#all four parts are done you won't have to wait too long

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

hello! i was wondering if you could do poly!plastic x reader where regina has a condition like anemia or is simply just sick and won't admit that she's sick or needs help till she eventually collapses. sorry if it's too specific and you absolutely don't have to do it if you fon't wanna! :)

The Date-

|| poly!plastics x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; mostly Regina's pov, mentions of throw up, Regina's sick and hiding it, Gretchen stands up to Regina (though briefly), Regina blacks out, brief swearing

|| Summary; when Regina wakes up, she finds she isn't feeling well. But holds out for the date later that evening.

Requests closed!

Started; November 13th

Finished; November 13th

+ Anon Request; hey can you do poly!plastics x reader where it's regina being sick or anemic (only her gfs know that) but would never admit if she's not feeling well because she has an image to "uphold." sorry if it's too specific! it's all gopd i you can't 😅

Author Note; i wrote her being sick, since that was easier for me to write 🫶

~~~

It wasn't often Regina George got sick. In fact, there was hardly ever a time where she was. Of course she's faked being sick a number of times, just like every other kid. But today she was not feeling great. Like, at all. Every time she took a step Regina felt like she would throw up. Or pass out. Or both.

But did she take the day off? No. Because there were things she genuinely wanted to do at school and after today. She wanted to see her girlfriends and partner. Plus, Regina was looking forward to their date tonight. She booked them reservations at a nice ass restaurant and it would suck to lose their spot. Considering the next wait was nearly two months. She wasn't about to wait forever again. So, Regina tried her hardest to look okay. She may have over done it a bit on the makeup, but Regina hardly cared right now.

Despite feeling sick, Regina still took the time to pick up all of you. You, Gretchen and Karen. None of you noticed the signs at first. Gretchen thought she maybe saw a grimace, or was it a scowl? Sometimes it was hard to tell with the blonde. She did try keeping an eye on her, though it didn't take long before Gretchen was distracted by Karen's lips.

Being at school was probably the worst part of it. She skipped a lot of her classes. Regina ended up spending most of her day in the bathroom, just in case she threw up. Because there was no way she would be listening to a teacher right now. No matter who told her to. She'd come out for lunch, hanging out with you and the girls. Trying to seem okay enough that no one would ask her any questions.

Regina managed to make it all the way until the end of the day. Where everything went wrong. Regina was walking next to you, on her other side was Gretchen and Karen. The four of you walking together. You held Regina's hand, rambling about whatever your latest interest was. And Regina tried to pay attention. She really, really did. But... everything went black.

She could vaguely hear the sounds of voices, though it was like she was separated by water. It was muffled, groggily. All around impossible to understand. When she finally came to, Regina was in the nurse's office at the school. Bucket at her couch side. You were next to her while Gretchen and Karen watched nervously. Hands and arms linked together. She groaned as she tried to sit up, but you put a hand to her chest. Keeping her down.

"No you don't," You murmured. Regina's eyes locked to yours and you could see the pain and nausea behind her eyes.

"What..?" Regina had started to ask what happened, but you answered before she could speak. Wanting her to save her strength. You gently brushed Regina's hair out of her face, hand cupping her cheek before you spoke.

"You passed out. Nurse said you looked feverish," You explained, Regina scoffed and rolled her eyes. Slowly letting herself sink into the couch a bit. Before her eyes widened.

"The date-" Regina said, once gain thinking about the reservations. You just smiled softly and shook your head. Looking to Gretchen.

"Absolutely not, those reservations aren't as important as your health." Gretchen put her foot down; which was rare for her to do. Especially to Regina. Though Gretchen's worry for her out weighed any fears.

"There were reservations?" Karen blinked, looking at Gretchen. She forgot all about it. Gretchen just sighed.

"Not for tonight." Her tone held a sense of firmness to it that sounded weird coming from Gretchen. Regina challenged her, knowing it usually didn't take much to sway the girl.

"Excuse me? We're going, I paid a shit tone for those spots. Besides, I'm literally fine. You're overreacting." Regina grumbled. Trying to keep hold of her image. She had to be fine.

You frowned at her, deciding to take over when you saw Gretchen tense up," we'll get a refund, baby. Go another time. But like Gretchen said, those reservations aren't as important as your health."

Regina did not look happy in the slightest. But she finally stopped fighting on it, mostly because she threw up in the trash can. And she was smart enough to know there would be no convincing after that.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - True Evil 1/4

part1 part2 part3 part 4

*

Something was wrong, though!

Hero knew this. Of course they did. It was just that- that it was easy to forget. Maybe because ironically, since Villain was living with them, everything was fine. When the agency had questioned them about this, all they could complain about was that they couldn't use the shower and bathroom mirror three hours on a row anymore (on the evenings, at least). There was something eerie about how naturally Villain had come crashing into their life. Having them as a roommate was as evident as eating breakfast on lazy mornings when Hero had a day off. They were even hugging now.

For the moment though, Hero's butt was getting kicked. The sad truth was that Villain was much better at video games than them. The two roommates were affronting each other in a fighting match that neither of them enjoyed, but that was the only competitive game Hero had. Villain refused to cooperate, under the brilliant pretext that “they refused to ally with their fated foe”. Given that not five minutes before, their head was resting against the shoulder of said fated foe, there were a lot of possible refutations. Hero hadn’t bothered. After coming back from a long, exhausting day, the easier thing to do was rolling with it. They didn’t even shrug when the shadow next to them, leaning on their game-pad, gloated:

“This is your end, little Hero!”

“Don’t call me little. I’m 5’10.”

“I am 5’10 and a half,” was the smug answer.

Hero glanced sideways at the silhouette next to them, surrounded by a dark mist as always:

“I can’t be sure of that.”

“Then despair while that nagging doubt eats your mind for the rest of your life.”

“I’m good. I’ll rest assured that I have, like, 30 pounds of muscles on you.”

“How have you acquired that knowledge, may I ask?”

“Well, when we hug-”

“Stop calling it like that. And I’ll concede gladly that perk to you. Muscles, bah! Who would need that?”

“Most people, actually.”

“I have a brain. It’s enough. It’s getting rarer and rarer these days.”

They both stared at the Game Over screen.

“Once again, you are finished. Once again, I stomp on your pixellized body and your ego in an unending demonstration of my superior skills and-

Hero cut across them:

“You need to sign the form.”

Villain groaned. Not to be deterred, Hero presented the paper and a pen to them:

“Here.”

“Ah, paperwork. Truly the greatest evil. Even I, with all the darkness in my heart, cannot compare.”

Hero sighed:

“It’s just a signature. And be grateful for the form. It’s the only thing that can prevent Superhero from coming here and ripping you to shreds – possibly us both.”

“I don’t see why.”

“There are laws. If you confirm every day you’re here and reforming, measures can’t be taken against you.”

“Very well. I shall adorn my mark on this pitiful piece of paper.”

Villain moodily signed and Hero took a picture of it, sending it to the secretary and hoping they wouldn’t lose it again. Doing it every day was annoying, sure, but it was all they could find to protect their roommate from the agency – or rather, Superhero. They felt a little relieved every time they sent the text. Villain, though, didn’t seem to care one way or the other. It was irritating and a little worrying.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Hero stood up and heated their meals on the microwave. Apart from smoothies, Villain was not that interested in food, and Hero was too tired to cook after work most of the time. Villain didn’t seem bothered with this. Actually, once you got used to their constant melodrama, Villain was a rather laid-back roommate. Too laid-back. Hero’s instinct was sending them warning signals. Their guest was taking their situation a little too well. The person they shared their place with and hugged was a complete stranger. All questions about their past were avoided. Hero knew there was an elephant in the room, but they had no idea of what it was made, and that was frustrating to say the least.

The microwave made a ding sound. After a while, Villain reluctantly got out of the couch to find Hero looking at the wall, their arms crossed.

“Are your sudden meditative moment deep enough to forget down-to-earth obligations ?”

Hero clucked their tongue. Villain jumped when their roommate suddenly leaned over the table:

“What happened to you?”

“My plate is getting cold?”

“No, we’re not avoiding the subject anymore. What happened? You have a physical body, but you never stop hiding behind your powers. I’ve checked, you’re listed among the most dangerous villains on the agency’s list. It says you’re a killer, but frankly, I do not believe that one second. You never say anything about your past, you never speak about yourself. When I tell you Superhero wants you dead, your answer is “yeah, okay” and you don’t bring the subject ever again. You get more emotional when I bring you the wrong screwdriver. What is wrong with you?”

“Plenty of things. I am a Villain, how can you hope to comprehend how my twisted spirit w-”

Hero’s fist banged on the table:

“Stop that!”

Villain stepped back. Hero sighed and lifted their hands in surrender:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? But you are not helping me. My boss wants to kill you and I don’t know why. I can’t get us out of this if I have no idea what’s going on!”

“It seems simple to me. He’s a superhero, I’m a fearful villain. We’re destined to destroy each other.”

“I’ve never seen him so – so motivated. It goes deeper than that. You can’t keep me in the dark.”

“This is my nature. I don’t see why this is any concern of yours.”

They got their plate out of the microwave without adding a word. Hero dragged their hand over their face:

“Tell me one thing. Just one thing. Have you ever killed anyone?”

The shadow froze. The plate made a loud bang when it was dropped on the table.

“I’m not hungry,” said Villain.

Hero watched them going back to their room. Soon after, they heard the lock of the door.

“That went well,” they mumbled.

*

Next part here

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[a-b-riddle]

Part Five

Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)

You call Meredith when you get home.

You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.

How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.

"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."

"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"

"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."

"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.

"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."

"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."

"That works."

"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."

It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.

"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.

"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."

The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.

Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.

But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.

You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.

You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.

Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...

“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”

"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"

"You won't return any of our messages."

"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."

"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.

"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.

Dammit.

"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."

"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.

"Why not?" He countered.

“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”

He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.

You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.

God...

That felt good.

You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...

You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.

[cutebat]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected, but Defiant Reader

The First Page

Warning(s): Neglect, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mind break (There are no yandere themes yet, but will be in another chapter)

(This chapter is basically the first part of the prologue and some things fixed)

~~~~~

10 years old.

You were only 10 years old when the Gotham's billionaire, Bruce Wayne, entered through the doors of the orphanage that you lived under of.

You could remember the owner holding your hand as she lead you to the man who is going to be your father.

You remember when he placed his hand on your head as he introduced himself to you and promised that he'll give you a great life.

You remember when you came to the manor as he introduced you to your new family that consists of four new older brothers, one new older sister, and a butler.

You remember when everyone would talk to you and welcome you with loving embraces.

You also remember a few days foward when Bruce gave you a costume that resembled a white dress with pink details, which earned you the title of Batgirl.

And after all of that, it's like it never happened.

~~~~~

You are now being ignored by everyone.

Nobody gave you a glance, made excuses, and basically beat the shit out of you. Well, not exactly.

For example, there was one day when you came up to Bruce with a flyer in your hand.

"Um, hi, Bruce... I know you're busy right now, but... I'm going to have a school play and I got the main role. So... I hope you can stop by and watch."

You tell him in the nicest way possible.

However, Bruce was so focused on his paperwork that he didn't give you a glance. All he said was...

"Hm? Yeah, I'll go check it out if I finish all of this."

And suprise, suprise, he never showed up.

This resulted in you crying in the girl's restroom all alone in your costume.

~~~~~

There was also a time when you felt like you needed to train more, so you did it by going up to Dick who seems to be training with Damian.

"Um, guys? Can I join you two?"

You ask as you smile awkwardly as your two older brothers turned to you.

Which is why you became surprised when Dick smiles.

"Sure! But, do you mind if you wait until me and Damian are done with this sparring session? It won't take too long."

He said with a chuckle as Damian looked like he was glaring at his little sister.

You didn't want to be rude, which is why you just nodded before you went over to the corner and watched your brothers train.

As an hour passed, Dick and Damian stopped, which made you take the chance to finally train with them.

However, you seemed confused when you saw the two turning around and walking out of the batcave.

"He-Hey, Dick? I thought you and Damian were going to train with me."

You speak up in a timid tone, which the two clearly heard.

"Oh, about that. Sorry, (name), but we were already planning to go to the cafe for a break. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"

Dick said with an 'apologetic' expression before he leaves with Damian.

Because of this, you never asked him to train with you again.

~~~~~

These were all easily common, but there were some moments when it scarred you.

One time, Tim was basically forced to bring you to a mission along with his friends.

As the patrol went on, you seemed to get distracted a bit when you spotted Conner having some trouble.

Because of this, you left the scene and quickly dived in and fought alongside the teenage Kryptonian. Thanks to you, everything was handled.

Conner thanked you before someone yelled out your name. This made you jolt as you turned to see an angry Tim storming over to you.

Before you can say anything, he cuts you in.

"What on earth were you doing?! I told you to stay where you are, and you just had to ignore everything I say, don't you?!"

He yells as if someone murdered his close family member.

This made you so shocked as Conner was stunned. When Cassie and Bart came over to the spot, they were both shocked to see their friend, yelling at his little sister.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, Tim. (name) didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who called her over to help me."

Conner defends you, but of course, Tim doesn't listen.

"Don't even try to defend her! She knows what she did! Oh, I am SO going to report this to Batman, so don't even try to cover yourself up!"

Tim said in a frustrated and angry tone towards you before he used his grappling hook and swooped down, leaving you behind with his friends.

"Hey, what the hell, asshole!"

Conner shouts out at his friend as he was shocked to him this angry.

He lets out a sigh before he looks over to see Cassie and Bart, comforting you as you are crying in their arms.

~~~~~

Yelling wasn't the only thing that you had to endure.

You even went through moments when things got a little too... physical.

It all happened when you were just trying to help someone in need.

You were walking down the hallway during the night as you just wanted a cup of water. As you were wandering down the hallway, you noticed some voices from someone's bedroom.

Jason's bedroom.

This made you curious as you got close to the door to hear Jason talking amongst himself as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He kept muttering stuff out of his mouth, which made you worried.

That is when you made a mistake by going inside.

"Jason...? Are you okay?"

You ask in a timid voice.

At that moment, Jason snaps his head towards you before everything starts to go blur. All you remember is him grabbing something like a pole type object before it was brought down towards your head.

And then, you woke up in your own bedroom, except you have a bandage wrapped around your head.

When you sat up, all you saw was Alfred, the family's loyal butler. No sign of your other family around, concerning about you.

Luckily, you recovered, and the wound went away after a month.

And, of course, Jason never apologized for what he did to you.

~~~~~

A few months was in, and no improvement has been made. You were always ignored. They made excuses of not wanting to spend time with you, and some of them actually hit you a few times.

All of that happened to your ten year old self.

But, did you give up on that spot? Nope.

You discovered on the internet what you can do to please your family to gain their attention. There were a lot of results, but the one that kept popping up the most was trying to reach your best achievements, which would result in them showing you more support from them.

And that's what you did.

You started to join in many after-school activities and studied all your might. It was tiring, and you almost passed out from exhaustion, but you kept going because you wanted at least your family to notice you.

The problem is that they never did.

They never congratulated you, celebrated on your accomplishment, and most of all, they didn't even give you a glance when you showed off.

All of that for nothing. Damn.

~~~~~

The breaking point wasn't because of all that. It was when someone else entered the family.

Duke Thomas.

A metahuman teenager whose parents died from the Joker Venom.

You thought that they might treat him the same way that they had treated you.

But, nothing.

Duke was showered with love, attention, and even praise.

The things that you never got when you came here.

Whenever you pass by whatever event that they're holding, you will always see them together. Being all happy, chatting, and laughing with one another.

They never do that when they're around you. Even on your birthdays. Actually, when was the last time they all celebrated your birthday?

At that moment, something inside you just snapped. Like, a loud crack echoes through your head that makes a loud ringing sound, kind of like a wake-up call.

Then, it all clicked.

They never cared about you.

They never even liked you.

The only reason why Bruce adopted you is because nobody wanted to.

~~~~~

The thoughts kept running through your head as you walked into an alleyway with a trash bag in hand.

Earlier today at school, you dropped out the clubs that you absolutely hated and pretty much just purposely laid back in your classes.

You feel empty.

When you finally reach the dumpster, you got on top of some stacked boxes because of your height and open the large lid.

You could only stare inside that had a lot of black colored trash bags. Your eyes were blank as you stared down inside.

That's when you muttered out.

"Why even bother...?"

With that, you tossed the trash bag that you were holding on into the dumpster.

After what it felt like hours, you finally got off of the boxes that you were standing on top of before you walked out of the alleyway.

As you walked away, something fell out of the trash bag that you threw out.

It was a white bat eared helmet.

The accessory that once matched with your costume.

That's right.

You were no longer Batgirl.

You never were, anyway.

•

•

•

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[theoxenfree]

vampire x crime scene cleaner!reader | 16.1k

you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; explicit non-con, extreme dubon, sadomasochism, blood play, overstimulation, choking, cigarette burns, smoking, hypnotism, theological themes, exploration of morality, gunshot wounds, extreme & graphic depictions of body horror + gore + grotesque details, graphic depictions of crime scene cleanup, possibly inaccurate depictions of crime scene cleanup (not looking for feedback on it), obsessive & possessive behaviors, heavy prose & details, the entire work is allegorical, murder, vampire is written as a monster bc that's what they are lmao, dividers are used between scenes

reposted from 2kmps; previously proofread by @ceruleansol

I shouldn't have to say it, but I will: nothing in this oneshot is indicative of my personal viewpoints. it is entirely fictitious.

this was a project that took me quite a bit of time to do, so I would be immensely appreciated if you'd please reblog + interact with it!! I'd love to hear your feedback!!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.

Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.

You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you?

He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.

You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.

The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow. No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.

The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight. Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her? Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood. An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach. A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you. It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body. The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom. These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke. You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself. Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air. The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do. He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself. A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering. "Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon. Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him. "A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes. Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway. You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you. The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't loud enough. He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips. All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that. "Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe. You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing. His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded. Just once. A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that." Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in. The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light. A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead. The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—just like Montague said you would be. And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

[cattjull]

PART 1 HERE PART 3 HERE

Summary: Abby doesn't want something serious. You won't let her fuck you and give you nothing in exchange, will you?

CW: Just a little smut under the cut (mdni or just skip the italics part), r! is afab, dacryphilia if you squint, strap use (r! receiving), r! is kind of a manipulator.

Her dick slipped in and out of you relentlessly as you chanted her name, tears falling from your eyes from how good it felt.

"You like this?" She asked in your ear. The knot building in your stomach felt heavy, like a tub of ice cream. Her voice was sweet as caramel. Her panting was the cherry on top.

"Y-yeeahh." You managed to mutter out, your voice high-pitched. "M' gonna..."

"Come on, give it to me, baby." She commanded, and you instantly came. You were incredibly wet that night, so wet that you squirted all over Abby's strap, screaming louder than ever.

After some minutes you spent going to the bathroom, taking a pee, putting on some of Abby's T-shirts with no panties and washing your face, you came back to her bed where she waited for you, in short pajamas. You climbed onto her like a koala, wrapping your arms around her neck and your legs around one of hers. Some minutes passed while she just caressed your hair and you kissed her neck until you pulled back a little to look at her in the eye.

"Abby, will we be something?"

"Listen, I know you want this to be serious." She affirmed cautiously. You hadn't knew her for too long, so trying to guess what would she say next was practically impossible.

One way or another, you were afraid of what she would say next. Maybe she didn't like you? You didn't want her to go after spending a whole month with her and staying at her place at least twice a week.

"Mhm."

"But I don't think I can handle it. I'm too busy with work, and you know that." She excused herself, the guilt in her almost palpable as each word felt like a punch to your gut.

"So you just wanted to use me and throw me away like a broken toy?" Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you blinked rapidly.

"No, no, no, baby, listen." She seemed to instantly regret her choice of words and sat up too.

"Listen what? I don't want you to fuck me when you're free." You yelled at her, cracking your voice in purpose at the end of your sentence.

"We can have something casual if you want. But right now I'm really busy to-" The tears kept coming out of your eyes.

"No, I don't want to." Your voice came out of your mouth more high-pitched than usual and, honestly, it sounded like this was the worst day of your life.

"What if I pay you?"

"What?" You weren't sure you heard it well. This was kind of your goal, but you didn't expect her to offer it so easily. Plus, you wanted a rich girlfriend, not to be pampered like a whore.

"I'll pay you. Like a sugar baby. I won't be using you, I'll be giving you something in exchange." You acted like you had just started considering her offer.

"How much are we talking about?" You asked, still not convinced.

"Four thousands a month plus dates and gifts." Fine, this could work.

"You think that's enough for me after literally breaking my heart?" You asked coldly. You didn't feel exactly great using her this way, but you needed the money, didn't you? And, she in fact broke your heart

"Six thousands." You sighed and furrowed your eyebrows, pretending to be mad at her even if you were enchanted with the idea, and laid down next to her with crossed arms, facing the ceiling.

"I have some rules."

"Tell me."

"First, you can't be with someone else or I'll rip my eyes out of my head and kill myself in your front door step."

"Did you need to be that extreme?" She asked with a disbelief smirk.

"It's just so you remember it well." You smiled. "Second, you have to pretend you're my girlfriend in front of everyone. Everyone. And act like my girlfriend."

"I can do that."

"And third, don't treat me like a slut because I'm not one."

"I have the feeling you've done this lots of times before." She said with suspicion.

"Third rule." You reminded her in a warning tone.

"I didn't mean it in that way."

"Sure." You rolled your eyes and turned your back to her. She pulled you close to her, wrapping her big arms around your waist and forcing you to be the little spoon. "Hey!" You giggled.

"You shouldn't stay mad at me. It doesn't suit you."

"Fine, fine." You let yourself smile for once, wiping your tears.

"We'll go shopping tomorrow, okay?"

Taglist: @elliessgfsstuff @giuliaexe66 @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @justhereforthosefics

[jellyfiishatr]

Being friends with them!!

a/n : just some friendly hang out sessions with the great spider four >_<★!!

☆☆☆

Characters : Miles Morales / Gwen Stacy / Pavitr Prabhakar / Hobie Brown

content : headcanon / fluff / platonic / pure silliness

☆☆☆

Miles Morales!! (Small Ganke mention!!)

☆ study sessions with these two ofcourse

☆ ^and by study sessions I mean Miles is doing work and Ganke's been done and has been playing videos games since you came over to their dorm

☆ Miles asks for help with English, and you ask for help with whatever you're missing

☆ if not study sesh, then definitely out and about spray painting a new wall

☆ ^I can imagine late night talks with him after he's finished a piece are very heart to heart, he loves to speak his mind to you and hopes you do aswell

☆ I can imagine you meeting his parents are a little nerve wracking since he's mentioned that they didn't like ganke or Gwen

☆ so you tried to be as respectful and kind to them as you possibly could (probably also kissing up to them idk I would too)

☆ if you also do art, you guys compare drawings and give eachother advice on what you need to work on

☆ ^definitely the type to steal your notes and draw in them during class

☆ ^will also steal said notes for a week and forger he has them till your banging on his door in the middle of the night before your assignments due and those notes are very much important to you

Gwen stacy!!

☆ it took a long time for her to actually consider you a friend, a lot of the time you just stayed following her and talking

☆ ^anything you said in those few months prior to her considering you a friend, went through one ear and out the other

☆ She's definitely a teaser, making fun of you in a friendly manner

☆ movie night, or weekly sleepovers at one another's house is a must with her

☆ ^she says she's into horror/action but is really into romcoms, she won't admit that outloud though

☆ I feel like she's really bad at cooking so teaching her how better her cooking skills has definitely happened once or twice

☆ ^she loves when you make her lunches, she usually buys you lunch for the next two days in return

☆ when she's playing the drums you usually sit right outside her window with headphones because she's likes to have her room shut off

☆ ^but she still wants to hang out so she makes you wait outside for about an hour till she's done and has you back inside for dinner

Pavitr Prabhakar!!

☆ Study sessions pt2!

☆ he's a straight A, top of the class student. He doesn't really need to do homework because he does it in class

☆ he does help you with yours though, especially if you're failing

☆ early morning walks, he's an early bird and makes you walk with him because "It's good for the mind!"

☆ if you're not an earlybird, you're grumbling the entire walk about how it's a "weekend" and how "you do this everyday pavitr" and how "you need to stop making me do this"

☆ he doesn't understand whatever you're trying to say and pushes you lightly the rest of the walk (that last part definitelywasnt written by pavitr, no definitely not)

☆ he loves to rant about his girlfriend, talking about how they sneaked out and went on a late night walk that week

☆ if you have an s/o you're definitely talking about them with pavitr, telling him all about them

☆ he's definitely a dog person, he always has a dog following him no matter what

☆ you guys are walking to school? There's a dog right behind you. Hanging out at his house? There's a dog right outside his bedroom window. LITERALLY IN SCHOOL?? A DOG HAS WALKED IN DURING THE MIDDLE OF CLASS AND SAT DOWN NEXT TO HIM WHILE THE TEACHER WAS AWAY

☆ ^everyone think he just has some sort of dog treats on him always but it's really from just recognizing his face from him always feeding them, such a sweetheart

Hobie Brown!!

☆ draws on your hand a lot

☆ ^you always have faded sharpie on you no matter what because of him

☆ you tease him for his accent constantly, saying "pip pip cheerio," or "ello luv." In the most horrible accent ever

☆ You have to go to protests or big government events with him, whether you're political or not he's dragging you along

☆ Always has little trinkets for you everytime you hang out

☆ hang outs in an abandoned building are a daily thing

☆ ^he's probably made you carry a big couch for him to put in a new hang out spot because he said he "knew a place."

☆ he did infact know a place

☆ the playlist guy, he's the one with fire songs to hype everyone up at rallies/protests

☆ knows how to design, outfits, or banners whatever. He knows how to do it right

☆ you'll always have heart to heart conversations with him, early in the morning, mid-day, or late at night

☆ if you ever bring up the topic, "you think we're friends in another universe?" He just looks at you and nods (I've mentioned this before in my hobie hcs)

☆☆☆

[mikaela-the-slut-expert]

hello hello!! i was rereading the sunshine p2 headcanons, and i read a part that said “it’s not even the worst he’s done, you’re just that type of person in bed.” and it made me wonder… so what’s the worst san lang and xie lian has done to m!reader?? and what triggered them to be so horny towards reader? something reader said or wore? or was the two talking amongst eachother and had ideas?

i hope you’re taking care! i remember once you said you’re in school, so i hope that’s going well too!!💗

☀️anon

Sunshine headcanons 3

Hua Cheng x M!reader x Xie Lian

Thank you for waiting so long💕

I'm continuing off the sunshine reader headcanons for this

If the gif isn't Tgcf ignore it because the Internet sucks ass I'll fix it later

I did this at school 😊

I'm putting it in headcanons since there's multiple questions but just tell me if this isn't what you meant

Made up scenarios

There might be slight misinformation remember when Hua Cheng had the weird rut thing? Yeah I'm using that, but my details might all be messed up.

Ignore grammar mistakes

Maybe OOC

If you do not like these things do not read this.

NSFW, slapping, spanking, bondage, overstimulation, edging, choking ahead!!!

Sunshine headcanons part two

Sunshine part four

____________________________________

Xie Lian and San Lang have done plenty of things to you!

Of course you've enjoyed it

San Lang likes to bully you so of course the things he's done have been more rough.

San Lang likes to edge you, or overstimulate you. It just depends on his mood

He'll do it for hours too.

Each time he makes sure you're crying and babbling. If you're not then San Lang doesn't think his job is done.

San Lang's favorite things is to fuck you dumb

Whether it be in bed, or over a calligraphy table, or in the gambling den, even over an alter!

His goal is to make your vocal chords raw and your legs shake.

San Lang makes sure by the end of the night that your poor cock can't cum anymore and you're all emptied out

So after a long time of making you wait, or pushing you over the edge many times you obviously start to squirm.

It's a natural body reaction that San Lang enjoys to see but he doesn't appreciate when your hands reach him and attempt to pause his ministrations.

(Obviously he would stop if you said your safe word or seriously wanted to stop)

Which leads to something else he enjoys.

Bondage!

San Lang loves, loves, loves to tie you up in pretty red ropes so that you can't escape him

It just does something to him, to see you tied up like that.

Like if you wanted to you seriously could break out of them but you enjoy being good for him and being pretty for him too.

San Lang won't get physically rough with you, he isn't one to hit you or spank you.

He likes to watch though

Xie Lian is mostly the gentle one, you both are gentle.

That doesn't mean he can't be rough though

If you're in the mood to get physically aggressively that's Xie Lian's domain.

While San Lang would rather not put you in serious pain, Xie Lian knows you want it and it's in a safe space.

He wouldn't ever purposely hurt you either, this is only in the bedroom.

So Xie Lian surprisingly enough is the one who will slap you if you get too mouthy, or spanks you if he thinks you deserve such a punishment

Your guy's sex life didn't always look like this.

It used to always be vanilla and gentle. Which of course you all enjoyed but everyone was hiding deeper desires

It started more with Xie Lian and San Lang talking

You aren't assertive at all so of course you didn't make a peep about your own feelings

Xie Lian and San Lang had just been making ideas of their own, they aren't dumb

They just decided to keep it to themself for now until there was an opportunity to discuss a more complex bedroom life

Their plan of smoothly introducing you to this failed very quickly when Hua Cheng went through one his strange rut things again

Xie Lian doesn't know why but he had been planning on taking care of it himself.

He's dealt with it before and he's sure Hua Cheng doesn't want you to see him like this

Especially when Hua Cheng rarely remembers what happens

Well that didn't go as planned either, when you accidentally enticed Hua Cheng

Honestly it's all your fault (jk)

Xie Lian had left for a literal 30 seconds before he could hear thumps in the room.

It was an accident on your part, you had come home with a new outfit you wanted to show your lovers

Some pretty robes you got from the ghosts

You were very pretty but the robes were obviously meant for more vulgar work. Not that your oblivious self knew.

So when you decided to show Hua Cheng how you looked, his rut-adled brain jumped on you immediately, pushing you into the bed and ripping the many layers off

Which was unusual for Hua Cheng, who was usually patient and waited for you to carefully disrobe.

So when Xie Lian went to go check what was going on it was already too late🤷

Hua Cheng already had you pinned under him and your poor, ripped up robes were now just scattered cloth on the floor.

So that's how your bedroom life changed.

After that night of aggressive, and endless sex you decided you white enjoyed it

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng enjoyed it too

🦊🪷

"A-Lang, A-Lian, I'm home!" You call, walking into Paradise Manor. However your lovers don't answer, do you decide to just go to the bedroom. Unknowingly for you, you've just passed Xie Lian in the kitchen, and your lover can't warn you about San Lang. Woops. Your first mistake of the night.

You continue on to the bedroom. You had been out most of the day. Xie Lian and San Lang ushered you out of the house, so you decided to hang out with your ghost friends. The women were absolutely adored with you and wanted to dress you up. The women's work was to try and attract the attention of men to have sex but you were friends with them anyways!

They're quite chaotic and fun to be around. They dressed you up in some of their robes. You know how you looked. Enticing, pretty, sexy, etc. The point was you wanted your lovers to see you. Why wouldn't you show them? You're dressed up so pretty for someone's attention so of course you want your lovers to be the ones to give you such attention. Your second mistake of the night.

When you open the bedroom door, you find only Hua Cheng in the room. You don't remember seeing Xie Lian anywhere else in the manor so maybe he went out? "A-Lang what are you doing all alone in the bedroom?" You hum.

Your voice immediately drags Hua Cheng's attention. His head snaps in your direction and then you see his eyes roaming over your form. He never replied and he only looks at you like prey. You should've run them but that was your third mistake. You just watched your lover stalk closer to you and stay where you are instead.

If Hua Cheng is a fox, and Xie Lian is a ferret, you're definitely a rabbit. You just freeze in place, staring at him. Hua Cheng lightly runs a hand over your cheek and he just looks at you for a few seconds. The silence is broken when he's suddenly grabbing you by the elbow and showing you down in the bed. He doesn't even say anything just low grunts and growl like sounds come up from his throat.

You yelp in surprise. Hua Cheng has never done this. He's always careful and even hesitant to touch you but something has changed. Before you can ask what's happening or try to move out of under him, Hua Cheng rips your robes. "S-san Lang, wait just a minute?!" You shriek and blush. You try pushing back, and attempt to sit up but Hua Cheng shoves you on your back and forces you under him.

Xie Lian finally decides to see what's going on and quickly finds the two of you. He blinks in shock. He never saw you come in. Also your situation right now is shocking as well. Xie Lian is quick to move Hua Cheng back and off of you, using rouye to keep him in place. Xie Lian at first though you might've been scared. After all you've never seen Hua Cheng like this but you're actually, shamefully hard.

You're blushing and shut your legs, trying to hide but you can't when Xie Lian has already seen. You don't know why you're turned on. This should be scary and frightening but that's the opposite of what you're feeling right now. The way Hua Cheng harshly forced you under him, as if he was going to devour you right then and there? The way he ripped your robes without care, because he's too impatient and wants to fuck you now?

You quite enjoyed that.

"A-n, are you alright?" Xie Lian smiles at you and walks closer to run a hand over your hair. You can only bid slowly. You're still staring at Hua Cheng who struggles a bit in Rouye's hold.

The perfect time has presented itself so why not take it by the hand? Xie Lian tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, and he leans down, pressing his lips near your ear. "Baobei, do you like this? Do you like how San Lang treats you?"

You blush and gulp nervously. You turn your head trying to move your sensitive ear away from Xie Lian's lips. His breath tickles your ear and his voice just makes you ache more. "U-uhm"

Xie Lian tried out something for himself and he grips your hair, forcing your head to stay where it is. When you moan, Xie Lian stops feeling bad about it. "Do you A-n?"

"I-I like it" you gaze at bed, too aroused to meet any of your lovers gazes. Xie Lian smiles at your answer, and sits next to you on the bed. "Would you like to help San Lang this time around?" Xie Lian looks at Hua Cheng, who's staring at both of you with a predatory gaze.

Xie Lian's hand rubs over your thigh, "Let's try it then." He releases Rouye and lets the bandage wrap back around his wrist. Hua Cheng is immediately up and moving, getting on the bed and dragging you into a rough kiss. It's different and you like it. Hua Cheng explores your mouth with his tongue, and he nips your lips until the bleed a little.

Xie Lian doesn't mind watching, he likes seeing Hua Cheng enjoying you. He leans back against the headboard while Hua Cheng decides just kissing you is getting boring. His hands find your hips and he pulls you into his lap, spreading your legs around him so you can't hide your pretty cock away from him.

Hua Cheng attacks your neck next. Biting, and sucking roughly on your skin. Hua Cheng gets more handy though and one his hands dig into the plump flesh of your ass. Another hand starts rubbing your dick. You thought it was Hua Cheng but it's Xie Lian. You can only cling to your lover and moan. "San Lang face him this way" Xie Lian switches up the position.

You're still on Hua Cheng's lap but your back is to his chest, and now Xie Lian is in front of you instead. You cling to your lover's arms trying not to tip over, but Hua Cheng pulls your knees up to your chest instead, spreading you apart again. "You're pretty flexible A-n" Xie Lian laughs softly.

You flush at his words but a moan leaves your mouth when Xie Lian starts prodding oil covered fingers into your hole. "San Lang really wants to bully you Baobei but I'll make sure you don't get hurt" Xie Lian is only teasing you though, and you really want to cum by now. You whine impatiently, as Xie Lian purposely avoids your prostate.

Your prayers are answered though and his fingers leave you empty, the emptiness is soon replaced by something much bigger though. Hua Cheng keeps your legs hiked up and he bullies his cock inside you. A cry tumbles from your lips when Hua Cheng pushes your hips down, forcing you to take all of him.

He doesn't wait for your comfort like he usually does and goes straight to thrusting his dick into. He acts like he's been starved for years! "Ah~ A-Lang please, p-please!" You don't really know what exactly you're begging him for. Whether it's to slow down or for him to keep going but he successfully wrings an orgasm out of you, and it splatters across your tummy.

You've never had the chance to have more than one orgasm in a night but that's going to change today because Hua Cheng is moving again and he's shoving your face in the pillows. Hua Cheng prefers this, he can fuck you better when your on your hands and knees, and perking your ass in the air. His cock bullies deeper into you and his hips slap hard against your ass.

Xie Lian is thoroughly enjoying himself. Your eyes rolled back and your cries muffled by the pillows. He has a better idea though. "A-n can I borrow your pretty lips?"

You only babble an incoherent sentence at him, a mumbled "yesh~" and something else. Xie Lian really only cares for the consent though. He disrobes, enough to where he can let his cock escape its confinements. Then he fists his fingers into your hair and forces you to look up at him. Xie Lian was going to try and guide you through it slowly but you immediately nuzzle up to his dick and start licking his head.

Xie Lian moans and grips tighter when you take his cock down your throat and gag. Hua Cheng's fucking only makes you take both of their cocks deeper and soon tears are running down your face and another orgasm shakes you to your core. Xie Lian takes the initiative to face fuck you. Both of them make sure your holes are never empty for too long.

"A-n you're doing s-so well" Xie Lian purrs out, he stutters from your lips around his dick though. Not that you would notice you're too busy drooling and babbling. They aren't invisible to the pleasure they're receiving from you either and it's not long until they're both cumming in you at the same time. Hua Cheng's and Xie Lian's cum both feel warm in your belly. You can feel Hua Cheng's cum drips down the back of your thighs.

They pull out of you but Hua Cheng doesn't let you go. He keeps his arms wrapped around you and tucks his face into your neck. You breathe heavily and Xie Lian wipes the drool from your chin. You sigh leaning back on Hua Cheng's chest, resting. Hua Cheng chuckles in your ear and for the first time in the night speaks for the first time. "You don't think we're done do you?"

Of course you aren't. 💕

____________________________________

I hope you like 😭🙏

[blingblong55]

So into you-Keegan P. Russ NSFW

Based on a request:

Keegan Russ with 24 and 5 with a cherry on top and so you can actually say yes I'll even add sprinkles it can be m or f reader tbh i don't care --- F!Reader, smut, MDNI, breeding kink, dad's best friend(DBF), unprotected!sex, age gap, all characters are of consenting age(18+)

A/N: it's a well-done deal.

Your dad had served in the Marines with Keegan before he retired and began working elsewhere, Keegan had become a huge part of your adult life. After introducing him to his daughter, he and you grew close. For one, he was at least four years younger than your dad but still much older than yourself. It was around springtime when he came to your parents' house, your parents celebrating their anniversary and you coming back home from a long work trip.

"There she is," Keegan opens his arms and you hug him. "Looking much older now, huh." you tease and he playfully nudges your arm. Dinner went great, all stories from everyone's adventures being told but one thing changed, that being him. He no longer looked at you with innocent eyes, now all there was, was lust. After your parents returned to their bedroom, you and Keegan stayed in the lounge, his hand placed on your thigh. "You've changed, R/N," his voice smooth, filled with some newfound passion. You would be lying if you said you never found him attractive, he was after all a very attractive man.

Much conversation led to his fingers teasing the hem of your shorts. "Keegan-" You wanted to stop him but deep down knew you wanted what he wanted too. "It's okay, I promise to be gentle~" he smirks and without any warning, his lips fall on yours. You let him take lead, his body and yours having the same reaction, "Keegan, is this...this isn't..." but each time you tried to make some excuse he would hush you by making your hnads explore his body. "I don't know i'f i'll be able to control myself, R/N." his voice raspy. His ever needy body pressed to yours, not wanitng any space left between either of you. "Let me have you," he whispers and you nod.

"I need words, sweet girl."

"Yes,...you can have me, all of me," you beg and he smirks. He could do this with you for hours. With one smooth hold, he takes you upstairs, placing you on your bed. "I've waited so long to have you, R/N. The moment you walked in, wearing this-" he licks his lips, unzipping his trousers and then stroking his cock under his boxers. "God, you are such a beautiful view." he leans forward, now on top of you as his fingers linger on your chest. your nipples getting aroused by his grip on them. "I've been wanting to make a move on you," he kisses your neck and eagerly removes your shirt and shorts.

Next thing you knew, your delicate panties were on the floor, and he was still stroking himself. "I won't touch you unless you tell me to," he admits. "I want you to touch me. Please touch me, Keegan," the way you said his name, was like a sweet melody to his ears. "That's my girl." his fingers touching your folds, "I can already tell my sweet girl is so wet for me." he kisses you again. His fingers get coated in your wetness, and you moan as his fingers rub your clit, he looks at you, a smirk on his face. "That's it, let me ruin you for all these guys you meet."

He loved the idea of you never getting any release from any other man but him. He knows deep down, he is the only one who knows how to please you. He bent down, his lips to your hips, leaving a trail of wet kisses on them as he slowly reaches to lick your wet cunt. "Oh, my sweet girl, you taste like heaven." His tongue teases your swollen clit. And his own tip begging to be pleased by some sort. "Moan for me, princess," he begs and begins to eat you out. His moans and groans send vibrations to your sensitive clit. Fingers pumping into you and then he gets back up.

"Can I fuck you, my angel?"

"Please~"

"Atta, girl"

His hips rocking as his length parted your now needy and very wet pussy. His tip pleasing you in ways you never knew your body could feel. "Yes. Oh god yes." you whimper. He places kisses on your collar bone and tits. "Fuck, you're so tight," his lips on yours. It was electric,, all the waves of pleasure he was sending thrugh your body. He ruined you in less than ten minutes of fucking you, you both know that very well. "Just imagine yourself, getting stuffed with my cum," he whsieprs, he keeps thrusting. His eyes on yours, the ones you could barely keep open. Another moan, this time like a mewl. "God, you make the prettiest sounds ever," he comments.

"I want more~"

"I know baby, I know," he kisses your shoulder.

"Say you need me," he continues to kiss your shoulder and neck. "I need you. Fuck, I need you, Keegan," you whisper as he sends more waves of pleasure through you. It wasn't just meaningless sex between you two, it was the unspoken tension that had been building up since your twenty-second birthday. It was love in the form of a forbidden fruit. He loved the way your body moved with his, the rhythm of his thrusts making your tits bounce, your hardened nipples being felt on his own chest.

"I need you so bad, Keegan~"

That was as much as it took to make him lose all control. "Fuck, R/N, you don't know what you're doing to me," his voice hoarse. "I want you to milk me. I want that greedy pussy of yours to fucking milk me for all I'm worth," he demands. As he begins to fuck himself deeper into you, he knows that by the way you clench around him, you are near the edge. His big hand on your tit, gripping it. "Come for me, R/N," he pauses between words, trying his best to keep his own hot seed inside before you come. "I need you to come on my cock," he demands.

His body pinned you down to the mattress, your hands gripping his arms and back, leaving definite scratches. "Keegan," you moan. "I know baby, but I want you to come now," he demands once more. Your back arched, his mouth fell on your tits. Kissing them and nibbling on them. He rubs your clit, circling his thick fingers around the sensitive tissue, being rough, then soft with it. You shut your eyes and come undone on his cock. In that same moment, you felt his thrust slow down, his grip and groans increase but are still low. "R/N," he growls and then stays there, letting all of his cum flow into you.

Both of you panting and kissing through both of your climaxes. He lets out a chuckle and kisses the top of your nose, "You are lucky I can't treat you like a slut," he moves some of your hair away from your face. "What do you mean?" your hands caress his back. "If it weren't for your parents sleeping down the hall, I'd fuck you like the little slut we both know you are." He kisses your lips before pulling out of you. His cum dripping down your cunt, just like he wanted. "I wasn't too rough right, my angel?"

"No. I liked it," you kiss his lips and he smiles. "Good, that's good my girl." he kisses you back.

Tags: @liyanahelena @lazybutsexy

[pablitogavii]

Smut pls?

Hermanita ;)

Coming to Spain as an exchange student was one of the bravest things I've done at the age of 18. I always felt adventurous to explore new cultures, but what I didn't expect is to start "exploring" the body of my new "hermano" for a year.

Pablo and I immediately clicked, first it was competition where he always wanted to win, then teasing each other whenever we had a chance but soon that tension turned heated and we were sneaking around the house making out whenever we have a chance.

"Hola, bajita! You didn't come to watch the match?" Pablo came back home all sweaty in his Barcelona uniform and I smirked leaning against the doorframe of his room clearly too busy observing his fit body.

"Hm..I wanted to wait for you at home..hermano" I said moving closer to him and snaking my hands underneath his shirt to touch his flexed abs..hm they were so hard.

"Hmm mi hermanita mala...muy mala...and this pajamas? All this for me bombón?" he said resting his hands on my hips pulling onto the bands of my shorts with his teeth biting his lip.

"Mhmm you played so good so I wanted to treat you...unless they are coming back home too?" you ask and Pablo gave you a sinister look while shaking his head and pulling you closer. Since you study in Barcelona, you stayed with Pablo but his family sometimes visits from Sevilla.

"They have a flight tonight...hmm I'm going to devour you tonight!" he said kissing and licking my neck before leaving some obvious bite marks clearly in the mood to mark his territory.

"P..Pablo..let me treat you tonight" I said but knowing Pablo's character there was no chance he would give up his dominance that being the best treatment to relieve some of his tension after a long game.

"Hmmm you will treat me by shutting up and being a good girl, hermanita" he whispered those words into my ear and I rolled my eyes nodding my head obediently as he laid me down on his bed discarding his sweaty jersey on the floor.

"Hmm knowing you are always waiting for me at home...with this small precious body of yours...all mine to enjoy...damn it you were the best gift I got hermanita.." Pablo spoke while touching me all over starting to suck on my clothed chest making my nipples hard and visible through my white tee.

"Fuck! You're perfect bombon!" he groaned after finally taking off my shirt and teasing my chest while leaving his marks all over my pale skin. I felt on fire with his mouth licking and sucking on my skin as his hands moved in between my desperate thighs.

"Aww baby you're soaked for your hermano...you dirty girl..you're dripping all over my sheets...and they already smell only like you" he spoke moving lower and kissing the inner thighs while his figners started to explore my folds teasingly.

"Do you know that sometimes when they're here and you can't sleep besides me, I get so hard smelling you all over my sheets..I start touching myself at the though of you hermosa..and I explode every time wishing you were here" he spoke while fingering me so perfectly that I could see stars on his celling right now. Fuck! He knew my body so well..it was his body after all.

"Mmm I'm here now P..Pablo.." you moaned the last part contracting around his fingers as he pulled them away undoing his jersey shorts and taking his hard self out while stroking.

"Hmm yes you are preciosa...I'm gonna fuck you so good tonight so you won't be able to leave this bed for days!" he growled plunging into me with force and making me scream his name on top of my lungs. Fuck it felt so good!

"Yes! Scream for me hermanita...we're alone now!" he smirked continuing to plunge into me fast and hard until my thighs shook and I came undone around his hard member.

"Fuck my baby came so hard..good job hermanita...you did so good for me" he smirked sucking the rest of my juices with his mouth which only made me more horny at the moment.

"Mmm more hermano.." I begged shamelessly and he flipped me over making me go on all fours while his hands touched and caressed my ass and his cock teased my entrance again.

"You wanna make me cum inside of you, hm preciosa..wanna get us caught and become mi esposa?" he spoke and my whole body contracted at those words..fuck yes you wanted to be his esposa in the future..you wanted only him forever!

"Answer me, hermanita!" he slapped my ass and I whimpered biting my lip to stay quiet.

"Mhmm please.." was only thing I could master and he smirked fucking me mercilessly from the behind until his cock contracted inside of me and he spilled all of his seed while falling on top of me breathlessly.

"We're so fucked when they come back, baby.." he smirked pulling my naked body on top of his and I smiled shrugging my shoulders and starting to kiss his neck.

"Hmmm..tan mala" Pablo said seeing my smirking again before getting on top of me quickly...let's just say we had a long night!

[cream-stew]

VALENTINE EVENT PART I – FATUI'S CUTE SLUT !

🔞 minors dni

☆ with: pierro, capitano, pantalone, dottore

warnings: afab reader, rough sex, creampie, spanking + reader is tied up (pierro), monsterfucking + tummy bulge (capitano), daddy kink + reader is tied up (pantalone), cockwarming + reader is gagged (dottore)

+ BONUS: orgy, facefucking

pierro: he makes you lay horizontally in his lap, face down so he can spank your ass over and over, as many times as he wants. your wrists are taped together, and so are your ankles, and you can only cry out in pleasure as he takes short breaks in between his spanking to pump three fingers in and out of your pussy, rewarding you for how cute you sound when he slaps your ass. he gets tired of it after he makes you cum twice on his fingers and your ass is as red as it can get, so he cuts the tape holding your ankles together and lets you sprawl in bed with your legs parted, spread out for him to kneel in between them and slowly sink his cock in your already loose pussy <3

capitano: he fucks you so so roughly as he holds you in a mating press, your legs hooked on his shoulders as his huge, monstrous cock buries deeper and deeper in your womb, rubbing your sweet spot in passing and making your tummy bulge out. you're crying and whimpering in pleasure as he uses his inhumanely long tongue to toy with your perky nipples, adding more stimulation to the mix as he keeps fucking in and out of you at a wild pace, seeming almost feral in the way he's trying to breed you. you have no idea how many times either of you has cummed already, but it's definitely far from over <3

pantalone: he makes you ride him with your hands tied behind his neck. you babble and plead him to reverse your positions so he's the one doing most of the work, plunging deeply in your cute pussy, but he won't budge no matter how hard you beg. "please daddy-! I wanna cum, please", you babble, teary eyed, "my thighs are sore, daddy, please fuck me-", but he only laughs at you :( he makes you go on with it until you're trembling too much to keep riding him, and only then does he manhandles you on your stomach, trapping you under him as he fucks in and out of your wet pussy with vigor. he pulls out of you when he needs to cum, and paints your asscheeks in white before swiping his cum away and making you eat it all from his fingers.

dottore: he makes you cockwarm him while he writes down his latest experiment results, leaving you limp in his lap with your poor pussy clenching down on his rock hard cock, no matter how much you beg for him to fuck you immediately. he gags you at some point, bc you just can't shut the fuck up, so he punishes you by stuffing your mouth with your own panties and taping your lips shut!! sadly this also muffles your pathetic whimpers, but there's not much he can do about it. when he's done writing, he finally starts fucking upwards into your awaiting pussy, tho he only cares about his pleasure and pumping his load inside your guts :( luckily you manage to cum anyway, since you were so close after all that edging earlier!

bonus: orgy with the four harbingers <3 <3

you're on your knees, barely hanging on, as capitano fucks your pussy with abandon, his clawed hands digging into the soft skin of your hips. pierro, pantalone, and dottore are all lined up in front of you, their hard cocks out and pushing closer; pantalone is the first to grab your face and start fucking your mouth at a harsh pace, as the other two grab your arms instead and guide you into jerking them off while they wait their turn. capitano cums inside you with no warning, stuffing you full to the brim, and dottore lets go of your hand to take his place, his cock penetrating you so quickly that none of capitano's thick load spills out from your cute pussy :( you cum on his cock quickly, but he doesn't stop fucking you, and you can't even complain since pantalone and pierro are still taking turns on your mouth, facefucking you and cumming deep in your sore throat.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Am I Acting Weird?

Part II

I've been jogging on this treadmill for over an hour now. Cardio sucks, and I hate this old unventilated gym! When I joined the football team, I did it for the parties and cheerleaders! I just wanted to drink with the cool guys and get laid. I still do, but I haven't had a drop of alcohol in weeks. I can't even remember the last girl I hooked up with!

I used to think it was weird that I was suddenly working out all the time. It was like my entire personality had changed overnight.

I know it's not weird now. Max, my younger brother, told me so. I have to keep working out until I become the quarterback of the football team. Then I have to bulk up and train even more, so I can become a professional footballer. That's my new goal in life, and I can't wait for my little bro to be able to brag about being related to a pro athlete.

Sure, I never really wanted to play football professionally. If it were up to me, I'd be out drinking with my buds, but it's not up to me.

That's not weird right?

I shake my head and slow my aching legs. Droplets of sweat run down my face as I work to control my breathing. My whole body is sore from the conditioning. It doesn't help that this is my third workout of the day. Between my morning weight session, afternoon field practice, and this, I am totally whipped.

I stagger over to grab my workout gear. My night isn't over. I still have to bulk my stomach up for tomorrow.

With a frustrated sigh, I stomp out of the gym and march directly into the diner next door. I nod to the greasy cook behind the counter. I've become a regular here, so he knows me pretty well.

"The usual?" he grunts with a toothy grin.

I nod and sink into a booth.

Max, my little brother, got tired of me eating at the house. Apparently, it took our father too long to cook my bulking meals. Max has me eat here after my workouts, and I completely agree. Max shouldn't have to share our dad with me. He deserved to have someone at home cooking whenever he wanted to eat.

"Four burgers, fries, and a soda," the cook snickers as he slaps the tray in front of me, "A growing boy needs extra protein."

I grimace and turn away from the chef. His breath alone is enough to make me lose my appetite, but I take a big bite and swallow. I won't gain mass if I'm not consuming mass, and I obviously need to get bigger.

I've broken out into a second sweat by the time I'm done. Forcing myself to up, I have to adjust to my bloated waist. You'd think I'd get used to a packed stomach, but I always feel uncomfortable for the rest of the night.

I let out a belch and carry the dirty dishes to the back. It always feels weird strolling into an employees-only area like this, but it's part of how I get my meals for free. You see, the cook let's is nice as long as I take care of two things.

The dishes are the first thing.

"Leave the dishes," I hear his husky voice behind me, "I never wash 'em anyways."

I drop the dishes and turn the sink off, holding my gut as it growls in pain. My belly might ache, but I've got one more thing to do.

The cook watches me expectantly. He licks his chapped lips, and grabs at the bulge under his apron, between his two trunks of legs. He's already fishing the thing out. I know what he wants, so I drop to the floor. This has become just another part of my daily routine.

It's how I thank the chef.

I don't know how this became a habit, because I absolutely do not enjoy it! The man is filthy, and a man! I'm not gay! I like women, but I have to eat a lot to bulk up and Max liked the idea of me eating for free. It's not weird!

I let him manhandle me a bit, gripping my head and pulling my hair. The cook gets off faster if he roughs me up a little. He usually only lasts a few minutes, but it's the longest few minutes of the day.

It's not sex. It's just a transaction!

"Oh, yeah!" he growls with his eyes squeezed shut, "Yeah, boy! Fuck!"

I whip my head off his hairy crotch and jump to my feet. I spit into a napkin and wipe my mouth quickly. I know from experience that I won't be able to get the taste of sweat and meat out of my mouth until I brush my teeth thoroughly at home.

My part is finally done here, so I just want to leave!

"Can't wait to see you tomorrow morning, jocky boy!" he laughs, but I've already stormed out, marching down the street to my house. I'm trying not to think about how I'll be seeing him in a few hours for breakfast.

"Hey dad," I mumble, stepping inside.

"Boy," he answers dismissively, not even looking up from his work. As usual, he's wearing his home uniform: a suit and white gloves. I have a similar outfit for when I'm hanging around the house, but dad gets a lot more use out of his now that I'm constantly bulking up. Max is really the only one who seems to dress casually around here anymore.

I guess that makes him the weird one.

"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to start up a conversation.

"What's it look like, boy?" he answers gruffly, "I'm cleaning up after Max and his guests. Now, either get your uniform on and help or get out of my way."

His attitude makes me cringe a bit. Dad and I used to be really tight. We used to bond over sports and craft beer, but he doesn't really care about anything besides Max anymore.

I don't think he's gone to any of my games for the last few months. He's always cooking or cleaning for Max. I wish I understood. We used to tease Max all the time together, but now he gets angry anytime I try and bond with him. Like, it's totally normal and right for Max to be his new favorite, but I wish we could still chat every now and then.

"Sorry," I mutter.

My father ignores me and heads off to the kitchen in a rush. He looks erratic, and I can tell he's just as exhausted as I am. He's made it a habit of working extra hours at the office everyday. It's so he can bring home the biggest paycheck he can earn every week, but I know is affecting his sleep.

"Where is Max?" I ask.

My dad frowns, tersely responding, "Max took his guests to a movie in my car. The house needs to be clean and snacks need to be ready for when Max gets back."

"Oh," I sigh, "Are his friends staying over again? I'd stay up with you and help serve them, but Max said I should be getting nine hours of sleep every night."

"Go to bed, boy. I'll handle it," he states firmly, putting the final touches on the silver platter.

With that, my father picks up the tray of assorted snacks and walks them out into the living room. There he takes his place by the door and stands in his usual position. It's where he normally waits to welcome Max home everyday. Father and I know that someone like Max shouldn't have to put their own coat away or take off their own shoes.

"Alright, dad, see you tomorrow."

He doesn't answer. He's already standing still as a statue and probably won't move until Max gets back. Hopefully, my little brother won't keep him up too late.

Sleep won't be hard for me to find. I can barely keep my eyes open, and I pass out as soon as I fall on my bed. The rest of the night is a deep and dreamless void, while my stomach processes all the food I ate.

When I wake up, I find dad like this...

"Dad? Dad!" I give his shoulder a nudge.

He jumps to life, jerking his eyes around the trashed living room.

"Did you fall asleep standing up?"

"Maybe," he answers with shock, "Max had me holding everyone's coats while they enjoyed some beer. They must have moved to the bed while I drifted off."

"Aren't they a little young for beer?"

"Max and his guests are welcome to my alcohol whenever they want it!" he snaps back at me.

"Geez, ok."

"You have a workout you need to get to, boy," he barks, "And I'm going to have to hurry if I'm going to clean up this mess before work."

I stare at my father as he scrambles to clean up the living room once again. He looks even more exhausted and disheveled than last night. Hopefully, he would be able to clean everything up with enough time to shower and shave. I know that all of the household stuff is his responsibility, but sometimes it seems like too much.

With a shrug, I turn and step out of the door. My day is going to be the same miserable routine as the last. I'm not looking forward to any of it, but that's not weird. Like Max said, I'll just keep my head down, and power through.

[pattypanini]

Caught Between Two- Part 1 of 2 Jake Kiszka x Reader Danny Wagner x Reader (No slash)

Summary: Your boyfriend Jake and his band have a end of tour party, and a silly game of truth or drink brings past feeling back to life.

Word Count: 4.3k

Taglist for Oneshots

A/N: Heyyy everyone. We had this one in the chambers for a little bit now but we wanna break this up into 2 parts. So this one won't be super smutty but gives some insight leading into the threesome for the next part. We hope you enjoy, Caught Between Two.

Warnings: 18+, flirting, groping, PDA, alcohol, fluff, freaky talk.

SMUT COMING IN PART 2!!!!!!!!!

You and Jake have been dating for a little over four years. Although you two were very close in high school, best friends some may say, you never dated. You would always be at his house on the weekends, which meant hanging out with his family and friends, who you grew very close with. Even though you never acted on it, you became very attracted to one of his very close friends, Danny. Even now dating Jake you’ll catch a glance at Danny and feel that he is looking at you a little too long. It makes your brain go back to high school and feeds your delusion that he ever felt that way about you. 

But you are past that now. You are fully in love with Jake and nothing could ever make you question that. Sometimes you like to think back to how it all started with Jake. You were a sophomore in college at the time. You and Jake loved to sit on his back deck and just talk, long, deep conversations. One night, you somehow got on the topic of first kisses and you never kissed or done anything with anyone. Let’s just say Jake was very eager to be your first kiss, which led to the both of you making out that night. It was nothing short of amazing and a few weeks later the both of you were officially dating.  

Here you are now, sitting on the large couch with your boyfriend and friends at their end of tour party. You can’t help but feel so much pride for them all. They have accomplished so much within these past few years. As you sit on Jake’s lap you can’t help but notice his wandering hands that slowly rub up and down your thighs and ass. Something that the group has just come to accept when alcohol was around, especially after your fifth whiteclaw of the night. Not something that everyone enjoyed seeing, especially Danny. 

Jake’s hand wraps around your waist grazing your lower stomach, a chill rolls through your body. Your eyes scan the room and land directly on Daniel, who is already staring at you. You try your best to ignore his gaze as you lean back onto Jake, your back completely against the front of his body. His arm is fully wrapped around your waist, while his hand makes its way just under your waistband, not going any further than that. You were so distracted by his hand that you almost didn’t see Danny take off out of the room and into the kitchen. You knew he was jealous, but you kinda liked it. 

You turn your head slightly to whisper in Jake’s ear, “I wish that hand could go further Jakey.” Your faces pressed against one another. 

“I do too, sexy. But that pretty little cunt will just have to wait until after the party. But I don’t know if you’re in the right state for that doll.” Pointing out the sloshed state you were in. “How about I grab you some water?”

“No it’s okay this is your party, I’ll grab it.” You slur out, pushing yourself off Jake's lap, not leaving without a firm slap on your ass and a smirk on Jake's face. You start to make your way over to the kitchen, before you hear an agitated Daniel talking to Sam. 

You hang back a little, still close enough to hear their conversation. 

“She’s practically fucking him on that couch out there. I can’t fucking stand it, Sam.” His voice is loud, booming, but you’re not exactly sure if it's just the alcohol amplifying your senses. “And you know what makes it even worse? She looks me dead in the eyes while she does it, like she wants me to watch like she knows how…” Danny feels your presence and stops himself before saying anything more. He rolls his eyes, grabs his beer and leaves pushing you into the doorway, not looking back.

You finally enter through the doorway to the kitchen immediately spotting Sam at the counter mixing himself up a drink. “Damn… what’s his problem?” You chuckle slightly.

Sam just rolls his eyes. “He never shuts up about it. I swear to God it's all he ever talks about. Doesn’t he think it gets annoying?” He scoffs and tips his glass up to his lips. 

“Um, okay… I don't really know what you mean, Sam. Care to explain?” You raise your eyebrow at him. 

“Whenever we all hangout as a group and you and Jake are like together he just is sooo annoying. Like y/n this, y/n that, and how it shouldn’t be a thing.” He takes another long sip of his drink, seeming a bit uninterested in the conversation at hand. 

“What thing Sam? What shouldn’t be a thing?” Confusion is written across your face, you're not understanding and of course he has to be so fucking cryptic. 

“I don’t know, god, why so many questions. I’m just trying to get wasted and fuck someone. So excuse me, but I’m gonna go throw up now.” He pushes past you and stumbles to the bathroom. 

You left talking to Sam more confused than you were in the beginning. You grab your water bottle and make your way back to Jake. You walk in to see Jake laughing with his friends before his eyes laid back on you, darkening with lust. Before you could even turn to sit back down Jake’s finger wraps around your belt loop, spinning and pulling you down hard onto his lap. As you readjust back into your previous seating position, you can’t help but feel Jake beneath you. His length was pushing into your ass, and not even your jeans could hinder the feeling. 

“What’s got you so worked up Jakey?”

“This pretty thing sitting in my lap, been looking at her all night. And I think she wants me too, am I right doll?” He winks at you, before adjusting his seating position causing his dick to poke at your ass. 

“She definitely does. It’s been too long.” You lean back into him, kissing him, tongues intertwined, not caring who sees. You break the kiss to look at Jake “Is Danny alright, he kinda stormed off earlier and when I went to get a drink he rolled his eyes and left?”

“Yeah that’s just Danny. Jealous fucker. I know he has feelings for you. He’s never told me, but I can just tell. Sometimes I like doing stuff in front of him just to get a rise out of him.” He laughs to himself. Your eyes widen, hearing information you’d never heard before. 

“Uh-what. Since when?”

“Oh I don’t know? Probably highschool. He told me back then, he wanted me to put in a good word for him. But I would’ve never done that, because I knew what was mine before I asked you too.” He kisses your neck, giving you butterflies. “Plus I saw the way you reacted to him, so giggly and flirty. I knew I had to make a move if I wanted you. Poor Danny never got the chance.”

 You scoff out of complete disbelief.”I- um. You think I want Danny?” You furrow your brows at him. 

“Sure seems like it, doll.” He smirks at you, he loves picking on you. 

“Should I go talk to him? Clear the air and explain that as flattering as it is I don’t have any attraction to him and that he needs to stop being jealous.” You felt bad lying, but what were you going to tell your boyfriend? That you have a harmless crush on his best friend? No. 

“Sure, now that tour is over we'll all be hanging out a lot, it’s best to make sure there is no tension.” He guides you to stand up, giving you a little smile of encouragement. “You’ve got this, y/n.” 

“Thank you, Jake. Wish me luck.” You walk out of the living room, not exactly sure where he ran off to. You decide to check upstairs first. After finding nothing you decide to check outside. Whenever Danny needed space it was known to find him outside on the deck, smoking. 

When you walk outside into the cold air, you find Danny with his beer and a cigarette in the other hand. When he realized someone joined him he looked up, but after realizing it was you he rolled his eyes and got up to leave. 

“Danny, stop. Can we talk, please just listen to me.” You stick your hand out, stopping him before he can leave.

Danny pushes his tongue to the side of his mouth, deciding on whether or not to stay. Without saying anything Danny moves back to the couch, sitting in the middle, forcing you to sit close to him. You take a seat beside him, your hip just barely grazing his.

Both of you stare blankly at each other for a moment, waiting for someone to talk first. Danny beat you to it, “ So… what exactly did you want to talk about because if you’re not going to say anything I’m just gonna lea-”.

“No. Stay. I’m sorry-” You cut him off only for him to cut you off right back. 

“Sorry? What exactly are you sorry for, hm? Because I can think of a lot of reasons you should be sorry.” He slouches further into the couch looking out into the darkness of the night, bringing the cigarette up to his lips. 

“If you’re gonna be a dick I won’t say anything Danny. Goodbye.” You go to get up and are promptly sat back down by Danny who grabs your wrist restraining you to leave.

“Ok, ok. I’m sorry. Talk to me, please.” You can tell he is on edge, eager to hear why you scouted him out. You see a tinge of sorrow in his eyes, something you haven’t seen in years.

“I’m sorry for the way I act around you when I’m with Jake. I know you don’t like it.” You look down at your feet, your face flushing from embarrassment. 

“Then why do you do it?” He narrows his eyes at you. 

“I- I don’t know. I guess, to make you feel… jealous.” You couldn’t believe you were admitting this to him right now. The alcohol was making you reveal things you wouldn’t have otherwise. 

“Jealous?! Why do you think that would make me jealous?” He rolls his eyes at you, leaning forward leaving little space between the two of you.

“I don’t know… I hear what people say.” You shrug your shoulders. 

“And what exactly are they saying, y/n?” His face is only inches away from yours, you can feel his breath hitting your face. 

“That,” you take a sharp breath in, “you have feelings…for me.” You look away from him, trying to distance yourself as best you can in this awkward situation. You never felt this way around Danny. You felt like you could tell him anything in high school, but that feeling is long gone. 

Danny grabs your jaw firmly and faces you back towards him. “I have feelings for you? Okay. Well I could say the same about you, I’m sure Jake would love to know that, right? Because what other logical reason is there for you to make me jealous.” His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks a little pissed off. You’re speechless. A few moments go by and you realize you still haven't said anything. “So are you just gonna stare at me with those meaningless ‘fuck me’ eyes like you always do or actually say something.” He lets go of your jaw forcefully, still never leaving your gaze.

“And what makes you think that?” 

“Well I don't know, maybe you could ask the millions of people who saw it on a daily basis. Even Jake knew it. Which is exactly why he took you before I could ever make you mine,” he pushes your hair behind your ear, giving him a better look at your face. “That's all I ever wanted y/n.” His eyes were telling you everything you needed to know. You knew he was being truthful, but could you admit that you felt the same back then, and even now.

“There was a time I thought that way with you, Danny.” You can feel your throat tightening and the tears starting to brim at your eyes. 

“When did that start?”

“Probably during highschool, 10th grade.”

“And it ended when you and Jake got together?” He looks hopeful? 

“I don’t know if that  feeling ever left Danny…” You look him deep in the eyes, no longer being able to control your tears you collapse into Danny’s shoulder releasing it all. You felt awful admitting what you did. How could you feel that way while having a perfect boyfriend that you love very much? 

“Y/n it’s okay, I promise it’s okay, Star.” 

Star.

A name you haven't heard in years. Immediately you’re transported back to 10th grade. 

“Come on y/n, the sky is not getting any darker.” Danny reached for your hand, pulling you up the large hill you just ran up.

“Danny, I'm so tired we’ve been walking forever.”

“We are almost there, I promise.” He smiled over at you.

The butterflies are whirling around in your stomach and he just looks so beautiful under the moonlight. He drags you to the top of the hill and your jaw immediately drops. The view was so incredible.

“I told you it would be beautiful and you can see the stars so well tonight. Here, sit down with me.” He pulls you down to sit with him and he lays his back against the cold grass. 

“It’s cold out here Danny. Why did you even bring the blanket, it’s literally still in the car.”

Danny looks straight up into the sky, not answering your question. “Well I could give you my sweatshirt, I feel like that would be a better option.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Danny, did you forget it on purpose?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just forgetful.” His hands prop behind his head.

“I literally said something when we were getting out, you started running towards the hill. So no, I don't think you're ‘forgetful’.” 

“Listen, do you want it or not y/n?” He says, while propping himself up on his hands.

“I would never deny it Danny.” Danny pulled his sweatshirt off, accidentally pulling his shirt up slightly, showing a little bit of his v-line. You couldn’t help but stare before he fully pulled it over his head and handed it to you. You slip the sweatshirt over your head, your body heating up already from the warmth leftover from Danny.

He shoots you a warm smile, the both of you silently admiring each other. “You look so cute in my clothes.” 

You can feel your cheeks flame red at his words. “It’s comfy and smells like you.” 

“I could just give you all my clothes, then we’d both be happy.” Danny was always flirty, but that was just his personality. He probably didn’t want it the same way you did. 

He rolls onto his back again and stares back up at the sky. You continue to look at him, your eyes glued on his beautiful nose and side profile. His perfect side profile. 

“Hey. You’re staring.” Danny giggles and it's the most beautiful noise you’ve ever heard. 

“So, you stare all the time.”

“Yeah but that’s because you’re so beautiful it’s hard not to.” You and Danny look back up at the sky, taking in a beautiful moment you’ll never forget.  

You watched as a shooting star soared through the air. You both grab each other's hands at the same time, not knowing if the other saw. 

“Woah, that was so crazy. I never saw something like that.” Danny says, squeezing your hand a little tighter.

“Neither have I.” You look over to Danny to see he’s already looking back at you. “I wish the stars could be closer. They’re so perfect.”

“If I could collect them all for you I would y/n.” He props himself up onto one elbow, looking down to you. “You’re my star y/n. So perfect, shining brighter than anyone else.” He leans down, placing a soft kiss onto the side of your cheek. He lays himself down, placing his head right onto your chest. Your heart was beating 100 times per second and he could probably feel it. But you didn’t care. Everything you’ve ever wanted was right in front of you and you couldn’t be happier. 

“My perfect Star.”

You wish you could say anything ever came of it, but it didn’t. You tried to forget about that night, but you knew you never did. Such a core memory you could never share with anyone else, not even Jake. 

You feel Danny’s arms wrap around you, comforting you through the tears and heavy emotions you were feeling. You can tell he is hesitant but his hand wraps around your head to soothingly pet your hair. 

“I…didn’t think you remembered, it’s been years.” You choke out into his chest. 

“I could never forget, Star. It was the most perfect moment in my entire life. With the woman I never got to have. And I regret it every single fucking day. Every single moment I see you two together. I’ll never forgive myself for it, but now I just have to live with that.” You lift yourself off his shoulder, wiping away the tears.

“I’m so sorry Danny, but you know that nothing can ever happen between us. You know how I feel though and our memories together I will always cherish. It’s just not fair to Jake.” His eyes are piercing through you, his beautiful chocolate brown eyes- no. You can’t be thinking about these things anymore. 

Tears are beginning to well in his eyes, threatening to spill onto his cheeks. “But Star…” You know he was hurt, maybe even unaccomplished. You knew he wanted you, you wanted him at one point. But it can’t be like that now, it's not fair to you and your relationship. You stood up off the couch beginning to leave the porch and head back inside.

“Please don’t call me that Danny, it hurts too much.” He opens his mouth as if he's about to say something else, but you’re gone before you ever know. You B-line to the bathroom, making sure no one saw you in your current state. You use the bathroom and while washing your hands you hear a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Jake, is that you y/n?” You hear him say in a worried tone.

“Yeah it’s me, come in.” The door squeaks open and you are face to face with the love of your life. 

“I finally found you,” he moves to stand behind you, resting his head on your shoulder. “Why are your eyes red, sweets?”

“I smoked a lot and sitting outside was making my eyes irritated.” Lies. You couldn’t tell Jake you were crying over remembering a very sentimental moment with his best friend. 

“Okay, did you work things out at least. And did he admit to having feelings for you in highschool?”

“Yes and yes. I definitely wouldn’t have known.”  Another lie. 

“Oh come on angel, it was so obvious.” He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. 

“I don’t know, Jake. All I care is that things are sorted out now, no confusion…”. 

“I get that. Well… since everything is all good now, are you ready to go back to the party? I think we're all going to play a game.” He says while playfully smacking your hip. 

“Yes, let's go back.” You walk out of the bathroom with Jake hot on your heels. You retake your spot on Jake’s lap, on the living room sofa. 

Right before the game of Truth or Drink was about to begin, Sam rushes in with Danny trailing behind him. Looking nervous, but also pissed off. You can’t help but roll your eyes. You reach behind yourself to grab Jake’s arm and sling it over your waist. 

You watch Danny scoff from across the room. You smirk to yourself knowing you were getting under his skin. Eventually everyone gathered in a circle on the living room floor, drinks in hand ready to start. 

Josh is the first to open his mouth, “I guess I’ll start. Y/n, have you ever faked an orgasm?” He smirks at himself, looking curious waiting for your answer. 

You move your hand up to your lips preparing to drink, before Jake gently grabs your wrist pulling it back down to your lap. “No sweets, answer truthfully.” 

You give him a side eye but you knew you could tease him. “Yes I have.” 

Everyone erupts with an oooh and Josh reaches over to playfully punch his twin, assuming it had to have been his doing.

“Jake, why aren’t you pleasing our girl ?” Josh asks with a huge smirk on his face. Josh always joked that if he wasn’t into men he would be dating you, and he would have had the balls to ask you out sooner than Jake. Him calling you his and Jake's girl was something you always found humorous.  

“I know it couldn’t be me, I always leave her satisfied.” You slap him, not needing him to air out your sex life to everyone in the room.

“Whatever you say babe.” You just laugh and carry on with the game. “Okay my turn, Sam what’s your body count?” You giggle.

Immediately he takes a large swig of his whiteclaw. “Sammy must be embarrassed.” Jake laughs. 

“Am not asshole, I just don’t care to count anymore.” He smirks, feeling proud of himself. Everyone rolls their eyes, waiting for Sam to ask someone a question. 

“Daniel, are you jealous of Jake?”

“What,” he furrows his brows. “In what way?”

“I don’t know, maybe musical capabilities, talents…” he trails off before looking directly at you, “maybe his love life?”  

Danny brings his beer to his lips, not showing any emotion. 

You look over at Jake to see him smiling, he knows people want his abilities and he’s aware “people” want you. The look on his face though isn’t a look of jealousy, he almost looks proud. He has always loved the idea of your relationship being very public, and has been very open to the idea of sharing you with others. Not long term, but for a night or two. So he had never gotten jealous of other people wanting you. 

As the rounds go on, and many uncomfortable questions being answered, you’ve realized that Danny had not answered a single question. It didn’t help that every question he got was pertaining to his love life, who he last fucked, and other questions along those lines. But it almost felt targeted. He never caught a break, no matter who asked the questions. 

“Alright Danny, would you ever have a threesome?” Josh asks him.

Danny lifts his beer to his mouth for the 20th time that night but it had seemed he reached the end of his drink. “Uh oh Danny, looks like someone's lifelines have run out. Now you have to answer.” Sam adds in. 

Danny rolls his eyes, knowing he no longer has a choice. “I fucking hate you all, but maybe I would try it. The opportunity never presented itself before.” 

“Damnnnn, looks like we have a freak on our hands.” Sam laughs at himself. A small smile cracks at your mouth, but your mind keeps picturing a certain thought over and over again and you can't stop yourself. You would never ask Jake for something like that though, it's too uncomfortable. 

Jake, on the other hand, his interest was piqued at Danny’s admission. You didn’t realize it at the time though. When you zone back in, they are onto the next person. Your mind is still continuing to wander, but you know nothing will ever come of it so you push it deep down into the most sacred places of your brain. 

It was beginning to get late and people were beginning to file out. You started to help Josh clean up his place since he offered to host. You look around for Jake to help you bring down a banner but are surprised to see he was nowhere to be found. “Sammy, where is Jake? I need help getting this down?” Sam walks over beginning to untie it for you, 

“I don’t know, I saw him walk towards the hallway. Maybe he’s talking to our newly found freak that is Daniel. Maybeee he’s setting something up for the two of you, you know, the threesome Danny wants so badly.” You roll your eyes and begin to pick up more trash. “Hey all I’m saying is you could have ended up with him if you wanted to.” 

“Yeah but I’m not Sam. I’m with Jake and I’m very happy with that.”

“Yeah… I bet you are.” He jokes. “You could’ve ended up with me shnookums, don’t you want a piece of a Sammy sandwich?” He laughs at himself causing you to laugh too. 

“Yeahhhh, hold on, let me go break up with Jake real quick.” You playfully shove his shoulder. Sammy was your wingman throughout highschool, for when you liked Danny and Jake. He secretly was rooting for Danny, but he did not get what he wanted. He was supportive and there for you regardless. 

You didn’t know what Jake was doing, but you knew if it was pertaining to Danny it couldn’t be good. You didn’t want to make any assumptions but you had a feeling it was pertaining to the topics discussed tonight. Now you had to wait for Jake to come back out, leaving you only with your dirty thoughts. 

Part 2 coming soon...

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Taglist: @peaceloveunitygvf @jordie-gvf @Gretavanhockey @Mama-likes72 @traffic-was-a-b1tch @cheersdannyx2 @mar-rein12 @jennabobenasblog @terry-66 

[cherrygirlfriend]

kook!reader and pope going apple-picking

warnings: fluffy! i've had this on my mind for a MONTH bc i got a bunch of free apples and baked like... four apple pies in the matter of two days. but i wanted to wait until it was all fall-y to post it. (also the among us shirt was inspired by an actual t-shirt i saw at the thrift store. i do have a short little bonus part coming for this soon!!

something unexpected that pope learned about you was that you loved fall. he would've always thought you'd prefer summer; your personality was basically that of the literal sun, but the moment there was a small breeze in the air and you spotted the first orange leaf on the ground, you'd picked it up and called him, telling him how you were going to put it in your scrapbook.

so, it really shouldn't have been a surprise to him that one morning, you'd show up to his room, basically trying to pull him up, and after he pulled you into bed and you two laid there together for an hour and the dog that was basically yours, but technically his, came to lick his face, he finally got up.

your boyfriend kept asking you where you were taking him as you drove, the little bichon sleeping snugly in his arms in the passenger seat of your car, but you wouldn't tell, simply humming along to the girly pop song playing in your stereo with a wide smile on your face.

"where are we, exactly?" pope asked when you two finally arrived to your destination, a small farm right between figure 8 and the cut.

"we're at mr. parker's farm, duh."

"don't duh me, i know that." he said with a small chuckle, bumping your shoulder lightly with his, "i mean, what are we doing here?"

"oh," you chuckled, taking something from the backseat, and when you held the thing up, he noticed it was two large wicker baskets, "well, mrs. parker is teaching me how to crochet, and i mentioned how i really want to pick some apples and bake apple pie, so she said that they had way too many apples growing and she said that if i wanted to, i could come pick some, as long as i bring them a few slices of apple pie to try."

"babe," he chuckled as you handed him the other basket, starting to lead him to where mrs. parker had shown you the apple trees were, blanche's leash on your other hand, the dog excitedly following, "i'm not sure which part i should address; the fact that you're friends with a 60-year-old, that she's teaching you how to crochet, or that she let you pick apples just for a few slices of apple pie."

"josephine is a very nice lady." you look at him pointedly, "and crocheting is relaxing. supposedly. for me it's still a bit confusing. but i wanna make blanche a sweater one day."

"you know, most dogs hate clothes."

"our dog wouldn't. i can see the way she looks at my dresses, and how she barks at your t-shirts like she wants to rip them apart."

"hey! what's wrong with my t-shirts?"

you look at him blankly, "my grandpa dresses better than you. you wore a shirt that had an among us character the color of the italian flag holding a plate of spaghetti with the text 'impasta' underneath it for our second date."

"that was jj's, my shirt got all muddy..." pope mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, but soon you two arrive in front of an apple orchard miles long, the boy's eyes widening. "yeah, that's... definitely a lot of apples."

you chuckled, taking his hand as you pulled him further into the orchard, the little dog following behind you, and before you knew it, you were stood on a wooden stepping ladder, reaching up for apples and throwing them into the second basket, the first one already full of both red and green apples.

"you know, you don't have to hold onto me, i'm a big girl, i won't fall." you chuckled, pope's hands holding onto your waist, "if you just picked some apples yourself, we'd be done a lot faster."

"i know you." and by the tone of his voice, you could tell he was looking at you pointedly even though he was behind you, "if i let go of you, you're gonna fall, and you'll probably get concussed."

"alright, i know that i can be a bit clumsy-"

"a bit? remember when you tripped on my charger last week? when it wasn't plugged into anything? or when your shirt got caught in the doorknob and you hit your head on it? or the time you broke your leg falling down three stairs because you were looking at pictures of your celebrity crush? or-"

"alright, alright, i'm clumsy!" you puffed, taking his hands off your waist. "you can stand there for safety, but no holding on. i gotta focus and your hands are really warm it disturbs me. besides, the broken leg was when i was fifteen. i never should've told you.

"she's in denial." he said to blanche, laying on a small blanket on the ground that you had brought with you for him, letting out a small yip, as if in agreement.

"hey! don't turn my baby against me."

"well, she's my baby too."

"well, if you're not careful about what you say, soon we'll have to co-parent." you huffed, continuing to pick apples, the boy simply laughing at your 'threat.'

he watched as you continued picking apples, humming along to the same song you were listening to in the car, a fond smile on his face, yet as you rose to your feet to pick the last apple, standing on the very edge of the stepping ladder, he noticed the wooden thing wobble, his eyes widening.

but as you got your feet stable, it was already too late, the stepping ladder already starting to fall to it's side, your eyes widening when you realized what was happening.

you closed your eyes tightly when you started falling, and as you felt your body fall against the hard ground, something was under your head, softening the blow.

hearing a soft groan next to you, you opened your eyes, finding pope laying on the ground next to you, his arm under your head. "your head weighs a lot."

"what are you doing?" you chuckled softly.

"well, i knew i wouldn't be able to catch you, and since the ladder isn't that tall so you'd mostly get away with bruises anyway, but you could still get a concussion or a head injury from that height, so i estimated where you'd fall and made sure my arm was under it."

"you know, you could've just said something cheesy, like 'because i wanted to protect your pretty head', you textbook."

"oh."

"you know you could've broken your arm or something."

"and you could've let me hold onto you."

you laughed softly, shaking your head before rolling onto him, pressing your lips on his, the boy's lips warm against yours, bringing your hand to his cheek.

when you pulled away from the kiss, he looked at you with a slightly dazed look on his face before he broke into a grin. "thanks for protecting my head."

"anytime."

[bloody-cupcakes]

i loved your platonic tenth doctor fic sm 💞 would you ever consider doing a pt.2? maybe with the reader sort of figuring out what’s up and trying to get back on their own

I would love to do a part two, I'm so happy to hear you liked it! (Part one is here for anyone who wants to read it first)

Platonic! yandere/dark! Tenth Doctor x teen reader; you discover he's purposely keeping you from leaving

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, the Doctor has possessive tendencies due to seeing the reader as his child, not technically kidnapping but the Doctor goes to great lengths to make sure the reader won't/can't leave so there's that

After your conversation with the Doctor about returning home to earth, you went to your room on the TARDIS and began packing. Part of you felt bad for possibly hurting his feelings (after all, you were currently his only companion, and while you didn't get the whole story you knew he had others before you that met less than ideal fates) but you couldn't just stay with him forever. You knew you had to go back home eventually.

The next day when you found him, he was fiddling with the control panel and humming cheerfully to himself. It was as if you'd never even spoken about leaving the day before.

"Um, Doctor?"

He looked up immediately when he heard your voice, a bright smile covering his face. "Ah, there you are! I was just waiting for you before I put the coordinates in for our next adventure. Are you ready to go?"

You made a visible face of confusion at his words. Next adventure? What was that supposed to mean?

"No, Doctor, I'm not. I already told you, I have to go home now."

His right eye twitched slightly with irritation as you mentioned that word again- "home". It wasn't fair that you kept talking about it as if your time with him didn't matter. I mean, he didn't even have a home to go back to, and he was perfectly fine. He learned how to become a well adjusted Time Lord after some time he assured himself while lying.

"Yeah, yeah. I know that." He waved his hand dismissively as if it was no big deal. "I just figured you'd want to go on one last trip before you had to leave. You know, just to cap off everything."

The exhaustion still in your body was screaming at you to say no, but he looked so hopeful as he stared at you with his big brown puppy dog eyes that you ended up saying yes despite yourself.

"You know what? Sure, why not. One last trip, to commemorate our time together."

The Doctor beamed with joy at your words, estatic that he was able to make you relent so quickly. "Great! Now, let's be off, then. Allonsy!"

It would just be one quick trip, you thought to yourself as the TARDIS started up, prepared to take you wherever you decided to go. It wouldn't take too long, and them he'd take you back home as soon as you were done.

So sure that you were right, you didn't even bother to keep track of the amount of time the two of you spent adventuring that day, which meant the Doctor was able to keep suggesting more and more things for you to do on your "last day" without any fuss. By the time you finally made it back to the TARDIS, you were exhausted, heading straight to bed without any more mentions of returning home for the time being.

The Time Lord was beside himself with delight as he realized his plan on keeping you too busy and tired to even think about leaving was beginning to work. He kept at it day after day, insisting that you just needed one more adventure to top it all off, just one extra trip. And because you didn't want to upset him by declining, you said yes to every single one.

This all came to a head the day he momentarily put his plan on pause due to the TARDIS needing repairs. It had been beeping nonstop at him for the past four days, and he'd finally had enough. He parked the TARDIS and told you to stay put, not that you had the energy to go anywhere.

While he was out for supplies, you finally got the chance to relax somewhat. Deciding to spoil yourself with this newfound free time, you took a long bath and put on your comfiest clothes before settling yourself in one of the several armchairs adorning the TARDIS library. You were just about to pick up something to read when the TARDIS started beeping again.

"I know you need repairs, he'll be back soon, don't worry," you tried to reassure it, but it simply ignored you and continued on.

Letting out a somewhat exasperated sigh, you set down your book and got up, making your way to the control room. "What seems to be the problem here?"

The TARDIS made a chirping sound as it brought up the coordinates that would take you back to the time and place of your home on earth.

You frowned in confusion, your brow furrowing as you studied the screen. The Doctor had been complaining about how it had been malfunctioning lately, so it's possible that what the screen was currently displaying could mean nothing.

In reality it had actually been scolding him for keeping you from your family on earth, but of course he ignored it, meaning it decided to take drastic measures in order to help get you back home.

"Yeah, that's my home. What about it?"

Something that sounded like a huff of annoyance came from the control panel. What its next few beeps meant you couldn't know for sure, but you were almost positive it had called you stupid.

"Hey, I'm doing my best here! I'm not a Time Lord, how would I know what you want?"

You could practically feel the way it was rolling its eyes at you before pulling up all the other places you'd been to recently. The log dated that they'd all been auto-saved on the same day, the day you told the Doctor you wanted to go back home.

A chill went down your spine as you realized he'd planned this out all ahead of time, knowing you'd be far too exhausted to argue if he kept taking you on one trip after another.

"Wait, why are you showing me this? What does this all mean?"

The TARDIS let out a few more beeps as it showed you the coordinates for earth again. It seemed to be trying to tell you something, but it was hard to know what it was exactly.

"Are you... are you trying to say that I should make my way back home, all by myself? Without the Doctor?"

The affirmative chattering of beeps and boops that came next told you the answer was yes. Now that you thought about it, the TARDIS seemed to be working perfectly fine, bringing you to the conclusion it had lied to the Doctor on purpose in order to help you.

"That's great and all, but I don't know how to manage these controls. I'd probably cause us to crash before we ever got there." You rolled your eyes at the noises it made in response. "Yes, I realize the Doctor crashes you all the time, and no, I don't want to take that risk. At least he knows how to fix you afterwards."

Your argument was cut short by a series of anxious beeps, the TARDIS frantically trying to warn you of the Doctor returning. You could hear him cursing from the outside as he tried to get in through the doors, the TARDIS having apparently locked him out.

"I can't fly you. I don't even know how to work all these buttons and knobs on your control panel." The sad and dejected boop it let out made you give it a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to get home some other way."

The doors finally opened, the Doctor nearly falling over as he entered. "Ah, there you are! I was just about to look for you. We should be ready to leave for our next trip once I've fixed whatever's wrong with the controls."

The TARDIS made an offended noise at the implication that there was something wrong with it, which both you and the Doctor ignored.

"Actually, I was wondering when you were going to take me back home."

The grin on his face immediately dropped at you words. "Home? You want to go home now?"

You hesitated briefly, not exactly sure what to think after the recent discoveries you'd made involving him trying to keep you from leaving. Surely he wouldn't do anything to actually hurt you, but you decided to tread carefully regardless.

"Well, yeah. I miss my family, and I'm sure they must be missing me. And I can always come back to travel with you again, you know." You added the last bit in hopes of easing the apparent pain of him losing you.

"But I'm your family now," he insisted in an almost pleading manner, gesturing to the inside of the machine. "This is your home. I don't understand why you'd ever want to leave any of this."

The Doctor shot the control panel a dirty look when it made a noise that sounded like sarcastic muttering. "Besides, I can offer so much more than they can. Can they take you anywhere in time and space? I don't think so."

"I'm not your family, Doctor," you blurted out in a desperate attempt to get him to see reason. "I'm not. I'm not your kid, and this isn't my home. I need to get back to my real home with my real family."

He turned away from you, resting his hands on the control panel so he wouldn't fall over from shock. His hands gripped onto the side of it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Doctor...?" You questioned gently, starting to feel bad for what you'd said. "Are you alright?"

Shaking his head, he responded in a quiet voice. "No, I'm not." He sighed as he leaned over the controls. "You're right, I'm not your family."

You felt a tiny bit of hope bloom within you despite yourself, hope that maybe, just maybe he was starting to see reason.

"So, does this mean-" You began eagerly before he suddenly cut you off.

"But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you leave, just like that." He turned back towards you, his face hardened as he gave you a look of determination. "Maybe I'm not your family yet, but I will be. And this will be your home, whether you like it or not."

A shiver of fear went down your spine at his firm declaration, causing you to realize you'd made a severe judgment in error when you decided to tell him you weren't family. It was at this point that you were beginning to wish you'd listened to the TARDIS when it told you to run while you still had the chance.

[seramilla]

Something I think could happen in the Vaggie is Related to Carmilla AU, but after the reveal that Vaggie is her lost child, Carmilla occasionally gets nightmares that the Exorcist she killed was Vaggie

Sure she had already "fallen" at that point but now knowing the truth about Exorcists Carmilla has these nightmares of losing her daughter again, and that it's her fault again

(pretty much had this thought with both your AU and sunsetcougar's Biotech Exorcists AU)

For as long as she's been forging angelic weapons, the threat of the Exorcist horde has been a real, tangile reality for the Carmines, as long as they were putting themselves in the crosshairs of the conflict with Heaven. Carmilla had managed to mostly stay under Heaven's radar for a long time. Until the day she and her girls were discovered, and there was an attempt on her daughters' lives. Carmilla had only done what she had to do -- protect Odette and Clara at all costs, even if the cost is an angelic life.

The dreams have plagued Carmilla ever since. It's always the same variation of the same dream -- an Exorcist is attacking her girls, and she swoops in to save them, letting that infusion of adrenaline and fear fuel her actions, and chopping off their attacker's head at the neck. The sight had been traumatizing, grotesque, but also necessary. Still, Carmila worries if this is a new part of her punishment here in Hell for killing an angel -- to forever be plagued by those memories. Especially since they are worse now, knowing that Vaggie, her daughter, used to be one. Now Vaggie is the one invading her dreams.

Ever since this realization came to light, the dreams have twisted into an ugly, terrifying, evil approximation of the original nightmares she used to deal with. A part of her wishes she could go back to those, because now all she can when she's going in for the killng strike is Vaggie there in front of her. Every time, night after night, she kills her own daughter, and can't help but wake up screaming into the void of her dark, empty room, all alone.

She's tired. She needs sleep. She just wants the dreams to stop, so she can get some actual rest for the first time in weeks. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, or her maternal instinct is finally getting the better of her; Carmilla isn't certain, but she reaches over to grab her phone all the same. The clock app says it's well after midnight. Still, Carmilla just needs confirmation. Needs to hear her voice. She just has to know...

Carmilla calls Vaggie. She doesn't know why she does this. Vaggie will either be angry at her for calling so late, or won't pick up at all, because her phone is on silent. Thankfully, blessedly, after four rings, Carmilla is sent directly to voice mail. She clears her throat, and waits for the beep to indicate she should leave a message. At least she can get some of her anxiousness out of her system this way.

"Vaggie...this is Carm--your mom. I'm really sorry to be callng so late. I was just...thinking about you. Wondering if you're okay. You don't need to call me right back. I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice. This is probably very strange. You don't even need to call me back, if you don't want to. A text would be fine. Just, please...let me know you're all right? Okay. I....love you. Good night."

Carmilla hangs up the phone, and rolls over to face another fitful night's sleep. She hopes Vaggie doesn't think she's crazy for leaving that voicemail. But Carmilla considers that is the least of her worries, right now. Just so long as Vaggie is okay, protected, and safe...then Carmilla will be okay, too...won't she?