Bel, I Cant Tell You How Ready My Body Is To Be Fucked By Priest!Robb

Bel, I can’t tell you how ready my body is to be fucked by priest!Robb

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Bel my love, you are a dream 🥹🥹🥹

Bellllll my loveeee, I hope that you had a wonderful time reading this! It’s always a wild ride writing smut

Blood & Pain - Druig x Hecate!Eternal Reader (Kaetlyn) Oneshot

Pairings: Persephone!Eternal Reader & Hecate!Eternal Reader, ft. Sephia x Ikaris, and Kaetlyn x Druig Word Count: ~3.5k Summary: A lil' oneshot to show how Druig and his wife got together, and what way to show that than with hot and heavy SMUT! Warning(s): SMUT (if you are under 18 DNI), some angst if you squint, mention of bullying (sort of), slight mention of blood, knife conjuring, Druig is obsessed and we love that, I just really wanted to write something to get me into the Halloween Spirit Notes: This a surprise oneshot to my wonderful beta reader, @valeskafics! She is in the middle of midterms, so I wanted to gift her a lil' oneshot to thank her for all of her help and encouragement! She is an incredibly kind and patient human and one of the best and most incredible fanfic writers for HOTD, GOT, and the Ewanverse on Tumblr! If you love any of Ewan Mitchell's works or are a fan of GOT/HOTD, I highly recommend checking her blog out! You will not regret it! Also, the BIGGEST thank you and shout of love to @ethereal-athalia my good man in the storm, I have never clicked so well with someone on this platform when it came to crazy ideas, and thanks to her, I can write out my ideas and share them on this site!If you want to read more from this AU, please click on this masterlist!

No matter how the rest of the team believed, what ideas his own children liked to conjure, how the tale was spun by generations -- Druig did not fall in love with his wife at first sight. He knew who you were, Kaetlyn, a fighter who could manipulate the shadows of every living being. You would later the mother of surgery and modern medicine- and even beyond that, a scholar and pioneer for feats of magic that remain untouched even by the greatest of the Supremes in the Mystic Arts.

He couldn’t remember the time he first realized that he loved you- he only knew that when he recognized it, he had fallen so deeply that he could no longer remember what it felt like not to be in love you. You were everywhere. There was simply no place left on this planet where Druig would wander that you wouldn’t be there beckoning him to you.

It was almost shameful how long it took for him to fall in love with you in comparison to how quickly you adored him. It had taken him over 100 years for you to fully gain his attention, and another 200 years for you to wait for him to confess his reciprocation. 200 years of clever banter and harmless flirting that shifted to longing gazes and lingering touches, until you finally had enough of his lame patience and reluctance. You dragged Druig to a secluded area- away from the Domo and humans alike, and took his face in your hands and forced his lips to yours. One kiss become two, two became five, and soon you and he had joined together in an explosion of passion that would bind you to him for the rest of eternity.

The sun had long set, and stars and moon glittered in the night. The two of you were as naked as the days you were born. Your need to have each other was beyond a matter of lust, it was primal need. Druig had torn your clothes without any thought- he starved for you. Any barrier that separated your body from him was flung away. Your skin glowed in the moonlight, every curve and line of your frame gloriously highlighted for his eyes alone. His lily-bloomed skin laid under you, ready for anything and everything you would give him. He still remembered the words you whispered to warn him all that would come as a result of your love.

“Druig, I must warn you,” you whispered. Druig kissed you across your collarbone, and you tugged on his hair to gaze into his eyes. “I can be very selfish- I will have all of you, or none of you.” 

He could feel your wet center throb with each wince that escaped his lips. “You already do, my love,” he whispered back, silently pleading you to let him continue. “I swear you do.”

He craved you. He desperately wanted to map his tongue and lips across your body; he wanted to memorize the feel of your skin, the smell of your sweat, the taste of your cum. Whatever you gave him, he wanted it all.

Pushing him to lay on his back, you crawled forward to hover your soaked cunt over his cock. “I’m selfish- relentlessly so, any other woman that catches your eye will feel no end of my wrath.” You lowered yourself only enough so that his tip could paint its precum on your clit, the corner of your lips curled into a cruel smirk in response to the strangled moan he let out. Your body trembled from the sheer delight you felt at witnessing the surly telepath whine so pathetically from your touch.

“Please,” he begged, “please angel. Let me feel you- I need it- I need you.” Druig could feel his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming pleasure that would fill him. “I want to touch you, please-”

Druig’s whimpers were brutally cut off as you placed a finger over his lips.

“Shhhh- not yet,” you breathily whispered, “you need to earn your pleasure, my love.” Your pupils dilated seeing him take your finger in his mouth, and used his tongue to suck on it. “I need to know if you understand what it means to love me, and have it in return.”

Before Druig could respond, you lowered yourself further- until he filled you to the brim with only a single thrust. You were so taken back by the sheer size of him that you felt your climax wash over as every part of you trembled from the intense euphoria.

“By Arishem,” you thought, “how is he so big?”

You wanted to make him beg, to drown him in so much pleasure that it would hurt. Whatever pain you inflicted on him now, it was nothing compared to the torture you experienced in having to wait for him to admit his feelings. You lost count on the number of times you pleasured yourself at the thought of the man beneath you. So many times, you wanted to sneak into his bed, and wake him to witness the maddening effect he had on you. But having him inside you was better than anything you could imagine.

Gripping his shoulders, you lifted yourself until only his tip remained-before slamming your hips down to his- repeating this motion until falling into a rhythm that was accompanied by a song of wild moans and gasps. Everything about this man- the aquamarine shine in his eyes, the glowing pallor of his body, the tone and strength in his muscles- screamed the image of perfection to you.

“Druig, Druig,” you could only cry out his name- as if it was the only word you knew, “I love you, I love you, I love- FUCK!” You screamed out at the feel of his hips moving to meet yours, and before you could blink, he shifted your positions so that you would be laying on your back as he caged your body with his frame.

Druig couldn’t take it anymore, it tormented him to not take you without abandon. For so long, he dreamed of having you like this- warm, teasing, and his. You called yourself selfish, so what? Druig knew what it meant to be selfish, to want to possess and devour every part of you until there was nothing left for anyone else to take or see.

You must have blind to not see his desperation for you. How could someone so bright and brilliant not understand that he would gladly let you tear him limb by limb if it meant to be loved by you.

To have you under him like this- writhing in ecstasy, crying from exquisite pain, your soft curves molded against his hard frame- it was as if this was his true purpose. It was not to assist in humanity’s evolution, but to belong to you as you would belong to him. It was to have you like this at every waking moment- filling you with love, and overwhelming you with desire.

As he continued to slam his hips against yours with reckless abandon, he trailed his lips down your throat, sharply nipping your collarbones, until all that he could reach were your heaving breasts that moved in tandem with his thrusts. He was so enraptured by your presence that when you peaked once more on his cock, his rutting only grew more relentless and rougher than what you thought was possible.

Stars, he loved the way you screamed his name. He wanted everyone to know it was him who made you mad with elation. He wanted the whole world to know that you, Kaetlyn- gloriously headstrong, brilliantly beautiful Kaetlyn- the wielder of shadows, and master of the darkness and night, was begging for his cock like a common whore.

“Look at you,” he snarled- jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth threatened to break from the pressure, “what were you saying m’darling? I could have sworn that you were trying to get me to beg- but look at you now.” Your head thrown back as your hair sprayed around you like a beckoning halo as you babbled nonsensically, legs wrapped around his torso to minimize any potential loss of distance, your wickedly sharp nails cutting into his skin to leave vibrant trails on his back as blood leaked from the wounds. “You can’t get enough of me, can you?”

Your only response was whimpers and cries, so Druig decided to be a bit cruel, and slowed down before pulling himself out and stopping completely. The loss of your warmth was complete agony, but the consequence was well-worth the pain at the sight of your immediate reaction.

“DRUIG!” You cried out in pain. You tried to move yourself to feel more of him, but the smug bastard had pinned your torso down- and your body was still recovering from the overstimulation of your previous orgasm. Still maintaining his grip, Druig towered above you in order to gain a better vantage point. Staring down at the aftermath of his onslaught, he almost came right then and there. You were the very likeness of desired perfection- tears had leaked from your eyes and were trailing down your face, your flush travelled down to the tips of your breasts, and there was not a corner of your body that wasn’t covered in marks left by his teeth.

“Please, Druig, please-” you begged him, “don’t stop! I need you!” You felt you were dying from his loss, you felt so empty. It was like you finally felt complete, and when he pulled away it was as if all the air in your lungs were completely snuffed out. You couldn’t bear the pain- it was tearing you apart. You tried to pull him down to get him to kiss- you needed his love; nothing would ever be enough- not when it came from him.

Your soul craved his.

Crystalline blue eyes softened momentarily before steeling once more to grip your hips even tighter, Druig barely lowered himself- just enough to mix his throbbing tip’s precum with your slick. No matter how much he adored you -- however much he wanted to give in to you-- he needed you to admit that you were his first.

“Open your eyes,” his rasp sent chills to run throughout your entire body, “and see what you do to me.” When you looked into his eyes, you were taken back by how dark they had become- that beautiful pale hue had minimized into a thin ring from how dilated his pupils had become. It wasn’t just lust that swam in his gaze, but also mania and lunacy. His piercing gaze, along with his heaving breaths created such a stark contrast to the calm and collected mask he showcased to everyone- humans and Eternals alike. Druig looked less like the usual apathetic god everyone thought him to be, and more like a raging terrifying beast that fed on savagery and only cared to fulfill his most primal urges.

You have never seen such a magnificent and enthralling sight before, and you prayed to the stars above that this time would not be the last.

Druig could hear your thoughts, and he didn’t care how insane he looked. He wanted you to see all that you did to him- how you engrained yourself into his very soul and being. You called yourself infatuated, but he was obsessed. And as aware he was of his own delusion; he didn’t ever plan to stop.

Fuck Arishem- fuck anyone and everyone who would dare keep you from him. He didn’t care the lengths he would have to go to keep you by his side. Let them paint him the villain- it was all worth it if it meant having your love.

“Tell me.” He pleaded you, “please, my angel- tell me your mine. Let me in, I want all of you and only you.” His eyes held so much love and trust that it took your breath away, and it made your heart swell with so much adoration for the man that caged you between his arms. There was only one thing to say, the only thing that mattered that would seal a vow between you both for the rest of eternity.

Summoning all your courage, leaving behind all your bravado, letting all your insecurities to be put on display, you whispered, “Yes.”

Immediately after you condemned your soul to his, Druig speared himself into you to the hilt with a single thrust, and pressed his lips to yours to drink in every one of your throes of passion. Setting off at a relentless pace, it was not long until another brutal climax sheared through your body. With each push, Druig’s cock hit that spot inside you – resulting in stars to bloom around you as your mind was clouded in lust. With each thrust of his length, tremendous stimulation tearing through your walls. The sound of skin-on-skin surrounded the area around you, creating a forcefield of bliss that could not be intruded by anyone but the two immortal beings engaged in their act of fervor. The only other sounds that could be heard were the gentle whispers of the night breeze, along the soft chirpings of the crickets.

Feeling his cock throbbing, Druig knew that he was reaching his limit. However, he refused to finish without you going over the edge with him. Setting an even more ruthless pace, he could feel the trembles that ran throughout your body as he fights to hold control over himself, and not releasing himself deep inside you. Only being able to get a few more thrusts in, Druig viciously cursed as he let out a snarled cry – the loudest you have ever heard from him. With one final push, he came deep inside your cunt, painting your walls with his cum as you felt his warmth flooding inside you. The sensation of the thick ropes of cum engulfing your cunt triggered your final climax, and you felt the evidence of your indescribable pleasure that washed over you mixed with his thick cum that overflowed within you to the point where it leaked out of your core.

Refusing to part, the both of you let yourselves bask in the bliss-filled bubble that was the aftermath of your lovemaking. But as happy as you were, dread filled your mind as you realized what you had done. You knew how the others saw you. How Kingo and Sprite liked to poke fun at your darkness, how Ikaris would voice his doubts of your ability to protect with ill-hidden snarks to Ajak, even the humans would whisper in fear at the sight of you soaked in deviants’ blood in the aftermath of your many onslaughts. It was bad enough that they looked down on Sephia for how she so faithfully remained at your side, you couldn’t let the man you loved be dragged down as well – it would have been too much.

No matter how Druig liked to present himself as cool and indifferent to human conflict – you knew that it was far from true. You’ve watched him for centuries, and there was no one else on the world whose soul was as gentle and carried more love for humanity than even Ajak and Sersi. You couldn’t let your own selfish desires bring his ruin, you refused to let that happen.

“This was a mistake,” you forced yourself to say as you faced away from him to locate your attire, you couldn’t bear it if he saw how much it killed you to say it, but it needs to be done, “I never should have let it go this far.” You crawled on your knees to reach your tunic, “Let’s just forget this ever hap-”

A vicious growl cut you off as Druig’s hands grabbed your wrist to the point where you were sure bruises would show tomorrow. “Don’t,” he snarled, “even try to insult me by suggesting to pretend that this never happened- that we never happened.” Pulling you back to cage you in his arms, Druig buried his face into the crook of your neck- as if imprinting the scent of your skin to his memory in fear that you would disappear before his very eyes.

Leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “How could you ever think for a second that I could possibly go on with my life after finally having you? Tell me angel, how do you expect a man to simply live on weeds after finally partaking a drop of ambrosia?”

Your heart melted at his words, but you could not let yourself be swayed. “Druig,” you started, “you don’t understand the cost of being with me. You deserve someone who is kind and warm and-”

Druig forced you to look into his eyes. “Stop. Don’t you dare let the words of those idiots make you see yourself as less than the perfection you are. Do you know what I see when I look at you?” His eyes softened for what he was about to ask next. “Let me show you, my love.”

As his pale blue irises glowed into a golden hue, making him transform into a sight akin to godliness, you opened your mind to his, and what you saw shook you to your core. You saw scenes of yourself travelling through your shadows, taking down dozens of deviants with only a few arrows from your quiver, as well as the aftermath of you standing alone in a field of mangled corpses dyed with black tarlike blood. You saw yourself as the humans did, embodied darkness that killed with cold precision and controlled beings with their own shadows.

But soon you saw moments that you had forgotten, moments that you believed were private. You saw yourself sneaking away at night in the cover of darkness to watch ghosts roaming aimlessly, along with the pity in your eyes from hearing their sorrows. You saw yourself in your room at the Domo, surrounded by scrolls from topics ranging from rare spells to hand-drawn diagrams of the human body. You witnessed the smile spread across your face when you helped a spirit finally reach their peace to the other world. You saw the time Ajak approached you to ask for your assistance in delivering the children from expectant mothers in the village. You saw yourself come outside the tent to hand over the child of your first delivery to the father, who thanked you with tears in his eyes after being informed that both the child and mother safe and healthy. You watched yourself stare in shock of his praise before seeing the child reach for your finger, and let yourself feel the disbelief that flooded you at the sight of pure innocence staring back at you.

“You call yourself selfish and unkind,” Druig’s voice brought you back to reality- his eyes returned to that familiar blue, “but that couldn’t be more untrue.” He softly pressed his forehead to yours as he continued. “Would a selfish person spend night after night gathering impossible texts to study for an unnamed spirit to finally reach peace? Would someone unkind research every possibility in order to ensure that a mother could hold her child? How could you let someone as pathetic as Ikaris and Sprite taint your own views of yourself so much? Kaetlyn, I was a coward for waiting for so long to tell you my feelings, I was selfish in thinking of my own pride and dignity was more important than your strife. But still you loved me, and I could not be more grateful for your existence for that.”

Tears ran down your cheeks as you felt all your walls crashing down, how could someone so frustratingly wonderful exist? If this was all a dream, you never wanted to wake up. But just to be sure, you took a stone that just fit into the palm of your hand and transmuted it into a silver dagger. Holding it just above his heart, you warned him one final time.

“Druig, no matter what sweet words you whisper, I am selfish. I could kill you now without hesitation. I could cut you and cause you so much pain that you would beg for death. Do you still wish to remain by my side?”

Staring back at you with only ardent love and unfiltered adoration, Druig grasped your hand and dragged the blade’s tip across his chest. Thin trails of dark red life leaked from the wounds, but there was no indication of pain. “If loving you is pain,” he whispered as he wiped the blood from his wound with his finger, only to smear it across your lips, “then let me bleed.” He repeated those same words a year later, when he married you in a private ceremony after the two of you sneaked away from the village’s harvest banquet.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @3vergr3en, @its-actually-minicika, @fivebefore21, @asa-do-your-thing, @hypnoticmistake, @blog-100, @tacorice, @prettyvintageafternoon, @deanthomaswhore, @angelnyx, @henesseyhaven, @xcharlottemikaelsonx, @sunphyre, @beananacake, @atomwritez, @vikingqueen28, @getawaycardotmp3, @redheadspark, @justmymindandstuff, @heliosphere8, @bambiandbam, @americanprometheuss, @chaoticdetectivewidow, @mazerunnermarvel, @bryandechartisasmolbean,

Let me know if you want to be tagged! Have a happy October! Please be kind, and leave a like/comment/reblog!

Forgive me daddy Father, for I have sinned

BELLLLLLLL

I WAS STARVED OF DARK ROBB STARK AND THEN YOU BLESS US WITH THIS GIFT

🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

"Say Your Prayers" - Priest!Robb Stark x Nun!Reader

Summary: Father Robb Stark desires you, the new nun at his church.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, religion kink, priest kink, hierophilia, fingering, semi public sex, blasphemy, breeding kink if you squint, p in v sex

Word Count: 850 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Robb Stark is a good, honest, God-fearing man. His family prizes honor above all else and he was raised to respect that. He was raised so devout that he, surprisingly, gave up his share of the family company and chose to become a priest, entering seminary school as soon as he was able, rising in the ranks quickly, and soon enough? He had a parish of his own. Everything was going perfectly for him. That is, until he met you.

A sweet little nun, innocent and kind, with wide eyes and a gentle voice. The first time he met you and shook your hand, he was immediately twisted by unholy thoughts, thinking to himself how soft your hands are, how smooth, how much better it would feel if they were the ones tugging on his cock late at night rather than his own.

You quickly became the subject of his most sordid fantasies - bending you over the altar of worship, fucking you in the confessional booth until you screamed his name. Every single thing you did drove him wild with desire. The way you walked, the way you talked, the way you filled out that nun’s dress so perfectly, the slightest bit of hair that managed to fall free of your habit. And the worst part? How fucking innocent you were. How good and trusting and naive. Robb thought perhaps he was in love with that and wanted to protect that innocence. To preserve it forever.

But soon, he realized that the truth was that he wanted to ruin it.

It is a day like any other when he finally gives in to his all-consuming desire for you.

You give him that soft smile of yours, greeting him with a “Hello, Father Robb.”

He stares after you as you make your way down the hall, the natural sway of your lips tempting him beyond belief. Robb feels his mouth go dry and fiddles with his collar. His collar that he feels he no longer deserves to wear.

After Sunday service is over, he pulls you into the confessional booth with him, smirking to himself as you gaze up at him, confused. His lips come crashing down onto yours, and while you’re shocked for a minute, you kiss him back. You’d be lying if you said you never fantasized about Father Robb. His sweet blue eyes, that stubble that lines his jaw, that streak of gray in his hair. Your hands thread in his curls as he removes your habit, lifting you up, pushing your dress to your hips.

“Such a filthy little girl for me, aren’t you, Sister?” he murmurs in his thick Northern accent, fingers tracing your pussy over your panties, “So wet for me. Were you thinking about this, little sinner?”

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

“I didn’t hear you.”

You gasp as he lands a light slap against your cunt, making you meet his gaze as you speak up, “Yes, Father.”

“That’s better,” Robb purrs, moving your underwear to the side and pushing two long, thick fingers inside of you.

You grip the roof of the confessional as he fucks you with his fingers, eyes fixed on yours, his gaze hooded and full of lust as he feels you squeezing around him. He rubs against your sweet spot, thumb drawing circles against your clit bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You close your eyes only to have him rasp in your ear.

“Eyes on me, little one.”

He pulls his hand away from you, undoing his pants, revealing his rather impressive cock to you, long and thick and achingly hard. You take some degree of pride in the fact, eyes scrunching shut as he pushes inside you. He stretches you out on his cock, lips pressed to your neck as he ruts against you, gripping your chin with one of his hands.

“Oh my God,” you manage to whimper, only for Robb to bite down hard on your neck.

“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, Sister.”

“Yes, Father,” you let out a strangled gasp as you feel his finger moving toward your backside, teasing your puckered hole, “Father, please-”

“What is it you want, Sister?” Robb chuckles, “Don’t be shy.”

“I want to come,” you whisper, “Please…”

He moves faster and faster, his cockhead brushing up against your most sensitive parts. You feel him so deep inside that you know you’re going to be sore the rest of the day, but you can’t bring yourself to care, especially when he pushes one finger into your puckered hole, past the tight ring of muscles, the added stimulation sending you careening over the edge with a near scream of his name.

Robb, seemingly not caring for the consequences, spills himself inside of you with a low growl of your name, burying his face in your neck as the two of you catch your breath, coming down from your high together.

“You’d best say your prayers, Sister,” he murmurs, “And ask for our Lord to have mercy on you. Because God knows I most certainly will not.”

Damn, amber talked like once and I wanted to set her hair on fire… well done

Already can’t wait for more!!!

blood runs thicker than water — two.

masterlist | requests are open!

pairing: eventual ethan landry x reader

warnings: mindy's monologues

[one.] [two.]

The day was grey and bleak, thick clouds rolled over Woodsboro. A shiver ran down your spine as a gust of cold air chilled you awake. Your trailer home didn't do much against the elements and fall was almost here. 

It was a Saturday. Th necessity of a school day did not wake you at seven a.m. like it did Monday through Friday; instead, a different necessity pulled you away from the warm mess of sheets on your bed.

「 … 」

Dewey Riley exited his room with slow, sluggish steps and a hand cradling his head in an attempt to shield his sensitive eyes from the morning light that peeked through the blinds. He stumbled towards the kitchen and fought to open the fridge with one hand, an ironic disappointment appearing on his face upon seeing it was full of fresh groceries.

"Good morning," you said softly as you came out of the bathroom, careful to keep your volume at a level safe for your father's headache — a tendency that was becoming more and more frequent. You reached up behind your dad to grab the brand new carton of eggs from the fridge.

"Did you get groceries?" Your dad questioned, not bothering to reply to your greeting. He was always a little prickly when he was hungover.

"Well, yeah. I kinda didn't wanna starve?" You laughed a little, though it became nervous upon seeing your dad's serious face. Confusion was taking over now, wondering why he didn't at least smile like he normally would — he was usually prickly, not pissed.

You shut the fridge as your dad leaned off it, his hands coming up to cross over his chest and you couldn't help but feel a shift and you went on the defensive.

"You went out by yourself? Without telling me?" It felt like an accusation of a crime, a tone you couldn't understand. You couldn't comprehend the sudden complaint when the two of you would be sitting here hungry if it hadn't been for you.

"It wasn't a problem before—"

"Well, it's a problem now. You don't go out by yourself, no matter what."

And you stood there, carton of eggs in hand and eyebrows furrowed in frustration as that tiny seed of resentment in your stomach threatened to grow, waiting for an explanation for the rash limitation your father had put on you — an explanation that wouldn't come as long as your father lived in denial.

He moved to pour himself a cup of coffee, not without some bourbon. You pretended not to notice, moving to make breakfast. That was your compromise. He could drink, but he had to eat whatever it was you made.

Your dad took a seat on the couch, turning on the TV. The news was already going. Your mother was on the screen, talking and laughing in a way you'd never seen before — sometimes she seemed more like a character far beyond your reach rather than your mother.

Your dad laughed at a joke she made, one you missed. With the alcohol and Good Morning with Gale Weathers, his face softened and you smiled at the scene, the anger and hurt you felt slowly fading. You walked over, handing your dad a plate of eggs and bacon, just the way he liked it. He smiled gratefully, placing a kiss on your forehead. You held your breath, the smell of alcohol stinging your nose.

A knock at the door interrupted your walk back to the kitchen and your father's face hardened again.

A voice called out from outside, one you'd never heard before.

"We're sorry to bother you, Mr. Riley, we just want to ask you a few questions -"

"I don't give interviews!" Your dad shouted, setting his plate aside and standing up.

You eyed your dad suspiciously. What happened last night?

"We're not looking for an interview—"

"Go away or I'll call the police!" Your dad yelled, properly angry now.

"You're a suspect in a homicide, so go ahead, call the police!" The voice yelled back, equally as enraged.

Your mouth dropped in shock and your father's jaw clenched. You stared so hard you were sure he felt it, glancing up quickly before he averted his eyes.

"Give me one good reason why I should talk to you!" He calls, but you could tell he was already convinced for the most part.

"I'm Billy Loomis's daughter."

The voice on the other side of the door rang clear, the words stinging like needles against your skin. You shivered, but this time, it wasn't from the cold air.

"Go to your room," your father said lowly, making his way to the front door.

You knew better than to argue, especially with the grave tone of the way your father spoke, like he was on the verge of either screaming or crying.

The walls were thin, anyway.

With the door ajar, you hovered, attentive to the footsteps and the sounds. The locks rattled and you could almost imagine your father undoing the many locks on your door before finally opening it.

The voices, now at a normal volume, were muffled and hard to hear. The conversation moved to the living room where your father's cold plate of food sat. You were hanging on to every word, focusing hard to catch as much of the conversation as you could.

"So help us! Help us figure out who's behind this!" Samantha's voice rang.

"Are you kidding me? I've been stabbed nine times, I've got permanent nerve damage and a fun little limp. I have a kid. You think I wanna go through that again? Put my family in danger?"

"You just said it always goes back to the past, right? So, if I'm in danger, that means you're both in danger. Come on, let's do this, together."

"Your time's up." And the last sound you heard was the door slamming and the locks rattling once more.

With a creak of your door, you made your way into the hallway, watching as your dad leaned against the front door.

"Dad?"

"Yes?" He leaned up and off the door, trying to relax his face and his breathing.

"You should help them."

"I thought I told you to go to your room."

You knocked on the nearest wall. "The walls are thin."

Your dad sighed, resting his hands on his hips.

"I'm not getting involved. I don't know anything."

"You know everything! You know what it's like, they don't. You need to help them!" You stepped closer, a pleading look on your face. There was no way you could leave these people to fend for themselves.

"The only thing I need to do is protect you."

Fear made his voice tremble as he looked down at you, his face looking older than ever as he pulled you so close you could smell the alcohol on him.

"We're getting you on the next flight to New York. I'm going to call your mother and you're going to stay with her—"

"What? Dad, I'm not leaving—" You pulled yourself out of the hug, looking at your father in disbelief.

"It's not your decision. My roof, my rules."

You scoffed. "What if Mom comes here? Who do I stay with then?"

"She won't. I'll tell her not to."

You scoffed. "And you think she's going to listen to you?"

Your dad's jaw clenched.

"Dad..." you stepped closer again, carefully. "You can't just run away. Not when there's people who need your help."

You wrapped your arms around him this time, hiding your face into his arm.

"I don't want anyone to die," you confessed softly, trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes.

"It's not our problem," your father tried to reassure, his hand coming up to gently pat your head.

"We can't just... sit here and do nothing!" Your voice shook with emotion, moving your head back so your father could see it. "Please?"

Your dad sighed. He was tired. You knew that. But you had to do something.

"You know, you're just like your mother." He shook his head softly.

For the first time that day, your father smiled at you and you returned it.

「 ... 」

You followed your father to the Meeks-Martin house, walking past Sam and her boyfriend, Richie, with nothing but a glance.

Your dad held on to your shoulder and led you inside as he greeted Mindy Meeks-Martin. Discomfort ran through you as you inspected the home and the pictures of the deceased decorating the walls. Something wasn't right.

The two of you moved into the living room where the group of teens were already sitting, waiting. Clearly, they weren't expecting you.

It was a coincidence you were born the same year as most of the friend group — an awful one.

Awkward glanced followed. They all knew who you were, especially with your father beside you. You knew who they were, faintly. You saw them all that day after school.

The only person you really knew was Wes Hicks. Your father always encouraged you to be his friend. You were, for years — until you grew up and the don't trust anyone rule began eating at you like a disease.

"Hey, Wes." You nodded your head in his direction as you took a seat as far away from them as possible. He was so different now than from you last knew him. Bleached hair, tall. But then again, the last time the two of you hung out was elementary school.

A part of you missed him. A part wanted to recreate the memories you had shared when you were seven, when you lived in blissful ignorance and still had the ability to make friends.

But too many years had gone by for that now.

"I asked Mindy to call everybody here because there's something I have to tell you," Sam began, not quite nervous but not quite eager. You couldn't blame here. You wouldn't exactly be showing off your parentage if you were her.

「 ... 」

"So, let me get this straight, you're saying that you're the daughter of Billy Loomis and, what, that one of us is the killer?"

"The killer told me he knew my secret. He attacked Tara to lure me back here!" Sam defended.

"But then why immediately go and murder some douche nozzle that was stalking Liv?"

"Why does it have to be one of us? And what about Deputy here? Maybe he's the killer..." You shot Wes a glare. "No offense."

"None taken. But what's my motive?" Your dad questioned back and it occurred to you he'd probably had dozens of conversations like this before.

"You got stabbed a billion times, got dumped by your famous wife and crawled into a bottle. I think it's safe to say you're on the suspect list."

"Well maybe you're the killer. Because that cut deep." Wes sent a look of concern and you placed a hand on your dad's arm.

"You don't have to be such an ass about it, Wes," you glared, scooting closer to your dad for good measure. Yeah, things had changed.

"That douche nozzle is connected. I googled him, his mom is Leslie Macher, Stu Macher's sister." Amber said.

"Who's Stu Macher?" Liv asked.

"Oh, my god." Amber grumbled.

"He's Billy Loomis's accomplice, a real looney tune." Your dad said. You'd almost forgotten he knew him. Knew them both.

"Okay, okay, so the first three attacks are all on people related to the original killers." Sam began, interrupted by Mindy.

"Oh, my god, he's making a requel!"

"A what?" Sam asked.

"Or a lega-sequel, fans are torn on the terminology."

"God, please speak English." Chad.

"Okay, remember the Stab move that came out last year?"

"Oh yeah, the one the Knives Out guy directed, right? You know, I actually really liked that one." Liv quipped with a small smile.

"Of course you did, you have terrible taste."

Liv's smile fell. "I hate you."

"The point is, the hardcore Stab fans hated it. You go on 4chan and Dreddit, all they're talking about is how Stab 8 pissed on their childhood. How they crammed in social commentary just to make it elevated, how the main character is a Mary Sue!"

"What's a Mary Sue?" Richie asked.

"You really don't want to know." Wes assured.

"What's wrong with elevated horror? I mean, Joran Peele fucking rules."

"Uh, obviously, but that's not Stab! Real Stab movies are meta slasher whodunits, full stop."

"Come on, it's just a movie."

"No, it's not. To some people, the original is their favorite thing in the world. The movie that made them love horror! That mom or dad showed them when they were ten that bonded them together!

"And God help anyone who slightly fucks with that special memory. Who makes a movie they think disrespects it. It sounds like our killer is writing his own version of Stab 8 but doing it as a requel." Mindy finished.

You could tell the others were getting tired of the monologue, rolling their eyes or slouching in their seats. But Mindy's enthusiasm guided you through her words, which you hung on to thoughtfully.

And to your father, they were nostalgic.

"Which is?"

"See, you can't just reboot a franchise from scratch anymore. The fans won't stand for it. Black Christmas, Child's Play, Flatliners. That shit doesn't work! But you can't just do a straight sequel, either. You gotta build something new, but not too new or the internet goes buck fucking nuts.

"It's got to be part of an ongoing storyline even if the story shouldn't have been ongoing in the first place. New main characters, yes, but supported by an related to legacy characters."

Mindy pointed to your dad. Oh, god.

"Not quite a reboot, not quite a sequel. Like the new Halloween, Saw, Terminator, Jurassic Park, Ghostbusters, fuck, even Star Wars! It always, always," she picked up a copy of Stab — the original, "goes back to the original!"

The room was quiet as Mindy's words settled in like a death sentence.

"Are you telling me that I'm caught in the middle of fan fucking fiction?!"

"Not just in the middle, Sam. You're the star."

"So," Liv began. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but according to requel rules..."

"Who's next?"

"Going by the pattern, whoever it is has to be connected to someone that came before." Mindy looked around before her gaze fell on you and your dad.

Your skin prickled at the attention that followed as everyone's eyes began to fall on you.

"I'm starting to regret coming here," your dad sighed.

"Jesus, my mom's a character in one of them —"

"No one cares about the inferior sequels, Wes, you're safe." Mindy turned to her twin. "With Randy as our uncle, though, you and I are probably screwed."

"Wait, what?"

"Or you're the killer and this whole, what, elaborate monologue is just to cover your tracks."

"I think the quiet ones are the killer," Amber spoke up, pointing an accusing finger at you. "I saw you watching us the day after Tara got attacked."

Your eyebrows furrowed and you scoffed. But before you could get a defense out, Mindy laughed.

"I think it's pretty clear who the killer is at this point."

"Who?" Sam asked.

"You." Mindy said, as if it were obvious. "It makes perfect requel sense."

A chorus of agreements followed and you couldn't help but feel sorry for Sam, watching as the anger and disbelief showed up on her face.

"Fuck this." Sam stood and left in rage.

"You know," your dad started, breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed. "Randy may have accused us all of being the killer too, but he was a lot nicer about it."

The two of you stood to depart, too. You spared Wes one final glance. Your eyes met for a second before he looked away, staring at the floor instead.

You and your father climbed into the car quietly. Your throat was dry and you had to lick your lips before you could even try to get any words out.

"You heard Mindy. It all goes back to the original. I'm a target, Dad. We both are."

"That's exactly what I was afraid of," your dad sighed, turning on the engine.

"I'm not leaving. We have to stick together. Power in numbers, right?"

Your dad turned and gave you a sad smile. He'd lost so much. The last thing he was going to do was lose you, too.

"You've gotta stay close, alright? Remember, trust—"

"No one," the two of you finished together. The piece of advice that had taken over your life for years. The one that had ruined all your friendships. The one that had booted Wes out of your life. You felt that resentment again, building up and threatening to spill out of your mouth.

"Yeah," you turned back around to face the road. "I know."

「 ... 」

Your music stopped just as the phone rang, chiming a few times before your father finally picked up.

You knew something was wrong the second he spoke into the phone, pulling your earbuds out and racing into the entrance of your home.

"It's... Judy and Wes," your father gasped out. The two of you exchanged a look of understanding.

No words were needed as you two piled into the car, hearts racing with pure fear.

「 ... 」

You arrived at the scene of the double-murders, bile rising in your throat. You felt like something was pulling you along, like you were no longer in control of your own body.

You had just seen Wes. Now you watched as his body rolled onto an ambulance. There was a blanket over him but you knew it was him. The ambulance's lights turned off. Dead on arrival.

You bit your lip to try and ground yourself, feeling the warmth of blood trickle on your tongue. You stopped once you tasted it, turning away from the scene with blurry vision. You turned to your father, who was speaking. You blinked through deep breaths as you tried to focus on what he was saying.

Something caught your father's eye, mid-conversation. You glanced in the direction of what he was looking at. It was your mother. You smile, watching as they met in the middle. Their faces softened as they came closer and your heart filled with a feeling you'd missed. A feeling of completion.

Your smile dropped as you followed your father's gaze behind Gale, looking at her camera crew. She hadn't come for the two of you.

Their faces changed again and the feeling faded, transforming into one of familiar pain as your parents engaged in a heated conversation reminiscent of your childhood. One of them delivered the final blow and they went quiet.

You took your opportunity.

"Mom?" You stepped forward. She hadn't noticed you yet.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" In her defense, there was genuine concern as she took you in and pulled you in for a hug. She smelled of freshly pressed laundry and a strong perfume. An expensive one. "You've gotten so much taller."

You couldn't help but smile at the affection. At the attention. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too. But you didn't answer my question." The softness faded a little from your mother's voice, her hands falling on your shoulders.

You sighed. "I'm a target, mom. We all are."

Your mother sighed, nodding knowingly. There was a faraway look in her eyes, like when you would catch her daydreaming about her life in New York.

She was tired, too. She just had a different way of dealing with it.

A member of her team called her name. She turned, giving you a small smile. "Duty calls."

It always seemed to.

Your father walked up to an officer as he arrived onto the scene, asking about something. More details, clues, you didn't know. You didn't want to think about the murders anymore. You wanted all this to go away.

"Who's at the hospital?" Sam's voice broke through your wall of thoughts. "Who's watching my sister?"

"I just heard about the sheriff..." The officer your dad was speaking to sputtered out in a pathetic defense.

Sam scoffed, running off. Right into danger. There was no way she was the killer if she loved her sister that much.

"They needed me here!" The officer called out defensively.

"Where are you going?" Your father yelled out after Sam.

"My sister's in trouble!"

He glanced at your mother, who was reporting live. He looked at you, worried about the state you were in. You avoided your eyes and started chasing after Sam. With no time to argue and no choice, your dad followed.

Sam's face betrayed her confusion at your willingness to help. But time was ticking and the killer would clearly not waste an opportunity to kill.

"What are you waiting for? Drive! Come on, let's go!"

Sam peeled out as squeezed your eyes shut, gripping onto your seat in an attempt to brace yourself.

You weren't ready for this. Not by a long shot.

But it was too late to turn back now.

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