#the cognac probably didn’t help

[richo1915]

The ship from Persia, Got caught in Corinth,

Loaded with eleven tons, Of nice-smelling hashish,

Now all the vagabonds are crying,

For they are left smoke-starving,

You smart-ass officer, Now who gets to pay for the damage,

In this story even port authorities snooped-into,

It was all well set up, A bought-off betrayal Two poor Turkish guys Were involved in this.

Now all the vagabonds are crying,

For they are left smoke-starving.

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse part 10

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve. On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :) TW for references to past abuse.

On AO3

(behold the chapter that took me most of august, and billion x billion thanks to @wheneverfeasible for listening to my endless wailings about it--eeeeep! You are the bestest!!!!)

…

Chapter 10: my bad

When Eddie opened the doors, a young woman around his age barged in. She wore a white apron with some dubious stains and brandished that rolling pin.

“Where is he? Oh my God.” 

She dropped the rolling pin on the couch, along with Steve’s pack, which she'd had slung over her shoulder. She shook him gently. 

“Steve! Steve?” Then, to Eddie, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?”

“I’ve no idea how he got that way. I swear.” Eddie paced around manically, wringing his hands. “He crashed in, totally wrecked, and handcuffed himself to the pillar.”

Nah. I wouldn’t believe me either.

Aaaand, I deserve to lose a couple of fangs to that rolling pin?

“Where’s the key, fuckwit?” she snarled.

 “I… uh… not a clue.”

He grabbed up Steve’s pack, tipped it out and began rifling through the contents. It struck Eddie that this was probably all Steve’s belongings. His watch. A clean shirt and underwear, his skin-tight ripped jeans. Two inhalers and some blister-pack tablets.  A crumpled envelope with a couple of dog-eared photographs slipping out.

Steve was in the top one, aged maybe fifteen or sixteen, smirking beneath a pair of shades. He’d gotten his arm around a blonde woman holding a cocktail. She had to be his mom. His beaming father barbecued hotdogs by a pool, which was holiday-brochure levels of azure blue.

Eddie ripped his attention away. “I can’t see any keys.”

“Yeah. They’re in his pocket.” The newcomer fiddled to undo the handcuffs. “Didn’t you think to look? Jesus, you two dinguses were born for each other. I’m Robin, by the way.” Steve remained hugged around the pillar. “Some help here, shit-for-brains?” 

Together, Robin and Eddie got one each of his arms over their shoulders and hauled him to his feet. They dragged him between them toward the bed. 

He wasn’t exactly unconscious. He definitely wasn’t in the room either. His head drooped forward, and his flickering lashes cast shadows down his streaming makeup. Eddie’s heart panged, while his stomach twisted in knots.

Eddie was crazy about Steve. 

Seriously, crazy.

And he still knew literally nothing about him. 

Possibly my bad.

They guided Steve onto the bed. Robin propped extra pillows under him, then fetched a bottle of Evian from the minibar. Eddie hovered at her shoulder, chewed his fingernails, and wondered if he should call a doctor something.

“Steve?” She jostled him again. “Steve! Please say something. Please? You’re freaking me out now.”

His half-lidded eyes widened. “Robin? Eddie? Wha–”

“Steve! You scared the shit outta me!”

Steve looked… lost and totally bewildered. He took a sip of the water she menaced him with, vaguely dabbing the trickle on his chin.

“What happened?” asked Robin. “You know—ditching breakfast? Your little cognac party for one? Whatever unspeakable yuck I interrupted with Jon Bon Jovi here?”

Cognac party? That explained the booze on Steve’s breath. Eddie let the Bon Jovi comparison slip. Hadn’t she noticed Jon cut his hair for the ‘Keep the Faith’ album? 

Only true metalheads left at the big hair party, ma’am.

Robin came at Steve with a napkin to mop his face. 

“If you don’t quit fussing,” he hissed, “I’m gonna slap you silly.”

“Okay. Being a bitch. Back on form. When did you last eat properly?”

He threw his arm across his face. “Jesus, Robin, I don’t know."

“I might’ve got some pringles around here somewhere.” Eddie, desperate to be useful, scanned his half-packed mess. “Definitely a jelly donut.”

“Oh, real nutritious.” Robin jumped up and stomped toward the door, muttering to Eddie, “We need to talk.”

In the main lounge area, Eddie took one look at the fake marble pillar, shuddered, and snapped from his daze: “Look, I get it. You care about Steve. You and me both, sister. I would never—”

“You are NOT forgiven, numb-nuts.” She stabbed a finger at him. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt ONLY because he didn’t flip out when he saw you, so listen up. He’s sick. He’s not eaten today. I’m gonna get him a bowl of oatmeal and banana. Can I trust you with him, or will I come back to find him tangling himself in a sex swing?”

Ouch.

Once she’d gone, Eddie hurried back to the bed. Steve emerged from beneath his arm. His face was waxy, his vest and hair sweat-soaked and sticking to him.

He still looked lost. Haunted, even. And Eddie felt nearly as lost, stopping in his tracks a foot from the bed.

“Thank Christ she’s gone,” said Steve, then, “Eddie, you didn’t stare this much when I’d gotten your jizz all over my face.”

Those knots in Eddie’s guts wound tighter. “I’m really fucking sorry about last night. I’m sorry about smoking and never reading the runes, and…  about  a ton of shit, honestly.”

“Don’t be,” sighed Steve. “I’m sorrier. And about today. Christ, I’ve made a total fool of myself.”

Eddie shook his head, dared shuffle a little closer. “You’re fine, honey.”

“Yeah, we both know that’s a pile of steaming horseshit. I… I…” 

Steve’s face crumpled beneath his hand. Eddie’s right mind finally screamed, What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve literally shared this bed with him for weeks.

He bounced onto the huge mattress, muttered, “C’mere, you.” He felt stupidly grateful when Steve rolled into his opening arms. Eddie hugged him close, planted soft kisses on his hair. “I gotcha. It’s okay.” 

“I d-don’t remember.” Steve curled into Eddie’s side and his knee crept up into Eddie’s lap. “Oh God, Oh God. I’m losing my mind. I can’t even figure how I got here.”

Eddie found himself grinding his teeth. He didn’t know exactly how Steve got from that preppy, peppy kid in the poolside photograph to today—blundering into this penthouse then chaining himself to that pillar, locked in some twisted memory. 

No. Eddie didn’t know exactly. But he was starting to get the picture.

If I ever find the sick son-of-a-bitch who did THAT to you…

Right now, though, it was all Eddie could do to silence his own demons and simply hold Steve. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Stevie.” He planted a kiss on Steve’s temple. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

…

Steve was desperately trying to piece together what the hell just happened. 

Being here, with Eddie holding him like this, helped. Eddie’s heartbeat thrumming through him, and knowing he’d apologized to Eddie, helped too. He still felt beyond wretched. It proved an effort to slide his hand to Eddie’s shoulder, grip that baggy t-shirt, and cling.

After his encounter with Kline, he’d gone to empty ashtrays. Usual routine. Then he’d needed some water, because he’d inhaled a ton of ash, so he’d used the tap at one of the hotel bars.

Oh yeah, the brandy.

The cognac.

The dead posh sort that his dad used to drink. Steve had slugged it back, puked again, and then his memories got even hazier. He was pretty sure, however, that he’d done stuff that meant he was totally out of a job, and… No, no, no, no, no.

He’d pushed those sessions with Godchester into the darkest corners of his mind. As he’d stumbled around the hotel today, they’d kept flashing back. The feelings of helplessness, breathlessness, the swish of the cane, begging for more so it might be over sooner, and then… and then…

“Sssssh, it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

Eddie rocked him back and forth. Steve breathed deeply of Eddie, who, to be fair, didn’t reek of tobacco as bad as usual. He focussed on the pressure of Eddie’s lean body against his, on Eddie’s arms around him. That dark veil slammed down once more.

“I don’t remember,” he repeated, in a voice so small that he was surprised Eddie heard, let alone replied.

“You know what, Stevie?” Eddie exhaled, long and unsteadily, and somehow, reassuringly. “I have nooooo memory of the day I checked into his hotel. That shit went down with my flop record. I woke up here next morning, totally stuck.”

Steve chuckled, though it wasn’t even ballpark funny. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I mean, I smoked a ton of weed. Not saying it’s identical to what’s happened to you, but… I dunno. I figured knowing that might help?”

Steve peeped up, his chin digging into Eddie’s breast. Eddie still looked sheepish as fuck. He smoothed Steve’s hair. Steve dipped his gaze again.

“Okay. This morning, I saw somebody from my past. From the worst time in my life, soon after my parents died. It made me remember stuff I usually forget, and I guess I got lost in that, and… and…”

Nope. No way could he say any of that out loud. It was all too near and too raw, and yet…

He twisted his fingers in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. Maybe, just maybe, he could keep clinging like this long enough to tough this out, laugh it off. Or maybe he could do something far more radical. Maybe he could suck up being such a loser and ask Eddie for help.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie was saying. “I’m so very fucking sorry.”

Steve squeezed his eyes tight, squeezed Eddie even tighter, and… Jesus, he was beyond done with today. Snuggling like this was weird and new, also totally natural and totally right. God, he loved being with Eddie… like this… Even his juddering pulse had settled, fallen into pace with Eddie’s beat. With his head tucked between Eddie’s chin and shoulder, Steve began to slip.

“Uh, Stevie?” Eddie brushed his knuckles down Steve’s cheek, wrenching him awake again. “Hate to do this to ya. I, um, have to clear out of here in, uuuuh… about twenty-two minutes.”

Steve gawked up at him. The words sunk in. Then their meaning. He lifted his head and scanned the slightly spinning room. It was half packed, in a very chaotically Eddie fashion, crap strewn everywhere.

Oh yeah. He knew about this. Another horror he’d pushed away. He rolled off Eddie onto his elbows, groaning towards the chandelier. “Seriously?”

“Steve, listen. Right now, I only care about you and—"

“Be honest with me. Were you really gonna slope off without a word?”

“No way!” Eddie hoisted himself from the pillows and raised his palms in surrender. “I’m going because I have no choice. I’m broke, okay? I’ve spent every dime I ever earned and then some. I gotta suck up my terror of the big, bad world and skedaddle pronto. Or another night in this place is gonna cost a winter’s worth of donkey feed.”

“Donkeys?” Steve blinked at him.

Eddie swept hair from his guilt-stricken eyes. “Long story.” 

He’s broke.

You’ve probably been fired. He was your last hope of keeping you in meds, keeping a roof over your head. 

You’re dumbass levels of crazy about him.

AND HE’S BROKE. AND HE’S LEAVING.

Steve threw himself at Eddie and buried his face in Eddie’s neck.

“Oh shit,” squeaked Eddie. “Please, I wanna keep seeing you! We’ll figure things out. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying, dipshit,” Steve got the words out between hiccuping giggles. “I’m laughing so damn hard. At you. At us. Jesus!” 

And he was. Sobbing his mirth into Eddie’s neck, till Eddie enfolded him once more and also totally cracked up.

“Okay, you win again, champ.” Eddie flopped his face to Steve’s shoulder, mirroring how Steve smothered himself in Eddie’s. “It’s insane and it’s tragic and it’s g-goddamn hilarious. We’re gonna get through, right?”

Part 11 on AO3 Part 11 on tumblr

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

[red1culous]

No Good Deed

Join the taglist: HERE

Stepping away from the table she walks passed the bend into a quieter corner of the space. “You have a set of balls on you calling this number” she half whispers into her phone.

You chuckle a little before you’re overcome with a coughing fit. You clutch at your side. The one where the fabric feels damp. Probably shouldn’t have used super glue on that stab wound but it was what you had at the time. Call it an emergency. Desperate times, desperate measures or whatever.

“L/N…you OK?” her voice comes through your earpiece. She sounds concerned. For some reason it lifts your spirit a little. 

“I’m fine” you answer through a wheeze. “Just a little wiped out y’know. I ain’t no spring chicken no more.”

“Just turn yourself in and I can help you” she huffs. You hear her shut a door and the sound of papers rustling.

“Can’t do that.” You mute your phone to let out another string of coughs. This one hurts more than the previous ones. It brings up phlegm which you spit onto a paper towel noting some blood in it. Finally able to catch your breath you feel hot and drained of energy. 

You unmute your microphone. Natasha is still speaking. Something about tracing the call and not being able to hide from Shield. 

“…are you still there?” she says after a long pause.

“Mmhmm” you smile as you pull down the only bottle on the shelf with any liquid in it. “Since when did you start drinking cognac?” you say plonking three ice cubes into a mug. 

“Y/N…” she warns.

Pouring the golden liquid down your throat you feel a little better. You’re surprised that it actually tastes palatable.

You can hear her tapping on a keyboard and some beeps come through the phone. “Are you…at my place?” she asks.

You turn smiling to where you know she’s set up the security camera. Giving it a wave and a bow. “Missed me?”

“Of course you’d turn up there” she says more to herself.

“Wish I could see you too. I bet you’re a sight for sore eyes” you say winking at the camera.

“Are you bleeding? Is that blood?” her voice sounds tense.

“Aww” you coo leaning against the table. “Is that concern I hear in your voice, Romanoff?”

She rolls her eyes. Not that you can see it. “You’d better not get any of that on my rug” she scolds.

You laugh and pout at the camera. “…umm, about that.”

She groans on the line. “Just stay where you are, I’m coming over.”

“Listen,” you walk closer to the camera and stare into it. Nat stares into the monitor as your face takes up the entire screen. She notes the bags under your eyes and the various cuts and scratches that litter your face. “You know I’ll be gone long before you even get close.” 

“You’re wanted for murder, L/N. Do you expect me to just sit here while you drink my alcohol and trash my place?” For once Nat feels helpless. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs to herself.

“Excuse me?” you say offended. “First of all, your place isn’t exactly the Ritz to begin with and I was expecting you to help me?” 

“What makes you think I’d want to help you?” she says leaning back into her chair. She watches you down the last of her cognac and wishes she had a drink herself.

“Because deep down you know I didn’t do it, Romanoff.” You smirk into the camera. 

She laughs into her mouthpiece. “Wow.”

“What’s so funny?” you ask moving away from the camera to gingerly sit down on the sofa still in full view of her. You were trying to put on a brave face but in truth your side was starting to burn. A lot.

“Not only are you brazen and foolish, but also presumptuous” she answers.

“I know you’ve rigged this place up not only with explosives but also to lock down as tight as a nun at Daytona Beach on Spring Break. And if you didn’t believe I was innocent, you could’ve chosen either one of those options and poof, problem solved. The fact that you haven’t makes me think that either you like me, or you know I didn’t kill those men.”

The line goes silent for a few minutes. You’ve played all your cards and you wait patiently for her move. A fat bead of sweat rolls from your forehead down to your neck and passes under your shirt. 

Finally after what felt like forever she breaks the silence. 

“What do you want?”

[blues824]

Continuing the TWST Boys Go to Reader's World??? headcanons, can I have the Third Years this time?

Reader is mentioned and only pronouns used are secondary pronouns. The amount of research going into this 😥😥

Trey Clover

Favorite Country/City: A lot of treats that he makes are from France, so I believe he would love being on the tasting side of the whole ordeal. Plus, candied violets (originally called violettes cristallisees) originate from there as well. As for his favorite city, it’s basic but it’s Paris. It’s the dessert capital of France, so yeah.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: He is a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to multiple different cuisines, as people from all over have come to his family’s bakery. However, if he had to choose one, it would have to be Spanish cuisine. He just strikes me as the type. French food would come in second, but we are going by entrees and not desserts.

Favorite Drink: I feel like he would be a bit tired of tea, and coffee goes well with a lot of sweets but sometimes he wants something else. So, hot chocolate is a great go-to. Plus, you can spike it with bourbon or rum and many other things, and he prefers bourbon.

Favorite Souvenir: A cognac that he has used to cook multiple different things. He picked it up at a small shop in France, and the brandy is great for making sauces and for deglazing a pan. He rarely drinks it, but it’s of great quality.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He is an old soul, and with that being said, he likes older music. I feel like he would like songs in different languages as well. So, I think he would like the song Nunca es Suficiente, the Natalia Lafourcade version.

Favorite Movie: He doesn’t have a favorite movie, but rather favorite shows. He loves Nailed It!, Zumbo’s Just Desserts, Sugar Rush, but most importantly: The Great British Baking Show.

Cater Diamond

Favorite Country/City: This guy is hard because he would want to go absolutely everywhere and he would love everywhere he travels to. However, he would say that he loved Japan the most, as the people were very friendly and it was the first time he actually tried hard to learn the language so that he could be respectful.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: His canonical favorite food is spicy ramen, so I would say Japanese cuisine would be his favorite. But, he has a more diverse taste than just that, so he would probably like Eastern Asian cuisine as a whole. It has a lot of savory and spicy foods that he absolutely loves.

Favorite Drink: He is also a margarita lover, and even though a lot of them are sweet, they are still delicious. However, he orders salt rather than sugar on the rim of the cup because he doesn’t want extra sweetness from sugar.

Favorite Souvenir: He picked up a pair of chopsticks that he always uses. He has finally got chopstick etiquette down, and the set he purchased at a souvenir shop served as a reminder of his hard work.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He is so into both K-Pop and J-Pop that it’s not even funny. He is one of those fans that will tear you up if you didn’t know the words, their meaning, who all the members in the specific group are, etc.

Favorite Movie: I had no idea he was into skateboarding, so I have to say that his favorite movie is Dogtown and Z-Boys. It’s a documentary-type film about the Zephyr skateboard team who helped develop modern skateboarding in the ‘70’s.

Leona Kingscholar

Favorite Country/City: He is not one to travel voluntarily, so you would have to drag him places. He does want to spoil you, so he will (hesitantly) go along with you. If he had to choose a favorite, it would be Sudan. He doesn’t have a favorite city, but rather a favorite state: the River Nile state. It holds the Meroë Pyramids, and he thought it was pretty cool that Sudan has the most pyramids in the world.

Favorite Cuisine: Pretty far from Sudan, but Argentinian food would be his favorite. They are known for having the best beef, and Leona loves having a good steak. The only downside is that it’s usually served with a few veggies or a chimichurri sauce composed of vegetables.

Favorite Drink: He doesn’t really care, so I would think that he likes beer. He strikes me as the type to have a glass bottle of beer that he holds nearer to his hip; the traditional uncle (Unca) pose.

Favorite Souvenir: When he first went to Sudan, he dressed to fit along with local traditions. He wore a jalabiya in order to maintain modesty, and he actually liked it and hung it in his closet for the next time he visited a country that prefers modesty.

Favorite Singers/Songs: It started as him getting into his edgy phase, but he did not want to go emo. He prefers rock, specifically AC/DC. His favorite song is Highway to Hell.

Favorite Movie: He usually falls asleep during every movie he watches. However, he did like the movie Silence of the Lambs. The way it left him disturbed and on-guard as well as made him want to stay awake is the reason why he would like such a gruesome movie.

Vil Schoenheit

Favorite Country/City: Cologne, Germany. I’ve always wanted to visit, and it was one of my hyperfixations for a while, but that’s besides the point. The point is that Vil strives for perfection. Part of that is smelling great. Surprise, surprise: cologne originates from Cologne. However, the Cologne Cathedral was beautiful as well.

Favorite Cuisine: I feel like he would like Japanese food as his go-to, as a lot of their food is a lot healthier than others and he strives to be healthy. However, he would like Greek food if he were just going off of personal preference. Briam would probably be his favorite dish.

Favorite Drink: Do smoothies count as food or drinks? People have them for breakfast as they have fruits and veggies, but you ‘drink’ a smoothie. Anyways, his favorite alcoholic drink would be a martini. He is classy and elegant, just like the drink.

Favorite Souvenir: A piece of the Berlin Wall. The history behind it fascinated Vil, and he considers it his most prized souvenir.

Favorite Singers/Songs: Lovefool by Postmodern Jukebox (feat. Haley Reinhart). He heard it from a co-star, and he liked it. Yes, he continues his career in your world.

Favorite Movie: Breakfast at Tiffany’s, as I believe that he loves Audrey Hepburn’s acting in that movie. He also likes Gentlemen Prefer Blondes because of Marilyn Monroe and her iconic character in that movie.

Rook Hunt

Favorite Country/City: The city of love, the city of lights, Paris. As much as I didn’t want to do such a basic answer, he is a connoisseur of beauty, and Paris at night is a sight to behold. Plus, he speaks French, so why not go to the motherland of the French language?

Favorite Cuisine: His favorite food is canonically liver pâté, so I believe he would love French cuisine the most. However, I would say that Danish cuisine comes second, as they have something similar (a dish that is derived from liver pâté: leverpostej).

Favorite Drink: A French 75 goes a long way with this man. He loves a champagne cocktail. They are typically for celebrations, and Rook just wishes to celebrate life and beauty as a whole. No, he’s not an alcoholic, but when he feels content and exceedingly happy he won’t hesitate in indulging himself with one glass.

Favorite Souvenir: A lavender perfume. He loves how relaxing the smell is.

Favorite Singers/Songs: His favorite song is Love Like You, by Caleb Hyles. Look at the lyrics, and you will see why lol.

Favorite Movie: The Notebook, as it’s a classic film filled with romance. You also cannot tell me that this man is not looking for the Allie to his Noah. He wants a romance story in his life, and that’s why he travels so much.

Idia Shroud

Favorite Country/City: I can’t decide between Greece and Japan, so I will say that they are tied on Idia’s list. The gamer boy doesn’t really go outside, but when he traveled to these places he absolutely loved it. He’s kind of simple, where he liked the capitals Athens and Tokyo the most.

Favorite Cuisine: His favorite food is just listed as ‘sweets’, and he hates raw fish. We are not going by desserts, but rather overall food, and luckily fish can be replaced by protein alternatives. Plus, the fish can be cooked. That being said, Chinese food would be his favorite. He loves the dragon’s beard candy.

Favorite Drink: He rarely ever drinks alcoholic drinks, as he is already very weak in build (remember his family’s curse?). Adding alcohol to the mix would be a disaster. However, he might like a light beer.

Favorite Souvenir: He likes board games, and while he was in Greece he learned to play Tavli, or Backgammon, and he purchased a board so that he could continue to play it with opponents.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He likes anime intros and outros, and like Cater he is very big on K-Pop and J-Pop, but also C-Pop and T-Pop. His favorite song is 夜に駆ける(Yoru ni Kakeru), by YOASOBI.

Favorite Movie: Your Name, as the two travel just to meet each other, but they have to get used to their new environments first.

Malleus Draconia

Favorite Country/City: He loves Denmark’s castles, but specifically the Rosenborg Castle in Copenhagen. It houses the Danish Crown Jewels as well as the Coronation Robe, and the history behind each item fascinated the draconian prince. The Notre Dame Cathedral in France comes in second for its gargoyles.

Favorite Cuisine: Again, we go by overall cuisine rather than the desserts (otherwise he would choose the cuisines that contributed to ice cream’s existence). He actually can’t choose a favorite, as all is better than Lilia’s cooking. He does have a least favorite, and it’s modern American food. His favorite type of food is street food, as it really allows him to surround himself with the locals and just be normal.

Favorite Drink: He doesn’t believe alcohol is necessary to have fun, but he will indulge himself from time to time. His favorite is a cocktail called a ‘Corpse Reviver’. It’s a morbid name, but it’s the one thing that magic can’t do. He likes when red food coloring is added, as it makes his tongue red.

Favorite Souvenir: Bro probably has enough money to actually purchase the Danish Crown Jewels as well as the English Crown Jewels tbh. Anyways, he actually treasures a book he picked up called ‘Once Upon a Broken Heart’. He was unaware that it was the first book of a sequel series, so he purchased the rest as well as the original series, ‘Caraval’.

Favorite Singers/Songs: His talent is listed as ‘stringed instruments’, but his relent would go beyond just the typical instruments you think of. Is an electric guitar not a stringed instrument? This man is in a 5 Finger Death Punch phase, favorite song being Wrong Side of Heaven.

Favorite Movie: He loves Sleeping Beauty, mostly because of that scene with Aurora and Prince Phillip where they dance together in the forest. Also, he related to Maleficent because she was not invited to see the princess.

Lilia Vanrouge

Favorite Country/City: His hobby is traveling alone, and I feel like he wouldn’t have a favorite location. He has been everywhere, and the only place he gravitated towards was Brazil. He went to that year’s Carnaval celebration and he actually really liked it. The parade floats were big and beautiful, there were many lights; it was just fun in general. The city of São Paulo comes to mind, as it’s the biggest city by population.

Favorite Cuisine: Part of why he likes Brazil is the food. Tomatoes originate from South America, and Brazil’s dishes hit different (I don’t think I’ve been to an authentic Brazilian food place, but from what I can see and from what I’ve tasted, I love it).

Favorite Drink: In the Trivia section of his Wiki page, it says that he likes potions that are said to taste bitter by everyone else. That being said, I feel like this would transfer to alcoholic drinks, so his favorite drink might be a negroni. It’s a bit bitter, so it suits his taste.

Favorite Souvenir: He picked up some spices in his travels to “better” his cooking (it didn’t help at all; his cooking still sucks even if he’s seen other people do the dishes he's trying to make).

Favorite Singers/Songs: He is what boomers would call “hip and trendy”, so he likes whatever is popular at the moment. Yes, this includes the meme songs that might go viral on TikTok, Instagram, and YT Shorts. At the time of writing this, his favorite song would be Paint the Town Red, by Doja Cat.

Favorite Movie: He liked the movie Crimson Peak. The costumes as well as the acting were amazing, and he loves learning about the Victorian Era and how both England and the United States were developing during the industrial era.

[narrators-journal]

Kitsunebi

Fuck yeah! I actually like more than the concept or detail for this one! Of course, I’m not ENTIRELY the proudest, but that’s because I am rusty as hell with Soukoku QuQ. But hey! For once, I don’t feel like this is uncharacteristically awful work despite it not being Ryomina lol. And, I hope you enjoy it as well, dude. Sorry it took a bit. Also, forgive me if my info on kitsune/foxes is wrong, I did my best to google and read up on things.

EDIT: Admittedly, this one wasn’t in need of an edit because I disliked how it came out the first time. But, I decided to return to it regardless because I felt it came out a bit too short? I felt like I could still sprinkle in more detail, more focus on emersion, or something. I just felt something was MISSING to fill it out. So! I hope you enjoy the boost these bitches got, and I hope this’ll give my fans some assurance that I’m not devolving in skill or smthn.

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: Teratophilia, since Dazai’s a kitsune here. Creative definitions of Aphrodisiacs (aka heat/rut cycles) but no a/b/o intended. Some vague? Phone sex? Mutual Masturbation can also be read into it, but it’s not explicitly there.

With Thanksgiving, festivals, Christmas, and New Years all in the same season, winter was a season rife with dramatics. On the side of the Mafia, there were deals to make, knock offs to sell, and bonds to keep healthy. For the ADA, there was the Mafia, as well as monsters and other petty criminals to contend with. So, Dazai was sure that Kunikida hated the season with every fiber of his being. Most of all due to the fact that the bandaged brunette went into rut during the season. Granted, Osamu Dazai didn’t have a strong work ethic on the best of his days, but he was sure that his vanishing act still annoyed the Thanksgiving stuffing out of the schedule-addicted man.

Meanwhile, the annoyance he inflicted upon Kunikida was probably the one thing that the manipulative brunette actually enjoyed when his rut came each year. Which, was petty, but in the years like this one, where he was left to his own devices with only toys and the dysfunctional level of need that infected every fiber of his being like a stubborn cancer, it was something to cling to. “That toy helping any, Mackerel?” Chuuya Nakahara asked, his voice distorted by the mostly forgotten cellphone that kept Dazai company amongst the temperamental redhead’s mussed comforter and egyptian cotton sheets. Though, the amusement in his words was still clear, and was still a burr that tangled itself in the brunette’s fluffed-up tail. “Not at all.” He growled out while he humped into the soft silicone of a lubricated pocket pussy. The feather-stuffed pillow that the kitsune kept captive beneath him a bit of support to keep the plastic casing from moving. “I’d prefer if it were you beneath me right now. A toy just doesn’t satisfy my needs as well.” “Bold of you to assume I’d let you top me, motherfucker. Even in your rut.” The martial artist mocked through the phone, emboldened by the distance Mori had put between them when he sent his executive off to sweet talk some important cog of the mafia. “But hey! At least your rut only lasts three days, right? That’s a perk.” He offered, only to get back through barred fangs, “That’s if I was a fucking girl, Chibi! You know damned well how long my ruts are, cunt!” Though, at the same time that the redhead’s sarcastic comfort pissed Dazai off, it also made his cock twitch while it slipped in and out of it’s silicone prison. The simple act of bickering with his mate like a dose of gasoline for the desire in Dazai’s belly. So, no matter how Chuuya’s laughter ate at him, the brunette’s thoughts felt too much like mush for him to formulate a second witty reply.

So, he didn’t bother, and instead buried his face into the cognac-scented pillow that he kept his arms wrapped around while his hips moved as if they had a mind of their own. The unyeilding plastic of the pocket pussy’s a harsh contrast to the lubricated silicone that squeezed him. Which, was equal parts uncomfortable, and weirdly enjoyable enough to make the kitsune’s tail swish and thump against the mattress while he barked and whined. Yet, no matter how much he huffed up Chuuya’s scent from the silken cushion, it offered little to no help against the heat that seemed to carbonate Dazai’s blood.

What did offer a sliver of help, though, was the grip of the sex toy he humped into. As well as, of course, the mafioso’s voice when it managed to seep back into the Kitsune’s lust-addled brain. “Osamu? You still there, or did you finally hang up?” And, while Dazai couldn’t muster up the words to respond due to the lack of oxygen that got through the cognac-scented pillow. Though, that lack of acknowledgement only made the redhead give a small sight before he likely returned to whatever paperwork he had. Nice enough to at least sit on the phone with the kitsune as he humped needily into his pillow.

So, Dazai didn’t linger on the mafioso’s comment. He simply tightened his hold on the cushion and did his best to convince himself that the too-soft item was the muscular, scarred body of his mate. And that the muffled schlick, schlick, schlick of the slimy, silicone toy was really the twitchy, warm walls of his partner. Something that wasn’t insanely hard to do, thanks to the years he had to catalogue each one of Chuuya’s lustful sighs, but proved to be a bit difficult when the plastic case of the fucktoy brushed against his belly. A reminder of the cheap quality of the imitation in his head.

Though, regardless of the interruptions, he was able to work himself up just enough to manage a needy whine of, “Chuuyyyyyaaa…” the moment he lifted his head to gulp down the smoke-tinged air of the bedroom. Though, whether that smoke was from Dazai’s kitsune powers, or simply the scent of his own body being cooked by his Rut, he couldn’t tell. “I’m still here, Mackerel.” The redhead assured, his voice distorted by the phone, yet still a bit of a salve. “I...I think I’m gonna cum. I-I’m right at the edge.” He desperately whimpered. “Really? Aren’t you up to three, though? That’s usually your limit for consecutive orgasms. Plus, I’m sure that toy is getting nasty.” He teased, likely to try and dig into the brunette’s competitive side for some sick sadistic pleasure of his own. Though, the kitsune chose to imagine he was simply fuelling his own masturbation. Though, that didn’t spare the redhead a snarl, even if he only heard it through his phone. “Alright, alright, jeez. You can cum, mackerel, you have my blessing.”

That earned him another horny bark from the mindless brunette before his orgasm finally slammed into him so hard, that the tinge of smoke he’d tasted earlier was undoubtedly now from something in Chuuya’s bedroom. As if that could alleviate the heat that erupted onto the kitsune’s skin the same way that his load seemed to erupt out of the sex toy pinned beneath his body. “Oy! Don’t you dare burn down my fucking house, mackerel! You burn it, you buy it, slut!” Chuuya snapped out, though his words only seemed to roll through Dazai’s head at that point. His furious ranting about the cost of his furniture little more than background noise, even as Dazai waved his fluffed up tail to extinguish the flames before they did more than some light smoke damage. So, the brunette simply smiled and let him scold him so that he could use the sound of his mate’s voice as some form of white noise during his break.

[soulofapatrick]

Five Times Tommy Tries To Kiss You and the One Time he Does -Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: Literally what the title says

Words: 5.7k

Warnings: little angst; dry humping; teasing; partial nudity; fluff

Notes: Hasn’t been proofread yet. I wanted to try this as ive done it fro teen wolf and really enjoyed it - I can do a Joel one too

Y/N’s POV

First Time: 

I know Joel and Tommy are gonna be mad that I snuck out again but Jackson was getting too much. It was too noisy; too many people and the festivities were draining so I had to get out. There’s a small area near the eastern side of town where they’re fixing the walls and I’m able to slip out without being seen or heard which is great. So much easier than having to either climb the wall or slip through the gates unheard. I haven’t been gone long, just needing a few minutes and the snow is blissful. It’s quiet and I can actually hear myself think as I crunch my way up the hill to look down upon the massive power that is Jackson. You can hear the laughter and music from here but it’s muffled by the snow. 

I sigh softly, letting myself fall back into the fluffy white paradise and look up at the sky as snowflakes falls. Snow has always been my favourite type of weather as it’s so peaceful, after the snow falls it’s like the world goes quiet and still for once. The cold against my back grounds me as it tries to seep through my jacket and jeans, grounding me and letting me know I’m alive and breathing. It’s strange how only just a mile away from Jackson I can feel the change, the silence and the loneliness. It’s a quick escape from people who have settled inside the safety of the walls of Jackson and begun a life there. 

There is definitely a life for me in Jackson but it’s not… I’m not ready for it. Having braved the outside world for years on my own after the outbreak happened means people are a difficult adjustment, having to be suddenly expected to rely on others for things like food and clothes and the lack of need for weapons unless you leave the walls of Jackson. Everyone is so open and kind but it was too much so the first month or so I retreated into my house, refusing to come out even when I ran out of food which meant Joel had to come over with  two massive bags of food. He was so stubborn, practically having to force his way inside and I’m glad he did as I’ve found trust and safety with him and Ellie as well as his younger brother - Tommy. Tommy’s always help my attention as he’s gentle and patient with me, not pushing me too far like Joel does sometimes. Joel’s very hands on and pushing when it comes to getting over fears and making me socialise whereas Tommy does it in little bits like inviting me to join him in the Tipsy Bison if he seems me around or letting me join him and whoever he’s partnered with on patrols as he knows I like being out of the walls as well. He’s also always the first person to feel my presence as if we’re drawn towards each other like magnets. 

I should have known he’d notice my absence and know exactly where I went but I didn’t think about it really and now he’s standing over me, hands in his pocket and head tilted as he looks down at me. He looks really fucking good right now, the sun catching his eyes and making them a  warm cognac colour instead of the darker russet they usually are and I can see more freckles than normal. His dark curls are shiny in the light, a few silver strands visible through them, wearing his jeans that fit his figure perfectly and those stupid cowboy boots I tease him about. He’s probably got his usual denim flannel under his fleece jean jacket and I just know it’s way too baggy for his own good, hiding his perfectly muscular figure underneath. The look on his face is warm, the corners of his plump lips curved up underneath his moustache but he doesn’t speak. He watches me for a moment longer before surprising me and laying in the snow next to me, keeping his eyes to the sky like I was but now I can’t help but watch the way his adams apple bobs when he swallows against the icy wetness below us. 

Not really sure what comes over me when I look back up at the sky and put my right hand out between us, his head is moving out the corner of my eyes and my breath hitches when his warm and calloused hand slips into mine. His cognac eyes on my face, studying me, so I speak, “When it snows it gets really quiet because snow actually absorbs sound.” I finally turn my head to meet his gaze, the smile lines visible across his sun kissed skin, “I sometimes wish it would never stop snowing.” 

“You have a beautiful mind.” He squeezes my hand and I can’t look away from where we’re joined and how right and easy it feels. His hand fits inside mine so perfectly and I want to want it but I can’t. Tommy doesn’t deserve someone as wrecked as me when he’s such a kind soul who deserves the whole world. It doesn’t mean I won’t take what he’s offering to me despite it being so selfish. He’s looking at me with admiration and an emotion that shouldn’t be directed at me so I’m looking away, feeling my cheeks flushing redder than ever but the cold masks it and it’s as if Tommy can sense my uncomfortableness as he’s speaking again, “We should probably head back before Maria kills us.” 

He’s climbing to his feet before taking my hands in his and pulling me up in one swift motion, my chest colliding with his and his face is oh so close to mine, his breath fanning across my lips but I can’t have this… he doesn’t want me, I clear my throat, “We should head back.” Stepping back and reluctantly dropping his hands, beginning trudging back to town while Tommy matches my pace with his hands in his pockets and in silence. I’ve hurt him but I don’t know how…

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Second Time: 

The next time I see Tommy is on patrol, we’re partnered together and the uncomfortableness has dissipated and Tommy’s back to cracking shitty jokes. He’s currently telling me about him and Sarah used to gang up on Joel on the rides to school and tell Joel the cringiest jokes and how happy he is that Ellie does it too. It’s made me always look out for any joke books I can find on my patrols as I like hearing him laugh, it’s full and hearty and the way he smiles is to make anyone weak. He was a little bit of a playboy before the outbreak which I can see why, who wouldn’t fall that southern charm that always surrounds him. 

We’re headed towards a small cabin not far outside of Jackson where you can sometimes find people trying to hide from the storms that sweep through here. We’ve picked up a few people who are now living happily in Jackson while others don’t trust enough to stay so they take the shelter over night before continuing on and you also get those who have no good intentions. They find this post apocalyptic world freeing as they can steal, abuse and kill without consequences which makes them even more dangerous but I’ve come across my fair share of them and am still here so I’m always willing to take my chances. 

Tommy’s ahead of me, chattering happily about something or other as we coax our horses through the freezing weather. His curls are all I can focus on as he moves his head with his words, drawing a blush from me whenever he glances back with that stupidly bright and cheeky smile. I’d be ending the conversation and turning and walking home if we were in Jackson, too embarrassed about the way my heart ached for him but I can’t exactly do that so I just scan the surroundings for anything. Something is making me feel uneasy, the hairs standing up on the back of my neck as we slow the horses to a stop not the far from the cabin just in case someone is in there. Don’t want them to steal the horses and escape before we can help them or for them to leave us stranded with no way back. 

I glance at the taller man when we jump down, he feels the uneasiness too from the way he grabs his rifle from off Cash’s saddle. I do the same, grabbing mine from where it’s sat on Indiana’s saddle, soothing my trusty stallion by petting his mane and cooing softly until he stops pacing and stamping leaving us in silence. Tommy’s got a small smile on his face when I turn back to him which I ignore, heading towards the cabin. We crest the hill for the cabin to come into view, my eyes scanning everywhere as it’s a very open area. The cabin is at the bottom of a few mountains and hills meaning it’s an easy place to trap people, hence why Maria sends patrols to check it out, Today is no different, it’s eerily quiet, the door being open, not by much but it’s open and there’s something very wrong. Tommy’s striding down the hill, eyes intently on the cabin door while I scan the surrounding again and when taking a hesitant step forwards I see it. There’s a glint of metal reflecting the sun and it’s aimed right at us and I’m acting on years of survival instinct. 

“Look out!” I snap at Tommy, racing forwards to protect him as a bullet whistles past my shoulder and embeds itself into the snow. I collide almost painfully with Tommy’s firm body, both of us tumbling the rest of the way down as the bullets keep flying as we come to a stop with me on top of Tommy. I push myself up onto my knees, finding the sniper and aiming my own rifle at him, taking a deep and steadying breath before firing. The gun flies, metal glinting as it disappears into the snow and I can hear the foot steps approaching from the right. Tommy’s opening his mouth to speak from below me but I slam a hand to his mouth, letting my rifle drop beside him to pull out my pistol instead as it’s much better for close range fights. He’s tilting his head, trying to listen but hearing nothing which I suddenly don’t either. It’s gone quiet, too quiet and I can hear Tommy’s harsh breaths below my hand, feel his whole body thrumming of energy from where I’m straddling his waist and something poking against my ass. Oh my fucking god, he’s -

A glimmer of movement from the corner of my eye erasing every impure thought of Tommy as as I turn my upper body and shoot the hunter with two very well aimed bullets landing and sinking through his chest. He stumbles back before collapsing into the snow, staining the usually pretty colour an ugly red. 

It falls silent and all I can focus on is the way Tommy’s large hands are gripping my thighs, cognac eyes a dark russet colour now and I’m removing my hand from his mouth so I slip my pistol back into its holster on my upper thigh. He’s sitting up, our chests pressing together and I can’t help but watch as his tongue darts out to wet his pretty plump lips before his eyes fall to mine. I want to stay here and kiss him senseless but we still have to check out the cabin for anyone and get back on time so Joel doesn’t worry and send out a search party for us so I’m dislodging his hands from my hips and climbing to my feet, an ache growing in my chest with every step away from Tommy. 

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Third Time:

Every Wednesday is family meal day according to Ellie so that’s where I finally catch sight of Tommy again. I’ve been avoiding him ever since the incident while on patrol. I don’t want him to get hooked on me or anything as I’m not good for someone as free spirited as Tommy. He deserves someone like Maria as they’re perfect for each other. Maria balancing out Tommy’s energetic-ness and wild thoughts with logic and calmness. They’re like ying and yang and it made me want to hate Maria for having caught such a beautiful person. Then I found out Maria did not indeed have anything going on with Tommy when I found her with another man. He’s a sweet guy, a little hopeless and no where near ready to be introduced to our family meals yet. 

Joel and I are usually the ones to cook for this but today Ellie and Dina wanted a go at it. Ellie cannot cook for the life of her, burning everything so we were reluctant but when Ellie told us Dina would be helping we agreed with the condition we can go and check on them every so often. We’re not the hovering type but I don’t think Maria would be very happy if she were to lose a house to a fire and have to rehouse us. So there’s where I currently am, sitting on the counter while Ellie and Dina move about the kitchen in their own rhythm. They’re perfect for each other and I’m happy for Ellie finding her person after everything we’ve gone through the last four years. 

“Tommy’s been eyeing you up since he arrived.” Dina suddenly states, the girls glancing at each other with knowing looks when I choke on my drink, “And that means you think the same.” 

“Why don’t you tell him you feel the same?” Ellie asks, clover eyes bright and head tilted slightly as she waits for a response. 

“Look at me, I am not the type of person he needs.” I’m admitting, shaking my head and downing the rest of the whiskey in my glass. It burns on the way down, trying to choke me but it settles in my bones all warm and loose. I’m jumping down from the counter, wanting to get away from their prying eyes and mutter out a quiet “Tommy doesn’t need me, he needs someone like Maria.” Before leaving the room, not waiting for them to respond. 

The Miller brothers are sat discussing something with bright and happy voices as I enter the room, both beaming at me. I make a beeline for Joel, leaning into his side when he wraps his arm around my waist, needing the normalcy so I don’t go into a full panic attack about Tommy and Dina’s comment. Joel’s my safe place, having been with him since the Boston QZ where him and Tess took me under their wings so when I’m feeling like I’m slipping I cling to Joel. The way he squeezes my waist reassuringly lets me know he understands, he know I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and he doesn’t end the conversation with Tommy. The younger Miller’s eyes glued to that spot where Joel’s thumb has slipped under my shirt and is rubbing soothingly against my skin. It has me flushing and Joel’s honey eyes fill with recognition, forcing me into his chair and mumbling something about helping the girls. 

Joel’s disappeared to the kitchen to make sure Ellie and Dina aren’t going to burn the house down as they’ve promised to cook dinner for us. Maria and Jesse will be joining us when they get back from their patrols so it’s just me and Tommy sat in the small dining room. He’s nursing a glass of whiskey, swirling it around the glass with a small smile on his lips. He’s stuck deep in his thoughts giving me time to admire just how fucking good he looks right now. His raven hair in soft brushed back curls with a few escaping and falling across his forehead and his sun kissed glows in the January sun streaming through the windows. He’s in a white polo, his usual fleece jean jacket hung up by the door, leaving his arms exposed and I can’t look away from the freckles adoring the bare skin and the small silvered scars catching in the light. He’s broad build, not as broad as Joel, and muscular with well defined abs that have featured in my less than innocent thoughts. 

Suddenly, he’s moving and it’s jolting me from my thoughts realising I was staring. The intoxicating mix of vanilla, burnt coffee and sandalwood invades my senses as he settles next to me, knee brushing mine and finger hooking under my chin to make me look at him. I take in the way his adams apple bobs when he swallows and noticing the lack of freckles around his neck. The small goatee and moustache framing his shiny lips perfectly. They’re curving up, smile lines appearing and I can see more of the freckles that are sprinkled across those delicate cheeks, a small crease between his eyebrows and those eyes a warm mixture of cognac and russet. He’s so close, pulling my face forwards and I can smell the whiskey on his breath. 

Every fibre in my being is telling me to get up and run away, to stop Tommy before he gets into too much but the clearing of someones throat saves me. I’m jumping up, away from Tommy, seeing Joel in the doorway and blurting out a quick, “I should help the girls.” Before scurrying off without waiting for a reply. 

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Fourth Time:

I like spending my time with the horses as they’re predictable animals, meaning I don’t have to keep my guards up. If I’m not with Joel or any of the others I’m found in the stables, taking care of these beautiful creatures. The smell of hay so sweet in air as they snicker and stamp with nothing to do but watch the world go by around them. I even helped Charlotte - the stable manager - birth one of the prettiest foals and it was breathtaking. The fact that I brought life into this world left me with a warm feeling in my chest the rest of the day and nothing could break my joy. 

Today is no different. I’ve been with Charlotte all morning in the stables, grooming the horses, helping tack them up for patrols and just passing the time with them. The foal has grown in the last week or so and is as cheeky as ever, jumping around and annoying her mother so. I’ve been left in charge to raise her and I could not be happier, especially when I get to take her and her mother out into the exercise field, sitting on the gates and just watching them prance around. Thinking of a name is difficult as the only good name I’ve come up with is Indiana which is my own dapple grey Irish Hunter who is currently throwing a tantrum in his stable as I haven’t been giving him half the attention I’m giving the foal. He’s a needy thing but I wouldn’t change him for the world, even when he’s being a spoiled brat. 

‘What to name you sweet thing,” I rub the foals nose softly as she nuzzles at me, baby teeth nipping at my trousers where I have a few sugar cubes hidden, “You got a smart nose on you.” 

“How about sugar?” That southern drawl appears to my right as I feed her a sugar cube and I’m snorting before turning my head to the side. Tommy’s grinning when I give him a look that says ‘are you serious?’, “How about Bella? Or Bailey? Or Spirit?”  I smack his arm lightly at the way he says spirit sarcastically, listing all of the most cliche names around. That knowing smirk never once leaving his lips that I find myself staring at, especially when he darts his tongue out to wet his bottom lip leaving it plump and shiny in the evening light. I have to grip the railings tightly to stop myself doing anything either of us might regret later, not wanting to lose the friendship I have with Tommy. He’s quickly come to mean a fucking lot to me, even after I promised myself to not trust anyone like that but he does something to me unexplainable and just from one look I’m like putty in his hands. 

I have to swallow, hard, to keep my voice even, tearing my eyes from his smirking lips, “I’m thinking more along the lines of Whiskey or maybe Cricket.” The second one sticks more when the way the foal jumps and stumbles, currently bothering her mother who is just trying to graze in peace. 

“I like Cricket.” Tommy speaks, fingers brushing over my hand, making me jump. His body practically thrums with electricity and want and I would like to give into it but I’ve been trying so hard to keep my distance that I instinctively jump down, putting physical space between us. Before I can move away even more his hand darting out, gripping my chin and drawing me closer, breath mingling as he murmurs, “I know you feel it too baby girl. I’ll wait as long as I have to but I want you back.” 

With that he’s gone, the ghost of his hand on my jaw seared into my skin, leaving me alone in the field and chest heaving with nothing but longing aching through me. Fuck, he makes it hard for me to stay away.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ 

Fifth Time:

Ellie’s dragging me inside the barn, the music almost deafening and the bustling of people makes me want to turn and run away. I’m going to stay for a little while to keep the eighteen year old happy as I’d feel like a terrible person if I were to be the one to wipe that smile off her face, her nose scrunching up as she laughs at something she hears in passing. 

Maria’s organised another party night so people of Jackson can have a day off from their work and let loose. I’ve been spending most of my time in my house, taking my name off patrols for the last week and Ellie’s had enough of it as she was partnered with a slime ball of a guy for her patrol on Friday instead of me. This was her compromise to forgive me as well as I couldn’t say no to those puppy dog eyes. So here I am, moving awkwardly on the dance floor with her, Dina and Jesse. 

They’re giggling and Jesse sweeps me into his arms, trying to get me to loosen up and it works because soon enough I’m laughing and swaying my hips in time with the music. Never did I think I’d be in a club of any sort again after the outbreak but here I am on a hot and sweaty dance floor, moving in time with the music and letting loose. Maria had to have a word with me a few weeks ago about needing to socialise with others and become more of an integrated part of society so when Ellie came pounding at my door earlier it was a good enough excuse. 

It seems like everyone in Jackson is here, the dance floor unable to be seen as it's practically wall to wall people dancing except for the booths around the edges of the room and the stage. The music is all nineteen nineties but Jesse and I are dancing, twisting, turning, holding hands as we change sides. We're all grins,  probably looking like idiots and for once I don't care. Inside we're just happy, happy and more alive than we can ever be in this post apocalyptic world. However, some subconscious part of me feels so guilty and I’m scanning the room for a set of familiarly broad shoulders or dark curls but can’t see them and the ache in my chest returns. All that joy and happiness slowly seeming from me and I’m starting to feel like every arm or body that bumps into me is searing hot and it’s too stuffy in here with too many people. 

“I-I’m sorry Jesse… I gotta-“ I don’t finish my panicked sentence, turning and trying to push my way through the masses of hot and sweaty bodies and hands grabbing and grasping. I’m itching to grab something to defend myself, body stuck between fight and flight when familiar hands settle on my waist. They draw me backwards, pressing their chest to my back and the smell of sandalwood and whiskey had me settling back against them as the fear seems to seep from me. I don’t know how Tommy does it but I don’t know why I was even panicked in the first place when he whispers in my ear, voice low and husky, “I’v got you baby girl, you’re safe with me.” 

My head falls back against his shoulder, forehead pressed to Tommy’s neck as his hands wriggle their way under my shirt to find bare skin as he saw how much it calmed me down when Joel did it at the dinner. It works because soon enough my eyes are slipping shut, only able to focus on everything Tommy as he gently sways us in time with the music. My hips press back against his, drawing a sharp sound from his lips which are suddenly latching onto the exposed skin of my neck as we grind to the music. Every instinct is yelling at me to end this before it goes anywhere but the way his tongue laps over my jugular has me weak at the knees and keening for more. I’m tilting my head further to the side to give him more access, feeling the skin blooming and bruising beneath his lips and the way his hips are pressing against mine is harsher and faster. 

I shouldn’t be doing this but the way his hands are tightening on my hips and the way he’s groaning in my ear has me staying where I am, the music drowning out any sounds, barely letting me hear his soft whimper of, “Don’t stop.” Before he his rut into my backside, stuttering and messy and he’s close, I can feel it in the way he clings to me. I shouldn’t let this happen, I shouldn’t be letting him use my body to get off , I shouldn’t be letting the obviously reciprocated feelings he has for me progress this far. Then he’s biting hard at my collarbone, a guttural sound leaving his throat as his hips jerk one last time before we’re stilling. His heads raising, eyes so dark they’re almost black but filled with want and something else that scares me, especially when his face dips closer to mine. I’m yanking myself out of his grip and running out but not before sending him a panicked, “I’m sorry.” 

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The One Time He Did

My front door flies open, stealing a yelp from me as I spin around where I’m making coffee at the counter to see Tommy. He’s in jeans and a shirt but his shirt is loose and done up haphazardly as if in a rush to get dressed. It’s very un-Tommy like but by the way he’s stalking towards me he had something else in mind, he’s caging me against the counter with his face extremely close to mine as he growls out, “You have been nothing but a tease baby girl,” His lips pressing to that soft spot just under my jaw before he continues, “Everyone has told me how much you like me yet when I try and give you an opening you run away.” 

“Y-you don’t want to be with someone like me Tommy.” I’m pushing him a step backwards, putting space between us, “I’m awkward around people, I’m a hermit and a loner with no many in the town-“ 

“Y/N!” He’s snapping, eyes hard as he holds my face in hands and makes me look at him, “I love all of you. I love that you’d rather spend your time curled up with a book. I love that you are always finding sneaky ways out of Jackson to help us cover our bases. I love how gentle you are with the horses and how much you let yourself care. I love-“

“Kiss me.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He closes the distance, one of his hands moving to my hair and pulling my head back into the kiss, swallowing the sound it draws from me. His lips are just as plump and pillowy as I imagined, the kiss soft and open as he caresses my cheekbone and his tongue licks inside my mouth. It’s better than I could have imagined, the mixture of last nights whisky and this morning’s coffee on his lips an intoxicating mix and I never want to stop kissing him. Foreheads resting together when we have to pull away for oxygen and everything seems to slot into place. It is okay to want something as you never know if it’s within reach if you don’t try and well… Tommy is willingly moving with me when I slam my lips back to his and walk him backwards to the sofa. 

A gasp falls from those pretty lips when he falls back onto the couch, a smirk appearing as he reaches forwards and grips me by my thighs, yanking me onto his lap and sliding his hand back into my hair to draw me into a hot and dirty kiss that sends sparks of electricity through my spine to my aching core. His other hand is on my ass, rolling my hips over his to create a delicious friction that has me mewling into his mouth. He’s nipping at my bottom lip, sucking on it before trailing his lips down my neck and over last the hickeys he left on my skin last night. My hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt as he creates more dark marks, a rumble in his chest when I lightly drag my nails down his abs, trying to memories every dip and scar just in case Tommy changes his mind. 

I can feel the pressure building in my core every time he guides my hips forwards, the outline of his thick length being felt through both layers of jeans. My nails rake through the visible curls of his happy trial, moving to his jeans so I pop the button while his hands are tugging at my shirt until I get the hint, lifting my arms for him to throw it across the room. His breath hitches when he realises I went braless, not seeing any need for it if I was gonna spend the day in the safety of my own home, fingers ghosting up my stomach and dark eyes flicking up to mine in silent question. 

“Ever the gentleman,” I’m practically moaning when he immediately tweaks a nipple between the rough pads of his fingers when I guide his hands up to touch. His lips close around the other, tongue swirling and my back arching into the pleasure, not having been with anyone in years. Fuck this man is talented and he knows it from the way he’s smirking up at me, eyes never leaving my face as his mouth and fingers swap, his other hand pressing my hips down even harder and drawing a low moan from me as the coil in my stomach tightens even more. 

“Y/N YOU’RE NEEDED AS COVER ON PATROL! OH MY FUCKING GOD AHHH!” Ellie comes flying into my house, freezing and quickly slapping her hands over her eyes, as Tommy presses my chest against his while his arms wrap around me to cover my modesty, “THANK FUCK THERE WILL BE NO MORE SEXUAL TENSION BUT AHHH YOU HAVE LOCKS FOR A FUCKING REASON!” Before she spins around and blindly stumbles for the door, slamming into the side of the frame and calling out an “I”M OKAY!” Then she’s gone, leaving me and Tommy alone, staring at each other until a laughter bubbles up in my chest. 

“Fucking cockblock.” I grumble, sliding off his lap to find my bra that I know I threw somewhere down here when I got home last night. It’s on the back of the arm chair and Tommy’s nimble fingers help me do it up at the back before he’s slipping his flannel on my shoulders and spinning me to face him so he can also button it up for me, a content look on his face. 

“I will be right here when you get back baby girl,” He draws me into a gentle kiss, chuckling out a quiet, “Well, I might be waiting in your bed for you actually.” 

“I like the sound of that.” I can’t stop the smile as he kisses me again, drawing me closer to him like I’ll disappear. 

“HURRY THE FUCKING FUCK UP Y/N! STOP TRYING TO EAT TOMMY’S FACE!” 

“I’m coming!” I call back, breaking away from Tommy and slipping my shoes on and grabbing my jacket. He’s standing in my living room, shirtless and jeans unbuttoned with red nail marks bright against his sun kissed skin and the tip of his dick peeking through the small gap where his zipper has slipped down, making my mouth water and that ache between my legs worse. 

Ellie of course ruins the moment by getting a firm grip on my arm and yanking me out the door, shaking her head as if disappointed which I know she isn’t and letting out a yelp when I smack her lightly after she mutters under a breath.“Bet you fucking wish you were.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You shut up.” 

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

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[duck-at-midnight]

The Little Dude

Word Count: 709

Summary: Camila has had a snake for a few years, and when she was arrested all she could think about is how lonely he is and if anyone would take care of him. While dreaming of him, she opened her eyes to see a rat staring back at her.

A/N: I just really think Camila is the type to own a snake, rat, and rottweiler. She's also a huge Disney fan.

Forty-eight hours since she was thrown in the back of a police car while walking home from school. She asked where her mother was, but the aggressive police officers yelled at her to shut up then threatened to use their taser on her. 

Now, she laid on the concrete floor wondering how Kaa, her kingsnake, was, and if anyone had stopped by and fed him. He was probably lonely in his tank without her there. He possibly tried to climb out again. The neighbors were going to be pissed at her again. 

She couldn’t handle the thought of something happening to Kaa. He had to be ok when she got out of here. The first thing she was going to do is let him curl up her arm when she saw him again. She was also going to make sure he had the biggest mouse to eat. 

Closing her eyes, she let the memory of Kaa climbing up help her to sleep. It was helping until she started imagining him with his snack and the squeaks that came from said snack. 

She rolled over and opened her eyes in frustration. 

Staring back at her was a rat. 

Rats were not uncommon for her, she preferred catching them for Kaa as opposed to the store bought ones. They gave Kaa more of a hunt and seemed to be more fulfilling. 

Slowly, she moved to close her hands around the rat. Quickly moving as the little guy tried to escape. Once the movement stopped, she slowly moved him to her pocket that she concealed her food in. Holding her hand and containing her giggles from the little guy’s feet as it brushed against her. 

“Come on, buddy, take the food.” She whispered to herself. 

He was going to make a nice present for Kaa. 

Throughout the sleepless night, Camila noticed that the little rat seemed to trust her now that he had his belly full. He stayed in her pocket and she had stuck her fingers inside to give him a few pets. It was almost like she was petting Kaa if he had grown fur. 

Joining the senior assistance program was the last thing she wanted to do, but if it gave her mother the chance to be free and reunite with Kaa, she would do it. The little guy stuck to her now, he stayed with her as she slept for an hour or two. 

He stayed in her pocket the entire bus ride to the senior center accepting the small strokes she gave along his back and the stale bread she had gotten that morning. 

During their tour, she felt him constantly moving in her pocket until they were reaching the end. She hoped he had just fallen asleep, she didn’t want to have to dispose of the little guy. 

Once she was alone in her room, she quickly grabbed him and inspected his breathing. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She held out her hand letting him stand on his own. “I’m sorry, buddy.” Using her free hand, she started stroking him, helping his body calm down. “Can I trust you not to run off?”

A few seconds of silence pass before she lowers him to the bed. “Ok, we have a deal. They won’t feed you like I do. It’s just me and you right now.” She said watching him run around the bed. “I’m going to regret this, but you need a name.” 

The memory of naming Kaa came to mind. She remembered watching The Jungle Book and seeing the snake that made her beg from five years old to have a pet snake. Her mother finally gave in when she was thirteen. 

“Mowlgi doesn’t really fit.” Thinking it over. “Remy will do, but if anyone asks, it’s after cognac.” 

She sat down on the bed pulling out crumbs from her other pocket laying them on the bed. “How do you like that name?” Petting his head as he sniffed and ate the food. 

She knew as soon as she gave him a name, he wasn’t a snack anymore. Kaa was not going to be happy about that, but she couldn’t argue about the fact he was providing her with a sense of comfort.

[silvfyre-writings]

The Boy with Emerald Eyes Pt. 1 (BSD Fanfic)

Welcome, welcome, to one of the idk how many ranpoe AUs I have. This one is one I lovingly call the 'paperboy AU' and you'll see what I mean by that haha.

Now for those of you who read my last ranpoe AU, I promise you, this one has a happy ending!

It was January 16th, three days before his twenty-second birthday, and the middle of winter in the dead of the night. A gentle breeze was blowing, bringing with it a chill that made the night feel even colder than it actually was. It was this cold weather, with falling snow and icy roads, that had forced people to remain indoors; only those stupid enough to venture outside, much like himself, were outside in this weather. Not that he really cared—not for the cold, nor for the people that could probably see him. It was just him in his own little world; him, the alcohol bottle in his hand, and the bridge that he was standing on. There was no one else. Just the way he wanted it.

For tonight was the night that he, Edgar Allan Poe, had decided to take matters into his own hands and end his life.

The plan was to throw himself off the bridge, but his plan had been thwarted by the cold weather. The river that he’d hoped to drown himself in was frozen solid, and although a fall from this height would still certainly kill him, it wouldn’t be as nearly a peaceful death as he wanted. So, he stood there, staring down at the river, contemplating whether he actually wanted to continue his plan, or come back another night—a hard decision apparently. Edgar brought the bottle to his lips, downing the rest of the bottle and relishing in the burn as the warm liquid slid down his throat. It was the only warm thing about this night.

Alcohol was his only friend in this depressing world he’d found himself living in; it didn’t matter if it was whiskey or bourbon, and it also didn’t matter if it was vodka or cognac, it was all his friend. The alcohol allowed him to feel warm instead of cold, and it allowed him to forget what his life had become, and how it had ended up that way. Some would say that Edgar had an addiction, and he would have to agree with them. These days, he spent more days in the bottle than out of it, which probably didn’t help his situation, but he didn’t care. It helped him and that was what mattered. Someone had once dared to tell Edgar that his drinking habits would destroy his mind, and he’d thrown the bottle at them in response. His mind was already destroyed, not from the alcohol, but from itself, so who cared if he drank so much he blacked out.

Edgar was a broken human being, and in this world, this society, broken humans either died or… died.

The moon slid out from behind a cloud, the snow easing off enough for the surrounding area to become visible again—for the river to show it’s frozen face to him again. Only this time, instead of anger and frustration, there was acceptance as he made up his mind. Tonight was the night he would die, no other night would be acceptable. So what if the river was frozen? It just meant that if he landed right, his skull would cave in and his face would become unrecognizable, and that would be the best case scenario since it meant that his mother and father would not be dragged down with him when it was discovered what he intended to do. Can’t drag the family reputation down when no one knows who you are, after all.

Edgar threw a leg over the railing of the bridge, or at least, attempted to, but he’d drunk so much that he didn’t lift it nearly high enough, and just wound up faceplanting the sidewalk, getting a mouthful of snow instead of the sweet release of death. He groaned. And groaned again. And then just closed his eyes. It was cold enough that he’d freeze to death anyway once the alcohol wore off. He didn’t have a coat after all, just his shirt and pants. He didn’t even have shoes, hadn’t even thought of putting them on when he’d left the house, much more focused on his plan.

He was regretting it now, but only a little. A sigh fell from between his lips as he turned his head to stare at the road beside him. An old, beaten down carriage drove past him, the first he’d seen that night, but didn’t stop as it headed into the city. The people inside had probably seen him and thought him already dead. Which was fine, because he didn’t really want to inconvenience people with his death, which was why he’d planned to throw himself into the river and drown. But you’ll become an inconvenience by lying here. Edgar’s mind threw at him unhelpfully, and he buried his face into the snow to stifle another groan as his drunken self registered what that meant. It looked like his plan to die tonight would in fact, have to be put on hold; that was, if he truly wanted to die and not be found or recognized.

Another sigh and Edgar somehow managed to get his arms under him to push himself into a sitting position, but that was as far as he could get because he immediately slumped to the other side, folded in a way that was quickly becoming painful. And cold, because he was cold now. He wasn’t shivering, having long since passed that stage of cold, and he started to wish that he’d brought his coat, just so he could stop being cold. Which was stupid really, since he’d planned on throwing himself into the ice cold river, but Edgar’s drunken plans had seldom made sense, especially to him, and he’d been the one to make them in the first place.

“Hey! You!” An unfamiliar voice called out, and Edgar opened eyes he hadn’t even realized he’d closed in the first place to see a stranger crouched in front of him. He couldn’t decipher the expression that the stranger was wearing on account of his vision fading in and out, but from what he could see, it wasn’t an impressed one. “You’re going to die if you stay there.”

“That’s the point.” Edgar said, at least, that’s what he thought he said, because whatever it was that had come out of his mouth, he hadn’t understood. He closed his eyes again and curled into a ball, ignoring the way the snow stuck to his skin and clung to his hair. “Just go away…”

“No way. You think people want to start their day seeing a corpse?” There are hands that grab at his shirt and tug him into a sitting position, but Edgar is nothing more than deadweight, his limbs refusing to cooperate at all. He can hear the stranger wheezing as he tries to get him to stand, and Edgar somehow managed to get one leg underneath him, but only for a second before it gives out on him and he’s sent sprawling back onto the footpath, the stranger being dragged down with him.

It's then that Edgar’s body decided to remind him that he had, in fact, drunk an entire bottle of alcohol on his way here, and he barely has enough time to shove the stranger off him before he’s throwing up. He’s colder now, as the alcohol vacated itself from his system and splattered him and the stranger. It’s mostly liquid since he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, but it still burns all the same. There’s a groan from beside him, and hands smaller than his own shove at his back until he rolls onto his side.

“Gross.” The stranger complained, disgust in his voice. “How drunk even are you?”

Edgar didn’t want to answer this person who had decided to ruin his night and turned his head away, hoping that would be enough of a hint. It wasn’t, because a second later there was a face inches away from his own with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen in his life staring at him. Really, they were as green as the trees when new leaves bloomed during spring. He groaned, shoving that thought away before he let it consume him. “Just leave me here.”

“No way. You’ll die and wind up in the papers and that’s the last thing I want on my conscious. If you wanted to die you should’ve chosen a different river. You know, one that wasn’t frozen over.”

Hands hook themselves under his armpits, and Edgar felt himself being dragged. It was painful and uncomfortable, but all he could do was let it happen, head dropping to rest against his chest; his limbs were numb from the cold—and probably the alcohol—and his head was clouded and wispy, which was definitely because of the alcohol. He doesn’t know where he’s being taken by this stranger, nor does he understand why this person is so determined to interfere with his plan to die. If he’d come across someone wanting to die, he’d probably just let them as morbid as that sounded. That’s what Edgar told himself anyway, but he knew that deep down, he too, would be unable to turn a blind eye towards someone in need of help.

He just didn’t know when he became that person.

While he’s being dragged, Edgar let his mind drift away, tuning out the world and its surroundings, only allowing the most basic of information to register in his brain; the feeling of wet snow drenching the back of his pants, the fingers that are tightly gripped against him along with the coughing from his saviour, and the footsteps that hurry towards them.

Wait, footsteps?

Edgar tried to open his eyes, only to find he couldn’t. It felt like they’d been stapled shut, but he still tried, wanting to know who it was that had joined the stranger in helping him. But before he can ponder over it even more, Edgar found himself being lifted easily into someone’s arms—certainly not the first stranger, since he’d only been strong enough to drag Edgar around, so it could be only the second. There’s quiet chatter between the two strangers in a tongue that Edgar doesn’t recognize in his current state, but he can still tell that it’s foreign, and that it’s beautiful to listen to. Where English sounds like a flock of geese mindlessly honking at each other, this language sounds like a piano being played in the theatre, smooth and lilting.

It's with geese and pianos on his mind, that everything finally catches up with Edgar as his consciousness faded into nothing.

Edgar woke up to yet another stranger standing over him and checking his pulse, in a bed underneath an unfamiliar ceiling. It wasn’t the ceiling that came with the usual hospital someone of his class would find themselves in, which meant that he could be literally anywhere in the city. His eyes drifted from the ceiling to stare at the person—a doctor from the looks of him—that was standing beside his bed, taking note of the focused expression. The man was shorter than Edgar, but well dressed and serious; he could hear the doctor muttering under his breath in a voice he didn’t recognize as either of the two from the river, which meant that this was a third stranger that’d been dragged into this situation.

The guilt crashed through Edgar like a tsunami.

“Oh, you’re awake.” The doctor blinked at him, seemingly surprised that Edgar actually was awake. To be honest, Edgar too, was surprised; he didn’t usually wake up so quick after drinking so much, but that would explain why the world was still fuzzy at the edges, and the brick being smashed against his skull repeatedly. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Drinking.”

The doctor rolled his eyes, an amused look on his face. “Obviously. And quite a lot from the state of you when you were brought to me. Considering how much it was, you’re lucky to have even survived with just a hangover.”

Great. Just what I didn’t want. Edgar can’t help but scowl, and turned his head away. “When can I leave?”

“When I say you can.” The doctor said, unbothered by Edgar’s cold tone. He moved from where he stood over Edgar down to the foot of the bed and picked up a clipboard, flicking through the pages on it. “You need more rest to recover from your little adventure, and I’m not in the habit of letting my patients go when they aren’t a hundred percent. Or when they are at risk of throwing themselves into rivers.”

Edgar’s scowl grew even more. “What so you’ll just keep me here against my will?”

“I intend to. At least until the alcohol has left your system, and then you may do as you please.” The doctor smiles at him in a way that showed he intended to do exactly that, and that is enough for Edgar to become cautious of the man standing above him. There was just something about that look that he couldn’t quite pinpoint, and it made him uncomfortable. He knew that if he wasn’t still under the influence, he’d be able to decipher just what that look meant, but for now, his thoughts were uselessly napping at the back of his mind.

“Fine.” Edgar grumbled and sunk into the bed as much as he was able to. As much as he didn’t want to stay here, he didn’t know where he was or who this person was—he didn’t even know if the other man actually was a doctor! But if all it took to please him was to lay in this bed until the room stopping spinning and he could walk out of there, then he’d do it, and continue with his plan another day at a different river, away from the prying eyes of foreign strangers roaming the streets at night. “I’ll stay here, wherever this is. With whoever you are.”

“Doctor Ougai Mori. Call me Doctor or Mori. And I must say I’m surprised to see someone of your calibre in my clinic of all places.” Mori said as Edgar opened his mouth to ask what the doctor meant, he promptly snapped it shut at Mori’s next words. “Edgar Allan Poe, son—adopted that is—of Lord and Lady Allan, and famous author who in recent years, has disappeared from society and become a total recluse with no one seeming to know why, although considering your current state, I can now see why. Depression that’s resulted in an alcohol addiction. Quite the killer you’ve landed yourself with.”

“You’ve done your research, Doctor.” Edgar spat. He was annoyed, angry even, that some doctor he’d never met before, knew so much about him when Edgar had no doubt spent his entire time here lying comatose on the bed. He wasn’t fond of people finding out who he was, especially since he, well, didn’t exactly want to live anymore, and had taken great care to erase himself from societies eyes, but apparently, even some no-name doctor he’d never heard of, knew who he was. Just great.

“Actually, I didn’t.” Mori raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by Edgar’s sudden animosity. He replaced the clipboard at the foot of the bed before taking residence in the chair beside it. “It was the boy that found and brought you to my clinic that shared that information. Couldn’t help himself, really, once he recognized you.”

Edgar glared at the man sitting by his bedside, becoming even more agitated when he noticed the smirk on Mori’s face. A memory of green eyes peering into his own lifeless ones flashed before his eyes that he squashed down immediately. “Are you quite done?”

“Not at all, but you’ve still got a few days of recovery, so I’d tone down that anger before it gets you into trouble. Unless, you want to cause a problem?” Suddenly it feels as if a chill has washed over the room as Mori stares down at Edgar with un unreadable look, and considering studying people and the expressions they make is what his job is, Edgar is more than uncomfortable; he’s the first to break eye contact. A chuckle. “That’s what I thought.”

Edgar fights the urge to throw his pillow at Mori as the doctor leaves the room, but instead settled for turning over and punching it just once, cursing at how much of a failure he was that he couldn’t even end his life properly, and that he’d wound up in some clinic that he still didn’t know the location of, with a doctor he only knew the name of and nothing else.

Yeah, if he had to rate these past few days, he’d put them at the top of his list of worst days of his life.

The next day, Edgar is awoken by the sound of the door to his room opening and he looks over to see a man that isn’t Mori entering with a tray of food in hand. The man appears to be older than Mori, silver haired with obvious age lines, but he’s equally as mysterious, and unlike Mori, he’s dressed in clothing that must be traditional to the land he had come from. This is not the stranger that had attempted to drag him—this man’s eyes are blue, not green—and Edgar felt intimidated as this stranger’s eyes fell upon him, almost as if he was being seen right through to his core.

“How are you feeling this morning?” The man asks, placing the tray on the bedside table before taking a seat in the chair next to his bed, and Edgar wished in that moment that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Because, as drunk as he was, he still recognized the man’s voice; this was the one that had picked him up like he weighed nothing and carried him to this clinic when he hadn’t been able to stand.

And rather than answer the strangers question, Edgar just faced away from him instead. “You were there. At the bridge.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

“Why did we interfere in your attempt to throw yourself off a bridge? Or why we were even there in the first place?” Edgar glanced over his shoulder to see the man raising an eyebrow at him. “If your question is the second one, then that is the route we take to get home and we’d just been out in the country visiting one of the villages. It was mere coincidence that we passed by you. However, if you are asking about the first one, well, we are not the kind of people who would just leave someone to die.”

Despite doing his absolute best to ignore it, Edgar’s curiosity took over and he couldn’t help but return to face the stranger. Just who were these people that had saved him and why had they gone out of their way to help him in the first place? “And who is we?”

“Yukichi Fukuzawa. Fukuzawa is just fine though.” Fukuzawa introduced himself, sliding his arms into the sleeves of his… jacket? “I help Mori out with his patients.”

“So, you’re a nurse?” It was Edgar’s turn to raise an eyebrow. For some reason, Fukuzawa didn’t really strike him as the type of person to be a nurse; he just had this feeling about the man that told him being a nurse was the last kind of job he would do.

Fukuzawa shook his head. “I am not. I simply keep things clean in the clinic and provide food to patients.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very fun job.”

“It’s a job.” Fukuzawa narrowed his eyes in a way that had Edgar feel like he was being scolded even though nothing had even been said to him yet. But Edgar was a writer, a well-known one, and if there was one thing a writer was good at, it was reading between the lines of what people said and did, and that was exactly what he did. Don’t judge people you don’t know.

Edgar sighed and sat up in the bed, reaching over to grab a piece of the sandwich that was on the tray that Fukuzawa had brought him. It was a simple sandwich, with just chicken and lettuce, yet somehow it tasted better than anything Edgar had eaten before in his life, and considering his status meant he could eat whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, that was saying something. He stared at the sandwich and took another bite, and a memory crossed his mind, the same one that kept returning to him when he didn’t want it to.

A memory of green eyes.

“Who’s that boy that found me?” Edgar asked, and when Fukuzawa stared at him with an unreadable expression, he pressed onwards. “The one with green eyes?”

“My ward.” Fukuzawa answered after Edgar had begun to believe he’d never get an answer. He detected the protective note in Fukuzawa’s tone and knows that he will not be told any more than that if he tried to even ask. The man’s word choice is interesting though; ward, not son, which means that the boy is not biologically his child, yet he still protects him as if he is. Even more interesting is his desire to protect him from Edgar of all people, but he figured he shouldn’t be surprised really, not when he’d do the same—has done the same in fact, hence his isolation from society.

Edgar leaned against the headboard of the bed, uncomfortable in the silence that has fallen over the room. It wasn’t that the silence itself was uncomfortable, it was that Edgar just didn’t know what to say. Unlike with Mori, who had spent more time riling him up than anything else, Fukuzawa appeared standoffish and only seemed to say what was needed when it was needed, nothing more, nothing less. Meanwhile Edgar was the kind of person that needed the silence filled, even if it was just with mindless chatter, because it was what he had been raised with, and no matter how introverted he was, he had never been able to overcome the social skills that had been drilled into him ever since he was a child.

He was about to break the silence, drawing on every socially correct question he could think of when the door creaked open. Both Edgar and Fukuzawa turned towards the noise and Edgar’s breath caught in his throat when he caught sight of those green eyes he kept remembering, staring at him through the crack in the door. Now that he wasn’t drunk out of his mind, he could actually see what his rescuer looked like, and he really shouldn’t have been surprised to see that it was a child that had rescued him. Children often liked to stick their noses into business that wasn’t theirs to begin with, and it didn’t matter whether it was something harmless, or if it was trying to stop someone from killing themselves, they would get involved if they deemed it important for them to do so.

“I told you not to come here, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa stood from his chair and gave a slight bow towards Edgar. “My apologies, but I must leave you now. Mori will be by to check on you this afternoon and I will bring dinner for you tonight.”

The boy—Ranpo as Edgar had just learnt—whined, and the door opened just that little bit wider, but Fukuzawa was quick to block Ranpo from view before Edgar could see anymore of the boy. “But Fukuzawa! I want to meet him!”

“No, he is a patient right now and he needs to rest. Besides you have chores to do.” Fukuzawa left the room, the door gently closing behind him, cutting off whatever else the older man had been saying and leaving Edgar alone in the room. Again.

Edgar blinked, just a little stunned at what he’d just witnessed.

Apparently, he’d wound up in the care of some really strange people that right now, he only knew the names of.

Edgar was woken from his sleep when he felt something poke his cheek. He grunted and swatted away whatever it was that was poking him, fully prepared to go right back to sleep, only to be poked several more times, each harder than the other until finally, Edgar’s eyes flew open and he snapped. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Wow, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine. And after I saved your life too.” The boy, who’s green eyes Edgar had not been able to erase from his mind since first seeing them, grinned at him from the chair that’d been empty for hours.

Edgar blinked, eyes falling to the candle that was working hard to provide what little light there was within the room. A quick glance to the window showed that it was dark outside, and despite there not being a visible moon that night, Edgar was still able to estimate that it was roughly the middle of the night. After all, it was the perfect time to make a sneaky visit to a patient that one’s guardian didn’t want you interacting with. And Edgar would rather not get on the bad side of an overly protective old man, so he turned away from Ranpo and grumbled. “Your old man doesn’t want you interacting with me, so just go away.”

“But that’s no fun.” Ranpo whined, hands tugging at the blankets that covered Edgar. “Come on, talk to me! I’m bored, and you’re interesting.”

“Why? Because I tried to kill myself and failed? Is that what’s so interesting to you?” Edgar snapped, pulling the blankets free of Ranpo’s grip, and holding them tight so that this—this annoying child couldn’t grab them again. He really didn’t understand why this boy was so interested in him in the first place; he could put it down to the boy having read his works, but the stories he wrote were most certainly not the kind that a child should be reading. Not any sane child at least.

Ranpo huffed and sat back down in the chair. “No. That’s not why at all. Well, I lie, I am interested in why you want to kill yourself—I could figure it out anyway—but you’re not interesting because of that.”

I’m going to regret this. Edgar thought before he rolled over to give Ranpo his attention. “Then why am I so interesting to you?”

“Because you’re you.” Ranpo said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And from how genuine he looked saying that, it was clear that that was what Ranpo believed.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does!” Ranpo leaned over to rest his arms on the bed, his face suddenly much closer to Edgar’s than Edgar was comfortable with. “But I can see why you don’t believe me, considering how much you hate yourself right now.”

Edgar sputtered. “I do not—”

“Yes you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have isolated yourself from society, and you wouldn’t be lying here in Mori-sen—Dr Mori’s clinic after drinking yourself half to death and trying to throw yourself off a bridge. People who do things like that tend to hate themselves. A lot, actually.” Ranpo leaned in closer which forced Edgar to move back lest their faces touched. Apparently no concept of personal space was also something that Ranpo suffered from on top of absolutely no social skills. Because that was the one thing Edgar had taken away from this short time conversing, and it was beginning to tire him out more than he already was.

“Please move away from me.” Edgar pushed at Ranpo’s head with one hand, glad when the boy actually listened for a change and sat back upright in the chair. Once Ranpo was a respectable distance away he moved back to how he’d been laying before and sighed. “Look, kid—”

“I’m not a kid.” Ranpo interrupted.

“What?” Edgar paused at this new, quite sudden information. What do you mean you aren’t a kid? You literally look like a teenager?

“I’m only two years younger than you, Mr Poe. At least, if I am correct about you being twenty-two—which I know I’m right about—and I’m only twenty. So, yeah, two years difference.” Ranpo explained, seemingly unbothered by the fact that Edgar had, up until now, thought he’d been rescued by a random child, and that he was currently staring at Ranpo in open shock.

“I’ll hope you know that you look fourteen.” Edgar muttered, face burning in embarrassment at his most recent error. He was still struggling to believe that Ranpo was actually twenty years old, almost still unable to believe it, not when Ranpo looked as tiny and scrawny as he did.

Ranpo’s cheeks puffed out and he waved his arms about wildly; exactly like a child would when throwing a tantrum. “Rude! I do not look that young!”

“You do! And even if you didn’t, you act that young! Don’t you have any pride?” Edgar argued, and then turned to face away from Ranpo again, making it clear that he was done talking to him. Really, he should’ve stopped talking long before now, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from responding to Ranpo; he would like to say that it was because Ranpo was too annoying to ignore, but it wasn’t that at all.

It was the unpredictability of what came out of Ranpo’s mouth that made him so interested.

“Pride’s a little overrated, don’t ya think?” And of course, instead of taking the hints that Edgar had been dropping, Ranpo continued to be unpredictable. “I don’t know what how it is for people like you, who have money, but for people like me, there’s not a lot of pride to have when we have to constantly worry when our next meal is.”

Edgar looked over his shoulder to see Ranpo frowning, knees drawn to his chest and that always there smile, gone.

“Sure, I could take pride in myself, but what’ll that get me, really? Kicked to the ground by people who have even more pride? That’s so boring, and not to mention, painful.” Ranpo grinned widely, although Edgar could see that it was strained; he’d touched a nerve apparently. “It’s better to live your life the way you want to, without caring so much about what others think. Once you start caring about other’s opinions, that’s when you start to really fall apart and lose your pride.”

Silence fell between them for the first time since their first proper meeting, and Edgar returned to staring at the wall in front of him. He could hear Ranpo shuffling in his seat, clearly waiting for Edgar to say something, but honestly? Edgar didn’t know what to say. His view on the world was so dark and twisted that anything he dared to say could do more harm than good, especially to a boy like Ranpo who’s view had been tainted by his own experiences, but not shattered like Edgar’s already had been.

There was still hope for Ranpo, was the point that Edgar was trying to make, and he wasn’t going to be the one who took that hope from him.

He may not like Ranpo, and he may hate himself, but Edgar wasn’t a cruel person, not really.

“Sometimes—" Edgar began to say and swallowed, licking his lips when they suddenly went dry. Just shut up, Edgar!  “—sometimes you can’t help but lose yourself in the opinions of others.”

There was a hum from behind him, and Edgar thought he could feel the weight of a hand on his shoulder, but it disappears just as fast as it appeared, and the door to his room creaks open once again. More light fills the person enters the room, carrying a lantern from the sounds of it, and Edgar finds he recognizes those footsteps.

“Ranpo…” Fukuzawa sighed, before beginning to scold Ranpo for sneaking into Edgar’s room. At least, that was what it sounded like Fukuzawa was doing, for aside from Ranpo’s name, he couldn’t understand anything that was being said. And when Ranpo cut the older man off and responded in the same tongue, he couldn’t understand those words either. But he did recognize the sound of the words being similar to the words spoken when Ranpo and Fukuzawa had rescued him. It must be their first language.

The bickering went on for several minutes, and Edgar continued to lay there, not at all bothered by the fact that the two were conversing in a language that he couldn’t begin to hope to understand or even try to decipher; it certainly wasn’t any kind of European language. Edgar knew the basics of most of those languages, his family having focused heavily on international relations, and apparently those went better when you knew the hosts home language.

Not that Edgar knew anything about relations in the first place, having none of his own anyway.

“Poe-kun, is that the reason why you tried to die?” Edgar turned over to see Fukuzawa with his hand on Ranpo’s shoulder, trying to guide the boy towards the door despite Ranpo’s best efforts to stay in the room long enough to hear his answer. Ranpo was looking at him, those green eyes of his focused intensely on him, and if Edgar looked closely enough, he could see sadness hidden deep within them.

And despite there having been a whole other conversation happening just before, Edgar knew exactly what Ranpo was talking about, what exactly it was that he was referring to, and he returned to staring at the wall, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Deduce it.”

[evolvingchaoswitch]

Freakshow-Chapter 1 Hanging by a Thread

evolvingchaoswitch

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories:

F/F

F/M

Other

Fandoms:

Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)

Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy (Video Game 2021)

Five Nights at Freddy's

Relationship:

Rocket Raccoon/Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Game Theory Lore

Hurt/Comfort

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Canon-Typical Violence

Body Horror

Implied/Referenced Torture

Mental Health Issues

Implied/Referenced Suicide

Slow Burn

Body Dysphoria

Non-Consensual Body Modification

raw dogged by an anthropomorphic raccoon

Eventual Smut

Summary:

Tinkering with my design, twist and turn my feral mind Play with me 'til you've found another toy Let me be your freak show, I could be your favorite monster Rattle my whole cage, remind me why I can't be fostered Let me be your freak show, I could be your favorite monster Lock me up, don't let me out 'cause you know I can't help myself.

Notes:

This is my first in a few cross over OC's I've created over the years and my favourite to pair with Rocket. The song I reference in my summary is from Sub Urban it is a very good Rocket themed song. I base inspiration for this character from Game Theory's coverage of FNAF. Happy reading looking forward to your thoughts.

Chapter Management

Edit Chapter

Chapter 1: Hanging by a thread

Chapter Text

The ship was in rough shape but hopefully not so fucked that Rocket wouldn’t be able to find some useful materials to repair his own ship that he had hobbled together out of scraps. His enemies had been getting smarter when it came to keeping him locked up, opting to shunt Groot off to a prison further away from him hoping that would be the key ingredient to keeping him caged. Rocket would laugh at the audacity of the thought process if it didn’t cause so many flarkin annoying troubles for him. Once his makeshift ship was patched up a bit better he’d go looking for Groot and most likely a more structurally stable ship along the way, this one’s engine was fucked in a way he couldn’t fix with his current tool set.

Rocket hummed a wordless tune as he went to work stripping the ship of what was valuable as he moved further into its hull. Rocket could hear the faint sound of a dog whining, had Cosmo found himself on this ship? Rocket may have had his issues with the stupid mutt but he wasn’t going to let him be trapped here if it was Cosmo making the noises. So tentatively Rocket made his way towards the sound to see if it was Cosmo or not, and he was right it was a dog just not Cosmo.

In a cage over in one corner of the room was a dog circling around desperate to get to something just beyond his view, something that was hidden in the shadows adjacent to this cage. The dog's fur that appeared to be white was now strained with dried blood and the general grime of the cage, a pair of piercing blue eyes locked with his own cognac coloured ones as the creature looked frightened. Then terrifying as metallic panels opened up all over the animal, showing pieces of exposed internals along with other modifications, Rocket wanted to hurl. Was this a new creature from Him? Was this a new abomination from Halfworld? Either way he couldn’t leave it there whimpering like that, Rocket may be a professional asshole but he did have a bit of a soft spot for his fellow mammals.

“Keep it down I’m getting you out” Rocket got to work opening the cage and he was relieved to see that the action seemed to calm the animal down, maybe it was intelligent not his level but enough to follow orders. The smell in the air was putrid. Something was undoubtedly rotting in the second cage in the room if Rocket was going to make an assumption it was probably the person the dog was so eager to get to. The dog came to sit near the cage door anxiously waiting for it to open. Rocket could see on the purple collar around its neck hung a small silver coin that read Bianca. The dog was a she apparently.

Rocket watched as Bianca bolted over to the other cage before pawing at the door while whining for him to open this one as well which Rocket started on while sighing. Groot in his life was starting to make him go soft, Rocket was hoping once Bianca saw that her owner was dead it would be easier to drop her off somewhere safer. Rocket paid no mind to the body on the floor as the corpse appeared to be one of the former members of this ship and not Bianca’s owner. Rocket didn’t care for paying any respects to the dead crew of this ship, he had looked up some of the shit these people had gotten up to and lets just say he didn’t give much care to traffickers. The door slid open a moment later and Bianca bolted over to the figure that was hanging in restraints in the middle of the cage.

The figure looked to be from Terra, coppery red hair that was cropped short to the head, pasty white skin dotted with an assortment of freckles and an easy to enjoy feminine form. One problem ,Rocket had never seen a Terran with a chest cavity open like theirs and still alive. He could hear the heart still faintly beat from behind the metal that surrounded it, though it was difficult to see the organ, what with the power cord obscuring it from view. Two thoughts that hit Rocket at the same time, this person was still alive and had been used as some form of power source for this ship.

Those sicks fucks.

As soon as Rocket disconnected the power cord and stepped away to lay the cord on the ground Bianca sprung into action placing her muzzle on the exposed powercell that worked in conjunction with the heart. Bianca seemed to let some form of energy pass from her internals to her owners slowly recharging the girl till slowly the chest started to seal up protecting the organics behind. This girl wasn’t like any make of android that he had ever seen before and he certainly wanted to know more about this Afton Robotics place. Rocket might have a few bones to pick with them over their design choices.

Rocket could hear soft cries coming from the newly renewed girl in the corner at first he thought she was just crying over being chained up and used as a power source.Made complete sense to Rocket if that was the case but as Rocket took a second to listen a bit closer he could hear the repeated phrases of.

“I’m so glad you’re safe Bianca” “I’m so sorry” “You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok”

Rocket felt an unwelcome tug on his heartstrings before he felt obligated as his current state of employment as a professional asshole to ruin the moment.

“What’s your name?”

“Ѐabha Tinsley and Bianca Del Barko the finest bitch in the land”

The last part was stated as a fact rather than a flippant statement.

“I’m Rocket and something tells me that you didn’t leave Terra willingly, want to hitch a ride back?”

Ѐabha was trying to figure that out right now too much had happened since she had forcibly been put into sleep mode as they drained her for power. Now that she had gotten the first thing out of the way, making sure her beloved Bianca was safe it was now time to reacquaint herself with what was going on in the moment. Now it was time to sort through all the intrusive messages that had popped onto her internal log once she was back online. Most of them as per usual were about update permissions that she made sure to quickly dismiss. The organic within her would forever fight with the inorganic. The scars that her maker had left on her all those years held long lasting effects on her but none so aggravating as her update protocol that wouldn’t be satisfied until she was perfect.

She could already tell that over the miscellaneous time that she was out that her body had moved from sixty-percent organic to fifty-eight percent which didn’t seem like that much of a drop in percentages but to her it was.

Your savior appeared to be some kind of talking raccoon but after everything you had been through over the years it hardly phases you. Hell even the corpse rotting away in the corner of your cage failed to stir up a response from you. At least this one still had all its internals. At least it wasn’t a six foot plus animatronic with dead kids inside. Fuck your life was weird.

The anthropomorphic raccoon appeared to be your savior or at the very least the guy that took pity on you enough to free you. You could live with that easily, though looking at the little bit of metallic that showed on him you got the idea that he had gone through some similar shit. Looking down at Bianca the two of you had a brief vibe check discussion via eye as you typically did before you responded.

“Can she come too, I don’t go anywhere without her” Savior or not like hell you were leaving the only member of your family behind.

“Oh course, though things will get a little cramped when we pick up a friend of mine hopefully we’ll have another ship ready” Rocket took a moment to think out his next question “You any good with striping ships for scrap” Rocket didn’t really expect a yes but if there was one it would make life easier for the next few hours. Rocket watched as you nodded your head before you started to strip some of the room you were in for useful materials, stepping over the corpse as you went to work. Rocket was fairly sure he saw you plop a few scrapes of non-useful materials into your mouth like a snack though that wouldn’t be the strangest thing he had seen in space for a long shot.

They both finished their work within the two hour mark before heading back to Rockets ship to continue on. It wouldn’t take Rocket long to get all his shit together in order to grab Groot. Groot was going to be thrilled that he picked up a couple of strays along the way, the Flora colossus did enjoy meeting new people even if all they understood was I Am Groot.

Rocket could see that his two new passengers had fallen asleep in a small out of the way corner on the ship. Rocket elected to leave both alone as he plotted out the way he was going to get Groot back.

One way or another. @elegant-fleuret @aliasrocket @momahoneypleasesugar @honeypleasesugar

[phvntom-limbs]

Celestial Dip - Chapter I

Diabeth (Dio / Self-Insert) ✧ 1.9k ✧ SFW

Syn: A Siren must turn to a pirate captain for help when she gets wounded and washes up on a shore.

✧ Read on AO3

Dark waves lapped the rocks and the moon hung high in the sky. It was almost summer, and the night was cool and short as Elizabeth perched on the edge of a small stone island and gazed up at specks of cosmic glitter. The tips of her fan-like tail dipped into the water and danced with the movement. This night was perfect and welcoming. No man or beast would fear the vast blue for now. She could feel it in the waves, in the dark of the dimly moonlit night there were visitors, many of them, in a huge hulking vessel splitting seafoam and waves. A ship. Perhaps navy or pirates. Elizabeth often preferred the former, as their blood didn’t offend her palate as much as an oft-drunken corsair. As the ship breached the horizon she exhaled pitifully. She wouldn’t be so lucky tonight, it seems. 

Pushing forward in the distance was a beautiful wooden vessel, flag flying high and proud with bright lanterns placed around the ship in a flaming game of connect-the-dots. It was an undeniably gorgeous sight. Probably stolen, no doubt. Even from this distance she could tell that they were either lucky pirates, or among the richest of them. Perhaps they would be the nicest pirate feast she’d ever encountered. She thanked the gods above she didn’t need to share.

Elizabeth dipped below the waves for a second to soak her drying skin before returning to her spot on the rocks. She watched the boat creep closer and closer before summoning the eerie lament in the back of her throat. It filled the night air with ease and creatures below the waterline sank deeper beneath the waters surface as it disturbed the once peaceful waves. Come to me, across the sweet blue, come.

From the slowly closing distance, she could see a few figures on the ship lean over the edge and search the dark water for the source of music. Her canines poked her bottom lip as she smiled. Poor fools. Sometimes they dove in from such a distance to reach her, sometimes they sailed closer. These men, despite their searching, seemed to choose the latter with a hurried change of course that had their captain burst onto the deck and begin yelling confused reprimands at his crew. 

She broke her singing with a musical laugh as a couple of his men hit the waves despite his berating. The blond gripped the side of his ship and looked over the water, his cognac glare meeting her shimmering gaze before she pulled the men closer and ran the tip of her tongue along a fang. Her nails pricked their skin through their shirts and she dragged them below the surface before the captain could finish ordering her capture. She slipped out of his grasp, just like that, drowning two of his men and laughing in his face. 

Under the waves, far below the glistening surface, Elizabeth inspected the now breathless men. Their clothes were higher quality - on par with some of the sailors she’d captured in the past - and one of them wore fine jewellery, most of which wasn’t scuffed or marred. She’d been right. They must be among some of the richest pirates she’d ever encountered. A wider smile grew on her face - they didn’t smell like alcohol. Tonight’s feast would be delightful.

Dipping down further, she plunged her teeth into the neck of one of the poor men and blood burst into her mouth, dyeing the water around her a morbid pink. Her prediction was right; no alcohol. Just metallic sweetness coating her tongue. She hummed against the punctured flesh with unbridled joy.

Once she had finished, she held his body out and began carefully removing the jewellery from his arms and ears and slipping them on herself. They floated gently in the water and glistened where the moonlight could reach and she smiled proudly. This was only one of the men after all. She glanced at her second catch of the night before tossing her previous victim away like an old toy, leaving him for the calm waters.

Turning her attention to the second man, she grabbed his arm and pulled his throat to her mouth, plunging her teeth in once more. Her eyes fluttered shut, she could savour this feast longer, her heart thudding viciously in her chest with all her excitement. This was divine. Her nails pierced his neck and arm as she held him in place, devouring all she could. When Elizabeth finally pulled her head back from his flesh she almost felt lightheaded, head swirling with joy. This was addictive. She knew she could live without it but the chase reaped such delightful rewards, she couldn’t deny herself such bliss. Leaning over, she flashed her teeth again only for them to suddenly clamp themselves together. Pain bloomed in her abdomen and her eyes snapped downwards as bright red danced in the water around her. Clasping a hand to the wound, she hurriedly looked for the cause before her gaze fell on a blade rising to the surface of the water and then to the man’s waist. His dagger had come free of its scabbard and sliced her when she went for seconds.  Furious, she pushed his body away from her and plunged the blade into his chest with a frustrated yell. 

She was still bleeding and her hand was doing nothing - she needed to get home or somewhere. If she got to land she could pass herself off as a human victim and get help that way, she knew there were beaches close by, she’d explored these waters over and over. Turning in the water, throat tight and head spinning, she pushed forwards through the blue until her arms ached, ignoring the needle-prick pains spreading across her gut. 

It was day when Elizabeth awoke, the smell of salt in her hair and the grit of sand pressed against her skin breaking through her drowsiness and nausea. Red stained the ground beneath her still, though it had begun to dry when the tide receded and she didn’t have the strength to push herself up. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the sun, blurriness swapped for clear shapes as she started to pick up familiar noises: idle chatter, seagulls, steps on wood. She’d washed up somewhere lively, at least, but nobody seemed to have even noticed her yet. 

Trembling, she tried to push herself along the sand, newfound legs numb and uncooperative. She cursed, tears welling in her eyes as she gripped fistfulls of sand. God she was naked, the light breeze and sand coating her skin finally registered and along with it came the awareness of her own nudity. She was exposed and fragile and starting to feel a flush rise to her cheeks. Hanging her weak head, she sunk into the sand again and closed her eyes, trying to gain some strength to push forward despite it all.

Then, she heard steps in the sand and the distinct jingle of metal against metal growing nearer and a muffled ‘I will join you in the tavern soon., don’t cause trouble’ breaking through her haze. She tilted her head, lidded eyes slowly focusing on the stranger before they flew open. Blondie. Fuck. 

The leather boots promptly stopped in front of her and their owner crouched in front of her, a smug grin on his face, “Fought back when the music stopped, hm?” he cooed, pulling her head back with a hand grasping her hair. 

Elizabeth scowled, smacking at his arm weakly, before her expression turned to a grimace, “If… If it’s any consolation, their knife did this to… to me,” she mumbled, removing his hand from her. 

His smile grew, somehow, “Oh?” he laughed, tilting his head after a moment, “At least you get to die somewhere pretty.”

A gasp rose in her throat and she grabbed his arm again, “Please, I’m… I’m sorry I took them but I-” her free hand gripped her abdomen again and she curled her legs up to her torso, the pain setting in as she finally fully awoke. 

“Don’t try to make me pity you, you killed my men.”

She pressed the ball of her hand to her eye and trembled, “I would ra- rather be in your debt if you helped me than die… die here like this, without dignity.”

The blond’s nose twitched in some essence of distaste and he stood, “Begging to a scoundrel isn’t helping your latter case.”

“Please,” she pleaded, raising her head, moving her hand to grip his trouser leg, which he hurriedly yanked away.

“God, get off me- fine, you’ll embarrass me too if you keep this up,” he snapped, shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders and all but dropping it on her, “Do not protest, I’m not carrying a naked, half-dead woman around.”

“Ah, but a clothed half-dead woman is… acceptable?”

“I am truly glad we’re on the same page,” he muttered quietly, scooping her over his shoulder with a deep sigh, “Your repayment better be worth it, woman.”

He adjusted his jacket over her before beginning to carry her onto the ship, expertly pulling himself aboard with his one free hand. 

The deck was empty, his crew likely decompressing in the tavern over steins and riveting conversation. Out of all the ships Elizabeth had had the misfortune of seeing, this was by far the cleanest - even with small puddles and bundles of rope strewn about. He didn’t give her much of an opportunity to take it in, though, carrying her into his quarters begrudgingly and all but dropping her on the bed.

She yelped, glaring up at him and wincing as she pulled his jacket around her again. It practically swallowed her whole, she realised. 

“If I'm going to be sitting in your bed, do I at least get your name? You’re not being much of a gentleman.”

“And you’re not being a lady,” he scoffed, opening a chest in one corner of the room and pulling some alcohol and fabric from within, “It’s Dio.”

“Dio…” she echoed, thinking deeply about it as he sat on the end of the bed and narrowed his eyes.

“This is the part where you tell me yours. Lay back,” he ordered.

Elizabeth blinked, cheeks burning as she slowly did as she was told, “Elizabeth,” she said sheepishly.

“I do not care that you’re naked, stop being so flustered, Elizabeth.”

She pressed her lips together and averted her gaze, jumping where she sat when the alcohol soaked into her wound and sent a sting through her body. Gritting her teeth she looked to the ceiling, eyes watering - in all her years hunting she’d never been hurt like this, never mind treated for it.

Dio shot her a look, brows knitting together, “Stop moving,” he snapped, holding a hand under her waist to help raise her hips as he wrapped gauze snugly around her. 

Once he was done, he returned the aid supplies to the chest and without sparing her a glance, declared he would be in the tavern with his crew before promptly exiting his quarters. She didn’t hear the lock click.

Had she doomed herself here, laying in the blond captain’s bed, bandaged and still disoriented? She slid down the bed and draped the jacket over her fully to act as bedsheets - she refused to get under his - and tried to let sleep take her peacefully this time.

[justineps]

One thing I decided to completely change about myself is the fact that I will speak the truth, or at least what I believe to be is my truth, even if it pushes people away or causes them to look at me in a negative manner. I really started to feel better once I just blurted out what was genuinely on my mind. The first few times I let this happen, a heavy wave of anxiety surged throughout my entire body, and I remember my body temperature drastically increased. I didn’t receive positive reactions due to this though, but I felt so .. light and did not feel bad whatsoever once I cooled down. I don’t have much, or at all, to lose anymore, and I’ll never speak my truth with any intentions of hurting someone. After all, it is someone’s choice to be affected by it or actually think about what I had to say, albeit it not being the best way to probably convey it, which I know I still need to work on. But I want to be a person to tell someone what I feel like they dont want to hear, but actually should, rather than the clouded white lies that will do nothing for them other than feed their mind with responses that will more than likely come to bite them in the ass harder when that time will inevitably arise again. And in the end, others can view me as rude or mean, but for once, I know if someone will take the time to listen and think about what is said, rather than how it was said (I really need to continue to work on expressing my thoughts the way I hope to without stuttering or not making sense), then I’m confident that they’d feel I only did so because I cared. I thought about this as well, the caring part and just staying quiet, but nothing good for me will ever come my way if I never authentically change how I am towards others. I realized I ended up alone because I had put on so many masks all my life, that even I probably wouldn’t have known whether to help myself if I had asked.

The only thing that bothers me is that.. will any of this even matter? Where do I honestly move forward towards (sounds weird)? I haven’t felt the feeling of “home” in the longest time, but have come to terms that it definitely is not a place or the things that surround myself under a roof. In no way am I trying to sound like a negative doodoohead, but I’d like to believe that I’m at the point where l want to share whats left of my spirit, heart, and mind to be associated with anything or anyone that can reciprocate any excitement in both growth and love towards one another. I don’t see myself adopting a child in the future anymore, and my naive dream of having a small family of my own is starting to seem .. well, nothing but just a younger Justin’s dream.

P.S. I’m glad I got to connect with Francis a few times earlier this year and jokingly told him I hated him for being able to experience my dream only a few weeks after the night we shared what we ultimately desired in life, and spent hours talking about our fears, bucket list, and goals before our time comes close to an end. I told him I felt like I got close, but blew it as always, and he suggested what he always had from day one, to leave this place. I actually responded back with how I felt even if I were to leave and.. well, eh that’s just actual guy life talk at that point lol.

It’s been four years since I’ve genuinely been happy it was my birthday, and I surprisingly still have so many photos of everything. White Claws and a 3 gram “Galaxy: Blasters of the Universe- Cognac Honey” hahaha. I would probably hibernate or act like a total fool if I were to even have those this year, it’s been 2 years since I even had a good blunt and alcohol in my system. Lol I cant help but smile right now. Thanks for the memories. I wonder when it’ll be til another memory tops that night lol. Im alone, but I feel warm at this exact moment, so this is where I’ll end my digital journal entry. (i need to buy myself a nice writing pen/pencil lol!)

[chloehazeljane]

"The Atom Bomb" by Chloe HazelJane

Original Post On: chloehazeljane.com

2149

Lucius Abaddon was the President’s son. That was all he was and all he had ever been. From the moment his mother had died and his father had used her death as the base of his first Senate campaign—and every campaign after that—all hope of another life had been lost. So when Alec Abaddon had pushed the button to release the United States’s nukes and started a chain reaction of destruction as, in retaliation, other world leaders did the same, the fault had fallen on Lucius too. It didn’t matter that he was the one who had walked into his father’s bunker with a gun he’d taken off a Secret Service officer and shot Alec in the face with it, ending his tyrannical term. He was still the President’s son.

He took a deep breath, sucking the air in through his teeth. The air of New York City, like that of the rest of the country, was no longer as arid as it had been when he had first arrived after the bunkers had opened. Though, he supposed he should probably stop thinking of this land as the United States. It wasn’t and it never would be again. The world had already been dying from the intensity of extreme weather and pollution, and the bombs had rocked the world enough to send most of the land underwater. As far as they knew, this was the only land left. They had to assume everything else was gone because hoping anything else was true would make moving on that much harder.

The roar of the Atlantic tide was like static in his ears, as he stared out at the swirling blue-grey water. He was standing at the memorial site for the World Trade Center, the story of which had always felt like a faraway tale to him, as much history as the American Revolution was. Nearly a century and a half later, it couldn’t be much else.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” The voice coming from behind him was too familiar. It was a voice that did nothing more than remind him there was nothing he could do to stop the circle of societal destruction the world had so long been plagued with. It was and would always be one tyrant after another, regardless of intention. Callix was a fool to think otherwise.

“Yes, and I thought you had gotten the memo,” he said, turning to face Callix Martinez, leader of the New World. “It’s been years.”

Callix shrugged. “I’ve had people looking for you the entire time, Lucius, but apparently you’re good at keeping yourself hidden.” He sighed. “I want to talk. I have since the moment you left. You hardly gave me a chance to explain my plans for this country.”

Lucius stared at him. It was like looking at his father, though he and Callix looked nothing alike. Callix was young, a few years Lucius’s senior, with wild dark hair and skin a dark shade of taupe. His eyes were green as the grass was finally once again growing to be. Alec had looked much like Lucius, his hair silver and his complexion somewhere between white and brown, though the two did not share their eyes. Alec’s had been brown, but Lucius had his mother’s eyes, eyes like a glass of cognac. But it wasn’t literal appearance that made Alec and Callix mirror images of each other. Callix had noble intentions, but so had Alec, in the beginning. At least, Lucius thought so.

“Lucie—”

“Don’t call me that.” Lucius’s voice snapped like a whip, and he saw Callix’s shoulders tense. “You asked for my opinion, I gave it to you, and you ignored it. So I left. Because I won’t be associated with what you’re doing. Why can’t you just leave it at that?”

“I asked for your opinion because I value it, and yes, I didn’t agree with it but that didn’t mean I wanted you to leave,” Callix said. “I understand that you’re worried about the power dynamic, but you staying is exactly what could help keep it in check. Opposition is a good thing.”

“You say that now, but so did my father, at first,” Lucius said. “And then he started tearing down political institutions from the inside and talking about how what this country really needed was a king. He tried to create a kingdom for himself instead of doing his duty as a keeper of democracy, and your response to his failed coup is to turn what’s left of our home into an empire with you as its king. A king chosen by the people, sure, but a king all the same. Maybe it won’t be you, but someday down the line, one of your successors will become exactly the type of person that put us where we are today. I can’t support that. I won’t.”

Callix shook his head. “No, I’ll set it up in a way that won’t happen.” 

“You know you can’t do that. You know that it doesn’t matter what you do. You can’t control the future.”

“You’re still mad about Rowan,” Callix said, hesitancy in his voice. “I know that’s part of this.”

Rowan. Rowan with soft skin the color of black coffee. Rowan with a laugh so deep it was like it was coming from the core of the earth itself. Rowan who somehow managed to always keep himself composed, even in the face of a literal apocalypse. Rowan who tasted like joy and honey and smelled like eucalyptus leaves. Rowan who had died defending Callix’s empire.

He felt his eyes darken. “Stop it.”

Callix did not stop it. “He believed in it, Lucius. He helped me build it. You know Rowan—”

“He believed in you, Callix, not the plan. And see where that got him.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No? Because I seem to recall it being your ideas that got him killed. And not just him either.” Lucius’s chest was hot, the pit of feebly contained fire in his stomach breaking through his ribs. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t think about his father or the idea of returning to Callix’s side as he fortified his empire’s heart in the rubble of Chicago, and he certainly couldn’t think about Rowan or anyone else he had lost in the years since his father’s third inauguration. “Why don’t we talk about Carlos?”

He knew he was off base. Carlos had been Callix’s best friend, practically his brother, and his death was far from his fault, though he blamed himself for it. He didn’t need another reminder of it. But it was what he got for bringing up Rowan. 

“Fine.” Callix exhaled. “Just know you’re always welcome back at my court—my home.You’re right. Becoming your father is something I could do very easily. And nobody knows what he was like more than you. I could use your advice.”

When Lucius said nothing, Callix nodded and turned his back. Lucius wondered if he should call after him—continue their conversation or tell him he would return to Chicago with him—but he couldn’t bring himself to. To support Callix was to support empire-building, and to support empire-building was to support his father’s beliefs, something he could never allow himself to do.

But if there was one thing Callix was right about, it was that opposition was a good thing, and while he wouldn’t do it within the walls of the newly constructed Martinez Palace, opposition was something Lucius could create. He would hold the monarchy accountable. If they ever stepped out of line, he would be the atom bomb that destroyed them and took back the world. On the very ground where he stood, he would build the Abaddon Rebellion.

[hotgirl5040]

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[blackwood-witch]

You come down from your room with a dusting of guilt around your eyes. I don't ask what put it there.

You tell me you didn’t want to come out to the mountains and involve me, and I wish you hadn’t, but I am also starting to understand what use I may be. If I am truly the only one who knows what I know, or at least one of the very few, then I would be the one death with the least collateral damage. As recruitment goes, it’s probably the smartest decision.

We finish our drinks and the alcohol puts a warm blanket over my eyes, just numb enough that I’m less terrified. It reminds me of all the warm blankets I afforded myself after Gran passed, how she came to me in my dreams and told me to get my shit together and stop feeling sorry for myself. This is the first time I’ve drank since, I wonder how she would feel.

I’m thankful for my sweater, the cold draft from the centuries old tunnels of the Vatican chilling me to the bone. I follow you through police tape that I feel I definitely shouldn’t be crossing, watching as it flutters to the ground. You show me to symbols that look burned into the rock, like the blood they were written with has chemical corroded the stone- like a brand in the skin of religion itself. Some magic can do that, though nothing that I am capable of.

What I am capable of, the reason you must have brought me, makes me ask my next question. This one I immediately know I will regret.

“Where are the bodies?”

The corridors get much more narrow and much colder, winding and turning until you show me past a near solid metal door into what feels like a meat locker. Metal tables stand in a line and you take me to one of the central ones.

We share a look over the body before the bag is unzipped, unseeing eyes staring holes into the ceiling. I know I will regret this, my heart rate thumping staccato in my throat.

I pull the bag back enough that I can lift the robe from the skin of his arm, blue gray skin greeting me. I swallow back fear one last time before I reach out and touch him.

My eyes blot out with white, my body rigid with forced remembering.

I cower next to stone walls, men scream around me, warm iron floods my nostrils, scarlet viscera sprays across my cheek. I look up and the gold eyes of a beast twice my size stares me down, the thud of his paws draw closer.

My sight goes dark, I’ve closed my eyes, God cannot hear my prayer beyond this evil but he will receive me I know.

For a moment I feel humid breath at my forehead and as my eyes open again all I see is ivory knives as they descend on my throat. I can taste hot copper, rivers flowing past my lips as I struggle to use the vocal cords that I now realize have been torn from me. I look down to see useful parts of me strewn across my robes and the stone beside me.

A hand tears mine from the body, the raw scratch in my throat searing. I gasp for air, unaware that I’d been screaming. Where you touch me spreads warmth where there was ice, until it all settles in on place.

A rolling heat in my stomach like centuries of hunger silences me, my next vision of a beautiful brunette against a door. She smells like cherry and cognac, her eyes are round and aware. I lean in like a lover, the taste from her is cinnamon like fire.

I hear her whimper, I don’t care. Her flames extinguish my own.

I jerk my body back from you, weak and unsteady, too much too quickly. I lean over and heave, the sting of whiskey part two making me cough. You reach out to help me and I stumble back.

“Don’t touch me.”

You seem confused, near hurt. I have to remind us both why I was reluctant to come here.

“What was her name? The meal you had tonight. Did she have a family? Was she on her honeymoon with her new husband? Do you care?”

I’m nearly screaming, swatting at every attempt to reign me in. You killed her without a second thought to her loved ones, to who she is and what she cares about.

I run from the catacombs and back out onto the street, wiping my eyes and straightening down my hair. I round a corner when I hear my name shouted, I don’t look back.

It takes hours, but I arrive back at the hotel in one piece. I let myself into my room, strip myself naked, run a bath, and remind myself that I am alive. My blood still runs hot through all of my attached limbs.

Eventually, I splash cold bath water over my face trying to rid myself of the implanted memories. They don’t recede. Room service comes and goes. I get fitful minutes of sleep. I pour over my maternal bloodlines handwriting for clues, reading and re-reading until I see it on the back of my eyelids.

A knock interrupts my thoughts, and thinking it’s you I stomp to the door, swinging it open to deliver another piece of my mind to you and your spineless kind. It’s not you. It’s a man taller than you, with long dirty blonde hair and aviators pushed past his temples, his hands folded in front of him.

“My name is Special Agent Levinson,” he flashes a badge at me with CIA plastered in blue, “can I ask you a few questions?”

His accent is the same as mine, american. “Which country’s rights do I operate under?”

“They’re just questions, no one’s being arrested.” There’s a hint of a smile hiding in the corners of his beard, I’m sure someone finds that attractive.

My arms cross over my chest. “That’s what cops say so they can find something to arrest you for.”

His eyebrows raise, like he trying to hold back his own laughter. “Even if I wanted to, I’m oceans out of my jurisdiction, but I can see now isn’t a good time. If you get a moment, and you’re feeling generous, I’d like to talk to you about what you might have seen in the catacombs last night, Ms. Blackwood.”

He hands me a business card, my eyes widening when he says my name. Did the front desk tell him that? He wasn’t escorted by Polizzi, they wouldn’t give that out without warrant, surely. He’s gone before my brain can catch up, my hotel door closing with my dumbfounded face behind it.

And the only person I can think to tell is the one person I don’t want to see.

I cut through your nerves to the quick, the width of your body presenting itself in full when you tower over me and ask me if I can control every witch. Despite the fear, a sardonic smile spreads on my face, because we both know that I’m probably one of four natural born witches left, if the other three haven’t kicked the bucket. The only thing that destines me to stand in front of you is my bloodline, my family the only one historically to beat what you’re up against. 

We lost so much. Through the Draugr and the Trials. I am what’s left of the witches in the East, so being scared is foreign to me, and you quickly remind me that I am not the only threat in this room. I take a step back, shrink from you, but don’t break eye contact. This is the first crack in your own veneer, maybe except when I shot you. 

You close the gap between us, tell me you’re not an extremist, that you don’t kill humans– I don’t trust that for a second, not with what I felt when I touched you. You tell me to drop the bratty attitude and even though I would rather cling to it than help you in any way, I know that I can’t let it drag me under so hard that our species are threatened with more extinction than we already are.

I drop my weight on the edge of the mattress, heave a breath and scrub my hands over my face. I keep thinking about how I wasn’t ready for this, about how I’m tired already. I pull my backpack off my shoulders, pull my grandmother's grimoire out of it and set it open on the table to my left. “The last time this happened my uh– coven, or what there was of us, held the vampire responsible hostage, starved him for months and fed him watered down blood until he broke and told us how he did it. Everything we know was documented by my grandmother, it's all there.” 

You flip the pages, reading over the information that I have. “It took two covens and twenty odd witches to take down three Draugr.” I look up at you then, hoping you understand that I don’t know how to be helpful here, hoping you understand that you’re asking me to fight a battle I may very well die in. You’re stoic, I can’t read anything in your face, so I give it up. I might be able to call in some favors from the other witches, but I will feel guilty. They have families. 

“I’ll need to see the bodies, see what traces I can pull off of them. I suggest you call whoever you can. I won't be able to go through customs with the supplies I’ll be bringing, so I also suggest you tap into the Vatican's resources to charter a jet.” I collect the grimoire, slide it back into my backpack and prepare myself to leave. “Give me a couple hours to take down some things on the property and you’ll be able to come without it trying to melt you into vampire goo.” 

I don’t look back when I leave the room, stalking back to my truck and driving back up the mountain. I stop at the property line, taking the knife from my truck and carving through the sigil on the trees on either side of the drive. It kills me to do it, my mother put them there. I follow the trail of them and carve them out of the ring of trees that surrounds my cabin, the energy dissipating as I do. I smudge ash over the sigil on the door frame, muting it, and take the protective satchel down from above the door. 

I take my gun apart, leaving it in pieces on the coffee table. I’m wrapping jars in paper and packing them into a suitcase when I hear you pull up. When the front door swings open, you’re standing in front of the porch and I recede back into the house, throwing my invitation for you to enter over my shoulder. “Do you drink coffee?” I feel like the biggest traitor to my kind inviting you into this haven, but I’ve accepted that I’ll have much bigger problems if I don’t cooperate.

@arran-kane

[keanureevesisbae]

Hank Voight x fem!reader 

Summary: Hank Voight is a loyal customer at the liquor store you work at, but one day he asks for something very unusual: wine.

Wordcount: 811

Warnings: None

He introduced himself to you as Hank Voight. You and your colleagues on the other hand called him RV, which was an acronym for Raspy Voice. 

Yeah, very original, it made you cringe as well, but referring to him as A Very Hot Daddy Material Looking Man Who You Bet Would Look Very Hot Naked (or the shorter version: AVHDMLMWYBWLVHN) just didn’t go well. 

RV was convenient and easy to say.

Hank Voight was fairly predictable when it came to his choices. He always bought either a scotch or a whiskey and sometimes he’d settle for a nice bourbon. Once you sold him a cognac, though he wasn’t too much of a fan of that.

However, you appreciated his efforts of branching out.

Because of these course of events, Hank Voight a.k.a. RV could also be nicknamed as Mister Predictable. So you were awfully surprised when a stunning request left his lips.

‘Wine?’ you ask, visibly in shock. ‘You want a bottle of wine?’

‘Yes,’ he says, his voice so low and deep, you almost felt the vibrations of it in your chest. 

Great, this is either for the woman he is in a serious and doting relationship with of for a date of his.

You had been dreaming a little bit about Hank Voight, but all of your colleagues did. They swoon over his voice and while that attributed to his attractiveness, you felt yourself falling for his intense gaze, the way he looked at your fingers as you packed the bottle for him. The way he helped you when you needed to grab something of the top shelf and how he smelled like cologne, but not the same type everyone was already wearing. 

You fell for the little inside jokes you shared and the pretty flirtatious comments exchanged between the two of you. You were the one who helped him out most of the times and he always trusted your expertise. 

And now you were going to find a wine for a probable other woman. Someone who isn’t yours.

‘What type of wine?’ you ask. 

He shrugs. ‘I have no idea.’

That is truly not helping, but you decided to settle for an easier question. ‘Okay, red or white?’

He shrugs again.

This wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Want something like Pinot, Chardonnay, Merlot or Port?’

Another shrug. 

You glare at him. ‘Hank, this isn’t helping,’ you say. ‘How am I supposed to help you out if you don’t even have the slightest clue of what you want?’

‘It’s hard,’ he says, ‘shopping for a wine for someone else. What’s your favorite?’

‘Why do you wanna know?’

‘Well, I bet you have a favorite and I always trust your taste. If you like it, she’ll like it, I just know it.’

She. The dreaded mystery person is unveiled. There were two things you could do: recommend the most disgusting wine ever, so this mystery woman will puke and vomit, therefore not be to fond of the giver of said wine that made her sick or you’d recommend your favorite and there was a chance she’d love it and therefore love him.

You hate the fact you were polite. 

You want nothing but the best for Hank, so you decide to just get over yourself and recommend him your favorite wine. As you explain to him the type of red wine, together with what you should eat with it, he listens intently.

You gift wrap it for him and hand it to him. ‘You got a card?’ he asks. ‘And a pen?’You give it to him and he starts to write. 

Lucky lady who’ll be on the receiving end of it. He’s truly pouring his heart out, by the amounts of sentences you see. You decide to look away, not wanting to become too nosy.

He hands you back the pen and the card. ‘Here,’ he says.

You blink. ‘What?’

‘Read it.’

With a deep frown you take the card. You had to proofread too? Geez, this lady better be worth it. Your eyes scan the handwriting.

Dear Y/N,

Every time I come here, I’m hoping you’re behind the counter. You have the patience of a saint, with the way you try to venture out my tastes when it comes to alcohol. You always make my day, no matter how lousy it was, so much better. 

I hope you enjoy this gift and maybe would go out with me.

Yours,

Hank

Thank the heavens for you being polite. Imagine being on the receiving end of disgusting wine, having Hank believe that is your favorite and then having to either lie forever or to come clean and have him discover you wanted to jeopardize a non existent date with someone else.

‘Really?’ you ask him, a bright smile on your face. ‘Is this for real?’

He nods. ‘This is for real.’

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ 🍷

Chicago PD taglist: @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee // @one-sweet-gubler

[noladyme]

As It Should Be - A Raymond Smith One Shot

Raymond is the perfect gentleman, with a perfect home, and very settled habits. One of those habits had become to cancel dates at the last minute; and in stead spend the night in with his girl.

Now, she's had enough, and decides to challenge him on it, doing everything she can, to get on his nerves. The result is much more interesting than she'd anticipated.

Hell hath no fury like a girlfriend of a gentleman gangster, who has been stood up one too many times.

Ray had given me a key a few months before, during dinner at our favorite steakhouse – his backyard. We’d been celebrating 6 months together, and he’d handed me a small wrapped box, with a pretty bow tied around it. He’d most likely used a ruler to get the paper and the ribbon exactly the sizes he needed, to make it look as perfect as possible. His perfectionism both drove me mad, and turned me on immensely.

My hands had been shaking, partly in fear – I was no near ready for any diamond rings – but Ray had given me a slight smile. “Don’t worry, darling”, he said. “Nothing near as serious as you’re worried it might be”. “You telling me we’re not serious, Raymond?”, I replied snarkily. “Just open it, love”, he said.

Inside the tiny packet lay a golden key. “It’s for the house”, Ray said. “I want you to be able to come and go as you please… Just don’t try to break in to any locked freezers”. I raised a brow at him. “Is this because you don’t like my flat?”, I asked. “I know you have issues with council estates…”. “You spend most nights here anyway”, Ray said. “Look, I’m not asking you to move in… Unless you want to of course”. I laughed at his amused expression. “You wouldn’t last a week with me in the house!”, I said. “First time I use the wrong glass for red wine, or leave water stains on the bathroom mirror; you’ll go mad”. Ray blinked – his little adorable tick. “No, I won’t”. I tugged at his beard, and smiled. “Yes you will”.

Ray pressed the key into my hand. “Just… keep this, alright? The house feels more like a home when you’re here”. I leaned towards him, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I didn’t get you anything…”, I blushed. “That’s alright”, Ray smiled. “You can give me head in the shower later”.

I had used the key on more than one occasion – admittedly preferring Ray’s more comfortable bed to my own lumpy mattress in my one-bedroom rental. And both Ray and me had enjoyed when I’d been waiting for him in it, naked and ready to help him relax after a tense day of whatever it was Mickey had him doing all over London. Tonight, my plan was different.

Ray had cancelled four dates in a row, just as I was about to leave the house. He’d call just as I would be about to put on my shoes. “I’m so sorry, love. Work ran late. I’ll have Bunny pick you up, drop you at the house, yeah?”. And once again, I’d end up waiting for Raymond in his house, in my pretty dress; until he’d show up – an hour later – with a bouquet of roses or a pair of earrings too expensive for the queen, takeout from some fancy restaurant; and an apologetic smile on his face.

I was beginning to wonder whether Ray didn’t want to be in public with me. I wasn’t the kind if woman he’d usually meet while wining and dining lords and ladies all over England. Maybe my teacher’s salary and fondness of things like public transport – he’d practically begged me to let him get me a car, which I’d declined vehemently – was becoming too lower class to him. I decided to challenge him on it – and maybe, just maybe, I wanted to punish Ray just a little bit, for cancelling our plans for the hundredth time.

This time, I was ready. Ray called, on cue, just as I was about to slip on my shoes. “I’m so sorry, love…”, he began. “It’s alright, Ray. I understand”, I said. “I’ll pick up dinner on the way”. Ray paused for a moment. “I don’t want you waiting in some restaurant alone”, he said. “Don’t worry, babe. Bunny will be there”, I replied. “Tell you what. You can pick up the wine”. “Ripasso?”. I heard the smile in his voice. “You know me, I’m not choosey. Just make it red”, I said. “See you soon”, Ray said, and with after a few more warm words, we said goodbye, and hung up.

Bunny gave me large grin as I jumped into the back seat of the large Mercedes, dressed in leggings, a hoodie, and a smug expression. “Hello, Bunny”, I said. “We need to make a stop”. “Of course, miss. Where?”, he asked. “McDonalds drive-through”, I said. Bunny’s smile became impossibly bigger. “Ray is in for it, isn’t he…?”, he asked. “You fucking know it”, I smiled, and leaned back in my seat.

Once inside the house, I began my preparations. My first stop after kicking off my shoes and setting down the bag of food in the kitchen, was in Rays closet. I checked to see Fletcher wasn’t hiding in it, as he’d done once before; and then went through the collection of shirts. I chose a white Armani, shrugged of my hoodie; and put it on. For an extra touch, I left the closet door open, mussed up the sheets on the bed, and threw the duvet and a pillow on the floor. Next up was the bathroom. I opened the lid to the toilet, washed up – making sure to spray some water on the mirror – and dropped the towel on the floor, once I’d wiped my hands.

I dropped my hoodie on a chair in the hallway, and made my way to the kitchen. Being a big fan of Rays espresso machine, I made myself an americano, poured it into a tea mug – drank half of it – and left the mug in the sink. I took out two plates, carrying them over to the coffee table. I chose the actual silver silverware from the drawer, and put it by the plates.

With a few final touches, and after touching up my makeup, I sat down in one of leather recliners, and put my feet up – waiting for Raymond to come home. It wasn’t long before I heard his keys turn in the lock, and I readied myself for a potential catastrophe. I heard his footsteps in the hallway, and got up to stand. “Darling?”, he called out. “Something smells… deep fried”. I heard him stumble for a moment, probably over my sneakers on the floor. “I’m in here”, I said, and went to meet him in the kitchen – knowing his usual route when he got home.

Ray looked as dapper as ever, in a tweed jacket, a vest, and a pair of dark grey slacks. He looked mildly annoyed about having tripped over my shoes; and was holding a bottle of wine in one hand, and a wrapped box from Selfridges. When he saw my relaxed attire, he looked confused.

“I love when you wear my shirts, but that’s…”. “Armani. I know", I said, and tugged at it. “It’s very comfortable“.

Ray shrugged, put down the wine, went over to slip an arm around me, and kissed me deeply. I was finding it difficult to keep my composure, as I stood pressed against his firm frame; and inhaled his scent. “I brought you something… to apologize", he said, and handed me the beautifully adorned box. “You didn’t have to, Ray", I said, and suppressed the urge to open it; in stead tossing it on the kitchen island. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, and I kissed his cheek. “Dinner’s ready. Go wash up". Raymond stole another kiss, and squeezed my bottom, before going back out into the hallway, and towards the bathroom.

“Is this your sweater in the hallway?”, Ray called out to me, as he passed it. “Probably”, I responded. “You don’t usually wear hoodies”. “You could hang it…”, he said. “Never mind, I’ll do it”. I smiled to myself, imagining his grumpy face as he hung my 15 quid hoodie, next to his own Burberry trench on the coatrack.

Once Ray returned from the bathroom, I was sipping some of the delicious red wine, from one of the cognac glasses. Ray didn’t say a word about the state I’d left his bathroom in, but he did twitch at my choice of glass. “Something wrong?”, I asked sweetly. “Nothing at all”, he said, and tried for a smile. I handed him a glass of his own, and he struggled with not holding it in his palm, as he would have, had it been filled with brandy. I clinked my glass to his, and smiled. “Everything alright with work? What made you late?”, I asked. “A meeting with some people… Nothing that would interest you”, Raymond said, and turned towards the counter, noticing the half full mug of coffee in the sink. “I’m happy you’re making yourself at home”, he grunted, and peeked out the corner of his eyes at me. “Well, you told me to…”, I said, and linked my fingers with his.

Rays eyes twinkled, and he leaned in for another kiss; parting his lips, to deepen it. His tongue probed for entry to my mouth, but I pulled back. “Let’s eat”, I said, and walked towards the living room area. “I’ll set the table”, Ray said. “I already did”, I smiled. He looked confusedly at the dining table. “We eating outside?”, he asked. “No. I set us up over here”, I said casually, and threw myself on the couch; patting the seat next to me. Ray looked flabbergasted. “I have this lovely dining table…”, he tried. “Bring the wine”, I said, ignoring his words.

Ray sat down next to me, and filled my glass. I picked up the paper bag of food, and began distributing burgers and fries on the plates. “I got chili cheese tops and chicken wings as well”, I said. “Eat up”. I picked up the knife and fork, and began cutting into my burger. “That’s a … salad fork”, Ray said, his voice choked. “There’s salad in the burger”, I shrugged. Ray looked at me incredulously, as I dipped a few fries in my ketchup, and then – deliberately – let some of it fall and stain his shirt I was wearing. “Woops”, I said, and grabbed a napkin, beginning to dab at the stain. “Fuck, darling. That’s dry clean only!”, Ray sighed. “I’ll get it out… maybe some bleach”, I said. His eyes widened.

“What’s going on with you?”, he asked. “Nothing", I said, feigning confusion. I took a big bite from my burger, using the silver salad fork to put it there. “Yum". Ray took the fork from me, just as I was about to take another bite. “What are you doing?", I frowned “Why are you testing me?”, he demanded. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, babe", I said. “I’m just enjoying a date with my darling”. “In a stained Armani shirt, and leggings?”, Raymond said. I shrugged. “It wasn’t like we were going out anyway". “I had reservations at…”, he began. I blew a raspberry at him, catching him completely of guard. “Like there was ever a chance we’d use those", I said.

Raymond’s eyes finally lit up in understanding. “You’re angry that I was late, and we had to change plans tonight". “Tonight?”, I sneered. “Try the last… five dates we were supposed to go on". Ray pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath. “I see… This isn’t how I’d seen the evening going either, love". “Sure it was", I said, getting up from the couch with my cognac glass of wine in hand. I took off my socks, and walked over towards the door to the yard. I opened it, and threw my socks outside. Ray got up behind me, in shock. “Its fine, really. I don’t mind the fact that you don’t want to be seen in public with me. That I’m not worth enough to be taken out somewhere nice”. Using a chair as a step, I walked onto the dining table, and made a little catwalk back and forth. Ray looked equal parts terrified, astounded and enraged. “This way, I can show you how truly at home I feel here".

“Please get off the table", he croaked. “No”, I said, taking a sip of my wine. “Please", Ray tried again, obviously trying to control himself. “Not happening", I said. I stopped my leisure stroll back and forth, and looked Raymond square in the face. We were both quiet, and it was like a standoff in one of those old western movies. “Get off the fucking table, or else…”, Ray said, patience clearly wearing thin. “Or else… what?”, I challenged him.

Though enjoying my little game, I was also beginning to fear that I was digging myself into a bigger hole than I could get out of. Raymond’s eyes were on fire, but I thought I could see something behind the rage – something quite intriguing. I decided to keep my game going. Either Ray would kick me out on my ass, or something else would happen; something much more fun. Either way, I’d have some sort if closure. “I will spank you six ways from Sunday", he said. I hadn’t expected that. “Is that a promise?”, I asked, not sounding remotely as confident as I’d hoped to.

As I lifted the glass to my lips again – all the time keeping my eyes on Ray’s – I shifted my fingers, so that I was palming it in my hand. Ray blinked again, twitching from my teasing.

Suddenly he made a jolt forwards, as if launching himself at me, and I almost fell of the table as I stumbled backwards. Looking down myself, I realized some of the red wine had splashed onto his shirt. “You made me spill my wine!”, I said. “Last fucking chance, darling”, Ray said, walking towards me; almost on the prowl. “We gonna dance now?”, I said. I walked to the middle of the table again – downed my drink – and used my toes to push the bowl of fruit towards the edge. Ray caught it just as it toppled over.

He walked over to the kitchen island, put down the bowl, and calmly took of his jacket; before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He walked over to the head of the table, cleared his throat; and set down his palms on it – his eyes dark. “Right. This is going to hurt me more than it will you”, he declared, before pouncing on me; catching my legs, and throwing me over his shoulder. He gave me a hard spank over the ass. “Will you behave now?”. “No!”, I yelled. He set me down, and turned me around by the shoulders; forcing my upper body down over the table, with a hand pressed down between my shoulder blades. I could honestly say I’d never been more turned on in my life.

“I asked you nicely, and you still acted like an imp”, he said. He used his free hand to pull down my leggings, exposing my panty-clad bottom; and as I kicked my legs, he removed them completely. “Impish behavior demands punishment”. He delivered a hard smack on my left cheek. “Ow!”, I yelled, trying to wrestle myself away from him. “You’re spanking me like a child, now?”. Ray leaned to hold me down with his whole arm. “Well, if you’re going to behave like a child…”, Ray said, and spanked my right cheek. His hand rubbed over my skin afterwards, almost soothingly. “You’re the one who should be punished!”, I growled. “You’ve been cancelling all our plans lately”. Ray spanked me on the left cheek again. “That’s what you’re doing? Punishing me?”, he asked. He gave my right cheek another smack. “When all I’m doing is keeping you happy… getting you flowers and presents; telling you to make yourself at home in this nice house… Oh, no; love. I’m a fucking prince to you”. “Yeah, I’m really feeling my princess Di fantasy here!”, I scoffed.

Raymond began spanking both my cheeks in turn. I let out yelps and whimpers at each hit; as they sent signals straight to my core. “This is for the silverware (smack)… This is for throwing the towel on the floor (smack)… For the glasses (smack)… For leaving your shoes about for me to trip over (smack)… And this (smack), is for walking all over my dining table on your bare feet (smack)…”. I was struggling in vain to get free; and at the same time wanted this torture to never end. His fingers ghosted my covered folds, and I drew in a short breath. Ray pulled me up to stand, and raised a brow, as he looked down at me. “Now, will you behave?”. “Not in a million fucking years”, I said.

Before he could catch me, I sprang towards the kitchen island, crawling on to it. Ray caught my ankle, but I managed to get free; and got down on the other side – the island now a barrier between us. I smiled wickedly. I grabbed the half full mug form the sink, and held it up as to spray the coffee at him. “Careful, Raymond. I know how you dislike getting dirty”, I smirked. “I’ll show you how fucking dirty I can get, babe", Ray growled, and sprang over the island, making me drop the mug back into the sink in pure shock.

Ray pulled me into his arms, pinning my arms down at my sides, and attacking my lips with a feverish kiss. I didn’t struggle now; my body responding by completely giving in to lust. After a moment of passionately kissing me, Ray let me go; and ripped open the shirt. “You ruined my shirt”, he growled, and pulled it off me; leaving me in my bra and panties. He was still impeccably dressed himself. The mix of his warm body and the cool fabric of his vest pressing against my naked skin was heaven. I began leaning against Ray, and bit my lip with a smirk. He shook his head. “You want to use things the way they’re not supposed to be used? Fine. Get your ass on that counter”.

My jaw dropped. Sex with Raymond was always thrilling, and we’d enjoyed these sessions, not only in his – and a few times my – bed, the backseat of his car, and in the shower; but also, one time in a fitting room, where Ray had come with me to help chose a dress for a job interview at a private school. I made the mistake of bending over with my back to him; and suddenly found myself pressed against the wall, with Ray covering my mouth with his hand, to muffle my moaning as he screwed me into oblivion. I hadn’t gotten the job, but I did gain a memory for life. In spite of this, we’d never had sex in his kitchen. Ray had this obsession with keeping everything in his home as it should be, and I had a feeling that it might be because he needed to control at least some things in his otherwise quite unpredictable life.

I gave myself a second to feel bad for having disrupted his perfect home base; before he lifted me up to sit on the kitchen island. He snatched a pair of scissors out of a drawer, pulled out the fabric of my panties, and cutting through them at my hips. “You bought me these!”, I said. “I don’t care”, he growled. “I’ll get you some new ones”. He ripped the ruined panties of me, and looked down at the apex of my thighs. The cool wooden surface against my bottom made the sting from the spanking subdue, and I shifted to get more comfortable. The moment seemed to drag out forever, as Ray just looked at me. He took a deep breath. “Don’t move”.

Ray left the room for a moment, and then returned; having poured himself a proper glass of probably very expensive scotch. Leaning back against the counter opposite me, crossing his legs; he took a sip of the drink, and commenced his staring at me. “I have to say, that is the most appetizing piece of meat laid out in my kitchen in a long time”, he said. “Ray…”, I said, feeling myself melt under his gaze. A wicked smile ghosted his face, when suddenly his phone buzzed in his pocket. He leisurely took it out, and picked up the call.

“Yes?... Handled it this morning. Meeting’s set up for tomorrow afternoon… No, you didn’t interrupt anything, boss. Just preparing dinner…”. He began strolling calmly around the kitchen, and I didn’t dare move. “I was about to ask her, but she’s a bit preoccupied at the moment… I’m sure she’d love to, count on us…”. He took another sip of his scotch, and then held the glass to my lips; seemingly for me to taste. As I opened my mouth, he pulled the glass back, and dribbled some of the amber liquid down my chest instead. I frowned, and parted my lips to speak; but Ray set down the glass, and held a finger to my lips. “Will we be needing extra security…? I’ll take care of it… Yes, of course, I’ll wait…”.

With the phone still to his ear, Raymond licked the trail of scotch on my skin, from my collarbone, down to the top of my breast. My breath hitched at the sensation of his hot tongue. Just as he was about to move the cup of my bra down, to go for my nipple, he stepped back again. “Yes, I’m here… Did he…? Well, he’s a right cunt, but consider it handled… I’ll keep you in the loop. Goodnight, boss. Give my best to Rosalind”.

He hung up the phone, and put it on the counter next to me. His fingertips travelled over my thighs; avoiding my warmth. “Sorry about that, but you know how it is”, he said. “Now where were we…?”. “You were wasting a 1000-pound scotch on my tits”, I jeered. “1500”, Ray said. “And I wouldn’t call it wasted”. He took another sip of the scotch, but before he swallowed it, he put his lips to mine; letting me have a taste. “What was that about you not being worth enough? I usually don’t baste my meat in expensive whiskey”.

He put his hands on my ass, and made me scoot forwards on the counter. His fingers travelled down my belly, and finally met my folds; dipping in between them. I drew in a ragged breath, as he slid his fingers up and down. “Let’s have a taste”, he said, and removed them again, putting them into his mouth. “Sweet, bit tangy, perfectly moist”. He dipped his fingers again, this time letting one of them dip in to the knuckle, and crook upwards. I threw my head back, and closed my eyes. He removed the finger again, and I groaned. “Quit with the games, Ray”, I complained. “You started this, love”, he said. “I’m just finishing it”. “Then, bloody finish it!”, I retorted.

Raymond stepped back, corrected his glasses, and clicked his tongue chidingly. “Now, now. No need to be greedy. We’ve got all night. As you said, dinner plans are out the window”, he said. “Fine. I wasn’t hungry anyway”, I said. He raised a brow at me. “No? Let’s see if we can wake that appetite”. He thrusted two fingers into me, and used his free hand to get me to lie back; before moving it down to brush against my clit. “Please…”, I whimpered. “Please, what? Forgive me, Ray? I’ll never be a brat again, Ray?”. He thrusted his fingers upwards, touching my sensitive spot inside, as he began rubbing circles on my nub. “No…”, I said, not wanting to give in. I struggled to keep my composure, but as Ray began thrusting harder, and stroked deliciously at me, I was soon too far gone to speak. “I’m…”. “That’s what I thought”, Ray said calmly. I clambered to hold on to something, put found nothing but a rolling pin; which fell to the floor, making a clanking sound to accompany my own cry of passion, as I came.

Ray gently withdrew his fingers, wiped them of in a handkerchief from his pocket; and took my hand for me to sit up. “All good?”, he asked, his face not giving away an ounce of emotion. His pants were giving away enough, though; as the bulge on the front of them had grown quite a bit. “Living room”, he ordered, and as I got off the counter, and walked towards the door, he turned around, and quickly washed the mug in the sink. “Tea mug for coffee. Honestly…”, I heard him mutter.

As I stood in the dimly lit living room alone, waiting, I shivered from the chill entering through the still open door to the back yard. “Ray?”, I called out. “Coming, darling”, he responded, and he came through the doorway; walking over to the patio door, and closing it. He gestured at me to get over to the couch. “Knees”. He was carrying the whiskey-glass, and refilled it. “Don’t I get one?”, I asked. “No… I said; knees”. He sat down on the couch, legs spread casually, and looked on, as I got down on my knees in front of him. The elitist machismo in the room, was thick enough to carve with a butter-knife. “How’s the appetite?”. “Getting there”, I admitted. “Well, bon apetit”, Ray said, and gestured towards his crotch.

I rested my elbows on his thighs, and unbuttoned his pants; pulling down the zipper. Ray made no move to help me unwrap his erection, so I went on to pull down the elastic of his boxer-briefs as well. He let out a silent grunt, when I wrapped my hand around him; and I smiled at his respond to my touch. I began stroking the velvety skin on his hardness; and Ray took a sip of his drink as he watched me. I stuck out my tongue, and flicked the tip over the sensitive spot under the head; before flattening it, and sucking him into my mouth. Ray tasted as good as he looked and smelled. A perfectly expensive taste, with an undertone of something animal – dangerous even. I bobbed my head up and down, hollowing my cheeks to make my pull on his penis tighter. Putting my hand into his bowers, I managed to get his testicles over the elastic as well. This made me able to massage them gently; rolling them in my palm the way I knew he liked.

My vagina was still sensitive from Rays former treatment, so when he leaned forwards, ran a hand down my back – between my cheeks – and slid a finger between my folds; I almost came from just that second of contact. Ray sat back again, and continued his viewing of my work on his cock. “Don’t stop on my account”, he said. I made a swallowing movement, and another stifled groan came from him. I hummed slightly; making vibrations to add to the sensation. I added pressure to his testicles, and felt them tighten in my hand. Apparently, Ray was even more impacted by my treatment, than his face gave of. I released him from my mouth with a pop, and smiled sweetly up at him. “Enjoying yourself, Raymond?”, I asked. He cupped my chin. “You know I am, darling”, he smiled. “But it seems to me, you are as well”. I nodded, and bit my lip.

I went back to sucking him off, while he finished his drink. I could tell he was struggling not to grab on to me, so I took his free hand, and put it on my head. At first, he simply ran his fingers through my hair; but then held on to it, and began controlling my movements. I let go of his testicles, and held on to his thighs, as I let him take charge of me. Ray led me to take him shallowly; then pressed me as far down as I could take him. After a few minutes, he couldn’t keep quiet anymore, and let out audible grunts and gasps, accompanied by a series of fuck, babe and that’s perfect, darling. With one final deep push, his cock twitched; and he came in my mouth – holding me there until he was completely finished. He let go of me, and I sat back on my heels; swallowing.

Ray took a moment to calm his breathing, before getting on his feet, and helping me to stand in front of him. He put himself back into his pants, and led me in front of him, towards the bedroom. I knew we’d end up there at some point; and suddenly felt a chill down my spine, when I remembered the state, I’d left the room in. Before he could open the door, I stopped him. “Ray… Uhm…”, I started. “What?”, he asked. “I sort of left a mess in there… The closet…”. “Fletcher wasn’t in it again, was he?”, Ray growled. “No, nothing like that…”, I said. He gently pushed me out of the way, and opened the door; stepping inside, and turning on the lights. “The fuck…”, he said from inside. I moved up behind him. “At least I didn’t spill ketchup on anything…”, I tried.

Ray began removing his vest and shirt, not saying a word all the while. I was worried – and at the same time hoping – that I was in for another spanking. I went to sit on the bed, and heard Ray open his belt behind me. “No", he said calmly. I turned to face him, and saw he was shedding his pants and boxer briefs. Undressed, Ray was no less regal. He might as well be wearing a dinner jacket, and holding a glass of port. As it was, he was naked as the day he was born, standing proud and fit. I sent a thankful thought to his personal trainer; or, Coach, as I knew him. Ray put his clothes in the hamper, removed his glasses, and placed them on the dresser in the spot he always did.

“Seeing as you’ve thrown half the bedding on the floor, we might as well start there”, he said. “But the bed is right there…”, I said, slipping an arm around his torso. I ran my hand up his chest, and back down, running my nails through Rays pubic hair – as always, well groomed, and blonde as his head. He raised a brow at me, and caught my wrist, as I was about to take a hold of his penis. “And the red wine glasses were right within reach too, but you still chose something else", he said. “You asked for this, love. Its upside down-day".

With a swoop of his arm, Ray had me on the floor, and he patted my hip to make me roll onto my stomach. Once there, he gave me hard smack over my bottom. “Lift", he ordered, and when I did, he took the pillow; putting it under my hips, so my ass was raised in the air, and my chest against the duvet covered floor. I looked back over my shoulder, and saw Ray kneeling behind me. The view of my bottom and wetness had made him hard again, within record time; and he stroked himself a few times, while he probed my entrance with his fingertips. Stroking my cheeks with his free hand, he then gave me one more hard spank. With a firm hold on himself and one of my hips, he pushed into me; bottoming out with the first thrust.

“Oh, my… fuck!”, I cried out. Ray stroked my back up and down gently, and then spanked me again. “I thought my spanking was over”, I whimpered. Ray leaned over me, to kiss my neck, and speak into my ear. “Why would I stop, when you keep making those delicious little squeaks every time I do?”. He smacked me one more time, and I whimpered loudly. “There we are".

He began moving his hips, the blunt tip of his cock rubbing perfectly against my front wall. I rolled my lower body, and with the pillow under my hips, my back was perfectly arched to make the sensation of Ray inside me more intense than ever. Ray kissed and nibbled at the sweet spot on my neck, as he moved in and out of me. “You taste better than a Big Mac, any day of the week”, he chuckled. His warm breath against my skin, sent small jolts to my warmth, and I moaned wantonly. I clenched the muscles in my tunnel around him; knowing that it was one of his favorites among my tricks. “Fuck, you know what that does to me, love…”, he croaked. I repeated the action, and Ray let out a choked moan.

He placed a hand on either side of me, and held himself up to thrust shallowly, before bottoming out again. I craved his closeness, and tried lifting my body to have his chest against my back; but Ray pushed me down. He took each of my wrists in one hand, holding them behind my back, and grabbed a handful of my hair – holding on tightly, as he forced me against the floor. I was completely at Raymond’s mercy in this position. I couldn’t move my arms, lift my back or my head; and he had placed his knees between mine – making it impossible for me to put my legs together. All this brute dominance, and his casual upper-crust demeanor, had me feeling like I was in sex-paradise.

He went back to shallow thrusts, and then one deep one, trying to make me reach my climax by stimulating my g-spot. Soon after, he was successful; heat rose from my feet and all through my body, and I felt my walls contract. I cried out in extasy. I heard Raymond groan, trying to hold back his own orgasm; apparently not finished with me yet.

After I’d settled around him, Ray pulled out. “I’d love to shag you in the backyard now, but its late, and cold; so, if you don’t mind, let’s go for the bed", he said. “That works", I agreed, though my body was still convulsing. Ray leaned down and left small kisses up my spine. “Do you need to stop?”, he asked softly. “No! Please…”, I pleaded. I managed, with Raymond’s help, to get onto the bed; my legs shaking, and breath ragged. Ray grabbed the pillow and duvet, and quickly made the bed up properly; an impressive feat, as my exhausted body was splayed out on it. He got under the duvet with me, and gently spread my legs, to lay between them.

Hooking a leg around Ray’s hips, I pulled him towards me. “I think you’ve learnt your lesson, now”, he smiled, and stroked my cheek gently. I put a hand behind his head, and lifted my head to catch his lips with my own. Our tongues stroked softly against each other, and I let out a content sigh. “Soft finish?”, I smiled. Ray lifted his head, and raised a brow at me. “Fuck no”, he declared.

Suddenly, both my knees were hooked over his shoulders, and he pushed into me with a groan. My eyes rolled back into my head, as Ray began thrusting hard and fast into me; without mercy. Every thrust felt like it reached the deepest parts of me. Gone was the well-groomed gentleman dom. Ray was a wild animal, his jaw clenched, and pupils blown. His hands were holding on to my breasts, making his arms force my thighs together. I was sure that I would have bruises on both my breasts and my thighs from his attack, could not give less of a fuck; from the extreme orgasm that was building in my core. Crying out wasn’t enough; I screamed Ray’s name so loud, I was sure his neighbors would show up with noise complaints. In his current state, I was convinced he’d probably meet them in the door naked, telling them to either get in and enjoy the show, or fuck right off.

I grabbed his biceps, and dug my nails into his skin, leaving my own marks on my lover. My legs stretched out, and every muscle in my body tightened, as I exploded. Ray growled from my walls tightening around him, and the pain my nails were surely bringing him. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes burrowing into mine. My orgasm was at its peak, and my voice hit a pitch I didn’t know it could. Ray kept thrusting, and the feeling was getting so intense, I was unsure whether or not I’d pass out before long. “Please… I… Too much!”, I whimpered; as my body was thrusted back and forth from Ray’s movements. “Almost, baby. Keep going…”, he growled.

Just as I began thinking this is it. I’m going to die from too much orgasming, Raymond pounded into me three final times, and came inside me with a roar.

I was shaking as Ray dropped my legs from his shoulders, kissed my unmoving lips; and pulled out of me. He laid down next to me, and gave a me a crooked smile. “You still with me?”, he chuckled. “I just came… a lot!”, I croaked. “I could tell…”, he said, and moved a lock of my hair out of my face. “You’ll be happy to know, that so did I”. I laughed hoarsely.

“I should get cleaned up, before I get cum all over your Egyptian cotton sheets”, I sighed. “Fuck it. They were on sale”, Ray shrugged. I shook my head in mock confusion. “Excuse me?”, I said. “You bought something on sale?”. “Just keep it between us, love”, he said, and pulled me close, to kiss me. I tugged at his bottom lip with my teeth. “I still have to go pee”, I said. I crawled out of the bed, and made my way towards the door. “Please put the towel back on the hook, when you’re done washing your hands”, he called after me. I smirked at him over my shoulder.

Once I’d finished my business, I made my way back to the bedroom. Ray had already fixed up the bed, and left his spare robe for me over a chair. Putting it on, I searched for him; finding him clearing up the mess I’d made around the house. I leaned against the doorway, watching him. “I’m sorry”, I lied. “No, you’re not”, he said. After having put the plates in the dishwasher, he walked over to me, taking my hand and pulling me with him, to sit down on the couch; where earlier he’d been enjoying my lips around his cock. “And as much as I enjoyed screwing you senseless just now, I’d like to know where all this came from”.

I looked down at our joined hands. ”You’ve been avoiding going out with me”, I said. “I know I don’t fit in to your posh lifestyle, but…”. “That’s what this was about? Getting back at me?”, he asked. “Partly”, I admitted. “And I suppose I wanted to… make you see what I’m really like. So, you could make a decision to either accept me, or…”. “Finish it”, Ray finished my sentence for me. I nodded.

He sighed deeply. “Darling… First of all, the fact that you don’t give a shit about which fork to use, and throw your clothes around, annoys the hell out of me; and makes me love you even more”. I met his eyes, and let out a short breath. Raymond had never used that word before. “Love…?”, I whispered. “Fuck yes, I love you”, he smiled. “And you not only fit in my life, you’d leave one hell of a hole, if you left. So no, I don’t want to finish it. You’re not getting rid of me by feeding me fast food, and throwing your socks in my yard”.

I frowned. “Then, why are you always working late? Cancelling our plans?”, I asked. “Well, that is the second part of this conversation, I suppose”, he said. “I knew we’d get here at some point, but I’ve been putting it off… You know what I do, isn’t exactly legal”. “Of course I do”, I said. “It’s not normal to sleep with a .48 in the drawer of your bedside table”. Ray brushed his thumb over my knuckles, and continued. “We’ve been having some issues with another… organization, in town”, he said. “They’ve been making some threatening moves… I’m worried, that of you’re seen with me, they’ll try to use you to get to me”. My jaw dropped. “As in… They’d kill me?”, I croaked. “I don’t think they’d go that far, but I’m not willing to take that chance”, Ray said firmly.

I took a few moments to think. “Ray… you can’t keep me locked up in this house”, I said. “I’m more than happy to do what you ask me to keep safe; but at some point, I’d like to get out… make all those posh cunts jealous of my arm candy”. I tugged gently at his beard, winking at him. “Who says you’re not the arm candy, darling?”, he smiled. “What, in my 20 quid H&M dresses, and worn shoes?”, I scoffed.

Ray stood up, and led me into the kitchen. He grabbed the wrapped box. “Actually, that’s why I got you this”, he said, and handed it to me. “Now, that was quite a bit more than 20 quid, but I’m sure you’ll look just as lovely in it, as you do in everything else you wear”. I blushed, and began unwrapping the box, opening the lid, to reveal a beautiful cocktail dress; in my exact size. “I don’t have anywhere to wear this!”, I said. “And it’s too expensive to keep at my flat. I’ll get robbed. I had to buy a lockbox for those earrings you got me”. “Michael has a birthday-party coming up next weekend. His wife will have my bollocks, if I don’t show; with a date”, Raymond said. “So, I can’t cancel on you this time”.

I took out the dress, and held it against me. “Bringing me as your date for your boss’ party… that’s pretty official, love”, I smiled. “It is, and it’s about time”, Ray responded. “And as far as where to store it…”. He tilted his head, and looked pleadingly. “Please leave that rat infested hell hole of a flat, and move in here permanently. I have to take a shower every time I come home from that place”. “It’s not that bad”, I said. “My next-door neighbor bakes me cookies every Christmas”. “And the one further down the hall, sells smack out of his trunk”, Ray retorted.

I bit my lip. “You really want me here? With my novelty mugs, and sneakers littering the hallway?”. “Absolutely”, Ray assured me. “Gives me ample opportunity to shag you on every surface we didn’t make it to tonight”. “Even the table in the backyard?”, I grinned. “We’ll have to make sure the grill isn’t so hot, you burn your perfect ass”, he said. “What do you say…?”. “Fuck it. Why not…?”.

Ray smiled warmly, and wrapped me in his arms. “Just for future reference; I prefer Burger King over Mickey D’s”.

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