#y'all check this out its fucking WILD

[luvleyk]

.・。.・゜✭・ Pervert

|CW: G!p Bada x reader, corruption kink, vaginal sex, fingering and a bit of cunnilingus, just Bada being a perv and taking li'l innocent reader's virginity

|A/N: part 2 lots of y'all were asking for g!p, perverted, roommate Bada, so here... All in one fic, your welcome 😞 (y'all are wild fr.. But anyway.. I'm spoiling y'all so-)

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Having a roommate has its perks; one, you had someone to have you accompany with. Two, have a share when it comes to rent. And three, hmm... Let's just say... Someone who just wants to entertain themselves by fantasizing you. And that's Bada, your roommate and also your classmates on that one subject in performing arts.

She's a very attentive and nice, maybe that's what you thought about her, based on how she acts when she's around you. But what if? She's different when you're not around? Freaky, delusional and a pervert??

She would imagine you beneath her, your cunt sucking her cock so well, juices dripping on your thighs, you mumbling incoherent words for her.. Mm.. That must be heaven, but not really... Unless she's touching you, for real..

Sometimes, if you're not looking, she would check you out. Memorizing each of your details, from the smell of your hair, your eyes to your curves and thighs. Oh how she's desperate to be squished by those thighs of yours while she's eating you out like a starved person.

She shook her head when she heard you calling out her name and asking something that is related to the subject that you're studying. She would stare at you for a bit before chuckling slightly and teach you a bit about the subject, giving you a recap..

"If you need help with something else.. Just ask.."

She said. Of course she meant otherwise, but you're too naive to understand. And that's what she likes about you. So easy to corrupt, so pure, naive and innocent.. Her cock throbbed at the thought.

Compared to her, you're much more sane if I say so... You're few inches smaller than her, have this bubbly personality and fashion style.. You're just in the vanilla, type.. Said Bada.. While she's just.. In the opposite.

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One night, you came back to the apartment, late due to the school project that you're forced to stay at the library for a few hours just to finish it..

"Unnie... I'm back" you called.. It became a habit to greet each other when you both got home or whatsoever. You saw her get up from the couch to greet you... "There's the little rabbit.. Why so late?" She asked while tilting her head, feigning innocence..

You sighed in response... "I had to finish this one project on history so I got forced to stay in library" you groaned as you take off your shoes and she helped you with your bag..

"Ohh... Project, that kinda sucks" she said and you just nodded as you flopped down on the couch, laying down on your stomach.. She went behind the couch as leaned towards the headboard, looking at you intently, silently checking you out.. Even tho you're wearing a sweater and a tight jeans, she can still see how beautiful your body is. And how badly she wants to hold your hips while fucking you from behind.. "How about you take a rest and forget that li'l project of yours?"

She suggested as you looked up at her.. "Don't worry, I'll help you, yeah?" She added so you just nodded as a response.. You slowly get up from the couch and sit, you watched her walk around it and now facing you.. "So.. You must be tired, li'l rabbit.. Hungry? I cooked dinner for us since I expected for you to go home late" she sits on the floor, in front of you as she gently massages your feet..

"I'm fine.. Not that hungry tho... I'll eat later if I'm hungry.." You replied before a soft hum escaped your lips, when Bada soothe the tensed muscle..

"Hmm.. Alright.."

She continued massaging your feet before glancing up at you, seeing how you look at her with such innocence, makes her riled up with desire..

You two were now watching a movie, you suggested it at first after she's done and she quickly agreed. Maybe because she had plans while you're distract. But in any case. She loves spending her time, with you.

After a while, you're attention was focused on the screen. And for her. She can't take it anymore. She slowly leaned towards you, planting a kiss on your head, to your neck. You shivered in response, as to which she continues. But you quickly stopped her when you realized that she's getting too intimate...

"W.. What are you doing, unnie...?" You stuttered as she smirked before playing with your hair as she leaned a bit more closer... "Y/n-ah... You know how I've been wanting to just taint you, to corrupt you here and there. Until you could only remember was me.." She said, until you're laying flat on the couch. She grabbed you by the ankle, causing you to yelp as she pulled your hips closer to her..

You're grown adult, but when it comes to this sort of things. You're completely clueless, not knowing what to do next... And Bada, was willing to teach you more. "I don't... I don't think this is a good idea—" you shivered as you felt something against your clothed core...

You felt your cheeks burn as you watch her grind her growing arousal against you.. "Fuck..." You heard her cursed... "You know how I've been fantasizing this shit and you're here saying that this isn't a good idea?" She asked as loomed over you.. You suddenly feel a burning sensation between your legs and it felt weird. You gulped as you looked up at her.. "Mmn... Just want to take this li'l rabbit out of its tiny hole.." She muttered. Her gaze was went to your face, down to your body. It made you feel so small... Like a prey that has been caught by the hunter..

A shiver went down your spine, when you felt her calloused hand went under your sweater, squeezing your hips as she leaned down, planting a kiss on your neck before gently nipping it. Making sure that you'll grow sensitive and became a mess before she even fucks you into oblivion..

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You gripped on her hair, tugging on it harshly, whining out a moan as she lap out on your clit as she pushed two digits, spreading it slightly to stretch you out.. "B.. Bada.. —" you gasped as you tried to push her away but she didn't budge... "I.. It feels weird... Stop..."

She hummed as she looked at you with her hooded eyes. She looks so drunk. "Mm... Your body was telling me otherwise, bunny.." She muttered as she licked your cunt like it's a dessert that she's been craving for years... Her eyes rolled as she felt your body arched and moaning against her before letting out a guttural moan in response. She soon stopped as she gets up, positioning herself between your legs...

Your eyes widened when she revealed her huge throbbing cock underneath her sweatpants... The thought of that, being inside of you, made you shivered.. Seeing your reaction made her chuckle... "Mmn... Don't worry, I'll be gentle.." Maybe for a few minutes, once you fully adjusted to her.

"I don't.... Think that would fit..." You muttered, enough for her to hear. You slowly move away from her but she quickly grabbed you by the hips and pulled you closer.. "Don't run away now, we're not even in the most satisfying part.." She said..

You let out a muffled whimper once you feel her rubbing her swollen tip against your entrance before pushing it slowly. A choked up whine, escape your lips as you instinctively arched you back. Tears starts to form as the feeling of her filling your insides, overwhelms you..

A sting feeling started to form as you gripped tightly on couch, muffling a sob when she's fully inside... "Fuck... So tight..." She muttered, rubbing her thumb against your thigh as if she's soothing you... She shushed you, as her other hand went to your cheeks, wiping away the tears that slowly flows down... "I'll move, yeah..? You'll feel so good, don't worry.." She muttered.. You clenched around her as a response and she chuckled.. You jolt up when she started moving in a slow, gentle pace. As much as she wants to fuck you, she had to be gentle since it's your first, and also... Trying to be on your good side, so that she can fuck you again next time.

Her mind becoming daze as her hooded eyes we're focused on how your chest rise and fall heavily, arching your back and your hips bucking. The sight makes her lose all of her self-control. "S... So— fuck... So tight... So good.." She mumbled as her grip on your hips, tightens. She'll fuck you good. That's what her mind keeps reminding her to do. Just you, becoming a mess, moaning her name, and became incoherent...

"B... It feels so weird, unnie" you cried. She quickly shushed you by capturing your lips in hungry kiss. Her hand, that was on your hip went to your leg, slightly lifting it up as she starts to thrust in a fast pace.. The kiss became sloppy, drool starts to drip in your mouth.. Your hands gripped tightly on her shoulder, nails digging through her shirt, causing her to pull away and letting out a guttural moan. Her gaze went down between your thighs, seeing how you suck her cock so well, your warm around around her throbbing cock. She bit her bottom lip, almost harshly, it might get a bruise later. You feel the spongy tip of her cock, hitting the same spot that makes you tremble and cry in pleasure.. Her breath became huffs and puffs, words became incoherent, her vision became hazed, gripping on your thigh, almost tightly as both bodies were blinded by the pleasure..

You clenched around her as you arched your back, as if signalling her that your awfully close.. She let out a muffled moan before chuckling, weakly... "Mm... Close, yeah? Mhm.. 'M too... Me too... Fuck.." She grunted as her thrust became a bit too harsh and deep, seemingly desperate for both of you to cum.

She felt you clenching against her, her balls tightened as listened to your long cries and watches you tremble, as the orgasm courses through you. Heavy breathes escape your mouth as you let out weak sobs while she continues to thrust into you, prolonging your orgasm before she pulled out, resting her cock against your stomach. She trembled slightly as cum starts to stream down from her tip, making a mess. Her hand grip on her cock as she tries to prolong her orgasm, head were tilted up as she let out a sigh before stopping..

Once you gained your composure, you looked up at her, seeing her slowly pulled her sweat pants up as she grabbed a tissue on the coffee table and slowly cleaning the mess on your stomach. You can see a subtle smirk on her face, as if what she did made her proud..

After that, she quickly pulled you for a cuddle, her face were buried against the crook of your neck, leaving a light kisses. You're still dumbfounded at what just happened.. You're still processing everything. You just had sex..! Your mind screamed. Bada noticed your expression which she chuckled. "Did I fuck you good, to the point that you can't process anything?" She asked in a teasing manner.

"You took my—"

"I know. So proud of myself" she said, a hint of cockiness can be heard in her voice. You stared at her in disbelief. "I should clean the couch later... There's a bit of blood on it.." She muttered before nuzzling her face against your neck.. "Should we take a shower? Or maybe another round? You know how I've been wanting to do this?" She started to ramble while leaving some light kisses on your skin.. "I love your moans earlier, tho.. I guess I did good, no? Mmn... Can't believe you made that kind of erotic sound, and it's because of m—"

"Okay shut up..." You said once you quickly pulled away and covered her mouth.. Your cheek reddens when she reminded you of what happened earlier.. She didn't remove your hand and just stare at you with those, hungry eyes.

She felt herself getting hard again. And maybe she can fuck you again, in the bed or maybe in the bathroom.

[reveluving]

Hii!

I was just thinking Price with a wife who is insecure about her body because of things like stretch marks or chub finally working up the courage to do something like lingerie or naughty photos as a surprise for him ;D

Hi!! OMG. SWEATING. As someone who has stretch marks and a little 'cushion' here and there, plus is also a big fan of this trope(?), this thot is CALLING me! 😩🤌🏻

Includes: soft dom!price, unprotected sex (p in v), finger-sucking, size difference, petnames ('pretty girl', 'sweetheart'), mentions of lap dance/strip tease

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

No matter which lingerie suits your fancy, just know it will give your husband a heart attack. 

Why wouldn’t it? He already loves you for who you are—you can do the most mundane things and he’ll stare. A lot. You could be wearing anything, even if you think it doesn’t suit you, and he’d have to fight the urge to just have you for himself, be it at home or in public.

So, you want to thank your husband for being the hunky sweetheart that he is. 

He wouldn’t be home until a few hours, giving you enough time to execute your plan.

Hiding the lingerie you bought days prior is one thing, posing for the camera is another. The thought of having your ass up, face down or the strap of your bra or babydoll fall off your shoulders in front of the lens just causes your body to heat up immensely, even if it's just you. Possibly because it’s your first time taking photos of yourself in such a deliciously scandalous manner, but it also could’ve been due to the fact that you know exactly how John is going to react to them.

Especially since you’re planning to gift these polaroids for when he needs to leave for work—with no way to have you with him except for these priceless photos, specifically made for his eyes and use only.

But three polaroids aren’t enough for him to survive the field without you. 

Because as soon as he comes home to find these photos on the table, placed under his hat for his next deployment in the near future, expect to hear heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom, where you’re likely waiting for him—being struck dumb to find you sitting prettily on the bed in your new piece. 

His eyes are blown out, and you can’t help but gulp when he closes the door behind him too calmly before walking over to you. The way he stalks over to you ever so slowly prompts you to crawl back. Not because you’re scared, but you had to admit, your heart’s beating wildly, even more so when he begins taking off his clothes without uttering a word.

Your nails dig into the sheets when you have nowhere to go, feeling the headboard against your back as he traps you from the front—resembling a predator hunting its prey. 

“John…” You mutter, letting out a shaky sigh as he slides his hand up your leg, biting his lip at the sight; the stockings/garter belt squeezing the plush of your thighs just enough to drive him wild. He doesn’t even give you a second to utter his name once again when he yanks you forward, with John on his knees as he holds you to sit on his thighs, forcing you to look down at him.

“S’a really nice piece, sweetheart,” He purrs, his voice telling you that he’s holding himself back from just fucking you. He licks on the deep cleavage, the small, thin material leaving little to his imagination as it barely covers your tits, all while maintaining eye contact as a guttural groan leaves his lips. One of his hands moves to your front, playing with the hem of your stocking/garter belt, pulling it back before releasing it. His lips part in delight, almost mirroring the way you gasp as the tight material slaps against you with a light smack, “Is this all f’me?”

You nodded with the tiniest whine, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. 

Ignoring the dampness of your panties was useless since you knew he could feel it against his thigh. His stare becomes too much for you, and you can’t do anything else other than rest your forehead against his, feeling his warm breath against you just as he feels yours and begging him to have you. 

And how can he say no to you?

Especially since you’ve been a good girl at posing for him as he takes countless photos of you on the polaroids—from the more ‘innocent ones’ like having you drool on his fingers (“Suck on them real good. That’s it, my pretty girl”) to the lewder displays, where he has you on your side, taking you from behind before taking a picture or two your pussy tightly gripping and leaking around the base of his cock.

Now he knows he won’t be alone in his next deployment.

Bonus: Him asking you for a lap dance or a strip tease for him as he sits all smug at the edge of the bed or the bedroom chair. He does this thing where he throws his head back and bucks his hips when you rub yourself against him. Yes.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[moonlight-prose]

FOR THE LOVE OF DANGER

╰┈➤ #01: ONE LAST TIME

a/n: so i finally FINALLY saw the movie and even though it's really late since it came out, i'm happy to write for him at last. this is partial brain rot and a partially thought out plot that has been in the works for months. i'd heard of spidey 2099 before, but never thought i'd fall in love with him to this extent. this fic was also supposed to come out last month, but i'm always behind on everything. so i hope y'all enjoy this wild ride.

note: a massive huge fucking THANK YOU to @soulores for being the best beta reader a girl could have. seriously i couldn't have finished this without you.

dedicated to: @sunflowersteves for listening to me rant about how pretty he is and for being the first person to ever hear about this plot. thank you for being one of the best person here babes.

summary: when things go awry in your life you find yourself back at el nido - a comfort spot in the darker parts of the city - in need of peace. only to run into him.

word count: 8.5k+ (somehow???)

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, cussing, angst, alcohol consumption, one night stands, p in v sex, rough sex, cumeating if you squint, cumplay if you really really squint, my awful attempts at dirty talk, soft miguel, the start of chaos.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

NUEVA YORK 2099; EARTH-298

Let’s do this one last time.

My name is Miguel O’Hara… and I’m scared.

You couldn’t breathe, the speed of your heart rate nearly caused you to believe you were going into cardiac arrest. Some small part of your brain wanted to actually check. It wasn’t hard to simply waltz right into the nearest hospital. Although dealing with the disbelief on doctors and nurses faces as you asked them to check if you were dying pushed you away from the idea altogether.

Another day at a job that didn’t allow you to have anything, left you seeking out the only thing you knew would help. An old dive bar still resided in the lower part of the city—The Nest, or as the owner called it El Nido—as local folk often referred to it. Although you were more than happy to call it a safe haven.

Everything was so pristine where you worked, so perfect. But The Nest was simply a small hole in the wall that helped people find a spot to feel safe for an hour or two. You tended to avoid going there on weekdays, but seeing as how you were about to be fired from your job…you felt it was necessary.

Sighing, you hitched your bag up higher on your shoulder, the weariness from the day finally settling its weight over you. What you wouldn’t give to be asleep right now, curled up in bed. Except you couldn’t go home. Not when all that remained was the dreaded time spent waiting for tomorrow. The day they would more than likely—officially—ask you to leave.

“Sorry,” you muttered, accidentally slamming into a woman walking hand in hand with her partner. The man glared at you, the gaze enough for you to quicken your step towards your destination.

The smell of the bar was exactly the same. Ricky always loved incense, and while you claimed it would drive customers away, he somehow made it work. Letting out a calming breath, you headed right towards your stool at the bar. The worn in leather a comfort after sitting in a stiff backed office chair all day. It was partially ripped and practically ruined, but you could already feel the stress melt off your body.

“Mi florita!” Ricky shouted, handing off a drink to an older man with white hair.

“Hey Ricky—oof—” He leaned across the bar, dragged you closer, and planted a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His breath was tinged with cinnamon and a hint of mint—letting you know he’d been drinking his favorite tea all day.

Nonetheless you smiled at his kind gesture. Ricky was like the cousin you had never had, but always wanted. Standing at around six feet with tattoos going up and down his tanned arms and his hair chopped into a mess of wild curls, he was your favorite person. The one you always sought out in times of trouble, if anything just to laugh. Unfortunately he couldn’t say the same for you. He loved his boyfriend too much to put you higher up on the scale—or so he claimed.

“How’s the job?” He poured you a martini, extra dry, extra dirty. “Are you playing nice with all the fancy folk?”

You chuckled, taking a sip and letting the alcohol burn its way down. “The fancy folk are slowly driving me insane.”

“Uh oh.”

Another sip caused yet another part of your stress to fade. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard for them to give me the same leniency they offer to other employees.” You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “I mean it won’t matter anyways tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Ricky slid a drink to the person sitting a stool away from you, taking the small amount of cash he offered.

“The day I’m probably gonna get fired.”

“What?” he exclaimed, nearly causing the glass of whiskey in front of him to spill over.

You shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I can just…find a new place to work at. I mean there has to be other labs in need of a biochemist. Right?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering to the bottle in his hands. “Florita…” Your stomach dropped, the severity of the situation finally dawning on you—turning your once rose hued glasses clear.

They were going to ask you to leave and because it was Alchemax, there was no other option but for you to beg for forgiveness. An act you had sworn to yourself that you’d never do. You were a good scientist. Hell you were the best in that fucking lab, yet they couldn’t see past the fact that you wanted to go your own way. To carve your own path in a company that was adamant on placing you in a box. Keeping you perfectly pristine for those on the outside—those that might wish to give you freedom.

Holding up your hand, you stopped him from saying anything else. If shit was meant to go sideways tomorrow, then so be it. You’d go out like a champion, worthy of whatever came next. Downing the remainder of your drink you slid the empty glass towards Ricky, nodding at him to fill it up. At least with that he didn’t hesitate, knowing you needed something to take the edge off—your night already taking a turn for the worst.

“Just gotta keep going,” you muttered, staring at the liquid in the hopes that it would magically fix everything.

“You got this chica.” Words that seemed empty at a time like this somehow brought a small smile to your lips.

Taking another sip you thanked him softly and watched him wander off to the other side of the bar, his eyes set on a group of men that were most likely there to buy out the bar. It happened every once in a while, but you couldn’t exactly fault them. They were here to have fun, to make an otherwise regular night memorable. They certainly weren’t here to wallow in their drinks, swallowing down their misery in the hopes of finding something good to take away.

“Shit,” you muttered when you came to the bottom of the glass again, your finger tracing the rim.

“Firing a biochemist is the stupidest thing a lab could do.”

You jumped when someone’s voice came from beside you—the man a stool away now focusing the entirety of his attention on you. Perhaps it was the vodka or the low neon lights of the bar, but you could have sworn his eyes were red. The color so striking it sent a chill down your spine—as if he was analyzing you with one simple glance. For a second you forgot he even said anything—too busy taking in his soft brown hair and strong jaw—until his lips quirked up into a grin.

One that made your heart flip in your chest, heat rising beneath your cheeks.

“Eavesdropping?” you inquired, gathering enough courage to confront him about his blatant behavior.

His lips pulled up on one side, something glimmering in his eyes that had you hooked the longer he looked at you. “Lo siento,” he said softly—his voice slightly mumbled. “Didn’t mean to. I just heard you talking about something that interests me.”

“Ah.” You glanced away to escape his penetrating stare, if for a chance to catch the breath in your lungs. “So you’re a scientist.”

Pride bloomed in your chest when he was caught off guard. His glass halfway to his mouth when the statement left your mouth. Once again that mysterious light flickered to life again, a soft chuckle leaving his lips and causing your heart to erratically beat in your chest. Taking a sip, he gently set the now empty glass back on the bar. The tension was so thick you swore you could slice it in half, heat spilling into your body.

“You’re observant.”

Shrugging, you took your own sip—the alcohol no longer burning your throat. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. What else from that conversation would interest you?”

“You.”

The words were out of his mouth before you could even finish the question, your breath catching at the sound of them. Your day had been shit. Enough to rival doomsday itself, but there you were sitting at a bar with him. A man who’s name you didn’t know. The smile spread across your lips before you could stop it, your eyes roving down his figure in an attempt to make him feel half of what he stirred in you.

“Let me buy you a drink?” you asked, pointing to his empty glass.

“I thought I was supposed to ask you that?”

Your smile widened. “Then ask me.”

For the second time that night he was caught off guard, his eyes widening slightly. The song behind you shifted, a low tune you could feel reverberating through you as he changed seats, taking the stool directly beside you. He moved silently, his thighs pressed tightly against yours as he got comfortable in the spot—his arm brushing yours.

The first thing you noticed was how warm he was—as if his body was a personal heater. But that was pushed out of your mind, replaced by the second thing. He looked at you clearly, hair falling onto his forehead slightly until you finally saw it. The actual color of his eyes. Crimson irises caught you in their hold, keeping you until he was satisfied—drinking you in, he trailed his gaze over the entirety of your body.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he murmured, his breath fanning across your face, body unconsciously leaning in.

You inhaled sharply, watching as his eyes lit up at your reaction to his proximity, his hand sliding closer until his fingers brushed against your wrist. Suddenly your shitty day was but a mere memory in the back of your mind. Entirely forgotten in favor of him. He was so large you swore he blocked everything else, filling your eyesight with nothing else but his frame. The breadth of his shoulders, the length of his torso and how he had to hunch over slightly to get close to you.

“What’s your name?” you inquired finally, your words breathy and dazed.

He grinned, hand curving around your wrist and pulling your hand towards him. “What’s yours?”

“I asked you first.”

Leaning in so close until you felt his chest brush your shoulder, his lips met your ear, sending chills down your spine. “Miguel,” he breathed, smiling at the way you practically melted into him.

For a brief moment you forgot you were sitting in the middle of a bar, people surrounding the two of you. When in fact it felt like nothing remained except you and him and the song playing behind you. Your exhale was shaky, representing the way you felt on the inside. As if he’d pulled you apart with a single word, his body heat affecting your brain—turning it to mush.

“Miguel…” Your hand curved around the front of his jacket, eyes meeting his as he moved, brushing his lips across your cheek.

“Hm?”

Something heady built in your chest, solidifying the truth you knew the second you started talking to him. You wouldn’t be leaving this bar alone. You simply hoped he was on the same page as you, but the way he hooked his arm around your waist, thighs bracketing your frame told you everything you needed to know. He was not only on the same page; he was flipping forward, reading a future that had yet to occur.

You almost wanted to ask him if he liked what he saw. If—by some odd chance—there was something more than this fiery electricity between the two of you.

“You still want that drink bebita?”

Words evaded you the longer he sat there, filling the space with nothing but him. How he smelled, how he sounded, fuck even the way his lips felt dragging against your skin as he spoke. You wanted to ask where he came from. How you’d never seen him in this bar before—your life now altered because of something so small. Simply a conversation. Yet now you couldn’t see yourself ending the night without him.

“No,” you sighed, shifting until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his. “You?”

He shook his head.

“I…” Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. “I don’t usually do this.”

Grinning, he raised your chin slightly with his knuckle, eyes catching you once more in their web, snaring you in a trap so saccharine you could taste it on your tongue. “Your pace.”

And with two simple words you were his. Captured happily in something you never wanted to be rid of. You smiled, your other hand sliding up into his hair, and finally the weight of your day lifted entirely off your shoulders. The question of whether or not he wanted to kiss you was on the tip of your tongue, but like before…he was miles ahead of you. With a small grin, he tipped your face towards his, catching your lips in a kiss you felt down to your fingertips.

He didn’t kiss you gently, languidly taking his time as if you were both here until the sun went up. No, that was nothing like what you expected. He devoured you. Stole every gasp, sound, and sigh you could have let out; his hand holding you exactly where he wanted you. Miguel kissed you like you were his only source of oxygen. And you let him. You bent to his will with ease, giving into every touch.

Whining softly, you tugged sharply on his hair when his tongue swept across your bottom lip. The taste of his drink now seeping into your mouth. You didn’t even question letting him in, desperate to know what he tasted like—what his tongue felt like licking deeply into you. Shivers ran down your spine when his hand gripped your hip tightly, pulling you closer until you sat on the very edge of the stool.

“Fuck,” he rumbled, pulling away and sliding his lips along your jaw.

“Oh…” Your breath was a sharp gasp when his fingers trailed down your throat, cupping it so quickly you could have sworn you imagined it. But the heat that spilled into your stomach told you otherwise.

His lips were heaven on your skin, nipping and licking until you were sure that certain spots would be tender tomorrow morning. You didn’t care. He could have sunk his teeth directly into your neck and you’d still ask for more. Somewhere in between talking and the tension, you lost any sense of worry. Those feelings went out the window the second he moved closer.

“I um—” Pushing at his chest, you reluctantly parted with the realization that you were still in public, and fucking against the bar would certainly make Ricky ban you for life. So he fell back, his lips swollen and spit slicked—pupils blown wide until the black began to bleed into the red. A swirl of brilliant color.

He smirked, taking in your disheveled appearance, all thanks to him. You had half a mind to drag him back to the bathroom, but the burning glare of Ricky was currently being seared into the side of your head. Without a doubt you knew it said: “You fuck in my bar you’re not coming back.” So you gathered whatever control you had over yourself and downed the remainder of your now tepid drink.

“My apartment is two blocks from here,” you began, exhaling a shaky breath as you finally took the leap for what you wanted. “We can be there in five minutes.”

Miguel nodded, yanking out his wallet and tossing down enough cash to cover not only his drinks, but yours as well. Which was your sign to grab your things. No words had to be said, because the intent was clear to the both of you. He was here to find the same relief you were—something to take his mind off of life for a little while.

Waving a quick goodbye towards Ricky, you followed Miguel out of the bar into the cool night air of the city. You were beneath the depths of the main part, where people didn’t necessarily travel to. But you’d grown up there. It remained a place where you still felt like you belonged. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. Not when the intentions for the night were clear to both of you. But that didn’t stop him from reaching down and slipping your hand into his, clasping your fingers together as you walked down the street.

Such a small act of tenderness—barely noticeable to anyone walking past—but meant so much more.

“What brought you to El Nido?” you asked, leading him down the street where your apartment building resided. It wasn’t a drastic question, but you couldn’t help your curiosity.

You were a scientist after all.

He shrugged, thumb running along your knuckles. “Needed a night out.”

“Let me guess…” You turned—walking backwards the best you could—regarding him with a suspicious expression. The small smile on his lips caused your heart to thump a little faster. “You’re getting fired tomorrow too?”

For the first time that night you heard him laugh. The sound, soft and low and by all means something you wanted to hear over and over again.

“No.” He took in a breath, his crimson eyes searching the dark streets for nothing in particular—the hair on the back of his neck suddenly standing up. “I’m…trying to figure out something.”

“A problem?”

He sighed. “You could say that.”

“Well I think—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence, his arm jerking you forward until you fell into his chest, wrapped tightly to him as a horn echoed loudly behind you. A car sped past, turning rapidly onto the street and disappearing around the corner—leaving the both of you in silence. Your breath came in quickly, eyes wide as fear ran streaked your body, turning you cold. And Miguel watched after the car, his eyes narrowed and body tensed—as if he was ready to take off after them.

That is until he felt your hands press against his chest softly, drawing his attention back to you.

“T-Thank you,” you gasped, trying to calm the adrenaline that rushed through you.

There was no mistaking what would have happened if he hadn’t pulled you close; if his reflexes hadn’t kicked in so quickly. You wanted to ask him how he did it. How he knew the car was coming, but the words were trapped in the back of your throat. The shock had started to flood your system. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb running along your jaw in a soothing motion that seemed to slow the panic filtering through your body. You wondered if he even knew he was doing it—the touch yet another reflex to slow the racing of your heart.

To bring you back down to Earth.

“Okay?” he murmured, his eyes tracing the curve of your face, watching your eyelids flutter for a moment as you met his gaze once more.

You nodded, lightly gripping his wrist simply for the sake of comfort. “I’m okay.”

The night was no doubt effectively altered. Not necessarily ruined, but you couldn’t go on the way you were before. No teasing words, no light conversation. Instead you walked in silence. His hand clasped in yours and guard up in case of something else happening until you reached your place.

You were surprised to find that you enjoyed the silence while you walked. As if Miguel offered you a sense of safety and comfort you never had before; your body responding differently than you expected. Sure, you were attracted to him, but you couldn’t deny the pull you felt towards him when it came to this. To needing safety in the midst of possible danger.

“This is me,” you said, pulling out your key from your pocket—the hallway light dim and nearly extinguished. You had to remember to speak to the building manager about it tomorrow.

He grinned slightly, waiting patiently for the door to swing open with a soft creak as you entered. While you wouldn't call your small and rather overpriced apartment perfect, it felt more like a home than even he expected it to be. A small kitchen gave way into a bigger living room. Your record player was placed on top of an aged wooden table—piles of books stacked haphazardly through the place.

Miguel eyed the various plants you’d managed to keep alive—each of them pointed towards the one large window on the opposite wall. A place where sunlight no doubt streamed in on early mornings.

He originally believed it would look modern; more like the outside city and world as a whole. Yet your home resembled something old. A place that stood still against the ravages of time—as if it were merely a museum and he was there to admire its antiques.

“I know it’s not much.” You shifted a small pile of clean clothes off the chair, moving it towards an empty laundry basket in the hallway.

“It’s nice,” he said, and he actually meant it. “Es acogedor.”

You could see the truth in his eyes, the flicker of something familiar coming through the crimson. As if he’d known a life like this once. You wanted to ask him. See if he’d tell you more than just his name—perhaps why his eyes were that color—but you knew tonight wasn’t about making this more than it was. In reality you both needed this. No strings, no commitment. Merely two people looking to release themselves from the heaviness of the day.

He turned, catching you staring blatantly at him. “You want me to make you a drink?”

The question threw you off and your expression must have given you away—his lips curling into a grin. “I thought I was supposed to ask you that?”

Heat curled low in your stomach, spreading with every step he took until the tips of his shoes met yours. He bent down, hand curling around the nape of your neck, fingers digging in slightly. Chills spread down your spine, goosebumps rising along your arms, and for a brief moment you wanted to live in this. To remain oblivious to everything happening around you.

Everything except him.

He brought his lips closer, his breath washing across your cheek. “So ask me,” he breathed.

“Do you want me to—”

Cutting you off he dragged you closer, practically hauling you up to his chest as his lips covered yours. It sent your mind reeling, your hands digging into his hair as if on instinct. As if you knew exactly what he wanted. As if…you’d done this before. Something intoxicating built up in your body, turning your brain foggy when his hands slid down, cupping your ass and dragging a moan from your throat.

He met your sound with one of his own—a ragged grunt that came from low in his chest. The echo of it reverberating through your body. You knew what this was. What it wouldn’t become. Yet you couldn’t stop the longing in your heart—the yearning that refused to be locked away in your mind. You wondered what it would be like if this was more. Would it always feel this…electric?

Something pulled you together and you couldn’t determine what it was. Except at that moment you couldn’t even determine your own name.

His tongue swept in your mouth, shoving all your thoughts aside and bringing forth something new. A feeling so strong you found yourself grasping for him tighter, pulling him closer as he licked deeply into you—tasting the alcohol on your tongue.

“Bedroom,” you gasped, yanking on the strands of his hair and earning another delicious grunt.

“Donde—”

“Down the hall.”

Stumbling back you felt his hand hitch your leg over his hip, nearly dragging you with him. Yet you could hardly complain. You were pretty sure that if he let you go you’d go falling to the ground from his touch alone. He moved your head where he wanted, lips slotting over yours and spit nearly trailing down your chin. A rush of slick poured into your panties, your nails scratching along his scalp as he nearly hit the wall, pressing you against it and hitching your other leg up.

“Fuck.”

You tried to tell him that you needed more, that you wanted him inside of you, but all that came out was a breathy moan. His hips grinded into yours, a soft moan being pressed to the shell of your ear, and that alone nudged you towards something earth-shattering.

His lips slid back along yours, hands grasping for any skin he could reach as you practically shoved your hips against his. The desperation practically seeped into the air—permeating your tongue with its cloying flavor. Words were exchanged for moans, tender moments now shifting into something quicker and faster. You wanted to feel him against you as fast as humanly possible, but Miguel was eager to remain here. Holding you up against the wall and kissing you until you ran out of oxygen.

“So I take it that’s a no on the drink?” you breathed, smiling at the small frustrated sound echoed in the back of his throat.

“Cállate,” he grunted, hiking you up and grinning at the yelp that was muffled into his mouth.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you felt him begin to move—heading towards your bedroom. The door remained open from earlier and you thanked yourself for making sure to keep the place tidy before leaving for work today. Before you could detach yourself from him and lead him to your bed, he turned and sat down. Taking you with him until you were sprawled on his lap.

“Tú eres hermoso,” you mumbled against his lips, watching in delight as his expression shifted. Surprise spreading across his chiseled features.

“I’m supposed to say that to you,” he replied, a small grin playing on his lips.

You shrugged, pressing your lips to his jaw. “Guess we’re doing tonight backwards.”

He chuckled, sliding his hands beneath your shirt until it was clear that he wanted it off. You complied with ease. Allowing him to drop the fabric to the floor as his eyes fell to your chest, taking in the pretty lace of your bra. The crimson you’d come to admire darkened to something you’d call a burgundy—lust clouding his gaze. He wanted to take you apart. To see the inner workings of your body—your mind. Anything he could get his hands on. And you’d let him.

There was no doubt that Miguel had gotten beneath your skin in such a short amount of time. He filled your home with a feeling you hadn’t had before. Something tangible and real. Something you wanted to keep.

“Guapísima,” he murmured, hands cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over the spot where your nipples poked through the fabric. A soft jolt rolled down your spine at the feeling.

Warmth clung to your chest, filling you to the brim with a sensation you’d only had once before in your life. Only this was different. This didn’t feel new or like you were just discovering it. No, this felt familiar. As if it had been hiding away in your heart, biding its time until you crossed his path—until you found one another. You wanted to wrap yourself in it, sink into its comfort, and you wondered if he felt it too.

The strange way all of this felt right.

Like coming home after being away for so long.

“Miguel,” you gasped when his mouth trailed down to your chest. The heat of his lips sticking to your already burning skin—his tongue trailing along the tops of your breasts.

He pulled down the fabric, taking your nipple into his mouth—practically lighting up on the inside when you cried out softly. Your hand dug into his hair, tugging on the strands as he scraped his teeth against you. Drawing out every sound he could find hidden in the depths of your chest. Your hips ground against him, clit pulsing with a need that would only be satiated by his touch.

For a moment you worried that he wouldn’t continue his path. That he’d ignore the way you were practically panting for him—the pleas falling from your lips with ease. But then his hand dipped beneath your waistband, fingers trailing along the edge of your panties. Your eyes nearly rolled back, hips canting up as you tried to get him to go further—to release you of this agony. But he held still. Entirely focused on driving you to the very brink of insanity; continuing the path with his teeth and tongue along your chest until the skin was tender.

“Impatient are we?” he mused, nose brushing against your jaw—the grin prominent in his voice.

You huffed, gripping tightly onto his hair and dragging his head up. “A tease are we?”

A moan ripped from his throat, his hips jolting up into yours at the slight sting of pain that bloomed in his head. His eyes were heavy, mouth parted as he took in a deep breath, and you could have sworn that you’d never see a prettier sight again. He looked at you as one would a statue in a museum. Tracing the curves and dips of your body with eyes that resembled the color of blood. Eyes that would never leave your mind again.

His tongue swept across his bottom lip, teeth protruding outwards slightly and you had half a mind to ask him about it. To question how exactly he had fangs, but your desire won out on the logical part of your mind. Leaning forward you licked your tongue along them, feeling how he shivered beneath your touch—how his body sang a tune you could match.

“Careful,” he rumbled, his hand pressing against your back and bringing you even closer. “I might bite.”

You smiled, sliding your palms beneath the collar of his shirt, the hot skin beneath warming your cold fingers instantly. “Sounds like a promise to me.”

“I’m not good with promises.” He let you pull his shirt up, raising his arms and helping where you couldn’t reach.

Even you couldn’t deny there was something so domestic about this. How he carefully shifted you so that you were now pressed into the mattress. His large frame looming over you—hair falling into his eyes as he looked down. It felt natural; the fluid movements were almost instinctive. Like your bodies knew what to do before you could even comprehend anything happening. You wanted to blame the alcohol—or hell perhaps it was the lust that was making you slightly lose it—but you saw it beneath the surface of his slightly guarded expression.

He felt it too.

Perhaps even more.

“Come here,” you breathed, cupping the back of his neck and bringing his lips back where they belonged—where they felt the most right.

You felt his hands fall to the waistband of your pants, popping open the button and you were quick to raise your hips, helping him push them down. There was a swiftness to his movements. Like he knew what you wanted before you did—something telling him that you were ready to keep going. But that would be scientifically impossible. No one could predict things that way. Yet you couldn’t help but go back to the color of his eyes—the fangs that now scraped along your throat and down your shoulder.

He seemed to be a scientific marvel. Something unknown.

“Your tur—oh—” Your head fell back, lips falling open when his hand dipped even lower, fingers sliding into your soaked panties.

A groan echoed in the room, his lips finding yours again as he gathered the slick that pooled at your entrance and dragged it back to your clit. Setting a slow and maddening pace that had you grasping for his shoulders. Your nails pricked the skin so hard you knew there would be marks later. He pressed down, sparks scorching your body, and grinned at your reaction. How your eyes squeezed shut, leg kicking out and hips pushing into his hand.

“So wet for me.” He sunk one finger into you, tearing a whine from your throat.

“Mig—” The breath caught in your lungs. “I want—fuck—please…”

He shushed you gently, lips sliding against yours messily as he worked you open, slipping another finger into you with ease. “I know amorcito. I’ve gotta open you up for me.”

Something pulled at your stomach, tightening slowly as he continued to pump his fingers into you—the wet squelch of your slick echoing in the room. You knew you were dripping down his hand, that he was able to slip in a third finger as he went. But that didn’t mean he would stop. No Miguel had become hooked on the sounds coming from your lips—the moans that you didn’t try to stifle. He curled his fingers and struck against the spongy part of your walls that made you practically curl up into him.

A surprised cry fell from your lips, eyes flying open to see his lips curl into a small grin, before he doubled down. Shifting the angle, he made sure to press the pads of his fingers in the same spot each time, his thumb swiping along your clit. And you felt that building pressure shift. It clawed its way up your throat, settling in your chest as he murmured soft words of praise.

“Dámelo,” he breathed against your lips. “Give it to me bebita.”

As if your body was following his request, you shattered. A choked cry of his name was swallowed by his kiss, his tongue licking deeply into your mouth—fingers rapidly moving to prolong your pleasure. It was too much, yet not enough. The hunger—the desire—screamed in your chest, begging for him to keep going, for this to be more than just one night. Yet you couldn’t speak.

You gulped in air, legs shaking when the pleasure slowly began to fade into a slight pain. But Miguel wasn’t done. He was far from it. Your heart pounded in your chest when he slipped his fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste of your release—the shiny stickiness on his palm letting you know how wet you really were.

“Sabes deliciosa,” he murmured, pressing his tongue back into your mouth and sharing the taste of you.

Your hand fell to his pants, pulling at the buckle of his belt as he shifted—making room between your legs to lay over you. His hand pressing into the mattress above your head. The all encompassing feeling of him surrounded you; pressed you into the small haven he created with his body. Keeping you from the rest of the world as you lost yourselves in each other.

“Your belt is being difficult,” you huffed, head falling back against the pillow.

He laughed, opening it with ease and effectively earning a glare from you.

Miguel had to admit there was an ease to being around you. The weight he usually felt hanging atop his shoulders had been lifted—his mind suddenly clearer and mood better. He wanted to figure out why that was, but you were looking at him with a gaze that caused his heart to stutter. The urge to remain close to you seemed to overtake every other thought that ran through his mind. He rid himself of his pants, helping you pull down the lacy fabric—his lips sliding along your inner calf as he did so.

The light touch of your palm grasping on his hand brought his gaze back up—your small smirk rendering him speechless. Miguel had only been this way a few times in his life. All instances he could count on one hand, but this—you—were bringing out an emotion he would have rather kept locked away. Nervousness.

Leaning up on your elbows, you met him halfway, your arm going around his shoulders as he leaned down to kiss you. It was by all means…sweet. The passion remained, lingering beneath the surface and searing through your veins, but something else took over. A feeling he wanted to keep.

“Since we’re doing this backwards,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his and cupping his cheek.

Locking your leg around his hip, you used the leverage of his surprise to send him into the mattress, your hands falling to his chest as you perched yourself in his lap. Your lips formed around a smile when he grunted. The feeling of your bare pussy now spread along his cock—your slick dripping down and coating his length—was divine.

“Mierda.” His hands grasped your hips, grinding you forward a bit until the head of cock brushed your clit, ripping a gasp from your chest.

“F-fuck—” Your head fell forward, teeth digging into your lip.

“You’re gonna fuck me amorcito?” he asked, a flash of something dangerous echoing in his eyes. “Gonna ride me?”

You nodded, mouth falling open when he pressed against your entrance. Whatever comment you had died in the back of your throat when he began to sink into you—a slight sting of pain streaking up your spine as you took him slowly. He wasn’t kidding about needing to open you up, but still it was a stretch. A soft whisper of praise echoed in your ear, his thumb circling your clit to counteract the pain. Even still you dug your nails into his chest, no doubt leaving marks that would bruise later on.

“You can take it,” he murmured, thumb curling around your chin. “You can take it like a good girl.”

A whine caught in your throat, your hips canting down with each small thrust until you were seated in his lap again. His cock filling you completely—the stuffed sensation nearly too much for you. Miguel leaned up, catching your lips in a soft kiss; giving you time to adjust. Yet you felt the sharp need of desire work its way through your body, begging for you to keep going, to take everything he would give you.

“How do you feel?” He pulled at your bottom lip with his thumb, his other hand cupping your ass.

“F-Full,” you whimpered.

“Go ahead,” he said softly, allowing you to lift yourself off his cock slowly—slick coating him down to the coarse hair at his base.

The pace was lazy, barely even there, and he watched. His eyes tracked each movement you made, each time your hips shifted forward to change the angle. He burned the image of you fucking yourself on his cock into his brain—watching as you did exactly what you said you were going do. Ride him.

Scraping your nails down his stomach, you heard him groan, his hips thrusting up slightly and forcing a cry from your throat. You wanted more. Wanted to feel him fuck you into the mattress, but the familiar pressure was already forming again. Building in your stomach with each stunted thrust—the head of his cock brushing against the spot he’d found earlier.

“I’m—” Your head fell back, hips shifting forward to catch it perfectly—eyes squeezing shut. “‘M gonna—o-oh…”

“That’s it,” he rasped, guiding your hips and slamming you down onto him with a strength that made you sob, your hands grasping for any part of him you could reach. “Cum on my cock amorcito. Wanna see you—ah fuck—”

Your hips stuttered, eyes rolling back as the wave crashed over you, nearly pulling you under. A cry echoed in the room, your walls clamping down, and for a moment you felt nothing but bliss. You went blind with it, your body tipping forward into him as he continued to move you in short thrusts, dragging it on even more. Miguel grunted against your throat, sitting up fully and holding you close as you rode out your release, your body practically falling limp against him.

Eventually you felt yourself come back, your hands dragging through his hair as he placed kisses up and down your neck, arms tightening around you. Your legs barely worked, head still fuzzy with the intensity of your orgasm. But the desire still remained, stroking the fire slowly until it once again began to seep through your system. Warming your body.

He was still hard, throbbing against your fluttering walls. That alone caused you to moan softly, your hips shifting down and lips pressing against his jaw. 

“You didn’t finish,” you murmured, nails scraping against the back of his neck. The small goosebumps that appeared had a lazy smile curling on your lips.

He ached for that sweet release, wanted to flip you over and chase it, but he didn’t want to leave. At least not yet. There was something about taking his time with you that called to the part of him that had always wanted more. A part he’d crushed over and over again. Claiming it wasn’t necessary. There was no room in his life for that irritating emotion people referred to as love—no space in his heart.

Until a space began to slowly open up. He could barely find it, barely even see the small gash you’d made in the armor around his heart. But he’d discover it eventually.

“I want to see you cum,” you said softly, eyes glimmering with need.

“Bebita—”

Licking along his bottom lip you felt his cock twitch, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass a little harder. “Want to feel it, Miguel. Need it.”

“Shit.” He felt the breath get punched from his lungs, your words sending a streak of heat down his spine. “Yeah? You want it that bad?”

You nodded, lifting yourself on shaky legs only to drop back down, impaling yourself on his cock. He spit out another broken curse, his head falling back briefly before you were tossed back—your body slamming against the mattress. You yelped, eyes going wide when he shifted over you, body covering yours in a way that had a haze settling in your mind. He grinned, fangs digging into his bottom lip as he spread your thighs—hooking them over his forearms and nearly bending you in half.

“All you had to do was ask,” he purred, guiding himself back into your dripping pussy and sinking in with ease.

Gasping, you clawed at his shoulders when he hit so much deeper, the angle changing everything. You wanted to shout his name, to tell him how good it felt, but he’d already started to pull back, shoving himself into you with a strength that sent you up the bed. A ragged sound was pulled from your chest, eyes rolling back when he brushed against that spot so much easier—grinding against it in a way that had your body going numb with pleasure.

“Look at you taking me so well,” he muttered, curling over your body and sending your knees up near your head.

“O-Oh…god!”

“Cosita linda.” His body was tense, teeth baring as he continued to pound into you at a pace that built your release so quick it burned through you. “Pretty fucking thing. Letting me fuck you like this. Perfecta—”

You cried out, nails breaking the skin of his back—leaving deep marks. Tears streamed down your temples, spit falling down your chin when he leaned in to kiss you. He was everywhere. His scent permeated your senses, taste now permanently etched on your tongue, and yet that still wasn’t enough. There was something about him that made you want to crack open your heart and give it to him. Offer yourself up entirely in the hopes he’d accept. He surrounded you, filled your entire being with nothing but him, and you loved it.

Your body went taut, eyes flying open to see him staring down where you were connected, how his cock disappeared into your leaking pussy.

He smiled, hands digging into your hips so tight it sparked a delicious pain when you sobbed incoherently. “I can feel you.” His breath stuttered when your walls clamped down—brows pulling tight and mouth falling open in a silent shout. “That’s it. C’mon—” He gasped, fingers falling to your aching clit and circling it quickly. “Cum on my fucking cock. Soak me.”

This time the release wasn’t built steadily to give you time to prepare. You could barely breathe, your lungs screaming for some small amount of air. Yet your body seemed to be solely focused on one thing. A broken shout of his name left your lips, echoing in the room, combining sinfully with the sound of skin against skin and your slick. His thumb found your clit, pinching it between his fingers and something in you broke.

It slammed into you unexpectedly, dragging out a loud keening wail—white flashing behind your tightly closed eyes as it rushed through you. Flooded every sense you had until all you could comprehend was him chasing his own release. He fucked into you with short stunted thrusts until he fell forward, his lips colliding with yours—a ragged cry being pressed into your mouth.

He spurted into your already dripping pussy, filling you deliciously and sending another flicker of warmth down to the tips of your fingers. His chest heaved, lips swollen and eyes dazed, and you wanted to solidify the sight in your mind. Except the reality of what this was would eventually come crashing back down. Reminding you that he was not yours to have. That you were simply two passing stars in a tangled web of this universe, meant to part ways.

He let your legs fall back to the bed, slipping out of you with a hiss before he flopped onto his back, dragging you with him. His cum dripped down your inner thigh, smearing against the skin. But for now you let it happen. Content to remain right there, feeling his chest rise and fall as he attempted to catch his breath. His fingers traced lightly along your spine, line after line until you realized what it was that he was drawing.

A web.

Or at least…that’s what it felt like.

“I don’t think I can move,” you mumbled, smiling into his skin when he laughed—the sound low and rough.

“That’s a good thing I hope,” he replied, glancing down at you—eyes tracing the curve of your hip and breast that pressed into his side.

You placed a kiss on his shoulder, hand splaying across his stomach. “Definitely.”

Silence enveloped the both of you like a comfortable blanket, filling the space with a soft feeling. It lulled you into a state of peace. Sleep nearly overtaking you. Yet you fought against it. Too busy taking in what he looked like—attempting to commit him to memory lest you never see him again. You wanted him burned into your brain, each memory tattooed into place permanently. But that’s not how life went.

This wasn’t a fairytale, and he wasn’t yours.

So you settled against his body, soaking in the warmth he emanated and allowed your eyes to flutter shut. His breath came in slower, arm curling around you as he fell asleep gradually—his heart a steady thrum in his chest. An echo that allowed sleep to drag you beneath the surface, giving way to something peaceful.

The loud angry beep of your alarm clock jolted you awake, your eyes flying open and body aching as you sat up quickly. There was a mess of blankets on your floor, obviously kicked off in the middle of the night. It seemed that with the heat of the outside world and his body, you were content to sleep with a thin sheet wrapped around you. Yet where you expected to find clothes left haphazardly around the room, you found nothing.

Your clothes that had been stripped off now lay in a pile on your chair, shoes placed by the end of your bed. Last night was clear to you now. The all consuming bliss, the way he had felt buried inside of you—how he had touched you. And while you understood it was merely a one night stand. You couldn’t stop the disappointment from seeping into your chest.

The sight of him completely erased from your apartment put a damper on an otherwise good morning.

Sighing, you swung yourself into a sitting position at the end of your bed. A throbbing headache began to spread along your skull. No doubt the cause of waking up too fast. Either that or the alcohol had actually decided to give you a bitch of a hangover. You’d have to figure that out later. The reminder of what the day held for you flickered bright and blaring in your mind—killing whatever joy you had left in your chest.

“Fuck,” you spit, dropping your head in your hands as you finally settled on one conclusion. You were about to be fired.

You had about an hour before you had to rush out the door. Giving you enough time to find out how to stop the delicious ache in between your thighs from going away. The echo of the outside world drifted up through your somehow open window and you raised your eyes, gazing at the spot where he had been only a few hours ago.

Only to catch sight of a glass of water placed on your nightstand—a ripped piece of paper beneath it. You practically lunged for it, hands carefully sliding the paper out and eyes tracing the messy scribble of what you assumed to be his writing. The message was short. Direct. It could barely even be considered sweet, but you saw the tenderness through the short sentence—the care in his action of leaving you with something to remember him by.

I had a lot of fun.

So we can do things the right way next time.

— Miguel

Beneath the message a phone number was scrawled, as if he’d been hesitant to even put it there in the first place. But it seemed that you weren’t the only one to feel that strange connection. That lingering sensation of familiarity whenever you thought about him. There was something to uncover between you. Perhaps the something more that you were aching for last night.

You had no clue.

Yet that didn’t stop you from grabbing your phone and inputting the numbers carefully. Glancing back at each one to make sure that the message wouldn’t disappear before your very eyes. You typed his name at the top, smiling at the contact before sticking a web right beside it. The memory of what he’d traced along your skin coming back to you.

A thrill of joy went through your body, lips pulling up into a wide smile as you pressed the button to send a text. While it may have been too soon—perhaps a bit fast if you were looking at it properly—the warmth in your chest won the battle in the end. 

How could something that felt this right be messed up with speed?

How could it go wrong?

[kirby0strombolli]

Ghostface | Matt Sturniolo P6

'What's the matter Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

ghostface!matt x reader

Chapter 6 - The truth.

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

a/n: y'all are getting a matt pov!!

matt's pov

It was supposed to be the night of the annual Halloween party that I had been looking forward to going to with y/n.

We were supposed to be matching- cowboy and cowgirl- not exactly scary, but it's whatever.

His plans had changed that.

Y/n hated horror movies, and knew remotely nothing about them.

Like if she was being spam-called by some loser, she wouldn't block them. She hasn't even watched scream, my all time favorite horror movie.

But then again, I've only watched about 3 horror movies.

None of them with y/n, of course.

I honestly didn't blame her. Not that I would admit that I'm scared of horror movies.

I'm pulled out of my deep thoughts when my phone buzzes, and as I glance at the screen, I frown;

y/n <3 our plans are off, sorry matt :( me why? what's up?? y/n <3 busy you can go.

The crease between my brows furrows impossibly deeper.

She never declined anything on such short notice.

She wouldn't ever make me go to a party on my own. She knows how bad my anxiety can get, especially at parties.

Let alone being alone.

My mind battles with the thousands of possibilities for why she was acting so cold.

She's: Planning a surprise, annoyed, insecure, lost feelings for me, cheating, talking to her ex??

The most horrible thoughts appear in my mind, but I shrug off my worry, hoping for the best.

Maybe she really is busy.

yeah right.

Maybe I should just go. It wouldn't be that bad, would it?

I mean, what was the worst that could happen?

I drop my phone, and rub my eyes, feeling a newfound surge of confidence coming through me.

I was going to go to this party.

I run a hand through my hair as I make my way to retrieve my costume from my closet.

As I open my closet, ready to change into the costume for the halloween party my smile drops from my lips, my face paling.

It was me. But- it wasn't me.

It stood in the corner of my closet, Its face distorted into a huge grin.

When I blinked it was gone.

I blink my eyes several times again, making sure I haven't gone crazy.

With trembling hands, I gently pull out the outfit, and quickly whip my hand out, grabbing the hanger.

Shaking off the uneasy feeling, and dismissing it as my imagination running wild, I shake my head and head into the bathroom.

Before shutting the door, I make sure to do a double check around the room, just in case.

I'm being stupid. I'm not a kid anymore. Monsters aren't real.

Looking in the mirror, I observe my tired face in the reflection.

I open the tap with a sigh, splashing water onto my face, and with the cool liquid washing away the remnants of my grogginess, I momentarily close my eyes.

But, with my eyes closed, I suddenly felt vulnerable. Like someone was watching me. As I opened my eyes again, blinking away the droplets, I could feel that something was off.

I hear a loud thunk from inside my room.

My wardrobe.

I didn't shut it.

I jerk my head up, but it's too late.

Before I even look in the mirror I know what's there.

It's me. But not me.

my biggest fear.

Looking in the mirror, I can see my pale face, eyes wide with horror, and, staring right back at me with eyes that glinted evilly was something so identical to myself- with its firm claw clamped around my mouth.

Our eyes meet in the reflection, and I know one thing.

I'm fucked.

______________________________________________________________

When I open my eyes, I am met with darkness.

As my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, panic surges through me like a tidal wave crashing against the shore.

The room was pitch black, the air heavy with the suffocating scent of fear.

As I try to move, to break free from the restraints that bound me to the chair, my efforts proved futile.

My heart pounded in his chest as I struggled against the tight bonds, my mind racing with a thousand questions and a million fears.

I struggle about, trying to free my wrists from what I think could be rope, but wince as it starts to run vigorously hard against my skin.

As I screw my eyes shut from the painful burn against my wrist, I can feel my memories slowly coming back.

It's my doppelganger.

He wants to kill her.

He's going to kill her.

______________________________________________________________

y/n's pov

It was like a lucid dream.

I was aware of my surroundings, but I couldn't move.

I was in a blank room.

I was trapped, nowhere to go.

And the doppelganger was there, his long cloak billowing out from behind him.

As he approached with a large, glistening knife, she could do nothing but wait.

And hope.

That he wouldn't kill her.

______________________________________________________________

matt's pov

I fled into the cold night air, running as fast as I could, not daring to look back.

I escaped.

And it was easy.

But it wasn't over, yet.

I knew the way to y/n's apartment like the back of my hand.

Through the pounding rain and the enveloping darkness, I ran with all my strength, my heart hammering in my chest with each stride.

The urgency of my mission propelled me forward, my footsteps echoing in the eerily empty streets as I navigated through the labyrinth of shadows.

Every second felt like an eternity as I raced against time, I couldn't live knowing I was too slow to save her.

Her safety was all that mattered, I can't live without her.

With each step, the rain soaked through my clothes, plastering my hair to my forehead and chilling me to the bone.

But I paid no heed to the discomfort, my focus solely fixed on reaching her before it was too late.

As I turned the corner onto her street, my pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

The familiar landmarks blur in my peripheral vision as I zeroed in on her apartment building, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

With a final burst of energy, I sprinted up the stairs to her door, my hand shaking as I reached for the handle.

With a swift motion, I push open the door, and as I hear my own voice on the other side, my eyes widen in fear.

"Not this chapter then, y/n."

taglist: @lexisecretaccx @itssophiasstuff @junnniiieee07

comment to be added to the taglist a/n: the scream quotes are hard to miss y'all

[grox]

I am curious as to how many people hate or at least dont give a shit aboutttt dogs cats puppies kittens bunnys whatever but pretend to cause its expected of them like sometimes I'll get a non-fish or bug or bird or horse or big cat animal video in my insta reels about an ugly ass dog or a cat drooling or a baby rabbit and check the comments and its full of people saying how cute it is and how much they love it and I just can't understand cause its insta reel comments and none of you are being racist or at least disingenuously pretending to want to abuse them in an exaggerated way but no nothing like one of y'all has to be lying. Please be lying. I don't understand. Well I hate animals and I don't say anything. Because I know better cause its insta comments and if I were to say anything it would come across as trying to get a rise out of people well I always speak my truth. So I don't say anything cause I know its rude but daaaaaaaaaaamn some of you pet shelters have GOT to give it up. And if you hate animals you have to pretend to love them irl or be entertained by videos and pictures of them like nobody tells you that sometimes someone will show you a random ass video of a pet that isnt even theirs- they have no reason to give a shit about it, neither do you, and theyll like smile and you'll just look at it straight faced cause you want to scowl or at least recoil but that's rude. And its a bad thing that you just don't care. And this is where I know I really got autism or at least a wrong or inverted way of thinking down to the brainstem cause every time I start reflecting on it I really do feel completely alien or like a horror movie psycho or an INTJ who owns an airfryer or that I'm an edgy tween but I'm really not they just don't do anything for me and I think they're gross and I don't attatch any extra value to their lives. And there are animals I do like so I don't know why the fuck I'm like this. Maybe I was sent to balance out the animal lovers who only like domestics.. Fuzzy mammals well I also don't give a shit about a lot of wild animals and farm animals like I'm not in love with them but they do hold my respect especially big ones. Less so the small ones I hate rodents. Some shit like an armadillo... Yeah. But I wouldnt watch a video of an armadillo for my entertainment. I'll watch a leopard video should it come by. I'll watch a dolphin or porpoise video.. Owl video. Snake video. Am I so wrong? Maybe I was sent to be someone who sucks

[bigolbrownsadeyes]

Ya know what I find interesting, (sorry, this is a long one.)

Let me start off with this: It's biphobic to assume or portray that bisexual characters sleep around more than gay or straight characters because they got "double the playing field." That they can just do whomever they want, therefore they are promiscuous, high libido, sexually driven, and are "sl*ts." (which some of you who aren't women love to throw that last word around so, check yourself.) That's something that should not be intrinsic to queer characters, the idea that they sleep around constantly.

However, within context of Buck's story, and what Oliver said he wants,

Buck has been in multiple major relationships since Buck 1.0 where he's taken it so seriously it's backfired. He has asked multiple people to move in. He rushes, and he rushes fast. The idea that Buck, as a character, having *fun* and having sex, responsible, and consensual sex, makes sense for someone who's 32 years old who has had nasty break ups and has Buck's specific history. Buck's character also has been taking it *too* seriously, at the point of rushing, and rushing. and rushing. I think we're connecting what Tommy said to Buck about how Buck still has a lot to learn and uncover, that Buck has to experience his discovery, with Oliver's statements about him wanting levity within Buck's love life to be non-committal and just have fun with people, which *is okay to do as a bisexual person.* This isn't a Buck 1.0 Reversal. (though trusting a tv show to do this in a positive light is a hard ask. its a tv show after all.)

I read this, and as a bisexual 31 year old man who also struggled with identity and rushing in my own relationships, (I know, wild that my personal life feels 1 to 1, which is why I kinda relate to Buck.) What Oliver said isn't wildly biphobic to me. It doesn't feel biphobic. I and my own friends often have had very non-serious, non-committal sexual relationships in the span of the many years as a queer man. It's some of our lives. What would be nice is not to be villainized by it. I felt like what I read was wishing for a character to not take relationships as seriously as he has been because he's constantly getting into painful break ups. Something that he is doing isn't working out for him. Remember that Oliver also mentioned he wanted Buck in more queer spaces too! He wants his character to also just experience being a bisexual character. I will though agree, Oliver was a jokey about it, and that can feel hurtful and painful. Having that level of levity feels bad when you have a queer relationship break up and also include the fact we're talking about coping mechanisms and discovery vs wanting the character to have sex. It feels hurtful for someone who is straight to be stating these things about bisexual representation. And if you feel hurt, it's valid.

I also think we can look at this as a slip up of someone who has corrected people before and defended comment sections about bisexuality/queerness and has spoken against harmful rhetoric. Disappointment is fine, some of y'all are *wishing* for a show to end or to suffer ratings when it has wlw representation and poc main characters who are vital to the show as much as your notion that the male cis gay couple is. What the fuck is up with that energy? It's insane how quick some of you have drawn daggers at Oliver already for something this quick when he'll probably learn from this, and how much y'all are putting on Lou as if he's not a grown man who I see some of you babying him as if he was betrayed.

[gcantread]

August 2024 reads

[loved liked ok nope dnf bookclub*]

My Lady Jane • The Wild Robot • Our Hideous Progeny • The Hero and the Crown • The Screwtape Letters • The Seventh Veil of Salome • Our Shouts Echo • Villette • The Lies of Alma Blackwell • The Mercy of Gods • Mistress of Lies • Lady Macbeth • Go to Hell • Lucy Undying

I read 14 books in August! (Well, ok, I'm on track to finish the last two today.) It was a busy reading month for me due to tons of ARCs and new releases (8/14 of this list!), which resulted in an "all my library holds are ready at once ougsfshfh" situation. I also once again checked out a few books in order to see if they're worth reading in future years of @bellasbookclub.

My Lady Jane ★★★☆☆ - A very silly time that often reads more like upper-middle-grade than YA. A skip for TV show fans, but the tween furry community should be overjoyed.

The Wild Robot ★★★★★ - An adorable (and yet surprisingly death-y) kids' book that (🤞) should make a fantastic movie. The illustrations alone bump this one up a few stars.

Our Hideous Progeny ★★★★☆ - The last (?) of my BBC Summer Reading Challenge 2024 picks! Has a slow start but man, if you give me an undead abomination plesiosaur who is also a cute little guy, I am seated. Could have been a five star read if it were just a lil gayer and more Creature-forward!

The Hero and the Crown ★★★☆☆ - Read this one to screen it for @bellasbookclub, so I shan't say any details (yet.)

The Screwtape Letters ★★★☆☆ - Another BBC screening but nope nah I'm not gonna make us read The Christianity Book. Did not make me repent of my godless Jezebel ways even a little bit, but gets three stars because it's nevertheless a fascinating glimpse of C.S. Lewis as a person. Next time I'll stick to The Good Place though.

The Seventh Veil of Salome ★★★★1/2 - Speaking of godless Jezebels: Silvia Moreno-Garcia and I have the same biblical blorbo!! I haven't loved any of Moreno-Garcia's work since Mexican Gothic, but finally, this one was another slam dunk for me! As a Salome (1893) enjoyer and understander I'm so glad SMG is one of us. The main (Hollywood Golden Age) parts were also deftly rendered—this was the first truly well-executed Karen Villain I've encountered.

Our Shouts Echo ★★★★☆ - A really sweet and enjoyable contemporary YA coming-of-age + romance that somehow pulled off its nuanced optimism without being preachy or precious. Dare I say...actual hopepunk? An ARC from ALA Annual.

Villette ★★★☆☆ - Another book club screening. [Helga voice] I hated this book but I loved this book but I hated this book but I loved this book. Dammit, it's just so memeable. See you in hell 2025 probably

The Lies of Alma Blackwell ★★★1/2☆ - A decent YA ghost story with immaculate creepy, witchy, & haunted house vibes and some fun tropey romance (sure, why not?) Another ARC.

The Mercy of Gods ★★★★☆ - Ensemble-driven alien invasion story in which a team of wet babygirl science geeks must prove their worth to their new Giant Fucked Up Bug overlords and also one of them is a parasitic hivemind but we don't know which. Unsinkable concept but the writing makes it even better. One for the grown up Animorphs kids (Yes I know I rated it less than Wild Robot, but Wild Robot is a 5-star quality kids' book, while Mercy of Gods is an imperfect but riveting adult novel that I connected with on a more personal level.)

Mistress of Lies ★★★☆☆ - 2nd-to-last in my self-imposed (Review-) Bombed Books Week Challenge. A generous rounding up to three stars because I like the concept and it had a strong start before...plateauing for 200 pages. (Where were the titular LIES?) Very little actually happened and yet my laconic review is somehow "do less."

Lady Macbeth ★★★★☆ - More of an original story with some names in common than a retelling (Macbeth fans be forewarned. Y'all remember the dragon? You know, the dragon that's in Macbeth?) I tired of how repetitive the assault-as-motif became, but there were some very cool plot choices and Ava Reid's prose is gorgeous as ever. Kind of Green Knight vibes!

Go to Hell ★★★1/2☆ - Another ARC, this one a nonfiction travel guide to IRL destinations that are either associated with Hell/underworld mythology or just hellish places in general. Taught me a lot more folklore and history than your average travel guide!

Lucy Undying ★☆☆☆☆ - Hilarious of me to read two retellings in a row. Unlike Macbeth, I feel deep personal affection for Dracula, which meant this book wold have made me silver_linings_playbook.gif it out the window if I hadn't been reading on my phone. If I had never read Dracula, I miiiight have liked this? (jk I finished it and can now definitively say I would not have.) The prose was decent and I liked Lucy's modern-day love interest, Iris, but this author clearly graduated from the "lesbians must hate and deride all men all the time and be proven right in this view when every single man tries to harm them" school of writing sapphic characters, and since the book was basically encouraging me to paranoid-read, it set off both my "clumsy writing" and "...is this a t3rf?" alarms. tl;dr Mina and Jonathan and Van Helsing and Seward and Arthur and Quincey and Berserker the wolf and even Mr. Swales (slandering Mr. Swales?? Is nothing sacred??) deserved SO much better. Now I'll have to reread Dracula to cleanse myself

DNFs: None! Although Lucy Undying certainly tried my patience.

August superlatives

Next up:

September is another new release-filled month! I'm on track to finish my Bombed Books Week Challenge with The Empire Wars by Akana Phenix and then the unreleased Crown of Starlight itself, so I can satisfy my intellectual curiosity of how it compares to the books its author tried to sabotage. (Which attempted sabotage was an abhorrent action I 100% condemn. Toss aside those large rocks, I've been supporting the targeted authors at my local bookstore and library.)

In less dramatic goals, I've got an ARC of Ruin Road by Lamar Giles I'm eager to check out, and I can't wait for Long Live Evil to be ready at the library. We've also got our first official Bella's Book Club read of Season 3, which should be fun (hint: it's an Austen!)

previous months:

july

[thefringespod]

Howdy wanderers! It is once again the most audiodrama of Sundays which means its time for my #AudioDramaSunday round up!

Starting off with the season premiere of @innbetween I'm already in love with these Lowlifes and cannot wait to see what schemes they get up to

Tore through season 2 of @thenightpost and am currently halfway through season 3. This show never goes where I expect it to and I'm still not recovered from the season 2 finale it was WILD (affectionate). I cant wait to finish up season 3 and scream <3

First new Technomancy Project episode of the year was this week and GODS it was incredible. You know a battle is well crafted when the emotional weight makes you forget a character is immortal

This isn't an audiodrama but I have to shout out the naming of the year on My Brother, My Brother, and Me because I laughed til I cried. Happy Twenty Fungalore: He heard your wish

Back to audiodramas! New @somewhereohio was stellar as always

I was texting @totcoc0a as Nadia Did ThingsTM because I was NOT ready for that. It was a great episode and I can't wait to see what dipshit teen shenanigans get undercut by the HorrorsTM next

These past 2 weeks of @woebegonepod episodes are some of my favorites in the whole show. My beloved Outlaw Ty returned this week and then David Ault proceeded to make me cry over this British cowboy. If yall aren't listening to woe.begone you gotta start its phenomenal

There was a late Christmas-y treat from @amongthestackspodcast this week! They got some INCREDIBLE voice actors from around the audiodrama world to do a reading of A Christmas Carol and it was marvelous. There are some familiar faces from the Fringes in there as well <3

Episode 1 of @souloperatorpod releases to the public TOMORROW!!! I've listened to episode 1 and y'all. It's so fucking good you're going to be blown away. Tot's writing and voice acting are just phenomenal (Tot GET LOVED IDIOT) and the set up for the show is so good

Here on the Fringes we're about to reach the halfway point of the show!! Supporters got access to this week's episode last night; if you want to join them, check out patreon.com/PineTreePods

And over on @forgedbondspod we have put out our official cast announcement!!!! I'm so excited about this of these wonderful people who are involved and can't wait for you to hear what they're working on

That's all for this week!! There are some exciting things coming this year and I can't wait to continue working on them and sharing them with yall <3

[ciginatree]

Olive Bough

Grim reaper/death!Chris Motionless x unnamed, gender neutral character

Content Warnings: language, abuse, domestic violence, death, angst, alcoholism

Word Count: 2.4k

Author's Note: PLEASE READ THIS: I really debated writing this story at all, let alone posting it. It's based heavily on a poem I wrote in college, which is one of my favorite pieces of media I've written. The way death (Chris) is portrayed in this is also heavily inspired by The Book Thief. This is a lot darker than any other fic I've written so far, but I really felt like I should write it. I don't even feel like I did the idea justice, but who knows. Y'all are seeing a piece of my soul with this one. <3

This story is a complete work of fiction portraying the likeness of a real person or persons in a fictional situation.

The day had an air of finality to it. The kind of day where you can’t really picture another one coming, but you can’t place why. A solemnity, I suppose. I had just clocked off from work, waiting for the bus. The sun was low in the sky, melting off the mountain line and onto my skin so it could rest. My eyes felt hollow, the skin protecting them was thin and weak much like my bones. A sharp hiss of air alerted me to the bus I hadn’t seen coming. I waited for the doors to screech open before climbing the stairs, fishing my bus pass out of my pocket as I did so. I trudge to the middle of the bus, sliding into the musty seat and leaning my head back with a heavy sigh. I look to my left and see a girl with a backpack at her feet, earbuds wedged in her ears, bobbing her head to an unknown melody. A college student. I should have a backpack at my feet, I should be running myself into the ground with theses and slideshows. I check my phone, opening my banking app to check the balance. My heart aches. Soon. I turn my head to the dusty window, everything blurring past like a zoetrope. 

Eventually, it slows and the familiar greenery of the downtown park comes into view. I stand, bracing myself on the chair in front of me as the bus jolts to a stop. I trod down the steps and onto the sidewalk, the sun barely draping over the rocky cliffs. I proceed down the crumbling path back to home. The evening breeze tangles itself in the overgrown bushes and I plug the hole in my jacket pocket with my fist before it can dance its way in. The trailer park peeks around the corner and I enter through the fence, trudging along the gravel until I travel the rotting steps of the stained white trailer home. The paint is flaking and the stair railing is armed with exposed nails. I shove my key in the lock, opening the door with a sighing creak before clicking it closed behind me. I kick my shoes off next to the mud caked boots by the door. He’s home. I take three steps before the violent sound of a door being thrown into a wall halts me. A quick current of adrenaline stabs through me and my heart is pitched into a panic, but I don’t move. Heavy footsteps thunder around the corner as a sweaty, precarious figure stumbles into the main room. 

His pace quickens and I take a short step back before being thrown into the wall next to the door. I ricochet off the surface, but a calloused forearm pins me back to it by my chest. He leans in and the smell of pungent rot and body odor permeates around him, invading my nose. As he snarls out his words, his beer belly pushes into my abdomen. 

“Where’s my fucking money?” His eyes are bloodshot, watery, and wild. I turn my head so my cheek is pressed against the wall and my eyes turn down, staring at the musty carpet. 

“I don’t know,” I mumble. A curled fist strikes a myriad of colors into the side of my head and I yelp.

“Speak the fuck up.”

“Dad, I don’t know!” The last syllable of my reply trembles as I’m shoved harder into the wall and the wall trembles with me. 

“There’s five dollars missing from that jar over there on the counter. Do you wanna tell me where it went or do you wanna keep getting smacked around like a pussy?” 

I choke on a sob. “I didn’t have enough cash for lunch I was gonna pay you back with my tips the second I got home I swear, you always-!” My rambling is cut off by a blow to my stomach and I gasp for air. His hand crushes my wrist between us and I cry out as he blows more of his intoxicated breath between his fat, stubbled lips.

“I’m fucking tired of you takin’ my shit.Takin’ my money, takin’ my space. I’ve fucking had it!” He bellows, accentuating his last sentence by hurling me around his body and back into the trailer. I stumble, feet scraping the floor and my heart plummets as I fall. I register what’s about to happen right as my head smacks the iron rim of the coffee table, then follows my body to the floor with a wet thump. 

I feel numb. Crimson tattoos my vision and I take a rattling breath. Dark gray static overtakes the blood pooling beneath my eye and narrows until all I can see is the coffee table leg in the foreground of a shit brown couch. I hear a deafening nothing in my ears as the static overtakes all of me. 

* * *

I feel cold, rigid. Like waking up on the hard floor of a tent after a chilly night of camping. I’m on my side, and it’s dark. Well, it’s more of an emptiness; like being surrounded by thick clearness. A fog, I suppose, and it has stained my vision.  My head is dazed and I start to tremble. I expect to feel my heart rate increase, but there’s nothing there. No warmth, no beating. I try to take a breath, but my lungs have vanished. My airway is empty; filled to the brim with a lead-like weight, I am permanently holding my breath. I can’t move, save for my eyes and I flick them around desperately to find anything to anchor myself to.

And there. In the distance. There’s a glow, a shadow surrounded by a fuzzy, warm yellow tinted light. It’s out of focus, but growing bigger, getting closer. A man. He comes into focus and everything about him counters the aura he portrays. His hair is long and black, matching the shade of his lipstick and color on his eyes. He has piercings decorating his lips and tattoos painting every inch of his skin. He crouches down beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder, and I can see his eyes now. They’re kind. A soft mossy brown that seems to luminate in the darkness shrouding me. 

“Shh, it’s ok now. I’ve got you,” he whispers as his hand trails along my arm. His touch leaves a soothing warmth that spreads throughout me. It drips into me and I close my eyes. It fills the emptiness where my heart and bones should have been, supporting me. I feel him gather me in his arms, lifting me into a sitting position. In his embrace, the fog starts to dissipate leaving only the glow of his candle like warmth. I open my eyes and look up at him.

“Are you Satan?” 

He chuckles. “No, I’m not Satan.”

I take in his appearance with an even more bewildered expression. “Are you God?”

“No, no, I’m not God either.”

“So, who…?”

He takes a breath, sitting down in a cross legged position in front of me. “Think of me like an olive bough. Your olive bough, a sign that there’s hope after your previous life.” 

Fear spreads suddenly throughout me. “So I’m dead?” 

The man gives a sympathetic nod that makes my chest heave. I suppose I had known, but the confirmation sealed my suspicions. I knot my fingers in my hair, shaking. “No, no, no I was so close. I was so close. I-” I sob as a tear blooms in my eye, sliding down my cheek like rain. Through my tears the man seems to flicker like an aurora. He watches me with sad eyes before reaching out to brush away the tears with a feather light touch.  

“I know,” is all he says. It’s simple, just two words. And yet, there is so much unsaid that eases my mind. I sniff wetly and exhale through my mouth. He brings me back into his embrace, holding me to him. The black sweater that adorns his body is comfortable against my cheek and I cling to it, inhaling staccato breaths followed by long exhales. Somehow, I feel at peace here with this strange man, my Olive Bough. I cling to him like a leaf clinging to a branch in a storm, afraid that if I let go the fog will come back to consume me. 

“Is there any way you can send me back?” I sob. 

“Would you want to go back?” I think back to the musty trailer housing my drunken father. To dreading the walk home from work everyday, trembling in my bed as I hear my father stumbling around, and to never quite having enough money to sustain myself. 

I shake my head against his chest, crumpling in defeat. He tightens his grip around me, his cheek pressing against the top of my head. More of his warmth seeps through the crown of my head and into my mind creating a pleasant fuzzy sensation. The tears that haven’t already been absorbed into his sweater start to dry. I hiccup softly and bring a hand to dab at my puffy eyes and he pulls away slightly to look at me.

“Why don’t you tell me a happy memory you have?” He suggests as he tucks away a wet, stray piece of hair stuck to my cheek. 

“I don’t really have that many,” I sniff.

“There’s got to be something. It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate, just something simple that makes you happy.” I look down at his tattooed hands, thinking hard. I sniff and chuckle under my breath before answering.

“One time when I was a kid, before everything went to shit, we visited the Oregon coast. I couldn’t have been older than six, so I only remember bits of it. We rented a trailer and stayed right on the beach. I mean, it wasn’t much of a tourist type beach. There wasn’t any sand, just rocks, and it was really cold. But it was nice. It was really quiet and I was able to run right up to the shoreline to chase the seagulls and throw rocks into the waves,” I smile and laugh at the memory, another tear slipping down my face. He laughs softly, offering his kind smile as he listens. “We went and saw the cliffs too. It was really green and there were some jellyfish that washed up on the rocks. I’d never seen a jellyfish before then, it was really cool.” My words settle and we sit in momentary silence before I ask the dreadful question.

  “So, do I get to go to heaven?” I’m scared of the answer, gripping the hem of my shirt without looking at him. He takes a breath and pulls away a little more, holding me at arms length. 

“I’m sorry, but… it doesn’t really work like that.” I look at him warily, my eyes filling with dread and he hurries to explain. “It’s not the kind of heaven you’re thinking of is what I mean. It’s not really a place. It’s more of… a feeling.”

“I don’t understand,” I shake my head, trying to comprehend what he means. The man thinks for a moment before answering.

“You know when you’re watching a sunrise and that first warm beam of light hits your face? Or when you finally drift off to sleep after crying for hours? It feels like that.”

I think of those moments, trying to imagine it. “Does it feel like you holding me like you were?”

He chuckles, rubbing my arm. “Yeah, I suppose it could feel like that too,” he says softly. 

“I don’t really have any family or friends, who will I see there?” His expression turns solemn and compassionate again.

“You won’t see anyone. You won’t see anything really. Essentially, you melt into a feeling.” My eyebrows furrow and my chest flutters with anxiety.

“Well, will I ever see you again? No one’s ever been this gentle with me,” my eyes start to waver and I blink quickly to dissipate the tears. “I don’t want to be alone again, I really like being here with you. It feels so nice, I’ve never felt that before I-” he shushes me gently, taking both of my hands in his.

“I’ve always been with you and I’ll always be with you. I’m the only thing that’s ever been certain in your life, the only thing you could ever hope for that will, without a doubt, come true. I’ve been there all those times your father has wandered home drunk and every time you’ve held a blade right on the verge of giving up. I’ve been there, waiting to catch you. Every time. I’ve been waiting to hold you like this and let you know that everything is ok. That I’ve got you.” He smooths his thumb in circles over the back of my hand, gazing at me with more empathy and kindness than I could muster in a lifetime. “It’s going to be ok, I promise,” he whispers, barely audible. I nod, blowing out a breath.

“Do you have a name?” I ask. I want to have a name I can think of that will conjure up his image in my mind. A tangible word to pin his being to.

“Not exactly.”

“Can I give you one?”

“You might get too attached to me if you give me a name.”

“I already am, besides you said you’d always be with me.” His mouth twitches up.

“Then if you’d really like to, go ahead.” I think for a bit, analyzing him.

“You look like a Chris.” His smile widens and he lets out a breathy laugh. 

“Chris it is then. I like it,” he says, squeezing my hands and falling silent for a moment. “Are you ready?” he asks gingerly. I shake my head, holding tighter to his hands. “I know.” He pulls me back into his embrace. I cling to him again as I bury my face into his neck and try to memorize the feel of him holding me. 

“I don’t wanna leave,” my voice shakes. Chris keeps one arm tight around my back, trailing the other up to tenderly pet my hair. 

“Don’t think of it as leaving, think of it as moving forward. Things will only get better, I promise,” he whispers into my ear. His affection seems to surround me, drawing me impossibly closer to him. The sunset of his aura absorbs my senses and everything else starts to fade away. I don’t feel my limbs anymore, there’s no stiffness, no pain. I can’t see the fog anymore, only warmth. With no heartbeat to keep track of time, I sit in the feeling and drift away.

Tags: @abiomens @rumoured-whispers

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Anyway, it's time for an Athelstan fic rec list:

So Deep the Water by themus This one has got to be up there with my favourite Vikings fics I've read so far. I don't want to spoil it too much (though I know I've mentioned it elsewhere on my blog in a bit more detail) but it centers around Athelstan, Gyda, and Bjorn and it is INTENSE. Talk about everything that could go wrong, going wrong. As I understand it it's also the first part in an unfinished series, so fingers crossed for a part 2 one day!!

Under Cover of Night by Librarina Modern AU time!!! It's funny, its In Character As Fuck, it's sweet, it's sexy, if you're looking for an Athelstan/Ragnar/Lagertha university AU you're in for a treat.

Viking Death Trip by Guede Ok LISTEN this one is, as the tags say, crack treated seriously. Semi-canon-compliant-world-AU. I don't want to give it away too much. it's SO WELL WRITTEN though. And a little bit insane. Yeah. It's a fun one.

Where It's Wild by MoreProfoundSwan Another WIP, and this one really blew me away with how intensely researched it was. The author clearly Knows what they're talking about and it's so so engaging to read.

a season for all things by with_the_monsters This one is unfinished and hasn't been updated since 2013 DX but it's so worth it. Basically my inspiration for that modern skiing AU I'm totally not working on. It's what it sounds like -- Athelstan tries to teach the Lothbrok kids how to ski, and gets absorbed into their slightly unhinged family dynamic. It's adorable.

Dragged into the Undertow by @eriexplosion A VERY angst filled account of Athelstan's journey from England to the north, that I was captivated by at every turn. It made my brain rotate violently inside my skull.

Just One Thing the Martyr Wants to Say by @eriexplosion Gah yes it's you again. More angst (this time with a smidge more of hurt/comfort?), nightmares, Fun Stuff. I go back to this one time and again to sate my need to make Athelstan suffer.

Storm-tossed by @angesradieux I had to include this one because it was one of the first Vikings fics I ever read!! ! More angst and h/c, of course. All their work is fantastic, PLEASE check them out.

And of course I gotta shout out Heorte til Heorte by @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics and See You Tomorrow by @starrose17, both recent multichapters that rewired my brain chemistry. Former is Athelstan/OC, latter is Athelnar.

Enjoy y'all! I've read plenty of great Athelstan fic out there and I'm sure there's more I haven't read yet, so feel free to add if you like!

[whatsnewalycat]

Hi and congratulations!! I don't think we've ever crossed paths, but your campfire milestone celebration is a delightful idea I couldn't resist!!

(I took a peek at your masterlist, and it looks like I've got some Frankie and Dieter goodies to read!!)

Okay, I grew up in a haunted house, and so was the first house I bought with my honey, and I was thinking I would tell you a story about one of those houses... but I've decided to tell you about the time my great gra-méré saved me from drowning (on my mother's side), even though she was long dead at the time.

I was no more than 4 at the time, so this is a family story and not remembered by me. I should also let y'all know, it was the 1970s, so when you are like why wasn't someone right on top of a 4 year old near a body of water, or in a personal floation device, or allowed to talk to strangers... That's why. The 1970s , practically the Wild West...

Anyway, my family used to go swimming at Lerner's Pond, it's a sandy pond with pines all around, and the pond had a large dock shaped like an H.

I was in the shallows as a pre swimmer, and my dad was playing with my older siblings, and my mom was on the blanket talking with my grandmother (on my father's side), but she was counting her babies as she chatted, she saw Dad with my brother and two sisters swimming and playing and I was not far from my dad playing in the sand and chatting with a couple of grown ups who were sitting by the waters edge.

She looked away, chatted a bit. Then, as my mother describes it, something like an arm came between my mother and grandmother, pointing, and her grandmother's voice said urgently, 'Hazel is over there!'

The force was so strong that my mother's head snapped way from my grandmother's to look where "the arm" was directing, and all she saw was two little arms waving languidly in the water. She got up like a shot, jumped over a blanket with a couple adults sitting on it and ran into the water grasped the two little arms and pulled me straight up. She said I was looking up at her from under the water completely calm.

And when I came out I was calm, because the world was a smaller place back then, and weird as hell my pediatrician was at the pond that day, and checked me over. He confirmed that there was no water in my lungs and seemed fine. The couple I had been talking to were mortified, as I had been just talking to them and I was only a few feet from them. Apparently, because I wasn't thrashing and splashing in a panic no one was the wiser thinking the languid waving was playing or otherwise went unnoticed. (It is since then that people have put out many a PSA of the ways drowning can look-and its not all panicked spashing, and more often not).

Well, when my mom told me the story, I asked her what I said about what happened and she said I was quiet the whole day, but she picked me up from a nap and I told her, 'she said to keep waving and you would come.'

My gra-méré lost one of her sons, Albert, to drowning.

💚

STOOOOOOP I’m crying and I have goosebumps 😭❤️❤️ I love that so fucking much. Gra-méré looking out for you from beyond the grave. That’s so sweet. Thank you so much for sharing ❤️

[transingthoseformers]

shitty summary of your blog: You go feral over fucked up animal facts, are down bad for tfp megsy and also your my best friend I adore you thank you for making my day better <3

First of all, honestly thanks thanks thanks thanks thanks

Second of all, yes I exactly blame the Paxil for why I simp for him, that shit flicked a switch

Last of all: you have prompted me to share more fucked up animal facts:

There is a dinosaur that was first described in 2011 that only has one claw on its short arms, Linhenykus. I just think y'all need to look at the fucked up little guy, every reconstruction I've seen of it has been adorable.

You might already know that axolotls can pretty much grow anything back, but I doubt you know about firefly axolotls: they're made when someone cuts the tails off of two axey larvae and swaps them, and somehow they take and that's just. Their tail now. IICR though this is generally considered unethical

Nothing stops you from grabbing a pigeon to have as a pet as they are feral animals not wild ones. You might get pecked however.

Did you know that the reason you see more two headed reptiles rather than other animals is because they're more likely to survive? I watched way too much "Weird True and Freaky" as a kid and there's an example in the intro

Look up what a worm ball is

Just look at the absolute pissing match in the paleontology community surrounding Spinosaurus at all times. 100% why it's my favorite dinosaur, it is consistently embroiled in debate. There's constantly a new paper coming out saying "oh but it isn't really aquatic" "but yes yes it is aquatic" bae it's semiaquatic, we found a fucking tail fluke.

Legit anything about Irritator challengeri. From how we found the skull that was all kinds of fucked up, to the newest paper about it possibly having a jaw like a pelican.

Honestly shit gets wild in the paleo community

Like, anyone else know about the Tyrannosaurus regina and Tyrannosaurus imperator paper? The one the majority of the community took one look at and said "yeah... No." oh honestly checking Wikipedia to fact check things I'm reminded of the Nanotyrannus debate. It's sad because Imperator is a fucking dope name.

Snakes don't actually unhinge their jaws! It's worse than that! You see, their lower jaws aren't joined like ours are, meaning they can basically open sideways and "walk" them in order to get the food down. Honestly just take a look at a snake skull and you'll figure out how secretly weird they are

There's a gene responsible for limb development, the sonic hedgehog gene, which if it's turned off the animal won't develop legs and will end up with just a long body— and we think that mutations fucking with that gene is how we got snakes.

... but while we know how snakes lost their legs, we still aren't entirely sure why. There's the "digging" camp and a "swimming" camp, and I'm gonna stay neutral until we get more evidence. What we do know iicr is that the first snakes were likely venomous!

There are snakes who are poisonous but not venomous, such as the Rhabdophis keelback snakes. They get it from toads, but are generally considered to be harmless. These fuckers are adorable, just look at them

Look at that face, so pretty.

[antiradqueer]

Imma do an ask because why the fuck not - I can't DM y'all anyhow (the folks on the blog)

TO SOME OF THE ANONS - YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. STOP BREAKING YOUR DNI AND THE BLOG'S DNI. WHAT THE FUCK.

The blog is clearly antiship when y'all are proshippers. Leave the blog alone.

(Excuse me for this, I'm just fucking pissed off again, to the admins)

this blog is anti proshitter yes, but like im not gonna go through an entire blog just to block you or soft block yee, its up to yall to watch yourselfs. honestly as long as youre not being a cunt or saying gross ass shit out in the wild or in our notes (like a recent user...) we probably wont do anything lol.

i understand the getting pissed, it kinda annoys me too but like. we have like near 200 followers and im not going to go through all the blogs in our notes... i dont have the patience or the time and again its up to you to keep yourself in check, dont be a dick n you wont stand out to us.

[gvtted-ratz]

BEFORE YOU READ:

- Read all tags/ratings if there are any. They are important and give you all you need to decide if you want to actually read. If you do not like the tags/rating, please do not read.

- We ask that anyone who is FEM aligning/identifying to not read our MLM fics. You can still send requests, however, we do not do FEM readers.

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Want to request? Find the rules: here!

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My Life’s So Pitiful

Mark Hoffman x Adam Stanheight

Last Edited: 26/08/2024

TW: angst, death, stalking, age-gap, drugging, cannibalism, foul language, breaking and entering, canon-typical violence, graphic decomposition description, older man/younger man, not Lawrence friendly, open ending

Requested: No.

Word Count: 5,706

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes: He Hoff on our Man until he’s up and Adam after he Saw our Mark. Title is from Sick Puppies’s song called Pitiful. We really do hope you enjoy it. It’s taken more than a week to work on it. We’ve been dealing with some awful body pains/sickness and mental issues currently. So we hope that all the time we’ve put into this was worth it.

@rppik (editor/co-writer): Haven't seen these movies, can't handle gore in the slightest, but y'all are wilding huh.

The hospital’s cream-coloured walls combined with its sterile scent was much better than that of the bathroom’s. The bathroom was washed in shades of blue, hurting his eyes; that ordeal did the colour blue no favours at all in his mind. No, not after that hell.

The keys to his cuff had been lost down that drain, fucking him over the moment he awoke in that mouldy tub. It hadn’t even been his game to win, it was Lawrence's. Adam had been set up for failure when he was taken, given no chance to survive or make it out at all— never the low-life's chance to prove he deserved to win. No, redemption was offered to the wealthy snob, instead.

Cherish your life, my ass, is what he’d thought to himself. How could he cherish his life when all he got from that shithole was a bad case of PTSD and other possible ailments to his already poor health? He could bet on his fucked-up toe that had probably caught something like sepsis from his wounds.

He couldn’t forget the bullet wound, either. He got flashes from the resulting surgery even while awake; small glimpses of people shouting alongside some sort of pain shooting into the hole in his shoulder, digging around for the piece of metal that had been lodged into his flesh.

There had been a man screaming the entire time, however, Adam can’t remember who he was or where he had been. He knew that the screaming only stopped when they had fully sedated him. He had been expecting pain to be shooting all along his body, however, it was muted, almost like it had faded away into nothingness. He’d even done a thorough check over on himself, despite feeling weak in his appendages, to make sure he wasn’t still tripping out in that bathroom. The gaping wound in his shoulder was wrapped well, and the grey tint to his skin looked like it had more life to it. The feeling of being safe didn’t arise, however, despite him being in the medical unit. Instead, the feeling of deep fatigue reared its ugly head again as the drip continued to enter his blood via IV, pulling Adam back under the spell of sleep.

------------------------------

“Mr. Faulkner-Stanheight needs rest, Detective. You must understand. His overall health been damaged tremendously. Until he wakes, you must wait outside the room,” It’s a voice Adam doesn’t recognize, possibly one of the nurses tending to him; he isn’t sure either way. However, he never liked cops. He’s had enough run-ins with them to know they won’t help him. So to know that they’re here, likely to ask him questions about that fucking bathroom, makes him want to close his eyes so he can go back to sleep.

“He looks awake to me,” a voice much deeper and smoother than the nurse’s retorts. Its tone reminds Adam of his mother’s know-it-all one back when he was still living with his family. Despite that, it’s much calmer than that of anyone he’s related to. Hell, the pitch itself is leveled in a way most people's voices aren't, except for maybe Lawrence's. Even then, it's too different to be a fair comparison to the doctor's tenor.

He doesn’t even try to hide that he’s now awake, instead opting to force his eyes open and turn his heavy-as-lead head towards whoever’s in his hospital room. The nurse, seeing this, decides to speak up with, “Mr. Stanheight, how are you feeling? Any pain?”

She keeps her distance, as though she doesn’t want to approach him. Her face is bland, unblemished, in a way that suggests he won’t remember her by next week; she's one of those people whose faces he wouldn't bother photographing because of how unremarkable her features are. Then again, she’s wearing a nondescript uniform, which isn't scoring her any points for individualism. Maybe if she wasn’t in her nurse garb and in civilian clothes, there could be some sort of personal preference for him to capture in her style; he’s always enjoyed the more personality-fuelled type of pictures than the giant corporate types.

God , he thinks, I feel like a creep. Wouldn’t that be close to the truth, huh?

“I feel like I’ve been shot, starved, and left to rot in a shithole bathroom,” he responds, throat feeling like it’s been torn to shreds. His lips feel like when mud dries out too fast, causing cracks along its dried surface. It’s painful; his voice, usually being strong and full of snark like he’s used to, is nearly hushed. He can feel tiny shards stabbing into his throat for so much as croaking out an answer.

The nurse grabs a small paper cup close to his bedside, filling it with water from a pitcher. He’s not sure how long it’s been there, although he’ll take anything other than the mouldy water from that hell. She holds it up to his lips, making him wrinkle his nose. His arm feels heavy as he grabs the cup from her, nearly spilling the water from how he fumbles. She retracts, allowing him to drink the water on his own. He hadn’t even tried using the bullet-wounded arm. He can feel the pressure from the bandage on his shoulder, having somewhat of a clear-enough mind to not move it.

He chugs the water, making his stomach cramp in pain from how fast he guzzled it. His face shows his regret in his decision, he just doesn’t voice it. He’s never been one to admit when he’s in the wrong. No, he’d rather call out those around him for something like that, showing the proof in pictures taken late at night. 

“Now that you’re awake and fully conscious, I’d like to ask you some questions,” the soft-spoken voice is back, still just as deeply calming as before. The nurse decides it’s time to leave them be for now, making her way out the door, so the two can have their privacy.

Adam looks over at the guy, glancing up and down before going back up to his face. The unnamed detective’s lips are full while being set in a line, his face giving nothing away; he’s completely composed with an air of calm around him. From his suit to his hair, Adam can’t see a single flaw in how he’s maintained his appearance. That is, except for his eyes. They’re cold, seeming to be more empty than alive; it’s like all the life was sucked out of them. With another glance over, Adam decides that, despite that prim, proper appearance, there’s bound to be something inherently off with the detective.

Maybe he has some dark secret that well-adjusted men like him wouldn’t want to be exposed. Something like wanting to be restrained, yet asking for said restraints to be tighter than usual, or craving shards of glass to be imbedded in his back during an adrenaline-fuelled rush. Better yet, he could like putting people down to fulfill some sort of power fantasy by being the only one allowed to make the calls. Of course, it’s all speculation, with there being no concrete proof the photographer has to show. A guy can’t help but dream so he can make ends meet; the blackmail really does help the ‘ scum of the Earth ’ out.

“First, did Lawrence get out? He got us help?” He tries to keep the hope out of his voice; he doesn’t succeed. He kept his promise, right?

“Unfortunately not, Mr. Faulkner-Stanheight–,” Adam cuts him off, not willing to listen to the entirety of his last name for however long the guy will be here for.

“Stanheight is fine. Or Adam. Just not my entire fuckin’ name. It’s a damn mouthful.”

  “Dr. Gordon was delirious with blood loss for the first two days of him being admitted to the hospital. There was no mention of your possible location. You were deemed missing for almost two weeks before being dumped close by in the very early hours of the morning.” He continues on, his soft-spoken tone sounding remorseful, but the dead look in his eyes doesn’t change, making it apparent it’s forced; Adam can’t help but admit that it does sound genuine. He can feel his hope dry up, becoming a pit in his stomach. “We had asked him multiple times, however, he claimed that you were deceased.” That’s the final blow to any hope or gratitude he may have help for the doctor.

“He promised he’d come back, except he fucking lied.” Pain mixed with disdain is so prominent in his voice that it cracks. He doesn’t cry, even though he can feel the water building up around his eyes.

It’s not the type of heart-break pain you feel when your crush rejects you. No, it’s that searing pain in your heart when you’ve been told the opossum you’ve not only been caring for, but also talking to, has just been brutally murdered; the sort of pain that reminds you that you made it out of hell but one of your only friends is fucking dead. That’s the pain he feels, having been told that the promise he was given, filling him with hope, was total bullshit. He, a nobody who thought that he could have some sort of friendship with a guy out of his league, was left to perish without a second thought.

“Your gunshot wound was infected, with the bullet still stuck inside your shoulder. You were delirious with hunger and dehydration. The water you were consuming to stay hydrated had rust mixed with mould in it, causing you more harm than good,” the detective lists, all the while Adam is starting to shake with anger and hurt. “The meat you had been taking bites of was starting to decompose due to aerobic bacteria. This means that Zep, the man you had been feasting on to survive, was becoming slime on the outside as time went on. His odour became worse as he discoloured, producing gas, while also decomposing rapidly. You only made yourself sicker.”

“So you’re saying everything I did to survive meant nothing?” Adam’s shaking, close to losing it completely. He feels like a failure, having this random detective tell him in remarkable detail all the ways in which it was a mistake to eat parts of Zep, paired with drinking that rancid water to make the bodily pains go away. He knew it was making him weaker either way, fuelling his delirious, delusional state. He could feel it all.

“Yes, but no. As you made yourself sicker, you hastened your would-be death through the poisoning. Your misguided efforts, and your will to survive, must have meant something to your captor as you were dropped before you could succumb to your ailments.” It’s stated softly, almost like the other man is impressed with how far Adam was willing to go just to live another day. From ingesting a decomposing corpse to willing swallowing down contaminated water, he must have made an impression on the unnamed cop.

“And what about Lawrence?” Despite his betrayal, he has to know.

“What about him, Mr. Stanheight?”

“How did he get out? I heard him scream from beyond that door. How did he leave?”

“Dr. Gordon was dropped off just like you were, only much earlier. He had a prosthetic already attached, with his wounds bandaged. He was released close to the time you were admitted.” His words only make Adam feel even shittier. Not about Lawrence, but about himself.

“Did he say anything about me besides me being dead? Did he even visit?” There’s silence from the man, only letting Adam know that Lawrence really had left him, never planning on going back.

“...He has covered your hospital costs and was released into the care of his family two days after you were brought in. He did not mention anything else about you or wanting to visit.” The tears that had been building up finally spill over, rolling down Adam’s cheeks. He can feel his face getting hot, with his nose getting stuffy as he cries. The detective simply stands there quietly, not saying anything for a moment to let Adam get it out of his system. He can feel the older man’s eyes never once straying away his face, making this all the more uncomfortable for the usually rage-fuelled man.

After a few minutes, Adam starts to wrangle his emotions back into place, allowing the other man to say, “If you’re applicable, I’d like to take your statement.” He takes a few steps closer, pulling out a pad and a pen to take his statement. He uses the end of the pen to push the semi-full box of tissues on the table’s side towards Adam, removing it when Adam takes a few tissues to blow his nose rather loudly.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Fuckin’ whatever,” he tries to get himself back into his usual headspace, not wanting to break down again despite knowing he will.

“I’d like you to start with what you were doing before you were taken from your apartment nearly two weeks ago,” he starts, only to stop when Adam gives him a disbelieving look. “What?”

“You’re not gonna tell me your name first? How do I know if you’re really a detective?” It comes off as petty, and maybe a little delayed, though Adam doesn’t plan on letting anyone start to ask him questions on anything without introducing themselves first. He learned his lesson last time with the man who hired him to take photos of Law- Dr. Gordon .

“I am Detective Mark Hoffman. I’ve been assigned your case pertaining to the man known as ‘Jigsaw’ or ‘The Jigsaw Killer.’” He pulls out his badge after balancing his pen on his pocket notepad. He doesn’t put it away until Adam nods, letting him know that he’s done looking at it.

“Alright then, Big Guy,” He doesn’t plan on using his name any time soon; it’s simply not how Adam works, unless he’s in a life-or-death situation again. “Can you repeat your question?” He’s expecting a sigh from the older man, but he doesn’t do anything more besides blink at him and repeat his words like Adam asked.

“What you were doing the night you were taken from your apartment nearly two weeks ago?”

“I was talking to Little Bastard-”

“Little Bastard?” Hoffman actually seems a little amused at the name while fishing for information.

“He’s this opossum that used to come into my apartment sometimes. I’d let him hang around and chat with him. I bought a dog bowl to put some scraps I got from take out in for him,” there’s fondness in his tone of voice as he talks about one of the few friends he had. He’d include Scott, except for the fact that he’s more of an asshole he can go get free booze from than an actual buddy.

“Alright, continue then,” he writes down something Adam can’t see. He wouldn’t put it past the cop to say he’s a delusional loner.

“As I was saying- I was talking to Little Bastard and put him down by his food bowl before I went to my darkroom to develop some photos for this guy-”

“What were they about and for, Mr. Stanheight?” He’s interrupted again, feeling some of his buried anger starting to surface again.

“Does it really fuckin’ matter?”

“In fact, it does. I need everything you can remember so we can narrow down possibilities on why you were targeted,” Hoffman says this as smooth as humanly possible. Maybe in his previous life he was a tapioca pearl with how smooth his voice is; only he died early because he was in some person’s tea or pudding.

“Fuckin’ fine . I was hired by a guy who said his name was ‘Bob,’ and he wanted me to take photos of Dr. Gordon. The pay was about two-hundred dollars for every batch of photos I brought in. I didn’t know the client was a detective, okay? Fuckin’ Gordon said that it was some ex-cop who thought he was Jigsaw,” Adam spits out the words, hating every second of it.

“So you were targeted because you spied on others for cash,” it’s a statement rather than a question. Adam sneers, letting his silence on the matter explain his answer. “Alright, Mr. Stanheight, you can continue with your earlier statement.”

“I went into the darkroom to develop those pictures, except I got tired, so I ended up sleeping in there. When I woke up after my nap, all the power was out. Like, nothing was turning on at all. Then I heard this noise, and it made me think someone broke into my fuckin’ place.” Adam moves his uninjured arm as he talks, waving it around, making gestures. “So I grabbed my camera and used the flash on it by taking pictures to see if I could find ‘em. There was this puppet in my living room, just sitting there laughing at me. I got my baseball bat to destroy the little fucker. It was annoying as shit with its laughing. And then I heard the bastard behind everything move around in my closet and I just,” he pauses, frowning as he starts to get angry again. “I opened the door thinking I could take ‘em, but I couldn’t. I ended up fuckin’ knocked out just to be put in that shithole.”

“Alright, thank you for your statement, Mr. Stanheight.” There’s no ‘ I’m sorry that happened to you ’ or ‘ You’re lucky you survived .’ It’s a simple dismissal with no pity. In a way, it’s nice, since there’s no one looking down on him. There also isn’t anyone trying so hard to get on his good side, befriending the traumatized man, just to brag about how they met a ‘ real-life true crime victim ’; it’s just a breath of cold fresh air.

“You don’t need my account of that hellhole?” Along with Hoffman’s voice being soft-spoken with its deep, smooth tone, Adam can’t help but admit that he’s also a small, maybe even a tiny bit, attractive. Plus, he hasn’t exactly looked down on him like Dr. Gordon did in the bathroom. The memory of how the doctor called him all those names, plus shooting him, makes a small stab of pain hit him.

“Dr. Gordon’s account matches with that of the evidence found on you both. Your stories on being taken from your locations also have enough similarities for us to rule out neither of you being suspects nor accomplices. Despite your hobbies , Mr. Stamheight, there is nothing else I’ll be needing from you. If you do happen to remember anything from your kidnapping, you may call.” He pulls out a card from his suit pocket before handing it out to Adam. There’s no hesitation from Adam when he grabs it. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Mr. Stanheight.”

With those words, Detective Hoffman puts away his pen and pad before departing from his room. Adam watches with a sort of disappointment weighing down on him. He knows he’ll be able to get information on him, though, something to satisfy that lingering curiosity in his mind. If he was able to get info on Dr. Gordon, then he could get it on Detective Mark Hoffman.

He knows something is off about the guy. He just can’t help but be unnerved by the detailed description of the bathroom he gave. He also finds it weird that Hoffman knows so many details on Zep’s corpse, despite neither Adam nor Lawrence being found near it or the bathroom. That in itself is bizarre, as was the detached way in which the detective described it. This gives Adam more questions than he’s comfortable leaving unanswered, a prickling feeling at the back of his neck makes him think that a part of that hell has breached his prison just to follow him outside its walls. He just has to wait until his physical wounds heal before he can start digging for answers.

------------------------------

His place is completely trashed from cops snooping around. Any food that he could have had before the abduction is spoiled, rotting all over his counter, including what’s left in his open fridge. Thankfully, he has some funds from the program that good doctor had set up for people like them .

Right. People like them . The thought makes him grimace even more while he starts to pack a few of his items. The funds provided are enough for another flat, some new food, and maybe even more clothes. He’s glad his film, together with his camera, weren’t messed with. It seems like they were hidden away in some hole in the wall, although by whom or for what reason he isn’t sure; the peeling wallpaper seemed to be enough to cover up the hole, so the cops didn’t find it.

With his camera, film, and shoddy blanket all packed up in a duffle bag, he casts a nervous glance around the downright shit-stain of a home. The fear of that masked pig lurking around is present even as he leaves. He made sure to call to book the open-house appointments for apartments while in the hospital, so when he got released, he’d just have to show up to the open-house tour when scheduled. He didn’t want to pack what he had just to wander around aimlessly after the discharge. No, that would mean that if he didn’t find one, he’d be sleeping back there where everything had happened. It really doesn’t help Adam’s psyche that his bathroom reminds him of the one he was left to rot in.

So when he finds a place that is on the cheaper side but more of an upgrade than his last place, he takes it. The rent is about the same; the difference is that the heating won't go out, nor is the wallpaper shredded and peeling. There’s no mould he can find or weird scents he can smell either. All in all, it's a better option than what he was expecting to come across.

The unpacking of items takes less time to do than make a cup of instant mashed potatoes; it really is pathetic in a way. Adam knows he's pathetic, though. As well as an asshole, since he doesn’t exactly project all rainbows and sunshine. Fuck that. It’s a waste of time , is what always comes to his mind the moment someone tells him to ‘ try to be nice ’.

The moment he touches his camera, he remembers the urge to find that detective again. The fear of being caught by Jigsaw thrums alongside his own heartbeat, but the need to actually gather something from the older man won't go away. He’d seen him up close in the medical unit, yes, but he doesn’t have anything other than his card to remember him by. Adam knows himself well enough to recognize that if he doesn’t get something else, he’ll tear his own hair out from the prickling buzz under his skin.

He places a call to someone to pick him up when it starts to get dark, since he doesn’t have a ride; he can also use them to drop him off close to the detective’s home if he does happen to come across him.

Grabbing his camera and the card Hoffman gave him, he starts to think of a plan on what to do when he gets down to the station. As he exits his new place, he thinks about how he won’t go inside; that’ll only give himself away. Instead, he’ll be camping it out, watching for when the other leaves, only to follow him back to his place of residence. If he's got one thing to be proud of in his work, it's the fact that he hasn't been caught by any of his targets yet.

Jigsaw doesn’t count. Fucker wasn’t my target , floats in his head, a lit cigarette in his mouth as he walks down the sidewalk. His camera hangs around his neck as smoke leaks out from his mouth.

He knows the town like the back of his hand; Adam knows the shittiest parts of it even better, having lived in more than half of them throughout the years. So when he sees the police department with its usual pigs crawling about, he finds a spot to hang out at that won't draw their attention. He sets up his little camping spot with himself, the camera, a lighter, and his box of cigarettes he plans on smoking through.

------------------------------

A box of cigarettes, a two-hour nap, and a few camera shots of people later, Adam watches Hoffman leave the station near dark. It’s almost too difficult to see now that the day has decided it’s had enough shit to deal with. Or, that’s how Adam sees it; either way, he makes due.

While he watches Hoffman approach his car, the younger of the two sees another car pull up. This one appears to have been put through the damn wringer, only to then be set on fire; moreover, it looks like hot garbage.

Inside the piece of shit vehicle is the driver. He doesn’t know their name. All he does know is that he met them at a bar one night, with them saying that if he ever needed a drop-off to give them a call. Despite smelling like a skunk while flying a kite as high as it can go, they were pretty down to earth.

“Adam, hey,” a dopey smile spreads across their face as Adam walks up. He piles in the passenger’s seat, brushing the rubbish off it and onto the floor.

“Think you can follow that pig’s car?” There’s a slow blink before their dopey smile gets a little bit wider.

“No problem, man. Good to see you again,” they reply, starting to follow the detective’s vehicle. “Where you been? Haven’t seen you in like… A month?” They don't seem certain with the time frame, but Adam waves his hand in dismissal.

“Yeah. Had some shit happen, but I’m good now.”

“Good enough to follow law people like a little creep,” they laugh a bit, one arm nudging Adam in good faith. Adam gives them a glance, knowing that they aren’t the type to have a mean bone in their body.

“Yeah, gotta make some fast cash is all,” he says, tapping his camera. They nod along, not thinking to question him at all. Yeah, he might not know them or their name, though he does think he could call them a semi-friend.

“Well, if you need a ride or a smoking buddy, you got my number. No pressure, dude.” Neither of them talk for the remaining duration of the ride. Adam never once lets his eyes leave Hoffman’s 2006 Ford Crown Victoria; Adam even forces himself to repeat his license plate, SOE-710, over in his head on replay. He huffs, figuring that of course a cop would get the latest model available. Anyone who made the big bucks would splurge it on new cars, making Adam think that Hoffman really isn't that much different from all the other snotty rich folk. 

As Hoffman’s car pulls up towards his apartment complex, the hunk-of-junk Adam’s pitched a ride in stops on the corner; while still close by, Adam doesn’t want Hoffman to think that he’s being followed. His driver did make sure to keep a little ways away the entire time, making Adam hope the detective was tired enough to not notice.

“Thanks, uh,” he pauses, remembering he doesn’t know their name. They laugh, leaning forwards as their entire body shakes from the sound coming from inside them.

“Dude, you really don’t have a clue? Man, that’s so fuckin’ funny!” They keep laughing, starting to gasp for air from how amusing they find the situation. Adam gives them a dirty look. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Just get out there, dude! Call me Dee or something.”

“Dee for driver? Really?” He looks completely unamused at their choice in name.

“Yeah! Or you can just call me Driver. Now get out there! I got a bar to visit. Friends need me, man,” They tell him, waving the man off and unlocking the car’s doors. The young man gives up, throwing his hands up in exasperation before leaving the vehicle.

“I’ll call you later, maybe,” he slams the door shut, now making his way towards Hoffman’s apartment complex. He hears Dee’s car take off, leaving him the only one outside. His heart pounds as adrenaline rushes through him. He doesn’t know which room belongs to the older man, nor sure how far into the building he’s gotten, yet.

Instead of immediately going to the complex, he hides around the corner to sit in waiting. He doesn’t want to enter the place with Hoffman still present. Adam turns on his camera, aiming it at the complex. The sound of the shutters clicking is the only sound he hears besides his own breathing; he can hear some distant dog barking a few blocks away. The area sounds like most residential places Adam’s been to, minus the ones he’s stayed at; those always had people yelling or screaming. Other times, they’re eerily silent.

It’s only about half an hour later that Hoffman exits the complex, heading for his parked car. When he had gone in, he had on his suit, tie, and dress shoes. Now, though, he’s dressed in a Defender Black Eider Lanfon Parka, a black shirt that still is too tight for the assets he possesses; dark cargos; and boots. Where the big guy is going, Adam isn’t sure.

The darkly dressed man enters his car, taking off into the night. With him now gone, Adam makes his way to the complex, entering through the doors. Not knowing where to start first, he makes his way past the front and towards the stairs, eyeing them before turning his gaze to the elevator. Unsure on which to take, he stands there, looking between the two; it’s not even that, the number of floors listed has just reminded him that he has no idea which one the man lives on.

“What are you doing?” A voice asks him. He turns around to see an elderly woman peeking out from her door.

“Yeah, uh. I’m lookin’ for my friend, Mark? He’s like, tall, looks like he could tear you a new asshole for so much as sneezing too loud,” Adam says, trying to plaster on a smile; it doesn’t appear to do much besides make him look constipated.

“The Detective? Yes, I know him. He never mentioned anyone coming over,” she doesn’t seem to be fooled by Adam’s smile nor words.

“Yeah, I’m dropping off some pictures he asked me to take. Dug around and found a few he said he wanted to keep, took a few he thought would look nice in the album,” he tries his best to not sound snarky or too mean to the old woman. She’s the only one who’s clearly nosy enough to answer him with how she stuck her head out the moment she noticed him.

“Oh, how nice of you, Dear! The Detective lives on the second floor, room 12. I hope he gets those pictures quickly. He always seems to be the lonely type,” with those last words, she closes the door.

“Huh. That was… Easy,” Adam mumbles, clicking on the ‘up’ button. The elevator opens after a few seconds, having needed the time to lower the cramped box it holds. The doors open, letting Adam inside. He crams himself into the corner of the lift, letting the possible death contraption rise, bringing him to the second floor. Once the doors open, he’s quick to exit, walking down the hall to find Apartment 12.

“Took long enough,” he mutters, standing outside the door, the number 12 sitting right next to it. Digging through his pockets, he finds the lock pick kit he bought after his hospital release. Hard to get into an apartment he owns when the key to it was taken as evidence, never to be given back. He had been lucky to even get his wallet, along with the donation money from some charity dedicated to Jigsaw victims.

The twenty-seven-year-old crouches down, sliding the tools into the lock. Never thought I’d be breaking into a dude’s home who’s sixteen years older than me, he thinks to himself, finally getting the door unlocked. He puts away his kit, heading inside the now open flat.

It’s dim and quiet, only his shuffling to be heard. There’s dust in a few places when he lets his eyes wander. Bookshelves with few books stationed alongside dirty knick-knacks don’t give Adam that homey-feel one would think; maybe it’s all the dust and lack of light.

Entering the kitchen, he heads towards the fridge, opening the door to snoop around. Pigs usually make more money than some gutter-rat like Adam, so he’s curious to see what’s there. Surprisingly, it’s nearly empty unless you discredit the large quantity of beer. Looking at the dustbin, he sees it overflowing with various amounts of take out containers.

“A drunk unable to cook. Who would have thought,” Adam snarks to himself. A creak is the only warning he gets before something large descends upon his shoulders, pulling him away from the fridge. He throws out his arms, trying to get whatever grabbed him off. He hears a grunt from the perpetrator when he smashes his heel into their foot. A stinging pain erupts from the side of his neck, making Adam cry out.

He’s able to slip out of his attacker’s grasp, reaching for a knife from its block. Adam feels his body starting to sag, just like how it was when he was taken by Jigsaw. Turning to look behind him, his body starts giving out. Crashing to the floor, the knife leaves his hand as his vision swims. In front of him is a large man, a pig mask covering his face, and an empty syringe clasped in his hand. His vision goes dark, ears tuning into the sigh he hears above him before it fades away into the buzzing sound of static.

[daandyli0n]

hey y'all! i have made a new ask blog! (@fazbearrestorationproject)

quite a bit has happened already, so here's a fun timeline for y'all to get an idea of what's happened so far, just in case anyone's curious about the plot before jumping in:

Oliver, at some point a few months prior to the beginning of the blog, decided that he wanted to try and restore the Freddy Fazbear Animatronics from the 90s, including the Puppet (Marionn) and Fredbear. although one animatronic, O'Hare (Springbonnie), is missing from the roster, Ollie decides to continue on with his goal of fixing the robots up.

they end up coming into contact with Henry (who Ollie refers to as "Mr. Emily"), who agrees to help out.

upon getting the animatronics back to his house, Oliver cleans the bots up, noting that they were all in rather bad shape, with Foxy's legs being entirely gone, as an example. it is also noted that something seems...different about Fredbear. compared to the others, he's MUCH less fucked up physically, although his jaw is still broken.

months after this, after getting the Main Band (Freddy, Bonnie, Chica) and Fredbear almost entirely repaired, Oliver decides to create the blog to not only share his work, but also to connect to those who either also have an interest in Old Freddy's/Fredbear lore or had been alive/had family that was alive while Fazbear Entertainment was in its prime.

Ollie shares a fun Easter Fun Fact on TDOV Easter, as well as sharing the fact that both him and Henry are transmasc.

they then post about the darker history of Fazbear Entertainment, mentioning that, at one point, the bodies of dead children had been hidden in the suits. upon being told that this was a WILD thing to bring up out of nowhere, Oliver then shares the knowledge he has about the MCI, trying to be as respectful as possible (while also complaining about True Crime coverage of the case). they end the post offering their condolences to the families of the MCI. (NOTE: this is based off of my own personal timeline for Fnaf. if it doesn't match up with what most would generally agree happened in the "canon" timeline, then that's why. Example: i personally headcanon the MCI happening in 1982, and the bodies being discovered in 1985.) Ollie also mentions in his post that he is aware of other instances of child death related to the restaurants, but for his own mental health and sanity, has not looked into them. (This Is Important To Note)

Oliver then posts pictures of The Main Band and Fredbear, who have been mostly fixed, unknowingly capturing something in the background. upon having the figure in the background pointed out, they check it out and respond in a pretty panicked manner. we are told that he checked around the workshop for anything that could have caused the figure to appear on camera after recovering from the initial shock.

the following night he ends up having a nightmare about being a child again and being abducted by O'Hare, but also notes that there was "a girl" who appeared in the dream, having familiar face paint. he then heads to the abandoned pizzeria with Henry to find Fredbear's microphone, where they are given the advice to ask Marionn about all of this. despite being a bit skeptical, Oliver agrees to do so later, before stating that he'll let the followers ask Henry some questions if they want.

Henry introduces himself :]

Henry, after a while, makes a concerning statement about noises he is hearing in the pizzeria. in his reblog of the original post, he makes another concerning statement, cryptically implying he knows what the source of the noise is.

Henry spends the night at Oliver's house due to weather, and chooses to help with more work on the animatronics. he is still accepting questions :]

and that's all for now!! if y'all want, you can send some asks :]

[werewolf-femboy-maid]

feb 19 2024

yo ok ok so

yeah the world is very evil, but I remembered today why im still here. yeah, food is a huge part of it, I live to eat.

I also live to talk to people. I fucking love talking to random strangers man it's so great. and old friends, that's fucking lit too. I helped this lady who was door dashing to somewhere in my campus and we was chatting about life and school and how fucking wild modern relationships are and how lucky I am to have a fluffy farmer that is nice to me.

I helped her to the office where the doordash was and I bumped into someone who helped me in previous semesters with money payment stuff and it was fun chatting to her and her coworker about school and I got an award AND THEN my bfs moms coworker was there too lmfoaooooo but yeah it was fun flexin my little folder project in the awards booklet :} it was good to catch up

and then i walked all the way to a za shop and back for gummi because I deserved it after such a horrible morning and I felt good after the walk and as I went to the bathroom to sit at my desk, I BUMPED INTO MY CHEMISTRY PROFESSOR THAT RECOMMENDED ME TO LOOK INTO OTHER MAJORS and we had a WHOLE ASS TALK ABOUT IT

professor was a real one man I sucked at chemistry but it was interesting when he told the story of the little uh.. atoms n shi

I was saying I think chemistry is fascinating even if its not my thing and he brought up how we need people to draw the atoms with a 3d perception on a 2d surface.

we was talking about how everybody finds their place, and I told him I was happy he was a part of my journey, and he was glad he could help. and we shook hands and I went to the bathroom to piss hard af like the motherfucking g I am.

fuck I felt so fucking drippy man I looked in the mirror and finally liked what I saw. I don't think im necessarily super ugly but I do think im unlikable if im not doing good :")

perhaps that is so, but that is a conversation for another essay...

I got over 900 people to turn in their guns because I was suicidal and drew on a shirt because my school was doing an awareness thing and I put the 988 nice n big on there too and I had an eyeball crying and the tear dripped down into the flower coming out of the ground.

and yeah the sister showed like 20 religious leaders and that's how my shirt reached all those people.

wild shit man.

it is so easy to be angry, to want to throw it all away, to hate it all.

it is so so easy and desirable to let go completely and just do fuck all. idk its just like that. the demons man the demons. don't do this to your kids. please check in and look for subltle hints your kids do or don't trust you and please act accordingly in a way that isn't abusive.

somethings not right if your kid don't trust you I m just saying, they're not gonna call you if something is wrong.

people hurting so much. and all we seem to know is hurt more.

but as much as hatred is possible, so is love, and I have so much trouble with that.

how can those two opposites exist at the same time.. im either lovable or unlovable, what do you mean I can have flaws and still should love myself???

but I know what it means, I guess im just in denial too much. my bf smells it he knows im always hiding.

hit it ski

oh shit oh shit this ones playing I gotta let y'all in on this one cmere