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athynathens · 8 hours

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ lust for you.

“Poor baby can’t even take the pleasure anymore. Am I fucking you too stupid, doll?”

PAIRING. Bakugo Katsuki x You/Reader

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. This takes place in the Boku no Hero Academia Universe, but Class 1-A are not pro heroes, rather they are just ordinary people only. This implies that there are no quirks involved.

SYNOPSIS. You were asked to accompany your friend to a fan signing event to her favorite band. No matter how much you resist, you have no choice but to abide to your friend’s persuasion. There, you met a certain blond, known for his rough personality. Something attracted you to him — and him to you. The tension, the glances, the touches, the sparks…and the goddamn sex is fucking something.

WARNING. long oneshot, minors dni, porn with plot, 18+ scenes, mature scenes ahead such as soft to rough sex, 69, face-sitting, cunninglis, degradation, dirty talking, and chocking

AUTHOR’S NOTES. holy shit guys. I wasn’t really expecting my previous bakugo katsuki one shot to be such a hit. Im really grateful for the votes!! Here’s another smut oneshot for yall! I have other things in store such as a kiribaku x reader oneshot and daryl oneshot, but I figured that many wouldn’t like it since i am not that popular yet so imma do another bakugo oneshot!! hope yall enjoy this since i had a hard time thinking of an interesting plot. also btw, “your friend” won’t be given a name in this oneshot so that you may name her however you want.

When your friend is randomly nice to you, buying your favorite food and drink, offering to watch your favorite show — don’t you think this is where it gets suspicious? If there is one thing you’ve learned with your beloved friend is that there is always a reason for everything. However, there is a pattern to her manipulation.

The more things she got for you, the greater the reason behind her actions and vice versa.

You already have speculations with what your friend might want. It’s either she wants to watch the movie where her favorite actor stared in; it’s probably a trip to a mall; it’s possible she would want someone to do her homework. And heck, it isn’t even her birthday today.

It turns out…she wanted you to go with her to a fansigning event of the GZB aka the Ground Zero Boys.

You had no idea how the hell she managed to convinced you, but seeing how desperate your friend is, you began to see how much she adores the group. You’ve seen her room plastered with posters of them. She even watch their reality show so much to the point she got scolded for being so less attentive these days. You wondered if this group is even worthy enough for her to become so detach with life.

Yet seeing how she is on her knees, practically begging and pleading while hugging your legs. You almost had no choice but to say yes.

But the thing is that…

…you began to regret going.

“WE LOVE YOU, GZB!!”

“GZB! GZB! GZB!”

“RED RIOT!! LET ME LICK YOUR ABS!!”

“CHARGEBOLT!! YOU CUTIE PATOOTIE!!”

“CHOCK ME LIKE YOU HATE ME, DYNAMIGHT!!”

“DEKU!! SLAP ME PLEASE!!”

“MARRY ME, SHOTO!!”

What kind of sorcery fuckery is this? You were astonished with the screams of desperation from the fans. You wanted to leave immediately because the yells kept increasing as their comments became more and more lewd. You can even see the securities are getting uncomfortable with their comments.

Damn. The sun isn’t even up yet. “These people are down bad for them…” You mumbled beneath your breath.

Your friend grabbed your wrist to guide you stay at the front of the doors, it was a tough and rough journey — you were stepped on, kicked on, pushed on, and pulled on.

You wanted to curse loudly for that rough journey. Heck! It wasn’t even supposed to be that fucking tough. However, your friend seemed really happy that you were there for her, so you decided to shrugged it off…for now.

After like what it felt like hours later, the doors finally opened, causing a riot to occur. Everyone was pushing each other, even though security was guiding everyone. You and your friend fought through the crowd of desperate fans till you two found a spot at the front. You had no idea if it’s luck, but the spot you two got is definetly a place where you can see them clearly, but it means they could see you two clearly as well.

Fans glared at the both of you out of jealously. They cursed at the both of you for getting such a clear spot to see them.

However, their glares diminished when the band finally revealed themselves to the crowd — looking all manly, dashing, confident, and handsome as fuck.

They greeted their fans, causing everyone to scream in support. The band can only laugh before introducing themselves with a mic.

Your eyes landed on a certain blonde guy with eyes so red it can penetrate your soul.

A couple of days ago, you did some research about the group, therefore, you absolutely knew who this person is, and he is…

“DynaMight,” He introduced himself gruffly.

Damn. That kind of hotness exists in this world, huh? The fans started to scream louder than before. To be honest, you can’t blame them since Dynamight is fucking hot, but the problem is that he is a bit…rough.

“Awww!! Kacchan here has fans after all!!” A cheerful blonde with a lightning strike on his hair teases.

“YOU WANNA DIE, DUNCE FACE?” Dynamight yelled angrily.

According to your research, he is known to have a rough personality, people would often mistaken him as mean, but that’s just really how he is. His rough personality parallels with his drumming skills. DynaMight brings out his angry emotions through drums, creating a somewhat desirable yet scary atmosphere around him.

There is not much known about him since he is pretty secretive and mysterious. It’s either that or he’s smart enough to hide from paparazzi.

The only known information is his real name, which is Bakugo Katsuki alias DynaMight.

As the day goes, you admitted that this fansigning event is quite entertaining. The interviews, the questions, and the answers are quite intriguing to listen to. You even had a thought if you should stan this group or not, definitely not stanning because of Dynamight only.

However, a question from Chargebolt made everyone’s ears perked up, especially your friend.

He asked if someone could guess what DynaMight’s favorite hobby is. Whoever can guess it correctly can win a chance to go up in stage and take a photo with DynaMight.

No one knew the answer to that, but it’s no surprise since he is secretive. However, you recalled that he would often post on Instagram about mountains and hiking gear. You came into a conclusion that he probably likes mountain climbing.

You elbowed your friend then, you whispered her the answer. She seemed hesitant to answer, but you gestured her with your head to say it on the mic.

With uneasiness, she got up to the mic and said her answer.

Bakugo’s wide eyes say it all, verifying that your friend got the right answer. Everyone cried in agony, disappointed that they lost their opportunity to make their wattpad life happen. Your friend only giggled then did a thumbs up to you while you shyly did the same thing.

“WHATTTT? You like mountain climbing, Katchan?” Chargebolt screamed, slamming the table with his hand.

Katusku clicked his tongue, “You’re just fucking oblivious, Dunce Face,” He replied with a middle finger.

“EXCUSE ME?” Kaminari retorted.

“Mountain Climbing? Say, Bakugo, wanna go with me sometime?” Todoroki asked nonchalantly.

“In your dreams, ice princess,” Bakugo middle fingered him.

“P-Please don’t start here…” Kirishima went in between the two, stopping them by the chest.

Deku clapped his hands, releasing the tension between the two. “Now! You may come up on the stage and take a pic with DynaMight!”

Your friend giggled once more, grabbing your wrist to pull you forward to take a pic with him. You tried to protest, but she was very stubborn so you had no choice but to agree. Besides, you protesting in the middle of this event is gaining the attention of the jealous fans.

Meanwhile, Bakugo Katsuki has his eyes on you.

You don’t seem to notice his gaze, and he wished it would be kept that way. The last thing he wants is for you to catch him staring at you.

He already knew that it was you who knew the answer to Denki’s question. The latter saw you whisper something to your friend’s ear before the latter got up to the mic to speak.

He had to admit, but he was fucking impressed since not even his stalkers know about this.

The blond watched as you shyly got up in stage. He watched your body movements — the way your body would shrink to the floor, the way your fingers fidget the front of your shirt, the way your thighs clenched, and the way your eyes avert away from his.

Shit. This is fucking bad. Katsuki gulped.

It’s been months since Katsuki had sex. Being an idol prevents him from doing such activities. To be more precise, his company does not allow their members to do pornographic work since it will ruin their image.

However, the band may or may not have disobeyed that rule.

The blond hasn’t gotten laid in months already. This is due to his fucking busy schedule — their strict CEO, the rules, the tours, the practices, their fans, their scandals, and stalkers are factors keeping him from going out to do his thing.

“Katsuki! Stop being so stiff and pose for the camera!” Kirishima yelled, cackling while clapping at the scene in front of him.

His eyes quivered, snapping back to reality as he immediately placed his hand on your shoulder while his other hand is on his pocket. Noises of cameras clicked from all sides, taking a picture of the rare photo of the one and only DynaMight alone with fans.

You can feel your heart beating uncontrollably. The weight of his hands left something on your stomach to your chest. You began to wonder if this is because he’s just fucking hot. No one in your college can even match his damn level. However, you decided to shrugged this feeling off and focused on the camera.

After a few minutes, the shooting ended. His band members only laughed while clapping, congratulating their angry-looking friend. While they were doing that, you can feel the weight on your shoulder dwindle.

You assumed that he was just removing his hand from your shoulder. What you were thinking was right, but it felt different.

Instead of lifting his hand, his fingers went down to your back as he traced your spine. Your back clenched at this seductive action of his. Thighs clenched and arched back as he continued tracing his fingertip down.

— Holy fuck, stop the car, you weren’t mentally ready for that.

You tried your best to not show any facial expressions at least, but it was fucking hard.

In the first place, you didn’t even know if he did this on accident or he’s actually teasing you. The last part sounded unbelievable since it is giving delulu vibes.

This is not the situation where delulu is solulu.

He stopped traching when he reached the end of your back, releasing his fingertips from your back. This allowed you to sigh in relief, feeling your own sanity coming back to you.

Katsuki watched as the staff member gestured you to go back to your places with your friend. He analyzed your movements, looking at your thighs and body as you walked to your place.

The event ended with a blast. Everyone was smiling in happiness as they all walked out those doors. Your friend kept fangirling on the photo incident both of you had with DynaMight. She can’t stop talking about how hot he was. Normally, you would get annoyed with her fangirling, but for once you agreed with her.

You may deny it, but you can’t shrugged the warm feeling he left across your back. The scent of his masculine cologne lingers around your upper body. Sniffing his cologne caused you to have a faint blush on your cheek. You can still remember that “sexual” action he did on your back. You couldn’t believe that his fingertips even had this effect on you in the first place.

You began shrinking down to the floor when you remembered how his eyes kept glancing in your direction — how he would suddenly grin and smirk when he caught you staring back.

Your cheeks were getting warmer each second so you excused yourself to use the bathroom. You practically ran to the bathroom, not wanting to delay any longer. As soon as you entered, you washed your face with cold water, trying to cool the warmness of the cheeks, but it isn’t working. Since it wasn’t working, you exited the bathroom with a disappointment look.

However, you stumbled across a hard chest which took you off balance. You were about to scold this person till you saw who it was — Bakugo fucking Katsuki. Your entire demeanor halted under his piercing gaze, you subconsciously lowered your head, not wanting to meet such a gaze.

“Oi. You were that distracted with your own thoughts to the point you didn’t even notice me?” He grumbled with a slight smirk.

Your throat gulped in response, “M-My b-bad…” You stuttered, immediately walking away from this situationship.

“How did you know?”

Your body turned, tilting your head in confusion. “How did I what?”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Know about my hobby?”

“Why do you want to know?”

The blond clicked his tongue in annoyance, crossing his arms which bulges his arms even more. “Do ya always ask so much fucking questions? Just answer the fucking question.”

Your body flinched at his angry tone, causing you to look away from him now.

A sigh left your lips, “Through Instagram. You keep posting stuff about mountain climbing? So thats how I concluded your hobby.”

Katsuki arched his brow, crossing his arms while tilting his head to the side. “Hm. How interesting. Ya fan of mine?”

“No. I just got curious to why my friend like you and your band so much so I looked to all of your accounts,” You replied, not wanting expose that you are kinda a fan.

The corner of his mouth fought a smirk. “Oh? Ya for real?”

“Yeah. I am for real.”

“Hm. Nah. Don’t believe it.”

“That’s your problem, buddy.”

He bent down, leaning his body forward. “Exactly. That’s why you need to help me understand…” A cocky grin is now plastered on his face.

You scoffed. “Why me?”

He only stared at me for a moment, then he began letting out some laughter, displaying his teeth. You only stood there in confusion. I do not get his humor. His happy atmosphere flashed right through my soul — just like how white damn teeth.

Moments later, footsteps were getting closer to them. You didn’t have time to react, and Bakugo took the initiative to grab your arm to pull you inside a small room. He shoved you two inside that room. A rough hand covered the sounds coming from your mouth. You had the damn urge to just fucking bite his hand.

The footsteps later diminished, causing you to even curse loudly against his mouth. He rolled his eyes, and then he removed his hand on your mouth. He lets out an ick to feel your spit and saliva on his hand.

“Don’t give me that damn ick face! You pushed me in here with your damn gorilla hands on my fucking face!” You silently screamed.

“Listen, woman. Ya look fucking smart so think about it clearly. Would you rather be caught with me and start a rumor? I’m pretty sure ya already know how fucked up our fans can be,” He reasoned, wiping his hand on his pants.

Your tense eyes soften. “R-Right. My bad…”

It’s his turn to sigh. “It’s fine. Your reaction is understandable.”

Damn. You were surprised that this hot-tempered drummer can be considerate. If you were being so honest, it really contradicted his whole rough character.

Later, you just realized how close he is. The tight space made you two really collide with one another. His knee was in between your knees. Both of his hands are actually trapping you; the right hand beside your head and the other is beside your forearm. The room began to heat up — or maybe that was just you.

“Nervous?” He asked gruffly.

Fuck. You don’t even want to look up, knowing his cocky grin is on his face right now.

Your hand slowly reached for the doorknob. “U-Um. Maybe I should get goi—” You were interrupted when he swiftly grabbed the doorknob and locked it.

Your heart beats faster, scared or probably excited with what’s happening.

“I’ll be fucking straight forward. I want sex, and I seem to want you to satisfy me.” Your face turned into a tomato at his straightforwardness.

“W-Why me?” You just had to ask.

“I want you. Isn’t that enough?” He answered, slowly creeping his hand around your waist.

“O-Okay…? But I’m a virgin…”

“That doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be slow. Besides, if we talk about weirdness, don’t you think it’s supposed to you weirded out by me asking for sex?” Bakugo asked, holding you in place.

You tilt your head, “Weird? What do you mean?”

The blonde chuckled pathetically, “I’m an idol, expected to be that perfect doll for the fans to practically do anything they want to do. Here I am, asking someone to relieve my sexual needs…”

“There’s nothing weird about it. You’re human who craves for physical touch, and I don’t blame you for that. Besides, I don’t think you should be ashamed of craving for it. Craving for something is what reminds us that we are human.”

A shimmer and twinkle counterclockwise his eyes. His mouth began to create a small smile, satisfied with your answer. He remembered that he asked this question to other of his flings, and he wasn’t satisfied with their answers — they always answer the same thing: “quit your job then” or “you chose this life so live up to it.”

How can he explain to a total damn stranger that being an idol is both his gift and curse; it’s similar to a love-hate relationship. Bakugo can’t just quit and leave his job since drumming is his passion and source of happiness. It was the only way to relieve his stress and anger plus earn profit from. He turned his passion into something he can get money from. And he truly wished that it would be like that. Therefore, he just can’t quit.

The blonde brought his hand on your face, removing the baby hair covering your blushing face. “I’ll ask again…” He rested his hand on your cheek, feeling the heat against his skin. “…do you want to sleep with me?”

You looked away, eyes quivering in excitement and nervousness. “T-Take it slow p-please…”

He shook his head and used his finger to guide your chin to his face. “Words, please.”

“Y-Yes…”

Katsuki brought you back to one of his houses in Japan. He drove from the fansigning event to his house with his motorcycle. The blond fondled across his pants and aggressively looked for the right key to open the door. He got angrier each minute, feeling his bulge on his pants.

Not to mention, he didn’t want to keep the lady waiting.

You noticed his stressed state so your hand positioned itself on his. “I’m not going anywhere so calm down.”

His breath hitched with your soothing tone, causing him to calm his tense shoulders. With a clear mind, he shuffled across the keys till he found the right one. As soon as he did, he dragged you inside and slammed you on the door. Your loud gasped echoed on his ears, and he immediately crashed his lips against yours.

You whimpered against him, feeling his tongue lick across your lips. Your mouth opened, allowing his tongue to toy and manipulate it with his own. His calloused hands travelled down your hips then to your ass, squeezing it before he lifted you.

He guided your legs around his hips, pushing his hard bulge into your clit. You moaned loudly against his mouth, releasing juices in your pussy. You knew he was screaming “big dicc energy” but you never apprehended that he will be this fucking big.

He pulled away for a moment. “Fuck. I’m so sorry,” He apologizes, caressing your body.

“I didn’t ask if I can kiss you…Fuck, you’re driving me so damn crazy…” He added, pushing you down to his bulge.

Your cheeks heated up, “I-Its okay…I already said yes to you a while ago…”

Bakugo rested his head to your shoulder. “Shit, I’m sorry but your first might be on the sofa and not on a bed. I can’t wait any longer.”

You smiled, “Location doesn’t matter. The person I’m with is what matters.”

An arrow stuck his heart, cheeks heating up with those words. It stimulated something inside him, his heart beating faster than normal — by normal, it means that he never felt this thirsty and hungry for someone else.

This was his first time being this hungry for someone.

His hands that were on your legs traveled up slowly, groping and caressing your thighs. He then landed his hands around your neck, placing pressure around the circumference of your neck. This caused you to chocked a bit, giving him the opportunity to lock lips again.

Both his hand and lips suffocated you, making you dizzy from pleasure and pain. Your hands gripped his chest, then traveling it up to his neck. You landed your hands on his hair, bringing him closer to you, forcing both of your bodies to collide even more. His bulge was long and fat, you can feel it resting on your stomach. The thought of it caused you to shiver in ecstasy.

He suddenly started walking, not even thinking of removing his lips from you. While doing so, he skillfully removed his leather jacket and held you by your ass, groping it as hard as he can. With the support of his hands, you tried to unbuckle his belt. This action can only make him laugh against the kiss.

“Calm down, sweetheart. I have all night to ravish you completely,” He whispered, licking his upper lips. Your face heated up, realizing how eager you were.

He gently let you down on the sofa and retracted his body from yours. With a smirk, he placed his hands on his back and slowly removed his shirt. His abs placed quite a show as his shirt got disposed to the ground.

“Got all shy, didn’t ya babe?” He asked, bending down to your thighs.

“Don’t worry…” He pecked your thighs while staring at your eyes. “…I’ll take care of ya, sweetheart,” He winked before pulling down my pants and undies in one go.

The cold air brought shivers to your heated bottom. Just by the thought of your own pussy bare in front of his eyes made you shy. Therefore, you subconsciously closed your legs, not wanting to embarrassed yourself further.

Bakugo growled, “I never asked to cover up, babe.”

“B-But it’s embarrassing…” You stuttered out, attempting to cover your pussy more by bringing down your sweater. Although, this action only caused your shoulders and breasts to be more noticeable.

The blond only chuckled, combing his hair back. “Sweetheart, I’m letting this go since this is your first time.” Your head tilted, confused with what he is insinuating.

He unexpectedly shifted your legs in an angle where he can bare your pussy on the breeze. Then, he suddenly opened it, by the ankle holding them tightly. The blond dropped a saliva on your pussy, making you to shiver as your pussy clenched at the warm sensation.

“Never, as in never, close your fucking legs. Your pussy…” He lets one of your legs go to only slightly touch your clit. “…is worth exploring. My cock and fingers is eager to tour around your pussy.”

Holy shit. This is not what you expect in sex. Sure you’ve heard about dirty talking, but never did you think that such words would rile you up. Your fingers covered your eyes, leaving small gaps in between to see the view.

“W-What about yours…?” You asked shyly. “W-Will I explore y-yours too..?”

Katsuki only chuckled, traveling his hands down to your thighs from your ankles. He asked with alluring tone, “Ever heard of 69, sweetheart?”

Your face heated up. Of course you know what that is, all the sex talk with your friend has corrupted your mind. Never in your life would’ve thought that you will experience it.

Your head moved up and down, agreeing to his question. This action made him grin in satisfaction. “Good, that’s what we will do. Are ya up for it, babe? No harm in saying no.”

You shuddered — him being considerate stimulated your innermost needs. So, you can’t help but say yes….

Katsuki did not hesitate and flipped you over. He laid his back on his couch while your clit’s on top of his pecs. Oh fuck. You only realized how embarrassing this position is. Juices from your pussy only dripped down to his pecs, and you can feel pussy clenching and unclenching. You had no idea what to be embarrassed of first.

Him staring at your bare pussy or the fact that your pussy is reacting like this.

“What a beautiful pussy,” He claimed, placing his middle finger on your folds. This caused more juices to spill out. You only shivered, gasping loudly when you released more of your juices.

“Holy fucking fuck, sweetheart,” He bit his lip, realizing how wet you are.

Blushes of red swept across your face, filling every skin with its redness. All this blushing almost made you forget about an aching bulge in front of your face. Your hands unbuckled his belt and pushed down his boxers and pants.

This is where you only noticed how it towered your face; it was in fact huge and thick. Now, you’re wondering if this would even fit inside you due to its humongous size.

“Go on, sweetheart,” He ordered softly. “Suck it.”

With much hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. Bakugo shuddered, feeling your cold fingers on his warm cock. This only triggered him to further toy with your pussy, causing you to whimper.

The blond noticed the limited movements you’re doing. The latter growled softly, bringing his hands to your clit and began pressing and rubbing it. The actions made you squirmed, accidentally falling forward. Doing so caused you to feel the sticky and slimy sensation on your cheek.

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t make me wait,” He practically pleaded.

You bit your lip, holding his cock to bring it closer to your mouth. Placing your tongue out slightly, you licked the tip to taste it. Given that it is your first time, you started on by licking his length first. You brought your tongue down his shaft while pressing down his tip.

You suddenly felt a finger going inside you. Your body shivered, bringing goosebumps with the new feeling — it was uncomfortable yet you didn’t mind it. Feeling a bit bold, you decided to at least suck the tip. This is where your jaw ached. You knew he was big, but now you are sucking him, you never knew that he was this damn big.

What the fuck. My mouth already hurts. You tried sucking him deeper, but it really hurt your jaw. Katsuki began to chuckle slightly, realizing what you are attempting.

“I appreciate the eagerness, sweetheart, but take it slow. I need your mouth to scream for me later,” He fondled your ass, grinning at your adorable actions.

You slowly look behind, staring into his eyes with your teary ones. “U-Um…’m sorry…” You shivered, almost letting a tear drop.

Bakugo’s pupils shrunk.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, but I think we need to continue this 69 position another time,” Bakugo suddenly declared.

“H-Huh…what do you—” You were suddenly pulled back by the hips and landed on his face.

You exploded in embarrassment, realizing your bare pussy is on his fucking face. You extended your arms, trying to crawl your way out, but he held your hips tighter. You squirmed under his hold, but you gasped loudly when a wet object touched your folds — his tongue.

“W-Wait…!” You pleaded, but he didn’t budge.

His tongue was one of the wonders of this damn earth. He skillfully licked the outer and inner folds of your pussy — toying and sucking them like tits. You can feel his tongue swirling around them, causing your back to arch. Suddenly, his hands that were around your hips traveled down to your clit.

You gasped loudly, clutching down to his pecs in ecstasy. His hands effortlessly rubbed your clit, stimulating your pussy to juice out more liquid for him to eat, swallow, and devour. The blond never halted his actions, whether he needs to breathe or take a break, he did not stop toying with your pussy till you are at his mercy.

Katsuki groaned, electrifying your pussy in pleasure. He got bolder and deliberately inserted one finger inside your pussy. His eyes rolled back, feeling your soft walls clenching around his fingers. He salivated on how soft your insides felt, his cock harden in delight which almost triggered him to rapture prematurely.

Your body began to lose it’s stance so you collapsed down to his chest. You collapsing This new position exposed your pussy even more, juicing out more liquid to his mouth. The folds became more defined, allowing him to get a better view of your pussy.

“Fuck, doll, your pussy’s enticing,” He licked his lips.

The blond lifted you up by the armpits, placing you directly down his lap. You winced and shiver from exhaustation while this motherfucker grinned cockily. His arms wrapped your waist, pulling you closer. Your tits and his pecs were colliding along with your bare pussy and cock. “You feelin’ aight, sweetheart?” He asked with a grin, holding you closer.

You blushed, looking away from his predatory gaze. The blond only chuckled, grabbing your chin and pulled your face forward while making you face him. “When I ask…” He whispered, pushing your excess hair away from your cheek. “…you answer, doll.”

Your jaw clenched, gulping along the way. “I-I’m feeling a-alright, B-Bakugo-k-kun…”

His mouth lets out a ‘tsk’ sound. “Call me Katsuki. Understand?”

You nodded shyly, “Y-Yes…K-Katsuki…”

He smirked, “Good girl,” He declared, locking lips with yours.

Your mouth gasped, creating an entrance for his tongue to pass by. The dominance he displayed was shown through his tongue. With feral force, he pushed your entire body backward. What’s holding you in place was his huge arms. Your back was leaning heavily onto those arms as he shallowed every sound you make. His mouth flatten around your mouth, toying and completely manipulating every move your tongue does.

Katsuki was kissing you with such passion, you completely forget about the cock in between your bodies. You only mewl loudly when your pussy rubbed against his cock. You felt him smirk against your mouth. He continued kissing you while holding you tightly. Bakugo pulled your lower half closer to his cock, sinking it into the folds of your pussy.

“Keep your eyes on me,” He rasps,

He then guided your hips up and down…up…down…up…down.

Katsuki groaned, face red from excitement and pleasure. He has would grit his teeth and clench his jaw, still guiding your hips by force. His movements gradually went faster. You only gasped loudly as your body bounced from his brutal movements.

Katsuki’s jaw clenches, imagining his cock balls deep inside your exquisite pussy. He would fucking imagine how he would just manhandle you, throwing you around in his house, fucking you in every corner. He imagined every single detail while staring closely at your panting face.

As your body bounces, your hands had no idea where to go. You tried gripping his shoulders, but it ended up bouncing off so your hands traveled down, landing on his knees. You held onto them, allowing your tits to bounce freely. Bakugo only licked his lips at the enthralling sight.

Fucking hell. He imagined your tits bouncing when you ride his cock hard. Bakugo only gripped you tighter, ferociously grinding your hips against his cock.

You can feel an unfamiliar feeling circulating your stomach. “S-Something’s c-coming…!!”

Katsuki’s eyes widen a bit then harden, realizing what’s about to happen. With every sheer force he had left, he managed to stop his movements. His body tingled brutally, with a growl not fucking satisfied the fact that he had to halt his actions. Meanwhile, your eyes watered up, wondering why he had to stop this pleasure.

His jaw clenched, “‘m gonna fuck ya. Ya ready, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes…p-please…” You pleaded, a tear slipped out of your eye.

Katsuki grabbed a condom from the pocket of his back pants. With one hand, he ripped out the condom with the help of his mouth. He spat out the excess plastic on his mouth and began inserting it around his cock. You can only watch him — his cock was perfectly wrapped around the condom, and it somehow turned you on even more.

He laid you down softly, grabbing a nearby pillow and placing it on your lower back. His calloused hands travelled up your thighs, bringing them closer around his waist. Katsuki bent down, immediately locking lips with you. The sounds of kissing echoed the room, giving the love and attentiion needed to your mouth.

“I’m going to enter, doll. Ya ready for me?” He asked softly, caressing your cheek.

“M-Mhm….” Your mouth couldn’t find the right words anymore; this overwhelming feeling was simply too much, and his cock isn’t even invading your insides yet.

He smirked, aligning his cock into your pussy while locking his lips again with yours. His mouth invaded yours as he pushed his cock inside you a bit. You gasped against the kiss, arching your back to relieve some kind of pain. Katsuki panted, feeling his tip breaking in your virgin walls. He did not hesitate to lock lips again, yanking your hips tighter.

You kept thrashing your arms around, clutching onto his chest, shoulders, hair — anything. He continued to slowly enter his cock inside you till he finally entered you half-way. You let out a loud cry, pulling away from the kiss as you panted heavily. Bakugo looked at you with concern, wiping away all your hair out of your face.

“Talk to me, doll. Are you okay? You want to stop?” He asked, trying his best to halt his actions.

“I-Im fine…i-it just hurts…a-are you all i-inside…?” You asked while tearing up.

Katsuki only chuckled, “I’m only half way inside, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen, surprised to know that since you are feeling full already. His length was huge and veiny, your walls can even feel how it twitches inside of you. Your head throws back while your legs shake violently.

What minutes felt like forever. Katsuki did not move the slightlest and waited for you to adjust to his size. He kept whispering words of encouragement, telling you what a good girl you are. His mouth made contact with your forehead, kissing you tenderly.

“Y-You can move…” You stuttered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Are you sure? Because…” He asked, groaning as he felt you clenched around him. “…once I start, I won’t stop.”

“I-It’s okay….I trust you…” You declared.

His body stiffen when he heard those words, pulling his cock away slightly then putting it in slowly. The sensitivity of your body couldn’t take the new feeling, you started to hug Bakugo tightly.

Katsuki positioned his head on your shoulders, nibbling and licking your shoulders to your neck. The slow pace was surprisingly pleasurable to him. He can picture and feel your walls better, almost as if he’s analyzing them.

The pleasure was too much for him, his hand gripped the coffee table beside him and crushed it.

The sound of woods breaking exhilarated something in you. The mere fact that he had to break something because of you just made you moan, causing you to tighten up. Katsuki deliberately bit your shoulder, sensing your walls tighten around him.

The latter began to fasten his movements, gradually feeling the pleasure build up on his body. You only held him tighter, intertwining your fingers on his blond hair. Your mouth panted heavily, the pleasure of his cock moving in and out of you was giving you such a bliss.

You pulled his face away from your shoulder, holding his cheeks. You caressed them with a smile, “I-It’s okay….y-you can go harder…”

“W-What,” His eyes widen.

You continued to smile, “I can take it. You can give it to me,” Your eyes watered in desperation.

Katsuki almost came into the scene in front of him. The moonlight helped define your looks even more. The glow in your orbs illustrated your desperation and need for him. The feel and sight of your sweaty body made him grit his teeth, trying to stop himself from letting his juices out.

Fuck. He couldn’t take it anymore. He straightens his body and grips your hips tighter. With that, he rammed everything in. Your pupils shrunk, choking from the sudden movement.

He threw his head back, face tingling in pleasure. His mouth almost salivated from this ecstasy. Katsuki pulled his cock out to the tip and force his cock inside you again. The latter groaned in delight, eyes twitching as he kept doing this movement.

With the pleasure he’s giving you, your mouth can only leave a scream. Your hands traveled up, trying to find something to grip. Katsuki gripped your hips tighter, holding them up at in angle. His movements increased, rapidly moving his cock in and out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck..!” He rasps, his hips stuttering with desire.

Katsuki then shoved your knees to your shoulders, folding you in half. He held your ankles then began assaluting your walls again. The new position chocked you in surprised. You can clearly feel and see his cock. Your mouth cried out, feeling his thick and long cock practically persecuting your pussy.

The ferocious force of his thrusts caused your lower back to hurt, but the pleasure overpowered that pain.

With a loud roar, Bakugo flatten his hips to your pelvic to the point it fucking hurts. He held you tightly, his cock releasing all his juices inside the condom.

Your back arched with a scream, your insides can feel how the condom expand. It expanded inside of you so much, you can feel your stomach getting bloated.

Holy shit. You gripped his shoulders so tightly with a scream. You even began punching him on the shoulders softly from the overwhelming pleasure. Thus, you came hard.

“T-Too much..!!” You cried out, shutting your eyes which made more tears fall out.

“F-Fuck…j-just a little more, sweetheart,” He stuttered, still releasing his semen in the condom.

Few seconds has passed, and Bakugo finally pulled out slowly. You choked, your walls feeling empty without his cock. The mix of your wet juices and creamy substances pools your lower half. The blond tied the condom before throwing it to the side and getting another one.

Your eyes widen, seeing him putting on another condom. You stuttered, “A-Again…?”

“Damn right. Chest by the coffee table and ass up, sweetheart. My cock quenches for your wet juices,” He grinned, combing his hair back which revealed his sweaty forehead.

With shaking legs, you crawled down from the sofa; you had a feeling that your aching lower half can’t handle the weight of standing up. Bakugo whistled, seeing how your ass moved. The latter licked his lips, noticing how plump it looks especially if you arch your back like that.

Bakugo stood up as soon as your tits are pressed against his glass coffee table. He smirked, watching your vulnerable state. Seeing how your legs are barely keeping you up just made you extra irresistible.

He then sat down with his ass practically infront of his cock, and he allowed his fingers to travel down your spine, making you shiver from his sudden contact. “Aww, what’s wrong, doll? Can’t handle this?”

You bit your lower lip, not expecting his sudden mocking attitude. You can feel his fingertips lowering, tracing your spine sensually. Then, his calloused hands groped your ass. You gasped, moving forward a bit from his ruthless grip.

You heard him cursed beneath his breath, his fingers held your ass tighter. He watched as his fingers sunk down the soft flesh of your ass. His eyes darkened, getting amused and aroused by this tension.

“You know, sweetheart…” He suddenly spoke. “…how I usually fuck my night stands are all about rough but quick sex.”

Then, he flatten his palm to your back, travelling up, “But for some reason when it comes to you, I want to see how long you’ll hold till I devour you slowly .” His fingers tangled around the tips of your hair.

You gulped then asked, “W-What do you m-mean..??”

Katsuki chuckled, “It means, doll…” He grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled it back, lifting you up from the table. “…I want to ravish you till you break, till your legs shake, till your pussy is leaking, till your mouth is sore.”

Your eyes widen, gasping from the pain of your hair being pulled and from his dirty words. Bakugo used his free hand to suffocate your breath. “The previous fuck was just me being nice. Now, I will fuck you till you’re so damn stupid.”

Before you can even respond, he shoved his entire cock inside your pussy. You screamed, attempting to fall down to the coffee table. Katsuki’s hand around your neck prevented you to do so. He lead down, his mouth whispered lowly, “Look at your right side, doll,” He asked you.

You did and you saw the broken wooden edge of the coffee table. “Ya see that? I broke my precious coffee table because of you.”

Bakugo then leaned his hips backward and slowly shoved his cock back inside you. “Your pussy was that good around my cock. My body yearns for more — you and your tempting pussy will satisfy me.”

You only moaned in respond, feeling his pelvis slowly slamming against your ass. Your eyes rolled back from pleasure, watering your eyes along the way. Katsuki held your neck tighter, his mouth letting out small moans against your ear.

He suddenly lets out a growl, pushing you down to the coffee table. He lifted your ass a bit higher then began shoving his cock faster. His tongue licked his upper lip, his hands used the globes of your ass as a tool to shove you back and forth against his cock.

When you clenched, he roared loudly, “Fuck yeah. Give it to me like that. Holy shit,” He babbled, the sweat travelled down his entire body.

Without pulling out, Katsuki lifted your body on the coffee table and laid your body to the side. He leaned a bit forward and pressed down on the side of your waist. You couldn’t move because of his strength allowed him to properly manhandled you.

This new angle caused you to hit the table multiple times due to the overwhelming esctacy.

The blond chuckled, seeing you struggle under him. “Poor baby can’t even take the pleasure anymore. Am I fucking you too stupid, doll?”

You only squirmed, forcing your head to look at him. His teeth gritted in lust, seeing how your face is flushed with redness, eyes all teared up and drool dripping down your mouth. Not to mention, your body was coated with a mix of your sweat and his. This caused your body to shone under the moonlight, which made you even more exquiste for him.

“P-Please….c-can’t..I-I—” Your mouth can’t even form a proper word from all the moaning you’re producing.

The blond smiled — not a sweetly or lustful way; it’s more on a predatory smile. His eyes displayed all the emotions he had felt at the moment.

He was lusting over the fact you became this stupid after a few rounds. He was lusting by the fact that you knew him better than his team mates. He was lusting over your intelligence and observation on his love for mountain climbing. He was lusting everything about you.

— Katsuki Bakugo needed you.

“C-Can’t what, doll?” He mocked your tone, not removing the smile on his face. “Can’t take it anymore, hm?”

Watching you nod so quickly increased his need for you. “That’s too bad, doll…” He pulled all of his cock out.

“You’re going to fucking take it all,” He rammed everything in, instantly hitting a special spot inside you.

Your body arched, feeling your body being electrified as you let out a silent scream.

He laughed rutherlessly, looking down at your fucked up state. The man continued pulling his entire cock out and shoving it in like a feral animal in heat. His hips barbarously pushed forward, making your skin bounce from the impact. Your breasts began to hurt from this painful thrusts — heck, your entire body is already hurting yet it’s still so fucking pleasureable.

Your stomach began to coil a familiar feeling. That’s when you realized that you’re about to come. This new feeling overstimulated your insides more, you placed a hand on Katsuki’s abs and pleaded, “S-Slow d-down..! I’m c-coming..!”

He grinned and then winked at you before rolling his hips to an angle and collided his hips on your ass. You screamed, feeling his cock hitting another milestone inside you.

“You’re in luck, doll. I am close too,” He uttered with a raspy tone.

After a few more thrusts, he came with a roar as you creamed around his cock.

Both of you panted in exhaustion. His hips still stuttered as he expanded the condom with his creamy substance. After a few seconds, he pulled out, oozing out your white essence.

Your nose sniffles from all the cries. His hands extended, reaching for your cheek. “Are you feeling alright? Do you think you can continue?”

Your eyes widen in shock, “C-Continue…?!?”

Katsuki chuckled at your reaction. “I’m not yet satisfied as you can see,” He smirked, and you noticed his cock hardening again.

“Didn’t I tell you?” He grabbed another condom from his back pocket. “I’ll ravish you till I’m satisfied, and I’m not yet close to satisfaction. Ya go for it? No pressure if you say no.”

With your shaking body, you sat down on the coffee table. You used your mouth to rip the plastic off the condom. Katsuki watched you in shock. You removed the plastic from your mouth and grabbed the condom. Katsuki watched as you pushed the condom into his pecs.

You looked away from his face, embarrassed by what you did. “You said you’ll fuck me till I break,” You blushed.

“I’m not yet broken, Katsuki…”

His face shivered in delight, a blush seen on his face while he bit his lower lip in exhilaration.

“Tits on the glass window. I want my window tainted by your sweat, doll.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝙣𝙤 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩.

#bakugo x female reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou smut #bhna bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #boku no hero academia #bakugo x you #boku no hero fanfic #bakugo katuski #mha bakugou #drummer bakugo #drummer katsuki #bakugo smut

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arx-aru · 9 months

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ok so. Both dungeons with Cleanrot Knights as bosses have 2 interesting quirks in common:

the "goons" (theoretically)protecting them are Servants of Rot and Miranda Flowers

there are items & casualties explicitly related to Rykard

From these we can speculatively-tentatively-theoretically extrapolate a few things:

a. Due to item descriptions associated with Servants of Rot, the present Malenia-Miquellan inhabitants of these caves arrived after the Battle of Aeonia, or were infected/indoctrinated by survivors of it

b. The placement of the Servants of Rot in relation to the boss!Cleanrots suggests they either view themselves as or are aligned with the Cleanrot Knights, presumably in a subordinate fashion

c. The cave in Caelid(Abandoned Cave) is littered with destroyed (Rykardian)Iron Virgins; the one in Liurnia(Stillwater Cave) has an outlying room filled with corpses, one being a Sage(wearing the same attire as Gowry) and another having seemingly been shot by Serpent Arrows... this translates to, most likely, the Miquellans and Rykardians having fought each-other at these locations

(The Serpent Arrows and Serpent Bow(found next to a derelict Iron Virgin) are both explicitly tools(or 'minions'??) of the Formless Serpents, connected with the Serpent Worshippers of Mt. Gelmir)

with another round of speculation telephone these dungeons, presumably 2 of the most thought-out Cleanrot encounters, seem to serve as suggestion of 1) a direct relationship between the Cleanrots and the Servants of Rot, 2) multiple post-Aeonia Miquellan-Rykardian skirmishes, 3) the loose, Doylist drawing of a parallel/comparison/contrast of some variety between Serpent pagans and Rot pagans

#servants of rot also themselves have a low chance to drop serpent arrows #which is really weird #either they were shot by them(probable) OR possibly they #USED to be serpent minions #and the rot is like the zombie ant fungus #so that's fun anyway #elden ring #elden ring lore #elden ring theory #cleanrot knight #stillwater cave

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gremlingottoosilly · 7 months

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What lies within (Tentacle!Monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

It's mating season for monster hybrids. Unfortunately for you, the colonel didn't have time to dump his eggs everywhere. TW and tags: Non-con, size difference, oviposition, monster hybrids, forced breeding, belly bulging, yandere Konig, possessive Konig, tentacles, double penetration. Word count: 3278

The brave new world of opportunities for monsters.

The illustrious life for those who are not afraid of being a hunter in the billion flocks of weak, stupid prey.

There are endless possibilities for the ones who decide to serve in the various armed forces specifically tailored to monsters.

And loads of other bullshit that König had to endure every day on the briefs. Propaganda, advertisement, and weak attempts to make a new generation of monster hybrids abandon their old ways and join either army or contracting forces, making them glorified mercenaries. Jaided and disillusioned, the colonel long abandoned the thoughts that service can be fun, that it can bring him something other than money and occasional bullets in various places.

“Most inclusive workplaces for monsters,” his ass. They were fed bullshit on top of other bullshit, and he is already tired of war – but there isn’t much he can do besides it. The payment is nice, he gets to eat his enemies and tears through entire units of squishy, weak humans who make perfect snacks from their useless fucking bodies.

— So. Abandoned by your team, ja?

Unfortunately for him, sometimes war operations meant that he was not supposed to eat prisoners – he was supposed to take them, hoard them into rounds, and send them for either ransom or whatever higher-ups wanted to do with them. Sometimes, it’s torture for information, sometimes, it’s attempts to bring them to their side if they are worth it.

Sometimes, he just looked in the eyes of a soft, squishy little prey and just couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

Well…” sometimes” is a very big word. He had never once thought about keeping the POW for himself before he met this stupidly beautiful, soft nurse with a perfect face, nice pair of legs in that ugly baggy uniform, and the most beautiful scent in the entire…

He never thought of keeping the prisoner for himself before he met you.

It was supposed to be an easy mission for you – he can see it from your lack of normal armor. Either you had no idea that KorTac had their own plans for whatever you wanted to do here, or your contractor is extremely cheap. He likes either way – you smell like a human, and he likes dumb humans who would make perfect victims. You smell and look weak, trembling, perfect fucking pray for someone like him. König didn’t feel the need to transform for this battle. Your team ran away like a bunch of bunnies before he ever fired his first shot, but he could still feel his tentacles slowly stir under his hood. He can feel his body transforming without the need to – and he feels the pressure in his lower stomach.

When was the last time he was able to put his eggs somewhere other that cold, unforgiving air?

Even the bagginess of your uniform doesn’t obscure him from looking at the sway of your hips, at the perfect surface of your tummy, and feeling the smell of your ripe, fertile body. Having a strong sense of smell always came like a curse in the team of monsters where showering after a mission isn’t something that is done by many, buy König can appreciate his nose now – he can smell how perfect you are for breeding. How scared, too.

Poor thing, probably terrified of his. König knows how he looks, even in his human form – tall, broad, bigger than any man you saw before, so much more muscular that even with your military training as a combat nurse, he could still break your spine with one hand. His size is something that made it impossible to find a partner normal ways – monsters are naturally too dominant to ever submit to him, and humans are simply too scared to deal with someone like him. He isn’t surprised, no – if anything, he understands completely.

You sob, your voice is melting with incomprehensible pleas and little whines. You are shaking under him – a poor, dumb girl who wasn’t aware that her best shot at surviving was to try and shoot his crotch off before he pulled a gun out of your hands.

— Pl…please, you can’t…you can’t do this! It’s a crime, I was on medical duty, it’s…

König likes humans because they are dumb. Civilian humans are even cuter – run around, thinking their lives are protected by sets of laws and rules that, in fact, don’t apply to the strong – and you, in your full half-military half-civvie glory, are fucking perfect. You whine and sib, tears running down your face when he presses you under him. Your hand hits the hard rocks of the ground, and he shifts slightly, dragging you closer to a softer patch of grass.

He laughs when you are trying to scramble from under him, your lower half is pinned by his weight – he is surprised you can still move. You move your pelvis, trying to get out – and he moans quietly when you start rubbing your crotch against his. You freeze, fear spreading on your face – god, he missed that feeling. When was the last time he got to actually breed someone? Or even just have sex with someone as cute?

— You really think so, Schatzen? That rules will protect you?

He moves his crotch against yours, making you sob a bit more. You’re sweet and compliant, and he just loves breaking soft things like you – it’s a desire to break, to destroy, to make you his. He knows that, technically, forcing himself on women from enemy lines really is a war crime. He also knows that if he’d managed to breed you with his eggs, monster laws would never allow you to separate after mating.

Besides, it's not like he is going to let you go, so you could tell on him. König never believed in love at first sight, but you would be a perfect vessel for his eggs and his tentacles – what else would he need from a wife, right?

— You’re pretty.

He says plainly, his hand goes to rub your chest through the fabric of your uniform. You won’t need those ugly clothes anymore – he’d make sure to buy you something nice and frail that won’t make you too uncomfortable to carry his eggs. Maybe a soft, frail dress or some of those cute maternity clothes when your body starts to change. He can’t wait to see his breasts swelling with milk – even if his unfertilized eggs won’t need it, he certainly would. Even if you’re too weak to handle his load, he’d make sure to get you a nice, firm plug and keep you on his tentacles constantly.

You start to sob even more when you understand what he is trying to do – when he rips your pants to reveal the softness of your cunt and the fragility of your [anties, you actually manage to push your legs against his dick a good few times. He is too aroused to notice – if anything, he likes how fiery you are, your little yells and loud screams for help. No one will come to aid you – he barked the orders for his soldiers to go and fuck around somewhere else while he was busy devouring his little prize. Colonel doesn’t like having an audience – if anything, he is saving your dignity right now. If anything, he is remarkably soft when he pushes one of his long, red tendrils down your body, massaging your pussy through your panties.

You’re moist already when his tentacle finds a way to your labia. What a slutty nurse you are – getting off the enemy colonel breeding you in the middle of the battlefield. Your tears mean nothing when he is too busy massaging and pressing and playing with your sticky, puffy folds – poor girl, so deprived of attention that even the weird texture of his extensions only fuels your desire.

So fragile, so perfect – and so, so wet that your adorable white panties are already become transparent, sticking to your soft pussy. When he takes you home, he’d make sure to forbid you from wearing any underwear at all – you would meet him dressing in nothing but his shirts, a hand on your tummy to support the weight of your eggs. Walls of your pussy clenching on the plug he’d make to insert in you every morning.

— Don’t…please, don’t, n…

You whine ever so sweetly, trying to close your legs so he won’t be able to touch you. It’s futile, just one of his tendrils is ten times stronger than your hands. He gets through your closed legs, buried in the moistness of your sweet, perfect pussy. You taste heavenly – just one minute enough to make him hungrier than before. König’s mating season was often postponed due to constant adrenaline rushes and things he takes to enhance his battle abilities – but he can feel eggs pressing at the inside of his body now, preparing to be released in the sweet heat of your body. But he has to prepare you first.

— Quiet now. It won’t hurt unless you want it to.

His tendrils are coming to moisten your pussy even more – sweet numbness filling your body from the lower stomach and right to your head. Knowing that you must feel dizzy and just a tad bit dumb, König can’t wait but chuckle. He likes you empty-headed, adorable dumbness in your eyes. He knows that he doesn’t know you, that you might even already have a boyfriend on the civil side of your life – but he doesn’t care. His mind doesn’t easily fall for just anyone, but if he saw a perfect vessel in you, there is no escape. At least he is nice enough to be gentle.

You whimper slightly when he pushes the first tendril inside of you. Too impatient to use his hands or tongue to make you feel a bit more at ease – after all, you are still on the battlefield, even if your friends abandoned you to get picked up by KorTac. Too impatient to soothe you with his words, he uses one of his smaller, thinner tentacles to push your pussy walls, make you squeeze him and milk for all his worth. You are wet, but not enough to take him without crying. Hot and soft, the cold texture of his extensions contrasts with your body too much – you are shaking, he can feel slight vibrations at the soft walls of yours.

Fitting him like a glove, too perfect to exist – he just wants to take you with him, to flip you on your tummy and push all of his tentacles inside. You’re tight and warm, you make him go crazy from desire. It’s weird how a strong and mighty colonel can be so charmed by just some enemy nurse, but when you whine slightly and try to adjust your body to fit more comfortably under him, he just knows that he has to take you. That, no matter how much you are crying and praying for him to stop, you want to be used by him. Perhaps, with certain training, you would want his eggs, too.

Second tendril caught you by surprise. Just when you started to adjust to the weird, slimy feeling of something writhing inside of you, spreading your tight walls around it and clashing with the heat of your insides, a second, bigger one started to press on your clenched folds. You wanted to beg, to ask him to stop – you’re too tight for this, too small, you would never be able to take even just one of his tentacles, you were…

But his tendrils press easily, he accesses lube spreading between your legs. You are sobbing from the feeling, and he is laughing. His hand goes to rip the upper part of your clothing, revealing your midriff. Fingers pressing on your tummy, just to feel his tentacles inside – he laughs when the skin of your stomach is tensed up, revealing the outlines of his extension. God, he can’t wait to make your body swell from him. Even though the eggs are not bearing his children, he can imagine you and a bunch of little ones – you’d look much better like this than pretending to be a nurse. Honestly, what were you even trying to do on the battlefield?

— Stay still, ja?

— Too much! Please, n…no more…

— Poor thing. You’ll feel so much better after I add the third one.

He knows that he is overstepping a bit, that your body isn’t used to taking something as big as his tentacles – but König also knows that his pre-cum makes you feel dizzy warm. Acting like a natural aphrodisiac, you won't be able to resist relaxing under him. The lubricant is enough to allow his other tentacle to force himself in your ass – he isn’t going to breed that hole yet, but it doesn't mean that he can’t use it.

He groans loudly when your asshole clenches around him – he had to stretch you quite a bit, that sweet numbness of his precum isn’t making you relaxed enough to take him whole, but he is managing, one agonizing centimeter after another. At the point you’re out of breath, with your face all flushed, he already knows he fucking won – he knows that you, poor, fragile thing, isn’t going anywhere. He would say that he feels horrible about forcing you like this – but this is the start of a new, better life for you. Being the bride of a monster of his rank is a dream for any lowly human like you. Can go as far as to say you’re lucky he ever laid his eyes on you.

— Stop, please…’s too much.

— You feel good, Katzen. Relax, and you’ll be even better.

— I don’t…please, just let me go, I…

— Is this your first time with a monster?

— Yes.

— Gut. Would break you in for me.

He laughs at your whimpers, his hand goes to cradle your face in an almost soft expression. He gently presses his fingers across your skin, making you all nice and warm for him – he wants to kiss you all over, but the only thing he can do in his more monstrous form is to press one of his shorter tentacles against your lips, mocking the way normal people kiss. You sob, but he presses the tip on your mouth, passing it through your teeth – you would feel better after ingesting his pre-cum, can even clench around him so more, chasing your own pleasure.

König wants you to feel good, so he presses his hand against your face, allowing you to tremble and cry as much as you want. He wants to be nice to you, so his other hand presses on your clit, finding the tense bud and breaking the nothingness between your legs. You tremble even more when he starts to spread your folds around his fingers, both of his tentacles working to milk your holes and spread you as much as possible.

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear when both of the tendrils working on your pussy suddenly change their direction – they start to spread your walls instead of just fucking it. You feel exposed and vulnerable, he can see the pink flesh and glossiness of your cunt. It’s embarrassing for you, and he knows it – but god, you’re too fucking perfect to pass.

You don’t even manage to ask him what he is doing when you feel something much larger pressing against your pussy. The biggest of his tentacles – almost as thick as an arm, pushing inside of you. He had a purpose, a desire to do something with you that you could never understand – silly humans know nothing about his biological need to push his eggs somewhere, of course, but you’re just fucking perfect. Too perfect to pass on this opportunity.

You plead and cry when he presses further, a little bump on your tummy is obvious now, with each centimeter of his tendril pushing. When he finally bottoms inside of you, pressing directly against your cervix, you are too fucked out to even think.

It’s painful, you think. Three thick tentacles roam inside your pussy, pushing and grinding against your gummy, tight walls – and another one of his extensions in your ass, writhing and massaging your insides.

It’s pleasurable, you feel. The tentacles are uneven, cold, each little bump makes you cry out from pleasure, the overwhelming feeling is something you could never achieve with a normal dick. He cradles your face and chuckles softly when you moan and cry at the same time when he gently presses his red tendril against your soft lips, and you part them because you don’t want to resist anymore. Because you can’t resist anymore.

— So good for me. Such a good girl, liked being fucked by the enemy.

— I don’t like it! He laughs at your misery, pushing his tentacles back only to fuck you harder. He can feel the tension multiply in his stomach – he feels the movement of eggs forming from inside and pushing down the biggest one of his tendrils.

When you first feel the pressure of an egg in your pussy, you want to scream.

You scratch on his hands like a wild cat, clenching on him like crazy. If he didn’t see horror and shock on your face, he’d think you wanted him. You are tight, tighter than you were before – your pussy is closing around him, not letting him go, and he can only smile to himself when he feels every little bump sending electric shocks right into your core when you feel his eggs traveling from the start of his tendrils down, to your soft, welcoming womb.

God, you will look perfect, all swollen and helpless – he can bring you a fucking collar, maybe push you on his lap and parade you as his precious wife for everyone to see. His scent lingers on your body, no matter if you want it or not. Silly human, you try to fight him like you didn’t lose the moment you let him pin your body. So perfect, he thinks of where you were before he found you. How many partners do you have, and how well would you play the role of his little breeding machine.

He massages your tummy, with each egg taking its place in your womb. Soothes tense skin and whispers sweet promises in your ear when you cry and try to push him away. So perfect, so sweet for him – he doesn’t know the fuck he lived without you.

When the last egg takes its place, making you bulge from all the weight inside of you, he can finally calm himself down enough to bring his human form partially. When he finally retracted his tentacles from your tired, sensitive body, not forgetting to press against your clit a good few times to prolong your unwanted, exhausting orgasm, he could finally press a kiss on your lips.

You’re a mess – torn clothes, covered in cum and thick transparent slime, trembling and crying softly. You close your pussy around every one of his eggs like a good girl, and he knows you would be a perfect mating partner – but god, you need a good shower and soft mattress so he can try to fuck you again in his human form, and steal all the hugs and silly affections he wanted.

— Will you let me go?

He laughs, picking you up swiftly. So fragile in his hands, he doesn’t even want to think about letting you roam freely.

— Of course not, Schatzen. Just get used to it, ja?

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #male yandere

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propertyofwicked · 1 month

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BREATHE - LN

based on this request - (absolutely obsessed with this concept, i hope i did it justice)

sooo i caugh myself thinking about lando's huuuge neck and him probably having kind of a choking kink but on himself ykwym? like reader riding him and putting her hands on his neck without realizing and he's just enjoying it and eventually asks her to choke him a bit harder maybe... idk 😭 could you write something based on this? -anon

warnings: smut! MDNI! riding, choking, unprotected sex, not proofread so apologise for any mistakes!

SONG CHOICE: breathe by bby

masterlist

her legs were thrown either side of lando’s, straddling his waist tightly as she ground herself down his cock. his hands rested on her hips, pulling her body to move back and forth on his length. the veins running down his arms enlarged slightly as he used his strength to hold her still for a moment, forcing himself as deep as physically possible inside her.

y/n could feel every movement below her - his hips rolling up into hers, his legs spasming up slightly every time she moaned out his name, his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs, nails scraping the flesh as he did.

“fuck, angel,” he grunted, “so good f’me.”

her head rolled back at his praise, choking out a moan when his hips lifted into her once again, her walls tightening around him as she did. her body fell forward at the feeling, hands moving to rest on his chest for stability. her legs had grown tired ages ago, but the feeling of lando’s cock sliding in and out of her heat as she bounced lightly consumed her every thought, she couldn’t fathom the possibility of this feeling ending.

his hand left her hip, snaking between the two of them to toy with her clit, using the slick coating his cock to allow his fingers to circle it seamlessly. her pleasure intensified, an icy tingle running through her entire body as her grip on his chest slipped. she fell into him further, her hands the only thing stopping her from folding into his chest completely when they landed on the base of his neck. she looked at the man as he lay beneath her, his lips had parted, heavy breaths filling the room, head rolled back into the pillow as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.

“fuck, lan, just like that,” she said, encouraging the way his hips jutted into her at the loss of her own movement. lando’s thrusting was faster than her own bouncing, his length hitting new angles as his pushed himself up into her. the feeling had her tightening around not only his cock, but also his neck, her hands sporadically gripping either side. she noticed his breathing hastening again, his assault on her clit faltering slightly.

she tried to push herself back up again to continue grinding down on him, causing the pressure of her body weight to press into lando’s neck again. his head remained still, but the muscles in his neck flexed beneath her hands, a low grumble escaping his throat as she applied more pressure to his airway.

y/n assumed she’d hurt him, despite her hands looking so small and weak compared to his neck. lando moaned out beneath her, choking out her name as he did.

“sorry,” she panted, loosening her grip on his neck, noticing the way their sweat coated her palms slightly. he didn’t respond. instead, his head shot up to look in her eyes, his gaze intense as he shook his head.

“do it again,” lando begged, yet his tone holding a sense of something sinister. a tone that only showed when the roles were reversed. a tone he unintentionally reserved for the times one of his hands was wrapped around her neck, squeezing at her airways.

“are you sure?” she questioned, her fingers running along his jaw as she searched his face for any sign of hesitation.

“angel, please,” he continued to beg her, moving his hand from her clit to hold hers, trailing it slowly down the tanned skin of his face, settling it on his neck. her fingers spread across his throat, pushing the cold metal of his necklace away from the area, her hips pushed her lower body down his cock once more, the feeling of being stretched around him overriding any doubt swimming through her mind.

y/n’s hand tightened apprehensively around his neck once more, using her grip to stabilise the rest of her body as she ground down on him. lando mumbled something incoherent, his words merging into one as he struggled to contain himself.

“is this ok?” she asked him, her eyes softening in her concern.

“y/n, angel,” he replied reassuringly, his tone momentarily soft, “you weren’t even close to hurting me with both hands on my neck. just pl- please, choke me.”

his borderline begging spurred her on, her fingers flat on his neck, thumb on the base of his jaw as she deepened her grip. this was a new experience for the two of them, usually lando being the one to lavish in her begging, hands gripped around her throat as he fucked into her.

and yet, whilst their roles were reversed, lando kept his control over her. his hips now moving in time with hers, hands returning to their grip on her waist, pushing her body down on him. he was her only thought. the way his moaning intensified, the sound filling her brain till she was dumb. excitement filling her veins at the way he fell apart beneath her, more vocal at her every move. and despite the way their position made him look submissive, the control she had of his breathing, fingers squeezing tighter with every thrust, his fingers ran circles around her clit, pinching it lightly when she paused her bouncing - she knew who was in charge.

lando looked at the sight in front of him, at his cock, enamoured by the way y/n sunk down on him, any thoughts wiped away immediately at the sight of his length disappearing inside of her fully, and reappearing covered in her slick. he loved how wet she got for him, even after years together. no matter how many times they did this, she was always ready for him, ready to take everything he had to offer her.

his mouth opened to praise her, trailing his eyes up her body. but the words got caught in his mouth - he didn’t know if it was her tight grip around his neck, the feeling of her skin on his, or the way her breasts moved as she forced his cock into her again. his eyes never got round to meeting hers, as he felt waves of pleasure running through his entire body, his hips thrust up into her suddenly, taking her by surprise, hand falling to the side of him leaving her clit unattended. she started to whine at the loss of contact but with no warning, lando had climaxed, his cum spilling from his tip, filling his girl, leaking out of her as she took him in fully again. her movements haltered at the sudden feeling of his cum spewing into her, her grip on his neck loosened, his large hand subconsciously rocking her hips into his to ride out his own high.

lando took in a deep breathe, heat rising to his face in a mix of shock and embarrassment at how quickly he came undone with her hand around his throat.

“fuck i-” he breathed out, chest shaking as he did. his eyes finally met hers, he noted the way her pupils were blown, and the way her hair fell in front of her face, strands sticking to her cheek. she was ruined, and all because of him. he cupped her face, kissing her softly before tucking her hair behind her ear, “so good for me, love you,” he panted.

“lan, please,” she moaned out, ignoring his words, grinding her hips down on his softening cock. in his shock, he’d momentarily forgotten about her. she was so close, but her orgasm was moving further away from her grasp as time passed.

“i know, baby,” lando cooed at her, feeling somewhat guilty for her predicament, arms wrapping around her and rolling the two of them over so that she laid on her back beneath him. his necklace dangled around her lips, taunting her.

“gonna make you feel so good, yeah? such a good girl,” he mumbled in her ear, pressing a kiss to her jaw before sliding down her body, settling between her legs before pulling them over his shoulder. she was exposed to him, his eyes staring at the way his cum leaked from her. the flesh was red, overstimulated and sore from the stretch of his cock. he let out a breathe, the air blowing on her sensitivity causing her hips to shoot upwards.

“patience, angel. wanna take my time with you.”

requests are open!! lemme know your thoughts! <3

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #propertyofwicked #oscar piastri #LN4 #OP81

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gojonanami · 5 months

Text

"JUST A LITTLE LONGER" - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: after geto defects, you find yourself on a roof of a building wondering where things went wrong - and you're not the only one. based off another scene from apothecary diaries. ✴︎ contents: gojo x f!reader, fluff, angst about geto, gojo cries, reader does too a little, but cuddling from behind, i love this scene so much it's so cute, and jinshi is so gojo coded ✴︎ wc: 821

This was probably a stupid idea.

And it was, you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from doing it anyway. A cursed spirit could kill you any day, so what was falling off a roof? Besides, you took another shot of sake, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care about the possible chance of falling to your death after today.

Suguru was gone.

Defected, after slaughtering so many people — or monkeys as he called them now. There was no changing his mind — no going back. Suguru was a person of conviction — you supposed he still was. Shoko simply went with the flow, Satoru knew what his duties were, and you — you didn’t know what you were doing, but you thought maybe it was enough if you could help just one person every day. Especially if that person was one of your friends.

And yet you didn’t see one of your friends needing your help, did you?

So why were you sitting up on the roof of one of Jujutsu Tech’s buildings? You didn’t know either — you had a whole suite of aloneness you could have drank in, but you choose to take a shot in the same place that you, Suguru, Shoko, and Satoru drank in on late nights between assignments.

Shoko would tease you — too sentimental for your own good — that’s what she always told you, but you couldn’t help it. Not after a night like this. But sitting up here wouldn’t resolve anything would it?

And you began to carefully climb down, thinking about how much easier it was when Suguru used a cursed spirit to help you up (even when he really wasn’t supposed to summon them on campus). Fuck, your eyes burn with tears. You missed him—

Your foot slips, as you fall backwards, into the awaiting arms — more like the awaiting body of someone below. You hear a grunt as you tumble backwards into them, your body and mind in shock, wondering what person you possibly murdered with your stupidity.

“Satoru? What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” Satoru grumbled at you as you turned to face him, “y'know when I joked that you would be falling for me, this isn’t what I meant,”

“Oh really? Because this is exactly what I had in mind,” you snort, and you move to get up, but he’s pulling you back with a hand around your wrist, “Toru, let me get off of you—”

“No, it’s cold,” he pouts, and now you really take a look at him — he wasn’t wearing his glasses for once, his hair unkempt at best, and his uniform all too disheveled — and his face, porcelain skin flushed red — and the faint smell of—was that— “are you drunk?” Satoru wasn't one to drink, but you supposed it wasn't for the act of it as it was the effect.

And it may have been the moonlight, but you swore he flushed further, before he’s forcing you to turn back around, pulling you further into his lap, his arms around your middle, “Maybe,” he mumbles, “I could say the same to you,” and you spot the bottle of sake on the ground in the grass, somehow not broken, “reminiscing about old times?” he pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you sigh, teeth baring down on your bottom lip, as his breath warmed your neck, his hair tickling your skin as he leaned closer, “when did it go wrong?”

“More like when did i go wrong?” he mutters, words all too bitter, “I should have seen it — I should have done more—”

“No one saw it, we didn’t realize how bad it had gotten for him since Riko,” you whispered, “none of us—”

“You weren’t his best friend—”

“Me and Shoko were there too,” you cut him off, “we were there too,” you say quietly, “either way, Suguru made his choices, just as we did. And there’s nothing more we can do, except for what we can do here,” and then you add, “and it isn’t your fault.”

“Why not?��

“Because i said so,” and he laughs then, a genuine laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, before burying his face in the nape of your neck, his nose tickling you, and despite the cool air of the approaching fall, your body was now burning.

“Toru—you’re tickling me—” and he’s only pulling you closer, as you finally glance back at him, “Toru—” and your words fall away, as you see a tear slip down his cheek, his eyes shut.

“Just a little longer,” he says, barely above a whisper, his face pressed against your shoulder again, as his arms tighten around your middle, “warm me up for a little bit more,”

You stare up at the night sky, stars dotting the night sky — such a beautiful night despite it all — as you finally let your tears slip down your cheeks silently, “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

And you did, forever.

✴︎ a/n: i hope this doesn't flop like my other fics lately, but oh well lol. i wrote this quick little thing now, so forgive any typos.

✴︎ taglist: @forest-hashira, @anondrive, @neon-crow, @forest-fruits-jam, @yukuriku, @lxvegojo

#sab [mlist]#this is just a silly little thing i wrote #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #satoru gojo imagine #gojo x reader #gojo fanfiction #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #satoru gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #satoru gojo angst

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ellemj · 5 months

Text

Insufferable: 12 Days of Smut #2

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Summary: You and Bucky get separated from Sam and Sharon during a mission in Madripoor and are stranded in a motel room until you can get in touch with them again. How do two sworn enemies pass the time?

Warnings: profanity, teasing, fingering, possessive!Bucky, oral sex (male receiving), slight face fucking, female masturbation, unprotected sex, praise, some use of y/n, hate sex, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: I feel like this one is better than yesterday's but idk. @littlemiss-yeehaw helped me make some executive dialogue decisions and helped keep Bucky as the hot little shit that we all know him to be.

Power Broker is watching. You’ve read the spray-painted words on the wall a million times now as you stand in the dark alleyway, telling yourself over and over again that picking a fight with Bucky isn’t going to make your current situation any better. Even if it is his fault that you’re miles from where you should be, being chased by god knows how many bounty hunters, and so far from Sharon and Sam that your comms aren’t even working at this point. Fuck it, you’ll pick a fight.

“Is this how you wanted to spend Christmas Eve?” You spit out the question with as much malice as you can, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the brick wall of some shuttered, probably illegal business. Bucky’s face contorts in annoyance as he lifts his right hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s getting so tired of you tonight. First, you stupidly thought it would be fine for you and Sharon to partner up and head out into Madripoor on your own. Sam and Bucky were quick to snuff out that idea, even though Sharon was fully on board with you. Nobody gives a shit if Sharon used to be the power broker here or if you have more kills under your belt than most other trained assassins on record. Madripoor is lawless, crawling with criminals who will never pay for their sins, and it’s no place for two attractive women to be running around alone. Even if you can both take care of yourselves, why invite conflict by walking around town without either Sam or Bucky as a deterrent? The fact that you didn’t want to walk around with the damn Winter Soldier right behind you was almost insulting. Did you question Bucky’s reputation? Do you not understand how notorious he is in a place like this?

“With you? No.” Bucky answers with just as much malice as you threw at him.

“Then you should’ve listened to me and let me and Sharon take the lead.” You scoff. Bucky shoots you an indignant look, but you stare right back at him with your own expression of disdain.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“That’s exactly why we’re in the situation we’re in now.” You mumble the words out just loud enough that he can hear them. He stands a few feet away from you and you watch him as his pulls his phone from a pocket of his tactical pants and begins typing away on it. You imagine he’s texting Sam a message that says something like if you don’t find us in the next two minutes I’m going to kill this girl. What he’s actually doing is searching up the nearest place that rents rooms to lowlifes without asking any questions. He wants the two of you off the street as fast as possible so he can try to get in contact with Torres and find out how to get your comms working again. Until comms are working, you’re basically doing everything blind, and that won’t work for Bucky. Not when he has to worry about three other lives besides his own.

The cloud of anger swirling around you isn’t quite thick enough to stop you from appreciating the way Bucky looks tonight. He’s dressed in his usual full tactical gear that he wears for most missions, with one unusual change: his vibranium arm is on full display. He picked a top that is conveniently missing the entire left sleeve. You understand why he chose it, knowing how his name and even his arm precedes him. One look at him tonight, at the colorful lights of Madripoor nightlife reflecting off of his dark metal arm, keeps even the most aggressive men here at bay. No one would dare mess with the Winter Soldier, especially not when he’s radiating as much anger as he is right now. Well, no one besides you.

“I’m not going to keep waiting around here for you to come up with a new plan.” You announce, pushing away from the brick wall and tossing your hair over your shoulder. Bucky looks up from his phone, narrowing his eyes at you. “We know where Sam and Sharon were headed, we can just meet them there.” You start heading for the street at the end of the alley, but just as you brush past Bucky, he grabs your arm roughly and stops you.

“No, we’re going to get somewhere safe and wait for Torres to fix comms before we do anything.” Bucky’s holding your arm tightly, keeping you just a couple of inches away from him as he looks down at you with a harsh gaze. You shake his grip off but don’t move away from him.

“What makes you think you get to decide on the new plan?” You ask, leaning in a little closer as the question leaves your lips. You almost let out a laugh when Bucky’s eyes flit down to your where your lips are mere inches from his own. You’ve done this dance with him before. You’ve been in plenty of these tense situations with him, moments in the field where you’re so against each other that you can’t decide if you want to fight him or fuck him. Of course, you’ve always simply fought him in the past. Fucking him was never actually an option, but hell, it sure is satisfying when he does something that lets you know he thinks about it as much as you do.

“I’ve already decided on the new plan. You can either go along with it or go out and get yourself killed. I’m starting to not really give a shit about what you do.” Bucky retorts. He looks down at his phone again, breaking the intense eye contact that you were sort of enjoying. “There’s a motel two blocks over. I say we go there and wait for Torres to figure out what the hell is wrong with comms.”

As much as you want to continue defying Bucky, you know it’d be a hell of a trek from here to wherever Sam and Sharon are right now. There’s also no guarantee that they made it to their destination, they could’ve run into any kind of trouble in a city like this. They might be acting out their own backup plan, just like you and Bucky. Bucky turns around and starts heading for the street, not even looking back to see if you’re following. When you let out a soft sigh and he hears your small footsteps echoing off of the brick walls, he knows he’s won this fight. He doesn’t even try to hide the smug look that’s spreading across his face. Winning an argument with you is something he can be proud of, because it doesn’t happen very often.

---

Christmas Eve in Madripoor. Has anything ever sounded sadder than that? Christmas Eve, surrounded by a community of people who have done enough horrendous things to rival the entire population of Guantanamo Bay. Bucky sinks into the only chair in the dingy little motel room, checking his phone once again to see if Torres has called him back yet. Still nothing. Nothing from Sam or Sharon either, though he didn’t expect anything from them since the area they were headed into is known to utilize various types of phone and device jammers, transmitting radio waves that block phones from connecting to cell towers.

You study Bucky from your place on the foot of the bed. He’s leaned back in the small armchair, clearly attempting to get comfortable but failing because he’s way too big for such a little seat. He closes his eyes and lets his head rest back, giving you a chance to really look at him. He’s let his stubble grow out a little more than usual this month, neglecting to really shave it with all of the back-to-back missions you’ve both been sent out on. It suits him. Someone as cold and calloused as Bucky shouldn’t have a smooth baby face. Your eyes coast further down, focusing on where you can just barely see his pulse on the side of his neck. You wonder how many times you’ve made his pulse quicken with anger in this last week alone. Probably enough to give the guy high blood pressure. Your gaze is just settling on his broad shoulders when his eyes blink open and he catches you staring.

“Are you going to sit there and stare at me until we get out of here?”

“Maybe. It’s what you do to everyone else, why can’t I try it out?” You ask. There’s a reason Sam likes to call him the bionic staring machine.

“Try it out?” Bucky laughs, lifting his head from the back of the chair now. “You stare all the time.”

“I do not.” You’re almost offended at his accusation. You? Staring all the time? At him? No fucking way. Maybe sometimes, but you thought you were covert enough about it that he never noticed. You just can’t help it sometimes. You’re intrigued by him every bit as much as you hate him. He’s over a hundred years old, yet he looks like he’s only a few years older than you. His taste in music is that of an elderly man, while his taste in clothes is perfectly in style with the current era. You hate the way he’s constantly berating you and attempting to order you around in the field, but you like the way he looks at you when you give in and take an order once in a blue moon. So, sometimes, you stare.

“You’ve been staring at my arm for half of the night.”

“Because it’s the only thing I like about you.”

“Right, the only thing.” Bucky repeats your words slowly, as if he’s tasting them. You maintain eye contact with him as he licks his bottom lip. Against your better judgement, your gaze darts down to his mouth, to his mouth that always seems to say things that drive you mad and turn you on simultaneously. “You know, I thought you might be nicer around Christmastime.” A genuine laugh breezes past your lips at the absolutely insane thought he’s just shared with you.

“It’s a little hard to be nice when we’re stuck on skull island on Christmas Eve, Bucky.”

“Be honest, you wouldn’t have been any nicer if we were back home.” He tilts his head to the side as he analyzes your body language. You’re sitting on the foot of the bed with your legs dangling over the edge. Your weight is resting back on the palms of your hands and you seem perfectly at ease. Bucky’s finding it a little surprising that you haven’t gotten up and made a dramatic exit yet. He’s surprised that you’re still going along with his plan at all honestly. He has to wonder why you’re so oddly content sitting here bantering back and forth with him while Torres takes his sweet time figuring things out.

“Wouldn’t you have been off to Sarah’s for Christmas if we were back home?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at your question. He didn’t know that you knew he was close with Sam’s family. Though, he probably should’ve assumed since you knew Sam long before he did. You’ve probably even met Sarah before.

“Maybe. Spending Christmas in the tower doesn’t sound very memorable.”

“It’s not.” You say softly, thinking back to the last three years. It’s not that you didn’t have anywhere to go for Christmas. In the past, Sam has invited you to go see Sarah and the kids the week of Christmas, even Clint extends an open invitation for you to spend every Christmas with his family. But something about being around happy families on the biggest holiday of the year makes you feel the same way you do when you’re third-wheeling Wanda and Vision. You like to be around the Christmas cheer and festivities but you feel like you don’t fully belong. You’ve spent the last three Christmases in the tower on your own and it’s not that bad. A little lonely and not your favorite time of year like it used to be, but still, not that bad. Bucky picks up on your slightly sullen tone and the way you seem a little more distant suddenly.

“You’re welcome then.” Bucky says, a smug smile taking over his features. You shoot him a slightly confused look.

“For what?”

“For giving you a memorable Christmas.” He says it like he’s just given you an actual Christmas gift. You laugh lightly just as his phone is lighting up with a message.

“You say that like I’d actually thank you for sabotaging our mission tonight and getting us stranded in the shittiest place on Earth.” Bucky’s smug smile remains plastered across his face, even as he glances down and reads the text from Torres.

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while longer. Sam and Sharon got through to Torres and said they’re holed up somewhere across town, just like we are. Fury doesn’t want anyone making any more moves tonight without working comms and surveillance.” Bucky’s words bring your bad mood right back to the surface in an instant. You fall back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, covering your face with your hands.

“How long is a while longer?” You’re dying to know.

“Could be a few hours, could be all night.” Bucky says nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world that the two of you are stuck here together. It’s infuriating. You push yourself off of the bed and start for the door, but Bucky’s quick to rise from his chair and cross the small motel room in a mere four steps, reaching you just as your fingertips are brushing the door handle. He plants his flesh palm firmly against the wooden door, effectively stopping you from being able to open it. Fuck his super soldier strength.

“I’m not staying here all night. There are things we could be doing besides sitting here waiting around.” You say impatiently, wrapping your hand around the door handle but not pulling yet. With the way the two of you are standing, Bucky’s chest is brushing against your back and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why the hell he’s so close.

“What else could we be doing out there? You walk out that door and into the street and every bounty hunter in the city will be on you within five minutes. I’ve been hunted here before, Y/n, it’s not a game you want to play.” The energy between the two of you is so tense, so electrified, you wonder how your hand hasn’t sparked against the metal door handle.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t give a shit about what I do.” You throw his words from earlier right back in his face. As Bucky’s hand against the door curls into a fist, you stand there waiting for him to back off. If he really doesn’t give a shit, he’ll let you walk out of here right now. But of course, Bucky gives a shit. Bucky gives so much of a shit that the mere thought of you waltzing out into the city at this hour, opening yourself up to unlimited danger, has him ready to burn the whole place down. You swallow as your grip on the door handle tightens, listening to Bucky’s even breathing right behind you.

He doesn’t even know what’s come over him when he finds himself moving impossibly closer to you, letting his chest fully press against your back now. He leans down a couple of inches until his lips are grazing over the shell of your left ear, with his right hand still braced against the door over your right shoulder. He’s trapping you there with his body.

“You are so fucking insufferable.” He whispers the insult against your ear, but it somehow it doesn’t even feel like an insult. It almost feels like he’s just whispered a little sweet nothing in your ear. Your grip on the door handle falters and Bucky notices, so he keeps going. He’ll do whatever it takes to get you to stay here, to stop you from walking out into Madripoor and getting yourself killed tonight. If this is what it takes, so be it. “You wanted me to stop you, didn’t you? You wanted me to force you to stay.”

“N-no.” You lie, hating the way you stutter through the simplest two-letter word known to man. It’s so hard to think with him this close to you.

“Insufferable and a liar.” Bucky tsks, just as your hand is fully falling away from the door handle. He can’t help but smile at how easily this is working on you. If he’d known he only needed to be a little more authoritative and stand a little closer to you to make you listen to him, he would’ve tried it a long time ago. You watch, with goosebumps spreading across your skin beneath your tactical suit, as Bucky’s right hand skims down the flat surface of the door slowly. He continues on until his hand reaches the deadbolt just above the door handle. Click. The sound of the lock clicking sets off a chain reaction. A wave of confidence spreads through you like a wildfire and you turn around in the small space that Bucky has you trapped in. You thought he might step back once you were face to face, but no. He maintains his position, but now with his chest nearly touching yours and his breath fanning across your face. Though you feel confident and sure of yourself in this moment, when you look up at him like this you feel small. You feel like he could push you against the door and have his way with you if he wanted, and you couldn’t do a thing about it except enjoy it. The thought actually turns you on way more than it should, considering how independent and stubborn you are.

“Insufferable and yet you’re trapping me in here. Who’s the liar?” You taunt, tilting your chin up and looking into his blue eyes. His normally cold, steely gaze has a different look now. There’s something bright behind his eyes, something exciting. Your eyes dart down to his mouth, lingering on his bottom lip a little longer than they should have, before you meet his gaze once more.

“Don’t look at me like that unless you’re going to kiss me.” His tone is harsh but his eyes are daring. He wants you to kiss him. He’s daring you to do it. Unfortunately, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare. Even the stupidest of dares. So, you commit to it. You look at him the exact same way you just did, letting your eyes coast down his face and soak in the sight of his full lips. When you meet his gaze one last time, there’s only one little thought in his mind.

That’s it, good girl.

You have to raise up on your toes to reach his lips, because of course Bucky Barnes would stand there refusing to make it any easier for you. He wants to see you struggle to get what you want from him. After making his working life a living hell for months, he’s going to have you exactly how he wants you, or not at all. So, as you stand a little taller on your toes, Bucky acts like he couldn’t care less that you’re about to give him something he’s fucking dreamt about every night since he first started hating you. When your lips press against his, his bottom lip finds its place between the two of yours and he almost scoffs at how timid you’re being. It’s like you’re testing the waters, and he’s not having any of that. He’s quick to fist his hand in the hair at the nape of your neck and walk you back one step so your ass hits the door. He breaks the kiss before it’s even been a second, giving you an annoyed look as he holds you in place between his body and the door.

“Let’s try that again.” Bucky says the words right against your lips, as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and then slots his thigh between yours. As he bends his knee, his hands travel down your sides to grab onto your hips. He angles your hips down just slightly, as he brings his leg up an inch, and you look down right as your clothed cunt makes contact with his thigh. You inhale sharply at the unexpected move, but you don’t move at all. You stay right where he wants you, and he waits patiently for you to look up at him again. When you finally do, a switch inside of you flips and you know you’re about to sabotage tonight’s mission even more. You pull Bucky down to your mouth, kissing him with so much heat and intensity that his hands briefly loosen on your hips, like he wasn’t expecting this from you. After two seconds, his hands start sliding right back up your waist until you feel them both tangle in your hair, which he uses to pull you even harder against his mouth. You don’t think the kiss can get any more intense, until you feel his tongue dancing across your bottom lip. You part your lips without hesitation, letting him dominate the kiss in an instant.

You taste so fucking good. So. Fucking. Good. So good that Bucky doesn’t notice the first time you grind your pussy against his thigh, he’s too focused on exploring every bit of your mouth with his tongue and savoring the taste of you. But the second time? Fuck. The second time you grind down on his thigh you moan into the kiss and Bucky has to stop. He pulls back while keeping one hand in the hair at the nape of your neck. The look on your face is pure lust. It’s longing. It’s making Bucky’s cock twitch in his pants and making it really hard to decide what to do with you first. God. That one kiss opened up the floodgates.

“Let me hear that sound again.” Bucky encourages you while using his hold on your hips to guide you to grind down a third time. He watches between the two of you as you drag your cunt along his thigh. The moan that leaves your lips this time is too much. He’s had enough. He quickly pulls away from you, taking two steps back and running a hand through his hair. He eyes you as you stand with your back against the door, catching your breath and staring right back at him.

“I want a memorable Christmas.” You speak so softly that Bucky has to rewind it in his head to really catch onto what you’ve just said. You want a memorable Christmas. You’re asking him to give you a memorable Christmas. He looks you over slowly, carefully, taking in every detail of the way you look right now. Your skin, though still covered by your tactical suit, heats up to an uncomfortable degree under his watchful gaze.

“Say please.”

---

He’s going to hate fuck you. There’s nothing else you could possibly call it, and honestly nothing else you’d want to call it. You’re standing in front of the bathroom sink, locking eyes with Bucky in the reflection of the mirror. You really thought he was going to take you to bed, but no. As soon as you gave in and said please like he wanted you to, he pulled you away from the motel room door and pushed you into the bathroom. He wants to take you from behind but he wants a clear view of how much you’re enjoying it the whole fucking time. If he’s about to fuck away the obscene amount of tension that’s been between the two of you for the last few months, he’s going to memorize every damn face you make, every sound that leaves your lips, and every inch of your body. He’s going to ruin you, so that every time you think about how much you hate him, you can’t help but think about how much you loved being fucked by him.

You’re both quiet, except for heavy breaths and a few soft moans and groans, as Bucky starts taking off his clothes behind you. He juts his chin out slightly after dropping his shirt on the floor, gesturing for you to take your clothes off too. You follow his moves exactly, dropping your shirt on top of his. He takes a few seconds to admire the way your breasts sit so perfectly in your bra, but then he finds himself growing annoyed at even that little bit of fabric obstructing his view. He undoes it for you, with only one hand, while his free hand begins undoing his belt. Of course this fucking man can undo his belt with just one hand. After a few more agonizingly slow seconds of the two of you undressing, you’re both completely naked. Bucky takes a deep breath in, and when he breathes it back out it warms the back of your neck.

Just like earlier, Bucky nudges your legs to spread a little wider, using his knee. Your body obeys his silent command like it’s routine for you. He loves the way you respond to him so willingly. He’s never had you like this, not even a little bit, and it’s giving him such a high. It’s the first time he’s ever had you listening to him without a single word of rebuttal, without any stubbornness or refusal. He should’ve fucked you so long ago.

Bucky’s vibranium index finger traces over your spine, from the very top to the bottom, sending a chill all throughout your body. It only cools you off for a second, before he uses that same hand to push you forward until you’re slightly bent over the sink. His flesh hand dances across your ass, deftly dipping between your legs and making contact with your wet folds. He drags two fingertips back and forth there, collecting your wetness before focusing his touch on your clit. As soon as he applies pressure, your back arches and your ass presses back against him. That’s when you feel his hard cock, standing fully erect, nearly between your ass cheeks. He’s big. So big that for a second you fear there’s no way he’ll fit inside of you, but something tells you that you were made for his cock. It’ll fit. He’ll make it fit.

“You can’t stand to be around me, but you’re nearly dripping for me.” Bucky says lowly, rubbing slow circles against your clit. A string of moans slips past your lips and he smiles as he watches your eyes close in the mirror. “That’s it, you like that, don’t you?”

“You talk too much.” You snap, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze in the mirror. His smile darkens and he pulls his hand away from your clit. You should’ve kept your mouth shut. Suddenly, his ring and middle fingers plunge so deep inside of you that you see stars. He curls them, dragging his fingertips against the walls of your pussy over and over. He didn’t start out slow by any stretch of the imagination, no. He begins fucking those two fingers in and out of you at such a perfect pace that your legs begin feeling weak far too soon. You grip the edge of the bathroom sink so tightly that your knuckles turn white.

“You don’t even have to answer me, baby. I can tell you like it.” Bucky punctuates his words with another hard thrust of his fingers, and then curls them again, in a way that makes that familiar knot in your lower stomach tighten more and more with each passing second. You try to drown out his voice, focusing instead on how fucking skilled he is with his hand. Bucky’s mesmerized as he watches you draw closer and closer to your orgasm. He almost wants to let you have it. He considers finger fucking you straight through it, and then giving you another on his cock, but he isn’t going to be that nice to you. If he only gets one orgasm here tonight, then so do you.

The whine that leaves your lips when Bucky pulls his fingers out of you should embarrass you. You should absolutely hate how needy you are for him, but you feel his cock twitch against your ass when he hears the sound and you love it.

“You like that, don’t you?” You tease. You love using his words against him. You do it often in arguments and he hates it. His jaw clenches, but he says nothing in response. Instead, he wraps his flesh hand around his cock and gives it a few quick strokes before lining it up with your entrance. He looks down between the two of you, letting his eyes roam down your arched back, straight to where his cock is poised and ready to slide in. He knows he’s big. He knows his cock is above average, both in thickness and in length. He knows the nice thing to do would be to warm you up a little more, build up to using three fingers on you before finally fucking you slowly until you adjust to his size. But the two of you aren’t ever nice to each other.

So, Bucky begins pushing the head of cock inside you, letting his head fall back and his fingertips leave bruises on your hips and waist as he holds you firmly in place. He’s only an inch in and you’re already feeling the sting. Shit, he’s the biggest you’ve ever had. He hasn’t even let you get a look at his cock yet, but as he forces it into you, you’re thankful he didn’t let you see it first. You might’ve chickened out. Bucky isn’t even halfway in before you’re moaning and trying to pull off a little, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Stop fucking moving.” He seethes, his head snapping forward so he can look at you in the mirror again. “You’re going to take all of it.”

Everything was a blur when he finally bottomed out inside you. He didn’t even pause once he was fully inside you, he immediately began dragging his cock back out and then pushing it in again. After the third thrust, you started to feel pleasure.

Bucky alternates between watching the way you’re falling apart for him in the mirror and looking down to watch his cock repeatedly disappear into the most perfect cunt he’s ever fucked. He truly can’t decide which view he likes more. The first time you moan his name sends him into a tailspin. He has no control over the way he fists your hair in his right hand and yanks you back against his chest, keeping your back arched and your face perfectly visible in the mirror. He fucks his cock into you so relentlessly, repeatedly hitting just the right spot inside of you, that you’re sure your previous thought was right. You were made for his cock. There isn’t a doubt in your mind.

When you start pushing your ass back against him, meeting each of his thrusts, Bucky bites down on his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. When he started this, he had every intention of finishing inside of you. He wanted to do it without anything between the two of you, he wanted to cum inside of you so deeply that you’d feel his spend dripping out of you for the rest of the mission. But suddenly all he wants to do is cum in your mouth. He wants you to know what he tastes like. He wants to see what you look like on your knees for him. The harder he fucks you, the more he thinks about it, until he’s positive he won’t be able to finish this any other way.

So, not even a moment later, Bucky is pulling his cock out of you and pushing your shoulder downward. You instantly understand that he wants you on your knees, and you oblige him without giving it a second thought. When your mouth opens without even a second of a pause, Bucky slides his length past your lips. His head falls back and a sinful groan graces your ears as he revels in the feeling of your tongue gliding along his shaft.

“Good girl.” He groans. Good girl. Fuck. The praise has you snaking your own hand between your legs, chasing your own release as Bucky uses your mouth like he owns it. In his mind right now, he does own it. After a few seconds, he looks down at you once again and notices what you’re doing with your hand. You moan around his cock as you rub circles over your clit and the vibration from the sound sends Bucky right to the edge. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You look up at him, your eyes giving him clear permission to let go. You want him to cum in your mouth. Another groan is ripped from his chest, and you hear your name fall from his lips just as you taste his cum. Your own orgasm comes crashing down right as he’s finishing in your mouth, and he watches you closely as you carry yourself through it.

Bucky wraps his hand around the base of his cock and pulls it out of your mouth slowly, the two of you maintaining eye contact like it would be a sin to look away. Seeing your mouth full of his cum gives him an unfamiliar feeling deep in his chest. He feels possessive. He wants you to know that you belong to him now.

As you swallow everything that he gave you, there’s only one way to describe how you’re feeling. While you still hate this man with every fiber of your being, you feel like you belong to him now. Your body isn’t your own anymore.

You belong to the man you hate most, and you kind of like it.

TAG LIST (if your user is crossed through, Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you):

@gyokujyn @mrsjoequinn @thealloveru2 @nixxaswrld @ordelixx @fandomsfeminismandme

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #mcu #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #12 days of smut

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triflesandparsnips · 7 months

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So I understand that there are Good Omens show fans who have never read Good Omens the book, and that makes me deeply sad because--

Like, there's so much depth to the story being told about humans and humanity and the choice between good and evil -- and how that's actually a false dichotomy whoooops -- WHILE ALSO not really being about Aziraphale and Crowley at all (who are, imo, basically there as embodiments of "Impressive Failures" for the purposes of Theme and also Plot).

BUT IF you want to know why I've shipped them since the book-- here's the moment it happened for wee teenage me:

Wednesday (before the end of the world)

So it's Warlock's birthday party. And there are all these children and security guards and also an angel doing magic tricks while a demon is disguised as a caterer. This bit is basically the same as the show, so hooray.

But as wee me understood the characters up to this point, they were still basically enemies who had been in the field together for way too long and knew each other's moves well enough for the same tempting/thwarting of one another to become kind of boring and repetitive and generally pointless-- particularly once they realized that they could, for instance, just live their (separate!) lives watching humans being weird (Crowley) and seeking various sensory stuff (Aziraphale) while doing the least work necessary to keep their respective bosses off their backs.

The Arrangement was borne not out of hiding a friendship or anything, but instead the realization that sometimes covering for one another would just... cut down on their total overall workload. They were, at best, employees of two different, competitive companies-- though in same kind of department, doing the same kind of work-- who discovered they liked to have lunch at the same deli and that their jobs were sometimes distressingly more similar than either was comfortable with.

SO ANYWAY. BACK TO THAT WEDNESDAY. They're not covering for one another with this whole Antichrist thing-- they're now actively collaborating, and they've acknowledged (mostly) that it's not to cut down on their individual workloads, but rather to preserve their identical-- but not shared (not yet)-- goals of Getting To Continue The Lives On Earth They've Grown To Enjoy.

But like-- still not friends. Not really.

Until Aziraphale fucks up a bit, Warlock accidentally gets hold of a security guard's weapon and starts waving it around, and:

Then someone threw some jelly at Warlock. The boy squeaked, and pulled the trigger of the gun. It was a Magnum .32, CIA issue, gray, mean, heavy, capable of blowing a man away at thirty paces, and leaving nothing more than a red mist, a ghastly mess, and a certain amount of paperwork. Aziraphale blinked. A thin stream of water squirted from the nozzle and soaked Crowley, who had been looking out the window, trying to see if there was a huge black dog in the garden. Aziraphale looked embarrassed. Then a cream cake hit him in the face.

My teenage brain exploded at this moment.

BECAUSE: there is no reason for Aziraphale to do that.

Work-wise: If he got shot, Crowley would get discorporated, but not die-- and anyway, it would happen in such a way that both of them could explain it away easily to their respective sides (and possibly even be commended for it!).

Collaboration-wise: If Crowley had been watching Aziraphale, and if he'd seen Aziraphale have the chance to change the gun but not do it-- then yeah, probably that would've been annoying enough to have warranted some chilly conversations once he came back topside, and therefore, Aziraphale choosing to save Crowley could've been a reasonable, logical choice to keep their working relationship on an even keel until they'd sorted out this Doomsday thing.

But Crowley was looking the other way.

Work-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and secret-collaboration-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and so it is, overall, really weird that Aziraphale saved him.

But his automatic reaction-- in a blink-- is to stop Crowley from getting shot. And he knows it's weird-- he feels embarrassed that his sudden, unthinking reaction is to save his "enemy".

And the final bit is just a couple paragraphs later:

With a gesture, Aziraphale turned the rest of the guns into water pistols as well, and walked out.

SO LOOK: He changed only the pistol about to shoot Crowley. His automatic reaction had nothing to do with saving a party full of humans, many of them children-- nothing to do with Heaven or Hell-- nothing to do with preserving the coworker he needs to stop Armageddon--

It was all to do with saving Crowley. Who may be the enemy, but he's Aziraphale's enemy. And another part of his life on Earth that he's doing all of this just to preserve.

Which may also be, for the first time, the moment he lets himself realize how important Crowley in particular is to him.

...and so anyway, that's how I started shipping these two immortal idiots, and one of many reasons why everyone should read the book.

#good omens #good omens book #versus #good omens tv

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2kmps · 8 months

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vampire x reader one-shot | 16.1k

story summary; you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

story warnings; bloodplay, extreme dubcon, explicit noncon, cigarette burns, wounds inflicted on mc, implied masochism, extreme sexual sadism, hypnotism, graphic violence, gun violence, body gore, graphic details, heavy prose, unreliable narrator, religious themes, exploration of morality, obsessive + possessive behaviors, implied stalking, choking, murder, graphic depictions of crime scenes, manipulation/emotional manipulation, this entire oneshot is an allegory.

read the warnings! mdni under any circumstances! the events within this one-shot are not indicative of my personal viewpoints

thank you, @ceruleansol for the excellent proofreading.

this is a repost from my deleted blog, cardeneiv. please reblog/interact with this piece!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.

Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.

You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you?

He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.

You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.

The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow.

No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.

The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight.

Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her?

Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood.

An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach.

A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you.

It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body.

The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom.

These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke.

You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself.

Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air.

The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do.

He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself.

A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering.

"Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon.

Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him.

"A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes.

Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway.

You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you.

The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough.

It wasn't loud enough.

He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips.

All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that.

"Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe.

You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing.

His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded.

Just once.

A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that."

Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in.

The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light.

A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead.

The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—

Just like Montague said you would be.

And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

a/n; I hope this scratched some awful itch for you. onto the story notes:

on montague: what he is exactly is open to interpretation. tell me your theories! his character has been around in my arsenal for a very long time, but as a human cannibal in those days. he's been resurrected into something worse imo. he exists in my vampire universe more as a side-character, and, surprisingly, is not the central antagonist. he is meant to more or less be the embodiment of depravity and the consequence of a being without internal moral compass.

on mc: represents the fallacy of man and how unreliable the narrative of morality actually is, and how we as people have tendencies to twist and turn the meaning of it for our own benefit. mc in this story is not meant to be a good person, but did they deserve condemnation to a personal purgatory?

so, while this is a monster story, I wanted to parallel the treatment mc endures + mindset to the horrors of trying to escape abuse. I wanted to explore this through the lens of a monster story, though. if you suspect you are in an abusive relationship, please reach out to people to help get you out.

what's funny is that this story was originally supposed to be a dark comedy that moved towards something a little darker, and eventually turned into this. montague was initially going to just be a nuisance to mc by inserting himself into friend hangouts because "it's my house".

divider by; @/anlian-aishang

dc divider by; @/benkei-bear

if you read and enjoyed it, please share your thoughts and reblog!!

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