#Polish beer labels

[ayanos-pl]

Lech レフ。1994年のラベルにはポズナン醸造所と表示されているが、現在の醸造所名はLech Browary Wielkopolski、創業は1975年。現在のロゴは緑帯に白抜き文字でLECH、マークは赤で横向き山羊2匹が頭突きしている図。#ポーランド・ビールのラベル

[spookywisp96]

"I had to talk to you."

Repost from other account

2.4k words

CW: Heavy flirtation, canon divergence (S4 end events didn't happen), College Student!Steve, Steve has shit eyesight

October 13th, 1989

Steve sighs, leaning back on the drivers side of his 1983 BMW. Burgundy paint starting to chip on the hood, the car becoming less appealing day by day. Girls passing by not even looking in his direction anymore. He was old news in Hawkins after people found out he had finally started at a college half an hour away in Fort Wayne. Just starting his life like everyone else did 4 years ago just wasn't appealing to most girls.

At least not Hawkins girls.

But at this point he didn't care. He was proud of himself for pulling his life together after all the bullshit he had been put through. With saving an entire town too many god damn times. Cutting his dad off when his parents divorced. Moving out to get a rented house with his best friend Robin. Just what he learned he needed over time.

Getting into a good school by himself with no help was just a cherry on top of the fuck you sundae he graciously served his past problems.

He was satisfied with what he had right now.

Dustin walks out of the new game shop in the newest strip mall to grace Hawkins. Steve looks up, pushing his Ray-Ban sunglasses onto his head.

"You made it out before, Robin. I'm surprised." Dustin glanced at the instrument shop a few doors down, then back to Steve. "You get what Eddie needed?"

"Mostly yeah. She's still getting her trumpet fixed?" Steve shrugs at Dustin's question and slides his sunglasses down in place again.

"She probably got distracted looking at something shiny and new. You know Robins crow brain sometimes." Dustin laughs, looking into his bag, shuffling a few things around inside.

Steve looked over at the liquor store at the end of the strip mall. Looking back at Dustin, he taps the top of the car. His head snapped up, eyes a bit surprised at the sudden noise.

"You want anything?" Steve asks, tilting his head back towards the store.

"Coke? If they got it." Dustin simply replied before getting in the back seat. Steve nods and walks to the liquor store.

The bell chimes over his head as he walks through the door. He takes in the warmth of the store and the radio playing over the speakers on the ceiling. Such a nice contrast to the crisp Autumn air outside.

He turns heading down an isle of assorted liquor bottles and bar accessories before finally stopping at the fridge. Humming along to the song over the radio, mumbling the lyrics to 'I wanna know what love is' absentmindedly.

Sliding his glasses down his nose, he squints at the selection. All the labels are blurry the farther he is, he steps forward rubbing his eyes and sure doesn't help with the florescent lighting blinding him from above.

God I need to get my eyes checked.

Opening the fridge, he grabs the 3 soft drinks and a 6-pack for later when he hears a metal scrapping and whoosh next to him. Followed by a muffled but panicked "Shit!"

Looking over, he sees the back of a squatting woman struggling with a metal shelf slipping out of one of the fridges.

Walking over, he quickly puts his things down and pushes the shelf back in. The metal shelf, cold against his warm skin as he reaches into the fridge, fixing the fasteners back into place.

An issue he's all too familiar with working at Family Video. The fridge racks always got loose and every time it happened he was always made to clean them up. He could only imagine the mess a bunch of glasses and beer would have made.

"Thank you so much!" The woman speaks as Steve stands up, slowly closing the door. Looking back, he finally sees your face. His lips slightly part as you continue talking, he can't hear a word you're saying right now.

All he can hear is the very oddly convenient Foreigner song playing over the store radio as he takes in every detail of your gorgeous face. From your shiny hair to your bright smile. The vibrant colored nail polish on your fingers you're waving as you talk. You're unfamiliar, he's never seen you before, but you're an absolute stunner of a woman.

Steve never thought of himself as a love at first sight kind of guy. But right now he was undoubtedly being proven wrong by the spark he was feeling, not to mention the nervous knot in his stomach.

"But really you're a life saver... Thank you." You stop talking, looking at him. Your face falls as he perks up, realizing he's just been staring like a complete idiot this entire time.

"You're welcome!" He spoke, choking almost over how inappropriately loud he was for a second. Feeling the effect of not talking to women for a while really hit him. You look down at his soon-to-be purchases.

"Full Sail Amber. Good beer." You comment, making him look at the floor and nod.

Crouching down, he grabs his things and stands cracking his head on one of the fridge door handles. His sunglasses fell off his face and onto the floor. He stands up wedging his soft drink between his side and arm. Rubbing his head with a hiss.

"You okay?" You ask with a slight chuckle. Bending down, you grab the sunglasses, Steve moves his hand, grabbing the bottom of the door handle to shield your head from injury.

"Yeah, thanks." Before he gets to put his hand out to take his Ray-Bans back, you slide them on his head with a soft smile.

God she's so fucking pretty.

"You're welcome. And thanks again for... Saving me from paying for a full shelf of beer." She turned down the isle to another part of the store.

Part of Steve wants to follow you and try chatting you up, but the slight embarrassment of hurting his head just keeps him from doing so.

He turns, goes to the front of the store and makes his purchases. Heading outside, he walks to his car, finally seeing Robin in her usual spot, the passenger seat. Opening the driver's door, he slips in.

"There you are!" Robin looked at him, her trumpet case in-between her legs on the floor of the car.

"What's with the face?" Dustin asks, Steve looking at him in the rearview, glaring.

"Shut up Henderson." He hands them their sodas, moving to close his car door when he hears the bell from the liquor store chime.

Out you walk, starting across the parking lot to a top-down red 86' Volkswagen Cabriolet. Steve freezes, staring again. He really can't help but stare.

"Oooh." Robin and Dustin both taunt him, making him sigh. He needs more friends, fewer annoying friends.

"She's pretty." Robin says looking at Dustin.

"Too pretty to talk to, apparently." Dustin adds, laughing as he looks back at Steve.

"I talked to her in the store." Dustin raised his eyebrows, pushing his baseball cap up a bit.

"You asked her out?"

"No." Steve watches you load your bag into the back seat and start pulling the top up on your car.

"Not too late!" Robin smiled, taking a sip of her drink. Dustin looked at her.

"He's not gonna do it."

"No, he's gonna do it."

Steve feels like he has a devil and an angel bickering on his shoulders right now. His foot meets the new asphalt of the parking lot as you open your driver's door.

He's quickly out of the driver's seat.

"Holy shit he's doing it." Dustin comments as he shuts the door on them.

He stops at the bumper of his car, hearing your car engine click over. Music pours out of your open windows before you turn it down quickly.

The universe is screaming at him to talk to you when he starts hearing that familiar Tears for Fears song, 'Head Over Heels'.

Please don't pull away, please don't pull away.

He nearly sprints across the parking lot out of fear of missing his chance. Upon reaching the car, he knocks on the back window, pulling you from looking for something in the console.

"Hi..." He says awkwardly, approaching the window. Leaning on the door, he smiles as you smile back.

"Hi. You need something?" He gets so agitated that you smirk up at him.

'Why'd you have to be so God damn pretty?'

"Sorry if this is weird, but I had to talk to you." He started, finally being able to say something. Your eyes go half shut with a soft nod.

"Talk to me?" He nods, clenching the door frame for a second. "Go ahead then. Talk."

His eyes go wide in surprise at your sudden confidence. Steve stammered for a second.

"Uh... At the risk of sounding crazy or desperate... You're probably the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life." You can feel your body warm up as he gives the most genuine smile you've seen on a man in a while.

"Mmhm, go on."

"Are you by chance single? Or like... Are you even attracted to men at all?" He asks, sheepishly smiling.

"Yes, and yes." Your smirk slowly turns into a grin as he squats to eye level now, feeling a bit more confident after your answer.

"I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Harrington." He smiles again hearing you reply with your name. "Are you new to Hawkins?"

"I am actually. I just moved here from the city and needed to stay nearby for school."

"Where are you going?"

"Trine University." His eyes go wide, the same school he goes to. What are the odds?

"Really? I actually go there too. Education major." You look him up and down. You never pegged him for the teacher type.

"Software Engineering major."

"So you're smart and gorgeous. Good to know." He smirks, finally feeling like himself when talking as your flush finally becomes noticeable. "You like movies?"

"What kind of psychopath doesn't like movies?" He laughs at your response, leaning in closer to the window.

"Lemme be more specific. The new Halloween 5 movie came out today. You interested in seeing it? Maybe with me tonight at the drive-in theater in Lafayette. We can have dinner after. All my treat, of course." He can see the sparkle in your eyes, that spark he felt looking at you before is still lingering around him.

"What's in it for me?" You playfully ask. He cocks his head to the side, leaning it on his arm for a second.

"A fun night out with a gentleman, I promise I'm fun." You chuckle, rolling your eyes, he knows you want to say yes. "Please?"

He'd never said please before when asking a girl out. It didn't feel embarrassing like he thought it would. You turn your attention back to the console looking for something.

Pulling out a napkin and pen, you quickly write down your number and address. Turning back, you hold it out to him as he takes it.

"I'm free at 8. And dress nicely. You're taking me somewhere decent after the movie."

"I'll take you to the most expensive restaurant I can find if that's what you want. I don't care. As long as I get to see you again." You laugh at his bluntness, it's like music to his ears.

"That won't be necessary. I don't need to be spoiled."

"What if I want to spoil you?" That caught you off guard as you didn't respond right away. He let a soft breath escape his mouth. "You like roses?"

"White roses." You reply, he nods, standing up again and folding the napkin, storing it in his back jean pocket for safe keeping.

"I'll be sure to remember that." You two just stare at each other in silence for a minute. No man's ever looked at you like Steve has right now, it makes your heart race from nervousness.

"I'll see you at 8 o'clock then." You look past him for a moment and back to him. "Tell your friends I said hello since they like to stare so much."

Raising an eyebrow, Steve turned his head. He sees Robin poking her head over the roof of the car and Dustin sitting on the rolled down window frame. They quickly hurry back into the car, noticing they've been caught. He should be embarrassed, but he fully expects their behavior from being friends for so long.

"Ignore them." Steve says, sighing as he looks back at you. "I'll see you at 8."

He turned away towards his car, trying to stay as confident as he was before turning his back. Reaching his car, he pops the door open, clutching it for dear life as he silently collects himself. Robin poked her head across the driver's seat to look up at him.

"You good dude?" She asks, concerned but also excited as he just nods.

You pull out of your parking spot, stopping behind his car and honk once to get his attention. Dustin pops his head out the back window as Robin looks out her open door. Steves head snaps up at you as you lean on your window frame, chin on fist with the most shit eating grin on your face.

"See you at 8 sexy~" You called to him. And then you have the balls to blow him a kiss before peeling out of the parking lot.

Steve silently gets in the car. Robin shuts her door as Steve does his. Dustin sits forward looking at Steve, who's just gripping his steering wheel, the adrenaline starting to wear off.

"Dude, she's so into you, into you!" Dustin breaks the silence as Robin nods.

"And I'd say it's the same for Harrington here." Robin grins as a massive smile spreads across Steve's face.

He starts excitedly thrashing frontwards and backwards. Enough to shake the car and look like he's about to rip the steering wheel from it's column. He lets out an excited yell, causing his two friends to laugh at him.

He let out a long breath, looking at them.

"She says hi by the way."

[whoreforjisung]

Pervy neighbor Jisung one-shot ✨

-Might continue the story in multiple parts if people are interested! I still have many ideas when it comes to pervy jisung

-Content / tags / warnings: smut / non-idol au / perv!jisung pining for new neighbor reader / masturbation (m,f) / ji is a little bit of an asshole / non-consensual pictures / one use of “noona” / drug and alcohol consumption / brief mentions of Felix, Minho, Changbin, and Seungmin

-Names are used as faceclaims only, and do not reflect the actions and personalities of real people

-Word Count: 6.2k

-I am very new to tumblr, and this is my very first time writing anything like this, so it is not proof-read or edited. Constructive criticism welcome!

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As a full-time freelance artist, you luckily had the liberty to pack up your cherished belongings and move to wherever you desired whenever you liked. That’s how you ended up landing yourself in Seoul at the ripe age of 24. It might sound silly, but you had a lifelong dream of living in a cozy apartment with a decent-sized balcony area. When a listing popped up during an impromptu trip to Korea, in Seoul nonetheless, for a manageable price, you immediately jumped on it. It was game over as soon as you visited and saw the beautiful balcony with a wrought-iron spiral staircase. After reluctantly returning home, it was hard to contain your excitement in the weeks leading up to your move. You were already eagerly selecting furniture to buy, as well as decorations, and brainstorming ideas on how to use the space as soon as you finalized the lease.

As you finally pulled up to the new apartment, you couldn’t contain the wide smile that crept across your face as you shielded your eyes from the sun, admiring your spacious balcony. Just the thought of being able to curl up at dusk with that book you’ve been meaning to read for ages on the hammock chair you purchased for it, had you teeming with excitement. It kept you in a positive spirit as you lugged boxes containing your possessions one by one up the stairs and into your new home. That was, until you accidentally dropped the large framed painting you were attempting to transport, sending it tumbling down the stairs leaving hundreds of glass shards in its wake. The sudden noise startling your cat, Newt, from his peaceful slumber in his carrier. He reacted with a hiss and a few agitated meows.

“Would it kill you to keep it down? Some of us are trying to WORK here! FUCK!” You look up from your kneeled position on the stairs as you’re scrambling to pick up the glass shards, and your eyes meet a young man with a scowl on his face, leaning over the balcony opposite to yours. He has a pair of headphones dangling around his neck and is clutching a can of beer, fingernails adorned with black nail polish. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve been more careful. It won’t happen again!” You replied as you continued picking up the pieces. “Whatever. Can you do something about your hairball? It’s making my damn ears bleed.” He angrily snapped in response, pointing towards Newt’s carrier. You could tolerate the first comment, but who did he think he was to so directly insult your pet like that? “Just because I caused a minor commotion doesn’t give you the right to be so rude to a complete stranger. Since I’m no longer disrupting you, Why don’t you close the window, remove the stick up your ass, and get back to your oh-so-important work while I quietly move the rest of my boxes into my house. Sound good?” He didn’t seem to have a response for you, instead opting to toss back the remainder of his drink, crushing the can and tossing it directly towards your feet before shutting the window. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your dustpan from the box labeled “cleaning supplies” and swept up the rest of your mess (along with “mystery jerk neighbor’s” added trash) before moving the final few boxes, as well as the cat carrier inside.

You were so grateful the place came furnished, as you promptly slumped down on the green velvet couch, allowing yourself to take a quick breather before taking Newt out of the carrier, letting him explore while you unpacked his necessities and began assembling the cat tree. By the time sunset began to roll around, you had made a decent amount of progress unpacking and building a good amount of your living room and kitchen furniture, including your hammock chair for the balcony. After brewing yourself a cup of tea and grabbing the book you intended to read, you finally made your way to your new outdoor relaxation sanctuary.

After situating yourself in the chair, draping a thin blanket over your legs, and taking a sip of warm green tea, you let out a content sigh as you finally opened your novel, ready to immerse yourself into the story for the next hour or so. You made it through exactly 2 1/2 chapters before “mystery jerk neighbor” made his second appearance. This time, followed by a small white puppy and the unmistakable smell of weed. Now, you normally wouldn’t consider yourself to be the petty type, but his disrespect towards you earlier prompted you to throw some back his way in retaliation. When he took a long drag and proceeded to start coughing up a lung, you shouted “Keep it down would ya? Some of us are trying to READ here!” Mirroring his first words to you. “Oh that’s realll original” he replied with a pained rasp between coughs. Rolling your eyes, you redirected your attention back to your book, assuming that would be the end of the distraction.

A small handful of pages later, a loud “YOOOO FELIX” pierces through the silence as he starts a phone call. Placing a bookmark to save your spot, you close the book and set it on your small side table. After a few minutes you return , donning your noise cancelling headphones. You’d be damned if you were going to let him ruin your highly anticipated reading time after a long and exhausting day. A peaceful 10 minutes later, he retreats back into his own apartment- much to your delight. However, your joy is short-lived as he soon returns with an acoustic guitar slung across his torso and takes a seat. Unfortunately, you quickly realize his strumming penetrates through your headphones. So much for noise-cancelling. Completely losing your focus and not wanting to engage with him any further, you decide it’s time to head inside and get yourself ready for bed. After a much-needed shower to rinse off the sweat and dust that had accumulated on your body throughout the day, you continue your nightly routine. Slipping on a pair of panties and one of your many oversized sleep shirts, you head to the kitchen to finish your cup of tea while absentmindedly scrolling on tiktok. After setting your mug in the sink and brushing your teeth in the bathroom, you finally turn into bed and listen to Newt’s content purrs as he cuddles up to you, both of you quickly drifting off to sleep.

You curse yourself for setting your alarm so early as you’re jolted awake by the incessant, absurdly high-pitched beeping at 8:00 AM. You did have a specific reason for wanting to wake up so early though, as you remember your plans and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed. Your first task of the day was grocery shopping, so after brushing your teeth and twisting your hair up into a claw clip, you threw on a pair of sweatpants with a black cropped hoodie and began your walk to the nearest market.

Arriving after about fifteen minutes, you began working through your ingredients list. You stopped at an herb stall with a middle-aged woman behind the booth. One of your many plans for your balcony space was to install a fresh herb garden, so you engaged in small talk with the seller as you selected various herbs to purchase. “Do you sell cat grass?” You asked. Suddenly, a young man with blond hair springs up from under the counter. “You won’t find any here at the market, but I can show you where to get some!” You’re taken aback by the deep voice that comes out of him, as well as his strangely friendly offer. Sensing your apprehension, the woman adds “Oh don’t worry dear, you can trust him! Yongbok here is our designated neighborhood helper.” She smiles at him as she pats his back. “Oh uhh okay. I have a few more things to grab here first, if that’s okay?” You reply, setting your items down for him to ring up. A few minutes later, you finished picking up the rest of the items on your list and returned to the stall to let him know you were ready. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes Auntie!” He called back to the woman as the two of you walked away.

You found it surprising how talkative he was. He told you his name was Felix, he grew up in Australia, but moved to Korea when he was seventeen, and he loves cooking, baking, and gaming. Even though you just met him, you were happy you shared some of the same interests, and honestly a little part of you hoped this wouldn’t be the last you’d see of him. The short walk led you to a large apartment complex. Felix told you his friend, Minho, is a huge cat-lover who grows his own cat grass, so you figured this is where he lived. It seemed like he spent a lot of time at Minho’s place, as the security guard immediately buzzed you both in as soon as he saw him, greeting him with a wave.

Felix knocked on the door as you arrived at, presumably, his friend’s unit. You could hear multiple voices from outside the door, and began to feel a little bit anxious. The door opened to reveal quite possibly the buffest man you have ever seen in person before. He quickly pulled your new acquaintance into a bear hug, shouting “FELIX IS HEREEE- and who’s this?” He added as he broke away, noticing you. You shyly introduced yourself to him, still standing in the doorway before Felix enters, pulling you both in. Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the amount of people present, you keep your gaze trained on the floor as he ushers you into the kitchen. “Hey Minho! This is the girl I texted you about. You know- the cat grass” He explained as he gestures toward you.

You pry your gaze from the floor to see an -admittedly, beautiful man holding a spatula and wearing an apron that says “world’s best Mom” on it in hot pink lettering. As you struggle to stifle a giggle, he quickly explains that he received it as a gift from his friend Seungmin. Since he can’t leave the kitchen while he’s cooking, he instructs Felix to take you to his study, where he has prepared a small pot for you to take home. As you enter the study, you notice a sleeping figure on the black leather couch in your peripheral vision. It wasn’t until you quietly retrieved the pot, turning to exit the room, that you recognized the person sleeping. He was your mysterious jerk neighbor! You had to admit though, as much as your very limited interactions with him pissed you off, he looked kinda cute peacefully sleeping like that- with his dark, curly hair cascading over the side of his face, cheeks all puffed out and lips formed into a devastating little pout. It was hard to believe this was the same man as the asshole that lived across from you. Once you realized you were staring at him, you shook your thoughts away and silently made your way back into the living room. Thanking Minho and bidding farewell to everyone else, you and Felix began your trek back to the market.

Arriving back home shortly after dropping Felix off and giving him your socials, you got to work putting away your groceries and began to tackle the daunting task of unpacking and organizing your belongings. In order to not burn yourself out, you made sure to take breaks every few hours. During your breaks you would work on artwork, watch an episode of the kdrama you were currently immersed in, play with Newt, crochet, and stretch- even doing a little bit of yoga in the evening.

After you were satisfied with the progress you made for the day, you booted up your computer and logged on to Miroh- a new labyrinth MMORPG you had found yourself getting absolutely sucked into lately. You didn’t find the time to game as often as you would have liked to, but when you did, you preferred to set aside a good four hours or so in order to ensure you’d make a decent amount of progress with every session. After several failed attempts to demolish the octo-cyclops boss of the S-Class dungeon- in order to acquire its exclusive armor set, you were about to call it quits for the night when a random player requested to join your party. You accepted the request from _doolsetnet, sending a gratitude emote as you entered the dungeon for the umpteenth time that night, this time with another player at your assistance.

Your morale was high as you successfully cleared the second stage almost flawlessly, mentally preparing for the third and final stage. It started off well, but as the boss’s rage intensified, so did it’s attack speed. You both took a few good hits, your health bar depleting rapidly. Your helper still had a good three-quarters of their health to spare, and enough mana to cast one spell. The boss only had about a quarter left on its health bar- two more good hits and it would go down. You unmuted your mic to request a heal from your partner, which they promptly offered. With your health bar restored to half-full, and your mana charged for two attacks, you were finally able to hear the sweet, sweet cries of defeat as you slayed the beast. You jumped out of your chair, raising your fists in the air and letting out a loud “FUCK YESSS! TAKE THAT YOU ONE-EYED SLIMY CUNT” as the game rewarded you with the gorgeous mother-of-pearl armor set you’ve been ogling for months- complete with an iridescent helmet showcasing the monster’s eye. You sent user _doolsetnet a thank you message, and attached a gift containing a couple hundred gold along with a few of the rare armor dyes you had extras of. They responded by shooting you a friend request, which you accepted, and a rare weapon skin you also had your eye on. After logging off for the night, you hopped in the shower, brushed your teeth, crawled into bed with Newt in your arms, and fell asleep.

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The day you moved in was a rough one for Han Jisung. All morning he worked tirelessly, trying to perfect the song he was commissioned to produce for a high-profile client. Each time he finished editing and emailing the file, he was always met with a problem. The beat overpowers the vocals, the guitar is too quiet, the bpm is too fast, too slow- it was impossible to please them with this song, and he was going to absolutely lose it. As a perfectionist, he couldn’t let it go until both him, and the client, were both one-hundred percent satisfied. He was running on about six hours of sleep in the past three days, with a concerning lack of food and over-dependence on coffee, energy drinks, and beer. He could barely rip his focus away from the project long enough to shower and make sure his beloved puppy, Bbama, was still well taken care of.

When the blaring hisses and sharp beeps of the moving trucks breached through the music he was working on, he nearly screamed out the window at them to shut the fuck up, but he still had self control. Honestly, it was his fault for procrastinating even though he knew someone would be moving in across from him today. He tried to drown out the noise for the next hour, and when the trucks pulled out, his focus finally pulled in again. He locked in- diligently toiling away at the project, until two hours later, he had the latest revised version complete. Making sure he took all of his client’s requests into account, he submitted the file and began the waiting game. Anxiously pacing around his apartment and biting his nails for another hour, he received an email notification. He sprinted to his computer, not even bothering to take a seat as his hand hovered over the mouse for a few seconds in anticipation. He slid the cursor over the most recent email in his inbox, squeezing his eyes shut and chanting a quiet “please, please, please..” he clicked the mouse and slowly opened his eyes, scanning the results. “Mr. Han, We always appreciate your hard work, and are nearly content with the song. There are just a few small tweaks we would like to- “MOTHERFUCKER” he threw himself onto his couch and muffled an anguished scream with his pillow. He nearly started bawling due to the overwhelming frustration and crippling exhaustion.

The deadline was tomorrow, and he would have to rework the godforsaken song for the sixteenth and last time. He had to make his next submission perfect- or risk losing one of his most important clients. He peeled himself off the couch, sauntered over to his fridge to grab yet another can of beer, returned to his desk, took a few deep breaths, and got to work. There was one specific part of the song that needed reworked. He began playing the same fifteen seconds repeatedly, closer and closer to losing his sanity as he just could not pick out what was wrong with it. Another ten times- still couldn’t place it. Twenty more times, and then he caught it- at the very end of the segment. His full focus on the next loop, he cranked the volume and listened intently, not even daring to breathe in fear of it disrupting his flow. The last five seconds coming up- this was it.

A loud crash broke his focus, followed by the shrieking howls of an agitated cat. That was his last straw. He slammed his left fist down on his desk, still clutching his beer can in his right hand. Shooting out of his chair he flung open the sliding door and stormed to the edge of his balcony. He started yelling before even thinking, just letting all of his pent-up rage out on whoever his new neighbor was. Once the red-hot fury died down, and he actually saw the unfortunate victim of his outburst, he retreated in embarrassment. She was a girl who looked to be in her early to mid twenties, around the same age as him. Kinda cute too, and he threw his fucking beer can at her! God, what the hell was wrong with him? He wanted to crawl into the fetal position and just disappear forever. Unfortunately for him, though, he still had the grueling obligation of completing his wretched assignment. He stretched, cracked his knuckles, and got to work once more.

A painstaking six hours later, he checked over the email again, to refer to his clients requirements. Making damn sure he remembered EVERYTHING this time, he went through a mental checklist. He listened to the full song one more time, paying close attention to the fifteen second segment he had reworked dozens of times. This time, he had swapped the guitar for a bassy synth to create a break at the end of the pre-chorus, and he honestly felt satisfied with the outcome. He might’ve entered a state of delirium after twenty-four restless, stress filled hours, and slipped into a rather cocky mindset. He was happy with the song at last, and the client would be content with it too. Honestly, they were lucky to have a producer like him working with them. He was a musical genius. After confidently re-submitting the file for the final time, he rolled himself a much-deserved joint. He gave little Bbama all the belly rubs and smooches he had missed the last few days as he made his way to the balcony for a stress-relieving smoke.

Jisung took a few deep drags, feeling increasingly calm with every exhale, until his breath caught in his throat upon noticing you lounging on your balcony straight across from him- seemingly deeply invested in a book. The smoke in his throat burned, launching him into a painful coughing fit. He silently prayed that you wouldn’t notice, and mentally cursed himself when you did- repeating his same harsh words to you earlier, absolutely dripping with sass. He threw back a half-assed reply, wishing he could’ve put more effort into it, and was rewarded with a nonchalant eye-roll. Oh, it was game-over for him now. One thing Jisung could never control himself around, was a person who simultaneously gave off the vibes of a dom, while exuding just the perfect amount of brattiness- just enough for him to want to mercilessly fuck the attitude out of.

He decided right then and there to “test your limits”- so to speak. He dialed up his buddy Felix, making sure to greet him as loudly and obnoxiously as he could possibly muster. Only to be met with disappointment, as you just sighed and closed your book, withdrawing back into your living space. Maybe he jumped the gun- and assumed too much too soon? Oh well, he’d have plenty more chances to get a rise out of you, and began plotting his next move as he continued his conversation with Felix. When you returned wearing headphones, and sat back down to resume your book- completely ignoring him, he immediately felt his dick tightening against his pants, begging to be freed. He didn’t have you all wrong- quite the contrary. He had you just right, and the little bit of tantalizing cleavage your tank top revealed to him was the perfect tease, your breasts slightly squeezing together with every page you turned.

He attempted to mess with you a little more, even bringing out his guitar, in the hopes of disrupting your reading just enough to prompt an annoyed outburst. (And maybe even impressing you a little bit with his skills). When you once again retreated inside, and didn’t return, he figured you just went to bed this time. It was like all of his pent-up frustration throughout the week sent itself straight to his manhood. He was throbbing as he fell back on his couch, palming himself over his jeans. He had to use his imagination, having only his limited view of your cleavage to work with, but that wasn’t a problem for him.

You were straddling his lap on his couch, plush thighs squeezing either side of his as you slowly and tortuously ground yourself against his aching length. In this scenario, you had caught him sneaking a peek at you through the window and stormed over, angrily knocking on his door to confront him. You were yelling at him with your arms crossed, squeezing your tits together and giving him the perfect view. -He finally released himself from his denim prison, wrapping his hand around his thick, hard length, and letting out a sigh- When you noticed where he was staring, and looked down to see the prominent bulge in his pants, you forcefully pushed him down on the couch, climbing on top of him. Yanking the nape of his curly hair, you compelled him to look up at you, chastising him for being a dirty pervert. “You disgusting piece of shit- can’t even be scolded by a woman without getting yourself all hot and bothered.” You spat at him as he let out a whimper. “How pathetic” the way you breathlessly enunciated that word had him fisting his angry cock furiously, thighs twitching and breaths panting as he felt his chest tighten. He was so close already- probably due to his lack of jerking off for the past few days.

When you crept your hand up his chest and around his throat, harshly squeezing your fingers around it, he came. All over his hand, shirt, pants, couch, and even spilling a few drops onto his floor. He can’t even remember the last time he came this hard- it was probably one of the first times he ever masturbated. He didn’t even get to the best part in his scenario, the part where he takes over, flipping you onto your back and burying his face between your legs, eating you out like you’re his last meal while you’re whining and begging him to take you, as you release all over his fingers and face. He felt himself twitch, and looked down in disbelief to be met with yet another raging boner. God, the things you did to him, and you didn’t even know him, or his name. It just made the whole thing that much hotter. He’ll make sure you’ll find out soon, though, so the you in his fantasies can scream it for him.

After cleaning up his mess, and slipping into a clean pair of sweatpants, he made his way over to his fridge, and grabbed himself a cup of water. Chugging it down to soothe his dry throat, he glanced out the window- his eyes falling on you. You were wearing nothing but a large t-shirt, barely covering the curve of your ass, as you leaned over your kitchen counter. Sipping on a mug in one hand and scrolling on your phone in another, you were unknowingly giving him some quality material to work with. He made sure to engrain that image of you in his mind, taking note of every detail of your legs, including your tattoos, for next time.

The next morning, after getting a few hours of sleep and clearing his brain fog, he was mortified to say the least. He made himself out to be a complete asshole to his new (hot) neighbor, and immediately proceeded to ferociously pump himself dry to his imagination of said neighbor. Embarrassed was an understatement. He groaned as he got out of bed, heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth. As he refilled Bbama’s food and water dishes, he decided he should apologize to you for his rude behavior.

A little while later, he found himself standing outside your door, preparing his fist to knock. As he heard your footsteps nearing increasingly closer, he panicked and made a beeline to the end of the hallway, tucking himself around the corner. He caught his breath, noticing you exiting your unit and heading down the stairs. He was startled by his phone buzzing, pulling it out of his pocket to read a text from Minho. “Get your ass over here NOW. I know you haven’t eaten well in days and I’m preparing some bulgogi.” He honestly didn’t even notice just how hungry he was, being too distracted by this work, and- well, you, to care. He pulled himself up and made his way over to Minho’s.

He immediately flopped down on the couch in the study after greeting his friends. They knew him- and his current work dilemma, well enough to understand he didn’t have the energy for socializing until he got a good rest, so that’s exactly what he proceeded to do. Seungmin kicked open the door when their meal was ready, jolting Jisung awake. He drug his feet to the kitchen, joining Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Suengmin at the table and taking his seat. While quite literally stuffing his mouth, he listened to his friends converse and argue, adding in a few comments muffled by the food stored in his cheeks. His interest piqued when Changbin mentioned the girl that came by, turning to Minho and sending him a puzzled look. Since when does Minho invite girls over? His older friend noticed his expression, and responded by explaining that Felix had brought her over because she was on the hunt for cat grass. “I can’t deny though, she was just my type. I’ll have to ask Felix if he got her number.” Hyunjin piped up, wiggling his eyebrows.

Seungmin shot him a side-eye, pinching his arm and causing the other to yelp while chastising him for his fuckboy attitude. Jisung on the other hand, was intrigued- asking Hyunjin to describe her appearance, practically begging, honestly. Who could blame him? He was currently down bad- astronomically, even. After listening to Hyunjin’s description, agreeing that she did, in fact, seem very attractive, he rewarded his friend with a description of the goddess that had just moved in next door to him. Hyunjin was practically drooling as he described her perky tits and thick, tattoo-adorned thighs in great detail, prompting Seungmin to manually shut his jaw. “No more horny talk over the meal I slaved away at all day, to prepare for you ungrateful degenerates!” Minho shouted, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt. After finishing the perfectly-cooked bulgogi and cleaning up after themselves, Jisung walked home, with Hyunjin in tow, begging him to let him crash at his place. Hyunjin lived only a block away from him, so he knew the only reason was so his friend could get a look at you. Cursing himself for his overly-enthusiastic recounting of your gorgeous body- only having seen the lower half so far, he pushed Hyunjin towards the opposite end of the fork dividing the paths between both of their residences.

When he returned home, he cracked open a can of beer, bringing it to his lips as he looked out his window, once again catching a glimpse of you. He quite literally spit out the liquid he was holding in his mouth, as his gaze was met with your ass pointed directly towards him, your back arched towards the floor, and arms outstretched while you contorted your body into what seemed to be a yoga pose. He silently praised whatever god might exist for you leaving your curtains open, and wearing the shortest compression shorts, as he stared- dumbfounded. He could literally see the outline of your pussy, leaving barely anything to his imagination. He wasn’t proud of it at all, but simply his memory would not suffice. He just had to snap a pic. He laid down on his bed as he pulled down the waistband of his joggers. Staring at his new favorite picture,

He began to slowly stroke himself as his imagination ran wild.

This time, you were doing yoga on your balcony when you caught him staring. You didn’t seem mad, quite the opposite, however, as he watched you sit down and part your legs, not breaking eye contact as you shoved your fingers in your mouth, slowly sucking on them. He watched you leisurely trail your other hand down your chest, squeezing your right breast, and releasing a pretty moan muffled by your fingers as you grazed over your nipple. He wondered how your moans would really sound. Would they be as needy as he’s picturing them right now? He hoped he would get the chance to find out. He imagined you releasing your spit-covered hand from your mouth, placing it on your inner thigh and leaving wet trails as it inched further and further to your puffy cunt, obstructed by your tight compression shorts. Still not breaking eye contact with him, you slid the garment to the side, as well as the tiny red thong you wore underneath in his fantasy. Giving him a mouth-watering view of your dripping heat, you plunged two fingers in, gasping at the feeling of fullness. You closed your eyes as you slowly pumped in and out, letting the quietest whimpers grace his ears. You lifted your head and offered him a sexy smirk, beckoning him to “come here” with your two glistening fingers. He brought his hand to his mouth, spitting into it and resuming its position wrapped around his needy cock. The added lubrication allowed him to increase his pace- still careful not to go too fast and risk missing out on the best parts of his scenario again.

He started to let out a few breathy whines as he imagined himself knocking on your door. You answered quickly, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him in before closing the door, and leading him to your bedroom. He kicked off his shoes somewhere along the way, and you sat on the edge of your bed, instructing him to kneel on the floor between your thighs. He trailed sloppy, open mouthed kisses up your inner thighs as you tangled your hand in his curls. He broke away to remove your shorts and thong, giving him a clear view of your arousal. He caught a whiff of your sweet scent, flattening his tongue and slowly lapping up towards your clit. You responded by pulling on his hair and grinding yourself against his face, causing him to release a deep moan, the vibration had you shuttering against him. He slipped his ring finger in, the cold metal of his ring contrasting with the warmth of your walls caused your eyes to roll back. You let out a loud moan as his middle finger joined the other inside you, relishing in the juxtaposition of slight pain and pleasure, as he stretched you out. You used his fingers to fuck yourself towards him, allowing his undivided attention to focus on sucking and circling your clit. This had you absolutely reeling, crushing his head between your thighs and coming undone, rewarding him with the most filthy, sinful, screams as his face was coated with your sweet nectar. He looked up at you as he sensually plunged his fingers into his mouth, licking up your release, and groaning at the taste. Your eyes glistened as he stood up, looking down at you as you returned his gaze through your lashes. You lowered your focus to the tent in his sweatpants, taking in the perfect outline of his curvature as you parted your legs and begged- no, pleaded with him to fuck you. You promised you’d be good for him, make him feel good, let him use you. The incoherent mumbling faltered as he sandwiched himself between your legs, and pulled his waistband down- his hard, leaking dick slapping against your abdomen. He hoisted your legs over his shoulders, keeping a strong grip on them as he finally plunged himself deep into your soaked cunt. He allowed you to adjust yourself to the stretch, choking out a guttural groan and a “fuck.. noona!” (He has no idea how old you are, he just has a little bit of a fixation on the idea of you being slightly older than him. He’ll unpack that another time.) As he imagined feeling you clench around him- and he felt his cock twitch violently in his hand- he blew his load all over himself, feeling the warm liquid coating his fingers and abs.

Panting heavily, he still couldn’t look away from his phone in his grip, displaying the picture he took of you. He wanted -needed- to know what it was like to see you up close in the same position. After taking a few moments to collect himself, he walked past his window on the way to the fridge. Seeing you sitting in front of your computer, back tensed in what appeared to be frustration, he tried to maneuver his vision around you to get a peek at what you were working on. He figured you were an artist, as you had all kinds of equipment set up around your living room- canvases, easels, and a cart full of what appeared to be paintbrushes and paints. He wanted to see if you were working on a digital art piece, and nearly came in his pants when he finally caught a view of your computer, instantly recognizing the images on your screen. You weren’t working on art, you were playing Miroh- his current favorite MMORPG. He opened his phone camera and zoomed in to try to get a better view of the game. Adrenaline surged in his chest as he saw the familiar Octo-Cyclops he has beaten countless times. In fact, he helped many players through that dungeon in the Miroh discord server he was an active member in. This was his time to shine. He captured a picture of your screen, hoping to make out your username. Sure enough, it was legible.

He practically sprinted to his computer and logged into the game, quickly typing in your tag and requesting to join your party, which you immediately accepted. He got to work preparing his inventory and chuckled to himself when you sent him a cute emote to thank him in advance for helping. At the third stage of the boss fight, he was playing defensively- letting you take the brunt of most of the attacks while he conserved his mana for a healing spell. As he watched your health bar start to deplete, he was preparing to heal you when you unmuted to beg him for help in the sweetest voice. He smirked as he released the spell, effectively restoring your health and mana, allowing you to fire off your last two attacks, defeating the boss. He smiled to himself as he heard your sailor-mouthed victory chant. Browsing his inventory for his rarest extra weapon skin, he attached it to the friend request he sent you before logging off and heading to bed. He was overflowing with pride with himself for being able to send you a nice gesture, even if it was anonymously.

[hazzabeeforlou]

Sadly, I think a lot of fans turned away from Louis for exactly the reasons that your anon said. Harry was giving the hints/ambiguity they needed to see and Louis wasn’t. He was saddled with a girlfriend and child and seemed the antithesis of all gay stereotypes. Because -unfortunately- these fans base everything on stereotypes. They rarely look deeper. Harry wears nail polish or blouses = gay. Harry is flamboyant = gay.

I don’t know when you wrote that post, but now, in 2023 I’m more sure than ever of Louis’s queerness. His lyrics and song choices! Only the Brave and All this time. His merch and graphics have so many ambiguities. His persona of ‘10% too British bloke who only cares about football and beer’ is at odds with the sweet, introspective, creative man who comes across in the documentary or interviews that do more than scratch the surface. The themes of his two albums are all about fighting and coming to terms with hardships. About grief and love and the journey being worth it.

His tour has slowly shown Louis adjusting back to being more open. He thrives on stage. He’s sexy and more uninhabited now than he’s been since the start of 1D. It shows that his less-flamboyant stage presence was a conscious decision. Maybe a demand from above to cut out the licking fingers and hip thrusts that got him labelled “gay” in the first place. Louis’s audience is awash with pride flags and rainbow colours and he loves it, and includes it in his IGTVs and pictures.

10 years down the road from when I first fell in love with those boys, I still see the Louis I started with.

That last paragraph. I have nothing to add 👏🏼

[slutforsilverfoxes]

What Happens In New York... The Remix

In which Aaron & Sean’s bff meeting for the first time gets ✨reimagined✨ (essentially an AU with a different meet cute)

“Yo, Hotch!” The blonde popped his head around the corner to peek into the break room where you were perched on a stool and hunched over the table, tongue peeking out between your lips while you concentrated on the project laid out before you. “Come take a look at this.” You flipped your design around with a flourish and a quiet, “Ta da!,” revealing the name of the bar where you worked, The Edinburgh, in sprawling cursive writing with a shamrock dotting the “i”.

“Kid.” Sean clicked his teeth with a shake of his head before declaring, “Your talents are wasted here. This looks amazing!”

“We’re not that old,” you laughed. “Art school is still in the cards for me, don’t you worry your pretty head.”

“She thinks I’m pretty,” he cooed to no one in particular, then chucked your chin affectionately while you fought to grab a hold of his wrist before biting down on his hand.

“And you taste good, too,” you hummed. “Spill some Jameson on yourself?”

“Shut up and go man the bar, Y/L/N.” You shied away from Sean’s pinching fingers, then slung a towel over your shoulder and followed the din of patrons in the bar to your section. It was a relatively slow Wednesday night for a New York summer, but you weren’t bothered by the unhurried pace. In between serving craft beers and specialty mixed drinks, you busied yourself polishing the wood paneling along the cabinetry and ensuring all bottle labels were facing outward for ease of customer selection. With that task completed, you resigned yourself to peeling a lemon into artful shapes while you waited for another patron to approach your end of the bar.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A honeyed voice carried confidently over the steady drone of bar chats, and you looked up with a smile. Everything about the man before you screamed professional, from the dark locks swept off his forehead to his sharp suit and tie to the placement of his clasped hands on the bar with a thick silver watch adorning his left wrist. There was a certain stoicism about him that was undeniably intriguing, and you could sense a sadness behind the warmth in his chocolate brown eyes. A shot of adrenaline coursed through you as you held his gaze, and you wanted nothing more than for him to open up to you.

“He loves me not,” you joked, tossing the lemon rind that you were forming into a rose aside. Leaning on your elbows on the bar top, you tilted your head back and forth while studying him. “Scotch on the rocks?”

He breathed out a laugh and conceded, “I wasn’t planning on it, but that actually sounds great.”

“Got it in one,” you sang playfully, back turned while you poured the beverage. You could feel his intense gaze roving over your form, and you suppressed the shiver threatening to run down your spine. You placed a napkin down before him with a flourish, then presented his drink. “Now, how about a penny for your thoughts?”

He clicked his teeth and shook his head in a suspiciously familiar way before asserting, “Nobody wants to take a peek in here,” with a tap to his temple.

“I do,” you answered genuinely. “That’s why I love this job. You can tell me whatever’s on your mind, judgment free.” As you swept a stray ice cube off the bar, you tacked on, “Unless you tell me you’re a serial killer, of course. Then I think I’m obligated to report you, at least in most states.”

He leaned in conspiratorially and you met him halfway. “You’re a little too good at this,” he confided in a whisper.

You let out a mock gasp and questioned in an equally hushed tone, “So you are a serial killer?”

He shook his head with a small smile. “I hunt them.” The simple statement accompanied by the flash of defiance in his eyes sent a bolt of heat through your body that you didn’t care to unpack at this time. Instead, you directed the conversation back to him.

“Detective?”

“Agent.”

That sense of familiarity from earlier hit you like a ton of bricks. “Don’t tell me you’re big brother Hotchner.”

He laughed at the incredulous lilt to your statement and admitted, “Guilty as charged. So you know Sean, then?”

“More intimately than I care to admit on days that end in ‘y’,” you huffed through a smile.

“Girlfriend?”

“Best friend,” you corrected him pointedly, then carried on, “Roommate. Therapist. Personal chef. The list of my many talents goes on.” You offered him your hand to shake and formally introduced yourself, receiving a polite, “Aaron,” in response with a smile that stole the very breath from your lungs. His palm was surprisingly soft in opposition to his firm grip, and you reluctantly retracted your hand after a prolonged moment. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” he answered seriously after a mouthful of scotch. “Brother-brother’s best friend slash roommate slash therapist slash other miscellaneous job title confidentiality is sacred.” You snorted out a laugh and immediately slapped a hand over your mouth at the ridiculous sound, covering it up with a poorly faked cough. Aaron, for his part, was kind enough to studiously avoid eye contact with you while he smiled down at the bar. “So that secret?” he prodded gently.

“You’re not nearly as boring as Sean makes you out to be.”

Aaron threw his head back in a laugh that warmed you from the inside out, and you committed the ebullient sound to memory, determined to hear it again.

A pinch at your side had you squealing out an indignant, “Hotch!” You noticed Aaron’s eyebrows raising at the nickname before you directed your attention (and a swatting of your towel) to the younger Hotchner brother, then pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek.

“I see you two have met,” Sean noted in a carefully measured tone, his hand resting possessively on your hip.

“We have,” Aaron answered just as evenly, raising his glass to his lips again as the temperature in the bar dropped several degrees.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Aaron? Got a case in town, or did you just want to remind me I’m still not living up to the Hotchner name?” The genuine nature of your best friend’s question was poorly masked by his usual sarcastic cadence.

The brunette’s visage pulled into a frown for the first time since he entered the bar, and you immediately missed his easygoing smile. “He came to see me, dummy,” you asserted with an elbow to Sean’s side, breaking the tension as the brothers released a collective breath. “And blondie, we’re gonna have to work on your descriptive skills. You did not do your big brother justice.”

“And that,” you declare in the present, swiping an experimental coat of plum-colored nail polish over your daughter’s thumbnail before shaking your head with a frown and grabbing the remover, “is how your badass mom singlehandedly saved the integrity of the Hotchner family. The power of humor!”

“Sounds like the power of flirting,” your mini-me counters with a wicked grin reminiscent of her beloved uncle while you hunt through the basket of mani/pedi essentials for a more suitable shade.

“Nah,” your husband further contests from his spot on the couch, head buried in a case file and reading glasses dangerously close to sliding off the bridge of his nose. “Your mom wasn’t a great flirt. She would just snort-laugh at my jokes until I figured out she liked me.”

“You mean this twerp inherited that from Mom?” Jack lovingly ruffles his little sister’s hair on his way back from the kitchen and she barks at him in response, unable to retaliate physically while you’re working on her hands. “You’re so fucking weird sometimes.”

“Watch your fucking language,” you admonish your seventeen-year-old. “Is this purple better?”

Aaron and your kids look up for precisely one second before answering in unison. “Too light.”

“Y’all are a pain in my ass,” you declare with a grumble, giving up on shuffling through the bottles of lacquer in favor of upturning the entire basket on the living room floor.

Your husband stands with a groan and comes over to press a kiss to your forehead, then your daughter’s, before placing Purple with a Purpose in your awaiting palm. “That’s what you get for singlehandedly saving the integrity of the Hotchner family.”

__________

[A/N: Y'all seemed to really enjoy What Happens In New York, so I thought exploring a different meeting would be fun :) I think we can all agree that CM did the Hotchner brothers dirty so I shall continue to live in my world where they amend their relationship as adults thank u very much]

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

[just-a-torn-up-masterpiece]

i did it all for love

masterlist

dark!reader x natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff

all you’ve ever wanted is the love of your life; to love and be loved, you’ll get your happy ending one way or another.

18+ : possessive, obsessive, controlling behaviour, stalking, manipulation, coercion, smoking, hints at an emotionally abusive relationship, drink spiking, drugging, kidnapping, restraints, torture, gaslighting, fear of abandonment, non-con kissing, choking, slapping, force feeding, jealousy, hair pulling, delusions, strangulation, knife use, sadism, stabbing, blood, murder, smut; switch!r, switch!wanda, rough sex, biting, marking, oral(wanda!receiving), fingering (both receiving), choking, strap use(r!receiving), hair pulling

a/n - picturing emo wanda; inspo from the song 'kill bill' by sza | word count: 6.5k

A hopeless romantic at heart. Always wishing on a happy ending, that fairytale dream you conjured in your mind as a child; true love forever after. You crave love. You strive for a lover’s affection, to love and be loved in return - that’s all you want. All you’ve ever wanted.

So Natasha was all you’d dreamed of and more. A safe haven, loving arms and eyes of adoration when she looked at you. She made you feel loved in the way you’d always wanted, like someone truly cared for you. 

And then she had to go and spoil it, leaving you all alone once again with an aching in your heart and shame burning through your veins. You were too much for her, just like everybody else who left you, like a toy to be played with until they see you for who you really are. 

Maybe you get obsessive, a possessive nature that digs its claws in, but it’s only because you love so deeply. You love her, you love her, you love her. That’s all. She just couldn’t stomach it.

So it’s her own fault really, she’s to blame. The story that’s unfolding wouldn’t be happening if she had loved you and let you love her, you could’ve had a happily ever after without you needing to fashion it yourself, forging it piece by piece. But you’d get it one way or another. 

–

The evening had begun and the bar was as busy as it’d get on a Wednesday night, a few people playing pool and tables seating patrons stopping for a drink after work. Music with a thumping bass served as background noise to the chatter with the stale scent of beer lingering in the air.

You headed directly to the bar, leaning against the wood with a glance at the woman with her chin resting in the palm of her hand, ordering yourself a glass of wine. She glanced up from where she picked apart a napkin with her eyes dull and lips in a straight line. Everything was just as you’d hoped.

“Mind if I sit?” You asked her with a gesture towards the stool beside her, eyeing the near empty beer bottle resting next to her hand and the darkened semi circles beneath her eyes.

“Be my guest.” She shrugged flatly.

“Are you okay? I hope you don’t mind me asking, it’s just- you look a little lost.” 

Your words were uttered with a faux politeness and a soft lilt, a look of concern indiscernible to the untrained eye as anything other than sincere. 

“Buy me a drink and I might tell you.” She muttered, you caught the glimpse of a slight smirk when she turned to face you, resting her elbow on the sticky bar top as you nodded and flagged down the bartender. “I’m Wanda.” She introduced herself with an outstretched hand, nails covered in chipped black nail polish, skin of her thumb nervously chewed pink. 

“Y/N.” 

–

It took you a little longer to get her to open up than you’d have liked, another drink each and she was only just revealing the information you needed to make your next move. She wasn’t quite as unpleasant to spend time with as you thought, though this didn’t eliminate the way you wished to see her suffer. 

All in good time, you suppose. 

“So what is it that’s got you all alone in a bar? A guy, a girl, work?”

“A girl. A fucking bitch.” She grumbled with the grip on her bottle tightening and her eyes focused on the label. “We’ve been dating for months and it’s all been great - perfect, even. And I can't help but think that it was too good to be true, y’know? Nothing can be perfect.” She sighed, tilting her head back to swallow the last few drops of her drink. 

“What happened?” 

“She disappeared.” She answered you with a shake of her head and a look of disbelief. “Literally fucking disappeared. Like she never existed - like I meant nothing to her.” 

“Well maybe she doesn’t deserve you, you think about that? If she’d just up and leave you like that. You can do better.”

“It’s the fact I’ve had no explanation, y’know? No text, no call, nothing.” Her hands gestured wildly in annoyance and you nodded along and listened intently, an entertained glint in your eyes that she didn’t notice. “I’ve been to her apartment, left voicemails, everything I can think of and I’ve got nothing back. Three fucking days and she’s too much of a coward to tell me to my face.”

“She should at least give you closure. It’s inconsiderate to just leave you in the dark like this.” You muttered with a touch to her arm, she glanced at your hand but made no effort to shrug you away 

“God, I need a fucking cigarette.” She sighed, pulling on her jacket as she hopped down from her seat. “You coming?”

You grinned to yourself as you followed behind her, everything was going so perfectly, a flawless tale on its way to the ending you’d always wanted. She led you to an alleyway beside the bar’s building and leant her back on the wall as she fished around in her pockets. 

You took the offered cigarette from the almost empty box, holding it between your lips as she lit it for you, mirroring her actions when she inhaled before letting smoke tumble from parted lips. 

“So what is this?” Wanda asked you with a gesture in the space between the pair of you.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it some kind of move? Find a sad and lonely woman at a bar, listen to her for a couple hours and take her back to your place?” She seemed annoyed, as though you’d planned it all from the beginning.

“I’m not the kind of person to take advantage like that.”

“No?” She murmured, stepping towards you with the rest of her cigarette perched between two fingers. “So you wouldn’t wanna help a poor, lonely, heartbroken woman feel a little better?” She pouted, playing with the material of your jacket with her lips hovering just above yours. 

“I mean, I’m always up for helping those in need.” You answered her, being rewarded with a smirk from the woman and a firm kiss that tasted of beer and smoke. 

“My apartment’s right around the corner.” Wanda spoke against you, pulling you behind her with a tug to your arm. 

–

Five days ago you were shopping for groceries, reading the ingredients on the back of a cereal box before you heard a familiar laugh. That deep and rasped chuckle you fell in love with. The one that burnt your heart out of its cavity months prior and left you seething with a bubbling anger ever since. You’d turned sour, trying to push it down and doing so well until you heard that fucking laugh. 

And there she was. Natasha Romanoff. The love of your life that grabbed your beating heart and crushed it like it was nothing. Her hand was linked with another woman’s, long brown hair and rings around her fingers, a sweet blush across her cheeks when she laughed with a scrunch of her nose. 

How could she just walk around with somebody else as though she’d not ruined you? You were going to marry her, you’re sure of it, but she just couldn’t put in the effort. Not with you at least. 

It started off well. You were protective, why couldn’t she accept that? Checking her location to make sure she was safe. Asking her questions to know she wasn’t in danger. Following her when she was out with friends to know she was safe, not ruining your relationship by loving someone more. But you're unbearable as she’d told you, it was bound to end. Overbearing. Obsessive. Paranoid. 

She was wrong, you just loved her. You love her, that’s all. And that’s all you deserve, it’s all you want. Love. 

The cardboard of the cereal box gave way beneath the crushing of your hand and the peppermint gum on your tongue was clenched beneath your teeth tightly at the sight. If only you could go over to them with no restraint, a pool of blood on aisle three. 

You hadn’t known she’d moved on but then you did. One second you were blissfully unaware and the next it flicked like a switch, something vicious and violent and everything sinful. Your shopping was discarded in the middle of the cereal aisle as you stalked your way out of the building unseen, back to your car and back to an empty apartment. And the plan just fell into place. 

So two days later you happened to be just right where Natasha was, walking through the park where you knew she went on her daily run with her feet crunching on loose grit on the pathway. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, a glistening of sweat over her chest and her muscular arms; you choreographed a bump of shoulders into each other when she passed.

The voice you’d not heard for too long uttered an apology, stopping in her tracks to turn to you with a touch to your arm.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying atten- Y/N?” Those green eyes were wide in surprise and she pulled the earbuds away, letting them hang around her neck with a wipe of the back of her hand over her forehead.

“Nat.” You smiled, faking a shock at the presence of the redhead, squeezing your hand into a fist when her hand moved away to fold her arms in front of her chest, taking a slight step backwards. 

“H-how are you? How’ve you been?”

“I’m good, just killing some time before a meeting - taking the long route. How about you?”

“Good - yeah, I’m good too.” She nodded with a small cough to clear her throat. “Listen, if you’ve got a little time free, do you wanna grab a coffee maybe? I know things didn’t end too well but I think now that we've had some time away we could have a civil conversation.”

It fell right into your lap, you raised your eyebrows at the simplicity of the situation. 

“Sure.” You agreed.

“There’s a cafe down the street, me and Wanda love it there.” She spoke as you walked side by side, she kept her distance, friendly but not entirely comfortable.

“Wanda?”

“Mhm, my girlfriend. You seeing anyone?”

“Nope. Not right now.” You kept the anger out of your voice as much as you could in your reply, instead keeping your focus on the feeling of your nails digging into the heel of your hand. All in due time. She’ll soon learn who she truly loves, this thing with Wanda is just a delusional phase, you kept reminding yourself.

There were a few awkward silences, an avoidance of eye contact over mugs of coffee with scattered small talk. Natasha was certainly regretting her offer of coffee but glances at the time on her phone made it clear she was counting down the minutes until you had to leave. 

You were surprised when she took her seat across from you again after her trip to the bathroom, sipping down the remainder of her coffee unknowing of the sprinkling of powder you’d seasoned it with minutes prior. 

“I’m gonna have to get going - can’t be late.” You smiled falsely, standing from your chair as she mirrored your actions, weakly hiding a slight stumble. 

“Yeah, well it’s been good catching up.” She uttered, squeezing her eyes closed as you passed the threshold of the door onto the street outside, trying to quell the dizziness setting in. 

“Natasha? Are you okay?”

Her ears were ringing, vision growing spotty and blurred around the edges, she let you hold her upright when her limbs grew weak. 

“Uh - I feel - I’m just a little dizzy.” She slurred out, she leaned into your side when you ducked around a corner away from prying eyes with her hands tightly grasping onto you where they belong. “Think I must be sick or something.”

“It’s alright, baby.” You cooed with a stroke of her hair beneath your fingers, helping her walk across the car park while her skin grew hot. “You must’ve overdone it, hm? You know you get queasy when you run on an empty stomach.”

“Mhm.” 

“Here, look, my car’s just here.” You smiled with a ghost of a kiss pressed to her cheek, guiding her body into the passenger seat before making your way round.

“I thought you were walking.” She breathed out, resting her nauseous head against the glass of the window. 

“Always so smart.” You whispered as you glanced over to her unconscious body when you pulled onto the road, grinning proudly to yourself when you made your way home. 

It was hours later when she woke up, wrists bound to the arms of a chair in your basement. Your fingers brushed through her hair tentatively as she slept, just as mornings would be spent before. Her eyes blinked open into the dimly lit room with her forehead creasing in a confused anger, darting her stare to you where you perched beside her. She tried to shrug your hand away where it rested on her arm.

“God, you’re fucking crazy.” She growled. “Of course you’d fucking do this. Let me go.”

You watched her arms fight against the restraints, licking your lips at the sight. You weren’t usually one to opt for the dominant role but there was something about seeing her so helpless - defenceless - that you enjoyed. You were in control, you could shape this woman you’d turned pliable into who she won’t let herself be. You can make her realise who she really loves, it’s all about the right conditions. And here, where it was all you, was ideal. 

“You can’t leave me. Not again.” You returned with a firm shake of your head. 

“You’re delusional, just let me go and we can just forget this ever happened.”

“I can’t.” You answered, moving your face to hover in front of hers, so close she could feel your breath when you spoke. “And I think we both know you don’t really want that. Humans want to be with the ones we love.” You smiled. 

“I don’t love you. Nobody could ever love you.” Natasha seethed, spitting in your face with the droplets landing on your cheek. You barely flinched at the feeling, merely curving your lips into a smile at how she was acting out for you. Though you grabbed her face in your hand with her cheeks pressing in beneath the firmness of your fingers, anger pulsing through you with her plump lips jutting out. 

“You love me, Natasha and soon you’ll stop lying to yourself. But please don’t make this harder than it has to be, God, it’d upset me so much if you made me hurt you.” You coldly muttered, pecking her lips before roughly pushing her head away and retreating. 

“You’re too much of a coward.” She snarled but she gasped with a hiss at the stinging burn on her cheek when your arm drew back, landing on her skin with a harsh slap that knocked her head to the side. 

“Look what you made me do, honey.” You tutted. “You know just how to upset me.” You added with a laugh. “We need some time to cool off. I’ll come back in the morning.”

The next morning you awoke with a smile, rolling out of your bed to the kitchen. You fixed some oatmeal in a bowl in the way you knew she liked, lacing it with that special ingredient. A healthy dose of crushed up rohypnol stirred into the oats, topped with sliced up strawberries and a glass of orange juice. 

Of course she didn’t accept it overly willingly, forcing her head away from the spoon you held up to her lips. 

“C’mon, don’t be difficult. I know you’ve been awake all night - that tape over your pretty mouth didn’t completely silence you. But it was good to hear you again, just like before.”

“I’m not stupid. I’m not eating anything you give to me.” She grumbled. “Wanda will be looking for me and eventually they’ll find me and you’ll end up right where you belong.”

“Mhm, we’re gonna end up right where we belong, my love.”

You stroked her auburn locks, soft action turning harsh when she tried to move away, replacing the gentle touch with a yank; wrapping your fingers in her hair, tilting her head backwards as she looked at you through a cracking gaze. What she tried to portray as steel, unbreakable, was deteriorating. She was scared. You smile at the sight; love goes hand in hand with fear.

You pushed the spoon into her lips, having to hook your fingers behind her teeth to force her jaw to slacken, feeding her step by step. Open her mouth, push a spoonful of oats onto her tongue, clamp her mouth shut until she was forced to swallow it down. Repeat. 

“Such a messy eater.” You smiled, wiping the corner of her mouth clean with a swipe of your thumb while her eyes grew noticeably heavy. “I only want what’s best for you, I hope you know that.” You whispered into her hairline, leaving a peck behind before leaving for the day. 

When you returned she was groggy, head still loose on her shoulders, lips dry and chapped. You helped her drink from a fresh bottle of water, letting her hear the crack of the seal being broken and she took it appreciatively, finally putting up less of a fight. She didn’t snap her face away when you wiped the dribble of water from her chin, licking clean the excess droplets from her bottom lip while you watched her tenderly. 

It all seemed so real to you and she didn’t know what to say. All she knew was that she was too tired to fight against you at this point; her head was fuzzy and nothing seemed linear, the limbs she could move were weak and the way you looked at her with a slight smile, your chin resting in your hand, was sweet. She was too drugged up to really put it together. All she could tell was that you were caring for her, helping her through this awful feeling of nausea with her face hot and limbs sore. 

She could feel you running a comb through her hair, your fingers brushing through it in such a familiar way. She felt the cool relief of a damp washcloth wipe over her face, clearing away the grime accumulated over the twenty four hours she’d been trapped beneath your kitchen’s tiled floor. Everything faded in and out but she didn’t fight it, why would she when you were being so caring? 

But that was short lived. You awoke to her closed mouth shouts beneath the silver tape across her lips, it was a bittersweet melody. 

It was annoying, for one, incessant and aggravating and it didn’t stop when you plodded down the stairs to watch her in her chair from your leaning position in the doorway. She wriggled against your perfectly crafted restraints, proving fruitless much to her chagrin of course. 

But, then again, she was here. That awful sound of her fighting against you just reminded you of her presence, finally back with you just where she belonged. To hear her after all this time was enough for now, you’d take her in anyway for the time being. Just until she realises her feelings. 

“Nobody can hear you from down here.” You sighed with a roll of your eyes at the automatic shouts she let out when you pulled the tape away, for someone so smart you’d have thought she would have learned by now. 

“Let me go.” 

Her jaw was clenched tightly and her emerald eyes looked at you with a deathly stare. 

“Please. Just let me go. Wanda will be wondering where I am she-”

“Stop talking about her.” You shouted, leaning towards her with your breathing heavy with rage, seeing red at every turn you took. “I can’t hear about her anymore. I can’t. You’re mine, alright? You’re mine.”

“Alright, alright. Let go - y-you’re hurting me.” Natasha choked out; everything had gone blank as though you weren’t in control. You didn’t even know that your hands had wrapped around her neck until she spoke, her cheeks had blanched deep pink and the vein in her forehead was visible. It made you feel sick.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t - I love you.” You rushed out, cupping her cheeks in your palms. “I’m gonna bring you a surprise, alright. You’ll like it, I promise. Just- just drink this for me, yeah? Just drink it and it’ll all be okay.”

She tried to fight against you, of course she did, you expected nothing less but it was one of the things that made you love her. But you got her to let the water flow down her throat, watching from your seat as she grew more and more tired until her eyes drooped and her head fell forwards with her chin against her chest. 

And then you made your way to the bar.

–

Wanda’s apartment held the scent of sandalwood and cigarette smoke, she had your back flush against her front door as soon as it closed and her lips pushed roughly into yours. You held her head in place with a hand on the back of her neck while hers roamed your body, creeping beneath your shirt to lie upon your skin with soft scratches of short, painted nails along your waist. 

You pushed her jacket off her shoulders and she stepped over where it lay on the ground, pulling you after her when she guided you both to her bedroom, pushing you onto her bed with a giggle when she clambered over you, tucking long strands of hair behind her ears before reuniting beer tasting lips with yours again. 

The kiss held the aftertaste of smoke, it was rough and hungry, a craving for a release. Simply an attempt at a distraction for her, a means to an end for yourself. Who said you couldn’t include a little bit of fun in your endeavours?

A black bra contrasted her pale, smooth skin when she tossed her shirt aside, shivering beneath the touch of your hands along her back when her lips landed on the line of your jaw and her own hands brushed beneath your shirt. She palmed at your breasts over your bra, a clear desperation in her actions along with the way her hips instinctively pushed into yours where she straddled you. 

You sat up without separating from her, only for a moment when you pulled your shirt over your head, letting her reach behind you to unclasp your bra, instantly pressing kisses across your chest.  You pulled at the button of her jeans, feeling the material of lace detailed underwear beneath your fingertips and her tongue flicked over a pert nipple in a way that made you arch your chest into her mouth.

When she reunited lips into a kiss you made sure to slot your leg between hers with your knee pushing against her clothed cunt, just so you could feel her surprised whimper at the back of her throat. She didn’t think it was too noticeable, the way she tried to fuck herself on your thigh, desperation causing her pussy to grind onto you as she kissed you with fervour. 

You pushed her onto her back beside you, she breathed out at the force but smiled up at you when you took her previous place, pulling at the waistband of her jeans and underwear until her legs were bare and her wet slit was on show to you. 

“I got you all worked up, hm?” You muttered with a musing swipe of a finger through her folds. You loved the sound of her whimpers. The way her eyes were pleading and her hips bucked upwards and her hand wrapped around your wrist when you went to move away. 

“God, please touch me. Please.” She pouted, watching you with hooded eyes as you kissed your way down her body. Soft pecks were blended with harsh sucks at her smooth flesh, a rough grazing of your teeth against her with marks being left behind. The redness looked like art, faint marks from your teeth like a masterpiece, all done by you. 

When you were level with her pussy you admired how soaked she was, wrapping your arms around her plush thighs with a suck to her clit that made her moan out above you. She tasted sweet, soaking your lips with her arousal as you lapped at her, swiping the tip of your tongue over her clit expertly,

“Oh, fuck.” She sighed out, nails scratching at your scalp and orgasm quickly approaching. “Just like that.” 

She could hardly hold on much longer when you pushed two fingers into her hole, curling inside of her with a technique that made her clench around your digits. You could feel her dripping down to your knuckles, throbbing clit beneath your tongue as she panted out above you with her legs shaking and trying to clamp around your head when she came. 

Wanda left little time to recover before you were pulled back into a kiss with her own taste making her sigh into your mouth; in an assertive act that surprised you slightly, she placed a hand around your throat, guiding you onto your back before climbing off the bed leaving you resting on your elbows.

“Take those off.” She uttered with a gesture towards your jeans whilst she turned around to her wardrobe, rustling through drawers until she turned around with a strap in her hand and a smirk pulling at her lips. 

Her cock nudged at you teasingly when she climbed back over you, she slid it through your folds just to make you desperate, only laughing slightly at the way you glared at her. 

“Wanda, I swear to God if you don-” Your words were cut off with the sudden thrust of her strap into your pussy, moaning out at the feeling of your hole stretching around each and every inch. But she mocked you more with a painfully slow movement of her hips, holding onto your hips whilst she watched her cock disappear into you achingly slowly. 

A choked moan sounded at the back of her throat when you yanked her face to yours with a grip on her hair, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth at the action and the nails digging into her back. 

“Faster, hm?” She breathed out, obeying your nod and stern look with a snap of her hips into yours, the beginning of a fast pace that felt perfect for you both. 

You hand stayed tangled in her locks and your nails leaving pink stripes along her back with her strap fucking into you deliciously. You grabbed onto the hand that held onto your hip, wrapping your fingers around her wrist to guide it between your bodies, pressing her fingertip onto your clit. 

She knew what you wanted and the air was too thick with lust and neediness for her to even try and tease you so she drew circles over the hardened bud, catching your moan in her own mouth when she claimed your lips again. The kisses were sloppy and wet with teeth sometimes clashing together with the haste, wanton desire and craving between you. 

The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breaths and groans of pleasure, skin against skin and lewd wetness between your thighs with each push into you. Drenched in the scent of sex and ash. 

You came around her cock with a moan and a bite to her lip that left a metallic flavour on your tongue and the sight and the feeling and the hit of the strap into her clit made Wanda’s release follow moments later. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair messy as she pulled out of you, leaving you empty as she took the strap off with her lungs still catching their breath. 

You made sure to be above her, your knees planted either side of her body with her hair splayed out on the white, linen pillows and a blissed out haze clear on her face. 

The moving of your hands was disguised as something else to begin with, a tender hold of her cheeks between your palms, your lips nearing hers, stopping short just before the kiss. They ghosted against her swollen ones, when you spoke with your touch inching downwards with your words until the warm skin of her neck was all you could feel.

“I think I was starting to like you.” You whispered against her, cutting off her response with a harsh squeeze of her throat. 

“What are you doing?” She stuttered out with her hands grabbing at your arms, her scratching breaking the skin of your forearms - you have to give it to her, she put up quite a fight. 

But you didn’t say anything, you just watched her try and fight it with her face growing more and more red by the second and her legs trying to kick you away. 

And just as her body was losing its consciousness, you uttered your reply. 

“What I have to.” 

Your car was outside of her apartment complex, all you had to do was get her there unnoticed. And dress her of course, you’ll allow her dignity - especially for her reunion. 

– 

“Wow, that took a while huh?”

You spoke, not even expecting a response from the women in front of you. You sat on a table across from them with a knife in your hold, Natasha of course had had nothing positive to say since you’d carried Wanda in over your shoulder but you’d accepted anything she threw at you with your legs swinging where you sat. You always have loved the sound of her voice.

“Wanda? Wanda, baby, you’re awake.” She breathed out in relief, you’d sat them opposite one another, unable to move but with nothing to see apart from each other. 

“Nat? Oh my God - what? What the hell is going on?” She returned through tears, trying to move against the restraints around her wrists, hissing at the feeling when her efforts were useless. “You’re okay? I- I haven’t heard from you - oh God, is this where you’ve been?” 

Her voice was cracked and thick with fear.

“I would never leave you like that, Wands.” She answered with an attempt at a smile towards her girlfriend. “I love you so much, alright? I don’t know what’s gonna happen but-”

“Okay. That’s enough.” You interrupted them with both heads snapping in your direction as you stood to walk towards them, playfully swinging the knife in your grasp. 

“Why are you doing this? You’re crazy, w-”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” You sighed, coming up behind her to cup her cheek in your palm on view for Natasha to see. “She’s pretty, Nat.” 

“I know.”  

“That longing look in your eyes is disgusting.” You grimaced, commenting on the visible way her gaze softened when she looked at Wanda. “It’s not right, y’know? The way you act like you care about her - it’s not fair on the poor thing.”

“I’m not pretending. I love her-”

“No you don’t, baby. No you don’t - you love me.”

“Nobody could ever love you. You’re a psychopath.” She spat, halting whatever else she was tempted to say when your hand wrapped around Wanda’s neck with a squeeze.

“Don’t upset me, Natalia.” You answered her flatly, digging your nails into the side of Wanda’s neck with your words. “You don’t want to hurt my feelings, do you?”

“No.” She responded with a glare, trying to appease you to minimise the way you hurt Wanda.

“Oh but she likes this, doesn’t she hm?” You laughed, moving your face to press your cheek against hers while your grip never waved around her throat. “Your perfect, little girlfriend is a little slut. She makes such pretty sounds.” 

Wanda couldn’t meet her girlfriend’s gaze and it made you giggle to yourself before letting go of her to make your way over to the redhead instead. 

“Nat, I’m sorry.” She croaked out through her tears with her face blanched red and her cheeks wet. “I’m-”

“Aw, she’s sorry.” You mocked, letting your lips ghost against her jaw. “I never cheated on you - I could never do that to you.”

“She’s your ex? I know you said she was crazy but-” 

Her words made your blood boil and before you knew it your hand came into contact with her cheek, a loud slapping sound and a whimper from her lips. 

“Don’t. Call me. That.” She trapped her lip between her teeth to combat the pain, to keep herself quiet as sobs choked their way out. “God, some people can be so insensitive.” You tutted, taking your place beside Natasha again. “You want me to hurt her? Want me to kill her for cheating on you - for hurting you?”

“No!” 

“Oh come on, let me have a little fun.” You pouted. “Let me show you how much I love you, honey.”

“This isn’t love. You don’t even know what love is.”

“Yes, I do. This is what love is, Natasha. I would do anything for you.” You held her face in your hand, nudging it aside to bring it to yours before your lips pressed against her, just like before - just as it should always be. And at first she kissed you back, letting her lips mesh with yours until she bit her teeth into your bottom lip as forcefully as she could.

You hissed at the pain though laughed slightly when you pulled away with a metallic flavour on your tongue, wiping the blood away with the pad of your thumb. 

“Mm, still ballsy.” You smirked. “That’s okay. I’ll make you realise soon enough.”

“What am I meant to be realising?”

“That you love me, of course. She’s manipulating you, Natasha. She doesn’t love you and you definitely don’t love her - you just think you do. But what we have is real. This is true love.”

“Life isn’t a fucking fairytale.” She snapped. “I. Don’t. Love. You. I love Wanda - just let us go and we won’t say anything.”

“You shouldn’t have said that.” You sighed, turning to face Wanda now, watching curiously how the shining steel blade of the knife cut through her porcelain skin. Bright red dripping from her cheek whilst she grunted at the pain. “I want you to look into her eyes, watch how she pleads for you.” 

It felt so satisfying to feel the sharp end of the knife pierce through her shirt, through the flesh of her stomach as she cried out at the agony. But it only aggravated you further when you saw the tears drip down Natasha’s cheeks at the sight, the way she could hardly look at the sight before her.

She didn’t love her, not like she loves you. She’s just playing with you, mocking you, it’s just a game. All that stands in the way of your happy ending, the euphoric finish to your tale, is this so-called love she holds for the bleeding woman. The affection and adoration she claims is true but that’ll be gone soon. It’s down to her, she just has to accept the truth. 

“Who do you love?” You questioned her, both women were trembling with the way you pressed the sharpened edge of the weapon against the thin skin of Wanda’s throat, it bobbed beneath the metal at the way she swallowed thickly.

“Y-you.” She muttered, clearing her throat with the way it rasped. “I love you.”

She forced herself to curve her lips upwards in response to the grin you looked at her with, she’d pleased you, you’d leave Wanda alone now, now that she’d confessed her love. You were elated, your cheeks hurting with how largely you smiled - you could finally be together. You could get rid of that obstacle between you that stopped two hearts from uniting.  

“I knew you did.” You whispered through your smile. “And now we can be together - Wanda doesn’t have to be in our way anymore.”

Your arm jutted out with a harsh swipe, dragging it along Wanda’s throat in a way that split her skin in two with a crimson waterfall following soon after, soaking the collar of her shirt before Natasha’s head even wrapped around what had happened. 

Her head fell forwards against her chest and Natasha’s cries filled the room, hoarse and harsh with sour shouts directed towards you.

“Baby, I don’t understand.” You cooed softly, crouching beside her to soothingly stroke her tear stained cheeks. “What’s wrong? I did what you wanted - what we needed. She was in our way.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“No. No, you don’t mean that. You don’t.”

“I hate you. I can’t even bear to look at you - you disgust me.”

Her voice was so harsh, every ounce of malice and sincerity spitting from her lips like acid in your face. You only frowned at what she said. She said she loved you. Why would she lie? She loves you, she loves you, she loves you. You love her.

“It’s okay, baby. I love you so I can forgive you. I know you didn’t mean it. Please tell me you didn’t mean it.”

“You’re lost in some kind of fantasy. You need to get it through your head that I don’t love you. You will never understand what love is, how it feels. You’re not even human.”

“I’m so sorry, love.” You whispered, stroking your fingers through her hair. “I didn’t want to do this but I have to. I have to.”  

You couldn’t hear her voice question you, you couldn’t let your feelings get in the way of what you want. Love. it was all about love; it’s all you did this for. So you stood behind her, hugging her close with the scent of her shampoo lingering in her hair, breathing in the floral smell as you let a sickening crack sound in the otherwise silent basement. 

It took all of your strength to push the knife’s blade through the bone of her chest cavity, off centre and towards the left, stabbing into the heart that belongs to you. Only you. And now nobody else can ever hear its beat, it can never swell for anybody else, never be stolen or tamed. Nobody else can ever have her heart, beating with love, it belongs to you now. Truly. 

The dormant heart of the woman you love can never be taken from you again. She can never leave you now, never utter a bad word to your face, never call you ‘crazy’ or ‘obsessive’ because you’re not. You’re none of those things. All you are is in love, a hopeless romantic in search of a happy ending. This is love.

And Natasha is with you forever; one last taste of her with a blood coated fingertip pushed past your lips. One more embrace, her unmoving body in your hold. But you’d succeeded, she was yours eternally. ‘Til death do you part. 

[wzrd-wheezes]

The Wolf's Arms: Part One. Marauders x Reader

This is a purely self indulgent fic about two things that I love. The marauders and the pub. This will probably turn into a series of fics that don’t really link because I have so many ideas for it. It’s not set in a particular time period, mainly like 70’s ish but there might be some modern things sprinkled in along the way just for shits and giggles. Sorry if that’s annoying but I love creating my own time period so I can have things exactly the way I want them haha. Please let me know if this fic is hard to understand as I know there will be a lot of references to UK culture things along the way (not in this part I dont think) – feel free to drop me an ask if there’s anything you don’t understand/want me to explain.  This is a platonic!marauders x reader fic

Friday night pub nights had become a monthly occurrence for them now. It was any excuse really. Sad? Pub. Celebrating? Pub. Hungry? Pub. Traumatic life event? Pub. The four of them had become regulars now. Every time sitting at the same table in the back. The landlord often joked with them that the pub would go under if they ever stopped coming.  

It had taken them a while to choose a pub. Their pub. It was a meticulous process that they all took very seriously. They had spent countless nights doing pub crawls throughout the city, trying to find which pub suited them best. Best beer on tap, best prices, within walking distance so they could stumble back home.  

“That one’s my favourite so far.” Remus decided one night as they left the third pub on their pub crawl.  

Sirius barked out a laugh, slinging an arm around Remus’s shoulders. Partly in mock affection, partly to steady himself after the few drinks he’d had. “You’re only saying that because it’s got the cheapest pints so far.” 

“You’re easily swayed, Moony.” James shook his head at him, leading the group to the next pub along the street. Just as they rounded the corner onto the next dimly lit street, Y/N interjected. 

“Speaking of sway, did anyone else notice the shady bloke in the corner?”  a grimace contoured her features, “I swear he was selling meat from his jacket.” 

“Hah! The infamous Hog’s Head Meat Man!” James exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. “Sure, he’s a dodgy one, but he’ll give you a good deal on some bacon if you’re brave enough to ask.” 

“Yeah. I don’t really fancy eating some blokes pocket meat, thanks though.” Sirius scrunched up his face in disgust, “Where to next?” 

Undeterred from the last shady establishment, they pressed on, venturing into a number of different pubs, until finally, they stumbled upon one that felt like home. It was tucked down a narrow alleyway, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.  

The inside was dimly lit from the mounted wall lights, casting soft shadows against the exposed brick. The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and spilt beer – a scent which sounds disgusting but made the four of them nudge each other and grin as they stepped inside. The actual bar spanned about half the length of the room, polished mahogany adorned with rows of brass taps, their labels worn and faded with age.  

Mismatched tables and chairs filled the space, ranging from rickety wooden stools to worn, plush armchairs. Each table, although being scratched from rigorous cleaning, still had the infamous sticky sheen to it that all pub goers will be familiar with. Much to their delight an old jukebox stood proudly in the corner of the room, Remus immediately fumbled in his pocket for some change. 

“Typical Moony. Straight to the jukebox instead of straight to the bar.” James teased as he leaned over the bar to survey the selection of beers on tap. Remus, who had already begun to select songs, looked up momentarily only to flip the bird at James.  

While James got the round in, it was left up to Y/N and Sirius to decide what table the group would settle on. After a quick once-over of the pub, they decided on a table in the corner, nestled beneath a dimly lit lampshade, and much to Remus’s delight, only a few steps away from the jukebox. With a nod of agreement, they made their way over to claim their spot.  

Precariously trying to carry four pints in only two hands, James returned a moment later, putting the glasses down on the table with a soft thud, some of the liquid sloshing over the edge.  

“Cheers, you lot.” Remus exclaimed, raising his glass. The group, a few pints deep and sporting glassy eyes and wide smiles, joined in, clinking their glasses together. 

“What’s the verdict on this place?” Sirius asked, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Well-” Remus started. 

“Ah, ah, hold it right there.” Y/N interjected, “After your last ‘gem’ turned out to be the Hog’s Head, I think we should put your pub-picking privileges on probation.” she punctuated her remark with a playful jab to Remus’s ribs. 

“Hey! It had character!” Remus feigned offense, “and besides, it’s not my fault that they had a creative idea of what hygiene is.”  

“Creative? I’m pretty sure that I saw two rats shagging in the corner.” Sirius retorted, earning a round of laughter from the group.  

“Alright, alright.” Remus conceded, holding his hands up, “the Hog’s Head was a bit of a shitter, but this pub’s a winner, yeah?” 

“Agreed,” James chimed in, raising his glass once again, “To new beginnings and hopefully less questionable pubs!” 

“To less questionable pubs!” the others chorused, once again knocking their glasses together before taking a large swig of their drinks. 

“I feel like we should have toasted this pub. Just because I’ve decided that this is the best one.” Y/N said, looking around thoughtfully, “Although, I didn’t actually get a look at the sign before we came in, so I couldn’t actually tell you what it’s called.” 

“The Wolf’s Arms!” a voice called out from the other side of the room. They all snapped their heads round, curiosity piqued, and their eyes fell on a lone man seated at the bar. His cheeks were flushed from the booze, and a cigarette dangled from his lips. 

“To The Wolf’s Arms!” they echoed, toasting for the third time that night. 

[lawsend]

Murder at Vista Heights Chapter 5

Series: Law’s End

Episode 1: Murder at Vista Heights

Fandom: The Royal Romance (loosely, there’s not much canon in here).

Pairings: Riley x Liam (past, sort of). Riley x Drake (future potentially), Riley x Max (he wishes)

Word Count: 2,431

Rating: MA

Warnings for series: adult themes, any given chapter may contain murder, violence, language, drinking, drug use, etc.

My other stuff can be found on my main blog @angelasscribbles here is the Master List.

Riley leaned in close to Max as they entered the bar, “He’s a source, I need to flirt with him for information so make yourself scarce.”

“I’ll be at the bar if you need me.” Not that she would. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. But he didn’t want to leave her alone at night in a bar…even one filled with cops.

The Beat was a hidden gem. A dingy hole in the wall from the outside, a drab exterior graced by a small rusted tin sign, easily missed amongst the shops and eating establishments that crowded the rest of the block.

Inside, the place was alive with activity. To the right as patrons entered the front door, a highly polished bar stretched halfway down the length of the room, curving around at both ends. A big screen TV on the wall above the bar was tuned to ESPN. Bottles clanked as the bartender served drinks and the hum of twenty different conversations floated across the open area.

As Max detoured for the bar itself, Leo guided Riley to a table near the back. He wasn’t even seated before a waitress appeared at his side, “Hey Leo, Riley. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

Riley arched an eyebrow at her companion, “You really have been here before! You must be a regular if Siobhan knows your name.”

“I used to be a regular,” he grunted as he waved away the drink menu, “The usual.”

“You got it sugar,” the waitress winked at him before turning to Riley, “What are you having tonight?”

After they gave their drink order and Siobhan left to fill it, Riley focused her attention on Leo, “Okay. You promised me details about the case so start spilling.”

“No, no, no, Ms. Brooks, nothing is free in this life. The price for what I know is you telling me what’s going on with you and my brother, remember?”

“I remember. But I’m not very trusting, so you first.” She sat a recording device on the table between them, pushed play, and looked at him expectantly.

Leo threw his head back with a laugh, “All right. I see how it is. You don’t trust the disgraced cop that you just met fifteen minutes ago. Fair enough.”

Leo passed along the information that he had gleaned from his interrogation while Riley furiously scribbled notes.

They discussed the case as the waitress came and went. When everything else had been covered, Riley asked, “What’s your connection to Katie Sloan?”

Leo nearly dropped his drink, “What makes you think I have-“

“Your entire demeanor changes when you mention her. You flirt shamelessly with the waitress and you’ve been eye fucking the blond at the table behind us for the last ten minutes, but when you talk about Kaite, there’s a tenderness in your tone and you keep steering the conversation away from her every time she comes up.”

“You really don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“I try not to. I’d be a pretty shitty reporter if I didn’t notice details.”

“Listen. Katie and I have a past and I don’t want to-“

“You want me to tell you intimate details about my personal life, I expect the same level of transparency from you.”

“Shit,” he stared at his beer bottle as he fidgeted with the corner of the label, “I just don’t want a hatchet job done on her in the paper.”

“I understand and if you’re worried about her being slut shamed for cheating on her husband, well I won’t do that but if she murdered a man-“

“She didn’t!”

“Leo, all the details are going to be public soon enough then every paper in the state will be reporting on it. I’m your best chance at spinning a more positive image for her and mitigating the fallout. Her husband is going to find out. There’s no way Liam isn’t going to bring both her and him in for questioning and you know it.”

“Fine,” he leaned back in his chair and raked a hand through his hair, “We dated briefly several years ago, before she hooked up with that Trent guy. That’s our connection.”

“That’s not why you were threatening him.”

Leo heaved a loud sigh, “No it wasn’t. Damn, you’re better at this than the cops, girl.”

“So, tell me why you were threatening him.”

“Can you promise me you won’t make Katie look like a horrible person in your story?”

“I can promise to do my best to spin her in the best possible light and minimize the damage, but I’m in the business of reporting the facts.”

“Fair enough I guess.”

When Leo was finished telling Riley the same basic facts he’d told Liam he sat his beer on the table in front of him with a thunk and gave her a pointed look, “Now I believe you owe me the story of why you showing up at the precinct rattled my brother so much.”

“Because something happened between us that he’s trying to convince himself he regrets.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“He thinks I used him. Seduced him just to get confidential information for a story I was working on.”

“And did you do that?”

“No! Well…kind of…”

“So, which is it? Yes, or no? There doesn’t seem to be much room for grey area here.”

“Yes, I knew who he was, and he had no idea who I was. Yes, I targeted him specifically because he was the detective assigned to the case I was covering-“

“Starting to sound a lot like Liam was right…”

“No! I don’t have sex with sources in exchange for information. I will, however, flirt shamelessly. You’d be surprised how much information I can get out of a man just by showing him a little attention.”

“No, I would not,” Leo smirked as his eyes ran down her body.

“Anyway….” she rolled her eyes as she shifted in her seat, “My plan was to do a little flirting to see what I could shake loose. Get him to drink with me. Drunk people talk more. But your brother was an impossible nut to crack. Impenetrable. He wasn’t giving anything up!”

Leo laughed, “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“I honestly gave up and if you knew me, you’d know how huge that is. I don’t give up easily.”

“I could have guessed that about you. So why does he think you used him for information if he didn’t give you any?”

“I’m getting to that! We ended up talking all night about things unrelated to the case and the attraction was real! I hadn’t planned on going home with him, but that’s what happened. Because there was a real vibe and we clicked.”

“I’m sensing a but in there somewhere.”

“We went back to his place, and it was…well, it was…” An involuntary smile pulled her mouth up as the memories of that night danced through her head.

Leo groaned, “Yeah, that’s far enough, please don’t paint me a picture!”

Riley laughed then her smile faded, “But I got up in the middle of the night for a drink of water. I didn’t want to wake him, so I found my own way around the kitchen. On my way back I noticed the file laying on the desk…”

“And you read it?”

Riley had the good grace to look ashamed, “Read it, photographed it, quoted it in my article.”

“Wow, that’s a really big but,” Leo shook his head as he signaled the waitress for another round, “I don’t know whether to be impressed or disappointed in you.”

“Liam was understandably furious and hurt.”

“You sound troubled by that.”

“I mean, I knew he was going to be mad, but I didn’t realize how mad.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad. We’re not really on speaking terms.”

“You want to know what the most disturbing part of that whole story is?”

“What’s that?”

“The part where you slept with my brother, putting yourself off limits to me,” his eyes glittered with humor as he tipped his bottle to her.

Riley scoffed, “I doubt you have any trouble attracting women.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know…the boyish good looks, the devil may care attitude, the sparkling blue eyes, the bad boy demeanor, those goddamn dimples!”

“What makes you think I’m a bad boy?”

“Oh, you’re definitely a bad boy,” she answered as she lifted her drink to her lips, “and a fuck boy. And I don’t do fuck boys. So, I was never an option.”

He watched her toss the drink back with amusement, “Seems like you’ve got me all figured out then.”

“I’m a good judge of character. You may be a fuck boy, but I like you, Leo.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The fact that you wouldn’t sleep with someone your brother is interested in elevates my opinion of your character.”

“What makes you think he’s still interested in you? You just told me he was furious with you.”

“Oh, he’s still interested,” she told him with a cocky grin, “He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I think you’re right,” Leo choked on his drink as he nodded toward the door.

Riley turned to find Liam bearing down on them, his expression grim.

Riley slipped her recorder discreetly and quickly into her bag with the arm he couldn’t see as she turned her body to face him and shoved her belongings behind her, “Can I help you, detective?”

“Wow!” Leo marveled at the innocent tone of voice and flutter of eyelashes.

“You!” Liam addressed Leo first, “Please tell me that you did not divulge any confidential information relating to an ongoing case to a civilian…to a reporter no less!”

Leo threw his arms up in surrender, “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

“Fucking great,” Liam huffed under his breath as he spun on Riley, “And you….you know you can’t print whatever he told you, right? It’s unverified hearsay. He could be making stuff up just to get your pants, you see that, don’t you?”

“First of all, calling him an unidentified source close to the investigation and liberal use of the word alleges covers most of those bases. But more importantly,” She plunked her elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her hand with a smile, “What makes you think he’s trying to get into my pants and why do you care?”

“Yeah, okay,” Leo tipped the bottle back and finished his beer before setting it down in front of him with a clunk, “I’m just gonna….go….”

Liam never pulled his eyes from Riley, “That’s probably a good idea. Stay away from this case, Leo.”

Leo paused when he was standing directly behind Riley, “The case? Or her?” He grinned at his brother then leaned down to whisper against her ear, “Keep an eye on the bartender tonight. You might get the answer you’re looking for.”

“Hm,” she replied struggling to keep her eyes locked on Liam. If he knew the bartender had any information, he’d question him himself and forbid her from doing it. She’d let him know if the man had anything pertinent to add to the investigation.

Her eyes quickly swept the bar as she turned her head to smile up at Leo, “Thanks for the tip.”

“Thanks for the conversation. We should do it again sometime,” he winked at her before giving his brother a grin, “See you Sunday at dads?”

“Mm,” Liam grunted. The weekly Sunday dinner was a command performance at his father’s estate ever since the advent of his most recent marriage.

“Oh, you have Sunday dinner with your father?” Riley perked up at the personal information, “I think that’s very sweet!”

“You wouldn’t if you ever attended one,” Liam snorted.

“I would love to attend one! Was that an invitation?”

“Absolutely not!”

“I would be delighted to have you come to Sunday dinner as my guest, Riley,” Leo offered.

“Why would you do that?” Liam asked in dismay as Riley and Leo quickly exchanged cell numbers.

“Trust me, bro, I’m doing this for your own good.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re an idiot sometimes,” Leo told him with a wave as he walked away.

Liam watched his brother leave then turned back to Riley in consternation, “Are you seriously coming to my father’s house as my brother’s date?”

“Oh, absolutely!” She answered as she scoured the bar again, “Does that bother you?”

“No!” He lied. “So, what did my brother tell you?”

“No more than he already told you, I’m sure.” She decided to try and deflect his attention, “Hey, remember last time we were here?”

Heat flushed through him as the memory of the night they met flashed through his mind, “Don’t change the subject, Riley.”

“Oh, it’s Riley again? Not Ms. Brooks?”

“I was working. It’s called professionalism.”

“You sure it’s not called sour grapes?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Riley pushed her drink away with a sigh, “Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times you want me to say that. I didn’t sleep with you to get information out of you. I slept with you because I liked you. The rest just kind of happened…”

“Even if I believe you, you can understand why it would be hard for me to trust you again, don’t you?”

“I suppose,” she agreed, “But what if I could tell you who Katie Sloan is having an affair with?”

His head snapped up in interest, “How could you possibly do that?” 

“Riley! Riley!” Max nearly tripped in his haste to make it to the table she was sitting at.

She smirked at him, “I already know.”

“Know what?” Liam demanded.

“Who Katie Sloan is sleeping with, I told you!”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who? And how do you know?”

“Dean Collins, owner and proprietor of The Beat.” She tipped her head toward the bar.

Liam’s eyes traveled across the room to land on the owner who was currently leaning across the bar, his face inches from the woman on the other side of it, his expression clearly besotted.

Her blonde hair was tucked under the brim of a stylish oversized hat and she hadn’t removed her sunglasses but it was Katie Sloan.

They watched as Dean tossed the register keys to one of the waitresses then moved around the bar, taking her hand in his and disappearing up the stairs in the back corner of the establishment, into the living quarters above.

[animentality]

Hi there, you obviously didn't ask for this but your posts about the country music inspired me here for a second. Excuse this because it won't be very polished but I just wanted to add a lil something.

I've lived in the southern US my entire life. Born n raised, as we say. The thing about country music when you're so deeply steeped in it is that you discover how much nuance and variety there is within the genre. I went through an intense phase in my younger life when I discovered feminism and politics outside what I was raised in when I was vehemently anti-country music because ALL you heard on every regional radio station was the same music Bo Burnham critiques--bro country, stadium country, pop country, etc. It's very conservative, very republican, very misogynistic, etc.

But then I got older, hopefully a little wiser, and started discovering stuff like what you're talking about, and the longer I looked the more I realized how much good country is out there.

Now I am in no way defending the entirety of country as a genre, but I will go to bat for the lesser known good artists out there.

Unbeknownst to most, there is lots of fantastically deep country out there. Underrated and unknown songs by women, queer artists, poc artists, etc. that explores so many different ways of life and intense struggles beyond trying to pick which babe in denim boots shorts to take home in your rusty truck down a dirt road with an ice cold beer in the cup holder.

Country artists have been grappling and struggling with religion and faith almost as frequently as country artists have been praising the lord for his goodness. Often they actually go hand in hand, you just have a harder time finding the stuff that doesn't adhere to christian extremists that run things round here.

As someone who has rediscovered an enjoyment for country music over recent years and has been lucky enough to enjoy the variety the genre has to offer if you have the patience and perseverance to wade through the horse shit promoted by bro country record labels, I'm glad to see someone's been able to find a taste of the good stuff. I promise there's more out there and I wish you the best of luck in finding it if you decide to seek it out. 🤠

Hmmm, I admit.

That ONE country song about someone who's not sure if they're going to heaven or hell...it got me.

You guys should recommend me more messy country.

I think country in general suffers from more hyper commercialization than other genres of music due to its easily exploited demographic, but it's also probably just a victim of the middle class white racists who enjoy the aesthetic of a redneck, while driving their fucking Lexus to Dolce and Gabbana.

You have a good point.

[cherrygorilla]

Ethan's Basic Info

Name: Ethan Dombrowski

Ok, I both did and didn't struggle with coming up with potential faceclaims for Ethan. I had no idea where to even start with looking for faceclaims for him for specific decades - I just don't think that I have that broad of a knowledge of actors lol. So, instead, I've split it into actors who I think capture more of how I imagine his physical appearance to be (Heath Ledger & Johnny Depp - both mostly for the hair, let's be real haha), and actors who I think could really capture the lovably chaotic vibe he brings to the table (Matthew Lillard & Milo Manheim). Unconventional - but then again, so is he, so I think it works lmao.

Nicknames: As much as he loves to dish nicknames out to other people, he's never really been given one himself. I mean, his parents didn't even think to give him a middle name - expecting them to be creative enough to come up with a nickname was a bit of a stretch. He would get called his surname in school quite a bit (mostly if he was getting in trouble), but other than that he usually just gets 'Ethan'. If anything, I think his abundance of nicknames for others is just making up for the lack of his own. I like to think he's just waiting for the right person to come along and drop one on him though hehe.

Age: 20

Date of Birth: 4th of April (which is very helpful for him, because 4.4.44 is a ridiculously easy birthday for his pea-sized brain to remember)

Zodiac: Aries

Birthstone: Diamond

Nationality: American and Polish

Sexuality: He doesn't care about labels - he'll sleep with anyone that breathes in his direction...within reason lmao

Birthplace: A rusty trailer home in Tallahassee, Florida

Current Residence: A slightly less rusty trailer home in St Petersburg, Florida

Occupation: Production Assistant and Sound Engineer in the TV & film industry, and the entertainment coordinator for a local bar. He's also (according to Mick) a professional idiot.

Talents/Skills: Playing the guitar, flipping beer mats, putting together flat-pack furniture (because he's the monkey they apparently wrote the instructions for - Miles' words, not mine), doing god-awful impressions, giving inanimate objects personalities, and, despite his deep-rooted clumsiness, he's pretty good on a skateboard.

Birth Order: Youngest of two

Siblings: His older sister, Billie (27)

Parents: Dominik Alfred Dombrowski (deceased) & Nadia Ruth Dombrowski

New Family: Hendrix, his rescue dog, and the closest thing he thinks he'll ever get to a stable family unit. He says he's a black lab for ease, but he only looks like a black lab if you squint and tilt your head; in reality, he's a mutt that the rescue shelter couldn't even pin down to any particular breed - that's part of what made Ethan so drawn to him though: they're both as misunderstood in the world as each other. In terms of human family though, his aunt (Janis) and uncle (Ford) took him in after everything went to shit with his parents - and although he doesn't see much of them anymore, it's comforting to know that he does have some sort of a real support system to count on if he were to need it.

Signature:

Height: 5' 7'' (so many of the actors I picked as his faceclaims are tall, so I tried to make it work for a while, but I just couldn't - he's just got such chaotic little-shit/confident short-king energy in my mind lmao)

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Brown

Glasses or contact lenses: He probably needs glasses, but he doesn't care enough to go get an eye test

Distinguishing features: Dimples, a burn scar on his right thumb from messing around with a lighter, a scar on his left wrist he usually hides with a bunch of bracelets/wrist bands, and a lot of really dumb tattoos.

Mannerisms: He's always fidgeting - like always. It doesn't matter if it's with a paper straw wrapper, the end of one of his many wristbands, or the piece of skin next to his nail - he'll even bounce his leg if it comes down to it; he just always needs to be moving in some capacity. He's pretty intense with holding eye contact in conversations too (despite them being half-closed 90% of the time) - and the concept of personal space is totally lost on him.

Health: Mild insomnia and depression. His drug habits also aren't the healthiest, but it's not like he's gonna go to get himself checked out; what he doesn't know can't hurt him.

Hobbies: Playing the guitar (what he spends the majority of his free time doing), walking Hendrix, making terrible decisions, dragging Miles into those terrible decisions (either to join in, or get him out of trouble), napping anywhere and everywhere, collecting cool lighters, smoking weed, getting spontaneous tattoos, thrifting bizarre items of clothing, eating Mexican food, and losing himself in an album for 45 minutes. and annoying the shit out of Mick

Greatest flaw (in their opinion): Probably his lack of drive. Whilst how laidback and carefree he is about life can be a great thing most of the time, it does make him feel kind of empty sometimes not having a goal to reach, or some kind of direction he wants to take his life in. Yeah, it makes life a lot less stressful just living it day to day - not having any responsibilities, or commitments to obsess over - but without any sense of ambition it can start to feel a little…pointless, I guess. 

Best quality (in their opinion): His ability to find the fun in any situation. He was dealt a pretty shitty hand in life, but he's never let it get him down. Sure, he may not always cope with it in the healthiest way, but he is coping - thriving, in fact. He floats through life without a care in the world, and will happily toss a pool noodle to anyone that needs one so they can join him. He's optimistic, and authentic, and downright stupid sometimes, but it's those qualities that help people see the bright side in hopeless situations; he draws the fun to the surface, and helps you focus on the simple joys life has to offer, without letting the weight of your troubles drag you down.

Biggest fear: Clowns are his big one - and always the answer if anyone asks. But if he's being totally honest (which is almost never when it comes to serious stuff like this), then it's ending up like his parents. He has a handful of fond memories of his family growing up - his older sister probably has more since she was around for more of the good years - but his unplanned arrival stretched the family's already tight budget razor thin, and it didn't take long for things to go to shit as a result. His dad never had a particularly strong resolve (something he's paranoid about having inherited), and so when things got hard, his already established relationship with drugs became less casual, and more heavily reliant. When the tamer stuff didn't cut it anymore, he turned to the harder stuff, and when the harder stuff stopped helping him feel better - he stopped feeling anything at all. Ethan's mom took her husband's accidental overdose hard, but she found being a single mother even harder. And whilst Ethan knew she was struggling, he's still struggling to forgive her for shutting down on her kids in the way she did. Yeah, fine, lose your job and sleep on the couch all day, ignore your children for days on end - whatever you needed to do to get by - but go out to get your latest fix and go down for 15 years for manslaughter? …That's asking a lot. Like it was mentioned earlier, with his parents out of the picture, his aunt and uncle took him and his sister in, and whilst they might not be the greatest role models themselves in terms of addictive vices, they at least showed him how to open his mind in a safe, supervised environment. Yes, numbing his brain to keep out the bad thoughts is an unhealthy coping mechanism, but it's also beautifully freeing - and there's a lot of fun to be had if you know what's safe and what kind of high you're looking for (which, thanks to his aunt's guidance, he always does). He has a great set of friends keeping him on the straight and narrow now, and his lawyer sister clearly turned her equally shitty hand in life around, but that nagging paranoia about screwing his life up like his old folks did still haunts his thoughts in the wee hours of the morning when he can't get his brain to fall asleep… But that's way too deep and depressing, so he'll stick with clowns - or Miles telling him he's found a new best friend 😢

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor (it was between that or Hufflepuff, but I think he's too recklesss and overbearing to be a Hufflepuff haha)

Favourite Ice Cream Flavour: Cookies 'n Cream

Favourite Colour: Green - but he can be very easily swayed; he thinks they're all fun

Favourite Number: 420 babyyyyy 😎🍃🔥💨🤪💯

Favourite Movie: Wayne's World or the live action Scooby Doo - but his Wet Side Story universe pick would be A Bucket of Blood

Favourite Songs: Ok, this is a really tough category for him, because he has a very deep appreciation for a very broad spectrum of music genres. But, a (slightly) narrowed down list would probably look something like: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, Creep by Radiohead, Enter Sandman by Metallica, Hotel California by the Eagles, Vienna by Billy Joel, Does Your Mother Know by ABBA, Happy Together by The Turtles, Life Is A Highway by Rascal Flatts, Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys, The Muppet Show theme song & Hurricane by Bridgit Mendler

A place they want to visit: Niagara Falls - purely because he wants a souvenir t-shirt

[the-fiction-witch]

Five Bucks

Media Godless

Character Whitey Winn

Couple Whitey X Reader

Rating Suggestive + Cute

I sat in my rocking hair out on my porch sipping my beer watching as the hot spring sun began to set below the New Mexico horizon bringing us all a few hours of respite from the harsh heat and blistering sun,

"Evening Mary Agnes," A voice spoke up making me look down the street where I saw Kallie in her usual blue skirt and white blouse, parasol in hand to keep her from the sun that remained, she was walking on her way to the hotel clearly fresh finished with a walk, 

"Evening Callie, Gone on a walk?"

"That's right, hotels empty. Not much else to do." 

"Fair enough, A drink?"

"No thank you,"

"Evenin' Ladies," Another voice spoke up making us both turn our attention, and we were immediately taken back.

Stood heading down the street himself was Whitey Winn, looking rather unusual for himself. He walked the dusty LaBelle street his boots dusted and cleaned, his britches clean and pressed, his shirt crisp and white, his jumper dusted and clean, his skin a fresh clean and soft, his nails clean, his hair clean and fluffy slightly damp on the ends, his hat dusted and clean on his head, his gunbelts still on but cleaned up and polished, even the fuzz he insisted on keeping above his lip was trimmed and clean, Christ even from here we both knew he'd had a bath and as he approached more his usual scent of ripe, sour dirt and sweat replaced by the scent of lilies and lavender.

Callie and I looked at each other and I admit I questioned for a moment...

"Who are ya? and what have you done to whitey?" I asked half as a joke and yet part of me was legitimately concerned, I don't think I'd seen whitey like this in.... uhh... ever. 

"Very funny Maggie," He chuckled, "You ladies have a nice night," He nodded as he tipped his hat to his and carried on his way, 

Callie and I met eyes and both smiled a little, 

"Five Bucks says I know where he's going."

"Alright," She nodded hopping up my porch and taking a seat on the bench beside my chair, "And your bet is?"

"I'll hear yours first."

"...I think... He's heading to the office. Trying to convince Bill he's worth a promotion? or maybe Bill's just sick of his stank." She laughed,

"A good guess, good guess. I think, He's going to Y/n's." 

"He might be," she nodded, 

We egarly sat and watched Whitey as he headed across the town of course young Y/n Y/l/n's house was only just across from the Sheriff's office so as he approached we both sat on the edge of our seats but he climbed Y/n's porch,

"Told Ya,"

"Alright, alright you were night Mary Agnes. Just still surprised, to see Whitey get so dressed up."

"As am I, Boy rarely takes a damn bath If I'd known all it took was Y/n flashing her ankles at him I'd have slipped her a few bucks a week just to make sure the boy has a regular bath." 

"I think it's sweet,"

"Sweet?"

"Yeah," she nodded as we watched him knock on Y/n's door and she happily opened it, they greeted each other fondly with a kiss and he headed inside with her the door snapping shut behind them, "You have to admit it is kinda cute, seeing whitey so excited to please his little lady," 

"Callie... given your prior occupation you really think having a bath is all he's doing to please her?"

"I should hope he's doing much more, for y/n's sake." She chuckled, "We've all felt that sing of being utterly in love with a boy, you get him into bed and he's as much use as a silver petticoat,"

"True, I wouldn't know what to think Whitey knows..."

"Still I think it's sweet, Little Whitey all grown up and cleaned up for his date it's ever so sweet,"

"It is a little sweet seeing him all grown up," I nodded, "Another five bucks says he'll be out in forty minutes sweaty and trying to breathe," 

"thirty minutes."

"Deal," I laughed, so we each got another drink and chatted with each other until we spotted Y/n's door open and out came a very tired, sweaty Whitey only in his britches and shirt leaning on the porch for some air,

"Time?"

"Thirty-two minuets."

"Yeah!" she laughed,

"Alright alright you win," I laughed, "Good going Whitey," I raised my drink,

"Good Boy whitey," she laughed as we toasted, "Five bucks says she comes out to tug him back in?"

"I say two minutes he runs back in to her?"

"Deal," she smirked, so we did our best to watch without him knowing we were watching, as he got his breath and straightened up fixing his shirt, and rubbing his neck where a Hickie was already obvious, He stood and glanced back into Y/n's house,

"Ohhh he's thinking about it," I smirked, "Come on you know you want to Whitey,"

"No no come on Y/n we all know this ain't over after one session of thirty-two minutes,"

But we saw Y/n come out in her nightie wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss tugging him back into the house shutting the door again, 

"Yes! I win!"

"Alright, it was close though," 

"It was, it was that was a close one," I nodded,

"You remember being that... Loved up for your hubby?"

"Loved up?"

"Excited. egar. desperate for one another when you first got married?" 

"Yeah we were," I nodded, "it's the honeymoon phase all you wanna do is throw each other on the bed every five seconds when you first get married,"

"Even if they ain't married,"

"We all did stuff there age too."

"I know, there young let them have their fun,"

"We all know whitey'd Marry her if the preacher was here,"

"You think he would?"

"course he would," I laughed, "Damn Boy loves that girl..." 

"Yeah, She loves him too. They're a very cute little couple they love each other very much." She nodded, "Plus it would be sweet as hell to have some little ones running around here again,"

"Ohh God whitey's little ones..." I chuckled, "It's a little strange,"

"How so?"

"...To think, there not kids anymore." I told her, "I remember whitey being born, I remember Y/n arriving when she was knee high, I remember then two running around the streets playing bank robbers with the other kids,"

"whitey was always the hero," She laughed, "Y/n's was always his damsel to save,"

"I guess... In my mind, they're both still kids." I explained, "Funny to see them now, all grown up, so in love, and to think the streets could be filled with their own kids,"

"It is strange, but... I suppose that's just what happens when you get old."

"I ain't old."

"Maggie, we all are." she nodded, "Bills going blind, bar keep can't pour a shot straight, dalila's lost her marbles, we have to face it. We had our time in the sun, but the sun don't shine for us anymore"

"You're right, it doesn't." I nodded, 

"It shines for Trudy and for Luke, for Whitey and Y/n, and their little ones. World moves on from us all we can do is hope to hell we gave them enough to get them though it too." 

"Wise words," 

"I ain't just a whore ya know Maggie," 

"I know, you've always been way more then that. And you make a good school marme."

"I think I do alright for falling into it, Another five bucks says Y/n's gonna be preggo by next month,"

"...Deal" I chuckled, 

[ayanos-pl]

Leżajsk レジャイスク。現在はジヴィエツおよびハイネケン傘下のレジャイスク醸造所で生産されている。1525 年、国王ズィグムント1世からレジャイスクの醸造家にビール醸造の特権が与えられたのが始まり。現醸造所は1972～1977年に建設、1978年に操業開始。#ポーランド・ビールのラベル

[doyou000me]

For the wip game - You Can Touch, But He's Mine and The Shop At The End pls!!!

@cryingatships thank you for playing the WIP game with me~!

To see all of my WIPs (and maybe make my day and ask about one of them???) check out the full list here~!

You Can Touch, But He's Mine (Deep Night Smutfic)

First, a confession: I got so excited about talking about The Shop At The End, I almost forgot you also asked about this fic 🙈

You Can Touch, But He's Mine is a KhemWela oneshot smutfic born out of my frustration with Khem in episode 3 when he got all jealous and started being a bloody asshole to everybody.

The premise in simple: Khem loves watching Wela work as a host. He loves watching the customers gaze longingly at Wela and his current company, claw for a few hours of Wela's time and spend fortunes for his attention. Khem loves showing those same customers to the taxi stop in the early hours of the morning, loves seeing them off and loves being the one who gets to take Wela home to strip him of his carefully coordinated outfits and host persona.

Also, I should probably mention that Wela's outfit for the night has had me look at these for inspiration:

The Shop At The End

Thank you for asking about The Shop! I didn't realise how much I've missed this story until I started writing about it and couldn't stop myself!

@welcometothelairofthebitchking also asked about The Shop At The End, so you can find a snippet from the beginning of the story over in their answer!

As mentioned in the WIP list, The Shop At The End was originally a fanfic idea. I have plotted, written and rewritten it quite a few times but before I could finish it, I made the desicion to stop writing for that fandom. BUT (as with When I Grow Up) I was too in love with the story to give up on it, which is why I am now considering how I can rewrite it into an original story.

It is (surprise surprise) centered around a magic shop run by Lili, a succubus (we Do Not Ask about her Age) and her young assistant - the main character - who may or may not be an incubus and/or magician and may or may not also be aroace (so many delicious desicions to reconsider now that I'm no longer guided by an existing canon).

Around them circle a cast of social outcasts, including a vampire, a pack of werewolves and a dwarf exiled from the mines. There's also my favourite character, Andrea/Cameron (I keep changing my mind), a nonbinary shape shifter who changes their apperance to fit the extravagant fashion choice of the day. They resigned from the police in a rather spectacular fashion to write erotica and open a book store selling porn as a front for behind the counter (in the attic) forbidden, dark magic texts. They are one of the reasons I can't turn my back on this story.

The plot needs quite a bit of reworking now that it's not going to be a fanfic anymore, but my thoughts keep returning to it for the vibes alone! It's quite comfy to mentally sit in the shop for a while...

Think warm sunlight shining in through the curved storefront and a fat cat sleeping in the display window. Think herbs and amulets and knick-knacks hanging from the ceiling. Think rich, almost ghibli-like interiors with polished wood and brass detailing and light glinting off glass phials. Think hundreds of little drawers all marked with handwritten labels such as human teeth, adult and bone dust, mixed or calws, werewolf and skulls, mice.

Think polite smiles and ironed shirts and buttoned vests. Think black market wares hidden in the back and ingredients measured on brass scales and payments made in gold.

Think shady dealings and questionable favours and bribed cops. Think surprise raids and rumours spreading over pints of beer, rumors about something going on that is keeping the coppers busy, about strangers approaching those around you with promises of change, about the calm before a storm.

And when society comes looking for the main character to be their hero, think: "Why should I sacrifice myself to help all of you, when all you have ever done is shun me?"

[conkniving]

'What would you do if you didn't like me?'

a couple years ago, at some ungodly early hour...

to the third-party eye, it would have been comical to note the remaining patrons of the scaredy cat. there were few, and they were mostly preoccupied with resting their clammy foreheads on questionable tables grimy with any number of fluids in the vain hope of stopping the world from spinning. fallon was one of them, though it hadn't quite descended into the realm of displeasure — if the beer bottle in hand held any weight to the notion, stretched out across the table as it was so that she could rest on her arm. at the hypothetical, the thumb of shiny black nail polish stilled in its incessant picking of the label, lidded eyes raccoon-ed in smudged liner lifting with her head. a disgruntled expression graced her features, weak in presentation thanks to the copious inebriation. "why would you ask that?" she snapped, lolling a little to the side so that a portion of her fringe fell into her eyes and she had to blink away the poking of her cornea. pulling her arm back so that she could take a pull of her beer, fallon swallowed and set her chin on folded arms, a wry little smile ghosting across the plush tiers. "what, was i off my game tonight, made you think i didn't like it? it still worked — if i finish this last free beer, i might have to stumble my way out to the alley." the implication behind their schemes — further insinuated by the lack of subtlety in the raven's roving eyes landing on stella's mouth but for a moment — lasted only as long as it took for fallon to pass over the beer in an act of submission, finally sitting up. it would have been left at that had she been more sober, or if the person across from her didn't already know her heart, but she found herself handling the question with more care and severity. "i don't even wanna think about not liking you 'cause then you wouldn't even be in my life. feels like you've always been a part of it — i'd be lost without you."

[shoshiwrites]

while spring is making promises outside — a flower shop AU featuring my OC Jo. Chapter 4/9. Some chapters a little NSFW.

His phone buzzes.

There's a little leap in his chest, of dread or anticipation, before he can see who it is and his body knows what to do.

did you do the pages today?

Relief. He can't pretend about it. He stabs out a thumbs-up emoji with his thumb, as is their routine, movement unrefined with the drowsiness of an afternoon nap. Or a crash, depending on what you wanted to call it. He never naps, unless his body schedules it for him. Which it occasionally does. Math problems will do that to you, she'd say. The margins of GED Prep Plus are tangled with pencil lines. U?

The three dots bounce, only for a moment. day 11

The little smiley face, the one with the noisemaker — that one seems appropriate. I'm proud of you, he wants to say, feels the faint press of the consonants in his mouth. But they never get that far. She'd taken the Nicorette, though. He falls back asleep thinking about the flowers she'd been sketching yesterday on a scrap of kraft paper, the white pencil in her hands.

Most of the time, his phone isn't Jo. It's Bill or Allie or someone wanting a reduced quote for a piece he's already generously discounted, given that he's not making a whole lot of money off of this, a guy who polishes up old shit in his garage for fun.

It was supposed to be fun, at least.

He doesn't know whether to laugh about it, that the statement could theoretically apply to furniture or to Allie. His ex-girlfriend, a label that itches with how terribly it fits.

What are they?

He wants them to be exes. Exes would be so much easier than whatever this mess is, this thing that has them broken up but still texting him whenever she feels like it. This thing that means she can call him over at any hour and he just goes, wanting whatever it is they have over being alone. The sex, mostly, which is an acknowledgement that feels about as comfortable as a cavity. It's...it's not even that good, for him, most of the time, but if she ever notices she doesn't say anything.

Someone should confiscate his phone, at some point.

Today at the shop he'd caught Jo singing to herself along with the radio. She'd looked swallowed by the giant old sweater she'd been wearing the color of milky coffee, bopping along to Paula Abdul. Her dark curls had fallen from her shoulder as she turned. The kind of shit that only happened in movies. It was like he'd blinked and here he was, hopeless or close to it. Bill had taken a special delight in telling him, pacing around the garage while Joe worked and drinking Joe's beer. That he was a goner, that Jo was the kind of girl you didn't fool around with. 

"You're full of it," Joe had said, brain fizzing on the words fool around and immediately forgetting what it was he was doing with the dresser's hardware. "Bill Guarnere telling me what's what about fooling around. Weren't you still-"

Bill had scoffed. "Listen, I'm done with that shit now." And the craziest part was, Joe knew he was right. He and Fran are saving for a goddamn house together. She's about to have a baby. "Josephine's not the kind of girl you fool around with," Bill repeated, the same kind of tone he used when he talked about his sisters or Frankie or Clara. The kind of person who checked up on you. Who cared. Like Bill, but less annoying. Joe opened the ancient fridge for a soda and saw that it was nearly empty.

"Hey, I'll buy you some my next run," Bill said, conveniently forgetting he was the one who'd emptied it in the first place. "Don't look so burnt up."

"I kind of hate you right now," said Joe. 

"But you know I'm right."

Her eyes, he never forgets, are that warm light brown, that color that makes him ache. 

Tonight, though, he's woken up on the old couch feeling lost in the evening, and cold. There's a few snowflakes swirling outside in the hazy purple of the streetlight against the sky. Spring needs to get with the program too. He's sick of this weather. He wants a cigarette. His phone buzzes.

"I don't see what you're so worked up about," Allie says, stretching herself across the mattress. She looks blissed out of her mind (you're welcome, he thinks pointedly), rolling over to tap the ash off the end of her cigarette. Of course she's smoking. Of course she doesn't care. Somehow it bothers him more that she's noticed the tension in his face. That must mean it's bad.

Even if he does tell her, about the doubt creeping in, about the fact that he hasn't talked to his sisters in weeks, his brother or his ma even longer, he can't very well tell her about Jo. He should tell his family at least, that he's working on his degree. He can hearing something like a scoff coming from Ma, something about it never being too late to finish what you've started, some rambling story about when he'd dropped out that would sound like a scold and a eulogy at once. But he knows she'd be proud, deep down.

He humphs something that sounds like a dismissal, and she's back to the face he knows, the one that's already moved on.

"You're coming to my friend's show," she says. Her voice is a little hoarse, from the smoke, from the fact that in his attempt to forget whatever had been going on earlier he'd been...more generous than usual. Hoarse and on the quieter side, but it's so loud in that moment, the way he knows it's never a question with her, and won't ever be.

He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing at his face with his palm, like that will make the cigarette smell go away. "Gotta work." He doesn't know if he has to, actually, but he'll figure something out.

Allie rolls her eyes, but she starts tapping her fingertips against his hip. Her straw-brown hair brushes against his shoulder. There's a tug inside of him that feels like something important, but then it's gone.

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Criminalize

Daddy’s getting hot, at the body shop Doing something Unholy-

How predictable are you, Gadling? How damnably predictable are you, down to the eyes and dramatically messy hair and sculptor’s hands?

How predictable are you; down to the lips like a permanent pout and eyes you drown in and a laugh like something primal and unhinged and roughened by something so much stronger than whiskey you tasted once upon a Dream?

He laid another lover to rest- eternal life was not without its.... downsides, of course. The funeral suit was stuffy, uncomfortable- smelled of starch and church incense and the polish used on old pews.

He forewent a vehicle- walking in the dusklight with his collar high enough to hide his grief and his hair pulled tight and neat. The sound of his heels loud against old concrete and cobblestone and streetlights humming like mothwings and roach swarms around him and he forced the memories of battlefield flies away once again.

It was almost criminal, how similar they all had been. His partners over the years and centuries had all been repeating reflections in parts and pieces- like a puzzle. Like shattered uranium glass glowing on a floor he inherited from himself.

Will you pray tonight Gadling? Will you ask a silent God to take your memories of ancient eyes and sly smiles? Of the scent of perfumed furs and wild hair and lilies and remains and the feeling of silk curled in hands that had shed blood and ink in equal measure?

Will you beg tonight Gadling, gripping tight to your headboard and closing your eyes against memory and hunger in equal measure and stare at a blank ceiling as you sketch constellations over it with your gaze?

Will you dream?

He turned easily down familiar streets, nodding at the late nighters and the insomniacs and the stray cats who stared just a little too long and made him wonder. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling himself slip just a little as he wishes the fingers were longer and slimmer and calloused by war and creation and all manner of things in between-

No, not tonight. He shook himself of his nostalgia and huffed through his nose and grit his teeth. Not tonight, he wouldn’t torture himself tonight- he couldn’t, he needed to rest, he could feel his mortal coil and aged spirit cry out for rest.

He felt someone bump against his arm, a butter-smooth voice say, “Ah, pardon me... Hob.”

He froze, turning slowly to see golden eyes and a bitterly smug smile. Something rose in his chest and he swallowed it down out of fear that it burned.

“Ah. Not a problem, no worries.”

Desire chuckled, turning on a dime and a heel and keeping stride easily with the immortal. Hob watched as they rustled in a pocket, humming to themselves as they pulled free a cigarette pack with an unintelligible label.

“Care for one?”

“....I suppose- so long as they aren’t laced with anything. As a professor, I do need to keep to standard.”

“Of course, of course- only tobacco, on my honor.”

A twitch to his eye as he took one and his hold slipped, his voice settling into an old growl as he muttered, “What honor?”

Desire frowned.

“Apologies. Been a long day. Long century.”

“Of course.”

They walked in silence, Desire offering a light after using it and Hob accepting in a way cold enough to surprise himself. They exhale grey coils like old serpents and new venom as the pair meandered to... the Inn.

They took seats at an outdoor table, flicked old ash into the grass, and sat in silence.

“He’s not dead, you know. Well- not all of him. He has simply... experienced a kind of rebirth.”

“You tried to off your brother, snake-eyes.”, was the flat response.

“One has to find entertainment where they can.”, was Desire’s cheeky answer, smoke leaking from perfectly white teeth, “All that aside- why have you called me.”

“I didn’t.”, was the flat answer. Hob hated how dead the words, the lie within them, tasted on his tongue.

Like stale cigarette smoke and hot beer.

“Is that... so.”

He jolted, hearing a voice he yearned for rumble from Desire. He blinked, watching the Endless’s form flicker back and forth between the various forms of Morpheus himself- the old Morpheus, draped in black silk and furs and hair like spilled India ink but always with those vile golden eyes.

“Cease your torment, devil.”

“Oh come now Hob- I can smell your silly desperation. Tell me, what could be the harm? Just one night, I’ll play as him JUST for you!”

There is a rage, that overtakes you in war. Some called it a berserker’s wrath, some called it the archangel’s grace. Some called in craziness.

Hob called it the end of his patience.

“I’ll ask you. One. More. Time.”, ,he said, his words slow and measured and hot and acrid, “Cease. Your. Torment.”

“No.”

“Then call your sister, Endless.”, he hissed, and relished the flicker of confusion in eyes like an old coin, “Because I’ve no limitations on what hard fucking lessons to teach you.”

“Wh-”

Desire would later yowl to Despair like a wet cat about how the first strike was unfair and unbidden and unneeded- that they had simply been offering comfort to an old family friend.

But Death, upon feeling a tug at her essence, would run through reality with a thud of boots to nearly stumble into the yard of the Inn and yell, “ENOUGH, STOP!”

And Hob looked to her, his face placid and vicious like the mercenary he was so very, very long ago- holding the lapel of Desire’s shirt with lines scraped over his cheek and throat... And dropped the tempter upon the dewy grass.

“Corral. Your. Kind.”, he said flatly, “I am grateful for life, Madame Death- Truly I am. But keep your fucking kind away from me. I have no fucking patience for other Immortals any more.”

“Hob, Hob what- what happened?”

“...My patience was tested.”, he said flatly.

“You-YOU STRUCK ME, YOU FILTHY LITTLE-”

“Shut UP sibling.”, spat Death, cowing the younger into seething silence.

“Desire tested me.”, said Hob quietly, “...Made an underhanded offer- a cruel one, nearly.”

“....Oh Hob.”

“Don’t.”

“He’s still here, he’s just-”

“It’s not him.”, said Hob softly, “I remember the Wake, the Funeral. I remember you in red.”

Death sighed, and nodded. Her bootsteps were heavy and tired and the sound of her gloves being pulled on with a near-medical stretching sound was loud and somehow brutal in it’s simplicity.

“Desire, come on.”

“I will NOT-”

“You are meddling in MY place, now- grief and mourning have always been the realm of Death little sibling. And remember.”, her voice became like mercury, like arsenic, like cruelty, “I still haven’t forgiven your little STUNT.”

Desire fell quiet, accepting the hand up with a roll of golden eyes. Hob turned away, grinding out the remnants of a cigarette left burning and breathing deeply against the tightness in his chest at hearing that voice again.

A gloved hand on his shoulder after a burst of jasmine and sweet liqueur floated through the air.

“Hob... Hob, please. Just... I know its... different. But he’s still Dream. He’s still the same cynic with terribly dry humor he’s just... softer, now.”

The silence spoke volumes. He nodded his goodbyes and stepped away- retreating and retreating away to the home near but separate from the business to hide until dawn let him drift to his classroom and doze during exams.

Something watched from a window- draped in cloudcover and old mist with a starlight pinpoint within overcast hair.

He didn’t notice.

He crawled through the next day, smiling weakly at his students and coworkers until a living hand- slim and calloused by years of note taking and direction covered his own. He looked up to the dark haired madame professor who smiled in understanding.

“Go home. Rest. Put in for a few days. You need to recover from what you’ve lost.”, she said softly.

“I’ll go mad and we all know it.”

“Then go mad for a little while. But let yourself grieve, Mister Gadling.”

It felt like a scolding and rejection. He gathered his things with hands that twitched like they fought trembles and said his goodbyes as he passed doors. He made the call on his way out and was met with pity- sympathy they called it, but he knew what it was.

It stung.

.... Something watched him, from the campus bistro- a Something was seated at one of the tiny tables with legs crossed as they sipped from a mug as pale as their hands.

His home felt emptier than it had ever been.

He watched the sun as it rolled through the sky, a mug of mulled wine and the tv on low in the background as he watched from the window. His heart felt bitterly heavy and dark as thunderstorm clouds. He set down the quarter full mug on the table and pulled away from his view before giving in and dropping on the bed- a bed dressed in dark sheets and old silks kept nearly new and he kicked off his shoes before tossing aside his shirt.

He wrapped himself in the color of midnight and felt his heart break and break once again.

How foolish are you, Gadling? A heart always overflowing until it isn’t- in love with life because you always had a reason but never recognized it until he was gone? How idiotic are you, printer-poet; talking so highly of taking chance and risk and gambling with years before coins and here you lay... Comfortable without being rich and yet poorer than when you lost it all the first time.

When he called you his guest with his crooked smile and strange eyes like old aeons and dying stars and hands like the painters you studied once upon a college new.

When you couldn’t meet his gaze until night fell and you called him with nothing more than a thought to a dream made of creature comforts and realized He was Something Otherworldly; a ghost made of cynicism and innuendo and a smile like an old moon.

Hob let himself drift somewhere between awake and asleep- tonight he wouldn’t hold tight to the headboard and swallow his griefs. Tonight he wouldn’t sip dark alcohol to blot out memories of past lovers and the ways they resembled Him.

Tonight he would give in.

“Dream.”, he murmurs weakly, patterns flickering in front of exhausted eyes as the room blurs into blotches of color as he drift, “Dream, dream- damn you.”

“One could say I am damned- if you ask my sister, I am damned to be stupid.”

A weak laugh from Hob, “Ah, my mind is a fickle bastard- almost as cruel as Desire. They tried to wear you- well. The old you, I’d suppose.”

“No accounting for taste- they aren’t nearly enough of a wreck to wear me appropriately.”

A bark of amusement answered those words, “God! I could almost believe it’s you and not my fucking brain pretending, with quips like that.”

“Who’s to say your mind is playing tricks on you, Gadling.”

“Because I’ve killed my dreams, Dream.”, he murmured, “Burned them away after your Wake.”

“Dreams do not die, Hob.”

“Human dreams can.”, sighed Hob, “Human dreams die every day, every morning. Every year. And when dreams sting enough, cut deep enough- you can kill them yourself.”

“Ah- Desire thought that once; and yet, even with the help of otherwordly powers...”

Hob froze when cold, smooth lips pressed just under his ear.

“Dreams did not die.”

He sat bolt upright, chest heaving as he held his tangled sheets over his bare chest like a shay maiden at midnight and looked around the room.

Seated in the chair by the window... Something sat. And smiled.

“Wh...Who are you-”

“I am Dream, of course.”, was the answer as he twitched a hand and the lights flickered on in a low glow, “As I have always been Dream; as I was newly born Dream.”

Hob blinked, swallowing hard when he felt the lump form, “You... You aren’t him. Don’t. Don’t lie to me.”

“I am not lying to you, Hob. I have doublespoken and jested tongue-in-cheek with many over my long life... But I would never lie to you.”

“You aren’t MORPHEUS.”

“No, I am not. And you are not Hob Gadling anymore- though I still call you such.”

Hob paused.

Dream smiled, “You, of all people, should know that rebirth often requires change. How many times have you had to reinvent yourself to survive?”

Hob looked down, quiet and pensive for a few moments... Before he looked up again with his stubborn expression, “If you really are Dream, then prove it.”

“You had a recurring dream about an elephant who sprayed wine from his trunk to drown the Queen. It continued for two weeks.”

“...Fair enough, but I’ve told many people about my old and strange dreams. That’s not proof enough-”

“You whimper when you are bitten at the point where neck blends to shoulder. Your stomach is ticklish but only around the navel, and you hiccup after you or-”

“FAIR ENOUGH, NO NEED TO CONTINUE.”

Dream raised an eyebrow like chalkdust and smiled that crooked damned smile.

Hob sighed, moving to be able to lean against his headboard, “...I. I don’t. It’s like...”

“It feels like a new man.”, said Dream gently, understandingly- his voice deep and smooth and calm and warm and Hob felt himself melt just a little, “You have just experienced loss... compounded with another loss. You are grieving, hurting- and it feels like a slap to the face to have watched my old body fade only to see me here and now and... different.”

“...Yeah.”

“...Then let us begin again, dear Hob.”

“...Begin... again?”

“However- this time I would request to not have to wait a hundred years between each chance to woo the target of my affections.”

“Wait, you. You were. What?!”

A snorted laugh, and Hob hated the way it made his stomach twist and his smile peek out fondly.

“I admit- In the beginning it was intrigue. Curiosity, because humans can be such odd little things. And then... it was indeed friendship; I felt close to you. You were a welcome breath of laughter in an existence I had forced into a kind of sterile dullness.”

That smile curled Dream’s new face, lacking it’s old lines but keeping his brand of faint mischief, “And then that friendship turned to fondness, and farther. And then.... well.”

“The. The Kindly Ones.”

“Yes.”

“...I punched your sibling six times in the face.”

A heartbeat pause before Dream’s eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline, “...I beg your pardon.”

“Desire, they. I. They just.”, a frustrated growl as Hob’s hand went over his eyes, “...They made themselves appear to look like. You. Morpheus. Old you, I suppose.”

“...Hm. I would have suggested throwing them into traffic, but I digress.”

“That’s your SIBLING.”

“Yes, and there’s nothing in the rules saying someone ELSE can kill them. Just that I cannot spill family blood.”

“...A bit heartless.”

“They have yet to deserve my acknowledgement, much less respect or kindness.”

“Good point.”

And then Dream was seated on the bed, legs crossed and close enough for Hob to see the glimmering nebulas in infinite eyes.

“So... what do you say, Hob? Would you like to be wooed by an Endless once again? With a touch more tact and less... occult abduction interruptions, this time.”

“I... Well. I mean.”

Something in Dream’s face made Hob’s cheeks heat up, made the undying man’s eyes avert and look anywhere but the ghost-pale immortal’s face.

“...Hob. What called Desire to you.”

“......”

“Hob.”

“I was. I was thinking.”

“About.”

“....You.”

“I see.”, said Dream, “Then... may I, perhaps, make a suggestion?”

“You will anyway, wiseass.”, huffed Hob, scratching at his beard as Dream grinned like a cat with the canary.

“Correct, you’ve learned much.”, said Dream without missing a beat, “I propose we restructure our... schedule. Twice a month. Once every two weeks- in the ‘real world’ as you mortals insist upon calling it.”

Hob nodded slowly, eyes squinting a little in suspicion.

“...And you let yourself dream, again- And let yourself dream of me.”

Hob didn’t notice the Endless leaning a little closer as he spoke, and suddenly the words were sighed against lips chewed during grading marathons that went down in the undying man’s personal history.

“I... I can agree. To that.”

“Promise?”, murmured Dream- his voice sliding over Hob’s nerves like arctic lava, like menthol cigarette smoke, like mist on heavy summer mornings with no sun.

“You. You. You! Are being. Being something.”

“Wicked, I believe.”, mused Dream, “Or, as the youths of today call it, a fucking tease.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what.”

“Don’t swear with that voice of yours when you’re right there and I’m here and oh god DAMMIT DREAM JUST-”

And Dream pressed their lips together- lean body draping against Hob like he was molded to fit against the soldier turned knight turned printer turned foolish lover of the eternal. Hob’s hands were rough from living, centuries of it rough and rewarding in equal measure and the smooth cotton of Dream’s shirt made him shiver- cold to the touch like cloudcover, like the air after the rain, like a sharp breeze in sunny midwinter.

The kiss was contact to drown in, Dream’s long fingers winding in Hob’s hair and mussing it carelessly as he gripped tight and tugged enough to make Hob groan thickly and try to pull Dream closer.

The Endless laughed, letting the kiss crack apart before he adjusted himself to straddle Hob’s lap and pull hard at hair caught in a sculptor’s grip.

Hob’s head tilted sharply back and blunt teeth dug hard into his shoulder, hips rocked against the wicked and divine form taken by an eternal cynic  as Hob’s hands moved higher to grab either side of a white collar and pull.

The ting! of buttons pinging from fabric and a wordless scold from Dream as he leaned back- shirt draped down around a birdcage chest encasing a heartbeat like a raging harpy and the dim light flickered over sharp angles and Hob blinked as he saw it-

The old familiarity, the hard jawline and cheekbones of marble and eyes made of solar radiation and he stared up at the Endless kneeling; straddling Hob’s lap as torn cotton hung like shredded angel wings.

“God’s wounds-”

“Fitting, somehow.”

Hob pulled Dream close, nearly chest to chest- to trace the lines of a bone-pale chest as Dream’s fingers wound tighter in mussed hair and the Endless squirmed from the tickle of a beard.

And then Dream laughed.

Like a growl and breaking crystal, he laughed. Primal and ancient yet laced with something slightly left of youth and Hob nuzzled over where a heartbeat should be, where Dream let one sound for familiarity’s sake.

“This is moving considerably faster than I pl-planned-Ah!”

Hob felt metaphorical hackles rise at the sharp sound from Dream’s lips. He glanced up, hungry and hound-like.

“...If those are the sounds I get from you now, well. May have to skipthe tedious parts.”

“Oho- and what of your doubts, dear Gadling?”

“Those can be dealt with in the morning.”, he rasped at the brazen amusement on Dream’s aged yet youthful face, “Or a few thousand mornings from now- At this moment, however... I think I’d like to have a sweet little Dream.”

“Then by all means, Hob Gadling~”, laughed the King of the Dreaming, “Dream a little dream of me.”

“Oho, I plan on it.”

The sunrise flickered against the window as the lights went dark- nothing but low laughter and soft moans slipping free around an old window.

Outside at the Inn, a woman dressed in black crossed her legs at the ankles, boots damp with dew as she sipped a warm coffee that chased the morning chill from her fingertips... and she giggled, before reaching into the pocket of a borrowed denim jacket and calling softly for the check.

Death shook her head with a sigh, “...I suppose there’s no need to check up on old Hob Gadling.”, she mused, “Someone else must have... volunteered for the task.”