been trapped down in the basement for hours. Without warning, you stood up quickly, holding your stomach and taking a breath. “Tommy, I gotta go upstairs and lay down.”

He stared at you, a little bit concerned, but he knew you didn’t really like it down here. He gave you a nod and went back to his project. You quickly began to walk up the stairs, excited to finally lay down in your own bed that didn’t smell like rotting meat. The moment the door opened, you felt better, fresh air hitting your skin.

Your body felt fatigued, and you sat down on the top step, taking a deep breath. When the nausea faded, you were overtaken by the sleepiness, eyes sliding shut. Thomas didn’t hear the door shut, and he knew you would’ve if you’d left the basement. He stood, walking towards the stairs and seeing you…asleep on the top two steps, head leaning against the wall.

He let out a little laugh, walking up the stairs while wiping his hands off on the apron he wore. He slid one hand beneath your knees and one around your shoulders, holding you close to his body. He couldn’t stop smiling as he carried you towards your room.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #horror fanfiction #slasher x y/n #michael meyers #jason voorhees x you #jason voorhes x reader #asa emory #asa emory x reader #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you

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shalotttower · 4 months

Text

Pholcus phalangioides

Title: Pholcus phalangioides

Fandom: The Collector (2009). Can be read as an original inspired by the source, because I took some creative liberties.

Summary: There's a spider in your bathroom, it lives under the mirror cabinet and you a) don't want to kill it, and b) are too scared to touch it, so now you can either keep giving it one side eye after another, or ask your neighbour for help.

Word count: 4000+

Characters: Asa Emory x Reader

Notes: yandere Asa, spiders and insects descriptions, stalking, voyeurism of sort - Asa watches Reader without her realizing it, kidnapping, vague hinting on body horror, non-con touching, Reader is socially awkward. Asa is not 100% in-movie-character Asa (he actually talks lol), a huge chunk of him is based on my headcanons.

You have this problem - a spider problem, to be precise. Not that it's too big of a deal, but...it also is.

Spiders are generally okay.

They eat unwanted guests, like flies and mosquitos or even other spiders. Make cool webs, which is probably one of the most complicated forms of art, not to mention a mathematical pattern to it - a combination of radial and circular symmetry. The golden ratio in nature.

In general they're important for keeping a backyard ecosystem nice and intact.

But.

But there is a spider in your bathroom, right under the sink cabinet, with thin legs, a long body, and of course - eyes. Quiet, kept to itself, really chill spider who doesn't move much except to crawl around a little and sometimes look at you when it catches you looking.

It probably lived in hiding somewhere, before deciding that dark spaces weren't up to its standards anymore and making an appearance. You haven't swatted it away, caught it, struck it with a paper - mostly because you're not good at killing living creatures, and secondly because the spider isn't doing any harm, just observing your every step, and generally being present.

When you check your makeup bag, it watches. When you brush your teeth, it watches. When you close the cabinet door it wiggles and your heart goes "ee" as if someone shocked it with a static charge. This yellowish-brown witness of your everyday activities, silently approving and judging, lately makes you feel like a nuisance in your own bathroom. You desperately wish there was a way to make it move to another corner. A less centralized one, less straight in your face. Yet the thought of touching it makes you cringe inwardly; your mind conjures images of different scenarios involving spider-related unpleasantries - accidentally squashing it, or getting bitten and dying a slow, miserable death.

It's gotta go.

Because the more you see it, the more your brain tries to assign it human features. And the longer it stares, the bigger the chance it might grow a pair of lips to say "get out of my bathroom".

The thought comes to you in the morning while setting a breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. The house is quiet, all windows are open and you stare through one of them at your neighbour's fence. You rarely see him, though the parked car is always a giveaway of his presence. Emory, that's what the mailbox says, and he has a neat garden, not an extravagant type, but everything is carefully trimmed and arranged into simple patterns.

There's even a stone bench by a small tree. Does it actually get used on sunny days? Probably no. He seems like a loner, from what you've seen so far: tall and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses and still grey eyes. Very focused and put together, a turtleneck and dark trousers kind of Mister. Never waving when passing by, though he does glance sometimes - sharp and attentive.

Once you caught him leaning over a bush with back straight and head hanging low. Your stomach gave this funny, nervous twitch, like when a stranger tries to start a conversation in public. He looked your way and then resumed whatever he was doing.

"Whatever" appeared to be something small, sharp limbs and a shiny body. It looked like a beetle, stretched to an absurd degree, and the way he held that thing felt strangely intimate. The same way you'd cradle a baby animal in your hands, rubbing its forehead with a fingertip. Emory put it in a plastic box, sealed it, and went into his house, not sparing you another glance.

This particular memory - of long fingers and a careful grasp - is what makes you think that maybe, possibly, theoretically, he could handle one pesky spider for you. You've seen him with insects a couple of times after, no doubt Mr. Emory is one of those who glue bugs to display boards. The creepy friend in the bathroom must be right up his alley then.

Five minutes later the two of you are staring at each other in awkward silence. Bothering barely acquainted neighbours isn't usually high on your list of priorities, especially if said neighbours look like they prefer being alone. You know it's odd, you know it probably crosses some boundaries, yet here you are.

With a crease on his brow and a tight mouth, Emory isn't thrilled at this sudden visit. Maybe he was in the middle of something, or is just uncomfortable with people invading his space. In any case, you clear your throat.

"Good morning. I live in the house across the road. The white porch? With-"

"I know," it's a dry reply. Not rude, more matter-of-factly; his eyes are fixed on you with a hint of unsettling peculiarity which makes you shift from one foot to the other.

He's not pest control, you think. Or obligated to help in any way. Emory can tell you to kindly fuck off right now and close the door, why did you even come here? It's stupid and intrusive. You're almost ready to take it all back and go home, pretend like nothing happened and just deal with that spider yourself, when he speaks again.

"What do you need?"

He has a quiet voice, a very even direct tone that doesn't encourage small talk, but prompts answers. Now and without pointless filling.

"I know how it's going to sound," you start, cringing inside, "and apologize in advance for bothering you, but I had an impression you collect...bugs."

"Insects. Arachnids."

"Right. So I was thinking if you'd mind removing a spider from my bathroom. I don't want to kill it, but I can't- I can't touch it."

His gaze slowly shifts from your face to the house behind you. As if Emory has an x-ray vision, or a complete mental map of your household layout. Ha, this would be ridiculous. There's no apparent disapproval in his pale face, but something else, a different kind of assessment. Evaluation of how much it is worth spending time on someone with an overgrown lawn? His eyes return back and you feel pinned down.

The longer he stays silent, the more you wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole.

"If you can't I totally understand-"

"What kind of spider?"

It's your turn to stare. How are you supposed to know, you've never studied spider biology. It looks like any other common variety, except creepier because it refuses to leave its spot and stay in the sewer where it belongs. "I...light-brownish, with long legs. Thin? Slender," there's more you could add but any further description will probably make you sound like a total dunce who can't recognize basic arachnids. "Kind of big."

You expect a 'sure', maybe 'I'll be there shortly' or 'no'. What you get is Emory moving past you and walking up your front porch. The scent of laundry detergent and soap, very clean, hits your nose before you rush to open the door.

"Uhm. Second floor," you explain, awkwardly shuffling after him. For the first time since the day you moved in, you worry about what someone might see inside the house. As far as clutter goes, your place is acceptable, perhaps a few forgotten cups around and yesterday's sweater thrown on a couch. Surely, it's not too bad.

Emory, however, doesn't seem interested in the surroundings. The staircase doesn't even creak under his weight, despite the house being around a century old. He steps over the little border which always makes you trip if you walk too fast, like it's not there. Like the corner you often bump your hip into doesn't exist either. He navigates your home with effortless precision, an inward kind of certainty that makes your eyebrows rise. Maybe...the houses on your street have the same blueprint.

Either way, he walks into your bathroom without hesitation, turning on the light. You hover by the doorway, unsure: should you offer something to drink, ask him if he needs anything else or just step away and leave him to do his thing?

The spider is there, hiding under the cabinet, when Emory leans over to observe it. He's probably seen many different specimens, you think, and this isn't interesting at all compared to the ones who have an intricate design or unique behavior.

"She's a part of the Pholcidae family," Emory says suddenly. Just like that there's 'she', instead of 'it', and the spider twitches and shifts. "Daddy long-legs. Harmless."

He puts his palm up close to its back. At first, it seems startled, but after a moment slowly calms down, and moves a leg - left then right - getting familiar with his hand.

"Docile creatures," Emory continues, while the spider walks along the edge of his palm. No running around, no random leaps, stick-like limbs touch and probe him with curiosity, much like you'd study something new. "They stay in the dark, hide in the corners while feasting on smaller things. Your intruder is a useful tenant."

It makes you feel slightly nauseous, how nonchalant he is about holding something that prompts recoil on instinct.

"Do you want to hold her?" Emory turns to you and there's a faint, strange smile on his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes and makes him look like an alien who tries to mimic human expressions based only on observation. His pupils are so dark that you can barely tell the difference between the irises and the rest. They seem bottomless, absorbing all light, but reflecting none in return. You take one step backwards, shaking your head.

"I'll pass."

He keeps staring at you for what feels like forever before returning his attention to the spider crawling on his skin. Emory reaches into his back pocket for a small container.

"Are you not setting her outside?" You ask. "She...she doesn't look like, uh, a rare species."

Not that you're an expert.

"No," Emory closes the lid with a quiet click. "She isn't one. But I'm going to keep her."

And he does. The little captive spider rests at the very bottom of a plastic case when you send the man on his way and thank him for the help. Emory accepts it with a nod, no further words, and then there's only his back when he leaves. The morning air rushes in, crisp and fresh, smelling like grass, tree leaves and soil.

It feels like you blink, and three days go by. You still keep an eye on the bathroom cabinet by some sort of habit, however there's nothing out of the ordinary lurking there, no creepy critters and definitely no thin legs scattering in multiple directions. All is well, now you can brush your teeth, take care of business and even lean close without fear something might fall on your head.

It's just a spider. You googled it later, and how common it is around the continents should be a bit ridiculous. Keeping it might equal to going on a beach and picking the most unremarkable pebble you see; Emory certainly could find hundreds more Daddy long-legs wherever he pleased - parks, gardens or forests.

So...why?

The question gnaws at you, together with that smile and cold grey eyes hidden behind glasses' frames. The weirdest part wasn't the expression, it was how you couldn't read it. Despite the obvious display of human emotion, however misplaced and alien, it failed to reveal anything. The smile was there, and yet nothing broke through it, not amusement, nor politeness - or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

Your neighbour is odd.

Not necessarily scary, though there's a sense of mystery surrounding him, it makes you feel like standing next to an iceberg and only seeing its tip. Or you've just read far too many psychological thrillers and your imagination likes to conjure up the wildest scenarios, trying to turn each and every thing into something sinister.

Maybe you should just chill and get some tea, and stop being so dramatic about a guy who came over and politely removed a spider for you.

They're not a unique species. Not even remotely uncommon.

He taps the container gently with his index finger, making the spider move back and forth. She doesn't have venom, no poisonous chemicals to injure and kill. Hiding in abandoned corners she does, patient and careful, waiting to catch the wrong fly.

You're just like her. Nothing exciting. Not unique.

Your movement patterns are similar, concealed in a different package you're still predictable: getting home from work, cooking dinner, watching TV shows. Everyday routines.

Fear is a part of your nature. Awkwardness which comes with socializing: you shuffle when uncomfortable, avoid prolonged eye contact and don't like confrontation, he noticed this right away. A quiet type, keeping mostly to yourself unless you need something urgently; and then you rush, like a scared Daddy long legs. There's this shiftiness, an inner desire to be less visible, but also a yearning for recognition because the lack of it hurts. And he saw all those small things, catalogued them one by one, as you moved into his street and became a constant presence.

Asa has never thought about keeping something - someone - so mundane before. Never. He likes rare things, spectacular, and those collected in the basement, they all are, especially when he's finished with them. They're extraordinary, displayed under glass cases and preserved for eternity.

He doesn't collect common species. Daddy long-legs are abundant everywhere around him.

But.

There's the way you linger by the kitchen window during the morning routine, slowly sipping hot coffee. When your lips purse and eyes lose focus for a moment. Or how the corners of them wrinkle sometimes when you have a genuine, amused laugh. It's something like warmth. There's no label for the feeling - positive, negative or neutral, it just is, like one single, meaningless element in an ecosystem.

He shouldn't want someone so average.

And yet Asa watches from the corner of your living room, crouched on the floor by a plant.

You don't hear him, too invested in your personal bubble. Well, he had enough time to polish his craft and figure out how soundless he can be when moving through spaces, how much weight he needs to place onto soles to avoid creaking wood and floorboards.

It's interesting to see you interact with your environment, unaware of being watched. There's an invisible pattern behind each action, even if you think everything is randomized. The web you wove around yourself is cozy, and Asa follows its threads while you check the phone and frown at whatever notification pops up. He is considering. Contemplating this impulsive desire he has yet to identify.

Would it be worth it? Keeping you. Adding you to the collection and seeing what comes out of it, how far his usual approach might take him with you in the same conditions. You're just a face with features. So...ordinary. He wants to pick you apart and look inside to make sure it's not some strange sort of mimicry, camouflage of a different nature hiding something else entirely.

There's this vague idea how those features may feel when touched. He can recall them accurately, even when you've never stood too close. Asa watches quietly from his hiding place, memorizing a displeased mumble and then a frustrated gesture.

You seem so alive.

Those below who are frozen in time now were too, before Asa decided to give them a purpose and make something special and worthy of his attention. They were alive like you, but now they're something better.

What purpose you have remains to be seen.

Asa decides then.

A plain trunk is nestled in the corner behind a coat hanger, no fancy latch or keyhole needed, only an ordinary padlock. You'll fit in nicely, squeezed in the cramped space, it won't be the most comfortable experience, but it's not for long and then...then he can show you the room where others stayed before, and where you'll be next.

Asa looks around one last time: the front door is locked, blinds down, lights off - you get up from the couch and head upstairs, right on the dot. Your house is easy to navigate despite the darkness; Asa knows his way around it, having been here already more than once. A step after a step he follows the soft padding of your bare feet, and when the steps halt, he pulls out a cloth. It's a heavy kind of pleasure to be able to stand right behind and admire your nape, there's a strange sort of vulnerability to it.

Something raw and very exposed.

It takes only a few movements, he catches your yelp into one of his hands and holds it clasped tightly as you thrash. Your nails dig into the fabric of his turtleneck but fail to leave any marks. He's never tired of it, the initial fear of his specimens realizing that their secure habitats are ruined. He doesn't mind this fight for survival.

"Shh," Asa breathes into your ear. "Shh."

The struggle doesn't last long - you're not a fighter - and when your body goes limp, he picks you up. Your perfume is surprisingly light, a very sweet and pleasant aroma, not overwhelming at all like he'd expect it to be.

It's nice.

He puts you in the trunk, a boxy space barely big enough to fit you curled on the side, it's going to take around thirty minutes to reach the hotel and another three to put you in the right cell. You'll sleep the rest of the journey, which is fortunate for everyone. It's always easier to deal with a specimen if they're resting.

The lock clicks softly - it's time to go home.

Something runs down your cheek - a drop, a bead of sweat, a touch - and you blink, trying to make sense of it. The surroundings are unfamiliar, blurry shapes with undefined outlines that stretch and wobble before your eyes. Your jaw hurts, clenched so hard that teeth grind together, and it takes a conscious effort to relax.

Where...what?

The living room, a TV program, a soundless whisper that froze the hairs at your nape, then someone was behind you. You remember a sickly sweet smell, and after that nothing but a haze and the dark, and the sensation of being squeezed into a shape. Your legs feel numb, arms too, like you spent hours immobile in one position. Slowly the world sharpens back into focus, but instead of relief there's only dread.

You're in a room.

No bigger than a regular bathroom and void of any furniture beside a cot-like bed, a toilet in the corner and a sink. The walls are a bluish-gray with thin cracks, tiny fissures that create uneven lines from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

And there's a man, observing you quietly through the thick glass.

You don't notice him immediately, too busy assessing your new location, and when you do the air feels heavier, difficult to move past your throat. He's wearing a mask. Black rubber or something, covering everything except his eyes. He presses two palms against the barrier separating you, the silence stretches into an eternity.

'Who are you? What do you want?' - these are kind of questions you should be asking, but they don't come out. You remain glued to the spot, counting the passing seconds by their painful tick-tock-tick-tocks. One minute turns into two, and he...just stares without moving a muscle in a beyond unnerving manner. Your gaze dips lower to check his clothes, perhaps find a pattern to identify this person later.

There's none. Everything is plain black, like a uniform made to be invisible - turtleneck, pants, even gloves and boots.

It seems that your silence somehow pleases him, because a few moments later he leaves without looking back.

You don't know how much time passes; there's not a window around, only a bare, stark bulb, yellowish in its brightness and casting unpleasant shadows all over the floor. Not a single sound. Traffic, voices of distant passersby or birds - all is absent and doesn't provide even a bit of understanding where the hell you are.

In the end, you...sit down on the bed and wait, because what else is there? Everything is eerily silent and very, very uncomfortable: this emptiness, the absence of noise, the endless ticking of an invisible clock. It's difficult not to cry, but you try your best, somehow it feels important to remain composed. There has to be a reason behind this. There must be one, and you repeat it over and over, like a mantra to soothe the nerves and present your mind with some semblance of logic: once you figure out what's going on, you'll figure out how to get out as well.

Pulling loose threads from your sleeve is poor entertainment, if anything, the strain of boredom and unease gradually grows into anxiety so sharp that you almost miss the sound of approaching footsteps.

He's back again, the masked stranger who stands in the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. A pair of light grey eyes is a splash of different color, but they are blank. They watch with distant curiosity of an animal trainer monitoring a newborn cub. The comparison makes something ugly squirm inside you. A part of you wants to make a run for it, the other keeps yelling that it would be immensely stupid.

One, two, three, four steps he takes into your cell. Your back meets the wall, the chill coming from its solid surface cuts right through the layers of clothing. Five, six. He stops only when there's less than arm's reach between you, then leans to brush away loose strands of hair sticking to your temples. Your stomach goes taut. This scent. Laundry detergent mixed with soap. The turtleneck, grey eyes, very collected kind of Mister.

A sickly shiver of revulsion shoots down your spine, making you curl tighter into a ball. Emory cups your jaw with both hands - they're cold even through the gloves material. This is too close, an unwanted and unpleasant violation of boundaries, and yet he continues to examine your face, like you're some sort of an object he can handle however he pleases.

Your cheek gets a light pat. Any theories about his identity stay unvoiced, mostly because you fear the reaction they might prompt. Something tells you that screaming is a bad idea too. 'Be quiet,' an insistent whisper says deep inside your skull, 'be still.'

His thumbs press to the corners of your mouth. "Open," he orders, and you can't not, even though the whole thing sounds and feels bizarre. "Wider."

There's a quiet click. A flashlight, of those small ones you can easily hold in one hand, shines right into your eyes, making them water from the unexpected brightness. "Don't bite or I'll remove all of your teeth."

It's a simple threat, delivered with such a calm tone, there's no need for yelling when words are that clear and straightforward.

He inspects your mouth, the edges of teeth and gums, your inner cheeks, and you let him, clenching your fists. There's not much you can do, at least that's what you keep telling yourself to ease the heavy, sinking feeling of powerlessness. Your mind chants 'too close' on a loop, urging to wiggle away; you stay. It's unclear what exactly he's looking for - dental or oral diseases, a sore throat, cavities, or the lack of them?

It lasts forever until he straightens back up and puts the light away.

"Good," Emory states. There's another pat to your head before he turns around to leave. "No biting."

The door panel slides with a soft hum, locking shut. And the silence, and the waiting, and the mind numbing monotony is back again.

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #the collector #the collector (2009)#asa emory #asa emory x reader #slasher fanfiction #slashers

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slasher-male-wife · 9 months

Text

Horror characters with a s/o who does ballet

I did ballet when I was like 4 before I was diagnosed with ADHD and I did enjoy it but I didn't keep doing it. I've just been thinking about ballet lately and I decided to write about it.

Includes: Hannibal Lecter, Asa Emory, Michael Myers, Vincent Sinclair, and Amanda Young

Warnings: GN reader mostly but one bullet on each section mentions a male reader, internalized homophobia?, regular homophobia, mentions of murder, mentions of saw traps in Amanda's section, mentions of torture, vague cannibalism in Hannibal's section

Hannibal Lecter

When you tell him you do ballet he's immediately interested. Hannibal enjoys the finer things in life and ballet is something he's happy to indulge in.

He's rich so he's happy to help pay for whatever you need. Ballet shoes can be very expensive but he's willing to help you pay for them.

Ballet is physically demanding and he's happy to help you sooth the aches and pains on your body. Will help you with ice baths or rubbing your aching muscles.

Will go to all of your shows, even if you're barely in it. He doesn't care he's going to be there to watch you dance, and will bring you flowers after every performance.

If you practice at home he's there to help you, giving his advice as someone who's been to many opera and ballet shows.

He probably has a lot of hair products for his hair because he's kind of a diva. So if you need hair gel or hairspray for your costume he's got your back.

If you're a man and someone makes fun of you for doing ballet they're getting eaten. I think he'd do something clever like a tongue dish or he poses the body in some kind of ballet pose.

Asa Emory

Like Hannibal Asa loves the finer things in life. He's pretty rich considering he has all these torture devices and a hotel. So you having a more expensive job/hobby is not a big deal to him.

He will try to sneak in bug related things into things you can customize. If you're doing a dance related to bugs in any way he's asking you all about it and will honestly want to make things as accurate as possible.

Will want to watch you practice because he just likes seeing you in dance and shift into different positions. He's always interested in human limits both physical and mental so seeing you stretch your body while dancing is interesting to him.

Like I said, Asa is rich and he doesn't have a problem buying you things for your job/hobby. If you're allowed to customize parts of your practice clothes or shoes he'll try to get it bug related in some kind of way.

He might take inspiration from your dancing and will pose victims or put them in traps that are ballet related.

He loves classical music so listening to you practicing with music over and over again isn't a problem to him. He's put himself through worse so listening to his partners dance music over and over again isn't that bad.

Just like Hannibal, if you're a man and someone makes fun of you for doing ballet he's going to put them through a lot of torture, like more than normal. He was a little unsure about you being a man and doing ballet but he got over it quickly.

Michael Myers

He's heard of ballet but the extent of his knowledge on it is just that it's 'fancy dancing'. Once he sees you dancing, because when he's not killing he's watching you, he's pretty interested in it. As interested as Michael can be in something.

He likes how graceful you look while dancing. He could watch you for hours, just sitting still and watching you dancing. He'll probably touch and feel your ballet shoes when you're not using them.

If you ask him to help you break in your shoes and explain to him you just hit them on the floor he's very willing to help you. You'll have to watch him to make sure he doesn't genuinely ruin them.

He's confused about how you're getting bruises and hurt feet when you're "just dancing" but his concern isn't really noticeable aside from him leaving out ice packs for you.

If you're doing a dance where you're being more 'physical' with your dancing partner he's going to be jealous about it. You'll have to make it up to him with lots of candy and avoiding other men.

If you're a man and you do ballet he doesn't see why that's something weird. He's been locked up inside a mental hospital for 16 years so he doesn't really understand gender roles.

But if someone makes you feel back for doing ballet as a man and Michael hears about it, he's killing them for you.

Vincent Sinclair

He is so interested in you doing ballet. He wants to hear all about the type of ballet you do and how long you've been doing it. If you memorized any dances he wants you to do them for him.

I have a feeling that Vincent can sew to some degree. Like he can take old clothes and customize them. He'll probably make/find you clothes you can practice in and maybe even costumes.

He listens to classical/opera music already so if you want to practice or perform for him it's really no problem at all to him.

Finding you actual ballet shoes might be an issue. He'd suggest making you some but quickly realize he can't. He'll bribe/guilt Bo into going out and getting you ballet shoes.

Will probably make some figures into ballet dancers because you're one. His art is going to include a lot more ballet themes in it. Will love to sketch you in different outfits and poses.

Anything remotely ballet themed from a victim is going to you. If Vincent sees some clothes or an item you'd like or could use in your dancing he'll tell Bo to be careful with that item when he kills them, or he'll kill the victim himself.

If you're a guy and a victim makes fun of you for doing ballet they're getting turned into a figure alive like Wayne was. If his brothers make fun of you cough cough Bo he'll defend you and probably bring up something about them. "You do ballet Y/N? Didn't take you for a pansy." (Vincent signing) "Remember your emo phase when you wore eyeliner every day?"

Amanda Young

She wanted to do ballet as a kid but she probably wasn't very good at it and her parents took her out. So when she hears you do ballet she wants to hear all about it and will ask if you can teach her some.

Loves any kind of ballet outfits, especially if it's in darker colors and adores seeing you in practice clothes or costumes for shows.

Will brag to Hoffman about how talented her partner is at ballet and how shes so lucky to have you as a partner.

She'll probably take inspiration from the dance you're currently practicing or the process of breaking in your shoes when she's making a new trap for someone.

Loves watching you practice too. She finds the movements so satisfying and the music to be calming. If you practice at home she'll probably stretch with you.

Will love to help you do your hair and or makeup for a performance. She likes participating in your interests and helping you get ready is something she's happy to do.

If you're a man and someone makes fun of you for doing ballet she's finding a reason to put them in a trap. Hoffman will probably make fun of you doing ballet if you're a man so she'll get back at him in another way.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x reader #asa emory #asa emory x reader #michael myers x you #michael myers x y/n #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x y/n #amanda young x reader #amanda young #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction

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