#poly!yandere

Secundus was charming and second-born, certainly, a perfect example of a golden child. Second born, he had much to prove, especially as more and more brothers were born. Being born earlier also means the privilege of more parental time and attention in the early years. He's a showpony, boisterous and bright, thoughwith a neediness and fragile ego that rarely shines through. A master fencer and horse rider, he had immediately offered you a choice ride on any of his prized mares, a breed brought over from deserts far away. His wealth and charm had one over your father, bringing him to the top.

Octavian, eight born, was remarkable in a way much like his brother but drivenn by different motivations. When you are younger in a line of homicidal maniacs, you learn to hold your own. The youngest are most at risk, what chance does a baby stand against a vengeful teen? He's smart, frighteningly so. He couldn't defeat his much older and stronger brothers with strength, so he turned to intellect. Trained animals, underground rings of assasins, and a deep interest in all plants posionous and harmful were all trademarks of his kills, less based on brute force and swordplay. Being a middle child, he had a lot of time to himself, especially amongst his twelve brothers. Early on, he decided not to yearn for the affection of his father, to impress and showboat like his elders. No, the king couldn't possibly last long anyways, he would prove himself in the end. He impressed your father with knowledge of your lands. His brother had only managed to answer the first three questions before getting bored threatening the man who handed out the test.

Both brothers, the most evenly tied pair of any in there line, now sit at two ends of a far table, both choosing the take the head of the table seat. Between them, you, nervously fidgeting with the silks of your gowns as you wait for the first course of the evening to be served. The chef, one you've known since childhood, enters.

"Thank you, Luke-Pierre." You smile politely quick to begin eating the crustacean as to take your mind off the tense nature of the evening. The chef smiles, nodding his head in respect. "Of course, my lady. It's lobster, braised in butter and herbs, oregano and a little lemon. Asparagus will come later."

"Exquisite cuisine," Octavian compliments, taking a sip of wine as he savors the food. "One thing I envy your kingdom for my dear, is the seafood. I wish I had spent more time along the coast as a boy, alas, I burn somethign terrible."

"You'dve drowned in the waves of our homelands coast." Secundus snickers, inspecting the fine food with his fork. "With your weak little arms, might've done us all a favor, saved me the trouble." He sends a wink way. "But I agree, fine food. What was your name, chef?" He beckons over Luke-Pierre with a smile.

"Ah, its Luke-Pierre, majesty. It's a high compliment, I hear the food in your land is filled with many wonderful and foreign ingredients!" The man stammers, half honroed and half terrified. Secunudus just tilts his head slightly. "I have to ask though, you seem to have left out an ingredient when you told our lovely hostess about the recipe." You feel the table jolt before you can even process, and gasp as Secundus grabs the servant by his collar, the dining fork now held to his jugular by the golden haired royal. "Yes, seems you left out the ever so subtle hint of posion, a compliment to the butter?" He threatningly presses the metal to the chefs skin, relishing in his squirming. "Tell me, what was the flavor benefit of that?"

"He wouldn't, he's been our chef for years!" You exclaim in horror, both hands out. "And I- I won't have you harming him, please! This is supposed to be a lovely dinner. I know the traditions of your people, but I am begging you to keep it far from me." Your face is pale and eyes pleading. "I beg of you."

The room goes silent, and Secundus looks at the chef, then you, his gaze softening. With a sigh, he drops the chef, waving him off and shoving the tray of food towards him. "Very well, it isn't as if I'm fighting a lowly chef for the throne. And you're right," he puts his hands up in mock surrender. "This evening is supposed to be about you, my lovely lady. I apologize for my outburst, I shouldn't have been so brash. Besides," He takes a sip of the large ale mug before him, a drink more hearty than his brothers. "I doubt he acted alone."

Across the table you glimpse Octavian grinning into his wine glass. "What was it you said earlier? Something about 'taking me out of the way, saving yourself the trouble?' A simple return of the compliment, brother." Octavian jests. Secundus huffs simply huffs. "it's stupid, a simple posioning that smells obvious is below you. And now I have to wait another twenty minutes to eat."

"You'll live." Octavian says, before pausing. "Or preferably, maybe you won't." Secundus sneers are him rasther chilishly. It's unverving, they speak of it like children arguing over dessert or a toy, as if it's normal, casual. Not spilling the blood of family. It makes your stomach churn.

"I want you to know," The black haired prince turns to you, raising his goblet towards you, "I agree completely. My brother, he's brutish, uncouth. He kills for sport, not for duty or a place in line like some of us have to. I agree that it should be kept far, far from an innocent like yourself. As long as I'm here, I'll never hold your servants at fork-point." He coos. "Ah, t-thank you. That... means very much to me, that you care to impress me so." You stammer, a pc answer, one your father would want you to give. "On that subject of keeping the fratricide far from you, could you have a servant come and remove the chandilier from above me? The rope is rather frayed, my brother thinks himself a genius for this childish trap, and I don't feel like moving. I am enjoying the food." He continues to eat nonchalantly, and with a shaky hand you motion for a servant to fetch a ladder.

"I'll have you know it was rather intelligent of me to know where you would sit at the table, you know." Secundus huffs, and Octavian rolls his eyes. "Hardly. You arrived to dinner a half hour early to sit in that exact spot. What was I meant to think you were up to? You're never on time for anything."

As dinner fizzled, you were more than happy to quickly depart from your chambers. Dressed down in your nightgown, a knock at your door grabs your attention. Standing, you open a the door to see a similarily dressed down Secundus, in a rather low cut unbuttoned shirt. "I apologize for that display at dinner," He coos, leaning on the door frame. "He just gets me so riled up. But I should've been focused on you."

"Well, really, its fine. I just... it was a lot. Sort of stressful." You swallow awkwardly, but try to stand up straight. "Its been a long night, so-" You attempt to close the door, only for the man to push his way in. His hand firmly lands on your waist, and he places a kiss on the nape of your neck.

"You just haven't had the chance to see the real me. The charming me, sensitive me. The me inside." He pauses, then grins. "Though I'm sure the me on the outside doesn't disappoint either." He invites himself over to your bed, half sprawling out on the sheets. "So, me. I'm prepared to tell you all my qualifications to be your husband. What would you like to know?"

You really would rather him leave but swallow those nerves. "Well, how do you treat women in your country? We- we have women in power here, and marriage rights." You tilt your head expectantly.

"Of course. We don't traditionally have women inherit the throne, but our mother took over for us when father died... prematurely." He pauses. "Which, I take credit for by the way, but that's neither here nor there!"

Ignoring this, you keep asking. "And your mother, was she ever... at risk?"

"Goodness no! I love my mummy!" He stops, cheeks flushed as he coughs into his hand. "Ah, what I mean is no, as woman don't typically inherit the throne but are treasured, mother was of course of limits. She would love you, I'm sure. She enjoyed strong, inquisitive girls." He holds out a hand, which you reluctantly take. "That brings me to my next point, enjoyment." Warm lips meet your finger tips, making you shiver as he kisses them one by one, a show of sensuous devotion.

"I take a great enjoyment in your company. You are smart, and charitable to your people. Image is much in this world, and your people regard you the way mine regard me! We would be perfect. But I assure you, you could take enjoyment in me too."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean-" You've never heard words so heavy from any lover. "I mean, its not really ladylike for me to talk about that sort of thing."

"And I understand, you don't have to." He nods, but his gaze remains heated. His hands grip your waist. "I am strong, virile. I could give you what no other man could, I would guide you and teach you. If only you would let me show you." He nips at the shell of your ear. "I'll admit, I was something of a flirt before this, but the fire I felt with your beautiful frame pressed to mine on that horse ride is unlike anything I have ever felt." Despite his focus being mainly on sex and reputation, when he pulls away you can see a genuine reverence in his eyes. "I truly believe, given time, you could be the first person I ever truly-"

"Ahem." A creek from the door makes you both pivot your head. The tall, dark haired figure in the door way hides his cold gaze with a hint of amusement. "Surely our dear princess didn't invite us to dinner so you could feel her up like a common tavern girl?" Octavian chuckles lowly.

"Hardly. I was merely conversing with her. Sharing with her my many suitable qualities." Secundus huffs, gently releasing you from his grip. Knees weak from the tension and still reeling from Secundus's advance, you sink onto the mattress.

"Well, seeing as you don't have to many, I'm sure you're done now. I'd like a moment with our dear lady." Octavian shoots him a warning glare, and while his brother would never usually back down, he's confident enough in his display he approaches the door. "Goodnight, princess. I look forward to seeing you again in the morn."

No sooner than he is out the door, Octavian is before you, on one knee, your hand in his own cold one.

"I... suppose you are here to share your qualities as well?" You murmur. He sends you a slight smile, and shakes his head.

"I can get them out quickly, but I confess, I'm not the man many princesses would imagine as the perfect prince. I am quiet, introverted. I cannot fight nor am I physically impressive. But I am smart. I adapt, I learn, and I can rule with you for the kingdoms benefit. You would not be some-some piece of my brothers collection, his lovely pet to show off. You would be an equal." His eyes are earnest. "I know what it is like to feel overlooked, or like a pawn. I was another pawn in my fathers game, slaughter in the name of tradition. And you are much the same, any man could have come in here and made you his bride, you are a lamb to slaughter. But I took charge, I beat expectations and my brothers, and I offer you the chance to do the same."

"I- I appreciate how you relate to me, this is just- all so much." You feel a churning in your stomach. It now settles in what you saw between them, and how they looked at you. Madness. Devotion, but marred with an obsession.

He sighs, bowing his head and nodding as he stands. "Of course. I will be blunt, I'm not here to pin you to your bed and forcefully romance you like my brother. But know this, I will be devoted. It will not be an animalistic joining of bodies, it will not be sex. It will be lovemaking, I will worship you as I wish someone had me when I needed it, and I can only hope you do so in return." In a move opposite of his brothers groping and heated whispers, he places not but a light, chaste kiss upon your cheek. Heading to the door, he smiles, calmer now. "In the morning, i should love to see your palace gardens. I've heard your kingdom has such unique flowers, and I wish to see if they compare to your beauty amidst my research."

You were seen as a guardian angel in your small community, always helping the elderly, spreading kind smiles, and supporting the local bakeries.  Your unwavering dedication to lending a hand and brightening others' days earned you deep respect and affection

People adored you. You were greeted with smiles, waves, and hugs, and even received flowers! Your sweetness was renowned—how you consistently prioritized others' needs over your own, and how you maintained your kindness even in the face of the most difficult and unpleasant individuals.

But it was all just a façade, a persona you had to construct to endure. They were oblivious to how you rolled your eyes and discarded the flowers without a second thought. They didn't see the revulsion in your gaze whenever someone touched you, nor did they notice how your eyes constantly scanned the surroundings after you fed, vigilant to ensure no one could ever accuse you.

But you were the one responsible for it all—the blood, the bite marks, the slashes, the guts scattered everywhere. Every gruesome detail, every wound, every drop of spilled blood traces back to you, the horror in those eyes, the silent screams echoing in the void—it's all because of you.

But you can't be blamed. This was something you had to do, just as humans must eat to survive—you needed to feed, too. It was an instinct, a necessity that drove you, something beyond your control. The hunger inside you demanded it, pushing you to act, to hunt, to consume. Survival, after all, is a primal force, and you were merely following the path laid out for you, no different from any other creature driven by the need to sustain itself.

Sure, eating people wasn't exactly socially acceptable, but who was going to stop you? You were powerful, and you knew it. The rules of society meant nothing when you held all the power, and with every ounce of strength you possessed, you could defy them all. 

You could easily brush off any accusations thrown your way, thanks to the unfortunate reality of pretty privilege.

Humans were strange—why did appearances matter so much to them? It was baffling how they placed so much value on something so superficial, letting looks dictate their judgments and actions. Their obsession with outward beauty seemed shallow, yet it wielded an inexplicable power over their decisions and perceptions, this benefited you majorly.

You were considered the most beautiful girl wherever you went, with an irresistible aura that trailed you everywhere. Your presence turned heads and captivated attention, drawing admiration and envy alike. It was as if your beauty commanded a magnetic pull, making you the center of fascination and desire in every room you entered.

But underneath it all, you were a flesh-eating plague. You were a menace, the very embodiment of "evil." Your mesmerizing appearance only concealed a deep-seated darkness, a relentless malevolence that left chaos and despair in its wake.

The reflection in the mirror bore no resemblance to the soul within. But it didn't matter; they were unaware of the truth.

With a giggle, you left the police station, fully certain you wouldn't be caught. The bite marks on him were as brutal as a bear's mauling. deep and savage, a clear sign of something far more sinister than a simple attack. Still, as his "friend", you had to field a few questions.

You'd be satiated for the next few days, or even weeks. Given his larger size, there was plenty to sustain you. The ample supply would give you time to lay low and avoid drawing any unwanted attention, ensuring you could enjoy a period of relative peace before needing to hunt again.

As you stroll down the road, you notice the air has grown colder; summer nights here always bring a chill. The temperature has plummeted, with the cool air seeping through your clothes and nipping at your skin. It feels like a sharp, invisible edge grazing against you, making each breath visible in the dim light. The chill is persistent, wrapping around you like a thin layer of frost, and the once-warm evening now carries a biting, invigorating crispness that makes you shiver slightly and wish for the comfort of a warmer layer, this annoyed you.

The only sounds breaking the silence were the rush of cars speeding past on the adjacent road and the rhythmic click of your black, sleek heels. The steady clack against the pavement seemed almost musical, contrasting with the distant hum of engines. Each step you took reverberated through the quiet night, the sharp sounds slicing through the stillness and amplifying the solitude of the evening.

Then you started to ponder what you'd do once you got home. You realized you desperately needed a pedicure—it had been quite a while. Besides that, you also needed to catch up on some reading, tidy up the clutter that had accumulated over the week, and perhaps unwind with a hot bath to ease the day's stress. 

Lost in thought, you didn't notice the man lurking behind you. He moved cautiously, taking care to stay as silent as possible as he approached. His footsteps were barely audible, and the shadows seemed to cloak his presence, making him nearly invisible in the dim light. Each step was calculated, his breath held in anticipation as he closed the distance, intent on remaining undetected.

But men are all idiots.

He accidentally tripped over his own shoe, and with a clumsy lurch, he fell hard onto the cement pavement. His body hit the ground with a resounding 'Smack!', the sound echoing sharply in the night. He sprawled out, arms flailing as he lost his balance.

You jolted back to reality and spun around swiftly, only to find a man sprawled on the ground with his right cheek pressed against the pavement.

You immediately connected the dots. At first, you were irritated—someone had been trailing you for God knows how long. But as the realization sank in, your annoyance quickly turned into a smirk.

You suddenly realized what you were going to do with him. A plan took shape in your mind, one that would make use of this unexpected opportunity. The situation had shifted in your favor, and you saw a chance to turn the tables, ensuring that this intrusion wouldn't go unpunished...

Bill shushes him and shoots a panicked look back towards you. "She could hear you, just... don't talk about her like that. She's trusting us to be good to her house and to, uh, to her."

"Well-" As Tucker finishes up with the drain and reattaches the pipe, flipping the sink water back on and letting it run for a minute, he pulls out of the counter. "Why don't we let her know the jobs done, yeah?"

Walking into the living room, Bill has always tended to be quiet around you. You'd seen the scruffy men around the suburb you live in before, they appeared to be everything men. They work on plumbing, fix lights and wiring, mow lawns, and they got good reviews from your neighbors. It's obvious they don't really fit in in the neighborhood. The men are scruffy, usually in dirty clothes with unkempt beards and a beaten up old van. They're from the poor end of town, a rather rough trailer park. They are treated as useful workers, but poor company by your wealthy neighbors. Still, they've been nothing but nice to you, sweet even.

"Hey guys, is the sink fixed up?" You ask, perking up from your spot on the couch and casting aside the tv remote.

"Sure thing, jobs all done." Tucker sniffs, rubbing at his chin and putting a hand on his hip. "We figured it was a super quick job, so Bill suggested we give you half off since it didn't take the full hour." He nudges his friend, who seems shocked at his attempt to get you to speak to him.

"Y-yeah." He mumbles out, swallowing harshly. "Didn't want to charge you for anything extra." He explains quietly.

"Thank you guys, that's so sweet, but you dont have to do that." You sigh and out your hand on your hip. "Well, let me go grab the money I owe you." While you get up, Tucker makes himself cozy on the couch, spreading out like hes always lived here.

"So, missy. We've helped you out quite a bit, fixed things here and there, haven't seen a fella around." He says. "Surely you'd have an easier time fixing this stuff with a more permanent solution."

"Knock it off-" Bill spits under his breath, but his friend just smile mischeviously and sinks deeper into the fabric.

"Yeah, I just haven't met a guy I'm interested in." You explain, talking over your shoulder as you get the money from your bag. "Or any guys whove been interested in me."

"That can't be true-" Bill starts, his sudden outburst makes the attention in the room focused on him. "I just mean, you seem like a real nice lady, sweet." He explains, hands fiddling with the edge of his flannel top.

"That's really sweet, thank you, Bill." You tilt your head with a soft smile and he just nods in acknowledgement, blushing a bit. "What about you guys? You two have anyone special?"

Tucker clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Hell naw, it's a bachelor pad in our trailer. I mean, we bring girls back sometimes, but you know-" he shrugs. "Bill's kinda hopeless with the ladies, and I'm never satisfied." He winks.

Sitting up, he puts his hands on his knees. "You know, you're a real nice gal, I mean, most people won't even look at us while we work, to busy keeping an eye on stuff and making sure we don't steal. So nice in fact, my friend here's got kind of a crush on ya."

Your eyes widen as your head quickly swivels to the now sheet-white Bill, his hands out in front of him as if to show he means no harm. "N-nah, it's not like, not like that!" He exclaims, looking mortified. "Please, Tucker's talking outta his ass, don't listen to him. Really, I have nothing but professional feelings for you." He says. Hes removed his hat from his head and holds it to his chest, both as a nervous movement and a stress fidget.

"He's lying. Everytime we come here to work, I practically bruise his arm trying to get his attention. He just sits and gawks. I'm being a good friend, telling him to man up."

You set aside your wallet as you slowly approach him, every step feels heavy as you walk up to the broad-shouldered gentle giant. "Is that true, Bill?" You ask. "Do you... are you really interested in me?"

He sighs deeply, refusing to meet your gaze. "I do. I'm sorry, I tried to keep things professional, and respect your boundaries." He begins to ramble as you smile a bit. "I mean, I-I support women and their safety, I know you put a Lotta trust in lettin' us into your home. I'm a feminine!"

"Feminist, stupid." Tucker snickers, and you shoot a warning glance at him. He puts his hands up.

"Its alright, Bill. You've been nothing but sweet and respectful to me, and you guys always come when I call." Crossing your arms, you rub just above your elbow. "Its been hard adjusting to the neighbordhood, people are kinda stuck up or unkind, but you're both so real. And sweet, and-"

"Extremely sexy, right?" Tucker coos, slinging a boney arm around your shoulder. Bill seems shocked at his friend sudden physical contact with you, a boundary he's never dared cross. "She's offering you a compliment, Bill. Come on, return it. Tell her all the nice things we've said about her, like how she's got a great rack." His scratch stubble rubs your cheek a bit from where he's stood behind you. "You really do have a great pair."

"I never agreed with what he was saying, I would never, um- talk about a girl like that, my momma would be so upset with me. Tucker was the one sayin' all that dirty stuff about you." Bill explains. "I would just say you looked prettier than a peach' and he'd make it all gross."

"So..." You grin a bit as your eyes slowly trail over his body and up to meet his gaze. He's trying hard to avoid yours. "You don't like the way my tits look?"

A wild, toothy grin flashes across Tucker's face, he knows where this is heading, and his friends reaction is even more amusing.

"No, I- I do. They look, they look great. Round..."

"Round? What the fuck is wrong with you, that's how you describe her girls?" Tucker shakes his head and turns back to you, his mouth close to your ear so he could whisper in. "Tell you what, before Billy-boy says something that dries out your puss, why don't we take this up to your room? I have the advantage of knowing the way." He ever so slightly grind the front of his jeans to your ass, the growing erection obvious. "Cmon baby, we're handymen, let me clean those pipes."

You immediately cackle and lean forward, gripping your stomach. Tucker looks confused and offended as he puts a hand on his hip. "Sorry!" You exclaim, still laughing. "Sorry, that was just such a stupid line, I'm sorry."

"It wasn't stupid, it was sexy." Tucker scoffs. "Really fucking sexy, you know how many panties get dropped at bars because of 'stupid' lines like that. Don't dance around it, if you don't wanna bone just tell me." You perk up at that, seeing a rare moment of insecurity in Tucker's face. Face flushed, he seems embarrassed, actually wounded. Bill moves to stand a little closer to him, trying to put a hand on his shoulder before it's swatted away with a quiet 'fuck you, don't touch me'.

"No, I... I do. I do, you're both attractive and I haven't had anyone in a long time. You've always been good to me, but I-" You sigh. "I dont know if I can be what you want? I'm not exactly a freak in bed, and I've never been with two guys before." You begin.

Excitement reunited, but still softened by that moment of vulnerability, Bill speaks up for once. "You're perfect." He says, steadying himself. "Really, you don't have to be experienced or nothing, I'm a big clutz but trying your best is what matters. And we'd go as slow or as gentle as you wanted. And as for two guys-" He sighs and swallows harshly. "If you just wanna do it with Tuck, I'll wait he-"

"No, no, it's not that at all. I'm getting caught in my head, I want this." You hold out a hand brush over his flannel shirt buttons, fiddling with one. "I want you. Both of you, as appreciation for how hard you've worked." Looking over at Tucker, you smile. "You seem the most eager to get started, why don't you lead? I imagine you know what you're doing."

"Damn right I do, sexy mama." He gropes your waist as he plants a feverish kiss on your neck. "Glad you're finally giving some attention to lil' ol' me. Go upstairs and get all pretty, lay that pretty body out on your bed while me and Bill pack up and grab a couple rubbers from the truck."

You quickly summit the stairs, and make the most of your time by stripping down to a simple pair of underwear, you didn't figure they needed to be impressed with any lingerie, and you could see Tucker getting annoyed and ripping one of your nicer sets when it came to untying ribbons. Sitting on the bed now, you can see them through the window loading up their. They seem to be loudly arguing about something, and you can't help but laugh. Eventually, Bill comes up.

"Sorry, we forgot we had another job on the docket, I didn't wanna cancel but Tuck is being a real hard ass about all-" He stops when he sees you, in nothing but panties, sat on the bed with a slight smile. You're skin all soft and bare, pretty lights outside dimming as it grows closer from evening to night. "Geez, um, you look beautiful." He mumbles, closing the door behind him.

You tuck your knees under your chin and look at him. "Thanks, that's so sweet. So, you guys are gonna stick around, right?"

Snapping out of his, Bill clears his throat and nods. "Yeah, yeah, Tucker's on a call out there rescheduling." He taps his foot nervously.

"Well, get cozy. Cmon, take off your boots and hat, I'm sure you're tired from working." He obeys quickly, eager to please. He stops after removing his hat though, and you furrow your brows. "Its gonna be hard for us to have sex if the rest doesn't come off too, silly." You tease, but his slightly sad demeanor gives you pause. "Whats wrong?"

"I just, I don't really know if you'll like what you see. Most people think of handymen and folk as all muscular, and I've got some muscle, but I'm not really anyone bodybuilder by any means. And I'm not skinny like Tuck, I'm-" His head fully tilts to the floor. "I'm a big guy. I don't want that to bother you."

You immediately shake your head and move to the edge of the bed, holding out a hand. He shyly takes it in his own, and you run a comforting thumb over it. "Nothing is wrong with that, Bill. I think you look plenty handsome, you look soft, and sweet. And everyone has some pudge." You put his hand on your stomach. "See, I've got a bit of a tummy, and sometimes I don't like my legs, but do you think that makes me less attractive?" You ask.

"I don't think anything could make you not look pretty." He admits, moving his hand to your shoulder.

"I'll undress you, how about that?" He offers no resistance, so you slowly undo his flannel shirt, eyes trailing hungrily over his hair chest and slightly pudgy stomach. "Very handsome." You kiss his collarbone and he sighs. He works on getting his jeans and belt off, before sitting beside you on the bed.

"Can I touch ya? I mean, feel up on your chest and stuff?" He asks. When you nod, his large, callous hands come to rest over your breasts, extremely gentle in their movements. "They're gorgeous, really. And I meant what I said, as much as I love the way you look, and how kind you are, I never said no dirty things about you. It was all Tucker, he' a horn-dog."

"Some men are like that, unfortunately. Hes lucky I think it's flattering when it's him." You chuckle, making Billy laughs as well as he continues groping, a little more confident as he tweaks at a pebbled nipple.

"He's always been a jackass, but he's just trying to seem tough. He really likes you." Bill begins to explain. "Tucker isn't nearly as upfront with his feelins' as I am, but I can't tell he likes you. He don't always stick to making dirty jokes about one girl, but you've been all the talks about lately. And he always beats me to the phone for work now, he used to always make me answer, but I know he's hopin' you'll call." He's clearly packing, and the sight of his erection makes your mouth water in anticipation.

"Hey, Tell you what. Tucker might be a bit, and I'm sure he'll want to be inside me the moment he gets through the door-" Bill laughs at that. "So why don't we get you feeling good first so he can have a go." Sliding off the bed, you put a cheek on his knees, hand on his hairy inner thigh as he swallows.

"Geez, you can do that, b-but only if ya wanna. I lost the remote one day, and they had this talk show with all these ladies in-in suits, and they said that blowjobs were demeaning-"

Ignoring his continuous, (if not sweet), ramblings, you tug at his boxers until his thick, leaky cock springs loose. "Shit, nearly took my eye out." You say, trying to lighten the mood. He's thick, a bright red tip and a firm base. His balls are large, but he did admit he was backed up. He's absolutely huge, you have to admit you're worried he's a choking hazard.

"I'm gonna start slow, yeah? Just kiss the tip?" You ask, and the flushed redneck just nods his head, eyes wide as he's looking down at you. You place a soft kiss on the leaking tip, making him suck in a breath as you slowly take it into your mouth to the back of your tongue. What you can't fit in, you work with your hand.

"Shit, am I too big?!" He asks when he hears you making a sloppy gag, but you gently squeeze his thigh to calm him. You just want this poor big man to relax. Humming a bit, the lights vibration seems to soothe him. "Feels, god, your mouth feels really good, missy." His hands grip the pretty floral sheets of the bed which he had admired so many time when working on your house. "You're so pretty, um, with me in your mouth, but also- I mean, you're pretty all the time, ah~"

He can't decide what's actually getting him closer to climax, actually getting his cock sucked, or just seeing you on the floor in front of him, so lovingly tending to him. Each movement is deliberate, and to feel like you care so much to do this, and act which the educated women on the tv said was degrading, means you must really care. He threads a shakey hand in your scalp, but not to tug or push, but rather to gently pet at your scalp. He lets out a groan which ends high pitched, adjacent to a whimper.

"So pretty. You're so pretty, m' lucky. Lucky you wanna... lucky you are making me feel good, s-shit." You can feel his length twitching in your mouth. "I'm gonna finish, I know it's early, sorry, m' sorry, I gotta finish. Pull me out, can I-" he rambling. "Can I finish on your chest, or I can go finish off in the toilet, or-" You just give him one last good suck, and with a swirl of your tongue you can feel a thick, warm substance filling your mouth. "Shit! Why didn't you, I didn't mean to, uhh~ fuck..."

When you pull off, making a shoe of swallowing, you might as well have taken a puritan to a strip club. Bill looks as if it's the most scandalous thing he's ever seen. Petting his limp cock slightly with your palm, you lean your head on his knee. "Was that good for you?" You ask, and he nods.

He's clearly speechless, and can't bring himself to say much about how good he feels. "It was good." He mumbles out. Biting your lip, you sit by him on the bed, hoisting yourself up. Now, it's your turn to feel unsure.

"Are you sure? You don't seem confident about that." You mumble, hand rubbing your arm. "I haven't given one of those in a long, long time. I'm sorry if it wasn't good. Was it cause you couldn't cum on my chest, I-"

"No, no!" He exclaims. "No, it was perfect, I'm just tired. 'Tuckered' out." He jokes, then clears his throat. "That was dumb. But, that was amazing, really, m' just not good at fancy words n' stuff." Taking a deep breath, he rather boldly puts a hand on your cheek. "Can I kiss ya? I mean, least I could do. I wanna show you really how pretty and nice I think you are, and that feels more proper than getting down there and kissing you on your-" He trails off, flushing again. "Unless you'd like that, I'd do it. It's the least I could mmph-!"

You press your lips to his, and as soon as he stops tensing you feel a large, calloused hand cup your cheek, practically palming your head. He's so gentle, as if afraid to break you. When you eventually break for air, he almost chases your lips. "I-"

"What the fuck!" Tucker stands in the doorway, hands on his toolbelt and hat turned back. "I take one call and yer' already all limp dicked? Shit, Billy, horny little fucker."

"Leave him alone, Tucker." You tease, leaning on Bill's shoulder momentarily. "I offered it to him. Don't listen to him, you were great."

Billy just shyly smiles and kisses your head once more as Tucker dumps his toolbelt and wifebeater at the door. "You already got yer dick wet, Billy, so clear the fuck out. I'd let you watch, but you were a slippery snake and slipped her yer fucking snake when I was going first, so git." Tucker orders as he flops unceremoniously onto your bed and crawls up towards you. You blow a kiss to Billy as he smiles and shuts the door, hearing Tucker mumbling some stupid line about 'cleaning your pipes'.

A few minutes later though, he's ashamed. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, it's dirty. Wrong. But as he sits in your bathroom, wiring up a little camera identical to the ones now in your kitchen and closet, he can't help but remember what Tucker had told him, just before he went out to make that phone call.

Getting ready for the day was no simple task—it was an art, a slow, deliberate ritual. The makeup, the way it seemed to transform your skin into something porcelain, flawless; the clothes, each one chosen with a care that bordered on reverence; the perfume, an invisible cloud that clung to you like an aura; and the careful styling of your hair, each strand placed just so—every motion drained the strength from your fingertips, yet you moved with an elegance that felt almost weightless. The exhaustion, though, was always forgotten when you gazed into the mirror. There, staring back at you, was the image of someone impossibly beautiful—a vision so perfect it almost seemed unreal, like a dream that could slip away if you looked too long.

With a soft hmph! of satisfaction, you turned away from the mirror, your steps light and graceful as you gathered your things for the day. The tote bag—simple, chic, and undeniably cute—was the perfect choice. Backpacks were too heavy, too clunky, too... practical. You didn’t need anything like that. After all, you hadn’t even bothered with any of your work. Why would you? It wasn’t as though you ever needed the materials inside. Isaac would take care of that. You always did—just a quick handoff of a homework packet, and he’d handle the messy details while you floated above it all, effortlessly.

As you stepped out the door, you caught sight of Eden sprawled across the couch, her legs crossed and her gaze fixed on the television screen. There was something languid about her, like she existed in a different time, a space outside of the rush and order of the world. It didn’t seem like she was going anywhere today, which wasn’t exactly surprising—Eden was almost always here, nestled between the bed and the couch. On the rare occasion she ventured beyond those two realms, it was usually to lounge on the porch, a lit cigarette dangling from her fingers, phone clutched lazily in the other hand, most likely lost in a string of messages or some quiet, drawn-out gossip with her friends.

You couldn’t help but giggle softly as Eden finally turned away from the television, sensing your presence behind her. Her eyes met yours, and a grin spread across her face—one that you mirrored almost instinctively. The smile felt effortless, like a secret shared in passing. Eden’s long, jet-black hair fell in two messy plaits over her chest, strands escaping like wild tendrils, giving her an untamed look. Her eyes, rimmed with thick, smudged eyeliner, held the chaotic energy of a storm—dark, raw, and perfectly imperfect against her ghostly pale skin. It was a beauty that didn’t ask for attention but demanded it all the same, rough around the edges, as if she had been carved from shadow. Her lips, stained a deep, rebellious shade, curled into a knowing smirk, as though she understood something the world was too scared to face.

“You’re not going to school today?” you asked, your voice light, more curious than surprised. Eden didn’t even flinch. “Nope!” she replied, popping the “p” with a playful snap, her grin still lingering like a half-formed thought. There was something effortless about her defiance, as if the world outside could go on without her—and it probably would.

"Okayyy, so what are your grand plans for today, missy?" you asked, your tone taking on a mock-serious edge. You both had this ongoing joke—one where you’d adopt the persona of her mother, all high-and-mighty, pretending to be offended by Eden's carefree lifestyle. You’d mimic her shrill voice and the absurd ideas about how a “proper lady” should behave, all exaggerated drama and mocking affection. It was a routine you both had come to cherish, a way to poke fun at the world’s ridiculous expectations, and at each other.

“Ugh, MOM! I’m going to the park to smoke with my friends!” Eden shot back, her voice dripping with exaggerated rebellion. But the smile that lingered on her lips told a different story—one that shattered the illusion of the stereotypical angsty teenager she tried to project.

Whatever,” you said, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “While you’re off getting high at god knows where, I’ll actually be doing something productive—like, you know, going to school.” Your words were light, but there was an undercurrent of mock seriousness, as if the very idea of school was somehow a realm you occupied above her carefree chaos.

“Okay, whoa, hold on,” Eden began, her hand rising in the air as if she were making a grand point. “First of all, you smoke all the time with me, so don’t act all disgusted at the mere thought of it.” Her voice was teasing, but sharp, a knowing glint in her eyes. “And secondly, all you ever do at school is flirt. You’ve got your bitch Isaiah—or whatever his name is—to do all your work for you.” By the end of her sentence, her finger was pointing directly at you, accusatory and dramatic, like she was revealing some secret truth.

You stood there in silence, the weight of her words settling around you like a quiet storm. She was right—every word, every accusation. You met her gaze, lips pressed into a thin line, unsure of how to respond. "Okay, whatever. You clocked me," you said, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Eden mirrored your laughter, her grin widening as if the whole exchange had been nothing more than a brief, shared moment of truth. With a soft sigh, you glanced at the clock—five minutes late. You should have left by now if you wanted to make it to school on time, but somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. You hoped they wouldn’t mind, but even if they did, you knew it wouldn’t be a problem. After all, all it would take was a little twirl of your hair, a flutter of your lashes, and they’d forget about detention before lunch even rolled around. It was like magic—something you could rely on, a charm so effortless it almost felt like second nature.

“Well, I should get going,” you said, adjusting the strap of your tote bag as you turned toward the door. “Got classes to zone out to.” The words felt almost like a mantra, a routine you didn’t even have to think about anymore. But before you could take another step, Eden was suddenly there, spinning you back around to face her. In one smooth motion, she pressed a sloppy, careless kiss on your cheek—her lips warm and lingering, a little too rough, but still somehow sweet in its spontaneity. You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the gesture, but it only made you smile.

"Eww, Eden!" you shouted, shoving her off you with mock disgust. She tumbled back onto the couch, but instead of looking embarrassed, a sly smile curved on her lips. She leaned back, stretching out casually like she didn’t have a care in the world.

“What?” she asked, the grin never leaving her face. “Just wanted to kiss the little princess goodbye.” The words hung in the air for a moment, before she let out a loud, unapologetic cackle, as if realizing just how ridiculous they sounded. “Ugh, you’re so gross!” you said, swinging the door open and stepping out into the morning air. The sharp click of your heels against the concrete echoed with every step as you made your way to the car. Your car. Well, sort of. Your parents had given it to you—or more accurately, they sent the money, a generous weekly deposit far more than enough to support a family of five. Yet, they never spoke to you. Not once.

You remembered a time when you were no taller than a doorframe, with round cheeks, wide, curious eyes, and a personality that hadn’t yet learned to hide behind a mask. Back then, you could still feel the softness of childhood, the warmth of innocence. But even then, your family hadn’t seemed to notice you. You’d watch from the edges as your parents played with your sibling, their laughter filling the air, while they never once asked if you were hungry or needed anything. Food was just… there, thrown in the fridge, as if they assumed you could take care of yourself.

Before a tear could slip free and ruin the perfect line of mascara on your lashes, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You glanced into the car’s mirror, your reflection staring back—sharp, flawless, untouchable. In that moment, you let the thought settle into your mind like a mantra: Who needs a family when you’re hot as fuck?

A few shaky breaths later, you were pulling out of the driveway, the familiar hum of the car easing you into the rhythm of the morning. The coffee shop was always part of your routine—a small, comforting ritual to ground you. You were always so tired in the mornings, no matter how many hours you slept, or how many unfortunate souls had crossed your path the night before. It didn’t matter. You’d feed on them, drain them, and still feel the weight of exhaustion. But the coffee—it was always there to sharpen you, to pull you back into the world where everything looked perfect, and you were in control.

As you cruised down the street, the car filled with the pulsing beat of Rihanna, the volume cranked up so high you could feel the vibrations in your bones. You belted out the lyrics with wild abandon, completely lost in the music. “I’m on flame, don’t come home, babe!” Rihanna sang, and you were feeling it. God, you loved her. Loved her more than anything right now. You could practically see the confused stares of everyone else on the road, probably wondering if you’d lost your mind. But at that moment, you couldn’t care less. The world around you felt blurry, like a distant backdrop to your own private performance.

The morning passed in a blur, a string of familiar motions, and before you knew it, you were in English class. Always a vibe killer. You spoke the damn language; why was there a whole class for it? But, of course, you couldn’t make it too obvious that you honestly couldn’t care less. You had a façade to uphold—a perfect, polished one—and that meant pretending to care about nouns, verbs, and all the other boring bits. It wasn’t hard. You were good at this.

As you zoned out, the world around you blurred into a dull hum, until you felt a shoe nudge your leg beneath the desk. You blinked, snapping back into the moment, and looked up—face-to-face with some kid from your class. Zaiden, or something like that. You couldn’t really remember his name, but he always seemed to pop up, like background noise you’d learned to tune out.

"Sorry," he muttered, his usual gruff tone breaking the silence between you. You offered him a polite smile—one that was more habit than genuine—and then turned your attention back to the front of the room. The teacher’s voice was a blur, like white noise, and your mind wandered again. You wondered if you’d hit the mall after school or just skip altogether and head there now.

As you daydreamed about all the clothes you’d buy, the friends you’d bring along, the sweet, endless possibilities of the day, you felt the tap on your foot again. This time, your neck snapped toward him, irritation flickering across your face. Seriously? You didn’t need this right now. It was bad enough he’d already dragged you out of your thoughts once—now he was interrupting your escape into something better. “Shit, my bad,” he muttered, fumbling with his words. You stared at him for a beat, the annoyance bubbling up before you even had time to hide it. You didn’t care if he was sorry or not—he’d ruined your flow.

“It’s whatever, Zaiden,” you said, your voice sweet and innocent, the same tone you always used when you wanted to seem unbothered. But underneath, you could feel the irritation rising, simmering just below the surface. You forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and turned back to the front of the class, but it was hard to ignore the agitation bubbling up. If he keeps this up, he's going to be your next snack.

However, when Zaiden heard your voice, he didn’t even register the bite in your words. The tone you used was so beautiful, so disarmingly sweet, that for a moment, it seemed to soften everything around him. He was so caught up in it, in the soft cadence of your voice, that he hadn’t even noticed you’d called him the wrong name.

His name was Daniel.

Glossing your lips, you adjust the lace bow that sits playfully atop your head, the soft light of the school bathroom reflecting off your fresh makeup. With each gentle touch, you transform into a vision of tranquility, ready for the day ahead. You’ve made plans to skip class and head out to the mall, seeking a fleeting escape. Outside, in the parking lot, Eden waits for you.

as you bounce through the halls, you eventually make it to the main doors, but you seemed to have forgotten that the principles office sits right next to it, with windows all around, meaning he would be able to see if you left the building, and it seems that the room wasnt empty.

Caught mid-escape, your fingers hover on the doorknob, freezing as one of the principal’s proctors spots you. A mischievous glint sparks in your eye. You bring a perfectly manicured finger to your lips in a gentle “Shhhh,” like a secret fluttering between two co-conspirators. Then, with a little wink, you let the unspoken promise linger in the air—just long enough to leave her wondering if she saw a ghost, or simply a girl slipping through the seams of the school day.

Team up HC’s!

Okay, first thing to notice here is team up. Not poly. Team up.

They love you, but poly suggests they love each other. No way. Nu uh. Not those two. Heck, it was hard enough for them to even come to the agreement to share you! So no. (*cough cough* enemies to lovers speedrun *cough cough*)

Not specifying how you caught their attention, I’ll leave that up to interpretation :]

But when they do, oh boy oh boy are you screwed! :D

No, seriously. I feel like (when they finally agree to share) Matt will be a bit hesitant to go through with things whereas Lele will be the one planning them out most of the time.

Obviously, they can’t keep you to themselves the way they’d like (Read: Kidnapping) but they can use the fact all of you guys are pretty much in a big game of among us/hj to their advantage.

Earlier I mentioned that Lele would have to push Matt along a little bit, but you’d be surprised at the things he can do when pushed enough. She certainly was.

They originally were going to just kill everyone off, but reasoned that some members of the group would be valuable assets to their little plan. 

Of course, they had to be careful, as they weren’t in control in this situation and there were twists around each corner, it would seem.

But rest assured, no matter what the others think, you have full protection from both of them, wanted or not.

Around the others they may or may not get called out for acting weird. 

As in, the duo are a lot more aggressive to people in the group who mess with you, good or bad.

The overall message to those who do notice will depend completely on where you stand with the other two.

If you are oblivious and even enjoy the attention, you might get a concerned look or comment here and there.

If you want to get away and find them overbearing, alarm bells will be going off in a few others heads.

Group: What do you have there? Lele and Matt, cuddling a tied up Reader: a smoothie

Your two ‘lovers’ do not like this, at all. After all, they can’t have other members of the group telling you such ugly little lies about them!

Don’t worry though, they’ll take care of it. They always were very persuasive!

Matt is definitely the lot more forgiving of the two, and a lot more aware of his thoughts and actions. He doesn’t like hurting you, but is assertive when need be. 

Lele however is the more demanding of the two, and either doesn’t realize how fucked up everything is or doesn’t care. She can be sadistic and is almost always planning something, which can be dangerous for you and others.

When all three of you are finally together, its likely that you already somewhat return their affections or are already planning your run across the country/hj. Silly, you can’t escape them!

And why would you want to? They’re loving, and affectionate to an overbearing point, doting, and everything you could ever want or need!

Remember how it started off with no poly?

Yeah you can’t tell me they aren’t when they finally have you.

Turns out you only really need one good thing in common to get along!

(Basically Girlboss x Malewife x their hostage partner)

Hey y’all, hope you liked little brainrot hour(s) on these two. Not like my usual stuff, but these two have been gripping me by the neck I swear-