#I want to know about the scenes you’ve concocted up in your beautiful brains

[st-highwind]

to those of you who have been presenting their ffiv ocs in the last month or so, I absolutely adore you and your ocs and I want to hear everything about them

[rocorambles]

A Game of Cat and Mouse

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Cop and Criminal AU (Cop Iwaizumi, Criminal Reader), NSFW, Sex Toys, Degradation, Overstimulation, Bondage

Summary: Bad girls get punished. And criminals who go out of their way to make Iwaizumi’s life hell on a routine basis deserve extra special punishment.

Author’s Note: This is for the NSFW Haikyuu HQ Gifting Event! @multifandhoem I hope you enjoy~ (I really got carried away with the plot in this fic. One day I will learn how to write porn without plot, but for now, please accept my porn with way too much plot.)

Irritating Iwaizumi Hajime might be your favorite activity in the world. There’s just something so satisfying about watching his usually calm and stoic face shatter into an angry feral mess. And maybe, just maybe, something deep in your belly stirs as he growls and snarls at you, something primal in you writhing in excitement as he bares his teeth at you and chases you. 

You’ve lived a life of sins and crimes for as long as you can remember, but hard work has taken you a long way. So really, there isn’t any need for you to continue your petty thieving ways. You’re set for life with the money you’ve accrued from the countless successful exchanges you’ve made. It’s almost obscene just how much people are willing to pay for a few shiny stones or swatches of paint on a canvas. 

And yet you can’t help yourself from revisiting your bad habits of creeping in the shadows, analyzing floor plans, strategizing routes. Only now, your plans are centered around a brooding spiky haired cop with the most beautiful green eyes you’ve ever seen instead of the number of zeros at the end of a number. 

You don’t know exactly what about Iwaizumi resonates so strongly with you. Sure, he’s handsome, but you’ve run into your fair share of handsome officers. You dare say Officer Sawamura could give Iwaizumi a run for his money in the looks department.

Maybe it’s the hints of wildness you see underneath his straight-laced façade. 

Maybe it’s the fire you see blazing behind his reserved countenance.

Whatever it is has you keeping tabs on him, has you concocting plans just sloppy enough for Iwaizumi to get tantalizingly close to you, but put together enough to have you escaping his grasp each and every time. And you cackle at the way his eyes light up when he thinks he has you pinned down, only to furiously scowl at your retreating figure when you taunt him with a flirtatious air kiss and a cheeky “maybe next time, sir”. 

It’s an endless game of cat and mouse, but you don’t think you’ll ever tire of it. And you’re beginning to suspect that even Iwaizumi finds it amusing to a certain degree. 

You had been at a loss for words when the officer had merely trudged into the jewelry store you had been waiting for him in at your last heist, only to casually lean against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded you holding the store’s most expensive strings of diamonds and pearls in your hands, teasingly holding them up to his face. And you hesitantly lower your arm, unsure what to do as the silence and stillness of the night stretches. 

There’s no growled threats or pointed firearm in your face like there usually would be right about now. And you swear there’s a hint of a smirk on the handsome face across from you as the two of you just stand there, stuck in the strange heady tension filling the air. 

But you almost drop everything you’re holding at Iwaizumi’s next words. 

“If you want my attention that badly, there are better ways of going about it.” 

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to laugh as your trademark smirk falls off the lower unmasked part of your face and he confidently saunters over to you, strong arms boxing you in against the glass counter, enjoying the rush of power he feels about the tables finally turning as you shyly look anywhere but at him. And something roars triumphantly inside of him when you gasp as he hooks his hand under your chin and forces you to meet him gaze on. 

“I’ve spent the last few months wracking my brain for answers. Why were you suddenly committing so many meaningless robberies? Robberies of stores and items so far beneath your caliber? Was it just coincidence that you were only committing crimes on the routes and nights I was working? Was I just imagining that it seemed like you were actively trying to avoid injuring me every time we clashed? None of it made any sense. But then your stupid flirting started and it made me think that maybe there was some rhyme and reason to your suddenly erratic behavior after all.” 

There’s silence as he lets you register his words and the rattling of jewelry as he plucks the expensive strands out of your hands and carelessly tosses them back in their case. But he softly smiles when you don’t deny his words and make no move to push him away or escape. 

“I believe in new beginnings and fresh starts, so when you’re done with your thieving ways, come find me. I’m curious about the woman under the mask.” 

It’s weeks before you have the courage to even secretly trail after Iwaizumi again after that encounter and even then, you don’t do anything but keep watch over him. 

His words echo in your mind and you don’t have the urge to steal and ring an alarm to beckon him towards you. Not when the greatest treasure of all is just within your grasp whenever you’re ready to summon the will to finally reveal your identity and meet him person to person in broad daylight instead of slithering around each other in the twisted tango of cop and criminal. 

But you aren’t ready yet and you merely keep tabs on him for now, curiosity and protectiveness getting the better of you, and if Iwaizumi notices the moving shadow that seems to follow him wherever he goes, he doesn’t bring attention to it. There’s something comforting, maybe even endearing, about how you’ve become a guardian angel of sorts to him, especially with the increasing body count and grizzly crimes being committed. And although he wishes you were safe and sound, tucked far away from the ricocheting bullets and corpses, his heart warms at the bouquet of lilies he finds on his doorsteps when he stumbles back home, empty and defeated, the weight of his partner’s death from a particularly bloody shootout still fresh on his mind. 

There’s no note, no letter, but he knows. Knows that it could only be you, knows that no one outside of his team or the criminals they had been fighting with could possibly know about the death so soon unless they happened to witness the scene. And that night he sobs himself to sleep, clutching your flowers to his chest, unaware of the way you forlornly stare at him from the roof across the street, heart aching and wishing more than anything that you weren’t such a coward, that you were brave enough to slip inside and comfort him in person. 

But life has a funny way of working, of not caring if you’re ready or not and your lives crash together once more in an unexpected way. 

Iwaizumi is promoted to lead the new task force aimed at squashing down the rising crime syndicates. You’re proud of him, but you can’t quell the anxiety that courses through you as you watch every raid that takes place, wondering if and when the day will come where he’ll be outmaneuvered, keeping your own skills sharp, praying that you’ll never have to use them again, but just in case…

And you thank whoever’s listening that you had kept up with your training as Iwaizumi’s team is ambushed and overpowered one night. Your heart drops and bile rises in your throat as officer after officer crumples to the floor, but you force yourself to calm down, to find an internal steady rhythm as you glide through the shadows, swiftly and secretly making your way towards the man you’ve become so attached to. 

You fight down the panic when you finally reach him, try to still the tremble in your hands as you quickly scan the growing dark red stain spreading across his shirt from his wounds, almost collapsing in relief when you find that they’re all superficial wounds, nothing life threatening or critical. 

The silent scuffle between the two of you is awful and you’re thankful that blood loss and pain have weakened him as you forcefully drag him away, nails gripping tightly into his skin as you roughly lead him to your apartment despite his struggling, despite his desperate desire to go back and help his few remaining teammates. And you’re both fiercely snarling at each other when you’re finally safe inside your apartment, fury raging in both of you as you snap at each other. 

“You should have let me stay and help!”

“So that you could end up dead like the rest of them? You were clearly outpowered and outnumbered!”

“Well you should have just let me die then, instead of helping me escape like a coward.” 

A resounding crack echoes throughout the room and it takes you some time to register the smarting pain in the palm of your hand and the fresh red mark on Iwaizumi’s cheek. But before you can even stutter an apology, a hand is fisting the front of your shirt and lips are crashing against yours in an angry impassioned act and you whimper as you are forced to taste his frustration and gratitude, his losses and gain, his despair and hope. 

And when he disconnects and the two of you gasp for much needed oxygen, you stand in the middle of your apartment, arms wrapped around each other, only the sounds of Iwaizumi’s sobs and your comforting words flitting through the air as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and you rub soothing patterns on his back. 

The rest of the night is a domestic peaceful drawl and you gently lead Iwaizumi to an armchair in your living room before scurrying away to rummage for your first aid kit and returning to kneel between his legs as you clean his injuries, apologizing as he winces at the sting of warm water and soap against his open wounds. There’s a soothing flow as you tend to him and you relax with every swipe of the towel, fingers and hands lingering just a tad longer than they should on his skin. But you stiffen when his uninjured arm raises and calloused fingers lightly trace the bottom of your mask. 

There’s an unspoken question in the way he delicately plays around with the corners of the fabric, but it seems deafening to you as your heart races. Maybe it’s the pure intentions in his eyes or the fact that your walls are weakened in the confines of your apartment, but either way, you don’t pull away, tilting your head up and stilling in silent confirmation. And something flutters in your chest as he gingerly removes your mask, heat rising to your face as green eyes stare at your face in awe for the first time, fingertips tracing every inch and line, mapping every groove reverently. 

It feels like eternity before you resume dipping the towel into the soapy water and treating him. But bandaged and deemed well, Iwaizumi is ushered to your shower and you shove a pile of clean towels and the largest loungewear you have into his hands, fully intent on locking him in the bathroom as you get a grip on yourself. But he has different plans in mind and you’re speechless as he firmly grasps your wrist before you can retreat with your tail between your legs. 

“Stay with me. Please.”

How could you possibly deny those honest eyes? 

Swipes of a soapbar against skin become intimate caresses and before you fully register what’s happening, you’re being pressed against the wall as Iwaizumi plunders your mouth, rough hands roaming all over your body as he fully explores everything you have to offer. You whimper as the hot water is suddenly turned off, the cold air crashing against you, but you let out a content sigh as a hot body wraps you in its embrace, carrying you to the sanctuary of your plush bedding. And all you know before you blissfully pass out is the sound of your wanton moans as you break apart over and over again, on Iwaizumi’s tongue, fingers, and cock, tears and drool cascading down your face as you alternate between begging for more and crying for him to let you rest before you ultimately pass out from the deliriously overwhelming ecstasy.

The sun is barely creeping in, a few slim tendrils slipping past the cracks of your window blinds when his eyes flutter open and something warm spreads in his chest as he slowly turns to observe your still soundly sleeping figure, a small upward quirk of his lips betraying how right it feels to wake up beside your vulnerable state. And although he can’t deny the allure of your body creeping through the night, he thinks that you’re the most beautiful like this, unmasked and body unconsciously seeking his presence and warmth as you curl into his space, your face nuzzling into his chest, head perfectly settled under his chin, the soft glow of sunlight enhancing your natural beauty. 

But he grimaces as his alarm continues to blaringly ring in the background, frowning as he reluctantly separates himself from you and carefully untangles himself from your bed sheets, quietly traipsing out of your room and dialing a number on his phone when he’s out of your earshot.   

Guilt and dread claw at him as the ringtone goes on and on and his throat is dry when he hears the authoritative voice through the speakers. 

“Iwaizumi? Are you okay?!”

Iwaizumi wishes he had a glass of water as he chokes out a polite greeting and he can feel hot tears prick at his eyes as he ceaselessly apologizes. Apologizing for abandoning his men. Apologizing for a failed mission. Apologizing for being such a failure as an officer, as a leader. 

But he quickly shuts up at the sharp tone that pierces his ear as Sawamura barks his name and he waits and waits, holding his breath, preparing to give up his badge, only to splutter in surprise at the warm relieved chuckle echoing across the speaker. 

“I’m glad you’re at least well enough to give me a headache with your wallowing. Good men died and we’re going to feel their loss for a long time. I won’t deny that. But no one blames you, Iwaizumi. You’re a good man, a great officer, and an even better leader. Rest up, grieve, mourn. Do whatever you need to do for the next few days. And when you’re ready, I expect to see you in my office so we can strategize about how we’re going to honor our fallen teammates by giving these criminals hell.”

He barely has time to stammer a “yes, sir” before the line clicks shut and the tears finally roll down his face as he clutches his phone in his hands, bittersweet gratefulness and sorrow blending together. And as his cries come to an end, a determined glint flickers in his eyes as he wipes the last of the salty trails away, the resolve of a man seeking vengeance forming inside of him. 

But that could wait until he was back in the swirl and chaos of the precinct. For now, he has other loose ends to tie and he quietly walks back to your room, smiling at the sight of your still slumbering figure nestled in your blankets as he makes his way towards you, intent on slipping back underneath the covers besides you. But he lets out a muffled pained curse as his foot knocks over a box besides your bed, the crash of objects dispersing across the wood floor rattling you awake, and you blearily blink your eyes open only to stare in shock and horror as Iwaizumi curiously holds up a set of black bondage restraints and a jeweled butt plug from among the scattered items, before sending an amused look and a quirked brow your way.    

If you were drowsy before, you’re wide awake now as you lunge out of bed, throwing yourself at Iwaizumi as you frantically try to regain possession of some of your most intimate belongings, pouting when he holds the items out of reach, a mischievous grin on his face as he looks down at you. 

“Are you familiar with the stoplight system?”

You pause your futile jumping as you try and bat your toys out of his hands, balking at the underlying meaning in his question, waiting for him to just laugh it off and move on. But when all he does is bring a warm hand to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone as he patiently gazes at you, letting you make the final decision, you melt and lean into his touch, shyly nodding your head as you blissfully sigh at the way it feels so right for him to be touching you. 

“Words, princess. I’m not going to be gentle. Not after all the teasing and headaches you’ve caused me. So I need to be sure you’re ok with this, that it’s what you want.” 

Brief descriptions of red, yellow, and green are barely out of your mouth before you’re suddenly being forcefully shoved onto the bed, body instinctively flailing in self-defense as you try to register what’s happening while binds are roughly being wrapped around your wrists and ankles. But you mewl in arousal as Iwaizumi’s weight settles on top of you, his hard chest pressing you against the bed as he dexterously ties you up until you’re in a spread-eagled position underneath him, unable to move even an inch. And your breath hitches at the hungry look he pins you down with as he sits back and enjoys the view of your trussed up body on complete display for him. 

But you grow impatient as the minutes drag by and Iwaizumi gives you an unimpressed look as you begin to fight against your restraints, whining for him to get on with it already. And he shuts you up with a punishing pinch to your inner thigh that has you yelping before getting up from the bed and perusing your box of toys. 

You crane your neck in every way as you try to get a sneak peek of what he has in store for you, but Iwaizumi puts that idea to a screeching halt as he slips a blindfold around your head and all you know is darkness and anticipation. Despite the way you try to intently listen for any warning, you squeal in surprise when a hot wet mouth latches onto one of your nipples, fingers tweaking the other and your entire world narrows down to your two perky buds, the lewd wet sounds of sucking filling your ears. Mouth and hands alternate and you can’t keep up with the fluctuating patterns, your breath coming out in pants, your pussy beginning to glisten with arousal, and you sigh in relief when the assault stops, glad to have a moment of reprieve, only to wail when the intense pressure of nipple clamps sears through you, the cold weight of the chain connecting the two clamps piercing your senses as it settles onto your skin. 

Pain and pleasure echo through your mind so loudly that you don’t sense Iwaizumi moving until fingers suddenly slip inside your dripping pussy and your back arches, the nipple clamp chain jingling with the movement and a rush of humiliation courses through you when Iwaizumi chuckles, commenting on how wet you are already. 

“I was going to prep you a bit more, but looks like this cock hungry hole is more than ready.” 

You’re practically salivating as something hard nudges against your entrance, already delirious just from the prospect of being filled with Iwaizumi’s cock once again, but enthusiasm turns to confusion which turns to pleasured shock as your rabbit vibrator is shoved inside of you and immediately set to its highest setting, your clit and walls stimulated so sharply, so suddenly. 

It’s so good, but it’s not enough, it’s too much, it’s not what you want. 

“Haji-Hajime, please. Want to cum on your cock. Don’t want a toy! Too much. At least turn it down. Haji-AHHHH!” 

You scream as you’re forced to an orgasm, body convulsing, jaw going slack, and you wait for the toy to be removed, wait for the settings to be lowered, only for dread and disbelief to fill you as a sticky thick substance is being inserted into your puckered hole, a lubed finger slowly entering you, taking its time to explore and spread your tight hole as the vibrator continues to ravage your pussy and clit at full intensity. And drool begins to seep from the corners of your mouth as you tumble headfirst into overstimulation as a plug replaces the fingers inside of your ass, nestling inside of you as you come to terms with the overwhelming feeling of being double stuffed. 

“Ha-Hajime please please please. Too much. I can’t-”

The plug inside of you is teasingly pulled just enough for you to feel the stretch of your hole, only to be shoved inside you once again and words are too hard to think of as the vibrator is thrust in and out of you, the slick sounds of your gushing cunt embarrassingly loud even above your whimpers. 

“Maybe I should make you cum for every robbery you ever committed. Maybe then you’ll actually behave and be a law-abiding citizen. Would you like that? Being too fucked out to even think about breaking the law?”

“No! Please! I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I swear. Just please let me rest.” 

“Sorry, princess. Bad girls need to be punished.” 

A strangled sob escapes you as the vibrator is pushed even deeper inside of you, the smaller tip grinding even further into your clit and your cries are swallowed as Iwaizumi settles besides you, affectionately capturing your lips with his as he watches you break apart once again, smirking as your body and face try to draw closer to him, seeking comfort and relief as overwhelming pleasure drowns you. 

But he doesn’t stop. Not even when your begging and pleading turns into incoherent babbles and wanton noises. Not even when you’re too tired to even move, your body only twitching here and there from overstimulation, completely slack and mindless as pleasure melts your brain into mush. 

Only when the vibrator finally runs out of batteries hours later, the mechanical whirring coming to an end, does he finally relieve you of the object and you dazedly stare at him as he removes your tear-stained blindfold, slumping in relief that it’s finally over, wanting nothing more than to curl up in Iwaizumi’s arms and sleep for a long, long time. 

But he has other plans for the two of you and even in your exhausted state, your eyes fling wide open and you weakly whimper as he positions himself in between your legs, guiding his cock to your spent hole and easily slipping inside before caging you with his arms.

Your eyes roll back at the sudden intrusion and despite how wrecked you are, how used you feel, arousal once again begins to coil up inside of you as your walls accommodate the new object. 

All you can think about is the cock inside of you. All you can think about is the way it fills and stretches you. All you can think about is the way it drags against your sensitive walls as Iwaizumi begins to piston his hips in a brutal steady rhythm. 

The room is a cacophony of Iwaizumi’s grunts, your broken moans, the sound of skin slapping against skin and you can feel yourself losing to the pleasure as the now all too familiar knot in your stomach tightens once again, your body tensing and pulling taut against your restraints as something builds up inside of you. 

Iwaizumi isn’t doing much better, so pent up from watching you beautifully fall apart over and over again in front of him, so close to the real thing as he hovers above you, memorizing the blissed out look on your face, mentally recording every gorgeous sound that slips past your lips, and this time it’s all because of him. 

He increases his pace, groaning as your walls tighten around him as if they don’t ever want him to leave them empty, something feral inside of him howling as your mouth opens in a silent scream as you crash one last time, your body shaking and trembling, your cunt spasming around him as he spills long thick stripes inside of you. 

When there’s nothing left to give, every last drop of his essence deep within you, your body boneless and limp beneath him, he gently lays on top of you, burying his face in the space besides yours, murmuring praises and words of affirmation as he blankets your body with his. 

And when you finally come back to him, eyes looking a little more clear, voice regaining your sassy tone as you demand that he undo your restraints, he’s more than happy to oblige, carefully releasing you, rubbing every sore limb, letting you use him as your personal body pillow as you throw your arms and legs around him and bury your face into his chest, almost instantly falling into a deep exhausted slumber in the safety of his presence. 

There will be proper, much needed conversations and discussions when the two of you are both awake, sitting across each other with steaming mugs of coffee placed in front of you, hesitantly yet hopefully probing for answers. What are the two of you? What does the future hold for both of you? 

But for now, Iwaizumi lets his eyes shut, lets himself be lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as he holds you close to him, protectively curling around you as sleep embraces him.

[chuckbass-love]

May I request a Ransom x Y/n fic where he goes to a pub after being taken out of the will and he see's y/n at a table crying because she's just been dumped

I love this idea!! 

A/N: Just a heads up, i’m keeping the events of the movie in this where he goes back to the house to switch the medication and then have him go to the pub after that.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad or Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lots of angst, alludes to smut at first and then pure smutty filth. Fingering, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, daddy kink, ass slapping and fluff overload. Heavy alcohol use, swearing and alludes to murder (the plot from the movie).

Word Count: 8,770

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @roooogers go check them out💜

Shoulder To Cry On

“Please, Anthony. Please. Don’t do this” your voice shaking with the fear of losing the one person who you assumed would always be around. Your brain trying to register everything he’s just said as tears drown your vision out causing everything to go blurry. 

Weak body, silent screams and shaky hands. It’s real. But it doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream. Like if someone were to pinch you now then you’d wake up and feel fine. But that’s far from your reality. 

“You’re making a scene Y/N, everyone’s looking” he looks around him, watching on as everyone stares in your direction, enjoying the free show as they dine. 

Is he serious? 

“Me making a scene? You chose to do this here in front of everyone, knowing full well how i’d react” the anger coming out, the need to scream consuming you, so you do. You yell. You pick the food up in front of you and throw it at him. Bread, prawns, even your red wine.

“How could you do this to me? You fucking cheating scumbag” bottom lip trembling at the words leaving your mouth, the sick feeling working its way through your body and eventually settling in the back of your throat but you stop it.

You had plans for a lovely anniversary dinner tonight. Your boyfriend of 4 years Anthony. The man you’ve always seen yourself marrying and tonight, you thought was the night. That he’d finally get down on one knee and propose. But that was soon ripped away from you the moment the starters arrived.

He started his little speech about how he’s had the best time over the last 4 years with you, the memories you’ve made together. 

Then came the moment that everyone dreads. The breakup speech. 

He confessed to not feeling as happy as he once did with you and then he admitted to having a connection with some woman at work. His assistant. Jennifer. 

And as much as he played it off like nothing happened, you’ve known him long enough now to see all of the tell tale signs. The way he rubs his ear lobe, the way he avoids your eyes and most importantly the way he stutters when he’s nervous. 

His face has guilt and cheater written all over it. Your whole world feels like it’s crumbling around you and everything is a mess. Including your mascara. 

You always had your suspicions about Jennifer but he was the perfect liar, a genius at concocting up excuses. The way he’d make your mind do a full 180 with your thoughts and feelings. Just like a magician tricking the audience. He pulled the wool right over your eyes and love enabled that, stopped you from asking all the questions that you should have thought to ask.

It’s like now, everything he ever said to you, all the happy memories and plans you made. They all seem so fake, like he never meant any of it. It’s gut wrenching. Sickening. 

He’s a beautiful liar. He did it so effortlessly. Getting into bed next to you after no doubt being with her, touching her in the places he was only ever supposed to touch you.

But before you can even get to him, the restaurant staff make their way over, trying to remove you from the scene but you don’t even give them the chance.

“I’m going. Don’t fucking touch me” you hold your hands up, slipping your coat on and grabbing your purse.

“I hope one day you’ll experience how you’ve made me feel tonight” and that’s the last thing you ever said to him, picking your stuff up to leave.

All that anger and hurt eventually brought you here, the bar right round the corner from your house. You couldn’t bare the thought of even going home right away, let alone stepping foot in there. It’s too soon. 

The house that’s jam packed with memories of the two of you. Photographs of you. The bed you’ve slept in every night with him for 2 years. Your skin itches.

That’s when you see someone sit down next to you at the bar but you don’t look. He still notices you though. Ogling you as he sips at his whiskey. The way your dress hugs your figure, the slit up the side, exposing your legs.

You hear his thick Boston accent ordering. Still refusing to turn your head. You really don’t want any bother tonight. You just need to drown him out. Drown out the way he smells, the way he touches you, the feel of his huge hands all over your skin. 

Ransom doesn’t stop though, stealing glances here and there at you, trying to figure out the perfect chat up line to dish out. Then it comes to him, no chat up lines needed.

“What’s brought a beautiful girl like you here tonight then?”

The smirk that appears on his face comes out in his words, you can hear it but you’re really not in the mood so you order another drink, ignoring the stranger. 

But the second you speak up, your voice giving your state away, causing Ransom’s head to shoot up, leaning closer to get a better look and that’s when he sees it. Your eyes that are filled with tears, the way you’re sniffles follow shortly after they fall.

“Wait, are you okay?” Genuine concern in his voice, not wanting to upset you even more by prodding too much. 

“I’m fine” you spit, just wanting to be left alone to wallow. To over evaluate everything that’s gone down tonight. But that’s kind of hard to do with this man talking non stop.

“You don’t look fine”

“That’s because i don’t need nor want anyones pity” ouch.

“Who said i was pitying you?” he rolls his eyes, not even sure on what’s turned you so cold or should he say who. But he tried. Which isn’t usually in his nature. 

See the events that lead Ransom to that little bar are slightly different to yours but nevertheless, he’s here with you so it doesn’t necessarily matter. The story should probably be told anyway though.

All was going so well in his world earlier today, he was happy as Larry, living off of his Grandfather, taking all he could get from him. He had everything. A bachelor pad that puts his friends one to shame, a beamer, scantily clad women at the click of his fingers and invitations to all the best parties in Boston. He was the most notorious playboy, everyone knows him.

The moment he stepped foot into his Grandfathers study, nothing was ever going to be same once he left. And that’s a fact. 

Harlan broke the news about his will. How he changed it recently. Leaving his nurse Marta Cabrera with everything. Every. Last. Dime. 

Meaning Ransom and his family will be pushed out of the mansion and Walt will be kicked to the curb when it came to Harlans publishing company, Blood Like Wine. 

He argued with Harlan for what felt like forever, tried his best to plead his case and he even resulted to taking a threatening tone to his beloved Grandfather. Which of course, didn’t work. Leaving him angry, furious even. His blood was well and truly boiling. He’d had it. He couldn’t hear another word of that bullshit. So he stormed out. Bidding his great nana a swift goodbye in the form of resting his hand over her arm. 

Once in his beamer, he screamed. Smacking the wheel with all of his might before stepping on it, pulling out the space and up the driveway. He had to get out of there and fast. 

But halfway up the drive, he slams on the breaks when an idea begins to form, causing him to turn around. Parking away from the mansion first before creeping his way back in. 

He climbs the wall at the side of it, up to the secret window that he discovered in his childhood. Once he’s in he finds Marta’s medical bag, opening it and switching his grandfathers meds, making sure to take out the one saving grace that could ruin his perfect plan. 

With that secured in his pocket, the bag is zipped back up and placed back where he found it and he’s leaving the same way he came. Back down the side of the house but before he can make a quick run for it, he sees his great nana in the window. Staring at him, without blinking. He waits to see if she’ll speak but she never does, so he turns to leave, making it back to his beamer without a single person catching him. Great nana doesn’t count, there’s a very slim chance that she didn’t even know it was him. After all, she didn’t say a word.

All done now though, the plan is now in full swing. Soon Marta will take Harlan up to bed to give him his medicine. That’s when she’ll give him the overdose on morphine. Or the good stuff as they like to call it. 

And eventually it’ll start to come together. 

Marta will get arrested for Harlan’s murder, the money and all of the assets that were once hers will be stripped away and they shall all be returned to their rightful owners. His family and him of course. One thing that should be made abundantly clear about Ransom is that he’ll only ever help or get involved when there’s something in it for him. However, he’s not always evil, he has a soft side, it rarely comes out but make no mistake, it’s there alright. 

With his evil plan in place, he heads back home but before he even gets there, he passes a quaint little bar at the side of the road. He could really do with a drink right now. Of course a taxi home will be required but with thousands about to grace his bank account, what’s 10 or more dollars on taxi fairs. Exactly, it’s pittance to him. 

The second he enters, all eyes are on him. All but two. Your eyes. You’re sat at the bar, head in your hands and from what he can see, you’re dressed all fancy. Too fancy for this place that’s for sure. So he makes his way over, noticing the disgusted looks out of the corner of his eye. He’s never been here before, so of course he’s the newbie to all of the regulars.

That then leads to now. 

You turn to face him, your sad eyes meeting his dreamy ones. The only way to describe them. You find yourself on the verge of getting lost before you break the gaze. Nodding towards the barman who slides another shot over to you to which you knock back like it’s nothing before continuing to sip Gin.

Just one look from you and he can see that something isn’t right. 

“What’s got you crying all on your lonesome?”

“More like who” you respond, chuckling as more tears fall.

He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off “i had the lovely pleasure of being dumped tonight” you muster up your best fake smile, as if somehow acting like everything is okay will suddenly make it all okay for real. But it’s no use, you still feel torn to pieces. Your heart is still on the floor, it’s been stomped on way too many times for you to count on two hands and you’re life is a complete shambles.

He doesn’t love you, Y/N. He doesn’t love you anymore but then again, did he ever? 

“I’m sorry to hear that and for what it’s worth, the guys a jackass for doing that to you”

His comment has your brows furrowing in question. What does he mean by that? But you don’t even get a chance to ask, he can sense your confusion a mile away.

“I just meant that you’re gorgeous. He’s a fool” his nice side coming out to play, he’s never this nice to a woman unless he plans to sleep with her. But this time, it’s different. You’re different. He can never bring himself to pray on you like one of those other girls. Because he can see it, that you’re drained. You’ve had enough. Your ex made a fool of you enough already so who is he to add to that?

“Yeah right, he cheated so i doubt that very much” you snort, knocking back the rest of your drink.

At this point the bartender doesn’t even need you to ask for another, he’s probably realised by now that he should keep them coming. 

“What an asshole” 

Why does he care? He’s just a stranger. But still, you agree with him.

“Yup”

And just like that, a conversation blossoms. 

Drinks flow as you explain the events of tonight and he doesn’t interrupt you. He just lets you speak, it’s almost like he can sense that you just need someone to listen, like all you need is to let out all of your emotions. Even if it is to a complete stranger. 

Who by the way isn’t bad in the looks department. 

Wait. No. You can’t think that. 

Surely it’s fine to think it, just as long as you don’t act on it. Although, you are available now so there would be no harm.

“So let me get this straight. The man took you to dinner for your 4 year anniversary, let you get all dolled up, makeup, hair, nails. The works. Just to break it off with you and tell you he’s met someone else?” his brows raising and you nod, ashamed of how you’ve been treated because ultimately, you really did look like the idiot tonight.

You bought an expensive dress just for this very occasion and you did look the best you’ve ever looked. Radiant and glowing. Your makeup was on point, as was your hair. But now, you’ve got mascara everywhere and you’re way over the line of tipsy.

“I don’t get it. You’re well, you. I mean look at you and he left this for another woman? It makes no sense. There’s no way i’d ever give you up. No chance. No way” the way you feel your cheeks warm at his obvious compliment. You’re almost certain that he’s sweet talking you now. It took him a total of 2 hours. And he finally gave it a go. But you’re not complaining.

“LAST ORDERS” the bartender pulls you from your thoughts. That’s when you turn to look at him, still not knowing the perfect strangers name.

“Um, i guess i should get going” the very sentence makes that sick feeling come back but just like earlier, you push it away, stopping it before it comes spewing out on the bar. There would have been no time to run to the bathroom. 

“I guess i should too” he smiles softly, shrugging his coat on and standing up. 

That’s when the height difference is clear. He towers over you, making you feel small and dainty. 

He gestures for you to head out first and as you glance back over your shoulder, you see him sliding some money to the bartender. No doubt, he paid for all of those drinks that you forgot to even pay for. Fuck.

These heels are way too high and your vision blurs a little as you stumble out the door but before you can even fall to the ground and face plant, he catches you, lifting you up and walking you over to what looks like a taxi.

“Come on you, let’s get you home. Where’d you live?”

Your mind goes blank as you stare at him before muttering “i don’t want to go home, i can’t go home. He’ll be there. Don’t make”

He cuts you off, pulling you closer to him and giving the cabbie his address instead. Wait. His place?

“I guess i should probably tell you my name being as you’re gonna be in my house soon huh?” he chuckles, spurring your own laughing fit. 

“Do tell, mystery man” 

“Ransom”

“I don’t have any money to pay you, not that i need to anyways, just tell me your name”

“No, no. My name is Ransom” his laughter fills your ears.

Strange name. Strange man.

“Surely not” 

“Sure is. Well technically it’s my middle name. But i really can’t reveal anymore than that”

“Well i’m Y/N by the way and can i just say, you smell amazing” ah, the part where you make an utter show of yourself by leaning closer and closer, until your face is inches from his neck. That’s when you inhale really dramatically. Getting a good whiff of his manly scent. It’s intoxicating.

Luckily for you, he takes it all in good humour, probably because you’re drunk. 

The rest of the ride back to his consists of you getting overly touchy, making random comments and with Ransom being the playboy that he is, it’s a real struggle for him not to fuck you here and now. Even in front of the cabbie. It wouldn’t be the worst place he’s fucked.

Yes you’re drunk but your hands are roaming to places they shouldn’t be and now he can feel a situation forming in the shape of a huge hard on.

Not that you notice, you’re too wrapped up in your own drunken state, blissfully unaware.

He can’t fuck you anyway. You’re too drunk. He’ll have to sober you up first.

The taxi comes to a halt and you look out of the windows, noticing a huge house, too posh for the likes of you but clearly fitting for a man like Ransom. He pays the cabbie before getting out. 

You sit there clueless until you feel him scoop you up in his arms. He kicks the the door shut, walking the both of you to his house. He fiddles around in his pocket, holding you up with one arm so that he can open it and put you down on the couch.

“Is this your place?” 

“It is indeed”

“It’s so big”

He lays you down, pointing his index finger in your face as he warns you “stay here, okay? Don’t move”

The child in you starts to emerge, the pout and puppy dog eyes coming out “yes sir”. You salute him and watch him strut away. 

When he returns, his coat is off and he’s just in his white shirt, grey cardigan and his slacks.

“Here, drink this, it’ll help”

“Ew what is this?” your face screws up, disgusted at the taste “are you trying to poison me?”

“It’s just water, don’t be so dramatic. Drink it”

“What if i wanted another drink” 

He just shakes his head disapprovingly. You’re really having none of it and he can’t fuck you like this. He makes it his mission to make sure all the women he’s with can actually remember what’s going on. Plus he needs your consent first. 

“Drink. I won’t tell you again” his scary side showing just a tad but he soon shuts that off, realising how bossy and intimidating he sounds “wait, sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you”

Shouting and confrontation has always scared you. You’ve always had this natural instinct to cower and hide. 

But this time, all you can really do is back up, to the other end of the couch.

“You’re just really drunk and it’s not doing you any good. Especially with everything that you’ve gone through tonight” wow. He’s even surprised himself with that one. 

It’s not that he doesn’t care about you or your feelings because he most certainly does. He’s liked being there for you tonight, even if you did start out as two strangers at a bar. It distracted him from his own drama filled life. But your freaky side was showing on the taxi ride over and it awakened something inside of him.

Not in the way that some may think. Sure he’d love nothing more than to fuck you senseless, make you forget everything even if it’s just for the night but most importantly. He felt something more than just lust when you were touching him. 

And as strange as that is to admit, it felt amazing. Like fucking you wouldn’t just be for the sake of it. You wouldn’t just be another notch on his bed post. It’s almost like his heart knows something that his brain doesn’t know yet.

Eventually he gets you to slowly sip at the water until half of it is gone and then the whole thing. You’re still tipsy but a little better than you were before the water.

“Did you want any food? I could order in? It might help?”

“I mean i did sort of throw my prawn starter at my ex” 

He can’t contain his laughter, leaning back on the couch and throwing a hand over his left boob. You really are hilarious to him. He’s so amused by you and he doesn’t ever want this night to end. Even if it doesn’t end in sex, which it will. He’d be satisfied. 

Something that Ransom Drysdale would never ever think or say. 

“So food then?”

You nod before shaking your head aggressively.

“Actually no. No food. I already feel like i’m going to hurl. Food will just make that worse” 

He seconds that, taking your empty glass from your hands and disappearing to refill it before returning it to you.

“You best drink up then if you aren’t planning to eat”

So you do as he says, stopping after a couple of sips due to your eyes noticing more and more about him that you never noticed before. Like his slicked back hair, his broad shoulders and oh shit. Is that a boner?

It’s gotta be right. 

Your still tipsy self hands him the water for him to place on the coffee table for you and that’s when you do the unexpected. You make your way over to him, sitting way too close. Your bare arms rubbing against the soft and thin material of his cardigan. 

“You alright?” 

The way he acts like he cares, which, he does. It’s soothing, the gentle tone in his voice. The way he’s treating you like you’re glass and he doesn’t want to break you. And he’d be right, because you are delicate. Not your body of course but your heart, your soul, your mind. Not that there’s much left of your heart after Anthony broke it.

“I’m okay, i’ll be better after i get this dress off though” the flirty side of you starts to make an appearance. You look down, twiddling your thumbs as he clears his throat, clearly didn’t expect a comment like that. 

“I guess i could fetch some of my clothes for you to wear?” his suggestion, whilst very cute and gentleman like, isn’t what you were after. And he’s far from a gentleman. You can just tell.

“I don’t think you understood” you turn around, back facing him “i need some help. Please” eyelashes batting as you quickly look over your shoulder at him and seconds later, you feel his hand move your hair to the side. 

The zipper glides down with ease causing the straps to fall down your arms and soon enough. You stand up, letting it fall into a puddle on the floor. Leaving you in nothing but your matching blue laced, bra and panties set. Along with your heels of course. It’s the set that you bought for tonight too. For the sex you never ended up getting.

For the first time ever, Ransom is rendering on speechless, his mouth waters at the most incredible sight in front of him and he can tell from that look in your eyes that you want him. 

Something he never expected to happen so fast. That’s when you sit back down next to him, resting your hand on his thigh.

“You know i should really thank you for tonight”

“Honestly, it was nothing” his words are aimed at you whilst his eyes are fixated on your body, not even trying to hide it from you but you just lap it up. You could use some attention right now. After all, your confidence was knocked with your ex boyfriend’s revelation.

“No, really. It was nice. You’ve been amazing. So let me thank you” but before your lips can touch his, he pulls back. Looking at you as his hand caresses your cheek, staring into your eyes like he’s looking into your soul and you feel close to naked in more ways than one.

That’s when his lips crash to yours in an intense and very heated kiss. As his hands roam around your half naked figure, you position them at the back of your bra, signalling to him that you want him to remove it. Which of course, he does. 

He pulls away for a couple of seconds, taking a moment to look at your breasts. And the way he cups them with his large hands before using his thumb and index fingers to pinch at your now hard nipples, has you moaning into the kiss. Leaving your lips parted just enough for his tongue to slip in, adding to the build up. 

The battle for dominance begins and it goes back and forth between you both, your hunger is very much profound. As is Ransom’s. The moans he’s eliciting are almost porn star like and he’s barely even touched you. But that’s the beauty of it, it feels so good that you’re keening for more. Which earns a low and raspy chuckle.

It doesn’t take long before you’re straddling him, legs either side with your hands cupping his face. His hands rested on your waist, squeezing slightly, almost like he’s making sure you don’t go anywhere. And after the day he’s had. He needs someone, whether he admits it or not. He does. 

But that’s all he’s ever wanted. Is someone. Someone to talk to, someone who will listen and be there. He can’t complain about how that’s not the case though, he’s brought it all on himself. The loneliness, it’s killing him but he chooses to push everyone away. 

His family though, that’s all them. They made him this way. A scheming, money grabbing playboy. It doesn’t mean the facade doesn’t drop once he’s all alone though.

However, it never drops around others. So why is it dropping around you?

“God, i needed this” he pants, in between his kisses that he’s peppering from your lips to your jawline and then your neck. It takes him next to no time at all to find the one spot that drives you insane and when he notices the way your whole body shivers. He smirks, sucking and biting it along with the equal amount of wet kisses.

“Me too. Fuck, right there” you mewl, back arching in his hands as they splay across it before moving down to settle on your panties. His finger traces the top of them, following them as it dips into your ass before giving your ass cheeks a hard smack. 

God if this is how incredible you feel just kissing and touching the man then sex must be a real first place prize.

Just the way he’s handling your body alone is enough to send you over that sweet cliff but you stop it, holding back by pushing his face away from your skin, interrupting the hickey he was clearly in the middle of making.

“I wasn’t done with you, come back here” 

You stop him again “i need you” you whisper frantically, both of your chests rising and falling. Your heart is beating like crazy.

“Patience baby” he winks, standing up with you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist and your arms holding onto his broad shoulders for support as he carries you up the stairs and into what looks like his room. 

Before you even have time to pause for so much as a second, he throws you to the bed. 

“I wanna take my sweet little time with you” he starts, the bed dips as he gets on it, hovering above you “gonna worship every inch of your body” he lowers himself so that he can kiss your lips, then your jawline, then your neck and then eventually, the valley between your breasts.

“Gonna show you what your worth baby, prove to you that you’re better than that scum who didn’t treat you the way you deserve” also something that’s unlike Ransom. But if there’s one thing he’s a pro at, it’s pleasuring a woman. He knows what the fuck he’s doing. He can talk the talk and walk the walk. Which he’s about to prove to you right now. 

He lowers himself down to your sex, the way the pool is growing more and more is obvious, he can smell it and even see it, the way the light blue material has darkened around your tight hole.

You spread your legs open wider, your way of inviting him in. Of course he accepts. He starts off by pressing a thumb down onto your clit, moving it around in circles and causing you to jolt. You’ve been craving someone, anyone at this point to touch you there. Maybe that should have been a sign that things were doomed with you and Anthony since he’s not touched you in months. Maybe that was a sign you should have seen, a red flag that you were too blind to notice.

“Look at you, so flustered already. God i can’t wait to fuck you” 

“Please” you beg, pathetically.

“Nuh uh baby, i told you i wanna take my time, starting with this pretty little pussy” he hooks his fingers into the hem, using that to pull them down and off of your legs before throwing them behind him, not caring where they land. 

“My oh my, it is a pretty little pussy, isn’t it. God you’re soaked baby, all this for me?”

“All for you” your confirmation leads him to lick his lips before pressing a couple of open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs.

“That man is an idiot. But i guess his loss is my gain. Ain’t that right baby” he winks as his kisses get closer and closer to your arousal covered hole. 

“Ransom, plea- OH FUCK” his mouth latches onto your clit, sucking as his tongue flicks across it rapidly. A sensation you’ve never felt before that makes your breathing hitch, your hands run through his locks, no doubt messing them up, not that he’s showing any signs of caring.

All that Ransom cares about right now is making you feel good, making you cum.

“Like this baby? Like my mouth all over you?” his eyes meet yours as he uses his fingers to spread you open so that he can really get a good eyeful “you’re dripping” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself and not to you. He slowly slides one finger in before resuming his attention on your folds and your bundle of nerves. 

“More, i need more. I need you” as flattered as he is by your desperation and need to feel every inch of his thick cock, he has to prepare you. Most of the women he’s been with have never had someone as big as him before, so he always likes to get them ready and you are no exception. 

“Patience baby, you’ll have me. All in good time” 

His raspy voice has you melting alone and the way he’s working you over, slipping a second digit in, should be criminal. How can a man like this be single and alone? It makes no sense. Plus it doesn’t hurt that he’s loaded too. 

It’s a mystery that you’ll be sure to get to the bottom of once you’re done here. 

A third finger is added and he’s curling them all more and more each time he bottoms out, your back arches again, your grip on his hair gets tighter. But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop. Not even for a second. He’s a man on a mission right now.

The way he’s sucking on your clit, the way his fingers are filling you up and the way he’s slurping at you like a drink is something you’ll never and could never compare to anything you’ve ever experienced. He’s a literal god and he has your walls fluttering around him, your clit pulsating in his mouth.

“Feel the way your squeezing me baby, you gonna cum? Huh? Gonna cum all over my fingers” the pure filth that he’s spewing, is what has you coming face to face with stars. And Ransom can feel the way your hips bucks up into his face, the way your hands keep him locked there until they are pushing him away due to how sensitive you are. He doesn’t budge though.

He just laps at your sex again and again before finally withdrawing his fingers, noticing your slick coating them and dripping down his hand.

“Jesus, looks like somebody made a mess”

You can’t help the way your cheeks warm in embarrassment which he soon puts to bed by stuffing his fingers in his mouth to clean them off. Every last drop. 

That’s when he takes it upon himself to drink directly from you, sticking his tongue into the honey pot, taking everything you have to offer “god so fucking sweet. I can’t get enough baby, tastes so fucking good” 

A flirtatious giggle escapes, your hands covering your mouth but he rips them away.

“Don’t ever feel embarrassed or shy around me” 

“Are you gonna fuck me now?” your teeth bite at your bottom lip as you shiver with the anticipation of what’s to come from him. His silence is deadly but exciting.

“Indeed i am” 

He can most likely hear your heart race as he pulls away, getting off of the bed to undress himself. Starting with his cardigan and shirt. Once it’s off, his abs are revealed, his biceps are huge. You have the biggest urge to kiss him all over that chiseled body, sculpted by some kind of god. He’s gotta be a fantasy.

“But first baby” he trails off, pulling his slacks down and stepping out of them “you’re gonna suck my cock, get it nice and hard with that mouth of yours before i ram it into that tight little cunt” he pulls his boxers down, stepping out of them too and kicking both to the side before stalking closer.

You gulp, your eyes widen... he’s huge. Really huge. Thick too. Does he even need your mouth?

“What’s the matter baby? Is someone intimidated?”

“No” your denial, whilst very cute, isn’t believable. But he’s still going to let you have a go at wrapping that mouth around it.

You scoot off of the bed and fall to your knees, feeling even more dainty than you did before when he was towering over you like a giant. 

“Don’t be shy baby, get to work” 

Your hand wraps around him with your thumb swiping the pre cum that’s oozed out of the slit and you immediately pop your thumb into your mouth. You just want a small taste and as soon as the salty-sweet droplet hits your tongue. You all of a sudden crave more of it.

“Nice?” he asks, cocking a brow up “delicious” you smile, adding to his already blown up ego.

You gradually welcome him into your mouth, opening wider as each inch passes your lips until he’s almost bottomed out. That’s when you open wider and his tip hits the back of your throat making you gag, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“You look so good taking all of me in that mouth, bet you’ll look even better when you’re taking me in that cunt”

Is he trying to kill you with his dirty talk? Most likely.

He’s a different man to the guys you normally go for. Maybe that’s where you’ve gone wrong. You’ve let yourself settle for mediocre sex, mediocre relationships and maybe that’s why you’ve never been truly happy, like happy to your very core. You’ve never fully believed that you deserve the world. Never known your worth.

He grips the sides of your head, stilling your movements so his can begin and he doesn’t go easy. His thrusts have you making an even bigger mess, more saliva dripping down from your face to the floor. He’s loving every second of it though. But soon enough, just as quick as he started, he stops. Pulling out and looking at you, content with what he sees. 

“God you’re fucking beautiful like this, on your knees for me like a good girl. Get on the bed baby” you do as you’re told, sprawling out on the bed and waiting for him to join which of course he does. As soon as he gets a condom out, taking it from the wrapper and sliding it down his shaft. Size XL. You spy before he tosses the wrapper into the bin. 

“You ready?” he asks, resting his tip between your legs and lowering his body so that he can slide his arms underneath your shoulder blades. His face inches from yours. 

“Please, i need you now” and with that he slides home, not stopping to let you adjust to every inch as it comes. You can feel your pussy stretching, the way it stings slightly but it also feels incredible. It’s bliss. 

“S’tight baby and s’warm. Feel that pussy stretching around my cock” 

Your eyes roll back as your head lolls to the side, presenting your neck to him and giving him the opportunity to finish what he started earlier, which of course he does. 

And the second is lips are on your skin, his pace picks up and the pain turns to pleasure. You feel him so deep inside of you that you just know if he were to pull out that you’d feel emptier than ever.

“God, yes. Ransom. Fuck” your legs wrap tight around his waist, forcing him in even deeper if that’s possible at all but still you do it. Wanting nothing more than to feel as much of him as physically possible.

So you wrap your arms around him, your fingers tracing shapes on his back, causing him to shiver and growl loudly “fucking take this cock baby, take it like a good girl” he starts, adjusting his pace from fast and rough to slow and hard. Ramming in each time he speaks “such a good girl” thrust “loving every inch of this cock huh?” thrust “god this pussy” thrust “is gonna have me cumming way too quick” thrust.

“I can’t have that now can i?” that’s when he shocks you, flipping you over so that you’re on top “ride me baby, show daddy what you got” the nickname he uses for himself has your walls spasming, catching his attention.

“Oh you like that huh? Such a dirty girl for daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes daddy” despite never using that in the bedroom before, it feels weirdly satisfying, having him refer to himself as daddy and seeing how he gets when you call him that too, the way his mouth hangs open, the way his cock twitches. 

It’s something you’ll never forget.

You start off by collapsing onto his chest, your breasts pushed up against his pecs as you slowly lift your ass up before sinking back down onto him, earning a hiss. 

“Yeah just like that, make daddy proud baby” so you do, you go again. And again. And again. Getting quicker each time until you’re a pro at it. You then sit up, continuing to bounce up and down, grinding as he bottoms out, with his initial instructions of course. He guides you through it and before he even tries to help a second time, he takes his hands away, noticing how you’re doing it all by yourself.

Grinding like the whore he’s turned you into. You can’t help the confidence beaming off of you as you go to work, slamming yourself down on his cock eagerly. You need that sweet release now more than ever, as does he.

“That’s it baby, make yourself cum” 

The best pout and puppy dog eyes make a return “fuck me. Please daddy” and who is he to say no to you?

“You’re gonna be the death of me i swear” he flips you over again, keeping himself seated deep inside of you as his pace turns animalistic. 

“Mhmm, give it to me, i’m gonna cum” you plead, not that he’d ever deny you a mind blowing orgasm in the first place as it’s clear you’ve never had one like the one he’s about to give you.

“Bet he could never fuck like this huh? Make you moan like a fucking porn star for him. Gonna have your legs shaking baby, hold on to me” 

So you do. 

Your grip tightens around his neck. 

With every hit to your g-spot, he nudges you closer until yet again, stars cloud your vision and your toes curl. Your back arches up so that you’re chest to chest and you cum with a shaky and satisfied cry. He doesn’t stop though, plowing into you to chase his own release. Your legs are most definitely shaking.

Your walls continue to clamp down on him, spurring it on. 

“God i’m gonna cum”

“Cum for me daddy” is all he needed to hear to go crazy and that’s when he spasms himself. His thick seed filling the condom and his thrusts get slower and harder. Riding both of your highs out. 

Your breathing is heavy, your heart beat is out of control but you feel complete. 

You’ve never experienced anything like that before. 

He pulls out, disposing of the condom and rushing into the en suit for a second before returning with a wash cloth. He uses it to clean you up, taking his time and making sure to be extra careful with you. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow but struggle due to him fully ruining your body.

“Just relax baby, let me take care of everything” he presses a couple of kisses to your thighs and then your stomach, pausing to throw the wash cloth into the hamper before making his way back up to your lips.

He lays down next to you, pulling you into his side and draping an arm around your body so you lay your head down on his chest.

“So” you both say at the same time, causing a laughing fit to erupt.

“That was certainly an experience” 

“I told you that i was gonna worship you and i think you can agree i delivered” 

“You did more than just deliver Ransom”

“Please do tell me more” he laughs, stroking your hair.

“How on earth are you single?” the question that’s been on your mind since you and him got talking at the bar. He’s acted in a way that not many men do these days, it’s hard to believe no ladies are lining up to be with him.

Plus his dick and head game is A-1.

“I’m single more by choice than anything else”

“How come?” you feel bad for asking but surely if you were over stepping the line then he’d say.

“I mean, my family life hasn’t always been the best. I’ve learnt to not trust anyone that i’m related to and growing up with parents that just chucked money at stuff to solve it. If i was upset then it was always take this money, go shopping. Or if i needed my mother for girl advice it always lead to my dad telling me i should never trust women which is rich seeing as he cheats on my mom all the time”

It’s quite sad actually, a man that seems to have it all together, is clearly broken inside.

“I’m sorry, that’s awful. I’m guessing that’s why you’re single then, why you choose to keep away from dating”

“Yup. I prefer to just fuck with no strings attached. It’s easier, I don’t have to do anything other than make them cum. I’m not filled with pressure to be the perfect boyfriend. I can just relax but sometimes it gets lonely”

“How’d you mean? Sorry if i’m prying” you rest your head on your hands as you look up at him, his finger tracing shapes on your back now.

“It’s fine honestly, don’t sweat it. I guess the best way to explain it is that i can have all this money from my grandfather, all the cars, girls and friends in the world but i can’t trust any of them enough to let them see me when i’m laying in bed at night. The times when i just want someone to hold, someone to hold me, tell them about my day, hear about theirs. Someone to wake up next to and fall asleep next to. But whenever a woman gets even remotely close to me in a way that is too deep. I back off, i give her the cold shoulder and just ghost. I get freaked out because to me, there’s nothing scarier than someone seeing all of me, the good, the bad and the ugly”

It takes you just a second to realise, he’s just bared his soul to you. After saying that he backs off whenever a woman gets too close. After saying that he struggles to trust. That he’s scared of being himself around someone. He’s just been himself around you. And you have no doubt that he feels comfortable enough with you to do that so that’s gotta count for something, surely.

“I get it. It’s hard. Loving someone is easy but allowing them to love you, that’s the scary part. Because ultimately when you let someone in enough to let them love you whole heartedly it opens you up to the chance of heartbreak i mean, look at my life”

You both laugh a little “It’s not even just regular heartbreak, it’s the fear of being cheated on, having my trust shattered. Having someone use me for my family’s money”

“Well, for what it’s worth. I think you need to just bite the bullet, let that guard down. How do you ever expect to find what you want and need if you’re not willing to open yourself up to it. It’s a risk that is worth it sometimes, that eventually, all the heartaches will lead to something greater or someone. Someone that will accept every flaw you have and be there regardless of how messy things can get”

Ransom is just so relaxed right now, he feels at peace, at ease with you. The way you’re listening. Your head rested on his chest, letting him hold you and giving him proper responses, it shows you’re paying attention, you want to be there for him. He’s completely taken back by you. How could anyone want to cheat and leave you, it’ll always remain a mystery to him.

You’re like this ray of light, that came into his life tonight out of the blue. Someone who’s hurting too but somehow you amazing him with the sunshine you provide. You’re everything he’s always wanted in a girlfriend but he’s spent years pushing girls just like you to the side due to fear. Only difference is, he’s able to be himself with you. With them, he could never.

His body lets go as he turns on his side, turning you with him so that he’s cuddling you from behind.

“You’re right. I’ll get there eventually. I just, i need time”

Your silent for a while, taking his words in before you speak.

“Seems like you don’t need any time at all”

That’s when you hear quiet snores from behind you, he’s dozing. And after a couple of minutes, you decide that it’s probably time you see yourself out, you never wanna over stay your welcome and right now with him asleep, you already have.

But before you can even get off the bed, you need to remove his hand from around your frame. Which isn’t going to be easy considering you have to try not to wake him up.

You succeed, finally managing to scoot over to the edge of the bed. But that’s when you hear his tired groans, followed by a hand to your wrist.

“Don’t leave me” his voice is laced with worry

“What?”

“Everyone leaves me” his words break your heart all over again, you’ve been left before and you’re not about to do this to him. Besides, it’s not like you wanted to, you just didn’t think he was the type to want you here all night.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to be here when you woke up”

“Well, you thought wrong. Come back and cuddle, don’t leave like everyone else does”

It doesn’t take much more to convince you to crawl back into his arms. He presses a couple of kisses to your shoulder as you get under the covers with him. Then the kisses move to your cheek and eventually, your lips.

“I’m here to stay then i guess”

“Good”

You feel warm and happy somehow in his arms, like everything has gone away, even if it’s just temporarily.

“Goodnight” 

“Goodnight Ransom. sweet dreams” something you’ve always said throughout your whole life. It’s a nice thing to say and it has him smiling into one last kiss before he closes his eyes for the night.

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

General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferouss @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @rockyrogers 

Just Chris & His Characters Tags: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina 

[amphxtrite]

fred weasley x fem!reader

This is for @feetoffthetable ‘s 500 follower writing challenge. Congratulations again on 500!!

hope you like it.

prompts:

“What happened to their happily ever after?”

“Not all love stories get a happily ever after, sometimes it’s just once upon a time.”

warnings: angst, spelling/ grammar mistakes.

word count: 3.1k

tag list: @cupidpoison @marvelhoesworld @wonderful-writer

enjoy<3

__________________________________________

Almost every girl can remember the days where they’d dream of their fairytale romance. Dancing, a prince charming and a kiss in the moonlight as every problem faded away; A thrilling fight between the lovers and the evil villain ending with the two wrapped in each other’s arms. Despite being muggle tales, the wizarding world had also grown to adore these stories, smiles widening on even grown witches' faces with each ‘once upon a time.’

You’d grown up reading about maidens being swept off their feet into the arms of their knight in shining armor, fate seemed to encompass every story you laid your eyes on, so when Fred Weasley entered your life, with a charming smile and a playfulness that had you wanting more, you couldn’t help but fall.

And so began the pining. Stares across the classroom at the wave of red hair, crossing your fingers when group projects were announced, peeking down corridors to see if you could catch the prankster twins in action, and daydreaming from dawn till dusk. You could barely get words past your lips if he ever smiled in your direction. You found yourself wondering what it would feel like to run your hand through his hair. Doodling his name on parchment became common, and dreams of dancing with him plagued your mind. You were young, and in love. You could almost feel your fairy godmother pushing you towards him, fairy tale magic coursing through your veins whenever your eyes would meet.

It took a couple years, but you found your voice. Starting small with congratulations after quidditch games, an occasional joke during classes, a couple more smiles here and there.

The unrequited love, became returned. Fred Weasley thought you were just the shy girl from his transfiguration class, quiet and meek. When you built up the confidence to strike up conversations and joke about Snape’s hair, he found himself hanging onto your every word.

The older twin went from not knowing your name to looking forward to even his most boring classes just to catch a glimpse of your face. Making you smile became his mission, and Godric did he love it when your face would completely light up. Not just a small smirk, but when your eyes sparkle, your lips pull up far enough to see your teeth and your cheeks go a bit pink, that was most definitely his favourite sight.

Even the most enchanting storybook couples would stare amazed at the adoration Fred Weasley and Y/n L/n shared for each other. Two best friends pining for the other without realizing the mutual warmth that had grown. Spending countless hours together, hiding their flushed cheeks, sweaty palms and loving eyes to enjoy every moment spent together.

When the Yule ball was announced Fred had fallen flat on his face running up to ask you. He’d spotted you in the clock tower courtyard with one of your friends and he knew immediately, you were the only person he’d want to go with. He sprinted up to you intending to drop to his knee and ask, but his foot got caught in the stone and he fell for you the second time. Now any other person may have lost hope and ran away, but Fred Weasley was determined to make the most of it, rebounding it with a cheesy pick up line, In true Fred fashion.

Cinderella would’ve glared in jealousy when the two of you waltzed across the dance floor. Not only was the night magical, but it was awkward, nervous, and fun. It didn’t seem like the far fetched dance at the end of a film, it felt real. You’d step on his toes and he’d shuffle his hand around your waist, but when it came down to it, you didn’t care. You really did feel like a princess dancing in the arms of her lover, swaying to the beautiful music as other students starred in awe at the two gryffindors gliding around the room, laughing happily while moving their feet in a mesmerizing waltz.

That night Fred Weasley finally asked you to be his girlfriend, he got down on his knee in the middle of the dance floor, pouring his heart out to you, his confession wiping even the soliloquies of Romeo Montague out of the water.

“Y/n, from the moment you started to talk to me in our third year, I fell. You make me smile, laugh, blush and always know how to cheer me up. Honestly, why didn’t you start talking to me sooner? I never knew how much I needed you, but my eyes have been cleared, my feelings in tune and now I’m asking you on the dance floor to maybe take this foolish man to be your prince?”

Droplets emerged from your eyes as you shook your head up and down, happy tears flowing free as you pulled the red-head up again.

The entire student body had paused to take in the scene before them, watching in surprise as Fred Weasley stood to his feet to dip the girl with tear stained cheeks into a low kiss, only standing again to catch his breath before stealing you away out the door.

You’d give anything to go back to that night. The seed of young adoration finally blossoming into a flower of love. Love so true, beautiful and pure you’d probably blind anyone who saw. You ran through the halls to Black Lake, dancing to the beats of your hearts in the embrace of your love, swaying in the moonlight as puzzle pieces of your life finally seemed to fall into place and stars aligned.

Holding your love in your arms is a feeling so surreal and fantastic, something that has an addicting property that you couldn’t help but crave. When Fred’s arms surrounded you, you didn’t feel trapped, enclosed, barricaded. You felt free, as though you could fly.

It is hard to define love, but what was between the redhead prankster and gryffindor dreamer painted a clear picture for anyone to see. Love opens the best in us, it reveals pieces of us never seen before and unlocks emotions never known. Fred grew more in love with you with each passing day and his desire to see the smile upon your face never faded.

Your love for your prince charming was something that would never be taken away from you. Everyday took your breath away and every time Fred smiled at you, your brain seemed to turn to mush, the childhood pining never seemed to leave.

Your last year at Hogwarts brought about some problems, with the monstrous pink toad and Fred’s tendencies for trouble, you could say difficulties were inevitable. Nights where Fred snuck into your dorm broken down, tired, and ready to collapse became frequent, especially after he was banned from the quidditch team. Fred was hesitant to reveal his sensitivity, but with cuts across his hands and the loss of his favourite activity, he was willing to lose it all just to rest in your arms again. Many nights he’d run to you, exhausted and restless. You’d hold him close, soothe him the best you could and heal his wounds to the best of your abilities. You didn’t know what to say, but you didn’t need to talk. Fred was content laying on your chest as you fussed over him, pressing kisses across his freckled face and mumbling rather choice words under your breath about the pink devil as you gently caressed his injured hand as light as a butterfly.

You were the first person he’d told his scheme to leave Hogwarts to, begging you to go with him and start a new life in a place he’d dreamt of since he was a child. He honestly wasn’t expecting you to agree, but how could you not? It’s not like you had much planned. Anyways, you were tired of the pain Fred had to endure during the past year, so if he was ready to leave, so were you.

You’d compare flying a broom into the sky as fireworks flashed behind you, to riding into the sunset on the back of a stallion, but yours was so much cooler. Fred had grabbed you from the floor and pulled you onto his broom, you clutched onto him for dear life as he and George flew their last victory lap and destroyed every last horrid plaque of rules that hung on the walls of the school of magic. Another feeling of freedom was evident throughout the entire building as victorious cheers sound from every window.

This was definitely better than a ride into the sunset.

Life with the twins in Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes couldn’t be defined by just one word. It was exciting, chaotic and the most fun you’ve had in your life. Designing product boxes and using charms was more of your strong suit while the boys caused explosion after explosion, perfecting their concoctions. As weeks turned into months, you and Fred felt as though you were really living a couple’s life. Waking up wrapped in each other’s arm without the worry of being caught, making and eating breakfast to tunes on the radio, dancing to a record player as day bled into night and your feet finally got sore.

This is how fairy tale characters must feel after their story ends, you’d think every day, happy and so deeply in love, relishing every moment together and at peace.

You’d finally been introduced to Mrs. Weasley that coming Christmas, her tender love really made you feel welcome and almost moved you to tears.

“It’s nice to see Freddie finally found someone who loves him as much as you do, I can see it in your eyes darling, you’re perfect for him.”

Fred never understood why they said ‘fall’ in love, sure you may feel your senses fade at times but it was never like a fall. If it made sense he’d say he rose into love for you. You brought him to cloud nine, you raised his spirits whenever you joked with him when he was down. You raised the corners of his lips into a smile by just existing. You raised him further towards his dreams and supported him no matter what. Ironically, he dropped to his knee to propose to you, just like he had in your sixth year at the Yule Ball, once again pouring his heart out to you, this time to truly make you his.

“Here we are again, love.” He laughed as he fell to his knee behind you in a muggle park not too far from Diagon Alley.

“Darling, I love you. I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You push me towards my dreams, comfort me when I’m upset, and make me smile every single day. I realized how much I needed you back in our sixth year, but today I ask you to seal the deal and become, y/n Weasley?”

It is hard to define love, so many forms of it, so many ways to express it and spread it to the people around you, but when Fred Weasley proposed to you, people looked over and felt the unconditional love between two people that brought tears to their eyes. When Fred Weasley looked at you, you were his everything. His past, present and future, his calm during a storm, his brightest star.

When Y/n said yes, you could hear the love of the purest of heart. The love of a best friend and a partner.

Love opens the best in us, it reveals pieces of us never seen before and unlocks emotions never known. Fred could now ensure a smile on your face for the rest of your days, and the childhood pining could finally rest knowing you would be with this man forever.

When the war finally pulled the wizarding world into the dark, the prankster and the dreamer knew they wouldn’t be able to stand to the side. They needed to help bring back the peace, and they would fight beside the people they cared about. The wedding was postponed until further notice, but it was sworn on a pinky promise that as soon as the chaos was over, you’d pick up where you left off and walk down the aisle in your white dress.

As you stood on the Hogwarts school ground, death eaters on every side and Voldemort cackling maniacally, you reached out for your prince’s hand. Closing your eyes to regain your calm before you had to charge into the incoming fight. Fred had squeezed your hand before pressing his lips to yours in the most passionate kiss the two of you had ever shared.

Looking back, you should’ve held Fred there with you, by your side throughout the entire fight. You should have kept your hands interlocked, standing tall by each other’s side, an unbreakable force to be reckoned with.

Instead the two of you charged forward separated, fighting close, but by your friends’ sides, throwing spell after spell to inch closer to a brighter future. Pain didn’t matter, each wave of your wand could be a step closer to a happy tomorrow.

It was almost thrilling fighting by your classmate, protecting them brought a new sense of purpose to your being and drowned out everything else to focus on the task at hand. Things were turning your way, Neville slayed that dreaded snake, Harry returned, Voldemort would never win now right? Everything would turn out fine. Right?

How wrong you were.

Victory was within reach, death eaters were filtering into smaller numbers and your friends were still alive. Your head was swivelling for your love, the only thought on your mind being to find your prince, your knight, the love of your life. The flash of red hair was just ahead, the light at the end of the tunnel was right there. You called out his name and his head whipped to meet yours. Your eyes met and you could see your future, your wedding, a family, growing old with this man.

Then the rubble fell, and in a flash, everything was taken away from you.

It is hard to define love, but when witches and wizards heard the shrill cry of a heart being torn in half, they could feel the love y/n l/n held for Fred Weasley. The pure, unconditional love that would’ve withstanded the test of time and any problem life could throw her way. The love that had so much hope many people turned away, it was too much to bear. The love that had you digging even though your hands were scabbed and bleeding.

Now when you ask how Fred Weasley showed his love in this scenario, the only thing to say was he died with a smile on his face. He died knowing his last sight was the love of his life running towards him, ready to turn to the next chapter of their lives.

You dug through the rock frantically, grasping onto the hope that for some divine reason Fred could be alive.

This isn’t how the story is supposed to end, your prince was supposed to wrap you into your arms and every problem was supposed to melt away, you were supposed to marry, kiss in front of all your family and friends and live the rest of your days together.

Realization hit you like a speeding train, you were never going to walk down the aisle to see Fred’s reaction to you in a white dress, you were never going to hold your child in your arms and see Fred become the amazing father you knew he would become. You were never going to see him grey and old, still a prankster and still deeply in love. You were never going to feel his lips against yours ever again. Hear his whispers in your ear about how much he loved you, or his melodic laugh that brought butterflies to your stomach every time.

Turns out, the villain of your story wasn’t unrequited love, it wasn’t Umbridge or even Voldemort. It was something even more cruel and insufferable. Death is not something humans really understand, even the most powerful witches and wizards cannot deny that death will come upon you, it is inevitable. There is so much about death we do not understand. All we know is one minute they’re here, the next they’re gone. But you might say, this is a fairy tale, there’s bound to be a happy solution and our lovers will get their happy ending. No, this is reality and our lovers were not that lucky, and the loss of half a heart is not something to be taken lightly.

“No.”

When Fred’s body was retrieved, you were joined by the rest of the Weasley family in their grieving, and while you could never understand what it would be like to lose a brother and a son, you’d lost the man you were going to spend the rest of your days with, and that left a hole in your heart never to be repaired, never to heal.

To lose a lover, but to hold their lifeless body in your arms is a surreal feeling you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, it’s something that has the power to break even the strongest people and make the most positive lose hope. Every ounce of love in your being spilt through tears that held every wish and hope you’ve ever had. That day you lost your feeling of freedom, and a sick sense of being trapped plagued your every move.

This isn’t how the story was supposed to end.

“What happened to their ‘happily ever after?” A young girl asks her father.

“Well young y/n, as you may know you were named after the very girl who fell in love with my brother and lost everything. Some say she died of a broken heart, others say Freddie came back and took her away to paradise.” An older George Weasley smiles down at his young daughter, snuggled in blankets, clutching a picture frame in her small hands.

“But why couldn’t uncle Fred come back? I thought every fairy tale ends with a happily ever after, those were aunt y/n’s favourite stories right?” Young y/n’s brown eyes flash in confusion and hurt as she lowers the photo of you to her lap.

“Yes, they were her favourite. There was no doubt her and Fred had a love greater than any fairy tale, but not all love stories get a ‘happily ever after.’ Sometimes it’s just a ‘once upon a time.”

[spacedikut]

“let me do this for you. please.” ; aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner (criminal minds) x reader

summary: it’s left to you to help aaron with his injury. taken from this prompt list - 1781 words

a/n: this is kind of shitty trash but i wanted to add to the one hotch fic ive written

Aaron Hotchner, in all his glory, is more often than not described as strict. Maybe even grumpy.

It takes less than one conversation with the unit chief to fully understand this, sometimes all it takes is witnessing the way he walks and holds himself, and he’s become somewhat notorious for it.

However, you know more about Hotch than the average person. More than either of you care to admit. For a while you were certain he hated you, definitely didn’t trust you, despite being highly trained and told again and again by your team that that’s just how Hotch is. Emily, especially, pulled you aside to tell you she was also victim to his cold persona at the beginning.

It takes time, she’d said, but he’ll warm up to you. He won’t be able to resist.

It all changed when he appeared at your apartment door several hours after you’d been discharged from the hospital following a gnarly gunshot wound to your shoulder. He stood there, with his famous furrowed brows, straight-mouth look on his face, cradling a basket. He’d made you a ‘get well soon’ package – your favourite candy (he knew that?), some DVDs (including your favourite – he knew that?), and his favourite book (written by your favourite author). There were fluffy socks and a colouring book, too.

“I couldn’t visit you in the hospital,” He’d said, “So Jack and I made you a gift basket. He chose the colouring book.”

In your stunned silence you didn’t ask any further questions, just took the present and contemplated getting shot again in hopes he would pay another visit, maybe come inside. Maybe fall in love with you. You’re not picky.

That night you realised your unit chief doesn’t hate you and you definitely don’t hate your unit chief.

Now, almost a year later, there’s been some big changes. You’re pushing Aaron onto his bed as he grips the top of his bleeding forearm; he’s mumbling curses under his breath while pouting – yes, pouting, no matter how much he’ll deny it when you tease him about it later. It had taken you raising your voice at him to convince him to let you help at all, let alone clean the cut, so you allow his brooding.

When you sit on your heels of his bedroom floor in front of him, he instinctively opens his mouth to, once again, say something along the lines of, “You don’t have to do this,” or “I can look after myself.”

You interrupt before he can even begin.

“If you refuse to go to the hospital, refuse to let an on-site medic come to you, you’re gonna let me help you, you got that?” You snap, fuelled by worry and frustration.

On the scene he’d refused medical attention, telling the medics to focus on the victims which, fair enough, was valid. But then Rossi had tried to drive him to the hospital, to get stitched up because anyone could see the cut on his arm needed it, and he’d argued and argued to the point where Rossi shoved him into your car and said, “You take him. He’s being a child and I am too old for this.”

He kept telling you to just drop him off home and he’ll be fine, but you couldn’t do that. You have a medical background; you’ve stitched up everyone on the team at least once, excluding Hotch, and you’ll get peace of mind if you do the job and know he’s okay.

You followed him inside, he kept telling you to go home because he’s fully capable, and you kept telling him to shut up. Now you’re here.

Aaron says nothing in return – just stares into your eyes and maintains a tight, strained posture.

You recognise the look in his eyes, then. Everything clicks into place in your head and your heart hurts slightly.

“Let me do this for you. Please.”

Aaron is a leader. A protector. He always has been. He trusts his team with his life, of course he does, but he’s also stubborn. The idea of anyone, let alone the one person who’s somehow wormed their way into his life in a way he hadn’t prepared for, seeing him so vulnerable after a stupid mistake led to an even stupider injury is downright humiliating for him.

He’s embarrassed. He hoped he could sulk home, drink a little too much whiskey as he clumsily cleaned himself up, and move on like nothing happened.

But it’s you, all non-judgemental eyes and worried tone with your caring and reassuring words. You’re too good for him. You’re too good to him.

You work slowly and gently, in a very you way, and Hotch watches closely the entire time. You assume he’s watching so he can do it himself next time, can use this as an excuse for you to not do this ever again, but a part of you wonders if he still doesn’t trust you.

He sits patiently, until he realises how much blood he’s lost and starts to feel woozy. It’s very possible he has a concussion, too, along with the exhaustion from not sleeping for at least twenty four hours. His head feels like it’s swimming and his vision gets a little blurry.

You notice him swaying and stop what you’re doing to hold his biceps to steady him. His eyes almost roll, but he seems to jolt himself out of it. Aaron has this disturbing ability to act as if nothing bad is happening – for example, right now. The blood loss is alarming, he just almost passed out, but it’s like he flicks a switch in his brain that decides nah, let’s not do that.

“You okay?” You ask, voice quiet.

He nods and mumbles, “Yeah. Brain almost collapsed.”

You think that’s an attempt at a joke. You’re too concerned to laugh, even fake it, and slowly move your arms back to the med kit you’re rifling through.

“Brain dumb.” He adds.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Hotch.”

“Aaron.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes. Aaron surprises himself by wanting to cry at how beautiful you look.

“My name’s Aaron. You should call me it.”

You laugh quietly – the blood loss is beginning to get to him and he’s losing his professional barrier. The barrier that he lets down rarely, usually only when he’s in the comfort of his home, maybe relaxing with you and Jack. This is a special version of that, amplified by his injury.

“I’ll call you Aaron, then.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s alright, Aaron.”

He goes back to watching you, contentment coming off him in waves.

You’re done a few minutes later, Aaron’s cut all cleaned and stitched up. You wrap it in gauze and move the med kit aside, standing before him and sighing, hands on your hips.

“Alright. Bed time.” You say.

Aaron flops back on his bed, arms spread – it makes you giggle. It reminds you of the one time you had to bring drunk Hotch home.

“Move up, Aaron. Against your headboard.” You command.

As he moves, you grab some of the pillows he doesn’t use and place them under his legs to elevate them. You go to his ensuite and fill a glass of water, placing it on his bedside table, and look at the handsome unit chief seemingly asleep. You lean in closer to get a look at his condition – is he pale, cold, clammy?

His eyes snap open. You jump back in shock.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” His voice is rough, he’d almost fallen asleep, and his dimples begin to show when he smiles at your surprise.

“I’ll always take care of you, Aaron.” You say instantly, trying to fluff the pillow behind his head. You don’t realise what you do to him, he thinks, or what the things you say do to him.

“Let me take care of you, too.”

You smile, ignorant to the way he’s looking at you, “You do take care of me. You take great care of the whole team, A. You’re kind of amazing at it.”

You move to tuck him in, like you’ve watched him do to Jack many times.

“I mean-“ He stops you, large hands holding your wrists, “Let me take care of you. No one else.”

Your brows furrow, “What do you mean?”

“Me, Aaron, take care of you, Y/N.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I can take care of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” You laugh at the situation, the ridiculousness of how you’re going in circles, “I just told you that you take great care of me.”

He lets out a deep breath in exasperation, “Let me take care of you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That sounds sexual, sir.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t mean it-“ He cuts himself off, “I mean, yes, but no, at the same time.”

You open your mouth to say What?!

“I’m trying to ask you out, Y/N.”

Oh.

You’re stunned, to say the least, and speechless. There’s nothing more you’d like than to go on a date with him, but he’s… vulnerable right now. Fragile. You’re not sure he’s in the right state of mind for this conversation.

Hotch senses your hesitation before you even register it yourself. He begins to backtrack.

“I’m sorry, I know that’s inappropriate-“

“Aaron.”

“Yes?” Despite the look on your face, filled with doubt, he’s still hopeful.

“I would really like to go on a date with you.” He smiles at that. “But you’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re concussed AND you’re exhausted. I can’t take what you say now as, like, gospel.”

He nod as if he understands, but the concoction of ailments he’s got going on make him incapable of truly recognising what’s going on. All he knows is that you said you’d really like to go out with him, and that’s good enough for him.

“Say this again tomorrow and I promise you I’ll make it worth your while,” You grin, now smoothing his hair away from his face as he blinks slowly at you.

“Make it worth my while, huh?” He sleepily smirks, a teasing lilt to his voice. If he wasn’t on the brink of sleep you’re sure he’d look too good for you to handle, but now he just looks adorable.

“Oh yeah. So worth it.”

“Alright then. Night night. You can kiss me on the forehead, if you feel so inclined,”

You roll your eyes and give a big sigh jokingly, “Only because you’re injured.”

You lean, give a quick peck to his forehead, and his dazed gaze follows you like a magnet.

“See you tomorrow, Hotch.”

“Aaron.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron.”

[mercurial-madhouse]

hi! I see on your Tumblr you mentioned that you have a couple fics in the outline stage... I'm currently writing for the soulmatesabroad fest, but I never made an outline, I just started writing. I almost never make outlines for anything I do bc they feel too organized for my brain and it stresses me out. is that bad? Will that make it more likely to be too DISorganized for other people?? I have ~2k rn and it hasn't been an issue yet, but will it become one later? tysm! I LOVE your writing 😊😍

Beautiful Anony, congrats on writing for the fest! How exciting! (And thanks for the compliment!)

Please never think that the way you write is bad. There are books and blogs galore in the author world discussing writing method and I believe neither is inherently better than another. Here are some thoughts that’ll hopefully help!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

TO PLOT OR TO PANTS, THAT IS THE QUESTION.

(Great industry terms, right?)

On one end, pure plotting is outlining every single detail, breaking down not just the plot but each scene and then each moment within the scene, every character arc and how the theme will play out in each moment, how long the fic will be to ensure you hit certain points at certain word counts, etc etc. and then writing only once you’ve got everything lined up.

A pure panster, which is where I believe you feel most comfortable, just goes for it! Put that pen on paper or clickety-clack that keyboard and start writing! See where it goes!

Both have pros and cons, but here’s the big secret:

The best method is the one that works for you and gets you writing. 

Here’s the second big secret:

Every writer is almost always a blend of both.

And that mix is a super special concoction that changes with each author and can change with each fic. I’ve never met a writer that flies by the seat of their pants who didn’t start with an idea and therefore have some sense of where the fic was going or what it would be about. That’s a certain level of plotting.

On the flip side, even the most meticulous plotter still pantses when they write. Characters run away from us or the outline has to be reworked, for example. Perhaps you may know what type of scene you want in a certain spot, but have no idea what exactly is going to happen so you just go for it. There’s your pantsing!

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WHAT’S YOUR SPECIAL BRAND OF PLOTTING/PANTSING MAGIC?

Next secret: There’s no right answer, you’ll have to figure it out!

One of the craziest and most mythical experiences in the writing journey is discovering what method (or bits of a method) work(s) best for you depending on what you’re writing.

Here are some of examples from my own body of fanfic works:

My first fic is 186k and I mostly pants’ed it. I started with a single idea: “What would happen if character A got stuck in character B’s head so no one could shut character A up?” Where does it start? A night clubbing! And then I just wrote.

I intended for it to be a crack!fic. It turned into a monster of a wild angst fest with insane levels of snark. The beauty of pantsing.

My most recent fic is 162k and I spent a lot of time plotting it. Why? The fic is very complex, written in two points of view with five important character arcs on top of a very intricate plot with many twists and reveals. With so many moving parts, I needed to have a clear idea of where the pieces fall and wanted to ensure I had a balance when it came to which POV we read.

Occasionally this method put me in analysis paralysis. I was so aware of the rest of the fic that it felt overwhelming at times. And in places where I didn’t have a scene plotted out, suddenly pantsing it felt terrifying. But it also kept me on track. The beauty of plotting.

The fics I currently have in the works are a mix of plotting and pantsing as well. One is a time traveler AU, so I leaned into plotting because of it’s moving parts and the cyclical nature of the plot itself. Meanwhile one I’m posting today started as a drabble where I just wrote.

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CHANGE IT UP AS YOU GO ALONG.

If a method is stopping you from writing, toss it. Try something else. The most important thing is that whatever you’re doing helps you get those beautiful words on paper.

Writers are alchemists. We weave gold from words. Think of it like casting a spell. You have the words (pantsing) and the wand movement (plotting). They’re two separate pieces, but you need both to create the magic. Depending on how you tweak the movement or the words, you may burn your eyebrows off or get a paper butterfly’s wings a’fluttering. Find the pieces that work best for you for the particular spell-fic you’re creating.

Maybe you need the smallest of outlines before you write, a ‘here’s where they start and here’s where I want them to end up’. Maybe you want to completely explore a theme, a feeling, a relationship, so you start with a simple question and see what happens. Maybe you’re stuck so you decide to really plot out one specific scene. Maybe the outline you wrote feels too limiting all of a sudden. Chuck it out!

Pick and choose, love! If it works for you and leaves you with a finished fic you’re proud of, then it’s a success!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

TO BE A PLOTTING-PANTSER OR A PANTSING-PLOTTER? THE ANSWER IS YES.

My current goal is to polish my skill in writing shorter stories. I’m leaning into an outline for my upcoming fic because I want it to stay short, but my personal outline for this one isn’t as rigid or comprehensive as you may think. I’m experimenting to see if it’ll help me hone in on what details can be removed without detracting from the story. I’m still on the journey too. It’s all an experiment and that’s the beauty of it!

As for your final concern about what readers may think: fear not! I gave us a peek inside my writing process for a few of my fics because I guarantee most readers won’t be able to tell whether you plotted or pantsed. (My beta definitely can, but she also knows my writing style inside and out). Were you able to tell reading my fics whether I plotted or pantsed?

If you’re writing, then whatever you’re doing is working.

So keep putting those words out there, love. You got this! Not having an outline may never become an issue. But if it does, make one! Use the tool that helps when you need it. And feel free to reach out to me any time! My ask and DMs are always open. Writing is as solitary or as social as we want it to be.

[fandomwriterstuff]

Science Rules!

ShieldShock! 3,000+ words, Rated G, AO3 link under the cut

Bucky was a science nerd. He loved going to Stark Expo back in the day, and he loved walking around the labs and asking the various scientists what they were doing in their respective fields. And where Bucky went, Steve went.

That was how Darcy came to be more acquainted with the two of them when she started working in Stark’s fancy tower with Jane. She was working on her PhD in astrophysics at the time, interning with Jane again. However this time she was a paid intern, her paychecks being signed by the one and only Pepper Potts.

So when Bucky came in for the third time, Darcy asked what his deal was.

“I love science, but I don’t have the brains to do it. So I like to ask about it,” he smiled so genuinely at her that she couldn’t be annoyed anymore about being interrupted. Steve walked in five minutes later and spotted his best friend bent over a duct taped machine being schooled by a tiny brunette about the Einstein-Rosen Bridge.

“Steve, you’ve got to hear this,” Darcy turned at Bucky’s voice towards the door.

“Captain Rogers, what brings you up to the lab floor?” Darcy asked, straightening herself and cocking her head.

“Just looking for this punk,” he smiled at her. “And please, call me Steve.”

“It’s nice to meet you Steve,” Darcy walked over and shook his hand. “I’m Darcy, but in a few weeks I’ll be the proud owner of a doctorate, so I may ask everyone to start calling me Doctor Lewis,” she winked and pulled her hand back.

“Nice to meet you too, almost-Doctor Darcy Lewis,” he replied and followed her over to the rickety machine. “Anything sciencey will draw this one’s attention,” he nodded to Bucky who was eagerly waiting for more information.

“Explaining my work to him is good practice for my school work, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to other than Jane,” Darcy shrugged. “Care to learn a little more about all the gibberish Thor blubbers about all the time?” She smiled at Steve’s raised eyebrows.

“Would I ever!”

It became a habit for Bucky to come up to Jane and Darcy’s lab space. Tony was always playing loud music so Bucky couldn’t ask questions, and Bruce wasn’t a huge fan of visitors while he was in the zone. There were other labs, but they didn’t have the security clearance to deal with the former Winter Soldier and his golden retriever best friend.

“How are you a level six again?” Bucky asked one day while Steve was sitting in a rolling chair at Darcy’s desk munching on some pretzels. Darcy was tinkering on a machine while Bucky occasionally gave her tools. Steve perked up, he was wondering the same thing.

“Well Jane and I were there when Thor first touched down,” Darcy started while she screwed something in with a tiny screwdriver. “I tased him, SHIELD descended on us like harpies, and now I know a lot more than they want me to, so they gave me a high security clearance and a lot of NDAs. I had to do some typical training exercises. I know how to use a gun and basic hand to hand combat,” she held the screwdriver out and Bucky replaced it with a wrench.

“You tased Thor?” Steve sputtered from his seat five feet away and Darcy chuckled.

“Yup! I bested the god of thunder with a tiny lightning machine as he calls it. Now he refers to me as his lightning sister.”

“Ooooh,” Steve drew the word out. “He’s talked about you before but I never put it together.”

“I hope only good things,” she chuckled from under the machine and Steve smiled softly at the swipe of grease on her cheek.

“Like Thor would ever say anything bad about his lightning sister,” Steve scoffed. “He only regales us with glorious tales of the taser, your adventures in New Mexico and in London, and how much you mean to him. It’s actually very sweet.”

“He’s a big softie,” she chuckled but Steve caught the blush on her cheeks.

“Plus I’m technically the Avengers’ manager so I have to have at least the same clearance as y’all,” she shrugged and Bucky cocked his head.

“The Avengers have a manager?”

Darcy nodded, tucking her tools back into their box.

“Who do you think files all of your paperwork and schedules movie night? Y’all need some serious team bonding and it’s my job to make sure you work as a unit. I just do it all from behind the scenes,” she looked up at Steve with a raised eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’ve never seen your paperwork signed off by D. Lewis?” He bit his lip bashfully.

“I just assumed it was being done by someone in PR or in the lower levels. It didn’t occur to me that it needed to be someone with a high security clearance,” but then he frowned and it made Darcy frown questioningly back at him. “How do you juggle being the Avengers’ manager, being Jane’s lab assistant, and getting your degree?”

“A lot of coffee,” Darcy smirked, and when she got closer Steve took note of the dark circles under her eyes, the veins popped next to her irises, her slightly shaking fingers. He frowned. That wasn’t good.

It was three weeks later, and eleven trips to Darcy and Jane’s lab later when Steve actually saw her outside the lab. It was like she lived there. He was heading towards the exit for his morning run at five when he looked into the mess hall and saw a solitary brunette sitting at a table. Darcy.

“What brings you here this early, Darce?” Steve sat down next to her, not taking note of what was in front of her. He was entranced by her beauty, even this early in the morning. This was the first time he’d seen her without her signature red lip, and he was drawn in by her lips’ natural pink hue. The ever-present dark circles were more pronounced, even with her eyes closed, and the fluorescent lights did nothing for her, but he thought she looked radiant.

“We’ve been working for sixty hours. Jane is in the middle of a breakthrough. I need caffeine,” she mumbled before looking over at him. Her bloodshot eyes were startling, but Steve didn’t flinch.

“Coffee then?” He asked, finally looking at what she had in front of her. A large ice cold can of something called ‘Monster,’ and one of the biggest cups of coffee Steve had ever seen. “What’s Monster?” He asked as Darcy pulled a large travel mug out of her tote bag.

“It’s an energy drink. They’re usually fruity and low in calories. They’ll make a normal person bounce off the walls for hours,” she mumbled as she popped the tab on it. She then did something so strange that Steve couldn’t look away. It was like a train wreck.

She kept eye contact with him while she poured the coffee into the travel mug. The prolonged eye contact wasn’t even strange. What was strange was how she then poured the entirety of the energy drink in with the coffee.

“I’m going to die,” she spoke with eyes that had seen some strange things, voice quiet as she stirred the cup with her finger. Steve could only watch in horror as she popped the top of the travel mug on and took a very long swig of her concoction.

“Uh…” He paused as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Come check on me around lunch. I’ll let you know then,” and with that she stood, taking her caffeinated potion with her, and left him alone.

He did go to check on her at noon, but there was a note tacked onto the locked lab door:

Steve and Bucky,

Janey and I have found some strange readings coming from Midtown. We’ll be back later.

-D. Lewis

Steve raised an eyebrow at the scribbled words as Bucky came walking over.

“What’s that?” He asked as he walked up.

“Darcy and Jane are out of office,” Steve relayed and Bucky nodded. “You gonna miss her while she’s gone?” He asked with a smirk and Steve reddened.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled and Bucky let out a laugh.

“You can say you like to follow me all you like, but we both know you’re in the labs to see Darcy,” Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve sputtered and turned around. “Don’t deny it, I know you better than you do,” he called over his shoulder at a frozen Steve. The man with a plan was stuck standing there for another minute before he regained his senses and left for the gym. Sure, Darcy was just… effervescent. She was ethereally beautiful, glowing while she worked. Her lips were always pulled into a red grin. Her hair was shiny under the fluorescent lights. She was so kind to his best friend, even when it would have made sense to be afraid of him. And she had really taken to Steve, she’d gotten used to his presence and engaged with him. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to her.

He shook his head as he made his way to the punching bag. Time to sort out his feelings.

When Steve saw Bucky walking towards the labs the next morning, he joined him.

“You should really seek Darcy out on your own instead of always coming with me,” Bucky stated, looking straight ahead.

“Shut up, punk,” Steve grumbled, but perked up when he saw Jane in the lab. That meant Darcy was back. But the tiny scientist wasn’t working on her usual whiteboard, she was typing slowly at Darcy’s laptop.

“What’s up, Jane?” Bucky sat down in Jane’s usual chair and the woman turned tired eyes on him.

“Typing up my notes.”

“Isn’t that what Darcy usually does?” Steve pondered, looking around for his favorite brunette.

“She’s still in medical,” Jane frowned, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. Steve made concerned eye contact with Bucky.

“Why is she in medical?” Steve asked hesitantly, sort of not wanting to know.

“There was an incident with the equipment. It wasn’t wired well and she got an electric shock from my interdimensional radar sensor,” she muttered distractedly, but Steve was already headed to medical before she could explain what that meant.

Steve became more worried the longer it took him to reach her. A normal electric shock wouldn’t have landed her in medical overnight.

He looked all over medical for her, not finding her. He ran into a doctor coming out of the restricted section.

“Captain Rogers,” the smaller man greeted him, writing notes on a pad.

“Can you help me, Doctor…” He looked at the man’s badge. “McCoy?” At his name, the other man looked over at Steve.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Miss Darcy Lewis,” he stated, looking nervously at the restricted area.

“You’re lucky, I just came from her room. She’s allowed to have visitors so you can go on in,” and with that, Steve was dismissed. He entered into the sterile hallways of the restricted area and found his way to the first door. Through the window in the door he could see Darcy sleeping peacefully with an IV hooked up to her arm. Well, he had time. He walked in and sat down on the hard plastic chair next to her bed, and he waited.

She awoke half an hour later, looking dazed and confused. “Steve?” She asked, rubbing at her eyes with her free arm and yawning.

“Hey, Darce,” he whispered, not wanting to ruin the calm.

“What’s up?” She blinked over at him and he smiled bashfully.

“I was worried, Jane said you got an electric shock from some… interdimensional thing,” he looked her over. She looked alright. The circles under her eyes were somewhat lessened.

“Yeah, it wasn’t so bad. For a minute I was stuck between realms and I was like a non corporeal ghost, but Jane fixed that pretty quick,” she said the last part quickly when she noticed Steve’s alarmed look. “I’m still here because they wanted to make sure I wouldn’t disappear. I should have gone home last night, but McCoy told me I need sleep and fluids since I’ve been living off of caffeine for two weeks,” she finished and Steve nodded. He was liking Doctor McCoy more and more.

“You shouldn’t replace sleep with coffee,” Steve responded, smirking at her. “It’s like with Voldemort and the unicorn blood. You’d be living a cursed life, a half life,” he smiled when Darcy let out a little chuckle. He liked making her laugh.

“Good to know you showed up for movie night when I had y’all marathon Harry Potter,” she smiled and leaned back with her eyes closed. “God I am so sore and tired. I didn’t realize that I was running on fumes until I had time to sit down and relax.”

Steve frowned, going unnoticed past the veil of Darcy’s eyelids. He wished he could help take care of her, she clearly was so entranced with her work that she found it difficult to do herself.

“Well I’m glad you’re okay. And not a ghost. Even if you’re exhausted,” he replied before leaning back in the uncomfortable chair. When he was panicking on his way over to medical, he came to the abrupt and unnerving realization that he did have feelings for Darcy Lewis. He wasn’t sure what to do about that, but he didn’t want to waste any time.

“Darce?” He asked, and she hummed questioningly, opening her eyes. “I guess I started coming to the lab to hang out more with Buck, but I find myself seeking you out now,” he looked down at his lap, unsure how to continue. “I think you’re real swell,” he smiled up from under his lashes to find Darcy with her mouth slightly parted and a flush high on her cheeks. “And I’d like to take you out on a date after you’re out of medical, if you’d like.”

It took her a moment to collect her thoughts, but her face was suddenly filled with a beaming smile.

“I would love to, Steve,” she whispered, and reached her free hand out to intertwine her fingers with Steve’s. It was nice, they sat there in silence for a while just holding hands.

They didn’t get to go on their date. Because the day Darcy got out of medical, Steve had to go on a mission with the Avengers. He was off the grid for over a week, so she couldn’t even text him. When he got back, bloodied and bruised, but forgoing medical to find his way to the labs to kiss Darcy (nothing like a near-death experience to make you want to make a move on a beautiful dame), there was another note taped to the door.

Steve,

Impossible readings in Manila. Be back in a week or so.

Darcy.

He frowned and ground his teeth together. He would just have to wait to see her.

He only had to wait two and a half weeks before he was notified by the AI that Jane and Darcy were returning via quinjet. Which was alarming in itself because they usually traveled commercial and the quinjet was only for missions and emergencies.

He waited at the door to the landing pad on top of the tower, and emerged when the quinjet touched down and the ramp lowered.

Steve didn’t like being afraid. In the past, he was always scared for himself. Would he die of the influenza? The flu? TB? Would he get beaten to death? Die in the war? He didn’t have to worry about Bucky, the man could take care of himself. But he was scared for Darcy. He didn’t know what was going to come out of the jet.

“We had to pull them out of their lab in Manila,” Tony had crept up behind Steve. “Darcy was mugged at gunpoint and then their lab was ransacked and set on fire. Somebody doesn’t want Jane’s research getting out.” Steve felt a shot of panic erupt in his chest. Robbed at gunpoint?

When the ramp was fully lowered, Jane walked down next to Darcy and Steve scanned the two women from head to toe. Jane looked normal, if a little rumpled and grumpy. Steve would be too if his work went up in flames. He gave Darcy a once-over. Her left arm was in a sling, but otherwise she looked just fine. What was the sling about?

“Steve!” Darcy called and smiled brightly, hurrying over to stand in front of him. “I’m sorry I missed your return,” she panted one she’d arrived in front of him. Tony must have left because she didn’t address the other man.

“It’s alright, Darcy,” Steve looked at her arm again. “What happened there?”

“This guy was trying to rob me but I had sensitive information on me so I tased him, but he shot me first. Hence the sling,” she cocked her head.

“You were shot, and then had the mental wherewithal to incapacitate him?” Steve raised his eyebrows, impressed. He was trying not to be stuck on the part where Darcy was shot and could have died.

“I’m more than meets the eye, Steve Rogers,” she held out her right hand and he took it. “Now, where are we going on this date? It’s all I’ve been thinking about since that day in medical.”

Steve smiled softly and stopped walking, using her hand to tug her in front of him.

“I almost died on my mission,” he stated matter-of-factly, and Darcy’s eyes widened. “And you got shot. Which is pretty close to dying,” he added with raised eyebrows. “I would be a total schmuck if I didn’t kiss you right now after two near-death experiences,” he finished and Darcy’s cheeks heated up.

“I think you’re right,” she smirked and in a moment Steve’s lips were pressing against hers, his hands gently placed on her waist. Hen didn’t want to disturb her bad arm. The kiss was sweet and soft, though when Darcy licked across the seam of his lips, he deepened it. It was everything he’d ever thought it would be, and when they parted, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed, Darcy let out a little huff of a laugh.

“That was nice,” she whispered. “Now you really have to take me on a date. I need more reasons to kiss you.”

“You don’t need a reason. You can kiss me whenever,” he responded and Darcy grinned.

“Good answer, soldier,” she replied and kissed him again.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

The Headless Halloween Special || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Halloween

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Some good stories are real, and there he is.

CONTAINS: mild gore, death

Stuffing cartons of milk behind dusty boxes of organic tea was a thankless job, and not a job anyone should be doing at all, actually. But Deirdre grinned wide and lopsided, proud of herself and hungry for more in the same breath. In any other month, she might have spared one pitying thought to the poor underpaid, overworked employee that would undoubtedly come across it and the acrid scent of spoiled milk. “What should we do next?” She beamed at Morgan, brilliant under the harsh grocery store fluorescents. For the better part of an hour, going around their usual shopping trip to cause what little bits of mischief they could, she had been bouncing on her feet, excitedly taking Morgan’s hands in hers and awarding her girlfriend generously with kisses and whispered affections. While delight of mayhem was nothing new, the season sparked a certain propensity inside fae, and especially for Deirdre--who had never gone this far into October without indulging a ring or two. “Oh but we do need---” Deirdre reached into the shelf and plucked a particularly pungent tea off the shelf--pungency known by way of trial--and dropped it into their basket. She was sure if she steeped enough teas together she’d be able to concoct a mixture that Morgan could taste. So far she’d blocked her own sense of smell and created something that had just a whiff of taste for Morgan. It might have helped to use something with more inherent flavor, but she was nothing if not determined. “There,” she grinned again, leaning in to press her lips to Morgan in another flurry of kisses. “Ooh, we should switch prices around! We can stick some ‘out of order’ signs on things too, I brought a marker! And--and--” Her eyes darted around, seeing a kaleidoscope of possibilities. In the end, she turned to Morgan and her grin softened as it so often did for her love. She wanted to know what Morgan thought, more than anything. It didn’t matter to her how many soda bottles they hissed out of their carbonation, only that Morgan was there with her. And just as her grins softened, her words were coded: “....you know I think we were actually supposed to get milk. Last I remember we were out.” This was one for I love you and no one moment would ever be enough.  

Following Deirdre down her impulse rabbit hole was like dancing blindfolded on Hanging Rock. Morgan could sense the edge just beyond her, in the side eye of the tired cashiers, in the double-take of a fellow customer as they took a can of what they thought was baked beans but what was definitely spaghetti-o’s thanks to Morgan’s deft re-packaging skills. But Deirdre, floating on the call of distant mushrooms and the buzz of All Hallow’s Eve, reeled her from exhilaration, to panic, and back to safety again with just a crook of her finger, a stretch in her smile, a whisper in her words. Nestled so close on their misfit misadventure, with Deirdre’s lips fluttering around her like so many butterflies, Morgan almost forgot her fear that this wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her, keep her.  Morgan fished out her notebook and craft tape from her purse and handed them off to her girlfriend; she had come prepared.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, my love,” she said, stretching up to kiss her back. “I bet you could switch the bathroom signs with the storage closet signs too.” It was going to make a lot of work for a lot of underpaid and undervalued workers, a pain Morgan understood too well, but whatever havoc they wreaked was better than losing Deirdre for two weeks and risking just as many people getting maimed and murdered with her mushroom brainwashing. So, really the universe should thank her for the mischief or keep its trap shut.  And even if Morgan was hesitant to admit it, the experience was a little thrilling, especially given the night. In trying to get nearer to Deirdre’s mindwave, Morgan was able to unglue herself from some of her concerns. Tomorrow, when the black and orange crepe went down and the skeletons folded into boxes, she would worry about the consequences. But here, under the dangling cardboard Frankensteins and Draculas, it was all hazy and not quite real.

Grinning, Morgan peeled off a sale sticker and moved it across the aisle before saying, “When we pick up that milk, we can take an extra carton to hide somewhere til it spoils in a few days?” She said. “Ooh! Or maybe by the heating vent, so it gets smelly faster and the smell circulates!” She steered their cart toward the refrigerated section. “Also, what are your thoughts on cream or eggnog? It’s so pungent, it might be good to try. But I want it to be something you like too, just in case.” She pulled open the frozen doors and took out some of the cartons they needed when the sound of shattered glass broke through the hum of the everyday. Morgan clutched Deirdre’s sleeve. “Babe…?” She said, voice shrill in a way that asked what’s going on?

Deirdre set about making her ‘Out of Order’ sign, the letters big and bold and straight, her best attempt at typeface. The idea to switch the bathroom and storage signs was genius, and she whispered as much to her girlfriend, aglow with affection for her. They hadn’t quite mastered pushing a cart around while stuck together the same way they had walking, but Deirdre tried it anyway, body flush against Morgan’s band and arms wrapped around her waist. She had her love sandwiched between her and the cart she commanded, delighted at the ease at which she could lean down and press her lips to Morgan’s neck. Eggnog by the heater was such a good idea, yes, she mumbled her praise there, equally as gleeful about the mischief they could commit as she was about simply being in the presence of her girlfriend. In fact, she could have left the mischief altogether, and basked in her love. The part of her that retained sense, questioned if Morgan thought this was as fun as she did. She hadn’t stopped to ask yet, and just as she parted her lips to do it, shattering glass cut across their conversation. Deirdre snapped up, trying to hear the residual ring of a scream---maybe Regan thought it was a good idea to shop. But there was no scream, just the murmur of confused humans around her. “Someone must’ve just dropped a jar…” She sighed, eager to get back to their fun. But as her grip snaked tightly back around Morgan, she considered that the crash was too loud to be a tiny jar. Was it a whole crate dropped? No, there wasn’t enough rattling for that. Deirdre knew her glass breaking well, and it sounded more like a window. Then, as she considered it again, did she really care about someone’s window? There was Morgan and the prospect of stinky eggnog and what did it matter to her if the window broke and---Deirdre blinked. She remembered Constance, and her rage and havoc, and frowned.  “Let’s go see, okay?” Her voice turned soft, “it might just be nothing, but there’s never anything wrong with going to check.” She took the cart from Morgan’s grip and took the lead as she moved them along.

She stiffened suddenly, shot up like an animal on alert. The cart slipped from her grip, crashing into the shelves, letting a few cookie boxes topple down into their cart. Deirdre thrust her hand into her pocket and fished out her enchanted choker, snapping it around her neck. She was aglow with something else now and she turned to her girlfriend with a toothy grin. “Someone’s going to die!” Deirdre took Morgan’s hand and sprinted to the scene---she couldn’t be late for the show, after all.

Morgan froze alongside Deirdre, her anxiety firing off one catastrophe after another in her mind. Constance loved breaking windows. If her classroom invasion was anything to go by, she was sure to like a grand production too. Maybe she’d gotten tired of waiting and she’d plough through the whole store so there was no one left to help her. Maybe she was trying to turn into a poltergeist on purpose, and reach that last bit of power she didn’t have yet so she could have all the fun she wanted. Or maybe this was some new eldritch horror. Maybe this was how the literal apocalypse started. Neither Deirdre nor her were going to know if this was where Morgan died. It wouldn’t be as peaceful as before. She wouldn’t be held or loved, she would just be here one second and gone the next, like that moment when you realize you’ve tripped and you’re about to fall. It would end with a gasp, and she would be all alone, and maybe… Deirdre fumbled for her choker and Morgan pulled her down as if for a kiss. It gave her something to hold on to, and if anyone was watching anything but whatever had just happened, they wouldn’t see the veins on her face. “You’re beautiful all the time,” she muttered, eyes flickering around them. Was it going to come when she turned around? Was it coming right now?

Then Deirdre pulled back, smiling like a kid in a Christmas special.

Morgan’s face pulled with confusion. “Uhh…” Before she could find the words for a question, they were sprinting down the nearest aisle to a cluster of humans holding out their phones to capture the mayhem.

“Deirdre—!” She hissed. “Wait! What if it’s—!” Dangerous? Potentially lethal?

A twenty-something guy stood in the middle, doused head to foot in blood. It was clumped all over his face and glasses, and running brown, ugly stains on his tweet and t-shirt combo. “Not cool, this was my grandpa’s vest! And you know what, he makes better fake blood than this! From the grave!” He pointed angrily and took off his glasses, trying in vain to wipe them clean while stained all over. Morgan followed his finger, still clinging tight to Deirdre so they wouldn’t be separated.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Morgan whispered.

The horse was darker than dark. Morgan felt sure he wasn’t even black at all, just that her brain didn’t know how to process the void of death turned into hair and lean, restless muscle. Its eyes seemed to glow beneath its long, wild hair. Steam rose from this nostrils as it sniffed and reared, looking for something. The rider was dressed to match his steed. Everything from his cloak to his gloves were black and brought to a shine. He—and it must have been a he, Morgan had seen the cartoon specials and the horror movies and the legends too many times for him to be anything else—clasped the bridle with one hand, assured and patient. She had never been more awed or scared of such calm. How could such menace be so still?

He turned to survey the store. How he could manage that with no head, Morgan couldn’t guess, but she felt someone, something’s attention on her and felt it fade again. He lifted a saber, bright as the glinting spurs on his boots, and steered the horse into the crowd of shoppers, already taking aim.

Morgan watched, too transfixed to look at Deirdre as she hissed, “Is that what you saw?”

Deirdre didn’t know how, when or why it would happen, only that it would and that it would be here. The sting of holding in a scream would be worth it to watch the last moments of life for herself, in person---as if a vision would spoil the surprise. If only she’d known who she’d be seeing, she would have let her scream rip across the store. She could imagine no greater honor than announcing him with a wail. “The Dullahan…” Her delight grew in invaluable measures. She pulled Morgan close to her, arms strategically protective of her neck lest the Dullahan have slippery fingers. She smiled at the argumentative human now marked for death, she hadn’t screamed for him just yet, but she committed his face to memory so she might watch him later. “Where the banshee screams, the Dullahan claims…” She whispered, gaze fixed on him. He was better than any story described him; horse darker than any words could commit to description, cloaked in finer material than her grandmother cared to describe, and more commanding than their mythic retellings did justice to. “Don’t worry,” she held Morgan tighter, just as she would were they cuddling together at home, watching a movie. “The Dullahan won’t take what he hasn’t marked.” Which meant she didn’t need to keep her body wrapped around Morgan like a protective sheet, but even knowing the Dullahan’s truth, she wouldn’t be moved from concern. “You don’t have to look but…” Her warning died on her lips, sequestered between her grin. She watched his spine whip clack to the ground, dragging along as he trotted slowly, saber raised in his other hand. Would he let her come close enough to touch it? Would he let her wield it, just once? Surely, he must know of her too. The banshees and the dullahan were always linked in her stories, in the way her family spoke of his legend. Should she snap a picture to rub in her cousin’s faces later? Enamored, she nearly missed the main attraction.

It was the old man’s head who went first, a satisfying swish in the air and then a dun-dun as it bounced dully on the floor--one short hop and then nothing. Then it was his wife, who hadn’t gotten the chance to finish her screaming. The small crowd murmured around them, the bloody college student groaned his disapproval. It wasn’t realistic, he said. Too much blood, he complained. Such unnecessary gore, he could do better. Deirdre wanted to see him try. The Dullahan’s steed raised into the air, whinnying, small plumes of fire snorted out as it turned and started the trot back. Glass crunched beneath its feet as the humans conversed amongst themselves; was it fake, was it real, did they get a discount now that their fruits were blood-covered? Deirdre reached for Morgan’s hand and tugged her along. “Come on, let’s follow him! I want to talk to him. I want to--Fates, there’s so much I want to do.”      

With Deirdre’s arms snuffing out the rest of the world around her, Morgan could almost imagine that she was watching some strange immersive play. The Dullahan’s whip was so finely articulated, she couldn’t catch how it held together except by magic. It glistened under the fluorescent lights in the supermarket, cracking louder than the rotation of 90’s pop hits wheezing through the speakers. The tune changed to “My Heart Will Go On” as the blade slashed through the air. Blood flew in one curling wave through the store to the tune of a romantic flute. Morgan covered her mouth, trying not to salivate as it bounced to the floor. Even with all she knew, all she understood about the world, finding out the headless horseman and all those Scottish legends were true sent her brain into some out-of-body experience limbo until the head rolled right to her feet as if it wanted to say hello. The brain inside was probably so juicy and firm, like a fucking burger fresh off the grill. Then came the second, the old woman’s scream cut off in favor of Celine Dion jumping into the next key. The bodies thunked to the floor, which ran slick and heavy with blood. They would be soft for an hour or two, the veins and sinew tender as spaghetti. Morgan’s stomach growled and begged for just one Halloween treat. Surely no one would notice, just one mouthful and--

Then they were running.“Deirdre!”

Morgan whined, missing her chance at just one cheat night from her diet, but she managed to call out a, “Totally just performance art, y’all! Sorry about your groceries!” Before they were too far away to be heard. They chased him through the parking lot, halting by the Subaru just in time to see the Dullahan’s horse launch itself onto a car and then into running traffic with preternatural ease. It was so bewildering she couldn’t help but start to laugh. What else was next? The Great Pumpkin? Morgan scraped a glob of blood from her cheek and sucked it off. “When were you going to tell me the Headless Horseman was real? And a what--ethereal banshee groupie? Banshee idol?” She asked. From Deirdre’s rapturous voice, she had a sense that she was at least close. “Come on, fangirl, you’re not gonna beat a horse on foot.”

“He’s not supposed to be real!” Deirdre beamed, committing the sight of his horse, whip, and headless body to memory. As a child, she only dreamed of him. There were paintings and pictures, of course, but none were like this. And though she often tried to bury the little girl that she was, she tried to awaken her now. She wanted to point and say there he is. Some good stories are real, and there he is. She met Morgan’s gaze, bright with glee. There was something else she could point to here, and she wished to stir her past awake again. There’s the Dullahan and a woman that loves you, both are real, both can be real. She would have been happier to know it. “Just a tale we enjoy,” she explained, giddily hopping around the parking lot. There was no horse of her own to give chase in, though she looked around as if one might pop up---the night was magical enough, it only seemed fair. She turned to Morgan and the Subaru, far from a noble steed but certainly...better than running. “Okay but drive really fast,” Deirdre bounced into the passenger seat, forging a seat belt and pushing down her window until she could stick her head out and watch the Dullahan. By luck, he seemed to be following the roads. “And of course I’m a fan,” she pulled her head back in, “have you seen him? His whip is made from spines! And fates I wish I could dump blood on the people I screamed for, or ride in to the sound of thunderous hooves. We’d dress like him with our robes and claim heads with our scythes but it really isn’t the same.” With a sigh, she fell back into her seat. “I don’t understand why he’s running away. I think by all accounts, he should really like me. Do you think I was too excited? I was too excited, wasn’t I?” When they caught up to him, she’d remember to tone it down.

Morgan’s dry incredulity melted at the sight of Deirdre’s childlike excitement. Four year olds in line to meet the ���real’ Santa Claus couldn’t be any closer to joy than Deirdre watching the glint of that shiny whip in the evening. Morgan kissed her then, wrapping this moment in all its strangeness up and keeping it for later when needed to remember happy times. They had no trouble speeding out of the store. By now someone would have realized that the elderly couple had been killed, for real, and would need to stay put and give statements if they weren’t simply frozen with shock. Soccer moms and dads were most likely out inching along residential streets with their small armies of foam-clad superheroes, princesses, and monsters. College kids, already walled up in their parties. The winding freeway was quiet. The mist that rolled down was fine enough that the scant cars ahead were easy to spot and weave around, and down and down they drove, until Morgan could see the sparks flying up from under the horse’s hooves in the dark. “Oh, babe,” Morgan laughed. “No such thing as too excited. I want to remember you being this incredibly excited forever.” She gave Deirdre’s hand a squeeze, keeping her tethered down to the car. “Maybe he’s on a tight schedule. You should get your camera out, or throw him a gift to catch, or a scream, so he knows who you are.” Morgan’s hands tingled on the wheel as she spoke; she had that feeling of being on the edge again, whirling into somewhere unknown, like anything could happen next. It was enough to silence the worried questions at the back of her mind.  “Also, when we get back, you absolutely  have to tell me about the dress up games you played. And the stories. I know of human written stories about headless riders, including at least one female apparition, but I’ve only read Washington Irving and that silly Disney special that gave me nightmares.” She nodded at Deirdre encouragingly, there was no one around to endanger as far as she could see, and they were so close, she was almost on the Dullahan’s heels. “Go on. Let yourself have this.”

The Dullahan was a myth to her family no different from love, care, and humans of equal status. What did it say that she could see the Dullahan galloping away in front of her? That Morgan was holding her hand, speaking with laughter about her excitement. “Camera!” Deirdre exclaimed, wide-eyed. She searched herself frantically for her phone. Not that pocket, no that was a knife, that was also a knife, move knives---“Got it!” She unlocked her phone and found the camera app, a skill she had only recently learned. “Do you think he’ll want to take a picture with me?” She turned to Morgan, alight with possibility. Maybe he could come over? Would he come over? But as the car moved closer to him, Deirdre harnessed her chance and stuck her head out the window. “I LOVE YOU,” she screeched with inhuman power, too thrilled to contain herself enough to stop from cracking the Subaru’s glass. Web-like ripples shot across the windows, but Deirdre’s attention was on the Dullahan. He had no head to regard her with, but it seemed like he slowed, ethereal saber raised in one hand, whip cracked against the road in the other. Deirdre’s body lifted, she fell back into her seat a smile the widest her face could manage. “Did you see that!?” She laughed with bubbling energy. “I think he was waving at me!” She turned back to him, now at a loss for what to say. She held her phone up and snapped the best photo she could, a blurry piece of his whip, and savored it. “Are we going to follow him?” She asked. “I know we really didn’t get to look at the bodies back there, but I bet he’d let you have a snack from them, if he gets to another tonight.”  

Deirdre’s excitement was so infectious, it almost took the edge off Morgan’s brain cravings. “Babe, you have to hold the phone still long enough so it can scan—babe, tap and hold the center of the screen for better exposure, the thing that looks like a sun—“ Morgan was laughing too much to be very helpful. She fished in the cup holder for her phone and tried to arrange it on the dashboard to take a video. She thought she mostly had a set up going that wouldn’t get them in a wreck, when Deirdre’s voice broke in shrill, wild waves over the night. Morgan hadn’t been thinking about the windshield when she encouraged this. The glass shattered, bowing outward as if it couldn’t get away fast enough. Morgan swerved, ears ringing, and almost launched them off the side of the road. The ringing faded in moments and she slammed on the brake so they screeched to a halt on the shoulder, just in time to see the Dullahan rear his horse ahead of them, sabre slicing the air under the full golden moon. Morgan couldn’t help but stare in a daze of disbelief of her own—was he showing off? Then he launched onto the other side of the turnpike, pounced onto a passing convertible to cut another red splatter before diving into the trees to take his next bounty.  Morgan deflated, laughing deliriously. “What the fuck…!”  She looked sidelong at Deirdre, panting as if she were alive again. “What the fuck…” It was all she could seem to say. Morgan varied the inflections, trying to squeeze the buzz of gobsmacked sensation electrifying her brain into them. When even those words felt like nonsense, she finally managed, “This is the officially the craziest Halloween I’ve ever had, and we’re not even in our costumes yet.”

It seemed like the Dullahan was here, and then he was gone. Deirdre watched him leave with her body pressed against the dashboard, trying to catch the last glimpses of him. “He left,” she pouted, but in the still of the night, another excitement rose to her. She looked over at Morgan, hair tousled by the wind, cracked windshield beyond her, and crawled across the console. She took her laughter against her lips, trapping them in a kiss. “I love you…” she mumbled, spilling her own delight. The Dullahan was gone someplace away from them, and she still had a dozen complaints about that, but for now she’d only wanted to bask in their glow of adventure together. “It’s the best Halloween,” she rasped, breaking into laughter. “Fates, I love you so much. I don’t know how we got so lucky to see the Dullahan, but I feel like it’s all you---your magic. It has to be. You make everything perfect.” She grinned and kissed her again, and another time for good measure. “I can’t believe he left.” Finally, coming down from her height of glee, she pouted, half-crawled into Morgan’s lap. “I didn’t even get to ask him if he liked that offering I made when I was twelve. And I took such a terrible photo...and his whip! I wanted to hold his whip.” Deirdre leaned against her girlfriend, sighing. “You’re amazing...you know that?” With a chuckle and a grin, mischief in her voice, she kissed her love again. “Let’s get you something to eat and then go home, okay?”

Morgan welcomed Deridre’s kiss, scooping her the rest of the way into her lap. Her hands tingled, clumsy, and she hit the car horn trying to cup her girlfriend’s ass. A passing car honked back, the shotgun passenger flashing a middle finger. “Sorry! Happy Halloween!” Morgan cackled. She hid her face in Deirdre’s shoulder, pressing kiss after kiss until her laughter petered out into soft giggles. “I love you, too,” she sighed. “So much, Deirdre. Stars above, this wouldn’t be fun at all if you weren’t here.” Without Deirdre she would have been terrified, and then scarfing down the elderly in the middle of the supermarket and ending up arrested or meme-ified on YouTube. But her head was light and tingling, maybe from repairing some minor damage, but mostly from the strange thrill of following Deirdre’s company wherever it led her. As they kicked back the chair and Deirdre finally settled herself against Morgan’s body, the zombie felt herself falling back into the warm safety that was them.

With the Dullahan gone, the only sound was the woosh of cars speeding past them, the night song of hungry bugs and owls and bats. Inside the Subaru, cracked and dented again, the quiet was perfect. “I don’t have any magic left in me to summon your childhood heroes for you, babe,” Morgan said. “If there’s any kind of magic going on, it’s the two of us, together. Everything’s better when it’s you and me.” Sometimes better was just hurting less; sometimes, more delight and strange, incomprehensible wonder than she knew how to process. “If you ask me, he wouldn’t have waved—twice—if he didn’t think you were pretty great, Deirdre.” Maybe he was a menacing show-off by nature, but with Deirdre on her shoulder, the kindest reading of the night felt like the right one. “You’re amazing,” Morgan murmured, growing soft and quiet as the rush continued to peel away from her like so much traffic.

She snorted dryly at Deirdre’s suggestion and kissed her again. “You just want to get out of Linda’s costume party,” she teased. “I’ll just have the leftovers at home. And we’ll have our own fun and treats before we arrive fashionably late for the party. How’s that for a good time?”

“By Death, Fate, and everything there is to be in this world, I love you Morgan. With Fate’s command, I love you. I love you.” Deirdre’s prayers became a nonsensical jumble of ancient phrases and what she could remember of her family’s religious teaching. Her mother would have called it blasphemy to take Fate’s name and press it to the skin of a once-human, still wholly human. But Deirdre thought it was right, it was true. Worship of Morgan was one she would gladly take part in, even squished together in the same car seat at the side of the road. Magic was a good way of putting it; something so beyond natural order that it defied law and rule. Something freer than the wind, more nebulous than the stars. Something that was just the two of them, together and at peace and in love. “And if you ask me,” she started with a smile, lifted her teeth from where she had begun nipping at Morgan’s neck, “he wouldn’t have showed up at all if the world wasn’t kind and good, just like how you make it.” With a huff, she pulled her arm out from where it had gotten crammed between Morgan and the armrest and reached it up to cup her love’s cheek. “I wish someone would have told me years ago that good things are real; the Dullahan, nights like these...you. Ignorance might have helped convince me that there was nothing better, but I think the truth would have made life so much easier to get through. If I knew I’d be here, one day, my days would have been colored with happiness.” Just as they were now. She leaned down and kissed Morgan again, content to stay there, content to—Deirdre groaned, and then dissolved into laughter. “I was hoping you’d forgotten,” she breathed, “I don’t want this night to end, sue me.” And, well, as far as she was concerned, Linda’s costume party was a doomed event by concept alone.

But she knew, with resounding truth, that everything was better when they were together. Even parties hosted by their annoying neighbours. And so, she smiled and said simply: “that sounds perfect to me.”

[ihearthorror]

My Top 10 Favourite Horror Films of 2020

Every January, most people who review or talk about movies on YouTube tend to piece together a Top 10 list of their favourite movies from the year prior. In order to stand out from the crowd (and also because I was too lazy to do this sooner), I decided to wait until March, by which time most YouTubers aren’t really talking about movies from 2020 anymore.

I know what you’re thinking: sounds kinda stupid – why would anybody care about a Top 10 list of the best movies of 2020…THREE months into the new year!? Well, as you’ve likely heard, 2020 was a year like no other, and as result of the ongoing global pandemic, movie release dates from 2020 were pushed back months, sometimes multiple times. Some films that were supposed to be released last year didn’t arrive until 2021, even though they’re officially considered “2020 films,” according to their profiles on websites like IMBD and Letterboxd.

And so, some of these so-called “2020 films” were not available (at least to me) until only recently, such as Saint Maud or The Dark and the Wicked. I feel like I’ve now had a chance to see almost all of the horror films I’ve wanted to see from last year. In this video, if you care to stick around, I will share with you my Top 10 favourite horror films of 2020. So, here we go…

#10/ The Dark and the Wicked:

A sister and brother return to the family homestead where their father is slowly dying and their mother is understandably distraught but also disturbed and distant. The siblings soon realize that something evil has invaded their family home as they are terrorized by whatever is slowly killing their father. Directed by the same guy behind 2008’s The Strangers, The Dark and the Wicked is at times bleak and unsettling, and it does a good job at keeping you intrigued in this family’s unnerving conflict. However, it felt a bit rushed and undeveloped at other times, and its ending left me somewhat unsatisfied.

#9/ Relic:

Soon after Kay and her daughter Sam return to their remote family home following the disappearance of the family matriarch, the widowed Edna, they discover that something sinister has taken hold of both Edna and the house itself. Although Relic – which was co-produced by Jake Gyllenhaal and marked the feature directorial debut for Natalie Erika James – isn’t exactly offering up any enticing twists or salacious gore, or even a original concept for that matter, it relies on evoking dread and building tension to compel its audience to stay invested until the bitter end.

#8/ Amulet:

Taking its sweet time to unravel, Amulet is centered around Tomaz, an ex-soldier who is now homeless but is offered a place to stay at a decaying house in London, which is inhabited by a beautiful young woman named Magda and her dying mother. As the story moves along, we see that Tomaz is starting to develop feelings for Magda, who seems a bit…off. His feelings for her don’t wane even after Tomaz discovers that there’s something insidious going on in the attic of the house, where Magda’s mother is seemingly imprisoned. Toss in a suspicious nun and you’ve got yourself a creepy little film that seems to have fallen between the cracks.

#7/ The Beach House:

One might argue that not a lot actually happens in The Beach House and that the payoff isn’t worth the investment, but if you go into this film with an open mind and zero expectations, you should at least be satisfied. Two troubled college students head to a deserted beach getaway to spend some time together, but end up struggling to survive alongside some unexpected guests as a mysterious infection disrupts their holiday. Although it is a slow build up to the film’s climax, it is a tense and intriguing ride along the way, as a series of unsettling events give way to an apocalyptic episode that feels almost like a throwback to the sci-fi films of the 1950s. Making his feature film directorial debut, Jeffrey A. Brown elicits with The Beach House those brooding existential thoughts that lay dormant in the deep boroughs of our minds. 

#6/ The Invisible Man:

There’s always an elevated risk when making a modern film based on an old story that has already been told through cinema numerous times before. The last time H.G. Wells’ 1897 novel The Invisible Man had been adapted by Hollywood was in 2000’s Hollow Man, which was panned by critics despite making a sizeable profit. The 2020 adaptation is far superior and is perhaps the best adaptation of Wells’ classic in any medium. Elizabeth Moss gives a stellar performance that draws real emotion, so that we agonize alongside her as she is essentially haunted by a relentless ghost hellbent on controlling every aspect of her life. We live in an era when technology has advanced enough to bring this 124-year-old story to life like never before, while a polished script and an exceptional lead performance gives The Invisible Man a deeper level of emotion and terror.

#5/ Saint Maud:

For most of Saint Maud it is unclear whether certain experiences are actually happening in reality for the main character or if it’s all simply in her head, as some sort of mental breakdown caused by a work-related tragedy. Maud is a young hospice nurse and a newly-converted Roman Catholic who suddenly becomes obsessed with “saving the soul” of the woman she is currently taking care of, Amanda, a hedonistic dancer with a chronic illness. Maud’s behaviour worsens, as does her mental state, as horrific scenes and visions make us question if she’s actually losing her mind or experiencing something beyond this world. Saint Maud is an A24 feature by the way, so that should be enough to know what you’re getting here in terms of quality.

#4/ The Lodge:

Isolation is often embraced as a way to pad a horror film’s fear factor, and it works especially here in The Lodge, as a soon-to-be stepmom becomes stranded at a remote holiday home in the middle of winter with her fiance’s two children. The kids begin to untangle the dark past of their stepmom-to-be and a series of disturbing events transpire as their hope for survival fades. The Lodge is a dreary, atmospheric slow burn that leaves you somewhat unsettled. With its wintry backdrop, stylish sequences, and almost claustrophobic dread, the film doesn’t ever allow its audience to feel at ease for long, insisting that an underlying foreboding remain intact throughout. Although I found the ending somewhat disappointing, I immediately began to concoct a possible prequel that would delve into the backstory of the film’s lead character. One can hope.

#3/ Host:

It’s increasingly difficult to be innovative and original when it comes to horror films these days, especially in the particular genre of so-called “found footage.” Rob Savage’s Host, however, comes off as something different, setting itself apart from most films in this realm in various ways. It centers around six friends who hold a séance via Zoom during a COVID lockdown, guided (at first) by a medium they hired. The séance then takes a dark turn and things soon escalate into madness. Sure, there are elements in Host that are prevalent in numerous horror films, but it uses a modern and topical way to implement them, while also refusing to overstay its welcome by cueing the credits less than an hour in. Overall, this film’s popcorn-and-Saturday-night-movie fun factor is why it ranks so high on this list.

#2/ Possessor:

It’s always a treat to come across an original idea, especially when it’s within the horror realm, and Possessor is certainly unlike anything else I’ve seen in awhile. Andrea Riseborough plays an elite corporate assassin who uses brain-implant technology to take control over other people’s bodies in order to kill high profile targets, though with every mission she gets further and further away from her true self. With her latest possession, she becomes trapped in the mind of a man who threatens to obliterate her for good. It is a provocative vision by director-writer Brandon Cronenberg, who just so happens to be the son of legendary Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg, and it serves as a disturbing piece of dystopian fiction that is even more frightening because it isn’t too far beyond belief.

And because everyone else is doing it, here are five honorable mentions that narrowly missed the list:

- The Call

- Color Out of Space

- Don’t Listen

- The Mortuary Collection

- Porno

#1/ His House:

In addition to its emotional storytelling and genuine moments of terror, His House – from first-time director Remi Weekes – sheds a light on the plight of refugees in a way that feels both respectful and empathetic. After a Sudanese couple make a harrowing escape from their war-torn homeland, they are granted asylum in England, where they struggle to adjust and fit in. They are assigned a shabby house on the outskirts of London, where the couple begin to experience terrifying and unexplainable events. His House is built around a fresh concept, two fantastic leads, and some truly haunting imagery, and I wish that more horror directors would put as much effort into quality filmmaking as Weekes did here. If this is his first venture into feature filmmaking, I am excited to see what his future has in store. 

There you have it, my Top 10 favourite horror films of 2020. What did you think and were any of these titles on your own Top 10 list? Please tell me your thoughts and recommendations in the comments below.

[peachyteabuck]

hungry for me, sequel to“survive the summer”

summary: a commission of a second installment of survive the summer, for @myhoneybeeheart

pairing: thor odinson x reader

words: 4,009

trigger warnings: praise kink, dubcon, mentions of arranged marriage, taking of virginity, degradation, oral (f recieving), shame associated with religious upbringing, light edging

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Somewhere – somewhere you know exists but also doubt is real – somewhere between right in front of you and a million miles away, you hear Thor calling out to you. You have to make a sizable effort to parse his words from the roaring of blood in your ears and haze of pleasure clouding your thoughts. You can hear him, barely, and can sense him - as if you were stuck in the bottom of an iced-over lake, if you were buried six feet under, if you were lost in a cave. Sometimes when you bathe you dunk yourself under the freezing water to quiet out all the noise, making all your siblings�� voices and animals’ screams sound garbled and, blessedly, muted.

Now, despite you being on dry land and nowhere near a body of water large enough to drown yourself in, it sounds the same – the beacon from a lighthouse, the beckoning home, the call to attention. It all sounds the same to you.

“Baby,” Thor coos above you. His voice is thick and savory like warmed molasses and pours into you just as smooth. Somehow you can feel it on you – flowing between your breasts and onto your stomach and pooling in your abdomen. It’s warm and creamy and gooey and makes you feel sunlit and beautiful and you could only stay in this feeling forever…“Come back, baby, come back to me. Come back so I can see that pretty face of yours.”

You don’t, can’t, say anything because now his giant cock is filling you and all you want to do is cry from the mind-numbing satisfaction and your whole body is on fire and also over ice and is it humid? You wonder if it’s humid because your whole body is covered in sweat and you feel like you’re suffocating and you’re gasping for air because the air is too tense to breathe. It’s when he slaps you lightly, grabs your chin and makes you look at him that you finally are able to think somewhat-rationally, logically, concisely…well, rationally, logically, and concisely enough to piece together whatever the man is saying along with the appropriate response.

“You good, love?” he asks. Somehow, you find enough energy and muscle control to nod. It’s faint and feeble as a last breath, but Thor sees, comprehends it nonetheless. He kisses at your temple before speaking again, nosing at your hairline afterward. The gesture is comforting, reassuring; especially given what he says next. “Good, ‘cause I’m just getting started.”

It’s enough to make you gasp out, grab at him as if that would tether you to some vague definition of reality. You whine as he pulls back from you, growling at you to stay put, to remain in your highly vulnerable position. Maybe out of fear, maybe out of anticipation, maybe out of a mixture of both – you accede.

Thor falls to his knees on the hardwood floor, hitting the worn circles laid there by years of begging for forgiveness with a heavy thud. It distracts you, knocks you off guard enough that the man can grab you by the ankles and drag you closer to him without so much as a protest. Before you could register what was happening, Thor’s gotten you folded in half – legs bent and pressed to your chest with one forearm pressed into the notches of your knees to keep you there.

You’re confused, eyebrows furrowed as you attempt to find your bearings on a situation so foreign to you Thor might as well be speaking a different language. “What are y-“

You’re soon interrupted by your whole body melting as his flat tongue presses to the crest of your center. You relax easily, body becoming lax quick as a snap. “Oh! Oh, Oh my God, I’m-“

The art of language, of coherent language, seems to wash away as you collapse fully onto the bed. If you had control over your muscles, if your brain would regain its rightful possession over your skin and bones maybe you’d pull at Thor’s hair, scratch his back, grip the sheets. Nothing of the sort is under your current ability, and you find yourself covering your face with flat, pliant hands. What you’re covering yourself from is not important – maybe you’re terrified your eyes will open and you’ll have to face the hand-painted portrait of your Father. Maybe worse, you’d have to face the man between your legs, the almighty whose stubble scratches at the stretch marks between your legs and whose mouth drinks at the most vulnerable part of you.

One of his thick fingers presses into you with ease, obscene slick sounds filling your bedroom.

“Oh God,” you moan just above a whisper. You’re sure you look possessed now – eyes rolled to the back of your head and mouth banging open and body moving on its own accord. “God, don’t stop!”

You can feel Thor smile into the skin of your sopping cunt, his tongue tracing your lips before slipping another finger into and pressing just so – each twitch of his fingers making nearly making you black out from how overwhelming good it feels.

It’s not long before your skin is hot and tight and you’re about to burst, and you can feel your entire body wrapping around a tight coil laid atop a hot frying pan and you just…you just need…you just-

You nearly kill Thor when he pulls away, his fingers receding away from that perfect spot inside of you. It hurts, it physically hurts and if you weren’t pissed as an ox you’d beg for him to continue.

With hair wild and cheeks red you sit up and grab Thor’s face with both your hands, your palms becoming wet with your slick.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” you hiss. You feel like a sopping wet cat who’s been dunked into a river by a hellbent child. With his shit-eating grin, the resemblance is uncanny. God, you want to hit him to hard the SMACK! is heard by the next town over.

“Just gettin’ you ready, love,” he says – syrupy drawl both beautiful and antagonizing. Whatever way he means it, you press your thighs together to trap his hand there. Thor makes no move to remove it, just smiling and glowing and looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Ready for what,” you say through grit teeth. You search his eyes (and the rest of his face, for that matter) for answers, for explanation. All you see is fire in his eyes and his bottom lip stuck between his teeth and him looking you up and down like a man planning on where to shoot a deer stuck in a bear trap and before you know it, Thor is on top of you and his cock is stuffing you full and you’re digging your nails into his back.

When your sisters and cousins would whisper and giggle about seasonal farmhands who bathed naked far up the river, who blushed when you complimented them and leaned against the rickety fences when they spoke, you thought that would be the kind of guy you’d lose such an important part of you to. You thought you’d wake up one day to find yourself promised to some boy who was skinny and sun-burnt and did as she told him and worked in the field.

This feels the exact opposite of the man above you, the man inside you. Large and sun-kissed and charismatic – he reminds you of a wild stallion, muscly and free and vicious and unstoppable and untamed and a challenge. You admire him the same way, are enchanted by him and his undomesticated, ruthless ways which are foreign and fierce to you and you’re simply breathless.

Thor stretches your legs up to your chest and soon you’re wailing, trying to grab at the worn quilt you’ve had since you were a child for a lifeline, a reminder you have control over some of your body, something.

“Oh,” you cry. You find yourself at a loss for words, the art of speech lost in favor of grunting and moaning and barely-intelligible “yes”s and “please”s and “don’t stop”s. Your legs are wrapped tightly around Thor’s waist, keeping him close; even if your legs were spread, though, it’s not as if Thor would want to pull away. It’s not as if the only thing tying him to you is the increasingly-weak hold on him, as if the only anchor is your nails leaving red, angry crescent-shaped indentations all over his back, shoulders, ass, sides. Just as your hands map each inch of his skin, his mouth does the same for yours – he pants, hot and open-mouthed, into equally-feverish uncharted territory. He tastes you, tastes the sweet-salty sweat that run over scars reminiscent of years of farm work.

Each time his teeth, tongue, lips so much as brush the gnarled skin the memories come flooding back, reminders of a life now considered “past.” The scenes from a life you no long recognize coat the pleasure, the present; they play behind your eyes as you feel yourself falling thousands of feet below.

His chin nudges the long one above your breasts you’ve had since you were a child and you were proving to your father you could be an archer – turns out the arrow was much sharper than you could have imagined.

He brushes your hair to the side and exposes a small, curled thing behind your ear – earned from a fight with a hawk that had broken its wing. Your father shot it, cooked it, and you knew that was the poor animal’s fate. Nonetheless, you stepped too close and scared the thing to pieces.

He bites at the one on your shoulder – the one you got when you were nicked by a sharpened stick on a trail ride. You were young and dumb as the stick was long and pointed. Ma says the only thing that kept you alive for the duration of the ride back was pure spite and adrenaline, a similar concoction to what flows through your veins now.

If you were a different woman, a woman with a strong will and even stronger arms, you’d push him away and repent for a chance at the old life you had planned for yourself. You’d throw him out of your house and fall to your knees and pray until your family found you there – lips and pads of your knees bleeding. You’d force him back onto the horse he rode in on and fall into hysterics until he left you by your lonesome to deal with this (whatever this may be) by yourself. You’d push him off and remind him you’re not what he wants – that you’re more than a cheap lay. (Of course, you’d let him in eventually – if he pushed and prodded at you hard enough. You’d let him mount you like he is now…just maybe after a ring and a dress and him knowing that you’re going to be with him until the end of time.)

Unfortunately, you are not that woman. You are weak, lost to the pleasure of him slamming in and out of you so hard you’re sure he’s leaving bruises on your inner thighs, ones that will last for days; lost to the feeling of his rough, wet thumb pressing at the crest of your center and making you wail. You’re absolutely drowning in it, and you have no intention of fighting to find land.

“Jesus fuck,” he hisses as you clench around him (an act you will play coy about when he asks you later, but do not comment on now). “This pussy is mine until the end of days, you get that? Do you understand me? I’m never giving you up.”

You groan out, unable to form something silly as speech. Like before, he grabs your face with the unoccupied big, calloused hand and forces your hooded eyes to meet his dilated pupils. Unlike before, tears stain your face. You’ve wept this hard before – when your favorite heifer died, when you realized your sister were so much prettier than you, when you got pecked in the side by a temperamental, murderous chicken. You’ve never, though, ever screeched and caterwauled and literally wept from pleasure.

(Your lips feel dryer by the second. You have a sneaking suspicious as to why.)

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” Thor snarls. His words are punctuated with thrusts, each one deeper and harder than the last. Surely you won’t walk away from this unharmed. No human was built to withstand such forces, to withstand this man. You feel like a poorly-built prairie house during tornado season - threatening to be reduced to bits any second. “Tell me who owns this beautiful pussy of yours.”

“Ah!” you scream so loud you’re sure the angels can hear you.  “Oh, God Thor, this pussy is yours.”

You can feel his wicked, satisfied smile against your shoulder, his teeth scraping at the skin there. “Say it again,” he tells you, so quiet you barely hear. Like some test or a prayer or a demand. “I want to hear it again.”

(In truth, he wants to hear you say it forever – but once more, for now, will do.)

The spool of thick thread weaves itself tighter and tights inside of you, and when you go to grab at the bedsheets once more you can hear the familiar sound of cotton sheets, ripping. “My pussy is yours, Thor!”

It’s then that the reel collapses in on itself – like the universe in the beginning. Is there a set of planets springing to life inside of you? Is the white-hot you see as you gasp for air a second set of heavens being born? You understand the Book so much better now, now understand why He had to rest; you feel as if you could sleep for a million years when you finally spiral down to Earth.

Thor, obviously, does not feel the same way. He does not pull from you, does not leave you lying motionless, heaving, desperate for cool air in your lungs and on your skin. Rather, he laughs – deep and pitted in his chest.

The bastard.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says between kisses laid upon your jaw. They’re hot, heavy, hard – sometimes you can feel his teeth scrape there. You wonder if he means to mark you so – determined to make an example of you and have you choose the dangerous fate of either parading around or shutting yourself in; or does he does this with no thought at all, barges into isolated women’s homes and shows them the greatest gratification known to man or God. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

You bear your teeth when he pulls back and meets your eyes again. It takes all your minimal willpower not to moan again, given that he hasn’t stopped fucking in and out of you. “Has anyone ever told you they wanted to punch you in the fucking face?”

He laughs again, same as before. “You’ve got a dirty mouth for such a clean woman,” he smirks as he pulls from you and flips you over with ease (your heart flutters – literally flutters, when your chest hits the sheets), knees bracketing you in. “Or, can I call you that no longer?”

Before you can snap back with a retort, he’s got you pulled to your knees by your hair – the follicles bunched in his large fist. You gasp loudly – the searing, sharp pain traveling up the backs of your legs, your spine, your scalp. It hurts, but it also feels so good.

Thor ignores you.

You remain there, tucked into Thor as he ravages you. One arm keeps you upright and tight against his muscular chest, slung across your stomach and tucked into your side so he can feel each bated breath – the other makes quick, small circles over the most sensitive part of you.

“Scream for me,” he whispers into your ear. “Let the whole world hear how good I make you feel.”

You follow his bellowed command, choked whimpers now shouts and cries and shrieks. In any other moment in any other time you’d be embarrassed, like before when you’d cover your mouth to stifle the sounds so no one could hear. Now, though, with no shawl or nighttime or cloak or hand to conceal you from the man you can’t look in the eyes.  

The hand around your stomach moves to the wall in front of you for balance, and you can feel his hot breath as his jaw hangs open.

You’re too far gone, now, to notice him grabbing at your hair again and pressing your cheek into the sheets. You scream each him his hips meet yours, his moans nearly as loud as yours.

“You feel so good,” he groans. “God, you’re so wet. Oh shit!”

He pulls out, blessedly, finishing himself with his hand while the other presses into your lower back. It keeps you there, floating in and out of consciousness but staying near-lifeless on the bed. The shirt he was wearing before – you recognize it from the column of buttons – cleans you off, the thick cotton soothing against your skin.

It’s not long before Thor joins you on the bed, collapsing from exhaustion just as you have. It’s hours before you wake up again, the pitch blackness outside meaning there’s nothing to distract yourself from the reality of the state of your life.

If your world hadn’t been shattered before, you are currently watching it go down in flames. You’ve never seen a barn being burned to the ground, but if you were stuck inside, it’d probably feel like this – you’d probably also be clutching the quilt that’s been haphazardly thrown over you but not Thor, grasping at the sun-bleached fabric as it will save you from destruction.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the ceiling and no one in particular. You still avoid looking at that damned portrait, keeping its aged frame in your periphery. You treat the man currently invading your precious personal space the same way.

Thor laughs next to you, deep in his chest. If you didn’t want to hit him then… “Should I be offended?”

You sigh, still avoiding his gaze. You can feel it burning into you like the sun on a bare back in the middle of July – you fear, if he looks at you too long, that you’ll be burned with his mark for the rest of time. You pull the quilt closer to you, hugging it to your body. “Not everything is about you.”

“I’d agree. Maybe not everything, but this,” Thor taps a few times between your eyebrows where your forehead has wrinkled. “Definitely is.”

He’s confident, so frustratingly confident and radiant and if your life wasn’t falling apart you would fuck him again – without hesitation. If you weren’t reconstructing a path you had mapped the day you understood what “future” meant for you, you’d force him down on the bed and do what you thought your wedding night would look like. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, to realize that you have been dethroned of the future you’d thought, you’d assumed you’d have.

You’re not a geographer, a cartographer, a topographer; you’re just a woman. A very horny woman, who is currently undergoing a crisis.

Thor moves closer to you, wrapped one of his massive arms around your bare waist and shifts so that his massive body weighs you onto the bed and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Love, what are you so worried about? Someone like you shouldn’t have worries like that running through the pretty little head of yours.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. Where do you even begin with him? “What am I worried about? I don’t know, probably the fact that I have to marry you now,” you sigh, eyes screwed shut in hopes you’ll open to find yourself in another bed, in another home, in another life. “That’s pretty fucking terrifying.”

Thor laughs breathily – unfazed. “One, you’re very rude. Has anyone ever told you that? It’s no wonder your father treats you in such a way. It’s a mystery no one else treats you that way. Maybe I should treat you a lesson, huh? Should I treat you to be nicer to the people who treat you nice as I?” he trails off for a minute or two, eyeing you up and down. When you make no move towards him, he continues. “Two, why do you have to marry me?”

You ignore his insolence, attempting to stick to the matter at hand. You fear if you veer off topic for even a moment, he’ll use that opening to pin back onto the bed and then this will be delayed even worse than it currently is and then this conversation will have to happen with even more of a threat of your family coming home before you can handle this yourself and…What were you talking about again? Right. Roping this man into marriage. No big deal. “You just took my purity, of course I have to marry you.”

It’s Thor’s turn to scoff. “That’s not how the world works, baby.”

“It’s how my world works, baby,” You bite back. If you were a snake, you’re sure the last word would’ve been coupled with the spraying of poison all over your companion’s skin. Knowing Thor, though, he’d walk away healthier than ever despite two precise puncture wounds.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, the smile that plays on his lips coloring his words as well. “Oh, really? Why can’t I just walk out of here and pretend none of this ever happened? Why can’t I move onto the next woman, and the next woman, and the next woman. You think I can’t just find a thousand other yous to fill my bed, huh? Why do you think you’re so special?”

You’re sitting up now, covering yourself as Thor lays there bare. He reminds you of a barn cat in the sun, eyes closed and muscles relaxed and tail flicking lazily; if you touched him, you bet his skin would be warmed – if you scratched behind his ears or under his chin, you bet he’d purr. Unlike your barn cat, though, you refuse to leave him be as he enjoys his leisure.  “Why do you think I’d just let you leave? Why do you think you can find another woman, let alone a thousand women even close to me? Sure, leave if you want to, but don’t think you won’t be crawling back to me the second you try and find me in someone who ain’t me. Nuh-uh, you’ll find yourself here, in the dirt, at my feet.”

There’s a long, thick silence that settles over the both of you as Thor sits up, too. His face is playful, but still look in your eyes for any ounce of insincerity. He finds none. “You’re a little spitfire, you know that? Feral little thing, you are.”

You leave the bed, wrapping yourself in a robe you find rumbled under the bed. You don’t know if it’s to protect yourself from the immodesty of walking around naked as the day you were born, or if you’re hoping covering up to prove to Thor you’re not just some hussy. As if whatever in Hell just went down doesn’t disprove whatever notions of modesty you’re hoping to project. Either way, it busies your hands and keeps your eyes from him. “Of course.” You don’t speak again until you’re at the doorway, back facing him with head turned to the side just so. Who’s the cat now? “Do you?”

You walk away after that, leaving to find food or water or maybe a gun. Thor neither knows nor cares. Either way, he allows his body to fall back onto the bed with a thud and listens to your footsteps padding on the floor. Once you’re out of earshot, he sighs deep and happy.  “I sure do, babygirl. I sure do.”

[choerrypuffs]

hello! may i request barista!xiaojun trying to make medstudent!reader feel better while studying for exams but he does it awkwardly and cute?? i love your works esp. that billionaire!kun angst sksjs

anonymous said: YOUR TAEYONG AU WAS SO CUTE MY H E A R T 😁😁😁 can i request something as cute as that for xiaojun? perhaps even another neighbor au heheh–but you dont have to if you dont want to! i would just like some fluffy xiaojun :))

pairing: bartender!xiaojun x med student!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.6k

author’s note: two requests for xiaojun in a row, wow this really is his world and we’re just living in it 

With each page turn, you feel a little bit of your sanity leave you.

You’ve been cooped up in your dorm for the past week, studying for the absolute hell that is finals week. You’re running on four hours of sleep and hell of a lot of caffeine. Day and night have just been blending together and you genuinely have no concept of time anymore. Your roommate has been staying with her boyfriend more often, which leaves you and your misery all alone with no one to vent to.

This must be what solitary confinement feels like, you think to yourself.

Once you read the same sentence for the tenth time in a row, you finally give up and slam your anatomy textbook closed. It’s only 11:20 PM, so you decide to go out for some fresh air. Just the thought of being in this room any longer makes you feel suffocated.  

You don’t bother changing out of your sweatpants and t-shirt, simply throwing a light jacket over it. You’re not sure when you last washed your hair so you tease it up into a ponytail. Shooting your roommate a quick text (though you’re pretty sure she’s not going to see it), you grab your wallet and keys and head out. 

The night air feels cool when it hits you and you close your eyes, relishing the breeze. You begin to wander aimlessly around the neighborhood, trying to procrastinate going back as much as possible. After a while, you eventually stop in front of a bar. 

You aren’t much of a drinker because you really don’t have the time to be one. When you do drink once in a blue moon, it’s usually with your roommate on the floor of your room. Just once, you’d like to have that experience of getting blackout drunk at a bar and dealing with a nasty hangover instead of blacking out after pulling an all-nighter studying and dealing with staying awake in your 8 AM chemistry class.

Squaring your shoulders and straightening your back, you confidently push open the doors and walk in. You expect a loud club-like scene with a bunch of people dancing on top of each other, but that’s not what you get at all. The place is low-lit with jazzy music playing, and there’s barely any people here. Instead of a dance floor, there’s a big pool table in the middle of the room. The bar is all the way in the back, and you awkwardly navigate past a tipsy couple playing pool to get to it.

There’s only one person sitting at the bar, an elderly man wearing a suit. He’s chatting jovially with the bartender, swirling the drink in his hand around. You can tell by the way they’re talking that they are very comfortable with each other, and you almost feel a little bad for intruding. The bartender hears you approaching and looks up. You nearly trip over your own feet when you make eye contact with him.

He’s so good-looking that you’re honestly a little intimidated. Dark, messy hair that falls into his eyes, features that are on par with any model, and looks damn good in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. You kind of just want to run away, but he’s already seen you so it’s too late.

“What can I get you?” he asks, smiling politely. His nametag reads Xiaojun.

You sigh, shrugging. “Something that’ll make me forget, or take off my pants.” 

Xiaojun stares at you, clearly not expecting that answer. The elderly man laughs, a big belly laugh that makes you involuntarily smile. “Darlin’, that would be tequila.”

“Then I’ll have that,” you nod. 

“First time here?” Xiaojun asks, shooting a stern glance at the elderly man.

“How could you tell?” you joke.

“Just a hunch,” he chuckles, “anyways, I don’t think tequila is what beginners should start with.”

“I’ll drink whatever you give me. I just want to get drunk,” you respond, shrugging.

“Rough night?” Xiaojun looks up at you as he begins to make your drink.

“You could say that,” you sigh again, propping your face up on the counter top with your palm.

“I’m all ears if you want to talk about it, um…” 

“Y/N,” you supply, “and thanks. I’m sure I’ll go on some drunken tirade anyways, so be prepared.”

The elderly man is quiet as the two of you chat, a knowing smile across his face. He finishes the rest of his drink before clearing his throat, taking his brief case from the seat beside him. Placing some bills on the counter top, he says, “Anyways, I gotta get going. The missus is waiting for me back home.” 

“So soon?” Xiaojun asks, surprised.

“Yup,” he replies, “I’ll see you later, Xiaojun.” 

“Alright, be careful.” 

The man turns to leave and you wave him goodbye. He winks at you as he gets out of his seat, and you’re confused as to why but you smile at him anyway.

“Here’s your drink,” Xiaojun says, setting a glass in front of you. 

The concoction is red at the very bottom before it turns light pink at the top, like an ombré effect. You can’t help but marvel at how beautiful it is (just like him). 

“Wow,” you breathe, “it’s so pretty.” 

“It’s called Love Affair,” he explains, before turning red and immediately beginning to splutter. “U-Um, the name is weird but it’s my favorite drink, so uh…”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling at how flustered he is. You bring the glass to your lips and take a sip. It burns slightly, but you don’t particularly hate the feeling. It’s tangy, like a citrus fruit but also a little sweet. 

“How is it?” Xiaojun asks, a touch of anxiousness in his expression. 

“I like it,” you say, drinking more. 

“I’m glad,” he beams, looking both relieved and proud. 

It doesn’t take you long to finish it, and he makes you some of his other favorites. You feel the buzz get progressively stronger, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re drunk. Xiaojun can tell too because the drinks he gives you becomes more and more diluted with each glass. He’s in the middle of making your fifth drink when the rational part of your brain finally logs out.

“Do you ever feel like giving up and just becoming a homeless person for the rest of your life?” you ask, slightly slurring. 

Xiaojun looks up, amused. Your face is flushed and your hands are on your warm cheeks as you just barely manage to prop yourself up. Whether it’s intentional or not, you’re slightly swaying back and forth to the background music. You look absolutely adorable and he feels his heart rate quicken. 

“Actually, I have,” he says truthfully. “Why?”

“Well, I currently feel like that right about now,” you confess, “and it sucks.” 

“Did something particular happen?” he asks gently. 

“I’m a med student,” you explain, “and finals are coming up. I’ve been studying nonstop, but it feels like nothing is sticking. It’s just―so much is banking on these exams and I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I fail. How on Earth am I gonna pay back my student loans? What if I become one of those losers that live in their parents’ basement because they can’t get a job? What if I become a beggar on the side of the streets?” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Xiaojun gently dabs your tears away with a napkin. You’re embarrassed but not nearly as much as you would be if you were sober. Sniffling, you try to apologize but he doesn’t let you. 

“Look at me,” he says gently, cupping your face with his hands and slightly squishing your cheeks together. His hands feel cool against your skin. “I’ve felt exactly the same before, but you know what? It’ll pass. Don’t freak yourself out. Study hard like you have been, and you will do just fine. Make sure to take breaks too. Oh, and don’t go to bars during the middle of exam season either.”

You laugh, slightly leaning into his touch. Xiaojun looks down at your lips, and for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you before he steps back and takes his hands away from your face. You pout as he does. 

“Right,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat, “you’ve had enough drinks. I’ll call you a cab, so go home.” 

You whine, but he’s not having it. Once you realize your sulking isn’t going to work, you huff loudly and fish out your wallet. “How much do I owe you?” 

“Nothing,” he replies, “it’s on the house. As a good luck to your exams.”

You smile at him. “You’re very sweet, Xiaojun.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a pink tinge to his cheeks. You try to get up, but your legs feel like jelly, and you fall back into your seat again. Xiaojun immediately is at your side, wrapping your arm around his shoulders as he helps you leave. He manages to get a cab within minutes and even shoves some money in your hands for the fare. 

“For more good luck,” he says, grinning. 

You want him to kiss you so badly that you blurt, “Kiss me. For even more good luck.

Xiaojun’s eyes widen, and it’s cute, but his response is less so. “I can’t. You’re drunk.” 

Damn him for being a gentleman. 

“But…maybe tomorrow,” he promises, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

The cab driver honks, and Xiaojun quickly ushers you in the car. He waves at you as you drive away. When you can no longer see him anymore, you let out the breath you’ve been holding and lean back. You can’t tell if your face is warm from the alcohol or something else.

[cherry3point14]

SO NOW YOU WANT TO READ?

DESCRIPTION: You need a break and you think you’ve figured out the perfect way to not research. That is it’s perfect until you need your research. 

[A short oneshot based during S12? Basically whenever Sam is in the library (so all the time).  Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean. Words: 1,768. Warnings: Blink and you’ll miss it violence. Allusions to human sacrifice]

AO3 link here if you would prefer.

You were a genius. One day the finest scholars would dare to try and unravel the subtle intricacies of your mind and they would, undoubtedly, fail. Because you’d been sitting with super nerd Sam for the past week now and he still had no idea that you weren’t doing research.

He was better at research anyway so it’s a victimless crime really.

You had briefly considered telling Dean of your brilliance and how you were getting away with it. You know, paying it forward, but somehow you just knew that he would get you caught. Probably by getting caught himself and then ratting you out to take the fall. 

The trick was cliff notes. Or at least the text summarizer you found online. For twenty minutes prep, you had found a way to create compelling lore cliff notes. A little scanning with your phone, let the OCR app do its magic and then plop that into the text summarizer. Bingo, bongo baby.

Then all you had to do is decide what you wanted to do with your time. One time you’d watched four episodes of the office on your phone, it wasn’t the first time you’d researched with your headphones on after all. Yesterday you’d sat there genuinely reading, just not the ridiculously dull, half Old Russian book on ritual sacrifices.

The best part? Whenever he looked up at you with those big, round eyes of his and asked you how it was going you had your little summary right there to casually throw into the conversation.

“Getting through it, I don’t think there’s anything on why we’re seeing this pattern in South Carolina, I mean this is just going on and on about the deity Perun, a big deal by the way, like a mix of Thor and Odin. But I don’t think twelfth century Slavic is going to help.”

You almost crack when he smiles at you like you might just be the most helpful person in the universe, “don’t worry Y/N, we’ll figure this out.”

Yep. You can feel the guilt creeping up your chest. You know you should be helping. You almost throw down the trashy romance novel you're reading in favor of actually reading the huge chronicle you’re balancing on your knees.

But you just wanted a little downtime and with the number of cases you’d been working lately, this was the only way you might get it.

Besides Sam loved research, so it was a victimless crime… right?

The Thor looking piece of work has you tied up against an oak tree. Luckily, it’s young and narrow enough that your arms aren’t being painfully pulled from their sockets while you try to maneuver yourself out of the bonds, unluckily the boy scout knew his knots and the whole process was taking you longer than you hoped.

And considering Dean is being prepared for some good old-fashioned human sacrifice you really needed to get free.

Sam is struggling the same as you, his bigger hands against the tough knots proving harder than expected. You make it out first and wait only a minute until the God wannabe is distracted with some concoction he’s mixing, before you slip out of sight to free Sam.

He turns to you without thanks, a giant bundle of panic and adrenaline, “ok so angel blades are a no go. You read the stuff on Perun, what kills him?”

So much for your victimless crime.

You rack your brains hoping that somewhere in those summaries, which you hadn’t even read properly, you’d flitted your eyes over the answer. But all that’s coming back to you is experts from your tacky erotica.

Eduardo held her by the waist, pinning her to him with every ounce of his strength. His height towering over her made her feel small, but his hands wrapped around her made her feel safe.

“Um, well, I’m trying to remember…” you trail off trying to buy some time.

Sam claps his hands to your shoulder like it might wake you up from a trance. “Y/N we don’t have time, you spent hours going through the Russian. He’s going to kill Dean. What do we need to use to kill him?”

Eduardo leaned into her with a hand fisted into her hair, “you are so beautiful my love, my Isabella. Like the morning sun that drowns out the night. Kiss me and I’ll be yours, forever.”

“Oh my god!” you shout whisper, mindful of the enemy who would only be distracted for so long, “you got me ok. I didn’t do the reading. Are you happy? I read some shitty romance novel instead and I haven’t been doing research all week and now we don’t know how to kill this pantheon prick and he’s going to sacrifice Dean and then you and me, and I have no idea how to kill him.”

He looks horrified and although it’s not a great moment to make a joke you think he’s probably most horrified that you weren’t doing research. Not the imminent deaths. 

You feel like he’s about two seconds away from telling you he’s disappointed, which everyone knows is worse than angry, so you ramble on hoping for the best. “Let’s just take a guess ok. I mean these idiots are normally bite the hand that feeds you types so maybe it’s something that he gets his power from can also be used to kill him?”

“So, any idea what that might be? And don’t suggest thunder, please.”

You’re pacing the shadows now willing yourself to remember anything.

“He’s hot for fire and mountains… maybe fire? Burning him? Need to get him to stay still first though.”

You lean back against the tree Sam had been tied, the bark against your back is like a jolt to your head, “oak!”

Sam raises an eyebrow at you, apparently, all the trust was gone. “Oak?”

“Yeah. His mythology is not that different from Zeus. I’m telling you, it’s oak. We’ve just got to… hey, give me a boost.”

“What?”

You thrust a finger in the direction of the alter Dean is unconscious on while Perun is anointing him with shimmering, golden oil, “I think he’ll hear us if we start trying to chop one of these trees down but if you help me up there I can probably break off a branch.”

The next five minutes involve Sam pushing you up into the tree he’d been tied to and you, not a natural tree climber, attempting to not slide back down the trunk. You eventually manage to start pulling a hefty branch back and forth but that’s when Sam hisses at you, “he’s chanting now.”

You give up being quiet for the sake of speed, holding yourself to the tree with one arm and leveraging your weight into repeatedly kicking the branch until it starts to splinter. It takes a few tries but finally, the stump of wood falls to the ground where Sam grabs it and rushes over to the sacrificial scene in front of you both. That leaves you on your own to fall, pretty pathetically, from the tree.

Perun, having sped up his words once he heard the commotion you were making, is now holding up an intricate, curved blade when Sam takes his shot. He pushes the oak branch through his chest. For a moment it looks like it hasn’t worked and only slowed him down instead but Sam, being brilliant as he is, worked it out from the rest of your rambling.

He pulls out a lighter and sets the wood on fire while the phony God is still impaled on it. The fire sets quickly and you suspect that Sam doused the branch in lighter fluid first. Perun doesn’t look angry as he burns just frozen in shock as the fire licks at him, leaving a smoldering pile of ashes in seconds.

You pull yourself up from the floor and run over to check on the elder Winchester, “Hey Dean, wake up.” Sam joins you in shaking him until Dean’s eyes open and he jokes like only he can after nearly becoming a human kebab, “what’d I miss?”

“Hey Sammy, mind if I join you?”

He’s looking at the book he just lifted from the shelf when he glares at you like he’s not quite over you betraying the sanctity of the library.

“I’ll take that face as a yes.”

You sit down in the vacant seat next to his pile of books knowing he will have no choice but to return to his seat next to you. Which he does with pursed lips as his eyes scan the page.

“Come on, I said I was sorry. You know I love reading obscure lore books with you it’s just, I needed a break.”

He sighs, “why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“Because then you’d have tried to read my pile on top of yours and, well, how was I supposed to know that the exact information we needed would be in one of the books I pretended to read?”

Although there’s still a crease in his forehead you can see the lines of his mouth soften, “we don’t know what information we need or what book it's in, that’s kind of the point of research.”

You grin because you think that means you’re forgiven but you ask him just to double check, “so you forgive me? I can be your book buddy again?”

“As long as you don’t call us book buddies.” This time he’s smiling too.

An hour later and you stand up stretching your arms and offering to go make some coffee, which he gladly encourages. When you return with two mugs he has an unexpected twinkle in his eye as he accepts one from you.

“Oh, my Isabella, you are too kind to Eduardo.” He's put on a ridiculous Spanish accent.

You freeze for a moment, absolutely mortified. The only thing that saves you is Sam’s face, it’s not as judgemental as you might have expected, and maybe after the whole fake research thing you deserve some measure of embarrassment.

Clearing your throat, you adopt an equally bad accent, “Oh Eduardo, take me away to the sea!”

His eyebrow raises dramatically, “Kiss me my Isabella and I’ll be yours, forever.”

You join him in the laughter and throw a playful punch to scold him for teasing you. Sitting down with your coffee and returning to your reading you barely manage to stop your wistful sigh.

God, if he kissed you right now you would be his, forever.

[le-sejour]

He Said, She Said

Words: 4,356

Pairing: Alexander x Reader

World: Modern/College AU

Warnings: Cursing, drunken canoodling, TJeffs (he’s a warning all on his own), mentions of slut-shaming?, dabbing, p e g g y

Fic Request:  “Hi! Could you write about a jealous reader watching Alexander flirt? Thank you~”

A/N: So. I took this request and ran with it all the way around the world, twice. This turned out way longer and more serious than I anticipated, and contained a lot more angst than I originally planned. Woops. But aaaaaaa first request! 

I really hope this was to your liking, anon! c: 

“I’m too sober for this.”

John, your dear freckled friend, watched you knowingly from his seat beside you. You’ve been nursing your fourth glass of bourbon for a while now, your eyes trying not to stray to a particular figure on the dance floor.

“Well, you haven’t exactly been drinking since your third glass…” He reminded you, an amused lilt to his words. You scowled. The smug bastard may be your closest friend but right now you wanted to punch the smirk off his face.

“Smartass.” Finally, you took a small sip from your glass.

“Thanks, my ass graduated with Latin honors.”

Your face contorted with a mix of confusion and amusement. “What the hell, Laurens?”

“Just trying to cheer you up, babe.” He winked at you before an understanding smile spread across his face. You smiled back weakly. God, was this man an angel amongst mortals.

The only other member of your pity party had already downed his second beer for the night, and was now casually fiddling with the peanuts in front of him while you poured your soul out. You looked down into your drink for the nth time that night.

You felt bad, really you did. You, the boys, and the Schuylers had all agreed to go out tonight to unwind from the hell that was finals week, but all you were doing was wallowing in your own grievances. Now you somehow managed to suck one of them into your sphere of sorrows.

“You don’t have to,” You murmured, swirling your drink around. “You should go have fun tonight; land a hot lay or, I don’t know, get shit faced drunk. Maybe buy another turtle.”

Your eyes strayed to the dance floor, glossing over ever so slightly as you watched your friend chatting up yet another girl who looked way too happy at the attention. You gripped your glass tighter, your knuckles turning white at the pressure. Don’t cry, [Name]. Deep breaths.

“Just do something, anything instead of listening to my sob story.”

John opened his mouth to say something, probably to refute your statement, but was cut off by the one person you really wanted to avoid tonight.

“Hey, bartender! An appletini for this beautiful lady. On me.”

Just your luck. Just your dumb fucking luck.

You swallowed an enraged sob that tickled your throat as Alexander leaned across the bar space beside you; his newest, extremely giggly conquest hanging off of him and playing with his hair.

He had leaned down to whisper something in the brunette’s ear, but due to how inebriated he was, you heard it loud and clear.

“And perhaps have the beautiful lady on me?”

The slurred speech was promptly cut off by his companion pulling him into a deep kiss.

Unbelievable.

Your eyes quickly filled with unshed tears as you slammed a few bills on the shiny, redwood bar top, your cheeks red with indignance. Without waiting for John’s reaction, you picked up your glass and downed the contents in one gulp before making your way outside.

Across the room, the Schuyler sisters were dancing in a small circle with their partners; Angelica was swaying to the beat with Lafayette, the two of them in some sort of conversation, and Eliza was shyly following Maria’s lead as they danced together. Peggy had been performing a variety of iconic (and ironic) dance moves that made Hercules double over laughing.

When you finally made it to the door, the youngest Schuyler paused in her movements. Her brows knitted in concern, thinking you probably had too much to drink as you’ve been at the bar since you arrived. But as her eyes landed on John scrambling to pay for his drinks and Alexander sucking face with some rando, the gears in her mind clicked into place.

Oh no.

“Liza, Angie,” Peggy called out to the other two, her voice laced with concern.  Maybe this outing was a mistake. Her sisters, however, were still caught up in their own bubbles, completely oblivious to what was happening around them.

She rolled her eyes, turning to her own partner instead, “[Name] just left the bar. Alone.”

“What?” Now, despite his intimidating and hulking appearance, Hercules Mulligan had quite the soft spot for you and the Schuylers. He had always treated the four of you like his sisters; looking out for you more, and getting overly protective. “Stay here and tell the others. I’ll go after her.”

Peggy wanted to come with, but ultimately knew the Irishman could handle things better than her. She’d probably suggest clocking Alexander square in the nose anyway. Still, she felt her heart ache for you, unable to imagine what was going on in your mind right now.

You leaned against the nearest lamppost, the cold metal contrasting heavily with your overheated body.

This day was a disaster.

“I should have stayed home,” You mumbled angrily to yourself, tears trailing down your cheeks. “This was a mistake. That party was a mistake. Alex was a goddamned mistake.”

Shaky inhale.

“God, I’m so stupid.”

“We both know that’s not true, [Name].”

You sniffled miserably, slumping to the ground, “I let him lead me on, Herc… I let him kiss me, and make me feel things and-and-!”

Strong, bulky arms wrapped around your shivering body as you let out the sobs you’ve held in for so long.

“I don’t understand! He-He kissed me that night! He showed me he was interested! We made plans for a date before he completely cut me off…” The utter defeat and hurt lacing your voice caused Herc to tighten his grip around you. He tried not to get mad at his friend, knowing he must stay a neutral party for both of your sakes. But what the hell did Alex do?

Moments later, the door to the bar opened to reveal Eliza and Lafayette, the former obviously worried while the latter seemed to be a lot more collected. They made their way over to you, Eliza brushing your hair back behind your ear.

“What’s wrong, [Name]?” You couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears pouring from your eyes as the gentle tone reminded you so much of your mother, and the gesture reminding you so much of Alexander.

“Please tell us what’s wrong, chérie.” Lafayette knelt to level with you, his expression calm but his eyes glazed over in worry. You appreciated how he was always the voice of reason, the rational thoughts to your weepy emotions. He always seemed to be the level-headed one in tense situations, even when other people were running around like headless chickens.

“We have noticed you and le petit lion at odds lately. We have all just brushed it off as how you say.. hellweek stress? But clearly, it is something more.”

“I…” Your breath hitched, lips hesitating to form the words. Eliza nodded encouragingly at you, her hands clasping your own. You kept your eyes trained on hers, her gaze calming you enough to continue. “It was during the sem-ender party. The Debate Society was having it before finals, you know? Because most of the members would be leaving as soon as… as soon as finals ended, and they wanted to distress everyone before final reqs…”

Loud music reverberated throughout the hallways, sometimes shaking a few pictures when the bass drops. You brought your red solo cup to your lips, gulping down the last of whatever concoction your host had put together. It probably contained enough alcohol to knock you out in a few minutes, but hey, it tasted deceivingly like lemonade.

You placed the cup on the protruding window sill, a sigh escaping your painted lips.

It had been a while since you found yourself on the driveway of your teammate’s house, the chilly autumn air raising goosebumps along your arms. The living room had gotten a little too warm and stuffy for you, where, incidentally, most of the party was happening. You turned back to peek through the window, vaguely seeing someone being lifted up by one of your clubmates.

This wasn’t really your scene. Sure, you didn’t turn your nose up at a drink here and there, but you weren’t really that well assimilated with the other members of the Society. You were only here at the insistence of Angelica and Alexander. They, mostly Angelica, had insisted you deserved a little break for the wins you’ve landed this year.

But, you only agreed because of the look Alexander shot you. He seemed genuinely interested in going, so you acquiesced. God knows Alexander needed the break more than you did, and it totally wasn’t because he caused your heart rate to speed up tenfold with just a look.

“Aha! There you are.”

A smile broke through your lips, turning to face the very reason you agreed to this in the first place. He looked a little ruffled, his hair mussed up, his clothes and glasses askew.

You wolf whistled, “Wild night?”

Alexander flushed, his hands going everywhere to try and fix his appearance as quickly as possible, “You left me for dead at the mercy of our ‘friends’! They had Jefferson manhandle me!”

You laughed, your brain quickly connecting the dots from that little scene you saw through the window.

“Ohh, so it was you I saw being held up like a little pup.”

“[Na~ame].” You felt your cheeks getting redder than it already was, finding it cute how he whined your name like that. You only ever saw him this way when his system was shot with alcohol. Normally, he’d be barking angry tirades of how Jefferson was pulling a Julius Caesar to get what he wants and would be better off muzzled, lest he rip the very fabric of your Society to shreds.

“I was just getting some air, Alexander. It was getting a little crowded in there,” You answered after a while of silence, your eyes still trained towards the street. Sensing his suddenly sobering aura, you smiled mischievously, “Thomas’ ego took up half the living room.”

“[Name],” Your smile dropped to a reassuring one. You knew what that tone meant. And while the concern wasn’t unwelcomed, you’d rather he didn’t worry about you on the night both of you were supposed to be relaxing.

“I’m fine, Alexander.”

You felt his fingers brushing the side of your cheek, leaving flames burning in its wake. He had tucked a few loose locks of hair behind your ear before cupping the side of your face, a gesture that made your breath stall. His eyes bore into your own when you finally turned to face him.

His face was close.

You raised a hand to rest against his own, your head leaning into his hold despite yourself.

“You should have come to me, [Name].” He whispered, his thumb stroking your cheek lightly. He had leaned his forehead against your own. “I know what this feels like… We’re in the same spot.”

Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest with how fast it was beating. You tried desperately to calm yourself, willing your breath to go from quick and shallow to slow and deep. This was a side you’ve never seen from him before. He was never this gentle, this intimate. Alexander was an outspoken, hard-headed, loud young man who did everything he could to be seen as someone worth listening to. He was constantly on this uphill climb, he never seemed to have time to slow down or take a break.

But Lord, he smelled so good up close, even when his breath smelled like fruity alcohol. Your lips parted slightly, your pupils blown out in desire.

He was so close.

“Alexander…” You breathed, your eyes closing on their own accord. “What are you doing…?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

He closed the gap between you.

Sparks and tingles ran across your body, overwhelming your systems so much you accidentally let out a soft moan. You pulled away, blushing, stuttering your attempt to apologize. But Alexander had just pulled you back in for another kiss.

Angelica stared at the slowly sobering man in front of her, her gaze hard and unreadable. Alexander sat in front of the eldest Schuyler and Peggy, Maria and John on either side of him, while his little friend nowhere to be found.

“So you decided to be a dick and hook up with Chuckles over there because?” The youngest Schuyler, unlike her sister, was completely readable after the story he just divulged to them. “Seriously, Alex. None of us here gets it. You kiss the girl of your dreams, she doesn’t smack you straight to next week, and then you drop her like a hot potato? What gives?”

The man in question mumbles his response, his eyes dropped to the table as he shifts in his seat.

“What?” John stared at him in disbelief, Maria quirking an eyebrow at what she heard.

“What ‘what’? What did he say?” Peggy looked back and forth between the two, not having heard what was said.

“I said she hooked up with Jefferson.”

Alexander was on cloud nine.

He was practically floating down the halls of the men’s dorm a few days since the party. He may have gotten a bunch of crass and teasing remarks but for once, he didn’t dignify any of them with a response. Why?

Because! You reciprocated his feelings!

He let a goofy smile take over his lips, thoughts of you occupying his mind. You even agreed to go on a date this weekend! He was going to make sure everything was perfect for you. He was even going as far as to enlist the help of James Madison and Aaron Burr. He could try to put their differences aside just this once since they both grew up with you, and most likely knew things neither he nor the others in your little squad knew about.

He rounded the corner to his dorm before he felt the world screech to a halt, his heart plummeting to his feet.

There you were. As beautiful and mesmerizing as always.

Emerging from Jefferson’s dorm room.

“Thanks for the book, T.” You were smiling that bright, sunny smile you always had. As if you didn’t just walk out of his mortal enemy’s room with said enemy half naked. “And, look, I know I was stubborn and gave you shit for it at first, but thanks for last night too. I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

He couldn’t believe his ears.

You- with- But why! He felt so much rage and confusion filling him; he didn’t even notice his sight blurring or the wetness on his cheeks. He wanted to call out to you, demand why in the world you were in that man’s room. But you had your back to him.

Jefferson, however, saw him. And the smirk he threw him had him seeing red.

“No problem, doll,” He heard the Virginian fuckwad drawl out, his hand coming up to brush a lock of your hair behind your ear; reminiscent of how he did that to you just a few days ago. “It was my pleasure. Perhaps we could do it again sometime?”

“Sure, why not?” He heard you answer as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “You’re surprisingly good at what you do, Thomas. I guess I’m lucky you found me when you did, because I probably wouldn’t have finished if it weren’t for you.”

The smug look on Thomas Jefferson’s face had him walking up to you, ready to beat the ever living hell out of him, but your next words stopped him in his tracks.

“And, look, while I do appreciate your help, can you keep this from Alex? He’d flip out if he knew, and I really don’t want to end a relationship before it even started.”

“Oh, trust me darlin’. He won’t hear it from me.”

“Wait, what??”

You had already calmed down enough for Herc to let you stand on your own, but Eliza still had your hand in hers. Lafayette looked troubled.

“Yeah, exactly,” You whispered, your heart still caught in your throat. “Yeah, he… I didn’t think of it anything at first, but the week after the party, I barely saw him. It’s like he suddenly fell off the face of the earth. We made plans to have lunch together, and have study dates, but he just… I thought he was busy!”

A frown pulled at your lips as you exited your last class for the day, ready to just bury your face in bed. You anxiously checked your phone, wondering if Alexander finally had the time to talk to you.

No notifications.

You tried to reassure yourself as you put away your phone. He was probably just really busy. You and the rest of your group knew how Alex could be during finals week. That man was non-stop. You smiled to yourself at the thought before getting a brilliant idea; maybe you could get him to de-stress with you! You’ll get all his favorite snacks and just have an afternoon to yourselves.

You were making your way through the little forested area on the way to grab stuff from your dorm when you heard noises just off the path. Thinking it might have been one of the campus cats, you ventured to check it out.

Boy, you wished you hadn’t.

Your throat ran dry as your eyes started to water.

There was the man you had fallen for since your first year, engaged in a furious make out session with a blonde haired stranger.

You’ve never ran as fast as you had that day.

“Congratulations.”

Everyone at the table stared at Angelica with apprehension. She hasn’t given her thoughts on the matter the whole night, so now that she chose to open her mouth, everyone knew not to get in the way. Maria, however, seemed to let a little smirk slip as she bowed her head. Alexander visibly flinched, knowing whatever she was going to say, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You’ve invented a new kind of stupid.” She started, her voice level and soft, betraying the actual emotions behind her words. But she just went increasingly biting from there. “A ‘damage you can never undo’ kind of stupid. An ‘open all the cages in the zoo’ kind of stupid.”

The rest of the table stayed quiet, knowing the wrath of Angelica was about to be released. “’Truly, you didn’t think this through’ kind of stupid. Let’s review:”

“Maybe I should have seen this coming…”

The look Eliza gave you made you feel like you just offended her great ancestors and kicked her puppy. You gave a weak laugh.

“Alexander’s always looking to rise above his station. He has big dreams for himself, and I guess he realized I would be pinning him down.” You explained, wringing your hands. Hercules frowned, opening his mouth to rebut that statement but you cut him off.

“We all know he’ll never be satisfied with this kind of life; uncertainty and loans always looming above us. I should just come to terms with it. It wouldn’t have worked out well, anyway.”

“Non, ma chérie, that is not the case.” Lafayette’s voice finally reached your ears for the second time this night, his concerned expression softening to a more comforting one. “That is not the Alexander we know. He is not as shallow as to kiss you and then how you say ‘hook up’ with another femme. There must be something bothering him.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not a reason to ditch [Name] with another woman, Laf. If something was bothering him, he should’ve just talked to [Name] about it.” Hercules crossed his arms, shaking his head in disapproval.  

“Oui, I understand this. I, myself, cannot wrap my head around why Alex would have done what he did, and I know nothing he says would make it excusable. However, the only way to know why he is giving our petite chou the freezing shoulder-“

At this, you couldn’t help the small laugh that left your lips, “It’s cold, Gilbert. Cold shoulder.”

“Ah- Oui, oui, desolée,” The sides of the Frenchman’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, finally glad to see some semblance of the you they’ve come to love resurface. “The cold shoulder. The only way to know why he is giving [Name] the cold shoulder is to have them ah… tête-à-tête. There must be something to this story we’re not seeing.”

“-and you chose to mess around with a bunch of unremarkable women! You even implied to us that she was whorish enough to sleep with Jefferson after admitting her feelings for you! So yes, good luck getting the woman you considered the ‘best thing’ in your life back!” Angelica’s face had gone slightly red at how disgruntled she was by Alexander’s behavior. “Because if she doesn’t want you back, we can all understand why.”

By the end of the rant, Alexander seemed to have shrunk into himself; a first for the typically outspoken young man. For once in his life, he couldn’t seem to find the drive to argue with the woman in front of him. He tried to review the memories of the past weeks. Maybe there was something he was missing? Some angle he didn’t consider?

Angelica was right. By jumping to the conclusion he did, he basically branded you a slut. His throat suddenly felt cottony, his face aflame with shame. How was he going to explain himself to you?

You were now on your way back inside, Lafayette’s suggestion of talking to Alexander had the small group agreeing it was the best course of action. You were skeptical, however. Unsure of how he would react to this. Would he lash out? Brush you off? You clutched Herc’s hand tighter in unease, him squeezing your own in reassurance.

Soon enough, there you were; standing in front of the man that started it all as both of your groups dispersing to grant you some privacy. Well, as much privacy as there is in a bar packed with people.

“[Na-]”

“Alex-“

“No, [Name], wait. I just- I want to apologize for everything. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about you. I reacted too quickly, failing to give you the time you needed to explain yourself. I’m sorry, [Name]. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I know nothing I say will take away whatever you’ve felt the past few weeks, won’t erase the hell I put you through… I just-  I want you to know how much I regret everything I’ve done.” He breathed a little before looking down. You’ve never seen anyone look so despondent. “But that kiss that night… I don’t regret that. That was the only good thing I’ve done, it seems…”

You remained silent, scooting yourself over in the seat beside him. None of you said a word for a while, just listening to each other’s breathing over the loud music pumping in the bar.

“Can you tell me why, Alex?”

And he did.

He told you about the walk to his dorm, the plans he had about contacting Madison and Burr, him seeing you walk out of Jefferson’s dorm, the conversation he overheard. How the urge to beat up his rival fizzled until all he could do was bury himself even more into his studies.

He told you about the hurt that threatened to spill out of his eyes, how, in the height of emotions, he decided to mess around with girls to spite you and make you jealous. Through everything, you stayed silent at his side, your eyes never leaving the table top.

The end of his story was followed by another barrage of apologies. How he regretted his actions, how childish he was, how he wouldn’t blame you if you decided to go to Jefferson after all. He probably would have continued too, if you hadn’t raised your hand to his mouth.

“[Name]?”

“I was borrowing a book. You knew that, yes? You heard me thank him for it.”

Alexander nodded, his mouth still behind your outstretched hand.

“It was a book I needed for my World History research paper. I was writing about The Arabian Nights and how it contributed to the telling of Asian history. The library’s copy of both The Arabian Nights and Orientalism and The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research was taken out and has been overdue for 3 weeks prior to my asking for it.“

You sighed, bringing your hand down before pinching the bridge of your nose.

“For the conversation you decided to sexualize: Thomas found me while I was struggling with my design elective. We were tasked to produce at least five alternate designs of items found around campus and I could barely finish one that I was satisfied with. So when help sat its inflated ego down in front of me, how was I going to refuse?

He offered to help me in exchange for being on his team during the first debate next semester- don’t look at me like that, it was a fair enough deal- and we got to work. After a while, we started talking and one thing led to another and I ended up spilling my frustrations over the MIA books for my history class and he offered to lend me his.”

Silence settled over you two like a looming cloud.

“So… were you jealous?”

You glared at him enough to cause balls to recede.

He coughed.

More silence.

“Date this Saturday?”

“Try again, Alexander.”

“Fair enough.”

Your friends, who had gone back to enjoying their night, glanced over at the both of you, some shaking their heads.

“You’d think they’d make up a lot faster considering they never seem to shut up.”

“Maybe we broke them. I know Angie broke Alexander. We haven’t heard a peep from him since her outburst. L m a o”

“Did you actually just say ‘lmao’??”

“Fuck off, turtle-boy, I can say w t f I want. If you don’t like it, g t f o h8r.”

“What the fuck, Peggy.”

“DAB ON THE H8RS”

“Wait, where are you going!”

[potter---imagines-blog]

Why Not Me

James Potter x Reader

A/n: Probably gonna do a part 2 if you guys want one because I feel like I could keep going with this. Warnings: some swearing, a little angst. Words: 2155

 You had known James Potter since you were three years old. You lived in the house next to his and you two had grown up together. After being best friends with someone for 13 years obviously you get attached, and it’s natural to be protective of them. That’s how you were justifying you’re feelings at this point, but it wasn’t working out too well. It wasn’t painfully obvious that you felt more then friendship towards James, everyone knew you two were close so no one suspected a thing. Especially not James, he was too head over heels for Lily Evans. Lately he hasn’t played you a lick of attention, he was too busy trying to catch hers. It’s not that you didn’t like Lily in fact you two were very close friends, you just envied her. You envied how easily she captured his attention and had him wrapped around her finger with a few simple words. It was just so frus-”Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Your other best friend Victoria was frantically waving her hands in front of your face standing in front of where you were previously spaced out sitting at a library table.  “Yes” you replied in a monotone voice, still in a daze from your little disconnection from reality and a little thrown off  by your thought path. “What are you doing I’ve been looking for you forever!” she shrieked. “Why what’s wrong?” I asked. “No. You’ve just been missing for hours and everyone was getting worried. It’s almost curfew and no one had seen you since last class. Did you skip dinner? Have you been here the whole time? I swear I checked here at least five times.” She bombarded you with a tsunami of words. “Wait is it really that late I didn’t even realize” I said as I rushed to pack up all my books and parchment. Had I really been zoned out for that long? “Well hurry up I don’t wanna be caught out past curfew I already have detention for what feels like the rest of my life” she overdramatized. “Okay, okay I’m going as fast as I can” I said as we made our way through the halls back to the commun room.

When we entered I felt nauseas at the sight of Lily and James basically snogging each others faces off on one of the sofas. Victoria saw you quickly look away and whispered in your ear “Just ignore them.” Linking your arms together and ushering you to your dorm. Your other roommates were all sitting around in the room doing their own little things. “Finally you found her!” exclaimed Abbey. “Wait honey what’s wrong?” asked Cara as she looked up form her book seeing your solem expression. “Ah it’s not because of that Potter boy again is it? You just need to get over him,” stated Abbey matter offactly. You didn’t even respond, instead just flopping down on your bed. “Look Y/n it’s gonna get better you’ll get over him,” said Victoria sitting down next to you. “How am I supposed to get over my best friend, I've known him for so long?” I asked “Well first you’ll realize that he’s a bloody bloke if he decided to choose her over you. Then you’ll find a new boy and you won’t even give Potter a single thought.” Abbey said as if she just solved a difficult math question. “It’s not that easy Abbey” victoria chastised her. “No she might be somewhat right. What if you found another boy to get over James, like a rebound?” Cara offered. “Is it really a rebound if we were never together?” I asked still replaying the scene from the common room over in my head. How happy they looked together. “It’s the principal that counts” Cara said. “Yeah that’s a great idea! It doesn’t have to mean anything. You can find a boy Saturday at the party after the quidditch game’” Abbey was way too fond of this plan. “I don’t know guys, I don’t even think i’ll go to the quidditch game” I said sitting up. “Now that’s just ridiculous of course you’re going to the qudiditch game and for once I actually agree with Abbey.” Victoria said “Well thanks for letting me know how you really feel about me,” Abbey mocked hurt.

It was Saturday night and the Hufflepuff team were down by so many points that they couldn’t even win if they caught the Golden Snitch. Of course it was James who was scoring all the points as he was ‘the best chaser in Hogwarts history’ as he liked to refer to himself. There he goes scoring yet again as the seekers continued to chase the golden snitch around the pitch. It wasn’t long before Gryffindor caught the golden snitch and the crowd went absolutely ballistic. James being the cocky bastard he was did a victory lap around the stands winking at me as he flew by. Everyone started making their way off the stands and towards the players to congratulate them. It seemed like Lily was the first one down, throwing herself into his arms like you used to when he still paid his “best friend” a care in the world. Using that term loosely now considering he hasn’t given me more then a handful of acknowledgments since him and Lily stated their little love affair.

Meanwhile I was still sitting on the bleachers next to Remus, the rest of our friend had been lost in the crowd. “So I assume you’re going to the party?” he inquired. “I don’t really know yet I'm not in a party mood tonight,” I replied in a slight daze, James and Lilys display having thrown me off. “That’s exactly how I feel but Sirius would have my head if I don’t attend the ‘most legendary party ever’ as he’s been calling it” he said. We both laughed lightly because only Sirius could make such a big deal of one of the hundreds of partys thrown every year. “Well I suppose if you’re going it wouldn’t hurt to give you some company” I said with a slight smile somewhat distracted from my previously gloomy thoughts.

We walked together, in no rush, back to the Gryffindor common room. By the time we got there the party was already in full swing and it seemed that Sirius was already wasted as he stumbled up to the two of you “What a surprise my two favorite people,” we said while balancing his entire body weight on Remus, leaning against him with an arm swung over his shoulder. “Where’ve you two been? James was asking ‘bout ya” he slurred his word together at the end making his words barley eligible. “Why was he looking for me?” remus asked confused. “Not you Moony the pretty one” Sirius said grabbing a lock of your hair twirling it around his finger and winking at you before he went prancing off sloppily to some other people. “We should probably try to slow his drinking,” you said. “There’s no point trying, you take a cup of fire whiskey out of his hands and the second you turn around he’s got two more.” He joked even though we both knew it was true. Shouldn’t you go talk to James anyway, find out what he wanted?” He more so pointed out then actually asking. Just then as you looked across the room you spotted him a cup of alcohol in is hand and Lily perched on his lap. Averting your gaze “I think I’ll enjoy your company much more.” you said and he gave you a goofy grin.

As the night went on you and Remus had found a couch that wasn’t occupied by drunk couples trying to get it on. You were slightly intoxicated, that’s putting it lightly. Your friends kept popping up to have a quick chat and handing you different concoctions every couple minutes. Remus on the other hand was sober as could be, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying the beautiful giggling girl hanging off his arm and practically sitting in his lap going off about how her little brother once brought a niffler home and tried to keep it as a pet. His cheeks blazing at the extremely close proximity. You hadn’t even noticed how close you were to him, not really being aware of anything all your senses were slowed and your brain was fuzzy just saying anything that came to mind. “We should go for a walk” you said giggling again even though you hadn’t said anything funny “It's getting really stuffy in here I need some air” Grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the exit before receiving a reply. You two were in the hallway in no time, you prancing around and Remus trying to keep up. “It’s still so hot out here,” you exclaimed cursing your clothes. You ripped your sweater off and threw it away, Remus scrambling to pick it up while you keep gallivanting away. “Woah Y/n maybe you should slow down” You stopped abruptly and turned on your heels grinning wildly as he skidded to a stop right in front of you. Your breath fanning across his chest before you looked up to his eyes “Thank you Rem, you’re a real great guy” looping your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with the little wisps of hair at his nape. “Why are you thanking me I haven’t done anything” he stuttered out, trying desperately to not stare at your chest that was pressed against his “Oh but you’ve done so much for me” you said barley above a whisper but it was loud and clear to him. His heart racing a mile a minute as you leant closerand closer until your lips met.

You tasted of fire whiskey and sweetness. He placed his hands on your hips as you kept tugging on his hair. Neither of you hearing the loud steps comig your way. Your reaction was slow when Remus was so quiqly pulled away from you and pushed against the wall by a fuming James Potter. “What do you think you’re doing mate.” He yelled at Remus. “Woah Prongs calm down” Remus tried to defuse the situation but if anything he just made James more livid. You still drunk off your ass decided it would be a good idea to jump on his back to try and stop him “Rem run i’ll hold him off,” you said in a panicy tone “and see ya tomorrow save me a muffin at breakfast” you giggiled totally forgetting how paniced you were a moment ago. Remus jogged off down the hallway you still on James’ back.

“What the bloody hell do you think you were doing with Remus of all people” James pried you off his back so he could face you “What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned giggling because of James furrowed eyebrows. “You two were just snogging in the hallway, you can’t just going around doing that Y/n” he elaborated still so very angry. “Why not you and Lily do it all the time? Why am I nto allowed to do it” you started getting upset, all the suppressed emotions rising up in a fury. James soffened as soon as he saw you getting upset “look Y/n I’m-” he tried apologising but you interrupted him “No James tell me why can’t I be happy? You think you can just leave me and i’ll stop everything I'm doing until you come back? No James I’m done. I am so over always being second to that Lily Evans.” You were now yelling hysterically, tears streaming down your face, completely inconsolable. James was shocked into silence not knowing how to respond to your outburst. “Why not me? Why wasn’t I good enough? I loved you so damn much and you picked her. You chased after her all these years while I was here the whole time. Then as soon as she acknowledges your existence I’m completely throw aside, I get replaced by some stuck up red head who ignored you for years!” It was all coming out now, your body racked with sobs. James pulled you into to his chest ignoring your attemps to push him away just holding you close whispering “I’m so sorry” and “I didn’t know” over and over like a broken record. “Do you know how much it hurts? I loved you. I love you, and you don’t even care about me, all you care about is her.”

That’s how the remaider of your night went. Not really coming to a resolution, just letting it all out as James held you, and when you finally fell asleep he carried you back to your dorm placing you in bed. This was a conversation for tomorrow, when you were sober, right now you just needed to sleep. To live in your dreams and shut out reality.

[solomonfiore]

A Night in Kyiv

“I’m an angel who was attending a school of Satan.”

Anatoly Onoprienko

We have broken our way into an abandoned tenement in the slums of Kyiv. Piles of trash are scattered about recklessly. A black pentagram has been spraypainted on the wall. We mark all the squats we occupy this way as a tribute to Beelzebub. The wallet I stole from the old man I stabbed to death in the park earlier that evening has enabled us to spend a little extra money on drugs. A hypodermic needle filled with high-grade heroin sits next to a piss-stained mattress lying on the floor. I stole some vodka from the market on the way back from the Peste Noir concert. Most of the bottle has been finished. We're thoroughly drunk by now. You can't wait to make love. You're already lying back against the side of the mattress with your skirt hiked up over your pale, young legs. Our skin has yet to become leathery and peel away from our bones like it has to a lot of our friends who are addicts, though my track marks are becoming blacker and blacker—the chronic nature of my abuse growing impossible to ignore. I'm grateful that I was able to cop some decent drugs for a change. Due to the grinding poverty we are forced to endure on a daily basis, we often have to use a substance that is less potent and far more toxic than heroin to keep from getting sick. Were it not for the deplorable conditions of our environment we would not have to inject this garbage known as desomorphine. We are smarter than this! We are better than this! But the hopelessness of our situation keeps us down. We cannot raise our voice to our oppressors for fear of reprisal.

After having suppressed my rage throughout my adolescence, I found solace in Satanism. Huysmans once stated that Satanists are no more than disappointed Christians. Well, I am disappointed. Not only in Christ, but in the entire world. I am disappointed with the U.S. and globalization's fallout. I am tired of being caught in the middle of a tug-of-war between Poland and Russia like a helpless child growing up in a dysfunctional household. Centuries of oppression boil inside me, but I’m not allowed to scream. I must suppress this fury.

I’m getting sick. I feel weak. Tingling sensations radiate down over my shoulders, emptying out into my legs.

You want to make love, but I tell you we must shoot up first.

You have only been using needles for a week. You were twelve when you became my lover. Now you are thirteen. Your arms are as white as a Calla lily drenched in a gauze of mist. They show no trace of abuse. You’re still inexperienced and squeamish so I have to inject you myself.

Everything unfolds before us in black and white as if we were actors in a film. Our favorite scene gets played back over and over again unto eternity. I hear your breath in my ear while I find a tender, blue vein under the light of the moon. The plunger descends beneath my thumb and memories of our love are pushed back into my mind…

You were lost when I met you. The drowning ghost of Ophelia lived inside you. And your emerald eyes climbed out of the black waters of your long hair to cling to me for dear life. I introduced you to the Devil and you embraced His power wholeheartedly. I took sadistic pleasure in seeing what heresies you were willing to commit in His name. We vandalized and burned churches together when I wasn't introducing you to the lowliest depths of sexual degradation. But as our fascination with the occult grew into an obsession, it became apparent that we had both become equally enmeshed within a web of inescapable evil. Murder became more than just a means of fueling our habit. It became a mainstay.

We left a string of killings behind us. We talked about them for hours together, recalling certain details about the incidents that one of us may have missed in the heat of the slaughter. For instance, you were particularly interested in what our victims were wearing. Whether it was the diamond brooch we pilfered from your aunt after clubbing her to death in the schoolyard or the ring I had slid from off the finger of a dismembered hand seconds before proposing to you under a sanguine moon, you always had an eye for accoutrement. You remembered the pattern of the knickers that the street vendor from Andriyivskyy Descent wore when we stripped him down at the abandoned factory and forced him to drink drain cleaner, putting cigarettes out on his chest as he ingested the toxic concoction. After removing a pauper's private parts with a box cutter and feeding them to his dog, you kept its collar, not only as a memento, but to wear around your own neck as a fashion statement. You always had a strong sense for aesthetics.

What fascinated me was how some of our victims would assume an entirely passive stance once they came to the realization that their death was inevitable while others would scream like bloody hell until their very last breath. A trucker we ambushed on Hertsena Street was surprisingly resigned after I had slit his throat. Having worked at a slaughterhouse, I knew it took considerable time for a pig to die after this. Instead of panicking or trying to escape, he just lay there in the brush beside us, surrounded by tall stalks of hazel grass as a burbling fountain of maroon viscera bubbled out of his mouth. Watching the individual suffer is half the entertainment when committing a homicide. He wasn't animated enough so I stabbed him in the eyes with his own house keys hoping that would jolt him into action, but he hardly flinched. We took turns carving upside down crosses into the fat of his thighs but he nary moved an inch. On the other hand, a young woman and her five-year-old daughter would prove to be quite the handful. Not the daughter. The daughter behaved in much the same fashion as the old man, though I only know this from what you’ve told me. I was busy with Mother Goose. She sure squawked like one. Enough for me to have to stuff her mouth up with my own sock while gutting her. After considering these psychological phenomena, I asked you whether or not you intended to die softly or put up a fight.

Your purple lips curved into a serene smile. Lightly dusted with pollen from an upturned window box of chrysanthemums nearby, your cheeks betrayed an ever so slight blush of excitement. Bearing the tenderness of a kitten and the immaculate aura of a cherub, you answered thus:

“If it is for my Master, the Great Spirit Lucifer, I shall approach my grave with open arms. He has assured me during His visits that we will have a place beside Him at the foot of His throne so long as we have done His bidding on the material plane. The violence of our passion burns with a flame intense enough to carry us into the netherworld where we will rejoice together in love everlasting."

The Gods of the Pit must have been watching out for us. For we had successfully taken out almost a dozen people without a trace of the law in sight. But the season of our good fortune would abruptly change one afternoon.

We had been terrorizing a homeless woman in a field just outside of Puscha-Vodytsia. Cold drizzle pelted us as I smashed her head in with a shovel. Amping up the bludgeoning to a hyperbolic frequency, you, my ashen-haired accomplice, whipped her with the branch of a tree. In beige, mercurial gobs, the three of our shadows fused to create a single form projected onto the shivering walls of grass around us. The ghostly reflection of our struggle wavered in the wind. She whimpered and drooled as her brains spilled out of the top of her cracked skull with the same disorder as the tentacles of a freshly beached squid. On a trail less than a yard away, a little boy happened to be riding his bicycle. I knew he recognized you as the missing girl in the papers because he stopped momentarily to get a better look at the scene. I tried to catch him but he sped away.

Now we are on the run, hiding out in the slums of the Ukraine.

Your beauty shines through the gray pall of the room. You excite me beyond measure despite the potency of the heroin. I'm no longer paralyzed by the grinding stress of being hunted amidst a country about to go to war when I’m entering the clean, silky haven of your insides. It seems I could live off your spit and your fluids forever when we are bound together physically. I see the look in your pleading eyes and know what you want me to do. I wrap my hands around your throat and start to squeeze. It’s hard for me to stay focused on making love to you while I'm choking you, but I do it because you’ve come to love it so much. I derive no pleasure from this. I have to be careful not to deface your fragile skin or use too much pressure while at the same time maintaining my own level of arousal. This is difficult for me, particularly when I'm high. I do this strictly for you.

You’ve told me you’ve experienced visions of the Beast while being throttled and tonight something wondrous happens. Lucifer comes to visit, not just you, but both of us while our bodies are entwined together in that squalid lair. Inky jets of smoke climb out from the back of your head as you speak in tongues entirely foreign to this world. Sweaty bundles of pale yellow and green fungi growing on the far wall behind us swell to life. An oozing globule of sulfuric vapors congeals to form a static cloud in the shape of the Horned God. He stands over us, calling upon us to express our devotion to Him through the throes of our lust as we writhe about the floor in throes of illicit rapture. Your face begins to twitch as I apply extra pressure to your platysma muscle, clenching my teeth together so tightly they threaten to pierce the insides of my mouth. Your throat—so pure and white that it never so much as reveals the horizontal stress lines that all of us possess from infancy on—is now wreathed in blue and purple corals of broken blood vessels as ecchymosis sets in from vagal inhibition and the increased strain against your hyoid bone. Your hypoxic climax is a sea of convulsions squirming in my clenched fists. Milky clouds fill up the green domes of your eyes and a tear of black blood runs down your left cheek as my darkness empties into you, blotting out what little you still possessed of your purity like an oil spill spreading out from the center of a crystalline pond.

I collapse on top of you, resting my head atop the thin plate of your solar plexus. You’re coughing violently. You pull yourself out from beneath me. I lift myself up and watch you in silence as you gasp for air while clutching your throat. At first I’m worried I’ve gone too far this time, but you flash me a faint smile to assure me you’re okay once your composure’s regained. I breathe a sigh of relief. I haven’t disappointed Lucifer by denying Him the sacrifice we’ll be offering Him when we execute the joint suicide pact we planned for tomorrow on Walpurgisnacht.

"Regie Satanas," I mumble under my breath.

Solomon Fiore - March 18, 2017

<photos: Aleksandra Petrova>

Special thanks to Aleksandra Petrova of the Kitsune Klan.