#attic cleaning near me

[socalexpressrestorationca]

Why cleaning the attic is essential for a healthy home

The cleanliness of a home is constantly measured by the state of its usual surfaces, such as the living room, kitchen and bedrooms. However, one area that is often overlooked yet plays an integral role in maintaining the health of the home is the attic.

The attic serves as a fundamental storage space for many homes; however, if not properly preserved, it can become a breeding ground for various health hazards such as mold and mildew, which can affect the overall quality of indoor wind.

In addition to providing prime conditions for the growth of mold, neglected attics can also act as a safe haven for pests. These unwanted creatures find refuge in crowded spaces where they reproduce rapidly and pose numerous threats to human health, ranging from the spread of disease to structural damage.

This article is intended to highlight the value of regular attic cleaning and maintenance to ensure a healthy home environment. You'll delve into how this process helps prevent the growth of mold and mildew, as well as fend off pest infestations.

Prevention of mold and mildew growth

The proverbial 'out of sight, out of mind' approach to attic cleaning can promote an environment conducive to the growth of mold and mildew, thus compromising the overall health of a home.

Mold and mildew growth is primarily triggered by damp conditions that are constantly found in neglected attics. Such microorganisms not only represent a potential structural evil, but also invent harmful living conditions. Prolonged exposure to mold spores can cause serious health problems, such as respiratory problems, skin irritations, allergic reactions, and even toxicity in extreme cases.

To understand the preventive measures against the increase of mold and mildew in Honduras, it is essential to first find out its development period. Mold feeds on organic materials like wood or quarantine that is usually in attics as it thrives in humid environments. Consequently, any leak or condensation on the ceiling could drive its increase. Similarly, poor ventilation that does not allow moisture dissipation also benefits the multiplication process of these organisms.

Mold and mildew prevention involves regular cleaning of the attic along with proactive maintenance efforts aimed at minimizing moisture levels and improving ventilation in this space. This can include insulating pipes running through the attic area to prevent condensation storage during the colder months or installing vents for better wind circulation.

Additionally, proper storage practices are critical; Stored items need to be dry, wrapped properly if they are sensitive to moisture damage, and well spaced so there is proper wind flow around them. Therefore, improving attic care protocols will help maintain a healthier home environment while mitigating potential long-term structural ills.

Evade pest infestations

A huge menace to home cleanliness and structural entirety, pest infestations can be positively deterred by maintaining cleanliness in high-end storage areas, like attics. Often raised during regular grooming routines, such enclosed spaces provide an ideal habitat for pests such as rodents, insects, bats, and even birds. They offer shelter from harsh weather conditions and predators, while also providing food sources in the form of stored items or other nesting creatures.

Accumulated dust, debris, and clutter increase the appeal of such spaces to pests, making attic cleaning a major section of pest control. The existence of pests exposes several dangers to the health of residents. Rodents are known carriers of diseases such as hantavirus pulmonary syndrome (HPS) or leptospirosis, which have the potential to pose a serious health threat if not detected early. Likewise, insect infestations often bring with them allergens that can trigger respiratory problems among vulnerable individuals. Bats are notorious carriers of fury, as bird droppings can cause histoplasmosis, a respiratory disease caused by fungal spores present in their feces.

Regular cleaning of the attic helps minimize such hazards by removing potential hiding places for pests and minimizing food availability. A clean attic is not only essential in preventing pest infestations, but also plays a role in identifying existing ones at an early stage before they get out of control. Signs such as gnawed wires, droppings or nested materials are more visible once the space is cleared and cleaned regularly, allowing immediate corrective action to be taken. In addition to this benefit, regular attic maintenance minimizes damage to removal materials, therefore preserving homes' energy efficiency, which makes it important for both health stability measures and economic causes.

[socalexpressrestorationla]

From Dusty to Stunning: Transform Your House with Attic Cleaning by SoCal Express Restoration & Construction

When it to improving the look and feel of your home, attic cleaning is a great place to start. SoCal Express Restoration & Construction's team of experienced professionals can help bring your outdated attic back to life with thorough cleaning services that will leave you amazed at the transformation. From dusty spaces filled with cobwebs and spiders to sparkling areas free from debris or vermin, our team can provide personalized service tailored specifically to meet your needs. We understand how important your home is and make sure it is treated with respect during every step of the process.

 

Socal Express Restoration & Construction Chatsworth, CA 91311 1(866) 970-1170

[littleshinsbackgarden]

In the realm of modern technology, where convenience and style go hand in hand, your earbuds and AirPods deserve a special place to call home. Little Shin's Back Garden has you covered with an exquisite collection of stylish earbud holders and unique AirPods cases.

[sheep-from-rad]

this is inspired by @luludeluluramblings 's neglected! influencer! **I'll expand this later, I'm eepy**

*I don't own Rät. It belongs to Penelope Scott. Batfam belongs to DC*

Not gonna lie, everytime I read a Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader (I wish we have more defiant one tbh, i have parental issues and I tell you I will never ever forgive my parents fast. It's my dad's fault I don't know how to ask for help and that everytime he's near me all my danger senses are high up. Ending this here before it becomes a rant/vent lol) all I can hear in my brain is Rät by Penelope Scott

Maybe we can do it like this: Neglected! reader uses music to let frustrations out and leading to them becoming this anon singer online. Reader started out with being a black screen singer at first, making covers of songs and then later they started when gaining popularity they started having this anime avatar or an anime persona (maybe even a vtuber model) and original songs left and right.

Reader lives a normal life flying under the radar in daylight but when alone they sing their hearts out in different songs, they even learn different languages for foreign songs too. I can imagine reader singing Japanese songs too something around Kikuo to One OK Rock covers.

AND THEN the big fight with Damian, reader really can't bear living in the mansion anymore. They bear it too much and now the bottle is already full. Before they left they dropped the song cover of Rät or maybe it's not even a cover in this AU, maybe they wrote the song in this AU. Gotham immediately loved the song maybe even tried to decipher the song too because singer! reader just dropped it and disappeared.

The song immediately gained notoriety because to the people of Gotham the song sounded like a protest. A question to the current hierarchy, a question to heroes and how villains came to be. No one still notices that the reader is missing until Tim was tasked to clean up some camera file storage around the mansion.

Tim watches every footage before cleaning it, no matter how boring it was to see if something went amiss while they are out on their secret vigilante nightlife. What did he find on the camera footage? He found the reader going around their bedroom and to the attic back and forth with a microphone and few recording equipment. When he reviewed the attic footage he found clips and clips of reader singing, editing, and uploading videos.

Suddenly, the last song they dropped made sense. The lyrics made sense. It was about them not about Gotham society.

[atticinsulationpro]

Air Duct Replacement Houston

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[spider-stark]

A BOY'S FIRST PEST

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker thinks Per Haskell's daughter is a (very lovely) pest

Warnings - fem!reader, traumatraumatrauma, the woes of troubled youth, light mentions of blood and death, these bitches trauma bonded yo, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED WE DIE LIKE MEN

Word Count - 2.0k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Everyone knows Kaz Brekker put his own money into fixing up the Slat. 

He hired men to patch the leaky roof (though it still drips during a heavy rain) and put proper insulation in the walls (which keeps the house warm enough, even if it does nothing to muffle the noise of its occupants). He had all the doors fitted with working knobs (but easily picked locks) and ensured the kitchen was capable of making a warm meal (even if seriously doubted any of the Dregs knew how to cook). 

And while he would never admit it aloud, Kaz was also the one who made sure there were always clean linens in every room (albeit the cheapest Ketterdam has to offer) and spare clothes in every closet (sizes ranging from wafer-thin to barrel-chested). In keeping, he also takes it upon himself to keep the bathing room stocked with a steady supply of toiletries (because if someone uses his toothbrush again, he’s going to kill everyone in this place and then himself). 

Because of Kaz Brekker, the Slat was more than just a safe place to hole up. It was a haven, the closest thing many of the Dregs had to a home. 

But it did, of course, have one enduring problem. 

The pests.

Or, namely, the one pest—one that he could never quite exterminate (though the spider privy to the inner-workings of Kaz Brekker’s mind might argue the merit of replacing ‘could never’ with ‘would never’). 

Per Haskell’s very annoying (and very lovely) daughter. 

In the midst of Ketterdam’s hottest season, you find yourself lying sprawled on your back atop the dark sheets, clad in the skimpiest nightclothes you own: a matching set of black silk shorts and flowy, thin-strapped camisole. The air is thick and near stifling in the attic-bedroom, but you don’t mind it. You prefer being hot to cold, if only because the heavy weight of winter clothes makes you feel trapped, eliciting the urge to crawl straight from your skin. 

When the door finally swings open, you eagerly push up onto your elbows. 

Kaz doesn’t so much as spare a glance in your direction. He’s got one hand on his cane, the other shoving the door shut behind him as he limps toward his desk, guided by the bright moonlight spilling in from the muggy window. 

Your shoulders slump, huffing out a breath. “Seriously? You’re not even gonna greet me?” 

With his back turned to you, Kaz removes his hat and places it on the desk. He doesn’t look at you. “You’re in my room.” 

“Yeah—so I was actually thinking something more along the lines of hello,” you drone, lips pursed. “Y’know, that thing normal people say when they see their friends.” 

“We’re not friends.” 

A hand flies to your chest, as if struck by his words. “Um, ouch? Rude. For your sake, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

Kaz tugs off his signature gloves and tosses them next to his hat. “I can always repeat it,” he says, so impassive you can’t tell if it’s a joke. 

Knowing Kaz, you’re pretty sure it’s not. 

You push up the rest of the way, scooting down to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. It’s so much nicer than yours—the sheets softer, the mattress plusher, the smell so familiar and warm. 

If it were up to you, you’d sleep in here every night. 

And most nights, that’s exactly what you do. 

“Would it kill you to be nice sometimes?” you ask. 

“Not usually, no.” Kaz faces you, his weight leaned back against the desk, his cane propped against it. “But we both know you’re a special case.” 

“Is that a compliment?” 

“Not at all.” 

Your bottom lip juts into a pout. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” 

Aside from the subtlest lift of his brows, Kaz’s expression remains vague and disinterested. “Regularly,” he deadpans, looking the image of austere melancholy. 

Your laugh comes so sudden it sounds like a snort. “I should’ve guessed,” you nod, forever unphased by Kaz’s forbidding attitude. 

This is the way things have always been between you. Ever since a surly twelve year old marched head-high into your father’s office to see if the Dregs needed a new grunt, oblivious to the girl beaming up at him from a lonely corner, weaving colorful scraps of thread into bracelets for the friends you’d yet to make. 

Kaz Brekker is dark and foreboding while you’re bright and bubbly; he’s rude and standoffish while you’re sweet and flirtatious. Some may liken your relationship to oil and water, but you prefer thinking of it as a carefully crafted balance—a yin and yang sort of thing. 

Kaz, on the other hand, would simply say you’re a thorn in his side. 

Fortunately for yourself, you’re not an easily offended thorn. 

The rickety floorboards creak as Kaz starts around the desk. His bare fingers trail along the varnished edge for support. His limp is always at its worst by this time of night, so you’re not surprised to see the flicker of relief that slips over him when he finally sinks into the chair. 

“Have you ever considered that maybe you work too hard?” Your voice teeters on the edge of concern, tracing idle shapes against the sheets with your nails. 

His answer is curt, and contradictory to the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “No.” 

Fumbling with his cufflinks—simple, unadorned things—Kaz rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. Afterwards, he flips open the thick ledger laid before him, plucking up a pen and dipping it into an awaiting pot of ink. 

Kaz keeps track of the Dregs expenses in his head—a skill you’ve always found most impressive, since you can hardly do a simple equation without scratch paper. Still, he keeps the physical record for the sake of having something to point to in case someone’s ever stupid enough to claim Dirtyhands flubbed the numbers. 

As he works, boredom quickly becomes a chip on your shoulder. 

Your legs unfurl, bare feet stretching toward the floor as you slip off the edge of the bed. Every step is purposeful, traipsing toward him with a look that’s not so unlike a cat readying to toy with its favorite mouse. 

“Maybe we should take a holiday,” you suggest, your voice a soft trill. 

One part of you expects to be ignored, the other to be shot down. 

He lands somewhere in the middle. 

“And go where? His eyes remain focused on the ledger, dark brows drawn tight in concentration. You envision numbers flashing before him, adding and subtracting at the steady pass of the nib scratching against parchment. 

“I don’t know. Ravka, maybe?” 

“Ravka?” It’s like the word tastes sour on his tongue. “Why?” 

You stop just short of his desk, an answer instantly rapping at your mind. You quickly replace it with one that’s far less tragic. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Nikolai Lantsov with my own eyes,” you drawl. “Nina says he’s quite the looker, y’know.” 

Kaz sits up a little straighter, shoulders pinned with newfound tension. 

“Of course he is.” He seems to press the nib down harder, his disinterested tone bordering close to resentful. “He’s a prince—looking pretty is all they’re good for.” 

Your head tilts. “Well, he’s actually a king now, so…” 

There’s the briefest falter in the smooth motion of his jotting wrist. “I’m not taking you to Ravka so you can seduce the Lantsov bastard.” 

“And why not?” You reach for the tip of his cane, still propped against the desk, skimming a finger over the crow’s head. “You think I can’t do it?” 

The pen keeps on scratching, accented by the dull hum of the Slat’s perpetual motion—doors slamming, voices cackling. Your ego grows larger for every second Kaz stays silent, your satisfaction settling into a feline smirk. 

Simply, yet firmly, Kaz eventually maintains, “We’re not going to Ravka.” 

Your exhale is something over dramatic, laden with feigned disappointment as you huff, “Fine!” Kaz never looks up, continuing with the ledger. 

Abandoning the crow’s head, you swipe one of Kaz’s abandoned gloves off the desk, fiddling with the smooth leather. Still recovering from their civil war, you imagine Ravka isn’t an ideal travel spot right now, anyway. Not unless someone has a morbid desire to tour the sites where Saints met their often-grisly ends, that is… Besides, for all Nina’s praise of the Lantsov king, you’ve never actually had a thing for blondes. 

And yet— 

“I really would like to go someday.” Your voice is hardly a whisper. Your other answer—tragic and rapping—crawls up your throat in a hoarse admission, “My mother was Ravkan.” 

That persistent scratching finally comes to a sudden halt. 

For the first time since he entered the room, Kaz looks up. There’s not a hint of pity in his eyes, though they gleam with solemn understanding. Your lips thin, pressing his glove tight to your chest. 

In the winter of your fourteen birthday, you snuck into your father’s office and stole a full bottle of kvas. Dressed in clothes too light for the frigid weather, you sped up the crooked stairs to Kaz’s attic-bedroom, pleading until he begrudgingly agreed to join you on the moonlit roof. For a boy who claimed such an aversion to you, he was always doing things you asked—even if he’d griped the whole time. You both gagged after the first sip of hard liquor. After an hour or so, the full bottle had dwindled to just a drop, your tongues seeming to move with more freedom. 

Neither of you had been prepared for the way the carbonated joy in your chests fizzled to something stagnant. 

I don’t like being alone, you told him, fiddling with the frayed strings tied around your wrist, the friendship bracelets no one ever wanted. If I’m alone, it means I’m thinking, and if I’m thinking, it means my mother won’t stop dying. 

You told him of the endless montage in your head. How at six years old, a walk along the Stave in your favorite winter coat ended with getting crushed beneath the weight of your mother’s last act of devotion, shielded by a body crumpled and crimson, shorn in the crossfire of unexpected gang violence. When you fell silent, Kaz drained the last drop of kvas and told you about a coffee shop near the Exchange. About a sickboat and a boy named Jordie, about a frosty harbor and an impossible swim that left him unable to bear the touch of another’s skin. 

When neither of you had any soul left to bear, Kaz chucked the bottle off the roof. You don’t remember hearing it shatter, and maybe it never did. Maybe it hit some hapless pigeon and fractured his skull. Maybe it ceased to exist the moment it went over the edge. The bottle didn’t matter. Not to you. Not when Kaz Brekker reached for your wrist, leather-clad fingers gently tugging the bracelets off your wrist. 

Don’t make a thing of this, he told you, stuffing them in his pocket. You’re still a pest.

But it was a thing. A strange, beautiful thing—and both of you knew it. 

“Fine.” Kaz’s voice—the rasp of stone on stone—drags you back to the present. He sits the pen down beside the ledger, a strand of black hair swaying with the subtle shake of his head. “We’ll go to Ravka. You’ll seduce some sorry prince and live happily ever after in a gaudy palace. I’ll make my fortune snagging the Lantsov Emerald and use it to hire a proper bookkeeper. Deal?” 

Your lips twitch, still hugging his glove to your chest. “King,” you correct him. 

His eyes roll, but a flicker of something warm betrays his affection. “Pest,” he calls you, though it doesn’t sound like much of an insult. 

“I imagine the Grand Palace has fine exterminators,” you muse. 

“Then I suppose your marriage will be short-lived.” 

“Will you save me, then?” Your heart leaps with the question, how it slips from your tongue before you can grasp it. 

Kaz hesitates. Then—remarkably—smiles. 

“Maybe.”

a/n - you know what they say. a bottle of kvas is never just a bottle of kvas, amirite

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

anyways, i was procrastinating an essay and thought "lets write something with a somewhat ambiguous ending!" and voila, a boy's first pest is the product. now everyone say: lainie, go work on your original writing and stop writing so much fan fiction! (but i'm already thinking of a kaz smut drabble so) anyways, comments and reblogs much appreciated, i cry with joy every time someone actively interacts with my work so THANK YOU

[upsidedownwithsteve]

hi! im so glad ur doing well, my dash did feel a lil empty without your blurbs and random posts c:

if you're still in the writing mood, steve and unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping or not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out got me all soft and i think you'd write something cute w it :(((

🧡

Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was that animal part of your brains, the one Murray always spoke about, the part that quietly told you all there was safety in numbers.

Maybe it was because you’d all gone through enough to realise there were indeed very real reasons to be scared of the dark.

Movie nights turned into sleepovers, never really planned, but always wholly accepted. Bodies on couches, on the floor, sleeping bags pulled from attic spaces and kids crushed together top to toe on the pullout in the Wheeler’s basement. Someone on an old recliner, a blanket pulled from a picnic basket to use to keep warm, heaps of pillows making a patchwork on the floor, socked feet pressed to thighs because even in sleep it was nice to know your friends were close.

Maybe that’s why it happened.

A night of watching Jaws, everyone chewing on popcorn and pretending that there wasn’t something evil outside, something lingering in the dark that was so much worse than a big fish called Bruce. Before the credits could roll, before the spilled candy could be cleaned up, people would nod off one by one, soft snores becoming a well heard lullaby.

It was only you and Steve left, squished in the corner of the floor, sandwiched against the couch that Max and Eleven had claimed, your backs only just saved by a mismatch of sleeping bags and cushions reserved for the patio furniture in the summer. The TV buzzed with static, an indigo glow barely lighting the room and Steve had long lay down, cheek pressed to his pillow as he whispered back to you.

The conversation was never light hearted, not anymore, not even in the midst of a sleepover. Worried words always exchanged, knots between brows and an unsettled feeling in stomachs because everyone was past believing it might actually be okay this time.

Something had to give. Right? Right?

So sleep didn’t come easy, not when your last words, last thoughts were about survival and risk taking, about your friends getting hurt or worse. The chocolate coating your tongue turned to dust and everything tasted sour, so you stared into the dark until you felt it staring back, and only then did you close your eyes.

Sleep still didn’t come. It taunted you, teased at you from behind your eyelids, pulling you downdowndown until the sharp prod of the beginnings of a nightmare jerked you back awake.

At some point, when you lingered between sleeping and not, something touched your wrist. Something warm and heavy and comforting. You barely registered the feeling of it sweeping over your pulse, fingers bigger than yours curling over your palm, catching at the spaces between your own until you were holding on for dear life.

Something in the back of your mind told you it was safe, it was better now. You could sleep, it was okay, someone was looking after you.

A body, nudging a little closer, careful not to touch, but a solid wall of warmth beside you, a familiar scent, a thumb running circles over the back of your hand.

You didn’t wake until morning, after Nancy had stepped over your sleeping frame to start making coffee. You would’ve followed too, offered to help by pulling out mugs and cups, but something kept you tethered to the floor.

A hand in yours, fingers intertwined a little looser than before, but there all the same.

Steve.

The boy was still beside you, closer than when he’d fallen asleep, his nose dangerously near your own, his soft breaths huffing out warm air over your joined hands, clasped between your faces. He looked the most peaceful you’d seen him in months.

The lilac bruises under his eyes were still there, but his pink lips were parted lazily, lashes kissing his cheeks, his hair softer than you’d seen and falling into his eyes. He had a crease along his jaw from the sleeping bag zip, an indent of each stitch, pushed into his skin beside each freckle.

Someone stretched and groaned and the boy shifted, only just, nose wrinkling, lips pouting, his hand grasping yours a little tighter - as if even in sleep, he didn’t dare lose you.

You heard Nancy crack some eggs into a bowl, the coffee machine gurgling.

You stayed, holding onto Steve as tightly as he held onto you - if only until it was time to wake up.

[unboundprompts]

Idk if you’ve done this yet but ways to describe a dark/scary motel/house? Something straight out of a paranormal horror story to be precise.

Thank you!! 🫶🏼

I love love love horror. If you ever want more horror prompts please let me know :)

Descriptions of Haunted Locations

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

The doors of the motel were identical, nothing differentiating them besides the rusted numbers. They were dirty, as if they had never been cleaned, and the paint had been chipped off over time. Some of the doors looked like they were covered in claw marks-- fingernails digging into the old paint in chilling, desperate lines.

The house was old. It looked like it hadn't been cared for in decades. The grass in the yard was up to her knees and ivy leaves grew on the exteriors of the house and rooted in the gutters. The windows were boarded up, making it look abandoned. The only way to glimpse the inside of the house was through the attic window.

The entry way was filled with dust. It lingered in the air and on every surface. He glanced up at the antique chandelier hanging high overhead, seeing the dirt and grime that dirtied the glass crystals. He tried the light switch, flicking it up and down but to no avail. When he turned on his phone's flashlight, and shone it through the dusty air, a shadow passed in front of him, darting through the entry way and up the stairs.

The motel room was small, the bed made with a comforter that looked like it came from their great-grandmother's house. It was a dirty floral pattern, with yellow pillows that were probably once white. The carpet was stained. Either with blood or dark red wine, they weren't sure. And the window that looked out onto the walkway was covered in fingerprints.

Taxidermy. The lobby of the motel was filled with horrible dead animals mounted to walls and displayed in the corners. She was near certain that their eyes would move. As she checked in, the taxidermy squirrel that sat on the desk stared at her with it's teeth bared.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[redtsundere-writes]

Would you consider continuing sukunaxservant? I’m in love with that au 💗💗💗

🥺👉👈 I beg

Hiya! Since you guys and Wattpad ate up my King!Sukuna x Servant!Reader one-shots, I decided to turn it into a series on Wattpad and AO3!

The first 4 one-shots (Ear Cleaning, Ribs, Blood Bath and Eyes on Me) will be included, but they'll be longer and better. So if you like any of those caught your attention, please check out the full version :) Thank you for the support!

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

PICK YOUR FAVORITE!

AO3 or Wattpad?

CHAPTER 1 PREVIEW! ↆ

Sukuna walked through the corridors illuminated by the dark sun that ruled among the kingdoms. His long, heavy footsteps made the marble floor rumble under his weight. His sharp profile, tattooed shoulders and large body, contrasted by the reddish sky of the cursed land, terrifying any small human who encountered him. He was a king who could control anything thanks to the terror that his large body and absolute power conveyed. He had the power on his hands to kill whatever and whenever he wanted like an omnipotent god, but he liked to watch his rats run from one side to the other to obey his mercy. It amused him to play with his servants to the point of making them cry, tremble or, in extreme cases, commit suicide. He had plenty of servants, so he could afford to kill as many as he wanted. The poor uniformed humans trembled if his dark eyes rested on them. They all tried to dodge him at all costs to avoid performing tasks that involved being near him, especially cleaning his ears. 

Being a monster with senses sharpened to the max, he hated having his ears touched, but it was necessary for him to clean them to have his five senses ready for any battle. He is not someone ticklish, but his ears are the most sensitive part of his entire body. He could clean his own ears himself, but what kind of almighty, omnipotent king would clean his own ears when others could do it?

His eyes navigated through the long and endless corridors of the terrifying castle where he lived with all his subjects. The king's home was a place where darkness, cold, and uncertainty dominated the atmosphere. Even though it was surrounded by luxuries, it felt more like a secret attic than a castle fit for a king. Silver chandeliers, red candles parading on the walls and furniture upholstered with exotic fabrics from around the world decorated each room that was commonly surrounded by portraits made by hundreds of artists who feared for their lives. 

His predatory eyes sought out the first poor servant that crossed his path. He heard the bristles of a broom being scrubbed against the floor. Sukuna spotted a small figure sweeping one of the guest rooms. There you were, humming a song softly from your childhood as you made the broom dance from side to side. You were so focused on your task that you didn't notice the king standing dangerously close to you. As you turned around, you suddenly bumped into his imposing body, giving you a mini heart attack. Dressed in elegant robes, gold rings on each finger and with a wicked grin on his face, he was looking at you as if you were a despicable creature he could get rid of in the blink of an eye. 

You are the youngest and most inexperienced servant in the entire castle. You had not been living there for more than two months, so your direct interactions with the king had been few. Sukuna saw you from head to toe. He remembered you perfectly from the day he met you. Your neatly combed pigtails with two white bows showed off your innocence, the corset accentuated your small waist and the long brown skirt covered your promising legs. He accepted it, you were cute. Other than that, you were a disgusting human like everyone else, but there was something about you that caught his attention. Sukuna didn't know exactly what it was that you had. For the time being, he would continue to treat you as you deserved for being a nasty rat. Immediately, you knelt before your majesty. Your head rested in your hands against the freshly swept floor, your fingers barely touching his feet because of the closeness. 

“Are you having fun?” Sukuna asked, sarcastic. 

“No, my king,” you answered quickly, avoiding making eye contact. 

Sukuna placed one of his bare feet on your back. The oppressive weight crushed you against the cold floor. You prayed inwardly that your bones wouldn't start to creak. You bit your lower lip and closed your eyes tightly to avoid letting out a moan of pain. Having satisfied his need to make the new maid see who her master is, he removed his foot from your agonized back. You took a deep breath to fill your lungs with air again. 

“To my room. Now,” he ordered without deigning to look at you before leaving the room. You remained on the floor, slowly catching your breath. A metal taste touched your tongue. You bit your lower lip so hard what it was bleeding.

FULL CHAPTER ON WATTPAD / AO3!

[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

Lestat/Armand + Moments that makes me feel Insane

If there had been a summons, I never heard it. If there was a greeting, I didn't sense it now. He was merely looking at me, a radiant creature in jewels and scalloped lace. And it was Cinderella revealed at the ball, this vision, Sleeping Beauty opening her eyes under a mesh of cobwebs and wiping them all away with one sweep of her warm hand. The sheer pitch of incarnate beauty made me gasp. Yes, perfect mortal raiment, and yet he seemed all the more supernatural, his face too dazzling, his dark eyes fathomless and just for a split second glinting as if they were windows to the fires of hell. And when his voice came it was low and almost teasing, forcing me to concentrate to hear it: All night you've been searching for me, he said, and here I am, waiting for you. I have been waiting for you all along. - The Vampire Lestat

He looked to Gabrielle, who stood near the fire, and then to me. And silently, he said, Love me. You have destroyed everything! But if you love me, it can all be restored in a new form. Love me. This silent entreaty had an eloquence, however, that I can't put into words. "What can I do to make you love me?" he whispered. "What can I give? The knowledge of all I have witnessed, the secrets of our powers, the mystery of what I am?" It seemed blasphemous to answer. And as I had on the battlements, I found myself on the edge of tears. For all the purity of his silent communications, his voice gave a lovely resonance to his sentiments when he actually spoke. - The Vampire Lestat

"It wasn't that I wanted vengeance," he whispered. His face was stricken, his heart broken. He said. "But you came to be healed, and you did not want me! A century I had waited, and you did not want me!" And I knew, as I had all along really, that my restoration was illusion, that I was the same skeleton in rags, of course. And the house was still a ruin. And in the preternatural being who held me was the power that could give me back the sky and the wind. "Love me and the blood is yours," he said. "This blood that I have never given to another." I felt his lips against my face. "I can't deceive you," I answered. "I can't love you. What are you to me that I should love you? A dead thing that hungers for the power and the passion of others? The embodiment of thirst itself?" [...] Yet memory plays its tricks. Maybe I imagined it, his last invitation, and the anguish after. The weeping. I do know that as the months passed he was out there again. I heard him from time to time just walking those old Garden District streets. And I wanted to call to him, to tell him that it was a lie I'd spoken to him, that I did love him. I did. - The Vampire Lestat

In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes—a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was. “That’s what you always want,” he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn’t hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it at all. “When you found me under Les Innocents,” he said, “you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves.” “Yes,” I said, “and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.” My tone was angry. “You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.” We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard. - Memnoch

Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist. - The Vampire Armand

I wanted to take him in my arms. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him wherever he'd gone and whatever had taken place, he was now safe again with us, but nothing could quiet him. A deep exhaustion saved us all from the inevitable tale. We had to seek our dark corners away from the prying sun, we had to wait until the following night when he would come out to us and tell us what had happened. Still clutching the bundle, refusing all help, he closeted himself up with his wound. I had no choice but to leave him. As I sank down that morning into my own resting place, secure in clean modern darkness, I cried and cried like a child on account of the sight of him. Oh, why had I come to his aid? Why must I see him brought low like this when it had taken so many painful decades to cement my love for him forever? - The Vampire Armand

Two hundred years ago he stripped me of illusions, lies, excuses, and thrust me on the Paris pavements naked to find my way back to a glory in the starlight that I had once known and too painfully lost. But as we waited finally in the handsome high-rise apartment above St. Patrick's Cathedral, I had no idea how much more he could strip from me, and I hate him only because I cannot imagine my soul without him now, and, owing him all that I am and know, I can do nothing to make him wake from his frigid sleep. - The Vampire Armand

Of course I knew the very moment that he left this world. I felt it. I was in New York already, very near to him and aware that you were there as well. Neither of us meant to let him out of our sight if at all possible. Then came the moment when he vanished in the blizzard, when he was sucked out of the earthly atmosphere as if he'd never been there. Being his fledgling you couldn't hear the perfect silence that descended when he vanished. You couldn't know how completely he'd been withdrawn from all things minuscule yet material which had once echoed with the beating of his heart. - The Vampire Armand

“Armand,” I said. “Please.” I dropped down on my knees in front of him, looking up into his face. All the emotion he had held back was printed there now. He was in a rage. “Is your heart totally turned against me?” I asked. “Do you have no faith in what we seek to build here?” “Fool,” he said again. His voice was roughened now by emotion he couldn’t suppress. “I have always loved you,” he said. “I have loved you more than any being in all the world whom I’ve ever loved. I have loved you more than Louis. I have loved you more even than Marius. And you have never given me your love. I would be your most faithful counselor, if you allowed it. But you don’t. Your eyes pass over me as if I don’t exist. And so they always have.” - Blood Communion

“I love you still,” he said. “Yes, even now, I love you, as they all love you, your minions seeking just a smile or a nod or a quick touch of your hand. I love you like all those throughout this palace who are dreaming of drinking just a drop of your blood. Well, you can leave me now. I’m not going anywhere. Where is there to go? I’ll be here if you want me. And grant me my wish for the moment, you and your august friends. Go and leave me alone.” - Blood Communion

Armand suddenly began to weep. “Don’t do it, don’t trust him,” he said. “Lestat, he’ll just destroy you. And if you are gone—.” Ah, such sweet words from one who only hours ago had been cursing me with his every breath. - Blood Communion

The only thought in my mind, the only image, the only idea, was of Armand, and how Armand would feel when he too could hold Marius like this and know that Marius lived, that Marius had been restored, that all of them were safe and secure, and using my strongest power I sent the word to him. I sent the news. And I sent my love to Armand with it. - Blood Communion

[fanfic-she-wrote]

Second Chances

(Beetlejuice x Lydia Deetz)

Chapter 1

(Spoilers for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice ⚠️ Do not read if you haven’t seen the movie!)

Chapter 2:

Breakfast was quiet as Astrid and Lydia sat at the table both lost in thought about last night. Lydia was thinking about Betelgeuse and whether or not to contact him. Did he even want to see her? Probably not. She thought mindlessly stirring her cereal around in the bowl with her spoon.

Astrid on the other hand was wondering why her mother was near the attic at all. Was she just going up there to check on things like she said or was she actually going to see Betelgeuse. Why she wanted to she didn’t understand. If only her mother would tell her.

Astrid looked up at Lydia and noticed how far off she looked. Something was bothering her. She opened her mouth, hesitating for a moment to say anything.

“Mom?” She spoke.

Lydia looked up looking almost surprised at the sudden interaction. “Yes?”

“Why were you going up to the attic last night?” She asked, hoping she would give her an honest answer this time. There was a long pause as Lydia was trying to decide exactly how to respond.

“I don’t even know. I just couldn’t get him out of my head.” Lydia finally answered.

“Like he’s haunting you?” Astrid asked, sounding concerned.

“In a sense... it’s like I’m drawn to him. I want to talk to him.” Lydia said looking down at her bowl almost feeling ashamed for wanting to but she couldn’t help it.

Astrid stared at her for a moment trying to process what she had said. She couldn’t believe she would actually want to see him. “Could he be manipulating you somehow?”

She shook her head, no, in response.

“There is just something about him. I can’t explain it but it was different this time. He was different. The ways he helped us out…and even during the wedding he was in a weird, slightly creepy way, kind of sweet.” Lydia admitted.

There was a long pause.

“You must think I’m crazy right?” She murmured still not looking at Astrid.

“Well…I don’t get it but if that’s what you want to do, I support you.” Astrid told her, placing her hand over Lydia’s.

“Thank you.” She said letting out of sigh of relief, grateful her daughter understood.

“Hey if it were me swooning over some dead guy you’d support me too right?” Astrid remarked.

“I am not swooning!” Lydia exclaimed a faint blush forming on her cheeks.

“Sure, sure.” The teen smirked, rolling her eyes jokingly.

—————————

Betelgeuse walked about the tiny model cemetery which he did on occasion, playing over the almost wedding in his mind. He had it planned out so perfectly. He was sure Lydia wouldn’t be able to say no. He did everything Rory didn’t and it still wasn’t good enough. If only she’d give him a chance. Just one kiss and—

Suddenly, he heard the door creak open. He stopped dead in his tracks and watched as Lydia made her way over to the model town. Why was she here? He wondered.

Lydia took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she was about to do.

“Beetlejuice.”

The room suddenly became very cold and the drapes fluttered wildly even though the windows weren’t open.

“Beetlejuice.”

The attic became an eerie green color and smoke began to emanate from the model town before her.

“Beetlejuice.”

Then everything went dark and silent. She held her breath, waiting in anticipation.

“You called?” A gruff voice spoke from behind her making her jump in surprise.

“You really need to stop sneaking up on people.” Lydia snapped.

“Hey, it’s what I do.” Betelgeuse shrugged.

“So, what do you want now?” He said trying to sound more indifferent than he felt. Secretly he was glad that he could see her again. He wanted to be mad at her, but couldn’t.

“You.” Lydia answered simply. Betelgeuse looked down at her, stunned at her response. Did he hear he correctly?

He stuck his finger in his ear to clean it out, but instead of earwax he pulled out a little green bug. He flicked it across the room and turned back to Lydia. “Say that again?”

“I want you. Just you.” Lydia clarified.

“Wait? What? Really?!” He asked, perking up. She nodded and gave him a small smile.

Without warning, he pulled her into a hug and spun her around. “I knew you’d come around! You won’t regret it! I’ll-“ She pushed him away and placed a finger on his lips, shushing him.

“I want to go slow.” She told him. “I won’t send you back, but you have to promise to behave.”

Betelgeuse nodded his head in agreement. “I’ll try, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up babe.”

“Beetlejuice!”

“Eeeee! Ok, ok! I’ll behave.” He exclaimed with a flinch.

“Good!” Lydia smiled, satisfied with herself and turned back towards the door, Betelgeuse following her.

“What about a little mischief? Maybe scaring the occasional Jehovah’s witness?” He asked hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Aww cmon, ya gotta work with me here! I can’t just quit cold turkey.” Betelgeuse insisted half jokingly.

“I’m serious. I’ll send you back.” Lydia assured him.

He let out a defeated sigh. “Ok, ok fine. I can do this…but only for you.” He said pointing towards her.

Lydia’s heart skipped a beat repeating what he said over in her mind. “Only for you.”

[violetthistle1]

Excerpt 3 from Singing in the Dead of Night by Violet_Thistle on Ao3.

Sirius looked to Remus. “So, what’s next on the agenda for the day?” 

Remus looked at him with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye. He leaned closer to Sirius and spoke in a near whisper. “Mischief.”

Sirius and Remus were crouched under the invisibility cloak going throughout the house, exploring all the nooks and crannies in every wing, and when they found the perfect spots, they placed a tiny ceramic miniature frog. When found and picked up, it would let out a loud ribbit and, if dropped, would hop to a new hiding place. They had nearly a hundred frogs, all the size of a thumbnail. Soon there were frogs in clean mugs in the cupboard, hidden under the sugar in the sugar crock, behind books on the shelf, in medicine cabinets, in the box of Christmas decorations, in the junk drawer, in the chicken coop, in the spare luggage, and a myriad of other places, but Sirius was most proud of the one he hid in a new box in the attic marked “open only in the eventuality of my death - S. Black”.

“Do you think these count as unwelcome surprises?” Sirius asked. 

Remus shook his head and waved him off. “We’re all pretty traumatized, but I don’t think finding a mini ribbiting frog is going to set anyone off.”

Just as he finished his thought, they both heard a loud ribbit coming from the kitchen. They ditched the invisibility cloak and ran to catch the reaction of their first prankee. 

It was Charlie, who had let out an undignified squeal at the ribbit, and jumped back as he dropped the tiny amphibian. It hopped away and around the corner of the island and into the hallway. Sirius lost sight of it as it entered the study, destined to find plenty of hiding spots among the trinkets, books, and scattered papers.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Charlie looked at Sirius for some kind of answer. 

“It seemed like a charmed frog figurine to me, but I didn’t get a good look at it.” Sirius glanced towards the study, then back at Charlie innocently. It would have been more believable if Remus wasn’t standing behind him falling to pieces with laughter. 

Charlie rolled his eyes and huffed. “Honestly, it’s like living with the twins again, having you two around.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60195556

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[hekateinhell]

Having my daily bout of Lestat/Armand brainrot and remembering the infamous quote from MtD:

In a way, he [Armand] made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes—a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was.

"That's what you always want," he said softly. [...].

"Yes," I said, "and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair." My tone was angry. "You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love."

And then contrasting it against this bit in TVA— where Armand, the only person Lestat permits near him—is the one to tend to Lestat's hair and kiss his face as he lays catatonic on the church floor:

I reached out, and without flinching or hesitating, I brushed his hair back from his face.

I could feel the shock in the room. I heard the sighs, the gasps from the others. But Lestat himself didn't stir.

Slowly, I brushed his hair more tenderly, and I saw to my own mute shock one of my tears fall right onto his face. [...].

I knelt down and I kissed his hair.

He didn't move. He didn't change. I wasn't the slightest bit afraid that he would, or hopeful that he would either. I kissed him one more time on the side of his face, and then I got up, and I wiped my hands on the napkin which I still had, and I went out.

They break my heart (affectionate).

[jungle-angel]

May Your Days Be Warm And Bright And Your Wedding Day Be White (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: The big day for you and Cal is finally here

Tagging: @floydsmuse @lewmagoo I hope you guys are ok with me including Father McDowell in this. Meggy, you've finally convinced me to write for Calvin and Leah, I can't thank you enough for including me on that taglist for the Rhett fic you posted. You guys are awesome.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+, religious references, etc.

Cal took a deep breath as he straightened his bowtie in the mirror. He had never really been one for black and white, but he was determined to make an impression, seeing as you had both been waiting for this day for a long time.

He thought back to that glorious fall day when you had been walking around campus, both of you newly hired at the college, him in the chemistry department and you, the new nursing professor. Cal had taken you and Six-Thirty down to a favorite spot of his near the river, a beautiful little spot near the river on a path that he had used on his daily run with your canine companion. When he had pulled out his grandmother's ring, you truly realized what you meant to each other.

"Hell's Bells boyo," chuckled the old Irish priest. "Sweatin through yer dress suit are ye?"

"Any more and I'll be a puddle on the floor, Padre," Cal joked.

Father McDowell laughed. "Well, if the worst I have to do is have Helen clean you up with a rag, then I s'pose it's a good day eh?"

Cal smiled and shook his head. He quickly noticed the odd, laughing expression on the priest's face. "What?" he asked.

"Thinkin back to the day when you and John ended up on our doorstep," he chuckled. "Now look at ye, a fine young man, smarter'n a whip and who can command a chemistry lab as though it be a U.S Cavalry regiment. I'm proud of ye Calvin. And I'm proud of (y/n) too."

"She's amazing isn't she?" Calvin said.

"Amazin ain't even the half of it," Father McDowell chuckled. "Brigid's fire burns bright in that one I tell ye and if any o' the pretentious little bootlicks at the university wish to go after'er, I'll break both their legs and their balls all at once."

Calvin burst into a full fit of laughter until his older brother, James, poked his head in the door. "Cal, you ready?" he asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Cal answered.

Father McDowell clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "Go git'er me boyo," he told him.

The smile that crawled across Cal's face, at that very moment, would have made you scream.

**************

"Oh God I'm so nervous.....ow!"

"Sorry, sorry," Mei apologized. "There's just alot to work with."

You smiled at her, along with the rest of the girls. Cal's sisters, Barbara and Kathleen, were busy looking after Lucy, Barbara's daughter, while Georgina and Betty, were helping with each other's makeup.

Mei had done serious wonders along with her twin sister, Betty. You looked so natural and so beautiful with your hair all done up and the lightest little touches of makeup here and there.

You and the girls had all risen at some ungodly hour of the morning to get ready to do each other's hair and makeup with Lucy barely sitting still long enough for Barbara to run a brush through her unruly curls. Your wedding dress had been kept in the closet at Mei's house, the something old that your mother had given to you when she had heard you and Calvin were engaged.

"So we have a something old," Mei mused as she combed back the last bits of hair out of your face. "And a something new?"

"My shoes," you chuckled.

"A something borrowed?"

"Momma's wedding veil," Barbara piped in. "Which Tony brought down from the attic this morning."

You breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Barbara's husband had brought Patricia's newly repaired wedding veil down from the attic. The veil desperately needed repairing after having been in the attic for so long with you, your mother-in-law and the girls all pitching in to help.

"Something blue?" Mei asked.

"Not yet I'm afraid," you answered.

"Ah, I'll take care of that," she said excitedly. "From me, Betty, Mama, Baba and Nai-Nai."

You opened the little black velvet box, a hand flying to cover your mouth. It was a small blue and gold hair pin that took the shape of a brilliant phoenix, the bird hardly bigger than the tip of your middle finger.

"Mei where did you.....?"

"That was Nai-Nai's when she got married in China," Mei explained. "When they left Guangzhou during the war, it was one of the only family treasures she could carry with her. She gave it to me when I got married and now, I want you to borrow it."

You could've cried right then and there. You gave her and Betty the biggest hug you could possibly give, when Patrica, Calvin's mother, poked her head in.

"Oh (y/n) you look so beautiful!" she gasped, trying not to be loud and give anything away.

"Thank you Pat," you said, trying to control the emotions as you hugged your soon to be mother-in-law.

"We're ready when you are," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

You took a shaky deep breath as you and your bridesmaids readied themselves. Six-Thirty made his way up to you, sitting up as straight as he could on his haunches, the small basked clamped between his teeth. It wouldn't be long before you were officially Mrs. (Y/N) Evans and though you were nervous, you wouldn't have it any other way.

*****************

Cal stood nervously near the church altar, the pews already full of family and friends and people at the college you were close with. He bit his lip with anticipation as your mother walked in with Dr. Powers and then his parents. His father, Henry Evans Jr., stood tall and proud in his Marine Corps. dress blues, his cap tucked under one arm and his mother, Patricia on the other. His aunt began to sing from the choir loft as your bridesmaids and their husbands and boyfriends all walked in, each one looking like a queen in their lilac colored dresses. Lucy and Six-Thirty trailed in front of them, the tiny little girl hanging onto his collar to keep her balance.

Calvin's jaw dropped the minute he saw you enter, his hand flying to his mouth to keep from breaking down right then and there. He couldn't believe it. Here you were in front of him, in your momma's wedding dress, ready to take a vow to be his wife.

Your father gave you away, a few tears in his eyes as Cal took you on his arm. Father McDowell kept his sermon short and to the point before you and Cal read your vows to each other, trying to hold back the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to pull you both under.

"........My love, I could never imagine where I'd be without you," Calvin spoke. "Where I once felt lost, I found you, so unexpectedly and completely out of the blue, that it felt like a dream. From the moment I met you, I wanted to give you the whole world. You are my how and you are my why.......I love you (y/n).....so, so much."

There wasn't a dry eye in the house when you read yours either. Even Cal's father, the saltiest Marine you had ever met, was biting his lip, trying not to cry and claiming it was just allergies.

Before long, Six-Thirty brought you and Cal the tiny little wicker basket with the rings inside, returning to Cal's side and sitting a little straighter than before. When Father McDowell announced that you were now Mr. and Mrs. Calvin Evans, the whole church roared with applause, especially when you and Calvin shared your first kiss.

******************

The reception had all been one hell of a blur, you and Calvin having an absolute blast with your friends and family at the hotel downtown. You shared your first dance with family and friends joining you soon after, but not long into the night, the shenanigans had begun to ensue. You didn't really remember any of the family members with little home video cameras running around filming it, but once the film was developed, perhaps it would jog your foggy memory.

You and Calvin stumbled upstairs, laughing a little bit after having had a little too much to drink that evening. Knowing his family, they would still be downstairs in the reception hall at five in the morning, singing every drinking song they could remember off the top of their heads.

"Ready for bed Mr. Evans?" you purred.

"My head's a little achy, so I'd say yes," he answered, his voice a little slurred and sleepy.

He gently took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply. Even after all that, Calvin still couldn't believe you were his at last.

"Need some help Mrs. Evans?" he asked you.

The way the words rolled off his tongue made your legs clench a little. "Just with the back," you told him.

Calvin quickly undid the back of your dress, before you hung it up in the closet. You slipped into the bathroom to change into a little something that Barbara had picked out for you and when you emerged, fresh and clean from a bath, you couldn't help but blush when you saw the naughty look on your husband's face.

"C'mere," he beckoned, his voice low like the first roll of thunder before the storm.

You crawled right into bed with him, the sheets and soft comforters falling over the both of you. Calvin pulled you right on top of him, pulling one leg up over his hip as he kissed you deeply, softly rubbing your thigh and trailing to the swell of your ass.

"So gorgeous," he mumbled. "My pretty little wife."

Your own hand trailed from his chest, down the soft little indents in his belly, the marks of hard exercise and days spent rowing out on the lake near the campus grounds. Your hand dipped a little into his shorts, hoping that his cock would grow swell in your hand.

"Like what you feel there sweetheart?" he chuckled.

You hummed as you kissed him deeply, his hands roaming as they played with the hem of your white satin slip. "Wanna take this off," Calvin whispered under his breath. "Wanna feel every little bit of you."

You pawed a little longer at his cock until you felt it growing, eliciting a moan from your husband. "Sweetheart?"

"Hmm?"

"Help me," he mumbled. "Wanna let my cock out."

You giggled a little as you helped him off with his shorts, his breath growing rapid and the heat from his body radiating onto you. When you saw his now freed cock, straight at attention and red with heat, you couldn't resist. You desperately wanted it inside you and Cal could see the look in your eyes.

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's alright," he said softly. "I'm here to help......easy now.....good.....good girl.....oh sweetheart, you're taking me so well....."

You whimpered a little bit as Cal guided you down onto his rock solid cock, caught completely off guard at how big he actually was.

"Now, now it's alright," he cooed, reaching up and spreading his finger across your stomach. "It's alright......"

You rocked back and forth on his cock to get comfortable. You loved how deep he could go, just deep enough to rub all the right places so that your core tingled. You gently moved his hands to your hips to keep you steady, fearing that when your orgasm finally hit, you would fall over.

"There we go......" Cal murmured. "Back and forth.....back and forth.....oh......good......good sweetheart, there we go......feel better now?"

You nodded.

A moan fell from your lips as you felt his cock twitching inside you, the wetness between your legs obscene as it married with the noises you both made. Calvin sat right up as he kissed you, pulling the bedcovers around you as your legs wrapped around his waist and his deft hands lifted your satin slip over your head and tossed it to the corner with his shorts. He held you so gently in those strong arms of his, letting your head rest against his shoulder as he slowly drew your orgasm out of you.

"Cal...?" you moaned. "Cal....?"

"Shhhh.....sweetheart....." he purred. "Gently.....gently my love.....not so rough now."

You calmed right back down as soon as he kissed you again, his hands roaming over your back and shoulders. You had no idea that this position could feel so fucking good. You and Cal had experimented a little here and there, but now you were so close together, that the space between you both had become nonexistent. You felt your orgasm intensify when you felt each other's tits pressing against each other and before long, you felt a sudden burst and a gush erupting between your legs.

Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the intense sex, but you and Calvin could barely keep your eyes open as you lay side by side in the comfy bed of the hotel room. You were more than content to sleep in the arms of your husband that night, knowing there would be plenty of time to do other things in the morning.

You and Calvin slept all through the night and for the better part of the morning as the sun came streaming through the hotel room windows. You didn't even hear the jangling of Six-Thirty's collar as he entered the room nor did you see him climb to Cal's side of the bed and begin licking his face.

"Oh, OH GOD!" Cal exclaimed suddenly. "Aw Six-Thirty, that's gross!"

Six-Thirty gave a sheepish little *WOOF!* before settling on the floor.

"Are you ok dear?" you laughed.

"No I've got dog drool all over my mouth," Calvin chuckled.

His disgust was soon broken when he saw a note attached to Six-Thirty's collar. He pulled it out and unrolled it, the message scrawled in black ink.

Your flight leaves for Key West tomorrow morning, don't be late---Dad

"What is it?" you asked, pressing a soft kiss to Cal's shoulder.

"Just a note from Dad," he answered. "Flight to Key West is tomorrow and you know what that means."

You were both filled with wild excitement, knowing that it would be your honeymoon trip......two whole weeks in a little cottage in Key West, Florida and no troubles whatsoever.

"I love you Mrs. Evans," Calvin mumbled, pressing a few soft pecks to your cheek and the side of your head.

"And I love you too Mr. Evans," you purred softly.

[satansaidnottoday]

Penance.

Info: Belphegor x GN!Mc, OG Game.

Word count: 2,1k

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

Warnings: NSFW, angst, murder, verbal abuse, physical abuse, isolation, choking, obsession, stalking.

When Barbatos brought you back, your head was filled with questions. How were you there? Was this really you? Was it another version of yourself, made to replace the one they had broken? The one he had broken. Perhaps you were the same person, seconds before the moment of your death. But that couldn't be.

Because you remembered.

And you felt.

You felt his hands still on your throat. You felt his nails digging into your skin. Your head still hurt. And it would hurt for so long after, that you would sometimes convince yourself that you were still on that floor. Bleeding to death.

You saw him again when Barbatos took you back to the house. He sat in the common room, looking at you. Smiling.

That stupid, rotten, miserable smile.

That smile you had wanted to see on him for so long.

You wanted to tear it off his face.

He had wished you'd come back to him, and there you were. Alive. Despite his reckless actions, despite his mistake, you were back!

His brothers got to you first. They surrounded you, like a flock to their shepherd. Desperate to see if you were real.

He waited patiently for his turn. He knew you probably were mad at him, but for sure you'd forgive him. He had lied to you and you forgave him. He had yelled at you a few times and you didn't care. For sure you'd forgive him once he explained, and then he could tell you how much he loved you. It would be perfect.

Then Beel moved back and your eyes fell on him. And he smiled because he was so happy to see you again.

But your eyes were so cold. Colder than your corpse. They carried a hatred bigger than your body, and bigger than all the love you used to have for him.

"Mc..."

"Don't come near me."

The first few weeks you didn't talk to him at all. He would try to approach you but you ignored him every time. He wanted to grab you, to kneel and beg your forgiveness. But he was scared of touching you. You looked so horrified when he came near, bracing yourself.

He was even lonelier than before. His brothers avoided him, barely holding a conversation with him before finding an excuse to leave. Only Beelzebub talked to him. But everyone else refused to stay with Beel if Belphegor was in the same room, so he started to distance himself. He didn't want his twin to end up alone like him.

And he was left like that, forgotten. Ironically he found comfort hiding in the attic. It was quiet and away from everyone. He wouldn't feel the sting of being ignored if he ignored them first.

All of his memories of you were there, too. He sat on the floor in front of the door and imagined you were coming. He guessed what you were going to tell him, what jokes you'd make with each other. Maybe you'd get him his favorite chocolate or a hand-made decoration to make his room more comfy. Most days he'd fall asleep there, waiting for you.

The only moments he shared with his family were the meals. He sat silently, trying to steal a look at you, but you never lifted your eyes from the plate.

You were closed off from everyone at first, still processing everything that had happened. The brothers pampered you, yet you still felt bad.

You jumped from the slightest of things, telling them off for surprising you or entering your room without permission. They were cautious around you, they didn't know what to do with you. They didn't understand how humans process trauma, but they tried their best.

You had nightmares every night. The exact moment of your death was repeated constantly. You felt your lungs empty, your legs giving up. You felt his skin under your hands, as you gripped his arms, begging with your eyes for him to stop.

But he never stopped.

You gave up sleeping all together. You would stay awake all night studying or cleaning.

Fatigue would get you during the day and you'd take short, dreamless naps.

About a month later, you started to get your courage back.

You didn't avoid his eyes anymore. Whenever he looked for you, you locked your gaze on him until he was too uncomfortable to keep looking.

Now, when Belphegor tried to approach, you didn't coward away. You told him to get lost and die. You called him ugly, disgusting, stupid, cruel, a filthy traitor.

It was nothing like you, your old kind, meek self. But it felt right. It made you hurt less, to see the hurt on his face.

He should feel shame, not you. He should be the one scared of you.

And it hurt him.

He just wanted to talk, he wanted to make it up to you. Yet every time he tried, it hurt worse than before. It hurt so much that the same voice that brought him peace and confidence before, was tearing him down.

He stopped coming near you at all. He skipped family meals. He stayed hidden away in the attic at all hours. You only ever saw glimpses of him at rad, but even then he would hide away from crowded places, choosing to sleep most of the day, as much as he could.

He couldn't hurt when he was asleep.

During your sleepless nights, you started to imagine your hands gripping his arms so hard that they left bruises, and he had to let go. And when he does you kick him. You stand on top of him and you kick him mercilessly until he stops moving.

But you didn't want to kill him, did you? No, you wanted to make him suffer just like you were. You restarted the scenario in your head, but this time you didn't kill him. You started clawing at his skin, crimson liquid sipping from the wounds you caused. Imagining the pain on his face filled you with adrenaline and excitement. For a second, you felt alive again.

So you kept making up scenarios in your head, torturing Belphegor in as many ways as you could imagine.

It wasn't healthy, but just thinking of how much pain you could cause, it was intoxicating. It was the only sort of therapy you had access to. The only thing making you feel better.

Eventually, your nightmares turned into your fantasies, growing more violent every day. But they also turned in unexpected directions.

You dreamt of whipping him, but also of kissing and licking at his wound. You dreamt of making him cry and then kissing him to shut him up. Biting down on his leg so hard you left marks and then making him wear shorts so everyone would see.

You'd wake up breached in your own sweat after those dreams. You didn't know how to feel about it. You convinced yourself they were nightmares, just your subconscious trying to mess with you. And you swore to hate them, yet you fell asleep every night happier than before.

He couldn't approach you, so he watched from afar. At RAD he sat far away behind you, looking at your every move. He'd follow you around the school, making sure to stay away from your view. You'd for sure scream at him if you saw him, but he only wanted to see you. Looking at you made him feel less lonely.

He loved you so much and you loved him too. You were just angry, but you had to come back to him eventually, right? He'd patiently wait it out until you finally forgave him and he could have you again. For now, he was fine just looking.

He started to sneak out to follow you wherever you went out. Every time you smiled and laughed with someone else, it hurt so much, that he couldn't make you happy anymore.

That someone else had what he was supposed to have.

But he could only watch. And he could imagine. Replacing whoever was there with himself.

He imagined holding you the way Asmodeus would when you tried out clothes. If he had his arms around you like that, he would never let go.

He imagined it was him taking you out to eat, in place of Lucifer. He sat at a table on the corner of the restaurant, watching you. Trying to read your lips and getting lost in them, thinking about how they'd taste.

He found the exact place in the attic, in which he could lay down and listen through the floorboards into Leviathan's room. Every time you guys were watching movies or playing games he'd lay there. He would laugh along with you, convincing himself it was him that made you laugh.

One night, as he waited in front of his door, he had an idea.

An amazing one, actually, if you asked him.

As much as he loved watching you, doing it from afar started to become stale. He wanted more. Your attention, your scent, your voice, your touch.

You wouldn't give it to him. But maybe he could have it somewhere else.

When he entered your dreams, something he was never quite brave enough to do, he didn't know what he would be forced to watch.

He sees you, as if through a bubble. You're in the planetarium and you're on top of him. He trashes around and silently screams as you choke him. You dig your nails into his neck and your knee onto his crotch as he whines and pleads. He can't see your face, he can only see his. And the pathetic look he makes as he comes.

And then you stand over what's left of him. What once was a powerful demon, reduced to a barely breathing, drooling mess.

You laugh as his dream version tries to hug you, but you only push him back.

And you look at him. The real him.

You smile.

And that smile was worse than your frown.

You woke dazed, confused. Your dreams had been normal lately. Going to the dog park with a cat, being late to class, the normal stuff. You thought you were getting over him, but this one felt so strangely real.

You laid back and looked at the ceiling. You wondered what he was doing up there. Was he crying, like you regularly imagined him? It'd usually put a smile on your face to think of that, but not that night.

You missed him, you realized. You wanted to check on him, you hadn't seen him in a while. You didn't want to admit it, but you just couldn't ignore the feeling anymore.

You wondered what you should do. Showing up unannounced and with no backup was a bad idea. It sounded like walking directly into the wolf's mouth. But you didn't want to go with anyone else. You wanted him alone, like you had him in your dreams. That version of him, the one that loved you.

A knock came at your door. You begrudgingly got out of bed to answer, guessing Mammon wanted your help with a scheme, or Beel wanted to share a snack with you.

He stood at the door, unsure of what to say. You were the nearest to him you had been since that day. You looked lovely up close, much more beautiful than he remembered. His heart raced faster, starting to doubt his decision.

"What are you doing he-"

"You can hurt me."

It came out like a prayer of devotion to a beloved god, and in some way, he thought it was. What he saw in your dreams, what you wanted to do with him, he wanted it too.

"What do you mean?"

You looked at him, lost in confusion. He was wearing the pajamas you had gifted him a long time ago. They looked misfit on him now. He had lost too much weight. He didn't look groomed or clean, and his smell didn't help. Not exactly sweat, but humidity, like the built-up under a mattress left on the floor.

"I want you to hurt me, to make up for what I did to you. Please, I can't live without you anymore."

He looked at you with big pleading eyes. He looked more sad and pathetic than ever. It broke your heart. It made you want to break his head.

You reached off his arm and he pushed onto your touch as you grabbed him. Throwing him in and closing the door behind you.

"Be my pet then."

He swallowed nervously under your hungry stare.

"Yes."

If you couldn't be his, he wanted to be yours.

Thank you for reading.