#i get to experience the classic pushed against a wall with a knife to my throat. and it is very fun ^-^

[walterdecourceys]

goodnight... i was going to write more tonight but i have a solid three paragraphs going which is worth something i think

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲: 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐬

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This one reminded me of Subnautica.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Injury, Violence.

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧} • {𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬} • {𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐢’𝐬}

Collecting minerals across the deep-ocean floor was a rather pleasing experience, especially right next to the lava lakes and volcanoes. It was cool to see when they would pop and create this “pillow lava.” All round and bulbous, its sphere crust erupting to other Little Rock’s called “igneous rocks.”

Of course, you have to be careful on doing this sort of job. Be wary where you go, how deep you go, what and where you decide to collect your mineral or samples. Creatures and Mother Nature might not like you if they so much desire to rip you to pieces or shoot pillows of lava at you. It can be a very dangerous job in a second. So it’s best to leave it up to the professionals who have more experience for these types of jobs.

This also accounts for the equipment needed to use for this type of job. You can’t have some weak and classic diving suit to swim to the approximate depth of your area filled with underwater lakes of lava. That suit has to be modified for a human to be able to take on the heat of the lava in order to get the goodies like: Gold, silver, copper, manganese, cobalt and zinc.

Though, you gotta be careful of how much the human weight and pressure can take. You don’t want to sink to the ocean floor and be pressurized by the water for going too far down for a human being. So you got to be careful with your selective gear, but your absolute must haves are a storage pouch, underwater flashlight(s), lining, and a knife. All these are important for your survival into the depths of the ocean, and if you think you can take a harpoon? Go for it, the ocean can be quiet and scary when it wants to be.

Pushing of some rock with my hand. I avoided some hydrothermal vents as I took my diver knife from my waist and stabbed it into piece of rock wall a couple times, digging out some mineral with in it. The disrupted sand on the rock obstructing my vision for a second before I spot that shine of the material and grab the mineral with my other hand.

Zinc, I recognize from the splintery metal it has and the sheeny grayish color it’s known for. A good chemical element for to help you immune system fight of bacteria and viruses inside of your body. Though, I would not recommend to blankly just touch, inhale or eat raw zinc before giving it over to the scientists. It can could cause some side effects too like: Stomach cramps, nausea and vomiting. For higher levels: Anemia, damaged pancreas and decreased levels of high-density lipoprotein (HDL) cholesterol.

Opening my pouch, I place the small mineral into the storage pouch on the other side of my waist, from the knife holster and sheathed my knife back into its holster. Swimming carefully near the edge of the cliff where a lava lake resides just a few inches below. The boiling heat of it warning me if I was too close to it or not while I looked for some more minerals to collect. My feet and hands pushing off rocks when I didn’t find anything in the surrounding area.

I hum unhappily into my mask when I couldn’t find anything more than just zinc and occasional copper. Bubbles obstructing my vision when I stop and float in place, looking around me carefully for one last scan for minerals. The feeling of unaccomplishment pressing onto my shoulders as I didn’t want to leave the area without another mineral stocked into my pouch. I wanted them for a reason.

The weight on my shoulders pull off instantly when I spot a sliver of gold shining against the red and yellow of the lava lakes light. My legs already working to swim closer to the lava lake; more than one should. The heat threatening to burn off my heat resistant suit if I got anymore close to the lake, having its limitations.

Rounding the material, I made sure there wasn’t any more that I was going to miss. My hand reaching and unsheathing my knife back from my holster as I get ready to dig at it. Head tilting back and forth on how I would like to dig at it to make sure I didn’t damage the gold too much before resting a hand above it for support and giving the surrounding rock around it a good stab.

It took about 7 times before the noble metal popped off its spot. Breifly floating in the water as I made a reach for it. My fingers almost closing around the metal before I found myself scarcely close to the lava lake. A muffled cry ripping from my throat.

Rapid bubbles surrounded my vision as my hand clutches at my shoulder. A line of red threading through my fingers and through the water from the harpoon stuck into my shoulder. My back slowly burning up for being too close to the lava lake; like when you get too close to the campfire for comfort.

My eyes go wide when another harpoon tinks itself near my ankle, cutting my suit there as I scramble back as far as I could to the best of my abilities without getting scorched by the lava. The harpoon in my shoulder not helping when I find myself pinned under the hands of another human. Their knife threatening to crack my goggles as the tip of the knife scratches them, creating a line in them.

All I could hear from them are rough mumbles and gestures to my pouch. Their hands occasionally gripping at the harpoon in my shoulder for more power as I cry out at the pain of it being moved. Their eyes giving a certain glee when they did.

What was another person doing down here? Was this person a pirate? How long were they following me? Where did they even come from? How did they know of this area? It’s wasn’t common to have some search the floor of the sea for some scraps of minerals.

The person shoves my body back into the sea floor harshly and backing off; taking my storage pouch with them as I become lightheaded at the force of their push. That feeling of dread, sadness and questioning settling on my shoulders.

Why would one person what to steal from another and wound them in the process? If they could have asked I would have lended over some materials for them. I wasn’t a greedy person! That— that just doesn’t make any sense! Why steal when you have a perfectly good gear to come down into the depths of the water and steal from me?

I groan and exhale slowly in order not to cry at the loss of my materials and with the harpoon in my shoulder. My hand gripping at the handle and pulling the harpoon out with a painful jerk. More of my blood flowing through the boiling waters of the ocean depths.

I jump when a nuzzle to the back of my shoulder takes my attention when I look back behind me to the creature of the lava lakes. His black reptilian-like body rising out of the lava as it bubbles off his scales. His deep, yet glowing reddish-orange eyes, serpent-like irises with a solid black line going horizontally through his eyes looking me over. A deep rumble coming out of him, vibrating the water.

Relived it was just the sea creature, I reached up to the creature. His head coming down to nuzzle into my open arms. His form chuffing bubbles as he slowly moves to the wound on my shoulder. A low growl rumbling through the water before his long black tongue rolls out of his mouth and laps at the wound, sealing it up with his saliva as I nuzzle up against his shoulder, his appearance welcoming as the saddening thought of being stolen from still ranked through my mind. I was going to make a trinket for this loving creature, and now I have to start from ground zero.

The creature gently coos at me when he wants my attention, giving me a little kiss on the neck while he’s at it. His talon-like hands rubbing against my back soothingly. Prompting me to let go of him as he gestures and gently pushes me to go back to his nest. His form curling around me, blocking me for any disagreement of not going to his nest.

Pushing off the sea floor a little. I reached for the creature again before I went and nuzzled him right underneath his chin. Purposely exhaling bubbles as he gives these chuff-like sounds at my antics. Gently pawing at me to get me swimming back to his nest, and giving me a forehead kiss before I make my way back to his nest. His eyes carefully watching me go swim to the location of his nest before he turns a pushes off the ground with quiet power in his talons and tail with a new hunt in mind.

A vengeful one too.

[fruitoftheweek]

Little Cherry Book:

Chapter 4:Showered in Sin

Chapter 1 Here / Chapter 2 Here / Chapter 3 Here

Hey guys! I'm sorry that it has taken so long for me to update this. I had an idea of what I was going to write but I had a super hectic week so I wasn't able to write this till now. In order to make up for it, I have given you a treat. A 6,502 word chapter. It kinda beat my ass but I had so much fun writing it. It's sweet, it's spicy, it's all the goodness you guys deserve. I was listening to Duvet by Boa while writing this and I think you should too for two reasons. One, it helps set the mood, but also oh my fucking god it's such a good song. Also, Boa is just a fucking great band. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and message me if you would like to be added to the tag list! Love you guys

Pairing: Spencer Reid X reader

Chapter Plot: After a game of drunk never have I ever after a long case, Morgan locks Spencer out of their shared room. Shenanigans ensue and you and Spencer share a couple of firsts.

Series TW: 18+, smut, degradation, piercing, choking, knife play, mommy/daddy kinks, spanking, exhibitionism, Will update as time goes on

Chapter TW: smut, slight mommy kink, having body piercings, choking, slight blood kink (not really, it's just hard to explain), Shared masturbation (male and female receiving), pleading, multiple orgasms, cumming in pants, shower sexiness, aftercare

Word Count: 6,502

Your deep cherry lipstick painted the white seal of the wine bottle you held in your hand as you laughed at something Elle said. Spencer couldn't help but let a small smile pass his lips as he took in your form, hot from the day's work, small strands of your hair sticking to your forehead, a dewy glow illuminating your rosy cheeks.

After a long week, they had found Carl Arnold before he had been able to kill the Dunken family and even coerced a confession out of him. With spirits running high, Elle had suggested some much-needed relaxation before taking off the next day. Since you were rooming alone, you volunteered to host in your room. Morgan had arrived at your hotel room with two bottles of some sort of liquor, one clear and one amber, JJ trailing in toe with your bottle of red wine you had asked for. You pulled out your little corkscrew with the face of an old man on it, knowing she hated his weird little face. You brought it with you on trips, just in case the occasion arose.

And it did arise as Elle suggested a drinking game. Hotch had retired early after calling Hailey to get an update on his very pregnant wife, while Gideon preferred the solitude of a good book late at night. The rest of you sat on the floor surrounded by drinks and snacks. With the supervision gone, it almost felt like a high school party with no parents. You all had all settled on a classic, never have I ever. "We haven't played this in a long time because we already know so much about each other, but it's fun when we have a newbie around," Morgan said giving you a cheeky smile and bumping your shoulder. Already pliable after the couple of drinks you had while Elle explained the game, you nodded before tipping your lips to the cusp of Spencer's ear. "I'll try not to make it too hard for you, pretty boy," you said. The small puffs of air that left your mouth made Spencer's hair stand on end and his feet curl.

He knew you were teasing him that night and he loved it. He decided to keep his knees tucked to his chest for the rest of the night as to not expose the predicament in his pants. He watched the way you lightly sucked on the wine bottle as you tipped it back, a thin river of cabernet leaking from the corner of your lips and trailing down your neck. Spencer wanted nothing more than to lean over and lap it off of you just to see how you would react, but he knew it was the drinks talking. Despite your earlier comment, it was quite obvious that you were targeting him as his head started to spin gently.

"Never have I ever had sex with someone much older than me," Garcia said through her video feed with a cheeky smirk. Derek had insisted on including her even though she wasn't physically present. She sat bundled up in a comfy blanket in her office with a mug of some sort of alcoholic beverage. "HEY! No targeting! Plus, I told you that in confidence at ladies night. How much is much older?" You said, swaying your bottle towards the computer set up on the floor."You know how much older I mean sweetheart." Garcia said with a giggle as you groaned and took a sip."How much older is much older?" Morgan said with a cocked eyebrow, somewhere between impressed and surprised." I was a college student, experimenting with my professor. Not like an old man, but he was 20 years older than me. Definitely not my style anymore though." You said with a grimace remembering him.

Spencer had learned a lot about your sex life during that game, but some part inside of him smirked, knowing that the rest of the team would never know you as he knew you, not unless they too had read your journal. It was the only thing keeping his head clear of the idea of you with anyone else. Not that you were with him in any capacity, but the idea still made him feel something in his stomach. Not the sweet butterflies that came with your smile, but something more like idiotic hornets dangerously bumping against the walls of his stomach.

Spencer hadn't even noticed the uproar of everyone else around the circle at your comment and the second revelation that Morgan had drunk too. He was too busy watching how you had shyly tucked your hair behind your ear, finally letting it down out of your clips for once. You were wearing your pajamas, just a tank top, slouchy sweater, and flannel pajama pants, but somehow you looked more radiant than ever. He had come back down to earth after hearing someone call his name."Y-Yes?" He sputtered out, realizing you had been trying to get his attention."It's Morgan's turn, pay attention." You said, gently smacking your hand down on his thigh.

If he was riled up before, he was unbelievably undone at the slight sting from where your palm had just been. Light enough that it wasn't noticeable, but hard enough that it erupted a Shockwave through his body, centered on the location of the contact. He bit back the whimper threatening to escape his lips as he turned towards Morgan, trying desperately to not watch you from the corner of his eye.

"Never have I been a virgin at 24," Morgan said, beaming in his direction. Spencer took a big gulp from his glass of whiskey."You always do that one, I don't know why you think it's so funny, you're just trying to get me to drink" he said abashedly. He looked over at you, nervous for your reaction, but you seemed unfazed. "Hey, that's a wonderful gift to have, there's something so special about virgins. Maybe it's the idea that everything is new, but I like it. I love virgins." You said, taking a sip from your bottle, gently swaying. You had given up on never have I ever and just decided to drink whenever you felt like it. Maybe it was because you were tipsy, maybe it was the warm flush that decorated Spencer's cheeks, maybe it was the way he was looking at you with sultry, half-lidded eyes. You couldn't tell, but something made you want to find an excuse for you two to be alone.

"Geese, we seemed to have caught a succubus tonight." Morgan quipped."A suck-you-what now?" You said, cocking an eyebrow at him. " A succubus, it's a demon or supernatural entity in folklore, in female form, that appears in dreams to seduce men, usually through sexual activity. According to religious traditions, repeated sexual activity with a succubus can cause poor physical or mental health, even death. In modern representations, a succubus is often depicted as a beautiful seductress or enchantress, rather than as demonic or frightening." Spencer shot out. "Wow, even when you're drunk, your big brain keeps chuggin' along," you said, sloppily ruffling his hair "A beautiful seductress or enchantress, huh?" That time it came out low, inaudible to the others, but it pierced Spencer like a knife."Do you think that's accurate bout me?" you asked, staring up into his eyes, closer than you have been before. Spencer let a cartoonish gulping noise escape his lips as he held back his urge to lean into your touch.

"Ah, it's my turn," you said, leaning back into your spot in the circle and sadly, away from Spencer." Never have I ever done something naughty at our work," you said, looking straight at Spencer "I'll know if you're lying, I can sniff out a liar from a mile away," your cocky smirk leaking out of your mouth. Everyone except you and JJ took a shot."Wow, really you guys? Even you Spence? " JJ said in disbelief, looking around the circle."Never have I ever, my ass" Spencer mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, looking over at you, thinking about your pantieless escapades.

"Look at that, Doctor Reid, you need another drink, let me go fix you one," You said as you grabbed his glass in one hand, leaning and gripping hard into his shoulder with the other. It wasn't seen by the others, but between that and the fiery look in your eyes, it sent an obvious message,' keep your mouth shut or I'll shut it for you.' You used him as leverage to get up, nearly pushing him over as you gracefully stumbled to the hotel fridge. He knew what you meant, but he didn't care, your grip on him went straight into his imagination as he envisioned what that grip would feel like in other places. He kind of wanted to push his luck, just so he could see what he had in store.

And push it he did as you handed him the glass, reminding him that it was indeed his turn to play never have I ever. "Never have I ever slept with my professor," He said, obviously targeting you with a glint of mischief in his eyes."Oh yeah, well never have I ever been a virgin at 24." You said, swaying as you sat down."Morgan already said that, dummy. Never have I ever worn stupid dark red lipstick" He retorted, equally as drunk as you. At this point everyone else had zoned you two out and were focused on other things, refreshing their drinks, counting the ceiling tiles, humming a sloppy rendition of My My Miss American Pie, or in Penelope's case, all three."Yeah, well never have I ever been a complete and utter mommas boy!" You continued, the statement turning Spencer beet red. You watched him clench and unclench his hands, you had obviously struck a nerve. Just as you were about to apologize, he cut you off. "Never have I ever had nipple piercings!" He shouted, pointing at your chest, now drawing attention to the obvious balls framing your nipples that you had once been covered by your long-forgotten sweater.

As he said it, it felt like the world went in slow motion. You could see the instant regret on his face as you dropped your bottle in surprise. It had landed on Spencers discarded whiskey glass and both shattered, wine and whiskey mixing with glass to create a slurry on the ground between them. "Fuck! You Guys!" Morgan said, "You got it all over my clothes." "Me too," Echoed Elle as they both stood up in their soaked clothes. "I think that calls it a night." JJ said, closing the laptop on the image of an already sleeping Garcia." Bye you guys, sleep well," you called after them as you and Spencer rushed around looking for towels to clean up the alcohol with.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Spencer cried as you dropped the last of the glass in the garbage can. As you rounded the corner, you saw Spencer pulling a rather large shard of glass that you must have missed out of his thumb, blood pooling at the tip. Without thinking, you crouched down and sucked his thumb into your mouth." A-ah! What... What are you doing!?" Spencer asked breathlessly, looking down at you with a deep hunger in his eyes. You pop off his thumb and squeeze it at the base, slowing the blood flow."Shut up," You said," This helps slow the bleeding. The sucking applies pressure. My mom used to do this for me... And no, do not psychoanalyze that." You said, wrapping your mouth around his finger, sucking to provide some pressure to slow the blood flow. You could taste the iron in your mouth, but you didn't mind, knowing you were helping your friend.

You were helping alright, helping in more ways than you would ever understand. "Yeah, like I'm the only one here with mommy issues," he said distractedly, too busy surveying your lips wrapped around him. You slapped your hand down on his thigh once more, eliciting a small whimper from him. He couldn't help it, you were a sight of beauty, you always were, but looking down on you right then, Spencer wanted to bottle that moment forever. The tops of your breasts peeking out from the top of your tank top, your eyes filled with a hazy glow, looking up at him to make sure he was ok, and your cheeks hollowing out around his thumb as you delicately sucked on his wound. It was as close as Spencer had ever gotten to anything sexual. He could feel your tongue swirling around the cut, lapping up the last couple drops of blood. He couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if it was another appendage and not his thumb. You sucked on his thumb one last time, harder than you had previously, and before he even knew what he was doing, his hips bucked up, rubbing his hard cock against his pajama pants, finally relieving his mounting orgasm.

You let go of his finger with a pop as your tongue trailed off of the underside of his thumb. Spencer looked anywhere but you, as a wet patch formed through his thin underwear and pajama pants. He hurried to cover it with his sweater, shooting up from his seated position."Um, Um, I'm g-gonna go shower and go to bed." He said, hurriedly scurrying over to where he had left his room key." Sorry partner, I saw Morgan accidentally grab both of your keys on the way out. He's probably asleep by now." You said languidly, leaning back to take in the sight of the soft boy in front of you. Totally flushed with heat, small beads of sweat peppering his forehead, his hands twiddling suspiciously into his sweater in an attempt to conceal crotch, trying and failing miserably to hide his rapidly cooling cum.

He whined a little, lighting a fire in you. He looked so thoroughly fucked out, and all you had done was suck his finger. You knew that you just had to play with him some more. "You know, you can use my shower, doctor." You said, and he let out a small sigh of relief, heading towards the bathroom. "There is one condition, though," You smirked coyly as he halted his motions, his body facing away from you. It was almost as if he was ready to run away at any moment. You walked over to him, slowly, taking your time to tease him. The silence hung heavy in the air as you looked up into his eyes questioningly, waiting for him to ask. "Wh-what is the condition." He said, unable to return your gaze, hands fisted in the hem of his sweater, pulling it down even further. You smirked, dipping your hands up and under his sweater, nearly brushing his spent cock before gently placing them on his bare stomach, just above his waistband. He sucked in a tight breath as you gently swirled your fingers in the short hair that lead from his belly button down to happier places." Before I ask, do you know about the color scale?" you said, fingers smoothing out over his little stomach." Um, k-kinda?" He said, heat flushing his cheeks."Green means good keep going, yellow means slow down, and red means stop right now, ok?" You said, looking up at him as he nods."Come on pretty boy, I need verbal confirmation. I need to know that you understand, got it." You said with a little pinch to his tummy. "Y-Yes, I understand!" He blurted out, standing stiff as a board." Good boy. Now, for my condition. You can shower if you show me what you're hiding." You said, leaning close enough that if Spencer breathed, your chests would meet each other. "What color, Spencer?" you said, languidly drawing lines up and down his torso with your nails."G-Green, Very green." He sputtered out, finally meeting your eyes."That's what I like to hear, sweet boy." You said before your fingers danced below his waistline, now somewhat crusty from his cum."W-wait!" He says, just as you were about to take him in your hand. You instantly stopped and looked up at him gently."We can stop here baby, it's not a problem." You said, beginning to remove your hand from his pants. He grabbed your hand through his pants, stopping your movement."It-It's not that. I don't want to stop, I just want... well..." He said and looked down shyly. "What do you want baby, anything," You smiled up at him. "Um, I haven't had my first kiss yet and I kinda... Well... I kinda..." He said, shuffling his feet, face beet red. Your eyebrows shot up quickly in surprise before letting out a gentle smile."Do you want a kiss, pretty boy?" You said, gently brushing the hair out of his face. He nodded, and you grabbed his chin, bringing him close. "Use your words, pretty boy. What do you want?" You whispered, breath gently ghosting Spencer's lips as he took you in up close. He could see every little pore and dimple of your skin and every color hidden in the depth of your eyes and he knew he needed to have you.

He shakily leaned forward, lips gently meeting yours, so light that if you hadn't seen his actions, you wouldn't have even known if you had touched. You moved your hand down to his throat, giving a light squeeze."Come on genius, use your words," you said as he whimpered. "Please, can I kiss you, please, please?" He begged, leaning into your touch, pleading for you to squeeze again. His efforts shoot straight to your heart. You indulged him in a kiss, not as spicy as the situation would permit, more of a sweet heat. He came in too hot and heavy at first, but you kissed him languidly, gently stroking his cheek to get him in the rhythm. His arms were straight out at his sides, hands clenched as if he was willing every muscle in his body to not touch you.

You let out a small laugh as you melted into his kiss, soft, puffy lips dancing across yours. "You know you can touch me," You said, pulling back, smiling at the smear of your lipstick, now staining his lips, and the endearing puppy dog eyes he was giving you. "Where can I touch you?" He whispered out as if he were telling a secret. "Wherever you want, baby. Wherever your heart desires." You replied, bringing your arms up to wrap loosely around his neck, pulling your bodies closer. He was as stiff as a board as his hands flitted around trying to find a good place to land. He finally settled on weaving his arms around your waist and up to cradle your neck, gently carding his fingers through the hair that fell at the nape of your neck. There was something so sweet in the way he cradled your body with feather-light touches as if you would disappear like smoke if he lingered too long. You reveled in the feeling of you two pressed together, slightly uncomfortable at the stiff material of his pajama pants on your stomach.

"Hey sweetheart," You said, pulling away as he chased after your lips, "I'm feeling kinda sweaty from the day, would you like to join me in the shower? What color?" "G-green, yes please." He said, tentatively pressing a kiss to your collarbone, exposed as the strap of your tank top had fallen down. You unwound from him, taking his hand delicately in your own, instantly missing the warmth his body provided.

You lead him into the bathroom, carefully stepping over the wine-soaked towels discarded on the floor before shutting the door and turning to face him. "I don't want to take this too fast for you because I know it's all very new so always tell me how you are feeling and if everything is ok. I want this to be good for you baby, ok?" You said, squeezing his hand that was still intertwined with yours. "Ok, th-thank you," He said shyly.

"Now, what do you want to do first? You're probably pretty uncomfortable in those pants, do you want me to take them off you?" You said, hooking one of your fingers into his waistband, pulling on in slightly creating a much-needed separation between his sticky cock and his uncomfortable pants."Y-Yes please" He said as you turned on the shower, allowing it to warm up in preparation for cleaning him off before turning back to him. You gently grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head, leaving him shirtless in front of you.

Lean muscles were hidden under a layer of peachy soft skin highlighting the gentle trail of dark curly hair leading from his belly button down past his pants. His arms curled around himself as he watched your eyes carefully, ready for some sort of judgment. "I know I'm not really that s-strong or anything but I can work on it-" You cut him off with a gentle kiss right above his belly button, startling him. You looked up sweetly into his eyes and gave him a soft smile, saying "You are so beautiful, Spencer. Morgan calls you pretty boy, but he truly has no idea. I would have you no other way than you are right now."

You gently peppered his chest with feather-light kisses, making him blush. He finally understood why people liked hickeys because as you trailed down his chest, the little wine red lipstick you had left on your lips left marks trailing down his chest. Some part of him wished they were permanent, showing off to all that could see, and they would know exactly who he belonged to. You dipped your hand into his waistband, asking, "What color?" "Green, very green," he choked out as your breath ghosted across his abdomen. You looked so beautiful, kneeled on the floor in front of him, taking care of him so gently and treating him so sweetly that he could feel his cock begin to harden again.

You looked up into his eyes as you pulled his pants down. He let out a soft sigh of relief as he was uncaged from his unfortunate trouser situation. His cock flipped down out of his pants, nearly smacking you in the forehead as you looked up at it in awe. Even though it was only semi-hard, it was bigger than any you had ever seen before. Spencer looked down at you shyly "it's not that much, I-I know but I've been researching techniques to make up for it in order to give sufficient pleasure for you- I mean for whatever partners I may have, not that I am saying that I won't please you, I dream of pleasuring you! ... I'm digging myself a hole aren't I."He rambled, rubbing the back of his neck worriedly. "Spencer, you are huge. Way more than I have ever had before. See?" You said, standing up, gently lifting his cock in your hand, measuring it against your stomach.

Maybe Spencer hadn't noticed because it was proportionate to his body and his big hands, but being held in your petite hands and measured against your stomach, he finally did see how much he would fill you up. The tip of his dick just barely reached past the gems that decorated your belly button piercing. "W-Woah." He said growing harder at the thought of pushing so deep into you. He looked up to your face, which was preoccupied with looking down at how far he would reach up in you.

Tearing your eyes away from him and up to his own, you flushed, knowing that he had caught you staring. "What would you like me to do next?" You spoke softly. Despite being the only two in the room, you two both talked in hushed tones, worrying that anything more than that would burst the delicate bubble you two had created. "Can we match?" He said, and you instantly understood him, despite the odd vernacular. You began to slip off your shirt, but he stopped you with an arm on your shoulder. "C-Can I do it?" He said shyly. "Of course, pretty baby," you barely get out before he drifted his hands under your tank.

He slowly lifted your top over your head as he took in the soft smooth feeling of your skin against his, goosebumps pricking up wherever his fingers trailed. You stood in front of him, shirtless as he took in your form. He had imagined what your breasts would look like. Nipples always hard due to your piercings, what your jewelry would look like, but nothing could prepare him for the glimmering moonstone gems that adorned your nipples and navel. Everything matched exactly, including the delicate necklace you wore around your neck.

The only thing he liked more than the perfection of your body was the features that made you, you. Some might call them imperfections, but to Spencer, all he could see in you was beauty. The gentle bruises on your skin from tangles with unsubs, the soft stretch marks that adorned your hips like little valleys and winding rivers, the slight blemishes, and hairs. He loved it because you were the embodiment of the confidence he wished for in himself. While he was always nervous about his body and how others perceived him, you loved yourself for exactly who you were, and you loved him for exactly who he was.

He pulled down your pants, gently following the twist and turn of the stretch marks as they winded down your hips, making sure to kneel down to pull them all the way off of you as you delicately stepped out, gently grabbing onto his hair to keep your balance as you swayed. He moaned softly at the gentle tug of your fingers while he stared up at you in awe. You took his hand in yours, coaxing him to stand.

You both stood there, taking in each other's forms for a moment, hands still connected as if by a thread at the pinky before you spoke. "We shouldn't waste water. Let me clean you off, sweetheart." He nodded before following after you into the gentle spray of the shower, steam now filling the room. He marveled at the way that the water droplets cascaded down your body, gently running down your curves. "Come here," you said, pulling him into a gentle embrace under the hot water.

Your two bodies pressed gently together, and Spencer couldn't help but think that you were molded for each other. Not in the way that a sculptor may stick two unmatched pieces of clay together with slip, more like one rock that had been split by the earth finally returning together. Something about your touch felt like home as you gently cradled him under the water.

He was so enthralled in your being that he didn't notice you gently scrubbing him with a washcloth until the scent of your body wash permeated the air. You gently scrubbed his back, washing off the sweat of the day and replacing it with you. He melted into you as your hands reached up, lathering his hair with shampoo. He wasn't sure if it was because he realized you should probably be getting washed too or because he desperately wanted to ride his hands along the planes of your body, but he decided to lather up his hands and wash you as well. "You are such a good boy. Thank you for cleaning me up" You said, resting your head gently on his chest, softly swirling the soap around his back, now finished scrubbing all you could from that angle, waiting to turn him around.

He moved carefully, avoiding your butt, still too nervous to touch. "Make sure you get everything, sweet boy. I like to be clean when I go to bed." You said, gently grabbing his hand and pulling it down to cup your butt. He inhales a sharp breath as he indulged in a gentle squeeze, continuing to wash you. He washed your back but his hands would occasionally drift down to your ass, growing more confident as he unknowingly rocked into you slightly with every squeeze, letting out soft keening noises.

You peeled yourself off of him as he rutted into the air, whining at the loss of friction. "Slow down, naughty boy. Bad boys don't get to touch. Are you a bad boy?" you asked as you placed a finger on the tip of his cock, swirling it in the precum pooling there despite the water's efforts to wash it off. "No, no! I'm a good boy! You're just so pretty, and you feel so good, and you smell so nice, and I wanna touch you, and I want you to touch me, please." He blurted out, looking at you with hungry eyes, begging for more friction. "Where do you want to touch me baby?" you asked as his eyes raked over your body, taking in all of his options. "I want to touch your boobies and your- your-" "My what? You can say it, naughty boy." You cut him off in his stammering. "Your pussy, I want to touch your pussy." He said, the hot water spreading the blush from his cheeks down his chest, tingeing his cock with a pretty pink hue. "What naughty words from such a pretty boy. You can touch-" he cut you off, lunging towards your body before you grabbed him by the throat, squeezing experimentally. Not too hard, not too soft. He moaned, and you felt the vibrations traveling up your hands."Let me finish what I was saying. Naughty boys don't get to touch. They get spanked." You said as he mewled." What I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted was that you can touch, AFTER I wash you and after you finish washing me. Only after, you got it?" you said, squeezing a little tighter. "Y-yes." he croaked out. "Good boy," you replied.

You washed out the shampoo in his hair, replacing it with conditioner as he did the same for you. You squirted more soap onto your washcloth, preparing to test him. You took the washcloth in your hand, slowly working over his legs, arms, and chest, teasingly brushing over his overspent cock before returning to cleaning him. He washed you thoroughly, taking care to wash your legs before making sure your stomach and belly button piercing were thoroughly cleaned. Finally, he reached up to wash the leftover makeup off of your face. He touched you like a porcelain doll, worried that you would crack under even the slightest pressure, making you giggle. He flinched, thinking he hurt you, but you grabbed his face in your hands, delivering him a kiss that covered his face in soap.

You both stood there, laughing for a second, relishing the moment before you let out a shy smile. "You can touch my chest now, but make sure you clean my piercings carefully." He looked down at your chest, and now that he'd been given permission, he didn't really know what to do. You could see the puzzled look on his face so you grabbed one of his soapy hands in yours and brought it to your breast. He squeezed experimentally, and you let out a gentle moan. You had been keeping in your arousal to draw out his teasing, but you couldn't hold yourself back as you felt his large hands grasp around your chest and roll your nipple in his fingers.

There was a sweet dichotomy in the harshness of his grasp on your boob, coupled with the gentle twist of your nipple. It was as if he was worried to hurt your piercings, so he made up for it in his grasp. You brought the washcloth down to his cock, hard against his stomach, and began to work him. He whined at the harsh material. "I need to clean you up, baby. You still have a cummy cock. If you beg hard enough when I'm done, I will touch you." You said into his ear as he rested his head on your shoulder.

He was overstimulated, and you could tell, so you decided you wouldn't take as long as you wanted to tease him. But you would still draw it out for your own pleasure. He was bucking and mewling into you as you roughly got him off. It shot you straight to your core, the heat from the shower mixed with his grasp on you, physically and visually, had you closer than you wanted, and deep down you just wanted him to touch you.

When you deemed him clean enough you let the rag drop to the floor. "Beg" you moaned out. "Please, please touch me, I want your hand on me, that's all I want." He whined, bucking into the air. You took pity on him, grasping him with your soap-covered hand. He hissed as your soft touch replaced the rough rag and you could tell he was close. "Touch me, Spencer." You said and his hand shot to your core. His tentative moves giving way to a natural confidence. As he slipped a hand between your folds he could feel you dripping with desire. "O-Oh my god," was all he could stammer out before sinking two of his fingers into your depths, thumb circling your clit. You knew his fingers were long, and you had even fantasized about this exact moment, but nothing could prepare you for his actual length. He had said he did research but that was proven by how quickly he found your g spot and clit. You doubled over in pleasure as his fingers thoroughly fucked you out.

"Spencer, I'm so close, baby. Be a good boy and make me cum." You said, slumping against his shoulder, rubbing yourself against his hand. "Mommy, I'm cumming." He said, looking into your eyes as his body shuttered. His words ricochetted around in your brain, sending you over the edge as you cum all down his hand. You bit into his shoulder to muffle your scream, just as he matched you, cumming down your hand.

You came down from your high as Spencer nearly collapsed onto you. You took extra care in making sure he was all clean before helping him out of the shower and into a towel. He leaned against you the whole time as you got him ready for bed. You forced him to brush his teeth before dragging him to bed.

He sat at the edge, eyes bleary with sleep, taking in the events of the day. You sat behind him, gently toweling off his hair before brushing it and putting lotion on his body. He leaned into your touch, appreciating being cared for, feeling as if everything had been a dream. "C-Can I sleep here? I mean Morgan locked me out and I don't have pants and-" You cut him off with a gentle kiss."Of course, sweetheart, do you want to cuddle? It's ok if you don't or if you want this to be a one-time thing, it's all up to you, baby." You said, gently sweeping his hair out of his face as he looked up with eyes the size of dinner plates. "We can do this more than once? You'll let me? For real?" He asked. "Only if you want to sweetheart. This is all about you." You said, giving him a small smile tinged with a slight sadness. "That's not very fair, I want it to be about you too. What do you want?"

The question knocked you off guard. You're not used to people asking what you want. Usually, people just take and give none in return. The fact that Spencer Reid, your adorable virgin coworker was asking you what you wanted with such a sincere look, caused tears to prick into your eyes. "No one has asked me that in a long time," you smiled, "I would love to do this, and more again with you Spencer. Whenever you want." He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down so you were lying next to each other on the bed. "Whenever we want" He corrected, cuddling into you.

You surveyed the bite make you left on his shoulder, running your hand over it. "Sorry for marking you up, I didn't mean to hurt you." You said softly as he blushed. "I-I was actually wondering... well... could you maybe give me a hickey? I like that you marked me." He said. You obliged him, giving him long kisses and sucks, gradually working up your force until a large purple bruise had formed on his collar bone. He was gently moaning the whole time, but you didn't want to work him up again as he had already cum twice that night and you didn't think he could handle more. He looked down at it as you pulled away, and you could see a question lingering on his mind.

"What's up?" you asked, smoothing his hair with your hand. "You said you hadn't been asked what you want in a long time, and I was wondering, well... who gave you your piercings?" he asked tentatively and you laughed." You have been reading my book too much, how many chapters have you read?" You said and he looked up at you surprised."You knew? and... well... only 3 chapters. I didn't want to pry into your private life." He said. "You just pried enough to know I want to get pierced by someone?" You asked raising an eyebrow. Before he could get an excuse out, you cut him off. "Well for a genius, you obviously didn't read it that carefully. I said I WOULD like to be pierced during sex, meaning I have not before. These are just standard piercings from a piercing shop, not a big deal, I just like the way they look." You said and he let out a sigh of relief. "Why? d'you get jealous?" you questioned him. He looked down and nodded shyly.

"I can be a lot of firsts for you but if you play your cards right, you can be a lot of firsts for me too. You already gave me a first tonight. You called me mommy. No one's done that before but it was really hot. I liked it a lot." You said matter of factly. "But that is a conversation for another day. It is 2 am and we need to be on a flight at 7:30, so let's get some sleep." You said, turning off the lights and cuddling up close to him. In a matter of seconds, you both were asleep, tangled into each other's arms, both of you feeling, for once, safe and sound.

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

Chapter 1 Here / Chapter 2 Here / Chapter 3 Here

Well wasn't that a doozy. I had so much fun writing that and I think it paid off for sure. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to my beloved tag list, speaking of which.

@spencer-reids-slut @ya-triedit @reidstoychest @flipperpenguins @thatsonezesty13 @jbbarnes-loki @big-galaxy-chaos

[melodyofmbaku]

In Between the Lines Chapter 2 (Erik Stevens x OC)

Teaser [1]

Prompt: “C'mon, I wanna hear you say it.”

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst... I can’t help it.

That was her problem.

Elloise couldn't see. So she liked to touch.

It was how she was able to experience the world. It was also the bane of Erik’s existence.

She was always fiddling & touching and it drove him right up the wall.

Didn't she know that some people would misinterpret her actions?

That’s exactly why he hung around her so much, she was entirely too trusting. And he didn't want someone with ill intentions to take advantage of her.

That’s what it was.

Not because he wanted her hands to be on him and him only.

Or because he wanted to see exactly what that mouth could do.

It was because she had a bleeding heart for every seemingly suffering individual and it would be her downfall.

That’s what it was.

As such he made it his mission to weave his way into her days because Elloise was one of the few people he actually liked around here.

He remembers the first time he met the woman who had ownership of his heart.

~~

It was 2 years ago when hehad just arrived at the palace. The place that was supposed to be his home. After he decided to work alongside T’Challa to better improve relations between Wakanda and the rest of the world it was decided.

He could learn more about his father, his birth place, and detach from his old hobby.

Killing people.

So when the young man approached him with a smile on his face and gesturing towards his gear he put a stop to it quick.

He still had some of his pieces on him and he didn’t want that getting messed with.

He rolled his eyes and mumbled an “nah I’m good boss” under his breath before walking around him.

The man began to follow him, looking intently at him with a confused look on his face.

“Do you need some help with your bags?” He gestured to his belongings once more.

“I’m good man.” He responded back again lowly. What was this dude’s problem?

Then he heard it. Her.

"Would you quit mumbling under your breath? If you have something to say, speak up, if not, you'd be better off shutting up".

He looked to the side and took in the woman who emerged from one of the many entrances that lead to the front hall.

She looked lithe and soft. She had dark skin and plump lips, wild coily hair, and a dress that accentuated her waist dangerously. Her cleavage was artfully on display and he was definitely taking a look.

This was the exact kind of woman he enjoyed whining, dining and bending over at the end of the night.

He would also probably do something wicked to that mouth…

He cocked his head and the corner of his lip lifted up in amusement.

“What you say ma?”

He watched as she walked towards him with intent and an odd aura of grace.

Interesting.

She stopped much too close to him.

"Erik... when you entered these grounds — the palace — my house — because that's what this is... my house — you consented to abiding to the rules of this household”.

"Some of which include forgoing your "I used to kill people for a living" vibe so that the differently abled individuals in the residence can comfortably get their jobs done".

What was she going on about? Differently abled?

She gestured to the young man who came to take his bags.

"James is hard of hearing. It helps that you speak clearly, and preferably facing him, so he can better assist you".

Erik turned to take him in. Then he saw it.

James smiled politely and gestured to the tiny hearing aid that was discreetly placed behind his ear.

Erik swallowed. He felt like a dick. He palmed the back of his neck.

"Nah uh... I'll carry my own weight." he responded after clearing his throat.

James nodded and looked back at the woman as if waiting for a command.

She turned to him "Thanks James, it seems like Mr. Stevens has it covered. You can go now."

The young man nodded and went on his was and Erik could’ve sworn he heard a snicker from him as he retreated. He glared at his retreating back.

"Can I touch you"? she asked tilting her head.

"What"? he asked confused.

She gestured toward his face. “Can I touch you? Your face specifically”. She repeated.

Erik squinted still trying to understand what exactly her problem was.

"Why the fu —". She never let him finish.

"We'll be spending a lot of time together now that you’re officially part of the royal family”.

“What’s that gotta do with you touching me?”.

"To save you further embarrassment, and a repeat scenario… in case you missed it Mr. Stevens... I'm blind". She pointed to her eyes to convey her point.

There was a moment of silence before Erik realized.

He wasn't sure how he missed it. He was getting comfortable and terribly out of practice.

She had done a very good job of presenting as normal as possible.

He ducked lower to her level to meet her eyes. True enough her deep brown eyes were unfocused and there seemed to be a gray film over them but they were brown nonetheless.

She repeated her question.

"Can I touch your face, so I know what you look like?” she gestured to him leaning forward invasively close.

“What if I say no”? He responded back defiantly. She wouldn’t catch him slipping twice.

“Then you say no”. she shrugged leaning back.

“I wouldn’t touch you without your consent, another one of our house rules that I hope you’ll remember”. She replied in a patronizing fashion.

He took offence.

“I’m a killer, not a rapist.” he spat out.

“That’s good to hear”. she commented before walking up the stairs encouraging him to follow.

“I’ll show you to your room, and it’s a pleasure to meet you Erik.”

And that was the beginning of their relationship.

~~

He idled about and nursed a drink in his hands and tried to look the least bit engaged at this donor dinner. He hated these dinners.

He’d have to watch Elloise on his cousins arm the entire night. Not to forget the attendees who were there for selfish political gain alone.

He watched closely as she made the rounds with T’challa around the room. She had chosen a deep green dress with a dangerous V that held his attention throughout the night.

T’challa paraded her around the room like the gift she was and he knew this was the part of him she fell in love with.

That’s why he was surprised to find her alone and still dressed to the nines in the palace kitchen in the middle of the night.

He had changed into his comfortable sweats and made his way over to decide on which concoction of alcohol would knock him out for the night.

She had a plate of lamb and potatoes untouched in front of her.

She didn’t startle when he spoke. She probably knew he was here based on his cologne or possibly just heard him when he came in.

“Midnight snack?” He paused and sat in the seat across from her.

“I got the chef to make me something then sent him away.” She spoke clearly. He heard the hardness in her voice.

She was upset.

He saw that the lamb sat on the play uncut and her hands lay in her lap.

“Let me get some of that.”He reached over for the plate and she stopped him.

“Erik. I like lamb.” She held onto the plate refusing to let up.

He sighed.

“Here, I got it.” He stretched his hands for the cutlery.

“I can do it myself.” She protested eyebrows furrowing.

“I know that.”

She still held onto the fork with hostility. She was upset.

“I like doing this so relax okay? You know it’s not like that.” he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and awaited her answer.

With that she reluctantly released the cutlery to him and folded her hands in her lap carefully.

She heard the fork and knife scrape against the plate as Erik cut it into pieces. She couldn't help but inhale a little bit deeper.

She liked the way he smelled. Erik always smelled like warmth..

She didn't know what to do with her hands. They were always doing something. Touching, feeling, studying, working.

She tried so hard to not be caught lacking, to be looked at as unable.

She would always have an excuse, because of her condition, but she pushed herself to insane lengths to never have to use it.

With Erik she was able to relax without being scrutinized, when it was just the two of them it was different.

This was... nice. She liked it.

"Potatoes too?" he asked wondering if he should slice up the baby potatoes that accompanied the lamb on her plate.

She shook her head — negative, she liked them whole.

"Thank you". she replied back softly.

"Don't mention it". He responded before carefully handing the fork back to her.

Her fingers lingered on his hand a moment before she pulled them away seemingly unaware.

Erik lived for moments like these.

He watched attentively as she speared the tender meat and placed it in her mouth and began to chew.

“Where’s T? Why isn’t he here with you right now?” He was sure he’d be tearing it up tonight. She looked that damn good.

She paused and looked down. “He… got called away for an emergency.”

They both knew what that meant. Erik wanted blood.

“You can’t let him get away with disrespecting you like this El. Tell somebody. The elders. Anybody.” He urged with subdued rage.

“Would they blame him? Or would his actions be chalked up to something else?” She shifted in her seat.

“Maybe how in more than one way I’m not enough.” She placed another piece of meat into her mouth and chewed slowly.

Despite the hot anger that flowed through his veins, he knew it was the truth.

He hated that it was the truth.

He despised his cousin for taking that vulnerable woman and turning her into this.

He was going to end him.

They weren’t that close anyways.

He could see it now.

He’d start from his left hip bone and do a clean cut — probably with something classic. Like a black pearl switchblade. Then he’d —

“You can’t say anything Erik.” she commanded. It was if she heard him plotting.

He scoffed.

“It’s not your right.” She said.

Her mouth was sharp as ever.

He hated that mouth.

He dreamed of that mouth.

He was the forgotten cousin. An honorary royal. Offered a position for blood ties and even then, it was decorative.

An outcast.

Maybe that’s why they got along so well.

She placed another potato between her lips.

He rose from his seat and stood behind her.

He began to remove the large decorated pins from her pressed hair. His fingers reached the nape of her neck and she finally released the tension that her body held.

“I didn’t say I was going to do anything.” He spoke lowly above her, focused on the task at hand.

She leaned into his hand and he snuck his fingers into her hair and found her scalp.

He rubbed at it gently, product would cling to his fingers later but he didn’t mind it.

“We’re the same you and I.” She hummed.

He cocked his head and continued his task.

He never understood her when she said that. But in fear of being scolded he kept quiet.

She was good. So good. He was bad bad bad.

He felt her shuffle to rise and he stopped his actions unwillingly.

She sat up and he reluctantly removed his fingers from her head.

She ran her palms down her dress to straighten it out before she looked in his direction.

“You’re harmless. ” She joked lightly before lifting her hand awaiting his arm to lead her back to her room.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Girl, you should be scared of me.” He murmured slyly.

She rolled her eyes.

He offered her his arm and she grasped it in a familiar fashion and let him lead her.

They walked leisurely through the hallways. When he didn’t get a response to his last statement he assumed his previous joke fell flat.

“Erik, when are you gonna go?” She asked softly. Her fingers added more pressure into his arms, concern lacing her tone.

She’s been pestering him for months to go to therapy — deal with his murderous thoughts.

He didn’t like the idea.

So he wasn’t going to do it.

“I’ll go when you go.” He shot back.

She sniffed and turned her face away from him.

He grinned cheekily, dimples shining through.

“You know why I can’t go. It’d be taboo for me. Plus, they treat me like an invalid.” he watched her mouth twist into a scowl.

He scoffed, and continued to lead them to her destination.

Their route was coming to an end and he knew she felt it.

As they got closer and closer to her quarters her grip tightened on his bicep. And he paused.

“Erik I’m scared.” she whispered.

“If he can do this. Openly. In our room. In our bed, then...”

“What’s next? What’s next for me?“ she looked in his direction — lost.

“If he don’t got you, I got you.” He crowded her space and bent down so he could be level with her.

She needed to understand that she could rely on him for anything. He wasn’t sure he knew just how deep his feelings went for her.

She lifted her hands to hold his face. It was how she saw. Her hands immediately found his beard. He saw the tears pool in the corner of her eyes.

“Anytime you get scared you call me. You hear me?”

Her gaze was downcast. This wouldn’t do.

“I’ll gut em. Like fishes. The whole lotta them.” He pushed out huskily.

“Erik...” she murmured disapprovingly.

“You believe me?” He asked.

“I —“

“C'mon, I wanna hear you say it.” He pushed lowly committed to making her see that she wasn’t alone, he was there.

“Yes Erik, I believe you.” She whispered lowly. She quickly wiped the tears that had slid down her face disobediently.

“Good.”

“Goodnight E.” She stepped back and turned to her door. He watched as she steadied herself.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets to stop himself from grabbing her and crushing her in his embrace.

He wanted to grab her and kiss away her fears.

Instead he subdued his wants and watched her walk through her door.

The door to the room she shared with T’Challa.

He spun around and began the familiar path back to the kitchen.

After knocking back the drink of the night he steadied himself.

Erik walked to his chambers in the same manner he did every night — longing for his cousin's wife.

Taglist:

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Idek what I’m even doing with this story but lmk what you think 💜

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[silkenstarlight]

a night in crimson valley

Summary: Reader is a bartender at the Crimson Valley Motel. After she is accosted by a drunk John Walker, a familiar face offers her protection and comfort.

Pairing: Biker!bucky x bartender!reader

Warning/s: language, violence, alcohol use; sorta fluffy end

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s note: I’m unsure whether I want to turn this into a series; please let me know your thoughts!

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Her nose burned with the scent of blood and cheap vodka, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

In the early days, when she had first been stationed at this bar, she had stocked the cupboard beneath the register with supplies. Lemon-scented bleach, candy-blue windex, a dried up tube of wet wipes. Every night before closing, she had tugged on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and gone to work. Rubbing, scouring, swabbing away every spilled shot, every stray fingerprint. The dirt and spit and grime seemed to accumulate instantly, and yet, she continued her sisyphean housekeeping, trying to paint over the bar’s run-down reality with a layer of chemical gloss. But, all of that effort was to no avail; this was a roadside establishment, so there would always be sloppy drunks, and there would, most assuredly, always be bar fights, new stains to replace old. No use in hiding it.

Now, she’d grown numb to it, the cleaning supplies below the register covered in an ever-thickening coat of dust. The once shiny, lacquered surface of the bar now reflected dully beneath the low light, encrusted with old dirt and sour deeds. The floor was sticky, a years’ worth of spilled cocktails accumulating in a tacky glue trap. The mirror behind the bar, its surface cloudy and warped, reflected the late-night debauchery of men in desperate need of respite.

Every night, she wiped foggy glasses with the same gray, fraying rag, watching the same blurred, bearded faces pass through. The Crimson Valley Motel, owned by (Y/N)’s father, was a dependable option for truckers looking for a night away from the cramped quarters and lumpy cots of their vehicles. With its low nightly fares and extensive parking, and her father’s promise of discounted drink prices at the attached bar, customers returned without fail. Even still, she tried not to grow too attached to any patrons. They were just passing through, after all, with separate lives waiting for them beyond the road and the walls of the motel. But, sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself. 

Bucky Barnes was one such case.

The first things she had noticed the moment he walked into the bar two years ago were his eyes. Piercing blue, stern and ever-watchful, set beneath the overhang of his perpetually furrowed brow. That first night, he had nursed his whiskey glass with two gloved hands, staring at the bar’s surface as if he were trying to memorize every intricacy and flourish in its woodgrain. She had appreciated his presence ever since, so quiet and watchful, a stark departure from the raucous drunkards and wild military men who usually frequented the Crimson Valley Bar. And, despite the fact that he drank as much as the other patrons, he never seemed affected by the alcohol, his gaze as clear and haunting as ever, even well into the dark hours of morning. It almost made her laugh, his perfect stoicism and strong  jaw, the classic image of unperturbed masculinity. But she could sense the ghost of some deep sadness in the downturned set of his mouth. His shoulders always seemed tense, and he continually shifted his weight in his seat, peering over his shoulder every once in a while, as if suspicious that he was being watched. It made her swallow any skepticism about his demeanor, instead deciding that he was likely a very broken man, deserving of the space and quiet his countenance demanded. For that reason, she never asked him any questions, never made a move to satiate that burning curiosity within her. Better to keep a respectful distance than stir up unwelcome memories. 

She had never even really spoken to him, and only knew his name because she once caught his signature on a receipt. By the time she read it, he had whisked away to spend the night in his motel room and prepare for departure early the next morning.

Whenever he came back, it was like she could sense his presence, could feel his steely gaze sweeping the bar. It was comforting, a sweet bubble of solace beneath the humming neon and peeling rock n’ roll posters, a space of quiet surrounded by the pressing screech of electric guitar and deep boom of drums. She never knew when he would return, his trucking routes and schedule difficult to predict with such minimal information, but she secretly looked forward to it. Another day, another opportunity to unwrap the quiet mystery of Bucky Barnes.

Tonight, the bar was crowded. Hopeful thoughts of seeing Bucky retreated to the very back corner of her mind as she poured sparkling streams of amber liquid into lines of waiting glasses, shaking and stirring and swirling again and again in the rote, mindless motions that a full house required. She had no room to daydream, not on a Saturday night, when more lonely truckers sought out the bar for company, and when the local military base flooded in on their night out. In a room full of loud men with wanting mouths, she needed to work quickly.

On nights like these, the men mostly left her alone, too absorbed in their own festivities to take much note of her. Beyond the simple “pleases” and “thank yous,” they seemed to recognize that any attempt to strike up a conversation would interrupt her flow and leave her begrudging, frustrated, and not exactly an ideal conversation partner. But, some men couldn’t take a hint.

She had been cutting lemon wedges, concentrating on creating an even slice and avoiding her fingertips with the dull knife blade. She counted each slice before pouring the wedges into a chilled metal bowl, her movements precise and rhythmic. 1, 2. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3--

“Hey, bartender! I asked you a question.”

She knew it was John before she even bothered to look up. She sighed heavily, placing the knife on the counter and wiping her hands before tilting her gaze upwards.

John Walker was another regular here, but her opinion of him was very different than the tentative infatuation she harbored for Bucky Barnes. To put it simply, she did not like John. Whenever he swaggered past the bar’s threshold, flanked by his two favored cronies, she shuddered. Unlike the relatively polite regulars who frequented the bar, John was demanding, expecting (Y/N) to cater to his every whim without complaint. He was, apparently, a favored recruit at the military base. She just thought he was a privileged asshole. One time, he refused to tip her because she didn’t smile at him when she served his drink. And, another time, he broke his glass on purpose just to watch her clean it up.

Now, he was staring at her, head cocked and arms crossed, expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t heard him utter.

She sighed again, leaning against the counter. “Sorry, John. Didn’t catch your question.” Her voice was flat, lacking in genuine sympathy. “Mind repeating it?”

“Can’t even listen,” he said to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. “As I asked earlier, did you water down my fuckin’ snakebite?”

She stared at him, eyes boring into his cold blue ones, and she thought for a second. She was annoyed by his interruption, but this could go poorly if she didn’t handle it with care. If she said the wrong thing, he could get offended, and she was the only woman in a room full of men. She could hold her own in a fight and had some experience with self-defense, sure, but that wouldn’t hold up against a man with John’s stature and training. She couldn’t predict if any of the other men in the room would come to her rescue if things went south, but she couldn’t really blame them. He was tall and strong, and had a temper to boot. But his fragile masculinity, which compelled him to talk down to her and order such ridiculous drinks as a snakebite, wouldn’t survive if she talked back. So, her decision was made.

“Well, John,” she said, her voice low as she smirked. “Usually, you’re already plastered by the time you make it to my bar. I always have to water down your drinks because you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

His face darkened, brows drawing downwards in a chilling expression of anger. He gritted his teeth together and pushed back from the bar, motioning to turn away from her and back to his friends. “I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you.”

She cleared her throat, catching his attention. “Actually, just last weekend, you threw up all over the parking lot. My poor Pops had to clean it up.” She chuckled at the memory of her father, grumbling with a bucket and mop in hand, as John sat with his head in his hands in the front office. “You might not remember it, John, but I do. We all do.” The incident had occurred well before closing time, so many of the bar’s customers had seen it with their own eyes. One or two had surely caught it on camera.

“Are you fucking mocking me?” A vein popped out on his neck, his face growing read and hot.

She felt her pulse rise in fear, but she ignored it, hand resting next to the knife on the counter. “Maybe I am.” She leaned forward, leering at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about it?” He laughed incredulously, picking up his half-full glass and examining its amber-colored contents briefly before hurling it at the mirrored wall behind her.

She ducked, shielding her face from splattering liquid and broken glass. “Shit.” She dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled, frantically clambering below the bar for the cleaning cupboard. She knew how this encounter would go, but she was starting to realize that she shouldn’t have pushed it. He had never actually threatened her physical harm before, resigning himself to simply being an asshole. Tonight, that had obviously changed.

“Nuh-uh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice was still loud enough to pierce her eardrums over the pulsating music. He reached down to where she was, grasping for Windex in the dusty, cavernous cabinet, and roughly gripped her hair in his fist. He pulled up harshly, causing an unpleasant sting to radiate down her scalp. The breath caught in her throat. 

She had fucked up. Badly.

He wrenched her close, until their faces were just inches apart. He examined her face, his own visage arranged in an unpleasant sneer. She looked straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down, even though she was frightened of what he might do. 

“I should put you in your place.” His voice was quiet, only audible to her. She shuddered, lip curling in distaste. The sour taste of bile rose on her tongue at the violating way his eyes scanned her face, as if he were a predator examining his prey. A few patrons were watching, pausing their conversations to watch the show. But, none were helping, jumping up to arrive at her aid. A dark pit grew in her stomach at the observation.

He loosened his grip on her hair and she moved to pull back, but before she could, he spit in her face, a thick, hot wad of saliva landing on her cheek. Her mouth gaped in disgust, nose flaring, and she stepped back, wiping the insult from her face with her sleeve and slipping the knife she had been using earlier into her hand, concealing it behind her back. She retreated until her back was flush with the mirror behind her, eyes flitting wildly, trying to find a gap in the crowd where she could disappear and distance herself from him. But all she could see was his face, his hooked nose and hooded eyes, that awful, sneering expression, as he prepared to jump over the bar and bridge the gap between them. 

But, before he could, his head slammed into the bar’s wooden surface with a sickening crack!

Her mouth dropped open in confusion, the rushing bout of adrenaline quickly waning in her veins as she took in the sight of John, head pinned to the counter by a gloved hand. Wait, is that--?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up from John’s floundering figure to find Bucky, his hand firmly wrapped in John’s hair, his face contorted in an expression of rage. She had never seen him like this, nose scrunched, eyes dark. His eyes briefly flickered to hers, and when their gazes met, his face softened slightly, as if to provide her with some sense of reassurance. The breath stalled in her throat, but before relief could flood into her limbs, she saw John stirring in Bucky’s grip.

“What… what the fuck, man?” John turned his head, cheek pressed against the bar’s cool surface, to stare at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“Watch yourself, buddy.” Bucky’s voice was gruff and uncaring.

“Buddy?” John scoffed. 

“Well, what’s your name, then?”

A laugh rose in John’s throat, bubbling over into a bitter, joyless sound. He was trying to intimidate Bucky into backing off, shifting his weight below him in an effort to distract him.

It didn’t work. Bucky simply pressed John’s face even harder into the counter, until the breath whooshed from John’s lips in a muffled, defeated gasp. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Fine-- fine. Name’s Walker.”

“Well, Walker,” Bucky replied, leaning in close until his face obstructed John’s vision. “Keep your fucking mitts off my girl here.”

“What?” She couldn’t help it as the question left her lips in a surprised gasp. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to her again, lips pulling down in an embarrassed grimace, as if he hadn’t meant to call her that. 

That moment was enough time for John to act.

Bucky grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as John pushed out from under him. There was no time to think, no time to act, before John strode towards Bucky and socked him straight in the nose, Bucky’s head whipping violently to the side.

(Y/N)’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She stayed anchored to her spot in front of the mirror, unable to move. There wasn’t much that she could do. Now that John had initiated a physical fight, he likely wasn’t going to stop throwing punches until either he or Bucky collapsed. And with Bucky eliminated as a threat, there would be no one standing between John and her. With that thought, she brought the knife out from behind her and clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. She watched Bucky and John with rapt attention, waiting for the fight to turn back in her direction again.

Blood began to gush from Bucky’s nostrils in a thick stream, staining his lips a wet scarlet and dribbling down his chin. But, he smiled, shaking his head slightly and chuckling darkly. 

“You’re really askin’ for it now, Walker.” 

Before (Y/N) could even blink, Bucky sprung, landing a jab and a right cross that hit John square in the chin. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him into his knee, the pure force knocking the wind out of John’s chest with a meek groan. Bucky pushed John roughly into a table and John stumbled, causing a chair to clatter and fall, but he remained upright, leaning heavily against the table.

“You going to fight back at all?” Bucky’s goading tone took (Y/N) by surprise. Why was he egging him on?

John snorted and cracked his neck, trying to shake an encroaching sense of uncertainty from his limbs. He pushed off from the table and began a slow, circling orbit around the center of the room, sizing Bucky up with a violent, wolflike gaze, pushing the other customers flush against the wall. Bucky simply stood in place and watched, trying to anticipate John’s next move.

John stopped circling when he was directly across from (Y/N), Bucky between them. She felt John’s gaze slide from Bucky to her, his eyes languidly raking over her body, sensing out her fear. When he saw the knife in her hand, he raised an eyebrow in disapproval, shaking his head. Her heart pounded, adrenaline beginning to thrum through her veins once more. 

John widened his stance and bent his knees, assuming an athletic stance in preparation to tackle Bucky.  Bucky imitated his movement, planting his feet firmly into the floor. John inhaled deeply through his nose, once, twice, and then, he took off, running towards Bucky at full speed.

The room watched in silence, holding a collective breath. The only sound was the pounding of John’s boots against hardwood, the music paused long ago.

He hit Bucky with the force of a mack truck. It was enough to knock anyone off their feet, even someone who had fared as well as Bucky in the fight so far. John hit him so hard that they went flying, suspended in the air for a moment. For (Y/N), it felt so much longer, watching her savior struggle against the grip of his opponent in midair, uttering a quiet “Shit!” as his back slammed into the floor. And then, Bucky was still, John crouched over his immobile form, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

(Y/N) felt her body move off its own accord, pushing away from the wall, past the safety of the bar’s counter, towards the aftermath of the fray. Her legs quivered, a hard lump rising in her throat as she pushed towards the edge of the crowd. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face, his head concealed by John’s hulking body. A shudder wracked her body, her hope waning.

It was like John could sense her presence. He looked up, his sickening grin showing glistening, too-white teeth. She flexed her fingers, adjusting her grip on the knife. John’s eyes caught the movement, sensing the glint of low light against the blade, and he smirked. He was about to rock back onto his knees, to get up and finish what he started, when Bucky’s head slammed into his.

Disoriented, (Y/N) stepped backwards, once again flush with the crowd. One moment, she had been preparing to fight, to let the blood-soaked evening devolve into even more violence. Then, the next, Bucky had suddenly reanimated, an almost superhuman force driving power into his limbs. He bucked John, still reeling from the unexpected headbutt, off of him with an aggressive, thrusting twist. John tumbled and collapsed on the floor next to Bucky, who slowly knelt, then stood, eyes on John the whole time. When John didn’t budge, splayed on the floor with a distant, vaguely dazed expression, Bucky turned his gaze to (Y/N).

The room was dead silent, save for John’s labored breathing and the sound of Bucky’s boots against the hardwood as he slowly walked towards (Y/N). The room seemed to fade around the two of them, the confused, awed, and fearful faces of the spectating patrons blurred together in an anonymous mass. It smelled of sweat and rust and spilled liquor, but she didn’t care, because Bucky was okay.

“Anyone else?” Bucky asked the rest of the room, not taking his eyes off of (Y/N), even for a moment, lest she disappear, or worse. But she didn’t, staying rooted to the same spot, eyes glistening with gratitude. And no one responded to Bucky’s challenge. 

When Bucky came to a stop a foot in front of her, the other customers began to quietly file out, afraid to utter any remarks that may provoke another altercation. John’s two cronies picked him up from the floor, hefting his arms over their shoulders and bolting for the exit, his boots dragging on the floor. (Y/N) watched them exit, watched them stuff John into the backseat of their car before they peeled out of the parking lot and took off with the screeching sound of retreating rubber.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice soft in spite of the evening’s violent course. “You don’t have to worry about using that. You’re safe with me.” He pointed at the knife, still clutched in (Y/N)’s hands.

She looked down at the knife in her hands and then looked up at him, formulating a response, when she noticed that he had a gash on his jaw, as well as a still steadily-flowing nosebleed. The knife clattered to the floor as she reached for his hand. “You’re bleeding.” Her voice was thick with worry, regretting the fact that he had suffered for her sake.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotten worse.”

“Let me help you.” She glanced urgently around the bar, now empty save for the two of them. “I can close up and bring the first aid kit to your room. I owe you, after all of that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He paused for a second, considering. “But, sure. A couple of bandaids wouldn’t hurt.”

She smiled. “I’ll be there in ten.”

His brows creased together slightly, a chagrined smile curling his lips upwards. “Oh, I’m not leaving you alone just yet. We didn’t see where Walker went. He could be waiting just outside with those two other guys.”

She knew that both she and Bucky had seen them drive away, but she nodded anyways. “Alright. Just let me grab the first aid kit and my keys.”

“Deal.”

She picked the knife up from the floor and walked back to the bar, placing it gently in the sink. As Bucky walked towards the entrance, surveying the parking lot outside from the small, frosted window, she reached into the cabinet of cleaning supplies, pulling out a rusted, white box with a blaring maroon cross emblazoned on its front. She blew off the thin layer of dust that coated it and stood, grabbing her keys from the hook next to the mirror and joining Bucky at the entrance.

He turned towards her, noting the first aid kit, and grinned. “Room 102, here we come.”

She returned his smile as he opened the door, midnight air washing over them in a brisk, drafty waft. They stepped outside, engulfed in nighttime chill, and she shut the door and locked it, fumbling with the cold metal of the keys. Bucky stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, his body emanating an intoxicating warmth. She welcomed his proximity, wondering if he could sense the fact that she was cold, as they walked across the parking lot to his motel room.

He pulled his key from his back pocket and slid it through the card swipe, the door unlocking with a crisp click. She was looking out at the parking lot, at the trees and darkness beyond, wondering if John and his friends were in fact lurking out there somewhere, biding their time for the right moment to strike again. He was definitely the type to hold a grudge for a night like this. If he didn’t retaliate tonight, he would soon, would let her soak in the fear for a few days and then arrive at the bar unannounced with dues to pay.

Bucky cleared his throat, and (Y/N)’s attention snapped back to him. She looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised, and found that his smile was gentle and knowing. 

“You’re safe with me. Come on, let’s get inside. It’s cold.”

When they stepped inside, they were greeted with a welcoming warmth. The door shut behind them. He walked over to the little oak nightstand next to the single queen-sized bed and turned on the bedside lamp, its bulb washing the room in a dim, glowing halo of amber. She sighed, muscles relaxing, seeming to melt into the warmth, into the comfort of being somewhere besides the bar. She placed the first aid kit on the bed and shrugged off her cardigan.

“So, doc,” Bucky teased, approaching her at the foot of the bed. “What’s the plan? How’re you going to fix me up?”

“Well,” she said, squinting as she examined his face. “We’ll have to wash all that blood off first, so I can assess the damage.”

He gestured to the bathroom with one hand. “Lead the way.”

They walked into the bathroom and he flipped the light on, its white fluorescence a stark contrast from the soft light in the other room. She grabbed a bleach-white washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and turned on the faucet, dampening the cloth under the steady stream of water. She turned off the faucet and stepped back as Bucky leaned against the sink, crossing his arms.

“This might sting,” she said quietly, stepping into the space between his legs, his stance framing hers. He simply nodded in response. She tried not to think about their sudden proximity, the fact that she was alone in a motel room with a man who had risked his own safety to protect hers, a man she had been secretly pining over for a while now. Instead, she smoothed the wet washcloth in her hands and brought it up to his face, dabbing gingerly at a stream of blood that had dried on his cheek. When she brushed against the cut on his jaw, he winced, a sharp huff of breath leaving his nose.

“Sorry,” she apologized, trying to handle the cloth with light fingers. “He really got you there.”

“Even if that���s true, part of me thinks I should thank the guy.”

(Y/N) paused. “W-what?”

“Well, he’s an absolute ass. Deserved what he got,” he chuckled. “But now, I’ve got the pretty girl who works at my favorite bar taking care of me. It was definitely worth a couple of scrapes.”

“I--” her response died in her throat, choked by the deep blush that was creeping up her neck. She paused dabbing at his face, looking at him quizzically.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, noting her creased brow and parted lips. “Too soon.”

“No-- no. It’s okay.” She shook her head and smiled, moving the washcloth to his upper lip as she wiped away the evidence of his bloody nose. I just didn’t think you felt that way, too.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, (Y/N) trying to avoid direct eye contact the whole time, lest her blush return, his face was clean. She stepped back and examined her handiwork before throwing the bloodied washcloth in the waste bin and leading Bucky back into the main room. She sat down on the bed, its springs groaning in a rusty bounce beneath her, and she opened the first aid kit, searching for a suitable bandage for his jaw. He knelt on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, caging her in with his arms but refusing to let his touch drift any closer without permission. He watched her fingers flit indecisively between the different band-aid choices. 

Finally, she plucked one from its box, carefully unpeeling its wrapping. Bucky tilted his head slightly, allowing her easy access to the cut on his jaw, and she delicately placed the band-aid over it, careful not to press too hard against the tender skin. Her touch unconsciously lingered a moment longer, lightly caressing his face with the pads of her fingers. But after a few seconds, when she didn’t pull away, they both inhaled sharply, his face quickly growing hot. Their eyes met, and she dropped her hands to her sides, his piercing blue gaze boring into hers.

 He blinked and stood, walking over to the door and hunching down to glance at the parking lot through the peephole.

“I should get going,” (Y/N) said, voice hushed as she snapped the first aid kit shut. She stood, grabbing her cardigan, preparing to meet the cold outside and run to her permanent room. “Thank you. For everything.”

He turned away from the door. “Hold on.” His voice was grave, a stark contrast to the light, flirty turn of the evening since they had entered his room. “We still don’t know if he’s out there.”

(Y/N) bit her lip and shifted her weight, silently grateful for his hesitancy to let her be alone. “What are you suggesting?”

“You can take the bed.” He gestured to the spot on the carpet between the bed and the door. “I can take the floor.”

“A-are you sure?” 

“If I was in your position, I wouldn’t want to be alone,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “But, it’s your decision to make. I can walk you back to your room, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She thought for a second. She agreed with Bucky’s observation that John may still be out there, lying in wait, and he had been spot-on with the remark that it would be frightening to be alone after tonight’s violence. So far, Bucky had proven himself to be good. She felt comfortable around him. He didn’t try to touch her, and he still gave her options, despite the fact that he seemed oddly protective of her. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wouldn’t try to slip into bed next to her in the darkest hours of morning. He was a good man. He would live up to his promise and give her space, acting as a blockade between her and the outside world. For tonight, he would be the promise of warmth, of comfort, of safety.

“I think I’d be more comfortable here. With you.”

“Alright.” He offered a simple reply, walking over to her and taking the first aid kit and her cardigan from her, placing them on top of the dresser. “You’ll be safe with me,” he reassured her, bending down to look her in the eyes when he said it, uttering each word with heavy truth.

She nodded and bit her lip. When she felt her blush creeping back up her face, those stern, icy blue eyes of his fixated on her, she turned away, directing her attention towards the bed, hands smoothing over the covers. She grabbed a pillow, its blanched case stiff and rough from continual washing, and handed it to him. He smiled and took it, humming a low laugh and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

She pulled back the sheets as he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy, her body absolutely exhausted, but grateful for a safe place to rest after the day’s peril. She felt herself lull into a hypnotic state of rest before she could even pull the covers over her body, listening to the rumble of the motel’s heater and the whoosh of cars driving past on the distant highway.

Bucky finished in the bathroom and tiptoed to the closet. He grabbed the extra blanket from the top shelf, its woolen fabric starchy and coarse, and plopped it onto the floor next to his pillow. Then, he looked down at (Y/N), curled up on the bed, already halfway into a dream. He sighed, a soft smile gracing his lips, and he reached for the blankets on the bed, pulling them up over her sedated form. She shifted under the covers, settling into their warmth, and he turned off the bedside lamp, the room submerged in a sudden, but not unwelcome, darkness.

                                                             ✧

She woke to light streaming through the gap in the curtains.

The room smelled of lavender detergent and carpet cleaner, and of something distinctly masculine and unfamiliar, the scent of mint toothpaste and rainfall. She stretched, her body grateful for a restful night as memories of the previous day trickled back in. John’s threats, Bucky’s heroism. Her shyness, her inability to tell him how she felt, despite the fact that he so clearly reciprocated those feelings he had hinted at.

She sat up in bed and looked around the room. On the floor next to her, the spare blanket was folded neatly, the pillow she had given to Bucky the previous night stacked on top of it. His duffel was gone from its perch on the dresser. Any trace of him had disappeared, save for the scent that hung in the air and the memories that clung to (Y/N)’s brain.

She sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. She had a lot of work to do today. She supposed that she should probably clean up the bar after last night’s incident, and should break open the cleaning supplies that she had left untouched for so long. She wished that she had had the chance to say goodbye to Bucky before he left, a faint sense of longing gripping her throat. But, at least the cleaning would take her mind off of that, for the time being.

As she stood, she brushed through her hair roughly with her fingers, gathering the first aid kit and her cardigan. She surveyed the room one last time, bathed in soft morning light, when a square of white on the nightstand caught her eye.

Brows furrowed with confusion, she walked over, abandoning her things on the bed. On the nightstand was a notepad, an uncapped pen sitting next to it. A brief note was scribbled on it.

Call me if he comes back. 

Or, if you need me. For anything.

-Bucky

The message was followed by a phone number.

(Y/N) ripped the note from the pad and stared at Bucky’s slanted, spiked handwriting for a moment, noting the sharp angles and rushed script of his letters.

She stuffed the note in her back pocket and smiled.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Oh damn. Your drabble "Drowning" has given me IDEAS....

I can just see hero managing to stop villain from killing Supervillain, but Supervillain still being injured/ getting pneumonia from the water in his lungs... and how awkward it would be for hero to take care of someone who'd just tried to drown her.

This idea is fantastic! I hope that this was an ask to do it. If not, I apologize, but this was just such a great idea!

May get a little sad at the end (spoiler alert)

Drowning Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: concussion, CPR, death/killing mentions, descriptions of how someone was going to kill another (never acted upon), classic sick and delirious whumpee, sedatives mention, descriptions of medical setting and practices, mentions of loved ones death, pills (tylenol), hallucinations

~

Villain grabbed the knife, his fingers clutching the hilt until they glowed white. Supervillain was breathing heavily, yet he was still unconscious- lips parted and blue.

Hero also moved forward, her legs tensed and ready to pounce. The scene registered in her mind very quickly. The knife, the villain, and the heaving supervillain... blood and then the inevitable stop of breath.

It didn't have to be inevitable.

Hero rushed forward, grabbing a metal rod, and landed the blow directly to Villain's temple. He faltered, letting go of the knife and collapsing into Hero's awaiting arms.

"M Hhh," he breathed, bleeding head lolling in the crease of Hero's elbow. His eyes shifted from focused to unfocused in a matter of seconds, only to fluctuate back. Here flipped out her phone and called her medic.

"Hero! You alright?"

"Yeah I'm fine. Get to Supervillain's base. It's empty. Villain has a bad concussion, he's not entirely lucid right now..."

"Oh uh, um... I'm on my way." The line clicked.

Hero laid Villain against the wall, cupping his heavy head for a moment before tending to the unmoving supervillain. He wasn't breathing.

Hero quickly felt for a pulse and upon finding a soft thump-thump, she tilted his head to the side. Water immediately gushed out of his nose and mouth. He sputtered a little bit, but never woke.

Hero pressed her lips against Supervillain's after rolling his head back to the center. She breathed into his mouth four times, checked to see if he began to breathe. No.

She continued this. Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, check... breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, check... until the supervillain gasped for breath, choking and coughing out water and mucus.

Supervillain jerked himself forward, glancing at Hero to Villain and then back at Hero.

"H-" another coughing fit with more water. He started to gag, dry-heaving until tears spiked his eyes and nausea rose in his throat. When he was done, he scrambled to his feet and tumbled towards the open door to his base.

Hero returned to Villain's side and scooped her friend up. Medic wasn't there, so she decided to take him herself. Caressing his head, gently, she followed Supervillain outside and to her base.

The next day, Hero was walking along a sidewalk on her way home from visiting Villain in the hospital. It was a nice day, a great change from her near-death experience with Supervillain the day prior... Hero shuddered, trying not to think of the agonizingly cold water, the darkness lapping at her vision, knocking Villain out... the whole ordeal.

Knocking Villain out... Hero replayed the conversation she just had with her very ungrateful ex-frenenemy (apparently?). The half-dazed cusses and just plain rudeness from the bedridden patient were more than enough to make her feel annoyed. She saved Villain from committing an act that would have surely land him in jail- if not a mental facility. Especially the way the concussed villain talked about killing Supervillain. Apparently, Villain was going to slowly kill him with the knife, decorating major body parts with cuts and blood.

Hero sighed. That sadistic little turd that couldn't just walk away-

A groan.

Hero looked up to find herself walking in front of an alleyway. It was dark, if that's not a little too cliche, and eerily quite. Not even a stray cat knocked over a garbage can like in every classical alleyway scene.

Hero entered the alley stealthily, opening her holster and lying her hand over her gun. She looked behind every dumpster and every cardboard box. Finding nothing, she proceeded to leave, but two hands grabbed her mouth and throat.

Being yanked backwards sent a spark of adrenaline through Hero's veins. She turned and thrashed, but her attacker was unrelenting.

"Let me go!" Hero yelled when a large hand slipped away from her mouth. The other hand went away too. Pulling her gun out, Hero spun around, only to have a fist meet her face.

The impact startled her, but not as much as the body leaning heavily against her's.

The body heaved and gasped, heat radiating off its skin. Hero looked down and took in the features. She couldn't see a face, but it was obviously a guy. Hero dragged the man over to the only bare spot against the brick wall and leaned him aaginst it. She began to step away, only to realize that his head was resting against her shoulder.

"Hey," Hero mumured and grabbed the man's cheeks, holding him up, examining his face...

Hero nearly dropped the pale face.

It was Supervillain.

Also known as the man who tried to kill her.

Hero, for a brief second of primitive logic, contemplated leaving the feverish man to deal with himself. But guilt, and maybe a twinge of annoyance, drove her the complete opposite direction.

After all, she didn't just save him and give Villain a concussion only for him to die, right?

Yet as she scooped her attacker up, two portions of her brain- her sensible part and her empathetic part- played tug-of-war with each other. Drop him, bring him home, drop him, bring him home...

Of course the empathetic clump of cells won and she bridal-carried the shivering supervillain to her apartment.

She set Supervillain on her beige couch with a blanket strewn over his lap. He just had a cold right? She brought him some tylenol and a glass of water.

"Hey," she said softly, almost a whisper. Supervillain seemed so disconnected that she was afraid that she would startle him. His eyes were glassy and had an abnormal, faraway look.

Supervillain didn't reply, or look at Hero. His gaze was fixated on a corner of the living room.

Then, like a bomb suddenly going off, he started to cough.

He coughed until blood, water and mucus gushed from his mouth. He hacked it up like a waterfall. Hero stood up, linked her hands under his shoulders and hauled him into a better sitting position.

He coughed until he was sobbing, screaming. He fell back against the cushions, sputtering and crying, with tears streaming down his face. Each breath seemed to be a workout- shaky and shallow. He never made eye contact with Hero. Just stared ahead, coughing and crying.

"Are you okay?" Hero asked, loudly, but she still doubted the sick supervillain heard her. She placed a hand against his back, rubbing circles. It was just a cold- she was certain.

But he was so hot.

So unnaturally hot.

Hero frowned and went to grab a thermometer. She placed it against Supervillain's lips, but he didn't open them.

"Come on now," she coaxed gingerly and rubbed his flushed cheeks. She sighed. She didn't even need to know the temperature to know that the sick man infront of her had a fever.

Supervillain parted his mouth open and allowed the pointed metal edge to find a home under his tongue. He tried to move it around, but his resolve was too weak. Hero held it there until it beeped. 102.9

102.9 degrees fahrenheit. Nearly 103 degrees...

"Oh gosh," Hero exclaimed and dumped a couple tablets out of the tylenol bottle. She coaxed them onto Supervillain's bacteria-lidden tongue and pressed the glass of water against his bottom lip.

"Drink," she whispered. Supervillain obeyed and took a sip just big enough to force the pills down.

"Good job," she praised and lowered Supervillain down. Only for him to start coughing again.

"Take it easy, honey," she murmured. Honey? Where did that come from? Come on Hero, she scolded herself. The guy just tried to drown you the other day; you don't have to make this even more awkward or embarrassing.

Supervillain leaned into her. His firey body nearly made Hero begin to sweat. His eyelids drooped, breaths slowed, and soon he was alseep in her arms.

Hero knelt there by the armrest, alone with her intense thoughts. She rubbed his moist hair, allowing her nails to scratch at his scalp. Even alseep, she hoped it gave some comfort.

Not that he exactly deserved comfort. Villain was in a hospital bed, sleeping off sedatives and painkillers greedily and dealing with a major concussion. She thought of the grim night the doctors and her shared. Restraining a delirious villain, the MRI, all the tests... and then finally given the clear to inject a moderate sedative dose to help him sleep.

But Hero still gave the undeserved comfort. Maybe she was too empathetic, too caring and generous for her own good, but that matter could be taken care of another day.

Supervillain awoke a few hours later to Hero'd strawberry smelling hair resting against the top of his head. Her arms dangled across his chest as if she was giving him a hug from behind. She fell alseep mid-hug.

Of course, the supervillain did not register this interaction as that. He imagined it more as encompassing tendrils of ivy tying him down to a foreign object. He squirmed, trying to break free of Mother Nature's restraints, but he was too sick, too weak, and too helpless to do much more than move around.

Hero then woke up also, pulling her arms- the so-called vines- off the terrified supervillain's body.

"Good morning," she yawned and pressed a hand against her ward's forehead. Supervillain didn't seem to know what to do. He wavered between pushing forward into the hand- or the frustratingly threatening boulder to him- or pulling away. He chose the later, jerking away only to send a rush of mind reeling dizziness through his head.

He swayed, or he thought he did for he was still lying against the couch as if a magnetic force attached him to it. Reaching out weakly to grab Hero's hands, he closed his eyes.

"You are so sick," Hero cooed, her voice a mixture of both anxiety and tranquility. Supervillain gripped her tighter and tried to pull himself up to her.

"Shh, shh," Hero whispered. "Sleep."

Supervillain seemed like he nodded. Or was it due to him loosening up as he fell asleep again? Hero didn't know, nor cared.

She stood up and laid a blanket over Supervillain before heading into the kitchen to make a bland chicken soup and a small bowl of rice.

After the meal was done, about thirty minutes later, Hero returned to Supervillain on the couch with a portable plastic table and the food. She propped the still sleeping man into a sitting position before awakening him.

Supervillain blearily opened his eyes, blinked, and settled his gaze on Hero's eyes. He twitched his head upwards, but that was all. Hero didn't even think he noticed the steaming food on the table beside him.

"Want to eat?" She asked, more to herself than anyone. Supervillain looked at her with those wide, brown eyes like he did right before he attempted to drown her.

"Mnh," Supervillain groaned. "M chest hurts."

"Your chest hurts?"

"Mhm."

Hero tentatively lifted his shirt, but the feverish man didn't seem to care, or realize the possible intimate gesture.

"Let's take this off, shall we?"

Supervillain nodded, which made Hero nervous. Why was he being so compliant?

Nevertheless, she striped his shirt off and examined his ribcage. She had him take a couple deep breaths, but the movement seemed to exhaust him further. His ribs seemed a bit swollen, but nothing was broken.

Then a horrid realization dawned on her.

He had pneumonia. Most likely due to the water still festering in his lungs.

"Ooookay," Hero breathed. She would deal with that later, maybe call Medic- no, no one could know that she was housing the Man of Terrors- but first she had to get some food into Supervillain's stomach.

So she spooned, mouthful by mouthful into Supervillain's parched mouth slowly. She cleaned any broth dripping down his chin with a washcloth.

After he finished eating, Supervillain was so exhausted that he nearly fell alseep with his neck bent awkwardly. Hero readjusted him to a laying position, but elevated him slightly to ease his ragged breathing.

Pneumonia.

That would explain the harsh breathing and the daunting fever. Gosh, was he sick and so sudden too. Hero sat next to Supervillain, rubbing his hair back from his sweaty forehead like a caretaker.

Even though it was awkward, given the circumstances and past events, Hero stayed with him all night. Easing his pain, feeding him small bits of rice and soup, taking off blankets and putting them back on, wet washcloths and fans. Sometimes she would doze off on his chest, but never for long.

Whatever connection and trust built up between the two that night was unbelievable. Extraordinary, even. But still, nothing, not even with the newfound relationship, prepared Hero for the one simple and innocent yet insanely heartbreaking word that sickly Supervillain uttered.

"Mother?" He squeaked, looking up at Hero with eyes so full of love and relief that they looked about to burst. Hero felt her heart break, shattered to a million pieces as her guest extended his hand to her face.

"Am I in heaven?" He asked in such a childish manner. He looked around, but frowned at his surroundings. "Mother? You're dead right? Am I dead too?" The previous chirpy voice lowered to Supervillain's desolate montone.

Hero didn't know what to say, for Supervillain gazed at her with all the intent he could physically muster.

She could give into the hallucination and play along, but guilt would eat her alive. But, she thought it rude to just blatantly say, "No. You're mother is dead. It's me, Hero."

Supervillain whimpered, chin trembling as he began to cry. Hero winced, but then realized:

She said those words outloud and now she had a grieving, delirious, and sick supervillain to tend to. Great, just great.

[thelostexperiment]

It had been about a year after The Last Adventure and F.O.W.L's desertion of the Lost Library of Alexandria. All that was left with the massive monolith of ancient knowledge, standing as tall as ever in the middle of a raging sandstorm. It was still full of both artifacts of the past and state of art, modern tech from the renovations of F.O.W.L all left to gather dust. For the most part the entire library was devoid of life, with the exception... of a young female duck dressed in classic adventurer's gear.

She roamed the halls, apprehensive of her surroundings while shining her flashlight down every passageway and dark corner she passed. Occasionally she'd call out if anyone else was there, even if she wasn't sure if she wanted an answer back.

"Sweet Salin, this place is creepy." She muttered to herself with a southern drawl in her voice.

It wasn't long before she entered a huge expansion of the library with thousands of empty cells lining the walls as far as her eyes could see, or at least as far as her flashlight could show.

"And who or what the heck were all these used for?" She said in awe, as she walked through the massive room, making slow twirls to get a full 360 view of the room. She suddenly stepped on something hard and the 'crunch' made gave her a start. She found that her foot was standing on the barrel of a strange looking broken gun with a cracked crystal in it sparkled at her when she shined her light on it. She decided to quicken her pace through the room after that, but this time being more mindful of where she stepped.

After turning a few more corners and going down a few more corridors, she found herself in the medical section of the library. Maybe there could be something helpful here? She certainly hoped so. The inside seemed like a typical infirmary; cost, chairs, medical equipment and tools, some curtains, it reminded her a lot of the nurse's office at her school. Except the motivational posters on the nurse's wall didn't say–

"Don't give up!

Because not even your God(s) can save you if you fail us.

~F.O.W.L."

At least the kitten on the poster was cute... After pulling aside a curtain in the back area of the room, she noted that her school nurse didn't have two huge empty stabilization tanks in the back. Now this looked more like a sci-fi movie to her and she hoped there wouldn't be any experiments running around. Well, all she could do now was to investigate further, which led her to the back storage room of the infirmary.

She was able to jimmy the door open with her pocket knife, and as soon as she did a mouse scurried past her. The sudden movement made her jump back with a yelp before she released what it was, then felt silly as she watched the cute little guy skitter out of sight. She couldn't help but laugh at herself a little as she entered. It was a large space (not nearly as big as the cell room, though), with large crates and boxes full of medical supplies and dust all over everything.

As she went further in she noticed through the dark, a dim red light flashing against the very back wall behind a huge stack of crates. Curiosity took her to what was causing the light, which was a rather old looking computer screen attached to what looked like another stabilizing machine. Only this one wasn't as modern as the other two, the tank was slanted vertically and it wasn't empty, the fogged glass obscured whatever was inside, but she could see the silhouette of... something.

"Oh... I don't like that…" said the young duck as she looked at the machine with wide eyes, and slowly reached over her shoulder and grabbed the walking stick that was attached to the side of her backpack to bring it forward as a weapon.

Cautiously, she approached the monitor that was flashing in all big red caps, "ERROR!", and tapped the 'entire' key on the keyboard under it. The screen cleared and turned blue, but then another line of text appeared.

"Cooling unit disabled… Emergency thaw in progress…"

A loading bar appeared under the text. It was almost full…

"Aw, I really don't like that!" She exclaimed as panic settled into her heart. Even though she didn't know exactly what was behind that glass, but she'd seen enough old horror movie tropes to know this couldn't be good. Maybe it could be fixed? She tried what little she knew to override the computer, but couldn't get past the password. Then searched the thing over, frantically hoping to find the problem, and there it was. A large cable running from the machine to the wall had been gnawed through… by mice… and some of the wires were chewed to bits.

Well, there wasn't much she could do now. She took a few steps back and raised her walking stick at the ready as the loading bar reached 100%. The inside of the tank lit up, with a 'pop' and loud 'hiss' the door to the hatch of the tank cracked open, the duck readied herself to smack whatever was coming out, and—!

Nothing...

After a few seconds of holding her attack, the confused duck used her would-be weapon to push the hatch open all the way without getting near it. To her bafflement, mist poured out of the machine and cleared away to reveal an old man... Just an old balding vulture in a black suit and tie, probably sleeping...?

The unexpected twist of the situation made the young duck tilt her head and let out a– "Huh…"

All that fuss over some old guy.

She rested her stick on the ground and approached him casually this time to get a better view of him. She couldn't really tell if he was alive or not just by looking at him. If he was breathing it was very slight. She grabbed the vulture's to check his pulse, it was ice cold to the touch, but she could feel something very faint.

"Hey, Mister, you alright?" She asked as she tapped the end of his beak with the index finger of her other hand to wake him.

This did cause him to stir as his face scrunched a little from the tapping and his eyes started to blink open. The young woman stepped back as the old buzzard sluggishly drudged himself upright with a long groan that morphed into a loud yawn. She patiently waited for him to fully wake before she spoke up again.

"Well, hello there!" she said gregariously which snapped his attention towards her.

"H-hello?" He hesitantly replied in a low gruff voice as he titled his head in visible confusion, in an attempt to actually see who he was talking to.

Suddenly, the possibility of finally getting some answers about this place sparked some excitement in the young duck, especially since this old man didn't seem particularly dangerous.

"Alright, so my name's Susan Spruce, and I found this place after my plain got caught in a sand storm and kind of crash landed, and it so nice to meet you, because the place is a bit creepy by myself, and it's great to finally find someone who knows about this place. So what's your name?"

She spoke all this in a rapid fire manner, meanwhile this poor old buzzard was still struggling to see, and as he tried to lean in to get a better look at Susan his hand felt a small pair of glasses lying next to him. He picked them up and started looking through them just as she finished with her question.

"I...uh," he put the glasses on his beak, finally, he could see, "I don't know..."

That was definitely not an answer she was hoping for and the spark in her smile started to wane a bit. "Aheh… Okay, uh… how'd you get here?"

"I don't know." he repeated flatly this time.

"Well… is there anything you can tell me about yourself?... or this place…?" She asked a bit more pleadingly.

Now he was starting to get a little irritated and it showed by the look he was giving her. He straightened himself a little, cleared his throat and said calmly, "Alright, I'll tell you, but this is very important and I'm only going to say this once so you need to listen very carefully." Susan nodded, giving her full attention to him as he cleared his throat again.

"I."

"Yeah!?"

"Don't."

"Uh-uh…"

"Know."

"..." At this point she was just as annoyed as he was and it showed by the look she was giving him back, which did make him smile. Although to be fair, she'd be a bit sassy too, if a stranger started asking her questions as soon as she woke up. She stooped down to pick up her walking stick with a disheartened sigh, "Well, sorry for buggin' you then."

The old vulture took her apology as a 'goodbye', and not really wanting the only other person here to leave yet, he attempted to walk.

"Wait, don—!" The instant his feet hit the ground his legs buckled under his weight and he began to drop. The only reason he didn't face plant onto the floor was Susan jumping towards him propping him back up, and helped lean him against the machine that served as his bed for who knows how long for stability.

"Here," she said, offering him her stick, "you need this more than I do right now."

He took it with a humbled, "Thank you." A small glasses case fell out of his inner coat pocket and clattered on the floor as he used the walking stick to straighten his stance, which Susan was quick to pick up.

"Oh, hey!" she chimed as she got a good look at it, "I found your name!"

She handed the little case back to him and he read the gold print on black leather.

"B. Buzzard "

"Huh…" was all he had to say before tucking the case back into his pocket.

"Well, I guess welcome to the future, Mr. Buzzard." Susan Greeted, this wasn't what she expected to find in an ancient library, but she was glad for the company.

[namfine]

⊙ | 𝕷𝖚𝖝𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖆 : 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 | ⊙

              Lust is an inordinate craving for the pleasures of the body. 

                                       - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

α pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

α word count: 7.1k

α summary: A loveless marriage drives you to a dark part of your city in search of the things that once made you happy. Instead, you find a man who awakens carnal desires deep inside you that you never knew existed. An impulsive decision and a loss of control make for the best paintings but driven past the point of no return- tell me, is it worth falling for?

α tags/TW: 18+, smut, bts smut, taehyung x reader, reader insert, artist Taehyung, strangers, knife play, blood play, rough sex, master x servant relationship, dom x sub relationship, dominant male, dirty talk, unprotected sex, affair, alcohol consumption, sex under the influence, daemon au

α part: 1 of 7 of our Seven Deadly Sins Milestone Challenge.

⋫ Link to Master List here 

α  a/n: Hello and welcome to the first piece in our Sin Challenge! We are beyond excited to share this journey with you, please check out the master list for the rest of the pieces which will be released once a day for the next 7 days. This piece was a blast to write but I did let out a little bit of my kinky self (just a tiny bit, it’s not too crazy) and I hope you all enjoy it. 

- ☆.｡.:* Zesty .｡.:*☆

The minute you saw him you knew you were in trouble.

It was a Tuesday. You were out for a walk trying to escape the reminders of a loveless marriage that waited for you when you returned home. You were in what would have been called a dodgy part of your city but it reminded you of your old college town and you couldn’t give it up.

Litter crowded the sidewalk and you swerved around panhandlers trying to score a few cents. You stood out in your business clothes, the handbag a gift from your husband as an apology for his latest secretary fling.

You looked at the bag, the designer label loud and proud on the front. You can’t say you were surprised that your husband had wandering eyes. After all, that’s how you came to marry him in the first place. You were his secretary too, once. A fling that he started to escape his second wife. One you participated in because you were young, vulnerable, and searching for a thrill. You were always just another conquest on his radar, never seen as an equal and definitely never loved.

In college you never imagined living such an unhappy future.

Maybe that’s what drew you here. What led you to the little art studio under the neon signs, tucked behind the tattoo shop where men slouched outside taking long drags of stolen cigarettes. A quarter life crisis where you tried to grasp what made you happy in the past.

Stepping into the studio was like taking a step into another world. Darkness enveloped you, the walls a deep sapphire blue with spotlights illuminating the classically inspired art pieces. You walked further in, careful to avoid the other patrons, the grey stone floor made your heels sing and you wished silently for anything else so you wouldn’t draw any more attention to yourself. No one was speaking loud, only hushed whispers as pairs and groups mingled through the gallery, admiring the works. You weren’t surprised as you took in one after the other of the elaborate paintings  that the visitors were both too stunned and aroused to casually chat. The works depicted some of life’s most desired and feared moments.

Every one of the paintings showed people fucking.

Every position you could imagine, with and without clothes, choking, bondage, everything. You perused the works, each one simultaneously taking your breath away as well inspiring a curiosity deep within you that you hadn’t felt in years. Clearly the creator was proficient in the art of lovemaking and not afraid to show it.

You zoned in on the face of a woman in pure ecstasy, her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut, lips parted. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that sort of passion with your husband or any of the others before him. You didn’t think you’d ever had.

Something drew you from your thoughts and your eyes flicked across the room, surprised to meet the eyes of a young man. He looked to be mid to late twenties and wore simple loose fitting tan pants with a deep blue shirt tucked in. He was flanked on either side by two beautiful women who appeared to be deep in a conversation that didn’t include him, but his eyes never left you. He was striking, to say the least, with brilliant shaggy black hair and a smirk that conveyed a lazy sense of male confidence that you could feel from where you stood.

It was exhilarating.

Unnerved by your response, you broke the gaze and spun out of the gallery back to the loud street. You paused for a minute on the street, your back flush against the brick building of the gallery, avoiding the looks of edgy passersby.

Who was he?  

You pushed the thought deep into the back of your mind and left the street heading back to the silent home where you knew your husband would be absent.

                                        - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

You found yourself in that little gallery in the corner of the city a few more times that month. Soon, it was like your feet were bringing you there without your mind even realizing it. You would just wake up when you walked through the ornate gold trimmed door, into the plush dark blue of the room. It was better than being home, constantly reminded that your marriage was a sham and probably the biggest mistake of your life. Whether you visited for the art pieces or him even you didn’t really know. Regardless, you never caught another glimpse of the mysterious raven-haired man and honestly, it was probably for the better. At least this way you retained some form of plausible deniability about why you actually visited the gallery.

It was a Saturday, late in October, when you noticed it. You were working your way through the pieces, paying special attention to your favorites, the ones you wished you were bold enough to try when your eyes found a small one tucked into the back of a winding hallway. Like all the others, the only luminance was the small spotlights meant to display the piece and you moved down the hall to get a closer look.

It hadn’t been there the last time you visited, you were sure of it, so it must have been new. It was smaller than the others, more intimate, portraying two lovers, as opposed to some of the elaborate orgy scenes you had witnessed the artist releasing more of lately.

The male had what appeared to be a medieval dagger in his hands and was using the handle to pleasure his partner’s clit. She had nicks on her skin on her collarbone, fingers, hips where he must have pricked her before but she looked to be enjoying every second, a leather collar tight around her neck, it’s leash in his other hand that gripped her firmly on her hip.

“I haven’t seen you here before, is this your first time?” A husky voice from behind you caused you to jump and you turned around, your face turning beat red.

It was him.

He was garbed in a similar style as the last time you had seen him, this time black slacks and smooth red silk shirt. He blended into the darkness of the navy walls and stepped forward a bit so the spotlight from the painting bounced off his chiseled features. He was even more beautiful up close with eyes so dark the pupil disappeared and full lips above a defined jaw. He had styled his hair today slightly to the side and you could see a sliver of a flawless forehead. Clearly, he had been taking care of his body and you could see the peek of a toned chest from the deep v of his shirt. He was all dark shadows and long lines, his feet slipped into a simple pair of backless dress shoes.  How did someone this beautiful exist? Did he not remember me from last time?

Of course he wouldn’t.

He had been surrounded by two stunning women and with a face like that, you were sure he was used to it.

“No,” you responded motioning to the art work. “I come here often after work. I really like the artist’s work. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he responded and you whipped your head back to him to see him hiding a small grin.

“You’re the artist?” You asked, amazed.

“Is that so astounding?”

You took in his appearance again, so casual and cool. He had both hands in his pant pockets now and was leaning on one foot, giving off an air of quiet confidence.

You shook your head. “No, I guess not.” It really didn’t surprise you in the slightest. You were immediately drawn to this man and obviously attracted to the artwork so it made sense that he had created it. “So . . .” You were eager to continue the conversation, get to know him more. “What’s your favorite piece?”

His eyes lit up at that and he led you on a tour of the studio, pointing out pieces he particularly enjoyed making or that he thought turned out well. You watched as his features changed from casual aloofness to one of childlike excitement as he talked about his work. It was late and what few patrons there were happy to leave you both to your own devices, and you continued for about an hour with no interruptions. It was near closing when he led you to another piece you hadn’t seen before.

This one was simpler, two people once again in the throes of passion but this time only the man’s face was visible, his eyes peering down at his lovers while he chased his release.

“Are all of your paintings. . . . uh” you searched for the right word. “Do all of your paintings contain such visceral acts?”

He raised an eyebrow at your choice of words. “Yes, all of my paintings show people fucking.”

The way he enunciated the last word made the hairs on your arms stand up.

“And. . . “ you couldn’t meet his eyes. “Do you paint from experience?” You didn’t know what game you were playing but you couldn’t deny your attraction to this man. You were walking a dangerous line.

He studied you intently. “Not all of them. Some are just fantasies of mine. I like knowing that my work can inspire others to spice up their sex lives. Give them ideas of things they might like to try.”

Wow, a real civil servant.

“What are your fantasies?” he asked, bluntly.

You met his eyes. “I don’t know, I guess I’m sort of stuck. Maybe that’s why I keep coming here.”

“I have some more, up in my apartment if you need more inspiration.”

A dangerous line, indeed.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t even know your name and besides-” you indicated to the ring on your finger and shrugged. “I’m married.”

The man didn’t seem deterred by the announcement of your marriage in the slightest. In fact, he didn’t seem surprised at all. “The name’s Taehyung and I highly doubt your husband will be upset if you come home with some great ways to spice up your sex life. In fact, he’ll probably be grateful.”

He had you there. Although it had been months since your husband had even touched you.

“Okay,” you replied before your brain could stop you.

“Great, let me close up and grab my coat. It’s within walking distance,” he turned to leave.

“Y/N,” you blurted and he turned to look over his shadow at you. “That’s my name.”

“I know.”

                                     - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

         Hyper indulgent.

                                               Irresponsible.

                                                                                   Impulsive.

That’s probably what they’ll say about me, you thought as you followed Taehyung out the back door of the studio and into the crisp night air. It’s important to note that you knew it was wrong. When all was said and done, you went in with your head clear.

You weren’t ignorant. You knew where this was heading.

He led you down a winding alley behind the gallery, wrapping his hand warmly around yours when you tripped on some exposed cobblestone. He and you both knew that seeing the paintings was a cover for what he really could offer you. A night of passion.

The sun had set long ago but you found yourself admiring the way the street lights illuminated the crevices of the brick buildings. Something about being with this man heightened your senses. You found yourself entranced with the laundry that dangled thirty feet above your head, the steam bursting out of the old metal pipes that danced outside the buildings.

He glanced back at you, watching as your face changed into one of wonder, your fingertips brushing the edges of the alley, returning covered with dew. You missed the small, mischievous smile he gave you as he pulled you up some narrow stairs. Too focused on your heightened awareness of a city you thought you had seen every bit of you didn’t resist as he pulled you into a doorway at the top casting a predatory look at the lines of your neck, the curve of your collarbone.

You came to your senses within Taehyung’s apartment. Dark shapes rose out of the darkness and you felt a slight prick of fear in the back of your mind as you realized you had just followed a stranger to his apartment in the middle of the night and no one knew where you were. He released your hand, as if he sensed your unease, and began moving around his space turning on the few lamps he had but mostly lighting the candles he had lined against the walls.

Tentatively, you took a few steps into the room. The soft light illuminated the dark shapes to be a collection of eclectic objects that included a few nude marble statues, a large dark green fern atop a baby grand piano, and a suit of armor stashed in a corner. To say he was a collector was to put it minimally. He had the usual couch and dining table but they were buried beneath art supplies and hidden behind canvases of unfinished works. A single door appeared across the room, furthest from you as he lit a few more candles that you assumed was his bedroom.

Your mind followed your feet as you were drawn to a rather large painting across from the couch where one may have put a television, although Taehyung didn’t have one. It was of two lovers, gripped in a passionate embrace, not unlike the others in the room or in his studio. What drew you to it was that the people weren’t quite  human. You couldn’t put your finger on it but there was something different about the way they gripped one another. The glint in their eyes as they fucked, almost predatory - but definitely vital. Desperate.

You tilted your head and watched as their forms seemed to shift before your eyes. Dark wings sprung from the male’s back, a spindly tale grew out of the female. You reached out, tracing the edge of the elongated canines on the male, your fingers moving down his body to the nails growing, shaping-

“Like what you see?” Taehyung’s voice drew you from your trance and you turned to see him looking at you from across the room, face shrouded in the darkness of the dim light. He was shaking his hand slightly to extinguish a match.

You whipped your head back to the painting to find the creatures returned to their human state. No wings. No tails. Just regular plump humans gettin’ it on.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself, your fingers tracing the same hand that had grotesquely sported the inhuman nails only seconds before.

“Would you like something to drink?” Taehyung asked, his voice sounding off further than it had a second ago. You whipped your head in his direction only to find him behind the counter of the kitchen, clear on the other side of the apartment. How did he get there so fast?

“Uh, yes please.” You responded moving towards him and pushing the thought of the shifting painting from your mind.

Taehyung pulled out an aged bottle of what appeared to be red wine from a place called LaVeyan Vineyards. The bottle was nearly completely black, dusty like it had sat for years in the same place, and a simple gold trim around the edge of the label.

“What is that?” You asked, sitting on one of the twin leather barstools across from him.

He looked at you, a single eyebrow raised. “Wine.”

You rolled your eyes. “I got that, genius. I meant what kind?”

Taehyung pulled two ornate wine glasses from an old china cabinet and placed them in front of you, making quick work of opening the bottle. He shrugged as he poured two glasses. “I don’t remember. A friend of mine made it ages ago. It’s vintage.”

You took a glass in your hand, swirling it slightly to make sure it was properly aerated, brushing off the comment about his friend making vintage wine. Taehyung didn’t look much older than 28, you weren’t sure how anything his friends made could be considered vintage.

Regardless, the wine emanated a strange smell that you couldn’t quite place. You were no expert but you had enjoyed more than your fair share of wine in your life and this one smelled metallic.

Taehyung didn’t seem to notice or at least didn’t care and brought the smooth liquid to his lips for a long taste. Following suit, you sipped it, smacking your lips to try and place the flavor. Sweet yet . . . . tangy?

“Do you like it?” He asked, leaning his elbows on the counter across from you so that your faces were closer together.

You nodded. “It’s . . . . unusual. But good.”

He smiled. “So, y/n, are you an artist as well?”

You shook your head, taking another sip of the wine. It was growing on you. “No, not at all actually,” you placed the wine on the counter, clasping your hands under your chin and resting your head on them to peer up at him through long lashes. “That’s part of the reason I was so drawn to your work. It’s something I have absolutely no talent for.”

Taehyung chuckled. “Ah, so you were drawn by my work. Not necessarily by me.”

So bold.

“I didn’t say that.” You traced the rim of your glass with your index finger, aware of the way his eyes devoured your every move. I am so going to hell for this.

Taehyung smiled, but it was a smile that held no joy. He smiled like he had a dirty secret that only the devil knew about. “What do you want, Y/N?”

The question took you by surprise. What did you want? Why were you there? In the back of your mind, you knew this was wrong. But there was just something about Taehyung, you couldn’t put your finger on it. Something about him called to the primal parts of your body, the parts that you usually buried deep inside yourself. He made you want to throw caution to the wind and just let go of your inhibitions.

It wasn’t only that he was probably the most attractive man you’d ever seen, although that helped, it was his entire aura. The manor in which he conducted himself, his confidence, the deep timbre of his voice.

You were losing control.

You lifted the wine glass to your lips, now less than half full and took a long sip, considering your answer.

“I want to have a choice in my life for once, I want to do what I want to do. Not what someone else tells me I should do.”

Taehyung seemed to like that answer. He stared at you thoughtfully as he polished off his glass.

“What about you? What do you want?” you asked.

The dim lighting couldn’t hide the glint in his eyes as he reached to grab the bottle of wine, pouring himself another full glass. The dark red liquid swirled slowly, guided by an expert hand and he brought it to his full lips to take a sip before answering your question.

“I want you.”

You were taken aback by his curtness, you had only just met after all. You brought your wine glass to your lips and tipped it back only to stop abruptly. The liquid at the edge of your mouth wasn’t wine.

You pulled the glass back and for a brief second you stared at the liquid, thicker than wine but just as dark. You dipped a single finger into the glass. The liquid was room temperature, as all red wine should be, but slightly heavier in viscosity. You lifted the red coated finger to your lips, inserting the finger into your mouth. The liquid was metallic in taste, different than it had tasted mere minutes before. Taehyung’s eyes watched you intently.

It was almost like the more  you drank the more you wanted him. The wine acting as some sort of criminal aphrodisiac, pushing yourself past what your sound mind told you was okay. Pushing you past your normal boundaries that kept you in the stagnant life you ached to be released from.

“I want you as well.”

It was as if you had opened the dam to a great reservoir, Taehyung was on you in seconds moving from around the counter to scoop you off the barstool and place you on your feet. He pushed his lips against your own, opening his mouth immediately, nothing chaste in his actions. You wrapped your hands around his neck and he cupped your ass bringing you closer to him before hoisting you up and placing you on the counter beside your glass.

His kisses did nothing to aid the strange metallic taste in your mouth, in fact, it made it stronger. Stronger in taste and stronger in the lightness that flew to your brain urging you to pull him closer, open your legs wider.

He pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth and you groaned into his mouth as his hands found purchase in the buttons of your blouse and began to hurriedly undo them. His fingers were deft and within a few short minutes you sat before him with only your bra above your pants and he pulled back to look at you.

“Is this what you want, y/n?” He asked, his lips swollen from kissing, his hair tousled in candlelight. “Are you sure you want to continue this journey?”

You weren’t sure what journey he was referring to but if it had to do with what you hoped he was about to do to you in the bedroom, you sure as hell were ready. It was Taehyung, for the short period of time you had known him, he liked to be dramatic so you brushed off the comment.

“Oh,” you said, pulling him towards you by the cloth of his loose silk shirt and reaching up to whisper into his ear. “I’m ready.”

Taehyung growled in response and gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter so you could feel him through his loose dress pants before slowly rolling into your clothed core. He was already so hard. “Then there’s one thing you need to learn about me,” he whispered, ghosting his lips over the crest of your ear, one hand snaking up your body to palm your breast through your bra as he subtly thrusted into you. Your head tilted back, a soft groan escaping your lips. You had never felt this way with a partner before. With Taehyung all your sexual senses seemed heightened somehow. “I take what I want.”

He scooped you off the counter, careful to avoid contact with the candles, as he walked you both to the doorway on the far end of the apartment, what you had earlier assumed to be his bedroom.

It was like you were walking in a dream, somehow a thick mist had descended onto either the apartment or your mind, casting the collection of strange objects back into a heavy darkness as Taehyung carried you to the room, his lips never leaving some part of your exposed body.

His bedroom was massive. Dark velvet curtains draped the walls, candles once again covered the walls and bedside surfaces although you had no recollection of Taehyung lighting them earlier. His bed was in the center of the room, a massive dark wooden four poster with an extravagant  comforter. Taehyung kicked the door shut behind you both before throwing you onto the bed. The curtains surrounding the bedroom blended into the navy walls, creating a sense of comfortable warmness that seemed to soak up what limited lighting there was in the room.

You turned your head, eager to absorb as much of the space as you could and your eyes caught the glint of a group of knives on the bedside table. Fascinated, you rolled onto your side, reaching for them. There were five in all, varying shapes and sizes but overall petite little things. One caught your eye, it was about the length of your hand and had six simple deep blue sapphires embedded in the handle. You ran your fingers over the blade gently, intrigued.  

Taehyung followed your gaze as he crawled onto the bed behind you, the silk of his shirt felt cool against your skin as he spooned you from behind, nipping softly at the pulse point on your neck, clearly eager to continue what you had started in the kitchen. “I collect them,” he murmured against your skin and you struggled to push down your fascination with the blade before turning in his arms to face him.

“Of course you do,” you whispered. It seemed completely in character.

“Things like that capture my eye,”  he ran a finger down your throat. “Beautiful,”  his finger dipped lower to the valley between  your breasts before tracing down your torso until it rested on the button of your pants “but deadly little things.” Searching your eyes for any retaliation, he paused.

When you smiled at him, a slow lazy smile that you knew would drive him crazy, he slowly untangled himself from you to work on pulling off your pants.

Released from your leg confines, Taehyung pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing a broad expanse of toned stomach  before crawling back over you, dipping his head to catch your lips. You eagerly returned the kiss, wrapping your legs around his hips and he dipped his pelvis down, grinding his erection against your sensitive clit through the thin material of his pants and your panties. The wine was making your head spin, although you had only had a glass. You wanted him more with each breath. More than you had ever wanted your husband.

You groaned as he found the right amount of friction and he quickened his pace, roughly rubbing up into you with each thrust. You could feel how incredibly hard he was already and you arched up with each movement, meeting his thrusts but eager for more. Much more.  

“You like that, little darling,” he whispered harshly into your ear, his voice raspy and a little out of breath. “You like that you can feel how hard and ready I am from just tasting your lips?”

You responded with your body, chasing a high that only he could give you and he began to end each thrust with a deep roll of his hips. He had to know how he was affecting you, like some \ sex starved teenager dry humping in the back of your dad’s pickup truck. You had never acted like this before, but the way he ground into your clit with each thrust heightened your arousal. You were sure by now, that you were soaking.

Entangling your fingers in his dark hair you pulled slightly as Taehyung began to plaster your neck and torso in large open mouthed kisses, murmuring dirty words and planned actions as he took in every crevice of your exposed body, a hand finding purchase in your clothed breast once again and massaging it in tempo with his thrusts. When he latched onto your pulse point with his full lips, you pulled a little too hard on his hair earning yourself a harsh bite from Taehyung.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, breaking the embrace, shock written purely on your features as your hand flew to your neck and returned, fingers stained crimson.

You hadn’t realized you were bleeding.

“Sorry,” Taehyung murmured, pulling you back to him, his lips returning to envelop the wound, his tongue swirling around the puncture marks and your stomach rolled in pleasure forgetting the strange occurrence from moments before. What is wrong with me? “I’ll be more careful.”

Finishing his apology on your neck he leaned back, balancing himself on his elbow over you, bringing your bloodstained fingers up to his lips. His hooded eyes, dark with desire, never leaving yours as he took your fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the blood, sucking it off.  Heat pooled in your core as you watched him, something incredibly carnal and erotic in his gaze, like he couldn’t wait to consume you whole. He finished with a loud pop and you felt something in you snap.

You didn’t know what came over you but before you even fully realized what you were doing you twisted in the bed, reaching for the pretty little sapphire knife on the bedside table. Grasping it by the handle you pulled it from the magnetic strip attaching it to the holder and turned back to face Taehyung.  He hovered over you, watching intently as you grabbed one of his hands and slipped the blade into it. He seemed neither surprised or turned off by your actions as you brought the blade to rest against your throat, he merely raised an eyebrow like he was interested to see how far you would go.

“Why don’t you show me what you can do with these pretty little knives?” You whispered, the blade cool against your throat. “They’re on your bedside table for a reason.”

There was no point in denying it and Taehyung knew it, his gaze darkening, a sly close lipped smile making his features seem almost sinister. When he spoke, it was almost like his voice had dropped an octave, a deep rumbling that sent shivers up your spine.

“Do you trust me, y/n?”

“I wouldn’t give you the knife if I didn’t, Taehyung”

His entire demeanor shifted. He was a commanding presence before, treating you roughly but still like you might break. Holding the knife in his hand seemed to open a new layer of Taehyung that made you realize just how little you knew about him. He twisted the blade in his hand, dragging the tip along your jawline.

“Then why don’t you remove that pretty little bra of yours, darling?” He demanded, his voice low and menacing. “Before I cut it off.” You were ashamed at how turned on it made you as you arched your back up and maneuvered your hands behind you to unclasp the back. Once you had slipped the straps off your shoulder, Taehyung took control clearly impatient with how slowly you were moving to tease him. He grabbed the bra, flicking it off the bed in a period of seconds before leaning down to kiss each of your breasts, paying special attention to each nipple, knife momentarily forgotten.

Your back arched into the mattress but the kiss of the knife against your throat stopped you from moving more. Taehyung stopped his work on your breasts and peered up at you from under long bangs.

“Did I tell you you could move?” He dragged the knife’s tip down the column of your throat, slowly making his way between your breasts and stopping by your naval. “Don’t forget who’s in control here, darling. God forbid,” he circled the knife around your belly button before sitting back on your thighs looking down at you and bringing the knife to his ring finger. “You cut yourself.” He sliced the tip of his finger, not deep, but enough to draw blood.

You let out a small gasp and he smiled lowering himself back down to you, bringing the knife back up your torso, between your breasts, before lifting the bottom of your chin with it, his face inches from yours.

“Suck,” he commanded, holding out his cut finger. You were eager to oblige, bringing his finger past your lips, the wine once again making you bold. Bold enough that you didn’t process that the metallic taste was the same you had encountered earlier that evening. You sucked his finger like your life depending on it, swirling your tongue around the wound, watching his expression take on one of pure euphoria. He was losing control and so were you, but your descent into madness had begun hours ago.  

He tossed the knife onto the bedside table, not caring where it landed and roughly pulled his hand out of your mouth. His actions were frantic now and he used the bleeding hand to hold your torso down as his other made quick work of your panties. Gone was the calm and collected Taehyung who had you completely under his control mere minutes ago. Here was the Taehyung acting only on impulsive desires. Your body reveled in this realization.

Before you could process it, his mouth found purchase on your clit and you couldn’t stop the breathy exclamation of his name as the hand on  your torso moved to grasp a breast. He was still bleeding, albeit slowly, and you could see the trails of smeared blood drying on  your skin wherever he touched you, marking you as his.

You were lost in the moment, his tongue circling and flicking your clit with the occasional suck of his lips. His other hand was parting your folds as he slowly slid one, then two fingers inside you.

“God, you’re soaked,” his voice throaty. “All for me, I get you first.”

You were too caught up in your own pleasure to correct him. You weren’t a virgin, this wasn’t your first time. Although this was the first time anyone had made you feel like this.

You looked down at him, you could feel his teeth scrape your clit lightly and you nearly screamed. “Taehyung, I need you inside me right now.”

You weren’t going to last much longer, and he knew it. He continued his onslaught, moving his fingers in and out of you in an increasingly rapid pace, his teeth scraping against your clit, harsher than before but you weren’t complaining. When you twisted in his grasp he let out a low growl that you felt vibrate along your inner thigh and you screamed out his name as you came.

Taehyung worked you through your climax, placing gentle kisses on your mound as he watched you become a soaking wet mess for him. When you were finished you looked down the length of your body at him, amazed that he made you feel like that with literally just his mouth and fingers.

He pulled his face back to look at yours, his face messy, his hair tousled but his fingers continuing to thrust in and out of you slowly as you came down from any remainder of his high. His appearance seemed different than before but you couldn’t quite place it.  Wait- his-  

You lurched back in surprise, breaking contact with Taehyung, who watched you with dark eyes. His teeth! Taehyung smiled a slow, boxy grin and you focused on his canines. Once average, the incisors had elongated, into twin fangs. Sensing your unease he released you, his mouth quickly closing. He cocked his head at you, an inhuman action.

“What’s wrong?”

“Y-your teeth,” you blurted, sitting up and reaching out to cup his face so he couldn’t turn away. “They looked like. . . . “ You pulled him closer, ignoring his surprised look as you used a finger to lift his upper lip. No fangs. You dropped your hand.

“I think you’ve had too much wine,” he chuckled leaning forward to capture your lips with his own.

Am I losing my mind?

Taehyung’s hands found the buttons of his slacks and he pushed them down, kicking them off and over the edge of his bed. You were momentarily surprised that his pants were the last layer between you and the thing you wanted most but your lust filled mind figured that Taehyung was always hot and ready for the next time he would get something to fuck.

And right now, that very thing was you.

His cock wasn’t obscenely large but it did have a healthy curve to it as it flopped up to hit his stomach. You were practically drooling from where you lay on the bed, eager to get along with the process. Taehyung grinned down at you, taking himself in one hand and pumping slowly.

“Are you ready, little darling?” He murmured, his voice hoarse. “Are you going to let me fuck that tight,  little cunt of yours?”

You nodded, eagerly, and he sat back on his ankles so that he was kneeling in front of you. “Then come here and sit on master’s cock, alright?”

He didn’t have to ask you twice.

You got up and maneuvered yourself so that you were hovering over his hard cock. Taking it in one hand below you, you ran your fingers over the velvety surface, gently bending the tip and watching as his face contorted in pleasure and he took his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle a groan.

“Stop teasing or I’m taking over,” he threatened but it was empty. With one hand wrapped around his cock, you knew he wasn’t the one in control here. Gripping him at his base, you slowly lowered yourself onto him, head lolling back as you felt him fill you, inch by glorious inch. You took your time, making every minute count as he stretched you to the brim. When you bottomed out you both just sat there for a moment, satisfied with the feeling you gave one another.

“God dammit,” Taehyung whispered, encircling you in his arms so that you were flush against his chest. “You’re even better than I ever could have possibly imagined.”

He slowly began to roll his hips up into you and you lifted yourself off him in a steady rhythm until you had both established a rapid pace. He was breathing heavy into your ear as he picked up speed, letting out a series of earthy grunts as he fucked up into you, slamming into you with reckless abandon.

You could feel that he was still holding back and you balanced your hands on his chest as you rolled into tempo with him. From  this position you were slightly above him and you met his eyes as he looked up at you from beneath dark bangs, his pupils nearly completely dilated and his beautiful lips parted, panting with exertion.

You could die happy right now, filled to the brim with this exquisite man.

When you began to slow down, grinding your hips into his with each thrust to ensure he could strike you deeper and longer he groaned out a breathy “F-Fuuck” and moved his hands down to grip you by the hips.

Before you could react he shoved you back onto the bed, never pulling out, and began to slam into you, scooting you further up the bed with each thrust until your head connected with the pillows at the headboard.

“Heaven-” he grunted, enunciating the word with a harsh thrust and you wrapped your legs around his hips, bracing your arms behind you to keep your head from slamming into the mahogany headboard.

“Be-” He thrusted again, his eyes piercing down at you, his face flushed with exertion.

“Damned! You have no idea how amazing you feel.”

You tried to raise your hips to meet him but his pace was too brutal. Fucking Taehyung was unlike any other sex you had had before. He was insatiable. The feeling of his cock buried deep inside your pussy drove you to pleasures you hadn’t known existed. The tiny sounds he made as he thrusted into you drew responses from you as your back arched up into him.

You could feel him everywhere. Again, maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the desire you had forced down deep inside you for years. But with Taehyung you weren’t just chasing sexual release, although that was part of it. You were chasing a release from a life you had grown to hate. You were giving into your feelings and what you wanted and it felt so damn good.

Taehyung lowered himself closer to you, wrapping his arms up around your back to find purchase in your hair and he tugged a little bit as if he was trying to find a solid grip while he slammed his cock into your pussy sloppily. His pace slowed and he began to roll his hips into  you and grind down, emitting a series of low rumbles that had you preening.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you ran your nails down his back trying to find purchase. You did finally, on two feathery appendages that had sprouted from his back.You ran your fingers over what felt to be feathered muscle and Taehyung lowered his mouth to your ear. “That’s right darling, let your master fuck you.”

Wait, feathers?

You released the appendages and your eyes flew open to find Taehyung’s piercing into yours but when you tilted your head to look- nothing was there.

I really am losing it.

Taehyung didn’t seem to notice and he dipped his head down to capture your lips in large open mouthed kisses, his tongue teasing yours as he tightened his grip on his hair, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

It was like you were trying to consume one another, you couldn’t get any closer  but goddammit if you weren’t going to try. Taehyung was finally losing control. You could see it in his eyes, feel it in his body as he murmured dirty things on your lips, in your ears.

He had resumed pounding into you, using your body to chase his release and  you welcomed it, tightening your walls to urge him deeper, to throw him over the edge. It was working and his words turned into animalistic grunts as he slammed into you again and again.

When he finally began to sputter out of control he bottomed out once again, pushing himself as far as he could go before spilling himself into you with a loud “Fuck”. His body responded in such, continuing to gently roll into you as he came, lowering his sticky forehead to your own.

After he was finished he rolled off the top of you, slowly pulling out with a sickening pop and you felt the loss of him deep in your core. He rested his head on his hands, peering up at where you lay propped on the pillows he had fucked you into from beneath those dark eyelashes before taking a hand and gripping your chin gently to make you look at him. He lifted himself up and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, a slow smile making it’s way over his features.

“Just wait till they get a load of you, darling.”

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - 8.5 Lysandra pov

AN: something slightly different this week but I absolutely adore these two and hope you do too!! 

masterlist - ao3

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Lysandra took in where Aedion lay sprawled in her bed, lying across her pillows, the covers thrown haphazardly across his lap exposing his tanned chest. The grooves of his torso and the lines of his muscular arms had her biting her lip even though they had only just finished their last round when Aelin had arrived.

In Lysandra’s defence she hadn’t meant to start sleeping with her best friend’s cousin, especially not now that her best friend lived with said cousin, but something inside her had been drawn to him and hadn’t allowed her to let him go.

Their first time had been a night of drunken passion. All tongues and teeth and roaming hands in his bedroom after they left the bar where they had celebrated Aelin getting her new job. Without Aelin.

Lysandra had worried for her best friend, but relaxed when Rowan had put her to bed, more gentle with her than he had any right to be.  

Fenrys had offered to call her a cab back to her own apartment but Aedion had rested his hand against her lower back, his little finger brushing against the curve of her ass, and told him she wouldn’t need it, that she’d stay at theirs for the night. Presumptuous, but he wasn’t wrong, and she couldn’t pretend his confidence wasn’t working for her.

The brief touching of lips they had shared in the game of truth or dare had been all she had been able to focus on the whole time in the bar. Even when a different guy had approached her, bought her a drink and tried to chat her up she had only been able to consider the spark from the pressure of her lips against Aedion’s and had soon dismissed the hopeful without more than a single word.

Back at the loft she had muttered a brief goodnight to Lorcan and Fenrys before marching across the open living space to Aedion’s bedroom. She had enjoyed her night with Aelin’s roommates, they were surprisingly funny and easy to get along with, she even enjoyed Lorcan’s dark sense of humour.

Aedion had followed close behind her, not saying a word until she slammed the door shut behind them but she had felt his presence behind her. His warmth burning through the thin dress she wore where he pressed the long line of his body against hers.  

Once inside she had turned to him, placing a hand on his chest and teasing a finger into his unbuttoned collar to rub gently against the skin covered with a spattering of golden chest hair.

“You do not so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, you don’t even open your mouth,” She told him, needing to set the boundaries clearly before this even began.

He had only shot her his crooked, cocky grin before saying, “I think you’d prefer my mouth open, at least in certain places.”

She had attempted a response, but he had crashed his lips to hers, his lips warm and demanding as he stole her breath. He had pushed her backwards towards the bed, puling her purse out of her arms and throwing it somewhere to the side as he drew her arms up to wrap around his neck.

She had meant for that to be the last time, a one-and-done kind of deal, but one night he had texted her. It was only a short message asking her what she was up to, the classic, but she had deliberated long enough that she knew what her answer would be.

What she and Aedion had done had filled her thoughts for days afterwards, the mental image of his head between her thighs had inclined her to reach her hand downwards, trying to recreate the sensations a number of times since.

She knew what she was doing made her a slightly bad friend, but what Aelin didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. They could be sneaky.

At least she thought so, she hadn’t been planning on Aelin turning up unannounced at her apartment while Aedion was tucked up in her bed, having been tucked up in Lysandra only minutes before.

He raised his eyebrows at her across the room. She still hovered by the door, nerves slightly frayed from the near miss. “Well?”

She sighed, tugging off the jumper she had thrown on in a panic revealing only a light lacy bralette and getting back into the bed beside him.

“She just wanted to talk about Rowan.” She told him, snuggling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder, slightly too hard to be a comfortable pillow.

Aedion’s expression was a multitude of emotions, scepticism and wariness were at least two of them. Aelin and Rowan were a car crash they could all see coming from miles away, she knew Aedion, Fenrys and Lorcan had a pool going on for how long it would take them to do something, but she hadn’t bought into it. Yet.

So far Lysandra had tried to dissuade her best friend from sleeping with her roommate but knew her efforts would only go so far once Aelin accepted how she felt about Rowan. She wasn’t sure how far she could push the Dorian angle, but she was happy Aelin had at least agreed to text him. Even if it didn’t work out she could say she tried.

Aelin could probably do a lot worse than Rowan she supposed, as Aedion’s best friend she knew Rowan had to be a decent guy and in her experience he had been. He also looked damn good next to Aelin, the contrast of their colouring, while both shades of blonde, his was icy to her warmth and it was a great combination.

“What about Rowan?” Aedion’s golden hair, a match to Aelin’s, shifted across his shoulder as he turned to her, strands of it tickling her forehead as he did.

“Just the pair of them being idiots, I can tell you later if you want.”

Her words were dismissive as she tilted her chin upwards, an unspoken demand for a kiss. He obliged her willingly, tucking his hand that wasn’t wrapped around her shoulders into her hair, cradling the back of her neck as he kissed her lazily.

Gentle strokes of his tongue had a burning building in her, but too soon he pulled back.

“We’ve literally just finished, you heathen.” He brushed a gentle kiss on her lips before pulling back even further, unwinding his hand from her hair.

She pouted and he laughed, his chiselled face lightening as his golden-blue eyes shone. He brushed a hand down her back, his touch sending a warm and cosy feeling through her.  

“Later, I want breakfast anyway so get dressed.” He told her, unwrapping his arm from her and standing up from the bed, giving her an incredible view of his powerful body.

------

He took her to a small, hole-in-the-wall café a few minutes from her apartment.

“The coffee here is better than any chain coffee store,” He told her, and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re a dick,” She said fondly.

“I know,” He grinned at her as their breakfasts arrived, an almost predatory smile that did things to her.

She really had meant to keep this casual. Sex only, preferably in the dark hours of night that came with a level of plausible deniability, but here they were. Going for breakfast after a lazy morning in bed and a night of fantastic sex.

It was reaching the stage where she knew she’d have to tell Aelin at some point, but she wanted to keep it just between the two of them for a while. She wanted to enjoy it without any external input, and she loved Aelin but Lysandra knew her knee-jerk reaction to finding out wouldn’t be happy.

Lysandra wanted time with Aedion to herself. He wasn’t what she had expected, even though she had heard of Aelin’s cousin in the years they had been friends she had never met Aedion until Aelin moved into the loft. She had been expecting a typical frat-bro type, with the stories she heard from Aelin she had been expecting him to be a dick.

If she was honest with herself, he sometimes was a dick. One specific time came to mind at the thought, the first time she had got drunk, really drunk, with the occupants of the loft Aedion had slurred four words to her she wasn’t sure she’d ever forget, girl, I’mma marry you. Each time his words crossed her mind she had to bite back the smile that threatened to bloom.

He was a total dick she supposed; she just hadn’t expected to like it. And he wasn’t always like that, he had a sincere side that tugged at her heart too.

“What?” He asked her around a mouthful of his toast. That really shouldn’t be endearing.

“Nothing,” She said shaking her head and looking down at her own plate of eggs.

“You’re looking at me weird, is it not good?” He pointed towards her plate with his knife.

“No it is, I was just day dreaming.” She waved him off and he went easily back to his meal. A curl of his hair fell in front of his face and she tracked the motion as he raised a hand to tuck it back behind his ear.

He usually wore it tied back neatly, but she loved it on his days off when it hung loose and free. She loved when it would fall around her as a curtain when he pounded into her, cocooning them in their own little bubble.

She shook her head, trying to look anywhere but at him as the familiar pulse of heat spread between her thighs at the thought. As they finished their meals she debated inviting him back to her apartment again for another round, when it came to him she was insatiable, but he spoke before she could work up the nerve.

“I should probably get going,” He said as he waved to the waitress for the bill, pulling out his wallet.

She pouted again, and he laughed when he caught it.

“I have worn these boxers since yesterday morning, you wouldn’t want me if I wore them any longer.”

“Bet I would,” She muttered under her breath.

“Stop that,” he told her through his grin. “You could always come to mine with me while I grab a shower and a change of clothes.”

The waitress appeared with the bill, and he placed his card down before handing it back to her. He had paid for all of the breakfasts that they had gone for together in the mornings after the night before; she wasn’t sure what that meant.

She took a breath, “Wouldn’t that be kind of—I don’t know, a lot?”

“Lysandra,” He breathed, taking a moment and looking down at his plate. “I’m not sure I care at this point.”

His voice was gruff as he flicked his eyes up to hers, a sense of nervousness hanging in them.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Lysandra, I like sleeping with you, you know that.” He tapped his fist gently on the table before speaking again, “But, honestly? I’d like to do more than sleep with you. If you’d like.”

Shy wasn’t a side to him she had seen before, the light blush dusting his cheekbones was adorable in itself. A small smile was brewing on her face.

“What do you have in mind exactly?” She was playing with him slightly.

His striking eyes met hers, full of a rare kind of sincerity.

“I’d like to take you out, on a date.” She grinned at him. “Before taking you home with me again obviously.” He added with a feline smirk.

“I think I’d like that,” The smile she gave him was unusually soft.

When the waitress returned with his card he stood, holding his hand out for hers. She slid her hand into his, weaving her slender fingers between his own broader ones, and looked up to him with a bright smile.

------

Their first date had been magical. Well, she supposed, their first proper date. All the mornings they had gone for breakfast or the nights they had spent wrapped up together talking and drinking had definitely been date-like.

He had picked her up at her apartment, a crisp white button down tucked into his fitted grey slacks. He looked good—no great. His hair was brushed back into a tidy ponytail at the nape of his neck and it showcased the strong lines of his face. His straight nose and full lips. Gods, the sight of him sent a rush through her.

She had worn an emerald green, calf length silk dress with a slit cut to her mid-thigh. She had paired it with patent black heels and even with them he towered over her when he leant in to wrap her in a hug. Pressing his cheek to the top of her head then lowering it to whisper in her ear how she looked fantastic, but he couldn’t wait to tear the dress off her later.

She had swatted at him, telling him this dress cost more than his monthly rent, it had been a gift at one of her recent modelling shoots for some up and coming brand, but she couldn’t deny the flood of heat his words sent through her.

He took her to a trendy but formal restaurant downtown. He had held her chair out and tucked it in when she sat down before taking his own opposite her. They had shared a bottle of wine through the meal, Aedion’s cheeks growing more and more flushed with every sip and she felt her heart warm at the sight.

She couldn’t deny how quickly her feelings for him were building. Every time, the sight of him sent a thrill through her and she was past the point of pretending it was only sexual. Past the point of pretending her feelings for him were anything remotely related to casual. When it came to him she didn’t even know the word.

Their date had ended at the loft Aedion shared with Aelin and their other roommates. He had snuck in before her, leaving her lingering in the hallway and making sure the coast was clear before swinging the door open and pulling her in by the waist.

She couldn’t deny that the secrecy sent a thrill through her.

He had fulfilled his promise from earlier with a level of added care, peeling her dress down her body. Lavishing kisses down every inch that was revealed and the look in his eyes had her skin burning almost as much as the pressure of his lips.

At this point they were past quick fucks, there was tenderness and emotion every time he touched her now, his gaze locked deeply on hers as he moved inside her working gentle whimpers from her lips.

It was the kind of thing she wanted to scream from the rooftops, the kind of thing she and Aelin would spend hours dissecting every word and gesture. But that was a snag, the only snag. Aedion was Aelin’s cousin, and she had let herself fall so deep without telling Aelin that any reveal now would hurt her friend.

Rowan finding out had not been ideal, especially not the manner in which he did so. Hiding in a cupboard was not one of her proudest moments, but she had been desperate to keep this as it was for as long as she could.

She knew from a single glance at his expression that he was surprised, and she supposed that was understandable. Herself and Aedion was a combination that she hadn’t seen coming, as an outsider she would have likely scoffed at the idea, Aedion’s animated nature was a complete contrast to her cool and collected demeanour.

She should really stop having any expectations about them, should stop pretending that any of her predictions about the man would come true. He took her by surprise every day; adding new elements to her perception of him that only endeared her to him more.

She was falling and fast.

After Rowan had left the room and she had tucked herself into Aedion’s side, leeching his warmth.

“We need to tell Aelin.” She admitted.

“I know.” His voice was soft.

“I—How?”

Aelin was her best friend but she was at a loss for how to reveal this secret to her. Ripping off the band-aid was surely the best strategy, just clear and quick, I’m dating Aedion. But there were too many variables.

Aedion in the room? Aedion not in the room? In the loft? Not in the loft?

He seemed as lost in thought as she was, rolling his lower lip between his teeth gently, not pressing hard enough to break the skin but she worried for the tension in his face.

“I don’t know. But we should tell her before she finds out from anyone else.”

Lysandra nodded, finding out from someone other than herself would hurt Aelin even more than the truth. If she couldn’t face her best friend she couldn’t face herself.

“I can probably hold Rowan to a week, maximum,” He told her. “But we’ll need to tell Aelin soon.”

She frowned and his hand came up to gently cradle her face, his thumb stroking across her cheek.

“Yeah,” She sighed. “I know, but I can’t help wanting to keep this a secret for a little bit longer.”

“I know. We’ll tell her together, okay?”

“A couple more days?” She wrapped her hand around his wrist and his hand slid down to tangle his fingers through hers.

“A couple more days,” He agreed, dropping a light kiss to her lips.

She was silent for another moment as she ran through just how much she needed to discuss with her best friend. She had been the one to encourage Aelin to text Dorian, but she hadn’t expected the despair in Rowan’s voice as a result. He had actually sounded hurt by Dorian’s presence, and she wondered if maybe his rejection of Aelin wasn’t as clear cut as her best friend had thought.

She turned to Aedion; he would be more likely to know Rowan than she was.

“Do you think…” She began slowly, wanting to choose her words carefully.. “Do you think there’s something,” She waved a hand in front of her face, struggling for how to put her exact thoughts into words.

“Go on,” He prompted her.

“Do you think I was wrong to tell Aelin to not, with Rowan? And telling her to text Dorian instead?”

“Lys,” He sighed at her, adjusting where he sat so they were more upright. “Aelin’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions. You can’t blame yourself for what those two decide to do, or what they decide to not do.”

She went to speak but he interrupted her with a finger pressed against her lips.

“You also have to not get involved.” She frowned. “They need to figure it out themselves. I’ve known Rowan for years, he’s slow but he’ll get there. Who knows maybe Dorian will give him the push he needs.” He was grinning as he ribbed his best friend.

“I’m serious.” She began to protest.

“So am I but believe me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of where Rowan’s head is at, but I’ll have a word with him soon. I’m sure it’s harmless but he won’t hurt her. I won’t let him.”

She sat back, satisfied that Aedion would handle Rowan, and reassured that he wouldn’t let Aelin get hurt. Either way she still needed to speak to Aelin herself, first to find out what went down with Dorian, maybe that would be a line drawn, an end to whatever her friend was feeling for Rowan.

She also needed to tell her about herself and Aedion, but she’d need to go home and at least grab a change of clothes first.

She pressed yet another kiss to Aedion’s lips, losing herself in the sensation, before pulling away to gather her things. Aedion stood to throw on his own shirt, preparing to check whether the coast was clear for her exit. The secrecy was hot, but it got tiring after a while.

Once she was ready he poked his head out of the door and waved a hand for her to follow. She tiptoed out and crossed the room quickly to the front door, pausing with a hand on the handle to look back at Aedion one last time. Damn him, she was way too far gone.

------ 

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady​

[anotherhargrovebitch]

a baby sitter? : b.h

neil and susan decide its best to hire max a babysitter, but when you turn up and befriend max, billy can’t help but get jealous. (1.4K)

requested by @tearsforhan sorry for the delay angel! 

* stranger things writing *

“She doesn’t need a babysitter,” Billy huffs as Susan walks into the kitchen, having just broken the news. “isn’t that why I’m here?” 

Susan sighs under her breath, knowing if Neil was here Billy would he pushed against the wall for making such a comment. “It’s just to ensure she’s checked on at all times. You can have more time to yourself,” She forces a small smile as the front door slams shut. 

Billy tenses as his Dad shoves past him, walking over to Susan and kisses her sloppily, proving a point. “You told him?” Neil mutters, glaring to his son who remains perfectly still. “We don’t trust you, boy. You lost Max, how can we trust you?” Neil scoffs, but Billy doesn’t dare say his thoughts aloud. 

“Who’s the babysitter then?” Billy questions, trying to keep his anger suppressed as he crosses his arms, hiding is clenched fists. 

“Some girl in the neighbourhood.” Neil comments, shrugging a shoulder as he looks to Susan for confirmation. 

Clearing her throat, Susan speaks up. “Her name is Y/n. She’s in your year, but she babysits a lot of the children in the area.” Susan beams about you, and already Billy cannot stand you. 

“Fine.” He states before turning on his heels and heads up the stairs, only to be disturbed moments later by his Dad bursting through the door. 

“You mess with Y/n, Billy,” Neil spits at his son as he keeps his feet firmly planted in the doorway, pointing his forefinger at Billy. 

“I won’t, Sir.” Billy tells him quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

Neil rolls his eyes before reaching forward, slapping Billy across the face. “Like hell, you won’t.” He forcefully mutters. “If I find anything out, you’re gone.” 

The door slams shut, leaving Billy in painful silence. 

*

It had been over two weeks since you had started babysitting Max, not that you liked to term it as such. She was a few years younger, but she had the mentality of someone your age. 

You often just hung out in her room, knowing Billy was lurking somewhere. 

In school, everyone knew Billy. At this point, it was impossible to go a day without someone spreading a new rumour about him. But the reason Max liked you so much is that you couldn’t care less, at least on the surface you didn’t. 

When you were with Max, none of the petty drama mattered. She would sit and ask about boy advice, have girl talk that she desperately needed and struggled to engage in conversation with her Mom.

“I wish I had a sister.” Max sighs as she lies upside down on her bed whilst you remain seated on the floor, leaning against the wardrobe as you flick through a magazine. “But instead I’ve got a stepbrother.” She groans as the sound of his music sounds through the house from downstairs. “And this is the shit I have to put up with.”

You chuckle under your breath. “I’m sure he’s not that bad.” You try to reason, but Max shoots you a look that says it all. 

“You’ve clearly never had a conversation with him then.” Max comments as she turns to lie on her front, watching as you shrug before turning the page of the magazine. “Hey, Y/n?” She speaks up, listening as you hum. “What’s it like to be in love?” 

Max watches closely as your eyes stop scanning the words on the page and your fingertips hold the pages still. You rub your lips together, deep in thought about how to honestly answer her question. 

“What’s it like?” You respond, looking up to see Max nod with her left eyebrow arching in curiosity. 

“All I see are the girls Billy hangs out with, and that’s never going to be love.” She states and you let out a short laugh, causing her to smile to herself. 

Unbeknownst to you both, Billy has discarded his workout to eavesdrop on his stepsister and the new baby sitter. He quietly perches outside of the bedroom door, leaning against the wooden frame as he listens to your sigh. 

“Love is complicated, that’s the first thing I can tell you,” You admit and Max gives you her full attention, wanting to know more. “and to answer your question love is painful, unbearable at times but so pure and, and special.” A sad smile crosses your lips, and it’s one Max doesn’t miss. 

“Have you been in love before?” She digs the knife deeper into your chest unknowingly as you nod softly. 

Billy can’t help but he moreso intrigued as he listens to the sound of you sniff. Wondering who hurt you and made you so fragile around such a mundane topic. 

“It was your classic young love that you’ll soon experience, Max.” You state, watching as she rolls her eyes in response. “Oh trust me, I felt the same when I first met him. But, he managed to worm his way into my heart.” 

Max watches as you zone out, your mind remembering past events. 

“What was he like?” 

“He was charming, too charming for me to be swayed so easily. But, I liked the affection he provided. I fell for him hard and it was beautiful while it lasted until things turned sour.” You trail off, snapping out of your memories and returning to the present. “Sometimes it happens though, you fall too hard and you realise how much the landing hurts.” 

“Shit.” Max thinks aloud, looking as you clear your throat.

“Sorry, that was way too heavy.” You apologise, but Max shakes her head as Billy mirrors her actions outside. “But, you live and learn. Eventually, you move on.” 

Shuffling on her bed, Max sits upright. “And you moved on to someone else I take it?” Her mischevious smile returns and now it is your turn to roll your eyes. 

Billy’s interest peaks as you chuckle quietly, a sound he’ll never tire of hearing even if it isn’t for him. 

“Kinda,” You shrug your shoulder, leaving Billy wanting to know more. “I don’t know. He isn’t really someone who’d go for a girl like me.” 

Max groans loudly. “Don’t be so cliche! Who is it? Does he go to your school? Is it the guy who works at The Gap?” She reels off questions, listening as you answer each of them with responses she isn’t after. “Don’t tell me it’s Billy.” She jokes, and Billy tenses outside of the room not hearing you immediately dismiss him as an option.

You look up at her with a sheepish smile, and Max exhales deeply.

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.” 

Heat rises through your face as you open your mouth, but no words follow. 

“I guess if Billy were to date someone, I’d want it to be you.” She says honestly, and you feel your heart warm at her comment. 

“He won’t ever know, Max. But it’s a sweet thought.” You tell her, only to hear the door open seconds later as Billy stands there, looking at Max before turning his eyes to see you on the floor.

“What’d you want?” Max questions coldly, focusing on how Billy smiles at you as opposed to that disgusting smirk he puts on for all the girls she sees him with. 

Billy averts his attention from you back to Max. “I came to tell your baby sitter that her parents called. Something about a kid next door.” Billy shrugs his shoulder, lying seamlessly as you swear under your breath.

“I better go, sorry Max.” You say sweetly as she rises to her feet, running through the handshake you both created as Billy watches you both bond. 

“See you tomorrow, yeah?” She tries to make it sound calm, and when you nod a silent sigh of relief leaves her lips. 

As you run down the stairs, you’re slightly flustered as Billy remains hot on your tail. You grab your coat and slip it on before you reach for the front door, only to see it is already open as Billy holds it open. 

“Gotta treat a lady right.” He comments with a smile, watching as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Thanks, Billy.” You say as you walk out of the door.

“Hey, Y/n?” He calls after you before you reach your car. “See you tomorrow?” He questions, watching as you nod before driving away, not seeing the genuine smile grow across his lips. 

[nicklloydnow]

"Sadism now defines nearly every cultural, social and political experience in the United States. It is expressed in the greed of an oligarchic elite that has seen its wealth increase during the pandemic by $1.1 trillion while the country has suffered the sharpest rise in its poverty rate in more than 50 years.  It is expressed in extra-judicial killings by police in cities such as Minneapolis. It is expressed in our complicity in Israel’s wholesale killing of unarmed Palestinians, the humanitarian crisis engendered by the war in Yemen and our reigns of terror in Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria. It is expressed in the torture in our prisons and black sites. It is expressed in the separation of children from their undocumented parents, where they are held as if they were dogs in a kennel.

The historian Johan Huizinga, writing about the twilight of the middle ages, argued that as things fall apart sadism is embraced as a way to cope with the hostility of an indifferent universe. No longer bound to a common purpose, a ruptured society retreats into the cult of the self. It celebrates, as do corporations on Wall Street or mass culture through reality television shows, the classic traits of psychopaths: superficial charm, grandiosity and self-importance; a need for constant stimulation; a penchant for lying, deception and manipulation; and the incapacity for remorse or guilt. Get what you can, as fast as you can, before someone else gets it. This is the state of nature, the “war of all against all,” Thomas Hobbes saw as the consequence of social collapse, a world in which life becomes “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” And this sadism, as Friedrich Nietzsche understood, fuels a perverted, sadistic pleasure.

The only way out for most Americans is to serve, as Biden does, the sadistic machine. The impoverishment of the working class has conditioned tens of millions of Americans to accept being recruited into the service of the militarized police that function as lethal armies of internal occupation; a military that carries out reigns of terror in foreign occupations; intelligence agencies that torture in global black sites; the government’s vast network of spying on the citizenry; the theft of personal information by credit agencies and digital media; the largest prison system in the world; an immigration service that hunts down people who have never committed a crime and separates children from their parents to pack them in warehouses; a court system that condemns the poor to decades of incarceration, often for nonviolent crimes, and denies them a jury trial; companies that carry out the dirty work of evictions, shutting off utilities, including water, collecting usurious debts that force people into bankruptcy and denying health services to those that cannot pay; banks and payday lenders that burden the destitute with predatory, high-interest loans; and a financial system designed to keep most of the country locked in a crippling debt peonage as the wealth of the oligarchic elite swells to levels unseen in American history.

(...)

We know what this sadism looks like. It looks like Derek Chauvin nonchalantly choking to death George Floyd as his police colleagues watch impassively. It looks like Andrew Brown Jr. shot five times by police in North Carolina, including once in the back of the head. It looks like Abner Louima, who had a broomstick pushed up his rectum by police in a bathroom at the 70th Precinct station house in Brooklyn, requiring three major operations to repair the internal injuries. It looks like Navy Seal Special Operations Chief Edward Gallagher randomly shooting to death unarmed civilians and using a hunting knife to repeatedly stab to death an injured, sedated 17-year-old Iraqi prisoner and then photographing himself with the corpse. It looks like Iraqi civilians, few of whom had anything to do with the insurgency, naked, bound, beaten and sexually humiliated and raped, and at times murdered, by army guards and private contractors in Abu Ghraib. Prisoners in Abu Ghraib were routinely dragged across the prison floor by a rope tied to their penises and chemical lights were used to sodomize them or snapped open so the phosphoric liquid could be poured over their naked bodies. It looks like women who are tortured, beaten, degraded and sexually violated, often by numerous men, in porn films, who are then discarded after a few weeks or months with severe trauma, along with sexually transmitted diseases and vaginal and anal tears that must be repaired surgically.

Sadistic societies condemn segments of the population – in America these are poor Blacks, Muslims, the undocumented, the LGBTQ community, radical anti-capitalists, intellectuals – as human refuse. They are viewed as social contaminants. Laws, institutions and bureaucratic structures are built in sadistic societies that function, in the words of Max Weber, as an “inanimate machine.” The machine forces most people into the mass, but it allows some willing to do its dirty work to rise above the multitude. Those that carry out the sadism on behalf of the power elite fear being pushed back into the mass. For this reason, they energetically carry out the degradation, cruelty and sadism the machine demands. The more they insult, persecute, torture, humiliate and kill, the more they seem to magically widen the divide between themselves and their victims.  This is why Black police and corrections officers can be as cruel, and sometimes crueler, than their white counterparts.

The sadism eradicates, at least momentarily, the sadist’s feelings of worthlessness, vulnerability and susceptibility to pain and death. It imparts pleasure. I was beaten by Saudi military police and later by Saddam Hussein’s secret police when I was taken prisoner after the first Gulf War. The goons carrying out my beatings clearly enjoyed them. Israel’s abuse of the Palestinians, the assaults of Muslims and girls and women in India and the denigration of Muslims in the countries we occupy are part of a global breakdown that extends beyond the United States. Wilhelm Reich in “The Mass Psychology of Fascism” and Klaus Theweleit in “Male Fantasies” argue that sadism, along with a grotesque hyper-masculinity, rather than any coherent belief system, is the core of fascism, although communist regimes in China and the Soviet Union could be as murderous and sadistic as their fascist counterparts.

The sadism eradicates, at least momentarily, the sadist’s feelings of worthlessness, vulnerability and susceptibility to pain and death. It imparts pleasure. I was beaten by Saudi military police and later by Saddam Hussein’s secret police when I was taken prisoner after the first Gulf War. The goons carrying out my beatings clearly enjoyed them. Israel’s abuse of the Palestinians, the assaults of Muslims and girls and women in India and the denigration of Muslims in the countries we occupy are part of a global breakdown that extends beyond the United States. Wilhelm Reich in “The Mass Psychology of Fascism” and Klaus Theweleit in “Male Fantasies” argue that sadism, along with a grotesque hyper-masculinity, rather than any coherent belief system, is the core of fascism, although communist regimes in China and the Soviet Union could be as murderous and sadistic as their fascist counterparts.

Jean Amery, who was in the Belgian resistance in World War II and who was captured and tortured by the Gestapo in 1943, defines sadism “as the radical negation of the other, the simultaneous denial of both the social principle and the reality principle. In the sadist’s world, torture, destruction, and death are triumphant: and such a world clearly has no hope of survival. On the contrary, he desires to transcend the world, to achieve total sovereignty by negating fellow human beings – which he sees as representing a particular kind of ‘hell.’”

Amery’s point is important. A sadistic society is about collective self-destruction. It is the apotheosis of a society deformed by overwhelming experiences of loss, alienation and stasis. The only way left to affirm yourself in failed societies is to destroy. Johan Huizinga in his book “Waning of the Middle Ages” noted that that the dissolution of medieval society provoked “the violent tenor of life.” Today, this “violent tenor of life” drives people to carry out police murders, evictions of families, court-ordered bankruptcies, the denial of medical care to the sick, suicide bombings and mass shootings. As the sociologist Emil Durkheim understood, those who seek the annihilation of others are driven by desires for self-annihilation. Sadism imparts the rush and pleasure, often with heavy sexual overtones, which lures us towards what Sigmund Freud called the death instinct, the instinct to destroy all forms of life, including our own. When enveloped by a death-saturated world death, ironically, is embraced as the cure.”

[addicted-sunshine-blog]

Brahms x Reader

NSFW- NFF. Reader is wearing a skirt and lip balm, but other then that is mostly gender neutral.

I should really be doing my math homework.

anyone know how to do calculus?

It had started out simple enough, really. You had moved to the UK- freshly graduated with a Masters’ in Biology (one of the degrees that would let you get a jobs in almost anything- your mom had promised) And were ready to take on the world with all the new and exciting career opportunities that awaited you. But days soon turned into months and when the employment opportunities remained stagnant, you sought employment in other forms. 

It had been a simple job posting that caught your attention- a nanny job in the UK; Live-in, full salary, taking care of a young boy of about 8 years old, named Brahms. You had always considered yourself good with children, they brought smiles to your face and joy in your heart, and while you hadn’t had much experience as a nanny, (previously only working in day care, only being with them for about 6 hours a day.) You saw that there weren’t any other people who applied and figured that it didn’t hurt to apply. Quickly forgetting about it, you had applied to several other childcare options before calling it a day and going to bed.

When you woke up the next day to 3 missed calls and 2 emails from the Heelshires, you were surprised to say the least. They had eagerly accepted your application and had asked you to start as soon as possible. Taken off guard but ecstatic at the prospect of finally being able to make some money, you pushed aside a notion of this being too good to be true and responded with enthusiasm.  A week later you were packing your bags and waving goodbye to the little inn you had been staying at and taking a 3 hour drive into the great British countryside to your new life.

______________________

When you pulled up to the estate, you were in awe at the beauty before you. Well manicured lawn, iron fences in elegant curves, stone work that was right out of a fairy tale book for someone who had grown up in the suburbs. Shaking yourself out of your stupor you had unloaded your car and steeled yourself to meet the parents.

 The story had broken your heart- You had pieced together that something awful had probably happened to the real Brahms, and this was how the parents coped. It was simple courtesy that lead you to stick to the routine the parents had set, knowing that they had entrusted you to a very important task in their minds. Under their watchful eye, you took care of the doll for about a week. You had considered this a sort of ‘trial run’ in their minds (after hearing how the last nanny, also from the US, had called them crazy and refused to care for the doll, you didn’t blame them) and you suffered through every prod from Mrs. Heelshire on how to do things ‘properly’, assuring yourself she was just a concerned, traumatized mother who just needed peace of mind. Soon enough, the week was over and the Heelshires left to go on holiday; and it wasn’t until they had pulled out of the drive that you realized they hadn’t mentioned when they’d be back.

 ______

It had been a month of living with Brahms before you had assured yourself that everything was normal. ‘The houses creaked at night’, was an excuse the grocery boy had told you when you had confided in him- flippantly waving his had before changing the subject. (“It’s unprofessional” you threw back at him, miffed at being dismissed so easily, in response to his flirting.) A month of convincing yourself that this was all in your head- that this really was you just adjusting to life on your own. you found the routine the Heelshires had put in place helped, actually. It kept the day structured and short, and let you pass the time. (It wasn’t a burden, actually. You got to re-read old classics, and during music you’d practice sketching and drawing whatever crossed your mind. Even if you misplaced a few loose leaf sketches now and then- it was peaceful) A month passed in the blink of an eye- and before you knew it, you were celebrating a month anniversary with Brahms with a small cake you had asked Malcom to pick up.

It took a month and a day for you to see the real Brahms.

______________

The day had started like any other- you got up and followed the schedule to a T- and after a particularly nice reading session, you had found yourself kissing the doll’s cheek in fondness. Thankful for the peaceful life you were now living, and struck with a sudden rush of happiness- you gave the doll a hug. Noticing the smear your lip balm had left on his porcelain cheek, however, had made you realize how foolish you were being- so you quickly got up to get a napkin to wipe off the stain.

You had left a doll, and walked back to a man.

walking back from the kitchen, you clamped  down the jolt of shock telling you to run run run- you had frozen in place and engaged in a staring contest with the man- neither of you moving until he slowly lifted his had to point at his cheek- the same place you had kissed the doll- and said in a childs voice:

“I want another kiss, please.”

~~~~~~

After Brahms had officially met you a month ago- you had modified the schedule a little to fit the- well, man that Brahms had become. (the doll had mysteriously vanished, only to appear again when he wanted to disappear into the walls again)  Brahms was shocking in his own right- but you had felt more then a little relived that you weren’t actually going crazy, and that had helped you take things more in stride. Brahms still behaved like a child, so you kept a watchful eye over him most of the time. Brahms also loved touching you- it seemed like living in the walls had deprived him of some much needed human touch- touch you were happy to provide in exchange for Bathing and all around hygiene approval.

You had tried your best to bring Brahms to the present day- spending some of your weekly allowance on a much needed internet connection- and a tablet for Brahms to surf the web on. While he still had a mostly limited vocabulary, he could still read and write, and you gave him a few hours a day to surf the web to his heart’s content, answering any questions he might have had.

And then he had found porn.

It had been a major oversight on your part- forgetting to put a parent filter on the tablet- but it simply had slipped your mind between setting up an internet router on your own and reading up on how best to deal with a man who behaved like a child.  It hadn’t been until a few days ago that you were made aware of his knew knowledge.

You had been sitting at the table for lunch when he had spoken up

“I want to…. Fuck.” He had said, rolling the word around his mouth, getting used to it. You had immediately choked on your juice, coughing for a minute before asking what he meant

“Brahms! First of all you shouldn’t use that kind of language, and secondly how do you know about-“ you had cut yourself off, blushing, not wanting to say the word.

“Fucking.” He replied, almost cheekily. His eyes never leaving you, making you flush to the tips of your ears. Avoiding his eyes, You tried to explain that sex- (Not ‘Fucking’ you insisted) was for something between people who both wanted to- that there was a time and place, and that you absolutely should Not talk about it in public, with people you lived with. All the while, he stared at you, head cocking slightly at your explanation, but remained quiet.

“….Okay” he had said quietly, finishing his breakfast before going to the study for music time while you finished dishes.

That conversation had led to you being on edge, knowing that Brahms wouldn’t fully drop it- not until he got what he wanted. But after a few days of quiet, you assumed he had grown bored and moved on. 

______________________

Brahms had entered the kitchen while you had been making lunch- nothing out of the ordinary, Brahms liked to watch you cook. You had been cutting lettuce for a salad when Brahms had approached, slightly starling you before you settled back into the chopping rhythm. (him initiating the contact was good, from every article you had read, and you didn’t want to dissuade him) It wasn’t until he had settled close behind you, leering over your shoulder, that you had decided to speak up.

“Brahms, Honey, are you okay?” you asked, trying to calm yourself. When he didn’t reply, you steeled yourself and kept chopping, trying to hurry up and finish lunch so you could have a table between you and Brahms again.

You jumped when you felt hands on your hips, followed by the press of cool ceramic against your neck.

“Brahms!- What” you exclaimed, gripping the knife and edge of the counter, trying to control your racing heart.

“I want to- Fuck.” He said, enunciating by squeezing your hips in hands.

“Brahms!- I told you that-“ before being cut off by his hands running up your sides and squeezing your chest

“You. Want to fuck you.” Brahms said, now pressing his hips into yours, trapping you against the counter. You were in shock, unaware of what to say to dissuade this situation, and a little turned on by being treated so roughly.

“Brahms, we can’t, I’m in charge of you and your parents-“ you tried to reason, trying to shift away from him, Before being cut off by him pressing you into the counter, forcing you to move the bowl of lettuce before you or have your head shoved into it. With a clatter, the knife falls into the sink next to you, along with the bowl. His chest rumbled over you, one hand slipping up from your chest to press down on the back of your neck, pinning you to the counter.

“No.” he said, before laying his chest on top of you before slipping his hand up your skirt. Cursing yourself for wearing a skirt today of all days, you tried to sound firm when you say “Brahms, No. This isn’t okay and-“ but were cut off by a rather harsh roll of his hips.

“No. I’m in charge. I want to play.” He said, before flipping up your skirt and rolling his hips into yours, rutting into your ass with desperate little sounds escaping him.

Trying not to let yourself be carried away- (it had been 2 months with little to no contact with the outside world, and even then, it had been months before that since you got laid. And in all truth, the situation was straight out of one of your fantasies.) you reached out and tried to push his hands off of you, tried to flip your skirt down and take control of the situation- but were swiftly cut off by a bruising force on your wrists, pinning them to the counter while Brahms showed his displeasure with you by biting your shoulder- causing you to gasp out, letting out a high wine at the pain and effectively stopping all protest you might have. You could forget at times how inhumanly strong Brahms was- but in this situation it only amplified the desire that had been coiling in your gut since he had put his hands on your hips.

Brahms seemed satisfied with your submission, and licked your throat and shoulder in a way that seemed sloppy and primal- and made you shiver and the raw need that came off of him. When you didn’t protest he moved to biting- and you could feel him biting bruises and sucking them into dark marks all along your shoulders, yanking your shirt collar to the side to go even further.

He quickly rutted into you, not even bothering to remove any clothes in his way. You were lost in a sensation of hands- roaming up your body, squeezing your hips, roughly grabbing your chest- and were only brought back to the present when Brahms hips started to stutter against yours, until finally he crushed your hips in his hands and stilled.

Oh my.

[thehangeddemon]

Playing with Fire || Master Maxi || March, 1958

Maximus: Maximus hesitated just outside of the office. The day's mail stacked neatly on a silver tray, newly polished. He hovered only because of Xavier's stance, awaiting to be noticed.

Xavier: Xavier was rubbing his forehead and temples in rhythmic little circles, a distinct furrow to his brow that said the universe was sorely testing him this day.

It was when he leaned back in his chair to heave a great sigh that he noticed Maximus and some of that annoyance melted away. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked with an apologetic smile.

Maximus: "Long enough to know better." Only then would he enter, lowering enough for his master to inspect the tray. An invitation, news, bills. Maximus waited quietly for inspection of each letter being speaking.

"May I ask what is troubling you, m'lord?"

Xavier: He took the mail from the tray with a nod of thanks. Bills went in the To Do pile, the news in the To Read pile, and the invitation in front of him.

"I received a call from an associate of mine in Riyadh. He handles my exports from that part of the world and a few years ago I invested in his business. Ever since, he comes to me with any and all business ideas he comes up with hoping I'll invest."

Maximus: "Not very keen, m'lord?" Given the strain around his eyes, and the massage of his temples. As much as he wanted to ask about the invitation, he refrained, placing the tray under his arm.

"Will that be all?"

Xavier: "I was, once upon a time, when the ideas actually bore fruit and effort was put into ensuring so. Now the ideas become more harebrained with every passing year, but he never presents them that way." Xavier grabbed his letter opener. "He makes each one sound more grand than the last, never wants to take no for an answer. If I were alive he'd have taken years off my life by now."

He opened the invitation, scanned it briefly. "Speaking of grand."

Maximus: Maximus wondered what sort of ideas this man had, and silently tickled at the idea of Xavier's irritation with anything so far from serious. Something rather human to stir things.

"A party, this time of year?"

Xavier: "It would appear so. An exhibition of classical art to be followed by an auction. It's being hosted by Haskell, that insufferable bon vivant we met in Los Angeles. You know the one. Old, old money banker who sold me the chandelier in the drawing room some time ago."

Maximus: He remembered. The man had leather for skin, and glasses far too thick. The way he stared, as though right through and beyond. He didn't much care for him.

"Do you wish to accept?"

Xavier: Xavier sighed and considered for a moment. Did he want to endure an entire evening listening to that dandy boast and hold court?

"Not particularly." He smiled. "But I do wish to avail myself of the contents of Haskell's wine cellar."

Maximus: "You do enjoy playing with fire at every opportunity." Bold words for eyes submissive to the ground.

Xavier: He chuckled. "It's Haskell who's playing with fire by sending this invitation. He knows damn well he squeezed me for every cent he could for that chandelier. No doubt he's hoping I'll part with several hundred more of my dollars on this little auction of his."

Maximus: "May I ask what the auction is for? Does the invitation say?"

Xavier: The invitation was consulted. "He claimed the proceeds will benefit the hospital but that is a damnable lie. The hospital will see a fraction of the proceeds, if that, and the rest will go into Haskell's pocket. How do you think he's managed to afford that ridiculous mansion?"

Maximus: This made his butler frown. "I see. Then I will not waste energy encouraging your presence."

Xavier: He grinned. "Would you like to go to Los Angeles? We can steal Haskell's wine, give a bigger donation to the hospital to spite him, and go to the pictures. There's nothing quite like going to the pictures in Hollywood."

Maximus: "In all my years, I can't recall having ever been." And his first experience would be with Xavier. He very much liked the idea, but these were duty hours, so his smile was that of poise.

"You had me at donation, m'lord."

2:54 AM] Xavier: "Excellent!" Xavier took the RSVP card out of the envelope and reached for his pen to fill it out. "Please see that this gets returned and find me the name of the lowest quality vineyard in the state."

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord." The tray was lowered for the invitation's return. He didn't expect to see the fruits of this labor. Only to hear about the fruition of his schemes, and he looked forward to such tales.

"I would like to ask your opinion on something as well, if you have a moment to spare."

Xavier: "Please, by all means." Xavier was in considerably better spirits than he'd been a few minutes ago and it showed clearly in his expression in demeanor. All the annoyance had turned to warmth and welcome, and both were directed at the beautiful man before him.

Maximus: "I apologize for not inquiring sooner, but, do you have a preference towards wild game?"

Xavier: “I don’t favor any particular type but I’ve always enjoyed venison.”

Maximus: "Very good, m'lord. Will that be all?"

Xavier: "Yes, darling, thank you. Bring me the name of that vineyard as soon as possible, preferably before the party."

Maximus: The darling caught him off guard so early in the morning. He blinked, but offered nothing of his thoughts physically. A bow of obedience, and he turned from the room. Wild game, he decided, would be served for lunch. Something elegant, of course, but unusual. It was time for a split of body. Cooking, research, and to tend the garden.

Xavier: Xavier smiled at Maximus' retreating back until he was out of sight before turning his attention to the mail. What needed reading was read, what needed paying was paid, and a letter was written to a certain associate telling him in no uncertain terms that Xavier's patience for harebrained schemes had been completely exhausted.

He gathered everything up and went to put it with the rest of the mail. And maybe look for Maximus.

Maximus: One of those he sought was in the kitchen chopping carrots and celery. The usual mise en place accompanying a French inspired dish. Another duplicate with rolled sleeves visible from the kitchen window, tending the garden pulling weeds.

The real Maximus Fairchild was in his modest office. Research, as commanded, with the phone to his ear.

Xavier: Xavier smiled as he spotted each of his butler’s shadows, not surprised to see them. When Maximus had a pressing task he always preferred to attend to it personally, like the little project Xavier had given him.

The question now was, did he watch the shadow cooking or the one gardening?

A few moments to decide and he was stepping into the kitchen.

“Hello, my dear,” he greeted, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Would you mind some company?”

Maximus: The duplicate looked up from his scrutinized knife. Almost the same man. Absent voice, but not expression. Free by a margin to smile as though off duty.

Maximus #2 pointed to a large bowl by the long sink. A skinned hare, fresh from market before Xavier opened his eyes that morning.

Xavier: “Such a beautiful smile,” he said, barely resisting the urge to kiss it before walking over to the sink.

“Ah, this explains the question about wild game. It appears we’re to have a very excellent lunch indeed.”

Maximus: Still as modest as the original. This Maximus paused, basked a moment in praise before pushing it aside with scolding eyes.

Xavier: Xavier laughed softly. “I’ll behave, you have my word. I’m simply here to observe. You’re miles more alluring than anything I have on my desk.”

Maximus: Even a mimicry with base faculties was enough of a truth to bristle at such flattery. He pointed in the direction of the office.

Xavier: “Very well, I’ll leave you to your work.” Beautiful shadow of my beautiful Maximus.

He tamped down another urge, this time to brush his lips against the shadow’s cheek, and went to knock on Maximus’ door.

1:10 PM] Maximus: The office was modest, despite encouragement of his master. Decorated with a framed original photograph of the estate on the east wall, and a portrait of a mother and child found in the attic on the east. Nothing personal. Despite budding intimacy, doubt lingered whether or not a Fairchild or Berti might be neatly displayed in the upcoming months, years.

Maximus looked up from a simple brown book, telephone handset returned as he stood.

"Yes, m'lord?"

Xavier: Xavier leaned against the doorframe and smiled softly. At Maximus, at the simple decor, at the phone and the book.

What he wanted to say was, we’ve been apart for an hour and I missed you. I feel...needy for your company today and I’m not quite sure why. I want you to set work aside for the day and come sit in my lap where I can kiss and hold you. I want you to smile at me, talk to me in your soft, gentle way. I want to see the blush on your cheeks when I compliment you. I want you to ask me for the moon and I want to get it for you. I want you to feel needy for me, too.

What he said was, “How is your search coming?”

Maximus: His butler could only decipher so much, but that long stare did something to his insides. The room was suddenly too warm.

"The list is nearly complete. Two more calls to make. A budding vineyard to the south gave interest to inquiry. I thought it might be worth your investment, or ill-considered to neglect informing you."

Xavier: He nodded, and tramped down his third urge in as many minutes. “That was good thought. A budding vineyard might be exactly what I’m looking for, or a worthy investment as you said.” Another nod. “Excellent work, thank you. I’ll leave you to it.”

Maximus: Where Maximus should have bowed his head and returned to his seat, he lingered.

"Is there something else I might do for you? Or... one of them?"

Xavier: Xavier shook his head. “No, thank you, I’m...I’m fine. I might take a short drive before lunch.”

Maximus: "As you so often remind me, I am more than your servant. I am your assistant. Allow me to be concerned for a moment, and serve you as my choosing."

Xavier: Maximus was offered another smile. “I’ll allow you, and I appreciate your concern. I suppose I’m simply in a restless mood this morning.”

Maximus: "Perhaps, instead of a drive... a walk?"

Xavier: “Perhaps that’s a better idea. Would you—?”

Maximus: "I would love to accompany you."

Xavier: He offered his arm. “Around the garden?”

Maximus: "I am off duty in the meantime?"

Xavier: Xavier nodded. “Yes. For the walk, and perhaps to join me for lunch?”

Maximus: Such proposal prevented the removal of his watch. Lunch was nowhere near finished; neither were monotonous chores worthy of his duplicates. His hand came away from his wrist.

"Delighted." His first undressed smile of the day.

Xavier: That smile made him feel like a drowning man being given breath again.

He returned it in kind. “Marvelous. Come, let’s get some fresh air.”

Maximus: Papers were quickly straightened. Pen used as a bookmark for the phone book and set aside. Off duty, he told himself. His own idea, he repeated. He didn't know what to do with his hands. A coat? Loosen his tie? Nothing seemed more appropriate than consistency.

"Just the garden?"

Xavier: “The garden, the grounds. Perhaps the woods. We’ll see where our feet carry us. It’s a lovely day; we ought to enjoy as much of it as we can.”

Maximus: Seemed fanciful, but as he'd come to learn, not so unlike this young demon.

No coat, only a change of shoes before holding the door. Some standards would not shake. The garden had expanded since winter. Herbs dominated much of the landscape leading to the house. Roses and shrubs lining the walk towards the various statues. Tomatoes and other less visually stimulating like were out of sight by design.

"If I were to ask you to spill your thoughts, would you?"

Xavier: It was as proper as an English garden could be. Tea roses, winding paths, statues, vegetables, a fountain. It was what the manor deserved after so many years of neglect.

“Just now I’m thinking what a beautiful job you’ve done out here.”

Maximus: Not what he'd expected, but he would take it. "These were your choices." For the most part. The flowers, with the exception of tenderly minded magnolias.

Xavier: "And you took those selections and created a garden worthy of the estate it surrounds. You should be very proud, Maximus."

Maximus: "That's the word I'm looking for," he smiled. "I'd like to hear more of your thoughts, if you'd allow me."

Xavier: "I'm also wondering how long it will take Haskell to realize his wine collection is worthless after I replace all the wine with whatever vineyard is chosen for the deception."

Maximus: "Rather than leaving his stock barren, your sense of humor is to replace with inferior. As you do artistic masterpieces."

Xavier: Xavier grinned. "Indeed. And like with artistic masterpieces, they will receive a better home and proper appreciation. Haskell, on the other hand, will be humiliated in front of those whose coattails he seeks to ride and will have an absolute conniption thinking he essentially tossed thousands of dollars down a hole."

Maximus: Is he really deserving of such punishment, he thought. He felt it best not to ask. Despite the careful distance their relationship had crossed, Xavier was still master. Trust was a fickle creature. It was of little concern; he didn't actually care.

"You spoke to my copies again today."

Xavier: This particular punishment was merely intended to knock Howard Haskell down a few pegs and back to where he rightfully belonged. There was nothing Xavier hated so much as hubris that hadn't been earned.

He nodded, smile still in place. "I did, yes. I always speak to them when I see them."

Maximus: "I'm not sure I understand your reasoning. They offer little." They were tools, nothing more in his belief, which made Xavier's insistence fascinating and confounding.

Xavier: "They offer more than meets the eye." More than once, talking to Maximus' shadows offered the chance to see that beautiful smile without a hint of reservation.

Maximus: He saw each and every one-sided conversation. With every broken spell, each memory of his duplicates became his own. What was once used as a torment, now became a source of entertainment.

"You could always speak to me, if you need an ear."

Xavier: His smile gentled. "Thank you," he said softly. "I sincerely appreciate it. I don't often find myself having that need, but when I do...thank you, Maximus. For the offer and...for walking with me."

Maximus: "It's less out of obligation than you might think."

Xavier: "At the risk of flattering myself, I don't think it's out of obligation at all."

Maximus: "You've taken a great risk. Haskell would be impressed."

Xavier: Xavier chuckled. "Haskell's risks aren't really risks. They're calculated to appear that way."

Maximus: "Yours are true?"

Xavier: He nodded. "There was a very good chance coming with me and lending me an ear was due to a sense of obligation."

Maximus: "We still walk that fine line of mystery."

Xavier: “We do indeed. And I take great risks and hope for the best.”

Maximus: "You risk believing there is no risk," he smiled.

Xavier: “Oh believe me, I could never. It’s always very present in my mind.”

Maximus: He wanted an elaboration, but would not ask.

"Are you feeling better now?"

Xavier: “Much better, yes. You’re a very great help.”

Maximus: "You're very generous as usual, Xavier."

Xavier: Hearing his name from Maximus’ lips brought a rush of such affection it was a wonder he didn’t pull the man into his arms without a second thought.

“It’s sincere. Talking to you makes my mind feel quieter, more calm.”

Maximus: "I'm...honored." But what he wanted to ask was why, and how, as he felt he offered nothing significant.

Xavier: Xavier turned to study his companion for a moment. “May I be so bold as to say you’re also...curious?”

Maximus: "I'm curious?"

1:57 AM] Xavier: ���About why you calm my mind. It feels as though you want to ask me something.”

Maximus: You cannot read my mind, he reminded himself. "I have a readable face." This much was honest.

Xavier: “You do, but it’s more than that. We have a bond. We’re...in tune with each other.”

Maximus: "You think so?"

Xavier: “I do. I can feel it when I’m near you and when we’re apart, when we’re speaking or sitting in silence.”

Maximus: "That's perhaps the bond of servitude." A jest, but his smile was meek. One might regard as shy.

Xavier: Xavier simply returned the smile and offered Maximus his hand. It was fine if he didn’t take it; but Xavier felt the need to offer it.

Maximus: The hand was given a second of regard before taking. Not because this was his master, but because he wanted to. He wondered if Xavier truly understood.

Xavier: Perhaps Xavier could never fully understand, but he understood that this was a man who was rightfully cautious, who'd been hurt in unimaginable ways, and still accepted his hand.

He brought it to his lips and placed a delicate kiss on Maximus' knuckles.

Maximus: Maximus watched against his will. This was his hand being lovingly cared for, and those were Xavier's lips. There was no greater affection, and after months of such treatment, he was sure more than anything else that Xavier knew.

"It...smells like wood polish. Forgive me."

Xavier: “The wood polish you use smells like lemons. I’ve nothing to forgive.” He offered another kiss, this time to Maximus’ palm.

Maximus: Air demanded to leave his lungs in one warm escape. The emptiness felt at the bottom of his ribs made him feel more alive. Pain often did in the most unpleasant times, but in the moment, only made him more aware of Xavier's presence.

"How far shall we walk?"

Xavier: He was starting to get a decent gauge of the reverence and meaning this sort of affection had for Maximus. All the more reason for Xavier to offer as much as possible, when possible. "Perhaps to the edge of the estate and back? I was thinking that perhaps you'd like to have lunch in the garden. It really is a lovely day, it'd be a shame not to enjoy it as much as we can."

Maximus: Xavier was a painting. Spoke like a gentleman, poised, tailored like a gentleman, but months together he began to see the forgery. What was beneath was less impressionist and more abstract. At the moment it was lovely.

"Would stewed hare be inappropriate for a garden lunch? I'll see to an alteration. Something lighter."

Xavier: "We rule all that we survey, my dear." He smiled. "We get to decide what is appropriate. And from what preparations I could see in the kitchen, I'm very much looking forward to that stewed hare."

Maximus: "It is an hour until lunch. To the edge of the property and back?"

Xavier: Xavier nodded. "To the edge and back. Tell me, do you think there's a good spot for some sort of garden folly or a gazebo?"

Maximus: "Certainly. This small clearing here," he pointed where the sun intended to set, just shy of the woods. "It's away from the house, but not far from the garden. Leaves the expanse of the lawn to admire, without having to see the driveway."

Xavier: Xavier considered for a moment and nodded. "You're right," he said with a smile. "That's the perfect place for it. Although looking at it, a folly seems like a much better use of the space than a gazebo. Something that wisteria or perhaps star jasmine can climb."

Maximus: "I think jasmine is an excellent idea. I'll begin the necessary arrangements. There, you think?" He pointed to where the garden ended shy of the woods, a corner of sorts. Even still, despite the calm, he sometimes had to correct his speech. No 'm'lord' here. He wondered if he would ever accept Xavier's supposed intention.

Xavier: “Let’s get a closer look.”

Xavier led Maximus over to the spot, walking around and picturing the potential structure and how it would look from the windows.

“Yes, this is the perfect place. Stone and wrought iron, I think, something very intricate. I trust you to find the perfect craftspeople.”

Maximus: "You're certain of iron?"

Xavier: “I rather like the idea of the sun casting filigreed shadows on the stone beneath. Do you have another material in mind?”

Maximus: "I don't want you to burn yourself. If perhaps it were painted?"

Xavier: "Ah, yes, you're right. For both our sakes, we shall have the iron painted black."

Maximus: "Are you efficient with drawing? Something I could show a contractor."

Xavier: “Efficient enough to give a contractor a decent idea of what I’m looking for. I might have to peruse my library for some inspiration.”

Maximus: "Very good." M'lord. "Something that will feel as timeless as the estate itself. Perhaps a winding stone walkway?"

Xavier: “I do like the idea of a walkway leading up to the structure. Perhaps with ornamental plants surrounding it.”

Maximus: "I'll see to it as well."

Xavier: “What would you like to plant along the path?”

Maximus: Maximus looked up, considering the shade. "I'm no expert on the subject, but, I believe leaving color to the garden here," he pointed back, "leaves less competition for the eye. Ferns, or something equally lush. The very least, creeping thyme."

Xavier: "Some ferns would look rather nice. The thyme as well. We shall see which one suits better when we choose the stone for the walkway." He thought for a moment. "If memory serves, there's an excellent stone mason in Los Angeles."

Maximus: Maximus frowned but nodded. Eyes thoughtful. "If I may be so bold, I find myself confused every instance it seems my opinions are valued."

Xavier: Xavier offered a smile. “Is it still so foreign after we’ve set this house to rights together?”

Maximus: "I've been made to do many things by various masters, but never trusted with an estate."

Xavier: “I trust you implicitly with this estate, Maximus. Not to mention my meals and my wardrobe.”

Maximus: "I couldn't poison your food if I wanted to," he smiled.

Xavier: “With your cooking? It’d be worth it.”

Maximus: "Your praise borders on cloying, Master Xavier."

Xavier: He chuckled. “I’d apologize if I didn’t think very highly of your cooking. And you know I’m a man who appreciates good food.”

Maximus: "I don't expect apologies when your words hold meaning to you."

Xavier: "They do." He found himself kissing Maximus' hand again. "I sincerely appreciate and value your opinions. Your input is something I treasure."

Maximus: Their pace slowed as Xavier indulged himself. Moments like this, words were too elusive to pluck from the air. Just emotion. Enticed by self-imposed mystery, but stayed by caution. Rarely was something hidden behind his eyes, but Maximus expected something. He would be foolish not to.

Flowery words, he told himself. Flattery from a charming demon. He should have been made at the crossroads.

"I'm honored."

Xavier: Perhaps he would be foolish not to, but the only thing behind Xavier's eyes was affection. Sincere, abiding affection.

"And I'm honored that you feel comfortable enough to give your input, even if it confuses you when it's taken to heart."

Maximus: He didn't want to spoil things by saying refusal was smaller than a crawlspace. Instead, he smiled, content to his silence and what his expression could offer.

Xavier: As staying on this subject would only serve to make Maximus uncomfortable, Xavier chose to move on for now.

"This is going to look lovely when it's finished. As will the road to the house when the wildflowers bloom."

Maximus: "You're in favor of a manicured lawn, or would you be interested in ground cover flowers?"

Xavier: "I'm in favor of both, though both have their place. I quite like the lawn surrounding the estate but lawn looks out of place on the roadside."

Maximus: "Very French," he smiled. "I agree, both have their place. I'm in favor of the backyard being as lush as we intend."

Xavier: “It will be when we’re done with it, we’ll put Versailles to shame. I rather like the idea of having a couple more statutes as well.”

Maximus: "There is enough space for a hedge maze as well, if your desire is a statement."

Xavier: “It’s tempting,” he chuckled. “But the sight of the woods beyond the garden is impossible to give up. Although some hedges would look nice bordering the drive.”

Maximus: "We could begin the drive with an iron gate, line the drive with hedges or perhaps roses. Something to withstand the drastic seasons."

Xavier: Xavier pictured the final result and smiled. “Perfect. This estate will be grand in every sense of the phrase.”

Maximus: "And when... we have finished, do you intend to throw a grand party celebrating your success?"

Xavier: "This wouldn't be much of a sanctuary if I did that. Perhaps we could have Massimo and his family for dinner. I only trust him with the location of this house."

Maximus: This surprised his servant, studying his profile as they slowly walked, curious what in particular made this home a sanctuary. What was intended for this house.

"I see. Something in New York, perhaps. You should celebrate your achievement."

Xavier: Xavier smiled. “A more private celebration seems more appealing, although perhaps that’s the hermit in me. I always manage to wander off on my own at parties.”

Maximus: "More business deals, wine and beautiful people."

Xavier: You’re the only beautiful people I need, Xavier thought to himself.

“Deals aren’t quite enticing enough for a celebration. Are you opposed to a small dinner party with Massimo’s family?”

Maximus: "I will serve whomever you choose to bring," Maximus said, watching the woods towards the abandoned house.

Xavier: "Perhaps we can also invite my staff at the warehouse. Everyone has been thoroughly vetted and I trust them all. They're good people."

Maximus: "If they can make the travel," he felt the need to point out.

Xavier: “Easily taken care of. I can make travel arrangements for them.”

Maximus: "Very elaborate. I believe my spell will be in order."

Xavier: "Or, there is an alternative."

9:22 PM] Maximus: Maximus slowed and studied the man by his side, curious but unwilling to guess.

Xavier: “We could hire waitstaff for the evening, which would allow you to enjoy the celebration freely.”

Maximus: "Would that not be seen as inappropriate of your assistant to dine as equal?"

Xavier: “Massimo is incredibly fond of you and my employees wouldn’t dare cause such offense.”

Maximus: "I don't believe they would dare such disrespect to you in person, but perhaps it is not in good taste." He watched Xavier a moment. "If I may be so bold to speak my mind this way."

Xavier: Xavier smiled. "Of course you may. And if you truly do not wish to attend a celebration as a guest, you don't have to. I only ask that if you decide against it, it be because you truly wish to attend in your capacity as butler."

Maximus: "I think it's the most appropriate road in which to walk... in public." Their relationship was still so young. Still too soon to openly reveal anything more than professionalism. It was safe.

Xavier: "As you wish, my dear." It didn't feel right to take sole credit for the complete transformation of the estate, but it would feel worse to push Maximus in a way he wasn't ready for.

"It will be a small celebration but grand nonetheless."

Maximus: Finally, he could breathe. For a moment he was concerned, but Xavier's response was as consistent as day one.

"I look forward to assisting in its assembly."

Xavier: "You'll be instrumental in its success. That being said, would you like me to hire waitstaff to assist you for the evening?"

Maximus: "Hire, or borrow from another?"

Xavier: "Hire and thoroughly vet."

Maximus: "By your will. Eight hands are better than six."

Xavier: "Anything at all you need when the time comes, please ask. No expense will be spared."

Maximus: "I wouldn't insult your celebration by offering cheap wine," he smiled.

Xavier: "You couldn't insult my celebration, full stop. Outwardly it might be mine, but privately, it's ours."

Maximus: "That's very kind," said Maximus. He would have worried for repeating himself if not for being so relaxed. Too eased, his equals might argue.

Silence would be sensible for several meters.

Xavier: Xavier didn't mind the silence. During his time with Maximus, he'd come to recognize the different types he affected at different moments. Some silences were companionable, some filled with work and distractions, and others, like this one, affected when there was a fear that too much had been shared. Not always in words, but in manner.

It almost came as a surprise when they reached the edge of the property. Xavier hadn't realized he'd been lost in thought. "Ready to head back, darling?"

Maximus: Seemed the moment had passed. For now. He wouldn't linger on what he had felt and why. Not here in his master's presence.

"I will see to lunch, prep for dining outside, if the idea still appeals."

Xavier: "It does," he said with a nod, sighing contentedly. "I shall go down to the cellar and select a good wine to accompany our meal. All game requires a fine wine."

Maximus: He would dare offer a suggestion. "A bold red, perhaps?"

Xavier: Xavier beamed in approval. "Precisely what I was thinking. We shall lunch like royalty today, my dear."

Maximus: "If there is anything one of my shadows can assist you with, please. You will be quite bored observing my assemblage of lunch."

Xavier: "Actually, now that we're going to be coming into a great deal of wine, some reorganization of the cellar is in order. I'd like to see how much spare room we have."

Maximus: "It is one of the last areas of the house left virtually untouched." He wanted to be there to assist, but preparing the table outside yielded a more intimate future.

Xavier: "And a significant project because of it. I will take one of your shadows down to get a proper lay of the land and we shall discuss over lunch."

Maximus: I shall see you then, he thought, offering nothing more in response than a gentle smile.

Xavier: Xavier was going to take that smile as approval of the plan, and give one in return.

“Very well, my dear. I’ll be down in the cellar. May I kiss your hand again, before you return to duty?”

Maximus: "Am I to return to duty before lunch?" Asked carefully. A timid offering of what could be.

Xavier: He had put forth a great deal of effort to keep his face from smiling too excitedly. Such a careful question could only be met with gentleness.

“I think not,” Xavier murmured. “After lunch will be quite soon enough.”

Maximus: His smile was not quite what Xavier felt. Bedded down as forcefully as Xavier's efforts. "As you wish."

Xavier: “In that case...” He turned to fully face Maximus. “May I kiss you, darling?”

Maximus: He dared look his master in the eyes. There was no harm here. Those eyes, as they had always been, were a safe place.

"You may," said softly.

Xavier: Those eyes were brimming with affection as Xavier gently cradled Maxmius’ face and leaned in to kiss him like he’d wanted to do all day. Feeling and tasting this beautiful man was like satisfying a craving.

Maximus: Every kiss felt the same. Something less than fear and more than elation. Trust deserved but fragile. His lips felt impossibly warm, and he welcomed them with an inaudible sigh. His hands didn't know what to do, other than remain useless at his sides.

Xavier: Xavier could only hope that the day would come when Maximus felt comfortable enough to reach for him, to touch him as much and as long as he wanted without a second thought. He could only hope that someday Maximus would feel comfortable enough to do a lot of things.

Until then Xavier was more than happy to take the lead. They were dancing the world's gentlest, most deliberate waltz, each move fraught with meaning. Each kiss he was allowed was treasured. He took only a little bit at a time, savoring before coming back for more. Never pushing, never demanding.

"Beautiful," he whispered, caressing Maximus' face.

Maximus: Like a dream he was sure wakefulness would steal with cold hateful hands. He was certain this was false. Not any moment, but someday. For now he could lean into the strength of Xavier's stance and welcome his warm merciful hands. Offer a deepening of his affections as his master-in-name caressed his pale face. Reach timidly to place his hand over Xavier's in solidarity.

Xavier: There had been moments when they first began this delicate relationship where Xavier had wondered if he had the strength of will to be gentle, to tamp down his desires and keep from take, take, taking. But he'd soon discovered that when it came to Maximus Fairchild, being gentle was the easiest thing in the world. It came as easy as breathing, and Xavier had slowly begun to realize that the only thing he had to tamp down was the urge to bombard Maximus with his affection a thousand times a day.

He had his moments, of course, he was only human--or had been at one point. But this here? That little touch, the subtle deepening of a kiss? Fuck, it was what he lived for.

Beautiful, he thought again, letting himself stretch the kiss a few more long, lingering moments before regrettably pulling away.

Maximus: Parting had become a bittersweet endeavor. He realized in this moment, taking a step back from Xavier's handsome figure, that their relationship was akin to an arranged marriage, more than that of master and slave. He would rather believe that than the truth. Wondered if in some measure Xavier felt the same. A fantasy which would live in his head as comfort, until the day it would no longer provide sustenance.

"A shadow will be with you shortly."

Xavier: He had to allow himself one final stroke of Maximus' cheek. Just a single one to sustain him until they sat down to eat.

"Very well," he said softly, smiling as he let his hands fall away. "I'll await them down in the cellar." And select one of his best bottles for their meal.

With that fond smile still lighting his face, Xavier started back toward the house.

[caddy-whump-us]

I feel like the things I’m writing lately for the vampires aren’t so much whump as they are angst or just “scenes from a captivity.” So if you’re still reading this stuff, I hope you enjoy it. I’ll get back to Etienne in a bit; it’s Nikolai time right now. And I’ll get back to some more “classic” whump soon.

This piece also involves a character named Cyprian who I think was mentioned before? All the backstory you need should be here anyway. He’ll be showing up a bit more hereafter.

I also highly recommend this playlist for some mood music.

---

“Glad as I was to hear from you, do you truly believe you can mend the rift between you?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

They were sitting before the fire again. They were always sitting before the fire, with the night pressing in like black walls. But this time there was a stranger with them.

His Lord sat on the couch to one side of the fire, and Nikolai sat on the little velvet stool beside him. Across from them, though, was the stranger--to Nikolai, at least. Adrastos seemed to know him all too well as they spoke across the elaborate, twisting patterns of the carpet between them. 

White faces, such white faces, like moving marble statues when they spoke, one to the other. But this stranger, their guest, seemed, although they both had the same smooth, grave-marble faces, younger in some way. The way he lounged on the couch, the tilt of his head. 

But his Lord was just as nonchalant; the comfort of a lord in his own home, of course. Nikolai was beginning to fidget: twisting the ends of the ribbon around his neck, pulling at his jacket draped over his shoulders, worrying at his fingers. 

Nikolai watched them from under his brows. All of this sitting before the fire was for show, pantomimes and shadow-plays of life as it had once been and could never be again for these two monsters. Yes, pretend to be cold and weary after riding out to this house and come warm yourself by the fire. It was a play for the two of them only, a game. After all, Nikolai and the postulants all knew them for what they were. Perhaps this was their only entertainment left.

Adrastos reached out and began to stroke Nikolai’s hair.

“After everything you’ve done, Cyprian?”

Cyprian shrugged, his eyes closed, white palms turned up in the dark. His hair was auburn, dark in the shadow but copper bright in the light of the fire, in loose waves that fell across his forehead. 

“Or is this because you know Viktor will have to choose an heir someday?” Less question than statement. “Perhaps Ruslan told you--”

“About the new boy he’s caught? No. But I heard tell of it.”

“Cyprian, please.”

Cyprian rolled his eyes. “Black swan,” he said, then went on, “I’m quite comfortable as I am. I don’t know that I’d need an inheritance.”

“You’re living a bit like Ruslan these days.”

“I enjoy it, the squalor down in the shadow of the university.”

Nikolai’s eyes flicked up to Cyprian’s face and he found Cyprian looking back at him, eye to eye. Cyprian shifted in his seat, rested his chin on his hand. 

“I only ever met Ruslan perhaps twice, you know.” 

“Viktor tolerates him but there’s no love lost between them.”

“They’re too different. And your master needed you to bridge between them.”

“Is that why you wrote to me, then?” Adrastos said, leaning forward across the span between them.

Cyprian matched him. “I’ll have a lineage of my own someday.”

“After what you did?” Adrastos hissed.

But Cyprian went on: “As will his new” a pause “black swan. What is a disagreement between us now could become true factions within a few years. Think of that.”

Adrastos sat back, considering. “You could as easily be killed. Kill the serpent in the egg, as they say. After all, you know what you’ve done, as do I, as does he.”

Cyprian looked disinterested and was looking sidelong at the fire.

“In fact,” Adrastos went on, “some scrap of what you have done has made its way back to him.”

Cyprian still looked towards the fire. Nikolai tried to see the color of his eyes in the firelight, with no success. 

“So. It’s not inheritance, it’s not envy, it’s not guilt, it’s purely to prevent this speculative ‘war’ between the lineages. You’re a fool if you believe that could happen.”

“I am already outnumbered, that is true.”

“You’re only half a fool, then.” And Adrastos leaned forward again, his fingers steepled before his mouth. “So why are you here?”

Cyprian was still turned aside. He closed his eyes. “Because I need him. And I need you to help me back to him.”

Adrastos scoffed. And Cyprian turned on him, blazing. 

“I do! You know the things I’ve already done. I’ve crossed paths with--” and he paused and closed his eyes.

Adrastos gave a low, slow sound of understanding. “Is that it? You’ve found the first of your impossible creatures, your own black swan.”

Cyprian dropped his forehead to his hand. “How do I resist it? Or how do I accept it? I don’t know what to do.”

“And you mean to go to him to ask.”

“He is still my maker even if I refuse to call him my master. He knows me.”

“Indeed so.”

“I understand the break between us. I promise you I do. But I need help to cross it. He needn’t speak to me again after this, so long as he answers me. If I write to him I’m sure he’ll burn my letters before reading them. I would have gone to Ruslan, but I know how things stand between them. And so--”

“So you wrote to me. I can’t say I’m flattered that I’m your last recourse, but here we stand.”

Cyprian was looking up at Adrastos and his eyes were wide and pained. “Will you help me?”

Adrastos sat quietly a moment, looking into the darkness beyond. Nikolai found himself twisting his fingers again and willed himself to stop. This unexpected meeting had pushed back his first dose of the day (call it that) and he was beginning to want for it. 

“I think,” Adrastos said, “I can do something for you. But more than half of it will still lie with Viktor. I can intercede, but only so far.”

“Any help would be welcome. I don’t expect forgiveness or for him to welcome me back with open arms. I only need his help. And I can promise him that he won’t hear of me again if that’s what he wishes.”

Adrastos set his hands gently atop Nikolai’s to still them. Nikolai looked up towards him, then down and aside, ashamed. But he could feel that strange fever beginning to come over him. His eyes were hot. The skin of his back was tight and itching. 

“Then I will write to him on your behalf. You’ll be in my debt, you know.”

“I do know, but I think perhaps it is worth it.”

Adrastos laughed, softly, and drew the jacket off Nikolai’s shoulders. “Now, come: we’ll pledge our cooperation.” He set his hands on Nikolai’s shoulders, “This is my black swan.”

Nikolai fixed Cyprian with his dark eyes.

“And his name?” Cyprian asked.

“Nikolai,” Adrastos answered, rising and going to the writing desk set against the wall beside the fireplace. He opened a drawer there and Nikolai breathed a sigh, almost a sob, of relief. He knew what was kept in that drawer. He opened his eyes again to find Cyprian staring at him and he ducked his head, all humility.

But still, he watched his Lord come back to the couch with the wooden box, the bottle, and the delicate knife; he kept his eyes most on the box and the bottle. 

“This is, perhaps, a bit taboo? A bit questionable? But you must experience it for yourself.” He spun a spindle-footed table from around the arm of the couch to stand on the rug among them all. “Consider this quite a demonstration of trust. But we’re pledging our good faith, aren’t we?”

Now Adrastos was laying out his tools: the syringe, the needle, the cord (a cord this time?), the harsh liquor to clean the implements, the knife, the bandages for after. Nikolai was trembling slightly. 

“Have you ever drunk from one who was drunk, Cyprian?”

Cyprian looked at him quizzically. “I have.”

“Then you know that sensation.” He had opened the grappa and let the stinging smell fill up the space around them. “In my life before,” Adrastos said, “I was at times fond of the spirit of the poppy. As content as I am now--” Cyprian interrupted with a scoff, but Adrastos went on “--I do miss those dreams sometimes. And knowing what we know about drinking from a drunk…” he trailed off.

Cyprian’s eyes narrowed. “It seems dirty, somehow.”

Adrastos held up the syringe and fitted the needle to it and began to clean it, gently, with the grappa. “Perhaps it does.” He drew up a full syringe of the grappa then shot it into the fire where it flared blue for a moment, then died. “But you must try it.”

Cyprian was quiet, but he looked from Nikolai to Adrastos and back again. 

With everything laid out to his liking, Adrastos slipped Nikolai’s jacket from his shoulders and helped him up onto the couch. Nikolai pulled off his leather slippers and set them neatly beside the clawed foot of the couch. Adrastos surrendered his place to Nikolai and Nikolai lay back, looking up into the ceiling, chewing at his lips in anticipation? Frustration? 

Adrastos crouched on the floor beside him, and smoothed Nikolai’s hair back from his forehead.

“I’ve been increasing his doses for several days now,” Adrastos said, not looking away from Nikolai’s face, “in anticipation of your visit.”

“Whatever for?”

“So he can endure the dose I will give him tonight, which he will share with us.” He began rolling up Nikolai’s sleeve. 

Nikolai breathed deeply once, and closed his eyes. The tightness had gone from his forehead and around his eyes. Already he seemed close to sleep.

Adrastos took up the cord and wrapped it around Nikolai’s bare arm. That blessed numbness and thickness spreading down his arm from the pinch of the cord--Nikolai licked his lips. 

With the needle in hand, Adrastos drew up the dose of morphine from the bottle, pressed a few drops back into the bottle and let a few more drops slip down the needle as he held it upright, examining it. He turned back to Nikolai and smiled.

“I could hold a drop of laudanum on the tip of a pin and I think he’d crawl across stones and glass to lick it off.” He smiled. “Or let me prick him with it.”

Now Adrastos had Nikolai’s hand in his. Now the chill of glass and metal against Nikolai’s skin. Now the pinch and sting of the needle. And now the hot rush of blood back into his fingertips as Adrastos untied the cord around his arm. 

“Come,” Adrastos said, “Sit here beside him.”

Soft shuffling in the dim firelight and Cyprian came to sit at Nikolai’s feet. 

“Just a moment more,” Adrastos said and, as he did, Nikolai’s eyes drifted open, rolled back to show the whites, and fell closed again. And in that moment he fell limp, boneless as a ragdoll, or as the old adage went, like a puppet with its string cut. His breathing was slow and deep and, to Cyprian, it seemed that he was almost smiling, as one would smile in a sweet dream.

Adrastos was leaning over him, smoothing his hair and his forehead. “You’ll be a wretch after our guest leaves, won’t you?” he whispered into Nikolai’s ear. “No, you can’t stay so blissful forever.” He kissed off the bead of blood from the needlemark and then he reached for the silver knife.

Adrastos took up Nikolai’s hand. “I won’t sully him with scars,” he said to Cyprian as he unfolded Nikolai’s fingers, a white flower blooming in the dark. “You needn’t worry: he’ll feel nothing.” Drawn so close as they were now, Adrastos whispered velvet in the dark to Cyprian.

With the silver knife, he cut small nicks and cuts into Nikolai’s fingers; the blood trickled down to pool in his palm. Adrastos cut him again low on the palm (the Mount of Venus and the Mount of the Moon, that was what a fortune-teller had said once when there was a traveling carnival passing through the town out beyond his house and Jonathan’s house and the forest and the fields and they had bears and wolves but maybe those were only dogs and a girl who would balance on the hand of the strongman and…) 

Adrastos held Nikolai’s hand like a cup, letting the trickles of blood gather there, then offered Nikolai’s cupped hand to Cyprian. “Try him,” he said.

Cyprian paused a moment, holding Nikolai’s hand, then sipped at the collected blood once, twice, enough to finish it. Salt, sweetness and copper. And heat. And something bitter, but that was his own mind: there seemed to be nothing he could do that was not a sin in someone’s eyes. He sat back again, leaning against the couch, licking the last tastes of sharp metal from his mouth.

Adrastos looked at him and smiled, then set to freshening the cuts on Nikolai’s hand, to start the flow of blood again. He waited, letting the blood collect in the cup of Nikolai’s hand, and watched Cyprian.

Cyprian had been sitting, waiting, with one arm on his crooked knee and his back straight against the seat of the couch when, suddenly, his posture slackened. His mouth dropped open. He leaned forward at first, then laid his head against the seat of the couch. His leg slid out before him, another puppet with cut strings. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and blinked slowly.

“How quickly the thirst can be slaked,” Adrastos said, watching him. 

He brought Nikolai’s hand up to his mouth but stopped short and, instead, toasted to Nikolai with Nikolai’s own hand and own blood, then drank up the collected blood.

He laid back against the couch as well, but with his shoulder pressed against it so he could go on stroking Nikolai’s hair a while, so he could go on lapping up the last droplets from Nikolai’s fingers. But he succumbed as well, and nearly as fast, with his head leaning on the couch.

Perhaps this oblivion was the nearest to death he would come until some madness took him and he killed himself out of boredom or frustration or because he had become some gaunt monster cursed with a nigh-endless life and buried in darkness as if buried alive--for so he was buried alive in a sense. Any number had taken their own lives, if the consciousness he endured could be called life, ending some of the great lineages, destroying their masters in the course of it, causing some great cascade of despair among some houses. 

But he had this sweet bliss now, for now, like wandering through an endless house of dark rooms, unhurried, unafraid, only passing from room to room, unaware that they were rooms, only moving without knowing he moved, gliding, existing without existing, persisting…

---

Some time later, Nikolai awoke, vaguely sick, his body still like wet sand and wet velvet. The two vampires were still unconscious, one at his head and one at his feet. And, yes, he did consider that he might kill them both in that moment. Or, if not kill them, make clear his rage, perhaps, though he felt only cold inside, with no heated rage. How long had it been since he had felt it? But still he could take the knife they had used on him and he could use it on them, make them bleed as they had made him bleed.

He was reaching out for the knife where it lay near Adrastos’ hand when he saw the dried tracks of blood in his fingerprints and in the lines of his palm. He held his hand in front of his face, considering it: he had not been bandaged. 

He looked to Adrastos, who had always been so careful to bandage the tiny cuts he made when he was finished, even when he took from Nikolai after a large dose like tonight. But the bandages were still in the box and the box was on the table and the table was perhaps a mile, perhaps two miles (or so it felt) from where he lay. He did reach out for it, but fell far short. 

He sighed and then wrapped his hand in the hem of his shirt in case any of the wounds opened again, and turned to lie with his face towards the back of the couch. Soon enough he would feel the fever of wanting again, his head would ache, he would shake, he would sweat and feel sick to his stomach. And whether that was better or worse than the leaden feeling now--he looked over his shoulder at the two vampires, still asleep if they did sleep, and envied them. He was past that bliss now, left in a useless stupor, and with only the fever to come.

He pinched his eyes shut to stop from crying and willed himself to sleep just a bit more, just a bit more.

[prince-cally]

A little thing I wrote for Team Same Voice based off a Headcanon I have with @helixed-inferno about how Jack was the one who gave the Vagabond his jacket. Please enjoy!

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Jack  knew that Geoff was desperate for a crew. It had been the two of them for some time. Old friends committing basic crimes. She knew Geoff craved more, so did she. However , she wasn’t sure about the man when Geoff dragged off the streets. She had heard of some rouge kid with a bad attitude on the streets causing chaos. She knew Geoff wanted to meet him and offer him a job. He already had a kill count, and the first time Jack saw him. She could see why. He was large but well covered. He was silent and barely spoke. He could easily sneak up on someone in an alleyway. She was surprised when Geoff announced he had taken the job. Now there were three of them. Jack decided she needed to do her best to welcome him into their small crew.

 Geoff had been working with him , helping him build his skills and trying to discipline the other. He had a bit of a temper in  him when he wanted. A few holes in the wall and bloody knuckles after fights had shown that. Jack did her best to get him to open up. She would chat with him - or to him whenever he was around.  A month went by before she heard him speak. He had a deep voice and soft southern accent. She found out his alias was The Vagabond , he was a year older than her and he was from Georgia. 

It wasn’t long before Geoff brought home two more kids , Michael and Gavin. The Vagabond fell back into his quiet self. Only responding in soft grunts and growls when the Jersey boy or Brit tried to speak to him. Jack felt like she was back a square on with him. She wasn't about to give up though. Training continued for them , and Jack found herself being paired with The Vagabond while Geoff handled the pair of best friends. Jack would talk about her experiences during cool down , The Vagabond sat and listened. Offering nods , grunts, and the occasional snort or chuckle. 

Finally, Geoff felt comfortable enough letting The Vagabond out on his first job. Geoff would be sending him out on a simple stake out.He would be sending Jack with him. The Vagabond grumbled in response and wasn’t seen again until it was time to leave. The Vagabond had his face painted the same the day Jack had met him. However, instead of being smudged from sweat and rain , it was clean and sharp. It scared the shit outta Gavin when he saw it. 

Jack was waiting by the car for Ryan. She leaned up against reading over the notes Geoff had given them. She looked up and offered the other a smile as he made his way through the garage. 

  “ Ready to go?” She asked , reaching to open the drivers door , his hand caught her wrist. 

   “ I’ll drive. “ He simply said, sliding around her. 

Shrugging she climbed into the passenger side. It was the first time he'd spoken to her in weeks.

 “ Seatbelt. “ The Vagabond growled , clicking his own into place. She obeyed silently. There was no reason to fight him on it. 

The first few minutes of the drive was in  awkward silence. The Vagabond reached forward and turned on the radio , turning to dial. He found a classic rock station and settled back into his seat. Jack almost swore she saw him smile. The drive was about an hour, they rode in comfortable silence the rest of  the way. The Vagabond pulled into the motels parking lot with a huff. 

“ Wanna grab the gear ? I’ll go check in.” Jack offered. He responded with a nod and another huff. 

She wandered to the front desk, using cash and the fake ID Geoff gave her, she grabbed the key and returned to the car. 

“ Looks like we’re in room 106. Right across from the appartement we’re supposed to be watching.” 

The Vagabond said nothing. This was going to be a fun few days , Jack thought with a frustrated sigh. Once in the room and set up , Jack dropped onto the bed. “ At least this is a nice room for a motel.” She said, mostly to herself. 

“ Geoff really went out of his way for us, huh?” The Vagabond chuckled a bit. 

The voice startled Jack, but she laughed a bit herself. “ I suppose so.” The rest of the night passed with nothing but the T.V and  passing traffic for noise. The Vagabond laid on his bed , back propped against the headboard. He was cleaning his knives, every once in a while there was a hum of approval or a sigh of annoyance from him. Jack had been reading details , for about the third time that evening. Wanting to be sure she had every detail, she sat the papers down.  “ I’m hungry. I think I’m gonna grab some food. Want anything?” 

“ Honestly, I could go for a burger.” 

Oh, so the fearsome Vagabond did eat fast food. She couldn’t help but smile to herself.

“ Alright , I’ll be back.” She ran down the street to a burger joint. She returned with food not much later.

“ One burger meal , and a surprise chocolate milkshake.” She hummed dropping his bag by his side. She glanced down , taking a look at his knives. “ Got enough of those? “

“ No.” He said, pulling out a fry. “ You never have enough weapons.” This time he was smiling. 

They ate their meals , flipping between the News and Jeopardy reruns. Jack caught herself glancing over at the other person. She had never spent this much time with him outside of training.Usually , The Vagabond stuck to his room, during dinner he’d grab his food and return with little notice to anyone. He’d give Jack a quick nod in thanks and be gone. Now she felt she could get a decent look at him. She could tell his black hair was dyed, his blonde roots starting to show from neglect. His jeans were worn and faded in places. He wore a plain black hoodie , she never saw him without it on. Now he had the sleeves pushed up around his elbows. She could see the tone muscles and  scars from knife fights that littered his arms. Looking closer Jack could see where the jacket had been sewon several times. The hoodie itself seemed thin too. Granted Los Santos was warm most of the time - It could still get cold during the winter. She suddenly felt for him. Wondering just what kind of live he lived before having a place at the Penthouse. 

“ Can I help you?” She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. “ You’ve been staring at me.” When she looked at him, she wasn’t able to read his expression. 

“ No. Just never seen you with your sleeves rolled up.” She said. 

“ Ah, well there's a reason for that. “ He held up an arm, showing off the scars again.

“ I assume those are from fights ?” She asked.

“ Something like that.” There was a bit of smugness in his voice. She rolled her eyes as he pushed down his sleeves. She wasn’t going to pry into that.

“ Who's taking the first watch?” Jack asked. Moving off the bed and to the window. 

" I will. I don't sleep anyways. " He said plainly. Jack raised a brow, not sure if that was supposed to be a joke. She assumed it was not.

" Suit yourself." She finished her milkshake and tossed it into the trash bin. 

She looked at the time. It wasn't too late , about 12:30. However, if they were going to do this job right she'd need to be rested and ready. While she hot herself ready for bed , The Vagabond made himself comfortable by the window. He closed the blinds leaving just enough open that he could see the apartment across the way. The lights were still on. Hopefully he'd catch something tonight. Jack killed the lights and slid into her bed. She pulled out her phone, sending Geoff a quick text letting him know they were settled. 

" You won't sleep if you're on your phone." 

" Okay, Geoff." 

That got a snort out of The Vagabond. Jack couldn't help but smile to herself. She was surprised with how much more talkative he was when they were alone. Something in her chest lit up. After months was he finally opening up? She hoped so.

Jack wasn't sure when she fell asleep or how long she had been out-  but she woke up to The Vagabond standing over her. 

" Our guy is on the move. " Was all he said in a hushed voice. 

She sat up reaching for the light when he stopped her. 

" No. It could give us away. Apparently we weren't the only ones watching out for someone." He sat his gun in her lap. A dagger was in his hand and a tri-dagger on his hip. The Vagabond moved back to the window, peaking out of it. "No time for you to get ready. Now's our chance. "

 He quickly moved through the door. Jack sighed , a tank top and shorts wasn't ideal to fight in, but at least he let her have his gun. She followed him out the door and took cover between cars.  Their target was going in and out of the building in a frantic manner. He was throwing bags into the trunk of his car , he was on the phone with someone.

" Ramsey isn't going to get his fucking money. This much dough ? I'm not letting this go. I think he has someone watching me though. I gotta get out of here." The other man shoved the phone into his pocket. Using the man's panicked nature to go unseen The Vagabond moved across the street. A purr left the Male as he came up behind the other. He was so much bigger than the other man. Jack had never noticed how large The Vagabond was.

" I don't think my boss will be too happy to hear that you're taking his money." He purred out in a low voice." Also, if you think you're being watched. Maybe you shouldn't announce what you're doing while standing outside, dumbass."  

The man spun pulling out his own blade. " Who the fuck are you? " He shouted , swinging his knife wielding arm at him. " Ramsey sent you? Get lost asshole ! " 

Jack took this chance to move across the street , gun drawn and ready to fire. The Vagabond had the other man occupied. He effortlessly dodged the attacks of the other man. A hysterical laugh left his throat. 

" Oh, this will be easy ! But fun." The Vagabond laughed.

Jack took this chance to search the car.Looking for any sort of information on the guy, who he was talking to or where he could be going. She didn't expect this to happen the first night of the stake out , but hey , what could she do. She listened to the two men fight it out behind her. In case The Vagabond needed her for back up. He didn't seem like the type who would ask for it. And she wasn't sure he'd even need it . She let out a soft gasp as she was grabbed and pulled from the car. Apparently their man wasn't alone. Jack was able to get away from his grip, easily throwing him to the side. She felt for the gun which had been left in the front seat. She swore under her breath. It was a rookie mistake. Nonetheless, she stood in a fighting stance, ready to go. The guy picked himself up and pulled a switch blade from his pocket. At least it wasn't a gun , she thought. Jack and the man struggled for a moment, she had gained a few shallow cuts and a bloody nose. They pulled apart briefly and he lunged at her before she could react. In a split second Vagabond was in between them. The man's knife caught his hoodie and tore it open, it then caught his arm , leaving a deep stab wound. That sent a fire Through the Vagabond and his dagger found the other man's throat. He dropped the lifeless body like it was nothing. 

" Grab the cash. And let's go." Jack was picking herself up , glancing between the body and the Vagabond. Who had a crazy , pleased look in his eye. " We need to go before the cops show up. Someone was bound to see or hear that. Where's the other one?" 

" Dead." He said ,pleased and smiling. He already had his arms filled with bags.

She didn't say anything else, grabbing what was left. Jack packed the car as the Vagabond sweeped the hotel room for items that could give them away. Once it was clear they retreated into their car and left. 

Jack was driving this time. Taking back roads and detours to avoid any main roads just in case. After about thirty minutes of driving she pulled over. 

" What?" The Vagabond asked. He was still hyped up from the altercation.

" I need to fix up your arm. That looks nasty." 

" It's fine. Don't worry about it." 

" No." She said , reaching for the first aid kit. She got out and went to his side. 

" I don't need your fucking help." He snapped suddenly. " Touch me and I swear to God-" 

" You'll do what?" She snapped back. " You'll do what Vagabond? Kill me ?" 

He fell silent, eyes wide for a brief moment. Then he looked forward and stripped off the torn and blood soaked jacket. Jack tossed it in back and went to work on his arm. 

" Have you ever stitched yourself up before ?" She asked, trying to break the tense mood. " Vagabond-"

" Ryan." 

" What?" 

" My name is Ryan." 

" Why are you telling me?" She asked, genuinely curious. 

" You aren't afraid of me. I think that deserves you knowing my first name."

She snorted. " Why would I be afraid of you?" 

" I killed two men less than an hour ago. Threatened you - and yet you stood your ground." 

" Well, yeah. I don't fuck with punks." 

" Yet you put up with Michael?" 

They both laughed then. Once she was done, they rode back in comfortable silence.

Once back at the Penthouse, they unloaded the car , getting ready to take the bags to Geoff. Michael greeted them right of the elevator. 

" You assholes are on the news. Geoff isn't happy." He glanced down. " Maybe he will be once he sees all that cash of his that had gone missing though." Michael smirked. 

When they entered the living room,  a picture of their fake IDs was displayed on the screen. 

" Shit. We missed those." Jack sighed. " At least they were fakes." 

The screen displayed a news woman now. Way to dolled up for it to be covering a double murder. 

" The authorities are calling these two criminals "The Fakes" since all that can be found is their fake IDs. Whoever these criminals are - They are intelligent and dangerous -" Geoff switched off the TV.

" The Fakes. I like it." He said , turning to them. " Oh, you both look like shit. Put my money in the office and get cleaned up." They both simply smiled and did as they were told. 

Geoff ended up cutting them in a good chunk of money. He said it was for " all the troubles" they had to deal with. They weren't complaining though. It had been a few weeks and Jack decided that she had been laying low long enough. She went out to do some basic shopping and to just have some fun. When she returned she found Ryan at the kitchen table. She made her way to him and dropped a bag in his lap.

" What's this?" He asked.

" A gift? You've never gotten one before?" 

" Haha. Fuck you." He said playfully. He opened the bag and pulled out a leather jacket. It was black and blue with white strips on the arms. 

" What's this for ?" 

" I feel bad that your hoodie got destroyed. " She admitted and he rolled his eyes. " Plus you need something better to keep you warm when it gets cold.. and you seem like a leather guy ." She winked at him. 

That got her a true laugh. 

" I hope you like it and I hope it fits. I guessed your size."

" I like it a lot. Thank you, Jack."

" No problem, Ryan." 

[focusfixated]

fic rec post: bookmarks of 2019

hooo boy i really got through some fandoms this year. from right-on-time fandoms that i got to partake in as they were happening (good omens) to years-too-late fandoms i only just discovered (hannibal), there have been some real outstanding things to read from authors across multiple fandoms and genres. 

i’ve put together a list below of some of the fics I bookmarked to my ao3 this year - some were written in 2019, some are older than that, but all of them left their mark on me these past 12 months.

i haven’t listed and reviewed every single story i have bookmarked this year, or else i’d be composing this post for weeks, so i’ve also put quick links at the end to other recs that you can find on my ao3 if you wish to peruse.

here’s the list, arranged by fandom, chronologically in the order i read them:

fandom: dirk gently’s holistic detective agency

interrogation by goingtoalaska – @holistick on tumblr

rating: G

pairing: dirk/todd

summary: Of course Dirk has some extremely important questions that can only be asked in the middle of the goddamn night, obviously.

notes: one of those dialogue-rich, beautifully-crafted, one-shot fics that just perfectly exemplifies the form. i’m always impressed by authors whose strength is in funny, well-written dialogue. it’s really one of the most difficult things to master. this is a well-observed rendering of these characters subtly done through conversation. comical, sweet, quick-witted, lovely.

fandom: hannibal

 consenting to dream by emungere – @emungere on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: will/hannibal

summary: a seduction through physical objects. It starts with a scarf loaned to Will on a cold day, but Hannibal, as usual, isn't satisfied with anything small.

notes: a perfectly-crafted slowburn sugar daddy AU structured around gifts and offerings that tangle hannibal and will gradually into an ever darker, more complicated, more intense relationship. this was one of those fandom-transcendent stories that was of such gripping quality, i read the whole story and its sequel without having any knowledge of the source material and went to watch the hannibal TV series entirely off the back of having read the fic.

it's honestly stunning how beautifully this is written. the consistent characterisation, the slow development and revelation of the dynamic between the hannibal and will, and the powerplay between them is so utterly compelling. i'm so fascinated and enthralled by the exploration of power dynamics, the shifting balance between what hannibal wants, and what he wants to give, and how will is both subsumed by his need to please and be cared for, and is at the same time motivated so strongly by the desire to see hannibal out of control.

everything is just so perfectly on a knife's edge at all times, it makes the development of their relationship throughout totally riveting.

  the wave at morning by emungere – @emungere on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: will/hannibal

summary: post-fall, Will and Hannibal strike a new balance in their relationship.

notes: i have probably re-read this one more often than anything else this year. more of a collection of scenes that build up the picture of a relationship than a whole story, this nevertheless has such a raw intensity, it’s one of my favourite things i’ve ever read in any fandom. a concisely-observed exploration of a developing dom/sub relationship which is based on both a powerful sexual desire and a compelling, psychological push-and-pull dynamic between the characters.

masterfully-written and searingly hot, it hits emotional notes with such accuracy and economy, leaving all this imaginative breathing room around the scenes which are remarkably stimulating. desire comes off this in waves and is so worth waiting for.

also, read everything by @emungere. a stunningly talented writer.

  fandom: legend

 you’ll find it funny (when you’re looking back someday) by th_esaurus

rating: E

pairing: ronnie/teddy

summary: It was around this time that Teddy Smith began his nightly habit of leaning on the wall across the road from Esmeralda's Barn with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the top two buttons of his baby-blue shirt undone. He'd a mole dead centre on his neck and tilted his chin back to show it off, waiting for someone to come by and offer him a match.

notes: after watching the film and being left disappointed that we didn’t get to properly explore any of the fascinating characteristics of ronnie kray, violent gangster and known homosexual, this fic was bang on.

an insight into the dangerous, volatile connection between ronnie kray and mad teddy smith, and a thrilling exploration of desire and power between two unstable men. every detail in this story was so keenly-observed and delicious to read. the writing had a poetic flow to it that i enjoyed immensely, and i read it back to back three times in a row, just trying to absorb everything on offer here.

  fandom: rocketman

 what if the birds aren’t singing, they’re screaming? by th_esaurus

rating: M

pairing: elton/bernie, elton/john

summary: He is spectacularly good at making music and spectacularly good at making mistakes.

notes: an angsty one, but such a satisfying read. so achingly full of feeling, the whole story simmers like the film's version of elton john does, with a kind of raging disappointment and dissatisfaction. there is such a vivid sense of place here, such beautiful descriptions of scenery, and every snap of elton's temper against the backdrop of these warm landscapes is so keenly felt. incredibly well-observed.

the pace and flow of it, too, the way the dialogue moves, the barbs and quips and the push-and-pull of the dynamic between elton and bernie, makes for such a compelling characterisation. there is a palpable agony in the unrequited love here that anyone would recognise. the whole thing is so well-drawn, so achingly hurtful, and utterly wonderful to read.

also, do yourself a favour and read everything th_esaurus has ever written, because it’s always incredible.

  fandom: good omens

 ad astra by drawlight - @drawlight on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: aziraphale/crowley

summary: Some things can only be said in the dark.

notes: and so we come to the good omens portion of the evening. this has been an astoundingly creative and productive fandom to be a part of, and has been a really fulfilling, satisfying place to put a lot of feelings. there are so many brilliant stories i’ve read since getting into this fandom, it’s hard to pick a few, but i’ll start with this wonderful classic. 

an incredibly-drawn portrait of the first tentative moments of something new. so beautifully full to bursting with images and ideas and feelings, so economic and poised in its language, it really sinks into the depth and detail of what makes these characters who they are, what draws them to each other, and it aches in the most heartfelt of ways.

  the lightness of you by rend_herring 

rating: E

pairing: aziraphale/crowley

summary: God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

notes: this is so wonderful. the tone, the pace, the way it moves so trippingly and joyfully from thing to thing, crowley's continual internal monologue which is absolutely charming and very endearing, the lightness of the humour and at the same time the depth and breadth of feeling in this, the very concept of love and what it means to have god's love, and the love of another to fill the void. this made me have such Feelings about crowley.

also likens an orgasm to the cosmic altering of the very universe and managed to make it feel both evocative and true.

  bent to the very earth by ark – @et-in-arkadia on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: aziraphale/crowley

summary: Use me, please, Crowley had said, so Aziraphale takes him at his word.

notes: a fantastic read. i am so absolutely here for the constant shifting dynamics between these two, the things you'd expect from angels and demons, and the circumventing of those expectations in aziraphale and crowley. all of it is absolutely delicious, so well-observed and beautifully-crafted. 

written with all the humour and tenderness that makes them such enjoyable characters to read. also this is probably the key story that made me a fan of service top antony j. crowley now and forever.

lead me to the banquet hall by obstinatrix & wishwellingtons – @placetnemagistra and @scurator on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: aziraphale/crowley

summary: Crowley loves taking Aziraphale out to eat almost as much as Aziraphale loves eating, but it's always a bit of a one-sided affair. Aziraphale has never understood why.

notes: this story destroyed every single one of my corporeal cells and projected my soul directly into the ether. incredible writing. it gives me such visceral delight to read a story that puts so much effort into its reference points - all these joyful, ornamental little sprigs of detail throughout that make this universe thoroughly lived-in and a delight to experience.

the way this story deals with food - it's exceptionally, viscerally erotic, but it symbolises so many things too; love, indulgence, pleasure, deprivation, guilt. all the things that food does represent, in our daily lives. but it's somehow heightened here, used as a turning point, a metaphor, a symbol. truly one of the best things i’ve ever read.

a bookshop is not a business by anactoriatalksback - @itsevidentvery on tumblr

rating: G

pairing: aziraphale/crowley

summary: In which Aziraphale has no intention of selling books to anyone at all, let alone this infuriatingly persistent customer. No matter how nice his cheekbones are.

notes: absolutely delightful reading from start to finish. such a brilliantly witty tone, very pythonesque and also in keeping with the humour from the book, but also gives us all the added layers of gay disaster crowley and aziraphale from the tv series. i love every little detail in this, everything is just so well-crafted and funny, it’s really writing of the highest calibre. the back and forth of the dialogue between aziraphale and crowley is so enjoyable to read, with its quick, snappy, sparkling pace. wonderfully fluffy entertainment.

  classics appreciation with a.j. crowley by yolkinthejump - @yolkinthejump on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: aziraphale/crowley

summary: Aziraphale lays a temptation for Crowley. Literally: lays himself down and waits and asks for something without actually asking, as is his way. Crowley, as is his way, is happy to oblige.

notes: thorough filth of the purest kind. this is intensely gorgeous. the glorious mess of it, the physical love and joy and the depth of their need for each other just sings off the page. an ode to form, to the body, this leans into touch and physicality in such a powerful way, but maintains a poetry and lyricism which is lovely to read. aziraphale, in all his lazy luxury, and crowley, scattered and overcome – both of these characterisations were so on point. This is such a stand-out thing, decadent and intimate and so wonderfully-written.

  the curious attractiveness of others by giddygeek - @giddygeek on tumblr

rating: T

pairing: aziraphale/crowley

summary: “I’m rough,” Crowley argued. “A rough beast, and all that. Well,” he corrected himself, “an agent of the rough beast. Well, an associate. It’s all very complicated, as you bloody well know."

notes: a truly stunning piece of work that revolves around touch and the complicated sublimation of feelings that can’t be expressed. there is such a strong sense of character here, aziraphale's infinite softness in the face of crowley's wild, windmilling panic, and there’s a lushly detailed narrative full of little moments of humour that are a joy to read. 

it’s a simple and beautiful expression of their relationship taking place inside a magical, miraculous world made up of mundane, ordinary things that are elevated by the author’s gorgeous narrative. there are so many stand-out moments in this; brilliant, sharp lines, beautifully executed, establishing both world-building and character-stuff in one, fluid motion. this is choirs-of-angels levels of wonderful.

  it’s the beginning of a new age by fluorescentgrey - @yeats-infection on tumblr

rating: T

pairing: aziraphale/crowley 

summary: In August 1970, Aziraphale and Crowley attend one of the Velvet Underground's final shows at Max's Kansas City.

notes: reading this fic was like listening to a really beautiful song. the entire thing is just suffused with meaning and emotion, and there’s such a powerful evocation throughout of the feeling behind art and music and connection. It gave me shivers. there’s a weighty, beautiful power behind the words here, chosen so carefully to their greatest effect.

this fandom has some incredible, creative ways of evoking symbolism or finding parallels between religion or holiness or ecstasy of a sort with other earthly feelings (sex, desire, servitude, love) but since reading this i've not yet found such a stunning evocation of this feeling of connectedness drawn through music anywhere else. this is beyond a beautiful good omens story. this has made me project directly into emotional existentialism. also i fucking love the velvet underground.

gorgeous details, perfect turns of phrase that are so precise and ringing with humour. heavy with longing and nostalgia, a sense of time lost, change, uncertainty. this story is a goddamn piece of art.

de bono coniguali by ineptshieldmaid - @ineptshieldmaid on tumblr

rating: M

pairing: aziraphale/crowley

summary: ‘Nonsense,’ Aziraphale says, briskly, ‘Monogamy has nothing to do with it. We committed sodomy twice last Sunday.’ Crowley goes to speak, but Aziraphale is nothing if not skilled in rhetoric, and he holds up a hand, ‘which, of course, does not invalidate the sacrament; it’s rather like baptism, it can’t be reversed, but it can be defiled, and I think all authorities would agree that vigorous sodomy on Sundays defiles the sacrament of marriage.’

notes: there is a fascinating concept being explored, here, in the interpretation of religious doctrine, and about how to exist as a queer person while also being a member of a faith community. it digs into ideas of sanctity and absolution beyond the usual handwavey explanations of “goodness” and looks more deeply at what religion means, culturally, for the people who might have difficulty reconciling these different aspects of their identity.

it’s a really brilliantly-written thing. there is such an enjoyable precision to the ideas being shared through aziraphale and crowley’s conversation about religious doctrine and its application. there’s so much rich historical detail here, a neat, precise pacing of dialogue, and is full of smart, witty and interesting asides. this is a story in which the two have a very clear dynamic as established partners and lovers – their conversational back-and-forth is easy at times, and at others has to be carefully extricated, but always in a way that you can feel the years of connection there.

  fandom: the goldfinch

 A Grand Inquisition: Being an Investigation and Evaluation of Certain Things Done and Undone, Said and Unsaid, Over the Course of Many Years (or Perhaps Merely in Dreams) by m_leigh - @morgan-leigh on tumblr

rating: T

pairing: boris/theo

summary: what r u doing for Christmas this yr? Come hang with me again I have nothing going on but big as fuck bottle of vodka with as you people are saying, your name on it.

notes: this is how we wish the book had ended. reading this just absolutely floored me. the complexity of sentiments in this, the span of time and the emotions caught in it, the poetry! the boris-voice is spot on – dark, messy and crooked, while also having this kind of gamely, optimistic attitude, never lingering too long on what can’t be changed. fantastic characterisation. 

the details in the landscape and scenery around within this story were also stunning - all these different places, antwerp, amsterdam, berlin, vegas. just absolutely wonderful. economic and evocative all at once. read it and then read it again.

  the ledge by fluorescentgrey – @yeats-infection on tumblr

rating: M

pairing: boris/theo

summary: In the hotel elevator, he stared at himself in the endless mirror. Thin man (Bob Dylan chords) in black coat, with little white dog. His nose was red from coke. Eyes red from maybe something else.

notes: is it weird to cry because you love someone’s words so much? this story is like a peeling-off of layers of skin to get at all the grimy, glistening rawness of feeling underneath. reading this kind of hurts, because it focuses in on this relentless, wild careen into self-destruction, but it's more than just the subject matter that had me repeatedly covering my face and muttering ohmygod. it's the shape of this whole story, the form of it brought together exquisite writing which is unconscionably good.

every sentence flows into the next one with such precision and depth of meaning, making each next thing more compelling and subtly significant because of what came before. it's impossible to pick anything out, it feels like pulling a thread and the whole thing unravels, because everything is so closely-connected, so elaborately woven. there is an effortlessness to the detail in this, in the way we dip and weave through these seething, living landscapes, elevated by observations full of poetry and feeling.

this goes without saying probably, but please read everything fluorescentgrey writes.

  fandom: inception

 pants on fire by helenish

rating: E

pairing: arthur/eames

summary: "Ah," Yusuf says, lifting a reproving hand, "are we calling less than 24 hours of memory loss amnesia now?"

notes: finding new stories to read in throwback fandoms is such a joy. this one is absolutely outstanding. arthur and eames both find themselves experiencing bouts of amnesia, and the concept is used as a tool to explore how their relationship appears to each other without baggage or bias in such a brilliantly-executed way. 

the character exploration here is incredible, breaking open the layers of complexity of arthur and eames’ feelings and desires with such deftness. the dialogue is also marvellous, so engaging, witty and heartbreaking in turn. just an incredibly-executed, extremely compelling story. 

  breaking and entering by resonant

rating: E

pairing: arthur/eames

summary: Eames is very good at pretending.

notes: if you’re going to rewatch the film, do yourself a favour and read this afterwards. there is such fantastic detail here, and such a strength of character development, the pacing feels wonderfully measured, the story so full of life.

this is the kind of story where the author has such an enviable talent for richly-detailed, well-researched background information. the jobs they’re running, the locations they end up in, and the smaller details too – the items in a room, the clothes they wear. the world that’s built around them is tangible, and the emotion it’s infused with is too.

part of this focuses on the idea that eames being the forger/pretender archetype means he has this kind of detached observation of the disparate elements of what he’s feeling, his default mode always set to pretending and going through the motions of something without understanding the truth of it, and although it was perfectly in-character for him, it also felt like an extremely universal and human way of fumbling into relationships, which made it very moving, and a wonderful thing to read.

  fandom: harry potter

 grounds for divorce by tepre – @tepre on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: harry/draco

summary: Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

notes: jesus christ this story. the detail and care with which the world is coloured-in here is just incredible. the added lore, the historical detail, the characterisation of people in the background, the thought behind the practical aspects of things like the curses and spells, the modes of travel, the administrative set-up of ministry departments, the daily grind of work, the science of potion-making, everything is so thought-through, whether it's a deeply important and relevant part to the story, or a passing detail in the background it all serves to make this thing such a rich, unique, fully lived-in world that expands out to the edges and even further, like there's even more beyond just the bounds of what this story shows us. 

this story takes us on a journey. i forget how good a good bit of angst can be, but this story reminds me of how enjoyable it can be to give yourself up to an author's hands, and let them take you somewhere dark and painful, let them unpick the misery, the hurt, the fear, the trauma, and lead you out into the light, into healing and resolution.

this story felt so starkly real, a deeper and more honest look at harry and the life he’s experienced than any bullshit nineteen years later epilogue ever did.

  the weather inside by earlybloomingparentheses - @ebp-brain on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: remus/sirius

summary: Sirius rides a flying motorbike, and snogs strangers in pubs, and strikes moody poses Remus finds irritatingly attractive. But for Remus, who drinks milky tea and wears flannel pyjamas, there's a chasm cracked right down the fault line between wanting and doing. How he wants, though. How he wants.

notes: a vividly intelligent, compelling looks at remus' desires and fantasies, at the way he navigates his own understanding of what being a werewolf means, and how it shapes him. the queer themes here are starkly present, the weight and baggage of desire, the complexity of sexuality. 

sharply melancholic at times, this is also a really lovely, deeply emotional look at the stumbling, difficult way remus and sirius eventually find a path to each other. it’s ultimately optimistic in its portrayal of love and desire, and the feeling that you can be understood, can be known, can be found. just beautiful, a real hard-hitter.

  fandom: IT

 how much more than enough for both of us by pineapplecrushface - @pineapplecrushface on tumblr

rating: E

pairing: richie/eddie

summary: Richie has tried very, very hard to get laid over the last twenty years, but something has always gotten in the way.

notes: your guess is honestly as good as mine as to how i ended up in this fandom, but here we are, and there are some truly wonderful stories to enjoy. this one is beautifully-written – the longing, the aching, the sadness, i could feel it in my bones. deals with the concept of forgetting, and supernatural horror aside, there's something really simple and human about this mortifying ordeal of going for person after person and fucking it up each time and sabotaging yourself in the search for love. well-written, lovely, simple, tender.

also you should really read everything by @pineapplecrushface - both their work in IT fandom and good omens is stunning.

  things that happen after eddie lives by ifithollers 

rating: E

pairing: richie/eddie

summary: in a world where Richie manages to save Eddie from It after the deadlights, they still have problems on their to-do list. Featuring everything from Derry to Los Angeles—Richie Tozier's murder trial, Eddie Kaspbrak's divorce proceedings, bedsharing of the platonic and non-platonic varieties, an investigation of magic, a truly disgusting séance, the quintessential morosexual road trip, and OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES.

notes: this is top-tier, next-level, Good Shit. a real satisfying slow burn full of incredible, nuanced character stuff, high-stakes drama, trial & error, with a real, tangible move towards understanding, and maybe healing. plotty, narratively compelling, manages to balance real-world, atmospherically humdrum details with some viscerally brilliant and strange supernatural elements.

also a masterclass in exploring self-loathing, trauma, and sexuality in a way that is necessarily uncomfortable, and fascinating and cathartic. the razor-fine line of being paralysed into inaction by wrecking-ball levels of want was powerfully compelling to read both as a look at a particular kind of queer-baggaged desire, and also as an exploration of who these characters are.

full of smart, brilliant banter and dialogue, i am always overwhelmingly grateful to authors who have the talent and fortitude to tackle a novel of a fic, to give us this much wonderful, quality entertainment absolutely for free. what a gift.

  the kids table by stitchy – @stitchyarts on tumblr

rating: T

pairing: richie/eddie

summary: For the most part Richie and his sister have a doctrine of mutually assured destruction. They could obliterate each other with their parents given the slightest provocation. To keep things at an even keel, they steer clear of each other as much as possible every other day of the year, but on Thanksgiving? Kids Table is like their NATO.

notes: an observation of how things change within families as time goes on - people die, people get married, people get divorced, the family dynamic changes, and there's always a really painful process of trying not to get left behind, trying to change with it, but also trying to hold on.

i’m recommending this one, but honestly, do yourselves a favour and read everything stitchy has written for this fandom. this one particularly stood out to me because i’m an absolute sucker for sibling fic, especially when it’s written like this; emotional, witty, astutely-observed, resonant.

the core of the sibling relationship between richie and his sister here is a joy to read. this is a lovely, humorous and emotional story told in a series of thanksgivings, filled with keenly-observed, vivid, details, and written in a really sharp, concise style that cuts clearly to the truth of a feeling. absolutely wonderful.

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okay! that took forever. i hope someone finds something in there to enjoy they maybe haven’t read yet. and if you’ve got your own fic rec posts, please link me!

quick links to more recs:

good omens

harry potter

it

the goldfinch

hannibal

all other fandoms