#I just want to pay this off so my credit can rise so i can buy groceries again

[800-dick-pics]

Help a Black Disabled Lesbian out of Debt!

Hey yall Im in a really tight spot because my abusive mother, she put bills in my name as child so now I am getting debt collector mail. She lied to me and said she paid them off but she didnt. I have been in classes for a month and I really cant pay this off especially now. Because of this I can no longer use my credit card to buy groceries which is a huge issue esp because my dog needs food. My mom refuses to help me pay these debts off. With the help of my partner we have been able to cover previous bills but this one is over $450. I really need to pay this off ASAP.

GOAL - $485

CA: $sleepyhen

VN: wildwotko

DM for Paypl

[astrow1zar6]

Rising sign Observations~ how you first come off to others

Scorpio risings i noticed tend to be the most disliked out of all the rising signs off the jump so imma get into that one first. Scorpio risings have this “no time for bs” look which can come off as very intimidating & bitchy to others. They almost have this X-ray vision when meeting new people, they can tell who you are by talking to you for 5 minutes or even just observing how you act & if they don’t like it they will act accordingly. They don’t have time for social graces if they aren’t interested in you which can make people dislike them or view them as rude. They are just very real people tbh and if they catch a bad vibe they will not fake that they like you (which as a Capricorn rising I truly admire cuz I’m the same way). But once you get close enough where they can trust you these people are such soft babies at heart fr😭 I met a lot that had bad social anxiety and don’t be as strong and intense as they come off. These people are also like a vault you can vent to them about the deepest shit and you can trust no one will ever know. They also have these siren eyes that either scare the shit outta you or hypnotize you. People that love Scorpio risings are usually confident people who are true to themselves they are a repellent for phony vibes and energy. This is honestly one of my fav rising signs.

Libra rising on the flip side is a rising sign that doesn’t mind others being fake towards them or being a lil fake towards others, this is a trick to their charm they try to be what others want them to be whether it’s them or not. (Unless there are heavy Aries or Scorpio placements) this mask however is the reason why they are super popular and people are so attracted to them. They truly love being admired by others to the point they will be a kiss ass for validation. These people grew up paying attention to what made others tick and what people preferred which is why they are so likeable. They are usually seen as conventionally attractive as well (thanks to Venus’s influence) which is a great bonus to their already charming personality. Even if they aren’t conventionally attractive they are usually really aesthetically pleasing to look at whether it be how they wear their hair or makeup or fashion sense. They are big romantics and love flirting with attractive people & get a big ego boost from romantic attention (even if they aren’t into the person😭). I don’t really like this sign too much cuz I can see past the super nice bs most of the time but they are very engaging and usually hilarious so I’ll give them credit. They also really appreciate others who are good hearted as well (even though they end up attracting very assertive & harsh people lol). I respect how far these people go to make others feel comfortable and appreciated, their influence makes others believe there are still good people in the world. They are also not scared to stand up for any injustice they will go to war over what’s right! I respect it.

Capricorn risings are like the ice queens of the rising signs. Their face either looks pissed off all the time or it’s completely nonchalant and emotionless. Most people off jump assume these people are boring as shit and don’t think about anything other than work and ambitions which is very far from the truth. Deep down most are very sensitive and nurturing to those they trust but their inability to show vulnerability makes it hard to get any personality out of them. They are very selective with who they share their personality with you have to be a certain vibe. With some people they can come off as quiet and annoyed and with others they become extremely extroverted and funny. People honestly don’t talk about how HILARIOUS these people can be once they get comfortable with you (Sagittarius in the 12th house: hidden comedian). They have the best dry humor I’ve ever met and their comedic timing is perfect but it’s unfortunate because they are usually so shy at first people don’t even know they are. These were the kids that would say something hilarious under their breath in school and some loud asshole would hear it and copy what they said louder and the whole class dies laughing (this has happened to me sm🤦🏽‍♀️). They usually struggle with self confidence and social anxiety at a young age which is why many described them as “awkward kids”. They have this weird Benjamin Button affect where in childhood they can be quiet and super mature but as they age they become super goofy and careless, this the same concept with their looks as well (could’ve looked older when young but as they got old they look younger). They usually age like fine wine too btw.

Gemini risings are usually super smart people but they can come off as so ditzy and childish that most people really don’t know that they are that smart. I’ve seen people with this placement get straight As and have amazing credit scores but act like they are five personality wise😂. These people are so bubbly and childlike that it’s almost refreshing to be around (especially for more unexpressive signs). These people have an amazing ability to save anyone from an awkward conversation. If you’ve ever been in a group where no one knew what to say to eachother the minute a Gemini rising walks in it’s like “thank goddd”. These people are amazing conversationalists which can get them really far in life and help them become super popular! It’s usually a breeze for these people to get jobs I notice too they are usually amazing in interviews, they can attract opportunities to them super easily by just speaking. The only issue is they have a hard time keeping the opportunities they get so easily not because they are irresponsible (which sometimes is the case) but mostly out of boredom. Boredom are these people’s Achilles heel. Once the excitement dies from something new the move on to the next best think. It’s not uncommon to see these people change careers constantly or move every year, change their friend group and partners ect. They must learn stability is they really want to grow and mature and keep their eggs in one basket. They really crave this deep down inside (their taurus is in the 12th house: secretly wanting stability) but with such a restless nature it can be difficult. I also notice if afflicted these people can be SUPER obnoxious and can struggle with not talking, they sometimes can talk too much and gossip too much. Usually we’re always in trouble in school for “disrupting the class” or “talking when the teacher is talking” as children. But overall these people are big kids at heart and are very charming.

Pisces risings are usually extremely soft spoken and almost come off as too pure for this world. They are usually super kind and find it hard to say anything bad about anyone. Normally very quiet and can look like they are always in a daze. These people look like they are in la la land more than any Pisces placement imo. But don’t be fooled just because they seem super nice doesn’t mean all of them are. This placement is probably the hardest to tell if they are bad people because of how pure they come off they can manipulate anyone. They can be big soft spoken manipulators and people won’t even think twice that they’re being used with is truly impressive & a lil terrifying if you ask me. Many people believe they can do no wrong so they get away with a lot of shit. They usually prefer to be in their own little worlds than be in reality which can make them very creative but also very isolated at times. Like Capricorn, I notice they can struggle with social anxiety as well from a young age & could’ve believed their personalities were awkward and weird. They have so much empathy towards others because they could’ve been brought up where they needed to put others before themselves. My grandma had this placement and I asked her one time if you can have any wish what you’d it be and she responded with “ I would wish that everyone who was homeless would be able to have a home” I thought that was the most sweetest thing to wish for 🥺. These people though have an issue with avoiding responsibility because of how in their heads they can be, these are probably the biggest procrastinators of them all. They don’t do too well when it comes to being practical and neglect a lot of things in their life if it’s too overwhelming or requires too much energy. Which is why it’s important for these people to find ways to ground themselves or find a partner who is very grounded. ( I highly recommend to stay away from any type of substance abuse!!). They could’ve also been taken advantage of a lot because of their soft natured so many have trust issues when getting to know others.

Sagittarius risings are usually the loudest ones in the room, seriously though you can hear these people a mile away lol. Everything these people do is “big” from their personality, their laugh, their fashion ect. I’ve seen these people go both ways to some being super popular and adored or they are usually bullied for being obnoxious and attention seeking. These people have a bit of a “me first” way of thinking at times which can either bother others or be admirable. They usually love parties and are really fun to be around in big events like that. They are usually the ones in the middle of the dance floor or cracking jokes trying to make new friends. These people are also super smiley and cute lol they have such wholesome smiles. It’s rare to catch these people in a bad mood most people see them as very happy go lucky which attracts a lot of people to them. I most of the women with this placement are THICCC. Gives big hips and nice thighs and a nice 🍑👀.

Cancer risings i notice want to be babied emotionally & enjoy babying others emotionally as well. From the ones i met they need A LOT of emotional validation especially from their partner. This can be either sweet or draining depending on the person. Usually they are pretty open with their emotions even if they don’t try to be you can see it all over their face lol. They wear their heart on their sleeve. They really enjoy deep talks with the people they love and enjoy helping people get better after being sad. They would do amazing in caretaking careers such as nursing, hospice workers ect. What’s nice about these people is that they usually genuinely care about what’s wrong in your life and will listen for hours to someone vent. Helping people I notice gives them a sense of purpose. Most I meet were usually not nurtured properly growing up (especially by the mother) so they adopted this nurturing personality to others to sorta make up for what they lacked. They usually look very innocent and have big doe eyes and pale ghostly skin (think of Snow White). Even if from a different race they are usually the lightest in the family. They are also usually blessed with amazing mommy milkers iyk what I mean. They can however be pretty emotionally manipulative if they feel like they are losing someone (mostly a partner) they can almost guilt their partners to stay with them and fuck with their emotions if they feel a breakup coming (if immature however). They usually have pretty bad abandonment issues and don’t take people leaving their life well at all. They usually think about old friends/partners from years ago. They are very nostalgic people and hate change most of the time. It’s hard for them to move on to people they truly cared about even if they were super toxic.

Virgo rising’s usually come off to others as very humble and modest. Usually the least likely to brag about themselves to others, even though deep down they want too (Leo in the 12th house). They are normally pretty reserved and can come off as aloof at first but once they get comfortable they will definitely yap your ear off lol (mercury influence). These people are usually very smart and strived to get good grades in school. Could have been seen as the teachers pet. These were also the kids that were big know it alls lol they were those kids that argued with the teacher because they believed they were wrong😭 they can come off as snobby at times cuz of this which doesn’t really attract them a lot of friends. Most have a very small circle of close buddies that they hold dear to them. These people can either be super clean freaks or messy as shit no in between. I notice they prefer to wear comfy simple clothing, nothing to flashy or dramatic & they can pull off the natural face look great. I’ve seen that these people can struggle with sensitive skin as well and can have struggles with acne. Usually these people are super insecure about themselves (like most Virgo placements) they try to come off as perfect to everyone which usually burns them out pretty fast. They want others to admire them and see them as perfect so they go through great lengths to keep this image up. (Y’all don’t gotta do all that to impress others🥺). Usually gives a nerdy vibe to the person even if they don’t look nerdy on the outside they just give off that vibe a lot. Their love language is acts of service and if they love you they will do anything for you! I notice as well these people are very big on routines, if their routine gets messed up in any type of way they can get very pissy and irritated. Routines give them a sense of control so when they don’t have a solid routine they can act a bit unstable. They usually enjoy doing practical things like grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning for fun ect. Many can view them as pretty boring but they just enjoy the simple things in life that most people look over.

I don’t have time to talk about the others because I have work😩 but if you guys really dig these observations I will make a part two tomorrow ♥️☺️

[munson-blurbs]

We're a month away from Valentine's Day and I was hoping/begging for you to write something very heartbreaking or angsty with Eddie, maybe something where she finally has the courage to confess her feeling for him and he rejects her for another girl who's prettier and cuter. Idk I just want to cry and feel sad on Valentine's Day, please ❤

TW: hurt/no comfort, dead dove don't eat, best friend!Eddie, rejection, angst, Reader wears a dress, smut (18+ only, minors DNI).

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

“Can I ask you for a huge favor?”

Eddie Munson turned from the TV, eyes wandering to keep an eye on the screen as Shelley Duvall swung her bat at Jack Nicholson. “Shoot,” he said through a mouthful of popcorn. 

This was it. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to say the words aloud. 

“I know you hate dressing up…and school…and, well, people,” you started, relief flooding your chest when he smiled at your joke, “but I was hoping you’d go with me to the prom? As friends,” you hurriedly reassured him. 

His smile faltered, butter-greased lips forming a grimace. “The prom? Seriously?” Eddie blew out a breath. “You do realize I’ve made it through almost six years of high school and never once went to those stupid dances.”

“I know. It’s just…I can’t go alone. The school has that antiquated rule about needing a date.”

“You should tell them to suck it.” Eddie tossed a piece of popcorn in the air. It missed his mouth, bouncing off of his chin and landing on the floor. “Just show up solo. It’s not like they’ll kick you out.”

God, just the thought of it—the humiliation of being turned away at the door, your beautiful dress all for naught—sent a preemptive flash of heat through your veins. 

“Please, Eddie. Think of it as paying me back after all of the times I let you copy my homework.” 

He sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll go. But only because you’re my best friend, and it would kill me to watch you moping around the place for the next two months.”

Without thinking, you flung your arms around him, nearly knocking over the popcorn bowl in the process. But as soon as he hugged you back, you couldn’t be bothered to care. Everything just felt so right when he held you. 

Just last week at Hellfire, he’d slung an arm over your shoulder and congratulated you on casting the fireball that defeated the demogorgon. You’d practically leapt out of your skin at the weight of his forearm against you, fighting the urge to thread your fingers with his. How natural it might be. 

That longing grew even stronger as prom night approached. When you picked out your prom dress, you couldn’t help but twirl in front of the mirror and imagine Eddie’s hands on it. Every conversation about corsages and boutonnieres sent a giddy wave rushing through your body. 

The moment that left you spinning was when Gareth teased Eddie about slow dancing. You expected Eddie to launch a pretzel across the table, aimed squarely at Gareth’s forehead. Instead, he blushed. 

Blushed. 

“Shut up, man,” he grumbled. “You know I don’t do that shit. If I can’t headbang to a song, it’s not even worth listening to.”

You spent the rest of lunch imagining swaying to a slow beat, Eddie leading. His lips would brush against the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine, as he murmured something about how beautiful you looked. 

Then his lips would travel down your jawline, placing kisses in a trail to your own mouth. And everyone else in the decorated school gym would fade into the background, shrouded in a haze that kept you and Eddie in your own world…

Except you were going as friends. Friends. Nothing more. You had to remind yourself of that fact, had to shove down the burgeoning hope that kept rising to the surface. 

Eddie’s van stuck out among the Beemers and limousines that filled the high school parking lot. It didn’t matter to you; it never did, not even when the engine backfired or the axles squealed. So long as Eddie was your date, you didn’t care if you’d pedaled to the prom on a tandem bicycle.

Green, white, and orange streamers hung from the gym ceiling, brushing against the matching balloon towers every so often. A band played some song from the sixties that your parents played on their record player, though you couldn’t quite place the tune.

“This already blows,” Eddie mumbled, snaking a hand through his curls. “You really owe me, y’know that? This is worth much more than homework answers.”

You bit back a snarky comment. Tonight was a special night. Maybe Eddie just needed time to enjoy it. To appreciate it. To appreciate you, in your off-the-shoulder floral dress with your makeup styled just right.

He loosened his bowtie the second he sat down for dinner: some baked chicken and wilted lettuce leaves that constituted a salad. Perhaps not the best way to convince him that the prom was worth his time.

“I need a cigarette.” He blew out a breath and stood up, the chair screeching behind him. “Let me know if I win Prom King.”

You offered a weak smile at his joke and watched him walk away. He’d be back soon, with plenty of time for a slow dance. And maybe even tell him the truth about why you’d asked him to be your date.

Eddie, I like you. I’ve liked you for a really long time, and I want to be more than friends.

Simple and straight to the point. If only he’d come back from smoking that damn cigarette.

After fifteen minutes of no Eddie, you took matters into your own hands. 

The late May evening still held some warmth to it as you pushed open the double doors and walked outside, ready to ask him–beg him–to dance with you.

“Eddie, shit, someone’s coming.”

You whipped around to see Eddie–well, part of Eddie. Specifically, his ass. His slacks were pushed down, the belt clanging as his hips thrusted into one of the cheerleaders. Her own dress was hiked up around her waist.

“S’fine. Just be quiet, mmkay?” Each word was punctuated with a gasping breath. “God, you’re so tight. So good.”

No. No. It couldn’t be…he was there with you…

“Didn’t you bring a date?”

“She’s just a friend–oh, fuck, I’m gonna–”

Just a friend. Brutal honesty, not a lie, and yet it stabbed you like a knife in the heart. Your breath flew from your throat, and you clapped a hand over your mouth before anyone could hear you cry.

Just a friend. Just a friend. Just a friend.

From outside, you could still make out the band playing a slow song. Maybe the one you and Eddie would be dancing to if he wasn’t burying himself inside of a gorgeous cheerleader. There was no way you were going back into the gym. Not with your makeup streaming down your face. And you certainly weren’t going to stick around and wait for Eddie.

Instead, you plucked your heels off of your feet, grounding your feet into the sidewalk, the cool cement letting reality seep in. Walking home sounded lovely compared to any alternative. 

Just a friend.

The words echoed in your brain with each step.

Just. A. Friend.

That’s all you were. All you’d ever be to him. You weren’t the girl he’d kiss and whisper sweet nothings to. You weren’t even the girl he’d have sex with behind the gym.

You were just Eddie Munson’s friend.

--

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Tutor Rewards

Pairing :: Chad Radwell x Fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, NSFW/SMUT, dub-con?(sex is the only thing that motivates this man), oral(m), implied cheating(never addresses that he's dating Channel at the time)

Word Count ::  1,945

Summary :: As Chad's tutor, you quickly figured out only one thing that motivates him to study: sex. He did well on a practice exam and you give him a reward.

A/N :: I KNOW GLEN POWELL HAS SO MANY OTHER CHARACTERS THAT ARE MORALLY BETTER THAN CHAD BUT he's an idiot and my first introduction to Glen and now whenever I see him in any movie I go "Look at Chad go."

If you enjoy my work consider leaving a comment or kofi as support   ʕ • ᴥ • ʔ ❤️ 

The tapping of Chad's foot and the scribbling of your pen were the only noises in your dorm room. The star jock of the campus sat nervously a good three feet away from your desk, waiting for you to finish reviewing the practice exam he had taken. God, he was hoping he got every question right that way he could get his reward: fucking you.

-

You were his private– and secret– tutor. An arrangement was created by your biological anthropology professor who promised you extra credit in this class and another class of his you were taking. Your professor told you that Chad needed to raise his D+ to a C- and you'd be golden. The assignment felt easy enough until you started studying with the broad-shouldered stud. After one review, you were honestly surprised he even managed to pass his high school biology classes.

At first, you noticed he was less than enthusiastic about studying, something he rarely did apparently. He even offered to pay you to do all his homework– a suggestion you seriously considered before realizing that no matter how well you did on the assignments he'd flunk the exams, thus tanking his grade again. You tried various studying techniques: crash course videos, flashcards, jeopardy-style quizzes, hell, you even put on a paper puppet show(which surprisingly was the most successful at retaining his attention).

You were damn near ready to give up until you noticed some odd behavior from him one session.

It was a particularly warm day and the library's AC was busted, so you were wearing a spaghetti strap sundress that was a bit tight around the chest. While trying to explain the difference between various hominid skulls, you noticed he was carefully observing the photos you had, like he was paying attention. Which was odd because he never paid attention.

When you asked him to point out which skill was which species based on the teeth, you were surprised he guessed all of them correctly. Naturally, you asked him what was so different about today's session than all the others.

His answer both surprised you and grew your resentment towards him.

“Probably because when you held the pictures up you looked topless, so I was imagining what you looked like behind the photos.”

You felt your brain short-circuit for a moment before throwing all the materials you had at him in a fit of frustration before storming off. Of course, his sexualizing you is what made him pay attention to what you were saying.

God, he's such a pig it's not fair he's so damn handsome, you thought 

Naturally, not wanting to fail the class, he chased after you and begged you to continue tutoring him.

“(Y/N), I need your help passing this class. If I fail I- I don't know what I'm going to do!”

“I'm not some object you can ogle at, Chad!’

“Come on! I can't help it! I had no clue you were kinda hot under all those baggy librarian cardigans.”

“‘Kinda hot’?!” Your anger was rising, and he could tell. Not only was he objectifying you, but now he had just insulted your sense of fashion.

“My bad- I shouldn't have chosen those words to say! I'm sorry!” He grabbed your hand in desperation. “Please… I need your help…”

He gave you a puppy dog pout, one that was nearly impossible to refuse. You groaned, tanking your hand away.

“You're paying me if I do this because extra credit is NOT enough.”

“Of course! Whatever you want, just name your price!”

“And we're going to have to start having study sessions at my dorm instead now.”

He cocked his head. “How come?”

You turn away, embarrassed about the reason you were going to give. “That way I can get you to pay attention.”

Chad was dumb, but he wasn't that dumb. He knew what you meant and his dick twitched. He was so sure he had seen a porn that went like this before.

Sadly for him, you genuinely meant to help him learn and had him work. Granted, you were always in a tight-fitted shirt without a bra and a short skirt, but you never let him touch you. You made it very clear, you wouldn't be fucking him– which he did try to negotiate for after getting his first B- on a pop quiz.

Eventually, his attention started to slip nearing the end of the semester. Apparently, he was losing interest in just having to imagine what you'd look like naked all the time. He needed more stimulus to pay attention.

After a lengthy debate– one he was oddly well prepared for– you both agreed you would touch him to get him to focus. You wouldn't touch him underneath his clothes, only over, and he was still not allowed to touch you. You were also getting a boost in what he was paying you.

First, it started with some gentle circling of your hands around his shoulders. Then, some rubbing of his biceps or chest, eventually moving down to his thigh. You could see a small mound forming in his crotch, though refused to touch it.

It was only when one particularly frustrating study session did you put your hand there. He was tired from practice, which would've been fine except for the fact you had a quiz the next day.

You meant to grab and squeeze his thigh to wake him up, instead of grabbing his dick. It worked though, the drowsiness immediately exiting his body and his focus all on you. You didn't want to show him how embarrassed you were, so you looked away in shame with your hand still holding his growing erection and had him memorize the key terms for the chapter you were in. With each word he correctly told you the definition of, you stroked him through his pants.

You refused to make eye contact the entire time, but he was a-okay with that since your shyness made it all the more hot for him.

This method was very useful when it came to getting Chad to memorize key terms, though it always left him wanting more. So much so, that he memorized all the key terms in the textbook in hopes of getting enough strokes he'd be able to cum. You had to admit, watching how desperate he was to cum just from some hand action over the clothes turned you on. Plus, you were majorly impressed with how much getting laid seemed to motivate the guy.

So, knowing how much of a fiend he was for sex, you promised him that if he managed to get every question right on the final exam you’d sleep with him.

-

Currently, you were grading the test exam the professor handed out. Chad was getting about every eight questions wrong, worrying you slightly that you might have to sleep with him. You only made the deal partly because you didn’t think it would happen. With a score of 83/100, you almost debated sabotaging him a bit. You put down your red

“Nice, does this mean we’re finally fucking?”

“I told you I’d only do that if you got a perfect score on the final exam. Now shut up, or else I'm not rewarding you by sucking your dick anymore, Chad.”

“Understood,” He said with a shit-eating grin.

He got comfortable fast, spreading his legs wide open to give you plenty of room. You sink between his legs, a heat rising to your cheeks and between your thighs. You pulled out his rock-hard erection, not surprised in the slightest that even his penis looked good– of course, Chad Radwell didn't have any physical flaws. He was slightly longer than average(or at least what you were used to), a good girth, and a few veins already popped though.

You opened your mouth up wide and took in his tip, earning a pleased hum when you swirl your tongue around, going down further as you did.

“Shit, did you practice before?” He teased.

You glared, taking in more but still unable to get his full length in your mouth. You began bobbing your head quickly, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. As the droll started to spill out from the sides of your mouth, you noticed the veins on his forearms begin to flex.

“Shit, wait-!” He nearly shouted, hands jumping to your hair and yanking you still.

You whined, wanting to pull away and yell at him for pulling your hair, but his grip remained firm, keeping you in place. You stared up at him, waiting for him to explain himself.

“I wanna enjoy this, not get rushed to cum. This is a reward isn't it?”

He began to guide your head at a much slower pace. When he brought you down, his hips inched up, pushing more of his length down your throat. Unused to taking more down your throat, your eyes started to water as you had to fight your gag reflex. He repeated this until he managed to get his dick down your throat and your face was practically against his pelvis.

Instinctively, your body grew hot. You cursed the wetness that was forming on your panties right now.

“Fuck yes,” He groaned out. He grinned down at you, admiring your crying eyes and full mouth. “You know (Y/N),  you might even be hotter than Channel when you're not saying anything and just sucking dick.”

Unable to reply verbally, you lifted your middle finger. A part of you wanted to bite down on him and wipe the smug grin off his face, but another part of you had to admit it felt so good having him borderline face fuck you right now.

He picked up the speed a bit, though he didn't go as far down when he did. He was enjoying the view, yet he desperately wanted to cum. He just wasn't sure if he wanted to finish in your mouth or on your face. With the tension growing in his lower abdomen, he knew he had to make a choice and soon.

You were also aware of his readiness to cum. His guiding was getting sloppy and his hands were gripping your hair tighter. 

Realizing you'd be upset if you had to get semen out of your hair, he decided to finish in your mouth. So, he pulled your mouth off, only giving you a brief moment to gasp before standing and ramming his cock back in. He held your head in place as he thrusted into your mouth repeatedly. Your hands reached up, grabbing onto his forearms as you moaned around him.

With a few long strokes, his dick began to twitch, and hit spurts of cum poured down your throat. He held you close, making sure you swallowed every drop. You could feel him throbbing in your mouth until he eventually stopped and pulled himself out. You coughed a bit, and when he released your hair you slumped forward, your hands helping you remain up.

“I can’t…believe…you just…throat fucked me…asshole,” You said between pants.

“Like I said, it was a reward. I deserved to enjoy it.”

Begrudgingly, you took his hand when he offered to help you up. He was still beaming with joy, and your heart sank at his next sentence:

“Don’t make any plans for the 15th. I plan on making the most of my reward again,” and with a wink he left.

The 15th was the day your professor would release the scores for the final exam and possibly the day you had to have sex with that handsome idiot.

[luckhound]

wardrobe mishaps.

↻ pairings ✦ jon/reader, elias/reader

↻ summary ✦ You get ready for a date after work, only to run into a little trouble. Your boss graciously helps out.

↻ wordcount ✦ 3.4k

↻ warnings ✦ reader leans more masc or fem depending on scenario, elias being elias (meaning: a freak)

author's note: got back into tma thanks to my friends and found myself more immersed in it this time around. hence this lol. big thanks to @peonysgreenhouse and her lovely christmassy scenario for inspiring this fic. happy 2025!

You double check the time on your computer before you shut it down. It’s officially the weekend, and you ended up staying a little longer than usual, but you’d been determined to complete your report before you left.

Jon expects your findings on his desk come Monday morning, so he can wrap up the case at hand, and you don’t want to hand it in late. Having seen the verbal lashings that Martin has endured in the past for such a transgression, you intend to stay on your boss’s good side.

(If such a side even exists, a voice in your mind—one that sounds suspiciously a lot like Tim—adds. If it does, though, Sasha manages to remain on it somehow. You should ask her for pointers.)

Thankfully, you won’t be late for your reservation if you leave within the next twenty minutes. Good thing you brought everything you needed to work for this very eventuality.

You rise from the chair and stretch your back, wincing at the many cracks and pops that ensue, before poking your head out of your office. The Archives appear to be empty. (Well, you can see light spilling out weakly from beneath Jon’s door, but you expected that. The day he leaves before you is the day hell warms over.) You faintly recall some of the others popping in to say their goodbyes, and you had to have responded, but you must’ve been too immersed in work to pay proper attention.

That’s fine. You will be seeing them on Monday, after all.

You grab your bag and head to the loo. There, you put the final touches to your outfit. Taking a quick look in the mirror, you exit, the door swinging shut behind you. All that’s left is to grab your phone and jacket from your office. Once you’ve gathered your things, you can head to the restaurant and meet your date.

You pick up the pace a little, eager to leave the Institute...

Before you can reach your office, however, the door nearest to you opens. Jonathan Sims steps out. You gasp, digging your heels into the wooden flooring to prevent yourself from barreling into him. You succeed in the nick of time.

Had you not been so startled yourself, the way his eyes widen behind his glasses and his mouth parts in shock would have delighted you.

These days, Jon oscillates between two expressions: like he’s trying to fight off a headache and failing, or is one slight inconvenience away from snapping at the next person to approach him. You aren’t sure when was the last time you saw him smile, or relax. Before he became Head Archivist, that’s for certain.

Everyone is working hard to manage the disorganized chaos that is the Archives, but Jon puts you all to shame. It’s as if he’s working on a strict deadline that is fast approaching, one he has neglected to inform the rest of you about.

You admire his work ethic; it may not seem like it, but you do. You just wish he’d slow down once in a while, for his sake as well as yours.

To his credit, Jon gathers himself quicker than you do. He sighs wearily. “I understand you’re in a hurry to get home, but please, try to watch where you’re stepping.”

“Hey, I stopped before I knocked into you, didn’t I?” you say with a crooked smile. “And anyway, I’m not rushing because it’s a Friday night. I happen to have a date that I don’t want to be late for.”

Jon blinks, taken aback. “A date?”

“Yeah. A date. You know, that thing you plan when you want to enjoy time off work with another person?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you for the definition, Tim.” After a moment, his gaze sweeps over your outfit. “Well, that explains why you’re so dressed up for a change.”

You frown, offended. “Hey, what is that supposed to mean? I might not look like a professor on his way to lecture, like you always do, but that doesn’t mean I never dress up.”

“You’re exaggerating. I do not look like a professor.”

You say nothing, only stare pointedly at his lanky frame. He’s wearing a dress shirt with a tie knotted at his throat, a jumper thrown over top for good measure. His pressed slacks end an inch or two above his Oxfords. It’s the end of the day, so his clothes are somewhat rumpled, but it only adds to the look. You can clearly picture him dressed as he is now, standing behind a lectern and scowling at a lecture theatre full of petrified first years.

Jon shakes his head with a huff, his gaze almost absentmindedly falling on something below your chin, before he meets your eyes again. Then he does a double take. To your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches, as if he’s stifling a smirk. “At least I know how to correctly tie a tie.”

“What?” You look down at the tie you’d laboured over in the loo, pressing a self-conscious hand over the silk. “What’s wrong with my tie? It looks fine.”

“It looks like you tied it in the dark. Have you never worn one before?”

“I have!” you retort. “Just, you know... It's been a while.” You had even watched a tutorial on your phone while munching on your breakfast this morning. Not that you’ll admit it to Jon, of course.

The man in question doesn’t respond, only stares at your tie as if it insulted him personally. With a put-upon sigh, he motions you closer. “Allow me, then.”

It takes you a second to understand the meaning behind his words. You consider rejecting the offer; you don’t know what time it is, exactly, but you know you’re getting late. Surely your date won’t mind if your tie looks a little sloppy.

Instead of following through, you find yourself shuffling forward.

Long, tapered brown fingers make swift work of unknotting your tie. Once the fabric is unwound, Jon gets to tying it once more. His hands are more practiced than your clumsy ones had been. Almost like he ties other people’s ties for a living, or something.

You duck your head so you can watch, take a mental note of how it’s done, only to freeze when your chin brushes against the curve of his thumb. There’s a faint smell of fresh pine—the hand soap that the Institute religiously uses. The touch is slight, like the times your fingers overlap with his when you hand over a file or report. Yet it feels more significant, somehow.

It must be the proximity. There isn’t a desk separating the two of you, as is often the case. He has breached your personal space in order to assist you, the tip of one Oxford resting between your loafers. Or maybe it has to do with how close his hands are to the vulnerable stretch of your throat. You swallow involuntarily at the thought.

Either way, you are aware of him in a way you tend not to be. In a way you have instructed yourself not to be.

Jon is no longer the cute co-worker you like to steal glimpses of; he is your boss who must be held at a certain distance. He certainly has no trouble acting professional and aloof, so neither should you. Even if the two of you have been bantering for the past few minutes in a way that you haven’t in some time.

Regardless, you shouldn’t be mooning over your direct superior. You should be interested in other people—like your date, who had asked you out last week. You’d dithered over accepting, but eventually decided to make plans with them. It’s time for you to move on from your ridiculous crush.

(A stubborn part of you can’t help but note how smooth his skin feels against your own. How warm.)

When you feel the digit twitch, nearly grazing your bottom lip, your head snaps up. “S-sorry,” you say hastily, unable to meet the archivist's gaze.

“...It’s all right,” Jon murmurs. He resumes twisting and folding the silk around your throat, as if nothing happened. Because nothing did happen. It was an accident, and the smallest of touches at that.

You still have some difficulty getting your heartbeat to settle, as if you’re some Victorian nobleman who just caught your first glimpse of an upturned ankle.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), it doesn’t take much longer for Jon to finish. “There,” he says, eyeing your collar critically one last time before he lets go of the tie. He pauses with his palms hovering over your chest, like he wants to smooth the material there down, before he lets them drop. His arms hang limply at his sides. “All, ah, all done.”

“Thanks,” you say, glancing down to inspect his handiwork. You have to give it to him: he knows how to tie a tie. The half-Windsor knot looks crisp and sits nicely over your shirt, not at all as frumpy or lopsided as your own attempt had been.

Jon nods and steps back, widening the gap between you. “See you on Monday.” With that, he goes to walk off, interaction already forgotten.

“Let me guess,” you say, stopping him in his tracks. “You’re not leaving yet.”

He looks over at you. “Very astute,” he replies, a hint of amusement suffusing his dry tone. “I am just finishing up some last minute work. I’ll be heading out shortly.”

You hum at his response, crossing your arms over your chest. “Good. Best not to go to the break room and brew any tea, then. If you’re ‘heading out shortly.’” The way he shifts his weight from one foot to another, his eyes flitting away from yours, that must be exactly what he was planning to do. Bullseye.

Jon clears his throat unnecessarily. “Yes, well. Don’t forget that I’ll need your report—”

“Bright and early on Monday, I know.”

“Right.” He shuffles backwards. Slowly, as if reluctant to. “Have a good night. Enjoy your... date.”

“Good night, Jon.” You watch, smothering a grin, as he enters his office and shuts the door.

You aren’t in high spirits for long. You are fifteen minutes late for your reservation, to the annoyance of your date. Though you try to make up for it with your sparkling personality and witty repartee, you get the feeling that a second date is not in the stars for you.

You feel very little disappointment over it. You refuse to think hard about why that is.

Upon entering your office, you spot your earrings on your desk. You must’ve forgotten them. With a groan, you touch an ear and feel the stud nestled there. You like them just fine, normally, but they aren’t fancy enough for a dinner date.

All of a sudden, the back of your neck prickles. The tiny hairs there stand at attention. You glance over your shoulder, at the open door to your office. It’s empty. Your brows furrow, but you shake it off. It’s not fun, feeling like you’re being watched, but you’re used to it by now. It tends to happen from time to time, especially when you’re in the Archives. Must be nerves or something.

Best to focus on the issue at hand.

You briefly consider returning to the loo. No, you decide; it’ll be faster to switch earrings here. You get to work on removing the first stud. It proves harder than expected. After a few more fumbled attempts, you scowl to yourself. Other than pinching your earlobe somewhat painfully, you have achieved little.

Has it always been so difficult to take these off without a mirror?

“Stupid things,” you mutter crossly under your breath. “Would you... just...”

“Having some trouble?”

The question, voiced from directly behind you, startles you. You yank at your stud. Hard. Your earlobe twinges sharply, causing you to yelp in pain. You let go and whirl around to see Elias Bouchard standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Bouchard!” you blurt, blinking owlishly at him. Then you regain your composure. “Sorry. I, uh, thought I was alone.”

“No, I should be the one to apologize. I should’ve announced myself sooner.” His head tilts to the side. “And it’s Elias, remember? Mr. Bouchard was my father.” A small smile plays upon his lips, as if he’d told a particularly amusing joke.

“Right, of course. Elias.” The name feels strange rolling off your tongue. You have always called Jon by his first name, never Mr. Sims, but it’s not the same. Maybe because Elias is your boss’s boss. Yes, that must be it.

You wait for him to say something, explain why he’s here. He just stares back, silent. Under the weak fluorescent lights of the Archives, which cast shadows over his tall frame, his grey eyes appear darker than usual. You resist the urge to shiver.

As the silence stretches on, pulling taut between you both, you come to the realization that he expects you to break it.

“I, um,” you say lamely, “I was just on my way out.”

Elias hums, but continues to regard you with that piercing gaze. “It appeared as if you were busy, though.”

“Ah, yeah. I wanted to switch my earrings, except these damn studs refuse to budge. It’s been a while since I took them off, I guess.” You chuckle, even though it’s not funny. His smile widens a touch, but he doesn’t join in. “I can just do it in the car.”

Before you can turn back to your desk, Elias speaks. “Would you like some assistance?”

You stare, caught off-guard. You hadn’t expected him to offer. “Oh, um. If you aren’t too busy...?” You glance in the direction of Jon’s office. Elias must have come down to see the Head Archivist before the weekend. Had he already spoken with him, or had he noticed your door open and thought to check in on you first?

“Not at all.” He lifts a pale hand. It resembles a pianist’s, slender and elegant. “If I may?”

He’s asking for permission to remove your earring. To touch you.

You tilt your chin up and to the side, to make it easier for him to reach over. No need to make this any more awkward. “Please.” You hoped that you would feel less nervous if you weren’t staring into those eyes, but looking away does little to help. He’s in your peripheral vision, his dark suit and hair rendering him an ink blot. A very tall, very intimidating, very handsome ink blot.

This situation, you realize, does nothing to quell the teeny tiny attraction that you’ve been harbouring for your boss. Quite the opposite. You have only had the opportunity to speak with him a handful of times, but you admire his dedication to the Institute. His intelligence and extensive knowledge of the paranormal. The fact that he’s easy on the eyes only further complicates the matter.

You’d been certain that you could dispel your wildly inappropriate feelings for your boss. Going on a date with the first person to catch your interest was step one. Now you aren’t so sure.

Elias steps forward, so he is closer to you. The scent of his cologne, spicy and rich, washes over you. You hold unnaturally still when his forefinger grazes the shell of your ear. For some reason, you expected his skin to feel cold, but it’s not. His hand is as warm as anyone’s would be.

Belatedly, you recall that you haven’t instructed him on how to remove the earring. His own ears aren’t pierced, so he might not know how. “It’s a push-pin stud,” you explain. “I think it might be secured too tightly, so you should hold both ends and—”

“Twist it,” he finishes for you. “Don’t worry, I know.”

“Oh. Great.”

His forefinger rests against the top of the stud as his thumb gently rolls your earlobe over, to expose the flatback. To your horror, your breath hitches. Please let him not have heard that. He pauses, causing your heart to nearly shrivel up in your chest, before resuming his ministrations without comment. False alarm.

The thumb and forefinger on his other hand pinches the post, holding it firmly as he begins to twist. Your earlobe twinges again, but you grit your teeth. You refuse to make another embarrassing sound.

Finally, the two ends pull apart. Your eyes almost close in relief. Thank god.

Elias’s lips turn up at the corners. “There you are.”

You hold out your hand, palm up. He carefully places the silver ends on it. “Thanks.” Your fingers curl into a fist, caging them inside.

“Of course.”

There’s still the other ear, though, so you tip your chin to the other side. Elias shifts a little too. Now you’re leaning towards him instead of away, his form inches from yours. It’s the nearest you have ever been to him.

His suit is made out of thick wool. You have the craziest urge to reach out and rub the material between your fingers. Find out if it feels as soft and warm as it looks. Elias removes the other stud before you can give in to the impulse. Which you wouldn’t have. Obviously.

He places the last two ends in your palm as well, watches as you move to your desk and tuck them away.

“Thanks again, Elias. I appreciate it.” You pick up your fancy earrings. They glimmer under the overhead lights. “I don’t think I would have been able to take them off without a mirror.”

“It was no trouble.” He clasps his hands together, observing idly as you put on the first earring. The fish hook goes through with little issue. “Any big plans for tonight?”

“Just a dinner reservation,” you say as you move on to the other ear. It’s as easy as the first, but you wince when you feel a dull pain. The lobe must be sore from when you’d yanked on it earlier. “I need to be out of here within the next...” You glance at the clock situated beside the door. Your eyes widen. “Five minutes ago.”

Elias arches his brows, looking faintly amused. “You’d best hurry up, then.”

You have already started throwing your things into your bag. Once you’re done, you grab your phone off the desk and make a beeline for the door. Your boss is kind enough to step outside so you can turn the lights off and shut the door.

“Drive safe,” he says, inclining his head. “I hope your date goes well.”

“You too,” you respond automatically. It’s only when you’re turning the corner that you realize your goodbye made no sense. Your eyes fall shut briefly in mortification. Oh well. Nothing you can do about it now. He’ll have forgotten all about it the next time you see him.

In the end, you are only a couple minutes late to the restaurant, but you find yourself distracted. You’re unable to focus on your date or your food. All you can think about is that moment you shared with your boss. The long line of his body so close to yours, his fingers brushing your jaw...

But that is not what your mind lingers on the longest. There is one burning question that remains with you, even once you’re tucked into bed, unable to fall asleep. It must have been a good guess, that’s all. Yet you’re convinced there is more to it than that.

How had Elias known that you were going on a date? Hadn’t you only mentioned a dinner reservation?

(Earlier:

Elias watches as you turn the corner and disappear from view. He huffs a quiet laugh. He had come down to the Archives to touch base with Jon, when he noticed that you were here. What a treat it had been to speak with you, provoke you into abandoning your pitiful attempts at professionalism. Perhaps he should drop by more often.

He looks down, inspects his thumb. A small bead of red glints back at him.

Your right earlobe had been bleeding, just a little, from when you’d gotten startled and pulled too hard. The blood had transferred onto the digit when he removed the stud.

Elias smiles at the drop of blood. Then he raises his thumb to his mouth and licks it off.

Though the Head Archivist is his main priority, he intends to enjoy the time he has with you.)

[severalforraelee]

The Wedding: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Photo credit to the.shelby.followers on Instagram

Word count: 2,072

Written by raelee / Posted Sep 6

Masterlist

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

I stare at myself in the mirror, dabbing a bit more blush onto my cheek.

“Can’t you just say that you love me, Tommy?” The tears fall down my cheeks as I stare at him, desperation written all over my face. He just stares back at me with a blank expression. “You- you don’t even act like it.”

“What do you mean I don’t act like it, ay?” He asks, taking a step forward. His eyebrows furrow, showing anger, however it’s a hint of emotion. “I bought you that necklace you couldn’t stop staring at the other day.”

“Just buying me things isn’t the same thing as showing me that you love me, you use it as a way to shut me up every time this conversation occurs.” I throw my hands up in frustration.

I could repeat that a hundred times- in fact, I have, but Thomas Shelby is never going to understand what he doesn’t want to understand.

“You know what, I can’t do this anymore,” I stomp towards the door.

“Do what?”

“This, Tommy,” I shout, turning around to face him for the last time. “Be in a relationship with you. You’re too focused on your Peaky Blinders shit to ever pay attention to me, and I deserve more than that. Well, I’ll give you all of the time you need, because we’re done.”

I shake myself out of the memory, quietly cursing once I realize that I put on too much blush. My hand reaches for the brush to blend it in.

This is my wedding day. My wedding day to Oliver. Tommy is the last person that I should be thinking about.

Tommy and I had that passion and intimacy, everytime that I was near him he would reach for my hand to hold to rub his thumb on the back of, or wrap an arm around my waist to squeeze. I could always rely on Tommy to feel like I was protected.

But I can rely on Oliver to actually be protected. Tommy lived a dangerous life, head of one of Britain's biggest gangs, while Oliver is just a banker. But being just a banker is okay because I don’t have to worry about staying alive every single day.

I can go to school and teach without having my partner’s safety on the back of my mind all day, and then go home and spend my evening with him without having to go to the bar every other night.

A loud bang goes off on the other side of the door, followed by screams and shouts. I rise from the chair in front of the vanity, staring at the door with fear and curiosity.

Do I leave the room to find out what’s going on? Or do I stay in the safety of the room, waiting for the danger to find me?

Before I can make a decision, the screams and shouts stop and it’s dead quiet again. I still have a decision to make of when I leave this room. My feet turn me around and I’m staring back at myself in the vanity’s mirror.

My white dress is on, my hair is curled, my makeup is done, and my ring is on my finger. I’m ready to get married.

My heels click on the tiled floor as I make my way through the church to the great room. My father stands in front of the large wooden doors, facing them.

“Papa?” I call out softly.

He turns around and smiles lightly at the sight of me. That’s not what I’m focused on, though. I’m focused on his pale skin and the sweat covering his forehead.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments.

Despite it, I frown. I step closer to him, gripping the bouquet of daisies tighter in my hand. I don’t even like daisies, but Oliver’s mom grows them so they’re my bouquet.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he stutters out.

“Are you sure? You just look… disheveled.”

“Everything will be alright, Y/N,” he tells me. 

His tone is reassuring, but it’s difficult to distinguish who he wants to reassure, himself or me. But why would he be trying to reassure me? What’s going on?

He holds his arm out and I lock mine in, both of us facing the dark wood now.

The doors open and the church music begins to play. My eyes are forward and a bashful smile is on my lips before it drops completely once I see who’s standing at the altar.

There’s not the familiar blonde hair or brown eyes of Oliver. There’s no shy smile that I’ve become accustomed too, or his tall, lanky frame. Nor the powder blue suit that we’ve been planning he would wear today for months.

Instead, I’m facing familiar brown hair and blue eyes. The cold, blank expression that he’s become known for is on his face- surprisingly, a cigarette isn’t hanging out of his mouth, but I’m sure in five minutes it will be. A full navy blue suit sports his frame, the chain that I got him for his birthday last year decorating his torso.

It’s Tommy Shelby.

“Papa, what’s going on?” I whisper softly, anxiety starting to flood through my veins as my eyes flit around the room.

My family and friends are still here- all seated on one side of the room and appearing petrified as they look back at me. On the other side, though, Oliver’s family is not to be seen. Instead it’s filled by Tommy’s friends and family and all of the Peaky Blinders.

My eyes return to Tommy and he gives me a small smile once he sees the gears in my head begin to shift.

“Just walk for now, darling, don’t think about it,” my dad’s words are reassuring but his voice breaks, telling me that whatever’s going on right now isn’t good. I could’ve guessed that by the way my stomach dropped as soon as I walked into the room.

I follow his advice, keeping my eyes on the cross behind Tommy as we walk down the aisle. I avoid eye contact with everyone, unsure of what’s going on and what everyone knows that I don’t.

“Tommy,” I whisper as we reach him and he reaches out for my hands. “What are you doing?”

“Let’s take that off,” he grabs my left hand, tugging off the gold band with a diamond on it, holding it behind him. “Arthur.” Arthur grabs the ring, throwing it on the ground and instantly stomping on it. My eyes widen at the action and I hear several gasps of shock from the people seated on my side of the aisle.

Tommy pulls a ring out of his suit jacket’s pocket, sliding the silver band with a much bigger diamond onto my finger.

Finally, he looks at me, smiling. “Marrying you.”

“Tommy, I-”I look around nervously, then speak quickly. “I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver, you and I broke up-””That doesn’t matter,” he harshly interrupts me.

I stare at him in shock, both from what’s occurring right now and the tone that he spoke to me in.

He clears his throat.

“None of it matters,” he speaks more smoothly now. “What matters is that we’re in love, we’re going to get married, and then we’re going to build a family and a life together.”

“I don’t know if I’m in love with you,” I confess gently.

His grip on my hands tightens then loosens. “What do you mean you don’t know if you’re in love with me?”

“It’s just, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Tommy. I mean, the last time we saw each other you couldn’t even say that you love me and now you want to marry me?”

His facial expression doesn’t change. “You’re right, I can’t say that I love you. But I can show it.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “We’ve talked about this-””You’re right, we have. Fine. I love you. Is that what you want to hear?” He asks, anger lacing his tone.

“You shouldn’t have to be pressured into saying it,” I argue, “You should want to do it because it’s true and you want to tell me, not because we’re fighting about it.”

Like he read my prior thoughts, he pulls a box of cigarettes and a lighter out from his pocket, plucking one out and lighting it.

I’ve always hated it when he smoked, but I know that it’s a hard habit to break. He says that he smokes so much because he’s stressed all of the time- and I understand why this conversation is stressing him out.

But this conversation shouldn’t be happening in the first place. I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver today, god forbid he’s still alive, but Tommy says that I’m marrying him instead.

“I can’t marry you today, Tommy,” I confess.

He tilts his head, an unasked question.

“We have so many problems and a negative history. I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver,” I remind him.

His face darkens at the mention of Oliver. “Well, now you’re marrying me, love.”

“What if I don’t?” I whisper out.

His face darkens even more. “What if you don’t what?”

My breath quickens, unsure if I want the words to escape my lips. Tommy will definitely have a negative reaction, but just how bad I’m not sure of.

“Go on, speak up,” he encourages mockingly.

“What if I don’t marry you?”

His hand reaches out, gently caressing my jaw. Just by that soft action, I know how much I fucked up.

“Oh sweetie,” he talks softly, like he almost feels sorry for me. “I think we both know what will happen.”

And I do. I know that he would burn down my flat, get my father and brothers fired from their jobs, threaten the local grocery store into not selling to my mother, and have Peaky Blinders follow me around so that I’m constantly paranoid and checking over my shoulder.

In fact, I’m surprised that didn’t happen when I first broke up with him.

But I guess I didn’t matter that much until he found out that I was marrying another man.

“So what do you say? Do you want the priest to start the ceremony?”

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I stare back at the man that I once loved, his cruelty now controlling his personal life as well as his professional life.

“Yes.”

~

“I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you how beautiful you look tonight,” he whispers in my ear, arms wrapped around my waist. Mine are around his torso, resting my cheek against his chest as we sway slowly to the gentle romantic tune that I had picked out as Oliver and mine’s first dance song.

“Thank you,” I whisper back.

Thomas Shelby is a troubled man. He has dangerous enemies all around the globe trying to find out his weakness to use against him, hoping to gain power and control.

Thomas Shelby has never had a weakness. He’s physically in shape and active so his body’s not weak. He’s cunning and intelligent so his mind’s not weak. His family is just as tough as him so they’re not his weakness. 

His enemies have been waiting for years for him to get married, hoping that a potential spouse and children would be his weakness.

And I know we will be.

It makes me angry that Tommy put me in this situation where I have to always be looking around for someone who might end my life. I want to be able to walk to the coffee shop and meet a friend, or go for a walk around the local rose garden without looking over my shoulder or having a peaky blinder assist me.

But… he’s Tommy. And he’s been my Tommy since the day that I first laid eyes on him. His cold exterior is what drew me to him, the curiosity of what hardened him, keeping me hooked on him for a year before our break up.

It still draws me to him.

When he gives me that look that he reserves just for me, I know that there’s a sweet man inside who just wants to feel my love surround him.

And that’s why I lean up, kissing him on the lips in front of all of our friends and family.

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 23: Desire

Smut chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: 18+!!!, smut, piv, oral, blood drinking, dirty talk, cumplay, slight fluff, preexisting relationship, part of a series (but readable without context)

A/n: a very specific part/scene was inspired by this post from @looneylolita and they deserve credit!

—

“You know, darling, I could do this all night, but it would be more fun if you were paying attention while I did it.”

Astarion rises from his position between her legs, where he’s been watching her stare and sigh at the ceiling as he’s worked his mouth against her for the past twenty minutes.

Celeste snaps to attention and blushes. “Sorry.” She squeaks.

His tongue gives a few final lazy strokes against her cunt before he wipes his mouth, glistening with her arousal, against the back of his wrist. The vampire kisses his way up her torso until he’s hovering over her, hands bracketing her on the bed.

“I know that look. I invented it. You’re a million dimensions away.” He cocks his head. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

Celeste turns her gaze towards the balcony. “My thoughts are so demanding,” she exhales slowly. “I want to be here. I’m trying…I just can’t find a moment of quiet in my head.”

“Only you could overthink yourself into oblivion far enough to only casually enjoy my talents.” His words are mocking, but there’s a gentleness to his demeanor as he speaks to her. “If you’d like me to stop, darling, you only need to ask.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she says, frustrated tears brimming her eyes, “It’s just…everything is so horrible and I can’t focus, can’t relax,” she lets out a sound of agitation, “I can’t come.” She says and flushes with embarrassment.

“Oh, little love,” he says, kissing her jaw, “I’m acquainted with that feeling better than anyone. Just let yourself enjoy something for once. That pesky guilt of yours is getting in the way,” He reaches down for his trousers and unlaces them with one hand, pumping himself against her thigh. “And getting on my nerves.” He adds with a growl. She whines as the tip of his erection weeps precum against her skin.

Astarion sits up on his knees, baring every inch of his chiseled torso to her as he continues stroking himself. “Are you sure about this?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

She nods and he removes the rest of his clothes, returning to his former position over her, catching her lips with his own.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say a word.” He whispers against her upper lip, releasing it from between his teeth. Her throat feels dry and all she can do is whimper in response, eliciting a smirk from Astarion.

He teases the tip of himself against her entrance. “But I will need you to look at me so I know you won’t wander off again.” He purrs the words into her ear and grips her face, the tips of his fingers pulling at her skin as he enters her. A gasp of surprise escapes Celeste and Astarion offers her a roguish smile.

“Is this what you wanted?” He feigns a pout as he works in agonizingly slow, yet powerful movements that rattle her with every push, eyes locked on hers with a dominating intensity. She arches her back in response and rakes her nails down his shoulder blades, causing him to tense.

“That’s my wicked girl.” He says with a snarl that turns into a kiss, bringing his mouth against hers as he thrusts.

Astarion had fucked hundreds of people before her, but it was kissing that had always left him hesitant, not the sex. The vulnerability of baring yourself in that way to someone. He could flip a lover over, turn away to escape as he did nothing more than service them, but the meeting of lips, the exploring of tongues in mouths and hands tugging and pulling and grasping…it was hard to fake that kind of intimacy. Not impossible, especially for him, but it took more out of him. More care, more energy. With her, it made his chest ache, his throat tighten with want. Need.

Astarion’s hands squeeze her upper thighs apart as he drives himself into her, while his thumbs trace circles and lines, feather light, before they roughly dig into her skin. Her moans become sobs of pleasure against his shoulder, hands desperately grasping at his scarred back as she draws herself closer, as if she could merge with him, dissolve into his very being.

“Celeste?” He asks apprehensively, a pang of concern in the pit of his stomach as her cries become more and more tortured. He pulls away, tilting her chin towards him so he can search her face for signs of genuine distress. Her breath comes in pants as her lips crash into his, answering with a demanding buck of her hips.

Astarion wraps her legs around his waist and pulls her closer by the small of her back. He lifts her with him as he leans back on his ankles, situating her in his lap between his knees. She takes over his rhythm, riding him as he peppers her neck and chest with kisses. Her fingers weave through his curls as she straddles him, lowering herself so he’s buried deeper within her.

He lets out a groan as she grinds into him with her entire body, controlling her own pleasure, tightening around him every time he bottoms out inside of her. Celeste pulls away, hands grasping his shoulders as she watches him. Astarion meets her stare reverently, as if worshiping her from the mattress. He finds one of her breasts and sucks at its peak, languidly flicking his tongue against her nipple, looking at her underneath lowered eyelids.

She melts in his arms as she feels a warmth at her core, her cunt clenching and dripping more of her own desire onto the base of his cock. Astarion releases his mouth from her skin and closes his eyes, appreciating the sensation. His deft fingers crawl down her stomach, a thumb finding her slickened clit and tracing delicate, then firm circles. She bites down on his shoulder, muffling a guttural scream.

“Now, now, darling, if you get to bite, then I do too.” He teases as he kisses the base of her throat. She bends to nip at his ear.

“Do it.” She rasps, and he throws her onto the pillows without warning, realigning himself and rutting into her with rugged precision. His fangs brush her neck, waiting for permission.

“Are you sure?” He breathes, fingers twisting themselves her hair, tugging her attention towards him as he searches her face for hesitation. She bites her lip and nods. Astarion shakes his head and pulls back and looks at her. “I need your words, Celeste.”

“Yes.” She squeezes her thighs against his hips as he drives into her.

Astarion hums in approval and leaves one hand knotted in her hair while the other returns to her center, teasing at her while he fucks her.

“I think you’re close, Celeste. Let’s help each other.” Astarion grins before his fangs find her again, piercing her skin without warning. Her breath hitches and her chest buckles as he sups at her neck. The mounting pleasure nearly sends him over the edge and he tries to keep from spilling himself as her walls tighten around his erection. When she clenches again, he knows she’s doing it on purpose.

“Fucking hells, Celeste,” he murmurs between pulls at her vein. Blood trickles past his bottom lip and his tongue drags a sloppy line up her neck to catch it. “That’s going to make me come, and I’d rather not do it alone,” he grumbles as he reaches her ear.

She cries out and he licks away the rest of the blood as he pounds into her. Her throat bobs, as if stifling a scream, and his lips cover hers to capture it before it escapes.

“What was that earlier about you not being able to come?” He pants. The vampire listens to the racing of her heart and the blood furiously rushing through her veins, sensing her orgasm approaching. She squirms underneath him, a whimpering mess as her climax finds her. Astarion finally allows himself release, groaning her name like a prayer, his forehead pressed to her shoulder as she mewls in his ear. They stay intertwined for several long moments before he pulls back to assess her.

Her cheeks are flushed as she gazes back at him. A smattering of blood on her neck where she’d bled more while he’d been fucking her catches his attention and he sucks his teeth and smiles.

“Oh dear, I’ve gotten sloppy.”

Her brow furrows, and her fingers fly to the wound. She stares as they come away slick with blood, glancing at him with concern. Astarion takes her fingers in his mouth and cleans the blood from them before rolling her on top of him, his hands eagerly gripping her waist as he draws the flat of his tongue over her neck, moaning at the taste of her. She grasps his curls with both hands and presses herself to him, her breasts flattening against his torso. Astarion’s hand ventures over her ass and back between her legs, encountering the wetness of his own spend seeping from her cunt. He slides his middle finger inside, teasing more cum from her as he laps at her throat.

Satisfied, he eases her back onto the mattress, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Are you still with me?”

“Mmm,” she sighs contentedly. There’s a tug at his heart as he takes her in. She’s stunning, all mussed hair and flushed skin, like a painting against the white sheets.

“I love you, Celeste,” he croaks, the words catching in his throat. His chest tightens with icy dread as he anticipates her response. They’d been skirting around those three words for days, repeatedly prompting arguments and slammed doors.

Her fingers reach up, wrapping themselves around his throat, exerting a slight pressure as she pulls him down until his lips hover above hers. Astarion swallows nervously, surprised by the shift in control. What’s left of his erection pulses against her thigh and he hopes she doesn’t notice his revived arousal.

“Getting sentimental on me?” she teases, a sinful smirk gracing her lips as she kisses him passionately. Sensing his trepidation, she breaks away, holding his gaze as she whispers back, a mix of understanding and desire in her voice.

“I love you too.”

—

Thanks for reading! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/interact on AO3/whatever if you did? It helps so much!

Full story on AO3!

[ruelpsen]

Current fantasy: going out to dinner with my fave, ideally at a nice restaurant or somewhere where we're expected to mind our manners. Thanks to the long tablecloths, though, nobody else can immediately tell that he's actually let an attribute or two slip out from the bottom of his waistcoat and reach under the table to my carefully hidden dick. He'd stroke me gently, effortlessly, slowly though to increase my pleasure and to tease me, since I don't want to slip up and reveal what we're really up to to all the people around us. He'd edge me with each course, increasing the intensity of his stroking as I grow closer to finishing each dish, forcing me to bite my tongue and grip my utensils as I blush and force myself to hold back moans.

But no, I can't cum yet. Not until I've eaten everything he's ordered for me, and it's a lot. He of course is eating a lot too, and watching him indulge only arouses me further. The fuller we get, the more desperate I become. Surely our waiter at least suspects that there's something going on under the table by the time they bring out our desserts. Try as I might, I can't keep myself from blushing and flushing when I'm being played with like this. Maybe others are noticing, too. I'm too focused on him and on my food to pay it much mind, but it does turn me on further to briefly float the idea that people might be able to see how much of a gluttonous slut I'm being for the ambassador. Look at how much I can put away for him while trying to be a good boy for him. Look at how long I force myself to hold on so he won't have to punish me.

"I think we're finished here," he says as he finally hands his credit chit to our waiter. That's my cue. As soon as our waiter turns away, I bite my lip while a feeling of tightness rises in me. I try to look down, but with one hand he angles my gaze up to meet his. And with the other, he presses a fist to his mouth, muffling a long, deep, rumbling belch. I cum instantly. The tightness releases and ebbs through me, making me shiver and pant as I come down from my high. If people hadn't noticed before, they certainly knew what we were up to now. Look at how much of a whore that human is, they must be thinking. And the ambassador too- such a slut he must be if he's not above jerking off a human in public!

Once the chit's brought back to us, he stealthily zips my pants back up before we stand to head out. I leave a sizeable tip on the table- it's the least I can do after cumming on the bottom of the table. Now that I've released once, it dawns on me just how full I am. It hurts and I know I need to burp, but not yet, not while we're still in such a nice establishment. I look at him though and know that he's ready to help me with that once we're back to his quarters, a method that will perhaps make use of his attributes again...

[redfurrycat]

🤠🩰🎤🎶🐓Musicians, Singers & Dancers Fic Recs🐓🎶🎤🩰🤠

(Pic credits: GP - MT)

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Coconutcordiale, Dalearden, Hangmanbradshaw, Haridwar, LulaluzHazel, Multifandommonster, Perishablealex, Road1985, SunMonTue, Tearsricochets, ToukoJalorda003, Trinipedia, Vahosi,  Youlookgood.

Music & Dancing within the Top Gun Verse {🤠🐓} > Actors & Celebrities {🤠🐓}

the happy daggers band AU by multifandommonster

in the morning, when you wrap me up {G}

“I’ll make sure to keep up the complimentary breakfast,” he jokes back. “Gonna give me five stars?” “I’ll give you whatever you want if you keep pouring the coffee,” Jake replies, turning in Bradley’s arms until their noses touch. “I have the GQ shoot today. Probably won’t be home until late.”

kiss you too hard and follow you west {T}

Bradley’s shirt is drenched and his hair sticks to his forehead, sweat dripping into his eyes and ears still ringing, breath coming in uneven ragged pants. He can feel the patchy flush spread across his neck– knows without a doubt that the sheer amount of exertion has left his eyes red and his cheeks splotchy. Jake never takes his eyes off him.

pay for my coffee and leave (before the sun rises again) by haridwar {T}

chance encounters in a diner at 2 am

let me put on a show by dalearden {E}

Stripper Bradley falls hard for Navy pilot Jake. The trouble is, he doesn't realize it until after a series of hook-ups following which Jake has already disappeared from his life, seemingly never to return.

I Don't Wanna Live Through This Comedown - Top Gun AU [Jake "Hangman" Seresin/Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw] by Road1985, trinipedia {E}

Meet Bradley, a struggling musician working at a strip club to cover medical expenses. Then meet Jake, who joined the Army in a desperate attempt to atone for his muddy past of drug abuse and get back the respect of his family. They couldn't be more different, but their needs are the same, so they agree to marry solely for military benefits. However, when tragedy strikes, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

takin' my heart out (of its zone of comfort) by tearsricochets {T}

Javy, who is still holding on to Bradley like they’re best friends, shakes his head. “Sorry, boss man, I walked all over set. This Tanner dude just isn’t here.” Who the fuck is Tanner? He tries to convey this question to Javy with his eyes, but the actor is not paying a lick of attention to him. He’s looking at the man in front of them, who is instead looking at Bradley like the brunette is the sole cause of every problem in his life right now. “Then who the hell is this guy?” As of finally noticing their boss was no longer pacing in front of them, or that he was suddenly getting louder in tone, Natasha and her friend look up at the new additions of their group. Bradley pretends not to notice the blonde taking an appreciative look at him, but he’s a simple man and absolutely preening under the attention. “This is Bradley,” he gives a meek way to the man burning holes in his head. “And he’s going to fill in as my other half today.” “Excuse me?” He’s going to what? OR: the one in which Bradley is not an actor, but he is going to film a music video for the hot singer

Shimmering Beautiful In The Moonlit Glow by perishablealex {E}

Bradshaw nods and Jake swallows. He begins to slide his hand down from Bradley’s ribcage, gliding over the muscles of his abs, inhaling sharply when he feels the other man’s breath catch. His hand continues pressing onto the hot skin, brushing over the ridge of Bradley’s hips before it finishes its path, sliding to the man’s inner thigh. Holding up the leg, mouth next to Bradley’s ear, he breathes, “There.” Or: The Ballet AU

Cambiaste un Ferrari por un Twingo by LulaluzHazel {T}

Jake Seresin is a famous songwriter in a long-term relationship. He has been living in Barcelona for the past five years living the most romantic and beautiful dream. Until one slip from his partner reveals on National TV the dream is not a dream and Jake has been cheated on for the past year and a half. Heartbroken, he doesn't know to function, until his younger sister suggests he could do a song with one of the most controversial DJs and producers to 'vent' and start healing. A music producer he doesn't respect much. But he knows that between both of them, they can put out a song that will follow the Fucker who played with his heart like that.

blue memories by coconutcordiale {E}

Taking a deep breath, Jake tries not to lose his nerve, summons the last bit of anger and discontent that’s been simmering for nearly a year now. “I want a divorce.” Bradley blinks from his spot on the annoyingly stylish chair next to the bed. Rolls the rocks glass of whiskey in his hands slowly before answering. “Okay.” + aka the musician bradley au

muse by youlookgood {T}

Lately, it's like the spark that would keep driving Bradley forward each night, the fire on his fingertips hot and blazing just like the sweet burn of the drink that comes between and after sets, has been snuffed out. He sees his half-steady gig work and instead of a semblance of comfort and that sun-bright thrill, he feels... ...a little empty. Then, "Can I get you another?"

You and Me, We Got Big Reputations (the fame AUs) by hangmanbradshaw

Love (Suite Love) {T}

Jake never thought he'd leave a pop concert with a public crush. Bradley was on vocal rest. Really, he was.

takes one to know one {E}

He decided to go for broke. “I could handle you.” Jake’s eyes sparked. That smirk on his face grew. “My, my, Bradshaw. That a threat or a promise?” “Depends.” “On?” He shrugged. “On what you want it to be.” Or, rival popstars Jake & Bradley have been circling each other for years. Add in a supposed romance with star QB Javy Machado, a SNL appearance, PR, and Jake throwing down a challenge...and things get interesting.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all {M}

Jake's been singing songs about himself for longer than he knows, but in the end, he finds out singing songs about Bradley is so much better. Or Writing love songs is hard until it isn't (the musician/producer AU)

Songs of Ballads and Lullabies (Always Revered for Their Adoration) by ToukoJalorda003 {M}

Of all the things that Bradley had wanted most, creating a name for himself was one of them. And given that his friends and he were set to create one of the most iconic rock bands in recent years, he would do anything to keep it that way. Except that Hangman was there, too. That was bad enough - particularly when the guy kept getting on his nerves. Dealing with those put together was going to be…a challenge, to put it lightly.

suburban legends ✈ by vahosi  

we were born to be suburban legends {G}

we were born to be the pawn in every lover's game {_}

Take more chances, dance more dances by SunMonTue {E}

Meet!Cute with Jake as the best man at Natasha and Javy's wedding and Bradley is the instructor teaching them how to dance...

You found me by SunMonTue {E}

Bradley didn't expect to meet his soulmate halfway across the world, especially not when he's meant to be working. Good thing staying close to Jake is part of the job. Now he just has to manage to not get too close while also ensuring Jake understands that he's all in.

[d-criss-news]

Darren Criss Says Maybe Happy Ending Is a ‘Phantom-Level’ Spectacle

If you'd asked Darren Criss years ago what his dream stage role was, “Hedwig was it,” says the Golden Globe winner. Well, Criss did perform the title role in Hedwig and the Angry Inch on Broadway in 2015. So in the decade since, what is his new dream? Answers Criss: “If I'm being really honest, it's being able to originate something that hasn't been done on Broadway yet.” So, you can say his newest Broadway project, the new musical Maybe Happy Ending, is another check off the bucket list.

When speaking to Criss about this show in July, he hadn’t yet started rehearsals. But he spoke about the musical with a palpable excitement—after all, it is the first original musical he’s done since his days with the musical theatre company he co-founded, Team Starkid. In recent years, the Emmy winner (who rose to mainstream fame after starring in Glee and The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story) has done mostly revivals on the stage, such as Little Shop of Horrors and American Buffalo.

----------

But to Criss, the particular pleasure of doing something like Maybe Happy Ending is the opportunity to utterly surprise the audience. “​​Being part of something this original is always a bit of an exponential curve,” admits Criss. “It's always a tough climb at the beginning, because people might not have an instant familiarity with it. But I think that it pays its dividends real soon, once they see what they're in for.”

For Shen, though Maybe Happy Ending follows robots, it touches on deeply human questions—both Helperbots are nearing the end of their lifespan and so they must decide if they want to take that emotional leap to make a connection, even if it means they might lose each other. “It feels like there's a ticking clock at the end of it,” she says. “And so, they're a little bit forced to live life to the fullest while they have this opportunity to do so.”

It’s not just the show that’s new. This is Shen’s Broadway debut. While Criss has over 15 years worth of experience under his belt, Shen is a relative newcomer. She was born and raised in New Jersey; her parents immigrated from Shanghai to America. They both play the violin, passing down their musical aptitude to their daughter, who grew up playing piano. She graduated from the University of Michigan (Criss’ alma mater) in 2022. Though she is still green, Shen’s credits are impressive: This year alone, she starred in the Off-Broadway musicals The Lonely Few and Teeth—both of which were favorably received. “I suppose, in a way, it feels like arriving,” Shen says with hesitancy, as if she doesn’t want to spoil this lucky year. “I think it's a cautious arrival. It's so wonderful and such a blessing and gift to be working with this particular team.”

Criss met Shen during her final callback for the show, which was a chemistry read with Criss where they sang a song together (though years earlier, Shen had attended a master class Criss held at the University of Michigan). More recently, the two have quickly bonded over being trained musicians who eventually became actors (Criss plays guitar, violin, and a bevy of other instruments). 

When it’s pointed out that he’s now effectively a Broadway veteran, Criss exclaims (to the giggling Shen), “I cannot fucking believe it. That sounds so twisted, like so Twilight Zone. To me, I've always been the youngest, like, I was always the kid.” But then, he brings it back to his co-star, which he does multiple times during the interview saying, “She'll kick so much fucking ass. That's one of my favorite parts about being in this, I get to forever now be part of the inevitable rise of a young star.”

It’s not just talk. Criss recently had Shen perform multiple songs at his music festival Elsie Fest. When asked what they’re excited for in Maybe Happy Ending, Shen’s answer was getting to sing the score. “The uniqueness of the sonic world—the music is so ethereal, and it's so gorgeous,” she enthuses. “The music feels so beautifully understated, but also, it's orchestral and sweeping. And not to mention, the people who are already attached to the project are people that I look up to in my own career so much.”

There is the assumption that because the show has a chamber musical sound, and it has four cast members, that it’s a small show. Think again, teases Criss: “It's four people, and the story is a ‘smaller’ story, but it has really, really big ideas.” So much so that in July, Maybe Happy Ending announced it would be delaying the start of previews by a month, citing supply chain issues that prevented crucial components of the set from getting to the theatre in time.

Though, Criss admits, “it sounds like we're covering up some nefarious reason.”

Laughs Shen: “We had to clear our beef.”

“Yeah, our beef,” smiles Criss. “Supply chain delay sounds like, kind of made up, but it's literally that.” Though he can’t say much more about what this intricate set design entails, other than it will utilize “cutting edge technology” to match its robot protagonists. As he excitedly puts it: “We're talking [Phantom of the Opera] level of production. This is a spectacle…I can categorically say that this will be something that you have never seen the likes of before on a Broadway stage.”

[jebewonmorelike]

Pay You Back

wc: 1.3k (failed my own 1.1k challenge but close enough) pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: fluff, some themes of social anxiety/embarrassment in public but nothing descriptive, asking about financial troubles, hao being both your mom and boyfriend, he's in zb1 in this summary: idolboyfriend!hao has to come rescue reader when their card declines at the grocery store and he is not prepared to find out the reason it's maxed out. ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ so i wrote this to see if i could force myself to limit to under 1.1k words... i have a tendency to get carried away and not as many people like longer fics so. i failed bc i went 200 words over but it was a pretty close. anyway if i write shorter works, i can write more so i want to get back in the habit of it. better for my stress levels too lmao. just finished my second "semester" back at school i'm so happy!! third semester stars 7/3 tho so that's annoying but. i have one whole week to do nothing (except work but). ANYWAY hope you enjoy :)

“(Y/N)?” You hear your boyfriend’s voice as he enters the grocery shop. Even though Zhang Hao is quite reserved, he’s more than willing to make a small scene if you’re in trouble. “(Y/N)!?”

The store owner, who is also manning the checkout counter, lifts his arm high enough for Hao to see it over the aisles, pointing at you exaggeratedly— more than unamused.

Hao rushes over to where you stand in the checkout lane; your groceries half-bagged, half sitting askew on the conveyor belt. A couple people are beginning to line up behind you. He frowns, trying to decipher what about this scene could’ve possibly made you text him: 

🚨 EMERGENCY AT MARKET!! PLEASE COME HELP!! 🚨

“Honey, what’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowed in confusion. “You said there was an emergency!”

“Is not being able to pay for your large grocery order after someone has already gone through the trouble to scan and bag most of it an emergency?” The owner asks, resentful eyes still locked on your embarrassed ones. 

Hao starts to open his mouth to respond, but the owner cuts him off. “I’ll answer for you. It is an emergency... if the owner forgot to pay his utilities bill and the electricity went out while his wife was curling her hair for work this morning.”

Your boyfriend glances at you then back at the store owner. “Right…”

“I tried to just leave, but he kept this exact same rant going for ten minutes,” you whisper to him as the owner continues to moan and groan about how his wife chased him around the house with a slipper. “I’m really sorry to bother you. I know how busy you are.”

Hao shakes his head definitively. “It doesn’t matter how busy I am— I’ll always have time to help you out,” he says with an affectionate smile, raising his hand to squeeze your right shoulder comfortingly. “As long as you continue to conveniently call when I’m already on lunch break.”

You sigh, looking back down at your shoes in embarrassment.

“Did you forget your credit card? Is that the issue?” Hao asks, taking his wallet out of his back pocket before you even answer.

The store owner laughs. “Worse. It declined.”

Hao looks at you concernedly. Maxing out your credit card was not like you at all. Despite the occasional shopping splurge, you were usually quite practical with money. The look of worry on Hao’s face is valid. 

Still, he hands his own credit card to the store owner and begins throwing some of your grocery items into bags himself. As the owner hands Hao his receipt and credit card back, you pick up a few of the bags and head toward the sliding doors. Hao grabs the last bag and follows quickly behind you.

When you’re outside, you breathe a deep sigh of relief; even a couple of people’s annoyed stares had caused your heart to speed up and your body temperature to rise. Hao falls into step beside you, but it takes you a few moments to relax enough to remember he’s there.

When you finally look over at him, he smiles reassuringly. The token introvert had set aside his nature (and sacrificed his coveted lunch break) to rescue you. And he’d also paid for your groceries.

“I’ll pay you back,” you promise softly, cheeks turning rosy once more.

Hao purposely bumps into your side as you walk, trying to get you to smile and break your tension. It works. You scrunch your nose up at him in a smile and he glues himself to your side, hooking a finger in your back pocket to keep you as close as possible as you make your way down the quiet street.

After another few moments of comfortable silence, Hao clears his throat. “So,” he starts, trying his best to sound nonchalant. “Are you behind on credit card payments? There’s no shame in it; it happens.”

“No,” you answer simply, shaking your head as you steal a glance at your boyfriend. You watch as his brow furrows in confusion.

“Oh,” he replies, lips forming a small pout. “Well, you know you could tell me if you were, right? I'd do my best to help you if that’s what you needed.”

“I know,” you say with a smile, watching again as he blinks curiously-- trying to figure out what the problem could be. “I’d tell you if I was having financial problems. I'd refuse your help, but I would tell you.”

“Right,” he affirms, nodding as if to convince himself that he could end his interrogation there. He fails, of course, and an unstoppable flurry of questions begins to fall from his lips. “So... So what happened? Did the card expire or something? Why didn’t you use your debit card? There’s money on your debit card, right? And I know you despise cash, but--.”

You stop walking and Hao’s finger still hooked in the pocket of your jeans pulls him back to face you. “There is an incredibly simple explanation for this,” you explain, placing your grocery bags on the ground for a moment as you pull your credit card out of your phone case. “This card isn’t my usual credit card. It’s a very limited credit account that I opened for a specific purchase. It looks almost identical to my actual credit card I use on a normal basis so I grabbed this one by accident before I left this afternoon. I was in a rush and couldn’t find my debit card, so I took what I thought was my credit card thinking I’d be fine, but... I was obviously not fine.”

“Ohhh,” Hao sighs, nodding in both comprehension and relief. “Well that makes a lot more sense. I was worried about you! I didn’t think you’d suddenly developed some sort of debilitating shopping addiction, but...”

“Rest assured,” you soothe, picking your bags back up and continuing with your boyfriend down the street to the bus stop. “I have plenty of money. I wish I had more, of course. But it’s enough to survive for now.”

“Are you sure you want to take the bus?” Hao asks, running his hand down your back comfortingly. “I can drive you.”

“No, you can’t,” you reply, taking the last grocery bag from his hands and draping it on your arm. You rummage through it for a moment before pulling out a fresh deli sandwich. “Your lunch break is almost over and I've used up all of it already. So, eat this on the way back to Wakeone or I will find you and I will shove it down your throat myself.”

“I can see you’re back to normal,” Hao says with a grin, taking the boxed sandwich in his hand as you reach the bus stop. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” you say, checking to make sure no one is around before kissing his cheek. His eyes closed, he sighs blissfully.

Your bus makes its way around the corner, pulling to a stop in front of you. 

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” Hao says quickly as you walk up the steps. “What was the purchase that you opened that new credit card for?”

You turn around, biting your lip in a smile. “I bought 40 copies of your debut album!”

“YOU DID WHAT!?”

You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen Zhang Hao more shocked than he is right now. You’re lucky the sandwich box didn’t fly out of his hand and onto the sidewalk. 

“It’s okay: I’m pretty sure I made a good investment!” You call back with a wink to your boyfriend, whose jaw is still dropped as the bus door begins to close. “Didn’t I?”

All Hao can do is nod-- a slow, exaggerated nod as he processes what you’ve said.

You wave at him, grinning-- any embarrassment you had felt ten minutes ago entirely washed away. Zhang Hao may have had to buy your groceries for you, but you think you might’ve already paid him back.

As the doors close, you call to a now smiling but awestruck Hao:

“You’re welcome!”

[angelkhi]

having many thoughts about bodyguard!joel (f!reader) like maaaany. have em x (banner credits: @cafekitsune 🩷)

bodyguard!joel who wasn’t always on the straight and narrow and when an old contact calls in a favour he has no choice but to agree.

but imagine how pissed he’d be when he finds out he’s being payed to babysit a spoiled little daddy’s girl. he’s over it before he’s even started.

but then he meets her and she’s a ray of fucking sunshine and somehow that’s way worse for him.

he soon learns that when she wants to be a spoiled brat she lays it on thick.

his restraint is hanging on by a literal thread after a few days and if he sees her wondering around her apartment in nothing but a t-shirt, those tiny little sleep shorts and an attitude so help him god.

bodyguard!joel who goes to sleep half hard every night cause of the woman he’s meant to be protecting and he’s finding it harder and harder to not cross that line.

the only time he speaks is to give her orders and it’s barely a sentence but he’s so commanding it’s actually a crime.

bodyguard!joel who has no choice but to follow her around whilst she shops. forced to watch her deliberately pick out panties that look like pure sin. he can’t decide if he wants to stuff em in her mouth whilst he eats your pretty cunt or pull em to the side as he fucks her dumb.

car rides are literal torture. especially when he’s next to her in the back of one of her dad’s fancy new cars. he has to refrain from reaching over and pulling her into his lap each and every time.

him watching her get all dressed up for galas, knowing it’ll be wasted on little rich boys who wouldn’t know where to put their dick if they had a map.

joel being in a constant state of torture around her. when she’s so sickly sweet and he has to talk himself down from doing absolutely anything for her. or when she’s being bratty and he barely holds himself back from bribing her over his knee.

joel in an absolute frenzy when she’s in any kind of danger but no he has absolutely no romantic feeling for her (he’s so emotionally constipated it hurts)

her being an absolute angel and doing his laundry only to accidentally mix her underwear in with his clothes and now he has to decide if she really needs them back that bad.

he’s always close to her. always ready to step in if things go south. very very protective.

also kind of a gentleman even if he’s grumpy? pulling out her chair, holding open doors, etc etc. also he’s always guiding her. literally always. that man’s hand is superglued to her lower back.

joel helping her buckle up her heels, the slightest bit contact sending him literally insane. imagine him kneeling in front of her, catching a glimpse up the slit of her dress. mans finished.

him not being able to get through dinner without imagining her spread out on the table instead.

when he finds out she only acts up to get a rise out of him? restraint has disappeared. gone. poof.

bodyguard!joel finally getting his hands on her. brain literally shuts down he doesn’t know where to start. he just knows he’s not stopping til he’s had his fill. 100% overstimulates her til she’s almost crying.

he’s most definitely a switch fucking fight me.

i feel like when he’s in charge, he’s borderline mean, grabbing her jaw to make her look at him, gives major pleasure dom vibes. he 100% gets off on her getting off, also calling her names but the praise!!

“dumb baby” “my pretty little cockwhore” “look so good choking on my cock” “perfect little slut” okay shoot me

SO. POSSESSIVE. always reminding her who’s pussy it is his. always reminding her that her little rich boys couldn’t give her half of what he’s giving her.

naw but when she’s in charge my man whimpers and i’ll swear this in a court of law if i have to.

joel miller is a whimpering little bitch (but only for her) and she fucking loves it.

cause how can he go from being on the verge of tears as she teases him, riding his cock painfully slowly, to pulling her on top of him, fucking up into her until she’s dripping jon his thighs.

fave position is missionary (cause he’s in love) cause he loves watching her go from mouthy to absolutely fucked out. also he def loves her legs over his shoulders it’s just a fact.

A+++ aftercare. he’s got her rehydrated, running her baths with her favourite scents, all the cuddles. he babies you. but sure he’s definitely not in love with her.

bodyguard!joel is filthy and possessive but only wants the best for her, job be damned.

in conclusion

(half tempted to turn this into a full fic 👀)

[kissami]

sum. You never thought you’d find the one at your best friend’s coffee shop.

genre: fluff..super super fluffy

fem reader with she/ her pronouns

WARNING: I’m uploading this while at work so I’ll edit it once I’m home ! So it’s not cute and aesthetic rn 🙄🙄

"I just don't get why she keeps thinking this nonsense, Kyo! I mean, I help with taking care of bills, buying groceries, what else does she want from me?!"

Kyo rose an eyebrow towards you, watching you slam your head on the counter gently and placing your cup on the table, begging for the next round.

"I need another one."

You ordered, but he only rolled his eyes in return.

"You had four cups of coffee in just two hours, you had more than enough for at least a week."

Groaning, you squished your cheeks between your arms as you hid your head.

Your roommate had been annoying lately. Always being so stern with you even when you did almost everything so you two could have a comfy environment to live in, but no matter what you did, she just seemed to hate you more and more.

It was tough moving out of your parent’s place, but this girl truly was testing your limits it seemed.

It wasn’t always like this. When you first met her, she was very sweet and understanding with you which made you think that maybe you finally made a friend who wasn’t your childhood friend.

All you wanted was a friend, but ever since you introduced her to Kyo, she seemed to do a 180 and completely shut you out.

Only for you to find out the two were put together for a date…one he never showed up for without notice.

But speak of blinding dates…

"Oh my gosh! This is the third time you left me alone, you asshole! That's it, I'm done!"

A loud slam quickly brought you out of your mini crisis as your eyes averted over to the couple near the entrance.

Raising your eyebrows in amusement, you saw a girl with black hair grabbing her bag and leaving with a pissed off expression on her face. The blond she was sitting with that you assumed was her date, rubbed his face in annoyance.

He's gorgeous.

You turned to your friend and smiled as a bright idea had quickly made its way into your head which made him tense up a bit, shaking his head quickly as he knew exactly what you were trying to do.

"Nope, I'm done trying to set you up with my customers. You're on your own."

You pouted, watching as Kyo walked to the back room to speak to Tifa about the upcoming schedules.

You could see how close Tifa and him were getting, how flustered he’d get or rush at any moment to be with her. That was enough leverage for you to use against him.

Smirking, you turned back around to see the boy talking on his phone, his face showing not much concern it seemed, but by the looks of it, it seemed like he was being scolded like a cat from the other line of the call which had you intrigued.

Your eyes widened when he slammed his phone down on the table and sighing, digging inside of his pocket to grab his credit card from his black leather wallet.

He's gonna pay, no he can't leave yet!

That's when you thought of a great, amazing, and most definitely the best idea ever.

Walking over the counter as stealthy and quickly as possible, you hid behind it as you waited for him to ring the bell to pay.

DING!

Rising up, you smiled gently and leaned your hands on the counter.

"Hey, what can I do for ya,cutie?"

You could almost feel your eyes sparkle in amusement when he scoffed and rubbed his neck, looking at you with those bright blue eyes you could stare at forever.

"I'm just paying. And who are you? I've never seen you work here before and I come here everyday."

He spoke lowly and looking anywhere besides your face, his eyes fixated on a dancing chunky cat on the tv screen above your head.

"I just started…today? Right I just started working today!" You smiled nervously, rubbing your ring on your right hand.

"Oh, that's good to know I guess."

"Yeah, it is good to know, huh?"

Shit.

You thought as you turned around to your best friend, seeing him rise an eyebrow and clearly questioning your 'amazing' idea to get to know the cute boy that was looking at the both of you now even more confused than before.

"Yup! Aw Kyo don't act like I'm not the best employee you have!" You slapped his arm, glaring at him for him to play along.

"Yeah okay, anyways Cloud it's on the house today."

Cloud. What a cool name.

Cloud nodded, saying a small thank you as he began to walk away.

Your eyes shot over to your best friend, giving him a pleading look to have him stay a bit longer which made Kyo scoff.

If this guy had you pretend you worked at his coffee shop, the one place you said you would despise working at and rather lick the carpet, then you clearly were way more interested in him than he thought.

And boy were you going to be in debt for this.

"Only if you tell us what happened on your 5th blind date."

Kyo smirked, watching as Cloud stopped almost instantly.

Cloud stood there quietly. Usually he’d pretend he didn’t hear anything like this but he truly did need someone to listen to his frustrations and what better yet than the guy his best friend, Tifa, had a crush on?

"It's like no matter how many dates I'm set on, no one wants to continue dating me. I don't mind though, I don't need a partner to be happy I guess."

Hearing a bell ring, Kyo looked over to you and smirked even more, watching your sparkling like eyes looking even more interested in the blond and what he needed to say next.

"Well my favorite employee, it's time for you to get back to work, right?"

You opened and closed your mouth repeatedly like a fish out of water but it only resulted in him pushing you away to take the new order.

"Get along now stupid and do your job! I'm not paying you for nothing!"

"But you're not pa-"

"What was that employee of the month, I didn't quite hear you?!"

"Yeah yeah whatever."

Slumping your shoulders, you made your way to the cash register, and instantly losing braincells on how the hell to work it.

Kyo looked back, seeing the blond still looking over to you as you groaned like a little kid trying to figure out how the monstrosity worked.

A small smile slowly took the blond’s old sour frown which Kyo was quick to catch.

"She's single you know. Plus, she thinks you're really cute. The idiot doesn't even work for me but she did that to talk with you."

Cloud looked over to his friend and shrugged.

"I think she’s cute too, but she needs to work harder to get me. I'm not that easy you know."

"Yeah that's what all your old dates said too,huh?"

"Kyo…" Cloud sighed again, but kept his mako eyes on your cute figure who now was scrambling around like a lost puppy, following Tifa around as she laughed at how silly you looked trying to learn how to charge orders.

Kyo chuckled, shaking his head at how adorable you looked. "Besides, the idiot owes me. She'll be working here for a while."

To say Cloud wasn't looking forward to waking up everyday and heading to the café, was an understatement.

He was less grumpy now and would spend hours texting you all night, but he tried his best to show no interest in you at all, which to Tifa and Kyo, was obvious he had a thing for you.

You had no clue if he felt the same or not, which Cloud was a bit thankful of you being so oblivious.

That was until you finally had enough and needed to know exactly what was going on between the two of you.

Clearly there was something there, so what better way to figure it out than what you do best?

A hot americano with whipped cream topped with cinnamon and caramel was what he would get all the time, but you added something more for him.

Are you a loan bank? Because you got my interest.

Ah yes, your cheesy pick up lines. No matter how hard Cloud tried to keep a straight face, he still managed to let out a small smile that made your heart burst.

You've been doing this for three months straight now, but he finally had the guts to do something.

Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back!

That was all it took for Cloud to lean over the counter and place his lips on yours.

[27dragons]

New Year Countdown: Dec 26

Ack, I almost forgot again! I blame the doctor appointment I had earlier today. Have a Stony paranormal/urban fantasy AU featuring motor repair shop guy Sam, money-poor Steve, and Tony the technomage!

Dec 26 - Stony - Paranormal/Urban Fantasy AU - Cookies

When Sam came into the shop’s waiting area, Steve leapt to his feet like an expectant father from half a century ago, waiting to be told if it was a boy or a girl. “Well?” Steve demanded. “Can you fix her?” He’d gone into the parking garage that morning to head to work and his beloved motorcycle had refused to start.

Sam grabbed a grease rag and scrubbed his hands with it, looking grim. “Your ECM’s died,” he said. “That’s the computer that actually runs everything. It’ll have to be replaced. Under normal circumstances, that would run you about a thousand, but you’ve had so much custom work done... it’s likely to be closer to fifteen hundred.”

Steve literally couldn’t draw a breath for a moment. “Sam, I don’t... I don’t have that kind of money. Not right now. I could...” He paused, trying to figure out how to get that kind of money. Without his bike.

“There’s more,” Sam said. “The ECM’s dead because someone hexxed it.” He wiped his hands one last time, then dug his cell out of his pocket and thumbed up a photo. Under a feylamp, the hex-mark was easy to see. “Someone’s got a grudge,” he said. “Someone with the ability to get through your wards. So even if I replace it, they’ll just hex it again. Unless you know who it could be?”

Steve stared at the mark for a long minute, but it was impossible to recognize the hand that had drawn it. He shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Sam said, sighing. “I’d do the job on credit -- you’ve been a good customer for long enough that I can trust you -- but I can’t do the hex. Luckily for you, I know a technomage who would enjoy the challenge, if you can meet his price.”

Steve snorted. “I can barely see my way clear to paying you,” he said. “No way can I afford a technomage.”

“Hear me out,” Sam said. “Tony’s from one of the Old Families, he’s rolling in money. He doesn’t care about money. What he wants is... something a little different.”

*

Tony’s high-rise office did not look like a mage’s lair. Or especially affluent, though it was definitely nicer than anyplace Steve had ever worked. 

Tony himself, when he emerged, did not look anything like Steve had expected, either. He was young, for a mage, probably not more than forty, if that. He was dressed in loose, worn jeans and several layers of shirts that looked like they belonged in Sam’s repair garage more than a moderately fancy office downtown. He had immaculately-sculpted facial hair, warm honey-colored eyes that Steve could lose himself in, and an ass that wouldn’t quit.

“You’re Wilson’s guy,” Tony said.

“Sam sent me to you, yes,” Steve said cautiously.

Tony lifted a hand and the air beside him suddenly filled with pictures of Steve’s bike and the hex Sam had found on it. Holograms, or illusions? Steve wasn’t sure there was a difference. “It’s an interesting problem,” Tony said. “Did you bring the payment?”

“Uh. Yeah, I, uh--” Steve handed over the large tupperware container he’d been carrying under his arm.

Tony cracked the lid and his eyes closed as he inhaled. “Vanilla, almond, butter, brown sugar... Dark, I think. And... rum?”

Steve blinked in surprise. “Yeah. It was my mom’s recipe.”

“Did you think of her while you made them?”

“I always do.”

Tony opened his eyes. He took one of the cookies from the container and bit off a piece. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I can taste it. This will do nicely. Consider me on the job.”

“Uh. Can I ask... What do cookies have to do with technology?”

Tony sealed the tupperware again and tucked it into a drawer of his desk. “They don’t. There’s more to me than just technology, you know.”

“Like...?”

Tony grinned. “That’s not really a first-acquaintance story. Maybe after our third date.”

Heat climbed the back of Steve’s neck. “Date?”

“Yes,” Tony said decidedly, then reached up to snare one of the floating images and turned it to look at it. “But we’ve got to get your bike up and running first. I need to get this gorgeous beast between my legs.”

Steve’s blush climbed a little higher.

“Come back in... seven days and seven hours,” Tony said, consulting a watch that didn’t have any numbers or hands. “I should have the problem nailed by then. And then you can take me for a ride and we’ll see if any other nailing needs to occur.” He winked at Steve, which did nothing to help the blush situation, and dismissed the pictures with a careless wave. “I look forward to working with you, Steve.”

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S03E09 - Grave Matters - PART A

Tumblr, I need a bigger image limit for this. Come on, it's Grave Matters!

Have I mentioned how much I love "buried underground" episodes?

I love Charlie trying to butter up people so that he can get a ride home. Also, shame on you all. Charlie is chauffeuring you everywhere. I've seen it.

He literally said, "I could make it worth your while" to Jesse. Charlesse shippers rise!

Dude offered them ribs and cocktails and still couldn't get a ride home. What the fuck?

Trying to downplay his role in a serial killer's arrest which is supposedly a big case. This Charlie Hudson I know.

I will interpret those barks as Rex sensing that something will go wrong. Or, "That's right, I'm his only friend".

Nice place to get snatched.

Now, I don't often give credit to Charlie for his thinking but in this case he was already feeling the effects of the tranquilizer, he managed to throw away the dart so that the shooter couldn't find it but later forensics would if they managed to find the area he was snatched from, and told Rex to get help, which didn't help much since Rex was also shot with a dart but still counts. That's some quick thinking right there. That was probably the maximum of information he could give the police about his abduction too at that moment.

Not that I don't like the shot, but this is the exact opposite of how he landed.

It was at that moment that he realized he was fucked.

I love men screaming. Take that however you want lol

That's cold, man. Also, he was wearing a suit which is often how they actually bury dead men. Eek.

With a few modifications, mainly at the tone of the episode, this could be a Criminal Minds case. Like, I don't think they realize what they're writing sometimes and how bullshit the "family friendly" tag is. If I had a kid, I wouldn't want them to see any crime show no matter how cute the dog was.

I like that the email is like, "for those who didn't get it in the dimly lit footage of Charlie, yes, he's buried underground in a coffin". Or if you haven't seen another crime show before which for those folks over at UpTV might actually be true.

Please, co-ordinate your reactions. I'm at a limit here!

If worried, then why so beautiful?

I pity whoever had to make gifs off of this but at the same time I'm very proud of them and thank them for their service.

"Ugh, who's yelling, I'm hammered. Wait a minute, this desperate guy is my guy yelling!"

"We do not negotiate with kidnappers". That's bullshit. There's no police in the world that wouldn't pay the ransom for a cop, or else they'd find their city with no cops pretty soon after. Now, if the request was something else, like the release of a prisoner, then there would be a problem.

Ohh, I like the transition from the coffin in the board to Charlie in the actual coffin.

That's what you get for springing for a cheap-ass coffin. He already took apart a piece of it.

If we were a bigger fandom I know people would have a field day making manips from these.

Meanwhile Rex chewed through the rope. Which we didn't see.

"You call this a fence? Look at this hole."

"SJPD policy is that we do not negotiate". SJPD has a cop ransom policy?

"We're just assuming that this is some money-grabbing copycat with no intention to kill". And they'd grab a cop for money?

Their reactions when they get the feed of Charlie in the coffin. Nice.

That's creepy.

Imagine being trapped in a coffin and the first contact you have with your captor is them saying, "I need you to tug your left ear" lmao

He figured out pretty fast that he's in a Christmas tree farm but had no way to convey it. Or he did but apparently no one thought to find a lip reader.

Some snow there. And Rex rocking the "I just freed myself" look with the cut rope.

"He's losing it". You guys are going to lose it before him, I assure you.

No, seriously, how do you not have one lip reader in a precinct full of people?

"I have to do everything around here" mood.

Surely every one of us would take out a 300k loan for a colleague.

"We're supposed to be a unified front". No. This is a bullshit policy.

I think Sarah has only ever yelled when one of the people she cares for is in danger.

Oh, look at her. She needs a hug.

Thank you.

Sarah: "We need some kind of miracle". Rex: "At your service."

"Rex is a crime scene now". Why is this so funny?

Sarah: "You wanna come inside [the lab]?" Rex: "This is a trick, right?"

"Sorry, but you're going to have to come with me."

Imagine being held in a place where all you could listen to was Christmas music. Imagine the PTSD from that being triggered every time there was a Christmas song. That would pretty much ruin Christmas forever.

Yeah, Charlie trying to tell them about the sprinklers made me cringe my life. It's not his fault. There's just not a serious way to mimic a sprinkler.

Joe: "I think [Rex] is out of sorts without Charlie". Rex: "I am merely resting before my next heroic action."

Rude. Also, wishful thinking. That man is a cockroach.

I love it here.

Hit my image limit. To be continued in PART B.

[maggotbxby]

Coup De Grâce - Deadite Ellie x OC/Reader - Chapter One

"and the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever" Revelation 20:10

Or...

Greta is a God-fearing, wannabe actress with a particularly strange family history, and an impressive talent of stumbling upon disgusting scenes. When tragedy strikes her home in an old LA high-rise, she quickly realizes her fate may be much more twisted than she was brought up to believe.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,349

TW: Religious Trauma; Gore; Suicidal Thoughts; Violence; Everything in Evil Dead Rise.

---------

This building is dead.

It died a month ago when the landlord dropped letters in our mail slots letting us all know we have to be out by next month. He didn't even give us the courtesy of calling, just a print and copied half-assed apology letter to the tenants who pay out their livelihoods every month in rent so he can buy a new Ferrari and not fix the lights.

It’s not that I want to be here, particularly. There is just no other apartment on this side of LA that I would be able to afford. No others would even consider me, if I could. No stable job and a 480 credit score doesn't bode well with most landlords.

A category 5 earthquake was just a death blow, and exactly what I needed to truly understand it was, in fact, God's will for me to return to Tennessee.

The apartment is nearly pitch dark, even with the couple of candles I lit. A blackout coming with the aftershocks while I was packing explains a lot about how my luck has been the past few weeks. It’s as quiet as the dead, aside from the typical moans and groans of the old building. If my neighbors weren't stomping around, I would consider it eerie. 

I sit on a rickety stool that came with the place as I sort through my papers. Every tiny shift in my body causes the stool to creak and groan, just like the rest of the wretched building, so I try to be perfectly still.

The candlelight picks up my papers just enough for me to sort through them and chuck them into boxes- or the trash. It's nearly 10:00 and on a normal night I wouldn't keep packing, especially during a post-earthquake blackout, but I want out of this place as quickly as possible, and if I have to suffer for a while to do that, I will. 

I pick up a folder on my desk, and even in the dark I recognize it as my portfolio- or my pathetic excuse of one. I open it up to see my year-old headshots and my resume. I’ve never been a bad actress, particularly, I’ve just been bad at landing roles. Sure, maybe I didn't work hard enough to find a manager, but even if I had, my off-screen charisma has always been lacking. I scored one decent role in a film, only for it to be scrapped halfway through production. But I have kept trying, I tried theater, I tried commercials, I even tried volunteering into the musical theater at my local church; I’ve tried lots of things.

Because my father left me on this earth alone, and try is all that I can do.

I need to keep living, for reasons undisclosed to even my own mind.

I tell myself that my father left because God wanted him to come home. He spent years of his life driving out evil spirits, freeing tormented souls from the clutches of the Devil, and maybe God thought his work was done? I like to believe that over the probable truth that his fear overcame him; that what he has been running from his entire life finally caught up to him. There is a devotion to God and, with it, a fear of the Devil that has been passed down for generations throughout my family. My father, and many men before him, suffered because of it. 

But if God called my father home, what does that tell me about our home? Does God not care about our family? Why wouldn't he take both of us? No matter what I have done to myself after he died, the agony I have both endured and inflicted upon myself, I am still here. So maybe I do have a purpose on this earth. Or maybe God doesn't want me in His Kingdom at all. 

I remain faithful that these thoughts are untrue. I pray to God every day and every night. I spread His word to those I meet, and I follow His guidance in everything I do, so maybe that’s why I'm still here. 

Packing my, and the rest of my fathers belongings a second time has my mind cruelly bogged with memories, scents, feelings; just pure sentimentality. I have never been host to it before, being estranged from the rest of my family young never granted me the privilege. I do not have the patience for it. My body aches as I look at my shattered dreams, and I feel something cold and awful prick at the throbbing muscle inside my chest, frigid claws that dig deep into my being and tear away so subtly.

My anger gets the better of me and I throw the folder into the trash, causing it to topple over and spill papers and garbage all over the floor. Tears of exhaustion and frustration well up in my eyes, and I grip the sides of my head in my hands and bite back a scream. I will not let myself cry over this. I created this problem, I have to dig -or well, clean- myself out of it. 

I admit, I am an exposed nerve, and have been for the last year, my father's death having ripped off my epineurium.

I hop up from the stool, making it creak wretchedly, scraping the wooden floor, and I grab a broom from the kitchen to clean up the mess.

It’s because it is so quiet that I hear footsteps outside my door.

In most apartments, this wouldn't come as a surprise but considering I live around a corner, at the end of the hall, on the top floor, it’s a bit odd to have foot traffic this late. I tend to be left alone down here, no one vying to get in aside from the rats and dust bunnies.

I keep cleaning, because if someone has come to rob me, they will surely be disappointed, and if they have come to kidnap or kill me, my weak body and dry-rotten broomstick surely aren't going to stop them.

The steps draw closer, and I can hear their breathing; sharp, heavy, fast. The pattering footsteps stop but the breathing doesn't, however it draws farther away.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I slowly approach the peephole in the door. I take in a deep breath only to relax when I see it’s one of the neighbor kids, peering around my little back corner out into the long-stretched hallway with the other apartments. I can’t see that hallway from my room, however.

The moment of relaxation is cut short as I realize the kid is crying. His eyes are wide and red, and his breath is quick, like a rabbit being hunted by a fox.

Then I hear a scream coming from the hallway.

Then another.

Then another.

The child is still hiding around the corner and even though I can’t see what he’s hiding from, everything in my nature tells me it is something he needs to get away from, now. I go to open the door and before I can unlock the deadbolt, the kid takes a mad dash down the long hallway.

…

……

...……

Another scream.

A thud.

My eyes well up in tears of panic and fear as I stand frozen, staring out of the peephole. I see nothing, but I hear everything.

Screaming, crying, ripping, squelching, banging, a gunshot.

Laughing.

Across that sequence of events, which lasted all of 3 minutes, I decided to make peace with death. Because it is all that I can do.

Then it goes quiet again. This time the quiet is eerie. No loud neighbors, no footsteps, nothing.

The air at the top of the high rise is thin, always has been, but trying to breathe it in during a panic feels like there is no air left at all. My hands shake, my chest feels as if it is about to explode. I unlock my cell phone and dial 911 only to be met with a repetitive beep. The earthquake took out the cell towers, of course. Self-preservatory panic overstimulates my senses and I drop to my knees at the door in a terrified heap. I cannot stop the sobs that choke out of my throat, and I fear even my body knows that whoever- or whatever is out there is going to come for me soon.

I clasp my hands and bow my head as I sob out the only thing I can “The lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death; I fear no evil; for you are with me.”

I whisper prayers until my voice is hoarse. Because that is all that I can do. If anyone saw me at this moment I would be mortified. My neighbors are being attacked just outside my door and I have done nothing . But what can I do? Face a mass murderer by myself. Whoever is out there hasn't been stopped by the entire floor of people. They're a predator, and I am just as much a lamb to be slaughtered as anyone.

What I do need, is to get out of this place.

My mind is frequently unreliable, especially with time, however I have been hyperfocused on sounds tonight and I can confidently say the hallway has been pretty silent for at least 10 minutes now.

This can mean one of two things:

Everyone here except me got the hell out of this building, because they didn’t hide in their apartments like cowards, and the authorities are on their way.

Or everyone here except me has been killed, because they didn’t hide in their apartments, and ran out like idiots, and I am just waiting for my turn to face death as well.

Regardless of the right answer, staying in my apartment is going to get me nowhere. The only available exits are the elevator -which is a terrible option post-earthquake- or the stairs, both of which are at the end of the hall.

I get up from my heap on the floor and scour my apartment to grab the rest of my essentials to get out of here. I toss my phone, keys, wallet, and bible all into my purse, and I slowly and quietly unlock the deadbolt.

The moment I put my hand on the door handle to pull it open I feel my stomach sink and my body tense. The narrow hallway feels like a chute, and I feel as soon as I turn the corner my executioner will be waiting with a captive bolt ready to be driven into my skull. 

I take two quiet steps outside my door towards the other hallway and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my heart threatens to crash its way out of my chest, sending a painful wave of thunder to my wrists and my neck. The sheer force of my blood pressure reverberates into my ears. I keep my body to the wall and clutch my bag to satisfy my brain’s need to have leverage and I use every ounce of courage in my body to peer around the corner into the hallway and-

Corpses.

There are corpses.

Horrifying, mutilated corpses of my neighbors. The corpse of the child who, if I was a second faster, could have been brought into my apartment.

Skin sloughed from muscle, muscle from bone and I am sick sick sick sick si-

The putrid, infectious scent of bile, blood, and exposed flesh makes its way to me, and by some miracle I do not vomit but my body doubles over, and my eyes and mouth are pooling while a black haze creeps into the borders of my field of view.

When I glance up, the sensible part of my brain makes my obscured vision focus on the only thing still moving in the hallway.

I, as anyone who knew her would, recognize her from the tattoos on her exposed flesh and the distinct red hair on her head, Ellie Bixler.

But very much not Ellie Bixler.

Her skin is pale and gray with death, and she is caked in blood and bits of everything that are no longer inside my neighbors' bodies. The curve of her arm is made jagged, and My God limbs are not meant to bend that way.

I suddenly believe that every prayer I have ever spoken has come to protect me at this moment, as she somehow does not notice me while she is focused on what I think is the door to her own apartment. I do not let my luck go to waste as I rush back behind the wall, out of sight of anyone in that hallway.

The quiet I got too comfortable with finally comes to an end in what I assume is the sound of her breaking, or trying to break through her door.

I peer around the corner like an idiot in some sick daze of infatuation when I hear the scream of a child.

Ellie is pushed halfway into her apartment, holding onto what I can only imagine is her youngest daughter, Kassie. Someone else inside the room comes to help as the door is slammed onto Ellie’s arm and she recoils back into the hallway.

She then throws herself into the door, furiously banging on it.

  “OPEN THE DOOR LIKE YOU OPEN YOUR LEGS YOU STINKING GROUPIE SLUT!”

 The voice sounds like a twisted, savage, faux version of my neighbor’s and I feel the overwhelming urge to vomit again as I dart back into hiding, and I take the opportunity of the noise to rush back to my apartment.

The contents of my stomach do end up on my floor after I close and lock the apartment behind myself.

I despise vomiting. Tragically, I was cursed with a weak stomach and an impressive ability to stumble upon revolting sights. A deadly combination only I could be so lucky to have. 

I do not think to clean up the vomit on the floor that will soon be covered in my own blood when I am inevitably found.

I quickly realize as my body autopilots into my bedroom, that spilling my guts combined with a severe spike in adrenaline has given me three things; sharp chest pain, energy renewal, and a massive degree of mania.

I now know what I need to do.

I haven't touched these books since I moved out of Tennessee, not that I should have. Every time they have been opened they consume the one who opens them. My father was constantly buried in these writings, wasting his life trying to make something of them. Something that would allow our family to repent from the sins of our ancestors. I have never been so unlucky to read them, until now.

I know exactly where I hid them. I drop to the floor in front of the old, dusty armoire that came with the apartment, that definitely should have been thrown out years before I moved in here.

I flatten myself on the splintery floor and snake an arm under it, finding what I was looking for. I pull out the wooden box and rise to my knees as I pop open the latch. There is a stack of 3 handwritten journals. Journals scrawled by my great-great Grandfather, Marcus Littleton.

My body quivers, and adrenaline and fear flow through my veins as I pull one of the journals out of the box, illuminated by the moonlight.

I take the box and journal to my desk. I re-light the candle upon my desk and I open the treacherous tome up. My heart is frightened; however, my mind is set.

I have heard my father describe demons for the entirety of my life. ‘Twisted, rotting corpses intent on causing chaos, destruction, and pain everywhere they are found.’

I never fully believed his tales. Of course I didn’t, there was never any public recordings of such events. His stories were from the 1920’s, it could have been nothing but hearsay. Hearsay that he lived and died for. Hearsay that, if I do nothing, I will also die for. 

He never let me touch these books when he was alive, he kept them hidden for himself. When I inherited them, I never opened the box. Partially because I respected my fathers wishes, partially because I didn't want to become consumed in them as he was. My father and I always were alike.

The handwriting of my great-great grandfather is sloppy, and every word is abbreviated, shortened, or misspelled. These books were scrawled in a panic. I knew this. I was, however, never told the extent. I skim through the most legible parts of the pages, many words and phrases unreadable.

“The words I uttered have unleashed a demonic entity beyond my darkest nightmares”

“The book, it cannot be destroyed.”

“Their bodies twisted, decaying.”

“Rotted from the inside out.”

“It does not stop.”

“The possession will spread.”

“They will tear you apart, and bathe in your guts.”

“Run.”

“It cannot be stopped until innocence is destroyed.”

“I cannot escape this.”

“It's going to get me soon.”

I slam the book shut. My body trembles so wildly I begin to spasm. My heart is beating as fast as a racehorse’s and my breathing refuses to slow. The fear of being discovered from the thing just outside my apartment is the only thing keeping me from screaming.

The chicken scratch writing described a book. I have heard about this book for years. A book that was hidden away for the good of humanity. My father wanted to keep us as far away from Los Angeles for a reason. He never knew where the book was hidden away, but he knew it had to be here.

And of course, it would make total, logical sense, that by some absolute joke from God, out of all the old buildings in this city, I manage to land an apartment in the one the book was being held at.

Or perhaps I really am cursed, and some sick string of fate brought me here to die and end my family's bloodline.

The only way this could be happening is if someone found the book. My father always said, ‘They have no power without the book, so long as the words aren't spoken.’ I’m hoping he is right. If he is, maybe there is something in the book that can be used to save whoever is left in the building. Something my great-great grandfather missed.

There is only one problem.

I have absolutely no idea where the book is.

This building has 14 floors, and hundreds of tenants. It would be nearly impossible for me to find it without a mass murderer trying to kill everything in its sight. 

The chaos does seem to be contained to this floor, and by the looks of it, Ellie is the only one causing it. That could potentially narrow it down to someone on this floor having it, unless of course Ellie was just the unlucky one, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone. 

Ellie Bixler didn't deserve this. The journal said the souls of those taken were corrupted by the demon, damning them to burn in hell while their body and partial consciousness remains to wreak havoc among men. Ellie Bixler does not deserve hell.

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

Ellie Bixler was one of the first faces I saw when I moved to this treacherous place. Moving alone was a nightmare, especially moving alone into the top floor of a high-rise, into the apartment farthest from the elevator. 

I thought the nightmare was ending when I got to the last boxes in the truck. However, when I picked them up, and almost toppled over with the weight of them, I realized my bad luck streak continued. I glanced at the label on the top box and sighed—of course it would be my dishes. I hear the ding of the elevator and feel a sudden whoosh of thankfulness.

“Hold the elevator!” I called, hoping that whoever was inside of it heard me. But seeing as I didn’t run into the doors, they must have. “Thank you," I said breathlessly, in passing, and then slumped against the wall of the elevator, balancing the bottom box on my thighs.

“Do you need some help?”

I peered around my stack of boxes to see the woman who had been kind enough to hold the elevator door for me; she was still standing there, dressed in a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, dark blue ripped jeans, and leather boots. She wasn't dressed like the women I grew up around in the Bible Belt, that's for sure. And judging by her dyed red hair and tattoos, I would guess she didn't act like them either. She was staring at me hesitantly with blue eyes that looked as exhausted as I felt.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it,” I said quickly, disappearing back behind the boxes once I realized I had been staring a few moments too long at the gorgeous, courteous stranger while looking like I had been hit by a bus. “Thank you, though.”

There was a soft hum of contemplation, and then, a few moments later, a swish of the elevator doors sliding closed. I slumped against the elevator wall, thankful that I wouldn't have to converse with my new neighbor while coated with dirt and sweat.

“I think I have to insist, then.”

I jolted up so quickly that the box on the top wobbled precariously, only for it to be slipped off the stack and into the arms of the tall stranger. I stared at her, eyes wide, as the woman slouched under the weight of the box and flushed, before straightening up and smiling at me. 

“Um.” I cringed at myself. What a way to be eloquent. “Thank you, but you really didn’t—”

“I know,” the woman smiled back. “What’s your number?”

I blinked in surprise.

“Excuse me?” There was no way this lady just asked for my number. Who did she think she was?

The woman’s mouth fell open and she was immediately blushing. Her brow furrowed and she chuckled awkwardly, shaking her head. “Your floor… Number. Is what I meant. For the elevator?”

Oh . I looked over at the rows of glowing white buttons; I hadn’t pressed the floor number when I rushed in.

“Oh, yeah! Right!” I replied awkwardly, still not looking at the woman. I shouldn’t have felt bad—after all, this stranger is the one who said it—but I couldn’t help feeling like I was the one who made everything uncomfortable.

“Fourteen,” I finally replied, sighing, after clearing my throat. The woman grinned, a big beautiful smile, and pressed the button.

“Well hello neighbor! I’m on 14 as well, apartment 85.” I looked back over at her sheepishly. “Expect to climb a lot of stairs. This elevator is out of order more often than it’s working.”

“Of course it is,” I commented dryly. Well, at least it appeared to be working on the day I needed it to be. Hopefully that luck holds true for grocery days, too. I thought. “Stairs aren’t a problem. Besides, it gives me an excuse to drink a third cup of coffee in the mornings.”

The woman laughed. “Sometimes I need at least five. Don’t have kids.” the stranger joked.

“You have kids?” I asked.

“Three.” She started, “Two sweet girls, Bridget and Kassie. And my boy, Danny, who is always the culprit if you hear loud music coming from my place.”

“Wow you've got a handful then.” I replied. “I’ve always wanted kids… but it doesn’t seem in my cards anymore.” I winced, and wanted to kick myself so bad for accidentally sounding super melancholic. 

The woman nodded kindly, smart enough not to pry. Or maybe she just didn't want to entertain depressing, deep conversation with someone she met less than 3 minutes ago. 

“I’d shake your hand…” the woman said, her voice hesitant as if she could sense the awkward tension in the elevator, “but…” she glanced pointedly at the box, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I appreciate the concern for my dishes.”

“Dishes,” she said, staring at the box. “Well, that explains things.”

Like the fact that it’s a lot heavier than you thought it would be , I thought, and couldn't hold in my chuckle.

“My name’s Ellie.” The stranger—or Ellie, apparently—looked over at me. “By the way. Since we’re… Going to be neighbors.” This time, Ellie was the one who cringed.

“Well then, neighbor.” I stressed the word around my smile. “I’m Greta.”

“Greta.” Ellie said. My name sounded so pleasant coming from her lips compared to my own. I quickly eliminated that thought from my mind. 

“Ellie.” I intoned in the same manner, and Ellie laughed. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open; Ellie inclined her head, as if to say you first , and I nod as I step through the doors. 

“I probably should have warned you that I live all the way at the end of the hall.” I shifted the box in my arms and glanced over at Ellie. “Before you decided to be a good samaritan.”

“I’m always a good samaritan,” Ellie responded, her tone of voice slightly defensive.

“Careful. You told me where you live. I might abuse that.” That sounded a lot creepier than I meant it, but Ellie just laughed, which slightly lifted my embarrassment.

I stepped through the doors of my apartment. I didn’t expect Ellie to be impressed—chances are we had the same exact apartment, hers just… properly decorated—so rather than trying to play the role of host, I simply led Ellie straight to where I put the box containing my disassembled Ikea kitchen table.

Ellie did, however, let out a low whistle as she looked around.

“Wow, you’ve been at this all day, haven't you?” She slipped the box on top of the Ikea box while I laid mine on the floor. 

“Yes, tragically. I slept on the floor and left the truck full of my non-essential stuff last night. Looking back, I definitely should have gotten robbed.”

“Long drive then?”

“You could say that.. Knoxville.” I sighed.

“You're telling me you drove here… from Tennessee?” She looked at me, eyes wide in shock. “With seemingly no help?”

“Just me and god.” Ellie laughed at that, but then caught herself when she noticed my expression, and the cross on my necklace, and realized I was serious.

“Well, then… I’d be happy to help, if you’d like?”

“That’s really nice of you, Ellie, but I’m afraid you're just too late. Those were my last boxes.”

“I have impeccable timing, huh?”

“Seems like it.” We both laughed, a bit awkwardly.

“What brought you all the way to the City of Angels?” Ellie interjected, cutting the awkward tension once again.

I breathed a heavy sigh, “It’s a long story…”

“Well, you could tell it, if you come have dinner with me.”

I recoiled, “I couldn’t- No. No thank you, I really should start putting all this stuff away.”

Ellie put her hand on my arm, “I insist. My husband, Jay, is making steak tonight and when he cooks, he cooks for a village.” Not that 3 children isn't a village.

I flinched, then relaxed slightly under the hand on my arm, I looked up at Ellie, contemplating, but there was little I would do to argue. I was exhausted, and I shouldn’t decline free food, even from a stranger. “I suppose I can't say no.”

  ------------

That night was the first, and the only time in a long time I felt safe. 

I didn’t spend a lot of time with Ellie outside of that night. She was a very busy woman, and I was constantly trying to find work, or locking myself in my apartment stressing about trying to find work. I often passed her in the hallway, or stopped to chat while doing laundry, but that was the extent. For the most part.

We were also very different, spiritually and morally. She wasn’t religious and I was not going to try and convert an entire family of 5. Our lives were just very different, as much as I felt drawn to her. I often, for some reason, constantly had the gnawing ache to go back to her apartment and spend time with her, and just be in her presence more than I should. It’s a feeling I have felt before, when I was young, and something deep rooted in my consciousness told me I shouldn’t give into that ache.

‘For god cannot be tempted by desire, nor does he tempt anyone; but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.’

I found out about her divorce when we crossed paths in the hall. It came as a shock, to an extent. Externally they seemed like the perfect couple, but being their neighbor, I had heard a fair number of screaming matches between the two of them. Divorce is something my family has always been against, especially when there are children involved; however, I believe that God would forgive Ellie if her husband abandoned her.

Ellie was a kind person; Ellie does not deserve Hell.

Ellie’s family –by the looks of it– is still alive in her apartment. As long as no one in the apartment has been possessed, it is possible they can be saved.

I just have to, you know, get there, without the demon in the hall ripping me to shreds before I take a step.

I sit at my desk, chewing on my cheek as I think out the most insane, ludicrous plan to save my neighbors, and to free my family from this book that has haunted us for generations. 

There is an estimated 10 percent chance of getting out of this alive, but there are little alternative options.

There was a shotgun in the hallway. 

If I can get ahold of it, and subdue Ellie long enough for her family to let me in, I can get ahold of the book, and with it, and my great-great grandfather's journals, I could find a way to get us all out alive.

That is, if they will even let me in, and if the book is even with Ellie’s family. This is where my odds drop further.

This plan is flawed. It is dangerous. It is stupid.

But I am all of those things, yet God has kept me alive, so perhaps there is hope to be found somewhere.

As I pack the journals into my bag, and I pull my largest and sharpest knife from the kitchen, I feel the full weight of my mortality sit upon my chest. 

I am mad for this.

But what is my life going to be otherwise? What did God keep me alive through so much for? I have to have faith.

I bear the knife in my hand, and wrap a rosary around my arm and wrist. My bible is held in my bag and I stand before the door to my death once again, praying for my father’s forgiveness if I mess this up.

As I carefully unlock the piece of wood separating me and the Devil, I go white-knuckled on my knife, and I feel bile begin to creep up. I am already out of breath due to panic, dissociating out of my mind, and trembling so forcefully that my teeth chatter. I bite my tongue until I taste blood, and I push open the door.

I am not sure how I want to do this, but planning now would only exhaust me further, and I need to think on my feet. 

Grab the gun, shoot the demon, get inside. 

I take a few, quiet, petrified steps into the hallway and look around the corner when I see-

Kassie?

Ellie’s youngest daughter is standing in the hallway, moving to help a young, dark-haired woman off the ground. From what I have heard, this is Ellie’s sister, Beth, whom I have heard referred to as ‘The Groupie’ from various neighbors.

Their attention turns to me, Beth looks shocked, eyes wide, as she moves to grab the shotgun from what I now sickeningly realize is the corpse of Mr. Fonda. 

The smell, Christ. I have sworn off vomiting again, but my body desperately wants to overrun my mind at this moment. I fight bile and slowly approach them. Kassie puts a finger over her lips, assuring I know to stay quiet.

Where are Bridget and Danny? I already know, at least, I should already know. My twisted mind does not choose to process that in the moment, only focusing on the two people merely 20 feet from me.

It is my fear that allows me a keenness to sound -even over my heartbeat in my ears- and I hear the cracking of glass and bone behind me as I begin to pass Ellie’s apartment.

No.

Please, God, don’t let this happen to me now. Not when I’m this close.

I freeze, because I am a prey animal, no matter what anyone says, in this building, right now, I am prey, and as a prey animal, I have developed the intuition of knowing when I am being watched. 

Its gaze is fixed on me, and I am all taut muscle and dilated pupils underneath it. I know it is behind me, and I know with every fiber of my being that I am going to die if I do not move.

But my body will not allow my muscles to relax enough to bend my limbs.

I am gripping the knife in my hand for dear life and my eyes are locked with Beth’s, who is, currently, my only hope in surviving this. The groupie raises the shotgun, and points it behind me. It is then that I decide to turn and look at-

There is a hand on my neck.

There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. 

It is cold and wet and awful and I set my jaw and every muscle in my throat tenses more than they already were. My teeth threaten to break each other under the force caused by my fear. 

I attempt to drive the knife into the flesh behind me, when my arm is caught in the grasp of another hand. The grip is tighter than the sickeningly gentle hold on my neck, and its claws dig deep into the tendons of my wrist, making me scream out in pain, my eyes screwing shut as my hand involuntarily releases the knife.

There is a wet, breathy, crackling chuckle behind me, and the grip on my neck releases, and I open my tear-filled eyes, only to be thrown into the door across from Ellie's apartment. 

It is on me swiftly after that. It grabs my wrist again and pins it against the door, like it’s body alone wasn’t doing that enough. 

Its stare is predatory and piercing, nothing like Ellie’s once was. It is feral, and it's burning into me. Wide, consuming and unblinking as it stares down at me, I am drowning in it. Pupils like a pinpoint amongst a pale blue, scleras dark and bloodshot. 

It leans down for an awful moment, a pit forms in my stomach and I want to vomit as it licks the blood dripping down my forearm from its claws.

I look over its shoulder at Beth, who Kassie is hiding behind and gripping for dear life.

“Please.” It is my voice that pleads, but I have never heard myself so breathless nor shrill.

“Pl…ease.” The demon's voice mocks me, eyes still burning into mine. It's voice hoarse and deep and repulsive, but the thing that makes me want to upchuck more than anything, is that I can still hear Ellie's voice underneath it. Sweet, funny, no-bullshit Ellie Bixler, consumed by the Devil. 

Beth is looking at me now, fear in her wide eyes, as she aims the gun down sight for a moment, aiming directly at the demon. 

Pull the trigger.

PULL THE GODDAMN TRIGGER.

This is my apex of disaster. This is all that my mind has been made to handle. I have hit the limit of my unluckiness and hit it so damn hard I might as well have heard a comedically timed ‘bang’ and seen stars dancing around my head. 

Beth is unmoving, and my breath catches in my throat as I choke out a strangled sob when I see the woman mouth ‘I’m sorry’ before the shotgun it aimed at the door to apartment 82, and it is blasted open.

The demon before me jolts upright, but doesn't take its smothering gaze off of me, even when Beth grabs Kassie and runs through the door. 

My fate is sealed as the door slams behind her, and all that is heard is the clanking of the security chain lock, as Beth well and truly escapes.

Then there is a deafening silence…

…A pattering of footsteps…

…Heavy, excited, wheezy, panting.

An excited panting that is coming from the creature before me.

This is where my faith in God has led me. Like my father, and his father, and the father before him. All of my life, and all of their lives, have led to this very moment. My death will be the fated coup de grâce of our cursed bloodline.

I am crucified to my place, paralyzed from the neck down as it looks upon me. I am fated to be consumed by this monster. This is my destiny.