#but nobody realizes until it’s too late

[umbra-mayhem]

ADHD!John "Soap" MacTavish

To accompany my ocd!Ghost, here's an adhd!Soap cause I also have adhd and must make these stupid made-up military men suffer like me.

(tw for skin picking and accidental SH)

He has a particular place for everything he owns and will not place something down unless it is in one of those designated spots. Because otherwise, he'll place something down and completely forget where it is. He also labels everything he owns with his initials so that even if he misplaces something, it can be returned to him (This is something his mother used to do for him when he was a kid. It worked then, so he just kept doing it on his own as he got older).

During briefs/debriefs/meetings, he has to stand in the back of the room because 'dammit Soap, you're moving too much and it's distracting everyone'. He has idle animation (haha get it), typically bouncing on the balls of his feet or swaying back and forth.

He needs to be doing something with his hands at all times, which usually means either fiddling mindlessly with his knife or ripping at the skin on his fingers/lips. Ghost doesn't particularly care for either of these options, as they often accidentally leave Soap bloody one way or another. Once he realizes Soap just needs his hands occupied, Ghost buys him a small pack of fidget toys. Soap becomes obsessed with them (definitely not because a certain Lieutenant gifted them to him, no definitely not).

He talks constantly, saying anything that pops into his head. He doesn't have much of a temper, so that's a good thing at least. But he does sometimes make snarky comments that can get him into a bit of trouble. It seems the only time he is fairly quiet is when he's out on the field.

Really, the field is the only place he can fully concentrate. He hyper focuses on the task at hand, which usually works in the team's favor. Until he can't let something go. Getting Soap to retreat can be a challenge. He wants to see their objective completed, stubborn little git. But overall, the field is where most of his symptoms move to the back burner.

His RSD is rough, though he rarely lets it show. Nobody other than Ghost knows how insecure Soap can get. How he stays up late berating himself over all the ways he thinks he fucked up that day. Soap believes he just needs to work harder. And sure, his RSD can drive him to improve his performance. But often, he is far too hard on himself and a bit too convinced that people are angry with him when they really aren't. (When Ghost realizes this, he makes a conscious effort to remind Soap that he loves him and isn't mad at him.)

[etherial-moon-blog]

What could have been

Description- When reader discovers Lo’ak kissing Tisreya, she is left heartbroken and a shell of her former self. With some help from Neteyam, she slowly picks up the pieces of her broken heart. As time goes on Neteyam considers her more than just a friend but is unable to tell her before tragedy strikes, leaving him heartbroken and devastated. Strangely, he finds that his brother is going through the same ordeal and they both find solace in wondering what could've been.

Pairing: Lo’ak x Avatar!Reader | Neteyam x Avatar!Reader Warnings: Angst Crying, Brief mentions of depression  Wordcount: 2k

Na’vi dictionary: Mauri- woven hut | Tweng- loincloth

All characters depicted in this fic at 18+ minors dni

“...I see you.” When those words left her mouth, you felt your heart shatter. However, the next thing that happened ground those pieces into dust. Lo’ak leaned down and pressed his lips against Tsireya’s. The lips you had fantasized about pressing against yours were currently pressed against another girl. 

Slowly, you back out of your hiding spot and hurriedly leave the area, hand covering your mouth so that a sob doesn't slip out. That night you don’t return to the Sully mauri until late. You spent most of the night on a secluded part of the beach crying out your broken heart.

 It truly was broken, wasn’t it? Thoughts swirled around in your brain making your heart hurt worse than it already was. It was your fault. You should’ve confessed to him sooner, maybe if you had only confessed to him back in the forest, your heart wouldn't be laying shattered in your chest. 

It felt silly in a way, pining for a boy that you never thought you’d have a chance with. You loved him when you were still human and your love never changed when you became a Na’vi. You thought that your new boy would have him see you as more than his sister's best friend or as his best friend's sister. But it seemed he only saw you for what you were…..his friend. And despite your yearning to be more, the realization that he never saw you as anything more than that broke you. 

You cry for what feels like hours, exhausting your tears until you can’t anymore. Looking up from where you were crying into your legs, you see the sun has long since set. Wiping your face, you stand and make your way back to the mauri, silently hoping that nobody looked too hard at your face when you arrived. 

Making your way onto the woven pathway, your body robotically carries you toward the Sully mauri. Your hopes of going unnoticed were smashed into pieces when you see Jake, waiting at the entrance for you. A small sigh passes your lips as you near, ready to hear the lecture he was bound to give you.

“(y/n) Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you since dinner.” His tone is harsh but you can hear the undercurrent of worry in his words. Judging by how he sounded you knew you’d been out longer than you thought and had missed dinner. 

Gripping the strap of your bag anxiously, you only mumble out an apology while not looking at him. Unfortunately, Jake is too observant and notices your tear-streaked face and slightly red eyes. He sighs and pulls you into a hug. 

“Listen, I know it's hard having to leave behind everything especially when you’re doing it in a new body. But I swear it gets easier and in time you’ll adjust and then you’ll wonder how you ever lived differently.”

Right, he assumed you were crying because of your not being able to adjust to your new body which while true to an extent, wasn't the cause of your tears. Not wanting to admit what happened, you half-heartedly return the hug that Jake gives in earnest. He pulls away and gives you a small smile while rubbing your arms before releasing you to go inside. 

As you walk in you notice that everyone aside from Tuk is still awake. It made you feel worse honestly. Knowing that you caused everyone to worry about you so much that they stayed up to look for you. Kiri is the first to greet you at the door and presents you with food she saved for you. 

“Saved you some food, I figured you’d be hungry,” Kiri says. The sympathetic and concerned look she's giving you lets you know that she knows something is wrong but isn't willing to press it. Thankful and aware of the eyes on you, you take the food and make your way over to your little corner of the pod. If anybody wants to say something to you they don't, instead opting to get themselves ready for bed. You pick at the food, only taking small bites before setting it aside and getting ready for bed yourself. 

Kiri watched as you laid your mat closer to hers instead of being near her brother like usual. Though she didn’t say anything, the cogs in her brain were slowly turning and as she watched you lay down, she couldn’t help but notice your body shaking slightly.

~ Some time later~

The days blurred together as you went about your life on the island. You spent as little time as possible around Lo’ak and Tisreya. Despite your best efforts, every interaction you saw of the two drove the knife deeper, and not wanting to let your heartbreak known you decide the best way is to avoid them. 

Being around them when you had to was torture. Every interaction they had you noticed the subtle ways he showed his affection for her. You saw how much more touchy he was with her. He was always physically affectionate, always standing close or having his arm wrapped around your shoulders but with her it was different. 

With her, his touch was gentler, more affectionate. Whenever he hugged her he would linger as though he was basking in the warmth of her hug and it stung. You tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you and stand suddenly, causing everyone to look at you.

“You good bro?” Lo’ak asks as he and everyone else watches you grab your bag and pull it over your head. 

“M’fine. I have to go.” You mumble before quickly making your exit from where the group was sitting, tears forming in your eyes. You quickly make your way towards your secluded spot on the beach and immediately plop behind the first rock you see. 

The tears now flow freely as sobs begin to rack your body. You wanted to scream, but nothing would come out but the strangled sounds of your despair. You were crying so hard and so loudly that you barely heard the footsteps approaching and it wasn’t until you felt a hand on your shoulder that you realized someone else was there.

You nearly jumped out of your skin once the hand made contact with you. Jumping away, you furiously wipe at your eyes until you realize that you know who touched you. 

“N-Neteyam…what are you doing here?” Your voice was very obviously hoarse and it cracked as you spoke, causing you to wince. 

Neteyam, hands held up in surrender and brow furrowed began to speak. “When you took off I followed you to make sure you were okay. When I heard you crying I knew you weren’t okay. What’s going on? What happened back there?” 

You swallow thickly. Somebody had finally caught you crying and it was Neteyam of all people. He wouldn’t leave you alone until he was sure you were alright which is the last thing you wanted right now.

“I-I….” What were you supposed to say? ‘Hey, you caught me crying over your brother. He didn’t reject me, I was just too chickenshit to actually confess and now the sight of him and Tisreya makes me want to peel my own skin off and scream until I’m hoarse. Don’t worry tho I’m fine.’ 

Wiping your eyes again you swallow once more and begin to talk. “I’m sorry I just…I really miss Spider and Home. It’s been hard adjusting to Spider going missing, getting a new body, and moving in such a short time span.” Okay, you just lied to him. Not everything you said was a lie but you weren’t going to tell Neteyam you were crying over his brother. 

“Do you…would you like to talk about it?” He asks hesitantly. He’s trying his best to comfort you and despite lying to him just now, you feel the need to convince him you’re alright. 

“Thanks but no thanks. I really don’t wanna talk about it. The crying was my way of getting it all out you know?” Neteyam nodded as you spoke, seemingly understanding your desire to cry it out instead of talking about it.

He outstretches his hand and gently places it on your shoulder. “If you want, you could cry if you need to now.” He seems to have a sudden realization and quickly removes his hand before adding, “I-if you want to that is”

Your hand flies to your mouth and you turn from him. He sees your shoulders shaking and begins to panic. He begins to rapidly throw out apologies and words of affirmation until he hears your stifled laughter and calms. 

It takes a moment for you to fully calm down but when you do, you turn to him, hand still covering your mouth. 

“I’m sorry, I swear I’m not laughing at what you said…” A giggle slips out. “...just how you said it. Who knew the great Neteyam Sully was so awkward?” You say with a smile.

Neteyam cracks a smile and shakes his head. “You caught me. I’m not great at everything, just at most things.” 

You let out a faux scandalized gasp and Neteyam laughs in response. “I know right? Kinda shocking that I’m not the best at comforting people who aren't eight.”

With a laugh, you shove him playfully. “I don’t know, I think you’re doing a decent enough job.”

“Only okay? My pride is hurt” He says placing a hand over his heart as he attempts to sound hurt. 

“You’re doing a decent job. I don’t wanna give you an ego” You say as you turn to look at the ocean. If Neteyam wants to say something he doesn’t, instead option to let the conversation lull into a comfortable silence. After a few moments you reach over to your bag and pull out your well-worn journal, you flip until you find a blank page and begin to sketch. 

Neteyam, curious leans over but you lean away from him as he tries to peek. “Uh uh. No peeking, don’t you know it's bad luck to watch an artist draw?’ You say with a smile. He gives you a look but does as you ask, instead looking out at the vast expanse of the ocean in the light of the evening sun. 

After what feels like forever, you nudge him gently, journal turned towards him. “I’m not the best but I think I captured it well no?” Neteyam takes the journal from your hands and looks at the drawing in awe. In front of his eyes laid a perfect sketch of…him. You had gotten everything correct. His nose, his eyes, everything right down to how his braids sat over his shoulder. As he sat in awe of your drawing, you shifted a bit from your spot in the sand.

“I know it isn't the best bu..” As you were speaking you were cut off by Neteyam

“Sorry, this is just amazing. I can’t believe you drew this of me” The amazement and wonder in his voice caused a smile to spread across your face. You turn your journal back around and begin to tear the page out and once you're done you hold it out for him to take. 

He stares at your hand holding the drawing before shaking his head. “No. No, I can’t take this.” He says pushing your hand back. “Dude c’mon you have to take it, I’ve already ripped the page out so I can’t put it back.” You shake the page in his direction. “Take it” He wordlessly takes the page from you, admiring it one last time before folding it neatly and tucking it away into the waterproof pouch on his tweng. 

He gives you a small smile before looking out into the direction of the sea. “We should probably get going, dinner is starting soon and we don’t want to be late.” He stands and dusts himself off before offering you a hand.”

“Actually I think I’ll stay here for a little while longer, but I’ll be there soon.” You give him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. If he notices he doesn't say anything and gives you a smile and a nod before walking back towards the village. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you heave a heavy sigh and put away your sketchbook. You pull your knees up to your chest and rest your chin atop your knees. Looking out onto the open ocean, you can’t help but wonder what your life could've been if you had confessed earlier……..

Authors Note: This fic is part one of a two part fic. That might change later but it depends on how motivated I am to write lol. If you made it this far I hope you enjoyed! :) Dividers by cafekitsune

Taglist: @melllinaa @fev0ir @iaratezaewa @hotdsworld @zaddyskye69 @kasai-https @darktyrantwinner @doctorswife221b @atxxokirina @iameatingmyhair @thepineapplesimp @lo707 @lyra997 @shadydreamlanddetective @atokirina-writings @plooto @luvv4j4ybe11 @xylianasblog @criticallybella

[blond-jerk-tourney]

love how tdi and tti julia have been fused together despite being separate people

ah, well you see when it comes to julia i am a homoousion

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

We can bring back Peacemaker disobeying orders but only the funny ones by having his arc in doom patrol end with like his random superior officer telling him he cant go fight the doom patrol on his own or something and then he immediately shoots the guy in the head and goes off to get beat up by Cliff

[saarebas]

pulls out a new oc from my beloved picrew like can I interest you in a new inquisitor? perhaps a red lyrium driven villain arc?

[cryptidmads]

used the men’s room in public for the first time today (if only by accident)

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

I'm just going to ramble in the tags don't mind me

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 | dad's best friend!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on the following request: what would dilf/dad's best friend cillian do if he found your dildo?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5k (this was literally supposed to be a drabble...)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), significant age gap (reader is college-aged, cillian is in his late forties), voyeurism/exhibitionism, semi-public sex, use of toys, praise kink, unprotected sex, very brief/semi sarcastic 'sir' kink, shockingly fluffy??

Not that your parents' anniversary cocktail party wasn't horribly riveting (cue dramatic eyeroll) but you were upstairs, on your bed, on your phone; you'd had enough of 'so how's college going?' and 'what's your major again?' and 'got any boyfriends yet? you must be a heartbreaker' for one evening— or a lifetime, preferably.

It wasn’t even that comfortable to be on the bed in your party dress—a cute, short sparkly one that you’d picked out for tonight—but it was better than standing around and trying to balance in those sky-high heels; those you had kicked off into the corner of the room the second you were alone.

When you heard a small rap on the door, you hummed a quick "Come in!" and didn't even look up from your phone, figuring it was your mom or dad come to find you after you disappeared.

Instead, you heard Mr. Murphy's voice as he leaned in the doorframe; "Sorry to bug you," he said, startling you slightly as you closed Instagram and set your phone down. "Just needed a Tide pen— your mom said you might have one in here?"

"O-oh, yeah," you said, sitting up, "sure— what happened?"

"Salsa fiasco," he joked softly as he shut the door behind him, showing you the dark red stain on his shirt— though the shirt itself was red, so it wasn't too egregious, but still noticeable.

"That's too bad," you chuckled, "I warned them about that salsa— if you serve salsa, there's gonna be a fiasco, that's what I said."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "They should listen to you more," he agreed.

"I've got a couple stain remover pens in that top drawer," you suggested as you pointed to your dresser.

"Great," he smiled, starting to unbutton the shirt; you got nervous for a second until you realized he had on a black undershirt beneath. It's hard to say why you were nervous about that, since you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times in the years you'd known him...

"Nobody's worried about me going missing, right?" you wondered as he continued working on the buttons, and he shook his head while shrugging slightly.

"Not yet," he replied, "but they're going to want to find you soon, you're sort of the star of the night."

You rolled your eyes, frowning. "It's my parents' anniversary party, I think they should be the focus."

"Maybe they should, but you're the much more interesting one," he informed you.

You pulled your legs up a bit, leaning to the side as you sat on your bed; as much as all this attention from your parents' friends was usually annoying to you, something about being interesting to Mr. Murphy didn't bother you so much. "Is it weird for you?" you asked, lowering your voice a bit; he tilted his head quickly as if to ask what you meant. "Going to an anniversary party after, you know—"

The words hung in the air, seeming to gather around his conspicuously naked ring finger: after the divorce. "Oh, no," he scoffed, taking off his cufflinks. "It's fine; but I'm sick of the questions about it."

You winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry," he laughed finally shirking off the shirt; he looked a little too good in just the short-sleeved undershirt. "You can make it even by letting me ask you how college is going."

"Oh god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, and he laughed.

"If I didn't know from your parents that you were acing it, I'd worry that your aversion to talking about it meant you were struggling somehow."

"It's not that," you assured, "it's the people."

"The people?" he pressed. "Or the guys?"

You laughed nervously, looking down at your lap. "Geez, you learn to mindread while I was gone or something?"

He stepped around your bed to get to the dresser, laying his shirt down over it. "No, I just remember that time— somehow. And I remember how much of a headache I and every other young guy was."

"I guess not much has changed then," you smiled.

"What, I'm still a headache?" he grinned as he looked over his shoulder at you.

"No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant, I'm just teasing," he chuckled. "Top drawer you said?"

"Yeah," you nodded, and he opened the top drawer of the dresser; of course, only right then did you remember that you should have specifically said top left. Because the top right was—

Oh shit.

You swallowed thickly as Cillian stared down into the open drawer, and your heart pounded as you somehow hoped and prayed that what was in there had turned invisible or something; but if the look on his face was anything to go by, it was just as visible as ever.

“I—fuck, sorry, I forgot that’s—” you choked out, face burning impossibly hot.  “I never meant for you to see—I’m—could you shut the fucking drawer, please, you pervert?!”

“I’m the pervert?” he laughed thinly, looking at you again finally.  “You’re the one with a massive fucking dildo in here.”

“Well—you weren’t supposed to see that—”

“Yeah, but—fuck,” he choked, “I was just looking for your stain remover and I see your— you have a— are you sure that isn’t technically considered a weapon or something?  How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?”

“That’s the great thing about it: he doesn’t have to compete,” you explained, “that’s sort of the whole idea.”

He looked back at it for a second and you yelped, reaching your leg off the bed to kick him in the hip.  “Would you please shut the drawer?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed a bit, “but I mean, how am I supposed to react to that?

“Well, you’re not supposed to just stare at it!” you insisted.

He shut the drawer, giving you a look you couldn’t possibly decipher.

“What were you thinking?!” you said, somewhat rhetorically.

“I—well,” he hummed, looking away from you for a second, “I was thinking that I can’t imagine how you can possibly fit something like that.”

You blinked quickly, not sure what to say in response to that.  “Well—I mean, it’s a little big, but… it gets the job done.  Keeps me from calling the guys I shouldn’t be calling.”

He nodded.  “Well, that’s good… none of those college boys could possibly deserve you…”

His eyes were running all over you, and even though you’d picked out this dress just for this party because you loved how you looked in it, you felt a little exposed by his stare.

“I just can’t believe a girl like you—”

“Come on, I’ve never been a saint,” you scoffed, glancing away.

“No, I just mean… the size of that thing…” he trailed off.

“You really can’t get over that part,” you noticed, “is this some kind of… intimidation, Freudian situation?”

You glanced quickly at his pants, and he started to deny it instantly.  “No—come on, it’s not—I just can’t believe you take all that.  For fun.  It looks like it would break you.”

You hadn’t even had any drinks at this anniversary party, and yet you found yourself with this foggy head like you were tipsy; you blurted something out as if you were tipsy.  “What, you want me to prove it?”

His chest sunk a bit, and you were about to take it back when he spoke before you.  “I’d like to see you try.”

Biting your lip, you sat up on the bed, reaching around him and into the drawer.  He didn’t step back or out of the way, just let you grab the toy and lean back on the bed in front of him.

You reached up under your dress, sliding your panties out of the way, finding yourself suddenly plenty wet to fit this toy.

His eyes never left you, though they certainly travelled all over your body as you pressed the toy up to your entrance; it was thick, he wasn’t wrong, and you had to slowly warm yourself up to it whenever you used it on yourself. 

After pushing with enough pressure, the tip finally slipped inside and you let out a small sigh.  He watched carefully, and your lips fell open into a moan as you pushed the toy deeper into yourself.  When the stretch became a bit too sharp, you winced and slowed down, trying to take your time even with your heart racing and hands shaking.

You heard his own breathing picking up, watching you take the toy deeper; you found your gaze wandering over him, even lingering on his groin to see if you could catch a bulge growing there, but nothing was obvious yet.  You stared for a moment at his hands, too, suddenly wishing to have them all over you—well, maybe not that suddenly, you’d sort of thought about this before.  It wasn’t until somewhat recently that you noticed how sexy he was.  Maybe when you were younger, you understood that he was better looking than all the other adults you knew, but only once you left for college did you start thinking about him out of nowhere, imagining what he was really like when he wasn’t just being friendly with you—you even asked your mom once on a phone call if he was dating anyone.  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to get suspicious when you asked that; but she’d be more than fucking suspicious if she walked in now, saw you doing this to yourself under his watchful eye.

Oddly enough, the knowledge that someone could walk in and see this just made you even more desperate, and you gasped as you pushed the toy in deeper.

It still wasn’t all the way in, and you already felt so full… truth be told, he had a point about it maybe being too big for you—when you usually used it on yourself, you only put it in a little over halfway, since that was all you really needed.  You hadn’t put the whole thing inside since you first got it—and yes, you’d ordered it online, because if you’d seen it in person you probably would’ve been as intimidated by its girth as he was.

Your decision not to wear a bra with this dress became very apparent when his gaze settled on your chest; your nipples were hard, and clearly visible under the fabric now.  It was just because it was strapless that you went without, but you were thankful for it when you saw him quickly lick his lips at the sight.  You dared to moan just a little louder as you pulled the toy in and out, picking up your pace carefully.

“How’s it feel?” he asked lowly, his eyes drifting back to where the toy slid into you. 

“Good,” you mumbled, “really fucking good.”

“Can you really take it all?” he pressed, making your walls clench on the silicone.

Instead of answering aloud, you simply pushed it all the way in until your eyes rolled back—it was so deep, pressing heavy and fat against your deepest points until it felt like you might burst.

“Fuck,” he praised—it was just a swear, but the way he whispered it made it sound like a praise.

You sped up slightly, trying to do this the way you normally would without someone staring at you.  But you were even more sensitive with him watching, your walls clenching more and more around the toy until it was almost hard to keep thrusting it in and out.  Sighing, you shut your eyes and laid back on the bed to try to help yourself relax.  The change in angle just seemed to make the toy go deeper, rubbing harder against the spot inside you that made your back arch.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed; you whimpered, nodding in agreement, and kept moving the dildo as deep as you could get it with every thrust. 

Your free arm went back over your head to hold onto the comforter under you, your hand gripping tight for some relief for the pressure inside you.  “Fuck yes,” you whispered, knitting your brows together and fucking yourself faster.  “Feels so fucking good…”

He hummed a little, but you kept your eyes shut, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you looked at him again.  It had been months since you used anything but this, and you had no regrets—the toy performed way better than any of the guys you’d met at college.  But, truthfully, you didn’t like having to do this to yourself.  It felt like you could never move it fast or hard enough, and you needed to constantly have perfect control over the toy to get yourself to come—and when you come, the last thing you want is to take control, you want to lay back and lose control.  Still, it was better than the college fuckboys who smelled like beer and didn’t last more than two minutes.

Thinking about them wasn’t going to help you now, though; it was much better to think about Cillian, about those icy blue eyes running all over your body, about how his hands would hold you down while he claimed you, about how his lips would feel on your neck before he whispered in your ear that you were his…

You let out a sharp and sudden moan as the toy hit harder on that spot; your legs started to shake.  “Good girl,” he mumbled, making you moan even louder because god, those words just sounded right in his accent, with that rough voice—and they sounded right being said to you.

“Fuck,” you choked, “Mr. Murphy, I—”

He laughed a little.  “So polite,” he cooed.  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Though it made your heart beat even faster, you did as you were told.  His stare was all-encompassing, making you feel completely trapped in a way you enjoyed more than you could’ve imagined. 

“Call me Cillian,” he insisted.

You weren’t sure if he meant to literally call him that right in that moment, but it sort of came out anyway: “Cillian,” you moaned, and the grip he’d taken on the dresser behind him tightened.

“Can you come for me?” he asked lowly.  “Right now?  Can you come on that fake cock?”

You bit your lip and nodded, moving the toy faster and faster— more desperate to come than ever.  “I—fuck, yeah, I’m close…”

“Good,” he praised again.  “Let me see you come, honey.”

Your back arched harder, deeper—your hands were shaking but you kept going, holding on tight to the dildo and forcing it back and forth as your legs began to quiver.

Moans poured from your mouth faster than you could try to quiet them—everyone was downstairs, you just had to hope the music and conversation was enough to drown out your desperate, pleading noises.  “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbled, right as you hit the peak and melted into the mattress, a wave of ecstasy pouring over you.

You felt hot everywhere, but especially between your legs—you could swear you felt yourself leaking out around the toy, soaking it, giving away how needy you’d become and not even having the mental energy to feel any shame for it.

Cillian certainly didn’t look like he was trying to shame you for it; when you opened your eyes again, he had a stunned expression—in the best way.  “You normally come that fast for a toy?”

You laughed a little, but you still couldn’t quite catch your breath.  “No,” you admitted, “it normally takes… a bit longer than that…”

“What was different about tonight?” he mused, and you scoffed and rolled your eyes again.

“Shut up,” you sighed.  “Now I have to figure out how to take this thing out—I’m always sore after…”

“If you can handle putting it in, taking it out shouldn’t be much trouble,” he noticed.

Which, yes, that would make sense, but after coming you always got all tight and sensitive and it could be a little intense.

“How about I help you?” he offered, and your chest tightened.  He waited for you to nod before carefully wrapping his hand around your own, watching your face as he gently guided you to pull the toy out.

Your lips were slack and your eyes were probably glassy and dazed as he looked at you like that, completely enveloping you in his stare as he studied every detail of your expression.  Aside from some heavy breathing you didn’t react much to him sliding the toy out of you, until the ridge of the head reached your entrance and you winced.

“Shh,” he soothed gently, “it’s okay…”

A long sigh of relief emptied your chest when the toy tapered off and you felt the last of it slip out of you; you really noticed then how soaked you were, as a draft in the room seemed to cling to the patch of wetness that had coated all between your legs somehow.

“Lemme see, baby,” he cooed under his breath as he set the toy aside, kneeling down and resting a hand on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs open.

You could barely catch your breath with him doing that; you’d never had someone… look at it like that.  You felt incredibly vulnerable but impossibly sexy as you heard him sigh at the sight.  “Is it all stretched out now?” you wondered.

“No,” he said, “you look… just as tight as before.  Fuck.  That’s incredible.”

You bit your lip, sitting up enough to try to get a look at his face past the puffiness of your dress’ skirt, and he smirked up at you with the loveliest sparkle in his eye.  “Really?” you breathed, and he nodded.

Even though your hands were still shaking you suddenly felt brave; maybe it was just the afterglow, but you grabbed him by the shirt and sat up to kiss him, colliding your lips with his.  He reciprocated instantly, putting his hands on your upper back that the strapless dress left bare.

The kiss was perfect—needy but not too fast, sweet but not too chaste, teasing but not too slow.  The guys in college couldn’t even kiss like this… you were wondering why you ever even tried with them—or, you would’ve been if that kiss left you capable of thinking about anything but him.  “Need you,” you whispered as you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, a hand holding your waist while he started to kiss your neck and jaw.  “Not here—your parents—”

“Don’t care,” you whimpered, “I’m so—fuck, Cillian, please—”

“You already came,” he noticed with a small laugh, “didn’t that take the edge off?”

“Not enough,” you whined, getting impatient and running a hand down over his shirt and down to his pants—and you smiled proudly as you felt the hardening bulge beneath.  He choked a little when you touched him there, holding you tighter.  “You want me too,” you noticed.

“Of course I do, but—” he breathed, then stopped himself as he tossed you back on the bed; you giggled as he crawled up over you, pinning you down.  “But we can’t… your parents would have my head on a platter—once they’re done serving crawfish etouffee off of it downstairs.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on telling my parents,” you smirked.  “Were you?”

“No,” he agreed, kissing your neck again as you hummed happily.  “But if they found out—”

“So?  They wouldn’t like if they found out about what just happened, either—and they won’t.”

“But this is different,” he insisted.

“How?”

“Because this…”

He trailed off, kissing down your neck and over your shoulder, until a hand reached up to pull your dress down and expose your chest.

“Shit,” he sighed at the sight of it, and you smiled up at him.

“You were saying?” you teased.

“Right, erm,” he swallowed, “this is different because—because if we do this, you’re gonna be my girl.  Not just a misguided one-time fuck because you were turned on after screwing yourself with your dildo while I watched.”

You felt a little out of breath but nodded up at him.  “Okay,” you agreed.

“Okay?” he repeated, looking a little shocked.  “I tell you that you have to be mine and you just say okay?”

“What was I supposed to say, yes sir?” you joked.

“I just mean—shit, if I knew it would be this easy, I would’ve said something sooner,” he chuckled.  “But I’m, er, not complaining about the yes sir thing either…”

He sat up and started to unbutton his pants, making you wiggle a bit on the bed impatiently.  Even though you’d just gotten filled by your big toy, you felt needier than ever for something inside you—something real. 

Your throat caught when he took it out— it was pale and veiny just like the rest of him; long, uncut, a bead of precum starting to leak from the slit… it was beautiful, honestly.  The artificial fleshy hue of the silicone could never compete.

“Big enough for you?” he asked with a smirk, but you had to swallow before you answered because your mouth was watering.

“Yeah,” you panted, “plenty.”

He kissed you again, laying more of his weight on top of you; your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him close as he pressed you down into your bed.

One hand found your wrist and held it back above your head, while the other kept a tight wrap around his cock so he could guide it to your waiting entrance.  When he pushed inside, you both sighed with relief like you’d been longing for this for ages—perhaps because both of you had, in your own ways.  “Fuck,” you breathed, “Cillian…”

He whispered your name back to you, heavy and desperate and right by your ear, and you absolutely knew you were his, just like he said.  He only stilled for a moment when he was all the way inside, already starting to rock back and forth—but he was sort of tender about it, watching you move under him as he fucked you.  “So pretty,” he praised quietly, kissing you again, even harder than before.  You both moaned into the kiss, and a warm, rough hand settled on your thigh under your dress.

Soon, the pleasure was too much to even focus on kissing, and your mouth just fell wide open in front of his as needy moans passed through it.  He stayed close, though, watching your face go slack with ecstasy.  The previous orgasm had left you sticky and sensitive inside, still totally dripping for him, everything in you begging for more.  “Oh my god,” you sighed, eyes rolling back, your composure completely slipping already.  He made you feel so good so easily—and fuck, the way he was looking at you, it was just too much to bear.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly, latching his lips onto your neck again until your fingers tangled in his hair.  He moved down and caught a nipple in his mouth, making you whimper as he suckled at it gently. 

“Fuck,” you whined, nearly pulling him along by the hair when he moved to the other one; you couldn’t stop clenching inside, squeezing him until he groaned against your skin. 

“Won’t last if you keep doing that,” he warned you softly. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” you teased, and he growled a little between his teeth, sitting up to look down at you.  He fucked you harder, but put a hand on top of your head and pet your hair for a moment, looking at you like you hung the moon; how could he be so dirty then so adorable within the same split-second?!

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he decided, speaking softly, “how about that?  What do you want me to do?”

That was a little too much power to give you, at least in your opinion, but you grinned as you considered it.  “Then I want you to come way too quick,” you decided, “like all those annoying college boys—because you just can’t help yourself.”

He laughed a little, though he stopped to bite his lip as he fucked you even harder—and faster, too.  “Okay,” he breathed, “don’t know why you want that, but—fuck— it won’t be very difficult after that little show you gave me.  You look so pretty when you come…”

“Just keep going and you can see it again,” you promised, holding onto him tighter as he pressed into you and really let you have it—not really rough or anything, you couldn’t risk making any more noise than you were, but still aggressive and passionate and desperate.

He kissed your neck again, burying his face in your shoulder and finding the spot that made you gasp out his name suddenly; your fingers clutched at fistfuls of his undershirt, and your legs began to shake where they were hooked around his hips and half-pushed-down pants.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the pleasure hitting you again—but it was better than with the toy, it was stronger, and it just kept going because he kept going.  When your head fell back onto the mattress with a sigh, he realized that he’d made you come.

“Wait, fuck, I wasn’t looking,” he rushed as he popped his head up from the crook of your neck, “do it again.”

You laughed breathlessly and pushed against his shoulder a bit; “Shut up, I can’t do it on command.”

“You did it the last two times I told you to,” he reminded you, and that just made you feel even more deliciously dizzy. 

Yes, you were definitely his girl now—totally addicted to him.  You’d never felt like this with somebody—not just physically, but the trust and the laughter and the comfort of it all.  This wasn’t a too-empty dorm room that still smelled like fresh paint, it wasn’t a mattress with no sheets in an apartment with 5 roommates nearby, it wasn’t a guy you vaguely knew from a two-hundred-student class or someone you saw on a dating app and talked with for an afternoon before meeting for ‘coffee’ (it was never just coffee).  This was Mr. Murphy—and that should’ve made it weirder, but somehow, it just made it make more sense.

“So, if I tell you to come again,” he spoke lowly by your ear, a new authority to his tone, “you should come.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say: “Yes, sir,” you breathed, hugging him close to you and pressing your face against his shoulder.

Of course, it wasn’t quite instantaneous, but just another minute of him giving you those deep, controlled thrusts right into your favorite spot sent you over the edge easily—and this time, he gently guided your face out of its hiding spot and looked at you, watched your pleasure overtake you, tenderly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.  “Good girl,” he praised softly, kissing you again just as the last of it drained from you; you were so numb that you barely heard him whisper something to you—it took you a few seconds to process it.

“I’m gonna come,” he’d whispered to you, “fuck, you’re so fucking warm…”

“Come inside,” you instructed, and for all the concern he tried to perform for you after you said that, his moan was undeniable, as was the way he started to move faster.

“Fuck, really?” he nearly whined.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, panting.

“You’re on—”

“Yes, please, just come inside me,” you begged, and he finally stopped protesting and pressed himself as deep into you as he could—you could feel the way his cock flexed, and it made your exhausted walls dig up just enough energy to flex back.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, holding onto you tightly.

You hummed a little at the feeling, turning your face towards his, hoping to see what he looked like in this moment—but he pulled you into another kiss before you could get a good look.  Even this kiss was different from the others—a little slower, a little more tired in a wonderful, dreamy way.  He was breathing heavy against you, and eventually he found the energy to push himself up with his arms on either side of your head, and you smiled up at him.  He looked really fucking good like this: his face a bit flushed, which seemed to show his freckles and fine lines even more (which you adored); his hair falling down, a little wavier from the slight sweat he’d worked up; his lips swollen and slick from the kisses; and those eyes, they looked as beautiful as always, but they made you feel beautiful, too.

“Is taking this one out gonna hurt, too?” he asked you with a smirk.

“Probably a little,” you shrugged.

“For both of us,” he agreed, “I’m so fucking sensitive now… you really do have me acting like a desperate college boy—but you know, it’s been a while, so…”

“Right, sure—good excuse,” you joked, but you didn’t mind any of it either way.

He did it a little quicker, pulling back as he took a sharp breath in, and you giggled softly.

“Fuck, I can feel it, like… leaking out,” you admitted, biting your lip at the sick satisfaction of the warm gush.

“I think I need to see that,” he said, sitting up and picking your legs up from under the knee to look at you.  This was apparently a habit of his—and you were starting to get used to it already.

“How’s it look?” you asked, wondering if he’d finally stretched you out after that.

He just stared at it for a moment longer, running his tongue over his teeth, before finally looking back at you and saying with a smile: “Looks like you need the Tide pen more than I do.”

[hairmetal666]

Closing shifts at Scoops Ahoy are always boring, but Robin took off early to study and nobody is coming in for ice cream at 8pm on a school night in mid-winter. Steve's alone and has been for the last forty-five minutes, with no end in sight.

He's doing tricks with his scooper, counting how many times he can twist it through his fingers without dropping it (57 so far), when the most beautiful man Steve has ever seen, walks in. He's got long dark hair that falls in perfect curls around his shoulders; wide eyes the same deep brown of fresh, dark coffee; and the most perfect plump mouth.

Steve can't move, his head going fuzzy. His eyes catch on the man's chest--visible through the black mesh tank top he's wearing-- revealing tantalizing swirls of black ink and the glint of silver bars through each nipple. The guy also has on leather pants that cling to the line of his legs like a second skin.

Jesus. Steve just realized he's bi and the physical embodiment of his wet dreams walks into the store like it's nothing. He's going to die.

The man rushes to the counter, his eyes finally falling on Steve, and it's like his feet get caught on each other for a second before he struts forward. His face melts into this heart-stopping smile, bringing out the cutest set of dimples Steve has ever seen. This is it, Steve is done for, time of death, 8:06pm.

"Ahoy, sailor," the man says with a mischievous glint in those dark eyes.

He returns the smile and somewhere, somehow, finds the words to reply, "I think that's my line."

Steve leans towards the counter, but in doing so, drops the scooper hanging from his fingers. The metallic clatter is harsh against the tile, and blood rushes to his cheek. "Whoops," he mumbles. He ducks down to retrieve it, mentally kicking himself for his clumsiness.

The man's smile only grows, and now there's a faint flush across his pale cheeks. And fuck if Steve can't help but smile right back, to let their eye contact linger.

"What can I get you?" He asks. His voice is way too low for regular customer service, and if he flutters his eyelashes too--well, that's between him and the USS Butterscotch.

"I know this is ridiculous. It's late and it's starting to snow," the man says. He leans over the counter. "But I need a strawberry shake to go."

"Strawberry shake, good choice," Steve nods. "Coming right up."

They don't stop looking at each other or smiling as he blends up the drink, and when he hands the cup over, their fingers brush, linger, both their faces staining red.

"How much do I owe you?" he asks.

Steve shakes his head. "On the house."

"You really know how to charm a guy, sailor-boy."

"Maybe I'm hoping to see you again."

"Depends," the man says. His smile widening, his dimples getting somehow deeper.

"On?"

"How good this shake is." He winks.

Steve thinks he might burst into flame before the man can taste the drink, but then the guy glances at his watch and curses. "Sorry, sweetheart, I gotta run. Been a pleasure, sailor."

And with that, he runs from the store, strawberry shake clutched in his long-fingered grasp.

Steve collapses against the counter, burying his face in his hands. He's not ever gonna recover from that.

---

Eddie's guitar is in his lap, his melted strawberry shake at his side. He can't get the guy from the ice cream shop out of his head.

Fuck, he had all that perfect hair under that silly little hat; his face dotted with cute little moles and freckles; eyes that flashed from honey to gold to green flecked hazel; and the poutiest, most perfect lips ever had Eddie seen. Not to mention how he looked bent over in those itty bitty shorts. Shit, if he isn't totally done for.

He can't stop smiling.

That is until a guitar pick hits him right in the forehead, dragging his attention back to his surroundings.

"Earth to Eddie," their manager, Chrissy, says. "You go on in ten minutes."

"Don't tell me you didn't get the stupid shake." Gareth shakes his head.

"No, I got it. Not to worry."

"Then what's up with you?" Jeff asks.

Eddie can't help the huge, stupid smile that illuminates his face.

"There was a guy," Eddie sighs.

Chrissy and his bandmates share a look. "Let me guess," Gareth says. "You walked in and he was like 'Oh, Mr. Munson. Let me get you ice cream, let me suck your dick. Oooh, you're so hot. Corroded Coffin is my favorite band.'"

"C'mon, no. I don't even think he knew who I was."

At one point, that would've bothered him. But now, after five years of hooking up with dudes who were only interested in famous Eddie Munson, he likes that the guy from the ice cream parlor seemed totally oblivious. That, when his eyes lit up with interest, it was for genuine attraction and not name recognition.

"Did you get his number?" Chrissy asks.

He slumps. "No."

His friends all groan. Another guitar pick flies at him, getting caught up in his curls.

"Well, you'll go back tomorrow. Now get your head in the game, Munson! You have a sold out stadium to play!"

---

"I'm not kidding you, Robs, he was the hottest guy I've ever seen. I didn't even know dudes could be that beautiful."

"Uh-huh," she says.

"You're not even listening." He jabs her in the ribs, making her squeak.

"Sorry, sorry," she bats his hands away. "Describe him again?"

And he does, leaving nothing out. Once he's done, Robin is gaping at him, gum about to fall out of her open mouth.

"What?"

She grabs his wrist, dragging him out of the store.

"Robin, what are you doing? We're supposed to be working!"

She doesn't answer, just hauls him to the record store down the hall.

"Was it this guy?" She asks. She's out of breath.

"What?"

"Steve! Was it him?" She gestures to a new release display and it's Steve's turn for speechlessness.

He's surrounded of images of the man from last night; on magazines, CDs, cassettes, on a couple posters hanging on display. He's with a couple of other guys, they're in a band called Corroded Coffin, but all Steve can see is deep brown eyes and plush lips, the bright dimples.

"Well?" Robin demands.

"Yeah," he nods. "That's him."

"Oh my god!" Robin screams. She grabs his arm and squeezes. "You flirted with Eddie Munson! Steve! You minx!"

"It was nothing," he blushes. "He's probably got someone already, anyway. I mean, look at him."

Robin makes a little face. "There are some rumors, but nothing serious."

"It was a nice dream," he says. He gives her a little smile. "Now, let's get back to work."

She loops her arm through his. "Whatever you say, dingus."

---

It's been a long day of slinging ice cream. Maybe Robin's revelation that the cute guy from the night before was an insanely famous rockstar is to blame, but Steve is exhausted.

"Hey, dingus!" Robin calls from the front.

"Yeah?" he mumbles.

"Some guy is here for you. He looks a lot like Eddie Munson."

She's not even finished with her sentence before Steve is vaulting back behind the counter, coming face-to-face with the man of his dreams.

Eddie's gorgeous, his face already flushed a faint pink. And just like the night before, Steve can't help but smile at the man before him, who dimples up immediately in return.

He forgets that Robin is there until she says, "Go get 'em, tiger," and snaps him in the chest with a towel.

With Robin gone, they still don't say anything for a second, both smiling and blushing and staring at each other.

"So, uh, I guess you're wondering why I'm back today."

"That's easy," Steve says. "It was the best strawberry milkshake you ever had."

Eddie laughs with his head back and Steve is stuck staring at the long lines of his throat.

"Well, it was the best, no question. Made me realize I was a fool not to ask for your number."

Somehow Steve's smile grows. He jots his name and number on a Scoops napkin, passing it to Eddie who does the same, before carefully ripping the paper in half.

"We're still on tour for the next three months, but I'll call you when I can?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Talk soon, sweetheart," Eddie leans into Steve's space, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Steve still has a hand resting on the spot when Robin re-emerges.

"Oooh, you've got it sooo bad," she sing-songs.

He's so happy, he can't even bother to shush her.

---

Corroded Coffin has a new album out. It's a huge hit, number ones across the board, a fixture on MTV. It's full of heavy metal love songs, sales bolstered by the rumors that Eddie's been in a secret relationship for years.

They're at the Grammys, nominated for Best Metal Performance. The band has moved on down the red carpet, but Eddie's still answering questions, their assistant waiting with him. The interviewer asks Eddie, "There's a lot of speculation about your romantic life because of this album. There are rumors that the song 'Sailor Boy' is in reference to how you met your lover. Will you tell fans about the person you're dating, the one who inspired the album?"

"No," Eddie smiles for the camera. "But oh, do I love the way he moans," he sings a lyric of the song in question before giving the interviewer a lascivious wink, and continuing on down the carpet.

Years later, after Eddie and Steve are comfortably out and married and Corroded Coffin has cemented themselves in metal history, the video of that interview will be uploaded to YouTube.

It's obvious, now, the way Eddie and Steve, the "assistant", gravitate towards each other. How Steve flushes a pretty crimson that spreads below the collar of his shirt as Eddie sings. The way Eddie smirks at him with a raised eyebrow. The way his hand cradles the small of Steve's back as they walk away together.

It causes a frenzy online, fans compiling blog posts and videos of moments of Steve and Eddie being totally obvious about being in love before the world knew that they were.

Eventually, Steve posts a photo to the band's webpage. It's of him and Eddie at Scoops Ahoy. He's wearing his uniform, and Eddie is in a faded Metallica t-shirt and ripped jeans. They stand at the counter with their arms around each other, smiling hard, eyes locked. He captions it with, "putting the sailor boy allegations to rest."

[planeteroticaaa]

— ATTENTION

“let’s just go, my dear. cause the way you put it on, made me wanna take it off you.”

nanami was typically a rather patient man, but tonight he couldn’t help the twitch in his eye or the deep scowl on his face as he watched you make conversation with a group of his colleagues. you weren’t aware of the way they gawked at you in that long, black body con dress you wore—their eyes flickering from the generous amount of cleavage the low v-neck flashed to the way the wind blew the slit of the garment to show more of your legs each time your eyes closed when smiling that same smile that wooed him 5 years ago just as it was doing them now.

it wasn’t intentional, he knew it wasn’t. you just wanted to make a good impression, especially because you knew it could tarnish the way people at his job viewed him, but fuck were you doing too good of a job at pretending to care about what that arrogant, asshole of a boss had to say.

nanami hadn’t wished to go to this work party, ready to lie his way out of it and while you chalked it up to your husband not wishing to socialize, his worried were rooted deeper than that…you. he knew his collages would waste no time surrounding you in disbelief that nanami had a wife and in even more disbelief on just how beautiful you were.

how was it that you were the center of attention everywhere you went? that you turned this party from something everyone felt obligated to attend to wishing that it didn’t have to end at 12am because now it was about to be 2am and nanami was in the corner messing with his now loosened tie, waiting for you to finish your last drink so you could leave as he wanted to take that dress off of you just as much as his boss did.

he himself was surrounded by his female colleagues—each in his ear about how you “left him to flirt with other men right in his face,” their words full of malicious intent that would make any other man question had it not been nanami. he didn’t care for these women—hell, nobody did when you were here, hypnotizing everybody with the way that dress hugged your curves or how contagious your laugh was, the sound blessing their ears, the sway of your hips when you walked, that damn smile luring them in like a moth to a flame.

his resolve was slowly crumbling—checking the time on his expensive watch each time these women opened their mouth to throw another jab at you, staring at you from afar, eyes asking—no, begging you to leave for it was late and he didn’t know how much more patient he could be with you looking like that and them looking at you like that. he’s adjusted himself for the nth time tonight, uncomfortable by the strain in his dress pants. you were driving him insane and he hadn’t even realized he started making his way over to you until he grabbed your wrist.

“you ready to go, my love?” he asked, but something about the way he stared at you—his usual kind, brown eyes now narrowed and dark—that he wasn’t asking you. “ken—” “y/n.” was all he said, voice low and sturn, shutting down any chance of argument, tension so thick it left everyone around you quiet.

he was tired, pissed, and needed you more than anything right now and you couldn’t help but to hook your arms around his stronger one, your smaller frame against his with his bicep pressed up against your breast. “i thought you’d never ask,” you said after smiling and pulling him down to your level by his tie so that your lips brushed against his. yeah, he knew you were all his.

“i see the tension rising…i feel the temperature rising.”

in honor of my man dropping this HEAVEN SENT album🤭! but in all seriousness, i wanted to give you guys a little something because school has been kicking my ASSSS, but i got yall again soon! — ♱. erotica

— tags list!: @kashxyou, @lame-xxx, @ninacutebee16, @ynishalee, @im-a-simp-4-2d-men (submit your tumblr username here if you wish to be added!)

[after-witch]

Death by Stereo [Yandere Chrollo x Reader] [Vampire AU]

Title: Death by Stereo [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re just a nobody living in a small town when a mysterious stranger with a leather jacket, good looks and a penchant for kissing your hand rolls in, just in time for the ever-popular summer carnival. Things are going great, until dead bodies start piling up. 

Word count: 17,510

Notes: yandere, vampire AU, descriptions of dead bodies, some violence, gore, abuse

Thursday

Is there anything more wearisome than a small town? Small towns grind you down so slowly that you don’t realize your feet have been eroded into useless nubs before it’s too late, and you have nowhere to run, even if you had the inkling to get away. 

A small town has its charms, as they say--but it has its burdens, too. You know all the faces, but all the faces know you; some of them have even known you since you were just an ultrasound picture carried dutifully in your mother’s purse, pulled out at coffee shops and book clubs. 

They know when you got your first period (age 13, in the middle of gym class--you were wearing white shorts); when your first boyfriend dumped you (at the school dance, right before he made out with the third most popular girl in school); what colleges you applied to, and later--why you dropped out (your dad got sick) and how he was doing (not so great but getting better) and where you worked, how you liked your coffee, and all these impersonal and personal details that made up the monotony of your life. 

It was a trap, this small town life. A faux bubble of intimacy that your parents embraced, but you’d never fully believed. Because despite knowing so much about you, no one here really knew you. They could tell you that you looked just like your mom at her age; they could sling down a mug with your coffee order without you opening your mouth (black, 1 sugar, 1 cream, no milk)--but they didn’t want to hear about how much you wanted to travel; how much you wanted to see.

Did it matter? You weren’t getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Like all small towns, yours had a claim to fame. While others might boast being the hometown of some B-list celebrity or the site of an all-you-get-eat seafood festival, your particular small town had one edge over the others: a summer carnival right on the beach, designed to appeal to nearby tourists who came to much larger, resort-friendly beaches for the summer season. 

The tourists loved to flock here on that singular summer weekend, pretending they were enjoying a quaint local carnival where they got drunk on cheap beer and sampled funnel cake until they puked. And if the locals hustled them as much as possible, overcharging for drinks and parking and sightseeing maps, was that so bad? Small towns needed to leech off new blood once in a while, after all.

The carnival was four days long--Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Sunday was, of course, the grand finale. There was a massive fireworks show on the beach, a huge concert with local and sometimes vaguely familiar bands. A lot more booze traded hands on Saturdays, and the beach was lit up with more than just fireworks; the local volunteers always spent the next week picking up cigarette butts and discarded joints in the sand.

The carnival can be fun. Although like anything that happens every single year in a small town you’ve lived in your entire life (save the one year of college you managed before your dad’s test results came back) it gets wearisome.

Still--you go. What else is there to do? Besides, you’d be stupid to deny that it’s more fun to spend your summer weekend wandering the carnival, riding a few rides, speaking to people, than to sit at home or pick up an extra shift at the diner. 

That’s why you’ve wandered into the carnival today--Thursday. Thursday is your favorite day of the carnival, because it’s the most quiet, relatively speaking. There are tourists here, sure, but they’re not rowdy yet. Not as overcrowded. There aren’t gaggles of kids running around with lobster-red faces and arms because they’re parents didn’t understand the necessity of sunscreen; there aren’t groups of women traveling in packs with matching sunglasses and hats, enjoying a summer break away from their rich and distant husbands.

It’s mostly locals on Thursday. People like you, bored coffee shop workers with nothing better to do on a Thursday evening.

Or people like Jake Jenson over there, currently aiming a colorful dart at a row of balloons in one of many carnival games that would hustle drunk tourists out of their money this weekend.

Jake was the town drunk--a title he gave himself, and others were only too happy to oblige him. He stuck to himself most of the time. During the carnival, he won as many carnival prizes as possible, and traded them to tourists with shitty aim for beers or cigarettes. 

And over there--the early birds. They’ve come three years in a row, you think from somewhere in New  York. They’re attached at the hip, constantly rubbing their noses together like some twee movie couple, and you’ve heard them complain that the boardwalks in their part of the country are a lot more “authentic.’ 

Sure, there’s the familiar faces, but unfamiliar ones, too. An older gentleman and his wife, who walks next to him more slowly, with a cane. He’s balancing a plastic plate with a fresh funnel cake in his hand. They’ll find a bench to sit down and enjoy it, maybe people watch, like you.

It’s time for one of your favorite games: making up stories for the various tourists you probably won’t ever see again. This couple--this is the last trip they’ll take together, because the wife got an awful diagnosis, and they’re spending what would have been the rest of their retirement savings on the dream vacation she always wanted to take. They met during the war, decades ago… he was a soldier and she was a nurse, and he hurt his leg, maybe, and wound up in a field hospital.

It would have been terribly romantic. 

Your eyes shift away from the couple and onto a few other new faces. 

Maybe that’s why you liked the carnival. It was nice to look at new people and imagine where they came from, what they did. The kind of life they had, which was surely more interesting and worldly than yours.

With people watching in mind,  you abandon your bench in front of the games and head deeper into the carnival, weaving yourself in between snack and ticket booths, stepping over large black cables that kept the rides running. 

Dusk had already settled in, and the warm glow of the summer had been replaced with a deepening sense of evening. The carnival lights had already begun to play against the darkening sky, creating that magical atmosphere that couldn’t be replicated during the day.

You don’t notice the stranger at first. It’s dark, the lights are a bit dizzying, and there are plenty of people simply wandering around and taking in the sights. What’s one more stranger, when over the course of the next few hours and days, the summer will be increasingly filled with them?

But this particular stranger shows up in the corner of your vision and immediately strikes you as… odd. He’s just standing there.

Watching you. Staring--right at you. What the fuck?

He’s wearing all black, and there’s some sort of scarf or cowl over his face. His eyes look impassive but there’s something awful in them, even in the brief glances you get from catching him from the corner of your gaze.

What a creep. 

It sours the mood, and you decide to leave, or at least take a break and shake off whatever out-of-towner decided to pull off his best edgy horror movie impression to creep you out. It wouldn’t be the first time a tourist behaved like a jerk, or a weirdo, especially if they’d be drinking. 

Something about nighttime at the carnival made people go wild. 

So you head away from it all, from the couples trying to win stuffed animals, from the giggling shrieks of people on rides that spun them upside down until they wanted to puke. And maybe you should just head right home, but it’s not fair to waste a night of good weather.

Cool, but not too cool. Pleasant. The moon is out and the stars twinkle overhead.

Heading out on the dock might be nice. Tourists don’t bother with it, at least not on Thursday, when the beach isn’t lit-up and there’s no particular reason to head out this way. 

But you’d been to this beach in the evening before; you weren’t scared of the dark. By contrast, you liked the way the beach sounded at night. The water moving in and out, slow and sure. The occasional sound of wildlife splashing in the water. And the din of the carnival behind you, all rainbow lights and indiscernible human happiness.

Your joy is cut off by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaps in your chest and your hands slam into your pocket instinctively, fumbling for your keys. Fuck, how were you supposed to use these in self-defense again? Put them between your fingers?

Your heart hammers and you slowly turn around, squinting as you make out a figure approaching you in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” a voice calls out, penitent. “Did I scare you? I’m trying to get reception.” The man wiggles a small silver object in the air, raising it above his head. A small LED screen lights up and your heart rate begins to calm, slowly but surely.

After a few beats, he sighs, and shoves the phone in his pocket. 

He turns, apparently to leave, but then looks back at you. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow, lick your lips. Feel stupid for the keys in your fingers. He seems nice enough. A typical tourist. “Um, yeah.” You laugh, an empty sound. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy tonight.”

The moonlight doesn’t give you a clear view of the man’s features, but you can see him tilt his head a little. “Jumpy?”

The keys in your pocket rattle when you let them go, and pull your hands out to point back towards the carnival. The man follows your finger with an almost studious interest.

“Someone was following me, maybe? Or he just seemed a bit creepy.” You laugh again, a habit ingrained after years of dealing with men in odd situations--defuse, tread lightly, always. “He was staring at me, but I couldn’t see his face. He had a scarf over it, I think.”

The man in front of you hums in acknowledgement after a moment. He almost seems a little amused, which is both irritating and relieving in its own way. You were just being silly, jumpy, overreacting, weren’t you? Maybe the guy wasn’t even looking at you in the first place.

“Can I walk you back to the carnival? It doesn’t feel right to leave you here alone.” 

Ah, no, you think. Sure, the man in front of you might just be a tourist in search of reception, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. This is how people get murdered. Or attacked. Or like, hoisted into white vans and never seen again.

“No, that’s okay. I was going to stay out here longer and look at the stars. I’m going home soon, anyway.” Not a complete lie, since you did really want to go home. Something like this is usually enough for most people to take the hint, right? 

The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, you see the shape of his smile, lit only by the moon in the sky above.

“You want me to walk you back to the carnival,” he says simply, and offers his arm out, like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman. 

Oh. Of course you do. What were you thinking, staying out here on the dock at night? Mosquitoes would eat you up, anyway. 

You smile in return and take his offered arm, stepping lightly as you make your way back to the carnival with a complete stranger.

Only by the time you make it back to the threshold of the carnival, which seems to be eaten up by the darkness surrounding all of the twinkling lights, he’s not really a stranger, is he? 

And as you get closer to the carnival, the natural darkness of the beach gives way to an abundance of artificial lights that allow you to see him better. He’s cute--no doubting that, with dark hair that frames his face, and a bandage around his forehead. Maybe an accident, or an unfortunate birthmark. 

Even if you weren’t familiar with most of the town’s residents in one way or another,  you’d know he was an outsider from the way he’s dressed. A slim motorcycle jacket and dark jeans… not the type of guy that hangs around here for long.

As you stop at the border of the carnival, he asks where you live, and you tell him--”around.” He admits that he’s only in town for the carnival week. 

“I figured,” you say lightly enough.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is it that easy to tell?”

You put your hands into your pockets and look around you. 

“I mean, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone, after a while. A new face stands out pretty easily.”

His smile is charming. Practiced, but charming. Or maybe being practiced is how it’s so charming in the first place.  “That makes sense.” He considers you for a moment. “You like to watch the tourists, then?”

You shrug and gesture with your chin towards a mom with a toddler clinging to her hand, pulling her along towards one of the games with enormous stuffed animals.

“I like people watching, I guess. Sometimes,” and as you’re saying it, you don’t know why you’re telling him this so openly. “Sometimes I like to make up stories about people I see. Like, where they’re from or what they do or a backstory like they’re from a movie or whatever.” 

Your cheeks feel suddenly, stupidly hot. Christ, you meet a handsome stranger on the beach and your first major conversation involves you admitting you make up stories about people? You’ve got to get out of this town more.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s judging you. If anything, he looks interested. 

“And what would you imagine for me?”

The question is unexpected. 

“I think…” You try to force your mind to wander like it does when you people watch organically. What would you imagine, if you came across him walking around the carnival in the evening? He’d be on his own, surely, maybe his hands in his pockets. Quiet. A soft smile on his face, maybe? 

“I think you’re some sort of… librarian. Or a curator. A collector?” You shake your head, unsure of exactly where you want to go with this one. “The point is, you’re traveling around the country, looking for things to add to a museum or library or something like that. And you came across an ad for a summer carnival and thought you’d take in some local culture.” You gesture towards the carnival--the lights, the crowd of people, the humanity on display. “But walking around here makes you feel lonely. So you walk down to the beach in the hopes of distracting yourself. Only,” you add, with a cheeky grin. “To come across the most amazing small town waitress in 100 miles standing on the dock like a weirdo.” 

He doesn’t smile at your story. Not exactly. Instead--and you look away when you notice, feeling too rude for staring--his eyes widen just a smidge and he purses his lips in a thoughtful way. 

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “May I have yours?”

Chrollo is kind of old-fashioned, you decide. Perhaps you were more spot-on than you realized with your story. 

Maybe you shouldn’t give your name. But there’s a giddy feeling inside your chest. Something akin to what you used to feel when you were a teen and you snuck out in the middle of the night for bonfire drinking parties.

I mean… a handsome stranger in a motorcycle jacket who escorted you back from the beach wants your name? You’d be stupid to say no. 

So you give it. 

At that, he finally smiles again.

“Well, then,” he says softly, saying your name in such a way that makes you hope he’ll say it again in the future, “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

--

“Help! Someone help me! For God’s sake!”

Jake Jensen cried out these words as loudly as he could--as clearly as he could, with booze slurring his words and making his mouth all mumbly. But he wasn’t loud enough. No one heard him. Not over the music and delighted screams of the carnival.

He had been chased away from the beach, past the dock, into a little storage shed used for kayaks rented to tourists during the summer. His worn out body protested with every movement, his lungs hacking from years of cigarettes. 

His attackers, who blocked the door frame, said nothing. They only looked at one another, silent words passed between them, and the taller of the two grinned in the darkness. 

Jake Jensen died screaming.

--

Friday

You tell yourself that you’re only sitting here on this bench, munching on fresh hot popcorn, because you had a hankering for carnival food. Definitely didn’t come here in the hopes of seeing a certain someone. You tell yourself this even as your eyes dart here and there, looking for any sign of the not-quite-a-stranger from last night. 

The sun has just set, and it’s a bit hard making out faces in the glow of the early evening. There are a lot more people here tonight, a new wave of tourists drowning out the familiar faces. Not that the locals shy away from the carnival--you spot your former best friend from high school, your old math teacher, one of the regulars at the diner… Jake Jensen isn’t in his usual spot at the games, but maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover. He never misses a summer carnival.

“Hello again.”

Oh--you choke on your current handful of popcorn just as Chrollo appears suddenly in your line of sight, hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, a casual smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, coolly, like you didn’t just nearly spit chewed popcorn kernels in his face when he approached. The silence between you doesn’t last long, but you fill it anyway. “You um, want some popcorn?”

But when you hold out the now half-filled container, Chrollo only looks at it curiously. Like he’s never seen popcorn before or something? But then he takes a small handful and pops it in his mouth. Chews--but he might as well be chewing broccoli, for all he seems to enjoy it. Oddly, he watches you while he chews, seemingly studying your face. Did you have popcorn in your teeth?

Better to fill the silence again.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, grinning, popping another handful in your mouth. “It’s my favorite because it’s fresh, and that booth actually uses real butter. Not the fake oil stuff.”

Chrollo hums in agreement. “I see. I thought that tasted like real butter. Thank you for sharing.” 

You decide on the spot that you’re going to make the most of this evening, popcorn-in-teeth or no. So you shrug and give your best smile. “No biggie. Buuut… you will owe me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And what will I owe you?”

It’s your turn to hum as you look out towards the carnival, scanning past the numerous faces, the booths, children running with balloons and sticks of cotton candy. “A ride on the Ferris wheel once it’s properly dark would be nice.”

A snort, though his nose. “I think I can manage that.”

He offers his arm again, and you take it, not minding how old fashioned it was. Somehow, despite his jacket, his sleek hair, the hint of motorcycle oil mixed with cologne, old-fashioned seemed to suit him.

Lots of things seemed to suit him, actually. You learn this as the evening wears on. He’s great at carnival games, choosing only a select few that he claims to be an expert in. He wins you a few stuffed animals that you pass on to little kids, save a smaller teddy bear that you can shoved inside your purse. 

You learn other things, too. Like, he’s a great listener. He lets you talk--about yourself, about the town--and doesn’t interrupt or tell you that you talk too much or make it clear he’s not listening to a thing you say. He even asks you questions, which shows he’s actually listening, and not just thinking about other things and waiting to ask you to go somewhere “private” like some other guys.

It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to find someone from out of town who’s so thoughtful.

The line for the Ferris wheel is always long once the sun goes down, and you’re one of the last rides of the night. 

When the carnival worker locks the bar down over your waists, you kick your legs and wait for the strange rush of adrenaline and pleasure that comes with the Ferris wheel. It’s a beautiful sight--all colored lights contrasted against the night sky, whisking you high into the air and giving you a view of the entire carnival and the ocean beyond.

But your body always reacts to the imagined danger of being carried so far away from the safety of the ground, and when the Ferris wheel reaches the top and begins to circle over for the first time, your stomach lurches and you gasp.

“Are you scared?” Chrollo’s voice is low--you could swear he’s teasing, but there’s something else in there, too. 

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching as you're brought back closer to the ground, only to be whisked away again. “Of course. What if something goes wrong, and I fall off and break my neck?”

Chrollo tilts his head. “You’d be dead.” 

You can’t help but grin. He’s so to-the-point sometimes. It’s charming in its own way, although you can’t exactly describe what “its own way” means with Chrollo. It’s like he stepped out of some old fashioned film but also came out of a cooler city. A biker who carries around an embroidered handkerchief, or something like that.

“And I don’t want to die, hence--the stomach flipping.” 

Chrollo looks ahead, then, taking in the view as the Ferris wheel carries you over again. “No? How long do you want to live, then?”

The snort is involuntary. A philosophical question on the Ferris wheel--not exactly what you expected from tonight. But maybe it’s not so bad. He’s good company. And Chrollo looks earnest in his question, too, which makes you feel guilty for snorting in the first place. 

Maybe it’s the lights of the Ferris wheel that dazzle you; maybe it’s the way being on the Ferris wheel at night makes you feel like you’re in some wonderful haze of a dream. 

Whatever it is, you fling your hand into the air, towards the carnival, towards the stars.

“Long enough to achieve my dreams,” you breathe out, earnest, almost sing-song. “Whatever they might be. I haven’t figured them out yet.”

Chrollo turns his head to look at you. His eyes almost seem magnetic against the night sky, with the lights of the carnival playing in them. 

Then, as the Ferris wheel brings the two of you down towards the ground, you see him. The man from yesterday, with the cowl over his face. He’s looking right at you, and it’s no mistake or figment of your imagination.

Your head swivels to the side and you grip the bar of the Ferris wheel until your knuckles hurt. You jerk one hand out and point to the stranger on the ground with a trembling finger. 

“There--look! Look!” 

Chrollo takes a moment to respond, and follows the sight line of your finger.

But now--there’s no one there.

“What do you see?” He asks, clearly unknowing that the object of your terror has vanished into thin air.

“The man… the man from yesterday. He was right there. I swear.” Your chest hurts; fear hurts. 

Unbidden, Chrollo pulls you close to him, and you let him hold you tight.

“You’re all right. I’m here.” 

He holds your chin in his fingers. “You’re safe, do you understand?”

The fear in your chest seems fuzzy now, like it had almost never been there in the first place. How silly of you to be scared, when Chrollo was right here. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s touching you so intimately, does it? So you nod--yes, yes, you understand. 

Chrollo smiles. 

“Let me kiss you,” he says simply.

And you will. Of course you will. What else would you want to do? 

But as you lean forward, eyes already closing, he pulls himself away.

“Wait.” You blink, head clearing, and he continues, words slow, careful. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Now, you think about it. Maybe it was too hasty. But the lights of the carnival are beautiful and Chrollo is beautiful, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, and now he’s here, holding you, promising to keep you safe from carnival creeps.

A summer carnival is the time for a flirty romance, after all. 

“Yes,” you answer, simply. “I would.”

Chrollo’s finger strokes your chin as you lean in and share your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, glittering lights and carnival music dancing in your mind. 

--

The wife died first. Too quickly, but perhaps it was all the alcohol in her system; $1 margaritas at a local watering hole on a Friday night did nothing to make her more agile when being chased by predators while running in black city heels that had no place in a small town carnival.

Well, to the dying woman’s credit: it was the heels and alcohol and the sliced tendons in her ankle. Taut wires cut through her flesh like butter and she was down for the count, crawling, sobbing, begging for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her.

No one did.

Those pitiful cries, too, were cut down by a wire pressed into her throat; silencing her vocal chords, yes, but spilling blood over her neck that was as pretty as a sight as anything to those watching her choke and scrabble her hands against the ground, eyes wide, gaping, wondering--how is this happening to me? 

The margaritas may have hindered her before her unfortunate ankle accident. But they did make her blood taste sweet and tangy. Metallic, rich, with a twist of lime. All that was missing was a miniature umbrella.

This joke was said aloud, once everyone had a taste of her. A few laughed, blood on their teeth. 

Her husband didn’t seem to find it funny, but perhaps he was more preoccupied with his own current slow death. An arc of his blood spurted into the air--”Don’t fucking waste it, Uvo”--before a greedy mouth latched onto the wound, beginning to suck him dry.

The husband, like the wife, would be shared.

Soon, though, there would be no need for sharing.

There would be enough for everyone to have their fill--and beyond that.

There would be enough to gorge.

--

Saturday:

Three people are dead. 

You didn’t know them know them, but the shock is still there, making your hands tremble a little as you pour morning coffees and deliver plates of steaming eggs and overcooked bacon to tables of locals and tourists in almost equal measure.

Jake Jensen is one of those people. The identities of the other two are unknown--”Due to the state of the bodies, no identification could be provided at this time,” said the sheriff, above a rolling news ticker that had been on the diner’s singular TV all morning--but they might be a couple. A man and a woman.

People die all the time. Sure. But…  dead bodies are not often found in your small town, where gossip typically revolves around couples breaking up or a local store not putting up enough holiday decorations to appease the older crowd. 

Yet now, in one morning, there are three. 

Jake Jensen, who was found near the beach.

And an unknown man and woman (John and Jane Doe) who were found in a wooded area near the carnival.

“Mighta been a bear,” says one of your regulars, gnawing on a piece of his burnt bacon. He liked it that way.

“I heard they were drained of blood!” Your head--and others’ too, you suspect--turns to the voice. It’s not a local. Someone who’s far too dressy for the diner, sipping on a coffee they brought from home while they sample your diner’s less than stellar fruit salad option. He’s oblivious to the stares, to the eye rolls, to the immediate dismissal that his outsiderness earns him. “Two puncture wounds on the neck. Heard it from a cop while I was walking in this morning.”

Someone murmurs a joke about vampires and the locals chuckle, then go back to their coffee, their eggs, their eyes now and then glancing up at the old TV screen.

Your eyes roll, too, but then you wonder.

If they were murdered--and it’s an if, of course, because it could have been animals and Jake Jensen could have gotten so plastered that he fell off the dock or something, murders just don’t happen in your town--then… could it have been that creepy guy from before? The one who’s been following you around the carnival?

Shit, maybe he was waiting for the chance to get you alone, so he could drag you off to the dock or the woods and slit your throat. The thought gives you goosebumps, and acrid coffee tries to climb its way up your throat, before you swallow it down.

It was a good thing you had Chrollo around for the past two days.

And you’d be seeing him again tonight.

They weren’t canceling the carnival--it brings in too much money. And while a part of you is all sore and soft for poor Jake Jensen (who was never mean, just drunk) you try to brush it away. It’s sad. But life is sad. 

You don’t want to be sad tonight. You want to look nice--for Chrollo? He wasn’t the first out-of-towner that had flirted with you, that you’d flirted with back. He was the first one that you’d ever genuinely looked forward to seeing again, though.

So.

You want to be wearing your best smile when you meet Chrollo again tonight. 

And you can’t do that if you’re thinking about Jake Jensen’s body washing up on the beach or if there’s a small, tickling question dancing through your mind--

What sort of animal leaves two pretty little puncture wounds on the neck?

--

You sit on the same bench as before; the bench, in your mind, where you and Chrollo have taken to meeting up these past few days. 

There’s no room in your stomach for popcorn tonight, though. Or rather, there’s room--your stomach growls--but you can’t imagine chewing anything rich, hot and buttery right now. Your thoughts flit between horror (poor Jake Jensen, one time, when you were younger, he helped you fix a flat bike tire) and romance (Chrollo’s lips on yours, warm, the breeze tickling your neck, the lights of the Ferris wheel twinkling around you).

You feel bad for wanting to enjoy tonight. But that’s not fair, is it? Another small town tragedy: caring too much about someone you didn’t really know as anything more than a passing familiar face that you can’t even focus on a hot date. 

Fuck. 

“Daydreaming again?” 

The evening sky above you is a wash of deepening colors, devoid of actual sunlight but clinging to the last vestiges of it like a child refusing to let go of his mother’s hand on the first day of school. 

He’s holding up a stick of bright pink cotton candy in one hand, while the other arm is offered for you to take--the contrast between his leather jacket, the ball of fluffy sugar he’s holding, and the way he sometimes acts like an old timey gentleman out of the movies is enough to make you smile.

Perhaps there’s bitterness in it, because as soon as you’re standing, Chrollo regards you with a measured look.

“Are you all right?” 

Well. You don’t want to ruin your evening, but it would be stupid to pretend everything was all sweetness and sunshine, wouldn’t it? It’s better to get it out of the way. 

“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know if you saw the news?” He says nothing, and you continue. “Those people that they found dead this morning.” Your lips press together. “I mean, the guy--I knew him, sort of? Everyone did. He was drunk all the time, yeah, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Chrollo hums.

“I can imagine that would be shocking for you to hear.” 

Your smile is shaky, and you nab a piece of cotton candy from the stick and shove it in your mouth. The sweetness contrasts awfully with the words that pass through your lips. “For you too though, right? I mean, it’s not every day three people turn up dead at some small town carnival.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to say that he is not particularly shocked by the news. 

“Shit, really? What are you in your non-touristy life, a mortician or something?” A sudden realization washes over you, that Chrollo has an entire life outside of you and these carnival evenings; he has a past, and family, and friends, and a job. Hopes, dreams, the whole nine yards.

“Something like that,” he says. When you move to apologize, he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m not terribly shocked by these things, I suppose, because of what I see in my day to day.” He looks at you a little curiously. “But I can see how it would rattle you.”

You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say. Sugar sticks to your teeth.

“Come on.” Chrollo drops the cotton candy into a nearby trash can, and leads you towards a row of carnival games. “I know what might take your mind off things.”

For once, you’re glad to see the carnival games; the fast-paced spitting words of the barkers trying to hustle money from kids and couples, the sound of darts popping balloons, the triumphant music that plays before the obnoxiously difficult water shooting game. 

You’re even glad to see the tourists in all of their Saturday glory, which isn’t so much “glory” as it is a sort of restlessness. Saturdays were always a strange day at the carnival; the last middle day before the grand finale. An unusual mixture of sleepiness, anticipation, and a buzz that held everyone together until tomorrow.

Strange day, strange faces. Some stranger than others. Staring up at the bell at the top of the Test Your Strength game is an exceptionally tall man with wild dirty blonde hair. By the size of his muscles, he might just break the game, which hadn’t been replaced in the many years you’d been coming here in the summer.

You tug on Chrollo’s arm and point the man out. “What do you want to bet the carnie will try to get him not to play? He might just break the thing…”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beside you, Chrollo snorts, but doesn’t linger on the man as he leads you further into the carnival. 

The two of you walk, and talk. About nothing and everything. He asks you to come up with stories for a few tourists, and you do. Light ones. It really does take your mind off things. At some point, Chrollo buys you fries, which taste slightly sweet; probably cooked in the same oil as the funnel cakes. 

You dig in your heels in front of the fun house, but Chrollo shakes his head, and won’t go in.

“Are you scared?” You tease. At night, the fun house was all lit up, and the clowns painted on the front had a ridiculously sinister air to them.

But Chrollo doesn’t smile or laugh. “They make me dizzy,” he says, quietly. There’s something behind his words, but you don’t know what. A medical problem? A bad experience? You apologize and then he does smile, shaking his head, at himself, or you, you’re not sure. “Think nothing of it, dear.”

Dear.

You want to hold onto that bit of affection like the sky holds onto the sunset on summer evenings. At least as long as you can, which tonight, seems to be until Chrollo takes you on the Ferris wheel again. 

This time, he holds your hand as soon as the attendant locks the bar down. Your fingers interlock and squeeze and it sends butterflies rushing through your chest. What was there to worry about, to think about, when you were sitting next to him? 

It takes a few turns around the Ferris wheel to remember what you were supposed to worry about, because on the trip down, your stomach fluttering from romance and gravity alike, you see him: the strange man. The stalker. The maybe-serial-killer-on-the-loose. 

He’s standing still in the crowd walking here-and-there around the Ferris wheel, couples intent on getting in line, children running from tired parents as they beg for another carnival game.

And he’s staring straight up at you.

You don’t think this time. You grab Chrollo and point straight down and practically screech out the words: “There! He’s there! Look, look--look!” 

And the stars must be aligned, because Chrollo actually sees him. His grip on your other hand tightens and he pulls you closer to him as you make your way back around the Ferris wheel and the man goes out of sight. By the time the two of you are at the top again, the stranger is gone.

Your goosebumps remain.

“We should talk to the police,” you murmur, a quiet, scratchy whisper.

Chrollo turns towards you. You recognize the look. The “Do you really think the police will do anything about this?” sort of look. 

“I’ve been thinking…” You squeeze Chrollo’s hand and he squeezes back and that’s all you need to keep going. “That maybe he might have something to do with those people? The ones they found this morning?”

Chrollo’s eyes widen just a little. It’s both comforting and worrying to see him look taken aback, even if it’s only a bit. 

“I heard…” You feel stupid saying this. But you shouldn’t feel stupid, not with Chrollo. He hasn’t given you a reason to feel like you can’t tell him things. “Someone at the diner today said they were found with puncture wounds on them. I was thinking, maybe… like an ice pick? Or a screwdriver or--I don’t know. But maybe they were killed.”

“Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Chrollo offers, voice low, lips curled into a smile, and your face must reflect the flash of offended shame that rushes into your chest, because he immediately apologizes. His sigh flutters against your cheek. “Well. He wouldn’t be the first killer to prey on crowds or small towns, would he?”

At least he didn’t say you were crazy to connect the two things, vampire joke aside.

He keeps you close once the ride is over, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I’ll inform the police,” he insists, when the two of you finally stumble on a pair of deputies patrolling the carnival. He leaves you standing next to the Test Your Strength game, where the carnival barker has agreed to keep an eye on you. It made you feel like a child, but for once, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing--to be watched and protected.

You watch, biting your nails now and then, as Chrollo and the deputies talk. In the end, they shake his hand, and you feel cool relief in your stomach. The police will know what to do with the information. If this guy’s a killer, they’ll catch him. If he’s not, well. The carnival was almost over, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.

Things will be normal soon.

When Chrollo returns, you take his arm without hesitation, but this time he begins to lead you away from the carnival.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that we might go for a walk. Get away for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

You don’t mind at all. 

“Do you like trails?” You ask, steering him towards a trail that leads from the beach to a popular hiking spot for locals. “It’d be a bit more private. As long as you’re not scared of the dark.”

Chrollo chuckles. It’s a warm, dark, rich sound, and it sends a delightful thrill right through you. 

“I’m not if you aren’t,” is all he says, and that’s enough for you to point out the way.

Thoughts of dead bodies and stalkers fade away with the carnival, whose sights and sounds fade bit by bit as you and Chrollo leave the beach and begin making your way into a wooded area with a paved hiking path lit on the other side by electric trail lights. 

“I’m surprised to see these,” Chrollo says, quietly. He pulled his phone out at the start of the trail to give the two of you more light, though the trail lights were decent enough, especially since you’d been up here more times than you could count.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Locals come up here all the time at night. Especially teens. Usually to make out and stuff.” Chrollo gives you a look and your cheeks hit up, but you don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know about your high school escapades. “They added them to avoid the inevitable lost-teen-in-the-woods-at-night rescue scenario, I think.”

“Clever,” he says. 

--

The waterfall is loud when you’re this close; so loud you can’t hear anything in the moment but your own thoughts, which have grown louder and louder somewhere between the hiking trail and this popular waterfall spot. So popular that it’s lit with a flood light near the top--supposedly a teenager slipped in one night and drowned in the shallow pool, though you’ve never been certain if it was a true story or not.

Regardless, you’re not sure you want to stay. No--you know you don’t want to stay. 

This is a bit much, is what your thoughts are starting to scream. Chrollo is nice, but you don’t really know him, do you? And you just walked somewhere alone with him in the dark after being surprised by a maybe-stalker, the day that three people were found dead around here.

Yeah. A bit much might be an understatement. You should really get back to where there’s more lights and people and civilization in general. If Chrollo is a nice person (and he is, you insist, you’re just being smart!) he won’t mind. 

“I think we should go back,” you say, but Chrollo can’t hear you. So you cup your hands around your mouth and lean closer to his ears. “I think we should go back!”

You expect him to nod and take your arm and lead you carefully down the lantern-lit trail, perhaps still using his phone to guide the way. Instead, he takes your chin in his hands--you move to jerk it out, you’d rather wait until you’re back at the carnival to kiss again--but his grip is impossibly strong.

“It’s all right,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing, you can hear him so clearly despite the roaring waterfall just a few feet in front of you. “You know that you’re safe with me. You don’t want to go back yet.”

How strange. How silly. Why did you want to leave, when you just got here? You didn’t even show him the best part yet.

“Come on!” It’s your turn to pull him along as you carefully walk the path leading to the front of the waterfall, which has already begun to soak water through your clothes. 

“Is there a cave?” Chrollo asks--and again, you’re struck by how easy it is to hear him, despite the water rushing down in front of you. 

“You sure know your way around local watering holes,” you jest. 

He merely smiles. “I travel a lot.”

With that, you grip his arm tighter and run through the waterfall, shrieking in delight. Both of you emerge on the other side soaked; you, grinning, and Chrollo, looking around with interest.

The inside of the cave was lined with endless rows of fairy lights, courtesy of a local high school group. They had also brought in the two couches--used leather, frayed and flecking, but good enough for a hang out. When you were younger, there were only folding chairs; which were great for sitting, not so much for much less. 

“Do you like it?” You ask, then feel stupid. Why do you care so much what he thinks of some local hang out spot, especially one you hadn’t been in for ages? The same reason why you’d spent all day telling him about your daydreams, about small town memories, bits and pieces of local lore that he didn’t brush aside but seemed to enjoy hearing.

Chrollo was so different from the others you’ve met at the summer carnival. 

Maybe that’s why your heart begins to beat fast the moment you catch his eye again. His skin looks almost dewy in the glow of the lights, thanks to the water; his eyes shine, reflecting a soft, warm twinkling glow.

It’s just the two of you. No tourists, no locals, no would-be stalkers. Even the carnival itself seems far away; the lights blocked from view by the rushing water and canopy of the forest, even the wafting smell of popcorn and stale beer was long gone out here.

It was just you and Chrollo in a cave at the end of the evening. 

But… it didn’t have to be the end of the evening, did it? 

You ask him, this time. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” 

“I do,” he says. “Very much so.”

This time, your kiss is tinged with the tang of river water.

--

Five bodies lay scattered in the grass. Young men, young women. Teens that had been giggling and stumbling through the forest, flasks of pilfered whiskey in their bags. 

Now some dead and going cold, their limbs twisted, their mouths open in silent screams.

Two were still alive, whimpering, weak hands beating against monsters’ chests as open mouths hungrily lapped up their life blood. They had screamed, all of them, but no one could hear them in the woods--over the water. 

“This is a lovely spot,” said a woman, brushing back her blonde hair. A bit of red gore had stuck to the strands and she tsked at the sight of it.  “The waterfall adds a nice touch.” 

The man hummed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The slightest touch of red showed on his lips; like a woman pressing her lipstick-covered mouth onto a bit of tissue to get rid of the excess. 

The carnage made him indifferent; the whimpers of the dying, even more so. But as he looked around at the carefully placed lights on the trail, the way they flickered against the waterfall and its hidden cavern like delicate stars, he smiled. 

“It came highly recommended.” 

--

Sunday: The Final Day

Chrollo was in your bed last night, and you thought he’d be there in the morning. But when the sound of birds pulls you delightfully out of a restful sleep and you blink your eyes open to dappled sunlight through your blinds, you realize that the bed is half-empty.

Just you and the sheets and the leftover smell of Chrollo--cologne and, more faintly, sweat and sex. 

You freeze, listening for the sound of someone meandering about an unfamiliar kitchen. He could be up and about already--making coffee or breakfast. The image of him serving up a plate of bacon and eggs almost makes you laugh.

But the apartment is silent, save for your breathing, the sound of a clock ticking in the living room. 

Your heart lurches and shame pricks at the back of your eyelids. He fucked you and ran, didn’t he? Just like the others, just like--

But just when you’re about to give into the temptation to scrub yourself all over with hot water and erase every trace of Chrollo that ever existed in your presence, you see it: a piece of paper, torn from a notebook you keep on your dresser. Carefully folded over and placed on the side table next to the bed.

Your name is on it, written in a surprisingly beautiful, scrawling hand. 

Curiosity and leftover shame-tinged dread curl together in  your stomach as you sit up and slowly pick up the note. 

Dear--

Your heart lurches again, for a different reason this time.

I apologize that I did not give you a proper farewell. I had an urgent matter to attend to. Forgive me, won’t you? We will see each other tonight, I hope, for a memorable and unforgettable evening.

Of course he didn’t fuck and run. He wouldn’t do that. And tonight would be--well, memorable and unforgettable, just as he said.

The pitter-pattering inside your chest takes on a new delightful cadence as you get yourself ready for the day. No work--you had Sundays off, thank God, maybe literally, for that. It was a shame Chrollo didn’t tell you where he was staying; presumably, the only hotel in town. But maybe he was at one of the B&Bs or was shacking up at a room for rent.

It would be nice to see him in the daytime, too.

But he didn’t, so you’re left with nothing to do but flick on the TV and make yourself a cereal bowl. Well, that’s wrong.  That’s not the only thing you could do. You could go to your parent’s house and help out your mom; she could use a break with caring for your dad.

But… was it wrong to be selfish, just a little, for just one day? You didn’t want to see Chrollo tonight with something unpleasant sticking inside you, on the potential chance that your dad was having a not-so-great day.

It was better to approach your last evening together with a sunnier attitude.

Although you don’t really have a choice, because the first thing you see when the news returns from a commercial break is a giant banner scrolling across the screen: TWO MISSING TEENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL WATERFALL. POPULAR TRAIL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

In the background, the sheriff recites familiar lines about respecting the privacy of the dead, about putting the full energy of the police force into finding the investigation, about how there is no need to panic. He says that it may not have even been foul play.

Somehow, you don’t believe that.  You just know. 

Sugary cereal seems to lodge itself inside your throat. You were just there. You were just there, kissing Chrollo, holding his hand, and now two teenagers are dead and lifeless and, and--

And if it was that same man… the one who was staring at you, stalking you… how close did you and Chrollo come to dying last night?

Tears prick at your eyes and you grab your purse. Maybe you would spend the day with your parents, after all. 

--

You should be more excited to see Chrollo. And you are, truly. But between the news this morning and the dull realization that this would be your last evening together ever, it’s hard to feel too enthused. 

Chrollo would be going home after tonight. Tourist trap over, no need to stick around. Something childish in you thinks: maybe I can convince him to stay a little longer. And if he stays a little longer, he’ll see how nice it is here (it’s not) and maybe he’ll want to settle down (he won’t). 

Oh, how stupid. It’s like when you’d meet the endless stream of New Best Friends every summer weekend as a kid, and you’d beg their parents together to extend their vacation.

It wasn’t going to happen. You’ll never see him again after tonight, and you’ll go your separate ways, and that’s that. 

Reality sucks sometimes.

You’re still stuck in the dreary shit cloud that is reality when Chrollo’s now somewhat familiar footsteps approach you on the bench. The bench, your spot--your spot? As if you and Chrollo had anything that could be called an actual relationship that warranted the use of “your” plural. 

You shake your head, hoping it shakes those silly childish delusions, and force yourself to smile.

Chrollo, to your surprise, doesn’t smile back.

Instead, he leans down, and takes your hand. His eyes roam over your fingers like they’re something special and it makes your stomach flutter stupidly.

“You seem a bit sad,” he says, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. The way that makes you feel is something you love and hate in almost equal measure. It’s not fair, is it, that he makes you feel this way--when he has to leave, and you’ll never see him again.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you will part ways after tonight that makes you speak freely.

“I’m just sad that you’ll be leaving.” He blinks at you, and turns his head a little. “That we won’t see each other after tonight,” you clarify. 

You expect him to nod and agree, and perhaps say something trite but comforting, like, “We’ll just make the most of it.” 

Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze.

“We don’t have to part, you know.”

It’s your turn to blink. A silly, little-kid-in-you hope does a twirl. He could stay--and this could maybe, possibly, in some far off millimeter of a chance, turn into something more serious than a summer fling. “You could extend your vacation? Your job would do that?”

Chrollo finally smiles at you. 

“My life is flexible. But,” and now he pulls you up so that you’re standing. It’s a fluid, easy gesture for him, almost too easy--he’s stronger than he looks. “I was thinking that instead of staying here, you would come with me.”

The world around you is not silent. The carnival is always producing an eternal cacophony of sounds--screaming patrons hung upside down on the more thrilling of rides, cheery carousel music, laughter, popcorn endlessly beating like a fast paced drum, everything and anything all mixed together into a swirl of sound.

But it might as well be silent, because you feel like all you can hear is your heartbeat in your eyes for a few stretched moments. 

“What? You’re not serious.” You smile, too, but it feels fake. Like it’s plastered on and cracking underneath. There’s a brief thought--maybe he means, like, for a weekend?--but you instantly know that’s not what he’s talking about.

This is too much, too fast. Too out of the blue. 

Chrollo looks at you in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Like he wants to see something inside you that you’re keeping for yourself. Then that gaze is gone and he’s smiling softly, charming, a little bittersweet.

Bittersweet is familiar territory, and the ringing in your ears fades in favor of a carnival barker offering 2-for-1 prizes on the Test-Your-Strength game. 

Chrollo’s voice cuts through it all, jovial, unassuming. 

“We can talk about it later, if you’d like. Let’s go enjoy the carnival a bit more before the concert.” 

That would be nice.

“I’d like that.” 

And you mean it--you do. You shake your head and let Chrollo intertwine his fingers in yours, and it doesn’t take long for his question to fade away from your mind as you weave in and out of the crowds.

If you weren’t so distracted, so disarmed, you might have noticed an uncomfortably familiar figure clad in black watching the pair of you intently.

--

The Ferris Wheel worker should have kicked you off several spins ago, but Chrollo had slipped him a twenty as he buckled the safety bar down. It’s nice, this extra time with him--it’ll be the last time you ride the Ferris wheel together, after all. 

What did it say about the state of your love life--or your life in general, actually--that slipping a carnie 20 bucks made your heart soar (and twist, and ache) even a little bit?

The night is prettier from the Ferris wheel. The world, too. Up here, you can’t see the grit and grime. The fermenting candy apples littering the ground, dropped two days ago by careless kids; the too-drunk couples arguing about whether they should stay for the concert or not; the exhausted carnival workers smiling hard no matter how much they get yelled at for their rigged games.

All you can take in from up here is the broad vantage point. Crowds and happy sounds--squeals and music interplaying above crowds of people, including a growing crowd on the beach in front of the black stage, waiting for the concert to start.

Chrollo’s grip on your hand tightens and draws your attention back to him. Even he looks more beautiful from up here, with the rainbow lights of the Ferris wheel playing on his face. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says softly.

Ah, you realize. The extra spins were for the inevitable “we’ll never see each other again but it was a blast” speech. You knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any less bitter in your mouth. But what good is holding bitterness against your tongue?

“Me too,” you say, and it’s not a lie, even if you hate the way the conversation must end. You try to focus less on the sourness and more on the sweet that came before. After all, Chrollo was… well. Handsome, yes, magnetic, yes. But more than that. He seemed thoughtful. He listened to you prattle on about yourself and your small town, and he didn’t even make fun of you for knowing so many local stories.

He was good in bed, too, wasn’t he? You blink and realize you don’t actually remember all that much about last night, except that he wasn’t there in the morning. Vague snatches rush through your memory. You remember his mouth on your lips, his hand trailing against your skin, removing your clothes. You remember his mouth against your neck, then this teeth, nipping, and--

It’s all fuzzy. But you weren’t drunk. So why--

“Have you thought about what I said?” He asks, and once again you’re pulled away from your thoughts, although this time you’d like to focus on them. Why couldn’t you fully remember last night?

When you don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows.

“About coming with me,” he says, a bit louder, as if you can’t hear him over the carnival din.

You let out a soft puff of a breath, then, and force yourself to focus on the current conversation. For now.

“You’re serious?” You don’t mean to sound so flippant, but you do. Chrollo frowns, just a little, and you feel like a bitch for it. “Sorry. I just--I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

“I am,” is all he says.

You didn’t like the idea of the conversation headed towards Chrollo leaving, but you like the idea of him genuinely asking you to come with him even less. Partly because you know you never could, and partly because there’s some small, stupid, fantasy-of-your-hair-blowing-in-the-wind-wearing-a-leather-jacket-on-a-motorcycle part of you that wants to say yes.

“Chrollo, I can’t do that. I have a job here. A life.”

Chrollo doesn’t let go of your hand, but you can sense the way his muscles tense. 

“A job at a local diner slinging hash browns,” he says, voice dry and almost hurtful. You must look offended--are you? You can’t tell--because he turns a little in the seat, trapping you with his gaze. His voice is earnest now, drawing you in.

“Don’t you want more out of life? The ability to pursue your dreams--to figure out your dreams?” One hand goes to your cheek, and his knuckle brushes against your skin. “You could travel. See so much more than your little town. Imagine it.” 

An image starts to build in your mind. Unbidden by you, but there, somehow, nonetheless. Of you riding behind him on a motorcycle, holding onto his waist as he takes you wherever you want to go--wherever he wants to go, together. Life would be wild and unpredictable, but easy and fun and--

“My family,” you murmur, and Chrollo seems surprised that you’ve spoken. 

His lips press thinner. “You could write to them, call them. No matter at all.”

Whatever fantasy has built in your head gets swept away and the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop. The seat rocks back and forth and the bored (but $20 richer) carnie lets you off. Chrollo helps you as he’s done every time.

You wait until he’s escorted you away from the Ferris wheel to turn and address him. 

“Chrollo, I can’t--” You try to find the right words, but there are no right words. “I don’t know you. Not… really. Not enough to give up my life here.”

Chrollo is quiet. He considers you, turning his head a little. You feel awful--maybe you should just end the night here, on this shitty, sour note, because you’ve probably ruined the rest of the evening anyway.  You wish he hadn’t asked again before the night was over, but there’s no way to fix it now.

You’re ready to leave, to bite your cheek so tears don’t come. You’re prepared for Chrollo to say something low and insulting, to dismiss you, because why should he waste another minute on someone who would rather stay here in this shitpot of a town than--

“Come along,” is what he says, finally, holding out his hand--to your utter confusion. He still wants to go to the concert? With you? Now?

But you take his hand anyway. 

“It would be wasteful to end our evening early and miss the concert.” 

His grip is harder than it has been, but maybe you’re imagining it as he pulls you along, weaving in and out as the crowds grow larger and a little more drunk the closer the pair of you get to the beach.

This doesn’t feel right, suddenly. He’s upset, that’s why he’s holding you so tightly. Or maybe you’re upset and imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. Your primal gut instincts are telling you that it’s better to cut your losses and leave now, then to spend the night with a flipping stomach. 

“Maybe I should just go home,” you yell over the crowd. 

Chrollo stops, and you stumble forward a little, but he catches you in both arms before you make an ungraceful acquaintance with the ground. The hand not gripping your own gently grasps your chin and he leans in, not quite kissing you. His breath smells off, like rust. 

“And miss the grand finale?”

You should insist on going home. Everything’s gone shitty. It’s too crowded and the music will be too loud, and Chrollo is clearly irritated with you--

“Come to the concert,” he whispers, and none of that seems to matter anymore. Of course, you’ll go to the concert. What else would you do? 

He keeps his grip on your hand as you walk onto the warm, crowded sands of the beach, even though you have no intention of leaving. 

--

Booze, sweat, and popcorn. That’s all you can really smell now, surrounded as you are by crowds of people jumping and swaying to some rock band you’ve never heard of before; but no one really cares what the music sounds like on a night like this, when alcohol has been flowing and summer is at its peak.

Even Chrollo seems to be enjoying himself, although he’s not dancing. Just holding you, his arm around your waist, pressing his lips now and then to your forehead.

You feel bad. That must be why there’s a pit in your stomach. You were being rude to him. Of course he’d ask you to come with him--if he’s the type to live so freely, he wouldn’t think twice about making the offer. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be rooted down, willingly or not, the way you are.

You can’t hold something like that against him, so you don’t. 

Instead, you sway to the music, hips bumping against Chrollo now and then. Maybe after this, he could come back to your apartment again, for one last…

All thoughts in your head are stomped into the stand when you spot the strange man with the cowl in the crowd. He’s standing stock still while everyone around him jumps and dances and flaps their drunken arms. 

And he’s looking right at you.

“Chrollo--” There’s no time to waste, and you grab his arm and jerk him towards the direction of the stranger.

But he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Cold terror seizes your chest.

“What is it, love?” 

The nickname doesn’t even register.

“That--the man--the guy from before--he was there.” Your voice begins to tremble, frightened tears welling in your eyes. “Can we leave? Please?” 

Chrollo pulls you closer to him and you feel dim comfort as he wraps his arms around you and presses his lips against your head. But he doesn’t tell you that of course, we’ll leave, of course, I’ll get you somewhere safe, of course, let’s talk to the police. 

“Hush.” One hand begins to pet your hair. “Not much longer now. It’ll be over soon.” 

“What do you…”

Behind Chrollo, you see another familiar face. Vaguely familiar. The tall man with wild blonde hair, the one who looked like he could snap the Test Your Strength Game in half if he really wanted to--he’s standing still, like the man from before, while everyone jostles happily around him. He’s not looking at you, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving. 

Your eyes dart over the crowd.

There are others, standing still. Others who seem out of place immediately, either because of their appearance or something awful you can’t describe. A woman with pink hair looking impassively as she scans the crowded beach, keeping her body perfectly still. A man with long black hair and something shiny and thin strapped to his shoulder. A woman with blonde hair in a smart black tailored suit that no one in their right mind would wear to a summer night carnival concert. Others, too, all out of place and making you want to be anywhere but here.

And then in a few blinks, they’re all gone. Like they were never there.

Dizziness overtakes you, along with a strange sort of fuzzy fear. Is this what a heart attack feels like, maybe? No, it’s just panic. Understandable but undeniably awful panic. 

“Chrollo,” you manage, voice shaky. “Something’s wrong. There’s people, they seem--it’s---I don’t know how to explain, we should--I think we ought to--”

Chrollo doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns you around, keeping you in his arms as he makes you face the stage.

“You’ll miss the concert,” he whispers in your ear.

Helpless irritation courses through you. Who cares about the concert right now? You have half a mind to ask him why he’s not listening to you, but that impulse is gone the moment you see the tall man with blonde hair and impossibly large muscles leap onto the stage.

The guitars and drums come to a confusing, stuttered halt. The lead singer, clad in an oversized black t-shirt with a skull on it, looks like he wants to throw his guitar at the intruder.

“Dude, what the fuck, we’re playing up here, you can’t just--”

Even from your vantage point, you can see the large grin the blonde man sports on his face as he raises his fist and knocks the lead singer’s head off with a single punch. 

The body remains standing for a moment before collapsing without grace onto the stage. Blood spurts from the wound, spritzing high enough that it sprinkles the faces of those closest to the stage. 

There’s a noise from the crowd that almost, for a moment, sounds like a burst of startled laughter.

And then the blonde man leaps onto the corpse, opens his mouth until it’s gaping far too wide to be human, and begins to suck on the headless neck like a crawfish.

It’s that moment when people finally begin to scream.

Your head jerks towards one of the screams, and she’s there--the woman with the pink hair. Latched onto someone’s neck while blood dribbles from her mouth and the person, eyes bugged out, cries out in wordless pain. His body is cross-crossed with strange cuts, like someone pressed him through a sieve. 

You spin around, looking away from horror, only to see it again: the man with the long hair swings something out--a sword?--and strikes someone’s arm clean off his body, then pins that person down and begins to suck at the spurting blood. 

That’s not all he hit.  The person in front of them, a woman holding two drinks, staggers to the ground. Half her face slides off, revealing bone and brain. Lukewarm beer and gore meet the ground together.

You’re not entirely sure if you said Chrollo’s name, or when he let you go, or what you should do. All you know is that when you finally pull yourself together enough to look at him, he’s simply watching the events around you like a boring television show.

Like people aren’t screaming and running and bumping into you. Like blood isn’t flying. Like you aren’t seeing things that you’ve only seen in shitty horror movies. 

He’s in shock. Fuck. So are you, maybe? But it will be up to you to get the pair of you to safety, so you grab his arm and shake him hard.

“Chrollo! We have to go! Now!” 

He doesn’t move. You shake him again, and he finally looks at you. 

He smiles, and holds out his hand, ignoring your jostling.

“You’ve had time to think about it, haven’t you? Will you stay with me?” 

Oh, he’s definitely in shock. That doesn’t stop the impulsive words that flee your mouth as quickly as the people around you are trying--some not successfully--to flee the beach. 

“You’ve lost your fucking mind. Let’s go!” 

You don’t register what’s happened until you’ve hit the ground. Someone finally ran smack into you, and something--their elbow, maybe--strikes your head, hard. Pain blossoms in your knees and the side of your head when you hit the ground, then explodes when someone steps right on your hand.

There’s a feeling of lost gravity when someone yanks you up--Chrollo--but when you’re on your own two feet, he’s not there anymore.

You call his name. Once. Twice. Three times, four. He might not be able to even hear you over the din, if he’s nearby. Maybe he got swept away by the panicked people. Maybe his shock wore off and he ran to get help. Or ran--and left you.

There are a few moments where you almost run deeper into the crowd to look for him. A stupid thought. But then the wild, shock of fear inside you turns to complete ice and you’re not sure of anything in the world because he’s there. 

Standing in front of you.

Close enough to touch. 

Your stalker. The man with the cowl. Only the cowl is down, now, and his mouth is covered in a smear of blood. He smiles at you, and it’s not a nice smile at all. His smile grows wider, and you have to blink several times to realize what you’re seeing.

He’s got fangs.

Two of them, red tinged. Sharp enough to puncture your neck. 

They’re vampires. Actual vampires. Actual, damn bloodsucking vampires. 

There’s a brief, panicked thought--where’s Chrollo?--before your flight kicks in, and you’re scrambling through the crowd like everyone else. You stumble, of course you do. Over bodies, some dead, and you almost fall flat on your face when you make it off the beach and your ankle rolls on the uneven grass-covered ground.

If you were thinking logically, you might have run to the car park, and hopped into your car. You might have run in the direction of the crowds thinking the same, and gotten lost in them.

But there was no logic. Only pure primal panic, the realization that you people were being murdered all around you like animals, and you were one of those animals because one of the monsters was chasing you.

You didn’t dare to look back to see how far away he was; you just knew, deep down, that he was following you now. Running wouldn’t work: you couldn’t run forever, not with the pain in your ankle, and he’d catch up with you even if you weren’t panicked and in pain.

You had to hide.  But where? The carnival was all lit up at night, and the beautiful lights that had been fun to see just a day before now made you want to scream. He could see you, just about clear as day, no matter where you ran.

Unless you can find somewhere to hide inside.

It’s this thought that pushes you to dash inside the fun house, sneakers pounding on the silver ramp leading into the entrance painted over like a mouth devouring any children who enter.

The stillness inside startles you more than anything else. The lights are on. The music is playing, quiet, delightful. It’s hard to hear it over the dulled screams coming from outside, and from the awful, pounding rush inside your ears.

You follow the short hallway until it leads to something which you’d forgotten about; but it wasn’t your fault. Panic made you stupid, and you hadn’t actually been inside a fun house in years. 

The glass maze. All-see through panels that you’d smash into on an ordinary day, much less this one, where your mind is fried from panic and adrenaline keeps your body from coordinating properly. You smash against the panels a few times before you see it… something, behind you. 

No. Not something. Someone behind you. Or near you. Or far away. 

You can’t tell exactly where this person is, because of the fucking glass maze, but the fact remains:

He’s there--he’s here--he’s going to get you and kill you and it will hurt so bad.

You scream, at some point, and it’s dumb because the sound simply bounces off your current glass predicament and hurts your ears.

Maybe panic pushes you through, or maybe you’re just good at completing mazes when you’re in fear for your life; whatever the reason,  you make it out. You stumble through a hallway made of rollers that nearly send you sprawling, until you’re at the end of the hallway. 

A small red spiral staircase, barely usable for adults, is your only hope. 

You don’t try to be quiet now and the metal stairs clang under your feet as you run up them, feeling dizzy, feeling like this might be the last thing you ever do in your short, stupid life.

The second floor isn’t entirely enclosed. It opens out onto the carnival in the front, and there’s a slide to take you down near the end. The wall behind you is covered in a series of mirrors--the kind that make you tall or short or wide or impossibly thin.

It’s not the mirrors that catch your eye, though. It’s what’s down below. 

They’re all down there. The monsters from the beach. All covered in various amounts of blood and gore. Splatters. Smears. Like they’ve all gotten into different scrapes--killed people different ways. 

All of them have blood around their mouths. 

Fear rings in your ears. You want to wake up, more than anything. This is a nightmare and you want to wake up. 

You don’t wake up.

Instead, you hear a metal clang.

Then another.

And another.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Thoughts dart here and there, but there’s nowhere for them to go. If you go down the slide, well. There’s a gang of monsters waiting to kill you down below. If you stay up here, well. There’s still a monster waiting to kill you.

The metal clangs again, and again, and again.

He’s coming up the stairs and he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die. Today. Now. 

Warm urine runs down your leg and thoughts come, too quick to really process: Mom-dad-school-work-never-did-anything-my-childhood-dog-that-one-time-we-went-to-Canada-to-visit-my-aunt-I-kissed-a-boy-under-the-bleachers-I-forgot-to-tell-dad-I-loved-him-yesterday-I-I-I--

It’s not the monster with the cowl who comes walking up the landing of the stairs. 

It’s Chrollo.

It’s like you blink and you’re in his arms, clinging to his shirt and sobbing like a child. He presses a kiss to your hair and you realize, gratefully, that he doesn’t look hurt. No blood on him, no scrapes, no bruises. 

“Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re okay,” you say, reflexively. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Chrollo pulls you tighter against his chest, and murmurs, “God? An interesting choice, my dear, considering…”

You aren’t even really listening. You’re just happy. Delirious, even. Chrollo’s here. He’ll help you. You can make it out together. Somehow. 

There’s an almost giddy sort of hope in your chest--until you hear the metal stairs clang again. And again. And again.

You whimper stupidly and pull on Chrollo’s arm. 

“We have to get out of here. Somehow. I don’t--maybe we can distract them?” Your eyes glance down at the monsters below you, who only seem to be watching more intently. The man with the blonde hair, which is now caked in blood, has an awful grin on his face. You imagine you can see his fangs, even if he’s too far away for you to properly make them out.

Chrollo doesn’t move. Shock again? Or he sees them, too, and knows the two of you won’t make it a step off the slide before being attacked.

The footsteps on the stairs stop. You look behind you, and your bowels clench at the sight of the monster with the cowl, pulled down, that same small, mean smile on his face.

Your hand tightens on Chrollo’s arm. A sentimental, if selfish, thought: At least I won’t die alone.

Chrollo turns, too, and looks at the man who’s been haunting you for days. Looks at the monster who has already killed people and feasted on their blood; at the creature who will now undoubtedly kill the both of you. Lovers for only a few days, but forever in death.

Chrollo sighs, and inclines his head towards the man. 

“Wait a moment, will you, Feitan?”

There were many things you might have said in this moment.  Eloquent things. Meaningful things. Things borne from inner betrayal and horror and anger. But all that comes out of your mouth, which gapes ridiculously, is: 

“Huh?”

And then something clicks, and realization dawns like a morning you don’t think you’ll live to see. The idea comes naturally, somehow. Borne of a childhood reading books and watching movies about vampires. Bloodsuckers. 

Your head turns, and you look over towards the wall of mirrors. You’re stretched thin like taffy about to break, your features a jumble in the dirty, cheap material. 

In the mirror in front of Chrollo, which should make him ridiculously short, there is nothing at all. 

When you look back at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, he’s no longer the person you met a few days ago; the person you took to your bed, the person you were lamenting leaving. The person who kissed you and made you feel good, inside and out, if only for a while. 

He’s a vampire. 

“I advise you not to run,” he says quietly, if not, perhaps, a bit sympathetically. 

You do, because you aren’t a fucking moron. Though you don’t make it far, as it doesn’t do you any good to run towards the staircase. You run right towards the other monster--Feitan--who grabs you with ease.

He’s faster and stronger than he looks. Maybe they all are. Your body and brain don’t care about that, though, so you struggle with all of your might.

In response, your arm is deftly twisted behind your back and you expect this monster to stop, you expect your arm to meet its natural resistance while you struggle.

He doesn’t. It doesn’t. Your arm snaps and the pain is so sharp, so sudden, that your vision goes blind for a few seconds. In those few seconds, you scream.

When you’re aware of the world again, there’s still the pain. Sharp and awful and renewed every time you jostle your body in any direction.

Chrollo, walking up to you, hums in sympathy. 

“I know it hurts, dear. But this is what happens when you don’t listen to my orders. Do you understand?” 

The strangest thing (and in a world where the man you fucked last night is currently standing in front of you with fangs, that is saying something) is that Chrollo’s expression is not wild or monstrous at all. If you thought about it, and you’re having a hard time thinking with the pain of your arm and fear of impending death, you might say he looks hopeful. That you will understand. That you have learned something.

And you have. You’ve learned that he’s a liar, that everything he ever said and did was just to keep you around long enough to literally eat you, that he has no morals, no empathy, that he’s not even a person.

“I understand,” you manage, voice tinged and weak with pain, “that you’re a fucking monster.” You spit at him. Or try to. Your mouth is too dry to manage more than a stringy dribble that sticks to your chin. 

At this, Chrollo sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns.

“You didn’t speak so crudely to me earlier this week.” A little smile. “Last night notwithstanding.” 

Bitter tears well up in your eyes. It was all just a game to him. Cat and mouse. Every smile, every thoughtful word. Every kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his mouth on yours--

“I didn’t know you were a… a… fucking vampire earlier this week.” 

Chuckles, from down below. Feitan, behind you, snorts. 

Chrollo doesn’t look angry, but you can feel a flash of it ripple through the air. It quiets the chuckles. Feitan tightens his grip on you, and the flash of pain makes you groan and slump forward.

“Regardless,” Chrollo says, “respect must be maintained. I expect you to refrain from these little outbursts. Do you understand?” There’s still a tinge of cooing sympathy in his voice--it makes anger bubble up in your chest. 

“Fuck you.” This time, the spit flies, and hits his cheek.

The gestures are slow. Unassuming. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand. He wipes the back of his hand on his pants. And then he nods at Feitan.

Feitan’s hand reaches around your throat and when you glance down, you see that his nails grow. And sharpen. Sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to--

He drags his hand down your collarbone, and you feel the awful, deep sting of it before you see the blood spill out from your flesh. It coats the bare skin between your collar and the top of your shirt like some sort of morbid camisole. 

You cry out, you shriek, but he doesn’t let you go until Chrollo gives him another nod. You’re shoved towards Chrollo, who doesn’t grip you, but merely lets you stand, swaying, in front of you.

When you finally get the courage to look up at him, his pupils are blown up like a shark’s. 

“I’d like you to stay put this time,” he tells you, voice deeper, richer, at the sight of your blood. “And not run away from me. I’d like you to listen, and refrain from being… impulsive.” 

He leans in, and the scent of rust hits you, but this time you know what it means. “I could make you do it, you know. I don’t have to ask.”

Realization hits you again, and it hurts even more this time. That night, on the dock. And on the Ferris wheel. And how many other times he’d told you to do something, feel something. What was really you, and what was him? 

And now, despite all this, despite the scent of blood in the air and the wails of horror coming from the beach, he wanted you to listen to him? The audacity of vampires--it might have been funny, if you were in the mood to laugh.

“Like hell,” you mutter.

Chrollo breathes out through his nose. Impatient.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

You look up at him, gaze sharper. Heart sharper. 

“Like. Hell.” 

The slap you give him is weak. You’re surprised your good arm even managed it, all things considered. 

But the shock of the act that ripples from Chrollo to Feitan and even down below is what gives you a few microseconds to escape, to run, ears ringing from the pain of your jostled broken arm, and throw yourself down the slide.

You don’t have a plan. How could you? As soon as you get to the bottom, you’ll just run. Run and maybe die but maybe you’ll get away, someway, somehow.

You don’t get more than a few steps before you fall. Not fall, exactly. Trip. You trip over something that shouldn’t be there, something taught and thin. A wire? 

You see, from the corner of your vision, the woman with pink hair yank her hand backwards and the wire that shouldn’t be there slices deeply into both your ankles. Blood seeps through your socks before you even hit the ground. 

Your ankles burn and bleed, and new sparks explode behind your eyes when your broken arm smacks the ground at the worst possible ankle. You think you scream, but it’s hard to tell, over the pain.

Chrollo and Feitan jump down from the second story of the fun house. It should break their ankles--it does not. 

Someone turns you over on your back with their boot and you’re left staring up at the sky, ink black and throbbing with stars. It was such a pretty night, before all this. 

Above you, Chrollo and Feitan look down with decidedly different expressions. Chrollo regards you coolly, with no real expression on his face; it’s like a porcelain mask, indifferent, never-changing. Feitan, on the other hand, is smiling--he’s looking not at you, exactly, but at your blood.

It’s Chrollo who speaks.

“I would like an apology for your behavior.”

If your eyes were not safely attached to their retinas, they might bug out of your face entirely. You are laying on your back with bleeding, mangled ankles; your arm is broken, flopping, useless; a collar of blood adorns your neck. Vampires are standing above you, fangs at the ready, having already spread carnage through an entire beach of concert-goers.

And he wants an apology?

You want him to go away. To not be real.

You want your mom, and your dad, and your childhood bed with covers big enough to hide you.

So you shake your head, helpless, like an infant lying on their back.

Above you, Chrollo says your name. Sternly. Just once. 

When you muster up the words, you taste copper. You must have bitten your tongue after tripping. 

“F…fuck you.” 

Stupid words, you know. But you’d rather your last words be this than pointless begging. Now that would be stupid, begging for your life in front of grotesque creatures who want nothing more than to devour your blood. 

Somewhere above you, a gruff voice says, with a hint of glee in his voice:

“Want me to do it, boss?”

Your eyes dart around, but you can’t see anyone else. Even Feitan seems to have stepped back, leaving you with no one but Chrollo in your line of sight.

Chrollo tilts his head a little, considering.

“No,” he says, finally. “Feitan will handle it. I appreciate your methods, but you might break something a little beyond repair.”

Whoever spoke chuckles, but doesn’t disagree.

The words reach you, but you don’t take them in for a slow moment. 

Break… break… what else can they break, what else can they possibly do--

There’s a weight above you. A dark one that smells of blood and metal. It’s Feitan. He blocks out everything else, just for a moment, staring into your eyes with their big pupils and blurring tears.

When he pulls back, you see him move, but don’t know what it means until you feel an explosion of red hot pain in your hand--the hand you slapped Chrollo with. Your fingers crunch and break and you try to pull your hand away, but Feitan’s boot keeps it pinned down, grinding his heel until you shriek so loud that you think the inside of your throat will blister.

Time itself is hot and painful. You’re not sure how long it goes. You’re only sure that when you try to move your mangled fingers, they don’t move. Hot, thick pain shoots down them and it makes you stop trying to get up. 

It’s not like you could run, anyway.

At some point, you hear a new sound. Sirens in the distance. Police? Ambulances? There’s no hope in your chest, no thought that they’ll save you. Even if they got here in time, the monsters would kill them. 

Somewhere above you, Chrollo talks, though his words sound like they’re being spoken through water. 

“Take care of them, will you? We’ll meet up near the waterfall before we head out.” A question from someone. A pause. “Yes, I’ll handle her.” 

The voices fade away. Either because they’ve walked away, or you’re finally going to die from the shock. That might be a mercy compared to whatever grisly end Chrollo has in store for you. Is this how he planned for you to die, after all? Or was it meant to be swifter? You might have screwed it all up with your running and spitting.

Before Feitan broke your hand, you might have been proud of the spitting. Now you just wish you’d let them kill you quick. 

Finally, Chrollo returns to your line of vision. He’s a bit blurry from your tears, from your pain. Probably a bit from your blood loss, too.

He kneels down next to you, and you tense. Even tensing hurts, and you whimper. 

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Beside you, Chrollo coos. A soft, sticky sound. He takes your broken hand and your voice wants to shriek, but all you can manage is a strangled cry. He kisses your broken fingers like a gentleman.

“Kill you? Of course not.” He presses a last kiss to your mangled hand. “I do want to see that sweet girl from before.. the one who daydreams about strangers and holds onto my hand so tightly on the Ferris wheel.” An indulgent look crosses his face and he gives your broken fingers a painful squeeze that has you groaning.

“She’s still in there, no doubt.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, pushing away the dried salt of your tears. “Buried under fear and pain and newfound knowledge, no doubt.” He smiles nostalgically. “But those can be remedied with time.”

He’s crazy. I mean, you know he’s a vampire, sure. But he’s also fucking crazy.

“I want to go home,” you croak. Even though you can’t reason with crazy.  “Please. Please.”

His eyes blink down at you. How old is he, anyway? Centuries? Longer? To him, you must be nothing. Insignificant. Ridiculous. 

He doesn’t mock you, though. He only continues stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be your home now, wherever we go. And we will go so many places.” There’s some sort of dulled excitement in his expression that turns your stomach. “And from now on, you’ll do what I say, won’t you?”

Tears spill over your eyes, trickling down over his thumb. You don’t have the energy or the lack of survival instinct to say no. But you won’t say yes, either. You can’t. 

“Well. I can make you obedient, if you’d rather be stubborn.”

You’re about to ask--”What?”--when he kisses you, shutting you up entirely. 

You’re afraid to move. Your lips tremble against his, thinking only of death--of his fangs. His lips move and brush against your neck, and a mocking forgotten memory of last night flashes through you. He kissed your neck last night, too, a wet, sucking kiss that had your toes curling. Your toes curl now, too, out of fear. The blood from your ankle makes your toes slick inside your shoes. 

And then his fangs sink into your neck and hot, searing pain shoots through your entire body, masking everything else. Your ankles. Your broken hand.  Your brutalized arm. The cut on your collar. None of them matter compared to this pain, which is not localized at the sight of the bite but spreads throughout your bloodstream, making it impossible to think of anything but how much it hurts.

You’re dimly aware of your screaming. A helpless sound you heard from countless others tonight. Your legs kick, and you realize, vaguely, that you can’t really feel them anymore. They hurt, yes, but there’s a numbness behind it. Are you really moving them at all?

There are more screams now--from the beach. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s like you can see it in your mind although you’re flat on your back in front of the fun house with a monster draining you of blood. 

The world spins as you imagine how the first responders must be dying right now, while you’re dying. Are they wishing they never responded to the emergency calls? Are they thinking about their families, their friends, and their little dogs, too? 

Chrollo’s mouth is against yours again, and you taste yourself on him. Bitter metal, still warm. He’s blurry as he pulls back and bites against his wrist. What should be vivid red blood is dark and ugly--dead. He hovers his wrist above your mouth and the substance drips onto your lips. It’s cold, vile.

A final insult before you die, making you drink this nasty stuff. Vampires have a sick sense of humor.

But what did you know about vampires, anyway? 

You black out as Chrollo murmurs something above you.

At least, you think, this is finally over. 

--

You do not wake up in heaven or in darkness, either.

You wake up in a man made clearing, sitting against a tree, with a blanket draped over you. In front of you there is a fire, not roaring but alive enough in the night; a pot with spilled chili lay on the ground. Behind the fire is a camper van with its door wide open. 

The corpse of a man is propped against the door of the van, keeping it open. His mouth is slack and ah, he’s not dead yet, is he? There are two glaring puncture wounds on his neck, but he’s still around. His fingers twitch  and seem to register you with tired eyes, that drift from your face over to the far end of the camp.

You follow the look, and oh. There are two dead teens piled next to the fire. Already drained, already dead. His children, you think. 

The world seems to come into more focus then.

You are, as far as you can tell, alive. You’re propped up against a tree. It’s night time. The people--the monsters, the vampires--are here, in this campsite. Some of them glance at you once they realize you’re awake, but no one says anything.

Strangely enough, you’re not in much pain. Soreness, yes. But you should be in agony. Your hand feels okay--sore fingers, but no longer blinding pain, and you can bend them almost normally. Your arm, too, feels sore but mended. Your hands reach up to your collar, your neck, but there’s no trace of the wounds except a thin scar on your collar and two small bumps on your neck.

How did it heal so fast? Did they bring you here to hurt you again? Keep you like some sort of blood bag?

Your eyes travel down to the blanket draped around you. It’s heavy, comfortable, and stained with blood. 

You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted and throw the soiled blanket from your body.

Someone nearby laughs. “Picky princess, huh?” You vaguely recognize the voice--the tall man with wild hair. The one who knocked a man’s head off at the beach.

Just as renewed panic begins to awaken inside you, Chrollo appears from seemingly nowhere.

“You’re finally awake, I see.”

You shrink against the tree, and look around. Could you run into the woods? Were you still in the trail by the beach? How far could you run? 

Chrollo smiles, and sits down next to you like this isn’t horrifying or unusual at all. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There’s nowhere to go.”

Your throat is dry and your words stick to your mouth several times before you can speak.

“Where… are we?”

If you’re close enough to home, you might still get out of this. Somehow. Find a gas station or a rest stop and beg for help. 

“Far away from that little town, I assure you.” Chrollo jerks his head back and you finally see the row of motorcycles parked near the campsite. “We won’t stay here for long. We rarely do. Just long enough for you to get healed up, this time.”

Which means he plans to take you with him--with them. For how long? And where? And why? Why take you? Why not kill you, why not drain you dry in front of the fun house and leave your corpse for survivors to find? 

You could ask all of these things, but you’re not sure you want the answer. Instead, you give the only answer your mind can manage, which is to curl up against yourself and cry. 

“I want to go home.” You whisper, out of practicality more than anything. Your mouth is so damn dry. 

“None of that,” he says, a little sternly. His expression softens when you flinch, and he brushes the hair from your face. “Don’t waste your breath on such a silly sentiment. You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you didn’t know me well enough to leave with me,” he continues, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, then a warmer one to your unwilling lips. “You said you hadn’t had time to figure out your dreams. Now, you can take all the time you need for both of those things. We’ll have eternity, after all.” 

Dull, cold horror pools in your gut.

Eternity.

“Did you… am I… did you make me--” 

Your hands shoot to your mouth, to your teeth, feeling for fangs. But there’s nothing new inside your mouth, unless you count the awful cotton dryness that blankets your tongue and teeth like film. 

He smiles indulgently, and you hear someone nearby snort. 

“No.” A pause. “Not yet, not quite.” He smiles at your ignorance and takes your hand away from your teeth, giving it a kiss that feels like mockery even if you get the sense that he isn’t trying to make fun. “That may come later, if you behave. For now, I’ve made you…” Another kiss, this time with a smile on his lips, as he seems to debate on what to say. “… let’s say, mine.”

You shiver. From fear, and from cold.

Chrollo presses another kiss to your lips, until he can shove his tongue in between your teeth and run it against your own. You taste yourself on him, still, that rusty taste. It makes you gag, and he pulls away.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you catching a chill so soon. Why don’t you go sit in front of the fire and warm up?” 

You shake your head, wanting to spit out the taste in your mouth, but not having the courage to do so.

He watches you for a moment. Calculating, cold. He makes you think of an animal, in this moment. An animal thinking on what to do when his prey does something odd in the wilderness. 

“Go sit in front of the fire,” he tells you. 

And without wanting to, without meaning to, you do. Your body jerks up and you walk over to the fire, with its spilled chili and corpses left in its wake, and sit down. 

It’s like before, at the carnival, but different now. There’s no warm suggestion, no soothing manipulation. Only an order that you obey, and that’s that. When you try to push yourself up,  you find that you simply can’t make your body do it.  You can flex your fingers, your toes. You can move your arms up and down. But you cannot, in any way, stop sitting in front of that fire.

“I’d prefer you to do things willingly,” Chrollo says from his spot near the tree. “But I don’t mind giving orders either, love.”

Love.

You’re not sure he knows the meaning of the word.

But neither do you.

Despite the fact that there are two dead kids and their dying father just feet away from you, you find the fire comforting. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s everything that the monsters around you aren’t; and you aren’t one of them, not exactly (not yet, your brain screams, he said not yet) and maybe you can cling to that. Cling to your humanity, to get you through this. 

The fire crackles in front of you. At some point, Chrollo sits down, and offers you a bowl of chili that they must have set aside for you before knocking the pot down. 

It’s lukewarm, and a bit bland. The dying man wasn’t a great cook. But you eat it, slowly, carefully, while Chrollo watches with an almost serene expression on his face. Like watching you eat was the most endearing thing in the world. 

Above you, the night sky watches the scene with indifference. 

[samiiy20]

⋆˙ 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔 ⋆˙

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Choi San x fem!reader 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your best friend helps you get through a breakup, but your feelings become intertwined as you spend time together. 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐞: Angust, smut and fluff 𝐀𝐔/𝐓𝐨𝐩𝐞: Best friends to lovers 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.2k 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Infidelity (not the reader's), fingering, tasting semen, unprotected sex (don't do it)

N/A: This is my attempt at writing some romance (sort of) so I'm sorry if it's not very good, but I wanted to try.

Masterlist II tag list

This content NOT is for minors!!!

This is merely entertainment, this does not represent any real person.

It is forbidden to copy or translate my work.

When you came home after a long day at work, what you least expected to find was your fiancé with someone else. At first you thought it was your tired eyes, but when you heard the moans echo in your ears you knew it wasn't a dream.

After your heart broke into a thousand pieces, you threw the first thing you could reach, to try to come back from the trance. They realized your presence too late, your fiancé's color drained from her face and the other girl simply covered herself with the first thing she would find.

"Love…"

“Don't call me that” your voice trembled and despite the tears gathering in your eyes you weren't going to hesitate to do what you had to.

"I…"

“I don't care” the other girl had taken the things from her and she left the room in fear when she walked past you. You wedged your nails into your palms and gritted your teeth so as not to run out and stamp her face “go with her.”

"But…"

“I warned you,” your fiance got down on his knees and grabbed you by the waist, hugging you, but even though the tears couldn't stop you remained firm, “the only thing you knew I wouldn't forgive you… And you did it… I… . I…"

“Love, it was a mistake… I didn't want to.”

“The only mistake here is you” the emotions were mixing and anger took control for a moment “I won't tell you again. Go with her or I’ll call someone to get you out of here.”

"But…"

"Get out of my home!!!"

Your fiance started to cry but he knew what you were capable of, so he took his clothes and left, but before closing the door you heard his last words.

"I still love you. “

When you were finally alone you let your emotions out, the tears did not let you see and the pain in your chest made you fall to your knees, but the anger was felt in the blood that fell from your hands through your nails. You stayed on the ground trying to assimilate what just happened.

All the moments you spent with him came back into your head only to haunt you, you felt short of breath when you felt the weight of the ring on your finger. You ripped it off and threw it away from you, remembering the promise that had just been broken. That night you couldn't move from where you were and crying filled the room, leaving you immersed in your pain.

***

San noticed your desk empty again. Your missed calls got on his nerves and his unanswered messages made him nervous. Nobody in the office knew what was wrong with you, the boss said you were sick, but he didn't believe it.

When he left work he ran as fast as his legs could carry him to your house. When he saw your house number he was happy and before knocking he took a breath to recover from the marathon. One, two, three, four times were not enough for you to open.

He didn't want to go in on his own, but he was really worried and knowing where you were hiding the key guided him to open the door. He was surprised to notice the dark interior and with each step he took the fear in his chest only grew more until he heard something in the distance.

San tripped over something in the dark but he didn't want to turn on the lights for fear of being discovered. When he arrived at your room a cry was present and he knew immediately that it was you. Without thinking much he turned on the light and he was scared when he saw the state of the room.

Everything was a mess. Clothes and things on the floor, torn papers and you in a ball between the blankets. You turned around only to see your best friend at the door with a thousand and one questions in his eyes, you turned around again, covering your face with the covers.

"Do not look at me"

“But…” San slowly approached where you were and sat on the edge of the bed, revealing your swollen, red face and dark circles adorning your eyes. “What happened here?”

You opened your mouth to say something but only a whimper came out and again the uncontrollable tears accompanying your pain. San took you in his arms and you let his warmth envelop you, cling to his clean shirt and get dirty with your tears.

San stayed with you until you calmed down, he didn't pressure you to say anything, but he could guess what happened because of the absence of 'someone' Hours passed in your friend's arms, sobbing and trying to calm down while he stroked your hair. With a lot of effort you managed to tell him what happened and when you finished he just hugged you tighter and snuggled up next to you.

“Everything is fine, I'm here”

***

When you opened your eyes, your tired body did not react to the arms that surrounded you, you only clung closer to his chest, inhaling his scent. Infinitely grateful to have someone like San by your side, he had become your friend in a short time but you were very confident, as if you had known each other for longer. When you broke down you thought about calling him, but you were so hurt you couldn't even move.

San stayed by your side all the time and he even missed work just to take care of you, you didn't understand why he worried so much, but he had his reasons. Your whole life was summed up to San cleaning, San cooking, San bathing you, San, San, San. But despite your friend's good actions, your mind did not forget.

"Come on, get up."

“I don't want to” you tried hard to hold on to the bed but obviously you couldn't. San picked you up easily in his arms and dragged you to the living room “I don't want to go out.”

“You have to do it, it's for your own good” you knew you were going to lose against him, but you still held on to the door frame in vain “the sun will be good for you and you have to get another job.”

He had a point. You couldn't stay home forever no matter how much money you had saved up, but the thought of leaving after weeks in the comfort of your home terrified you, especially because you thought that anyone who saw you would realize what happened.

"But…"

“If you don't let go, I swear I will tie your arms and drag you through the city.”

His voice was different from how he spoke to you when he comforted you at night, so sighing and with a lot of effort you tried to accept it.

The streets were wet from the rain, but a few rays of sun fought against the clouds to see the city. You didn't want to admit it but breathing fresh air helped you a little to force your body to do something, you felt a little better, so much so that you invited San to eat.

"You look better"

You looked him in the eyes and reached out your hands to take his. If it weren't for him maybe you would have rotted in your own house, but now you felt that not everything was so bad, especially next to him.

“I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for me.”

San raised a hand and caressed your cheek, ignoring how warm his chest felt when you smiled.

“Just keep going.”

A lump formed in your throat, but it was different. It was no longer for a man, but for you. You had neglected yourself so much that you were on the verge of collapse, you no longer wanted to remain stagnant, it was time to move forward, you had to find a way to move on with your life, this was just a bad move.

You nodded, trying not to shed tears and making yourself a promise. You would move on.

***

The months passed and everything seemed to get better, you got rid of all your ex-fiancé's things, you no longer cried every night, you could get out of bed on your own and you even got a job. All with the help of San.

When San felt that he had finished his work he decided that it was time to return to his own apartment, but the idea of leaving you alone terrified him a little, although you didn't want him to leave either, so with fear you proposed that you live together. San was very surprised and thought that he was listening wrong, but when he saw that you weren't smiling he became serious.

"Are you sure?"

"San… You've practically been living here for more than three months, plus we're best friends, it wouldn't be so strange after all" something on his face seemed to change and you worried a little "but of course if you don't want to…"

"Yes, I want"

They both smiled hiding their true thoughts. You would never admit that you got used to seeing him walk barefoot in the mornings or his sweet voice at night or his strong arms when you relapsed. You didn't want to find out why the idea of leaving him weighed so much on you, even though deep in your heart you knew the truth.

***

"Are you ready?" San nodded, leaning his head on the couch. You delicately placed the mask over his face and held back a laugh when you saw how it looked on him.

“Don't laugh, you should try it, it's relaxing”

"Sure, Mr. Ghost."

San opened his eyes when he heard your laughter walk away to the kitchen and held back a sigh. He couldn't take it anymore. He had been in love with you for years and this whole situation since you broke up with your idiot ex didn't help him at all, least of all the fact of living together, but he had to put up with it if he didn't want to lose you. He didn't want to say a word because he didn't think you were ready to love anyone else after what happened to you.

He had been really angry, how could someone do that to you? He never liked the jerk, so he had the perfect opportunity to beat him up when he ran into him outside the office one day and even though you never came in he was content with leaving him on the floor. Furthermore, it was a little calming for him to see how you were getting better, although he felt that his situation was getting worse as the days went by. It was increasingly difficult for him to be close to you without wanting to admire every part of your body, it was difficult for him to fight his impulses to kiss you every time he saw you smile and it was difficult to hide the reactions in his body when his hands touched or you gave him a touch. hug.

He closed his eyes again and focused on something else, but the aroma of your perfume around him intoxicated him so much that he couldn't control his body. As soon as he heard your footsteps he grabbed anything within reach and placed it on his lap to hide the problem that had started to form in his pants.

“You can't take over the popcorn,” you said, grabbing a fist. San tensed for a moment, holding the bowl tightly in his lap and tried to avoid your gaze as you turned on the television. It took a while before he managed to relax a little but a small discomfort still invaded his crotch.

Everything happened normally, small jokes between the actors' decisions, laughter involved, complaints on your part about something, but neither of you expected the phone to ring.

“I'll answer,” San said, getting up before you. When he got to the phone on the wall he noticed an unregistered number “Hello?”

"Who are you? Where is she?" San froze when he recognized that voice, he looked at where you were and it seemed like you didn't care, but he knew you could hear clearly, so he lowered his voice.

“She is not there”

“Don't lie, I know she's there” with every word your ex said her blood grew hotter, but she had to maintain her composure, she didn't want to alarm you “pass it to me or…”

"What will you do?"

“I will go to where you are and break your face.”

“Try it, last time you were the one who ended up on the ground.” San felt how all his accumulated anger was coming out little by little.

“You, why are you with her? Are you trying to take it away from me? She is mine” San gritted his teeth without taking his eyes off you, he felt her blood boiling but when he was about to hang up he heard something else “she will always be mine. Do you think that a few months by your side can erase what we had? Hahaha don't make me laugh, did you think she would fall in love with you if you were there for her? Hahaha you are an idiot”

“You don't deserve it”

“It maybe, but she will always choose me and I will prove it to you…” San stopped halfway when you snatched the phone from him.

“Stop it,” you put the phone in its place and sighed, “it's not worth it.”

“Did you know it was him?” you didn't look at it and pressed the appropriate buttons to lock it.

“I don't know how he got the number again.”

"Again?" San was angry and you could tell without seeing him, but you didn't dare find out. “Since when has this been happening?” Your silence only showed what I already assumed and I raised my voice without wanting to “tell me.”

“All the time,” you responded, raising your voice back, taking out your frustration, “he always finds a way to get the number and calls, but I never answer.”

"But…"

“Stop worrying, I'm fine” your tone came out a little harsher than you thought, but you let out everything you were thinking “I don't need you to take care of me so much” San was about to speak but you continued “yes, I know what he did, and that is why I will never forgive him, no matter what he does, I will never doubt my decisions San, I am an adult.”

San let out a exhausted sigh and took you in his arms without saying anything. You tried to walk away but in the end you gave up when one of his hands began to caress your head.

“Sorry for doubting you” you raised your head to meet his eyes and noticed that there was something behind them. The words pooled in her throat, but you bit your lip. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

You wrapped your hands around her waist and hid your head in her chest. That comforting feeling in your chest made you shiver and you hugged him tighter without thinking.

“Nothing can happen to me if you are with me”

San felt as if the barrier he had put up had just broken, there was nothing he could do to stop it. He took your face in his hands and opened his mouth to say what was tormenting him, but he couldn't, his lips trembled. He was so afraid that he couldn't move.

Your feelings ran through your entire body and you felt your heart hammering in your chest, but you still held his face and pressed your forehead to his without stopping to look at him. There were so many things to say, but neither of them knew how to do it, not after the pain, the secrets, and the moments they had shared over the past few months.

His lips met without much resistance and at first you thought it was a mistake when you didn't get a response. San was just trying to process it, he had dreamed about this moment so much that he thought maybe it was another one of his fantasies, but when your hands grabbed his hair he reacted and he started to move his lips slowly.

It was a kiss loaded with all his feelings kept from him, it was slow like the love that consumed him, soft and delicate like his trembling hands on your back.

He let out a sigh that released all the burden from his shoulders, everything he had hidden finally came to light. You clung to his mouth until you lost your breath. You pulled away from him to look into his eyes and discover all the secrets he couldn't tell while you waited for him to see yours.

They stayed for a long moment looking through his soul, they didn't need to say anything, they both knew it, they felt it deep in his heart. His bodies were getting closer again and they didn't stop when his lips collided again, releasing all the desire contained in the back of your mind.

You couldn't think of anything but San's tongue playing with yours, his soft moans muffled in his throat. San separated for a moment to admire your face, without saying a word you understood what his dark eyes wanted. To you.

You pulled him towards you again but this time his mouth was more desperate, his hands squeezed the skin on your waist and you held back a moan. You walked backwards, taking him with you until you collided with the edge of the table. San took advantage and grabbed your legs, pulling you up onto the wood. His kisses moved down your chin to your neck and he lightly sucked on your skin making you let out a moan.

Your hands ran down his chest until they reached one of the buttons on his shirt and you began to unbutton them, leaving him bare to appreciate his chest. You held back a sigh and saw him smile as he grabbed your legs, caressing your thighs, you moaned a little when his hips collided and you noticed a bulge.

You both looked into each other's eyes as you moved your hips a few times, you breathed the same breath and you threw your head back as you felt the arousal building in your belly.

“San…” you grabbed his face and approached his lips slowly. The words tickled your tongue, but you still weren't sure you wanted to hear them.

“I think I love you” San answered for you and you opened your eyes suddenly.

You noticed the tears in your eyes and kissed him before he saw that you had shed a tear. He knew it, he felt it in his veins, he knew that you also felt the same, he didn't need words.

You moaned a little when his mouth left a path of soft kisses to the neckline of your shirt and a shiver ran through your body when his hands slid under the fabric to knead your breasts.

He took off the shirt you were wearing and held back a sigh to see your breasts in the air. He covered your nipple with his mouth, feeling your fingers in his hair. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his tongue making circles and his teeth sinking into your delicate skin.

His hands were not far behind and slowly moved down your legs where he gently squeezed your thighs and approached your core. You arched your back as you felt his fingers play with the thin fabric of your shorts. You stretched the strands of his hair without realizing it when he ran his fingers over your clothed clit, you moaned his name, closing your eyes at the sensation.

“Say it again,” he asked, raising his blushing face and half-closed eyes. You bit your lips and recorded his face in your memory. San moved his fingers through your pussy and you moaned involuntarily.

“Sa… San”

You held on to his shoulders as he moved your clothes and touched your core directly, massaging your clit in circles as he kissed your neck. Her fingers moved all over your pussy until they reached your entrance and you sighed again as you felt one of her fingers enter your tight hole.

San moves his hand to take out and sink his finger in again, he doesn't take his eyes off your pretty face even for a moment and begins to move faster as he sees how your mouth opens to blurt out his name.

You rest your elbows on the table and throw your head back as you feel a second finger enter, your body is eager and trembling, San's fingers make you feel so full and they hit a sweet spot when he curves them that makes you see stars.

“Don't stop…” you manage to say between moans and you close your eyes tightly when he follows your instructions, your legs tremble and you fight to keep them open, but you release the knot in your belly without being able to stop it.

San's hands grip your waist and he pulls you into his mouth. You still feel his fingers inside you and you moan when he takes them out. You watch as he opens his mouth and licks his fingers, testing himself on them and you can't help but blush when you see that image of him.

“You taste exquisite, princess.”

Before you can say anything, take your legs, wrap your legs around his body and hold on to his shoulders while he takes you to the room, you leave small kisses along his neck and you hear him sigh.

He gently laid you on the bed and you watched him take off his clothes, trying to control the urge to run your hands all over his body. He leaned towards you and joined your lips in a delicate kiss. There was no rush, San wanted to admire every part of you, he wanted to keep this moment in his memory forever.

He shifted a little and you sighed as you felt his cock pass through your wet pussy. You both looked into each other's eyes, there was a question in them and you just nodded knowing what was to come. Your body tensed as you felt his cock enter you and he kissed your cheeks.

“Relax” you inhaled air and relaxed your body feeling how little by little it filled you “you did well princess.”

He dried your tears and kissed your forehead, containing the urge to start moving. He looked into your eyes and sighed. The love he felt for you had consumed him completely for a long time, but now that you were with him he couldn't believe it. He caressed your face and kissed your lips to realize that it was not a dream.

“I love you so much,” he gave a little push and you sighed without taking your eyes off his. He moved his hips again, starting to set a slow but deep rhythm.

You wrapped your hands around his body behind his back and wrapped your legs around his waist. There was no distance between his bodies and yet you clung to him without wanting to let go. You marked his back with your nails when he touched a sensitive spot inside you and San kissed your shoulders, leaving small marks of his teeth on your skin.

Everything felt so different from what you were used to, everything around you stopped mattering and you could only focus on the man looking into your soul. They were connected beyond the union of his bodies, you could see all his secrets in his eyes and you felt his love in his gaze.

“I love you,” you said for the first time in a long time without fear. San stopped for a moment and took your hand, intertwining his fingers.

"Say it again"

“I love you” you repeated.

San's body shook, he was close to him, but he didn't stop moving his hips to the rhythm that you said over and over again: "I love you."

You both moaned as you felt San's release. His body collapsed on top of yours and you sighed, caressing his head. They stayed together for a long time until he moved away from you.

They settled between the sheets and hugged each other for a long time without saying anything. Your whole head was spinning, you were tangled in his arms and you could hear his heartbeat.

“Promise me you won't leave” San moved a little to see you and became serious.

“I promise you I won't leave.”

"Never?"

“Never” You didn't know why his words comforted you and you smiled, hugging him again "I love you."

-> @cultofdionysusnet

[cutielando]

dating headcannon ~ charles leclerc

Synopsis: what i imagine dating Charles would be like

Other works: my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

you both lived in Monaco, practically in the same neighborhood 

best friends since birth, hands down

you supported him from his very first races, always cheering him on and attending his races whenever you could

you’d always loved each other, but were far too stubborn and blind to admit it

which is partly the reason why you only got together after his father passed away

you had been there for him, helping him move on and get better at dealing with his loss while also having to continue racing

he realized that he would never want to be with anyone else because he was convinced that nobody could take care of him better than you could

kissed you in front of everyone when he got a win 

pulled you to him as soon as he was out of the car, not caring about anyone seeing you guys

you would live like royalty, let’s be honest

you moved in with him pretty early on in the relationship, already being familiar with his home from the times you had spent there with him

he would bring you flowers every single day, always your favorite ones

would spoil you rotten, buying you everything you could ever dream of having

whenever you two wanted to get out of the house, you would go on bike rides around Monaco, late at night under the stars

he would come up with the most beautiful dates, almost all of them including being under the starry sky 

attending every single race of his, Charles having insisted that you quit your job so he could take care of you

his fans adored you, having shipped you guys from when you were children

you would always give them a glimpse of what Charles was like behind closed doors, feeding them content which made them appreciated you even more

training with him and Andrea, albeit much less intensely than he did

being besties with Joris, spending so much time with him during the week

you would be a regular person on his Instagram feed and in his vlogs

the fans almost always insist that you stream with him, loving the playful banter and competitiveness that you both showed when playing games together

Arthur would always tease him for being a simp

Charles would literally never stop talking about you

he was in the car? he was talking about you to his engineers. he was working out? he was bragging about you to Andrea

Pascale absolutely adores the shit out of you

she never had any girls, so she was delighted when she found out you and Charles had got together because she finally got the daughter she had always wanted

you went out to lunch with her every week when you wouldn’t travel with Charles, always making sure to keep in touch and keep her updated on how her son was doing

most famous and loved couple on the grid

you loved being in the Ferrari garage, the team having accepted you as one of their own 

would make you tag along on his skiing training trips but wouldn’t actually make you train with him, preferring to keep you safe and warm inside

always makes time for you, no matter how busy his schedule would be

if he was late, he’d never forget to call and let you know. communication was key for him

fairytale love story

let’s be honest, you would never break up

you were it until the end

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[barcaatthemoon]

faint || lucy bronze x reader ||

you push yourself a little too hard before a big match.

all you had wanted was the opportunity to start in a big game. jonatan had played you as a starter in a few smaller matches, ones that he knew the team could handle with ease. with a few injuries, a spot had opened up that you knew you could fill. and so, you had begun coming in for extra training throughout the weeks leading up to jonatan picking his squad.

everybody had noticed the extra work you were putting in, but they didn't seem to realize the cost it had come at. lucy had been a little in her own head, so you couldn't blame her. besides, it wasn't like the two of you had reached the point in your relationship where you spent every single day together.

"are you ready?" you glanced up to see ingrid standing in front of you. the two of you had become fast friends when you joined barcelona. she had been a big part of you and lucy managing to get your shit together long enough to go on a few dates.

"i don't know if i'm ready, but i want this so badly. don't tell lucy, but i don't think i've wanted anything like this in a long time," you admitted. ingrid laughed, knowing that they weren't the same type of situation, but lucy would have definitely taken it as such. for as stoic as she liked to come off, you had learned firsthand how gentle lucy truly was.

once you were on the pitch, you tried your hardest to let go of your nerves. there was definitely still something off, but you were fairly certain that it wasn't nerves. you played better than you had in a long time, hopeful that a good showing today would lead to more starts for your club. you could feel your benchwarming days slipping away as you passed the ball to one of your teammates for an assist quickly followed by a goal of your own.

at the half, you felt utterly exhausted. your endurance was generally better than that. you tried your best to hide it as everybody went back out for the last 45 of the game. you didn't try moving around as much as you had before, but you still tried your best. many of your teammates were all sending you concerned looks, including lucy.

"hey, are you okay?" lucy asked as she noticed you swaying on your feet a little. it was a corner kick, and you were usually great at clearing these. you jumped up to head the ball away from your goal, and instead of landing on your feet like you usually did, you went straight to the ground. ingrid and lucy were on your sides instantly to check on you, only to see that you were unconscious.

"what happened? did she hit her head?" ingrid asked the surrounding players. nobody had any sort of real answer for it, which was only causing lucy to panic even more. she had never seen anyone go down like that, not without cause.

"luce," you said weakly. she looked down at you at the first sign of you waking up again.

"what is it love?" lucy asked softly. she brushed her hand over your head as she cradled it in her arms.

"can you move a little? your boot is hurting me," you chuckled lightly. lucy immediately shifted around a bit so that you were more comfortable. despite your claims that you were fine, everybody was insistent that you sub out and go down to the trainer's to rest. they made you lay down and take sips from an electrolyte drink. you were supposed to have taken a bit of a nap, but you couldn't sleep wondering whether or not the game was going well without you.

you wanted to go to the bench at the very least, but the trainers kept you in the cool, air conditioned room. it wasn't until some of the color had returned to your face and you were truly speaking clearly that they let you go back to the locker room. you had a late start showering and changing, but lucy was more than happy to wait for you. she had been ready to go whenever you initially walked in, but she was still standing there when you came out to get your things.

"can i carry your bag for you?" lucy asked. she was a great girlfriend, but she had never asked to carry your bag before. a part of you felt like you were a teenager in school again with your old boyfriend, but lucy was a trillion times better than he could ever be.

"you don't even like carrying your own bag most of the time," you teased. the small smile on lucy's face fell to be briefly replaced by a small pout. you handed your bag over for her to take before you took her free hand. "it means a lot that you're here for me."

"i'd be a pretty shit girlfriend if i wasn't," lucy pointed out. still, you knew that she wasn't just doing it because she felt like she had to.

"you've come a long way from who you were when we started seeing each other. i'm proud of you, luce," you told her. lucy blushed and tried to turn away from you, but there wasn't anywhere for her to go. you pressed a kiss to her cheek, deciding to leave things there for the time being. you could get sappy and make her blush later whenever she was trying to take care of you at her place.

[pxtched]

Responding to the requests request! I’m TERRIBLE at requests but you mentioned nerd!miguel and I’m a SLUT for dry humping. You can take the plot with your talented writing brain

NEED. - NSFW - NERD!MIGUEL X QUEENBEE!READER.

tags - fluffy smut, established relationship, afab!reader, Sub!miguel softdom!reader.

cw - dry humping , semi-male masterbation , Cumming in pants.

a/n - new layout, omggg?!? And thank you anon, my motivation hasn’t been the best so it might not be good though I added some stuff, hope it’s to your liking mwah 😽 i DID NOT MEAN TO POST THIS THIS LATE IM SO TIRED IM SORRY YALL

You and Miguel have been hanging around…secretly. You obviously can’t have your reputation ruined! What would people think? Seeing a popular person like you hanging around with a nerdy-nobody.

Though, you have been hanging around with Miguel more just not all the way. He sits at your booth next to you in lunch, one of your hands and his hands holding each other lovingly.

You can’t help but love him everyday. Yes, maybe at first you hated him and literally was disgusted of him…but you grown to love him. You feel shitty on how you treated him before but you’ll never say it.

Enough about the past, You and him are now in your booth. You’re gossiping with your friends about some girl, while he’s just doing your work and his. His eyes focusing on the work and also on you.

He’s holding your hand under the table as he works. He smiles as he hears you laughter, he wants to laugh with you and kiss your cheek. But since both of you guys are in public and he knows your reputation, so he just squeezed your hand gently with a soft smile on his face.

You look at him and smile, and when no one was paying attention you gave him a quick kiss on his cheek which made him blush and smile like an idiot.

It’s pathetic that a simple kiss can give him this effect but can he blame himself? It’s you, you’re his secret girlfriend! He adores you deeply and you do too. He just wants to go to your dorm and be with you, not with your friends.

Then after that, You were talking with MORE friends. He wants you and you, he immediately waits for you to be done talking. The growing need for you increasing every minute.

He follows you to your classroom and watches you leave, then he turns to his. He sits through his lecture, until he gets a text message from you. You sent him a text. “Hey miggy imma be with my friends for a while, not for long!!”

He frowns and puts his phone away, now he’s going to be alone for couple more hours? This isn’t making him feel better, it just makes him want you more.

When the day was over, he went to your dorm and went inside. He expected you to be there but quickly realized that your going to be gone for 30 minutes, maybe an hour?

He whines and closes the door, his nose is filled with your scent and it won’t leave him alone. It just drives him crazy. He has to deal with this, try his best too. He goes to your bed and sits down, he puts his hand down his pants to finally free his aching cock.

He bites his bottom lip as he puts his hand on his cock and starts moving slowly, thinking it’s your hand instead of his. He closes his eyes and think of you. He misses you so badly. He wants—no—he needs you.

He starts to go faster as he lets out whimpers, fuck. It isn’t working, it’s just making it worst. It’s like his own body is trying to edge himself! he can’t come without you, he needs you.

He stops and sighs, his face flushed as he puts his dick back in his pants and goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. He just has to be patient, he can do that. He done it before and he can do it again.

After 20 minutes you came back, he was doing some work on your desk to distract himself. You see him and smile. You close the door and kiss him on the cheek “missed you miggy” you say softly as you walk to your bed and change into more comfortable clothes.

He couldn’t help himself and watch you change into a t-shirt and some shorts, you noticed and giggle “like what you see?” You teased him and he blushed and turns his head away which makes you laugh.

You lay down on your stomach on your bed as you pull up your phone and scroll on TikTok, bored and have nothing else to do.

He gets up from the chair and walks to you, he gets on the bed and lay on you. His head in your neck as he closes his eyes and take in your scent. You think nothing of it and smile at him, but your eyes widen as you feel him slowly grinding on you. His hips rolling as his clothed dick grinds on your ass.

“Need you so badly baby, couldn’t come without you” he whimpers out as he kept on humping you. You let out a whimper as he increases his pace. “Fuck—love you so much” “love you, so much” he mumbles as he gives sloppy on your jawline and neck.

“Wait honey, let me turn around” you say as he backs off to give you room to do so. Once your on your back, you give him a smile and a nod to continue. His eyes widen as he smiled like he’s on cloud 9.

“Thank you, Thank you, thank you” he repeats as he aligns his clothes cock on your clothed pussy, “Te quiero, tanta mierda cariño” he says and you kiss him “love you too, but shush” you tell him and he chuckles.

He nods and started rolling his hips, feeling his tip hit your clit makes both of you moan. He bites his bottom lip to suppress his moans but he couldn’t, he lets out pathetic moans as he moves his hips faster.

Your legs wraps around his hips as you pull him into a deep, sloppy but passionate kiss. You moan in the kiss as he humps harder. His thrusts become sloppy and frantically as he lets out more moans and whimpers, your moans become high pitched as you feel the familiar knot in your core about to snap.

“I’m-im close Miguel!” You moan out as your face becomes warmer, he moans out “me too, come with me please” he says as he looks in your eyes, his glasses almost falling off of his face.

You kiss him sloppy as you came in your panties, he does the same as he comes in his underwear. He slumps on top of you, regaining his breath. You smiled and brush his hair with your fingers.

“Sorry for leaving you alone” you apologized as you kissed his jawline, he smiled back and responds “it’s okay, thank you so much.” He gives you a soft kiss on the lips.

You giggle and kiss him back. “Love you, you big dork.”

“Love you too mi alma.”

After a comforting silence, you Pat his shoulder to get his attention “let’s take a shower and let me change my sheets then we can cuddle.” He smiled and nodded as he gets up.

He loves you deeply, and you do too.

🏷️ - @lxverrings , @luvrxbunny , @luxbub , @safixiovi , @syler-griffin , @jadeloverxd , @rxckstarss , @namorkawaiiwife

master-list , rules/guidelines , abt me!

Reblogs and comments help a lot, thank you for reading!

[simphornies]

Breathtaking [Vox x Secretary! Reader] part 2 (NSFW)

A/N: This honestly took a little bit longer than I expected. Apologies!

Warnings: cunninglingus, creampie, implied bondage

Word count: 3.5k (3,500)

!MINORS DNI!

You've hit a year with VoxTek working as Vox's personal secretary. Though, you're confident your role in the company will change considering you are now his current romantic interest. You form a bond with the other Vees over time. With the exclusion of Vox, Velvette and Valentino brief you on Vox's little secrets he'd most definitely not want you to find out about yet.

With a lot of convincing and a tad bit of peer pressure from Valentino, you sneak into Vox's bedroom at night while he stayed up working against your advices. You cuddle up into his pillow, his scent lingering. You knew it was going to be a while until he walks in. You scroll through your phone, given to you courtesy of Vox, watching anything he starred in today.

It wasn't long for you to fall asleep, phone in hand. You had dozed off to the sound of his voice.

"Fucking hell..." Vox stretched his arms, "I'm not going to hear the end of it from Y/N tomorrow." He mumbled to himself. It was way too late for him to finally go to sleep. He was up and with a quick clip of Alastor roaming around the streets a little bit too close to his building, he went into a fit of rage. He had to reboot himself. Twice.

It was so late that the usual servants opening his door weren't even there anymore. He opens his door, aimlessly scrolling on his phone. When he looks up he sees you sleeping on his bed. Cuddled up on his pillow. You. On his pillow. Vox paused. Dead in his tracks. His grasp on the doorknob slips past his fingertips. He might have to reboot himself again.

Who knows how long he stood there in disbelief. He ended up locking the door behind him when he finally came to his senses. So nobody walks in. Specifically Valentino.

He sat beside your sleeping figure. The weight of him sitting down stirred you awake. You rub your eyes, adjusting to the light emitting from him. He looks down at you, capturing this very moment in his mind forever. There you laid, in his bed, wearing a nightgown that was almost see-through. So close to being see-through that you laying there innocently was such a tease to him and the fact that all you had to was exist rendered him speechless.

"Vox?" You spoke, voice in a hushed tone. "It's late...I told you." You groaned, choosing sleep over lecturing him. "Mmmm. Ne'ermind...Lay down. Go to sleep." You pat on the empty space next to you.

He lays down on his back where you patting, leaving an awkward gap between both of you. A disappointed huff escaped your lips. You scoot closer, laying your head on his chest. "G'night." And just like that you were fast asleep, soft snores coming from you. He soon dozed off, his arm wrapping around you.

The next day came and the two of you were now spooning. He hugged you tight, the warmth radiating from you giving him a new sense of comfort. He could get used to this.

You lean back into him more, enjoying the attention you received. "Mornin' Vox." You yawned, stretching out your limbs. You pushed back into him, wanting to be even closer than you already were.

"Why don't I just move you into my room." He says in a rare soft tone, "I'd want to wake up to you everyday."

"Vox?"

He hummed in response, you turn your head to face him. His eyes were still shut. "Yes, dear?"

"Morning wood." You calmly state, feeling the bump behind your ass.

Vox had barely the energy to fully comprehend the situation, though he did start to grind against your body. You move his arms off of you, turning to face him now, "Vox~" You purred, "Wake up. Let me help you."

He finally opens his eyes after a big stretch and yawn, "Hmm?" He groggily asked, "What--Oh! Ohhhh! Oh fuck." The realization hit him making him laugh nervously, "Yeah. I'm sorry. I promised myself to hold back on that but you're just so warm and-"

You laid next to him and in his eyes it was the most seductive post ever. "Let me repeat myself, sir~" You purred, "Do you need assistance?"

With no hesitation he throws himself on top of you, "You are just," He plants a kiss on your cheek, "Absolutely." Another kiss on the other side, "Stunning." He crashes his lips on yours, his tongue slipping out of his screen. He couldn't stay still. His hands roamed all over your body, you feel how gentle he's being with his claws. The feeling of them lightly grazing your skin sent shiver throughout your entire body.

He pulls himself off of you, trailing his tongue down to your neck and collarbone. His wandering hands had lifted your nightgown, allowing him access to everything underneath. He pulled your underwear down, revealing the wet dripping mess you created.

"You're ready, huh?" He grins up at you, his tongue licking your slits. You squirm with pleasure, muffling your moans into his pillow.

"Ah ah ah~" He threw the pillow away from your reach, "I want to hear it all, babe. Since you wanna be so bold and all." He quickly goes back to licking your wetness, his tongue slowly starting to enter you.

"V-Vox!" You moan out, unashamed. "If—Oh fuck—" You were gasping for air, his tongue ravaging your insides as you dug your nails into the mattress beneath you. "If only you'd—Ah—Noticed my advances sooner."

You managed to lock his head in place with your thighs, the sudden dominance shocking him into freezing. "You would've been had this all night, sir."

You let him go from your thighs, "Now ravage me the you do with your eyes."

And just like that he goes wild, devouring you, relishing in your taste. You feel a knot forming in your stomach as quickly as he noticed it. He didn't slow down. Even after releasing on his tongue, he continued to feast on you with his tongue, his fingers.

He pulls himself off of you, "You're not done yet, Y/N." You look up breathlessly as he towered over you. His pants off and you see his cock, dripping with pre-cum. You couldn't help but fulfill your hunger now, taking him into your mouth eagerly.

He throws his head back, hand resting atop your head. He groans in pleasure, bucking his hips into you as you suck him with hunger. "Someone's ravenous~" He teased, his voice having that effect you've always craved to hear over and over. You look up at him, lust in your eyes almost pleading him to finally take you.

He pulls you off and grins at you with the smile that's won you over since you've ever laid eyes on him, "Let's get the main point, shall we?" He positions himself, teasing your clit with his tip. "Beg, dear." He whispers in your ear.

You flip on your stomach, head down with your ass up. "Please Vox," You whine, "Fuck me silly and record it for yourself."

He sparks with joy, entering you. Your tightness catching him off guard. He was in absolute bliss and with the way your walls held his cock well, he almost didn't want to pull out. "I could keep my cock in you like this..." He licks your neck, "...all fucking day."

You were a mess, drooling the moment you felt him go inside of you. "F-fuck..." You whispered, "Vox please."

His slow paces didn't last, he went straight to pounding you into his mattress, your nails audibly ripping his sheets. "You're going—Ah—" You managed to say, "I'm not going to be able to live without this."

He chuckles, "I wasn't planning on leaving you a day without it the moment I entered you." He sped up, hips slamming into yours. You felt his sparks every time he hit the entrance of your womb, sending light electric jolts of pleasure all over your body.

You became a screaming mess, repeating his name over and over as if he were to forget. He pulled out of you for a brief moment, causing a whine to escape your lips quickly replaced with a moan. He had flipped you on your back, he's now staring down at you, watching your face drowned in pleasure.

"How about I mark you mine, huh?" You feel his tongue ravaging your chest, filling you with overstimulation. "Fucking hell I'm going to mark you."

"Mark me, Vox!" You scream, "Fuck I'm gonna—"

The knot came back, faster and hotter this time. The way you two made ravenous love to each other could improve the Sin of Lust himself.

He rubbed against your g-spot, driving you wilder. "Ri-right there! Fuck Vox I can't—" You were interrupted yet again with him making out with you. His dick grew bigger inside of you, indicating he was close to his climax just as you were.

"Inside, Vox" You whispered into between kisses, "All of it, as deep as you can."

You didn't have to tell him twice, he grabbed your hips with one hand, the other rubbing your clit truly sending you over the edge. Your walls tighten around him, squeezing every single drop into your womb.

He stayed inside you for a while after you both came, making sure every little bit stays inside. Your limbs were weak as you laid in his bed helplessly.

The sight of you got him rearing to go again. To which you happily obliged.

——————————————

Your personal endeavors lasted for hours, to which the other Vees pieced together fairly quick. After losing count of how many times you two indulged in each others' bodies like ravenous beasts, he prepared a bath for you. Making sure you got the best damn aftercare of your life.

"You need to sit back and enjoy the show, baby." He purred into Vox's ear.

Turns out you had cancelled his entire day so he had nothing to worry about. You two were basically official but he had yet to pop the question for you wanted to be his and his forever in hell.

"Vox, love." You speak softly, humming, "You have to let me go out eventually."

He hasn't necessarily let go of you since you got dressed from your bath. He had been stuck in and on you all day. Not that you necessarily minded. "I have to pick up some weapons for us for the extermination later on, you really are going to have to let me go."

After multiple "10 more minutes" requests, you were freed from the grasp of your almost boyfriend. You needed to check on the production of tools from Carmilla Carmine. On your stroll there, a familiar voice catches you dead in your tracks. Behind you stood Alastor, the radio demon, evident with his eerie shadow.

You kept walking, hoping his business wasn't with you. But it was. He teleported in front of you and smiled. You hated his smile, you weren't able to read the emotion behind it.

"Why hello dear! The name's Alastor!" He grabbed your hand and shook it against your will, "It's a pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure!" His hands were cold and the way he touched you gave you goosebumps.

"It's wonderful to be finally meeting you! Why I've heard much about you! You're Vox's new plaything." His voice distorting into radio static along with his eyes changing. You were shaking but you weren't about to back down. "Too bad you'd already given him your soul. I could have offered you more."

"I didn't make a fucking deal with him. He loves me. Something you wouldn't be able to understand." You hissed making the radio demon laugh.

"Well how about we make a deal." He reaches his hand out to you, "I can provide you with so much power, enough for you to be a worthy overlord next to your poor choice of a demon lover. And in return, your soul."

You start to take a couple of steps back, "I..." You stutter, absolutely petrified. His antlers were peeking from the top of his head. "I don't need to be an overlord next to him. I'm fine like this."

Your statement received static laughter. "Haha! You foolish little doll." His grin was menacing now, taking a step forward each time you took one back. "You would become an easy target. Just like you are now. And I would absolutely love to kill you if it means I get to ruin that picture box nonsense's eternity in hell."

Your heart was pounding in your chest. You shut your eyes, terrified to do anything. You knew you can't win against the radio demon. He made a point. Your powers were nothing in comparison to the demons Vox had to deal with. Maybe...making a deal with him would be a smart idea.

Zap! You heard an electric box crack. Your eyes dart up to the sound and you see that the other boxes exploded soon after. You see a car absolutely speed down the road and in a blink of an eye, you were getting yanked into the moving car and into Vox's arms.

"That motherfucker—He didn't hurt you, did he? I'll fucking kill him!" Vox was seething, glitching all over the place. You held his hand and he seemed to calm down a bit. You put a hand on his chest, his heart was pounding faster than yours.

"Vox, I'm fine. He just wanted to scare me into making a deal with him."

"A deal?!" He looked at you with terrified eyes, something you've never seen him wear on his face once. "You didn't...right?"

You shook your head, "Of course not. I would never make a deal. With anybody."

Vox takes you to his room immediately as soon as you both arrive home, "I moved your things into mine. We'll share this space now." He sighs, "The moment I saw you in that situation I just...I panicked. I'm sorry I couldn't get there sooner."

"Vox...I'm fine. I can manage." You gave him an empathetic look, "I didn't get hurt because you were there just in time."

"But...He was right you know." He said with a hint of annoyance in his tone. "Without a deal between us, your powers...as amazing as they are! Don't get me wrong but...I deal with overlords here. Demon overlords." He holds your hand in his, you feel him shaking slightly. "If...If you make a deal with me."

"No." You said a little too fast, "I don't make deals. I work for what I have. I don't take shortcuts. I can't."

"Not for your soul! I just want you to have the powers I do. It's for your protection." He begged.

"But it won't work that way! I cannot give my soul away like that. I can protect myself just fine!" You pull your hands away from him. The thought of you actually being weaker than Vox despite the control you have over him due to your mutual love angered you. You didn't want to be weak. But he was right. Only a deal between you two would strengthen you tremendously.

"Y/N—" He protested, "Why won't you let me do this for you." His voice distorted. You snap back, "Vox, sir. Why don't you listen to me when I say I don't want my soul on the line for powers. It's how I lost my damn parents."

He froze. You froze. You said too much. "Y/N I—"

"Nothing! Nothing. Don't fucking worry about me, okay Vox? I just. I can't." Your head drops, your chest tight with pain.

He sighs, taking your hand once more. "Y/N...Please hear me out." He was met with silence so he continued. "Make a deal with me. For your soul I'll share you my powers..." He lifts your chin with his finger, "And I'll share you my soul."

This caught you off guard. A soul for a soul? You've never heard of such a thing. Would that be really possible? He was willing to give his soul away to you, "Vox..."

He smiles sweetly, "You already own my heart. You own my entire life. I am in love with you, Y/N. Fucking hell, I will cut electricity off in this entire city just for you." He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead before stepping back, letting go of you.

"Do we have a deal?" He reached his hand out, glowing with sparks flying from it. You look at him, "Your soul...are you sure? For mine?" He nods with confidence. You take his hand and sparks fly the moment you shook it. It felt like a strong gust of wind and force pushing into you.

And in that instance, you feel electricity course through your veins. Your eye starts to morph to be more like his. You look at him and his eye was spiraling. By the look of his face, yours did too. You blink and shake it off.

"The deal is done. I now own your soul and you own mine." Vox hugs you, "I love you, Y/N. I don't ever want you to be in danger. I will give up everything for you."

You hug him back tighter, "I love you too, Vox." This had been the first time you've said this to him. He was ecstatic. You feel him lift you and spin you a bit in excitement. =

——————————

Ever since your run-in with Alastor, you had never left the building without too many guards and Vox by your side. If he was busy, Valentino would be with you. You two were already friends but the constant shopping together just brought you two closer.

"You know, I never thanked you for pressuring me into sleeping in Vox's bed while he stayed up." You laugh, elbowing the moth demon.

"You're absolutely welcome," He pinched your cheek lovingly, "And was it a fun night?" He teased though you were used to it when it comes to him.

"It actually happened in the morning and it was bliss." You sigh happily, "I felt like I was getting bred the way he was pounding me. Asmodeus would've been proud of us."

You both share a laugh together before exiting the limo and out to the shopping district. You were bored and wanted to see what random thing you can buy and Valentino wanted to scout new hires.

Valentino drags you into his lingerie store, "Oh Y/N~" He grinned, "You just have to wear this for him."

"Valentino those are ropes." You say, a little too blankly. He stared back at you with a look of 'Are you serious?' plastered on his face.

"Precisely. Let's put you in this and leave you in his room." He pulls out a photo on his phone of his last rope play porn shoot with one of his employees. "See? Oh this sill drive him mad. Vox loves being in control."

You think about it, not too long honestly, but you did think about it. You ended up purchasing it and whatever else Val told you to get. And maybe you went a little overboard getting almost every cute thing you saw.

As soon as you get home, you were being followed by two employees whose hands were full of your bags. Vox greeted you with a spinning hug. "How was it? I see you got a lot of things. What'd you get?" He was like an excited puppy for you.

You smile at him with a mischievous look in your eye as you gestured to a shopping bag from Valentino's lingerie brand(that you got an amazing 100% off deal from), "Oh just you wait, sir." You state before pivoting on your heel, walking away. He tried to chase after you but was quickly stopped by Valentino. "Wh-Val! Get the fuck out of my way what does she mean by that."

The moth demon chuckled down at him, "Oh she has a surprise for you that'll definitely keep you both all night." Before he could protest and argue he gets a message on his phone from you.

'Be a good boy and wait 30 minutes before coming in.'

Followed by a photo of you stripping. On his bed. He just adored you being on his bed at any given point in time.

"Now stay here," Val pats his shoulder before walking in the same direction you went, "She asked me to tie her up the way you like it for you before you get there."

...

"WHAT."

Safe to say it was a long, loud, powerful night that surprisingly didn't cut power in the city. And you were grateful for the soundproof walls he had in his room. And Vox had everything on camera.