You’re very moist.

You're not quite uncomfortable, but you know if you take a break any longer than fifteen seconds it’ll tip over. You can feel your saliva running down your neck, your face wet from all of the eye makeup you began the night wearing streaking over your cheeks. You gasp as your head is pulled back, flinching as Adam’s palm connects with your cheek and he spits on your face.

You gag as he forces his cock back into your mouth, eyes rolling as he fucks your throat. God, he just won’t fucking quit. He holds your head in place, groaning as you feel his cum hitting the back of your throat. He pulls out, holding your mouth open by your lower teeth and spitting onto your tongue before he tosses you back onto the bed.

Your back arches as he pushes his cock into you, gripping your hips as he hammers into your cunt. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, a choked whine escaping as his pace increases. The sound of your skin sticking and smacking against each other nearly drowns out whatever album Adam has playing, his moans taking care of the rest. You whimper as his thumb finds your clit, shuddering as he traces firm circles around the nerves.

“Fucking squirt on my cock, baby. C’mon, I know you want to.”

You dig your nails into his skin, body twitching as you feel yourself gush around him. Your hips buck as his fingers come down, yelping as he makes contact with your clit. You can feel tears cutting through the mascara on your face and Adam laughs, the sound almost mean.

“Keep crying, baby. Fuck, you’re pretty. Makeup’s all fucked up, you’ve got cum in your fucking hair. Fucking love seeing you like this. You want another load? Don’t worry, princess, you’re gonna fucking get it.”

Adam fucks into you harder, the head of his cock brutalizing your cervix. He’s focused back on your clit, teasing you as a loud moan bursts from his chest. He pulls out suddenly and you hiss, whimpering as you feel his cum spilling onto your stomach and dripping down over your clit. His fingers slip through your folds, entering you and immediately pumping ruthlessly into your cunt. It’s bordering on painful, your eyes rolling as your entire body shudders. You gasp, whimpering as you feel him yank his fingers free and you gush again.

He climbs over you, gripping your face in his hand and kissing the corner of your lips. He moans softly as he pushes his hips against yours, the head of his cock slipping through your folds and making contact with your clit.

“Let’s go get cleaned up a little. Think I wanna play with the showerhead settings.”

 Leaving is something Andania does in stages.

It starts with the letters. There's at least one every day in the mailbox, sometimes two, that no one ever seems to notice. They're just carried inside and left on the kitchen table until she eventually stumbles across it. Usually at dinner. Each one is filled with a plea from someone Andania's never actually met, begging them to take on some kind of divine power and go traveling across all of reality like some kind of Doctor Who knock off.

None of them explain why they want her specifically, or why they want to be rid of this mysterious power in the first place. They barely even give a location if they did want to accept the power.

But the thing is, each letter is also curious. The strangers- and she's counted five of them total at this point, based on the handwriting since they don't introduce themselves- ask all kinds of questions about her life. They ask about what shows she's watching, or the books she's reading, or even ask for fanfiction recommendations. She can go on a babbling rant about a fanfic they read the night before in an unmarked letter, and they'll send back a response despite the lack of address.

Which is weird, and kind of making her paranoid- especially after they took one right off their desk, in their bedroom- but it's also the closest thing to genuine human interaction that they've had in quite a while.

She wants to call them her friends, but she still doesn't know their names. Is this how people end up in cults? It sounds like the kind of thing that drags people into cults.

A plan like this? It's difficult to know where to start. I think, in this case, it starts with a child.

The child and the gods that will eventually claim it aren't related. That family is found, rather than born. The child grows up in a perfectly ordinary home, with a loving family. That doesn't stop them from feeling alone, though.

It's a consequence of being human, in the end. People need other people who can understand and relate to them, and Andania has never felt much of that, for one reason or another. Their own neurodivergence drove others their age away, and made it difficult to connect with their siblings and parents. The large family made it difficult to find the time to snag any one on one interaction with them anyway, and in the end they withdrew. They satisfied themself with being alone, wrapping stories and imagination around themself like ribbons, pretending it made up for the lack of anything real.

 A series of little pops echoed through the room as Tix leaned back into their seat. They'd spent a long couple of hours hunched heavily over their laptop, typing up all sorts of notes and scattered tidbits they'd jotted into their notebook over the past week. Twisting them into something a bit more coherent then their enthusiastic ramblings.

They were rather proud of the results too, if they were honest. It wasn't quite a fully fleshed out story just yet, but they'd managed to piece together five god-like figures, their personalities, motivations, and the powers they ruled over, along with the basics of the realm they ruled over.

The five reigned over a whole multiverse of timelines and stories, laid out before them like a rich tapestry, one they hadn't started, but one they continued as replacements for the five original gods.

Still, despite all the world building they'd managed that night, despite how much of their history they'd written, or how long they spent developing their powers, it still felt like something was missing. An integral piece that stopped the world from turning into a story.

"That would be you I believe," A new voice popped in, one Tix could swear they'd never heard in their life. The deep, masculine voice echoed around the room slightly, but it didn't boom or shout. In fact, it was a little softer than the average speaking volume, quiet enough to not attract attention, while still loud enough that Tix didn't have to strain to hear it.

They flicked their laptop closed in an instant, an instinct gained from one too many nosy people trying to read over their shoulder in the coffee shop, before spinning their chair around to try and locate the source of the mysterious voice.

Nothing seemed different at first glance. Their clothes were still tossed haphazardly into the hamper without worrying about wrinkles, their bed was still unmade, and their cat was still contently curled up on their bed fast asleep.

It didn't seem like anyone had fiddled with their things to try and hide a speaker, (a prank that sounded exactly like something their brother would do, if he'd gotten a hold of the keys,) and it certainly didn't seem like anyone had actually opened the door and walked in. There wasn't enough space for someone to be hiding behind their bedroom door, although there was perhaps a case to be made for someone hiding in their closet. Still, it seemed rather unlikely, and Tix hadn't recognized the voice.