#but i would never have finished in time if I'd gone with it

[chrissv4mp]

𐙚 I'D RATHER DIE ALONE, TOGETHER

(really random scenario... bear with me cus this is terrible 💔)

Smoke surrounded you. The smell of it made you cough, and you took in what you thought would be your last breath of fresh air. The fire was all around you, burning each and every leaf off of all the trees in the valley. There was no escape. Fire was catching onto the dead grass a few inches away from the trail, and it was relentless in its pace.

You couldn't do anything but sit and stare as the flames grew higher and higher. As the heat began to consume your body, beads of sweat started to form on your face. Everybody was gone before you could even process the words that came from out of Billie's mouth, and then, suddenly, you were alone. All by yourself. Surrounded by mountains of flames and ashes.

Where was everyone? Why did the people, who you considered your closest friends, run away and not even take a glance back to see if you were following? Your head feels light, so you release your breath, bursting out into a fit of coughs as you choke on your spit. Another deep breath, but this one is almost full of polluted air. More coughs, your hand bunching up the fabric of your shirt in an attempt to ground yourself.

"Y/N," a familiar voice calls out your name, muffled by the roaring sounds of the flames about to consume your whole, but you still hear it. How could you not? It was the voice of your girl. And as you turn, you're met with the sight of your girlfriends concerned face. It's Billie, "Y/N." She calls again, and this time, hee voice is much clearer. She motions you over with her hand, the other holding her shirt up to her nose as a makeshift mask.

But you can't move. The fear coursing through your veins is almost paralyzing, and the only thing you can do is stare once again. Your mind runs with the fact that Billie was the only one to come and find you. You weren't looking for her. But she found you. She found you. Her eyes sparked with worry, glassy and full of fear for both her life and yours. She couldn't have you dying like this.

"Do you wanna die alone?," She asks, and it almost makes you fearful that she'll leave again. But, she stays, coughing quietly as she cautiously steps closer. Like she's scared that you'll run off into the flames because she really didn't know why you just stayed. She reaches her hand out, "Or watch it all burn down together?" The words ring in your ears, her voice becoming a blur of syllables.

Her fingers lace into yours, and that's when it hits. Billie had actually maneuvered her way through the hot flames, jeopardizing her own life, in an attempt to possibly save your own. Your thumb runs across the top of her hand, soothing both of your nerves as her eyes land on yours, "I'd rather try to hold onto you,"

"Forever." You finish. The corners of your mouth curve into a small smile despite your life-threatening situation. You can see the smoke surrounding your bodies, and tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but you stay strong. Billie sees right through you, though. How could she not after being by your side for this long? She drops the fabric of her shirt, finally breathing in the polluted air just to pull you into a hug.

A hug that she thought she'd never be able to give you again. Her eyes shut, breathing in your scent and getting the faintest bit of your perfume. She whispers sweet things into your ear as you both rock back and forth slowly, crying softly into each other's shoulders, "I love you. I'm not letting go." She mutters, kissing your cheek and cupping your face so that you could look each other in the eyes, "I'd rather die alone, together."

𐙚 tags : @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @afteraftercare @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @hopelessfawn @zayluvss @meliciousmel13

[cheshiresense]

Your latest time-travel verse made me rewatch Kyoraku vs Starrk battle over Fake Katakura.

I have to say, over the years, I have forgotten how sad that battle is. The way Starrk mourns even Barragan's death and loses his (already small to begin with) desire to fight after it... The only reason the guy followed Aizen was because Aizen gave him... friends��� A pack. The only reason he fought was to protect that pack. Doesn't matter if that pack consisted of some shady individuals. It was his. The first and only one he got in all his 1000+ years of existence. He had no desire to strike down his enemies - didn't kill Ukitake, proposed Love and Rose to retreat with their lives... In a way, he and Ichigo are very much alike in that sense.

Starrk was too honorable and naive and paid for that.

And Shunsui killed Lilynette😭 It is so heartrending when Starrk calls out to her with no answer...

Shunsui's philosophy, on the contrary, allows him "to be evil" in order to win. Yes, he does not like war, just like Starrk, but IMHO, "as soon as the war starts both sides are at fault" does not mean Shunsui is saying that both sides are wrong in the war and to not fight till you completely disable / kill your opponent. I think, to paraphrase, it means: "As soon as the war start, to win, both sides *will* have to be evil / There are no good people in a war because winning a war requires one to do evil things, so someone who were maybe a good person will have to become evil to win". This philosophy, basically, is "to unbound his hands" (as we say in our language, meaning when something is used to make a person free to act), a workaround that allows him to be ruthless to his opponents, despite his pacifistic nature.

Anyway, emotional rant over. I guess I just wanted to share my pain🥲 I just hope Shunsui killing a part of Starrk's soul and the only family he had will somehow be addressed between them in the future in your fic's universe. I think it's just too huge to leave out. And the only way I can see Starrk never saying anything at all to his Shunsui in TYBW timeline - is because he is THAT much of a sucker for pain and/or THAT much desperate for a genuine connection with somebody.

Starrk is just a really tragic character with a really tragic arc, canonically he was never meant to be saved or have a chance at something better.

I don't know if I'd call him particularly honourable, if only because that doesn't seem like the sort of thing he'd really think about and adhere to as a Hollow who'd spent his whole life in a place like Hueco Mundo, not in the same way a Shinigami would. I think it was more that he just didn't want to kill anyone when he'd already killed so many without ever having a choice in the matter, and now that he did, he didn't want to keep doing that if he didn't absolutely have to. He was definitely a bit naive about it because it was war, and he was up against one of the most powerful and ruthless Shinigami in existence. The moment he decided to hold back, he was destined to lose.

For Shunsui, I agree, he believes that to win a war, people have to get their hands dirty, and you can't do that and still remain "good". I also think he thinks that it's disrespectful to not do everything in his power to win, because even if that means throwing away his honour, to do anything less means risking the lives of those he's fighting that war for.

Which ties into why I personally think Starrk doesn't really blame Shunsui for Lilynette's death. I think Starrk is smart enough and similar enough to Shunsui to understand him. And why blame Shunsui when he can blame himself? He's the one who held back from the start, he didn't fight as hard as he could, he even had the chance to kill Shunsui if he'd just gone down to finish the job after shooting him instead of just backing off after disabling him, or he could've even shot him somewhere more leathal like the back of the head instead of the shoulder/chest, because at their level, which Shinigami or Hollow wouldn't survive a simple injury like that? He would've also been able to sense full well that Shunsui's reiatsu signature hadn't disappeared. So that choice is on him, and he paid for it with Lilynette's life.

I also think Starrk didn't have much conviction or resolve, I mean I don't think most of the Espada really believed in Aizen's cause, they just followed him for more power or because Aizen tricked them or forced them, and prob with a side of hypnosis to pave the way. So Starrk didn't even have anything concrete to believe in and fight for aside from a debt he felt he had to repay, and that was quickly wearing away when he saw how Aizen didn't give a shit about them.

So overall, he went into battle against Shunsui without any desire to fight or kill because he thought he didn't really have anything he wanted enough to fight for, right up until he lost Lilynette and realized that yeah he did have something precious to lose after all. In contrast, Shunsui was fighting for Soul Society and to protect his fellow Shinigami, and at the time, he definitely understood that far better than Starrk did.

If Starrk had survived, I think he would've understood that too, plus he just doesn't have the kind of temper that lashes out and casts blame on others due to excess emotion; rather, he has the sort of analytical mind to comprehend the cause and effect of things pretty instantly. That would all play a big part in why he wouldn't blame Shunsui for doing what he had to do to take Starrk out. He and Lilynette were one, Shunsui would've had to kill both of them sooner or later, otherwise he might as well lie down and give up, Starrk wasn't exactly an opponent he could take it easy with.

In the time travel verse here, Idk if I'd make it a particularly huge thing, because for Starrk it's been like 10+ years, I imagine he's laid that ghost to rest a long time ago even if the loss still hurts sometimes, plus it's not TBTP!Shunsui who killed her, and i think he would've hashed out the issue with TYBW!Shunsui already at the beginning. Of course, TBTP!Shunsui is bound to find out about it eventually, which could be interesting to poke at.

But in Take What's Broken (Make It Whole), it'll definitely come up sooner or later. Even if Starrk doesn't bring it up first, Shunsui will, and even if there's no blame, I imagine they would at least have to talk about it going forward.

[laughingsapphic-creates]

Inukag Week day 5: Heat

Yesterday's story was over 5000 words and I didn't even post on time. Today you get a snippet lol

@inukag-week

~~~~~~

Summertime Savage

Kagome sighed in relief, setting down the last basket.

"Alright! Everyone ready?"

"Hard to say, since you haven't told us what we're doing," Shippo pointed out, "but I took off my vest and shirt, if that's all you meant."

"It is! And since it's been so hot lately, I thought a water balloon fight would be a fun way to beat the heat!" Kagome explained, picking up one of the colorful balloons.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Sango hummed, sounding unsure. Kagome had brought a swimsuit for her to borrow, and a skirt to go over it if she wanted it, which she had.

"Don't worry, you look great! And if Miroku gets handsy, just start chucking," Kagome grinned, tossing the balloon to Sango. She caught it easily, careful not to squeeze the taut rubber. "Oh! Shippo, here, these are for you, too!"

Kagome grabbed the bag she'd carried the balloons and hand pump in, picking out a pair of children's gardening gloves.

"Is this part of the game?" He asked, pulling the first glove over his hand.

"Not typically, but most kids who have water balloon fights don't have sharp claws. They're not much fun when every balloon pops in your hand before you get to throw it."

"Not that I'm complaining, Kagome," Miroku assured as he and Inuyasha returned to the group, stripped down to their hakama trousers, "But what exactly is the objective of this game?"

"There isn't like, a win condition, per se. It's just trying to land as many hits as you can while not getting hit. Like a snowball fight, but better, because it's hot out, so getting hit with something cold is actually nice," she shrugged, going back to the bag. "Here, Inuyasha, I have gloves for you, too."

"Feh, I don't need 'em," he huffed.

Kagome watched as Shippo narrowed his eyes, picking up one of the balloons with his own gloved hands.

"Hey, Inuyasha," he hucked a bright orange balloon. "Catch!"

Inuyasha reached out to catch the balloon, which he did.

And then he closed his hand around it, which punctured the delicate material. He squawked in surprise at the jolt of cool water, clenching his fist around the shredded balloon.

"You little brat!"

Snatching the gloves from Kagome's hands, he gave Shippo about a second's head start, picking up one of the baskets and beginning to chase him down.

"Spend all morning pumping balloons by hand so we can have a fun afternoon, and now they're being used in anger," Kagome sighed, shaking her head. Kagome patted her shoulder, flashing a smile.

"Don't worry so much, Kagome. This is just how they have fun, you know?"

"You think so?"

"For sure," she nodded, still smiling as she took a balloon in each hand and turned her gaze on Miroku. "I'm starting to see the appeal as well."

"Sango?" Miroku asked, smiling through his nerves. "Sango, let's talk about this!"

"Start running, Monk!"

Kagome sighed, but smiled, eyes flashing at the sight of Inuyasha, who had chased Shippo to the low boughs of the nearest tree.

"Kagome! Kagome help!"

"Get down here and face me!"

Picking up an armload of water balloons, Kagome strode over, hucking the first at the back of his head. Another indignant squawk escaped him, and he whipped around to stare at her

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"What? Like you?" He asked smugly. Smirking, she threw another balloon, hitting him square in the chest. With a laugh, he picked up a balloon from his basket, and Kagome got one more shot in before she took off running with a laugh, Inuyasha taking chase automatically.

The valley surrounding the base of the waterfall echoed with shrieks and laughter for more than two hours. Kagome had to implement a "no picking up baskets" rule when Sango took two and used Kirara to implement a tactical air strike against Miroku, and Shippo had eventually gotten his shirt back and began filling it with balloons, tackling people as a means of attack. Miroku had thought to use his staff to deflect the projectiles, but they usually ended up splashing him anyway. The absolute enragement from Inuyasha whenever a balloon he threw managed to not pop on impact was hilarious to watch, but he was still clearly having a good time.

Kagome had distracted him from targeting Sango, and gotten him to chase her again. The balloons had almost run out, she only had one more on her, and she wanted to make it count.

When she reached the dead end, Kagome turned, throwing the balloon, which caught him in the shoulder before he had her backed up against the base of the cliff, one hand planted to the side of her head, the other holding a red balloon

"What's your plan now, wench?" He asked with a superior smile

Kagome didn't answer, blinking up at him with wide eyes and a soft expression. She held his gaze, looking startled but not upset.

Inuyasha's brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, before Kagome's eyes moved down, looking Inuyasha over slowly, and his face erupted with warmth as he realized what she must be thinking.

"Y- Kagome I-!"

Quick as a flash, Kagome grabbed the hand with the balloon, which had lowered in his shock, and smashed it into his chest, splashing them both.

Inuyasha grunted in surprise, eyes blown wide. And before he could even yell in indignation, Kagome pecked his cheek, reaffirming his shock.

Slipping out from between him and the rock, Kagome grinned as he turned to look at her again.

"Turnabout. Not a bad plan, for a wench," she laughed, winking at him before bolting back to the baskets, to see if she could get her hands on one more balloon and definitely not to distract herself from what she'd just done.

Inuyasha watched her run, a tiny, incredulous smile on his lips, before he took chase once more.

[selineram3421]

здраствуйте можно сделать реакцию на ревность аластора

Translated:

Hi, can I get a reaction to Alastor's jealousy?

Yes.

Jealousy Headcanon 1

Alastor X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ platonic to romantic, violence, all caps in bold italics = SOUND EFFECTS, implied torture/murder, gore? eyeballs, possessive? Alastor wants all of your attention ⚠

Alastor has never felt jealous! How absurd of you to think that! Hahaha! Ha... Who is that demon taking up your attention?

He always had your attention.

You could be talking to the Princess but still focus on him.

Hell, you could be checking in a guest and still keep up with his tale of the day.

But now it was quite odd.

There was a demon coming by the hotel, not to see if they were interested in the cause but to use up his friend's precious time.

Even now the beastly thing walked up to the check in counter and started up a conversation with you.

He watched from the bar.

"Hey! I see its dead as ever in here.", the dragon demon grinned as they leaned on the counter.

"Not true~", you had replied. "I checked in four new guests!"

Yes, you had a knack of persuasion. Able to convince many to do almost anything. Sometimes even him.

"Oh yeah? How many sinners walked in?", the scaled creature leaned close.

Far too close for his liking.

"I just told you how many.", you replied and placed a finger on the dragon's snout, pushing them back as well. "Personal space."

He didn't like this demon.

Everything about them set something off. Their manners, their way of speaking, the way they move-

"Oh come on, I don't bite sugar cake~", the beast took your hand and kissed their way up to your elbow.

The way they t̵̬̥̻͂̿̈́ȏ̴̒͠u̸c̷̈́̊̆́̓͘h̷e̴̖̖͒̓͂͋̎ḑ̴̣̋͜ you.

"Nope!", you yanked your arm away and held it close. "None of that.", you laughed nervously with an uncomfortable smile.

It looked wrong. Your smile should be a happy one.

"I said I don't bite!", they laughed and tried to grab at your arm again. "You know I'm messing! When's your break?", they leaned over the counter, still trying to get at something to pull you closer. "I know a good bar to go to, or we can go to the club! I'd like to see your ass in something a little less-"

"Ew, no.", you rejected and backed away.

"Come on!", they started to climb on the counter. "Its just one time! I'll even help you get in and out of your clothes.", they grabbed onto your sleeve.

That's ENOUGH!

He quickly shadow traveled and snatched the wrist of the dragon.

"I believe they said no."

The beast growled with a sneer before looking at him, freezing up once realizing who had their wrist.

"I was just joking man. Haha..", the dragon looked between him and you. "I understand! I'll back away. The slut is yours."

"Excuse me!?", you said angrily.

His antlers grew, the low static that hummed now raising up in volume.

"₵₳ⱤɆ ₮Ø ⱤɆ₱Ɇ₳₮ ₮Ⱨ₳₮?"

"The slut-"

SNAP

He held the demon's snout shut as they screamed and cried over their broken wrist.

"Now, there is a no killing rule in the hotel.", he said and then grinned menacingly. "But that doesn't apply outside."

His smile widened after seeing the panic in their eyes.

"Dear.", he turned to face you. "Has this guest overstayed their welcome?"

You stared at the beast with such a terrifyingly hateful glare.

"Yes they have.", you replied, crossing your arms. "I'd like to keep a souvenir, for memories."

And then you gave him that lovely smile.

"Alastor, do you think you could get me a dragon eye or two? I hear they make nice details to things."

"I'll make sure to get them.", he released the demon, only for his tendrils to take hold of them. "I won't be long.", he reassured, lifting up your hand to kiss the back of it.

He saw you blush before he 'escorted' the demon outside.

After finishing up (and calling Niffty to clean up), he returned with two freshly picked dragon eyes.

You thanked him with an odd little gleam in your eyes. No doubt your mind jumping idea to idea of what you could create with them.

Now with the pest gone, he would have your attention again.

Just like he wanted

"Thank you Alastor. I'll be able to make something interesting with these."

"I can't wait to see what you make this time."

Perhaps he'll ask you that question sooner than later.

Of course he has to prepare everything to properly court you.

I am using a website to translate requests. Please let me know if I have translated anything wrong.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @lbcreations-blog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie seemed to have zero impulse control when he's not actively thinking about it. After Vecna Eddie moved in with Steve because he and Wayne didn't have a new place yet, plus, Wayne was living out of a motel. It was not a place for someone with wounds like his. Also, he was still waiting to be cleared of all charges. Steve was well enough to take care of Eddie. The metalhead was still in a lot of pain and on as many painkillers as he was allowed the first time that it happened. Steve was leaning over to fluff his pillows, and his lips were close to Eddie's face. It was all Steve’s fault, really. Eddie was thinking about how pretty his lips were when he decided to grab Steve by the back of the neck.

"What are - MMHH!"

Eddie brought his lips to his, and it was the sweetest kiss that Steve had ever experienced. It had left his lips feeling all tingly. Steve could easily pass it off on the fact that Eddie was high, and that was exactly what he did do. He never brought it up or told anyone about it. . .not even Robin. He really couldn't ignore it, though, when it happened a second time.

Eddie was feeling a lot better and could move around the house a lot more. Steve had finally been able to cook dinner for the both of them after living off other people's cooking and takeout while they both healed. They had finished eating when Eddie lumbered over to him and spun him around, cupping his face.

"That was the best home-cooked meal I've ever eaten - MUAH!" Eddie exclaimed, kissing him square on the mouth. "You go settle down. I'll handle the clean-up, big boy."

Steve had frozen a little. Surely, Eddie knew what he was doing? Since he hadn't brought it up, Steve decided not to bring it up either. . .except when it happened a third time. Eddie was completely healed, and he was able to be let out of the house since he was he officially cleared of all charges. He wanted to meet up with Corroded Coffin at Gareth's since they refused to come over to Steve's house despite the fact that Steve had told them they were welcome anytime. Even though he understood where they were coming from, it still stung that they refused to even try to get to know him. Anyways, Eddie was on his way out the door except for the fact that his keys were lying on the counter.

"Hey, did you forget something?" Steve asked.

"Oh, right," Eddie said, twirled around and kissed him while scooping up the keys. Then he was gone.

Okay, he really couldn't ignore it this time. Steve really needed to talk to someone about the kisses and about how much he liked them. He needed to know what that meant, and he knew exactly what kind of conversation this would turn out to be.

"Eddie keeps kissing me," Steve said as soon as Robin got in the car.

"I'm sorry, what?" Robin said, blinking.

"You know how Eddie's really affectionate," Steve replied. "Does it bother you when he kisses you?"

"Oh, you mean like kissing on the forehead and the cheek? No, I think it's sweet, actually," Robin said and rolled her eyes. "Are you feeling a little insecure in your masculinity because a man is getting a little affectionate with you?"

"What?! No, I don't mind getting affection from a man, Robin. You know I hug Argyle all the time," Steve said. "I'm just wondering why Eddie kisses me on the mouth and he doesn't do that with anyone else."

"Stop the car!" Robin screamed, and Steve pulled over the side, parking the car.

"Jesus, Robin!" Steve exclaimed.

"Eddie's been kissing you on the MOUTH?!" Robin asked.

"Yeah. He doesn't do that with you?" Steve asked.

"No, I think that's a treat only for you," Robin said.

"But why? We're both straight," Steve said. "I mean, I'm not trying to complain or anything, it's nice but why is he doing it?"

"You like it when he kisses you?" Robin asked.

"Yeah," Steve shrugged. "If I were into men, I'd be asking him on a date, but I'm not gay, Robin. . .well, maybe just for Eddie. Is it possible to be gay just for one person?"

"I mean, maybe, but I doubt that it's the case here," Robin said. "Usually, I would probably let you figure this out for yourself, but considering how long you kept it hidden that you like Nancy Drew, it might just take a while. . .do I have permission to rip off the band-aid?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess," Steve asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, how the hell were you so sure about Vickie and completely clueless about yourself?" Robin asked.

"Are you still on it that I totally called it about Vickie being a lesbian before you did?" Steve asked.

"She's not a lesbian, dingus," Robun said.

"Okay, I was pretty sure that you two were dating. Robin, she's clearly into you, so I'm pretty sure you have a shot," Steve said.

"Yeah, we are dating but she's not a lesbian," she said.

"I'm so confused," Steve said.

"In more ways than one," Robin said.

"Robin, we're going to be late for work," Steve said.

"Vickie is a bisexual," Robin said. "She likes more than one gender."

"Oh. . .oh, like David Bowie!" Steve exclaimed. "Right?!"

"Right," Robin said.

"Oh my god!" Steve said. "My Tom Cruise obsession suddenly makes sense - I didn't want to be him - "

"Not to mention, all those times you've stared openly at Eddie along with his posters of Eddie Van Halen and Kirt Hammel. . . "

"Kirk Hammett, Robin," Steve scoffed. "Eddie would rip you a new one for getting that one wrong."

"But you knew it because Eddie did," Robin said.

"I like him," Steve said with wide eyes.

"Yeah, buddy. Are you going to need a minute?" Robin said.

"Nah, I'm fine. I actually feel really good about it," Steve grinned.

"Not even a little freak out?" She asked.

"Nope!"

"Lucky bitch," Robin muttered.

"I'm sorry, the next time I have a realization about myself, I'll make sure to give you the freak out that you deserve," Steve said.

"That's all I'm asking," Robin said.

They spent the morning shift talking about Eddie and what he'd say to him once he got home. Steve debated on giving him flowers or not, or a stuff animal. He decided on a stuffed animal because that was more permanent, as Robin had pointed out. They were just about to take their break for lunch when Eddie strolled in.

"Hey," Steve said brightly. "I was just thinking about you."

"Yeah?" Eddie asked and leaned against the counter. "That's good to know."

Eddie leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. This time, Steve responded to it, cupping Eddie's face as he deepened the kiss. He could feel Eddie smile against his lips. Steve heard Robin scrambling to lock the front door and close the newly installed blinds. Eddie wrapped his arms around him, nearly climbing over the counter to do it. Finally, Robin coughed loudly and they broke apart.

"Hi," Steve said breathlessly.

"Hi," Eddie said. "I got something for you."

He climbed over the counter and sat down in front of him. He pulled out a rock and handed it to Steve.

"It looks like a guitar pick," Steve said with a grin.

"I thought you could use it for good luck," Eddie said.

"That's very sweet, thank you," Steve said, blushing. "I'm going to keep it forever."

"So, your boyfriend did good?" Eddie asked.

"Boyfriend?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I know we're taking things slow, but I was hoping that you'd consider me being your boyfriend," Eddie said.

"Yeah, uh, it's just - it might be the concussions, but I don't remember asking you out or you asking me out," Steve said.

"Oh, you definitely asked me out," Eddie said.

"Oh, God, Robin. The doctor said if I started having memory problems - " Steve said with wide eyes. "I'd definitely remember asking you out."

"Honey! I'm sure it's fine!" Eddie exclaimed. "Robin was there, she'll tell you!"

"I was NOT!" Robin yelled, her eyes going wide. "Or was I? Oh, god, what if I hit my head and I don't remember?! I'd remember my best friend asking out a man!"

"Okay, don't panic, Robin, we'll call Hopper - " Steve started to say.

"You really don't remember?!" Eddie shrieked.

"No!" Robin and Steve yelled.

"Seriously, Robin, you were there, and you turned into a giant duck which, by the way, is rude because you know about my fear of ducks!" Eddie yelled.

"Oh, Eddie, goddamnit, was this a dream?" Steve asked.

"You know what? Now that I'm thinking about it, I think it might have been a dream," Eddie said.

"Okay, those looks you've been giving me make a lot more sense," Robin said. "Have you been living in fear of me randomly turning into a duck, like I'm some sort of. . .wereduck?"

"I don't know, your name's Robin, and we've all been through crazy shit. . .anything is possible," Eddie said.

"Aww, and you've hugged me even though you're scared of ducks," Robin cooed.

"Well, it's my fear, my responsibility. It's not your fault," Eddie said and then looked at her. "But you're not, though, right?"

"No, Eddie," she said softly and then affectionately, "You dingus."

"This whole time. . .," Eddie trailed off. "We haven't actually been dating. You never asked me out."

Eddie started to scramble off of the counter when Steve grabbed him and pulled him back.

"Let's fix that. . .Eddie Munson, do you want to be my boyfriend?" Steve asked.

"Fuck yeah, I do," Eddie grinned.

He grabbed the back of Steve’s head and crashed their lips together. Eddie sighed and leaned his forehead against Steve’s.

"No one better fucking wake me up," Eddie breathed and Steve laughed.

"Oh God! I think my nose is turning into a bill - quack, quack!"

"Robin!"

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

The Alley (and Your Boyfriend?)

Minors, ageless and blank blogs do not interact. Smut written with AFAB reader in mind. ~2.8k words

Jason Todd is your ex-boyfriend. Kind of. You dated, yeah, sure. But it was in high school, years ago now. You had moved away before the school year had finished, and both of you agreed to remain friends, to keep in touch.

Life had different plans for both of you. The last time you had been in Gotham was for his funeral, so you think you deserve some leeway if you're staring at the man across the bar who looks just like him. Well, not exactly like him.

You're supposed to be celebrating your new job in Gotham, the apartment you've finally unpacked with your friends, but his eyes.

You could never forget the color of Jason Todd's eyes. Not when he was your first everything. Not when you know how his eyes would glint before he stole a kiss. How they would shine as he whispered sweet nothings and pretty promises.

(Okay, so maybe he was more to you than you're willing to admit. Maybe he wasn't just kind of your boyfriend.)

You'd probably be lost in thought over the color of his eyes for the rest of night, if his gaze didn't happen to meet yours.

Heat spreads across your face, and you duck your head. Shit. He caught you staring. The big, attractive man across the bar who has the eyes of your dead ex-boyfriend caught you staring.

That's fine. Mortifying, yes, but you quickly focus back on whatever your friends are talking about, trying to play it off.

You're finishing your drink, hoping he brushed you off, when a low voice cuts in, "Can I buy you another drink?"

Your eyes snap up to meet Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Your train of thought halts to a stop, he's ever prettier up close.

Before you've even managed to find your words, your friends are pushing you up and out of your seat, scrambling over each other to agree that he can absolutely buy you a drink.

He tilts his head a little at you, feet firmly planted against the ground as he waits for you to answer, "Is that a yes from you, doll?"

"I– yes. Thanks," You stumble out, and you might have gone a little weak in the knees at his grin.

He guides you over to the bar, and holds up two fingers as the bartender comes over. "Whiskey, and whatever they want."

You ask for a refill of your drink and sit beside him at the bar before introducing yourself.

He raises an eyebrow at you, "I'm Jason."

"My ex was named Jason," You blurt out, then wince. That's probably not what anyone wants to hear when they're introducing themselves. And it's definitely not what they want to hear while trying to pick someone up at a bar.

He hums thoughtfully, "I don't remember breaking up with you."

You blink at him, is that some kind of a pick-up line? "No, I meant, I really dated someone named Jason in high school."

He grins at you, "I know. I was there."

You frown a little, "Like in the same class?"

He laughs. It's a really pretty sound, if you weren't so confused, you would have swooned, "No, doll. Don't tell me you don't recognize me?"

Your gaze hardens, "If this is some kind of a joke–"

He says your name, effectively cutting you off, "It's me."

"He died," You murmur, so quiet it almost gets lost under the beat of the music.

He shrugs, and pushes your drink towards you as the bartender sets it down, "I got better."

"Prove it," You retort, fingers tapping the glass of your drink. You're this close to up and leaving. It makes your stomach churn, not knowing what game this man is playing.

He gives you a familiar, lopsided grin, "Prove that I got better?"

You scoff and go to stand up, but you waver at how he actually seems upset over it.

"Hey, hey, wait," he protests, holding out an arm to block you from leaving, "We had our first kiss in the back of Wayne Manor, in that old gazebo covered in vines. You asked me out because I was so obviously head over heels for ya, but I was too scared to ask. You said you'd wait for me when your family moved, and I said I'd wait for you too."

Your breath hitches at his rambling, it's–all of it is true. Memories you held close to your chest but never let yourself relive because of how much they hurt, the bittersweetness of it all. "Jason," You breathe out.

He relaxes, and smiles at you, "Yeah."

"How are you..." You trail off, taking in every inch of him. How much he's grown. How much he's changed.

He rubs the back of his neck, "It's, uh, a long story. It's not very nice either."

You nod slowly, "We don't have to talk about it."

He looks genuinely surprised, "We don't?"

"No, it's just good to, you know, see you," You tell him. It's the truth, whatever story he's carrying, whatever events brought him here, doesn't really matter right now. Not as long as he's alive and in front of you.

"It's good to see you too," Jason tells you, and you feel butterflies when he reaches over to touch your thigh, "Hey, am I really your ex?"

The absurdity of the question makes you want to laugh, "It has been a while since we talked, Jason."

You do giggle when he actually pouts at you, "You said you'd come back to Gotham for me one day."

"I am back in Gotham," You point out, "Got an apartment here and everything."

Interest sparks in his eyes, "Yeah? You're staying around here?"

You hum noncommittally, "In Gotham at least."

It surprises you, how easy it is to slip back into a flowing conversation with him. You reminisce about your shared past, he asks you what you've been up to, how your life has been, and before you know it, your drinks are empty and the bar is informing you of it's last call.

"Can I walk you home," Jason asks, hovering at your side, "or call you a ride?"

Your friends had long since told you they were leaving, and you have the urge to make this night last a little longer. It may be selfish, to want to stay in sight of those eyes, but you let yourself be selfish, "Walk me home?"

The way his eyes sparkle tells you you made the right choice.

You really do mean for him just to walk you home. So you're not exactly sure how you ended up making out with your ex-boyfriend in a dirty alley way.

It makes your head spin, how his hands dig into your waist to tug you closer. How he chases your mouth every time you pull back to suck in a breath.

It's desperate, needy, and you want to keep your fingers curled into the cool leather of his jacket forever. Jason crowds your space, backing you towards the wall, he trails kisses down your jaw, occasionally nipping at your skin to leave pretty, bruised marks.

"Wait–" You start, digging your heels into the ground.

He pauses, and pulls back, "Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't meant to–"

"No!" You practically shout, not wanting him to misunderstand, "it's just– the wall is dirty," You finish weakly.

He blinks, then grins at you, "Is that all you're worried about, doll? Just the wall?"

You nod, sheepish as you fidget with the zipper of his jacket.

He hums thoughtfully and kisses the crown of your head, "I got something for ya," he murmurs, tugging off his leather jacket.

Before you can ask what he's doing, he drapes the coat over your shoulders, and guides your arms through the sleeves, "There, better?"

"Better," You echo, much more willing to let him push you against the wall, to let him suck your pulse and press his hands under your clothes. The leather is soft, smells like him, and the bricks behind you don't even register as he presses against you.

You're both eager, both grasping at fabric and skin. Your eyes light up, when as you're licking a stripe up his neck, Jason tilts his head back and moans.

It's a noise you want to hear again, and when you take his ear between your teeth, you're rewarded with another sweet sound.

Neither of you waste any time to push aside the clothes you're wearing. Half-dressed and panting, you fumble with his belt in the empty alley. He doesn't hesitate to hike your leg over his hip, pressing sloppy kisses along your jaw.

"You're sure about this," Jason asks, lips hovering over the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck.

"Yeah," You breathe out, tangling a hand in his hair to steady yourself, "Are you?"

"Never been more sure of anything," he says firmly, and bites down on your skin as if to seal his words as fact.

He's hungry, as he captures your mouth with another passionate kiss, and you're just as desperate and wanting. Desire pools in your gut as you grind your hips into his, voice pitching into a whine, "Please?"

The neediness in your eyes when you look up at him nearly makes his knees buckle, "Fuck, yes, doll. Whatever you want."

He's not one to make you ask again, and shamelessly presses a finger to your cunt. "Look at you," he breathes out, slowly pumping one finger in and out, gathering your wetness, "You're dripping."

You don't bother choking back the whine that escapes your lungs, only grab his hair tighter when he adds a second finger, carefully working you open for him.

His eyes, your breath catches, when his eyes seem to darken, coveting every reaction you have, every expression that flits across your face.

"Feels good, doll'" he coaxes, scissoring his fingers. When all you manage is a hazy nod, he grins and adds a third finger, curling them as he presses deeper, "C'mon, you can use your words."

"Jason, yeah, feels good," You answer, breathless and full of desire. You squirm, bucking your hips into his hand in an attempt to get him to move faster, "but I want you."

He hums thoughtfully, and presses the palm of his hand to your clit, grinding into the sensitive flesh. When your eyes flutter and your body clenches around him, he coos in approval.

"Good," he says fondly, pressing a kiss to your lips before slowly pulling his fingers away. You almost pout at the loss, but the sight of him lewdly licking off the remnants of you in his hand more than makes up for it.

Your jaw may have dropped, and you may have looked a little more dumbfounded than you're willing to admit, but any embarrassment turns to excitement when he lines his cock up to your weeping pussy.

Neither of you looks away as he pushes into you, inch by delicious inch. It turns you into a whimpering, groaning mess as you sigh out his name, eyes half lidded.

“Yeah, pretty,” He prompts, voice a low rumble as he watches you. He can't pick which sight he likes better, the way your eyes flutter, or the way you're greedily taking in everything he has to give.

He can’t help the smug smirk that spreads over his face when you mewl out his name, clearly delighted at the effect he has on you. “There you go, Doll. Let me hear you say my name again," He coos, trailing his free hand over your thigh to find your clit again.

You're eager to chant his name again when he starts to shallowly thrust between your legs. He moans when you clamp down around his dick, and it spurs him to move faster.

Jason groans deeply as he feels your body react, his eyes darkening with desire as he pushes into you again. You both breathe out a sigh of relief and ecstasy when you take him to the base of his cock.

"Good. Doing so good, doll," he mumbles, using all his self-control to hold the pressure against your cervix for a few moments, letting you adjust, before pulling back slightly.

You tug a little at his hair, it's addicting, how full he makes you feel, how desperate you are for more, "You can move, want you to move."

He hums, and seems more interested in moving his mouth along your jaw, biting and sucking his way down your neck to leave marks on your skin. Jason sucks a prominent bruise onto your freshly bitten skin until it’s pretty and bruised and all his.

You groan, and it only encourages him to drag his hand from your folds and pinch your nipple between his fingers.

"Jason," You protest, rolling your hips to try and entice him to finally move.

“Mhm. You like the sound of my name, pretty? You wanna keep saying it while I make you feel good?” He murmurs, his voice low and rough and breathless against your skin.

He starts to roll your nipple between his fingers, pinching and kneading the sensitive peak.

"Jason, move'" You whine, almost desperate. His eyes lock on your eyes, and you're completely lost to him.

His thumb gives your nipple one last swipe before he settles his hand between your thighs again, eyes raking over your face like he wants to memorize the expression of pleasure that’s taking over at the moment, "There you go, it sounds so perfect when you say my name like that."

His other hand squeezes your thigh affectionately, and before you can protest again, he pulls halfway out, savoring how you twitch around him. You cry out in pure pleasure when he thrusts back into your heat.

He swallows your cries with a kiss, and starts to pick up his pace, steady and relentless.

You can only tip your head back and moan, as you drag your nails along his scalp, panting and trembling under his grip.

“So goddamn good,” Jason mutters, pressing himself as deep as he can go with every movement. He starts to ramble your name, driving his cock against the spot that makes you gasp over and over.

He's relentless, all consuming and you almost miss it when he murmurs against your throat, "Not your ex now, am I?"

You curse, and shudder around him, clawing at his shoulder. It doesn't make his pace falter, if anything it drives him to push a little more, to move a little fast, to test your limits.

You feel his pleased smile form against your skin when you start to chant his name, breathless and needy and so, so close to the edge.

"There ya go, come for me, doll," he encourages, and when you do, when you soak his cock and sob his name, he fucks you through your climax.

He ruts into your fluttering hole until his own hips stutter, his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, and he cums inside of you. He rides out both of your releases, fucking his spend back into you even as it starts to leak and drip down your thighs.

Jason presses his forehead to yours, going still against you, his eyes dart over your face as you both pant, sticky, sweaty, and messy. He grins at you when you blink at him with glassy eyes, "You look good like this. I could see it every day, and it still wouldn't be enough."

You're not exactly sure where he finds the energy to praise you, but it makes you tuck your face against his shoulder as you catch your breath.

He presses a kiss to the side of your head, "Gonna take you home and run you a bath. Then, we're gonna cuddle till you fall asleep and I'll make you breakfast in the morning. Sound good?"

You whine softly when he pulls out of you, already mourning the feeling of him inside you, but you manage to nod.

True to his word, Jason carries you home and draws you a bath. You fall asleep with him curled around you, and when you wake up, the sound of him cooking breakfast makes its way to the bedroom.

And if you entice him to bend you over the counter before you eat, letting the food go cold, or suggest you show him just how well you fit in his lap, that's none one's business but yours.

It shouldn't surprise you, if you do encourage him to find out what you taste like on his tongue, that Jason never really leaves. Sooner rather than later, he'll make sure any use of the word 'ex' disappears from your lips.

[ozzgin]

Its been 6 months😭😭 pleaasseeee make a part 2 of the android x human story im beggingggg😭

-H❤️

Yandere! Android x Reader (II)

Featuring your assigned android partner who is not as devoid of humanity as you originally thought.

Content: female reader, AI yandere, mildly NSFW, based on Caves of Steel

[Part 1] | [More original works]

The case had been solved.

Not only that, but you'd managed to prove that human officers were just as efficient as their robot counterparts. The Commissioner was beyond ecstatic, pacing back and forth in his office and finding new ways to praise your detective skills.

"That'll show those Spacers. They think some glorified tin box can match our skill?"

You frowned at his words and glanced to your side, where the android was sitting. He observed the Commissioner with the same polite smile, no hint of disagreement on his features. Was he not insulted? You questioned him once the formal meeting had finished.

"I have no reason to be offended, (Y/N). It is a personal opinion, and thus I have no control over it."

"So you don't mind people disliking robots to such an extent?"

He pondered your statement.

"I would certainly be upset if it was you who harbored the disdain. The beliefs of other humans hold no meaning to me otherwise."

You couldn't tell if he said it out of politeness, or if he actually meant it. Most likely the former, in order to part on good terms. After all, your partnership has reached its completion. He'd return to the Spacer Colony with his report on human customs, and you'd go back to your regular job.

Except he never left. Days later, he was still sipping on his morning coffee, lounging at your table. You fiddled with your cup in contemplation. Was there anything else left to do?

"When are you leaving, actually?"

The pale man raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Is my presence here of such significant disturbance?"

"What? No!" you swiftly exclaimed, stumbling on your words. His lips widened in yet another cheeky grin. He was teasing you again.

"My assignment on Earth is done, thus I should have returned to the Colony already. That's what you're wondering about, yes? I am awaiting a response from my superiors."

"Whether you can go back?"

"No, whether my transfer has been accepted. I have applied to be your permanent partner."

You could feel your cheeks burning with heat. Was it that obvious to the synthetic that you enjoyed his company? Then again, he wouldn't have gone through such motions just for your sake.

"Why did you..." you probed sheepishly. There was no logical reason for him to keep working in a poorer, less advanced environment.

"Because I want to continue spending time with you."

Nonsense. An artificial being wouldn't make its decision based on such mundane, emotional reasons.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand. It is a faulty answer to come out of a machine. Though unlike common AI assistants, we have been invested with the capacity to develop likes and dislikes. Interests. Wants. It helps with variety and individualization."

"And you want to stay here? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you have a crush on me or something", you attempted to joke.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence. Had you gone too far with your humor? Was it too cliché of a sentence? You turned away, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You just had to be witty, huh?

"I'm afraid I do not know what to tell you, (Y/N)."

"You don't need to say anything, it was a poor choice of-"

"Many social aspects have been implemented into my behavioral network. Workplace rapport, friendships, intimate relationships. What seems to be lacking is the transition from one to another. I know how to act as a romantic partner, but how does one achieve such a title in the first place?"

You gazed at him, incredulous. What was he trying to say?

"I am trying to convey that I am indeed infatuated with you. Which, then, makes my initial explanation dishonest: while I do appreciate our fruitful work cooperation, it is not a main reason for my decision. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings."

You'd never been a romantic. You sometimes flipped through sample pages of contemporary romance books at stores and community centers, but they always felt forcefully cheesy. Predictable. Consequently, you never had any grand dreams of passionate confessions under the rain.

On the other hand, you also didn't expect to be asked out in such a mechanical, calculated manner. Or that a machine would be the suitor. Yet there was something charming about his approach. For the first time since meeting him at the border, you saw him struggle. There was something human-like in his uncertainty.

You stood up from the table, and walked towards the android. Then, you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, expressing the mutual feeling and understanding.

His eyes bore an eerie glint to them. It was most kind of you to offer a common ground, but he knew better. The affections you held for him were, with utmost certainty, a mere fraction of whatever overwhelmed him from the moment he encountered you. Limerence, obsession, compulsion, there were many definitions that aptly described his otherwise unexplainable desires towards you. Even more unexplainable was the fact they'd evolved from a blank slate, a programmed agent with no previous knowledge on feelings or humans.

You noticed his hesitation.

"Is there anything else troubling you presently?" you nudged.

Nothing of immediate urgency. Well, not for you, at least. The android remained thoughtful. What were the variables which needed to be met in order to initiate a sexual encounter? Would it have been inappropriate for him to suggest intercourse straight after this conversation? To him, it was a natural escalation he'd considered many times in the past. To you, it could've come as a sudden, crass, and hurried proposal.

He reached for your wrist and discreetly pressed a thumb against your skin. Judging from your resting heart rate, facial expression, and localized temperature, there was a fair chance you wouldn't reject his advances. Once the statistical risk had been assessed, he pulled you in for a kiss.

"Would it be possible to continue this in your bedroom?" he inquired, standing up.

"Alright, just don't...ask for approval for every single step" you retorted. You'd rather not become a narrator of your own pounding.

You open your eyes with a squint, greeted by unexpected natural light flooding your bedroom. Someone must’ve lifted the hologram blinds.

“My apologies, I hadn’t considered the discomfort it would cause you. My Spacer colony uses artificial lightning, though I am becoming rather fond of the natural sun rays here.”

Your android partner is meticulously preparing his outfit for the day. Judging by the stark nakedness and the glistening skin, you suppose he’s had a shower while you were still sleeping. You involuntarily furrow your brows and blush at the sight. He notices your embarrassment. 

“A most surprising reaction. You have seen the very same genital organ…”, he says as he quickly checks his wristwatch, “...precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes ago.”

“It’s just…most people get dressed once they start doing other things. I also wear a towel for coverage when I come out of the shower.”

He processes your words.

“Hmmm. Illogical, but it explains your reaction.”

You stand up and stretch with a prolonged yawn. Suddenly, a revelation hits you: your mind flashes with images of the android fondling your body, your ears ring with the shameless moans you’ve let out throughout the night. Your face turns pale.

“Listen, when is your next functional inspection?” you ask, without waiting for the synthetic to answer. “Will they, uh…will they have access to all of your memories?”

You know that the android permanently records all data and saves it into a memory unit. It’s a pointless fear, of course. The Spacers couldn’t care less about irrelevant details. If the intended tasks are fulfilled, what happens on the side is out of their concern. Yet you don’t exactly appreciate the possibility of your personal deeds airing like this, before the eyes of multiple engineers. 

“You may rest assured, whatever involves your privacy will not be included in the examination.”

“Do you get to decide what is checked and what isn’t?”

“No, most data is sampled randomly.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Then how-”

“It is not common practice, nor encouraged by our code of ethics. I can, however, choose which information is available to begin with.”

“What? I thought you’re fully controlled by whoever created you. If they so desired, couldn’t they open you up and take whatever they require?”

The robot smiles at your assumption and takes a few steps towards you.

“Once an android model is finished, one can no longer modify the processor. Not without compromising everything else with it. It is not a device to be deconstructed, (Y/N).” He taps his temple, then continues: “I am a biocomputer. While most of my parts are mechanical, my processor is a cortical organoid developed in a laboratory. A human brain, if you will.”

Somehow, the discovery fills you with dread. A living organ, encapsulated within a machine. What does that say about consciousness? About self-awareness? The Spacers didn't just tinker with metal scraps and smart computers. They artificially birthed life.

You were always under the impression that your robot companion is closer to the computer you have on your desk. Billions of lines of code within a black box, which then lead to spontaneous, novel interactions with the outside world. To think that at the very core of his functions lies a clump of living cells...

Perhaps you weren't so different, after all. The line between machines and humans is suddenly blurred.

[maxwellatoms]

In one of your last answers, you said “series reboots are usually pretty gross and sad”, and I was wondering if you could expand on that? Assuming “reboot” covers any kind of continuation of a currently cancelled or finished show (and maybe that’s the wrong assumption!), from the outside looking in it feels like a pretty mixed bag. On one hand, if I love XYZ Show, it’s cool that I get more stories with these characters and another chance to support XYZ Show and its creators. On the other, it definitely feels like a lot of ideas can only get funding if they’re tied to something already, meaning creatives are having to now tie whatever cool idea they have to some reboot/relaunch/retread, which can feel pretty disheartening if you don’t want to do a reboot/relaunch/retread. Is that a similar feeling from your side of the industry?

Thank you so much for all your answers and insight!

Usually reboots and spin-offs are just cash grabs. It happens a lot in animation. In fact, I would argue that the entire industry is just one big cash grab now. In the 80s, everyone complained that cartoons were just half-hour commercials for toys. And they were right. And we're right back there, but now that you can't legally push toys all day, it's just general "IP". Mugs, posters, more spinoffs, whatever.

I was offered three show running gigs over the pandemic. All reboots that I would consider unwise to pursue because they were "of a different time" and didn't (in my opinion) have anything more to say. Two of them were properties created by notorious sex pests, so there's also that. The animation industry loves to prop up its sex pests.

I turned all of them down, partially because I didn't respect the original creators but also because none of them had anything going for them except just being "more of the same".

I don't think any of those projects survived the intervening years, so in retrospect I maybe should've taken the job. I'd probably feel a bit gross, but at least I'd have floors in my house.

The entertainment industry is in a bad spot. The whole thing. I've had I don't know how many pitch meetings in the last few years, and they all start the same way:

"Hey! Before we start, we just want to let you know that we're not actively producing anything right now. We think maybe soon, but we won't be picking anything up today..."

And then later:

"The little we are doing is IP, so if you have a new take on our IP or a new IP you're connected to that you can bring in, that'd be great."

I always wanted to make original stuff. There came a time when I'd had my fill of Billy & Mandy and wanted to do something else new and original. That never manifested, and I was constantly being offered IP to produce. I turned too many of those down, maybe, before deciding that it was probably better that I run the IPs that mean something to me rather than having some hack do it.

But now those jobs have all gone to celebrities and fallen live-action writers, who are also slowly being eaten by the system. WB was hot for Scooby stuff a few years back, so I pitched some ideas. A few of them were turned down for being "off-brand" in a variety of ways. WB has now made (I think) all of those off-brand shows (or something close) with celebrity show runners.

I was going through a whole Midlife Impostor Syndrome thing recently where I was wondering if maybe I don't just suck. Like, it's weird that for a couple of decades I'd have people calling me trying to get me to run shows, and now nobody will call me back about the possibility of a design job.

Talking to some friends and realizing that they were in a similar situation helped me feel like I wasn't alone. That was nice. Talking to some of the most talented colleagues in my industry made me made me realize that those people weren't getting jobs either. That was unnerving. Talking to complete strangers in other parts of the entertainment industry now has me thinking that the whole house of cards is coming down. That's real concerning, yo.

It's hard not to think it's purposeful, when deranged billionaires own the entirety of our media and want to shape a society where they can't be criticized. We're letting wealthy tech bros firebomb the very heart of our culture, and it's weird that no one is talking about it. Because (for now) we still have that capability.

[r-eatyourfriends-n]

Collide | l.hs 이희승 | pt. 1

best friend!heesung x best friend!reader

READ PT2 HERE

warnings: smut (mdni), pwp (plot's there if you look hard enough), unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation (sort of?), nipple play, heesung is cocky but only for a bit, no use of "y/n". It got sort of fluffy at the end?

synopsis: you've been having hookups for a while, but none of them have been memorable, much less good, so heesung decided you change that. Although his intentions might not be 100% pure.

wc: 5k.

a/n: this is by far not my first smut (it's literally all I write lol) but I've never posted for the enhypen fandom although I've been delusional about heesung and jake for a good while now. I have decided to break my silence. pls let me know if there are any mistakes and for sure let me know if you liked it! I actually quite enjoyed writing this as I began working on part two as soon as I finished. Also English is not my first language, I'm certain I revised this enough to avoid any grammar mistakes but thought I'd give y'all the heads up.

You arrived at Heesung's apartment late that night, just like you had warned him that you would. Given that your last date's place was near Heesung's, he had offered you to come over after your night out so that you didn't have to take a cab home. He said he'd be up playing anyway since it was a Friday night.

When you knocked, he had stood by his word. It took a few knocks and missed calls but eventually, the door opened, showing Heesung in a plain white tshirt and grey sweatpants. He welcomed you with a gentle smile, quiet as the noise rang through his headset. You nodded at him in acknowledgement and he took a step to the side to let you in.

As usual, you left your things on the couch. You signaled towards his bathroom and he nodded again, then left you alone to finish his game. You took a towel from his closet and one of his longer shirts and headed to the shower, head hanging low, letting the water run down your body when you stepped in, standing still under it, eyes closed.

Your date had been a mess.

The guy was nice; he held up to the bare minimum requirements of kindness and politeness, he payed for the bill even when you insisted for him to at least let you split it. Then he held your arm and guided you to his car like a true gentleman, where he took you to his house, layed you on his bed, and gave you the most boring, cunt-drying head and sex of your life. It felt criminal, really, that a man so handsome and well put together was such a boring and dull fuck. But there he had been, dirty blond hair parted to the side, stuck to his forehead as he sweat and heaved like a fucking pig white fucking into you, paying no mind to what you were feeling, only chasing his high.

Heesung, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking about the look on your face when you stepped inside. Nor could he stop thinking about the marks that he hoped to god would be gone by morning, or your messy hair and out of place clothes, and the fact that you were willing to pull through with the plan of going to his apartment instead of staying with the guy. He picked you up, fucked you poorly (most likely), and couldn't even drive you somewhere else?

Ever since you became confident enough to put yourself out there, you've had quire the few hookups, which was unsurprising to Heesung. You were pretty, charming, and kind, and he saw those things every day. However, heesung wasn't stupid. He knew that at the end of the day, there was a good reason as to why men overall didn't have a good reputation during sex. And Heesung was someone who would love to show you a good time, but he didn't want to lose you over it.

He dreamed of it. Fantasized about it so many times— about all the ways in which he would fuck you, so good that no one else could even compare. To have you come back to him each time you even so much as think about trying to sleep with some other guy that isn't him. He'd give you the slow, teasing version of it first, taking his sweet time with each and every inch of skin until you were shaking just from the mere anticipation of feeling his cock push in, dragging out the pleasure in slow waves, praising you for enduring such intense feelings. Make you feel so good you'd cry.

If you wanted, Heesung could be rough, too. Bend you over every single piece of furniture of his apartment and yours. In his car as well, he would be lying if he said he never imagined putting you on your hands and knees on the backseat of his car whenever he picked you up from a party; have claw at the leather and leave your mark on it. Park somewhere dark and let you ride him on the driver's seat.

To be quite frank, it drove him crazy; to know that you were in his bathroom— naked in his house, and he couldn't just walk in and press you against the wall, ready to hold your weight when your knees begin to shake and buckle.

Heesung shook his thoughts away, going back to his game and trying to act normal. He unmuted himself to yell at Jake and Yeonjun, who were performing even worse than him. As they went quiet again, he heard the water stop and the bathroom door open. Your reflection appeared on his second monitor, your hair in somewhat of a low ponytail over your shoulder with a few strands on the front. Some parts of your body were clearly still damp, and his shirt stuck where there were still drops of water gathering on your skin. Heesung licked his lips, desperate to end the game and go to you, who layed comfortably on his bed, scrolling through your phone with a cold expression.

You sighed while you stared holes into Heesung's stiff back and shoulders. You showed up to his apartment knowing that he was going to be gaming with his friends, but a part of you still hoped that he would've dropped everything for like he had done sometimes, especially since today had been particularly frustrating. Still, you waited for him, just rather impatiently.

He didn't bother to say goodbye to his boys, he only turned off his computer and took his headphones off, rubbing at his red and sore ears. He turned on his chair and smiled.

“I'm done.”

“Did you win?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Heesung shook his head. “I wasn't focusing.” He shrugged. “How bad was it?"

“How'd you know it was bad?"

“You're here, aren't you?” He chuckled.

Your shoulders dropped in defeat, quietly admitting your best friend was right. Heesung's eyes softened, displaying pity as your hands came up to rub your face, leaving a red trail of pure frustration.

“He was so handsome and sweet,” You groaned into your palms. “But he barely even kissed me, or touched me.”

He gritted his teeth, eyes landing on the small, purplish spots on your neck. “You're all marked up though,” he said, trying not to let his jealousy seep into his words.

“I practically had to beg him to do anything,” you admitted, embarassed that those words even came out of your mouth.

Begged?, Heesung thought, you had to beg a random guy to do what he had been dying to do to you? He scratched at the back of his neck.

“I don't know where you keep finding these scumbags.” He stood up, walking towards the bed to sit next to you.

“Maybe they're all scumbags and I should give up, because I didn't even get to finish.”

Heesung pressed his lips together, making a thin line. He tried to think about what to say next, but words were out of his mouth before he could consider all outcomes.

“Do you still want to?”

“Want to what?” you furrowed your eyebrows, confused.

“Come,” he responded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you still want to come?”

Heat crept up your cheeks, your body beggining to deter from his gaze. Neither of you had ever been shy about discussing sex, or each other's sex lives—though he was much more reserved about it than you were—, but something in the atmosphere made you nervous. Something in his tone as the words came out of his mouth, something about heesung saying those words to you.

You huffed. “Well, who doesn't, right?”

His pupils were blown out in an instant. “Then let me help you.”

“Help me what?” you rolled your eyes at him, exasperated. Although he wasn't being as cryptic as you perceived him, you were just in a bad mood.

Heesung just shrugged. “Come,” he repeated, leaning closer to you. “Let me make you come.”

The whole world stopped for you, or at least that's what it felt like. Your face contorted, a thousand thoughts rushing through your mind.

Yes, it was your best friend, who you barely recognized at the moment. But you would be lying if you said his words didn't have an effect on you, his offer making you shiver. Still, you had some level of skepticism because again, he was your best friend.

“Stop playing, I'm not in the mood.” Was all you managed to push out, not feeling like being teased.

Unable to back down now —or not wanting to—, heesung took a deep breath.

“Do I look like I'm playing?”

You turn to face him, and looked for a hint, or even such as a glimpse of him being the teasing asshole that he had always been, however, he never faltered. If anything, he seemed impatient for an answer.

“I think you deserve to know what a good night feels like,” He continued.

“You think you're good?” You scoffed mockingly, already feeling your body heating up at his promises. A good night? Yes, you were in desperate need of one of those. It was nothing Heesung wasn't already aware of.

“I know I am,” he smirked.

His confidence set off something inside of you. If it turned out that he was all talk, then, you'll be damned, because god, did he know how to talk. Not only using his words, but also his whole body, as he leaned foward to press his face closer to yours. Had he always been like this or were you just noticing?

For the time you had known Heesung, you never knew him for one to sleep and mess around. He was a flirt, sure, he loved to lean in during parties to make the women around him flustered. More often than not, he would brush past them with a hand on their waist and watched as they blushed, but despite his good looks and undeniable charisma, you've never heard about him constantly hooking up, nor doing it often like you did.

Regardless, wether it was seldom or not, Heesung fucked. It was a fact, even if it seemed like he was too busy gaming and working, he had managed to fit some fun time in his packed schedule of work hours and consoles. You couldn't deny you've heard about him, given that he had unknowingly slept with two of your coworkers. It wasn't something you told him, and until this very day, he was still unaware of the fact.

But you were very aware of what had been said about him, because you heard them discuss in great detail about how good the sex had been. They had talked about everything, from the size of his cock to how he knew how to eat out a woman—and how good he looked doing it—, how many times they came and what not. It had been weird to hear about how good your best friend was in bed, but you still grew curious, dying to know if the rumours were true, and if he was the well built roman sex god they made him out to be.

He was your best friend, yes (how many times had you said it already?). Still, you weren't blind nor stupid, you could see how gorgeous he was, how hot he looked, having been flustered by him one too many times. Certain feelings harvested in you that you had pushed to the side, thinking that you would bully them away by telling yourself than a friend who just so happened to be stupidly handsome. And you had managed quite well, that until today, with Heesung infront of you, willing to give you what you wanted.

Would the sex outweigh any possible bad outcomes that may come from hooking up with the person you trust the most? Only time would tell.

“Okay,” you whispered, feeling shy under his impatient gaze.

He reached out his hand, softly cupping your chin. His thumb caressed your jawline.

“I'll be gentle.”

Your brows furrowed. “I'm not a virgin, Heesung.”

“Do you need to be a virgin for that?” He laughed, dumbfounded by your words. “Just lay back and let me make you feel good.”

Promises, promises, promises. “Are you all talk or do I have to beg you too?”

Heesung smirked. “Don't give me ideas.”

Any hesitation any of you might have still had vanished the minute your lips pressed together. Heesung moved slowly, almost forcing you to follow his lead and you obliged, sighing into the kiss. You held his nape to pull him closer, it was the only thing he let you do. He allowed you to guide him on top of you, and you spread your legs so that he could settle himself between them to kiss you deeper.

His tongue pushed against yours without a warning and you whimpered. Just the kissing had your heart threatening to shoot a hole into your chest from the inside out. Heesung had inviting lips for sure, but god, did he know how to use them.

You were desperate to have him touch you but still whined and protested when his mouth began to make its way down, stopping by your neck first, biting just below your jawline. Your hands trembled, trying to find something to hold on to until you figured the best thing to sink your nails into were his shoulders.

Heesung loved it, to know his skin would welcome anything your body gave. So mesmerized by the way you reacted to his touches, so receptive and sensitive to him. He couldn't believe it yet, that he had you on his bed, kissing you breathless.

Your back arched into him when he sucked on the skin, making sure to leave more visibly, longer lasting marks over the ones you already had. He watched as your skin became stained with a darker purple, his cock throbbing at the sight; at the thought of seeing you on his clothes, your body littered in his marks.

He raised your shirt over your breasts. You reached for the hem of the shirt to pull it over your head to give him more space to do what he wanted more comfortably. He stopped you immediately, though.

“I wanna fuck you in my shirt,” he confessed, trying not to show his desperation.

His words almost were enough to make you moan, and you realised you weren't turned off by the idea of being owned in some way, especially if it was Heesung who did. Or perhaps you were just incredibly horny, and he had started to play with one of your nipples between his fingers, the other one going into his mouth.

With your hand gripping his head tightly, you pushed him towards your chest. He swirled his tongue around the bud in acknowledgement of your actions, which made you buck your hips up in an attempt to get some sort of friction. You could feel your panties sticking to your skin, was it normal to be this wet just from kissing?

It was probably how it should have been with your date, or with any of the other guys you had slept with. But only you had managed to get yourself to that state, alone in your room with your fingers, and now Heesung with his skilled mouth licking and swirling his tongue around your hardened nipples, his hips pressed against your cunt to keep you from squirming or pressing your legs together. You took the opportunity to grind yourself against him, feeling the outline of his already hard cock on your shorts. The whine he let out was long and needy.

“Heesung,” you moaned, nudging at his shoulder to push him away. “More.”

Heesung's knees buckled at your pleads.

“Beg a little more, baby.” He instructed. He pressed a soft kiss between your breasts, where a drop of sweat had begun to roll down. “Say my name again.”

Heesung found himself hypnotized by the way you moaned out his name. The way you tried to shove him down to get him to go between your legs just made him want to tease you more.

“heesung please, please, fuck—,” you babbled. “God, stop teasing me.”

“No god here, just me,” Heesung smirked at you.

Thankfully, what you said had been enough. He made his way down slowly, ghosting his hands over your waist as he directed his kisses from your abdomen until his lips met the hem of your shorts. He pushed them to the side and stared at your white panties now turned transparent from the wetness. And he almost couldn't believe it was for him. A bunch of thoughts passed through his mind that he didn't dare to voice; how he had wanted this for so long, how he was hoping you would come to your senses and realize how much better he was than all the other guys you had gone out with. How he hoped this would absolutely ruin you, and make you feel like you will never find something out there that could compete. The thought of this possibly being a one time thing, and that you could run off to some other douchebag was nauseating.

He offered himself up expecting that, by the end of the night, he'll own you.

It wasn't something that he wanted to keep thinking about. All he wanted was to hear more of your pretty sounds. You gasped when he yanked down your shorts, leaving on your underwear just to mess with you and make you desperate for him. He glided his thumb over your cunt, occasionally putting pressure on your clit but never quite staying there. Your legs and hips twitched, your pathetic attempt to guide his finger. Loud moans and whines kept pouring from your lips as you tried to get him where you wanted.

“Have any of those assholes ever gone down on you?” he asked, sort of absent.

Had they? You weren't really sure. Sometimes they would kiss between your legs, a few licks here and there before they pushed their cock in, but never like what your friends have told you it was like. Jealousy burbled in your stomach whenever you heard them talk about it— the unimaginable pleasure, the look on the man's face he ate them out like his life depended on it. You have had a glimpse, a very bad one, but you had almost felt what it was like. However, at the end of the day, it was mostly you on your knees with your mouth stuffed.

Ultimately, you decided to tell him exactly that. “Yeah, but not really. It's usually me who does.”

Heesung clicked his tongue, completely displeased by your answer. It pissed him off, sort of, at least enough to pull your panties down and finally beginning to live up to his promise. He flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit, to which your body immediately reacted, forcing a whimper out of you.

His hands forced your legs open as far as they would go, taking full control, leaving you defenseless under his relentless mouth and tongue. Same tongue he pushed inside you, thrusting it into your hole, feeling you squeeze him. The way your walls tightened around his tongue turned him impatient, dying to get that same feeling on his cock. But you were his priority right now, and he would have time to feel you soon enough.

The orgasm that you had been longing for since you accepted your date felt closer than ever, with heesung's nose hitting your clit, and his tongue moving inside you. He then reached up to suck on your clit that kept getting more and more swollen the more his lips would close around it, rolling his tongue over it. As he kept playing with it, he teased his finger on your entrance, gathering your slick on it and sliding it in with little to no effort, your body welcoming him instantly. He found himself stretching you further in no time, slowly pushing in a second finger and curling both of them.

“Feel good baby?” he mumbled. It was uncommon for him to ask those types of questions, since he would rather have girls show him. But from you, he wanted to hear it, he needed to hear it.

The question almost sounded stupid in your ears.

“So fucking good,” you breathed out. “So fucking close.”

All of the rumours were true, and Heesung absolutely looked hot pleasuring a woman, smiling to himself, looking drunk and fucked out just from it, his only goal to have you finish thanks to him. He was good, exactly like he said he was, making your eyes roll back, a thing you had only thought possible in porn, and just by using his mouth. And he still had yet to fuck you.

The pace of his fingers and tongue quickened, your moans got louder along with it. Edging you was something he considered, feeling you so close, having the power to just stop all at once and leave you hanging.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you before he could make a decision, and fuck if it wasn't one of the hottest things he had ever witnessed; how your back arched and your feet lift off of the bed as the highest peak of pleasure you had ever felt invaded your body in waves, body convulsing onto his hand in time with the loud, borderline screams of his name. It had gotten to the point you had to kick at his shoulders for him to pull away, sensations quickly turning painful.

If that's how you were gonna feel on his cock, he was certain that he was not going to last long.

“Shit, Heesung, that was—”

"I'm not done with you, sweetheart,” he interrupted. “I barely just started.” He chuckled, begging to pull down his sweatpants, revealing the wet patch of precum on his underwear. “Look what you did to me.”

Your eyes never stopped following his hands as he hooked his fingers om his boxers to finally free his cock from being smothered by the fabric, standing proudly against his abdomen, heavy. Something in your stomach fluttered with a twisted exciment of what was about to happen, especially when he wrapped his hand around it to stroke it slowly, almost teasing himself.

And you let him, watching him try to relieve himself; his mouth open, panting, so focused on aliviating his arousal that he almost forgot you were there. That until both of your eyes met, the atmosphere in the room getting heavier by the minute

Heesung stopped moving his hand. “Come spit on it, baby,” he instructed. “Get it ready.”

A breath got stuck in your throat at his words. That hadn't been the nastiest thing you heard, you had been said and called way worse. But the way he look and sounded while he made his request, knelt in front of you, hair out of place and lips dark pink and glossy from eating you out made him look and sound so utterly dirty, so much so that your body reacted way before you did, already crawling to him before he could finish that sentence fully.

You looked straight into his eyes as you opened your moth, a long string of saliva falling from your tongue in slow motion until it met the head of his cock. He looked right back at you as he spread it across his length. Heesung muttered curse after curse as you laid back down, and was quick to settle himself between your legs once more.

His tip pressed against your entrance, and you felt the stretch almost immediately, hissing and putting your hand on stomach as a reflex. He held your wrist gently, used his grip to pull your hand up to his face, pressing a soft kiss on your palm. His eyes fluttered shut as your warm skin came into contact with his lips. And when you moved to cup his cheek, he leaned into the touch instantly. You began to tease his bottom lip, running your thumb over it, and as he sunk himself even further, he caught it between his teeth, gently grazing them against your semilong nails, until he finally closed his mouth around it. He hummed.

It took Heesung a while to bottom out inside you, and you moaned and whined all the way through it; from the pain of being stretched open and from the pleasure of being stretched open. He moaned as well, as his hips met your pelvis, with your walls fluttering around his cock. His thoughts were going at a thousand miles, all of them screaming at him to really, really fuck you into the mattress. But he stayed put for the sake of your enjoyment, he had promised you a good night and he was going to drag it out as much as he could for your and his enjoyment.

Still with your thumb between his lips, he began to slowly move his hips, barely pulling out before pushing back in to get you used to his girth. You gripped his bicep with your free hand, scratching down on his skin until the sting started to dissipate. You took notice of the way he held his breath as the speed began to increase, moaning and groaning when you squeezed him in.

It was dizzying, how you felt him everywhere. In your hand, with his moans vibrating on your palm; inside you as he dragged his cock, barely managing to pull out an inch before diving back in, pressing himself against you as much as he could so that he was fully settled inside your walls. Due to his cocky attitude, you didn't take him for the type of guy to be vocal. But there he was, whining louder and louder, almost uncontrollably, and that only turned you on more. The fact that you, too, were making him feel good and he was not afraid to show it.

You weren't usually this pliant and submissive, preferring to put up a little bit of a fight, managing to make guys submit to you instead as you took the lead. With Heesung, though, it was different, whether it was because was mesmerizing or because you had never felt such heightened pleasure, it was clear that he had control from the moment he got closer to you before he made his offer. And you could take control, probably, but you didn't want to. You wanted Heesung to do the work, to prove himself.

Which he was, taking on a pleasurable rhythm that had you moaning louder than him. One of his hands found the plush of your hips and gripped onto it for leverage to angle himself. The other one traveled from your chest all the way down to your clit, rubbing messy circles with his thumb, making you throw your head back into the pillows, along with a cry of his name.

The echo of his skin hitting against yours fueled him. Heesung didn't know where he should be looking at, if at your beautifully contorted face, with your eyes closed shut and your lips parted, or down, to where a white ring of your slick began to sorround the base of his cock each time he pulled out, noises growing increasingly wetter.

“You're driving me fucking insane,” he grunted.

There was no response from you, only whines of pleasure as you neared your second release. His thumb circled faster, not too hard, but enough to send all of your senses into overdrive, encouraging you to reach your climax, dying to know if you'd feel as good on his cock as you did on his fingers. And although he was dying to kiss you, he held back his urges just to see your face as you came, with your legs closing around his waist, your body slightly convulsing off the bed. It was nothing short of delightful.

You attempted to catch your breath, but heesung didn't give you time to process your intense orgasm as he flipped you onto your stomach. He pressed your cheek into the mattress and accommodated your lower half as he pleased. You were barely able to hold your ass up in the air for him, your knees weak as he entered you again. Only then did you register that you had come twice already, but had yet to see or feel a single drop from him.

“You are fucking insane,” you groaned, teary eyed.

He chuckled, movements coming to a halt. “I made you come twice and you still complain? Tsk. Greedy.” He dug his nails into your hips, making you wince. “Sorry you're tired, but it's my turn now.”

With that, his thrusts resumed, opting for a quicker, rougher pace than before, clearly turning a bit more selfish and now after his own release. The new position allowed him to reach deeper, making you press yourself back onto him to meet him halfway, chasing the sensation despite the pang of pain from having orgasmed so recently.

Heesung leaned down to bite onto your shoulder, in the pace where his tshirt wouldn't cover, making sure to engrave his teeth into your skin, hoping the next man you tried to sleep with would be turned off by the markings. He let go when you complained, kissing and licking onto it instead, whispering more soft apologies, although both of you knew that he wasn't sorry at all.

After a while his thrusts became more erratic, losing any pacing he tried to maintain. The grip on your hips was bruising, but you thought you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Touch yourself for me,” he commanded in between his moans.

You reached down between your body and the matress, struggling to reach your clit as Heesung's thrusts moved and pressed you against the sheets. Your motions were slow and light despite the harsh snapping of heesung's hips, slowly building up the pressure in your lower stomach until any discomfort you felt was gone, your fingers now matching his speed, mindless of the way your cunt tightened around him almost painfully.

He didn't stop nor slow down, not even as he came. Loud moans spilled from his lips, attempting to drag out his release as much as he could. And you followed soon after, body giving out under heesung to lay flat onto the bed, breathing heavily. He spread your legs carefully to not miss the way his cum oozed out of you, dripping down onto your folds. You turned your head back as best as you could, and through the mess of hair on your face, you still caught the way he smiled to himself as he watched.

“This is video worthy,” Heesung murmured, dragging his fingers up your cunt to fuck his cum back into you. “You're gonna make me hard again.”

You squirmed away from him, kicking at his sides. “Stop it,” you whined, then whined again as he pulled his fingers out languidly, the sight so painfully naughty it almost made you ask him to fuck you again. However, you were too tired to even hold yourself up.

Heesung's whole demeanour changed, and he was back to being just him; playful and soft spoken. “Sorry,” he chuckled, the only time it sounded like he actually meant it. He hovered over you, moving your hair to place gentle kisses on the nape of your neck.

It made you sigh, muscles finally relaxing, and your hearbeat now back to normal. Or sort of normal.

For the sake of the moment, you tried not to think about anything; about the fact that you just had the most intense and amazing sex with your best friend, no other. And you had to admit that you were kind of sad about the fact that it was over, and that it was probably gonna be a one time thing to protect the friendship. So you allowed yourself to be held by him, pushing any and all thoughts to the back of your mind.

“You're beautiful, you know?” he whispered against your skin.

He was making it way too hard.

“Not so bad yourself,” you mumbled jokingly. Heesung was fucking beautiful, too. “M'gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that.”

“Sleep, then,” he smiled.

“Thank you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“The dick, and the kisses.”

Heesung couldn't help but laugh, a loud but oddly comforting sound as you began to drift off.

“Anytime.”

[rinawantstosleep]

"I don't like your stupid, white hair." 

"And I don't like your boring, brown hair, buddy."

"W-well... well, I don't like your ugly, doo-doo face!"

"Your mama does." 

The two could go bickering like this for hours on end if you let them. What may seem to be a mutually digressive arrangement is actually an oddly adorable bonding in disguise. Satoru and your son put on a front of being annoyed at the other's presence, but you've never seen them apart for longer than a few minutes at a time. They've grown on each other; much like how moss grows on a statue that's been lingering out in the open. An indispensable cycle of life that's truly inevitable. 

"No, she doesn't! She doesn't! She likes... sof- sofis... sofistogated guys."

"You mean sophisticated?"

"Shut up!" 

You'd been terrified that your little one wouldn't have a father-figure to rely on anymore after you divorced your husband. However, it was something you had to do for his sake. The child deserved to live in an environment that wasn't always reeking of alcohol, where he wasn't subjected to the constant, drunk yelling of a pathetic excuse of a father who couldn't get his shit together and lazed around at home all day while you did all the work. If that meant that you'd have to raise him on his own, then so be it. At least he'd be raised properly. Signing those papers was, by far, the easiest decision you'd ever made. 

"I'm not shutting up because a kid in clothes too big for him is telling me to."

"You... you're the one always wearing tight clothes around the house to impress my mama."

"No, that's because I'm ripped. Gotta show off what I've got. And your mama loves that." 

"Oh, yeah? That means you show off your... your - um... ugly, doo-doo face!"

Would you regard it a miracle that Satoru just so happened to stumble into your life around that very time? Well, relatively. Meeting him wasn't something you'd planned, nor anticipated. The kind stranger who offered to pay for your order at a café a year ago has somehow, thanks to quite a romantic sequence of events, turned into your boyfriend; a rock to lean on for when you need the support. And, also, someone that your little one can look up to (with the fun, bonus benefit of the pair getting into silly, childish quarrels nine times out of ten). What is Satoru if not a three-hundred-and-thirty-six-month-old toddler, too? Puts your five-year-old to utter shame with the way he acts. 

"Enough. Baby, we've been over this before. Behave."

"But, mama, he's being a meanie!" "But, babe, he's acting all pretentious." 

The responses come simultaneously: one is high pitched and whiny, and the other is your son. Sometimes, you have to pause and ask yourself how you haven't gone insane yet. It's the love that keeps you from falling apart. How could you ever harbor any other feeling for these two, except for wanting to cherish them? You just... need to work on a pet name that doesn't apply to the both of them at once.  

"I don't want to hear it. Sweetie, finish your lunch. And, Satoru?" 

"Yes, honey-who-loves-me-and-my-'ugly, doo-doo'-face?" He's smirking, snickering, while saying this, the sly bastard. When will the pair ever relent on trying to one-up the other? 

"Why have you got one of my hair ties on your wris- never mind. Don't forget to change the sheets in our room. I'd do it myself if not for the meeting I need to get to in an hour." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Cue a tiny gasp. 

"But, mama..." The voice of your little one breaks the peaceful silence at the dining table once again. His legs start kicking back and forth - a sign that he's growing restless - from the chair they're dangling off of. He's got a protest already forming up in that head of his. "Toru said he'd take me to the skate park today. And he promised to get ice cream after."

Toru, huh? That's new. You can't help the smile that paints itself on your lips. The two have been getting along pretty well, it seems, contrary to all the bickering they do. That's always nice to know. It's amusing to see the dynamic they've built. One second, they're riling each other up to no end, the next, they've already formed a secret alliance to go out and have fun together. How cute. "Is that so?"

"Mhm! So that means we need to leave riiight after I finish my lunch. Don't get mad, okay?" 

It's the small things like these that warm your heart. Some sacrifices can be made if it's in regards to this adorable (step, even though you haven't married Satoru yet)father-son moment. The sheets are insignificant right now. "Awwh. Of course I won't get mad, baby. It's good for you to want to spend more time with Satoru. Isn't he a fun guy?"

"... maybe." 

. . . 

"Just make sure he's safe out there. Helmet and gear on at all times, no big ramps. And don't let him eat too much sugar. He'll get hyper. Once the rush dies down, he'll get cranky -"

Satoru's arm wraps around your waist before you can finish your sentence, pulling you overwhelmingly close to his frame. Instinctively, your arms move to wrap around his neck, just the way Satoru likes it. Oh, how he wants to just throw everything else out the window and drag you to the nearest room with a lock in place.

"You -" A quick peck to your lips, followed by a nibble on your bottom lip. "- worry -" Another peck. "- too -" Another. "- much." Then, an unexpected bite on the shell of your right ear. "I'd never allow myself to let that little demon get hurt; or hyper."

Large hands wander across the curve of your back, resting firm on your butt. Satoru doesn't want to expose your son to the way he's squeezing your plush flesh with his long digits, so he shifts to have your back pressed against the wall. A perfect opportunity to kiss you - which the man can't help but seize. What else is a smitten boyfriend to do while waiting for your son to get ready and come down from his room upstairs? Lips against lips until one of you pulls away for air. "He's safe with me, okay?" 

"Okay." 

"Atta girl. Now, you go to that meeting of yours. And, tonight, after we both get back- oww."

"Groooss! Don't kiss my mama, or you'll make her ugly! Like youuu!"

"Baby, no. Don't kick Satoru's ankles-"

"I'm saving you, mama."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[eaterofman]

Yandere Coworker Harem x New Hire Reader: A Meeting with the CEO

Follow up to this post

Finally fed up with it all, you decide to leave... but you learn it may not be that easy.

Content Warnings: General creepiness, yanderes, financial manipulation, manipulation, power difference, gaslighting

AN: Holy shit the first part blew up, more so than any post I've ever made on tumblr... ever. Thank y'all, and I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations? Had to ignore a few asks since they were essentially the plot to this part, haha.

As nice as Jake is... it starts to wear on you. The seclusion from your other coworkers, Warren and Jax's constant attention, it all becomes too much. This was the easiest money you've ever made, but it almost felt... condescending in a way. Seriously, you feel like you haven't actually worked in months, just given simple tasks to complete so that Jax could praise you. Otherwise, you felt like you were just eye candy set in a pretty office. No more, you figure. You make up your mind to go back to HR, it's been a long time coming. They either fix it, or you're gone.

With your mind made up, you return to Leon. He'd been so kind before, surely he'd help, right? As you explain your problems to him, he nods and gently smiles. In your distress, you don't notice his hand moving to cover yours, massaging yours comfortingly. You welcome the comforting sensation, overwhelmed to the point of not really considering the implications. You look into his dark eyes as you finish, silently pleading with him for help.

"That really is something. I'm sorry to hear your experience with the company has been so distressing. Tell me, do you have any proof?"

His demeanor seems to shift instantly back to the colder man you remember from your first sight of him. His fingers rubbing gentle circles into your palm shift into a harsher grip.

"Proof? I-I mean, the cameras have probably caught something?"

You'd say there were eyewitnesses, but all of your other coworkers had been avoiding you. You barely even knew their names...

"Unfortunately, our cameras have been malfunctioning lately, I doubt they'd catch anything. Without any actual witnesses, I'm afraid I can't do anything for you."

"How can you say that without even looking? This place is insane- you know what? I'm just quitting. I can't take this anymore."

You try to remove your hand but he keeps it there. His gaze is suddenly ice cold. He lets your hand go after a few moments of tension, fingers lingering before you yank your hand to your chest.

"Ah, you could quit... but I'd really recommend against it. You'd of course have to pay the dues you signed in your contract, as well as any additional fees. I'm not in charge of finances, but my estimate would be somewhere around... 200 thousand or so?"

You gasp, blood running cold. 200 thousand?! You don't remember signing that, but you also don't recall really reading over the contract in your excitement. You try to think of a way out, surely there had to be some sort of loophole-

"Of course, there's always the option of asking the CEO to change your contract, but..."

You'd tuned anything after that out, insisting to meet with the CEO as soon as possible. Which, to your surprise, was almost immediately. Almost like he'd been... waiting for you? Leon himself lead you to the CEO's room, at the very top of the skyscraper your office resided in. As you're let in, you're met with the biggest office you'd ever seen. It composed of the entire top floor of the skyscraper, massive windows encircling the entire ornate office.

You really try to ignore the feeling that you're walking into a trap.

The CEO was patiently waiting for you. Like a king on a throne, he sat in the middle of the room in front of a surprisingly simple desk. You'd heard of the CEO, Kennedy Grey, but you'd never met him in person before. He had an air of sophistication around him, an older gentlemen with salt and pepper hair and a well trimmed beard. His suit was pristine and looked expensive, probably costing more than your entire yearly salary. He smiled, urging the two of you to sit. His eyes glanced over to Leon's, a slight smirk on his face as if the two were in on a joke you weren't.

"So, what brings you two here? I've heard very good things about you from Jax. Things are going well, I presume?"

You fidget, despite his welcoming tone, he felt oddly... menacing. Like you weren't supposed to disagree with him, even if he asked you a question. You begin to explain your issues, but are quickly stopped with a firm look of disapproval when you bring up the idea of leaving the company.

"Now now, we can't have that, can we? With your contract, that wouldn't be a very smart idea, would it?"

Before you can even respond, he simply continues to talk over you.

"No, no it wouldn't. And you've just been such a good worker, we'd just hate to lose you."

"Well, I was actually hoping we could talk about the contract, I just don't think it's fair-" you can barely get your thoughts out as he cuts you off again.

"Unfair? But my dear, you signed it. I'd just hate to get my lawyers involved... they're top of the line, y'know? Besides, you don't actually want to leave, you're just... stressed. What do you need, a paid week off? A bonus for your hard work?"

"No-"

"Well, now that that's done, let's get back to work, shall we? You'll have a bonus on your next pay-"

You've had enough of his condescension and interruptions, it's time for you to interrupt him.

"You know what, I'll take the lawsuit. You people are insane. You can have the money if you want, but I'm out of here."

As you get up, you find you can't. Leon has moved behind you, surprisingly strong arms holding your chair in, preventing you from moving. You look up at him in angered confusion, but he's sharing a look with Kennedy. You once again feel like you're missing an important part of an inside joke again. You try to struggle, but you're stopped as Kennedy interrupts.

"Apartment 101, Evergreen Apartments, right?"

"W-wha-"

"You know, I've been venturing into the rental market recently. Very profitable at the moment. I actually just bought a few buildings in your area, including your little apartment. Such a shame, you know you could do better, right? All you have to do is ask..."

He smiles at you as if this was a normal conversation to him, like he was doing you a favor.

"I guess that makes me your landlord now, if you think about it!" his smile turns colder, eyes crinkling like he's laughing at you, "That being said, I just don't see how you're going to pay for the rent increase without this job. I hate to do it, but it's a necessity, y'know? Cost of living and such."

He waves his hand like it's no big deal, like he isn't playing with your livelihood and threatening you.

"You could move out, of course, but well, word gets around, and I just don't know how the other investors in the area would react to your... history."

You feel dread well up in the pit of your stomach and tears in your eyes. He... has you. What could you even do? Moving out of the city would mean starting over, and that's if you could even find a place and a job to pay for said place, and paying for the lawsuit-

In your panic, you can only whimper, "I just... why? Why me? i don't understand-"

"That's the beauty of it all, you don't have to. All you have to worry about is coming in and doing your job. We'll handle all the rest."

You jump, having almost forgotten Leon was behind you in your panic. You go to open your mouth-

"Wonderful insight, Leon. Now that we're all on the same foot, let's get back to work, shall we?"

You can only numbly nod your head, too overwhelmed to continue fighting.

You're finally allowed to sit up and begin walking towards the door, trying to speed walk out of the huge room that somehow managed to feel claustrophobic. You just wanted out at this point, you needed somewhere to think.

As you step into the elevator, Leon staying behind in the office-thank god-you're interrupted one final time.

"Oh, and I meant what I said. If you ever need any assistance, anything at all, just come to me. All you have to do is ask."

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Peter, Peter

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Implied Smut)

Summary: Season 2 Spencer and his girlfriend host a Halloween party and their couple costume causes some confusion

Note: Inspired by the scene in which Spencer doesn't recognize the kissing in a tree rhyme

Spencer loved Halloween. I knew that my boyfriend was a massive nerd. Honestly, it was a plus. With Spencer, I could be myself. He wasn't the type of man to raise his voice at a football game gone wrong. He wasn't the type of man had some weird purity culture blocks on me reading steamy books.

He was the type of man to passive-aggressive judge Jeopardy clues with the slightest inaccuracy. In my opinion, Spencer got a perfect score on the Jeopardy application which retroactively banned him from any type of game show in the franchise.

He was the type of man that encouraged enthusiastic and unabashed interest in things. Spencer had his old Russian novels and I had my novels with plenty of euphemisms for penis and good girl in Russian.

Compatibility, right?

Spencer had volunteered us to host team party. They spent the day hoping from grocery store to craft store to liquor store for various things they needed. The fall had finally arrived; and I welcomed the crispiness in the morning and the chill in the evening. Spencer wore a forest green and deep khaki sweater that complimented his eyes. He blushed when I told him, the tips of his reddened cheeks reached the bottom of his glasses.

"Ooh! We should use the pumpkins as a pitch for my Faerie Brew." I suggested, sizing up a rather large and lumpy orange pumpkin.

Spencer cocked his head. "What were you thinking of making?"

"Personally I think a pumpkin sangria would be revolting..." I sighed, thinking, "probably I'd do an apple, cranberry, lemonade sangria."

"Sounds like you and Penelope will be the ones to enjoy that?" He teased. Penelope was the first of the team to know. Spencer had a hard time hiding the reason as to why Penelope had caught him a florist near their apartments. I had met Penelope a couple weeks later and in the eight months since, we've become close friends. Mostly because I've grown to hate nights alone in our apartment. It's not the same without Spencer.

Spencer lifts the pumpkin and places it into the cart, waving off my insistence on helping. "Are you going to tell me what the costumes are? Derek really thinks he's slick doing what he's doing with his date."

"You'll see."

"Tell me, Y/N." Spencer pushed the cart along, stopping as I toss a packet of orange jello.

"I've never done jello shots." I claimed. "I was too serious and nerdy in college." Spencer gave me an amused look.

"I'm sure between the two of us, I was the nerdiest one back in college." He retorted, a look a smugness colored his face.

"You were twelve in college, Spencer." I countered, smiling when the tips of Spencer's crooked smile reached the part where his cheeks tinged red. "And you're lucky you're cute." I said. "But I want jello-shots."

"I'll get the sleeping bag out for Penelope. And we'll swing by the drinks aisle for some electrolytes."

---

Spencer had gotten stuck planning a seminar at the Academy so Penelope had decided to come over to help me the finishing touches. She was dressed as Hedy Lamar, the scientist/film star. The 1940s style suited her. Penelope had a bright red lip and perfectly curled blonde hair. Her dress with fitted at the waist and flared to the knees.

"You're a pumpkin?" Penelope's eyebrows were raised. She had begun organizing the jello shots tray into something resembling a pumpkin. "I would've thought you'd having the most creative costume."

I plated the mini-hot dogs into warming trays, trying to hide my thrill. I knew that Penelope would love this costume in its entirety. Spencer...he'd either love it or not.

"You'll see!" I said. Penelope had roped JJ and Emily into dressing up like the Powerpuff girls. Penelope, between the trio, had taken it the most seriously.

The rest of the team had arrived, except for Hotch who had simply shaken his head at the thought of trying Penelope's Franken-Punch. I poured the sparkly green liquid into a plastic pumpkin as Spencer walked into our apartment.

"You're the cutest pumpkin in the patch." Spencer said softly, his playful tone making me smile. Penelope pretended to gag into the kitchen sink at Spencer's sickly sweet affection.

"Usually I'd think you two are adorable, but tonight I am preoccupied." Penelope claimed. She had set her sights on one of Derek's gym buddies who was coming to the party. Much to Derek's chagrin. "Anyway, Reid. Go get your costume on." She insisted.

Spencer kissed the side of my cheek and made a face at the concoction. "You know calling this Franken-Punch isn't very accurate. The doctor is the one named Frankenstein." Penelope gave him a look. And Spencer threw his hands up, "All I'm saying is that if we're going to pay homage to the mother of science fiction we shouldn't be so cavalier with references."

Penelope huffed in faux annoyance as I kissed Spencer's face. "Go get ready, honey. JJ and Emily should be coming soon. And I think Derek and Danny are parking." I handed Spencer the bag with his costume in it and Penelope and I continued to get the apartment ready for the party.

It was hard to decide if Penelope was more enamoured with Danny or if Danny was more enamoured with her. It would be hard not to find someone who wasn't taken with the tech genius.

I sipped the drink Penelope had made. It tasted as good as it looked. Derek stood at my side, scooping some dip, chips, and a slice of pizza on his plate. Spencer came from our bedroom, a confused look on his face.

"And now what on Earth do you have him dressed as?" Derek smirked, as he noticed the text on Spencer's shirt.

Peter, Peter

"It's not anything that's not true." I shrugged, my bright orange cheeks smiling as I winked. Spencer hurried over, still confused. Penelope, JJ, and Emily took pictures together but instantly understood Spencer's confusion.

"Too much for me to know," Penelope said, groaning, "Now I see the creativity in this costume." She gestured to my pumpkin outfit.

Spencer appeared at my side, still confused. "Are you sure this isn't a mistake?" He asked, looking down at his shirt and then at me, "It's supposed to be a couple's costume, baby?"

Derek chuckled, offering to clink his and Spencer's glasses in cheers, "My man. Who would've thought."

Penelope giggled as she and the girls filled their plates and exchanged looks of both surprise and amusement. Spencer, however, remained confused. Danny, Derek's friend from the gym who wouldn't leave Penelope alone, joined in on the clever costume.

"Peter, peter, pumpkin eater. Good man," He said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder.

When the guests had gotten their food and drink Spencer and Derek stood together chatting about the results of the latest case. Gideon, who reluctantly donned a witch's hat, offered a curious glance at Spencer's shirt and then scanned his eyes towards me. He nodded, looked at Spencer and then shook his head in disbelief.

"That's enough." Spencer exclaimed. "Explain it to me." He grabbed my hand and I smiled. He always told me that my grins were infectious and just by looking at me he'll end up smiling. "Please. Derek won't stop congratulating me and I'm lost."

I chuckle, kissing Spencer on his cheek. "You're brilliant, baby." I said. "You're Peter, Peter and I'm the pumpkin. And you're a pumpkin eater." I explained.

"Oh." Spencer said cocking his head. "Makes sense. You're very sweet and I do like-" I clapped my hand over Spencer's mouth before he can continue. Sometimes that mind works too fast for the other parts of him to keep up. He kissed my palm, breaking my resolve. I laughed wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.

"Y/N!" Penelope called out, clearly more than inebriated, "We want to play some games. And don't worry Dr. Reid, no bobbing for apples. We'll by the looks of it, you'll be bobbing for someone's pumpkin later." She smirked.

We divided into teams three, with Spencer and I on the same team. We shared the armchair and Spencer's had wrapped themselves around my waist. Penelope, in all her drunken glory, explained the rules. Just as she was going over the rules, Spencer gasped and called out.

"Oh! You mean like...cunniligus. Well then yeah, I guess it works."

tagging some friends bc i don't have a taglist anymore

@reidsbookclub @reidsbookclub @reid-ingandweeping @foxy-eva

[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.

[gguk-n]

Last Straw (Lando Norris x Reader)

Thank you for the 400 followers. I love Lando but I felt like a bit of angst was needed.

Part 1 of Fading Shadow

Summary- Lando has been in a relationship for quite some time, most people didn't know that. Finally, the world finds out about Lando's girlfriend, he seems to forget about her.

Warning- Lando is a bit of an ass and the reader is a bit of a doormat

{Reader's POV}

Lando won the second race of his career and the season at Zandvoort, Max's home race. I was over the moon watching Lando cross the finish line. He was so happy to have won another race, finally. As he got out of the car he ran to his parents; after the greeting and congratulations, he walked away to be interviewed. I was stood there, dumb founded as Lando left without even acknowledging my existence; I could hear people whispering as Lando walked away

When we got back to the hotel, "Lan, do you wanna go out to celebrate?" I asked looking at him as he got ready for a shower. "Oh, Y/N, I made plans with the others; none of their girlfriends are coming. It'd be weird" he stated. "Oh, yeah, obviously. Well, I hope you have fun. I'll be here waiting for you" I said trying to give him a smile but I felt tears well up. Lando left soon after, while I was sat in the hotel scrolling through twitter when I saw something I wish I hadn't. I couldn't stop myself from reading through the tweets.

I could already imagine my friends screaming at me for staying after everything. It had always been like this, it always felt like Lando was too embarrassed to be seen with me. We started dating a year and a half back but we met 2 years back, when I was on a vacation with my friends. He was the best guy, or so I thought. We exchanged numbers and stayed in contact until he asked me out. It was straight out of a movie, the whole nine yards. But he wouldn't let me tell my friends, "baby come on, why do you wanna tell everyone and ruin the fun just yet. I like the thrill, isn't it fun trying to act like there's nothing between us" he said as he pushed me on my back on the sofa while his lips trailed the exposed skin on my torso; honestly I'd lose any train of thought once his lips were on my skin. Though I accidentally let it slip one day, they had been trying to get me to go on a blind date. So, I told them I was dating Lando Norris. They were so excited and wanted to meet him.

When Lando found out about that, he was furious and didn't speak to me for days. "HOW COULD YOU TELL THEM? AFTER ALL THE TIMES I TOLD YOU NOT TO....ARE YOU STUPID?" he shouted. "Lan, it was an honest mistake. They kept trying to set me up on a blind date and I didn't wanna go, obviously since I have you. Please, I'm sorry. I won't do anything stupid again. Please just join me for lunch on Sunday. I'm really sorry" I cried. "Then you should've gone on that stupid date" he spat as he walked away. I should've known then. It was only after I begged and pleaded that Lando agreed to meet my friends. He never let me forget how he did me a favour by agreeing to meet my friends. "baby, you know how much I love you right" he asked. "yeah" I replied as he intertwined his fingers with mine. "I can't share you with others. I get so jealous. You're mine and only mine. And that's why I can't have you meet my friends" he said as he started sucking on my neck.That's why I didn't bring up the fact that I hadn't met his friends since we'd known each other for a year and dating for half of it. We barely even went out on dates; we'd always have in home dates since he was a celebrity and didn't like the paps. He would always say that he enjoyed the normalcy and the feeling of being a regular guy with me. "Baby, do you really wanna go out, where we would be spotted and then people say stuff about us. Don't you like being home, wear whatever you want. I can touch you however I want. Come on, why do you wanna ruin something so perfect" he hummed against my lips as his fingers pushed my underwear aside. I was so naive and thought that he was such a romantic guy.

It a little before our 1 year anniversary when I started asking him to take me along to the races since I wanted to be there to support him in person. "Lan, I really wanna be there for your races. I wanna see my boyfriend being cool at what he does." I whined. "You already do see me on the teli, it's practically the same" he said. "Please Lan" I begged. "Baby, I love you I truly do and I wanna show you off to the world but you know how the fans can get, they ruined my last relationship and I can't lose you. I love you too much" he said making me blush. I believed him like the idiot that I was. I believed every lie that left his pretty lips even when he would say that all those pictures of him on twitter with girls were edited and that he would never do that to me. I believed him.

I don't know how much I begged to be at a race and when I got to go to the first race of my life with him as his girlfriend and of the season; I was ecstatic. I made sure to be dressed well so as to not embarrass Lando and made sure to be a little controlled in my movements even though I was super excited to be there since I loved Formula One. All the other drivers were pretty shocked to meet me and even more so when they found out we'd been dating. They were all very kind and so were their girlfriends. I thought we'd be the best of friends and I'd have someone to hang out with while my boyfriend raced. Oh how stupid I was, they never even told me that Lando cheated on me or that their boyfriends knew and they never told me. I had an inkling that Lando was cheating on me; I saw it with my own eyes on the night before my birthday; the day of the Miami GP and he was celebrating with everyone and I saw him kissing a girl. No one saw me because I left immediately and cried myself to sleep. I hated myself for never confronting Lando; I brushed it off thinking that if I tried harder Lando would be back to himself, the Lando I know. But the Lando I knew was a facade and never existed. Lando had only been playing with my heart, it seems.

Did I tell you? He forgot our anniversary and said he would make it up to me. Which I do not believe he has. "Fuck baby, I'm sorry" he whispered as he wiped away my tears. "You know how busy I've been with the season starting and stuff. You'll forgive me right? I'll make it up to you, promise." he said while I nodded along to him. My friends hated his guts, but I was the one covering for him. When they asked why we weren't public; I said I wanted to be private. When they asked about Lando's multiple infidelities I would lie to their face and say that everything was a lie and a ploy to ruin his reputation; that's what I knew then and believed. I would see them face palm themselves mentally, now that I thought about it.

I guess being embarrassed by the man you love, multiple times, publicly can fuck you up. Because right now, I couldn't even cry anymore. I couldn't believe the other girls wouldn't even reply to my texts on the group chat; they added me to. This was humiliating. I was done with that asshole and I wasn't about to let him walk all over me anymore.

I wiped away the tears that were streaming down my face. I got dressed and decided to show up at the same bar he was at. When I entered, I saw him, dancing and drinking with others. I saw the other drivers with their girlfriends; I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. I walked up to the bar and sat down and started ordering the most expensive drinks they had. "Bad day?" The bartend asked. "Horrible, my boyfriend's been cheating on me" I chuckled. "I'm sorry." he looked apologetic. "You have nothing to apologise for. Just add the tab of every drink I put down my throat to that guy in the white shirt" I said directing his eyes to Lando. "Lando Norris?" he asked. "Yeah" I said and started to drink. I was sure Lando saw, I could feel it. I felt multiple eyes. I felt my phone buzz multiple time; I wasn't sure if it was some one who cared about me or those assholes since I didn't want to check my phone.

After a good hour of just drowning my feelings in alcohol, I stumbled my way out of the bar. I had made the decision to move out of that hotel room to another hotel and stay there before I flew back to get all my stuff. Lando would be too hammered to realise I was gone. I woke up the next morning with a major hangover but I knew what I wanted. I flew back to our his home in Monaco and took all my stuff; thankfully not a lot and left with a note on the table saying 'We are done'. I left any and everything he gave me, which wasn't a lot when you think about how I was dating a millionaire. I blocked Lando's number while I waited for my flight back home, can't believe I gave so much up for this man boy. I will be putting myself first finally.

{Lando's POV}

I saw her, but I wasn't sure if it was really Y/N so I texted her but no reply. Apparently, she was at the bar we were at but she didn't approach me or us. Everyone saw her, I thought she didn't see us but I found out she knew I was there since she billed everything she had to me; which was a lot of alcohol, almost enough to cover half the amount I spent on the group. I knew I was fucked. I had no idea how I was gonna explain myself to her. I tried texting her but no reply. I think she blocked me and when I saw twitter I saw Y/N had posted a story but I couldn't see it either; guess she blocked me on there too.

I flew back as soon as I was able to, to find the house empty and a note on the table saying we're done. I guess I deserved that after the shit I pulled; well at least it's not as messy as I expected it to be.

[sugdenlovesdingle]

a little Tommy & Chim bffs for @rileychester

----

"Her ladyship requests, no demands, uncle Buck reading her a story before bed instead of her own mother." Maddie said, walking back into the livingroom after having gone to put Jee to bed half an hour ago.

"What can I say, it's not easy being this popular." Buck joked and extracted himself from where he'd been happily tucked under Tommy's arm on Maddie and Chimney's way too comfortable sofa. He quickly kissed Tommy, murmured something about being right back, and followed Maddie up to Jee's room.

Tommy watched him until he was out of the room and then turned back to Chim who was laughing at him.

"Damn Kinard you've got it bad."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tommy said, trying to act somewhat cool and hide his reddening cheeks behind his wine glass.

"Yeah I'm sure you don't." Chim took a sip of his own drink. "I mean I love Maddie more than anything in the world, but I don't kiss her goodbye when she leaves the room."

"Well maybe you should start." Tommy told him. If he was getting called out, he might as well own it. "It's working pretty well for us."

"She'd probably think I was going crazy and call Hen to come check me over. Who would then also ask me if I'd lost my mind." He said and they both laughed. "But it's good to see you so happy, man. Both of you. Even if I never in a million years would have guessed that you two would end up together."

"Me neither really." Tommy admitted. "I actually almost let your call go to voicemail that night. My shift was almost over and there was bad weather coming in... I just wanted to go home and catch up on some sleep."

"And there was me asking you to steal a helicopter because of a hunch. I'm sure Bobby is still very grateful you didn't ignore me." Chim said and raised his glass at him. "To team who cares!"

Tommy clinked his glass against Chim's.

"Bobby isn't the only one who's grateful. If I hadn't answered that call, i would have missed out on the greatest thing that ever happened to me. i wouldn't have met the love of my life. I wouldn't be here now. I might have downloaded that dating app again that I'd deleted off my phone a few days before or taken Lucy up on her offer to set me up with her friend." Tommy shook his head. "I'm just glad I did answer. it definitely changed my life for the better."

"You're getting sappy in your old age, Kinard." Chimney teased. "When is the wedding? Do I have time to buy a hat?" he joked, expecting Tommy to laugh with him. Only when he didn't say anything Chim really looked at him. "What? Tell me you didn't..."

"I asked Evan to marry me last night." Tommy told him after a beat. "He said yes."

Chimney blinked a few times to process the information.

"Of course he said yes! He's just as crazy about you as you are about him." he got up to hug his friend. "Welcome to the family, man. We'll officially be brothers."

Tommy smiled and finished the last of his wine.

"There is one thing I wanted to talk to you about though..."

"Shoot."

"When Evan and I get married... will you be my best man?"

"It would be the greatest honour of my life."

---

Send me a prompt and I'll write you a ficlet!

[boysmentfs]

My new boyfriend.

Tommy was Olivia's bff, he was always there for her above all things, they considered themselves almost "sisters" since tommy was not a guy like the others, he was a Twink, brown hair, youthful face, 20 years old, very thin, just like a noodle and clearly homosexual.

Olivia was the typical dumb blonde girl, tall, busty, the same age as tommy and popular but despite all this she always had things going wrong in love, she had recently met a fraternity guy named "Jake" But as expected, their relationship didn't last long and they had broken up a few hours ago, so she sent Tommy a message, so he could comfort her like he always does.

"Sis... I have ended my relationship with Jake, I am devastated... He was the most handsome guy in the world, I can't believe it"

"bestie, why do your relationships always take so little time? I mean, you've dated really hot guys... Hehe, I don't understand why they break up with you, you're beautiful, sis"

"I don't know, Tommy.... I would love to have a boyfriend who actually loves me for a long time, who protects me, listens to me and all that stuff, like you do."

"It's a shame I like guys, bff, because if I didn't, you know I'd be with you, but don't worry, you'll get a nice handsome guy with an attitude like mine!"

"I hope it doesn't take too long for that guy to come into my life, hey baddie, thanks for listening to me <3, now I have to go to sleep, sweet dreams! xoxo"

After that last message, olivia went straight to her computer and looked for something on the black market that could help her with her plan, and that's how he found a pair of red shorts, a chain and some earrings, In the description it said that with those things the guy who will use them would become the most handsome and loving guy in the world, so olivia did not hesitate twice and clicked to buy it.

The next day, the package arrived at her house, but I didn't want it to be so obvious, so I took the things out of the box where they were and handed them another one with a wrapper full of teddy bears and hearts, olivia knew that Tommy, seeing this, would not hesitate to open it, so once she closed the box, she sent it to Tommy's house.

A few minutes had passed since Olivia had sent the box to Tommy's house, When the package arrived someone knocked on the door and left, Tommy went directly to the door and opened it, curious to see the package he picked it up from the floor and began to open it, Tommy, seeing what was inside the box, was surprised. He never ordered clothes online, maybe they went to the wrong house, so he closed the box again, waiting for the real owner to claim it.

Once he left the box on the table, he went straight to the shower, when he finished his shower he grabbed his shirt but something was missing... And that was his special pink shorts, he remembered that he had lent them to his best friend so he thought of a solution, so he remembered that in the package they had sent him there were some red shorts so he went for them, once he used them, he would wash them so that the real owner would not suspect.

He grabbed the red shorts and put them on, It was a beautiful warm and sunny day so he decided to watch some TV, while watching TV he started to feel strange and a little hot, Something in his mind told him no try on what was in the box, the chain and the earrings, so he went for them and put them on, once je had them on he went to a mirror and saw himself, he laughed because he looked like one of her friend's boyfriends, but thin and without any muscle. After he saw herself in the mirror, he returned to the couch to continue watching TV.

And without realizing it, his foot began to enlarge as it became fleshier, his toes lengthened as veins sprouted and some hair grew on them, now he had feet of size 15, large masculine, all their delicacy was gone, now they looked like the feet of an jock.

His legs began to hurt, because they began to thicken and muscle began to come out, now his thighs were big while his calves were worthy of a real man, some hair began to grow on them.

The next thing to change was his butt and his bag, His big butt began to shrink to a decent size worthy of an jock, it was big but not as big as before although it was defined a little more, her pouch, which she was proud of since it was small and delicate, began to grow to a size 15 and also thickened while pubic hair came out, it seemed that she never shaved, but that made him look more masculine.

His designer thong also began to undergo changes, it went from being a red thong to becoming blue designer boxers so that his manhood would be highlighted even more along with his toned butt.

His stomach, which was thin, began to hurt as abdominal after abdominal came out in Tommy's stomach, a v began to be marked on the lateral sides while he gained a beautiful pack of 8 very worked abs, his chest began to expand outwards as two large defined pecs bulged out, a tattoo began to appear on a pectoral, his torso began to lengthen as he became more masculine, his back also underwent changes, it went from being feminine and thin, to being masculine and wide, muscle also appeared there, giving him a very manly back and worthy of admiration.

hiss shirt began to tear due to his large muscles, that was where Tommy reacted and was surprised and ran towards the mirror.

"Omg! What happened to me? I am dreaming? "This must be a dream, yes... I must wake up."

But before Tommy slapped himself, his arms began to hurt as they began to stretch and muscle began to come out, his biceps were now the size of a ball, his triceps were well worked, his delicate hands began to thicken while his fingers lengthened can and they started to look calloused due to all the exercise he did at the gym, wait... Exercise? Gym? He didn't exerc- but before Tommy reacted, two tattoos began to appear on his two muscular arms and another tattoo on one of his biceps.

Tommy couldn't anymore, he was about to cry, so he got the idea to call Olivia, but before he could do that, his face started to hurt.

Tommy's face, which was young, delicate and feminine, began to change as his jaw became marked, giving him a more manly appearance, His lips that were too full from being an expert cocksucker became thinner but still looked kissable, his nose became big and cuter, his eyes that were green began to turn brown, his beautiful blonde hair began to recede as it began to turn black, at the end, his hair ended up with a cut that any jock could have, his face had become the most beautiful, any girl who saw him would die to be with him, Tommy looked in the mirror again, looking at his new appearance, he became somewhat horny, without a doubt his new appearance was his ideal type, all the blood flowed into his bag giving him an obvious erection.

Tommy put his hand in his bag and started moving his hand up and down. He started to think about how many cute guys he could fuck... But as he thought about guys his erection faded, His mind began to give him new memories as a new alpha aura took over him. He began to imagine himself fucking girls with big butts and tits. His erection returned, but Tommy knew this wasn't right... He was... Homo... Homosexual?, NO, he was straight and loved raising beautiful girls with his bag, As he continued to raise and lower his hand he couldn't hold back anymore and he came and with that all his memories, personality and Tommy faded away.

"Seriously, Olivia is lucky to have me as a boyfriend, I mean, who wouldn't want someone like me?" Max said to himself as he flexed one of his arms in the mirror.

Tommy was now Max, Olivia's boyfriend, quarterback of the football team, leader of his fraternity, he loved parties, alcohol, exercising and having fun, max hated homosexuals, he said they could never be real men like him and his "bros."

After pulling up his pants he received a message from his girlfriend Olivia, Olivia knew that Tommy at this point had ceased to exist so she wanted to test out her new boyfriend.

"Hi love! I miss you... I would like to have you here with me, I want you to make me yours... come to my house <3"

"Well, today I'm free princess, to hell with today's training, I prefer to be with my beautiful girl, so you don't miss me so much while i arrived at your house, I'll send you a photo of me, princess ;)"

Olivia was happy with her new boyfriend, he was affectionate and listened to her all day, just like she wanted.