#change the pronouns to a joke so he’s fucking a man not a woman

[tinogiehd]

girl shut the fuck up nobody is outing the guy who’s been extraordinarily open about liking men 😭😭 like george is dropping hints sorru for picking them up

[neverendingford]

.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Easy Money

Derek Danforth x AFAB!Reader

Summery: Minimum wage is a joke these days and we've all gotta make rent somehow. And who knew blonds could be so fun?

Tags: AFAB/Female pronouns reader, no use of y/n, voyeurism, sex worker!Reader, drug use (marijuana), sex while high, drinking, cursing, bisexual Reader, fetish party, reader plays with several people, tempature play/improper use of ice cubes, sex toys, possessive!Derek, dick piercing (I will not debate this,) face fucking, breast play, oral sex (male recieving), thigh riding, cock warming, cowgirl and doggy position, praising, pet names, edging, rough sex, spanking, vaginal fingering, degradation, dumbification if you squint, dacrophillia. There is no plot. This is just porn. Straight up.

Notes: Y'all begged to me, now y'all begging to your man. You're welcome. Also, please consume substances responsibly. Do NOT assume an edible ain't shit. They ALWAYS are.

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The gig is simple. Stand there and look pretty.

The woman who had hired all of us was very clear on the rules; serve drinks, talk to the men, don't have a brain, and if Derek Danforth gives you an ounce of attention, you return it. Sex was optional, but they pay less if you do not engage.

I was just there for the check. Times are hard, but this dress is easy to fit into... if I don't breathe. Jesus, it's tight.

The architecture of the mansion is beautiful. Really, if I wasn't working this party I'd be studying every room for an hour each. High ceilings, detailed woodwork. It's a shame it's all bathed in purple blacklights with everyone wearing neon glowsticks.

The people in attendance are in various states of undress. Some wear their clothes fully, some wear nothing at all. Most are in various states of undress, including the waitresses.

All of our dresses are the same- tight, black, and an easily detachable top with nipple pasties underneath in the shape of blacklight activated glow stars. It's tacky, but the girls who have removed their tops are getting way more tips. And with the debt I'm in, plus the security making absolute sure no camera are recording anything, what's the harm in if I join them? It's more money for me.

The various trays contain different things. Some drinks or shots, others different foods. Then there's the drugs. Oh yes. Cocaine, pills, capped needles on at least one tray I noticed. On mine are several marijuana joints, blunts and even edibles. Our employer had told us we were allowed to indulge, but any damages caused due to our inebriation would come out of our check.

Edibles usually aren't shit for me, so I feel quite safe.

A strawberry cube is tucked safely under my tongue, taking a long while to melt. I can feel my muscles relaxing, making me smile more to the guests as I work my way through the crowd. The beginning gentle buzz helps me to forget the way these people leer at me, some even reaching over to touch me before retracting their hands quickly.

"These guests are quite used to casual sex," the woman had informed us. "There's a code here. You'll each have a pendant around your neck. Depending on the color you choose it will inform them of your preference. Red is for looking only, green means you're okay with sexual touch. It's up to your verbal communication if that touch leads to penetration."

The party was tacky, but at least consent was key.

My color currently is red. It will take more of this edible for anything to change. And currently I see no one making the trouble worth it, anyways.

Right now, anyways.

A man with bright, blond tipped hair and a loud outfit works his way through the crowd. Laughing and speaking with some, taking in the different women serving different items. There's a confident swagger in his walk, one that normally I would scoff at when sober. But with the melting cube quickly joining my bloodstream, I simply stare curiously. It's unintentional, honestly. But he takes notice, narrowing his eyes in reciprocated curiosity before making his way over.

"You're new," he says. I offer him the tray.

"I don't know what you mean," I say politely. He picks up a large blunt, taking out his own lighter instead of using one of the complementary ones on the tray. He takes a long pull, shoving the item back into his snakeskin jacket pocket that doesn't match his zebra print, silk looking button up with black leather pants.

"The other girls have been working here for awhile. Who brought you here?" He asks after taking a long pull, holding it.

"Riley," I answer. He nods, exhaling.

"She's worked here a couple years. You two close?" He asks.

Not particularly. "We're friends," I answer. He smiles a bit, taking another hit.

"You like the party?" He asks.

"I like the lighting," I answer. "And I can't say no to free edibles."

"You take some?" He asks. In answer I scoop the edible onto my tongue and stick it out for him to see. "Good girl, that shit will make you relaxed."

"How much is it?" I ask curiously. Can't be too much, surely.

"Told my guys to pick up 1000mgs," he answers, taking another hit.

... what?

My confusion must be obvious.

"You not used to that?" He chuckles, leaning against the wall next to me.

"I induldge regularly, just... lower amounts," I answer. He exhales, laughing.

"You'll have fun then. Especially if you change your color to green, but that's completely up to you," he says. There's a moment of silence between us before I speak up.

"Nice outfit," I say. He raises a brow at me.

"Yeah?" He asks, scanning me up and down. "I think I prefer yours."

"It matches better, that's for sure," I say. He laughs, then sticks out his hand, his smile confident.

"I'm Derek, by the way."

"Ah," I say. Derek.

Derek!

"Nice to meet you, Mister Danforth," I say, accepting his hand. It's warm and large, strong against mine.

"I don't want to hear Mister out of you unless you change colors, pretty girl," he says, squeezing my hand. I feel myself smiling, heart fluttering a little.

"And what would happen if I did change it, Mister?" I ask politely. His grin widens.

"Well, with the way you look already I'd say people would have a fun time with you," he says, stepping closer. "I wouldn't mind a taste myself. I like my girls warmed up, though."

"Warmed up?" I ask, raising my brow.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "You're welcome to leave your tray anywhere, as I'm sure they've told you. You can change your color to green, enjoy your edible and just let the crowd guide you to me. I promise they will." His eyes roam over me, taking me in with a hungry gaze, his mind distracted by obvious thoughts. I wonder how well his shoulders would hold me.

Shit. He's right, this is strong. The herbal smell on his breath is inviting, and I'm already leaning in. Plus, his outfit is beginning to make visually stimulating sense.

"Isn't it polite for a host to show his guest around?" I ask, batting my lashes. I can feel my eyes drying out, my cheeks buzzing and my body beginning to feel the bass of the music just a little bit more than I was a second ago.

"It is, pretty girl," Derek says, taking another hit. "But you're not a guest, are you?"

No, I'm not. I begin to pull away when his hand catches my pendant.

"You want me to get that for you?" He asks, exhaling through his nose.

"Yes sir," I answer with a smile, placing my tray carefully on the table beside me.

"Good girl," he praises, changing the color with a quick flick of his thumb. "You'll fit in just fine."

Before I can respond, his lips attach to my neck, sucking earnestly and harshly. I can't help the small cry that escapes me, my hand finding his hair and burying itself in it as he pins me against the wall.

His hand cups my breast, kneeding it carefully as he creates patterns across my skin with his mouth, licking at the newly bruised flesh before moving on to a new, unmarked area. He holds his blunt up for me, trying to keep it still enough to allow me to take a hit. I accept, holding his hand steady by the wrist, inhaling as much as I can.

His lips detach from my throat, his eyes red and glazed over as his lips graze mine.

"Care to share?" He asks lowly, his fingers still tweaking at my nipple. I'm vaguely aware that my pasties have been removed, where they've gone to I've no clue.

Obediently, I blow the smoke into Derek's mouth, his hand leaving my breast to cup my jaw, holding my mouth open with his large thumb. Once I'm done he takes his own hit, holding it for a moment before pressing his lips against mine, sealing them together before blowing the smoke into my mouth as well. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of whiskey and smoke. I don't hate the way it blends with the sweet, surgery strawberry cube still melting under my tongue.

He pulls away slightly, breathing heavily.

"You taste sweet," he says. "Mind if I try some?"

"Go ahead," I answer. I expect him to take an edible from the tray, but instead he leans in again, his tongue searching for the half melted candy. He finds it under my tongue, slipping it onto his and then pulling away, smiling in satisfaction.

"Oh," I breathe, batting my lashes in surprise.

"I'll trade you," he says, pressing a small kiss to my cheek as he passes the blunt to me. "Just let the crowd lead you, sweet girl. I'll see you in a bit."

Before I can even think of a response, he slips amongst the crowd, gone in the blink of a hazy eye.

Alright. This is fine. Great, actually. I take a hit of the sour tasting blunt and begin walking amongst the crowd.

Derek was right, I am an eye catcher. Or maybe these people aren't particularly picky. But it doesn't take long at all before people are touching me, sliding their hands over my hips as I pass by, stopping me for a moment to press me against their bodies, leaving a mark or three on my skin. The attention makes my mind blank, smiles on my lips as I whisper 'thank you's, the patrons slipping tips into the tight pockets of my skirt as they release me, letting me blend into the crowd once more until someone else catches me.

I should be revolted, I know this. But the people aren't hard to look at, and with as much as I have flowing through my system all I can really think about is how amazing I feel. My joints feel like air is passing straight through them, my head feels light and free of racing thoughts. The lights entrance me, making me easily distractable until a woman guides me gently towards her group, placing me on her lap as she talks with what I'm guessing are work colleagues. Or something. Fuck if I care.

Her hand strokes my back carefully, not speaking to me as I continue hitting my almost burnt out blunt. She glances at me from time to time, smiling sweetly as she watches me.

"Can I have some?" The older woman asks gently. Her lips are painted a dark black, revealing white teeth underneath. Her features are sharp, contoured by heavy makeup. Her hair is shaggy and black, and God, she's... broad. Muscular and looking like she could eat me alive. I wouldn't mind if she tried.

I hand her the last little bit, letting her have what remains as I begin to focus on her hair. It's soft, feeling amazing between my fingers.

"You have anywhere you need to be for the rest of the night?" She asks, her voice deep.

"Derek," I breathe, barely focusing. She and the other women amongst her let out a noise of recognition, some even laughing a little.

"He likes his girls pent up," Another says, nodding. "Says he likes them used, but we all know that's not true."

"Derek likes to go for hours," warns a woman with blue hair that glows in the blacklight. "Hope you have a lot of energy saved up. If he likes you, you won't go home for days."

The woman with black hair is finishing the blunt, flicking away the last little bit and letting it land wherever.

"You mind if we help you?" She asks.

"No," I answer, my hands running over her broad, leather covered shoulders. "I don't mind."

The women aw over me, moving closer and touching different parts of me.

"Focus on my thigh, good girl," says the dark haired one. "Just rock yourself against it and let me know when you're close." She turns to the second woman, nodding her head towards me. "You want to taste her?"

The second woman nods, joining me on her lap and grinding herself against the first woman's other thigh before bending over to wrap her lips around my nipple, moaning as she does.

The third woman, the one with blue hair, simply watches, continuing to talk to the dark haired woman, stroking my back as she does. The first woman seems engaged in the conversation, occasionally sucking on my other breast before responding to the blue haired woman. The second woman is fully engrossed in tasting me, sucking and nipping at my breast eagerly, moaning as she does.

The stimulation feels amazing, my head tilted back as I rock on the dark haired woman's thigh, my body feeling things it never has before. The feeling of two women sliding their tongues across my sensitive nipples, sucking on them at the same time at different paces is almost enough on its own to make me cum. I can feel how wet I am even through my underwear, surely staining the first woman's clothes.

"Shit, Ava. She may not make it to Derek at this point," laughs the blue haired woman. The first woman, Ava, simply smiles, admiring me.

"Should we let you cum, good girl? Or do you want Derek?" She asks, bouncing her leg as she does.

I moan loudly, my mind unable to form a response. This is lovely, just absolutely wonderful. But something tells me that if I waited, if I edged myself like Derek seemed to prefer, then I would be well rewarded.

"Wait," I pant, still rocking my hips against her thigh. The three women groan, laughing a little more as they begin to give me space.

"You think she's good enough for him?" Ava asks the second woman.

"If she's not, he's out of his mind," she says, tearing herself away from my breast and standing to move onto the blue haired woman's lap instead.

Ava guides me off of her before standing tall and admittedly terrifying. She pulls me up gently, taking my hand and leading me through the room. "Follow me, sweet girl," she says. "I'll take you to the main event."

The other two women wave at me, smiling wickedly before turning their focus onto each other. As the drugs begin to hit harder, just a little ways from my peak, I begin to wonder what it is I've really gotten myself into.

A pair of double doors reveal the same dyed blond man on a plush couch, lounging lazily as he speaks to a small group of people in the private lounge. Upon seeing me guided into the room, he smiles eagerly, quickly sitting up.

"I told you you'd find me," he says, setting his whiskey glass in front of him on the small, glass table.

I smile warmly at him, trying to keep my balance as I walk around to him.

"You get her all ready for me, Ava?" He asks, gently placing his hands on my hips and guiding me to sit on his lap, my back pressed against his chest.

"I did," the woman says, joining us. "She's pretty pent up."

"Did she get you pent up, pretty girl?" Derek asks, laughing softly. I can feel the blush in my cheeks, my eyes barely able to stay open as I lean my head back onto his shoulder.

"Feel her if you don't believe me," Ava offers. Derek obliges, dipping his hand between my thighs, pushing my thin panties to the side.

"Fuck," he groans. "You weren't kidding."

Derek guides my legs to spread open, one hand keeping me open for everyone to watch as his other hand explores my vulva.

"Don't worry about everyone else," he whispers in my ear. "We're all just here for a good time. Right, pretty girl?"

I nod, moaning as his finger swirls around my clit. He continues speaking to his friends, drinking casually as his hand toys with me.

"You want some?" He asks, offering me the glass. I shake my head. I'm fucked up enough.

"Water?" He asks. At that I nod, and with the quick snap of his fingers it only takes a blink before he's holding a water in front of me, complete with ice cubes inside.

"Go ahead," he says. "Take a drink."

I obediently lean forward, placing my bottom lip on the edge as Derek tips the water into my mouth. It's soothing at first, my body relishing the cold rush it gives me. Derek's hand glides up and down my folds, teasing my entrance.

"You like the cold?" Derek asks. I try to respond, forgetting the glass in front of me. The water spills down onto my body, freezing and making me cry out in shock at the sudden sensation.

Derek and his friends laugh, his lips pressing soothing kisses along my shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry, were you not ready for that?" He asks sweetly, smiling at me. I shake my head. He places the glass on the table in front of us, collecting a couple of ice cubes before leaning back and adjusting me to face him.

"Let's get you prepped then, yeah?" He asks, popping one into his mouth and chewing.

My eyes widen, mouth opening in question just before Derek wraps his own lips around my nipples, sucking gently and swirling the quickly chewed cube around the hard bud.

"Fuck!" I cry, leaning backwards. Ava catches me, stroking my hair as she watches.

"I knew he'd like you," Ava says in my ear. "He likes breaking in the new girls personally."

Derek's fingers tease my entrance, threatening to dip in while he sucks on my breast, moaning around the cold flesh. He swirls his spit around, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

"You taste amazing," he moans, his breath cold. "Love to taste more."

I moan happily, spreading my legs more and bucking against his hand.

"Take me," I moan. "Do whatever you want."

"Jesus, she's excited," he laughs. "How long has it been, sweet girl?"

Too long. Much too long.

It must be obvious based on the way he trails lower, kissing and sucking on my skin as he begins to slip my skirt and underwear off of my lower body.

"Is this okay?" He asks, looking up at me expectantly. I nod eagerly, rolling my hips towards him impatiently.

"I don't think she likes teasing, Derek," Ava comments.

"No?" He laughs. "Do you like teasing, sweet girl?"

I shake my head slightly, whining. He and Ava laugh, Derek placing a kiss on my stomach.

"Well, I don't want to go too fast, new girl," he says. "Could break you, you know."

"No you won't," I whine. Derek sucks sharply on the spot, leaving a dark mark.

"Gonna have to teach her a thing or two, aren't I, Ava?" He asks. "You know where that toy is?"

"What toy?" I ask.

"Don't you worry about a thing, pretty girl," Derek instructs. "I'm gonna take care of everything for you now. Just relax."

Ava removes herself from the couch, disappearing to look for something. As I'm distracted, Derek slips an ice cube into my warm cunt.

"Ah!" I cry out sharply, arching my back as my hips roll automatically, unsure what to do to relieve myself. "It's cold."

Derek simply laughs, sitting up straight and dragging me onto his thick thigh.

"It's supposed to be," he says mockingly. "That'll work in the meantime while we wait for Ava to come back."

I start to grind against his thigh, my cunt clenching around the cold cube rapidly as I feel the melting water begin to drip out of me. Derek pulls my hair, tutting his tongue against his teeth as he shakes his head.

"Stay still, that's an order," he says sharply. Someone offers him a cigarette, which he takes with no hesitation. When someone offers me one as well, he waves them away.

"She's had enough," he says. He keeps his hand in my hair, keeping a close eye on me to make sure I don't move.

"You enjoying the party?" He asks me.

"Yes," I say.

"Yes what?" He asks, taking a drag.

"Yes, sir?" I say. He smiles.

"Good. You're smart." He turns his attention to a man asking about some account, rambling something about bitcoin and such. Ugh. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I keep my hands clasped behind my back, pressing my chest forward to allow him easy access. This pleases him, his smile growing genuine whenever he glances my way. Once he bounces his leg, making me squirm for more. At that, he pulls my hair, shaming me for breaking the rule.

"Behave," he commands sharply. A few minutes later, however, he bounces his leg again. This time he doesn't stop.

The jolting motion sends shockwaves through my system, the drugs making me weak and stupid. He's not watching me, seeming involved in the conversation, and this ice cube is nearly melted inside of my cunt, dripping more and more. I can't handle this.

I shift my hips subtly, testing the waters. He doesn't notice, and if he does he doesn't care. I do it again, slightly harder against his thigh. Derek is talking about some party in Havana, laughing about a different conquest. I work slowly, making sure he won't turn his eye onto me. Finally, after a few minutes of grinding against him, I feel confident enough to begin a slow, steady rhythm against his thigh, his leg still bouncing against me.

My body feels amazing. Light, stimulation pounding throughout me, it only takes a few minutes before I'm on edge again, my pussy making his thigh slick and easy to grind against as I ride him. My cheeks burn with heat, my eyes eyes fluttering shut as I lose myself in the rhythm, fully focused on how hard his leg is bouncing. The vibrations go right to my clit, making my pussy seize around nothing now as my pulsing heat had caused the cube to disappear. I begin to grind faster and faster, desperate to cum. I don't realize I've begun panting, moaning as I ride him, and the attention in the room has turned towards me in full with Derek rubbing his hand up and down my back slowly, grazing his nails across the skin of my back as he watches with a look that makes him look like the cat who ate the canary.

"You close, sweet girl?" He asks me. My blush deepens, my eyes fluttering open in realization. Derek simply quirks a brow at me, exhaling his smoke into my face as he waits for my answer. My hips stutter, hesitating to continue.

"Don't get shy," Derek scolds. "You were just fine fucking yourself a moment ago. What's a few dozen people watching you?" He asks.

People are chuckling now, making small comments of encouragement.

"You looked so pretty, baby. Fucking yourself stupid on my thigh," he says as his lips tease my tits. "Didn't she look pretty, everyone?" He asks the room, glancing around at the people who respond with affirmations.

I lean forward, trying to hide my face in the crook of his neck. What had I been doing? In front of this entire room? I'd just needed a few quick bucks, that's all this was supposed to be. This was exponentially further than I'd ever planned.

Derek tuts, pulling me away from my hiding place. "Oh no, you wanted to cum. I'm going to make sure you cum," he chides. "I wonder how you'd feel on my cock. Would you like that? You'd feel better if you were on my cock, wouldn't you?"

I nod shyly, my eyes avoiding everyone but Derek. He glances around the room once more, noises of encouragement growing louder.

"You wanna get me ready, baby?" He asks encouragingly, taking one of my hands from behind my back and guiding it to his stiff, clothed cock.

I gasp lightly, squeezing it and grazing my thumb up and down his dick covered by the tight, leather material.

"You look big," I mutter.

"Feel big too," he chuckles. "Go on, try it out. I think you'll like it."

I think I will.

It's hard to see in the odd lighting, so my hands struggle with the hidden zipper.

"Try getting closer," Derek teases, his breath warm against my ear. "It doesn't bite like I do." To emphasize his point, he sinks his teeth into my neck, harsh and quick before releasing me, leaning back in his chair. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, my mind reeling as I automatically sink to my knees in front of the plush, velvet sofa.

Once his pants are opened, he springs out, no underwear confining him. Jesus. He's mostly average, leaning towards the larger side. It's mostly the piercing that surprises me.

"Like it?" He asks. I glance up at him, his grin cocky as he takes a drag from his new cigarette. Hey, man. What happens if I swallow this?

I stammer, opening my mouth and trying to say something.

"You need help?" He asks, wrapping his hand decorated with several rings around his shaft. "Open your mouth again," he commands. I do so without hesitation. His other hand guides my head down, forcing me to swallow it halfway down. I moan in satisfaction, my eyes slowly shutting as I take in the taste of his skin.

"Atta girl. Take a minute if you need to," he says casually. I can smell the thick smoke near my head, his hand stroking my hair gently. Ava must have returned because he's telling someone how warm my mouth is.

"You ready, sweetheart?" He asks. "Wanna show you off for my friends."

Taking a deep breath and opening my eyes once more, I lower myself slowly to his base. He's just long enough that when his piercing collides with my uvula I cough, nearly choking on him. More gentle laughter escapes the crowd, Derek praising me as he begins to thrust into my mouth.

"Just stay there, sweetheart," he says. "I'll do the work."

True to his word, Derek begins pumping his dick in and out of my mouth, whispering something in Ava's ear. I begin taking in the other people around the room, most of them watching us eagerly.

"Watch me, sweetheart," he commands, snapping his fingers and pointing at himself. "You don't have anywhere to look but here."

I obey, keeping my eyes trained on him as he smokes his cigarette which rests between his lips, his jaw gritted as he rolls his hips into my throat, his eyes glazed over in pleasure and who knows what else.

Without warning, someone begins fingering my cunt. A startled moan escapes me, vibrating around Derek's throbbing cock and making him moan, his face confident.

"Don't worry baby, it's just Ava," he says, stroking my hair. "You like Ava, right?"

I moan again, Ava's fingers quick and shallow in my tight pussy.

"Ava certainly likes you. Almost stole you from me, isn't that right?" He asks her, tapping his cherry carelessly onto the floor behind him.

"That's right," her deep voice purrs in my ear. I moan again, my eyes almost fluttering shut from pleasure until Derek grabs my hair, fucking my face roughly to bring my attention back to him.

"Hey now, don't get too happy," he scolds, but he's smiling. "You still like me more, right baby?"

I moan, pressing my tongue to his underside as he slides in and out. He tastes sweet, his jewelry creating an interesting feeling in the back of my throat. Ava withdraws her fingers, quickly replacing them with a vibrating bullet instead.

"Mmph!" I moan, my eyes nearly fluttering shut again. The speed increases, making me drip and writhe my hips against nothing.

"God, she's fun," Derek moans. "Ava, book her for Cabo," he says.

Cabo??

"You like her that much?" Ava laughs. Derek simply glares at her. Is this a thing? Trading girls, fighting over them? What is this?

"Just fucking talk to whoever about it," he spits, his dick quickening in my throat. I'm gagging around him, barely able to catch my breath as I press my hands desperately against his thighs. "Anyone else fuck her tonight?"

"Don't know," Ava shrugs. She brings her face close to mine, her breath hot in my ear. "Did they?"

I moan, trying to shake my head. Derek nods, smiling.

"Perfect," he drawls. The bullet inside of me is driving me insane, enough to keep me on the edge of pleasure but not enough to tip me over. My eyes look up at him, wide and begging, tears beginning to spill from my waterline and streaming down my face.

"You're killing her," Ava scolds him. "Is he being mean?" She asks me. Yes.

"She can take it," Derek says. "You like it a little mean, don't you baby?" He asks, smiling. Yes.

"See?" Derek says. "She's just fine."

Actually, I'm about to hit my peak drug wise, and I can't fucking breathe. But all it does is make me want more, my throat taking him as deep as I can as I moan around him, my tongue moving desperately, eager to swallow his load.

"Think I should cum down her throat?" He asks Ava, his head tilted back in pleasure, cigarette nearly burnt out between his lips.

"Would you like that?" Ava asks, setting the speed of the bullet to max. I scream around Derek's cock, overstimulated and stupid. "I think that's a yes."

"God, you're amazing," he praises. "Such a perfect fucking slut."

Right before he reaches his edge, he pulls me away, admiring the long, thick string of spit that still connects my swollen lips to his cock.

"Look at that," he says. "Should take a picture of that someday."

His hand drags me up by my hair, guiding me to return to his lap. Once I'm straddled across his lap, his fingers delve into my cunt, fucking me quickly as he presses the bullet against my g-spot.

"You like my cock, pretty girl?" He asks.

"Yes," I moan, my voice and throat raw.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

His fingers remove the bullet, and he quickly replaces his hand and bullet with his pulsing cock, both of us moaning at the feeling.

"Jesus, fuck," he moans. "You are fucking tight. I can feel everything."

My cunt spasms around him, eager for whatever friction he'll grant me. He stays still, something that's clearly a challenge for him.

"Gonna stay there for awhile," he says. "Wanna make sure you're ready, baby."

My spit on his dick makes for excellent lube, his piercing comfortable against my cervix. His hands run up and down my thighs, squeezing here and there, eventually moving to massage my ass.

"The crowd loves you," he praises, pulling me close to his chest. "Think I love you too."

I'm very high. I'm very horny. I will do whatever this fried hair, cocky ass motherfucker tells me to do.

A waitress walks behind the couch, offering us a tray of joints. Isn't that my job?

"Go ahead, take one," Derek instructs me. I do so, reaching for the lighter on the tray.

"Don't bother, I have one in my pocket. Thank you," he says to the waitress, dismissing her. He reaches into his coat, taking out the lighter before discarding the jacket, leaving him in his zebra printed button up that shows off his chest hair along with a white gold sparkling chain.

He holds the lighter for me, lighting up the joint as I hold it between my lips.

"You're gonna smoke me out, okay angel?" He says, leaning back against the couch, his arms stretched out along the back. I rest one hand against his chest, taking a hit and holding it for a second before leaning forward and blowing it into his mouth.

One of his hands find my hair, pressing my lips against his, his cock twitching inside of me as his tongue slips into my mouth, establishing dominance before allowing me to pull away for another hit. Then another. Then another.

As he inhales the last hit, his hips begin rolling into mine, his voice low as he groans.

"Go on and start riding me, angel," he moans, completely lost in the pleasure. "Show me how you want me."

My hands grasp his shoulders, clinging desperately as I begin to glide up and down his length, his cock twitching against my most sensitive spots with each glide.

"You ever fuck a pussy as good as this?" I ask, watching his jaw shift subtly from side to side as he focuses on my tightness.

"Oh, she speaks now?" He asks, smirking. "Grow a fucken brain, princess?"

His tip slams into my cervix, making me gasp and press my tits into his face. His mouth works quickly, biting and sucking at the tender mounds as I ride him.

"I'm just making conversation," I say. I'm high enough my filter is gone, my brain rotted to the point I'm only focused on my pleasure. He moans against my tit, looking up at me while he buries himself in my body.

"I can't say I have," he says, grinning. "Why, that turn you on?"

Immensely. Not that I'd tell him that.

"Say it," he dares, his cock slamming into me. "Don't hold out on me."

"Maybe I will," I tease, tugging his hair. My hips speed up, riding him hard enough I can feel the couch rocking ever so slightly.

"You're fun," he chuckles. "Say it."

"No," I say, slamming my wet cunt against his base, making him groan loudly.

His teeth sink into my skin, pulling on my nipple to the point I'm on the razors edge of pain and pleasure.

"I don't mind waiting," he says, his tongue flicking against my nipples. "I like causing pain."

His teeth sink in deeper, his fingernails dragging down my back slowly as he slams into me, making me bounce hard enough I can feel it in my stomach.

This is a hell of a paycheck.

"I like it," I say. He chuckles.

"That's not enough," he says.

"I wanna be the best girl you've fucked," I add.

"Mm, need more details." His teeth release my nipple, leaning forward and quickly catching it once more, sucking on the almost raw flesh hard enough it feels like I won't be able to wear a shirt for the next day or two. One of his hands return to my hair, gripping it and pulling it hard enough I can see the people behind us, some of them still watching, some focused on each other, most people switching between the two as they fuck each other.

"Come on, you were just so confident," he laughs against me before returning to his task. My chest burns with want and embarrassment, my eyes glazing over as I give in.

"I wanna make you pussy whipped," I moan. "I wanna glance at something and get it from how desperate you are to get the chance to fuck me."

He chuckles lowly. "I think we'll get along for a while," he says in a satisfied tone, finally releasing my tits from his torture.

"Gonna get me on payroll?" I ask, smiling as I throw my leg onto the back on the couch, giving him better access to fuck me.

"Play your cards right and I'll get my surname on you, pretty girl."

It's an evening of drugs and sex, come morning I'm sure he won't even remember my eye color. But for tonight, can't a bitch dream?

"Go ahead and laugh," he dares. "I get what I want."

"And you want me?"

"Fuck yeah."

He forces me to my side, turning me onto my stomach and hiking my ankles onto his shoulders.

"Jesus!" I cry, feeling his cock bury into me from behind, slamming straight into an overwhelming spot that makes me blind with pleasure.

"Too much," I cry. "Fuck, too much!"

"And that's a problem?" He laughs, abusing me as he smacks my ass, admiring the way my skin reddens.

"Yeah, you're not getting another dick ever again," he decides, his hips chasing after a high that tears screams from my throat. I'm so overstimulated I don't even know if I can cum, my eyes crossed and ass feeling his palm bearing down on the sensitive flesh time and time again, growing more rapid in succession, forcing me to clench his length harder with each new hit.

"Come on, pretty girl," he growls, pressing his chest against my back, his hands keeping my hips pressed against him with no chance to escape. His balls smack against my clit, making me moan in stupidity. "I know you want to."

I cry out, tears streaming down my face, hair stuck to my wet skin as I feel my cunt begin to throb in warning, my stomach clenching as the knot inside me begins to snap, my mind growing fuzzy and static as I pant eagerly.

"Fuck, she's close," Derek moans to someone, small whimpers escaping him as he pumps into me, his teeth digging into my shoulder, sending me over the edge.

Someone's screaming, and I have the vague idea it may be me. I can feel Derek's front soaked in my cum, his dick slamming into me in a way that I just know I'll have a migraine in a few minutes.

"Good girl," he praises. "Fuck. Amazing girl. Taking good dick like a fucking pro."

His cock throbs in me as he cums, deep and right next to my cervix, keeping himself buried as his seed pumps into me, hot and thick.

"I wasn't joking, sweetheart," he mutters in my ear, his voice exhausted. "You and I are going to become good, good friends."

I groan as I feel him slip out, his fingers pushing any cum that drips from my folds back into me, then placing a plug into my aching cunt. His hand grips my hair, pulling me back up to sit on his lap as he accepts a new drink, his cheeks flushed as he tries to regain his breath.

"Let's get something to get your energy back up, hmm?" He asks, pressing a firm kiss on my sweaty forehead.

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

Cabo doesn't sound all that bad, Danforth. Not bad at all.

Masterlist

I wrote this instead of sleeping. Anyways, see you next time for Mike Schmidt. Stay safe pookies <3

[denderfyr]

How the Undersiders would react to you coming out as trans

Rachel: does not care. To the point where you might wonder if she even understands. If you press her on it, she'll get annoyed. Her behaviour won't change towards you, but she'll respect your pronouns

Brian: dudes a man perpetuating and suffering under patriarchy. He'll be an ally, in the 'i have read a single article about how to talk to LGBTQ+ 'people'. Corporate an insincere. But you might be able to tell that he's trying. That's not the worst part. He'll hold you to societal standards of masculinity. Be manly, or be feminine. If you're a trans man, he'll hold you to that. *You* decided to be a Man, so he'll help you be a Man. If you're a trans woman, he'll hold you to feminine standards. "No you shouldn't lift the couch, that's a man's job." And "I'll let you do the shopping and cooking, you know how to do that, right?".

He'll also slip up, and then make a big deal out of it. "Her pronouns are he/him"

Aisha: she's gonna be a little shit about it. A couple of bad taste jokes, but you can tell that she's doing it in jest. She has a bit of her brother's idea of gender identity. But she'll follow your lead on how you want to be treated, unless she has decided to make you the butt of her joke.

Alec: bad. He'll make trans jokes that he saw on the internet, not knowing that they're Nazi dog whistles. Will try to respect your pronouns, fuck up, and then double down on it, because it's better to intentionally be hurtful than to make a mistake. He's trying to do the same stuff that Aisha is doing, by making light of the situation, but fucking it up.

Taylor: She'd either completely ignore you in favour of her current Mission. Or she'd make ' respecting you' into a task she's working on. It would show how she has made you a task. Reading up on how to respect trans people, and then follow the book like it's a recipe. And no, your input on this is *not* appreciated. Depending on who you are, you could either appreciate it, or feel strangled by it.

Lisa: you will not come out to her. She knew. When you met, she knew. She knew before you knew, and did not respect the prime directive. Constantly calling you by your preferred pronouns, before you knew what an egg was. If you're trans female, she'd have done stuff like: "girl talk, come on. I'm talking to you too." Or if you're a trans man, she'd be doing stuff like "I'll let the men handle that" and lump you in with Brian. She'd be super smug about it too.

The rest of the undersiders, I don't know enough about to make an accurate depiction of.

[brighttears]

hi! back again with another request, i hope that’s ok! if not then totally ignore this. For the request: could we get a jealous reader? Im always seeing Fics where Joel is jealous and would like to see that changed up! Maybe she sees Joel hanging around another woman more his age and she gets insecure, idk it’s totally up to you how it happens. if you do take this request then thank you so much, if it’s not something you’re interested in writing then that’s ok too and thank you for your fics!! <3

Joel Miller x reader

No physical description except for having hair, leaning fem but no pronouns or explicit mentions, no use of y/n 

Warnings: age-gap, mentions of sex, drinking, Angst (happy ending), pet names (honey), you have a big fight :,(

Word Count: 1.6k

A/n: omg love this idea. Thank you for the request you’re so sweet and I’m happy to do them !! helps so much with writer's block plus I get to do cool stuff like this lol. This was challenging so I hope it doesn't disappoint :P

P.s. if any of yall’s name is Emily i apologize just replace it with the name of someone you hate lol

—

Even from all the way across the bar, you’re burning up, watching the way the woman in front of Joel twirls her hair and flashes her teeth when she laughs over enthusiastically at his jokes. Thankfully his back is to you so you can’t be tortured by whatever his expression—or wherever he’s looking—may be. 

Ever since you got to Jackson women have been crowding Joel like he’s the only man on the commune and it’s been driving you up the wall. You want to go over and give Joel a big wet kiss and tell her to fuck off, but you and him have never had a discussion about ‘us’, so you have no real right to claim him. Still, it burns, and that woman, Emily, as you’ve come to learn her name, as Joel’s number one fan, has such a punchable face. A matching burn of the whisky from your glass is welcomed down to your stomach.

When she leans forward, showing off the goods, you can’t stand it anymore, down the dregs of your drink and storm out of the Tipsy Bison. The icy breeze cools you down some but you’re in no way calm once you’re back at the house. Stomping up to your room—you and Joel’s room, you strip your jacket and immediately grab your gun to deep clean. Icey pain drips from your heart down into the crater of lava in your chest and it hisses in your ears.

Sitting at the head of the bed, you’re almost done with the fourth cleaning when Joel’s recognizable stomps sound with the creaking and slam of the front door. You continue to clean, not looking up when he comes in. 

“Hey,” he says breathily, innocently. 

“Hm. I’m surprised you even came home.” you reply, still not looking up. Still aflame, you keep a mostly even tone but Joel easily catches the pointy edges. 

He pauses, then finishes kicking off his boots to straighten up and turn to you, “An’ why’s that?”

“I mean I thought I wouldn't see you until tomorrow morning on your walk of shame from Emily’s house.” you keep your focus on the final wipe down of your gun.

“What?” 

“What? Can’t blame me, I saw her eyefucking you. Basically shaking her tits in your face, too. Didn’t stay long though, it was actually kind of fucking gross.” 

“Beg your fuckin’ pardon?”

“Oh, don’t act stupid.” you finally meet his gaze, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. Go fuck whoever you want. I guess it’s none of my business. Would have been nice to know that that was the deal here before we started sharing an actual bed, though.” you go back to overpolishing the metal, trying to act nonchalant, but your chest is full of mud. 

“What makes you think I’m goin’ around fuckin’ other women?” 

“Well, now that you’ve got the pick of the litter, why settle for me?” you finally place your gun down loudly on the nightstand. 

Joel raises his voice in sternness, “What the fuck r’you talkin’ about?”  

You take a deep breath through your nose, refusing to let your anger go, but the icey, tight pain is tearing at your heart and you can’t stop it from piercing through your voice when you say, “I just—I just thought it was me, I thought it was me you wanted.”

“What—’course you’re—where’s all this comin’ from?” 

You stand to face him and scoff, “Please, you think I don’t see the way the women here have been looking at you? They drool all over you, and you just let them, you throw ‘em a smile.” you voice is teeming with attitude, “Never saying a word to me about it. What is it, are you ashamed of me? I have to be your little secret? I’m just some young—some young…” you stop yourself before you finish a sentence you know you’ll regret, no matter how much you want to stick him with it, but it’s too late.

Joel steps one foot towards you and shoves his finger out, glowering, “Good call not finishin’ that sentence.” he growls, “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talkin’ to though cause it sure as hell ain’t me.”

You pick your fire right back up, “I thought maybe I’d be good enough but there's things I don’t have, huh? Need a woman more your speed? Well, you’re free to let Emily fuck you better, just please don’t bring her back here, okay?” you end it with your voice drenched in sarcasm.

It’s Joel’s turn to scoff now, “What the fuck are you talkin’ about? I don’t give a shit about Emily! I’m not fuckin’ her! Wh—” Joel narrows his eyes, “You tryin’ to say I’m a cheater? Is that it? That's what you think a me?” 

“N–no,” you stutter, suddenly realizing that that is what you’re accusing him of. 

Near shouting, he continues, “You don’t trust me. That's what this is about.” 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you move towards him but he steps back.

“How the hell else am I supposed’t take that?”

“I’m just scared.” the confession jumps out of you.

“Scared of what?” he shouts.

“Of you leaving me!” your voice breaks and you choke back the onset of a sob, but Joel loses no venom.

“You’re scared of me leaving? After all this time—after everything, you think I’m—I’d—I don’t want to leave you! Talkin’ to Emily, I was just tryin’ t’be fuckin’ polite, be,” he takes another step towards you, “social, that’s all! You think I can’t talk to women without tryna get in their pants? Is that really the kinda man you think I am? Should I stop talkin’ to Maria, too? Cause I’m such a piece a shit cheater I’m probably tryna get at her, too, huh? My own brother's wife? That’s what you think a me?” 

“No,” you nearly scream, hitting your hands to your head to grab at your hair, “that’s not what I mean, that’s not what I’m trying to say!”

“Then what are you trying to say?” He yells back.

Your chest is starting to heave, beginning to be overwhelmed with emotion, but you try to keep it under control, not wanting to break down in the middle of an argument. “I just hate seeing it! I hate seeing the women here fucking crawling all over you like cats in heat and you just fucking take it, like you want it, you want them, not me, now that I’m not the only option, you’ve got all these pretty women just waiting for you to knock on their fucking door, and I was just—just—”

“What, just some young pussy?” Joel snarls.

“No one that mattered! No one special! And all of it was empty, all the words, the sex, the time we shared, I was just a placeholder for a proper woman, cause I’m not good enough, was never good enough for you…” your voice shatters as the whirling in your head and heart overcomes you and you step back until the back of your knees hit the bed, then flump down and put your head in your hands, trying not to sob.

Instinctually, Joel comes to kneel before you, his anger beginning to melt away when his attention shifts to you in pain. He takes your wrists to uncover your face, saying nothing, only focusing your eyes and his, now gentle, as you continue to try to control your jumping breaths. After a few moments of you unsuccessfully calming yourself, Joel moves his hand to stroke your cheek, over the side of your face, into your hair. When your breathing has calmed some, he looks over your face and wipes away the few escaped tears. “I hate it when you cry but you look so pretty when you do.” he tells you, soft and quiet, pulling a small laugh out of you. Once your inhales and exhales are at an even pace, he speaks up again, with a soothing tone, “Okay. Now I’ve calmed down, n’ you’ve calmed down.” he takes a deep breath and you do with him, like you’ve learned to, before he continues, “I know all a that was just outta anger. N’ we’re just not at an understandin’ here… Honey I’m in love with you.” 

His words make you take a deep, post-cry shuddering breath. Remembering you have to say something back, you whisper, “I’m in love with you, too.”

After a few silent but full moments with Joel stealing glances at your lips, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod your head as you’re already leaning in as a response. Your lips essentially smash together, want igniting in both of you. You lean forward until he’s on the floor and you’re sitting on top of him, both hands holding his face while one of his clutches your hip and the other slides over your jaw and into your hair. Then Joel pushes you up and onto the bed, nosing into your neck from above you, sticking wet kisses all up and down it while your hands tangle in his hair. He slows and drags kisses back up to your mouth. Sounding drunk, Joel finds time between your mouths to say “Don’ want no one else.”

Between kisses you continue to converse, “So can I punch Emily in the face?”

“Mmm, I don't think Maria would like that very much. Why don’tcha just give me a big sloppy kiss next time she won't leave me th' fuck alone?”

“I can do that. Can we hold hands?”

“Yeah we can do that. Can I squeeze yer ass?”

“Only when someone’s looking. You can do it when they're not either but I would prefer if you did it while you know one of those alley cat’s watchin’.”

“Mhm. Every time. Let em’ all know.”

“You know, you’re gonna have a lot less friends once I scare all of them away.”

“Fuckin’ fine by me. I got everyone I need already.”

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

kinda fucked up for you to see a gender non conforming woman (samsus) and automatically make them trans. you get what i mean about how thats just reinforcing gender stereotypes (that cis women are feminine and would never commit genocide even a little while transwomen would do masculine evil things like shoot gun (because they’ve kept their man vibes) or whatever

yeah

I can’t tell if this is like a shitpost or a really poorly worded commentary because I have no idea who you are. Frankly I would normally assume the worst block you, buuuuut since I like talking about it I’d love to explain why Samus Aran is extremely transgender.

Tbh I am still tempted to block you but the terrible grammar, spelling error, and nonsensical nature of the ask almost make it seem like a shitpost

First of all Samus being trans-coded was very core to her character from the very beginning. Regardless of the reasons they did it, the original Metroid was intentionally made and marketed to have people assume she was a man. This isn’t even just because people would see a person in a power suit and assume they were a man, the games manual explicitly refers to Samus with he/him pronouns. The immediate assumption that she’s a man because she’s tall, broad shouldered, badass, and wears a power suit that obscures her feminine features until the big reveal is inherently a trans theme. Taking that away makes her a less compelling character. It’s also continued in that Metroid media has continually joked that a lot of the Galaxy assumes that Samus Aran, the greatest bounty hunter in the Galaxy, is a man.

Secondly there was that one Metroid dev who said in an interview that Samus was transgender. The terminology used was outdated and it was explicitly a transphobic joke, but it’s too late she’s ours now.

Thirdly she is (was) built like one of us. That is, prior to the later zero suit designs trying way too hard to be sexy. Like seriously when I first found this image a few years ago I was the same height and weight as her. I miss the big buff broad shouldered Samus design so much and her later redesigns are honestly kinda pathetic by comparison

Fourth, Samus was raised by the Chozo and trained to become a powerful warrior. Part of what they did to make her strong was body modification via Chozo DNA splicing to make her stronger and more agile than a normal human. This is a sci-fi setting where she was raised by an extremely advanced alien race who could change her very DNA, acting like she couldn’t look like she does and be a trans woman is simply not even an argument.

Now, of course, you could refute all this by saying “but Cordelia, we know what Samus looked like as a kid from Metroid Zero Mission and the manga and she was clearly a little girl not a boy.” Now even without addressing the fact that it’s very possible for people to realize they are transgender as children and that children don’t even really have secondary sex characteristics to make it easy to tell what their gender is, this what Samus actually looked as a child:

The combination of all of this gives us trans women a lot of good reasons to believe she is transgender. But also, literally none of this is necessary for me to headcanon a character as trans. Trans women come in all shapes and sizes with all different stories and not a single thing in Metroid canon even remotely suggests that Samus Aran has to be cisgender. And if you try to say “but Samus has no bulge in canonical zero suit Samus depictions!” you’d have to be intentionally dense. Samus Aran is a chimera with a cocktail of human, Chozo, and Metroid DNA and, again, was raised by a race of super advanced aliens. Not only could they have easily given her bottom surgery, but they could’ve even changed her fucking sex chromosomes if she wanted them to. There is literally nothing in Metroid canon that even remotely gives me a reason not to insist that she’s transgender. To be honest, there is more evidence for her being trans than against.

To anyway anyone who actually read this far, I hope you understand the truth. Nintendo’s redesigns are too afraid to show us, but you and I both know that her cock is huge

[proseka-headcanons]

me with pretty much 0 gender headcanons watching the gender polls with soda and popcorn:

it's dangerous to go alone (without gender headcanons)... take this...!!!! (yes i am about to talk about my gender headcanons for every single character. and even rant about certain ones which are marked with asterisks, especially the tenma siblings. spoiler alert everyone is trans. they're all below the cut bc i get too silly :3)

miku is a trans girl, uses she/they

the kagamines are both trans. rin is a trans girl (she/her), len is a trans boy (he/him)*

luka is a trans woman (she/her)

meiko is a trans woman (she/her)

kaito is a trans man (he/him) (EVEN KAITO ISN'T IMMUNE TO THE TRANSIFICATION OF PROJECT SEKAI)

ichika is transfem demigirl stargender (she/star) (although i don't have any other xenogender hcs i'm sorryyyy.,..)

saki is a trans girl (she/they)**

honami is a trans girl (she/her)

shiho is bigender (i think maybe??? i haven't decided on one particular hc for shiho. :3 idk sbibo has all of the gender) (she/he)

all of mmj are trans girls who use she/her

kohane is a trans girl (she/they)

an is a trans girl (she/her)***

akito is a trans boy (he/him)****

toya is a trans boy (he/they/she)**

tsukasa is a trans boy (he/star)**

emu is a trans girl (she/sunny/🌈) (you can't tell me she doesn't use xenopronouns!!)

nene is a trans girl (she/they)

rui is a trans boy (he/they)*****

kanade is non binary (she/they)

mafuyu is bigender (any pronouns)

ena is a trans girl (she/they)****

mizuki is a trans girl (obviously) (they/them)*****

* the kagamines swapped names and clothes and just. everything. like they kinda just swapped places one day and nobody noticed lmao

** tsukasa and saki also gave each other their old clothes when they were kids!! they both discovered they were trans at a young age, and they helped toya with his own realization!! also toya is gender nonconforming as well (sometimes they crossdress and she's okay with she/her, as long as you don't exclusively use she/her for him then it's all good) so tsukasa gave some of his old clothes to them as well.,. also if someone is transphobic towards saki or toya, it will not end well for them. kasa will not show any mercy /silly but if the transphobia is directed towards star, he doesn't really care as much because at least it's not his siblings (both of whom will be pissed in their brother's place) star cares about his little siblings so much!!!! <3 hghhhg i love tsukasa sm star's so selfless......

*** nagi was also a trans woman, and with an looking up to her like she does, yeah this egg was going to crack real quick wasn't she

**** more characters who gave each other their old clothes. you can pry these from my cold dead hands. sometimes ena jokes that it's like akito is always on his period and he's like "i swear to fucking god shut the fuck up" (it's all in good fun, usual shinonome stuff)

***** i think you know what i'm about to say. they gave each other their old clothes again, i will not change my mind. mizuki helped rui discover that he was trans as well!! their classmates are transphobic assholes but at least someone can understand them and has to deal with similar classmates... rui helped teach mizuki how to do makeup (it's like something to thank them for helping them and being there for him) and also, not relevant but i need to spread the agenda, t4t qpr mizurui

that's all i'm doing for now i'm tired

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"No Place Like Home." Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Okay! So the amazing and wonderful @applesontheground wrote me a Leslie Vernon fic for my birthday and I adored it so much I didn't want it to end. She encouraged me to continue it, and so I did just that, and then she joined in and kept it going, and it became this beast of a collaborative piece that ended up being thirteen thousand words. It started off as being just for me, and true while it is still very self-indulgent, it's turned into something for all of you as well! I hope you enjoy!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 13K. Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer Obsessed Freak. Banter. Drinking. Murder. Blood. Gore. Ropes. Restrained Reader. Threats. Reader Kinda Wants To Die But Not In A Suicidal Way. Canon Aligned Meta Talk. Man Handling. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Blow Job. Messy Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Cum Eating. Scar Worship. Many Feelings. Vaginal Sex. Multiple Orgasms. Overstimulation. Raw Sex. Cream Pie.

---

You understood that it was a joke to begin with.

Living in a rural area, there were a lot of empty spots between the bricks that made up Glen Echo. Most of it was the usual urban legends and small businesses that just didn’t keep up with a world changing around it, turning to joke about it amongst themselves.

To you, though, there was something comforting and endearing about the pace. You were a bit of a way from home out here but found yourself filling those gaps and making the best of it. At the end of the day, being somewhere new had its moments that paid in turn for the shortcomings it could put you through.

Simply being “attracted to the area” was only half of a lie; you had shown up because of research on the mythos. You could admit that you even looked into it a little too much. The idea of the enigma who nested in the area – a man that fabricated his whole being just to relish in the spilling of unsuspecting blood – was utterly fascinating. You could find the Photoshopped news clippings and chase almost laughable clues sitting around town for days if you didn’t have a day job to occupy you.

Even remembering the life outside this Autumn night, silent and swift as a cat under a new moon, was something you finally decided to release from your attention. Halloween was no time to worry about a day job, and with that you began dawning your costume. Think like the woman you dress as, you told yourself with a smug grin to the mirror. The iconic blue and white dress fell into place on your body, resting on the midway point between your thighs.

Prudes would call it too short, and company you meshed with way better would tease that it’s far too long. It didn’t help that you wore accents that drew attention to your legs on top of that, those knee-high socks with laced hems and the ruby red slippers, which had a taller heel for an accent.

Life beyond the fantasy you were basking in was far behind you, tightening the red bows that kept two well curled pigtails hanging down behind your ears. With a touch like that, only the thickest of skulls wouldn’t know who you were.

Leaving home, following that yellow brick road that lead out of the small confines of the shabby town and into the rural space, you soon caught up with similarly dressed heathens who were raising their flasks and opened cans of alcohol to you, recognizing you were part of the pack that was heading to the supposedly haunted orchard as part of some middle finger to the belief that anyone smart enough to live out here would abstain.

The possibility had been mentioned that he – a walking spirit or man that pulled the strings as quickly and seamlessly as he did steal souls, whatever he did – would find everyone there, and he would not like what he was seeing despite the high spirits.

“Then what?” A girl expertly stepping along the uneven road beside you, a little too tough to be dressed as Princess Peach, but you quickly digressed because she wore the white elbow-length gloves well.

“Then, we become history.” Someone up the road replied, “Immortalized as the idiots who tried to party with Leslie Vernon.” Putting a fist up, you saw the blue and white Letterman jacket he was wearing had a few rips in it, and that his face was painted a ghoulish grey and rooted with purple veins along his jawline to accent it. Something about him seemed eerily familiar, but then you considered it could be something generic, very plain in the visage of an undead high schooler that the Halloween stores would sometimes parade for the uncreative minds. The fact he was holding a bottle of Jagermister only made you squint a little harder before centering your thoughts back to the road beyond the crowd again.

It was a joke to begin with, but you were still finding yourself wanting to believe it. Almost as if you wanted the party to be at real risk despite the blanket of calm everyone had draped over it, additionally nursing with booze and jokes. Surely, there would be a twist from him to combat the weak one that these costumed groups thought they were pulling.

He can’t deal with all of us, right?

You found yourself needing to take a deep breath at the thought that in your wildest fantasies that he somehow could.

After passing a fence down the trodden path, the air around you was wordlessly shifting. As though it was on a cue from where you were standing, trees were clearing from the sky to allow a half-moon to illuminate the dirt road before you, and somewhere in the lump of unclear horizon sat the dilapidated Vernon farmhouse. Bunches of yellow and rouge apples rest within the first trees that you were passing, a signal you had made it to the orchard.

A breath pulled tight into your chest; eyes as wide as you could make them while you continued to peruse, to listen to every little noise outside of the murmur of people. The Jager man offered you a drink from the cooler that they were lugging out with the rest of the crowd, and after fiddling through the soggy ice, your hand secured a vodka shot between index and middle fingers while the rest of your hand found the rim of a canned pre-mixed drink. He then said something in a pompous tone, but it was otherwise unintelligible to you, so you just laughed it off to go back to soaking in the sight before you instead.

Even after basking for a good portion of the party’s setup, you still weren’t done. You decided to give it a rest, be a little more social. It was the omniscience embedded within you to realize how you looked, staring wistfully into the orchard surrounding the clearing that everyone was gathering in, not interested in any person at a Halloween party. Too suspicious, and despite knowing there were no tricks up your frilly short sleeves, you were aware no one else knew yourself as well as you did.

You began striking up conversations to avert any of the oddly placed suspicion that might have been drummed up, complimenting costumes as the two drinks you had snagged were put down between giggles and conversations about what kind of final girl was the best kind You fell elbow-deep in bringing up a classic archetype, the movie buff who called plot twists and elements that would play out in their own story before they happened, someone locked eyes with you. You didn’t stop, of course, but held the stare from across the party as you went on.

“Please, where would we be without those dudes half-baked and quoting The Creature from the Black Lagoon? They’re the ones painting the picture for the rest of the clueless victims.”

You couldn’t quite pinpoint what about him really excited you. First off, the thrill of him being the Scarecrow and unintentionally matching you passed as you failed to recognize the shape worn on his mask, and the absence of straw in the torn holes of the rest of his getup was only a final nail in the coffin of your hopes. He was just…some mope-mouthed zombie, or a haunted doll.

The people you had been speaking to were well into buzzed territory, taking the lull in your conversation to go stumble into another aesthetically appropriate chat circle while you waited for this new acquaintance. He continued to wade through the crowds that you had been standing off to the side from, and finally piped up as soon as he could be heard from behind everything.

“Looks like you forgot Toto.”

You snickered at that, and shrugged, “Yeah. None of my friends’ dogs wanted to do it, sorry.”

He made an amused noise at that, then pointed to the drink in your hand. “Want me to grab you another one?” You shook your head, grimacing a bit, “No, no. I’m still working on this, and besides- Even in stoppers, not a great combination to keep drinking with these shoes on.”

“Even in what?” He stooped a little to hear better, and you demonstrated it by walking perfectly stable along the uneven terrain, wading off the dirt clearing everyone was gathered in to show off a pair of high heels in all their red, glittery glory on forest brush. “Heel stoppers. They keep me from sinking in all this mud and dirt around the property.” He whistled a bit as you did a fancy little turn, accenting the agility they provided, and he complimented, “Pretty smart. You do that just for parties?”

You bit your tongue, smiling as you walked back over and admitted, “More to just keep in the race should I need to run.” The inquisitive glow to wide eyes suddenly narrowed, and he scoffed, “Run from what? It’s pretty harmless out here, save for those dudes who won’t stop saying they’re gonna climb the roof. It’s gonna give out the second any weight gets put on it…” He faltered, arm shooting out to the farmhouse like it was obvious from where the both of you stood, “Looks that way, anyways.”

“That’s what you think, dude. Do you know where you are right now?” He was silent; merely staring on at you, almost through you. You smiled and elaborated for him, “The Vernon Farm. Leslie Vernon’s resting place?”

He scrunched his eyes and hummed, “Can’t say that’s ringing a bell. Enlighten me.”

You felt as though the words couldn’t fall faster from your mouth, crafted into the same story you loved to tell the locals (as if they weren’t native to the area that it all started in, hearing the tall tale since they were in grade school).

“Isn’t that fucking ingenious?” You paused partially through the story on how he had committed a few murders within a span of the last three years, part of you trying to steady yourself as you realized you had spilled your guts to a man whose face you hadn’t even seen, “He’s up and coming still, but I think he’s taking a lot of cues from the greats of these serial killer types. I mean, morally abhorrent, but I’m no snob to that.”

“Wow.” He looked away in a rather brisk motion, but seemed amicable to the subject, “It sounds like you’re really banking on this dude to be some kind of mastermind.”

“Please.” You shrugged, “I mean, these murders that happened over three years seem pretty real to me. Whoever, whatever’s been utterly elusive on a rural farm for so long – still Vernon as we see him – he absolutely knows about stuff like this coming on the horizon. I can see it already, it’s so practical now that I have my actual eyes on this place.” You pointed up to a tree you had been perusing, “There’s an electrical wire trailing up this tree, perfectly on the outskirts of the crowd where someone can – no, will run towards it if they get spooked. Seriously, doubt anybody in our group put that up there, it’s not covered in all these goofy Halloween decorations.” His own eyes slowly trailed up your arm, catching on an exposed tattoo before briskly tearing away to see what you were talking about, following your pointed finger.

You then gave the unimpressed tone right back, “That’s going to do something. Electrocute someone, take power to something that’s even more gruesome. It’s too high off the ground to be some sort of cutting wire, right?” His eyes went back down, sizing up your confident expression with a halfhearted blink, “Pretty sure whoever, whatever Vernon is, has more than rocks in his head. Fueled by more than just hearsay, ghost stories…”

Finding humor in your almost asinine explanation, you found this was better timing than anything that’d come afterwards. You were surprised he was even still standing in front of you, as you figured you may as well introduce yourself, still caught in a starry-eyed smirk. You offer up your name.

He shook your hand nicely and replied, “Nice meeting you. I’ll let you in on mine after the party.” Finding it almost bold in nature, looking to fulfill some type of promise with that reveal, you blew him off. Rolling your eyes, you asked, “Sure. Then what can I call you until then?”

Still holding your hand in a mockingly polite way, he mulled, “Just call me the wizard himself. … Or the Scarecrow. Whatever works for this costume, Dorothy.” Taking his hand out of yours, he flicked one of your pigtails while pulling away slightly, just enough to leave you able to recall the subtle warmth from standing beside him as something so much stronger just mere seconds ago.

He had glanced at your arm again, so you decided to keep the topic going. “If you can’t tell, I’m kind of fascinated by these slasher types.” You gave him a good view of your tattoos, and his eyes traced over it, silent at first but the approval shining through in a thoughtful roll of his neck as he took in the entire picture again, every detail having soaked in through painted eyeholes.

“You know, I didn’t take you as someone who saw so much in a dynamic like that. The killer and his final person, I mean.” He carefully crossed his arms, like he was letting this creepy façade rest its head for a moment as he speculated, “Almost sounds like you want that for yourself, or at least to see it for yourself, straight out of the movies and the stories.” You smiled unapologetically, and although it sounded like you were playing along it was spoken in earnest, “Oh, do I.”

He stared off into the tree line with you for a beat, and hummed, “A girl like you really seems to chase after that, stick around in places where it can’t help itself.” You rolled your neck a little, adjusting in the scratch of the costume, as alcohol started permeating on your tongue a little heavier. You admitted, “Can’t help being such a go-getter with this. I almost live for it, which means I have to die for it too, I guess.”

“Go-getter.” The words themselves felt like they could be sarcastic when he echoed them back to you, but something earnest coated his voice as he suddenly affirmed that, “You’ll find it. It’ll find you. One or the other.” A hand came up, grasping at an imaginary subject in front of him as he spoke in even more earnest. “Ghost stories or not, something about that attraction. It’s palpable…magnetic, even.”

He then pulled a handle from his pocket, and you soon saw from the size of it that it hadn’t been inside, but rather sitting right in plain view over the top. The stranger shrugged rather peacefully. “It’s like the two can’t keep away from each other.”

That blade didn’t look plastic. You raised an eyebrow; it didn’t even look chrome; it was chipped in certain spots and narrow in a way that fake weapons just couldn’t emulate. Wear and tear made marks like that. You got one more look at his mask, a few second thoughts shutting you up well and fine.

“I’m keeping that promise, by the way. We’ll talk a little later. Can I count on you?” he asked, friendly enough as you merely nodded, trying to act like you were thinking before the nonverbal answer. He slid right past, not towards the crowd, but into the shadows of the apple orchard that surrounded the farm. No one even looked twice at the noise, so minor that it was easily blamed on the wind, should you not know better.

“Oh.” You spoke to yourself, staring down at your drink, “Oh, now that just isn’t fair.”

~

What in the fuck was he doing?

You felt the rope constrict tighter, one of his long arms stretching over one shoulder to take the other end towards your back. Silent, you merely matched his own lack of words because you were more confused than terrified. Maybe even a little let down.

This was how you told him you had wanted to go, at the hands of some dude like him, and he isn’t even killing you.

Between the small talk by the tree and reuniting with him now, to say you had been put to the test to be his victim would be an understatement. Between the classic straggler at the party who disappeared for far too long only for a severed arm or head to turn up to people hanging from the rafters of the farmhouse or in the trees, everyone had scattered, herded together by the supernatural entity of Vernon, and picked off to the best of his abilities. The ones he hadn’t been able to physically get a hold of got caught, you had noted when you ran by that wire and saw someone electrocuted at the foot of the tree it was wrapped around.

What do you know? I was fucking right.

Securing the entire hog tie, he suddenly lifted his haunches from you. Before you recognized he was gearing to leave, that was it. Turning onto your back and haphazardly sitting up, ignoring how your dress rode up slightly in favor of looking through the trees, he had slipped off again like the ghost that he was trying to emulate. You almost wanted to holler at him: The fuck is THE Leslie Vernon doing taking live captors? Is he getting bait? Playing with the food before consuming it?

Pondering had honestly brought you to a comfortable seat on the dirt beneath your backside, not caring if it was starting to pour into the backs of your socks, or even accidentally slip under your skirt, peppering your bare thighs before you readjusted with a huff. You had a hunch, one that finally helped your dry throat find its gloss and find its voice again.

“Not gonna lie, you’re kind of screwing this up.” You called out, and he emerged from the dark, like he knew your own speculations that would come to the light, much like himself: He couldn’t run off yet. Still saying nothing, he tilted his head to one side. It was impossible to tell if he meant it in admiration or disbelief. Regardless, you heard a shuddering breath behind his mask.

“You know,” You crossed one ankle over the other, calming the pulse between your legs, “I always assumed you’d want to keep this brief. Especially if I’m not your final victim.” He made a beeline back over to you, crouching to one knee. Instead of an unnerving whistle or hiss, he gave you an honest mutter in disbelief. “Please. For you?” He asked, and you curiously let him go on, “If anything you’ve told me tonight is true, about yourself and about your passion for what I’m doing, I almost want to ask for permission.”

A hand came up, sans his weapon but nail just as pristine, as he ran feather-light tracks over the outline of the tattoo resting. “I mean, you weren’t lying about your commitment to this sort of lifestyle. These all look pretty real to me.”

“Rub a little harder, even.” You dared, looking down at the primed muscles stretched on the back of his hands, “I don’t mind if you need to prove to yourself that I’m the real deal.” The pristine curl suddenly became lighter, intimidated even as it fell away, and he quickly digressed.

“It isn’t about that, the sweet honeypot at the end of every horror movie. I always thought it had something more to do with the journey, the planning…” He swung the sickle, breaking through the itchy rope and not courteous enough to keep it from catching threads from your dress. He gasped, “I’m a lot like you, in that I will admit it’s nice, but…I want this whole event to be special, you know?”

Pausing, his eyes scoured your body for a couple seconds before his two hands, the curved blade falling in his lap to give way for nimble fingers pulling the rest of the rope apart, taking it from your body and letting it fall along with the weapon. Still, most of it fell to your own lap. Looking at each other, the sigh practically tumbled from behind the mask. Whether it was relief or exhaustion, neither of you cared to label it. He almost seemed put off by something, squinting at himself more so than anything about you or what you were doing.

Then, with the same hands, he pushed the mask up over his face. Seeing him, not the mirage he had been flowing through the entire evening like water vapor, he smiled through a painted on frown. It had been an accent paint, it seemed, something to abscond in case the wooden face didn’t fool a wandering eye. Everything was smoke-colored and smudged over his expression, beginning to get sweat through, and somehow making the smile lines in his face more prominent simultaneously. It was as though you could see everything and nothing at once.

“Special,” You echoed, “I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean, Leslie.” You cocked your head at the sound of his name on your lips, “Can I call you Leslie?”

“Absolutely. Think we’ve both earned the right to be friendly with each other.” He answered with a harmless nod, and just as swift as he had stripped down to the man that he was, he was shoving you backwards with the heels of his hands. “I honestly don’t know why you’re asking. It’s so clear you knew to use my name long before-“ He framed your arms against the dirt, pinning both the extremities, “we ended up here.” You let your head fall back, the earth supporting heavier realizations as you simply murmured, “Yeah, maybe I did.”

He shifted, as though physically feeling you would do something about this. Rough denim pulled against your bare leg, and even if you could attempt to fix your skirt, you knew you were far past the point of wanting to. Anyone who could see either of you was dead, or rather you could notice from the peripherals of your stare into his own that there was a body nearby.

Whether or not it had been intentionally turned away from the two of you, that was something you enjoyed leaving up to the imagination. You couldn’t even register before he collided into you a little too hard, his hand slipping in a pure excitement that made it hard to keep steady when he was on top of you the way that he was.

It made the fact you talked about the things that you would do about your interest in him all the more diabolical, eyes snapping open and looking past his short dark hair that had been styled by accident to stand on end from how he had removed the mask. You told all of that to his face.

When he finally pulled back, he peered down with an almost euphoric, electrified look to his eyes. “Sorry. I get a little antsy – and you probably knew that, too.” You had no idea what he was talking about until the slow ooze of blood went over the cupid’s bow of your lip. “You’re fine, they happen easily.” You almost coughed through your speech, laughing at imagining just how dishevelled he had you in a matter of a few movements, a few touches that were far from the only ones going forward.

He flicked the sickle, and you watched some stray streaks of blood fall into the dirt, permeate into a diabolical splatter of what you could assume to call mud. “…Listen, we can discuss this away from the rest of the…the party, maybe?” He asked breathlessly, and when you nodded once again leapt off of you with the same pace, the same ethereal ability.

“Well,” You let a string of bloody spit fall from your mouth, as ruby in color as your lipstick and as your shoes, letting him pull you back up by the back of your neck and suddenly hoist you off the ground. You didn’t move as he hefted you over one shoulder; rather, you turned your head and asked, “So, let me just ask this. You’re not gutting me? Stabbing me? Not even slitting the throat, letting me go out in a more iconic fashion? Where the hell are we again?”

Leslie stopped. Readjusting you, the loose threats of your dress along with your soft hip pressing into the side of his neck, he straightened the skirt over your backside with a lingering hand and hummed, “I’ll put it like this: you are not in Kansas anymore.”

Your hands rest on his back, not for lack of support, or fear that he’d drop you, but just because you could, he was right here and he was letting you. Through rough thermal material you could feel how firm he was underneath, defined muscle definitely present, fabric slightly damp from sweat and whatever else from the effort he’d expended this evening thus far. Your nose hadn’t stopped bleeding, a slow drip, he was still carrying you away, somewhere, and you watched as stray drops fell to the ground, bright red standing out amongst dark and loose dirt, like a farewell to the rest of what the party had originally thought it had got itself into. In all honesty, they all assumed it was what it was: a joke.

This was no goddamn joke, tangible as the flexing back underneath your palms.

It’s quiet for a moment, your mind is whirring, wandering as it always is, and watching the faint blood trail, dressed as you were, perched on the monster himself’s shoulder? 

It’s like something out of a fairy tail in a way. The big bad wolf and the little red victim, but instead of a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a gingerbread house, it’s a pathway marked with blood mixing into the earth, and it’s leading to-

A glance around, gaining your bearings. It clicks as soon as your eyes leave the ground. The Vernon farm house.

Oh, this is what he had in mind. He wants to bring you inside. 

You would have been fine getting anything from him, you would have let him fuck you back there in the dirt and loved every single second of it, but apparently he had other plans, better plans. 

You love who he is, and more importantly, you love who you are. 

Furthermore, you have no illusions about yourself either, and certainly no shame. You would have let him do all manner of things in the cool evening air and under the light of the moon, no less than ten feet from a body that he himself had brought to the ground. He deemed you worth more, better than a nasty fuck in the dirt- No. He thinks what you are going to do together is better suited under a roof, in a proper bed.

He thinks you are worth that extra care and effort, and he thinks you deserve the Vernon home’s comfort, warmth, safety…

You suppress a laugh as the word safety floats through your mind. He takes you inside, barely mindful enough to close the door, but enough to give the needed privacy. Up the stairs, you have to stifle another giggle, his shoulder driving up over and over into your sternum inadvertently. He doesn’t even care to notice, let alone say anything about it – especially since you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself. Into the closest guest room, he slings you off of him and onto the bed.

The idea that you are safe with Leslie fucking Vernon is, laughable, hilarious, and yet – seemingly and inexplicably – true. He looks like he is too excited, like he doesn’t know what to do first.

You jump into action, knowing the role deserves such from both parties. You reach out to him, propped up on one elbow, your other hand is open, a move of your fingers, a small invitation to join you on the surprisingly plush surface, it certainly beat the dirt outside (mythos ingrained couldn’t make it any more pleasant after all). He takes you up on it, starts to crawl onto the bed, it’s not as slow as before, as if now that he’s experienced it once, he is craving to be on top of you again too much to not rush it, and soon enough he is. 

You revel in his weight on top of you again, your hand that was previously reaching out touches down on the back of his neck, you sink further into the mattress with a sigh. You speak, you ask, “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” He asks, and you nod once, “Yeah, after everything, we kept you pretty busy tonight, running around, you feeling tired yet, Vernon?”

A shake of his head, small smile, addressing him by his last name is fine too it seems, good to know. He tells you, “No way, not at all.”

“No?” The question is innocent in tone, but not in what you hope to gain from it, and he says, “You have no idea the stamina I am capable of.”

“Show me?”  You asked, tone thoroughly hopeful, almost offended by the notion you’d underestimate him. Still, you wanted him to make you understand, and not only that, but to not stop until he was sure you understood.

The implication is obvious, the motives clear, yet he still tilts his head a little and asks, “And just how should I do that?”

He’s being so fucking coy about it, he has to know how endlessly attractive that is to you. You fight the urge to grouse, a playful musing of, must you do everything is left unsaid.

Hand on the back of his neck moves up, fingers slide through short dark hair and thread slightly, twist as much as they are able, and you use that to tug him down as you move up so your lips meet. It’s fitting you suppose, there has to be a point where this happens, right? A shift in your dynamic. He’s still instigating, doing the set-up, but you can’t be stock static forever.

That isn’t the point, it isn’t your role. It isn’t any fun if he’s the only one doing the moving, otherwise you might as well just be one of the bodies abandoned in the dirt outside, chilling and succumbing to the elements as you two lay here.

The flavour of him hits your senses due to the union you’d just forced, mostly it’s salt and the paint he wore. It doesn’t taste like any normal make-up you’d ever worn, but it’s him, just as much as the light apple you managed to gain a sense of was. The idea of him taking a small break and eating from the orchard on the job is weirdly endearing, if not a bit funny, but there are better things to focus on. Mostly like, where the fuck did he learn to kiss like this? Was he this good, were you this hard up, or was it everything else? The tension, the build up, the chemistry or as he so succinctly put it earlier, the magnetism? 

Either way, you simply cannot bring yourself to care as he settles in closer to you, body more flush to yours, really letting you soak up the feeling of him on you, letting it consume you more easily not just into him, but the moment itself.

The rhythm and ease, back and forth, push and pull, inhale and sigh, your lips part more, and then you’d realized something vital just now, in your haste to kiss him you’d honestly forgotten about the fact you were still bleeding. You pull back, about to apologize, but that look in his eyes makes you stop again, shining in the low light of the room. The words die a quiet death on your tongue, lingering there before being buried with the taste of iron on your palette.

He doesn’t let you, his hands are on you now, too. Your grip loosens while his tightens, another shift with one hand in just about the same place yours was on him, the back of your neck. His mouth stained differently than before, more red like yours was, and he says, “Not yet.” before leaning in to take further. 

He is getting bolder, more confident, dare you even say a needier edge to this, the thought passes through your mind, How does he like it? He definitely knows himself and what he’s doing. Also, how long had it been for him?

When was the last time he had someone in his bed, kissed someone, touched another person without the express purpose and idea being violent fanfare? Clearly you are not the first, no way anyone is this capable on their first go with no previous experience to back themselves up, but when was the last time he had penetrated a warm body below him in a different sense? It sends a thrill through you, weeks, months, fuck, years? The very idea certainly made you feel special. 

You’d been returning his affection this whole time, matching him in enthusiasm and pace. You wanted to ask, to know, but should you ask right this second when his mouth felt so good slotted against yours? You could talk more later. Right now, your body is betraying what you really crave: a move of your hips against his, a grind upwards, and you feel with perfect clarity how much this is getting to him too. The friction is good but nowhere near enough, the move is repeated twice more, and it just gets better, it makes you want to go further at the warmth that is blooming inside as well as kick off your sparkly heels and shed much more clothing than just that. Something eager, like how he had collided so harshly with you just prior to this, was rushing to the hilt. Practically gagging on its leash, the seams of your panties rubbing you to near pain before anything even passed the barrier of clothing.

Again, maybe you were just that predictable. His hand tracing from the waistband of your skirt to glide along the socks, his mind was going straight to those heels. You crease your brow slightly as you feel his fingers stick past the spot where the shoes still wedged fast to your foot, and without taking his mouth off of yours, he pushes one of them off. Then, the other with a similar urgency to his movement, the same brisk shuffle of the other hand. When you glance down, he’s holding both of them in one hand, caring not to throw them to the floor but rather set them gingerly by the foot of the bed.

“Those shoes got some thought in them,” He commented when he saw where your eyes had been, “I respect the craft, so I’m not here to wreck those heel stoppers.”

“Well, that decides it,” you say in a serious and emphatic tone, with your brows still pinched together, "I have to blow you."

A laugh, small and shocked, before he asks, "Right this second?"

"Do you have a better or more appropriate time in mind, Leslie?" You say it teasingly and even after you expounded earlier about all the things you would do, even after proving your devotion to the supposed “cause”, it was as if he still didn’t believe you to back it up and be so forward. He had a lot to learn about you.

In the interest of continuing to be forward, you lean in that direction, sitting half up to meet his now kneeling position he took when removing your heels, hands are back on, setting to work on his overalls as you say, “I think I can pencil you in for around four pm next Wednesday if that suits you better?”

“Lots of jokes from you right now-” He starts, and you laugh, as if he didn’t open with one himself earlier, didn’t set the tone, the snaps undone you tell him, “Trying to keep the mood light, it was getting pretty hot and heavy there for a minute.” 

“Are you complaining about some good, solid sexual tension?” He asks as you tug the denim down. You admire the way the dirty off-white material is stretched across his arms and torso, eyes linger while your fingers abandon the straps, settling into the openings near his hips to get it the rest of the way off. “Never, just don’t want you to blow your load too fast, you know?”

“Be honest.” He implores with a smile, and you shrug, eyes break away as you say, “Maybe I want to make this last a bit longer, don’t want to rush something I’ve been wanting for so long.” 

It is honest. You want to savour it, especially because who knows if this is a once in a lifetime offer that will expire after tonight. Perhaps the sun will rise in the morning, then proceed to set on whatever is between you and him right now.

You push the thought aside as easily as you do the rest of dark muddy blue fabric with his help, no time to think about all of that when you have this right now. Enjoy the moment as it happens, for what it is, or regret it forever. Either this is the one and only, the possibilities as infinite as the entire evening felt, or the hopeful first of many, and in either scenario your full attention is deserved.

“That is something I can completely understand.” 

You’re sure he can. Tossing the clothing on the floor with much less care than he gave to your shoes, you notice his current state and ask, “Woah, commando under there, huh?”

“Freedom of movement is important. Gotta stay aerodynamic with all the running, chasing...” He points out, and your hands come up. “Never said it wasn’t”. Verbally, you reply, “Fair enough.” That doesn’t put you off, the idea of him doing this so unencumbered wasn’t bad at all. You reach out again, hands help him with his shirt, and he is more than amicable but at the same time points out, “You are still awfully dressed.”

“You know you can do something about that, anytime you want to.” Making your own point in a similar tone that he did earlier, but before he can start to worry about removing white and blue checkered frills, you are much closer. Hands on his shoulders, another kiss not stolen, but willingly given.

If the excitement you felt when making out fully clothed before was good, him bare under your exploring hands was incredible. You are torn between the feel of his mouth on yours and how the planes of his skin under your careful palms. He had some good scars, ones you would be getting a much closer look at if you weren’t so consumed with how his tongue was working into your mouth. Lower and lower, fingers trace until you are down past his ribs over a particularly gnarly scar on his side that makes him tense. A small breaking apart, lips hardly lifting from his as you ask, “You good?”

A hum of acknowledgement with a nod as you trace over it again, you think this is it, you think this is the big one he got from Her and you are touching it, evidence of their bond and connection, foraging your own private moment with it.

You don’t linger, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable but from the way he is breathing you don’t think he is bothered by it, you think he’d let you do more to it and maybe later you will.

For now your hand is concerned with going lower, thumb slipping over his hip bone until you find what you really want, a fleeting thought of empowering yourself makes a smile pass your lips briefly before you kiss him again, swallowing up the gasp he lets out from the firm grip you take.

Christ, this was going to be good, you could tell, but you can make it better still. You break away to lean down a bit, spitting into your palm before taking back your position, your hand is gliding much easier. You think of putting your mouth to better use. You don’t want to use just your hand; can anyone blame you for wanting to satisfy an intense oral fixation, something that made you hit the ground running at the drop of a dime? Not only that, but you were good at it, and you wanted to show him just how good you could be. To see what reactions you could draw from him when your fingers dig into his hips and pull him in close and down your eager throat made a mantra clear as day cross your mind, almost blinding you as you felt yourself tense slightly in anticipation. 

Stop thinking, start doing.

You make the move, sliding lower on his body. More passes of your mouth, brushes of your lips, quick pecks placed as you travel down, admiring as you go and your hand never stopping. The look on his face made him seem that he was merely allowing it, but as he got more sensitive to each meeting of your mouth against his skin, his posture was starting to slack.

Jaw to neck and neck to shoulder, his shoulder to chest and his chest down his stomach and fuck, you see it: the edge of that brutal scar. You lick your lips quickly, and the pure impulse pushes you to lean in. While tightening your grip on his shaft, your tongue licks up along the length of the raised tissue. He responds as if he’s been electrocuted, a choked sound that was desperately trying to abscond itself made you clench the empty space between your legs. It seems you took him by surprise yet again. Thank God for the hand you have on his opposite side while you work him over, or he might have just toppled right off the bed.

You let the underside of your tongue pass over it once more on your way down until you are finally stomach down on the sheets, right where you need to be. After all, previous thoughts of knowing where Her story ended and yours began was a line you were willing to dance along.

The hand on him slows as you make that first contact, you start with a kiss, something soft and akin to reverent. It’s just to kick it off, but quickly the experimenting turned to knowledge, then knowledge to want. You’re quicker now, and a hungry mouth opens as you take almost half in one go. A light moan around your mouthful, lips close and with the seal formed you suck deeply.

Some people might be grossed out by the taste of him after a night's activities. You are not one of those people. The tang of him is strong, and it is very welcome. The taste of him and heavy weight on your tongue along with remnants of the drinks from what felt like an entirely different night ago made you grind your hips into the mattress as you bob back once before driving down again – harder, taking more.

A hand finds your hair along with a quiet curse, a half smile can be heard in his tone, “Shit, you’re eager, huh?”

Eyes glance up through your lashes, along with a nod that doesn’t stop your pace. You merely slow for a moment, fingers on his hip squeeze, and you use that to draw him closer. You are going to take him to the base and swallow around the head of his dick, even if it suffocates you. Forcing your head down is easy, taking him deeper is no issue, you are plenty motivated, a straining of your neck as you keep leaning, hand pulling him towards you until finally you achieve your goal.

It took a few rocks back and forth, a minute amount taken more each time, until your nose is buried in trimmed coarse hair. Another moan reverberates out of you, somewhere deep in your throat and then up his shaft. Nails bite into his hip as you move him back a hair, and you suck down a deep breath through your nose before your lips are locked once more around his base.

You suck, your tongue moves in slow lazy circles on the underside of his shaft as an opener, yet you still listen as his breathing pitches, becoming laboured. You take the chance and give a strong swallow.

He lets out a groan, the hand in your hair threads, and he tugs, “Fuck-”

That is what you need to hear. No, that is what you live for. A telling tone, rough and faltering into something less confident. It was almost like he was vanquishing that idea, and letting it go where it needed rather than where he saw to fit. You swallow him again, and another sound pours out from above you. You repeat yourself with another swallow, a sound to match once more, and you throb.

Finding some guarded clarity for a second, he then says, “You know you, ugh, you don’t have to do all this.”

Brows quirk, and you move back, pulling him out and noting how he’s dripping in your spit. Your hand locks onto him tightly as you move seamlessly, not breaking stride, and you squarely look up. “I thought you were smart.”

He laughs breathlessly, eyes hard to see from a half confused and half pleasured grimace before he questions, “What?”

Your opposite hand comes up, thumb dispatching the spit that had slipped out, while you maintain eye contact. You tell him, “I’m not doing this to impress you, Leslie. This is just how I like to do this, or else… What am I doing here?”

You lean in and slip the head back between your lips. You suck again, his head tips back as your hand works his shaft in tandem with your mouth and then a few pumps later pop him back out, finishing your previous train of thought, “This? It’s just as much for me as it is for you. Trust me.”

You set back to work, hand slows, and you work him back into your mouth, sucking indulgently all the way, a blanket of bliss taking over. Fingers are loose around the base of his shaft, and you bob your head up and down. The rhythm is casual and easy, you are just having fun with it at this point.

Like the loosening grip on control, he seemed more than happy to let you play. It gave him the time to have what you said linger on his mind.

A minute later, he then let his head fall back down and asked, “What do you mean, it’s just as much for you?”

You didn’t want to stop, so you think you can show rather than tell. Your hand that wasn’t holding him in place while you continue to fuck your mouth with him slips down. A hand goes up your skirt and into your underwear, finally giving reprieve to that wall that kept the last of hidden details from what was before both of you.

Fingers slip down, and you are soaked.

You pushed two into yourself, and gasp as much as you can with him in your mouth. You rock back and forth, fucking yourself on your fingers, and God, that felt so good. You linger for a moment before your hand is pulled out and held up, still shivering from the inside out from its protrusion. His fingers catch your wrist, and he brings it closer to see them slick, a mess running down them and strings of arousal breaking apart when you splay your fingers. 

Undeniable evidence of just how much this particular act does for you. 

You’d hoped he would understand, and he does. Synchronicity is further bliss, so much so that you have this much of a read on him. It was something more satisfying than just grazing the books, the articles written capturing mere glimpses of him. For fuck’s sake, he has your fingers in his mouth. He sucks and tastes you, and apparently likes it so much he moans (not in a dissimilar fashion to how you did upon tasting him.)

Fuck, you had it so badly for him. 

You hadn’t wanted to stop. Urges to keep going until drool was trailing down your chin and neck were throttling you, and you were a breathless mess who was somehow even wetter by the end of it. Looking up, it was becoming clear that he had other plans. It’s shown on how his face once again grew dark, similar to what you had seen when the mask had come off. Eyes fixated on your face, taking in features with a few restless heaves of his shoulders, a still ocean in his expression as he thought for another second.

“You want to know about me?” He asked, smiling as he let go of your wrist. “Let’s scratch that. This business is a lot about improv, if you didn’t already know, and here comes an improvised thought.” He readjusted, finding some footing in the way he was kneeling, and he leaned in a little more – to a point where you could smell yourself on his breath. Another grind against you, he shuddered out the words.

“Let me get to know a little more about you for a second.”

You were frozen in place, merely humming in response as he suddenly turned his attention lower. With a smoothing motion, your skirt rode up your hips along with the heels of his hands, pushing it like something in his way, which you suppose it is.

Suddenly, just as quick and almost erratic as he had been the more he was enjoying himself, enjoying this, and enjoying you – he was off the bed for a split second. You didn’t watch, just waited, made yourself more comfortable, because it was a pattern of his to come back when he did that. Your mouth feels tragically empty at the loss of him, but you have a good feeling whatever he is about to do will more than make up for it. 

“God, they’re the same color as the slippers-” He lamented for half a second, speaking of your red panties he had revealed when he moved your skirt out of the way, but as soon as he had left he was back. Something cold slid underneath the fabric of your underwear, and with a thoughtful turn to rest on a small edge between your skin and the elastic made you realize what it was.

How did you not see that coming? He held it with a steady hand, a semblance of trying to keep some control with something so sharp, as he caught his breath. Pulling upwards in an almost savage motion shattered the otherwise serene, quiet moment.

“Sorry if you were thinking about wearing those again.” He shrugged, no remorse in his tone. You chuckled at that and replied, “You think I’d get rid of them even after that?” As you finished the rhetorical question, you saw him holding them in an iron grip with the hand that didn’t have the sickle.

“Not what I meant.” He said the obvious aloud, and in a quick move of his arm he threw them out of sight, “Good luck finding those again.” You scoffed, head falling back on the bed as you lamented, “Will it be as hard as learning your na-”

He cut you off again, this time with a hand feeling your entrance with the same careful precision he had given with the weapon. It was your turn to shudder, fingers curling in response to the feeling almost immediately as you got your last word out, “Naaaame?”

“Everyone knows my name.” Leslie reminded you, “At least, around here. I’ve done a great job with making it all common knowledge, but…” You stared with lidded eyes as he finally let the middle finger pass your walls, unable to keep the expression of a surprise that broke the final assumption that you couldn’t feel this wet, this hot. Neither of you could keep talking, awe striking both of you from making the connection.

The moment overtakes, there is one thought that breaks through the haze, lingering in the now mostly empty space of your mind, “Leslie Vernon is inside of me.” 

To be fair, he always has been it seems, once you learned about him, it was like he set up camp in your mind, your heart – fucking Hell, into the very marrow of your bones, he took root, curling around your spine all the way up your brain stem. It’s like an infection, poisoning you, making you sick.

You never wanted to get better. If this is what being ill is, then you want to be staying under forever. He’s been in you in every way but a very physical way, but now?

As he almost totally withdraws his middle finger and then adds his ring finger next, he has broken that last barrier, and you need to hold on for dear life to keep yourself from spiralling out. You writhed slightly, trying not to clench your legs and prevent him from doing what he needed to. He started to pump a few times, but it was growing too much again. That same face falling over him like a blanket, he ducked down. His fingers felt incredible, but his tongue was something that made an involuntary gasp come with an inhale, then a shaky cry fall from you with an exhale.

He was mute, focused with a furrowed brow as his mouth merely ghosted, then settled into where he felt fit best. One lick up through your folds had him deciding quietly that he needed to get more comfortable for this, wanting as much of you exposed as possible. Fingers leave you and his hands lock onto your hips. He tugs you down as he moves, showing his strength, no matter how you had made him look weak in full view. The reminders he could do anything he wanted prompts a small moan to slip out.

He has his knees to rough hardwood, your legs remain splayed, and he gets to it. 

You’d thought about this very thing often. It had been an impossibility, a complete pipe dream to be taken by his mouth, but here he was turning the thoughts into one hell of a reality. There had to be a figure that he was rather good at that, even outside his other work. You look down the length of your body to see those weathered hands resting atop your thighs, his eyes closed and that mouth of his getting into a rhythm of doing some frankly criminal things, neck muscles flexing in the process.

His tongue was eager but minded its pace, going from bottom to top, hole all the way up and over straining and hyper sensitive flesh before repeating the action. It made you tense with a quick inhale as your body became taut, the easy simmer of pleasure from the first contact. The tension and tease of a rise upward culminating in the bright burst of feeling that hits when he passes over your clit, to then the leftover buzz when he pulls away briefly to drop back to do it all over again.

It’s wonderful, it’s maddening, and before you could even hope to start to put together the thoughts to form a sentence to complain he knew, somehow he knew just when to move on.  His mouth becomes much more focused, the movements are drawn out and unhurried. Very comfortable, light brushes of his tongue over your twitching bud through the hood make your body respond in kind, unable to remain still. You are so perfectly worked up, it is like you can feel every move, no matter how miniscule with rough palms holding your legs in place during the times they jerk more heavily, and a rough stubble scraping against the edges of your inner thighs. His lips, soft, slick and pliable – they’re phenomenal.

He’s intuitive. You knew this going in, but he is paying very close attention and realizes that gentle passes of his tongue are doing more than something firmer and with more pressure, the real winner though? Using his lips to, not even suck really, more he was just using them to provide smooth gliding and very wet friction, the heat and careful attention is doing you in, the amount of touch is perfect, the pleasure it hoists upon you is near overwhelming.

It’s like a kiss, honestly. A filthy, completely mind-bending, make your knees give out if you were standing kiss, but a kiss all the same. It’s intense, passionate, makes your head spin and fingers twist into the sheets harder. You aren’t even aware of the sounds you are making as your thighs squeeze his head, pitched moans and cries, out of breath and broken praise and encouragement that spills forth without thought. It’s quiet, whispered out hushed over the wet sounds of his mouth as he worked, “Leslie-”

You sound wrecked as you tell him, somehow finding the words to utter, “-jus-just like that-” and he does as asked, keeps the stride. In moments, it has you begging, a weak and pathetic plea of, “-don’t stop, ple-ase, fuck!”

He hums in acknowledgement, and that makes your legs move involuntarily again with a gasp. One of his hands lifts off your thigh, but you are much too consumed with the seal of his lips around your clit, the quick passes of his tongue and the pressure building steadily to notice his hand moving. The loudest moan of the night is torn from you when his hand is back between your legs, those same fingers taking up the same space they occupied before. 

You are even wetter by this point, the two fingers slide into you with no resistance at all and at first? He doesn’t do anything with them, he just allows himself to sit inside, let you use him as something to clench on, to feel the effect he is having on you, the flex and pulsing of your walls. Within another minute of your breathing getting worse, more pleas that somewhat resemble words but fall short, that is when he curves them, curls them up and with one pass he finds it, the rougher and spongier tissue and he presses. 

You choke out the first half of his name, a cry of, “Les-!” 

His mouth is still providing that light and simple stimulation, exploiting how sensitive and easy you were, but his fingers decide to be steady, relentless, consistent presses to that same spot over and over. 

You were done, gone, fate was sealed, right on the precipice and nothing was going to stop it from happening, as inevitable as him and you ending up here, you were going to come. 

Words were not needed, as if you could form any right now. He knew, all too aware, with lips around your clit and two fingers deep inside you. Your eyes slip closed, brows are creased, and you are trembling; that bad habit of yours creeping up again, so totally consumed with feeling and sensation, on the bleeding edge of what might be the biggest orgasm of your life that you are not currently breathing. Holding a lungful of air in, your form taut and your body rife with tension. In that wonderful plateau of fantastic torture of that compact moment before it all hits, the space prior to the world splitting and your mind going blank from pleasure. He is consistent and that is just what is needed to slip over and finally fall. 

The first natural reaction is to let out that breath you’d been holding in, as the string snaps and the pressure begins to unravel you, an unsteady exhale that is broken in the middle leaves you, a sharp gasp back in. The sound you let out could be read as his name, it is like it starts off with the “Le-” sound and then instead becomes a chorus of this breathy sound, not a laugh, but close enough. It seems that way because of the open-mouthed smile that has taken over your face. Losing control of the breaths that followed after, you let yourself tumble through an ether of forgetting who you were, who he was – you just knew there was a connection feeling one hell of a hot flash, a touch between one another that could fuel your interest for lifetimes.

You squirm and shift, his fingers were still pumping in and out of you, the other hand on your hip, holding you firmly in place, so you couldn’t wiggle away, making you feel every second of it as he feels it from his side too, every twitch and clench. His tongue has slowed, light passes over your clit still caught between his lips, keeping the stimulation going is vital, ensuring the most feeling out of your peak but still managing to not overwork you. 

You don’t think you can adequately describe how good it feels, but you can’t describe much of anything when you are totally thoughtless like you are right now. It takes a while for the feeling to ebb and slow and eventually stop, and you to return to yourself. Your breathing returning to some semblance of normal was still a ways off yet. You felt weak, boneless and helpless. You barely notice him lifting his mouth or his fingers slipping out of you, the only acknowledgement of the loss of contact a short exhale and your eyes starting to open, you feel the movement of him before you register the sights, eyes taking a moment to refocus. 

How could you even begin to describe the look on his face at this moment? Eye’s alight, chin wet, grin on his face and teeth partially exposed, you’d think the look he wore was one full of mischief and promise of what is to come, pure unadulterated excitement for what is next. You think your own face is betraying your own true emotions as well, and you are positive that yours match his, if anything you think you have a much more distinct tint of want. When he adjusts, between your legs, hands hooked under your knees and grinding himself against you? That shows that you are more than ready, more than wanting. The small smile that was on your face, playful and light, drops as his shaft cuts through you, sliding up over and through your folds, the head of him passing over your clit, and it steals your breath again, 

Another movement of his body against yours, of his hips slotting against you, has you sucking in a hard inhale, and the next move to rush the exhale. Head tipping back, a hushed call of his name for the who knows how many-th time tonight. Enveloped by a thud that brings his hips into yours, a cover of heat that fills your entire body and makes you nearly lose grip of the bed underneath you as you adjust to the push.

Your vision is fixed on the main point of contact between you and him, of him hard against you, soaked, it felt much better than it had any right to. In the frenzied process of him eating you out your costume has gotten even more messed up, the hem of the skirt pulled higher, you are glad for that, more skin on skin contact is always good of course but with the blue and white out of the way there is no worry of the view being obstructed. 

The visual was stellar, his breathing was matching yours and that makes you tear your gaze away up to his face. Your eyes catch his, your breathing is pitched and in sync, chests rising and falling and staring into each other, it escalates further without direct communication. His body moves a tad lower, your hips angle, and then he is lined up just right, slick tip leaking pre-cum prodding at your more than prepared hole. It takes less than ten seconds for you to be telling him in a half annoyed and hurried voice, “Do it already Verno-”

You don’t get his last name out. A hand suddenly comes up from where it had been placed lower on your body to find a hold around the base of your neck, pushing the muscles on either side together. It was something secure, helping to keep your head angled up, but also a reminder of who needed to stay in control. Especially catching the glimpse of his eyes, elusive as ever. If you hadn’t been far too down this rabbit hole, you’d want to bargain that. Truly, who was pushing whose buttons?

His own face changing, a setting of his jaw, eyes harder and committing to focus on yours. He takes, slides home fucking finally and fills you to the hilt. You don't cry out yet, instead opting to make a sound akin to a strangled whine. Hands reach out blindly, unconsciously, wanting to cling to something, to him, a desperate attempt to ground yourself using his body as the means to an end. Your nails scrape against skin as he moves back, taking half of himself out before forcing back in all the way, changing the previous sound to a gasp and that sound, is what changes all of this, really sets it all in motion. Like he knew you had doubted the control within him, and that just made you all the more palpable to what came.

It isn’t tentative or nervous, confidence is gained quickly, it feels right, correct, a give and take that has you and him not working against each other but instead with one another. His hands lock back around your waist, you arch closer, a flick of your tongue against his throat, tasting the salt of his skin has him driving into you deeper, and so it goes. You are trying to hold on, literally, while you adjust to the stretch of him as well as the gravity of the situation, Leslie-fucking-Vernon is inside of you right now, holding you, fucking you. 

How the Hell are you meant to cope with this? You hoped, but weren’t even truly sure he was real until you met him, and now a good roll of his hips had you moaning something close to his name. You’d wonder what your life was, what it had turned into, but why would you question such a good thing? In fact, where you would be and go after this was as far from you as it possibly could. You, instead, in a very healthy move by the way, lean closer still, lips brush the shell of his ear, nearly chest to chest you ask quietly, rushed, “Fuck me harder?”

You are met with a simple and single word, hummed out in a tone that tried to find some sort of sharp edge of condescending but falling just short of fascination instead, “Demanding.”

There was a brief reposition, making sure both of you were ready for some goddamn finale that this night deserved. He’d more than proven his strength to you by this point, and yet you still find ways to be amazed by how he shows it to you, in the sheer force he exerts as he complies with your needy request. It’s good, more than good, but you know it could be better still, the mental stimulation was incredible alone, just a little more was needed. His grip on your waist is keeping you right where he wants, holding you firmly to the mattress, but you do what you can, what you need, feet finding some purchase on the sheets, a slight bending of the knees and you, or rather he, found it. The reaction is immediate and obvious, the moan you were midway through is choked, a tremble that nearly rivals the first ones that wracked your body when he made you cum with his mouth and your own mouth clamping shut. Thighs squeezing his hips and your soaked hole clenching around him tighter, he doubts the hint could be more obvious if it was a neon sign flashing in his face. 

Doesn’t mean he still wasn’t going to be just a bit of an asshole about that, mostly, because he knew you got off on that kind of thing. He holds in you, a purposeful grind that stimulates you both inside and out, a pathetic sound tries to break out as your eyes shut, and he asks, “You okay?” 

You nod, short, curt, he isn’t relenting, another grind but this one ends with him pulling halfway out before filling you completely again, this time you can’t stop the moan that slips out, “You sure? You are being awfully quiet.” 

Before you can try to conjure a reply or attempt to defend yourself, he stops playing around, no more easy but devastating grinds he is back to the previous pace he was setting. There is no true reason to be holding back, who was going to overhear you? The corpses outside? It was laughable, further still, you couldn’t shut up now, not with how he’d locked onto just where you needed him. The litany of moans and gasps might be embarrassing if you weren’t currently drowning in pleasure, you are very unaware of much, just focused on the fact that you needed this feeling to continue, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Nails biting into his skin and your eyes locked on his, hardly able to process any visuals, you can hear his voice again over the heaving breaths and skin on skin. 

His question makes you realize he was responding to you speaking, brain on autopilot it’s sluggish but catches up. You are connecting the dots through the context clues of his words, his near saccharine and condescending tone and question of, “Yeah? Right there?” 

Makes you come to the fact that you must have been letting out a surely pitiful chorus of, “Ri-right there, right there-”

You lean in further, hoping if you debase yourself further still he’d continue, he’d see this through, he’d make you break apart as strongly and beautifully as he did before. “Yesss-”

You were not far off at this rate, perfectly worked up and so sensitive. 

If the build up before could be described as a slow climb of a staircase, you’d say this one is more akin to an elevator ride that you can feel in your stomach, a rushed ride to the top but one you wouldn’t dare dream of complaining about. The height feels as though you were on top of the world all the same, where nothing could reach you quite like the view would. Looking to him, you concurred it was just as breathtaking. You don’t need to tell him, again, everything else about your body language and the fact he is stuffed to the hilt inside of you tells him you are nearly there. 

The state of being stuck in that lovely frustrating plateau was nowhere near as long as the first, from near the edge, to on it, to thrown the fuck over happened faster than you thought possible. He helped you, continued to hold you, fuck you through it and wring every ounce of pleasure he can out of your spasming cunt. The come down isn’t easy because he simply is refusing to let up, even when you try to pull back a bit, adjust, he isn’t having it, hands slide from your waist to under your legs, resting behind your knees. You can’t escape, he holds your legs closer, pressing them down, he abuses you further, enjoying how you reacted to the intense over stimulation. 

You find your voice again, use it for something more than moaning incoherently, “Leslie-fuck, please, ease up-” 

A minute shake of his head, his grip under your knees tightens, a hard swallow he tells you firmly, forces out, “You can take it.”

You clench around him again, another pulse of heat races through you. “Oh my God-” You gasp out, he’s right, for him, you could and would do just about anything. 

You try not to be crushed under the intensity as you look up at him, and that’s when it hits you, the uneven pace of his breath, thrusts becoming more erratic, he’s close himself and the prospect of him reaching his own end buried inside you is unbelievably exciting. One more word is grit out, “Almost-”

In your fervent excitement, you nearly cut him off, begging for it, “Do it.”

You don’t plead for him to not pull out, you don’t wrap your legs around his hips, you want him to make the choice himself, willingly, craving him to take that leap and that risk with you. Your streak of good luck has not yet run out because he does just that, another slam of his hips into yours, and he cums, holds mostly still, the force of it makes him shudder with your name on his tongue, and you feel near endless pride at that. The shudder of his shoulders completes an already perfect picture, something that would linger like cobwebs in your head.

It’s quiet now, no more noise from the bed or from your bodies against one another, just heavy breathing, and you aren’t in a rush to go, but slowly you do untangle. Your hands slip away as do his, legs are back on the mattress, and he slips out of you, the mess that follows that action staining the sheets and thankfully not your hiked up costume. He falls beside you, and you aren’t sure what to do from there, is it weirder to want to cuddle up with him or to not? 

The same question about whether you should leave is on your mind but, he answers both, an adjustment, an arm around you as he sighs out, “You already ran enough earlier, you can stay a while.”

You let your eyes close as you get comfier and do just that, he might be a killer but he’s courteous enough to let you get a few hours sleep in his bed before you go. 

Even as you began the long walk out, you still weren’t quite sure what to do to cope with meeting Leslie Vernon. Even waiting until the Sun was up to let yourself be known to the world again, a new soul forged from a night you couldn’t even begin to explain to others – let alone rationalize to yourself – didn’t do much for your mind, bogged with a confusion that only knew one thing.

You had enjoyed it despite all that had happened. It still touched your skin, scents still held in your costume, and stepping onto the uneven earth again, you then concurred you knew two things.

You still had the heel stoppers on.

Traversing the uneven road back towards Glen Echo. They were doing their job fairly well, albeit the muscles in your legs were singing another kind of song, straining at any sign of a bend or a shift in your weight. Scanning the surrounding area, you were nearly left thoughtless – because speechless was well and achieved, sitting like a plug in your throat.

There was no one left. Presumably all of the people who had come with you were dead – or left in a state of hopeless confusion just like yourself. For them, it’d be time to put together the facts on what had really happened that night.

But for you? It was the time to paint alongside Leslie’s own fantasy. You had spoken with him about what to say, where everyone had gone, and what had exactly happened to you. It was as gorgeous as the rest of his work, and something you felt rather unique to be touched by, to know the truth behind the…

Behind the mask.

The feeling you were being watched was well weighted on your shoulders, and there was something ever so taunting about knowing when you turned around or tried to meet it, there would be no way to talk to him. Leslie was an open book – you could even call him an open heart, but he also had a job and a name to keep pristine and mysterious as it had been when you had entered the domain of the Vernon orchard.

You considered it a little funny, then a little unexplainable. That just made the thoughts tread foggier water. Part of you wondered if it had even happened, knowing that it didn’t sound serious as you kept telling the story to yourself while walking home. He had given you something straight out of a fantasy, and you then concurred that was his specialty, wasn’t it? There was a solemn recognition that you were going to be the only one that should hear about it.

Still, you then shifted, feeling that there were no longer panties under the dress, (he ended up being right, you couldn’t find them, unsure if they were genuinely lost, or he stole them). That was no joke.

[quillkiller]

"Damn it, Neil. The name is Nuwanda."

I want to talk about the queer coded symbolism and mise-en-scene in Dead Poets Society, and now you're probably thinking 'yes we all ship neil and todd' and yes that's true, but not what i mean.

Nuwanda is a trans woman! Let's get into it.

(i apogolize if my use of pronouns are confusing. i refer to nuwanda as he/him when he's at welton because the boy atmosphere and his part in that creates such a deep meaning to his experience as a person slowly figuring out through poetry that he might be a trans woman. especially in this tight knit friend group consisting of "boys with emotions". that's why i use she/her pronouns when talking about her getting closer and closer to figuring herself out) (also this is my own interpretation of the film so i can do what i want)

First off! When Charlie announces that he's changing his name to Nuwanda, no one questions him. The laddies adapt to it immediately and start calling him Nuwanda, for the simple reason that he asked them to.

Second, Nuwanda invited two girls to the cave and literally all he did was borrow their lipstick and change his name? Nuwanda said he wanted to learn about and read poetry because he 'wanted to make women swoon' but in reality he was a woman who gravitated towards learning about femininity, wanting to compensate for the fact that he actually identifies with womanhood.

For a character saying he wanted to woo women, he shows absolutely no interest in women what so ever. I genuinely think the writing shows such a complex relationship between gender and internalised transphobia/compulsory heterosexuality.

(I personally do believe that Nuwanda is heterosexual, but i believe he's a heterosexual trans woman and he's in the process of figuring that out through poetry and that's so beautiful!!!!)

All the boys hate Welton and they continuously joke about getting themselves expelled, but no one actually means it. Nuwanda was the only one actually risking his place at Welton and he did it writing an article saying that women should be accepted into welton. He risked his place at Welton and for what? Because 'he wanted a girlfriend'?

No! He was the only one who actually risked his place at Welton because he doesn't belong but he desperately wants to, and if women were to be accepted into Welton, Nuwanda will be too. He would rather get expelled, and did in the end, because that's a woman trying to save her own fucking life. Nuwanda really said 'accept women into Welton or i walk'.

There's also a scene where they're all in class, just walking around, literally, on Professor Keating demands, and it holds so much power for the reading of Nuwanda being a trans woman. Professor Keating says they all need to 'walk their own path' and to not follow the paths already made. Everyone starts walking and they all do it differently, except for Nuwanda. Nuwanda stays behind and says "I'm exercising my right not to walk" and Professor Keating looks at him proudly.

All the boys start walking whereas Nuwanda stays behind, distancing himself from making his own path as a man. Nuwanda was exercising his right not to participate in walking through life as a man. it's such a wonderful wonderful wonderful scene and i love her so much.

There's also the way Nuwanda dresses. Nuwanda starts changing his style throughout the film and you cannot tell me he conforms to the societal norms of a boy his age, at welton, meant to get into an ivy league school after graduation. He's slowly experimenting with his gender expression throughout the film, being fascinated by lipstick, changing his hair, trying on different hats, etc. It' so subtle but at the same time it's so big.

There's also the scene where Nuwanda gets punished by the headmaster. The punishment is a spanking and he has to lean over the headmasters desk and pull down his pants, and the headmaster is behind him. There's a clear power imbalance between the headmaster and Nuwanda, almost as if Nuwanda is the woman in that scene while a man abuses him the way he would abuse a woman. The punishment is inherently a feminization of his character, making him lean over and strip him off his power and being at the mercy of a man. The scene draws from female trauma and the power of men, while projecting it onto Nuwanda's character, creating more symbolism as to why Nuwanda is a trans woman.

Another scene, the coach comes into the changing rooms and yells:

"Let's go boys, hussle up in here! That means you Dalton!"

Dalton, Nuwanda, is standing in front of the mirror and combing his hair. None of the other boys do, they all tussle and fix their hair with their hands and then they're good. Nuwanda cares about how he looks and the coach is telling him, specifically, that he needs to man up.

These are the main reasons i believe Nuwanda left Welton and finally could start living her life as a woman. Especially considering the end of the film, Neils fate and how it represents the importance of being yourself and finding your own voice. There's so much in the subtext that indicate a queer and/or trans reading of the film. In the mise-en-scene, in the manuscript, symbolism, etc.

(Image of Nuwanda, showing his chest covered in lipstick, a feminine gender expression. He's removing his tie, which literally ties him to the man people want him to be.)

[fuck-customers]

time to vent dump! <3 everyone at my job is so tired of one coworker of ours - he was "knighted" so he has a Sir suffix (something tells me that was something he got online and legit changed his name about it) and is an author of one book (we work at a gas station. he's very high and mighty about his book) i looked said book up and it's about a man and a woman who have almost the same name who date "so they can say their own names during sex" and the summary i read reeks of his personality, "i pretend to be so woke when really i'm a huge misogynist". such a big head on this guy's shoulders to start with.

he comes in to start his shift and immediately starts talking nonstop. mostly it is either complaints about customers, coworkers who aren't present, or music/media from his generation nobody cares about but insists are amazing and we should check them out. (really sticks out in my mind how he recommended that Lou Reed song about a boy being obsessed about his football coach. coworker seemed to think it was super progressive for the time bc it was talking about gay stuff when that's kinda overshadowed by the age difference element :/ )

he will talk over you, and it feels like if he's not talking about old media, he's talking about something negative (but of course he loves to complain about one of our female coworkers mentioning some tough things that are happening in her life right now. she's just SOOOO negative he says as he continues to shit talk everyone nonstop.)

at first i thought he'd be cool - when we first met he noticed my pronoun necklace and gendered me correctly like twice. (never did it again. we had a store meeting where my manager thought it'd be a great idea to single me out and tell everyone we need to work on getting my pronouns right. i don't think my manager meant ill will by it, he's trying to be supportive despite being ignorant of how everything trans works, but this douchey coworker tried to compare my gender neutral pronouns to his "sir" suffix and how "he didn't complain when people didn't call him sir" :/ that's.... that's really not comparable dude. everyone ignored him.)

today he was telling a story about a coworker and how badly she handled a situation with a deaf homeless person who sometimes comes to our store - when he finished, i tried to start telling a related story about how i passed notes back and forth with that deaf man a couple times and- that was as far as i got before he said "i don't give a flying fuck"

i've thought about it, and maybe he was saying, in context of the story, that he didn't give a fuck if the guy took some bananas while the coworker he was shit talking did care - but the way he delivered that line was so confusing, it really felt like he was telling me "i don't give a fuck about what you did or your story". in the moment i was stunned to silence, and tried later to rationalize it this way. i realized even if the former was the case, this coworker cared more about telling his story to shit talk our other coworker than he actually cared about the homeless person who was desperate for some food. it was more about opposing her than being generous or understanding with him. so when he tried to continue, i ignored him in favor of helping our other, newbie coworker, with his register.

i remember an old female coworker of mine told me he yelled at her to "never interrupt him when he's talking to a woman," which reeks of superiority and desperation lol

all in all he's just an unfriendly, disrespectful, self centered, unpleasant person who thinks his shit smells like roses. i feel bad whenever i clock out and leave one of my female coworkers with him for closing shift, although luckily i think he's bored by her and mostly leaves her alone unless he wants to bitch about something or talk about old media. he's always trying to crack jokes and they all are either bordering on the offensive or are just straight up not funny or both. i'm really sick of him and i can tell just about everyone else is too. i'm so so glad i only see him in passing, as he's a closer and i'm an opener, but the few minutes i have with him as i'm clocking out and gathering my things are just 8') a few minutes too many.

[physicalturian]

[18+] So this is 'she'? - Haitani Ran X F!Reader

[Probably contains spoilers from the anime and the manga][She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone is +18]

Words : 8 513

Summary : Right after fucking him, he gets a call for a party. He needs hookers, you fucked him good, he thought he'd invite you and your people.

You took it as a challenge to show him you could be even better than good. It doesn't go as planned

Warnings : Power play / Blow jobs / Hook-up / Prostitution / Vaginal fingering / Smut

--

“You look cuter like that.” He commented as he zipped his pants and put his jacket back on. “You got a long night ahead of you, so I’ll let you be…” He paused, looking at the ruined red garter belt on the ground, “Red. I’ll let you be, Red. Pray for your own sake I won’t see you again.”

I had been dumb thinking it would have all gone peacefully the rest of the night. Right as he was about to walk out of the room, his phone rang. He was quick to pick up and bring it to his ear, closing the door to avoid the hubbub from the main room. I did not pay attention to him and started tidying up around for my next client. Soon enough, Ran’s call ended and I heard him speak again after a sigh, “Do you want to call it a night?” His voice was softer than it had been moments ago after his threat, after he had told me to never mention the woman that had him in this pathetic state.

Huffing a laugh, I wiped myself clean and put on some clean underwear before facing him with a small smile, “I can definitely afford to ditch my shift since my boss allows—yeah let’s call it a night.” I said sarcastically, throwing him a mocking smile while crossing my arms over my chest. The man in front of me gave me a short, dry smile and shoved his hand inside his jacket all while taking long strides towards me. Once in front of me, he pulled out his wallet and handed me his credit card, “How much for the night? And count at least five of your girls too, it’s for a private event.” The card held between two of his slender fingers was calling for me, how could I tell him no? After all, he wasn’t pressuring me and I did like the idea of not having to stay in for the night. I didn’t really care if I had to fuck everyone at his private party or whatever it was, it was nice to go to different places sometimes.

Rolling my eyes, I took the card and fanned my face with a smirk, “And you want me there? What? Was it that good?” I joked, stepping aside to grab a bathrobe and drape it on my form, “I’ll see who’s free, do you have an address?” I asked, opening the door wide. Ran gave me a short nod and smiled, handing me a business card that had nothing on it but an address. No name, no business, nothing. Just an address. “Bit ominous, but it’s to be expected from the Bonten, right?” I laughed, gesturing for him to get out. 

“I need 5 of you to come with me for a private event,” I started, not receiving many answers apart from some mumbles around the room. Smirking, I gestured with both my hands at Ran, as if putting him on display, “This gentleman is in on it, him and many, many other hot people. Rich ones.” Many of the women who were not busy with someone walked up to me suddenly interested and I threw Ran a short smile, “There you have it.” I was almost certain he was embarrassed by the call out, something I found rather adorable on a man with such importance. He, however, kept his composure and took his card back from my fingers, nodding to where the girls were going, “Then get changed, I’ll wait outside. Another car will arrive soon to bring them there.”

Humming playfully, I nodded, “No, you’re so right, I’ll do it just for you.” I mocked, grabbing the lapel of his jacket. I pulled him gently towards me, he looked down at me not with boredom, but with some mischievousness, “Do you have any clothes you’d prefer me to wear?” I kept talking while my hand slipped inside his jacket without him realizing it, my hands too heavy on his body while I patted him roughly, “Something that reminds you of her maybe? What’s her fashion sense like?”

He immediately grabbed my throat and tutted me. I moved my hand back inside my bathrobe with his wallet in it in the heat of the moment, not daring to fight back as I grinned at the little pressure he was putting. “Get dressed and shut your mouth. This is your job, you’re not special.” With one last squeeze, he let go of me and smiled, “It’s as if you want to get me mad.”

Turning around, I only looked over my shoulder to grin at him, “Just testing the waters, see if you’ll lay a hand on me. See how sore you still are about your bitch.” And just like that, I hopped away, not wanting to stay any longer in case he was in the mood to beat my ass. When I got into the locker room, everyone was chatting as they got dressed. Unsure of the kind of party it was, I put on something that looked good enough for a party between friends, but easy enough to take off if it led to anything else. Of course, I had my bag with me in which I put the man’s wallet—I feared he would not want to pay his due simply because he owned the establishment. I was going to give it back to him sooner or later, I just wanted to make sure my girls and I were getting our earnings.

“So? Is he an idiot who caught feelings, or…?” I heard one of them ask me, her face too close for comfort.

Staring right back at her, I replied deadpan , “Oh, so you just called Ran Haitani an idiot?” Her face lost its color, I continued with a dry smile while I shut my locker, “I think you’re making fun of the owner of this very establishment—but tell me if I’m wrong! I mean, it’d be foolish to do so, you know… rumors sure go around fast…”

One of the girls called my name sternly, I looked at her and sighed; she was one of the eldest workers. “Why all defensive like that? She’s a rookie, cut her some slack.”

I mumbled an apology and walked out, too bored to tell any of them I knew just as much as they did about the event. After all, I didn’t ask for any information, money was money, and getting it just by giving attention to some loser criminals seemed fun. The rest of the girls soon followed. I watched them walk past me to get in the car that was waiting for them out front, but couldn’t see Ran anywhere—that was until I felt someone tugging my bag. I immediately hit the person, but they stopped me and I watched as Ran smiled lazily at me, “Pickpocketer much? It's a bit lame to add this to your personality, but I can deal with it, I guess.”

Snatching my bag back from his hands, I laughed, “I’m not about to get conned just cause you want fun at your boring party, gimme your card back and we’re square.”

His hand flew to my jaw, gripping it tightly, “Remember you’re just a whore.” He spat, his fingers digging into my cheeks painfully. “So stop running your damn mouth just cause you got my attention for one fuck, got it?” He then pushed my face away roughly and shoved his wallet in his pocket, pulling me with him. I tried to free my arm from his hold but he was not letting go—I was the first one to stop fighting as I let him guide me to his car. Once there, I was about to sit in the back when he forced me to walk towards the front of the car, “You’re not cooperating, it’s starting to tick me off.” He said in annoyance as we both got in the car.

“Yeah, I tend to not really care about people who call me a whore when it’s not on my own terms, you know?” I did not mind being called as such if it was dirty talking, of course not, it was almost a daily thing at this point. But being disrespected? Being addressed with disdain, almost disgusted by the taste of those very words on one’s tongue? That hurt. I was not going to cry about it or make the biggest fuss; if I did, I wouldn’t get far in this line of work… but I wanted to make his life more difficult, even just for tonight. I’m pretty sure it was foolishness on my part, but I couldn’t help but feel special to have been the one he fucked.

Stop that, you’re the one in control. You have the sex magic, not him. You are hot, you are worth it, you are more than a whore—

“You’re getting on my nerves. Fucking you wasn’t worth it if you’re already pissing me off.” 

I looked at him with wide eyes and let out a laugh. I guess I was getting worked up for nothing, he wasn’t really worth it. Sure, he was a rich man, but he was still the owner of a brothel and I didn’t know what that said about his status in Bonten. If anything, it meant he couldn’t be given the position of a big firm or something like that. 

Huffing a laugh, I nodded, “Yeah, I gathered. I think you’ll need more than one fuck to calm down, seeing how tense you are.” Fake drawing a cross on my chest, I smiled at him, “I’ll stop talking about your girl just ‘cause you look miserable as fuck.” That made him click his tongue, but none of us talked more for the rest of the way to the address on the paper. Ran kept his eyes on the road, sometimes gripping the steering wheel harder here and there when he’d glance at his phone. I assumed he’d received some texts that didn’t help with his frustration, but I had no business taking his phone from him so I just looked back at mine and scrolled aimlessly to not fall asleep.

“We’re here.” I heard him speak softly. The softness was not meant for me in any way; if anything, it was how he would usually address anyone in the street, had his inclinations not been ones of murder and crime. Thanking him for the ride, I took my bag and got out of the car, ready to get rid of him until I was forced to wait in front of the locked door of the building. I heard him laugh in the back as he walked purposely slower, giving me a very satisfied glance as he stepped next to me and reached for the card reader.

I held back from clicking my tongue and sneaked inside once the click of the door was heard. The inside of the building was a lot less breathtaking than expected, it was almost disappointing. Here I thought having money meant having good taste, but I was proven wrong when I followed Ran up a few flights of stairs and was told to get inside the apartment on that floor. Being greeted by the loud music blasting, along with men talking loudly trying to impress my fellow dancers was like plunging into cold water: it shook me awake. “So this is the event …” I whispered, leaning towards Ran with a smirk.

He did not reply and walked ahead, pouring himself a drink before sitting on the couch next to his brother’s, gesturing for the two pairs sitting there to get out of his way. Now that’s a man that thinks too highly of himself , I thought to myself.

With a deep breath, I placed my things on the kitchen counter and put on the attitude that came with the profession: a pretty smile, pulled-back shoulders, and a chin not too high that they’d be intimidated by it, but still be aroused by the confidence it came with. It was all gauged, it was all an act, it was all catered for them.

But tonight, it was not for all of them .

Tonight, I wanted to have fun too, tonight I wanted to fuck around.

Tonight, I wanted to see if I could pull both the Haitani brothers. Making one of them mad in the process was just a bonus, I thought as I sauntered towards the brother with the longer hair, “This is your party, right?”

He nodded and took a gulp of his drink, his eyes focused on mine for a second before slowly traveling down to my breasts, “And you’re the entertainment my lazy brother brought?” He fake coughed and grabbed my wrist, bringing me to his lap, “I mean, bought . Cause you’re ours for tonight, yeah? That’s how it works?” He asked, taking another sip as he leaned back, and spread his legs a bit wider while his free hand rested on my hips. Lifting his chin with the tip of my finger, I made him meet my gaze and smiled while I grabbed his hand and placed it on the hem of my skirt, “I’m everyone’s for tonight…” I trailed off and leaned over, whispering into his ear while meeting Ran’s intense look, “Unless you want exclusivity.” I smirked, letting my hand trail from his chin to the side of his face as I turned his head to the side and licked his cheek before kissing it.

When I rolled my hips against his, I almost immediately found myself on the floor when he stood up suddenly. I couldn’t help but hear Ran’s chuckle to the side, but did not dare look at him. My plan was going to shit if his brother was rejecting me. ”Shit, sorry. Damn, you caught me off guard!” He looked down at his pants, a growing bulge barely noticeable was right there. The man sat back down in an instant and grabbed my arm as he pulled me to my feet and brought me back to his lap. When my knees were on either side of his thighs, I placed my hands back on his shoulders, “Are you flustered or something? It looks like one of Bonten’s executives is a virgin—never expected that, to be honest.”

The sudden grip of his hands on my hips made me let out a silent gasp as I met his hooded eyes, “Nah, just thought he had brought in strippers, not whores.” With force, he pulled me right against his hard-on and chuckled, such a charming chuckle I would have let it get to me if we weren’t in this professional setting, “This changes everything .” As he said that, I heard Ran call for any free girl to come to him. I held back a laugh and placed both my hands on the sides of Rindou’s throat, moving them to hold his head still as my thumb brushed the side of his face. “Unless you want a stripper, I can give you a show.”

“Shit, Rin, you threw the girl on the damn floor and she still wants to fuck you?” One of the men in the room said. I had nothing to say to this, it was not my place to; even if I could talk back, it would be pointless considering I would not expose my little plan of messing with the brothers—or brother . “Chicks dig me, old man.” He called out, laughing loudly while the old man in question mumbled something. One of the other men next to him, a white-haired one, patted his shoulder jokingly, telling him, “You’ll get yourself a woman, Takeomi, just—”

The man on whose lap I was sitting grabbed my jaw and forced me to turn my head to him, “Hey, aren’t you supposed to only look at me or something? Exclusivity and whatnot.” Those very words had me scoff a genuine laugh as I threw my head back to subtly glance at Ran—even with one of my colleagues on his lap, he had his chin on her shoulder and his eyes riveted on me.

I smirked at him.

Then looked back at his brother.

“Oh definitely, ‘til drunkenness does us apart.” I said jokingly, a breathy chuckle escaping my lips right as he kissed my throat hungrily. He was not too bad of a catch for some lazy make-out session; after all, this passion he had on my exposed skin could only increase if we were both naked in a bed, aroused as fuck from whatever drugs he could get his hands on—“You’re so right, get me another drink. I wanna get wasted tonight—Ran, want anything?” He called out for his brother, the latter bored out of his mind and leaning back on the couch with Junnin running her hands through his hair.

I knew from my friend’s actions that Ran’s passiveness was annoying her, but she was paid to look pretty and nothing else so she couldn’t really complain. “I need you,” He looked back at Junnin, “Off my lap, you’re not doing shit.” So he pushed her to his side; the woman scurried to her feet in outrage and clicked her tongue as she walked to Takeomi, throwing Ran a dirty look.

“Damn Ran-boy, still mad over Hanma’s girl? I’ll lend you my girl if the one you had wasn’t to your taste, I mean,” He looked at me with a sultry look before pecking my lips at first, then slipping his tongue inside my mouth. I played along and kissed him with fervor, moaning in the kiss before being stopped in my endeavor as the man gripped my jaw forcefully again, “I can still use you throughout the night.” He stated, his hands now right under my dress as he gripped my ass tight, “Why not give you away just a little bit .” He smiled.

“ Just enough to make you want to come back. ” He whispered, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. A short laugh escaped his lips before he helped me off his lap and slapped my ass as he told me to go get him and his brother a drink. I met one of my colleagues' gaze and rolled my eyes, making her chuckle right as she brought her attention back to the man by her side. 

There were a few different kinds of alcohol on the table, and I knew too little about the people in this room. I glanced at Rindou to see what he had in his glass, but the man was already talking with one of his friends. The original glass he had in his hand was placed empty on the table while he had a new one in hand. It was probably the drink of one of the men in front of him that he had taken, but what surprised me the most was how he laughed loudly with him before downing it in one go.

Just from that, I thought it smarter if I wanted to fuck with Ran, to give his brother a strong drink. If he was planning on chugging them all down, I could have him passed out drunk and free myself enough to find time with Ran.

As I poured him a drink, my eyes darted to the bag on the table that had some pills.

For a split second, I considered it.

I truly did. I could so easily reach for it.

And I did.

I could so easily bring it to my lips and on my tongue. Then take a sip of that drink while standing up, letting it drop inside.

And I did.

My eyes widened when it didn’t instantly disintegrate inside. I acted casual and walked to the kitchen to take a spoon before looking inside the fridge to play the part. It could look like I was making a cocktail that way, shit , my hands were shaking . Why was I even going this far for this stupid bet I gave myself?

Without answering my own question, I brought the drink in front of me and crushed the pill inside the glass, stirring it well. The spoon was left in the fridge as I closed it and made sure to put an orange slice on the side of the glass. It looked alright. It’s not like he’d care much about it , I thought while glancing at him and noticing the third glass by his side.

Clearly, the man was not wasting any time.

On my way back to Rindou, I heard a new voice say out loud, “Is this man for fucking real?”

Many phones rang, all had a different sound, and some just vibrated, but there was one thing tying them—all the executives had received a message at the same time. Handing the younger brother his drink, I smiled as he took it without even looking at me; his eyes were locked on the screen. All of us who were not informed were just confused. That was until Takeomi turned his phone to the girl next to him, the white-haired man did the same with a woman by his side I did not recognize. I walked out of the living room and around the couches to stand behind Ran as I looked over his shoulder.

A video was playing. I had missed the very beginning and it wasn’t that long, but it looked like an amateur porn actress was crying. Whether in pleasure or pain, I did not know, but the man filming it while thrusting erratically spoke, “ What would you do for me? Hm? ” He had asked, panting. I could hear the smile behind the screen, the craziness dripping from those words. But the man filming was not the worst part. It was seeing this broken woman, half-dazed and naked on the bed say, “ Anything—ask and I’ll do it. ” 

There was no hesitancy in her tone, she seemed dead and yet so alive, but only for him. Just for him. How to seem empty and yet so fucking dependant, all of this in her eyes behind the camera, to look at him. The man spoke again but I was too focused on how she kept crying and smiling at the same time, how fucked up was this? Was this a consensual video? Shouldn’t this be sent to the police?

“ So you would kill for me .” I heard the man ask, almost like he was amused, but he didn’t seem to be fucking around one bit.

When the woman in the video stared at the camera and smiled, replying, “ Yeah, anyone .” Ran locked his phone and stood up, making his way to the balcony in a few fast steps. I did not think much of it at first; instead, I stayed right there and waited to see if this was a joke or if I could get any information on what had just happened.

The white-haired man shook his head and looked at the woman by him and a pink-haired man’s side, “Shiho,” So that’s her name , I thought, “This shit’s gonna break her.”

Shiho stood up and looked like she was about to throw a fit when the man behind her grabbed her wrist and pulled her back on the couch. She immediately looked at him, breathing out, “Sanzu…” Almost ready to cry, he wiped the tears that had formed in her eyes; the scene was heartwarming, close to intimate… if he hadn’t then slowly pried her mouth open to put a little piece of a broken up tablet in it. “Who cares, she’ll do fine. He ain’t gonna kill her, you get to keep your girlfriend, she’s not just gonna outrun any of us.”

The woman called Shiho whimpered just as the white-haired man reached Sanzu to push him away with force and help the woman stand up, “You think that’s helping?! Fucking shit, I’ll bring her back in a bit.” He said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her away from the living room.

“Yo, Koko, you’re gonna fuck Sanzu’s girl?” I heard Rindou call out from his spot on the couch with two women by his side. Takeomi gave him a look and was about to whisper something to him when Rindou covered his mouth for a few seconds before bursting out laughing, “Shit, my bad, you got the puppy man, yeah my bad.” And another laugh. Obnoxious. Loud. Drunk. It made everyone laugh with him, perhaps some out of fear because he was after all an executive of one of the biggest criminal organizations, or perhaps they genuinely found him funny. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter much.

Koko and Shiho disappeared in one of the rooms, there was little I could get from them at this point but the rest of the men in the room started talking. I made my way to the kitchen for a drink and listened in.

“I mean, even I wouldn’t go as far—my girl’s all in every time, and she’s clean, like…” Sanzu was interrupted when Takeomi spoke in surprise, “Yeah, there was blood on her face, right?! Do you think he hit her? That’d be disgusting even for him.”

“I don’t know, man, he’s the most fucked up of us all. I’m keeping an eye on him cause I just know he’ll go rogue one day, he’s so fucking like—free minded, free in his head—free… free spirited! Yeah, that. I mean, he’s cuckoo is what it is.” Sanzu said before licking his finger and dipping it on the tray in front of him, bringing it now coated in white over his gums.

Rindou, clearly drunk, still spoke, “Didn’t we get a picture before that? Wait, let me…” Pulling out his phone and almost dropping it, the man with light purple hair scrolled a bit in the conversation where people seemed to have talked a lot after that video and found it. He turned his phone and showed the picture to everyone, many gasped so I walked to the living-room not joining in on the conversation then continued on to the balcony.

The girl from the video was in that picture. Bloodied, crying, empty. She had seemed more lively in the video than in that very photo which clearly depicted her broken state. I felt uneasy just thinking about it. I did not know the woman myself, so I could only imagine how close some of them must have been with her, especially that Shiho, for this to get such a reaction. 

“What do you want?” Ran’s annoyed voice greeted me.

A cigarette in hand, both his elbows resting on the handrail, he did not even look at me as my steps echoed on the wooden floor. I hated how loud my heels were in the quiet of the night so I took them off and left them by the door. “You reacted strongly to whatever that was.”

“It’s none of your business.” He stated.

He was right. But I was curious, and he seemed like he could use someone to talk to. Someone unfazed by whatever was happening out there, by whatever their opinion on the situation was. “Fair.” I stated.

Then I joined him and sat at the seat by his side. Legs crossed and mouth shut, I was utterly silent. We could hear the pounding of the music inside, the loud muffled talking alongside the sudden glass shattering on the ground, but nothing was being exchanged between us. And oh was I aware that it would tick him off, he looked like the type to hate awkward silences. Not even a minute passed before he suddenly turned around and glared at me, “What do you want?”

With fake surprise, I placed a hand on my chest and looked at him confused, “Me? Nothing. I’m just out here… taking in some fresh air… it’s a cool night.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” He spat.

I chuckled and nodded, “I understood that the first time, don’t worry.” Then a new silence settled. It was hard not to smile in satisfaction because I knew he was so close to snapping, either in anger or just simply caving in and starting a conversation on the topic. To incite him a little, I looked at the sky and sighed, “It’s a shame we can’t see the stars.”

“Stop talking, whatever you’re doing is not gonna work so get back inside.”

A laugh escaped my lips, “Hey, they’re a bit loud in there,” I pointed at the window where we could see Rindou was trying to climb over the couch to reach his DJ set, “And their hands are pretty busy too, so let me take a break in peace.” I told him as I rested my head on the back of the seat, my eyes now closed. Once more, I held back a smile when I heard the rustling of the man in front of me moving to sit on the seat opposite mine. The flicker of his lighter was heard, then the puffing followed by the creak of the wooden seat as he leaned back, “I can’t help her. That video, it’s…” He breathed out, smoke leaving his pretty lips as I now stared at him. So that was the same woman he was down bad for?

He was looking out at the buildings. I did not force him to meet my eyes and simply hummed, “No offense, but she doesn’t look like she wants any help. So don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Why the fuck would she go for him?” He hissed, this time turning around to face me as he crushed the cigarette with his foot once he had dropped it on the floor. I cut him off before he could speak, “What? Are you gonna tell me some shit like ‘ girls always pick the bad guys and good guys finish last ’?”

He was stunned and angered now.

“None of you are good. Not a single one of you. So it’s clearly not that.” With a shrug, I got more comfortable in my seat and nodded at him, “I don’t know shit about your story, but from what I saw, that woman isn’t right in the head.”

That made Ran click his tongue against his teeth but he didn’t say anything in response, at least not right away. Looking around, I saw the open bottle of champagne on the table and reached out for it before taking a large sip that I gulped down without any hesitation, “Odds are, his dick game is just that good.”

“He didn’t fuck her until tonight and she disrespected me a long time before that fucking shit.”

Right away, I spoke up, “So that’s the issue, your ego was hurt.” With a pout, I took another sip from the bottle before it was snatched from my hands, spilling some all over my dress. “Are you for real?” I gasped, standing up to let it drip to the floor. Only seconds after, I was forcefully pulled onto Ran’s lap as he rolled up the hem of my dress to grab my ass with just as much strength. “Need I remind you of your place? You just gotta look pretty; not bratty, not smart, not insolent. Pretty .”

I felt his hands between my legs first, then I heard the unzipping of his pants, and shit did that get me excited. With another mocking pout, I leaned over and tilted his head up to meet his gaze, “Is that supposed to put me in my place? If anything, it’s turning on so fucking bad I don’t think anything you’ll give me right now will feel like a punishment.” I laughed right as my lips ghosted over his. He smiled at me, no warmth following that smile but I couldn’t care less because he was focused on me at this very moment. He wasn’t thinking of her because I had riled him up enough to have him take action.

“You’re not right in the head either, are you?” He breathed out.

Smirking back, I huffed a laugh, “Correct. But I’m not nearly as bad as your crush.”

His sudden grip on my throat had me let out a strained sigh, “You’re bad enough to wanna fuck a criminal.” He scoffed, “But are we really criminals or are we just… determined?” His lips brushed over mine, gently pulling at my lower lip with his teeth as his smile widened, “We know what we want— I know what I want, and I know exactly what I have to do to get it.”

My laugh died in my throat; when I tried to speak, it sounded so bad but I pushed through, not daring to comment on how he did not actually get the girl he wanted. “So do I—right now, I wanna fuck a criminal .” The word was said like it meant nothing, like it was the wrong one to use, so I added again with a growing smirk, “ A desperate man .”

His hand trailed up from my throat to under my chin before holding tight onto my jaw, an action he had done many times already but that had the same effect on me each and every time. “What’s so thrilling about it?” He asked, his nose brushing against mine as his lips did the same all while he awaited my answer.

Grinning, I moved quickly enough to peck his lips—he pulled back rapidly and I laughed, “It’s a power trip, at least for me.” My hands moved to his pants while I leaned against him. His head fell to rest on the back of the couch but his eyes never left mine, a smugness adorning them. Pulling his cock out, I hummed and ran my tongue over the side of his neck, “You’re like a challenge, so stoic, so angry—I wanna make you beg me to fuck you, I wanna see how needy you can get.” I gasped audibly, swearing under my breath when he shoved my panties aside and I felt his fingers inside me. This distraction did not stop me from whispering right next to his ear, “It’d be such a pretty sight to see you whining under me.” 

The actions that accompanied my shit-talking annoyed him as much as it got him hard. That painfully slow stroking, the way my thumb kept grazing his tip—it made him hiss through his teeth, “Keep talking like that and you’ll regret it.”

“What? Does it irk you that I wanna make you bottom so fucking hard you’ll be a mess under me?” I smiled sweetly. His fingers slowed their thrusts inside me before Ran pulled them out and placed both his hands on the armrests of the seat, not saying anything while he spread his legs wider, letting me do as I pleased. “Already doing so good for me, such a good boy, Ran.” I cooed, letting go of his dick to slowly loosen his tie off. He was faster than me and moved it from his neck to mine, tightening it as he pulled me closer. Still silent.

I giggled nervously, hiding how it caught me off-guard and continued unbuttoning his shirt. “I fear you’re only silent ‘cause you’re trying to imagine her instead of enjoying what I’m–” In the blink of an eye, my knees hit the wooden floor hard and my face was pulled up by the pressure around my neck as Ran gripped the tie towards him. Towards his erected cock. Without saying anything, his long fingers gently grazed my lips before roughly forcing my mouth open by pressing on either side of my cheeks. “There we fucking go, so much better.” He groaned while shoving himself in my mouth. I tried to hold onto his knees for more support, but he grabbed the bottle of champagne and pressed it against my knuckles, “Hands off.” He twisted it enough to hurt me, forcing me to let go.

“Now do what you do best and use your mouth.” He pulled at the homemade leash to get my mouth further onto his cock, making me gag on it. I looked up at him and didn’t do anything, trying his patience. This did not last long since his hand found the back of my head and forced his dick down my throat, grunting loudly in pleasure. “There we fucking go, yep, right there.” Without even looking at me, he started thrusting in and out, only seeking his own pleasure, and oh, I enjoyed it so fucking much. That selfishness, that roughness, it got me wanting him even more.

His hold on the back of my head had me moaning with my mouth wide open around his cock, his thrusts never stopping—if anything, they increased at the depraved sounds that he ripped from my throat. “See how I got you on your knees, with my cock down your fucking throat in less than a minute?”

I didn’t reply, his thrusts got rougher.

“See how easy it was for me?” He laughed shakily, probably feeling how close he was to release. To that end, I ran my tongue along his dick, looking up at him with daringness. 

His action stuttered before resuming its pace, “I don’t whine. I don’t plead. I get what I want, and you are clearly more than willing to take all I have to give.” With the few more thrusts that followed, the man was quick to finish and empty himself down my throat before pulling out and zipping his pants back up. I swallowed everything but my pride, for it was intact. I had all I wanted from him so there was no loss for me in this. Quite the opposite, I was even more excited to play with him.

Standing up, I leaned over his face before whispering to his ear, “ I could show you how willing I am, just ask .” Then I wiped my mouth on his vest before quickly stepping back and sitting on the seat in front of him. Before he could complain about my little act, I spoke up once more, “All shit aside, you sound like an asshole but also like you gotta talk about it, so if you wanna talk…” I trailed off. He didn’t respond, so I added, “I’m all ears. I’m not great at giving advice, but I’m pretty good at talking shit about people, so.”

Ran scoffed and got comfortable in his seat, his tie discarded to the side as he brought a glass to his lips, “You’re fucking insistent.”

“And you look like a sad, pathetic man who has no one, now that this is out of the way we can be the greatest friends, right?” I said mockingly, although half of it was true. The best way to a fool’s heart was through deception. 

Another scoff, but this time his eyes somehow softened when settling on me before darting to the action inside, “Ain’t in the mood to party, that’s all.”

“Yeah? Why? Aren't my girls pretty enough?”

This time he chuckled and looked at me, “Do you ever stop? Everytime you open your mouth it annoys me, like,” he brought his hands to his head gesturing an explosion, “never met someone so fucking annoying.”

“Blah, blah, let’s cut to the deep stuff. How did you get into this life?” And for some reason, it did spark a conversation. Sure, at first he asked me how I ended up in this lifestyle too, but surprisingly, he was kind enough to tell me bits of his past too. I’ll admit, I thought he’d simply shut me off, but as the night went on and the sun slowly began to rise while dew set all around us, he seemed softer. Almost open, vulnerable. I made sure to share enough of myself to make him comfortable, but was much more interested in him than I was into spilling my own life trauma.

At some point, we had both started dozing off and after it felt like minutes only, some loud noises resonated inside. I was startled awake and stood up suddenly, Ran only opening his eyes lazily as he looked to the side and groaned upon seeing who was at the door. He immediately stood up as well and grabbed my arm to force me to lean on the railings with him, “Here come Tweedle-sick and Tweedle-bitch.” He mumbled, his hand diving inside his vest pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. I held back from laughing and from telling him how kind he was to hand me one, and simply took it with a small thanks.

He helped me light it up before lighting his own. I asked, “Are they the ones ? You know, the chosen ones . The honorable recipients of your wrath.”

“Yeah.”

We both looked over our shoulders to glance at them, but only Ran was lucky enough to meet the woman’s gaze. It made him sigh before looking back ahead, “You know, he calls her ‘doll’, which is lame as it is,” He started, I mumbled something along the lines of it being rather hot but he ignored me, “but that’s a puppet, not one thought is hers. Empty and dull, that’s what she fucking is.”

“It almost sounds like you’re mad at her for–”

“For being an idiot. For being weak, yeah. I knew she wasn’t cut for this shit, and she’s just proving my point.” He spat.

I pouted mockingly and crushed the bud out on the railing, “Feels more like you’re ashamed you liked her for a sec.” I sighed loudly, dramatically, and quickly said, “I’m going back inside, it looks like they’re having fun in there. You coming?” I looked back inside, “Your girl’s gone, so.” Then I shrugged and went inside. I knew Ran was following me by the pissed off groan that left his mouth. Once we stepped inside, everything was loud—or rather, he was loud.

“I told ya I’d make good use of her! She’s like a mini-me—” The man with glasses was talking, but got interrupted by Sanzu who got up and walked up to him, angered, “We don’t need another fucked up asshole in our ranks, d’you get that?!” He gripped the taller one by the collar and pulled him close to his face, almost butting foreheads together. He reached towards the couch for something only to have Takeomi stand up and grab it, putting it out of his reach— a sword .

Sanzu continued, “No one trusts you here, Hanma.”

Everyone went silent.

“It’s fucking trust by proxy, ‘cause Mikey keeps you close for all the dirty work he gotta do.” He pushed him roughly, almost making me tumble trying to avoid him if I hadn’t been pulled aside by Ran. Thanking him under my breath, we prepared something for us to drink but my eyes barely left the two men arguing. Hanma, seemingly Ran’s old ‘competition’, grabbed Sanzu’s collar with both hands and threw him back before stepping closer to tower over him, “It’s not very nice to do that, but I’ll let it slide. Now, do it again and I won’t be as kind, this time I won’t just shove you like we’re kids.” He dropped his tone, taunting Sanzu to do it again, itching for a fight.

With a dry laugh, Sanzu stepped back, not even looking at Hanma. The mood was strange, rightfully so since the pink-haired one was quick to snatch his weapon from the man with slicked-back hair. In a blink, he was facing Hanma again, sword drawn while the tall one reacted just as fast, punching him hard, making him almost fall on the floor. Sanzu spat blood and raised his sword, ready to strike until Rindou stood up and placed himself between the two men, “Y’all already spilled blood on my rug, so either stop this shit or go fight outside.”

“I’d be more than happy to beat his shrimp ass to a pulp since he’s so confident.”

“No one asked you, sit back down and wait for your dog to come back. It’s really not that hard.” Ran called out from the kitchen.

The crazy laugh that escaped Hanma’s lips as he turned around to face Ran sent chills down my spine. I held my cup close to my face and didn’t move, completely ignoring Sanzu's girl that came in from the room behind him. “Are ya mad now cause you didn’t get to fuck her?”

Hanma rapidly moved to slam his hands on the kitchen island in front of us, then he leaned on his elbows and looked at Ran with a huge smile, “Missed the opportunity to get railed for free? How hard did you get from my pretty video?”

“No one got turned on by that shit. Unlike you, most of us are pretty stable—so, your girl balling her eyes out wasn’t really it .” I quickly said, aware of how my voice faltered for a second, but I stayed put and stared right back at him. Hanma’s smile fell and he was now looking at me with pure boredom, “Didn’t know Ran was a ventriloquist.” He said off-handedly. His voice rose slightly, “It has to be that, right? You wouldn’t be dumb enough to talk to me like that. Yeah?” The insanity in his voice made me talk back, or close to—Ran nudged me and replied to the crazy man in front of us, “Can you really judge her IQ? I mean, did you see your bitch? If she’s following you around she has to match your level, can’t fucking imagine how low it has to be.”

Hanma did not react at all.

He smiled slightly and brought a cigarette to his lips, lighting it all while staring at Ran.

As he puffed out smoke, he softly said, “I’m not the one getting attached to a whore now, am I? Come on blue blood, are you really in a position to fuck with me?” He asked rhetorically, now both hands on the counter as he pushed himself away from it lazily. He brought the cigarette to his lips again and huffed a laugh, “I worked hard to get what I want and you weren’t up to my level,” With a side glance at Ran’s angry expression, Hanma made sure to add, “It’s just sad to see you so hung up on my girl. What? Do I have to fuck her in front of you to make you understand she’s mine?”

Just as he said that, the door of the room in which the white-haired man and Hanma’s girl had gotten into slammed shut while they stepped out. Hanma’s head turned suddenly and he was even faster to walk up to her seething—I brought my cup to my lips and held back from laughing as I looked aside.

“Didn’t I tell you not to lay a hand on my girl?” Hanma thundered to Koko.

“ Your girl? That’s Mikey’s girl, I don’t think there’s much left for you in there. She’s a goddamn dog, tell her to shoot, she'll shoot!” He laughed in Hanma’s face, standing in front of him, almost daring him to strike. Koko then smiled, “Tell her to bark, she’ll bark I’m sure. Not much free thinking in her anymore, is there?” 

I had to turn around to hide my growing smile, this was exactly what Ran had told him and it felt good to hear others say it. I had no intentions to meddle in their affairs, but I was feeling happy for Ran to be in the right. Rindou groaned for some reason and I threw Ran a side glance, he seemed focused on the scene displayed in front of him so I did not say anything.

Of course, I had to turn around when I heard Rindou say “Are you saying she’s a bitch? She sure was howling last night!” He said enthusiastically, fake howling and making the older man next to him laugh in the most ugly way in the process. Exhausted, Ran told him to stop. The younger brother immediately calmed down and took off his stupid glasses, his face deadly serious now.

The worst had yet to come when Hanma’s girl spoke. I wanted to cover her face with a pillow to have her shut up when she said, “Who’s the bitch now? Daddy told you to shut your fucking mouth and you do it? God, you're embarrassing.” She was the one acting embarrassing in this situation. I made sure to nudge Ran for his attention as I whispered in my cup, “ This is the girl? The one you’re salty you didn’t get? ”

He let out a short laugh which warmed my chest with pride.

“What? I can’t talk back?” The crazy bitch stood up, facing Koko and Hanma, “Koko’s shit-talking me,” She dared to point at the man on the couch, “Rindou too—actually, while we’re all at it, go ahead! Might as well let them all disrespect me, right? Why not just–” Hanma was a fast man, he had forced her to sit down in seconds, he was then blocking the view but I could hear him say, “Shut your fucking mouth, you’re being a disgrace right now. This is serious shit, so stay put, yeah?” A short silence set.

Ran fully faced me and nodded towards the door, “Get your stuff, I’m dropping you at your place.”

In the back, we could hear Sanzu stirring some shit up as he exclaimed, 

“Doesn’t look like a lost cause, you can still train her I’m sure!” He mocked, making everyone else laugh but us. There was a weird tension in the room, I’d had my quota of idiocy for the time being so I nodded and stopped listening to everyone. I grabbed all my stuff from the counter and followed Ran outside, “If you hadn’t let her go back then, I’m sure she is fully out of your mind now, right?” I poked at him metaphorically.

The man shrugged and got inside the car, not opening the passenger door for me. Joining him, I added, “I’ll stop shitting on her, I’m sure I can give you something she could never.” I accidentally let out. Ran’s face lit up for a second in surprise, an emotion I had yet to see on him.

“You really think you’re the shit? Gotta do a lot better than hump my brother to get to me.” He scoffed dryly.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips as I fastened my seatbelt, “That’s a faux-pas, come on. At least be my regular, just for the sake of it.” I said teasingly.

He looked straight ahead and smirked slightly, “Let’s see how far you’re willing to take this chase, then.”

Chuckling, I was excited and grinned, “Game on.”

[kinemonsassbiter]

I still don't personally think that Yamato is trans man.

As mush as everyone loves that headcanon - it's still just a popular headcanon.

1. Vivre Card. It officially made with Oda's help. Why on earth he would misgender own trans character? And it's not like he's transphobic - Kiku's info has it stated that she has woman's heart, unlike Yamato's, who doesn't have a single word about her actually thinking she's a man.

"vivre card not canon" Why? No, really, why? Where did you even got that? Their whole point to give you canon info ab character that you may not knew or that isn't super important but still relevant - height, favourite food, some silly fact, etc. why they exist if they aren't canon? Just to shit on merch?

Such a strange idea to misgender one trans character but not misgender other, don't you think?

2. Yamato's literal words.

She is calling herself a man, because ODEN was a man. It's a very important thing here - she doesn't say she's s man because she has a heart of one like Kiku, she doesn't say she was born in other body or literally any other way to say she is a maj. No.

Oden was a man, so she is too.

If Oden was a rock she would call herself rock too.

She doesn't have any gender conscious about herself in any ways. It also the explanation on why she uses masculine pronouns.

3. Yamato's lack of reaction at being misgendered.

I don't really think you would be comfortable with getting your gender wrong - yet she doesn't cares! When Sanji calls her Yamato-chan and when Brook and Sanji are simping for her she doesn't react at all, when being called Oni Princess she's rather sad about being treated like Kaido's child than being misgendered, etc.

5. Oda's drawings.

"yes, i have a trans character, I'll draw him in oiran clothes and on color spread that is dedicated to One Piece women. And also call her daughter of Kaido when introducing him." Like damn. Don't deny the facts at least here - Oda himself doesn't treat her like a man in any way. Why would i care about calling Yamato a man when even author doesn't fucking think so and don't care??

And the bath scene.

Booba fanservice. That's all.

It all makes it up to me that either Oda will have to change the way he treats Yamato and make it more obvious that she's a female or start treating her like a male. Without any actual jokes. Please.

[bloodykora]

i still have no clue what to call this

uhh so i was possessed by brain rot and wrote more pretty woman x arcane au Part 1 This one is the reader actually meeting Silco, thought I should at least write somewhat of a proper intro to this There is one small instance where you are referred to as whore, but it's not by Silco, just some random dude. No use of y/n, pronouns or gendered names in this specific part but it is assumed that this is a female character. No smut topics in this but the premise is so. Hope you enjoy!

Note to self, offer help to random men people avoid on the streets sooner. Cause it will lead you places you’d never expect. Sitting in an office probably bigger than your own apartment that you share with 2 other people, with a man maybe twice your age. He had seemed to be struggling to carry a few boxes in the street, mumbling to himself about needing better workers. Which, now that you had at least held 2 boxes for over 5 minutes, agreed with. 

The way the crowd had parted for him though yet to you, his face was unrecognized. Just some random dude no one would look at. “Can I help you sir?” Some would say you naively asked when you approached him. He looked you up and down, surveying the promiscuous outfit you had chosen for the night. It’s a part of the job, so used to it that you couldn’t feel the weather changes or the wandering looks anymore.

“Not with what you have to offer, no.” It came out flatly, rudely. You smirk as your arms cross over your chest, leaning back to watch him stubbornly try to continue on again. But it seemed his luck that day had run out as he groaned quietly in annoyance. “You know, I am not one to assume things but.. I can imagine it would be maybe easier if someone would help you. But maybe that’s just me.” You verbally poke at him, turning away to look at the dark tones of the sky. You didn’t see it but if looks could kill, the one he gave you would have had you turned over. “If you are so, determined, to help me. Then take 2 of these and follow along.” “A few gold coins.” “Pardon?” “The first time it was free but you were mean so now you’ll have to pay me.” It wasn’t necessarily smug but it wasn’t polite either, another way to poke at the bear though. “Fine.” He snarled out and you got to work quickly. 

Now, here you were. Resting your feet, for a second, on the couch, in the huge office that belonged to Silco. “50 for an hour.” Your head turns to him, not quite sure if it was a question but still replying. “Yup. But it includes protection, a massage and a free therapy session all in one. So really it's a bargain.” You joke as you stand up and begin to walk over to him. His head leaned back in his chair, eyes closed in thought. You had noticed that about him, he thinks, a lot. Like he had a journal in his head that spanned across his life and he had noted everything down to the second. Everything except you. 

“Look, you can just say no and I will be on my merry way. No hurt feelings.” “How much for the night?” Your eyes widen in shock, eyebrows shot straight up. You’re wordless for a minute, a whole night. Not necessarily unheard of but not common. “You couldn’t afford it.” It was a lie, you knew he could. He basically fucking owned the Undercity, maybe it was a last resort. A final way to make him see that maybe he didn’t want you hanging around for a whole night, or maybe to find another girl for the night. “Try me.” You walk around the desk to the front of his chair, leaning in close to his face. “300.” You hold eye contact with him as you say it, trying to give the impression that you wouldn’t negotiate the price. “Done.” Before you could answer or even fully process there’s a knock at the door, immediately springing back up to attention. “Well, I might as well make myself useful.” You comment, walking up to it and opening it to a woman taller and buffer then you.

Holding it open for her and the few stragglers behind her, immediately shutting it but staying close to it. You could see out of the corner of your eye the way they all looked you up and down in judgement, yet it did not let you falter or cower. You space out a bit, thinking what the future of the night could be. Only hearing snippets of shipments and fees, bad workers. ‘What do we do for dinner? Maybe he’s eaten but I haven’t.’ Thoughts run through your head, as your hand goes up to your hair to twirl it. Finally, their discussion ends making their way back to you. A small smile on your face as you see them out the door. “Never thought Silco would be the one to order a whore.” The whispers hit your ears as the woman leaves last, looking back to you. You give a small wave as you shut the door, eyes rolling in annoyance at the comment. “Now that’s over, why don’t you have a seat and relax a bit. I will be busy with work for a while.”

[eboymoder]

i love how a shit ton of transfemmes love to act like transmasculine oppression is not only less important, but mostly nonexistent, to the point of it even being heretically offensive to discuss in a way that takes it as seriously as transmisogyny or even like. seriously AT ALL and not just something to joke about doing to transmascs when they happen to be both annoying and someone who goes by a common name, like aiden.

like i know you get all your facts and logic from a bunch of super retarded twitblr baeddels but i do in fact regret to inform you that out of most known social demographic categories, transmasculine people have THE highest rates of suicide and sexual assault, especially compared to cis men and cis women, but even sometimes when compared to transfems!

but yeah, tell me more about how “transandrophobia” is just some reddit MRA shit. keep talking about how transmisogyny is the worst kind of oppression that could possibly happen to anyone ever and how transmascs are just transitioning because they hate women and want to attain male privilege, something not only regular for us all to want but definitely possible to achieve through the cis validation we are soooo totally receiving from society.

if you believe that being a man or transitioning into masculinity is INHERENTLY EVIL or makes you get MORE PRIVILEGE AND NOT WAY LESS OF IT FROM LITERALLY ANYBODY INCLUDING OUR OWN SUPPOSED ALLIES then i am sorry to say but i think the thing that is poisoning your brain and making you stupid is not testosterone. it might be 4chan though, you might wanna get that checked out. being a woman does not make you inherently softer, more pure, more innocent, kinder, more deserving of love. none of those things. and in fact, acting like women can do no wrong by virtue of simply existing as their gender is often used to silence victims of abusive women, because feminism or something. absolutely shut the fuck up.

god you are all so stupid. why the fuck would a man with a pussy or boobs get MORE RESPECT instead of MORE KILLED AND HUMILIATED. WE BY VIRTUE OF BEING BORN ARE FAILDAUGHTERS WHO ARE CONSTANTLY REMINDED OF OUR INHERENT LACK OF THE MANY CENTRAL DEFININITIVE CHARACTERISTICS ASSOCIATED WITH MANLINESS. WHY WOULD WE BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY BY “REAL” MEN AND WOMEN, AS WE ARE SEEN TO BE NEITHER OF THOSE?

imagine let’s say, a trans man. scary, fucked up, i know right, but bear with me now, i have a point to make. so this guy is for all intents and purposes completely cis-passing. his voice is deep and melodic. he has full grown facial hair. his facial structure is like a chad wojak. he isnt getting bald from taking t yet. he’s skinny, but not to the point of looking twinky or like a femboy. he isn’t overly emotional in a womancoded way most of the time. he’s white. he’s got a good job that pays well enough to not be homeless or starving. so yeah, all of those things. except for one crucial difference: he does not wish to pursue bottom surgery. he enjoys having a vagina. he is also interested in having sexual relationships, exclusively with other men-identified people.

here’s where things get tricky. you know the trans panic murder legality exception? that still does apply to transmascs too, you know. we are also transgendereds. but yeah so this guy decides to hook up with a stranger off a dating app. things are going fine. he hasnt yet disclosed his birth sex, he had no pronouns in bio, he is assumed to be cis.

wow, you think, this guy is living the dream. he is so privileged for this.

sike, you fucking idiot. he is about to get hatecrimed and abused as soon as he does the pussy reveal. he will probably also get raped. the guy he wanted to have a fun time with actually hates women so much he thinks that sometimes they try to become men to trick true homosexuals. he fucking gets this guy. transmasc chad is now dead. when his funeral happens, his estranged parents retcon his legal name change from years prior to deadname and misgender him as a final slap in the face. where is this privilege then? huh? tell me, quickly now.

every single fucking hate crime that is possible to do to a transfeminine person is just as easily possible to do to a transmasculine person. absolutely fuck yourself if you disagree. because it can and does happen. not only that, but we experience unique things you never will be able to: getting pregnant, getting raped in ways that could make us pregnant, if we want to get pregnant we have to temporarily detransition in order to do so, period associated symptoms that involve painful bleeding and not just period-lite emotional swings like some people experience on estrogen. stuff like that is what we need our own words for, you just wouldnt get it.

you just live in a bubble full of shetheyits who love to be stupid online and expect the entire world to kiss their toes in response when they say things that are just completely and objectively wrong but frame themselves in a tactical light in order to shit on the most amount of people they can just to fucking feel something. why do you love re-creating or appropriating existing structures of oppression and drawing lines in the sand arbitrarily with people you should be experiencing sympathy for because we are more like you than we are not like you. society hates us all, dont you dare forget that.

[surejess--arc]

@forwardintros​

( margot robbie, cis woman, she/her ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that JESSICA “JESS” TURNER is a THIRTY-TWO year old STAND-UP COMEDIAN that’s been in Chicago for SIXTEEN YEARS. According to the file, they’re a mutant on LEVEL THREE with the power of CLOWN PHYSIOLOGY. That must be why they’re THEATRICAL and NONSENSICAL. If you ask me, they remind me of unearned laughter over a killing joke, a permanent stepford smile, mars opportunity’s last message. They are affiliated with BARNUM ODDITIES + HELLFIRE CLUB.

could i leave her behind ? ...too silly to leave behind !

QUICK FACTS

full name: jessica mary “jess” turner

name reasoning: ...jess tur.

date of birth: february 24th, 1990

zodiac big three: pisces sun, sagittarius moon, gemini rising

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual

ethnicity: white

nationality: american

languages spoken: english (5)

enneagram: 7w6

mbti: enfp

temperament: sanguine-melancholic moral alignment: chaotic neutral

ability: clown physiology

affiliation: barnum oddities & the hellfire club ( co-founder )

alias: n/a

BACKSTORY

triggers: being sold to carnies?, kidnapping, torture, a white guy complaining because he was fired from the cool torture factory 🙄

jessica was born in brooklyn to two non-mutant parents ( why are all of my muses’ parents non-mutants ). one eye had a pink iris, she was notably paler than other children ( but not to the point of ‘oh my god, is that krusty the clown?’ ) and her hair grew rather odd – naturally platinum blonde, bordering on white, with different colors and slightly redder lips. but her parents always just assumed that the babysitters were harmlessly fucking around with hair dye when they were out. come to think of it she probably just looked albino with a dash of makeup and hair dye ahfdouiladjns

her parents never expressed much of an opinion on the mutant situation, seeming to be impartial parties – very ‘well, as long as they aren’t hurting anyone, it’s fine.’ and that was true! they really didn’t care! they were totes chill! …so long as it applied to anyone but family.

that isn’t to say when jess first just… pulled a card out of thin air, they were like ‘oh my god, sin!’ – hell, they thought it was just a magic trick! but as things like that continued, and as she lost babysitters but kept that strange-ish look with the quite red lips… they were like ‘this is getting weird. she looks like an e-girl, only those don’t exist yet, so she looks like a clown™. i have an idea. let’s send her to boarding school so we don’t have to deal with maybe having a mutant daughter and having to help her with this weird stuff. ugh.’

but, lol, they just said it was a boarding school. they actually found a group of carnies that they… essentially sold her to. obviously she was quite taken aback and hurt at first, but the carnies proved to be very caring – more caring than her parents had ever found it in themselves to be. they taught her so many useful things! like conning, how to fake your death, acrobatics… really all over the board! who needs a typical schooling system when you can just have carnies?! they also took most of her ‘powers’ as talents, natural gifts. hell, they actually did have a few mutants traveling along with them! a wolf woman who just functioned as their bearded lady, a kid with lobster physiology under control enough to just make him look like he had lobster hands, an old man with unicorn physiology under control enough to just show the horn. and, because of the title of the attraction they sat in – ‘freak show’ – everyone just assumed all of the oddities were deformations. it was a safe place. and jess fit in well with her intuitive clown magic.

also i would be aghast to not mention the presence of cordelia yildiz, a genuine connection who she made the mistake of losing, but i wrote this intro over a year ago and i’m trying to make as few changes as possible bc i’m lazy afldskfs

but, as she grew, it became apparent that her differences stretched beyond physical and sleight of hand. yes, she was a natural at cards, juggling, balloon animals, and she was funny! even the things that were maybe .2% funny generated so much laughter and joy! which… they didn’t recognize as a problem…

until she was fourteen. something unexpected happened: one of her jokes – a bad one, a lame ‘chicken crossed the road’ spin – made patrons laugh so hard that they were breaking ribs, gasping for air, and being driven mad by the hilarity. three died, all the others were sent to the hospital. some never left the psych ward.

and something similar happened… and, for as much as the carnies dearly loved her, when she began showing signs that her simple power was actually quite dangerous, they decided that the best plan of action was to keep her at bay whilst they looked for someone or something who/that could teach her. but, before they had the chance to find someone, disgraced ex-ammo scientist william barnum had the chance to find her.

people came and went. with the circumstances, it was concerning... but trying to find someone who easily could’ve just run off wasn’t worth risking themselves for. a week later, the circus marched forth, none the wiser !

barnum & co. presented as respectable individuals. despite his method of kidnapping, it seemed almost pristine at first... then you get shoved inside and find that you’re essentially in a glorified warehouse, surrounded by scientists who did not meet kappa standards or were too impatient to so much as try. thus, think of it like this: kappa’s bear traps are new, shiny, sharp ; barnum’s bear traps are rusted, infested, blunt and in need of chopping.

then the experiments began. and how fascinating they found this ability! how innocent it seemed with its stupid card and balloon tricks, but how threatening it was with its bombs and killing jokes (reference intended). the last thing they expected was for little carnie clown girl to be a real threat! even with the nullifying extracted gene used between experiments, they absolutely gagged her up <3 just gave her a little notebook because they aren’t completely evil <3 over a decade of being able to talk for maybe 30mins a day (just to make sure she still can when need be) and people would WONDER why she has so much to say <3

that said, she likely seemed very quiet to her peers… which she was naturally rather not. it is In Her DNA™.

I ALSO JUST REALLY WANT TO ADD THAT SOME OF THE EXPERIMENTS WERE LIKE. TERRIBLE. BUT THERE’S ON THAT’S JUST REALLY FUNNY IN CONCEPT. LIKE ESSEX HOUSE SETTING UP A WHOLE SLAPSTICK STAGE AT ONE POINT. TO TEST PAIN SUPPRESSION. LITERAL CLOWNERY.

(that said, they were most interested in her brain, limbs/digits, tongue/teeth, and skin……… so do with that information what you will)

other experiments were performed, each worse than the last, and her will was all but broken.. she was barely able to speak, barely able communicate – what was the point in trying? in hoping?

but after a new sub-ability made itself known - miming - and they decided to have fun hacking away at limbs?? SHE WAS READY TO MAKE SOME PLANS AND SPREAD THEM AROUND. (escape can be plotted out ofc! just keeping this sentence from the intro bc im too lazy to change anything i dont absolutely need to!)

getting that gag off, she wasted absolutely no time in letting some of those brilliant scientists finally hear her brilliant jokes! literally laugh themselves to death!

for some months after the escape, she was a classic sad clown, having no CLUE what she was supposed to do. believe it or not, for a whole month, she was even struggling with speech! (i have like… a whole thing about why she talks so much outside of the general ‘she’s a clown’ in my head it’s actually quite sad clown pls do ask if u wld like to hear)… then she saw an ad for an open mic night and a lightbulb appeared over her head! suddenly having the ability to talk for more than fifteen minutes, a day she could be a stand-up comedian… because even when she wasn’t funny, apparently she was really fucking funny! that said, she just uses the pseudonym ‘jester’ to draw less attention to her actual identity in the event that the barnum folks are walkin around.

a few months after the escape, jess was lucky enough to meet january st. james in all her generosity. she has since made her way to becoming january’s right-hand man and even aided in founding the hellfire club!

TIMELINE

BORN – in ‘90 with clear differences, but not enough to warrant scare. (bro replacing “’69″ with “’90″ felt so weird)

AGE 13 – jess is discovered to definitely be a mutant; more or less sold to carnies

AGE 15 – one of jess’s jokes killed various audience members, drove others insane, and maimed even more. happened more than once.

AGE ~15.5 – jess is caught by barnum & co, the poor man’s kappa (which was completely purposeful, as william barnum was an embittered ex-ammo scientist)

AGE ~15.5-30 – jess is tortured by barnum & co. allowed to speak for maybe half an hour each day, if that. depends on them to provide paper/pen, but they can revoke as they please.

AGE 30 – a plan is concocted to escape with four other mutants

AGE 30 – jess is free and on the streets. january st. james helps her get back on her feet. finds a career as a comedian.

AGE 30+ – jess is still hellbent on revenge <3 but also helping establish the hellfire club like it’s all very contradictory.

HEADCANONS

y’all know that i’ve come up with a lot so i’ll just include the two that i put in the original intro. maybe i’ll come back one day and add them all but today is not that day!

 her version of reality can now be showcased by lily allen’s ‘ldn’ mv… only violence is still an option <3

also a lil note for her physiology since margot’s played harley quinn in three different movies and, each time, she’s looked a little different: facial features like suicide squad (2016), always has those lil bedazzled eyebrows she wears in birds of prey, color scheme of the suicide squad (2021) ! ( that said, probs won’t be using many ss gifs because there was like… one pack still available ahdlsaifjsk so just <3 imagine <3 ) the one thing i would add that’s in none of the gifs is one iris being a shade of light pink and the other being the regular blue.

OH BUT ALSO A VERY IMPORTANT IMAGE: jess at barnum

CONNECTION IDEAS

barnum & co oddities ! the blurb will be submitted to the channel momentarily ( tl for kappa/hellfire didn’t add up, so original it is! ), but basically the four other folks she escaped the poor man’s kappa with.

kappa runaways ! okay i’m just interested in the idea of william barnum & co having been like ‘fuck kappa... fuck those bitches... they’re so stupid...’ so like. jess is aware of kappa’s existence -- would love for her to meet/have met some of the runaways and learned about how kappa was actually the chanel to barnum’s walmart

hellfire folks ! she does not even begin to look like she fits in in there and lbr she doesn’t ! could make it funny !

regulars at her performances ! yea

violence is the answer ! yea

peer pressure ! yea

see i just don’t feel like typing all of those out again ! but she has been established enough... for tha vibe !

brainstorming. obvs.

[rjalker]

anyways shout out to me years before same-sex marriage was legalized in the US for casually telling my English teacher I might marry a woman when I grew up since I was equally attracted to men and women, so, no, I could not just use "he" in the essay she tasked us to write about our ideal future husband or wife, since I didn't know if I would marry a man or a woman.

I used they/them pronouns in my essay, to leave open the possibility of my future spouse being a man or a woman. At the time I had literally no idea that nonbinary people were even a possibility.

Zero and zero are the same number, and, being equally unattracted, and thus, equally attracted to both men and women, I wanted to leave open the possibility of marrying either.

When I explained my reasoning, the teacher's expression went from "why are you writing like this" confusion, to shock, then horror, then disgust, and finally rage.

Finally she told me that it didn't matter, and "he" was the gender neutral pronoun, so I should be using that no matter what.

I of course immediately retorted that that was the stupidest most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard, and blatantly sexist, and, no, I would not be changing the wording of my essay just because she was mad about me using gender neutral pronouns for my hypothetical spouse, and she got even angrier.

I can't remember what grade she ended up giving me on the essay, but it definitely was not a passing one.

As you can fucking tell, I had no qualms whatsoever as a kid of arguing with my teachers when they were being assholes. This is also why my shitty animal care and management teacher hated my guts when she started making fun of and punishing my friend and I for being too fucking poor to buy cereal in boxes. (no, I'm not joking)

Anyways, get fucked, Mrs. SC.