#domestic dispute cw

[wardogsong]

THERE IT GOES. That temper he knows so well. She and he? They have it in common-- get it from the same general fount no less; the blood in their veins that makes them New York Italian. Truly she is become a blend of so many righteously angered women-- his mother, his ma, his aunt up in Mt Kisco; all of them women married to knuckleheads like him who draw it out of them when they don't or CAN'T listen. To say nothing of the sons they are made to wrangle after bearing them for such husbands.

"Yeah, he said he was gonna talk t'you," Frank mutters, quiet enough that he bets it goes unheard as words-- just a low rumble that sounds hangdog and defeated already.

Frank had so been counting on it when he'd taken his troubles to Sal himself, making him aware of the limits that Cass wanted to set-- the demands she was making of him for the sake of their marriage and family. Truth was, they were demands he was ready to meet the best he could-- though he knew that it wouldn't be easy finding workarounds, compromises... loopholes.

Cass had promised she'd walk if he didn't and Frank believed her-- but not SAL. No-- the old man swore it was just something she was saying, something to get him in line, but he promised she wouldn't walk away from their sacred union so easily. And then the fateful promise. . . that he would have a word with his daughter and help straighten it all out. Not soon enough, it seems.

"Cass--Cass... c'mon. Don't do that. Don't talk like that." The finger stuck in his face belongs to a hand he catches in a gentle hold, not to restrain but simply to HOLD-- a connection between man and wife, even if on the border of estrangement.

It's not easy seeing a random chaos of his things stuffed into luggage, but it's the words she wields like a whip that cuts him to the quick and squeezes his heart painfully. Too long has he envied her natural father-- the father he'd wished had been his own. To hear her cast him off, even if not for the first time, HURTS. Sal doesn't merit the shunning-- the callousness. He hasn't done anything wrong. He's been the best father and husband he could be.

"Wha-wha-whaddya want me t'do here? Huh? You think I can just tell the old man 'hey thanks a lot but kiss my ass' and go what-- cashier at Auto Zone? What? Taking orders from some snot-nosed manager barely outta high school? You know what we're tryin' t'do. You know it's gonna get easier. . ."

@wardogsong​   asked  :  “Cassie… baby, c'mon. I thought your dad said he was gonna talk to you?”

If Frank’s words were successful in one thing it was halting Cassandra from sloppily flinging more articles of her husband’s clothing into the suitcase presently set in the middle of their bed. Yes, boxers were still in Cassandra’s left hand - even as her hands went to her hips - but as fury overwhelmed her, infiltrated her senses, she didn’t give mind to it.

“My dad said he was gonna TALK t’me?!”

The concept filled Cassandra with disgust. The sort that couldn’t been portrayed with the curve of her upper lip or an eyeroll. No, this was loud disgust where her eyes narrowed and her voice elevated. It was perfect for nosy children like Louis or Frank Jr. to press their ears against the wall and eavesdrop to the third (or was it the fourth? The fifth?) round of Castiglione drama occurring this week.

“What, what’s that suppose ta mean?” She steps closer to Frank, the perfect image of past women. Eve Scozzari. Louisa Castiglione. Small and fired up, she represented both of them in the midst of a taller, nerve-wracking husband. “Huh? What’s he gonna do?” Cassandra wondered sometimes how Frank would have been if he wasn’t her father’s devoted dog. Hell, Cassandra wondered how Frankie would be if he had a normal grandpa. Would he still be selling hot cheetos, jawbreakers and soda on the playground? Making cardboard guns?

“Know what?” She lifts a finger, “I am SICKA him the same way I’m sicka you!”

[remarkableheroes]

welp i had plans to work on things today but now i'm sitting here fighting panic attacks because of this couple that has been violently screaming at each other for months now...im around , but might only be able to get to shorter stuff today. i need a distraction but man is the brain wanting to just shut down from the ptsd. if you have my discord...you can also hit me up there. i'm just not doing super great with the yelling.

[rebelfell]

shelter from the storm

eddie munson x fem!reader

When your power gets knocked out, your neighbor comes to check on you and make sure you’re okay. Among other things.

18+, MDNI 2.8k

cw: plus-size reader, drinking/smoking, references to r’s shitty ex/domestic disputes, some good old making out & grinding.

The lights in your trailer barely flickered when the storm outside knocked out your power. 

In an instant you were plunged into total darkness, broken up only by brief flashes of lightning that struck overhead. The silence that engulfed you was almost oppressive, the outage having silenced everything, down to the ambient noise you had grown so accustomed to you only noticed it missing once it was gone—the distant drone of your A/C unit, the steady hum of your fridge, the static buzz of your radio.

They all ceased at once, leaving only the sounds of the storm and your heavy breathing.

You’d curled up on the sofa just as it was getting started, your eyes drifting from the old black and white movie playing on your TV to watch the trees bend and sway in the howling winds, dark clouds heavy with rain rolling in to blot out the sun.

And if you just so happened to catch a glimpse of your next door neighbor outside weatherproofing his windows, dressed in nothing but gray sweats slung dangerously low on his narrow hips and showing off his toned, tapered waist…

Well, that was just a bonus.

You certainly hadn’t chosen this spot in particular for its view of Eddie’s place. And it wasn’t like you had sat here many, many times before to watch him lounging on his porch, strumming his beat-up acoustic, or doing maintenance on his van in a sweaty tank top that clung so artfully to his lean frame, showing off sinewy, tattooed arms that flexed with every crank of a wrench and made your mouth run dry imagining his veins bulging while he cranked something else.

No, you simply enjoyed watching the storm. Seeing the rain come down in sheets, darkening the earth and tamping down the dust of the main dirt road. You found it oddly soothing to see the garishly bright cracks of lightning split the sky before the BOOM of thunder that followed.

At least until the power went out.

You jumped slightly at it, in spite of yourself, heartbeat picking up in your chest. You inhaled deeply, taking a moment to steady yourself only for you to jump all over again as someone started knocking rhythmically on your front door.

It was Eddie. And he was drenched.

In the handful of seconds it must have taken him to leave his place and cross the road, he had been effectively soaked through.

His clothes were clinging to him, his white shirt translucent enough in some places you could see the black ink drawings scrawled on his skin under it. And his long hair, typically all frizz and fluff, had started to form into wet clumps, his short bangs plastered to his forehead, water running down his soft features. And his pants…

Well, you couldn’t even trust yourself to look down at his pants right now.

But even in his current state, his smile still shone like pure sunshine as he grinned and motioned behind you inside your darkened trailer.

“I saw your lights went out too,” he said. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“Oh…oh yeah, I’m–I’m fine,” you replied, shifting excitedly under the intensity of his gaze.

“You sure? You look a little…” His eyes flickered as they ran up and down your body, lingering on the sight of your bare legs in your sleep shorts, your thighs pressed tight together. “...spooked.”

You swallowed harshly, practically gulping as his eyes returned to your face.

“N-no, I’m just—” you tittered nervously, “Sorry, it must be the storm. I’m fine, really.”

“Oh. Okay. I, uh…I guess I’ll be going, then” he said, glancing out at the storm raging beyond the cover of your porch. You felt your bottom lip pull between your teeth as you watched him turn.

“Eddie, wait!”

You called out to him, words tumbling forth in a mad dash. For a moment, you feared the storm might be too loud and he wouldn’t hear you over it, but it seemed your voice had risen enough to make him pause, his foot hovering over the top step, Adidas slide being pelted with rain.

“Do you want a drink?” you asked.

He looked back at you over his shoulder and then slowly swiveled back around, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk. You licked your lips, still trying to be coy as you held his gaze.

“I made up a cooler in case the power went out,” you explained. “Y’know, just to avoid opening up the fridge. Wasn’t exactly expecting to need it so soon, but…”

You gave a little shrug of your shoulders and leaned up against the door frame. Eddie’s eyes traveled all across your body again, and from the salacious look in his eyes, you might have thought you’d just offered to blow him right there on your porch. Which you hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.

He jerked his chin lightly in a nod, Cheshire Cat grin spreading. Teeth showing.

“Sounds perfect, sweetheart.”

Eddie settled himself in on the couch while you went to retrieve a pair of beers from the cooler, lighting some candles along your way.

Seeing the one you’d preemptively set out on the coffee table, he leaned forward and dug his Zippo from his pocket. He lit it on his thigh, dragging it towards his body to open the top cover and then flicking it forward against his pant leg to strike it.

A long flame emerged from the silver box and he touched it to the wick, face bathed in the same wash of warm, orange light as when he lit up a cigarette or a joint. He caught your eye as you watched him from the kitchen and you chuckled when he started to expertly flip the lighter over and under his fingers, shiny metal catching the candlelight before it was tucked away.

He held his hand out for the beer you extended as you approached and you tried not to think too hard about just how large it looked as it wrapped around the emerald body of the bottle, his chunky silver rings only making his long fingers look all the more delectable. The flame from the candle on the table reflected in his eyes that had gone black in the dark. As though they were all pupil.

“Nice view,” he smirked, his gaze dancing as he nodded out the window at his own trailer.

“It’s okay,” you sighed, settling into the cushions. “Except for when my neighbor’s out there.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie’s brow arched, crooked smile still spread wide. “He must be super distracting. Can’t keep your eyes off him, can you?” 

You scrunched your nose, bobbing your head.

“More like I can’t get a minute of peace with all the racket he makes.”

You stuck your foot out to kick him, but gasped softly as he wrapped his hand firmly around your ankle and pulled your leg into his lap. Your toes wiggled against his thigh and Eddie’s grip on you loosened. He brushed his fingertips in swirling circles up your bare calf, letting them drift lightly over your skin until he heard your breath stutter and felt you shiver under his touch.

Shit. How long had it been since someone had touched you like that?

Eddie stopped himself halfway to your knee, eyes lifting to meet yours from under a raised brow in a silent question of, is this alright?

And you aren’t quite sure of your answer. 

You’ll have to let him know once you figure out whether or not you’re dreaming.

A clap of thunder outside restarts your heart in your chest. Your whole foot flexed instinctively, the dampness under it reminding you of how he had arrived, soaked through and dripping.

“Do you want some dry clothes?” you asked, drawing your leg back and tucking it underneath you. “I have some stuff you can wear, y’know. Sweats and a tee shirt.”

No underwear, but you don’t say that. 

Eddie’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek and he stared intently at your mouth as he thought, startling when he realized how long he’d been quiet for. Like he forgot how to talk.

“I’d love it,” he said, eyes never leaving your lips.

You slinked back towards the bedroom and went to your closet to dig out the last lone box of your ex’s shit—your spite box, for lack of a better term. It contained all the things he’d been asking you if you’d seen anywhere since he moved out.

Things you felt he no longer had any right to.

Among them, a Venom tee from their Seven Dates of Hell tour you’d found at a flea market and he’d just started wearing because it was “too small for you, anyway,” apparently; and a pair of cashmere joggers you’d splurged on as a gift when he burned a hole in his regular pair.

“Bathroom’s through there,” you said, nodding towards it as you held out the clothes to Eddie.

He rose off the couch abruptly, crowding into your space so your bodies were just inches apart. His scent came off him and made a home in your nose, thick and musky like suede and a bit earthy like the weed he might have smoked earlier or maybe even had on his person.

You found yourself fluttering at the sudden intrusion. But you didn’t dare pull away.

His face was even more beautiful up close, littered sparsely with freckles you had never noticed before. The lines under his cheeks so deep you could see them even when he wasn’t smiling. The slightly round, almost bulbous tip of his nose that added to his soft features.

Warmth enveloped your fingers as he laid his hands over yours to take the clothes from you, so much electricity buzzing between you you half expected all the lights to jolt back to life.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he purred. All low and rumbly like the distant thunder.

You tried to answer, but with your mouth and throat suddenly achingly dry for some reason, you could only nod as he brushed past you to go change. Blaming the lack of A/C for the way your face flushed and how your chest heaved, struggling to draw air into your lungs.

Reaching for your beer that was already starting to sweat with condensation, you gulped down a long swallow merely for some relief. And you nearly spat it out at what you saw next.

You couldn’t see Eddie, but he left the door open while he changed and his top half was just barely visible in the mirror. He was mostly shrouded in shadows, but the flame that flickered in there danced over the shape of his torso and the angular planes of his back as he turned.

The soft clinking sound of him undoing his belt preceded him dropping his pants, revealing that slutty little waist of his and the very top curve of his ass. Internally, you cursed your mirror for cutting off where it did and then chastised yourself for even looking.

Fucking pervert, you thought bitterly.

You returned to the couch and forcibly turned your head back towards the window. The rain was coming down so hard now you couldn’t even see Eddie’s place. It made your heartbeat quicken at the thought that he might not want to go back out in it anytime soon. That he might stay.

“These belong to numb nuts?” Eddie asked from behind you with a smirk you could hear.

He plopped himself back down on the sofa, so close it made you bounce slightly on the middle cushion, his knee now brushing with yours.

You paused for a moment, admiring the sight of him. The shirt was a little big, but it hung nicely on his broad shoulders and he’d tucked the hem partially into the waistband of the joggers. They certainly looked a lot better on him than they ever did on your ex.

“Technically,” you smirked back, “I kept them in lieu of alimony.”

Eddie smiled, but it fell slightly, his eyes cast downward to where your knee met his. He ran his thumb over the valley between them, touching yours and then his in a steady rhythm.

“You doing alright?” he asked. “With all that?”

You shrank slightly, thinking of all your fights with him Eddie might have overheard. All of the times you slammed the door as you stormed out and went to sit on the picnic table in your robe and slippers, eyes stinging as you tried not to cry.

You were so tired of crying.

More than a few times, Eddie had happened to come out for a cigarette while you were there. He always shrugged off your apologies, like he didn’t know what you were talking about when you told him you were sorry about the noise.

He’d just shook his head and muttered, don’ ever need to apologize to me for that as he pulled a Camel from his pack with his teeth.

Before long, he’d started to pull out two and lit them both at once before handing you the spare.

“I think I am, actually,” you said, surprising yourself with how true it was. “I…I don’t think I realized just how much of his shit I was carrying around with me until I put it down.”

Eddie nodded thoughtfully and his eyes flitted back up to your face, a proud smile on his lips.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice far too deep and his eyes too dark for you to mistake his intentions.

The praise trickled down your spine like you were underneath a shower head with a slow leak.

It made you squirm with need, nearly convulsing you wanted so badly to turn on the tap full blast and let the water spray down your back.

Eddie licked his lips and he nodded downward, making you think for one mind-melting second that he was trying to get you to look at his cock. But he was just indicating the pants on his legs.

“These are so soft,” he hummed. And your eyes followed his hand as he rubbed it back and forth across his own thigh before they lifted to meet his gaze. “You wanna feel?”

He shifted down in his seat, letting himself sink fully into the cradle of the cushions. Both his feet planted solidly on the floor, legs spread slightly apart so his lap looked like the most inviting and enticing seat you’d ever seen in your life. It made your heart hammer as you stared at it.

“C’mover here, pretty,” he said, patting his thigh once more. “Please?”

Your head shook on instinct. “Eddie, no, I’m—”

He silenced the too heavy already queued up on your lips by wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling your face into his. He licked the words right off your tongue and swallowed them down like they were his abandoned beer.

The surprise of his mouth on yours made your mind blank, your body and instincts taking over completely as you scrambled on top of him.

As your knees settled on either side of his hips, he groaned deeply—not in pain, not grunting with effort, just with the pure joy of finally getting to feel your weight settling onto him.

His arms slid around your waist and he squeezed you against him even tighter, encouraging you to give more of that exquisite pressure. He kissed you until your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, your head falling forward to lay on his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath.

You inhaled more of his scent, extra concentrated at his neck, making you dizzy with his musk. 

He kissed along your shoulder, to your neck, to the lobe of your ear he took between his lips and sucked on it like it was your clit—hard.  And your reaction was more or less the same as if it was.

Your back arched, chest squishing up against his until his chin rested in your cleavage. His arms un -wound from around you to run his hands up the curve of your spine, making you shiver when his fingertips reached the nape of your neck.

“I’ve seen you watching me,” he husked gently in your ear, feeling the goosebumps that raised on your skin. “I know what you want…”

A gasp fluttered in your chest as his hands dropped to your thighs, rough palms coasting across soft skin until every single one of your fine hairs was standing on end. He then grabbed onto your ass, firmly gripping your cheeks in each hand to haul you forward in his lap, the firm shape of his hard cock pressing insistently against the dampness soaking through your shorts.

“How about…” he groaned low in your ear once again, his warm breath rushing across your neck, “...we see how many times I can make you cum before the lights turn back on?”

ty for reading. love you, mean it! ☔️

[sirenmoth]

Monster Mash - Prologue

This is a collection of what was supposed to be small fics accidently turned full fics of you getting fucked by nine monsters, who are also your boyfriends (and each others)

CW: DUBCON, poly relationship with multiple monsters, polyamory, polygamy, polycule, free use, plot what plot/porn without plot, the plot is porn, mentions of anal sex and vaginal sex, mentions of aftercare, monsterfucking (Each chapter will have it's own warnings) This is an 18+ series with a female human

Monsters Included (In order of the series): Vampire, Drider, Satyr, Werewolf + Orc, Centaur, Naga, Siren + Merman, All Present

Monster Mash Masterlist Next ->

Being in a relationship with nine different monsters was a very interesting thing, a day was never dull, watching the various ways they interact with each other and their environment in and around the shared living space, the small petty arguments and minor domestic disputes when one of them did something another didn't like were entertaining but exhausting. But they did agree on one thing, you.

Their little human.

It didn't start out like this, one by one you unknowingly added a monster to your list of lovers, to your harem. You met them at different times at different locations, getting to know them not knowing how they felt and why they started talking to you, if they knew you are talking to different monsters behind their back, they knew, they could smell each other on you. They never liked creatures outside their own kind, barely tolerated them if they had to interact with a different species, hell, most didn't even like their own species, finding them annoying or a waste of time. But with you that changed.

Watching from the shadows, they stayed close to keep you safe and the others away, getting into bloody fights if one got too close for the others liking, they'd sometimes go as far as to let themselves get bloodied and bruised just so you could pamper and coddle them once you saw the state they are in, littered in cuts and bruises, bites and scratches. It never lasted long, you'd yell and scolded them for being so stupid and reckless, for the petty territorial claim they put over you.

"Don't you have at least one thing all of you agree on? Like something in common and like enough to share?" You foolishly asked one day, not knowing what that would lead to, what one, innocent in nature, lone question made them all collectively agree for the first, and probably the last, idea they all agreed on.

Swallowing their self pride and ego, as well as their hatred for one another, they agreed on sharing. With a few conditions, they didn't want to lose their precious human. And if living together with a different species they loathed and could hardly stand meant they got to keep you, so be it.

They hated it at first, wanting you all you had to themselves, growling and snarling and hissing at the other residents if you got too close. Marking you in obvious places for all to see and scent you until the other couldn't stand being around. Fuck you in full view of the rest, knowing they can't get violence or aggressive without risking you avoiding them for a whole day.

It's their way of showing dominance over each other, showing they are the better boyfriend and mate. A way of saying they can please you better, make you cum harder, render you brainless quicker than any of them can, have you drooling and begging for more.

Overtime they adapted and accepted this new living arrangement, learning about each other and their lives, how their species acted and thrived and their cultures. It wasn't all happy and domestic though, arguments were and still are common. Your vampire lover screaming from his section of the manor for one of them to keep it down during the day while he was trying to sleep, the werewolf running around, both indoors and outdoors, to burn energy and disturbing Driders web or the Naga's nest, the list goes on.

Most took to living outside the manor you bought together since it came with a massive plot of land, in a small hut, barn, burrow underground or a body of water, just to live away from the chaos living with nine monsters brought and some alone time, in peace and quite with you, away from the bickering and shouting. A sanctuary for them to rest.

You love joining them and spending time there too, bathing in the silence, just you and your lover. They are more than happy to keep you there, all to themselves, full of their cock or cocks as they fucked you, or you fucked them, bouncing on their dicks or dicks, using them the way they use you.

One thing they were adamant on not sharing for the longest time, was you, yes, they agreed to live together, but that didn't mean they liked it or agreed to be nice to each other. Sharing you was off the table, if one wanted a turn they could wait, problem being that wait could be a few hours to a whole day, at worst a week or so.

That changed when you begged for two of them to tag team you, have you in the middle with one in your cunt and one in your mouth, maybe add a third. Oh, how could they say no to that? Having you looking all pretty and cute for them while getting treated like the monster cock whore you are.

It very quite became the norm to find one of them balls deep in one of your holes, pounding away like their life depended on it, bending you over every available, fucking you from behind until you were limpless and unable to move, holding you up and your legs open wide or your legs wrapped around their waist as they double dicked you down.

Leaving you spent and used out in the open for the next one, letting whoever decided to use you next had easy access to use you how they liked, to fuck you hard and deep, covered in bite marks and cum and sweat. Sometimes they'd tie you up with the Driders' silky webs or let the Naga wrap his tail around you to keep you in place, having you lay there like a premium sex toy only they can use.

You got used to being covered in some type of marking, bites and bruises was now a warm welcomed part of your life. Having your brain empty when the siren sang his song when you visited the backyard lake turned makeshift ocean for him and the Merman, impaling you o his inhuman cock, the Merman would join in, entering your puckered ass while you pulled you under the water, kissing you deep in heated moments to provide you with air. Leaving you on the shore once done to warm up in the sun as they laid half on the land, half in the sea, stroking your salt soaked hair from your eyes.

They still took care of you afterwards. After fucking you to the nine hells and the heavens and back, after rendering both your mind and body and voice useless, they'd pamper you they way you pamper them, telling you how good you did, how much they love you and are glad and grateful you're theirs. Undoing the silk, or licking up the blood, waiting for the knot to deflate or for you to catch your breath, which every one with you would cuddle you after cleaning you up. One or more would join until you were under a heap of warm and cold bodies, when asked they denied doing it because they loved each other.

Some didn't mind sharing most of the time, working together to ring out countless orgasms from you until it hurt, and you physically couldn't any more. Some refused to, wanting to keep everything you had to give and take to themselves and only sharing if they saw fit, or you begged on your knees. Another common was waking up sore and dripping with cum, sometimes in a new place after you traded you off to another one, you gave your consent for them to use you in your sleep or to continue to keep using you after they fucked you unconscious until they were satisfied.

But that didn't mean they were always in charge of the scenario and situation, they are, especially the werewolf, weak to your pout and puppy eyes when you ask them ever so nicely to tie them up and ride them or peg them until their tired and overstimulated, it was always a fun time, giving the same treatment they gave you, though they never gave in much, wanting you to be on the receiving end of what they have to give and the pleasures they can provide.

Your days are never dull, with nine monsters tending to your every need and whim, and you tending to theirs

[lazyjellyfish300]

H-hey mootie

So it’s my birthday this week

So if you would make a blurb about drider!Miguel killing readers shitty husband then fucking her 🕷️

I would love it 🥺🥺🥺

Yes it’s Halloweeny that’s cause I didn’t have the energy to write it myself no matter the word count or format I know you can do it Justice!! Love ya!!

YES U CAN MY WONDERFUL MOOT. 🎉🎂 Dedicated to the amazing moot 🖤 HAPPY BIRTHDAY ILYYY 🕸️🕷️ @cullen-rutherford-wifey

Huge thanks to my moot adqui for the Spanish translation help, and to @politemenacephd for the inspiration and their flawless Drider!Miguel smut in Arachnophilia that helped me a ton with this fic. 🖤

can I be him

CW: MINORS DNI, X FEM!READER, MONSTERFUCKING, SMUT, P IN V, LOTS OF CUM, NIPPLE PLAY, LIGHT BONDAGE, SPIT, BREEDING, CREAMPIE, ANAL PLAY(idk if that's what it's called) EDGING, DRIDER!MIGUEL, ANGST, MUTUAL PINING, SLIGHTLY STALKER ISH BEHAVIOR, GRAPHIC BLOOD AND VIOLENCE, DOMESTIC DISPUTE, YOU HAVE A SHITTY HUSBAND, MURDER, INFIDELITY, A DARKER PIECE PLS PLSSSSS MIND THE WARNINGS.

Words 6.1k

Miguel shouldn't be doing this. But he can't help it. It was wrong to watch you like this. To want you like this. 

The warm glow cast by the screen floating in front of him softened his chiseled features as he gazed longingly at you through the portal of dimensions that kept you apart. 

A gorgeous, living variant of his own version of you that he could not save. The only one out of thousands he had come across. And believe that when he first lost you, his unfathomable grief kept him searching, scouring, waiting, hoping for months that there was one more universe out there where death didn't rip you away. 

And the first he discovered just had to be one where you belonged to someone else. 

Dated for almost five years now. Married for going on three. And the kicker was that bastard didn't even deserve you. 

The multiverse was cruel. In every other reality, tragedy irrevocably tainted the legacy of Miguel O'Hara. 

Always so close, and yet, never finding peace in any set of cards he was coldly dealt. 

In this particular dimension he was watching you from, he was a mutant with his top half being that of a man and the lower half, that of a spider. A large abdomen adorned in fuzzy black hair with eight enormous thick legs like a tarantula and venomous fangs, irises of bleeding crimson to match. He was a drider. A monster, as far as he was concerned. 

But there were times when he'd watch you that he'd allow himself to be crazy enough to dream that you could love someone like him.

At least in his mind he wasn't chained back by his fears and insecurities. At least for now in the sanctity of his office, your shitty husband didn't exist and you weren't lightyears away in an opposite plane of reality. You could be free to be all his, monstrous features be damned.

A version of you loved him once, would it really be all that far fetched to think you could possibly learn to love him again?

---

Another long day ended. You exhaled a weary sigh as you left the cold of late fall that was descending quickly into winter in the icy world behind you. Closing the door to your house that seldom felt like home these days. 

You supposed your life was okay, but still you wouldn't have chosen it had you known this feeling of monotony would haunt you everywhere you went.

From your job, to sometimes family, but most of all your marriage. Nearly all your life, you felt out of place, but never quite like this. You supposed it started as early as nine months into your relationship with your now husband. 

When he stopped buying flowers, when his texts became fewer, hours at work became longer, his patience shorter. You chalked it up to the unpredictable ebbs and flows of love.

"Love isn't perfect. Not all rainbows and butterflies," you were told time and time again. 

When your husband wanted to, he could be great. When he was bad, he could be exceptionally worse. But how could you be so sure? With practically nothing to compare it to, you supposed this was simply the path that was carved out for you. Mediocrity may be disappointing but passion alone couldn't keep a roof over your head. Stability was still a wiser thing to choose than comfortability. 

Even so, on the eve of your birthday, the empty spot next to you in bed that you slowly became accustomed to delivered that sharp reminder of just how lonely you really were. 

Tears fell and seeking solace, you shamelessly indulged and allowed your mind to visualize him. That mystery man from afar who haunted your dreams and took up permanent residence in your mind with his bewitching crimson eyes. Sometime around when you suspected the love your husband once had for you had all but ceased. 

You don't know why, but this being seemed to call for you, seemed to speak to you. To that forgotten part inside that for the life you couldn't explain why it remained empty.

It was almost like a cosmic bond to him, an adept yearning. An invisible lining etched into your very being that somehow recalled him in a different life. That gorgeous face without a name. 

Miguel. 

----

Miguel stirs awake, realizing he was a victim of sleep while watching you. His attention is called immediately to a growing spat between you and your husband. 

"I asked a simple fucking question, John. Where. were. you."

"And I GAVE YOU A SIMPLE FUCKING ANSWER. Don't. fucking. worry. about. it." 

Miguel sits up, high on alert, spider senses kicking in. Something about John's tone this time was highly unsettling. 

"You know what, I've lost count by now, John..." You flung your hands in the air, weary, defeated and broken down by the endless disappointment, tear soaked trails running from your eyes that hadn't stopped since last night. "But of all the days out of the year...you just couldn't keep it in your pants on my fucking birthday..." 

"Do you fucking hear yourself??" John screamed.  "Nobody said anything about cheating! Where in this entire conversation has there ever even a hint about cheating? I'll fucking tell you: NONE." He points an accusatory finger. "You brought this all on yourself, not me!" 

"It was Carla again, wasn't it." You nodded with a tearful sob, pacing around the living room.  "Carla, fucking, Carla..."

Maybe fixing these pillows could distract you from the agonizing realization that you were reliving the nightmare of John's infidelity. Going on three for three when you thought the first and second time he had learned enough. 

"I didn't sleep with goddamn Carla!!" John grabs a mug and hurls it at the wall. 

That's it. Miguel draws a portal immediately. His yearning had reached a breaking point, and this fight was all the push he needed to come to shove. Miguel O'Hara normally obeyed the rules, but this version of him was unlike the others. 

No rule was above being broken when it came to the lengths he would go for you. 

"Real fucking mature, John. What are you gonna do huh? Gonna hit me, choke me?? Maybe then you'll actually be half the man you think you are!" 

"Ohhh you fucking little..." 

But before the worst can happen, an otherworldly threat makes itself known with a random buzzing orange window opening, allowing an enormous half man, half spider through. 

You and your husband scream in horror, your conflict between you temporarily forgotten. 

"Shit shit SHITTTT!!! WHAT THE FUCK!! John what's happening??" 

"I don't fucking know..." John mumbles in disbelief, flinching as Miguel's long legs pound on the hardwood floor, echoing under his formidable size. His eyes appeared menacing, deeply laced with venomous dislike as he glowered at John, but seemed to soften, if not only for just a fleeting moment when they landed on you. 

"If...if we both don’t get out of this. I need to tell you something" John mumbles almost incoherently as your fingers dug into his arm. 

"W-what?" You turn to look at John, at this face that housed a soul inside it that you once knew but no longer recognized. Almost wordlessly appealing to whatever final shred of respect he had left inside for you as a last ditch effort to give you some semblance of the man you once loved. 

"I ruined everything. Your sister and I fucked. Just know, I'm sorry..."

And before you could even have a moment to compute that final godforsaken dagger he had the nerve to drive into your heart, he shoved you in the way of the monster like a piece of meat so he could save his cowardly ass. 

"JOHN!" the sound was wretched and broken. Devasted by betrayal. You shrieked in fear and brought your arms over your head, prepared to absorb whatever immense pain was about to wrack your whole body, praying frantically for a quick death. 

But, you gasped in alarm when no such fate arrived and Miguel charged headfirst at your fleeing coward of a husband, pinning him to a wall as nearby photographs came down with crash of splintering glass. 

His head hit the wall with a deafening crack, a dark pool of maroon beginning to leak from behind him and drip out of his nose. 

He yelled but the sound was quickly muffled as Miguel's calloused hands wrapped around his throat, a couple trails of blood oozing down his fist.  

"B-babe....aacghkk...please m'ergh sorry, I'm..." John tried to choke out, his teeth now coated in sheer red from where he bit his tongue, quiet trickles audible as the blood from his head seeped onto the floor underneath him.  

Miguel was only moments away from crushing his windpipe, but he untensed his jaw when he heard you trying to catch your breath on the floor. He turned, taking note of how helpless and fearful you looked. 

Though it would have given him immense pleasure to pull the plug, he had to think of you first. 

"Do you mind?" He merely asks, his eyes cold as his fingers tightened just a bit. 

"P-please..." John croaks. "Please...Babe..."

You're still reeling from anger that was slowly turning to anguish. As you looked at John, for the first time you felt nothing. It only took years and him nearly sacrificing you before himself for you to wake up and realize the sorry shell of a man he had turned into. 

"Goodbye, John." You uttered like venom and turned away as you heard the sickening crackle and then wet sound of choking blood as Miguel snapped John's neck in half. 

----

"You okay?" 

"Fine."

Miguel could tell you were lying. After swiftly disposing of the body in a different dimension and washing up, he had came back to discover you hadn't moved an inch from your spot on the floor. Your numbness kept you anchored, gazing into the haunting abyss of the blood spatter that remained on the wall. 

"Hey, easy now. " Miguel murmured as you finally began to stand up. 

"I can handle my own, thanks." 

"Of course, I mean..." He clears his throat, stomach uneasy when you became short with him. "Sorry."

You two sat opposite each other in the living room with you and on the couch and Miguel on the floor as that was the only space that could accommodate him. 

Sometime during the seemingly infinite silence, you realized all of this bullshit your now dead ex managed to put you through in his final hours on earth made you profoundly indifferent to the fact a literal drider broke into your home. 

"Who are you?" You ask at last. "And why didn't you kill me too?"

Miguel looks at you quickly, glad the empty silence was broken at last. "My name is Miguel." He looks down, shame in his expression. "And I, well.."

He doesn't think he should divulge all of his secrets yet. Surviving near death by drider and having your husband's cheating revealed shortly before his untimely death was more than enough burden to bear. 

"I'm not from around here." 

"I gathered that." Your eyes rake over his enormous form. You should be beside yourself. This man creature just killed your husband after all. But something about his voice was calming. Oddly soothing. Dare you say it was, rather attractive?

"So what are you, half spider?" 

For the first time, an inkling of amusement shows on his face. "What, did my eight legs give it away?" 

"Just a little." You hum, bringing your knees to your chest as you allowed yourself to relax. 

"You know, you're...eerily calm about all of this." 

"Heh...I know. Guess I kind of feel like I'm still asleep and I'm gonna wake up any minute." 

"Wanna test that theory?" Miguel quirks a brow. 

You pinch yourself while keeping your deadpan stare, holding it for a moment as if it would do anything. "Nope." 

"Wow." Miguel says sarcastically to which you can't help but snicker. "So, do weird occurrences like this happen to you often? Still doesn't explain why you're not completely hysterical about all this." 

"I watch the news." You shrug. "Crazy shit happens in New York all the time. What with Spider-Man being a thing and all. Just a step above normal, I'd say." 

"Ah." It made sense. Miguel should've known your dimension had its own spider. A little bit of relief washed over him. At least this made things a bit less messy on his end. He falls silent again, stealing little glances of you now and then. 

You were fucking ethereal in person. Being this close was something he only dreamed about. Now that it was happening in real time, he was wracking his mind desperately for ideas on how to drag it out as long as he could. 

"So if I may: how'd you become half spider?" You ask the hard question at last. 

Miguel raises his eyebrows, somewhat relieved you took the first leap. He proceeds to tell you about his lab accident, and how he became spliced with spider DNA.

He tells you about the multiverse, and how there are many versions of him out there with the same story, but his cursed him with the lower half of a mutant unlike most. 

"So, if there's a whole multiverse out there, are there multiple versions of myself too?" You lean your chin on your hand like a curious pupil. 

Miguel nods stiffly, trying to disguise the weight of the information he held. "Yeah. "

You go silent again, then you ask, "Did you know me in your own universe?"

Miguel's heart pangs subtly at the reminder. "Yeah, I did..." He looks away from you but you can't help but continue to stare at him. 

He really was so pleasant to look at. That brown, wavy hair that curled just slightly at the ends you could only imagine would run like silk between your fingers, eyes a hue of red that couldn't be replicated anywhere except the deep center of the rarest rose, lulling voice that dripped from those full lips. This formidableness about him that crumbled into gentleness only when it came to you did absolutely nothing but pull you closer to him. 

For the first time, those unconnected dots in that unanswered part of you in your dreams might be falling into place. 

"Was I quite close to you?" Your heart steadily begins to pick up. 

Miguel shook under his desire to just let the facade fall away and pull you into his arms. But he remained still as he looked back at you, silent plea from behind his words that was only articulated in those eyes that put bleeding sunsets to shame.

"You meant the world to me." 

The pieces coming together prompted these strong emotions you weren't expecting, coming out in broken tears. "So that's why you found me..." You shook your head. 

Miguel's heart tugs outside of his chest. He stands up, drawing closer, then his legs folded as he leaned in to where you sat on the couch. When you didn't pull away, he got the courage to cup your face in both his hands, gently wiping the wetness away. 

"Why didn't you come get me sooner?" It clicks at that very moment. That tender gaze that graced you now could not belong to anyone other than your starcrossed beloved who visited every time you closed your eyes. 

"I wanted to." Miguel must suppress his own tears at this point. Oh how he wanted to, how he ached to.

"Believe me, I really did, mi vida.." 

His term of endearment for you just encourages you to liquify under his touch even more. "But why didn't you?? I was so miserable. I waited for you. I thought you weren't real. Thought you were never coming..." 

"I know, I know." Miguel closed his eyes when your foreheads met at last. This feeling of touching you for the first time elated him, shedded him of his internal torment. He felt like he was soaring.

"You were married and I was..." He sighs deeply, pulling away just a little, "I was... well, me." 

"What do you mean by that?" You furrow your brows, your heart panged by hurt, trying to understand why. Why he deprived himself of this thing you both clearly wanted when it was right there. 

"Nobody as beautiful as you would ever love someone who looks like me.." 

A pit falls to the bottom of your stomach and you immediately shake your head. "No...no, that couldn't be further from the truth, Miguel..." 

You sit up, leaning in as you took his face in your hands again. His eyes went wide in disbelief. "W-what are you..." 

A million chills erupt in Miguel's body that become embers of warmth as your lips touch for the first time. He holds his breath, then sighs. The little break in between the kiss and the low, gentle sound coming from him just encourages you to meet him again, and again. 

Your fingers wind their way into his hair and his own hands couldn't do anything but pull you even closer as the kiss deepened under the weight of the burning passion. The longing was set free, a million questions answered that just kept confirming to Miguel over and over that this couldn't be more right.  Canon be damned, rules be damned as your lips and your hands became a slow dance of sensual exploration. 

"Miguel..." 

"Please I-mnghhh..." He pleads then relents immediately as he lets his head roll gently back, allowing you to continue blazing tantalizing trails of kisses all over his neck. Because of the size difference between you both, he scoops you into his arms off the couch. He can't help but indulge the feeling of your body pressed against his, using his grip on your thighs to grind you ever so lightly against his abdomen. 

The pressure delivered from the press of his body shoots directly to your core and you shamelessly take that as permission to roll your hips slightly as you straddled him, releasing that first moan into his mouth when your lips came back up from exploring the warmth of his neck. 

That delicious little sound you make nearly wrecks him in the best way. Miguel moans equally louder as his kisses dial up in intensity. His teeth begin nipping intermittently as the kiss morphs into a passionate exchange of saliva and collision of lips on lips. The potent venom laced in his fangs pools with the building zeal and it seeps into your mouth, leaving sweet aftertaste whose foreignness only fuels your arousal. 

An enormous thud echoes as Miguel falls backwards, but it does absolutely nothing to deter the flame lit under you. You both find a comfortable rhythm as his hands guide your hips as you ride his large spider abdomen while your makeout session riled with fervor. The coarse bristly hairs were a delicious addition to the addicting friction with each slow roll of your body. Miguel's lips fall open and his eyes falter. You relish this feeling of power over him, this enormous drider who all but became a weak weak man when he was underneath you. 

You bite your lip as each heavenly movement inspires you to leave all shame at the door and start to put on a show. You card your fingers in your hair, moving it in your eyes in erotic display, groaning as you rolled your head every which way in careless abandon, letting your fingers dip in your mouth, squeezing your breasts. 

"Fuckkk me..." Miguel breathes out. "Fuck me, you're so...God, you're so beautiful..." He hands continue to knead the swell of your ass, gritting his teeth as his grip locks down even harder and he feels you humping directly over his slit where his phallus was hardening underneath the ocean of fur to the point of ache. 

His hands then move to play with your breasts, your eyes widened when the spot on your hips is quickly replaced with two of his smaller forelegs, one of them teasing the waistband of your pants as his human hands quickly unclasped your bra. 

"Miguellll...." You mewl as one of his forelegs holds your hip steady while the other works little circles through your clothed clit, all while you felt his warm, wet tongue flatten and tease your left nipple. All you can do at this point is moan and let him wreck you completely, this pleasure that was smoldering you from all sides. 

You gazed down, amazed and aroused to discover that the lower half attached to this beautiful man you were tangled in only fueled the desire, this taboo. Knowing fully well that he was capable of bloodshed, but for now he only wanted to fuck you. You grinded harder against him, answering his soft ministrations of your clit with eager gyrations of your hips. 

"Me vas a terminar matando..."(You'll end up killing me) He weakly chuckled, "So, so perfect..."

Miguel is intoxicated by your breasts, circulating and squeezing them together, while his lips dribbled and slobbered as he sucked them both greedily into his mouth in messy alteration.

Soon both round globes were coated in a dripping sheen of his venom, working the thickening syrup in sloppy circles over both nipples that tingled and numbed you so deliciously along with the teasing circles of his thumbs that it made your back arch to the heavens. 

He leaned back momentarily to admire his handiwork, lower jaw shiny with a mixture of venom and spit, a steamy yet filthy display of his subtle ownership he now felt over you. 

His. 

His rightful claim when he snapped your sorry ass excuse of a husband like a twig. Each little noise you made all for him only swelling his pride and confirming his suspicion that the loser couldn't make you cum like he could. 

Speaking of cumming, you were damn near close. Miguel doesn't want to be greedy and would love to let his sweet little darling cream and squirt all over his stomach right now, but the thought was more appealing for this first time being on his tongue or, if you were up for it, his drider cock. 

"I wanna cum, Miguel, please I wanna cum..." You whined, temporarily losing that sweet spot as he removed his forelegs from their massage on your clit. 

"I know baby, I'm gonna make you cum..." He kissed you. "You'll cum for me. Many times, I'll make sure of it..." He panted, moving a finger underneath your chin. "How do you feel about taking my cock?" 

The straightforward nature of his question answered itself in the further dampening spot in your panties. "Please...Y-yes pleaseee, Miguel. Want you to fuck me...want you to give me your cock..." 

"Yeah?" He groaned, hands slinking all up and down your body, under your clothes, stroking your breasts. "I'll give it to you then, baby...fill you up so good..." 

He paused then kissed you deeply once more. "You're gonna have to trust me... We'll have to try something different so this can work..." 

You nodded. "I trust you, Miguel." 

"Okay..." He whispered. "You're still okay with this?" 

"Yes, I'm okay..." You breathed back. "I'm okay, baby. I want you so badly. I'm willing to try anything so you can be so deep inside of me..." 

"Fuck, me too..." He groaned back against your lips. "Okay, hold on f'me..." 

He set you back down on the couch and you were floored as you watched your beloved turn into an artist, spinning an elaborate web that stretched from floor to ceiling, almost like a swing that was anchored solidly on both sides to the wall. 

"Mi vida..." He offers you his hand like a gentleman, helping you up. "Can I?" He whispers as his hands disappear underneath your clothes. 

"Yes..." 

He strips you carefully and slowly like fine china, letting the anticipation build as every patch of skin slowly became revealed to him. 

Somehow letting him undress you, sliding the rest of your panties off and simply letting his eyes roam freely all over your body felt like the most intimate thing you had done all night, even more so as he still remained fully clothed in his top half as he stood back and drunk in the sight of you like wine. 

"You're simply stunning, love..." 

His hands ghosted low on your hips until they rested on the bare curve of your ass. You jumped and wrapped your thighs around him, Miguel tensed his jaw with a smirk as he kneaded the plump flesh of your ass, hardening again when he felt your bare slick he drew out of your pussy earlier against his stomach. 

He nestled you into the makeshift swing that was soft and sticky as the fibers clung to your bare skin in a natural adhesive. He spun more webs around your ankles, opening them slightly. 

"Is this still okay?" He asked gently again. 

Exhilaration washed over you but you nodded, grinning and easing your legs open in further tease to demonstrate your own building excitement for what was to come. "Yes..." 

"Good." His voice went halfway between a groan again at your pretty pussy blossoming like a flower in front of him. 

He stood back, eyes cloudy and trained on you as he removed his shirt, letting it fall in a quiet heap to the ground. 

You drank him in as well like an offering, moaning audibly when the slit in his fur low on his abdomen opened to reveal a long, thick, hard red cock with pulsating black veins adorning both sides. It curved upwards, and it throbbed, making your mouth water. 

This only made the full sight of your monstrous lover even more alluring as he stood before you in all his drider glory, towering over you even now when you were closer to his eye level in your makeshift swing, with your thighs spread and your silky cunt begging to be filled. 

He shot a web onto your belly, pulling you in closer while you still sat settled on the swing, giggling as he smirked playfully at you, until just the tip of his cock kissed between your folds. 

"Hi there..." You chuckled, tilting your head up, wetting your lips seductively. 

He groaned quietly in a stew of lust as he saw your tongue rake over your bottom lip, 

"Hello, sweetheart...fucking gorgeous thing, you..."

He gently pinched both sides of your cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger, immediately bringing you into a deep french kiss. 

The feeling of his warm tongue sliding in your mouth shot directly down to your cunt, only amping up in electricity as he teased his plump girthy head of his cock all around your pulsing clit. 

"Miguel....fuck me..." Your spine arched and your nails dug into his shoulder, aggravating the raging arousal he was simmering for you all over his body. "Don't tease me like this, baby..." 

Miguel released a mischievous chuckle that tapered into another one of his low moans that goaded you even deeper into all this pent up frustration you wish he'd take out on your now sopping pussy already.

"Ten paciencia, mi vida, por favor... " (Be patient, my life, please) He cooed sweetly at you, lightly brushing his nose against yours "Gotta get you nice and ready to take me..." 

You breath became choked in your lungs when he begins to massage the fat tip directly over your velvety clit, grunting as he felt another drip of arousal leak and coat all along the thick head. 

"Besides..." He murmured heavily though soft parted lips, entranced with hooded eyes. "The more I edge you, the more pleasureable it'll be when I finally make you cum all over my cock..."

"Baby, please..." The crescendo of arousal swelled in your belly, making your eyes water. You coaxed your body against him faster, desperate to reach that peak, but your movements were minimal due to the webbing. The feeling of emptiness covered you but was quickly eased when he promptly removed his tip from your clit again, this time dragging it down to your dripping entrance. 

"Kiss me..." Miguel murmured and he didn't need to tell you twice. His tongue rolled and rubbed with yours as he began to circle his cock into your wet opening, inch by inch filling you ever so slowly. You gasp into his mouth, realizing this whole time what he was talking about. You felt every rigid vein, every solid groove as his drider cock slowly pushed into you, stretching you beyond comprehension. It was unlike any you've ever taken before. Fuck, it felt better than any you'd ever taken before. 

Once you got past the daunting size, the addicting feeling and pleasure of having his cock inside you set off a new chorus of breathy moans from your lips. You sighed deliciously as you greedily accepted everything he was giving you, so transfixed on his divine face that was watching you the entire time. 

Miguel was irrevocably smitten, completely enamored with the way your warm silky walls wrapped around him, the way you looked at him with immense rapture. Fuck, this feeling was greater than anything he felt in his entire life as your pussy molded to him like it was made for him. "So tight, cariño..." He teased then hissed as he reached the hilt. 

You two gazed at each other, completely silent for what felt like divine eternity. Simply enjoying the feeling of Miguel being buried so deeply inside you. 

"I'm gonna start fucking you..." He whispered. 

"Go slow at first, baby..." You purred back, clenching your pussy around him, biting your lip when it earned another weak grunt from him. "Wanna feel you nice and deep like this for a bit..." 

"Haah...you're a goddamn tease..." Miguel huffed. "I'll try and go slow as long as I can..." The sound that came from him next was downright pathetic as he looked down at where he had you stuffed to the brim, feeling along the emerging bulge in your belly. 

"You feel so fucking good, it's hard not to just fucking ravish you right now..." 

"Mmm...just kiss me, then..." You murmured and he quickly seized onto that opportunity as he slowly began to pump inside you with lengthy, meaningful thrusts. Every movement was so wet and sloppy with drenched noises as a sea of slick began to drool from your pussy, coating his cock that slid in and out of you with greater ease as the moments passed. 

You squeezed your thighs in a death grip around his large waist as you became more hammered off this euphoria, the bristly hairs tickling the sensitive sides along your clit, goading you to grind back into each deep thrust. 

"Shit..." And Miguel's patience flew out the door with that lethal squeeze of your thighs, his hands gripped the curve of your ass as he began to completely unload on your needy wet cunt. You cried out as you took every torturous inch like the absolute whore you were for him in this moment.

It tested your limits but God, this feeling of him thoroughly fucking you nice and hard scratched that nagging, primal itch you experienced ever since you first laid eyes on him. You were practically drooling at this point, laying back and taking it, your submission just fueling his fire, unlocking that deep seated urge to fucking breed this perfect cunt for all it was worth, to ruin you and fuck your brains out so you could feel him for weeks. 

"Miguel, Miguel, Miguellllll....." The hungry, wispy mantra of his name from your lips nearly set him off the edge alone, a raw possession washing over him completely as he railed his cock into you to new limits. 

"You're all mine now, you know that..." 

"I'm all yours Miguel...all yours baby..." 

He cut you off with another fiery kiss. "Wanna cum inside you, baby, can I?" 

"Fffuck yes....yes, Miguel, fill me..." 

"I'll fill you up, baby..." His forelegs come up again, but this time one directly rubbing quick, vibrating circles on your clit, while one gently teased and massaged  the puckered rim of your ass, all while his heavy slick covered cock continued to pound your pussy. "But you're gonna cum f'me first..." 

"Miguel..." 

You nearly black out as you see heaven. Miguel locks in, dipping his head down as he swallowed onto your left breast again, tweaking and tugging the nipple of the right, his mouth salivating and more venom dousing and dripping from his tongue, soaking down your already sweaty body. 

The web renders you helpless as you have no option but to lay there and let him pleasure you past anything you thought you could handle. It felt like overstimulation as you shook and cowered and whined so loudly it could wake the neighbors. 

Your thighs trembled, tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes as you forced yourself to let go. The premature ending of all the previous other treatments he bestowed on your spent pussy piled on top of one another, making this one far more intense and overwhelming than the others. Thick cream oozed lewdly out of you, making a sticky, glossy mess of both your pubes and coating his black fur. 

"Cumming, sweetheart..." He panted, dripping sweat all down his reddened face, some of it landing in your mouth but you could care less. Everything about this encounter was so dirty and nasty already. The salacious feeling of consuming every part of one another from head to toe reduced you to nothing but a hole for him to dump his cum in, and you'd let him every time. 

"I-love-you...." 

And his heavy sweaty shaft and bulbous tip nudged your g spot simultaneously as his foreleg's massage of your swollen clit that your orgasm shuddered and rattled your bones, a new sinful coat of wetness squirting and seeping into Miguel's black fur that he soaked in like a badge of honor. 

He forgot to warn you before, but when the coil in his balls finally released and he came inside you, the thick, viscous drider cum was like lava as it spilled and drooled and leaked from your insides. Even after you thought he had emptied, another spurt of a thick rope of cum painted your drenched walls and flooded out of you. 

You both merely panted, eyes locked on each other in a display of intimacy of the deepest and most carnal kind, the overwhelming haze of orgasmic bliss made you both speechless. It almost didn't compute that he told you he loved you. 

You laid there in your spiderweb tangled underneath your drider lover in the now fully emerged daytime, world outside none the wiser of the steamy, lewd acts that took place. All the more enthralling that this became a love nest built on top of your blood lust and mutual yearning that exploded like gasoline on a fire. 

For now, real life could wait as you came back down to Earth and gazed at the flood of slick cum dripping and oozing from both of you. You felt that primal urge kick up again as Miguel smirked, softly stuffing the mess of what he could back inside the pool of glistening white that peeked between your aching folds. 

"And I love you too, Miguel.." You whispered back.

All the puzzle pieces of his scattered life fell back into place as he heard those glorious words hit him like a train. He willed this himself. Even if it meant taking you from another dimension, this thread across time, this inevitable bond was now cemented permanently with your lovemaking and the deepest parts of him that were now inside you. 

He could deal with all that bullshit later; he had his love back with him where she rightfully belonged.

You both laughed to yourselves as you sauntered down this path of mutual bliss and made a plan to leave all this behind and start a new life with your Drider lover in his reality. 

But first...you couldn't help but pull him closer and he couldn't help but groan loudly as he effortlessly slipped inside you again,

"It's you and me against the stars, mi vida..." 

And he groaned before rhythmically moving his body in that sinful dance with yours, 

"But first I'm gonna prove it by fucking you all over again." 

---

[pygmi-cygni]

give us some nathan please i think im having withdrawal

aha my circle of addicts is growing

cw: domestic nathan, married life, headcanons, fluff

Changes

Nathan didn't think he'd changed much since you married. You begged to differ, laughing at his confusion. Oh, honey, you snorted into a glass of wine, and begun listing his new habits.

For one thing, he'd gotten docile. Never a word you expected in company with Nathan, but he'd mellowed out considerably. The quips and barbs were fewer now, arguments ending in compromise rather than dispute. His face twisted into a pout as you went into detail.

See, that's what I mean, you teased, by now you'd have bitten my head off. You scruffed his beard affectionately and his irritation quelled, melting into contentment.

Secondly, the napping.

Nathan had become a prolific napper. He liked them well enough at the beginning of your relationship, just for a quick recharge, but now? He took it seriously. Nathan had a designated couch and several blankets he liked to wrap himself in. He had water and snacks available for in between, and would set all the thermostats and light fixtures to the perfect level for his liking.

It was a science. He sleep soundly, snoring quietly when you passed. Sometimes he'd snag you in for a cuddle, bear-hugging you into his nest. Then you were stuck for a few hours until he woke.

You joked that his napping had replaced his coding as a priority, to which he scoffed.

He'd also gotten snacky.

Nathan had a very clean diet and eating schedule. It kept him trim and fit and didn't take too much effort. You liked to cook and bake (not a gendered thing, but you both enjoyed making meals for each other.) and he liked the muffins and breads and cookies and whatnot.

It turned into a nightly thing, to have a snack. His face was softer, and he filled out his shirts a little more. Not in a bad way, not at all. You found him very attractive, you assured him, pecking a kiss atop his head, nothing to worry about there.

It means you feel happy, you explained, taking his hand in yours. it's not bad.

Nathan struggled to think about this for a while, trying to cut out these habits. He liked his routine originally, and the idea that it was changing disturbed him.

But you sat beside him in bed, inquiring worriedly after his health. are you okay? you seem distant-er than usual, mister genius.

You kept up that tone of kindness, but the pure concern in your gaze made him wilt. He decided to return to his new schedule tenfold, napping the day away with you tucked up on the couch next to him. Changes could be okay, too.

this was a little new format for me but here we are <3

tags:

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love @unear7hly

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Fable (Soap/Reader)

CW: selkie!soap, implied domestic violence, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, seal!soap makes an appearance

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 2.8k

Hot tears streamed down my face, a stark contrast against the frigid night air. I crossed my arms over my chest, squeezing myself tight as I walked down the dimly lit street. I was doing the right thing. One bruise inflicted by his hands was enough, let alone the countless ones scattered across my body. 

My palms grazed a guardrail leading down to the water. I stopped in my tracks, eyes locking onto the water ahead. The pale moonlight reflected off the ocean's surface. 

The dock squeaked below my feet as I slowly approached the edge. Each weathered plank shifted ever so slightly below my feet. I reached the edge of the dock, glancing out at the waves in the distance. Pursing my lips to stifle the sobs rising from my chest, I lay down against the dock, cheek pressed to the cold planks. I tucked my knees to my chest, holding myself tightly. If I were to die at this moment, I don’t think I would mind it. At least I’d be free. 

The water gently sloshed beneath the dock. My eyelids fluttered closed as I took in the salty air. 

“Y’doin okay?” A soft voice asked. I opened my eyes, glancing down at the edge of the deck. A set of blue eyes stared at me. Brown curls fell in his face, half obscured by the wooden planks. 

“Oh sorry, I didn’t think anyone was out here,” I sat up, wiping the tears from my cheek with the back of my hand. 

“It’s cold out, why aren’t you wearing a jacket?” He pushed himself onto the deck. His body was cloaked in furs. It was an odd choice of dress, but I tried not to pay it any mind. 

“I left in a hurry, I guess,” I mumbled, sniffling. “I’m sorry, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He reached out, holding my hand in his. His blue eyes traced up and down my arms, taking in the scattered bruises that blossomed on my skin. He frowned, rubbing his thumb against the marks. 

“This why you left?” He asked, fingers grasping my arm. 

“Should’ve left a long time ago,” I hummed, closing my eyes. “I was just afraid of being alone, I guess.”

“Y’not alone now, are you?” He draped the fur over my shoulders. Despite being wet with salt water, it was warm, shielding my skin from the chilled air. He draped his arm over my shoulder. I leaned into his touch, resting my head against his shoulder. 

Sleep tugged at my eyelids. Every tensed muscle in my body slowly released as I sunk deeper into the stranger's embrace. He softly mumbled a tune in Gàidhlig, lulling me into a dreamless slumber. 

“Wake up.” A boot softly nudged me. I groaned, turning onto my side. My eyelids fluttered open. The sun was high in the sky by now, land tinged with a shade of bright blue. 

I glanced around at the deck beside me. The man from last night, and the cloak he draped me in, were gone. Above me stood a man in a police uniform, brows furrowed in silent pity. Beside him stood a woman in a long dress, holding a child by her side. 

“We received a report of a domestic dispute. Care to follow me to the station?” The man held out his hand for me. Nodding, I held my hand out. He gripped my wrist, pulling me to my feet. 

“There was a swimmer here with me. Did you see where he went?” I asked the officer, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. 

“You were alone when Mrs. McCloy found you this morning. Was he the one who made the report?” 

“Must’ve been. He was awfully kind.” I sighed, following behind the officer. My eyes scanned the shoreline. There wasn’t a single person around, just clumps of washed-up kelp. 

A roaring seal call bellowed from the coast. My feet halted beneath me. On a rock, nearly twenty meters out at sea sat a lone seal. It raised its head, calling out. My lips tugged up into a smile. 

“Cute, innit?” I chuckled. 

I turned the key in my hand. On the back were the numbers “201”. I stuffed the key back into my pocket and started down the stairs. Clenching my jaw, I headed toward the end of the dock. He had to be here.

I kicked off my boots, setting them aside. The wood creaked beneath me as I sat, dipping my feet into the water. 

Barely visible in the moonlight, the seal from earlier chirped, slapping its stomach with its front flippers. I watched as it dove into the water, disappearing under the surface. My eyes were fixated on the depths before me, scanning for any movement. 

A familiar head of brown curls appeared before me. I grinned, looking down at the man. 

“You’re back,” he smirked, resting his elbows on the dock. 

“So are you,” I rested my hand on his wrist. Despite the frigid night, he felt warm. “Did you call the police station?” I asked. He silently nodded. I looked away, feeling my lips curl into a smile. 

“I don’t leave here that often, but I made an exception,” he explained. My brows knitted, gaze locking onto him. 

“What do you mean? You live in the lighthouse or something?” 

He pulled himself from the water, draped in the thick fur from last night. His muscles tensed, skin glistening under the pale lighting. Glancing at him, I could help but compare him to images of water spirits in fairytale books. 

He looked ethereal draped in seal skin, bare body covered by the pelt. I watched as he moved to lie on his back, blue eyes not leaving me. Something about this encounter felt odd. Maybe it was the fog of despair finally fleeing my brain.

I pursed my lips. Surely I was being childish. 

“Sure, something like that.” He grinned, patting the space next to him. I laid down on my side next to him. He draped the pelt across my body, arm resting on my waist. He pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead. I pulled away to look at his face. My gaze flicked from his deep eyes, like pools of navy water, to his plush lips. Gently holding his face in my hand, I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. 

His kiss was warm, soothing every worry in my mind. He held me tight in his arms, keeping me by his side. When he pulled away, a thin, silvery strand of saliva connected our lips. 

“You’re safe with me,” he spoke softly, fingers tracing patterns into my skin. 

I smiled, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. His skin smelt like salt and sand. I pressed my lips against his neck, drawing a soft noise from him. His fingers ran through my hair, keeping a gentle hold on my head. 

“Thank you…” my voice drew on. I pulled away just enough to get a look at his face. “You never told me your name,” my gaze was fixated on his plush lips, and the way they slowly curled into a smirk. His canines glistened in the dim lighting. 

“It’s Johnny,” he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. His tongue swiped against my bottom lip, urging me to part my lips for him. I obliged, letting a soft noise rise from my chest as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. His breath tasted of fish, tinged with salt and musk. 

I draped my leg over his hip. He twitched, bucking his stiff cock against my thigh. I whined against his lips. With a soft grunt, he pushed me onto my back, settling himself between my legs. He sat back on his shins, eyes raking down my body. 

His hands reached toward my shirt, fingers sliding underneath the hem.

“Johnny, it’s cold.” I grabbed his wrists, tugging his hands away. 

“I’ll keep you warm, love,” he cooed, slipping my shirt over my head. His teeth caught his bottom lip, pupils dilating as he took in every inch of my bare skin. His warm palms slid up my stomach, over my ribs, fingertips brushing against my nipples. A soft chuckle left his chest as he watched me twitch beneath him. 

I hooked my arms behind his neck, pulling him down into a messy kiss. I moaned against his lips as his fingers hastily worked at the button on my trousers. He hastily yanked the fabric down my legs, tossing them aside without another thought. 

His lips traveled down my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut as his sharp canines sunk into my skin. My body felt feverish as arousal pooled underneath my skin. He kissed over the marks, cooing soft praises next to my ear. 

“Wanna treat you so good,” he mumbled against my skin as he kissed down my chest. 

I clasped my hand over my mouth, muffling the noises that spilled from me as his lips wrapped around my nipple. He groaned against my chest, sucking harshly. With his other hand, he toyed with my nipple, rolling it between his fingers. 

“Johnny,” I whined, glancing down at the man between my legs. He ran his tongue in circles over my nipple before dipping down lower, kissing over my ribs. 

My cheeks flushed red hot as he slowly descended between my legs, leaving behind bite marks and wet patches of saliva. I bit down on my lip, staring down at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a siren.” I sputtered as he kissed along my thighs. 

“Wrong species, dear.” He chuckled, running his fingers up my cunt. 

I threw my head back against the dock with a thud. My voice strained, words coming out as incoherent babbles. His fingers traced around my clit in quick circles, only to pull back and run down my core, teasing my entrance. He repeated this torturous pattern, nipping my inner thighs and reveling in my need.

I watched as he brought his sodden fingers to his lips, moaning as he slid the digits over his tongue. His brows knitted, groan rising from his chest. He pulled off the digits with a soft pop, blue eyes meeting mine. 

“Taste like a dream,” he grunted, leaning in closer to my aching core. 

“Johnny!” I cried out as his tongue licked a thick stripe up my cunt. My fingers carded through his curls, tugging his locks. He groaned against my core, sending pulses of electricity up my spine. I arched my back, pushing my hips forward into his face. 

He chuckled, using his arm to hold me still as he flicked his tongue against my clit. Every movement of his tongue drew needy noises from my throat. Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to spill over. 

His fingers circled around my entrance, gathering enough lubrication to slip inside. My vision grew unfocused as he pushed knuckle-deep inside of me. My cunt squelched around his fingers, earning another grunt from him. 

I looked down at the man between my legs, catching his glimpse. His pupils were dilated, blue eyes deepening into deep pools of inky black. His skin glistened with moisture.

He thrusted two fingers inside of me at a steady pace, moving his tongue around my clit in sync. My body jolted with the force of his fingers. My breath grew shallow and shaky as he ate me out with fervor, not stopping to even catch his breath. 

His lips wrapped around my clit, sucking the delicate skin into his mouth. My nerves pulsed as the stimulation wracked my body. Hot tears streamed down the sides of my face. A stream of unfiltered moans fell from my spit-soaked lips. 

My jaw went slack as tension built in my stomach. I clenched around his fingers as I drew closer to my orgasm. With a soft graze from his canine, he pushed me over the edge. The tension snapped in my stomach, limbs going limp in his grasp. 

My back arched up off of the dock, a burning ache sparking in my flanks. My grip on his hair tightened, pulling him closer to my twitching cunt. I squeezed his head between my quivering thighs as I slowly came down from my high. As my vision came back into focus, I glanced down at the man. He raised his eyebrows, wide eyes staring down at me. 

“How’d you get so good at that?” I asked, chest heaving as I caught my breath. 

“No idea,” he said with a grin. 

He shifted onto his hands, pelt draping over both of our bare bodies. I reached up, fingers caressing his dampened cheeks. He leaned into my touch, gaze softening. 

I crossed my ankles behind his back, pulling his hips closer to my core. The tip of his aching cock brushed against my cunt. He grunted, looking down between our bodies. 

He gripped his cock, lining it up with my entrance. His blue eyes met mine again, brows knitting, a silent ask for consent. I nodded, lips parting as he slowly pushed forward. 

The stretch burned, spreading across my hips. I squeezed my eyes shut, jaw clenching as he inched his cock inside of me. 

“Doin’ so good,” he cooed, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to my cheek. I whined, spreading my legs for him. 

He pressed his chest to mine, hands gripping my hips tightly as he bottomed out. His sweaty forehead rested against mine, hot breath fanning over my sticky skin. I opened my eyes, staring into the deep, navy pools before me. 

“Johnny, move,” I whimpered. He sputtered out an incoherent response, gently rocking his hips into me. A loud, desperate noise rose from my burning lungs. I cradled his face in my hands, lips meeting his once more. 

His pace was fast. With every thrust of his hips, my body rocked against the dock. He moaned against my lips, cock twitching inside of me.

His lips ran down my neck, teeth finding my pulse point. I choked out a sob, fingertips caressing his cheeks. He grunted, angling his hips upward. My back arched off of the dock.

Every thrust burned, his cock splitting me open. And yet I couldn’t get enough. Each drag of his cock against my insides drew a wine from my marred throat. Each nudge of his cock head against my cervix blurring every thought in my head. 

His hips sped up, fucking into me at an even rougher pace. My voice grew higher in pitch, each noise growing needier than the one before. I felt that same tension pooling in my hips, tugging at my insides, building more and more with every thrust. 

I held his face against my chest, tears welling in my eyes as he grazed his teeth over my nipple. His palms slid up and down my body, groping every bit of flesh within reach. 

The grunts erupting from his heaving chest grew more strained. Every last bit of resolve slowly chipped away, leaving behind a needy man, pumping his cock into my quivering cunt. He chased his high, whimpering soft praises against my skin. 

Static flooded my limbs as every nerve ending sparked to life. My jaw went slack, lips parting in a silent scream as he pushed me over the edge. Tears streamed down my blotchy cheeks. 

His hips stuttered, pace growing erratic. With a high-pitched whimper, he stilled, spilling warmth inside of me. I felt his cock twitch inside of me as his cum flooded my insides. I glanced down at him, cheeks flushed and brows furrowed. He looked beautiful even in the dim lighting. 

He pulled out, watching his seed drip down my inner thighs. I grabbed his wrist, pulling him to lie beside me. With a soft grunt he collapsed at my side, limbs tangling with my own. We sat in silence, sweaty skin sticking to each other as we took in heaving gulps of air. 

When I awoke in the morning, I was back in my clothes. A soft grunt pulled me from my slumber. I opened my eyes, only to be met with a set of deep black eyes staring down at me. 

“Plah,” the seal babbled. My lips curled into a grin. I quickly sat up, turning to face the creature. 

“Johnny…” I mumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. 

An assortment of shiny trinkets and shells were laid out before me. My face flushed red as I took the items in my hands. Johnny snorted, watching intently as I inspected the items. 

“I’ll be back here tonight,” I said, looking up at the seal. Without another grunt or snuff, he dived into the water. I glanced back at the items he’d given me, holding them close to my chest. 

“See you tonight.” I only caught a glimpse of his curls before he disappeared beneath the surface again.

Masterlist

[nico-esoterica]

Astro Notes on Current Events:

The Fall of Sean 'Diddy' Combs

From my professional perspective: / cw for mentions of abuse:

Diddy's incarceration and undoing coincides w/ Pluto regressing back into Capricorn and conjoining his Mars and many factors but I had my eye on that transit for months. There's no getting out of this one. Our current and incoming south nodes are conjoining planets in his chart which can be associated with domestic power abuse, control issues, and legal disputes being magnified. The SN is associated w/ the 'karma' you inherit or reap from the past.

On Sep 18th, the partial lunar eclipse in Pisces directly opposes his Pluto. Moon-Pluto oppositions can deal with feminine-coded abuse. It's emotional negligence, gaslighting, and a complete conquering of an emotional reality which starts with caregivers. From a legal and symbolic standpoint, this translates to me as the private subjugation of women. Abuse of wives, live-in partners, domestic servants, and child abuse and trafficking.

Saturn isn't aspecting this but its co-presence adds tension to the landscape. The collective needs justice. Being ruled by Jupiter in Gemini for the time being, this has to do with what was said and what can be factually proven. Witness and survivor accounts are going to play a major role here. Saturn is also conjoined with his natal NN which is in retrograde at the moment. In December it'll be direct. From a prosecution standpoint, this is saying they'll have everything they need to charge him by this date or something even more damning may come to light at that time. Dec 10th.

But it goes deeper than you'd think. Many psychics and astrologers have forecasted potential ties to more powerful players coming to light through this. My guess is that they're going to try to pin it all on him..but as quickly as possible. With Mars transiting through all of Cancer between now and November, this happening in the US's 8H and squaring Diddy's Venus planets may be about uncovering that the trafficking and other criminal activity doesn't only incriminate him but anyone w/ power attached to him. It was never just about Diddy. There's more people involved and they're all at risk. I'd argue that astrologically, his Mars's exaltation was protecting him, especially if he has a night chart. But Pluto bouncing from that Mars to continuing its applying square to his Retrograde Saturn in Taurus spells out that any shadiness he thought he could get away with would inevitably come to light..with an ass beating attached. Pluto's official long term ingress in Aquarius starts on Nov 19th.

On March 14th '25, there'll be a total lunar eclipse conjoining his Pluto. There's potentially going to be more charges made and files/documentation being brought in. But on Sep 21st '25, there's a very interesting partial solar eclipse occurring right on the late Kim Porter's 29-degree Virgo Pluto. I'm just going to call it, but if the rumors are true that he played a part in her death, we're going to definitely find out then. Keep your eyes on Sep 21, 2025.

If it doesn't happen then, it'll be a couple eclipses down the line because the next Cancer/Cap eclipse cycle occurs right where Kim Porter's Moon and Diddy's Lilith fall and it's going to reveal how abusive (and fatal) that Moon-Lilith connection was. That's mother-coded and child-coded too. So, anything involving children, pregnancy, etc, may come to light as well. That'll be happening in 2028. Tbh, I'm calling it because there'll also be a partial eclipse on his Juno that's going to be conjoined with her Mercury as well. Kim Porter's life and the darkness she was forced to keep secret is going to fully (and finally) be told very shortly. That man is about to be destroyed. Tbh, it's giving a memoir she may have wanted to have published.

Her scorned (but vindicated) Lilith has a full lunar eclipse occurring on March 3 '26. This is why I'm thinking that it's not just going to be a single decisive punch of getting her spiritual lick back with one eclipse cycle. Kim Porter was an actual inner-planet Scorpio stellium. It's going to be a rolling and incapacitating series of punches. Or of slow and painful dismemberment, quite honestly. Between now and 2028 and beyond, everyone is going to know just how abysmally awful this man is.

But he won't be alone. Oh, no. With Pluto in Aqua occurring right at the start of everything, it'll be the beginning of the end for the entertainment world in its current state.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Ceilings

CW: Alcohol use, cursing.

Word count: 3,389

As Olive lay in her empty bedroom, the feeling of loneliness weighed heavy on her. She stared up at the plain, off-white ceiling that seemed to mock her with its emptiness. Thoughts swirled in her head, each one a dagger stabbing at her heart as she contemplated what could have saved her drowning relationship. It had been so long since she had felt truly content. Her ex-boyfriend Harry was not like any other guy she had known. His rise to fame had taken him far from her and their once happy life together. Tour after tour, hotels, buses, interviews, and recording sessions occupied most of his days and nights. Yet he always made time for Olive, even if it meant sacrificing his precious alone time.

Olive didn't mind taking a backseat or being second in line for Harry's attention. After all, she too cherished solitude. But she also loved seeing Harry do what he was born to do - make music. The passion and joy that lit up his face when he played was something she couldn't help but be drawn to. Even now, as their relationship lay shattered and broken, she couldn't deny the magic of watching him create art with his guitar and voice.

Unlike her past relationships, everything with Harry seemed to be going effortlessly well. Their conversations flowed seamlessly, filled with future plans and dreams of marriage, a luxurious apartment on the upper east side, and even talks of what their future daughters would look like. They were both content and had built their home around each other during their three years together.

Olive had given up everything to be with Harry and to keep their home safe. She left her full-time job as a manager at a fancy furniture store to work part-time as a barista on weekends. It wasn't necessary for her to work, but she wanted to contribute in any way she could. Her dedication to their relationship knew no bounds.

Despite their happiness, Olive knew that they had to keep a low profile. The world didn't know about them, and safety was always a top priority. She deleted all of her social media accounts and rarely went out in public with Harry, except for special occasions or parties. In many ways, Olive lived in the shadows, but she didn't mind as long as she had Harry by her side.

The shock of his phone call still reverberated through her body, even four months later. She couldn't believe he ended their relationship with a single phone call on a Saturday night. There were no final kisses, no tearful goodbyes, and not even the courtesy of doing it in person.

And then there was his cold, calculated message: "The bills at the apartment are paid for the next year, so take your time finding a new place. I'm sorry." The words rang in her ears like a broken record, a constant reminder of how easily he had let go of their love.

Now here she lay, in her usual spot on the worn-out couch in the crappy apartment she had found after the break up. The ceiling above her crackled with every movement, adding to the already suffocating atmosphere. But she didn't mind, because it was just another distraction from her thoughts. Thoughts of Harry and how much she missed him.

Despite the fact that he had covered the rent for their old place for the next year, she couldn't bring herself to go back there. Every single thing inside reminded her of him - his toothbrush in the bathroom, his jacket hanging by the door, and all the memories they had shared in every corner of the apartment.

She had given everything for him - her time, her love, her trust - and yet it wasn't enough to keep him by her side. Now she was left with nothing but an empty heart and a hollow home. And as if fate wanted to rub salt into her wounds, her noisy neighbors chose this exact moment to have another one of their infamous domestic disputes.

But amidst all this chaos and heartache, she couldn't help but wonder: where did it all go wrong? Was it something she did or said? Or was their love simply not strong enough to withstand the challenges thrown their way? These questions tormented her every day, as she tried to piece together the shattered remains of their once beautiful relationship.

Olive had been feeling trapped in her own sadness for months, barely leaving her house besides for work. But tonight, she felt a glimmer of excitement as she got ready to go out. It was her best friend's birthday and their small group had managed to snag reservations at the most exclusive sushi bar in Manhattan.

As Olive prepared herself for the night ahead, she couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the days when she used to go out and have fun without a care in the world. With a deep breath, she pushed aside her negative thoughts and focused on getting dressed. She opted for a sophisticated dress that hugged her figure in all the right places, accentuating her curves. She paired it with sleek platform heels that added a touch of glamour to her outfit.

After pulling her hair back into two elegant buns with wispies framing her face, Olive took one last look in the mirror before heading out. Her makeup was soft and natural, enhancing her features without being too overbearing. With a surge of confidence, she smiled at herself and knew that she was ready to take on the night.

With the simple tap of her finger, Olive summoned a sleek and shiny Uber to whisk her away to the restaurant. She settled into the backseat, surrounded by the muted hum of passing cars and the soft padding of the leather seats beneath her. Her driver was friendly and chatty, asking about her job and if she had tried the famous sushi bar before. Despite not being in the mood for conversation, Olive graciously answered each question with a smile. As they weaved through traffic, the city lights blurred together like a kaleidoscope, marking the passing time until they arrived at the restaurant in what felt like mere minutes.

With a sense of anticipation, Olive arrived at the upscale restaurant where her group of friends was already waiting for her. They were laughing and teasing each other, but she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as their jokes about her tardiness hit close to home. She had a bad habit of agreeing to meet up with them and then not showing up, leaving them waiting and disappointed. But tonight was different - she really wanted to go out and have some fun, she needed this break from her busy life.

As they approached the door, the girls gave their reservation name to the fancy dressed waiter who greeted them with a warm smile. He led them through the bustling restaurant to their secluded table in the back, away from prying eyes.

Olive settled into her seat and ordered a Sake, savoring the crisp taste and soothing effect it had on her nerves. The atmosphere was elegant yet lively, filled with the hum of conversation and clinking of glasses. The girls decided to share several sushi rolls for their meal and eagerly placed their orders with the attentive waiter. As they chatted and caught up, Olive couldn't help but feel grateful for this night out with her friends.

As the night wore on, Olive could feel herself slipping further and further away as she continued to drink her sakes. The alcohol burned a trail down her throat, igniting a sense of boldness and freedom within her. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards Harry, although she wasn't sure exactly why.

In a moment of drunken clarity, Olive realized that she needed to call him. She needed to tell him that she was doing just fine without him, and in fact he had done her a favor by breaking up with her. Her fingers fumbled with her phone as she dialed his number, the anticipation building with each ring.

Just as she was about to hang up, he answered. "Olive?" His voice was low and tired, betraying the fact that he must have been woken up by her call from some other part of the world.

"Yeah. Hi, Harry. I just wanted..." Before she could finish her thought, her phone was ripped from her hand and the call abruptly ended.

Confused and slightly annoyed, Olive turned to see her friend standing there with a disapproving look on their face. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" they whispered angrily into her ear.

"Telling him off," Olive slurred back defiantly.

"Okay, well, now you can't because I just blocked his number," her friend replied calmly before proceeding to delete his contact information from Olive's phone.

A fire raged inside Olive at being denied the opportunity to confront Harry. But deep down, she knew her friend was right. Her actions were rash and messy, fueled by too much alcohol. And now any chance of closure or confrontation with Harry was gone in the blink of an eye.

Or so she thought. Not more than twenty minutes later, the girls moved their party outside to the patio, eager for some fresh air and a change of scenery. The warm glow of string lights illuminated the area, casting shadows on their faces as they continued to indulge in their drinks. Olive had already downed four Sake shots, feeling the familiar buzz start to take hold. Her friends didn't seem to mind, knowing that a night like this was exactly what she needed to let loose and find herself.

As the group of girls chatted outside, their voices growing louder and more rowdy with each passing minute, the surrounding area suddenly fell quiet. Gasps and murmurs were heard, causing Olive to turn around in confusion. Her eyes widened at the sight of someone she never expected to see again - Harry.

Her heart raced as his intense gaze locked onto hers. Without a word, he strode over to her with purpose, grabbing her arm firmly. "You, me, outside. Now." His tone was laced with anger and resentment, his words cutting through her like a knife. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Olive could do nothing but obey.

As she stood from her chair, Olive's eyes scanned the faces of her friends who watched on with ghostly pale expressions. They knew about her tumultuous past with Harry and the pain it had caused her. But now, as she watched them walk away together, it felt like déjà vu. It seemed history was repeating itself once again.

“I-I uh, how did you know I was here?” Her voice trembled as she spoke, her heart pounding in her chest. She suddenly felt completely sober, the effects of the alcohol dissipating in an instant. She was sure any moment now she would pass out, but not from drinking.

“Your contact was still sharing your location. I tried to call back but you blocked me.” Harry's words were harsh and they sent a shiver down Olive's spine. She couldn't find the right words to say, her mind racing with memories of their past together. She watched as his lips continued to move and remembered what it felt like to kiss him for the last first time - bittersweet and heartbreaking all at once.

Their first date had been a picturesque picnic. She had handcrafted fresh sandwiches, cutting them into perfect triangles and arranging them neatly on a plaid blanket. The fruit was meticulously cut into cute little cubes, adding pops of color to their spread. Everything was carefully wrapped and placed in a wicker basket, like something out of a romantic movie.

As they settled into their cozy spot in the park between their two apartments, the sun shone down warmly and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. The scene felt like it was straight out of a fairy tale.

Mid-bite into a juicy strawberry, Harry leaned in and left a lingering kiss on her cheek. She couldn't resist taking another bite, savoring the sweet taste as he leaned forward and pressed his soft yet slightly chapped lips against hers. As they pulled away, he remarked that she tasted like the fruit she was eating. In that moment, she knew she was falling in love with him.

A heavy silence fell between them, and for a brief moment Harry stopped talking. The weight of their shared memories threatened to pull her under, but she pulled herself back, determined to stay strong. In reality, all she wanted to do was run away and cry, and maybe hide under her bed forever. She had tried to block him out, to push him away, but it never quite worked.

“I didn’t block you,” she whispered timidly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I got drunk and called you to say I moved on. Ally took the phone away when she saw what I was doing.”

Harry's expression remained neutral, his gaze fixed on her face as she spoke.

“Olive, why did you call?” he finally questioned.

She looked up and met his eyes, searching for an answer in the depths of his gaze.

“Harry, why did you break up with me?” Her words hung in the air like a veil of sadness and regret.

As Olive waited for Harry's response, the tension between them was palpable. She could see the conflict swirling behind his eyes, a mixture of emotions she couldn't quite decipher. The park seemed to grow quieter around them, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation of what would come next.

Harry let out a sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I broke up with you because... because I thought it was for the best," he finally admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

Olive felt a surge of anger rise within her at his words. "The best for who, Harry? Certainly not for me," she retorted, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

He winced slightly at her words, the weight of her pain evident in his expression. "I know I hurt you, Olive. I never meant for things to end this way," he said softly, reaching out as if to touch her but then pulling back just in time.

She looked away, blinking back tears that threatened to spill over. "You have a funny way of showing it," she muttered bitterly.

Harry's gaze softened, full of remorse and longing. "I messed up, Olive. I made a mistake letting you go. I thought I was doing what was right, but all I did was break both of our hearts. I was scared. It had never been this serious with anyone before, so I ran. Ran to protect you, ran because I though that was what I had to do. It wasn’t what I wanted to do though."

Unable to hold back any longer, Olive turned to face him fully, tears streaming down her cheeks. "And now what, Harry? Do you expect me to just forgive and forget? Ive spent the last four months staring at my ceiling wondering what I did wrong. How I could’ve changed things. Why you stopped loving me." she choked out, her voice cracking with emotion.

His eyes met hers with unwavering sincerity. "No, Olive. I don't expect forgiveness. But I hope for a chance to make things right. I think about you constantly and wanted to reach out for a while. I was guilty though. I didn’t want to see you upset so I just stayed away. I miss you though. I miss us. I miss the house we wanted to buy or the little jokes or making you a cuppa tea," he declared earnestly.

As their eyes locked in a silent exchange of raw emotion, Olive felt a glimmer of hope flicker within her heart. Maybe there was still a chance for them to find their way back to each other amidst the tangled mess of their past.

A soft breeze rustled through the trees, stirring the fallen leaves as Olive grappled with Harry's heartfelt confession. She wiped away her tears with a trembling hand and took a deep breath before speaking again.

"Harry, it's not that simple," Olive began, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I can't just forget all the pain and confusion you caused me. It's not fair to ask me to put myself through that again."

Harry's expression shifted, a mix of understanding and desperation crossing his features. "I know I messed up, Olive. I'm not asking for forgiveness right away. I just want the chance to show you that I've changed, that I'm willing to work through this with you."

Olive gazed at him, searching his eyes for any hint of deceit or insincerity. "How can I trust you again, Harry? How can I be sure that history won't repeat itself?" she questioned, her voice tinged with skepticism.

Harry took a step closer, reaching out a hand tentatively towards Olive's shoulder. "I understand your doubts, Olive. But I promise you, this time will be different. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust and make things right between us," he vowed earnestly.

Olive hesitated, torn between the lingering pain of their past and the flicker of hope Harry's words ignited within her. "I need time," she finally whispered, her gaze dropping to the ground as she processed the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.

Harry nodded solemnly, his hand retreating as he gave her the space she needed to come to terms with everything. "I'll wait for you, Olive. As long as it takes," he assured her softly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of longing and determination.

Harry reached out a hand towards her, a silent plea in his eyes. "I know it won't be easy, Olive. But if there's one thing worth fighting for in this world, it's us. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust and make things right between us."

A sense of vulnerability washed over Olive as she gazed into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of hope reflected back at her. Taking a small step forward to close the gap between them, she whispered softly, "Okay, Harry. Let's take this one step at a time and see where it leads us."

As the words left her lips, a tiny smile formed on Olive's face. Slowly, trembling with emotion and uncertainty, she reached out and took his hand. They stood there, locked in a moment that felt like a lifetime as their fingers intertwined. The world around them faded away, replaced by the warmth of his touch and the memories they shared. They stood there for what seemed like hours, lost in their own thoughts and feelings until finally, Harry broke the silence. "Oliva," he whispered, calling her by her full name for the first time in months. "You know I love you."

Her eyes met his again, softening as she took in the sincerity of his words. She knew he meant it this time, she could feel it in the way he looked at her and held her hand. A shiver ran down her spine at the sound of his voice - it always had that familiar effect on her - but this time, it was different. There was something new in his tone; something promising and earnest that gave her hope. She smiled softly up at him before leaning in slowly to press her lips gently against his own; their first kiss since that fateful night they decided to part ways. It was slow and tentative at first, but soon enough they were lost in each other once more. Their hands tangled up in each other's hair, their bodies pressing closer still as they forgot about everything else around them except for each other. The taste of cherry blossom saké lingered on their tongues as if to remind them both where they were.

A small part of Olive couldn't believe it – how quickly things had changed from anger and hurt to this moment – but another part recognized that there is no point holding on to pain.

[cookie-crumblr]

The Ghost of New Burrows

Part 1

F! PI Reader X Masked Yandere OC

His Info: 📁✨

part 1 2

CW: F!reader, reader has a vagina, (i think in this part reader is G/N tho, like nothing is specified) reader smokes and drinks a lot, murder not so much mystery, gore, guns, shooting, some self hate(sorry, luv you guys tho) not proof read, swearing, stalking, breaking an entering, a sprinkle of praise✨ mdni banner by cafekitsune!

03:04, your apartment, 2202 Gothil hill, New Burrows

New Burrows, an overpopulated, high density city in a completely smog filled and dying world.

You add to the pollution, your own small puffs of grey nicotine floating up from your lips.

The blankets cling to your naked, sweat slicked skin.

You kick them off, having stubbornly turned down your partner for the night’s offer to shower together. He is currently in the bathroom cleaning up.

Your thoughts float back to your last case again…

A domestic dispute turned cold blooded murder.

You solved it easy enough, but stuff like that clings to your mind every time.

He emerges smirking at you, you barely notice his amber eyes, your mind enraptured by your own negative feelings.

He’s very pretty. You think.

Too bad you can’t care less right now.

The water, penny scented and harshly pelting your back feels cleansing enough for now. You fear that even if something better was out there, nothing could ever clean you completely of this city’s filth. “Hah,” you bark out a sour laugh at your own dark humor.

04:50, an appartment in South Elegance District, New Burrows

“and the body?” you ask.

“Right this way, Y/L/N”

As the scene unfolds before you, you realize immediately that this was not what the enforcer on scene had detailed over the phone.

The enforcers could care less about this city and the people in it, making your job even more of an uphill battle.

They had explained the murder in bland terms, “a simple stabbing, probably”.

However, this was nothing less than a murder of pure passion.

Stabbed 32x at least from first glance.

The perp took out some serious frustration on the victim.

You spend some time mapping out the scene in your head and taking notes and pictures.

Before long you take note of a small piece of paper… Picking it up with gloved hands. There’s no fingerprints, nothing else. Just the paper, and some very neat handwriting, that reads, “Let’s Play”.

You look out the window adjacent, seeing some movement on the nearby rooftop out the corner of your eye.

A masked person sits on the ledge, swinging their legs, their covered eyes hold yours. They wave at you. Your hand finds your gun, your eyes never leaving theirs.

It’s him.

Though it’s too dark, and he’s eclipsed by the bright reds and blues of a neon bar sign.

You know it’s him.

You blink, the sound of someone calling your name, regrettably, pulling you from your staring contest with the ghost.

When you open them again, he’s gone.

One Week later~

23:30, 2202 Gothil Hill, New Burrows

The window is open, yet the smoke you fill the room with stays stagnantly floating above you.

“Fuck!” another murder happened. Another note. Another staring contest only to be lost by lack of sleep, ending with them again lost without a single trace.

You scope out rooftops, map out sites of murders and sites you see him taunting you.

Worst of all you’re discovering the only link between the victims…

Is you.

The first victim was a guy in the line at Labor’s diner, he paid for your coffee.

The second was a friend of a friend that had a small, childish crush on you.

It’s making you paranoid… Sleep is starting to elude you just as the ghost does. Within your sight, but just out of your reach.

That can’t be the only link…

If it is, he’s directly targeting you. You know that it’s true, but you want with every atom that makes you, that it’s not.

Why?

Why you?

What does he want?

The red strings in your mind are endless with no two points meeting up.

One Week later~

11:20, behind Labor’s Diner, New Burrows

You had already been drinking this morning. At least everything’s in walking distance

Cars are outlawed and lay in the poorer streets as rotting relics of the far but not forgotten past.

When this body was reported, instead of heading to the scene, you go to the nearest rooftop with a view of the body.

Pistol already drawn, you kick open the door.

He stands with his hands outstretched, as if waiting for your embrace.

You shoot, mostly just intuition guiding your bullet.

Perfect, right between the eyes. His head lurches back at the impact, but he remains standing.

You keep your gun raised, now confused.

His hands stay welcoming you.

His head rolls back forward to face you as if nothing happened.

His mask though…

It’s cracked.

One of the eyes are chipped enough to see the human beneath.

An amber iris stares back at you.

You’re frozen.

It all makes some kind of sense…

You just, never once thought you’d be the one in this scenario.

He’s playing with you directly.

But you’re not a victim.

And you’ve got him! You’ve seen his face.

But…

Wait…

You can’t remember it.

why can’t you remember his damned face?

Where you so distracted that day you couldn’t even focus for even a second on the face of someone you were fucking for the night?

god, sometimes you make yourself sick.

Your gun clicks as you pull the hammer back.

His mask broke, if you aim for the eye…

As you’re staring into his eye, you feel something like electricity pass through you.

Excitement maybe?

To catch him at last.

Yeah, that must be it.

There is no movement on the roof.

There is only you and him, you have a gun, he seems to have nothing…

You wonder what his plan is.

The little switch is pulled, and in that same second, he’s tumbling gracefully over the ledge.

You run to the spot where he once stood, looking anywhere and everywhere, at all the civilians in droves walking below, and there are no signs of the ghost.

You’ve lost him again.

“Shit!” you throw a curse into the gray sky.

To make matters worse it has started to rain at some point.

You read in an old book once how rain used to feel cleansing…

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, feeling mournful for a time you’ve never been a part of.

The rain now days smells like the wet garbage that litters the streets.

The crime scene below is being washed of any evidence he probably didn’t even leave, so you head back down.

One day later~

03:09, 2202 Gothil hill, New Burrows

Glass shards decorate the hall where you threw your now empty bottle of synth absinthe.

You’re slumped over your desk, passed out from the lack of sleep mixed with the alcohol.

Your job sits on the line at the moment. Enforcers just want arrests, and you’ve now got three murders with nothing but a ghost.

It doesn’t look good.

Your eyes flutter open, the dim light of your desk lamp is easy enough to adjust to, and you don’t look around the room.

There’s a hand petting the softest circles into your back. You hum contently.

When’s the last time you’ve been touched so lovingly?

In your sleep induced haze, you feel safe with whoever is there… And your heart feels warm, as if they’ve wrapped their arms around it, squeezing it tightly.

Their hand is warm, they lead you into the bedroom by their memory in the dark.

You hazily follow without a single question in your head.

They tuck you in, “sleep pleasantly, you’ve been doing so good, detective” They sit on the bed next to your burrito wrapped form, gently petting your head.

You practically purr into their hand, not wanting them to pull away.

They don’t.

They continue to pet you well after you’ve fallen asleep.

[enquiringangel]

@themarginalthinker some of this may appear in fic content but nevertheless I will not pass up an opportunity to ramble about my OCs

though now that I have written it all down this family is far more dysfunctional than I originally realised good lord

(Cw for discussion of csa, sex work, loss of pregnancy, infant death, alcoholism, domestic violence and other 19th century unpleasantness)

DAVID’S PARENTS

David’s mother:

Constance ‘Connie’ Flynn (née Doyle) was born in 1851 to Irish immigrants who had fled from County Cork during the early years of the Potato Famine. She originally worked in domestic service at a lower middle-class household in San Francisco as a 14-15 year old but was dismissed when she became pregnant because the man of the house took liberties with her. He’s not David’s father though; that baby was a stillborn girl. But at this point she had pretty much been branded as a prostitute and found it difficult to get reputable work. Though she did take in laundry and do cleaning jobs when she could get them her income was supplemented by sex work if needed.

David was born in 1873. Connie’s relationship with his father was rather rocky. She had been his wife since 1868 but both of them had a drink problem, and he had both a major jealousy problem and a wandering eye. They would separate and get back together again repeatedly, with Connie taking David off with her sometimes for months at a time to other lodgings but eventually she would go back.

Until David was about 6 years old and he left her for another woman (despite still being legally married to her). During the time she had been with him she had miscarried twice.

After this she went back to her old trade from time to time. David was often turfed out of their rooms while she had ‘gentleman callers’ and left to fend for himself. Occasionally his mother would get herself a new man (because two sources of income [and a half if you count David’s childhood artful dodger ways - hilariously I hc’d him as a pickpocket before I ever read the prequel script] are better than one) and he would have a stepfather for a while but it never seemed to last long.

Unfortunately his mother died when David was 13, due to complications with yet another pregnancy. This kid was a girl named Catherine who ‘failed to thrive’ and died when she was two weeks old.

David’s father:

Jonathon Flynn. His family also came to America as a result of the great famine, but from Dublin. He was a dockworker with a fondness for playing cards, gin, and pretty ladies. That last part led to a lot of heated disputes between him and Constance. She would accuse him of being a faithless, pox-ridden lech and he would in turn, call her a whore and express doubts that David was his. As mentioned they had periods of separation but she would always come back because as John would boastfully say, “She just likes me too much to stay away.”

During arguments she would get angry and start throwing things at him - while he would hit her, of the two of them she was much more likely to get physically violent.

After one argument he went to give her a make up kiss and she bit off the end of his tongue.

So err, yes. You can kind of understand why he left her.

Nobody was innocent here except David. And that didn’t last too long. As he grew older he generally made his bread by stealing stuff, usually pickpocketing but occasionally robbery, and - if he was very desperate, mugging people at knifepoint.

Which is how he met Max in straight on till nightfall lol

[creature-wizard]

(A CW for CSE and self-harm, since this is Laurel Rose Willson/Lauren Stratford we're talking about.)

In Satan's Underground, Willson/Stratford claims that she doesn't mention any specific locations or names in order to protect herself and other victims:

You will note as you read that no specific locations are mentioned. In part this is for my own protection, but it also serves to remind you that what I've endured is not limited to one city or region. I have also changed names and descriptions of many key figures in order to protect the victims.

This of course makes no sense, since if the Satanists are actually real and would harm her and others for exposing them, just publishing this book at all would put them in a lot of trouble.

However, this choice does make sense as the actions of a woman who is writing a book full of shit she made up and doesn't want anyone checking her story.

You will notice this kind of behavior a lot when it comes to "whistleblowers" in conspiracy theory communities. They act like leaving out certain pieces of information will somehow keep them safe from the conspirators. Q drops were frequently like this. Of course, the details they leave out are inevitably those that 1. would allow someone to verify their story, or 2. they just don't have the interest, knowledge, or imagination to fill in.

Stratford describes her mother as an incredibly abusive woman, and claims that her mother was responsible for pushing her into CSE. The book presents Stratford as an only child who had absolutely no one to rely on growing up.

But as it turns out, Stratford isn't being entirely honest. For one thing, she had an older sister, Willow Nell. When Cornerstone Magazine interviewed her in their research, she confirmed that their mother had a fearsome temper, but disputed that she was as monstrously horrible as Stratford made her out to be - much less pushed her daughter into CSE and Satanism. While Stratford claims that their father walked out when she was four, in reality he left when she was nine.

According to a friend interviewed by Cornerstone Magazine, much of the abuse Stratford claims her mother inflicted upon her was taken from the novel Sybil, which... that would make sense. This is the woman who pretended to be a Holocaust survivor, after all.

Cornerstone's investigations found that, in general, Stratford was manipulative, toxic, and constantly made things up. Many of her claims contradicted each other. So keep that in mind as we go forward.

She tells the story of how her mother pushed her into prostitution, and it's all very dark and horrible, and I don't think it's necessary to go into all the details. Some of what she claims sounds plausible (and is therefore possibly inspired by the accounts of actual survivors), while others are... strange, to say the least. (Like the claim that there were all these domestic workers her mother hired, that were willing to use young Lauren Stratford in place of actual monetary payment - like, how was she finding all of these people? Or does Stratford think that grungy-looking manual laborer = child molester?)

Stratford also claims that the CSM producers her mother eventually handed her over to were producing snuff films. There is literally zero evidence that snuff films have ever been commercially made, much less child snuff films. What we're looking at is another modern spin on blood libel - remember that during the Middle Ages, Jews were often accused of being secret Satanists who would kidnap and ritualistically slaughter Christian children.

Stratford basically claims that porn is a gateway to CSA, because supposedly once you leave the realm of safe, "normal" sex, you experience an "ever-increasing abnormal, uncontrollable craving for perversions that end in abuse, torture, animalistic behavior, multiple partner sex, and sex with children." She claims that "The cravings become more and more deviant, finally culminating with sexual acts that are almost unthinkable to the mind that hasn't been polluted with hard-core pornography."

This is of course pure bullshit. There's zero actual evidence that porn affects normal people this way. None whatsoever. There is, however, loads of evidence that religiosity (of the conservative Christian kind) really messes people up. The problem is created by the prudes, not the "freaks."

[sixx-writes]

                               Room 208|Drifting III

Kurotsuchi Mayuri x Reader

Word Count: 3,350

cw: slow burn, dark content, future nsfw, modern au, surgeon!Mayuri, thief!reader, doctor kink, character death, suicide mention

AO3 Version | Masterlist

Summary: You and your partner decide to steal from a former surgeon who may not be all that he appears.

Pt. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Shiki's voice is background noise to you as your eyes drift off over his shoulder not bothering to make the effort of pretending to listen. You still felt the chill of steel pressing against your bare spine and the light caress of Mayuri's scalpel tracing over your skin. His 'operating room' was inside a delivery truck you'd passed a hundred times parked in the alley between the apartment building and a vacant space for rent.

Mayuri had promised if you tried to tell the police or anyone else what had happened he would make certain that you went down as well. Whether he meant prison or in several chunks on black market ebay you had no idea. You also harbored no doubts that he could and would keep that promise so you had no choice but to go on living in 207 like nothing had happened giving fake reports to Shiki on your progress with the surgeon.

A loud bang startled you from your thoughts and your attention snapped back to Shiki's annoyed expression. He had slammed his fist on the table like a caveman and it took everything in you not to throw your entire glass of soda in his face just to relieve some stress.

"What the fuck is wrong with ya? Ya look like your dog just fuckin' exploded or somethin'. Don't tell me. Did the doctor touch your special area?"

"Fuck you," you sneered with real anger, "why don't you just fucking grow up already."

You stood leaving your uneaten food behind and chair toppled in the middle of the floor while Shiki stared after you in mild confusion.

You hated this place, you hated Mayuri, and above all you hated yourself and what you'd become.

You'd fallen into depression after your father was shot. Murdered while dealing with a domestic dispute ending six years of his career serving as a policeman. After that you had spiraled starting with dropping out of school and concluding with you in juvenile detention.

In your absence your mother's mental state had continued to deteriorate unable to handle the loss of her husband and the day after your sixteenth birthday she overdosed on painkillers. The news had left you completely broken, you had begged and screamed to see her, knocking out the officer's tooth when he had tried to hold you back. You didn't remember much more after that as you'd needed to be sedated for the next several days until your hysteria settled.

The following months you were inconsolable and eventually you managed to escape. It was around that time that you met Shiki, only eighteen and already a master at pick pocketing and petty theft, he'd taught you the ways of the streets. After the first decent score the two of you had rented your first apartment and you had never known exhilaration like that could exist. Finally something was going right for you again.

It went on like that for a while, careful not to draw too much attention before moving on, and avoiding any yaluza owned businesses. Now at 26 years old, Shiki had approached you with a low risk high reward job involving a surgeon turned recluse that would set both of you straight for good. The two of you had planned to split the money and head off your separate ways once 'the big one' came along. An exit strategy into a normal life when the time was right.

Or that was how it was meant to go.

For some time now you'd had the growing suspicion that Shiki had no intention of giving up the lifestyle as he sunk deeper into it rather than trying to crawl his way out. He'd taken more of an interest in the yakuza and spoke as if he truly admired them instead of the loathing and distrust that you would have expected. Maybe it was because it was practically all Shiki knew, he was half your age when he was abandoned by his mother; a whore that he didn't remember the name of. His own name was given by the man that had found him in a cemetery asleep on one of the graves; 'Shiki', shortened from the word 'funeral', Soushiki.

It wasn't something that Shiki liked to talk about aside from how the man was a drunk and beat him sometimes until it became too much and he ran away. From the sound of it you couldn't help wondering if something worse hadn't transpired while Shiki was living with the man but it wasn't your place to force him into speaking on it. He had always done the same for you respecting your boundaries and not asking about your past.

Shiki may come off as an annoying dickhead, and most of the time he was, but he understood what lines shouldn't be crossed when it came down to it.

Instead of going home you'd wandered in a random direction with no particular goal in mind. It was something that you used to do more often before meeting Shiki. Anything to avoid going back to your room and him just yet. The sky was turning grey overhead by the time you reached an area of the city you weren't familiar with. Sex shops and other shady businesses infested the area, no doubt yakuza owned, and you tried to avoid eye contact with anyone that seemed dangerous. Or anyone at all really.

As you'd recently learned literally anyone could be a psychopath appearances be damned; including rich surgeons that secretly liked to collect body parts in jars.

Your stomach growled pathetically and you're reminded that you hadn't finished your meal back at the restaurant so you try to search for the least seedy food joint. You settle on a ramen shop with a hefty woman working the counter ordering yourself a bowl and savoring the rich broth chasing your hunger away along with a glass of shochu to wash it down.

It's getting late and you know your time delaying the inevitable is coming to an end. Begrudgingly, you pay for your food and leave the ramen shop behind just as the first rain drops fall on your head.

You considered several times to just go to your other apartment for one night to clear your mind but that meant seeing Shiki. It was unfortunate that you were petulant enough to choose going into a building where someone had tried to kill you to avoid an awkward situation. You sprinted across the hallway at the sound of the elevator doors dinging, key already in hand, not risking so much as a glance at 208.

Once inside you pulled off your jacket and shirt; it had rained almost the entire way back soaking you to the skin. You were slipping off your second shoe about to go for for your waistband when your focus shifted to the living room.

Mayuri was seated across from you, legs wide apart, one arm draped along the back of the sofa in the most casual way imaginable as if he hadn't broken in while you were out. It was the first time you'd seen him without a robe or some form of house clothes. Instead he was decked out in formal wear; a black dress shirt with the top buttons undone revealing a V of his slender chest and the sleeves rolled back to the elbow. It had came un-tucked from the tight pants that matched and you guessed he had gotten in a while ago growing more and more agitated when you didn't come home contributing to his disheveled appearance.

"Where were you?"

You didn't miss the accusatory tone behind the question.

"Around," you answered intentionally vague. You didn't want to give the satisfaction of letting him see how freaked out you were. The towel from when you'd washed your hair that morning still hung on the back of the second sofa where you'd tossed it, opposite of where Mayuri sat, and you grabbed it drying off your body not bothering to cover yourself. He'd already seen everything anyway. What did you care.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No."

 Yes.

The exchange was reminiscent of a disappointed parent whose daughter had stayed out too late. Just on the other side of almost normal. You didn't know why you bothered lying to him about what you'd been doing as if you gave a shit what he thought. All you wanted was a shower to warm yourself and to take a handful of pills to make you pass out for the next ten hours.

That was why you held onto the towel, dragging off your pants and stripping down to your bra and panties, wandering past Mayuri whose eyes narrowed but to your relief didn't try to stop you.

You locked the bathroom door, taking deep cleansing breaths trying to calm yourself, flicking on the light and going to unhook your bra when you noticed the man in your shower. You yelled in surprise pressing yourself back into the door fumbling for the handle. The man was clearly yakuza, his tattoos visible at the edges of his shirt, and had been dead for a little while; his throat slit and one of his eyes aimed off to the side in an odd direction.

Your fingers wrapped around the handle and you fell outside backwards stumbling right into Mayuri. The surgeon caught your wrists before you could do anything else while you kicked and yelled trying to break free. He'd had enough when you managed to land a lucky elbow into his stomach with all your thrashing and he snarled shoving you towards the couch.

You banged your knee painfully before landing on your side hyperventilating under Mayuri's annoyed glare.

"What.. what.. why..?" you were babbling senselessly. This was the first time you'd seen a dead body.

"Tch. That man was here for me. It was fortunate that he went into the wrong apartment. Nine years later and the small fry are still incompetent as ever."

"H-How did..?"

 How did you know he was here?

That was what you wanted to say but your mind was racing too fast for your mouth to keep up.

"I was waiting for you to return; there are matters that I needed to discuss with you. I saw that the door was open and let myself in. It seems it was the right decision wouldn't you agree?"

 Fuck.

Something else occurred to you that made your blood run cold, "Shiki. Oh, fuck."

Your phone was by the door and you scrambled for it, pulling it from your bag with trembling fingers, needing three tries to get it unlocked. You had new texts from him that he'd sent right after you'd stormed off out of the diner.

 S: U good?

 S: Sorry abt being a dick before ik alot of shit is bothering you I was just tryna cheer u up :(

A few hours passed before he texted again.

 S: Listen I'm gonna be late getting in today cause that yakuza guy just called and said he wanted to meet at that construction site something to do with the surgeon idk it could help us out

 S: If u need to get it off your chest we can talk when I get home if ur still up and maybe watch a movie or smth

 S: Anyway ttyls bitch <3

You stared and stared at the text until your gaze went through the screen unseeing and you gripped the plastic so tightly it creaked in your hand.

"What is it?"

Mayuri's voice came from somewhere behind you, close but barely audible over the roaring in your ears, and it snapped you into action. You pulled your wet clothes back on throwing your phone back into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Maybe it was nothing but the familiar feeling in your gut was telling you otherwise.

The surgeon didn't try to stop you when you ran back out of the apartment not waiting for the elevator and taking the stairs two at a time until you were back outside. It was still raining as you sprinted for the cranes in the distance marking the construction site Shiki had mentioned. Their tall black skeletons rose taller the closer you got and you were completely out of breath by the time you reached the chain link surrounding the area.

You tossed your bag over first following not far behind as you climbed the fence dropping into the mud with a silent plap drowned out by the rain. You passed two black sedans as you moved deeper straining your eyes for any sign of Shiki and your blood turned to ice as the scene came into view. In the clearing amidst the buildings lit by the security lights you saw your partner. He had been beaten quite horribly already; bleeding from a cut over his eye and lower lip washed pink as the water ran in rivulets over his skin.

He was clearly exhausted sagged in the mud while three yakuza surrounded him from all sides positioned to prevent his escape. You didn't think he would even be able to walk right now let alone have any real chance of getting away.

The man in front of Shiki landed a viscous kick to his face after asking him something you couldn't make out, not happy with whatever he'd said.

You were paralyzed as the man landed a few more viscous kicks into Shiki's gut until he was coughing a mixture of bile and blood. The rain had almost stopped and you could make out bits and pieces of what was being said.

"...no one.." Shiki said earning him another kick, this time to his face. His nose was mangled beyond recognition from the abuse, his once handsome face turned ugly by brutality.

"..anyone else know..?" the yakuza was speaking again.

The tall muscular gangster easily dragged Shiki up by the hair until he was at eye level, too weak to grasp at the arm that held him, Shiki's face contorted in agony. You don't notice where the gun comes from when the yakuza pulls it out from somewhere inside his suit. All you see is the suppressor pressing into the hollow of Shiki's throat as the hammer is dragged back and the safety released.

 You should be doing something, right?

Shiki's body is like a rag doll; his body is flopping so unnaturally from side to side with the way the man is shaking him like he has no bones left. You realize it's because his legs are broken.

"..don't think..lying.." the farthest yakuza says something and the man holding Shiki agrees.

Shiki coughs and your heart breaks a little more at the wet rattling sounds behind it.

You can't feel the tears mixing with the rainwater on your cheeks.

Shiki manages to spit in the face of the bastard and it only causes him to grin entirely unphased by Shiki's defiance. He drops him into a crumpled heap before rolling him over with his foot and pointing the gun at his face. Seeing someone get shot is nothing like how it is in the movies as it turned out.

The yakuza started to squeeze the trigger and you felt your mouth open in a scream that was muffled almost immediately by someone's hand clamping down across the lower half of your face. Someone was dragging you away from the horrific scene. Distantly, you knew you were going into shock; this wasn't the first time after all. You remembered this feeling every time you thought about your mother.

 But you had to do something right?

 Right?

The sound of the gunshot going off was a soft thwack; nothing like the overused sound effect. There was no explosion of blood to dramatize what was happening, Shiki's body convulsed once, twice, then lay still as the bullets seemed to disappear into nothing. No sign that the gun had even been what had killed him at all. Not all the movies and internet access in the world could have prepared you for the real thing.

Shiki was dead. Your friend and partner was reduced to nothing more than cooling meat in the rain, his glazed eyes seeing nothing as his head flopped to the side so sickeningly limp. Towards you. Accusing you for just watching it happen.

  I WANT MY MOMMY. YOU'RE LYING.

 SHE WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE.

 MOMMY. MOMMY. MOMMY. MOMMY.

  Ah, yes.

 It was like that time wasn't it?

So why was it that you were dragged away while someone you cared about slipped through your fingers again? It wasn't right to leave his body behind like that. You wondered if the yakuza would dispose of him so that he was never found or leave him for the construction workers in the morning.

You couldn't even cry as shock fully enveloped you like a familiar heavy blanket and you welcomed it not ready to cope with anything yet.

Time seemed to dilate around you (or maybe you blacked out - you weren't really sure) and you became vaguely aware of riding in a vehicle. Collapsed against the passenger side door as the world outside was reduced to glowing trails of light reflected in the raindrops running along the glass. The only thing you could see was Shiki's dead eyes staring back at you from the darkness.

You were going to be sick, you realized, and only just managed to get the door open enough for you to empty your stomach contents along the highway. It left you lightheaded with a foul taste in your mouth and you patted yourself down trying to find a lighter. There was a crumpled blunt in your pocket, the pocket of the jacket that Shiki had gotten you for your birthday last year, and you barely got it between your lips with your hands shaking so badly.

As soon as it was lit Mayuri reached across and crushed it into the ash tray wordlessly.

"What the fuck?" you sounded hoarse.

It was the first thing either of you had said since he'd practically kidnapped you an hour ago. Maybe two. Who was counting at this point.

"Keep your filthy habits out of my truck."

"My mistake I'll keep my smoking to a minimum in the murder truck. Just out of curiosity how many people have you killed?"

"Twenty-seven," Mayuri said without hesitation or remorse.

The anger you'd intended to vent went out of you like a deflated balloon at such a high number.

"Did you feel better after you.. after dealing with Pernida?"

 What were you asking all of a sudden?

This was not the way you'd intended for the conversation to go at all.

"It's only natural for someone like you to equate what I did to something as trite as revenge," he drawled condescendingly, "It was never just about Nemu; it was about sending a message. No matter how deep the rot of Reio's influence goes he isn't untouchable. He has had to live with the shadow hanging over him for nine years as a constant reminder of what if."

You were reminded of Mayuri's angry outburst while you were on his operating table just for speaking his daughter's name yet he spoke as if what he had done wasn't entirely personal. You couldn't tell if he was delusional or in denial that he had stooped to the yakuza's level for his own pleasure to take revenge.

"If it was about sending a message then why do you have a fucking arm in your apartment?"

The surgeon grinned at that sending a chill down your spine, "Every year on the anniversary of Nemu's death I send a piece of Pernida to Reio's office. That arm is all that remains."

You didn't know what the appropriate response was to that without offending him so you stayed silent deciding that the windshield wipers were more interesting than finding out more about Kurotsuchi Mayuri. You'd had enough for one night and needed to dissociate from reality for just a little while.

[words-after-midnight]

Find the Word

Oh look, it's another edition of my favorite tag game! I was tagged by @elizaellwrites to find worse, wander, mindlessly, join, and hysteria.

Tagging: @pertinax--loculos, @klywrites, @sunset-a-story, @catchingbigfish, @winterandwords, @ls-daydreams, @oh-sisyphus, @westcountrygothic.

Your words are: dream, break, poor, light, yearn(ing).

All snippets are from the previous version of Life in Black and White.

cw: "Hysterical" references/alludes to a domestic dispute and parental abandonment.

Note: "Join" is from one of my all-time favorite scenes. 🥰

Worse

Jeff finds me in the bathroom twenty minutes later. He knocks on the door. “Yo, I have to piss.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I say loudly, but immediately feel bad.

He’s not fazed. “Dude, I would, but I seriously doubt I’m that flexible.”

“There are God knows how many other bathrooms in this house.”

“It’s the crack of dawn and I’m lazy. Get the fuck out.”

His nonchalant humor does nothing but make me feel worse. “Sorry. My meds are doing shit all for me right now, for some fucking reason.”

“Dude, can I please piss? You can tell me your life story after.”

Wander

Too quickly, I arrive at my dad’s – not wanting to speak to anyone, I close the front door quietly behind me and wander into the kitchen, hoping to make a straight run for it all the way to my room. Unfortunately, my dad ends up being in the damn kitchen... and I apparently look exactly as I feel, if that’s possible, because before I’ve even figured out what to do with myself, he’s on my back, following me into the living room.

“How did it go?” the stupid man asks gravely.

“How do you think it went?” I reply tonelessly, not so much as turning back. I just keep walking toward my room, hoping he gets struck by a lightning bolt on the way.

He grabs my arm, trying to hold me back. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he asks. “You can talk to me.”

Mindlessly

Daphne explained the logic to me once before Christmas - before Silverwood was even in the picture, and before I started to see Jeff’s merits for myself. “The way Jeff sees it, people shouldn’t be forced to do anything they don’t want to do,” she said. The tone she used when speaking of him made me so sick at the time. “He thinks people are afraid of being themselves and of being free because of laws, and regulations, and blah, blah… it makes him sick when people just mindlessly conform to rules.”

Join

Standing beside him, uncomfortably close, I held up the candle to the breakers on the far wall of the basement as he flipped them all sequentially, not bothering to check which ones were which.

Nothing happened.

He turned to me, then, in the orange light. Looked me right in the eyes. There was no way he didn’t see them this time. He said, “Well, that’s a bust. Must be the power lines.”

We went back upstairs, and I joined Daphne again at the bottom of the staircase. His hand brushed mine as he took his candle back and returned to the window seat, watching the storm as though it was of his own creation.

Hysteria (hysterical)

All of a sudden, silence. With bated breath I waited. I heard footsteps coming my way. I stood from my bed. The door opened and I heard my mother’s hysterical screams more clearly, rising up from downstairs. My dad walked in with two big brown suitcases and knelt down in front of me, grasping both my little arms.

I looked into his face and I saw the tears in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks... and he smelled funny. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time, but now I know it was beer. Terrified, I asked him, “Dad, what’s going on?”

[vaicomcas]

OK this isn't a whole fic but just some rough ideas. It only works for the second part (the ending) but not "stuck in a domestic dispute".

This is vaguely late season 9ish (sort of an AU version of Stairway to Heaven) but not quite canon compliant .

cw (should go without saying but still); not friendly to the Winchesters

So Heaven received intelligence that demons in Hell are working towards opening the cage and freeing Lucifer. Concerned about this, Heaven planned to invade Hell and to station their conquering troops there. Hell got wind of this and all the demons were up in arms to fight Heaven. Crowley, the King, didn't really want an all-out war with the angels. So he proposed a peace treaty with Heaven and offered his hand in marriage to any angel Heaven wanted to send. This angel could serve as ambassador of sorts to ensure that Hell is not up to any tricks; and unlike an ordinary ambassador, this angel being the King's consort would have elevated status, would have free reign and could even have their own angel guards.

Heaven was reluctantly interested, because after all the civil wars and in-fighting, they were not keen for another war either. So the question was who to send to Hell as Crowley's bride. No angel was willing to do it because they considered demons so disgusting it would be fate worse than death. Then someone proposed to recruit Castiel, who was self-exiled on Earth. Because Castiel was already an outcast and previously already defiled himself by working with Crowley, everybody thought it was a good idea.

So Hannah went to Earth to ask Castiel for help, and to her surprise, Castiel accepted the mission with zero reluctance.

OK. Now enter the Winchesters. They got a call from Cas asking them to go to a particular place. "There is something I need to tell you." They went there, an angel opened the door, they asked for Castiel, and the angel said, "His Royal Highness will see you now", and they went feral, "His Royal Highness?" They got shown into this grand palace fancier than anything they'd ever seen, and their alarm intensifies. Then Cas came out to greet them, and told them that he had agreed to marry Crowley in a diplomatic mission to avoid a war between angels and demons.

Dean and Sam ripped into him immediately, telling him that to unite two evil factions is like doubling the threat for humanity, and calling him a screw up, "you try to be the good guy, you try, etc., etc." Cas dealt with them patiently, asked for benefit of the doubt. He said he called them there because he wanted his wedding to be attended by angels, demons as well as humans, to symbolize peace for all.

(And when Dean asked if this was another of his dumb self-sacrifice that only leads to cosmic disaster, Cas said, "it's not dumb, and it's hardly a sacrifice.")

Dean and Sam reluctantly stay, but do nothing to inhibit their prejudices. They insult the angels, antagonize the demons, and cause some type of incidence that sparks a huge outcry that threatens to undo any diplomatic process and fast-track the war between Hell and Hell. And such a war would doom humanity as well.

Fortunately, unlike in the show, some of the angels and some of the demons are reasonable creatures capable of rational thought (actually just like in the show; but unlike the show they were allowed to influence the plot). With Castiel and Crowley's leadership, those more moderate angels and demons who are interested in peace worked together to smooth things over, avoid crisis, and put the wedding back on track.

So Castiel and Crowley got married, Castiel moved to Hell with his garrison of royal guards. At a party they threw, however, Crowley found out it was the Winchesters who earlier caused a diplomatic incidence that threatened his marriage. And because the Winchesters were unapologetic and still insulting him as well as Castiel, he started beating on them.

That's when: Castiel *irrited as hell, dragging Crowley away from Winchesters": "don't speak to me or my husband ever again"

(Also I looked it up and apparently Castiel would be called "prince consort" of Hell now)

(I never read "Marriage between Heaven and Hell" but this fic could steal that title)

(I think there may still be an archangel in charge, maybe instead of being Metatron's illusion, Gabriel was real and did defeat Metatron and brought the angels home--and was leading Heaven. This is not important to the fic though)

(also this could also happen in later season when Mary joins them in judging Cas and Crowley)

Can someone write me a fic where Winchesters are stuck in a domestic dispute between Castiel and Crowley

Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Wife Shoots Self in Fight Over Trip,” Toronto Star. January 19, 1932. Page 3. --- Angry Because She Couldn’t Return to Germany ---- Montreal, Jan. 18. - The knowledge that her husband had learned of her unfaithfulness and his refusal to allow her to make another trip to Germany to see her lover, caused Caroline Hexen, 32, to end her own life before the eyes of her husband, Emil Bulketski, in their bedroom last night.

Bulketski, the principal witness at the inquest to-day, testified his wife suddenly produced the .25 calibre German automatic and shot herself in the right temple in the midst of a quarrel over his refusal to allow her to pay another visit to Germany and his discovery of a diary given his wife by her lover in Germany.

A message, written in German, to Mrs. Bulketzki, and signed ‘her friend in Germany,’ was all that was written in the diary.