#*bangs on the window licks the glass fogs up the glass writes let me in backwards*

[theloveinc]

I was inactive on my aesthetic’s blog for like a month and a half and I came back to see that several accounts had blocked me and I was so ????? Why??? What did I do to be put in time out ):

baby,..... do not even get me started on how trigger happy some people on here are to block. like ofc some of it makes sense if their peace is being disturbed or bitches are evil, but.............. an aesthetic blog? help.

[quant-um-fizzx]

Swept Away

Synopsis: Bucky feels strangely drawn to a woman at a Halloween party thrown at the Avengers compound. 

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Except - not? There’s really no way to explain this upfront without giving the whole thing away. It is a nameless female character but it’s also not “fictional you” as a reader because I could not get that to work within this mystery concept. 

Warnings:  Smut, I’m calling this Dub-Con (but only in the sense that things might not be what they seem) Language, mild Angst, an attempt to be eerie. 

Word Count:  about 3000

This is for @sherrybaby14‘s Fall Into You writing challenge from the prompt: “Halloween Party”  

It’s loud like parties always are and Bucky welcomes a reason not to join in their bickering, no matter how playful. 

“It’s the principle, really.” Steve says, sniffs whatever Thor tipped into his glass this time. 

“Yes, that’s my point. Thank you. Don’t make a rule and then break it.” Rhodey gripes, adjusting the gold construction paper shooting star taped to the center of his shirt.

“I believe the rule as stated was ‘don’t spend more than $10 on a superhero costume.’ I spent zero dollars on this ensemble.” Tony gestures at the Mark 5 armor he’s wearing. “What we need is a neutral party analysis, who will then concur I am winning at not spending.”

Clint twirls an empty beer bottle between his fingers. “Look, I’m not saying that it’s cheating to come as yourself...”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Nat says.

“I sense a butt right here,” Rocket chimes in. He’s dressed no differently, having openly complained he didn’t see the point and costumes sound more like some of the stupid shit Quill would be into. 

Steve flicks the deep red bed sheet pinned to the back of his shirt, making it swoosh around his feet, casually flipping what no one needs to know is Thor’s actual hammer. The group chatters on as he surveys the room, pausing when he spies Bucky in a far corner, his arm slipping artfully around the waist of a very pretty woman in a white post-Edwardian nightdress. She seems familiar but he can’t really get a good look at her and, considering Bucky’s clearly enthralled with her, he doesn’t think he should be trying to get a better look. They appear deep in conversation, the woman’s hair falling across her face like a curtain. It’s intimate, the way they lean in, and suddenly Steve feels like he’s intruding. He coughs and returns his attention back to the current debate. 

***

She curls further into his side, burrows her chilled shoulder down where he’s warm and snug. Her head falls back to look up at him with doe-eyes. He gets lost in them, irises so peaceful and deep, dark like still waters, like starless night sky. She runs her hand over the blue near-ancient canvas stretched across his chest, traces the white star with an elegant digit.

He leans in, almost captures her lips.  Forgets it’s not private. Like there’s no one else. Like there shouldn’t ever be. She offers her neck, bends so far back that it’s a bit unnatural, but he brushes the thought away. He shakes his head, tries to recall something. It seems important. Scratching at his brain. 

He stops, pulls back. His eyes pinch. He doesn’t know this woman. Doesn’t know anything about her. But he wants to. He wants to know her. Maybe that’s what he couldn’t remember. “What’s…” Runs his nose along her cheek. “What’s your name, Darlin’?”

Did she already tell him that? Did he already ask?

***

“Tell me again, how is coming as yourself and wearing your actual multi-million dollar suit not breaking the rules?” Nat saunters across the circle, grabbing a drink off the bar.

“I’m just saying, that since you were the guy who made the rule, it’s kinda weird that you’re the one breaking it.” Clint sets his bottle down with a clink that sounds a bit more irritated than he appears. 

“Point of order: Cap lent his costume to two people.” Tony feigns deep offense, gestures toward Scott.

“What? This? Nah, I hand-sewed this baby myself for Comic-Con years ago.” Scott stands proudly, hands heroically on his hips. 

Tony’s eyes roll back into his brain. “That still leaves Barnes and his circa WW2 Star-Spangled-ness? Care to explain the museum piece over there and the clothes he’s wearing while you’re at it?”

***

She smiles softly, delicate. Her features unbothered despite that it seems he’s forgotten her. Goes up on her toes and places cool fingertips on his fevered lips. Pushes her own together in a silent hush and he feels it in his gut - feels himself give in to something more than gravity pulling him down, twisting. He leans in toward those lotus-petal painted lips, almost...almost. 

She pulls back just a little. Smile shy, but somehow not. A little knowing. Knows a secret she’s going to show him. He doesn’t like secrets; he’s kept too many, he’s been too many. Doesn’t trust them. 

But he wants to know hers. Wants her. Needs to see where this leads. 

Her fingers entwine with his, pull him fluidly toward the exit door. 

And he forgets. Forgets they are leaving a brightly lit room, forgets there are people who might miss him, forgets everyone, everything but the promise of losing himself in her. 

***

Steve shrugs. “Bucky asked how much trouble it would be to borrow it. Turns out it wasn’t much trouble,” he says, pulling his eyes away from the door Bucky had disappeared through. 

“Excellent!” Tony claps. “Now that we can all agree the utilization of old suits is not a budget factor, let’s discuss what I am sure is a fascinating reason why Wilson here jumped on the opportunity to dress as a defunct Russian asset.”

Sam scoffs and pretends to smooth the aluminum foil wrapped around his left arm. “The Winter Soldier? Nah, my arm’s just dressed as a baked potato.” 

***

Her fingers swim up under his shirt and along each rib like organ keys. He’s draped over her, touching every inch, body covering her like a blanket, a pall. Their kisses swell and he dives when her mouth parts for him. At first a shallow exploration, his warm pink tongue skimming inside until she, impatient and sudden, curls into his mouth and catches it. 

The party and the lights feel a million leagues away. The sounds muffled and distant as if they’ve sneaked off to skinnydip not go necking in a backseat.

Lips and teeth banging, urgent. She’s under and around him all at once. Calling him to claim her like the open sea. 

Hot breath rushes from him as he pulls away and she floats up to follow but then settles back flat along the seat, smiling up at him. Hair splayed out around her face in waves and her face glowing like the moon. 

It registers with him that they’re in a parking lot, in the back of a car. It seems like new information, as if he had just realized. Must have been too busy kissing her, touching her because he doesn't know how they got here. Doesn’t remember clambering into the car. It’s large and old. A Studebaker? A Streamliner?

No, that can’t be right. 

***

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Cool Costume. Ned dressed as Mark 5 in 3rd grade.” Peter scurries up, acting slightly winded, as most of the crowd shoots daggers at him. “It, uh, it looks way better on you though.” He looks hopefully around, checking if that fixed whatever he’d said wrong. 

Shuddering, as if he’s just recalled what he’d come to say, Peter looks back quickly over his shoulder at the doorway Bucky and the woman walked out. “That’s all kinds of creepy. Just like that urban legend, right?”

“When it comes to questionable bed partners, I am spectacularly aware that I have no room to talk. But what is the deal with Steve’s pal and Coraline?” Tony gestures over his shoulder. “There’s a line between cute and creepy. But that one just runs a bit too realistic as The Woman in White.”

Steve looks between them and the door again. “The what?”

***

He presses his lips to her neck. Runs his tongue up a long trail to the shell of her ear.

Soft. He’s never felt anything so soft in his hands. Breasts like silt, spilling under his palms.  Soft every place he’s hard. He’s so hard, aching with it. Cock straining, reducing him down to that near-pain desire. He wants to bury himself between her thighs, drown himself inside her.

She pulls the gown free from her shoulders and it pools around her. She arches up to him. Offers. Urges. 

Insists. 

He licks his lips and wants more. Already can’t remember what she tastes like, saltwater or sweetened honey? He kisses her again, soft press against his tongue and he’s thirsty. Parched. Dives in for more but each touch leaves him wanting more. More heat. More water. More...air.

She’s under him and begging him. 

“Take me.”

Rouge tongue runs over chapped lips as he comes up for a breath. “You don’t have to ask me twice, Sugar.” He rasps, lungs seized up in want. 

Her hands dig into blue shoulders and her legs wrap around red and white stripes, clasping behind the small of his back. Pulling him down to her, pulling him under. 

Fog coats the windows. Their want dripping in rivulets down the glass. The air is thick with it, clings to his lungs, each breath heavy, laboring. 

“Hang on babe,” he pulls back, heart racing gulping down air. “Whew. Huh. Wow.” He looks around, squints, trying to get his bearings. “Gimme a sec, okay?”

She smiles again, sweet as rain. Shakes her head slowly, hair swirling around, a tangle of moss on the seat. Locks her hands behind his neck and digs her heels into his thighs.

She reaches down inside his pants and draws him out, a whisper caress on his length. Barely there, but possessive. Hers.

“Take me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he gasps, breathless. Gasps as strokes him. “I’ll make it good, so good for you.” 

He wants her. Wants her like air. “Can’t wait. Gotta have you - now.”

She flips him over, deft like he weighs nothing and he floats beneath her. Straddles his hips and anchors him, grinding onto his cock. Her head falls back again, does that deep swoon to expose the marble column of her neck. And he feels again like he needs to stop her, to catch her head and stop her. To cradle her skull.

***

“I can tell you, Cap,” Sam says, leaning in conspiratorially, “but you and I are going to have a long chat later about how you manage to interact with other humans every day and still stay so damned isolated.”

Steve gives Sam a withering look but motions for him to continue. 

“The story goes, there’s a ghost that wanders the area. She fell for a guy years ago and got abandoned. The story changes in the details. Sometimes she died in childbirth, jumped off a bridge, whatever.  But one detail is always the same: heartbreaker was shipping off to war the next day. So, she, you know, ‘did it for her country.’ But the guy never comes back and she dies, waiting for him. Wandering the road leading to where they were last together.”

“Huh, that’s super weird,” Scott says, throwing back what he immediately learns is heavily-spiked cider, his eyes going wide on the burn. 

“Ghost stories are weird by definition, Scott” Nat says, licking the rim of her glass. 

“No,” Scott coughs, throwing back two more cider shots in quick succession. “I mean it’s weird because I picked her up on the road coming here. She asked all slow and dramatic about her soldier - I guess she is just super into Halloween - and I was gonna call her an Uber but then she said she was looking for Stark’s thing.”

Steve is incredibly done with this entire conversation. Peter, the exact opposite, presses for more info. “Which road?”

Sam shrugs dismissively. “The one by the old fairgrounds.”

Scott chokes on a fourth shot.  “Down in Queens.”

“You mean the fairgrounds where Stark held the first Expo?” Steve say, unblinking. All fun gone. 

Suddenly, Steve knows where he’s seen her. It’s just been a very, very long time since 1943.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tony says, eyes locked on Steve. 

“Are you saying that I picked up a...a... ghost and rode with her for an hour? Guys...guys, I need to sit down.” Scott wobbles, hand shooting out to steady himself on Rocket. Rocket steps aside. 

Before Scott’s ass hits the floor, everyone else is out the door. 

***

She sinks down around him, fluid and silk. Her hands press into his chest. His warm muscles tense and brown nipples pebble in her touch’s wake. 

As she rides him, the night’s light behind her makes her hair look like a halo floating out around her. A thought breaks through that she looks familiar - he does know her - but she’s just one more thing he lost along the way. 

He wants to tell her they can make this new, start over, whatever went wrong before, he can fix it and it wasn’t his fault and didn’t mean to leave her and please forgive him because he didn’t mean to toss her away.

Wait.

Wait...

He recalls a flash of her face, dry and bright. She’s looking up at him in his brown uniform. Red car hovering on a stage behind her. Then, as suddenly as it came, the picture’s gone, popped like a burst bubble.

***

Steve and Sam are first out the back, toward the dock. Peter has a legit meltdown but still manages to check every car. They’re all empty.

“Cap! There!” Clint shouts, pointing out at the water. 

The middle of the goddamn lake.

In the goddamn, deathly still, dark lake.

***

She glides over him and it’s so desperate and slippery. Everything urgent when all he’d really wanted is to take his time. To do this right. Bring her some daisies  - or, no, she'd like lilies he thinks dumbly and runs his hands up to cup her face. He wants to show her a good time before his ships out in the morning and see if she has a different friend for Steve. 

The guilt is raw and burrowing in his heart he can’t shake it but he doesn’t quite know why. 

Maybe that’s her secret. What she wanted to show him. 

Maybe it’s that she deserves better than this back seat in a parked car outside Stark’s expo. He starts to say sorry but is silenced with another watery kiss.

Burning starts low in his back, the building pull low in his spine, and he wants to come. Desperate for his end. 

 Maybe it’s too much because she can have it all she can have him and he’s not scared - but a small spark fires some forgotten place in his mind, that he is scared - that maybe he should be.

Sliding over him, bend and rock. Tight. He surges up into her again and again. His release looms, vision tunneled down to her. Nothing but her and the sweet hold, the way she’s anchored him down after so many years adrift. 

He thinks blindly that he should warn her. Opens his mouth but she swallows his words. 

Then he’s coming, pulsing out of him like lifeblood. Breathless and drained. And he’s so tired. 

Peaceful. Serene. 

“Take me,” she sings.

He can’t hold on. Body aches for rest. 

Her brow furrows. “Take me home.”  

His eyes flutter. He starts to form the words, but just...can’t. 

He would’ve taken her home and not left. He didn’t mean to make it seem like it must have seemed. He didn’t just throw her away. But it was war and he wasn’t expecting the hell it brought or the hell that came after. It had all seemed so innocent in that old back seat, with his promises he didn’t mean to break.

She grinds down, damned serum refractory period kicking in. He swells against all reason and moves with her until she shakes and clenches, nails digging into his skin, a mournful wail spiraling out of her as he feels himself spill again. 

She touches his neck, feels his pulse stutter out, slow.  Her face is confused. Head shaking. 

He takes her hand, holds it to his heart. An apology. 

Then, she rails back, wretches and twists. She slips through his fingers like time, like silk, like thread.  

What was once solid, warm like new sun on a cold sill, now shifts. Contorts and writhes, skin viscus and pooling around his fingers like so much rancid dough. 

He wants to care but he wants to sleep. Just rest his eyes. Just for a second. It doesn’t feel right but he can’t make himself care. It’s so quiet and peaceful, down here where she used to be solid, where he used to be warm.

***

Then, when he’s almost gone, when peace has fired off in nearly every cell, he’s yanked free. 

Colder than he’s ever been. Night air like a fire burning, like he is nothing but frostbite dropped in a boiling pot.

Sam drags him up onto the dock and collapses beside him. Sam’s face is drawn and terrified and their clothes soggy and weighted, water running off between the wooden planks.

“The Hell Barnes? Party full of perfectly available, alive folk and that’s the strange you go for.”

[joeys-piano]

It’s a beautiful feeling

Rating: General Word Count: 1,770 Characters: Viktor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri, Makkachin (bork bork!) Pairing: Viktuuri Song Inspiration: Eternal Love by Michael Learns to Rock Notes: domestic dinner, lots of loving, some soft moments in the kitchen when the radio quietly playing a song, vivid descriptions of food, writer realizes that he writes about food a lot, a flirty yet dangerous game between two individuals that can destroy yet rebuild each other all at the same time

Though this ficlet has no affiliations with the mafia “How to--” series, there are subtle references to the fics already posted there. (if you find all the references, then good for you) You don’t need to read those fics to understand this ficlet. They’re both separate from each other~ :D

Excerpt: “You might be a nightmare dressed as a daydream, but even I know when the nightmares end. Sweetheart,” a kiss rested against Yuuri’s ear and Viktor won their little game. Every second ticked against their breaths when Yuuri loosened his apron. The fabric trickled down from his torso and crumbled against his lap. His arms loosely draped over the back of Viktor’s shoulders, more than ready for another kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Yuuri’s specialties consisted of three a.m. waffles and post-season katsudons; occasionally, he liked to paint along the curves of Viktor’s dinner plates. As white canvases with no story to tell, say for the ones dished upon them, letting the background tell the story was pivotal to tonight’s dinner. Dipping his brush into a spicy, buttery sauce, Yuuri outlined the swivels and branches of a midsummer night’s eve. The minute squares from the sliced chilis moved along the ebb and flow of the brush, swimming along a buttery vein before they found a place to clog.

The butter, itself, was a bit difficult to control. Liquids moved where they pleased, but angling the dinner plates and rounding off the harsh breaks in between the veins and the white space. A gentle curve of the sauce illustrated the summer blooms that Yuuri often saw through the kitchen window when he cared ot glance out. Though he had never smelled them, Yuuri imagined that they were as spicy as his sauce when he sprinkled a little bit of black pepper over the top.

The strings behind his back swished with every step. Yuuri migrated towards the stove, tightening his apron against his will when he checked on the broth for tonight’s meal. A floating chunk of meat, ensnared around a segmented femur, bobbed up and down with every stir of the ladle. Yuuri lifted his chopsticks from the kitchen counter and poked at the meat. Softly digging the tip of his utensil between the bone and meat, and he was able to separate the two gently. With that, Yuuri lowered the heat and pressed a lid over the top of his boiled pot.

Somewhere on the floor, waiting for a tasty morsel to rain down from the counter, was Makkachin. Ears perked, tail wagging, as her nose followed Yuuri. She borked, ever-so slightly against the symphony of cuts and boils, and Yuuri carefully washed his hands before rubbing underneath Makkachin’s jaw. The old poodle nuzzled against his touch, poking her nose at Yuuri’s fingers and licking his palm. She could smell the faint trace of chicken and steamed broccoli on Yuuri’s skin, and Makkachin knew that she was going to dine like a Queen tonight.

There was no better story than that, Yuuri figured, when he had to let Makkachin go so that he could plate her meal. Yuuri washed his hands and thought of the story he wanted to tell. From the drawer came a knife, from the cabinets came a friendly plastic plate, and from his workstation came a bed of broccoli laced with delicate chicken breasts on top. Sliced thinly, like a blanket, and clothed under a metal cover. Makkachin followed Yuuri to the dining table, propped onto her hind legs and her nose booped against her plate.

“Not yet, Makkachin. We have to wait for Viktor to come home.” A smile pressed against Yuuri’s lips when Makkachin steadied herself back onto the floor, and she moved towards the front door of the apartment. Sitting there, as if that would make Viktor come home faster. It was a good idea. Maybe Yuuri could sit next to her and wait. All the cooking finished, preparations accounted for, and now was just the game between the stomach and the clock when Yuuri washed his hands again. Scrubbing soap between his digits, under the curve of his nails, and pushing his glasses up with his knuckles.

Viktor had always come home at a certain time, maybe ten minutes before or after depending on traffic. Today was the latter; but even so, it never failed to quicken Yuuri’s heartbeats when he picked out a knife to clean. The clarity of his reflection over the blade reminded Yuuri to have faith, but his grip over the handle reminded him that he might have to cut more meat before it was ready to eat. If that day were to ever come, Yuuri wasn’t sure of how he’ll explain it to Makkachin. He turned his head back, watching how the poodle wagged her tail for a man that may never come home. But then, the door knob turned and Makkachin borked and ran around in circles when Viktor appeared on the other side of the door. She leapt into his arms, and Viktor danced around with Makkachin against his chest before aches coaxed for Makkachin to come down.

With his grip loose on a knife’s handle, Yuuri finished cleaning it and motioned for Viktor to come into the kitchen. He waltzed right in, peeling out from his jacket and loosening his toe when he admired Yuuri’s work. Resting his chin upon the curve of Yuuri’s shoulder when Yuuri lifted the lid from a pot and showed Viktor tonight’s dinner.

“Is that a bone?” Viktor’s breath swirled with the steam emitted from the pot, and they fogged Yuuri’s glasses.

“Only the best for my love.” Yuuri ladled a bit of the broth, and Viktor pressed his lips against the rim. A bit spilled, running down Viktor’s jaw and dripping on Yuuri’s shoulder before they both pulled apart. Suddenly shy, but they laughed at how quick they were to part and at how slow they came back together again. Yuuri tossed the ladle into the sink and rummaged from the drawers for another one while, at the same time, Viktor wiped his chin with his thumb. Cleaning it off with his tongue so he could taste the broth again before switching the kitchen radio on. The hum of a cello serenaded every step between him and Yuuri until Viktor tenderly asked if they could dance.

Right now? Yuuri ducked under Viktor’s arms and spun a new ladle through the tonight’s dinner. Dancing sounded nice, but Yuuri wasn’t dressed for the part. Not while in his sweatpants, a t-shirt three sizes too big on his frame, and a loose apron that felt more like a dress with every swish of his steps. Perhaps, he could join in Viktor’s little game. What were the conditions?

“We can dance to the end of time,” Viktor suggested. A slight bob to his bangs when his smile blossomed over like a flower.

“And miss dinner?” Yuuri took Viktor by the hand, and they were close once again. Perhaps a few breaths away as they stepped back and forth in their little dance, turning to the rhythms spilled from the kitchen radio and of the singer that caramelized their love like an apple to be plucked.

“And start over again,” Viktor whispered, pulling the words from the song when he enveloped Yuuri in his arms. A kiss to sew, but Yuuri spun around and captured Viktor in his arms.

With his arms supporting below Viktor’s hips, Yuuri paraded around the kitchen while Viktor buried his face behind his hands. Flush boiled across his cheeks, and Viktor stuttered that Yuuri couldn’t hold him like this forever. That their dinner was going to burn and Makkachin would have to eat on her own. Enough to earn a slight narrow to Yuuri’s eyes when he pressed Viktor’s back against the fridge door. A little ‘oof’ trailed from Viktor’s lips, but it wasn’t as sincere as the gushing performance from earlier. Come to think of it, the pink flushed across Viktor’s skin subsided and a different tune came through the kitchen radio.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind if dinner had to be made again.” Yuuri pressed his ear against Viktor’s stomach. Too far to hear his heartbeats, but there was a generous rumble. A crook of a smile caught Yuuri before he knew it, and he slowly lowered Viktor back onto the floor. “Were you lying to me earlier?”

“I thought about making dinner with you. I’ll confess to that.” Viktor folded his fingers over, exposing his eyes to Yuuri, and blinked so innocently.

No ulterior motive whatsoever, but the look crumbled Yuuri from the inside-out. How could he not drop his guard when Viktor batted his lashes? The curve of a smirk hidden behind Viktor’s palms when Yuuri took his bait. In a swish that swept Yuuri off of his feet, his thighs brushed against the kitchen counter next to the fridge and Viktor had him trapped. In a fluttering embrace, where Viktor could rest his ear against Yuuri’s heart and hear the rhythm of everything that words couldn’t convey.

These beats, once solitary, quickened in expectation when Viktor tiptoed his fingers up Yuuri’s arm and poked at his lover’s cheek. Yuuri chuckled softly, asking Viktor what he was doing. They were alone, in this seemingly forgotten corner of the kitchen because Makkachin entertained herself with a squeaky toy in the living room. The squeaks and the bounce of tossed rubber faded into the background when Viktor pulled his head away from Yuuri’s chest. His fingers beckoning Yuuri to lower his head. Yuuri’s glasses slipped and skidded across the tiled floor, just as Viktor pressed a kiss against his forehead. The warmth still lingered, even after Viktor pulled away and cuddled his face against Yuuri’s shoulder. Sort of like a cat, wanting to keep some part of himself attached to Yuuri.

“You might be a nightmare dressed as a daydream,” Viktor whispered underneath his breath.

The words, rounded over by the small pops and boils from the stove pot. Yuuri almost drew his attention to there before he felt Viktor shift. Yuuri met Viktor’s at the middle and understood what this moment meant. It was still so hard to believe that they were together like this, in Viktor’s mind when he poked Yuuri’s cheek again for reassurance. Yuuri folded his hands around Viktor���s finger, letting his warmth reassure Viktor instead. A crook of a smile began its migration over Viktor’s lips, the entire world reflected in his eyes. Despite Yuuri only seeing himself in there.

“But, even I know when the nightmares end. Sweetheart,” a kiss rested against Yuuri’s ear and Viktor won their little game. Though not a single word was said, Yuuri heard the very same vows that Viktor had said during their wedding. How he pressed a kiss near Yuuri’s ear, sort of like this, and whispered everything for Yuuri to hear only. Yuuri was his nightmare, his fantasy, his dream, and his reality. All rolled up into one figure, into the one Yuuri that was tender against his touch.

Every second ticked against their breaths when Yuuri loosened his apron. The fabric trickled down from his torso and crumbled against his lap. His arms loosely draped over the back of Viktor’s shoulders, more than ready for another kiss. If Viktor would like one.

[thfrustration]

Out There in the Dark - One Shot

TITLE OF STORY: Out There in the Dark CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: One shot AUTHOR: theotherspiderlady WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: daily life FIC SUMMARY: This is based on a reblog on my wall wherein: Someone needs to write a ‘the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear’ AU (original post by @iggycat) RATING: (From beginning to end): T WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: Unless you find standing at 2 am in your underwear offensive, then please move on. FEEDBACK/COMMENTS:

“CASS! CASS!”

Cass groaned softly, groping for her extra pillow. Having found it, she grabbed it and dragged it over her head, hoping to muffle out the sound of the noise coming from the hallway.

“CASS! WAKE UP! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!”

Cass rolled over in bed, laying her head sideways so as not to suffocate on the pillow. Hands and arms were spread out weighing her down onto the mattress. Sleep was slowly escaping her, no thanks to the banging on her door and the muffled noise in the hallway. She pushed the pillow slightly upward so her nose and mouth could fill with air. She sighed in her sleep.

“CASS YOU BLOODY GIT! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! GET OUT OF BED OR SO HELP ME I’LL BREAK YOUR DOOR DOWN!”

Cass grunted irritably, sitting up and rubbing the sleep off her face. She squinted a bit until her eyesight cleared. She combed her hair with her fingers and shoved it all to one side, revealing a nice undercut. She picked up her glasses from the bedside table and put them on, peering around her room. Nothing new. It was the way she left it when she dozed off some…

Cass turned her head to the clock. It was 2:46 in the morning. What the hell?

Cass ran her hands over her nice warm bed as she stumbled out of it. Licking the stale taste out of her mouth, she grabbed the robe hanging from the footboard, letting it drag on the carpeted floor as she headed for the main door. Unhooking locks and clicking open switches took a while, and by the time the door was opened, Cass’s ears were ringing with the continuous banging of her unwanted visitor.

Staring up at her neighbor, Cass made her face twitch in annoyance. Before she could utter a word, her neighbor Bobby grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the stairs. The stairwell and hallways were eerily quiet, and it was then that Cass started to feel a bit nervous.

“Bob?—-” she started, but Bobby kept walking, pulling her along. They reached the ground floor and Cass’s ears were buzzing once again by the noise that greeted her as she and Bobby got out of the building. Ambulance sirens and fire truck sirens blared loudly, their blinking lights waking Cass’s spirit. She looked around as she passed neighbors from her floor as well as from the others in her building. Bobby pulled her hand until they crossed the road to a group of people Cass knew from their floor. Bobby’s wife Melissa smiled, pressing her hand to her chest in relief.

“Thank goodness Bobby. I was so worried,” she sighed, reaching for her husband. Cass let go and watched Bobby head for his family, letting his wife hold him while his two kids gathered around him. Cass looked at their building, expecting to see smoke coming from someone’s window.

But there wasn’t any.

People were whispering around her, saying it was a false alarm and that one of the yuppies from the upper floors accidently tripped the smoke alarm. A breeze swept by and Cass drew her robe closed, shivering slightly as she scanned the sea of people. Some of them she knew over the two years that she had taken up residence there, Bobby and his family were her first friends, since they lived beside her flat. People were huddled together trying to keep warm as they watched the fire fighters investigate what tripped the fire alarm.

“What a perfect morning to choose to trip the alarm eh? I read the wind is extra cold around this time,” blubbered someone to Cass’s left. She looked up and stared at a tall ginger-haired man, probably in his thirties, standing beside her in a pair of sweat pants and nothing more. His hands were tucked under his armpits and he was fidgeting to get his blood going. Breath fog came from his mouth that was adorned by a decent-looking beard. He was shaking slightly. Cass stepped closer and held out her hand. Tall beardy guy looked at her.

“Take it. It might keep you warm.”

Confused and slightly weirded out, the man took her hand and gently pulled her close. Cass let her arm lean against his chest and she could feel just how cold he was getting. She gently pulled her robe open, shivering when the wind entered and hit her skin. She shimmied out of her robe and handed it to the man. “Here, take it,” she said nonchalantly, ignoring the protests going on in her bones.

The man was surprised, and he pushed the robe back. “Oh no I couldn’t. Please, that’s yours. I’ll be fine,” he replied, grinning bashfully. Cass looked around and spotted the ambulance not too far away. She looked back at the man and pointed at the ambulance. “I’ll get you a warm blanket. In the meantime, you might as well take it. You’re barely covered. You’ll catch your death out here.”

The man looked down at the small robe, barely able to fit into it, but enough to cover at least his back and chest. He nodded, wrapping it haphazardly around his shoulders. He looked at Cass and smiled.  “Thanks so much. It IS a bit warmer.”

Cass nodded, saying nothing. She walked away in the direction of the ambulance where some of the other tenants were gathered around. The morning wind was merciless and Cass wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. Mist formed in her breath and she sighed when she reached the gathering of people. She asked one of the staff for an extra blanket or two and he handed them over. She thanked him and headed back to her group, one blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It was heavy on her body, but she felt the security and comfort it brought.

When she reached the other side of the street however, the man who had her robe was gone. She looked around, checking if he was behind this and that. She walked towards Bobby and his family who smiled at her. “Hey Cass, what’s going on?”

“Bobby, have you seen a tall ginger-haired man with a beard? I think he’s from our building.”

Bobby shrugged. “Nope. Didn’t notice. Say, does anyone own that blanket? Do you mind if I have it? The kids are a little cold.”

Cass handed the blanket over, smiling as Bobby wrapped it around the children. She continued her search for the man but found nothing. She sighed in disappointment, hitching the blanket over her shoulder. A few minutes later, a fire marshal arrived and declared that the fire was out and they could head back into the building. The air of tension finally lifted, everyone happily traipsed back into the building, talking loudly and joyfully, ready to get back into bed.

Cass went up to her floor with Bobby and his family. They bid each other good night in the hallway and went into their separate flats. Cass got into her quiet flat, seeing the ambulance lights flashing from her window. She dropped the blanket to the floor and sighed, scratching her head as she wondered about her missing companion. Securing her door, she hoped he was okay, and that he’d put her robe to good use. She liked that robe.

Sleep long gone, Cass opened the lights in her kitchen and decided to make herself a cup of tea. She got her stove going and settled a pot of hot water on it for boiling. While choosing her tea, there was a rap on her door. She turned her stove off and headed for the door, peering through the peephole.

The man with the ginger hair stood nervously in her hallway, holding her robe in one hand. Cass quickly unlocked her door and opened it, smiling a bit as she greeted him. “Hi,” she remarked, looking at him now wearing a shirt and sporting a thick button down coat.

The man grinned nervously. “Um, hi. I’m sorry. Here’s your robe,” he muttered, handing the robe over. Cass took it from him as he scratched his head. “Sorry for disappearing like that. I actually just arrived from a party and my friend who dropped me off heard the news and drove right back. He lent me some clothes.”

Cass shrugged, figuring that this guy had someone taking care of him. It made her feel a bit jealous, but she was used to being alone anyway. “It doesn’t matter. You’re okay. And the building’s okay. We can go back to sleep now.” The man nodded, fidgeting with his fingers. “I guess…”

The two fell into silence. Cass looked up at the man, with his green-blue eyes and his nicely-trimmed beard. She could have sworn she’s seen this guy before, but perhaps she bumped into him buying milk at the grocery or something. She gripped her robe to her chest and nodded. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around then,” she mumbled, making a show of closing the door.

Cass could have sworn that the man looked a bit sad when she said this. He nodded, smiling sadly at her. “I guess so. You probably have a busy day ahead. I wouldn’t want to keep you,” he whispered, biting his lip. He didn’t make a show of stopping her, which only pressed Cass to close the door even more. Before she could click it shut, the man put his hand on her door, stopping it from moving. Cass peeked through the crack and looked up at the man. He showed her his hand, a defensive move, or perhaps a less-threatening one?

“Ummm, I know it’s late, but I’d like to show my appreciation for letting me borrow your robe,” he started, wondering if Cass would respond. Cass tilted back to look at her clock. It was 4:15.

“Ummm, you do know it’s barely past 4 in the morning?” she said sarcastically, trying to smile. The man nodded. “Yes, and I’m sorry for keeping you up, but, I still want to make it up to you.”

“Make what up to me? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No? I made a beautiful woman get me a blanket and I left her standing there alone. I think you deserve more than that.”

Cass could not explain why it got so hot all of a sudden. Another smoke alarm tripped perhaps?

“Umm…you don’t have to do that…”

The man smiled gently. “I want to.”

“Cass could feel like her cheeks were imploding. She looked at the man and grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Well… I’m actually making some tea. Would you like a…”

The man tilted his head to peek into her flat but shook his head. “Oh no, I couldn’t. I know this is your rest time before work later. I was wondering more on the lines of inviting you out to dinner after work. Somewhere you’d like.” He grinned like a schoolboy. “If you’re free…”

Cass nodded, admiring the man’s unconscious notion of letting her have her privacy. “I’d like that mister…”

It was the man’s turn to blush. “Oh shit, where are my manners? I’m Tom, Tom Hiddleston. I live on the bottom floor beside Mr. Anderson.”

Something clicked in Cass’s memory. She smiled brightly. “Oh! You’re the one who’s barely here. The actor!” Tom blushed, scratching the back of his head in an embarrassed sort of way. “Ehehehehe, yes, well. I’m back for a few months. I got some work to do here in London.” He looked at Cass and couldn’t help but feel some attraction towards this woman who went as far as seeing him in his semi-underpants. He grunted when he realized that he was staring. “Um, yes, er, so….. what time do you get home?”

Cass smirked. “Around five, but that depends on the volume of people in the Underground.”

Tom nodded. “I’ll knock.”

Cass couldn’t help but blush even more. “Um… I got to get back to my tea, so I could get back to bed.” She was tempted to invite him in. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asked.

Tom nodded his head again. “I’ll be fine. You kept me warm.” Tom’s smile disappeared when he realized just how corny that sounded. “Erm, that is, when you lent me your robe.”

Cass giggled at this, and she sighed. “Well at least you’re not freezing anymore.”

Silence echoed around them when the conversation ended. Tom dragged his hand over his hair again and sighed. “Well, I’ll be seeing you later then,” he flustered, raising his hand in goodbye. Cass waved back as she closed the door. She got all her confounded locks and switches back in place. When she was done, she pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pounding. She grinned, allowing herself a minute of flattery before she went back to her tea. Before she got far, she heard shuffling from behind her door.

“Um…miss?” came Tom’s muffled voice. Confused, Cass walked back to her door and was going to go through her locks when Tom quickly stopped her. “No! Don’t open the door anymore. I came back because… because I don’t even know your name.”

Cass put her hand on the door and smiled. “It’s Cassandra, but Cass is okay,” she called out, wondering what Tom looked like beyond her door. She tiptoed and took a peek. He could see his chest facing her and she could tell that he was leaning against the door.

On the other side, Tom had his hand on the door too, pressing against it, wondering what Cass was doing. He smiled when he heard her name and blushed. “Cass. Right. Well, it was nice to meet you Ms. Cass. I’ll see you later.” He took a step back and looked at the peephole. He grinned and waved as he started down the hallway. Cass grinned like a loon until Tom was out of sight. She started giggling to herself as she stepped back and went back to her now cold pot of water. She resigned to the inevitable and went back to bed, hoping to catch a few more hours of sleep. She was halfway through her hallway when she cursed out loud and did a double-take back to the kitchen, where she left her robe.

She picked it up and smiled at it, thanking it silently for being the culprit of all this. She raised it up and gave a sniff, smelling Tom’s cologne and shampoo. It made her hair stand on ends and cause her to emit a round of giggles. She clutched it to her chest and went back to the room, wrapping herself with it.

And imagine, all that happened between 2 to 4 in the morning.

END

[mommavanillabear]

The Dream Eater

No one knew where he came from, only that he was a devil in disguise, with pointed ears and silver tongue, he could charm any poor soul with the sweet words that came from his lips. With silent footsteps and gentle hands, he soothed his victim, giving them bliss, giving them dreams sweet as be, yet when the time came for him to leave, he left only shadows and sleepless night. He’s a dream eater, as charming as a prince, yet make a deal with him and you would surely drown.

Young Dipper Pines lost track of how many nightmares he had awaken from, far too many to count, each night nearly the same, waking up with a cold sweat, his bed sheets tangled about him from his tossing and turning. Each night it took longer to fall asleep than the last. He never fully knew what he dreamt, only that he was drowning in a sea of shadows, crying loudly for someone to save him.

Yet no one ever came.

Sitting up in his bed the young teen wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest, his eyes closed tightly to will the fear that creeped through him to go away. Sleeping in his own room Dipper had no sister to talk to, no one he could sneak into bed with and hold- his twin sister had her own room and he his. Counting back from a hundred to quell his fears Dipper never saw the shadow that fell across the moon lit patch in his room- never heard the soft tapping at the window until the glass was moved up, the window opening with a creak.

Turning to the window Dipper stared in terror at a man leaning through his window- tanned skin with pointed ears and eye the color of gold. With a white gloved hand the man- no, the demon motioned for Dipper to come over, a request Dipper found himself unable to deny, his body moving of its own accord, heading over to the window, his brown eyes widening at the sight.

The demons’ hair was a light butter blonde, falling over one side of his face, a bit messy in the back as if someone had been running their fingers through it. His clothes that of someone having been to a funeral- a form fitting black suite with the black jacket open to show a gold vest, a long white cane at his side. With the window opened further the demon slipped in, clearly taller than Dipper, his tanned lips in a whisper of a smile.

“Such a sweet little thing, having nightmares on such a beautiful night,” the demon cooed, leaning lightly on his cane, leaning over Dipper once the boy sat on his bed, watching the other closely, unable to stop his cheeks from blushing.

“Such a sweet thing shouldn’t have such nasty dreams- but I, I can make those nasty dreams go away.”

“Y-you can?”

The demon nodded, licking his lips.

“Dreams are delicious, each a different flavor- of course you caught me on a night that I’m hungry, so tell me sweet one, shall I give you a lovely dream in exchange for a meal?”

Dippers fingers worried at the sheet, his cheeks once again dusted pink, however he nodded, looking up at the demon, a soft whisper sounding.

“Please…what do I need to do?”

“Don’t you worry about that, just go back to sleep and I will do the rest.” The demon cooed, stepping closer, helping the boy get under the sheet and blanket, tucking him in, his cold gloved fingers brushing through Dipper’s bangs before he pressed a kiss to Dipper’s lips. Using his influence to force the other’s body to fall once more back to sleep, the demon licking his lips in delight. Stroking his cold gloved fingers through Dipper’s hair and down his cheeks the demon once more kissed Dipper’s lips, a soft mist emitting from the boys’ mouth which the demon promptly inhaled, devouring the nightmares that wracked Dipper’s sleeping mind. With the mist gone and Dipper’s face that of rest, the demon stood back up, heading to the window, casting the boy one last look before slipping out.

Surely, he would be back again.

And that he was, for not even week later Dipper was once more up with a nightmare, his body shaking as he moved towards the window, gazing up at the full moon until he once more saw the shadow of the demon, whispering softly for him to come give him a dream.

“It seems I’m back again my sweet one, your nightmare last week was most delicious- but something is amiss, have you called me here to eat yet another?” The demon practically purred, stepping closer to Dipper when the boy nodded, fingers once more stroking Dipper’s cheeks. “I’ll give you the sweetest dream you could ever imagine- but next time I will be wanting more than just a free meal, do you understand?”

Nodding eagerly, uncaring of the cost, Dipper was once again tucked into bed, a soft yawn escaping him as the demon worked his magic, this time, he could feel the soft kisses the demon gave him, the boy giving kisses back until his eye lids were to heavy and he found himself asleep, dreaming peacefully of cold fingers and kisses as the demon fed off his nightmares.

Not even a night later Dipper sat by the window, fingers resting against the cool glass of his window, waiting up just a little past midnight for his ‘angel’ to appear, his blanket tucked around him, his breath fogging the window until he realized the demon once more had arrived, his golden eye full of glee at the sight.

“My sweet one, have you had a bad dream again?”

“N-no, I- I don’t want to wake up anymore…” Dipper whispered, reaching out with his hands to hold one of the demon’s. “Please- the dreams you give me- they’re so much better than anything I could ever think of- so much better than reality…”

The demon’s eye widened in surprise before his lips fell into a smile.

“I want to dream and never wake up- I want to feel your hands on my cheeks and your lips on mine…” His cheeks were dark with embarrassment, eyes full of longing. “Please- won’t you give me a dream I won’t wake up from?”

Very few had asked such a request from the demon, and most received their dreams; most were found the next day dead in their beds, but this one?

The demon had plans for this one.

“And you are sure this is what you want?”

Dipper nodded, his fingers continuing to hold the demons hand. With a smile the demon led Dipper to the window, his lips kissing the boy’s once more before he slipped out, reassuringly helping Dipper through the window, holding the gasping boy’s hand, knowing full well just how far up they were. Moving Dipper as if he was weightless the demon had him up in his arms, carrying him bridal style, fingers closing Dipper’s tired eyes, lips pressing against his.

Were it anyone else the demon would have dropped them, letting them have their ‘eternal sleep’, but this one?

This one was different, he would let the boy have the sweetest of dreams, and in return the demon will feed off any nightmare that dared to intrude on his realm. For he was a dream eater- a demon of illusion and consequence, and was never going to let Dipper go.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Based off of a Vocaloid song that I have been obsessed with.

May write a NSFW side story for this.

[hrmkingizzy]

Prompt: Write a story that contains at least one explosion.

Ice tinked against the sides of Walter’s glass as his hands shook unconsciously. He stared down into the streets from the balcony of his penthouse. A soft fog covered the tarmac. Wisps rose here and there, but none made it far before they evaporated.

"Walter, come away from the window." The soft, velvety voice came from inside. Walter turned to see Margaret at the door.

"I don't like it, Margie."

"I know, hon. But what can you do?"

I'm scared, he thought, though he kept that thought to himself. Margaret already thought him paranoid enough. He didn't need to fuel the fire of her doubt in him. He was supposed to be a smart, clever man. Smart, clever men didn't fear the boogeyman lurked around every corner. Still, he couldn't fight the feeling—that nagging, itching feeling—that something dangerous would come for him.

"Here." Margaret took his glass from him. "Let's get you a refill. You go sit in the lounge while I do that."

Walter nodded and followed her inside. He turned toward the lounge as she headed for the kitchen.

"And Walter?"

"Hmm?"

"Relax." She smiled at him—soft and kind as she was—but it did nothing for his nerves. His stomach fluttered from the anxiety which made him sick.

He breathed deep, his eyes shut for the shortest moment in time. He fought down the urge to be sick. The fear was strong, but he had to be stronger. Walter sat down on the couch, his head on the arm and his feet stretched out over the cushions. He folded his arms over his chest and shut his eyes in an attempt to block out the rest of the world.

A tink tink brought him back.

"Here we are," Margaret said. She held his glass out to him, now filled with whiskey and fresh ice. When he took it, she tapped his legs and he sat up to allow her room beside him.

Walter sipped the drink while Margaret watched him. The way she looked at him—as if he would go off the hinge at any moment—unnerved him. It certainly did nothing to help that biting suspicion that something was out to get him.

A loud BANG sounded outside the building. Walter jumped up from his seat—his glass laid broken on the floor where it landed—and headed over to the balcony again. "What was that?!"

"Walter, come away from the window," Margaret said. "I'm sure it was nothing."

He peered down into the streets, though he didn't have to strain much to see the cause of the noise. Smoke billowed upwards. Flames licked at a car on the side of the road. He couldn't see it well enough from the height of the hotel to know for sure, but that familiar sinking feeling in his gut told him all he needed to know.

"That's my car," he said. "My car just exploded."

"Don't be ridiculous." Margaret came out to stand beside Walter. She rested her hand on his arm and looked over with him. "That could be anyone's car. You can't even see it from here."

Walter shrugged her off and shoved through her back into the apartment. "No," he said. He went for the coat rack. His keys sat in a bowl next to it. He put his coat on, stuffed his keys in his pocket, and slipped on his shoes.

"Walter." Margaret was exasperated, but Walter didn't care. She didn't understand. Yes, it was paranoia. The paranoia ruled his every thought, but it wasn't unfounded. He was a cautious man by nature, sure. That wasn't it, though. Something nagged at him, telling him something was coming. He wasn't safe.

He ignored Margaret, who came to stand behind him. He threw open the door and rushed out. At first he headed towards the elevator, but that wouldn't be fast enough. The stairs would get him there quicker, and it'd be a lot harder to stop him going down the stairs than it would be to shut off the elevator.

He took the stairs three at a time, pausing every other floor to catch his breath. By the time he reached the lobby, his chest ached from the labored breathing and his legs burned. Walter pushed through his exhaustion and ran to the entrance.

That's my car. The same thought played over and over in his head. It's mine. He had to see it up close.

Sirens wailed in the distance—fire trucks on their way to deal with the explosion, and police hurrying to get people out of the way. Walter burst through the door of the hotel out into the streets. People had started to gather to gawk at the sight.

"It's my car!" he yelled. He looked up towards his apartment, but Margaret had left the balcony. All he saw was the metal floor of it, sticking out from the hotel wall. "It's my car." He pushed his way through the crowd towards the burning hunk of metal which would now be unusable. I knew something— he couldn't finish the thought. Something had come for him.

Something. What bothered him the most was his thought wasn't Someone is out to get me. No, it was Something is coming. But why? What would want him?

"Walter!" Margaret came to him. She wrapped her hands around his wrist and pulled, but he stood firm.

What do I do? he wondered. The thing, whatever it was, it knew where to find him.

Another loud BANG rang through the streets. Metal clanged onto the tarmac and steam rushed out from where a manhole had exploded upward.

Walter only looked for a moment—enough to take it what had happened—before he turned around and ran. He pumped his fists at his side and let the pain in his chest take over as he just ran. It didn't matter where he went, he just needed to go.

Margaret kept good pace with him considering she wore heels. Her shoes click click clicked against the sidewalk as she ran alongside him. He stopped only when he head swam from the exertion.

"What has gotten into you?!" Margaret demanded. She buckled over, her arm rested under her ribs as she fought to catch her breath.

"It was my car." His voice was low, barely audible. "My car, Margie. Why my car?"

"Walter—" she started, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

"Why?!" he said. "Why my car? I told you! I knew something—"

"Walter, there's nothing after you! Accidents happen."

"No." He shook his head in defiance. "It wasn't an accident. You know it's not an accident. Something—"

Margaret pried his hands off her. "Stop," she said. "Walter, just stop. You're insane." Her hand went to a pocket in her dress, but Walter was faster. He smacked her hand away, and metal clanged on the sidewalk. He stared in disbelief at the discarded kitchen knife. His jaw fell, and he looked up into her fearful eyes.

"You!" The pieces all fell together. It all suddenly made sense. Margaret, she—

Tears fell from her eyes, and she sobbed. "No," she said. "You. You're off your rocker, Walter. I can't."

Walter swiped the knife from where it lay at her feet. With one hand he shoved her against the building they stood outside, and the other shoved the blade into stomach. He wiggled it upward, pushing hard as it fought against her muscles.

Her mouth opened, but no words were formed. She only watched him with wide, terrified eyes. Her hands went to the wound when he pulled away. Blood stained her hands and her dress.

But he wasn't done.

Walter took the knife again, this time pressing it into her throat. He didn't like the garble she made as the blood welled out. He shut his eyes to block out the sound. The world silenced around him; the only noise a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

"Why, Margie?" he pleaded. "How could you?"

Her body fell limp onto the sidewalk. He stared down at her, and then to the knife in his hand. Kneeling down, he wiped the blade on the skirt of her dress. The he stood and started to run again, this time with a weapon to defend himself.

Margaret wasn't the only one. He knew it. Just like her knew about her. The something was coming. He hadn't gotten rid of all of it. He'd be foolish to think one woman—

Margie. Walter wasn't crazy. He'd been crazy to trust her, but now he knew better. No one could be trusted. Not as long as that something was coming.