#antique display tables

[clockward]

Toronto Library Family Room

Family room library idea with beige walls, no fireplace, and a tv stand in a mid-sized eclectic enclosed room with medium-tone wood flooring.

[choasset]

Library - Family Room Family room library - mid-sized eclectic enclosed medium tone wood floor and beige floor family room library idea with beige walls, no fireplace and a tv stand

[vintagehomecollection]

Antiques at Home, 1989

[indiatrendzs]

Creating a Cozy Farmhouse Thanksgiving Living Room with Antiques

To create a cozy, welcoming farmhouse living room for Thanksgiving, start by incorporating timeless antique pieces that bring character, history, and warmth to the space. A carefully chosen selection of furniture, such as a Mogul interior reclaimed farmhouse coffee table, a wooden hand-carved jharokha console, and an antique entryway table, makes the room feel authentic and rich in texture—ideal…

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Sylus: Highest Bidder | NSFW

Me? Writing Top Sylus content? It's more likely than you think.

❧ Pairings: Sylus x Reader ❧ Warnings: Oral Sex, Top Sylus, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampie, Semi-Public Sex ❧ Synopsis: The Hunter's Association had gotten a tip that an auction in the N109 Zone might have an aethercore piece being sold. Thankfully you had Sylus to help you get inside, however it didn't stop you from become stressed. Sylus had a pretty good idea on how to calm you down. ❧ Word Count: 7.5k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Sylus

Highest Bidder

It was odd being so high above everyone else as you peered down at the auction happening below. The crowd was silent for the most part, other than when the auctioneer would be calling out bids. People raised their numbers as they tried to get the coveted items they were selling. They all looked so small from your current perch. It was the ‘Crow’s Nest’ seating that you were in, a spacious booth above the crowd. Your eyes would occasionally glance down at what was happening below, then back over to the room around you. The Crow’s Nest was grander than you would’ve expected, but honestly you should’ve known since it was made specifically for a certain…business owner.

There were two plush sofa chairs with a table in the middle of them. A bottle of wine with the glasses already poured and some hors d’oeuvre to snack on while you watched. The only other person in the booth was Sylus, as you both watched the auction as it came into full swing. All the people below were wearing masquerade masks in order to conceal their identities. There was no need to wear your masks up here, however, as nobody was even able to see you guys. The only people allowed into the booth were Keiran and Luke, anyway, and that was only if they were allowed in since Sylus had a button on his chair that unlocked the door.

The privacy was nice for the most part, but you couldn’t stop the anxious feeling from settling in the pit of your stomach as you continued to watch. You gnawed on your bottom lip, staring down at every protocore that came up between stolen paintings and artifacts. You adjusted the cardigan you wore, the chill from the booth getting to you as you glanced at Sylus. He looked undisturbed as per usual, relaxed in his element as he watched what happened below.

He had only clicked his auction buzzer twice, and only when an antique weapon that he was interested in came on display. He had someone down below who was putting in bids for him; every time the buzzer went off, their only job was to start bidding until they won. It was fascinating to watch, sure, all the people below desperately raising their numbers in order to win the stolen or illegal goods. It was like watching a street market, except the people bidding below were all betting millions on a single item.

It was almost amusing if not for the fact that all these items, under normal circumstances, would’ve been detained due to the illegal nature of this entire situation. The N109 zone was primarily untouched; in fact, the only reason you were here was due to your connections. Captain Jenna didn’t really like sending you straight into the pits of hell, but she knew that, for the most part, you’d be safe since you’d come and gone into the area several times. She never bothered to ask you how or why you were able to come and go as you pleased, and honestly you didn’t want to tell her.

“Sweetie,” Sylus’ voice broke you out of your stupor as you glanced over at him. His ruby red eyes had gone over to rake over your body, seeing how tense you were. It wasn’t something he particularly liked, he had thought the private area would help calm some of your worries, but it seemed nothing would quell the feeling of taking part in something that went against almost all of your morals.

“What?” your tone came out snappier than you had wanted, but you couldn’t help it. You were on edge at the moment, your mission at the forefront of your mind the entire time. Every single protocore that was shown had your heart pounding. The Crow’s Nest was directly above all the items, and though it had a one-way window where nobody could see you guys, you still felt as though all eyes were on you. Most people didn’t even know the booth existed; they wouldn’t know where to look, but their eyes were all focused on the items. Thankfully, due to your proximity, you’d be able to tell if something was amiss and could get the right protocore, but you were still anxious.

“I already told you there won’t be an aethercore at an auction like this one. You can calm down and just enjoy the show.” He tried to reason with you, but you weren’t having it. You knew he was right; he was never wrong about situations like this, but you were still stubborn. Your eyes glanced back over to what was being sold currently, just a basic protocore that he was trying to convince the audience was worth something. Another thing you hated about this auction…they were trying to rip people off. Not that you could really be upset due to the people who were trying to buy it, but it did leave a bad taste in your mouth.

“The association sent me here for a reason, Sylus.” You explained as you took your glass of wine and took a sip, “There’s something going on here, at the very least.” It might not be the aethercore that you were needing, but there was a reason the association was involved. The contents of the auction were always kept secret, even to the people attending, but they had gotten a tip. While your Captain did inform you that the chances were low, you’d still need to keep an eye out for a fragment being sold here. Most likely it was just a bunch of higher end protocores, something the association would still be wanting. For all you knew, they were already aware of the situation but sent you here anyway so you could collect the items and make sure they didn’t wind up in the hands of someone that really shouldn’t own such items.

You heard Sylus scoff from next to you, rolling his eyes a bit, “Ah yes, the association, the same one that couldn’t even get you a place at the auction.” Sylus said with a smirk, “The all-powerful association that had so little knowledge they didn’t know how to get an invite.” You sometimes hated how he mocked the association but you had to admit that, in this case, it was true. There was a reason you were with Sylus at the moment. You had needed an in to the auction, and you knew if anything was happening in the N109 Zone, Sylus would be able to get there. The fact that this private booth was reserved only for him was telling enough that he went to these often. Your bosses had literally just told you to find your way into this high profile auction, but they didn’t provide the means. If you didn’t have Sylus with you, you’d most likely be screwed out of luck.

You took another sip of the sweeter wine and slumped into your chair in defeat. Your free hand went down to your dress to help push it down as it rode up your thighs, the silky fabric brushing against your skin with the motion. The expensive clothes that Sylus had gotten for you were nice, sure, but a little more revealing than you would’ve liked. He had offered to get it re-tailored before the event to make it more comfortable, but you had opted out of it. It would’ve taken too long, and you didn’t have the time to get measured properly for it. Besides, he was the only one really seeing you in it anyway. You had been escorted through a private hallway here and barely came into contact with anyone else so far. You’d be taking the same exit, and if anything maybe Luke and Keiran would see you, but with how Sylus walked besides you, his body towering over you, it concealed your body pretty well.

“You’re more anxious than you usually are at these kinds of…events. Tell me what’s on your mind.” His eyes were now locked onto you, the way your shoulders were still tensed up, how your heel was clicking on the floor as you tapped your foot there. His tone showed concern, as well as the way his normal smirk turned into a frown as he looked at you. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly as if he were trying to get into your mind without using his evol.

You cleared your throat, “It’s just…I’m used to my earpiece on missions. It’s strange for me not to hear orders while at something like this; I feel like I’m going into everything blind,” You finally admitted. Your hand went to the earpiece that should’ve been working, but nobody had warned you this auction house has a jammer somewhere in it. Any electronic devices, including phones, cameras, microphones, and earpieces were useless in these walls. You had lost contact with the association the moment you stepped inside. Sylus hadn’t mentioned it because, in all honesty, it wasn’t something he ever thought about. When he came to these auctions he never brought anything with him anyway, just himself and his weapons, alongside his guards. He had no need for playing on his phone, and even if he did his phone wouldn’t be effected by a jammer like this one.

You took out the earpiece and placed it on the table; just feeling it without being able to hear anything was making the anxiety worse for you. Sylus watched this movement curiously. The small earring-looking device hadn’t even gone with your outfit in the first place, and he had warned you someone might suspect the true nature of it, but you ignored it. Now, it didn’t even matter as you rested your cheek on your first, watching the auction while your hand tapped on the other arm of the chair.

“You don’t need a device like that; I already told you I’d help you out. You need to learn to trust me a little more.” Sylus said, and while his tone came off as flirtatious, there was almost a bit of hurt in there. You had Sylus had essentially gone through hell and back at this point, and while you trusted him with your life, you couldn’t stop the nagging voice in your head telling you that he might betray you one of these days. You knew it was unreasonable, but it was still there, a constant that you tried to quell. His actions and words were always straightforward, and he protected you every time you were together. Even when you were away, you had no reason to doubt him.

“I know, Sy, I know.” You said with a sigh; you turned to him with a small smile, “You know I trust you, but I can’t stop worrying still.” The moment you said that, you could see him visibly relaxing. You had the big, strong leader of Onychinus under your finger, and it seemed that he would sometimes get worried and need words of reassurance from you. It made you feel a bit giddy to know the effect you had on him, even if this time it was about his concern for you and not something else. “Besides, there’s gotta be something important here.” You insisted.

“There really isn’t. I’ve seen at least two protocores that definitely aren’t as special as they say they are.” Sylus said, “But we can stay until the end to make sure if that’s what you need.” He assured you, making sure you knew that he wasn’t about to just get up and leave because he had grown tired. Besides, there might still be a handful of items he’d be wanting from here.

“Thank you,” you finally said with a small huff. You watched Sylus stood up, his towering form looking down at the auction, then back at you, “Were you going somewhere…?” you asked, not understanding why he was now standing. He was imposing, that was for sure, and the way he looked down at what was happening was almost like he was judging each and every single face down below. When his eyes locked back onto you, you shivered. His eyes glancing over your body then back over to your face and you heard the way his shoes clicked against the ground underneath him.

He took quick strides over to you and you watched as he crouched down on his knees; your eyes widened for a moment at the action. Even while kneeling, he was still big; he was almost at your level right now, only a hair shorter. His hands went over to your knees, gently caressing the skin there as he locked his gaze with your own. Your heart sped up at the position he was in, your mind going into the gutter immediately with how he looked at the moment. You were half expecting him to just rest his cheek on one of your thighs at this point, his eyes filled with longing that had your heart in your throat.

“What are you doing?” you voice wavered as you spoke, you shivered as his large hand trailed up the side slit of the dress you wore. His touch was warm, almost scorching, as he played with the garter on your thigh that held your gun. He slowly took the weapon off and placed it on the table next to you, making sure it was still within your reach so you didn’t have to freak out about now having it. The small, subtle gesture was sweet, a small reminder of just how well Sylus knew you.

“You seemed stressed, so I thought I might help you get your mind off things.” He said, pushing both his hands under the hem of your dress as he worked on moving it up your thighs. The dress was short, so it didn’t take much to reveal the lacy, black underwear you had put on. His hand trailed down the front, noticing that it had already started to get wet just from the way he was looking at you. You flushed, knowing that he always affected you so much that you got wet the moment his eyes were on you. Honestly the car ride here had been the thing to rile you up, the way he had his hand on your thigh the entire drive, always glancing back over at you. It was the smallest touch, but it was enough to drive you absolutely wild with need. You always wanted him to be touching you more.

You felt as Sylus’ hands spread your thighs apart and he placed a kiss on the inner section of it; the searing feeling of his lips sent a shiver down your spine as he pressed another, then allowed his teeth to graze over it as he gently nipped. It was clear what he had in mind as he went to remove your underwear, gingerly taking them off from your waist and down the expanse of your thighs and calves. Once they were off, he placed them in his pocket; whether to give them back to you or to keep them, you didn’t know.

The cold hit you immediately as you had one less piece of fabric over your most sensitive area, “So this is how you plan on helping me?” You managed to not stutter as you spoke, your gaze watching as he hooked your legs over his shoulders. You were parted for him, and he could see everything. Despite all that, he was looking up at your face. You already had a gentle blush on your cheeks as you stared at him, biting down a little on your lower lip as you watched what he’d be doing. He showed you a rare, sincere smile this time around, his lips finding your thigh again and giving it a slow kiss, wanting to see the way your breath hitched.

“I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable.” There was your out if you needed it; it was a courtesy he always gave you any time he was planning on doing something with you. He always made sure you were okay with the situation, never just assuming because your body reacted that you were wanting this. You don’t think you’ve ever actually told him no, so the fact that he still asked was cute, and you’d always appreciate it.

“I…didn’t say that.” You finally managed to get out after a pause. Your thighs spread a little more for him, an invitation that he would gladly be taking. He went into his pocket and pulled out a buzzer, handing it to you. Your fingers smoothed over the device; it only had a single button on it, and it fits perfectly in the palm of your hand. You flipped it over in your hands and then looked at him curiously, wondering why he had given it to you.

“If you see something down there that you like, go ahead and press the button.” He explained, and before you could respond, his tongue was suddenly on you. He licked up your parted lips, his tongue trailing over it and collecting your slick on it. He groaned at the taste, something that he swore he could never get enough of. The last time you asked him what you tasted like, he showed you, grabbing your chin and kissing you breathlessly. You didn’t entirely understand why he loved the taste so much, but when it was mixed with his kisses, you could see where he was coming from.

It was intoxicating with how he had so easily made you putty in his hands, his tongue trailing through the wetness, just taking his time to simply taste you. Sylus was never one to waste time when it came to eating you out; but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be going slow so he could savor it. Not that it ever mattered, he knew exactly what you liked, so when he was ready he would go all in and make you cum. His tongue delved into your slick walls while his thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing gentle circles on it that almost had you keening. Your thighs twitched slightly as you bit back a loud moan; he told you this booth was soundproof, but you didn’t want to put it to the test. Not that it would’ve mattered; the sound of his tongue against you and the way he was lapping at your essence was so loud it felt deafening.

You already found yourself panting, the familiar tension in your stomach slowly forming as he continued. His mouth soon replaced his thumb, sucking at the sensitive numb, and you felt the way his teeth gently nipped at the hood there, causing you to flinch with a small hiss leaving you. It felt a little painful, but he licked at it as if apologizing. His eyes went up to your face though, amused by your reaction and you had a feeling he might do it again if you weren’t careful. You knew you had to focus on the auction below; it was the entire reason you were here, but feeling his mouth on you was making your head go fuzzy as all thoughts went down to your cunt.

Your eyes glanced down to the auction, seeing them bringing out another protocore. When they unveiled it, you could see it was different from the others; the energy coming off it was stronger than the others. Even when feeling almost fucked out, you had enough sense you know you should get it. Your fingers hit down on the buzzer as Sylus took your clit back into his mouth and sucked hard, causing you to almost drop the remote. Your hips tried to roll into his mouth, wanting more from him, but before you could really do anything the suctioning feeling stopped.

You let out a whine as Sylus took his mouth off you, giving another lick and then looking up at you, “Found something you like?” he asked, nuzzling against your thigh as he bit down on it. Another hiss left you at the rough treatment, knowing that this bite mark would definitely be leaving a mark. He groaned as your thighs squeezing around his neck a little bit in retaliation. How could he be asking you a question when you were already starting to get so close? It was almost like he was attempting to edge you, though very subtly. He knew it too if the look he was giving you was anything to go off of.

“Shut up and keep going…” you groaned, your free hand going into his hair and trying to drag him back. He allowed it, his mouth finding your folds against it as his tongue explored the slick area, trailing the wet muscle along it and pressing it inside of you. You groaned and watched as someone tried to put in a different bid, “H-hey, so I need to keep pressing this button or…?” you suddenly asked, realizing you didn’t know exactly how this buzzer worked. You waited a moment for Sylus’ to tell you, and when you heard nothing you finally looked back down at him between your legs.

Sylus didn’t bother giving you a response. Instead, he hummed as he went to use his tongue to swirl it around your clit. One of his hands finally came into play as he pressed a finger into your gummy walls, crooking it upwards as he searched for that bundle of nerves inside of your cunt. His silence was almost annoying; you knew he heard you, but because of your comment earlier, he wasn’t responding. You huffed as your hands balled into his hair and tugged him back off your pussy, his chin now completely slick as he licked the wetness on his lips, “Answer me.” You huffed, noticing his smirk. He was being cheeky right now as he continued to pump his finger inside of you, making you temporarily lose focus from the feeling as you fought hard to give him a glare.

“You said to keep quiet.” He reminded you; you felt him pressing a second finger inside of you, causing you to let out a moan. The way he stretched out your walls was driving you insane as your hips rolled up into his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his digits, “Are you upset I’m listening to you?” his fingers parted inside, scissoring them as he worked you open. You weren’t sure if he was intending to fuck you, but like hell you’d complain about being filled like this.

You pinched your eyebrows together at noticing how he was trying to distract you now, “Fine, speak when spoken to then.” You huffed, deciding to change your demands of him. His lips turned into a smirk as he let out a hum, smacking his lips slightly as he looked off behind him at the auction. They were still trying to sell the protocore you had put a bid on, as clearly, other people were able to notice the value of it. People kept putting higher and higher bids for it, the amounts they raised went beyond anything you’d probably ever make in your lifetime.

“You only need to press it once, kitten; my associate will make sure it’s secured.” He explained; the moment the words left him, you were pushing him back down. Your straightforward nature always came out when it came to him. You groaned when he began sucking at your clit again, his fingers now working to bring you to completion as soon as possible. He could feel how tense your thighs were around his shoulders, the small twitches you let, and how your hips were trying to move closer to ride his face now.

He groaned against you, feeling how your walls were practically trying to suck his fingers into you now. You were so close as you brought your hand that held the buzzer up to your mouth, biting down on your fingers as you tried holding in all your noises. You could hear the sound of the auction faintly through the blood pounding in your ears as you got closer, the tension in you about to snap. Sylus could sense it as he doubled his efforts, the loud slurping noises was lewd and made you whine as he used everything at his disposal to completely ruin you.

You heard the words ‘sold’ briefly, but at that point, you couldn’t notice anything else. Who it was sold to, what price, nothing matter as you came. Your walls clenched down on Sylus’ fingers, and you could hear the more of those noises as Sylus licked up at your release, relishing in the taste of you on his tongue. Your thighs squeezed together, and your eyes pinched closed as you finally let out a moan while throwing your head back onto the sofa behind you. Your hips rolling up to ride Sylus’ face as you rode out your orgasm, and Sylus was more than happy to allow you the moment as he worked you through it.

You were gasping, your legs twitching in the aftershocks as you felt the flat of Sylus’ tongue gently licking at you. He took his fingers out of you once he noticed you were coming back down, but you then felt the wetness of them on your thigh as he held them apart so you couldn’t accidentally snap his neck while squeezing around it. When Sylus watched you flinch away from his tongue, he finally stopped, sitting back as he let your legs fall back to the floor. His free hand went to wipe some of the slickness from your release off his chin, pressing the finger into his mouth to collect the last drops from you.

A slight whine left from the back of your throat as you no longer had contact with Sylus, and he seemed to notice the dilemma as he placed his hand back onto your leg, his thumb rubbing circles on it to help relax you. You tried to clear your throat, your entire face bright red as you realized what you had done, but it only served to amuse Sylus even further. You were about to say something to help cover up the the needy noise that had left you, but Sylus had already beat you to it.

“Did you want more?” he asked, noticing how you were now avoiding eye contact. The words struck you as you looked back at him, the need to feel him inside of you increasing. You knew logically this wasn’t the place to be fucked; hell, even this was a bit much. You could still see the crowd behind Sylus as a new item was brought out, and you closed your legs as you thought about any of them seeing you like this, “Don’t worry, kitten, they don’t even know you’re here.” He said, his words coming out gentler.

“I…it’s still strange.” You admitted; the thought of an audience had never been something you’d think you were into, yet a part of you was still wanting to fuck Sylus. Having everyone below, completely ignorant as to what was going on right above the auction, was making you grow needier, arousal already making you throb. You had already gone this far, and he was right. It’s not like they’d know he was fucking you dumb up in this booth, it would be a secret shared between you two. Still…

“So, kitten, did you want to stop here or continue?” Sylus asked, his thumb still pressing gently into your thigh to help calm you down. You took a final glance at the crowd, then back at Sylus and nodded, “Words, sweetie, I need to hear them.” He said, his voice coming off a little like scolding, but you knew it was all in good nature.

“Yes, I want more.” You said, knowing he wouldn’t do anything until he had verbal consent, “I really want more.” You clarified, your legs now opening a bit to show him your slick cunt. You were dripping onto the chair underneath you, something that would normally leave you embarrassed, but the way that Sylus’ eyes seemed to darken had you feeling proud instead. He looked like he wanted to devour you all over again, and while you would be fine to let him, you really wanted to feel something with more girth pressed inside of you right now.

“If that’s what you want, sweetie, but don’t forget about the auction.” He said, his tone now teasing, “It’s the entire reason we’re here, after all.” Your eyes glanced at the thing being sold right now. It was just a painting, one that seemed oddly familiar to you, but you didn’t feel like thinking too hard about that right now. Instead, you just clicked the buzzer, knowing that any money spent tonight was on Sylus’ dime. He actually huffed at that, knowing that you didn’t actually need the item. It’s not like he could get mad, he did say you could purchase anything you wanted from it, and it’s not like he didn’t have the money to spoil you. He just knew you were attempting to get a rise out of him, and honestly you would need to try harder if you wanted to see that.

“Cheeky.” He muttered, and you watched him as he began working on his belt, slowly undoing the buckle so he could push it down his thighs. You watched with interest the way his hands easily undid the front of his pants. He was wearing those leather pants of his, the one with the zipper that was in a square formation. You had at one point made fun of him for the style, but after he had shown you how easy access he had with it, you stopped the teasing. He had shown to you the benefits of it, and now every time he wore those pants all you could imagine was him fucking you in them, or getting on your knees and sucking him off so you could be the one hearing his needy noises.

You could see the clear bulge in his briefs, as well as the small wet spot at the front of the gray fabric. Just eating you out had done this to him, and you felt yourself smirk as you looked down at him. He was hooking his fingers in the waistband, about to pull it down, when your heeled foot came to rest on top of it. You pressed down, feeling how it twitched under your shoe, and Sylus hissed. You pressed the tip of it right where the wet spot was, watching as he shuddered at the sensation.

He grabbed onto your ankle, his eyes slowly trailing up your leg and to your face, “Really, sweetie?” He asked, pressing your foot closer, and ground down against it, “Is this what you wanted to do to me? I thought you’d want something more.” He let out another groan as you pressed your shoe harder against his erection. He bit down on his lower lip; his grip on your ankle wasn’t tight by any means, but it was now there to stop you from doing anything else to him. You laughed at him, wanting to see how far you could push this, and while the thought of making him cum in his pants using just your heel was nice, you really didn’t want to wait the few minutes it would take for him to get hard again.

“I do want more, but you’re taking too long.” You tone coming off a bit brattier, and you were smirking as you saw how he was reacting. It was sometimes too easy to pull this man apart for you; of course, this side of him was only for your eyes to see. You slowly let off the pressure with your heel, watching as his grip loosened until he was dropping your ankle, “Maybe some other time I’ll watch you get off on my heel, though.” You were certain if you had been at home he’d already be on you at this point, making you a mess, but he was holding himself back right now. You were almost regretful you didn’t have a mattress right now, sometimes you just wanted to brat and be roughed up a bit, but he was very particular in the areas he’d do that in.

“Is that so?” he asked, “I think I’ve given you too much grace when it comes to that attitude of yours.” He was now pulling down his briefs, his leaking cock now standing against his stomach. The tip of it looked red, and you wondered just how long he had been hard. He hadn’t shown any signs of it while his mouth was on you, but then again, he was the depiction of self-control when needed. He noticed how you were staring at him, and you could see it twitching again under your gaze.

You watched as Sylus rose to his full height, glancing down at you as he debated just how he’d want to take you. He was thinking about how to give you a clear view of the auction below when he got an idea. He placed his hands underneath your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the chair, “Hold on,” he said, watching as you placed your arms around his shoulders. It was easy for him to lift you in one fluid motion, your legs wrapped around his torso as he hoisted you up into his arms. The ease of it you wanting to squeal, you absolutely loved when he picked you up like this. You had once tried picking him up as well, but he had been a bit too tall and, while he was amused, told you perhaps if was best if you left the carrying to him next time.

Thankfully from your new perch, you could see everything going on from over his shoulder, and you leaned down to press a quick kiss on his cheek as a reward for his thoughtfulness. He chuckled at the action, looking over at how your gaze was now down below once again, watching as they brought out the next item to be auctioned. The buzzer in your hand was still in your hand, held with a loose grip as you toyed with it, waiting to see what was coming up. You then felt Sylus take one hand off you, and before you could ask, you felt him tapping his cock against your clit.

A small gasp escaped you as you looked down at him. You felt the head of him slipping inside of your walls, a small groan leaving you at the stretch of him. While he had done a good job prepping you, he was still thick, and you could feel the subtle burn from the stretch as he slowly slid into you, inch by inch. Once you were halfway onto his cock, his hands moved, cupping you right underneath the ass as he sank you down further. His breathing got a bit heavier once you felt yourself become flush against his body, his twitching member now fully nestled inside your cunt, “You always feel so wonderful, kitten.” The compliment sent a shiver down your back as you squeezed around him.

“I could say the same for you.” You said, loving how you felt with him all the way in you. You felt full like this, his cock able to reach everything inside of you. As long as he was gentle, you’d be able to walk out of here. You realized now that was probably why he wasn’t playing into your bratting this evening.

With his current grasp on you, Sylus began moving you along his shaft. Feeling how your warm walls sucked him in was driving him mad, and he had only just begun. You bit down on your lip again; the sensation of his thick cock inside of you made you grip him tighter as your legs properly locked onto him. He groaned when he felt one of your hands going into his hair, tugging him enough to have his head snapping back.

Your lips met his quickly, licking at how lower lip until he opened up and allowed you entrance. The taste of yourself was still on his tongue, and you groaned, your hand sliding from his hair to his cheek as you delved in. Sylus’ tongue pressed into your own mouth, grazing over the roof of it, and he drank in the small moans as he began fucking up into you faster. His cock brushed against that soft spot inside of you that had you gripping onto the buzzer so tightly you were afraid you’d be breaking it if this kept up.

When you broke from the kiss, you stared into his eyes, his pupils taking up some of the red now as he stared back at you. His eyes were lidded, and there was a small flush on his face as his mouth hung open, letting out small grunts as your pussy slid on his cock repeatedly. His grip on your ass was tighter, squeezing the plush skin there to the point there might be bruises blooming there tomorrow morning. You didn’t seem to care as you pressed your forehead against his own, closing your eyes and sinking into the feeling of him, the way the texture of his veins drove you insane, and you felt every twitch of him inside of you. If you could, you’d stay on his dick forever.

“Sweetie, the auction.” Sylus reminded you, knowing you’d be upset if you missed out on something. You let out a groan, opening your eyes to look behind you. A whimper escaped you as you looked out at the crowd. You knew logically they couldn’t see you, but at this point, all reasoning was gone as you looked at them all. The auctioneer unveiled another protocore, and you didn’t even bother looking at it. You just hit the button, and right as you did, the tip of Sylus’ cock directly hit your g-spot as you gasped.

The buzzer slipped from your hand, clattering down onto the floor below as your hands went to clutch down on his jacket. You grasped onto Sylus’ shoulder, pressing your face into his neck as you pressed small kisses there. Your eyes tried to avoid the audience below as you tried to just focus on Sylus, “There we go,” he said, moving you away from the window. You felt him shifting, and then he was sitting down in his own chair, your back now facing away from the auction, “Just focus on me, my love.” He said, still using his grasp to guide you on his dick. You shivered at this new position, feeling him a bit better from your new angle.

You surged forward again, locking your lips with his own as you kissed him, that familiar feeling of your impending orgasm almost there. Your hand went down to your front, playing with your clit to help you over the edge. You heard Sylus saying something, but you couldn’t hear him anymore. Not as you clenched down on his length, your pussy like a vice that was so tight he had trouble moving inside of you for a moment. He groaned, feeling your shaking body on top of his own as your hips moved to try and ride him for a moment.

You let out small whines as you came, the little moans escaping your lips as your vision blurred for a moment, closing your eyes so you could ground yourself. You didn’t even know Sylus was close until you heard him groan, slamming you down roughly onto his lap and holding you there. He ground up into you a few times, and you felt his release as it dripped out of you and onto his lap. He stilled inside of you after a moment, allowing you both to calm down your breathing. Your chest heaved with every breath as you pressed your forehead against his own, finally opening your eyes to see him staring up at you.

He held you close, his grasp on you secure as he spoke, “Feeling better?” he finally asked, one of his hands going to rub at your back, pushing the fabric of your dress up a bit higher now. You had a love drunk giggle escape you, and the noise melodic to Sylus’ ears. Your entire body felt like jelly as you slumped against him. You readjusted yourself until your head was on his chest, your cheek pressed against there as you listened to his heartbeat. It was always going so fast, but right now, it almost sounded like there was an engine inside of him. You wondered briefly if you could count the beats, but realized that the blood was still pounding a bit in your own ears and muddling up your senses.

“Ya, I feel better…kinda tired.” You murmured after realizing you had left him hanging; all the stress from before was gone and was replaced with the need to sleep. It always happened after a few rounds with Sylus, and now wasn’t any different. You were just wanting to cuddle up with him and pass out, but you knew you wouldn’t get to sleep long since the auction was probably going to be ending soon. Perhaps once you were home you’d drag him to bed right away, it would be close enough to the time he normally slept anyway so he shouldn’t have any complaints.

“Oh, and what happened to needing to pay attention to the auction?” he asked, and you didn’t even bother looking back. Not that you wanted to. You were planning on blissfully ignoring the fact that there were eyes down there; while they couldn’t see you, you could see them, and that in itself was nerve-wracking. If you hadn’t been so horny a moment ago, you probably would’ve never let him fuck you in a venue like this, but your lust-driven mind sometimes had you making decisions that weren’t completely like you, and now your tired mind was opting to just ignore everything.

“I trust you to buy anything that you think would be important.” You said with a yawn, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You felt him vibrating underneath you as he laughed, his hand going to adjust your dress and pull the bottom back over your ass. You squirmed at the motion, but instantly felt a bit better now that the breeze wasn’t hitting you. Sylus adjusted his body, taking off his coat next in order to drape it over you for that small layer of extra warmth.

“Would you at least like to get off me and adjust our clothes before you take a nap?” he asked, feeling how you were still around his length. The sensation of him inside of you was oddly calming as you shook your head. You had no intention on leaving your happy place, as long as Sylus was willing to let you stay.

“Nah, I’ll keep you warm. It’s kind of cold in this auction house.” You said, your tone coming off a bit more teasing, and you leaned up quickly to kiss him. He returned the gesture, a content sigh leaving him the moment your lips parted. He had leaned in a bit, wanting to chase your lips, but stopped himself once he noticed how you were working on curling back into his chest.

“Thank you for being so considerate, but if you want to remain on me, then you should be prepared for another round when you wake up, sweetie,” Sylus said, and you smirked. He pulled you a bit closer, and you felt how he shifted inside of you, the twitching of him as he got a bit harder while nestled in your walls.

Despite that, were already starting to drift off, but you couldn’t stop the way your walls fluttered around his shaft in response. He let out a small groan at the sensation while you spoke, “I’m fine with that; it’ll help me fall asleep on your car ride back to base.” You said while placing a hand on his chest, playing with the fabric there as you breathed in a deep sigh. He smelled so nice right now, and you wondered briefly if he had changed his cologne or if it was the fact that his scent was now mixed with some pheromones.

Sylus’ voice broke you out, his chuckle bringing you back to listening to him, “Alright then, sleep well, my love.” His arms squeezed you a little, his fingers splaying out across your clothed back. The motion allowed you to finally relax against him, using his heartbeat to lull you to sleep.

[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.

[syrma-sensei]

→ Hush Hush Behind The Shield.

gif credit.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Wife!reader.

Rating: Explicit.

Warnings: Vought's ungodly shenanigans, mentions of cheating, couple fighting, angst, misogyny, antiquated mentality, dub-con, power imbalance, fingering, forced orgasms, angry sex, cock riding...

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Being america's greatest hero's wife has its perks, but they don't come for free...

A/N: I'd like to thank my two pretty moots, @kaleldobrev who's been always there for me, listening to mental blurbs and chaotic spews of unhinged ideas and continuous mind dump ❤️ and @zepskies who bares my energy, which can be a bit much, each time I spam her dms with life cringing memes and awaful reacts ❤️

Kneeling down on one knee, your mitted hands hoisted the oven door close as you hummed a melody to yourself. Turning on your heels, you stood up and gave the dining table a once-over before allowing a proud grin slip on your lips.

“Perfect.”

Then your eyes glanced at your watch. It was half an hour past seven in the evening. Perfect. There'd be enough time to pamper yourself in a relaxing shower and spruce up with no rush before your husband was home.

You gave the dining room another glimpse to make sure everything was in place before you headed to the bathroom upstairs, walking through the living room where the T.V. displayed a Soldier Boy anti-drugs commercial.

A snore escaped your nose upon hearing the phrase: “Just say no.” Remembering how your husband threw a fit behind the scenes at how stupid it was, to the point of getting Stan Edgar himself on the line for him to find an alternative to it. Because no way he was saying that shit.

“God, I sounded like a fucking douchebag,” He'd told you in his dressing room, a smouldering reefer hanging between his lips — the irony, after they wrapped filming up.

You'd giggled, playfully plucking it from his lips to take a drag of your own, “No, baby, you did just fine.” You purred, and his mouth curled up into a small grin, “The public needs that y'know…” You tipped his chin up, your polished, long nails grazed lightly to his skin, “You're America's golden son, right? You're the man everyone should look up to.”

“Damn sure they should.” He'd chuckled, leaning down for a kiss which you gladly welcomed.

Being Soldier Boy's wife came with many many perks, but it also had its downsides, one of which was to have to deal with his short temper. But what could you say? You loved the man. Ardently so; you literally fought the world to have him all for yourself despite Vought's disapproval of your nuptial.

You savoured the victory when you married Ben in a small ceremony without Vought's blessing. It was like a slap to them when Ben imparted upon them the happy news, he delivered them a severe black eye, especially the vainglorious bastard Edgar. Who had once told you that you and Ben wouldn't work out, for it was simply "inconvenient" for a superhero like Soldier Boy to be involved in a serious relationship with a mere… human; it'd be a "disappointment" in the public eye, as he put it. Like he had a say in the matter.

But here you were, with a ring on your left hand to swagger about, and happily married to America's first hero, Edgar and Vought could say hello to your middle finger.

To nobody's surprise, you resented Vought, and held such abhorrence against them for not letting you and your husband live the life you wanted for yourselves. Despite your personal efforts, your proclaimed triumph was soon cut short because Vought declined to go public and endorse your marriage. Not that you and your husband gave two shits about their approval, but the rules were rules. And their lawyers affirmed that a public exposure of your marriage might damage Soldier Boy's rep, therefore, Vought's; given the fact that you were more than thirty years younger than him. They couldn't have it said that the hero of heroes was a creep even though they'd tried to conceal his age when he and Phoebe Cates starred in Love And War because it started to seem fishy. It was expected, though. But what you didn't see coming was Ben's response, or lack of response as to put it.

Despite being even more obdurate about this marriage than yourself. You felt terribly abjured by your husband. You'd thought he'd fight for you, for what you both had, and he'd want to let the world know about you. It'd broken your heart when it dawned upon you that Ben wouldn't risk his fame and glory for anyone, for you. Reluctantly, you bit the bullet, you had to, for him, because you loved him, and would do anything to keep this marriage intact. If you had to compromise for it, then so be it. You didn't care.

To your solace, Ben never changed after the frustrating incident; he was still the man you fell in love with. He might be smug, crass, and insufferable to everyone but you could still perceive the tender side he had though he'd never actually admit it, and you never pushed him too much. You were subtle enough to know when to stroke his ego and when to tease it. He was a man, after all. But it was obvious; he was a doting husband who cherished you in his own way. He showered you with gifts, and pampered you when he could. And he was eager to have babies with you. He never ceased to express how rapturous he would be if he were to have a son. A child with you.

Sure, you had your own qualms about that particular day, and there was more than a time you wanted to have a conversation with him about it. But you couldn't bring yourself to screw it up with stupid doubts. If Ben hadn't truly loved you, he wouldn't have treated you the way he did, he wouldn't have brought you to his workplace to have you at his side — and to poke Vought's eye every single time. He wouldn't have let you in and told you about his family and his dad, about his fucked-up childhood and how he became a hero.

No, your bond was bigger than any fleeting thoughts of incredulity.

You crooned softly as you wrapped a towel around your body after you finished your shower. Stepping out, you rubbed your hair with another towel and made your way down towards the kitchen to check on the pie.

Oh, Ben liked pies. You found it amusing how he'd swallow a whole pie alone and wouldn't affect him one bit; a supe sure required a lot of calories. Sometimes, you wished you had his great metabolism.

The moreish scent of baked dough and chocolate told you it was ready. You opened the oven door with a protected hand and placed the delicious pie by the window to let it cool down while you dressed up.

On your way back to your bedroom, you padded through the living room again. Your eyes glanced fleetingly at the screen only to stop abruptly in your tracks. A slight frown made it to your face as you saw a picture of Ben and Crimson Countess together. You never liked Countess. Something about her always disturbed you, and your guts were right.

Your eyes roamed the headline over and over, dilating in stupor.

Breaking News: Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess are officially together, Vought announced.

You shook your head in disbelief, hand grasping the remote control from the couch, shivering fingers shuffling through the channels.

Soldier Boy finally found the one!

Your heart paced up with each press.

A long awaited power couple is now here!

Vought just shocked the world by—

And here's Soldier Boy and Countess's statement…

It was hard to quell your simmering anger when you saw your husband smiling face with that bitch between his arms. Camera flashes and clicks swarmed around them with an entourage of reporters and interviewers.

“Hey, Soldier Boy, now you're together, what can you tell us about the first time you saw Countess? Was it love at first?” A reporter asked.

Ben scratched his beard with his gloved hand, drawling “First time I met Tess was when Vought concocted a hero collab years ago, remember that honey?”

You did remember that event very clearly. You were still Ben's secret girlfriend at the time, and it was exclusive to superheroes, yet Ben brought you there as his date.

Ben grinned as if dreamily reminiscing about the memory as he continued, “And lemme tell ya one thing, this one is a firecracker.”

Countess giggled playfully, gazing up at your husband in the most flirtatious way, it made you gag with disgust.

You scoffed bitterly at the blatant lies spurting right in your face. That specific night, Ben had childishly grumbled and complained about how much he wanted to be out of there. And to spice things up, he playfully dragged you from the pristine hall the event took place in, and fucked you raw against one of the wall of some other hall, keeping your panties as a souvenir for the rest of the soirée. He kept teasing you through the entire night, riling and messing you up. At the time, it was thrilling and venturous. Now, however, it knotted at the tip of your stomach. His focus that day was solely on you. He wasn't even aware of the bitch's presence for all you care.

“And when I first saw her… knew she was the one….”

You couldn't comprehend what Ben said after that point as a deafening buzz bolted through your ears. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and soon they were streaming from your eyes as you stood numb on your spot. Your tears splattered on the ground along with your heart.

“Honey, I'm home.” Ben announced once he stepped in the house. He sighed, putting his shield down and making his way to the kitchen where you usually would be, making his dinner. He didn't take his boots off though he knew you'd throw a fit about it, but let's just say that teasing and screwing with you was his favourite hobby. His anticipating grin soon dropped and a small scowl knitted his brows when an odd mixture of scents wafted into his nose. His eyes dilated at the unusual messy scene in the kitchen; the table was flipped over, glass splints scattered all over the floor, freshly-cooked food covering the carpet beneath the dining table, and a chocolate pie was squashed into the wall.

With a pacing heart, Ben cried your name, and hurriedly climbed up the stairs. His feet darted to the bedroom when he heard you sniffling and weeping.

An audible sigh of relief flouted out of chest when he saw you. Your hair was wet and a damp towel wrapped around your body, but his eyebrow quirked up when he noticed you packing a bag on the bed. The fuck?

“(Y/N), the fuck is going here?” You scared the shit outta me. He wanted to say, after the shitty day he had, he just wanted to have you in his arms and play with your hair.

You startled for a moment when you heard his southern accent. You used to be fond of it, but today you were certainly not.

“I'm leaving.” Your answer came out curt, your hands tugging your bag zippers close.

You heard his footsteps getting closer until you felt his hand on your bare shoulder, “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You pulled yourself away from his hold, hissing, “Don't you fucking touch me!”

He didn't seem to heed your warning as he reached a hand to your face. Gritting your teeth, you spun around with your hand ready to deliver a slap to his cheek. However, and no matter how fast and pissed you were, he was always quicker and alerter. Fucking supe.

“You don't get to touch me ever again you asshole!” You shrieked, yanking your wrist from his grasp, your wet hair stuck to your face, chest heaving with each breath. 

“The fuck is wrong with you, woman?!” He growled with a deep scowl, “Just left you all happy and giggling in the morning, is it here? Your time of the month again?”

“Fuck you!” You spat, clenched hands rising up to his chest, “You're my fucking problem,” You jabbed a fist to chest, though he didn't move an inch, but damn didn't it feel good! You blew another punch to his stupidly firm chest again and again.

“Fucking Christ!” He grumbled, and with one strong arm, Ben wrangled your back against his chest and caged you in his steel hold, one hand securing both of your wrists above your head, “Calm the fuck down!”

Legs kicking and hands tugging, you tried to wriggle out of his arms but to no avail, you felt so helpless against his raw strength. Your anger and frustration poured out of your mouth in a wailing, broken voice, “Leave. Me. Alone!” You bellowed, “Go to your fucking Crimson Bitch!” Two rivulets of tears drizzled from your eyes again, “Go to your fucking Tess and let her fire-crack your nuts, you fucking pussy!”

“Christ on a cross, do you hear yourself talk, woman?!”

His eyes widened before his eyebrows scrunched deeply. He took you off guard when he brought you down to the floor as he crouched on one knee. Your towel unwrapped at the sudden movement and you were naked beneath his eyes. His hands were still holding you in place.

Two green eyes regarded you softly, “You really took that marketing shit for real?” He thumbed your lower lip, and his free hand trailed down your naked form. “Fucking hell, thought you were way smarter than that, sweetheart.” You shivered from both the cold and his touch, his sinful reaching your mound, “You really think I'd fucking leave you for her?”

You couldn't suppress the moan when he stroked your throbbing clit. A shot of arousal seeped out of your opening much to Ben's satisfaction. Anger made the colour of your face rise, “Fuck you! Fuck your bitch! Fuck Vought!” You spat, your eyes burning holes into his as he proceeded toying with your flesh until your voice broke, “Y-You want me to buy your shit — Ah!” Two of his thick and expert digits entered your slit, massaging your love spots thoroughly. “After you didn't stand up for our marriage?!” You groaned, hips rolling to the rhythm of his fingers.

“Is that so?” His brow quirked up amusedly. Was this funny to this bastard? Was your marriage some kind of a joke to him?

You gasped as he deliberately hit your weak spot; sweet, delightful coils fluttered at the tip of your stomach, “I was under the fucking impression that you had your pretty, little head wrapped around how this fucking business worked!” He snarled.

“Fuck you! I hate you!” Your body snapped as you came abundantly on his fingers which made him grin slyly down at you.

You felt his grip on your wrists loosen, so you took your window and jerked yourself free. He was shocked when you pushed him down on the floor and straddled his hips, your dripping cunt was drenching his pants with your cum. He raised a playful brow at you but soon was replaced by a shocked frown when you slapped his irritatingly handsome face.

“Fucking hell, you fucking little ballbuster—”

You shushed him with a finger on his lips, “You're fucking mine, Benjamin, you hear me! You're fucking mine!” You hissed, having no idea where your vigour came from as you tore his shirt off of his chest. His length poked you when you gazed with searing fire in your eyes at his, “You. Belong. To. Me.” You furiously tucked his pants and boxers down, his cock springing out with life.

A wanton moan came off your lips as you sunk yourself down his cock, whereas he grumbled in pleasure as you hugged him tightly with your wet and warm insides.

You snapped your hips harshly and he growled, “Fuck, doll—!”

Another snap, your voice was laboured, “I own you. You're married not to that whore, not to Vought, but to me!”

Your skin slammed against his meat vehemently as you gritted your teeth when another orgasm was spiralling in your body. You paced up your movement, a hand banging demandingly on his chest, “Say it! You're fucking mine!”

“Holy shit!” You watched his eyes roll backwards as he rasped, “Yours, babe,”

“Holy fuck, Ben! Ben, I'm coming again!”

That was his cue to take control again. He sat up, cradling you in his warm hold, “Cum to me, babe, fucking soak my cock.” You wabled his name, clinging to his shoulders as your climax stormed out of your body like a mad hurricane. You whimpered pathetically when his two large hands on your hips kept making you ride him through your high.

“Fucking stupid girl,” He growled, shooting his seed up your insides.

With laboured breaths, you glared at each other. You felt his cock softening inside of you, “Fucking idiot man.” You scoffed.

He chuckled with a boyish grin on his sweaty face, “That was fucking hot, think I like this wild side of you, darlin'”

You snickered, “You bet, wait until you see what I'm gonna do with that little fuck, Edgar.”

Ben rumbled a deep chortle, much to your annoyance, would this man ever take you seriously? “I swear to fucking Christ, Ben, if they—you don't break off that stupid shit with Countess and go public about us, I'll fucking burn that fucking tower to the fucking ground, because I'm fucking done with this—mhmmm!”

He cut you off with a scorching kiss and its heat made you thaw against his lips. His cock twitched inside of you.

“Jealousy looks pretty on you though, sweetheart” He teased, his lips brushing to yours.

God, damn this man and his endless ego! “Ben!” You nudged him playfully.

“Can't wait to see you wanting to snatch some ladies' heads off when we go to balls together.”

You smiled at him, biting on your bottom lip. The idea of finally being acknowledged as Ben's wife warmed your heart, and his willingness to do so made your heart race. However, disturbing thoughts loomed in your head again, “Think Vought will let us be?” You asked with hesitation. Fuck, that shit really got too deep into you.

He rolled his eyes, “Try not to work your pretty head hard 'bout this, doll,” He tucked a tress of your hair behind your ear, “The man who fucking beat the Nazis can handle some sweaty fucknuts at Vought.” There was something warmly reassuring about his smugness.

“See? All that shit wouldn't happen if you didn't stay silent while they fucking tried to play their fucking game!”

Ben chuckled, “Well, the fucking was totally worth it.”

You groaned in frustration, “Ben… I thought you abandoned me.”

Your husband furrowed his brows at you, “You women hardly think sometimes, don't you?” You scowled at his remark but he sighed, cradling your cheeks in his warm hands, “I fucking fought to make you my wife. I fucking put my whole career and name at risk for you.” You blinked at him, “The day before we tied our knot, I fucking told the boardroom that I was marrying you, that I'd fucking walk off if they tried anything funny… they didn't, till fucking today.” He sighed, “They fucking announced that bullshit before I was even told.”

“Assholes,” You whispered.

“After that pathetic act, I fucking stormed to Edgar like I stormed Normandy. Let's say that he and I did a little bit of chatting,” He gave you a conceited smirk, giving you no detail of how he got scared shitless when he saw the mess in the kitchen. He thought Vought dared to fucking do something to you. And when he heard you cry he feared the worst. But of course, he wouldn't tell you anything about that. Because he was the fucking man of this house; if his feelings of fear appeared, the sense of security he provided to this house, to you, would crumble. And he wouldn't have that. Ever.

You, on the other hand, had a weird combination of pride and happiness sprouted within your chest.

“I'm so sorry, Ben…” You said, cupping his face in your hands, “I-I don't know what came over me when I saw you with her,” You couldn't even say her name.

“Couldn't have your man stolen away, could you?” He teased you.

“Never.” You answered, “And I'm sorry for what happened, husband.”

“I mean you did make it up for me, wife,” He flashed you a cheeky grin, “Though, I don't feel particularly in a forgiving mood… yet.”

Head tilting to the side, your raised an eyebrow, rolling your hips teasingly on his cock, “Don't push your luck…”

“Try me.”

🦅 Soldier Boy Masterlist.

taglist: @zepskies, @deansbbyx, @kaleldobrev, @k-slla, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deans-spinster-witch, @venus-haze, @thebiggerbear...

[dreamymagnolia]

⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ A Broken Brooch ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

zayne x fem!reader

Disclaimer: Hi! This is my first time using and posting a fanfic on this app, hopefully you’ll like it! English IS NOT my first language, so feel free to give me a feedback. Enjoy!

you’re in an arranged marriage with Zayne but everything seemed awkward between the two of you, and Zayne was thinking about getting closer to you

Genre: romance, slight angst to fluff

Warning(s): slight suggestive content (nothing too intense), misunderstanding

Word count: 2,5k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

After a long day of work, Zayne found himself parking his Audi in front of an antique shop, his heart heavy with an unfamiliar hope. He had been thinking about a certain vintage red dress his wife is fond of, and it was no longer on display. It had a dashing crimson color and was made of velvet, you used to stop and marvel at it whenever they passed this shop. It’s not like she asked him to buy it for her—like hell she would, they never had a conversation more than three sentences. An arranged marriage had its limitations, after all.

 “As a man, you must break the ice,” his father’s words continued to echo in his mind. Zayne grunted, he had thought this red dress could be a gesture to elevate their relationship, yet there he was. Deciding whether to purchase the dress for her or not took a considerable amount of time for him. Now that the dress was sold, he stood outside the shop, feeling lost.

Inside, he browsed through the remaining selection of dresses, disappointment creeping in as nothing caught his interest. “I guess, I’ll return home empty-handed then.” He thought, resigned to another monotonous evening between the two of them.

Just then, a woman walked in, her voice cutting through his thoughts. “Excuse me, Mrs. Wilson! Did you sell out the red dress that was on display? I have been saving for it for quite some time now.” 

“Unfortunately, yes, my dear, it was sold just today.” The elderly shopkeeper, a hint of regret in her smile.

The woman sighed, “I guess it wasn’t meant for me after all, my mama always said that I look horrendous in red, I wanted to prove her wrong!”

“Oh, I think you’d look stunning in red!” The clerk encouraged the woman, getting her another red dress. “This one has a different material, but it’s equally beautiful, and it comes with this lovely brooch.”

Zayne’s gaze was drawn to the brooch—it was an elegant shape of lily in gold that shimmered in the shop’s light. “That would suit her well.” He thought to himself, imagining how it would look on you.

“I love the lace,” the woman gasped, her disappointment fading. “But.. I don’t think I can pull off the brooch. Do I really have to buy this along with the brooch?”

“Yes, dear, I’m afraid so,” the clerk replied gently.

Without thinking, Zayne stepped forward. “I’ll take the brooch.” He pulled out a $100 bill and took the brooch swiftly, leaving both the clerk and the woman flabbergasted as he turned and left, the shopkeeper’s shout of “Sir! The brooch only costs $30!” faded behind him. 

As he drove back home, he only thought about one thing, this brooch will ‘break the ice’, determined that tonight would be different than any other night. They were husband and wife after all.

Upon entering the house, he was greeted by the warm aroma of dinner. You sat curled up on the couch, lost in a book. Zayne cleared his throat, anxiety bubbling beneath him.

“Hey.” he ventured, his voice tentative.

“Oh, hey.. you’re home. Welcome back.” you replied, your eyes briefly meeting his eyes before returning to your book.

Zayne nodded, feeling the familiar distance between them. “I made some dinner, your usual. It’s on the table.”  you glanced up at him only momentarily.

“Have you eaten some?” his voice was trembling, he tried his best not to sound nervous.

“No, I’m doing intermittent fasting.” you looked up at him, he could tell that there was a hint of surprise in her tone, Zayne had never shown such curiosity before.

“Right,” he said, walking towards the dining table. The food looked delicious, but it felt overshadowed by their silence.

Then Zayne walked into the bathroom in his room—yes, his room—they had been sleeping in separate beds for almost a month now. After changing into something comfortable, Zayne found himself staring at the brooch he bought earlier in his hand, he sighed as he tucked it in his pocket. As Zayne sat at the dining table, engrossed in his thoughts, he noticed that you were still reading your book in the living room. He leaned back on the chair, his eyes drifting back to his food. But his thoughts were far from the food in front of him. He was frustrated, why wasn’t he more engaging in their previous conversation? You had cooked a delightful dinner for him. He sighed quietly, his eyes fixed on the food, but his mind elsewhere. Zayne continued to eat the food, a silent battle going on in his mind. He knew his father wanted him to be closer to you, and sleeping in the same bed as a spouse was a common step in such scenarios. But before getting into that, he picked the brooch he had in his pocket, he held it up to the light hopefully it will help him to have longer conversations with you.

As you finished your book and walked toward your room, Zayne took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. He had to do this, he reasoned with himself. He couldn’t keep avoiding it forever. After washing the dishes, his mind made up. He headed towards your bedroom, his usual stoic demeanor now tainted with a hint of trepidation. Zayne reached the bedroom door, his hand pausing on the doorknob. He took another deep breath, reminding himself that it was just giving her the brooch, nothing more. With a final mental pep talk, he turned the knob and opened the door, stepping into the room, but froze at the sight before him—you were currently changing, you were wearing your nightgown, the top buttons were still undone, revealing a glimpse of her bare skin. He stood there in the doorway, his breath caught in his throat at the sight.

“Z- Zayne???” you stammered, and quickly fixed the buttons, your face flushing.

Zayne snapped out of his surprised daze as he heard you call his name. He quickly looked away, a hint of red tint on his cheeks.

“S- Sorry,” He muttered, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to—” He trailed off, still a bit flustered.

“Do you need something?” you asked, attempting to sound casual but failing to mask your surprise.

Zayne cleared his throat once again, regaining his composure. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his mind still a bit distracted by the sight he had just seen. “I was thinking.. I think it’s best for us to sleep in the same bed.” He blurted out. Wait, that wasn’t the plan— He thought to himself. Your eyes widened slightly at his suggestion, lips parting in surprise. It was too late for him to explain, she looked like she was thinking about it. He didn’t know what to expect – would you agree, or would you reject his idea?

“Sure.” you said slowly, catching him off guard.

Zayne was slightly taken aback by your unexpected agreement. He had mentally prepared himself for a possible rejection, but here you were, agreeing to his request. He let out a small sigh of relief, his tense shoulder relaxing a bit, but he wished that it could be more genuine.

“Okay.” His voice was a bit softer than usual. “I was thinking we could try it tonight.”

“Tonight?” you asked, your eyes widened in surprise and uncertainty.

Zayne nodded, “Yes, tonight.” His voice was firm and steady, despite the racing of his heart.

He took a step closer, his gaze fixed on you, and Zayne noticed the faint blush creeping across her cheeks. “I thought it might be.. nice, to sleep in the same bed and get closer, is that okay?” He explained, his cheeks slightly flushed. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for them, and he felt something stir in his chest—a flutter of hope.

You nodded slightly and hummed, “Okay..”

“I’m going to get ready for bed then..” He said, gesturing towards the bathroom, you nodded, a shy smile forming on your lips.

 In that moment, Zayne felt a flicker of something between them—a possibility, a chance for connection. With the brooch still in his pocket, he realized that breaking the ice might just lead to something beautiful.

 Inside the bathroom, Zayne brushed his teeth hastily, it didn’t go as he planned, yet he liked it?  He was feeling both anxious and confident. After finishing up in the bathroom, he splashed some cold water on his face, trying to cool down his flushed cheeks. On the other hand, you slumped onto the edge of the bed. Reconciling what just happened, you took a deep breath and instinctively grabbed your perfume and sprayed it on yourself. No, you weren’t trying to impress him tonight, it was just another part of your night routine, right? 

 Zayne opened the bathroom door, and your gaze instinctively drew to him. He took a better sight of you in your nightgown, it immediately made his heart rate quicken. You noticed that he was checking you out, you cleared your throat to mask your nervousness. He swallowed hard, taking in the sight of you sitting on the edge of the bed.

He took a step closer. “Ready for bed?” 

You nodded. Zayne felt a strange feeling wash over him as he got closer to you. The soft fabric of your nightgown and the intoxicating jasmine scent from your perfume wrapped around him like a warm embrace. He stopped right in front of you, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked down at you, mesmerized by the way your eyes glistened in the dim light. He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words, but they eluded him, tangled up in the electric air between you. You held his gaze, the air thickened in tension, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear swirl within you. You felt a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, and it pulled you in, inviting you to step into the unknown, you never thought that gazing up to his eyes this long could be this dangerous.

“Do you ever wonder how beautiful you look?” he murmured, his voice was low and hesitant, sending a shiver down your spine. The compliment hung in the air as your mouth was unable to form a word, feeling the tons of butterflies inside you.

Zayne leaned in, closing the distance, his breath warm against your skin. “Can I kiss you?”  he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost like a plea, filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty. You felt the world around you faded, all that mattered was him and the possibility ahead. You instinctively nodded slightly at his plea. 

Zayne’s gaze deepened with a mixture of desire and anticipation as you agreed to his request. He didn’t waste a moment, closing the small distance between you and pressing his lips against yours. The feeling was soft yet passionate, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, his hand slowly going on the back of your head to pull you closer. You put your hands on his chest, one hand sliding gracefully behind his neck. Your mind was fogged, instantly blurring the reality of arranged marriage. Zayne cursed himself internally, how could he have ignored your alluring beauty for so long? 

As the kiss deepened, Zayne’s snaked his hand around your waist, their body moved in sync, making you lay on the bed. Suddenly, a loud clunk echoed on the floor, startling them both, causing them to pull away. It was the brooch, slipping off his pocket. He looked at you in panic, while you gave him a perplexed look. He withdrew from you and picked up the brooch from the floor, letting a heavy sighed in disappointment.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concerns creeping your voice. You sat on the bed and your gaze wandered at the glimmering thing on his hand, “What is that?”

He held out a delicate lily-shaped brooch in gold, and sat beside you, but you noticed that one of its petals was slightly loose and scratched. 

“It was meant for you, I intended to give you this.. I thought it would suit you perfectly, but now it’s ruined.” his voice was laced with a sense of resignation.

“Did you buy it from the antique shop nearby?” you recognized the brooch,

“How did you know?” 

You chuckled softly. “I just bought a dress from them today, and I saw this brooch clutched on another dress.”

“A dress? Was it the red velvet one?” 

“Yes.. How did you know?”

He sighed in defeat. “I’m sorry.. (Y/N).”  he rubbed his jaw, “I was about to buy you that dress so we can get closer, and the fact that it was sold today.. I had to think of another option, so I bought this brooch. Looks like you were one step ahead of me after all.” he confessed, caressing your cheek gently.

Your eyes widened slightly, “But..” you muttered.

“But?”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” you admitted.

 Zayne’s brow furrowed in disbelief “Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Because we’re in an arranged marriage..” you replied, your voice tinged with vulnerability.

“Yes, we’re in an arranged marriage,” he said, his tone a bit softer now. “But I don’t see the reason not to like you, and I’m not the type to lie. I do like you.” 

“Since when?” you asked, a hint of hope in your voice making your heart race.

“It was gradual, I’ve been noticing you for longer than I care to admit, even way before the wedding.”

“I never noticed it before, why didn’t you ever say anything? ” 

“I didn’t want you to notice, I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, and it might make things awkward between us. I’m sorry.” he admitted, a faint smile of remorse forming on his lips.

“Nonsense, I would love to see it more.. I liked you from the beginning, but you always seemed so distant and cold, so I assumed you didn’t like me.” you brushed your fingers against his cheek gently. Zayne leaned in to your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of your touch. 

“You.. liked me from the beginning?” 

You nodded. 

“I’m such a fool,” he grunted. He couldn’t believe he had been oblivious to your feelings for so long.

“It’s fine, it’s an arrangement after all.”  Zayne shook his head slightly, his gaze meeting you again.

“No, it’s not fine,” he said firmly, closing the distance, his hands resting on your hips, he continued, “It feels like a waste to let these feelings go unacknowledged.” he rested his head on your shoulder.

“What do you mean?” 

Zayne exhaled, locking your gaze, gently pulling you closer. “If I had noticed your feelings sooner, we could have had a genuine relationship, not an arranged one, but looks like.. we can start over?” he smiled genuinely. 

You felt warmth bloom in your chest as you chuckled and nodded, “Yes,” you pecked his cheek, “I would like that.” Zayne felt his heart flutter, “You’re making this easy for me,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of relief and affection as he leaned for another kiss, but before he could close the distance, he added, “Your cooking was amazing,” you giggled in his embrace.

݁

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[tmwcs]

Beauty and the Beast

• Part One •

Warnings: nothing too extreme…yet. Hints of suicidal acts/ideations and cat and mouse chase. Part two is going to be a bit gross though…definitley read this boring part to prepare yourself for part two. Also not proofread so please ignore the mistakes. ✌🏻

Lost in a hypnotic state of bewilderment, your attention is captivated by the beauty of the pink hue emerging from the glass bell jar. The crystal rose magically floats in mid air, leaving you amazed and perturbed. How incredible was it to see something extraordinary that defies the laws of gravity? You reach out to lift the lid when a grueling shadow suddenly casts the entire room. Your sight switches over to the open balcony and witnesses something out of this world staring back at you. The details of the inhuman entity staring became a blur. You didn’t want to stick around to study it–your instincts propelled you to run instead. Immediately, you turned and rushed over to the door when you felt its grip on your arm yanking you back. It shifts you around and takes a good look at you, forcing you to do the same. The creature had two large hooves that propped its magnificently strong figure. It resembled that of a man with large muscle and an extended height. Under his partially open cloak, his anatomy flourished in full display and you shamefully witnessed the creature to be male. His broad chest casted impressive pectoral muscles that were both lean and heavy. His arms were long and his hands were decorated with lengthy claws as the length of his smooth hair subtly drapes loosely over his wrists. His neck was also crowned with long strands that shined black as the granite. His head resembled a large goat head with two large horns that remained predominantly straight at the base, and curved at the tip. You were forced to watch as the rectangular pupils studied you from head to toe. Resembling the eyes of a sheep or a goat, this creature expresses every demonic feature that was written in the darkest tale.

You barely gained enough time to recover from the blasphemous appeal before you. A voice emerges from the creature, setting you back to a stunned state of mind. Your vision snapped forward and straight to his eyes when he spoke in a loud and deep tone. His pitch was not human, it carried the growling purr of a wild beast and the roaring vibration of a demon. “And you are?”

Despite the blank stare, his snarling snout flared his anger. He was every violation of the Holy Bible–the true image of Hell. “P-please let me go…” you shivered out under a shallow breath. It was hard to speak out. Fear overtook your senses as your hands clam up from his tightened grip. “Answer my question or I’ll tear you to pieces.”

Momentarily, the beast releases your arm and thrashes a nearby console table, splitting it in half. You collapse from the destruction cowering in fear. The shattering crack pierces your ear as you scream out begging for the monster to stop. He roars and continues to thrash all the beautiful antique paintings within the room. His beastly form appears in full display as the cloak flies off from the tantrum, revealing a whiplashing tail. Leaving the handsome portrait and the rose untouched, the beast destroys the entire study, leaving it in tatters. You curl up and begin tearing up. Covering your ears, you try to calm yourself when you notice that the clattering halts. You lift your head to view the room. It's empty. The beast was nowhere to be found.

Grabbing your phone and quickly making your way to the door, you rushed down the stairs and through the hall. You couldn’t remember how to get to the main hall where the exit was. Lost inside the mansion, the echoes of the beast's roars from outside caused you to take cover as you maneuvered through the narrow hall. “Shit…”

Seconds pass and the howling stir of echoes become distant, allowing you to rebuild the fortitude to move again. Frantically running, you reach the end of the corridor. Turning the corner, a pair of stabled hands grip your arms–pinning them together. Yelping, a burst of tears emerge when you realize that the one who has you is none other than butler. “Young lady–” his voice was calm, despite witnessing your distress. You shift within his grip. He was surprisingly strong despite his age. Appealing to his sensibility from earlier, you pleaded for his help. “Please–! You have to help! There–there’s something inside this house! It’s a monster!”

“Shh…” he coos you. “You’re alright. Nevermind my master’s rudeness, he’s always cranky when awoken from his slumber.”

You paused at the wording. “M-master?” your brows furrowed in confusion as you inquired for the butler to elaborate. Here all along you mistakenly assumed that the master of the household to be that of a child. “Th-that was the master you spoke about? The one that was napping? What is he? What is this place? Get me out of here!”

You become hysterical as you try to peel his hands off, yet he re-stabilizes you once more. “Young lady, you must calm yourself before he hears you. My master is not one to react kindly to foreign disturbances inside his home.”

His words convince you to calm down. Your sobbing quiets down as he places a finger against his lips and gently hushes you. Another roar from the beast emerges from afar. “He’s in the main hall, we will need to go back towards the study.”

You gasped at his insistence. “What?! No!”

He shushes you once more. “If we proceed forward, he will see you and I won't be able to save you then. The best course is to have you remain in one of the guest rooms and wait there until it is clear for you to leave. Please have trust.”

Hopelessness drapes over as the beast’s roar grows louder. The butler rushes to the nearest guestroom. “Remain here. I will have Mrs. Potts come in to check on you as I attend to my Master. Remember…you must not leave this room.”

Leaving you, the butler rushes in the direction of his master’s thunderous cries. “On my way sir!” he shouts, disappearing into the abyss of the narrow corridor.

Struggling to find comfort in waiting for the butler, you begin walking towards the same direction. “Sir?…” you gently call out, hoping to hear a reassuring response. You continue on the path until you reach the main grand hall, where the chandeliers gently warm the atmosphere with dimmed candlelight. The glass windows shutter, startling you. Something was banging the walls from the other side that resulted in a series of subtle booms and vibrations. You cover your ears as you continue walking, hoping to see someone kind and helpful to aid you towards the exit. In a split second your hopes experienced victory when you saw a figure ahead…yet it was short lived.

The beast stepped into the light and snarled. A magnificent form of power and strength, he slightly hunched over as if taking position to charge. Your heart sinks into your stomach as your vision blurs. What started as a few steps backwards quickly transitioned into a direct one-eighty turn and a sprint. Running away, you hear the pounding hooves behind clash against the marble tiles. They grew louder, stronger, and more dreadful as they closed the distance. Reaching the main study where you first saw the beast, you panic. Making all that progress just to be sent back to square one presented a feeling of hopelessness and the act of surrendering was at your fingertips. Should you just let the beast devour you alive? Or should you jump off the balcony? The options, while limited, were at your reach, however time was not on your side as you heard the beast clash against the heavy door. He rams his form against it a few more times and it begins to crack open. You peer over to the balcony and make your choice. Unfortunately there was no time to mourn and bid the world a farewell. Not even enough time to say a thoughtful prayer.

The beast continues with his destructive rage, beaching entrance as the door begins to hang by the loose hinges. You step onto the stone tiles and view the outside world from a heightened view and take a deep breath. Placing yourselves over the ledge, you station yourself on the opposite end and hang by the shaky grip of the concrete pillars, pressing your lower backside against the coolness of its smooth exterior. You don’t look down. It would only make it harder.

Chest up and facing the sky, you close your eyes. The final release will be based strictly on hearing. The final blow through the sprayed splinters of the mahogany panel will be your que to let go. Let it all go.

The final seconds felt like an eternity. But after hearing him burst through successfully, you release. Your eyes remain closed yet the teardrops find a way to escape from closed lids and decorate your reddened cheeks. You feel yourself slipping forward, knowing that there was no end until your body meets the ground. after fully embracing the end—the most challenging obstacle you’ve yet to overcome, a dreadful moment pangs you from within as you felt a harsh grab around your wrist. It was strong and tight. Your eyes jolt open as you whimper from the yank. Looking behind, you witness the image of monstrosity bringing you back in.

Bringing you back in…

Taglist: @strxwbloody @nshmrarki @aquariushiiiii @addictedtohobi @nuriicata @lilyuwon

[machveil]

General König Headcanons

just some personal thoughts I have about him as a person

he’s very organized, everything he owns has a place and if it’s not in it’s place he throws a fit

why is his coffee table moved over an inch? who did this? it’s not lined up perfectly with the couch anymore >:( and his coaster is missing! ruins his mood for an hour

and it’s noticeable when he lives alone if something is off. he lives extremely minimalistic. he has the bare bones essentials, the only decorations are things he’s super interested in (a bookshelf absolutely bloated with original copies of historical and military books, a display case with antique weapons, etc)

that changes if he has a pet, but I talked about that already here

as much as he likes to keep his home organized and neat, he’s artificially clean I’m so sorry

yes, his home looks spotless… that said, if he wipes up a little spill with a paper towel he’s definitely the type to rinse it under the faucet, squeeze it out, and let’s it dry if the spill wasn’t ‘that bad’. yes, it’s gross, but “look, I can use it again, Maus.”. you have to keep an eye out for him when he cleans stuff because he cuts corners sometimes

only dusts things he specifically uses - his desk, the coffee table, the cabinet by his front door. he neglects to clean his bedside table. coated in a lining of dust except for a rectangle patch where he keeps his latest book. forgets that he should definitely clean his computer keyboard and phone screen. complains about allergies but it’s “only in my house” - denies that the dust is the problem. is pleasantly surprised his allergies magically went away after you dusted everything for him… still denies the dust was the problem, his immune system ‘just kicked in’

always forgets that his vacuum doesn’t have infinite storage. the first time you went to empty it all the lint and dust in the cage didn’t come out because it was so compressed. he’s broken at least one vacuum before because the cage broke (yes, all the gross contents spilled out onto his floor, he was pissed for a week)

if you ever become his roommate prepare to be cleaning. it’s not that he doesn’t clean, it’s just that’s his version of clean is… “look, everything is spotless— don’t open the closet”

that said, he always changes the batteries in the fire alarm, always makes sure the fire extinguisher under the sink is within it’s expiration date, and double checks all doors and windows are locked at night - cleaning he’ll side-eye, safety he’s dead staring at

if you, for any reason, get wigged out because “König, I think I saw something move outside :(“ he wouldn’t hesitate to buy a security system. it’s not for him, he’s built like a behemoth, it’s entirely to ease your mind

definitely buys a ring doorbell so he can talk to you when you’re coming in (“don’t forget to lock the door behind you, Maus.”)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I'm the first one to say that I dislike white and gray homes, but I just fell in love with this 1886 boutique home in the storybook town of Kingsville, Ontario, Canada. The 5bd, 3ba home comes FULLY FURNISHED, C$849,900.

I love the baby blue double doors and wreaths.

The interior side of the doors are painted gray and white stripes to match the ceiling. The whole home is painted white, but the wood on the original railing give it a nice contrast. Put on your sunglasses b/c it's blindingly white in here. The new buyer can always add color, though.

We get to look at the furniture b/c it's included in the sale. The oversized loveseat is a beautiful piece, but it may overwhelm this space. The runner on the stairs is lovely and usually I don't like runners.

Twin sofas and chairs in the sitting room face each other. I love the chandelier and the painted flowers around the ceiling medallion.

This sitting room is a TV room. It has a fireplace, nice wallpaper and a pretty basket weave lampshade. It's hard to see, but it looks like there are whimsical flamingos on the wallpaper. That wood piece in the corner sticks out like a sore thumb. If there were other wood pieces it would tie in better.

The kitchen has a double Viking stove, lovely backsplash tile, and I like the windows in the upper cabinets. Most of all, I love the blue antique island and wicker stools.

Look at the large pantry.

The porch, with beautiful brick walls, makes a light, breezy dining room. Love the blue wicker chairs to complete the look, plus the window shelves with plants.

Windows let in lots of natural light.

Very nice laundry room.

Lovely vintage half bath.

Set up as a home office, this room has lots of shelving, so it can be whatever the new owner likes- a library, craft room, or even a place to display a collection.

Looking down at the entrance hall.

The primary bedroom is beautifully furnished. Love the large bedside tables and antique vanity.

Brand new shower room. It's small, but nicely done. They made the most of the space.

This secondary bedroom has lovely vintage furniture.

The 2 smaller bedrooms are pretty also.

The bright, finished basement has wonderful original stone walls.

And, there's also a spacious shower room.

Pretty door on the side porch.

Large patio with a firepit and pergola.

There's also a 2 car garage with original vintage doors.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/90-Main-St-E-Kingsville-ON-N9Y-1A4/348751159_zpid/

[mistydeyes]

opposite occupations

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summary: all the 141 boys have different plans while on leave, each having their own idea of how to spend the time. but when they run into a lovely civilian, they realize that all the long hours, deployments, and trainings worth it.

pairing: 141 x civvie!fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, all fluff :)

a/n: I love me a good little meet cute

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price - florist

Everyone knew that the minute Price went home, he would be making the trek to his favorite cigar shop. It had been one he frequented for years, the familiar sign welcoming him home. Most shops on the street stayed the same. He liked the constancy, the familiarity.

As he rounded the street corner, he noticed a new shop had filled the unoccupied next door. The pale pink awning and rose-tinted glass were a new sight to see. "Sentiments of Carnations" he read as he walked past. He could see through the window that the shop had not yet been opened, noting the smell of fresh paint and empty displays. He wondered what grandma had put their retirement money into this florist shop.

He continued, opening the cigar shops store and smelling the musk of smoke and tobacco. "Ah John, I have your regulars set aside," the old shop owner said with a smile. "Back again for long?" he asked upon his return with a dark oak box. "Just waiting for another phone call from his majesty," he joked and slid over the usual bank notes. "I'll be seeing you," Price said as he opened the door and exited with the familiar chime of the bell.

As he embraced the warmth of the summer England weather, he pulled out one of his fresh purchases, excellently wrapped and balanced. He flipped open his lighter from his pocket and sat down to have his first smoke at home. He closed his eyes and savored the notes of espresso and hickory. As he sat in his small nirvana, he heard the florist's doors open.

He turned as he saw you, a flower behind your ear and a pink apron that perfectly matched the outside of the shop. You were not the grandma he had expected and instead were beautiful, the sun catching your lovely features. You had placed an antique table outside, along with a bucket of a colorful array of flowers adorned with a handwritten tag. You hung a small sign on the table that read, "Take one for a friend, family member, or loved one." You smiled at yourself, proud of the little display. You turned your head and noticed the mature man enjoying his smoke only a meter away from you. You picked out a scarlet carnation and walked over to the man, handing it to him.

"Here, you go," you said as his calloused fingers held the flower delicately. "A flower to brighten someone's day," you said with a smile. "Thank you, although I am not a man for flowers," he replied and extinguished his cigar. "Well, flowers can be for a variety of reasons, a friendly gesture, a gift for someone you fancy, or even something to brighten up your flat."

You ended with a sweet smile and he could feel himself melt on the spot. Something about the floral aroma emanating from the flower behind your ear along with your soft voice and pleasantries added to his current state of nirvana. You were so radiant in this light and he appreciated the kind gesture, especially upon his return home.

"No one to give a romantic gesture to, but thank you," he replied. "Well if that ever changes, my shop opens later this week! The shop's number is on the tag" you said before giving him a small wave and wink. He could hear the shop's door close as you began to set up your display and paint a mural on one of the walls. As he twisted the carnation in his hand, he knew he would be adding your shop to his routine becoming your most frequent customer.

soap - tattoo artist

Soap looked at his phone, making sure he was in the right place. His favorite tattoo shop near his Scottish home had closed and he was taking a recommendation from Ghost.

"She's got an attitude but her work is amazing," Ghost had said before Soap's deployment. He couldn't deny the craftsmanship of her work on Ghost's arm. He marveled at the attention to detail as Ghost proudly shoved off his ornate sleeve.

Soap had an appointment for today, previously approving of the artist's rendition of his vision. A black-and-white thistle, a charm his mother had said. It was commonly known to keep its owner away from danger and bad acquaintances. Something Soap needed on the battlefield.

He pushed the maroon door open, admiring the many gold frames with what he assumed were some of the artists' work. He let out a light chuckle as he noticed a framed sketch of Ghost's sleeve. He was just about to snap a picture when a voice called out, "Hey Mohawk, this isn't a museum."

He turned around to see a woman, a gorgeous one at that. You were wearing a tank top that showed off a collage of various tattoos in different styles. You had been taking a break and relaxed, sitting behind a desk, feet propped up.

"Actually, lass, I'm here with an appointment," he said, walking over to you. "Name's John MacTavish." he finished with a cheeky smile.

"Ah MacTavish, one of Riley's military boys I'm guessing. How's that masterpiece of mine doing?" you joked, Soap didn't know what to say. Were you and Ghost a thing?

You laughed at his pause, "My tattoo, Mohawk. There's no way I'd be shagging his Halloween-looking-arse." Soap appreciated the heads up about your attitude and knew this was gonna be a fun session.

"Looks gorgeous, Sweetheart. Just like yourself," he poked back and you let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. "Don't flatter yourself, you can go make yourself comfortable in my station over there. Looks like you're only getting a bicep tat, so I better not see your shirtless arse back there."

Soap made his way to where you motioned, sitting down in the black velvet chair. You came in a few minutes later with your sketch and supplies. You closed the scarlet curtains behind you before walking over to prep his arm.

As you sat in relative silence, Soap asked, "So what do the tattoos mean, Lass?" You finished your prep work and were working on the correct tattoo placement. "Travels from around the world. I took it upon myself to get a tattoo in every new country."

With that, you offered him a mirror so he could approve of the sketch and placement. The tattoo rested on his right bicep and he made sure to look at it at every angle and made sure to flex for your enjoyment.

"Alright, muscle man, this should only take a few hours as long as you don't pass out on me," you said and began to tattoo your next masterpiece. During the next two hours, you made conversation about the tattoos meaning, his life in Scotland, and you even shared more intimate details about your travels.

The hours flew by like minutes to Soap as you let him know you were finished. He admired the detailed flower and you handed him some care instructions with some cream. "And your buddy paid for you ahead of time, so you're all set, Mohawk" you replied and Soap got off of the chair.

"See you around, my world-class woman," he joked as he exited the door. You slightly cringed, wondering if writing your number on the tube of aftercare cream was a good idea or not.

gaz - primary school teacher

Gaz looked at himself in his flat's mirror. He brushed a hand over his freshly cut hair and evened out his dress shirt. "Just a favor for a friend," he said to himself as he walked to catch the next tram. Two days ago, an old colleague during his days working with the metro police force had reached out to him. They called in a favor, "Kyle c'mon it's just a couple of primary students, all you need to do is give a little talk about stranger danger." Knowing he had nothing else better to do, Gaz agreed.

As he signaled the tram to stop, Gaz looked at the brown brick building reminding him of his younger days. Gaz walked in, checking in with the receptionist who directed him to the classroom where he'd be giving his talk. He was early, the school had not yet opened but he was asked to have the presentation at the beginning of class before the children's lessons. He admired the walls filled with the artwork of the students, silly attempts at drawing their families. He finally reached your classroom, noting the smiling sunflower on your opened door. He knocked softly and he saw you lift your head to greet him. If he had known you would be so beautiful, he would have not needed his friend's encouragement.

"Ah you must be Sgt. Garrick," you said, beginning to get up from your desk to greet him. You smoothed out your skirt and placed your glasses down. "It's just Kyle," he said and returned your friendly smile and warm handshake.

"Well Kyle, the children should be arriving in a few minutes. I'll get them settled and introduce you for your small talk today," you said with a grateful nod. You motioned for him to sit at your desk as you stood at your door to greet your excited second-year students. Gaz played on his phone and smiled as he heard you return the children's happy good mornings with a similar high-energy one. The students began to file in, placing their bags in their cubbies, and sitting with their friends. You heard small whispers from the children, wondering what you were doing at their teacher's desk. He let out a chuckle when he heard one boy whisper, "Is that Miss Y/N's husband? He's sitting in her chair."

Finally, with all the children in their seats, you walked to the front of the classroom and greeted your students warmly. "Good morning everyone, today we have a very special guest with us. This is our friend, Kyle, and he's here today to tell you all a little something before we start our lessons."

Kyle knew this was his cue, he rose from your desk and swapped places with you at the front of the room. "Hi everyone, today I'm going to teach you smart kids about something called 'Stranger Danger'." The children oohed in response as Kyle waved his hands in a fake menacing manner. You smiled as he was a natural. The children were attentive, writing down the information as he spoke and working together with their classmates to fill out the worksheet answers. Kyle ended his talk and asked if anyone had any questions. One child raised her hand and Kyle called on her. "Is Miss Y/N a stranger? I'm confused."

"I'm your teacher, Amelia. Teachers that you know aren't strangers," you responded and Kyle nodded in agreement. Another kid raised their hand and asked, "But you aren't Kyle's teacher, so you're a stranger to him."

Before either one of you could respond, his friend boasted, "It's because they're married, your Mum and Dad aren't strangers to each other." Both you and Kyle shared a look and he saw the soft blush rise to your face. "Ah we're just friends," he said and saved you the embarrassment.

Little did Kyle know, his email would chime that night with a thankful message from you along with your number at the bottom asking him to breakfast that weekend.

ghost - veterinarian

Unlike most people, Ghost loved the quiet ambiance of London's rainfall. The streets were empty and peaceful as people were cozying up in their homes with a blanket. Enjoying the evening air and cold, he walked with an umbrella in one hand and a warm cup in the other. His boots resounded on the cobblestone street as he sipped his Earl Grey tea. His chest was warm from the bold citrus and bergamot liquid. This was, in his opinion, an ideal leave well spent.

The rhythmic rain fell and his walking was interrupted by a soft mewing. Simon hurried down the street to find the source of the noise. In front of a grocer's, he noticed a small cardboard box being drenched by the unrelenting rain. He placed his cup down and gently lifted the box. Underneath was a small grey cat, cuddled into a ball to experience some semblance of warmth. Simon placed his umbrella to shield the box and lifted the tiny meowing animal into his hands.

As he cradled the cat to his chest, he heard a click of heeled boots behind him. He turned his now-drenched head to notice you walking up with a bright orange umbrella adorned with cat paws. "Excuse me, Sir, but is he yours?" you asked gesturing to the ball of grey that laid meowing in his arms. "Uh he's not, I found this little fella underneath this box here."

"Ah a Good Samaritan, I see. Well, I own the veterinarian shop down the way, I can take him off your hands if you'd like and make sure this little lad gets the care he needs," you said and offered a hand to hold the kitten. You noticed his slight hesitation and said, "If you'd like, I'll give you my card so you can take the little one home when he's all better."

"That would be nice," he smiled underneath his black face mask. Simon loved animals, never being permitted to have one as a child. As you held the kitten in your arm, you handed him your umbrella. He initially tried to refuse but you insisted saying, "You're soaked, I'll be alright." You ended with a small giggle which made Ghost warmer than his now cold cup of tea.

"The least I can do is walk you back to your shop," he replied a little too quickly. He instantly realized the surprising force he had said that with and followed up with, "You know, just so you and Earl Grey can make it there in this weather.

"Earl Grey, I like that. That's my favorite order, especially on days like this." Simon moved slightly behind you, holding the umbrella to shield the three of you on your walk. The air was filled with the familiar scent of rain and the notes of your floral perfume. "I'm Dr. L/N by the way, but most people just call me, Y/N," you said as you continued on your way. "I'm Simon, a pleasure to meet you doc."

Three weeks later Simon's house was filled with all the necessities for a new cat father. As he grabbed his coat, he pulled out a water-stained business card with the vet's office address and your number written on the back. He smiled to himself as he traced his fingers over the small handwriting saying, "To Earl Grey's owner, fancy a cup of tea with me?"

[vintagehomecollection]

A painting of Brazilian artist Manoel Fernandes stands out against the Bordeaux red wool selected for the dining room walls. The Chippendale table is set with English crystal, circa 1710, nineteenth-century Davenport bone china, and Queen Anne glass candelabra. A classical mid-eighteenth century mirror hangs above a late eighteenth-century English chest. Shelves display Chinese import china.

Southern Interiors, 1988

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[indiatrendzs]

Bohemian Eclectic Decor: A Unique Personal Statement

Bohemian eclectic decor is more than just a design choice – it’s a personal statement that draws inspiration from diverse cultures and vintage spaces. It creates a curated environment that is a true reflection of boundless imagination, free from the constraints of approval. Antiques and artisan-crafted door bring each room to life, weaving a captivating tapestry throughout the house. The…

[driftingdryad]

Omg Bestie! I know I wanted to wait a bit with new request but hear me out!

Shikamaru or Shikaku teasing his girlfriend / partner with the Shadow technique 🥵🫣 Please! 🤭

Ask and you shall receive babes! xox

Listen I'm no jutsu expert and the Naras probs can't use the Shadow Sewing Technique to do all this filth, buuuuut for the sake of the spice let's pretend they can m'kay? lol

Also this is like the third time I've ever written anything smutty so pls be gentle! Thank yooou 🫶

((P.S. just so it's stated in multiple places, Shikamaru is in his mid 20s here!))

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

Word count: 2.2k

18+, Mid 20s Shikamaru, Clan Head Shikamaru, established relationship, consensual objectification, D/s dynamics, bondage, a little bit of pain play, mild overstim, inappropriate use of shadows lol

You waited in anticipation as you knelt upon the ornately embroidered cushions in the corner of Shikamaru's private office. ‘Be still,’ you reminded yourself, only moving your eyes as you cast a glance around the room in hopes of finding something to take your mind off of the heat rising between your thighs.

Shikamaru's private office was spacious, but minimalist in its aesthetic. The walls were lined with shelves housing a plethora of books, scrolls, and clan documents. When the titles of books on strategy and history didn't hold your interest, you wished Shika would let you fill the small gaps on his shelves with knick knacks. Then you'd at least have something to focus on and keep you still ‘like a good doll.’

You subtly clenched your thighs as your mind drifted back to your current situation. No, knick knacks probably wouldn't help you, and they weren't his style anyway. His office was the embodiment of function over form. Sure there were a few personal touches here and there, the large antique desk Shika had inherited from his father; a single picture of Team 10 in their genin years sitting on the windowsill overlooking the private garden; the well loved shogi set that sat mid-play on a low table on the opposite side of the room from you. There was no decor, though. Shikamaru didn't find such trivial things necessary to the overall function of his space. Plus, what man needed decorations when they had a gorgeous little thing like you — naked with your pretty little pussy weeping onto the luxurious pillows you knelt on — to liven up his space instead?

You were never usually one for sitting still long; something that Shikamaru endlessly grumbled about, though with adoration in his eyes; but something about being the only piece of true decoration in his office made you feel all floaty, and you wanted nothing more than to please him. Who knew being objectified by the man you love could feel so good?

You knew how much of a drag all his tedious paperwork was, and it made your heart soar to know that you made it more bearable for him. The wonderful feelings that came from Shikamaru directing you to kneel in your designated display space in his office was enough to keep you still, blissed out on the idea of being nothing more than an object, a porcelain doll, for him to devour with his eyes between reports.

Well… it kept you still for the first couple of hours. After that, the anticipation of what would come next — after all the paperwork was neatly filed away and Shikamaru finally relaxed into his high back chair and graced you with his full attention — had you starting to lose composure. He'd never made you wait for longer than two hours before. Today, it was nearing the four hour mark, and you weren't sure how much longer you could take it. You wanted to please him, gods you wanted to please him so badly, but your calves had long ago gone numb and you were certain that if you weren't touched soon you might start humping the pillow beneath you like a feral dog.

You shifted slightly hoping to ease some of the pressure on your calves, but only really succeeded in accidently squeezing your sensitive pussy between your plush thighs. The subtle pressure almost made you moan, but you didn't want to draw Shikamaru's attention to your rule breaking. Dolls weren't allowed to move, nevermind pleasure themselves, even if it was an accident.

A deep sigh had your eyes locked on Shikamaru in an instant. He met your gaze with half-lidded chocolate brown eyes that sent a shiver down your spine. Apparently, you hadn't been as subtle as you thought.

“Getting needy, are you?” Shika drawled, his voice low and calm as he inspected you. “Troublesome woman.”

His heavy gaze trailed your form slowly, taking in every detail from your quivering thighs, to your pink nipples that pebbled under his stare, then up to your large pleading eyes.

Troublesome woman indeed. You so badly wanted to tell him that yes, you were so incredibly needy for him, and that if he'd just please give you the release command you would crawl across his office on numb legs to the space beneath his desk that you loved so much and keep his cock warm in your throat until he was done work please, please, please!

But he didn't give you the command, and so you remained in place, unable to move or speak. A soft, pathetic whimper bubbled up your throat instead, a noise you were able to make on technicality alone.

A lazy grin lifted the corner of Shikamaru's lips. “I've kept you waiting a long time, haven't I, baby? You've done so good for me, though.”

His praise lit you up inside, warmth spreading through your system and lifting you higher into that fuzzy, floaty place. Shikamaru must have seen it on your face because his grin widened and something calculating flashed in his eyes.

“I still have two more reports and some scrolls to sign off on...”

Your heart dropped, and you're sure that your desperation was showing in your eyes. You wanted to whine in displeasure this time but held it back. You wanted to keep being a good doll for him, to make Shika proud of you. Whiney girls did neither of those things. You could tell he was waiting for it, though, giving you a moment to process. When you didn't make a fuss, he nodded, pleased.

“How about a little warm-up while I finish up? You'd like that, wouldn't you, pretty girl?” His gaze smoldered and trapped you within their depths.

Your eyes widened. Had Shikamaru read your mind? Your tongue flicked out and wet your lips unconsciously. Oh, how you loved having him buried in your throat. Your body tensed, waiting for the release command so you could throw yourself across the room at his feet. You could feel a rush of slick dribble down your inner thigh at the dirty images flashing through your mind.

The command never came. A single fluid hand gesture later, and Shikamaru's face fell back into his regular bored working expression as he opened the next file folder on the stack. You kneeled there, still as a statue, in utter confusion. Didn't he say…?

And then you saw it. Flowing out from beneath Shikamaru's desk were long tendrils of his shadow. You watched awe as the shadows glided across the floor towards your quivering frame. The Nara clan's secret techniques never failed to amaze you.

A jolt of excitement ran through you as the tendrils reached you, gently prodding your skin where it met the floor. You sighed softly at the familiar coolness of Shika’s shadow as the tendrils glided up along your heated skin.

Tearing your eyes away from the shadows that were exploring your body with gentle brushes, you turned your attention back to Shikamaru. You knew that while it seemed that the shadows had a mind of their own, in actuality, every move they made was at his behest. You'd never be able to tell though with the way he was diligently focused on the papers in front of him, pen scratching across the page here and there.

A small but sharp pain on your thigh drew your attention back to the tendrils. It seemed Shika wanted you to focus on yourself, not him. The sharpened tendril on your thigh dulled again before trailing over to your hand that rested palm up on your thigh. It wrapped around your wrist, tight but gentle, before forcing it behind your back. More tendrils mirrored the action with your other hand, binding them in shadows behind your back. You tugged experimentally on the binding hold — more out of curiosity than an actual want to escape — and were met with another needle like prick of warning against your skin.

You let your body relax into the hold of Shikamaru's shadow, enjoying the feeling of the many tendrils exploring your body. Some caressed gently while others pricked against your skin, only to be soothed by a softer touch. You reveled in the feeling of finally being touched after such a long wait, gasping and twitching as Shikamaru's shadows teased you. They were almost everywhere. You couldn't tell where one tendril began, and another ended. You had no clue how many there were either. All you knew was that they felt amazing teasing against your skin, and the need between your thighs was reaching a fever pitch.

Desperation bubbled up inside you as the tendrils explored; curling around your legs, whispering across your ticklish tummy, smoothing down your arms, and even softly caressing your cheeks, but not a single one strayed to the places you wanted them most. Your ass, breast and cunt were left untouched and alight with need. Sure, the feather light touches and sparks of pain already had you gasping, but you wanted more.

When finally a single shadow ghosted along the underside of one of your perky tits a whimper escaped your throat. Your hips stuttered forward against your will, raising your bottom off your calves, searching for something to grind against. A tendril that had wound its way around your hips tightened and jerked your body back to the proper position.

Shikamaru made a ‘tsk’ sound but didn't raise his head to acknowledge you. “Doll's can't move on their own. You know this,” he chastised.

He wasn't looking at you, but you lowered your gaze in apology either way. You did know that, but you couldn't help it! It didn't matter, though. Shika's shadows would help you.

The shadow tendrils tightened their grip on your wrists and spread further up your arms, binding them together from wrist to elbow. At the same time, the one around your hips extended out more tendrils to the floor, effectively anchoring you in place. The worst part, though, was the thicker tendrils that encased your folded thighs and yanked them apart with a strength that always surprised you.

Your glistening, sopping wet pussy was suddenly exposed to the cool air of the room, your clit peeking out from between your spread folds. Your most intimate parts displayed for Shikamaru. You could feel the heat of a mortified blush spreading from your chest to the tips of your ears. The embarrassment had your poor little pussy clenching down on thin air, even more aroused than you'd been seconds ago.

A shadow brushed along your inner thigh, trailing up, up, up to your spread core. Finally your pathetic pussy was going to get the attention it needed. Or not. Just before reaching the apex of your thighs the shadow shot up your body and wrapped tightly around your left breast. A keening cry left your throat at the unexpected move, so different from the slow sensual touches you'd been receiving thus far.

The shadow gripped your flesh, the tip of the tendril reaching out to flick your taut nipple. It hurt, but felt so good all at once. You arched against Shikamaru's restraining shadows and felt more of your slick dribble down your inner thighs. Another tendril climbed your body to tease your other nipple.

The tendrils enveloping your body continued to play across your skin, the mix of pleasure and pain so great that you soon began losing yourself to it, floating further away from reality with every second. You quickly lost track of time, but very briefly a clear thought crossed your mind: Your gasps and moans were probably distracting. You didn’t want to cause trouble for Shikamaru. You probably shouldn't let yourself float too far into the fuzzy space in your head. You needed to reel yourself back in, but you felt so good.

When you managed to pry your eyes open though Shikamaru was still diligently working away as if you weren't a twitching, near overstimulated mess on his office floor. His indifference fanned the flames within you and it felt like all he would need to do is send a single bored glance at your drenched cunt for you to fall over the edge. You could already imagine his teasing, ‘poor baby, so worked up and pathetic that you came without me even touching that pretty little pussy’. You mewled out a sob at your imaginary Shikamaru's words, closing your eyes again and throwing your head back, letting yourself fully fall into the overwhelming sensations swarming your body.

You didn't know how long you were bound there, spread wide and on display as Shikamaru teased you into oblivion with his shadow, but it all came crashing down around you in an instant. A single, electrifying brush of a cool shadow against your throbbing clit was all it took.

Your eyes flew open, unfocused, as a broken cry ripped from your throat. Your pussy clenched hard around nothing as your body went taut against your bonds, Shikamaru's name a worshiping chant in your head. The tendrils of shadows lost their chaotic vigor, instead caressing soft and gentle easing you through the intense orgasm.

When all that was left were the aftershocks and you managed to raise your head, you were once again met with Shikamaru's half-lidded gaze. His eyes were full of such heat and adoration that a soft, dopey smile took over your lips. He'd enjoyed the show. He'd enjoyed you.

“Such a good little doll,” Shikamaru said lowly, pushing himself away from his desk and rising. Your smile widened as he crossed the room to you.

For him? Always ♡