#asylum graveyard

[epicstoriestime]

📡 WITNESS LOG: THE WHITE SKY AND THE GRAVE THAT KNEW MY NAME

○ /|\ ○ – Blinkback A wide shot of the overgrown asylum graveyard just before dawn. A single headstone catches the light. The name is ERIC. The date: 2011. Below, etched deep into weather-softened stone, the words: “the white sky.” The photograph appears slightly overexposed—no sky detail visible. Final frame: a cab window. The glyph ○ /|\ ○ fogged into the glass. The Threshold came and went.No…

[starlight-bread-blog]

If Neil Gaiman and David Tennant are having Imposter Syndrome, you're good.

(Transcript Below)

Neil Gaiman: The first problem of any kind of even limited success, is the unshakable conviction that you are getting away with something, and that any moment now, they will discover you.

David Tennant: For me, that's what being an actor is about. Sort of going, this is all, it's all on one level, it's all just a bit silly. And I can't really believe I'm getting away with this. And at some point someone's gonna tap me on the sholder and go 'Come on, you've had your fun. Move on. There are some people who can actually do this. There are some proper actors in the world. Stop pretending, and move on. You're a little wee nae from Paisley. You don't really get to do this.

Neil Gaiman: In my case I was convinced there would a knock on the door, and a man with a clipboard – I don't know why he had a clipboard, but in my head he always had a clipboard – would be there and tell me it was all over, and they've caught up with me, and now I would have to go and get a real job. One that didn't consist of making things up and writing them down, and reading books I wanted to read. And then, I would go away quietly. And get the kind of job I would have to get up early in the morning, and wear a tie, and not make things up anymore.

[wisegir1ie]

I'm proud of this ‼️

[planetarymesss]

spoilers for sbg 75

ARE THOSE FUCKING JORDANS

[gothspell-blog]

Danvers mental hospital abandoned graveyard

[its-a-date]

"(...) You return home for tonight to your asylum, and see that all be well. As for me, I shall spend the night here in this churchyard in my own way. Tomorrow night you will come to me at the Berkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. (...)"

"Dracula" - Bram Stoker

[theflirtmeister]

becky: im phoning you from the graveyard

me: just once, i'd like you to contact me from somewhere that isn't a horror movie location

[pizzleyanked]

it always astounds me how incredible fromsoftware's first areas are. especially the high wall of lothric (dark souls 3) and most importantly central yharnam (bloodborne). perfect at setting the tone in each game

[topazpearl]

yeah this isn't concerning at all!

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"We don’t know a lot. I’m guessing the three men never met in life. Two were buried in the summer of 1915. In February 1916, the third of them died. They might have known each other before they got to Kingston — but since we don’t know where they came from, or when they arrived, there’s no way of knowing. They weren’t the only ones who died in captivity — 20 men succumbed after being confined in Kingston’s Rockwood Asylum for the Criminally Insane, also known as the Rockwood Lunatic Asylum. Eight were misidentified as “Austrians” while the other 12 were Germans. All were branded as “enemy aliens” during Canada’s first national internment operations of 1914-1920. “Dozens” of those deemed “insane,” collected from various asylums across Canada, were among the 2,000 or so “aliens” returned to Europe after the war. The first repatriates sailed in July 1919 aboard the SS Sicilian. The last batch were on the SS Melita, which steamed east from St. John in March 1920. None of them had any choice. They were deported whence they came.

The Rockwood three we know something about were named Dezső Benscura, Walter Grooham and Andreas Moritsky. Whether those are accurate renderings of their names, recorded by immigration officials or jailers who had little knowledge or interest in the languages, nations or faith groups of eastern Europe, I can’t say. As noted on Sept. 30, 1920, in a final report tabled by General Sir William Desmond Otter, the officer in charge of the Office of Internment Operations, 8,579 men along with 81 women and 156 children, were herded into 24 camps behind Canadian barbed wire. Of that number, 106, a majority of them “Austrians,” were deemed “insane” and placed in provincial institutions — at Ponoka, Alta.; Essondale, B.C.; Brandon, Man.; Hamilton, Rockwood, and Mimico, Ont.; St Jean de Dieu, Que.; with three other internees hospitalized in Nova Scotia. Only one man, an “Austrian,” died of “insanity.” What killed the other two at Rockwood is not preserved in the historical record.

Gen. Otter claimed that “great care was observed in having the cause of death established and recorded, the place of burial marked, due regard being paid to the latter ceremony, while the effects of the deceased were cared for and whenever possible their nearest of kin informed.”

Records were kept about some deaths, like the names of the six men killed attempting to escape including the dates on which they were shot. And perhaps the possessions of some of the 107 deceased internees were, somehow, returned to their families. But the three buried in Kingston were laid to rest in unmarked graves, somewhere within the confines of St Mary’s Roman Catholic Cemetery, no one knows exactly where. That they ended up in this burial ground is likely because they were Catholics, as many immigrants from the Austro-Hungarian Empire would have been. Or perhaps it was because their mortal remains were not wanted at the Cataraqui Cemetery, a territory then reserved for this city’s Anglo-Celtic and Protestant elites.

Were they buried close to each other? No one knows. Was a prayer said over each man before he was covered, as Gen. Otter wrote? I hope so. But I doubt that any of their family members or friends left in the “old country” — somewhere in that multinational, multi-confessional, and multilingual Austro-Hungarian Empire that would itself disintegrate at the end of the First World War — would ever find out what happened. These men simply disappeared. Having left their homelands hoping for a better life they never suspected that arriving with an Austro-Hungarian passport would mark them, under the terms of the War Measures Act, as “enemy aliens,” subject to detention and forced labour. Even more galling was that they knew they had done no wrong. They had immigrated legally. They were not criminals. And yet, following the outbreak of the Great War, they found themselves suddenly treated as prisoners-of-war, without just cause. Thousands of Ukrainians and other Europeans suffered various state-sanctioned indignities. For many, the racism and xenophobia they endured would be debilitating." - Lubomyr Luciuk, "They will be remembered together," Kingston Whig-Standard. July 14, 2023. Opium Column.

[frnwhcom]

Haunting Tale of Old Book: Ghostly Legends at Peoria State Hospital Cemetery

Peoria State Hospital, formerly the Illinois Asylum for the Incurable Insane, is renowned not only for its compassionate treatment of patients but also for its haunting tales. Among the most famous is the legend of “Old Book,” a patient whose story has become an integral part of the hospital’s eerie history. Who Was Old Book? Old Book, whose real name was Manual A. Bookbinder, was one of the…

[nightingale-prompts]

The Nightingale Family-DC x DP prompt

(Shameless Addams family inspired prompt)

News travels fast in Gotham, especially in affluent circles. A new family has arrived in the city, old money at that. They had taken up residents in the old mansion overlooking the Historic Gotham Graveyard.

The Nightingales had a way of letting their presence be known. They were rarely seen in public. The eldest Jasmine Nightingale however had made waves working at the Gotham Asylum as a psychologist. She was often escorted by her younger brother Dan Nightingale. The public really started talking when Jazz was seen talking with Harley Quinn.

There were two children that lived in the Nightingale manor. They were elusive to say the least as the family didn't attend the parties of Gotham.

It wasn't until Damian Wayne got an invite from his classmate Danielle to visit their manor that someone saw the lives of Nightingales. This invite had been received after Damian carefully befriended the youngest Nightingale to investigate their connections.

That's how the Waynes ended up at a dinner party.

The manor was bleak to say the least and that's saying something in Gotham. The buildingbwas made from black stones and gargoyles perched on the roof. The garden was wilted and full of thrones that crept up the walls.

Bruce felt a sense of Deja vu as he approached the door and rang the bell. Tower bells rang out as the face of Jasmine Nightingale appeared. She was dressed in black dress pants and blazer. Her lips were painted to match. Her red hair had a striking white streak through it which had become a fashion trend since the family's arrival to girls wanting to seem mysterious.

"Good Evening. It is so nice to meet the infamous Waynes." She shook Bruce's hand. Behind her, the sounds of clanking metal was heard. "That is just my younger siblings playing. You don't you boys join while I talk to your father.

Despite only being a fresh-faced 20 year old Jazz carried herself like a confident adult. A certified genius in psychology who graduated early she also handled the inmates at the Asylum well enough that escapes are at an all time low.

"She's got it all" was what Harley said.

Bruce's admiration of the young lady was only matched by his suspicion. The house the Nightingales lived y had once belonged to the Al Ghouls. There was no telling yet if there was a connection.

He took a seat in the living room with Jazz tea already prepared. She poured two cups of black tea. Not black as in the type of tea but the color of the drink. Bruce cautiously sniffed the black liquid, it smelled earthy and acidic. Poison.

"Do you like it? I made it myself. I added the belladonna myself. It has a sweet taste so you don't need sugar. The kids have sweet tooths but we avoid added sugars. They love nightshade." She smiled drinking.

Bruce put the cup down. So they drink poison at a young age. They must be part of The League of Assassins. But why are they here?

"If you don't mind me asking. Why did you move to Gotham? Your parents-" Jazz put a hand up as she finished her cup.

"Mr. Wayne I'm sure you are no stranger to parents leaving before their time nor the concept that not all parents deserve children. Now I can't confirm or deny if that is the case for use but you can understand that it's a private matter." Jazz said sternly.

That wasn't an answer.

Upstairs Danny and Danielle played with Elle's new toys. Swords from Dan's trip to Portugal. He even sharpened them. They were currently tearing through the mansion.

Tim and Damian caught them while Danny had successfully pinned Elle to the ground.

"Dami! Help!" Elle yelled catching Danny off guard as Damian tackled Danny to the ground.

"Alright, alright. You can go next." Danny rolling Damian off him and passing him the sword. "Im taking a break."

Danny loved playing with his little sister but baby games are tiring.

"They let you play with swords," Tim exclaimed. This wasn't something he expected, sure it was normal for Damian but Damian is weird and was raised by assassins. Damian didn't do it for fun, it was training.

Damian and Danielle ran off while fencing.

"You must be one of the Waynes. Elle has been excited to have your brother over." Danny said politely if not a bit dismissive.

"Eh, yeah. Your sister said we should join you." Tim said a bit awkward. " You have another brother right?"

"Oh, yeah. He travels alot but he's relaxing right now. He's probably swimming." Danny shrugged.

Tim had heard of Danny. They went to the same school but Danny was part of a program that allowed him to come to school when he felt like it. The program is for young engineers who want to work for Wayne Industries. He mostly worked on small experimental projects. So far Danny's superconductor tech was revolutionary but impossible to replicate. Danny somehow managed to make a more effective coolant than anything they had created in the lab.

"You have a pool?" Tim knew that the mansion didn't have a pool.

"Of water? No." Danny shrugged but gave no further answer.

"I see, so what do you do?" Tim tried to sound normal like he was talking to his friends and not someone he was trying to probe.

"Anything, everything. I was going to recalibrate my telescope but I have a laser to test." Danny walked off expecting Tim to follow.

Testing was just cut a bunch of things in half. Tim got some great info on making an explosive ice canister and foam bombs. Tim made sure to get his number to hire him to make some gear for him.

The Nightingale kids were absolutely lawless. They destroyed everything in their path.

Elle had dragged Damian to her room to show off her toys. She used to travel with Dan until she started school. She picked up a bunch of items. Cult artifacts, shrunken heads, voodoo dolls, cursed puppets, knives, swords, and the homemade taxidermy Elle made from roadkill. She also had a pet dodo bird named Ernesto who had a bed next to her bed. Ernesto took a liking to Damian and sat on his head. The way he shows his affection

Soon enough Dan came upstairs to check on Elle and Danny.

"You kids, need to get ready for dinner. Sharpen your nails and teeth." He said before going back to the kitchen.

"What does that mean?" Damian asked.

"You don't sharpen your nails. Well good luck at dinner." Elle said bemused.

Dinner was...horrifying. Watching the family chat happily as they ripped apart the moving food as it came to life. Damian was actually excited as he skewered the cheese and broccoli casserole that screamed at him.

"Father, why can't we do this at our home?" He asked.

[azulhood]

Jazz was, at her core, a pessimist.

Oh sure, she wanted the best outcomes and strived to always see the best in people. But listening to her parents talk about and share crime scene photos of someone who was brutally murdered and who may haunt the place they were headed to while true crime podcasts played instead of road trip tunes as they traveled to whatever graveyard had caught their interest had dulled young Jazz's faith in humanity.

Jazz still had memories of a young her standing in an abandoned insane asylum (or abandoned hospital, or old house, or graveyard, or whatever place they dragged her too) holding a small torch with shaky hands and begging to leave because she was terrified "Can we go? Please? this place is scaring me" only to be told "In a minute Jazzy, we down want the ghost getting away."

They had settled down after Danny was born, choosing to stay in one placed instead of traveling all over the country. She still expected them to unexpectedly announce that they were going on the road again, she had plans in case they did (saying she'd stay behind with the van to take care of Danny was better then both of them getting used as ghost bait) But surprisingly they didn't.

And Jazz was thrilled. Sure, she and Danny were known as the kids of the towns crazy ghosthunters, and sure, she basically had to raise her brother since her parents would rarely leave their lab let alone focus on something not ghost related, and yes, she did have to carefully plan out how to use the family's money so that none of them starved.

But no more sleeping in cheap hotels or their van, no more making friends at playgrounds that she'd never see the next day, no more countless hours spent in places where people died, no more English lessons while on the road. She went to school now, she had friends that she saw more than once, she had a home that wasn't filled with cockroaches and the sounds of a argument from the room next door. She had a semi-normal life.

In this time of normality, she relaxed, she let her guard down. Then Danny died and only came back halfway.

And Jazz was back to being that little girl who was scared of ghosts, only this time she was scared for a ghost.

Danny didn't tell her at first, and even though it hurt she understood, and so while she waited for him to tell her, she planned.

She took job after job, from mowing someone's lawn to working at a checkout. Money had been put aside in bags filled with clothes and a pair of new id that she had gotten from Tucker, ("Just in case our parents get classified as supervillains and we need to flee" She said not giving anyway that she knew of Danny's ghostly problem, Tucker had made the id anyway even if he thought she was joking and did not in fact have a plan should that situation happen) One of their neighbors was willing to let her buy their old car despite her family's driving history. A safe house (more like safe apartment) was bought in the only place that was willing to let a teen buy property, Gotham City.

Danny fought numerous enemies until the only enemy that was left was telling their ghost hunter parents that their son was half dead.

Compared to her, Danny was an optimist, seeing the best in everyone without even having to try like she did. Believing that the best would happen like if he didn't, he would break into a million pieces and not know how to put himself together again.

Even though he was scared Danny believed that their parents wouldn't react badly, Jazz hoped they wouldn't but was prepared if they did.

And finally, after many nights spent wide awake in case her parents tried to rip Danny apart molecule by molecule while she slept, the shoe dropped. Their parents loved them, but their work came first, it always came first. Jazz loved her parents, she truly did, but she loved Danny more. And in the end, that made her choice of driving all the way to Gotham with nothing but their go bags all the more easier.

And that was how Jazz and Danny ended up as the neighbors of one Jason Todd.

[fandomaddictwut]

Things we now know about Mina Murray:

Her friends think she’d dig someone who runs an insane asylum.

She hangs out in graveyards.

She scrapbooks news clippings about ghost ships.

Mina is a goth.

[froggibus]

Graveyard Smash - Cole Cassidy

Pairing: Cole Cassidy x f! reader (fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: while investigating an abandoned asylum, you and Cass come into contact with slime that has a strange effect on you...

CW: ghost hunter! au, near-death experience, kinda horror elements to start (but those are the vibes teehee), sex pollen (but it's slime), dubcon, dry humping, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it), creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cum stuffing

omg day one of kinktober! i meant to post this much much earlier but the wc got away from me and i took a four hour nap ;') hopefully tomorrows will be out earlier tho! i don't like this v much but i cannot spend anymore time tweaking it sorry

also def should’ve made todays movie ghostbusters but oh well

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

You shiver at the feeling of Cole’s fingers on your chest, fiddling with the gold buttons of your coveralls. The blue fabric scrunches in his calloused hands as he makes his way upwards, slipping the buttons through the loops with ease.

You glance at the looming abandoned asylum behind him, the old brick building creaking beneath the howling wind. “So, what’re we dealing with here?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs his broad shoulders, his matching coveralls bunching up at the motion. “They just said it was slimy, loud and real mean.”

“Great.”

He chuckles at the lack of your enthusiasm, finishing the last button and pulling away from you. You miss the warmth of his hands immediately, a chill running up your spine.

You hop down from the back of the van, slinging your backpack over your shoulders. “You packed the flashlights?”

His face goes pale. “What? I thought you did.”

Your mouth falls open. You drop your bag, squatting on the pavement to start rifling through it when you hear him chuckling above you. 

“Very funny.”

“Hey, just tryna lighten the mood.”

You go quiet again at that, once again sizing up the asylum before you. Being a paranormal investigator wasn’t for the faint of heart, and you’ve dealt with some creepy buildings over the years, but none were as eerie as the one waiting for you.

You swallow hard, adjusting the straps of your backpack. “So,” you gesture to the decaying steps outside, “shall we?”

“Ladies first.”

You scoff, but force yourself forward regardless. The rotting steps creak with every move you make, the concrete landing a distant paradise. You suck in a breath, glancing over your shoulder to see Cass hot on your heels.

Cass breaks down the barricaded door with just one kick, the wood splintering and falling to the floors with a bang. The sound echoes off the walls, spreading out through the massive building.

“Well, if it didn’t know we were coming before…”

You snort, pulling the flashlights out of your bag and passing one to him. For a second, you’re cast in darkness, the only light being from the full moon beaming from a nearby window. You smack your flashlight a few times and it slowly flickers to life, illuminating the crumbling grand staircase in front of you.

Cass raises his brows at the sight. “Guess we’re not going up.”

“You can say that again.”

You swing the beam of light from right to left, identical disgusting hallways on either side of you. Your flashlight falls on his chest, the golden buttons glowing like the sun. He raises his thick brows at you in question.

“Dealer's choice, cowboy.” You offer a weak grin, “do you want disgusting hallway number one, or two?”

He sighs, shaking his head at your antics, but turns to the right and starts shuffling off down the hall. You trail after him, staying only a few steps behind him. It’s eerily quiet inside, the only sounds being from your footsteps and the occasional whir of the EMF reader in his hand.

A broken security door lies ahead, torn caution tape beckoning you in. You frown, “so, what even happened here to make it such a hotspot?”

“Patient abuse, mad doctors, insane cover-ups. The usual for a place like this.” He’s gentle opening the door this time, the old wood creaking on its hinges. “Fuckin’ creepy.”

The hall ahead is even worse than the one you just trekked down. The floor is crumbling and broken in odd places, covered in stains that you really hope aren’t blood. Doors line either side of the hallway, looted carts of medical equipment staggered throughout. 

You’re only a few steps through the door when it slams harshly behind you, a terribly warm gust of air ghosting over the back of your neck. You flinch harshly, spinning around to face the few feet of empty space between you and the closed door. There’s nothing there.

“Any chance that means it likes us and wants us here?”

Cass only snickers.

“Yeah,” you grumble, adjusting your collar, “figured as much.”

Cass pushes open the first door and the EMF reader whines in response. You can just barely make out the reading on his screen—Level 4. That chill runs up your spine again. It’s gonna be a long night.

—

The basement of the asylum is somehow even creepier than the upstairs. It’s boiling hot and smells strangely of strawberries despite the rotting walls and floors.

You clench the ultraviolet flashlight tighter in your hand, sweeping it over the walls around you. Aside from the door closing, you’ve yet to see anything paranormal in the hours you’ve been here. 

Cass keeps close to your side, the two of you now relying on only his flashlight. The smell of his deodorant floods your nostrils, the scent so familiar and comforting it almost has you forgetting the creepy asylum around you. Almost. 

He wipes at the glistening skin on the back of his neck, muscles flexing at the motion. You glance away quickly, heat pooling in your stomach.

“Hotter than hell down here,” he grumbles.

You whimper in agreement, your own skin starting to take on a slight sheen. The smell only grows stronger as you dip into another hallway. You scrunch up the nose at the nauseatingly sweet smell.

Both of you freeze as the purple light of your flashlight grazes over a handprint on a nearby door. You turn to Cass with a frown, both of you knowing a handprint can only mean you’re getting closer. 

He braces his hand on the handle and takes a deep breath before shoving it open. You stagger in after him, eyes burning at how intense the scent is inside the room.

You turn to him, ready to ask if he’s picking up on anything, when his face goes pale. 

“Get down!” He shouts, tackling you to the concrete floor.

He manages to manoeuvre just enough to brace your fall, your back crashing against his chest. The air is knocked from both of your lungs from the impact.

You cough harshly, trying to roll away when his grip around you tightens.

“Don’t move.” He whispers.

You open your mouth to ask him why but freeze in your tracks at the pink tinged spectre only a few feet away from you. Its eyes are unfocused, its mouth moving without making any sound. Heat seems to follow its movements, growing closer and closer to where the two of you lay on the floor.

You force yourself to lie completely still, not even breathing while it skims across the floor. The smell around it is so strong your eyes start to water, hot tears leaking down your cheeks. It drifts farther into the room, towards the door on the opposite side.

Cass’s chest has also stilled behind you, his movements as frozen as yours. Both of you are stuck in shock as it reaches the door. You’re almost home free, it’s almost gone. 

And then the EMF reader crackles back to life—having landed a few feet away from you in the fall—and lets out a screeching tone that can only indicate an EMF 5 reading.

The spectre whips around, screeching back at the gadget, and speeds towards the two of you. Cass shoves you off, flipping onto his feet in an instant. He goes to dive for his bag, but he never makes it.

Before either of you can react, the spectre is unhinging its jaw and projectile vomiting glowing pink slime on the both of you. You gag, sliding around in the goo in an attempt to get away from it. Cass slips and lands on his ass next to you, raising his forearms to shield his face.

In the chaos, you somehow manage to reach into your bag, fingers grasping at the small metal trap. You squeeze it tightly, tugging the lever open before tossing it outwards.

The trap opens, landing at its feet and crackling with electricity. The two of you watch with blank stares as the ghost is sucked inside. 

“The switch!” Cass shouts at you through a mouthful of slime, “where’s the switch?”

And then you’re both digging through your bag, feverish skin rubbing against his as you desperately search for the small metal switch. Cass grabs it, holding it up triumphantly before slamming his hand on the button. 

“See you in hell, motherfucker.”

You laugh in relief when the trap slams shut behind it, a small puff of pink air sneaking through from the pressure. 

“What,” you breathe, “the actual fuck just happened.”

Cass laughs, rising to his feet and offering you a hand. He tugs you to your feet, the slime coating your sneakers making you slide into his chest. He catches you, hands lingering on your waist as he helps you get steady.

You swallow hard. Despite the slime coating both of you, the warmth of his chest and the proximity to him has you swallowing hard, a sudden heat between your legs.

You cough, turning away from him. “We should get out of here.”

He hums in agreement, collecting the trap off the ground and following you back into the hallway.

He keeps a step behind you the entire way out, his body frustratingly close. The heat coursing through you only gets worse the closer you get to the exit, even the cold night air leaking through the broken windows doing nothing to sate it. Your core throbs, horrible cramps wracking your stomach and thighs with every step.

You brace yourself on a nearby wall, trying to force some air into your lungs. Cass gently pats your shoulder and you moan. You clamp a hand over your mouth, both of you frozen in shock.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and the deep, raspy tone of his voice has your legs quivering. “You’re burning up.”

“Y—yeah,” you gasp out. “Just need to—to keep moving.”

He nods, squeezing your shoulder in reassurance before the two of you begin stumbling your way out of the asylum. You’re only a few feet away from the van before you double over, a nauseating wave of cramps and heat and need coursing through you.

Cass manages to catch you before you hit the ground, strong hands helping guide you to the pavement. He squats down in front of you, his slime coated suit clinging to his body in all the right places. You lick your lips.

Amber eyes follow the motion and you swear they darken at the sight of you. He trails a hand up and down your side, your cramps subsiding at the motion. “You alright?” He rasps.

You swallow hard, his voice sexy and husky and sending electricity surging through you. “Cramps,” you frown.

His hands trail up to the chest of your coveralls, fingers popping the first button open. “You’ll probably feel much better once we get these damned things off.”

You stay perfectly still, scared that if you move any closer to him you’ll do something you’ll regret. His fingers linger after each button, the breath leaving your body at each touch. Your eyes flutter shut, your whole body shaking beneath him.

You don’t even notice he’s done until his lips are hovering over your ear, hot breath ghosting the side of your neck. “Isn’t that much better?”

You moan in agreement, not even bothering to cover your arousal. You let the coveralls shrug over your shoulders, falling in a sopping pool on the ground. Cass helps you rise on shaking legs, guiding you to the back of the van.

You open the doors, letting yourself slump against the cool metal of the back bumper. Cass stands in front of you, fingers fumbling around on the buttons of his own suit.

You’re mesmerised by the sight, practically panting as the suit slides off of him and reveals his black compression shirt and blue jeans. Your eyes trail over him and you’re only barely aware of how he’s watching you take him in. 

Your eyes fix on the bulge in his pants, straining against the denim. You wet your lips at the sight.

“Like what you see?” He rasps.

Your eyes snap up to his, shock written on your face. You stumble over your words for a second, the sight of his flushed cheeks and dark eyes driving you wild.

“Cole—”

“I need you.”

And you’re left with no time to react before he’s pouncing on you, grabbing your face in his hands and slamming his lips against yours. You whine into his mouth, dragging your nails down his back.

He leans into you, hands slipping to cup your ass. Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer as he lifts you further into the van. His teeth graze at your bottom lip and you gasp, letting his mouth swipe over the backs of your teeth.

He’s hot against your mouth, both of you overheating despite the cold night air. You can taste the strawberry remnants of the slime on his lips, overshadowed by the tang of cigars and spearmint. Rutting your hips against him, you whine into the kiss. 

He returns the motion, rolling his hips into yours. Despite the layers of clothes between you, he can feel the heat pooling between your legs. Sweat beads down your temples and you pull away from him gasping.

“I need you,” you echo.

His face is equally as hot as yours, cheeks red and glistening with sweat. His hair is stuck to his skin and tears brim the corners of his eyes. He looks utterly pathetic, melting into you with mutual desperation.

A whine of protest slips from your lips when he pulls away from you to unbutton his jeans, fingers flying so fast you can hardly keep track. Despite his speed, you can’t take it anymore, dipping your own hand between your legs to sate your cravings.

Your pants have completely soaked through, hot slick ruining the fabric. You rub at your clit, clenching your thighs around your wrist and rocking back and forth. His cock springs free but he makes no move to touch you, watching you fuck yourself with burning eyes.

“D–don’t just watch,” you gasp, “help me. Please.”

He rasps, “damn, that’s hot.”

And then he’s on you again, slotted perfectly between your legs while he presses his lips into yours. His hands fumble with your pants, managing to tug them down to your knees. He fixes a hand between your thighs, stroking at your soaking panties with a whine.

“So wet, fuck, god,” the thick head of his cock rubs against your panties. “T-tell me I can fuck you. Please.”

 He ruts against you through your panties, his cock rubbing against your clit with every thrust. The heat of his body pressing against yours, the scent of his deodorant and his breath on your body is all too much. You roll your head back, arching your back into him.

You barely manage to gasp out a string of slurred curses before you come undone, gushing on his cock through your panties. Cass watches with wide eyes, your slick making your panties almost see through. He rubs a thumb over your clit and you twitch beneath him.

“Please fuck me,” you murmur through pants. “I need it badly.”

That’s all he needs to hear before he’s ripping open your panties and slipping his cock inside of you. Your pussy greedily takes him in, walls stretching around his cock in a way that has both of you groaning. You reach for him, pulling his broad shoulders into you and dragging your nails along his sweaty skin.

He’s barely bottomed out before his cock is twitching inside of you, hot cum painting your walls. You clench tightly, your attempt to keep him from pulling out. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, cumming in a series of gasps and whines.

You keep your ankles locked around his hips until he’s finished, slowly rocking yourself against him through his orgasm. 

He pulls away, looking at you with those pathetic fucking eyes. “Need more,” he says, and its all he manages before he’s pulling out and fucking his cum back into you.

You gasp with every harsh thrust. Each snap of his hips has his cum sloshing inside of you, has his tip hitting the edge of your cervix and making you whine. He hangs his head low into your shoulder, babbling dirty things against your skin. 

He shifts a hand down to your knees, throwing your ankles over his shoulder so he can bend you in half and fuck you even deeper. You squeal when his cock is driven so deep inside that it almost hurts. He nips at the skin of his neck, the sharp bones of his hips hitting yours so roughly it’ll bruise.

It’s so hot that it’s dizzying, the stretch of his cock inside of you driving you near insanity. Your legs shake around his shoulders, your stomach cramping in anticipation of your next orgasm. You squeeze your eyes shut, digging your nails into your palms as it washes over you.

Your whole body shakes, pussy fluttering around him. He fucks you through it, his pace unrelenting as he chases his own high within your walls. You’re just barely coming to when he’s coming undone inside you once more, another gush of hot cum filling you up.

His hips stutter against yours as wave after wave fills you up. He gasps with each hot strand, his cock twitching inside of you. It’s nearly a minute before he’s done and you’re left so full it hurts.

He only takes a second to recover before he’s fucking into you again, chasing the heat within your walls. Both of you are soaked in sweat, gasping and whimpering and twitching with every motion—but neither of you care.

“M-move your legs.” He swallows, “need to be deeper.”

And then you’re folding your legs into your chest, pressed taut against your tits through your t-shirt. It only gives him better access to fuck you, his cock slamming deeper and deeper with every motion. He’s panting and struggling to catch his breath but his movements never falter.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing him closer into you and planting kisses across his collar bone. His skin tastes like sweat and strawberries and you relish in it. Relish in him. 

Your pussy aches desperately, every inch of your skin feverish and wanting. Your head feels dizzy and you’re suddenly wondering how long you’ve been at this, but it feels so fucking good and he’s so fucking hot and all you want is to cum over and over and over again.

You let out a sob of pleasure as another orgasm tears through you, electricity crackling through your nerves. Your head goes fuzzy, the world around you fading away while wave after wave of pleasure wracks your body. All of your muscles seize, clenching and unclenching around his cock.

He cums with you, his thighs red and shaking from how hard he’s been fucking you. He lets himself drape over you, the weight of his body only adding to the dizzy fever threatening to take you.

The two of you lay there for a while longer, his cock still hard and your pussy still gushing. He twitches against you, and his small pants let you know that he still needs you just as bad as you need him.

You sob again, your poor pussy aching and abused and still clenching him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever needed. “Need more,” you whine, “can’t take more.”

He nods against you, sweaty hair tickling your sensitive skin. He slowly rolls your hips against yours and even that small motion has both of you cumming again, seizing against one another.

—

It’s hours before you’re fully coherent again. The sun has already started rising before Cass is able to move off of you, rolling onto the van floor next to you. 

The fever in your body has finally subsided but your strength is sapped from the dozens of orgasms you endured throughout the night.

In the afterglow of your orgasms, neither of you seem to notice or care about the pink, glowing puddle of fluids beneath you, or the rattling of the ghost trap in your backpack.

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

[see-arcane]

Van Helsing: "Madam Mina, by unanimous decision decided by me, you will no longer be participating in the Dracula Hunt."

Jonathan, thinking: Yes, good, keep her out of harm's reach! In fact, knowing the Count is next door, it's best to take her home and have our own little protections put up. The more distance between her and Dracula the better!

Van Helsing: "You must stay safely here in the asylum and be our precious motivational damsel cheerleader star. Also no informing you of anything until after all the work is done. Wouldn't want to scare you with anything too eerie for a fragile woman-heart, you know ha ha"

Suitor Squad, nodding: "What he said."

Jonathan, gritting his teeth simultaneously in 'We need these misc upper class guys' numbers and goodwill on our side' and 'Did You Just Now Forget the Part Where She Read My Whole Vampire Hell Diary and Shared It in Triplicate? Or Just the Part Where She Chased Dracula Down at Midnight in Her Pajamas in a Graveyard? Man, I guess amnesia is contagious because you must have fucking caught mine--': :)

Mina: "I...guess I'll go to bed, then."

Van Helsing: "Excellent!"

Quincey: "While you do that, let's go have our first man-mission right now and break into Carfax."

Van Helsing: "Alongside our good fresh-from-Dracula-PTSD friend, Jonathan, of course?"

Suitor Squad: "Of course!"

Jonathan, white-knuckling the table until it cracks: "Of course."