#I take another cigarette from my carton

[dreamyberry]

Currently: my landlord/housemate doesn’t want to pay extra for the heating and all I can do is sitting in bed and making tea to warm up 🥹

Also, I pay 700€/m and it’s 20 min away from the centre and it’s Den Bosch not Amsterdam 🙃 then sure I have a bathtub, a huge tv I will never use, two wardrobes even tho 1 is enough, and a living room I completely ignore. Jesus

[augiewrites]

"valley reverie" - sebastian

summary: the timeline of sebastian and the farmer’s relationship based on canon dialogue

pairing: sdv sebastian x farmer

word count: 2.5K

a/n: this may be my magnum opus

The sun was beginning its descent behind the mountains when Sebastian emerged from the house for the first—and only—time that day.

He shot a glance to his mother and Demetrius, who were standing at the edge of their property, looking over the valley bathed in golden light. His mother sent a small smile back, followed by a pointed disappointed look at the carton of cigarettes held loosely in his glance. Demetruis didn’t acknowledge his existence.

Sebastian knew it was a nasty habit, but he spent most of his life with not much thought to the future—he was surprised he made it this far. Maybe his life would have been different if he had planned better; if he had considered for a moment that there was such a thing as life past sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-one. He supposed he should start to consider a life past twenty-four, but quickly dropped the thought as he placed the cigarette between his lips and continued his stroll to the lake.

He saw it then, as his lighter sparked to life and helped the cigarette take eleven minutes off his.

Someone was sitting in his spot. A humanoid blob of denim focused intently on the bobber floating in the water.

He hesitated, then decided to keep moving—his trajectory now locked in past the stranger and across the rickety planks of wood to the smaller islands in the middle of the lake. His mother had been saying for years that she needed to build something more structurally sound, but had yet to get around to it.

As he got closer, he took in more of the scene. There was a muddy bucket next to the stranger, and he noticed a couple slimy carp flopping around inside. Whoever this was, they clearly didn’t have enough experience to catch the tricker creatures in the lake.

Just as he was about to slip past toward solitude, he locked eyes with the stranger. Their bored expression quickly turned to worry.

“Sorry, am I in your spot? Robin said it was okay for me to fish here.”

Recognition sparked in his brain—his mother had told him about the new resident of Pelican Town. The words she had used to describe them flashed behind his eyes: sweet, a little lost, cute. That last one was sent his way with an exaggerated wink and met with a scoff from him.

“Oh. You just moved in, right? Cool.”

The farmer didn’t respond, just looked on waiting for an answer to their question. Sebastian didn’t gratify them with a response, instead looking across the lake at the tree line and abandoned quarry.

“Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

The farmer scrunched up their mouth slightly, beginning to reel in their line. There was nothing but a limp worm dangling from the hook. Sebastian took note of the grieving look flashing on their face before it was gone in a blink.

“Better than where I was.”

Sebastian didn’t bother responding as the farmer heaved up the bucket—they were a lot stronger than they looked—and walked away without another word.

Robin smiled at the farmer with a wave and shouted goodnight before sending another disapproving look to her son.

_________________________________________

Sebastian heaved open the door of the house, exhausted from band practice. Sam was his best friend, and he enjoyed spending time with him more than he would admit, but the newest addition to the band was definitely a hindrance.

He didn’t dislike Abigail, and he couldn’t deny that she was a talented drummer, but he had been hoping for years that her little crush on him would fade away. He could only take so much of puppy dog eyes and over exaggerated laughter at his quips that definitely aren’t that funny.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts on how to shake off the purple-haired girl—more importantly, how to shake her off without actual confrontation—that he didn’t notice the farmer leaning against the shop counter until their voice pierced through. His mother was nowhere to be seen, so they had to have been talking to him.

“What? I didn't hear you...I'm busy thinking about something. What do you want?”

The farmer narrowed their eyes at him, leveling him with a glare. “You know, I get that you’d rather be listening to My Chemical Romance and jerking off to Nietzsche than interacting with a human being, but you really need to work on your people skills.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.

He expected avoidance from the farmer, based on their first meeting and subsequent run-ins where they gave him a nod of acknowledgement before going back to acting like he didn’t exist.

He realized that the farmer wasn’t as timid and one-dimensional as he let himself think.

The moment was saved by Robin entering the shop room and dropping a workbench on the floor with a heavy thud. “You’ll make better use of this than I have lately—it’s pretty old,” she looked up from the dusty bench, noticing her son frozen in the doorway, “oh, hi Sebby.”

“Sebby?” the farmer questioned with a smirk.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, brushing past his mother to get to his lair.

“Sorry about him,” he heard his mother as he descended the stairs.

“It’s fine,” the farmer laughed, “he’s cool.”

He couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. _________________________________________

Sebastian looked down at the frozen tear in his hand with a neutral expression on his face, though his heart was quickening its pace.

“Gunther told me it’s fabled to be the frozen tears of a yeti.”

He met the farmer’s grin with one of his own, “I really love this. How did you know?”

They shrugged, “Seemed like some emo shit you’d be into.”

A breathy laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Well…thanks.”

“No prob. I’ll keep an eye out for more when I’m in the mines.”

“The mines?,” his brow furrowed, “how far down did you go?”

“Not super deep, I think I stopped at sixty since it was getting late.”

Sebastian gaped at the farmer—who he now realized he really misjudged—as they shouldered their backpack and turned toward the door.

“Oh,” they stopped just shy of the threshold, “your code is wrong, by the way. Third line down.”

He looked to the screen, baffled, seeing that there was, in fact, a mistake in his code.

He began to ask the farmer how they knew that, but they were gone. _________________________________________

The sun was setting on the valley, and Sebastian found himself sitting by the lake’s edge with the farmer, who was reeling in sturgeon and bass with ease.

“I’m sure the city’s different for other people, but it was corporate hell for me,” the farmer spoke softly as they baited their hook—it was different than any bait he had ever seen, and the farmer had informed him that the wild man living behind their house had taught them the recipe.

Sebastian hummed, “I guess that makes sense.”

“You guess?” the farmer teased him, flicking water at his face.

He blew a puff of smoke in their face.

The farmer coughed, then began to laugh as they fanned the smoke out of their face, “asshole.”

Sebastian grinned, leaning back on the palms of his hands and gazing across the water.

They sat in comfortable silence as the farmer cast out their line and half-heartedly focused on the bobber—they didn’t really need it anymore, but liked the safety net.

“You and Sam are probably my only friends in this town.” Sebastian broke the silence, but continued looking straight ahead.

“Well I am very likable.”

Sebastian knocked their shoulders together with a scoff.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” _________________________________________

Sebastian was indifferent—and sometimes loathful—toward most events held in their little town, but tonight was an exception. It was hard to not be in awe of the midnight jellies, and he was excited for the farmer to see them for the first time.

They were perched at the edge of the dock, along with Sam and Abigail, their feet dangling inches above the water.

It was a lot colder than expected, and the farmer was bundled in his black jacket. He couldn’t help but feel bad about the sad glances Abigail was sending their way.

The farmer looked content, and Sebastian recalled something they told him at the beginning of the season—the used to be terrified of the ocean before moving to the valley.

He nudged their shoulder with his own. It didn’t take much effort—they were sitting a lot closer than he realized. A light blush dusted his cheekbones.

“I thought I saw something moving in there…” he pointed to the void of the ocean and leaned closer to their ear, whispering, “something big, something dark.”

The farmer’s eyes widened as they looked across the vast darkness before they narrowed and turned to him.

“Just trying to scare you...” Sebastian laughed.

The farmer smiled, knocking their knee against his, muttering an all too familiar “asshole.”

It wasn’t too long before Lewis sent out the first lantern, and the water surrounding the docks was filled with glowing jellyfish.

“It’s beautiful,” the farmer breathed out as their head landed on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” his eyes landed on a glowing green jelly before looking down at the farmer, “it is.” _________________________________________

Sebastian never saw the farm in its full glory—before the farmer’s grandfather grew old and passed away—but he had been there plenty of times when it was overgrown and abandoned.

He had told the farmer this as they sat on the newly installed swinging bench on their porch. They joked that they would be suing him for trespassing, since it was technically their property at the time, even if they hadn’t known it.

It was a chilly fall day, but the farmer had made a pot of coffee to keep them warm.

“I thought this was your busy season,” Sebastian lit up a cigarette and moved the ashtray closer to where he sat. It was a newer addition to the farmer’s decor. He thought about the prideful look on their face as they held it up and told him that Leah let them use her pottery wheel. It was painted with little creatures that looked like the much happier cousins of the slimes living in the caves.

The farmer hummed, holding their mug close to their face, but not taking a sip, “Yeah…a lot busier than I thought it would be, actually.”

He grinned at them, “so, you’re slacking today, huh?”

The farmer laughed.

“I’d rather hang out with your sorry ass than work.” Despite the insult, the farmer’s tone was soft and earnest. Sebastian felt his cheeks heat up.

“Could you picture me living on a farm? It seems ridiculous, but I have been thinking about it lately.”

“If I could do it, then so could you,” the farmer linked their pinky with his, “it’s a lot more freeing than you’d think.” _________________________________________

Boxes filled with Sebastian’s things lined the walls of the farmhouse, but Sebastian and the farmer lay in bed, choosing to ignore them. 

They had all the time in the world.

The farmer was twirling the pendant dangling from Sebastian’s neck, “there’s steam coming out of your ears, Seb,” the farmer giggled and smoothed out the wrinkle between his brows with their finger.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Sebastian turned his attention from the ceiling to the farmer, “The older I get, the less I'm drawn to the city. It had a certain mystique to it, once. But it turns out that was just a romantic fantasy. The city's so busy, so full of people... I don't belong there. I'm a loner.”

A beat.

“Present company excluded, of course.”

The farmer laughed, “Well I would hope so,” they tugged gently on the pendant, pulling him closer, “because you’re stuck with me.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer had joined his family for dinner, and his mother had shooed them away with one hand as she cooed at the bundle held tightly in her other arm.

The valley was coming to life, but the ghost of a winter chill was in the air. They settled down by the lake despite the cold. It was no longer his spot, but theirs.

The farmer was skipping stones across the lake when he grumbled about how being in that spot made him want a smoke.

“No one’s stopping you,” the farmer laughed.

“I am.”

The farmer still held a loose smile as they raised their eyebrows at him, “oh?”

“I'm trying my best to quit smoking now that we're married…” He avoided their gaze and brushed some mud on the palm of his hand onto his jeans, “I don't wanna die on you. It's a bad habit. I want to have a future together.”

A baby cried in the distance. Sebastian and the farmer smiled at each other. _________________________________________

The farmer was surprised to find Sebastian’s side of the bed empty when they woke up. It wasn’t a rare occasion, as they usually found Sebastian in the kitchen after a restless sleep, but he was nowhere to be found.

They couldn’t help but worry a little bit as they pulled on their boots and opened the screen door. They paused out of instinct to let the dog run out before them only to realize that the dog wasn’t hot on their heels like usual.

They had only gotten two steps onto the porch before a mass of fur and slobber crashed into their legs.

“Oh hello baby,” they cooed down at the dog as it rolled onto its back, breathing heavily out of excitement, “good morning stink.”

“Good morning to you too.”

The farmer was so caught up in giving the dog attention that they hadn’t noticed Sebastian leaning against the porch railing.

They straightened from their crouch, smiling at him as the dog whined from the loss of affection.

“I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went ahead and fed the animals,” he pushed off the railing and took a few steps forward to fix a rogue piece of the farmer’s hair, “one less thing for you to do.”

“Thanks, Seb,” the farmer said softly, suddenly bashful, “I’m going to check on the pumpkins. Thought I could make some soup tonight if any of them are ripe.”

They took a few steps off the porch, “feel like being a country boy today? Or did you get your fix?”

He smiled, leaning his forearms against the railing, “I'll just watch you from here. I enjoy watching you.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer found themselves sitting on the porch swing once again. It was a mild summer evening, and he was looking on as a toddler played with the dog in the yard.

He tore his attention away from the rowdy scene in front of him to look at the farmer, who was curled up at his side reading a book. He felt his heart swell.

“This is so different from my old life, but I'm really starting to like it. I feel like I really belong here.”

The farmer looked up from the book in their lap, smiling.

“I don't often show it, but I'm really happy that I'm your husband. Marrying you was the best decision I ever made.”

[am3ricanh0rrorwh0re]

luke cooper x fem!reader

summary: Luke Cooper, the nepotism hire at Dunder Mifflin, starts to get a little crush on you.

warnings: nsfw, car sex, fingering, unchecked writing, smut with little plot

a/n: i had nothing to title this one ✌️

”Coffee monkey has arrived,” You heard Luke’s voice say as he walked into the office area, holding a cardboard carton of coffees. An audible sigh of annoyance escaped the workforce of Dunder Mifflin as a whole, including yourself.

Luke Cooper. Michael Scott’s nephew, who apparently Michael hasn’t seen because he was cut off from that side of his family. No fucking wonder. Luke was lazy, incompetent, ignorant. But Michael still ordered that everyone had to not nag or bother Luke. Nepotism in its finest form, just like fine cut cocaine. Except cocaine actually gave some form of pleasure and satisfaction. Unlike Luke.

“You got my order right, Luke…” You say. Luke gave that smug-ass smile. Luke’s eyes looked you up and down with a smile. It’s like he always got everything right about you. It was weird.

“Just the way you like it, right?” Luke asked, smiling. You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his antics of giving you special attention.

You walked back over to your desk, sighing as you stared down at the cup of Starbucks. Why the fuck was he so lazy with everyone else? He was so lazy, that all he practically did was sit there, smile, and laugh like he was fucking high. But for some reason, you found that…endearing?

About half an hour later, Luke came up to your desk. He smiled at you, tapping his hands on the wood of your desk. You look up a him with a sharp exhale. You put on a fake smile and looked up at him.

“Hey,” You smile.

“Hi,” He smiled back. It was a really bland start to a conversation. He looked exhausted, like always. Exhausted or high.

"What do you need, Luke?" You asked, looking up from your computer screen. Luke had been known for coming around your desk just to annoy you with his antics, but you always brushed him off.

"Nothing, nothing," He replied, scratching the back of his head nervously. You could already guess what he wanted to ask you. But since he hadn't stated it yet, you gave him a chance to spill before you did. 

“I just thought, we haven't hung out ever. Wanna go smoke in my car?" He suggested, smirking slyly.

Letting out a small sigh, you begrudgingly agreed, “Fine. Let’s go.”

soon enough, you two were sitting in the backseat of Luke’s red car, sharing a cigarette with the windows rolled down. “Why do you always get my order right?” You ask.

“Well,” Luke began, taking a drag from his cigarette before blowing out a cloud of smoke. He looked away, clearly trying to come up with a believable excuse. 

“It's simple, really. I pay extra attention to your order so I can get it right. It’s not that hard.” He grinned, trying to hide his nervousness. Maybe he could sense that you saw straight through his lie.

After a few moments of silence, he continued, "Besides... I like making sure you're happy." He muttered, glancing at you sideways. His eyes met yours for a brief moment before he quickly looked away again.

“And I enjoy spending time with you.” He couldn't help but blush as he admitted that last part, the truth behind his actions slowly slipping out. He took another drag from his cigarette, watching the tip glow with each puff. He then offered you his pack of cigarettes, holding it out to you so you could have one if you wanted.

 "Want another? Or should I take it as a sign you're mad?" He joked, trying to lighten the mood. You shake your head, sliding closer to him.

Luke sighs, looking out the window as you scooted closer. He smiled, starting with a quick place of his hand on your thigh. Soon though, you were on his lap, naked from the torso down.

Luke’s fingers slid in and out of your core with precision, like he’d done this a million times before. But you knew he hadn’t. No one would ever in a million years want Luke Cooper’s fingers up their pussy. No one except you. You moaned, your fingers digging into his pants like you were hanging onto a cliff.

“L-Luke-“ You whine, your legs shaking. He laughs at you, moving his fingers in and out quicker now, curving his fingers upwards inside of you. You squeak, exhaling shakily.

He grabs your hips, placing you down next to him as he pulled his fingers out of you. Luke unbuckled his belt before sliding down his pants and boxers. His cock shot up, flushed and covered in precum. He twitched as he looked at you, sighing. You straddled him, hovering just over his tip.

“You’re such a tease,” He whined, grabbing your hips as he forced you down onto his cock gently. A lot more gently than you thought he would. You let out a sharp gasp, your eyes closing as you panted softly.

Luke held your hips, bouncing you up and down on his cock. You never knew you had feelings for Luke until you were riding his dick. Well, you never knew your feelings were this strong. No matter how much he annoyed you, you always wanted to fuck his brains out

. The tip hit your g-spot, making you moan loudly. One of Luke’s hands covered your mouth, his other holding your neck.

“Shh, shh, shh…slower, slower, okay? we can’t rock the car, they’ll see us from up in the office,” He chuckled, panting softly as he held your neck. Luke squeezed your neck, his hand coming off of your mouth to unbutton your shirt.

“That’s it…that’s it. perfect…” He said huskily as you slowed down your bounces. Luke unbuttoned your shirt, peeling it off to kiss your chest. “I knew all these coffee runs would get me somewhere,”

taglist: @fear-is-truth , @dangeroustaintedflawed , @newwavesylviaplath @slutforgarlogan @nickrhodeslittledarling @coentinim @foreverlovestruck

all rights reserved !!

[lexirosewrites]

Hi hi! Found this in my old notes but pregnant omega Steve who takes dirty Polaroids of himself in lingerie spread out like a playboy cover for convicted alpha Eddie who is currently serving time in prison for drug possession/dealing/accursed murder. And poor Steve misses his mate so much. He’s worried the time away will effect their relationship. So he has the idea to wear soft satin teddys, with garters and lace bent over in front of a camera with his hands spreading his plump cheeks so he can tuck them into the letters he sends his mate. And Eddie just loves them, he’ll have them tapped to the walls in his cell and even to the carton of cigarettes in his pocket. Will leer at any alpha that spends too long looking at them and make shivs out of razor blades to slice any that would be bold enough to try and steal one. Tho Eddie couldn’t blame them, he understood the affects his baby has on alphas, and it sure didn’t help that he was showcasing his puffy pink pussy with 2 fingers cheekily covering his equally pink omega dick. It’s why Eddie will yes to any inmate/guard that will come to him asking if they could borrow one of his photos. His mate was just so beautiful and it’s been years since they last spoke to an omega yaddah yaddah. He still won’t let them take any of the photos but he’ll let them stand there and rut they’re pathetic cocks against their hand while their eyes never leave the pictures on the wall. And Eddie will be there watching them, smirking with a fresh cigarette in his mouth proud and missing the sweet omega he has waiting for Eddie to put another baby in him.

Just omega Steve who’s been religiously fucking drug dealer Eddie before he was convicted and having a shotgun wedding(mating?) when Steve finds out he’s knocked up while Eddie is in prison 🥰

i was gonna suggest conjugal visits, but what if the prison doesn’t allow pregnant omegas to do in-person visits for their own safety?? steve and eddie go out of their fucking minds trying to just stick to letters and phone calls. and because they’re mated, they’re allowed to exchange scented items (and the normally banned racy polaroids) to help prevent rejection sickness from happening! ughh so many thoughts about this one!!!!

[gayboydetectivez]

Tw smoking

Dbda drabble

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"Job officially jobbed, good work, guys!" Charles smiled at his companions, coat still covered in green slime from the evil plant they had just killed.

It hadn't been a difficult case, comparatively, but hunting through the forest for a cursed bush and then losing the bottle of weed killer had made it significantly more difficult than intended.

"We should head back to the office." Edwin replied, still scratching notes into his book as he led the walk back to the bus stop.

After a few minutes crystal began digging in her bag, retrieving a small paper box and a lighter. Pulling one of the thin sticks from the box, putting it to her lips, she ignited the end, inhaling deeply.

"You smoke?" Charles asked incredulously.

"Is that uncommon now?" Edwin chimed in, a confused look on his face.

"It's frowned upon, but plenty of people still do it." Crystal answered, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. In her months with the agency, she had grown accustomed to Edwin's cultural questions, no longer being overly sarcastic in response to his genuine confusion over time period differences.

Edwin hummed thoughtfully, watching the grey plumes curl in the air before being swept away by the wind.

"Did you ever smoke, Charles?" He asked after a moment.

"Occasionally. When the lads had a carton or I was at a party." Charles answered simply, leaving out the risk coming home smelling of cigs posed to 16yr old him and his fathers impact on his lack of typical teen rebellion. "You?" He asked, mainly to be polite. Charles knew Edwin had a sheltered childhood, as most childhoods seemed to be during his era, but he had grown fond of their usual back and forth routine.

"Me? Oh yes, quite frequently." He answered, earning duel shocked expressions from his companions.

"You smoke?" Crystal asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

"Well it has been over a century..." He corrected snarkily, "but yes. It was common place when I was alive for boys as young as 10 to get their first cigarette case and begin smoking. It was a right of passage of sorts, i suppose." He shrugged.

"Next you're gonna tell us you were shooting whiskey and doing lines of coke." Crystal retorted, earning a chuckle from Charles, who despite being well aware of his best mate's rebellious nature, simply couldn't imagine him getting drunk and doing drugs like some rockstar Charles had on his bedroom wall as a child.

"'A gentleman does not shoot whiskey, he sips it'" Edwin quoted, allowing Charles for a moment to envision what Edwins father had sounded like, "and cocaine was a very powerful and frequently prescribed medicine. It was a main ingredient in cough syrup." He informed his stunned counterparts.

Charles tried to press back the images flashing in his mind of Edwin drunk, cheeks pink, smoke swirling around him as a cigarette balanced carelessly between his fingers.

"Can ghosts smoke?" Crystal asked unprompted. "Like have you tried?"

"I can't say I have," he said, "though there were moments in Hell where I thought I could have killed for a cigarette and a drink." He added, laughing the way he usually did when speaking of Hell. Casual but with a faint tightness to it, not quite forced but not quite natural either.

Crystal dug the cardboard pack out from her bag again, offering one to Edwin. He gave his usual resigned sigh and took one, rolling the white stick between his long fingers, inspecting it, before bringing it to his mouth. Charles breath caught in his throat. Crystal flicked the lighter and Edwin leaned in to inhale through the flame. The smoke plumed around his face as his eyes fluttered shut in memory.

He exhaled a small cloud and looked at the expectant faces around him. "I can't exactly taste it, but it is rather pleasant." He answered their unasked question, taking another drag. If Charles could blush, he would be the same color as his shirt. "My apologies, would you like to try?" Edwin asked, holding the lit cigarette out to Charles who had spent the majority of this time staring at him in stunned awe.

Charles looked from the offending item to his partners expectant face and back again before sliding the cigarette from Edwin's thin pianists fingers and placing it in his own mouth. He tried not to think too hard about the fact it had also been in Edwin's mouth just moments ago. He inhaled, smoke filling his chest, the usual subtle burn missing as it flowed down his windpipe and back out again. Edwin had been right, he could almost taste it. The usual flavor dulled by death, instead a faint earthy flavor filled his senses. It was familiar enough to recognize as tobacco but lacked the overpowering taste.

Blowing out the smoke, he smiled at Edwin's expectant face. "That's brills." He said, returning the cigarette to his partner.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

When your shift ends, you leave the shop, heading down the same way you came. You stop at the corner of Mason and think better of going that route. You take that man’s advice and go along Doxtator instead. It’s quieter, there aren’t as many businesses so not as many people loitering and tossing cigarette butts.

You come up to the shared house and enter through the side door as usual. You wouldn’t call it routine yet, you haven’t been there long enough, but a ripple of deja vu comes over you. You keep your head down as you enter the kitchen. As you do, there’s another person in there.

You don’t know if you should say hello. You haven’t seen this man before. He must be one of the others. He pulls a box of rice crackers out of the cupboard and ignores your presence. You follow his lead and don’t say a word as you set your bag on the counter and pull out the drawer. You write your name on the few items you got from the store before you left; a box of cereal, a carton of milk, and some packets of ramen.

You put it all away as the other resident traipses off down the hallway, shuffling footsteps reverberating off the shabby walls. You shut the fridge as you hear the outside door open and shut. As you turn, the other man enters; the big one with the shaggy hair. S as you think of him.

He nods at you as you fold up the paper bag and shove it in the bin. He goes to the cupboard and opens the door. He sighs and takes out the same box of crackers as the last man. He shakes it and tuts. You see then the S marked on the side.

You leave, not wanting to get involved. You feel bad that someone else took his food but you also don’t need the drama. You hate conflict. At least now, you know to watch your things. Maybe later you’ll sneak out and retrieve your ramen so you can preserve a few meals.

You’re not very hungry. Your appetite is sparse these days. Maybe it’s this place. You can’t quite settle in, maybe because you hope it’s only temporary. Yet, you can’t say if that’s because you’re holding onto hope that by some miracle you could go back to your former life or that you might even forge a new one.

You lock the door and turn on the standing lamp. You fold your coat over the metal frame of the bed and sit to untie your shoes and peel off your socks. You change into a loose pair of sweatpants and a plain tea with a Pepsi logo on it. Not your clothes, another set of charity tatters.

You lay down and stare at the wall. You used to have a television in your room. You’d watch the old sitcoms they replayed on the public access channel. Or you’d listen to music and knit something. You had at least a dozen scarves more than you needed. You might be able to afford some needles and yarn after your first pay.

The cone of light casts a low haze through the tight space. Your eyes slowly close as thoughts of shutting off the lamp fade into your subconscious. You’re asleep before you can feel yourself drift off.

🚪

You wake to a strange sound. Your eyes flick open to the yellow lamplight as you lay stiffly on your back. You groan as your cramped muscles tug. You stretch and the bed frame creaks with your movement.

The scratching continues. You’re not surprised. You would expect mice in a place like this. There were some at the shelter too. They mostly left you alone, just skittered by as they searched out crumbs.

It gets louder as you sit up, tilting your head as you try to loosen the knot between your shoulders. You stand slowly, daunted by the pang across your hips. The mattress is thin and you can feel the frame on the other side.

“I know you’re awake, sweetie,” the voice startles you as it slips beneath the door. You stop your arm midreach as you go to click off the lamp. You peek over and see the shadow shift under the door. “Sweetie? I can see your light’s still on, why don’t you open the door?”

You don’t know the voice. It’s pitchy and uneven. The sickening tune behind it makes your stomach wrench. You stay far from the door as the handle jiggles, the deadbolt keeping it from opening.

“Sweetie. I just wanna talk. You don’t have to open the door. Just talk to me…”

You hug yourself and gulp. There were men in the shelter who tried to talk to you, the ones who got too close, who would stand over you while you slept. You were lucky they went away when they were caught.

There’s another shift and the floorboards groan. You hear an odd scuff and see something slide beneath the door slowly. Little by little. It’s a hand mirror, just thin enough to fit. Oh my god.

“Sweetie, I wanna know your na–”

The click of a mechanism and the grind of hinges interrupt your unwanted visitor. The mirror stills and the floor creaks again. You chew your lip as you listen with bated breath.

“Oh, hi,” the same voice greets someone.

“Go,” the deep voice orders gruffly.

“You can’t make me–”

“What are you doing out here?” The other man asks. You recognise S’s timbre.

“N-nothing. I live here too. I can be in the halls,” the strange man responds.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“I wasn’t making noise.”

There’s a pause. Footsteps follow, getting closer, and you hear the squeaky voice utter a ‘no’ as the mirror wiggles slightly then is kicked further inside, scuttling over the floor.

“What the hell?” S growls, “you leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t bothering her–”

“I know what you were doing. I know who you are. What you are. So go before I crush you like the worm you are,” S’s words make even you shrink in fear.

“Ha, you think you deserve her. Because you look like you do,” the other man accuses, “you don’t scare me.”

“I don’t care if I scare you, I’ll break you in half if I see you at her door again,” S sneers and there’s a thump on the door, followed by an ‘oomph’. “Got it?”

“Got… it,” the breathy hiss chokes out, “let me go.”

A sudden scramble of footsteps, as if thrown off balance, clatter across the floor. They continue, quicker and quicker until you can’t hear them. You hear a sniff, then a sigh. A shadow appears at the bottom of the door.

“Hope you’re okay in there,” S says, “I’ll keep an ear out for that creep.” He pauses as if waiting for an answer but you can’t find one past the hammer of your heartbeat, “have a good night.”

The floor groans with his weight as he retreats and his door gently clasps. You can’t move. You lean into the wall and let your legs fold as you slide down onto your bottom. You’ll leave the light on for tonight. You don’t think you can face the dark.

[kiwanopie]

aki brainrot is so real

oh my god yesss honestly that gives me a reason to finally post this

Favorite.

cw: suggestive. power dynamics. manhandling. dry humping. mention of breeding. 1.3k

You’re his favorite. Is what they tell you.

And you can agree to that - to a certain extent. He’s the closest with you out of the core group, values your opinions and your judgment when on excursions, trusts you with the kind of genuinity you would expect from someone who sees you as more than just a coworker. He’s looking in your direction more often than not. Always keeping a close eye on you ~ and your interactions, and the way you represent him as a leader.

You’re his favorite.

The cold ivory of his desk turns your cheek mushy. “H-Hayakawa-senpai-“

Aki presses enough weight on the side of your head to have your skin squeaking against the neat polishing when he adjusts his feet behind you. He’s wary of your neck, of course. He doesn’t push too hard to hurt too badly, but he’s firm as he keeps you bent before him. Pert little ass pressed against his belt buckle as he reaches for the cigarette between his lips and blows out cooly.

“Hm?” You watch him tap the head of it in his ashtray. “Oh. Not Aki this time?”

So, you stepped out of line.

Which, in your defense, isn’t unheard of behavior for cadets in your position. You’re still new, the public safety program is still big and scary - and incredibly taxing. Lots of new hunter’s blow their top in one way or another after their first few commissions. Hell, you have to talk Kobeni off a ledge nearly every other scouting. But the public safety committee has always been understanding of the mental toll it takes on the people who serve it. Even Aki isn’t so cruel as to punish you every time you step out of your place.

It’s just that this time, “Where’s that big voice you were using just now? You wanted me off my fucking high horse, right? Now I’m listening.”

You may have overdone it this time.

It’s his fault for denying your request to be contracted with the Compulsion Devil. It’s hypocritical that he’d tell you ‘No’ about something like that, especially when he has that stupid sword. The terms were clear. She’ll lend you her power and in exchange you trade her a beat of your heart for every second you use it. They’re honestly pretty mundane terms in comparison to a few of the agents who work here, including himself; so you didn’t get what the big idea was if you only used her sparingly.

“No. Stop asking.”

“But you aren’t even giving me a reason?”

“Do I need to? I’m still your superior. If I say ‘No’ then that’s what it is.”

“But it’s not like-“

“Do I have to instill a punishment?” Aki cuts you off to beat his carton of cigarettes against his palm. “I shouldn’t have to tell you the same thing twice.”

You grate your teeth as he carelessly lights one in his mouth. “Unless the next thing you have to say is ‘Yes, Hayakawa-senpai.’ Then be quiet. I don’t wanna hear about it again.”

If the way your cheek rubs raw against the shiny finish of his work desk should mean anything, what you said was definitely not akin to ‘Yes, Hayakawa-senpai.’ Or anything remotely close.

“You- You’re not being fair!”

The way his crotch presses firmer into your little pencil skirt inclines you to shiver. “Yeah? So, tell me about it.”

“Himeno-“ You choke. He must’ve put out his cigarette cause now there’s a heavy hand in the middle of your back. “Himeno-senpai and Kobeni, and… everybody else in this sector all have serious contracts! Why is it that when I ask-“

You squeak when Aki bends his knees to hook himself just under the cuff of your ass - and uses it as leverage to squash you into the desk even further. Pressing against your back till you’re all but presenting on him like a bitch in heat, and even more so when he straightens his back and leans some of his weight on you.

There’s a glimpse of him in your peripheral. A flinted expression, more blank than anything, if not for the way his eyebrows cinch in concentration. “I don’t remember being the boss of Himeno-senpai and everybody else in this sector? I do, though, remember hiring an air headed brat just under a year ago.”

He sucks in a hiss and a few muttered curse words when you start to squirm against him. “Throwing a tantrum in front of the guy writing your checks doesn’t seem like a great idea if you think about it.”

“And being a massive hypocrite is?”

His fingers press groves into your scalp.

You’re his favorite. You surmise. Which is why he gets away with treating you like this. Why you’re constantly under his scrutiny, and why he punishes you the harshest when you mouth off like this. Obviously that doesn’t stop you from doing it. But his coarse fingers seem reserved for you and you alone more often than not. Candidly hands on whenever you step out of line, and making a hot spot on your back as he keeps you arched over his desk.

You push back against him to keep your balance on your toes, which earns you a hard smack on the back of your thigh. If the way he blows out a pinched breath should mean anything, you’re not the only one who’s been wound up tight. “Why do you need the damn contract anyway? What about your contract with the Coercion Devil?”

“It’s not enough,” Aki’s jaw tightens when you pout. “I’m gonna need more than one measly contract to get one up on the Gun Devil!”

“As if you can do that if you’re dead. What happens when you overdo it on that contract and your heart stops?”

“If it means getting us closer to killing that bastard then why should I care?”

Your cheek pulls tackily off the wood with a crackle.

It’s brief, the few seconds he has you pulled up by your hair but it’s enough to make you yip at the suddenness of it. Lifted off the table and snatched in his direction, he belts you to his chest with the crook of his arm secured over your neck. It’s all you can do but reach for it as he leans himself closer to your ear.

So close that his warm breath makes you to shutter. “Don’t say stupid shit like that. Ever. - I know you’re not dumb enough to actually believe something like that.”

“It’s the truth.” You argue. “What’ll be the point of any of this?”

Aki stays silent a brooding second.

And then he’s squishing you against his desk.

You heave out a chunk of air at the feeling of most of his weight suddenly toppling over you. Only giving when you whine under your breath but he’s still hovering just above, still pressing his pelvis against your skirt, still talking over your head.

You suppose you can only ignore that bulge in his slacks for so long. “I’ve been thinking of giving you a reason to quit the committee. You think knocking you up would do that?”

You kiss your teeth. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Don’t be an idiot then. I’m not letting you go out and kill yourself for no reason.”

“But-“

“You’re not making the contract.” He avows. “If I even think you’re going out there to make it behind my back, I’ll turn you into a housewife.”

You blow out an exasperated breath.

But he’s not done - Far from it actually. You realize that when he’s kicking one of your heels with his dress shoes and coaxing your legs apart. Planting his hands on the side of you as support and digging his belt into your skirt.

“Now,” He pulls his carton of cigarettes out of his pocket. “How do you think you should be punished?”

How he punishes you in particular.

reblog to “make a contract” with the compulsion devil

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Cream Filling: Chapter Two

Warning: abusive ex partner/stalking

(Abusive ex appears and scares the mc, but nothing happens)

This is part two of a series. You can find part one here!

Elle felt a sense of relief wash over her when she turned the sign to closed. Once she locked the doors, she picked up a broom and began to sweep.  Humming softly, she paused when a shadow loomed over her. Turning, she looked up at the face of her coworker. 

Wrecks drummed his fingers together, his face pensive. 

“Hey.” She set the broom against the wall as Horac came through with a pile of dishes, grunting and snorting with the effort. 

“Shepard.” He began. 

“Please, call me Elle.” She interrupted, feeling her cheeks flushed at the last name. It was better than Elodie, but only just barely. They’d been working together for nearly four weeks, and he still acted so formally. 

Then again, she had terrified him the first day.

“Elle…” Wrecks drew out the syllable as if the single sound baffled him, before scowling. Clearing his throat, Wrecks removed his spectacles and wiped them off. 

“I have a favor to ask. And I’m terribly sorry to put you on the spot.” He patted at his pockets, before producing a carton of cigarettes. 

“I need a smoke. Join me?” 

They exited through the kitchen, with Wrecks lighting up. He offered the pack to Elle, but she shook her head. 

“I’m not sure how up-to-date you are on Drider culture.” Wrecks began, taking a long drag. Silvery green smoke floated up toward the sky in thin tendrils. Whatever was in the cigarettes wasn’t tobacco or cannabis. 

Elle shook her head. “Not really. I didn’t want to be rude and badger you on the job about it.” The scent of the smoke made her nose itch. Earthy, with a strange dankness. 

“Well.” He sighed. “Normally I don’t ask anyone this, but I’m in a tight spot.” Another drag. “The Festival of Arachne is coming up, so a lot of Driders are going to be swarming this part of town.” 

“Need a date?” Elle asked, before chuckling at his flustered expression. 

“No.” He said sharply, dragging out the vowel and making a slicing motion through the air. The smoke danced at the reaction. 

“Quite the opposite. I need to be far, far away from all of it.” He sighed. “I still have to work, since we’re shorthanded, but…”  

Inhaling sharply, he pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his spectacles up to his forehead. “I called around. I can’t stay in a human hotel without paying an exorbitant fee. And all the local ones are going to be filled to the brim with attendees.” Swallowing, he stubbed out the cigarette and stuck it in the breast pocket of his vest. 

“Can I stay at your place the week the festival is being held here?” He clasped his hands together. “I’m not saying I’ll be by myself while you’re at work. I’ll still come with you to the morning shift, but I want to… Minimize my exposure.” 

“Horac has his kids, and they’re terrified of me. Ram has his own place, but it’s too close to… All this. Night shift is going to be busy…” 

“Wrecks…” Elle bit her lip, “I live in a studio apartment, in the Leviathan district.” She felt her cheeks burning. “We’ll be in close quarters.” 

“I will pay half your month’s rent.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet. “And I’ll buy groceries and pay for anything I use.” 

The one thing she couldn’t refuse. Money. 

Wrecks’ cheeks flushed, his pleading expression making it hard to say no. 

“You can’t smoke inside. Landlord’s rules.” She was trying to figure out how to fit him in her car when Horac bellowed for them to come back inside. 

“It’s bad enough when Spinner is rushing out for a smoke every hour.” The Boarman chastised when they came back in. “Don’t you slip into the habit, too.” 

Elle sighed, rolling her eyes and picking up a rag. He was right, but it still made her nervous to even fathom losing the job. She was going to make up for it by cleaning so well, they’d see reflections on every surface. 

***

Wrecks was silent on the drive back. His suitcase fit in the front seat, and he took up the entire back. His legs pushed the button to roll the window up and down. The breeze stirred Elle’s hair, making a few strands tickle the back of her neck. She kept her eyes on the road, but the sound was starting to get on her nerves. 

“You’re going to break it.” She warned him. “I’ve got the AC on, why do you keep messing with the window?” 

“Sorry.” He rolled the window up. “I’ve never been in a car before.” 

The statement baffled Elle so much she nearly pulled over to look at him. But traffic was too good to slow down. 

“How do you get around?” 

“I generally walk. Or swing.” He cleared his throat. “Webbing has many uses. I used to have a bridge from my place to the restaurant until some kids burnt it.”  

“Hopefully not while you were on it.” Elle frowned. 

“Arachne, no!” He shook his head. “Caused some damage to a local shop. The poor owner had to shut down for two weeks. Ramses paid for it all.” Sighing, he set an elbow on the armrest, rolling down the window. Eyes wide, he quickly rolled it back up. 

“Because he takes good care of his employees?” Elle asked, half laughing at the quote, before images of her first day flashed through her mind. Focusing on the road, she tried to ignore the tingling between her legs. 

Wrecks stifled his own laugh. “Yeah.” He looked around. “Can I smoke in the car?” 

“...Let me pull over.” 

“I can wait!” He insisted. 

When she pulled into the complex, the parking lot was mostly empty. Good. The fewer questions she’d have to answer, the better. 

Wrecks fell out of the back seat, unable to get proper footing in all six of his legs. After righting himself, he went to grab his suitcase. 

“I’m impressed you can afford this on your pay.” He remarked, looking at the entire building. "The things I heard about this side of the district made me think it was a shantytown."

Elle shook her head. “I wish.” She pointed at the top floor. “I live in one unit.” 

Locking her car, she began to head for the stairs. Wrecks hadn’t moved from his spot, still taking it in, a look of awe on his face. 

“What kind of place do you live in?” She grabbed his arm and tugged gently. The contact broke him out of the trance, and he began to follow her. 

“There’s a nice area not too far from work, right on the border between the Mammon and Satan District.” Wrecks explained. “A little swampy, but secluded.” He sighed. “But around this time of year, it’s unbearable.” Pulling his glasses off, he rubbed his brow. 

“Like a…” He frowned, trying to find the appropriate comparison. “...Let’s just say I wouldn’t be getting much sleep.” 

When they arrived at the door, Elle hesitated. She hadn’t brought anyone home since she’d moved in. Even with her frenzied cleaning, she hadn’t unpacked half her belongings. This place was barely lived in. 

“Do you… Not want me to come in?” Wrecks’ grip tightened on the handle of his suitcase. 

“It’s a little messy.” She admitted. 

“I’ve seen a nest after a clutch has been born.” Wrecks assured her. “It can’t be that bad.”

As the door creaked open, Elle flicked on the lights, making sure to kick off her shoes. Holding her purse close, she sidestepped to let Wrecks inside the available space in the living room.

The apartment was cramped, with her mattress taking up a third of the available space. At least she’d made the bed before leaving. There was a coffee table next to the bed, her laptop open and switched off resting on it. Bookshelves covered the walls, filled with her favorite texts and various magazines. Boxes filled most of the free space on the floor, with a small line to get to the kitchen, bed, one corner, and bathroom.   

She went to the corner, kneeling next to a small table. Lighting the half-melted candle, Elle counted her tips for the day and placed them in an envelope. 

Once she’d pressed a rune into the wax, sealing it, she set the papers aflame. Before the fire reached her fingers, it flickered away, leaving her hands closing on empty air. 

“I thought you weren’t a mage.” Wrecks was behind her, staring at the table, head cocked to the side. 

“I’m not.” Elle cupped the flame and blew it out, the scent of magic in the air. “I just use it to pay bills and send letters.” 

Wrecks pointedly looked at her laptop, raising a brow.

“When I don’t want them to trace it or bother me.” Elle crawled under his legs, standing once she was behind him. “You know how it is.” 

Going to the bathroom, she undid her buns and started to wipe off her makeup. The thought of dressing in the bathroom for the next week made her nearly groan in annoyance. But at least she’d have money. Even if it was only a little. 

When she came out, Wrecks was picking up various things from the floor and placing them on the coffee table and bed. Her clothes, powerstrips, he’d even gone to the kitchen and seized her empty cups and plates she hadn’t washed. 

“What… Are you doing?” 

He froze, slowly turning and picking a glass he’d just set down back up. “Sorry.” He looked around at the boxes scattered around the apartment, fingers twitching. 

Sucking in a breath, Elle looked around. “Is it going to bother you if my apartment looks like this?” It was an excuse to finally unpack… It had been a month. 

“You see…” Wrecks collected the cups and took them back to the kitchen. “A Drider will make their home kind of a… A nest? Since this place is so small.” He winced apologetically. “I just started…” 

“It’s okay.” Elle found herself smiling and giggling. “It’s actually kind of adorable.” She took a box and set it on her bed. “Help me unpack then?” 

There wasn’t actually much to organize once it was actually done. There was more clean-up than actual unpacking done. 

Breaking down boxes, hanging up and folding clothes, washing dishes seemed to ease the anxiety Wrecks was feeling. He was running the vacuum when she went to the kitchen and pulled out leftovers for dinner. As the container spun in the microwave, she realized. 

“Can you eat human food?” She knew there was a Monster Market down the street, but they closed before sundown. 

“Hm?” Wrecks put the vacuum cleaner next to a bookshelf. 

She pulled out the container when it was finished. “I wasn’t expecting a guest. I’m not sure what you all eat. We can go shopping tomorrow.” He had offered to buy groceries, after all. 

“Hm…” The kitchen became more cramped as Wrecks looked in the fridge. She once again found herself crawling under his legs to escape. 

Pulling out a package of defrosting meat, he sniffed it. “I think I can have this?” Holding it up, he stared at a few stray drops of blood trickling down his fingers. 

“...Sure.” Elle went to her laptop and shoveled down leftover rice and beans, doing her best to ignore the chewing sounds coming from the kitchen. Should she have gotten him a plate and utensils to eat with? 

Booting up her laptop, Elle suddenly remembered what she’d been watching before going to sleep. Her headphones rattled with the moans of a woman. They were plugged in, and she hoped Wrecks’ hearing wasn’t better than a human’s. 

A video of a woman moaning, bent over an altar, as a goat-headed man pounded her from behind flashed across the screen. Elle scrambled, managing to exit from the video in record time. Reopening her browser, she loaded up a TV show. 

Hovering back, Wrecks squinted at the screen. Elle patted the spot on the bed next to her. Slowly, he approached and prodded at the mattress with his front legs, before settling down awkwardly, tucking limbs under himself. 

Raw meat clung to his hands and he continued to eat, lapping at the blood on his fingers, trying to be quiet about it. He seemed transfixed by the show, his eyes wide and focused the entire time. Elle wondered if he had internet at his place. 

Wrecks washed the dishes again once the episode was over. Elle realized he was still in his uniform. 

“Erm, do you want to change into something more comfortable?” 

Wrecks looked down at his vest. 

“I suppose.” He cleared his throat, before rifling through his suitcase and then taking his new attire into the bathroom. Elle focused on the screen as she heard rustling and rattling, followed by noises of discomfort. 

“You alright in there?” She called. 

“Tiny…. Space!” He yelped, followed by a loud thud, and a metallic bang. “Ow!” 

Elle rushed into the bathroom, seeing Wrecks in the tub, the shower curtain wrapped around him, and the rod across his midsection. His legs twitched, running on the air and attempting to find solid ground. 

With a sigh, Elle offered her hand. He took it and she pulled him up, a task she didn’t think possible, then helped him out into the living room. Sighing, Wrecks unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. 

Turning her head, Elle gave him privacy but caught the Drider’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. His upper body was bony, void of any muscle, with a strange spider tattoo across his chest, his veins dark and resembling a web for it to sit on. 

He caught her looking, and sighed. 

“It’s Arachne’s mark.” He placed a hand on it. “I wanted to get it removed, but it turns out that isn’t an easy fix.” 

“Wait, I thought Arachne was the goddess or something?” Wrecks never stuck her as religious. 

“She is. But she still has followers in the material realm.” He pulled a t-shirt over his head, then let undid his braid. His hair fell down around his shoulders in a shaggy white mane. 

Her mind went to when she’d ingested the Admodues fruit, and how she’d tried to kiss him. How he’d shoved her back and tied her up, afraid. The thought cooled her off, and she gave him room to sit. 

At nine, she found herself nodding off. Wrecks was dozing himself, sharply inhaling when his head lulled. 

“I’ve got some extra blankets if you get cold,” Elle explained as she began to pile pillows on the floor. “As you… Saw.” 

Wrecks watched her curiously. “I don’t need them, but thank you. Why are you nesting on the floor?” 

“Because you’re the guest. So you get the bed.” She resisted the urge to suggest they share. 

Reaching down, Wrecks poked the mattress with his smaller foreleg again. 

“I don’t think I’ll be comfortable.” Tilting his head back, he looked at the ceiling. Raising his human arm, he knocked on the wall, placing his ear to it. Nodding to himself, he cleared his throat. 

“Can I make myself my own bedding?” 

“Um… Sure?” 

Elle watched as he used his webbing to create himself a hammock-like structure just below the ceiling, right above a bookshelf. Hopefully, it would hold, but his movements were practiced and confident, so she didn’t ask. 

Crawling back onto the mattress, Elle cocooned herself and settled down for the night. Her alarm would go off in a few hours. Hopefully, Wrecks wasn’t a grump in the morning. 

***

The candle lit. Elle jerked awake and saw the table in the corner glowing with the light of the fire. After a few heartbeats, the flame went from orange to pink. Arching a brow, Elle debated going over and blowing it out. Maybe someone had tried to communicate with a local mage and wires got crossed?  

Slipping off the bed, Elle went to the table and knelt. 

Her blood ran cold at the sight of the figure in the flame. In the magenta glow of the fire, stood a demon. Even though it was obscured by a pink tint, Elle knew it too well. 

Wavy brown hair framed his face, two flesh-colored horns growing from his brow. His eyes were purple, with black sclera. He grit his teeth, showing fangs that she certainly remembered. 

He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, with purple runes and symbols twisting up his bare arms. His hand paused, tracing a pattern in the air, his nails seeming to retract as he lowered his fist.

“Elodie.” He crooned, the name twisting around her with Power. “Let me in, babe.” He leaned against something on his side, eyes coming close to whatever he was using to scry. “I know you’re right there.” 

He pulled back, his hand hovering in the air, offering Elle to take it. She stared at it, seeing the pink fall away, the flesh taking on a peachy color. Despite knowing she shouldn’t, she reached for it. 

Then, Elle had her mind back. Blinking, she scraped her nails against the wall as her hands became fists. She started to stand, but the flame grew brighter, lighting up the room better than any bulb could. 

He was manifesting, his scent overpowering her. Breathing caught in her throat. It was like the berries all over again, the way her body was reacting. No. She had to stay focused. 

“What do you want?” Fear and anger warred in her chest. How could he have found her? No one was supposed to know about her current residence. The table was supposed to cloak her location from any scryers unless she gave permission. 

“Aw. I wanted to see you.” He reached for her, but his hands shook. Small waves of Power rose from the floor. 

A threshold had finally formed… Not enough to keep him from coming through, but he would lose a lot of his power or injure himself to push past it. She thought about rushing back and grabbing her charm, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. 

“I see you’ve gotten comfortable.” Anger started to creep into his voice. 

Elle took a step forward, about to smother the candle. She reached for the tool on the table.  

“Fuck off, Adrian.” 

She went to snuff it, but he reached through the threshold and put a hand on the douter. His skin blistered and twisted, the runes glowing with heat. Lip twitching, he took another step toward her, the veins in his face contorting. 

Then, his eyes widened. 

���A fucking Drider?” Clenching his jaw, he released the door, reaching for the front of Elle’s shirt. “What, you can’t take a dick anymore? So you have to have someone who doesn’t-” 

A hand shot over Elle’s shoulder and seized Adrian by the wrist. Pink power twisted around, and she saw it glowing brightly against grey skin. 

“Raise your hand like that again, and I’ll throw you into the Underdark.” Wreck’s voice was raspy with sleep. Elle hadn’t even heard him get out of bed. 

Adrian yanked his hand back, teeth bared. 

“Careful who you threaten, Drider.” Rolling his shoulders, Adrian slammed his hand against the barrier. 

“You know he’s never going to give you what I did!” He hit the barrier again, his hands twisting to claws. 

Blood and sparks showered Elle, and she raised her hands to shield herself. A hand grabbed the nape of her neck and pulled. She screamed, starting to thrash as she heard the flame snuff out. 

“Shepard!” Wrecks shook her. “It’s me. Keep your mouth closed.” He produced a rag and wiped her face. “Demon blood is toxic. If you swallow it…” 

Elle’s teeth chattered and she shivered. Wrecks cleaned her face, his expression solemn. 

Putting hands to her face, Elle doubled over and took in deep breaths. 

“You’re shaking.” 

“I’m fine.” She said, with more anger than she intended. Swallowing, she straightened and staggered to the mattress, plopping on it. Wrecks picked up his spectacles and put them on, coming over with the rag and offering it. 

She shook her head, putting a hand to her cheek. It was sensitive, probably burned from the blood. 

“Can you get my work uniform?” 

“You’re going to work after that?” Wrecks asked in disbelief. 

“We’re shorthanded. And if I don’t go, neither do you.” She felt the urge to run, to grab her important papers and flee once the sun came up. 

No… This was her place. She wasn’t going to give it up. All she wanted to do was scream, her eyes going to the corner table. Some cloaking spell. 

Fabric brushed against her arm. Looking up, she saw Wrecks with her uniform folded over his forelegs. He’d thrown on his button-up shirt but had left it undone. 

“Are you okay?” She took the uniform and held it to her chest. 

“I just…” He sighed, shaking his head. “I thought he was going to hit you. It was hard to tell because…” He waved a hand in front of his glasses. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you want me to call Ramses?” 

The name made her stomach drop. “No. Leave him out of this.” 

She went to the bathroom, staring at the red splattering on her cheek. Touching it, she winced. It was like a wicked sunburn. At least she could take a petty comfort in the fact that Adrian hurt himself enough to bleed trying to get through. 

Prodding it a little more, she shook her head. It would sting, but if she didn’t cover it up, there was no doubt in her mind word would get back to Ramses. As Elle dressed, she tried to psych herself up. 

Work was good. It was money. And once the last bits of her debts were paid off, she could save up to sever this tie once and for all. 

Her reflection was blurry as she applied foundation. Face stinging, she sniffed and shook her head. She could cover it up all she wanted, but the pain would always be a reminder. Even if he never got physical, Adrian could still find ways to hurt her. 

Once she decided her face was presentable, she exited the bathroom and the apartment, locking the door and deadbolt. On her way to her car, she tossed the candle in the garbage after breaking it into thirteen pieces, as she’d been instructed to. It neutralized the spells it could cast. Saving for a new one… 

Wrecks paused to smoke, but his eyes scanned the parking lot. She felt a pang of guilt in her stomach. He’d been trying to stay out of trouble, and she’d drug him into the middle of it. 

The drive was silent. Elle stared at the road, Wrecks sprawled in the backseat, rubbing his forelegs together in what looked like a self-soothing gesture. The window was cracked, the morning breeze rolling over them both. 

“So, who was he?” Wrecks prodded. 

“An incubus I summoned when I was young and dumb.” Elle sighed. “I didn’t read the fine print.” She shuddered at the memory. “I’d rather not go into intimate details.” 

“Could have stopped at ‘incubus’.” Wrecks laced his fingers together, resting them on his stomach. “He called you ‘Elodie’.” The Power crackled in the air. 

“And he said you didn’t have a dick. Both things we didn’t…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Wrecks shrugged. “He’s right you know, and-” 

“Don’t.” She warned, before sighing in relief as they approached the restaurant. Horac was there, talking on the phone and rubbing his face. 

“Behave for Mama, alright?” He quickly hung up, giving them a two-finger wave.

“Morning.” He grunted, before watching with fascination as Wrecks attempted to get out of the car. “You alright, Elle?” 

“Rough morning.” Elle went to Wrecks and pulled, freeing him from the vehicle. He stumbled, before righting himself and smoothing his shirt. 

“Uptick in tourists.” Horac pulled the front door open. “Expect a busy day.” 

He fixed a human-friendly coffee for Elle (they were to keep at least one edible meal for her in the restaurant at all times, and to inspect every ingredient that came through) and the sludgy liquid for themselves. 

The coffee helped wake Elle up and stave off the anxiety. She still felt jittery. But the feeling of something about to snatch her away started to dissipate. 

Horac eyed the two of them, before sighing. 

“Look, did something happen?” 

Wrecks looked at Elle, eyes urging her to speak. 

Sighing, Elle looked at her mug. The man had kids. He knew when things were off. 

“My ex showed up this morning. Things got a little heated, but he left.” She looked to Wrecks. “It’s nothing you need to go to Ramses about.” 

“Did you call the human authorities?” Horac crossed his large arms. “Or the Guardians? The Church?” 

Elle sucked in air through her teeth. “It’s more complicated than that.” She rubbed her face. “But he’s a coward. He won’t come after me during the day.” Like all Demons, he was weak to the sun. He’d puff out his chest at someone, but physical fighting was beneath him. And if he saw Horac, he’d never come near her. 

Horac sighed, nodding. 

“Let’s open up. It’s almost five.” 

***

Elle hadn’t seen so many Driders in her life. They chatted as she wove through tables. Occasionally, one would do a double-take at the human serving their pastry or coffee. She craned her neck, trying to see if any had the same marking as Wrecks. 

“So, it is true.” One whispered as Elle scurried by with a tray of dirty dishes. “He does have a human working for him.” 

“Do you think that means the rumors about the intact male working here are true?” 

The phrase made Elle go stiff for a moment, having to mentally tell herself what to do rather than rely on muscle memory. The phrasing was so odd it gave her pause. Suppressing a snort, she ducked in the kitchen and noticed Wreck was further back than normal. He was intentionally staying away from the window. 

And he hadn’t gone out for a smoke since they’d opened. 

There was no way… Elle found her head tilting, but shook herself when she realized the implications. 

The breakfast rush ended, with Wrecks throwing himself out the backdoor for a smoke. Elle picked up her phone and saw it had been blown up with calls and texts from an unknown number. Sighing, she blocked it and wondered if it was time for a new one. 

It would be a shame she couldn’t even celebrate the bonus and extra tips all the customers were passing over. 

“I swear their numbers get bigger every year,” Horac commented, breaking her daze. “I’ve heard rumors they’re going to move the festival to the Beezelbub district next year.” He looked at the freezer. “We’re about cleared out.” 

“The truck’s going to be here tomorrow,” Elle assured him. “And worst case, I can run to-” 

There was a loud thud as something hit the side of the building. The two shared a look of confusion before Elle headed out the front door. As she rounded the building, she saw a bunch of webbing all over the ground and side of the building. 

“-think I can’t smell you?” A voice broke through the air. “What the fuck, Wrecks? Why are you hiding out here?” 

“Calamity,” Wrecks whined in response. “You’re hurting me.” 

Peeking around the corner, Elle saw a female Drider pinning Wrecks against the wall, her human arms holding his wrists above his head. Webbing and threads tangled his legs, so getting away would be impossible. 

Wrecks caught her eye, and he shot back a piteous look. The universal expression of “help me.” 

“You’ve got a duty to your people and Arachne.” Calamity argued. “And you’re wasting it playing chef for a demon?” 

“Excuse me.” Elle approached slowly, her cheek burning. 

Calamity whipped around, front legs flexing. Glittery black eyes stared down at Elle. There was no question she was beautiful, human or Drider. Her features were sharp, each eye glittering like onyx in the sun. Long hair fell around her hips, accentuating her tasteful blouse and scarf. Even her fingers were well-manicured, rings sparkling on each one. It made Elle suck in a breath. 

“Fuck off, human.” She sniffed. “This doesn’t concern you.” 

Elle walked closer, not breaking eye contact. Her legs threatened to give out.

“You’re hurting Wrecks.” Elle struggled to keep her voice steady. “Leave him alone.” 

Calamity snorted, brushing a curtain of black hair from her eyes. She was a lot taller than Wrecks, and towered over Elle. If she whipped her legs, it would send Elle flying. 

“You think because you have a Demon Prince for a boss that means you can order Underworlders around? Because you’re in for a rude awakening.” 

“A what now?” Elle’s shock must have shown, barely registering the first part. Calamity’s expression darkened, silvery drool dribbling down her lips. 

“Enough!” Horac bellowed, voice rumbling hard enough to rattle the windows of the restaurant. “I normally wouldn’t hit a lady, but if you don’t stop harassing these two, I’ll make an exception.” 

He and Calamity glared at one another, before she broke free, slashing Wrecks across the stomach, tearing his shirt and vest open. His cigarette carton fell to the ground. 

When she walked past Elle, the hatred of her expression was palpable. 

Running to Wrecks, Elle pulled at the weaving. The webbing wasn’t just sticky, but it also seemed to have… Something on it that tore at her skin. While it didn’t leave gashes, there were tiny cuts that would be a pain. 

“Ah…” Wrecks winced. “Stop pulling at it.” 

Rolling his shoulders, he yanked his legs free. The motion sent a crack up the wall. They both stared at it with wide eyes. 

Swallowing, Elle offered her hand to him. His fingers wrapped around hers, and she led him back inside. Even though he probably didn’t need it, there was a silent appreciation. 

“Should we call an ambulance?” Would he even fit in one?

“I’m fine.” Wrecks assured her as Horac locked the backdoor. “She didn’t break the skin. Although I did like this shirt.” He tried to hold the tattered ends together frowning when they came apart. 

“This is going to be a bitch to fix.” 

Elle knew it had to be serious. Wrecks rarely even rose his voice. To have him swearing, even if it was a ‘minor’ one… 

“Well, she must have rattled you up pretty good if you’re cursing like that.” She said, grabbing a paper towel and using it to soak up the blood blossoming on her palms. 

“Shepard, I can have a filthy mouth, I choose not to.” Wrecks held this hands over the rip and sighed. “It’s hard finding shirts in my size…” 

Horac sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, tusks wiggling in irritation. “This is the kinda crud that night shift is supposed to deal with.” 

They didn’t reopen for lunch, with a bandaged covered Ramses on the phone with a local contractor. He apologized to Wrecks over and over, promising a bonus, paid overtime. 

“It’s fine, really.” Wrecks assured him. “I’m just sorry for breaking the building.” 

“Buildings can be replaced,” Ramses replied. “You can’t.” He rubbed the phone’s screen against his brow. “We may have to close down for the festival.” 

“Horac and I can handle it.” Elle piped up, not wanting to go back to her apartment. “Maybe only close for lunch so you can prep the bar?” 

“The full moon is coming up, too. We’re out of food until tomorrow… All these thirsty Driders will probably be wanting drinks…” Ramses groaned. “Ugh. Too much is happening at once.” He smacked the heels of his palms against his horns. 

“Perhaps I could help?” A sing-song voice called out. With a crack like a whip, Tanpopo was sitting on the front counter, fanning himself with a menu. 

Ramses put himself between the Kitsune and Elle. He made a fist, the residue on his hands beginning to seep through the bandages. 

“Oh relax, Mammy.” Tanpopo set the menu down, pulling out a proper fan and unfolding it. Waving it, he sighed. “I’m not here to play with your human. I’m here because I want to make a deal.” 

“Want me to throw him out?” Horac asked, popping his knuckles loudly. 

“Oh, call off your Pig, Mammy.” Tanpopo scowled. “I don’t like these Driders anymore than you do. The heat makes them aggressive. The less of them concentrated in one area, the better. Besides.” He smirked. “Having a Demon Prince owe me a favor would be simply divine.” 

“How about you leave before I skin you alive for drugging my employee.” Ramses lip split, red drops spilling on the floor. 

“Oh come now, you can’t put all that on me.” The fan snapped closed. “She didn’t have to eat the cakes I brought her.” He looked pointedly at Horac. 

“And weren’t you supposed to be a deterrent? Shame you chose to leave early that day. Are your Piglets at home doing well? Your Sow?” 

The Kitsune grinned. “Now, if we’re all done being squabbling children.” He tapped the fan to his lips. “I keep a favor on retainer, you get some extra hands.” 

“No.” Ramses shook his head. “Never darken my doorstep again.” 

“Fine. Your loss.” With another crack, Tanpopo was gone. His voice faded slowly. “And here I thought you would want a profit.” 

“Boss?” Horac asked. 

“Go home. I’ll handle things here.” Ramses snarled. 

“Understood.” Horac cleared his throat and was out the door. “I’m gonna pick up my kids.” There was worry in his voice. 

“I’m sorry, Ramses.” Wrecks stuttered. “I-” 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Ramses forced a smile, which made his fangs show. Elle felt a flush of heat go through her. Even if it was fake, the Demon was dazzling. “I knew the risk when you took you on.” 

He turned to Elle. “He’s staying with you?” 

Elle nodded. “For now, until the festival is over.” 

“Good. Head home.” Ramses’ tone left no room for debate. “I expect you to perform up to par or better upon return.” 

“Yes, sir.” Elle nodded, about to turn when Ramses grabbed her arm. Gently, so she could pull free with little effort. Even the slight touch made the liquid start to bubble under the bandages. He kept his face stoic, despite his eyes becoming watery with pain. 

“Are you okay?” He nodded to her hands, his eyes scouring her face. Could he see the marks left by Adrian? 

She pulled herself free before he could.  

“Of course!” Elle forced a smile of her own, before turning to Wrecks. “You ready?” 

***

Wrecks was fiddling with his shirt for what felt like hours while Elle watched him and the show she’d put on. Finally, she dug out her sewing kit. 

“No!” He insisted, “I can do it.” He clutched the shirt protectively. 

“You’re driving me crazy!” She set the sewing kit on the coffee table. “Give it here.” She held out her hand expectantly. 

“No.” He hissed, before crawling up to his mini nest. 

Elle sighed and rubbed her face before she settled back down on the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Nothing to talk about.” He said sharply. “Calamity was a friend. Things changed.” Realizing his tone, he sighed and set the shirt down, descending and sitting next to Elle. 

“Drider women get crazy this time of year.” 

She watched him rock, forelegs rubbing together. 

“And you’re not?” 

Wrecks looked toward the window. “Can’t work, can’t go outside, my mind is racing.” He shut the blinds. “What do you do to relieve stress?” 

Elle raised a brow, pausing the show and closing her laptop. They weren’t watching it anyway.  

“What’s that look for?” 

“I don’t think you’re ready for that answer.”  

His face screwed up in realization. “Shepard!” 

“You asked.” 

He rubbed his face. “I forget humans are always ready to go.” He laid back on the mattress, legs pointed straight up. It was almost comical. 

“How do you put up with it? I can barely weave two thoughts together.” 

Elle rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m constantly humping anything that moves.” She held up a finger when he opened his mouth. “The Asmodeus Fruit was a one-time exception, and I was drugged.” 

Wrecks closed his mouth, eyes rolling to the side as he pursed his lips, before opening it again. “How did that work out, anyway?” 

The memory of Ramses’ hands over her body, his lips on her skin… Elle shook her head. They’d agreed not to talk about it. 

“He had the antidote. I drank it and we were fine.” She answered quickly, cheeks burning. There was some truth to it. “Although I did give him a run for his money.” Her legs clamped together, the sensation of the silk binding them… 

“Your bindings helped a lot.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s one of the first things we learn to spin. It’s pretty easy.” As he spoke, he wove a few strands around his wrist. “And tying things up… It’s a useful skill.” He swallowed. 

“I prefer to use mine to make things.” He paused, braiding the silk into a bracelet and passing it over to Elle. 

Slipping it on her wrist, Elle watched it slide down. It rested above the crook of her elbow, a small silken spider dangling from the braiding. Wrecks looked disappointed at the result. 

“It’s fine!” She assured him, slipping it around her throat. “I’ve always been more of a choker girl, anyway!” 

He stared at the spider, flicking it and giving a slight smile. 

“Last year, I made some clothes for Horac’s daughters. The silk in Ramses parasol? I made that too.” He smiled, “I didn’t really… Pursue my passions in childhood. I was one of Arachne’s chosen, so I was slotted for other purposes.” 

“Oh.” Elle winced. “You weren’t like… In a cult or something, were you?” 

“Depends on your definition.” He shrugged. “Arachne’s followers have their beliefs. A woman was punished by the Gods to become a spider because she mocked and bested them.” He sighed. “And those who were nearby or came to her defense were cursed as well.” 

Taking more strands, he began to weave them around his fingers, making a cat’s cradle. “Talented weavers, but cursed in their own ways. Some Driders follow without taking it to the extreme, but…” He dropped a few strands, forming “witch’s broom”. “If you were one of her ‘chosen’ you’d be in a cage.”   

Elle put a hand to her throat, touching the spider. “Why aren’t you working as like… A tailor or something?” 

Wrecks shrugged. “I’ve always liked cooking, too. The wages for a Drider in the textile business can be… Lower than you would think.” He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “I don’t want to bore you with Underworld Politics, but let’s just say Ramses is rather… Progressive for our kind.” 

Our kind? Elle opened her mouth to ask, but closed it, letting him continue. It made sense demons and creatures of the Underdark communicated and interacted regularly. 

“Anyway, I wanted to make you something. I’ve been wanting to spin all day it’s been driving me crazy. Having someone else give me orders… It’ll help.” He slid more webbing around his fingers. “I guess being a follower never really left my nature.” 

Elle stared at it, before biting her lip. So many uses for ropes… 

No. Focus.  

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” 

Wrecks shrugged. “I’ve gone to therapy about it. They gave me some good coping mechanisms. But this time of year… It’s hard. Because I want to partake, it’s part of my culture.” His forelegs rubbed together so much, Elle worried they would spark. 

“But I don’t want children. If I father a clutch, any like me will relieve my childhood. And those who aren’t… They’ll grow up in the Underworld or on the fringes of society.” 

‘The intact male…’ 

“I thought you said Driders didn’t…” Her eyes went to where skin met chitin.

“Most don’t,” Wrecks corrected. “An intact male… It’s a rarity.” He inhaled sharply. “Driders are about 75 percent women, with the remaining 25 percent consisting of males, mostly neutered. I couldn’t give you an exact number, but maybe one out of eight clutches will produce an intact male?” 

“Normally, they would give someone like me a little harem or something, never have to work a day in my life. Luxury, wanting for nothing. In exchange, I could never leave the Underworld, and once the Mating Season began....” He let himself trail off, sighing deeply. 

“But I didn’t want that life.” Sighing, he shook his head. “I know this is sounding like a pity party… Poor little privileged Drider complaining about how his perfect life sucked.” 

Elle put a hand on his shoulder. He stared at it, then gave a strained smile. 

“If you didn’t want it, you didn’t want it.” She chuckled nervously. “I understand why you tied me up now.” 

“I generally don’t do it.” He cleared his throat. “When you tried to kiss me, I was worried that some of the berry residues would get on me and it would trigger my mating cycle.” The blush spread down his neck. “I grew up with very aggressive pursuers. And we can be… Violent when mating.” 

Elle slid her hand off his shoulder and put it in her lap. “I’m sorry.” 

“You were under the influence, so I don’t hold it against you.” He stroked her hair. “When Calamity had me tied up and struck me, it got triggered.” Swallowing, he nervously rubbed the back of his head. 

“You see… When Driders go into their cycles, they pair off and mate for the duration of it. Sometimes, there’s combat involved.” 

“Combat!?” Elle sputtered. “Why?” 

“Because we’re predatory. A female needs a strong male to fertilize her clutch. Otherwise, the children born will most likely be neutered, so the legends say.” He rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “Usually, a dozen or so are born per cycle, but maybe five will make it to adulthood.” 

“Oh.” Elle swallowed, suddenly feeling guilty. This sounded barbaric. She thought of Calamity, her anger. Had she had children that…? 

“It’s… Complicated.” He tucked a few stray strands of hair behind Elle’s ear, the touch making her shiver. “I know you stepped in as my friend and I was looking at you when it got triggered. If you had been a Drider, it would have probably mate bonded us for the cycle.” 

Elle blushed. “I’m not looking for that kind of commitment.” Or another Adrian. The thought made her shiver. 

“Oh. No!” Wrecks waved his hands. “I didn’t mean to imply that! But… When you kissed me that day, even if you didn’t consider it one, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I… Really was flattered. I know outside the Underdark, I’m… Rather frightening. What made me special is common here.”  

He swallowed hard, tongue flicking across his lips, leaving a silvery residue. “And when you came to my rescue, I felt the same pang that I normally would when trying to bond. I know we’re different species, so you probably couldn’t even comprehend such a thing-” 

His face fell, “Not that I’m implying you’re too stupid to, or anything, but-” He inhaled sharply and rubbed his brow. “I have six feet, and I’m shoving them all in my mouth.” 

Elle patted his leg closest to her. “I get what you mean.” 

“Even though we aren’t bonded. Can’t be bonded.” Wrecks explained, “I’m… happy you still came to my aid. And… I do think you’re attractive. And it’s not just the attempted bond talking.” He twisted a section of hair around his finger, staring at it. “I’m not… Good at these types of things.” 

“That’s okay.” She focused on the laptop. “I won’t hold it against you. And I know you’re… Sort of under an influence of your own.” 

Swallowing, he rubbed his hands together. “But it will only last a week or so. After that, my feelings will plummet right back down to platonic. And I do have some self-control.”

She swallowed, closing her eyes. A way to regain control… 

“Why not have fun then?” Elle asked. “You can blow off some steam, and don’t have to worry about a clutch.” 

Wrecks sputtered. “Shepard! I… Look, I know I’ve probably put you in an awkward spot. But, you’re my friend and coworker first. Erm… Well, I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to and…” Realization dawned on him as she shot him a look. 

“Oh.” He paused. “Wait, you… I mean, the incubus was one thing, but-” 

“Do you need a minute to process?” She felt her cheeks flush. 

Lips were on hers. Front legs wrapped around Elle’s hips, pulling them close. Bitter liquid pooled in her mouth.

Gagging, Elle pulled away and spat, seeing silvery liquid on the coffee table. 

“S-Sorry.” Wrecks gave her a rag. “That’s venom. It’s harmless, though. I keep myself on a strict diet to remove the toxins.” He watched as Elle dabbed at her lips. 

Her mouth tingled, but there seemed to be no ill effects.

“Just caught me off guard.” She found herself smiling, despite it all.

“Do you want to stop?” He swallowed, setting her down. 

“It’s fine!” Elle assured him. “Just uh… Warn a girl next time.” 

“Then… Do you mind if I undress you?” 

“Let me do it.” She pushed him against the mattress, straddling him. His legs tangled with hers. 

Grabbing her shirt, Elle pulled it over her head. 

Wrecks stared at her bra, before looking horribly confused. He ran his hands over it, before pulling at the cups and straps. Elle sighed, and reached back and unhooked it, knowing she’d have to educate him later. 

Wrecks reached up, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Then, he leaned forward, circling his tongue around it, teeth grazing the tip. 

More venom dribbled down her skin, the tingling following. The sensation made Elle’s nipples go erect, the arousal fanning inside her. A soft moan escaped her and she ground against him. 

“I guess that means I’m going it right.” Wrecks chuckled, holding onto her hips. “I’ve never felt a breast before. They’re soft.” He held it in his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Drider women… Don’t have to-” 

She put a finger to his lips. “You’re not with a drider. You’re with a human.” 

Eyes wide, Wrecks slowly nodded. Hands trailed lower, and Elle slipped out of her pants, smashing breasts to his face to do so. When she settled again, his cheeks were inflamed.

He stared at her panties, frowning as his forelegs tugged at the waistband. It snapped against Elle’s skin, making her yelp. 

“I don’t want to rip it.” 

“Slow down.” She laughed, slipping his shirt off over his head. “I don’t even know where to touch you.” 

“It’s still flesh like yours above the waist.” He guided her hand over his chitin, around where she assumed a human groin would be. There was a slit. It was widening at her touch. Running her fingers over the edges, she felt him squirm under the touch. 

Then, she tried to stick a finger in. 

Wrecks flinched, shaking his head and squeezing her shoulders. “No. That’s not what that’s meant to do.” Elle quickly pulled her finger out, resting a hand on the widening hole. 

“Sorry.” 

“I’m fighting against biology, hold on.” 

“Maybe you could try tying me up?” She suggested. “Make me a conquest?” 

“You wouldn’t be able to stop me, then.” Wrecks shifted. “I could hurt you.” 

Elle leaned forward where his neck and shoulder met. She planted a kiss, then sucked hard on the skin, using her teeth. 

Wrecks yelped, grabbing the back of her head. “You’re going to leave a mark…” He whimpered when she moved across his collarbone. Something slick and hard pressed against her, fluid trickling down her thighs. 

Staring at the mark on the Drider’s neck, Elle ground against him again. 

“You’re drenched. I can feel it, even through your panties.” A leg tugged at the waistband. He ran his lips over Elle’s, before pressing hard to the nape of her neck. Their mouths locked again, and she threw her arms around him. 

One leg pushed her panties to the side, and she felt him pressing. Slick and wet, like a very stiff tongue. She wondered if it would be colored like his skin or the chitin.

Reaching down, she guided him inside. Wrecks gasped, hands and legs digging into her skin. More drool and venom dripped onto her cheek. 

“I keep feeling the urge to attack you.” He winced.

“Do you want to stop?” It pained her to say, but the distress was obvious. 

“Just…” His cheeks were purple, “Take control?” 

“Can you make any webbing?” 

He nodded, and she used it to bind his wrists above his head, using the wall to secure it. The legs behind his cock were bound together, and his legs above it to his thorax. Unlike Calamity’s, his webbing was smooth.

He whimpered at first and Elle worried that he would be reminded of Calamity, but his (black!) cock was drooling and erect, and he nodded in approval. More venom drooled out, but he assured her it was normal. 

Lastly, she bound his neck with a leash so he couldn’t rear up and bite her.  

“You alright? Knots aren’t too tight?” 

“I’m… Fine.” He blushed as his cock twitched. “You’ll have to teach me how to do this.” 

Putting her hand at the nape of his neck, she gripped the leash tightly, holding it in place as she straddled him, slipping back onto his cock. The motion made him gasp, his abdomen rocking so he could penetrate further. 

The length was almost too much to take, but she knew how to work around that. Rolling her hips, she found a rhythm that worked. Resting against his bound forelegs, she planted a kiss on his jaw, which made him shudder. 

He thrust against Elle, the motion sending warmth through her body. She pressed her free hand to the wall, continuing to rock her hips and take him nearly to the base. 

Wrecks moans and whimpers grew louder, and she debated gagging him, but knew it would only make him panic. 

“I have neighbors, remember?” She hissed. 

“S-Sorry. Just feels too good.” He gasped, the bite mark on his neck nearly turning black.

 Tingling on her skin made Elle’s skin pebble, each thrust drowning her in wave after wave of pleasure. Leaning down, she covered Wrecks’ lips with her own. Venom pooled in her mouth, more salty than bitter this time 

The barrage of her mouth and tongue made Wrecks’ body grow scorching hot, the binding suddenly ripping apart, tattered silk flying everywhere. His legs wrapped around hers, spreading them wide. Forelegs pulled them close together, holding Elle against his chest as he began to thrust with vigor, hilting each time. 

“F-fuck, Elle…” 

She couldn’t help it and laughed. 

“What?” He swallowed, brows raised. 

“It’s just… The first time you’ve ever called me by my first name.” And if she had her way, it would be said several more times. 

She stayed close as she felt the pleasure building, her high-pitched gasps filling his ears. The noise encouraged him further and he pushed as much of himself into her as possible, before yelping when she clenched. 

Back arching, Elle shuddered as the orgasm hit. The sudden change made Wrecks flinch. His legs dug into her like nails as his own body trembled, the stimulation too much. His cock twitched, fluid spilling out of her and onto the bed. 

And just kept coming. 

“Ah!” She yelped, trying to disentangle herself and save the blankets. 

She should have laid down towels! What was she thinking? The more she struggled, the tighter Wrecks’ hold became.

“S-sorry. It’s for a clutch, remember?” His legs twitched, holding her in place until he finished. "I'm not holding you like this on purpose." His cheeks flared. "I have to make sure you, uh, get... Fertilized. Even if it's not possible."

Once he released her, she pulled him onto the floor. Switching on her fan, she let the cool air roll over them as they tried to catch their breath. 

“Are you okay?” He brushed damp wisps of hair from her face. 

“I’m fine.” She chuckled, smiling. “I guess that’s one thing off my ‘fuck-it’ list.” 

“Your what!?” 

With wobbly legs, she managed to get to the bathroom and rinse off, barely able to stand for the short shower. 

When she came out, he had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and was trying to clean the comforter with a wet rag. 

And bleach.

“Wrecks!” She about full-body tackled him. 

“I was trying to fix it!” He said awkwardly around the cigarette. His front legs twitched, pulling her into an awkward embrace as they wrapped around her thighs, just under her rear. “Because I wanted to… Try again.” 

Elle felt herself blushing, even more so when she saw the head start to peek out from the slit again. Swallowing, she retrieved towels from the bathroom while he tossed the comforter to the side. 

“Okay. But we’re going to do it right this time. And you still have to smoke outside.” 

Next part here!

[pettyprocrastination]

Taste Test

Pairing: Line Cook!Simon Riley x Line Cook!Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon is warned by his manager about the dangers of a workplace romance. You are asked for your opinion on seasoning.

Warnings: profanity and smoking.

Wordcount: 1.3k

Note: take this silly little thing as an apology for my utter lack of activity lately I'm so sorry yall! Made simon a linecook as a little joke au but now its kinda stuck in my head and not leaving lmao. Big thank you to @madhyanas @thesadvampire and @yeehaw-djarin for being my beta readers and editors for this story! I smooch you all <3

__________________

Simon had just finished plating his sixth steak of the night when the manager, Elise, a woman with twitching hands and cold eyes, pokes her head into the kitchen and barks his name. 

“My office.” 

The others snicker and bump shoulders like schoolboys, calling out a jested “fuck did you do this time, Riley?” that he doesn’t bother answering with words so much as a choice hand gesture thrown into the air before he ducks under the door frame and disappears down the hall. 

“You want to tell me what I’m getting chewed out for?” Simon rasps as he tucks his hands into the front pocket of his apron, scarred fingers curling around the carton of cigarettes tucked within it. 

Elise’s office is hardly bigger than the pantry, just large enough for a rickety desk piled with bills and a chair with a threadbare cushion that was all but pressed flat. 

“I’m not reprimanding you, Simon.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Think of what I’m about to say as-” Elise tilts her head, flashing him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “A preventive measure.” 

Simon fishes out a lighter from his back pocket as she continues. She doesn’t have the energy to tell him to stop.

“What do you think of the new hire?” 

Truthfully, nothing.

You don’t talk much outside of work. While the other cooks are content to crack jokes and tell stories of their weekend to one another as they prepare meals, you have no such social connection to anybody within the kitchen. The only moments Simon had even heard your voice was the rushed announcement of your position behind somebody or when coming around the corner. 

“She’s fine.” He takes a slow drag of his cigarette and exhales, smoke curling from his lips as he speaks. “Does her job and doesn’t bitch like the others.”

“She’s more than fine.” Elise motions to a stapled pack of paper on her desk. 

 “Kid went to culinary school, trained under some big fucking names and even worked at some five-star joints before coming here. All her previous employers say she’s a hard worker who picks up shifts and doesn’t cause trouble.” 

She picks up the paper and points it towards the six foot four cook hunched in her doorway.

“Which is exactly why I’m telling you now that she is off-fucking-limits to you.” 

Simon bites down on his cigarette. “S’cuse me?” 

“Don’t play coy, Riley. You’re far too fucking grown to pretend you don’t know what you do.” 

He does know. Simon is more than aware of the past flings he’s had with multiple servers, none of which have ended on a positive note and all of which resulted in a souring work environment until they up and quit - leaving front of house understaffed until the next poor bastard walked through the door asking about the Help Wanted sign hung outside. 

But the blame can’t be on him entirely, that is. Each doe-eyed waitress entered a fling with the cook knowing good and well what his intentions were, because he had no issue with saying it right to their face. 

‘I’m not looking for a relationship.’ 

Simon is a blunt man. He tells people what he wants because in a world full of dragging feet and double entendres, he values efficiency and honesty above all else. 

“Listen, I’ve never stopped you from dipping your hand in the cookie jar before, but this?” She waves your resume in front of him again. “This right here? Off-limits. If you run this poor girl out and leave us understaffed for the Sunday rush I will fucking gut you myself, Simon.” 

It’s only been a week and a half since you’ve started working with them. Part of him wants to laugh at Elise’s exasperated accusation. That somehow, in the midst of chaotic shifts where several customers complain and a few bar patrons get rowdy enough for him to have to drag them out by the collar, he’d be able to find the fucking time to learn your goddamn name, let alone sweettalk his way between your legs. 

But then he remembers the muffled laugh you hid in your sleeve yesterday when listening to the dishwasher crack jokes during the lunch rush and how you tap the side of your apron in a constant rhythm when looking for something within the kitchen. Simon interrupts his own thoughts and frowns, mildly surprised about just how much he noticed of you from the corner of his eye during the daily lunch rush. Had Elise said nothing, he wouldn’t have cast a second glance in your direction. But now?

“Simon! Are you listening?” 

She may have just cursed herself. 

“Yeah-” He stamps his cigarette out on the ceramic tray on her desk, offering her a dry clip of his voice before turning on his heel. “No fucking the new cook until we find coverage, got it.” 

Simon narrowly avoids a stapler being thrown in his direction before ducking out of her office and back into the kitchen where his coworker grins at him from the sink. 

“So? She fire your dumbass yet?” 

Across the kitchen, you cut onions with a flicking wrist that never ceased movement, brows furrowed and mumbling to yourself. 

Simon hums. 

You’re quite pretty. 

“Not yet.” He rumbles. “She likes my smile too much.” 

You spare Simon a glance as he settles back into his work station next to you before you resume cutting. He notices there’s a scar on your bottom lip, a little sliver of raised skin that goes from the bottom of your chin to the swell of your lower lip. 

“Hey.” 

His voice shakes you from your focus, hands freezing as you turn to look at him, lightly craning your neck to meet his eyes. 

Simon holds out a spoon to you, the other scarred hand hovering beneath to keep it from spilling. 

“Mind giving your opinion? Can’t tell if it needs more garlic.”

There’s a moment where your brows cinch together and you look at him with caution, as if to sniff out any sort of deceit within his offer before you mumble, “Yeah, yeah, okay,” and lean forward. 

There’s no need for him to feed you. You’re a fully grown woman who could take the spoon from his hand with no issue, but Simon finds himself guiding it to your mouth and letting his other hand tuck under your chin in an affectionate gesture far too intimate for the back kitchen of a local restaurant. 

Simon is sure that Elise has cursed him too. He hadn’t given you a second glance or a spare thought since your first day. But now, he watches your eyes flutter shut as you hum at his cooking. 

“Good?” he asks. 

Your tongue darts out to catch a stray droplet of sauce on your lower lip. “Good.” Your lips purse like you have something more to say and you raise your hand, pinching your pointer finger to your thumb in a universal gesture. 

“Could use just a bit more garlic though.” 

There’s a brief moment after you speak where panic fills your eyes as Simon says nothing. Frantic thoughts fill your brain, wondering if that was some sort of test for the new hire that you had failed due to your own personal tastes until the man that towers over you nods. 

“More garlic.” He echoes. With a short nod of his head, he turns back to his station without another word. 

Simon doesn’t speak to you again for the rest of your shift yet at times during the night, where an unexpected pause takes over the kitchen for a brief but appreciated moment of silence, you feel his gaze on the back of your neck. 

When the time of the night comes to hang up your apron and slip through the backdoor, he joins you without a word. A large looming shadow walking in step with your own, unexpected but not unwelcome. He bids you a rasped “ ‘Night” before turning to his car as you unlock your own, offering him a mimic of his words before you drive home. 

You notice in the reflection of your rear view mirror that he doesn’t leave the parking lot right away. But rather chose to wait until you do to finally depart. 

[distorted59]

A Week In San Francisco pt.2

summary: after sharing a heated kiss the night before, James and y/n are a little on edge when they visit the beach.

pairing: Kill 'Em All!James x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw/smut, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, p in v, james likes to beg a little, cute lil' aftercare in the end

word count: 3344

A/N: sorry it took a while! honestly took me longer than expected lol. hope you enjoy it, babes! xo

part 1

✪

The fact that she even got a few hours of sleep is a fucking miracle itself. The butterflies in her stomach almost made it impossible to fall asleep. 

But, here she is. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a cigarette in her hand. She’s wearing a beach-sundress and a simple bikini underneath. And honestly, she’s really excited to go to the beach. 

Kirk shuffles into the kitchen, wearing his glasses and his hair is messy. His favorite ‘Dracula’ t-shirt is completely wrinkled and slightly raised, showing his belly. 

“Morning,” y/n grins. “I see you slept very well?”

"Mhm." Kirk kisses the top of her head and yawns. 

He goes over to the counter and pours himself a cup of coffee, he is a bit wobbly but he can still keep his balance. He goes to sit down next to y/n and smiles at her.

“How did you sleep? Did everything go okay last night?” 

She almost chokes on her coffee, but luckily she doesn’t. A slight blush creeps on her face. Y/n quickly puts out her cigarette in the ashtray in front of her and tries to hide her blush with a smile. 

“Yeah, I slept fine!” She assures him. 

"Great." Kirk moves his hand through his hair. “You know, James told me he spoke to you last night.”

“He did?” She looks into his eyes. “What did he say?” 

“That he told you we’re going to the beach today!” Kirk grins excitedly. “I see you’re all ready to go!” 

Y/n breathes out slowly through her nose. It would be kinda dumb to immediately tell a guy you kissed his sister, right? But, hey. Anything can happen with these guys. 

“Yeah, you know I love going to the beach!” 

They sit in a comfortable silence for a bit, sipping their coffee and enjoying the morning sun that is shining through the kitchen window. 

Until that is interrupted by a fucking war cry.

“Cliff! I swear to god, man! I claimed the bathroom first!” 

“You’re too slow, Hetfield!”     

Lars walks into the kitchen rolling his eyes, “Morning, guys.” He opens the refrigerator and grabs a carton of orange juice. “How did your first night in the Metallica Mansion treat you, y/n?” 

“It treated me wonderfully, thank you.” 

“Great!” He smiles. “That’s really good to hear.”

Later on, Cliff walks in with a big grin on his face. He sits down next to Kirk and looks at y/n and her cigs. “Good morning, can I?” 

“Morning! ‘Course you can.” She slides the pack towards him and he lights one. Cliff thanks her and shoots her a wink, y/n nods back and grins. 

“Dude, are you flirting with my baby sister?” Kirk leans back in his chair and raises his brows.

“Me? Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” Cliff grins, “Can’t say I’m speaking for everyone, though…” 

“Morning everybody!” James walks in, unusually cheerful for this time of the day. “Is there still some coffee left?” 

“Yeah,” Kirk says. “Over on the counter”

“Thanks, dude!” He grabs a mug and pours himself some, leaning against the counter and eying y/n curiously. 

It’s almost like she can feel it, because she turns around and smiles at James. She holds up her mug. “James?” Her voice is sickly sweet, oh yeah, today is going to be that type of day. “Could you pour me another one?”

His eyes almost popped out of his skull, he hadn’t even really noticed what she was wearing. The way she’s looking and talking to him is making James weak at the knees. 

“Y-yeah, of course!" He takes the mug from her hands and shakily pours the coffee in, trying not to spill. 

The other guys are talking about what they're planning on doing at the beach today. Kirk and Lars are arguing over something and Cliff doesn’t know what conversation he wants to keep up with. 

“Here you go.” He decides to sit next to her this time and puts on his best charms. 

“Thank you!” She grins. 

“So,” James starts. “Did you sleep okay, sweetheart?” 

Her heart skips a beat at the nickname and she looks at him without breaking eye contact.

“I slept great. How about you, sweetheart?” she grins playfully. 

“Me too, me too.” He looks into her eyes, not saying anything else. 

The argument between Kirk and Lars has quieted down and one of them lets out a cough.

“So, is everyone ready to go?” Lars speaks up. 

“Yes, more than ready.” Kirk eyes James and y/n suspiciously. “Let's get moving.” 

Everyone gets ready and grabs their stuff; towels, sunscreen, and beer. You know, the essentials. 

It’s a short walk to the beach, but the morning heat isn’t really working with them. James keeps trying to walk next to y/n, but Kirk doesn’t allow it. everytime James tries to pick up his pace, Kirk closes the gap between him and his sister. 

“What are you doing, dude?” y/n raises her brows at Kirk. 

“Just walking next to you, is that a problem?” He nudges her shoulder.

“No, but…” She starts.

“Good, we’re almost there.” Kirk cuts her off and smiles. 

They arrive at the beach and find a good spot, putting their towels down and enjoying the warm sun on their already tanned skin. 

Y/n takes off her dress and sits down on her towel, all of the boys take a quick glance at her and sit down as well. Kirk glares at the three, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Aw, man!” Kirk groans in annoyance. “We forgot the radio!” 

“What? No way, I definitely grabbed it before we left!” Cliff frowns and looks around. 

“Well, It’s not here.” Lars sighs. “We’ll go grab it.” He grabs Kirk’s arm and drags him along. 

Kirk protests and looks over at y/n, who is grinning at her brother and gives him a small wave. 

“Why do I have to come along?” He whines, but walks with Lars anyway. 

Y/n lays down and shuts her eyes. Feeling some movement beside her, she holds her hand in front of her face so that the sun won't bother her eyes, and looks up.

“Can I lay next to you?” James asks. 

“Of course!” She tries to hide her excitement. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He grins and lays down. 

Cliff starts laughing and lights another cigarette. He sits up and cracks open a beer. “You’re welcome, guys.” 

Both James and y/n turn to look at Cliff with confusion, this only makes him laugh more. 

“What?” He grins. “You got a little more freedom with Kirk gone, right?” 

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?” James raises his brows.

“The radio, I hid it under my bed.” 

Y/n starts laughing too, she nudges James and hands him a bottle of sunscreen. “Could you get my back?”

“Yeah!” James' eyes widen and so does his smile. "Definitely!" 

She turns around and loosens her top, making sure he gets every inch of her back. James puts some lotion in his hands and starts putting it on her back, squeezing every curve. 

“I still don’t get the radio thing.” He whispers. 

“Babe, he’s buying us some time.”

“Babe?” James grins. “Time for… oh, oh.”

His hands go a little lower, they slide over her waist and his fingers go down to  her waist. He goes back to her shoulders and he gets closer to her ear. 

“Could you put your arms up for me, babe?”  He whispers. 

She complies as she simply can’t answer him. She wanted to reply with a snarky comeback, but she couldn't. His voice sending shivers down her spine, she can feel his breath against her hair. 

“There we go.” James gives the back of her neck a slight squeeze and his hands slide down her sides. He slowly caresses the side of her breasts and then quickly goes to her back, tying her bikini back up. “You’re all set, gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” She breathes out. Holy fucking shit, his hands feel good. 

He lays down on his stomach and scoots a little closer to her, his fingers playing with the back of her top. 

“Or do you want me to keep going?” He whispers. “I could if you let me.”

“Where are you getting all this confidence from?” She looks into his eyes, trying to read him. 

James smiles and his hand wanders lower, sliding to the side of her bikini bottom. 

“I finally figured out what I want.” 

“And that is?”

“You, y/n. I need you.” He looks at her lips. “The way your lips felt on mine is driving me crazy.” 

“Hm, you are a good kisser.” y/n smiles and turns to lay on her side. 

“So are you, baby.” He slides his hand over her waist and he stops at her hips.

For a moment, they just stare at each other, he leans closer to her face. James’ weaves his fingers between the fabric of her bottoms, his gaze wandering as he admires her curves. 

“Careful there, big guy.” She whispers, teasing him with a smirk. “We don’t want to give all these people a show here, do we?”

She glances at some beachgoers who are watching them fool around. She feels his eyes on her and turns to face him, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously.

“Hm, I don’t care.” James grins, leaning closer to her. “Please, I want you.”

“Don’t you think you need some too?” y/n grabs the sunscreen and holds it up, a mischievous smile on her face. “I wouldn't want you to get sunburned, baby” 

“Oh, you’re mean.” he groans. 

“So, you don’t want it?” She raises her brows.  

“I want… something.” James looks at her through his bangs. “Please?” 

She chuckles and lays down on her stomach again. The sun warming her skin and the waves crashing on the beach almost lull her to sleep. James huffs beside her and lays on his back. His hand creeps over her arm, tracing small circles over her soft skin. 

After a while of enjoying the sun and each other's company, Lars and Kirk finally show up with the radio.

“There you are, what the hell took you so long?” Cliff speaks up.

“Why’d you hide it under your bed, dude?” Kirk huffs, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Dude, what?” Cliff tries to hide his smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, brother.”

The three bicker about the radio and y/n smiles, slowly closing her eyes again. The soft static of the radio and the crashing waves are really calming. She sighs softly and dozes off. 

Y/n wakes up a little while later, not knowing how much time has passed. Her back feels a little sore and she immediately winces, she still got burned. She looks over at James, who also fell asleep and gasps. 

“James!” She shakes him slightly. 

"Mhm?" He opens his eyes. “Yeah?” 

His entire chest and stomach are red, along with his face. This idiot didn’t apply any sunscreen at all. 

“Dude! You got burned!” Lars yells. “Like, bad!” 

“What?” James moves towards Lars and winces. “Ow, fuck! that burns.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” y/n sighs. “You are so fucking stubborn.” 

“It’s gonna hurt even more in the morning.” Kirk grimaces and looks at his sister. “You’re back looks fucked up too, sis.”

Y/n nods her head at Kirk. She stands up and puts on her dress, grabbing her stuff. 

“You have to get out of the sun, James.” She says. “I have some Aloe vera lotion in my bag at the house, you can use it.” 

James' eyes widen as he looks up at her, is this actually happening? 

“Are you going with him?” Kirk raises his brows.

“Yes, I am.” 

James doesn’t even speak, he is too busy grabbing his stuff. He’s almost like a madman, trying to find his shirt. 

“Okay,” Kirk kisses the side of her head. “Be careful.” He gives her a knowing look and squeezes her shoulder. 

“Ow!” She winces. “Kirk, that hurts!” 

“Sorry!” He chuckles. 

She walks away and nudges her head, motioning James to follow her. He doesn’t waste any time and runs after her. Lars throws him the keys to the house.

“Have fun, fuckers!” Lars yells after them.

“Dude!” Kirk groans and throws his shirt at Lars. “Please don’t!” 

James and y/n walk home together, the walk back almost seems slower than it was before. Their hands dangerously close to each other, every time their fingers brush they share a look. He shoots her a quick and excited smile and she returns it. 

James tries to unlock the front door but his hands are too shaky, eventually he gets the key in and opens it. 

“It’s in my room, come on.” She grabs his hand and pulls him down the hallway.

They both walk into her room and she pushes him to the mattress. “Sit.” 

James obliges and takes his shirt off, slightly uncomfortable with the feeling of the fabric against his sensitive skin. 

Y/n finds the lotion from her bag and walks closer to him, crawling onto the mattress and pushing him on his back. “Can I sit?” she motions to his lap.

James nods his head so hard it almost falls off. “Fuck yes, you can.” 

She smirks and straddles him, both of them letting out a quiet gasp. She can feel him hardening in his shorts and he can feel her heat. 

“Mmh” She hums softly and starts to put the lotion on his chest. 

“Ah!” He gasps. “That’s cold, y/n!” 

She giggles and continues to take care of his sunburn. Her hands slide over his chest, softly squeezing her fingers into his shoulders. James looks up at her with nothing but love in his eyes, he squeezes her hips making her moan softly. 

“Do that again.” James whispers. 

She grins and leans down to kiss his chest, making her way up to his neck. He lets out a growl and leans up, smashing his lips onto hers. She kisses him back passionately and smiles into the kiss. James’ grip on her hips tighten as he flips her around, laying her on her back. 

“James!” She gasps. “My back, remember?” 

“Don’t worry, baby.” He whispers. “I’ll take care of you.” 

He rubs the inside of her thighs and he goes a little higher, feeling how drenched her cunt already is. 

“You’re already so wet for me, baby.” He smiles and starts kissing her neck. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

“James, please…” She looks up at him, begging for him to stop teasing. 

“What? I have to prepare my girl, don’t I?” He smirks. 

She pushes him back and takes off her dress, along with her bikini top. James takes off his shorts, his cock springing free, begging for some attention. 

“Hmm, so pretty, baby.” He mutters, his eyes not leaving her breasts. “Fuck, you look perfect.”

James leaves another trail of kisses down her neck and breasts, his fingers playing with the hem of her bottoms. His other hand touching and squeezing her breast, while leaning up to kiss her lips hungrily. 

“Can I take these off, baby?” James whispers against her lips. 

“Yes, Fuck. Yes, you can.” y/n’s breath hitches in her throat. She looks up at James, her eyes glossy and her lips parted. 

He slides them off, desperate to feel her cunt around his cock. James slides his hand down her belly and starts to run circles on her clit. She gasps and reaches for his cock, starting with slow and agonizing strokes. 

“Fuck, you really like to play mean.” James stifles a moan and rubs his fingers over her folds. 

“Don’t hold your moans in, baby.” She pouts. “Wanna hear you too.” 

Y/n starts stroking him a bit faster, she feels her hand getting covered in his pre-cum. 

“Ah! ngh- Fuck!” James lets out the moan that has been stuck in his throat. “mhm! y/n… gonna… gonna prep you for me, okay?” 

She nods and kisses him again, moaning into the kiss as he slowly slides a finger into her drenching cunt. He starts finger-fucking her at a steady pace, the room is filled with sloppy wet noises and their moans. 

He adds another finger and goes faster, curling up his index and middle finger to hit the right spot. 

“Fuck, James!” She moans. “Your fingers… they… feel so good!” 

“Yeah? You like how I work my hands on you, baby?” He groans and goes faster. y/n’s hand starts tightening around his cock. 

“If you keep squeezin’ me like that, I’m not gonna last long.” James chuckles and leans down to kiss her again.

“Baby, ‘m close, please!” She moans and lets go of his cock.

“Cum on my fingers, baby.” He curls his fingers deeper into her and feels her cunt squeeze around them. All he can think about is how her pussy is gonna feel around his cock.

“Fuck!” y/n cums all over his fingers, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. 

James pulls his fingers out and sticks one of them into his mouth, tasting her juices. He lets out a delighted moan and sticks his other finger in her mouth. She sucks it clean without a single thought, looking up at him through her lashes. 

“Wanna be inside you…” He mumbles. “Please?” His face gets a little more flushed. 

“It’s cute that you ask so nicely.” She smiles up at him and guides his cock to her drenched pussy. “You gonna fuck me good, baby?”

“Mhm.” He slides his cock over her folds. “Gonna fuck you so good, baby.” 

He slowly pushes it inside of her and starts bucking his hips into her. Y/n cries out in pleasure, he’s hitting all the right spots. James leans down to kiss her again and thrusts a little faster. 

“Fuck!” James whines. “Been wanting to feel this pussy for so long!” He almost starts crying with how good it feels, how good she’s making him feel.

“James…” She moans “Keep going like that, please!” 

“I will, baby. I will.”

She doesn’t feel the sunburn on her back anymore, she only feels the incredible amount of pleasure James is giving her. She wraps her legs around his waist which makes James pound into her even harder. 

“Gettin’ close, baby.” James whispers against her neck. “I’m gonna need to pull out.” 

She just nods, she doesn’t care what he does to her. She just wants to cum around his cock. 

His thrusts are getting sloppier, meaning he’s gonna cum soon. He lets out some more strained moans and whimpers. 

“Gonna… gonna cum.” He pants.

“Me too, baby.” y/n whimpers.

He makes her cum, her stomach exploding with pleasure. She’s almost seeing stars with how hard she’s squeezing her eyes shut. James lets out a grunt and quickly pulls out, finishing all over her stomach. He keeps fucking his fist to ride out his high. 

“Shit…” James breathes heavily. 

“Yeah…” Her chest moves up and down, trying to calm down from the pure ecstacy sensation.

“I’m sorry for the mess.” James has a stupid grin on his face, but that can’t hide the tremendous blush which reappears on his face. “Let me clean you up.”

He grabs one of the beach towels that were scattered on the floor and starts wiping her stomach. He throws the towel on the ground and lays down on her chest. 

“You were amazing, baby.” y/n smiles and kisses him tiredly. 

“So, were you, babe.” James smiles into the kiss. 

They lay in each other's arms for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence between them. He has pulled her into his arms and they are softly caressing each other. 

“Can I sleep here with you tonight?” He whispers.

“What do you think, baby?” She giggles. “You just screwed me silly, of course you can.” 

[ambrozjas]

dallas x shepard!sister (not angela, but reader is exactly like her siblings if that makes sense) if it’s not too much. tysm! ❤️

kryptonite ꨄ︎

dallas winston x shepard!reader

✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ

i’ve literally never read or watched twttin, i only really know the shepard’s siblings personalities from synopses and the small snippet they mentioned/showed tim in the outsiders? so please forgive me, i tried my best 😭😭

✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ

dallas being a pest (as usual), smoking, curly is in reformatory in this period so takes place during the outsiders and not twttin

✧˖*°࿐ word count ᰔᩚ

584 words, 3264 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

you could practically smell the obnoxious scent of the outside and tobacco as you saw dallas winston walk up to your booth. he arrogantly slid himself into the red seat, the material making a crack sound from the worn down leather.

“so, what’s a shepard doin’ ‘round here?” he finally said, leaning over the table and looking you deep in the eyes.

to be fair, you weren’t very quiet, like your siblings. you often acted out because, who can compete with a gorgeous sister, a rowdy brother, and another brother who’s as tough as nails?

everybody’s eyes were usually on you, even dallas’, but whenever you caught him staring, it felt different compared to others’ eyes.

and you hated it.

“get lost, will ya? ‘m tryna enjoy my coke without some hood blowing smoke in it.” you said.

“jus’ tryna be nice” dallas murmured, stubbing out his cigarette rudely on the white table, stained with coffee and various condiments and now, a circular ash mark.

your eyes followed his every move, watching how he looked at you and twiddled his thumbs a bit when silence fell over the two of you.

“you call interruptin’ my peace ‘nice’?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

his eyes darted across your face, maybe trying to spot some string of insecurity or flaw he could pull.

“‘s tim around?” he asked, looking around the diner.

“naw.”

“what about that kid, uhm.. what’s his name,” dallas snapped his fingers as his mind worked, “curly?”

your eyebrows scrunched, what did dal care if your brothers were around? maybe you should’ve said tim was around.

“curly’s in reformatory.” you blankly stated, tracing your finger around the rim of the coke bottle. you pouted as you felt the body of the bottle, feeling the liquid already starting to grow warm with how long this interaction was. “what d’you care?”

he turned his head back to you, eyes squinted and lips parted in a way where he almost looks offended that you would ask him that.

“i was going to ask for a night or so with you, we could head over to the dingo or a dandelion field or whatever you broads like. y’know, be a gentleman.”

“you could buy me another coke. ‘s already lukewarm from how long you’ve been talking outta your ass for.” you scoffed at his request.

“is that how a lady asks?” dallas snorted, already pulling out another cigarette from a hidden carton in his jacket.

“is that how a gentleman talks to a lady?”

he looked at you. you weren’t a pushover, he had to give you credit for that. he tapped his cigarette while his eyebrow cocked upwards, asking for a light. you simply tapped your bottle on return, silently telling him that if he were to get a light, he’d have to buy you a soda first.

he sighed, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and craning his neck to look behind him at the fearful two old ladies who had been staring at you both the entire time, probably to ensure that you didn’t vandalize the place or hold any customers at gunpoint or steal candy from any babies.

he looked back in your direction so he could snatch the bottle, earning a small ‘hey!’ from you and waving it at the lady, asking for another drink.

“there. y’happy?”

you shrugged and slid out of the booth, grabbing your bag and walking towards the exit of the diner.

dallas just looked back at you, not even sparing another glance at him. did he find you hot? yeah, very much. but did you also get under his skin? of course.

the only thing that could kill dallas winston is you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ why am i actually so proud of this tho

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

[cloveroctobers]

FALSE STARTS — CARMY BERZATTO [Summer Writings]

A/N: Getting down to my final collection to these summer writings…I strongly debated if I wanted to even write for carm this time around, the man is always going through it…not saying that I won’t ever again because I ofc have love for the guy but whew!!! Never giving up on him but—you guys get it? You just have to let some things sink in after watching the seasons…so here’s something possibly short? Knowing me my definition of short is not always reliable kinda like Carmy’s mental state—OOP. Too much?

WARNINGS: Added a OC, another berzatto again to the mix because I can also see Kyle being on the show and I’ve got a soft spot for him as well SORRY! I feel it in my spirit for smile 2 that it’s NOT going to end well but let’s be delusional! Slight reference to that horror movie in here as well, Still x reader based but you just have a name since I didn’t want to write in 2nd POV, along with some background for you and Carmy’s friendship, language, mentions of s**c***e & some spoilers for season three if you’re not caught up yet!

SYNOPSIS: Carmy runs into more than just his past and blood, forever learning what his next steps are, if his head will let him that is.

*GIFS BELONG TO: @emziess + @andrew3garfield !

☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘

The last thing Carmy expected was to see, Joel Berzatto at the pick up window during the lunch rush. Carmy’s been on autopilot the second week into the grand opening and he was already frustrated with the new hires. They didn’t have what it takes and Carmy didn’t have the patience to teach them, especially when they didn’t put in the effort to learn.

All they cared about was a paycheck.

He couldn’t teach what should have already been known.

Carmy already shocked himself, not blowing a fuse, deciding to just head out back silently with a carton of cigarettes. He vowed at some point he was going to quit these things and faught hard about the stick that was perched in between his lips. He’s pacing along the rocks and dirt on the side of the bear, back of his lighter racking against his fingers as he took a two minute break.

There was no time to make it five.

“Carmen,” a voice greets, making his bright blues turn to the voice.

It’s Joel.

Michelle’s younger brother.

He’s got a bag to go, bunched up underneath his fingers and his badge on his waist glimmers from underneath his earthy toned attire for work. Carmen reminds himself to blink, coming to terms that this is indeed his family—on his father’s side—at his place of business.

“Joel?” Carmen echoes but it’s more of a question.

Joel snickers as there’s still a great distance between the two family members, “yeah I was wondering when I was going to get caught red handed.”

Carmen clears his throat after removing the cigarette from his lips, “you’ve ordered something to go?”

That’s obvious but he’s trying to fill up the silence, which is always so loud even in the city.

Joel scratches at his brow, a small smile playing on his face, “‘Course I did. I was in the area and my partner wanted some other shit, he’s vegan or vegetarian and I knew that would be a disappointment so I snuck over here to get my money’s worth.”

“Yeah?” Carmy’s eyes flick back to the bag, “what’s your poison?”

Joel laughs, “can’t ever go wrong with a classic, am I right?”

Which only meant one thing: Italian Beef with extra peppers, just how he always got it, even when they were younger. Joel was older than Carmy, more around Nat’s age but he always found a way to bring up something to talk about once Michelle, Mikey, and Richie brought the house down with their boisterous voices.

“I’ve mentioned to Sugar that Sam and I can’t wait to try out the dinner menu but it hasn’t been the best time…” Joel hints, almost as if he’s apologizing for not showing his face.

There was tension at the beginning.

Joel was this big detective.

Always the persistent one and trying to solve something. It only made sense that he chose this profession but Joel did piss the family off when he tried to come up with this conspiracy theory that Mikey didn’t kill himself and that someone else pulled the trigger. His perspective? It was probably someone who Mikey bought those painkillers off of and in Joel’s mind, he thought he was doing the family a good service but instead he had his own denial about Mikey’s passing as well.

There’s been two big death’s in Joel’s life that he had to face before with his fiancée who took her own life as well. A psychologist at that. That happened years before Mikey…and Carmy can only imagine how fucked he’s been in the head too and maybe detective work gave him some sort of solace—in a twisted way.

They were family after all and grief is handled in different ways they say!

Carmy picks up on the name referred to and questions, “Sammy? You guys are still together?”

Joel snickers but doesn’t seem offended by any means, “Yeah, can’t seem to get rid of her.”

He jokes but Carmy knows that would be the last thing Joel wanted.

“She always tells me to send her love whenever I do stop by for lunch…we just don’t want to disrupt anything you guys have going on.” Joel admits and that actually makes Carmy frown.

He clenched his eyes shut for a moment with a shake of his head, “she wouldn’t—you guys wouldn’t. You’re both family too…it’s just been a lot.”

“Yeah but at some point I think we’ve got to stop making excuses,” Joel shrugs, “No pressure on our end. You should stop by the house one day, Samora would love to see you. It’s been awhile you know?”

Carmy nods.

It has.

Samora’s been one of Carmy’s oldest friends.

The friendship happened to be one of those, catch you when I catch you type of things, or if seeing someone mutual and he so happened to come up, she always related her love for him. That’s just how they operated, even if was at a distance and there wasn’t any bad blood.

Life went on.

Separately for them.

And she’s apparently been going strong with his blood cousin, Joel, for who knows how long? Carmy can’t believe he’s almost forgot what it felt like to have a friend like her.

“Yeah, I should.” Carmy agrees, “Nat’s got your number right? I’ll have to get it from her and reach out to see what’s best for you guys?”

Joel raised his brows at this.

He didn’t think Carmy would even respond to that. Carmy’s always been the kind of guy that found the nicest corner in the room and chose to stay there, it was what he was comfortable with: seeing all sides of the room and the nearest exit.

“Well Sam’s mostly working out of the house now, business picked back up for her in the last year, thankfully.” Joel answers with an inhale, “I’m the one that’s mostly gone all the time not getting the chance to really live in the house but…whenever you want. We don’t mind pop in’s—usually.”

Carmy nods, “cool—uh? I got to get back in there but I hope you enjoy the sandwich and maybe fucking try something else huh?”

Joel’s always been the sandwich and chips kind of guy. Easy going. Compassionate and soft spoken. Carmy’s only ever saw Joel pissed one time as far as he can remember. Of course when carmy brought up the interest of taking cooking seriously, Joel offered a listening ear and would admit he hardly knew what kind of fancy dishes Carmy was talking about but once he brought out the sketches? Sold! Joel couldn’t be more thrilled to see Carmy finding something to be passionate about.

It took time but he did it.

Joel picks up on Carmy’s teasing tone and points the bag at him, “I don’t tell you how to run your business, Carm. So don’t get in between a man and his favorite hoagie.”

A crooked smile appears on Carmy’s face at that as he slowly starts to retreat, “alright, fair enough.”

“Keep it up, bear.” Joel tells Carm, “beginnings can be rough but everything looks phenomenal…from what I can see anyway.”

Did it feel that way?

Carmy couldn’t tell you.

A week and three months it took for Carmy to show up to the familiar Greystone. It was after the review came in and Carmy was back on mode: disconnect, taking a much needed walk that led him right back to the usual busy area where the home sat; that had history there. He’s not positive how long he’s been standing there, peering up at the picturesque home beyond the fence.

Eventually he works up the nerve to stand at the front door, head just kissing it as he debates about knocking. His stomach feels like an off track dryer machine and his head is telling him that he has no place showing up to this house. Samora wouldn’t want to see him and Joel was just talking back then, never expecting Carmy to take up the invitation.

Carmy’s got the number from Sugar and found out where they stayed. It was the same address of where Sammy grew up, a home from her great grandparents that was passed all the way down to her. Legally she got the greystone since her foster turned adopted siblings weren’t biologically in the family and only one of them seemed to put up a fight about it anyway, only wanting the cash and not caring about how significant the home was.

He remembered that.

And so, he knocks.

He’s heading towards the gate by the time the front door swings open but the sound of the woman calling out his name, stops him in his tracks. He exhaled, dropping his hand from pulling the gate back, lifting his head before turning back to the woman on the stoop.

“It is you! Well don’t just stand there, get up here you little turd.” She’s waving her hands along and Carmy moves.

They’re face to face and it’s been ages.

Both of their eyes traces over one another’s faces but Samora is the first to yank him by the shoulders into her arms. He’s tense but finds himself placing his chin into her own shoulder, shaky hands going to her spine. Samora’s hugs have always been tight but Carmy’s never had a problem with pressure.

Much.

“Damn, I hope I didn’t get paint all on your fresh suit. What’s that? Givenchy?” Samora pokes fun as she playfully flicks the tip of his nose.

Carmy smacks her hand away realizing that she is in fact covered in paint all over her shorts overalls and there’s a dry paint swatch right on her left cheek. A awful chartreuse color, which she always seemed to like the brightest of colors others like to hate on.

In a sense Samora tried to see the good in most things.

“No,” Carmy feels a small smirk appear on his own cheek, “you’re good.”

And she welcomes him inside.

The once old home has been refreshed and Carmy can’t tell you the last time he’s been in here but the changes are evident. The first set of walls were now white, making the short entry way feel bigger and as they both turn to the right towards the living room, the view of the front porch at night feels like many summers ago when they both would sit out there, him on his back, arms tucked behind his head and Samora right beside him cross legged as she stared out towards the traffic lights.

They could sit out there for hours together, comfortable in silence or Carmy listening to Samora curse up a storm when she got confused trying to learn chess with a board her great-grandfather made. A slab of wood with a built in drawer to keep the pieces on the side, it would get stuck sometimes but she always handled with care.

“Carmen Berzatto…can’t believe you came to see little ‘ol me…unless you’re looking for Joel?” Samora says over her shoulder, still waving him along through the dinning room towards the grand kitchen.

He awkwardly stands off to the side in the kitchen while Samora lets out a yawn with a shake of her head before moving forward with searching through the cabinets. “I uh—not necessarily.”

“He’s at work anyway, getting buried into another one of his insane cases that he’s not supposed to tell me about but we all know how I am—I’m going to find out regardless.” Samora places two shot glasses down, noticing that Carmy had moved closer to the island counter now.

He did know actually.

They went to school together, been through a lot of typical high school bullshit together. He always felt like the sidekick, whereas he was the shy and reserved one, Samora had other friends that she didn’t mind putting to the side to hang out with Carmy for. Her response would be whenever Carmy asked why she kicked them to the curb to be around someone boring would be, “I know who my lifelong friends are, surely.”

“Surely,” was always Samora’s word and, “Duh,” happened to be Nat’s.

Sophomore year when Konstantinos “Tino,” Pappas found his next target in Carmy and thought it would be funny to sic his Rottweiler on him one day (he had asthma and could barely run a mile but loved skateboarding) when he had to walk home alone after school one day, he glossed over it, saying that he just tried to hop the fence as a shortcut to get home and got stuck on it instead.

He didn’t mention the dog snatching his backpack, or the nasty nip mark on his lower back, his shirt ripping after it got stuck on the spikes, and colliding face first with a sharp rock, that left a faint knick on his cheek until this day, if you got close enough to see it you would notice. Donna believed Carmy’s lies although she knew Carmy was a more take his time kind of kid but all she wanted to do was get back to her daily cocktail, Nat was concerned but Carmy also brushed her off, saying he was fine, and when Mikey saw the marks, he hammered him with questions, leaving a teenage Carmy to grow sick of his big brother being on his case so he shut him out too.

And what did Mikey Berzatto do?

He went right to a sick Samora to find out what she knew. She had been home for the past three days, down with a fever she caught from her new foster sibling and swore that she would find out. Shook on it with the older Berzatto, who bid his farewells of how good she is to his kid brother, which meant she would always be good people in Mikey’s eyes. And when she did find out? She came right back to school that Monday, noticing the laughter from Tino and his friends down by their locker with a whole camcorder of the incident, which wasn’t far from her’s and Carmy’s.

Carmy lifted his hand to greet the teen but when she was on a mission? It was tunnel vision. She didn’t care if there were teachers at the end of the hall, she snatched the camcorder from one of Tino’s friends, shoving him out of the way, before getting to Tino. A fist met his eye that day and that resulted in a suspension and detention after learning what Tino did.

If you thought Carmy was pissed before about Nat’s overbearing nurturing ways and Mikey bugging him about the marks, then you can only imagine how annoyed he was with Samora after that. That resulted in a stupid fight and with Samora even dating Tino for two whole days—the goal was to break his heart anyway.

Teenagers? Am I right?

“Check this out,” Samora grins as she pours this green liquid into the shot glasses and makes sure to get a piece of cucumber? floating at the top to decorate it with, “I’ve been experimenting and since Joel can’t be my rodent of a taste taster tonight. I present to you chef Carmy, Cold Cucumber green Gazpacho. A chilled soup—as I’m sure you are aware of—since you know how I feel about soups in the summer.”

“…you want me to try this?” Carmy picks up the glass, eyeing it.

Samora dips her head, “surely and if you don’t do that pinched lip thing, then I know it’s trash.”

Carmy flicks his eyes to her with a frown, “what’re you talking about?”

She folds her first four fingers over her thumb, tapping them together, “I don’t know! It’s a thing! You do it when you’re yelling too but at least I know you’re focused so, go on.”

Carmy shakes his head with a slow close of his eyes. He didn’t know what she was talking about at all but he can’t say he was surprised she picked up on this, she was an interior decorator after all.

Detail was always crucial.

“That’s,” Carmy starts after seeing Samora toss her head back not long after himself, “fresh.”

Samora grins, “not bad for a beginner, huh? Easy peasy and quick! Make sure you shout me out if you make this an appetizer or something at the restaurant, will ya?”

“You got it.” Carmy comments making a mental note to do something green next time on the menu, savoring the smooth and freshness with a hint of a zing dish as Samora carefully places the bowl back into the fridge.

Sighing she turns to rest her elbows onto the counter, “Now…bestie Carmy Berzatto…what’s wrong?”

His eyes shift, “N-Nothing. I saw Joel the other day and he brought you up—

“How long ago was that?” She interrupts.

He fires back, “…awhile? Does it matter?”

“No…you know I don’t sweat the small stuff.” She blinks, “Long as I knew you were thriving then that’s all I can wish for but I know my friend and I’m sensing that you’re not okay. You’re avoiding.”

Carmy’s tapping his finger along the side of the glass but Samora doesn’t relax her burning stare, “what—

“Did you see your niece yet?” Samora quizzes and he quickly closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair, she can tell he’s mentally cursing at himself, “she’s a beautiful baby. I had groceries sent to Nat and Pete’s the other day—

“Is this your way of reminding me of how shitty I’ve been at communicating and being present because I don’t need it. I already feel that.”

Samora sticks her tongue in her cheek and pushes back, “No shock there, Carmy. I know you. So what exactly triggered you today that made you finally come here to see me?”

Carmy starts chewing on his lips, eyes not connecting with Samora’s as she tilted her head to the side, waiting. It feels like forever to get an answer so Samora moves around the island, squeezing his shoulder, “let’s go up to the roof, maybe the fresh air and not the fumes of paint will help ease you into it. Thanks for knocking by the way, I may have seen a glimpse of the other side because of it before you got here.”

“What?” Carmy spits out in concern as she pulls at his wrist.

Samora laughs, “if you tell Joel, I’ll have to keep you here and bury you in the front yard.”

Carmy blinks with a roll of his eyes.

They’re on the rooftop, there’s less cars as the night carries on. Carmy’s lost count of how many times the street lights flick from red, yellow, to green and back again. Samora allows carmy to take his time, one leg curled up underneath her with her head thrown back staring up at the twinkle of stars on a hot summer night. There’s barely a breeze but they’re alright.

“I saw the shit stain tonight.”

Samora tossed an arm over her forehead, leaned back in the comfy cushioned blue lounge chair, “yeah? There’s plenty here in chicago, so which one? Don’t tell me you saw the walking jump-scare, Tino?”

“Who?” Carmy presses but Samora can tell he’s not going down that path of the past.

She fans her hand to tell him to continue.

“This guy. One of the best chef’s I worked for in New York, he was at the funeral. There was a funeral for this restaurant, Ever.” Carmy begins to tell his old friend, mindful that she’s been out of the loop.

Samora looks around the night sky and snaps her fingers with a nod of her head, “yeah um, Chelly—mostly Stevie said something about a strict chef you were working with but of course it was vague, which leaves me to believe that you didn’t tell chelly much but she’s great at reading in between the lines much like myself.”

Carmy doesn’t tell her exactly what Chef David said to him a hour ago but tells her what his words made him feel yet again. Small. Incapable. How he has to triple check everything, take charge with no regard for his team that’s supposed to be family, and ultimately that he shouldn’t have a team because he was better off alone. How he should be grateful to be where he is now because of all that Chef David taught him.

“Oh nooooo, Chef charred asshole better be lucky I wasn’t there,” Samora mumbles, “He sounds like a narcissistic dick of a man who gets off on attempting to morph you into him and to me? That doesn’t sound like a brilliant or best of the best chef or even a person! it sounds weak and miserable.”

“It’s what I signed up for.” Carmy almost argues and Samora sits up.

She knows this stems from much more than what he experienced in that restaurant in New York.

“I haven’t been around you in a while but I’ve always been on the sidelines. You accomplished all of these things because you knew you could—you fought. You worked hard and earned this.” Samora reassures, “but these false ideas that you have because of what someone else caused shouldn’t diminish anything that you’ve done and continue to do.”

Carmy pulls out his phone and a pack of chewing gum, “tell that to my brain then. The review is up, Sammy.”

Samora’s eyes meet Carmy’s as he shoves a square piece into his mouth, elbows on his knees as they start to bounce, head dropping just a bit. She reaches for the phone, giving him a side eye since there’s no passcode on it, and is brought right to a webpage.

~THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE~

Reviewed by Ad. Shap

Carmen doesn’t have to look at Samora’s face to take in her reaction. He ultimately knows it’ll be different from what the blue in his brain says. There were many things wrong with the review, mostly wrong than good and that’s why he needed someone from the outside to see before seeing how the crew digested this.

Samora usually does this humming when she’s reading or thinking about something and that doesn’t seem to change. When she’s finished she puts the phone face down on the outdoor table and folds her fingers together as she sits back.

“Well…That was reminiscent to my short lived cookie career.”

Carmy widens his eyes as he sets them back on his friend.

She shields her face instantly, “whoa turn down the opacity on those things will ya?”

“Your cookie business failed.”

“Um, no. Fuck you for that by the way,” Samora glared, “I view it as that wasn’t the way the chapter was meant to be told. I wasn’t heavily devoted to culinary like you. Nobody is that I know of. It was just a hobby for me but you turned your craft into something much more: breathe, sleep—well—you let it consume you pros and cons. Surely these reviews are deeply important because impressions are…tricky but not everything is the way you see it.”

Carmy scoffs with a rub to his lips in annoyance, “what the fuck do you mean it’s not the way I see it? It’s my business and I’ve been backstabbed by a prick I worked with—

“Carmy—

“I can’t be a screw up! I won’t be. I’ve been at this for so long and I’m more than tired and shitty in the head but not enough to throw it all away no matter what some four eyed fucker with a typewriter for a laptop says!” Carmy is on his feet now pacing, “I picked up what Mikey left behind, I put in the time and the effort, I removed parts of myself to be untouchable—

Samora shakes her head, “you’re not though and some part of you knows that. None of us are unbreakable, babe. You just…start over as many times until it feels right.”

“See I don’t—

Carmy swallows the lump in his throat to speak clearly, “that’s the problem, I don’t think I know what feels right or if I ever did. I just know circumstances.”

Samora inhales as she gets to her feet too, “okay then. Take everything that you bottled up and let it out there.” She points over the edge of the balcony, “you have to try to acknowledge the good and let some things go or you’ll forever feel stuck instead of moving forward…but I’m no therapist just a decorator who’s still annoyed that you didn’t reach out to revamp the bear—but that’s another conversation, just a friend who knows a little something something that’ll help.”

“Uh, something something?” Carmy repeats feeling his heart race as Samora waved her painted hand out for Carmy’s tatted one.

He takes her hand as she leads the way to the balcony but not close enough to trigger any vertigo. Carmy always loved the view at Samora’s compared to his own childhood home, which contrasted with no view at all—his bedroom didn’t have any windows, just a closed in space—and he was stuck hearing the common yelling between Donna and Mikey.

Carmy could see the top of a neighbor’s red brick building (thanks to how many floors the greystone had) across the street, along with another home to the left and a row of other houses to the right. Behind the house across the street sat the changing color of lights and beyond that was the liveliness of Chicago in the distance, the farmer’s market he personally loved and had Tina make the runs to, other great eateries, and music spots also weren’t far from Samora’s.

The woman rests a hand right in the center of his chest and Carmy can feel himself panting, “No one ever has to know if you have it all figured out…nobody truly does. Put down some of those dishes bear, out there. Not to hibernate but to be the best version of yourself for you and not what anyone tells you, you should be.”

His eyes burn and he feels like he might let some tears fall some more tonight and he finds that comfort in Samora. Something good from his past that was still present although his version is always different, he doesn’t mind much if she see’s any water that slips from the corners. He knows she won’t say anything about it, and her hand doesn’t move from his chest as she’s almost coaching him how to deal with just a portion of his bullshit.

He couldn’t figure it out for himself.

Yet he was willing to learn.

The scream curdles from the back of his throat, bursting through his lips into the night. He curls into his stomach some, the weight present, the firmness of Samora’s hand on his chest, and his face is hot in the summer air, turning pink as he fights to breathe through his screams. Samora is right there with him, her screams were much more melodic, like she’s had the practice while Carmy is testing it out.

His screams have been buried just like everything else he’s bottled up for years.

After, his throat is raw and voice hoarse as he sniffs, he abruptly turns to Samora, pulling her into another hug. She isn’t tense against him, small laughter falling through her own lips while Carmy hold’s onto her.

Calming down.

“love you,” he manages to get out while Samora scratches his back.

She knows he means it and it’s probably something he needed to hear back as of lately.

Samora sighs, “love you too, turd.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, pulling back to meet her stare and she winks at him.

“…if I didn’t love the both of you, I might be highly concerned at whatever the hell that was.” Joel announces his arrival after a few moments of silence.

His arms are folded but he’s got that Berzatto sly grin on his lips as Carmy slowly lets his hands fall from Samora’s forearms. The shorter haired man makes his way over to the two, hands going to both of their shoulders as he peers back and forth.

“You made it.”

“I—yeah.” Carmy clears his throat with a shake of his head, “I did.”

“Good,” Joel dips his head but it feels more like a question than a comment.

carmy shrugs.

Samora claps her hands gaining both cousins’ attention, “let’s have some of Mora’s Mosa’s as a celebratory of the night—was the work day alright for you, love?”

Joel awkwardly nods his head back and forth as a way to show that it was so-so.

“Works for me!” Samora yells, “to the kitchen!”

“It’s midnight, honey.” Joel tells Samora who twists her lips to the side, “and I’m sure Carmy doesn’t want any of that green shit you had in the fridge.”

Samora gasps, “damn, who knew my boyfriend would be my biggest critic?”

“Oh c’mon, don’t get sensitive on me now!”

She shrugs his hand from her shoulder while Joel’s low lidded eyes sends a look to Carmy who raises his hands in surrender.

In a hoarse tone he replies, “I actually like the gazpacho so…you’re on your own with that one.”

“Woooow, okay.” Joel breathes out a laugh, then bites down on his bottom lip while Carmy moves to grab his phone and fallen gum pack.

Carmy then turns to watch the two bicker like an old married couple but it doesn’t get loud at all. Joel does talk with his hands to get his point across and Carmy can pinpoint the exact moment Samora cracks, the corner of her nose twitches with amusement before Joel tests the waters, gripping her hips to place a tender kiss on her lips, which Samora seems to kiss back before they break apart. Smiles on both of their faces before they turn back to Carmy who’s attempting to sneak off down the steps.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Joel asks, “you think you can just go off when you and I didn’t get any one on one time?”

Carmy taps his phone against his hand, “It’s getting late, don’t want to impose any further.”

Joel rolls his eyes, tossing an arm across Carmy’s shoulder, “shut your trap, you’re home, man.”

And with that Carmy is led back into the house.

He doesn’t think he’s slept long, but when he checks the time on his slowly dying phone, it’s already later into the next morning.

8:37am and he has no idea what this day is going to look like but it’s a Sunday…maybe for once he doesn’t have to. One of the rooms he’s tucked in belonged to one of Samora’s adopted brothers, Jacobi, Carmy guesses since there’s still a large crack against the ceiling thanks to a lighting strike that occurred way back when they were all kids.

He sits up for a while, taking in the view one last time before he starts to make his exit. He’s walking down the path towards the gate and stops as he hears the front door open.

“Don’t be a stranger.” Samora tells him as he turns to face her, the woman hugging her robe to herself as she’s sitting on the front step.

Carmy stretches a small smile on his dry lips, “Never that,” he jokes, “thanks for always being here, Sammy. Dunno if I ever told you that enough…probably not since I’m always in my head but uh—give Joel my thanks too for me this time.”

Samora dips her head and says, “Surely.”

Carmy scoffs as he pulls the gate back before putting his palm up in the air, “see you soon.”

“After while, crocodile.” She kisses her fingertips before waving them at him.

Samora watches Carmy go, hoping he starts putting the pieces together instead of forcing it all apart like he’s always been accustomed to.

When Monday comes along, his hands are resting along the trimming of white counter as he’s slightly shifting his head back and forth at all the greenery situated in front of him.

“Morning Chef,” Marcus greets first as he’s followed in by Tina.

Carmy nods his head in greeting.

Tina’s eyes immediately go to all the herbs and vegetables, “Jeffery, what’s all this?”

“Something new, green, for the menu.” Carmy informs, “I realized we haven’t had family dinner in a while and i want all of your inputs for what we’ll have tonight.”

Tina and Marcus share a glance, having a feeling that this had something to do with the new review. They all briefly talked about it in the group chat over the weekend.

“Okay, cool. We’re gonna just go put our stuff down.” Marcus points and Carmy keeps his eyes on the ingredients.

“Take your time, Chefs.” Carmy calls out after some time as the two have already started making their way towards the lockers.

He closes his eyes, trying to slow the rising beat of his heart, deeply inhaling as he ignores the contrast of oxygen between his two nostrils, that was another problem he’s gotten used to, his eyes open just in time to meet the green again as the back doors swing open, revealing the rest of his team gradually.

Carmy had work to do and he’s never been afraid of hard work.

☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘

Continue with my summer anthology writings & prompts here.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

The Ward Pt. 1 | Jonathan Breech x fem!character

Summary: Jonathan Breech is sentenced to three months in a Dublin psych ward after trying to take his life. He meets a girl and thinks he's fallen in love... but is this just a product of opportunity and loneliness or could it be more?

Warnings: Based heavily on One the Edge (2001) so there is already a lot of mental-health specific discussions. More specifically- mentions of suicide, self-harm, death, depression, anxiety, feeling helpless and alone, medication, vomiting, pregnancy. There is nothing explicitly sexual in pt. 1 so there are no warnings for that here. Please don't read if you think any of the previously mentioned topics could be triggering! Some of this is taken from my personal experience with mental-health issues so read with care.

word count: 3098k

1979- The Smashing Pumpkins 🎶

Up the Junction- Squeeze 🎵

note- I named the female character because I personally don't love using "y/n." It can take away from the story that I'm trying to tell sometimes but the character is supposed to be general enough to be whomever you wish.

additional note (sry)- One the Edge is free on Internet Archive...

Please read the warnings before continuing, thanks!

Jonathan made his way through the hospital corridors, glancing briefly into each room they passed. 

“This is a pretty shitty hotel, eh? What do you charge per night? Whatever it is, I’m not fucking paying it,” he stumbled around behind one of the nurses and laughed lightly. They stopped in front of a room. 

“This is you. You’re expected in group therapy at 4.” The nurse deadpanned and unlocked the yellow steel door for him. Jonathan poked his head inside the door and whistled low. 

“Mhm, yep. Just what I was expecting,” he leaned out again and yelled after the nurse, “would it kill yeh to add some fucking color to this room? Fucking depressing.” He shook his head and wandered inside. He sat down on the mattress, the metal springs popped below and it sagged below his weight. He looked around at the drab gray room, the one window covered by rusted bars, and the bare bedside table. Jonathan emptied his pockets on the bed beside him and moved the carton of cigarettes to the table. A clock on the opposite wall ticked quietly and he watched it with his bright blue eyes, blinking every so often to the rhythm. 

A second nurse came by and handed him some clothes, pajamas. 

“What are these for?” Jonathan frowned, “I don’t need pajamas.” 

“You have to wear them during the day,” the nurse responded. 

“Why the hell would I do that when I have my normal clothes?” 

“Its policy, it distinguishes you from guests and day patients. In-patients have to wear these.” The nurse pointed to the pile of neatly folded clothes in Jonathan’s arms. “Put them on.” 

Jonathan sighed and kicked off his shoes. 

“You’re not gonna watch are yeh?” He sneered at the nurse when he didn’t leave immediately. The nurse turned and left, closing the door without another word. Jonathan stripped down to his underwear and examined the clothes that he was given. It was a matching pajama set in an icy blue color with smaller blue designs across the fabric. The sleeves were too short and ended at his forearm and the pants around his midcalf. He pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed under his breath. He put on his shoes and the cardigan he had brought with him, a yellow wool cardigan that still smelled like home. 

…

Around 4 o'clock Jonathan left his room and wandered aimlessly through the psychiatric ward, looking for the group therapy room. He walked until he spotted Dr. Figure walking into a small room and called out to him. 

“Heya, Dr. Figure. I’m here for my group therapy!” He said with a flare of dramatic excitement. Dr. Figure looked tired and responded with a strained smile. 

“Hello, Jonathan. Please come in.” They walked inside the room and Jonathan took a seat in a chair beside a boy around his age wearing a dark blue bathrobe. His light brown hair was messy and long and he wore round wire-framed glasses over his eyes. Dr. Figure sat opposite of him across the circle and cleared his throat as he arranged a stack of papers. Another boy and a girl sat at the circle too though neither of them looked up when Jonathan sat down. 

“Good afternoon everyone, thank you for coming today.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Jonathan shrugged and pulled one of his knees up to his chest in the chair and rested his chin on his knee. 

“Yes, thank you Jonathan for coming anyway.” Dr. Figure sighed and gestured towards him, “this is Jonathan, everyone. He’s new and he’ll be joining us in group therapy. Why don’t we all introduce ourselves? I’ll start. I’m Dr. Figure and I’m the head psychiatrist here.”   

“I’m Toby.” The boy next to Jonathan nodded his head and Jonathan smiled at him. It passed across Jonathan to the girl on his otherside. She glanced up briefly to introduce herself with a small smile. 

“I’m Margaret.” She said softly and looked down at her hands again as the last boy introduced himself. He had headphones around his neck and a walkman clipped inside the pocket of his robe. Jonathan looked back at the girl, studying her. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in a while with the dark circles shading her downcast eyes. She was wearing a vintage nightgown, he realized, one with long sleeves and a modest neckline even though the dress was shorter than her knees. On her legs she had long brown socks tucked into a pair of duck boots. Her hair was brushed away from her face and fell straight down her back but he couldn’t see how long it actually was. She had a busted lip, he could tell from the bruising around her bottom lip and a scab that looked as if it was still bleeding. She played with the hem of her nightgown and glanced up again, catching him as he stared at her but he didn’t look away, she did. She flushed and stared at the tan tile around her chair. 

“Now I’d like to pass this around and I want you all to add any recent fears or anxieties that may have come up in the last few days that we haven’t talked about yet,” Dr. Figure handed the clipboard to the boy next to Margaret. Toby raised his hand. 

“Yes?”

“What if we’re scared of filling out paperwork?” Toby asked and Jonathan laughed. Dr. Figure seemed to genuinely ponder the question before Toby added, “that was a joke,” and Jonathan laughed again. 

“Why don’t you tell us what you’re afraid of, doctor?” Jonathan smiled and Dr. Figure exhaled. 

“It’s not important.”

“I think you’re deflecting, doctor.” 

“Jonathan, if you’d like to discuss my fears then I would be happy to do so at a later time in my office,” Dr. Figure answered calmly. 

“Oh, I see. You can analyze us as much as you want but as soon as someone asks the same question of you, you can’t answer, eh?” Jonathan crossed his arms across his chest. 

“It’s just not something that I do with my patients during group therapy. This is your time to get better, it isn’t about me.” 

“You know what would make me better, doctor?”

“What’s that, Jonathan?” Dr. Figure rubbed his eyes and waited for Jonathan to answer.

“I want clothes that actually fit. These are too short, I look ridiculous! And why do we have to wear fucking pajamas? How am I supposed to feel good about myself walking around in these, eh? And no one told me that girls were gonna be here too! Jesus, it's embarrassing.” Jonathan huffed and complained loudly, leaning forward in his seat sometimes to emphasize his point. He looked over at Margaret who was turning red. 

“I understand that you’re upset about the clothes but they shouldn’t matter. You’re here to get better, Jonathan.” Dr. Figure crossed his legs and clasped his hands together. 

“Now, if we could, please continue.” He gestured to Margaret to take the clipboard from the boy next to her. As she did so, Jonathan stood up and walked towards the door. 

“Thanks, doc. That’s it for today.” He waved his hand and left the room, letting the door close behind him. He went straight to his room and sat down on his bed. Gray light filtered in through the window and he looked out at the rainy streets. 

…

That evening he found the rec room and sat down by a window, bracing himself against a heater. Toby was sitting by the window as well and looked up at him when Jonathan approached. 

“Hey,” Toby nodded.

“Hey.” Jonathan replied and opened the window but it caught after a few inches. 

“It doesn’t open all the way,” Toby smiled, “they don’t want us to jump out.” 

“Damnit, that was going to be my plan A,” Jonathan shook his head.

“What’s your plan B?” 

“Wait out the next four months,” Jonathan chuckled darkly and reached into his breast pocket for a cigarette. 

“They won’t let you smoke that in here,” Toby advised and glanced over at the female nurses speaking quietly near the door. 

“I wouldn’t mind getting in trouble with them, eh?” He smirked at Toby who laughed. “Toby, right?”

“Yeah,” Toby nodded and pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Jonathan,” he patted his chest for a second and changed the subject, “By the way, what’s that girl’s story, the one from group.”

“Margaret?” Toby asked and Jonathan nodded. “She’s been here for a week or two. I think we came in around the same time. I don’t know a lot about her because she doesn’t say much in group. It must be hard being the only girl around our age here.” Toby shrugged and continued, “She’s had that busted lip for a while but I’m not sure exactly how she got it. I’ve talked to her a little and she’s nice.”

“And cute,” Jonathan added with a laugh and Toby nodded. 

“Yeah, that too. I think she’s been through some shit.”

“Haven’t we all?” Jonathan muttered and Toby nodded knowingly. They sat in silence for a moment before Toby spoke again. 

“You know I’ve been sneaking out of here a few times a week at night. I could take you if you wanted.” 

“No shit,” Jonathan whispered with a smirk, “really?”

“Yeah. Wanna go tomorrow night?” 

“Of course.” 

“Ok,” Toby smiled. 

“Ok.” Jonathan affirmed and hopped up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See yah,” Toby waved and went back to looking out the window. 

Jonathan left the rec room and wandered further down the hallways, passing the women’s ward. There was one men’s bathroom in the women’s ward and he went in. The opposite end of the bathroom had a short tiled wall that ended in a ledge below a row of barred windows. There were three sinks on his left and two stalls on his right, one a handicapped stall. A single urinal stood against the wall. Sitting on the ledge and leaning against one of the walls of the handicapped stall was Margaret, reading a book. The dying light from the window shone through her nightgown, showing the dark silhouette of her body underneath. She looked up quickly and jumped at seeing her. 

“Shit sorry, I thought this was the men’s room.” 

“It is, sorry.” Margaret closed her book and hopped down from the ledge, wincing as her feet hit the ground. “I like to read in here.”

“In the men’s room?” Jonathan raised his dark eyebrow, his pink lips pursed. 

“No one uses this bathroom in the women’s ward.” 

“The male nurses?”

“They aren’t allowed to work in the ward… legal reasons.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and held the book against her chest. He looked at the cover of the book. 

“What are you reading?”

“Jane Eyre.”

“That’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Jonathan laughed and she smiled. 

“Maybe but I love it. I love anything by the Brönte sisters.” She fingered one of the pages on the book and met his eyes. She had a heart-shaped face with messy unkempt eyebrows and she was short, barely 5”3. 

“Did someone have you locked up in their attic?” He joked. 

“No, though it would have made my life more interesting.” She smiled at him, her cheeks pressed up into her eyes and flushed slightly from the conversation.

“You’re cute,” Jonathan broke the momentary silence and her eyes widened slightly. 

“You don’t know me,” she laughed breathlessly and brushed past him to the door. He spun around and followed her. 

“I don’t have to know you to know that you’re cute.” He protested and smiled as she took the door handle in her hand. 

“Don’t be stupid,” She frowned and he threw up his hands in surrender. 

“Personally, I thought that was pretty smart but hey- wait! Don’t go, I wasn’t actually coming in here to use the bathroom, I just wanted some space.” 

She looked at him for a moment and rolled her eyes, “word of advice? Don’t call girls cute, it's demeaning.” She cocked her head at him and left the bathroom. He left after her and watched as she walked down the corridor to her room. She looked back at him and smiled to herself as she went inside and closed the door. 

…

Jonathan woke up early the next morning for his private appointment with Dr. Figure. His room was cold and he’d slept in a t-shirt on top of his covers like a child. He was shivering when he finally woke up and quickly changed into his warmer pajamas, gritting his teeth as he remembered how short they were on him. He pulled on a jumper and laced his roughed up sneakers. Stepping out into the corridor, he rubbed his shoulders for warmth and hopped down the stairs two at a time. He pushed open the door to the garden and followed the cement sidewalk through a row of tall hedges. The morning was cold but the sun was already in the sky and shining on the hospital’s grounds. As Jonathan passed through the first set of hedges he looked to the side. Sitting on a small wooden bench was Margaret, still reading Jane Eyre. She had on a pair of men’s blue checkered pajama pants and a dark green jumper, also still wearing her duck boots. She sat with her legs crossed beneath her and her hair billowed in the short rushes of wind. He caught himself looking at her crotch and snapped out of it. He stuck his hands beneath his armpits and walked over, smiling wide when she looked up. 

“How was your first night?” She dog-eared the page in her book and squinted up at him. 

“Not bad, but I woke up fucking freezing.” 

“The heaters don’t work in the rooms. That’s why I go into the bathrooms to read.”

“Or outside,” he pointed at her book. She smiled and looked down for a moment. 

“It’s part of my treatment. I spend an hour outside everyday, for the fresh air and sun. It’s supposed to make me happier.” 

“You know they have drugs that do the same thing.” Jonathan smiled and rocked back and forth on his feet. 

“I don’t take them… I haven’t for a few weeks.” 

“Oh?” Jonathan sniffed, his nose already running in the cold air. She thought about telling him why she wasn’t on her meds but changed her mind. Jonathan noticed her change in body language and cleared his throat. 

“Look, I’m supposed to have a meeting with the doc. Could you show me where his office is?” He cocked his head to the side, twisting his lips into a smile. 

“You think you’re real smooth, don’t you?” She shook her head, laughing. 

“Don’t know, it depends on whether or not you say yes doesn’t it?”

“And what if I have something I’d rather be doing?” She smirked slightly and brought her knees up to her chest, balancing her heels on the edge of the bench. 

“Do yah?” Jonathan asked. 

“Of course.”

“And what is that?” He brought his head back upright and continued to smile, “what would you rather be doing than walking with me?”

“Eating real food at a restaurant with warm bread at the table, or going to a library where I actually have a valid library card, or buying expensive ice cream that I can’t eat because it's freezing outside…” she listed off the items, taping her lips with her index finger. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and Jonathan imagined how soft and cold they would be against his fingers. 

“What if in exchange for showing me where the old man’s office is, I buy you an ice cream when we get out of this shithole?” He shuffled his feet in the brown grass and Margaret smiled softly. 

“You think we’re getting out of this place?” She shook her head, almost sad but still smiling. 

“Why don’t we just pretend we are, for the sake of today?” He shrugged and twisted his torso side to side. She watched him for a second, trailing her eyes over his lanky body stuffed into clothing that was made for someone much younger. She had to admit that he was pretty but there was a reason that they were all in there, and Jonathan wasn’t exempted from that. She nodded and put her feet back on the ground and stood. Holding Jane Eyre in her arms she led Jonathan back to the path in the direction of the smaller house near the border wall. 

“So, what ice cream do you like?” Jonathan asked. His sneakers gripped the pavement and sent small pebbles bouncing across the pavement. 

“German chocolate,” she answered after a moment of serious deliberation. 

“You know, I’ve noticed something.”

“What?” She looked at him as they walked. 

“I don’t recognize your accent. You aren’t Irish.”

“No,” she shook her head, “are you disappointed?” 

He smiled and put his head back, “No, no. I’m just surprised. You don’t sound British either…” He bit his lip, trying to place her accent. 

“I’m American,” she answered for him and pulled her hair to the side of her shoulder. 

“American? What are you doing here?” He laughed lightly and she blushed. 

“I’m studying here for a semester.”

“Where?” 

“Trinity,” she glanced at him, “for Literature.” 

“Fuck, no wonder you’re depressed. Why would you come to Ireland for college?” He laughed and she blushed further. 

“I just wanted to get away from my family and Ireland seemed like the farthest place from home… and you have a good Literature program here.” 

“Ah, all the Irish poets and writers…”

“And Sinead O’conner.” She added and Jonathan laughed loudly. 

“You’re funny.” 

“And cute, apparently.” She shrugged, “you still haven’t apologized.” 

“For what?” He played dumb. 

“For calling me cute.” 

“I’m not apologizing for pointing out something that’s true.” He argued and she looked up at the sky, pretending to study the clouds. 

“I think you’re an asshole, Jonathan.” She looked up at him and he nodded slowly, a small smile stuck to his lips. 

“So do I.” 

They walked in silence to the house and Margaret left him at the door. He walked in through the door, strips of paint curled and fell onto the doormat. 

“Don’t forget that you owe me an ice cream,” she called quietly before the door closed and he gave a little salute before the door snapped shut.

...

end of pt. 1 :)

Thank you so much for all of the support. This community means the world to me and I feel very supported by everyone on this niche community. I love writing these silly little fanfics and I'm flattered that people like them. I read all of your comments and reblogs- lots of love!

[gladoswantscake]

Special Guest - Goro Majima x Hostess F!Reader

Summary: There's a special occasion occurring at your job and it's not what you expected.

Warnings: A lil suggestive. Nothing too graphic

A/N: I'm so proud of myself putting in over 2.3k words!!!!! 🥹 Out of all the oneshots I've posted, this is the most I've written.

Available on Wattpad and AO3

The murmuring sounds of upbeat music and the chattering of your co-workers could be heard from outside of the dressing room. As you were told by your boss, this evening there were special guests and they would be renting out the club for the rest of the evening. From the tone of your boss, he sounded skittish. But why?

As you were finishing your makeup touchups, your coworker stuck her head through the door.

"Y/N-chan the guests are here!"

"Here already?" You turn your head to the clock on the wall. "They're not supposed to be here for another twenty minutes."

She turns her head back around and steps into the dressing room, closing the door behind her. "Well from what I heard, some of the guests were eager to come sooner."

"How many are there?" You stand from the dressing table and straighten out your outfit.

The coworker thinks to herself briefly. "Only a few, but from the looks of them, they don't look like our typical clients." Her voice is now in a whisper.

You raise a brow. "Older me-"

"Yakuza." She cuts you off.

"What business do they have coming here?"

"I guess they wanted to come and check it out, but who knows. But we really shouldn't keep them waiting." She grabs your wrist and guides you out of the dressing room and into the lobby.

As you and your co-worker step out of the dressing room, your boss approaches you.

"Y/N-san you've been requested by Majima-san. He's the um... former patriarch." He shudders. "You are one of my best girls, so please don't let me down." He escorts you to the corner of the club where you will be accompanying your client.

Your boss gave you a nervous grin and a thumbs up to wish you luck before leaving you alone.

"Good evening, Majima-san." You bow. "I hope I wasn't keeping you waiting for long." You sit next to him.

From the look on his face he was astounded by your attire. Compared to some of your co-workers, you went all out on looking your best, however as a platinum hostess, it was required.

He clears his throat and gives you a smile. "You came right on time, although," He swings his arm behind you around the back of the booth chair. "I wouldn't have minded one bit waiting longer to know that I was gonna get a gal like ya."

You giggle at his compliment.

From the way he displays himself from his men, he had no problem showing off who he was. He was definitely a Yakuza affiliated from the way his tattoo was peeking out of his snakeskin blazer, and you were already catching yourself staring his exposed torso. Aside from the eyepatch covering part of his face, you had to admit you were catching feelings.

"Shall I get you something to drink?" You ask with a smile.

"Sounds good to me. What's the most recommended drink here?"

"I'm not quite sure, but if it were to be a favorite, I'd say champagne."

The man beams. "Champagne it is then."

You signal the waiter to bring you the bottle of champagne. The waiter nods bringing you the bottle shortly after.

"I have to say..." He gazes your fitting outfit. "You sure know how to make a fella fall fer ya." He compliments. "I asked for the best hostess, but your boss didn't give me your name."

"I apologize for, Majima-san. It's Y/N."

He takes a fresh cigarette from his carton and offers you one.

You took the cigarette from his fingertips. Smoking was something you didn't do as much, but knowing how addicting it can be, you were careful not to do it as often. Majima raised the lighter in front of you, igniting yours before his.

Majima takes a long drag of his cigarette bud before speaking again.

"Y/N-san." He let the name roll off of his tongue. "That's a pretty name. Ya don't hear as many names like yours around here." His eyes survey the room making sure that his subordinates are in line.

He looks back at your nervous demeanor with an almost finished cigarette. It must have been your first time dealing with the Yakuza in a hostess club.

A grin appears on his lips.

"Are ya always this nervous around good-lookin' men? Or is it ones in the dark suits that's making ya feel bothered?" He teases leaning into you a bit. His gloved fingertips purposely brushing your shoulder.

A feeling of warmth rose to your cheeks from Majima's question.

"It's just that it's unusual for our boss to arrange something like this." You grin awkwardly. "But you also are very... handsome."

He takes another drag. "Are ya saying that because it's yer job or do ya really mean it?" He leans in closer. His arm now resting on your shoulder.

Your heart was starting to pound the more he invaded your space. You could tell that he was getting pleasure out of making you fluster.

The tension between the two of you was overbearing. It felt wrong, but deep down you were secretly enjoying the physical touch.

After a few seconds of staring at him so dumbfounded he breaks into a contagious laugh. "I'm just poking at ya!" He rolls his head back as he pats your shoulder.

Majima's strange behavior disconcerts you. In your mind, it seemed a bit childish for a patriarch to act this way, but who's to judge. He was letting loose, and it was probably something he rarely ever has a chance to do, considering his job includes committing illicit activity.

"I didn't mean to put ya on the spot, but," He slowly looks back at you with a broad smile. "I am flattered to receive a compliment by a girl like ya." He takes one last drag and extinguishes it on the ash tray.

Majima then reaches for the bottle on the table, pouring a glass of champagne, handing it to you. "So, tell me something about yourself. What made you want to work as a hostess?" He pours himself a glass and leans back into the booth, spreading his legs in a relaxed manner.

You took swig from your glass; the acidic liquid hitting your tongue followed by the sweet tasting flavors of citrus, peaches, and a hint of cherry. The alcohol soothed your anxiety, but as much as you wanted to get seconds, you had to be careful not to consume so much on the job despite the flavor already getting you hooked.

"I used to live in a small town, but I moved here some time ago for better job opportunities and for a better future."

Majima raises his brows with interest. "You're new here in this town, huh? What do ya think of it so far?" He scoots closer to you.

"Well, I haven't done much of exploring of the town yet since I've been busy working. But the people here are very friendly."

"I can't believe you hadn't had the opportunity! Say, if ya ever wanna find a place to dine at," He points to himself. "I'm your guy to give ya to point ya to the right restaurant."

"Thank you. I'll be needing some suggestions some time when I go out to eat." You take another sip from your glass.

"So, what brings you to our club?" You ask.

Majima's contented expression fades. He downs the remaining glass of champagne and sets it on the table before speaking. "Considering you've lived here long enough, I'm sure you know what kind of person I am." His gaze making the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

"A Yakuza, right?"

He nods. "Since we've found out the place has opened recently, my boys and I had to come by and check it out. It's nice to know who's running the business in our territory." He looks around the room admiring the atmosphere of the club. "And so far, I love what yer boss done to the place."

You smile and nod in agreement. "He's put a lot of effort into making his business successful."

The facial hair exceeding outwards from his goatee made his jawline more accentuated and handsome. From the way his body relaxes against the booth chair, the canvas from his blazer exposes more of his muscled torso. You couldn't help but stare with such delight.

The erotic thoughts began to plague your mind the longer you stare. You wonder what it would feel like to run your hands up to his chest, feeling every scar on him. How it would feel wonderful to trace your hands along his tattooed skin.

"So, how long have ya been a hostess?" He turns his head.

"A few years now. I used to work for a corporate, but it was exhausting. But one day a friend of mine reached out to me about a hostess club that was hiring, and I haven't had second thoughts since."

"I can understand wanting to get out of the rat race. Do you have any plans in the future or are ya comfortable where you're at?"

"I've always wanted to start a business of my own. So in a couple of years, I'll have enough money to go back to college."

"An entrepreneur, huh? You have some good ambitions. I like that about ya. A go-getter!"

"Thank you. You're the first person that I can talk about goals or plans without dozing off." You laugh.

Then you lean towards him with one hand supporting the rest of your body. "I have to say out of all the clients I've had, you're the most interesting one."

"What makes you think I'm interesting?"

"It's your outfit for one. I've never had a client who's dressed differently. All of my past clients were older businessmen, so it's nice to see a bit of change."

"You really like my style?" He chuckles. "I have gotten stares from the way I dress. Yer the first person that's complimented my outfit."

"And your personality... I like it."

There were so many more compliments you wanted to spill out of your mouth and how much you wanted to profess your feelings to him, but you held your tongue.

Majima raises a brow. He was already getting a kick out of you serving up compliments to him. "What's with all the compliments?" He chuckles. "I ain't ever heard a woman pour her heart out to a man before."

The temperature of your body grew by his comment. You took one last swig from your glass to calm your anxiety and hoped it would relax you for the rest of the session.

"I know we just met this evening, but there's something about you that... attracts me." You fold your now clammy hands into your lap.

His face softens. The affinity in your words is starting to become obvious to Majima. He wanted more.

"Ain't you the sweetest hostess." He coos. "I guess it's my charm that's gettin' ya worked up."

You didn't realize his hand was accidentally laying on top of yours, lightly brushing the back of it with his thumb. He leans in a bit closer to hold your chin with his free hand. Your heart was pounding again. A man you've met for the first time, a high-ranking Yakuza, is making you fall hard for him.

Something inside you wanted to take things a bit further. Confidently, you moved you hand slowly up Majima's thigh making his breathing hitch.

Those innocent eyes, soft pastel lips, the dress that hugged your body close to your skin allowing it to flaunt your curves. And the amount of skin you were displaying from your legs was starting to make him feral.

"You really know how to get a man going." His voice dips low and seductive. His hand then moves from your chin to cup your cheek.

Something about his voice is driving you even more aroused, and his touch is only fueling it more.

As your hand caresses upwards towards his crotch the tight, twitching feeling in between his thighs is starting to get to him.

He wanted to run his hand up underneath your dress to get an arousing reaction out of you. He wanted you to quietly whimper out his name the further his hand went inwards into your thighs, but he knew better not to.

Instead, his gloved fingers teasingly tip-toes along your exposed thigh sending sparks of lust within you.

If nobody was present in the club, you'd let him have his way with you.

His lips are now close to yours. You could smell the combination of the faint smell of tobacco and the sweet tasting champagne that lingered on his tongue.

His goatee tickles your cheek as he leans into your ear.

"As much as I'd love to roam my hands underneath that dress of yours, I'd like to get to know more about ya." His voice vibrates in your ear.

You could feel him grinning ear to ear. He slowly pulls away with his lips purposefully brushing your cheek. The hand that once laid on top of yours was brought to his lips to place a kiss.

"I may be a Yakuza, but I know better to not take a woman home on the first night. It wouldn't be polite of me." He lowers your hand.

He was right. It wouldn't be the polite thing to do, especially it being the first time the two of you have met. But it was hard to push the provocative thoughts of yours in the back of your head.

He leans back into the booth chair, draping an arm over your shoulder and bringing you close into his embrace.

"I have to say with you in this club, you make it twice as good."

You lean your head on his shoulder and your hand finds its way back on his thigh. "I'm glad you've had a great experience, Majima-san. Or should I say Majima-chan." You laugh.

He smiles at your comment.

"Since you mentioned about opening up a business, I can help ya out."

"That'd be great..."

[strawbby-shortcake]

"What Animal Do You Think You Could Take in a Fight?" ✧˚ · . [all gn! reader]

☽｡⋆ JACK/THE NARRATOR You and Jack were sitting outside at a quiet cafe and there were little to no civilians passing by. He looked up towards the sky with his black shades and sighed. He seemed to be bored.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face and his gaze met yours. Well, you weren't actually sure if he was looking at you. You couldn't tell where his eyes were, only that he tilted his head.

"What," Jack mumbled.

Someone's cranky today. As he is, like, literally every day.

"What animal do you think you could take in a fight?" you asked.

Jack scoffed and shook his head, "Oh my god. How much time do you have?"

You shrugged and checked your imaginary watch.

"According to my calculations... all day."

He took off his sunglasses and stared at you intensely.

"Honestly speaking, maybe an armadillo."

ੈ✩‧₊˚ MARLA

You coughed as Marla blew cigarette smoke in your face. She never did stop smoking, even though every time you saw her, she promised to quit.

"I'll quit smoking forever next week, okay?" she teased, knowing full well she won't.

"Hell will freeze over before that ever happens," you laughed.

She playfully swatted your shoulder, and you threatened to take her cigarettes as payback. She quickly hid the carton to protect them from you.

"Hey, Marla, what animal do you think you could take in a fight?"

Marla glanced at you and smiled. You could see her sharp cheekbones clearly.

"You," she replied, blowing another puff of smoke at you.

Your eyes watered as you resisted the urge to cough. Fanning away the cloud with your hand, you gave her a "seriously?" look.

She simply cocked her head like a puppy and grinned.

シ TYLER DURDEN

Tyler was getting his waiter outfit on for his late night shift, and you were fixing his bowtie. He didn't know how to tie it correctly around his neck.

"What animal do you think you could take in a fight?" you asked, tightening the bow.

Tyler adjusted his sleeves and pondered for a moment. Before answering, he took a deep breath and placed both hands on your shoulders.

"That's a very good question. In fact, I'm glad that you asked. See, I think I'm strong enough to take any animal in a fight- especially gorillas. The whole point of fighting the animal is not to win, but to become the animal yourself. This is how you achieve great results, and scars. I've never fought any animals before. I think I should try it someday. Actually, this gives me an idea. We could release all the animals out of the public zoos! We could form an animal fight club. Instead of them eating stale peanuts, they'll finally taste sweet revenge against those that ridicule them. And let's not forget..."

You zoned out for a couple minutes while he was ranting. Maybe you shouldn't have asked Tyler that question right before he had to leave.

"...and what an amazing question that was! Thank you, truly. I know what my next objective is now. While I'm gone, I need you to search 'how to help animals escape from the zoo without anyone seeing.' Okay? Wonderful," he concluded.

He quickly left the house with a task assigned for you. You guess that there was no other choice than to complete it. In Tyler We Trust.

ʚɞ ROBERT "BOB" PAULSON

You and Bob were sitting on a park bench watching birds fly around, peck at the ground, and chirp. He seemed focused on them for some reason.

"Psst, Bob," you whispered, nudging his arm with your elbow.

"Hm? Yes? Oh, what do you need?" he asked, turning his attention to you.

He's got a serious case of sweaty pits.

"What animal do you think you could take in a fight?"

Bob's eyebrows furrowed as he tapped his chin like an enlightenment thinker. Talk about using brain power.

He raised one finger in the air and declared, "I choose peace."

"That wasn't the question, Bob," you chuckled.

"Doesn't matter, I choose peace. I love the animal kingdom. I would never hurt a fly nor an alligator."

He had a point; he couldn't harm a fly even if he tried. And he did try once, but poor Bob burst into tears before swatting it.

What a sweetheart.

[END]

[sinsandsweetness]

I cannot stop reading all of ur fics!! They are amazing!

I also cannot stop thinking about shotgunning with Daryl.

Like Daryl and her have never spoken before but he finds her getting high somewhere and joins her. They start by passing the joint between them and he keeps staring or getting touchy with her then one of them bring up shotgunning and they do it and it leads to nasty fucking

If my dirty fantasy is too much please feel free to ignore 😘

hiiii thank you sweetie💗💗 this was supposed to be a little daydream but it kinda turned into a whole one shot so… enjoy:)

cw- 18+ content, smut, nervous subby Daryl, virgin? Daryl, smoking, hand stuff, afab reader (no pronouns used), not rllllly proofread… 1.4K wc

SHOTGUN

A guilty cloud of vapor dissipates into the cool evening air as you look to see whose footsteps are rounding the corner.

“Oh. Sorry.” He grumbles, halting to a stop. Immediately eyeing the half a joint you have left, burning by your side.

“All good.” You give him a shy nod after realizing it was only him. Not Rick or Carol, who would definitely have your ass for being out this late. Especially doing what you’re doing.

You stand there, not really knowing what else to say as he takes a carton of Malboros from his jacket. Leaning up against the concrete with a knee up, sole of his boot pressed to the wall. You watch as he lights his cigarette, though you get a feeling he’s a little more interested in what's lit up between your fingers.

He tips his head back as he blows his smoke into the air. The light and spacey feeling in your mind allows you to relax in front of the typically rather intimidating bowman.

“You smoke?” You realize the second he looks over that it sounded like a stupid question.

“I mean obviously you smoke but… like smoke, smoke?”

“Before…,” he waves his hand towards the courtyard, “Yeah. ‘bit.”

You nod, thinking it would be awfully rude if you don't offer him a hit. He’s the reason you and the rest of the prison ate tonight. The least you could do is share your little treat.

“Do you want some?”

He answers with a hesitant shrug. Like he definitely wouldn't mind but he also doesn't want to say it out loud.

“Here,” You walk over and stand in front of him, a bit closer than he was expecting, though he doesn't seem to mind. Pretty thing like you, no way in hell would he object to you getting all up in his personal space.

He takes the joint from you and hands you his cigarette, to which both of you take a long drag. Trading smokes for a moment. He breathes out with a sigh. Like the instant floaty feeling was something he actually really missed.

“Don’t think we’ve met yet.” He says as the two of you continue to switch your smokes with every hit.

“I already know who you are. The famous Daryl Dixon.” You tease, mindlessly going to touch the buttons on his vest. Unknowingly sending his heart rate on a damn car chase.

He snorts at your comment, shaking his head as he lets the smoke billow out of his lips.

“I’m serious. Everybody knows who you are.”

He clearly doesn't take compliments very well because he just chews on his inner lip, taking his cigarette and putting it out on the wall. Less interested in nicotine after trying your little treat.

“Are you always this quiet?” You ask, not knowing where your boldness is coming from, but chalking it up to the reefer now resting in between Daryl's fingers.

He doesn’t answer. Just takes another hit. Avoiding your gaze.

You lean in all close, gently grabbing his free hand and guiding it to your waist. “Am I making you nervous?”

“You’re definitely not helpin’, that’s for sure.” He keeps breaking eye contact. Trying to look anywhere but your lips. Though his lack of manners is only out of nerves and he's praying that you recognize that. He’s not trying to be rude.

“Have you ever shotgunned before?” You ask, grabbing the last few hits left of the little joint. He shakes his head, the movement so subtle that you might not notice if you weren't so desperate to kiss him right now.

You smile softly. Knowing that if you laugh even the slightest bit, you might scare him off.

“Mkay. Just part your lips. I’ll go first.” You take a drag, the familiar feeling stinging in the back of your throat as you inhale. You lean in as close as you can, until your lips are actually grazing his. Exhaling slowly as he breathes you in. Immediately noticing the way his hand twitches where it’s resting on your waist.

“Ok,” You lean back only enough to hold the last of the joint in between his parted lips, “Your turn. Last one.” He inhales, as long and deep as he can, making the most out of the burning ember between your fingernails. Tossing it to the ground, you lean back in, lips brushing his own as he exhales for you. And with one hand resting on his thigh, you pull on his jacket, forcing him to close the gap between you. Pressing your lips to his. Tasting weed and smoke and the warmth of his tongue. His other hand is already at the back of your neck, pulling you forward and deepening the kiss.

There we go.

And though he’s still a little nervous, instincts kick in and he pulls you flush against him. Jeans tight in the groin as the hand on your waist snakes its way down to your ass, giving you a nice squeeze.

“Mhm,” your sound is quiet against his mouth, but it doesn't make its way past Daryl’s ears. His cock twitches in his jeans at the realization. And he definitely isn't prepared when you start to grind into him, the friction forcing a little sound of his own to escape against your lips.

“Damn,” he pulls away for a second. Breathing heavy as he readjusts his grip on the locks at the base of your skull.

“This ok?” You ask, teeth knocking gently as you start as his belt. Loving the way his breath hitches at your touch.

“Right here?” He seems a little surprised at your forwardness, but in all honesty he wouldn't care if you were in the middle of the freakin’ woods. He knew the second you approached him that he wouldn't be able to say no. Not to your pretty face.

“Nobody out here but us.” You reason. Moving to kiss down his neck. His breaths get deeper and deeper the more you play with him. Hands stroking him through his boxers, while you suck a sweet little love bite onto his collarbone. To blush at later when he sees it in the bathroom mirror.

“Uh- okay. Yeah.” He swallows hard. The fact that you actually want to fuck him right here, right now gives him all the courage he needs to spin you around and press you up against the concrete.

Fuck. Yes.

He starts kissing you again. Messier this time. Less worried about you pulling away and never speaking to him again. Not that that option ran through your mind even once. He’s just a bit of an over thinker.

You grab his hand and lead it between your legs. Letting him know that it’s ok. That you want him.

“You can touch me too, y’know. I don’t bite. Well…” you trail off into a breathy moan of a laugh as he starts to rub you through your sleep pants, messy and inexperienced but trying nonetheless. He takes your moans as a good sign and dips his fingers past the waistband. No underwear to toy with before he reaches your cunt. Already dripping with arousal.

You follow suit and reach under his boxers to stroke up and down his surprisingly thick shaft.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against your lips. “You’re- uh- you’re so wet.”

“Mphm…” you buck your hips further onto his fingers. Loving how they fill you up so nicely.

“You’re really good at that,” you squeeze your eyes shut as he rests his forehead against yours, curling his fingers and hitting that spot that makes your knees feel all weak. The two of you stay like that until there’s nothing but raspy, muffled moans leaving your throats. Hot, open mouthed kisses while both your hips jerk forward into each other's hands.

“Keep going, keep going,” you beg against his lips. Praying that he won’t stop or switch his rhythm.

“I’m close.” He warns you, unsuccessfully trying to settle his breathing.

“Me too.” You bring him in for one last kiss and feel a hot rope of cum melt onto your hand. Your own orgasm washing through you as finger fucks you as fast as his wrist will let him.

You rest your head against the wall as the two of you catch your breaths. Thinking about the fact that you just jerked off an almost complete stranger. Hell, Daryl probably doesn’t even know your name. Not that it matters. He wants to know a lot more than your name now.

You bring your fingers to your mouth, giving him a wicked little smirk as you suck his seed off your knuckles. Cleaning up his mess. Watching you with wide eyes and parted lips, his cock starts to stir once again.

“Y’know, I don’t have a bunk mate. If you wanna take this somewhere else-”

“Uhuh.” He nods, fumbling to fix his jeans as you wipe your hands on your pajama pants.

You try to contain your excitement, but you’re smiling like and idiot the whole way back to your bunk. Dragging him by the hand and imagining just how fun it’ll be to watch his pretty blue eyes roll back as you make him into a moaning mess underneath you.

-

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