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biblio-smia · 1 year

Text

at the top of my list [ethan landry x reader]

pre-ghostface / no ghostface alternate - no spoilers for scream vi

masterlist | requests are open!

warnings: underage drinking (brief), brief angst but mostly fluff

pairing: fem!carpenter!reader x ethan landry

Rooming with Mindy Meeks-Martin came with its pros: for one, she got you out of having to room with your two sisters — as much as you loved them, you couldn't bear the thought of having to live a tiny, cramped apartment with them, — plus, she was your gateway to the "full college experience" (her words). Then, there were things that came with Mindy that you hadn't decided were pros or cons; after all, she was the reason you met Ethan Landry.

It wasn't entirely her fault — but Mindy was Chad's sister and Ethan was Chad's roommate and in no time, he was part of the group.

It was strange, allowing new people into your lives, but first came Ethan, then Quinn, then Anika and eventually you got used to the feeling.

You warmed up to Ethan first and the fastest, despite making the worst first impression. You'd misheard his name as Ethan Laundry and laughed little too loud for a little too long at a joke only you were in on.

Ethan looked past this; he was far too focused on not stumbling over his own words even to recall the event that mortified you for weeks.

Your relationship with Ethan grew steadily as he came around more and more. It was always in a group setting and usually alongside Chad, but as the months grew on you engaged in more conversations by yourselves. Always somehow left alone with him, you felt yourself becoming increasingly comfortable around Ethan.

Anytime Mindy attempted to make a comment on you and Ethan, she was shutdown immediately, sometimes even before she could get a single word out.

You enjoyed Ethan’s company and he enjoyed yours — the dynamic you had now didn’t need to be changed.

Moreover, you certainly didn’t need Mindy messing things up.

You were adamant enough in your position that Ethan and you were just friends and you didn’t want anything more to Mindy that she cooled down on the would-be comments at least to your face.

“I just know they like each other. I can feel it.” Mindy argued.

“Jeez, I thought Chad was the matchmaker here.” Sam joked.

“Hey, it runs in our blood.” Mindy grinned. “But seriously, all I hear is ‘Ethan this, Ethan that.’ It’d be cute if the two of them weren’t so painfully clueless.”

“Well, why don’t we let them figure it out on their own?” Tara suggested, taking a sip of her drink. She knew how you felt about others meddling into your life, even if it was people you loved — she and Sam learned that the hard way.

Mindy groaned. “That’ll take months. Maybe even years. Do you really want to watch these idiots pine for each other for that long?”

Sam let out a “Hey!” in your defense, while Mindy and Tara looked around for support, both sets of eyes falling on the only person who could clue them into Ethan’s perspective: Chad.

“Well,” Chad glanced nervously from his sister to both of yours, eyes settling on to Tara’s warm brown ones. “He does talk about your sister a lot. Like… a lot.”

“That doesn’t mean we should do anything.” Sam said before Mindy could say anything. “She really wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Even if it would get them together?” Mindy pleaded desperately.

“Let’s leave them be for now,” Sam stated decisively, offering Mindy a small smile. “Let them figure it out on their own.”

「 ... 」

Knowing Ethan Landry was the best thing that’d ever happened to you in moments like these; it was another group movie night in the apartment your sisters shared with the usual seating arrangements — Mindy, Anika, Chad, and Tara were comfortably squished on the couch meant for three while Sam stretched out her legs on the second couch; effectively shunning you and Ethan to the love seat.

At first, it was awkward — you and Ethan crashed into your respective, opposite, sides of the couch, trying to create as much space between the two of you as possible. Then, as time went on, the distance between you grew smaller; as Ethan grew more comfortable in your presence, he began a habit of whispering random movie trivia into your ear, always carefully watching for your reaction, whether it was a gasp of shock or a cute string of giggles. You weren't sure when it started; despite your tendency to hate people talking during movies, you began to look forward to Ethan's voice in your ear more than the actual movie. By the midway point of each movie, you would always end up leaning against Ethan's warm chest with his arm wrapped around you, insisting it was so Ethan didn't have to work hard to whisper in your ear.

Tonight, Ethan was huddled next to you, the fluffiest blanket you owned draped over the two of you. His hands found yours, playing with your fingers. The movie started around fifteen minutes ago; a fact from Ethan was overdue now. However, as you looked over you realized that Ethan's fidgeting with your hands was nervous and accompanied by frequent glances toward his phone.

"What's up?" You were the one whispering now, a look of concern on your face.

"Hm? Nothing..." Ethan trailed off, distracted, his eyes never leaving his phone.

Ethan wasn't much of a phone guy — especially not during movie nights.

However, you didn't press further, leaning back to try to watch the movie for once.

It wasn't until Ethan's phone dinged, and he reached for it faster than you'd ever seen — breaking the only contact you had with him —, that your suspicion began to grow. Ethan's phone was always on do not disturb, a habit you'd chided him for when he was unresponsive in the group chat — though you were the only exception, the only one he always responded immediately to.

It was surprising to see — you wondered if he was waiting for a grade to be submitted; but as far as you knew, Ethan had no big assignments due recently.

The notification was just an email and the disappointment was clear on Ethan's face. As soon as his phone screen turned black — his home screen photo of you and him disappearing — the screen lit up again, as did Ethan's expression. You averted your eyes. Whatever Ethan was excited about, he'd tell you. On his own time.

You were painfully aware of the minutes that ticked on and on as Ethan typed, waited, stopped to think, then typed again. The sounds of a text conversation suddenly seemed like the biggest interruption to the movie you could have experienced.

Just as your curiosity reached its peak, Ethan turned to you with one of the biggest smiles on his face.

"So, there's this girl..." He went on, eyes bright as you felt your heart drop. You weren't paying attention to his words, only mustering up smiles and nods at the appropriate times to make it seem like you were.

Just like that, the sacredness of movie nights, the hour and a half you intimately shared with Ethan, was gone. It was tainted by the prospect of another girl on Ethan's mind and you suddenly couldn't stand being within five feet of him, an unfamiliar ache sprouting in your chest. The pain only worsened the longer you sat there, processing as the sound of your heart pound drowned out everything else.

You got up suddenly, clutching the spot that screamed in agony. "I don't... feel good." You looked around, cheeks heating up as you realized you caused a scene, glancing at the one now paused on the television.

"Are you okay? Do you need medicine?" Sam asked, suddenly sitting up. She made a motion to get up and you waved her off; if she came up to you know you knew you'd cry.

"No, no, I'm just gonna... go lie down. I'll be fine." You stood true to your word, making your way through the small apartment to the closest room — Tara's — before anyone could say anything more. With your back turned to the living room and your quick exit, you missed the way Ethan sprang up, only discouraged from following you with a shake of Tara's head.

「 ... 」

Being alone with your thoughts in the dark might have been your worst idea yet — but at least you had no audience.

Ethan was talking to a girl. They weren't dating — he would've told you that immediately — but they were talking. Worst of all, there was no reason for Ethan not to talk to other girls. It wasn't like you were dating.

You began to analyze the entirety of your relationship with Ethan, trying to pinpoint where everything went wrong. Somewhere along the way, Ethan had climbed his way up and became the person you cared about the most — sometimes even more than yourself. You'd tried so hard to convince yourself that the love you felt for him was platonic, but you weren't sure platonic friends felt so strongly when there was a romantic involvement with someone else. This was jealously in its purest form.

You groaned, hands on your head as it began to pound. The sudden thought that Mindy was right popped into your head, making you groan even harder.

Knowing Ethan Landry had suddenly become the worst thing that ever happened to you as you realized, too late, that you were hopelessly in love with him.

「 ... 」

Tara and Sam came in after the movie ended, much sooner than expected. Tara instinctively flipped the light switch on, flooding the room with bright yellow light. The sudden irritation led you to cover your eyes with a pillow and groan once more.

"Do you still feel bad? What hurts?" You felt Sam take a seat on the bed, pulling your hands away from your face. You squinted, your eyes still not adjusting to the sudden light when Tara spoke up.

"You're crying."

Your eyes opened and saw the looks of concern on Sam's and Tara's faces, hands reaching for your cheeks where, as correctly observed, tears had streamed down.

"I didn't realize." You said softly, wiping your face quickly. An uncomfortable silence laid upon the three of you, unsure of what to say. Tara and Sam exchanged glances before Tara took a seat on the other side of you, placing her hand on your leg comfortingly.

"Did... Ethan do something?" She asked cautiously.

"What? No!" You shook your head to emphasize. "Well... not purposely."

Sam took your hand in hers, a knowing look on her face.

"He's... talking to someone. It's stupid, I know. It's my fault I didn't give him a reason to... I just didn't realize I..." Tears welled up in your eyes again as you trailed off. You didn't need to finish. Your sisters knew exactly what you were feeling.

「 ... 」

Mindy was next to find out about your feelings toward Ethan and the situation you found yourself in. To your surprise, you weren't met with the "I told you so" or other celebration you expected. Mindy accepted your statement quietly as the two of you lay on your separate beds, dark encompassing your shared dorm.

"What are you going to do about it?" Mindy asked.

"Nothing." Your voice came out shakier than you'd expected. "What can I do now?"

「 ... 」

Chad was the last to find out, after your permission to let him in was granted. You would've told himself if you didn't think it was useless to. There was no point in admitting something that was too late to act on. To say you were hopeless was an understatement; you no longer left your dorm for anything other than class. You hadn't hung out with your friends in days, including Ethan. You were running out of excuses to throw at him and you knew you were running out of time to be upset. You'd have to pick yourself back up eventually — but for now you let yourself be sad.

This decision, however, was not supported by your friends. Tara and Sam's position on their involvement in your life changed drastically. It started as a plan to get you out of bed, they swore, but ended up changing as they realized who the girl Ethan was talking to was.

Chad had reported back to the group everything Ethan had told him about her; Tara recognized her as the girl you sat next to in your English class. You'd mentioned her a few times in passing; she was a friend of a friend of Tara's.

"She's weird," Tara said, eyebrows furrowing as Chad pulled up her instagram profile. "Not in a mean way. As in, she's kind of obsessed with my sister way." Tara crossed her arms, suddenly defensive.

"So what do we do? I mean, I don't think she actually likes Ethan?" Chad asked, looking back and forth.

Sam shrugged. "She might. If we gave her the benefit of the doubt. But it's starting to sound more like something else..."

The four exchanged solemn glances, all understanding what had to happen.

"We have to break them up."

「 ... 」

It was a party that got you out of your room (after days of pleading from Mindy). You were warned beforehand that Ethan and that girl would be showing up. You were only attending, despite this fact, due to the promise of alcohol that you knew would help you get through the inevitable. It was going to happen eventually. Why postpone it?

You separated from Mindy immediately, downing a cup of whatever drink was available — that and a refill was the only prerequisite you had before you forced yourself to find Ethan. Though, it seemed to be the other way around as you turned and were met with an overly-enthusiastic girl on an uncomfortable looking Ethan's arm. It took you a moment to recognize the girl in the dim party lights, but when you did, you didn't bother hiding the shock on your face.

"Madeline?" You almost dropped your cup in surprise, recalling an interaction that had occurred a few weeks ago.

Your teacher was running late, and you were unsure if he was going to show up. You pulled out your laptop to try and take advantage of the hour and a half you had of your lost lecture to get some work done.

Madeline, who was always late, took a seat next to you, as she usually did. She was sweet enough from your limited interactions with her, though the class you were taking didn't leave much room for you to talk.

Though, as there was no excuse not to now, Madeline had the opportunity to engage in small talk with you.

You responded politely but shortly, a little irritated that she continued trying to talk to you despite your obvious desire to get work done. You quickly concluded that Madeline was one of those people who enjoyed the sound of their own voice; a normal person would've stopped talking by now at your short replies.

Your phone lit up out of the corner of your eye and you knew it was Ethan; his class had just ended and the two of you had plans after you got out of this one. You'd always told him to head back to his dorm and wait out the rest of the 45 minutes you had of class there; but he always insisted on waiting for you and walking back together.

"Ooh, who's this?" Madeline giggled, snatching up your phone, much to your surprise. You thought you'd left people like her back in high school.

"Your boyfriend?" She inquired suggestively, pointing at your lock screen — a picture of you and Ethan celebrating his birthday exactly at midnight.

You shook your head, grabbing your phone back a little aggressively.

"No." You responded. It was none of her business; but you weren't assertive enough to say that to her face.

Madeline gasped exaggeratedly. "But he's your lock screen? You sure you're not dating?" She asked as innocently as she could muster.

"No." You repeated, harder this time. "We're just friends."

It was weird enough of an interaction to make sure you were never in a situation where you had to sit near her in that class again, but you chose not to say anything. It was a standalone, isolated event. But now, she was here with Ethan and you weren't sure what to think anymore. However, you were certain you did not like her.

"Oh my God! Isn't this the biggest coincidence?" Madeline exclaimed, though the tone of her voice suggested it wasn't.

"Wait, you two know each other?" Ethan asked, his own surprise evident.

"Of course we do!" Madeline said, letting go of Ethan and bumping her shoulder with yours, your drink dangerously close to sloshing onto your shirt. "We're like, best friends!"

You couldn't help but scoff.

"Really? You've never mentioned her..." You weren't sure if Ethan was talking to you or Madeline, but it pissed you off regardless. Maybe the alcohol had been a mistake.

"Well, have fun." You said curtly, taking one last look at Ethan before walking off. You quickly found Mindy, Chad, and Tara hovering close enough to watch the interaction but far enough that you hopefully wouldn't notice; too late.

You made your way over to them, sighing as you took another sip of your drink.

"What are you guys up to?" You asked suspiciously.

Mindy and Tara looked around at anywhere but you; Chad, however, was not so fast. Your eyes landed on his and you could see the fear in them.

"Nothing!" He insisted too quickly. "Just waiting for her to make a fool of herself so Ethan hates her?" It came out more of a question, but a smile grew on your face. You'd caught them.

Mindy groaned, smacking Chad's arm. "Seriously, you are the weakest link."

"Guys, seriously, it's fine. I'm fine. Can we stop worrying about it and just have fun?" You insisted.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Chad asked, eyes looking at something behind you.

You turned just in time to see Ethan storming away from his date and to the kitchen where he poured himself a drink. Ethan never drank.

"I'll go... check on him." Your words were quiet but the rest of the group nodded anyway, pushing you towards Ethan.

"Slow down, there," you said, a little hypocritically as Ethan chugged the mystery contents of his cup. He reached for a refill but you placed your hands on his, stopping him. That was more than enough alcohol for someone who barely tolerated it.

He was agitated, you could tell, but not at you.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Ethan asked boldly despite the hurt in his voice. Maybe a little at you.

You sighed, stepping closer to him. "Let's go home?"

He hesitated, but nodded, letting his hand fall in yours as you motioned to Mindy across the room.

「 ... 」

You didn't let go of his hand even after you left the crowded sea of warm bodies and were met with the cool air outside. You glanced at him from time to time, though for the first time since you'd known him, his expression was unreadable.

"I wasn't avoiding you. I mean, I didn't mean to. I mean, I just... wasn't in the right mindset to see anyone." You attempted to explain, feeling ashamed all over again.

"You should've told me. I wouldn't have been mad."

"I know. I just didn't want you to think it was your fault."

You continued in silence, though you took your still interlocked hands as a good sign.

"Are you mad now?" You asked carefully.

Ethan shook his head. "I could never be mad at you."

Though instead of relief, you felt guilty.

"She said you were weird." Ethan started after a while. You raised your eyebrows, but kept quiet. "She said it was weird I'm your lock screen. And that you were obsessed with me." Ethan paused and laughed a little, as if acknowledging how ridiculous the accusation was. "She didn't realize you're mine." Ethan flashed his phone up to prove it as if you weren't well aware of the picture. But isn't it weird how she knew we knew each other? And she didn't say anything to me? I thought so." Ethan didn't give you a chance to reply, but he didn't need to; he made his decision, on his own. Though, you couldn't help the relief you felt at it.

It wasn't a long walk back to your building, and the two of you made your way up to your room quietly. Ethan habitually kicked off his shoes as he entered, making his way to your bed and taking a seat. You joined him and sat there, staring at your hands. The two of you looked at each other and opened your mouths to speak at the same time, suddenly stumbling over your words to try and let the other go first.

"You. Go." You said a little awkwardly.

"I love you. I'm in love with you." Ethan started.

"Ethan—"

"Let me finish, please. If I don't say this now I don't think I ever will." He looked to you and you nodded your encouragement.

"I love you so much it's terrifying. I don't know how to date or what any of that is like... but I know how I feel. I love you and I know you're my best friend and I don't know what to do anymore..." Tears were beginning to pool in his eyes as Ethan sighed. "Your turn?"

You couldn't help but laugh.

"I love you, Ethan. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize and even more to accept it... I think I picked the worst possible moment to realize..." You took a shaky breath. "But I think it worked out?"

"Yeah. It most definitely worked out." And with that, Ethan's lips clumsily crashed onto yours, your hands immediately moving to his face to guide him. You could taste the last hints of liquid courage on his lips and you were suddenly grateful he'd had that spiked punch; there was no way you'd gotten a confession out of him otherwise.

You separated to catch your breath, taking a chance to admire Ethan as you ran your thumb over his cheek. He grinned toothily, placing his hands on yours. You kissed him, softer this time, savoring the feeling of his soft lips on yours.

"I knew it!" A voice exclaimed from the doorway, causing you and Ethan to jump approximately five feet from each other, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

There they were: Mindy, Chad, Sam, and Tara with smiles on their faces as they high-fived each other proudly.

"This was all my idea," Mindy said excitedly. "I said we should make a plan—"

"That's enough out of you." Tara said, placing her arms around Mindy and beginning to drag Mindy out.

"You two should be thanking me!"

"We'll leave you two alone now." Chad said with a smile and a wink, causing you to roll your eyes playfully.

"Remember, it's my room too!" Mindy's voice carried from the hall as Chad shut the door behind him, leaving you and Ethan alone in the quiet once again. You groaned at Mindy's comment while Ethan laughed.

Ethan flopped down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. You joined him and he wrapped his arm around like he loved to do.

The comfortable silence was broken by Ethan — it was a whisper so quiet you almost missed it.

"You're my number one," Ethan confessed. "You always have been."

"Good," you replied with a smile as you leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. "Because you're mine, too."

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry fluff #scream #scream x reader #scream vi #scream 6 #v writes #v + ethan

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morgana-ren · 4 years

Note

Imagine being at a Halloween party thrown by Dabi and someone in a Leatherface costume keeps following you. It turns out to be Shigaraki. You comment on how his human skin mask is cool and how it looks so real, and oddly looks like Bakugo's face. He laughs, tosses it away and leads you to a field of pumpkins, where he non cons you, while Spooky Scary Skeletons plays in the background.

Okay listen, I know this was probably sent in 200 percent as a joke, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to sit down for an hour and make it work. It’s been a weird week. I can make weird work.

Like imagine kinda knowing Dabi before the league goes super big. You don’t know too much about him, but he’s a friend of a friend and so on and he’s got the dangerous bad boy appeal alongside those haunting blue eyes, so all ya friends hover around him. So lets say you get invited to his spooky-dooky Halloween party he’s throwin’ in an old warehouse. It’s sort of his last hurrah cause it’s a lot harder to try and bone civvie girls when you’re a wanted villain with your face on the news attached to a criminal group, so he’s gunna throw it back tonight and take what he can get, you feel?

So you and ya friends get all cute and dolled up in your costumes and head out to this bash that’s taking place on the wrong side of the tracks in some godforsaken warehouse. It’s in the industrial zone, which is comprised of nothing but abandoned buildings, squat houses, and old warehouses. You’re pretty sure he just found one and broke the chain on the door and called it a night. That should be your first clue, but fuck it, what’s life without a little risk?

Anyway, a few hours pass and admittedly, you’re a lil’ drunk. That being said, you could swear this dude in a leatherface costume is stalking you. Maybe not stalking you, per say, but he’s definitely trying hard to be where you are. It’s not like he’s easy to confuse with anyone else; his costume is super unique, and if you’re being honest, a little disturbing. It legit looks like that kid Bakugo from the Sports Festival but forcefully mutated in with the classic Leatherface look. Whoever it is, they’ve definitely got an edgy sense of humor. It should spook you, but it’s Halloween for fucks sake! At least they’re putting some effort in! It’s no coincidence that you see him literally everywhere you go, so maybe he likes you?

Maybe he’s cute under that creepy mask.

It’s worth a shot (get it, shot?), so you let him follow you to the bar and sit down next to an equally empty seat, hoping to give off the vibe of ‘quit being creepy and come talk to me.’

A few seconds later and surprise surprise, he sits down right beside you. No sense in pretending this is anything other than what it is, so you turn right to him and offer to buy him a drink.

He stares at you for a minute, beady pupils surveying you beneath that godawful mask he’s donning before he nods. He doesn’t tell you what he wants, so you just order him whatever mixture of gasoline and fruit you get. He just stares at you while you sip at your own drink, and you can’t help but laugh. His eyes are fuckin’ intense, and while you’re already a little tipsy, it’s pretty clear he’s dead sober. Luckily, alcohol gives you a charming ice breaker.

“It’s probably a little difficult to drink with that terrifying thing on your face, but I really appreciate your dedication to the look.”

Behind the holes of the mask, his eyes crinkle near the edges. You can’t tell if he’s smiling or snarling, but he’s definitely reacting to what you’re saying. He must’ve decided that he likes you, because he finally reaches behind his head and loosens whatever makeshift strap that’s tangled in his silver, ‘fake’ blood matted hair.

As he lets it fall away from his face, you study what’s underneath. He’s a little rough around the edges, a little chapped with dry skin and more than a few blisters on his pale lips, but he’s cute and the costume has you intrigued. For all you know, it could be liquid latex. The guy seems pretty dedicated after all. It makes you wonder what is Halloween paint and what’s his actual skin. You kinda wanna lick him and find out.

Shut up, alcohol.

“It’s homemade.” He rasps out, voice cracking and strained like he hasn’t spoken in days. After a sip of his own drink, he slips a subtle smile as he sees you eying the grotesque costume piece. “I’m glad you like it.”

It’s gross to say the least. Whatever it’s made out of, it’s certainly not plastic or rubber like most masks. It smells atrocious, especially coupled with the must and cheap booze of the warehouse, and it makes you a little queasy as it flops around in his lap a little too lifelike for your liking. It even has pores, for Christ’s sake. Tearing your gaze away from it isn’t easy, but if you look much longer, you’re not really sure what your stomach is gunna do, so you turn your attentions to the owner instead.

“Are you making a statement or just not a fan of the would-be hero types?”

He giggles a little even though you’re not entirely sure what you said was funny. “I guess you could say it’s both.”

You sit in an awkward silence, sipping at your drink for a few minutes before another wave of alcohol induced courage lights a fire under your ass. If he won’t talk, you sure as fuck will.

“So, are you a friend of Dabi’s or-” He scoffs, loud and hard, lip curling in distaste. “No. I’m unfortunate enough to know him. We work together.”

“Really? I always wondered what he did for a living.”

It takes him a second to realize that’s you’re prodding, and a minute longer to come up with an answer. “I guess you could say we’re sort of... activists or something.”

“Is that so? He never really struck me as the generous type.”

“He’s not.” He grins like a fox in a henhouse, mischievous and sly like he knows something you don’t. “And I’m not either.”

“Then why be an activist?”

His smirk fades, and he nurses his drink, flicking his eyes away from you. “I dunno.”

“What kind of activist are you? Like social or environmental or-”

“Uh-” He clearly wasn’t expecting this line of questioning. “Political.”

“Oh, that’s cool! What kind of politics are you guys into? You seem like the anarchy sort to me, but I don’t wanna judge-”

“Are you always this nosy?”

His sudden hostility takes you back a little. Sure, you’re drunk and annoying, but that seems a bit excessive. Maybe this isn’t the tree you want to be barking up tonight.

“Sorry. I was just trying to get to know you.”

You turn your body away from him slightly, returning your gaze to the rusted metal behind the makeshift bar. You can see him glaring you down out of your periphery but opt to ignore it. Regardless, he stares for a few more moments before downing the rest of the drink you apparently wasted your money on. “Well, don’t.”

Whatever, man. It’s a fucking Halloween party. You can find a different jerk-ass to hook up with, one who at least pretends to be nice until the night is over. Dicks are a dime a dozen in a place like this, and the ‘super mysterious, if I told you, I’d have to kill you’ bullshit charade he’s playing is grating on your nerves. Part of you wants to tell him off for being so rude, but the other part is telling you to just shut up, project your disinterest, and wait for him to leave.

You huff a small sigh, blowing the air out of your puckered lips as you roll your eyes behind closed lids. Your side of the conversation comes to an abrupt halt, and suddenly everything in the room is more interesting than he is. Yet even with the uncomfortable awkward air around you both, he doesn’t leave. He just continues scanning you over as you do your best to give him the cold shoulder. So he really thinks there’s any sort of comeback from that, huh?

Apparently he does. He’s not very good with social hints either. You’ve almost tuned him out when you feel a bony hand clutching your upper arm.

“Hey, come with me. This place is boring and I’ve got something I want to show you.”

You turn, shooting him a disbelieving glare, but he’s already slid off his bar stool and is pulling you along with him. He doesn’t bother to wait for your answer, weaving through the crowds and dragging you behind him even as you try to wiggle your arm out of his grasp. Had you been in your right mind, you might have screamed or shoved him and told him to get lost, but your liquor marinated mind makes it difficult. He’s kinda right, after all. This place has gotten boring. All your friends left you behind an hour ago to go find their own conquests and dancing by yourself gets pretty lame after a minute. It’s not like you had anything better to do.

Alright, fine. Follow the rude guy. He seems pretty adamant about it anyway.

You try to justify it by telling yourself maybe he’s just super socially awkward or doesn’t have much experience with girls. He could also be one of those super brash, brutally honest people that just says whatever comes to mind. Maybe he didn’t mean it in a mean way. A trailing history of terrible taste in men leaves his unbridled rudeness with a bad taste in your mouth, but it wasn’t like you were planning on seeing him again after tonight. Ride the dick and then ride off into the sunset.

You both dodge through the groups of people together as he yanks you towards the very back of the warehouse. The couple of doors he leads you through have a fairly prominent ‘Do Not Enter’ sign cautioning at eye level, but he doesn’t seem dissuaded, pulling you through the heavy doors despite the clear warning. A few hallways and dim, empty corridors later and he’s ushering you into something resembling a claustrophobic courtyard outside that joins the warehouse with a few of the surrounding buildings.

It’s very dark outside, and aside from the slight shine of ugly yellow tinted streetlights peeking through the alleyway, you can’t see much of anything. You can’t imagine what on Earth it is out here that he wants to show you, but you doubt you’ll even be able to see it. Anxiety starts to bloom in your chest as your drunk mind starts to realize that you’ve followed a stranger out into a very dark, very isolated area.

“H-hey, I never got your name.”

He laughs softly, coming up behind you and gripping your shoulders in a way that feels all too tight. Steering you forward, he leans in, feet falling in line with your steps.

“You’re right. My bad, that’s awfully rude of me.”

He pushes you forward in a way that seems a bit intense for having just met before latching his hands lazily around the base of your neck and pulling you into his chest.

“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t know what Dabi does for a living, or else you never would have been stupid enough to follow me out here.”

Okay, it’s Halloween and all, but his brand of prank is starting to feel a little too real. The macabre costume and total boorishness should have been the insight you needed to come to the conclusion that this guy just isn’t quite right in the head, but between the alcohol and your desire to give him the benefit of the doubt, it just never quite clicked for you.

“It’s Shigaraki, by the way. My name. I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

His wet breath on your neck isn’t the only reason you get shivers. You have heard that name before, only never spoken so casually. His fingers tighten around the tensing muscles in your throat as you swallow down a bombardment of emotion. Panic. Fear. Realization.

There’s a million and ten things going through your mind right now, the foremost of which is why. You aren’t a hero, nor are you a particularly fervent hero supporter. You’re not related to any heroes, and frankly, there’s no one further from the social/cultural hub that is hero society. Isn’t that what this guy gets his rocks off to? At least from the news snippets, that’s the impression you gathered.

You want to ask him why you. Maybe its a selfish question but it’s a question none the less, and one people tend to ask when their place on the mortal coil is being threatened. Yet, no matter how you try to spit out the words, your tongue stills in your dry mouth and refuses to cooperate. The pounding in your chest is giving way to a headache and a serious case of sick, and you swear between the loud pulsing of blood in your veins, you can hear him giggling behind you.

You think maybe that’s a strong enough cue to leave. You can ask him why when you’re separated by a thick layer of glass at Tartarus.

You know, it’s easy to sit back in the comfort of your own home and laugh at the clumsy heroine in any given horror movie who fumbles away from the killer like a newborn fawn just discovering its own lanky legs, but you’re quick to understand just why that troupe is so popular. It takes you a moment to gather the courage to turn on your heel and shove him hard on the chest, and even when you manage, it’s so weak and pathetic that it barely knocks him off balance. It only just gives you enough space that you can dart in the opposite direction. Where you’re going, you have no clue, but it’s not on the forefront of your mind as you pound pavement beneath your shitty costume shoes and shout “Stay away from me!” like some cliche damsel in distress.

Your adrenaline fueled getaway is short lived. A few seconds after beginning your feverish sprint away from what you know to be a very dangerous young fellow, the front of your foot catches on something and sends you toppling to the ground only a few feet from where you began your initial rush. Your fall is less than graceful, and the shriek that emits from your throat before your body thuds to the dirt like a sack of potatoes is far less sexy than anything in any horror movie. The bag you’ve been clutching, filled with nothing but the bare essentials and a half empty flask, is flung from your fingers. Your assailant doesn’t slow-walk towards you in a menacing manner while wielding a knife, but practically jogs over, wheezing with nasally laughter as he grabs you by the hair.

“I bet that went a lot better in your head, huh?”

A lot of things went a lot better in your head, to be fair. That scene. This night. Your life in general. But the little pity party you’re throwing yourself does little to garner his sympathies. No amount of hiccuping and crying fat gobs of tears that leak from your lashes and down into the Halloween makeup it took you hours to do elicits any response from him but what he had already planned on.

His laughter finally dies down and the fingers threaded through your hair manhandle you to your knees before roughly casting you down onto something. Something hollow yet sturdy greets your sensitive, liquor addled stomach as he forces you down and bends you over it. It feels slightly waxy, yet organic to the touch, and seems to wobble around slightly the more he kicks and prods you into a position you’ve seen one too many times in those shitty free pornos.

Pumpkin. It’s a fucking pumpkin.

You can smell the leaves and grass and sodden soil as he positions your hips up in the air, shucking off the costume apron he’d been wearing. Dirt embeds under your finger nails as you struggle to drag the rest of your body over the pumpkin to make your escape, but the hand that isn’t currently fumbling with his zipper is still tightly anchored in your hair, holding you in place. He hisses out a few words warning you against struggling too hard, his quirk is uncontrollable after all.

He makes quick work of the cheap costume bottom, inhaling a ragged breath and digging his jagged nails in a little too tightly to your skin when your ass becomes bared to the cool night air. The sight of you must’ve made him impatient, as he settles for simply yanking up your top along your back to expose your tits instead of going through the effort to try and get it off you. If what you’ve heard is true, he could simply dust it and be rid of it, but he doesn’t seem like he’s in the most centered form of mind right now, and it doesn’t appear like it’s your death he’s after.

No, it seems like he’s after something much more intimate than death.

Your mind is acutely aware of what’s about to happen, but it’s trapped in your paralyzed body, unable to force your heavy limbs to move with the weight of the panic. He’s freed himself from his pants, knuckles bumping against the cleft of your ass with every jerk of the cock that you thank God is hidden from your vision. After a few rigorous pumps, he withdraws for a moment before spitting and dribbling his slick saliva into the palm of his hand, coating his cock and using it as a makeshift lubricant.

When he’s finished making spitting sounds that make your stomach church, he lines his hips against your reluctantly spread legs and you feel the hot, thick tip prodding against the tautly pulled walls of your entrance. It’s enough to renew your childlike kicking and whining, babbling and pleading for him to stop. Regardless, he pays you no mind, opting only to yank his hand from the roots of your hair. It stings and he takes several strands of hair with it, but you don’t have time to focus on the pain as his fingertips dig into the fat of your cheeks, flexing and forcing you to look up at him as he hunches his wiry frame over yours.

It’s hard to see through the haze of tears that blear your vision and thick black makeup caking around your eyes, but you can make out that he’s smiling. If you can call it that, that is. Cracked lips wet and parted, breathing hot, moist breath down onto your forehead. Lips curled upward in a nasty, smarmy grin. A slimy tongue trails along his teeth as he practically drools down onto your shoulder like you’re a thick cut of venison and he’s a rabid wolf ready to sink in his canines.

“You know, I never cared much for Halloween,” His hips cant forward ever so slightly and begins to push the tip inside your unwilling hole. Slowly, slowly at first, but soon with more force. It hurts, morphing from a dull ache into an intense sting the more his girthy length is stuffed snug inside between your thighs. “But Dabi was right- it’s a lot more fun when you dress up.”

To punctuate the end of his sentence, he pulses his hips forward, sinking himself all the way inside and watching with a sick sense of glee as your face contorts in pain. He rolls his hips experimentally against your backside a few times, hissing in slight discomfort at the bittersweet tightness that strangles his flesh inside of yours. It stills him only for a brief moment, long enough for you to truly grasp the horrendous sensation of your body molding to accommodate something too large for it to have been ready to take.

However uncomfortable he may be, it’s nothing compared to what you’re feeling. It seems like a cruel joke that the wanted villain who set his sights on you that night would also have a monster cock, but Halloween was always the devil’s little prank show. He’s crammed it inside you with no regard for the damage it might do, pain radiating in the deep of your stomach as his cockhead is scrunched firmly against the wall of your cervix. Your fingers dig deeper into the dirt, but not to escape. You’re aware you’re too firmly impaled on him for that to be an option, so you settle for trying to give yourself any sensation at all that will lessen the unholy tear of your already sensitive pussy.

Eventually he decides he’s had enough of memorizing your pretty, anguished face, and his movements begin anew. Hips pistoning in a building rhythm, flesh of his thighs slapping obscenely against your bare ass. The protruding stem of the pumpkin grates into your abdomen, forcing pained, breathy ‘ah’s from you with every powerful hump. The anguishing drag of his cock assaulting your insides begins to blend together one after the next, and you do your best to block out the animalistic grunts and a sickening moans he emits with every thrust.

Eventually he lets your face go in favor of sinking his fingers just below your waist to anchor you in place as he pounds away, and you take the opportunity to drop your head in defeat and clench your eyes shut. He’ll get bored of you or he’ll cum. It’s what comes after that you should really be worried about. By the sounds he’s making, he’s far from losing interest. He seems to be getting a bit carried away, muttering something along the lines of “take it, slut” and needing to celebrate holidays more often.

That’s when you hear it.

Spooky, scary, skeletons send shivers down your spine

At first, you think it’s a joke. Like you’re having some sort of twisted nightmare and reality has finally decided to throw you a bone to lead your consciousness back home. But his manic fucking never stops and neither does the pain.

Shrieking souls with shock your soul, seal your doom tonight

A few blinks to clear the fresh wave of agony and one hand digging into the side of the pumpkin to stable yourself enough against his rutting to search for the source of the noise. There’s a glowing light a few feet from you, flashing and vibrating but just out of reach.

Your phone. It’s your phone. Your bag had landed not far from where he had you pinned, and your phone had been thrown from the bag.

Your new October ringtone plays through the damaged speakers, flashing your best friends face on the screen. She’s looking for you, probably wondering where you went. She’d never find you here. No one would.

We’re so sorry skeletons, you’re so misunderstood

Help is so close, yet so far away. Your sobs begin anew, feeling his cock pulse as he whines something about breeding his pretty little bitch into your ear. He’s cumming inside you, papping his hips against you in a shallow, offbeat rhythm. You can feel it, hear it squelching and leaking down your thighs. He came. Inside you. And judging from what few words you can make out between your agonized cries, he has every intention of doing it again.

You just want to socialize but I don’t think we should

#Anonymous #Shigaraki x reader #tw rape #tw noncon #tw alcohol #gagfic #this is a fucking joke and I put no effort into it please know that #I wouldn't actually consider it one of my stories #just a goof lmao #warning not proofread AT ALL #Shigaraki fucks you over a pumpkin #still technically smut tho #You're a girl on a quest for dat DICK and he's a rude asshole #Bakugo may or may not be dead #totally depends on your interpretation #i wrote this on PAIN KILLERS BABEYYYY

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bestfriendforhire · 3 years

Text

Children of BFFH, Entry 70

“Don’t worry. Everything is wonderful!” exclaimed Ella reassuringly.

“Well, some combinations aren’t that great from the start, but. Wait. Hold on. What is that!?” exclaimed Dea from my other side, pointing at one of the race options.

Having observed the others periodically since coming here at Momma Cosette’s insistence, I was finally ready to create my first Ancient Tribes of Earth character. The game was extremely complicated, and I still didn’t feel I had a clue what I was doing, despite reading and watching numerous guides, listening to countless explanations, and really finding the idea of video games interesting, having tried a couple now.

Most of the past couple months have been a little… restrictive, I thought as I mentally translated the word into several other languages other than English. Momma Cosette’s standards were very, very high compared to what had been expected of me in my former life. Understanding that I was dangerous next to a human helped me accept that I needed the constant practice to some extent, but I still felt she was… abnormal… as a parent.

In addition to the courses with Momma Mila that might literally be endless, Momma Cosette expected me to learn how to read expressions, mimic them perfectly, assume other identities, change my posture based on the situation, know the etiquette of dozens of countries, speak at least as many languages as she did, and know the histories of humans, vampires, and Slayers for the past thousand years, including variations between common knowledge and what actually happened. I was grateful she forgave my occasional outbursts over my daily routines, even having a single routine was too simple for her. Each day of the week had a separate schedule with numerous small differences in what I was to be practicing.

“No, really. Please, click on that race!” exclaimed Dea pleadingly. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

Slowly scrolling up—Mila could handle my full speed with ease, but I was expected to play the game at a roughly human speed—I did as Dea had asked, clicking “Brightborn”. The screen changed to show a depiction of the race, explain the history and current information, and list the game statistics. Brightborn appeared as thin, pale humans with silver eyes and wisps of white light shimmering off their bodies, appearing almost like a thin flame.

While I was still admiring the little details of the picture, Dea exclaimed “This is so cool! I wonder if Auntie Cosette will tell us how she unlocked this.”

“If you start over, I’ll never recognize your character.” stated Ella flatly.

I glanced at her in surprise, since Ella was typically giddy, not cynical. Her eyes were slightly squinted and a smile was starting to form as she watched Dea. There was a joke here between the two that I wasn’t quite understanding. Hmm… Ella recognized Dea on most days by not recognizing her. She simply assumed that a child she didn’t know was probably Dea when at home. There were a few times while we were traveling that she didn’t have a clue who Dea was, and I could sympathize very well, still struggling at times with how to think of Dea. Recognizing someone who could change all recognizable characteristics at whim was… troublesome.

Dea laughed and said, “Yeah-yeah. I won’t, but I’m still curious. Momma Mila, how many people are actually playing Brightborn?”

“None, currently. As you can imagine, sticking out so much isn’t often attractive, and unlocking the race is very difficult. Even among the species of the world, Brightborn are incredibly rare. They are terrible at stealth, easily recognizable as a unique race, and therefore terrible at disguise without magic, even against NPCs. I am allowed to tell you that their racial abilities are among those that can evolve, not simply skill up.” explained Momma Mila.

“I think you should try it.” encouraged Ella, sounding enthusiastic. “If you decide you don’t like it after a month, you only will have lost a month. Unlike the rest of us—Dea excluded—you aren’t so attached to your character that starting over will be costly.”

“Hey, you know I wouldn’t actually give up on Bryn. I love my Halfling.” she insisted, though she was grinning rather than sounding offended by the idea that she wasn’t so involved.

“Hmm? What were we talking about?” questioned Ella, possibly pretending to forget this time. Realizing that she made jokes about her own forgetfulness took a while for me.

Dea was rolling her eyes when I looked up at her, but she caught my gaze and said, “I would really like to see you try the race, but that’s mostly me wanting to see the race in action. You really should pick something that sounds appealing to you, since you’re practically guaranteed to keep going once you start.”

I accepted the race, having been considering pros and cons this entire time. Being faster than these two helped in situations like this. The list of possible templates was daunting in length, but I intended to play a vampire like Momma Cosette, since I’d get extremely large skill boosts from the game’s inheritance system.

“Whoa. You’re really playing it, and as a vampire? Are you sure? The character model is glowing red! I didn’t realize any race couldn’t hide their vampiric nature.” stated Dea in a shocked and somewhat intrigued voice. She was staring eagerly.

“Momma Mila did tell us that Brightborn are terrible at disguise.” commented Ella, who was apparently really paying attention if she still remembered that.

“If the race is extremely rare, people might assume this is the normal look.” I pointed out, surprised when Dea seemed to just start considering that after I spoke.

“I guarantee that I won’t recognize it!” supplied Ella with a grin.

Dea slowly nodded, texting rapidly on her phone as she said, “I… agree with you, Valeria. Even the NPCs might not react too much to the red glow more than the general unusualness.”

Customizing how the character looked was very, very complicated and partly why I had asked these two in particular to come help. I knew that Momma Mila would quite gladly help me correct details if I adjusted too many sliders off from norm, creating something too unusual for my taste, but even Momma Cosette had immense respect for Dea and Ella’s abilities in art.

Plus, getting their help here would get them interested in ignoring their quests in favor of helping me, which could also bring others to do the same or something like that. Momma Cosette occasionally gave me lessons in what she called “social engineering”, which she considered important for a vampire, explaining that we could subtly alter entire civilizations over the course of hundreds of years. I occasionally wondered if she thought of me as five hundred instead of ten.

As the introductory cinematic played, briefly acting out the history of the Brightborn race, I was enraptured by the beauty of it. A tranquil land was sent into chaos by crashing meteorites, sending the people scattering. Sadly, many seemed killed outright. For some reason, the river dried up almost instantly. Years passed. People starved, predators became more aggressive, and the Brightborn went from a flourishing civilization to a small group of cave dwellers. In the darkness, the light from their bodies was more apparent than ever, but much life in their hiding place was blind, more vulnerable to these beings hunting by sight than dominant.

I realized I had been staring for several seconds at the same thing. The transition from cinematic to my character was so smooth that I didn’t register my need to act. I didn’t really know Felice, my character, well enough to recognize her from her back, though the red glow should have told me. Unfortunately, my entire world map was dark, so I couldn’t show Dea or Ella where I was compared to them, not that they seemed too interested in leaving just yet.

“The light going out at the end must have been the vampire attacking you from behind. Felice must have just woken up after the change.” suggested Dea thoughtfully.

I nodded in agreement while declining the tutorial on movement. My local map showed me the way to my village, but I did have a couple quests already, apparently what Felice was doing before the vampire attack. As I went mushroom hunting and fought my first wildlife, Dea and Ella gave me pointers in combat. Currently, my Brightborn racial abilities allowed me to grow brighter, so I could see farther, and hurl essence, allowing me to attack enemies at range with the light from my body. The vampiric sight was already superior in the dark, giving me grayscale vision far past the reach of my light.

“Wow…” whispered Ella when I got around to checking my inheritance boosts.

From Felice’s vampire heritage, she gained darkvision with a five hundred foot range, large boosts to the growth of all vampiric skills, and a large number of racial abilities that were already higher than one on the skill meters. There were also considerable boosts to numerous weapon and magic skills. I kept my expression smooth as I noted the “spatial magic” boost was as considerable as Momma Cosette had suggested it might be. Part of her success in the arena came from her character being able to stab in unusual ways due to that magic. Many people thought her vampiric boosts were her only edge.

“Seems right, considering Auntie Cosette’s Madeleine.” commented Dea with a nod.

“If you two would rather be playing your characters, I’ll let you know my location the moment I find the surface.” I told them, feeling a little bad that they were just watching my relatively inept demonstration of the starting area. I knew both of them could do far more with their characters, having played for years.

Surprisingly, neither of them left, wanting to watch and chat our morning away. By lunch, I still hadn’t even found a hint at how to leave the vast underground labyrinth.

#Children of BFFH #Children #of #BFFH #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

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