#the dressing room scene and then them arriving here so single-minded

[booasaur]

Special Ops: Lioness - 1x07

#specialopslionessedit #special ops lioness #special ops: lioness #aaliyah amrohi #cruz manuelos #stephanie nur #laysla de oliveira #special ops lioness 1x07 #special ops lioness spoilers #aaliyah x cruz #femslash related stuff #muslim lgbt #god this ep was kind of perfect for what you'd expect at this stage of a spy/target story? #wow #it was hot it was heartbreaking #the conflict coming from cruz fully being into this #the dressing room scene and then them arriving here so single-minded #cruz scoping out the rooms and already taking her shoes off #aaliyah trying to be more patient but as soon as that door clicks the way she swings around #it's funny and sweet and sexy but so temporary :(

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter Seven

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (Nicknamed Poppy)

WC: 6600

Warning: 18+ Blog/Minors will be blocked; Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

A/N: We’ll, there’s a lot here. This week was draining with a teething/no sleeping babe— but I was determined to get this finished! I don’t have a lot to say, but I’m excited for this part of their story! Thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey again for her support and proofreading every week! And thank you to everyone who has continued to stick with these two dumb dumbs as they figure their shit out. Love you all!!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous/ Next

Breathe. 

In. 

Out. 

Dieter wills himself to regulate the adrenaline surging through him, it has his muscles tingling as its increasing levels spread through every pliable fiber. 

Breathe. 

In. 

Out. 

He takes in his surroundings, a steady attempt at grounding his mind, assuring him, keeping him present, giving him a chance to regain his composure. 

He Sees…

The ornate tile that dresses the front steps to your Spanish Revival home, the perfect backdrop to the ‘welcome’ mat that greets him the minute he arrives to your place. 

The sturdy wooden door attached to your home that keeps you protected, allowing you to live comfortably and securely without a bother from the outside world. 

The well maintained landscape, no real knowledge of the specific varieties of plants that decorate the front, he senses a low maintenance and drought tolerant feel— a few things he had never heard of until moving in with Diem. 

The way the sky begins to shift from its golden orange and purple hues to an even shade of deep blue as the sun tucks behind the horizon line, welcoming the stillness of the night. 

The way he is actively replaying an episodic memory of you from just an hour ago when you had joined him at Diem’s house to read over his lines for his upcoming movie role. 

*

“Are you sure you even want me doing this? I don’t know a single thing about acting. Can’t Diem help?? I don’t want to mess you up.” 

It’s been a few days since the Capri re-grand opening. And a few days since yours and Dieter’s almost kiss. 

There hasn’t really been a discussion on what had happened, or almost happened, only due to the fact that you hadn’t seen each other since Dieter had to leave to take Wren home. 

Now you find yourselves sitting in Diem’s living room, on opposite ends of her sectional couch, ignoring the residual heat that is currently reigniting as you both look over the scripts you’re each holding— alone together, zero distractions. 

“This scene is between two people who are navigating a new relationship, dancing around the sexual tension between them—“

The coincidence not lost on you. 

“So, there’s no fuckin’ way I’d read through this with my sister. And I doubt she’d want to anyways, she hates this kinda shit, so I don’t even bother.“

“Okay, I’ll try my best, but if I fuck up—“ 

“You’re not gonna fuck up. I highlighted your lines in pink, just focus on those and you’ll do fine. Besides, you’re a teacher— you read stories for a living, just think of it like you’re reading to your class.”

“Dieter, it says right here at the bottom of the page in bold type, ‘HER EYES CLOSE AT HIS TOUCH FOLLOWED BY LOW SENSUAL MOANS’— there’s no fucking way I can imagine myself reading this to my class.” 

You look up from the paper, his eyes already on you. You note the way his neck muscles flex as he swallows, the grip on his paper a little tighter— you’re not sure how you’re going to survive this. 

*

He touches…

The weight of his chip, the brass cool against his warm clammy skin, pulling it from his pocket, it sits heavy in his palm— a quick reminder that who he was doesn’t define him now. A few light tosses, before gripping it with his thumb and his forefinger, one last look before returning it to his pocket. 

The compact device that connects him to everything important to him in a single touch, his finger navigating back and forth between the home screen image of Wren and him eating donuts then to the text you had sent not long after leaving Diem’s house — Poppy💐- I have that easel ready, if you still want it. You’re more than welcome to come grab it — Then double checking the numbers on the house match the ones that you sent after he text back asking if he could come over tonight— a perfect match. 

The silky strands of his ruffled dark brown hair as he tries to tame his wild curls, the cottony fabric of his gray weathered shirt pulling at it in such a way so it drapes over him just right, the rough texture of his faded jeans against his sweaty hands as he rubs them several times over where they hug his thighs— a blind once over of his appearance. 

The way his hand skims over the velvety skin above your knee, the hem of your dress delicately dancing over his fingertips, the faint scar that now lives on the side of your thigh from a biking accident as a kid lays uneven under his gentle graze. 

*

“Is this okay?” 

Somewhere between shared lines, and fiery dialogue, Dieter finds himself sitting closer to you, his knee brushing against yours—hand so effortlessly placed on your thigh as he checks in with your comfort. 

“Y-yeah— it says ‘HIS HAND REACHES THE APEX BETWEEN HER THIGHS’, so she would know that his hand is moving up her leg—.” Your voice trembles as you try to concentrate on the words printed in bold on the current page. 

Looking up, you see Dieter’s focus solely on you, his folded script tucked between his leg and the couch cushion. 

“That’s not what I asked.” There's a deep husk to his voice, his movements halted as he draws your attention away from the pages and up to him. “Are you comfortable with this, not what the paper reads or act is telling us to do. Is this okay with you?” Your consent, regardless of what the characters are doing, his number one priority. 

“Y-yeah…” You murmur as you look down to where his hand is still subtly holding your leg. Your attention drawn back to his handsome face, placing your hand on top of his, encouraging him to continue his efforts. 

*

He hears…

The symphonic resonance of the nightfall harmonics drifts through in the crisp evening air, a modest breeze carries the lilt of the chirping crickets throughout the stilled neighborhood, the rustling of the leaves scattered and swirling across the sidewalk, the faint cries of coyote pups awaiting the arrival of their mother who’s been in search of a hearty meal. 

The way his heart beat reverberates against his eardrums, the thudding of his heart an emotive chorus, its pace evening out with each grounding thought. 

The way your breath catches, its auditory staccato floats through the air and nestles somewhere deep within his mind, storing its melodic rhythm away as an echoic file, never wanting to forget how it sounds. 

*

Dieter shifts himself forward, the crunch of the leather puckering as he settles a knee on the cushion, a hand gripping the back of the couch as he angles himself closer. 

The crackle of paper startles you, Dieter grabbing the crumbled heap of papers and tossing it over his shoulder, removing any distractions that might be bothering. 

Bit by bit you allow yourself to fall back onto the mound of decorative pillows in the corner of the couch. Dieter following your lead, keeping a close distance between you as he settled himself between your legs. 

“When is Diem going to be home?” You breathed, a warmth spreads through your body as you fixate on the fact that this is really happening. 

“Don’t know, at least an hour.”

A few loose curls fall into Dieter’s face, you lightly comb them back, the movements unhurried and attentive. Your fingers catching the frames of his glasses in the process, you gingerly remove them from his face, carefully tossing them to the side— producing your favorite lopsided grin from him. 

Dieter pauses to study every little detail of this moment— the flash of want in your eyes, the way your fingertips skim over and around his taut biceps, the deliberate way the tip of your tongue wets your bottom lip before it’s drawn in between your teeth, the way your lungs continue to fill with the air you’re both sharing— he’s never felt more alive than in this moment. 

*

He smells…

The night brings a refreshing scent of calmer air, the aromatic warmth of the citrus  groves meld with the fragrant lavender farms that accumulates throughout the day, the herbal aroma that triggers a distinct nostalgic smell of his childhood. 

The way your perfume mixes with your natural pheromones, the unmistakable notes of musky vanilla and orange blossom paired with your own unique scent stimulates his olfactory nerves, his spine tingling with pleasure as he breathes you in. 

*

Dieter takes his time, deliberate in his own way, he wants to take his time— savor the moment. 

He lowers himself down to the open space where your shoulder meets your neck— warm, delicate and inviting. 

You angle your head, allowing him more space to move, your hands wrapping themselves around his neck, twisting his hair between your fingers. 

Dieter places a soft tentative kiss to your shoulder, then slowly dragging the tip of his nose up the column of your neck, mindful of how responsive you are, nudging at your jaw before stopping.  

“You’re so fucking soft.”  His lips ghosting over your ear, voice honeyed and thick, his hand now situated on your bare hip, thumb toying with the seam of your underwear. 

You nuzzle into the side of his head, his scent provocative in the way you crave it immensely. The smokiness of the sandalwood and cedarwood compliment the spicy musk and floral base— it’s Dieter, wild and delicious. 

*

He tastes…

The ache for sustenance, a morsel of pleasure activates his taste buds, a palatable desire that he craves in hopes to fight off the hunger that plagues him. 

*

A fieriness burns through your body, causing you to lose all ability to properly handle the way Dieter is making you feel— ravenous. You need more, something substantial that satiates the emptiness and the yearning. 

The unfaltering look in his eyes, an unspoken feeling of infatuation that has you melting under his gaze. 

Dieter leans in, gradually closing the gap between his lips and yours, sparking the immediate surge of oxytocin actively flowing through your veins.

 His breath fanning across your lips, warm and minty, a brief remembrance of your almost kiss— several times over. 

This position offers a new approach, angle of motion, feeling the fullness of his bottom lip catch your top lip, your fingers gripping tightly to his hair in anticipation as the weight of his lips begin to slot gently over yours. 

*CLICK* 

“Dieter? I’m home!” Diem announces her arrival. 

Releasing the breath you were holding, grip loosened, warmth lifted— another moment gone. 

“Fuck me!” Dieter grumbles, his forehead falling to your shoulder, your chest vibrating with a silent laugh. 

Dieter places a kiss to your shoulder then pushes himself back from where he had been hovering over you seconds before, helping you to readjust the flowy fabric of your dress, a silent look to you asking “are you okay?”— you nod yes. 

His body slumps back into the cushioned backrest, head falling back as he pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away his annoyance at Diem’s horrible timing. 

“Oh! I didn’t realize you were here too, Poppy. I dropped Wren off for a playdate and picked up some dinner on the way home. You hungry?” 

“Umm, no I’m good. Actually, I’m going to head out. I’ve got— there’s some things I need to do. So, yeah— I’m gonna go.” 

You feel like two teenagers who were caught by the other’s parents. That awkwardness that looms over afterwards, not really knowing what to say or do. 

You give his leg a light squeeze, pulling his attention back from his sulking, propping himself up with his arms on his knees, grabbing your hand and returning the faint gesture. 

“I’ll text you later.” You mouthed to him before grabbing your items from the coffee table and making your way to the front door. 

“You still on for this Friday?” Diem asks you as she’s unboxing the pizzas she had picked up, arranging a few slices nicely on plates. 

“Yep— yeah! Friday is still good! See you later.” Your response short and to the point as you close the door behind you. 

Dieter can hear the rustling of the wrappers and then a stillness hangs in the air. His back is to where Diem is standing in the kitchen, but he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. 

“What?” 

“Why didn’t you mention she was coming over? I would have grabbed more food, we could have all hung out together.” 

“It was a last minute thing. I asked her to come read lines with me.” 

Diem rounds the couch and places the food on the coffee table, before sitting and making herself comfortable. 

“So… Did you finally kiss her?”

That gets a laugh from Dieter, face falling into his hands at the ridiculousness of Diem’s question. 

“No, I haven’t kissed her.” Tilting his head towards where she’s sitting, chin resting against his clasped hands. 

“Oh my god! You haven’t kissed her yet? What the hell, Dieter!”

“Trust me, it’s not for a lack of trying.” He assures her, picking at the toppings of his pizza slice that had fallen onto the plate. 

“I don’t get it. If you’ve been trying, then what’s stopping you from actually doing it?” 

“You are! Literally every chance I’ve taken, you stroll on in and fuckin’ cockblock me.”

“Wait— you’re blaming me for you not kissing her?” The shocked look on her face is priceless and equally hilarious. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely blaming you. You have the worst timing ever!” He laughed, because even as annoyed as he is, the whole situation is a little funny. 

*BUZZ* 

The vibration of his phone cuts into their conversation, a text from you pops up on to the screen, he swipes it open.

Poppy 💐- I have that easel ready, if you still want it. You’re more than welcome to come grab it. 

Uncle Dude - What’s your address? Be there in a few. 

He wipes his greasy fingers with a napkin then tossing it onto his forgotten pizza. He stands to his full height, placing his phone in his pocket and makes his way to the door. 

“Where are you going? I was going to turn on that one show we’ve been wanting to watch.”

“I’m— going out. Go ahead and start it without me.” He shouts as the door clicks closed behind him. 

*

Uncle Dude - What’s your address? Be there in a few. 

Poppy 💐- House number 402. White house on the left side of the street. See you soon!

The distance from your house to Diem’s is a short one, 3 minutes if you’re a fast Walker, 5-6 if you take your time. 

Dieter was on his way— to your house. 

You toss your phone onto the counter, and run to the bathroom. Not knowing how soon he was leaving after stating he’d be here in a few, didn’t leave you much time to freshen up. 

You literally just saw him, so you kept it simple a few swipes of deodorant, clean away any mascara flakes and opting for a fresh coat of chapstick instead of lipstick— less is more approach. 

2 minutes down. 

Running through the house, you do a quick once over, grabbing any loose items, out of place items or kind of embarrassing items and tossing them into your hall closet— making sure to snag your copy of ‘My Pleasure: An Intimate Guide to Loving Your Body and Having Great Sex’ off of the coffee table. 

4 minutes down. 

Heading into the kitchen— Maybe he’ll want something to drink? You grab two tall glasses and fill them with ice, sitting on the counter waiting to fill with whatever Dieter wants. 

5 minutes down. 

Nervously, you stare at the front door, your nervous tick of picking at your fingernails keeps your hands busy. Should I turn some music on? Should I have put on a little more perfume? Maybe I should have brushed my teeth? 

*Knock Knock Knock*

You grab for the door handle, pausing for a minute to take a deep breath, then cracking the door open to see Dieter standing on your front porch, hands in his pockets, casually looking down at his feet then up to you at the sound of the creaky door hinges— his face lights up instantly. 

“Hey! Hope you found it okay?” You can’t help the dopey smile that grows on your face. 

“No issues at all. Didn’t realize how close you lived this whole time.” He says, gesturing in the direction of Diem’s house. 

“Yeah, almost neighbors.” Your smirk is laced in flirtation, your head leaning against the edge of the door in the most 90s rom-com way. “You wanna come in?”

“Sure.” 

“Are you thirsty at all? I have sparkling and regular water, Diet Coke, and some beer— I haven’t made it to the store this week so I’m running low on things. I’ll be more prepared next time.” You ramble as you lead him into the kitchen, your nervous energy spiking just slightly. 

“I’m good for right now, thank you. So, there will be a next time?” He asks, observing the way you bite at your lower lip when he mentions the prospect of a “next time”.

“Yeah,” You shrug your shoulders, noting the way the corner of his mouth quirks up and the light flutter in your stomach that follows. “I think so, if that’s what you want?”

“Yes, definitely want that.”

There’s a beat of silence, sans the sounds of home— the tick of the clock, the clinking of ice falling into the tray, a faint sound of music coming from another room. 

“Oh! I—I have your jacket, I keep meaning to bring it over and then it would slip my mind…” Very much a lie, you were wearing it early this morning while you sipped your morning coffee, reading the latest chapter of ‘My Pleasure’… and you also might have worn it afterwards, when you needed a little— relief. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s totally fine. I mean, a little Birdie has been asking about it— it’s not a big deal.”

“Let me go grab it so I’m not tempted to hold it ransom for longer. Umm, help yourself to whatever. Then I can show you the easel, see if it’s something that will work for you.”

“Okay.” 

Dieter takes in your home, it’s very much you. 

Your love for plants extends inside, dozens of potted green plants, in varying shapes and sizes grace just your living room alone. 

There’s a hint of a modern flare to your style, clean lines and lots of wood, a very neutral aesthetic— most of the color living as art work on your walls. 

The art hanging throughout your home, he can only assume is your own. He’s drawn to the texture and the style of each painting— faint lines formed into human figures , landscapes resembling the world outside of these walls, and vivid abstract strokes of color adorn canvas everywhere he looks. 

A soft glow catches his eye and like a moth to a flame, he’s lured to a dimly lit room— your art studio. 

Large windows flank the walls, he imagines the natural light in the daytime is ideal in a space like this. 

Tattered empty tubes of acrylic paint, evidence of being overly pinched to extricate every last bit of paint, strewn across a large table against the wall. Empty glass food jars repurposed as storage for your massive collection of paint brushes, while spatulas and other painting instruments lay haphazardly across the tabletop. 

The table seems to double as a desk, once  light colored, now coated in layers of colorful dried paint drips and spills. He runs his fingers over the surface, a balance of smooth and irregular textures, imagining the years you’ve spent standing over this table deliberately colors and mixing new ones. 

Dieter thinks you must have been painting recently, a clear palette holds fresh dollops of paint in the center with a few experimental strokes on the side. He dips a finger into one of the little mounds, rubbing the emulsion between three fingers. It's cold and wet as it glides over his skin. 

The wall of windows behind him he finds an easel, it too covered in coats of paint— a newer canvas sits in the support bar, a rough sketch of something just barely visible. 

Next to where the easel rests, there are canvases  stacked neatly against the wall along the floor. He analyzes each painting with regard, taking in each deliberate stroke and use of color— intently connecting with the emotions you’ve experienced in creating each piece. 

He admires your tenacity. Through your long days of teaching at the school, little humans requiring so much of your attention for hours. To volunteering your time to help others explore their creativity at the gallery, planning and teaching weekly. And yet, you still find time to cater to your needs by doing something that makes your life more fulfilling, not allowing any roadblocks to deter your endeavors. 

There’s an ache in his chest, a deep reminder of how different his life could have been had he not been bound by the shackles of Hollywood and the dark world that surrounds it. 

Dieter had only ever dreamed of having such a space like this of his own, where he could chase a creative high and drown out the loud noises that followed him daily. 

Stopping his thoughts before they begin to spiral, he thinks back to a motivational speaker he listened in on while in rehab. There were a lot of valuable words shared during the speech, but he remembers the line that really stood out to him— even through the darkest moments and afflictions that overpowered all his memories and people closest to him, it didn’t mean he is less worthy of a good life, a great life, moving forward. 

Dieter realizes that with everything he’d lived through and how much hurt he had caused, he knows those things led him to this point in time— they led him to you. 

“I ended up washing it, read the care instructions on the tag so I wouldn’t fuck it up. I found some melted Kit-Kats in the pockets and a few condom wrappers— this jacket has definitely seen some things…” You stop talking when you realize you’re met with an empty room, Dieter not where you had left him. “Dieter?” 

There’s a slight movement that pulls your attention in the direction of your studio. 

You find Dieter standing in the center of the room, the flicker from a burning candle emits a diffused light, washing his sharp features in a soft glow. There’s almost a pensiveness to his expression, hands tucked in his pockets lost in his thoughts, you watch him quietly take in the room around him. 

“I see you helped yourself to a house tour.” You announce your presence as you enter the room, placing his jacket on the overstuffed chair in the corner then turning around to walk in the direction of your large art table, the skirt of your dress shifting from side to side as you walk. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep—“ He starts to apologize, realizing you both hadn’t set any boundaries with each other. 

“It’s fine, I’m just messing with you. I hid all my incriminating things already.” You joke, but there’s something about him that makes you feel like you don’t have to be guarded. 

“Are these for your showing?” He asks, pointing to the canvases he had just been studying. 

“Yeah,” You say as you turn to face him, lean back against the table. “They’re all pretty much done— I’ll probably fine tune some things before the big day.”

“Can I ask what they represent?? I can see two figures— a man and a woman in some sort of intimate setting. I see the woman is fully fleshed out in color with distinct features, similar to your own— but the man looks like a shadowed figure, starting out blank, then slowly gaining color and personality in each painting— like an evolution of some sort. But what’s the narrative behind them?” 

The way he’s analyzing your work, makes you feel even more captivated by him. 

“I was having this dream— a nightmare maybe? For weeks, it would come to me every night, always starting out in the same way. I would feel him all around me— his hands, lips, everything. I would try to speak to him, but he would never respond, and I could never see his face, didn’t know who he was. Then he would vanish, like I had lost him and I would wake up in a panic. But as the weeks went on, it was like I could start to see him a little clearer…”

Dieter hangs on to your every word, he’s drawn in to your openness to share your thoughts so freely with him. He steps closer to where you’re standing, wanting to know more about these dreams. 

“Go on.” He says softly, encouraging you to share more details. 

“Some nights his face was a blur, but I could see his features, more clearly each night. And as his face became more visible over time, the dreams didn’t feel like I was losing him— it felt like I was gaining more of him. The last week or so, I can see his face— I know who he is.”

At some point in explaining the story behind your paintings, your eyes fell to the floor— the way he was watching you so intently felt overwhelming the closer he got. 

“Who is he?” He asks, placing two fingers under your chin to slowly lift your gaze up to him. 

“You.”

It’s a fierce softness in the way his mouth molds to yours, the gentle press of his lips is breathtaking— punching the air right from your lungs. 

His touch is meticulous and thoughtful, resting his hands on your bare thighs, fingers lightly graze over your soft skin leaving a trail of tiny goosebumps. 

Your hands snake up his body, settling back to where they were not so long ago— cupping the back of his head, slow drawn out scratches to his scalp. 

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against your mouth. 

“Y-yes— more than okay!” You breathe out— you’ve  literally dreamt of this moment. 

Experimentally you slowly swipe your tongue across his plump bottom lip, silently begging for a little more and he obliges, allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth. An equal exchange of feelings and yearning as the kiss alternates between a tangle of tongues and sweet pecks. 

Dieter pulls back, resting his forehead on yours, his breaths ragged puffs across your warm face.

“Why did you stop?” Your breath equally as ragged, chest heaving as you question his halted movements. 

“Be-because—“ His throat dry as he tries to regulate his breathing. “If we don’t stop, things will get— more serious.”

“I-I’m failing to see the problem in that.” You tease. 

“I don’t have any condoms— I didn’t think we’d get this far with our track record.” 

“I locked the door, after I let you in— didn’t want to chance any interruptions.” His chest vibrates with a soft chuckle at your response. “I’m clean and on the pill— but only if you’re comfortable.”

“I am, clean I mean— I’m clean, plus haven’t been with anyone in, well, awhile now. Might be a little rusty in all actuality.” He confesses, his thumbs still moving in sweeping motions over the tops of your thighs. “You sure you want this?”

“Very, very sure.�� You whisper against his lips, grabbing one of his hands and dragging it slowly up under your dress to the throbbing ache that has settled between your legs since he started kissing you. 

“Fuck!” His eyes flutter shut at the sensation of your bare cunt, nearly choking on air— his fingers start to tentatively swipe through your wet folds, watching as your eyes start to roll back in pleasure. 

“I thought I had felt some kind of underwear earlier?” He asks, as his fingers coated in your slick start to draw lazy circles over your sensitive clit. 

“Ah!— I-I did. But I was so keyed up when I — left, I came home and had to— Oh! I had to— Fuck I can’t think straight when you’re doing that!” 

“Did you come home and touch yourself?”

“Yessss— Oh god!” You whine breathlessly as two of his fingers enter your heated core, remnants of your earlier orgasm fully welcoming him. 

“You’re so perfect.” He exclaimed,

his free hand cupping your face, keeping you close, his thumb lightly tracing across your lower lip. 

His two fingers continue to move in and out of you, working up so effortlessly. He presses a long slow kiss to your lips, followed by a few short light ones. 

You can feel yourself moving closer to the edge, there’s a tingle running down your spine, converging with the fire that’s beginning to break within you. Your velvety walls begin to flutter around Dieter’s fingers,  prompting him to kiss you a little deeper and it’s just the push you need. 

“Oh my god! I’m gonna come—“ Your body begins to shake, your hands slamming done on your table— paint splattering into the air. 

It’s an inferno of ecstasy blazing through your body, you wrap your arms around Dieter’s waist, clinging to him as you ride it out— letting the embers cool down. 

Without a single breath, you grab for the button on Dieter’s jeans as he tries to pull at the straps of your dress. It’s a jumbled mess of limbs, but finally working in tandem to rid each other of clothes. 

Dieter crowds you against the table, the edge digging into your lower back causing you to yelp. 

“Are you okay?” His eyes etched in concern, as he scans over your blissed out features. 

“Ye-yeah! The ta-table is digging.” You say, pointing to show him. 

He bends down to grab onto the back of your thighs. “Jump.” He says as he helps guide your naked body onto the table. 

His hands rest on the table as he leans in to kiss you again, unhurried as he licks into your mouth as he guides your body to lay down on the table. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, Poppy.” He says as he leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and over your chest, stopping and pressing his lips over the spot that he hopes to hold on to for a while— your heart. 

The gesture has your eyes welling up, blinking rapidly to fight them off. You feel so completely overwhelmed by him, you have to actively stop yourself from telling him how in love you are with him. 

He lifts himself off of you just enough to reach between the two of you, giving his cock a few hasty strokes before notching its weeping head at your entrance. 

“Fuck!” He gasps as he slowly pushes his full length into your warm cunt— the slightest ghosting of your climax now pulsing around him. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in as close to you as possible, silently begging him to move, but he grips onto your leg to halt your movements. 

“Wait— I need a minute otherwise this is going to be over before it even happens.” He says, resting his head on your sternum to give himself a moment. 

“Dieter, it’s fine. Just take what you need— I’m— I’m good.” You feel more than satisfied with the two orgasms you’ve already had, you just want to feel him. 

He slowly states to move his hips, several purposeful thrusts, wanting to savor the way you feel, the warmth already starting to bloom in his belly.

Dieter lifts himself off of you, sensing this new angle is pleasant based on how you start to arch your back off the table, his steady thrusts working you both up in a desired frenzy. 

“Fuuuuck, you feel like a dream., Poppy.” His voice is hoarse, glancing down to watch the way your arousal coats him, his hands gripping your waist as he thrusting into with a little more earnestness. 

“Dieter— I think I’m going to come again— oh god!!” You announced into the lust filled room, the tell-tale signs barreling through your body. 

You try to grab onto something, hands looking for something to anchor yourself to, Dieter too far away and too lost in his own pursuit— each thrust is a little deeper producing your muscles to tighten on their own accord. 

An unexpected swipe of Dieter’s thumb over your clit is blinding, sweet erotic sounds pouring from your mouth, hands slamming back onto the table, you're met with wetness, your brain registering where you are and that your hands are covered in paint. 

The thick emulsion is cold when it hits your skin, your nipples pebble at the sensation of the paint gliding over them, your hands kneading the weight of your breasts— paint building up between your fingers with each calculated squeeze, each roll of your nipple sends you closer to your third orgasm. 

You look up to see Dieter’s slack jawed expression, which only makes you emphasize your movements, giving him a little show. You’re arched back putting your chest on display, your hands working over your exposed skin covering your upper body in a rainbow of colors. 

“Oh shit— shitshitshitshit— I’m gonna— fuck!” The sight of you sets Dieter off, folding himself over the top of you, face nestled into the crook of your neck as his thrusts begin to falter at the way your cunt begins to contract around him. 

A gravelly moan against your damp skin and one final thrust, his hips still as he’s spilling into you. 

The room is still again. The faint scent of your oud and  sandalwood candle is overpowered by the sex hazed aroma. Chests moving against each other simultaneously, lungs begging to properly breathe, skin slipping with each pull of air— this might become your favorite way to create art. 

A soft kiss to your shoulder  as Dieter lifts himself up into his forearms, resting his temple against your jaw to give his arms a chance to regain their strength before giving you a softer kiss to your lips. 

“That was—“ He’s still trying to regulate his breathing, words jumbled in his brain and not quite producing properly. 

“Amazing!” You finish his sentence for him. 

“Yeah— amazing.” He says, one more kiss because he doesn’t think he’s given you enough yet, then he’s slowly pulling out of you and helping you sit upright. 

“What a mess we made of ourselves.” You laugh as you examine both of your colorful torsos. 

“Worth it.” Dieter replied with a slight shrug and a quirky smile on his handsome face. 

“I’m going to go grab some stuff to clean us up. I’ll be right back.” 

Hopping off the table to head towards your bathroom, Dieter grabs you by the wrist, spinning you back towards him, your bodies flush against each once more as he gives you a toe curling kiss. 

“Alright, hurry back.” He says, giving your backside a few taps. 

*

You take a few minutes to freshen yourself up, wiping away as much of the paint as you can. 

Throwing on a clean pair of underwear and a loose shirt, the hardwood cool against your bare feet, you make your way back to your studio where you’re met with an unexpected sight when you get to the door, Dieter sitting in front of your easel where your last canvas sits. His naked body wrapped in his fuzzy coat, his brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moves around the canvas with a paint drenched brush. 

You take a moment to just watch him, leaning into the door frame, watching how he looks so relaxed and happy. 

“You snoop and you help yourself to my painting, you sir are a menace.” You jokingly say to him, it earns you a generous laugh. 

“Sorry, guess I’m two for two now. I saw you had it roughly sketched out and thought I’d paint you the way I see you.” He explained, leaning back into the small metal chair. 

“And how do you see me?” 

“Beautiful.” The word floats out and around you, its weight settling into that little space in your chest that has felt empty for so long. 

“That’s two times you’ve painted me now— I think those would be grounds for someone to fall in love.” You tease, but there’s truth wrapped up in your statement. Pushing yourself off the doorframe, making your way over to where he’s sitting. 

He places the brush in the glass of water, his hand reaching out for you to come closer, softly grabbing at your hips he’s pulling you down so you’re straddling his lap— fully aware he’s  still naked and covered in paint under his jacket. 

“Do you?” He has to know if you’re feeling the same way as him. “Do you, love me?” 

“Yes.” Your voice a little wobbly, your emotions bubbling up in your chest. 

But you do, you love him without a doubt and it’s the most terrifying and thrilling feeling you’ve experienced in a long time. 

“I love you too, Poppy.” He whispers to you, his eyes glossy as he fights back tears. 

“Why are you crying?” Wiping the single tear that has started to fall down his cheek. 

“I’m scared— that I’m going to fuck this up. And you’re going to resent me. And I’ll be back to where I was a year ago— alone.” 

Your heart nearly breaks at his confession. 

“That’s not going to happen though.” Brushing his wild hair away from his eyes, caressing his face and hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice. 

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t. But a wise man once told me— we’ll figure it out as we go.” 

His arm wraps around your waist as his other hand cups the back of your neck, bringing your face to his, your nose bumping into his. 

“I love you.” He breathes against your lips. 

And before you even have a chance to reciprocate, he’s kissing you with so much love and feeling. 

“Will you come? To see my showing on opening night?” You ask between feather-like kisses. 

“I wouldn’t miss it, Poppy.”

*

It’s a few hours later when Dieter walks through the front door of Diem’s house, ready for a shower and sleep. 

“You’re home late.” Diem’s voice sounds from the same spot on the couch he’d left her in. 

“Uh, yeah. Lost track of time.”

“Were you at Poppy’s?” She asks with herround of motherly questioning. 

“Yeah, I was. She had that easel, so I went to get it.”

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The easel.”

“Oh, I— I must have forgot it. We were talking, lost track of time. I’ll grab it another time. I’m gonna take a shower then head to bed. Night.” Hoping to throw her off his scent, the last thing he wants is to hear her boast about what you and him were up to. 

“Night. Oh hey, Dieter.”

“Yeah.” Turning back towards her. 

“Make sure you wash that cute hand print on your neck.” Her devilish grin beaming at him. 

He gives her a middle finger for good measure, then heads to the bathroom. 

Next

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #pedro pascal #dieter x poppy #wildemaven writes

[kennysboxergf]

Can you please write a smutty imagine with Niko. You and Niko are exes and you happen to be at the same party, and you’re dancing with other guys (could be sharky idm) to make him jealous and then you guys end up arguing and doing it 🤪

Better than him ~ Niko Omilana

You said Sharky but I went with Kenny hope u don’t mind girlie 😘 and sorry for the wait I hope it’s worth it 🫶🫶 this did end up being 2.5k I think

⚠️smut warning⚠️

—

You adjusted the strap of your black skin-tight dress. You had chosen this one specifically to fuck with one person at this party. Niko.

Damn bastard flirted with you, called you his girlfriend and fucked you good and then broke the relationship off 4 months in? Without giving you a single reason?

The worst part in all of this was that you were still friends with his friends so when Kenny extended an invitation to come party with him and the Beta Squad + extended team you accepted. You liked them all well enough, all of them except him.

You walked through the gates and heard the party was already in full roar, you had arrived 45 minutes-ish late, to keep the man guessing. You had figured he already knew you were coming, so it didn’t really matter when you showed up the night would go the same way. You would talk to and maybe dance with a few of his friends while he talked and danced with a few of his and the two of you stayed out of each other's ways.

So that’s what you did. 

Upon entering you walked straight up Darkest and asked him where you could get drinks. He smiled at you and led you to the makeshift bar. You poured yourself a quick soda and stood there, drinking and analysing the scene looking for a familiar face.

You noticed Chunkz and Sharky off to one side talking to Filly who was over exaggerating something or the other. You found AJ and Kenny in the middle of the room dancing their asses off to some random pop song and you noticed him with George on the sofas talking about something.

He hadn’t seemed to notice you yet, so you decided to make him. You chugged the rest of your drink and took a breath before walking up to the dance floor to join AJ and Kenny. AJ’s head was pointed to the floor as he did some rendition of an Irish jog or something similar but Kenny’s head popped up as he saw you approaching.

You extended a hand in his direction and he gladly grabbed onto it. You thought somewhere in the back of your mind that Kenny had always had something for you but you pushed it away as he pulled you in.

You tread carefully so as to not stumble over your own heels as you got closer to him. He said something along the lines of “Y/n! You’re here!” So you grinned and nodded in response.

The music was pumping loud so you had to get real close to the man to hear anything he was saying, and you might as well, because of course there was no one here who would get jealous right?

As his memory flooded into your mind you looked over in his direction to see him still chatting to George. You huffed in annoyance before putting your hand up and yelling, “DJ! Put on something sexy!” 

You rolled your hips as you said the last word and saw Kenny’s eyes trail down your body. This dress really did do wonders for your curves. 

You cheered as “Pillowtalk” by Zayn floated over the room. You sneaked a glance at Niko to see him finally looking back at you. Perfect.

You grabbed onto Kenny’s shoulders and leant in, “dance with me” you whisper yelled into his ear. You had never seen a man nod back so vigorously as his hands travelled onto your hips.

The two of you moved in sync with the beat. The innocent dancing quickly morphed into more and his hips came up to meet yours. You relented and at this point the two of you were borderline grinding on each other in the middle of this party. 

You looked over at Niko once more and saw him sitting there, clutching the sofa. His knuckles were turning white with the pressure and his face was set in a glare of jealousy. You caught his eye and winked and that ended up being the final straw.

You watched as he pushed himself off the chair and into the dance floor. You felt his hands on your arm and felt the chill as Kenny’s fell off your hips. You heard some shouts and threats but the anger boiling inside you was enough to muffle them.

This absolute scumbag! How dare he break up with you and then try to claim you like you were still his? You felt his hands burning into your wrist and pushed him off. While you had been too immersed in your thoughts he had dragged the two of you up the stairs and into his room.

The familiarity of the room only served to raise your anger and you yelled, “what the fuck?” at him. 

He huffed and you could see the same fire you felt flow through you burning behind his eyes. “You come here.” He starts, taking a step towards you, “and you decide you’re going to start acting like you’re some kind of-“

He trails off mid sentence but you’re not going to let him go with that. You take a step towards him now.

“Some kind of what?” You ask, pointing a finger in anger, “I’m a what, Niko?” 

He turned away from you, “nothing” he murmured.

You lean forward to grab his arm and turn him back around. His head was bent down to look at the floor. 

“Complete your fucking sentence, Omilana” you threaten as you bent over to meet his eyes.

As you entered his line of vision he popped his head back up. Avoiding any eye contacts

“Nothing, ok, y/n! It was a slip up, let it go!” He yelled, throwing his hands in the air and walking forward so he was behind you and didn’t have to look at your face anymore.

“I am not letting this just go” you say, emphasising your point with your hands, “first you drag me from the party, which by the way I was enjoying, and then you come up here and call me names?” 

“Yeah, I saw the way you were ‘enjoying’ the party” he muttered, his back still turned towards you.

You reached one arm up to grip at his shoulder and turn him around. He resisted your efforts so you went around him. The only space in front of him was on the bed so you climbed on. At this point you were on your knees on the bed to face him.

“Excuse you?” You say once you’re settled.

He turned his head to meet your eyes, “I saw the way Kenny was enjoying his night too” he spoke.

You gasped in offence, he really thought he had some sort of claim over you after your break up?

“I’m allowed to dance with people, Mr. possessive” 

“But like that?” He practically whined.

You narrowed your eyes in his direction. “You don’t own me.” 

“Look, yeah, I know that but-“ he trailed off.

“But what Niko?”

By now you had seen the elephant in the room. He wasn’t trying to get you to stop dancing with Kenny, he was trying to get you to dance with him again. And maybe, you were kind of into that idea but he wasn't earning that right back by just pulling you aside and starting an argument.

You adjusted yourself so you were leaning back on your hands on the bed, chest in full display in this already revealing dress.

You saw and heard him gulp as you did. His hands come up to meet each other as he starts fidgeting with his fingers. 

“But. What.” You repeat to get it through his horny mind right now.

You eyed his crotch and saw his dick already hardening in his pants.

“Fuck, you’re such a slut” he whispers, looking up at the ceiling.

“Excuse me?” You ask, that was not the answer you expected to come out of his mouth.

He pounced onto the bed, taking you down as his weight crashed down. The breath was pulled out of your lungs as you landed on your back with him on top of you, his hands on either side of your head.

He leaned down to kiss you, and you reciprocated begrudgingly. When he pulls away for breath you push your body up to get next to his ear.

“Better fuck me out like a slut to prove your point” you whisper into his ear.

Niko was never one to bow down from a challenge. 

He lets out a gasp at the words and pulls you into a sitting position to tug at your dress straps.

You raise an eyebrow, “why don’t you just lift it up?” 

He looks into your eyes with lust blown pupils, “wanna see you, all of you” 

You smile at his need but relented, reaching down to grab the end of your dress and pull it over your head. You watched as Niko’s eyes darted over your body, his mouth open in awe. The decision to skip the bra today was really pulling through for you.

“Are you gonna fuck me today or do I need to go to Kenny for that too?” You tease when he doesn’t move for a minute.

You see his eyes darken at the mention and he springs forward, knocking you back onto the bed (for the second time this night). You laugh at how easy it was to rile him up, the laughter only contributed to his anger as his hands worked double time at his belt.

Just as soon as you heard the whip of the belt as it flew off of him, his pants were down along with his boxers. You felt his hands grab onto your arms as he raised you up to the bed frame.

He holds up his belt in an unasked question but just as quickly discards it when you shake your head. You weren’t about to just let him have all the control after the shit he pulled today.

His hands grabbed onto the outsides of your thighs and made their way up to where the waist of your underwear lay. He slips two fingers into the waistband and tugs them down your legs, his movements are more gentle now as he slides them all the way off.

You watch as he leans towards your core but veers off towards your left knee. He leaves kisses up the inside of your thigh, skipping over the main event as he continues down your right thigh. You groan which eggs him on to continue. He repeats the same process once more.

The third time he starts at your left knee you’re prepared, as he’s passing over your cunt you reach forward to push his head down. He’s shocked at the action but stops himself before you get any more satisfaction.

You look down at him to see him grinning up at you from his position. The two of you hold eye contact for a minute before he goes back in between your legs. Your head falls back as he licks between your folds. Your back arches up to meet him as he licks at your pussy.

You feel the tip of his tongue at your clit and as he starts to kitten lick an overwhelming dose of pleasure to surges through your body. You moan Niko's name to which he chuckles adding extra sensation into you.

He pulls away when the chuckles evolve into laughter. 

You pout at the loss of sensation but mostly at whatever you did to send Niko into hysterics in the middle of eating you out.

When his laughter stops you ask, “why are you laughing?”

The smile is still present on his face but he leans in to kiss you, “just the noises you were making”

You look at him with furrowed brows.

He stumbled over his words to correct himself, “just the fact that I gotta be kinda good at this to get you moaning my name like that” 

You narrowed your eyes and leaned in to kiss him, “I could make you moan my name like that”

“I’d like to see you try” came the reply.

It was on.

You pointed towards the headboard and he held his hands up and moved there. Once he was situated with his back up against the headboard you climbed up and onto his lap.

With a hand on his chest you started to kiss him, his hands coming up around your waist. The two of you kissed on the bed for a good few minutes. When you felt he had somewhat let his guard down you made your move. 

Moving quickly, you positioned your hips over his dick. The man barely had time to process what was going on before you were sinking in. He let out a loud grunt at the movement and his hands tightened around your waist, you gasped at the pressure but continued until you were flush with his skin.

You build up slowly, starting with small hip circles and building up to almost bouncing off his cock with every move. The slow building of your rhythm mimicked the slow building of Niko’s noise level.

He was also increasingly more and more distraught as you bounced on his dick. His head was thrown back and his hands were clutching on tight to the bedsheets. You could tell that he was close to his climax which was just as well as you felt the pressure build in you.

He still hadn’t moaned your name the way you said he would and you wouldn’t stand for that.

You slowed your pace slightly, earning a whine from your ex as he pulled his head back to face you. You cupped his cheek and leaned into his ears to whisper “fuck me.” 

His whine turned into a moan of your name as he got the message. In urgency, he lifted you up and threw you down onto the bed, with you on your back he crawled over your wasting no time to slip himself back in.

It was less jarring this time around but you still gasped as his length filled you up. He continued the same pace you had set when you were riding him as he pounded you into the mattress. Your legs were pulled up to grant him better access.

He was ruthless as he chased both of your climaxes. You felt your walls tighten around him as you got closer and closer, a fact that drew deep grunts out of him. You came first with a loud moan which was the melody that ended it for him.

He pulled out of you and quickly jerked himself to the end onto your torso. You lay there recovering your breath and you felt the bed dip as he fell next to you. Sweat glistened on both of your bodies and you felt the warmth of his cum drying on your stomach but neither of you were in the mood to get up and clean just this instant.

“Got you to moan my name” you whispered through deep breaths.

“Fucked you better than Kenny ever could” he whispered back.

The two of you erupted into breathy laughter as the tension from earlier tonight dissipated into the darkness.

And if Kenny got a few bruises or a black eye or if the guys had noticed that the two of you got closer again you never heard about it.

—

AHH GIRL IM SCARED FOR THIS ONE TO COME OUT BUT I HOPE YALL LIKE IT

as always requests are open and please come by and say hi <3

#beta squad #niko omilana #niko x reader #niko x you #smut #king kenny

[mochi-marmalade]

Rose & Scar

ONE: The Rose

♡ series masterlist ♡

a/n: HERE WE GO royal guard!König x princess!reader 3.2k words chapter summary: you are assigned a personal guard, who you take a liking to. suddenly your days seem brighter warnings: language, slightly suggestive (?) 18+ MDNI

Exactly one week ago today, your father gifted you a personal guard. He had been handpicked by your father for your safety- after all you are a woman now. Father does little to conceal his distaste for your refusal to marry, but how can you marry when every suitor is so incredibly boring? They had no real interest in you anyway, many were pushed by their own royal parents or had come in hopes that you’d be a beautiful, complacent prospect. They were wrong. You turned down every single one of them. However… you cannot deny your liking for your new guard. He is quiet, but exudes an energy that demands respect. You know it is quite unbecoming for a princess to be in a situation like this, but nothing will come of it. You are sure that someday you’ll find a proper prince who actually wants to get to know you and court you. You hope. For now, you sit at your desk, head in hand, and look out the window at the scenery below. You are prone to getting lost in your thoughts and daydreaming, which you suppose you are doing right now. Instead you think you’ll ask for some tea. The door opens and you peek out into the long hallway. As usual, your guard is standing by your door. You call your handmaiden and return to your room while you wait for her to arrive. “You’re up early today, Your Highness.” She chimes as she walks in. 

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I’ve brought your breakfast along with some tea. Which dress will it be today?”

You say the first color that comes to mind, “A green one.” She dresses you in a soft sage green dress that flows to the ground. She slips shoes on your feet and powders your face lightly. “His Majesty expects to see you at lunch today. Have a wonderful day, Your Highness.” With that, she slips out the door. You eat your breakfast and drink your tea rather quickly. “Another boring day.” You sigh to yourself. Although you are certainly very lucky and grateful to live the life you have, it still comes with its downsides. Every day is the same, and you are nearly crushed with rigid rules and expectations. You manage, though. Closing the door behind you with a click, you tell your guard, “Come along.” As you two make the short walk to the library, you tell him about your plans to take drawing supplies and books. You’d like to flip through several romance novels and sketch different scenes, maybe it would give you something to do besides study. He follows along in silence. You push open the doors to the library and revel in your grand collection. You think there are probably thousands of books in here, and you’re glad to have access to them. You peruse the selection of books and pick out a few sappy romance novels, also taking a few sheets of blank paper and a sealed well of ink. “Is there anything you’d like?” You ask him. He doesn’t reply, but his icy blue eyes flicker to you. You wonder why he wears a mask. Maybe you’ll ask him someday. Slowly, your guard shakes his head, muttering, “Thank you, Your Highness.” You stare at him, merely processing the sound of his voice. You’re actually not sure you’ve ever heard it before, but it lingers in your mind and you wonder what accent he has. German, maybe. You’re at a loss for words so you nod at him in response, and walk back to your room. You sit at your desk for a while and draw scenes from books: lovers seated on the grass, holding hands and looking at each other. You sigh, wishing you could have this kind of relationship. Really, you have very few relationships at all, including your father and servants. Father. You check the clock, finding that it is five minutes before noon and exhale a sigh of relief. You exit your room to go to the dining hall, your guard close behind. You take a seat opposite your father and brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Hello, father.”

“Good afternoon, daughter. I’d like to discuss a few things.”

“Such as?”

“I have arranged a ball for you to find a suitor! In one month’s time, nobles and civilians of higher standing will be gathered to celebrate your belated birthday and offer their sons. Is it not wonderful?”

“Yes… Wonderful.” You exchange small talk for the rest of your meal, then you are excused. You do not want to attend a ball. In fact, you do not like the idea at all. An event like that will attract all the wrong people, but you pray that you’ll be shown otherwise. You are guided through your studies by teachers for the next few hours, until you are released for dinner. After eating alone, you return to your room. What a dreadfully boring day. You’ve established a habit of undressing yourself, and as you unlace your corset, you spy the stars through the window. Once changed into your nightgown, you inspect the night sky. You’ve always loved stars. Finally, you crawl into bed and drift off into a peaceful sleep. 

Stretching, you awaken to your handmaiden setting down your breakfast. “Thank you.” You yawn. 

“Shall I draw you a bath?” 

“Yes, I think I would like that.”

She scurries off to do that, and you dress into a robe. She returns and escorts you to the bath, followed by your guard. You’re painfully aware of his presence outside the bathroom door, but bathe in peace anyway. When you’re done, you put on your robe again and call your handmaiden. She escorts you back to your room and dresses you in a sky blue dress. “You look lovely, princess.” 

“Thank you, Sara.” 

“You’re quite welcome.”

She leaves, and your attention is turned to your desk. There lays a bright red rose, which you’re sure wasn’t there before. You pick it up and notice all the thorns have been clipped off. Who could have left this? Then you realize it’s probably a gift from another suitor. Although you appreciate the simplicity, you scoff at the thought. Perhaps, though… it wouldn’t hurt to put it in a vase. It seemed too cruel to throw it away. You unceremoniously toss your fake flowers out of a shimmery pink vase and take your vase to the bathroom to fill it with water. As your guard follows, his eyes never leave you. “Just, um, getting water for a flower. Probably from another stupid suitor.” His eyes flicker to the side. “What’s your name by the way?” You ask.

“König.” 

“That’s German, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you speak German then?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, your hands are wet and you notice the vase is overflowing. “Oh, shit.” You say to yourself. He huffs in amusement, to which you raise an eyebrow. König quickly straightens himself, “Apologies, Your Highness. I just… Didn’t expect someone of your standing to use such language.” Before you know it, you’re grinning at him, not expecting this answer. His eyes scan you and he asks, “Did I offend you, Your Highness? My deepest apologies, I didn’t-“

“No, no! It’s just funny.”

König’s eyes crinkle in what you think is a smile. You stare at him and find yourself absolutely unable to form any words. You turn on your heel and quickly return to your room, forgetting to close the door behind you. You place the rose in the vase, and see König peeking at you out of the corner of your eye. “It’s the flower I mentioned earlier.” He visibly stiffens, and asks, “From the suitor?”

“Yes, I often have suitors ask for my hand in marriage. It’s nauseating. None of them even want to get to know me, they just want to own me.”

He hums, and you look down at the pretty rose. “Would you like to go somewhere with me?” You ask. “I don’t have much of a choice, princess.” What an ass. You walk with him down to the garden, which may be your favorite part of the castle. You sit on a white stone bench and motion for him to do the same. He sits slowly and carefully. “Princess, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to do this.”

“Oh, hush, it’s not a crime to sit.”

He looks away. You sit in silence for a bit, treasuring the sunshine and sounds of chirping birds. Finally, you tell him, “I love the gardens. Have you been here before?” 

“Yes, princess.”

A part of you feels dejected, as if you wanted to be the one to show him the gardens. “I used to hide here when I didn’t want to bathe.” What are you even saying? “The servants hated it.” Why are you still talking? Finally, you manage to shut up, but instead of repulsed König almost looks amused. You feel your cheeks heating up, and look at the hydrangeas to your right. It must be hot out today. Leaning over, you pick a small flower and smell it. A smile is brought to your face by the soft, nostalgic scent. You hold it out to König, telling him, “It’s lily of the valley. My favorite flower.” He takes it and nods. He really isn’t much for words, is he? “I’m sorry,” You blurt out. “I feel as if I'm bothering you with all my questions and conversation.” Shaking his head, he replies, “Don’t be. It’s my job.” Your heart sinks like an anchor in your body. Right. It’s just his job, why would you think there would be any semblance of a friendship? He notices you looking down at your hands for far too long and places his own gloved hand on your shoulder. “Princess, are you okay?” 

“Yes, I’m quite fine, thank you.” 

He can’t help but feel as if he’s said something wrong. You look up at him with tear-glazed eyes and it damn near breaks his heart. “Are you really only talking to me ‘cause it’s your job?” You manage.

“No.”

You relax and sniff once more, not sure whether you should trust him or not. You barely know him, after all. You smile at him anyway, and he gives you some sort of look you can’t discern. “Shall we walk, princess?” His question surprises you. “Yes, I suppose we shall.” You hold the crook of his elbow, and his muscles seem to become rigid under your touch. It seems almost as if you can feel his sheer strength from the size of his biceps alone. Now that you think about it, he’s huge in general. You wonder what it’s like to be trapped under him, utterly powerless against his- You pat your face with your free hand and decide that’s quite enough. “Er- Princess, forgive my forwardness, but that’s quite inappropriate, is it not?” You turn to him and your eyes widen before you realize he’s talking about the fact you’re holding his arm. 

“Ah. Well, I am quite clumsy. Besides, is it not a form of chivalry? Do you mean that you have no respect for the princess, König?”

“Certainly not, Your Highness! I simply meant… Is it not a sign that we would be courting?” 

He says the last word in a low voice, almost a whisper. The way he says it is as if he could never think of the possibility of courting you, and it almost hurts you. Then you remember that it is, in fact, not a possibility. You are a princess and he is your guard, and it is nothing more. So why do you keep thinking of him this way? As if you could sit on the plush grass together, holding hands and reading poetry. As if you could press chaste kisses to his knuckles and lay his head in your lap, weaving your hands through his hair. You wonder what his hair even looks like. He always wears a helm carefully designed by you, along with a cloth mask that covers most of his face. Your handmaiden, Sara, had asked for you to sketch a new design for the royal guards’ armor, although it had actually only been used for your special, personal guard. You wonder if he ever felt as silly as he looked- a large, hulking man with dainty decals on his helm and a large sword strapped to his waist. “Princess?”

“Oh. Well, I don’t see it that way and you don’t either, so it doesn’t matter.”

“But you must keep up appearances, Your Highness.”

“And who would dare to argue with the crown princess?”

König falls silent, and begins to walk along with you. The two of you meander through the lush gardens, watching birds flitter by and bees buzz among the flowers. You pause for a second to pick a purple cosmos and place it between the strap of his baldric and his breastplate. Surprisingly, it stays. “Ah… Princess.” He mumbles. You laugh absentmindedly. If he didn’t look silly before, he certainly does now. “It suits you well, König.”

“Princess, I am aware that I am your personal guard, although I’d advise you to distance yourself from me. You’re hardly fit to be friends with a soldier.”

“According to whom? I do think I have a say in who I become friends with.”

“Of course, Your Highness. However, I think… If you knew what kinds of things I’d done…”

“And who says that it would matter, König? Who says that what you’d done in the past determines your happiness now?”

The two of you are locked in a stare, and the air feels electric. His eyes move, from your eyes to your cheeks to your lips. You can hardly keep your feelings inside, butterflies threatening to explode from your stomach at any moment. Finally, he looks away. “Let’s return to the castle, I feel a bit hungry.” You’re such a liar, but you can’t stand the tension. He nods and follows you back into the castle. You call Sara and ask her to bring you a snack, perhaps finger sandwiches and tea. She leaves to do so, and you begin to reflect on what just happened. Step by step, you walk yourself through the past hour. You and König walked through the garden, and you took his arm and told him he deserves happiness. With you. God, you’re an idiot. He definitely thinks you’re weird and maybe even knows that you have feelings. Today, you’ve done irreparable damage to your reputation and relationship with König. You should have kept your mouth shut, you should have never even invited him to sit with you. “Your Highness, I’ve returned with your tea.” 

“Thank you, Sara.”

“You’re welcome, Your Highness. Is… everything okay?”

“Yes. That will be all.”

“Then pardon my intrusion. Have a wonderful day.”

You nod to her, although you’re looking through the window with your head in your hand. The closest thing you’ve ever had to a friendship is already destroyed. Feeling nauseated, you wonder if you’ve ever had a friend. You scoff to yourself for even wondering, immediately knowing the answer is no. How will you ever fix this? Maybe you’ll apologize or tell him you were joking- no, you’ll ask for a new guard. This is truly a fine predicament. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll take a short nap and sleep this disgusting feeling off. 

When you awaken, you lift your head off of your crossed arms to find the sky completely dark. Your dress feels incredibly uncomfortable and you walk to your closet to change. Then you’re interrupted by your stomach growling. Perhaps you’ll just grab a quick snack, but how? The kitchens must be closed at this hour, and you don’t know where else to go. You’d also rather not wake Sara. Groaning, you think there’s only one reasonable option, and you’re not even sure it’s all that reasonable. You peek your head out the door and whisper, “König?” He’s very much awake and alert, and looks surprised that you’re awake too. “Princess, what are you doing up right now?”

“I’m hungry.” 

He stuffs his hand into a pouch strapped to his leg, and after fishing for a moment he pulls out a wrapped bar of some sort. He looks away nervously, and offers it to you. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness, this is all I have. I don’t think the kitchens are open, unless you want to wake your servants, I’m sure they’d be willing to-”

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

You take the bar from him and retreat to your bedroom. You eat it absentmindedly and change into your nightgown. It tastes pretty good, actually, like it has peanuts and some kind of dried berry. You’re fortunate enough to be the kind of person who can sleep anywhere, anytime, so you turn the lights off and climb into bed. You let your mind wander for a bit, but you’re eventually lulled to sleep by the soft light of the moon. 

The next week is dreadfully dull and you don’t have anything notable happen. However, you continue to have friendly conversations with König. You’d like to get to know more about him, but you wonder how much he’d actually tell you. He doesn’t seem to be the very trusting type, nor does he seem eager to tell anyone about his past. You go about daily life for who knows how long, but somehow everything is different. Things seem more fun, and you actually look forward to certain activities. You’d like to learn another language, but don’t want to go through the trouble of asking your father for another teacher. Besides, he carefully picks each of your studies and you doubt he’d let you give up a current subject for language. You sigh, picking at the plate of chicken in front of you. Maybe falconry would be interesting? You’re sure you could find a book about it in the library. A servant from the kitchen comes to check on you. He frowns when asking, “Is the chicken not to your liking, Your Highness?”

“Oh, no. It’s wonderful, I just don’t have much of an appetite.”

He nods and takes the plate, and you leave the massive, empty dining hall. As you’re walking through the long hallway, you wonder how long it’s been since your lunch with your father. You freeze, realizing it’s probably been a few weeks. Weeks. Which means the ball is drawing near. The feeling sets as a pit in your already upset stomach, and you sigh louder than you mean to. “Is there something wrong, princess?” Of course König has to ask.

“Ah, yeah. There’s just this thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course, the thing I’m obviously supposed to know about.” His voice drips with sarcasm, and you shoot him a glare. “It’s the ball, you fool.”

“Yeah, and I was supposed to know that. Isn’t that a good thing, though?”

“Well, it should be, but my father expects me to find a husband. Tomorrow. Within a few hours.”

“I see. Well, I wish you luck.”

“Thanks.” You scoff. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day.

#könig #könig x reader #x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod #cod mw2 #thank you for reading this far #:')

[rowretro]

𝕆𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, blood, name calling-ish (sissy), sexist views.

✧taglist✧:  @nikisdubblchococake @enhypensccstarlight @strawbsj @nikipedia07

✧CHAPTER 2✧

Not wanting to be called in by the school yet again, Sunoo thought he should drop y/n off, and get her in the school, making sure she avoided Riki, though it wasn’t that easy. If the 2 don’t physically fight, they use their words as weapons. Sometimes people can’t help but gasp at the things they say. Riki was just fixing his hair in his locker’s mirror. He smirked to himself, seeing just how perfect he looked in his reflection. He closed the locker, and there stood Jungwon, one of his best friends, who was just a year above him.

“You didn’t come to the race track last night” he simply said with a small frown as Riki rolled his eyes “I couldn’t. Sunoo caught me and he told Jay hyung. I can’t even bribe him like I did to Sunghoon-” Riki said, releasing a sigh as Jungwon shrugged. “I have a plan, tell him you’re hanging out with Jake and me, and then Jake will take us there, you’re a prom biker y’know?” Jungwon asked as Riki’s little cocky smirk made its way back to his lips again. “Of course I know that… those shits don’t stand a chance against me” he said as he sorted out his blazer.

Not too far from him was y/n, as the teacher stopped her, dress coding her for her skirt being only a few inches shorter than it’s supposed to be,  the high heels, which she never really changed, and for wearing a leather jacket in the building. The girl groaned, slipping it off as the teacher walked off, mumbling something. Riki walked to his lesson, not wanting to see her face. Oh his luck, she is in his lesson. She arrived a few minutes later, dropping her belongings by her seat before suddenly running out of the classroom.

Riki frowned at her actions, but then he noticed that actually, the whole classroom was empty, curious, Riki left the room, and looked out the window, his eyes doubling in size, shock written on his face. Sunoo was fighting someone. The Sunoo who lectures him on violence, the Sunoo who avoids any conflict of such, is brutally beating this man as if he committed the most devious crime ever, not too far from them stood y/n.

Originally, she wanted to pull Sunoo away, shocked and confused, but when she saw the man that he was hitting, she froze… her blood ran cold, Sunoo only stopped when he noticed the girl’s shirt was now stained deep red. Her nose was bleeding, her mind fuzzy, Sunoo dragged her to the nurse’s room before she could collapse. “Bro- did you see? Sunoo beat some 50 year old man up- he looked scary asf man-” Jungwon said as Riki frowned “What even happened?” he asked, as Jungwon shrugged. No one actually knew what happened.

The whole school lesson, y/n had been fairly silent, still talking to some of her friends, and causing a little chaos here and there. Riki observed her every move, wanting to piss her off, but he thought maybe it wasn’t the right time to do so. The school day ended and the girl left the building, not wanting to run into Riki. She hopped onto her motorbike and fled the school grounds before, even her best friend Danielle could notice. 

Upon arriving at the race grounds, things immediately felt dodgy. There were some men with the same tattoo that Sungchan had, speaking amongst themselves. Riki wasn’t daft, clearly they’re in a gang. But he knew he was in deep shit when he saw that white package within the man’s bag, Jake dragged him out of there as soon as he could, when they noticed the sketchy scene. “Just leave without making a single sound.” Jake whispered as Riki nodded, just as the 2 were about to leave… “Oi Nishimura. Track’s over here!” Sungchan yelled as Riki turned to face them, his face blank. 

Jake frowned as he saw how Riki didn’t even hesitate one bit, to make his way back to the track, Jake gripped onto his wrist, giving him a warning glare as Riki pulled him forth “Just trust me on this. Get on behind me yeah?” Riki simply asked as Jake sighed. It’s not like he had a choice anyway. Riki slipped into his driver’s seat, Jake wearing his belt as he turned to Riki. “Hold tight, we’re gonna fly.” Riki said, as he started the car. Within seconds, he was already in the lead, Jake gripping onto his seat, and the belt, for his life. Riki took a sudden turn, causing Jake to yelp. He was no longer on the track. 

 Riki fled the scene, into the highway, slowing down to a safer pace. Jake felt himself breathing normally again. Good god he never thought the maknae was this ruthless when it came to driving. “From now on I’m going to stick to Sunoo with this whole racing thing.” Jake said as the male rolled his eyes “Sunoo was beating up some old dude in front of the school this morning-” Riki said as Jake frowned, turning to him “Sunoo beating someone? That’s so unlike him… he’s a mf model, why would he do something so stupid?” Jake asked as the taller shrugged.

“Mr Nishimura, your son was caught speeding again…” Riki heard Mr Park say, he eavesdropped on the conversation, curious as to how his father would respond. “That worthless thing… just throw some cash at him he’ll stop.” The man simply said as Mr Park sighed. Riki frowned, walking to his room, slamming the door shut. Mrs Nishimura sighed, this was nothing new in the Nishimura household, Riki was always neglected by his father, since he was born, why you ask? Simply because he cried. Of course, to his father, men who cry are considered to be “sissys” 

✧𝕆𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪✧

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen ff #enha x reader #enhypen niki ff #enhypen niki #enhypen x reader #ni ki #riki nishimura x reader #nishimura niki #enhypen nishimura riki #engene #nishimura riki #riki nishimura #enhypen angst #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen niki angst #enhypen riki #ni ki enhypen #niki enhypen #mafia enhypen #mafia au #drug lord #bloody sweet #enhypen au #niki reaction

[lilacliquors]

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader

sweet or spicy: sweet

word count: 898

prompt: [  DANCING  ]: as they slow-dance together, the sender takes the opportunity to lean in close to the receiver and tell them that they love them.

notes: hi everyone! welcome to the sweet and spicy special for valentine's day 2024! we're starting off with some sweet fluffy goodness, so prepare for some spicy smutty tomorrow for day two!

and if you want to know the song i listened to while writing the dance scene, it's 'so close' from the enchanted soundtrack!

it wasn’t often you and miguel got a chance to go out, but when you did, it was always a wonderful time. this was no exception. the company he worked for, alchemax, was hosting a lavish party, and despite not wanting to go, employee presence was mandatory. whatever, this gave miguel the perfect opportunity to show you off, to show his coworkers that he had the loveliest partner in the world. so when he asked you to accompany him, you were more than eager to join. you loved these nights out, getting to dress up and spend the night out of your apartment.

when you arrived, the lobby of the hotel the party was being held in was stunning. glimmering white lights created a warm glow, and the room itself had a warm atmosphere. you were holding onto miguel’s arm, letting him lead you through the lobby to the ballroom, where you were greeted by a few of his colleagues. he was cordial, but you could see in his eyes that he’d rather be anywhere but there. he took two glasses of champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray, and he handed you one, which you took with a small smile.

“thanks, i needed this,” you said softly, trying for a mood-lifting joke. he allowed himself a smile of his own, and you two stood off to the side to sip your drinks. as other waiters passed by with trays of hor'dourves, you picked at a few, deciding to try some new foods. after all, miguel liked to remind you that it was on alchemax’s dime, why not enjoy yourself? he was happy to see you happy, and seeing you get dressed up was an added bonus, of course.

as the night continued, the hired band was playing upbeat song after upbeat song, and you found yourself swaying a little bit, tapping your foot, just letting the music take you away. miguel watched you for a moment, cracking another smile. you were adorable in his eyes, always living in the moment and enjoying the little things in life. and he wanted the whole of nueva york to know that you were his. 

the current song came to an end, and then, the band’s lead singer gently tapped their finger to their microphone, catching everyone’s attention.

“i’m hoping everyone’s having a good time tonight,” they said with a chuckle. “this next one’s for the couples in the room. we’ve been playing good singles music all night, but this one, we picked it with you in mind. so if you brought a special someone with you here this evening, why don’t you bring them out to the dancefloor for a little number?”

the music started up again, but it was a much softer song, with piano filling the room before the singer’s voice. miguel looked down at you, then took your hand, much to your surprise. he was gentle as he led you to the dancefloor, and even some of his colleagues had wide eyes. he never struck anyone as the dancing type. but once out on the floor, his other hand was on your waist, and he led you in a very graceful dance among the other few couples that had join the floor. he felt your free hand rest on his bicep, and he swore he saw your eyes sparkle. the outfit you’d chosen for the night made your eyes pop, and you looked ethereal in the glow of the white lights. you were elegant as he swayed with you in his arms, and it felt like it was only the two of you in the whole world. he spun you around, then pulled you back and continued to sway with you.

“this is nice,” you whispered, and he nodded with a smile.

“a lot nicer than i thought it would be,” he agreed. the music began to swell again, and he spun you once more, but when he pulled you back, he caught you, then lowered you into a dip. your eyes met, and you saw nothing but adoration in his gaze. he pulled you back up and held you close to his chest, then leaned down a bit to your height.

“i love you,” he whispered. “so much.”

“i love you, too,” you whispered back, and he leaned back to look down at you. he was gentle as he lifted you up a bit, and his lips met yours in a soft kiss, just as the music faded away. when you pulled back from one another, you knew people were staring, but you didn’t care. this was a side of miguel that didn’t often come out in public, but when it did, it surprised everyone around you.

“thank you for such a wonderful night,” you breathed, and he grinned.

“thank you for letting me take you. you’re what made it wonderful,” he replied softly, and you felt your face warm slightly.

“such a charmer,” you teased, and he kissed your forehead gently.

“only for you. let’s head out, i need to get out of this suit, it’s suffocating me,” he said, tugging on his collar. you laughed, and this time, you took the lead.

“and i need real food. those little appetizers are so not filling,” you murmured, and he nodded in agreement once again.

“real food and real clothes, waiting at home. god, i love you.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara sweet and spicy special #sweet and spicy special 2024 #lilacliquors

[jcbbby]

happy valentine's day my loves! here's just a little blurb for you all to imagine Jamie's Christopher Marlowe being HAPPY for once!! <3

-

Knock knock. You heard on the door of your room, turning your head toward the noise. Gently placing the dress you were patching up down on to your desk, you scooted the chair back, standing to walk towards the door. You took a deep breath before opening the door, expecting it to be the keeper of the inn you were staying at. Rent for was due, but you had admittedly been struggling selling your garments and jewelry in the town center this week.

"Lucy, I know I'm a bit late on the- oh." You were startled to see a different figure in your doorway. "Hello, Kit." You smiled.

Kit was one of the first new friends you had made when arriving to London. A mutual friend had introduced the two of you, after inviting you to see one of the first performances of Tamburlaine the Great. It had greatly moved you, and Marlowe greatly appreciated your feedback from those early performances. He invited you out for a drink with him, and you hit it off rather quickly.

His mind was beautiful to you, so profound and poetic. You really enjoyed helping him flesh out his ideas as he wrote, providing yourself as a scene partner or just a second pair of eyes. He had some demons he seemed to be fighting, which made you sad to think about, but nothing seemed to quite light a room up like him. Unbeknownst to you, he would say the same about you. He had never felt comfort like he did when around you.

"Hello there." He smiled back, gesturing forward. "May I?"

You stepped to the side, holding the door open. "Oh, yes of course."

Kit ducked in to your small, humble room. Just a single bed, a desk, and a small fireplace. He looked around, brows furrowing at the sad state of your living arrangement. Closing the door behind you, you step toward him, smoothing your skirt out.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" You asked, wringing your hands.

He turned back to you, hesitating for a moment. "I've...I've actually come to ask you something."

"Oh. Is there something I can help with? Are you writing?" You asked, leaning against your desk.

He shuffled on his feet, staring down at them briefly before bringing his head back up. "No, no...I was wondering if you...might do me the honor of accompanying me to the queen's ball tomorrow evening? I've been invited, you see."

Your eyebrows arched upward, your head tilting back slightly. "The queen's ball? Me? Are you sure?"

Kit nodded, smiling with softened eyes. "I'd very much like that, yes. You're the only person I'd want to have by my side."

You couldn't help but feel your heart flutter as a smile spread across your face as well. "Oh, Kit...I don't know what to say."

"I was hoping you would say yes?" He stepped closer to you.

You giggled, quickly glancing away and glancing back, cheeks flushed. "Yes! Yes, of course. I would love to accompany you."

He smiled wide, teeth gleaming. "Wonderful." He reached for your hand, bringing it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your fingers. "I shall see thee tomorrow then."

He lowered your hand, holding your glance for just a moment, before turning and moving toward the door to see himself out.

"Wait, Kit!" Your mouth seemed to say before your brain could tell it not to.

He spun around. "Hmm?"

You stood with your mouth slightly agape, taken by surprise at your own words. Shortly, your mind had caught up to the involuntary expression that had spilled out, and you slowly approached him. Reaching up with one hand, you gently placed it on his cheek, staring into his eyes, before dropping your gaze to his mouth.

In what seemed like an instant, his lips were softly pressed into yours. Your hand fell to be pressed flush against his chest, while both his hands raised to either cheek. After your lips parted from one another, your fingers reached up to lightly graze your flesh where the two of you had just connected, in awe that you had even been that brazen. He stood there, equally as taken aback, a faint grin painted across his face.

"I uh...just wanted to thank you for inviting me." You looked up at him, batting your lashes.

He chuckled, snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you in towards him to meet your lips again. He leaned back, resting his hands on your hips. "Thank you for saying yes." He smiled.

"Kit?" You paused, allowing him to tilt his head awaiting your next words. "I...I love you."

He smiled, a small burst of air escaping from his nose, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours. "And I love you, darling. I think I always have."

<3

#kit marlowe x reader #kit marlowe #christopher marlowe x reader #christopher marlowe #will tnt #jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #jamie campbell bower fanfiction

[aaluminiumas]

The Dress

They had no other choice, and they fully acknowledged all the risks they were about to take. John understood it from the very beginning, maybe with even more clarity than her, but now, standing in front of the old wooden door leading to the shabby house, he couldn’t bring himself to knock. 

Usually, he felt no hesitation. He crawled here at night, scratched on the beaten-up wood, and hurried inside, immediately wrapping his arms around her fragile frame, showering her with kisses; she laughed and turned around to close the blinds, sending him to the kitchen to brew some tea or grab a cookie she’d just baked. He never groped for words, he was never at a loss, especially with her, eagerly listening to whatever tale he had to tell, but now the eloquent priest, notorious for his circumlocution, realized that his head was empty. Not a single thought entered his mind. Not a single word slid off his tongue. John even doubted that he should be here at all. 

Taking a deep breath, he tried to shake off the stupor chaining his limbs. The upcoming ceremony drove him crazy, he would be more than happy to delegate and never witness the dramatic scene, but he was the only pastor to officiate. It was, metaphorically, his cross to bear—as a comeuppance for all the sins he’d committed. God, no doubt angry with the behavior of his not-so-obedient servant, left no opportunity to slough off the painful duty, and John did not repine against such a cruel decision. After all, he comprehended the motives: this was one of the rare moments when God was perfectly clear.

My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word.

Whenever the man imagined his Millie wearing a white dress for another man, he felt an uncontrollable surge of ire boiling within him and instigating him to do unkind, outright evil things. As a man of the church, as someone purported to listen to lengthy confessions of the most formidable sins, John was deeply ashamed of his own thoughts and tried to stifle them, but even oppressed, they burned him to the core, turning him into a pile of ashes. He could barely subdue the ravaging emotion sweeping over him with the ferocity he had never experienced before: for the first time in his life, the Bible offered no help. No matter how frequently he opened the Scripture, striving to find the right verse, sober his reasoning, and maintain his famous sangfroid, he saw nothing: the blurry lines of the old book smeared across the page, sending his mind far away. 

He repented, of course. Still a devout priest, he spent hours in his room, praying his sins away, but this remedy failed too—for an obvious reason, which John had difficulty admitting. 

He was not honest. Yes, Monsignor John Pruitt promoting sincerity and spiritual integrity, was not genuine with God anymore, repeating one and the same prayer, asking for forgiveness, and locking himself in a confessional. He did it all pro-forma, automatically, by default; he reiterated and reiterated in a foolish attempt to ingratiate himself with Him and, primarily, assuage his guilty conscience. 

Hence, no mercy came from above—and he didn't really count on it anymore. Not that it meant anything to him. Not after the woeful image of Millie getting ready for the wedding.

Finally collecting himself and taking his emotions under control, John lifted his hand and knocked on the door.

No answer.

A feeling of nauseating sorrow gave way to a growing wave of concern. Millie, an impatient little thing, rushed to the door each time she sensed his presence. He could creep in the dead of night in absolute darkness, making no noise, and she would somehow feel him around, opening the door seconds before his arrival.

It didn't happen. The woman did not push her nose in the street, trying to distinguish his tall figure among the trees and the bushes.

 “Millie?” he called, voice ringing with worry. “Millie? You in there?”

His voice always made her promptly open that door, either for a midnight date or other special occasion that demanded her presence, but not today. Today... something was off. He couldn't hear her light steps on the creaky floor; he couldn't catch the cupboard doors plaintively clinking; he couldn't discern any sound coming from within—

As if the house was empty.

The priest felt his limbs freezing with dread. Could she just have fallen asleep, affected by the turmoil and stresses of the island, unusually animated, bubbling, and buzzing in the bizarre condition of the previously unknown helter-skelter? Or did she recede to safety, to her darkest corner where she could gather her thoughts and ponder over the decisions she was about to make? Or, maybe, she paid a visit to George's family, his numerous sisters? She was never good at doing her hair. She'd said so herself.

While his heart warmed with the sudden memory of her sitting in front of the mirror, brushing her thick, dark hair, John still nervously shifted from foot to foot on her porch. The priest peeped into the nearest window, hoping to discern the delicate silhouette, but saw nothing: the living room was empty, so was the kitchen, or at least the part he managed to make out from his position. Where was she? Off to the church already? Meeting her would-be in-laws as he'd earlier surmised? Discussing the nuptial with the groom himself?

Hardly.

As someone who spent hours in this very house, knowing its every nook and cranny, John perfectly knew the layout: not only could he roughly estimate where the rooms were situated and how the furniture was arranged, but he also could visualize the windows Millie would have to pass by in order to enter the corridor. Still, the woman was nowhere to be seen: she didn't dust the shelves as she used to, bake a cake in the kitchen, or read a book on her favorite sofa. Nor did she knit, listen to music, or quietly wait for him… and there were not a lot of places on Crockett where she could—or wanted to—go.

And the building itself. It seemed dauntingly empty, practically dead. The construction bore a weird atmosphere of eerie lifelessness, lacking Millie’s attention to detail and comfort. 

The man felt his blood go cold: something did indeed happen. He felt it with his skin. But what exactly? Could she have done something to herself? She'd seemed so confident the night before, fiddling with hairpins and the mirror, occasionally pressing a rosebud to her temple. Heartbroken, yes. Millie was heartbroken, but she nonetheless put on a brave face, saying she knew what she was doing. Determined. Strong. Unhesitating. Ready to protect their future at all costs. 

With a heavy heart, the man remembered how unwilling he was to listen, with his mouth agape, staring at her in disbelief. Frantically whispering, she insisted that it was their only way; it had to be done if they still wanted to live on the island as they used to.

If they still wanted to live on this godforsaken island, belonging to just as the godforsaken state of Washington, situated in the godforsaken area of the godforsaken United States of America. 

If they still wanted to. 

Did they? He never really asked. When they were lying in bed, dreaming on and on, counting the hours till dawn, John preferred to think of other, more pleasant things. He told Millie about art he saw in the Vatican City, mentioned various pictures he admired in Florence, imagining them walking across the streets of Rome... And she just listened, sometimes chuckling and not really interrupting his rapt ramblings, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. Then she stood up, stark naked, and basked in the translucent moonlight. That's where he gaped at her, entranced by her beauty, slightly dazed and embarrassed by the boldness. 

Soon John discovered that she was pregnant, and he realized he couldn't quite process the situation. Millie may have expected him to take measures, but the priest felt stymied to act. Her pregnancy complicated the already intricate condition, and the man, genuinely horrified, found out that he didn't possess enough courage to step down from the altar. 

He did not possess enough courage to take her away. 

“Millie?” the man managed to find his voice again, turning the doorknob.

Again, no answer. To his great surprise—and much to his terror—the door was not locked.

The tacky paws of fear crept across his back and stuck to the nape of his neck.

“Millie, I am coming,” John shouted indecisively, careful not to touch anything but nonetheless quietly closing the door behind him.

Adjusting his collar and clearing his throat, John crawled through the narrow corridor, intently looking around, hoping to spot a note, a tiny sticker with a short message written in her minuscule handwriting. Focusing on the scanty furniture, the man struggled to squelch the panic rising in his heart. What was he about to see? She never ignored him—never. Even when they quarreled, quite rarely though, Millie nonetheless welcomed him, greeted him with a modest smile, and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, pushing the door close behind him.

She'd been waiting for him as long as needed. She never gave up on him, and he betrayed her by letting her make such a decision, by letting the woman sacrifice herself, her hopes and dreams.

“Millie?” John called in the umpteenth time, heading over to the bedroom. “Are you here?”

The oak door of the bedroom did not penetrate a single sound from within, and John, bracing himself, placed his hand on the brass knob.

The sight unfolding before his eyes petrified him, scarring the man for life. From this moment on, he knew that it was the picture he would never erase from his memory.

Mildred, his smiling, cheerful Millie dressed in white, was sitting in front of a scuffed pier glass, senselessly and listlessly staring at her own reflection. She certainly tried to primp up and, judging by the scarce cosmetics now lying scattered before her, did her best to look good: she had taken the occasion seriously, but something stopped her.

Not even being present, he did.

She would have looked peerless. She would have been the most beautiful bride among many others, and he'd seen a fair share, but she would have topped them all if not for her pale face, turning into a mask of pain. This absolute lack of reaction, silent grief, her lukewarm caramel eyes, now faded hollow pits of despair—the sight filled him with the consternation he had never felt before.

How could he do this to her?

 “Millie? Millie, love,” John muttered under his breath, darting towards the woman and kneeling before her tiny frame, taking her limp hands in his. Knowing the doors were open for everyone to see, knowing that people could easily discover them, the man suddenly realized that he no longer cared. The nascent fear to lose her—for good—transformed him completely, making him forget about his ephemeral duty before the congregation.

“I… can’t do it, John,”  Millie rustled, her voice barely heard. “I can’t.”

John pressed her knuckles to his lips, the cold touch sending chills down his spine. He turned her into a ghost of a woman, an apparition, chirring across the house, and he wielded no power over the circumstances, he could not undo it, no matter how hard he prayed or how much effort he put into his responsibilities. She had been planning it for months, he had been preparing for weeks, they—

 “I can’t, John,” she muttered, her eyes filling with tears she strove to hold back. “I just can’t go there.”

John swallowed thickly, his mind working frantically.

 “Millie, you… You don’t have to. We will find another way,” he rambled, squeezing her fingers, trying to warm them up. “You do not have to go through this. I know there are—”

 “I am weak, John,” Mildred implored, interrupting him, her eyes finally diverting to the man, and he felt his heart breaking at his point. “I started all this. I offered this scheme, thinking I’d created a perfect plan, but I couldn’t have ever imagined how greatly I’d fail. I cannot do it. I cannot go there and pretend to be a happy, normal bride everyone is expecting to see. I cannot.”

 “Millie—”

Her name stuck to his tongue. What could he possibly do to help her? What could he possibly say to mollify her? He loved her determination, her sense of responsibility, but wasn’t it the moment when she should just flip it off and... What’s next? A truthful voice in his head rang. What’s next? What do you want her to do, a pregnant woman on a miserable island, all alone, without a family who’d protect her from the side glances, gossip, and humiliating jokes and discussions? Do you want her to proudly carry her burden, constantly listening to disparaging jeers of fellow citizens, trying to guess the baby's father's identity? Do you want her to bear with bullying that would certainly transfer to her—ultimately yours as well! —child studying at school? No. This was more than he could handle.

And still, he couldn’t impose it on her. Even by Crockett's low standards, it was an atrocity beyond any normal mind.

“Millie,” John said finally, finding his voice. “Millie, you are the strongest woman I know. But this ordeal, this torment is much more than a person can handle. You are not a Christian martyr to go through this; you are not Saint Sebastian or Jesus Christ Himself; these throes will not—” his voice broke, but he managed to grope for the right words, “You have already proven your strength to whoever questioned. You do not need to go on. Millie,” the priest pleaded, his voice dropping down a notch. “Refuse. Say no. Do not do it to yourself.”

Out of the blue, her face, lifeless and gray, beamed: she gave him the smallest of smiles, revealing the gentle lover he knew so well. For a split second, the man felt his heart flutter; his eyes sparkled with one of the sweetest memories when he kissed the very same smile an hour before dawn. 

Her gentle hands cupped his face, thumbs brushed across his lips.

“I must,” the woman breathed out, her sad eyes gazing at him. “For the sake of our own future. For the sake of our baby. For the sake of our peaceful—or relatively peaceful—life on Crockett Island.” Another wistful smile. “You can easily imagine what happens if something less outstanding comes out. Remember, our highly inquisitive Mrs. Keane started an affair with one of the fishermen and then dumped him for unobvious reasons? The island was roaring. Or that death of old age that happened to take our respectable Mr. Whittaker, the doctor. Everyone was sure it was either a curse, an unknown disease, or a poison.” She paused for a moment, unable to squash a chuckle. “Think of us, John. If this comes out…” 

Her voice petered out. She didn’t finish the sentence, but he could easily guess what she implied.

Collecting herself, Mildred stood up. John, staring in awe, couldn’t process the situation: it was the simplest dress possible, but the pride she put into her posture, the inflexibility of her stature, the determination in her otherwise puffy eyes made him hold his breath. She could have been his.

She could have been his, had he said the right word.

She could have been his, had he been half as brave.

Standing up, the man looked her in the eye. Millie hurried to wipe off a fleeing tear and turned around.

For a moment, the woman stood still, staring at the figures, reflected in the mirror. A bride in a white dress, her face drawn, but her posture proudly straight. A tall man dressed in dark colors, his shoulders slightly slouching forward.

 “It still could be us,” Millie suddenly blurted out in a whisper.

A spark of recognition, a weird thought struck him like lightning. Even though he didn't fully understand the meaning behind her words, something stirred inside of him, sending a tingling sensation to the tips of his fingers.

“We still... could flee.”

John doubted he'd heard her correctly: her voice was so quiet that it got covered by the susurrus of her dress. Dumbfounded by the strange, unexpected proposition, the man shuddered, unable to grasp the idea. But before he could collect his wits and answer, Millie, swallowing a lump in her throat, uttered, “Please... Help me with the dress.”

His trembling fingers touched the zipper, feeling the familiar warmth her body exuded. In a moment of spiritual weakness, he wondered whether they were desecrating the sacrament of marriage. They most certainly were; she was wearing this white dress, though she was no longer innocent and was expecting a baby. She never loved the man she was about to be married to. They were deceiving God Himself to make their game fairer, while there was only one option he should have pondered over.

The priest leaned forward to press a kiss on the back of her neck, on the seventh vertebra, exactly where the zipper ended, engulfing the woman in a cloud of frankincense.

 “Millie,” he whispered, his long nose grazing across her pale skin. “Please… Try to be happy… if you can.”

The woman nodded and silently squeezed his hand.

#midnight mass #millie gunning #john x millie #mildred gunning #john pruitt #monsignor pruitt #father paul hill #hamish linklater #alex essoe #fanfic

[mutual-monsters]

I Can’t Stop What I Love To Do

Pairing: Roman Bridger x transmasc!actor!reader

TW: Violence (canon-typical), (sort of) slut shaming in the dialogue (not by Roman)

MINORS DNI !!! 🔞

Summary: It was one thing trying to make a movie when the cast was dysfunctional, but now the set  is an active crime scene

Word count: 1,087

A/N: I don’t really think anybody read the last chapter, but that’s okay! I knew starting this out that it would be more self-indulgent than anything! If anybody is seeing this, I hope you really enjoy this chapter <3

Series masterlist

Marilyn Redwood had been without a pulse for 30 minutes when Ronnie Richmond squeaked open the door for Sunrise Lot 24. He had been at a party all evening with Rose, only to realize his house keys were still in his dressing room, and so he (drunkenly) popped himself back into his candy apple red 1964 Chevelle and drove back to his place of employment. 

The Ghostface who had slaughtered the intern was still sulking in the building, arranging her corpse in a way that he found visually pleasing. Upon hearing the creak of the side door when Ronnie stepped in, he nervously ducked for cover into one of the nearby dressing rooms. Ronnie stumbled his way down the corridor in the dark, refusing, or rather forgetting the light switches in his drunken stupor. As he rounded the corner, he first forced himself to process what he was seeing. A girl, young, maybe 20, gutted and in a pool of her own blood, just lying there. Ronnie fought back the urge to vomit, and lost. From Ronnie’s dressing room came a noise, quiet at first, and then manifesting into a shadow, a figure of a man. The masked man wouldn’t utter a word as he sliced open the actor’s throat, no, it’s more cinematic this way. What he would do, however, was make quick work of staging the bodies that lay at his feet.

By the time you arrived on set, the lot was swarming with police. Not a single stone was left unturned, not a single crew member uninterviewed, and not a single inch of set unexamined. Police were interviewing the cast one by one, leaving everybody in a huddle together. The biggest surprise, past the murders, may have been how early Rose was to set. 

“I came as soon as I heard.” She said, tears staining her face, “I knew something was wrong when he didn’t come home last night.”

You placed your hand gently on her back, only for her to jump. 

“I just–” she said quickly, “I just need to be alone.” And, with that, she left the congregate of cast and crew. 

A moment passed by. 

“She’s not a very good actress,” Benny whispered, as he lit a cigarette.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” You asserted. 

“All I’m saying,” he said, waving his hand around wildly whilst the lit cigarette hung out of his mouth, “is we don’t know that it wasn’t her. Maybe he was fuckin’ that intern and she offed the both of ‘em. Crazy bitch.”

“Stop it, Goddamnit. Right now.” Roman says, quietly, so as to not draw attention. 

“Fine. Fuck it. If you people wanna be oblivious, then fine. Do whatever the hell you want.” 

Benny continued to squint into the sun as quiet befell the circle once more. You, having had enough, decided it would be better to just get up and walk away. Catering had been unable to set up, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t food trucks nearby, and you made a beeline to them.

Having ordered your coffee, you found a place to sit and try to clear your head, only to have your space interrupted. 

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Roman asked, gesturing down to the section of the bench next to you. 

You smiled up at him, flustered and admiring how his hazel eyes almost shone in the morning sun, “Not at all.”

Roman sat, gathering his words for a moment. “I’m sorry about what happened back there.”

Again, you met his eyes, “Oh, Roman. It’s not your fault. I just can’t believe he would even think that, let alone say it.”

“I can talk to him, if that would make it easier on you."

“Would you? For me?”

“Of course.”

“Roman, you are the absolute best.” You said, but this time, it was his turn to smile and blush.

Rose Samson had been interrogated thoroughly by the LAPD as their main suspect, but released after it was revealed that she was too busy hooking up with a stranger at the time of the murders to be a killer. Her first move as a free woman was to visit the bathroom, as the police had locked her in a makeshift interrogation room for quite some time prior, and she was tired of holding it. 

Rose hated public bathrooms, as a (b-list) actress, she thought they were beneath her, but she used them when necessary nonetheless. As she walked in, Rose noted the other pair of feet that inhabited a stall at the other end of the room. 

What Rose would not note in time would be the figure creeping up behind her as she washed her hands, plunging a knife into her back, and forming a cut all along her spine until it reached her neck, leaving her limp and lifeless on the very floor of the bathroom she so hated.

When Rose’s body was found, everybody was gathered back together outside of lot 24. Alibis were curated. Helena was with Hugh. Roman was speaking to Benny about his behavior and then on his way back to you. You were with Roman and then Roxy. The crew was interviewed once more. It was almost time to go home, and then, a man darkened the proverbial doorstep of lot 24. Tall and grey, skeletal in nature, Producer John Milton, a studio executive and Roman’s boss swaggerd towards the group slowly. 

His raspy voice said, “Roman, can I speak to you in private?”

“No.” Said Benny from the back, “Anything you’ve got to say to him, you can say to us.”

“Alright, so be it. Now, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but I know one thing’s for sure: this is going to give us a helluva lot of bad press. Now, Roman, if these killings don’t stop, I’m telling you right now, there won’t be a movie, do you understand?”

Roman’s jaw tightened as he thought of how to answer, and it released as he finally spoke, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good.”

Your heart sank in your chest as you watched Milton exit the lot, and then as you looked at Roman’s face. 

“Roman?” You asked softly, “Who do you think is doing this?”

He thought about it, opening his mouth to answer and then closing it, before opening it again, “I wish to God I knew.” 

More silence. 

“But, Y/N?”

“Yes, Roman?”

“It’s going to be okay.” He said, finally, before inviting you into his embrace.

tagging: @ouijaboardemo

#x reader #roman bridger x reader #scream x reader #plus sized reader #actor!reader #transmasc!reader #roman bridger fluff

[merciless-macdonwald]

aaand heres the last of the 2018 macbeth sequel. never made it past act 1. (well i kinda made it into act 2 scene 1, but that's unfinished)

ACT I SCENE V. Beside the lake

Enter LENNOX and LADY LENNOX.

LENNOX Perhaps my missive hath not reached him yet, For so haphazardly did I depart, The letter’s edge but slipp’d under the doors. Perchance some other eyes may find it there, And with the wond’ring eyes that all possess Turn me the paper o’er and find what's writ, And then the words shall never find their way. Yet still, since I in haste forgot to leave My name to he who's well acquainted with’t, He may, perusing quietly what hath Been sent to his estate as written word Pass over mine, mistaking it for some That found its way to him, meaning not so, And therefore set aside and ne’er retrieve The contents nor my meaning. O, if I Had given it to him but face to face, That none may intercept and block my way!

LADY LENNOX All’s well, I'm sure--thy want for patience shows. Yet tell thyself thus if thou still fear’st so. He hath received thy word, and goes about As men like thee do: first upon his cloak Fastidiously pins his brooch in place And checks to see if’s beard be trimmed or not, Then second looks at whether he be dressed To match th’ occasion (an if he be not, Then goes he back once more and does redress The issue), third and final does he stall For nor decision nor import at all.

LENNOX And on what grounds mayst thou defend thy claim?

LADY LENNOX O, dearest love, I see thee do the same.

LENNOX By God, if I’d a blade quick as thy wit, None e’er could bid me fall nor land a hit.

LADY LENNOX An were the food I lived on but thy love, The sweetest meals would I soon grow sick of.

LENNOX Thou hast done well to keep my mind apart From matters that thou know’st make ill my heart. And though this ring I wear be newly fledged, To thee myself in all respects I’ve pledged.

Enter MENTEITH and LADY MENTEITH.

LADY LENNOX Here comes the one that thou hadst cast upon Thy doubts. Had I not reassurèd thee well That he would soon arrive? And here he is. 

MENTEITH Forgive me for my latest tardiness-- Thou must be keen to hear the reason why.

LENNOX Go on.

MENTEITH I had but new returned and meant To rest, for Ross and I had gone to hunt, And did par force de chiens, those hounds of mine No match for those of his, for as the horn Cried loud and th’ chase began, we on our mounts Held back and watched the dogs speed past. One called So aptly “Cailean” by his master sped Along the dusty path, and we pursued Him through the low-lying branches, past the fount That thou know’st best of all is ill-placed there, And soon our quarry came within our sight: I tell thee true, the beast stood tall and proud, With ten great points upon that crown he wore So proudly on his head, those bony spires Proclaiming him the ruler of the woods Wherein we so trespass’d and dared disturb. At once, he sighted us--how th’ beasts did cry!-- And so he fled from thence, and we gave chase--

LENNOX What, man, waste not on those who want it not. Make swift your speech. 

MENTEITH I do apologize-- My mind has been a-whirl with thoughts of late, And th’ instrument that gives them voice holds not A single one behind. The reason thus: The lord Macduff arrived at mine estate Ere I could find the letter that thou sent, And for thy words were vague, he took th’ message To mean some kind of harm ‘gainst our young king.

LENNOX ‘Swounds, should he do such wrong? I should have known-- Since we the tyrant’s castle seized upon  And took his crown, giving it to the prince, Macduff hath taken it upon himself To keep watch o’er the king as carefully As one might see a shepherd watch his flock.  How like of him to take mine empty words And spin a meaning from their ravelled threads.

LADY LENNOX ‘Twould do thee best to watch thy bitter tongue. We that have seen Macbeth as king know well That even in the secretest of rooms, Our words are loose, and somehow heard by all.

LADY MENTEITH The time of fear has passed. Let’s speak no more Of this.--Now, Lennox, what didst thou intend To show the two of us?

LENNOX Come, follow me About this winding road that Nature hath Carved out for us beside this crystal lake-- Now, Menteith, watch thy step--My lady, come, Give me thy hand, and pace thy steps well.

MENTEITH Friend, For what do we all climb this rocky cliff, Cling fast to jagged stones to elevate Ourselves, step down a path none e’er traversed?

LENNOX Gaze out in awe and see what I hath found.

LADY MENTEITH The whole o’th’ lake I see from here--Come, dear, And look up too: the stars shine bright on us.

MENTEITH An I could wish the flow of time were stilled, ‘Tis here eternity I’d spend with thee. Here Nature’s canvas lies, and of her hands Comes forth a blessing to mine eyes; still none Compare to you, my dear.

LADY MENTEITH I love thee well.

LENNOX Set up thy rest not here, for I still have Much more to show.

MENTEITH Lead on. 

Exit LENNOX, LADY LENNOX, MENTEITH, and LADY MENTEITH. Enter MACDUFF.

MACDUFF My lord the king was right--’twas all but none. Still yet, ‘twould better us to overstep Our limits of security and sleep In safety knowing all is well than lie Asleep yet restless as ill deeds slip past. Ay, as I live, he’ll never hear of this, For this would cast me in some wicked light, And none know more than we how common cries May so besmirch the clearest name. The prince Returns from Ireland soon, and in his name The king has asked we hold a joyous feast, The preparation he hath tasked me with. These fears of mine must quell themselves. The morn Comes fast, and with it Duncan’s second-born.

Exit MACDUFF.

#macbeth #macbeth sequel #macduff #lennox #menteith #shakespeare #shakespeare fic #macbeth fic

[nyx-lyris]

best laid plans - h.f.

fighting your own heart is among the hardest battles in the world.

ruth erwin is a college student at nyu in pursuit of a degree in english literature. though a bit older and more experienced than most of her peers, she has no trouble settling into university life once again. she decides to take a class in coding to spice up her schedule a bit - only to find herself struggling more than she would like.

in search of assistance, she finds herself in the office of one harold wren, her gentle and mysterious professor. she finds herself drawn to him, wanting more from him, despite the forbidden nature of such a relationship.

harold, too, despite his better judgment, finds himself wanting more and more of this lovely student of his. he knows there are a hundred and one things that stand between them, but he can't help but feel drawn to her.

but, when her number comes up, the two are placed in an impossible predicament. with so many dangerous secrets standing between them and so many unforeseen variables tying them inextricably together, the way forward seems cloudier than ever. what, in the end, will prevail?

chapter one: in the beginning

whatever ruth had been expecting upon walking into professor wren’s class it hadn’t been this. the scene before her was colorful, to say the least, and she nearly dropped her bag at the sight. several students were crowded in the middle of the computer lab, shouting and cheering at what sounded an awful lot like a fight. she recognized several faces in the crowd - a bunch of freshmen and sophomores who were required to take this class for their engineering majors. the professor had yet to arrive and ruth wasn’t about to let a bunch of idiots ruin her first day of class after she’d had such a lovely summer break.

“hey!” she shouted. a couple of helpless onlookers turned, but few others reacted. she cleared her throat and tried again.

“hey!” she yelled, a little louder this time. a few more people looked up but it still wasn’t enough.

she huffed and rolled her eyes. “do you morons want me to call campus security? the police maybe?”

the cheering and shouting stopped, although the sounds of punching took a bit longer to dissipate.

"some of you i’ve caught doing some pretty shady stuff on campus,” she continued. “i won't go into detail, but i’m pretty sure most of you don’t have enough money to bail yourselves out of jail - or have families who care enough to do it for you.”

the silence in the hall was deafening.

“now, if you don’t mind, i’d like to enjoy my first day of class.”

she caught a few eye rolls and middle fingers as the students began to take their seats. she took a seat near the front of the room, heart pounding.

a moment later, the professor entered the room, looking frazzled.

“i apologize for being late,” he said, quickly unpacking his briefcase. “i had a bit of car trouble this morning.”

professor wren had a gentle face. he appeared to be at least in his fifties, with wide, intelligent blue eyes that sat behind a pair of dark, square glasses. his brown hair was spiky, likely touched up with some kind of hair gel and he was dressed in a suit, modest but neat.

“i’d like to formally welcome you all to an introduction to coding,” he continued, his careful eyes drinking in every detail of the room. “i hope sincerely you will enjoy this class, even if some of you were not placed here of your own volition.”

he began to pass out the syllabus, explaining in a calm and measured voice about the assignments, grades, and his office hours. he walked with a pronounced limp, ruth noted, and she wondered briefly how he’d been injured. she was willing to wager it was an old injury as there was an element of complacency to his gait. perhaps he had been in a car accident many years ago? taken a particularly bad fall and never healed quite right?

professor wren had returned to his desk at the front of the class by now and ruth realized she hadn’t heard a single thing he said. she felt herself flush slightly at getting so caught up in her thoughts. he was just a professor - what did it matter how he was injured?

“coding is something of an art form,” he was saying. “it requires patience, dedication, and precision to achieve one's desired results.”

the professor’s eyes swept the room again and he seemed to sigh quietly as if he knew his words were falling on deaf ears. ruth found herself leaning closer, wanting to hear more.

“this class represents only the beginning,” he continued, his voice strangely heavy. “the tip of the iceberg. though you may not appreciate it now, there is much more to coding than meets the eye.”

a week later found ruth at the door of professor wren’s office, looking rather sheepish. the assignment he’d given shouldn’t have been that hard. it was so simple, just a basic function - and yet here she was. she huffed as she stared down the door, contemplating whether it was really worth all this trouble. this wasn’t the first coding class she’d taken - although, she admitted to herself, that was over ten years ago now, and she’d never been all that good at coding to begin with.

she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reminding herself that her professor wouldn’t think any less of her if she came in and asked for help - it was his job to assist his students, after all.

finally, she opened her eyes and knocked on the door.

“come in,” a muffled voice sounded from behind the door.

she took another steadying breath - why am i so nervous about this? - and opened the door, stepping into his office.

the room was well-sized, for an office, and brightly lit from the sunshine outside. there were several file cabinets behind and to the left of him and, to the right, was a small cabinet bursting with books and decorated with a few fake plants. his desk stood front and center, organized but not overly neat. despite its friendly appearance, there was something off about the office, though she couldn’t say exactly what.

“hello,” professor wren said, pulling ruth from her thoughts. he smiled gently up at her. “how can i help you today, miss...”

“erwin,” ruth answered. “ruth erwin.” she hesitated a moment, blushing. oh, get over yourself.

“i’m having trouble with the assignment you gave us yesterday,” she said.

“oh, of course,” he answered. then, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk, “please, sit.”

ruth pulled her laptop from her bag and quickly pulled up the code she had written for the assignment. it had been a bit of a pain just to pay for and download the necessary software onto her computer. she knew technically she hadn’t needed to - she could have just used one of the computer labs on campus - but she had convinced herself it would be easier to simply have it on her own machine than to rely on the school’s computers.

“now,” he said, settling into the chair next to her. “what seems to be the trouble?”

though the issue with the code itself was a simple fix, ruth stayed longer. she had only barely scraped by in terms of understanding the last time she’d taken a coding class, and she was determined to truly understand what it was she was doing this time around. that and, though she would never admit it out loud, she found professor wren’s presence comforting. he was well-spoken and his voice was soothing. it was apparent he felt strongly about the subject of coding as well - he described it in an almost poetic way, and ruth could hear the undercurrent of passion in his words as he spoke. it was rare to find a teacher so passionate about that which they taught - and his fervor was inspiring.

by the time ruth left professor wren’s office, she had a much better handle on the current subject than before, though she was certain this wouldn’t be the last time she visited his office. she’d never been the best when it came to programming, and she would need all the help she could get - at least that’s what she told herself.

prev chapter - next chapter

a/n: hello everyone! chapter one, as promised. i hope you all enjoyed this, though it is kind of short. i will add a directory of the chapters to my pinned post so you guys can find each of the chapters as easily as possible. i will also upload this to ao3 and i will leave a link to that as well. please let me know if any of the links don't work - i'm kind of new to this and i might do it wrong lol. anyway chapter two will be posted next sunday, so look forward to that.

thank you guys so much for reading!

@javicstories - tagged, as promised! (i hope it worked lol)

ao3 link to best laid plans

#person of interest #harold finch #john reese #michael emerson #harold finch x reader #harold finch x oc #person of interest fanfiction

[queenshelby]

Saving Each Other (Part Four)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Raeder

Words: 4,089

Warning: Loads of Fluff, Angst

Notes/Intro: This plays in Season Two. Lizzie is the secretary of Shelby Company Limited and comforts Tommy on occasion after Grace betrayed him and broke his heart. Kimber is dead and the Shelby Family is now moving against Sabini while Tommy deals with some ‘Irish Business’ as well. Then, all of a sudden, you enter the scene, a new Shelby Family Member, who will change Tommy’s life forever. Will you be able to heal his heart???

That evening, you left with Polly while Tommy and his brothers had to attend some business which, as far as you were concerned, was probably illegal.

When you arrived at a small terrace house in the middle of Small Heath, you were somewhat surprised by how warm it felt. Clearly, it was Polly who had decorated the house and you couldn’t help but look at all of the black and white pictures on the walls.

‘Do you all live here?’ you asked and Polly told you that John lived nearby with his wife Esme and his four children and that Tommy’s sister Ada had recently moved to London.

‘So, it’s just Tommy, Arthur, Finn and me’ she told you before showing you to your room.

It was upstairs and contained a single a bed, a small night stand and a chest of draws. It used to be Ada’s room until most recently and Polly had cleaned the sheets for you and bought some new clothes that you could use.

‘These should fit you just fine’ she said before handing you two satin night gowns, three dresses, a coat and several pairs of stockings and underwear.

‘But I cannot pay you for these’ you stammered, unsure why Polly had organised such beautiful and brand-new clothes for you to wear.

‘Don’t worry Love. I didn’t pay for them myself. The tailor down the road is in debt with us and gifted them to me’ Polly explained with a slight chuckle before telling you that Tommy’s room was next to yours while the other rooms were downstairs.

‘He often forgets to close the window so, if you do get cold, go into his room and shut it closed, alright?’ she told you before giving you some privacy. It was obvious to you that she was tired and so were you. You both needed to rest and get some sleep.

The First Night

After you washed yourself and got changed into one of the nightgowns, you climbed into your new bed which was soft and warm. It was much nicer than anything else you were used to and, whilst you couldn’t fall asleep, you felt comfortable and safe. At least for now.

You knew that, as soon as you would shut your eyes, the sense of security you were experiencing would likely going to vanish into thin air. Every night, your nightmares consumed you and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

The things you were forced to do by your father were haunting you every night and you couldn’t sleep without the liquid solution the doctor had given you.

You hated taking it, wanting to be on guard, but you also needed to sleep on occasion and opium was the only thing that helped.

Eventually, after an hour of restlessness, you swallowed a few drops but, as soon as you did, you heard chattering in the room next to yours. Clearly, Tommy had arrived at home and all you could hear was his deep voice accompanied by that of a woman.

The woman’s voice sounded familiar and, whilst your mind slowly turned cloudy from the drugs, you realised that it was Lizzie who he was with.

Were they in a relationship together, you wondered? Surely, it would have been obvious to you when you were at the Garrison with them both. He kept his distance from her at this establishment so, perhaps, he was paying her for sex just as most men do?

In the end of the day, you knew that it was none of your business and you really had to ignore what was going on between them. But, for some reason, you couldn’t. It made you uncomfortable and you hoped that you would fall asleep before they got down to business as the walls in the house were thin and you could hear everything.

Luckily for you, you did and it wasn’t until 3 o’clock in the morning that you woke up and walked downstairs to get a glass of water.

To your surprise, you weren’t the only one who couldn’t sleep more than a few hours per night.

‘Can’t sleep?’ you asked as you saw Tommy sit at the kitchen table with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

‘I have trouble sleeping. What about you?’ Tommy asked as he offered you a glass of whiskey from his bottle.

‘As do I’ you said before nodding, thanking him for the whiskey and taking a seat across from him. ‘Although, I thought that Lizzie would have solved that problem for you at least for tonight’ you then grinned, causing Tommy to chuckle.

‘Trust me Love, my lack of sleep is a problem that cannot be solved’ Tommy said and, when you glanced over his naked upper body which was still covered in sweat from the apparent night terrors he was experiencing, you couldn’t help but ask him about it.

‘Polly tells me that you were a tunneller in France’ you told him and Tommy nodded reluctantly.

‘Is that what you dream about?’ you then asked.

‘Yes...every fucking night, but I really don’t want to talk about it, eh’ Tommy said before taking another sip from his whiskey.

‘Okay. I am sorry’ you responded before asking Tommy whether he wanted to play cards.

‘You want to play cards at 3 o’clock in the morning?’ Tommy chuckled and, when you nodded, he reached for one of the draws in the kitchen and pulled out a deck of cards.

‘What do you want to play?’ Tommy asked and, with that, you spent the rest of the night playing games, drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes until, eventually, you retreated into your separate bedrooms for another two hours of rest.

The Second Night

Just like the first night, you couldn’t sleep but, this time around Tommy and Arthur were at home and were plagued with the same problem. The war clearly took a toll on them both and the only way they could cope was when their minds were occupied.

Both, Polly and Tommy tried to keep you away from the illegal side of the family business until they were certain that you could be trusted but Arthur couldn’t keep his mouth shut when you were around.

‘Why aren’t you asleep?’ Arthur asked as you walked into the kitchen at midnight while he was discussing business with Tommy.

‘I can’t sleep’ you explained before taking a seat at the table.

‘We are kind of busy here Love’ Arthur said, hoping that you would leave but you had different ideas. You had heard them talking about taking out one of Darby Sabini’s men in London and wanted to offer your help.

‘I am aware. In fact, I have overheard your conversation. I worked in one of Sabini’s establishments. I can help you’ you told them, causing Tommy to sigh. ‘No’ he said firmly and almost immediately, wanting to protect you.

‘Please. I can be of good use to you. You took me in. Let me help you’ you said, wanting to be involved.

‘Y/N, what we do is illegal and dangerous. I cannot…’ Tommy began to say but you interrupted him.

‘I am not blind Tommy. I know that what you do is illegal. Polly took me to the betting shop today. I helped her with the bookkeeping and when I glanced at the safe, it was pretty obvious to me that this kind of money isn’t coming from your one legal gambling licence alone’ you explained and, after a few more discussions between Tommy and Arthur, Tommy agreed to involve you.

In two weeks, you would help him, Arthur and John to expand the family business into London by taking out one of the competitors and, when you found out who the competitor was, you were keen to kill the man yourself.

He was one of the men who did unspeakable things to you and you wanted revenge. In fact, you wanted revenge on all of these men but, at least for now, one at the time would do for you.

The Third Night

On the third night at the house, you sat down with Tommy and Polly to discuss a plan. It was a plan you came up with and Tommy was impressed while Polly was sceptical.

‘It will work, trust me. I know this man, although I wish that I didn’t. I also know what he likes and when he sees me, he will want me and will fall for my trap’ you explained and Polly realised that the man Tommy wanted to take out was one of the men who paid your father to have sex with you when you were rather young. He was one of Sabini’s most trusted advisors and quite obviously a pervert. In addition to that, he caused the death of two Peaky Blinders in the past week which encouraged Tommy to move against him.

Since this matter was personal not only to him but also to you, she was concerned. She knew that Tommy cared about you and didn’t want him to act on an impulse.

‘Perhaps John or Arthur should go with you instead of Tommy’ Polly suggested, causing Tommy to cock an eyebrow. He knew why she was concerned, but didn’t say a thing.

‘No, I am only going to do this with Tommy. I trust Tommy’ you responded.

‘She’s done this before Pol. It will work’ Tommy said.

‘You have poisoned a man before?’ Polly asked you with great surprise.

‘I have poisoned two men before. They forced themselves on me and I spiked their drinks and ran. It was the night I escaped from the hell hole my father kept me in’ you explained, causing Polly to sigh and reach for your hand.

‘Okay, you and Tommy will do it then but you need to be sure that you want to be involved in this. There is no turning back once you kill this man’ Polly said before agreeing to put the matter forward to be voted on at the next family meeting which was the first family meeting you were invited to attend.

The Fourth Night

Following the family meeting in the afternoon, during which you were introduced as a Shelby for the first time to the extended family, you made your way to the doctor who had saved you just two weeks earlier.

You were in need for more of the drops she had given you in order to help you sleep but, unfortunately for you, she refused to give you a second bottle.

‘You cannot continue to take this stuff Y/N. It will kill you and you will need to use more and more every night to gain the same effect. It is too dangerous’ she told you and, with that, you had no idea how you could cope with your nightmares moving forward.

You couldn’t sleep without the drops. They kept your nightmares and the sleepwalking at bay and, whilst you only managed to sleep about four hours a night, the sleep you were getting was deep and comfortable and, without the drops, you knew this wouldn’t be the case.

As such, that night, you laid in your bed with your eyes open. You were wide awake all night and you most certainly were bored as Tommy was staying at Lizzie’s lodging which was something that bothered you.

Clearly, she liked servicing him. Was she in love with him, you wondered? Was he in love with her? All of these thoughts were running through your mind for hours on end until it was time to get up again and start the day.

The Fifth Night

After you haven’t slept at all the night before, you were extremely tired. You needed to sleep and you struggled to keep your eyes open by about 9 o’clock that night.

You knew that you would likely be woken by night terrors again now that you had none of your medication left to take, but you gave in anyway. You had no choice. You had to close your eyes.

Unfortunately for you, however, your rest was short lived and it was at around midnight that Tommy could hear a scream coming from your room.

Without thinking about it, he reached for the gun on his bedside table and barged into your bedroom.

He immediately pointed the gun into your direction before flicking on the light switch, which is when he realised what was happening.

You were on your own. You weren’t being attacked. You were having a nightmare and you were sleep walking. He had seen it before with some of the men in France. They were sleep walking and even attacking each other in their sleep as their night terrors plagued them inside the narrow tunnels.

Tommy immediately placed his gun onto the chest of draws in your room and approached you, taking a firm hold of both of your arms as you continued to scream.

‘Y/N’ he shouted twice, trying to wake you up but all it did was cause you to lash at out at him, hitting him across the face.

‘Y/N, wake up!’ he shouted again as he tried to restrain you with his hands, using a little more force this time so that you couldn’t hit him again.

Eventually, after about two minutes of struggle and hysteria, Tommy managed to wrap his arms around you firmly.

‘It’s alright Y/N…’ he said as he prevented you from moving and stepping into the shattered glass on the floor from the vase that you must have knocked over earlier.

‘Shh…it’s alright’ he reassured you again, managing to break through to you bit by bit until, suddenly, you gasped, breathing for air and beginning to hyperventilate.

He knew that you were waking up and he held you tight against his bare chest.

‘Y/N, it’s me…Tommy…you are safe, eh’ he said as he felt your heart pound against his chest.

You were afraid and scared and tears began to run down your face as you leaned against him.

‘I am…I…’ you began to stammer but Tommy comforted you some more. There was no need for you to speak and there was no need for you to apologise to him.

‘It was just dream Y/N. You are safe, alright?’ Tommy reassured you and you nodded and sobbed against his chest as one of his hands began to stroke through your hair gently.

He held you like this for a while, five minutes at least, as he continued to comfort you and allowed you to calm down.

‘Lie down and I will get you some water, eh?’ he eventually said as he slowly let go of you once your heartbeat had returned to normal but, just as he moved away from you, you reached for his arm.

‘Don’t go Tommy, please’ you said, wanting him to stay with you regardless of how inappropriate it was.

Tommy didn’t know how to respond to your request and, instead, took you into his arms once again and comforted you some more.

‘You need to get some rest and I am right next door, alright Love?’ Tommy then told you after another two minutes had passed but you shook your head. You didn’t want him to leave. You needed him to stay.

‘Please, just stay with me. Just for tonight. Please’ you sobbed, still struggling with the nightmare you had experienced just moments earlier. It was the worst one yet and you remembered every second of it.

‘You want me to stay with you? In your bed?’ Tommy asked a little confused and surprised. He wasn’t sure whether you were asking him to sleep in the same bed as you since there was nowhere else to lay or sit in your room.

‘Yes…please…I beg you Tommy’ you stammered with a little embarrassment and, after giving it some thought, Tommy nodded reluctantly.

He then removed his hands from your arms and you climbed back into your bed.

You were unable to talk and struggled with your intrusive thoughts. What these men in your dream had done to you was pure terror and it was absurd to you that now you were asking a man who you barely knew to sleep in the same bed with you.

But, for some reason, you trusted Tommy in a way you never trusted anyone else before. You felt incredibly safe when you were with him and that was what you needed right there in this moment.

Without words, you watched Tommy open the window to let the lights from the street into your room along with the cold autumn breeze.

Then, he walked to his room, put on his night shirt and turned off the light as he returned to your room before approaching the bed.

‘You will have to move over a bit Love. This bed isn’t exactly big’ he chuckled and you couldn’t help but giggle momentarily as he lay down next to you.

‘Thank you’ you said while looking at Tommy. You could see his deep blue eyes reflecting against the light shining through the window.

‘You should get some rest’ Tommy said, looking at you and running his hand through your still wet and sweaty long hair.

‘It’s nice with the window open. I like listening to the rain’ you said as you turned to your side and tentatively rested your head against Tommy’s chest, hoping that he wouldn’t mind.

The sound of his heartbeat and his breathing calmed you down even more and you loved the scent of his skin and aftershave.

‘Me too. The rain is calming, isn’t it?’ Tommy said before wrapping one of his arms around you, indicating to you that he didn’t mind you being so close to him.

‘It is very calming’ you whispered and, with that, you closed your eyes again.

***

The following morning, you were the first to wake and tried hard not to move until Tommy began to stir.

He featured a large bruise on his cheek which you didn’t notice the night before and you were worried that you had hurt him while you were sleepwalking.

‘Did I do that?’ you eventually asked after he woke up.

‘You did Love. Your left hand is quite strong. I was impressed’ he chuckled.

‘I am so sorry about that Tommy and about making you stay with me. It’s just…’ you began to say but Tommy interrupted you. In his mind, there was no need for you to feel sorry.

‘It’s alright Love. In fact, I slept well in your bed’ Tommy then said with almost no intention to get up, enjoying how close you were to each other and feeling the warmth of your body radiate towards his.

‘You did?’ you chuckled, looking at him somewhat confused. How could he have slept well in a cramped bed like this?

‘Yes’ Tommy said before looking up at the ceiling. ‘For some reason, I couldn’t hear the shovels against your wall last night’ Tommy explained.

‘The shovels?’ you asked, wondering what he was talking about until you remembered the time at which he told you about his night terrors and his dreams about France.  ‘You mean, like the shovels in the tunnels when you went to France?’ you clarified.

‘Yes, just like the shovels in France. I can hear them against the walls in my room every fucking night but, in your room, I cannot hear them at all’ Tommy pointed out.

‘Well, I suppose that’s good thing, right?’ you asked and Tommy nodded before looking at you. His deep blue eyes gazed into yours and, for the first time in your life, you felt the desire to kiss a man, namely the man right there in bed with you.

Was he feeling the same, you wondered? What exactly was it that you were feeling? You weren’t so sure and, before you had the chance to ponder on about it, you both heard Arthur call out for Tommy from downstairs.

The Sixth Night

The following night, which was also your sixth night at the house, it wasn’t you who was plagued by nightmares. This time, it was Tommy.  

But this didn’t mean that you could sleep either. Once again, you were wide awake until the early hours of the morning and wandered through the house until you saw Tommy, sitting in front of the fireplace in the downstairs living room with a letter in his hand.

It was almost like he was contemplating whether or not to open it and his body was covered in sweat once again. He had another nightmare and looked exhausted and tired.

‘The shovels again?’ you asked as you sat down next to him, wearing nothing but your nightgown and handed him a glass of whiskey which he quickly put onto the floor in front of him.

‘Yes, the fucking shovels’ he said as he turned the letter around in his hands.

‘Who is she?’ you asked with some curiosity as you looked down into his hands. The letter he was holding onto had been written by a woman named Grace and she most certainly had been important to him at some point in time.

‘She is a woman who betrayed me and my family’ Tommy said with a deep sigh.

‘And yet you retained contact with her?’ you asked and, as soon as you raised this question, Tommy threw the unopened letter into the fire.

‘Yes, I did. But now it’s time to move on, eh’ Tommy said as you both watched the letter burn and, whilst you didn’t know the extend of Tommy’s feelings for this woman, you could tell that he was hurt.

‘Did you love her?’ you wondered and, when Tommy told you that he thought he did, you told him that you felt sorry for him and assured him that he will find love again.

‘Have you ever been in love?’ Tommy asked and you shook your head.

‘Well, then you are lucky’ he then said and with that you sat there, in front of the fire, for at least an hour and talked about pretty much everything.

Tommy opened up to you about his life, about France and about Grace and you enjoyed listening to him. It was the first time he spoke so freely and uncensored with you and it was obvious to you that he trusted you.

At around 2 o’clock in the morning however, you both became tired and you knew that you had to get some rest soon. You agreed that it was time to sleep, at least if you could and you wondered whether he would stay with you once more.

‘Would you like to sleep with me?’ you asked nervously as you stood up and Tommy looked at you as if he had seen a ghost.

‘Do I want to sleep with you?’ Tommy asked, clarifying the question.

‘Yes, in the same bed, just like last night’ you said, causing Tommy laugh.

‘I am sorry, I had misunderstood the question’ he said, causing you too giggle. Of course, you should have been clearer when you asked him if he wanted to sleep with you. Perhaps he was disappointed that you weren’t talking about sex.

‘Why do you want me to stay with you again? You seem alright tonight’ Tommy pointed out.

‘Well, you said that you didn’t hear the shovels in my room and you look like you could do with some more good sleep and I most certainly could do with some company. For some reason, I feel much safer with you than if I was on my own’ you admitted, causing Tommy to smile and nod.

‘I suppose why not, eh? Provided that you share your doona with me this time, because you didn’t let me have any of it last night’ he then laughed and, with that, you ended up the same way as you did the night before, in your bed together.

The wind was cold, drawing through the window while you kept each other warm in your small single bed.

‘If we do this more frequently, you need a bigger bed Love’ Tommy joked and whilst there was some awkwardness to this all, it felt just right to you both.

There were no night terrors for you and no shovels for Tommy. All you could hear was each other’s shallow breathing and the rain outside.

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#cillian murphy #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby smut #polly gray #polly grey #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby x you

[write-orflight]

The Fraction of Innocence.

**Gif Not Mine**

Anon Requested: 10, 16, and 25 for the smutty prompts thing!!!

10: “were you just touching yourself?” ‘yeah, what are you donna do about it?’

16: “the only way you are gonna get off is on my thigh.”

25: “she may be all lollipops and candy bars, but I bet behind closed doors she’s hand cuffs and gags.”

Pairings: SpencerXReader

Rating: M, (This is very explicit.)

Words: 4K

Warnings: NSFW!!! 18+ (Dom!Spencer, BDSM overtones, sexual conduct, fingering, bondage, etc.)

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Spencer thinks Y/N is an innocent, naive girl until a case reveals her extracurricular activities. 

Spencer had been back from jail for 2 months when he first met her. 

At first he didn’t think anything of her, other than the faint smell of vanilla and daisy as she walked past him in the bullpen and the bright smile that seemed to take up half her face. She was carrying files close to her chest like a schoolgirl late to class and the skirt of her white dress bellowed softly behind her as she made her way to Emily’s office.  

“Who is that?” He had asked. 

Luke looked up to where Spencer’s gaze was. “Oh, that’s Y/N, she's a tech analyst helping Penelope out right now. She’s sweet, you’ll like her.”  

It doesn’t take Spencer long after that to decide he, in fact, does not like you. There was nothing wrong with you. Luke was right, you were sweet, almost sickeningly so. It was like you had no concept of reality. You lived in this world of all sunshine and good things despite the horror that crossed your screen daily. And while Penelope was the same, she at the very least knew how bad the world could be and chose to see the good in it. You didn’t, it was like you’d never had a single bad thing happen to you. And Spencer, who had been dealt the bad hand so many times in life hated that. 

It also didn’t help that you were gorgeous too. You looked like an artist sculpted you himself to make the perfect woman. Real People weren’t supposed to look like that. Real people were supposed to have flaws and blisters. Real people were supposed to look tired so early in the morning not fully awake and smiling while handing everyone in the office a coffee. He didn’t understand how you could be real.   

“Here you go, Spencer. Americano lots of sugar.” You said, placing the coffee on his desk. 

“Thank you.” He mumbles. 

“We have a case, by the way.” You giggle, going off to hand Luke his coffee before walking away to the conference room. Spencer was barely able to keep his eye roll at bay. 

Luke sees that and laughs, clapping Spencer on the back. “Come on, kid. Play nice.” 

“She’s giggling about a murder case.” Spencer grumbles before following him into the conference room. 

“3 women have been murdered in Queens. Judging by the scars, they were all bound and strangled before finally being dumped in an alley.” Garcia says, as she goes through the slides, showing the crime scenes. “Police need our help finding the connection between these three women because right now, it looks like there is none.” 

“I’d say.” Tara speaks up. “We have a waitress/student, a doctor, and a paralegal. All living in different areas of the city with virtually no reason to interact.” 

Spencer looks down at his file, examining the picture when he notices something. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, you clear your throat.  

“Umm, Emily?” You say from your seat right across from Spencer. Emily looks up inquisitively at you. “I think I know what connects them.” 

“What’s that, Y/N?” Emily asks, raising a brow at her.  

You clear your throat again. “Victim #2, Rebecca Belfront, has a Padlock collar necklace on in her second picture. That’s typically used to indicate she’s a submissive with a committed dominant partner. But she wasn’t wearing it when her body was found which makes me think that that relationship recently ended. That made me look at the marks on their arms. While there are some new ones from the murders, they all have faded marks around the wrist and body as well. Leads me to believe the bounding was er-... consensual. We should probably look into New York’s BDSM scene.” You close, smiling awkwardly. 

Spencer looks at you in shock. He, of course, had come to the same conclusion you did and had been about to say that but he, at least, knew why he knew that. Why did you know that? 

Emily hummed thoughtfully. “It’s worth looking into. Do you mind coming to NY with us? Your insight might be needed.” 

You look kind of shocked at that but nod. “Of course, whatever I can do to help.” You say, softly. 

“Great, Wheels up in 30.” She says, getting up, effectively ending the meet. Spencer watches you speed after her, files in hand to ask some more questions. Spencer’s walking back to his desk when Luke catches up with him. 

“Y/N has a dark side. Who knew?” He says, smirking. 

“Probably not.” Spencer muses. “She could’ve just known that. I mean, I  just know stuff sometimes too.” 

“Nah, I don’t think so. Her body language gave her away. She was flushing and stuttering sure, but she was confident in what she was saying. Almost as if, she was speaking from experience.” Luke laughs. “She may be all lollipops and candy bars here, but I bet behind closed doors, she’s handcuffs and gags.”  

Spencer hums. “Maybe.” He says looking up to watch you walk back across the catwalk from Prentiss’ office. Luke was right though, your body language did give you completely away that you were talking from experience. Spencer couldn’t help but wonder just how much. 

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

When you arrive in New York, You head straight from the jet to the Police Station in Queens. You fiddle with your thumbs a bit, you are nervous. 

“You ok?” Spencer says, from his spot in front of the bulletin board he was setting up. You were supposed to be helping him but you knew Spencer was particular about some things so you let him do it. In fact, there were a lot of things you’d let Spencer do. With you, to you, you weren’t picky. The man was gorgeous enough to make you nervous. With his lean muscles, long, fluffy hair, and large hands, he looked like something that walked right out of a wet dream of yours. Which sometimes, he was just that. You weren’t stupid though, you knew Spencer didn’t think of you that way. In fact, you didn’t think Spencer thought of you in any way. He seemed to ignore you anyway he could. 

You look up from your laptop. “Oh yea, I’m fine. I’m just...nervous. I’ve never been in the field.” 

“Chances are you won’t be, Emily will probably keep you in the Station if she can help it.” Spencer provides. 

“I know, it’s just-- you know what I mean.” You say, Spencer nods before returning to the bulletin board. You stand to look at the map with him. “So, from what I was able to find there’s only 3 BDSM clubs in Queens but there’s only one in the middle of where the three women were found. Place called Cat’s Cradle.” 

Spencer hums. “How complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.” You look up at the man, recognizing the quote.  

“There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.” You say back, shrugging. 

“You read Vonnegut?” He asks. 

“You said that like you’re more surprised that I can read than what I read being Vonnegut.” You say, Spencer shrugs not even denying it. God, he was such a dick sometimes. A hot dick, but a dick nonetheless. 

The two of you turn when you hear a knock at the door to see the lead detective coming in to check on you guys. “Just wanted to see how things were coming along. Also see if you guys needed anything?” Though he only directed the question at you with a sly smirk on his face. Men were so obvious sometimes. 

“Nope, we’re fine.” You smile although you didn’t want to. “We’ve narrowed down to a couple BDSM clubs so hopefully we’ll catch our guy soon.” 

“Wait, you think these girls were…” He trails off. You nod, knowing what he was thinking. “Well, it probably serves them right.” 

“Excuse me?” You say. 

“Listen, I know what kind of girls go into those kinds of clubs. If they want to be sexual deviants, they can’t be surprised when shit like this happens to them.” He gestures to the board. 

“Actually more women are into Dominant/Submissive as well as BDSM relationships than you would think, statistically 85%.” Spencer cuts him off. “These clubs are just commonplace for them to meet like minded people just like you would do in any other club and they should be put on trial after their deaths for trusting the wrong person. If you don’t mind, we’d like to get back to work, Detective.” He says, turning back towards the board. The man nods and leaves shortly after that. 

“Thank you.” You say, softly. 

“What for?” Spencer asks. 

“Come on, I work with profilers and I’m not stupid. I know you guys know about me so thank you for defending me just now.” 

“I wasn’t defending you.” Spencer says. “He was making inappropriate comments about victims and we don’t need that outdated way of thinking working on this case. Besides…” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “You’re not the only one with… unconventional extracurriculars.” He turns and walks out after that leaving you watching after him. 

What? 

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

 After delivering the profile, you find the Unsub, a man named Ivan Parke. The only thing left to do was find the best way to snuff him out. When the team is discussing the next best course of action. It’s then Luke comes up with the idea. 

“We should send Y/N undercover.” He says. “She knows the profile and knows the most about the scene.” 

Emily nods. “Is that something you’re comfortable with, Y/N.” 

You look up. “Oh, um yea. I’d have to find a different outfit but you have to send someone with me.” You say, everyone looks at you confused so you sigh and explain yourself. “If you send me into a club like this, in a foreign place with no Dom, the Unsub isn’t going to be my only worry. Someone’s going to have to play my dominant.”   

“I’ll do it.” Spencer speaks up. Your eyes widened, you were not expecting Spencer to agree to it, you assumed you’d be stuck with Luke. Now you’re going to have to spend the night with the man you’d been crushing on since you started working with the BAU as his submissive. Like that wasn’t a dream come true. 

“Great.” Emily says, dismissing everyone and handing you an expense credit card for an outfit. You take it and leave immediately, ignoring the sly look Spencer gives you. 

You ended with a short, low-cut black leather dress with tank-like sleeves that showed off your curves and left very little to the imagination. As well as a clear pair of platform heels. You pulled your hair back into a sleek ponytail and you topped the look with your own personal leather choker with a large circle knob in the center. It was one of your favorite pieces to wear though you never really got a chance to wear it unless you were going to clubs, which you didn’t do as often these days. It was an expensive piece sure, but so worth it when you got to wear it. You were doing your makeup a little darker then you usually do in the bathroom when Spencer comes in. 

“Is this how you typically look on the weekends?” He asks, standing behind you in the mirror. You look up to look him in the eyes through it. 

“If I have the time.” You shrug. 

“It’s very different. You’re very different from how I thought you were.” 

“And how did you think I was, Spencer?”

“Naive...innocent.”   

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have assumed anything about me.” You say, turning towards the man. 

“Maybe you’re right… That’s an expensive piece.” He points out pointing to your choker. “Emily’s going to have fun explaining that at the next budgetary hearing.” 

“I didn’t buy it today.” You explain. “It’s mine.” 

Spencer hums for a moment before lifting his hand to turn your jaw, examining the piece. You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the contact. Spencer was already so close to you and now he was touching you, it was already starting to be too much. Soon, Spencer is hooking two fingers into the circle knob of your choker and he yanks it. Involuntarily, a whimper falls from your lips, prompting a smirk from the man across from you. 

“Tonight’s going to be fun.” He says before leaving you in the bathroom in a state of shock. 

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

 After getting your comms set up by Luke, who tried to avert his eyes from your frame as much as possible, you and Spencer walk into the Cat’s Cradle. Typically you didn’t like the club scene, but you sometimes liked to venture out when looking for a new partner. Cat’s Cradle was definitely different than the other places you had been. Sure it still had the private rooms and the main stage where a scene was happening in front of you but it was a lot more laid back than the ones you went to in DC. Spencer was really enjoying his role too. Probably hamming it up too much because he knew there was a part of you that actually wanted him to. In the end, finding Ivan Parke was easy. He took the bait almost instantly and you were arresting him just as fast. 

“Great work tonight guys.” Emily says, when you reach the hotel lobby. “Jet’s leaving at 7AM so make sure to get some rest.” She says, dismissing you. 

Now begged a tricky situation because you had almost forgotten you and Spencer were rooming together. As you walked back to the room together the air was thick but both of you were silent. The tension had been building between the two of you since he yanked your choker in the station bathroom. You knew it was a matter of time. The dam had to break. 

“You can shower first.” Spencer says. You nod, taking off your choker and grabbing clothes before taking solace in the bathroom. You wanted Spencer and you knew you needed to expedite this. After a much needed shower, you change into your pajama shorts and tank combo. Spencer steps into the shower almost as soon as you leave it. It’s then that you think of the perfect plan. You lay on the bed and spread your legs before slipping a hand down your shorts. You tease yourself at first, rubbing your clit through your underwear while you thought about the events of the night. How Spencer had been so authoritative. How his hand slid to the small of your back and sometimes ghosted your ass as the two of you walked around the club. How he had been so close in the bathroom. The way he yanked you closer. A small moan escaped you as you slid your hand in your underwear. Soon you hear the bathroom door open. Spencer stops short, watching you before leaning on the frame. 

“Were you just touching yourself?”

“Yes.” You answer. “Are you gonna to do something about it?” 

“Should I? Instead of telling me what you want you decide to act like a brat and do this.” 

Spencer moves closer to the bed but doesn’t do anything, just continues to watch you so you decide to give him a show. Moaning loudly as you slide a digit inside of you. Spencer looks at you with hooded eyes. You can’t help the small laugh that leaves you. 

“I think you’re going to give me what I want.” You say, smirking. 

“And why’s that?” He says. 

“You’re already weak.” You say. 

“I’m weak, pretty girl?” He asks, incredulously. Before you know it, he’s ripping your hand out of your pants and crowding in the space between your legs forcing you to sit up and look at him. “You’re in here touching yourself to the thought of me like a horny teenager and I’m the one who’s weak? Ok.”  He sits back and pulls you by your hips to sit on top of his lap, your legs straddling one of his thighs. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh, ok?” He tells you, starting to move your hips. You moan, nodding your head as the friction makes its way through your core. Spencer lifts your shirt off you and smirks when his eyes land on your bare breast. He leans forward to catch your left nipple in his mouth. Your back arches as you grind harder against his thigh. Your hands fly up to start unbuttoning his shirt when he stops you. 

“Did I say you could touch yet, princess?”  He asks. 

“N-No, sir.” You stutter. 

“Then keep your hands to yourself.” He says, putting your hands back to your side. He does indulge you by taking his shirt off himself. But that doesn’t help you keep your hands to yourself. You saw the lean muscle and craved to mark it up with your nails. Your hands go up to touch him again but he stops you. 

“If I have to ask you again, I’m going to tie you up, Princess. Just be good, baby.” 

You were already close before but now with Spencer’s hands and mouth everywhere and constant friction on your sex it was damn near pushing you off the edge. 

“I’m gonna come.” You tell him, he grips your hips tighter, lifting his leg slightly so he was only rubbing against your clit. That makes you moan out loudly. 

“Go ahead, Princess. Cum for me.” He says, and that was all you needed to fall right over the edge. Your legs shake and convulse as Spencer grips your hips help you ride it out.  Soon you come down panting and he’s kissing into your neck. He pulls back and grips your jaw. 

“Still think I’m weak, Princess?”  He asks. 

You knew it was unwise. In fact, you tried to stop yourself before you did it but it was too late. You reared your hand back and slapped Spencer across the cheek. Not hard enough to be seen as anything malicious but sharp enough to throw him off, like he couldn’t believe you had done it.  

“Yes I do.” You say looking him in the eyes after. Something like a switch went off because there was no other way to describe the look he gave you other than feral and fully primitive. He pushes you off him. 

“Get on your hands and knees, now.” He says, menacingly. You scramble and run to get into the position. Once in, Spencer forces your knees further apart. He angrily takes his belt off his pants before fashioning them into a makeshift cuff and pulling your wrist so they’re tied behind your back, leaving you face down into the mattress. He slides your shorts and underwear off in one go. You yelp loudly when the first slap comes to your behind. When the second and third slap comes, you try to squeeze your legs together to get some form of friction but Spencer forces your knees further apart. You moan out when you feel a digit slide against your folds. You try to push back on it but Spencer holds your hips in place. 

“P-Please.” you stutter. 

“What do you want, Princess?” He says, sliding a second digit inside you making you cry out more. 

“Please, fuck me, Spencer.” You say, and you really didn’t have to ask twice because almost as soon as you ask Spencer’s hands leave you to finish unbuckling his pants. There’s a brief moment of calm, so calm that you almost think Spencer wasn’t going to give you what you want but that calm is interrupted by Spencer slamming into, no warning. You scream out but that’s only rewarded with your head being shoved more into the mattress to muffle your cries. Spencer’s hands are pulling on your cuffs so he is almost impossibly deep inside you. You moans start to get louder and louder. Suddenly, Spencer is pulling you up so you’re both sitting up, your back against his chest. One of his hands slides to grip around your neck while the other is moving to circle your clit. The hand around your neck tilts your jaw back so you’re looking up at the man behind you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. Open your mouth, Princess.” He orders, which you do instantly sticking your tongue out. Spencer leans forward and spits into your waiting mouth before locking his mouth with yours. His hand squeezes your neck tighter as you moan into his mouth as he starts fucking you faster, his dick hitting your g-spot almost every thrust. It’s not long before you’re just babbling, not even able to string a coherent sentence together. 

“You gonna come for me, Princess?” He asks. You nod, moaning loudly. At this point, you knew there was no way the person in the room next to you guys didn’t hear you. You could only hope that it wasn’t one of the team. “Go ahead for me, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” After that, it doesn’t take long before you’re falling over the edge, shaking all the while. Spencer fucks you through it before tightening his grip on your hips to bend you back forwards so your face is back on the mattress. He fucks you hard and fast before falling over the edge himself, moaning your name. 

The two of you say nothing as he unties you. When he does, you instantly flop down on your back, breathing heavily. Spencer wordlessly gets up and goes to the bathroom. For a moment you think he’s just leaving you like this, that you were foolish to think Spencer cared anything about you but in that moment he comes back with a wet cloth and ointment. He says nothing as he wipes between your legs before tossing the towel aside. You watch him with a smirk on your face as he rubs the ointment on the red marks the red cuffs made on you. 

He looks you in the eye. “What, Y/N?” 

“What happened to Princess?” You say, Spencer just looks at you with a bored expression which only makes you smile more. “Now’s probably a good time for you to ask me to dinner.” 

Spencer chuckles lightly at that. “You don’t want to go to dinner with me.” 

“I’m almost positive I do. Why would you say that?” You ask. 

Spencer looks you in the eyes at that moment. “I’m not-Y/N, I’m not like you.” 

“Like me?” 

“I’m not able to be cheery and smiley. I can’t float into rooms. I can’t be happy like you are, too much has happened to me. You deserve someone happy.” 

“Spencer.” You say, looking him in the eyes. “You are not broken. You can be happy, it’s going to take time sure but I’m willing to be with you through that. If you want that.” You say. 

Spencer nods. “Ok, Y/N.” he smiles. 

“So….?” 

He rolls his eyes at that. “What’re you doing next sunday?” 

You smile, brightly. “Absolutely nothing.”    

Perm. Taglist: @moonshinerbynight​ @crimeshowtrash​

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #bau x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[neon-junkie]

Ok first of all who said that you could make panty thieves Bad Batch a thing and why do I love it so freaking much! I just wanted to pop in and let you know I’m totally digging the idea, oh and to drop a little scene about the boys and reader going to a club and she just so happens to be a short black dress with some red panties on so let the teasing ensue! And whoever can hold the most shots gets her panties for the night. Okies now I throw myself out a window, love you and your writing ❤️❤️❤️

Aaaaaah okay, you've encouraged me to write a part 3 to the pantie thieves trope!

Pairing: The Bad Batch x Female Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word count: 2.5k

Tags: Drinking, Teasing, Lingerie, Flirting, Gangbang mention, Strip tease, Nightclubs.

Part 1 is [here]

For context, this is how you're all sat at 79's (because im too lazy to write it out properly.)

Tension has been thick in the air ever since you flung your panties at the Batch, informing them that they can fight over who uses them next. They know. You know. They know that you know. You know that they know. And yet, nobody has spoken about it? Minus Crosshair, who called your move "brave," the next day, and Tech, who smugly smiled from across the Marauder at you.

It's been a week since that 'incident', and since then, your panties have finally began going missing again. Your underwear draw is no longer overflowing, shutting with ease, and the boys have returned to their flirtatious comments and remarks. Life seems fair, and after a smooth series of missions, you suggest heading to 79's to celebrate.

They agree, deciding that you'll all head out for the weekend. It's currently mid-week, giving you more than enough time to put your secret plan into place. A trip into Coruscant's flashy malls is in order, and despite Wrecker's offer, you choose to go alone, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

Saturday night arrives, and you're fortunate enough to be spending it in a hotel room. Two rooms have been booked, four double bed between all of you, and you're yet to have the 'talk' on who's sleeping where. The tension in the air informs you that the Batch also have a few surprises planned, and by the end of the night, you won't mind which bed you fall into, or who will be cosying up with you.

You finally have a proper station to do your makeup, rather than crouched over a seat on the Marauder with a pocket mirror pressed between your thighs as you attempt to plaster your makeup on. A shower is in order, and you decide to change into something cosy as you continue your routine. Before finally getting dressed, you shoo Echo and Tech out of the room, and inform them that you'll head over to the other room in a few minutes.

It's time.

This is the Bad Batch; they're a proud group of clones who take their squad's colour extremely seriously. Black and Red. A perfect colour combination, that is currently looking rather flattering on you. You're wearing a tight, skimpy black dress, the hemline barely covering your ass; you can feel the dress riding up whenever you bend down, revealing the flirtatious choice of underwear beneath. Wine red underwear has been brought for this specific occasion, a bra that can be seen when you bend forward, panties that catch the attention of curious eyes, paired with stockings, hold securely around your thighs by a garter belt.

You look lush, divine, and extremely slutty, more than a meal for your boys to enjoy. Once your heels are slipped on, you exit the room, shimmying across the hallway to where the boys are currently waiting for you. You punch in the code, and announce your arrival innocently. "Are we all ready to go?" you question, acting as if you're not the hottest thing to ever wander into their lives.

There's silence, their jaws dropping as they notice your presence. Every single one of them is reacting the way you expected. Wrecker has his mouth wide open, and his cheeks are swiftly turning pink. Echo is politely looking away, as flustered as ever. Crosshair has the smuggest grin you've ever seen, with a lustful glisten to his eyes. Tech is raising a brow, his rosy cheeks barely hidden beneath his glasses. And Hunter is attempting to look at you politely, despite the sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Y-Yeah," Wrecker is the one to break the silence.

"Well, c'mon then," you signal, urging them to follow you out of the hotel room. There's awkward shuffling from the Batch, barely moving a pace forward, before Echo shakes his head, breaking the tension thick in the air.

"Is nobody going to comment?" Echo grumbles, gesturing to you. "You look... beautiful," he sighs, finally addressing the elephant in the room.

The Batch is nodding in agreement, chewing at their bottom lips. It's painfully obvious that they want to say more, but words fail them - or polite words fail them, seeing as they're spoilt for choice, but their choices aren't exactly appropriate.

"Yeah, you look hot!" Wrecker finally blurts out, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink the second he realizes what he's just said. You can't help but laugh at his eagerness, muttering your thanks through your laughter.

"Divine would be a more accommodating word," Tech suggests.

"The colours... did you pick them out... for us?" Hunter slowly questions.

You nod as you sweetly reply, "yeah."

"We're being spoilt," Crosshair comments with a chuckle.

"Not yet, you're not," you grin, having more tricks up your sleeve. "Now come on, I want to get a good table!"

On your command, the Batch finally exit the hotel room, sticking to you closely as you begin your journey to 79's. You're not the only person dressed up tonight; they're all sporting smart but casual clothing, ironed shirts, tailored pants, polished shoes. You've never come across this attire before, so maybe they also went out to buy something for the occasion whilst you were doing the same thing?

The taxi journey feels painfully long, but before you know it, you're entering the club. It's already busy - when isn't it? - but you manage to find a cosy booth tucked away in the corner. A few of the Batch head straight to the bar, ensuring that there's always at least one of them present. No doubt, if you're left alone, you'll be swiftly snatched up by any of the other clones, who have all had their gaze in your direction since you walked through the door.

The first few sets of drinks go down smoothly, relaxing your nerves, settling the tension in the air. By now, your ears have adjusted to the music, and your eyes can see clearly through the neon lights flowing overhear. Your boys seem pleasant, chatting as a group, coddling you in the middle of them, until you announce that you're heading to the bar.

"Let me accompany you," Tech offers as you slip out from the booth, following him over to the bar. His shoulder presses against yours as you rest your hands on the bar top, patiently waiting for your turn to order. Tech remains silent as you order, but a brow is raised as he overhears your request, chewing at your bottom lip smugly once the bartender goes to collect your drinks.

"Did I hear that correctly?" Tech questions.

"Maybe," you smirk. "What did you hear?"

"...30 shots," Tech clears his throat, his stomach already turning at the thought of having to do one, let alone five. "Five each, I assume?"

"Yes, but they come with a catch!"

"Oh? Do tell."

"I'll tell you when we're back at the table," you reply with a thick glisten in your eyes.

Tech's concerned expression slips onto the other Batchers faces when you eventually walk over, a tray of shots in your hands. You carefully place the tray on the table, remaining standing as you catch their full attention. "I have a challenge for you boys," you proudly state.

"We're listening," Hunter comments, his eyes flicking between you, and the liquor glistening on the table.

A soft sigh slips from your lips as you rest your hands atop of the table, bending forward slightly, half to get closer to them, half to catch their gaze of your breasts hanging playfully in front of them. "Whoever can hold the most shots wins a prize!" you instruct, grinning playfully.

"What's the prize?" Echo questions.

"I'm not telling! You'll just have to wait and see," you coo. You stand upright, your hips shifting as your body moves, and your eyes trail over the men before you as you ask, "are you all in?"

There's a mixture of expressions, but all of them say yes. Curiosity and uncertainty is present around the table, eager to see what the prize is. You shuffle back into your seat, huddled between Wrecker and Hunter. Most of the Batch look sheepish as they raise their first shot, minus Crosshair, who has experience drinking his brothers under the table. You join in on downing the first one, coughing once the liquor has run down your throat.

Tech and Echo are also coughing, Wrecker and Hunter are questioning their life decisions, whilst Crosshair is smugly picking up his next shot, commenting "giving up already?"

"No!" Wrecker grumbles, and swiftly makes a dash for his next one.

After that, the shots flow... reluctantly. Echo has to tap out after four, excusing himself to the restroom. Tech joins him, swiftly putting his fourth shot back on the table before he makes another mistake. Hunter taps out after three, feeling double the amount of liquor in his system thanks to his heightened senses. Crosshair is taking his time, chuckling to himself at his brother's low barriers.

"Awh, augh..." Wrecker grumbles, eyeing up the fourth shot, sitting on the table in front of him. "I dunno..." he sighs, rubbing the back of his head, his shirt tightening around his toned chest as his hand moves.

Echo and Tech return, a glass of water each in hand, and despite their drunken states, they begin encouraging Wrecker to take another shot. "Do you need some encouragement?" you suggest.

Wrecker's eyes turn wide, and a single brow raises as he asks, "what kind of encouragement?"

All eyes are on you. You smirk as you pick up Wrecker's shot, shuffling up onto your knees, giving you that extra boost to reach his level, despite him sitting down. You can feel the hem of your dress rising, your barely covered ass hitting the cool air of the club; Hunter, who is beside you, politely averts his gaze, whilst the others slowly tilt their heads in an attempt to view more. You bring the shot up to Wrecker's lips, and instinctively, he tips his head back, allowing you to pour the shot down his throat.

"Nice job, big guy!" you praise, placing the now-empty glass on the table. Wrecker grumbles in response to the flavour, but hasn't decided on if he's tapping out yet. It's just him and Crosshair, and given both of their current states, you know who will win.

As you sit back down, crossing one leg over the other, Crosshair leans forward to catch your attention, sitting on the other side of Hunter, two seats away from you. "I could do with some encouragement too," he smirks, and Hunter rolls his eyes at Crosshair's comment, stuck in the middle of you two.

"That so?" you raise a brow. Shuffling onto your knees again, you pick up another shot from the table, and clamber across Hunter's lap. You're practically on all fours, ass on display, with Wrecker behind you losing his mind at the sight. Slowly, you feed the shot to Crosshair, who locks his gaze onto yours as he takes his time lapping up the liquor.

Hunter looks like he's about to burst when you finally move away, returning to your seat. There's a light layer of sweat forming above his brow, and his tattoo is failing to hide his flushed cheeks; no doubt, he caught more than enough of an eye full as you bent over him.

"You gonna let Crosshair win?" you ask Wrecker, who still hasn't taken his final shot.

Wrecker grumbles, a hand resting on his stomach, clutching at the thin fabric of his shirt as he thinks things through. "I guess I am," he sighs, not wanting to risk getting into a state.

Crosshair chuckles, his hands crossing over his chest as he raises a brow at you. "So, what's my prize?" he asks.

Your expression matches his, sly and mischievous, and you keep it on your lips as you slowly stand. The booth may be cramped, but there's just enough space for you to fit between the table, and Crosshair's legs. Your eyes remain fixated on his as you slowly lift the hemline of your dress, fingertips running along the lacy bands of your garters, soon reaching your panties.

You overhear each member of the Batch gasp, gawking at your bold display, minus Crosshair, who watches the show hungrily. With your fingertips on the waistband of your panties, you shimmy them off, the fabric falling down your hips. The hemline of your dress moves perfectly, not displaying anything, teasing what might come later.

Red, lacy panties fall to your ankles, and with your eyes still on Crosshair's, you step out of them. Using the heel of your heels, you pick the panties up, and bunch them up in your hand, a move that you definitely didn't practise whilst alone in the hotel room earlier. You take a seat on Crosshair's lap, who moves into your touch, pulling you tightly against him.

Your panties are swiftly stuffed into his shirt pocked, the red lace poking out of the top. "For later," you comment. Crosshair groans, his hands gripping at your thighs; the arm around your waist slips higher, dancing with the hemline of your dress that is threatening to flash your prize at both him, and the Batch at any possible moment. The Batch is on the edge of their seats, not bothering to avert their gaze; they want this, they want you, and the liquor in their system has helped their confidence.

"For later?" Crosshair softly chuckles. "Mhm, a sweet prize, but we had something in store for you too," Crosshair comments, moving a hand from your thigh to gently cup your chin.

Hunter side glances you, grinning smugly, softly chuckling at Crosshair's comment. Crosshair notices his Sergeant looking, and decides to give him orders. "Why don't you tell her, Hunter?"

"Hm, alright," Hunter agrees as he shuffles closer. One of his large hands finds your thigh, squeezing at it playfully, admiring the sensation of your stockings pressed against his palm. He leans in close, and keeps his gaze on yours as he explains, "we'd like to make a mess of you, once we're back at the hotel room."

You suck in a heavy breath, your back straightening, cheeks becoming rosy at the thought. All of them want to make a mess of you, all five of them. Just when you think things can't possibly get any more tense, Echo places a hand on your shoulder blade, shuffling in behind you as he joins in on riling you up. "Don't think that we haven't noticed the way that you've been teasing us lately," he chuckles.

"Yeah, it's time we got our revenge!" Wrecker chuckles, peering behind Hunter at you.

"Honestly," Tech sighs as he rests his elbows on the table, opposite to you. "It was... unfair of us to partake in explicit acts without your permission, but given that you've since been encouraging us, we can only assume that you're eager for more."

Your heart is thumping in your chest, riled up from the series of men who all have their hungry gaze on you. You should have expected this, for a group of men to finally snap at your playful flirting, and put you in your place.

"So?" Hunter speaks up, catching your attention as your gaze was flicking between each of them. "What's it gonna be? Do you wanna stay here a little longer, or head back already?"

[to be continued]

#ths is so poorly written but im sad about todays episode okay just lemme live #tbbwriting #thieves #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb tech x reader #tbb wrecker x reader #tbb echo x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #swwriting #nsft #reader insert #f!reader #female reader #star wars #pantie thieves

[dollslayer]

Champagne Problems

Bartender!Bucky x Reader

Summary: When your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise appearance at your sister's wedding you find help from an unexpected source.

W/C: 4,642

Warnings: NO MINORS, Smut, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, swearing, alcohol consumption

A/N: Hey! I know it's been a minute (sorry), I wrote this for @saiyanprincessswanie's writing challenge using the bartender au! If you like this please reblog and comment and check out my other fics!! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

You sighed internally before slapping on a smile for yet another group picture. Your bridesmaid dress was itchy and you already regretted spending the entire night in it, as the reception was just starting. But it was your sister’s day and you decided that if what she really wanted was for you to wear this itchy monstrosity to honor her wedding then damn it, you’d do it. So you leaned in close with the rest of the wedding party and posed some more.

When the photographer had finished with his photos you were ushered to the family table and wedged between your mother and your aunt. You mentally cursed your sister for seating you with them because they were going to spend the entire night trying to set you up with someone while simultaneously lamenting that you’d dumped your boyfriend of 4 years just a month earlier. Your mother wanted grandchildren so badly, you didn’t know why she couldn’t just settle to get them from your sister.

“Sweetheart, you and Steve were so good together though! Remember when he surprised you at Christmas with that puppy? I don’t know how you let a man like that go…” Your mom chided.

You grabbed the attention of a passing server and grabbed the champagne off their tray. If you were going to have this conversation again you needed liquid courage to do so. You downed it in three sips and your mom scoffed at you.

“Mom, we've been over this. I didn’t ask him to do that, we agreed we weren’t ready for a dog. Ugh, oh my god, anyways, we just didn’t work together. Sometimes things don’t work out, Mom. You’ll still get grandkids, just not from me.” You patted her on the shoulder but she just pursed her lips and looked past you to your aunt.

You wanted nothing more than to get wasted but you couldn’t do that to your sister. You wouldn’t get blackout drunk, but you were definitely getting drunk tonight. The reception was being held in a hotel and the wedding party had a block of rooms reserved so it’s not like you had to drive. You just had one thing to do before you did that.

The moment you’d been dreading had finally arrived, the toast. You held your freshly topped-off glass of champagne and brought your fork to it to get everyone’s attention. Someone handed you the mic and you hesitated before taking it and nervously cleared your throat.

By what you assumed could only be the grace of God you managed to deliver the perfect toast about finding the right person and soulmates and anything else you might find in a hallmark card with only minor stumbles. Everyone clapped and your brother-in-law wiped a stray tear and everyone finally dug into dinner. You just hoped that would mean your mother would be quiet about Steve for the next 20 minutes and then you could escape to the open bar.

____

You almost made it through dinner scott-free and sat back to watch your sister’s first dance. Just when you thought you were in the clear it was your aunt that threw a wrench in your plans. She was three glasses of wine deep and had that glassy look in her eye when she grabbed your elbow and pulled you closer. She spoke to you in a low voice while trying not to fumble her words.

“Listen kiddo, I know your mom is hard on you about Stevie but she just wants what’s best for you. What you two had… it was so good even I liked him! I don’t like anybody y’know that. So.. so why don’t you jus’ give ‘im another chance, make your mom happy? Couldn’t be that bad, could it? Maybe he’ll even… surprise you”

You mentally blocked out her words halfway through her speech, hoping neither of you would remember it by the end of the night. Right now you just had to get her to stop so you could get away from the table. You didn’t think you could take one more second of being shamed for leaving Steve.

You smiled sweetly and nodded in understanding towards her words.

“I know, Aunt Linda. I know. Sometimes things happen, I love mom but I’ll find someone else.”

With that you patted her on the shoulder and took off in search of the bar.

There were two bars and you wanted to go to the less crowded one. Looking around you had spotted it just past the dancefloor and made a beeline. Weaving through the now open dance floor and escaping the invitations to join your family you finally made it and leaned heavily against the countertop with a sigh.

“Rough night?” Your eyes follow the gruff yet amused voice and find that it belongs to a very handsome man with a defined jaw, clear blue eyes, and long hair that was tied back.

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

“You don’t know that half of it. Nothing like a wedding to remind you how single you are” You joked.

“Ah. Yeah, that’ll do it. That’s rough. You look like you need a drink, what can I get you?”

“Dealer’s choice. Just no vodka.” You requested.

He smirked and nodded, perusing the lines of bottles that were in front of him. He bit his lip as he concentrated on what to make and you tried not to stare. You watched him get to work on your drink and couldn’t help but notice the way you could see his muscles move underneath his dress shirt.

He turned back around and proudly presented you with something fizzy in a highball glass.

“My own concoction, I even used the non-watered down liquor. Just for you” He says with a wink.

You try your best to hide your shy smile and accept the drink.

“Thank you, how sweet of you.” You tell him.

“It’s nothin’. So how’s a gal like you single? If you don’t mind my asking. Seems pretty impossible to me.”

You're caught somewhere between flattery and embarrassment and just hope it doesn't show on your face. You take a long sip of your drink and gear up to answer him.

“Well, I just got out of a 4 year relationship, actually. He’s really sweet but he always had a tendency to steamroll my needs and just do whatever he was going to do. Eventually that shit adds up.” You sigh.

“Like for example - last year we had talked about getting a dog and I said I wasn’t ready, we’re just both way too busy and then on Christmas day he shows up with this puppy! And then I’m the villain for telling him no! The puppy ended up going to a good home but he did stuff like that all the time. It just became too much. Anyways now my mom won’t get off my ass about leaving him.” You shook your head.

“A puppy? Wow, that’s… intense. That’s a lot, I’m sorry. You finish that drink and I’ll pour us both a shot” He laughed.

You nodded in agreement and downed the rest of the cocktail. He held up two shot glasses and extended one to you.

“A toast, to… wait. I don’t even know your name!”

His shoulders shook as he laughed and he answered you.

“I’m James but you can call me Bucky” You made a face at that.

“What kinda name is Bucky?” You asked before giving him your own name.

“Whatever, I’ve got two shots of tequila, you want one or not?” How could you say no?

“A toast,” You continued, “To you and your weird name, Bucky.”

He laughed and you clinked your glasses together, then against the counter before downing them in one go. You tried your best not to make a face and looked up at Bucky to find him extending you the lime chaser, which you took gratefully.

“Hoo… I could use like, 3 more of those to get through tonight. So, how’d you get into bartending?”

“I needed somethin’ to put me through school and I figured this beats stripping. Though, with some of the customers we get sometimes I’m not so sure”

You laughed at that and Bucky went on to tell you anecdotes of all the crazy people he’s had to serve, disastrous weddings, and the time he got a lapdance from the bride herself. You hadn’t even realized how much time had passed but you were enjoying talking to him, forgetting your mission to be drunk.

The two of you kept swapping stories and were getting to know each other a bit more. He let you vent about Steve and just listened, it was refreshing to talk to someone and not be told what it is that you should be wanting. When you pictured the night you didn’t picture yourself confiding in the bartender tonight but if you were honest you were enjoying yourself. It beat awkwardly dancing with your family and enduring more disappointed remarks from your family.

You had hoped you could hide out at the bar and spend the entire night unscathed when the double doors to the ballroom opened. Your heartbeat in your ears as time slowed down around you as a blond head of hair made its way through the archway. Your laughter died in your throat when Baby blue eyes found you across the room and you froze like a deer in headlights. No. Nononononono this isn’t happening.

Time has somehow come to a halt while simultaneously hurtling forward since you can’t get yourself unstuck from this moment yet fail to realize that Steve is now standing right in front of you. His hair is swept back perfectly and he flashes you that million dollar smile of his that shows off his dimples perfectly. You scold yourself for checking him out but damn did he always clean up nice.

“Hey, sweetheart” he says shyly, as if he’s not crashing your sister’s wedding to get with you.

“What…? What are you doing… here?” You ask quietly, trying to avoid a scene.

Before he can answer you your mom comes up behind Steve and squeezes his shoulders tight, all with a big, bright smile on her face. Of course. How did I not see this coming?

“You made it!” She exclaimed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“Of course, sorry to have missed the ceremony but there’s still plenty to celebrate, right?” He asked with his signature boyish smirk.

Shock was still in full effect on your features as you stood stock still. But that shock was soon giving way to anger as you slowly pieced together everything that was happening. Your mom had brought back Steve to try and get you back together and Steve was steamrolling you again.

“I… I, can’t. I can’t-” You started

“Sweetheart, how many of those have you had? You need some water.” Steve motions to the drink in your hand and you feel the anger running through your veins about to take over. You have to move this out of the room. Now.

“Why don’t we move this to the hall?” You suggested quietly.

You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you started moving towards the exit but you did spare one last panicked glance towards Bucky. He looked confused and his brows were quirked in a way that made him look upset, almost. You sent him a pleading look before turning back around and preparing yourself to deal with this shitshow that had slowly unfolded before you.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold. You got this. Your hand begins to push the door open when Steve’s much larger one covers yours and gets the job done. An action that you once would’ve thought was sweet, one that you would’ve made you swoon, even, is currently pissing you off.

You two made your way to the hallway and you looked around before you started in on him.

“Okay, what the hell, Rogers? Crashing my sister’s wedding? Really?! I don’t give a shit if my mom put you up to this I-”

“Sweetheart, please. She thought you might be having second thoughts and maybe us seeing each other would… patch things up. We just want what’s best for you, sweetheart” Steve attempted to console you, reaching out to try and rub your arm but you pulled back.

“No! I am so sick of you running me over! You never listened to me or what I had to say and this is exactly why I broke up with you, Steve! You’re being so fucki-”

“Hey, babe, everything okay out here?” Bucky’s voice surprised you but not as much as his lips pressing a kiss into your hair and his arms wrapping around your waist.

You had to crane your neck to look back and up at him. It took all of two seconds for you to piece together what you’d hoped was the truth. Bucky raised his eyebrows at you as if to say “come on” and in all your desperation you went with it. You supposed that his formal uniform made him pass for a regular guest.

“I, ah, yeah, yes. Steve here was just leaving, right?” You asked him.

Steve raised his eyebrows in a stunned expression, mouth slightly open in disbelief. His hand reached out towards your shoulder but Bucky pulled you back gently.

“Doll, are you serious? Who even is this guy? Does your mom know about this?”

“No, she doesn’t. It’s… new…” You told him.

“Right,” Bucky cuts in, “It’s new so we weren’t telling anyone just yet but she figured I should at least be here for the reception”

“Seriously?” Steve scoffs, “Man bun? What does he have that I don’t? C’mon, you know what you and I have is real.”

“What you and I have is over, Steve. You never listened to me, always pushed me further than I was ready for. We’re done, it’s over. I’m sorry for whatever Mom told you”

Steve took a harsh breath inwards and you watched him try to decide whether he should walk away or blow up. Based off of the veins popping in his forehead, he was opting to blow up.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to but-”

“She said it’s over, punk. Move along” Bucky cut in. He took a protective step in front of you and pushed his shoulders back, squaring up to Steve. Steve seethed quietly and you two exchanged very tense glances.

“I’m telling your mother about this. I doubt she’ll be happy to hear you brought some random person to your sister’s wedding.” Steve spat.

He walked past the two of you and bumped shoulders harshly with Bucky. Bucky’s jaw tensed and his grip on your waist tightened but he didn’t retaliate. Instead he took a step back to get a proper look at you.

“You okay?”

“Why did you do that? You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but you looked like you could really use the help.”

“Well… thank you. I appreciate it, more than you know. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.” You laughed to yourself a little and added, “We’re not even together 5 minutes and you already have all my emotional baggage”

Bucky laughed at that and shook his head.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve got some crazy exes too. So what now? You going back in?”

You became a little flustered at that but moved past it with a sheepish grin.

“No,” You shook your head, “I think it’s best for everyone if I just go up to my room and avoid a whole scene.”

“Well at least let me walk you up. I wouldn’t put it past that creep to follow you.”

“What about the bar?”

“We’re overstaffed and the party’s winding down anyways. They’ll get on without me”

“Alright then” You accepted and started off towards the elevators.

You two were standing in the elevator waiting for the doors to close when you spotted the doors to the ballroom open. Your mother was looking around, her face a picture of anger. Lucky for you the doors closed before she could look in your direction and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You know as far as fake boyfriends go I’d say you’re pretty good”

“Just good? C’mon I had that guy on the ropes.”

“Yeah alright,” You relented with a grin.

You exited the elevator car and made your way down the hallway until finally you reached your door. You fished your keycard out of your wallet and turned to Bucky.

“Hey… do you wanna… maybe come in? Hang out? I know you’ve got work but if you’re overstaffed maybe…” You trailed off. There was a beat of silence and you felt regret instantly, thinking you’ve asked too much of him. “Y’know what nevermind, you don’t have to, I’m sorry I-”

“I’d love to hang out with you, if you’re okay with that. Plus it’s probably better I wait to get back until the wedding’s over. Can’t really show my face as your boyfriend and then get back behind the bar, can I?” He said with a soft smile.

“Suppose you’re right,” You swiped the card and cracked open the door.

You stepped inside and felt like you could finally breathe again. You kicked off your heels and went to turn on the lights. You reached back to get the zipper of your dress but couldn’t quite get there.

“Will you get my zipper?” You asked Bucky. He nodded and came closer to you.

You could feel his warmth radiating from him when he was this close. Your nostrils filled with the heady scent of his aftershave. He smells so good. He unzipped you halfway and left the rest for you.

You thanked him and grabbed your change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. Relieved to finally be free of the itchy monstrosity of a bridesmaids dress you sighed and put on a tank top and pair of shorts. You realized the tank top showed a little more of your cleavage than intended but you shrugged it off and exited the bathroom.

Bucky’s eyes landed on you and he took a sharp breath in but tried to play it cool. It half worked, you caught him staring a little bit and giggled to yourself. When you looked at him again he was undoing his tie and the first two buttons of his shirt. Wonder what he’d look like if he unbuttoned just a few more… You stopped yourself in that line of thinking and joined him on the couch.

“I think your phone’s gonna zap itself into an early grave with the way it’s been going off” Bucky said as he pointed to your phone on the table.

You picked it up to find you had several missed calls from your mother, one from Steve, and one very long text message from him that was already inducing a headache. You opened it, forgetting you had read receipts on. Oops. You weren’t going to read this now in front of Bucky, so you shut it off and put it aside.

“So how are you feelin’?” He asked.

“Better now that I’m out that damned dress. As for my family, they'll get over themselves. I don’t know why who I’m dating is such a big deal to them anyways.”

“You do look more comfy now that you’ve changed. If you don’t mind me sayin’ you’re just as gorgeous now as you were all dolled up”

You felt heat flood your cheeks instantly and eked out a thank you. You and Bucky talked for an hour more or so and in that time you’d found yourself nodding off with your head on his chest. On instinct he brought your whole body closer to him and put his arm around you. If you were less sleepy you’d be embarrassed but right now you didn’t care.

Bucky had moved slightly and inadvertently jolted you awake. You shot up and realized that you’d cuddled your way into Bucky’s side and now the embarrassment was catching up with you. You instantly scooted back to give him some space.

“Sorry, I uh, didn’t mean to cuddle you” You said while avoiding his gaze.

You felt a hand on your thigh and finally looked up to find him smirking at you.

“I didn’t mind it. It’s getting late though, I should get back.”

You were slightly disappointed but nodded your head. You rose and followed him to the door. He went for the handle but turned around when you grabbed his hand. He stepped away from the door and was in your personal space. You looked up at him with a shaky breath.

“Thank you, again, for what you did. It was really sweet of you.” He smiled down at you and brought one hand to your face. Oh God, I didn’t prepare for this. Your heart was beating just a little harder as you looked into his clear blue eyes.

“For you? Anytime. I had a really fun time with you tonight.”

“Me too.”

With that his other hand came up to cup your face and he kissed you sweetly. It wasn’t until you kissed him back that he pulled away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, I don’t wanna make you uncomf-”

You grabbed him by the shirt collar and brought him in for another kiss. This time more demanding but just as sweet. He let out a small moan and you swear you could’ve melted. His tongue explored your mouth while his hands moved their way down your body and brought you even closer to him. You could feel that he was hard and it only made you want him more.

Without breaking the kiss you started to move backwards towards the bed until finally you were just at the edge of it. You broke apart for air and searched his eyes only to find his pupils blown wide in lust. You cupped him through his pants and he groaned. He was big. Maybe even bigger than Steve.

“We don’t have to do anythin’ you don’t want to do,” He breathed out. You shook your head and kissed him again.

“I want you, I’m sure.” You panted out.

“I don’t have a condom”

“Doesn’ matter, I’m on the pill” You told him. With that his hands were up your tank top and you’d helped him to remove it. He worked on his shirt next and while he fumbled with the buttons you took off the rest of your clothing.

Bucky was every bit as devastating as you’d thought he’d be and you let out a genuine sigh. His toned muscles rippled throughout his arms and torso and you watched him remove his boxers and you’re not entirely sure your jaw hadn’t dropped. He noticed you gawking and chuckled as he leaned down to join you on the bed.

“See somethin’ you like?”

He didn’t give you the chance to answer though, he pushed you backwards onto the bed and kissed you again, this time trailing his kisses all the way down your body. He stopped and took his time to admire each of your breasts, licking and biting your nipples. You’d gasped in surprise and pleasure. He moved his way down finally to your pussy and looked up at you.

“Can I? You could only nod and let out a shaky breath as you sat up on your elbows and watched him get to work. He kissed and caressed your thighs until finally his fingers were prodding at your entrance. He groaned at how wet you were and pushed two fingers in. You let out an obscene moan and your hands went into his locks. His tongue lapped at your clit before he sucked on it, all the while pumping his fingers in and out of you in search of your G-spot.

You’d pulled his hair out of his bun and guided his tongue where he needed to be. Finally getting the right angle you were whimpering in pleasure, back arched almost to a point of pain. He’d finally found the spot he’d been looking for and your eyes shut closed in pleasure.

“Please,” you begged, “Please don’t stop I’m so close”

You pushed his head harder against you and his fingers sped up. It was only a matter of moments until your toes were curling in pleasure and you writhed on the bed in the aftershock of your orgasm. Bucky continued to lap away at you until you pushed him off. He came back up to eye level with you and had a wolfish grin.

“Who knew you’d make such noises? God it was so hot”

You pulled him in for another kiss and reached down to grab his cock. You pumped it a few times before you moved down to return the favor when he stopped you. You looked up at him with brows pinched in concern.

“Don’ worry about me, I just wanna feel you”

He moved you beneath him and you spread your legs apart for him. You were still sensitive in your post-high when his tip brushed your clit but you didn’t mind the bolt of pleasure. He aligned himself with your entrance and looked you in the eye as he pushed all the way inside of you slowly. You let out an involuntary moan, trying to accommodate his full length.

“You good?” He asked.

“I’m good, you’re just...big” He smirked at that.

“Can I move or do you need a second?”

“No, you can move, please move.”

One hand on your hip and the other on your breast he started thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace. You swore you could feel every bump and ridge of him with every inch he put into you. His pace picked up and he kissed the column of your neck, finding the one spot that drove you crazy. Your small mewls turned to full moans and he began fucking you harder.

“‘M not gonna last much longer” He told you. You didn’t say anything in response, just brought him in for another kiss and grabbed a handful of his ass to push him further inside you. He chuckled at that and took the hint.

He was going the hardest he had so far and you were holding on for dear life and loving every minute of it. His panting breaths were heavy in your ears and you reached down to toy with your clit so you’d cum together. His thrusts were getting a little sloppier and your hand moved faster, quickly approaching both your peaks. He let out an almost pornographic moan as he came, He fucked you through his orgasm and not a moment later you came for a second time. Your bodies melded together as you rode out the last waves of each other’s orgasms.

Finally Bucky stopped and held himself with one hand, trying to catch his breath. You were slightly dazed, trying to compute how your night had ended up like this. Bucky rolled over onto the bed and you felt the mess between your thighs. You looked over to him with a hazy smile.

“So, I know we’re doin’ things a little backwards here but, maybe I could take you out some time? If you want?”

Your smile grew even wider and your heart felt so light in this moment.

“I’d like that”

You didn’t know what tomorrow would hold or how to even begin cleaning up the mess with your family. You’d deal with it all in the morning, for now you’d just bask in the afterglow with your fake boyfriend and be grateful for chance meetings.

#missys writing challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bartender!bucky #fake dating #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel x reader #smut #bucky barnes fic #fluff #slight angst

[sp00kworm]

Black Oak (Part 2)

Pairing: Alcott Glyn (Headless Horseman) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Body Horror, Murder

PART 1 

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The police arrived about an hour after you had woke-up the whole village screaming. Peswick was far away from the nearest city’s response, and you sat shivering, wrapped in a blanket from the house, clutching it close as Mrs Shaw rushed to bring you a hot drink. She and her husband were dressed, but neither went into your house. They rushed back home, bringing you a cup of tea from their own kitchen along with a foil blanket for the shock. You weren’t allowed to touch the body, and you tried to ignore the swinging noise of the corpse as you sat perched on the front doorstep to your home, sniffling into the cup of tea. The police took off their hats as they stepped past your gate, and you watched as the crime scene investigation and forensic van pulled up behind them. The two officers nodded at Mr and Mrs Shaw before smiling as best they could.

“Would you like to come with us, please?” The male officer asked gently, “Lets go inside and we’ll get your statement of events, okay?” The female officer with him looked back at the tree and swallowed hard as Forensics suited up to remove the body and take evidence.

“Come on, Sully.” He ushered his companion as he helped you to your feet and nodded to your neighbours. He whistled and smiled as he opened the door for you, “Nice old place you’ve got here.” He complimented kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with crows’ feet, “Mrs Finch used to live here. Are you a relative?”

 You shook as the officer led you gently into the front room, “It…She was my aunty, distantly.” You whispered as you eased yourself back onto the sofa, clutching the lukewarm tea tightly, as though it was a lifeline in your grasp.

“She was a kind woman. Made a lot of oils out of her garden, but she had nothing but trouble and vandalism with this place. Kids used to make a mess of the sides of the house regularly.” He tipped his head to the wall where the fireplace was, “It was always on the chimney. She never did anything, but the kids called her a witch and all that trollop.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t introduced yourself.” Sue gave him a lopsided smile as she pulled out the clipboards full of paperwork to be completed.

“Ah, so I haven’t!” The officer dipped his head, “I’m Officer Perks.” He pointed to the blond woman with him, “And this is my partner Officer Sullivan.”

You nodded shakily licked your lips, “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I know...Its far.” A breathy sigh left you as Sullivan took out her pens from her vest and smiled.

“We just need an account of what you did this morning and if you knew the victim.” Percy offered as he sat on your couch, “Spare no details. Even something small to you might be important to us.”

 Conflict burned in your throat and gut as you thought about what had happened, “I don’t remember anything of relevance from last night. I spent the night in bed. I’ve only just moved in, so I was exhausted.” You took a shuddering breath and continued, “I went out this morning to the tree and…and I looked up… and he was hanging there, without his head.” You looked into the tea in your hands, noting that it was now ice cold.

“How long have you been here?” Sullivan asked as she shorthand filled in the details on the paperwork, “You said you moved in recently?” Perks looked from the paper to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I moved in yesterday afternoon.” You whispered and Sullivan gave you a pitying look.

Perks shifted against the cushions, “Did you have anyone with a grudge against you or motive from where you used to live?” He asked.

“No one that I know of.” You answered as you put down the cup of tea, fighting the tears and upset.

“Okay so what time did you find the body?” Perks asked. You took a deep sigh and continued to answer the police officer’s questions well into the afternoon.

 Perks and Sullivan could drink their weight in tea, it turned out, and you offered them many drinks over the course of the few hours. They had a couple each, pens scratching papers as they took notes and an official account of the events for the records. You looked out of the window as Sue and Percy signed the bottom of the page. Crime Scene Investigations were hoisting the body down from the thick black branch of the oak, working to preserve the noose he was swinging by. Three people held the corpse up as they cut the rope carefully, keeping the knot intact and bagging the rope before they got the body down into the bag on the stretcher.

“He’ll need to go to pathology to determine cause of death…though I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sullivan whispered, trying not to be heard as she eyed you sat across from them. Perks rolled his eyes and elbowed his colleague.

“Here. Let me draw the curtains.” Perks stood and reached for the curtains before drawing them over the forensics team dragging the body into the bag, impassive to the blood that stained their tunics and gloves.

“I think we have everything.” Sullivan announced as she stood up and took hold of both their mugs, “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.” She offered with a small, pathetic smile.

 Perks nodded his head as Sullivan as she left towards the kitchen. You heard her bang the cup on the countertop before you tugged the blanket closer and shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you for your cooperation today.” Perks took his hat and tucked it under his arm, “I know these kinds of cases are very difficult to talk about. I have this card for you.” He held you out a green printed business card, “That’s the helpline for a couple of organisations and the other side has someone you can seek out if you would like some help talking through all this.”

You looked at the numbers vaguely before nodding and placing the card on the coffee table, “Thank you.” You replied quietly before Perks replaced his hat on his head.

“We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you once again and good afternoon.” He looked at his watch before he opened the lounge door and quietly exited.

Sue scoffed at him in the hall, “Come on. We’ve got these reports to write up.”

“Coming, coming.” Perks grumbled, “Nothing wrong with being nice. They just witnessed a damn corpse…” The voices trailed off as the front door closed behind the two of them with a bang.

 Silence.

 You looked to the curtains and stood up, letting the blankets finally fall from your shoulders as you fisted each side of the heavy curtains. They were old and embroidered with curling leaves. You tugged them open with a heave and watched the police vans trundle away back down the old stone roads, back towards the hills where they had come from this morning. With a deep breath, you tied the curtains back before taking one last long look at the gnarled, black oak in the garden, and heading towards the stairs for a shower and to get dressed. You hoped that a shower would wash away the sticky feeling of malaise on your skin and mind. Hot water usually purged bad thoughts, or so you hoped as you tried to erase the memory of the swinging corpse from the shrivelled branches of the old oak tree.

 You shivered through the house after your shower, wrapped in a jumper and heavy jeans as you tried to navigate the halls without looking out into the garden. The memory of the body lingered with the burning feeling of the heavy box in the other room, filled with an old skull. It was a skull inside. A perfectly preserved ivory skull. The teeth were yellow with age on the enamel, and you looked to the table where the muddy box sat with the key in the lock. The headless creature had moaned and groaned as its head screamed from the other room. You turned and looked at the ornate metal decorations before daring to turn the key again. The lid popped open and flew back to reveal the skull again.

 It sat perfectly still on the cushion, staring at you with empty eyes. With a deep breath, you dared to reach out and touch the skulls surface. It didn’t move. No magical energies tore out of the eye holes. It was perfectly still. It was just a skull. But the memory of it screaming and cursing inside the box was burned into your memory and you carefully picked the skull up, cushioning the bottom of its jaw before your strokes over the place where the eyebrows had once been when it was a man. It had to belong to the headless horseman, but why your aunt had it locked away in her home was another question entirely. You held the skull up to your eyes and peered into the bone of the eye sockets as you pondered your decision. There was a glimmer of gold inside the mouth which caught your eyes, and you dared to open the jaw wide enough to snatch at the shiny object. It was a single heavy golden coin which had been wedge between the back teeth. You looked at the old print and then quickly replaced it, wedging the jaw back shut as you placed the skull away on its pillow.

 It sat and stared at you, and you stared at it, wondering what happened last night as you clutched at your head and sighed. You slammed the lid closed and snapped the lock closed before you placed the box in the centre of the table.

“What the fuck were you up to aunty?” You asked the air as you rushed to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. As you set the water to boil you continued to curse, thinking about the headless man who what invaded your home chasing the poor man who had ended up hanging from the tree in your front yard. The head had screamed ‘witch’ from its confines, but you had no knowledge about what it could mean. You took the hot water and made a drink before looking at the last few boxes of unpacking and scoffing, deciding that the day would be better spent researching what had slaughtered the man and hung him from your tree.

 The village library was barely a few bookshelves put together and you sighed looking at the poor collection of books before you dated to approach the old librarian sat next to the desk. She had her own book open, some trashy romance novel set in the Victorian era, and she looked engrossed as she flipped the page and took another bite of her current tea cake.

“Hello?” You asked quietly in front of her.

The librarian jumped in her seat before she clutched at her chest and adjusted her glasses, “Dearie me! You scared the soul right out of me, love.” she took a moment to take a breath and close her book before she stood with a small wince and smiled, “What can I do for you?”

You could see the questions burning in her eyes. She no doubt knew you were the new person in town, and about what had happened at your home.

“I’m looking for some history books about the town. I wanted to try and get to know the place, but I don’t think there’s anything on the shelves.”

Her face pursed a little before she smiled again and pointed to the last one of the small walls of shelves, “There isn’t a lot but there’s a couple of books on the bottom shelf of the end one. For the records and such I’m afraid you will have to ask at the village hall. Rose keeps them in good nick there, lovely woman she is.”

“Ah, thank you.” You returned her smile and left her to her book as you went to the last set of shelves in the wall and started to rummage through the folklore and history books.

 There wasn’t a lot, she was right, and you sighed after about twenty minutes of pulling out books. You tugged the last, thick history book from the shelf and dusted the cover to reveal a history of the local mines and hills. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You peered at the shelf again and huffed before there was a glimmer of silver lining at the back of the bookcase. You squirmed your hand to the back and plucked the small book from behind the tattered paperbacks. It was a pocketbook, stencilled with an old name in cursive, faded and marred with cage.

‘Maria Theresa Glyn’

You dusted the front and followed the name before looking around and tucking the book into your bag. You felt bad just taking it, but obviously the Librarian had no idea it was there, and the name was familiar to you. You remembered the coat of arms on the old teapot. If this was the diary of someone with the same name it might have clues, or so you reasoned as you plucked a few books from the shelf and took them to the counter after replacing the rest.

 “Did you find what you were looking for, pet?” The librarian asked as you placed the books on the counter. She smiled and pulled out an old paper ticket to write your name onto. She poised the pen over the paper, and you told her your name before she copied it onto another for you and jotted the book codes down. She tutted at the date stamper and fiddled with it to get it to the correct date. Obviously not many people used the library.

“Yes, I found a few interesting things to have a flick through.” You told her as she stamped the tickets inside the books and stacked them in front of you.

“Well, you have fun...and be careful, huh? There’s a lot of weird and wonderful things that go on around here. It would be a shame if you forgot that, and something happened.” She smiled sweetly, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. I’ll try.” You smiled awkwardly back at her before you took your arm full of books and made a quick exit back into the chilly air.

 The village seemed to watch you as you wove between the avenue of trees, crunching autumn orange and brown leaves underfoot. The chill in the air mimicked their icy feelings. You were the outsider among them, and soon enough they’d come to hound you out of their home. You only hoped to solve what you had seen. There was no way a headless man was riding around taking heads...right? You tried to console yourself as you made it to your home, and past the gnarled black tree in the front garden. It was twisted and old, and the branches seemed to creak as a greeting on your return. A glare silenced it, or so it seemed, perhaps it was just the wind dying, but the tree went silent as you walked up to the door with your keys in hand. The door swung open when you unlocked it and you clutched at your books as the wind howled into the mouth of the house, screaming down the hall like a ghost before you kicked the front door shut, shivering. The old back boiler chugged in the background as you kicked off your boots and placed the books in the lounge on the small table by the chest.

 When the chest remained still and silent you left to place away your bags and get a drink. You returned, rubbing your eyes as you opened the little journal you had found. It was penned with ink and quill, that much was obvious, and you ran your fingers over the woman’s name again before you touched the crest and went to find the teapot. You grabbed the porcelain handle and placed the two together over your lap. They were the same. The Glyn coat of arms. You placed the teapot down and opened the diary to look at the first passage. It was dated back three centuries ago, back when the alliance was beginning to form between the different races, monsters and humans alike, though you could tell this village hadn’t had such luxury. The entire populace was human, apart from the dairy farmers four miles outside the walls of the village. They were large goblins of some kind, cave dwelling and gangly limbed from years in the dark, but you had only seen them.

 The first passage was written in neat, printed cursive, echoing the care the woman had taken to write her feelings and events down.

‘Today is the day of my birth. My birthday rather. I was given this journal by the kind Mister Glynn, as a gift, and so I find myself beginning to write down the events of my daily life, so perhaps I can look back on it and reminisce when I am old and grey.

 Mister Glyn is a kind soul. He is part of the King’s Royal Entourage and the Commander of a large cavalry unit. Why he is in this small village is unknown to us all, but my father suspects it is because of the Wood Witch. Perhaps he has been tasked with taking her head? It is rumoured the armour he has is enchanted against such magic, but I feel as though those are rumours made about a dangerous and powerful man to excite fear.

 He is nothing but polite to me. I suppose my father will want to marry me off to this one as well.’

 The passages were perhaps a couple of pages maximum, and you flicked through the dates quickly, watching her words change from cold and indifferent to soft and loving of the man see always called Mister Glyn. It wasn’t until a year later in the diary that you saw his true name.

 ‘Alcott escorted me to the capital atop Mallor, his beast of a horse, though the creature seems to like me now that I bring him sugar lumps. Alcott wished to show me the city and its fruits though there is rather less fruit and more muck and grime. I am used to mud on my shoes, but I despised the odour of the place, much to his amusement. As I write, I can hear him snickering at me across the table.’

 There was a few blotches of ink and another set of handwriting.

 ‘She stood in a man’s excrement.’

 Their trip seemed peaceful, and Maria even attended a gathering at court. It seemed well until you found the final page in the diary, written across a page in shaky ink.

 ‘They took his head.’

 There was no fond farewell at the bottom of the page or a cursive signature. It was stark and naked on the yellowed paper, like a bad omen forever preserved. You ran your fingers over the words before you flicked through the last pages seeing nothing but blood splodges and blackened dark blood at the corners. It smelt faintly of rot, and you recoiled from the smell as you looked at the empty bare pages. The back of the book was burned across the inside of the cover. It was mysterious but it seemed like Alcott Glyn had been killed. But by who? You had no idea but as you looked at the chest again and thought of the head inside you shuddered.

 Alcott Glyn. There had to be a grave. You tugged your bag open and stuffed the book inside before you rushed out of the door, locking it quickly as you rushed towards the little church. It was at the top of the hill, sat in a mound of earth, subsiding on one side with props and scaffolding to try and hold it up. It wasn’t used anymore, the town hall was used to any religious needs, but it was haunting. The stained glass was dirty, and the front doors bolted and chained to prevent anyone entering. You rushed around the side of the church and looked at the dates on the graves and the dates in the diary. It had to be the 1700s. You thought back to your history lessons and tried to recall the date of the alliance war. 1774. You rushed around the small paths and glanced at the years, 1770, 1772, 1773... you looked at the gap where the 1774 stone should have stood. There was nothing, just unchurned earth and a set of roses growing from the floor. A troubling feeling settled in your gut as you meandered down the path to the back of the overgrown graveyard. There were old stones, crumbling and forgotten under blackberry vines and leaves. It was chance that you leaned down next to a short stone and looked at the faded name.

 Alcott Glyn.  

 The name was chipped and faded, like the memory of the man. Vines grew in wild abandon over the grave, and the blackberry vines had taken over the base, winding around the whole stone with wide dying leaves. It was perfectly hidden and forgotten about. The village’s little secret in the secluded corner of the graveyard, forgotten and buried. Or apparently, not buried completely. The earth was turned over, like something had ruptured from the ground and burst free. It was a long patch of upturned soil, as long as you were tall, or even longer, and the earth and stones were wet, fresh with the rain from the evening and being upturned, as though someone had run a plower through it.  Carefully, you ran your fingers through the earth, feeling the soil between your fingers before you took a steadying breath.

“Someone came out of this…” You breathed into the chilly air, your breath making mist with the cold as you stood and looked over the grave. You said it again before turning and bolting from the graveyard before the night could fall over the village.

 When you reached home, you threw your bag onto the couch and grabbed the chest, prising the lock open to peer at the skull inside. It was sat, still as a statue, on the cushion, with the glimmer of gold between its jaws. You lifted it from the cushion, carefully, pulling it up to your face level as the sun set over the horizon, bathing you in a golden glow with the skull clasped between your hands. There was nothing but the distant hum of the hot water pipes in the old house to answer your stare. The skull did nothing. It sat in your hands as the sunlight died over the horizon and the night began to settle in. In your gut, disappointment settled with the cold reminder that you were holding a dead man’s skull. A real human skull. Carefully, you placed it back down on the cushion and sighed as you went to draw the curtains, ignoring the creaking of the gnarled oak tree outside your door.

 The wind blew as you looked back at the head in the chest, positioned slightly skewed on the cushion. You chewed your lip and sighed before you stood over it again.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered to the skull. Nothing. The old electrics flickered for a moment, dimming before they brightened again. Silence, except for the hum of the back boiler. The breath you had been holding escaped and you turned away with a grumble before the lights surged bright and yellow, like the sun, before the bulbs exploded in a sudden thunder of noise. Glass shattered and flew across the carpet in a shower, and you gasped, covering your ears before you looked back at the cushion.

 The head was sat, jaw agape, with two lights in the blackened sockets, rolling side to side. The little lights rolled like stoned before they settled on you and the open jaw began to jitter, chattering the yellowed teeth together loudly. The skull didn’t move, just snapped it’s teeth like a scared dog before it stopped, and the eyes dimmed. It was only a moment of silence before there were three heavy pounds on your door. With a gasp you rushed to draw the curtains, and gazed upon the creature stood on your doorstep, his steed kicking and throwing it’s head by the twisted roots of the black tree. The body stood there, breathing, its undead chest moving as though it needed the air.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered again with a dry mouth. All the moisture dried up from you and you tried not to shake as the skull slammed against the side of the box, it’s eyes glowing.

It shook and chattered its teeth before a voice screamed from between the open jaw, “Let me in, witch!”

Fear twisted your guts as you rushed to slam the chest shut on the screaming skull. It chanted inside the decorative metal, hollering about burning you at the stake before you took it to the front door. The horseman slammed his fist on the door again, repeatedly, as though he was going to tear it open, and you shivered as your fingers shook by the latch and keys.

 The horseman began to bang repeatedly and the head in the chest slammed around, shaking your arms as you struggled to keep hold of it. You took a stuttering breath and unlatched the door, turning the keys before you wrenched it open. The headless horseman heaved puffs of misty breath up from the stump of his neck, his trachea flexing with the movement as the nerves of his spinal cord twitched and thrummed behind it, imitating life in his corpse body.

“Witch!” the skull screamed again, his head you realised as you stepped back, and the creature followed. His boots left muddy smeared marks on the wooden floors, and you looked down to see the crushed blackberries over the soles. Your heart pounded as you realised, he had crawled from the grave you had sat by earlier.

“I saw you by my grave. I will not do business with you again.” His voice came from his body this time, contorted and dark as it leaked from his lungs like a wisp.

“Business? What business have you?” You asked, voice shaking with fear.

The skull laughed in its box, a malicious and evil noise, dark and tempting, as though you were truly stupid for asking, “What business did we not have? Have you forgotten in your age, crone? Death and blood, that’s what you wanted, and I delivered it.”

“Who did you have the deal with?” You steeled yourself.

“You, you pathetic soothsayer.” He droned before his dead fist slammed the door closed, “Now give me my head. Our bargain is met.”

“I am not my aunty.” You tried, “I have no deal with you.”

 The horseman stopped, his body stiffening as his horse brayed and screamed outside, kicking its hooves at the black oak with a great smash. The tree shook, shedding twigs, but didn’t fall. He stalked closer, the bulk of his frame blocking out the light from the moon and the electric fitting overhead.

“But you have my head.” The skull whispered from inside the box before he grabbed for the chest. He touched the metal of the latch and screamed, the noise escaping the corpse before you and the skull inside the box. It was an ear piercing, unholy noise which burned your ears and made your head swim in agony. The horseman clutched at his chest and the stump of his neck, his gloved fingers pressing into the gored wound of his neck as he wobbled towards the wall and grasped at it for balance.

 “Fuck.” You cursed before you whipped the chest open and grabbed his skull by its eye sockets, hanging it over him as he slid down the wall and screamed again in agony, twitching against the wood.

“If I give you your head, horseman, will you indebt yourself to me? Your previous contract will be null, and you will only serve me.” You announced.

The horseman writhed before going deathly still. He laid like a corpse for a moment or two before shakily he braced his arm against the floor and pushed himself up. With a shudder he got onto his knees and kneeled before you, his neck dipped to expose the sore, congealed wound of his decapitation.

“I... I will serve.” The horseman gurgled.

“Then I give you your head to end your torment, Alcott Glyn.” You promised before you held his skull between your palms and lowered it to the spinal column of his body.

 There was a great groan as the spine extended from Alcott’s body and snapped to the skull, holding it in place as the eyes burned bright with purple light, the colour of blackberries, rolling in his skull as he reached and clasped at the bone, howling as light burned from the base of his neck and enveloped his skull with a whoosh of purple fire. The fire abated quickly as the moonlight disappeared behind the curtains and the skull shimmered as muscle and tendons swarmed the bone, linking and covering the surface before the he howled, and skin crept from his neck to his face, covering the surface in a perfect alabaster coating. His eyes however, remained voids of black, the centres beautiful blackberry lights in the dimness of your home. Black waves of hair grew from his head, dripping over his shoulders like ink as he howled, leaned against the old wallpaper. They finished growing with a crackle of fire, purple flames licking at the ends before it disappeared, leaving a heaving, black eyed creature curled against the wooden floor.

 Your mouth hung open as you watched the horseman shake against the wood, heaving as he reached to clutch at the hair that draped from his previously naked skull. The inky waves slid through his gloved hands and was quickly marred with dirt and blood before he peered at you through the curtain, looking at you with the purple lights in his irises which were sunken back into his skull. His lips parted before he took a deep breath, wheezing out dust and muck, coughing like a goose before he kicked the chapped skin and crawled closer to your feet. He only looked at you, staring before one gloved hand whipped out and snatched your ankle, holding it tightly in an iron grip.

“Bound to your bloodline again...” he growled, “Humiliating.” Before he pushed himself back and stood, swaying on his legs like a new-born deer as his balance came back to him. Having a head was a heavy burden.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You breathed as Alcott slammed the side of his head and beat dirt out of his ears.

“Of course, you don’t. None of you ever do. Now I’m bound here to you until the day you drop dead and rot. Why can you never let me die?” He growled in a worked-up fury, flinging his hands to the windows before he stalked to the door, his boots slamming against the wood. He swung it open, and his mount brayed in greeting, throwing its giant head back before it caught sight of you and snorted, bowing it’s neck like a graceful Swan.

 “You are all the same!” The horseman shouted before the moon was revealed, a cloud moving away from its white surface. He shuddered and you watched the skin on his face disappear with the muscle, revealing the purple lights in a bare, burning skull. As the cloud recovered the moon, the base of his neck flared with purple smoke and fire, revealing the scar where he was decapitated, and his face reappeared.

“I gave you your head back, Alcott!” You shouted after him.

The horseman shivered and turned back to you, looking at you with his haunting eyes, both hands gripping the pommel and stand of the saddle, “How do you know my name?” He whispered in questioning.

With a small breath, you locked your lips nervously and ducked back to the table, grabbing the little diary from you bag before you stood on your porch and held it out to the wraith, “Maria wrote about you.”

He growled and snatched at the book, and you let him take it with a painful smile, “I know the townspeople killed you. They betrayed you. I don’t know what happened to Maria.” You confessed.

Alcott opened the diary and flicked through it before he looked at the night sky, “She lived in mourning the rest of her life. They institutionalised her after they found her carrying my head, wailing through the town. She died, high on cocktails of medicines, with her head buried in the soft soil of a flower bed.”

 The revelation was something of a shock and you looked at the undead man in front of you with a bitter, pitying look.

“You watched her die, didn’t you?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

The horseman scoffed, “That was the curse after all. To terrorise the town for their betrayal. But not her. I used to try call to her from the window, but she never could bare to look at me. Eventually they gave her more cocktails and she stopped coming to the window all together.”

“Jesus Christ.” You cursed.

“Such foul language.” Alcott sneered as he snapped the diary shut in his gloved hand, “She died from the madness and grief. That is the fault of the town and its yet another reason to run into each of these homes and tear their heads from their bodies.” Alcott spat furiously. As fury overtook him you could see the white scarred seem of where his head had been replaced burning with smoke the purple fumes puffing from it like a new wound before his neck popped and cracked, sending his head to the left, hanging on by a thread of flesh to the other side. You let out a screech and clasped your mouth as the horseman gurgled and reached for his head, grasping it by the hair before he groaned and dragged it back into place, snapping the vertebrae back into place with a twist and a squelch of bloodied tissue. It cracked again quickly, and Alcott held the top of his hair tightly with a groan as the smoke poured from his mouth and his head twisted backwards like a ghoul, spinning on his neck before it snapped again and came free, rolling over the floor to your feet as a skull. The flesh and hair melted in waves of muck from its surface, and you shakily took hold of the skull again.

 The horseman stumbled left and right as he reached towards you for his head.

“MY HEAD, WITCH!” He howled at you, but you dashed back up the porch steps and held it protectively.

“You are under my command. Anything against my wishes is against our contract...so you lose your head. Do you hear me horseman?” You blagged, hoping you were right, “So there will be no killing.”

“Evil, corrupt creature. I'll hang you by your feet and bleed you from the neck!” Alcott threatened as fire and smoke poured from his throbbing trachea. The smoke puffed before he went sent to the floor in agony, the black oak behind him creaking and swaying left and right as though the roots were snaking towards him. Sure enough, the ground rumbled, and the black oak’s roots exploded from the ground, snagging the horseman by his wrists and ankles hoisting him into the air as the branches hissed and his mount, Mallor, brayed and screamed, blood spraying over the fence from the horses broken throat.

 It was a curse. You should have expected as much, but you shook as the tree cinched the man’s limbs, holding them tight before it pulled, making him scream in agony as his joints were pulled tight.

“Stop!” You screamed, and the tree stopped pulling, holding the horseman aloft still as it swayed and bent towards you, its branches touching your head as though trying to figure out who you were.

“He is mine.” You told the tree, “He will obey and submit to the laws of his contract.”

The tree groaned, it’s roots wiggling in the cold, hard earth for a moment before it dropped Alcott like a sack of grain and settled down quietly, smacking at the horse inching closer to its trunk.

Alcott touched at his neck as he rose, swaying as he cracked and snapped his joints back into place like a disjointed puppet.

“Are you going to play nice now?” You asked as the man wheezed in front of you. When he nodded you offered him his skull back and watched the skin and flesh cover its surface again before he snarled behind his curtain of overgrown hair, blackberry-coloured lights burning the void of his eyes.

“You truly are her kin if that disgusting thing listens to you.” He snapped as he headed for his horse and mounted the saddle with a quick bounce on one powerful leg, his thighs locking tight around the beast’s sides as it bucked and brayed. Alcott turned his horse and tipped his head with a wave of purple smoke and fire, “Call on me then, witch, and see what havoc I can wreak for you.” Alcott laughed bitterly as he turned Mallor onto the cobbled drive and rode onto the road, his face becoming bone and flesh intermittently as the clouds passed overhead.

“I’m not a witch!” You screamed after the horseman, but he was gone into the mist and the trees, unlikely to have heard you cursing against the stairs of the porch as you collapsed.

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