#i imagine its like a quiet moment outside a halloween party

[ariennebeak]

my piece for the sunny halloween zine!! macden as shaggy n fred :) @sunnyhalloweenzine

[genacity]

⌗ halloween special! you poor thing.

cw. ꒦꒷ dom! reader x sub! ghostface! amab! character. gender neutral. dom to sub themes. breaking and entering — unrealistic scenarios. ass eating, anal fingering, spanking, degradation, dacryphilia. could be considered dubcon, but both parties do give consent. plot before porn, no specific character. not proofread.

an. ꒦꒷ happy halloween! 👻 thanks 4 tuning in… very odd layout, i know!!! but special moments call for special layouts!!! this fanfiction was originally going to be written w/ itto as ghostface, but i decided it would be better if i just let ur nasty imaginations run wild with whoever you want lmfao 🫶🏼 i kinda like the photo w the divider though!! may add it to all of my fics 🤭 sending love to all of my halloween fanatics, and to everyone who doesn’t celebrate??? pretend its the purge!!! /hj 😁 IM GETTING DISTRACTED LMAO ENJOY THE FIC!!

october 31. 9:31 pm.

snug in your favorite pair of sweatpants with a bag of candy beside you from tagging alongside your niece and some of the neighborhood kids as a chaperone to their vigorous session of trick or treating. they had roped you into the fun and torn the pillowcase off their pillows to offer you as your sweet-hauling sack for the night — you had ended up taking some girl’s pink unicorn pillowcase, in which she happily handed over with a toothless smile and a loud giggle.

safe to say, your niece began the night screaming as you had ultimately “betrayed her” for not choosing hers.

it ended up being quite fun, the roundabout, even better you had a whole two armfuls of free candy all to yourself. with your favorite halloween movies on your computer and your fairy lights illuminating your bedroom, you were sure nothing could ruin your night.

except the echo of a shatter.

“the hell…?” you murmur, pausing your movie. the sound of glass breaking downstairs catches your attention. it doesn’t sound like the usual glass cup, but more like a window or a door. “oh fuck.”

your heart skips a beat as you hear footsteps echoing through the hallway. your breath catches in your throat and you spring up to grab the nearest thing you can use as a weapon — luckily for you was a bat from your childhood. good thing you had a strong arm. or else you might as well have prayed to die from shock.

you slowly crack the door open and grip your bat, lingering outside of your door. your heartbeat was loud in your ears, eyes darting around, searching for any threat. you decide to stray a bit farther, silence following behind what was left of the echo of the intruder’s footsteps. you squeezed your eyes shut, praying it was a fat raccoon, hell, even a bear. anything that you had a chance against.

fear enveloped you like a cold blanket. quiet and frightening. you listened for a sign of anything, anyone. yet the only sound left was the remainder of trick or treaters and the few rumbling of cars down the road. your fingered trembled alongside your spine — you felt like you were going to drop onto the floor and pass out at any time.

the footsteps erupted from the darkness again. this time, they sounded closer. you turned around quickly and backed up against the closet door behind you, the sound of your labored breathing in your ears like headphones playing a song with the sound on the highest setting. you could hear yourself swallowing thickly as you looked around in raw fear, praying silently to whatever god that could hear you that the invader would think no one is home and just leave.

you finally decided to go and find the person yourself. fucking outrageous idea, yes, but if they wouldn’t leave, you’d have to make them. you forced your feet forwards and kept your head up as you made your way to the kitchen. the footsteps stopped abruptly, making you hold your breath in fear.

“who’s there?” you ask with a shaky breath. you grip the bat so hard your knuckles nearly blanched. you could feel the old wood splintering under your grasp, small pieces of wood poking into your palms. but the pain was nothing compared to the fear looming above you like a dark cloud, waiting to strike you down.

your question meets cool silence. but it only makes your shoulders tense. maybe you were just dreaming. maybe this isn’t real. thoughts swarm your head as your breathing becomes shakier, a gruff chuckle interrupts your thoughts out of the blue.

shit, shit, oh shit. your hands begin to quiver as the voice pools right next to your ear, like fear coming to greet you. you couldn’t see them, it was too dark — yet they were right on the other side of this wall. yet you couldn’t cry and give up, you had to do something. you vowed to never let anyone fuck you over, and especially not like this.

“you should never say 'who’s there?' don’t you watch scary movies?” the voice stirred. your shouldered stiffened as all of the strength in your fingers threatened to give out and drop your weapon. “it’s a death wish. might ‘s well come out now.”

you took note of where you stood. the kitchen counter was just next to the entrance of the kitchen where you currently were — maybe you could push them against it, render them immobile. anything to get you the upper hand; there was no way you could sit here, weak in the knees. weak in the knees?

you kept your mouth shut as you held the bat firmly, struggling not to let your trembling fingers give your position away, even if it was painfully obvious where you were. the stranger sighed, making you shiver — it was almost if their breath was right up against your neck, lingering by your ear. you two were mere moments away from one another, both not planning to move.

“well, if you won’t move,” they droned. “i suppose i will.”

in one quick motion, the intruder turned the corner and pinned you against the wall in which you stood, revealing the cloaked figure that has been tormenting you so calmly for the past half an hour. you screamed, nearly dropping your bat at how fast they had moved to catch you. you were frozen in fear. and you hated it.

“oh, dear.” they mused, leaning into your face. their arm was just level to your skull — where you realized they had driven a hooked blade into your wall, only inches away from your head. you could hear yourself breathing shakily as you straightened your posture, attempting to seem more menacing.

you were face to face with a mask. a long, ghostly face; one with droopy black eyes and an empty, sullen mouth shaped as if melting off the formation of its skull — the sullen feeling of distress and pain apparent in its face.

“oh, darling,” the voice behind the mask made your legs shake. “why so scared? ‘m only here to say hello.” they took your chin in their hand and tutted it in their direction.

you nearly went numb in fear as the hooded figure chuckled lowly. “so much occupied space between us — i’d rather fill it up with something more — interesting.” their fingers ghsoted your skin as they traveled up the wooden bat to the top, persuading you to let go. but as you stood, quivering in fear, they slipped the bat out of your hands and threw it to the ground with a large clatter.

“much better.” they said, the slight smirk evident in their tone. “i saw you trying to catch up to those kids you were chasing. babysitting, perhaps? i didn’t see any children around here,” the ghost-faced stranger pondered, looking around for any sight of a stubby toddler down the hallway. as soon as they were sure you weren’t someone’s parent — their attention turned back to you.

“you looked so stressed out there,” they cooed, their tone making your blood boil. “mind letting me help you out?” you gasped as the hand that was once propping your chin up slid down to grip your shoulder. “you don’t fucking know me.” you snarled. “i’ll fuck you up.”

the masked intruder laughed at your advances, making you all the angrier. “oh, how i would adore seeing you try.” they leaned in, the ghostly mask now only inches away from your face. “i bet your pretty head is full of ideas. god, now you’ve got me all excited.”

you scoffed. “i bet.” you reached out and index finger to point out the tent in their tunic. “now, will you let me handle you or not?”

this was a stupid idea — fucking some rando who just broke into your house at 9 pm on halloween? what the fuck kind of idea is that? but they were right, you were pent up — and after all of that candy, you surely weren’t going to sleep for a good few hours.

the stranger hummed, inching away from your face. “might as well. your efforts will be wasted anyway.”

you wasted no time grabbing them by the waist and flipping them around, slamming their back into the wall. you felt down their body as the cloaked one gasped, your hands trailing from their hips to their inner thigh as you hoisted the material up.

“no underwear, hm?” you said as you were met immediately with the burglar’s hard cock. they chuckled breathily as you made quick work of your hands, wrapping them around their dick as you stroked them up and down. “so b-boring,” the masked thief stuttered. “c’mon, hurry up and get to the good part.”

you rolled your eyes — what a needy whore. “shut up ‘n take what i give you. either that or i can call the cops.” they sigh shakily as you speed up your pace, thumbing their dripping tip as the invader’s breaths get more erratic. their fingers dig into the wall behind them, feeling around for some type of leverage good enough to keep them stable. little whines slipped from their lips as they bucked into your hand, making you laugh and push away.

“you’re so easy,” you tease, watching as the person behind the mask whimpered and turned their head to look at you. “and here you were, talking so fucking big. i should just leave your sorry ass here and call the police.”

they sucked their teeth as you dipped down onto your knees. “oh? are you giving up?” you scoffed as you prodded at their slightly shaky knees. “hold up your fucking shit and shut up and turn around. i want to get this done quickly before something else gets into my house through whatever entry you got in from.” you pushed the bottom half of the tunic into their hands as they turned sheepishly to face the wall. “why?”

“you said “get to the good part”. so i am. are you questioning me?” you asked. the person shook their head slowly as you nodded. “good. now stay still.”

your hands gripped the back of their thighs as you pushed your head in between their ass. they yelped, your hot breath against their fluttering hole making them shiver. “wait, what are you doing down — fuck!”

they gasped loudly as your tongue began to lap slowly at their rim, hands spreading their asscheeks apart to gain better access. your tongue worked skillfully around their hole, making the anonymous criminal drop their costume and push their hands into the wall.

“the hell did i say?” the stranger whined at your tone. “i — i don’t — i don’t know!” they sniffled, making you tsk at their pathetic pleads. your head swam freely with ideas of what you’d do to them for punishment — but you didn’t have anything on you. so a nice spank would suffice.

you lifted your hand from their ass and brought it back down forcefully, causing the cloaked person to sob (and arch their back a lil too 😏). “i just said it a few minutes ago. hold up your fucking shit.” you demanded. their left hand moved quickly to hold up the bottom of their tunic again. once they felt your sigh on approval against their hole again, they sniffled and squeezed their eyes shut under the mask as you continued to ravage their ass.

from sheepish whimpers to loud moans, this poor puppy was proven to be all bark and absolutely no bite. “even beneath a mask, you’re still just a little bitch.” you laughed meanly against their hole as your fingers roamed from spreading their ass to accompanying your tongue by their rim. “i — i uhm — fuck, i—” they squealed, the feeling of your fingertips lingering against their wet hole making their legs quiver. “wait, no, are you gonna — i can’t, ‘m gonna cum!”

you snickered again as your tongue pushed through their barrier just a bit, milking another shocked whine from their mouth. “i think you can handle it, don’t you think? it’ll feel even better than just my mouth.” you broke away from their leaking ass as shaky breaths followed your words. your heart skipped an extra beat as you saw their head completely crashed downwards, staring at the space in between their legs. the masked stranger let out a quivering exhale as they nodded weakly. “i want it in. put your finger in me. please?”

and that was all of the clearance you needed. you pressed your face back into their ass as you continued to eat it out. your fingers pushed through the crowd underneath as you slowly eased it in beside your tongue. “fu — fuck!” they moaned, throwing their head back as their fingers gripped around the black material of their robe. “good, good — more, please, want you deeper!”

“‘m sorry for breaking in — s-so good — i uhm, i jus’ — fuck..!” you ignored how awful that first part sounded as you quickened your pace and thrusted your finger inside of the ghost-masked intruder, feeling them slipping from their position as their back arched further into you. you could tell they were about to cum. legs shaking, knees buckling — all of the signs stuck out like a bright lantern in the dead of night.

if it wasn’t halloween and kids weren’t still yelling outside, the way this bitch moaned surely would have gotten the cops called for you. “please don’t stop, ‘m gonna cum — wanna cum for you, all for you, jus’ please don’t stop fuckin’ me!”

even if you were lockjawed and your wrist was about to give out, you sped up your pace just to hear those pathetic squeals and pleas — they would be of your name. if your poor puppy knew it in the first place. “can i cum? please lemme cum! so close, i’m so fuckin’ close!” you sighed into their hole, making them shiver once again. “fine. but only because you asked nicely.”

all they needed was “fine” — not like they could hear anything else. they were far too busy screaming and nutting all over your fucking wall to hear what else you had to say. hell, the damn bitch came so much you might as well paint your wall white!!! 🙄 their last spurts of cum shot out all over your floor as their legs finally gave out on them, causing them to drop to their knees and sink onto the ground. you came up behind them and pulled them up onto you so that they leaned against you on the floor.

“so, stranger,” you inquired softly and slowly so that their mushy brain could comprehend your words. “what should i call you?”

they looked up through the falling eyes of the ghostly mask that covered their face.

“ghostface. you — you can call me ghostface.”

THE SMUT WAS SO RUSHED OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS TURNED OUT SO MUCH WORSE THAN I WANTED IT TO I’M GONNA

ok hapy halloween

[marklovezz]

Paint The Town Red

— AERI UCHINAGA

SUMMARY | Unusual things happening on Campus but meeting this unknown girl was definitely the biggest one but that doesn’t stop you from giving her a chance. In fact you didn’t have a choice considering she’s everywhere you go for the wrong reasons. Is she really the person you wanna be messing with after all?

GENRE | horror , angst , fluff ? college au ,

DISCLAIMERS | mentions of blood , mentions of weed , mention of alcohol , swearing , abuse , kidnapping , mentions of weapons , ?? , fem reader !

LENGTH | 2.3k words !

AUTHOR’S NOTE | this is my first time writing and actually uploading something , anyways I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY PART 1!! lmk if you enjoy this and i’ll post the next part 🥹

————————————

There was something you loved about staring out of your classroom window in October , watching the dead leaves fall from the empty trees scattering across the frosted grass as the Autumn breeze blow them from their position. The classroom wasn’t quite noisy yet it wasn’t quiet either, you could heard people mumbling conversations to eachother but you weren’t focused on what they had to say yet something caught your attention. “Did you hear the news? Momo has been missing since the party on campus last week..” Chaewon exclaimed as quiet gasps could be heard through their small friend group.

You listened a little closer for a moment as they shared their reactions as you sat further back into your chair, not being able to comprehend what you had just heard. You felt sorry for the girl although you had barley knew her you knew she was sweet through the little encounters you two had shared. Uncomfortably, you shifted around in your seat feeling sick to your stomach as you couldn’t help but imagine what horrible things could’ve happened to her.

All throughout class you couldn’t help but think about it, you couldn’t even write a couple of sentences without your hand trembling and feeling weak and just to top it off, your desk mate that had just happened to be your best friend hadn’t even showed up yet and you hated that because what if something happened to her and you didn’t know? A quiet sigh left your lips as you let your eyes wander off outside the window once more trying to find some sort of peace.

Yet a little red figure caught your attention, an unusual one if that. Someone dressed up in a red devil costume, usually you would’ve brushed it off considering halloween is right round the corner and it could be someone being foolish but the way it was staring right at you did not feel right. Although its face was covered with a mask you could feel its eyes piercing right through your skull and it made you feel sick to your stomach.

But your attention was shifted in seconds as the door to the classroom was almost thrown off its hinges and you usually you would’ve felt embarrassment when you realised it was your bestfriend, Ningning, but as you looked back towards the window the figure had disappeared, almost as if it wasn’t there to begin with.

You eyebrows knitted together out of confusion as you continue to look at the yard, not being able to see a trace of it left behind. It was either some sort of stealth master or you just hadn’t gotten enough sleep and you were imagining things but those possibilities didn’t make you feel any less uneasy though you were snapped out of your little trance once more as you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Swiftly, you flicked your head around just to find out it was Ningning, “Fuck Ning.. you could’ve killed me.” You mutter out, sarcastically holding your heart as she flashed you a smile that always managed to warm your heart.

Ningning was beautiful, she has always been popular since highschool. Everything about her was perfect in your eyes and she knew that. Even though she made dumb decisions from time to time she was like your big sister, she always looked out for you just like you did for her. She knew when something was bothering you so you never hid anything from her that’s why she basically sensed your fear from a mile away.

“Y/N what’s wrong? You look upset.” She had whispered to you, trying to keep her voice on the low not trying to cause any trouble for you with the teacher.

You sighed quietly once more before speaking up, “You know Momo right? She went missing a few days ago after Jeno’s party and she hasn’t been seen since.” You watch Ningnings happy expression turn into a soft and comforting sort of one as she grabbed your hand under the table giving a tight squeeze.

“I’m sure wherever she is , she’s fine. She’s a strong girl..” Ningning reassures you. You didn’t think about telling her about the human devil thing you saw cause you were convinced it was nothing serious and shrugged it off for now as before scribbling down a few notes.

The day went on as normal and it was finally finished. You were walking back to your dorm room before you bumped into someone, someone you had never seen before. She was gorgeous, long black hair with bangs just stopping above her eyes, plump lips and her skin was clear and perfect. You felt your cheeks heat up from the embarrassment as you hurried to pick up her things for her.

“I’m so sorry.. I really should’ve looked where I was going.” You said panicked, handing her belongings, barley being able to make eye contact with the stranger. “Don’t sweat it too much, it’s not that big of a deal.” she spoke up, smiling at you before holding out a hand to help you up.

Her voice was soothing and you couldn’t help but smile at her words as they reassured you. The warmth overtook your hand once it met hers and she pulled you up to your feet.

“Are you hurt?” The female asked sweetly, her eyes scanning you for any cuts or wounds and finally took a breath when she saw you shaking your head.

“I’m sorry again.. have a good day.” You said awkwardly before quickly trying to dismiss yourself from the situation but you were quickly stopped by a grip on your wrist.

“Wait, what’s your name? I’m sure i’ve seen you around campus somewhere.” she asked you curiously, as you turned to face her, you both locked eyes for the first time during this encounter.

“I’m Y/N,” the stranger nodded as she let go off your wrist, afraid to hurt you.

“Makes sense, I’m Giselle. Your Ningnings friend aren’t you? I’ve heard a lot about you.” Your body softened at the mention of your best friends name.

“You know Ning?” Giselle just chuckled as a response, as she shook her head whilst sending you a shrug.

“I guess you could say that, but don’t go thinking we’re friends.” A scoff could be heard from behind you, one that you recognised.

“Speaking of the devil.” Giselle muttered with a smug expression plastered on her face as you turned to face Ningning behind you as she was starring at the stranger with a sharp , unfriendly glare as the female returned it.

“Come on Y/N, don’t be messing with this bitch.” She said softly, grabbing onto your hand attempting to walk away without trouble before you hear a voice speak up again from behind you.

“I’m not the one you don’t wanna be messing with Y/N, if only you knew what Ningning was really like.” she called out, before turning on her heel, walking away towards the exit of campus.

Her words sent a shiver down your spine as you continued tripping over the path due Ningning dragging you towards the dorms. You’ve never seen her so mad to the point you feel the anger radiating from her body.

She doesn’t take a second to basically throw you into the dorms, slamming the door shut behind you. As she takes a deep breath her expression softens before finally speaking up,

“Y/N please don’t go around getting yourself involved with fuckers like Giselle, she’s not good for you.” Whilst you went to speak up she walked past you, brushing your shoulder before slamming her bedroom door behind her.

You felt weak in your knees from the whole situation. The feeling of sickness and confusion overwhelmed you and you wanted to throw up. What did any of this mean? How did they know each other? What did Giselle mean?

It wasn’t long until you were laid flat on the couch , staring blankly at the ceiling as you tried to comprehend what just happened. Honestly you would’ve been laying there all day in your thoughts if you weren’t snapped out of them by the sound of Ningnings bedroom door opening and heels clicking onto the hardwood floor you have installed into your dorm room.

As you gather all your strength you sit up, looking at her up and down.

“Why are you dressed up so nicely?” You asked, getting ready to stand up and protest about her going anywhere with some sort of kidnapper on campus.

“Karinas hosting a party, so I’m going there.. I’m probably not gonna come back tonight. She offered to let me stay.” All you could do was stare at her in denial as you jumped up from your seat, marching over to her.

“Ningning what the fuck is wrong with you? Did you not listen to me? Momo went missing after a party on campus last week and you’re just fine with that? What if the same thing happens to you?” Ningning looks at you with wide eyes as you raise your voice at her as she clenches onto the strap of her bag more.

“Stop babying me Y/N for fucks sake! I’m not a child, I’m responsible for myself I don’t need you looking out for me all the time when it’s unnecessary.. I’m going wether you like it or not.” and with those words she was already gone out the door, leaving you stood there, frozen, with teary eyes.

Ningning had never snapped at you like she has today, she’s barley ever gotten angry at you or even around you. The thought of losing her hadn’t ever even crossed your mind once in the years of your friendship and you couldn’t let anything happen to her. That’s exactly why you followed her to the party.

It was packed to say the least, the smell of weed , alcohol and sweat lingered in the air and it made you gag. You looked everywhere for the girl and as the minutes passed without any site of her , the more worried you grew. You were convinced at one point she wasn’t even there and she had lied to go off doing something stupid like usual, you were too busy in your thoughts you didn’t realise you were about to walk right into someone.

“Hey what the f- Y/N?” A familiar voice called out as you looked up. The one and only Giselle accompanied by Kim

Minjeong, hands down one of the prettiest girls on campus. The smell of weed only grew stronger as you noticed as joint in the girls hand. She must’ve felt you looked as she put it out flicking it off somewhere into the party.

“Giselle hey.. have you by any chance seen Ningning ? I came here looking for her and-“ Giselle hushed you, and you couldn’t help but look at her confused.

“She went upstairs with some guy not long ago, she’s fine Y/N. Why don’t you come and hang out with us whilst you’re waiting?” The female asked you as you looked over at the smiling Minjeong for approval and she just nodded her head.

You didn’t say anything you just sat down on the couch next to the two of them as you three spoke amongst eachother. As the time passed by you found yourself laughing and blushing at Giselles jokes, a warm feeling in your chest appeared without you realising until you were alone as Winter went off to get some drinks for all of you.

“You know Y/N, you’re really pretty. I don’t think I had a chance to say this before.” Her fingers tucking some hair behind your ear as she didn’t stop looking at you once and soon enough you felt your lips attached to hers.

You had no idea what you were doing, especially considering you were only half a bottle of beer down and you’re no lightweight but Giselle just had something that you were obsessed with and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

The feeling of your lips together sent sparks throughout your body as you placed your hand awkwardly on her cheek, cupping it softly not knowing what to do considering this would be your first kiss. The room began to feel safe and you softened, not longer feeling tense as Giselle comforted you with her presence. Everything was perfect, the moment, the kiss, you had nothing to complain about.

But like someone once said, every good thing has to come to an end. She pulled away sooner than you wanted yet her hand on your waist stayed, her eyes fixated on something behind you though. Curiosity got the best of you as you turned your body to see Ningning, staring at the both of you in blatant disgust, her arms crossed over her chest.

In that moment you didn’t know what to do besides move closer to Giselle, you didn’t wanna leave her warmth but you knew moving further away from your bestfriend was something you would’ve had to deal with sooner or later . That wasn’t gonna be tonight though.

You stood up, grabbing Giselles hand before leading her outside, the cold air hitting you almost instantly, mist appearing everytime you took a breath before it disappeared back into the night sky.

“I’m sorry,” was all that could be heard from the girl behind you. You turned on your heel to face Giselle as you walked over to her, placing a hand onto her upper arm, rubbing it gently in a comforting way.

“For what?” But nothing could be heard from the girl but instead a swift movement of her hand and your entire world went black, the only thing you recall was your head hitting hard on the concrete below you.

[nightmarefoodauthor]

Spirit Board

The rain fell in heavy drops against the window. Sarah could see them running in rivulets down to the sill. Thunder rumbled overhead, and each flash of lightning sent shadows dancing across her wall. The flickering flames of a dozen candles scattered around the room illuminated the space between the flashes of lightning. She put her hand on the planchette and took a deep breath. It was Halloween, All Hallow’s Eve, the night when the Veil between this world and the Spirit world was thinnest. She was sure she would get through. 

“Is there anyone in the room with me?” She pressed firmly on the planchette, her eyes closed. Nothing happened, save for another flash of lightning and the following rumble of thunder. Another deep breath and she repeated herself. She waited a few minutes before opening her eyes. “Come on, you have to be here,” she whispered. The planchette jerked forward on the board, dragging her fingers toward YES.

Yes, there was someone in the room with her! A smile curved the corners of her mouth and she wiggled a little deeper into the pillows at her back.

“Can you tell me your name?”

The planchette moved toward the letters. MARCIE. Marcey. Her eyes widened and she let out a surprised noise. Her Marcie? She tried to come up with another question, but her fingers were dragged to more letters before she could ask.

I MISS YOU. 

“I miss you too, Marcie. Are you comfortable? 

SOMETHING. She waited a moment before opening her mouth again:

“Something? Something what?” The planchette stopped moving. “Hello? Marcie, are you still there?” The flashes of lightning were coming more frequently now, and the shadows were stretching toward her. She could feel something watching her from the dark corners of her room. 

SOMETHING COMING.

“Marcie? What is coming? Are you safe?” Her voice was getting higher and higher with each word she said, and her breathing was coming in quick gasps. There was something in the room with her, and it wasn’t Marcie. 

IT IS HERE.

“What is here? Is it in the room with me?” YES. “Marcie, you need to tell me what it is!”

Quiet. All was quiet. The rain continued to fall outside, and lightning flashed, but there was no sound. She was in a soundproof bubble. The shadows were coming alive in the corners, and when she turned away, she could see large white eyes staring out at her from the darkness. 

She opened her mouth, and her lips moved to form words, but there was no sound. She sucked in a breath and tried to scream, but again there was only silence. The thing in the corner had moved closer. It was tall, impossibly tall, hunched over to fit in the room. Its presence was so massive that she was suffocating under its gaze. 

It was at the foot of her bed, and the eyes were glowing white in its black body. She looked at it head-on now, and it didn’t shy away from her eyes. The creature–because that was all she could think of to call it–reached out a thin hand, its fingers like claws stretching out to touch her, grab her, drag her into whatever dark, cold abyss it came from. As it grasped her leg and began pulling her down the bed toward it, a loud pounding broke the silence.

It was gone. She straightened herself and moved back into a sitting position. “Come in!”

“What are you doing in here? Why are all these candles lit?” Her mother flipped the light switch and looked at her threw narrow eyes. It had just been her imagination. Maybe she had fallen asleep for a minute, just a quick little trip into dreamland. “Come on, I need you to hand out candy while your dad and I are at the party.”

“Right, yeah, I’ll be down in a sec.” She slid the spirit board under her bed and planted her feet on the floor. Her mother shook her head and left the room mumbling under her breath. Sarah went around the room, blowing out every candle, but when she got to the corner where the creature had first appeared, she stopped–there was nothing there, but she could still feel something watching her. With a shrug, she turned away and left her room, flipping the switch off. 

White eyes stared at the door from the corner, and a low rumbling laugh filled the room. She hadn’t said GOODBYE. 

[let-them-read-fics]

Bite

Pairing: Vamp!Lisa x Human!Fem!Reader

AU: Vampire

Word Count: ~ 5,564

Warnings / Misc. -- Mentions of Blood

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! I'm alive! School has kept me crazy busy and I've had my hands full with other things as well, but I finished writing this one and I wanted to share with you lovely peeps. To everyone who stopped by to check in, and to those of you who’ve been patiently waiting, thank you endlessly. I love having you as my readers 💜

PS ~ I hope this isn't too bad for my first one shot in forever! Also, happy Lisa era. I’m so proud of our girl!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Saturday, October 31st

You look like an idiot. 

The nurse uniform you have on is obnoxiously cliché; short and tattered in various places to really sell the "sexy" aspect of it, little is left to the imagination. Fake blood stains dot the flimsy material in random patterns and mat some strands of the tacky blonde wig atop your head, making you look like something out of a B-movie at best. 

A bonafide, absolute idiot. 

When you express that sentiment to your best friend, she just rolls her eyes and holds out one last costume for you to try on. She had a few lined up in case you didn't like her other options, and clearly that's come in handy; you've already worked through the previous picks, so she crosses her fingers as your eyes skim over this one.

"Humor me, will you?" She asks, hoping that you'll give in and at least check this last one out. 

"Fine, but this is your last chance. It had better be good." You raise a pointed finger at her in warning. 

"I have a good feeling about this one," she says, smiling as you take the bag from her and slip into the dressing room one final time. 

Her phone chimes soon after, and she's quick to retrieve it from her pocket.

Willow: Are you guys almost here?? Jackson's been asking about you.

Your best friend bites her lip at that, nervously nibbling on it as she rereads the message to make sure she didn't imagine the last part. She's liked Jackson since middle school, and he'll be swinging by the party that you've all been invited to; that's one of the main reasons she begged you to come with her tonight. 

Y/BFFs/N: Still getting ready. We'll be there ASAP tho!

Willow: Alright, we'll see you soon. Don't take all night, or else👩🤛

Y/BFFs/N: Yah, cut the violence!

The sound of your best friend's soft giggling fills the air just as you manage to fasten the costume's last zipper and pull its hood over your head.

Surprise etches its way into your features as you do a spin, taking in the sight of yourself through the full length mirror of the dressing room. The outfit's red and black color schemes complement each other beautifully, giving you a powerful and sensual appeal that the other costumes didn't even stand a chance of doing. You look alluring in every sense of the word. 

"Holy shit," your best friend says when you emerge, striking a pose. "You look hot!" She squeals, clapping a few times in quick succession. 

There's no way you think this one looks bad. 

"I think Wanda would be proud," you grin, tilting your head up and wrapping the cape around your neck. 

"One hundred percent," Y/BFFs/N nods adamantly, in total agreement. The Scarlet Witch getup really compliments your features. 

"Now," she starts, changing topics as she looks in the reflection of her phone's dark screen to adjust some of her hair that's gone astray. "Let's pay and then go. Willow's looking for us, and my future man's wondering where I am, too." 

"Hell yeah!" You chuckle, patting her on the back. "I'll help you finally land him so you can stop pining."

You watch as she takes a moment to decide between coming up with a decent rebuttal to defend herself or agreeing with you, and you smile when she goes for the latter. 

"I'd accept nothing less," she says, holding her head high like a princess. "You are my wingwoman, after all." 

"And the best one in town," you add, tugging her towards the register. She reaches into her purse and pulls out the money to pay before politely handing it to the cashier. 

The teenage boy takes it with a small smile, though the action looks a little comical as his upper lip gets caught on the cheap, plastic fangs he's sporting. His knock-off version of Dracula is definitely…. something… and you can tell that his managers forced him to wear it for the holiday. 

"Come back and s-shhee us," he says, handing your change back. Your best friend takes it, failing to contain her laughter at his messy speech. He blushes crimson, likely cursing the plastic teeth for making him look a fool. 

"We surely will," you respond, giving him a comforting smile to keep his embarrassment at bay. He nods gratefully, and you're quickly pulled out of the store by your best friend. 

"Happy Halloween!" You shout over your shoulder, accompanied by the chime of the bell over the door. 

"You too," he calls back, letting out a soft sigh. 

---

20 Minutes Later -- The Party

Upon rounding the front of your car and stepping up onto the sidewalk outside of Willow's house, your attention is immediately caught by the numerous decorations that she put up last week. 

"Huh," you mumble, gazing up at the skeleton that towers above you, standing 12 feet tall. "I think it's safe to say that this is her favorite holiday…" 

"What makes you think that?" Your best friend plays, feigning ignorance as she pops up from behind a life-sized, animatronic Jason Voorhees. 

"I don't know," you tut, admiring Willow's hard work a little longer. "Just a feeling." 

Y/BFFs/N giggles in her unique way, making you smile at the sound as the two of you make your way up the path towards the house. You gaze down at your feet, careful to step on the stones of the walkway and avoid the motion-activated hands that scramble out of the weeds to grab unsuspecting guests. 

Having known Willow your entire childhood, you've grown used to her ways. 

*knock knock*

A strong, iconic synth bassline sounds off from inside, filling the otherwise quiet night around you with its catchy beat as you wait to be let in. Its sound is well known, and you almost instantly recognize it as "Sweet Dreams" by the Eurythmics.

A few seconds later, you hear clambering from inside, followed by concerning groans and shouted apologies. 

Y/BFFs/N arches a skeptical brow at you, perfectly mirroring your thoughts.

Directly after, the door swings open in a flash, and you're nearly tackled by a whizz of curly hair. 

"There you guys are!" Willow shrieks, pulling the two of you close as she nuzzles her face against your cheeks. 

"Yep, here we are," you struggle out, nearly being strangled in her tight grip. She responds by squeezing you even tighter, blinded by her joy at seeing you again. 

After all, it's been a while since all three of you have had the opportunity to spend the night partying together like this. 

"Can't… breathe," Y/BFFs/N squeaks, successfully getting Willow to release you. 

"Sorry," she apologizes, stepping back. "I'm just so happy you're here." 

The freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose look especially adorable with the blush she's sporting, and her shy grin makes you forget about the near-fatality you just encountered moments before. 

"We're happy to be here," you reassure her, returning her smile. 

Your best friend agrees from beside you, nodding her head with a happy look of her own. "Believe it or not, we've missed your weirdness." She adds, cocking her head to the side. 

Willow giggles again, and her eyes crinkle up into those half crescents that could surely melt even the iciest of hearts. She's practically sunshine in human form, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes. 

"Yo, Willow! Who's at the door?" 

Jackson.

You feel your best friend tense beside you, and you subtly pat her leg to calm her down. 

Willow falls silent, though her lips go through the beginning stages of answering him; they open and purse, but she quickly halts her reply and shuts her mouth. She knows of Y/BFFs/N's crush on him, and she doesn't want to say the wrong thing. 

Plus, if the lovesick girl wants to run and hide in the bushes, Willow's silence could buy her some time to slip away. 

But alas, she doesn't. 

Jackson appears in the doorway a mere 5 seconds after asking his question with a beer clutched in his hand. He moves to lean against the wooden frame as his pearly smile beams at you, and Y/BFFs/N audibly swallows at the sight. 

For someone who's usually so confident, she can really be shy sometimes. 

"Lovely to see you, ladies," he greets, putting his free hand in front of him as he bows. His accent is modeled after that of Jack Sparrow, as is his surprisingly well designed costume.

You nod back at him. "Hey, Jackson. Long time no see." 

You elbow your best friend when she remains silent for a beat too long, and the action snaps her back to reality. 

"Yeah, hey Jackson." Her voice is quiet -- she doesn't trust it to refrain from cracking.

He smiles, not failing to notice the nervous aura that's quickly taken over the girl beside you. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when he gives her a curious once-over, and you take that as your cue to save her from the impending embarrassment that's lurking just around the corner. 

"Alright, guys!" You clap, stepping forward. "Let's get to partying." 

Her shoulders relax, and you feel her slip her hand into yours as you enter the house, squeezing twice as a silent thank you. 

15 Minutes Later

Willow stands beside you in the kitchen, mixing a few things together in one of the millions of red solo cups that she bought for tonight. You sneak a peek over her shoulder at the concoction, seeing its light blue color turn purple-ish as she adds a new liquor into the equation. 

In comparison to typical house parties, this one is relatively small; most of the rooms are filled with people, but it's a comfortable amount. Maneuvering around the place is fairly easy, which is always a plus when you're coexisting with sweaty, drunk people. 

"Willow, love, why did you buy so many cups?" You ask, toying with the ripped plastic packaging of one of the stacks. 

"You know I like to be prepared," she laughs, brushing off her major miscalculation. "Plus I can just use the rest of them at my next party." 

You nod, knowing she's right. "Are you having another soon?" 

"I think so. Jiu and her crew are coming back in a couple weeks, so I thought I'd surprise them with one." 

You scoff, humor laced in the sound. "What, they didn't get enough partying done at their university already?" 

Willow turns around, grinning at you as she hands you your drink. "Evidently campus police keep a close eye on them. Siyeon whined about that a lot when she called me." 

"Sounds like her," you chuckle into your cup as you take a sip. 

PFFT

"Eww, Willow! What did you put in this?!" 

Your spit take didn't land on anyone, thankfully, but it did capture the attention of some people nearby. You wave a hand at them as a silent apology, and they go back to their previous tasks. 

The curly headed prankster covers her mouth, though the action does a terrible job of quieting her maniacal laughter. 

"You're lucky Y/BFFs/N isn't over here," you say, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "She'd avenge me." 

Willow uses a napkin to dab the tears of laughter from her eyes. "Why else do you think I waited until she was busy with Jackson?" She asks, motioning to her lounge room across the foyer. 

You look inside, spotting Y/BFFs/N holding a pool cue in her hand as Jackson sinks another shot into one of the corner pockets. 

The sight reminds you of the pep talk and 2 shots of liquid courage you gave her earlier, and how she disappeared with the promise to make a move and actually talk to him. Now, she looks completely absorbed in whatever banter they're sharing, and although your violated taste buds still ache from the sickly-sweet mixture that Willow made, you wouldn't want her to be anywhere else. 

You can get your own revenge. 

Sneaking a glance around the kitchen, you search for something to help with your retaliation. A small package of streamers lays abandoned on the island, forgotten to be put up earlier, and you slyly grin. Their ribbons sparkle with glitter, shimmering as the multicolored party lights stream in from the living room and land on them. 

It's as if the universe is putting a spotlight on them, just for you. 

After side eyeing Willow one final time to ensure that she isn't catching onto your plan, you act quickly. She stands beside the counter, right where you left her, and you dart to the island to grab the streamers. Your fingertips soon gain purchase on the packaging, and you tear it open in one swift motion. 

Her gaze locks onto yours just as you near her, but it's far too late for her to get away. 

"Take this!" You declare, upending the baggie atop her head. She shrieks as they cascade down her body, getting caught in the creases and wrinkles of her costume as they go. A small wave of glitter tumbles out of the bag as well, coating her hair and clothes. 

Boy, that'll be fun to try and get out later. 

Her head slowly raises once you finish your assault and place the baggie on the countertop beside you, but the look in her eye is unlike anything you've ever seen. 

"You're dead," she warns. Just as the smile drops from your face, an even larger, more sinister one begins forming on hers. 

The floor creaks beneath your feet slightly as you take a step back, and you know you have to high tail it out of there if you want to evade her. 

"Catch me if you can!" You shout, springing into action. You turn around and dart out of the room, gliding past numerous partygoers in the hall. 

Willow's choice of footwear works in your favor, you soon realize; the sharp rapping sound of her heels pierces the air behind you, serving as a tell of how much distance is between you.

Her unstable platforms buy you a little time, and you thank the universe as you rush through the living room and back towards the foyer. You plan to cut across it and hide out in one of the bathrooms until she drops her plan for revenge. 

A grin pulls at your cheeks as you skid into one of the walls, looking like a character from Scooby-Doo as you will your feet to work correctly again and get you to safety. Willow laughs behind you, joining in on the fun. 

"Perfect," you mutter under your breath, spotting a clear path through the foyer. It leads under the stairs, and you can see the open door of the bathroom from where you are. 

Your feet take you past a handful of drunk people, bobbing and weaving through them with ease, before you're racing towards the restroom to take cover. 

Before you can make it there, though, you collide with someone rather abruptly as they step straight into your path. 

Your eyes shut tightly as you brace yourself for impact with the ground, but it never comes. The person reaches out and catches you before you can hit the floor, and a soft apology slips past their lips as they scoop you up. 

Upon hearing that uniquely feminine voice speak its regret again, you peek your eyes open. What you see nearly makes the woman's effort to keep you upright moot; she's so gorgeous that your legs almost give out from underneath you. 

Dirty blonde locks cascade over her shoulders in soft waves, half-mussed, half-pristine from your run-in. Her doe eyes are a velvety chocolate color, and you find yourself getting lost in them. Flickers of red show in them, illuminating almost rhythmically the longer she admires you. 

Are those contacts? You ask yourself. They have to be. 

She seems to be just as affected by your presence as you are of hers. 

"Y/N, I'm coming to get you!" 

Willow does her best to sound like a villain from a 90s horror film as she clambers her way closer to you, bumping into a few people on the way. You're brought out of your stupor by her rapidly approaching footsteps, and you take a step away from the woman. Her hands fall from your waist, where they had previously been resting. 

Stealing a quick look at the bathroom, you feel your stomach turn.

Damnit. Someone's in there now. 

Screw this sexy stranger for distracting you. Now you'll have to deal with Willow's wrath. 

"What's wrong?" 

There's that voice again. 

Part of you wants to brush it off and slip away quietly, but an even bigger part of you is determined to stay where you are and tell her. Something about her pulls you in, and you're having a hard time denying it. 

"I need to hide. I glitter-fied my friend and now she's coming after me." 

The woman's plump lips pull back in a humored smile, and she nods as a chuckle leaves her. "Right," she says, like that's a common occurrence. "I can help, if you'd like." 

"How?" You ask, your brows momentarily knitting together in confusion. When she unties and opens the black cloak that's wrapped around her body, your breath catches. 

"You in?" She asks, side eyeing the foyer as Willow nearly careens into the Egyptian vase that her mother bought her last year for Christmas. 

You take a deep breath and hold your hand out to her just as Willow rounds the corner, and she swiftly pulls you in close before you can be spotted. She winds the cloak around both of your bodies, concealing your faces as the fur-lined hood falls atop your heads. 

Unconsciously, you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her flush up against you to further ensure your safety. She quietly grunts when she stumbles over her own feet, falling into you a little. 

"Sorry," she whispers, though her third apology of the night is unnecessary. You almost want to thank her for what happened.

Especially when her warm breath fans across your right cheek, where her head is angled. 

Every breath you take pushes you closer to each other, and the satin shirt she's wearing slides against your heated skin. She swallows thickly as one of your hands falls to the small of her back, testing the waters. 

When she shifts a little to encourage you, you're acutely aware of the thigh that's worked its way between your legs. 

When did that happen? 

You bite back a sigh as she just smirks, quietly shushing you. 

Willow thunders by, shouting your name and threatening to throw you into the pool when she tracks you down. You want to laugh at that, but you'd honestly welcome it right now. Some cold water would surely bring you to your senses after being led astray by this goddess in front of you. 

Her footsteps grow distant as she makes her way outside, still searching.

The two of you remain as you are for a couple more minutes until you're certain that the coast is clear, and then you part. When she lowers the cloak, you look away; a deep blush has worked its way up your neck and across your cheeks, and letting her see it would surely make you die of embarrassment. 

She keeps her eyes on you as she reties the cover around herself, attempting to get a read on you. The bashful aura that's befallen you is cute, no doubt, but she can sense your arousal. She can smell it on you, and the scent is beginning to drive her crazy. 

You fiddle with the sleeves of your costume, readjusting them nervously.

"So, um… thanks," you say, sneaking a glance up at her. 

The red hues in her eyes are even more pronounced now, and the sight makes you press further into the wall behind you -- the one that you were previously pushed up against. 

"No problem," she smiles, showing off her pearly white teeth. Two of them catch your attention; a set of fangs now shine, looking alluring and threatening all at the same time. 

There's only one issue: you're certain that they weren't there when you first bumped into her. When did she put them in? And why do they look so real?

The feeling of her hand landing on your forearm pulls you away from the millions of questions that're firing off in your head right now. 

"May I ask your name?" She politely requests, dipping her head down sweetly. 

"Y/N," you breathe out, quickly realizing that you'd do just about anything she asked you to. 

"Y/N." She repeats, allowing the letters to blend in her mouth as they roll off her tongue. She looks satisfied for some reason as she says it again, trying it out. 

"I'm Lisa." 

"It's nice to officially meet you," you smile, reaching a hand out. Her touch is gentle but firm as she takes it, shaking it with ease. 

"Likewise, beautiful." 

The grin on your face only widens at the name, and you pull your hand away out of fear of what she might do next. She's already putting you under her spell, and you're sure that another touch would have you fully entranced. 

She studies you with pursed lips for a moment, clearly debating on something. Her eyes flicker over the dips and curves of your body as a smirk grows on her lips. 

"What are you thinking?" You question, curious but teasing. 

"That I'd love to have your body on mine again." 

She's bold, and she says it like the fact it is. No shame, no bashfulness. Just true, honest desire. 

You bite the inside of your cheek at her bravery, silently thanking the universe for it. The likelihood of you gaining the courage to make a move is slim to none even in the best cases, and this was no exception. She already has your heart skipping beats and you've only known her a few minutes. 

"How about a dance?" She suggests, quirking a brow. The look on her face disarms your defenses, and you take a deep breath before agreeing to your demise. 

"That sounds wonderful." 

She dips her head again, hiding her face away momentarily, and you think it's the cutest thing ever. 

She's shy all of a sudden as her cool demeanor slips up a bit, and that never happens. You might just be her downfall, too.

She holds an elbow out and steps forward, allowing you to link your arm with hers and cuddle in close. 

Her eyes scan across the living room as she studies it, but she's unimpressed. 

Sweaty, winding bodies thrash around to some upbeat pop song that's been overplayed on every radio station in town for weeks now, and the idea of taking you there puts her off. 

When a drunk boy comes into view with a dildo strapped to his forehead, her mind is officially made up. 

"Let's go outside," she says, leading you through the patio doors. 

A quaint gazebo sits on one side of the yard, and the dance floor that Willow's family installed a couple years ago occupies the other. Both are decorated with string lights in combinations of gold, purple, black, and orange. Other ornaments adorn the surfaces as well, and you smile when you spot a comically large spider sat atop the gazebo's roof. 

"Where would you like to go?" Lisa asks, keeping her voice low. It's calm and deep, running a chill through you. 

Softer music plays out here, offering a totally different vibe than inside. Some couples -- many of them introverted, assumably -- sway on the dancefloor as the DJ that Willow hired takes a sip of her drink on the raised stage. She adjusts a few switches slowly, not rushing for a second.

"Let's try the gazebo," you decide, glancing over your shoulder at Lisa. She's looking away, but you don't think anything of it as the two of you fall in step with one another on your way over. 

Shit, Lisa thinks to herself. 

Her plans to come to this party, feed, and make a quick getaway are totally derailed. She'd hoped to find a victim that she was attracted to but didn't like, if that even makes sense, and feed like the animal she is. Then she would leave them like all the rest, drained but still alive, and slip away. 

But now she's met you, and any desire for those plans have been thrown out the window. 

You interest her, and that doesn't happen often. She hasn't met someone who's been capable of doing that in years, and she's intrigued. Something about you just pulls her in, inexplicably, and she knows her feelings would be glaringly obvious if you saw her face right now. 

"Woah, look at this," you sigh, stepping out of her hold to check the place out. A bench runs the perimeter of the gazebo, only stopping at the doorway, and the lights look even prettier from inside. They shimmer, looking like star showers as their strings hang down in the windowless openings of the building. 

Lisa quickly learns that she loves seeing you like this. Your eyes are alight, and your sweet smile of wonder warms her heart. Her hands slip into her pockets as she eventually manages to take her eyes off you, following your lead as she admires the decorations. 

She does a twirl, looking around. 

"It's gorgeous." 

"I know, right? This is totally up Willow's alley," you say, grinning at the mental image that you can conjure up of her giddily spiffing the scene up. 

"I'll have to thank her for making it look so special, then," Lisa says, smiling. The place really makes you feel like you're in your own little world; everything about it is just right. The ambience, the decor, the company… it’s perfect, and Lisa's content with how the evening is playing out. 

Her fingers skate down your arm as she nears you, trekking their way down to your palm. She takes your hand and spins you, watching with admiration as your hair flows in the breeze. Now facing her, you thread your fingers together around the back of her neck as she encircles your waist with her arms. 

"Why have I never seen you around?" You ask sincerely, looking up at her. 

She hesitates briefly. "My university is a few towns over. I just come here to visit my family every few months." 

Not a total lie, she thinks to herself. 

"And stop by terrible parties like this, of course." You add, smirking. 

She shakes her head at that. "No, I can't say I do. I just decided to check this one out on my way to my friend's house." She explains. 

Underneath your cloak, her hands find their way to the small of your back. One stays put while the other dips a little lower, testing the waters. 

"And besides," she starts again, feeling you pull her closer. "Meeting you here automatically makes this an awesome party. Not terrible."

"Cheeeesy!" You scrunch your face up and groan, making her laugh. 

"Maybe, but it's the truth." 

"Sure, Lisa." 

She shakes her head and you laugh lightly together, still swaying about. You hold her close enough to rest your head on her shoulder, and the pads of your thumbs rub small circles on the sensitive skin of her neck. She hums at the feeling, and you take note of the way she relaxes in your arms. 

The night breeze appears again, performing a flowing dance of its own as it lulls past you in waves. A slight chill resides in it, mixed with a generous amount of the day's sweet, fading heat, and you're at peace. 

The slow song that had been playing across the yard ends delicately, parting with some melodic feature that resembles a warm embrace, and it blends seamlessly into the next song. 

Turning Page, you recognize it as.  

Huh, how ironic. One of your favorites. 

Lisa's lips brush against your cheek as she turns her head slightly, whispering, "I like this one, too." 

How did she know? You ask yourself. You hadn't said it out loud… 

Maybe she's just a good guesser. Yeah, that's gotta be it. 

You feel yourself melt as she begins singing the words to you. It's hushed and sentimental -- meant only for your ears to hear, and that makes it even more special to you. 

"If I had only felt the warmth within your touch"

She croons, pressing her cheek against your warm skin. You blush, catching yourself when you remember what the next line of the song is. 

"If I had only seen how you smile when you blush" 

She brings a hand up to cup your cheek in her palm, and her other arm remains around you, holding you tenderly. 

"Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough"

Now, her thumb runs across your bottom lip. You look into her eyes and find them an even deeper shade of red than they had been before, but it doesn't frighten you for some reason. She glances down at your mouth again, fighting her impatience as she waits for permission from you. 

"I would have known what I was living for all along"

You nod and lace your fingers in her locks, and she doesn't waste another second. 

She leans in, humming against your lips when they meet hers for the first time. Her lipgloss spreads across them upon contact, smudging its precise application, but she doesn't seem to care in the slightest. She draws you in closer, and you bring both of your hands around to cup her face as you deepen the kiss. 

Her mouth is welcoming against yours, and it moves languidly as you get adjusted to one another. Every move makes you feel dizzier than the one before it, and swarms of butterflies take flight in your stomach with no signs of stopping. 

She nips at your bottom lip as her hands dip far lower than before, now kneading your ass as your kisses continue to work her up. 

"Fuck," you curse, breaking away from her lips to catch your breath. She's stolen it all from you, and yet she's still not ready to give you a rest; her mouth drops to your jaw, embracing your skin there before moving down to your neck. 

She doesn't realize how dangerous the game she's playing truly is until it's almost too late. 

Her lips press to the area just above your pulsepoint, where she's learned over the years that blood pumps the hardest and tastes the sweetest. She draws it into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the area as her ears perk up at the breathless sound of your moans. They spur her on, and she nips at the skin, surely leaving a hickey. 

Her senses become even more clouded when you say her name, the title caught somewhere between a whine and command, and she feels the strong impulse to claim you. The sensation is overwhelming, and she knows you can feel it too. 

Your hands tug on the collar of her shirt as she lets her fangs fully extend, no longer suppressing them. They rake across your pulsepoint, making you shiver against her. 

"Please…" 

That's all you manage to get out before they pierce your skin, eliciting a whimper from you. Blood fills her mouth instantly, sliding across her taste buds in velvety waves and calming her constant craving. Your hands tighten in her hair, and the delicious twinge of pain that it provides only encourages her more. 

Your blood is different than anything she's ever tasted; it's richer -- sweeter. A throaty groan leaves her as she savors it, and you shut your eyes in pleasure. It's addicting, but she knows she has to stop herself before she hurts you. If she continues like this much longer, she won't have the willpower to let go. 

She retracts her fangs as she licks your taste from them, and then you feel her warm tongue clean the wound she made. It stings a bit, but in all the right ways.

When she pulls back to look at you, she finds your eyes half-lidded and a pleased smile on your face. It nearly kills her, then and there. 

Her gaze flickers back to your neck to admire the hickie she made earlier, but what she sees surprises her. Below it is a darker, more prominent marking that she's only seen other vampires leave behind before. 

Definitely not a hickie.

Your brows furrow as you look at her neck as well, noticing a faint outline of something growing darker by the second. Blinking a few times to ensure that you aren't hallucinating, you find that it's really there. 

"Lisa, what's on your neck?" You ask. 

"A soulmate mark." She responds, feeling a sense of belonging settle over her as she looks at you again. You just confirmed her suspicions by asking that.

"Same as yours," she smiles.

[jamespotterthefirst]

October 31st (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.3K Warning: Language Premise: Ethan Ramsey doesn’t do costumes... except maybe for her.

A/N: A pointless Halloween fic

A/N2: For Day 28 of @choicesoctoberchallenge2020​. The prompt is “Costume”.

1. Intern Year

Ethan resisted a groan as an atrocious, remixed version of The Monster Mash blared through the speakers, eliciting a cheer from the drunken crowd. Characteristically, he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he wondered why he decided to venture out on the worst night of the year. Perhaps he needed a drink that badly after another full day of dealing with interns.  

“Time for a refill, Dr. Ramsey,” a voice said over the music.

Ethan hated the way his pulse quickened at the sound.

Doing his best to appear collected, he shot what he hoped was an impassive glance at the figure now standing beside him at the bar, the floral notes of her perfume already caressing his every sense. One single glance at her, however, was enough to shoot all efforts of appearing aloof straight to hell.

She leaned casually against the bar, clad in a sensuous, forest green number that molded to every curve of her body and ensnared every bit of his attention. Dark green leaves embellished every surface of the sinfully short dress, tapering off into delicate, curly vines along her exposed shoulders and arms. Her glossy, dark hair was hidden away beneath a cascade of long, auburn waves that made her eyes appear greener still.

“Wig,” she explained with a small laugh when Ethan continued to stare.

At last, he pried his eyes away, feeling his neck flare with heat. Unsure of what else to say, he feigned indifference as he asked, “And what are you supposed to be, Rookie?”

Aside from fucking irresistible, his idiotic, addled brain added on impulse.

He could see Lilac's jaw go slack in a way that was almost comical but somehow managed to be entirely too adorable.

“You're kidding, right? I'm Poison Ivy.”

Ethan had known that. He had been, after all, a comic-book obsessed teenager once. If someone had told him back then that he would one day witness the sexiest version of the character imaginable, his head would have caved in on itself. Adult Ethan, it seemed, was no better because his eyes fell on her once again, unable to resist her magnetic pull.

Lilac, however, was too busy looking at the dancefloor. She nodded toward her group of friends, dancing, laughing, and contributing to half of the noise in the bar.

“We were all supposed to be Batman villains but Bryce and Landry got lazy. They put on a Thing One and Thing Two shirt and called it a day.”

Ethan followed her gaze to where the young surgeon had peeled off the aforementioned shirt, relishing in the attention that decision was earning him from a gaggle of girls nearby. The other one Lilac had mentioned stood awkwardly off to the side, too pale and and gangly to ever be Lahela's counterpart.

“More like tweedle dee and tweedle dum,” he muttered.

Lilac met his eyes at once and to his delight, she laughed, the sound sending his stomach into a dive. It was already maddening enough that the sound was entirely too attractive, but Ethan felt a swelling sense of satisfaction at being the one to inspire it.

When she sobered up, her green eyes remained on his, humor melting into a pensive expression. She continued to watch him with the conviction of someone discovering a new secret. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking at that very moment.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

He had been distracted by her full lips and by how fitting the damn costume was. Much like every weak-willed man in his comic books, Ethan would have risked absolutely everything to kiss her.

“No costume?”

“God no,” he spat, inspiring another little laugh.

“Never say never,” she told him in a sing-song voice.

“I can confidently say never.”

______________

2. A year later.

They paused outside the door to Bryce's apartment, the muffled sound of music and laughter making its way to the hall. Ethan briefly wondered if his neighbors would complain enough to derail the whole affair. It would mean he could go back to the peace and quiet of his home.

As if reading his mind, Lilac turned to face him, a knowing smile pulling at her lips. God, he loved it when she looked at him that way.

“You're not getting out of this,” she reminded him, her fingers moving to play with the orange Ascot tie she had forced him to wear.

“We're well into November. There was no need to dress up.”

As usual, Lilac rolled her eyes lovingly.

“It's hardly dressing up when all we did was put you in a white sweater you already owned, babe,” she explained for the hundredth time. Ethan tried to scowl at the pet name, but he was beginning to enjoy it. Instead, he relaxed into her touch, trying his best not to follow the lazy path her fingers made on his chest. “You wouldn't even wear a wig, so it doesn't count. As for the party being this late, it was the only night we all had off. And we'll be damned before we let a whole year pass us by without dressing up.”

She finalized that sentence with a searing kiss to his neck. His hands banded around her waist reflexively, pulling her soft body flush against his. In their time together, he had avidly learned the many ways to drive her just as crazy.

“You and I can still dress up,” he murmured darkly against her ear.

Lilac shivered, to his immense delight.

“Are you suggesting role play, Dr. Ramsey,” she returned in a poor attempt to mock him.

The formal mode of address, uttered in a low, breathy voice against his ear, made his blood buzz for her. More maddening still was the short, purple dress she wore along with the auburn wig that made a reappearance after a year.

“Got a thing for redheads?” she asked, correctly guessing the contents of his thoughts yet again.

Ethan smiled crookedly down at her. “I got a thing for you.”

The words rang with sincerity and an overwhelming sense of relief at finally being able to say them out loud, without any fear of consequences.

Lilac, for her part, looked as though she wanted to shove him against the wall and kiss him fiercely, but the erupting cheers from inside the apartment interrupted their exchange from advancing further.

“Mystery Gang in the house!” Bryce, dressed as a pirate, hollered as soon as they walked through the door. Everyone else cheered and hooted, the sounds no doubt fueled by the contents of the many red solo cups around the room.

“You guys look adorable!” Sienna commended over the music, greeting each of them with a friendly hug. “Fred and Daphne makes so much sense for you two.”

“Because we solve mysteries for a living?” Ethan asked, voice deadpan.

“Nah, because those two were a thing long before any of the others found out,” Elijah said as he joined them.

Lilac laughed out loud, the sound teetering on the edges of relief. She had been nervous, just like Ethan had been, that her friends would be awkward around them now that they knew of their relationship.

By the way they easily joked with him and included him in conversation throughout the night, their concerns had been for nothing. They even helped Lilac pressure him into dancing a modern pop song he had heard many times on the radio. Not that he needed much convincing when he would gladly do anything just to see her radiant smile directed his way.

By midnight, the party had dwindled down to drinks and board games. There was a raucous consensus to play Clue, which caused Bryce to roll his eyes.

“Of course the diagnosticians want to play the nerdiest game.”

Ethan rolled up his sleeves in preparation, which earned him a coy and borderline lustful look from Lilac. “You're just bitter that we're playing something other than beer pong, scalpel jockey.”

Elijah let out a surprised yet impressed laugh, wasting no time to high five Ethan. Even Bryce couldn't help but grin.

“Trash talk all you want, old man. I'm more than just a pretty face.”

When it came to Clue, however, Bryce had no chance against Ethan, who analyzed every player with sharp precision and correctly guessed the murderer, the room, and the weapon. Several games later, Ethan easily proved victorious while Bryce only laughed graciously, raising his palms up in defeat.

When even the board games ebbed into quiet conversation at the end of the night, Lilac sat on his lap, circling her arms around his neck. They sat like that for minutes, enjoying the nuances of being that annoyingly cute couple at a party.

“Thank you for dressing up for me,” she said as she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Even that sent his heart into a tumultuous rhythm.

“Only for you,” he murmured. “And as a one time deal only.”

______________

3. Many years later.

Ethan plastered the fur-lined hat on his head, a perfect complement to the fur-lined everything else he was currently wearing. Luckily, fall time in Boston was cold enough that the ensemble would prove to be practical as they walked the streets. He stepped into the hallway, not bothering to check his reflection. There was no doubt he looked utterly ridiculous.

But he didn't care.

He would do anything for her and for the unbridled joy in the eyes he loved so much.

Lilac was already waiting when he entered the living room, her smile impossibly wide as she glanced him over. It was the exact reaction he expected and he couldn't help but grin too.

“Is this how it's supposed to look?”

“Yes!” she all but shrieked in delight. The magenta cape of her costume fluttered behind her as she rushed to him, her body crashing against him in an overjoyed hug. “I love you so much for doing this.”

The words still sent a thrill through Ethan, as strong as the first time he heard them. Heart thundering wildly at his chest, he leaned down to kiss her, just because he could.

When they pulled apart, she watched him through half-closed eyes, her teeth catching her lush bottom lip. All Ethan wanted to do was carry her to their bed and tear off the costumes they had spent so much time perfecting. Inwardly, he marveled at how everything had changed over the years, but there were some things that remained the same.

Instead, he captured one of her plaits between his fingers. “These people we're dressed up as,” he started, gently trailing the ridges of her braid. Lilac watched him, captivated by his every word. “Do they end up together?”

She allowed a laugh. “We've watched nothing but that movie for a week straight.”

Ethan shrugged, allowing a sheepish grin. “I tune it out thirty minutes in every time.”

More laughter and Ethan decided then that he could hear the sound forever and not get enough.

“Don't let Dolores hear you say that,” she warned with one final kiss. She moved to break apart from their embrace but he stopped her.

His wife looked at him expectantly and Ethan frowned, suddenly doubtful.

“Do you think she'll like it?”

Lilac's curious expression melted into a fond smile. “She's going to love it,” she assured him, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.

Not surprisingly, Lilac had been right because moments later, a delighted shriek of laughter announced the arrival of their toddler daughter. Her godmother trailed close behind, crouching over in an attempt to fix the blue tulle that trailed along the floor as the child ran towards her father. It was futile and Sienna sighed in defeat, shooting Lilac an amused look.

“It's pointless,” Sienna laughed. “There's no stopping little Lolly when she sees her father.”

Proving that point, his daughter flung herself into Ethan's arms and cried, “Dada!”

“Hello, princess,” Ethan laughed as she pressed her version of a kiss on his cheek.

“I'm Elsa,” Dolores corrected sagely.

“Yes, babe,” Lilac added with mock seriousness. “You are in the presence of Queen Elsa of Arendelle. Have some respect.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Ethan said to his daughter with such formality that the child laughed. Sienna watched the exchange with a watery smile, failing to repress a squeal.

A loud roar coming from the threshold informed them that their son had joined them. Sienna laughed as Jonah ran around the room, the antlers of his costume bobbing wildly as he moved. At last, he stopped right before Lilac, who picked him up in her arms.

“I didn't know reindeers roared,” she laughed, swaying her son in her arms.

Jonah roared again to demonstrate that reindeers could indeed roar formidably, at least when impersonated by a five year old. “I'm a Halloween reindeer,” he explained. “He roars to be spooky, but just for today.”

The adults laughed. “You're a good big brother, Jonah,” Lilac informed him with a kiss, closely followed by a tickle.

“Lolly wanted to be Elsa so bad so I wanted to help,” their son said through a giggle, as though it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

It was for Ethan.

As Sienna ushered them together for a picture, Ethan looked at his family, everyone smiling radiantly and far more beautifully than the moon itself. Little Dolores clung to him, laughing and looking happier than he had ever seen her.

His wife caught his eye and shot him a knowing but proud smile. Ethan knew she was remembering the cynical, jaded version of himself who had confidently proclaimed he would never do this.

Ethan had never been happier to be proven wrong.

______________

A/N: I HC they name their daughter after Dolores and nickname her Lola/ Lolly

Once upon a time I used to write for another pairing who canonically dies on Halloween. You have no idea how happy I am to write for a pairing who’s alive and well lol.

Thank you so much for reading! I love these time hop fics so much. I wrote another one for Ethan x MC a long time ago that I will publish on my birthday in November :)

Finally, Chapter 10 of the Pictagram is coming soon. It might be two parts... Yikes. Thanks for waiting so patiently for it! Life has been crazy over here

_______________

tags: @openheart12​​​ , @takeharryandgo​​​ , @trappedinfanfiction​​​, @aestheticartsx​​​, @aworldoffandoms​​​, @paulfwesley​​​, @myusualnerdyself​​​,  @rookie-ramsey​​​, @ohchoices​​​, @colossalpainintheass​​​, @enmchoices​​​, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​​​, @choicesfanaf​​​, @openheartthot​​​, @octobereighth​​​, @nazarihoe​​​, @utterlyinevitable​​​, @kites-in-our-skies​​​, @maurine07​​​, @schnitzelbutterfingers​​​, @doilooklikeiknow​​​, @snesdudes​​​, @kingliam2019​​​, @perriewinklenerdie​​​, @cinnamonspongecake​​​, @choicesstan1​​​, @queencarb​​​, @ethxnrxmsey​​​, @missmiimiie​​​, @jens-diamondchoices​​​, @adamsdumortain​​​, @apphia12​​​, @kalogh​​​, @lucy-268​​​, @binny1985​​​, @queenbirbs​​​, @honeyandsunfl0wers​​​, @newcolonies​​​, @lilyvalentine​​​, @rigatonireid​​​, @interobanginyourmom​​​, @parkerattano​​​, @custaroonie​​​​, @nikki-2406​​​​, @lilypills​​​​, @chasingrobbie​​​​, @nooruleman​​​​,  @lonely-mxxnlight​​​​, @ruinedbypixels​​​​, @shadynaturehilariouscookie​​​​, @tsrookie​​​​, @mvalentine​​​​, @professorkingslay​​​​, @drakewalkerfantasy​​​​, @casey-v​​​​, @helloblueeyedcat​​​​, @mysticaurathings​​​​, @blossomanarchy​​​​, @thegreentwin​​​​, @togetherwearerapture​​​​, @rookieoh​​​​, @ramseysno1rookie​​​​, @rookiemarsswiftie​​​​, @natashajaniphil​​​​, @mysticalgalaxysstuff​​​​, @hatescapsicum​​​​, @choices-lurker​​​​, @kiara-36​​​​, @junehiratas​​​​, @danijimenezv​​​​, @macy-ray85​​​​, @adrex04​​​​, @canigetanawwjunk​​​​, @sanchita012​​​​, @overwhelminglyaquarius​​​​ , @scorpiochick8​​​​, @skylarklyon​​​​, @starrystarrytrouble​​​​, @mercury84choices​​​​, @drariellevalentine​​​​, @ethanrcmsey​​​​, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost​​​​, @kaavyaethanramsey​​​​ , @udishaman​​​​, @a-crepusculo​​, @quacksonlover​​

[ahkaahshi]

12:27 AM [kuroo tetsurou x reader]

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem reader (platonic relationship)

genre: fluff and angst

warning(s): swearing, brief mentions of alcohol consumption

word count: 2.8k

overview: you go on one, final late night food run with your best friend to commemorate your last evening in tokyo

notes: as stated above, the reader and kuroo’s relationship here is purely platonic. it just felt right. also, this one’s a bit more dialogue-heavy than usual, but it’s intentional :) hope you enjoy!

At 12:27 AM, Kuroo’s standing in the kitchen, poring over an open cupboard of food—none of which seems to fulfill his cravings. Tapping the toes of his house slippers against the tiled floor, he sends a glance over at where you’re sitting on the couch, watching the movie he’d put on with rapt attention. His attempts at successfully blocking out thoughts of what’s to come tomorrow are foiled once more when his gaze settles on the luggage waiting patiently in the entryway.

“Hey, (f/n),” he calls out to you, shutting the cabinets in front of him and turning away from them. The eyebrow you raise at him expectantly has him continuing, “Whaddya say to going on one, last late-night food run in the city with your old pal?”

With a snicker, you toss the mountains of blankets off your body and stand up as you say, “You act as if today’s my last day on the planet, Tetsu.”

“Seriously, though, who knows when we’ll be able to do this again?” he wonders, “Might as well live like it’s your last day on the planet, even if it’s just for a night, right?”

You shake your head as you pull on an old Nekoma hoodie out of your backpack that matches the one he’s wearing. “Quit it, dumbass; you’re gonna make me all sentimental.”

A grin spreads across his lips and he gives you a playful shake once the two of you have stepped into your shoes and left his home. It warms your heart but shatters it at the same time, since you’re painfully aware of the fact that tonight will be the last time you see it in person for what could be months. And if his words hadn’t already made you a bit emotional, the drive through Tokyo would’ve done the trick.

He rolls the windows of his car down, letting in the cool, nighttime air that whistles past as the vehicle picks up speed. In an effort he wants to seem as spontaneous as possible, he plays music from a playlist the two of you had made together back when you were in high school, shouting and dancing along to the lyrics of every song with you with an enthusiasm that has you doubling over in your seat with laughter.

Every stoplight gives other drivers and pedestrians buzzing around the bustling downtown area the opportunity to shoot you judgmental looks or those of entertainment, but you’re too busy living in the moment with him that you barely notice or even care, for that matter. You don’t know where he’s taking you, but you don’t bother to ask. Instead, you find yourself lost in admiring the dazzling array of lights passing you by during your drive through the lively city. Knowing you’ll be in a new one by this time tomorrow has you gazing upon everything you’d simply passed by before without a second thought with a newfound appreciation and lingering nostalgia.

Eventually, after Kuroo’s impressed you by maneuvering his car into a tighter parking spot than you thought he could fit in, you find your destination is a small restaurant tucked away in one of the back alleys aglow with neon signs. Though it’s packed to the brim with other patrons enjoying a late-night meal, there’s plenty of conversation between you and your friend to fill the time you spend waiting for a table.

Once you’re inside, you bask in the warmth heavy with the delicious smell of fresh food as the two of you sit together and reminisce over steaming bowls of ramen. “You know one thing I’ll never forget?” Kuroo begins, fishing out a few plump noodles with his chopsticks. You glance over at him expectantly while you blow on the broth in your spoon and he chuckles before adding, “The look on Lev’s face when he hit you in the back of the head during warmups and you gave him the coldest stare I’ve ever seen.”

“I felt so bad when I realized it was him, though, ‘cause I thought it was you!” you defend.

Kuroo’s unoccupied hand flies to his chest to complete the feigned look of shock on his face. “And you were gonna look at me like that if it was?”

“You were always aiming for me, Tetsu.”

“You were always on the court!”

“Helping Coach toss and keeping hitters like you from fucking up your ankles by coming down on stray volleyballs, you asshole.”

Kuroo shrugs and comments, “I never hit you hard, though,” and moves another serving of noodles to his lips. “Just wanted to keep our beloved manager on her toes is all.”

With an incredulous scoff, you retort, “Yeah, you did that, alright. And even well into uni, too.”

There’s a pause in your conversation as you both take a moment to enjoy your food before Kuroo questions, “Could you please submit your evidence to the court?”

“Halloween,” you state, (e/c) eyes laser focused on his own, hazel ones. He’s narrowing them, as if he’s trying to remember the event in question, so you help him out by continuing, “You and Kou were insistent on coming with me to a raging house party that night. The two of you got so, annoyingly drunk that you were laughing at the top of your lungs like hyenas about videos of pets dressed up in costumes at three in the morning.”

He raises a finger contemplatively. “I might’ve blacked out, but that does sound like something I’d do.”

“In that case, you probably forgot about all the noise complaints I got, then; and how the owner of the place came to scold me in person.”

A bashful grin forms on his lips at the memory you’ve reminded him of, and he concedes, “Alright, alright; we’ve both done a lot of stupid shit in the time we’ve known each other, so let’s just leave it at that. Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to remind you of the time you lost your bikini top in the ocean and were too mortified to move, so you made me swim in and get it, right?”

“This conversation is over,” you declare, face growing hot with embarrassment as a vivid image of the moment in question flashes across your mind.

As the two of you continue enjoying your delicious meals and reminiscing about other, more positive experiences you’ve shared together, you feel the knot that’s been settled in the pit of your stomach for what seems to be weeks now make itself known once more. In spite of your outward calmness and enthusiasm, you were starting to have trouble hiding your nervousness. The last thing you’d wanted was for anyone to notice and try to talk you out of your decision, but Kuroo’s far more perceptive than most and knows you well enough to understand what you’re thinking.

When the two of you finish your meals and find the strength to scoot out of your chairs, he notices the way you gaze longingly at your surroundings. He catches sight of the gentle glimmer of emotion in your eyes as you request that he drive you anywhere he wants—just to hold off on going back to his place for a bit longer. And each time he takes his eyes off the road ahead to cast a glance in your direction, he finds your attention fixated on all the buildings and people that pass by.

But it’s not until the two of you arrive at a nearly empty parking lot outside a large, sprawling park that he decides to bring up the question of what’s on your mind. “Hey, (f/n),” he says, making you turn on your heels to face him where you’d been standing a few feet away from his car, watching the twinkling lights in the distance. He looks so carefree, perched on the hood of his vehicle, hands shoved into the pockets of his black joggers, whereas you’re much more on edge, trying to keep your foot-tapping against the loose gravel to a minimum.

“Hmm?”

He purses his lips for a moment before answering slowly, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while—the last day we’d spend together. And it’s one of those things that you just can’t really prepare yourself for, no matter how hard you try to, y’know?” The muscles around your brow relax, and your expression becomes more curious upon being pulled out of your worrisome thoughts. “I know how I’m feeling, but how are you holding up?”

Your fingers interlace themselves as you bite the inside of your cheek. Even if you want to, there’s no bullshitting Kuroo. Not when he’s seen you in every state you can imagine and is often one to pick up on your feelings before you’re even aware they exist, though he often brings them to your attention with a more lighthearted approach than most would think appropriate to take. Doesn’t mean he cares any less, however; and you can see the genuine concern in his hazel eyes shining a paler color in the white moonlight.

“I’m excited,” you tell him. With the way your heart’s pounding in your chest, you’d be surprised if he couldn’t hear its pulse in your voice. Moving towards him to occupy the space on the hood beside him, you take a deep breath and look up at him. “But I’m terrified at the same time.” It’s instantaneous, the way you lean into his touch the moment he slings his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “Since we were kids, I was always talking about wanting to move to another country, remember?”

“I thought you just said that to make me sad whenever I pissed you off.”

You lightly swat his chest and argue, “Oh, be quiet.” But, before you can continue with what you were going to say, you find yourself focused on the words he’d spoken instead. “Wait, did you actually mean that?”

With a gentle chuckle, he shrugs. “Nah, I was joking.” The adam’s apple in his throat bobs when he turns his attention towards the sky and admits, “But I always did get a little sad whenever you mentioned it. Still do.” A moment of silence filled with the distant sounds of traffic and the chirping of insects ensues during which you watch your fingers toy with the aglets hanging off your hoodie. “I mean, come on, now; what kinda kid wants one of his best friends to move away when he knows how big the world is but how singular and small he is?”

“Tetsu,” you murmur softly, feeling your lip tremble with emotion and your eyes sting with oncoming tears, “You’ve always been there for me through, like, everything. Or, at least, it feels that way. Part of the reason why I’m so scared of leaving is because I’m gonna be all by myself, in a brand-new place, just thrown into the deep end of things and having to teach myself how to swim all over again. But another part of it is because I’m gonna be away from you. And even now, as an adult, I still don’t wanna move away from my best friend.”

He doesn’t even have to look at you or hear you sniffle to know you’re crying, and he tightens his grip around you, placing his other hand on your back. Appreciative of the gesture, you bury your face in the soft fabric of his sweatshirt and pull him into an embrace so you can hold onto him for a few, long moments that you wish didn’t have to end.

“Hey, it’s all good as long as you don’t forget about me once you make it big out there, okay?” His tone is teasing and lighthearted, as per usual, but you can hear the subtlest break in his voice that has more tears cascading down your cheeks and pooling in the creases of his sweater.

“I’m not gonna forget you—I could never—but, what if I can’t do it?” you whimper, “What if I get there and I hate the job, or I hate my coworkers, or I hate life over there? Then I’ll be stuck out there with no one.”

Rubbing your back gently, he assures you, “If worst comes to worst, you can come back home and regroup. You’ll always have a place to stay here. Well… unless I get super famous and end up being offered a job to travel around the world.” You can’t help but snicker at his comment, and neither can he. “Even if I’m not physically there, I’ll always be there in spirit. And don’t discount the possibility of me showing up at your doorstep, since we know I have a tendency to do that.”

“Like a stray cat I keep feeding.”

“Exactly. Maybe you’ll even get two if I can convince Kenma to come with me. We’ll have to see how long he can survive off his Switch alone.”

Your bodies both shake with laughter for a few moments before you pull away from each other, and his hands slide onto your shoulders to give them a firm squeeze. Keeping your head lowered for a moment, you drag the sleeves of your hoodie across your eyes to wipe up any stray tears you hadn’t left on his. When your gazes meet, though, the confidence in his almost entirely dissolves the knot that’s been building in your stomach for so long.

“Hey.” He shakes you gently, and you jokingly let your head roll about, eliciting more snickers from both of your mouths before looking at him expectantly and with your full attention. “Don’t let the worst-case scenario hold you back from something that could be great. You’re so quick to think about how likely the worst possible thing is to happen, but why can’t the best be just as likely?”

Playfully, you tease, “Wow, seems like someone’s trying to get me outta here,” with a smirk.

“(F/n),” he sighs, sending a long plume of steam upwards from his mouth. Giving you a firm pat on the arm, he admits, “I’m gonna miss you like hell. But this is what you’ve been wanting for so long, and I want you to do it so badly. Partly so I can say that I have a vacation property abroad, but mostly because you know I want the best for you, since you deserve it.”

Your lip quakes once again at his confession, but you manage to blink back the tears this time and crack a smile. “Okay. But if you’d better not get even the slightest bit sentimental or teary-eyed tomorrow or else I’m gonna cry like a bitch all the way through the airport.”

“Eyes will be dry as long as you promise to video call me the second you land so I can go on the cab ride with you and see the whole, cute apartment reveal thing that’s so trendy these days.”

A mixture of a giggle and a gentle sob leaves your mouth as you watch his figure distorted by your swimming vision rise from the hood of his car. You feel warm hands on your wrists pulling you up onto your feet before you’re ensconced in another tight hug while Kuroo rocks from one foot to the other.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

After giving you a squeeze hard enough to push the air out of your lungs, he releases his grasp around you and opens the door on the passenger’s side so you can climb in and retreat from the coldness of the night. “With all these emotions plus the food, I’m gonna knock out so fast when we get home,” you mumble with a soft sniffle, reaching for the packet of tissues in his glove compartment once he’s settled in the driver’s seat.

He scoffs and furrows his eyebrows at you as he sticks his keys in the ignition. “Who said you were sleeping tonight? You’ve got the whole plane ride tomorrow to do that.”

“Alright, you can’t blame me for being cranky, then.”

With a shake of the head, he shifts the car into reverse so he can back out of the parking lot and start the journey back to his home. While the music you’d been blasting earlier plays softly from the speakers, you rest your head on the door once more to watch your familiar surroundings breeze by outside.

“Tetsurou.” You glance over at him and his head of haphazardly styled hair that you’re sure won’t fit on the screen of your phone the next time you see him, and his eyes meet yours when he brings the car to a halt at a stop sign. “Thanks for spending my so-called last night on the planet with me.”

extra that didn’t make the cut: kuroo didn’t shed a tear at the airport until after he thought you’d left. but you’d actually just hid somewhere and caught him with watery eyes. you still video called him as soon as you landed, though.

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[sadaboutniall]

happy halloween! 👻 here’s a quickie little yn x niall fic to celebrate my fave holiday! this song is the vibe, if you want some listening to go along with.

the moon laughs and whispers, ‘tis near Halloween

Unsurprisingly, Halloween is perfectly at home in Edinburgh. The night is dark and damp, a pervasive chill hanging in the air as you and your friends rush  drunkenly along the cobblestone street, rain hitting the backs of your necks, and  warm, golden lamplight from flats above trickling out onto the dark stone. The city is as alive as it always is—alive in a way that feels like a million different lives, like it somehow knows both the past and the future, like it’s holding you close but also hurtling you forward. It feels like tonight is a special night—and, although you have no real reason to think this Halloween will be different from any other Halloween, you let that feeling in, let it settle into your bones and carry you forward toward the party. 

It had been Fiona’s idea, going to the football squad’s Halloween party. Your other friends had championed a pub crawl or a scary movie night at the flat, but Fiona’d heard about the football party and, knowing the keeper she’s been crushing on would surely be there, insisted. And now you’re here, drunk in a witch costume on a dark October eve, your pointed hat barely keeping the rain off your face, orange and brown leaves crunching under the heel of your boots  as you pick up the pace and run toward the party, giggling into the night.

The football house is packed even fuller than you’d imagined it would be, the air thick with the smell of beer and weed and Fiona, dressed as Posh Spice, spots the keeper just milliseconds after your group ducks into the party, disappearing in a flurry of rhinestones. It leaves just three of you—Fleur, Amina, and yourself—standing in the middle of a heaving party, first years entirely out of their element. 

“Drinks?” Fleur, dressed as a zombie bride, asks. 

“Drinks.” Echoes Amina, the antennas on her alien costume bobbing as she nods her head. 

The three of you clasp hands so as not to lose each other and Fleur leads the way, zig zagging through the crowd of goblins and ghouls and strangely sexual Boris Johnson costumes until she finds the kitchen, a dark, damp little room with one, singular coffin shaped window above the sink and no furniture save for a wooden table in the middle of the room, without a single chair. Atop the table sits a literal cauldron, cast iron and all, with a pink liquid gently swaying inside. 

“Ick,” says Amina, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “Boys.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here for a hundred years,” you say, voice low. Something about the room makes you feel like you’ve travelled a million miles away from the party, just on the other side of the door. You can’t hear a thing in here—just the pitter patter of the rain against the window, and the creaking of the floorboards as Fleur steps forward.

“That’s probably true,” she laughs, peering into the cauldron. “I bet none of these lads can cook. They must order Nando’s every night.”

“Probably,” Amina agrees, stepping forward to peer over Fleur’s shoulder. “At least they went through the effort of making a mixed drink, though. I’m far too bloated for a beer.”

“Aye,” Fleur’s Scottish accent thickens when she’s drunk, but it sounds even thicker all of a sudden. “Commitment to the theme as well.”

“It smells lovely,” says Amina, shutting her eyes as she smiles. “Like roses.”

“Really?” Fleur says, as you step deeper into the kitchen and join them around the cauldron. “I reckon it smells like chocolate.”

You lean forward, too, despite yourself. The scent of the drink is intoxicating—neither roses nor chocolate but, you think, the distinct smell of a chilly day by the sea: salt air and a rising tide and it’s more like a memory than a scent, a moment in time, the most peculiar sense of deja vu. Whatever it is, it’s not the kind of smell that should be coming from a mixed drink at a house party. Whatever it is, you don’t want to step away from it.

The three of you—the witch, the bride, and the alien—stand over the cauldron for a long moment, breathing it in. There is no sound beyond the rain outside, no semblance of the party raging beyond the kitchen door. It’s just the three of you, this cold, quiet room, and the strangely comforting feeling that you are, after all, not alone. 

“Are there any cups?” Amina speaks first, glancing up at you, across the table from her. Her brown eyes are glassy, her gaze faraway. 

“Cups,” you echo, a little floaty, your mind still by the seaside. “Right. Let me find some.”

The room’s only cabinets flank the sink and the single window, one on each side. You find the first cabinet empty except for a shimmery spider web and an old looking candle, but the second holds exactly what you’re looking for: three cocktail glasses, set on the shelf in a pretty row, glinting despite the dingy light. Perfect.

“Bingo!” You say, turning back toward your friends. “And only three left anyw—guys?”

The room is empty. 

The cauldron still sits atop the table, its intoxicating smell strong as ever, but your friends are not where you left them, twenty seconds ago, when you turned toward the cabinets. Your friends are not anywhere in sight. 

“Guys?” You call out again, taking one step forward. “You’re so not funny. I found cups.”

Silence.

“Fleur? Amina?” You step forward again, toward the center of the room, toward the drink. “You want a drink, or no?” 

Still, silence—somehow more silent than before. Even the rain sounds like it’s whispering. 

“This is fucking freaky,” you say, one last shot, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. “You guys win, I’m fully freaked out, Happy Halloween.”

Silence. Stillness. A sudden, oppressive need to get out of this room. 

Quick as a cat, you do. 

-- 

When you step back through the door and out into the party, alone, it’s like you were never gone. In fact, it’s a bit like time has stopped—the party is just as packed as it was when you arrived, and you’re pretty sure the same song is still blasting through the speakers. Confused but ignoring it, you start to push your way through the crowd, in search of your friends.

A few steps deeper into the crowd and you spot a sliding back door. It makes perfect sense to you, the idea of Fleur and Amina slipping out into the backyard for some air, so you head straight for it, stepping out into the chilly, dark night. 

The rain has mostly stopped, though the leafy  ground is still damp beneath your feet and the air feels wet, like it could begin again at any moment. Although it’s dark, you can see well enough—the yard is illuminated by a group of jack o’lanterns lined up along the back brick wall, and fairy lights strung between trees, casting a warm, flickering aura—and it’s immediately clear that Amina and Fleur are not out here. In fact, no one is. 

You turn around to head back inside, pulling your phone out of your pocket as you do. And that’s when you walk right into him. 

“Lads, are you—oof. Deo, you eejit—shit, you’re not, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” 

“I—” you step back to collect yourself for a moment, eyes trailing up the hard chest you just stumbled straight into. It’s just a guy—blonde hair, bright blue eyes, thick Irish accent—but there’s something about him that keeps you rooted to your spot. Something about him that feels safer than going back inside. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He rushes, when you don’t answer. I should’ve been looking, I’m so sorry.” 

“No, no,” you manage. “I’m fine. It was my fault anyway, was looking at my phone. Are you okay? You sounded, like, worried?” You don’t know this man, you have no idea what his worried sounds like. But you can’t stop yourself from saying it. 

“Can’t find my mates anywhere,” the stranger says, eyes sweeping the backyard over your head. “It’s like they fucking vanished.”

“I lost my friends too,” you echo, turning to look with him, though you know you’ll only find an empty yard. “I thought they might be out here, but nothing.”

“Two lost souls,” says the stranger, a smile in his voice. When you turn back around he’s pulling at his phone, saying, “I’m just going to text them and tell them I’m out here. They can come find me.”

“I was about to do the same,” you tell him, glancing down at your phone in your hands to shoot off the text. “There are way too many people in there.” 

“Wanna wait it out together?” He looks up from his phone, a smile on his face. It brings out one tiny dimple, and sets your heart moving a little faster. “I’m Niall.” 

“I’m a witch,” you smile back at him and he laughs, blue eyes trailing down your body once. It sends a jolt of something through you, makes you hope the flush creeping up your face isn’t visible in the flickering light. 

“Have you got any powers?” Asks Niall, his eyes moving back up to meet yours. The blue is stunningly bright, even in the darkness. 

“That’s for me to know,” you say, more smoothly than you ever imagined. “And you to find out. What’s your costume?”

“You can’t tell?” He glances down at himself, dressed in double denim with an American flag bandana tied around his neck. “Bruce Springsteen.”

“Right,” you nod, though it wasn’t obvious to you at all. “Course. You need to work on that accent, though.” 

“Do I?” He raises an eyebrow, and adopts a surprisingly good—if over exaggerated—New Jersey accent. “I’m pretty proud of it, honestly. Been convincing people that it’s real all night.”

It’s not all that difficult for you to believe, actually, a bunch of drunk Brits buying into a fake, over the top, American accent without a single question. Instead, you ask him, “is there a tragic backstory, then? To go along with the tragic attempt at an accent?”

Niall laughs, bold and loud into the dark night, and suddenly you realize how entirely unafraid you feel with him—how you’d been on edge since the moment you stepped into the party but now that’s gone, evaporated, replaced, with a warm feeling in your belly and Niall’s infectious laughter. You bring your drink up to your lips and take a sip before you realize yet another thing: you have no memory of filling up your cup before leaving the kitchen. 

Across from you, Niall’s clutching what looks like a pint of Guinness, which is a drink that makes very little sense at a house party. The more you think about it, the less of the night makes sense. You shake your head to push it away, not quite ready to give this up just yet. 

Under the golden, flickering light from the jack o'lanterns,  you study Niall: the way his freckles sprinkle across his thick neck, how his roots are so much darker than the blonde at his tips, the tuft of chest hair peeking out from where his denim shirt is unbuttoned—everything about him leaves you breathless, desperate, longing, attracted to him in a way you’ve never experienced before. You feel, distinctly, that you are both supposed to be here, tonight, alone, together. 

You feel, distinctly, that something went out if its way to make sure this would happen. 

And maybe it’s the drink—the mysterious thing that smells like sea salt to you and roses to Amina—but here, with the wind rising around you and the night settling in, you have the distinct feeling that Niall is on the exact same page. 

“I have the strangest feeling,” Niall says, voice dropping to something like a whisper. Behind him, leaves rustle as the wind blows a strong, measured gust though the garden. “We haven’t met before, have we?”

“I don’t think so,” you can’t look anywhere other than Niall’s eyes. “But I know what you mean.”

Niall nods, taking one step forward to lessen the gap between you. He’s so close you can smell him: warm and musky and soft and something else, too—something that reminds you of salt air and days by the sea. “I just feel like,” he says, and you nod. 

“Me too.”

Far, far away someone calls your name, but you can’t stop looking at Niall, stepping closer and closer to him with every distant shout of your name. The shouting grows louder and louder until it’s impossible to ignore, although Niall doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. You open your mouth to ask him if he can hear it too, but before you get the chance something shakes your shoulder, calls your name one more time, and you open your eyes. 

“Jesus,” says Amina, a mixture of relief and concern clouding her features. “You are impossible to wake up.”

“I’m—what?” You sit up in bed, head foggy, limbs heavy. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“Noon,” Amina pulls out her phone to check. “We’re gonna be late for our brunch reservations, that’s why I came to wake you up.”

“Oh,” you rub your eyes, shaking your head to try to bring yourself back down to Earth. “I was having such a vivid dream, sorry.”

“It’s cool, just hurry up.” Amina makes her way to your bedroom door, but pauses before she steps back out into the hallway. “Oh, by the way, Fiona said there’s a Halloween party at the football house tonight and she’s fucking desperate to go since she fancies the keeper. Could be fun, no?” 

-- 

On Halloween night, dressed as a witch, you stand in the backyard of the football house with your friends. The yard is illuminated by jack o’lanterns and fairy lights and Fiona is off snogging the keeper upstairs and you feel warm and safe and happy, despite the autumnal chill in the air. As Fleur tells your small group a story about the weird couple sitting across from you at brunch today, you drop your head back to stare up at the night sky, sprinkled with stars, and the full moon peeking out over the clouds. It feels like you are supposed to be here tonight. You exhale, watching your breath fog with the cold and curl in the air above you. 

“I’m going to refill my drink,” you say, smiling at the small group you’ve been standing with. You can feel something budding between Fleur and the pretty girl she’s been chatting to, dressed as Britney Spears, and you want to give them a moment alone. Fleur flashes you a grateful smile as you walk away.

Back inside, you locate the entirely normal kitchen, bright and airy and crowded, with a coffin-shaped window above the sink, and pull open the fridge to grab a beer from the stock inside. When you shut the door, there’s someone standing on the other side. 

He’s dressed as Bruce Springsteen, double denim and an American flag bandana around his neck. He’s blonde hair with dark roots, and bright blue eyes. He’s staring right at you, with an unmistakable look of recognition on his face. 

“Hi,” he says, stepping forward to lessen the gap between you and him. He smells warm and musky and safe—with a whiff of something like salt air.  “Sorry if this is a bit weird, but I’m Niall. Have we—have we met before?”

####

sources for images: 1, 2, 3

[fan-girling-101]

Pogue Winter

Pogues x Reader x Kooks, Rafe x Reader

Summary: After almost dying on Halloween Y/N stays with Rafe. Until he surprises her with a too expensive gift.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Rafe being a sweetheart, My sucky writing, I think that’s it

Thank you @thisismynerdyself​ who let me use her story which was part one. This is part two there’s going to be a part three and maybe four. Please go check her out and read the original. And thank you for letting me use it. This is all my writing, also if you read the first then second chapter the writing style is completely different.

Part one here

Original part one here

Her Tumblr

Imagine he’s dressed up not sweety in awe of how you look

The next few days I’ve been quiet, not talking to many people, mostly just Rafe, I haven’t even answered JJ. I mostly stayed in Rafe’s room reading or watching any movie on disney plus. Rafe got some clothes from Sarah for me to wear, Ward and Rose had no idea someone else was in their house. I guess that would happen if you never pay attention to your son.

“Hey Pumpkin.” Rafe called making me look up from Harry Potter: Prisoner of Azkaban book in my lap. “I wanted to go golfing with Topper and Kelce, but I don’t want to leave you alone, so do you want to come?”

“Do I want to come watch the most boring sport, if it can even be called that, in the world?” I looked out the window thinking for a moment before answering with a sure.

“Ok it’s not boring.” I rolled my eyes walking over to Rafe. “You keep telling yourself that.” I pat his shoulder walking around him to grab some clothes to change into.

“It’s not!”

♛

We’ve been at the golf course for what feels like an eternity, but probably only an hour or less. The boys are golfing while I sit in the golf cart, tempted to drive away and go anywhere but here, reading my Harry Potter book. The sun makes it almost too hot to bear, It’s November for God sakes stop being so hot.

“Come, I’m gonna teach you how to golf.” Rafe grabs my hand pulling me up and over to the golf tee. Handing me a golf club, I stand there not making a move to actually golf. “How hard can it be to hit a ball with a club?” I ask, laughing and going to walk back to my book.

“Pretty hard Y/N,” Topper said, hitting a ball himself that went super far. I roll my eyes hitting the ball Rafe so kindly set up for me. The ball ended up going further than Topper’s so I smirked at him and walked away. “Beginners luck.” He muttered.

♛

 Over the next few weeks Rafe has been taking my golfing with him just the two of us. He says I could be amazing if I tried. I rolled my eyes everytime but went along anyway. By now I couldn’t really remember why we ever hated each other. Well I mean I know he was always kinda mean to friends, who I haven’t spoken to in a long time, but I can’t remember one time he said something mean to me. Ever.

It was now Christmas time, I was still living in secret with Rafe and if you’re wondering where my parents are. Right when I turned 16 I got emancipated. Their idea, not mine, not that I wanted to stick around with them. So back to Christmas, Christmas in the Outerbanks means the annual Winter Ball.

“So Y/N/N what are you doing December 18th.” Rafe asks me, coming to lie on his bed with me. His smile told me he was planning something, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to be a part of it. “Come on Pumpkin, it's not a hard question. 18th are you or are you not doing anything.”

“Well…. Let me check my schedule.” I pretend to pull out my phone. “Hmm.. well the 18th that's a Monday meaning, one o'clock, wallow in self pity. Four thirty, stare into the abyss. Five o'clock, solve world hunger; tell no one. Five thirty, jazz-ercise. Six thirty, dinner with me. I can't cancel that again! Seven o'clock, wrestle with my self-loathing… I'm booked! Well if I bump the loathing to nine I could still be done in time To lay in bed and stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness…”

“So you’re free. Good.” I shake my head at him letting him continue anyways. “December 18th is actually a Friday, also the day of the Winter Ball. So Y/N L/N will you come to the winter masquerade ball my me?”

“Rafe-”

“That doesn't sound promising.” He pouts looking at me sadly trying to get me to guilt me into coming.

“You didn’t let me finish. Why would you want to bring me? I don’t know if you’re aware but I’m a pogue, your sworn enemy. And being a pogue means I have no money, no money means no dress, no dress means no Y/N at Winter Ball. It’s really just logic.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to bring the most gorgeous girl in the universe to the winter ball.”  A blush found its way to my cheeks, making me look down. “Also I already planned for you to come so…” He gets up leaving the room for a second and when he comes back he has a sparkling red dress. I was beautiful.

“Rafe-” I gasp looking at the beautiful dress. “I-I can’t take that. That probably cost you a fortune, Rafe I could never repay you for it. I mean when did you even. That cost more than my whole house and things combined.

“Y/N I don’t need to be repaid. Take it. At least try it on please.” He hands me the dress leaving the room. I reluctantly put the dress on facing the mirror looking at how the dress flowed. I couldn't help but smile. A soft knock on the door of Rafe asking if he can come in.

“If you’re making me do this I don’t want you to see me on the dress until the ball.” I heard the groan from outside the door.

“Fine but I have your shoes, mask, necklace and earrings.”

Full outfit

“Rafe! I’m gonna owe you for the rest of my life and more.”

“I don’t want anything, just take them please.” I open the door just enough to grab the stuff quickly putting it all on. “Sarah helped me find everything one night while you were asleep, the shoes took the longest, or I would have asked you sooner instead of a week's notice. Does everything fit, I was scared it would be too big, or small. Or you would hate the color. Or the style of it. It took me almost three nights to find that one, it had the prefect and I needed Sarah and Wezzie to say it looked good and you would like it.”

“Rafe shut up I love it ok. It fits perfectly, the shoes are my size, I love the color,and the style is beautiful. Stop panicking ok.” I open the door dressed back in my Christmas pajama pants and Rafe’s old football jersey. “Come on, ice cream my treat. And I’m driving your truck.”

The whole way there Rafe was acting like a scared mom in the car with their child. Telling me to slow down. I was an amazing driver, he was just paranoid. Sure I was a little reckless but I’m also too good to ever get in a crash.

We go through the drive thru Rafe ordering a plan oreo, while I got a candy cane ice cream because Chritmas time is here bitches! As I pull up pay I grab my cash going to give it to Matt a tenth grade that I go to school with. Out of nowhere Rafe reaches over to hand Matt his own money.

“Rafe!”

“I can't let you pay what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you pay.”

“The kind that already bought me a dress, shoes, and jewelry.”

♛

Soon enough the 18th came, Sarah, Weezie, Rose and I were all getting ready in Sarah’s room. Rose was so excited when she heard Rafe was bringing someone, never once had Rafe brought someone to a kook event. When she found out it was me I saw the fake smile with clenched teeth. 

Sarah had me sit down on her vanity chair to do my makeup. I told her to do whatever would look nice with my dress. When she finished she started my hair curling my hair and braiding some small red flowers into my hair to match my dress and give me a pogue type look with the random small braids. Rose did everything for Weezie and after the two of us sat on Sarah’s bed playing a card game while Rose and Sarah got themselves ready.

Sarah’s Outfit

Weezie’s Outfit

I knew Kie was coming of course with her parents, Pope was coming to help his dad and John B was Sarah’s date. But I had no idea if JJ was going, usually the two of us would sit around drinking and smoking while the others were at the fancy parties, or on a rare occasion we’d crash the party, while being drunk and high. I haven’t spoken to any of them in a long time. I felt bad, really bad. I mean JJ was my best friend, basically a brother to me. 

We all had our dresses and me, Sarah and Weezie started taking instagram pictures all dressed up. I say I was nervous was an understatement. I mean I was going to a kook party dressed as one of them. I was going with Rafe fucking Cameron, the kookist of all kooks. 

Weezie and Rose left when Ward called us down. I started fiddling with my freshly painted nails. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Sarah. “Don’t be so nervous, if you get bored of my brother and his boring friends me and Weezie will come and save you. We have a secret place we go to.” She gives me a reassuring smile giving me a small hug.

“You go down, I'll be there in a sec. I have to mentally prepare for this.” She laughs leaving the room and heading down with everyone else. I pace the room a little before heading down myself.

Rafe’s POV

We all stand in the front room waiting for Y/N. I hear heels clicking on the stairs as someone walks down. I eagerly look at the stairs waiting for the girl that’s been living with me for over a month. The one who I always thought was beautiful. The one who deserves the world and more. The one I think I fell in love with. When the person came into view the excitement fell from my face seeing Sarah instead of Y/N.

“Sorry to disappoint.” She laughs going to stand with Weezie whispering things in her ear. “This is why you don’t bring someone like her.” My dad sighed clearly, not happy with having to wait.

“What do you mean ‘someone like her’?” I ask him. “Someone who’s never been to anything important in their life. We’re going to be late. Next time invite someone with some social class. If this was some way to piss me off congratulations Rafe you’ve done it.”

I would have yelled at him, I would have told him to shut up. But I head the soft click of heels on marble. This time I knew it was Y/N. I completely forgot about what was said about her. I couldn’t wait to see her all dressed up. The only time I’ve seen her in a dress was when she’d crash our formal parties. It was always the same one, a peach sundress.

When I saw her in front of me I had no words, everything else suddenly didn’t matter. I didn’t hear when everyone else went to the car. All I could see was Y/N, she looked like a goddess. No one was more perfect. Her Y/H/C hair was lightly curled with flowers braided into it. To be fair Y/N would look perfect in anything, and nothing.

I lied before, I don’t think I’m in love with her…

I am in love with her.

[exhaustedfander]

Dance like no one’s watching (even if they are)

a03 link

word count: 2,360

It isn’t uncommon for Virgil to wake before Remus does. Granted, he usually goes to bed far later than he should, and who is he to say no to sleeping in late on the weekends? But Remus sleeps like a rock. It’d take a marching band to raise him from his slumber – or Virgil hitting him with a pillow over and over again, begging him to wake up because, “God damn it, Rem, we’ve got somewhere to be!”

Virgil’s a light sleeper; always has been. He figures it has a lot to do with the fact that he’s basically anxiety and self-doubt stacked together in a trench coat pretending to be a person, but yeah, it doesn’t take much to wake him. The creaking of a door, the sound of birds chirping outside, Remus snoring. He always claims he doesn’t, and honestly, Virgil is considering recording it to prove that, yes, he absolutely does snore, and it’s insufferable. Well. Maybe not insufferable, just… annoying, sometimes.

Remus isn’t snoring now, though. He’s fast asleep, his hair frazzled, and drool stuck to his pillow which is way more adorable than it ought to be. Virgil doesn’t know what woke him, but it wasn’t his boyfriend this time. He glances at the clock and groans sleepily. It’s still early in the morning, and a Saturday, too. He’d like to shut his eyes, throw his arms around Remus and get a few more hours of sleep, but he knows himself well enough to understand it’s just not gonna happen.

Still, he lies there for a few minutes, relishing in the quiet and comfort of the thick duvet and Remus beside him, his own personal space heater. Remus runs hot, and Virgil’s always a little cold, so they balance each other out. It’s weird. They shouldn’t, or at least, it doesn’t seem like they should.

Virgil thinks back to when they first knew each other. Having been friends with Roman for quite a while, he’d thought it odd that Roman had never formally introduced his brother. Upon actually meeting Remus, however, Virgil’s confusion quickly dispersed.

Remus is loud, bold, energetic to an erratic point, and he says absolutely everything that comes to mind the moment the thought occurs to him. “Hey, emo, what do you think it’d look like if I just exploded right now! Just my blood and guts smeared all over the walls! Wouldn’t that be awesome?!”

Needless to say, Virgil’s not initially a fan. Remus is a lot to handle, and honestly, Virgil’s a little scared of him at first. It isn’t as though he thinks that Remus is going to hurt him, he’s just… weird. And crude, and a lot to handle. He’s impulsive and brash, and a kind of person that Virgil’s never known. He decides that he doesn’t like him and that he’ll avoid him as much as he’s able.

Except, that isn’t really possible. Despite the fact that Remus and Roman’s relationship is strained, to say the least, they still spend some amount of time together, and Remus is occasionally invited (or invites himself) to events. The point is, Virgil sees him around, more and more. And somewhere along the way he somehow becomes tolerable.

Virgil doesn’t know what changes, but one day, at a party Remus plops himself down next to him, crowding his personal space, and he lets him stay. That’s when he first realizes how warm he is, how strangely comfortable Remus’s presence can be. It might be the alcohol, Virgil thinks to himself that night, that’s why Remus leaning on him, giggling and making inappropriate jokes makes him feel so stupidly nice.

Virgil blames the liquor when he kisses Remus, too. He still can’t fully remember what spurred it; he just knows Remus looked so pretty, his grey-streaked hair falling in his eyes, coming out of its bun, and Virgil leaned forward and kissed him. It’s harder to blame anything other than a more complicated desire when he finds himself in Remus’s bed, their limbs a tangled mess.

It’s startling, that morning, waking up and seeing Remus asleep beside him for the first time and thinking about how beautiful he looks. Remus and Roman are identical twins, and he’s certainly never thought about his friend that way. That isn’t to say he hasn’t noticed that Roman is handsome, because, c’mon, he has eyes. But this is different. The way he looks at Remus is different and – oh shit – trashy men with ratty mustaches and a terrible fashion sense are his type, aren’t they?

He doesn’t know when he went from being afraid of him to tolerating his presence, to finding him heart-wrenchingly beautiful, but the shift has happened regardless. When did Remus’s jokes go from unnerving to kind of fucking funny? He can’t say. At first, not sure if it’s going to last. They’re so different, or at least, that’s how things appear.

But with time, Virgil learns that isn’t necessarily the case. Yes, Remus is far louder and more abrasive than he is, but there are more commonalities between them then he might’ve thought. Remus is a Halloween freak, too, which is nice because none of Virgil’s friends like the holiday quite as much as he does. Remus adores horror movies, the gorier the better, and his shoulder makes the perfect spot to hide his face when things get too scary. Remus likes a lot of the same music (although his taste can be a tad crude sometimes, to say the least), and it’s nice, not having to worry that his playlist is to “emo.”

A lot of things are nice with Remus, Virgil comes to realize. Waking up beside him, singing along to music way too loudly, being picked up by him because good lord is he strong. It’s all just really… domestic, which isn’t something Virgil had ever seen for himself. So, yeah, they don’t make a lot of sense, at least not at first glance. But somehow, they just work, and that’s enough for Virgil. It’s more than enough.

Virgil turns over in bed, his right hand finding its way into Remus’s frazzled hair. His boyfriend’s mustache curls slightly upwards when his lip twitches upward into a smile, but he doesn’t wake, just arches closer to Virgil. Virgil smiles at this, stroking through his long hair.

His eyes glance to the cardboard moving boxes that litter the bedroom floor. God, he’s really got to start unpacking soon. He just moved into Remus’s apartment – their apartment now, he supposes – a week ago, and he’s been getting used to living with another person. Virgil had never let himself imagine such things, lying in bed with his boyfriend on a Saturday, having boxes to unpack because he moved in. It’s a lot to process, sometimes. It’s not bad, just kind of… intense. And mushy, gushy, and full of all the emotions he never expected to feel.

Virgil presses a kiss to the crown of Remus’s head, relishing in the smile that spreads over his sleeping face, before swinging his legs over the bed and heading into the kitchen.

Virgil groans at the sight of the dishes piled high in the sink. It’s his own damn fault; it was his turn to do the dishes (Christ, he never thought about the painfully mundane issues of a relationship like dish duty, or who takes out the garbage, or any of that). It’s… weird, not living alone anymore. He’d been so used to it for so long and, now here he is, existing in the same space as the man that he loves. He must be spending too much time with Roman because he’s turning into such a sap.

Being a sap aside, Virgil really should get these done while Remus is still asleep. That isn’t to say that Remus is some kind of a clean freak, because he really isn’t. It’d just be good to get the choir out of the way.

Virgil turns on his portable speaker, scrolling through his phone for the best music to play because turning music on while doing mundane tasks always gives him a little much-needed energy (which he generally has very little to speak for). He settles for MCR, “Teenagers” blaring as begins to scrub away last night’s pasta-sauce covered plates.

And okay, yeah, the music is probably cranked up too loud. Yeah, Virgil’s mouthing along to the words, singing some of them, and he really should just shut up and do the dishes considering his boyfriend is asleep in the other room. But Remus is such a heavy sleeper, and he’s never woken him up in the past playing music in another room, so why should he now?

Virgil’s absolutely positive that Remus is still dead asleep as he begins to move to the music, his voice gaining in volume as he sings along, unabashedly. It’s unlike him; Virgil’s always so riddled with self-consciousness. But social anxiety isn’t much of a factor alone in the kitchen doing the dishes, so he doesn’t focus on how ridiculous he must look, getting lost in the music and dancing like an idiot.

“Nice moves, hot stuff.”

Virgil shrieks, the sponge in his hand hitting the ground with an unceremonious splat.

“Sweet Frank Iero – Remus! You- you scared the shit out of me!”

There stands Remus, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen and beginning to cackle. Virgil feels a flush climb up from his necks all the way to his ears as he bends down to retrieve the sponge, and then to pause the music. Remus has the decency to wear boxers, considering how adamant he is about sleeping in the buff. He’d probably walk around nude most of the time if Virgil didn’t beg him not to. “We have neighbors!” “We live on the third floor.” “Well – still! You are not walking around our apartment with your dick hanging out.” “Aw, you’re no fun!”

 “Sorry for spooking you, scare-bear,” Remus says, though he doesn’t sound all that genuinely apologetic, especially not with that shit-eating-grin. “You know –.” “Stop. Whatever you’re going to say just – just don’t. I’m already about to die from embarrassment, don’t make it worse.” Virgil can feel his blush go from pink to crimson as Remus walks further into the room, his smile going impossibly wider.

“I don’t know what you mean, Virgey,” Remus croons, his hands finding their way to Virgil’s waist, chin perched on his shoulder. Virgil tries to keep his eyes trained on the dishes in the sink, the sponge trembling slightly in his hand, but Remus certainly isn’t making focusing easy.

“Yes, you fucking do.”

“I, for one, think you’re adorable.” Virgil’s cheeks, somehow, go redder.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Virgil groans, setting the sponge in the sink and shoving Remus off of him so he can turn around to face him. He’s still got that wicked smile; the bastard.

“Remus…”

“Virgil.”

“I’m… geez, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Virgil asks the realization that he might’ve been the cause of Remus waking catching up despite the embarrassment. Remus quickly shakes his head, his hair flopping in his face.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’, “Course you didn’t. Have you ever?”

“Only when I’m really trying to, I guess,” Virgil says after thinking about it for a moment.

“I just woke up at the exact perfect time and didn’t want to make my presence noticed at first.”

“Creep,” Virgil says, but he’s throwing his arms around Remus and pulling him close all the same.

Remus accepts the embrace happily, pressing Virgil into his chest and kissing the top of his head. Remus gives the best hugs. The height difference was something he was initially a bit self-conscious about; but really, what doesn’t make him self-conscious? Quickly, though, he learned to love embraces from his boyfriend. Remus stands a head-and-a-half taller, and swallows Virgil up in his arms every time they hug. Remus hugs with everything he has, tight and protective. Virgil forgets that he was ever afraid of him in these moments, safe and secure in his arms.

“And what of it?” Remus says with a laugh, letting go of Virgil so he’s able to bend down and kiss him thoroughly. Virgil’s hands settle around his neck, a good portion of his embarrassment leaving.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Remus croons, kissing Virgil on the cheek before pulling away, “You want some breakfast, dance machine?” And there comes the embarrassment, roaring back to life.

“I swear if you’re going to keep teasing me –.”

“Oh, c’mon! Cut me some slack, babe. You’re cute as all hell!”

“Remmmm.”

“Do you want breakfast or not? Bacon, eggs?” Remus asks, trying to distract from his teasing. Virgil sighs.

“That depends: are you going to burn the bacon on purpose like last time?” Remus is silent, his smile devious. “Remus, I swear, if you do, I will go and get McDonald's and I will not share.”

“Ugh, fine,” Remus pouts dramatically, as if burning bacon just for the fun of it (although it can be quite fun to watch it curl up and turn all chalky and black) sounds any better than having breakfast with his boyfriend. “But only because I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too.”

Remus puts the bacon on the skillet, cracking the eggs in a pan and watching Virgil with amusement as he turns the speaker back on, MCR playing once more. Virgil can’t help but laugh as Remus begins to break into dance moves in front of the stove, wiggling his hips and singing along as he flips the eggs.

Eventually, Virgil can’t help but join in. Remus’s just like that; an infectious personality, to say the least. But Virgil’s glad for it. Really, really glad. Joining Remus in dancing to My Chemical Romance in their kitchen on a Saturday morning suddenly feels so natural. Remus makes it natural.

He doesn’t entirely know if he’ll ever be used to it, and he knows he’ll always be at least a little embarrassed about things like this. But it’s nice, and that’s something Virgil can settle into just fine.

=+=

General Taglist:

@nadiestar

@unoriginalgayboyalex 

@bella-in-a-bag

@igonnatalknothing

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[honeyzen]

domesticated - k.d

genre: smut, petplay 

words: 4.4k 

warnings: kitten!play, dom doyoung, choking, unprotected sex (use protection!)

The sky outside darkened a midnight blue as you sat quietly on the couch, watching shapes and colours contort on the television. Your mouth widened in a yawn as shuffling footsteps wandered over from the kitchen, they gently pattered until your boyfriend Doyoung appeared from behind a wall. His eyes darted around the room as he set a bowl of popcorn on the table, fingers curling around a piece before he lumped down beside you. His tall frame slumped on the sofa, arm nearest to you stretching around, giving you the room the snake around his torso. Cosying into Doyoung you felt his fingers bury into your waist, his other hand reaching over and grabbing the remote. You felt the rumble of a pondering sigh, Doyoung beginning to flick through the channels as he always did. He was indecisive, easily bored and on nights like this, where neither had work the next day or a reason to protest, you knew how it would end.

Even the night you met he was like this.

In college, you had found it difficult to bond with anyone. Parties were too loud, being alone in your dorm was too quiet, balancing the two was near impossible. Especially when you hadn’t had much experience with people or being away from home in the first place. In the end, you relied heavily on your roommate to take you out and show you the way of the world. And she tried her hardest, it’s just that not much of it interested you though you did try your best.

After another night sat in the quietest room of a frat party, you began to feel despondent to the entire college experience altogether. You flicked through the books in the bedroom you’d barricaded yourself in, sighing when a porno magazine fell from between two classic novels. You bent over to pick it up, skirt riding high although it didn’t seem to matter alone in the room. As your fingers grabbed the corner as to avoid any residue that may linger between pages, you heard the oak door behind you open wide. A panic washed over you, heat rising to your cheeks as you half expected to spin around and find a drunken couple wanting to consummate. Instead, as you turned, while holding the magazine behind your back cautiously, you saw a sober looking man stood in the doorframe.

The blush hanging over your cheeks only intensified. His stature was large, shoulders broad in his blue, baggy jumper. Eyes big and brown, dark hair falling into his eyes as his slender fingers came up to brush it away. You stood speechless as his bottom lip became hooked beneath his teeth, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he stepped into the room. Your chest felt thick with embarrassment. You kept the magazine pressed tightly to your back, stepping back and the man stepped forward.

‘Sorry, I thought this room was free.’ You said quietly.

‘Uh, no, no, it’s fine honestly, I just um, usually keep my bedroom off limits while there’s parties. I like it, clean, don’t want people you know, in my bed.’ The man whispered, and despite the loud music, you could hear his every low toned word perfectly.

‘Understandable. I’m really sorry, I just kinda wanted to get out the way of everyone,’ you chuckled nervously, ‘I don’t really like parties that much.’

‘Like I said, it’s fine.’ The man smiled wide, exposing a gummy grin that only made you blush further. ‘I’m Doyoung by the way.’ He finished, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

Instinctively, you lurched forward. The magazine slipping out of your grip for just a moment, but long enough for it to drop to the ground. It splayed open on the carpet, thudding wide to the centre fold. Your chest tightened; stomach burned. You couldn’t bare to look back at what Doyoung was seeing.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You apologized quickly.

‘Where was that?’

‘Um, on the bookshelf, between Dracula and Wuthering Heights. It kinda just fell out, I, um, wanted to read.’ You laughed at how ridiculous you sounded.

‘Oh, right.’ Doyoung managed somehow to look more worried than you, his fingers scratching at his head. As his arm raised up, so did his jumper, revealing the soft toned torso beneath. You felt yourself tighten.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I should let you get to bed or,’ you mumbled as quickly as you could, wishing to vanish from the building altogether. You spun on your heels once again, bending down to pick up the magazine and return it to its owner. However, when you did, you actually saw what was sprawled across the pages.

A woman was sat on a red, leather sofa in a pristine lingerie, her privates covered though the sheerness left nothing to the imagination. Her arms were twisted behind her back, threaded together perfectly with thick, crimson rope. Her legs were wide open on the sofa, still covered in the same beautiful rope but this time only for aesthetic purposes. The expression on her face was that of pleasure, eyes closed, mouth wide kind of pleasure. Her makeup and hair was immaculate, untouched. It was a beautiful image, the kind that could have gotten away with being in an art gallery.

Confusion waved over you. The expectation of seeing unrealistic, graphic depictions of two women or a woman and a man had been dashed. There was only a soft, artistic image that left you with no words, only a deep yearning that maybe one day, you could be that woman. Clearly desired, clearly within someone’s control but beautiful and immaculate all the same.

Doyoung let out a withering sigh as you lifted the magazine and turned to face him. He stepped closer, fighting back the urge to rip the magazine from your grasp and throw it underneath his bed. Doyoung waited for you to wrinkle your face in disgust, to snicker at the image but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, you began to flick through the images. Turning your head to see all the sideward pages, tracing your fingers over the threads of rope that where consistent throughout the entire magazine. You pondered at it as though it were an art magazine, you seemed to appreciate it as one. Doyoung was gobsmacked.

After a few moments, you closed the magazine, handing it over to Doyoung. He gently took it from you, his fingers dancing over yours for a moment before the heat of his digits disappeared.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You said without thinking.

‘What?’

‘Um, it’s beautiful.’ You repeated.

‘Yeah, yeah, it is.’ Doyoung concurred nervously, staring at your features as they twisted in thought.

‘Do people actually do that? Or is it just for the pictures?’

‘You mean the, the rope?’ Doyoung asked politely as you merely nodding back shyly, your lip between your teeth.

‘I think I’d like to try it.’ You admitted, looking up at Doyoung to find his eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. ‘With you, please.’ You finished, not quite understanding what you’d asked for, but knowing in your gut that it felt right.

Nearly two years later and you were still trying out so many different, new things with Doyoung. When you met, you were both shy. Wrapped up in desires both of you thought no one but you had, but meeting each other, it gave you both the outlet you desperately needed. You often looked for things to try, often on nights like this when you both had time to kill. Whether it was between the pages of magazines or online, you found that both you and Doyoung had an endless stream of erotic things you wanted to try.

A ritual you’d created early into your relationship was looking at the trending page of a porn site, rooting around for something you hadn’t already done a thousand times and trying it. No pre-judgements, no reservations, just trying something to see the outcome. There were times when you or Doyoung decided the thing was not for you but often enough, both of you found that whatever you did, as long as it was with each other, it was perfect. This ritual however meant that things often got a little taboo which didn’t bother either of you but there was a certain stigma to some things and sometimes that did give you reservations. Out of an ingrained habit that was built into all people, when you saw something strange, it took a lot to try it. But with Doyoung, you never felt uncomfortable.

Doyoung sighed from beside you signally that he could find nothing to watch and so, the ritual begun.

You peered up at him, eyes big and doe. Doyoung waited for a moment before looking down and smiling warmly. ‘You wanna choose something tonight?’

Your mouth lifted to smile back at him, nodding happily, hands almost snatching the remote from your boyfriend. He chuckled. Usually you both picked, though really, you’d go along with whatever Doyoung wanted. Letting you choose without protesting was a special occasion and it made you light up like nothing else. You opened up the website on the television, still shy about looking at such lewd things in front of someone else on a large scale. The screen became sodden with erotic video links and dirty advertisements, all clearly made by men who knew nothing about women. You tutted to yourself, flicking down through the pages and pages until something towards the bottom left caught your eye.

‘Naughty kitten punished.’

With eyebrows knotted you turned to Doyoung. ‘Is this really a thing? Dressing up like a cat, I mean, I know I’ve done it for Halloween but for, fucking?’

‘Of course, it is. If you can think of it, there’s probably porn made of it.’ He retorted with a smirk wiped across his lips.

‘I don’t like that sentiment.’

‘So, that’s a no?’ Doyoung peered, careening his head to stare his umber orbs into yours. His grip around your side tightened a little, allowing you to feel the warmth emanating from beneath his black t-shirt. From habit, you closed your eyes, enjoying the small circles he drew into your hip.

‘Well?’

‘I, I mean, it’s weird, right? Dressing up like an animal?’ You said sceptically.

‘Obviously, but it’s not out of the league of what we’ve done before.’ Doyoung added.

‘I guess.’

‘It’s your call, princess.’

‘Uh, I mean, I have the costume… maybe it’d be nice to get some use out of it?’ You felt yourself defending your ideas, ideas that you knew deep down Doyoung would never judge. And yet, the shame of desire was so engrained in you, that you could not help it.

‘Let’s go get you dressed then.’ Doyoung smiled, standing from the couch, his stature above you like a skyscraper. You fought back the urge to reach out for his jean button right then and instead smiled to yourself with sparks alight in your mind.

‘Maybe I should go alone, if you come, we’ll never get back out the bedroom.’ You taunted standing up beside Doyoung. His smile lowered as yours grew ten-fold. You found your hands resting on Doyoung’s wide shoulders, pushing him back slightly until he sat back against the sofa. His legs widened, back slumping, as though inviting you to sit atop him, instead, you began walking to the bedroom, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

After sulking into the bedroom, you shared with your boyfriend, you began the hunt for the outfit you’d worn once and long forgotten. While it was true that Doyoung accompanying you would’ve lead to something before you’d be able to grasp the costume, you also needed to root through your messy wardrobe for it. Which was, undoubtably, a mood killer. Through grumbles and profanities, your hands dived through piles of clothes, each pile loosely organised by occasion. Dating Doyoung meant that the fancy dress pile was rather large and took some time to sift through. Until, almost at the bottom of the pile, two clip on ears poked out. As you grasped them, the soft fur tickled your palm, their deep brown nearly matching Doyoung’s eyes. Beneath the ears was a pink, leather collar that Doyoung had gifted you separate from the costume and to match, you pulled a set of pink, lacy lingerie from another messy pile.

You tugged down your sweatpants and removed the hoodie you’d stolen from Doyoung earlier in the day and pulled the pink lace over your head. The soft material felt like warm honey on your skin, and perfectly covered your body enough that you felt like the woman in that magazine. After slithering the undies up your bare legs, you grappled the ears once more. With fur between your fingers, you attached them high on your head, staring in the mirror at how sweet the clips looked. You smiled strangely excited for what you had been a little weirded out at first.

Staring down at your collar, a thought came to you, bringing warmth to your loin. You wandered over to a set of draws by the bed, heaved open the bottom section and pulled out a chain leash, the metal clasps jingling as you did so. Your smile grew as you flattened your hair and prepared yourself.

Timidly, you tiptoed back into the living room, head low as you approached where Doyoung still sat. With open palms, you knelt before your boyfriend, raising the items that sat atop your hands. After a few moments of silence, you peered up gently, looking over his face for any kind of emotion.

‘Look down.’ He muttered sullenly.

You followed his order immediately, keeping your palms up but eyes toward the hardwood floor. After another moment, the weight of the chain and collar disappeared and Doyoung’s feet came into your view and moved behind you. Though a cautious wave of anxiety rolled through your stomach, you still remained staring at the floor in silence. A sigh passed through your lips as cold fingers brushed your hair aside and cool leather pressed against your throat. Doyoung’s cold digits appeared again as he buckled up the collar and latched on the chain leash to hold you in place.

His hand remained low of the chain, gripping it so tight that it choked you slightly but still, you stared at the ground, motionless. A low snicker came from behind you, making your stomach swirl and tighten as moisture moved toward your heat. It was torture not to turn and look at him but following his orders was more important. You waited for what felt like forever until a palm mellowed over the top of your head, soothing over your hair, and following over the ears. Doyoung’s frame moved around you, allowing for you to see his lower legs once more and just knowing he was there, that he was the one touching you made it harder not to look up.

‘Look up at me baby.’ Doyoung finally said.

Your head snapped up immediately, big eyes staring desperately toward Doyoung and the grin smeared across his face. The confidence clearing instilled in him was terrifying and so, so arousing. You mewled, Doyoung raising his eyebrows as he smoothed over your head once more. From instinct you pushed your head up into his palm, nuzzling close to feel warmth from him.

‘My good kitten.’

A warmth filled your lower region, burning with every moment Doyoung touched you in any way. Until suddenly, a large heave bevelled through your body, the chain rattling as you were forced to push into Doyoung’s legs. Your hands leant atop his feet, wide eyes begging him to do something, anything. Doyoung merely grinned, tugging on the chain once more as he sat back on the couch and pulled you between his legs. Your features faced his crotch, mouth only a few inches from his covered length that tented his tight jeans. Just seeing you knelt before him, perky ears and collar and pink lace made him unimaginably hard and Doyoung struggled to compose himself. One more tug on your leash and your chin came to sit above his thigh. Doyoung released the chain, sitting it beside himself as he moved his fingers to his jeans.

You felt yourself smile, knowing what was to come. Pushing your face against his thigh, you purred, nose nuzzling into his clothed muscles. Doyoung let out a splintered moan, coaxing you to continue. As you did, you heard the undoing of a zip and rustling of thick material. The silence that settled in after is what made you look up, your eyes widening as you saw Doyoung holding his member tightly, slowly moving his hand up and down. He kept his darkened gaze locked upon you. Moving his other hand, Doyoung cupped your cheeks, soothing his thumb over the blush that painted your skin. His fingers moved slowly until he danced them to the back of your neck, his grip tightening and forcing your face forward. He pulled violently until you were face to face with his length.

‘Go on, kitten.’ Doyoung whispered.

He pushed his length toward you slightly, allowing your lips to engulf the tip and sink down the shaft. Doyoung let his head fall back against the sofa pillow and a low growl fall from his mouth. His noises only propelled you to continue, head bobbing up and down quickly as his member began to hit the back of your throat. It burnt, a kind of burning that travelled all the way down to your core, that was beginning to drip with desire. You lifted your hands and placed them atop Doyoung’s thighs for stability. Doyoung gripped your hair, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to control your pace. The tightness spread all over your body and ached in your loin. A need for Doyoung to be buried deep within you exploded.

The speed became relentless as you peered upward, staring at Doyoung’s scrunched up features; small, rhythmic groans pouring from his lips. You longed to kiss him, to nuzzle your fuzzy ears into the crook of his neck. You wished to be his pet forever.

‘Baby, stop, stop.’ Doyoung repeated frantically, pulling your mouth off his length by your hair. You understood why he stopped, for he wanted to be within you just as much as you wanted him inside you, but the loss of contact hurt, nonetheless. Spit dribbled from your lips, lining from Doyoung’s member to your mouth. He groaned low once more as you mewled, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

Watching from the ground, Doyoung pushed his hard member back in his jeans, sat up straight and patted his lap. You nearly leap up, pouncing onto Doyoung like the kitten you were pretending to be. With legs either side of him and arms slung over his shoulders, you waited. His expression twisted into a smirk, a devilish thought swirling around his mind.

‘Lie down on me, ass up.’ He muttered sternly. You watched his eyes for a further moment before Doyoung raised his eyebrows and nodded downward at his lap. You lifted yourself slightly and flipped over, placing your waist in Doyoung’s lap. Your face burrowed into the couch, feet kicking the edge of the seat and heat pressing directly onto Doyoung’s still stiff length. After a second, you felt as your boyfriend pulled your lace underwear down your thighs, cold fingers dragging over your skin. He lingered them back up to your ass, spreading his palm wide over the flesh. Doyoung kept it there for a moment, still and gentle, your stomach settling before suddenly, his touch disappeared and reappeared with a sharp, jolting sting.

A yelp came spurting out your lips, a chuckling emanating from Doyoung as again, his touch left and smacked back down. You mewled helplessly, another slap.

‘Count for me, okay kitten, five more.’ He said softly, swaying his hand over your red, hot skin before once more, lifting it and slapping it back down. A gasp escaped your throat.

‘One.’

Doyoung chuckled again, forcing down a particularly devilish spank.

‘Two.’

Your ass burnt painfully, the side that Doyoung had been slapping beginning to feel bruised and swollen. It was beautiful, and as another hit pummelled down upon you, a wave of pleasure rippled through you.

‘Three.’

Another.

‘Four.’

Doyoung soothed over your skin one more time as he lifted his hand and brought it down mercilessly. You yelped once more, feeling the other side burn just as the first. A small tear spat from your eye, trickling down your cheek and dripping onto the couch below.

‘Five.’ You croaked.

You lay down for a moment, air aggressively attacking your bruised ass as Doyoung removed his hand and placed into on the back of your thigh. He gently stroked the skin, giving you a few moments to catch your breath and recuperate.

Doyoung held onto your upper arm, pulling you up to kneel beside him. A finger coming up to swipe away a stray tear.

‘Do you wanna stop? We can?’ He enquired softly; eyes tender as his hand careened your jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said, leaping over once more to sit back in Doyoung’s lap, legs either side of his and lips reaching forward to kiss the man beneath you. With mouths collided, you wrangled your arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, his tongue darting between your lips and exploring your mouth. Instinctively, you began playing with the hair on the back of his neck, pulling slightly so Doyoung tilted his head back. You took advantage of the position, dragging your lips down to kiss and nibble at his slender neck. Doyoung groaned, his hands wandering to the underwear that still sat at your thighs, pulling them lower until they could no longer move. You felt the material dig into your flesh, stuck in their current position. While you wanted your bare heat to sit against Doyoung, you dreaded the idea of moving. He tugged again, helpless.

‘Rip them, rip them please, please.’ You begged, merely wanting to feel him beneath you, desperate for any pressure or friction against your heat.

‘Sure?’

‘Do it.’

Doyoung wrapped his fingers around one side of the fragile, lacy material and heaved it apart. The sound of ripping filled the room as Doyoung groaned, moving the material away as finally, he had access to your core. You felt the bulge in his jeans harden once more, pressed tight to the wetness that was pooling from within you. It burnt to be so close but separated by the already unzipped jeans. Doyoung held your hips, pushing you down to tease. A whimper fell from your lips.

‘Aw, is my kitten desperate? What does she want?’

‘You, please, I want you.’ You mumbled, unable to speak properly from sheer desperation.

‘Want me? To do what?’

‘I want you to fuck me! Please, fuck me!’ You almost screamed helplessly, Doyoung merely grinning, proud he had made you so desperate.

With his hands on your hips, Doyoung pushed you backwards further down his thighs. Giving him enough room to pull his jeans below his waist, allowing his hard member to spring gently from the material. It clung, pressed between his groin and your heat, that had, by now, created a wet patch on Doyoung’s trousers. You pushed upward, kneeling as you moved back up the thighs below you. Doyoung held your waist with one hand and with the other, moved his member to the entrance of your core. He was moving slow, but you wanted him, wanted him buried within you. And so, you pushed downward, feeling as you sunk onto Doyoung and he disappeared within you.

Doyoung let out a moan as you whimpered. The feeling of him inside you, putting pressure against you was intoxicating, so intoxicating that you could not move for a moment. As you began moving, slowly up and down Doyoung’s length, every inch of him burnt against every inch of you. The man below held desperately onto your hips, pulling you up and down to take complete control of the pace. The rhythmic tempo made a coil of pleasure begin to spin in your stomach, the grip upon you tight and almost painful. Another whimper fell from your lips as Doyoung let his head tilt back in pleasure. You shook, placing your hands upon his shoulders for stability, body nearly slumping against him.

His fingers began to trail up your body, tracing the pink, sheer lace that covered your breasts, swirling past and up your throat. His journey stopped, fingers halting and spreading up against your skin as he grappled the chain that attached to the collar. You let a loud moan explode into the atmosphere as you lifted yourself up and down Doyoung’s member, the pleasure in your loin beginning to burn. Low growls fell from Doyoung’s mouth, filling your ears like music as his grip upon you, both on your waist and collar, tightened. Air tightly passed through your windpipe, head spinning as you arched yourself quicker upon Doyoung. He growled loudly, his face scrunching up in pleasure as you felt him release inside of you, the warm liquid applying even more pressure inside your heat. The hot, wet feeling made you complete, and you felt yourself tighten and spasm on his member.

A last, prolonged mewl fell from your lips as you ceased your movements, still sat upon Doyoung’s member. His tempered sighs filled the room, grip on your collar loosening and hand falling back to your waist. You fell into Doyoung. Chests pressed together as sweat mixed like a cocktail of pleasure and sleepiness. Doyoung wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close, your cheek pressed flush against the crook of his neck. While holding you, Doyoung lifted slightly, giving him enough room to remove himself from your heat. A stifled moan fell from both of you, heat swelling around the room. You sighed, sleepy upon your equally tired boyfriend.

‘That was nice.’ You whimpered in a hushed tone.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Doyoung agreed, your head tilting upward to stare into his big, doe eyes. ‘C’mon kitten, let’s go and get you cleaned up and in bed.’ He soothed, fingers weaving through your hair as you purred once more against his chest. Nuzzling into him as your ears nudged his chin.

[sserpente]

A/N: What do you mean, Halloween is over? It’s over when I set up my Christmas decorations. This is Part II of this Imagine, however, you can read it as a standalone Imagine as well. Threw in quite a bunch of requests (@dennnnny-just-wants-friends and several anons) in here, so I hope you’ll enjoy! The gif is a spoiler again. *giggles*

Words: 2699 Warnings: smut, fluff

Additional NSFW warnings: orgasm delay

-

You smiled to yourself when you woke up the next day, blinking at the sun fighting its way through your curtains. Not only was it finally Halloween… but last night, you had had the most wonderful dream. Loki had been in your room, pleasuring you into countless, earth-shattering orgasms… fucking you… claiming you…

You felt more rested than ever before. Humming to yourself, you threw on your bathrobe. After cleaning yourself up from last night’s solo adventure, you made your way to the kitchen for a cup of tea—no coffee needed this morning. Bruce, Natasha and Tony were already there, taking their time to wake up and quietly talking to each other. Your smile quickly turned into silent panic, however, when you spotted Loki leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand himself, curiously watching your every move.

“M-morning, everyone!”

You swallowed. Gods… if only he knew about your dream last night. You blushed, eliciting the smallest of frowns from him.

Loki, of course, was very well aware last night had been anything but a dream. Suppressing his smirk when you blushed, he finished his coffee, resulting in a slight frown. The tension between you was palpable, the urge to pull you into his arms and kiss you breathless growing with every passing second.

“Party starts at nine tonight, (Y/N).” Tony then suddenly interrupted and drew your attention away from him. “You’re coming, right?”

You nodded, sipping on the tea you had prepared. “I am.”

“As what?” Right. It was called a costume party for a reason. Now, you did like dressing up but you usually did not enjoy standing out too much. Perhaps you’d go for the witch from Wicked. Or with a simple zombie girl make-up. Loki was the only one who sensed your discomfort.

“Oh, I’m not sure yet.”

“I’m holding a contest. The best costume wins a trip to Hawaii.” You instantly wondered if Loki would be coming to the party, and if he did, what he would be wearing. As a master of illusions, surely he could pull off anything.

Loki waited until the heroes had left before he spoke up, his blue gaze never leaving yours. He was desperate to learn more about you. Ever since last night…

“You do not seem overly pleased by having to dress up.” He stated bluntly.

“Oh, no, I do like it, I just… don’t like any attention, you know.” Loki lifted his chin. Interesting.

“Whyever not? Make them envy you. That is what I would do if I were you.”

“Are you coming?” You replied, perhaps a little too hopeful.

“I hardly think so. Putting up with Stark and the rest of this circus is exhausting as is.”

“Oh, well…”

“However,” he added, a devilish smirk growing on his lips—Loki had never been so playful with you before— “Might I make a suggestion? I saw you reading that novel by this Midgardian writer called Stoker the other day… why not dress up as a vampire? According to what you have told me, they enjoy a rather swooning reputation on Midgard.”

A smile spread on your face. Loki was right. A vampire was classic, sexy and not too conspicuous.

“You know what? I think that’s a really good idea.”

-

You spent most of the day trying to figure out what to wear, turning your wardrobe upside down. Eventually, you chose a black leather skirt, an equally black shirt with elegant bat wing sleeves, black tights and high heels.

Combined with those red contacts and the fake fangs you had bought after lunch, you would look breath-taking; and even though you were rather shy when it came to attention, when you started applying your rather pale make-up for the night, you smirked at the thought of men turning around to look. At the thought of Loki turning around to look.

Your pussy clenched with a start when once again, you remembered that hot dream from last night, making you wonder if you’d stand a chance at seducing him. Loki haunted your masturbation fantasies but he was a god. You were a mortal—and just because you claimed to have discovered this soft side of him, that did not mean he would open up to you or let alone be intimate with you. You sighed, adding the finishing touches to your make-up and then headed downstairs to celebrate Halloween.

-

Three drinks in, your shyness was forgotten. You danced, laughed and played silly party games with the other guests, forgetting at least for a while that the person you wanted to celebrate with the most was not here.

Thor had just hurled you through the air with one hand, proving to Steve just how strong he was. When he set you back on the ground, you felt dizzy from all his spinning and then, suddenly… your eyes landed on…

Was that… Loki? Wait, no… Loki had insisted he would not join the party tonight. He was probably upstairs, reading in his room. Whoever had decided to be so bold and dress up as him though… had done an outstanding job. The hair, the costume, even the helmet… it all came together perfectly.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you had already approached the handsome stranger.

-

Loki’s eyes widened when he caught sight of you in your costume. He had been right. Vampires did enjoy quite the reputation on Midgard—they were so unlike those repulsive and minging ghouls living underneath the dry soil of Svartalfheim.  You looked absolutely ravishing. Almost as ravishing as you had looked when he had made you cum for him last night.

His heart almost stopped when he realised you were heading straight towards him, his hesitation and confusion very obvious the moment you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Nice costume, stranger.” You pressed your body against him, making sure he’d feel your breasts against his chest. “A little bold of you dressing up as the villain. You’re a pretty convincing imposter though.”

Loki frowned in an amused manner. “Am I?”

“Wanna dance?”

He opened his mouth to respond with his frown deepening but realised quickly what was going on without uttering a word. It was rather dark in here, the party lights doing little to illuminate the room and when you spoke, he could clearly smell the alcohol on you. You did not recognise him. You thought he was a random mortal who had had the audacity to dress up as him of all people.

But was that really important? He was a Trickster, after all—always up for some mischief, especially if it involved you. In your dreams, you had desired him but he still worried whether you would reciprocate the attraction he felt for you in a sober state. And if there was a chance to make you writhe beneath him once again… he would not let it slip through his fingers.

Loki smirked instead of responding again, afraid that the sound of his voice might give him away and allowed you to drag him on the dance floor. This morning you had been so insecure about your costume—and now you were rubbing yourself against his crotch like a wild cat in heat.

He growled darkly, the sound swallowed by the dull bass of the music. You were clearly trying to turn him on; he was no stranger to a woman’s advances. But here? Here in public? How dare you tease him like this?

-

Meanwhile, you were lost in the beat of the music, your thoughts wandering back to your sexy dream. If you could not have Loki all to yourself, perhaps you’d at least spend Halloween night with his double. Men could never resist some sexy dance moves, especially when you turned around and began pampering his lips with gentle but demanding kisses, the alcohol in your body making you brave—hence, you were not surprised when he suddenly wrapped his hand around your upper arm and practically dragged you outside into the dark hallway and upstairs.

You were way too intoxicated to wonder how he knew which bedroom was yours, neither did you worry that the real Loki could possibly hear you screaming this imposter’s name in a bit—all you could think about were his soft and warm lips against yours, capturing them in a kiss so passionate you could already feel your arousal pool between your legs.

“Loki” pushed you on your bed, hovering above you hungrily and grabbing your wrists firmly when you kicked off your shoes and then attempted to switch on the lights to search for a condom, causing you to struggle lightly underneath him. By the Norns…how would he be able to keep quiet and not speak a word?

You were infatuated—What if he… did speak? Loki inhaled deeply when he buried his face in your neck, wandering lower and lower and slowly, painfully slowly licking over every inch of revealed skin he could find until he reached the inside of your thighs.

With but one firm pull, he relieved you from your skirt, tights and knickers, leaving you naked from the waist down. He could practically smell your arousal. Your lips were glistening, swollen and aching for attention. The God of Mischief smirked. Who was he to deny you? But first… first he would make you suffer a little. You deserved to be punished for all that public teasing, those lascivious dance moves causing him to grow hard in front of complete strangers.

Your blissful scream when he pressed his mouth against your quim made him chuckle darkly, the vibrations of his voice instantly rippling through you like lightning bolts. His silver tongue darted out to taste you, bringing endless pleasure to your clit all the while two of his fingers pried open your dripping entrance, finding your g-spot and fingering you lazily.

Your back was arching by the time he sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, your hips bucking up to meet his touches. But just when you were about to fall off that delicious cliff that brought about release, when your walls began fluttering around his fingers, tightening in joyful anticipation… “Loki” pulled away entirely.

“What… why are you stopping?”

“Did you truly think you would get away with teasing me like this, in front of the eyes of dozens of imbecile mortals? I shall make sure you beg me for your release.”

You froze instantly. That voice…

“L-Loki? It’s… it’s really you?!”

“Surprised, my sweet? Now, it would not be the first time I had you squirming in pleasure beneath me, would it?”

Your eyes widened. Loki swallowed. Now could be the moment you would push him away and scream, repulsed by your own actions… he studied your reactions. You were surprised, yes, shocked even, still… the hint of arousal glistening in your eyes did not disappear. Quite on the contrary—it intensified.

“My dream… I… it… it was not…”

The Trickster shook his head slowly. “It was not. I caught you pleasuring yourself moaning my name at night. You were so eager for my touch…” Unconsciously, his hand came up to stroke your cheek.

Your lips parted. Then, against all of his expectations, you started grinning shyly.

“You really do live up to your name, Trickster.”

Loki’s heart skipped a beat—relief flooding his body and momentarily dragging the attention away from his aching length which he longed to bury deep inside of you.

“Finish what you started. Please…” Your devoted begging sounded like music in his ears. His cheeky smirk returned, along with a dangerous sparkling in his blue eyes.

“Do you believe you earned it?” He answered.

Biting your lower lip, you nodded. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m the reason for that impressive bulge in your trousers.” Boldly, you reached down and squeezed him gently, making him groan. It was probably then you realised just what it meant to share the bed with a god. Loki’s lips came crashing down on yours again, leaving you breathless. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his hands began to explore your exposed skin, quickly getting rid of the last pieces of clothing you were wearing. You were quite surprised your fangs did not come off during his hungry kisses.

You were trembling from unfulfilled desire by the time he removed his own clothing, taking his time. His leather armour was complicated—and with every piece that came off, you grew a little more aroused.

You could hardly believe you had already felt his hard length inside you the other night. He really was well-equipped, a true god. You licked your lips all the while imagining what he would taste like if you sucked him into your mouth, wondering if he’d be patient enough to let you before fucking you as passionately as he had last night. But well… the night was young.

You spread your legs hungrily, causing his scrutinising and lustful gaze to wander down to your throbbing cunt. Growling, he crawled between them, his hard cock brushing against your entrance in the most delicious way. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he inched forward and began to intrude you, taking you so intimately and slowly you feared to burst from all the pleasure building up inside you.

“Loki, please!” You screamed when he pushed in to the hilt, giving you no time to adjust to his girth but oh… he was filling you so wonderfully. You wrapped your legs around his hips, willing for him to penetrate you even deeper and urging him on to move. His thrusts were uncontrolled, greedy.

Within mere moments, he had you back on the brink of orgasm, begging him for release like he had promised you would. Loki was hovering above you like a predator, hitting just the right angles to drive you absolutely crazy. This was payback for your teasing back on the dance floor… but two could play this game.

You licked your lips when you leaned forward just a little so your lips brushed against his neck. Loki’s thrusts intensified, his rhythm speeding up and making you moan continuously. Then, you opened your mouth and sank your fake fangs into his skin just hard enough to make him flinch slightly. He really did taste delightful.

“Did you just bite me, sweet one?” He panted.

You pouted. “I’m a vampire, no?”

The God of Mischief chuckled.

“Let me cum, please…” Loki flipped you both over, eliciting another scream from you, this time in surprise. You came to straddle him, his cock still resting deep inside you.

“You wish to cum? Ride me then. Make yourself cum on my length if you are so desperate to.” He ordered hoarsely. It was odd, really. How could you be the one on top and still feel like he was the one in charge? You swallowed thickly as another wave of arousal washed over you.

As you started to move up and down vigorously, eager for your orgasm, you let your fingertips glide over his abs. The God of Mischief shivered, throwing his head back all the while his own hands came up to grab your hips and urge you on to go faster.

Skin smacked against skin, the smell of sex filling your dark bedroom and the sound of your lustful moaning as you came undone on top of him echoing through it loudly. Shaking breathlessly, you let your release consume you, your tight and wet wells clenching around him repeatedly until Loki lost control himself. He stilled, bucking his hips as if he meant to climb inside you, his cock twitching and throbbing. You almost collapsed on top of him when you felt him spurting his seed into you, all strength leaving your muscles with a start.

He pulled you in his arms so you came to lie on the bed with him, his protective embrace spreading a dizzying warmth in your chest.

“Loki?” You whispered. The God of Mischief hummed in response. “You’re not going to pretend it was all a dream again tomorrow, right?”

He chuckled. “No, my sweet. Not this time.”

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[honeyctzen]

domesticated - kd

genre: smut, petplay

warnings: kitten!play, dom!doyoung, oral (male recieving), unprotected sex, spanking 

words: 4.4k

The sky outside darkened a midnight blue as you sat quietly on the couch, watching shapes and colours contort on the television. Your mouth widened in a yawn as shuffling footsteps wandered over from the kitchen, they gently pattered until your boyfriend Doyoung appeared from behind a wall. His eyes darted around the room as he set a bowl of popcorn on the table, fingers curling around a piece before he lumped down beside you. His tall frame slumped on the sofa, arm nearest to you stretching around, giving you the room the snake around his torso. Cosying into Doyoung you felt his fingers bury into your waist, his other hand reaching over and grabbing the remote. You felt the rumble of a pondering sigh, Doyoung beginning to flick through the channels as he always did. He was indecisive, easily bored and on nights like this, where neither had work the next day or a reason to protest, you knew how it would end.

Even the night you met he was like this.

In college, you had found it difficult to bond with anyone. Parties were too loud, being alone in your dorm was too quiet, balancing the two was near impossible. Especially when you hadn’t had much experience with people or being away from home in the first place. In the end, you relied heavily on your roommate to take you out and show you the way of the world. And she tried her hardest, it’s just that not much of it interested you though you did try your best.

After another night sat in the quietest room of a frat party, you began to feel despondent to the entire college experience altogether. You flicked through the books in the bedroom you’d barricaded yourself in, sighing when a porno magazine fell from between two classic novels. You bent over to pick it up, skirt riding high although it didn’t seem to matter alone in the room. As your fingers grabbed the corner as to avoid any residue that may linger between pages, you heard the oak door behind you open wide. A panic washed over you, heat rising to your cheeks as you half expected to spin around and find a drunken couple wanting to consummate. Instead, as you turned, while holding the magazine behind your back cautiously, you saw a sober looking man stood in the doorframe.

The blush hanging over your cheeks only intensified. His stature was large, shoulders broad in his blue, baggy jumper. Eyes big and brown, dark hair falling into his eyes as his slender fingers came up to brush it away. You stood speechless as his bottom lip became hooked beneath his teeth, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he stepped into the room. Your chest felt thick with embarrassment. You kept the magazine pressed tightly to your back, stepping back and the man stepped forward.

‘Sorry, I thought this room was free.’ You said quietly.

‘Uh, no, no, it’s fine honestly, I just um, usually keep my bedroom off limits while there’s parties. I like it, clean, don’t want people you know, in my bed.’ The man whispered, and despite the loud music, you could hear his every low toned word perfectly.

‘Understandable. I’m really sorry, I just kinda wanted to get out the way of everyone,’ you chuckled nervously, ‘I don’t really like parties that much.’

‘Like I said, it’s fine.’ The man smiled wide, exposing a gummy grin that only made you blush further. ‘I’m Doyoung by the way.’ He finished, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

Instinctively, you lurched forward. The magazine slipping out of your grip for just a moment, but long enough for it to drop to the ground. It splayed open on the carpet, thudding wide to the centre fold. Your chest tightened; stomach burned. You couldn’t bare to look back at what Doyoung was seeing.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You apologized quickly.

‘Where was that?’

‘Um, on the bookshelf, between Dracula and Wuthering Heights. It kinda just fell out, I, um, wanted to read.’ You laughed at how ridiculous you sounded.

‘Oh, right.’ Doyoung managed somehow to look more worried than you, his fingers scratching at his head. As his arm raised up, so did his jumper, revealing the soft toned torso beneath. You felt yourself tighten.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I should let you get to bed or,’ you mumbled as quickly as you could, wishing to vanish from the building altogether. You spun on your heels once again, bending down to pick up the magazine and return it to its owner. However, when you did, you actually saw what was sprawled across the pages.

A woman was sat on a red, leather sofa in a pristine lingerie, her privates covered though the sheerness left nothing to the imagination. Her arms were twisted behind her back, threaded together perfectly with thick, crimson rope. Her legs were wide open on the sofa, still covered in the same beautiful rope but this time only for aesthetic purposes. The expression on her face was that of pleasure, eyes closed, mouth wide kind of pleasure. Her makeup and hair was immaculate, untouched. It was a beautiful image, the kind that could have gotten away with being in an art gallery.

Confusion waved over you. The expectation of seeing unrealistic, graphic depictions of two women or a woman and a man had been dashed. There was only a soft, artistic image that left you with no words, only a deep yearning that maybe one day, you could be that woman. Clearly desired, clearly within someone’s control but beautiful and immaculate all the same.

Doyoung let out a withering sigh as you lifted the magazine and turned to face him. He stepped closer, fighting back the urge to rip the magazine from your grasp and throw it underneath his bed. Doyoung waited for you to wrinkle your face in disgust, to snicker at the image but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, you began to flick through the images. Turning your head to see all the sideward pages, tracing your fingers over the threads of rope that where consistent throughout the entire magazine. You pondered at it as though it were an art magazine, you seemed to appreciate it as one. Doyoung was gobsmacked.

After a few moments, you closed the magazine, handing it over to Doyoung. He gently took it from you, his fingers dancing over yours for a moment before the heat of his digits disappeared.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You said without thinking.

‘What?’

‘Um, it’s beautiful.’ You repeated.

‘Yeah, yeah, it is.’ Doyoung concurred nervously, staring at your features as they twisted in thought.

‘Do people actually do that? Or is it just for the pictures?’

‘You mean the, the rope?’ Doyoung asked politely as you merely nodding back shyly, your lip between your teeth.

‘I think I’d like to try it.’ You admitted, looking up at Doyoung to find his eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. ‘With you, please.’ You finished, not quite understanding what you’d asked for, but knowing in your gut that it felt right.

Nearly two years later and you were still trying out so many different, new things with Doyoung. When you met, you were both shy. Wrapped up in desires both of you thought no one but you had, but meeting each other, it gave you both the outlet you desperately needed. You often looked for things to try, often on nights like this when you both had time to kill. Whether it was between the pages of magazines or online, you found that both you and Doyoung had an endless stream of erotic things you wanted to try.

A ritual you’d created early into your relationship was looking at the trending page of a porn site, rooting around for something you hadn’t already done a thousand times and trying it. No pre-judgements, no reservations, just trying something to see the outcome. There were times when you or Doyoung decided the thing was not for you but often enough, both of you found that whatever you did, as long as it was with each other, it was perfect. This ritual however meant that things often got a little taboo which didn’t bother either of you but there was a certain stigma to some things and sometimes that did give you reservations. Out of an ingrained habit that was built into all people, when you saw something strange, it took a lot to try it. But with Doyoung, you never felt uncomfortable.

Doyoung sighed from beside you signally that he could find nothing to watch and so, the ritual begun.

You peered up at him, eyes big and doe. Doyoung waited for a moment before looking down and smiling warmly. ‘You wanna choose something tonight?’

Your mouth lifted to smile back at him, nodding happily, hands almost snatching the remote from your boyfriend. He chuckled. Usually you both picked, though really, you’d go along with whatever Doyoung wanted. Letting you choose without protesting was a special occasion and it made you light up like nothing else. You opened up the website on the television, still shy about looking at such lewd things in front of someone else on a large scale. The screen became sodden with erotic video links and dirty advertisements, all clearly made by men who knew nothing about women. You tutted to yourself, flicking down through the pages and pages until something towards the bottom left caught your eye.

‘Naughty kitten punished.’

With eyebrows knotted you turned to Doyoung. ‘Is this really a thing? Dressing up like a cat, I mean, I know I’ve done it for Halloween but for, fucking?’

‘Of course, it is. If you can think of it, there’s probably porn made of it.’ He retorted with a smirk wiped across his lips.

‘I don’t like that sentiment.’

‘So, that’s a no?’ Doyoung peered, careening his head to stare his umber orbs into yours. His grip around your side tightened a little, allowing you to feel the warmth emanating from beneath his black t-shirt. From habit, you closed your eyes, enjoying the small circles he drew into your hip.

‘Well?’

‘I, I mean, it’s weird, right? Dressing up like an animal?’ You said sceptically.

‘Obviously, but it’s not out of the league of what we’ve done before.’ Doyoung added.

‘I guess.’

‘It’s your call, princess.’

‘Uh, I mean, I have the costume… maybe it’d be nice to get some use out of it?’ You felt yourself defending your ideas, ideas that you knew deep down Doyoung would never judge. And yet, the shame of desire was so engrained in you, that you could not help it.

‘Let’s go get you dressed then.’ Doyoung smiled, standing from the couch, his stature above you like a skyscraper. You fought back the urge to reach out for his jean button right then and instead smiled to yourself with sparks alight in your mind.

‘Maybe I should go alone, if you come, we’ll never get back out the bedroom.’ You taunted standing up beside Doyoung. His smile lowered as yours grew ten-fold. You found your hands resting on Doyoung’s wide shoulders, pushing him back slightly until he sat back against the sofa. His legs widened, back slumping, as though inviting you to sit atop him, instead, you began walking to the bedroom, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

After sulking into the bedroom, you shared with your boyfriend, you began the hunt for the outfit you’d worn once and long forgotten. While it was true that Doyoung accompanying you would’ve lead to something before you’d be able to grasp the costume, you also needed to root through your messy wardrobe for it. Which was, undoubtedly, a mood killer. Through grumbles and profanities, your hands dived through piles of clothes, each pile loosely organised by occasion. Dating Doyoung meant that the fancy dress pile was rather large and took some time to sift through. Until, almost at the bottom of the pile, two clip on ears poked out. As you grasped them, the soft fur tickled your palm, their deep brown nearly matching Doyoung’s eyes. Beneath the ears was a pink, leather collar that Doyoung had gifted you separate from the costume and to match, you pulled a set of pink, lacy lingerie from another messy pile.

You tugged down your sweatpants and removed the hoodie you’d stolen from Doyoung earlier in the day and pulled the pink lace over your head. The soft material felt like warm honey on your skin, and perfectly covered your body enough that you felt like the woman in that magazine. After slithering the undies up your bare legs, you grappled the ears once more. With fur between your fingers, you attached them high on your head, staring in the mirror at how sweet the clips looked. You smiled strangely excited for what you had been a little weirded out at first.

Staring down at your collar, a thought came to you, bringing warmth to your loin. You wandered over to a set of draws by the bed, heaved open the bottom section and pulled out a chain leash, the metal clasps jingling as you did so. Your smile grew as you flattened your hair and prepared yourself.

Timidly, you tiptoed back into the living room, head low as you approached where Doyoung still sat. With open palms, you knelt before your boyfriend, raising the items that sat atop your hands. After a few moments of silence, you peered up gently, looking over his face for any kind of emotion.

‘Look down.’ He muttered sullenly.

You followed his order immediately, keeping your palms up but eyes toward the hardwood floor. After another moment, the weight of the chain and collar disappeared and Doyoung’s feet came into your view and moved behind you. Though a cautious wave of anxiety rolled through your stomach, you still remained staring at the floor in silence. A sigh passed through your lips as cold fingers brushed your hair aside and cool leather pressed against your throat. Doyoung’s cold digits appeared again as he buckled up the collar and latched on the chain leash to hold you in place.

His hand remained low of the chain, gripping it so tight that it choked you slightly but still, you stared at the ground, motionless. A low snicker came from behind you, making your stomach swirl and tighten as moisture moved toward your heat. It was torture not to turn and look at him but following his orders was more important. You waited for what felt like forever until a palm mellowed over the top of your head, soothing over your hair, and following over the ears. Doyoung’s frame moved around you, allowing for you to see his lower legs once more and just knowing he was there, that he was the one touching you made it harder not to look up.

‘Look up at me baby.’ Doyoung finally said.

Your head snapped up immediately, big eyes staring desperately toward Doyoung and the grin smeared across his face. The confidence clearing instilled in him was terrifying and so, so arousing. You mewled, Doyoung raising his eyebrows as he smoothed over your head once more. From instinct you pushed your head up into his palm, nuzzling close to feel warmth from him.

‘My good kitten.’

A warmth filled your lower region, burning with every moment Doyoung touched you in any way. Until suddenly, a large heave bevelled through your body, the chain rattling as you were forced to push into Doyoung’s legs. Your hands leant atop his feet, wide eyes begging him to do something, anything. Doyoung merely grinned, tugging on the chain once more as he sat back on the couch and pulled you between his legs. Your features faced his crotch, mouth only a few inches from his covered length that tented his tight jeans. Just seeing you knelt before him, perky ears and collar and pink lace made him unimaginably hard and Doyoung struggled to compose himself. One more tug on your leash and your chin came to sit above his thigh. Doyoung released the chain, sitting it beside himself as he moved his fingers to his jeans.

You felt yourself smile, knowing what was to come. Pushing your face against his thigh, you purred, nose nuzzling into his clothed muscles. Doyoung let out a splintered moan, coaxing you to continue. As you did, you heard the undoing of a zip and rustling of thick material. The silence that settled in after is what made you look up, your eyes widening as you saw Doyoung holding his member tightly, slowly moving his hand up and down. He kept his darkened gaze locked upon you. Moving his other hand, Doyoung cupped your cheeks, soothing his thumb over the blush that painted your skin. His fingers moved slowly until he danced them to the back of your neck, his grip tightening and forcing your face forward. He pulled violently until you were face to face with his length.

‘Go on, kitten.’ Doyoung whispered.

He pushed his length toward you slightly, allowing your lips to engulf the tip and sink down the shaft. Doyoung let his head fall back against the sofa pillow and a low growl fall from his mouth. His noises only propelled you to continue, head bobbing up and down quickly as his member began to hit the back of your throat. It burnt, a kind of burning that travelled all the way down to your core, that was beginning to drip with desire. You lifted your hands and placed them atop Doyoung’s thighs for stability. Doyoung gripped your hair, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to control your pace. The tightness spread all over your body and ached in your loin. A need for Doyoung to be buried deep within you exploded.

The speed became relentless as you peered upward, staring at Doyoung’s scrunched up features; small, rhythmic groans pouring from his lips. You longed to kiss him, to nuzzle your fuzzy ears into the crook of his neck. You wished to be his pet forever.

‘Baby, stop, stop.’ Doyoung repeated frantically, pulling your mouth off his length by your hair. You understood why he stopped, for he wanted to be within you just as much as you wanted him inside you, but the loss of contact hurt, nonetheless. Spit dribbled from your lips, lining from Doyoung’s member to your mouth. He groaned low once more as you mewled, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

Watching from the ground, Doyoung pushed his hard member back in his jeans, sat up straight and patted his lap. You nearly leap up, pouncing onto Doyoung like the kitten you were pretending to be. With legs either side of him and arms slung over his shoulders, you waited. His expression twisted into a smirk, a devilish thought swirling around his mind.

‘Lie down on me, ass up.’ He muttered sternly. You watched his eyes for a further moment before Doyoung raised his eyebrows and nodded downward at his lap. You lifted yourself slightly and flipped over, placing your waist in Doyoung’s lap. Your face burrowed into the couch, feet kicking the edge of the seat and heat pressing directly onto Doyoung’s still stiff length. After a second, you felt as your boyfriend pulled your lace underwear down your thighs, cold fingers dragging over your skin. He lingered them back up to your ass, spreading his palm wide over the flesh. Doyoung kept it there for a moment, still and gentle, your stomach settling before suddenly, his touch disappeared and reappeared with a sharp, jolting sting.

A yelp came spurting out your lips, a chuckling emanating from Doyoung as again, his touch left and smacked back down. You mewled helplessly, another slap.

‘Count for me, okay kitten, five more.’ He said softly, swaying his hand over your red, hot skin before once more, lifting it and slapping it back down. A gasp escaped your throat.

‘One.’

Doyoung chuckled again, forcing down a particularly devilish spank.

‘Two.’

Your ass burnt painfully, the side that Doyoung had been slapping beginning to feel bruised and swollen. It was beautiful, and as another hit pummelled down upon you, a wave of pleasure rippled through you.

‘Three.’

Another.

‘Four.’

Doyoung soothed over your skin one more time as he lifted his hand and brought it down mercilessly. You yelped once more, feeling the other side burn just as the first. A small tear spat from your eye, trickling down your cheek and dripping onto the couch below.

‘Five.’ You croaked.

You lay down for a moment, air aggressively attacking your bruised ass as Doyoung removed his hand and placed into on the back of your thigh. He gently stroked the skin, giving you a few moments to catch your breath and recuperate.

Doyoung held onto your upper arm, pulling you up to kneel beside him. A finger coming up to swipe away a stray tear.

‘Do you wanna stop? We can?’ He enquired softly; eyes tender as his hand careened your jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said, leaping over once more to sit back in Doyoung’s lap, legs either side of his and lips reaching forward to kiss the man beneath you. With mouths collided, you wrangled your arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, his tongue darting between your lips and exploring your mouth. Instinctively, you began playing with the hair on the back of his neck, pulling slightly so Doyoung tilted his head back. You took advantage of the position, dragging your lips down to kiss and nibble at his slender neck. Doyoung groaned, his hands wandering to the underwear that still sat at your thighs, pulling them lower until they could no longer move. You felt the material dig into your flesh, stuck in their current position. While you wanted your bare heat to sit against Doyoung, you dreaded the idea of moving. He tugged again, helpless.

‘Rip them, rip them please, please.’ You begged, merely wanting to feel him beneath you, desperate for any pressure or friction against your heat.

‘Sure?’

‘Do it.’

Doyoung wrapped his fingers around one side of the fragile, lacy material and heaved it apart. The sound of ripping filled the room as Doyoung groaned, moving the material away as finally, he had access to your core. You felt the bulge in his jeans harden once more, pressed tight to the wetness that was pooling from within you. It burnt to be so close but separated by the already unzipped jeans. Doyoung held your hips, pushing you down to tease. A whimper fell from your lips.

‘Aw, is my kitten desperate? What does she want?’

‘You, please, I want you.’ You mumbled, unable to speak properly from sheer desperation.

‘Want me? To do what?’

‘I want you to fuck me! Please, fuck me!’ You almost screamed helplessly, Doyoung merely grinning, proud he had made you so desperate.

With his hands on your hips, Doyoung pushed you backwards further down his thighs. Giving him enough room to pull his jeans below his waist, allowing his hard member to spring gently from the material. It clung, pressed between his groin and your heat, that had, by now, created a wet patch on Doyoung’s trousers. You pushed upward, kneeling as you moved back up the thighs below you. Doyoung held your waist with one hand and with the other, moved his member to the entrance of your core. He was moving slow, but you wanted him, wanted him buried within you. And so, you pushed downward, feeling as you sunk onto Doyoung and he disappeared within you.

Doyoung let out a moan as you whimpered. The feeling of him inside you, putting pressure against you was intoxicating, so intoxicating that you could not move for a moment. As you began moving, slowly up and down Doyoung’s length, every inch of him burnt against every inch of you. The man below held desperately onto your hips, pulling you up and down to take complete control of the pace. The rhythmic tempo made a coil of pleasure begin to spin in your stomach, the grip upon you tight and almost painful. Another whimper fell from your lips as Doyoung let his head tilt back in pleasure. You shook, placing your hands upon his shoulders for stability, body nearly slumping against him.

His fingers began to trail up your body, tracing the pink, sheer lace that covered your breasts, swirling past and up your throat. His journey stopped, fingers halting and spreading up against your skin as he grappled the chain that attached to the collar. You let a loud moan explode into the atmosphere as you lifted yourself up and down Doyoung’s member, the pleasure in your loin beginning to burn. Low growls fell from Doyoung’s mouth, filling your ears like music as his grip upon you, both on your waist and collar, tightened. Air tightly passed through your windpipe, head spinning as you arched yourself quicker upon Doyoung. He growled loudly, his face scrunching up in pleasure as you felt him release inside of you, the warm liquid applying even more pressure inside your heat. The hot, wet feeling made you complete, and you felt yourself tighten and spasm on his member.

A last, prolonged mewl fell from your lips as you ceased your movements, still sat upon Doyoung’s member. His tempered sighs filled the room, grip on your collar loosening and hand falling back to your waist. You fell into Doyoung. Chests pressed together as sweat mixed like a cocktail of pleasure and sleepiness. Doyoung wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close, your cheek pressed flush against the crook of his neck. While holding you, Doyoung lifted slightly, giving him enough room to remove himself from your heat. A stifled moan fell from both of you, heat swelling around the room. You sighed, sleepy upon your equally tired boyfriend.

‘That was nice.’ You whimpered in a hushed tone.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Doyoung agreed, your head tilting upward to stare into his big, doe eyes. ‘C’mon kitten, let’s go and get you cleaned up and in bed.’ He soothed, fingers weaving through your hair as you purred once more against his chest. Nuzzling into him as your ears nudged his chin.

[lisarichardsonbylines]

How to Tell Your Husband You’re a Witch

Witches we need you. Now more than ever. In the time of COVID-19 we can find respite in place-based reverence, plant magic and the divine feminine. So writes Lisa Richardson, who came to witchiness with nothing but white hetero straight-lacedness and a crush on a yoga teacher.

Lisa Richardson | Longreads | April 2020 | 15 minutes (4,084 words)

On a Friday afternoon, pre-COVID-19, my husband dropped some ice-cubes into glasses, ready to make us screwdrivers and cheers to surviving another week of working/parenting/wondering where the hell the years were going, only, the vodka bottle was empty.

“Oh yeah,” I said, my eyes sliding sideways, trying to not cause a fuss, “I used it for medicine.” The previous week, the kitchen counter had been cluttered with a giant mason jar full of oily plant matter. “Balm of Gilead!” I explained, brightly, as he wiped away the breakfast crumbs around it.

“But what is it?”

“Cottonwood tips in oil.”

His eyes had flicked, then, over to the brand-new bottle of extra virgin olive oil that was now nearly empty, as I enumerated the medicinal benefits of this old herbal remedy (and all this from a tree in our backyard!). Twenty-four years together means I could hear the abacus in his brain clicking, as he wordlessly calculated the cost per milliliter of a gallon jar of plant matter masticating in top-shelf olive oil, against the cost per unit of a bottle of generic aspirin tables, overlaid with the probability of me losing interest in this project.

First the olive oil. Now the vodka for dozens of little jars of tinctures — garden herbs and weeds soaking in now-undrinkable booze. My midlife quest to attune more deeply to the rhythms of the natural world was starting to incur unexpected, but real, costs.

He was quiet, as he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer instead.

* * *

In my defense, I could have pointed my finger at Natalie Rousseau, a yoga teacher living in my 5,000 person village, who I’d first encountered leading a solstice yoga class billed as a way to survive the madness of the holidays (in slightly more gracious language). Thanks to her offerings of insight I did survive the commercial horror of the “festive” season, and a few months later, as the new moon entered Aries (whatever that actually means), I plonked down $200 to subscribe to her online 13 Moons course — my foray into “slowing down and being more present,” as I pitched it to my husband when he inquired about the strange entry on the credit card statement.

But I did not deflect the simmering tension between us by naming Natalie as the instigator of these “kitchen witch” experiments. Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

But there it is. The word. Witch. The wound.

* * *

Every day, after COVID-19 entered our world, Natalie Rousseau has responded with an offering, a teaching — a meditation, an ancient mantra of protection, a yoga practice for managing anxiety, a how-to video on harvesting poplar medicine. It’s as if she’s been resourcing herself for this moment to develop the richest arsenal imaginable, to navigate, not the public health crisis, but the billion personal crises each of us is forced to confront as life as we know it slams into pandemic mode. It’s not what I thought a witch would do, if I ever thought about them at all.

Natalie doesn’t look like a witch either — not in the way I conceived it for last year’s Halloween costume, with my long black skirt, dollar-store pointy hat, and heavy black eyeliner, walking alongside my 6-year-old vampire-werewolf. Natalie is petite, just a few inches over five feet, her long blond hair still evoking the decade she spent living in a west coast surf town, her chest and lean muscled arms bright with full sleeve flowery tattoos and Mary Oliver quotes. She moves like a dancer, demonstrating yoga poses as if she’s transcending gravity. As a teacher, she speaks exactly, even in Sanskrit, and guides movement precisely, padding gently and soundlessly through the room, making an adjustment here, offering an instruction there.

So, I was surprised when she used the word “witch” to launch her new online offering, The Witches Wheel. The lure was irresistible. Natalie was claiming the word “witch” without flinching, without anger, without provocation, not as a way to reclaim feminine power and stick it to the men, warranted as that may be: It was essentially an invitation to observe the cycle of the seasons.

A threshold beckoned.

* * *

Natalie, a recent empty-nester, lives with her husband Paul and two dogs in a modest townhome, with a creek and a dozen rogue gardens installed by various residents running behind it. The garage is full of motorbikes. The porch is swept clean on the day I visit, six months into the 13 Moons program, wanting to talk with her about this radical word and why, in a world still unsure what to do with powerful women, she’s not afraid that she’s exposing herself to pitchforks and fires, haters, and trolls.

Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

A tea blend of her own mixing — vanilla chaga chai — is brewing on the stove in an open saucepan. She tends to it, as I settle in, sneaking glimpses around the room, looking for evidence of witchcraft — pentagrams, cloaks, bottled frogs. Nothing. The space is uncluttered, a throw-rug on the armchair, a couple of stark white deer skulls are mounted, European-style, on a wall against a reclaimed barn board — definitely more Soho chic than occult-goth. Her husband returns from town, where he has picked up fresh croissants for us. He’s tall and strong, with a tightly cropped red beard — he looks like a guy you’d run into at the gym, at the surf break, at the hardware store.

“So, what’s it like living with a witch?” I ask him as Natalie attends to our tea, a light-hearted question sprouting out of the great compost of fears I am thinking. Is it impossibly hard to be with a woman who comfortably claims her own power, magic, cycles, voice? What kind of a man can love and honor a witch? And lurking deep beneath it all: Will my husband be one of them?

Paul rolls his eyes, overly-dramatically, pointing up to the light fixture in the kitchen — light bulbs housed in mason jars of all sizes, evoking summer cabins and fireflies and Kinfolk magazine dinner party lanterns. “I made this for her because everything ends up in jars. Have you seen inside these cupboards?” He walks around the house, in faux-exasperation, opening doors to reveal neat stacks of jars, full of dried petals, leaves, syrups, tonics, salves, salts. “And there’s more upstairs!” If it hadn’t been for the dinner party they’d hosted the previous night, most of their apartment’s horizontal surfaces would be covered in jars, he tells me, and the front porch would have housed a dead raven and a dead Cooper’s hawk.

“She’s always sending me out in search of dead things,” he jokes. He picks up roadkill in case she can salvage feathers or skulls.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

The two of them are remarkably self-sufficient — an animal lover (“he loves animals more than people”), Paul realized veganism left him tired and undernourished, so took up hunting to procure his own meat humanely; one of the deer skulls mounted on the wall was harvested this fall, its meat now fills their freezer. They grow a garden, wildcraft, eat well. There is an ease between them — a tidal push and pull as they navigate their modest shared space and the morning routine, without evidence of fake niceness, of power trips or struggles.

Witchcraft, in Natalie Rousseau’s mind, is too non-dogmatic and non-hierarchical to submit to a single all-encompassing definition. “As a practice, it’s so highly individual,” she says, “but across the board, it is very place-based, land-based and body-based. For me, it’s about cultivating a relationship with your own body, your own mind, your emotions, and subtle sensing faculties. It’s learning how to trust your intuition. It’s about reclaiming your own instincts, but also being able to feel: this is what stress feels like in my body, this is what relaxation feels like, this is what it feels like to say yes to something out of a sense of obligation or pressure, this is what it feels like to have a boundary. This is what it feels like when I’m safe. These cues come to us from our bodies. It has to be, for it to work well, otherwise, you’re always reaching outside yourself for another authority.”

This is what she wants to help women, particularly, to reclaim: their sense that they are the first authority on themselves, that they can trust their bodies’ wisdom.

“The biggest thing I want to share with people,” says Natalie of her teaching and online courses, “is how to trust themselves. Everyone can very easily make the medicines that their household would need for common household complaints — colds and flus and chest colds and menstrual cramps — so many basic things that anyone can make very simply, quite affordably. I’m not anti-pharmaceutical. There are many medications people have to take daily to live. And if I have a serious infection, I’m going to take antibiotics; if I am seriously ill, I am going to go to the doctor; if I have any kind of trauma, I’m going to be so grateful for that form of medicine. But I believe the role kitchen medicine has is in the maintenance and prevention of illness.”

One of her biggest laments, though, as she makes videos and handouts and shares them with her online community, is that even people who have paid to do her course don’t feel that they have the time to take it into their kitchens. “Making a tincture is literally pouring vodka over plant materials and leaving it on your counter for four weeks!” she says. But it is easier for most people to just buy one online and have it delivered to their doorstep. “I am saddened by how easily women give their power over. This is the biggest thing I’ve noticed as a teacher in the past couple of years — how quickly women will say, ‘but how do you do this? I don’t know how to do this! I’m afraid to try this because I might not be good at it, I might be doing it wrong. I’m an imposter.’ I really struggle with this. Where is it coming from?”

But she knows. We have relinquished our power, over a thousand years or more, of wounding, of witch-burnings, of patriarchy either convincing us we have none or forcibly stripping it away, (hello Harvey Weinstein), until all we feel empowered to do, now, in 2020, is consume. And we’ve been doing that with all our might.

We override the listening, we ignore the nudges, we push through, like good soldiers. “Most people are running so hard,” observes Natalie. “Our culture is so focussed on productivity. We are so overly heroic — it’s all or nothing. I can’t do something unless I’m an expert. I don’t want to try. But this is a craft. It’s a path of education.”

Natalie’s invitation is gentle, and she’s crafted her online course to serve that: Start with one plant and learn its taste, its smell. Spend five minutes a day on meditation or in conscious ritual and begin to notice what’s going on in your nervous system, in your mind, in your body.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

Don’t get so distracted by the word witch, that you fail to notice that it is connected to craft. Witchcraft, for Natalie, is a path of learning “how to trust and problem solve, from within, knowing that we are in a system of power that, for better, for worse, will strip us of any ability to trust ourselves and to always feel empty so we have to keep buying more stuff.”

When she says this, a deep thrill of recognition hums in me, accompanied by a shiver of fear. Those are revolutionary things to say out loud, to cast into the open air. I recognize it viscerally as the kind of talk that gets people in trouble.

* * *

Last summer, before I met Natalie, I had stepped from my backyard patio stones onto freshly cut grass and spied the sinuous form of a wandering garter snake. I leaned in quickly, excitedly, about to call my 6-year-old over to glimpse the garden visitor before it shimmied away. But it was eerily still. Ugly slash wounds marked its body. It was dead. Innocent victim to the ride-on lawnmower. Obliterated by our oblivion.

“Oh no,” I muttered. “I’m so sorry!”

I had already begun to wake up to the natural world, it’s rhythms, it’s offerings of medicine, it’s otherness, but it had come with a shadow side, a growing despair at what we were doing to the world. Even without a malicious intention, I was causing death and destruction — just mowing the lawn, drinking my coffee, wiping my ass: My actions, all our human activity, had compounding impacts that were destroying the snakes, the ocean, the atmosphere, the forests, the icecaps — beyond repair.

I wanted my garden to be a habitat. I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. My penitence froze me in place, scared to make a move for fear of ruining something else. Then, regret overriding my squeamishness, I fetched the flat-bladed shovel and edged it under the dead snake. I carried her body over to the vegetable patch, and in a space between the beds, where the mower never goes, I laid her down. I picked marigolds and calendula from around the garden, where they’d been planted to keep the snails away, and lay the bright orange blossoms in a circle around her.

Grandmother snake, I whispered, hoping that some force that exists beyond the definitively dead snake at my feet, might spread the word among the entire species, “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean it. I will try to be more careful.”

It was a made-up ritual, the kind that a kid might perform deep in her dream world at the bottom of the garden, and it made my 44 year-old-self feel a little bit better. At least I’d made a gesture of repair, had expressed my desire to return into balance with the living world around me. If it had any effect, I’d never know. I went back inside, said nothing.

A few days later, out in the garden, my husband tripped over the skeleton of a decomposing snake, ringed by wilted flowers, half consumed by ants.

“That was spooky,” he confronted me. “What’s going on? Are you some kind of witch?”

* * *

* * *

Natalie has always been comfortable with the word. Now she’s having fun inviting people to consider the archetype, circle it, unpack it, stumble upon some kind of recognition: Wait a second! Maybe I am a witch!

“It’s cool how people in the western world can take a description that has been used mostly as a slur, and turn it around to use as something empowering,” she says.

For thousands of years, witch was a term used to incite violence against women. By the most conservative estimates, half a million people, mostly women, were executed in the European witch craze between 1300 and 1650. Accusations of witchcraft were used against women, says Rousseau, “in ways that were extremely dangerous and terrifying. It was really about getting power from them, and getting land back. So, to use a word like that in an empowered way, even today, you have to know you’re safe to do it. And it’s important to realize that in many places in the world, it’s still not safe for women to say that. But if we can, in safe places, take that word and turn it around, that, to me, is extremely powerful.”

I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

Natalie herself embodies empowerment. Not in the traditional way I have come to recognize power — as someone standing over, dominating someone else, her source of power comes from within.

She doesn’t need to take any from her partner.

“Do you find this relationship at all emasculating?” I joke to Natalie’s husband.

“I don’t. Not at all. No,” he replies.

“We’ve always given each other space to be ourselves.”

But that’s not always a guarantee of safety.

If it is dangerous to be an empowered woman in the world, then it’s dangerous, too, for the men who love them.

Lyla June Johnston is an author and activist of Diné and European heritage. Her inquiry into her disowned European heritage led to a realization: The millions of women burned alive, drowned alive, dismembered alive, beaten, raped and otherwise tortured as so-called, “witches,” were not witches at all. They were the medicine people of old Europe. Her lens, as a contemporary indigenous woman, and as a survivor of sexual violence, helped her identify that those were the women who understood the herbal medicines, the ones who prayed with stones, the ones who passed on sacred chants. And the all-out warfare of the witch burnings didn’t just harm the women. It had a profound effect on the men who loved them, their husbands, sons, brothers. She recognizes the echo of this in the story of her own time, of her own people. “Nothing makes a man go mad like watching the women of his family get burned alive. If the men respond to this hatred with hatred, the hatred is passed on. And who can blame them? While peace and love are the correct response to hatred, it is not an easy response by any means.”

How many men have kept their women down, tried to keep them at home, have become the handcuffs that the women fought against because they were answering to their own unarticulated primal instinct to keep them safe?

Natalie Rousseau speculates, “I am sure historically you had lots of husbands telling their wives to tone it down, not because they didn’t respect their power, but because they were genuinely afraid. I’d apply that to any women described as uppity — getting involved politically, or getting involved in local stuff that’s happening, fighting for the environment: Stop getting noticed so much. This could be dangerous.”

Some dangers are too great to be able to protect each other from. And so we turn the fight on each other — little domestic power-trips that distract us from the fact that we’ve relinquished all our power any way to the Great Machine.

* * *

My tentative inquiries into witchcraft, becoming fluent in my own moods and emotions, and paying attention to the seasons, barely prepared me for the abrupt slow-the-fuck-down order that came when COVID-19 landed in British Columbia, in my village, as school broke for spring break. The emergency handbrake was pulled. Everything came to a squealing stop — all my plans, canceled; all the stores, closing; the whole damn world, under house arrest and in a panic. The whiplash from the stunning speed of that shift has left my whole being hypersensitive to any sudden movement, to being jerked around. But the first things I have staked my trust in, in that space of uncertainty, were Natalie’s teachings: First, trust your body. Pause. Listen.

In self-imposed isolation with my husband and just-turned-7-year-old, I dance with anxiety and curiosity and disconnection and too-much-information. The well-trodden pathways we have all been racing along, flexing our power and exercising our entitlements as consumers, are suddenly bordered up with emergency tape. This invitation that Natalie has been dripping out, month after month, takes root. There is far more potency available to us, than shopping, driving, holidaying, consuming, endlessly moving around the planet.

There is potency in all the feelings that have been showing up at my door. Oh, good morning frustration. Ah grief, yes, I suppose you’d like a cup of tea. Hello there, existential terror, I wondered when you’d pop by. There is potency in sitting with my back against a huge cedar tree and listening, in slowing down so much that I can give my 7-year-old my full attention. There is potency even in my words, when I soothe him down from a tantrum by saying, “you know, this is a really hard time for everyone in the whole world right now because no one knows what’s going to happen and no one can play with their friends. I’m really proud of you.” And I can feel his body relax into this space of being acknowledged in his struggles and his efforts.

I don’t know if there are any medicinal properties in the tincture of St John’s Wort and valerian that I drop into water and hand my husband, to gentle his nervous system. Or in the jar of immune-boosting oxymel, that I brewed up with grated ginger and turmeric and orange peel, and shake every day. But even if it’s a placebo, there’s a relief for me in feeling I can do something, can offer my people some kind of healing intention in a little glass, that I can acknowledge that this is hard for my husband too, and that acknowledgment isn’t a concession that takes away from my own sense of struggle.

For decades, we’ve bought into the illusion that our power is as consumers. Now that stores are closing and the shelves are emptying and we have to stay home and not immediately indulge every whim that arises, we all feel powerless. But that was never our truest source of power. There’s another source that we can all plug back into, our deep relationship and interbeing with the life force. Maybe, this is our threshold moment. Maybe, this is a chance to craft a few little spells, to speak the words of the world we long to inhabit — a place where the currency of kindness and wonder flow, where humans return to a deep memory of belonging among the plants and creatures, and to brew up a cup of tea, light a candle, and dream it into existence. Maybe it’s an invitation to say, “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to, I will try and be more careful,” and to build a little altar, even if you feel kind of cray cray doing it. Let your nervous system settle as you invent some small ritual, (just ask your inner 5-year-old for guidance, she probably remembers exactly what to do), and make a gesture of repair.

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my Apocalypse team,” I tell my husband, the night the global virus countertops 400,000. He’s been chopping wood, auditing the pantry, getting our kid across the finish line of the LEGO project that has absorbed him for four days. My husband was a farm kid. He’s always been practical, my polar opposite. Even when we have battled each other, (am I giving up too much of my power to him? If I acknowledge his pain and his needs, will that cancel mine out?) I’ve always known he would do anything to keep me safe. “Not that I can request an upgrade now,” I joke. “But I bet you’re glad to be stuck with me. One always wants a daydreamer at your side in a pinch.”

“Oh yeah,” he spoofs me: “’ The stock market is collapsing, let me just go check my Tarot cards.’”

We laugh. And hold each other. We can’t buy our way out of this. None of us. Our entire species, our global community, is being vividly reminded that we are all in this together, inextricably connected, epidemiologically entwined, in our vulnerability and our sweet potential. We didn’t need Amazon and airlines and online shopping to know what the witches have been telling us all this time. All the power we need is right here — between us, around us, within us. We just have to remember it.

* * *

Lisa Richarson

is a senior contributor to Coast Mountain Culture magazine and a columnist for Pique newsmagazine and edits the hyperlocal websites,

TheWellnessAlmanac.com

and

TracedElements.com.

She’s deep into a decade-long mission to slow the fuck down, but still optimize life for happiness and productivity. Born and raised in Australia, she has lived as a guest on the unceded territory of the Líl̓wat Nation since a ski vacation went rogue 20-odd years ago.

Editor: Carolyn Wells

Posted by

Lisa Richardson

on

April 8, 2020

https://longreads.com/2020/04/08/how-to-tell-your-husband-youre-a-witch/

[ana-deaky]

It’s The Little Things || Joe Mazzello x Reader

What started out as a discussion between me and @amethyst-serenade on how cute Joe is, blown out into this story/HC, I honestly don’t know what this is. It’s definitely fluffy, now that I’m sure. Hope you guys enjoy our work!!

Words: 2393

No warnings whatsoever

HERE WE GO!!

Oh without a doubt! He's gonna be an amazing father and his kids will be adorable and lovable just like him.

Imagine him with his firstborn (especially if it's a girl) holding them in his arms and the absolute adoration on his face ♥️

It would start when you tell him you're pregnant. He'd be beside you (crying a little), kissing and hugging you, and your belly and telling "I'm gonna be a dad. We're gonna be parents."

Even when before you start showing, his hands will be on the belly, secretly protecting his kid. Involuntarily yelling "excuse me" and "coming through" when the two of you walk through crowds. And randomly talking to the baby, reading to the baby at night. And when he goes on a shoot while you're pregnant and he calls and he says "put the phone on speaker, I wanna talk to the baby" and talks about the day.

And he'd be showing everyone the ultrasound pic! And when you're having a movie night, he'd either have his hand or his head on your belly, constantly snuggling into you. And he'll tell anyone who'll listen that his beautiful wife is expecting your first child. And during the movie, if anybody cusses, Joe would put his hands on the sides of the belly and he'd say "too early for that" jokingly.

Oh Joe won't be able to hold it in for the first trimester. The day the second trimester hits, the ultrasound will be on his page and he'll share an entire paragraph about the baby and his incredible wife.

And obviously help throw the best damn dramatic Baby Gender Reveal Party ever!! YES! It's a girl!!

The moment he feels the baby kick over your belly, god, here comes the water works AGAIN!! His hands will be literally glued to your belly until he feels her kick again.

And the day comes when little Ms. Mazzello is ready to make her grand entrance into the world and you bet your ass, Mr. Mazzello has had the hospital bag and ready to go right after the baby shower.

And there she was, Ella Virginia Mazzello, the absolute adoration in his face as he watched his little girl in a tiny bundle on her mom's chest.

His face would be all lit up when he finally holds his baby girl, he's looking at his baby girl, all teary eyed and you could see his love for the baby in his eyes. And he'll literally worship the mother of his more than adorable baby, the love of his life and love her like anything.

He'd be loving and considerate, and would make sure his wife is happy and comfortable. And he tries his best to for you to let him dress the baby in the Yankees onesie he got for her. Well he knows how that's gonna end up.

Let us assume the fact that Ben has a baby boy around that time and Gwil makes a joke "that's your future boyfriend" when the boys visit the new mother and baby at Joe's home and Joe whispers to the baby, pretty audibly, "No dating for you until 16, young lady"

And on one day when the Yankees are playing, he'll be wearing a Yankees tshirt and dresses the baby in the Yankees onesie that he specifically got for her, and seats her on his lap, he'll post that picture captioned "Just two Yankees fans hangin' out"

His phone memory will be filled up with all of Ella's pictures, videos of her bouncing up and down on her father's lap to one of those Beatles songs from her dad's collection and obviously in her Halloween costume, that's right, Joe dresses up his little girl in a baby Raptor costume.

And all the boys would give him shit for it but Lucy would think it's the most adorable thing ever and tell you how lucky you are to have a husband like that.

As his little girl grows up, he'll help her host tea parties and he'd take her on daddy-daughter dates so he can show her how a REAL man should treat her.

Joe would make sure his little girl don't take no crap!

Second time along, during their second gender reveal, they find they're having a baby boy and he'll go crazy raising his hands and jumping up and down "we're having a boy, our lil baseball player is here."

He'd be going on and on and ON about having a firstborn son to carry on the family name.

He'd DEFINITELY get him a raptor onesie first and practically beg to organise play dates with Gwil & Dana's little girl and Rami and Lucy's twins (we haven't forgotten Ben's kids)

And Joe's baby girl, he'll definitely be by her side when his baby boy is too little so that she don't feel left out or anything.

********

And Mother's Day,

The boys would all get together and plan something special for the ladies so they don't have to lift a finger. Starting with breakfast in bed (that Joe made with help from the kids), well you woke up to your little girl's giggles from outside the door and in comes your lovely husband with your baby boy in the baby carrier and Ella.

The boys would have booked the girls in for a spa day and he'll organise daddy-daycare with the boys. Then you'd all go to Rami & Lucy's place for dinner, which of course, the dads are making while the girls hangout with the kids. And then comes a bab(ies)y-mommy photoshoot and everything.

But Joe would find you when the baby's hungry because 'that's the one thing I can't do, sorry!' He'll be so dramatic saying "My nipples are useless."

Under the starry skies, the boys and their wives and babies, pictures perfect.

Ooh and the kids, well the boys will set up tents for them to camp in the backyard. And they'll sit around and tell stories of dragons and pirates and wizards; and let their imaginations run wild.

Imagine Gwil telling all these amazing stories with his soothing accent, doing all the voices and making the kids laugh while the rest of you are enjoying a beer or a glass of wine under the fairy lights hanging in the trees. And later, when he gets an acoustic guitar and break into a song and all the boys sing along.

And after the kids are down, all of you reminisce about the time when they did BoRhap and all the fun you guys had during press tours and birthdays and holidays.

And Joe tells about the adventures in Japan for the press tour when the translators were finding it hard to keep up with the boys. And Ben's like "Sorry I missed it!"

"But Cardboard Ben did" and that's when they remember Ben Cardy after an awful long time

Then Gwil and Joe explain the terrible night that Cardy B was in jail. Meanwhile you and the girls look at each other like "Boys!" 🙄

And Lucy takes out Joe's YouTube page and shows all the videos. And they all give him shit for doing 'Milk' and you be like "He still got the occasional screams."

Then Rami says "so THAT'S your bedroom secret, Joe?" And Joe's like "Well, we've got two kids so it must be working!" And you shove at his arm to keep him quiet saying "Joseph!"

"That's nothing",  Lucy says with a grin "Rami sings to me". And Rami covers his face with his hands and Ben shoves his arm. "Gwil goes "Huzzah" everytime he's done", says Dana from a corner. Ben gives Olivia a warning look, and Olivia says "Ben tells me to call him Skywalker to get him in the mood" and Joe laughs.

"So we all have weird quirks, cheers to that", says Joe and takes a drink and you go like eww

"That's why were friends", says Gwil. "Joe and I are more like brothers' says Rami, "We've seen each other shirtless in The Pacific". "And other things" says Ben. Lucy rolls her eyes and you two give each other a look.

"Here we go again" says Gwil and turns to you to ask "Has he tried to make the kids watch The Pacific yet?"

"Well it's not my fault. That the scene was TOO GOOD, y'know", says Joe winking, "besides you enjoy it as much as I do" says Joe to you.

"Several times. Barely made it halfway through the first episode before Ella said she was bored. He then tried with Joey until I reminded him that the baby is, in fact, still a baby. But when WE watch it, Joe always seems really interested in THAT sex scene", you said. "Joseph!" Lucy gasps

"Attaboy!" Rami chuckles and pats Joe on his back.

"How come you guys never watched it with me?", Ben asks. "We should do a "The Pacific" watch party one day", Rami announces and Joe toasts, "To the watchparty!"

"Oh she hesitated! That means it's true!" says Ben. "No wonder you've got two kids" Gwil grins.

"You watched it too!" says Dana. "Only because Rami and Joe wouldn't shut up about it and brought it up in EVERY interview we did!" says Gwil.

Just as Joe does the toast, your daughter comes out in her favourite unicorn pyjamas. "Daddy, I need to pee". Joe looks over at you. Rami and Lucy giggle. "She did call Daddy, didn't she?", you gave a look to Joe and he says "Come here" he says and picks up his daughter and off he goes. "She walks right?", Dana asks. "Don't even get me started with that.", you told.

"Always knew he'd go all gooey over his little girl." Ben says, lighting a cigarette. "She's definitely daddy's princess", you sigh. "Does he have tea parties with her?" Olivia asks. "He does, but uh" you hesitate just as Joe comes back, "Liv wants to know about your latest tea party"

"Oh what can I say Ella loves tea parties as much as I do. It's incredible and so much fun, you know" he says. "And this one here", he gestures to you, "is kinda jealous of us spending all the time together."

"You pinky promised me that you wouldn't show it to anyone" says Joe trying to grab your phone. "Oh its them", you said. "Yes it's us. Also pinky promise? How old are you guys?", Gwil asked.

"Yeah, Joe left me for a younger woman", you grin, sipping your wine. "You bastard!" Gwil gasps.

"And yet I have photographic evidence of you wearing a flower crown" you add. "Show us!", says Ben.

"That's just the start of it, Gwil", you wink, "so we have a choice between the flower crown, the fairy wings or the unicorn headband". Ben chokes on his cigarette and the girls laugh.

"You're a man of many hidden talents, Joe", Rami smirks.

"In my defense, I take pinky promises very very seriously", Joe said as the group passed the phone around, "Also I looked good in every one of those pictures"

"Y/N, tell them", Joe said. You roll your eyes. "He looks good in every one of those pictures", you said, adding to Dana "otherwise he'll sulk for the rest of the night." Dana giggles.

"Speaking of onesies, Joe wanted to get BoRhap themed outfits for the kids.", you said. "Thats so thoughtful, Joe", Lucy said. "Hold on, next time?", Ben grinned, "You guys wanna have more kids?"

"Did you get that onesie that we sent you for the baby?" Ben asked. "We did", you confirm "and it fits perfectly. Though El almost threw a tantrum when she saw her baby brother dressed as a raptor."

"Well Joe has already bought a Yankees one, so Ben had to compromise", said Rami. "Joe made me pinky promise that we HAD to buy the Yankees onesie first", you grin. "I wanted that for the baby's "homecoming" outfit, but she didn't allow it. Both times. Better luck next time, right?" Joe said.

'It's Joey's first Christmas. They're growing up so fast. I remember like it was yesterday that I told Joe that I was pregnant with El. Now here we are", and you were interrupted by a baby crying through one of the monitors. All of you scramble around to check which one was active. And found out it was yours, "Is he hearing all this? I'm gonna go check on him", you said and walked away.

"Oh he's already advised me of this, on the wedding night", you shrugged. "Pretty sure we conceived lil Joey at your place, Gwil", Joe grins, making Gwil sputter on his beer. You swatted his arm, "Joe!!".

"And I assume you've already found these outfits for the kids?" Olivia asked.

"It's a work in progress. It should be ready by the time of our Disney trip, hopefully", Joe said.

You sat in the rocking chair with Joey in your arms, singing to him softly, looking deep into his hazel eyes, stroking his cheek with your finger.

"I remember when you told us that Y/N was pregnant again", said Lucy, "You couldn't wait give give El a baby brother or sister."

"That's what you meant when you said you were busy, huh"' Rami winked. "We thought it was time, you know, El became a big sister."

******

"Gosh, I feel bad for not saying goodnight to everyone", you yawned "I didn't realise how tired I was.". You watched as the baby snuggled into the pastel green blanket, sound asleep.

You felt the baby lifted off your arms and opened your eyes, your fingers tightening on the baby "Shhhh its okay, it's me. I got him.", said Joe as he took the baby in his arm and laid him down on the bassinet right by the bedside. "Aren't you supposed to be downstairs?", you asked sleepy

"I knew you'd have dozed off with the baby when you didn't show up and everybody was tired after the long night. Probably asleep by now", Joe said, "Come let's go to sleep."

'C'mon now, in you get', Joe said pulling the duvet aside and you got in and he behind you. His strong arms wrapped around you after he pulled the blanket over the both of you. You nuzzled into his neck. Joe kissed the top of your head. As the two of you dozed off.

......

Tags: @amethyst-serenade @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @mazzell-ro @thosequeenboys @detectivecutiepantsandhisbabyfox @brinteylovesaliens @hellysthings

[red-doll-face]

locked in. [michael myers x gn!reader]

Ok, SO. this is my first slasher fic ever so be gentle, or else I will cry. This isn’t a specific version of Mikey so feel free to imagine any version you like, Thank you for reading this shit, 😳

Summary: You don’t want to think about it. How hard you’re breathing. How much you hope that his hearing isn’t so great in that mask. How much you wished, no matter how cruel, that he had entered someone else’s house. Maybe the neighbors had a gun. A well placed baseball bat. You didn’t. And it was too late. He had chosen this house. No matter how indeliberate or random the choice. It was still you.

WC: 2899

Warnings: stalking, implied kidnapping, creepy mikey (but that’s to be expected)

The sun offered its blistering warmth that fell gently, swayed by the autumn breeze that afternoon, which moved the leaves in their races across the porch, tumbling and piling up in the corners. The day had progressed normally. Like any other day that passed before it; inconsequential and in no way seemed to affect your life specifically, Halloween being of no special importance. The cover of night time seemed to change that air of normality. The sun fell into the ground as slow as always and came all too quickly. If you had known what awaited you in the silver night that shrouded the windows and darkened the doorways, you would have vehemently begged for the sun to stay. For Halloween night to never come.

_

Television noise filtered through, duly registered, and in large part ignored due to the hesitant call of school work.

A heavy sigh pushed through your lips, and after that, the pervasive silence that blared after the break of a long time spent focusing. Fall weather chill came from the open window overlooking the yard above your desk, workspace cast in the sparse light of the small lamp, kept there for your neverending school work.

Silence prevailing over the house, besides a static-y television, you realized that your parents must have left for that stupid Halloween party. The one at your parents’ job that offered the free alcohol and tepid conversation that careened in circles. ‘How are you doing?’ s exchanged, launching into an awkward silence before someone hopefully picks a good joke or something cheesy. All of the couples’ costumes explanation nightmares. Every horrible attempt at socialization a broken record that played the same section over and over… The schoolwork was better.

“Again, the town of Haddonfield, Illinois is plunged into another horrible Halloween-” the finger over the button put a quick end to the reporters nonsense as you rubbed at your eyes. 10:24 p.m. Not so bad, a few good hours of working afforded you some rest from your class discussion notes. The doorbell startled you after the white noise of 10 o'clock news stopped filling the room. Giggles and quiet chatter came from the front door. Oh, yeah. It was Halloween and the children were out on the hunt for candy. You almost forgot kids do that.

“Trick or Treat!” a group of kids no older than 9 accompanied by two watchful mothers held bags open, ready to receive the gift of sugar.

"Here you guys go,” you said, with as best a smile you could offer the children at her door. “Happy Halloween.” they ran back to their parents, only saying thank you when the two women scolded them for being so rude. You smiled and gave a small wave to the mothers and shut the door. The red plastic bowl for the candy now sat empty by the front door table.

“Sorry, no more candy.” You muttered to yourself, flipping the switch to the light on the front porch. It was darker outside than you thought but you didn’t want kids expecting candy come to the door.

After a snack and some juice enjoyed in silence, or rather to the serenade of crickets and what little children or teens still lingered on the quiet streets of Haddonfield, you refill the glass and made the begrudging journey back to the books. But little complaining was done when you considered the alternative. Another half-hour of work passed you by and when your glass of juice revealed itself to be empty, your thirst won out and you trekked back to the kitchen.

It would have been normal if the back door hadn’t been open. When you turned to find the source of the chill creeping up your legs you found the back door ajar, letting in the cool air. A stint of fear shot through your veins until the wind shut it back closed in a violent bang. The wind might have blown it open, you rationalized in silent contemplation. The wind is often to blame. Your father used to say that about the noises in your house so you figured it must be the cause. It’s always the cause.

Quietly padding to the slamming door, you wondered how long this had been going on. You hadn’t heard it earlier when the TV was on and even after that. So when exactly did the wind begin to blow open your backdoor? A quick peek into the backyard didn’t answer any questions and only worked against you, ranking up your fear. The darkness crowded around the bleak circle of light the backyard lights emitted and stretched back to the trees lining the fence and even further after that. You shivered and huddled into the comfort of home, locking the door securely. Making sure to be deliberate. If it happened again, then you should be fearful.

When you had finally made it back upstairs after your little backdoor scare, your homework greeted you like a solemn reminder: due tomorrow. With a weak plop into the desk chair, you grabbed a pen and continued where you left off. But thoughts about the backdoor snuck up on you. For the life of you, you couldn’t pinpoint a certain moment; besides when you walked into the kitchen, where you could remember the sound of the backdoor banging on the now battered wall. You shake your head, your logical self trying its best to keep you on track.

'It was just the wind, mom and dad probably just forgot to lock it’.

Momentary placation drove your brain back into work, scribbling notes to distract. To calm. Notes were calming in the place of the implications your wide-open back door held over you.

One more half-hour. 11:03 p.m. glowed on your alarm clock. One more hour before your alarm would go off, demanding you go to bed. Groggy mornings would be the death of you. The phone makes you jump and you sigh again before trotting downstairs. You answer the phone, plucking it off the wall.

“Hello?” You answered tiredly, emphasizing how much you disliked being startled.

“Ohh, honey, we were just- stop that!” Raucous giggling and party chatter streamed through the phone. You rolled your eyes.

“We called to ask you how you were doing? Hard at work, I hope. My hardworking baby.” your mom cooed and you simply set your mouth in a line. So hard at work. Working so hard.

“Yeah, mom when are you coming home?”

“Your father and I will be home in an hour. There’s an afterparty! How exclusive is that? I feel like a celebrity; like I won an Oscar!” you rolled your eyes, that one a little more meaningful “Afterparty…” your mom sighed wistfully as if her quaint office party compared to an Oscars afterparty.

"Ok, well just get home safe. You worked out who’s driving ?”

“So responsible. Yes, yes we have all that worked out.” She whispered to someone else nearby and she gave a quick 'love you, bye!’ Before hanging up. Hm. you lingered at the phone for a while, putting it back on the hook delicately, the 'clack’ sound soothing in a strange sort of way. Then something much less comforting echoed through the barren lonely wasteland that was your house.

A creak.

You stilled. It was not you and that you were sure of. You hadn’t moved and even if you did, you know exactly where each creaky floorboard in your house is. There isn’t one by the phone.

'Old bones’ grandpa would say.

'What an imagination on you! The things you’ll do with it!’ your mom would say.

'The wind’ dad would say in that gruff tone he had when he was busy.

With all of those reminders, you couldn’t be sure. Was there someone in your house? Your friends did mention the local psycho killer and his October shenanigans. Some sort of escaped mental patient. But that was a local legend. He spent his Halloweens in a cell.

Then other, less silly options came to mind. Robbers, realistic killers, the Ted Bundy kind. The ones who were less legend and more substance. More manipulative than a faceless shape peeking from the shadows.

“Imagination” you rationalized. All those work hours were taking their toll. The words whirled around and finally sleep called.

But when you think about it, you weren’t so tired. Not sleepy. Only worried. The backdoor banging against the wall and now this ominous creak were like a storm on the horizon. When you really think about it, you want to leave.

'Silly, silly.’ you thought. This is your home. The safest place you know. Your room has a lock. And so do the windows. Nothing to be afraid of, surrounded by the safe and secure interior of the house you grew up in.

Thus began the slow cycle around your warm, familiar home. Every window and door leading directly outside was closed and locked up for the night. Locked tight and double-checked. All the dark corners and closets were searched and you finally felt like you could sit without feeling imaginary eyes burning holes into the back of your neck. Every door was closed as to alert you if you saw one open and you finally settled in.

Your nightly routine brought its comfort in that it was ritualistic. It repeats every night and you do it without fail. Brush teeth, clean and wash face, comb hair, prep hair, change clothes, old clothes in the hamper, open stupid shower curtains, dry face with a towel if still wet, plan out next days outfit, Put away books…

Each book found its place in your bookbag and it was placed by your room door for easy takeaway. and finally, the usual glass of water. the same glass with water from the gallon and chilled just how you liked it. No matter what mom and dad say about your strange habits, the glass of water was necessary. It just was.

The stairs didn’t so much as creak as you crept down them, thankful you didn’t turn off all the lights. You filled your glass and slowly made your way up to your room.

A noise, just behind, well not just but somewhere behind you. You whipped around, expecting to see the shadow of something that meant you harm but you didn’t see anything. When you turned back around you could see it. That something that meant you harm. Your throat went dry and your heart stopped.

At the top of the stairs was the tallest man you’d ever seen, wielding a giant kitchen knife and wearing dark blue coveralls. His shadow fell over your face and you couldn’t even think to run. The black holes cut in his white mask seemed viscous, like a bird of prey. Watching, waiting, timing, capturing. You were sure that you were the rabbit in this situation. Sure to end up the hawks meal. Or perhaps the owl as he tilted his head at you. He descended a step and you followed suit, taking a step back, trembling hands dripping water from the glass that might just cost you your life or save it.

You tossed the glass at him, hitting him square in the forearm he raised to fend off the clear shattered remains and you took the opportunity to bolt. He didn’t give chase but you knew he wouldn’t just let you leave. That’s not the endgame. Not for him anyway. The pantry called you, but first, you had to lead him astray. The pantry was the most obvious choice. In the movies, that’s how all the dummies die. Grabbing a chair from the dining table, you tossed it into the window and then hastily dashed into the pantry.

This was a mistake. But only if you made it that way. Surrounded by crinkling bags and carefully stacked boxes, absolutely no movement could be made. Not if you wanted to get away with your life.

The heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs. Creaking on every step, it had never occurred to you that you might be more nimble than your killer, or your killer would be heavier than your dad. The crunch of broken glass from afar signaled the glass you threw.

He passed over it, unfazed and you cover your mouth, afraid even the slightest breath would tell him where you were hiding. He was the local legend after all. You tried to pretend this was extreme hide and seek. Having your life on the line, however, seemed to make you sweat bullets.

The crunch of glass closer to your hiding place tells you he’s inspecting the window. Will he fall for it? You hope so. You’re not sure if it will give an opening for you to call the police.

Sure enough, you hear him grunt and his feet land on the earth outside your home. How long ago was it that you called your mom?

Slowly, you crawled to the dining table, closing the pantry door snail slow behind you. The phone taunted you from the hook it was placed on. So close, yet so far. You slowly rose to a crouch, and just as he seemed to turn back into the house, your ruse not fooling him for long, you had already bunched yourself into a ball behind the couch making intense eye contact with your phone. He vaulted the window, heavy workman’s boots creaking the hardwood floor underneath the window that would draw the eye to your dad’s shiny old Cadillac. You felt a tear roll down your cheek. Tears don’t help you escape.

He lowered himself to peek under the dining room table and you took the chance to move to the other couch, still out of his view. Gaining courage, you peek to see him slam open the pantry door. You shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn’t fallen for your little trick. While he was distracted, you took the chance to move quickly as possible to the phone, not quite in his line of sight but you’re hoping he’ll choose the basement. You’re praying, hoping he’ll investigate the basement but he spots the backdoor. Locked. You kicked yourself. If it was unlocked, he might have assumed. He crept towards where you were hiding but by some miracle he stops, waits. An alarm. Midnight. He stalks towards the sound like a man possessed. Your precise ways have saved your life again. You set the alarm in case you got sidetracked so that it would remind you to go to bed. With some quick thinking, you manage to slip into the curtains and he stomps up the stairs before it becomes quiet. he only lets you hear him when he wants to be heard. You exit the closet and pick up the phone dialing the police.

“I swear to god if that’s you again you little punk- ”

“Listen to me. There is a man in the house wearing a mask. My address is 569 Garrison ave. if you don’t come now, I will die.” Your breath hitches at the need to cry but you soak it up. He can’t hear you. Not if you want to live. “Please. Send someone. Goodbye.” You rushed that but it was obvious the police have been receiving prank calls. You hoped he wouldn’t write you off as another prank caller.

The man is still looking for you upstairs. You’re not sure if he’s still busy with the alarm clock. You creep away from the phone on your way to the front door.

Your escape isn’t hasty enough. You should know better by now. He is a predator. He watches. Waits. Strikes. A barreling force pins you to the wall by your shoulders, the pain shooting into your scapulas. You whimper in response and he closes in, seeming to revel in your little noise. You wonder if you had chosen to run to the door, would he have still caught you?

“What do you want?” You pant out.

“I didn’t do anything!” you wiggle and struggle but his brute strength surpasses your academic homebody. You are no match. His face is so close, you can hear the heavy breathing.

Inhale. You test his grip on you.

Exhale. He doesn’t falter.

Then he leans in. Too close for comfort, you think and you cry out as you realize he is feeling you. Studying you. Squeezing and sniffing. Consuming. He raises the strange mask to his nose, before licking the sweat accumulating at your neck. You wished you had seen his face. You hoped he wasn’t some extreme pervert.

He tilts his head in curiosity. He’s starting at you, right in your eyes. He pulls his mask down and grabs your throat and you wince at the thought. He’s gonna choke you to death.

Sirens drown out your little struggles and whines to be set free. He turns, bathed in the flashing, then bends down to pick you up by the waist, folding you over his shoulder.

“No! Stop!” He squeezes your thigh with an iron grip. A warning. Silent tears slip past your shut eyelids. You’re forced to do nothing while the police bang on your door.

“Open up, police!”

'So stupid. You locked yourself inside with him.’ You sob into the blue fabric of his coveralls, soundlessly disappearing out the backdoor.