#I’m not one of those weirdos that’s attracted to serial killers

[stickmeinhornyjail]

Yes, sometimes I am attracted to the just totally awful villains. Like little to no redeeming qualities. My vagina sadly does not have morals and therefore does not care.

[onceuponastory]

normal  - steve kemp x reader: chapter four: inner darkness

I'm a slave to your addiction, your affection and your friction - hook line and sinker by royal blood

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Kemp x Female!Reader. Chapter Warnings: 18+ ONLY PLEASE.  Mentions of: death/murder, dead bodies, cannibalism (basically everything Steve does to people in Fresh), blood, slight stalking mentions, vomit, blood, anxiety and bullying/past trauma. Also, some smut: mentions of sex (no descriptions of it, just mentioned) and masturbation. And of course: Steve Kemp just being Steve Kemp because that man is a warning all on his own. As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: I said to myself I was going to make this chapter a filler one aaaand it’s ended up being over 6k words so, oops? Also for some reason tumblr refused to tag anyone on my taglist when I posted chapter three, so if you missed it, please go read it and show it some love.

Credit to my wonderful best friend @thesundrop / @staticscreenwriting​ for my new dividers! Be sure to check out her writing, she’s great.

Early the following morning, Y/N wakes up. Her entire body is cold and achy, and her head is pounding. Frowning, she soon realises that she fell asleep on her bathroom floor. For a moment, she wonders why the hell she fell asleep on her bathroom floor rather than in her bed. However, as soon as she asks herself that question, the previous night’s events come flooding back to her. Her mind fills with images of her and Steve together, kissing each other and touching each other’s bodies. Almost fucking each other. Y/N’s stomach churns. A part of her is starting to realise that she likes those kinds of dreams…and maybe wants them to happen in real life. And that scares her more than anything in the entire world. Especially considering the people she’s been in contact with throughout her job.

She leans against the wall, trying to calm herself down and be rational…but failing. Why the fuck did her brain do this to her? She doesn’t understand it. Naturally, as a psychologist, she knows that plenty of people have sex dreams about someone. This, though, is different. This is having a sex dream about a fucking cannibalistic serial killer. And fucking enjoying it. God knows what Sigmund Freud would have to say about her. He’d probably have a field day, the fucking weirdo.

Of course, she knows a part of her has been attracted to Steve ever since she met him, but she always thought that was because of how conventionally attractive he looks. For the longest time, that was the deepest she thought her attraction to Steve Kemp went, and that was…okay to her. Well, as okay as it could be. She just never imagined it would turn out like this, with her seriously considering if she is actually falling in love with him or if this is some kind of perverted lust. And for a moment, she feels another spark of excitement throughout her body at the very thought of it being love. One she tries desperately to ignore. Because despite the number of exciting feelings she’s felt about Steve, she knows she can’t act on them or even entertain the thought of them being real. For obvious reasons, of course, but there’s another thought on her mind. One that’s been there ever since she started working at the FBI.

Sometimes, whenever she finds herself intrigued by the serial killers that she encounters, Y/N worries that it’s because her interest goes beyond a simple fascination. If it actually means that there’s some kind of darkness in her too, and if it will awaken and take over upon meeting the ‘right’ person one day. Of course, she knows that’s not true, considering the number of people she’s met over the years without any issues. Or at least, it wasn’t true back then. Because, as she said before, Steve is different, and she feels differently about him. So now…she’s wondering if Steve Kemp is the person to awaken her inner darkness. Her mind replays Steve’s looks towards her and him biting his lip. She always thought they were just him wondering what she tastes like…but she wonders if something else is there. If he senses there’s a darkness within her too, and he’s just waiting for the moment to encourage it to come out. And for a fleeting moment…Y/N feels a slight excitement at that prospect.

Her stomach churns once more, and she rushes to the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into it, holding on for dear life as her body shakes. Whether with dread or excitement…she doesn’t know.

“Fuck!” Y/N hisses. She almost considers banging her head against the wall in the hopes it removes any and all thoughts of Steve Kemp from her mind. Despite how interesting the prospect sounds, she decides against it. She’d rather try other options before knocking herself out. She sighs, looking up at her ceiling. Maybe she’ll just have to go cold turkey again, but this time for good. She’ll just have to go to her boss and say something about how uncomfortable she is with the whole situation...and ignore the pang in her heart at the thought of leaving Steve again.

“Fucking quitter. Told you there's no way she can handle this.” Familiar memories play through her mind. Voices that she swears she locked away years and years ago…but still manage to rear their ugly heads from time to time. Voices she promised never to let herself listen to or believe. The memories are soon replaced by others: pictures of the crime scenes, of all the things that happened to these poor women…and how she’s one of the only ones who can stop it from happening again. Y/N sighs. There’s no way she can stop seeing Steve. At least, not now. She can’t have any more blood on her hands. 

Pulling herself up, she considers calling in sick to her work or just working from home today. She’s too tired and preoccupied with her conflicting brain to be surrounded by people today, especially her co-workers. Unfortunately, it’s only then that she remembers that she has another meeting with her boss and the police chief, who are expecting another report on her findings. It’s something she can’t miss. Groaning, she suddenly catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. God, she looks fucking awful. Her hair is a mess, and there are giant bags under her eyes. Sighing, Y/N turns on her shower, hoping both it and her makeup work to at least make her look semi-presentable. 

After all, what is that they say about concealer hiding a multitude of sins? Although Y/N thinks she might need a miracle to cover all of hers at this rate.

Later that morning, Y/N walks towards her boss’s office, ready to present her new findings to him and the chief. She can feel her hands getting clammier with nervousness, which isn’t helped by the sight of some of her co-workers staring at her, most with an unfriendly look, whispering to each other. Y/N sighs. Her co-workers have never seemed to like her, even when she first started at the FBI, and she has no idea why. Of course, it could be because, like Steve said, she’s a woman entering a predominantly male-dominated building, so they don’t like their testosterone challenged by someone like her, and they’re jealous of her success. 

Although that argument seems to make a lot of sense, Y/N has still always wondered if people at her job hate her so much because they also think she has a hidden darkside. Maybe, like her, they worry that after meeting so many dark and evil people, she’s just as wicked, and that they’re in some sort of danger by working with her. Of course, she understands that what she does is scary - especially if these past few weeks are anything to go by - so she doesn’t hold that part against them. It’s just upsetting and frustrating to constantly be whispered about and treated like the devil incarnate for just doing her job, and it doesn’t help to prevent her anxieties either. 

However, convincing everyone that just because she works with evil people, it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s evil too is proving more difficult than she expected. And as everyone knows, when it comes to darkness, Steve Kemp is definitely full of it. Not to mention that for some reason, how close she and Steve are is somehow public knowledge to the whole agency, no doubt spread by one of her co-workers. Although to her, Steve is probably the one person she’s currently the closest to or even the person she’s been the closest to in her whole life, she’d never outright admit it to any of them, despite it being the hot gossip of the office. Understandably, most people do not want to be friends with someone like Steve Kemp. Sometimes though, Y/N wishes they could see the Steve that she sees. The same Steve who always seems happy to see her and compliments her and her intelligence constantly…even if it’s usually to boost himself and his ego. Maybe they’d feel a little differently after hearing that.

Y/N groans. Oh god, what is she even saying? Is she seriously trying to convince herself that Steve Kemp is a good person if they look a little deeper? And hoping that people might believe her? God, she really needs a break from this case. 

“Freak.” Someone mutters under their breath as she walks by. Y/N tries to ignore the tears stinging her eyes and takes a deep breath, walking past the person without another word. Either way, she’d rather they didn’t stare at her because it’s not helping her nerves. However, before she has enough time to dwell on it, the door to the meeting room opens, and her boss quickly welcomes her inside. 

Y/N works her way through her report, trying to seem awake. The last thing they need to know is that she was up all night trying to ignore what may or may not be growing feelings for Steve Kemp. Thankfully, with so much time spent pretending to be interested in what serial killers have to say under her belt, Y/N feels like she’s a bit of an expert at hiding her true feelings from others. “Going forward, I advise we go through the list of business partners and clientele that Ste-Mister Kemp….” She quickly corrects herself, hoping they didn’t notice her slip up. “...has happily provided us with.” She passes over printouts of the lists to each man. “Some of them are based in the US, but some are further afield. Mister Kemp stated he has not been in contact with them all, but some of them may well have clientele or…other interested parties within the US who could be our guy.” She explains. 

“Thank you, Agent Y/L/N.” The police chief nods, and she smiles. 

“No need to thank me, Sir. It’s my job.” Her eyes glance to her boss, who’s currently deep in thought. 

“Oh! Yes, thank you, Y/N, for your information. I’m sorry, I was just thinking about the size of this list and its potential to spread out even further…I think you might need reinforcements.” Y/N gulps, hoping it doesn’t mean her co-workers will join her. It’s bad enough having them staring at her and making comments about her, let alone having to work close by them on a case or taking them to see Steve. That would be a nightmare for everyone. “Don’t you worry about that, though. I’ll sort it, and you go and do whatever it was you were working on before this. No doubt trying to solve the case, right Y/N?” He grins, gently waving her away. Y/N nods, chuckling lightly. If only he knew what she was really thinking about. 

“Tell me more about the victims.” Steve orders the next time she sees him. 

“All women, usually about college age. All students.” She replies. Steve nods.

“I see. Now tell me, why do you think he is stalking and hunting for people on a college campus, the one place where he can be seen and where people might recognise him?”

“Because he doesn’t care about getting caught. He just knows we don’t have anything worthy of an arrest yet.” Y/N answers. “Either that or he’s Mister Fucking Invisible, which sounds even more likely as time goes on. God, I just wanna catch this guy!” She exclaims, frustratingly throwing the file onto the ground. 

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. I told you already, I’ll help you catch him. No need to get so upset.” Steve reassures her. Although she knows he’s still probably using this as an opportunity to show his arrogance, the softness in Steve’s voice catches her off guard.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I just…I haven’t been sleeping well, and with this case constantly on my mind-” she explains.

“Y/N.” Steve cuts her off. His voice is a little firmer, but there’s still a softness to it. Y/N stops quickly, expecting him to say something about how much he hates it when people apologise for no reason or complain. To her surprise, however, Steve repeats: “It’s okay. I told you already. No need to apologise or explain.” She waits for a moment, still expecting it to be followed by a comment about himself and his ego. Yet still, nothing comes, and she frowns slightly. That’s…different. “Are you ready to continue now?” She nods, still somewhat confused. Of course, it’s not the first time he’s said something to her or reassured her…but it feels different now somehow. It feels good. And she likes it.

“Now. I assume all the victims were in limited contact with their parents and classmates?” Steve continues. When she agrees, he grins. “I knew it. It’s a classic tactic people like me use. That way, they won’t be missed.” She almost pukes at that. ‘People like me’. What a weird way to describe serial killers, as if they’re just normal people. Steve looks her over once more. “Tell me, Y/N…are you close to your family?” Her eyes widen slightly, remembering his modus operandi, and he sighs. “Not like that. You’re perfectly safe with me.” He reassures her once again. Y/N’s still not sure whether or not she believes that, though. “Just wondering as part of our quid pro quo.” Steve asks. Sighing, Y/N tries to ignore all the bad memories going through her mind. She shakes her head.

“No. No, I’m not.” She admits. “Turns out most parents aren’t too proud of their child talking to serial killers and criminals for a living. It’s not exactly something to bring up at a dinner party.” She jokes awkwardly, hoping that Steve takes the hint and realises that this is not a route she wants to go down, not now, not ever. Steve looks her over, a strange look on his face. 

“Well, for the record…I’m proud of you.” She frowns, taking a moment to determine if she misheard him.

“You’re…you’re what?” 

“I’m proud of you, Y/N.” He repeats. “It takes a lot of guts to do something like this, and I’m glad you’re here. You’re special, you know that? It’s not that often, or ever people like you get people like me to talk.” She feels her heart rate rising and her cheeks burning. She opens her mouth in an attempt to speak, but can’t get the words out. Steve’s words have thrown her for a loop, and she has no idea how to respond. Her deeper thoughts and desires towards Steve come back to her again, and she gasps. He thinks she’s special? Like…genuinely? Is that why she thinks she likes him? Is it all just because Steve shows her love and appreciation when nobody else does? “Y/N? What is it?”

“You….N-Nobody’s ever said that to me before.” She replies. “You’ve never been this nice to me before.” The words leave her mouth before she can even stop them, and she immediately clamps her hand over her mouth, knowing she messed up. However, to her surprise, Steve doesn’t seem to be annoyed by her comment.

“Well. I guess I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” He chuckles. “Now, come on. Let’s look at this file again, shall we?” 

Y/N holds up a photo to show Steve. “Do you recognise anything? Or…have any opinions?” As Steve looks over the picture, Y/N watches him curiously. Even when faced with images showing the scale of human depravity, Steve’s face barely changes. His lack of empathy is eerie. Then again, she can’t exactly be too surprised, considering the sort of person he is. How could she ever think she’s attracted to someone like this? 

“I’m proud of you.” His words from only a few moments before echo in her mind. Oh yeah. That’s why. She looks over him once more, staring at his silvery-blue eyes, which are far more beautiful than scary. Her eyes go even lower, tracing along Steve’s sharp jawline. She can feel her breath hitching in her throat. If you just ignore all the murder and cannibalism…he is really fucking attractive. If he wasn’t the kind of person he was…she’d probably happily date him. Even if a small part of her is still unexplainably excited by how twisted and evil Steve is.

Y/N’s entire body shudders as she realises what she just thought. Oh god, what is she even saying? She just admitted to wanting to date a serial killer. She came here to try and solve murders, not debate the attractiveness of Steve Kemp…even if he is pretty fucking hot. “Oh, he is bad, isn’t he?” Steve muses, utterly oblivious to Y/N’s mental turmoil. He looks up, realising Y/N is staring at him. He frowns, and Y/N’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Y/N? Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks. Y/N nods, too scared to open her mouth in case her thoughts escape. Steve continues to look at her curiously, as if he knows she’s hiding something from him, making her gulp. Thankfully, he says nothing more and begins his explanation of the photos.

In all honesty, Y/N’s not even sure if the rest of Steve’s words register in her mind. His praise from only a few moments ago is the only thing in her head, and it constantly replays, along with one other thought: the fact she’d date him. Ever since she and Steve started talking, she’s been worried about being attracted to him, wondering if, as she feared, it means she’s just as evil as him. And now it’s probably true. After all, why else would she feel this way about him? With tears stinging in her eyes once more, Y/N speeds through the rest of the interview, hoping to get away from Steve as quickly as possible. She knows he can definitely tell something is up with her, but she’s too panicked by everything else to even think about that. When the guard comes to collect her, Y/N quickly says goodbye to Steve, leaving before he can say much else. 

Once outside of the cell, Y/N lets out a massive sigh of relief.

“Wow. It was that bad this time, huh?” The guard asks.

“Oh! Um, no. I was just kinda out of it today. This case is keeping me up at night. I need sleep.” She lies, hoping she can get back to her car and as far away from this place as possible. 

“You know…” The guard sighs, beginning to escort her out towards her car. “I work with a lot of horrible bastards, Mr Kemp included.” She nods. “But your regular meetings really seem to be good for him.”

“What do you mean?” She frowns. He shrugs a little.

“I dunno. He’s just been smiling a lot more recently and seems more cheerful to everyone. He’s been talking about you a lot too.” Her blood chills. “Don’t worry! In a good way! Well, I guess as good as it can be coming from someone like him.” He chuckles lightly. “He tells everyone that you’re his friend, and god, some days he talks about you like you hung the moon. So, thanks for that, I guess. Or at least, just for making my job a little easier.” Despite how conflicted she feels about her feelings towards Steve, Y/N can’t stop a small smile appearing on her face at that point. It’s nice to be appreciated…she just wishes it was under better circumstances.

“You’re welcome.” She nods. Soon, they reach her car, and she gets in, waving goodbye to the guard as he starts walking back to the prison. 

Once she’s sure he’s out of sight, Y/N lets out a frustrated cry of “DAMMIT!” slamming her hands against the steering wheel angrily. The tears break free before she can even stop them, and she clutches the steering wheel tightly as she sobs. Why couldn’t she just be attracted to literally anyone else? Why does Steve have to be so nice to her? Why does he have to be a serial killer and a cannibal and not a decent fucking human being that she could actually date without repercussions or judgement? Y/N sits alone for a while, letting all her tears out. She just wants everything: this case, her growing and conflicting feelings for Steve, and her anxieties to stop. She just wants to be normal. 

Y/N looks up, staring at the prison. In all honesty, a part of her wishes she’d never even fucking come here in the first place.

Ever since she had her sex dream about Steve and realised that she would date him, Y/N’s subconscious seems to be deadset on refusing to let her forget it, despite how much she tries to. Both by having Steve’s words to her in the dream and in real life replay in her mind constantly, and making her have more dreams about him. Not all of the dreams are sexual, but worryingly, the sexual dreams are the ones that seem to be occurring more frequently. Even more worryingly, Y/N’s excitement about these dreams seems to amplify too, which also increases her thoughts about Steve. It also doesn’t help that Steve seems hell-bent on touching her every nerve and making her fall even harder for him. The other day, he called her a “good girl”, and she almost whimpered right in front of him. Thankfully, Steve didn’t seem to notice. Or at least, if he did, he didn’t say anything.

Y/N tries every tactic she can to cleanse her mind of Steve and her dreams about him, but none seem to work. Sighing, she leans back against her headboard. There’s only one other way she can think of to try and deal with these thoughts about Steve, and it’s the one she wanted to try the least. However, it has to be done. Rubbing some lube onto her fingers, Y/N gulps. It’s not so much trying to prevent the thoughts anymore…it’s more of an: ‘accept they’re probably there, act on them in private a few times, and then never speak of them again. Rinse and repeat until they’re gone’ type of solution. Y/N spreads her legs and moves her fingers towards her clit, beginning to masturbate. Steve’s face appears in her mind, grinning. 

“Oh, you are a bad girl, aren’t you?” She can hear his voice smirk. “Look at you, the good little FBI Agent who’s too scared to admit she wants to fuck a serial killer like me.” She knows it’s just her imagination speaking to her and what Steve is saying isn’t real, but ‘his’ words only make her pleasure intensify as she continues to pleasure herself. She closes her eyes, still picturing Steve’s grinning face as she sinks deeper and deeper into her bedsheets. Or rather…falls deeper and deeper into Steve’s desires.

“Steve…Steve….” His name comes out in a whimper, and without her control. Although she’s unsure if she would’ve actually tried to stop it. The wetness between her thighs increases, and she can feel the orgasm beginning to build. And still, Steve’s voice is in her brain. 

“Stop pretending you don’t like me or don’t want me. Stop acting like you haven’t noticed that I want you too.” Y/N lets out a moan at those words, one so loud that it takes her aback slightly. She has no idea whether or not this is her imagination or if it’s the feelings she’s tried so hard to bury bursting to the surface, finally free. However, she doesn’t have time to think too hard about that as the orgasm continues to build. She knows she’s close to finishing, and she needs just one little push to go. “You act all tough, but I know deep down…you’re just a filthy little whore. And I look forward to making you even worse.” Y/N curls her toes and screams Steve’s name as the orgasm and the feeling of ecstasy rocks her body as she finishes. 

Afterwards, she lays there for a while, savouring the feel and the high of what just happened. That was the best orgasm she has had in a long time…and it was all thanks to Steve. It feels like a part of her has been awakened, a part that she used to keep buried. Having it finally released like this is surprising…and gratifying. And considering how happy she feels, Y/N realises she’s not sure if she wants to stop them anymore. 

Soon, however, the high begins to fade, and Y/N comes crashing back down to earth. “Oh my god.” She pants. “What have I just done?” As the realisation begins to dawn, only one thought is on her mind: she really must be falling for Steve.

“Are you feeling better now?” Steve asks her the next time she sees him. 

“Yes, thank you.” She lies, hoping he gives up and stops asking before he digs too deep or she’s forced to reveal the one thing about her that she doesn’t want anyone else to know. Instead, Steve doesn’t stop. 

“I’m not sure. Something seems to be off with you recently. You seem out of it.” His blue eyes scan over her curiously, studying her body once more. Oh, if only he knew. Y/N can feel herself getting more nervous as Steve studies her…and she can also feel her body enjoying it too. Given the smile on Steve’s face, he’s clearly enjoying it as well. She gulps. God, please don’t let him find out how she feels about him, or have Steve actually like her. That cannot happen. Trying to ignore the pang in her heart at the thought of Steve not wanting her back, Y/N sighs frustratedly.

Suddenly, however, Steve stops looking over at her, frowning. He looks around the cell, deep in thought. It’s then that she realises that he’s sniffing the air…the air beside her. Y/N watches him do it, her panic slowly growing. “Something smells different. It smells…nice.” He murmurs. Her blood runs cold. He can’t know that she’s been masturbating over him, can he? Surely not. But then again, considering that Steve literally tasted people and sold them for a living…what if he can smell people that well? What if he can smell her cunt? Y/N’s heart almost stops. 

Oddly enough, considering the kinds of killers that she’s been in the same room with…she swears that this is one of the times in her life that she’s felt the most scared. Strangely, however, part of her wants to laugh. Laugh at herself and how stupid she’s being. Because of course the fucking cannibalistic serial killer can smell that she wanked over him. And of course she’s worried that she might be falling for him. Steve turns to her, grinning. “It’s you! You do smell different, Y/N.” Y/N gulps. She wasn’t expecting to have to explain this to Steve at all, let alone right now. 

“Um, I was-” She begins, her stomach churning more than ever. 

“Yes….” Steve trails off, chuckling to himself. “You smell lovely, actually.” He pointedly bites his lip Y/N takes a breath, somewhat ready to try and explain what’s been going on. “Have you been using a new body wash or perfume?” Steve asks, and Y/N immediately breathes a sigh of relief.

“I have Steve. Thank you for noticing.” She lies, thanking whatever higher power there is that she doesn’t have to explain her weird dreams to him. However, she can see Steve staring at her weirdly, one of his brows raised as if he can sense that there’s something more to it. For a moment, Y/N wonders how Steve would react if he knew that she had a sex dream about him. Would he be honoured or find it as repulsive as she does? For some reason, a part of her hopes he would appreciate it.

“I see.” Steve responds. When he doesn’t say anything more, Y/N frowns. She’s so used to Steve having some kind of witty remark to everything he says that she’s grown to expect it. 

“Is that it? You don’t have anything else to say to that?” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Should I?”

“Well usually, you have some kind of response to everything I say. I was expecting you to say something about how I should keep focusing on the case or whatever you were explaining.” She points out. Almost immediately, she regrets what she said. Despite Steve telling her that she was free to speak her mind, she’s still worried about angering him. After all, it’s easy enough for a serial killer to say something is okay, and a whole other thing getting people to believe it. However, to her surprise, Steve chuckles…and she doesn’t detect any malice behind it.

“You do know a lot about me, don’t you?” He asks. “You’re right. I do usually have a witty remark to say. However, I care a lot about you Y/N, and I’ve grown very fond of you. So, when I notice that you’re not your usual self, or if you don’t feel well…it worries me.” He admits. Y/N gasps slightly, and her stomach twists. She wasn’t expecting him to say that. Of course, when she pretended to be sick, she received a letter from Steve, asking how she was. But she assumed it was simply done out of formality and politeness, or because he had been so used to seeing her that having some time without her would be weird. And Steve did tell her he’s proud of her a few days ago, but she just took it as a compliment despite how weird it felt. For some reason, she never once thought he might actually care about her. In a way, she never thought people like him did care about people.

Y/N’s head feels like it’s spinning, and she has no idea what to say in response. How could she be so stupid to not figure it out before? What else would Steve’s words to her mean? “After all…you are my partner, aren’t you? Of course I care about you.” Steve asks, stepping closer to her. So close that he almost reaches the line separating them from one another.  

“Well, yes, you are.” Steve smiles. 

“Can I ask you something else?”

“For our quid pro quo?” Y/N asks, her mind already racing with possibilities. Steve chuckles, shaking her head.

“No…just for me this time.” Frowning, Y/N nods.

“Are you still scared of me? Do you still see evil when you look at me?” Y/N represses a sigh. Of course he has to ask this now, after everything she’s going through. However, Y/N soon realises that for the first time…she doesn’t know how to answer that question. At least…not right away. Because of course she still thinks he’s evil. He’s a fucking serial killer and a cannibal. Either one of them on their own is bad enough, but them both together is a whole other nightmare. But Steve admitting that he cares about her has opened her up to many new conflicting feelings.

“...Yes, Steve. I’m still scared of you.” She answers, making him smirk. However, what he says next surprises her.

“Oh, are you?” He asks, cocking his head to the side once more. “Somehow…I doubt that.” Immediately, her blood runs cold again, and her heart skips a beat. Oh god. He knows. He knows what she’s been doing. He knows how she feels. Oh god, she’s fucked. He knows. Steve continues to grin at her, almost as if he’s relishing in the confusion and fear he’s causing. 

“What are you talking about?” She asks. Steve doesn’t respond. Y/N can hear footsteps advancing down the hall, knowing they mean that their time together will be up in a matter of seconds. Still, she continues to stare at Steve, her mind and body racing, wondering what the hell he means if he’s noticed the one thing that she’s been trying to hide from him this whole time, silently begging for him to put her out of her misery. 

The guard’s voice fills the room, announcing their time is up, and still, she continues to stare at Steve, waiting for a response to her question. The guard repeats his announcement, but she still holds her ground, waiting for an answer. She’ll stay all fucking night if she has to. “Steve. Answer my question.” She orders. Still no response. “Steve!” She repeats, her voice louder and more panicked. Still nothing.

“Agent Y/N, come on, it’s time for you to go.” The guard calls. Y/N stays where she is.

“Steve! Answer my question!” She demands, almost screaming at him. 

Steve chuckles once more, grinning slightly. He leans in closer, so close that his body almost brushes hers. It sends another chill up her spine…as well as another burst of excitement. “You didn’t step back this time.” He whispers. She can hear the sound of the cord attaching him to the wall straining, knowing it means that he’s almost crossing the line between them, the line keeping her safe and the one she swore she’d never cross. Her eyes flicker down, and she realises Steve’s right. She’s right at the edge of the line. And yet, she still doesn’t step back. Not because she can’t…but because she’s not sure if she wants to anymore. Steve chuckles. “You’re so close to me. So close that I can whisper into your ear.” He watches as she breathes a small sigh of relief, yet still shudders slightly in fear. “So close that I can almost touch you…and I think we’d both like it if we did.” 

After finishing her meeting with Steve, Y/N heads back to the office. Her boss called everyone for an important meeting about the case, and given that he called her to make sure she would be there, Y/N knows she can’t miss it…despite how much Steve’s words are still playing on her mind. “I think we’d both like it if we did.” He smirks. Despite Steve’s constant habit of annoying her, Y/N feels like he’s not pretending this time. And to her, there’s only one reason why that might be the case.

He must know how she’s been feeling about him and what she’s been doing. She’s so fucked. Maybe that’s what this meeting is about? Has Steve somehow already told her boss what he thinks she’s been up to, and she’s about to be taken off the case? Her stomach churns with anxiety, and she hopes that’s not what’s about to happen. And yet, for some reason…she seems more worried about losing her connection with Steve than she is about being taken off the case. God, what is wrong with her? She really needs to sort out her feelings once and for all.

Reaching the office, Y/N heads up to the room where the meeting is being held. As soon as she opens the door, the eyes of all her co-workers turn to see her. Immediately, Y/N starts wishing she was anywhere else. She heads to an empty seat near the front of the room, looking at her heels and trying to avoid all the stares and whispers directed her way. Taking a seat, her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Where have you been? Visiting your friend?” The man beside her whispers, a slight smirk playing on his lips. Y/N knows they’re just trying to get to her, and she ignores him. 

“He’s not my friend. It’s just a job.” She hears a scoff and the people around her muttering:

“Yeah, right.” 

“Stuck up bitch.” 

Y/N sighs, trying to ignore how upset their words make her and prevent the slowly building tears from falling down her cheeks. Memories flash through her mind again, memories she tried so hard to lock away and ignore…yet still somehow always manage to rear their ugly heads. 

“Stupid bitch.”

“What makes you think you can work at the FBI?” 

“I give it two days before she runs back home to Mommy and Daddy.” Y/N hisses under her breath, ducking her head so nobody sees her teary eyes. Even though she works with all sorts of monsters…Y/N swears that sometimes her co-workers can be just as cruel. 

“You’re a smart woman, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t let you share your thoughts.” Suddenly, Steve’s words echo in her mind, cutting through all the voices of doubt. “I’m proud of you.” And despite how much she knows it might be wrong, she finds solace in his words. So much solace, in fact, that a smile crosses her features. And for just a moment, Y/N realises how fortunate she is to have a reassuring voice like Steve’s in her mind. Because after all, it’s nice to have someone appreciate you…even if that person has a huge body count like Steve’s. At least somebody is proud of her. Maybe she and Steve are closer to the label of friends than she thought they were.

Y/N sighs. God, it really shows how insane her life is when the only person outside of her work who has a high opinion of her and who might be her friend is a fucking cannibal. A cannibal she might be in love with. She really needs a fucking break. Thankfully, the voice of her boss soon sounds in the room, cutting through her thoughts and making everyone look up.

“Okay, hello, everyone! Thank you all for joining this meeting today.” The room fills with a chorus of greetings. “Now, I have an important announcement to make today. There will be a few changes around here, especially considering how we approach this case.” Y/N frowns. What the hell does that mean? Then, she notices a man walking into the room, dressed in an impeccable navy blue suit. The man stands beside her boss and scans the room with a soft smile. Y/N’s eyebrow raises. He’s pretty cute. The man catches her eye, and her cheeks flush slightly. She averts her gaze, hoping she doesn’t embarrass herself too much. However, out of the corner of her eye, she swears she can see the man chuckling softly and smiling again. 

“Thanks to the incredibly hard work of Y/N….” Her boss trails off, gesturing to her with a large grin. Y/N’s happiness stops, and her stomach drops. Her boss has just given her co-workers even more fuel to hate her. Sure enough, she can soon hear comments and laughter under people’s breaths. In an attempt to ignore them, she looks at the man standing beside her boss. To her surprise, he’s frowning, as if he hears their comments too. He also looks slightly concerned for her, making a small smile grow on her lips. Whoever this guy is, maybe she’ll finally have someone at work to fight in her corner. “...We have decided to start working through Steve Kemp’s list of clientele to see if any of them fit the profile. But since this list includes people worldwide, and therefore outside our jurisdiction, the CIA has graciously decided to assist us, and they have sent over their best Agent to help us.” The man beside her boss chuckles. 

“Oh please, I doubt that’s true.” The man’s eyes go back to Y/N, and he gives her a small smile. One that makes her heart rate rise even more, and her smile grows bigger. Maybe his arrival is a sign of better things to come, and perhaps she doesn’t have to worry about Steve after all. 

“He’ll be working with us for a few months, and he’ll especially be working closely with Y/N, using Kemp’s intel.” Y/N gives a small wave to identify herself to the Agent. He smiles, clearly happy to put a face to her name. “Oh! I almost forgot to introduce you!” Her boss chuckles. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Agent Nick Fowler.”

TAGLIST: @buckysboobs​, @sebastianstansqueen​, @lavendercitizen​, @amanda-says​, @enchantedbarnes​, @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer​, @kristophalis, babebr, @nerdypinupcrystal, @marve2014, @sgt-seabass, @themightyloki, @hallecarey1, @phoebethenarwhal, @lxdyred, @potato-with-hair, @chernayawidow, @gabewerk, @snugglingbucky, @late-to-the-party-81​ If you want to be added, please let me know!

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Beauty in the Blood - Part One

Summary: One day your friend convinces you to join a dating website that matches people based on their search histories, and when you match with Loki Odinson, a handsome, intelligent coroner who’s a fan of your murder mysteries, you’re absolutely thrilled. But there’s something off about Loki, and as your relationship progresses, you discover that his dark side is even darker than you could ever have imagined... 

Pairing: Serial Killer!Loki x Writer!Reader 

A/N: This story is based off of this post! I hope you guys enjoy; this is my first time writing Loki, and this will probably be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Please let me know what you think as the story progresses! 

Warning: This chapter contains hints of smut and GRAPHIC descriptions of death and murder. Later on, this fic will also include rape/non con, dub con, kidnapping, yandere/obsessive elements, and even MORE graphic descriptions of death and murder. Please read at your own risk, and as usual, this is only for the eyes of those 18 and older. Thank you, and enjoy!

It was hard to find a decent guy these days. New York was the city of dreamers, artists, and absolute weirdos, and out of the three, you only seemed to attract the latter. You’d been to speed dating events and Singles Night at your local bar, but there was never a connection, never a spark, and every guy seemed to have something fundamentally wrong with him. It wasn’t that you were looking for the perfect guy, it was just that you’d met too many who were demanding, controlling, or misogynistic.  

You’d given up on finding your special someone a year after you’d moved to the city. After all, being single wasn’t too bad. You could do what you want whenever you wanted without having to think about someone else. So what if you didn’t have anyone to kiss on New Years? So what if you cried a little every now and then from feeling so alone? It was fine. It was absolutely fine, you told yourself. Fine, fine, fine…

“I’m absolutely fine, Wanda. I don’t need a boyfriend to be happy.”

You were sat across from your good friend, who was stirring her coffee with one hand while she tapped her fingers against the table with the other. She arched a skeptical eyebrow at you before taking a sip of her drink.

“You’re right; you don’t. But you’re lonely,” she pointed out. “A boyfriend would help with that.”

There was no denying that she was right. Wanda was perceptive, and she was also one of your closest friends. You’d met her during your first week of living in New York, and she’d helped you adjust to living in such a busy, fast-paced place. She probably knew you better than you knew yourself, and that was why you slumped in defeat and threw back the last gulp left of your mimosa.

“God, you’re right,” you bemoaned. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know,” she grinned. “But don’t worry; I can help.”

“Wanda, not that I don’t appreciate your effort, but the last guy you sent me out on a date with got mad that I didn’t put out after he paid for my dinner. I don’t want to go on any more blind dates.”

She winced, reaching over to pat the back of your hand.

“I had no idea Kyle was like that,” she promised you. “If I’d known he would be such an asshole you know I wouldn’t have set you up. But I wasn’t going to suggest another blind date.”

You tilted your head to the side.

“What did you have in mind, then?”

She grinned and reached into her purse, fishing around until she found her phone.

“I heard of a new dating app that made me immediately think of you,” she explained excitedly, pulling up the website and passing her device over to you. “It matches you with people in your area based on your Google searches!”

“Pfffft.” You scoffed, taking a quick glance at the screen before looking back to your friend. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard of.”

“I know, I know, it’s a strange concept. But it has one of the highest success ratings out of all the dating websites! It’s only been around for six months, but over half of its users say that they’ve found someone they can see themselves spending the rest of their lives with!”

“Statistics can be made up, you know,” you groused. “Besides, one look at my browser history would send anyone running in the opposite direction.”

“Maybe not someone who has one similar to yours,” she pointed out. “C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Wanda, you know what I do for a living, right? I could match with some kind of serial killer!”

Your friend just waved you off and ordered another coffee, picking up her phone again and stuffing it into her pocket.

“Just try it? Please?” she begged. “Just give it a shot, and if it doesn’t work out, then that’s that, right? No harm done.”

Several hours later, and you found yourself sitting on your couch, staring at the same website homepage that Wanda had shown you. You bit your lip, letting your fingers skim over your laptop’s keys, not typing anything just yet but feeling their ridges as you considered the “Join Now” button.

There wouldn’t be any harm in it, right? Just like Wanda said, if you hated the kind of people you matched with, then you could always delete your profile. And you didn’t only search things for your research, after all; you also googled recipes and cute animal videos. What if you matched with a gorgeous guy who’d also googled “Try Not To Laugh – Kitten Edition”? Hell yeah.

After taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you clicked on the button, making quick work of filling out the ‘About You’ information. Five minutes later, you’d chosen a profile picture and linked your Google account to the website, and you were ready to sift through your matches. The wheel on the screen turned slowly as your computer processed the information, and you actually jolted when it dinged with the results.

Well. Result. There was only one person who’d shown up with a similar search history as you. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, and you almost closed your laptop and went to retreat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from your fridge, calling it a day and forgetting the whole debacle. But then you saw his profile picture and… Holy shit.

He was lean and pale, and your eyes were immediately drawn to his long, black hair. He had it slicked back in the photo with just one strand hanging down over his left eye. In the photo, he was wearing an exquisitely tailored black suit with a black shirt and tie underneath it, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail along the lithe contours of his body. He looked as if he were carved from marble; you almost started drooling just from the sight of him.

You jumped again when your computer dinged for a second time, and your eyes widened when you saw that you had a new message in your inbox. With fingers that were just barely trembling, you opened it, skimming over the message from the man you’d paired with.

Good evening. I must admit, I was quite surprised when I got the notification that we’d matched with one another. I’ve had this profile for about four months, and I’d had yet to be paired with anyone.

So he was handsome and eloquent. You clicked on his profile and blinked when you saw his name. Loki Odinson. Wow. Even his name was refined, if not a little strange; it sounded like a name you’d give to one of the characters in your books.

Hello, Loki, you typed out. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was pretty surprised to find someone else who has such a twisted search history. I don’t know if I should be happy or concerned.

It only took him a few moments to reply.

The feeling is mutual; I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for the morbidity, though. Mine is that I happen to be a coroner for a living. And yours is…?

I’m a writer, you explained, your interest piqued by his profession. I write murder mysteries. So, yeah… Morbidity seems like a fitting way to describe it.

A writer, you say. I happen to be quite an avid reader; would I know any of your work?

I’m not sure; have you ever heard of The Bell Ringer? That’s probably my most well-known book.

You’re kidding.

He sent you a picture, and it was of a pale hand holding a copy of The Bell Ringer, your name glistening in bold font beneath the title.

I’m a great fan of your work, as you can see. I own several of your novels.

Another photo loaded beneath the newest text, and it was of a shelf full of your books. The Shrew Woman, A Night in New Hampshire, The Hanging Woman – nine books in total. The only one that you’d written that wasn’t there was the one you’d just sent out to your publisher, and you suspected that once it was out in stores, it would be joining the ranks of Loki’s shelf.

Wow! It’s always so nice to meet a reader. I’m so glad you like my stuff!

Oh, love, you’re a huge talent. I must say, I’ve found your work rather inspiring.

That’s so kind of you to say!

I know that this is rather forward, but are you doing anything tonight?

You glanced up at the clock you had hanging on the wall – 8:13 pm. It was already pretty late; typically you’d be putting on your pajamas and curling up in bed to do some late night reading here soon. But something inside of you whispered that you should do it; you weren’t spontaneous enough. What if this was an opportunity to meet the One? At the very least, it would be cool to meet such a loyal reader.

It depends on if this guy I’m talking to online asks me out. Do you think he will?

He would have to be a fool not to. I suspect he’ll ask you if you’d like to meet at a café.

Well, then, I suspect I’ll have to say yes.

An excited grin was plastered over your lips as you bantered back and forth, and when Loki sent you an address and a message saying ‘I’ll see you there in twenty minutes’, you jumped off of your sofa and rushed to put on your shoes. You were still dressed in the leggings and oversized sweater you’d worn to brunch with Wanda, and all you had to do was straighten your hair and pull on your boots before you were out the door. The address he’d sent you was within walking distance of your apartment; in fact, you’d been there before, but never on a date.

Your heart was pounding the entire way over, and you couldn’t get over how unlike you this was. You didn’t just get up and meet guys you’d met on the internet on such short notice, much less so late at night. And yet here you were, stepping into the café fifteen minutes after receiving Loki’s message. Your eyes scanned the room, but it appeared that he wasn’t there yet. As you got in line to order, you tried to calm yourself, not wanting to look too frazzled when your date finally showed up. You tried to even your breathing, twisting the fabric of your sleeves between your nervous fingers.

He’s just a person, you told yourself. You’ve been on dates before; everything was going to be fine. Nothing bad was going to-

“Hello, there.”

You gasped and turned around, eliciting a chuckle from the man now towering over you. He was dressed in a set of black trousers with a simple white button-down tucked into them, and his hair was loose and falling around his shoulders. His grin was wide and full of teeth, with just the slightest sinister edge to it. But his eyes were warm and twinkling with excitement and just a hint of mischief. Those clear blue irises brought a smile to your own lips, and you chuckled along with him at your initial fright.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you walk in,” you explained.

“It’s quite alright,” he assured you, offering his hand. “I know you already are aware, but I’m Loki.”

You grinned and introduced yourself, going to shake his hand, but he smoothly cradled your fingers and drew them up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s good to finally meet you in person,” he cooed, seemingly all too aware of how flustered you now were.

You opened your mouth to say something in return, but you couldn’t think of anything to say as silence lay heavily between the two of you. You were saved, though, when the barista called out to you, asking if she could take your order. You spun around on your heel and shot her a grateful glance before ordering your favorite menu item and reaching into your purse for your wallet.

“…And I’ll have a cup of Earl Grey,” Loki stepped in, handing her a card from his open wallet.

“Oh, I could have paid for mine,” you protested, but he waved you off.

“No, no, love. It’s my treat.”

He gave you a tight, close-lipped smile, and you didn’t protest further as he paid for your orders. He led you to a booth in the corner, sliding into the side opposite to yours gracefully. The leather squeaked against your thighs as you shuffled in, and when you were finally settled across from him you caught a flicker in his eye that sent chills up your spine.

It was gone in an instant, though, replaced by the same suave look he’d had while ordering his tea.

“So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “As I said before, I’m a fan of your work. Truly, I have been since your very first novel.”

“’Beauty in the Blood’?” you asked incredulously. “I’m surprised; no one seems to like that one. After reading it, my mom suggested that I start going to therapy.”

Loki chuckled, licking his lips, and your eyes followed his tongue of their own accord.

“Ah, well, whether or not that’s true, it’s still my favorite of your works by far,” he continued. “The parts told by the killer’s perspective were…beautiful. You captured his mind so artfully, it was as if…”

He paused, searching your face for a moment.

“It was as if…you understood him,” he finished.

You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking over his words. He’d skipped right over the small talk you’d come to suspect on first dates, but despite how strange of a direction the conversation was taking, you were…intrigued by it.

“Well,” you started, “I feel like I did understand him.  I mean, sure, he took delight in the killing of others; he saw it as an art form. But as twisted and evil as he was, he was still a person – a person that had come from my mind. Cuz the thing is…”

You paused, gathering your thoughts and trying to find the right words to convey them.

“The thing is,” you spoke carefully, “that every storyteller uses bits and pieces of themselves to tell a story. A story is like a stained glass window – it’s made up of different pieces of an author’s mind and soul, and it comes together to create something greater than the sum of those pieces. So, yes, I think I can understand him; his darkness might be a reflection of my own – deep, deep down.”

You glanced up at him, blinking when you saw the transfixed look upon his face. His eyes were wider than they had been before, and his lips were parted as he listened.

“Sorry,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I, uh… I got a little carried away. You probably think I’m some kind of freak-“

“I think you’re beautiful.”

His words took your breath away, and when the barista set down your cups on the table, you jumped in surprise.

“Is there anything else I can get you guys?” she asked cheerfully, and a flash of annoyance crossed over Loki’s face at the interruption.

“We’re fine,” you assured her quickly, giving her a polite smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome!”

You gripped your mug tightly as she walked away, savoring its heat as it warmed up your cold hands.

“So,” you said, desperate to break the sudden silence that had fallen over the table, “you mentioned that you’re a coroner. What drew you to your profession?”

Loki sipped his tea, humming as he thought over the question.

“Well… The conversation has already veered towards the darker side of things,” he mused. “I might as well tell you the story.

“When I was twelve years old, my sister killed herself,” he began.

“Oh, Loki, I’m so sorry-“

“Oh, no, don’t be,” he interrupted. “We weren’t close at all. I was adopted at a young age, you see, and Hella never accepted me. She was cruel, and she took every opportunity she could to remind me of my inadequacies.

“But, as I said, one day she died. At first, we didn’t know how it happened; there were no marks on her body whatsoever. She just looked like she was sleeping as she lay there in bed. We called the hospital, and the police, and eventually the coroners discovered that she’d injected bleach into her arm. Later on, my mother found the syringe under her bed, and all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. We finally knew the how and the when, and I never really cared much about the why.

“…That probably makes me sound like a monster, doesn’t it?”

You sat back, swallowing a scalding-hot sip of your drink before answering.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “I don’t think that makes you a monster. She abused you; it’s only natural that you found some relief in her death. I would’ve probably felt the same way.”

He studied you for a moment, tracing the lip of his cup with his index finger.

“I wonder if you would have…” he murmured to himself, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it.

“Well,” he sighed, plastering a smile on once more and straightening up, “you probably aren’t going to be very keen on a second date if I keep dragging our conversation into subjects like this. Tell me, where are you from? What made you move to the city?”

“How do you know I’m not from here?”

“Love, neither of us have the New York accent, now do we?”

You laughed, and after that the two of you fell into an easy flow; it seemed that the heavy beginning of the date made it all the easier to talk to him. You discussed what you liked about the city and what you didn’t like; you learned that Loki was originally from a small town right outside of London, and that he has an adopted brother named Thor that he was close to.

“He’s an oaf,” he’d said when you’d asked what his brother was like. “Everything about him is literally the opposite of its coinciding part of me. But…he loves me; he never thought of me as the adopted child. I was always just his brother; despite his shortcomings, I think he does mean well. Besides, his IQ level is in the single digits, so I’m afraid I must look out for him for fear of what would happen if he were left to his own devices.”

From there, you shared stories about growing up, about life and ex partners and mistakes and successes. Before you knew it, the happy barista from before was approaching your table again, this time with a nervous smile.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted. “I’m so so sorry to bother you, but we’re closing up…”

Loki glanced down at his watch as you glanced at your phone – 10:30.

“Shit,” you laughed. “I had no idea. Time flies…”

Your date shot a glare at the barista before his eyes flickered to you. He gave you a wide, close-lipped smile and straightened his collar, raising his eyebrows.

“Then I suppose it’s time for us to head out,” he murmured. “May I escort you home?”

“Oh! Of course. If it’s not too far out of your way…”

“Even if it is,” he smiled, “I still want to walk you home.”

Your heart fluttered, and you set a five dollar bill on the table as a tip before standing up. The barista scurried away, and you almost turned to apologize to her for Loki’s cold shoulder. But you didn’t know him well yet; maybe that’s just how he was. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it.

“You guys have a good night!” she called out after you, and you smiled over your shoulder at her before reaching for the door. Loki’s hand darted out and grabbed the handle before you could, opening it for you with a slight bow.

“After you, my lady.”

“How chivalrous.”

The two of you walked side by side down the street, hands brushing as you strolled down the sidewalk. You glanced upwards, smiling at the scattering of stars overhead as your breath fogged in the chilly air. You shivered, rubbing your arms a little bit to ward off the chill. Loki evidently caught the movement, and you felt his arm drape around your shoulders. You leaned into the warmth of his body, tilting your head up to share a grin with him.

“Again – chivalrous.”

He chuckled, squeezing you for a beat.

“I try my best… It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as you, but…very pretty.”

You laughed and hid your face in his neck.

“Stop… You’re too charming.”

“Oh, really? I was under the impression there was no such thing.”

The two of you fell back into a companionable silence as you guided him towards your brownstone, until he spoke up once again.

“I must say… There’s a question that I’ve been meaning to ask you that I’m just…dying to know the answer to.”

“Go ahead, Loki. I’m an open book.”

He laughed softly again, hesitating before voicing his question.

“If you were to kill someone, how would you do it?”

You paused, thinking over your response.

“Well… Why am I killing them? Is it a crime of passion or a crime of necessity? Am I killing them just for the enjoyment of it, or out of revenge, or because the person needs to die for a bigger cause?”

“That… That is actually an excellent follow-up question,” Loki mused. “Let’s say… A crime of necessity. The person needs to die for a personal reason with no anger or revenge in mind. How do you do it?”

You bit your lip, calling to mind all of your morbid Google searches that might apply.

“Um… Air shot between the toes,” you finally said. “Fill a syringe with air and inject it between their toes while they sleep. It’ll look like a heart attack that way.”

Unbeknownst to you, warmth suddenly bloomed in Loki’s chest, and you glanced up just in time to catch the fond, almost…loving gleam in his eye. He quickly looked away, tilting his head up to look at the stars, but you’d caught it. And it wasn’t that it unsettled you; you weren’t uncomfortable because of the look. You were uncomfortable because you hadn’t been upset by it. You’d felt that same flutter once again as butterflies batted around your rib cage.

Nothing more was said as you turned the corner that led to your street, and you silently ascended your home’s steps with Loki’s arm still around your shoulders. You reluctantly slid your key into the lock, only turning to him once your door was opened a crack.

“I had… A really good time with you, Loki,” you told him, craning your neck to look into his eyes. “I know that this isn’t what you’re supposed to say to a guy after a first date; I know that it might scare you away. But I want you to know that I haven’t felt this way in a long… Actually, I’ve never felt this way. And it’s really scary, but I hope… I hope we can do this again sometime soon.”

Loki’s eyes softened, and he moved his arm from around your shoulders to your cheek.

“I haven’t felt his way, either,” he murmured. “But I know that I don’t want the feeling to go away.”

He was leaning forward, his eyes closing, and your heart leapt into your throat as you met him halfway. His lips were cold, and smooth, and soft as they pressed against yours, and you leaned into his touch when he pulled you closer by your hips. A sound escaped your throat as his tongue darted out, licking past the barrier of your mouth to glide itself against yours. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing against your cheekbones as your lips moved against one another, and you hummed once again as your chests pressed together.

You don’t know who pulled away first, but you spent a moment just taking in one another’s essence, your foreheads pressed together as the fog of your breaths mingled. You heard Loki let out a chuckle, and you looked up curiously.

“What is it?”

“I’ve just…” He licked his lips and let out another soft laugh before pulling away.

“I’ve just never felt like this before,” he repeated.

You smiled and pressed a peck to his lips before walking towards your door again.

“Have a good night, love,” he called after you, and you paused in the doorway to blow him a kiss.

“You too, Loki.”

You shut your door, missing the way his gaze darkened as he stared at the façade of your building.

“Oh, I will, darling. I will.”

__________

Loki hummed to himself, the leather of his gloves squeaking as he clenched and unclenched his fists. The silver of the table gleamed under the fluorescent lights of his basement, and the air was musty, thick with the smell of iron…and decay. Instruments and tools were lined along the wall in front of him - knives, machetes, a hatchet… It was cliché; he knew that. But he just hadn’t been able to resist the temptation while designing this special room.

A muffled scream sounded from behind him, and he rolled his eyes before turning back to the perky little barista who was currently strapped down to another metal table he’d “borrowed” from the hospital morgue.

“Are you honestly still trying to scream for help?” he snarked, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’ve told you; you’re currently under about five feet of solid concrete. Who will hear you? Who will help you?”

The girl let out a sob, and he watched her big blue eyes flicker to the wall just over his shoulder before coming to rest on him again. They were red and swollen, and he let out a coo of false sympathy.

“Oh, don’t worry, little girl. None of these are for you.” He grinned, turning back to the table behind him. “You can thank my new lover for that. No, she inspired me to take a different direction this evening.”

A small, genuine smile came over his face as he picked up the large syringe, turning it over in his hands.

“She’s been inspiring me for a while, actually,” he mused, ignoring the screams as he sauntered over to his victim, syringe in hand. “She’s such a brilliant writer, my darling is. It truly was fate that brought us together; if I’d had known that my favorite author was a beautiful young woman who also lived in Manhattan, well… I’m sure I would have found her sooner. But I won’t dwell on lost time; I’ll just have to make up for it.”

He ran a hand over the girl’s knee, trailing it down her shin even as she struggled against the strong ropes twined around her wrists and ankles. As his hand gripped the arch of her foot in an iron-like hold, he let his eyes close. This was always his favorite part – the moments right before death. The anticipation was like foreplay; it got him just as hot and eager, and the payoff was very nearly comparable. If he were ever asked to describe the feeling of ending another person’s life, of ripping out the remaining chapters from their story before it could be written, the only thing he’d be able to compare it to was an orgasm. That white-hot pleasure that flooded his veins was addictive, as was the lead up he was experiencing right now.

“You know,” he mused, slowly drawing back the plunger of the syringe, “my girl is so smart… Not a lot of people would think to off someone like this. But it’s not as easy as you would think; you can’t just use any old syringe. It has to be big, has to be a lot of air. And you have to be careful; if you hit muscle, it won’t be fatal, and the whole endeavor would be for naught. But if you hit a vein, and if you get a big enough pocket of air…”

The duct tape on her mouth did little to quell her scream as he inserted the needle into her flesh. A novice might not be able to find a vein, especially not in a foot, but the years of medical school paid off, just as they did every day at his job. He injected the empty cartridge into her vein, groaning and letting his eyes drift shut. He was slow about removing the needle; the separation of steel from skin was slow, intimate… Gentle.

“Hush…” he whispered, drawing out the word with a hiss. “It’s done now, love. It’s done.”

He let his arm fall to the side, and he took a step back, watching the girl start to settle down as he put some distance between them. He gently set the syringe down onto the table before crossing the room to the armchair in the corner. Letting out a soft grunt, he lowered himself into the seat, crossing his legs and letting his head fall back.

“Fuck, what a day,” he sighed. “This isn’t what I was expecting when I woke up this morning.”

Loki lifted his head and gave the young girl a wry smile.

“As you may have guessed, this isn’t my first time doing something like this,” he began. “But I do try to limit myself. I may take…five victims a year. Maybe six or seven if I’m particularly stressed. My last one was on New Year’s, though. I’m not due for a killing for another few months, but… That girl really had me going.

“I was hoping that she’d invite me in tonight,” he confessed. “Though I wasn’t expecting it. It was our first date, after all. But a man can hope, can’t he? If she had invited me to stay the night, you wouldn’t be here right now. Alas, though… I had all of these pent up feelings that I had to do something with. And you were so…obnoxious back at the café. I couldn’t tell if you were being genuine with your disgusting, overbearing cheerfulness or if it was as fake as your blonde hair. But, god, did it get under my skin…”

The girl let out a sob, and he noticed that she was beginning to shake. He chuckled, feeling himself grow hard in his trousers as he thought of you. You’d come up with this idea, this beautiful, drawn-out murder. Such a sweet, innocent looking girl on the outside. But such delicious, pure wickedness within.

“Fuck,” he huffed, palming himself through his pants. “Despite the nuisance you made of yourself, today was so perfect… She’s the One, you know. The one and only girl who can ever complete me. I didn’t even believe in this sort of thing this morning, but for the first time in my life, I’m glad I was wrong.”

He forced himself to still his hand, moving it to his knee as his jaw clenched. In the past, he’d done this in front of a few of his victims; male or female, if they were pretty, young things, the act of killing them made him so hard that he had to touch himself as he watched them squirm on his table. But not tonight, not after you. That part of himself was only for you, now, and he was strong enough to resist the urge until his was the only heart beating under his roof.

And so he sat back and watched. At first, the girl only shivered, and after thirty minutes he was afraid that he hadn’t injected enough air into her. But then he noticed the way she was breathing; it was like she was a fish out of water, and the slope of her furrowed eyebrows betrayed the pain she was in.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice thick. At first she didn’t answer, but then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. He hummed in understanding, hiding his grin behind his hand as he scratched his chin.

“How marvelous.”

He knew she wouldn’t last long when her skin started to turn blue. After an hour, the seizures began, jolting and shaking her body as if she were a ragdoll. He watched in fascination, his cold, blue eyes never leaving her tied-up form. Soft, strained whimpers were leaving her throat, and he let out a purr as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

His joints popped as he stood up, and the heels of his shoes clicked against the concrete floor as he rounded the table, making his way to her pretty blonde head. He slowly, deliberately pulled the duct tape away from her mouth, and he chuckled at how blue her lips had become.

“This is a much better look on you,” he observed. “This is so much more real than those saccharine smiles.”  

She finally went still 84 minutes after the injection. Even after her heart stopped beating, he stood over her, watching the unnatural stillness of her chest. Despite all of the corpses he’d created over the years, and despite the years he’d spent in his profession, it was still something that he’d never gotten used to. People weren’t supposed to be that still; people were supposed to blink, and smile, and talk, and breathe, but the things they became after death did none of those things. They didn’t move, and they didn’t feel, and there was always a moment of disgust when he first laid eyes on a fresh corpse.

But it passed quickly, even quicker than normal tonight. The disgust faded away and left behind pure, unadulterated lust as his thoughts strayed once more to you. Typically, he would stay behind, lingering in the basement to dispose of the body. Sometimes, if he wasn’t too tired, he would actually drive out and deposit them in whatever spot he’d predetermined to be the one the police were to find them in.

But tonight, he left the corpse there on the table. He flicked the lights off and climbed the first, then the second set of stairs, peeling off his gloves and petting his cat on the way to his bedroom. He showered, then combed his hair, then settled down between his silk sheets completely naked. Then, and only then, did his hand travel down to his cock, and his mind once again, indubitably, trekked back to you. Your face, your voice, your beautiful fucking mind…

The thought that finally made him cum was the picture of him fucking you in a pool of blood on his basement floor, of the bright crimson painting your skin as he let his hands worship your body. The thought followed him into his dreams, ruby red and throbbing to the beat of his heart as he slept deeply into the night.

_____________

Detective Romanoff stood side by side with her partner in front of the dead body, hands planted firmly on her hips as she chewed her lip.

“How old did you say she was?” she asked the coroner, her eyes flicking down to the rope burn on the woman’s – the girl’s – wrists and ankles.

“Twenty,” was Dr. Odinson’s accented reply. He turned around, glancing between the two detectives before taking a deep breath and turning his attention back to the body. “I’m afraid that there won’t be much investigating for the two of you to do here. The cause of death was a heart attack, pure and simple.”

“A twenty year old girl having a heart attack?” Detective Rogers scoffed. “I think you got your wires crossed, there, Loki.”

Natasha watched as a muscle in the coroner’s jaw twitched, and he let out a frustrated huff as he peeled off his medical gloves.

“Detective, this sort of thing happens all the time – freak accidents that can strike even the healthiest of people. They are…unfortunate, but they’re also a fact of life.” He tossed the balled up gloves into a trash can and whisked past them, bending over to type something into the laptop resting on his desk as he continued speaking to them.

“After reviewing her medical records, I found out that her father died two years ago from a heart attack; if I were a gambling man, I would say that a bad set of genes were the only culprit here.”

“What about the marks on her wrists?” Natasha asked. “They gotta mean something, right?”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Loki smirked, cutting his eyes over at her before straightening up. “It probably means that little Miss…” He paused, glancing down at a paper resting beside his computer. “Miss Allison Berry was into bondage before her untimely demise.”

“A woman is lying dead, Odinson,” Rogers spat. “Show some respect.”

Loki raised his hands up in surrender as he sauntered towards them.

“I apologize if I offended you, Detective,” he replied coolly. “I meant no disrespect. But I’ve run all the tests in the book. There were no signs of sexual assault, no signs of foul play. I’ll type up a proper report for the two of you, but I’m telling you now – the girl died of a heart attack.”

Natasha and Steve shared a look before turning back to the doctor.

“Have the report ready for us before the end of the day,” she ordered, patting Steve on the shoulder and gesturing for him to follow her as she made her way out of the cold morgue.

“Whatever you say, Officer.”

Natasha froze mid-step, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck bristle as a thousand images flashed through her mind after hearing him say that word. She gulped, oblivious to the confused look Steve was giving her, and she kept walking without turning back around.

“It’s Detective, now, doctor.”

The door clicked shut behind them, cutting off Loki’s dark chuckle as he was once again was left alone with Allison Berry’s body. His smile didn’t fade as he pulled on another pair of gloves; if anything, it grew as he finished the young woman’s autopsy.

“I was being honest with them; you know that, don’t you?” He winked at the girl’s unseeing eyes, his hands moving of their own accord as he stitched up the clean line he’d cut through the skin, bone, and muscle of her chest.

“It was just a heart attack.”

[ri-ahhh]

desert secrets

MJ meets a helpful stranger in the desert that turns out to be more than she hoped for.

7k holy shit lol

warnings: some pretty unrealistic fluff that might get your hopes up that you’ll have a meet-cute with Grayson

***

Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Shit on a fucking stick. You actual fucking idiot, MJ.

A stream of thoughts along these general lines becomes her stream of conscience as MJ Macias plops down on a large rock, throwing her head back to the sky to bask in the sun and her own general incompetency. Maybe the heat of the desert mountain sun beating on her face will cause her to shrivel up and disintegrate to become lizard food or something — the thought isn’t altogether unwelcome.

Her trip to the middle of nowhere was meant to clear her mind both through exercise in the form of a nice, long hike, as well as simply by being alone amongst nature, under an endless expanse of clouds and stars. The week had been pure hell for her: she had been let go from her dream job at her marketing firm in the latest round of budget-related layoffs; received a ticket from a dickhead cop for going 34 in a 30; and discovered last night that the hot water heater in her apartment had broken. To top it all off, her ex had been harassing her relentlessly over texts and calls, wanting to meet up and ‘talk about things’ since she had dumped him two months ago.

So as she cried hot tears in a frigid shower that morning, thoroughly wallowing in self-pity, an idea popped into her head that was so spontaneous and ridiculous she didn't even try to talk herself out of it: go on a solo camping trip.

MJ really has no idea why this of all the therapeutic outlets available to her was something her brain decided was the right one, since a camper she is not. Sure, she loves being outside in the sun for a good hike, or a swim in the ocean once in a while — nature isn’t the problem. It’s the whole navigating-desert-terrain-alone-and-sleeping-on-the-ground thing that isn’t usually at the top of her list of fun weekend activities. The tent and sleeping bag that she had been forced to purchase for the ridiculous bachelorette party of one of her very outdoorsy friends had called her name as she paced manically around her apartment that morning, though.

Did she have every intent to return them after their one-time use? Absolutely. Did they both end up getting thrown to the back of her storage closet and thus forgotten about until then? Also, yes.

Both her practically nonexistent camping experience and her general lack of enthusiasm for the activity as a whole should have been her first clues at how moronic she was for thinking this is a trip she should (or could) handle alone. But, now determined to have the ultimate self-care weekend, she had: packed a backpack as an overnight bag; tossed it with her shitty little tent and a cooler full of snacks and water in the back of her car; texted her best friend Lainey to sound the alarm if she wasn’t home in 36 hours; and driven away to the first camping ground Google showed her that was at least 100 miles outside of LA. It seemed adventurous and spontaneous an indie movie-esque at the time.

But now, as she sits on this rock, feet and back aching, utterly fucking lost, MJ is starting to feel more like she’s on a self-inflicted episode of Punk’d. Being very directionally challenged, she had been using the maps feature on her phone to find her way back to her campsite after going on a winding, hilly hike, until her phone had suddenly died. The trails have no legible signs so between her use of the GPS, the borderline stalker-ish calls from her ex, and the heat of the sun, she’s left without her lifeline much sooner than she could have anticipated.

She thinks of her backpack and the battery-powered charger in her tent. In a moment of pure rage with herself for being such a lost, ill-prepared dumbass, she wants nothing more than to run back up the mountain and punt the now useless little piece of metal and plastic into the abyss. Her inner drama queen thinks maybe the best thing that could happen is that it will fall on a mountain lion, which will devour her out of anger before she shrivels up into lizard food, and put her out of her misery early.

MJ rolls her eyes at how ridiculous she’s being, and forces herself to take a deep breath and think. Her inner antics really do bring up an actually pressing issue. There are plenty of animals out here that don’t need any iPhone provocation to attack, and she’s only armed with a half-empty HydroFlask and a sparkly purple tube of pepper spray. Not to mention, judging from the incurring pinkness of the sky, the sun is going to set soon, and with that means it’ll be getting cold as well. She looks down at her thin Lulu Lemon tank top and shorts.

Fuuuck.

Knowing she has to make a decision, MJ doesn’t second guess herself when her feet heave her body off of her rock and set off further down the trail. Her only hopes at this point are to either miraculously stumble upon her camp before dark, or pray that she runs into fellow campers that might have a portable charger and that also aren’t serial killers. The only people she had passed on her hike had been a middle-aged couple and a woman maybe a little older than herself with a dog, but she couldn't have any idea if they were staying on the campgrounds or merely taking a day trip. Like she should have done.

MJ walks down the trail a solid 20 minutes, and wonders where the hell she had actually gone on her hike to be so far out from her own campsite. Inexperience with the outdoors had made her assume all the trails met up in a circle, but clearly that isn’t the case here. She’s already out of the hiking trail and in one of the areas designated for camping, but there are a couple of those around the park and she has no clue which one she had chosen.

Trying and failing to keep the creeping worry out of her spine as a few clouds turn orange and the noises of the nocturnal wildlife start up, she picks up her pace.

She’s about to resign herself to huddling in an unoccupied camping spot for the night when she suddenly sees flumes of smoke about a football field away. The Hallelujah chorus fills her head, and she mumbles out a quick ‘thank you’ to whoever is listening as she practically speed-walks to her impending safety.

The smell of the crackling wood draws her nearer and nearer. When she finally rounds the corner, she’s surprised and disappointed to see that while there is indeed a small fire burning, as well as a deconstructed tent piled on the ground, the occupant of the campsite is nowhere to be found. MJ hesitates and looks around for any sign of them, not foreseeing this issue. Should she wait around like a creep? Keep walking and hope to run into them?

“Can I help you?”

MJ startles out of her skin and lets out an embarrassing little squeak. She whips around and is thoroughly unprepared to see what just might be the hottest guy she’s ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes on in real life. Judging from her own height, he’s maybe six foot or a tad over; his thick arms are laden with a bulky backpack and a sleeping bag, and his dark hazel eyes observe her warily behind a flop of dark wavy hair.

“Uh,” she begins stupidly, slightly stunned by both his sudden appearance and his masculine beauty. “Yeah, um, I’m so sorry to intrude on your space but, I, you know, got a little confused on the trails and, uh…”

He raises a naturally arched eyebrow expectantly as she pauses and stumbles over her words. MJ looks at him, then releases a huge breath she hadn't even realized had been held in her chest until this moment, officially giving up on not sounding like a complete and total idiot.

“I’m fucking lost. I have a terrible sense of direction and was using a map online of the trails to find the pin I dropped on my campsite, but my phone died. Is there any chance you have a portable charger I can use for, like, twenty minutes?”

The guy chuckles, and despite her pure mortification at the situation, MJ cracks a smile too, glad to see he isn’t pissed at her for lurking around his campsite like the actual weirdo she is. Unfortunately for her, though, his crooked grin somehow makes him even more attractive, which doesn’t bode well for her already inevitable awkwardness.

“Uh, yeah, I have my Mophie in here somewhere,” he says, indicating the backpack in his arms. He nods his head in the direction of his campsite where there is a large stone clearly put there by park officials as a makeshift bench. “Come on over and I’ll find it.”

“Thank you,” MJ sighs in relief. She follows him through the gap in the log threshold, and when he drops the items he’s carrying on the ground, she gapes; holy shit, the man is built. She could tell he had pythons for arms, but the stuffed backpack and sleeping bag had hidden the way his plain white t-shirt stretches taut over every solid, muscled crevice of his torso.

She shakes her head and hopes he can’t sense her obvious stare that has since traveled from the breadth of his shoulders, down his tapered waist, settled on his ass, and finished on the multitude of tattoos decorating his legs as he walks in front of her. MJ finds every one of these aspects of him immensely appealing; she’s never felt so viscerally attracted to a complete stranger in her entire life.

MJ settles on the rock and, sensing some of the aforementioned awkwardness about to settle in the air, searches her brain for a way to alleviate it. She knows she’ll only be here a short amount of time, but she feels compelled to get to know him even just a little bit. And to not make a complete fool of herself, if possible.

“What’s your name?” she asks. That’s a safe place to start. She hugs her knees to her chest as she watches him arrange the stuff he had just dropped into a neater pile.

“Grayson,” he replies. Grayson crouches down to dig through his backpack and flashes her a friendly, blinding smile over his shoulder. “Yours?”

As if she couldn’t embarrass herself any more, she feels a flush rise to her cheeks. For fucks sake, she isn’t 16 talking to her high school crush — she’s a grown woman who has been with plenty of guys and knows how to have a simple conversation with one, no matter how hot they are.

“MJ,” she finally manages to get out.

“MJ,” he repeats, testing it on his tongue, nodding approvingly. “That’s cool. I don't think I’ve ever met a girl with that kind of name. What does it stand for?”

He stands and turns to face her. He extends the little black charger to her and MJ looks up at him through her lashes as he towers over her, biting her lip. Flirting isn’t her strong suit whatsoever, but she can’t help trying; it’s not like she’s going to see him again by the time the sun sets.

“It’s a secret,” she answers after a brief moment, taking the Mophie from Grayson and accidentally-on-purpose brushing the tips of her fingers against the back of his. “Thanks.”

Grayson raises his eyebrows, but a humored grin graces his full lips. “Okay,” he says, surprising her by taking a seat next to her as she plugs in her phone. “But who better to spill your secrets to than a total stranger, you know?”

MJ can’t help the giggle that escapes her throat, humored more by the fact that he seems to be having the same idea of fuck it, we won’t ever see each other again, as her, than his actual question. His nearness should make her uncomfortable, but it just…doesn’t; he’s close enough for her to smell his scent emanating from his warm body. Clean, like laundry and soap, but also hints of an earthy, masculine cologne and an admittedly enticing musk from being in the sun. She wants to lean in and inhale him.

God, she hopes she isn’t coming off as insane as she feels inside. What is wrong with her? He’s just a guy. A guy whose close proximity as a stranger should be making her feel intimidated rather than buzzing with electricity.

“You’re very right,” she says, leaning back on her hands to appear more relaxed. “If I die out here in the wilderness, killed by my own stupidity, I wouldn't want the last person to see me alive not know my real name.”

Grayson throws his head back and laughs, and it draws one from herself as well. She likes his laugh because despite the deep timbre of his voice, the sound is carefree and boyish.

“It’s Makenna Jean,” she finally admits once they both quiet down. “I’m named after my grandmothers, but my mom didn't like your typical shortenings people might automatically give to Makenna — you know, Mack, Ken, Kenna, all those. So she just started calling me MJ to avoid it all, and…that’s me, MJ.”

He nods in understanding. “Gotcha.”

They continue effortless conversation for a while, words and laughter flowing freely from their lips with an ease that MJ hasn’t experienced in years. In the first lull, though, MJ fills it with a sigh and extends her long legs to stretch them as they tire from being folded so closely to her body, flexing and pointing her toes. She knows her shorts are a little too short, her tank top a little low cut, even with a sports bra on. It’s another one of those accidentally-on-purpose moves that starts as inadvertent in the way it exposes and elongates her body, but ends in her relishing the way his eyes quickly dart across her form. She’s reticent to admit that she isn’t mad about it. Not even a little.

She ducks her head and bites her lip to hide a triumphant smirk as Grayson clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “So, are you out here by yourself?”

For the first time since she met him, a little swoop of nerves unrelated to her attraction to him passes through the pit of her stomach. She feels like she’s always had a spot-on instinct for determining someone’s ‘vibes’, and Grayson has only given her good ones since the minute she saw him. Maybe she’s fallen victim to the Ted Bundy effect, though…

He seems to pick up on her hesitation, and Grayson slaps his palm to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck, sorry, that was so creepy. I didn't mean it like that, I was just, uh, making conversation.” He opens his eyes and rubs his forehead and, to her shock, is he blushing now? “I promise I’m not a murderer.”

She might have still been weirded out by a guy even putting the word out there in this situation, but her gut is telling her that Grayson is harmless, and she prides herself on being a pretty good judge of character.

“It’s okay,” she says, giving him a serious look. “I promise I’m not either. But you should know that I’m packing heat with a fully loaded can of mace and my best white belt skills from the karate classes my mom made me take in 4th grade.”

Grayson gives her a disbelieving look. “Fourth grade karate, huh?”

“Yep. For real, I’ll karate chop your arm off if you try anything sketch.”

“Try,” he challenges with a beautiful, dangerous smile, leaning in ever so slightly and looking her dead in the eye. It takes her breath away a little bit. “I dare you.”

MJ scoffs, still keeping up this facade that she isn’t fighting every primal urge to mount him, especially with the unmistakeable tinge of flirtation in his last words.

“Fine,” she accepts. Grayson grins wider and leans back, offering her his right arm. “Get ready.”

“Oh, I am.”

She lines her hand up with the dip in his muscles between his shoulder and the top of his bicep, rears it back, and —

“Ow!”

The side of her hand simply bounces off of the solid mass of his bulging arm. Grayson does that head-back belly laugh again and she pretends to pout as she rubs her sore hand. “That hurt way more than it should have!” she exclaims. “What are you, Superman?”

Grayson, still laughing, grabs her hand in his and strokes it rather tenderly considering the sheer size of his palm compared to hers. And it’s so cliche, but MJ swears she feels tingles where their skin connects.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, biting his lip in an attempt to contain himself. “It’s just, in the least misogynistic way possible, that was high-key cute.”

“Hmph.” MJ scrunches her nose at him as her heart drops to her stomach in the best, scariest way.

Uh oh. He's a stranger, MJ; you’ve known him for half an hour, MJ; you’re in the middle of nowhere, MJ — you can’t catch feelings for a stranger you’ve know for half an hour in the middle of nowhere, MJ…

She clears her throat and gives his hand a slight squeeze before extracting it from his grip, hoping that conveys that she doesn’t disapprove of his touch. But the sun is well on it’s way to setting, and she does need to check her phone battery. It’s at 28%, not as much as she hoped for but probably enough to do the trick.

Shit. MJ really, really doesn’t want to leave him, but she can’t exactly invite herself to stay longer. She had already kept him from building his tent, and his fire is starting to die as well. She turns back to face him only to find his eyes trained on her, brow slightly scrunched. Her belly swoops again.

“I should, ah, probably get going,” MJ admits quietly, fidgeting with her fingers. A shiver runs down her spine and goosebumps raise themselves up the skin of her arms, too, as the setting sun steadily lowers the temperature around them. She crosses her arms across her chest, partly for warmth and partly to hide her stiffened nipples that peak through her thin sports bra and tank. “Or I really will kill myself out here in the dark by walking off a cliff or something.”

Grayson smiles woefully and lets out a little huff, ducking his gaze down for a moment and picking at a thread on his shorts. “Yeah, I understand.”

Is it her imagination or does he sound…disappointed?

When he looks back up at her, the sudden intensity of his gaze makes her swallow thickly. She wants so badly to ask for his number, his Instagram, his last name, but it all seems too weird given the circumstances and the amount of time (or lack thereof) they’ve spent together. Besides, she thinks, she’s still dealing with a psycho ex amongst the rest of her life falling apart, and doesn’t need any more boy problems in her already crazy-stressful life.

MJ stands and dusts off the back of her shorts. “Thank you, Grayson, seriously. You really did save my ass,” she says with a sad smile.

“Of course,” he replies, standing with her.

She unplugs her phone and pulls up both maps before setting off down the trail with one last wave at the gorgeous, sweet man she’s so reluctantly leaving behind.

“MJ, wait!”

She stops in her tracks, black Nikes skidding in the loose, sandy dirt. Turning around in time to see Grayson dig his hands in the backpack to fish out a sweatshirt and flashlight, her heart lifts when he starts jogging toward her. Despite her elation, however, she looks up at him confusedly.

“I’ve actually been to this place a few times, so I’m pretty familiar with the trails and campgrounds. I would feel a lot better if I walked you to your tent. Not that you need a man to help you anywhere or…whatever, but yeah, only if you want —”

“Grayson,” she interrupts, touching a slim hand to his forearm. She smiles, endeared at how flustered he’s getting. He runs a hand through his hair again. Is this him wanting to spend more time with her, or him simply being a gentleman? “I really do appreciate it, but I’ve already kept you from setting up your own camp. I couldn't ask you to walk me all the way to BFE and risk you coming back alone in the dark.”

Grayson shakes his head. “I swear, it’s fine. I’ve got a flashlight.” He clicks it on and shines it under his chin, illuminating his head in typical campfire story-time style, and makes a face at her. MJ giggles. “And you can’t be too far from here; there are only two main campgrounds and they’re less than a mile apart from each other, so I should make it back before dark one way or the other.”

A shiver from the cold overtakes her body suddenly. “Oh, here,” he adds, extending the purple hoodie to her. She starts to protest, but he shakes his head and holds it at her more insistently. “I know you’re cold.”

MJ flushes, but takes the soft garment from him gratefully. “I never said I was cold,” she remarks as she shoves her arms in the sleeves and slips it over her head. It practically swallows her, but it smells just like the laundry/cologne scent she had picked up earlier, only more concentrated and delicious.

Grayson eyes her up and down slowly, grinning. “I’m observant,” he says teasingly.

MJ raises her brows at him amusedly. Again, she should be creeped out, but there’s something about him that sends all potential red flags out the window.

“And I might not be done sharing secrets with you,” he adds quietly, smiling the softest, sexiest smile she’s ever seen and utilizing the ultimate puppy-dog eyes. “Please?”

Well, twist my arm, MJ thinks sarcastically. “Okay,” she says without hesitation now, her insides jittering with a strange mixture of happiness and nerves. He beams at her and jerks his head in indication for them to continue down the trail.

“So, you never said what you’re doing out here by yourself,” Grayson prompts, nudging her with his elbow.

MJ shakes her head and smiles up at him. “Nuh-uh. Not only is that a sob story no one wants to hear, it’s definitely your turn to share. So I could ask you what you’re doing out here by yourself?”

Grayson shrugs as if to say ‘fair enough.’ “I’m not, actually. I’m with my brother and his girlfriend because she wanted to camp, but my brother doesn’t know shit about it. I only came under the agreement that there was going to be no funny business while I was around, only to come back from getting firewood to find them going at it, so I chose to remove myself from the situation. They’re still at our original campsite further down the trail. I needed to make sure I was far enough away to not hear anything.”

MJ sucks in a sympathetic breath through her teeth. “Ooh, yeah, there’s nothing worse than being the third wheel, especially when you have nowhere to escape.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, turning to her with his hands raised. “Thank you! Ethan told me I was being dramatic, but it definitely sucks. He’s been with her long enough now, I think he’s forgotten what it’s like to be the lonesome outsider.”

This is the perfect segue for the question, but it gets stuck in her throat. Come on, MJ, grown woman, remember? She’s sure she already knows the answer based on what he had just said, but it never hurts to check.

“So…you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.” She glances up at him to find him staring straight ahead with that lopsided, boyish grin. He looks back down at her and reciprocates the question. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope.” MJ is mortified to hear it come out as a whisper. She clears her throat and diverts her gaze to the sunset. She had literally, quite literally, just met this man — he should not have this kind of effect on her.

Just then, her phone buzzes, and she’s infuriated to see the deleted number of her ex pop up on the screen. She groans in frustration. “But it’s not for my idiot ex’s lack of trying to get back together,” she complains, wiggling the phone and sending it straight to voicemail.

“I’m sorry,” Grayson says, shaking his head understandingly. “I’ve definitely been there. How long have you been broken up?”

MJ swipes the voicemail notification away and rolls her eyes. “Over two months. We weren't super serious and it wasn't a crazy bad breakup or anything, we were just in different places, and I’m not one to be in a relationship just for the sake of it. Especially if I’m not feeling any aspect of it. I didn't hear a word from him the first month or so, but he’s acting like we were soulmates who had some tragic ending, calling and texting me nonstop the last couple of weeks.”

Grayson shrugs. “Sounds like he’s just realizing what he missed out on,” he says, grinning. MJ’s breath catches in her throat and she rolls her eyes again embarrassedly with a smile, flushing pink yet again. “Why don’t you block him?”

She sighs. “I probably will. I don't like to burn bridges like that unless someone really does me wrong, but it’s getting ridiculous at this point.”

Grayson nods. “I’m not just saying this, but I feel the exact same way. And about what you said with being in a relationship just to be in one. Like…” he ruffles the back of his hair, something she now detects as a tell for when he's uncomfortable. “Ok, like, this sounds so ugly and conceited, but if I really wanted to be with someone, I could. Ethan and I do social media for a living and we have a decent following, so it’s not a lack of girls, but that’s not me. Maybe when I was a little younger, but…yeah, not now.”

Wow. What does that mean, a decent following? Her job requires her to know the ins and outs of the social media side of marketing, but she isn’t super invested in it for herself entertainment-wise. Mainly, she’s active on Snapchat with her friends and just occasionally uses Insta, so with the knowledge of the spectrum of social media followings, that could really be any number in her book. “So you’re, like, an Instagram model or something?”

He chuckles. “No, no. We make YouTube videos mostly. We’re identical twins so a lot of them are stupid things based on that — challenges and skits and stuff. It’s pretty chill. We’re starting to dabble in documentary-style projects, too.”

MJ gawks at him playfully, though she is actually surprised by his admission. “There are two of you?!” she gasps.

Grayson gapes back at her jokingly. “Technically, yes. He’s my absolute best friend in the entire world and, like I said, we’re identical, but half the time we really couldn’t be more opposite if we tried. I’ll show you our channel later, if you want, and you’ll see.”

“Hmm,” MJ hums, catching her lip with her teeth briefly. “Well I’m sure Ethan is great, but I’m glad I met you, then.”

He bumps her with his hip. “Are you saying you like me?”

MJ rolls her eyes good-naturedly at the teasing lilt to his voice and hopes that the light is low enough that he can’t see the seemingly permanent tint to her cheeks. “Since we’re sharing secrets…maybe. Yes.”

“I like you, too,” he replies, just as quietly. She picks up a barely-detectable lisp on the ’t’ and the East Coast lilt on the ‘oo.’ It’s adorable.

Her heart flutters.

They walk steadily a few more feet in silence, when suddenly she feels his hand brush hers gently. She assumes it was accidental until it happens again, only this time there’s more assertiveness in the movement, clearly indicating what he’s trying to do. Her heart jumps in her throat as she gladly lets his palm dwarf her own as he takes her hand in his. They happen to both glance at each other, only to duck their heads simultaneously, each attempting to hide giddy smiles.

“Ah, so, secrets,” MJ says to break the silence that’s thick with the best kind of tension. “How old are you?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Old enough…almost,” he answers cryptically, side-eyeing her.

His reply actually makes MJ stop in her tracks, and she’s jerked a bit by their joined hands as he continues moving. “What?” she asks incredulously.

Grayson laughs heartily and squeezes her palm, melting her insides a bit. He’s clearly pleased with himself at catching her so off-guard. “I’m kidding. I mean, I am legal, but people tend to think I’m older than I am.” He observes her standing there, waiting for his answer, and finally relents. “I’m 20.”

MJ shakes her head, stunned. “Shut the fuck up!” she exclaims. “Twenty?! Dude, yeah, no kidding people think you’re older. I definitely did.”

He tugs on her hand to keep her walking, and MJ obeys dutifully, still amazed at yet another shocking disclosure. “Is that an issue?”

She shrugs; she feels like it should be, but he doesn’t look or act 20 at all. But also…an issue for what? They literally just met. And she should only be thinking of being friends; she can be friends with a 20 year-old.

That thought doesn’t stop her from answering, though, because time factor aside, something is happening between them. Something more than friends, if she’s letting herself be honest. “I guess it’s only an issue if it affects maturity, but that doesn't seem to be a problem here that I can tell.”

Grayson squeezes her hand again, and a shot of sparks zings up her arm this time. “Good. Now, are you gonna make me ask, or are you gonna tell me how old you are?”

MJ groans. Twenty. She’s basically a dinosaur compared to that. “God, I don’t even want to say now. I’m 24,” she admits.

“What’s wrong with that?” Grayson asks with a chuckle.

“Because…” How do you explain to a young, hot 20 year-old man that every year that you creep closer to 25 only means one year closer to the downhill to 30? “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel old. And stuck. Especially lately. And you seem like this super young, super successful guy. It’s a little intimidating.”

Grayson is quiet for a moment. “If there’s anything I know, it’s not to judge your path based on other’s. If you’re feeling stuck, something will happen that gets you unstuck. Age has nothing to do with that.”

His answer catches MJ by surprise in its sincerity and maturity and thoughtfulness. Before she can form an answer, they pass what must be his brother’s tent. She has to hush her fit of laughter into her free hand when Grayson makes a disgusted little noise and flips off the dark red canvas that is, indeed, rustling suspiciously.

From there on they share anything and everything about each other, with each other. Against her word from earlier, she tells him about losing her job and her other woes from the week; he briefly opens up that he had lost his dad a little over a year ago and is still coping with it. This shocks her a bit, but his openness leads her to sympathize with him by sharing how her mom had passed away in a car accident when she was 15. By the time they reach the next campground, their fingers are completely intertwined and she’s leaning her head on his shoulder, his smell enveloping her completely from both his shirt sleeve and the collar of the hoodie. MJ has truly never felt more connected to a man on this level, and it’s both exciting and terrifying.

They aren’t even to her tent yet and she already doesn’t want him to go.  

“Should be just around this corner,” Grayson says, squinting at her phone before concentrating on the trail again.

Sure enough, the next turn reveals her campsite, complete with the tent she had miraculously managed to construct herself and her cooler propped next to the same rock-bench that they had sat on at Grayson’s camp.

Her free hand clenches around his elbow. “Yep, here it is,” she says.

They stop and stand to face one another. “Thanks again, Grayson,” she tells him sincerely. “I didn't really know what the hell I was doing coming out here. In more ways than one, obviously.” This earns her a smile and — God, as if her heart could feel any more sappy in that moment — he brings their clasped hands to his lips to kiss the back of her palm. “But in the hour that I’ve known you I think you’ve helped me take my mind off things more than anyone else back home could have. So…thank you.”

“Of course, MJ,” he says quietly. “I could say the same. I rarely talk about my dad with anyone besides Ethan, let alone someone I just met.” Her heart warms at his confession, and a heated moment of quiet and intense eye contact passes between them before he breaks it. “Come on, I’ll help you start a fire.”

She nods, and they release their grasps on one another to gather sticks and dry brush at his suggestion.

“You know,” he says as he leans over the fire pit that’s now filled with their findings with her lighter, breaking the short silence, “I was going to spend the night alone since E was clearly pretty busy. I don't think he would miss me if I stayed for a bit. To keep telling secrets. If you want, that is.”

MJ swallows. What the hell is this night? She’s pretty sure sad, lost girls meeting and mutually falling for beautiful, polite, genuinely funny boys in the desert is something that only happens in the likes of cheesy Meg Cabot novels. Yet, here she is, living out her nerdy 16 year-old fantasies in real life somehow.

“Yes. I want you,” she murmurs finally, and though she doesn’t mean for it to come out as a bit of an entendre, she doesn’t regret her wording; even in the low light of the late sunset, she can see his eyes darken. “Won’t he notice eventually, though, if you stay gone for very long? And it’s getting dark…”

“If I can borrow your phone, I can text him,” he explains. “I don't have any service but you do somehow. I guarantee he’ll use the wifi in our car to check his phone before he goes to bed, so he’ll get it eventually.”

She nods and unlocks her phone for him. “How do you have service out here, actually?” he asks as he types out a new message.

“My brother,” she answers, entranced by the way his thick fingers fly across the keyboard of her phone. “Being a firefighter, he gets to be on this plan for first responders where he gets first access to a bigger network in case he’s in the middle of nowhere on a call or in a crowd during an emergency or something. I was able to sign on with his account and get all the benefits of it.”

Grayson looks up at her, surprised, and smirks when he hands her phone back to her. “Wow, a firefighter? So he could probably kick my ass if he wanted, huh?”

MJ laughs. “Normally I would say yes, but somehow I think you've got a solid 20 pounds of muscle on him, even though he's a little taller than you,” she admits.

She finally can’t resist anymore and runs her right hand over a bicep that is truly bulging right beneath the edge of his shirt sleeve, and allows herself to take in unabashedly the way the fabric stretches across his wide shoulders, his defined pecs…fuck, he’s sexy.

He swallows hard and she looks up at him. For the second time that night, the intensity of his gaze stuns her into silence and stillness.

When he ducks his head to meet her lips with his, however, her insides are screaming and the hand not clutching his arm travels to grip the front of his shirt, then the short hairs at the back of his neck.

More cliches, but it’s a perfect first kiss — soft but intense, not too much tongue but just enough as it deepens. MJ sighs into his mouth, deciding she would be perfectly content to do this with him forever despite the fire now lit within her at his touch that has her body begging for more.

It could have been a few seconds or a few hours that they stand there entwined with one another, but eventually they part, eyes closed and breaths panting heavily in the minimal space between them. The longer she isn’t distracted by his lips, the longer she stands there trying not to overthink things.

But the beauty of what this trip has been — what Grayson has been — for her is that it was the opposite of overthinking; it was instinctual, impulsive, and honest. In short, her motto had been ‘fuck it.’

Her green eyes open and lift to his hazel ones. “Grayson,” she whispers, “we’re telling secrets tonight, right?”

“Right,” he replies just as breathlessly.

She swallows past a small lump as an inexplicable rush of emotion hits her.

Fuck it.

MJ’s hands cup his angular jaw and she forces herself to keep eye contact with him. She takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m not into drama and feelings and fairytale shit. But I like you. I really like you, way more than I should considering we��re basically strangers, which fucking scares me. And even though I barely know you, I trust you for some reason. I just…need you to tell me if you feel kind of the same, or if this is starting to feel like too much now that I’m putting my thoughts out there. Because my gut is telling me this is mutual, but we can both walk away now and write it off as a crazy, whirlwind thing in the desert. I go in my tent, you go in yours, and we never see each other again.”

Her words come out in a rush, her last sentence almost painfully so. She also suddenly considers the idea that maybe he’s only using her as a fun story to tell his friends about, the pretty girl he met in the desert, wooed by his charm and good looks into her tent, only to be ghosted by him the next day.

Maybe the uncertainty in her life is leading her to be too impulsive with her wants and desires right now.

Maybe she’s starting to overthink things.

Grayson catches his lower lip with his teeth and mimics the position of her hands with his own. His thumbs brush the ridges of her mandible and his long fingers overlap at the back of her neck, scratching lightly. Despite herself, she could have purred at the sensation, almost does when it’s combined with that of his lips brushing hers tenderly.

“MJ,” he says lowly, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m not a fuckboy, I promise; like I said earlier, if all I wanted was a warm body beside me, I could have that in a second. What’s so hard for me is to find someone who's not after clout or money or anything that comes along with being in the social media space. Almost every girl I’ve talked to in the last couple of years has been attracted to one of those aspects of my life, not me. Once I find that out, no matter what they look like, I’m never interested in being in the same room as them, let alone in a relationship with them. I can tell you don't give a shit about any of that, and I love it. I love how funny, genuine, and kind you are. I love how naturally, absolutely gorgeous you are. That’s what I look for, that’s all I go for, and you’re all of it.”

Holy fuck, how is this guy real? It’s like he could read her mind. Her thumb tugs on his lower lip and he takes that as his cue to kiss her thoroughly again.

“Promise me now, then,” she huffs when they break apart, “no matter what happens tonight, we try to stay friends, at least, tomorrow.”

“Deal,” he agrees with a grin.

MJ bites her lip and smirks up at him. “How about we, uh, keep sharing secrets in my tent?”

Grayson raises his brow, his smile widening. “It is getting a little chilly out here.”

[drivingsideways]

Based on this excellent post and tags  by @frankdelfino, and thanks to @rain-hat yelling in the chat window for twenty minutes, here’s a not-fic outline in the universe where Jo Yeong and Jo Eun-seop are actually brothers. 

So here's how this goes. This is RoK verse, monarchies are passé, thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

- Jo Yeong and Eun-seop grow up middle class, and look like peas in a pod, have completely opposing personalities and can generally be trusted to get up to the WORST POSSIBLE SHENANIGANS ever known to a pair of long-suffering parents who've had the temerity to have not one, but two sets of twins. Anyways, Eun-seop is absolutely the one GETTING them into the shenanigans, and Yeong is the one getting them OUT of it, despite the fact that Eun-seop is older by 4 minutes

-Eun-seop loses a year at school when he gets into an accident at 14; a drunk driver, a bicycle, and Yeong just a little too far away to do anything but call the ambulance and hold his brother's hand right until they force him to let go as they rush Eun-seop into surgery. He holds it again, once he's wheeled out, and right upto when he wakes up so he doesn't wake up alone (he hasn't gone home in 48hrs, I'm fine, thanks eomma, you should go home to the babies, they'll be scared without you.). Anyways, Eun-seop wakes up, demands to know whether he'll have a cool scar from the surgery (before he demands to know whether he will be able to walk again) and Yeong's like you're never going to be as cool as me, now shut up and sip this water slowly.  Eun-seop recovers, and Yeong's there through every single physio session and taking extra notes in class, and recording videos surreptitiously, so Eun-seop can see how all their classmates are faring and also failing at everything, now that they're in first year of high school. (Yeong would have stayed back a year at school, but Eun-seop forbids it, and uses his Oppa-pass, which he only uses when he's really serious about something, so Yeong has to listen)

- Eun-seop notices that some of his videos begin to feature a rather weird looking dude, who can be seen hanging out with this one girl. Eun-seop knows Tae-eul noona, her dad runs that taekwondo academy two blocks away, right? And there was that one time when Eun-seop was being bullied and Yeong wasn't there that day, and noona had stepped in and scared those assholes away. Anyways, so yeah, he also remembers that there was this other guy with her, who'd also clearly been ready to throw down, if those goobers had put up a fight, but later, he just grabbed noona's hands, checked for injuries, and given Eun-seop some candy that he got out from his bag.

Anyways, so Eun-seop is like why do you have pictures of Tae-eul noona and her weird boyfriend, and Yeong snatches the phone away and mutters, THEY'RE JUST GOOD FRIENDS, in all caps as though he knows anything about life or girls.

Oh my god, Yeongie, he says, you know she's way out of your league right? She's a senior? And like would absolutely beat you to shit, wouldn't need her weirdo bf to do it either-

HE'S NOT HER BOYFRIEND, Yeong says, loudly this time, as loud as the time when Eun-seop had replaced his hair cream with toothpaste and Eun-seop quickly recalibrates and gets it right this time, and he says, hushed,  Yeongie, my Yeongie, did you manage to fall for the one dude who'd give you a run for your money in "the person most likely to end up a serial killer" stakes?

He starts cackling so hard that his ribs start to hurt, and then his back, and Yeong (who's run away – RUN AWAY) doesn't come back to help him up. It's alright, Eun-seop will live, and also, he's gonna help his Yeongie get his guy, even if Eun-seop cannot see the attraction, and he thinks this isn’t going to work for many reasons, only one of which is that CLEARLY this dude- Kang Sin Jae, he remembers now- is in love with Tae-eul noona, which, props, anyone might see she absolutely kicks ass.

But the point is, the Jos are fighters, and he's damned if he's going to let Yeong slink away from this one.  

The next time he sees Yeongie- two hours later- they all have a bedtime in the Jo house, ok- he's like, fine, I'm sorry, and I KNOW YOU DON'T HAVE A SINGLE USEFUL THOUGHT IN YOUR HEAD, so I got this for you, ok?  What do you know about him?

Turns out, Yeongie has a whole folder on him.

Eun-seop's proud of his little stalker baby brother.

Anyways, that's how Yeong learns enough about sound systems so he can turn up for the post when the school band that Kang Sin Jae plays bass guitar for advertises for a sound engineer.

He turns up for the "interview" in his neat trousers, and button-down shirt and Sin Jae says, uh, are you Jo Eun-seop's non-identical twin? Aren't you just a freshman, do you really- and Yeong says, quietly, confidently, I can solve that problem you're having when you play your arrangement of The Wizard and Sin Jae stares at him and mutters, but can you do anything about how only three people turn up to listen, and Yeong tilts his head, and says maybe? Also, Eun-seop and I are identical, just fyi.

Anyways, yeah he fixes the faulty wiring in the speakers at the auditorium, and also gets more than three people to turn up (so what if it's all a bunch of scared looking freshmen? They've all been paid more than enough to bang their heads in time to the music and cheer later.)

But he never does ask Sin Jae out, that entire year, even though these days, Sin Jae smiles when he sees him, and puts an arm around his shoulder sometimes, after a practice, what are you waiting for, Yeongie, did I raise you to be this much of a coward? Eun-seop wails, but Yeong is like, Sin-Jae-ssi would feel awkward at having to refuse me if I did, and he needs a sound engineer more than a boyfriend, and that's fine.

(He needs at least three shirts more, a hair-cut and perhaps better taste in music, Eun-seop thinks, but doesn't say, because he knows Yeongie's fragile like that. Yeongie can take anything anybody says about him, personally, and will brush it off or dole out appropriate punishment, but if someone comes after someone he loves, he'll break the knees of the person and leave them for dead in a ditch. And obviously, he can't do that with Eun-seop, so Eun-seop doesn't say anything, he's a good elder brother.)

- Sin-jae and Tae-eul noona graduate and both of them go off to KNPU, and Eun-seop says, listen, nobody does that if they're not dating, at least. IF NOT ACTUALLY ILLEGALLY MARRIED. Yeongie, please, for the love of god, find a boy who's available. See, here's a list.

But Yeong just shrugs, and says, let me see your homework (because Eun-seop's back in school now) and then proceeds to put red slashes through everything and says, "apply your brains Eun-seop, don't act dumb when you're not". THE AUDACITY.

Yeong never dates anyone through high school, Eun-seop dates a different person every month.

- So Eun-seop is never going to have to serve in active military duty, because of his accident, but Yeong will have to. He's fine with that, and he'd rather do it in these two years, just after school, because that way, it's only really one year when Eun-seop will be at college before him, and that's fair, it evens out Yeong's having to graduate from school first.

-So off he goes, and there he meets Lee Ji-hun, who's an ass, Eun-seop clocks that straight away, born into some goddamn chaeobol family, but for some reason drawn to actual military service, because he has a hero complex. The only good thing he has going for him, as far as Eun-seop can tell, his that he took one look at Yeongie and decided that he was the best boy in the whole universe, and that shows good taste, Eun-seop will be polite to him, fine.

- Of course, the other thing that happens in those two years is that Yeongie gets brainwashed into joining the Navy- it's not brainwashing, Yeong tries to tell him, I get to protect the people I love, the country I love. And of course, Lee Ji-hun, fucking asshole, is just sitting there, nodding along as though any of this was fucking REASONABLE. You could DIE, Eun-seop yells, DO YOU REALIZE THAT. WE'RE STILL AT FUCKING WAR.

Yes, says his stepford-wife brother, womb-sharer, soulmate, exactly.

- Anyways, off Yeong and Jihun go to join not just the Navy, which would be bad enough, but the ROKSWF, that's insane, they're going to die, and what can Eun-seop do then but go join the NIS and immediately get picked for North Korean Affairs by an astute senior officer who listens to Eun-seop goofing around in the canteen on the orientation day and still get everyone to give him their portion of the only decent thing on the menu- the crème brulee- and says, I'm taking that one.

- It's a lot of paperwork and dull as ditches monitoring work at the start, and that's ok, Eun-seop can live with that, it means he gets time with the other twins, who are at a fun age. And that's how Tae-eul noona and Kang Sin Jae re-enter their lives because Eun-bi and Kka-bi are learning taekwondo from Tae-eul's dad. This is also how Eun-seop meets the love of his life and future wife Myeong Na-Ri, and it's ok if she doesn't know it yet, at least Yeongie is not here to see him turn into a complete doofus everytime Na-Ri so much as breathes in his direction.

- Yeongie and Jihun come back on shore leave (AFTER TWO GODDAMN YEARS) and that's when Ji-hun meets Tae-eul and falls like a ton of bricks for her; she manages to keep her sense of balance and also life in order, thanks, she's not going to fall for some floppy haired dude (his hair grows really fast out of its crew cut) who thinks that parallel universes are a thing, even if he has extremely long legs.

Meanwhile Kang Sin Jae has also cleaned up nice, Eun-seop will admit, and he's-he's a genuinely nice dude, ok, even if a bit brusque, and when Eun-seop finds out about eomeonim's gambling problems and that whole story, he's willing to admit that he may have been a tad harsh on Kang Sin-Jae way back when.

Anyways, that's the past, right, Yeongie, I can't imagine what a bunch of men locked in a submarine can possibly do except have orgies, please tell me that's what you've been doing? Please?

"Shut up" hisses Yeong, and then practically jumps out of his chair when Tae-eul noona and Sin Jae come over to their table at Na-ri's coffee shop. Yeong's in his uniform- he was on his way back from some conference thing he'd had to go to despite his leave- so that was the saving grace, because Eun-seop sees the subtle double-take Kang Sin Jae does,  because let's face it, his baby brother is the most beautiful, it's true, but then Yeongie is also red in the face and says "toffee" instead of "coffee" as in "Won't you get some toffee, Sin Jae-ssi?" and Sin Jae gives him a blank look while he decodes that, (gay panic, Eun-seop wants to tell him, my brother is a panicked gay, go easy on him), and finally says, uh, I don't think they have that flavor here?

- God, Eun-seop says later, I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU, BABY BROTHER. HAVE YOU BEEN IN LOVE WITH THE SAME BOY FROM HIGH SCHOOL? ARE YOU STILL A VIRGIN? (AFFIRMATIVE ON BOTH) and Eun-Seop has FAILED, FAILED, FAILED. Alright, he says, taking a deep breath, how long do you have?

Two weeks, says his stupid fucking brother, and so Eun-seop has to go into EMERGENCY-FUCKING-MODE because he may have to DIE getting it to happen, but his baby brother is GOING TO GET LAID, AND BY THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE, EVERYONE'S FIRST TIME NEEDS TO BE SPECIAL OK, Ji-hun? Ji-hun nods, very seriously, and proceeds to describe his extremely un-special first time, and Eun-seop is like, wow, you probably don't know this, because you've got that puppy face that make people not want to hurt you, but every single woman you've ever slept with has faked an orgasm with you. Well, that discussion gets pretty heated, of course, and also comes to an abrupt end when Tae-eul noona pops in- she's come by to ask if they all wanna hang out and watch a movie this weekend- and look, noona's GREAT, and obviously the first person he needs on his ally list as soon as he makes sure she's not really in love with Sin Jae, because that would be bad.

"Hyungnim?" she says, surprised, when he asks, because Eun-seop knows the best way to get noona to answer anything is to play no games, and she says, "No, why?" and then, suspiciously, "Did that rat Jihun put you up to this?" And he says, absent mindedly, no I was asking 'cause Yeong, and noona yelps, "Jo Yeong can't be in love with me, shit!" and Eun-seop says, what, why, and that's how he finds out that hey, Kang Sin Jae may also have been a little into his idiot brother from way back when. "He was too young" Tae-eul noon confides, "Sin Jae didn't feel right about it, especially when he was graduating that year" and honestly, THIS IS THE SADDEST STORY EUN-SEOP HAS EVER HEARD AND HE'S WATCHED TITANIC FORTY TIMES AND CRIED EACH TIME OK?

- RIGHT. So maybe Eun-Seop and Tae-eul manage to get their idiot friend and brother a little push in the right direction. Well, noona basically goes to Sin Jae and says, for fucks sake, ask the poor boy out, I heard he's still a virgin for you.  And Sin Jae goes red in the face, and then green, because omg the PRESSURE, and then red again, and then ultimately does find Yeong one day at the coffee shop alone, as Eun-seop had assured him he would be - (Diligently reading some book? A recipe book? Italian recipes? Sin Jae may have mentioned one day that his favourite cuisine was Italian?)- and there's some part of him that melts, like the cheese on the cover of that recipe book, and he's like, uh, do you, maybe, and then rushed, I know this great Italian place, if you like, and yes, Jo Yeong would like very much.

- Jo Yeong returns to Jinhae Naval Command very much not a virgin, and Jihun returns still single, but undaunted by the task ahead of him; don't worry, Yeong-ah, he says, confidently, I'll wear her down, even if it takes me years, and Yeong knows Jihun, he knows how much of a barnacle he can be, and also it wouldn't be nice of him to shit on other people's happiness just when he's found his own, so he nods and says, yes, of course, and even listens to Jihun rhapsodize about Tae-eul noona's everything for about two hours straight. He texts Eun-seop at the half-way mark- kill me now, please-and Eun-seop is like, what's North Korea there for, then, I told you to dump his ass in the sea. But of course he won't, Jihun and he are ride or die, and it turns out dying is more likely in this case, because right about that time is when North Korea decides that it needs to remind the world that yes, they exist, and yes, the men that rule them are crazy fucks.

- What happens is this: Koo Seo-Ryeong is a brilliant pianist, who's one of the few DPRK citizens who's let out to see the world has disappeared with her mother and sister, while she was on tour in Australia. And look, she did it in Australia, it has nothing to do with RoK, except that Kim Jong-un has decided that it has, because her (estranged) father happened to be one of the top honchos in  DPRK military brass, and this was all clearly a conspiracy hatched across the border to get at him and the military secrets he knows.

- Eun-seop is there when the news comes in that there's a Sang-o class submarine in the waters at Jeongdongjin, and he's also there when it turns out, that yes, hello, they were trying to get the Koo family out, and he's also the one that gets a single line text from an unknown number that's the code he made Yeongie swear on everything they held dear that he would send if he was going behind enemy lines. Shit. Shit.Shit.

- OK, I confess, I don't know how this next part goes, reader, because I am not John Le Carre or whoever, and this is still NOT-FIC,  BUT SPY THINGS HAPPEN and at the end of the day, Eun-Seop has to choose between saving his brother and letting the Koo family back into the hellhole they'd just managed to extract themselves from, and listen, noona made him listen to Koo Seo-Ryeong's playing ok, and there's- even if she were a shitty musician, even if she were just some rat bastard politician or a fisherwoman- he knows he can't make a choice that is sending her back to her death, and the deaths of everyone she loves. And if he did, and if he did, just to save his womb-brother, his true love, his soulmate, his blood and bone and heart- why, he knows that Yeong would never forgive him, Oppa-pass or no. So he's gotta rescue Yeongie and save the Koo family AND STOP WORLD WAR THREE, good thing he's totally up to the task.

- MORE SPY THINGS HAPPEN AND HE SAVES THE DAY, OK.

- He does, and so this time he gets to be the rescuer, and honestly, this was a big one, and it totally evens out all the 15 million times in their entire lives that Yeong had rescued him, what does Yeongie think? Yeongie thinks he should shut up and let him sleep, and because he's a good oppa, the best oppa, Eun-seop curls around his baby brother in their too narrow bunk bed, just like they did when they were sixteen or ten or five or in the womb, and goes to sleep too.  

[sillyguyhotline]

there’s smth so fascinating about the 70s serial killers true crime era and i literally don’t know what it is. i’m not one of those weirdos who’s attracted to serial killers but for some reason that specific type of true crime is super fascinating to me and i have no clue why

[generallypo]

“I heard your voice, so I came... Aoba-san.”

Hooo-boy, if that doesn’t get me emotional every single time. Call it my bias for eccentric bundles of sunshine and softness, or my crippling weakness for the secretly-handsome-and-devastatingly-earnest type, but you can’t change my mind: Clear is, hands down, DMMD’s best love interest. Character development-wise, thematically, romantically, he nails every trial thrown at him, gets his man,  and proceeds to break your heart in the tenderest, sincerest way possible. I am hopping with Huge Fan Energy, so this post is gonna be unapologetically long and self-indulgent and grossly enthusiastic. Yeeeee.

———— 

Look, DMMD meta analysis has been done to death, I get it. This game is old. But I think it stands as testament to its excellent production that it’s still a game worth revisiting years later — especially during these times when social contact is so hard pressed to come by and we all rabidly devour digital media like a horde of screeching feral gremlins. (Have you seen Netflix’s stock value now? The exploding MMO server populations? Astonishing.) It’s pure, simple human nature to want to connect, to cling to members of our network out of biological imperative and our psychological dependency on each other. As cold and primitive at that sounds, social contact also fulfills us on a higher level: the community is always stronger than the individual; genuine trust begets a mutually supportive relationship of exchange and evolution. People learn from each other, and grow into stronger, wiser, better versions of themselves.

Yeah, I’m being deliberately obtuse about this. Of course I’m talking about Clear. Clear, who is a robot. Clear, who is nearly childlike in his insatiable curiosity regarding the human condition.

And it’s a classic literary tactic, using non-human entities to question the intangible constructs of a concept like ‘humanity’ — think Frankenstein, or Tokyo Ghoul, or Detroit: Become Human, among so, so many works in various media — all tackling that question from countless angles, all with varying measures of success. What does it mean to be human? To be good? Who are we, and where do we stand in the grand scheme of things? Is there even a scheme to follow? … Wait, what?

Jokes aside, there are so many ways that the whole approaching-human-yet-not-quite-there schtick can be abused into edgy, joyless existential griping. Nothing wrong with that if it’s what you’re looking for, except that we’re talking about a boys’ love game here. But DMMD neatly, sweetly side steps that particular wrinkle, giving us a wonderfully grounded character to work with as a result. 

Character Design — a see-through secret

Let’s start small: Clear’s design and premise. Unlike so many other lost, clueless robo-lambs across media, Clear does have a small guiding presence early on in his life. It takes the form of his grandfather, who teaches Clear about the world while also sheltering him from his origins. It means he learns enough to blend sufficiently into society; it also means that Clear has even more questions that sprout from his limited understanding of the world.

Told that he must never remove his mask lest he expose his identity as a non-human, Clear’s perpetual fear of rejection for what he is drives much of his eccentricity and challenges him throughout much of his route. As for the player, the mystery of what lies underneath his mask is a carrot that the writers get to dangle until the peak moment of emotional payoff. Even if it’s not hard to guess that there’s probably a hottie of legendary proportions stuck under there, there’s still significance in waiting for that good moment to happen. And when it does, it feels great.

His upbringing contextualizes and affirms his odd choice of fashion: deliberately generic, bashfully covered from the public eye, and colored nearly in pure white - the quintessential signal of a blank slate, of innocence. Contrasted with the rest of DMMD’s flashy, colorful crew, Clear is probably the most difficult to read on a superficial scale, not falling into the fiery, bare-chest sex appeal of a womanizer, or the techno-nerd rebel aesthetic that Noiz somehow rocks. Goofy weirdo? Possibly a serial killer? Honestly, both seem plausible at the start.

And that’s the funny thing, because as damn hard as he tries to physically cover himself up from society, Clear is irrepressibly true to his name: transparent to a fault. He’s a walking, talking contradiction, and it’s not hard to realize that this mysterious, masked stranger… is really just an open book. By far the most effusive and straightforward of the entire cast, his actions are wildly unconventional and sometimes wholly inexplicable. But given time to explain himself, he is always, always sincere in his intentions — and unlike the rest of the love interests, naturally inclined to offer bits of himself to Aoba. It doesn’t take the entire character arc to figure out his big, bad secret — our main character gets an inkling about halfway through his route — and what’s even better is that he embraces it, understanding that his abilities also allow him to protect what he cherishes: Aoba. 

So what if he doesn’t fit into an easily recognizable box of daydream boyfriend material? He’s contradictory, and contradiction is interesting. Dons a gas mask, but isn’t an edgelord. Blandly dressed, but ridiculously charming. Unreadable and modestly intimidating — until he opens his mouth. Even without the benefit of traversing his route, there’s already so much good stuff to work with, and sure as hell, you’re kept guessing all the way to the end.

Character Development — from reckless devotion into complaisant subservience, complaisant subservience into mutual understanding. And then, of course: free will, and true love. 

At its core, DMMD is about a dude with magic mind-melding powers and his merry band of attractive men with — surprise! — crippling emotional baggage. Each route follows the same pattern, simply remixing the individual character interactions and the pace of the program: Aoba finds himself isolated with the love interest, faces various communication issues varying on the scale of frustrating to downright dangerous, wanders into a sketchy section of Platinum Jail, bonds with the love interest over shared duress, breaks into the Oval Tower, faces mental assault by the big bad — and finally, finally, destroys those internal demons plaguing the love interest, releasing the couple onto the path of a real heart-to-heart conversation. And then, you know, the lovey-dovey stuff. 

Here’s the thing: as far as romantic progression goes, it’s really not a bad structure. There’s room to bump heads, but also to bond. The Scrap scene is a thematically cohesive and clever way to squeeze in the full breadth of character backstory while simultaneously advancing the plot. In this part, Aoba must become the hero to each of his love interests and save them from themselves. Having become privy to each other’s deepest thoughts and reaching a mutual understanding of each other, their feelings afterwards slide much more naturally into romantic territory. They break free of Oval Tower, make their way home, and have hot, emotionally fulfilling sex or otherwise some variation on the last few steps. The end. 

That is, except for Clear. 

Clear’s route is refreshing in that he needs none of these things — the climax of his emotional arc actually comes a little after the halfway point of his route. When Clear’s true origins are revealed, he comes entirely clean to Aoba, fighting against his fear of rejection but also trusting that Aoba will listen. It’s a quiet, vulnerable moment, rather than the action-packed tension we normally experience during a Scrap scene. 

That doesn’t mean it’s prematurely written in — it simply means that he reaches his potential faster than the other characters. Because of that, he’s free to pursue the next level of his route’s development much, much sooner in the timeline: he overcomes his fears of his appearance, he confesses his love to Aoba, he leaves the confines of a largely dubious master-servant relationship and allows himself to be Aoba’s equal. Clear’s sprite art mirrors his emotional transformation all the way through, exposing him to the literal bone — and Aoba’s affection for him doesn’t change a single bit. Beautiful.

The whammy of incredible moments doesn’t just stop there, though. I don’t exactly recall the order the routes DMMD is ideally meant to be played in, but I believe Clear’s is meant to be last. And if you do, I can guarantee that it becomes a hugely delightful gameplay experience — in order to achieve his good ending, you must do absolutely nothing with Scrap. It doesn’t just subvert our player expectations of proactively clicking and interacting with our love interests; it grabs the story by its thematic reins and yanks it all back to the forefront of our scene. 

In every route besides Clear’s, Scrap is a tool used to insert Aoba’s influence into and interfere with his target’s mind. Using his powers of destruction, Aoba is able to prune whatever maligned thoughts are harming his target; in any conventional situation, using Scrap is the right choice. 

But one of the central problems in Clear’s route is his conflict between the impulses of his conditioning and his desire to live freely as a human would. Breaking free of Toue’s programming is what initially made him unique; growing beyond the rules imposed by his grandfather is what makes him human. In the final conflict scene, Clear’s decision to destroy his key-lock is an action of true autonomy, made with perfect understanding of the consequences and a sincere, selflessly selfish desire to protect someone he loves. In order to receive his good end, you have to respect his decision. It doesn’t matter which option you pick — by using Scrap, Aoba turns his back on every positive choice he made with Clear and attempts to exert his authority over him. This is Aoba becoming Toue; this is Aoba trying to reinstate himself as ‘Master’ right as he approved Clear as his equal. That’s blatant hypocrisy, and it doesn’t matter if Aoba is trying to do it for Clear’s ‘own good’ — that’s not Aoba’s call to make. If you truly wish to respect Clear’s free will, you will stand by. This is the truth of the moment: Clear has no emotional blockages that Aoba needs to fix. Believe in him, just as he believed in you.

The path to his heart is, and always has been, clear. Scrap was never needed from the start.

While Aoba might be the main character, Clear is undeniably a hero in his own route just as much. Tirelessly earnest and always curious, he leaps headlong into the unknown and emerges with his newfound enlightenment. He’s unafraid of weathering trials, even to the point of accepting death, and returns anew from oblivion to a sweet, cathartic ending. That’s about as textbook hero’s journey as it gets — if that doesn’t make him unquestionably, certifiably, unconditionally human, then I will scream.

And only finally… there is the free end. The final CG is like a throwback to our first impression of him: indistinct, purposefully obscured from proper view. But this time, we know better — and so does Aoba. Looks were never what mattered in Clear’s route. If you were patient, and you were open-minded, and you listened… well, what we realize now is that Clear was doing the exact same thing for you, too.

From a carefree, aimless robot-man with only the gimmick of “eccentric ditz” to carry him forward, we get a supremely more interesting character by the end: a man who has graduated from the well-intentioned but claustrophobic conditioning of his childhood; a weapon who has defied the imperatives placed on him by his creator’s programming; a wanderer who has, through unconditional patience and empathy, discovered love, and striven to become a better person for it. Who was it that ever doubted Clear’s character? He’s the goddamn goodest boy that ever wanted to be a real boy. Of course Clear is human. And in fact, he does it better than every single one of the actually human love interests. You can’t change my mind.

The Romance — kindness is really fucking attractive, okay.

Like I’ve said earlier, I have my Big Fan Blinds stuck on pretty tight. I might be conjuring sparks from thin air. But I think every choice was a deliberate creative decision on the writers’ part, and they deserve all the kudos for it — I’m just the lucky player who gets to enjoy it. But aside from Noiz (who I also think is a perfect darling as well — I could go on and on about him), Clear’s route is a model example for consent and healthy relationships in VN storytelling. This is reciprocated on both sides: never does Aoba infringe on Clear’s boundaries, and neither does Clear. They’re sensitive to each other’s needs and concerns; they ask for permission and stop when it isn’t granted (and when it is, boy do they get frisky — I’m not complaining!) I don’t need to say much more, because I think that consent is both fantastic and yes, incredibly hot (the scene in DMMD is tons more sad, go play Re:connect!). Good writing shows off the massive erotic potential enthusiastic consent puts into intimacy, and Aoba’s and Clear’s relationship is honestly a dream playground. The point is, I think Aoba and Clear genuinely do find equal balance in their relationship by the end of his route (and certainly through Re:connect). If you follow through Re:connect’s storyline, there’s even more thematic richness that comes through in the form of Clear’s greatest asset: communication. The couple get to discuss the long-term implications of them being together; they both offer concerns, points, and assurances to the other, and it’s just a soft, honest moment not so unlike the worries of a real relationship. Hearing is kind of Clear’s motif sense, but it’s really great to see that Aoba also subtly picks it up, really flexes his own communication skills to better engage with Clear. 

Point is, Clear’s route spoke to me on a lot of little levels. Design-wise, he’s already got a ton going for him, and his story builds upon it rather than against it, enriching his development and grounding him a little more solidly in the DMMD universe (and in my heart). His route, aside from being emotionally ruinous, carries a pretty solid chunk of world-building (only beaten out by Mink’s and Ren’s, probably), and the romance feels organic, healthy, and realistic. He’s not the only one with an excellent route, but he’s my favorite. If you read through all of this, you’re a real trooper and I’m extremely impressed. Thanks for tuning in. Peace.

[rainbowdashisthebest1]

Winteriron fic recs

This is a fic rec list of some of my favorite Bucky/Tony fanfiction!

They are organized and numbered in order from shortest to longest (1k-167k). There is a collective total of 36 fics on this list.

All are located on ao3 (Archive of our Own).

The word count is listed underneath the title. (for example, 14k is the same as fourteen thousand words).

I have tried my best to avoid any stories with Major Character Death or an Unhappy Ending. So you don't need to worry about those here!

If they have a little star (*) that means they are some of the more memorable ones that I have read.

ENJOY!

1~killer love

1k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/20646356

“Nice to finally meet you in person," Bucky said. "If you’re anything like you were over text, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“More or less,” Tony shrugged playfully. “Just with a little more murder.”

Something dark passed over Bucky’s face, there and gone in an instant. “Murder?” he asked.

“I’m a mystery writer,” Tony explained, hands waving. “That’s why my search history was so bizarre, you know? Gotta do my research and all that. What do you do?”

“I work in forensics,” Bucky replied after a beat.

Tony breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good,” he said. “For a second there, I thought you were a serial killer or something.”

2~Like me better

1k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636204

For almost a fraction of a second, Tony thinks this is it – Barnes isn’t attractive anymore, he’s not some badass bad boy; he’s a giant squishy nerd – he isn’t hot. I don’t want to take his pants off with my teeth, I don’t want to lick my way down his body and I don’t want him hoisting me up and fucking me against a wall – no, sir, I – am a giant fucking liar.

3~suicidal stolen art

1k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/20134036

Tony was going to kill Bucky Barnes. Tony was going to cut the other thief’s flesh arm off and beat him with it. It was bad enough that they were both running jobs in the same building, but they had to be going for the same necklace, too.

Really, the universe hated Tony. He stared at the ceiling, sending up a very nasty prayer in case someone was listening, then turned back to the job at hand.

4~Bad Days

1k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/11971314

Bucky likes Tony, but is too scared to tell him. What he doesn't know is that every time he has a "winter soldier" moment, he is constantly protecting tony and not letting anyone near him, so tony already knows that Bucky likes him ("genius, remember?"). Bucky finally gets up the courage to talk to Tony, only for Tony to tell him what's been going on and he's been waiting for Bucky to be comfortable enough to actually tell him.

5~Bad Scoping Mechanisms

2k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607554

Like, the general public hates Tony Stark for having been a weapons manufacturer but actually he was pretty popular while he was still in the weapons industry so one wonders, who would have been a fan of Stark Industries before Afghanistan? Military, alphabet agencies, private security, hitmen and assassins? ...Hydra assassins?

-In which the Winter Soldier, aka Bucky Barnes, is an avid fan of Tony Stark for reasons.-

6~Sometimes Life Happens

2k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/4376774 Prompt: Imagine Tony and Bucky where Bucky works for the Russian mob and he hijacks Tony's car with Tony still in it to run from the cops. Tony wants to be mad, but really, he was sort of bored anyways and hang on, this guy's deadly, hot, and he has an awesome f*cking arm. Maybe this hostage thing isn't so bad after all.

Tony hadn’t necessarily been looking for further proof of his maladjusted—one might even argue self-destructive—approach to problems, but sometimes life happened, and you didn’t have any choice but to take a long, hard look at yourself. Sometimes, you’re sitting in your car, staring into your recently emptied coffee cup, contemplating whether or not you really want to do this whole “leading a responsible life” thing anymore, and a guy with a gun slides into your passenger seat. Sometimes, that’s just the way your Monday goes.

7~Tell Me Your Name, I Need To Know

2k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907770

Tony is overworked and underappreciated, always pushing his limits and not taking care of himself well; but someone decides to take care of Tony for a change.

Tony just wishes he knew who it was.

8~Nightmare Dressed Like a Daydream 

3k https://archiveofourown.org/works/17322914 Bucky accidentally crashes a blind date and he's not all that sorry about it.

9~Arm(s) Dealer

3k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/20869010

Just Tony being totally oblivious of Bucky being his fanboy and Bucky trying to 'play it cool' and kind of failing at it and coming across as kind of a weirdo.

-In which Tony slowly but surely realizes Bucky is his biggest fan. Slowly though.-

10~Warmth 

3k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543758 The day Bucky realizes that the Winter Soldier is in love with Tony Stark, he nearly brains himself on the doorway between his room and the rest of Stevie’s floor.

Because that’s the thing, he’s somehow not noticed, despite sharing a headspace with him. It’s been a team-wide question since Bucky came in from the cold as to why the Soldier spends so much time with Stark, and even Bucky’s been unable to answer, though now he’s just unwilling. The Soldier is in love with Stark. He’s the sun, the Soldier thinks. How the hell is this Bucky’s life?

11~How to Survive a Haunted House

4k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070833

“Lord save me from crazy white boys,” were probably going to be Rhodey’s last words. He didn’t care what his friend said; this place was haunted, and they were both gonna end up dead because Tony was too taken in by the ample closet space.

A fanfiction based on a popular twitter thread.

12~How to get away with (murder) Tony*

4K

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/13516308 All Bucky wants is five minutes alone with Tony - is that really too much to ask? Yes, it is, at least according to the rest of the Avengers that made it their mission to never leave him alone with the engineer for whatever reason. So if he ever wants to make his moves, he's going to have to employ every single one of his assassin training techniques and more. And he better do it fast, before the annoyed Winter Soldier takes over and just kills the meddling fools. Naturally, Tony is completely oblivious to the entire situation until a mysterious note leads him to the most unlikely of places - McDonald's.

13~forgiveness (can you imagine)

4k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17585558

bucky gets called back to the states so the man whose parents he killed can help him fix what has been unmade

he never expected tony stark's massive capacity for forgiveness to remake him

14~Not a Competition

5k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/16951419

Steve Rogers has been trying to force himself back into Tony's life, despite the fact that Tony no longer wants him there. Bucky makes some mistakes but tries his best to keep Tony safe and away from Steve's unwanted advances.

Features clear communication between Bucky and Tony, Tony learning about healthy relationships, a realistic approach to jealousy, and a potential bash down of Captain America.

15~These Sleepless Nights of Ours

6k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/19971652

It's another sleepless night and no one is around to keep Tony company. That is until he wanders into the Compound gardens and finds an insomniac Winter Soldier in desperate need of a hug.

16~Today's Forecast*

7k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/6830737

Loneliness had followed Tony Stark his entire life, so they were on pretty good terms. Ignoring those empty places inside of himself was easier once the day was in full swing, but the mornings had a way of slipping a knife between his ribs and getting him right in the heart.

The last place Tony expected to find the cure for his condition was on TV, but now watching the morning weather report has become the highlight of his day. Well, it was less the weather, and more the weatherman. One look at Bucky Barnes making some adorably lame joke about umbrellas, all lopsided smile and sparkling eyes, and Tony was in love.

17~This Ship (Ain't Never Ginna Sink)*

7k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939663/chapters/18149251

HYDRA kidnaps Tony Stark. What happens next should be obvious—the torture, the snark, the dramatic rescue. You know, the usual. Except.

Except Bix—the newest self-proclaimed faceless HYDRA goon—really ships WinterIron.

Or: Why faceless HYDRA goons aren’t allowed to have a Tumblr account.

18~The Gift Of Care

8k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/19908034

Freshly back to the States, James Barnes has a lot to learn about his new world, so he watches and learns and finds himself slowly falling for one Tony Stark, who always appears miserable when he has to spend time at the Compound with his former teammates, but who still takes the time to treat James with kindness.

James sets out on a mission to take care of Tony, make Tony’s life easier in whatever small ways he can. An unfortunate misunderstanding nearly ruins that, but in the end, James still reaps the rewards of his secret good deeds.

19~The Art of Petty Theft

8k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943550

All Tony needs right now is a good night’s sleep, but with nightmares nipping at his heels, he can’t do it without his sweatshirt— Rhodey’s sweatshirt, technically, that had become Tony’s long ago, back in their MIT days. The sweatshirt had kept him warm, cozy, and safe through many bad nights, but now it’s missing and when Tony finds out which one of his teammates is a no-good clothes thief, oh, they were going to have words.

20~Merry Kissmas

8k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/5368094

In which all Bucky wants for Christmas is a certain genius superhero, and for the rest of their teammates to stop hanging mistletoe and kissing said genius, thank you very much.

21~The Voice Inside My Head

9k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253551/chapters/27844158

The Soldier is overly protective of Tony after the rogue Avengers come back, forcing his way out when the slightest thing happens to him, so it's a problem when Steve doesn't know when to stop.

22~Whatever you say darling

9k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/6942853

Tony has been trying to woo Bucky for about a year now. He flirts, he builds him things, he kisses him on the cheek after movie nights and does almost everything he can think of to convince the guy that he really wants to date him. Bucky is strangely steadfast in his answer though: No, they can't date. After an explosive argument about the issue, Tony leaves the Tower for Malibu, making the team wary of a moody Bucky. When he comes back after two weeks, things are a bit...different.

Tony is actually doing exactly what Bucky asks. And it is creeping the team out while making Bucky go crazy.

23~Phase Change

10k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336445/chapters/38220197

The man who used to be both Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier but now neither has to figure out who he is and what he wants, with a little prodding from Tony along the way.

24~by any other name

10k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944860/chapters/34627725

He hates 'Bucky', hates the man, hates the way it makes his skin crawl and his chest ache.

Hates hearing that name thrown around so cavalier. Hates the image it evokes.

But he can't do anything about it. His tongue is leaden, his tongue sour with disgust, and he's unable to push out the words.

Until Tony Stark rages a one-man war against 'Bucky Barnes'.

Or, the 5 times Tony rejected 'Bucky’ and the 1 time James did.

25~Let It Grow 

10k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711483

When Tony steps inside a random flower shop on pure impulse, he doesn't expect to find himself face to face with the hottest florist he has ever seen. Sure, the guy is also the snarkiest florist he has ever seen, but Tony wouldn't consider that a bad thing. Bucky is clever, funny, and can keep up with Tony's banter better than most, and maybe Tony becomes a little bit infatuated with the man, right then and there.

And maybe Tony ends up going back to that same flower shop, time and time again, just to talk to Bucky. That's not weird at all.

He can always pretend it's for the flowers.

26~Speed Dating (Isn't Supposed to Happen in Cars)*

11k https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/19388686 Tony's temporarily broke due to a scandal at Stark Industries, and with no one willing to hire him, he's got to get creative in how to get by. When he reads about a solar-powered car race that pays out in the millions, he knows he can win it. He just needs a car, all the parts, a racing team, a sponsor, a driver, and like a gajillion other things he does not have. What he does have is: one whole month, an Air Force pilot, an heiress, two enthusiastic teenagers, a discredited science teacher, three ex-cons, a high-tech robot disguised as a Roomba, and a wicked crush on the guy from YouTube. Seriously, how can he lose?

27~And Time Again

11k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/21033113

When Bucky starts acting strange — well, stranger than usual — Tony notices right away. Their friendship might still be new, but he likes to think that he's gotten to know Bucky pretty well by then. The problem is that Bucky doesn't want to tell Tony what's wrong, even when he asks. He dodges Tony's questions, saying everything is fine.

But the way Bucky keeps looking at Tony — as if he expects him to disappear the moment he turns his back — says otherwise.

And Tony is determined to get to the bottom of what's really going on.

28~Spring is Coming

12k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709014/chapters/41776952

When Tony returns to Earth, he finds out that Bucky Barnes died in the Decimation.

The Winter Soldier, however, did not.

29~Weekly love

12k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11095257/chapters/24754530

Steve flicks him off and Bucky shuts his mouth. “Anyway, so what about Monday?”

Sam leans his hip on the table. “It’s about Stark.”

Bucky almost snorts at that. At MIT almost everything comes back to Tony Stark one way or the other.

Sam stares at him and Bucky clears his throat only then Sam continues.

“Every Monday Stark agrees to go out with the first person who asks him out.” Then he adds, “for a week.”

Bucky makes a face at that, mumbling ‘damn playboy’ under his nose.

Steve shakes his head at his antics. “Unless they have no chance to ask him out then they have to wait another week to try.”

“Mondays are exclusive, any other day and Stark will turn them down harshly.”

“Yep.” Steve nods then stretches, his eyes become a bit distant. “And at the end of the week, he will break up with that person saying: I couldn’t fall in love with you. Let’s break up.”

30~Misremembered

14k

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/11046240

When Loki smirked at Rogers in the middle of a battle and told him he would give Rogers what he wanted most in the world, the mind of his old friend back, Tony had a very bad feeling.

31~Scars

26k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799096/chapters/10983695

When Tony tried to urge the homeless guy sleeping on the steps of the Tower’s loading dock to move, he never expected that he'd found Hydra’s pet assassin—James "Bucky" Barnes.

Now, after months of keeping his presence a secret from the Avengers and helping Barnes learn to cope with both his returning memories and the modern world, Hydra is back for their favorite toy and Tony must call in old friends to save the life of the man he just might have come to care for a little too much.

32~Hate Me

45k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054348/chapters/40099106

There were moments where Bucky wondered what could have made Iron Man, possibly his best friend here in the future, sarcastic and gentle and funny and caring, hate Tony Stark so much. Moments where he wondered what Tony Stark, who could manage to be kind and generous to the assassin who had murdered his parents, could have done to Iron Man. But he never dared to ask, afraid of the answer.

33~Fractures (Filled With Liquid Gold)

63k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913913/chapters/24268908

Ultron happened. The Avengers left.

Tony is fine with being alone again. He always worked better as a Lone Wolf than a team player anyway. He's not sleeping or eating or resting or... living, but it's fine. It's good. It's okay.

And then there's James.

34~Far from Heaven*

67k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808031/chapters/31748817

Bucky Barnes falls asleep with the man he loves in his arms. In their bed, in their home, safe and sound.

He wakes up in the cold room of the cryostasis chamber in Wakanda to the worried faces of his former best friend and King T'Challa.

Everything that happened in the past six months— his pardon, his recovery, Tony's forgiveness, falling in love— he's told it was nothing more than a fevered dream, conjured up by a broken mind in cryostasis sleep.

The second chance at life he worked so hard to embrace. A newfound family and a place to call home. Tony, the love of his life and his whole world. All gone in a blink.

Bucky Barnes breaks.

35~Dig No Graves

142k WIP

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633517/chapters/26163312

"I'm here to kill you, Terminator," Tony said slowly, "does that compute?"

The soldier looked up at him with wide blue eyes and no expression. "Okay."

Tony froze. "Okay," he echoed. "I tell you I came here to kill you and your response is 'okay'?"

"I am being decommissioned," the soldier said, and for one horrible moment, Tony thought he actually seemed relieved. "I understand. I will comply."

(Or; Tony learns the Winter Soldier killed his parents and goes on a search for revenge, but ends up learning how to heal instead)

36~Such Sweet Revenge*

167k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146219/chapters/35123417

When the Rogues are back in the States after being pardoned, the New Avengers want nothing to do with them and as far as Tony is concerned, if he never speaks to them again, it'll be too soon. After all, he didn't spend the last year putting himself (and his family) back together only for his former co-workers to ruin all of his hard work.

But then he gets a hand-written letter from the Winter Soldier himself, apologizing for the events that transpired and an off-handed comment from Rhodey about Rogers failing to take care of an obviously miserable Bucky Barnes sets in motion Tony's new, oh-so-evil plan to get some payback.

After all, what better revenge than to steal the Winter Soldier away from his best friend?

The only problem: Tony sucks at being vengeful, but apparently he's an expert at inadvertently falling in love.

[forestwater87]

I detested most stuff and I still do

You see, I hate everything but you

“God, this is lame.”

“Aw come on, Max!” David, attracted like a bloodhound to the slightest hint of negativity, flocked to Max and gave him his most winning grin. (David rarely won anything, especially with that stupid smile.)  “This is a very special experience for you campers!”

Max rolled his eyes. “A shitty waterpark in the middle of nowhere, full of screaming kids. It’s a dream come true.”

“Well, maybe if you went in the water you’d feel better! I could hold your sweatsh --”

“Touch it and die, camp man.”

“Seriously, Max,” Gwen said, coming up behind David with her arms already crossed in what she probably thought was an intimidating pose. Would probably be scarier if she wasn’t constantly trailing behind David like a duckling with an attitude problem. “This stupid trip cost us money we don’t have, so you better not ruin it.”

“Even if I wanted to run away, where would I go?” He threw his arms out to the side, making a dramatic show of looking around. “This place is more isolated and run-down than most Saw traps. Pretty sure I’ll die of tetanus just walking around.”

David looked like he wanted to say something inspiring (and dumb), but something over Max’s shoulder snagged his attention. “Mr. Campbell! Put those ‘No Running’ signs back!”

As the counselors ran off -- well, David ran; Max was pretty sure Gwen wouldn’t run unless a serial killer was chasing her -- he let his disinterested mask turn into an actual, evil-villain smile.

He’d only said he wouldn’t run away, after all. There were lots of things he could fuck up besides trying to escape.

He just needed his partners in crime . . .

“Max!” Right on time. He had a split second to brace himself before Nikki collided into his back, looping an arm around his neck and nearly dragging them both to the pockmarked cement. “This place is awesome! There are water guns attached to poles and I sprayed Preston in the face!”

“Amazing, Nik,” he replied, shrugging her off and readjusting his hoodie. “You really can find the bright side to even the shittiest things.”

Neil trotted up to them, already a little out of breath and wiping the sweat from his hairline. Max pulled an inhaler refill out of his hoodie pocket, but he waved it away and said, “I don’t think we can steal the guns. Not without a screwdriver, and I’m pretty sure I left mine in the tent.”

Nikki had already moved on. “The vending machine over there is broken! Neil and I got twelve packets of Cracker Jacks!”

“Do you even like Cracker Jacks?” he asked. Weren’t those just packing peanuts covered in caramel?

“I don’t know!” She tore a package open with her teeth and tossed the entire thing into her mouth. “Not really!”

Neil grimaced. “Jesus, Nikki, at least finish chewing --”

“Catch!” Nikki had already ripped into another packet and tossed a handful of Cracker Jacks in his face.

While Neil was spluttering and wiping peanuts off his face, Max said, “So what percentage of the water here d’ya think is pee? I wanna make sure I really emphasize the health code violations in my letter home. Maybe Mom and Dad will be so pissed off they sue the camp.”

(Not that they would; he was convinced his parents had learned English mostly by watching family sitcoms and cheesy coming-of-age movies, and they were convinced that garbage heaps like Camp Campbell “built character” and were part of the “true American experience.” No amount of common sense would get through to them. They were parents -- so, basically hopeless.)

Neil gave the pool a slightly nauseated look before shaking it off and turning back to him. “Even you have to admit this is a little fun.”

“I really don’t think I do.” He swept his arm up and over his head in a wide semicircle. “It’s a beautiful sunny day, everyone’s enjoying themselves, there’s some weird hipster shit playing over this place’s one broken loudspeaker. It’s picturesque. Disgusting .”

Nikki cocked her head to the side, listening to the tinny music crackling through the air like it was being played through a tin can. (And by a tin can. It sounded like a pile of tin cans in a clothes dryer that was also somehow tin cans.) “I kinda like it.”

“There’s a mandolin in this song. You know where mandolins belong? At Ren Faires and Scottish funerals.” Probably. He didn’t know much about Scottish funerals -- or what “Ren Faires” were beyond that Nerris liked them, and she seemed like the kind of weirdo who’d listen to tiny guitars -- but he doubted Neil or Nikki did either, so he was fairly confident he could get away with saying it.

His friends exchanged a look, one that set Max’s teeth on edge. “You’re doing it again,” Nikki said.

“Doing what?”

“Hating things,” Neil replied.

That wasn’t what Max had been expecting. “I mean . . . yeah,” he finally said, shaking his head. “It’s kinda my brand.”

“I know.” Nikki started chewing on the tip of one of her pigtails, the hair muffling her words. “And usually I like causing mischief, but it’s hot and I wanna go on the water slides!”

“She’s right,” Neil added, and Max began to feel like he was in some sort of intervention. “I know this place isn’t the best --”

“I’d rather be in Super Guantanamo.”

“-- but is it really more fun to just stand around being pissed off at everything?”

“Obviously.” The response was automatic, but the question actually threw him for a second.

Complaining was fun. He and Neil could spend an entire Saturday trading complaints and insults about the camp, their parents, even the weather if they were really running low on things that sucked. Max considered himself a champion at bitching about things, but Neil’s super-geek brain was so good at plucking out faults in even the most awesome things and somehow making these observations both stupidly obvious and even funny -- in his dry, “not entirely sure he’s actually joking” way.

And ruining things was fun: Nikki had the worst, impossiblest, batshit-craziest ideas, and buried in all that weirdness were some of the best pranks he’d ever pulled. Even when Max couldn’t shut her down on a bullshit scheme, it was fun watching his friends use science and Nikki-ness to make it work -- and fail, usually. It was even more fun when they were actually able to pull something off that shouldn’t have been possible (usually with his help and great insights; he was the best at causing mayhem and always would be) . . .

The look on Neil’s face when his jerry-rigged hamster ball actually allowed them to roll around the camp without popping on anything, even Nurf’s knives, was priceless. And so was Nikki’s war cry that sounded like an Indian from one of those old racist Westerns, which she reserved for explosions big enough to singe off their eyebrows.

But they didn’t want to do anything like that today. They wanted to just . . . what, enjoy themselves? In this pathetic soon-to-be-abandoned-and-bankrupt pile of junk?

And he was supposed to just go along with that?

Why the fuck would he?

They could hang out without him, they did it all the time. When he was busy . . .

Hating things, usually.

“Okay, fine,” he finally said, letting out a long, beleaguered sigh like they were being too annoying for words. (What? Sometimes being dramatic was fun too.) “I’ll do things your way for an hour. And if it still sucks, we break something. Like David’s legs.”

He wasn’t surprised by the way either of them smiled; after the entire summer he’d gotten very used to both of them. Nikki’s grin, so wide it was almost scary, with a tooth that got chipped during Fighting Camp and another one she lost a few weeks ago (then immediately swallowed to see if the tooth fairy would come into her stomach after it), the way she tilted her head like an excited puppy: same angle, same direction, every single time. Neil’s tiny, shy of his barely-crooked teeth, the way his gaze would land somewhere in the vicinity of Max’s face but never actually his eyes -- forehead, nose, for some reason his left ear (but never the right) -- before flicking down to stare at his dorky T-Rex hands, which he’d twist together until every finger-joint cracked, this teeny little divot in his right cheek that only showed up when he laughed, too small to even put a pinky in.

Max hated people smiling, especially smiling at him . But he didn’t totally mind with Neil or Nikki; they were his best friends, maybe his only friends. It’d be weird if they were frowning at him all the time.

“Come on then, sourpiss!” Nikki cried, taking one of his hands and gesturing for Neil to grab the other.

“Sour puss ,” he corrected, his fingers briefly settling on Max’s wrist, elbow, and forearm before closing tight around a handful of his sleeve.

Max let himself be dragged forward, wincing at the sticky caramel still on Nikki’s hand. “I’m not gonna run away,” he whined, scuffing his toes along the ground before remembering that he liked these sneakers. “You don’t have to --”

“Our way,” she reminded him, breaking into a half-skip, half-run that left Max and Neil stumbling to keep up. “Oooh, look! Flowers!”

“We aren’t seriously stopping and smelling flowers right now, are we?” Max demanded, almost overcome by the lameness of it.

Neil just shrugged, ducking away from a bee that zoomed out of the nearest one. “Our way, Max.”

He sighed and breathed in a lungful of pollen. “Yeah, yeah,” he managed between coughs. “But just for an hour.”

“It’s gonna be a rose, but like . . . a black one. With thorns. And it’ll say ‘Too Cool’ underneath. Maybe in the vines or something.”

“Wow, Ered!” Nikki said, leaning against the rickety wooden railing that was keeping them from falling off the long line up to the tallest slide. “Your dads will let you do that when you’re sixteen?”

She tossed her hair. “Totally.” She turned to Max and Neil. “You gonna get a tattoo?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna get ‘None of your fucking business’ on my forehead.”

Nikki pouted, shooting Ered an apologetic look. “Max, our way!”

“It’s been way over an hour,” he said. His hair and sweatshirt -- which he still refused to take off, though he did dump everything inside into David’s backpack -- were soaked and beginning to steam under the sun, and he pulled his hood over his eyes and rested his head on Neil’s shoulder. “Wake me up when we get to the top.”

His friends were quiet, Ered having turned her attention to a surprisingly impassioned conversation with Nerris over the benefits of each class in DnD. After a moment Nikki said, “Well, the hour is over.”

“And he’s still here.” Neil smelled like sunscreen and chlorine, and his skin was burning warm like the sunburn he would inevitably still get. As a strong breeze shook the wooden tower they were standing on, a chill caused Max to lean more heavily into him for warmth and wind-blocking. (Not snuggling. Not even in the same neighborhood as snuggling.) “Better than I’d expected.”

He could hear Nikki’s smile. “Me too!” They shuffled forward, ignoring the alarming creak of the wood beneath them. “He’s a good friend, deep down.”

“Ehh, very deep down, I guess.”

“Oh yeah. Like, in his toes or something.”

“You know I can still hear you, right?” Max said without opening his eyes.

“Absolutely,” Neil replied.

“We were counting on it!” Nikki added brightly.

“Max!” They’d reached a bend in the line, and he realized with horror, opening his eyes, that they’d come into view of David, who was apparently accompanying Space Kid. Birds of an annoying, friendless feather . “I’m so happy to see you’re enjoying yourself! Isn’t it great having fun off the grid like this?” David’s voice was sincere, a little bit tearful, but with an underlying I told you so that made his blood boil.

Max turned to Nikki and Neil, who understood what he was thinking from his expression. “We’re not letting him get away with that, right?” he muttered.

“Of course not,” Neil said immediately, and Nikki nodded.

“Slide first, though,” she said, as though they were going to just leap off the side of the tower or something. (Which, considering her, couldn’t be ruled out.)

Max grinned, giving in to the oppressive sunshine and shrugging out of his hoodie. “Slide first,” he agreed. “Then we’re doing things my way.”

[notorious-fiction]

Right Hand (A Whoever You Want To Read It Story) - Part One

 (read the intro here)

                             Part One: The Doom Of Her Love Life

The Doom of Her Love Life (damn, that sounded cool) started with a Christmas party, three bottles of wine and a heated debate.

       Oh, and a famous guy.

       The famous guy was kind of a big deal in the whole thing.

       She had recently broken up with the latest (and possibly last) love of her life – four weeks and counting, and damn, it had been a rollercoaster of emotions – and she wanted to die when she was dragged to her best friend’s stupid Christmas party.

       A small gathering – just a bunch of misfits who didn’t have a Family in LA or didn’t slash couldn’t fly our to be with their own on the Christian Holiday, all clumped up on Louise’s boyfriends bungalow on the outskirts of town.

       At least, that was what her best friend had described it as.

       The Real Deal?

       The “bungalow” was a three storey mansion in the heart of Malibu and the “bunch of misfits” were a collection of famous ass people who couldn’t spend Christmas time with their families because they were too busy shooting a movie or a TV show or promoting their latest multimillion product deal or recording a freakin’ record to leave the city.

       “Oh, babe! Hey everyone, this is my very best friend, Mrs. Top-Notch Writer! Just Top-Notch for the more intimate!” Louise, aka her lying bitch of a best friend was screaming on the top of her lungs, gathering everyone’s attention as she did so “She’s an up and coming journalist, soon to win a... Bafta?”

       “That’s for actors.” She whispered, cheeks getting tomato red as she practically felt people’s eyes analyzing her up and down.

       “Oh, nevermind.” Louise huffed “Let’s get you a drink and ooh, is that wine?”

            Her friend was a drunk sloppy fuck and half of her wanted to take care of her and the other half wanted to get drunker and sloppier.

          Sensing that the yell from the hall was already some sort of greeting, she passed by the guests with yellow smiles and awkward nods, being dragged by the hand towards the kitchen, a slight sense of fear taking over her when she watched her friend stumble with the bottle opener.

           “Waaait, let me help you with that, Lou.”

          The voice was deep and coming from someplace much higher behind her, and as she turned around she almost choked on her own saliva.

       There he was.

      The Famous Guy.

        With the dreamy eyes and the shiny as hell hair, right behind her, so close she could smell his expensive cologne and almost count the little stubble of beard on his chin.

             Of course. Just when she had spent the night before crying literally on her phone as she watched her ex Instagram Stories with Louise’s account (lame, af) she’d have a meet-cute with Mr. Fuck His Hair Was So Shiny and His Eyes Were So Multicolored So Kaleidoscope Eyes And Damn She Was Staring And Now He’d Think She Was A Weirdo.

            She knew she had to act cool, so she nodded and turned her head to the other side so abruptly she almost broke her neck.

(Very cool indeed.)

(Cool as a cucumber.)

(That was certainly NOT cool.)

       But she did have a ten year old niece who would murder puppies with her bare hands to be in the spot where she was right now, standing at a kitchen counter right beside him, who was struggling a bit to open the bottle of wine she (!) had brought, with his very own hands.

(Big hands, she might add.)

(Huge.)

       After he did manage to open it – gaining a squeal of joy from Louise – he turned to her with a boyish smile (dimples, holy fuck, he had dimples and they were so close she could poke them), “Are you Mrs. Top-Notch Writer, the up and coming journalist who will win a Bafta?”

       If Louise heard the jab at her she didn’t act like it, pouring three – very generous – glasses of wine as she hummed a song that seemed like a mix of Michael Bublé with MC Hammer.

       “Yup. One and only. You can call me Top-Notch”

       Taking a sip of her wine, she almost spit it all out when her friend clapped her hands and spoke excitedly “Oh, you guys have so much in common! You two just got dumped and screwed over by your exes! That’s so fun. Talk it out! Yeah. Group therapy style!”

       After that one, instead of sip, she decided to chug the whole glass down.

       And looking at him, she saw he did the same.

       Yet that glass didn’t seem like enough.

       Nope, after that reminder, they kinda had the same idea:

       Drink from the bottle.

--

       “But have you tried Tinder? Tinder is like... A crucial step after a break-up.”

       “I thought about it but I think everyone would assume I was an imposter, y’know.” Oh right. She had forgotten about the whole Worldwide Famous Face thing “Have you?”

       “Yup. Didn’t go anywhere though.” Taking a huge gulp of her wine, she shrugged “Something about meeting randos who may or may not be serial killers or organ traffickers sort of pulled me away from it.”

       “I’m not giving up though.” He said proudly, puffing his chest “I know she’s out there. Y’know. The One.”

       She scoffed, adding – hoping it wouldn’t offend him but kinda knowing it would “Do you believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny too? Or only soul mates tickle your fancy?”

       “Love is real.” He replied, seemed so certain it almost made her believe him “I’ve lived it once, twice, thrice and I’ll live it again.”

       Scrunching her eyebrows, she muttered “Is that a song?” to which he rolled his eyes dramatically, taking a large sip before stating “It’s a fact.”

       “Oh. You sweet summer child.” She tsked “you really don’t g-get it.” She hiccuped, pointing a finger at his face – at least she tought it was one finger, she was kinda seeing two “Love is an illusion. It’s fabricated. We think we love someone until we find someone better. Or they find someone better. And onto the next one it is. There’s no such thing as “love” in our generation. There’s using one another for our own interests or benefits until they no longer serve us or settling for anything if we’re done playing games. That’s liquid modernity, babe.”

       “That’s liquid modernity, babe.” He mimicked her with a huff.

        They’d been going at it for a while now.

         Talking about past relationships – her, with bitteness, him, with some sort of strange longing mixed with hopefulness –, experiences, sharing their own special view on the matter, whilst sitting on the kitchen floor, backs against the granite counter.

         “Y’know, he broke up with me on my birthday.” She added, quietly “He didn’t even remember it. And I thought he was the love of my life.” Those words rolled out of her tongue like they were made of lemon, so bitter she almost cringed “Some days I still do. Swear to you.”

        “He was an asshole.”  

       She was staring at him and he was staring at her and before she could think twice, they were kissing.

       It was sweet at first, innocent then, just two sad, half broken half mended people trying to make each other feel better with a touch of their lips.

       Then it grew hunger, her fingers grasping onto his shirt, her mouth opening up just the slightly to let him know she wanted more, his hands frantic, fingers tangling on the hair on the back of her head, soft lips against hers with sharp teeth biting on her lower lip, a sense of desire and wanton she hadn’t felt in a while starting to burn on her chest.

       She didn’t love him, but she could make love to him.

       He was the perfect distraction, all she could’ve asked for in a rebound: someone she felt attracted to, not a total stranger so it wouldn’t be as awkward, someone who needed her body as much as she needed his.

       It was perfect.

(He was perfect.)

(Perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect timing, perfect way to lightly run his fingers on the side of her body to give her goosebumps, perfect way to look at her with half lidded eyes that almost said he wanted some more, perfect bite on that perfect little lower lip that almost drove her mad.)

       “Let’s get out of here.”

Those five simple words were her salvation.

       And those five simple words were the beggining of The Doom of Her Love Life.

--

hi i’m alive please don’t hate me i hope you guys liked it! 

if you did don’t forget to click on the lil’ heart and leave me a message! oh and who do you have in mind when reading this?

G xxx

[deeeepsteep]

Tbh like...I’ve been on such a true crime bender lately and while I find crime and criminal psychology fascinating subjects to study, I still can’t wrap my head around the people who actually idolize or are attracted to serial killers

Like...y’all do realize that these people are severely unhinged and possess absolutely no remorse or empathy right?? They’ve done horrible, unspeakable things to other living beings and they either don’t care or they absolutely love it. They either don’t care or they’re enthralled with the idea of hurting somebody, with taking someone’s life away. There’s this huge disconnect between them and the rest of humanity - and people..........like that????

Some women have been lusting after Ted Bundy’s gross ass for decades, long after he was executed. They weeped when he died. Some of them actually thought he was going to marry them - and they dead ass were 100 percent aware of what this man was capable of. They followed his case. They knew what he did to all of those poor women. They knew he was a monster - and yet, they’d boink him in a heartbeat and tbh that fucking boggles my goddamn mind

It kind of reminds me of when girls were fawning over Dylann Roof. This dude dead ass shot up a fucking church and was openly racist and all around terrible...and y’all are making posts about how hot he is and how you want him to be your boyfriend. There’s this......HUGE disconnect here, and it’s so obvious that I don’t even think it’s worth diving into. How can they feel this way about a person, knowing what they did to other people????? I just, idk man I don’t understand it at all

Is it a saviour complex??? Do some of these girls think that their love can redeem or rescue them?? That’s the only explanation I can think of - aside from the fact that these people have a handful of unaddressed issues of their own - but yeah man idk, like there’s something seriously wrong with this

I’ve been listening to the podcast “My Favorite Murder” lately - and while it’s a great podcast, there was an episode where they covered Richard Chase aka The Vampire of Sacramento (If you’re squeamish, don’t look him up, the shit he did was downright disgusting) and at the end they were like “Oh but after looking at his pictures, not gonna lie, he probably was hot in high school” or some dumb shit like that and I was like ok I know this was said in jest but there are probably some weirdos out there who actually, legitimately believe that...plus it’s just all around disrespectful to the victims so you probably shouldn’t say those things lmao

And it’s one of the reasons why I’m super against Zac Efron’s Ted Bundy movie. When the trailer dropped even MORE girls started talking about how hot he was, and all I could think about was how he probably would’ve wanted this. If Instagram existed when Ted Bundy was on his killing spree you know he would’ve grammed each murder with pride and top each post off with a slew of emojis and hashtags - because he liked the notoriety it gave him, he liked the attention he got. And having this Hollywood movie with a conventionally attractive white dude play him......I feel like he would’ve loved that. It’s only giving him more of the spotlight. I know one of his victims came forward and said she was okay with the movie so long as people viewed it critically and understood that this man was vile and a monster...but let’s be real that’s not gonna happen lmao, at least for some people

Someone on Twitter tweeted something along the lines of “We all know Ted Bundy’s name but I can guarantee you the majority of us don’t know the names of his victims” and that fucking shook me to the core - because they were absolutely right. Ted Bundy has been given the spotlight all these years for all the wrong reasons and tbh it’s about time he dissolved into history, this bitch has been irrelevant for decades now

ok I’m done lmao

[bichie-denzier]

You really think that if YOU personally do not find Penny attractive, all people who do are weirdos? Even the creators admit that Pennywise is supposed to look cute and babyfaced. Him being a flesh eating demon has nothing to do with his how he looks. And he looks awesome.

As far as the appearance goes I will agree with you on the fact that he does look awesome. Who ever does the makeup for Pennywise did a fantastic job because he looks scary as all hell. However, I do not think he’s attractive at all.

Now, people who find Pennywise attractive, I’m glad I finally get to talk about this. I’ve been wanting to say something about all of the responses to the post I made earlier. First, I just want to point out that the original post was satirical and I didn’t expect anyone to take it seriously but people have so whatever. I don’t think people are exactly “weirdos” for being attracted to Pennywise because attraction is opinion based. My personal opinion is that he’s very unattractive but whatever. My thoughts on people who want to be in a relationship or fuck Pennywise doesn’t so much touch on appearance as it does on personality. It doesn’t seem like it just because of the context of my comment because it was on a post saying Pennywise was ugly. Basically, I think that if you want to fuck a murderer it’s a little fucked up. A lot of people keep telling me that he’s a fictional character but I’d like to point out that Pennywise is based on an actual clown serial killer and child predator, John Wayne Gacy. I feel like if people have no problem sexualizing Pennywise then why would they have a problem sexualizing John Wayne Gacy or other actual criminals? I also think that with people sexualizing fictional criminals there will be real people out there like oh okay I guess it’s okay to be a shitty person cause the internet thinks it’s hot. I don’t even know if anyone will understand what I’m trying to say but those are my thoughts.

Basically, if you are attracted to Pennywise’s appearance whatever live your life idgaf but if you’re attracted to his personality as well then I’m just not really here for it but ya know, I have my blog and I share my opinion here and all of you have your own blogs so if you want to have a blog about fucking a clown, me and no one else is gonna stop you. I was just sharing an opinion.

[jamais-sans-couleur]

Your post about being attracted to bad people is cliche but true. There are like different kinds of bad though, I'm not really attracted to the edgy, try-hard kind. The ones who were once good people but later got genuinely fucked up though, they are the best of both worlds and have the potential to make me want to set myself on fire lol

Wow, hopefully you never got hurt by those people. I get attracted to people I shouldn’t because I have this urge to “awaken” their kind, humane side, and it’s really bad lol. At least I’m not one of those weirdos who sends fan letters to serial killers.

[onemaebee]

Eventually I’ll get up the mojo to write this whole epic fic out properly.

So for about 3-5 years I’ve had this vague idea for a fic where Rose Tyler, Mello, and Alphonse or Winry are kidnapped by B who was brought back to life and is crazy+immortal+cannibalistic and has Terrible Plans with those three. So of course the Tenth Doctor, Edward Elric, and Matt have to team up and have lots of zany hijinks as they try to a) get their Golden Trio back and b) stop B. If I actually write out the entire plotline I can probably force myself to finish it but you know. kids. job. parenting. wife-ing.

So for now, maybe someone else will enjoy these snippets in the form of “20 one-word prompts.”

Bullet - The look Near gives them hasn’t so much as a flicker, a single iota, of emotion. “42.” “42… what?” “The number of bullets that ultimately hit him, and not the surrounding area.” A pause. “There’s a 97% chance that he would find some gallows humor sort of approval in the geeky significance of the number, but I suggest keeping all of this conversation from him for obvious reasons.”

Lesson - “Okay, I’m fucking tired of carrying this entire team through every fight.” Ed announces suddenly. Well, the Doctor thinks it’s sudden, given that they should be catching their breath after running for their lives to the TARDIS… again. And evidently that’s exactly Ed’s point, as he continues from his position collapsed on the floor next to them, “You need to at least be able to hold them off until I can come and save your ass. TARDIS, got a training room?” And unfortunately for the Doctor and Matt, she does.

Wind - Sometimes Matt wonders if it’s possible to stick your head outside the door of the TARDIS as she flies through space-time. He puts entirely too much time into thinking through all of the possibilities.

Resurface - Seeing B standing over another body (god DAMN it) with a horrible bloody smile is an especially unpleasant jolt after what felt like a brief research holiday in time.

Winter - It takes a moment to recognize that the blonde lady--Halle, apparently-- has brought them to a person. He(?) is dressed in pajamas and kneeling on the floor, looking over a puzzle that covers at least a 5-foot-square. His hair, the pajamas, and the puzzle are the exact same shade of startling white, what the hell, and his skin is barely a shade darker. There are toy robots and cars strewn carefully (never in danger of being stepped on, and all posed in some sort of battle or weird scene) throughout the room. That’s weird, given that his build puts him at about their age (well, the Doctor’s apparent age), and definitely too old to play with this stuff, but his shadow-rimmed eyes look simultaneously old and coldly blank. Panda-boy looks up from his puzzle and actually raises two white eyebrows when his gaze zeros in on Matt, and that just makes Halle more anxious. Ed gets the impression that this may be the most his subordinates have ever seen him emote. Of course Matt has no problem waltzing up to Panda-boy and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Aww, miss me, N? I knew you really cared!”

Cruelty - B just laughs.

Uncle - Mr. Wammy, L explains, is the closest thing to a grandparent or doting uncle most of the orphans have experienced. Having never married, he instead kept stumbling upon, caring for, and raising a few dozen devoted orphans. That they were all scary-smart had been something of an afterthought.

Happiest - He’s surrounded on both sides with two brilliant companions, his lady-ship (Matt must be rubbing off on him-- his humor is usually much more clever than terrible puns) is singing in the back of his mind, and with each murder-plot foiled they are tangibly closer to bringing back Rose. He doesn’t remember being this delighted with life and hungry for the next day even as his Fourth Self.

Bunting - The first time they really have to utilize the Wardrobe Room is when they land in what the TARDIS says in the Earth Kingdom. Matt and Ed grumble while the Doctor has entirely too much fun playing dress up. The result is all three in comfortably loose robes and form-fitting clothing underneath that reminds Matt of feudal Japan. Ed is unimpressed when the Doctor tries to persuade Ed to pick any color other than red for his robes-- evidently there’s a color code on this world, the green hues Matt and the Doctor are in are harmless, and red has implications. Ed colorfully tells the Doctor where to shove his implications before the Doctor gives up. As it turns out, the vaguely-stupid clothing blends right in with what the locals are wearing-- granted, they had to hike for almost half an hour on a friggin’ beach before they even found said locals, but Matt was the only one who complained. Aforementioned locals are wearing clothing that is a blend of red, green, water, and a few flashes of orange, much to the Doctor’s bewilderment. “There are four Nations that make up this world’s human-populated continant,” he’d explained on the long-ass beach hike. “Fire Nation, Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, and Air Nomads. Last the TARDIS knew, the Air Nomads have been wiped out aside from a chosen-one child called the Avatar. The Water Tribe is mostly a ragged navy, the Earth Kingdom spearheads the fight against the Fire Nation, and the Fire Nation is the only fully thought-out and trained force who just so happens to be keen on taking everything else over and also destroyed the Air Islands. Each Nation has a vastly different culture that has been kept carefully separate for at least three hundred years.” “So, looks like Her Ladyship is a little out of date,” Matt observes in an undertone. The Doctor shoots him an exasperated look before accosting the first poor random guy they see. “Hello!” He says brightly. “Can you direct me to your leader? The one in charge of everything here? The local guard captain, perhaps?” The guy pauses and visibly sizes them up before sighing. “You’ll have to talk to Zuko.” Zuko turns out to be a guy about their age, with long-ish black hair tied back with colorful ribbon (each of the main nation’s colors represented in the ribbons, Matt noted), nicer-looking and more practical robes that were such a deep shade of blue as to almost be black, with embroidery in green and orange, and a red shirt barely visible beneath that. He had golden eyes that narrowed when the trio of weirdos approached. Zuko had also had a wicked tough life, judging by the mean scar that looked like someone had punched his eye with fire. Eh, Matt thought he was pretty hot. “Huojion,” Zuko started, and damn that was a smokey hot voice to match. “Who’re they?” “Just showed up and started asking for whoever was in charge, sir,” their escort said crisply. Zuko shot Huojion a look that said gee, thanks before nodding and saying aloud, “Thank you for bringing them here. Who are you, and what do you want?” With those words, the atmosphere subtly shifted from ignoring-neutral to warning-wary. The Doctor had mentioned that people could bend elements here-- which said something about what he’d put them through when Ed didn’t so much as roll his eyes at the impossibility-- and Matt was willing to bet on which element Zuko had some control over.  “You always bring us to such friendly places, Doctor!” Matt said, not one to pass up an opportunity to be a smart-ass.

Stalked - With the knowing smirk twisting B’s face, the Doctor has the sudden realization that they were not, in point of fact, chasing the crazed immortal genius so much as he’s led them on a merry dance across time and space.

Immortality - Shit, why hadn’t L killed this fucker when it was still possible?!

College - It had been a long-ass time since he’d last found something worth learning. Matt rather suspected Ed felt the same way, given how they both fawned over the TARDIS’ console. When the Doctor informed them they were spoiling her, it was with a laugh. That laugh petered out when the TARDIS started to take their side in petty arguments.

Sauna - The last thing Mello remembered was burning heat pain heart nobreath matt no

Carnivore - He’d really thought he’d left the fucking cannibals behind. Nobody could ever possibly get used to the up close and personal scenes of seemingly-random missing body parts or organs. Even fucking Matt flinches. Ed feels bile rise in the back of his throat, but the Doctor is definitely the most volatile of the three and goes and does something stupid because he kind of sucks at stepping back and not making things just a little bit harder. (Ed can’t really blame him)

Clutch - Once in a while (y’know, in between all the running-for-their-lives and examining horrifically bloody crime scenes and trying to plot how to kill an ironically un-killable serial killer and other cheerful shit), they’ll pass a church, or a shrine, or some lady will have a rosary on her shelf, and he’ll remember his hands tightly holding the only thing he brought with him to Wammy’s, and Matt’s heart will stupidly seize up for reasons other than the many health problems he’s carefully cultivated. (Well, Mello might actually count as one of those, come to think of it)

Wednesday - Ed’s pretty sure the Doctor just attracts weirdos. L doesn’t even blink and takes the news of time travel entirely in stride, like he hears about science-breaking instances every fucking day. Though if this guy was Matt’s teacher, that probably means he’s considering thirty ways he could use the abilities of the TARDIS himself, determining exactly how far in the future they are from, contemplating the repercussions of Matt meeting his younger self downstairs, and attempting to creep them all out with that earnestly blank stare, all at once. Ed’s really glad he grew up pretty normal.

Cavity - Ed’s pretty sure the Doctor and Rose are gonna give him diabetes. Hell, they’re gonna give everyone in the TARDIS diabetes, and isn’t that gonna be a hilariously awkward trip to the 23rd Century or whenever they’d managed to completely cure it.

Engaged - It’s weird having companions who not only take an extended interest in the TARDIS, but actively and intently work with her when she requests.

Saint - They put up with a lot of terrible puns from Matt. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been left in tenth-century London with zero chance of any kind of technology as a comparatively small revenge, though Ed’s pretty sure the Doctor thinks about it.

Sinner - Matt’s pretty sure Mel thinks he’s damned with no chance of redemption, and only prays in a fervent bid to get Matt’s soul to Heaven. That’s… fucking stupid. Good Catholics don’t do a tenth of what Mello ferociously does. But Matt did his reading, and good Catholics are supposed to work to get their spouse to the pearly gates, and Mello is nothing if not his partner, so if there’s a whispered Hail Mary in the dark when the blond disaster is doing that adorable snore that he threatens to beat Matt over when he mentions it the next day… well. It’s only returning the favor, isn’t it?

[doloresourladyofpain-blog]

Let’s get the maudlin out of the way.

Part One of How I Got To Be This Way

I grew up in a very religious, insular community. I was kept socially sequestered from the secular world, religious schools and summer camps and after school programs. I was in all-girls schools until I was 15. I was luckier than some girls I knew though, because I was allowed some books, music, and internet access. I never believed in God, maybe a result in an early onset of depression and anxiety (somewhere around nine or ten years old) that hasn’t relented. Since I knew I wasn’t going to be able to follow the strict path religion had set out for me, I’ve been pretty agnostic about my personal morals ever since. I cannot be good and do right, it isn’t in me. And if this is so, then there seems, still, to be nothing quite stopping me from doing exactly as I please. My teenage years were marked with elaborate suicidal fantasies. I never planned to reach adulthood or if I did, I assumed I would have to become a different person to do it. I was trying to keep myself on ice, in stasis, so the daily miseries of adolescence in a world I didn’t belong wouldn’t reach me. During the daylight, I listened to bad music and ignored boys altogether. By night, I read dark novels and fanfiction where the heroes all get seduced and thoroughly fucked by the villains. I touched myself every night, with distinct visions in my head of sexual torture. I wanted to be taken away by some dark, older man who would force me into objectification. He would subject my body and mind to unimaginable horror. I would enjoy it, sublimate myself in it, eventually lose myself entirely. My earliest sexual fantasies involved being killed and eaten. 

Then there was the cutting. Like many teenagers of my generation, I struggled with this habit for a few years. There are a thousand reasons why we would get into this, but for me it was the way the pain made me stop thinking. Thinking is half a torture for me, always. I have no discipline and too many thoughts. My mind runs in a thousand different directions and loses reason quickly. I could keep it in some order for school, but anything else was a struggle, until I started cutting. Since I was interested only in this pain and was terrified of discovery, I would use a safety pin, making about one shallow, ragged cut per session by dragging it over once spot, over and over, carving a little rut into my skin. The pain would slowly build, starting as a little sting, washing over me in increasing waves of white and red, building to a dark, velvety pulse. Afterwards, I would get into bed, masturbate, and fall asleep. Though it’s nearly entirely faded, in the right light, I can still read the white scar of words “I’m so sorry,” where I cut them on to my upper thigh.

The first time I was properly flogged, the man who did it would keep this exact pattern. The slow build up, the steady rhythm across my skin, over and over. The darkness washing over me until all I was and all I had was the pain. The slap of leather was a kindness greater than any I had previously known.

But that was a few years in the future yet. First, I had to leave the community in which I grew up and get to college, far away from my family and living on campus. That was when I met Jennifer.

I think of Jenn and it is still just like Plath said, “I think I made you up inside my head.” It was dreamlike, to find her, someone so perfect, so perfectly like myself it was almost a horror. As if I was looking into a mirror, as if I could open my mouth, and she would speak instead. We looked nearly identical, with dark eyes and golden brown hair down past our hips. We came from the same religious group, wished desperately to please parents who couldn’t be pleased. We each dressed a little ridiculously, trying to be goths, princesses, warriors, fairies, whores, and ordinary teenagers all at once. We were both 17 and twisted as sin itself. 

As soon as we met, we could not be separated. Day and night we shared our favorite books, music, films, our strangest thoughts and darkest desires and found them reflected in each other, down to the cutting scars. The difference, I suppose, was that Jenn was wilder than I was and more vulnerable. More prone to making bad decisions, but they were the bad decisions I had always wished I could make. I was committed immediately to join her in this, to come along for the ride. To talk to the strangers that she met on the internet, to wear skirts that flashed our pussies when we sat down in psych lectures (both of us hated to wear underwear), to play imagination games like we were children again, where she was the serial killer and I was the victim. (”Aw, kitten,” I can still hear her giggle, “Do you like my knife?”)

Jenn, had in the two weeks since we started college, met Ian. Ian was terrible, just fucking terrible. He had bad skin and wouldn’t wear enough deodorant and considered himself a black hat hacker in a group he met on 4chan. But he was tall, with cheek bones like knives and eyes like ice, and a cock that still makes me weep to think of it. Jenn was fucking Ian, and she had to share that with me too. This was my first kiss. We established immediately how this would work: we would all date each other, girlfriend and girlfriend and boyfriend. Jenn and I would be Ian’s subs, his slaves. This was all perfectly natural, exactly as it ought to be. Our friends were all weirdos, impossibly nerdy and strange, so none of them really questioned it.

(Well, alright, the boys would question it, breathlessly, eyes wide. And I would go into details, just to watch the sweat bead on their face, their pupils dilate. to hear them stutter through their next question. This kind of power, unlike most others, tastes sweet to me, rich and warm and sweet. Why do you think I’m writing this blog?)

This began the best months of my life. Under Jenn and Ian’s tutelage, I grew into myself rapidly. My grades were near perfect, I made friends easily. I went out on the weekends, I joined student groups and took on new responsibilities. It was the sessions in Ian’s dorm room, I believe, that facilitated all this.

I had trouble losing my virginity. My hymen was very difficult o . Ian and I would try weekly, to immense amounts of blood and pain and little success. He would pass me to Jenn, watch her soothe me, pet my hair and kiss my forehead and then dip her fingers into my bloody pussy. She was fearless and bold, rubbing and pushing, and getting me wet all over, staining me red from my thighs to my stomach. We would turn back to Ian, to his hard, heavy cock. We were small and he was large and he could accommodate both us kneeling between his spread legs. We would lose ourselves in this animal exploration of his cock with our mouths. Like kittens, licking and sucking, running up and down from the slit to the balls. Our tongues would meet at the head to swirl together, dripping drool everywhere. I learned the savage triumph of feeling the blood surge up inside a cock under my lips. 

I belonged there, right there. I was exactly where I was meant to be. Jenn guiding me into worshipping Ian. Her hand gentle at my side, his hand hard at my throat. He had me kneel on the floor and watch him fuck her, bend her over and pound her from behind while she purred and keened.

Jenn and I, we pushed this to its limits. We brought new toys into play nearly daily, now candle wax, now ropes, now ice. Our favorite was knives. She had one of those rainbow finish titanium knives that you can buy for cheap at a Renaissance Faire pre-dulled. An amateur’s knife. We loved it. She used it on me just like I used to use the safety pin. She’d saw the edge back and forth on my thighs until the tip of the knife would catch on something and then she’d push it deeper, widen the cut, bring up the blood. She carved Ian’s name on my back.

Once when I lay my head in her lap, she read to me the following passage from one of my favorite books, Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla:

“Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die--die, sweetly die--into mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that cruelty, which yet is love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit.”

I felt all my insides turn to liquid, melt like her wicked candle wax. I looked up at her and she smiled at me, so kind and young, so ancient and cruel. I thought I had passed into another world with her, a dark home that had been waiting for us all our lives. A door had been unlocked when we first kissed to this new, better place.

She held me on her lap while we read about gruesome sexual murder cases. We shopped for panties and candy. We took positions together on the boards of campus associations, studied and aced our classes together. God, I have never been with someone that way, before or since. We were one soul in two bodies and once we were reunited there was nothing we couldn’t do. She was my first and I regret always how I squandered her. How was I to know how rare it was to find someone like that? We had fallen into each other. I was innocent and I was stupid. I didn’t know that people spend their whole live searching for what we had.

Ian and I spent time by ourselves, certainly, under a very different dynamic, nearly combative. Never had two people been so ill suited in personality and so wildly attracted to each other. Once, he tied me to his bed to stop me from going to a student group meeting. I used the rough edges of my front teeth to saw the through the binding, while he watched, wondering if I would be able to do it. When I did, he pinned me all over again and tied me tighter. I wanted to give myself over entirely to his rule. He took me into his control without asking, like I was his by right. He gave me instructions and commands so casually. I was his before I knew what had happened.

He finally fucked me properly nearly three months after we began trying. It was finals, I had been up all night, and in the early dawn, he pushed himself into me, fully and entirely. While I am not of those romantics who believe that there’s necessarily significance to one’s first time, this was something special. Not for who it was with, but because of who I am. I’m a cock whore and this was the first time I’d taken a cock in me. He didn’t use condoms and I learned what it was like to be owned from the inside out. Ian was too big for me and I cried from the pain, but I’d never been wetter in my life. I’m sure the noises I made were loud enough to wake half his building. I writhed and kicked and shuddered. I screamed, called him Master, swore I’d do anything for him, called for God, begged for more. It was beginning of an obsession. For all the darkness I had in me, this is where it really began. Because it turns out that I’m a slut, really and truly. I love to get fucked by a good hard cock - I want it nearly all the time, whether I’m consciously thinking about it or not.

Ian awakened this in me, saw it immediately for what it was. I was lost, from there on in. He, the nasty boy, knew it and used this shamelessly to his advantage. He could subjugate me without words, without even trying. If I knew he’d fuck me, I’d let him do anything else to get there. It was then that he introduced me to his own obsession: the steel boned corset. I bought one for myself because I have deep love for Victorian novels and period romances. And of course, because he asked me to. The first night he laced me into it, he immediately fucked me. He told me he wanted me in it every time he saw me. I went one further - started wearing it for 6 hours daily, to train my waist. I couldn’t eat with it on and I began to develop acid reflux, but every time he saw me in it he’s bend me over his bed and fill me with that huge cock from behind. While he pounded into me, he’d spank my ass over and over, pull at my hair, make me beg him for it, then reach around and finger my clit until I came screaming. This before saying hello to me. By the time I had reduced my waist to close the corset entirely, he had instilled a Pavlovian response. To this day, when I lace into a corset, my pussy throbs with need. When I’m laced into one, I'm immediately halfway to subspace, regardless of what’s happening around me.

Subspace: that infinite, floating space in my mind, better than any high. It is the emptiness that waits to be filled with infinite patience. It lends me the resilience to endure anything asked of me. I am stone and water in that place, ocean and mountain. There is so much power there I feel as like a God when I remember that I contain that. It’s mystical to me, that another can awaken in me the exact qualities I need to be theirs. I daydream about the quiet of it.

Ian liked Emily and I to be as sluttish as possible. It says everything about his level of sophistication. Here he has to elegant young ladies as his own and when they ask him how they should dress to please him, he insists that we go as truck stop hookers. I know that this has its own function, the humiliation of wearing something like that. I can’t say I don’t still get off thinking of the shame of the things he had me wear. But he wasn’t thinking that far ahead. To him, this was the height of attractive clothing for women: a tank that showed half my tits, a corset, a miniskirt, no underwear, a pair of heels. He had the two of us walking in broad daylight like that, constantly. He had no class, but I was a good girl, and I was a perfect whore for him. And when the two of us were out in our Ian’s Whores outfits, with our long hair, sweet smiles, and our asses and tits nearly out of our clothes, the reactions we received were priceless. Our reputations on campus were legendary - let alone what happened when he took us to parties. He liked to give us quotas - when had to dance with a certain number of men, make out with another number of them, all while wearing his matching collars.

This was perfect to me: bent to another’s will, embodying his fantasy, I was more free and powerful, more myself, than I ever dreamed I could be. And while all this fell apart under our the pressures of our various neuroses (as it inevitably would), it has set the tone for me since.