#you just can't check them out and take them to your house

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Delulu Mode: Jealous Zayne

Note: Not a Full Fic. Just a Delulu Story in my Brain. I wish I can write a full Story but I can't. Believe me I try.

To say you were hurt is an understatement. it was date night and you are very static that for once, Zayne was able to get off work early. But nothing prepared you to the colder than usual demeanor he has and an almost dismissive attitude.

You are very confused, when you pick him up from the hospital, he even kissed you in the forehead. Something the he's done for the first time.

His colleagues has seen you two stand so close to each other and the furthest they seen you two is greeting each other by holding hands. So the forehead kiss is something new to you but you are still equally happy.

So what happened in between the fifteen minute ride to the restaurant is still a mystery to you.

You are in the verge of crying when he refuse to talk much as you two eat.

Steeling your emotions, you keep everything in check because whatever is upsetting Zayne, he clearly do not want to share with you at the moment.

You two plan on walking on the nearby park after dinner. This is one of Zayne's way to getting you both a simple work out after eating your hearts out. But tonight, you feel awkward to do it so you ask Zayne take you home instead, which to no surprise, he didn't argue.

The ride was awkward and almost suffocating that you were not able to fight the silent tears that started to fall from your eyes. You did not move to wipe the tears as the moment may cause Zayne to notice so you just look out the window.

When you finally see your apartment, you thank Zayne for the dinner and ride home and quickly exited the car.

This seem to knock Zayne out from trans and he run after you. When he finally catch up and turn you to him, he was so shocked that your face is so red with tears. He immediately picks you up and take you back to his car.

You didn't fight him. Instead you held his shoulders tightly until he is able to secure you in car.

Driving fast but carefully , you notice that you are going to the direction of his house. When you are finally arrived, he excited the car without a word and unfasten your seatbelt an carry you again like earlier. When you try to protest, he just hold you tightly but gently and take you straight to his room.

He set you sitting at the edge of the bed and and him kneeling in front of you and his head on your knees as he whispers I'm sorry.

You didn't say anything for a while but you intertwined your hands with him while your other hand was gently stroking his hair. You then realize that his shoulders was shaking. he's crying.

That's when you coax him to talk and found out that he was jealous of the way you easily laugh with Greyson. he reason that with Greyson you always look like you are having fun. While you are just giving him smile and small giggle. he wants you to laugh heartily with him too but he is knows he is not jolly and funny like Greyson and for that he was extremely jealous.

He was so insecure that he kissed your forehead in front of his colleagues to ensure that they know you are his. And after that he proceeded to ignore you and for that he is so ashamed on how he acted.

You feel his arms encircle your legs he then murmurs. Please don't leave me.

It breaks your heart that he thinks that you will leave him for any other man so you hold his face in both your hands. When he finally look at you, you tell him that his presence alone make you happier that any laughing moments with her friends. Having fun and laugh with them does not comes close to how you feel when he showers you affection and you only and exclusively just long for him.

When you ask him to kiss you he was hesitant stating that he doesn't deserve to kiss you because how he acted. You acted angry and tell him that he is allowed to do whatever he wants with you. He was still hesitant that is why you hold the back of his neck and bring your lips down to his and he accept you dominating him.

When the kiss ended you whisper in his ears that you wanted more he then reply "Well then. My Love, what exactly do you allow me to do?"

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (7)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 7.3k

— 🍄 summary: you’re invited for a night at the Addams house.

— ☕ content warnings: mentions of (mutual) stalking and taking photos without consent, smoking, weapons + firearms

— 🕸️ a/n: ok listen, i am a sucker for tropes.

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 7: the dinner party

october 30, 2004

The gates of the Addams house greet you with open iron rails, swinging open, just like before, without any kind of assistance. It only makes you hesitate for a moment, because you figure you're in for more of a shock once you get inside.

The Addams house looms tall and intimidating from atop the hill. The sun has nearly completed its descent past the treetops into the darkening wilderness, and the windows of the house are aglow with warm light. It makes it look more like a place fit for habitation.

The image of all of them cozied up at the dinner table, ready to share a meal together like a little family, pops into your mind. But it is very quickly shooed away, because it hurts a little to think of happy families.

A few old lamposts illuminate your way up the path. When you get a little closer, you can see shadows moving through the dirty glass windows.

Even in the darkness, you can see the overgrown weeds and crumbling stone that makes up the exterior of the house, and it makes you even more curious to see what it looks like inside.

Standing on the front landing, you check your watch. Five fifty-five p.m. The invitation said six sharp, so you figure it won't hurt to arrive a few minutes early.

The iron knocker is in the image of a black cat's head, with a mouse dangling by its tail as the handle. You grasp the mouse and rap it against the door three times.

A few moments pass before the old wood is creaking open.

You're half expecting the door to open by itself like the gate, but no. Jungkook stands there, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit with his hair in slick curls. The warm lamplight crawls across his face, but his strange paleness still startles you a little.

"Good evening," he greets you, opening the door wider to beckon you inside.

You're glad you're dressed adequately. The formal dress code was a little intimidating. You opted for slacks, a white button-up, tie, leather vest (even with a silver pocket watch chain for extra flare), and an oversized suit jacket. All with the leather coat you purchased at the bookshop thrown overtop to combat the cold.

Wearing a dress isn't ideal in any situation other than for looks, especially when you're carrying items that are meant to remain concealed, so you opted for a more practical outfit.

You're expecting the inside of the house to be just as decrepit as the outside, but this isn't the case. The long, elegant hallway is lined with framed oil paintings and sconces holding lit candles, flickering in the slight draft, an air that feels a little ghostly.

You follow Jungkook into a large foyer with polished floors and a tall domed ceiling overhead. A grand staircase that branches in two directions leads up to the balconied second floor.

You can't help stopping for a moment to admire the grandeur of the place. Every curve, every corner, is embellished with carved wood or shining brass accents. It isn't even dusty, let alone decrepit.

"Come," Jungkook says softly. "He's waiting for you in the lounge."

He leads you through more labyrinthine hallways, all aglow with candlelight, gesturing you through an oak door.

The room inside is dimly lit with soft lamps, a fully-stocked bar tucked into one corner, the remaining walls lined with full bookshelves. There's plenty of seating options, from plush-looking armchairs to curving sofas.

"I'll see where he's gone off to. Wait here, please," Jungkook blurts out, sounding nervous, and closes the door without waiting for a reply.

You take the opportunity to look around a bit.

Lush ferns decorate almost every potential empty space, probably thanks to Yoongi. There's a table in the center of the circle of seating options, crowded with appetizers. Oysters on the half shell, perfectly pink shrimp and cocktail sauce, chunks of fresh salmon with lemon wedges, all resting on giant slabs of ice.

You walk over to the ledge of the bar, examining all the fancy bottles and crystal decanters. Some of them have little tags hanging from their glass necks, labelling them. Blackberry vodka, silver rum, 0.3% cyanide, hemlock syrup.

It's just as you're ducking your head under to examine the hidden shelves behind the bar counter when a light voice interjects,

"Nosy little thing, aren't you?"

You turn to find the head of the house himself standing there in the doorway, though you didn't hear it open or him enter.

You've never seen him this close before. And what a vision he is. Dressed in all black, skin showing through the deep cut V in his shirt, hair slicked back, and a grin that's just as slick to match.

"Yes," you quip back, unapologetic. "I've made a career out of it."

His smile only widens, as if to say I'm well aware.

"Drink?"

"Please," you reply.

His smile, which is much brighter and lighthearted than you anticipated, remains as he crosses the room and stands behind the bar.

"Any preference?" he asks.

"Whatever you recommend," you answer, plopping down on the velvet green Chesterfield sofa, digging in your bag for your notes. At this point, it's less of a bag and more of a giant mess of papers and folders and photographs held together by a few pieces of straining fabric.

Hoseok plucks a perfect sphere of ice out of a silver dish, dropping it into a martini shaker. He grabs the decanter of blackberry vodka, and a few other bottles and mixers.

"Very thorough, aren't you?" he asks as he pours shots and drizzles into the shaker.

"That's right," you respond, spreading out the near-endless stream of documents according to the map in your head.

You can hear the clack of the shaker, the sound of its contents being poured. A moment later, a martini glass filled with near pitch-dark liquid, garnished with a blackberry, is placed by your side.

"Thank you," you say, grabbing the glass and taking a sip. There's the hint of flavored vodka, a berry tartness, and some other taste that you can't quite name.

Hoseok sinks down in the chair across from you with a matching glass in his hand, crossing one slim leg over the other.

"So," he begins, and you don't have to look at him to feel his eyes scanning you up and down. "You're the one she settled on to sort out this mess."

You pause your obsessive shuffling.

"She?"

In the middle of taking a sip from his drink, he looks at you like he's a little confused.

"The mayor? She is the one who hired you, isn't she?" he asks.

"Yes," you admit. "What of it?"

A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"I admire your suspicion, ______," Hoseok says, and hearing your name from his mouth is strangely thrilling. "But you must trust me when I say that me and my family have done nothing to cause the deaths and disappearances, at least to our knowledge."

"Then you better start telling me what you know," you reply sharply, fixing him with a strict gaze, and he doesn't break it.

"That is why you invited me here, isn't it?" you ask. "To tell me what you know?"

Hoseok considers it for a moment.

"Of sorts, yes," he replies, cryptidly.

You suppress the slight annoyance that wants to creep into your expression, focusing back on your documents. Spreading out a map littered with red circles and connecting lines, you point to one of the marked indicators.

"This is the Addams House, correct?" you ask, instinctively using your interrogation voice without realizing it.

It makes Hoseok chuckle internally.

"Correct," he replies cooly.

"And these," you point to several of the red circles. "Are the last known locations of the five missing persons. Remarkably close, hmm?"

"Come now, ______," Hoseok says in a playfully chiding voice. "Location may be suggestive, but it isn't incriminating."

"I never said it was," you bite back. "I'm merely suggesting that this house, as well as the surrounding area, displays some very strange qualities. And I can't leave any stone unturned."

Hoseok nods, almost appreciatively.

“I’d expect nothing less,” he says, smiling that same radiant smile.

“You’ve done your job well, haven’t you?” he inquires, setting his glass down and rising from his seat, beginning to circle around the couch.

“I should hope so,” you reply a little hesitantly.

He passes by the bar and picks up the discarded martini shaker, fiddling with it, the ice inside clanking.

“How far-reaching are your investigative powers, I wonder?” he says.

He’s at your right-hand side, and suddenly he tosses the shaker halfway across the room in a perfect arc. It lands in the small sink at the bar counter with a loud clang.

Your head whips toward the sound, focus ripped away from the sea of papers.

When you look back at him, he’s adjusting his jacket lapels, sauntering back over to his seat.

“Far enough to get the job done, I suppose," you reply, trying to uphold a neutral yet strict tone of voice.

"Hmm," Hoseok says, raising a brow. "Far enough to constitute stalking?"

The back of your neck prickles.

"What makes you say that?" you ask, though both of you know well enough that you're playing dumb.

"Ever heard the expression "walls have ears?" Well, trees have eyes, and they've told me all about you."

He's back in his seat, but you still feel like he's circling around you. Not many people make you nervous, let alone intimidate you, but Hoseok is apparently one of the exceptions.

"You should know that I am very protective over my family," he says, the tone of his voice dipping a little deeper. "Naturally, I keep an eye on them."

With that, he reaches into his inside jacket and pulls out several files. Flipping open to specific pages, he throws them down on the coffee table between the two of you with a papery slap!

Staring up at you are several photos, and it takes you a second to recognize them as ones from your own camera.

Jimin, walking to class, his hand frozen in time while brushing through his hair. Taehyung, hands in his coat pockets, meandering through town on his way to the police station. Jin, leaning against the garden wall, cradling a coffee cup in his hands.

It takes you another few seconds to realize that the file is from the pile of folders you brought with you. He must've slipped it from you when he tossed the shaker into the sink, a diversion to make you turn your head.

A crooked grin, slick voice, and sticky fingers apparently.

"I admire the dedication even more than the suspicion," Hoseok says, reaching into his jacket again, but this time he pulls out a silver cigarette case.

He holds it towards you with a questioning tilt of his head, offering you one, but you shake your head. He takes one out, puts it to his lips and lights it with the flick of a lighter.

It doesn't smell like tobacco though, more like cloves and pennyroyal buds.

"Technically," you begin. "Stalking includes inducing fear in the victim; intimidation, threats, and the like."

The subtext is clear: good luck taking me to court for this.

A smile breaks out on his face.

"No harm done," he says. "They were quite flattered, actually."

You don't really know what to do with that statement. It must show on your face, because Hoseok smirks with an exhale of fragrant smoke.

"Don't worry about it, detective," he says, sounding amused. "We're all sinners here. What's a little felony charge here and there?"

You watch the ghosts of smoke twist from the end of the cigarette between his slim fingers. Something about the way the smoke moves is unusual, like it doesn't quite obey the laws of physics that normal smoke would.

"In fact," he says, reaching into his other jacket pocket. "I must admit that I'm a little guilty myself."

He takes out another folder, opens it, and lets it fall on the table. It's a mass of photos, and they're all of you. Sitting in the cafe through the window, walking through town, collecting samples at in the woods.

Now you know where that I'm being watched feeling was coming from. If you were normal, you might've been creeped out by it. But this isn't the first time you've been trailed and you doubt it will be the last.

"I'm curious, though," he starts. "What exactly made them worthy of stalking in the first place?"

You look down at the spread of appetizers like you're contemplating reaching for one. You're not going to mention how you've been trying to distract yourself from what you saw at the lake, or the fact that you find all the inhabitants of the Addams House to be a little too compelling.

"I knew that all of them were cagey if not outright lying about living here, and given this place's reputation, I found it necessary to dig deeper," you answer in a leveled voice.

"And you figured that this place might be connected to the disturbances?" Hoseok replies, though it doesn't sound like a question.

You set him with a firm gaze.

"I never ignore patterns."

He stares right back.

"Words? Yes. Actions? Sometimes. But never patterns."

He's really staring at you, like he's trying to find the answer to some unspoken question in his head. The look in his eyes is somewhere between inquisitive and impressed, maybe even—

"I think you have darker thoughts than you realize, detective," he says. The smoke tendrils from his last drag hang, mesmerizing, between the two of you.

"If you truly want to know what's strange about this place, I can show you."

He's leaning forward slightly in his chair, and but before you even have time to think about what that means, the loud clang of a bell is sounding through the air.

"Ah," Hoseok says, taking one last puff from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. "That's Jin calling us to dinner."

He rises to a stand and straightens his jacket lapels.

"Once you're done with your cocktail, we'll head into the dining room."

You haphazardly gather your notes, down the rest of your drink, and follow him out of the room.

He leads you through the ornate hallways, quickly darkening with the setting of the sun. The sound of clinking dishes and pleasant chatter grows steadily louder.

When you emerge into what you presume is the kitchen, you're almost struck speechless.

It's a humongous, grand, high-ceilinged room, and nearly everything is in shades of green and gold. The dark marble floors are flecked with gold veins, the dark wood cupboards and drawers are fixed with gold handles, even the smell in the air has a rich, golden warmth to it.

The countertops are a deep jade quartz, and the floor to ceiling stained glass windows are in patterns of emerald and amber. More plants decorate the space, though these are taller and more lush.

The huge stove is crowded with copper pots and pans, all sizzling and bubbling and hissing with their savory aroma.

There's someone standing over the stove, wearing a crisp white button-up and black apron, a small saucepan in one hand, swirling sauce on a plate in fancy shapes. There's a whole line of plates before him, making him look like a master chef plating up a dish for a hoard of diners.

"Oh, hello _______," the man says cheerfully when he notices you, and you realize that it's Jin (though you guessed as much from his ridiculously broad shoulders).

The next second he's squirting something into a different pan, sending up a surge of sweet-smelling flames, though he doesn't even turn his head from you.

"Hello," you manage to greet him, captivated by how he expertly juggles everything. There's sauteing vegetables, sizzling meats, a bubbling broth, not to mention something that you can't see in the oven.

The sound of shattering glass sounds from the next room.

Hoseok suppresses an eye roll.

"Please excuse me, detective," he says, sounding like a slightly annoyed parent. "If you wouldn't mind lingering in the kitchen while I sort this out. Jin so likes the company."

Jin flicks a spurt of hot oil over one shoulder, missing Hoseok by an inch, but he only bursts into laughter while sliding out of the room.

Jin doesn't seem to mind as you curiously look around the gigantic room, he just continues his work in comfortable silence.

That's a common theme with Jin. He's charismatic and perfectly capable of carrying a conversation, but he appears to enjoy your company despite how quiet and reserved you are. He merely glances your way every few moments, like he's reassuring himself that you're still there.

You like how he doesn't push you for conversation. It seems like he enjoys observing you just as much as you enjoy observing your surroundings (though you do enjoy observing him when he's not looking).

"Very impressive," you can't help but say as you watch him out of the corner of your eye.

"Thank you," he replies happily, and then adds playfully, "Feel free to mention that at the table."

Your eyes scan over the variety of coffee contraptions, no doubt because of Jin the cafe owner. Then you reach the refrigerator, black with gold handles, but instead of plastic magnets there are little antique picture frames with photos of all if the house's inhabitants. Because of course even the fridge has to align with the aesthetic.

"Looking for something?" Jin quips, clearly amused.

It's then that you wonder what exactly you'd find inside the fridge. Jin knows you've been watching him. Does he know what you suspect he is?

"What would I possibly be looking for?" you reply nonchalantly.

Jin lets out a chuckle that would dissolve even the thickest tension.

"If you're looking for blood bags and raw meat, you won't find them here."

He says it so jokingly, that you start to think maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe is he just some normal man with normal tendencies, the only reason for his nocturnal lifestyle attributed to him owning a 24 hour coffee shop.

Maybe you don't have to imagine him standing among a rack of blood bags at the local hospital, stealing them for his own benefit while leaving others without the vital resource.

Because if that's the case, then you have no reason to suspect he has anything to do with the deaths and disappearances. Maybe you could even—

"I don't keep them in that fridge," he says.

Your amused expression drops.

The timer on the oven beeps.

"Almost ready. If you wouldn't mind moving into the dining room and taking your seat," Jin says, focusing back on plating each dish.

You take the hint, leaving him in his element.

Another grand room, but with much higher ceilings, almost like a dark cathedral. There are the same stained glass windows and marble floors, and a massive crystal chandelier lit by tapering candles hangs overhead, though you have no idea how anyone could get so high up in order to light them.

Though the thing that demands the most attention is the long table in the center of the room. More dripping candles, some more like piles of wax with a lit wick, and bouquets of dried flowers serve as centerpieces. A black lace tablecloth, glinting silverware, dishes with images of crows and insects.

You don't even notice the people standing around the table until a small projectile is hurtling past you. Head whipping around, you see Jimin standing there with a slingshot held up to his face, and that face painted with a smirk.

From the way he's looking at you, it's not outrageous to assume that he was aiming at you. That is, until you hear a crash from behind you.

"Hey! Don't hit my azaleas!"

You immediately recognize the voice as Yoongi's, but your eyes are locked on Jimin. This is the first time you've seen him without a mask.

Uncovered by a hat, his silver hair falls across his forehead, and his eyes, unobscured by sunglasses, shine a strange blue-gray.

Something about his face is dangerous, it makes you want to see how close you can get before that danger becomes a real threat.

"You missed," you say, even though the smirk on his face is not one that belongs to someone who's missed their shot.

He just smiles on, and his teeth are sharp. Unnaturally sharp, as if every tooth beyond the front two have been filed down to fine points.

"If I wanted to hit you, I would've hit you," Jimin replies.

Hoseok approaches the two of you, ready to unleash another lethal roll of his eyes. He holds out his hand, and Jimin gives up the slingshot with a little huff.

"We have a no weapons at the table policy," Hoseok explains as Jimin pushes past him. You move to follow, but Hoseok stops you too.

"I'm afraid we also have a no recording devices at the table policy," he says with a knowing look.

You stare at him in slight disbelief, but he appears to be serious.

You want them to trust you, if only for the sake of the investigation. If they know something, you can't seem like a threat.

So you start to empty your pockets.

There's the microcassette recorder in your coat pocket, the digital recorder in your pants pocket, the flash drive recorder in your other pants pocket, the pen recorder in your inner jacket pocket.

You make a show of straightening your clothes before trying to slide past him, but he blocks you again with a raise of an eyebrow.

How the fuck...? Ugh, fine. You suppose you can actually be trustworthy instead of just pretending to be.

You take out the spare digital recorder in your left jacket pocket, the mini microphone in your shirt pocket, the flashlight with the secret button clipped to your belt. And the fake lapel pin. And the video camera in your bag. And the smaller backup camera in the hidden pocket inside your bag.

When you look up, you see that everyone in the room has stopped to watch you, all with expressions of slight shock.

Remembering one last thing, you hold up a finger, fishing out the micro nine pistol from the holster at the back of your waistband, setting it down at the top of the pile of contraband. As well as the extra magazine.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, and you think that maybe you shouldn’t have revealed the fact that you usually bring your gun to unfamiliar situations. But then you hear Jimin chuckle.

“Well,” he says from across the room with nothing but amusement in his tone. “It’s definitely a party now.”

Now that everyone is properly de-weaponed and de-deviced, everyone moves to take a seat, with Hoseok at one head of the table and Yoongi at the other in a tall peacock chair.

Your place is between Jimin and Taehyung, with Jungkook and Namjoon sitting across the table.

You should’ve guessed that Namjoon would be here, live here. As a P.I., you’re kicking yourself that you didn’t guess as much earlier.

Jin is still in the kitchen, dishes clanking. And what you perceive as awkward silence hangs in the air. To them, it simply feels like impatience being soothed.

You wait, wait for one of them to acknowledge the situation. Why have you been invited here?

“Did you enjoy the appetizers, _____?” Jimin asks.

You sneak a glance at him. He’s dressed in a silk shirt that billows around his form, his pale hair now pushed back from his forehead, transforming his face from relatively innocent to dangerously attractive. He watches you eagerly, waiting for your reply. He caught all of the seafood himself, after all.

You just nod in response, but Jimin flashes you a pleased smile all the same.

“We weren’t allowed to have any, of course,” Taehyung remarks, giving Hoseok a pointed look.

“Guests eat first, Taehyung, you know that,” he replies swiftly, but from the little grin on both their faces, it’s clear they’re only teasing.

You wonder how often they have guests in a place like this.

Another silence falls, you sneaking glances at everyone around the table. Except when you dare glance at Hoseok, he’s already looking. He must sense your discomfort, because then he’s saying, “My apologies, detective. We haven’t had proper introductions yet.”

He starts with the person to his left.

“This is Taehyung, our resident coroner. He runs the morgue downstairs.”

This is the first time you’ve made eye contact with Taehyung since you arrived in the house, and he doesn’t seem like the same man you met in the morgue. This man is at ease in his own home, a man who isn’t bound by professional constraints. He’s looking at you now less like a private investigator and more like a stranger that he doesn’t want to remain a stranger.

You’re not sure which you prefer.

“This is Jimin, he’s currently studying chemistry and marine biology at the university.”

Jimin meets your gaze when you glance at him, cocking his head back slightly and flashing a hint of those sharp teeth again.

“Yoongi, our genius little green thumb. He’s the one who keeps the place nice and lush,” Hoseok gushes, and Yoongi gives a little wave and straight-lipped smile, blushing only slightly.

“Namjoon, our favorite bookworm. And brilliant scholar! About to publish his third book.” Namjoon nods his head towards you with a small smile.

“And this is Jungkook, the youngest problem in the bunch,” Hoseok says, gesturing towards the young man in the pinstripe suit. Jungkook acknowledges you still somewhat nervously.

“Forgotten someone?” A voice calls.

Jin saunters into the room, having abandoned his apron for a lace jacket with sewn-on fabric flowers. He takes the empty seat to Hoseok’s right, straightening his hair. But it doesn’t like he’s been slaving in the kitchen this whole time at all. Not one stain on his clothes, not one dew drop of sweat.

“Could never forget you, darling,” Hoseok replies. “And this is Jin, our lovely chef who keeps us all so well fed.”

Jin gives a tiny little bow in your direction, along with one of his charming smiles.

There’s another pause, as if they’re waiting for you to say something. All you can think of is that they already know you, there’s no need for you to introduce yourself. So you say the first adjacent thing to come to your head:

“Glad to have met all of you.”

And you barely notice it, already looking down at your empty plate, but they simultaneously stifle the flutter in their gut.

“Alright,” Jin announces, clapping his hands together. “Let’s eat!”

Everyone but you, in near perfect synchronicity, grabs the silver cloche set before each of their table settings, and places it over their plate. Jimin gestures for you to do the same, so you obey.

When you remove it again, after everyone else does the same, the former empty plate is suddenly full. A thick and creamy soup, speckled with spices, steaming in a bread bowl crusted with garlic and herbs.

And of course no one bats an eye at the casual error in the law of physics, too busy passing around a bowl of greens to garnish and a bottle of red wine to fill their glasses. You don’t object when Taehyung holds the bottle over your own glass with a questioning raise of his eyebrow.

And by God, is it delicious. The cream base of the soup melts perfectly with hints of herbs and the peppery bite of truffle shavings. And of course, the best part is being able to break off a bit of flavored bread and dip it into the pot of gold before you.

“This is delicious,” you can’t help but blurt out, saying it like an aggressively objective fact.

“Thank you,” Jin replies, smiling wide like a child that was just complimented on their most recent art project. Except you can’t display a bowl of soup on the fridge, but you would if you could.

“Yoongi helped me forage the mushrooms,” Jin adds.

Mushrooms? Now that you think of it, the soup does have a distinct earthy taste.

“Do you forage often?” you ask, looking at Yoongi.

“Not as often as I’d like,” he replies.

“Why is that?” you ask, and a small smile tugs at Yoongi’s mouth. There’s a shared chuckle from around the table.

“What?” you blurt out, almost certain that they are making fun of you or know something that you don’t, probably both.

“You’re doing your interrogator voice,” Jimin says, but it doesn’t sound malicious, more like…endeared?

A look around the table, and everyone’s face matches the tone of his voice. He says it as if the two of you have known each other for years, as if you’re friends. It puts a strange, almost sickly feeling in your stomach. You set down your spoon.

Soon the air is filled with pleasant dinner-time chatter. They keep trying to bring you into the conversation, like you’re somehow one of them. But you’re here to get a job done.

It becomes exceedingly more difficult to concentrate solely on the case when the main course comes out. Again, due only to the covering and uncovering of your plates with the silver cloches, the remains of your soup disappearing.

A choice cut steak, generously seasoned, drizzled with a red wine sauce, a heap of garlic and herb mashed potatoes, and more mushrooms grilled to tenderness. You’re not normally fond of mushrooms, but these are surprisingly flavorful in a way you wouldn’t expect from a vegetable, let alone a fungus.

“They’re Pepperwood caps,” Jin says, as if reading your thoughts. “Yoongi grows them on the grounds.”

In all your research, you’ve never heard of Pepperwood caps.

“Hoseok isn’t eating them,” you say pointedly. “Neither is Jungkook,” you continue. There are no Pepperwood caps on either of their plates. Instead, a small pile of white capped mushrooms with brown spots.

“To my knowledge, those are Deadly Dapperlings, yes?”

They all look at each other.

“You don’t miss anything, do you detective?” Hoseok says with a little grin.

Your research on fungi has made you a novice at recognizing the lethal ones.

“Jungkook and I find that the poisonous ones have a particularly robust flavor,” Hoseok continues.

You watch him as he says it, waiting for him to elaborate, but he never does. So you return your attention to your perfectly cooked steak.

“I imagine you’re curious about what precisely the fuck we all are,” Jin interjects the silence, and your fork stops halfway to your mouth.

“Really all that needs to be said is that whatever you’ve already deduced is probably true.” He has his hands clasped together, his shirtsleeve riding up to expose the crescent-shaped bite mark on the inside of his wrist. He smiles when he notices you staring.

“Don’t worry,” he says, sounding amused. “I can be trusted around exposed neck flesh.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“So there’ll be no biting over the course of the evening?” you quip, only half joking.

Jin maintains his level gaze.

“Only if you want it desperately,” he replies.

You mold your face into a hard mask of indifference before you say something stupid.

“I must admit,” Taehyung begins. “I'm a little older than I look."

You stare at him like you’re trying to read a book. It’s true, he doesn’t look a day over thirty.

Jimin clears his throat.

"I'm not exactly...from here," he says, and when you look at him you swear you see something shift underneath his shirt.

The man in the peacock chair shifts.

"I'm a little more tuned into nature than most people," Yoongi adds. It’s only then that you notice that the dried flowers in their vases are leaning towards him like he’s the sun.

Jungkook is fidgeting in his chair, avoiding your gaze. But you can gather as much from the pallor of his skin and the deep-set dark circles under his eyes, both of which become clearer and easier to see the more times you look at him.

He has a ghostly air about him, like a whisper in the wind.

You look at Namjoon, and he smiles with a shrug.

"I just run a bookshop," he says.

A shared laugh sounds around the table. Namjoon rolls his eyes.

"Okay, maybe I've made a few blood pacts, but I'm a folklorist for Christ's sake!"

You genuinely can’t tell if he’s joking, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. Though, judging by what you’ve seen tonight, he’s probably telling nothing but the truth.

Finally, you turn to Hoseok.

“I’m…not all there,” he says, and you wait patiently for more.

He scratches the back of his head, looking like he’s trying to find the right words.

“You can see me sitting here, but it’s only half of me. You can touch me and hear my voice, but it’s not actually me. I need to be…contained.”

Now you’re staring at him in confusion.

“You ever read The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?” Namjoon asks.

Before you can answer, another loud clang of the bell is sounding. Everyone else merely looks at the clock, but you flinch violently at the skull-rattling volume of the noise.

Jin wipes the corner of his mouth with his cloth napkin and pushes his chair back. Everyone else does the same, covering their now empty plates with the silver cloches.

Hoseok rises to a stand.

“Would you like to join us for coffee and cocktails in the library? Dessert should be ready shortly,” Hoseok says, though it doesn’t sound much like question when he heads down the hallway without waiting for an answer. And apparently it didn’t sound like a question to anyone else either, because Jimin and Taehyung are soon pulling you up from your chair and leading you out of the room, with Jimin even wrapping one arm around yours as Taehyung presses himself to your side.

The library is a dark room, no less grand than the rest of the house, with the same candlelit chandelier and sconces. Floor to ceiling bookshelves wrap themselves around the entirety of the room, complete with a wooden ladder on a sliding rail. There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace, and plenty of leather chairs and couches gathered around it.

Jimin lets you go when the door is shut securely behind you.

“Who wants a drink?” Jin asks, heading over to the bar cart in the corner, but you’re more drawn to the tea set on the low table by the fireplace. It’s all black and gold, with little images of ravens on the cups and saucers.

You pour yourself a cup with cream and sugar, taking a languid sip and relishing in its perfect richness.

Jin distributes the drinks as he prepares them without having to ask anyone what they want. A glass of white wine for Taehyung, something sparkling and slightly radioactive looking for Jimin, that same blackberry concoction for Hoseok, hot toddies for Namjoon and Jungkook, and a glass of some citrusy cordial for Yoongi. When you get a closer look at his glass you notice that Jin even took the time to carve a little jack-o-lantern face into half a tangerine as a garnish.

Jin makes himself the dirtiest martini you've ever seen, with only half the glass with liquid in it, the top half being a copious pile of olives.

“So, detective,” Hoseok says, leaning against one of the bookshelves. “How can we be of service?”

Your eyebrows raise.

“You want to help?” you ask, still incredulous. Because to be honest, you’re not quite sure what the purpose of this evening is supposed to be. To intimidate you? Confuse you? Judging by the fact that you stalked them because they fell under your radar of suspicion. You figured that if they were going to offer to help they could’ve done it with an email.

“Of course,” Taehyung says from his seat on one of the couches. “The last thing I want is more bodies on my autopsy table due to deaths that could’ve been avoided.”

“And something is harming the wildlife,” Yoongi adds.

You set down your cup and saucer, digging in your bag to start spreading papers all around you.

“What’s the deal with the mayor?” you ask.

“She's...unpopular with the general population," Namjoon offers. "A little too different."

"She won the election, didn't she?" you counter.

"By the skin of her teeth," Jimin replies. "Minority vote kicked in at the last second. And a lot of people aren't happy about it."

"Different, huh?" you say. The implication is clear.

"Or at least, her ancestors were, and I think her daughter is too. Tends to run in the family, stuff like that," Taehyung adds.

"She looks out for those like us," Yoongi says. "When she can, that is. It's gotten a little harder these days."

"Why is that?" you ask.

Yoongi shrugs.

"That's just how it goes. Some times are harder than others."

"Is that why the mayor wanted everything off the record? Why there's hardly been any media coverage?" you ask.

"That's what I'm guessing," Yoongi replies.

"She's paying me out of pocket," you inform them.

"That doesn't surprise me much," Namjoon adds. "She's always been too generous for her own good. I imagine she cares more about this strange case than most of her colleagues."

"So she knows about all of your…proclivities? That’s why she sent me your way?” you ask.

“I’d be surprised if she didn’t,” Yoongi replies. “Normal people tend to think we’re weirdos, but those who are like us know when they’re looking in a mirror.”

"What about the paper?" you ask.

Their expressions cloud with confusion.

“Uh, what about it?”

Ah, have you finally breached the topic of something they want to hide?

“Several people have claimed to have negative experiences with the press, but the main publishers have barely commented on any of the cases.”

“Oh, you mean the Periscope Press,” Taehyung supplies.

Hmm, maybe they don’t have anything to hide after all. But that doesn’t mean you trust them yet.

“It’s an underground newspaper, independently published, geared towards folks like us. Though it’s mostly full of garbage these days, we don’t have a subscription,” Taehyung explains.

“We can get you copies of the last few editions, though,” Jungkook adds, startling you a little since you haven’t heard him speak much tonight. He suddenly looks down at his shoes like he just realized the fact too.

“If you want,” he says, this time in nearly a whisper.

“That would be great, thank you,” you reply graciously, though he continues to avoid your gaze.

“So, detective,” Hoseok begins, and with the drink his voice is a touch more gravelly. “What’s your next move?”

They’re all looking at you now, curious and waiting.

You look down at your notes and fight the urge to clench your fist, because to honest, you’re not sure.

“I’m sure our little sleuth has a plan,” Jimin quips from his place sprawled out across one of the couches.

“I’d like to get access to Bradley’s reports and records, and wear down Mrs. Bradley if at all possible,” you begin, forming a list in your head. “I’d like to continue fieldwork around the woods and the lake, maybe see if anyone at the university can do some tests on those unusual mushrooms. I’ll be continuing my rounds around town to see if any civilians have anything to offer. Hopefully I can get some more information on the ones still missing.”

“And the lake?” Jimin asks.

You don’t want to talk about the lake. Thinking about it puts a sinking feeling in your gut, the stench of hot poisoned salt water filling your nose.

You don’t want to talk about what you saw. In your line of work, simply seeing isn’t enough. All that matters is hard evidence. So that’s what you’re gonna get.

Downing the dregs of your coffee cup, you start to gather up your notes.

“You’re leaving?” Jimin says, sounding wounded. “Before dessert?”

“I’m afraid there’s some things I wanted to get done tonight,” you say, ready to retreat back into your hole and dive back into the distraction of your work, where there aren’t several pairs of sultry dark eyes watching your every move.

“I suppose it is getting late,” Hoseok says. Though he doesn’t mention that many of them either don’t need to sleep or simply prefer to be active into the darkest hours of the morning.

“Let us send you home with some goodies, hm?” Hoseok nods to his housemates.

Jin cuts you slice of blue velvet cake, packing it up in a little bento box container.

You object at first, saying you don’t want to take a container as nice as this one, but Jin just retorts with a wink, saying that you’ll just have to come back sometime to return it.

Yoongi takes some cuttings from one of the dining room table centerpieces, adding some clippings from plants around the house as fillers, and wraps the bouquet in brown paper tied neatly with a bow. He hands it to you with a shy expression.

Namjoon gifts you a small stack of books, bound together by a leather strap, with The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the top of the pile. He gives you a smile when you notice.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Jungkook says when they lead you through the dark halls to the front door, which you didn’t expect.

He carries your gifts as the two of you travers first the cobblestone path and then the small hill down to where you parked your car.

“Sorry we’re so strange. And vague. I imagine it’s frustrating,” he says suddenly.

The walk up to this point has been completely silent, so the sound of his voice startles you just a bit.

“Yes, you’re all very weird,” you say, and Jungkook’s face sinks.

“If any of you ever change I’ll be very disappointed,” you finish, and that puts a full smile on his face, full enough that you can see the bunny-like jut of his front teeth.

A few moments of silence, the wind singing a low song.

“You’re very cynical, you know,” he says.

That makes you look at him, but his face is that same neutral expression, dark eyes wide like a young doe’s. He says it like a simple observation, not with the judgmental you’re used to hearing.

“Am I?” you reply, unable to choke back the little sarcastic bite to your tone.

He nods.

“You think no one could ever believe you just for the sake of believing you. You think you need to prove yourself.”

You stare at him, long and hard enough to miss the fact that the two of you have reached your car.

He opens the door for you, and you’re glad that you’re heading to the safety of your home because all these kind gestures are starting to make you feel weird.

After you start the engine, Jungkook leans down to look at you through the open window.

“Try not to worry about the case so much,” he says softly. “Trust your instincts, you’ll figure it out.”

There’s a moment of silence where you stare at him some more, wondering how a man who’s been so quiet and shy for the duration of the evening can shock you dumb with just a handful of words.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you manage after a while. “And thank the others for a lovely meal.”

He nods and smiles, backing up to let you drive off down the hill.

Back at home, you make a fresh pot of coffee and tuck into that slice of cake while you draft an email to the mayor detailing your most recent findings.

Then you look through all the books you have on mushrooms, even go to the internet, but you find absolutely nothing on Pepperwood caps. To the rest of the world, they don’t exist.

You fall asleep with The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde lying open in your hand.

~~~

a/n: thanks for your patience! :)

[devil-in-hiding]

Ooo, ghosy!tf141 who haunt their isolated cabin in the woods. They had originally retired there.

From constantly having to be by each others sides and just getting so close together, they eventually, gradually, start dating. If you can call it that.

They made no grand gesture to ask each other to be together, it just kinda happened. Something that feels so natural that by the time they do realize, they can't really bring themselves to care.

But then, maybe a storm happened. A blizzard, days on end, never stopping. It isn't until someone is sent out to check on the four mysterious men that visit the closest small town that they're discovered huddled on a bed. Froze to death, they discover.

A tragic, somewhat heartbreakingly romantic end for these former soldiers.

Cut to you. Tired of working for a job that does nothing but takes and takes from you. Maybe you've built up the money. To finally quit and move away from the city. It's starting to feel too good to be true when you find a cabin in the woods that's practically for sale.

It's a bit of a fixer-upper, but the online job and people of the town make it all worth finally having a place of your own.

It isn't until you start making changes and fixes around the place that weird things begin to happen. At first, you brush it off, after all, you're the only person working on it for the time being, and trying to fix a house, something you've never done before, can get quite hectic for one person.

It starts with your brand new tools. You're so sure you left your hammer on the kitchen counter, but maybe you did leave it in the living room. The panties in your drawer start to end up a mess. As if someone went through them without a care of tidyness.

It accumulates until you're starting to truly question what's happening. A stalker? Someone hiding in the nearby woods, maybe?

It isn't until you start to head voices and have strange dreams. Always of four men, with distinct voices and stature.

Of whispered sweet nothings and loving promises. To each other at first until they start naming you. Until they start addressing you.

Until one night, you feel them. As if they were right there, alive. Along your thighs, your arms, across your chest, one even cupping your face.

Maybe it's time for you to finally learn their names.

BABE WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS PHENOMENAL

[minminbunny]

Stalker X Stalker AU - Lurker! Han Jisung/Exhibitionist Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

You furrowed your eyebrows, walking down the stairs to open your front door. The doorbell rang but when you opened it, no one was there. Only a pretty little box sat on your welcome mat. You looked around and picked it up, your name was written on the tag. 'Can't be wrong address then,' you thought, bringing the box in. You tugged on the ribbon and opened it. Your heart sank at the contents, a bloody letter. 

At least what you initially thought was blood, there wasn't a familiar metallic smell, it smelled closer to strawberry jam. You took a whiff and it was indeed strawberry jam. You stifled a chuckle and placed the letter aside, further within the box was a quokka plush, and it smelled like cologne. You brought it to your nose and melted, deep subtle musky, more floral than anything. "This isn't so bad," you murmured, looking deeper within the box, only to find a bracelet, it had a singular charm. It was about time you checked the letter, it wrote:

"To my precious love,

If you're reading this, you received my gift. I may have been eating a jelly sandwich while thinking of what to write. I hope the gifts are to your liking. The bracelet is incomplete, but don't worry. This isn't the only gift. One day it'll be complete with me by your side.

Yours Truly,

J.One"

You stared at the alias, trying to figure out who your secret admirer is. Maybe he's near, maybe he's long distance, you would never know. You held the quokka plush close, "I hope to see you too," you whispered, stroking the fur. Jisung gulped, watching the whole unboxing through a video camera he installed around the house. The cameras were installed during the previous tenant and they didn't tell you. 

It was a surprise to him when he saw you move in. His heart pounded, his pupils dilated, it was love at first sight. Even through a PC screen. Jisung released a shaky breath, relieved that you liked the gift. He already had them planned to send out on specific days "Wait for me, baby. I'll be there at the end of all of this," he whispered, watching you with a lovesick gaze. 

You knew there were cameras but you didn't bother to turn them off. You liked being watched, liked pretending you were in a show like the office where the camera pans to the person. It was fun, and you had access to them too, so it did serve as a security feature. The one in your bedroom was odd but it only spurred on your filthy desires. 

You wanted to be on display but being a cam person or an only fans model might hinder your working experience. It was a risk you weren't willing to take. You plopped yourself onto the bed, quokka plush in arms as you looked into the camera, "I know you're watching me," you feint afraid, clutching the quokka close. "Are you J.One?" you asked, knowing you wouldn't get a response. 

You plopped on the bed, "If you are then you'd know I liked the gifts. Would rather have you here though," you mumbled, feeling touch starved after all these years. "You know, I used to wish that the monster under my bed was real so I could get cuddles. It was desperate but the offer still stands," you said, showing a bit of your true intentions. Jisung gulped, hearing your sweet voice address you directly, "Soon, my love. I'll give you what you need soon," he said, grazing your cheek on the screen.

Day after day a new box arrived at your door. Each day brought a different charm, a guitar, a music note, a knife, a coffee cup. Today was just another day where you unbox your gift,  the bracelet stayed around your wrist like a physical claim. You didn't want to take it off and Jisung loved hearing the click clacks of the charms when you walked around the house. "Pretty," you whispered, tracing the letter in your hands. Jisung got more diligent with his letter decorating after knowing that you kept it in your safekeeping box. The letter read:

"To my darling love,

I hope the day finds you well. You looked absolutely adorable with your little bracelet. Wouldn't you like to imagine me pinning you down while the jingle with each thrust? I fantasize a lot, my dear. The gift today is a bit more mature to say, if you're comfortable. I'll be honored to see you in it.

Your love,

J.One"

You gulped at thought, your breathing getting shallow as you looked deeper into the box. Your breath hitched as you took it up, a skimpy lacy lingerie. A simple slip on lingerie that didn't hide much to the imagination. You looked deeper into the box and found a pair of animal ears and a tail. A soft scoff escaped your lips, "You bastard," you smiled, holding it up to the camera. 

"Kinky aren't you?" you teased, rolling your eyes. You held the outfit in your hands, "I'll wear them, on one condition," you said, crossing your arms. Jisung smirked, willing to do whatever you asked. You bit your bottom lip, "Call me, please. It's scary if I play alone, J.One," you sulked, jutting you lips in attempt to swoon him. Jisung gulped, his cock throbbed at the sight. Your pretty gaze made his mind spin. 

He clicked on your contact, it was already saved to 'My Love'. You flinched when your phone rang, you didn't expect him to comply, "Hello?" you asked, nervousness evident on your face. Jisung chuckled, sending shivers down your spine, "I'm weak to a doll like you. One pity gaze and I'm on my knees, darling. Are you happy to hear my voice?" he asked, loving the way you pressed your thighs together. 

You nodded your head, knowing he's watching, "Yes. You sound great. I'm glad to put a voice to the name," you said, hands trembling from excitement. Jisung cooed, "I'm happy you like my voice, doll. Now, why don't you get changed, hm? Let me see you in that pretty outfit I chose," he encouraged, palming his cock with his other hand. You nodded and did as told, changing into the skimpy lingerie with it's accessories. 

Jisung looked away from the camera, not wanting to ruin his own surprise, "May I look now, love?" he asked, trying to keep his moans subtle. "Take a look," you said, bashfully showing him the outfit. Jisung groaned, squeezing his bulge at the sight, "Fuck, baby. You look stunning. Come on, give me a twirl," he instructed, tugging down his pants. You did as told and bit your bottom lip, "Can we go play now?" you asked, eager to touch yourself. Jisung hissed, letting his cock spring against his abdomen, "Of course, darling. Give me a show," he chuckled, watching you trip over your feet as you scurried up the stairs.

NSFW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"Spread your legs further, that's it," he instructed, watching you thrust your dildo in and out of your tight fluttering cunt. He zoomed the camera in, ensuring a 4K view. You arched your back, thrusting the toy to his commands, the pillow beneath your ass gave him a better view. "Hah, hah, hhgh," you gasped, pumping the toy at a languid pace. You needed more, your body craved more as you listened to Jisung's throaty groans. 

"That's it, take it slow. You're doing so mmh good for me, darling," thrusting his hips within his flashlight in sync with yours. You whimpered at the squelching audio echo within your ears, "Need faster, J. Please," you hiccuped, clenching around the dildo just to feel more. 

Jisung chuckled, "I can't torture my baby doll too long. Pick up the pace, darling. Pound your cunt like you normally would, Show how fucking good that cunt of yours take cock," he growled, hearing your broken whines and moans as you twist and thrust the dildo at a relentless pace. It was raw, needy and desperate. Just the way you loved it. 

Jisung groaned, bucking his hips to match your pace, "Shit, shit, hah. Rub your clit, love. Fuck, hhgh, cum with me," he grits, pounding the fleshight as rough as you were, his eyes glued to the screen when you screamed out his name. "Fuck, fuck, Jisung!" you sobbed, creaming around your dildo. Jisung choked on his breath, cumming into the toy with little to no resistance, "Fuck," he gasped,  filling up the flashlight with his orgasm. 

You whimpered, thrusting the dildo to ease down your high, "Jisung," you mewled, staring into the camera. Jisung gulped, slumping back into his seat, "Tell me, doll. How do you know my name?" he asked, brushing his hair back. You gave him a dopey smile, "I knew since the beginning, Han. I always knew," you said, reaching your hand beneath your pillow to pull out his missing boxers. Jisung chuckled, resting his head on the desk, "Fuck, love. You got me all hard again," he growled, staring at the screen. You bit your bottom lip, "Good, 'cause I'm ready for round 2," you giggled, giving him a flying kiss.

AMAB

"Spread your legs further, that's it," he instructed, watching you thrust your dildo in and out of your tight fluttering hole. He zoomed the camera in, ensuring a 4K view. You arched your back, thrusting the toy to his commands, the pillow beneath your ass gave him a better view. "Hah, hah, hhgh," you gasped, pumping the toy at a languid pace. You needed more, your body craved more as you listened to Jisung's throaty groans. 

"That's it, take it slow. You're doing so mmh good for me, darling," thrusting his hips within his flashlight in sync with yours. You whimpered at the squelching audio echo within your ears, "Need faster, J. Please," you hiccuped, clenching around the dildo just to feel more. 

Jisung chuckled, "I can't torture my baby doll too long. Pick up the pace, darling. Pound your hole like you normally would, Show how fucking good that hole of yours take cock," he growled, hearing your broken whines and moans as you twist and thrust the dildo at a relentless pace. It was raw, needy and desperate. Just the way you loved it. 

Jisung groaned, bucking his hips to match your pace, "Shit, shit, hah. Rub your cockhead, love. Fuck, hhgh, cum with me," he grits, pounding the fleshight as rough as you were, his eyes glued to the screen when you screamed out his name. "Fuck, fuck, Jisung!" you sobbed, creaming onto your torso. Jisung choked on his breath, cumming into the toy with little to no resistance, "Fuck," he gasped,  filling up the flashlight with his orgasm. 

You whimpered, thrusting the dildo to ease down your high, "Jisung," you mewled, staring into the camera. Jisung gulped, slumping back into his seat, "Tell me, doll. How do you know my name?" he asked, brushing his hair back. You gave him a dopey smile, "I knew since the beginning, Han. I always knew," you said, reaching your hand beneath your pillow to pull out his missing boxers. Jisung chuckled, resting his head on the desk, "Fuck, love. You got me all hard again," he growled, staring at the screen. You bit your bottom lip, "Good, 'cause I'm ready for round 2," you giggled, giving him a flying kiss.

[matrixbearer2024]

“Daddy dearest can't save you now squirt! You're mine!”

Aeschylus has nightmares about a familiar chaotic triangle we yeet around because LORE! I'm planning to make a comic about him waking up from the nightmare because holy SPAZZ he needs some good shit to recover and help with this.

More lore and context under the cut:

Way back when Aeschylus was a kid he used to adventure out of the shack and into the woods to explore and or bring back neat little critters to ask papa Sixer about(despite his mom having scolded them both about bringing random specimen of all kinds into the house). The behavior didn't really stop even after Ford got sucked into the portal, hell it happened more often because Max kept looking for his dad- convinced he just got lost on an expedition or something similar.

However, as you all know how Cipher messes with everyone's minds when granted the opportunity- the triangle tried to beeline for the kid that most resembled his darling Fordsy in both personality and behavior when the researcher finally grew wise to his shenanigans. He didn't really have many opportunities to for a couple years because of Stanley and Ford's wifey protectively hovering over the triplets but Bill would say waiting four earth years was well worth the return for the damage he had inflicted.

All it took was a little bit of stroking that same flame of curiosity as he did Sixer and Aeschylus was all his for the taking. Like father, like son, Bill couldn't have found it more amusing. Slowly he guided the kid deep into the forest, away from the eyes of mother mayhem and uncle irritating.

Much to the triangle's annoyance however, Aeschylus was more cautious of him than Ford ever was. The kid refused to make a deal with him and even tried running away at some point when he finally realised what the triangle was trying to do.

"Nu-uh! You're the weird guy that made my daddy crazy! My mommy says to never make a deal with you!"

Bill was pretty pissed at this point that his plans are being proper screwed with so he forced his hand.

"If you're not going to give me access to your head, I'll just take it then!"

Imagine having taken your eyes off your eldest toddler son for just a second only to find him suddenly gone. It took so much strength to even allow the kids outside of the cabin you called your home ever since Cipher started haunting you and the family since Ford's unfortunate incident with the portal. To find Aeschylus missing would've driven anyone at that point into a flurry of panic.

When Stan came out to check on the both of you, his expression of dread and anxiety merely mirrored your own to a lesser extent. The two of you immediately shouting for the kid as you checked the nearby area thoroughly, the both of you making your ways deeper into the forest surrounding the log cabin cautiously.

It was Stanley who found Aeschylus first, seeing the kid strung up high into the canopy was eerie enough but noticing he wasn't responsive made the panic shoot sky high. There was some kind of large furry creature that poked and swat around the young boy like a pinata which Stan immediately threw hands with the get rid of the darn thing in his emotional high.

You heard the screaming and shouting and rushed over before feeling sick to your stomach, there your kid was- but strung by the neck by a vine so high he seemed to nearly be a part of the forest canopy. You steeled yourself and pulled the small pistol from your pocket which your husband had made prior with the intention to use it for hunting creatures.

Who knew it's first use would be as a pivotal tool to save your son?

Despite shaky hands and eyes blurred with tears, your aim rang true and the ion blast burnt the vine clean a couple inches above the toddler's head. You didn't account for the tall drop however, as the priority was first and foremost to get him down before he was hung to death.

Thankfully, Stanley had been paying close attention as he managed to catch Aeschylus with a loud grunt. The kid was dropped on him like a bomb multiple times both literally and metaphorically but this moment falls under the former. Your stomach dropped to the floor when you also started to smell the familiar metallic tang of blood.

It wasn't rocket science for both you and Stanley to know that you needed to rush Aeschylus to the hospital, especially as the vine around his neck unwound to leave a large and nasty wound that seemed to circle around his entire neck. The vine itself was thorny and barbed but it had apparently dug deep enough into the kid's skin to cut.

Stanley drove to the hospital like a bat out of hell while you kept a towel firmly pressed into your son's neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The kid was breathing but shallowly, not to mention he was turning paler by the second.

You and Stan were never really religious, but you could both only really pray to whatever deity was up there if there even was any- to keep Aeschylus alive. You wondered how much your husband would've lost his shit had he been here, but you swallowed down the grief at the reminder of him as your in-law pulled into the ER parking lot.

Memories from that point on were a blur, you could only be grateful that despite the apparent tension between your husband and his twin brother- Stanley didn't just leave your family behind. He was expectedly dejected that he wasn't even told about the triplets getting born, much less his brother getting married, but he still stayed to care for you all in place of his brother. Not to replace him, but to do what he knew Poindexter would've and should've had he not been stuck wherever the portal threw him.

By the time you'd been able to see Aeschylus again, the doctors claim that it's a miracle the kid even survived. It's as if just enough pressure was put on his neck not to kill him but to make him suffer. He didn't pass out from oxygen deprivation, but from the pain.

You fell to your knees sobbing when you heard that, already knowing what or who was responsible rather because of their words. Aeschylus couldn't talk for a couple weeks due to this incident, and even afterwards his voice had changed due to the damage.

You regretted this moment every single day afterwards, all the more when your son even refused to step a foot outside anymore. He refused to explore the woods he once loved, the woods your family used to stroll by sunset or camp out in when Ford was still around.

Aeschylus started wearing high-collared shirts or turtlenecks to hide the scar as well, not telling anyone exactly why or how he got into that situation in the first place as everyone in the family already had an inkling or hunch. They didn't need to ask. He didn't want to be shifted to homeschool however, as much as you and Stan tried to convince him- since he seemed determined to study for whatever reason.

This event still gives Aeschylus nightmares until the present day, Bill Cipher didn't get into his head- but the triangle got damn well close and he would've had to pay his life if you or Stan hadn't found him.

Those same nightmares is why Aeschylus barely manages to sleep, having developed insomnia out of the fear and paranoia around the same time he was able to come home from the hospital. Even if you asked him now what was the scariest experience in his life, Aeschylus would likely mention this near death experience- as nothing else in his life has ever come quite close to this incident, not even weirdmaggedon.

Sketchy for this piece is here:

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Daryl Dixon w/ immune reader— 'we're all infected, why does it matter if you're the cure?'

Yandere Daryl saw your scraggly ass aimlessly wandering through the abandoned pharmacy he needed to raid. Walkers, five of em', and you fought them off bare fisted. Pretty badass, and fucking stupid, if Daryl has anything to say about it. You're bleeding from your neck more than any living person should.

A bite. You're bit.

No wonder you could care less if one of the rotting corpses bites on ya.

He wants to put you down like he should. He lines up his crossbow with your head, and like a deer caught in headlights, you flee.

Goddammit all.

Shouldn't matter anyway. You'll become another walker. At the most you got some gauze.

It had to be months again before he saw you on another run. There you are—banged up and just a lil more than skin n' bones, but there you are alive none the less.

Yandere Daryl admits to himself that it's the first time he's been intrigued by someone in a long while. Maybe that's why he's insisted on going on runs by himself these past few months. Maybe just maybe deep down he wanted to see you again.

It isn't hard to simply surprise you from behind and disarm you. He knocks you out and lowers you to the sidewalk. He doesn't see any walkers near, so he can check your wound out easy.

You still have gauze over it, but it has long since needed a change. It's drenched in fresh blood and covered in old. He unwraps it to see the damn bite. He can't tell if it looks better or worse now.

"Poor sap, what am I gonna do with you? Whats good a cure if there's no docs, only greedy men in this world." He tsks.

Yandere Daryl picks you up and carries you back to the group. He wraps a slightly torn shawl around your neck. It's one he found near the store you collapsed at. There's a reason you have been out here all these months.

You could'a just given up and died.

You could'a found a group.

Instead you found him again.

"Must've been fate, huh?" He chuckles humorlessly.

The way you looked at him. You're runnin' from somethin'. He just has to figure out what.

Yandere Daryl decides you're his to take care of. When he carries you into Alexandria, he doesn't let anyone else get their hands on you. He doesn't answer anyone's questions while he walks in and towards his house. He locks himself in and tells anyone that comes by to piss off.

Screw the rules and whatever the fuck.

You're a mystery that he has to solve.

So he grabs a change of clothes and some food for you. He plops them down on the table and sits in the opposite chair.

He doesn't mind waitin' for a while. It gives him plenty o' time to think. Somethin' in him is just stirrin'. He just can't decide what.

Yandere Daryl calms you down after you wake up. You can barely form words on those pretty lips and tongue of yours. Naturally, you question him and his motives. You're defensive and don't elaborate at first.

It takes just a handful of threats about exposing you and spreading around the fact there is an immune person to unravel your need for secrecy.

Somewhat.

You only tell him that you're being hunted by a group you were once with.

"Mind elaborating, hun?" Daryl draws out while looking over your figure for what feels like the thousandth time.

"I'll tell you—but I swear to God if you use this against me I'll stab you through the head a dozen times over."

"Fair nuff."

"They would—If you get bit and are injected with... well, enough of my blood then it acts as a cure..."

They fuckin' what?

Yandere Daryl vouches for you, and you end up in Alexandria. You get no ifs, ands, or buts about it. They assign you to his house. Daryl definitely convinced Rick that since you're a newcomer and you trust him more, he could keep a watchful eye on you. It totally isn't because there's this strange all possessing feeling that keeps latching onto his heart when you're around.

He keeps your secret safe n' sound. He manages to steal enough makeup from rundown stores to keep your healing bite covered up. He makes sure you are eating and getting healthier. He checks up on you before and after he gets done with a run. Hell, he reminds you of shit he forgets about all the time.

This does extend to him killing people to keep you safe. They looked at you wrong. Maybe one of the residents feels suspicious about you. They may even have confronted Daryl and questioned him. Oh, well. Just another one pushed to the biters.

Daryl has never had a strict moral compass. So he doesn't feel bad about murdering people who he is supposed to consider his neighbors.

Of course, those who came with him to Alexandria get the privilege of questionin' you just a bit. He's quick to shut that shit down, though.

Carol is the only one who is close enough to knowing that you are immune. She knows that Daryl has something more than platonic towards you. She also knows that you were injured with something that looked suspiciously like a walker bite mark when Daryl first lugged you in. (She snuck in and looked through your scarf while Daryl wasn't aware.)

She just isn't looking for trouble. She doesn't want to believe it, as it doesn't seem plausible. There have been too many false hopes from the CDC to Eugene.

So she let's Daryl foster his feelings towards you while watching out for you both. If Daryl ever oversteps a boundary with you, Carol will be there to knock him up side the head, call him a stupid redneck, and threaten him in the most motherly way possible. 

Yandere Daryl never saw you have so much terror in the eyes as the day he mentioned The Saviors. It clicked in his mind immediately. He has only felt that rage one other time in his life: when he learned Meryl had been handcuffed to the roof and left for dead.

He didn't think, but he acted. He held you and refused to let go. It's just so fuckin' unfair. He loses everyone that has a semblance of importance to him. Not you. Not this time.

His only thought was that he was going to burn every one of those fuckers to the ground—innocent or not.

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!

[skrunksthatwunk]

hey real quick bc i haven't seen anyone really talk about it; fuck Hoarders. what a disgusting fucking show. like i know a lotta content boils down to "let's gawk at mentally ill or poor or whatever ppl" but this one specifically really peels my paint. it's sickening. let's spend an hour walking around someone's house and going "wow!! look how fucked this is!!! i can't believe you live like this (despite having done like 13 seasons of this)!!!! you really need to get your act together, buster!" and then interviewing the family to get sound bites demonstrating how much of an Unreasonable Burden the subject is and (without actually helping any of the mental health issues that may lead someone to hoard) roll their eyes at them when they are upset at someone taking and trashing/destroying their precious belongings (or are made to do it themselves). and then half the time in the where are they now segment it's like "yeah they relapsed lol idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯" like??? no shit dumbass.

i don't care how strange their homes or habits are. these people are deserving of compassion and real, honest help. they don't need people to marvel at how Kooky Wacky Bonkers™ they are, and they don't need people to hurt them just because they don't understand what they see in their possessions or are embarrassed by knowing them or whatever.

we don't need another voyeuristic savior-complex charade where the condition for The Most Half-Assed Help You've Ever Seen is being publicly humiliated and having to destroy things that mean a lot to you. what the fuck.

[empresskylo]

of fucking course simon riley has your location on. he needs to make sure you're safe. likes to keeps tabs on you. he says he’s completely normal about it, but that is a lie--he obsessively checks it.

and he knows all your common locations: your apartment, your friend’s place, the grocery store, the target you like to go to. so when he sees you at a random address one evening, your little marker on the map not moving,--meaning you’re not just driving past--he raises a brow. he immediately texts you. and when you don’t respond, he’s calling you.

and when you don’t answer… he’s in his truck faster than he thought he could move, beelining it straight for your mysterious location.

and when he pulls up in front of someone’s house, watching as you walk out the front door, laughing at something the man trailing you says, he’s furious. he was worried you might have been hurt. in a sticky situation. but cheating on him didn’t even cross his mind.

he storms out of the truck and you look at him with a gasp. “simon? what’re you doing—?”

“who the fuck is that?” he demands, gesturing to the guy behind you.

“simon…” you say exasperated. “i told you yesterday I was meeting up with friends to plan her bachelorette party.”

his eyes soften slightly, but he’s still reaching for you, hands wrapping around your arms. “doesn’t answer my question.”

“this is her childhood friend.” he glares over your shoulder at him, like he doesn’t believe you. like he wants to kill him. “her gay childhood friend.” you add, hands on your hips, a little annoyed he’d embarrass you like this.

when he hauls you into his truck, he takes a few beats before he apologizes. “m’sorry, love. you weren’t answering your phone and when i saw you at some random—“ he stops mid-sentence as he glances over at you in the passenger seat, expecting you to be glaring at him, ready to tear him a new one. but much to his surprise, you’re taking your shirt off.

“what’re you doing?” he asks, his hands tightening on the wheel to stop from reaching over and touching you.

“that was the hottest thing you’ve ever done,” you whisper, a little embarrassed to admit it. but protective simon? the simon who was ready to beat a guy up just for making you laugh? yeah, that turned you on even if it shouldn’t.

he’s thankful it’s nighttime so no one driving past can see you topless in his truck. he’s also thankful the roads are rather empty this late on a weekday.

“wait till we get home, yeah?” he asks, his voice strained.

you shake your head. “simon, please,” you whine. “i can’t wait.”

he groans in his throat, knowing your place is only 5 more minutes away. he’s already hardening in his pants, and he’s tempted to pull over and drag you into the back seat. but he doesn’t. instead, he reaches his large hand and slides it over your thigh, his eyes on the road as he pushes your skirt up. and you bite your lip, holding back a moan as he rubs you over your underwear. “so fuckin’ wet,” he says astonished.

you buck your hips up and he almost laughs. you weren’t kidding, you really couldn’t wait. he slips his fingers past your panties and dips them into your heat and you grab the door of the car for support, shutting your eyes. he starts a steady pace, his fingers making obscene sounds as they fuck you. you groan and mewl and simon worries he might not make it home either.

it takes you just about a minute to climax, your heat pulsing rapidly around his two fingers, earning a growl from simon. “fuckin’ hell, love,” he breathes, amazed at how fast and hard you came. loving that it was all because of him.

he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex and he’s storming around to your side, trying to get you to put your shirt back on, desperate to get you inside. he hauls you over his shoulder, his hand resting on your skirt so no one accidentally gets a free show. “naughtily little thing,” he hums to himself. “can't wait to properly punish you.”

cod masterlist

[suguann]

Possessive!Gojo who makes you wear his jersey when you go to parties at his fraternity after games, openly admiring the way you dwarf inside his clothes. He leans forward on the edge of the bed to get a better look, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes raking over every inch of you from head to toe. 

"Toru, it's too big," you pout, checking out your reflection in the floor-length mirror on his closet door. “I look silly.”

The tent growing in his sweats says otherwise—all the blood in his body rushing from one head to the other just from seeing two things that are his coexisting—and he gives you another once-over, thinking of several ways to describe you, silly not being one of them.

"You’re so pretty, baby.” He swears he’s a little drunk from the sight of you, but he means it.

Possessive!Gojo who pushes you up against the door inside the locker room before a game—slightly jealous from the guys looking at you as they filed out into the hall, and equally turned on because he knows they can’t have you—telling you he can't play with a hard-on before he's pressing into you from behind.

He can feel your tummy quivering under his hand where he holds you close, feels how his cock is carving its way inside of you, and you both moan when he presses down lightly. It makes him dizzy how tight and small you are; pulsing, wet, and swollen-soft velvet that gives every time he buries himself into you.

"You gonna hold all of my cum in this cute cunt until after the game, y-yeah?" he sucks the question into your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll lick it out of you afterward. Just keep it warm for me, ’kay?”

You answer him with a high-pitched whine as you clench down hard around him, cumming with a muffled scream against his palm and nearly pushing him out of your warm, fluttering heat.

Possessive!Gojo makes sure to stuff his cum back into your drooling cunt with two thick fingers, curling them into your front wall to pull another soft orgasm out of you—just a little more, ah, there you go, always so good for me—before he helps you fix your panties to trap it there.

His arms wrap around you before he presses a tender kiss to your temple. “Don’t forget to cheer for me.”

Possessive!Gojo whose smirk from watching you squirm in the stands, melts into a glare when a guy takes the empty seat beside you, sitting almost too close for his liking.

“Stop staring at your girlfriend and hit the fucking puck already,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning against his stick.

Possessive!Gojo who makes sure to fuck you in the backseat of his car afterward with the windows cracked in hopes that the guy from the stands would walk by to you moaning Gojo’s name, and he eats you out just like he promised—bending you over the center console, smiling to himself at how shy and squirmy you get—only to fill you up again.

Possessive!Gojo who pouts whenever Nanami manages to steal your attention with something sciency and nerdy (something entirely up your alley) whenever you come over on weeknights. 

“That’s so neat, Nanami,” you smile, hearts practically in your eyes as you listen to him talk about his latest research. “Maybe I can stop by the lab and check it out sometime.”

Possessive!Gojo who doesn’t miss the way Nanami’s ears turn a shade of red from your praise—color high in his cheeks—how he gives a sheepish smile whenever you talk to him.

“Toru,” you say, finally bringing your soft, pretty gaze on him again. “Are you even studying?”

Yeah, he is, but something else entirely, he thinks as he watches how your shorts hug your ass while you walk around the house’s common room—and he’s not the only one staring.

Possessive!Gojo who slaps your thigh, making you jolt in his lap. "Did I tell you to stop, huh, baby?"

You shake your head, biting your lip and avoiding the pair of eyes watching both of you (intently) from across the room—especially you—a quiet observer as you slowly sink onto your boyfriend’s cock while Nanami thrusts his own into his fist. 

"Ah, fuck—b-but–"

Your words break off into a choked moan when Gojo thrusts his hips up underneath you, pressed as deep inside as he can get, and when he looks down, he swears he can see the imprint of himself pressing against your stomach. 

"Tell me what I said,” he says through gritted teeth as he starts bouncing you, the couch continuing its steady squeaking under your knees.

Possessive!Gojo who can tell that it's hard for you to concentrate with the way his cock moves inside you, and you’re unable to answer with anything other than babbling nonsense. He decides to take mercy on you and stops to grind you in his lap instead.

He kisses your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can get his mouth on. "I said, don't stop until you cum, and you’re going to let Nanami see how fucking pretty you look when you do."

The next sound out of your mouth is a squeal when he holds your inner thighs to keep you open as he thrusts up into you again and again—letting Nanami see what can never be his.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “So good for me. Go on, show him how my good girl takes cock.”

Possessive!Gojo who locks eyes with Nanami just as he’s about to cum, burying his groans of pleasure into your neck as white-hot sparks shudder up his spine and heat pools in his gut.

Mine, he tries to say, but Gojo thinks his frat brother gets it when Gojo’s the one cumming inside you and Nanami’s spilling all over his fist.

Masterlist

[awakefor48hours]

Shows you should save physically immediately + addition I recommend reading

Over the Garden Wall -- It's being pulled from HBO Max on August 31 and knowing HBO, there's a chance it'll be pulled sooner. *I have now made a Google Drive of all the episodes of OTGW. Please, please, please, PLEASE, save these on a physical device.

The Owl House -- Disney has tried to bury this show many times (giving it a weird release schedule, cutting the budget, etc) and has even cancelled the show. Also, Disney+ is going to nuke their catalogue soon and I doubt TOH will survive*I have now also saved all the episodes of TOH. Click here for the posts with all of the episodes

Amphibia -- I know less about the behind the scenes BS than TOH but Amphibia was screwed over by Disney mainly by poor promotion. Also since one of the protagonist is openly bisexual*, like TOH, I really can't imagine this would survive.*Amphibia has also been saved. Go here for the post with all the episodes.

Steven Universe -- Cartoon Network cancelled Steven Universe and gave it a weird release schedule, it has also just been pulled from HBO Max.

Gravity Falls -- Once again, Disney+ is going to nuke their catalogue at some point in the future and between Wendy being canonically bi, Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland being in a relationship, and Alex Hirsch (being the amazing man that he is) constantly calling Disney out on their BS, I imagine that Disney would be more than willing to nuke Gravity Falls. *I’ve also saved Gravity Falls now go to the main post here to see all the episodes.

and most importantly

Every single show, book, game, fanfiction, movie, etc you've ever loved

We now know that at any moment's notice, streaming services can and will just nuke their catalogue without hesitation. If it's digital, it can be removed and there's a likely chance you'll never see it again.

So, please take some time to save anything you love on an external device. It could be a box set (it can be official or fan-made one), a USB, or anything.

If you have a physical copy of something, it's yours forever and no one can take that away from you.

*Edit because I’ve seen some confusion about this. Read this again, it’s “one of the protagonists” not “the protagonist.” Sasha is the one who’s bi, Anne’s sexuality hasn’t been confirmed.

Also in addition to this, people have reblogged this to say Steven Universe is still on HBO. Since I don’t have HBO, I’ve been going off of what people have been saying and I’ve seen it mentioned that HBO was taking off SU. You should still save it though.

*Edit 2 if any of the links here don’t work, check the original post as I might’ve changed/updated them. If that still doesn’t work, send me an ask or DM I’ll give them to you.

[buckyalpine]

40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.

Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.

You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.

Bucky was in love.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"

“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"

“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.

"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.

He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.

How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.

So much closer.

-

"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"

You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.

“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.

"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"

"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.

All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-

“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"

You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”

His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.

"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.

Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.

-

You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.

"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.

"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.

You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.

"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"

He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.

"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.

"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.

But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.

If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.

You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.

"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.

Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.

Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-

“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"

"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .

“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”

His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.

“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

-

And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.

There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.

It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.

The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.

Everything was perfecttt.

[d3stinyist1red]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀɪᴛʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

yan celebrity who everyone likes and adores

yan celebrity who you texted for no reason at all, it wasnt even that bad it was just

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

Y/nis_daddysigma

wsg lil bro

nice clothes 🙏

-----------

yan celebrity who decided to check his insta messages that day, scrolling through the thousands of messages his fans sent him until he randomly picked one

yan celebrity who decided to respond to you

----------

Theyluvme

thanksss :3

---------

yan celebrity who immediately begins texting back and forth with you, you were SHOCKED ASF bc why is this random millionaire tryna keep convo with you..

yan celebrity who you managed to captivate within a small moment of time, immediately trying to text you every second of his day, kicking his feet back and forth when he texts you

yan celebrity who is hooked, waiting for your messages back, feeling so good when he hears that familiar buzz from his phone signalling that his wifey texted him

yan celebrity who thinks about you 24/7 now, thinking about who you were with, if they were a bad influence, if he should install more cameras in your house,

yan celebrity who literally fantasizes about your guys future, he decided that he WAS gonna carry your baby he does NOT care

Yan celebrity who can't handle it anymore, needing to be near you in real life, and not just him stalking you

yan celebrity who meets you the first time in real life after all those face time calls and texts messages, literally clinging onto you a koala, LITERALLY HIS BODYGAURD HAD TO PULL HIM OFF YOU😭😭

yan celebrity who gives you VIP tickets every time he has a concert, literally rambling about you to his bodyguard who wants to go home ( BODYGAURD does NOT get paid 😭🙏🙏)

yan celebrity who instantly notices you in the crowd, waving at you, heart pounding against his chest and performing his best at the concert to impress you

yan celebrity who escorts you backstage, and hovers WAYY too close to you, trying to find any and every excuse to touch you (he smacked your ass and told you that he saw a fly on it and he wanted to kill it, there was no fly 💀)

yan celebrity who anytime you try to put some distance between you both, pulls you even closer, giving you more attention, more of him

yan celebrity who literally cries when you finally decided to jerk him off, watching TikTok on your phone as he crumbles into a whimpering mess, arching his back and everything in front of you

Yan celebrity who buys you anything and everything you want, taking you to many country's every week saying that 'Dont worry about it, baby! I just feel like I should do this for my wifey!' (he thinks you guys were married as soon as you jerked him off, you've literally told him you only helped his problem bc he was about to perform and he wasn't gonna be able to perform with his full potential if he was 🧱)

Yan celebrity whose hands always lingers on your arms, loving to squeeze and hold them as a way to show his love and clingyness for you

Yan celebrity who texts you corny shit

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

Theyluvme

bae this is ur sign to breed me

Y/n_daddysigma

get the fuck out my dms bro

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

I_luvy/n_pls_eatmeout_n/n

Y/nis_daddysigma

bro just put the ketchup packets in the bag bruh

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

I_luvy/n_pls_eatmeout_n/n

pls eat me out

pls edge me

pls

pretty pls

im going to touch you so good tonight

Y/nis_daddysigma

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

GUYS I GOT LAZY ASF LMAOOO

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

The idea of being fucked by ghosts ngh

Imagine you just moved into a new house. The AC is busted which sucks when it's hot as fuck out but hey who are you to complain when it was so suspiciously cheap?

Because of aforementioned heat, the only way you can comfortably fall asleep is naked. As you lay down for bed that night, you get an odd feeling. Too exhausted from the big move, you chalk it up to the anxiety of sleeping in a new home and go to sleep.

You're having a wonderful dream about your favorite fantasy when suddenly you're awoken by the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced. You have no time to acclimate to what's going on- you're immediately made aware of how your body is being violently bounced- no, fucked against the headboard of your bed.

Your legs are being held up by god knows what- something you try to discern when your gaze snaps to between your legs only to see nothing there except your embarrassingly wet cunt. The mirror at the foot of the bed, which you never got around to moving, confirms what you're trying to wrap your mind around in a mix of both fear and arousal: you're being fucked by something invisible.

A few more thrusts of the massive force inside of you has you crying out, the pleasure overwhelming- but your moans are cut short by another invisible presence forcing itself into your open mouth.

Drool and tears stream down your face as you gag and get pounded between two beings you can't see. You're quickly brought to the edge of another orgasm when suddenly both invisible masses rip free of you, leaving you coughing and gaped.

You're about to whine until you're manhandled into a new position. Your ghostly assailants waste no time, stuffing you full once more- except this time there's a third in your ass now, too. Your new otherworldly friends use you over and over all night, until you reach an orgasm so good that you pass out.

When you wake up in the morning, there's no evidence that the events of last night were anything more than the most erotic dream you've ever dreamt- though it is quite embarrassing to have squirted in your sleep..

Later that day, you're just out and about running a few necessary errands when you feel something prodding at your clothed cunt. You freeze, looking around only to find you're seated in the back of the bus alone. You brush it off as just your body being weird and readjust how you're sitting.

A few minutes go by, and the prodding is back- albeit more insistent. You're just about to get up and check under you to see if you're sitting on anything when you feel something slam into your defenseless cunt.

Involuntarily, you let out a moan. Your gratitude for the bus being empty doesnt last long, however- as it reaches the next stop and a dozen or so people flood in. All the while, your ghost is still fucking up into you with the force of a freight train.

It's a Herculean task to pretend as if your pussy isn't being ruthlessly pounded into oblivion. You're biting your lip so hard you've made it bleed- and you're gripping the seat besides you so tightly that your knuckles have turned white.

At one point, you try pressing all your weight down in order to stop yourself from bouncing on the massive cock inside of you, but the phantom grip on your hips just tightens and begins using you as a fleshlight.

The ghosts don't care if you're embarrassed, or overstimulated. They're going to fuck you wherever they want, whenever they want, for as long as it takes to satisfy them. You'll accept the job of being their free use slut, eventually. You know you love it.

.

[writersdrug]

I NEED waitress!reader accidentally letting it slip that she’s got a date after her shift and so when bartender!simon overhears, he suddenly has a list of things she needs to do after work, causing her get to stay late ))): missing her date ))):

ANGST TIME

He's been watching you like a hawk for the past two hours - and rightfully so. You've been rushing through your tasks, rolling more than enough silverware, keeping your tables happy and stocked - you somehow managed to convince Soap to mop front of house for you. He doesn't like it. Why are you trying to get away?

"Got a date tonight." You tell him, skimming through your receipts as you sit at the bar and calculate your tips. You're not off the clock yet - you still have thirty minutes left. But the restaurant's empty, and all your tasks are done. Your makeup is a little nicer today, softer and less "morning after a deftones concert".

Simon's thankful for the mask, or else his frown would be impossible to miss. Is he dumb? Haven't you been flirting with him all week? Was this another one of your games, pretending to act innocent and coy, messing with him, then announcing you're going out with someone else?!

He feels his shoulders tensing as he watches you tap away at your phone's calculator. He shouldn't be so bothered by this - some things just need to be let go. But he can't. He wants to keep you in his back pocket, or in an empty whiskey bottle on his liquor shelf - not the one behind the bar, but the personal collection in his room on the third floor.

"That's nice," he grumbles, slicing through a lime. "Jus' make sure you finish your chores 'fore you head out."

"Already did!" You chirp at him with a smile. "Just need to do my tips, and I'll be done."

"Did ya clean the ice bins?" He asks.

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

He jerks his head to the whiteboard on the wine fridge - sure enough, your name is scribbled in, right next to "drain and wash/sanitize ice bins + buckets", along with today's date.

You look back at Simon, your expression now crestfallen. Your date is in an hour, and you still have twenty minutes on your shift. "Don't you usually do it?"

Truthfully, he does. He could do it today, in fact. But his brain is acting on thoughts before he has the chance to consider the consequences. "Can't today, luv. Preppin' for a bigger crowd tomorrow."

Your shoulders slump. "How long does it take?"

"Well, you got to turn 'em off - one by one, I can't have two empty ice bins durin' a shift - then ya dump the ice, wait for 'em to warm up, then ya go in there with soap n' a rag, rinse 'em out, then-"

"God, can this please wait until tomorrow? I'll come in early and do it, I promise."

He looks at you sternly, and you suddenly feel ashamed for asking. "Wot, so I can pay you overtime?"

"Simon, please - if you do them, I'll give you half my tips for today."

"Now y' dumpin' your work on me?"

"I've got a date!"

"I've got my own shit too!"

You snap your mouth shut. He's never been this stern with you, but you know it's well deserved. It's your chore, after all. You'd been wrong to assume he would do it himself, despite that being the usual. You quickly hop out of the barstool and make your way behind the bar, unplugging the first icebin.

Simon watches as you scurry around, running to and from the ice bin into the kitchen, filling up bucket after bucket of ice and dumping it into the sink in the back. You pace as the machine warms up, glancing at your phone every few minutes, then touching the inside of the ice maker to check the temperature. After a few minutes, you're scrubbing the machine as fast as you can with a soapy rag and a bucket of sanitizer eater next to you.

Twenty minutes have gone by. You're supposed to be on your way to your date, but you're biting your lip, staring angrily at the ice machine as it cools down again. You need to wait for it to be cold before you refill it with ice, and only then can you start on the other machine.

You make another attempt towards Simon. "If I just do one tonight and do the other in the morning-"

"No." Simon snaps, his eyes angry as he drops a container of sliced fruit onto the bar. "This is part of havin' a job."

You look away from him, tears stinging your eyes now. You're so frustrated you want to snap back at him - but he's right, isn't he? Maybe you could ask him if you could just call Max and let him know you'll be running late - but the thought of asking Simon for anything right now (other than more chores) makes you queasy.

Simon doesn't know where the anger came from, but it's still simmering. He watches as you continue to run back and forth, filling up the old ice bin, unplugging the second one, dumping the ice in the back... he's refilling the bloody Mary mix and restocking the bitters. Simple things. He's got nothing to do after this besides go up to his flat and sit in front of the telly, or maybe chat with Soap before he heads home. Why didn't he just do it? Because you had a date, and that was a problem for him. Why? Now you're upset, and it's that knowledge that makes him finally feel the shame that he'd been swallowing down.

You finish dumping the last bucket of ice into the second machine. It's forty minutes after your shift ended. You still have to get to the restaurant you and Max were meeting at, which is a twenty minute walk. You were supposed to be there ten minutes early - now you're going to be an hour late. Frustration mingles with anxiety and burns in the forefront of your mind. But you can't be mad. You should've done your job.

Simon doesn't say anything when you run to the back, your phone pressed to your ear and tears in your eyes. You barely manage a wave to Soap as you grab your bag and jacket and flounder back into the restaraunt. You don't look at Simon.

"I'm leaving now, I'm so sorry- I had to finish up at work and it too longer than I-" you slowed to a walk, then a stop, standing in the middle of the floor. Simon was frozen, watching your shoulders shake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had-... it's not an excuse, I promise I'm-... listen, we can go for a walk or something, right? Or go get fast food, someplace still open, just you and me, and we can try again another-"

His eyes burn in his skull as he watches you stand there for a few more seconds, staring at your phone as the call disappears from the screen. He wants to say something - but what can he say? He's already fucked you over. And he doesn't feel any better than when he first discovered your little date. He feels worse.

You stuff your phone in your back pocket, unable to hide the single, choked sob that escapes your throat. You shoulder your bag and stomp your way out of the restaurant, door clanging behind you. Your bike is still in the alley out back, and your unfinished tips are still on the bartop. He wouldn't be surprised if you never come back to collect them.

Soap emerges from the kitchen breaking Simon from his thoughts and wiping his hands on a rag. "Real feckin' kind of ye, Ghost. Never seen such a right cunt." He glares at Simon, before slapping the rag on the table and heading back into the kitchen. His shift was over, too.

Simon has three more hours left to deal with himself before the bar closes.

[yeyinde]

(sighs dreamily) i loooove the way you write fucked up and gross simon. the size kink and somno drabbles have been living rent free in my mind for almost two weeks now. the recent stalker piece was also so deliciously terrifying, i actually had a dream/nightmare today that was a mixture of stalker!ghost and not-dog!soap 😭

are you planning on writing any more for either of those?

ahhh thank you!!!! this had me wondering how i could maybe blend the two and this happened.

stalking. HEAVILY implied noncon somno. size difference.

Simon decides your dog, your baby, needs a man in the house. and since you like to call yourself his 'mama,’ then it’s only right that he becomes the daddy both of you need.

Your dog does not like strangers.

He's a rescue and the sort of life he lived until now, until you, is mostly a mystery. You found him on a rainy day, panting under your awning - a gnarled mess of matted fur glued to bone. Too skinny to survive another winter. You took him in right away and gained his trust. His love. But whatever he had left to spare (lots, it seems) is strictly reserved for you. Everyone else is a threat, a worry. Even the vets he's known since you found him all those years ago still get the same wary glances, the same growls then they lean in too close to whisper something in your ear.

He's just—special. The sweetest thing ever when it's just you. Your baby. People joke—slightly nervous—that he treats you like his mother. Following you closely with his big, glossy eyes tilted up to stare at you. Loving. Cuddly. Rests his big head on your lap at night with a great, big sigh. Tired from a long, hard day of protecting his house from squirrels and the stray delivery driver.

But when it comes to others—anyone, really—he’s aggressive. Territorial. All the vets and trainers say that it's his breed. That he just needs to be trained. Exposure therapy. Behavioural. And it works for all of two weeks before he's back to his stubborn self. Snapping at anyone who gets too close to you.

You post warnings on your fence. Your front door. Take precautions when you walk him. Warn anyone who gets close that he doesn't like anyone. Full stop. No exceptions. And it works. Helps ease the stress. He still goes to therapy. To training lessons. But he's smart enough to trick them into thinking he's learning.

And it's fine. People can't get too close to you. To his house. His territory.

Or so you thought.

But he's been acting strange lately.

You caught him barking at something through the fence a few months ago; spittle flying from his muzzle as his lips peeled back, snarling and vicious. If the fence wasn't reinforced, you think he would have broken it down to get at whatever was behind it.

It continued like this for a few days. Each time you went to check and see what was there, all you find is littered cigarettes. The teenage son of your neighbour, you think. He likes to hide in the dense woods so his parents can't find him. You'll talk to him about it later. Ask if he can do it a little further away from the fence so he isn’t disturbing Baby. 

As the days grow, his growls and snarls diminish before stopping outright. In the interim, your unease grows.

It's small—at first. 

He wants to be outside more. Always whining at the back door, scratching at it with his paw. When you let him out, he runs right to that spot by the fence. Sits down, and just stares. When you go out to look, there's nothing there. Just a dark, sprawling coppice. Cigarettes on the ground. But something catches his attention. Keeps it. Holds it.

He leads you to that spot sometimes, too. Nudges you with his big, furry head to your thighs. Shepherding you to the fence, and then sits back, clearly preening. Proud.

"You're mama’s silly boy, aren't you?" you coo, scratching his ears. It must be the neighbour. Maybe a stray deer wandered by. You catch a flash through the tree line. Twin puddles of black peering through the tangled weeds. Your dog perks up, looking towards it. A deer, you think. A stray buck. You huff, patting his head. "Made a new friend, huh?"

But you can't shake the feeling that something else is out there. That something is staring at you.

Nothing, you tell yourself, fighting off a shiver. It's fine. Fine. He sneaks off at night sometimes. You hear him playing in the hallway. Wandering around the house. The tack-tack-tack of his nails against the hardwood as he walks back to your bedroom lulls you back to sleep. You feel the bed dip. Something warm against your back. You sigh, melting into the sheets—

There's nothing to worry about.

He'll protect you.

But the next morning, you find him locked outside. The patio door shut. The deck is dried from the sun, but his fur is wet. It rained last night. You drifted in and out to the patter of it on your window. The soothing weight of his body curling around you—

He must have gotten out in the morning. Rolled around in the grass. But when you put him in the tub later to scrub the rainwater off of his cost, his belly is dry.

It's nothing. He was in bed with you last night. It's fine. Fine. Everything is easy to explain away as coincidence. Nothing usual. The feeling of being watched. The missing food from your fridge. The creaks of the old house at night. Things shifting around—keys missing only to turn up somewhere else. Rodents chewing through your landline. 

The panties you shed, tossing into a corner before getting into the shower going missing—

They’re just—lost in the wash. You must have thrown the leftover food away when you cleaned earlier and forgot. The lingering scent of cigarettes. Smoke in your bed. The cloying scent of loam, humus. Fresh dirt. The stains on your bed. The strange smear in the gusset of your panties when you peel them apart.

Something thick, firm between your thighs—

Fine. You tell yourself. Everything is fine. At best, it's a gas leak. At worst—well.

Baby will protect you. 

Always. 

But the next day, he brings his favourite toy to the back door, asking to be let out, and this isn't—

It's not normal.

He's possessive over his toys. Keeps them on his daybed and refuses to let anyone touch them. Only you. He doesn't bring the. Outside, either.

But when you peer outside a few minutes later, the toy is lying by that spot near the fence. He's sitting down, tail wagging. Happy. Excited. It continues like this for the next few days. He brings his toys to the fence, coming in later, licking his lips. When you brush his teeth at night, you smell something gamey on his breath. Meaty. 

Getting out of bed a few hours later and playing in the hallway. Going to sleep with you at night, but somehow getting out in the early hours of the morning, waiting for you on the patio when you remember the huff of his breath over your neck less than an hour ago—

No. You're just—

Getting the time wrong. It's fine. He'll protect you. He doesn't like anyone but you.

You hear footsteps in the hallway at night next to the click-clack of his nails. When you jump out of bed to check, it's just him. Sitting by the back door, head craned over his shoulder when he heard you coming. His favourite toy is sitting on the ground in front of him. You fight a shiver. The feeling of eyes burning into you churns your stomach.

"I'm going crazy, sweetheart," you coo, but feel the threads of your sanity begin to snap one by one. "But you'll keep me safe, right?"

His tail wags. You pretend not to notice the gap in the patio door. Opened just a crack. You shut it, forcibly telling yourself to remember to close it next time and fight the memories of locking it before settling on the couch to watch old re-runs. You drag him back to bed, burrowing your head into his fur, listening to the thud-thud-thud of his heart in your ear. 

When you dream that night, it's of a big, scarred hand making its way between your thighs. A rasping, masculine voice in your ear commanding you to be good—

You wake up with your thighs sticky, wet. Your cunt pulsing. There's an ache there; a sting. It twinges when you move, tapering into a sore throb as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, woken up by the strange dream—fingers between your thighs, a head resting on your belly, calling you a good girl—and a noise.

A low murmur comes from the living room. You wince with the first several steps, forcing yourself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. The wetness that drips down your leg, some of it already dried, sticking to your skin. It’s fine. You just had a—

A wet dream.

—everything is fine. Fine. Your heart lurches. Lodges in your throat. Each beat feels like a fist against your tissue trying to break down the prison of your flesh to flee. 

You slowly inch toward the hallway, the sound, making excuses for the fear that curdles in your belly. The itch in the back of your head that calls you stupid. Demands you go back to bed. To sleep. You’ll wake up in the morning to Baby slobbering over your chest, drooling as the time ticks away in a slow crawl towards his usual breakfast. 

It’s tempting. The sleep congealing in the corners of your eyes, weighing heavy—molasses-thick—over your sense of awareness: cobwebbed in that strange, uncanny realm of sleep and wakefulness; hypnagogia turning shadows on the walls into human shapes. The whisper of wind into the brassy drawl of a voice. 

Through it all, the prickle rears. Says something isn't right. Hasn't been right for a while now. It's fine. Everything is—

It doesn't make sense at first. Your brain tries to wrap around the images your eyes feed it. Untangling the dizzying sense of confusion that runs along your hindbrain like a jagged knife; grazing tissue, scraping over nerves. The picture comes together quickly. There's no misinterpreting the shapes.

A man is lounging on your couch. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The remote is held in one hand as he lazily flicks through the channels on your television screen. The picture of ease. So relaxed, so comfortable in your space, that you begin to feel a little bit like an intruder. A voyeur peering between the curtains.

This feeling is reinforced when you peel your eyes away from the horrifying mask on the man's face—a black balaclava—and find your dog lounging beside him. Resting with his head over this stranger's thick thighs. His head perks up when you approach, tail wagging, but he doesn't get up from his spot. Content to bask in the half-hearted attention the man doles, a hand buried in his fur. Dragging over his ears. Down his back. Monotonous flicks of his thick wrist, nearly the same width as the barrel of a baseball bat.

And that just trembles down your spine in the worst way.

He's the same height as you are sitting down. Takes up two cushions on the couch with his absurd bulk. Massive, you think. And then it all rushes through you. The knife slips into your cognisance.

There's a man in your house. Petting your dog,

your dog who tries to bite the same vet he's had for years. Who trusts, who likes, no one but you—

You make a noise. Something strangled in the back of your throat. Muffed, unable to escape through the clot of your heart getting there first. It tangles around your pericardium and is too late to take back. To swallow down. 

It doesn’t matter, though. 

The man has been watching from the beginning. 

Dark eyes (a dark, black flash between the leaves—) drill into you. Staring. That familiar, unease feeling is back again, creeping up your spine. It's been him the whole time, you know. The thing behind the fence. Must be. The same brand of cigarettes you found on the opposite side is sitting on your coffee table, right beside his feet.

His chest expands with his inhale. You smell stale smoke. Something wild. The scent of the forest after a summer's rain shower.

"Finally up, are you? Thought you were gonna sleep all day." His voice is deep. Brassy. The growling roll of an approaching thundercloud. You shiver. Jerk back, but—

Baby growls.

He's never done that before. Never barked. Never snarled. Never nipped.

But right now, his teeth peel back, muzzle wrinkling as he lifts his lips. And you know it's playful. Seen this look on his face when you throw the ball across the yard. It's just him being his silly self. He won't attack you. Won't maul you. 

The man lifts his hand and your dog limbers up. Shakes. He jumps off the couch and trots toward you. Nothing is threatening in the way he moves. It's the same lumbering gait, the same happy wag to his tail, but he moves himself around you. Stands between you and the only escape.

"Baby—?"

"Taught 'im a few tricks," the man drawls conversationally—like he wasn't a stranger in your house. "Got a good boy on your 'ands. Jus' needed a bit o'trainin'—”

He snaps his fingers and Baby moves. Bumps his head into the back of your thighs. Pushing you. Nudging you toward the man. It’s so horrifying familiar that you find yourself moving without a thought. Following along. 

"He jus' needed a man in the house, didn't he? A father figure—" 

You're going to be sick. Think you would have been already if your heart wasn't lodged tight in your throat, keeping everything down. 

The man lifts his hand. Curls his fingers. 

"C'mon, mommy," he taunts, voice a derisive roll. "Come sit on Daddy's lap. It's movie night tonight."

Baby pushes you forward happily, tail wagging, wagging—

Happier than you’ve ever seen him as this stranger reaches out, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You think about fighting immediately, struggling to get out of his hold, but he moves back and the unmistakable, blunt press of a gun sends shivers rolling down your spine. You still instantly. Back drawing tight. Fear is a wet, hot pulse behind your ribs. 

“Don’t fight it, birdie—” You feel the warm, damp press of his mask against the shell of your ear. The ridges of his lips move beneath the fabric as he speaks. 

You hear him inhale, drawing in the scent of your shampoo—your fear: an oily thick miasma pooling behind your ears, against your nape—and feel tears pool against your lashline when a surge of familiarity wells up at the solid, firm weight of his chest against your spine. His thigh slips between yours, spreading them wide over the arch of his muscle. Limp, dizzy, you fall back into his chest when he pulls you in, slotting a burly arm over your ribcage. Locked in tight. A shackle. 

“Ain’t go’ nothin’ t’worry about,” he continues, hips shifting. Moving. And—

It’s a not gun. You know it isn’t. When you whimper, it throbs—

There’s the echo of a groan in his voice when he huffs, lips pursing into a kiss. “Nothin’ at all. C’mon, Baby—” 

And Baby obeys eagerly, jumping up on the couch beside him. His snout is warm, wet, when he presses it to your arm, sniffing. Please, you think, staring into his eyes as tears swell, pooling down your cheeks. Please—

But the man lifts his arm, and Baby circles the cushion before falling against his side with a deep, content sigh. Hope is snuffed out of your chest in an instant. The man’s hand falls to his head, rubbing his skull affectionately. 

“Good boy.” Baby perks. His happiness is a palpable thing that swells around you as he melts, eyes slipping closed. “Gonna be a good boy while mum an’ dad spend some time together, ain't you, boy?”

His arm tightens around your waist. Chin notches over your shoulder as he shifts back, legs kicking out to spread your thighs further apart.

"Now," he drawls, hand sliding down to the mess between your thighs. You shiver against him, toying with the idea of running, fleeing—but he must know. Senses it, maybe. He lifts his hips, pressing the gun into your spine. A threat. A warning. But with the way he swallows you up—broad chest closing in on you, trapping you on all sides—you know it's futile.

He has you.

Your submission makes him purr.

"Baby's sleepin', so now let daddy take care'o mommy—"