#in the back of a single garbage truck

[nofacednerd]

The thing about The Boys is that they’ll be like “we’re going to go to A Location” and by god no force from heaven or earth will prevent them from going to their Location

[navybrat817]

The Day After

Pairing: Roommate's Brother!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your new roommate introduces you to her brother, but you met him last night.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, mention of hooking up, tension, humor, flirting, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes being a menace (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Calling this AU About Last Night. No one asked for it. Hope you enjoy it anyway! @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline he's such a menace! ❤️ Thanks to the lovely @whisperlullaby for prereading and assuring me it isn't garbage. Any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You groaned as you saw the time and wiped down the coffee table again. Rebecca Barnes, your new roommate, would be there any minute. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous. She seemed like a sweetheart and was down to earth, the perfect person to take the other bedroom and help with rent. Plus, she had already seen the place and seemed excited to be roommates.

She was doing you a favor by moving in. Your last roommate got engaged and moved in with her fiancé. While you were thrilled for her, keeping a place in this part of town was costly. You had debated downsizing, but there was nothing available. Giving up the place would’ve been tough as well since you did love your apartment and it was close to work.

“It’ll be great,” you said, taking a wipe to the table once more.

Maybe you were on a cleaning spree so your mind wouldn’t keep going back to the guy from last night. The one at the bar with the piercing blue eyes and charming smile. And the beefy frame and soft chestnut hair that framed his face. The same hair you pulled when he laid you down on his bed and kissed down your body and-

You jumped at the knock on your door. Now wasn’t the time to think about the guy who blew your back out. “Just a sec!” You called out, putting the cleaning supplies away before you straightened up your top. With a deep breath, you opened the door with a smile. “Becca, hi!”

Rebecca’s smile was enough to light up the whole place, her brown hair swept back to showcase her beautiful face. You imagined guys, and maybe girls, flocked to her, but she told you she was single and happy that way. You were single, too, minus whatever last night was. “Hi,” she said, balancing a box in her hand before you held your hands out to take it. “How are you?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Good, but I’ll be better once I get everything inside. I didn’t realize I had so many boxes,” she teased.

“I’m happy to help with whatever you need,” you promised, setting the box down by her bedroom door. “Is your car outside?”

“Actually, one of my brother’s friends let us use his truck to haul most of my stuff here,” she said, a worried look crossing her face as she looked your way. “It’s okay that they help move the stuff in, right? I’m so sorry. I don’t think I asked. The furniture is just a bit heavy.”

“It’s fine. You have nothing to apologize for. This is your place now, too,” you assured her. You remembered her saying she had an older brother. Was his name James? “And you shouldn’t have to lug up an entire bedroom by yourself.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. My last roommate would’ve flipped,” she smiled, heading back to the door to stick her head out. “This way, guys!”

The first man that walked in was thick with broad shoulders and a smile as golden as his hair. If you had to imagine an all-American man in the flesh, this guy was it. But the guy that followed inside after him, he was the one who made your heart stop. The one who made your knees buckle. Because you knew those blue eyes.

And as his eyes bore into yours, he smirked.

Fuck…

“This is Steve, one of my brother’s best friends and pretty much like another brother,” Rebecca said, pointing to the blonde as you blinked. “And that’s my brother, James. Everyone calls him Bucky.”

You were very much aware that people called him Bucky. It was the name he made you cry out when he was balls deep inside you the night before. There was still an ache between your legs that reminded you just how thoroughly he fucked you. It was a miracle you were able to walk by the time he was done with you.

Not only did you manage to walk out of his room, you left his place before he woke up.

To be fair, it wasn’t your plan to ditch him after he took you in just about every position you could imagine. You just had to get home, shower, and clean up a bit before Rebecca showed up. And you did leave your number for him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve said as Bucky continued to stare.

The room suddenly felt very hot.

“James, could you not gawk at my new roommate like that, please?” his sister asked, waving a hand dismissively when he continued to stare at you. Thank god she spoke because your words were stuck in your throat. “I’m sorry. He does this weird staring thing sometimes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s okay,” you said, clearing your throat as Bucky raised an eyebrow. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You didn’t know what to say. “It’s nice to meet you guys, too.”

Bucky’s pretty eyes darkened a shade as he continued to stare you down. You shifted slightly on your feet. Was he upset that you left or that you just pretended not to know him, like last night hadn’t happened? But if you said you knew him, how would you explain it to his sister? You could’ve just said you met at a bar and left it at that. Or blurted out everything.

But how the hell were you to know Bucky was her brother? It wasn’t like the two of you had exchanged last names. Oh, Jesus, what was wrong with you?

The corner of Bucky’s lip tugged in a smile as he said your name. How did he manage to make it sound like honey and something sinful? “Becca was telling us all about you on the drive over. Said you’re very welcoming.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as he gauged your reaction. “That was nice of her to say,” you said, tearing your gaze away because you didn’t know what else to do. “Becca, I can go to the truck and-”

“Actually, could you show me where the bathroom is?” Bucky casually cut you off, jerking his head toward the door. “Steve, Becca, if you wanna grab a couple more boxes, I’ll be right down.”

“Sure,” Steve nodded as Rebecca narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t bother my roommate,” she warned before she left with Steve.

The brunette swung his head back toward you, a wolfish grin on his face as you gulped. “I won’t be a bother, will I?”

“Bathroom’s this way!” You said much louder than you needed to, your heart racing as you went down the hall. He was right on your tail and you wondered if he would figure out which bedroom was yours and drag you into it. The hall seemed more narrow with him in it. The wonderful smell of him took up the space, too. “Right there,” you said, not looking him in the eye as you pointed to the bathroom door.

He put an arm up to block your exit. “Nice to meet me, huh?” He asked, tsking as he shook his head. “Did I fuck you so good that you lost your memory?”

You inhaled, your cheeks hot. “Bucky!” You hissed, looking over his shoulder to make sure his sister and friend weren’t back yet.

“So, you do remember my name,” he said. The smirk that followed almost had you dropping to your knees. What sorcery did this man have over you and how could you get it to stop? “I mean, you should remember it. I did have you screaming it.”

You stuck a finger in his face as you stepped closer. “Shut the fuck up! If your sister hears, she might get upset and back out of the lease. And I don’t want her to leave. She’s nice and I can’t afford this place without a roommate.”

He gripped your wrist and maintained eye contact as he swirled his tongue around the tip of your finger. An unashamed whimper slipped past your lips that you couldn’t smother, yet you didn’t make a move to stop him. “My sister won't back out of the lease, so don’t worry about that.”

“O-Okay,” you said, trying not to let him distract you as he repeated the motion. Your nipples hardened under your top anyway. Damn him. “But if she stays, how am I supposed to explain that we…”

“Fucked until the sun came up then fucked again? Yeah, you're right. It might be really hard.” He tilted his head as his gaze went lower. Was he trying to kill you? “About as hard as when I had my cock in your sweet, wet-”

You covered his mouth to smother the rest of the statement, but you felt the vibration from the word “pussy” against your skin. He chuckled at your expression. The man was going to drive you crazy.

“Yes, yes. We fucked. Best fuck of my life, okay?” You admitted in a huff.

A genuine smile touched his lips as he lowered your hand. Not a smirk or smug smile, but something lighter like when the two of you chatted over a drink. A smile that made your knees weak. “I was the best fuck of your life?”

You shook your head. You shouldn’t have said that. “That isn’t the point, but I do want to point out that I don’t make it a habit of hooking up with random guys,” you said, hoping that would be the end of it.

Amusement filled his eyes. “I know. You told me that when I brought you home and I believed you,” he reminded you, your breath hitching when he leaned in close. “But you still begged me to fuck you raw. Or did you ‘forget’ that, too?”

Electricity crackled between the two of you slowly exhaled. “I didn’t forget,” you breathed, your tongue darting out to touch your lip. It almost touched his.

How could you ever forget how right it felt when he filled you up?

“Yeah? Then were you embarrassed that you went home with me?” He asked, his voice quieter than before as he took your hand in his. His thumb moved over your skin as your pulse quickened again. “Is that why you left this morning? Or acted like we hadn’t met?”

Your gaze softened. God, did you hurt his feelings? You hadn’t meant to. “No, I’m not embarrassed that I went home with you. Not at all,” you promised. Bucky was like a god and you were a mere mortal that he somehow chose to bless with his presence. “I’m sorry I left. I only did that because I had to get back here.”

“I could’ve given you a ride. Well, another ride,” he said, brushing his fingers along your cheek, his voice still not back to normal yet. “I’m a gentleman like that.”

“I didn’t want to wake you, but I did leave my number,” you said, hoping that would at least soothe the unintended wound. “And I’m not at all pointing fingers, but you didn’t exactly jump to tell your sister we had met either when you walked in.”

He shrugged and looked over his shoulder. “She’ll be back any minute. Let’s tell her.”

“Tell her what?” You asked. The two of you hooked up. There was no label or relationship yet. “We did a lot of things that I don't think she needs to hear about.”

The smile morphed back to the smirk that was getting under your skin in the best way. “Then come to my place so she can't hear the things we’ll do to each other. You know I have a great bed.”

You smiled and considered it for a moment. The handsome menace was single and so were you. Would it be so bad to go with him again? Yes. You couldn’t ditch your new roommate to hop into her brother’s bed, especially on the day she was moving in.

With a shake of your head, you backed away. “You’re unbelievable,” you replied, almost giving in when he pouted. That look probably got him whatever he wanted with most people. “And I’m not going back to your place today.”

“Why not? Like you said, you left me your number,” he said, making a show of holding up his phone. “You obviously wanted to, at the very least, talk to me again.”

“Look, Bucky, can we talk about this later? Please? Your sister’s moving in today. Let’s focus on that.”

His shoulders slumped, but he recovered in the blink of an eye. “Okay, you’re right. But you promise we’ll talk? Because I haven’t stopped thinking about last night.”

You bit your lip. Yeah, you wanted to talk to him again and it warmed your heart that he seemed interested in talking to you, too. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it either,” you told him. But you couldn’t dwell on that when you heard footsteps approaching. “I promise we’ll talk later and figure out whatever this is.”

That appeased him for now since he dropped his arm. “Later then.”

“James! Are you done going to the bathroom? I thought you were going to help?” Rebecca’s voice rang out. “Oh, God, you’re bothering her, aren’t you?”

You giggled as you ducked past him. “He isn’t bothering me.”

“But I am offering to order dinner for all of us if she doesn’t mind the company after we bring the rest of the stuff up. Maybe we can all watch a movie, too,” Bucky said from behind you, smiling when you looked over your shoulder with an exasperated gaze. “What do you say?”

You had to smile back because you knew you’d say “yes” before Steve brought the next box in.

And things were about to get a lot more interesting in your life since Bucky Barnes seemed determined to continue whatever had transpired the night before.

Neighbor!Bucky level of being a menace. 😂 I also like to imagine this is a version of Stud and Smartie in another world had she lived with his sister instead. ❤️‍🔥 How long before Becca finds out? What shenanigans will these two get up to? Do you lovelies want to see the night before? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[supershot73199]

Ok so this is not connected to my Big Daddy au

But here is another short fic/prompt so feel free to continue this or do your own spin.

This will be DannyxSteph as I don't see much for them (I believe their ship name is meme lords)

Steph winced in pain as she shifted in the chair she had been tied too. She was desperate as she was trying to find a way to distract the Joker or escape with a broken leg and no gear. She wouldn't have been panicked as bad as she was if she had been the only one grabbed but they grabbed the kid she had been babysitting as well, a sweet little girl only four years old named Dawn who was currently crying in her lap where she was chained while the Joker was monologing at the camera.

Supposedly it was broadcasting live on every TV in Gotham. Steph really hoped that there was someone near Dawn's father to help him through this. Danny ,which is her father's name, was a single father Stephs age (which means that he would have had to been a teenage father with Dawn's age) and his little girl was his whole life which means this could not be easy on him.

Suddenly as Joker was mid sentence everyone froze because they could hear gunshots from outside as well as a loud diesel engine before suddenly a wall collapsed as a garbage truck slammed through the wall before screeching to a halt.

Steph at first thought that it was the rest of the bat's maybe borrowing the truck to get in faster and it seemed like Joker had the same thought.

"Well now I never expected this of you Bat's couldn't use the skyli- you aren't one of the bat's."

And he was right because stepping out of the truck-turned-battering-ram was Danny and he didn't even spare a second thought to the Joker as he set his eyes on Dawn and Steph and called out in a relieved tone of voice. "Dawn! Steph! You're ok thank the Ancients."

"Daddy!" Dawn had stopped crying at the sound of her father's voice the tension in her body fading away with that childlike certainty that her father would make everything better. However Joker not one to be ignored reached out and grabbed Danny's arm before speaking.

"Now the shows not over there Daddy but thank you for adding a new hos-"

"Fuck off bozo!" Danny didn't even slow using the same hand Joker grabbed he shoved him off sending the clown stumbling back a few steps as Danny finished crossing the room before quickly cutting the ropes with a pocket knife (and Steph was not blushing at the strength he had to have to cut the sturdy rope in one smooth movement no siree) with Dawn quickly leaping into her Dads arms as soon as the ropes fell away.

Steph turned to the Joker who seemed stunned hand on his chest where he was shoved seemingly shocked that someone had done that with no fear. Turning back to the father daughter pair she started quickly speaking in a low voice hopping not to break the trance the clown prince of crime was under.

"Quick you need to take Dawn and run my legs broken so you need to leave me here the Bat's will be here soon ill be fin-"

"He can't hurt you anymore." Danny's voice was calm and steady as he interrupted Steph. He looked her in the eye before looking pointedly at the had that he shoved the Joker with opening it to reveal something that made Steph gasp.

A human heart still beating though it stopped as she looked and the moment it did she heard a thud as the Joker fell to the floor limp as a puppet with its strings cut.

"Is that .." Steph couldn't even finish the question. But Danny still nodded before tossing it unceremoniously to the floor.

"Nobody threatens the people I care about and gets away with it. He forfeit his existence the moment he grabbed the two of you."

Steph felt like her own heart was about to fall out onto the floor the combination of the Joker a bogeyman who had terrorized Gotham almost as long as she had been alive just dead, dying without so much as a whimper much less a bang. Done in, not by any bat or caped crusader but a father who only wanted to save his daughter. As well as the implication that Danny cared for her too that he killed the nightmare of every kid in Gotham for her sake as much as his daughters.

Danny had separated from Dawn after placing one more kiss on her head and whispered comfort that Steph was to shocked to pay much attention to before quickly coming to check on her injury.

"Looks like a clean break so it should heal fast. I just hate that you got hurt protecting Dawn even if I'm more grateful than you can imagine that you tried to protect her."

Steph smiled "We've known each other for months now and I love that little girl as well. No way was I going to let someone touch her without a fight."

Danny looked up at her from his position next to her chair with a look that Steph couldn't describe before standing up.

"Here I'll carry you to one of the ambulances I hear coming this way."

As he bent to scoop her up Steph got his attention as she got ready to do something impulsive. As he turned his head toward her Steph grabbed his head and pulled him into a kiss. Danny froze against her before returning it the pair only stopped when they heard a giggle.

"Daddy and Stephie are kissing! Does that mean Stephie is my Momma now?" Dawn's voice snapped the two out of it but before Danny could say anything Steph beat him to it.

"Maybe one day Daddy has to take me on a date first and we'll see where things go. Say a movie this Friday?"

Steph knew she was being bold but by God she was not letting this absolute dork start to spiral she knew from the amount of time they spent together as neighbors that Danny had a surprising low self esteem and would probably convince himself she only kissed him out of gratitude or something when in reality she has wanted to do this for months and just didn't know how to initiate.

"That sounds wonderful I'm sure miss Chen downstairs would be able to watch Dawn if I ask." Danny's blushing face only made Steph giggle as he responded. But as he lifted her she noticed the Jokers camera with the recording light still on and she knew she was going to get so much shit from the other bat's so she decided to share the embarrassment.

"Not so sure you'll have to ask seeing as everyone in Gotham just saw everything on their screens.

Danny who had just picked Steph up in a princess carry without hurting her leg froze before letting out a groan.

"Oh I'm never going to live this down."

[pinkestofpanthers]

some logan thoughts

a/n: i absolutely love desperate housewives, so this was loosely based on susan & mike, my favorite couple!

you wanted him. he had only moved into the apartment building two days ago and you barely interacted with him, but you would be a liar if you said he hadn't made you feel some type of way. you didn't get the chance to introduce yourself; you could only dumbly smile and wave at him in the lobby as you retrieved your mail. however, you thanked whatever entity above that your nosy neighbor, ethel, was able to introduce herself with a basket of baked goods and housewarming flowers.

from what she relayed to you, he only moved a couple hours from where he previously resided in canada. he was a plumber who had been out of work for a while, but of course still carried his toolbox everywhere he went, leaving it in the bed of his truck just in case. ethel noticed how there was no ring on his finger, and that his apartment, though still stuffed with boxes, was only set up for one person to live there. you didn't miss the nudge she gave you as she told you this.

you knew he only lived four doors down from ethel, who lived just across the hall from you. it would seem random to show up, it's not like he moved in directly next to you. how could you have possibly approached him? you continued to think your options through, until you turned to the newspaper that had just been delivered this morning. he was a plumber after all, right?

frantically, you began stuffing pages upon pages down your garbage disposal. how exactly could you explain this happening? blame it on the pet cat you never had? the niece your brother never introduced you to, let alone didn't even have? you were sure an excuse would come to your head once the stranger found his way into your apartment.

that was, until, he was actually in your apartment.

"hello?" he called out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. you smiled back at him and he asked again,

"so, how did you get this morning's news shoved down your disposal?"

you stammered, eyes darting around for some excuse you could pull out of thin air. after thinking it over for a solid five seconds, you decided to blurt out about the little "accident" your niece had when she visited earlier. you didn't want to embarrass her, so you waited to get help until after she left.

based on his reaction, you couldn't tell if he was completely sold on your lie or not. you hoped he took it for what it was and could spend an extra thirty minutes on the floor of your kitchen.

during that sacred time he spent on your floor, you had made some sort of small talk with the handsome man. finding out where he was from, why he moved, and that he was single (something he revealed after you asked if he moved here by himself). this had kept on until the time he asked for a hand off the floor, as he finished the little project you set up for him hours before. you thanked him and asked how much you owed, heading to grab your purse.

"it's no big deal, don't think you have to pay me," he responded to your ask, but you insisted. i mean, the man just cleaned out a whole book's worth of papers for you.

"there has to be something i can give you! i'll treat you takeout?" you were starting to feel bad. it wasn't fair that the man who made his living off doing jobs like this, who had been out of work for a while, had just finished fixing your garbage disposal, and was telling you to not pay him.

"how about that fancy little italian place up the block? tomorrow night. my treat, though," he said after thinking your offer over and you just scoffed.

"well, that defeats the purpose of me paying you back, don't you think?" you questioned, which got a chuckle out of him. he assured you it would be his pleasure to take you out, and that just going out with him would be enough payment. you thought it over and went back and forth with him until you ultimately agreed.

as you showed him out of your apartment, him with his tool kit in hand, he decided to say one more thing, something that would haunt you for the rest of the night until you saw him tomorrow evening,

"and next time," he smirked as he turned back to you, "just be a little more like nosy neighbor ethel and come introduce yourself. i'm sure your garbage disposal will be happy you did."

[corroded-hellfire]

you ask and you shall recieve, older!eddie not only helping you relax your mind after a rough day but also, being the only one who's ever been able to put you in subspace, because the man KNOWS how to treat a woman<3 im in like desperate need for this kind of fic because i need someone to put me in subspace

The joy I got from this request. You have no idea. Older!Eddie is literally my ultimate weakness. But I tried to be as accurate as possible with subspace, even though it's different for everyone.

You can meet how Eddie and reader met here!

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), choking, spanking, subspace, soft dom!eddie, sub!reader, older!eddie, age gap (Eddie is 42, reader is 24)

Words: 3.1k

It may be true that your apartment is closer to work than Eddie’s trailer, but your car always seems to have a mind of its own when you’ve had a bad day. You’re pretty sure that your car takes over and brings you to your boyfriend’s place without you even being conscious of it. Today was no different. You’d forgotten your lunch at home, been late because of traffic, and worst of all, been passed over for the promotion you know you deserved. 

It all led you to sitting in your car outside of Eddie’s home, his truck not in its usual place in front of the trailer. He should be home any minute, but every second that ticks by grates on your nerves like a broken bow on a fiddle. 

The moment you see—or rather, hear—his truck come into the trailer park, you yank your key out of the ignition and get out of the car. The squeaky bucket of bolts careens into its usual spot, then falls silent. The blaring metal music stops, and the engine dwindles down until it’s quiet. The driver’s door opens before you hear it slamming closed.

“Hey, baby,” Eddie says as he walks around the front of the truck. He takes a drag of the cigarette he’s been smoking, then tosses it into his empty garbage can out front. “Been here long?”

“Not really,” you say, instantly attaching yourself to his side once you’re close enough. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Eddie says, ducking down to press a kiss to your head. “How was work?” 

When your only response is a sigh, Eddie frowns, the subtle wrinkles by his eyes becoming even more prevalent. He tugs you over to the front door and ushers you in once he’s unlocked it. You watch as he takes his hair tie out, shaking his mane free. The wild brown curls cascade down to his shoulders. Unable to help it, you reach up and play with the hair framing his face. It’s something that’s always calmed both of you; you playing with his hair. It can relax Eddie to sleep and have you forgetting all your troubles of the day. Wrapping a single curl around your index finger, you notice the start of some gray at his temples. It makes sense since the lack of color has been popping up more and more in his beard and stubble lately. You don’t think he believes you when you tell him how sexy it is. 

Eddie leans down, cupping your face in his hands, and presses a soft kiss to your mouth. 

“Rough day, baby?”

You nod and he instantly wraps you up in his arms. He hasn’t even changed out of his greasy coveralls yet, but you couldn’t care less as you bury your head in his chest. His large hand strokes up and down your back as he presses sweet kisses to the top of your head. When he goes to pull away, your fingers tighten over the zipper of the coveralls, silently begging him not to let go. 

“Don’t want me to make something for dinner?” he asks. You shake your head against his body. “Want me to order takeout?” You shrug. Eddie sighs and squeezes you against his body. “How about this…” Eddie pulls back just enough so he can tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Why don’t I call up to get some Chinese food delivered—I know, I know, Golden Palace is your favorite—and I’ll get changed and hold you in my lap until the food gets here.” 

“I’d like that,” you tell him. Satisfied that he came up with an agreeable arrangement, Eddie smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

He makes his way into the kitchen, balancing the phone receiver on his shoulder as he searches the fridge for the magnet with Golden Palace’s phone number on it. “Want your usual, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.” Kicking off your shoes, you nudge them over to join the tiny pile of Eddie’s near the front door. As he talks on the phone, you make your way down the hall to his bedroom. The starchy blouse and pinching skirt you’ve been wearing all day have worn out their welcome. Slipping them both off, you drop them on the chair in the corner of Eddie’s room. Spotting your favorite pair of Eddie’s sweats hanging out of a drawer, you move to go get them before freezing in place. No, you decide, you don’t want to wear them. You’re content in just your bra and panties. 

Eddie’s bed is one of your favorite places in the world. And here and now? It’s just about irresistible. Climbing on, you lay back against his pillow and take in the messy room around you. Clothes are strewn about everywhere, despite his hamper in the corner being empty. There are a few photo frames on the walls now, which makes you smile. Before you, there’d only been posters of bands and movies. Some are still there, but now there are also photo collage frames on the walls featuring the people he loves. His uncle is in a few of them, as well as his buddies from his old Hellfire days. There’s even some of you that you begged him not to hang up, but he said you looked so good in them that he wanted to look over at them whenever he wanted. But your favorites are the ones of you two together. One of them is from when you’d gone to Chicago together and got caught in a snowstorm. Another is of you standing on the corner of a dock at Lover’s Lake, where you forced Eddie to hold onto your hips and recreate the Titanic pose. He’d rolled his eyes, but who’s laughing now that he put the picture up on his wall?

Eddie steps into the bedroom and stops when he sees you only in your underwear. “Babe, you can borrow clothes. You know that.”

“Didn’t wanna,” you say, making grabby hands for him. A soft smile comes to his face as he sheds himself of his coveralls and climbs on the bed next to you. 

“What do you want?” Eddie asks. He’s pretty sure he already knows, but you both know you’ve got to ask for it. His suspicions are even further confirmed when you just look at him from beneath your eyelashes, fluttering them at him. “Tell me, princess.”

“Want you to make me feel better,” you say in a hushed voice. Not looking him in the eyes, you trail your fingers over Eddie’s thin gray t-shirt. “Want you to take care of me. Like only you can.” 

Before Eddie, you barely had any sexual experience. But with the limited amount you did have, guys could never make you feel good. They were lacking in multiple ways, actually. Not only could none of them bring you to orgasm, but they couldn’t even distract you sufficiently when all you needed was to get out of your head for a little while. Eddie had gotten you into subspace the very first time he’d tried. Never before had you trusted someone so much, felt completely safe, which only added to the hazy feeling that came over you. You’re pretty sure Eddie was made specifically for you. Funnily enough, he thought the very same thing. 

Eddie nods, laying one of his large hands on your stomach. His calloused fingers rub against your bared skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“I can do that,” Eddie assures you. “Let’s get you more comfortable, okay babydoll?” At your nod, Eddie slips your panties from your legs and you reach behind you to unclasp your bra. Once the garments are tossed somewhere on the floor, Eddie crawls on top of you, nuzzling his nose against yours. His nose trails down to your throat, but that’s not the part of him you want there. Eddie notices the barely there whine that escapes you as he places a hard kiss against the soft skin of your neck. 

“My princess wants my hands, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie shrugs himself out of his t-shirt and unzips his jeans. He might as well take it all off now because he doesn’t want to have to stop for a single moment once he’s got you going. Finally shed of all articles of clothing, Eddie lays one large, tattooed hand on your hip. Ever so slowly, he moves the hand up your body. Over the softness of your tummy, over the small tattoo you’d gotten on your ribs, just below your breast, that you decided to get after admiring Eddie’s ink for so long. Finally, his hand trails over the swell of your breast, only pausing briefly to flick a thumb over your nipple, before slipping over your collar bone and halting on the one place you wanted it. The pressure Eddie applies to his hand on your throat isn’t enough to impact your breathing, but enough to feel the possessiveness in the gesture. Waiting until your eyes slip closed, Eddie tightens his hand just slightly, causing a hitch in your breathing. This is your sweet spot, he knows. Right where you start to feel your worries melt away.

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Y-Yes, sir. Want you t-to fill me up, please,” you say.

“Gonna fuck my baby girl so hard,” Eddie says as he nudges your legs apart. “Won’t be able to have a thought in her pretty little head that’s not about me and how good my cock is making her feel.” 

Resting back on his knees—but not too far back, keeping the pressure on your throat—Eddie spits into his free hand before working his saliva up and down his cock. Seeing you already relaxing, legs spread, eyes closed, and his hand on your throat? Eddie didn’t need to pump himself very many times before he was clamoring to be inside of you. Running his fingers through your folds, grinning in satisfaction at how wet you already are, he mixes your slick with the saliva on his cock. He lines himself up with your entrance, eyes focused on your face as he pushes in. Your brows pull together, just a little, and a low breathy moan escapes your lips. Eddie leans over you, bracing himself on the forearm of the arm that’s not holding you around the throat. 

“How’s that, baby?”

“More.”

“More, what?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows.

“More, please, sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”

A groan tumbles out of Eddie as he bottoms out. He thrusts his hips, sliding himself in and out of you, picking up the pace just a hair each time. The pressure on your throat increases as his hips snap against yours.

“Wanna tell me what happened at work? What’s got you so upset?” he asks as he keeps a steady pace.

Keeping your eyes closed, a sigh escapes your lips. “Out of all the p-people who started working there around the same time I did, I-I’m the one who’s most qualified for—.”

“Ah,” Eddie cuts you off with a tut. “That was a test to see if I fucked the stress out of you yet. And I failed.” At that, he begins pounding into you even harder, the headboard against the wall sounding like a jackhammer. Whimpers start to fall from your lips, and when you open your eyes, a few tears slide down the sides of your face. Eddie pulls out of you, releasing his hand from your throat and you groan at the loss of both sensations. “Come on up, baby. I want you on your hands and knees.” 

Letting out a small whine, you turn your head to bury it in his pillow. “M’comfy, sir.”

“Up, princess,” he orders. 

He slips his hand underneath you and pulls up. Complying, you move slowly, letting Eddie know that you're headed in the right direction. Once he’s satisfied that you’re in the position he wants, —and has admired the view—Eddie pushes his cock back inside of you. He gives it a few thrusts before his one hand grabs your hip hard enough to bruise and the other gives a harsh smack against the soft plush skin of your ass. 

“That’s one, baby,” Eddie says. “Want you to count them for me, okay?” When your only response is a nod, Eddie gives your ass another smack. “Okay?”

“Y-Yes,” you whine. “That was two, sir.” 

“Good girl,” Eddie says as his hand rubs over the area he just struck. With no warning, he pulls his hand back and gives another stinging slap.

“Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Uh…”

“Come on babydoll, what number are up to now?” Eddie asks. 

“I don’t remember, sir,” you admit with a whimper.

That’s the answer Eddie wanted, though. Your brain was slowly turning to mush, which meant he was doing his job. It almost meant that he needed to get you on your back again, since he knows that’s where you get the most enjoyment out of subspace. 

After one more smack to your ass, Eddie reaches forward and wraps his thick fingers around the front of your neck. He guides you up until your back is pressed flush up against his chest. 

“How’s my princess feeling?” he asks as he slips out of you. The sensation causes a whine, bringing a soft smile to Eddie’s lips. “Shh, just changing positions, sweetheart.” He carefully maneuvers you until you’re lying on your back again. Before you get fully down though, he slips a pillow under your hips. One, it’ll support your ass, being sore from the spanking. And two, this angle always allows Eddie to hit your sweet spot. 

Hands holding onto your hips, Eddie slides himself back inside of you, causing your face to scrunch up in the most adorable way. He lowers himself to hover over you, his dark curls curtaining his face above yours, like the two of you are locked together in this private moment. Your eyes blink open, sleepily, as he starts pounding into you again. Eddie’s wish was coming true; there was nothing in your head besides him. Heavy eyelids drooping, your gaze shifts down to his scruff, making Eddie let out a breathy chuckle.

“Looking at the gray again, baby? I don’t get what you find so sexy about it. Like the fact that I’m old, huh? That I know what I’m doing and know how to take care of this tight little pussy of yours? None of those boys your age know how to handle a woman like you, do they? No. You need me. I know what you need, baby girl. I know what makes you feel so good.”

Eyes becoming too tired to hold open, you let them close again. Your mouth opens slightly, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to run his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“Such a pretty girl.” Your eyes open again, the fucked out expression a sign of victory for Eddie. “Aww, look at you. Got my smart girl all nice and dumb, huh? My cock that good, princess?” 

Whines begin to fall from your lips, your brows tighten up. Eddie can read your body better than he can read The Hobbit, so he knows you’re very close. It’s a good thing too, because so is he. Whenever he sees you this blissed out, it hurtles him towards his own release. 

Supporting his body with one arm, Eddie reaches down and rubs tight circles over your clit. “How’s that, babydoll? Does that feel good for my baby?”

There’s an imperceptible nod of your head, but Eddie sees it. Feels the way your walls are starting to clench around his throbbing cock. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Let me make you feel so good.”

Your body is limp, the only movement is the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and your hips as they move against Eddie of their own accord. The moment your body tips over the edge and into your orgasm, Eddie feels his. Feels the way you soak and clench his cock. It has his hips stuttering, letting out a string of moans and curses as he releases inside of you. 

“Fuck, princess,” Eddie says as his body comes down from his high. He looks down at you, eyes open but glossy and relaxed. Mouth curled into a lazy smile as you look back up at him. You’re spent and so is he. 

Taking a deep breath to try and get his breathing back to normal, Eddie pulls out and flops down beside you. He knows sometimes it can take you a little while to come back to him when you’re in this state. But he also knows that holding you while you’re in this haze is your favorite part. Maneuvering the blanket on the bed—which he now needs to wash—he tucks it up to both of your waists. Slowly and gently, Eddie manages to get you to turn over and holds you in his arms. Your face nuzzles into his neck, your sweat and his blending together. 

“You did so good for me, baby girl. You’re always so good for me. I’m one lucky old man.”

The soft giggle against his skin lets him know that you’re still there with him. He rests his head against yours and runs his fingertips up and down your bare spine. “Why don’t we take a bath after this, hmm? Nice warm bath, then curl up on the couch. You can pick a movie to watch while we eat dinner. How’s all that sound?” 

“Good,” you say, barely audible. Your arms slip around Eddie’s waist, and you pull yourself as close to him as you can in your floaty state. 

Eddie gives you a gentle squeeze in his arms. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you look up at him. Gazing into your eyes, he can see that you’re coming back to him bit by bit. Once you relax your grip on him, he’ll go get you some water to drink and run the hot water for the bath. But right now, he’s going to lay here and enjoy the cuddles that you both need. He knows you’ll thank him for this when you’re fully returned. And he’ll tell you yet again how you don’t have to thank him for it. That he loves being with you like this. The fact that you trust him in this way. Seeing you go from majorly stressed to being totally blissed out was more than enough thanks for Eddie. He feels honored that he gets to help you in this way. His perfect little girl.

“How you feeling?” Eddie asks softly.

“So good,” you say dreamily, making Eddie chuckle. “I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you too, princess.”

[artificial-transmutations]

Idea: My fantasy is to be forcibly transformed from a young, affluent, VERY clean, well-educated, well groomed, well dressed white corporate executive into a VERY dirty uneducated garbageman. I must be forced to surrender my corporate career, my car, my office, my name, my money, my expensive formal business suit and tie, my wristwatch and polished black dress shoes and even my dress socks, along the way to my new real life.

Boardroom to trash bins

You glance at the golden watch on your left wrist and decide to walk a little faster.

You are not late - yet - but the board meeting is too important to be late to. Of course, on the other hand, you can't walk so fast that you would break a sweat. The thought alone of arriving at meeting room with beads of sweat on your forehead or, God forbid, a damp spot on your dress shirt is even worse than coming a minute or two late. That, at least, you can blame on the traffic, which is not even wrong. Your expensive German car has been stuck behind a garbage truck for a good ten minutes. Inacceptable, of course. You would expect the city to schedule such annoying but probably necessary services at night, when there is no traffic that could be slowed down by it.

After all, you have a reputation to uphold! You are Jameson Pierce, son of the millionaire and successful investor James Pierce. You are also the owner and CEO of one of the most prominent investment companies, Pierce&Co.

You have the best business education money can buy and your decisions influence the fate of thousands of employees of yours. You don't arrive late to board meetings like that!

Still, there is no reason to get agitated yet. If the lift is free, you will arrive perfectly on time.

As you quickly make your way over the office parking lot that is being overshadowed by the 50 story skyscraper you own, you almost collide with an old man in a blue uniform, who is blocking the way into the building by picking up refuse from the ground. Apparently, the wind has knocked over the garbage can next to the entrance, and all the contents have scattered on the pavement. The old man is just bending down to pick up the cans and garbage bags and put them back in the bin.

"Out of the way!" you blurt. Usually, you are nicer to your employees by just curtly ignoring them, but this old man is blocking your way and moves slow as a snail.

"Of course, sir, right away!" he says with a toothless smile, and you almost gag. The old man is disgusting! He looks as if he has been sleeping on the street, and the smell of booze emanating from him makes that assumption very likely. You briefly wonder if he even works for you and decide that if so, he needs to be disciplined for his appearance.

However, you are interrupted by his next sentence.

"I just need to pick up all that garbage here. You could help, sir, that would make it quicker."

What? This filthy old drunkard dares to ask you for help? The audacity!

"Out of my way!" you repeat and push the old man aside. You are now standing directly in front of the revolving door, ready to enter your company's building. Behind you, you can hear the old man mumbling something and then start cackling, like a maniac.

You shrug it off. The man is lucky you don't have time for that right now, as you carefully navigate through the scattered items on the ground. You need to be extra careful not to ruin your thousand dollar shoes or dress pants by stepping into something sticky and foul-smelling.

Even if you weren't in a hurry, there's no way Jameson Pierce would bend down to pick up garbage. You are reasonably proud to have never touched anything that has been in a bin - that's what employees are for, not managers like you.

The board meeting continues as bad as the day had started. It is way too warm in the meeting room and you can't prevent a single drop of sweat forming on your forehead. Of course, you wipe it away with your silk handkerchief and hope nobody has noticed, but that's not the only thing going wrong. Twice in your report, you find yourself at a loss of words. Instead of using the correct technical term, you have to verbally set back half a sentence and explain what you mean in simpler words. How very, very embarrassing.

It comes as no surprise that, when the meeting is finally over, you are in a particularly bad mood. Sadly, the old man from before has left, otherwise you would have fired him on the spot as a therapeutic action.

On the way to your car, you call your secretary to cancel all further appointments today, but as you try to ring the number, you just get the message that no connection could be made.

Just great. So, your office phone system has broken down as well. Angrily, you get in your car to drive over to your office yourself.

You don't get very far. Halfway on the way to your office, there is a grinding noise from the engine and then, your car just stops. Right in the middle of the street. You almost can't believe your bad luck. Angrily, you hit the steering wheel, sounding the horn in the process, but it's no use. Trying to ignore the honking from outside and the rude gestures of drivers finding their way around you, you reach into your pocket to call the car dealership. Luckily, you're well covered for such situations.

You stare blankly at the device in your hand. This isn't your cell phone. Instead of the brand new current flagship model with the big Pineapple on the back, you are looking at the cheap plastic of a no-name device with a cracked screen that is probably ten years old.

"What the...?"

You frantically search all of your pockets, but they are all empty.

You can't help but feel as if you have gone insane. No, there has to be a rational explanation. You have probably just pocketed the wrong phone when you were at the board meeting. Of course, there are immediately nagging voices in your mind that remind you that you had tried to call your office just before getting in the car, or that surely nobody at the board meeting would have such a phone, but you decide to tune them out.

Your office is now only two blocks away. There, you have your tablet with all of your contacts. You can call the car dealership to care for the car and then just end this horrible day.

You get out of the car and ignore the shouting from the other drivers. A line of cars has formed behind your expensive Mercedes, but you ignore that as well and begin to walk. Two blocks don’t sound too bad, but it is a hot day, and you feel uncomfortable quickly. You have to loosen your tie because it feels constricting around your neck. That's not the only piece of clothing feeling wrong. Your step feels heavier, and you have to scratch yourself multiple times, trying to readjust the expensive Italian dress shirt, which is suddenly not sitting right.

Finally, you arrive at your office building. You don't even want to look down on yourself. You can feel your shirt clinging to your body and you feel disgusted by your appearance. Good thing this will all be over soon.

As you approach the elevator, you notice that you don't have your wallet at the ready - you must have forgotten it at the car. Ignoring the fact that you just now have realized the lack of its weight and the fact that you never leave your wallet in your car, you go to the reception for an elevator.

The receptionist, a perfectly styled young woman, watches as you approach and smiles.

"Hello Sir, what can I do for you today?"

"An elevator to my office." you say, adding a "Please." although you don't really feel like it.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but what exactly is your office?"

You look at the receptionist dumbfounded.

"My office." You repeat slower now.

"I don't know you sir, you need to be more specific." The young woman smiles.

That's it.

"What do you mean you don't know me?!" You shout. "I own this fucking place. It is me, Jameson Pierce! Now call me an elevator and then pack your things, you are fired!"

The receptionist looks at you as if she was dealing with a madman.

"Sir, you are not in the company register and I'm sorry, but if you don't leave the premises immediately, I'll call security."

"What are you talking about? I have an office on the 50th floor, which is where I need to go!"

"You can't have an office there, sir, that is the executive offices. Now, please leave."

"Listen, girl." you lean closer, invading her space. "Call. Me. An. Elevator. Or else."

The young woman doesn't even flinch. She presses the intercom and speaks with a steady voice: "Security, there is a madman in the lobby. Please come and remove him."

"You little...", you start, but the young woman is done talking to you. Instead, she turns away and starts to file her nails, waiting for security, which arrives some seconds later.

"Good!" You address the bulky Black man in the dark security uniform. "Could you please tell the girl that I have an office on the top floor."

"I don't think so." the man replies, "But I can show you the exit. Follow me, Sir."

"No. I am the CEO. I own the company! My father James Pierce gave it to me!"

The security guard shrugs his shoulders and takes hold of your arm.

"As far as I know, Mr. Pierce has no children. Leave the premises, Sir."

"But... you can't treat me like that! Do you know who I am?"

The Black man doesn't reply, instead, he begins dragging you towards the door. Unsurprisingly, he is much stronger than you, and your expensive shoes drag over the marble tiles.

"You can't do this!" You yell. "I will sue the company! You will all lose your jobs, just watch!"

"Whatever you say, Sir." The man pushes you outside the building. You stumble a little and then turn around, but the door is already closing.

"Fuck you!" You shout after the guard.

You take a deep breath. Whatever is going on here, it's not good. What to do.

After some consideration, you decide to grab your wallet from your car and take a cab home. There, you will deal with all of this.

As you arrive at your car again, you come just in time to see it being towed away. All running behind it and shouting does not help. You almost cry as you see the towing truck disappear around a corner, along with your car, your wallet and everything else you left in there. As you turn around to leave the scene and walk home, the next disaster is already waiting for you. There is a muddy sinkhole in the sidewalk, left over from some construction work and you don't notice it until it's too late. The next moment, you find your right leg standing in stinking mud all up to your knee. You try to free your leg, of course, and it works, sort of. With a smacking noise, the mud swallows your right shoe whole and leaves you with one dirty sock.

This day can't possibly get any worse, you think, but you are wrong.

Half an hour later, you have to admit that you got lost entirely. You are in a part of the city you have not been in before. Usually, you navigate the city with your cars GPS, but that is not available. You try to use the cheap phone to find out where you are (stoically ignoring the fact that it unlocks just fine with your fingerprint) but the only thing you find is that whoever owns the device has not paid for mobile data. You are offline. You could, of course, ask someone, but it takes some courage to ask a stranger where you are, especially in your current state.

Finally, you realize that you have to ask someone if you want to get home anytime soon. Right now, you find yourself in front of a landfill, which is both a blessing and a curse. It smells absolutely disgusting, but at least the people working here should have a good idea on how you can get home.

You enter the building with the grimy walls and look around.

"Hello?", you ask into the empty room. You are just about to leave again, when a burly man comes from the back. He is at least a head taller than you and twice as broad. His clothing is dirty, and you can see tufts of body hair coming out the top of his shirt and his armpits. Absolutely revolting.

The man looks at you for a second before shrugging his shoulder.

"Whatever." he says. "What's your name, kid?"

Needless to say, you are confused. "I am Jameson Pierce. Could you please..."

However, the big man interrupts you again. "Fancy name. I'll call you Jerry, okay? Come with me, I'll show you around."

"Wh-what do you mean?", you stutter but follow the man automatically.

"You're the new hire, aren't you? Gotta say, you're pretty scrawny, Jerry. But the job has no requirements, so if you don't mind getting your hands dirty, you're gonna fit in fine. Here are the lockers. The name's Hank, by the way."

You look around. You are in a room with a dozen dirty lockers. There is a foul stench everywhere and you have to suppress the urge to gag.

"No, I'm not new here. And I don't want to work here, or get my hands dirty!" you protest, but Hank ignores your lamenting.

"It's not gonna be easy finding an overall in your size, but we have a few small ones here as well. By the way, the overalls are shared with the other boys, hope you don't mind. Ah here. Try this one."

Hank throws you an overall. It is, in theory, blue, but both your nose as well as your eyes tell you one thing: It is entirely unwashed. For days, possibly for weeks. The clothing reeks of sweat, dirt, piss and probably even more things that you don't even want to know about.

"What's wrong with you? I am not gonna wear that."

"Well, what did you think when you came here?" Hank is clearly amused. "You can't work in these clothes of yours, even if they are dirty enough. Come on, strip, while I look for boots."

"I won't do that." you say. However, Hank is already gone. You don't think about it too much and begin to take off your expensive clothes. It is almost painful, but for some reason you... have to? It's a difficult to describe feeling. The dirty blue overall is sitting next to you on the locker room bench and is almost inviting you. You can't help it. You just have to strip. Soon, you stand in the dirty locker room clad in only your silk boxer shorts. You didn't notice that every piece of clothing you have taken off somehow changed. Your expensive dress shirt became a cheap t-shirt with stains on it. Your pants turned into a pair of ripped jeans and your golden wrist watch just... vanished.

"If I were you, I would be going commando." Hank, who had returned with a pair of work boots you can smell from over there, comments. "You're going to move around a lot. Besides, all the boys are doing it.

You look at the overall again, almost gagging now. Some other guys have worn it, rubbing their bare asses and dicks into the fabric. And Hank expects you to do the same. Suddenly, you remember the smell. Sweat, piss and other smells. You shudder. You shudder in... anticipation? As you automatically lower your boxer shorts (who turn into plain cotton briefs as you do), you can feel yourself growing hard at the thought of stepping into this dirty overall. At the same time, you are disgusted beyond measure.

Still, it's almost like your arms are on auto-pilot as you step into the overall and pull it up around your naked body, until the disgusting smell envelops you.

"Glad you like it." Hank grins and playfully grabs your very obvious erection through the dirty fabric. "You might want to meet up with some of the boys here in the locker room after shift, I hear some of them need to release some steam after a good shift. Now, come on. Pull the boots and get moving, we don't have time to waste."

You stare blankly at the big man as you realize what he just said.

"Wait." you stutter. "You think... You think I'm..."

"You're gay." Hank interrupts. "No worries. A lot of the boys are."

You can't believe what he's saying. Gay? You?

"But I am not!"

Hank doesn't even seem surprised.

"You might want to tell that to your hard cock. Anyway. Boots."

He tosses the dirty boots in front of you, and you find yourself bending down to pull them up. They are a little bit too large and feel like they are made of rubber, not leather. As soon as you have both of them on, Hank nods approvingly and then grabs you by the arm, pulling you out of the locker room and towards the garbage truck.

The next few hours pass quickly. The other men (it seems the job has exclusively male company) are friendly but don't go easy on the "newcomer". Everybody calls you Jerry and you have to do the most disgusting work you have ever done: Hauling full bins to the truck, sorting through garbage, cleaning up spilled garbage from the streets. Still, nobody is complaining and so you don't, either. After all, there are more pressing concerns: You feel dirty, your whole body is covered in a thick layer of sweat and dust. Your hands are filthy, and so is your face. And the worst part of it all is: A part of you is enjoying it, a lot. At first, the part is strictly physical. You have a boner pretty much the whole time, and whenever you need to do something especially disgusting, it visibly and violently throbs against your work pants - a fact that doesn't escape the rest of the boys.

After a while, though, more changes set in. The full bins appear to become lighter and easier to move. Of course, that isn't the case: Your muscles grow in front of your eyes, and the overall, that was a bit too big, fits better and better. Hair starts to grow on your chest, your legs and arms, and stubble forms in your face. Your carefully maintained hairstyle dissolves into an unkempt mess on your head.

But the changes don't stop there. Overall, you feel like you are getting more and more youthful. You weren't terribly old to begin with, in your mid-thirties, but a strange energy makes you feel more like end-twenties, mid-twenties and finally, like a man who just turned 21.

At the same time, however, your personality changes as well. You start to talk less and less, and when you do, the words aren't quite as sharp as before. Your education slips away with every word you say, and your vocabulary is replaced by slang, often with a bit of swearing. It becomes more and more difficult to think, too. The boys quickly pick up on this and joke around you not being the sharpest. It's not that they're wrong. You're dumb, if you're being honest. School wasn't for you, so you dropped out at some point. Bit by bit, you really become Jerry, the dumb, sweaty, smelly garbageman. And Jerry, unlike Jameson, enjoys the dirt around him. You can hardly remember being a clean and smart businessman, and that's alright with you. Even though your thoughts are slower, however, the memories of your former self are not gone entirely. Every once in a while, you remember who you used to be. But at the latest when the shift ends and you and the rest of the horny boys are going to the locker room, you decide that this is, indeed, a simpler and a better life.

There is literally a metric ton of more pictures here, in my tip jar - variations of Jerry at the end. If you like my writing, consider joining the riot page for a tip (and ocassional additional pictures)

[steviewashere]

Want to Go Home With You (Bring Me a Home)

Rating: Teen and Up (May Change With Future Chapters) CW: None, at least for now Tags: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Took Canon Out Back And Pulled an Old Yeller, Mer!Steve Harrington, Fisherman!Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington, Confused Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Wants to be Loved, Mermaids with Animal Like Instincts, Future Propositioning, Lowkey Might Involve Some Omegaverse Aspects in the Future (Not Sorry)

This is chapter one of ????. Also this takes place in Oregon because that's what I know and the idea of a merman living in an Indiana lake-beach is odd to me. So...bear with me. This is my first like actual alternate universe, completely separate from Stranger Things, so be nice.

Also, I've written Steve here as a merman who's had no contacts with humans—his English is choppy and his understanding of basic human communication is weird. If that's a turn-off for you, turn back now.

Read Part Two Here

Can also be read on AO3

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ Fishing wasn’t the ideal career to be going into after high school, but Eddie had to do something while he waited for his dreams to kickstart. Granted, going into this business was easy because his uncle owned the local bait shack. But it didn’t make the job any more appealing in the end. Not even the many beaches he had the chance to truck out to. There was Cannon Beach and Seaside’s, but he stayed close to home in Newport’s.

The beach wasn’t anything super spectacular. Sure, there were parts of it inhabited by the native seal population, some of the areas overloaded with crab shells. And it was damn near majestic during the summertime. Eddie, however, didn’t see the gist of spending time there, though. Maybe it had to do with how every single one of his work days would go, the hours spent sitting in the serene stretches of water. But nothing was intriguing or worthwhile about spending his time there.

That is, until one particular early summer day.

June isn’t a busy summer month for Eddie and his uncle. It was the right temperature, but there was still the risk of storms. Heavy duty kind of storms. Business didn’t stop, though. He woke up at 5:30am, when the sun was still acclimating to the baby blue sky, and readied himself in coveralls, thick and tall rubber boots, and a bucket hat that protected his lopsided mop of curls. His hair remained back in a bun and his skin was doused with paste-like sunscreen. In one hand he carried a red fishing rod and in the other, an old black lunchbox transformed for tackle.

He went out to the docks. To the few run down boats. And climbed aboard his uncle’s tried and true, S.S. Lenore—a tiny thing, made for up to four people, overrun with nets and crusted muddy footprints, and equipped with a singular cooler. The engine always took a few pulls to start up, jostling and crunching like food run through a garbage disposal, but it did the trick. And then he was off.

Eddie always took the chance to float out for a handful of minutes. Sometimes fifteen. Sometimes ten. Set himself up stagnant in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nobody, with no chance in hell he’ll be interrupted. Today he just needed to get a cooler full of trout. Rainbow trout, to be more exact. They’re easy fish to gut and debone, good for baking in the oven, and stuffing full of herbs for marinated fish stew. He’d gone out previously to hoist in mackerels and herrings. This was the last trip he’d need to take for a good two weeks, but he was going to do a damn great amount of work for it.

“This should be good,” he mumbles to himself, just barely breeching the edge of his boat. The ocean underneath him moves in subtle pushes, rocking him lightly against itself. Its color is bright and shining—bluer, somehow, than the last time he visited just a few days ago. He can see schools of trout idling underneath the sheen of the water. And so he rigs one of his nets, tosses it over the side of his boat, and slowly sinks it into the water.

And he waits.

It isn’t until half past when he came out that the net begins to rustle. Tugging and splashing, but it doesn’t settle the way it does when it’s some regular trout. No, this threatens to topple Eddie straight into the cold depths of the water below. To sink his boat and turn it over of all its resources.

He grips to the ropes holding the damned thing up. Pulling at it hard enough to give him the starts of burns on his soft palms. And he heaves. Groaning with it. Panting unrelenting in the face of this thing trapped inside his net. Whatever he caught is surely not some common fish for his soup, this is something more—maybe even more dangerous. And he hadn’t thought to bring anything with him to ward off danger.

There had been one time where a shark got caught. Eddie happened to have a knife on him that time. He gave in, cut the ropes on the net, and let it free—which cost him the equipment, but luckily saved his life.

This is a time where having that knife would be spectacular. But as he hefts the net, he realizes that this creature caught is no ordinary thing. It’s not a shark. Not a seal. Not a school of fish. However, through the floundering waves around him, he catches on a fish-esque glimmer. Scales of some sort shifting with the catch of light breaking through.

He wrestles with the net for a few minutes more before eventually getting a good enough grasp to tie it down. Pulling up the rest with his hands, he’s met face to…tail with this creature. It has scales—pearl white and baby pink and pastel yellows—they shine iridescent in the high rise of sunlight. The end of the tail sports two fins, both of them crescent shaped, thicker towards the base of the tail, and spindly where it faces Eddie. Before he can stop himself, he’s poking at the scales, where they taper into absence at the creature’s fins. It’s then that the creature really notices him.

In one fell motion, grand and heaving, the boat rocks. Teetering into flipping. The creature turns its head to him and…hisses. Like the guttural bubbling hiss of a harbor seal. It rocks in the net again, as it lunges towards Eddie.

Immediately, Eddie pulls his hands away and steps as far back as the boat will allow him. Granted, it’s only four feet in width, but that puts space between him and this thing. The thing that he calculates slowly with his eyes. Tail—yeah, he already knew about that. But then he rakes up to the torso of the fish like creature, where his tail is ombre with the glistening, golden skin of a nude torso.

“That—That isn’t right,” Eddie finds himself stuttering, surveying the torso once again. Sure enough, there’s skin. Dotted with moles and freckles. Dark brunette chest hair that could almost be mistaken as black. Toned arms and big, veiny hands. At the ends of this creature’s fingertips are short, curved towards the palms, white claws. Gills where its ribs are. And then Eddie goes to its head. Square-ish jaw, more freckles and moles, smile lines and baby crows feet. Thick eyebrows, triangular nose with a bridge that angles slightly to the left. Ears that threaten to point at the tops. Brunette hair that swoops to the right, falls to its collarbones, wavy and stringy with saltwater.

And its eyes.

Human eyes. Hazel, glowing honey in the sun. Long eyelashes. Drooping eyelids. Pupils that are pinpoint small, dilating with every hiss that leaves the creature’s throat.

A mermaid.

Eddie Munson is looking at a fucking mermaid.

Or…merman? It doesn’t have the seashell bra like all the mermaids he’s heard tales about, but maybe that’s just fable. He’s played all kinds of fantasy games, but he never thought what he described would be looking at him. Wild eyes and baby shark-like teeth, though without the second row. Hissing.

It struggles in the net again, lunging. Wrapping its hands on the edge of Eddie’s boat, squeezing at the metal material. The force of this merman’s grip enough to cause the edge to creak. Eddie’s stomach drops.

“Woah! Alright, okay!” He exclaims, hands up and placating. Briefly, he wonders if it has a good sense of smell and hearing. Like it can scent the excretion of his sweat even in the cold air. Or how his heart beats like the galloping of a race horse. “Easy! I ain’t—I’ve got no reason to hurt you!”

It seems to know what he’s saying, as it relaxes in the net for the first time. But it shoots him a pitiful, pleading look. Petulantly whining at him, though the sound is gargled.

Eddie wipes his sweating palms on his coveralls and takes a tentative step forward. “Easy,” he murmurs, “I’ll free you, but you have to stay calm.”

But the merman shakes its head. “No,” it croaks, “No free.”

Okay, so the guy speaks. It knows English. Even as choppy and awkward as it sounds.

“No free?” Eddie questions, “You don’t want me to free you?”

It shakes its head again. Whines, gargling again in the back of its throat. Its hands grip to the boat again, this time lugging some of its weight. As if it’s trying to…climb in.

Eddie startles back once more. “Hey, no,” he barks, “no climbing in. You can’t come onto my boat.” Though he wants to take it all back the moment he locks eyes again. If it didn’t have scales and gills, Eddie would almost think it was a sad puppy hybrid. He can almost imagine the droopy tail paired with the glistening, fearful, and pleading eyes. “Why shouldn’t I free you? My boat isn’t your home and I can’t take you back with me. You belong in the water.”

“Home,” the merman echoes, croaking. “Your home…warm?”

“Uh—“ What the fuck, he can’t help but think, exasperated. “—uh, sure. Home is warm. My, uh, home is warm. I live by the sand with my uncle, selling worms and cooking fish. The sun hits my skin every morning.” He doesn’t know why he’s answering the guy, but something in its stare, the broken words—Eddie’s allured. “Can you please answer my question? I’d like to go home. So, why shouldn’t I free you?”

The merman points a clawed finger at itself. “My home not warm. Cold.” Eddie nods along because—of course, duh, the ocean is cold. But it murmurs, “Love.” And now Eddie’s confused all over again.

“Love?”

Its voice is soft and sweet, curious. “You have love?”

Eddie shouldn’t be indulging this. He shouldn’t. But maybe the merman is a siren with how he’s drawn to answer. “I don’t have a partner, if that’s what you’re asking. But my uncle loves me. And I love him. That’s—I have love like that.”

It nods like it understands. Looks away over its shoulder, to the cold, salty water. And visibly shudders before facing Eddie again. “No love,” it says, pointing at itself again. “I no have love. No warm.” It tries to climb in again, even as Eddie’s moving to pry its hands away, but it holds tight and hisses again. “Want warm. Go with. Want to go. Go now,” it demands in a low timber.

And even as pretty as this merman is, Eddie has to refuse. He shakes his head softly. Gently, he says, “You can’t. I—I don’t know you. And…I don’t have an ocean in my house. You’ll die if you come with me.”

“Steven,” it mutters.

What? “What.”

“Know me—Steven,” it says. “Know you? Name?”

Tentatively, Eddie relaxes again. Realizes that this won’t be an end all conversation. “My name is Eddie. It’s short for Edward,” he answers, “but I like Eddie more.”

It hums, observing. “Eh-die,” it sounds out. “Eddie,” it whispers. Without warning, it trills at him. High pitched, chirping and bubbling from the back of its throat. Smiling with the sound, squinting its pretty honey eyes. Something in Eddie stirs. “Like that,” it chirps. “Short and easy. I want.”

“You want a short and easy name, too?” Eddie clarifies. It nods at him, squeaking an affirmative thing. “How about…Hm, what’s a good name for Steven?” He ponders as the merman continues to look on at him, eyes bright and curious. “How about Steve? Is that good enough for you?”

“Steve!” It crows. Trilling again, higher pitched than the last, squirming again in the net, closer and closer to heaving itself into the boat. “Easy, easy, easy,” it says at him.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. “So…Steve, am I able to call you a he? Like…His name is Steve?”

He nods at Eddie. Wriggling again as if he can’t contain his excitement.

“Well, now I know you, huh? It’s a shame I still can’t take you to my home.”

And now Steve frowns, eyes saddening again. “But…My home is cold. You have warm,” he says solemnly.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, “but I don’t have space for you, Steve. Your home is in the water. If I take you out of the water for too long, you’ll die. You need the water.”

“I will see you again?”

Eddie shrugs. “If you see my boat again, you can visit me. How about that? And…what’s special about that, is that I can bring you things that aren’t in the ocean.”

“Man’s stuff?”

Befuddled, Eddie asks, “What are man’s stuff?”

“Stuff I see from up here. From Eddie’s home,” Steve answers. “I find and I keep and I hide. Nobody knows. Just Eddie. Eddie is nice, though. You make me happy.”

Humming, Eddie assesses Steve again. Smiles softly. “You’re nice, too, Steve. Even though you scared me earlier. But you were scared, too, huh? Caught in my stupid net.” He takes a careful step closer, standing over where Steve rests in the net still. He places a hand on one of Steve’s, tentatively, but purposefully. “But if you see my boat again, you can come visit. Maybe next time I’ll bring some fish soup? Do you eat fish?”

“Fish are tasty,” Steve says as a response.

Eddie chuckles again. “Okay, Steve. I’ll bring you fish soup. Tomorrow, though. I have to free you and go home, okay?” He reaches down for the ropes that he tied down earlier. Tugs on one of the knots and frees one side. Steve yelps.

“Promise you come back?” Steve meekly asks.

“Promise,” Eddie murmurs intensely, unraveling the last of the rope. “Look for Lenore. She’ll bring you back to me.”

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ If you'd like to be tagged in future updates, let me know. Taglist for this is open <3

[coopigeoncoo]

Meat Cute, Chapter 5

Chapter Links: First, Previous <- Chapter 5 ->Next

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

---

In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour!

---

“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

Most days, Charlie's incessant prattling amused Alastor.  It was one of the few traits they both shared after all; the ability to pick up the threads of dropped conversations and weave them into something new.  Usually a pithy quip on his part while Charlie would provide some long-winded tirade about friendship and optimism; nonsensical sorts of things that Alastor didn’t spare much thought towards. 

Generally, it was an effortless feat for Alastor to redirect Charlie's attention and energy onto something or someone else; goodness knows that the residents of their hotel could generously be described as an absolute mess most of the time.  There was always some sort of disaster brewing that the little Princess couldn't help but insert herself into.  A lovers tiff here, a genocide there, another new guest with an uninspired tale of woe that required comfort and a supportive embrace or two.

But there was a stubborn streak in Charlie today that kept her focus fully on the Overlord.  And while he usually never shied away from being the center of attention, Alastor had to admit that he was beginning to grow increasingly weary of her present line of questioning.

“-so what do you think?  Are you willing to give it a shot?”  Charlie asked, her entire body practically quivering in anticipation for his answer.  

“Hmm?  I'm sorry, I must have drifted off for a moment there. What were you saying?” Alastor apologized, his eyes alight with false sincerity.  

“Oh, come on!  There was no way you tuned out that entire musical number!” Charlie groaned in frustration.  “I hit like, three super high notes!  There was confetti-”

“I was dancin’,” a passing sanitation worker interjected, unceremoniously dumping a bin full of used hypodermic needles into the back of an idling trash truck.  

“-the garbageman was dancing, Alastor!”

“I’m sure it was a most spectacular sight!” Alastor assured him.

“Damn right it was,” the garbage man grumbled under his breath as he hefted a heavily stained mattress into his arms.  

“Okay, just- ugh!” Charlie sighed, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation. “Forget the song-”

“Way ahead of you, my dear!” Alastor grinned, spinning his staff merrily as he set off down the sidewalk, Charlie quickly catching up despite his longer stride.  

“I'm just worried, Alastor.  You haven't really made any effort to open up to anyone at the hotel.”

“Haven't you ever heard the saying about mixing business and pleasure?  I'm merely maintaining a professional demeanor.  I would hate for the sterling reputation of our fine establishment to be tarnished by unprofessionalism!” Alastor explained, wiggling his fingers at a passing sinner who cowered under the oppressive weight of Alastor's fleeting glance.

“See, this is exactly what I mean!” Charlie shouted, frantically waving at all the pedestrians ducking down alleys and darting recklessly into oncoming traffic to avoid having to cross paths with the Radio Demon.  “People are afraid of you, Alastor.”

“As well they should be!  I am an Overlord after all, my dear.  Being terrifying is part of the job description.”

“Yes, I know that!  But the problem is that everyone is afraid of you.”

“Are they now?  I guess most people must be smarter than they look!” Alastor laughed in delight as Charlie's consternation grew. 

“I'm being serious here!  Even the people at the hotel are still…uncomfortable with you,” Charlie offered diplomatically.  “Which isn't what the hotel is supposed to be about.  It's supposed to be a place of friendship and comradery- where people can feel safe enough to open up and be vulnerable.”

Charlie paused in her explanation to gesture to the palpable air of malevolence that radiated from her hotelier.

“And you come off as everything but safe.”

“Oh, stop it!  You're making me blush!” Alastor cooed, lifting a coy hand to cradle his pale cheek.  

“Alastor,” Charlie sighed, quickly shuffling around him on the sidewalk so she could place herself directly in his path, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt and look into her pleading eyes.  “Please.  I need the hotel to be a success.  And I think that's what you want, too.  For whatever reason.”

Alastor was quiet as he examined the determined jut of Charlie's chin, his head tilting slightly to the side in consideration.  “What exactly is it that you require of me?”

“To be friendly.  To honestly try and connect with someone.”

“Shall I braid your hair then?  Gossip with the Effeminate Fellow about boys?”

“Those are both great ideas!  But they…don't really seem like your thing,” Charlie hesitantly admitted.  “Why don't you start out with something you're good at?”

“Torture?” 

“Talking.”

“If you insist,” Alastor sighed.  “But my suggestion would be considerably more entertaining.”

“Hey, you never know where a good conversation might lead!  Just look at me and Vaggie!,” the Princess chirped excitedly, her eyes sparkling in delight at the mere thought of her taciturn partner. “She would barely say two words to me when we met and now we tell each other everything!”

“Ahhh,” Alastor narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  “Is that your angle?  To find me a partner?  A paramour?  To try to soften me up with affection?”

“What?  No, that's not it at all!” Charlie rushed to assure him, her hands flapping wildly in front of her body as though she could physically waft away the misunderstanding.  “I mean, it would be great if you could find someone like that, you know, if- if you wanted to!  It's nice to have someone to care about- to care about you , in that way.”

“Please, do elaborate,” Alastor said, gesturing in front of himself with an exaggerated wave of his hand, encouraging Charlie to continue down the hopelessly cracked and pitted sidewalk towards Cannibal Town. 

“Oh- uhhh,” Charlie sputtered, stumbling over her own legs slightly as she moved to fall into step beside Alastor, her fingers nervously twiddling around each other as she struggled to find the words to explain herself.  “Partners are, well- it's sort of like being friends, but more?  Better, I guess?  You talk with them and spend time with them like friends, but they just-”

Charlie paused, heaving in a deep sigh as she imagined her girlfriend in her mind's eye, and tried to verbalize all the wonderful feelings that Vaggie cultivated in her heart.

“When you see someone you love, your day just instantly brightens.  You get excited thinking about the next time you see them- it feels like a bunch of moths are fluttering around inside of your belly.”

Alastor's upper lip curled up in revulsion.  “And that's a desirable feeling?  Intestinal insects?”

“Well, not when you put it that way,” Charlie huffed, crossing her arms across her chest in frustration.  “It's something you can't really explain unless you've experienced it.”

Alastor was unusually quiet, the ambient humming that surrounded him barely audible as they continued on their way.  For a moment, Charlie worried that she had maybe gone too far; that she had drawn an exclusive circle around herself and her experiences that painted Alastor as even more of an outsider than he already was.  An apology sat perched on her tongue, ready to assure him that it was okay to never have felt these things, when Alastor spoke up.  

“It doesn’t feel like fluttering,” Alastor drawled, his free hand pressed against his abdomen pensively.  “It’s more akin to a gnawing sensation.”  

“Wait-,” Charlie gasped, quickly sucking in a lungful of the humid Hellish air.  “Alastor, is there- is there someone you have feelings for?”

“Upon reflection I do believe there might be, based on your exceptionally vivid description of the experience,” Alastor informed her with an excited grin, pushing open the reinforced glass door of a building and ushering Charlie over the threshold ahead of him with a courteous incline of his head.  

“Ooooohhhhh, Alastor!” Charlie squealed, bouncing on her toes in barely suppressed jubilation as she queued up in the short line in front of the register.  “Who is it?  How long have you known them? Can I meet them?  Do you think they like you back?  Wait- that's too many questions!  I'm sorry!  But I'm just so excited for you!”

“It's fine, my dear!  Perfectly understandable,” Alastor reassured her with an indulgent laugh.  “And of course you can meet them, if that's what you'd like.”

“YES!” Charlie yelled, only realizing how loud she was once all the numerous eyes of both the customers and the walls of the store quickly shifted their focus onto her.  She coughed into her fist and straightened her lapels in embarrassment as she waited for the other customers to lose interest and turn away. “I mean- that is to say, it would be lovely to meet them at your earliest convenience.”

“But of course!” Alastor agreed readily as he stepped with Charlie to the front of the line.  “Here she comes now!”

“Now?” Charlie squawked, spinning around frantically in quick circles to try and catch a glimpse of who in the store Alastor might be referring to.

“Here you are, Alastor, Sir,” you announced with a nervous grin, sliding a large, paper-wrapped parcel across the counter.  “One whole venison round, as requested.”

“Thank you, my dear!” Alastor said as he took hold of the meat, vanishing it to locations unknown with a quick snap of his fingers.  “I was wondering if I might trouble you for a moment longer, though?”

Sweat immediately began to gather at your hairline as you tried to swallow down the bile creeping up your throat.  “Is- is there a problem with your order?”

“No, no, nothing like that!” Alastor assured you with a sharp grin that did little to settle your nerves.  “It has recently been brought to my attention that I am enamored with you.”

All sounds inside the butcher shop abruptly halted, like the entire store had been sucked into a vacuum; customer's jaws hanging slack in shock at the unexpected confession. 

“You're what?” You squeak in obvious distress, casting pleading glances at your coworkers who were quietly peeking in  through a slim crack through the backroom door, eager to spy on the unfolding drama.

“Enamored, my dear!  Beguiled!  Infatuated!  Smitten, if you will.”

“You… like me?” You muttered dumbly as your brain struggled to process the bizarre scene you had found yourself thrust into the middle of.  

“Apparently!” Alastor laughed, reaching behind himself to tug his companion to his side.  “See, I was chatting with my associate here, Charlie, the Princess of Hell-”

“Your Grace,” you croak dryly, dropping into what was hopefully a passable curtsy.

“Hey, uh- nice to meet you!” Charlie greeted with a stiff wave and an even stiffer smile. 

“-and she made me realize what my true feelings for you were!  How you make my day better, how I look forward to the next time I see you, how you make my stomach rumble,” Alastor growled lowly, his already towering form seeming to elongate as he loomed over you.

“...It ah- it sounds like maybe you're just… hungry whenever you see me?”

“Perhaps!” Alastor cackled, his staticy laugh even more distorted up close.  “But one man's passion is another man's hunger, as they say!”

“Do they say that?  Is that a thing people say?!” You whispered manically towards Charlie, her shoulders jumping up towards her ears in a helpless shrug.

“Gastrointestinal palpitations aside, you can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow, his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place; afraid that any sudden movement might somehow cause him to pounce. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

“RIGHT, okay!” Charlie interrupted with a nervous laugh, slamming a handful of bills down onto the counter as she managed to mercifully push herself between the Radio Demon and the meat counter.  “So sorry, but we have to go- there's important hotel business we need to get back to!  It was lovely meeting you, have a nice day, BYE!”

You were still staring at the door minutes after Charlie had frantically pulled Alastor out of the store, only snapping out of your daze when your manager shuffled up beside you, nose buried in the employee handbook.  

“I've triple checked and experiencing sudden romantic overtones isn't grounds for taking personal leave,” he explained, pointing to the exact passage in the well-worn guide.  “You're gonna’ have to finish out your shift.”

“Of course,” you replied distantly, unable to meaningfully focus on anything other than your racing thoughts and the strange, muffled ringing in your ears.  “What about if I pass out?”

“Says here you'll get a fifteen minute break and a strong cup of tea.”

“Better put the kettle on then,” you mumbled as your knees buckled, vision going black as you plummeted towards the floor.  Your manager looked down at your crumpled body and sighed, nudging you out of the way with his foot and stepping up to the register.  

“Next in line!”

[n30nwrites]

I've Died, Many Years Ago (Jason Todd)

So people liked the first one, now heres this.

Back Next

You've found that you didn't really age. You also didn't bleed anymore and your heart was only 6 beats per minute.

Then their was the cravings.

After your first day of resurrecting, you found a mans dead body, he had a joker smile painted on his lips and you could already taste him. You took a large stray brick and pounded his head in. Over, and over again for the tiniest taste of brain.

Tasting it was seeing the truth, it was Eve's apple dangling from the tree as the serpent whispers how God wasn't here now.

God wasn't here, you wouldn't be this if they were.

You didn't know what to do, you had been dead for years, well three years. You were 19 now, with nowhere to go. You couldn't just resume your life, could you? Your mother was gone, you had no idea where she lived now, and Jason was dead, he had to be.

So what could you do now?

---

It took a year for you to start living. You left Gotham and went to Detroit after fudging your papers, you went by a different last name, and hacked into your old school and Hospital you worked at to submit your documents to the Detroit Police Department.

It's easy to get brains from the dead.

Your boss is Alec Mobek, the head Medical Examiner. He's a decent man, you never attempted to get close to him with small talk but he enjoyed talking for the both of you. He liked some geeky video games and loved his job even more. He was so painfully normal, and you were jealous of that.

He reminds you of everything you could've been.

You used to be ambitious. You used to be passionate. Inspired. Alive. Now, your mostly just hungry.

At least you still had your intuition.

Sometimes you thought about confiding in him. He was older than you, in his 30s, he seemed more like a father-figure than anything. He offered you food, rides to and from work, and had even gotten you more clothes when he noticed how you wore the same outfit to work everyday.

But your burden is of the 'bare it alone' variety. You would know if there were others, there would be an outbreak if there were. Being alone was for the best. You didn't touch anyone, in fear of spreading it. You kept gloves on, your nails trimmed, and never had sex.

It was like a bad STD. But you couldn't die.

In the shitty apartment that you lived in, there were multiple containers of brain just sitting. You liked to finish them off one by one, but sometimes the personalities and flash backs got so overwhelming that you had to switch.

The brain you were last on was a lackey of the Jokers, some man who had lost it long ago. You didn't feel a single thing on his brain, and had constant images of killing people.

You might've been made into a monster, but you wouldn't act upon it.

"Alright, what do you got for me?" Dick Grayson is handsome, if you were human (and older) you probably would've tried to pursue him at one point. He transferred just a few months ago, and unlike other Detectives, he didn't stray from the ME's office because of the bodies.

"An unidentified Jane Doe, found in the back of a garbage truck. The garbage truck was using a crusher so that complicates finding the cause of death. Could be suicide, could be murder." You know Alec cares, it's just that he sees so much death that at one point, if he kept focusing on it, it would ruin him. "My assistant is going to sew her back up, bag her and box her." He walks over to the side where the detective is. Dick has a small frown on his face.

"In your personal opinion, what do you think happened?" Dick questions as he and Alec walk up the stairs. They continue to talk and get quieter, and it was your time to strike.

The autopsy saw sat in your hand, it was plugged in already and when the coast was clear, you cut through the mans skull. You were a professional, this was something you had done to every body since you had gotten there. There were multiple brains in your fridge, having Missing bites, you didn't have to eat everyday, thankfully. A brain usually wore off after three days, and the abilities with them would as well.

You would have flashes of their past, you could gain certain personality traits or habits they had.

You once ate the brain of a man who was considered the right hand man to Joker, he was a looney. You dumped that brain down the disposal after you found yourself buying items for a bomb. You then switched to an older woman.

This Jane Doe would be your meal for the day. You took it out as carefully as you could, ignoring any guilt you could feel as you cut up pieces of her brain and tossed her in with some spicy Beef ramen. Heating what used to be a person up for 3 minutes and scarfing it all down in your mouth. The rest of her brain you kept hidden in the back of the fridge, something that Alec rarely opened.

When Alec comes down, you're filling out some paperwork that just need his signature. He talks about how they have a suspect, someone who was seen on camera arguing with her. Alec only heard that because Dick didn't know how to be quiet.

"I'm heading out for the day, Jane Doe is taken care of. Paperwork as well, you just need to sign off on it."

"Thank you so much..." He looks to where her body is, bagged and tagged as the body is in the cooler. "Detective Grayson, Do you like Him?"

He was your boss, you reminded yourself. You had to answer. "He seems fine."

"You know he's Bruce Wayne's son?"

As was Jason.

"So?" You didn't care, he wasn't Jason. He would never be Jason. He was Dick Grayson, AKA Nightwing, Detective by day and vigilante by night. It sounded like a shitty comic.

Detroit had it's issues, you can't tell how many times you had been shot at or people had tried to rob you. Many villains have stopped by, many underlings trying to be villains had also stop by.

"Most people are on their knees for him."

"Sexually or metaphorically?" You question.

"Both I guess." Alec huffs as he reads over the paperwork, "Susanna likes him, but I guess that with money comes attraction." He seems jealous.

"That and he's considered attractive." You nod your head as you turn to walk away, Alec mutters something about the unknown victim. You grab your backpack and as you go to open the back door, you are suddenly transported.

"I told you to stay away." The voice coming from your body is feminine, she's panting, sweating. You can feel it all. She's exiting out the door, not looking at the man who you assume is following her, he has heavy footprints. "I want nothing to do with you, you're fucking insane-"

"Don't run away from me Stephanie." The man grabs her hand and turns her around and he's decent looking. Nothing compared to your soulmate, but he was easily identifiable.

"My name is Valeria. Valeria Prinsky. Get it through your thick fucking skull." She yanks her hand back and as he lifts his arm, it is quickly stopped by a man in a red helmet.

You come back to Alec saying your name, Dick Grayson was in the room with him, and they were both staring at you. While it didn't feel long, time seems to lose all sense of purpose during your visions. You blink your eyes. "Do we need to call someone?" Dick asks as Alec puts his hand on your shoulder, you quickly pull away.

"No, no I'm fine." You tell them, rolling your neck slightly as you pop it. "I just forgot something." You turn back in, going into the other office away from them and quickly grabbing the brain and stuffing it into your backpack. When you turn away from the fridge, you see Jane Doe's file.

Valeria Prinsky. She has a name, she has a life, and you were living off of her. The least you can do is give her a name. You cross out Jane Doe on the file and write her name, and when you leave, Dick and Alec are talking in hushed whispers.

You can't find it in yourself to care.

[sunderingstars]

simulated universe addendum: ace trash digger

— i can’t believe i came across this occurrence literally the day after i posted my simulated universe analysis (talk about timing), so here’s me yapping about it!

— written during 2.6

— word count: short, list format

not only is this occurrence in every single simulated universe update (wow!) but it seems to be a more belobog-connected piece of potential sampo material!

— “he” pronouns. matches with sampo koski as we know him.

— he’s carrying a trashcan and the name of the occurence is “ace trash digger.” this is a pretty easy link to belobog since that’s the planet that has the most trashcan-related shenanigans. also, since he’s carrying it i can almost see the trashcan as symbolic of belobog itself — i.e. sampo and his little garbage planet he cares about and likes to carry around.

— “treasured trashcan.” once again, i can pretty easily see the trashcan as belobog, so the occurrence might actually be referencing sampo and his “treasured jarilo-vi.”

— he has a collection of “pitiful love poems.” this could connect to sampo’s theme of love, particularly broken hearts, as seen in things like his e4 and heart-bomb burst. these love poems may be written to aha as part of some lingering attachment, or may also be written towards belobog itself since he seems to care about the place so much.

— “put your waste in it, and the items will evolve into an advanced awareness, then come running out energetically on their own!” if the trashcan is symbolic of belobog and the person is supposed to be sampo, i would take a doll theory reading on this. with how much doll theory relies on the “betrayal” of a creator towards its creation, i almost see this as meta commentary on how aha may have betrayed or “discarded” sampo.

— it makes sense, after all, that aha would get bored with their creations quite easily (at least given the whole worm debacle), and what else to do than to discard it? it may be that sampo was not always like this, but evolved to become more “aware” after being abandoned on jarilo-vi, which aha may have seen as just some backwater junkyard snow planet.

— (honestly, the idea of jarilo-vi being seen as a cosmic junkyard is so funny to me. like, aha basically did the equivalent of driving their pickup truck to the scrap heap at the edge of town and tossing everything in. very mundane to them, totally traumatizing to sampo.)

— from there, i would interpret this occurrence as saying sampo slowly rejoined the wider universe — i.e. “running out energetically” on his own. this likely included becoming part of the masked fools or trying to re-contact aha. (alternatively, this could be what is going on currently in canon, with belobog and, by extension, sampo, becoming more present on the galactic stage.) this may have actually surprised the aeon themself (if they even cared anymore), as it would essentially be the equivalent of throwing out a stuffed animal halfway across town, only for it to get up, walk, and find its way back to your house weeks later talking like “why have you forsaken me, father?”. this may even be how sampo became an emanator — aha may have found the whole situation so hilarious they decided to promote sampo on the spot.

— overall, if the trashcan is meant to be belobog and sampo is meant to be the waste (like “hazardous waste” in the friendship is magic event), then this occurrence may be hinting at sampo’s backstory of being discarded by aha on jarilo-vi.

— hunt option (swarm disaster). mean, why are we being so mean?! i would never steal from sampo, i’m simply built different.

— remembrance option (swarm disaster). “you recall the past lives of these discarded objects” implies a sort of sentience and agency. even though the objects may not be at “advanced awareness” yet, they clearly still have past experiences and lives. comparatively, i would say this may mean that sampo, although only recently evolving into a unique kind of sentience, has always been “alive.” for me, i see this as gaining personhood, or perhaps new perspectives on life. he may have started as a toy with no real agency of his own, but he’s been able to find some sort of autonomy for himself on belobog, even being able to reach beyond the love and find the “hate” for a creator who treated him cruelly.

— erudition option (gold and gears). erudition once again! man, erudition and elation love going hand-in-hand. “even trash has its unique ‘value’” seems to send a deeper, general message. not only is it the erudition doing what the erudition tends to do when confronted with something new — find its value, either through experimentation or dismantling — but it communicates the idea that even though something may be seen as worthless or forgotten, it still holds purpose. even though sampo may be seen in the eyes of his creator as a “discarded doll,” he still has value. he’s still a person. he still has his own hopes, thoughts, and dreams. although the erudition likely means this phrase in a more troublesome “let’s take him apart to see what he’s made of” way, a nice message can still be gleaned.

— normal option. as with all other options, there’s a big theme of “transaction,” or exchanging items for more. i don’t have a lot to say about it, other than it fits right in with sampo’s con-man trade and propensity for bargaining.

— i found it a bit surprising at first that there was no elation option, given how that would’ve been a more solid link to sampo, but perhaps there isn’t supposed to be. perhaps, aha stuffed toy having an elation option is meant to be symbolic of a time aha cared enough to turn their gaze of sampo, but here the occurrence is dealing with the period of and after his abandonment. in this case, there may be no elation option because aha quite simply does not care enough for there to be one. he’s all alone. sad :((

overall, i can’t believe this one almost slipped under my nose while doing my simulated universe analysis! the irony is not lost on me that i almost passed over it in a similar way to others in-universe; i guess the “cosmic junkyard” planet really did its job !! i think this has some nice little tidbits for the potential timeline of doll theory, and gives some insight into what sampo’s “betrayal” might have been! (also, of course aha would do something like this. of course lol)

thanks for reading!

© analysis by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[seat-safety-switch]

Here’s a fun fact for you: a used domestic minivan is effectively worthless. People predominantly buy them to transport their children, and after one or more sets of children, that van is so covered with kid cruft, leavings, and various juices, that it will weigh at least 300 pounds more than when it left the factory. That’s not just my opinion: check the resale value of used domestic minivans.

Sure, used Japanese minivans are always valuable. That’s because the Japanese have cleverly constructed a motor vehicle that doesn’t break, so you don’t have to spend a precious weekend of your life constantly swearing at whatever asshole at Mopar shoved the rear air conditioning lines in the same place the sliding door wants to be. Once the first family is done with their $60k Odyssey, they’ll sell it for $35k to the next family, and so on. Eventually, it will be purchased as a roofer to use as his or her work van, and it is here that the humble minivan reaches its final destination.

Despite the large amount of glass that allows meth-heads of all stripes to look inside at your tools, minivans are very useful as work vehicles. Most of them can carry a whole sheet of plywood, which is something that a crew-cab Ford truck has trouble claiming. They have peppy engines meant to carry that several hundred pounds of kid garbage, or a single, near-homicidal, hockey dad in traffic. And, as stated, they depreciate like a stone, so you won’t worry about the paint too much if you have to use the van to push around a few shopping carts or a probation officer.

Plus, they blend in with every economic strata, at least until things get a little too shitty. The fuzz won’t hassle a minivan, no matter which neighbourhood you are currently violating parking and traffic-control laws in. This means that you can get away with some really egregious crimes, especially if you have the foresight to put a high-visibility vest and a hard hat in the back before you commit those crimes.

When all is said and done, you can flip your minivan for basically whatever you paid for it. Major service still required? Barely runs? Gee, I guess I’ll take scrap value for it. Weird how it seems so heavy on the scale, right, Copper-Stripping Carl?

[dpr-stay]

Super-Fan | MV33

Max Verstappen x Badminton Player!Reader

No Warnings except a few swears

WC: ~4.5k

Oh boy, i love writing unserious fics about fully grown men like they’re awkward teenagers! They're just funny fellas your honour! Also can you tell I like writing dialogue?

Didn't edit and the writing style changed like six times, sorry!

The life of a professional badminton player can be described as a war between two factors: bankruptcy and passion. Well, less passion and more talent, to be completely fair. It didn’t matter if you had passion if you didn’t have any talent. The reason for this being it was virtually impossible to make any money as a professional badminton player unless you won tournaments or were able to take on thousands of brand deals. 

Now, as a player with a considerable amount of talent but a huge lack of money, you had two options. You could either win more tournaments or take on thousands more brand deals. Of course, considering you were winning as many tournaments as you can, you had to choose the second option.

This meant you had taken brand deals with clothing brands, food delivery apps, animal shelters. In a time of desperation when you couldn’t even afford a coach you had even taken an opportunity to be an ambassador for a garbage collection agency, riding around on a garbage truck for a few days. 

All of these deals meant you were moderately well known by the general public but incredibly well known in the small world of professional badminton players. Not only because of your brand deals though, but also your incredibly quick rise to being first place in many professional tournaments, even earning an Olympic Gold Medal for your country. 

However, you still had to take on more brand deals. So, when your rich cousin came knocking on your door with a proposal to film a video for his F1 team about teaching him how to play badminton and you how to drive, you of course said yes. 

I mean, who the hell would say no to Mercedes? 

This is of course all build up to your current situation. Sitting in a badminton hall, which was full of people with cameras and various filming equipment, with your cousin sitting across from you in a chair. One of those fancy fold out chairs, you know, that should say director on the back.

You weren’t exactly sure how you were going to teach a professional driver how to be competent at playing badminton enough to where he’s good enough competition just as you weren’t actually sure how you were supposed to learn to drive in around an hour. 

But that was a problem for future you, you thought as the camera men gave thumbs-up and George turned to the camera, PR face on.

“Hello everybody. I’m sure you’re wondering who I’m joined by and the answer to that is the most recent gold medalist for women’s singles badminton! Otherwise known as my cousin.” Ignoring the slight tease, you held up two thumbs up and smiled, albeit awkwardly, at the camera.

“Today I am hopefully going to become a pro badminton player.” He said and then turned to you. You both made eye contact and he signaled by moving his eyes for you to say something. You turned to the camera and clapped your hands together.

“And I’ll hopefully learn to drive and get my license.” You finished with a closed mouthed smile.  

“Wait… you don’t have your license?” George asked and you turned back to him. Now aware of his shocked face, you slowly turned back to make eye-contact with the camera.

“No.” You slowly said. His large hand gently came into contact with your shoulder.

“You’re twenty five years old and you can’t drive?” He asked incredulously, you turning your head to now make eye contact with him.

“I’m a badminton player!” You tried to excuse, gesturing out with your hands and he shook his head, his mouth slightly open. His expression prompted you to try and explain.

“I can drive! Like I promise I can, I just don’t.” You tried to save, glancing between the camera and George.

“Yeah, because you don’t have a license!” He said, throwing his hands out, a grin threatening to spread across his face.

“I can leave. I can leave right now and cancel this whole thing.” You threatened, pointing down to the ground with what you hoped came across as power. George took a second to respond, steeling himself from laughing.

“How exactly would you leave?” He said, beginning to laugh. Your expression instantly changed into a stone cold one in response to his joke and you turned to the camera with a fed-up look on your face.

“Do you want a badminton lesson or not, you bastard?” You questioned him and he finally relented. 

“Fine, fine. Shall we start?” He said and you nodded. After the cameras cut you both were quickly praised for how well you get along and your entertainment value before quickly being ushered onto a badminton court and handed rackets. The director quickly counted down before the lights turned on and the camera started recording. 

George turned to you.

“We haven’t been given much direction so you’re just going to have to start teaching and hope it works out.” He smiled and you shot back a smile filled with as much joy as you were feeling.

“We haven’t been given any direction, so we’ll just get this out of the way. You know how to hold a racket, no?” You asked and George smiled guiltily.

“Maybe.” He shrugged, letting the racket drop from his grasp as he brought it up and clatter to the floor. You sighed and picked up the racket before giving it back to him.

“This is going to take a while.”

After roughly 45 minutes of the camera capturing you both making jokes and doing little Jim-from-the-office-esque cut away’s to look at the camera (and teaching George how to play badminton), George was ready to play a match.

You ducked under the net onto the other side of the court and held up the shuttle.

“I’ll take it easy on you, yeah? Can’t have you giving up the racket already.” 

“Nah, I’ll be able to take it.” He dismissed, showing a smirk and waving his hands around. You deadpanned him.

“I think we should at least do one practice match.” He blew out air from his mouth in a mocking gesture and scrunched up his face.

“Nope! Do your worst, I’m sure I'll be able to beat you.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Or at least get a few points.” You tilted your head in question. He narrowed his eyebrows and sighed before admitting.

“I want to teach you to be able to drive.” You ‘ahh-ed’ and nodded before raising the shuttle again and nodding at him. He nodded back and you dropped the shuttle and hit it as a singles serve. George quickly moved closer to the net before gently hitting it over to you.

You, bearing in mind that he told you to do your worst, advanced quickly in footwork you’d practiced for over twenty-two years to quickly smash it straight onto the floor within bounds. 

You made eye-contact with George through the net and saw him visibly gulp. You, then, turned to the camera and gave it a thumbs up before turning back and reaching under the net to scoop up the shuttle. 

“I feel as though I’ve made a mistake.” He said and you huffed out a laugh.

“You asked an olympic gold level athlete to beat you at their game, it’s not going to go in your favour.” You fixed him an incredulous look and he just accepted what you said with a raised hand.

The game continued on, George not doing any better and you only continuing to prove your prowess at your sport. The ways in which George lost became increasingly more difficult to watch as the game went on, staff behind the camera having to muffle their laughs into their sleeves as George flailed around trying to return your hits.

It was down to the last serve of the match (score 20:0) and you geared up to do a fancy serve, aiming to land it just in the boundary line in order to make George run over to get it. Just as you released the shuttle, the door to the entrance of the gym slammed open, making both of you turn your heads to look at the intruder.

Max Verstappen was standing, still in shock, as he took in the sight of the Mercedes camera crew with many cameras pointed his way and the two players in front of him. He blinked as though coming out of a daze before awkwardly laughing.

“You alright mate?” George asked, focused on the guy in the doorway. While he was distracted you quickly tried to scoop up the shuttle, hoping George wouldn’t notice. “Oh yeah I’m fine.” The guy responded, his Dutch accent shining through in his words.

“I was just looking for Y/N.” You snapped your head to face him, ignoring George’s incredibly questioning look.

“Uhh yeah? Is something wrong?” You asked and the man bashfully (you read that right) turned to you. He seemed almost hesitant to speak.

“Can I talk to you after you’re done?” He asked, looking at your forehead to avoid looking at your eyes. 

“Sure?” You said, questioning why the stranger who was also a world champion wanted to talk to you, and why he approached in the way a teenage boy approaches his crush.

He nodded and entered the gym, the door slamming behind him. He lumbered over behind the camera crew, holding some sort of bag and then just stood there and George made eye contact with you. You shrugged at the question in his eyes and the director cleared her throat, causing you both to look at her.

“We’ll start the take again, yes?” She asked and you nodded as did George before he paused.

“Wait, didn’t it fall to the ground?” All movement on the set stopped. You chuckled, albeit nervously.

“No, what are you talking about?” You asked, prepared to start gaslighting, a disbelieving expression on your face.

“I could’ve sworn you let go of it before… that happened.” He said, vaguely gesturing to the door, a grin beginning to spread on his face. You exhaled air and widened your eyes.

“Mate, I think we need to get your memory checked because I didn’t even let go of it.” You said, shrugging and George quickly glanced over to the staff.

“I’m not hallucinating this, no?” None of them replied. He frowned before saying. “We’re colleagues, you guys should have more allegiance to me than to my cousin.” He pleaded as you coughed whispering “Badminton Gold Medallist” very obviously into your fist.

He turned to fix you a glare.

“I am not hallucinating this. I think you’re lying.” You shrugged at his words, smirking.

“I don’t think so. I genuinely think you were hallucinating.” You said as you shook your head, staring at him in pity. He sighed before saying,

“How would your mum feel if she knew you were lying to me like this?” Oh he brought out the big guns.

“Ok, you’re right, I was lying. Please do not tell my mum.” You quickly admitted, holding up your hands and bowing your head. He started laughing as you quickly looked to the camera.

“My mother did not raise a liar.” 

“You just lied.”

You snapped your head back to him.

“Irrelevant.” You pointed a finger in his direction and he started smirking, causing you to groan.

“Does this mean I get a point?” You groaned again and George started laughing as did the staff and camera crew. There was one loud laugh and, as you glanced in the direction of the camera crew, you realized it came from the intruder. What a weird turn of events. You had no idea why he was there or why he wanted to speak to you.

After his brief stint of feeling superior, George quickly served the shuttle in a way you could only describe as dramatic, only to hit it too short so that you got the point and you won the game. You shook his hand under the net, sarcastically thanking him for a fair game.

“Hey, I got that point fair and square.” He said, eyes wide and pointing at you.

“Sure you did, buddy.” You said and patted him on the back. He laughed and the camera crew cut the cameras. The driving part of the video wasn’t scheduled for another hour and it only took 20 minutes to get there and get set up, so the director called for a 30 minute break.

After this was announced George gestured at you to walk to Max Verstappen rather vehemently, so you did, cautiously approaching the man. As you approached he looked up from where he was focused on his phone, quickly turning it off and standing up to shake your hand.

“Hi.” He said, sounding almost breathless as he grasped your hand and shook it almost violently.

“Hi?” You responded, thoroughly confused but letting him continue his assault on your hand.

“I’m Max Verstappen.” He introduced, his eyes shining as he looked at you. You nodded, a small, disbelieving smile growing on your lips.

“Yes, I know who you are.” You replied and he inhaled air audibly.

“You do?” He asked, leaning a bit closer.

“You’re a bit hard to avoid.” You said before carefully tacking on “Not that I go out of my way to avoid you.”

“I’m kind of surprised you know who I am to be honest.” He said and you almost laughed at his humbleness. After a few seconds of him continuing to hold your hand he seemed to come to himself and let go of your hand. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“I don’t know if you know, but I’m a huge fan of yours.” You had not known that and wouldn’t have been able to guess that in a million years. But it definitely explained a few things

“Oh really? That’s cool, I’m flattered.” You smiled, realizing his incredibly odd behavior was him being star-struck. 

“Uhh thanks.” He said before taking a deep breath.

“We started our professional careers around the same time, I don’t know if you know.” He started. “I know your parents always wanted you to be a badminton player, like how my dad always wanted me to be a driver, so I kinda connected to you on that.” You were surprised the man had so much to say, knowing of his usual reservedness or, in George’s words, ‘passive-aggressive-ness’. 

“And then, when we started at the same time, I thought it was cool how we both kinda matched each other at how well we did in our sports. Like when I won the championship, you won gold. Yeah. I just thought it was cool.” After that huge speech he went back to looking at his feet.

“So you’ve been a fan for a while?” You prompted, finding his outburst cute. He looked up again to continue speaking.

“Yeah, I actually watched your Olympic final before the Hungarian GP, like before I had to get in the car!” He said happily and you paused for a second, a confused expression taking over your face.

“Didn’t you crash in that race?” You asked, a slight hesitation in your voice. Max frantically shook his head, laughing awkwardly.

“Uh no. Someone did crash into me though.” He said, emphasizing the ‘into’ as if trying to make sure you knew that he wasn’t a bad driver. You definitely knew though, the many texts you’d received over the years from George about the older man making sure that if you knew one thing about Max Verstappen, it was that he was a damn good driver.

You both descended into awkward silence as you sucked in air through your teeth and rocked back and forth on your feet. He wasn’t helping, after his correction he’d taken to clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck. You opened your mouth to speak before closing it, having nothing to say except that this might’ve been one of the most awkward situations you’d gotten yourself into.

“I was wondering if you could sign some merch?” He quickly blurted out, snapping your eyes from the roof to his face. You could only nod as he took off his bag and opened it, revealing probably the biggest stash of your merch you had ever seen. You let out a quiet ‘wow’ as he started pulling stuff out and putting it on the chair he was previously sitting on, choosing not to comment on the way he flushed at your words.

His collection was expansive, there was team shirts from your first team, caps with your name on them, your country’s badminton jersey from the olympics with your name on it, a few banners, a badminton bag part of a collection you’d modeled for, and even more merch from all your brand deals. Did you know that you had a special edition of a garbage bag from that garbage company series or a pair of socks from a luxury sock brand? No, but Max definitely did.

He wouldn’t look at you as you took in the scale of all the items. He was probably single handedly paying your rent with the amount of stuff he had bought. You could only look on in awe at the magnitude. You kinda felt bad, you only had a cap with his name on it from a lame attempt to tease George at Secret Santa that backfired when the cap was launched at you and nearly knocked your teeth out.

“It’s not all, if you were wondering.” He said as he quietly stepped back from the pile and you turned to him, an heavily incredulous look on your face. You took note of George in the background of your vision, playing suspiciously on his phone, almost looking as if he was recording.

“Wow, you really are a fan.” Was the only thing you could manage to say as you stared at the array, stuff falling off the chair and onto the floor. You took a deep breath before slapping your thighs as you crouched down, grabbing one of the hats. You turned to look at Max.

“You got a pen?” You asked and he hastily retrieved one from his pocket and handed it to you. You chose not to address the way his hand lingered as it touched yours barely as he handed you the pen.

You signed the hat before reaching deeper into the pile, grabbing a shirt and signing it too. The cycle continued for a few items before you must have grabbed something that upset the pile and you were suddenly buried in your own merch. It’s always those closest to us we can’t trust.

The darkness encapsulated you and you tried to shake off the large mass, but your attempts proved unfruitful. After a few seconds you just resigned yourself to being buried in assorted items with your name plastered on it. I mean, when did you sponsor a lamp company and why was there a lamp with your badminton racket holding the lightbulb? How the hell did Max fit that in his bag?

After 30 seconds you saw light again, Max’s mortified face staring down at your splayed out form. His head was encapsulated by the stadium-grade lights and it was almost as if an angel was looking down at you from the heavens. 

You tried to haul an arm up to hopefully pull yourself out, but you couldn’t move your arm. It was pinned down by a… was that a BearBrick version of you? You really have got to pay attention to the contracts you sign. Max eventually got the memo by the shifting plastic (?) and pulled the bear off of you, leaving you to sit yourself up rapidly with a gasp, like a swimmer getting their first breath after nearly drowning. 

It took you a second to regain your senses, but when you eventually came back to normal you could hear three things. The silence that was permeating from the film crew who could only stare in barely-concealed horror, George’s raucous laughter as he struggled to hold his phone properly to capture you both, and Max’s rushed apologies, repeatedly muttering how sorry he was as he took your hand and hauled you so you were standing. 

You took a second for your iron to stop fucking with you before you patted Max on the shoulder, him letting go of your hand in response and you leaned over to put your hands on your thighs, hanging your head forward before lifting it to see the catastrophe of your merchandise all over the floor.

Max hadn’t stopped apologising and you feared he might combust if you didn’t address it soon. You turned to him, taking in the way he was glaring at the floor and hadn’t stopped fidgeting with his hands, and you sighed. That only seemed to make him shrink in on himself, still apologising before you took his hand and almost dragged him across the hall, out towards the door he had entered the hall through.

There was a small paved walkway outside the hall, the pathway separated from the tin walls of the hall and the road beside the hall by two nice patches of greenery. There was a railing on the outside of the pathway and you leant back against it as you let go of Max’s hand and surveyed his form.

For a world champion, a man who should walk around full of pride, he really presented himself as quite small. Maybe that was just because of the circumstances, but he should be more confident in himself, you couldn’t help but think to yourself.

The way George had described him in his ranting sessions contrasted heavily as to how he was acting in front of you, all shy like. You wondered where the ballsy man who pushed people off track and didn’t really care went. If you were a two time world champion you’d walk around bragging about it everywhere you went.

‘Hey pretty lady, you want to go out? I’m a two time F1 world champion and I can make all your dreams come true!’ To be fair, that probably wouldn’t work on any self-respecting woman, but hey! There’s a lot of women in the world, Max could definitely pull at least one of them.

How did you get here? Your mind was just wondering about, you guessed. The man was attractive, so it did make sense you’d be thinking along these lines, but normally you have a three hour grace period where you decide if a man is a creep before thinking along the lines of if you want to… respectfully ponder his relationship status. 

Max, unfortunately and probably against his wishes, had kinda come off as a bit of a creep, though you knew that if you told him that he would probably shrink in on himself like before and disappear. However, you still found yourself thinking about him like that. Maybe you found it cute, the way he was such a fan? Maybe you were just really flattered that such a famous person liked you so much? Maybe you just found his mannerisms really cute? 

You didn’t know. 

At this point it had been a minute or so of you both quietly standing there, Max having finally stopped apologising as you took his hand. You breathed out and Max’s eyes snapped to you.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t know that would happen, I wouldn’t have brought everything if I’d have known. I shouldn’t have brought everything, it was too much. This is our first time meeting, this was probably so weird. I didn’t mean to weird you out, I’m sorry. I probably just embarrassed you in front of all of those people, you didn’t deserve that.” The unspoken ‘I just embarrassed myself in front of you’ was heard loudly in your head, as you stared dumbly at the man who had just poured out all of his worries in front of you. 

He went silent again, leaving you with time to process all he had said. While yes, it was definitely a bit much for a first meeting, why did you find it sort of sweet? And, to be quite honest, you didn’t really care about embarrassing yourself in front of the crew. As despondent as it sounds, you’d done worse for less. You decided to tell him as such.

“Nah, you’re fine.” You said and he looked at you again. 

“To be honest, I just pulled you out because I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.” He opened his mouth to speak but closed it at your words. A pause.

“I’m still really sorry about this whole thing, I shouldn’t have stopped by.” He said quietly.

“How would I have known that two time world champion Max Verstappen was my biggest fan then?” You teased and he shook his head, a small smile appearing on his face.

“It was cute honestly.” You said, and his head jolted up to make eye contact, shock plastered all over his face.

“It’s kinda sweet to know someone so respected has such respect for me.” You said quietly, looking to the floor, a smile spread across your face.

“Uhh yeah, I definitely have a lot of respect for you.” He said, clearing his throat. You then looked up at him, like really looked at him. You took a moment to decide something before continuing to speak.

“Would you like to go for dinner at some point?” You asked and Max looked as if he had been shot for a second before jolting out of it. 

“Pardon?” He asked and you winced. Alright, message received. You just awkwardly waved it off.

“Oh nothing, just something stupid.” “No please, what did you say?” A tone of desperation took over his voice and he grasped your hand. You looked at his eyes, genuineness shining through then. Ok, one more shot.

“Would you like to go for dinner?” You asked and he immediately started nodding his head violently. 

“Yes, I’d love to! Can I have your number so we can talk about it?” He asked, and reached into his pocket to grab his phone before coming back empty-handed. He groaned, realising his phone was still in the badminton hall and you laughed.

“Of course, you probably need your phone though.” Max looked over to you as though to say something sarcastic but stopped as he saw your smile. You pretended not to notice and went to open the badminton hall door. 

“Are you ready to go back in?” You asked and he groaned.

“We’re going to have to pack it all up and face Russell.” He said, resignedly, and you laughed.

“Sounds like a good prelude to a dinner.” And he smiled, looking back at you. 

“It does."

You did eventually learn how to drive, by the way. It just wasn’t from George teaching you.

get the title now (i don't know how to embed spotify links so this is what you get, sorry) also probably my worst work but oh well

[heartstringsduet]

Sending you lots of virtual hugs, Michelle!!! 🥰🥰

For a hopefully more positive thought, any of your current fics/wips you would like to talk about? I'd be delighted to listen!!!

Aww thanks. I'm doing better than this morning for sure <3 Hugging you back! I told myself that in October, I'd make the werewolf fic my priority and for once not spread myself thin over my many WIPs. And can you believe...that worked?? I think I will meet my 40k goal for it this week <3 Today I had to think of a meeting of them on a scene but I had a MILLION ideas of rescues. A little insight to my brain, often scenes are super vague and then I still sit town and wing it without any plan. Sometimes it works, sometimes I'm like....did I just write to write? because this is garbage. But today, I can't believe I wrote a more action-y scene without a hitch and I'm so itching to keep on writing today so maybe I will even get to another sweet more intimate part of this fic. I can tell you that I'm at the ....midpoint soon? At 50k maybe? I'm bad at guessing but very likely this will end up 80k minimum again. What did I do???? LOL. Also I LOVE to explore the way werewolves could behave versus humans. It's so fun to think of them using more tactile ways to communicate, are a lot more honest with they way they can smell nervousness around lies. The way they would grow up. The way they interact with humans! I have alphas/betas/omegas a slight twist on what they can/can't do though to be fair, I didn't reinvent the wheel here. People read that for a reason so I also kept a lot of the tropes. Sorry this was so rambly without saying much. Have a snippet for your patience reading this lol:

They have to help usher the people out safely as fast as they can. Still, as they get out and jog toward the front entrance of the building, Carlos’ senses tug at him without him meaning to. The fire truck and EMT could belong to any team. Hypothetically, that’s true, but Carlos knows it’s not. He knows before he smells him, before he  hears something familiar through the crowd of mumbling and panicked conversations. Thud. Thud. Thud. A million racing hearts, but Carlos can pick out a single frequency like he’s twisting dials on an old radio and instantly finds the station he most needed to hear. Between the people streaming out of the building, gaps open up and in between, TK is looking right at him, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 17: Hostage

Content warning: young whumpee/caretaker. They're not meant to be minors, but could easily be read as such

This is a sequel to THIS. This could work as a standalone however.

Whumper had been doing their job long enough to learn that going for the mark directly was a waste of time. It was like trying to catch a fish by hand. A massive, frustrating waste of time, because a fish in the water would always outspeed a clumsy human.

Any catch worth Whumper’s time would be protected. The secret lovers of celebrities, the children of millionaires, the loved ones of people in power—they were always surrounded by fencing and people who fretted over them. It was nearly impossible to catch them truly alone, and odds were even if they were alone, they were surrounded by so many cameras that it wouldn’t be worth the risk.

Whumper never went for the mark directly, cause it wasn’t worth it. Not when they could go for the bait.

Now the bait was easy to get a hold of. It wasn’t that nobody cared about the bait–if nobody cared, it wouldn’t be worth going after–but it was that nobody thought the bait was in danger. Why would they be? The friend of a friend, someone who fell under the radar, unremarkable beyond a few key relationships that gave them value. A useful nobody, one that could vanish for hours before anyone got worried.

It’s hard to force a mark out of the safety built around them. But to give them a reason to leave, to hand them the chance to be a hero?

They’ll slip themselves out of their protection and walk straight into a trap, armed with nothing but their parent’s money and a pocket knife. It was almost cute.

Whumper turned the corner, a lazy grip on the driver wheel, as they finally pulled into their latest base. It was more of a shack, really. A derelict hobble, forgotten, nestled in between unused forest land and a garbage dump. The sort of place that went weeks without being seen by a human. It’d be easy to burn and abandon, once they got the money from Caretaker’s parents.

Whumper glanced down at the hostage in question.

The kid was practically curled into a ball. Legs tucked to their chest, back pressed so hard against the door that it was like they were trying to push it open. They wouldn’t lift their eyes to look at Whumper, but they didn’t turn away either, as if they were torn between being too afraid to look and too afraid to look away.

The only restraints Whumper had put on them was to tie their hands together. It wasn’t to stop them from escaping– Whumper knew they wouldn’t run, not when they knew Whumpee was so close– but more to make sure they didn’t forget their situation. Whumper liked to keep catches scared.

Whumper parked the car. They heard Caretaker’s breath hitch as they came to a stop.

Caretaker didn’t move as Whumper got out. They sat, paralyzed with fear, as Whumper released the look to the passenger seat with the press of a button. When Whumper opened the door, Caretaker flinched back, half crawling into the driver’s seat.

Whumper gestured for them to get out. “Let’s get this over with, yeah? I might even feed you after if you’re good.”

Slowly, Caretaker untangled themselves, leaving the car with shaking legs. They pressed their back into the door, shutting it. They stayed pressed there. Whumper grabbed them by the shoulder and pushed them forward.

They guided Caretaker into the building.

The smell of mold and rot hit them like a truck as they opened the door. The whole place was beginning to rot away. Whumper resisted the urge to gag as the taste of rotting wood filled their mouth.

They’d put together their set up before they’d left. The living room was empty besides a few set items. A tall lamp, the only source of light in the room, was illuminating a single, rusted, metal chair. Finally, a camera, the only thing that looked worth any sort of money, stood ready to catch every moment.

It was a basic set up, rudimentary even, and that’s how Whumper wanted it. Whumper found that people feared the amateur more than the professional

Whumper gestured towards the chair, and Caretaker’s eyes flicked towards it anxiously.

“Come on, don’t get cold feet now,” They pulled a folded piece of paper from their pocket, their own handwriting scribbled onto it. They’d make sure to burn it once the video was done. “All you gotta do is read the paper.”

Caretaker didn’t move. They stood like a deer in the headlights, trembling. Their jaw trembled, and for a long moment, Whumper thought they were finally going to dissolve into sobs.

Instead they spoke.

“Wait. I…I wanna see Whumpee first.” Their voice was frail, trembling, like they’d lose the will to speak at any moment. And yet some of their old bravado seemed to have resurfaced.

Whumper raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you do. And?”

They hunched their shoulders, shrinking into themselves. And yet they continued. “I mean–You want me to uh, r-record a ransom video. And you said Whumpee would be safe if I listened,”They stood straighter, just barely. “It’s only fair if you…–if you let me see Whumpee, before I start. Please.”

They stood in place, eyes cast downward, fingers tangled together anxiously at their waist. And yet they were still holding their ground.

Whumer stared for a moment, considering. “You really think you’re in a position to be making demands?” They asked, voice low.

They let the question hang in the air. Caretaker froze, eyes widening like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Their lips began to tremble, and when they took a stumbling step away from Whumper, they nearly tripped over the chair.

Caretaker’s mouth cracked open, an apology already on their tongue, when Whumper let their expression lighten. Whumper chuckled, deep and rumbling.

“I don’t know if you’re stupid, or brave as hell. Probably both,” Whumper shrugged, watching as Caretaker’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I respect it. Let’s visit the bait.”

Whumper turned, heading towards the dark, barren hallway that led deeper into the house. Caretaker followed them like a lost duckling.

They stopped at the door at the end of the hall. It wasn’t anything special, just a normal door they’d fitted with a single padlock. Both with no windows and only one exit, the spare room made an effective holding cell.

Whumper pulled the keys from their pocket, opening the door. They stepped aside to give Caretaker a clear view.

Whumpee was right where they’d left them. Their arms and legs were bound with duct tape. The blood on their face had long dried, staining the once white collar of their school uniform a rusty brown. The gag was still firmly in place.

Their eyes bulged when they saw Caretaker. Whumpee screamed, a wordless plea, and lurched their body forward. All they managed to do was tip themselves over, helpless and prone on the floor.

“Whumpee-!” Caretaker took a step to move forward, but a firm hand on their shoulder stopped them. Still, that didn’t stop them from leaning towards their friend as much as Whumper’s hold would allow. “Shit, you’re okay! You’re okay! Just wait and I–I’m going to get us both out–I promise!”

Whumpee only sobbed behind their gag.

Whumper knew better than to let things go on much longer. They squeezed Caretaker’s shoulder, drawing their attention. “You’ll get them out by doing what I say, remember? They stay safe as long as you follow directions.”

Caretaker finally tore their eyes from Whumpee. They met Whumper’s gaze, eyes wide and pleading. There was too much determination in that stare for Whumper’s liking. They knew they’d have to put an end to that.

“Please, just let them go! You–you want me, right? They don’t have anything to do with this!”

“Hey,” they let their tone sharpen, and every inch of Caretaker froze. Whumpee fell silent. “You already got one favor from me. You’re testing your luck.”

Caretaker’s face paled. They stammered, seemingly remembering the situation they were in. “I–I’m sorry. But please–,”

Caretaker gasped as they were yanked back, pulled out of the open doorway. Whumper slammed them against the wall, drawing a scream from their lips. Whumpee let out a muffled shout.

Whumper loomed over Caretaker, shadows darkening their features. Caretaker stared up at them with tearfilled eyes

“Do you know why Whumpee’s still alive?”

“I–”

“Because I decided to keep them alive. Because I’ve been in a good mood. And as long as I stay in a good mood, they get to stay in one piece.”

Caretaker looked ready to faint. Their breath hitched, a panicked sob tearing its way from their throat.

“And you know what puts me in a bad mood?” they leaned forward, drawing a panicked whine from Caretaker. Caretaker pressed themselves flat against the wall. “When brats think they’ve got any bargaining power with me. You understand?”

“Y-yes! Yes sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–I’m sorry–,”

Whumper pulled away. They kicked the door to Whumpee’s room shut, quickly returning the lock. When they turned back to look at Caretaker, they were still pressed against the wall. Eyes wide, staring, shoulders shaking with their silent sobs.

It was a good start. Whumper knew from experience that they’d drop the hero act within a week.

Whumper grinned. “Good. Then you have something to read, don’t you?”

[blackdollette]

"deadly nightshade." | jack thurlow

ultraviolence. - lana del rey

summary: so yk how jack imagined the presence of his mother for the entire movie? that's basically what he's doing with you. and "deadly nightshade" or atropa belladonna is used to cause delirium or hallucinations.

( listen while reading. trust me. )

reader x jack

contents: mentions of abuse, drinking, alcohol addiction

you knew that he didnt love you. you were his punching bag, and thats how its always been.

he'd turn to you whenever things got tough, whenever he knew that there was nothing or nobody else who he could go to.

he didn't love you, but he needed you. and you knew this.

you took every opportunity you could to lure jack right back to you. you read his emotions like a book and were always able to bring him back, no matter how badly he wanted to leave you.

your dark elegance and grace made you his worst addiction. he could never turn away from you. you were the one thing that was constantly on his mind.

on dark, stormy nights, he would call you into his room, asking you to help take his pain away. and you would. that was your job, after all. you were his one true love.

his friends didn't like you, and his parents despised you for destroying the boy that they spent years raising.

you saw how weary jack got when you werent around. he would travel the ends of the earth to find you, wherever you were.

after long and painful days at work, he would pick you up from the couch and indulge in your beauty. the two of you would waltz around the kitchen that held broken glass and cigarette butts.

he would fight with you, telling you how worthless you were, how he didnt need you at all and that he could leave you whenever he wanted to, but he never did.

he always came back to you, his eyes filled with tears as he found himself here once again. he had been warned about you many times, you were a dangerous woman. and he was hooked on you.

you would sit on the counter, whisling his name in the middle of the night. he always tries to resist your calling, but he couldnt get you out of his mind.

he'd carry you back to his bedroom and let you take control of him for the night, only to be filled with regret by morning.

after one particularily rough day at work, he rushed home. he was desperate for you. he searched the entire house, looking for you. he called out your name, but you were no where to be found.

he drove through the dark city, getting more and more anxious the more he's away from you. you'd always been within arms reach. he had gotten so used to you just sitting there, waiting for him like a little doll.

the car started to accelerate, along with his heartbeat. he made a sharp turn, slamming right into a massive truck. his vision immediately went black. he died in the hospital a few days later.

at his funeral, his family found a journal that he kept for a few years. his mother flipped through the book. every single page was filled with everything you and jack had ever been through.

everytime you danced together in the night, all the times you made him feel like he was floating on air, and all the pain he had ever caused you.

everytime he threw you to the wall, or treated you like you were garbage once you were empty and had nothing else to give him.

his family was stunned. they couldnt get over that fact that you ruined his whole life, even though you were never really there.

author's note: this one may be a little confusing so ill explain it a little. in this story, jack suffers with an alcohol addiction. the girl in the story is actually the alcohol that he's addicted to. hope you all liked this!

[arachnixe]

Dinner's On Me

(Part 3 of Night’s Longing - Previous: A Better Family)

(CW for the usual vampire blood and death stuff, but also sexual intimidation and cannibalism)

The man shouting at me imagines himself to be someone important. Though I barely pay attention to his ranting and raving, I gather that my error has not only inconvenienced him, it is but the first domino in a chain reaction that will end with his company collapsing, people losing their jobs, and the entire United States economy falling into ruin, all because I neglected the extra shot of espresso in his extra large caramel turtle mocha.

His words wash over me without impact while I fantasize about sinking my teeth into his neck and drinking every last drop of blood in his body.

“But you’re not even a vampire,” my boss Amber might say, “so why would you do that?”

“Because blood tastes fucking great, and he was getting on my nerves, just like you.” And then I’d drink her blood too.

Oops, I must have accidentally smiled at that thought, because this guy is turning even redder. I have found that the best way to infuriate an already angry asshole is to respond inappropriately—that is to say, without cowering in fear—to getting berated. Ah, well. I zone out for the remainder of his rant before offering an insincere apology and a promise to remake the drink. The dude gets his extra shot of espresso, and I make sure the whole thing is decaf.

Finally I get a break to check my messages.

“I’m not paying you to text on the clock, Ms. Boltman.”

I look up and scan the store for customers, seeing absolutely nobody here but the two of us. It is almost closing time, after all. Glancing back at my boss, she seems even more annoyed, as if I had deliberately insulted her by daring to look around for something to do.

“Smart-ass, huh? Well, since you’re too blind to find the work I’m paying you to do, let me help you out.” She points to a bulging pile in the back room. “See those garbage bags? They need to be taken out to the dumpster. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes, ma’am. Can do.”

I haul several bags outside while my boss does whatever it is she does to start prepping the store for close. The night air is pleasantly cool, so this isn’t too bad a chore, honestly. Also… is that her car?

Bending down, I unscrew the valve cap on one of the tires and use the tip of my pocket knife to press on the stem until enough air hisses out to leave the thing completely flat. I figure even if she has a spare with air in it, there’s no chance Amber knows how to change her own tire.

---

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit! When did I last…? Ugh!” My boss stomps her foot on the ground in a display of frustration that comes across as kind of goofy and immature for a manager of a coffee shop, a woman in her forties, almost twice my age.

Huh. Actually, that puts her at about the same age as Vicks and Liz, now that I think about it. Weird to consider that my besties are closer in age to my boss than to me.

“Something wrong, Amber?” I make my voice sound as innocent as possible.

“Yes. It is.” She bites the words off. “I’ll have to call a tow truck or something. Shit. I’m going to be here all night.”

I sigh heavily as though contemplating my options for a moment, trying not to appear too eager. Dragging my words in an imitation of reluctance, I say, “I’ve got friends picking me up soon.”

Amber casts a look of uncertainty my way but says nothing.

“If you’d like, we could give you a lift home, and then you won’t be stranded here at least.”

I watch her weighing her options. Still, it’s clear that the idea of getting a night’s sleep and calling for a tow or a friend in the morning sounds more appealing than the alternative, so she nods her agreement. “Alright. Look, I appreciate the favor a lot.”

“Of course, you’d do the same for me, right?”

It takes her a moment to respond. “Right.” A look of guilt crosses her face then, as if she just now realizes for the first time what an asshole she’s been to me every single shift. “I know I’ve been hard on you, but you know it’s nothing personal, right? It’s just a lot of hard work keeping this store in good shape, and I have to make sure everyone’s on the same page and working together as a team.”

“Oh yeah sure I get it,” I say absent-mindedly, watching a dented Honda pull into the parking lot.

Liz, in the driver’s seat, rolls down her window. “Hey, good looking. Who’s your friend?”

“This is my boss, our damsel in distress this evening.”

Amber gives an awkward wave. “Hi. Uh, thanks for this.”

“Happy to help,” Liz replies, giving my boss an appraising look that barely hides her hunger. “Hop in the back. I’ve got some junk up front in the passenger’s seat.”

Vicky’s in the back too, selflessly taking the center seat so that Amber, behind the driver, will be effectively pinned between the two when the time comes. We pile in, the doors lock, and the car takes off.

“So, what side of town are you?”

“You know the Greenwood neighborhood?”

Huh. Who knew we lived close to each other. Maybe if Amber weren’t so shitty, we could’ve shared a ride sometimes. It’d be a lot faster for me than waiting on the buses, which don’t even come that often at this time of the evening.

Vicky claps her on the shoulder in an overfamiliar way that inspires a flinch from my boss. “Hey, that’s where we’re headed anyway.”

“Oh! I’m glad you don’t have to go out of your way on my account.” Amber sounds a touch less embarrassed now, but she grimaces uncomfortably at how closely Vicky leans toward her, how her hand lingers near Amber’s neck. It’s astonishing how meek she becomes around people she has no formal authority over.

“On the contrary, I want to extend an extra invitation to you.” Vicky’s voice is breathy, and she grins in a particular way I’ve grown quite familiar with. Some vampiric urges really can’t be controlled. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we’d love to have you for dinner.”

Amber squirms in her seat. “Oh no, that really won’t be necessary, thank you, no.”

Liz presses. “I insist! I cannot allow you to turn us down for fear of being a pain in the neck. I promise, our necks will be just fine.”

My boss’s eyes dart back and forth before clinging to me with a pleading look that begs me to help her escape. The help I offer is not for her.

“Yeah, c’mon, Amber.” I smile at my boss. “I’ve joined them before and find all their meals to die for.”

Vicky turns and high-fives me for that one while Amber grows more uneasy, whether at the increasingly obnoxious vampire puns or at the feeling of being trapped with aggressive dykes who won’t take no for an answer. She shuts down completely, seeming to physically shrink away from the rest of us.

I’ve gotten so used to the two of them that I kind of forgot just how predatory both sisters are. They seem to be feeding off of Amber’s discomfort. I catch Liz licking her lips as if tasting the fear in the air. I lean on Vicky’s shoulder, twirling her hair around my finger in a performance of comfort with one of the women making Amber sweat, just so that she knows exactly how alone she is here.

The vampire’s excitement radiates from her. Vicky looks my way with mischief in her eyes and starts unbuttoning my jeans.

My boss notices, staring in our direction. Her eyes meet mine again, and I maintain eye contact, taking satisfaction in her rising discomfort bordering on alarm at the exhibitionism on display. Vicky’s hand slides toward my crotch, her cool fingers warming quickly once they’ve slipped inside me. Amber says nothing. All she can do is stare at me, watching my lips part, watching me gasp and shudder while a woman who knows just what I like works her hand rhythmically between my legs.

It’s not until after I climax that I notice the car has stopped moving. Amber shakes herself out of her daze, apparently noticing the same thing at the same time.

“We’re here, little morsel.”

“Wait. This isn’t my home. Where are we? This isn’t my home!” She tries the handle, but the door doesn’t open. Alarm turns to panic, and she starts frantically jerking the handle, clawing at the door to find a manual unlock. Oh, we really unnerved her, didn’t we? “Let me out. Please, let me out. Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out!“

With a click I hear Liz unlock the door. Ah, she wants to chase her prey, I see. On cue, our victim bolts from the car. The rest of us take our time exiting into the empty parking lot of the practically dead shopping mall near my apartment.

The woman is terribly out of shape. Even I could chase her down at a modest jog. For a pair of vampires, their speed supernaturally enhanced beyond human limits, she might as well be standing still. In the space of a single breath, Liz is already in front of her, grabbing her by the wrist.

To her credit, Amber decides to go down fighting. She takes a swing, landing a solid hit on Liz’s face. Unfortunately for her, both sisters are well-fed vampires, and the punch lands with all the impact of a gentle breeze. In a blink Vicky is right there to grab the woman’s other arm. Fuck, it’s satisfying to watch my shitty boss struggle in vain against these two beauties, the moon highlighting the perfect curves of their bodies. Their bared fangs gleam in the same light, a threat and a promise and symbol of the absolute perfection they represent.

Liz goes first, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of Amber’s inner forearm. I catch up just in time to get a detailed look at how my beloved friend’s eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Come here, babe. I know what you want.” She grabs me by the back of my head and pulls me into a kiss, spitting a mouthful of blood for me to eagerly gulp down. The way she just ogles my swallowing makes my face flush with heat. “Before meeting you, I never knew how hot it would be to watch a human drink blood like we do, but it really never gets old.” She exhales a deep breath with naked lust. “You get nothing out of this. You’re just a filthy pervert who wants so desperately to join us.”

We all ignore our victim’s pitiful mewling while Vicky goes right for the neck. She drinks deeply before pulling me over to share with me in a sloppy, messy kiss while her sister takes her turn with dinner again. Even as she drinks, Liz never peels her eyes away from the way I desperately kiss blood from her sister’s mouth. My still-unbuttoned jeans fall away from my hips as I get passed back and forth and back and forth between my favorite pair of sisters. Amber dies, and her blood is on all our hands, and our hands are all over each other, making a sticky mess of our clothes and skin.

They pin me to the cold concrete, Vicky sitting on my face and putting my best skills to good use while Liz grinds on my thigh, using me like a toy to get herself off.

Yet even after they finish, we’re still not done.

“More.” Vicky licks her hands, savoring the last wet drops of Amber. “This is such a good start to the evening, but I’m really in a mood to gorge myself and get fucked senseless.”

“Agreed.” Liz helps me to my feet but doesn’t let me go, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me against her body to idly play with me while discussing what’s next on the agenda. I try to offer a suggestion—myself as dessert—but Liz silences me by pushing two fingers between my lips, pumping them in and out while I drool over her hand. “And I need to make Hanna do something really fucked up while I watch.”

“I’m thinking of what you said earlier. Why not tonight?”

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a muffled question mark.

“We’re going to your apartment, babe.” Liz answers me as though I spoke perfectly clearly, her other hand squeezing my waist possessively. “Your roommates will make an excellent meal to follow that little appetizer.”

Wait, no. I need them to pay their share of the rent! But like my question a moment ago, these words come out as nothing more than a muffled sound of objection.

“I know, babe. And you’re already out a job, at least for a while until they replace this bitch, right?” Liz’s grin is a razor blade pressed to my throat. Her voice is a barbed wire coil tightening around my heart. “What was it you wanted me to be? A ‘sugar momma?’ I wasn’t fond of the idea at first, but I thought about it, and the idea of you being completely dependent on my good graces was practically intoxicating. How could I resist?”

The fingers of her other hand close around my neck—gently, for now—and I am reminded that these two very well-fed vampires could absolutely snuff out my life in a heartbeat right now.

“Now, babe, I do love how eager you are, but I wouldn’t mind seeing a touch of desperation in there too. Now show me that you understand by sucking my fingers like a good girl, hmm?”

My heart pounds like crazy. I close my eyes and fellate her fingers like my life depends on it. I kiss and suck and work my tongue around every knuckle. I make sure to clean the dried blood from under her nails and swallow those slender fingers as far back as I can. I do my best to perform for her, and yet the noises I make are wholly involuntary.

“Those slutty little moans of yours are a good touch, babe. Keep going.”

“Whoa.” Vicky, watching the show, has an admiring lilt to her voice. “She is visibly wet from all that, Liz. You should threaten Hanna more often; she looks like she’s about to cum just from you fingering her mouth.” The vampire leans in close to me, baring her fangs in my face. “Go ahead, cum for us, pretty thing.”

Helplessly, I do. My knees shake, a whimper escapes my throat, and all that keeps me from collapsing is the support of the sister who fetishizes my dependence on her. And god help me, I already know I’ll do whatever she demands.

---

We track bloody footprints into my apartment complex with every step. My jeans are somewhere in a crumpled heap in the back seat of the car, I think. My shirt is stained with obvious, grasping handprints. Sticky, dark smears paint my face, my underwear, and the inside of my thighs. I look like a shameless mess as I fumble my key into the lock and open the door.

All three roommates are hanging out in the main room, watching one of them play a game on the TV. Madison glances toward the doorway for a moment and then shrieks.

“Holy shit what the hell happened are you okay???“

I feel lightheaded. Almost drunk, even. I feel like I’m slightly removed from myself as I introduce my roommates to my family. “Liz, Vicky, this is Madison, Alexis, and Hannah-With-An-H.” This is a bit awkward, isn’t it? How do you introduce people to their killers? “I dunno what else to say. Um, they’re vampires, and I sold you all out because their approval means more to me than your lives, to be honest.”

Confusion and doubt give way to screaming as the vampires descend on my roommates. My family feeds on two of them, while Hannah-With-An-H makes a break for the door. As a vampire hunter, I’m able to easily overpower her. With a grab and a twist, I have her pinned to the floor while she begs and pleads for me to let her go.

I don’t think about the conversations we’ve had. I don’t think about the things we discovered we have in common. I just ignore her tears and wait for my family to be ready for the last course of the evening.

“What are you waiting for? This one’s yours, Hanna.” Liz puts her hand on my shoulder from behind.

“Mine?”

“Yeah,” Vicky chimes in. “Liz wants to get off watching you kill and eat her.”

“You can use that knife of yours if you want.” Liz’s voice is soothing, encouraging, a far cry from the hard edge she spoke with earlier. “But tonight you have to kill an innocent girl who’s done you no harm, who’s no threat to anyone, alright? You’ll do it for the same reason we do. Because you’re hungry, and that’s your dinner.” Her hand strokes my cheek, and I lean into her touch even as she smears more gore onto my face. “You want to be just like us vampires, don’t you? Well, you don’t get much from blood, but those nice juicy muscles would taste so good, don’t you think? Practically the same thing as a nice cut of steak served extra rare, just for you.”

That’s a lot to ask of me. It’s one thing to drink a mouthful of blood every now and then, but this is pure cannibalism. It’s…

“Do this for me. Show me how much you enjoy it, and I’ll call you sister. You’ll be a vampire in my heart, if not in your teeth.”

I tilt my head back to look at her, with an emotion I dare not name welling up inside my chest. It’s an ache for belonging, a spiritual hole that I’ve never had filled. Liz beams at me, and she’s so encouraging and loving that I cannot possibly say no.

I draw my knife. I smile at my prey. What use is guilt, anyway, compared to the approval of the women I love?

I’ll do everything for this family.