#but also like. aw man i gotta work? sigh

[tangledinink]

guess who just received. a. job offfeerrrrrrrr.

[shadow4-1]

“Dying alone.” You hummed, running the brush through your horse’s hair. “Y’know, it’s been weighing on me.”

Price huffed out a soft breath and nuzzled his graying muzzle against your palm. You smiled at him, rubbing your knuckles over the soft fuzz of his snout. When you’d first got him he’d been a young workhorse too ornery for any ranch hand in the county. After doing some research, you figured out he was a European breed, one not meant for the rough hands of your fellow Americans. You’d gotten him cheap, and yet his training came at a ‘price’. It took awhile for you to learn his ins an outs but he quickly grew to become your favorite - as well as your oldest. He was the first member of your ranch after all.

“I’ve never wanted to look for a man. They’re so gross, Price.” You sighed, working a few tangles out of his short, dark mane. “They always say they want me for me, but really they just want the ranch.”

There was a short bark from the door of the barn. A black and white, muscular dog stood waiting for your command. You tsked at him and he slowly came trotting up to you, head low to the ground in a submissive posture. The closer he came, the more you noticed the white fur surrounding his eyes and snout - starting to gray like Price’s.

“C’mere Ghost.” You hummed.

The dog obliged and pressed the top of his head into your hand. Ghost was such a mutt. You’d picked him up as a pup from a mean roadside vendor. If you had to guess, he had some kind of German Shepherd in him. Maybe some Rottweiler or Pit Bull? You couldn’t be sure. But what you did know, is that -

“Aw, look at my best boy! You’re my best boy!” You baby talked, squishing his chunky face. Ghost just licked his lips in indignation but made no move to escape your hold. Price snorted loudly and pawed at the ground, upset that you stopped brushing his mane.

“Okay okay. I get it.” You laughed. “Let me just finish up here!”

-

There wasn’t any field tending that needed to be done, so you sent Price off to the fenced in pasture. Despite his age, he kicked up dirt and pranced about in delight. You smiled at the old horse before heading back to the barn. Ghost sat patiently outside, his metal tags glinting in the sunlight.

“Okay, boy. Show time.”

And just like that, all hell seemed to break loose. Ghost ran into the barn and started to bark. While usually subdued, this time his bark was loud and mighty. The sheep and cows stirred in their pens. The chickens squawked from their roosts. You threw open the barn with a mighty heave. And just like that, the animals were also let out into the fenced pasture.

The cows bounded out happily, their bells clanging. Then came the half dozen sheep and their young lambs, followed by a dozen assorted chickens. You sprinkled chicken feed and enjoyed the morning mayhem. A rooster made himself known from the pack by standing up straight, puffing out his chest, and crowing with so much might you thought he might hurt himself. You poured a bit of feed in your hand before crouching down.

“Here Johnny, Johnny.” You giggled, shaking your hand.

The large rooster strutted up to you with absolutely no fear. He ruffled his feathers and clucked at you before eating the feed right out of your hand. When he was done, he let you pet him. If you wanted to pick him up, you easily could’ve. Most mornings you spent with him on your hip. Despite how amazing of a rooster he was, he never got violent with you. Now, any other hired help, it was a different story. Come to think of it, none of your animals really worked for anyone else but you.

“Sorry Johnny.” You sighed, standing up and taking a step back. “Gotta trim-woah!”

Something hard nudged firmly against your rear. You regained your balance and looked behind you.

“Kyle!” You scolded. “Yes, yes! You’re going out to the pasture too!”

The large billy goat bleated at you and rubbed the top of his de-horned head against your hip, as if to scratch himself on your belt. With a soft pat to his head, you lead him through the pasture and farther into the green grass. It took him a minute, but after taking a glance at Price on the other end of the field, he began to run towards him. The two creatures met in the middle and began to play.

You weren’t entirely sure why those two got along so well, but they certainly did. Price playfully nipped at Kyle’s short tail. Kyle just bleated in excitement and tried to ram his head into the old horse’s leg. They were a funny little duo, that was certain.

And with that, you began to finish up your morning chores. You collected the eggs and the fresh milk from the gallon jugs in the barn. You cleaned up the stalls and polished Price’s riding tack. Once you made sure everyone had fresh food and water you decided to go inside and clean up. Today was an easy day. All you would be responsible for was to bring the animals back in as well as feed yourself.

You showered, dressed in a flowy white sundress, and headed outside. You sat out in the pasture, under the shade of the old oak tree and your floppy sun hat. This day was like no other. After enjoying a bowl of fruit and a glass of iced tea it didn’t take long for you to doze off in your favorite lawn chair.

-

You dreamed that you were taking Price back to the stables after a good ride around the ranch. It was late, and the southern heat was oppressive. You wiped the sweat off Price’s back with an old towel as your removed his tack.

“Y’know. Despite your age, y’ still give a girl a great ride.” You chuckled at the old horse. You rubbed his snout. He snorted at you and you giggled. “You have no clue what I’m talking about.”

With another laugh, you turned to the stall's gate. You opened it just enough to reach to the built in shelf next to it. You dug your hand into a small box and swiped a handful of sugar cubes from within it. You turned, hand outstretched to offer it to Price. Except, when you turned, there was no longer a horse.

Standing there, completely nude, was a human man.

You gasped in shock and took a step back, hitting the edge of the stall’s wall. He took a step forward, blue eyes glittering. He eyed the sugar cubes you now clutched tightly in your palm. He reached forward, prying them from your grip, before hungrily tossing them into his mouth. He ate them with no discomfort and even smiled as he swallowed them down.

“Thanks, Love.” He licked his lips, remnants of the glittery sugar still caught in his mustache.

“P-Price?” You squeaked.

“Who else would it be?”

You had half a mind to run, but you were so enamored with the thought that your precious horse could be a human. He stepped even farther forward, boxing you into the corner of the wooden stall. Your head hit the wall, making the various items hung up shudder from the impact. Price unhooked one of the ancient reins away from the top of your head before dropping it into the fresh hay at your feet. He admired his hands for a second and so did you.

“I-you-wh-what is going on?” You managed out. “This is some kind of joke, right?”

Price didn’t seem to hear you as he tried to get a feel for his own body. You watched in shock and arousal as he flexed his arm muscles and observed the firm ripples of his own chiseled abdomen. He petted down his belly and admired the thick curls that trailed over his cock. He gripped at it, tugged at it experimentally before seeming to realize something important.

“Ready for that ride, Love?”

[shojizbae]

Mothers Day

Spencer Reid x Reader

As the newest member of the team, everyone is shocked by your boldness.

Everyone knew not to trespass when Las Vegas or Mental illness was a factor in the case. Everyone but you, apparently. By chance, the team's last case to Vegas was two months before your hire. Now, you were making very dangerous strides around a very delicate subject. The Unsub was suspected to be a man on a psychotic break and had begun devolving before the team had even been called in. Ever the overtly ambitious profiler you wanted to follow Spencer Reid for his ultra-secret contact.

"He prefers to go alone." My eyes met the dark brown hand on my bicep

"We really shouldn't be going places alone. You know the FBI minted the buddy system?" I shook him off

"I know, baby girl, but this is delicate. You just gotta leave it alone."

"Derek, you, of all people, should be aware of my incessant control problems."

"I have to agree with Morgan. This is something you need to let be."

"But you know I can't. Doctor Reid!" I darted off after him. He was tense, like the way people get when they hear a tornado siren and have to put themselves in their basement or put a mattress over their bathtub. He was preparing for disaster. "I truly believe it would be beneficial if I were to go with you."

"Would it be benefitting the case or your psyche?" He prods

"Well, both and neither." I readjust my little rectangular glasses, "As you know, I'm extraneously protective, to a fault. Also, I am working on my doctorate in psychology and I'm writing a dissertation on noncommutative disorder clusters. And I'm comfortable around disorders. Actually, I find it strange that when we talk about OCD, we call it a 'disorder' when people just like things organized in a particular manner." I snort to punctuate my rambling, but he only grits his jaw. "Aw man, that joke usually kills in my schizoid heredity focus group." He sighs as he tugs his satchel on.

"You need to stay quiet and low profile." He orders, and I know my dorky smile splits my face. He leads me to a big black SUV, where I take the driver's seat. He gives me directions, leading me from the way through town street and down some scary back roads. Eventually, we pass a sign that reads Bennington Sanitarium. He tells me to turn left, and we park in the back of the parking lot. He tells me to leave my gun in the car, and I follow him with my head down.

"So, who's this ultra-secret contact you have?" His stress seemed to triple, "Some fancy professor from Caltech?" He's being intentionally nebulous, I'm aware but there's some fun in playing nosy-cop.

"No, it's not someone who worked at Caltech."

"Oh, but a professor? Where'd they work, Burkley? Or maybe some school in Vegas. Let's see, there are not that many high-profile universities in Vegas."

"No, she hasn't worked in years." His voice sharpens in frustration, so I back down, readjusting my glasses, and licking the corner of my lips. We enter and a receptionist recognizes Spencer immediately with a big smile.

"Dr. Reid how lovely to see you. Have you come to visit your mother? She'll be ecstatic. It's been far too long." Oh, like mother like son. She must be a psychiatrist. I smile softly at the notion. It will be so interesting to see who and where Spencer came from.

"Thank you, Sheryl, how has she been."

"Well, she has her day, but mostly, she just reads. You know the book club started a new series." Sherly playfully brushes his arm and giggles.

"That's good."

"She should have just gotten out of therapy." Sheryl smiles and rakes her eyes over the young doctor. Finally, she makes eye contact with me.

"Oh well, you're new," she cheers in a vaguely Midwestern accent. You'll need a visitor's pass, hon." She gets one from a drawer and hands it to me. "So, do you work at the FBI, too, or are you coming to meet the in-laws?"

"I'm an agent," I laugh. If I were lucky enough to snag him, that would be an HR nightmare." Playfully, I pat his chest. He guffaws dryly as I slide the plastic lanyard around my neck.

Spencer leads me through the building, mostly there are elderly people playing chess or using oil pastels as nurses and orderlies orbit them. He leads me through a large living room past an Asian woman knitting. We find a woman with blonde hair biting her nails on the couch as she ponders something.

"Hi, Mom," He warbles. There's an extra beat between his greeting and her response. It's like she snaps out of a trance when she sees her son.

"Spencer, honey, what are you doing here?"

"Me and my frie-"

"Oh my goodness, thank whatever deities you deny the existence of; you're finally giving me some grandchildren."

"No, Mom, this is my coworker Agent (L/n). She and I just have some questions for you regarding our case."

"Well, at least sit down." She pats the space next to her, and Spencer obeys, "You too, young lady."

"Yes, ma'am." I take the only spot right next to him, and Spencer begins rattling off questions while his mom sits there with her hand under her nose. She sits and observes Spencer like no one at the BAU does. When he finishes contextualizing the case with her she stews on every word like his voice is her favorite song.

"So our first question for you is, uh (Y/n), you might be better at asking." He makes the wringing motion of cracking his knuckles, but no sound comes out.

"Um, mostly, the bureau is interested in the capabilities of delusion to overlap reality. When you are having an episode, do you recognize the difference between your actions and your perceptions?" I retrieve a legal pad and a fountain pen and click it theatrically. Diana keeps her hand over her mouth and inhales longingly through her nose. She points at me but doesn't look at me.

"You're a very smart young woman," She locks her eyes on me, "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

"Of course, wagers are the drug of choice in Vegas, well that and alcohol and mostly any other drug you can think of." I correct myself

"God, you're so much like him." She looks to her son."Why aren't you dating my Spencer?"

"Uh," is all that dumbly spills from my mouth.

"You two seem perfectly suitable for each other. Is it because he's so skinny?"

"No,"

"Well, he's incredibly handsome and talented; even a pigeon could see he's intelligent beyond a lexicon." She rambles

"Mom, I think that's enough."

"Spencer, you haven't visited me in over a year, and how do you believe that's any way to speak to your mother." She reprimands me. Had the information not shocked me, I would have giggled.

"Spencer, over a year?!" I swat his arm, "You've had time off. Why wouldn't you come to visit?"

"Oh well, I've still gotten my daily letters," she pouts. But it's been too long, and I'm getting old." She begins to bat her eyelashes, and she holds onto his arm.

"I'm trying, Mom," he whined

"To visit or to get me some grandkids?" she sasses

"Mom," He groaned, and I couldn't help the giggle that escaped my lips.

"What about you, young lady? Do you have any kids??"

"No, ma'am."

"Why not?" I could see where Spencer gets his tunnel thinking.

"My career has made it difficult to go out on dates and fall in love," I admitted it was almost like Diana could extract the truth from me

"Well, then, date my Spencer."

"Mom!" he protested

"Shh! It's a win-win: I get grandbabies, you get dates, and neither of your careers gets in the way." I meant to retaliate, but her infallible logic knocked all the fire out of me.

"Let's finish up this interview and solve this case then we can circle back." I mitigated

Two days later, the case was solved, and we were riding the jet back to Virginia. Everyone had filed off the plane but Spencer and I.

"So, do you have any plans tonight?" It threw me further off guard than Diana.

"I was just gonna turn on Real Housewives reruns and cuddle cannoli." It was how I spent most nights.

"Would you object to a date?"

"Tonight?"

"We could watch the Real Housewives and hang out with your cat??"

"You want to do that?"

"It sounds much better than sweating in an overpriced Italian restaurant." He laughs and rings his knuckles

"it does, I think I have NBC, we could watch Star Trek after." I offer as we walk from the landing strip to the BAU. We made a sojourn at his home so he could shower and put on comfortable clothes. Two years later it would be cannoli to ring bear your wedding. Spencer would have to credit his mother who walked you both down the aisle simultaneously for your relationship and the whole team would have to agree.

[wandascosmic]

standing by (6)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part six of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 4292

tags: best friends to lovers, very very special and cute friendship, reader pining after wanda, oblivious wanda it's almost laughable, believed to be unrequited love, toxic vision (unsurprisingly), honestly might be my favorite part i've written so far, also maybe perhaps some jealous wanda >: ), and the pranks are back!!

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

“Tony,” Wanda knocks on Tony’s office door. “There’s a girl outside who wants to sell handbags.” 

“Kick her out,” Tony responds, barely looking up from his magazine. “No vendors in the office.” 

“Okay, but I told her you’d talk to her at least–” 

“No, Wanda. I’m busy,” Tony cuts her off, putting his feet up on his desk. “Just tell her to go away.” 

Wanda nods, starting to head out the door. 

Once Wanda exits the room, curiosity gets the better of Tony, and he decides to try and see what the person looks like through the window. His mouth parts once he sees that she’s actually rather beautiful. 

“Why didn’t she tell me she was hot,” Tony mutters as he gets up to go and talk to the vendor girl. 

***

You watch in suspicion as Tony smooths his hair back, accompanied by the noticeable bright grin on his face. You follow his gaze all the way to the new girl who came in a few minutes ago, and your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape in realization. 

“Hi, there,” Tony says, making the purse girl turn around and face him. “I’m Tony.” He holds out his hand for her to shake. 

“Valkyrie,” she introduces herself back with a smile. 

“Wow, look at you,” Tony guffaws, clearly checking her out. “You’re, uh, you’re like the new and improved Wanda.” 

Your eyes widen in shock as you and Wanda make eye contact with each other. 

“Um, thank you?” Valkyrie questions. 

“You’re welcome.” Tony grins. “So listen, I usually don’t allow solicitors in the office, but for you, I think we’ll make an exception.” 

Tony was awful at flirting, you quickly realized. 

“Well, thank you very much.” Valkyrie nods politely. 

“Don’t worry about it. But hey, maybe you can make it up to me later with dinner and a movie maybe?” he suggests with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You snort at his forwardness. 

“Uh–” 

“Anyways, think about it.” He pats her on the shoulder. “So, Valkyrie, you can use the conference room for the day.” He points in the direction of the aforementioned room. “And, I’ll check up on you in an hour or so to make sure you’re settling in. Sound good?” 

“Yes, that would be great, thank you,” Valkyrie responds. 

“Alright, let’s get you settled in then.” He grins, leading her in the right direction. 

Once they’re both out of sight, you go up to talk to Wanda. 

“Ten bucks he ignores all his work for the day to go and flirt with her,” you bet the receptionist, popping a candy from the dish on her desk into your mouth and leaning onto your elbows. 

“Ten bucks he moves the HR staff who are supposed to have a meeting in there into the hallway,” she responds with a smile. 

“Oh, you’re so on, Maximoff.” 

***

“So, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Tony tells Valkyrie, helping her put her bags in place. 

“Well, I guess a cup of coffee would be nice,” Valkyrie answers back politely. 

“Oh! I knew it! I knew I should’ve spotted another addict.” Tony laughs. 

Valkyrie’s brows furrow in confusion. “I’m sorry?” 

“You know, those Dunkin’ Donuts coffee addicts? Man, gotta love it,” he sighs. 

“Regular coffee is fine, honestly,” Valkyrie assures, feeling awkward.

No, no, it’s not,” Tony shakes his head. “Damn it, too bad we don’t have the good stuff here.” 

“No, really, it is,” Valkyrie says. 

“Are you sure?” Tony asks. “‘Cause, you know I could go out to get some for you it’s only like a 30-minute drive–” 

“Really, it’s alright,” Valkyrie cuts off with a small laugh.

“Alright, great!” Tony says, about to head out the door. “I’ll just head on over to the coffee machine in the kitchen, then. Hey, do you want high test or unleaded?” 

“Um, high test?”  

“All right!” Tony says with a grin as he leaves her alone. 

Valkyrie sighs in relief once Tony’s gone. 

***

“So, are you jealous ‘cause there’s another girl around?” Thor asks Wanda as he staples his documents together behind her. 

“No, not really,” Wanda responds absentmindedly, typing on her computer. 

“Are you sure?” ‘Cause she’s prettier than you,” Thor replies with a shrug. 

Wanda pauses. “That’s a very rude thing to say, Thor,” she says slowly. 

You almost laugh at the idea that anyone could ever come near Wanda’s beauty. 

Thor purses his lips and nods, leaving Wanda alone. 

You figure that now is a good time to give Wanda the banana bread you had gotten her this morning after Thor’s comment. Grabbing the dessert from your bag, you walk up to her desk with a small smile on your face.  

“So, what did Thor want?” you ask, knowing the answer already since Thor was anything but soft-spoken. Plus, your desk was only a couple of feet away from hers. 

Wanda scoffs. “Apparently I should be jealous of the purse girl because she spices up the office more than I do.” 

“And are you jealous?” 

“What? No! Of course not.” 

You laugh. “Yeah right, Maximoff. I can see the crinkle you get when you’re upset about something.” 

“I do not have a crinkle.” Wanda leans back and crosses her arms with a pout. 

Your eyes soften at how cute she looks. 

“Fine,” you back down. “But anyways, if you are upset, I did get you something.”

Wanda’s head perks up in curiosity. “What did you get me?” 

You place the white paper bag on her desk. “I may have stopped by that cafe you like this morning and gotten you your favorite dessert.” 

Wanda sits up slightly, peeking into the bag. Once she sees the delectable banana bread she loves so much, a wide smile breaks out on her face. 

“Thank you,” she says softly. 

“Anytime,” you respond, giving her a small wink as you turn around to walk back to your desk. “And by the way.” You stop to look back at her. “No one could ever match how beautiful you are.” You give her a comforting smile before heading back. 

Wanda bites her lip slightly as she watches you get back to work. 

***

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” Tony knocks on the conference room door to get Valkyrie’s attention. 

“What’s that?” Valkyrie asks, reorganizing the purses slightly on the table. 

“Why don’t I introduce you around? You know, you can kind of get your foot in the door, meet potential clients, stuff like that? Come on.” Tony grabs Valkyrie’s hand as he starts to lead her out of the room. 

“Um, I would love to, but I really shouldn’t leave my purses alone-” 

“Oh! No problem, we can get Peter to watch them. Peter!” Tony calls for the intern. 

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” Peter calls back from the kitchen. 

“Will you watch the purses in the conference room please?” Tony says. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course, no problem!” Peter replies, already sprinting out of the kitchen to go watch the purses. 

“Good kid,” Tony says to Valkyrie who nods in response. “You know, you should sell a lot here.” He says as he leads her through the various areas of the office. “This branch actually made over a million dollars last year.” 

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Valkyrie answers, waving at the people the two of them pass by. 

“Yeah, I know,” Tony brags. “Not that we’re all millionaires though, you know. I’m probably the closest so.” He chuckles.  

“Oh, cool,” Valkyrie replies, feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

“Yup, that’s what we do here at Shield Industries. Oh, here’s Bruce!” Tony introduces a brown-haired man who’s on a call in the break room. “What’s up, Bruce?” Tony punches Bruce’s arm playfully. 

“Tony, I’m on a phone call,” Bruce replies, putting the phone to his shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, man,” Tony responds, leading Valkyrie to another section of the office. 

***

“So, Y/N, what do you think of the purse girl?” Vision asks you, chewing a bit of his pizza. 

Wanda had invited you to eat lunch with her and Vision, and while you would rather do anything other than have a meal with the girl you were in love with and her fiance, you couldn’t say no to her no matter how hard you tried. 

“Cute, sure, yeah,” you responded, taking a bite of your sandwich. You had told Wanda about your sexuality two years after you had met her, and you assume that the word got out to Vision somehow. 

Little did you know it was because Tony overheard your confession in the break room and despite his lackluster demeanor 90% of the time, he was awful at keeping secrets. 

“Why don’t you get on that?” Vision suggests. 

“Mm, she’s not really my type,” you say, shaking your head and taking a sip of your water. 

“What, you’re not gay anymore?” 

“Vision!” Wanda slaps his arm in shock. “Sorry, Y/N,” she apologizes to you on his behalf. 

“It’s fine, Wanda,” you assure. “I don’t think so, no,” you respond to Vision’s question. 

“Well, what is your type then?” Thor asks from behind you, who had come in to grab his lunch from the fridge. 

You ponder for a moment. “Uh, moms…primarily. Soccer moms, single moms, NASCAR moms. Any type of mom, really.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Vision scoffs. 

“Stay away from my mom,” Thor says as he starts to leave the kitchen.

“Too late, Thor,” you respond, taking another sip of your water. 

Suddenly, you all hear the clack of heels approach, and the three of you turn your head to see Valkyrie walk past you all. 

Vision’s mouth parts slightly as he watches her exit the room. “Man, I would be all over that if I wasn’t dating Wanda,” he tells you, pointing at the doorway where Valkyrie just left. 

Wanda’s stomach drops. 

“Vision,” she states angrily, making him glance down at her. “We’re not dating, we’re engaged.” 

“Engaged, yeah,” he replies nonchalantly with a shrug. 

Wanda scoffs as she drops her fork into her food and storms out of the kitchen, slamming the door shut with a thud. 

Vision rolls his eyes as he takes another bite of his pizza. 

***

“She’d be perfect for you,” you tell Sam, the two of you observing Valkyrie through the conference room window. Truthfully, you didn’t believe an ounce of what you were feeding him. Wanda was still upset after what Vision had said earlier, so you were setting up a prank against Sam in hopes of making her feel better. 

“Mm, she’s been talking to Tony a lot,” Sam says bitterly as he crosses his arms together. 

“So what?” you say as you face him. “You’re assistant regional manager.” 

“Assistant to the regional manager,” Sam corrects you with a frown. 

“Well, you know what, Sam? Sometimes, you’ve just got to go for it. And by the way, Tony’s just your work boss, ok? He is not your relationship boss.” 

“That’s true,” Sam nods. 

“Plus, you have so much more in common with this girl than Tony does. You’re both, um, salesmen,” you point out. “I mean that’s something to talk about right there.” 

“True,” Sam’s eyes widen in realization. “Plus, I could talk to her about the origins of my last name!”

“It’s all gold,” you say, emphasizing your point with a wave of your hand. “But here’s the thing.” You beckon Sam closer with a finger. “Even if it goes horribly wrong, you just keep talking to her, alright? If you hit a stall, you have a perfect fallback.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

“You buy a purse,” you instruct. 

“I don’t want a purse, purses are for girls,” Sam says, recoiling slightly. 

“Sam, that’s not necessarily true.” You shake your head. 

Sam scoffs. 

“Do you read GQ?” you ask. 

“No,” he mutters, looking away. 

“That’s fine, I do. They’re like mini briefcases, alright? Lots of guys have ‘em.” 

“Really?” he asks incredulously. “Like those?” He points to the purses through the window. 

“Yes!” you confirm. 

“I don’t know..” 

“Listen,” you get his attention. “You are spending way too much time talking to me when you could be talking to her.” You point to Valkyrie over your shoulder. 

“Okay, fine,” Sam agrees, starting to stand up. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom then-” 

“No, you don’t need the bathroom, alright?” you cut him off, standing up as well. “You’ve got this, Sam. Go for it.” You shove him gently in the direction of the conference room. 

You watch him go in until he can no longer see you, and you smile as you run in the direction of Wanda’s desk. 

“Okay, shh, stop.” You run around Wanda’s desk, gently pulling the phone away from her ear and hanging up the call she’s on. Wanda looks up at you curiously. “Stop whatever you’re doing ‘cause this is gonna be good,” you say as you stand behind Wanda’s chair and swivel it around so she has a clear view of the conference room. 

“What did you do?” Wanda asks suspiciously, a smile starting to appear on her face. 

“You’ll see,” you whisper. 

Once you see Sam start to talk, you begin your imitation. “Hi, my name is Sam Wilson and I would like to buy a purse from you,” you mock in a high-pitched voice. “Good Lord, look at these purses! This is something special.” Wanda giggles. “Oh my God, is this Salvatore Daccini Pa….sta,” you say as you see Sam pick up a random purse. 

“Oh, definitely, definitely step in and out of it like that,” Wanda imitates Valkyrie as you both see Sam step in and out of the purse’s strap. 

“Yes, well I want to stress test it,” you continue your impression. “You know, in case anything happens.” 

Wanda smiles widely as she looks at you. 

“Oh!” you both remark, the two of you struggling to hold in your laughter as you see Sam smack the purse against the table. 

“That was really- this is necessary to do to really give it a good workout,” you say in your high-pitched voice. “This is the– ooh. This is the prettiest one of them all,” you mimic as you see Sam pick up another purse. “I’m gonna be the prettiest girl in the ball. Oh, how much?” you break as you finally start to laugh. 

“Oh, god, it’s sad, it’s so sad,” Wanda remarks with a shake of her head. 

“Yeah,” you say through your laughter. “Oh, here he comes,” you inform her as you see Sam slowly start to walk out of the conference room. 

He turns to give you a thumbs up and you give him one in response as well as mouthe some encouraging words. Sam smirks confidently as he struts back to his desk, the strap of his brand-new hung nicely over his shoulder. 

“He did pick a good one,” you tell Wanda with a smile as you look over to observe Sam’s new handbag. 

“You’re horrible,” Wanda giggles as she looks up at you. 

***

“So, how was that coffee from earlier?” Tony asks Valkyrie as he enters the conference room once more. 

“It was good,” she responds with a small smile. 

“Ah, I knew it,” Tony smirks. “I make the best coffee. Hey, can I show you something?” 

Valkyrie nods. 

“Great, I know you are gonna like this.” He starts to lead her towards his office. “Picked it up today for 1000 big ones.” 

He opens the door for her to enter. 

Valkyrie’s eyes widen as she sees the huge coffee machine set on Tony’s desk. “Um, Tony, you spent 1000 dollars on a new coffee machine just today?” 

“Yep,” he brags with a large grin. “They call it a Digital Barista. It’s the absolute best of the best of the espresso maker variety.” 

Valkyrie laughs awkwardly. “Wow, is that for the office?” 

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking.” Tony points a finger at her. “You’re not prying this out of my hands,” he jokes. “But hey, give it a shot and maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Valkyrie answers with a shake of her head. Suddenly, she feels her phone buzz with a new message. Opening it, her brows furrow as she sees the content of the message that was sent. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Tony asks, seeing her expression. 

Valkyrie looks up. “Oh, nothing, just, my ride bailed on me,” she says. 

“Oh, god! I’m so sorry,” Tony says rather passionately. “That sucks. Um, where you going? Nearby? Because I could give you a ride, you know?” 

“No, no, that’s ok, I don’t wanna inconvenience you and I can just take a Taxi–” 

“No, no, no, it’s not an inconvenience at all!” Tony cuts Valkyrie off. “I mean, I’m out of here at 5:00 sharp, and plus, I am the boss,” he says with his hand at the side of his mouth as if he were telling a secret. “I can go even earlier! Like, whatever, out of here…slaves.” He laughs. 

“Well, I guess that would be ok,” Valkyrie accepts unsurely. 

“Really?” Tony grins. “Well, awesome! 5:00 sharp, I will give you and your purses a ride home, sound good?” 

“Yeah, sounds great,” Valkyrie says as she leaves Tony’s office, grimacing slightly on her way out. 

***

“So did we get any mail?” Tony asks Wanda who sits across from him at his desk. 

“Yeah, I gave it to you,” she responds with a nod of her head. 

“Right, just checking. Just double checking,” Tony says. 

“So can I–” Wanda points to the door over her shoulder. 

“Oh, yeah,” Tony responds, letting her go. “Oh, wait, Wanda, one more thing,” he says as Wanda starts to get up out of her chair. 

Wanda pauses to hear his question. 

“How do girls your age feel about futons?” 

***

“A futon?” you ask Wanda who laughs as she leans against your desk. “Oh my god, he’s a grown man.” 

“That’s what he said,” she says, trying to stifle her laughter.

“That’s sad. That’s so sad,” you say, shaking your head and Wanda giggles. “Or it’s innovative. You know, the futon is a bed and couch all rolled into one.” You twirl your index fingers around each other to imitate a rolling motion. 

Unfortunately, your moment with the receptionist is soon interrupted as you look up to see Vision on his way to talk to Wanda. You sit up sharply, starting to type on your computer as you get back to work. 

“What’s up?” he greets her with his hands in his jacket pockets. 

“Hi,” she replies, keeping her eyes on the ground. 

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks wearily. 

“Vision…” she sighs. 

“Come on,” he says as he starts to tickle her abdomen. 

You bite the inside of your cheek.  

Wanda turns her upper body away slightly. “Cut it out,” she says. 

“Come on, are you mad at me?” he continues, starting to make Wanda jerk in various directions. 

“Stop it,” she responds, but giving in slightly as her voice becomes less stern. 

“Are you still mad at me?” he says in a loving voice. 

“Cut it out,” she replies, though a smile is beginning to appear on her face. 

“Are you mad at me now?” he teases, grinning as she starts to laugh fully. 

“Stop!” she says through her laughs. 

“Huh? Come on,” he continues, tickling her harder and making her giggle even more. “Come on, Wands,” he prompts playfully as she keeps laughing uncontrollably. 

“Stop, I can’t breathe!” Wanda musters out, still jerking around. 

You sigh as you get up from your chair, deciding it’s probably best to leave the couple alone. 

“I was just kidding! You know I didn’t mean it,” you hear him say with a smile. 

You put your hands in your pockets as Wanda continues to laugh with her fiance. 

***

You tap your foot anxiously on the floor, bored out of your mind since Wanda went out with Vision on her break. Swiveling around in your chair, you pause as you see Valkyrie on her own in the conference room. 

Maybe you should go and talk to her? 

You bite your lip slightly, deciding maybe it was time for you to make a new friend in the office. 

But no one could ever beat Wanda. 

Against your better judgement, you decide it might be fun to go and talk to her. Taking a deep breath, you stand up from your chair and head in her direction. 

You knock on the door, making Valkyrie look up at you. 

“Hi,” you say, entering the room with a smile. 

“Hi,” Valkyrie responds, matching your tone. 

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you hold out your hand for her to shake. 

“I’m Valkyrie,” she nods, shaking your outstretched hand. 

“Hi, Valkyrie, nice to meet you,” you say in a friendly manner. 

“Yeah, you too. You sit out there don’t you?” Valkyrie points to your desk through the window. 

“Yes, I do. That’s what I’m best known for,” you joke slightly, making her let out a small laugh. “Alright, let’s talk about purses then.” You drum your fingers on the table in front of you. 

“Okay, um..” She starts to point at the purses on the table. 

“Oh, wait, Valkyrie, but you know what?” you interrupt, causing her to look up at you. “Don’t try to sell me one. Okay, seriously? ‘Cause I’m just here to learn,” you say earnestly before a small smirk breaks out on your face.

“Okay,” Valkyrie nods with a laugh. 

“So, I know about most of these, but..” 

***

“What’s up?” you ask Wanda who leans against your desk. 

“I’m bored,” Wanda responds, giving you a grin. 

“Thank you for choosing me,” you reply amusingly as she laughs. 

“No, I’m kidding,” Wanda says. “So, have you got any plans this weekend?” 

“Uh, well, I think I’m gonna see Valkyrie,” you respond, shrugging your shoulders. 

Wanda’s smile falters slightly. 

“Really?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. 

“What are you guys gonna do?” 

“Oh, man, I don’t know,” you sigh. “Uh, dinner, drinks, movie, matching tattoos…” you say the last one with a cheeky smile. 

Wanda chuckles at your joke. 

“Well, that’s great,” she nods, unsure of what the uncomfortable feeling in her chest might be. 

“Yeah, big stuff,” you agree, swiveling around slightly in your chair and pausing for a moment. “What are you up to this weekend?” 

“Oh, um,” Wanda ponders a bit. “I think we’re gonna help Vis’ cousin move.” 

“Okay,” you nod. 

“‘Cause Vis has a truck,” she finishes. 

“That’s cool, that’s really cool, Wanda,” you tell her. 

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Wanda says, suddenly feeling very awkward. 

“But I’ll see you Monday, though, right?” you ask, drumming your fingers at your side. 

“Yeah, uh, you know what? I think I’m gonna head back now,” Wanda says as she stands up, pointing to her desk over her shoulder. 

“Oh, okay. No problem,” you respond with a small smile. 

Wanda nods, turning around and heading back to her workplace. 

Sitting back down, she sighs as she tries to decipher what the uneasy feeling within her might be. 

***

 “Good night, Y/N,” Tony says as he walks next to you and Valkyrie in the parking lot. 

“Good night Tony,” you reply, tossing your car keys up and down. 

“Where you headed?” he asks you. 

“I don’t know, probably grab a drink, I think,” you answer, pointing towards you and Valkyrie. 

“With us?” Tony inquires, stopping in his place as his brows furrow in confusion. 

“Oh shoot, I, um, I probably should have told you. But I don’t need a ride now ‘cause Y/N can take me home after,” Valkyrie tells Tony with an apologetic look.  

“Oh, okay, great,” Tony replies, but you can tell that he feels a bit dejected. 

“Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Tony,” you apologize. 

“No, no worries.” He shakes his head. “Hope you have fun, you two,” he says trying to hide his disappointment. 

Tony starts to turn away, and you frown as you watch his dejected posture. 

“Have a good night, Tony!” you call out, checking to make sure he’s ok. 

“Yeah, you too!” he calls back, though you hear a hint of frustration in his voice.  

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Valkyrie asks at your side. 

“Yeah, I hope so. If he’s still sad by Monday, I’ll bake him some cupcakes or something,” you respond, grabbing her bags and nodding your head in the direction of your car. 

You start to lead the two of you to your vehicle. “Wow, a baker, huh?” Valkyrie inquires with a smile as she follows your step. 

“Well, I got a lot of free time on my hands,” you respond, opening up your trunk and placing her bags in after moving a couple of your things. 

You don’t notice Vision’s car pull up behind you with Wanda in the passenger seat, immediately sitting up straight as she watches you curiously through the window. 

“All right, I’m gonna warn you. Don’t freak out, okay?” you say to the girl next to you as you shut the trunk. 

“Why?” Valkyrie inquires with a tilt of her head. 

“Well, this is a really nice car,” you say as you walk backward, leading Valkyrie toward the passenger side of your sedan. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a Corolla, okay?” 

“It’s a very nice car,” Valkyrie compliments with a small laugh. 

Wanda’s sure she wants to slap Valkyrie across the face. 

“So you’re not gonna freak out?” you ask, opening the door for Valkyrie to enter. 

Valkyrie shakes her head with a smile as she sits down in your red vehicle. 

Vision starts to drive away, and Wanda continues to watch the two of you until you disappear from her sight. 

part 7

[cherryheairt]

saw a tiktok of a guy begging his gf to keep scratching his back whenever she paused it made me think of benjicot. I keep seeing kieran's tts hes so feminist bf coded

🪶

Dramatic

"Please?"

"No."

"Please." he begged.

Sighing, Rena complied with his plea and began her delicate movements once more. This had become a nightly routine since their wedding, when the couple were finally allowed to share their chambers–though that never stopped them from sneaking around before.

She liked to keep her nails shaped finely, slightly above her fingertips and well-cleaned. Benjicot discovered the benefits of her self-care one day when they both lie in bed, naked. His head was on her bare chest, content to listen to her humming while he was resting on the plush skin. Her nails dragged up and down his back, making him shiver almost violently.

When she paused, he groaned loudly, "don't stop."

Giggling, she continued her motions til he was asleep.

This had been going on for months. When the couple sat in bed after their coupling, knowing their nights were spent all to themselves instead of serving their house and Lord and Lady. Benjicot was weak to her touch.

Though, he hadn't always been so aware.

Her lashes, thick and long, were the result of oiling them before bed. Her hair, volumous and long because of the messages she worked on during her baths. Legs and arms smooth from concentrated shaving. Her unique floral scent, only present thanks to the perfumes from Dorne.

Many things went into a noble ladies' looks, though any unknowing man thought that it just came naturally. 'Just born pretty and smelling good,' was a common misconception in their life. Also, an excuse for the men to be the opposite.

Benji was one of the clueless ones, in awe of Rena's beauty and always complimenting her scent with his head shoved to her neck.

It was only after they married that he found out how long it took to get that way. He would be out of their shared bath for a half-hour, just watching dumbstruck as she razed her limbs. "You have to do this every bath?" He asked, wincing when he thought she might nick her leg.

Rena laughed, shaking her head. "Once a week, maybe."

He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. He was only covered by his waist cloth, content with sitting in the bathroom until she was done. "You don't have to, if you don't want to." Benjicot said. "I won't mind."

She smiled up at him, grateful that he was he husband and not some ignorant old brute. "I know, I like my routines. It makes me feel pretty." Rena preened under his loving stare.

"You're always pretty." He declared with a soft kiss to her knuckles. He nearly leaped with joy when she stood, done with washing and shaving–only to deadpan when she slathered herself in scented oils outside of the bath.

Tonight was like all the previous ones, Ben insisting that he could not sleep without her tender massages. It had been a long day for both of them, both content to relax in their shared silence. Until she paused her motions to move potsitions.

For minutes at a time, she would scratch, wondering how he had not fallen asleep yet. He would moan whenever she paused, pleading desperately. "You won't die without it for one night, my love." She snorted quietly in the candlelit room.

"I might. How do we know that I won't?" He grunted, face deep into her smooth neck.

"My husband, killed not by the sword of a fearsome enemy, but by not getting enough attention from his wife." Rena sighed.

He nodded, smiling. "That will be put on my gravestone." They both laughed.

"You really can't sleep without it?"

"Truly." Benji answered.

"Hm. What if I couldn't sleep, would you not return the favor?" Rena asked, amused.

Benjicot answered by lifted his hand to her face, showing off his blunt calloused fingertips. "Gotta keep 'em short."

"Ah, yes. For swordfighting.' She mused.

"No, for you."

"Me?" Bemused, she glanced down at him, only to see his smug face.

"Gross, Ben." She said, through a poorly hidden laugh. Benjicot looked very pleased with himself as he wetly kissed her check, producing a dramatic 'pop!' sound.

"You weren't complaining earlier."

Rena shoved his face away, groaning at his boorishness. "Go to bed." She huffed.

"I will, once you scatch my back."

They held prolonged eye contact, neither backing down until Rena blinked accidentally. "Ha!" Benjicot cheered. "I win."

Rena rolled her eyes, knowing she couldn't argue with their years-long tradition. Any petty and unserious argument must be solved with a staring contest to swiftly end it, lest it be turned into a serious one.

She sat back once more, hair a mess around her when it scrunched into the pillow. Benji followed, laying right were he always did, on her chest. He sighed with content when she started moving her nails in patterns across his skin.

"Thank you, my love."

Rena hummed her response, kissing his messy hair goodnight.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Could you possibly write a request about Simon and Soap with Simon's daughter? Like a play date or something? Where the reader (mom) went out for a night out, and the guys are left to keep a little girl entertained? (Like age 5 or so?) It's okay if not. I really enjoy your work! Thanks.

Awe, this is cute! Thanks for this. I put a little twist on it, as I had this idea pop in my head. Hope you enjoy it! Xx

I'll Take the Big Blue One!

Synopsis: Yours and Simon's 5 year old daughter has a play date with her dad and uncle Johnny.

Warnings: mild swearing, fluff, mentions of crying

"Are you sure the two of you will be okay with her?"

"Love, Johnny and I have got this. Go enjoy your night with Kate." Simon kissed your temple, and gave you a loving nudge toward the door. "I love you."

Tonight you and Laswell were going out to get a massage and grab dinner, Simon's way of treating you before his deployment in a few days.

Kaya, your daughter, had also been begging to have a "playdate" with her uncle Johnny, and daddy, so Simon thought this was the perfect opportunity.

You gave your husband a smile, mouthing a 'thank you', and took one last look at your daughter before heading out the door.

~

"I wanna do makeovers, Daddy!" Kaya whined, trying to give her dad the biggest puppy dog eyes she could muster.

"Why don't we go outside, bug? It's nice out." Simon tried, as the last thing he wanted to do was play dress up. He was great at a lot of things, but faking enthusiasm for such things was not particularly his strong suit.

"I'd love a makeover , little lass!" Johnny went to scoop the little girl up in his arms, the action causing her to squeal in delight. "Come on, Simon, it'll be fun. If I'm doin it, you gotta do it too."

"C'mon, Daddy! C'mon, c'mon!" Kaya wiggled out of her uncle's arms and sped over to her dad jumping up and down. "Sit with uncle Johnny!"

Simon sighed in defeat, knowing that with both Johnny and his daughter begging him, there was no way he could say no.

He let Kaya drag him over to the couch, sat down beside his friend, and watched as his daughter pulled out a little tote full of child safe makeup, tiaras and sashes.

"Okay so daddy is the purple princess, and uncle Johnny is the pink princess!" Kaya exclaimed as she rummaged through her little makeup set.

Johnny and Simon exchanged glances, and the two's facial expressions couldn't have been more different. Johnny was elated. For some reason, he found this wildly entertaining, while Simon was trying his best to look intrigued.

Kaya walked up to her dad with purple eyeshadow, smeared all over her fingers, and proceeded to rub the product all over Simon's eyelids, doing the best she could to keep it in one spot. She pulled away to inspect her work and giggled softly while giving Simon a kiss on his nose. "Looks good, Papa!"

Johnny had to bite his lip to prevent the laugh that was threatening to escape his lips. To see his lieutenant, a big scary masked man, getting a makeover by a 5 year old, was insanely amusing to the Scot.

"Okay, Uncle Johnny, it's your turn!" Johnny couldn't help the smile that formed as the little girl waddled toward him, her fingers now purple and pink from the eyeshadow residue.

He stayed as still as he could as he felt her little fingers moving all around his eyes, and looked down to see the little girl staring at him in concentration.

"Looking good, Johnny." Simon chuckled as he took a look at his friend, with dark pinkish purple eyeshadow smeared all over his eyelids, reaching up to his eyebrows.

"Not so bad yourself, L.T."

"Okay now tiaras!" Kaya squealed as she ran back to her box, pulling out two, very large, very bejeweled tiaras.

Deciding to just go along with it, Simon swallowed his pride, and exclaimed, "I'll take the big blue one!"

Kaya's eyed lit up at her father's enthusiasm, and she immediately ran to him. Simon crouched down on the floor, so that she could reach the top of his head.

After being at the mercy of a 5 year old for nearly 45 minutes, both Simon and Johnny were completely dolled up.

Simon had purple eyeshadow all over his eyes, bright pink blush with light shimmery purple lip gloss, a big blue diamond plastic tiara with a matching sash- while Johnny had purplish pink eyeshadow, brown blush, a dark red lip gloss, with an emerald green tiara.

"So pretty!" Kaya cooed as she stood back to admire her handiwork.

"Think we should take a picture to remember this moment with?" Johnny looked to Simon with a shit eating grin, only to be met with a death stare. "Glare at me all you want, nobody's gonna take you seriously, looking like that."

"Picture, picture!" Kaya squealed, running to grab Johnny's phone, which was held out to her.

"Bloody hell." Simon muttered under his breath.

~

When Simon was putting his daughter to bed later that night, she tugged on his arm as he sat at the edge of her bed.

"Papa?" She asked.

"What's up love bug?"

"I love you, I'm glad you’re my daddy." She gave him a warm smile and nuzzled herself into the stuffed bear Simon gave her before one of his deployments.

"I love you too, kid." Simon kissed her head softly before turning out her light.

He felt tears pooling in his eyes as he looked back at his little girl, and shook his head slightly to compose himself. It was moments like these that made it so hard for him to leave on deployments.

~

Making his way back downstairs, he found Johnny staring at himself in the powder room mirror.

"Thinking of keeping the new look?" Simon joked, leaning against the door frame.

"I don't know. I think I can pull it off." Johnny turned to him and winked. "She's a good kid you got there."

Simon smiled to himself, nodded his head to Johnny. "Yeah, yeah she is."

"Real question is. How the hell do we get this stuff off?" Soap asked as he tried to wipe away the makeup with his hands.

"I think the missus uses water?" Simon shrugged.

~

"I'm home!" They could hear your voice from the entrance way, as the two of them hurried to try to remove the makeup residue from their faces. They'd been at the kitchen sink for nearly 20 minutes, washing their faces repeatedly. "Boys?"

You walked into the kitchen and were met with a sight that had you nearly doubling over with laughter.

Both men had makeup smeared all over their faces. It was clear they had tried to scrub it off, as red marks littered their skin.

"Well I'll be. Look at my handsome guys." You stifled a giggle with your hand, as you went to the powder room to grab your makeup removing wipes. "Water won't do a darn thing. That stuff is a bitch to get off, let me help."

You walked up to Simon, not hiding the smile that was spreading across your face. He matched your smile and kissed your cheek.

You pushed him back softly as you gently wiped away the makeup on his face. "Err. Some of the eyeshadow may stain a bit. It should come off completely in a few days."

Simon's smile dropped at this, and Soap let out a hearty laugh.

"Oh we are in for it with the boys, aren't we."

"Johnny."

"Yeah, L.T?"

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll bloody kill you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I literally couldn't get the idea out of my head of soap and Ghost letting a little girl give them a makeover😭😭😭😭😭

[durrtydawg]

Look, Don't Touch.

(Sam Drake x F!Reader smut) 3rd person

CW: It's smut, it's sex polleny, and it's got a big, fat, dubcon warning. Also a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, internal conflict, etc etc. For detailed tags, please check out ao3, as funnily enough, I literally cannot add any more text into this post 😛

Masterlist

This is long. Horrendously long. Like... *18,000 words* or so, so I don't want to hear any yapping if you click 'read more' and don't actually want to read. Dare I say, quantity over quality? Sorry to those that wanted this split into parts, but honestly... I couldn't make it work, so here we are. Regardless, I hope someone out there enjoys this!! It's been my baby for a while, and whilst not the best thing I've written, I need to let it go before I, too, become a reprobate by force x

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

“In the wake of the Second World War, the elusive Polish alchemist Dariusz Cassimir left behind a legacy shrouded… ooo… in mystery. Hmm. Shrouded is a fun word.”

“Big door. Ominous etchings. Doesn’t get more ‘shrouded in mystery’ than that. This has gotta be it.”

“O-kay… But how do we get in?”

She shrugs, turning back to him with a raised brow. “Oh, I don’t know, Sam, maybe the huge lever right next to said mysterious door?” She purposely targets her flashlight at his face, making her way over to the lever. He swats her with the notes in his hand.

“Okay,” Sam sniffs, striding ahead with a crack of the knuckles after he fixes his own torch to his belt, “‘Cause of the attitude, I get to open it.” He grins sarcastically, making sure to gently nudge her shoulder as he passes, thrusting the papers he was reading from into her hands.

Her eyes roll, but she finds the cockiness endearing- and he knows it.

“Known for his work in chemical weapon and explosives development throughout the Great War, and the start of the Second, Cassimir's true genius lay in the shadows, where he conducted secretive experiments with potions, remedies, and poisons, yada yada… yeah, right.”

She continues reading out from where he left off as Sam checks around the lever for any dodgy set-ups that might send the two of them plummeting into an inescapable pit, falling victim to some sort of horrific creature ready to maul the two of them to death, or perhaps crushed by a flurry of falling boulders, etcetera, etcetera. No death trap is too garish in this line of work.

“Oh. Listen to this. Ahem. Despising intrusion into his work, Cassimir was rumoured to eliminate those who stumbled upon these experiments without permission.” She hums. “So, not only was this guy insane, but he was a murderer too- hey, be careful with that lever, please... I don’t want a repeat of the Tuscan trap door incident.” She sighs, fingernails trepidatiously digging into the straps on her backpack as he braces his hands against the lever.

“Still not over that, huh?” Sam snorts, turning back to her with an arrogance-tinged smirk as she grimaces, folding the paper and stuffing it into her jacket pocket.

“My ankle isn't.”

He scoffs. “Every possible trap we’ve come across today has either rotted itself out of action or has been destroyed by some other poor bastard that got here before us. Besides,” He stamps a boot against the ground to prove his point, “It’s a dense stone floor. I don’t think trap doors are a cause for concern here.”

“Famous last words.” She murmurs as he pulls on the lever, a soft grunt signalling that it takes more effort than initially predicted. “You sure you don't want to find another way in before you start fiddling with- nope? Okay.”

“What’s…the worst…” he pauses, re-positioning himself to give a little more force to the lever, “that could- Ow, Jesus!” He cuts himself off with a hiss of pain as the lever finally gives and he stumbles upright, wincing.

“Aw. Too much strain on your big, strong, man muscles?” She questions teasingly as Sam glares at his hand, flexing his fingers with a frown.

“The damn thing pricked me.”

A sudden deep rumble through the ground prevents her from quipping back as both of their attention is now taken by the stone wall in front of them slowly sliding to the side with a wince-worthy scrape.

“It’s always fascinating how something so archaic can still be so…mobile.” Sam says inquisitively, causing her to snort.

“Talking about you, or the door?”

He offers her no more than an unimpressed glare, lips pursed and eyes heavy-lidded, still scrunching and un-scrunching his hand.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, ya know.” He grumbles, watching a cheeky pout form on her lips.

“Thank you. Anyway, it's probably not that old. Cassimir used this place as his base between the first and second world wars, which, in the grand scheme of things, isn't that long ago. I’m guessing, with all the influence he had-”

“-He spruced up the place. New doors. Lick of paint. Few booby traps for good measure. The usual stuff.” He concludes for her with a slow nod, eyes narrowed at the lever, attention diverting back from the door to his palm.

She snickers.

Her smile deepens into a grin as he bares his teeth in irritation at his tiny little injury.

He grumbles, thumb rubbing small circles on his palm.

She steps forwards, “C’mon, grump. Serves you right for touching things you shouldn't.”

“Well, thank you for exhibiting the utmost care and patience.” He responds, brows knitted together as he continues to scrutinise his hand.

“Don't guilt-trip me.” She turns back and holds onto his wrist gently to inspect the palm of his hand. A little more than a pin-prick sits in the centre; a fresh bead of blood oozing to the surface each time he wipes one away. 

She pouts as she examines it, then offers a quick glance to the lever to see…nothing interesting at surface level. She turned to him with a moue. “What is it? A splinter?”

“Don’t think so.” He mutters, wiping the speckles of blood onto his jeans, nose scrunched into an expression of disapproval.

“Well…You’ve gone through far worse. C’mon.”

He hums in amusement at her dismissal of interest before the two of them begin to walk down the newly revealed corridor.

As she disappears off into the distance, Sam takes a glance at his assailant, cringing as he notes a tiny divot in the centre of the smooth, varnished wood of the lever- furthermore, two engraved letters beneath it. ‘I D’.

“The hell does i-d mean?” He mutters, glancing at his hand again and wiping it on his jeans for the second time with an irked grunt. Strange.

“Noooo!” Her voice echoes from around the corner, attracting his attention back to the task at hand. Or… away from hand, rather.

He turns in her direction, approaching from behind as she grumbles at yet another obstacle. She frowns down at a dormant stone pressure plate on the floor.

“Guess old Cassimir really doesn’t want us getting in there, huh?” Sam mutters, making his way beside her as they both look at yet another enormous door blocking them from proceeding any further.

“Yeah. What an asshole.” She turns to Sam, tongue swirling contemplatively around a molar as he looks down at her with narrowed eyes. “Any lever this time? Stupid thing won’t do anything.” A tut from her makes him chuckle, watching her impatiently scuff the toe of her boot against the plate as if it’ll make it do something other than sink into the ground a little.

He shakes his head, hands on his hips as he ponders their next move. After a moment, he pouts.

“You… think you can squeeze through there?” Sam questions, eye-line fixing onto the discoloured stained glass of a small window framed by stone above the door.

Her cheeks puff up as she assesses the window held ajar by some sort of rusted hinge. A slow exhale deflates said cheeks before she shrugs.

“You severely underestimate the size of my ass, but yes. If you can get me up there, I can certainly try to ‘squeeze through’.”

“Hmm.”

He leans back, making a show of inspecting her rear with exaggerated intrigue.

“Oh, y- yeah, you might be right.”

She flashes a middle finger. “He's here all week!”

“You'd love that, huh.”

“Stop flirting for a sec and help me up.” She teases, feeding his ego slightly.

Ready to crack on, Sam crouches a little, a small grin pinned to his face at her quip. He puts his arms out as she takes a few steps back.

"M'lady."

"Alright, Patrick Swayze." She chuckles, diluted sarcasm in her tone. “Watch those hands.”

He scoffs in response, patting his thigh as if to non-verbally tell her to shut up and get on with it.

After a little run up, the pair manage to execute a relatively successful boost manoeuvre, resulting in boots scuffing against the stone wall as she scrambles the remainder of the way up to the window.

“Nobody puts Baby in a fuckin’ corner.” he commends her dexterity from the ground, his continuation of her reference sending a grin creeping onto her face as she pushes the window further open, wriggling her way through the gap.

“Damn right.” She replies, eventually disappearing out of his sight. She slides down the wall, dust and flecks of rubble curling off of the surface as she approaches the ground.

Dusting her gravelly hands off on her leggings and adjusting the torch clipped to her backpack strap, she begins to look around.

“Shit.” is all she can muster.

Sam glances up at the stained glass, thumb rubbing at the sting in his palm, eyes focusing on coloured Latin lettering separated by intricately crafted lead framing.

Firmitudo Intus Aequilibrio

“You okay?” He pushes, his voice muffled from behind the wall, head tilted to the side in thought as he reads the stained glass. The cogs turn, congruous smirk etching its way onto his lips- his knowledge of Latin permits a little smugness, or so he tells himself.

She nods slowly, before realising that Sam can’t actually see her, almost too distracted by her new surroundings to offer a verbal response.

“Y-yeah, I’m all good.” She clears her throat, turning off her torch. “This place just… you ever seen Shrek 2?”

The stone walls, worn and weathered, stand sentinel, bearing witness to the passage of time. They’re tall. Imposing. But there’s a beauty to their eeriness, aided by the soft, colourful glow from the bottles that haven't succumbed to time.

"Sure. Great hangover movie."

Dust particles dance in the air, caught in the soft rays of crisp winter moonlight filtering through thick tree roots that make up the ceiling, casting ethereal streaks around the room.

"Well, picture the shelves in the dinky potion room."

The shelves, carved untidily into the walls, cradle a trove of relics from bygone eras. Flasks, vials, and jars, now cloaked in the patina of age, their contents long untouched- some clearly from medieval times; when the crypt was first used as an underground apothecary, to more contemporary receptacles used by Casimir himself to store whatever insane concoctions he experimented with; early 20th century brand logos indented into glass, less worn and more transparent than others.

"The one that cat gets the potion stuck in?"

"That's the one." She titters. Sam hums in understanding. "Ha. 'That cat'."

The lair’s height is imposing, a testament to the grandeur of Casimir’s forgotten pursuits. Yet, amidst the stone walls, pockets of soft, colourful radiance emanate from a select few frosty flasks perched high on the shelves. These remaining potions, survivors of the relentless march of time, cast speckled, saturated glows of purples, pinks, and blues around the plethora of other vials and tubes that have greyed and muddied over the years.

It’s all quite something.

She steps back, lips parted as she takes in her surroundings, fingers wrapped around the straps of her backpack. Her breath catches as she feels sudden give in the ground beneath her, calming when she realises she’s trodden on another pressure plate, though this time it doesn’t remain unresponsive.

As the door behind her rumbles and begins to grate upwards, she turns as her heart rate spikes in shock. Sam, still standing on the corresponding slab, watches in intrigue as the room she’s in reveals itself to him. He smiles when he sees her, the mechanism suddenly making sense.

Wagging a finger up to the latin-scribed stained glass window, he chuckles knowingly.

“Balance.” He says, winking at her as she tilts her head cluelessly.

“What?” She asks as he saunters into the room, shining his torch around.

“Latin. See, I’m the brains of this whole operation.”

“Hm.” She huffs. “Thought you were the beauty.”

He scoffs in response to her attempt at sarcasm, walking past her to the heart of the room as the door scrapes shut again. “Hey, you said it.” He smirks over his shoulder at her as she shakes her head.

A stone slab serves as what Sam presumes was once Casimir's makeshift desk, worn and weathered and mossy like the walls that surround it. On its surface, an array of flasks and mixing bowls, each bearing the damage of countless failed experiments, sitting in a dusty mosaic of scientific chaos.

“Spooky.” She mutters, crouching to inspect some brittle bird bones sprawled out on the stone surface. Aged twigs and fibres, remnants of ingredients that probably pulsed with life once upon a time, now lie in withered repose, their potency surrendered to decay. Sam huffs.

“Oof. It is stuffy as balls in here.” He mumbles, hands skimming through parchment laid on the surface.

The room's cold dampness has left its mark on scrawled notes and papers, ink faded, edges curled, bearing witness to the crypt’s neglect.

“Cold as balls.” she contradicts with a punctuating shiver.

Sam gawks at her as if she’s just said something completely insane, but she’s too busy plinking flasks around to notice. It's goddamn roasting.

That, and her idiom makes no sense whatsoever. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so preoccupied with how antsy he feels.

He rolls his neck, an uncomfortable crack making him huff again, yet as his head hangs sideways, he catches a glimpse of something a little more substantial than a few sheets of faded parchment.

Nestled within the clutter, a chunky, leather-bound notebook sits, worn from use, but still relatively intact. “Hell-o.” He purrs, pushing aside some of the papers to grab it.

“What’cha got?” she chirps, still facing one of the many shelves, crystalline clinks reverbing off of the walls as she continues imbibing in her own curiosity.

“I think,” Sam's fingers delicately trace the timeworn pages of the notebook, each page imbued with the secrets of Casimir’s elixir recipes and incantations, “we have got our hands on Mr. Magic Man’s recipe book.”

“Ooo. Anything juicy?”

He leans a hip against the stone, cupping the book in one hand whilst the other tugs at the sherpa collar rubbing against the back of his neck. It is stuffy.

"Uh, yeah, there's... there's definitely some interesting stuff in here," He replies vaguely, his mind preoccupied with the subtle shifts in his body's temperature.

“Spill.” She says, finally diverting her attention from the shelves, a frosty puff of air billowing from her lips as she speaks.

As his eyes scan the complex instructions and cryptic symbols, a particular recipe catches his attention, intrigue somewhat subding his discomfort. "Here's somethin’," he murmurs, his voice just managing to keep his uncertainty under wraps. “'Whisperwind Tonic,’” Sam scrunches his face up, his brow furrowing in concentration as he reads the intricate script.

“Grants the drinker the ability to move unseen and unheard for a short period of time.” He scoffs at the page, subconsciously rubbing his injured hand against the corner of the notebook in an attempt to relieve the subtle ache that’s beginning to radiate from the centre of his palm. 

“Bullshit.” She snorts, putting a bottle back to its rightful place on the shelf in front of her.

“Right.” He clears his throat as he continues to peruse the notebook's contents. Did he eat something funny?

“Keep going. I’m intrigued.” She turns around, making her way towards him to take a peek at the book herself.

His eyes narrow as he faces her, her proximity suddenly more pronounced, the surrounding heat sending him into a slightly dizzying haze. He shakes off the feeling, rolling his shoulders before reading again.

"There’s... potions to manipulate memories... truth elixirs. Nonsense. All this stuff for people who can’t get laid. Probably just a bottle of rohypnol, right? I mean, how else can someone make a ‘passion elix--”

He coughs suddenly, choking on his words before looking at her with some sort of incredulous bewilderment that makes her stop in her tracks.

“What?”

“Jesus, girl. You got enough perfume on?”

“I don’t- what do you mean?”

He scoffs, grimacing. “Whatever you’ve got on? Ease up on it, next time, huh?”

She grumbles, hopping up onto the table beside him, pulling the collar of her jacket up to her nose. She sniffs. It smells like nothing. Just… her. Not good, not bad. She kicks his shin playfully.

“If you think I smell like shit, just say. It’s been a long day.”

“Nah, you don't…” He scratches his palm again, a faint frown creasing his brow as he notices a faint discolouration at the centre. He rolls his wrist to determine whether or not it was just a trick of the light. “You smell really good, actually.” He speaks, though it’s like he’s unaware he’s said anything.

She does. Good enough to eat, in fact, and as she leans in, resting her chin on his shoulder with an amused smirk on her face, Sam's line of sight is dragged from his hand to her eyes, narrowed slightly by her bemused smile. His vision blurs slightly and his brows furrow as he struggles to refocus.

She inquisitively tilts her head, and slowly, he finds his eyesight refocusing on the part of her neck left exposed between her hair and the collar of her jacket. It looks soft. Smooth.

Inviting.

The gentle glow of colour coming from the shelves behind them, reflecting off of her skin mesmerises him, and he finds himself wondering what it would be like to bury his face in the curve of her neck, to dig his fingers into its nape, and let his teeth leave small, speckled bruises behind, to hold her in place and breathe the sweetness in as her breath cools his skin. It's an urge, almost. Raw and overwhelming.

One that he quickly snaps out of.

His cheeks flush as he realises the deviance of his own thoughts, the suddenness of it all leaving him... reeling, to say the least.

“Okay, Romeo.” She teases. “Sometimes I think we’re lucky that this line of work doesn’t have an HR department.” Her voice feels like a hug and a punch to the jaw at the same time, nonetheless, her giggle pulls him back to reality, his attention snapped back to his aching palm.

He frowns deeper, a faint purplish hue beginning to emerge at its centre, subtle discolouration spreading slowly like tendrils of ink on cotton, becoming more pronounced by the second.

He swallows hard, the thickness of the scent oozing down his throat still, leaving him momentarily breathless.

"I, uh..." he stammers, his mind racing to find an explanation for the sudden onslaught of whatever-the-fuck-just-happened, whilst all the layers on him begin to feel like cling film. It’s irritating. It hurts, even.

Her smile falters a little. “I’m… just kidding- hey, you good?” She reaches for his wrist to see what keeps grabbing his attention.

“It’s nothin’, forget it," he stammers, voice a little strained as he closes his sore hand into a fist. He shakes her off of him with an unconvincing snort in a poor attempt to save face.

His attempt at self-preservation only causes her to mirror his embarrassment, and as Sam feels the scent dissipate slightly, an uncomfortable tension takes its place.

He watches her eyes narrow in the corner of his vision, suspicion flickering in their depths as she studies her companion's sudden unsettled demeanour. 

“Right.” she mumbles, slapping her thighs awkwardly. “Well… I’m not one to waste perfume on a job. Especially with you for company, so…” her voice trails off, waiting for what she thinks is an inevitable clapback. It doesn’t come. Her face reddens as her eyes move around awkwardly, though fortunately, he’s too focused on turning the pages of the book to notice.

”Hey.” She says, prodding his temple with her forefinger. “You… sure you’re okay?”

Sam flinches at her touch, a jolt shooting through him as he sniffs to maintain his composure, standing up to distance himself.

“Mhm,” he replies hastily, his gaze darting away from hers as his mind races to find a plausible reason behind the overwhelming sensation. “Yeah, yeah, fine…just- think I ate…” God it’s hot. “-Damn jacket.” He grunts, putting the book down to tug the denim off of an arm, shaking it off of the rest of him impatiently.

She hops off of the stone and backs away, a perplexed laugh escaping her.

“Don’t be evasive!”

“What? It’s…I’m hot. Shit.” Sam mutters, his irritation mounting as he tries to regain control of the situation. He scratches the palm of his hand, and, with a sigh, moves further away from the stone counter, throwing off another layer.

Left in his t-shirt, she gawks at him as he preoccupies himself by looking at his hand once more.

“Samuel, It’s like… sub-zero in-”

“Look. It is warm. I am warm.” He scrunches up his hand with a sigh, frustration progressing strangely fast as he cuts her off. “So, I’ve taken my jacket off. That a problem?”

Her grin falters. She awkwardly teeters from side to side as she decides to keep quiet.

“I could smell… somethin’, thought it might’ve been you, now it’s gone. Just…” He trails off, taking a deep breath as he tries to steady himself. Tilting his head up to the ceiling, he basks in the brief recess from the sweltering heat clinging onto his body, “Just…park it. Please.”

She frowns, her gaze lingering on Sam for a moment longer before she holds her hands up defensively, dismissing the strange encounter with a slow nod as she turns her head back to the shelves.

“Parked. Dick.” she retorts, a façade of amusement decorating her tone in an attempt to lighten the mood, covering the awkward swallow and slight flush in her cheeks one might get after being scolded by a teacher in front of their class. Meanwhile, Sam fixates his attention back onto the notebook in his hands.

As he continues to flip through the brittle parchment, a developing sense of unease begins to tighten his chest. From the corner of his eye, he watches her hop off of the table, tightening her ponytail as she ambles awkwardly back over to the shelves. He parts his lips to apologise, but a painful pulse coming from his hand re-diverts his attention.

He squints between his hand and the intricate symbols and arcane diagrams, words written in faded text, but just as he begins to take it in, he feels himself struggling to focus.

That same sickening sweetness from moments ago slowly assaults his senses again; it’s like a thick, unshakable mist, seeping into his nose, clinging to his throat and settling heavily in his lungs.

Attempting to clear his throat without drawing her attention, Sam shakes his head, a slight furrow forming between his brows as he does so. The back of his hand instinctively rests against his nose, as if warding off the unexplained, worsening discomfort. 

"You…” he swallows, the room seemingly closing in on the tension his outburst had created, “Y’sure you're not wearing perfume or something? Jeez, it’s givin’ me a headache," he mutters with a meekness that she finds irksome.

She scoffs in irritation. "Oh my God, no! What are you talking about?" she retorts, pointing emphatically toward the shelf of vials, her impatience palpable as his attention remains surgically attached to the notebook. “Will you focus?” She looks back at the shelf.

Five of the vials remain untouched, surrounded by that same soft glow he was fixated on moments ago. 

“We need those ones, right?”

Sam, however, remains frozen, his eyes now locked onto a specific page.

“Id. The word- it wasn’t a… damn abbreviation.” Freud's structural model of the goddamn psyche.

“Huh?” She prods, arms folded, brows arched.

“Freud…Id and ego.” Unable to detach his attention from the inked pages, he ignores her as his lips move silently, mimicking the phonetics of the symptoms written on the frail parchment.

The pinprick- sore, burning now, in fact- has become the centre point of a spider's web of dark hairline veins, matching the worrying description in front of him. His gaze shifts between the book and his own hand, a growing realisation drilling into his brain as he watches the deep colour reach his wrist. This is when he remembers the engraving on the lever. Id. the insatiable id, the book says. He scoffs at the audacity of it all. Wonderful!

His own blood flow pulses through his ears, clouding him with more anxiety and indignation, and dread pitches in his gut-

"Sam!"

"What?" He snaps, abruptly smacked back to reality as her irked voice pierces through his fearful focus.

As her gaze settles on him, flustered, brows knitted together in vexed concern, she momentarily holds back her annoyance, her brows furrowing as he blinks, attempting not to entertain the gravity of the situation unfurling in front of him.

 “Jesus, are you PMSing or something?” Her sarcasm goes hand in hand with her raised brow, smirk combo, amused disbelief taking her over. Yet, her own annoyance gives way slightly to genuine worry as she observes the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his expression. "What’s in that stupid book that’s got you so worked up?"

She looks… good. When she's flustered. Annoyed. The flyaway hairs and the frown. He supposes she thinks she looks intimidating. It's having the opposite effect- nope. No. That's enough. 

"I’m not-'' he fumbles an attempt at trying to reassure both himself and her. "Just…” he clears his throat again, the musky sweetness still violating his respiratory system as his eyes twinge with guilt at his sudden attitude change. “Nope. Doesn’t matter." Quickly closing the notebook, Sam clutches it under his arm, straightening his posture, and offering a nod and an awkward smile. “I, uh, didn’t mean’ta…” He trails off, a soft haze forming over his vision. 

She's not stupid. She sees the growing urgency in his eyes that hints at a deeper worry, and it makes her huff. Why can’t he ever just say what he’s thinking? Or, perhaps better, apologise properly?

She sighs and shakes her head. She spends far too much of her energy stressing about him and his wellbeing, when he probably couldn't give a shit about her outside of a job. Enough self sabotage.

“Whatever…can you… get me up to those shelves? Place is starting to give me the creeps.”

Should he show her the book? He looks back to the dark colour continuing to weave through the veins in his palm.

He considers the danger he’s in- that she’s in, if this isn’t, in fact, total bullshit. His blood flow picks up the pace, and he gets hotter. His mouth feels tight. Wet and dry at the same time. God, he feels sick-

“Oh my God, Sam, snap out of it!” She steps closer to him, making him stiffen in apprehension. “I need to get on your shoulders. Focus, please.”

Please. Please please please- the rasped desperation lodged at the back of her throat makes him shudder. He wants to hear her say it again and again and again-

“Do I need to smack you?” The thought of her palm thwacking against his cheek slices through his thoughts, her voice low, bordering irate. He swallows again.

A strained shake of the head is all he can manage in response, and the urgency of their situation propels him into action- if they could just get out of here, he can distance himself. Fresh air cures all ailments, no?

"Alright, just-" he mutters, voice tight as he takes a hesitant step closer, throwing the book to the ground and kicking it aside. His stare flickers briefly to the discoloured veins now reaching his fingertips, and he swallows in silent acknowledgment of the dangerous path he seems to be treading. Still, with a deep breath, Sam carefully lowers himself to a knee, jaw clenched, skin clammy as he beckons her over.

Oblivious to the tumult going on inside him, she moves, adjusting her stance over him. His hands find support on her hips as she sits on his shoulders, but as their skin brushes directly for no more than half a second, his breath catches and he almost chokes.

“You okay?” She asks out of obligation, looking down at him warily.

Sam inhales deeply, nodding in response, jaw clenched, desperately trying to ease up his heart rate as he pushes himself up, raising her to the height she needs.

He tries to steady himself, but as every sense intensifies to an unfathomable degree, he has no choice but to close his eyes to try shutting them out.

Sam can feel the rhythmic rush of her pulse resonating through him, every beat amplifying that strange suffocating sweetness that continues to overwhelm his senses whenever he’s close to her.

“Hurry it up.” He winces.

“Pot, kettle, black.” She retorts, leaning forwards, backpack unzipped as she reaches for the first vial, and as the softness of her voice reverberates through him, his spine is graced with a shiver.

As she reaches up, her body shifts slightly, and he tightens his grip to keep her steady. He can’t help but notice the way her breath hitches, just for a second. It’s a small sound, almost imperceptible, but it makes his chest tighten with a fierce, protective… is it desire?

"Almost there," she says, her voice a little breathless from the fear of falling off of him. "Just...keep still."

"Doin’ my best," he murmurs, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. He wonders if she can feel it too—the electric current. A persistent, dull thrum tugging and squeezing and pulling at every cell and synapse in his body.

Her thighs tighten around him ever so slightly as she reaches for a further vial; the fabric covering them brushes against his ears, the sensation overwhelming enough to make him grunt and dig his fingers even deeper into the flesh of her hips.

As he does so, the details of her body become vividly apparent beneath his fingertips– every fibrous contour of muscle, the softness of fat, the rush of blood beneath her lycra-clad skin– his senses are heightened to an almost unbearable degree, and his head turns sideways as he tries to steady his shaky breathing- the dichotomy of duty and… maybe temptation… playing out in a near-excruciating loop in his mind.

He feels a pull. His nose- his mouth, are lured towards her inner thigh. He swears his stomach growls at the scent of her. If only he could taste her. Drink her down- devour her until he drowns- Shit. No. No-- they need to wrap this the fuck up. Get the hell out of here.

“C’mon.” he grits- whether it was more to her, or his way of trying to pull himself together, he doesn’t know. He lays his head against her thigh, willing for it all to be over.

He wants to yell at her- tell her to stop being so inquisitive-- to stop finding the need to read the labels on the fucking vials she’s still gathering, but if she speaks back to him again his knees might just give.

You're going to be fine, he unconvincingly tells himself. That's what you do. Deal with things. More importantly, she’s going to be fine. Fresh air, he thinks again, they’ll be out of here soon.

Sam’s eyes begin to glaze over again, fingers pressing ever-so-slightly deeper into her as he tries to keep his vision focused.

He’d be able to control himself, he’s sure of it. He’d stare down at the floor as they both retrace their steps out of the crypt, in his head repeating the notion that whatever’s affecting him will just… go away- it’ll be fine if he just pushes through it, it’ll be fine if he just pushes through it-- diminishing any thoughts of how easy it would be to grab her whilst she walks just ahead of him, blissfully unaware of what he wants to do to her.

Oh. What he wants… to do to her.

Pinning her against the wall. Tearing through that perfectly stitched seam on her leggings right between her thighs before even giving her a chance to react, or, God forbid, to protest before he breaks her in.

He absentmindedly licks his lips.

Thoughts of the financial reward, the glory of finding this place- fulfilling their client’s desires, blah, blah, fucking blah, fade into the background as a primal spark flickers deep. The awareness of the perilous temptation turns into some sort of hypnotic drumbeat in his head, rational thoughts singed at the edges, slowly burning into ash and flaking away into thin air.

As his nose and mouth press against her inner thigh, the tension peaks and he becomes overwhelmed by her; Sam's breath quickens, and a possessive hunger simmers behind his eyelids.

His lips part, brushing against her, teeth grazing against fabric- an exploration that hovers on the edge of giving in to something far removed from sanity.

Feeling a warm tickle, she diverts her attention from the shelves in front of her to Sam’s head between her legs.

She swallows, a fleeting pull in her core as she takes in the sight of his fingers dug deep into her hips, but quickly shrugs it off in favour of understanding why the hell he’s breathing so heavily against her, and why on earth his mouth is pressed against her leg.

Sam inhales, opening his mouth wider, taking shallow breaths.

Then, he bites. 

It’s a feral snap into temptation he was trying so hard to fight against.

As his teeth clamp down into the meat of her thigh, she squeals, wobbling, then falling back and off of his shoulders, her skin grazing harshly, simultaneously snapping him out of whatever sick trance he'd fallen into.

“Fuck!” She shouts as her body thuds against the ground. She painfully drags herself into a sitting position, face contorted into an expression of complete disarray as he gawks at her, horrified.

“Shit- are you-” Sam rushes over to see if she’s hurt, but as his hand brushes against her shoulder, he has to fight against himself in order to suppress a groan. It’s too much. He painfully wrenches his hand away, subduing his own body's desire to keep it there. He cowers back. “Oh, God.”

One hand cradling the back of her head whilst the other pulls at the fabric of her leggings, she frowns, cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders uncomfortably as she leans herself away from him.

Wide-eyed frown fixed to her face, she checks her hands for blood. Nothing, thank God, other than a dull ache that sears through her upper thigh.

“Did… did you just fucking bite me?!” She asks, voice quiet, dipped in anger.

Sam doesn’t reply. He’s shaking, hand clasped to his forehead as he glares at the floor, unable to bring himself to look at her. His hand obscures his vision and he breathes heavily at the sight; the purple steadily darkening into the veins in his wrist, fading into his forearm. The book is right. And he’s absolutely fucked.

Meanwhile, she double takes. Sam, leggings, Sam, leggings. There’s a slight fray in the fabric.

She pulls herself to her feet, wincing at the all-round ache in her body, astounded.

“What the hell is up with you?!” She hisses at him, taking a step closer before he holds a hand out defensively.

“I- I’m- no, stay over there, I… I don’t know. I don’t-” He splutters, doubling over as if he’s been punched in the gut as she gets closer. He stumbles backwards, back smacking against the stone table with a force that makes him grunt. “Somethin’- something’s happening t’me.” He rasps, wide eyes glued to the palm of his hand.

“Yeah, no shit.” She spits, looking at her leg again. “You broke the fucking skin- how-” Her voice is tinged with exasperated irritation… that quickly morphs into extreme concern when she finally takes in his appearance. “Jesus. W-what is going on with you?”

Sam’s sweating, despite it being cold enough to see their own breath, his sleeves clinging to his arms, fabric glued to his torso as his chest heaves unsteadily. His eyes are wide, and as they traverse away from his palm, down his body, it’s clear that they’re wide in realisation. 

“You-” He’s fucked. Which means she’s fucked. How on earth is he supposed to explain what’s going on here? “You’ve gotta go.”

She huffs, ignoring his plea. “Do you need… water, or something? Painkillers?” She asks, panic creeping into her voice, dropping to her knees as she throws her backpack to the ground. She holds it open, hands ferreting around for her water bottle, clattering around the vials that miraculously remain intact, whilst Sam’s eyelids grow heavy.

“N-no.” He shakes his head, turning back to her to make sure she’s unharmed, but as soon as he looks at her, he’s unable to avert his gaze from the fullness of her thighs as she kneels. “God.” He mumbles, salivating.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s losing himself.

He musters the strength to force his eyes shut, and it hurts. Every part of his body wants her. To look at her, to touch her, to… taste her, even- but the slither that remains of his weakened mind can't allow it.

Shaking her head, she retrieves her flask. “Here. You’re sweating.” She says, walking over to him. “It’ll cool you down.”

Sam swallows a whine, and lowers himself fully down to the ground with a self-loathing groan, hunched over, eyes squeezed shut as he attempts to drive out all sorts of depraved, wanton thoughts that keep flitting in and out of his head unprompted.

“N-no. Don’t come near me.” his hushed murmur comes out gravelly as she wearily dips her head down to meet his eye line, concerned at how he’s lowered himself to the ground. She takes a nervous breath, kneeling to his level as he lets out a defeated sigh.

He keeps his view of her hidden by his arm as she extends her own, ignoring his plea to instead tilt his chin up and hold the flask up to his lips. He shudders, his whole body trembling as his eyes unwillingly fix on hers, cursing under his breath at the touch of her cool hand on his skin. His gaze draws lower to her waist, her hips, her soft stomach- his hands clenched tight into his jeans as he fights against the impulse to lunge at her.

She tilts the flask and upwards and watches his throat bob as he swallows. She swallows too, almost choking on her dry throat. The longer she looks at him, the more the chill in her bones dissipates- the more she feels warmth seep into her bloodstream.

Her skin against his feels like molten metal, and he shakes with the ever-growing impulse to grab hold of her. To touch, and to be touched. He pushes the flask away in a brash attempt to get her away from him, then holds his breath as he tries to focus on the small bit of reprieve the cool water has granted him, even if it is no better than a bucket thrown over a forest fire.

“Any better?” No answer. She huffs, screwing the lid back on before backing up a little. “Can I trust you to get me back to the window so we can get out of here, or are you gonna bite my other leg, too?”

“Can’t-” Sam blurts panicked, eyes wide as his head darts in her direction.

“Oh my-” She laughs mirthlessly, strenuously rubbing her face before eyeing the room to see what else she can come up with. “Where’s that book?”

No. He’s going to throw up. He can’t let her find out. If he just waits it out, everything will be fine. His gaze moves to where he’d kicked the notebook- just under a shelf. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

“Jesus chr- where’s the notebook, Sam! The one you were reading!”

Unfortunately, her eyes follow suit, and as she catches a glimpse of the frayed leather binding, she crawls towards it.

He watches in a sort of trance-like state as she flattens herself against the ground, moving her torch around underneath the dusty shelves in search of the book he’d kicked under them minutes ago. “If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll look for answers myself.”

This is perfect. He could go for her right this second. Pinning her down would be easy- she's so small compared to him. So weak. A pretty little lamb, all ready for him to slaughter. He suppresses a moan at the thought.

“Got it.” She jumps up, fragile book in hand, and he smacks himself in the face with a grunt.

Revolting. Selfish.

She starts flicking through the pages, face riddled with ire as Sam's breath hitches. “No. Don’t- don’t look in th-” He lets out a panicked whimper as his body reacts to the feeling of his shirt peeling on and off his skin; he starts to hyperventilate. Clasping his hand over his mouth as he strains painfully against his jeans, he winces. “Shit.” He swallows, covering his face with his hands as he leans back against the stone. 

She watches his Adam's apple bob as he quietly gulps down air in an attempt to calm himself down.

“You’re hardly in any position to tell me what to do.” She reads; pages upon pages of notes and diagrams elude her as she takes cautious steps towards him, but as his hands shoot out to stop her coming closer, she stills, and takes him in.

She notes the uneasy tremble, the sheen of sweat, flushed cheeks, and the uncharacteristic panic. Perhaps even more alarming than the complete absence of his calm and collected nature is the wispy nebula of blackcurrant-purple bleeding outwards from the more concentrated black in the centre of his palm, up into the veins leading towards his elbow.

She steps closer.

"Don't." He snarls, flecks of frightened spittle coming through his teeth. And this time, she does as she’s told.

She exhales shakily, eyes fixed on the sight of his hand- she swears she sees the dark wisps expanding.

"I- I need to find out what that… purple shit is."

She keeps flicking through, rubbing at her thigh as it twinges with discomfort.

"Yeah, well," He mumbles through gritted teeth, shoulders heaving as if he's fighting the most ferocious of fevers. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

"Ignorance is only making things worse." She snaps, fingers desperately frittering between pages of Casimir's stupid fucking disintegrating notebook. "Why don’t you just tell me what’s happening?" She laughs- no mirth in sight, eyes watering as her head throbs and her insides churn with dread. “Tell me what’s going on. I bet I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix- Shit, there’s that goddamn smell again.” He laughs ironically, before hissing in discomfort and writhing slightly.

She rests the book on the stone desk with a frustrated grunt, holding it open with one hand whilst the other arm wrestles off her jacket absentmindedly, sighing in relief as the cool air ventilates under her t-shirt. She shakes her head in disbelief before flicking to the next page.

She looks at Sam dead in the eyes, trying to steady her own heart rate as she does so in hopes he’ll pass her red cheeks off as some sort of side effect of the cold. Cold. It was cold a second ago, wasn’t it? 

As soon as she looks back at him, a stifling humidity continues to build. It must be the intensity and the… abruptness of the situation. She goes to remove her jacket, until she realises it’s already off. She feels like she’s wrapped in a layer of plastic- hot, flustered, and her leg fucking kills- This is the last time she lets herself get so… pent up over him.

“You’ve- gotta go.”

“Go?” She huffs, annoyance permeating her tone. She shudders, her face running even hotter, his voice alone enough to render her knees weak, and her throat tight. “You'd love that, wouldn't you? Ever the hero. Asshole.”

“No, I- Fuuuck!” He groans loudly into his fist, trembling. Admittedly, it unnerves her, so she turns her attention back to the book, fingers scrambling from dog-eared page to dog-eared page.

“So, you’d rather I let your stubborn ass stay here, suffering from- who knows what- ow, my God.” She hisses, the urgency and irritation in her voice making a return as a dull ache throbs through her thigh. 

“You can’t be near me.” He mutters into his hands as he doubles over, just loud enough for her to hear.

Inhaling sharply, a brief but intense pang of emotion stirs within her, an ache born not only from the profound lack of understanding of what’s transpiring, but also, admittedly, the slight sting of… is it some sort of infantilization? She thought they were over that! They’ve been partners for months now, and he still doesn’t trust her? Why is he trying so hard not to let her know what the problem is?

And then there's the rejection, of course. That hurts almost as much as her developing headache.

“Well, unfortunately, I have to be near you. I can’t get out.” She points to the stained glass window. “I need you to get me up there-” He cuts her off abruptly with an irritated grunt, jaw clenched in warning.

“I can’t!” He shouts.

“Why?” She shouts louder, stepping closer again.

“Stop-”

“Don’t tell me to stop-'' She follows his eyeline, landing on the writing on the window that he’s transfixed on again. “Firmitudo Intus- what?” The script grates clumsily out of her throat as she rubs feverishly at her sore leg. “Tell me what it means! What’s wrong with you?!”

“S-stability in- in balance. How- ughh, shit- how the pressure plates worked.” Sam huffs, words punctuated with a flurry of uncomfortable grunts. “Why can’t you-- ah, God dammit- just take a hint!” He groans loudly into his fist, trembling.

“Take a hint?!” She spits, voice wavering. “Screw you! Just tell me what's going on- or, or better off- tell me the fact that you can't stand the sight of me."

“No, no, no- stay there— It's not like that, I- you don't get it, it's —”

“Spell it out for me then! Stop being so fucking secreti-”

“I’m going to fucking jump you.” He bellows, his face twitching as a wave of blistering, blistering heat courses through him. His fingertips dig painfully into the stone behind him, finding leverage.

She ogles him, bewildered.

Then, after a moment, she guffaws, her fear momentarily usurped by such a ridiculous statement.

In that moment, as she mocks him, Sam feels a surge of strength shoot through him, perhaps a side effect of his desperation not to face further humiliation. It's as if some dormant force within him has been nudged awake, overpowering his rational mind, and with a grunt, he drags himself upright against the table; movements fluid. Predatory.

“You’re going… to jump me?” She sneers, her voice low, teeth bared in a sour smile as she turns to the window, momentarily considering how to get up there herself. “Hah! Of course you are. Any threat to avoid telling me what’s happening, huh? You're such a-”

Her insults die in her throat as she’s shoved harshly into the wall. The fragile book slips from her fingers, thudding onto the floor.

She stares up at Sam, wide-eyed and startled. His painful grip on her wrist, the back of her head pulsating after colliding with so many hard surfaces- it’s all making her ears ring. His grip is firm and bruising as he pushes himself onto her, his stare intense. Unrelenting.

“What are you doing?" she stammers, her voice trembling, brows furrowed in frightened confusion.

But Sam doesn't answer. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath hot against her skin, eyes locked onto hers with an unsettling intensity that makes her stomach flutter. She can feel his heart pounding against her chest as he presses into her, matching the now frantic rhythm of her own as heat radiates off of him.

Sam's certain he can hear her blood flow as he holds her gaze, his senses heightened to the point of overload. The warmth emanating from her skin, the rapid rhythm of her pulse beneath his fingertips, and the heady, sickly sweet scent of her- it’s all driving him to the brink of madness.

“What… the hell are you doing, Sam? Let go.” she whispers, her other hand tentatively going for him in an attempt to wrench herself free, though, with an instinctive speed, he captures her other wrist, pinning it on the other side of her head as a startled gasp leaves her lips. She struggles against his grasp with an anxious whimper, but he only tightens his hold, his wild expression a frightening mix of confusion and horror. Yet his grip on her remains tight. 

"Make it stop-," he stammers through his tightened jaw, his voice trembling with remorse. "I don't know what… I didn't mean to- I need-” A wave of dizziness washes over him as he speaks, a growing tightness in his chest, threatening to send him spiralling into oblivion- he feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest.

Her eyes are wet with anxiety as he cages her in, brows wavering as if she’s attempting to prevent herself from tearing up.

But he’s frozen. Mind rapidly toing and froing between wanting to let her go, and wanting to see her cry. What he’d give to see her eyes brimming with tears, his fingers tight against her scalp while her lips grow swollen, drenched by her own drool as he rams himself down her throat. “I can’t- I can’t stop thinkin’ about… Jesus, the things I wanna do to you.”

His fingers tighten their grip further, pushing himself harder against her, keeping her painfully upright against the stone. Their eyes meet once more as her own chest starts to heave. God. The way he’s looking at her. It’s… carnal.

Amongst this sudden yo-yoing of fear and confusion, she feels herself heat up more, a cramping feeling tugging at her abdomen as he stares at her, breathing deeply- slowly.

“What?” She just about manages to rasp, lips parted, wrists aching, head pounding. “What are you talking about?”

She knows exactly what he's talking about. She can feel him pressing against her.

“You s- sound like a mouse.” He mumbles as if inebriated, one side of his mouth twisted into an almost malevolent grin that makes her stomach drop as he presses his forehead against hers, rendering her virtually immobile. “So small. So scared.” He mocks with a pout as she shudders. “But you’re not just scared, are you?” He speaks through his teeth, eyes trailing down to watch himself push his hips against her with a deep groan.

The sudden friction sends an embarrassingly high-pitched gasp spilling out from her mouth before her teeth have a chance to trap it. Fuck.

His eyes go back to hers, darkened, pupils blown. “Thought so.” He smirks. “I can pretty much taste you from-” a grunt permeates the end of his sentence as his darkened resolve wavers.

He shakes his head, a sudden maelstrom of panic and culpability in his chest making his eyes water. 

“Not- me. I didn’t mean-” She remains glued to the wall, wide-eyed and disoriented, as he stumbles over his words, her heart racing as she watches him lose balance and fall into her, palms braced at either side of her waist as the vice-like grip on her wrists finally relents. “I’m s-” he hisses, his body burning as if demanding him to succumb to what it wants.

Much to her own dismay, she doesn’t move her freed hands- there’s no attempt to push him away again. She’s so caught up in the shock of how good that felt and all of the confusion and guilt that are beginning to plague her head. She must've hit it hard.

Sam’s hand digs into the small of her back, his shoulders slumping as his fingers slip just beneath the hem of her shirt. His grip is tight and desperate as he drops his head against her chest, leaning into her for support as he whimpers, gasping for air. “I can't help it- I want- to stop, but-” 

She takes in a shaky breath, momentarily paralysed, as if her body and vocal chords are in combat against her brain. There's something hypnotic about the way he's looking at her, something frightening about the desperation and the spontaneous Jekyll-and-Hyde-ness of it all, yes, but equally… satiating… as if this is something her body's been vying for for ages.

She swallows hard at the feeling of his skin on hers, and the soft, needy sounds coming out of him- at his weight keeping her firmly pressed against the wall, and the smell of his sweat, cheap detergent, the gift set aftershave he feels obligated to use that’s making her heart thump even harder.

All such normal things- usually so unnoticeable. But it’s a sudden assault on her senses that she can’t shake off- it clings to her, burning her eyes, creeping up her nose, down her throat, settling in her stomach. It’s grounding. Exhilarating, to the point where she wants to tug him closer and inhale him to the point of suffocation.

And she’s baffled by this revelation. Nauseated, almost. She should be angry with him. Furious. How dare he manhandle, bite, bruise and then withhold an explanation from her. Instead, she can’t help but feel an intrinsic need to keep him as close to her as possible. To see, smell, hear, taste him.

Why is her body reacting in such a way? Why is she soaking wet? 

Sam’s terrified. The thoughts he’s had in the past few minutes have been depraved. Actions violent, and he would rather die than cause her harm, so he’s trying with all his might not to let himself give in. Even if he wants nothing more.

From day dot, she’s been off limits. And he's always stuck to that.

He's aware of how she reacts every time he's pushed their banter a bit too far, leaving her flustered. Every hint of jealousy she's let slip when he's talked about his ‘dating’ life. He knows about her ‘crush’– cute, he thought, but inevitably fleeting, surely. Unlike his own feelings- oh no! They’ve fused to every fibre of his being like hot glue.

This whole situation is nothing but a cruel joke. Like fate has conspired to mock him- to force him into getting his way via a horrible, depraved, manipulative circumstance since he's been too much of a pussy to act upon it otherwise. She’s right. He is stubborn. He should’ve let her pull the damn lever. At least that way, she wouldn't be a victim. Or... perhaps less of one.

His stomach lurches and he slumps to his knees, hands maintaining an unstable hold on her hips. He feels pathetic. “Makeitstop.” He heaves again.

He tries to speak again, but as he bucks his hips again, completely against his own will, the blazing friction against his own jeans causes him to hiss, his forehead collapsing against her thigh, eyes wide as he pants for air. “Holy shit.”

She looks down helplessly, shaken and clueless. She watches his hand dig into her thigh, holding it in place as he burrows his face into it.

“You smell so fucking good, I-” He cuts himself off with a groan, shaking his head and pursing his lips. His voice comes out rough again. Dark. Crumbled asphalt, absinthe poured straight down her throat, settling into her bloodstream. “No, no, no…” He just about pulls away to give himself air, eyes flitting up to her, warring between despair and yearning.

The sight of it makes her… warmer still. Hot, even. The bite on her thigh burns as his proximity agitates it. “What should I do?” She rasps, fingers anxiously pulling at the curls by the nape of her neck as if she’s trying to withhold from touching him. “I don’t know what’s… happening.” She whispers, vision losing focus for just a moment.

"I need..." he grunts, struggling to find the words. He weakly tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, but his strength is failing him. "I need you to... take it off... please," he begs, his voice barely more than a desperate whisper.

He looks so pretty like this. On his knees… whining softly, cheeks flushed, his hands grasping at her. It’s so unlike him. Samuel Casanova Drake- reduced to this. The flirtation. The teasing. Getting her all worked up on purpose, only to be reminded that she’s nothing special- that that’s just the way he is. All bark, no bite. Is he being taught a lesson?

She swallows thickly.

She thinks about how it felt when he grinded himself onto her and forcibly suppresses a moan as a pleasurable jolt shoots up her spine, setting her hairs on end. Her head is swimming. This is all so… artificial. So odd. She’s always been attracted to him, but fuck, this is wrong.

She hesitates, her heart pounding in her chest as a wave of guilt-ridden nausea rushes through her. Is- is she taking advantage of him?

“Please.” He repeats, his plea punctuated with a desperate whimper. She blinks, nodding, and with trembling hands, she crouches and reaches for the hem of his shirt, her fingers brushing against his heated skin. Gently, she lifts the shirt over his head, her touch lingering on his arms as she pulls it free.

Sam gasps as the cool air hits his bare skin, a momentary relief from the feverish heat consuming him. He leans heavily against her, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. "Thanks," he murmurs, his eyes closing briefly as he savours the sensation.

She swallows hard, feeling a strange mix of fear and sickening lust fester in her bloodstream. Her hands remain on his arms, steadying the both of them.

"What now?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

Her eyes are drawn to the sheen of sweat covering his body; the way dark hairs lay matted on his chest, softly trailing down his stomach, past fading ink and mottled scars, beyond where his belt keeps his jeans smouldering against his skin.

She watches her own hand rest under his chin, tilting him up to her. It’s like she’s watching it unfold through a TV screen.

Delicate wisps of condensation coming from his parted lips makes her mind wander; What would they taste like? How would the roughness of his stubble feel against her? Her mouth, her neck, her bare stomach, down down down- she's had these thoughts before; fingers delved between her thighs as she stares breathlessly up at the ceiling.

Saliva pools under her tongue as she imagines rutting against his pretty nose and open mouth like a bitch in fucking heat- oh god- her teeth graze her lower lip as her thoughts begin to spiral further than usual- why are they spiralling like this?

She’s sweating.

There’s so much desire- so much insatiable hunger in his eyes alone as he looks at her that it makes her thighs tense together. As she does so, she’s reminded of the bite again. It fucking hurts, snapping her out of her depraved trance; her eyelids flutter unsteadily as she regains focus, her cheeks burning.

His pulse thuds frantically against her thumb, and her nails stroke gently at his skin as his shoulders rise and fall harder, amplifying his restraint which is growing more and more painful by the second. 

“You…” he pauses and grunts, fighting himself as his eyes remain shut. “Don’t… know what to... ugh- hurts. It’s too- too much." Every tiny little touch feels like he’s being swallowed whole. It’s like a cold spring and a flow of lava all at once, and he wants to scream. 

She pulls her hands away, looking at them as though she’s the cause of the problem. Hoping to herself that her sick mind will sort itself out if she distances herself from him.

He shakes, sweat beading off of his chest, blood pumping through him at a dizzying pace as his eyes pine for her.

“N-no.” He’s craving- starving. A trembling hand raises to her wrist, and he winces as his fingers wrap around her. As his fingertips dig into her forearm, the thought of sudden absence of her touch feels like a death sentence. “Don’t.”

He swallows audibly as his body jolts again at the touch. The contact hurts him. Arouses him to such a painful degree, but he’s not letting her get away. He can’t- he doesn’t want to. He’s too far gone.

Sam’s eyes squeeze shut and he screws up his face in some sort of pained internal conflict. He grabs her wrist tighter and she winces, but as he drags her hand back to his face, her eyes follow.

“Help.” he blurts, finally deciding it’s time to bite the proverbial bullet as he sits fully and leans back against the stone table, accidentally pulling her with him. “I need- need you- your help. The last pages- another way to-” He eyeballs the notebook. “Make it stop. Before I hurt you again.”

She picks up the book and kneels. Her thumb swipes across his cheekbone as his hand rests over hers. Her hands on his bare skin are fucking excruciating; he can feel every single ridge of her fingerprints despite her stillness, like thousands of knife edges grazing his skin all at once.

“Okay- I- I’m looking.” She says, and oh, she sounds like velvet. Liquid gold that he just wants to swallow forever and ever and ever. He’s transfixed by her lips as she speaks, absentmindedly snaking his other hand up the nape of her neck and into her hair.

His fingers tighten their grip, gently pulling her head backwards, and with watery eyes he nuzzles into her neck, breathing deeply- slowly. “Hmmm, God.”

His hips buck towards her, and the feeling of his lips grazing over her neck make her swallow hard. She doesn’t need to read the book to know what’s going on. He whispers breathless apologies, guilt making his heart ache whilst he loses control of the rest of his body.

Her eyes continue to flit around the pages nervously, no longer to read, but to hide. This is ridiculous. Her skin hasn’t felt this sensitive before.

Her eyes fall over a likely explanation; a sketch of a lever mechanism, an embedded sharp needle, designed to assault the user of the lever- the intruder, all annotated in scrawled purple ink.

This artifice serves twofold: first, as a deterrent to the audacious; and second, as a penance, a punishment to those who dare disrupt the harmony of my sacred space. May they find the scales tipped; themselves lost within the labyrinth of their own psyche, ensnared by the very primal urges that govern the basest instincts.

She looks at his hand again, and takes in the details written on the page. Primal urge. Base instinct. Her cheeks flush as she converts the words into layman's terms, confirming her theory.

“It’s an… aphrodisiac.” She affirms.

As the wayward thief succumbs, such symptoms shall manifest: The skin shall burn, the point of breach becoming the source of a webbed discolouration as dark as ones fevered desire, and the pulse shall quicken with an infernal craving, subjugating the relentless pursuit of knowledge with the all-consuming tug of the insatiable id. The mind, entangled in the labyrinth of unbridled lust, shall forsake rationality. The thief shall be led astray from their pursuits, ensnared by their own voracious yearnings, knowledge plundered.

Sam hears the uncertainty in her voice as she grapples with the implications of the infection. Their eyes meet for a split second, and he feels a surge of humiliation that’s so unfamiliar to him he’d probably wretch if his mouth wasn’t preoccupied.

She takes in a shaky breath returning to the page again as the pieces begin to fit together.

“S’there another way?” he murmurs into her, the low vibrations of his voice making her close her eyes for a moment. She grunts to herself, forcing her eyes back to the page.

In the safety of companionship, the afflicted may find respite. Should the infection remain unchecked, the heart will strain beyond its limits, ultimately succumbing to the weight of its own longing.

The ‘cure’  is plain and simple. Two people. Balance. Or, by the sound of it, death.

She shakes her head.

The thought of said cure makes her shiver, tongue rolling over her bottom lip.

A coil begins to tighten in her abdomen as he groans into her skin. His hips buck towards her, and the feeling of his lips on her neck make her exhale harshly.

She looks at her leggings as another sore, shooting pain emanates from the bite mark, Sam’s wandering hands peeling apart the small tear in the fabric as his teeth graze against her throat.

Realisation fills her lungs, a bubble forming by her tonsils; the disorienting mix of undeniable, rising pleasure and panic creeping into the forefront of her mind.

Her skin looks mottled, veins deep purple.

Just like his.

The telltale discolouration, mirroring the ominous staining making its way up Sam's arm sends a shiver through her as she comprehends it all. As she watches his brows waver in internal dispute, her own contort in… concern, yes. But also a sense of desperation, wanting to feel more as Sam drags himself more upright with a cracked groan that makes her lips part and her throat seize when she’s pushed harder against him. More importantly, perhaps, the relief from knowing that neither of them can help it. That, for what it’s worth, is a mutual need.

She takes a gamble, grappling with the part-insidious, part-alleviating truth as she looks back to him, legs parting to straddle him properly.

Her chest heaves; the air feels thick, and there’s a strong pulsing ache between her thighs every time her nipples rise and fall, sore and tender underneath her tight sports bra. All of her clothes feel tight, creating tangible friction all over; her whole body, her face, her skin- is clammy and sticky and so fucking overwhelmingly hot.

A small part of Sam is still trying to stop, to control himself, but as he drags himself away from her neck to look at her, it’s clear that this prolonged contact has its consequences; his psyche swells with a sudden growth in appetite as she settles over him, and suddenly, he barely registers that he’s doing anything at all.

Moving his hand to the back of her head, he pulls her closer in a sudden move that draws a gasp from her as her hands brace themselves on his chest- the sudden harshness of his desperate fingers tugging at the roots of her hair is unexpected. The strength coming from this movement alone renders her unable to pull away- even if she wanted to.

He pants harder, unable to let her go, but so afraid of causing her harm all the same. His fingers impulsively flex at her scalp, and she gulps down a whine at the sensation as her eyes squeeze shut.

“I’m- I’m s- I can’t stop. I’m sorry-”

A hand moves from his chest to the back of his neck. With a gentle pull, she guides his gaze downward, her fingers pulling apart the material to trace the mottled purple that’s started snaking across her skin.

Sam's heart lurches in his chest, an undercurrent of panic rising up his throat like bile.

"No, no- what did i do? I-“

“Sam.” She hushes, pressing her forehead onto his, forcing him to stay still- to focus. She silently implores him to find solace in her. “It’s... we’ve just gotta...” Her eyes non-verbally tell whatever flecks of her Sam that’s still in there that she’s here for as long as he needs her to be. That she wants this. She's wanted this. That she’s willing- God, she’s willing.

This is where he feels himself begin to dissolve away completely. Prolonged closeness. Her voice. The heat rising throughout her pretty little face, the growing heaviness of her eyelids, her freckles subdued by an involuntary heat spreading through her cheeks.

And, he can feel the warmth pooling between her legs.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise that this kind of reaction from her is fuelling him. He needs more of it. Craves more of it.

He’s slipping just beneath the surface, but he’s too tired to drag himself up for air. He supposes he doesn’t really need to, now. He could drown in her and die happy.

She’s starting to feel it worsen, too. The ache. The coercion of mind from body.

Her lips brushing against his feels like molten sugar; a searing heat that’s so sickly sweet he can’t pull away despite the blistering heat that’s destined to leave a nasty burn.

“We’ve just… gotta…” she repeats slowly, voice low and speech slurred. She can’t finish her sentence- every part of her is swarmed by the need to close the gap. She has no idea how he’s managed to hold out for so long.

With a shaky exhale, he nods, releasing the tension he's been painfully holding onto, allowing himself to surrender to the overwhelming heat pulsing through him. He finally allows himself to sink under as she plants a tentative kiss on his lips. A kiss which he only returns, though much more urgent- more voracious; it’s like stumbling across an oasis in the middle of the desert- it’s his first sip of fresh water in days, and it makes her eyes widen.

She brings a hand round to the back of his neck, clinging to him eagerly, her thighs spreading further- non-verbal consent, a silent plea for more as she begins to feel the simmering deep in her belly hurriedly rise to a boil.

He grinds himself upwards without a thought, and she whimpers into his mouth. The friction, the sweet, fucking friction has him press back into her desperately, wanting more, sending a groan up from deep in his chest.

He’s gone. Rationality dwindled entirely as the slightest bit of pressure is applied, steadily being replaced with a frightening strength and burning need to have his way no matter the consequences.

She feels her heart rate quicken as she takes in the sight of his pupils. They’re fucking blown out. The pretty specks of amber that normally contrast the darker brown in his irises have been eclipsed by a deep amethyst.

“… want...fu-” Sam’s voice becomes lower still, grating through gnarled teeth, and as his fingertips dig into her back, keeping her in place, he shifts again- he’s so hard, so perfectly angled underneath her- she salivates as she chokes out. “Want to f- fill you up.”

Hey eyes gloss over and her brain numbs. She nods frantically. Heat floods between her thighs with a vengeance, rationality waning as a shockwave shoots through her arched spine. She wants everything to be touched by him.

The third time comes quicker; more brutal, more needy, taking advantage of her lack of composure as she succumbs to his grip, his mouth hungrily taking a dive for her neck again, except this time there’s less restraint. None, even.

“Oh-- sh-mmf-” Her body shudders as she slurs her words, and as his teeth pull harshly at her skin, she cries out into her hand.

Her legs tremble, knees aching as the stone beneath them digs in, breath pitching in her throat as she’s hit with a shamefully sudden climax.

Her wide eyes water as her hand remains clasped around her mouth, chest heaving as she struggles to register how little action it took for her to come, waiting for the pressure to abate and the fog to clear.

Instead, as she feels his hands roam, and watches his frantic eyes fail to decide what to settle on, the fog only thickens, overruling any semblance of critical thinking.

It hits her like a fucking tidal wave, in fact; she can’t fathom anything other than the fact that she needs more.

And in that split second, she surrenders to the pull, inhibitions fizzling away as she leans in, closing the distance between them again with a fierce determination. A surge of adrenaline tips her over the edge and she takes control, seizing him hungrily, fingertips digging harshly into his scalp to bring him back up to her. He protests, growling, biting harder until he feels himself pried away by force, her nails pressing into his jaw, leaving crescents as she gets him where she wants him, lips crashing together again in a tumultuous collision of lust and fervour.

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She wants everything off- to feel her skin pressed up against his, but the time it would take to unbutton and unzip is a repulsive notion that ignites an almost animalistic frustration within her. The thought of it drives her insane- feverish fingers move from his hair and chin, and instead scramble for his belt buckle, clumsily tugging it apart as his teeth mirror the action at her bottom lip.

The messy exchange of teeth, tongue, and spit takes precedence over Sam’s brain, and he feels himself fall into her, torsos glued desperately together as the heat in his belly burns stronger. Hot blood pumps rapidly to his cock as her choked mewls drag him perilously close to the edge after no more than some mere friction.

His mouth traverses down her chin to her throat, ravenous groans muffled against her skin as he grips onto her for dear life, beginning to feel some give in the confinement of his jeans as she unzips them. She doesn’t even try to pull him away this time- her objective has changed.

He’d swear if he could, but his brain can’t even conjure up letters any more.

His teeth pierce the delicate skin of her neck, and a startled cry escapes her lips as she loses balance and tumbles backwards onto the unforgiving stone beneath them.

Sam looms over her, his weight pressing down until she feels almost crushed beneath him. Only his hand, gripping the back of her head with a fierce intensity that verges on violence, prevents her skull from meeting the ground with bone-shattering force.

His weight bears down on her, the back of one hand planted firmly against the ground underneath her head, while the other moves to maintain its bruising hold on her jaw, thumb hooking around her bottom teeth.

Every nerve in her body seems to betray any remnant of morality as she keens, her thighs tightening around him, trapping him in place as grinds himself against her. He selfishly draws tiny pinpricks of blood from her neck, and she claws at his arm, holding it against him as she bites and sucks what he gives her- almost every inch of her has become an unforgiving erogenous zone; it's all too much but not enough. It’s not enough. Teeth piercing her skin, tongue lapping up the mess- It’s an exquisite sort of agony, and she wants- needs- 

“More.” She murmurs around his thumb- or is it his finger now?

His teeth leave a trail of fire along her collarbone, her jawline, finally settling on her pulse point as it throbs beneath his lips. He grunts in response. There, he bites down harder, eliciting a guttural sound from deep within her throat as she struggles to catch her breath beneath him. Every break of the skin permits small bleeds of that relentless purple colour, rendering her virtually feral as she grows increasingly more overruled by the substance.

Rough hands roam beneath her t-shirt, sending goosebumps rising over heated skin as speckled blood bruises settle around her neck wherever his teeth have failed to puncture. To find some semblance of control amongst the chaotic frenzy, her trembling fingers pull at the waistband of her leggings, her urgency matching his own.

Fumbling clumsily, he joins her, his fingers tugging at the fabric with an urgency nigh on feral as his other hand harshly kneads at her waist. God, he wants to dig his fingers into her flesh, to break the skin, tear her apart, and fucking consume her from the inside out.

Before the waistband can even reach her thighs, she’s reaching down, pulling him out, drawing him towards her as a dribble of precum trickles over her fingertips, and he pushes up his torso to watch.

He’s sensitive. So, so, sensitive. In her desperation to pull him closer, she squeezes her palm around his shaft, and he chokes on his sudden gasp, hands smacking hard against the floor to hold himself up. 

Fuck. She wants to hear him do that again.

She grips him harder, stroking up and down with a cruelly tight fist. He’s all breathless whimpers and fluttering eyelids, allowing her to revel in the sounds as he drinks in the sight of her hand wrapped around him.

He shudders, undone, from virtually nothing, shaking violently and audibly moaning behind pursed lips. He can’t even think to muster up a verbal warning before he comes, pearly hot liquid spurting over her hand, dripping down onto her stomach. Yet, similarly to her, there’s no comedown. No time for shame about such a short build up. He’s still hard, red hot and weeping, body vying for more as his eyes glue themselves to the mess he’s made on her t-shirt, seeping through to her skin- Christ, her skin-

He’s hooked; her plushness, every recess and every convex curve, how her t-shirt clings to her stomach, made tacky by him. If it were possible, he’d cover her in him just so he could spend minutes watching it drip and bead and roll across and in-between her soft, smooth, warm skin. Sam’s so mesmerised that he barely even takes in the fact that he’s pushed her t-shirt up, his tongue and teeth licking and pulling at her stomach until his hips buck harshly at the saltiness of her sweat mixing with the flavour of his own stickiness. He shudders.

Her hands slide and scramble, clumsily unhooking her bra, scraping her knuckles on the floor beneath her before pulling it all off, over her head; all just in time for his mouth to open and cram as much of her left tit inside as he can. Sam sucks with a ferocity that’d be frightening if this wasn’t a shared affliction, rutting his hips sporadically against the bunched up fabric of her leggings rolled down to her thigh.

Her nipples are hard, sore, aching, and the pressure of his teeth rabidly biting and pulling, contradicting the soothing warmth of his tongue rolling in tandem, make her jaw go slack and her brows knit tightly together as she tries to navigate the fluctuating sensations.

Her hands slide over the back of Sam’s neck and down his shoulder blades, to his waist, his hips, sticky fingers stretching, running over hairs and scars and flexing abdominal muscle as they reach for his cock, slick, swollen, and heated as it meets her palm. Squeezing him closer to her, Sam groans, mouth pausing its assault on her chest, face falling flat into it, bucking harshly as she impatiently pulls him close, close, closer, writhing restlessly ’til her leggings are low enough for her thighs to part enough to let him in.

Incoherent, mumbled moans are hummed and panted into her tender chest, hands digging into the flesh of her waist as his shaft is squeezed and dragged against her sopping cunt. She moans, a languid, filthy thing as he meets her swollen, sensitive clit, the sodden cotton of her underwear brushing tortuously against it as she brashly pulls them aside.

His impatience builds, fingers digging into her deeper and deeper until they become restless and tug fiercely at her leggings. She hisses sharply as her naked back scrapes suddenly against the floor, her body shunted downwards til one of her legs are fully exposed to air, allowing Sam to hook his knee under hers, pushing up harshly and pinning her thighs apart- access that they’re both burning for. She urges him on with a whine as he pushes down on top of her, words lost to the both of them, communication reduced to vying grunts and desperate writhing.

His pupils dilate enough to make him look feral, purple-flecked irises madly dancing left, right, up, down, as if committing the sight of her, greedy and parched, to memory, before he finally complies, long groan grating out of him as his tip breaches her slightly. He can’t hesitate any longer. His lips part as his thick cock sinks into her inexorably, leaving her completely pliant beneath him. Despite how impossibly wet she is, the stretch is still so intense- she feels like she’s being split in two; it’s both the best and worst thing she’s ever felt, but something she never wants to end.

“S-ss…” She hisses, screwing her face up in frustration as she tries and fails to say his name, nails digging into him more. “Pl-P…” She grunts again, frustrated with her inability to conjure words. Her thighs tremble, the sharp, tight warmth in her stomach tugging and pulling and obliterating every sense as she tightens around him, eyes flickering, rolling back almost painfully as he fills her deep, retracts, and fills again, each time not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.

For a moment, head spinning, he stares down at the way her head falls back, eyes squeezing shut, arms flopping, knuckles smacking against the ground as she traps a warbled cry behind her teeth, greedily sucking him into her. He grunts, brows drawn together, and thinks he’ll never be sated again like this. It's perfect. If only it weren't manufactured.

Heat sears him apart from the inside out, savage gluttony evident in the way he gasps and he groans when his hips slam forward, over and over, pressed so tightly against her that each movement reverberates astoundingly against her clit. She’s so tight, so perfect, so wet, around him as she whines and bucks up into him.

Sam holds her down; hand pinning forearm, fingers digging deeply into stomach and waist, knee prying thigh from purple-stained thigh, pumping into her at a relentless pace; She groans as he harshly works her open, arching into him as her stomach tightens— tighter, tighter, tighter, until she’s screaming, unpinned arm smacking into his back, nails clawing crescents into his sweat-slicked skin as another wave of arousal floods every sense of her being.

She can’t breathe- she doesn’t want to- the energy needed to do so would take away from the white hot pleasure coursing through every inch of her. Liquid gushes, her cunt clamping down hot around him and squeezing, milking him so tight it makes him choke on his own sharp inhale, so good it burns- it’s almost excruciating. He shudders as he breaks, palm slamming against the floor to hold himself up when he comes, too.

She groans at the fullness and the warmth of him spilling inside her, breath coming out in messy, uneven bursts as she feels herself suck in every drop.

For a moment, she watches him come down from his peak, heavy-lidded eyes grazing over the vulnerable crease in his brow, the way his cheeks flush as he catches his breath above her, and his parted lips- she wants to kiss him. Sweetly. She wants him to let her show him she's not a ‘kid’. She wants to feel what it's like to be wanted by him. She's strong, capable, undeniably and irrevocably attracted to him, and… God… She still feels hot. Despite coming twice- or is it three times, now- the need for more is already becoming unbearable, and she fails to decipher if these thoughts are coming from the chemical festering in her veins, or if they're being made apparent due to its diminishing strength. She stings. Oh, she's a mess.

He’s still hard inside her, twitching, demanding still. The question gnaws at her, but her body burns for more, more, more. He slows above her, the lack of physical stimulation, and the completely deriding overstimulation of her mental state making her eyes water. She wriggles slightly, an impatient grunt echoing around the small room as she tries to roll her hips under him. The stillness of his cock inside her has her mewling, still spasming softly around him.

“S- Sam-” She sputters, eyes widening in realisation of her somewhat rehabilitated ability to speak.

For just a few seconds his mind’s feverish occupation dilutes, replaced with a glimpse of a soft, sated afterglow… he falters, his mouth hanging open like there’s something he wants to say. 

“Mm…more. Need more.” She beats him to it, murmuring between shallow breaths, feeling the rising ache cloud her mind already.

His heart thuds so fast it’s a surprise it’s not sat in his throat- is it gratitude he’s trying to muster? Or, an admission perhaps? “I-” Just like her, the words are fighting to get out of him, but just as he strings a sentence together in his head, he starts to tense again. “Gotta… I- I’m-”

For a second, she feels sympathetic as she watches him war with himself. But her body doesn’t let the sympathy hang about for long, and she finds herself making his mind up for him, tugging him down by the back of the neck, tongue meeting tongue as she ferociously bucks up, calf hooking around thigh to pull him tight against her, giving her leverage to twist her hips and roll them both around.

It burns, the white hot anticipation, and he can barely move. His brain has been dumbed down; near-irrevocably stuck between wanting to split her open again, to keep biting and bruising and claiming, or to actually feel- to savour her in her entirety. His indecisive stupor makes him ache even more, brows knitting together tightly as his mind tries and fails to establish where to go next.

Sam can barely process anything outside of the softness of her sticky palm on his chest, the ridges of her fingerprints and the gentle sharpness each time her nails brush against his skin as she pushes him against the ground. She rolls her hips, soft curses spilling out of her lips as she feels his hands clumsily dig into her ass. He shuts his eyes, head lulling sideways as he swallows hard, choosing to feel.

Grip loosening momentarily, his eyes open at the feeling of her fingers branching up, wrapping themselves around his throat; loose, but just enough pressure that he can feel his own pulse reverberate against her thumb. She squeezes harder, turning him to face her, his head numbing with a pleasurable fizz as his vision transfixes on her.

He's too tired to fight against her- truth be told, he probably wouldn't try if he did have the strength. Jesus, she's so pretty, he thinks. Well that makes a change. Significantly less violent than the thoughts circulating his head earlier. She could squeeze tighter and tighter if she wanted, and he still wouldn't protest if it meant he could watch her, like this, from underneath her. Especially when she comes again, back arching as she moans like a fucking animal- and still she doesn't stop.

“So- you’re-” Between the pressure on his throat, her relentless pace, and his own spasmodic panting, he can barely string a sentence together, “s-damn tight- so good- fuck.”

He finds himself completely and utterly caught up in how tight she still feels around him- how fucking gorgeous she looks with her eyebrows drawn tightly together, eyelids heavy as she ferociously rocks her hips, stomach flexing, tits bouncing- the speckled bruises and drying blood stippled across her neck and collarbones- and then there's a hard pang of guilt; he did that to her- made her bleed- infected her- it's his fault that she's being made to give him this-- exactly… what he's wanted…for months.

He expects the thrumming ache to cloud him over again, but it never comes. Instead, a strange clarity claws its way through the haze of his mind. This is what he has longed for for months, but now that it's here, the moment is tainted by anguish. It took this entire horrible ordeal to force him to act upon his feelings, and he mourns the likelihood that this will be the one and only time he gets to be this close to her.

And then, beneath the sorrow and the dread, there lies a deeper, more corrosive guilt. It gnaws at him, a conscience-grating burden that leaves him nauseous. Despite the mental torment, despite everything, his body betrays him, running rife with boiling hot pleasure. The contradiction tears at him, a cruel reminder of his own skewed morality and the complex, painful nature of his...is it his love for her?

The obscene squelching sounds and the wetness leaking out of her and down her inner thighs, forming small puddles on his skin, and the floor, and, fuck, as she murmurs an exhausted plea, the taste he's getting of being wanted- needed- used by her- it all sends him over the edge.

She whimpers and falls into him, moaning incoherently into the crook of his neck as her fingers tighten, nails scraping against stubble, and-- jesus, he's coming again.

His hands meet her upper back, holding her down as he fills her once more, rasped groans and a string of murmured curses vibrate against her skin as he swallows against her hand. He holds onto her selfishly, savouring the feeling of her weight on top of his- bare skin on bare skin, the way she seeks comfort in him- he's thought about this countless times… and he hates how much he's enjoying the consent-less reality of it.

Her movements slow, becoming sloppier, lazier, her energy dwindling as she tries to chase the release she desperately needs. She whimpers, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes, dampening Sam's shoulder as they fall, and she finds her swollen, sensitive clit with one hand while the other moves from his throat to his hair.

He continues to hold her as his sensitive cock twitches inside her, nose nuzzling into her hair as he whispers; "Did you...?"

She shakes her head, a soft whimper coming out of her as she tries to push herself into another orgasm. The sound of his voice. Raw, raspy, quiet in her ears makes her tear up even more, and all of a sudden, her body's pursuit of pleasure has become torturous. She looks at Sam, his eyes clearer, amber flecks of colour visible again, his expression one of concern and exhaustion. Guilt churns in her stomach, sharp and nauseating, as the fog in her mind grows lighter by the second- the physical pain persists.

Her body, still wracked by the effects of the drug, betrays her with every shiver, flush of heat, and every desperate circle of her fingertips. She feels humiliated, the intense need now a source of shame, tucking her head back into his shoulder as she arches her back despite herself. Tears well up in her eyes, and she can’t meet Sam's eyes. "I... I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice breaking. "I still need to-" she sniffs, "I can't- hurts."

Sam’s heart aches at the sight of her distress, and he nods, one hand smoothing down to her soft hip as the other stays on her back. He breathes in the scent of her hair, wanting to savour the moment- hell, he probably won't see her again if this is how she's reacting before she's fully recovered.

He wants more of her, he knows he does. But he's sensitive… and the clarity is still there. The clarity. The stabbing, blunt, serrated knife sawing in and out of his gut that makes him realise that he's never going to have this again. And that none of it was real anyway. But she sobs, and the sting in his chest wanes from his pain to hers. For now, curing hers takes precedence. 

Gently, he pushes against her, and exhausted, she complies, rolling back round to her back, eyes closed, borderline hyperventilating. He pulls her hand from between her legs and she huffs out a shaky breath.

“Sorry…hgnn- I'm sorry.” She whispers, her chest tightening.

He watches her try to cover her face with her forearm, and as he slides out of her, she sobs quietly, tensing her thighs together and rocking her hips softly to try and give her clit the friction it needs as she's left empty.

He rubs the palm of her hand with his thumb, gently lacing his fingers between hers, eyes glued to the way their skin glistens with their mixed arousal. “None’a that.” He says, squeezing her hand as he gently pries her thighs apart. “Not your fault.”

She whimpers up to the ceiling.

“God, it really hurts, Sam.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He holds himself up on an elbow and exhales. His free hand traverses down her torso, giving her waist a reassuring squeeze before reaching between her thighs.

She keens at the nickname, making a shuddered whimper as his fore and middle fingers gather some of the copious amount of shared arousal, rubbing against her carefully.

“This okay?”

Her chin trembles as she nods. “I need more.” She whispers, and almost immediately he pushes two fingers knuckle-deep into her aching cunt, pearlescent slick oozing out onto the palm of his hand down to his wrist. She squeezes his hand instinctively, a groan bubbling out of her throat.

His eyes follow the trail as his fingers stroke her from the inside and his thumb flicks softly at her clit, her soft moans permeating his mind. He's hard again; the thick liquid warms his wrist as it trickles down further, up to where the veins in his forearm meet the inside of his elbow- the veins that were deep purple not too long ago. He looks at his hand, then her thigh; still a small webbing of colour coming from the bite mark, whilst nowhere to be seen on him.

He swallows. There's a soft haze over his brain again, but it's gentle this time. Normal, even, bar the bittersweetness of it all. There's no burn. No malicious desire eating away at him… He just wants to savour her; to soothe, to make her feel better. She looks so ashamed. He wants to take that away from her.

Sam glances back up at her, eyes shut and arm crossed to cover her chest and it feels like a kick in the stomach. He purposely slows his hand, and her eyes open.

Before she can choke out another plea, he leans over her again, pressing his lips to hers gently, slowly building up his hand’s pace as he feels her sigh heavily. His chest thuds as he takes the time to memorise the softness of her lips, acknowledging that this might be the only time he gets to be so soft with her. It breaks his heart- another unforseen circumstance.

Her stomach flutters as he kisses her, the unexpected softness of it making more tears prick at her eyes as he works her closer to her peak. She moves her arm from her chest back to his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

After a moment, he moves from her lips, gently licking and pecking at each bruise and break in her delicate skin, relieved that there's no more purple, but unable to shake the guilt as he mutters apologies interspersed with each break for breath.

She squeezes his hand back, her whole body tensing.

His mouth traverses lower; down her sternum, all the way to her lower abdomen, until he reaches the tops of her thighs, where tacky quickly turns to wet as he moves lower still. Her breath catches as his eyes lock onto hers, and her lips part slightly, a subtle invitation, or perhaps merely surprise, but it's enough to keep him rooted, suspended between action and restraint as he feels himself salivate. In that silence, he waits, desperately vying for the smallest sign of consent.

She winces, her body aching as it waits for release, but she doesn't break eye contact. Instead, she takes a deep breath, and her fingers, trembling, unhook from his and reach out to rest on his jaw, her thumb brushing lightly against his lower lip. It's so brief and gentle it almost feels imagined. Yet, it's there— an undeniable gesture that heats his blood- organically, this time; He tastes them both on her skin and fuck, it's nothing short of heavenly. 

He swallows, eyes flitting around, learning the sight of her by heart before looking back up at her. He licks again and his cock twitches.

With a mixture of reverence and hunger, he closes the distance between them, movements measured and purposeful, each stroke of his tongue filled with a tenderness that belies all of the turmoil eating away inside him.

Her grip on his hair tightens as she sighs up to the ceiling. He loses a little restraint as she breathes out his name, begging him for more, and small, neat licks turn more rabid when his hand wraps around his shaft. He pumps himself with the same intensity as his tongue as it works in and out of her, his soft groans making her hips buck into his mouth as her breaths become more shallow.

She moans- cracked and raspy with exhaustion- at the feel of his lips, his nose, his tongue licking and sucking and savouring the satiating nectar dripping from between her trembling legs. His tongue broadens to gather and swallow before alternating to target her clit with the tip, wet and hot as he laps and swirls and buries in and around her. He tightens his fist around his cock, causing her stomach to roll as he moans into her- it's sloppy and messy and downright vulgar, but there's something so enamouring about his enthusiasm. His forearm wraps under her thigh, pulling her tight against his mouth as he grows closer to another climax of his own, and she gasps and arches even closer.

"Fuck, Sam-I, I'm-" she can feel him looking up at her as she struggles to string a sentence together, using the sight of her to coax his own pain-numbing, breathtaking orgasm. He moans, stimulating her tenfold as he releases warm ropes onto himself, his eyes rolling back as he near-suffocates against her.

He keeps going, and going, even when he lets go of himself to grip her stomach and pin her down- and she almost chokes, unable to breathe as she's utterly overwhelmed by the pleasure and the raw, visceral feelings for him that stabs relentlessly into her heart. She feels the pain raking its way through her body dissipate with each second that goes by.

He's so good. So fucking handsome.

She finally comes, a warbled cry trapped behind her teeth as her eyes squeeze shut and a rapturous wave of coolness floods her body. It's overwhelming- asphyxiating, even; tears streaming, fingers knotting rougher into his curls as he holds her tightly in place, devouring her through and past her climax. He takes and takes and takes-- shit, he loves this.

"S-sam,"

He loves this.

"Agh- Sam, pl- stop-"

He loves this. He fucking loves this- her. He- he loves-

She yanks hard enough on his hair that he's forced away from her with a pained hiss, gasping heavily like he hasn't taken a proper breath in minutes, his entire face from the bridge of his nose down glazed and glistening. He looks so pretty. She aches.

His eyes traverse, conflicted and somewhat melancholic from her thighs, up to her face, and she sees that he's... crying too. It's alien to her. What has she done to him?

She holds his gaze, her own eyes red-rimmed and tear-filled. The regret feels like a physical ache in her chest, mingling with the remnants of aftershock and the soreness between her legs and all over her broken skin across her thigh and décolletage. Despite the excruciating shame, she wants to reach out, to tell him that it's okay, that they had both been caught in the same storm. But the words don't come.

Instead, she sits up ever so slightly, wincing as she scoots closer, their bodies brushing as she nervously pulls his head to her shoulder; a tentative, fragile gesture, but she hopes it speaks volumes nonetheless. He stiffens at first, but eventually relaxes, his arm scooping beneath her to hold onto her gently.

She cradles his head against her, staring at the ceiling with tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. The physical pain was dulled now, but the emotional ache was fierce. She had never fantasised it being like this, tainted by necessity and confusion, and she doesn't know what to do. It's suffocating.

For a moment, they both just breathe, soaking in the sickly, unfiltered aftermath of the whole ordeal.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours—they've lost all sense of time in this weird fucking space where the boundaries have been irreparably corroded. They're cold. Exhausted. Emotionally bare. And now he feels like a damn coward, letting her stroke his hair and cradle him against her chest, after all he's put her through. He grits his teeth in an attempt to keep his watery eyes from spilling over.

But the attempt fails, and he hates how uncharacteristic this is. Screw this place. Screw Cassimir. Screw their client, screw his own greed that brought them here in the first place, and screw- fucking screw her for taking away his ability to remain a husk- and for letting him hurt her.

Finally, she pulls back as she feels her skin dampen and his shoulders jolt ever so slightly, her hand forcing his chin up. Her eyes search for him, and in that moment, she fully takes it in, and sees what she hopes to be the same fear, the same shame, and yet, the same insane level of care that has gnawed at her heart for so long.

Sam opens his mouth to speak as her brows furrow, but no words form, let alone come out, aside from a pathetic, choked sigh that hints at the tumult of emotions stirring inside him. His tongue rolls over his lip, and the lingering taste of them has him shudder and shut his eyes.

He can’t bring himself to look at her, the shame too sickening, too palpable. But then, as he pulls away, getting up to his knees as he fumbles with his jeans, he feels her hand on his arm, steadying him. He looks down, and in her eyes, he doesn't see pity, or accusation, but- and for a second he considers pinching himself- understanding, a non-verbal acknowledgment of his vulnerability.

Delicate and trembling, her fingers reach up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw as if to reassure herself that he is real, that this moment, however fleeting and fraught with confusion, was real. At least she'd have it stapled to her memory. Sam closes his eyes at her touch, a self deprecating huff leaving his lips. He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to her palm; a silent apology and a desperate plea for reassurance that she's actually thinking what he hopes she is. He even hazards a look to her thigh for any sign of coercion from the drug still coursing through her, but there's no purple in sight.

She reaches one of her arms above her head, just about reaching her shirt. She grunts in disgust, the material sodden, and she drops it back down with a shaky huff, the room's frigid temperature finally having an effect once more.

Sam pushes himself up again, rubbing his damp cheeks with the back of his hand as a sense of normalcy seeps back into his senses. And with that normalcy, grief.

He finds his t-shirt, quickly sliding it over his head despite the excess of sweat and bodily fluid covering both his skin and the material. He grimaces as it clings to him, and she watches on with a poignant shiver, pulling her knees to her chest after adjusting her soaked-through underwear, her boots scraping against the ground as she does so.

He clears his throat, picking up his plaid overshirt from where he'd discarded it earlier before looking over his shoulder at her as he pulls the sleeves through the right way. 

Someone has to speak sooner or later, she thinks, but can't bring herself to. Her nails scratch nervously at her skin as she weighs up what to do, trying not to cry at the prospect of Sam's walls being rebuilt so fast after pouring everything- mind, body, soul- into her moments ago. She feels so naive- so fucking silly-

“What was it you said earlier?”

Her head shoots up as he speaks, caught off guard by how much he sounds like his usual self. Charming, cocky, collected.

She tilts her head slightly, her eyebrows drawing together and her eyes narrowing in a mix of confusion and curiosity. Her lips part just enough to show she's on the verge of speaking, but she holds back, waiting for his next words to clarify the moment.

He extends his shirt out to her, lips quirking into a soft, somewhat reassuring smile. She looks at him for a moment, taking the shirt and putting it on.

“Somethin’ about an HR department?”

She looks at him, a soft laugh fluttering to the surface. It's a quiet sound, tinged with shyness and still wrapped in the lingering sadness of their shared ordeal. Her eyes lower for a moment, the weight of everything that happened settling in.

Seeing her reaction, Sam gets up and moves to where her water flask lies discarded. He unscrews the cap and pours some onto a clean part of his t-shirt. She begins to button her shirt, but he stops her, silently asking for a moment longer.

“Can I?”

She lets go of the shirt, and with gentle, still slightly shaky hands, he dabs the wet cotton softly over her wound-ridden skin.

She watches him, the sadness in her eyes gradually giving way to something softer, his tenderness speaking volumes. As he continues to tend to her wounds, his mouth twists in thought, like there's something he wants to say. So he does.

“I'm sorry.”

He's not the type to apologise, so eye contact is impossible.

“What?”

He continues dabbing at her skin in silence.

“Sam.”

She covers his hand, stopping him from finding any other distraction.

“You didn't ask for this."

He frowns. “I- I just put you through… somethin’ not far off of assault, and your response is-”

“No. Not one part of that was assault-”

“She says, as I wipe up blood from bites I gave her.”

“Yeah, with the mouth that's covered in my cum.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but he can't find anything to say. His cheeks redden.

She sighs again. They're going in circles and she wants to put an end to it all- she's tired. Filthy. Possibly concussed. Which she uses to excuse what she does next.

“Can I try something?” she asks. Fuck it.

“Try what?"

Without another word, she steps closer, her eyes searching for any sign of protest. When she finds none, she leans in and kisses him, her lips soft and warm against his, holding none of the desperation or haze of their previous encounter, completely free from the influence of any perverted pill or potion.

What's she got to lose?

Sam is shocked at first, his body tensing. He instinctively pulls her off, his eyes flitting around her face as his jaw loosens and tightens in search of something to say.

Her heart sinks and she steps back, “Thought so,” she smiles sadly, backing away, knowing it was a mistake to try. "Can we... can we get out of here?"

He should hate himself, right? He's gone against everything he's ever stood for- let every non-committal brick he's built since teenagehood crumble to dust. He's gone soft. Sentimental. By force, to begin with, yet he still hasn't stopped himself. It's… Pleasant. Is this the balance Cassimir fetishised over?

Screw it, he decides, Because if he has to stand by and watch her grow apart from him when she's just shown the same as- if not more vulnerability than him, what use are a few walls?

He pulls her back, his lips finding hers again. This time, it's different- there’s no urgency, no magical compulsion, but rather something deep- genuine. The kiss is tender, filled with all the emotions they’ve been too afraid to voice, and he feels years worth of tension escape him. His sore muscles loosen, hands cupping her face softly, and she melts into him.

When they finally pull apart, their foreheads rest together, and this alone feels infinitely more intimate than anything that had transpired beforehand.

"So... is it safe to assume that we're both on the same page, or...?" She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper, but her usual playfulness breaks through, and it makes him smile.

"What, that we're both in dire need of some good laundry detergent and a shower? Or was there somethin' else on your mind?"

She snorts, gently kicking his shin, the enormity of months worth of repressed feelings finally worn on the proverbial sleeve. She takes a deep breath, the worry in her eyes softening as she looks at him.

"We have a lot to figure out."

He chews the inside of his lip contemplatively, still not entirely sure there’s any reason why she’s being so gracious. So calm, despite it all, like he deserves any of it.

There’s a beat.

And then he nods. Because that’s why she makes his entire psyche shift off-kilter- makes him notice his bad habits.

"We'd… uh, better cash those vials in."

She sees a million-and-one thoughts behind his eyes, but he needs to rest. So she waits, head tilted, suspecting he's got something else to add. 

"How else am I supposed to afford a five-star first date?"

The other million thoughts can wait.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

I promise to write something short and funny next time x

[thetriumphantpanda]

where have all the good men gone? | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Three

Chapter Summary | A date, supposed to get your mind of Javier, goes terribly, and he's the only person you can think to call that will make anything better.

Chapter Warnings | Mutual pining, slow burn, sexual tension, flirting, alcohol consumption, protective!Javi, misogynistic comments (not from Javi), (1) man being a pushy douchebag (also not Javi), swearing, mentions of the drug trade - nothing else I can think of.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3k

Authors Note | I am truly having the most fun with these two and I hope you're enjoying their story so far! Things are definitely going to be heating up soon, so please hang in there, it'll be spectacular when they finally do get spicy with each other! If you're enjoying this then comments, asks and reblogs are my lifeblood and if you'd like to support me further, please consider a donation to my  Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

“I promise he’s good fun,” Liv’s voice speaks through the phone, cradled to your ear by your shoulder as you skim through your wardrobe, “Nice, and age appropriate.” She teases. 

“Shut up,” You grumble, still annoyed that you’ve allowed her to talk you into this at all, “This is still a terrible idea.” 

“You were the one complaining about Javier Peña being a bad idea,” She defends herself, “And you also could have said no, too late now.” 

You sigh because she’s right. You’ve been trying for the past week to convince yourself that finding someone else might make wanting Javier go away, even just a little bit. Someone your age, not entangled in your family dynamics, or at least you’re hoping anyway. Liv had suggested someone she knew from work, a nice boy, two years older than you, his head screwed on, a managerial position at work. Sensible. 

“I have no idea what to wear.” You groan down the phone, there are plenty of dresses you could choose, but somehow, it feels like this person you don’t know doesn’t deserve that of you. 

“Put those jeans on,” Liv speaks, crunching coming down the phone line, clearly she’s snacking like she always does, “The tight ones, makes your ass look phenomenal, and the lowest cut top you own.” 

“Liv,” You chastise, “I’ve never met him before, I’m not fucking him tonight.” 

“I didn’t suggest you did,” She chuckles, “Just give him a taste of what’s to come.” 

“Unbelievable,” You mutter, but follow her advice anyway, pulling out a shirt that cuts low, scooping out your jeans from the drawer, “Right, I gotta go and get ready, but if this is awful, you’re entirely to blame, okay?” 

“Hearing you loud and clear girl,” She chuckles, “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Goodbye!” You chuckle, hanging up. 

It’s still light out, so you opt to walk to the bar in town. It’s not all that far, and the air has cooled enough by the time you leave that it doesn’t feel too stiflingly hot. The bar is not one you would have chosen, one of the more upmarket establishments in town. You wish you could go back to your normal dive bar, with its slightly sticky floor and the smell of fried food. You give him the benefit of the doubt though, maybe he’s just trying to impress you and you can’t fault him for that, can you? 

Liv told you he’d be sat at the bar in a blue shirt, and there’s only one person it can be when you get close enough, “Victor?” You ask, stood next to him. 

“The one and only,” He smiles at you, standing from the barstool to give you a hug, which you allow, “You look hot.” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, sitting down on the stool next him, noticing a drink already there for you, it’s a cocktail, bright pink, and you know you’ll already hate it, and you do when you take a sip, wincing as the fruity blend moves down your throat, “Oh, it’s very sweet.” 

“I thought it was a safe option, most girls love this drink.” 

You’re tempted to make a comment about this clearly being his favourite place to bring his dates but you bite your tongue, working through the necessary small talk as you try and drink it as fast as you can so you can choose something you might actually enjoy. 

“So, Liv told me you’re a journalist,” He comments, sipping his glass of whiskey, “What kind of things do you write?” 

“I mainly cover news about the drug trade and how that affects the town.” You explain, taking the last sip of your drink, flagging the bartender down. 

“Pretty morbid,” He shrugs, ordering himself another whiskey as you opt for a margarita, “Surely a girl like you should be writing about fashion or something.” 

You scoff, “So I can’t write about things that are important to our town because I’m a woman?” 

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” He tries to backtrack, “Just that it’s intimidating, is all, might put people off,” He chuckles then, “Although not me, like my girls with a bit of personality.” 

You roll your eyes and don’t even try and hide it as you sip at your margarita, much better, you think. It carries on like that for another hour, Victor and his thinly veiled misogyny and his boring, surface level conversation. He tries at some point to put his hand on your knee, but you jerk away, moving so he can’t touch you. 

“You want another?” He asks when you finish your third drink, “The night is still young.”

“No thank you,” You say, trying to be as polite as possible, “I have work tomorrow so probably best to head home.” 

You try and insist that you pay for your part of the bill, but to his only credit, he insists on covering the tab but does then try and wrap his arm around your waist to walk you outside, which makes you want to hit him more than anything. 

You stand next to him on the pavement outside the bar as the doors close behind you. You can still hear everyone else talking inside, but you have no idea what to do. You want to go home, but it’s dark, and you know you’d told your dad that Victor would walk you home, but you don’t want to spend another minute in his company. 

“So, am I gonna get my goodnight kiss?” He asks, trying to take hold of your wrist to pull you into him. 

He’s stronger than you, so he does sort of succeed in pulling you into his body, but you manage to put your palm against his chest to push him back. 

“I don’t think so.” You cringe a little, trying to lean back as far as you can with his hand pulling your wrist. 

“You’re joking right?” He scoffs, “I paid for your drinks, try and be interested in what you said and you’re going to refuse me?” 

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” You speak, trying to talk the situation down, “I just don’t think this is gonna work.” 

“Don’t need to tell me,” He snaps, “Such a fucking tease turning up dressed like this, but you’re really just a prude.” 

“Oh fuck off man!” You try and push him again, succeeding in doing it enough for him to let go of your wrist so you can put some distance between you, “I don’t owe you shit.” 

“Forget it,” He turns around and walks away, leaving you on your own, “Probably would have been a shit lay anyway.” 

You’re tempted to call back but realise it’s not worth it, so you let him wander off, leaving you on the sidewalk on your own with no idea what to do now. You would walk home, but if your dad see’s you on your own, he’s going to kill you for being silly enough to walk home alone after dark, and then find Victor and kill him too for being a jerk. 

You slump against the brick wall of the bar, rooting through your bag, there’s enough cash to go back in and get a drink and try and calm down a little, then, your fingers brush against the card you’d slipped in there a few days ago. The name and the number, and the few coins in the bottom of your bag, draw you to the phone box at the end of the street. You’re putting the money in and dialing before you can convince yourself it’s a silly idea. 

He picks up on the third ring. 

“Peña.” It’s so formal. 

“Javi?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level, but ultimately failing. 

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing he asks, and he sounds frantic. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, I just-” God this seems so stupid now, mainly because you don’t want to admit you were on a date, you don’t want to make yourself seem unavailable to him, “I was on a date and it didn’t go well, he was meant to walk me home and well, I don’t want him to, but I don’t wanna call my dad.” 

“He hurt you?” He seems cross, protective even, which makes your tummy flutter. 

“N-no,” You sigh, “He got pushy when I wouldn’t kiss him but I’m fine.” 

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the phone, can hear the jangle of keys, “Where are you?” 

“I’m at the phone box at the end of Grant Street.” You say, you’re about to speak again when Javi beats you to it. 

“Stay there, go inside a store or something and wait for me, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” 

“Okay,” You nod, like he can see you, “Javi?” 

“Yeah, querida?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare,” He scoffs, “Never apologise for needing my help, okay?” You can hear the sound of his truck engine in the background, “I gotta hang up to drive, but I’ll be there soon, promise.” 

“Okay,” You sniff, “Thank you.” 

You can hear the dial tone before he can reply, so you hang the receiver back up and head into the liquor store on the other side of the road. You smile at the clerk, who asks if you need anything, you shake your head, tell him you’re just waiting for someone and then spend the rest of the time looking out of the window. 

He’s parking up in a worryingly short amount of time, and as you walk from the store you worry that he put himself in danger driving so fast to get you. He’s opening his door and climbing down from the truck. As soon as you’re close enough, he’s got his hands on your shoulders, searching your face to make sure you’re alright. 

“I’m fine Javi, I promise,” You insist, holding gently to his arms, giving him a smile, “I’ve probably overreacted.” 

He lets his arm drops and signals for you to get into the truck, following swiftly, “If he made you uncomfortable it’s not an overreaction,” He speaks, turning the truck back on and pulling away, “He still around?” 

You shake your head, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” 

It makes you wonder if he means good because he won’t bother you anymore, or good because it means he won’t be tempted to do something about his blatant disrespect. You decide not to probe that one, but file it away for later. You’re driving down the street when your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you’ve not eaten since lunch. 

“You hungry?” 

“I could eat,” You mumble sheepishly, “I’m sure there’s something at home.” 

Javi nods, but drives straight past the turning he would need to take you home, driving straight on instead and turning off a little later. You’re about to ask where he’s taking you when he pulls into the parking lot at McDonalds. He parks up and tells you to stay where you are. 

You watch him as he walks away, perfectly broad back, shirt tucked into his jeans. He really is a vision in every way when you look at him. He’s striding back out a little while later, brown paper bag in one hand and a soda cup in the other. He passes them both to you as he climbs back into his seat. 

“What’s this?” You ask, taking a sip of the cold soda. 

“Cheeseburger, extra pickles and a Sprite with extra ice.” 

Yet again, he’s managed to amaze you with his observation skills. There was a time where he’d taken a trip with you and your parents, just a day out of town somewhere, and you’d stopped to get food on the way home, you’d made this exact order, turned to him and told him it was your favourite, and somehow he’d filed that away for right now, when you needed it the most. 

“Thank you.” You speak simply, reaching in for the burger, unwrapping it carefully before taking a bite. 

Javi can’t help but watch out of the side of his eye as you eat. God, you looked beautiful. Jeans that looked like they’d been painted onto your skin, showing off all those perfect parts of you. A shirt that was enticing without being too much. Fuck, he wanted to reach over, use his thumb to wipe away the tiny bit of sauce that had gathered in the corner of your mouth, push it into your mouth and let you lick it off his thumb. 

You ball up the wrapper your burger had come in once you’ve finished, dropping it into the paper bag, picking up the cup of soda to suck the Sprite through the straw, “You alright now?” He asks. 

You look at him, small, sad smile on your lips, “Just can’t help feeling there’s something wrong with me.” You shrug, offering him a sip of your drink which he declines. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, wanting to reach over to you, put a comforting hand on you, but deciding against it for now. 

You shrug a little, leaning your head back against the seat, “No-one ever looks at me in that way, I suppose,” You answer honestly, and he wants to tell you it isn’t true, that he thinks of you exactly like that, no matter how much he shouldn’t, “I’ve been with one guy in my whole life and I don’t think he ever really liked me, was only with me because I was the only one left out of my friends.” 

“Did he say that?” 

“He didn’t have to,” You shrug again, “He never really made an effort, never took me out, never really wanted to sleep with me much either, I guess I was just easy for him,” You say, “Convenient.” Is what you finish on. 

“It isn’t you,” Javi speaks, turning his head to look at you, resting it against his seat in much the same way you are, “First of all, college boys are always idiots, don’t let that be your base line,” You snort and turn your head to look at him now, “What did tonight’s idiot do?” 

You shake your head at him, “He was just a misogynistic asshole,” You add a shrug, “Apparently because I’m a woman I should write about fashion and not anything that actually matters.” 

Javi scoffs, because in his experience, women make the best journalists, quiet, unassuming but they always knew how to pull strings and get what they wanted and he doesn’t doubt you’re the same, “Take it as a compliment,” He offers, “Sometimes it’s best to intimidate boys, and the ones that you don’t?” He asks as a rhetorical question, “Those will be the men worth your time.”

You chuckle a bit, rolling your head on the headrest behind you to look back out of the front of the car, “You’re just saying this to make me feel better.” 

Javi reaches over, takes hold of your hand and gives it a slight squeeze before he’s letting it drop again, almost like he’s been burnt, like he knows he shouldn’t have done it, “I am saying it to make you feel better, that’s the whole point, but it’s true,” He shrugs a little in his seat, “Don’t feel like you’ve got to rush into that side of life either, you’re still young, there’s plenty of time for you.” 

You hum in agreement because you know he’s right, it’s what everyone always says to you in these circumstances, but somehow, coming from him, it means more. He’s older than you and although you’ve no doubt that he’s known plenty of women in his time, he’s in just the same predicament as you are. 

“Will you take me home?” You ask softly, “I’m tired.” 

He nods, starting up his car, pulling out of the parking lot and finally driving you back home. 

He pulls his truck up just down the street from your house, far enough away that your dad won’t be able to see, but close enough that he knows he’ll be able to sit and wait to watch you get in safely. He cuts the engine and turns to you, giving you a soft smile, trying to tell you that it’ll all be okay. 

“Thanks,” You speak softly, “For all this, made a shitty night not so bad in the end.” 

“Always,” He smiles back, “I mean it when I say you don’t ever need to worry about calling me.” 

“I know,” You smile, and he feels his heart swell at the sight, “Well, goodnight Javi.” 

He doesn’t really register what’s happening until it’s too late. You drag your body across the truck instead of moving to the door to open it and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It would be innocent enough if it wasn’t for the fact your lips press into the skin just far enough away from his mouth so as not to cross a line, but not right in the middle of his cheek either. It’s the softest way he’s been touched in a long time, and he can feel himself wanting to grip onto you, smash his mouth to your own and finally scratch the itch that’s sitting under his skin. 

You pull away, but before you can open the door, he’s taking hold of your wrist and moving closer, pressing his own kiss to your cheek right back, further up your skin than you had done to him, but it’s a kiss to your skin none-the-less, one that floods his chest with hope, a feeling he hasn’t really felt in years. He keeps his mouth there probably for a little longer than he should, committing the feel of your skin on his mouth because he knows this is as far as he should push things, but he also knows that he now needs to know what the rest of your skin feels like under his mouth. 

He pulls away and when he looks at your eyes, all full of hope and want, the same look he’d seen countless times in Colombia, whether he was promising a visa or led next to someone in bed, and he knows he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged these kinds of feelings, but he’s done it now, he can’t take it back, wouldn’t want to if he could either. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, querida,” He says softly, “Nothing wrong with you at all.” 

[cringe-but-proud]

Hello! I Hope You’re having a wonderful day/night. I was wondering if you can do a Wonka (2023) x reader where the reader is a show girl and is in love with Willy Wonka. And the reader works as a showgirl for slugworth (to Yk promote his chocolates). But reader and Willy falls for each other and it’s a whole forbidden love type thing since readers boss hates wonka.

Hello! Thanks so much for the request!! Gotta love the forbidden lovers trope (probably one of my favs tbh).

Willy Wonka x Showgirl!Reader (Wonka 2023)

Warnings!!!: Fem!reader, cursing (literally once, I'm pretty sure)

A/n: Baby's first request + Baby's first time posting fanfiction (AJGSHSHEJJXHDJDJ) Hope it's not awful.

Sometimes you wondered why you ever agreed to this job.

Being a showgirl wasn't as easy as a lot of people seemed to think it was.

Every other weekend, you performed at the local theatre to promote Mr. Slugworth's infamous chocolate. Two shows on Friday, two shows on Saturday.

Sounds easy enough. But, Mr. Slugworth insisted that no two shows could be the same.

Which meant that everyday you weren't performing, you were learning a new song and new choreography for your next performance. Which got very tiring very quickly.

Tonight was a particularly bad night. You were barely halfway through your show and already wanted to just collapse in the middle of the stage and sleep. Your costume felt tight, there was hardly anyone in the crowd, and your face hurt from how much you were smiling.

You had just finished your third number when the theatre doors opened. A young man walked through the doors. You recognized him from an incident in which he made your boss float through the air.

You briefly looked at him before going into your fourth number.

To your surprise, the man chose to sit right in the middle of the first row. Right in front of you. Now that he was closer you could see that he was actually pretty handsome. Dark brown curls that framed his face well and beautiful eyes that seemed to watch you in utter amazement...

You had to look away.

At the end of your performance, the man cheered loudly. Full on cheered, despite everyone else in the theatre simply clapping quietly.

He interested you with his sparkly eyes and bright smile. But, you knew you couldn't be interested. Your boss absolutely despised this guy. So, he wasn't cute and you weren't interested. That was that.

You were leaving the building through the back exit, happy to finally be out of your costume and headed home, when-

"Hi, there!"

"Ah!" You were startled by the sudden and enthusiastic greeting of... The guy you definitely didn't think was cute.

You sighed, regaining your composure after he had frightened you. "Hello." You said back simply.

"Sorry if I startled you there! I just wanted to compliment you." He said with a smile that for sure didn't make you want to swoon. "You are the most incredible singer that I've ever heard."

You couldn't help but feel flattered. "Thank y-"

"And you're an amazing dancer."

"Tha-"

"How do you even manage to dance in those tall, fancy heels?"

"I-"

"And isn't it strange to be taller than you usually are when you wear heels? Does that bother you at all?

You paused, making sure he was done talking before speaking again. "I guess being taller than usual would be strange at first. But, I'm used to wearing heels. So, being tall isn't weird for me."

"Like a giraffe." He said.

"Wha-"

"I'm Willy. Willy Wonka." He stuck his hand out.

You paused for a moment. Mr. Slugworth definitely wouldn't like the fact that you were talking to him... But, he wasn't here right now.

"I'm Y/n."

These little post-show conversations became something you looked forward to.

It was every Saturday, after your last performance of the night. He'd always be right outside the back exit waiting for you. Talking to him was always thrilling. Your heart beat a little faster whenever you were around him, breaking the rules... And maybe it was also because you thought he was cute.

You couldn't lie, over time, you'd grown to like him. And based on all of the lingering gazes and soft smiles he'd given you, you were pretty sure he liked you as well.

One day, you were backstage, looking into the mirror as you put on your makeup. You glanced up and in the reflection of the mirror was your boss, Mr. Slugworth.

This couldn't be good.

You turned around to face him. "Hello, Sir." You forced a polite smile.

"Yes, hello." He said with narrowed eyes. There was a brief moment of silence which you decided to fill.

"Did you want to talk to me about something?" You said, hoping the innocent head tilt you gave him was convincing.

"I know what you're doing." He said, ignoring your previous question.

Shit.

"One of my associates told me that they saw you and Mr. Wonka meeting behind this theatre every night."

You stayed silent. You knew you were guilty and you knew you probably couldn't talk your way out of this.

Mr. Slugworth continued. "I don't want an explanation or excuse from you. I just want you to agree to never speak with him again."

"What?!" You were shocked. He couldn't do this! He couldn't just tell you to stop talking to someone outside of work! He didn't have that power!...

Except, he kind of did. You knew how Mr. Slugworth was and you knew he wouldn't hesitate to fire you over something like this.

And that's why you agreed.

That night you left the theatre through the back exit like you always did. But, tonight you walked right past Willy.

"You were incredible tonight! I- Where are you going?"

You ignored him and kept walking. To your surprise, he began to follow you.

"You look sort of down.. Is something wrong? You can talk to me about it. I'm sure I can make you feel better!" He said as he continued to follow you.

He continued to try talking to you, and you continued to ignore him. He ended up following you all the way to your doorstep.

"Y/n? If it's something I did to upset you, I'm really sorry."

You took a deep breath and turned around, looking around to make sure no one was watching before you grabbed him and yanked him into your house.

As soon as he was in your house he looked around. "I like your curtains." He said.

"I'm not mad at you." You told him.

He smiled. "That's good to hear. I was already thinking of an apology chocolate recipe for you and it would've been-"

"Willy." He went quiet when you said his name. "Mr. Slugworth doesn't want me talking to you ever again."

"Oh?" He thought for a moment. "Well, that doesn't seem fair."

"Yeah. It isn't fair."

"Well, then don't listen to him." He made everything sound so simple. So easy. You wish you could see the world how he saw it.

"I can't just not listen to him. He's my boss." You looked at the ground. "And I need this job..."

Willy crossed his arms. He furrowed his brows in thought for a moment. "Huh."

...

"Huh." He looked back to you.

"What?"

"Why don't you just work for me?" He suggested with a smile. You were about to protest, but decided to hear him out. "Yeah! You can quit working for Slugworth, then you and I can update your act, and you can start promoting Wonka's Chocolate!" He said, excitedly pacing your small living area.

You thought over the plan. "Huh." You chuckled. "That's... Do you think that could work?"

He walked over to stand right in front of you, looking into your eyes. "I know it could work."

You shook your head with a smile. You were probably gonna regret this. "Let's do it."

"Yes!" Willy clapped and then stuck out his hand so that the two of you could shake on it. Instead of shaking his hand, you sort of let your emotions take control.

You grabbed his face and kissed him. After a moment you pulled away, a bit shocked at your own actions. You searched his face for any signs of discomfort and were met with a smile.

"That was better than a handshake." He said with a chuckle before leaning forward to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

Ok, you probably weren't gonna regret this.

[lmskitty]

Here's have some Satosugu family stupidity. This is mostly just humour/crack fic because I needed a little break today. Hope you enjoy!

5 conversations Megumi Fushiguro overheard that he wished he hadn't.

Megumi Fushiguro loves his family, friends and boyfriend. He also hates all of them and thinks they should be the ones to pay for his therapy. Here are the things he has been made to hear with his own two ears over the course of one week.

1. The Todo Incident.

Todo mimed rudely with his right hand, his left hand holding his soft drink.

“Bro seriously if you sit on your hand it totally feels like it's a different person. Granted you should do both hands if you want the full package involved though.”

Yuji sighed “Number 1 no it doesn't, 2 stop telling me these things and 3 I don't even need this information!!” He hissed, pulling Todo’s arm down to stop him making the gesture.

Todo stared at him and then at Megumi and then erupted into applause wiping his eyes and hugging his friend, telling him how proud of him he was. He put his hand on Megumi's shoulder and congratulated him on his willpower and relationship, remarking that he had seen what his brother was working with and Megumi was truly strong in spirit for taking on that challenge. Megumi bent his finger back nearly breaking it and told him to never speak to him nor touch him again if he wanted to keep the other fingers.

2. The downfalls of understanding Riceball language.

Toge sat beside Yuta and leant his head on his shoulder before looking up at him, a gentle smile on his face.

Yuta smiled back. “I missed this. It's nice getting to hang out together in person again isn't it?”

Toge: Salmon, salmon, tuna mayo. (It was nicer getting to spend the morning in bed together with your dick in my throat)

Yuta coughed turning red. Megumi stared off to the side pretending he hadn't understood that.

Yuji stared at all of them. “Aw man did Toge say something funny again? I gotta get my head around that speech of his, it's so cool.

Megumi shook his head.

3. Not even safe at home.

Gojo walked into the kitchen and took his shirt off sitting next to his husband.

“Baby you are not gonna BELIEVE the size of the spot on my back”

Geto put his book down looking interested “bigger than the one on your thigh the other day?”

Gojo nodded "for sure!” He sat facing away from his partner. “Go slow though please it's gonna sting like a bitch I just know it”

Geto sighed and squeezed at his back and popped it. He showed Gojo how much was on his finger.

“Woah there was so much!” Geto said.

“Told you!” Gojo said. “Ooooh you know I'm kind of in a mood to be pampered, think you can do my eyebrows later, like tweezing them?” Gojo said, leaning his head back onto his partner's lap.

Geto smiled “Ok baby, and wanna do face masks like last time?”

Gojo nodded and clapped his hands together happily.

Megumi shut the fridge door behind them.

“Sometimes I think it would be less gay if I walked in on you two actually fucking” he said and took his coke upstairs.

“Oh go kiss your boyfriend you homophobe!” Gojo yelled after him, Geto laughed.

4. Girl talk

“No lube, no protection, all night all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the church, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, while i gasp for air and scream the lord’s prayer, he can have me!!!!” Nanako wailed at the TV lying on the floor pretending to claw at the screen watching the new Jungkook video again for the 15th time.

“He is pretty cute,” Tsumiki smiled.

“He could spit on my face and I'd thank him,” Mimiko sighed.

Megumi looked down at his salad and threw it in the bin deciding to only visit the kitchen when he was sure no one else was there.

5. Couples counselling

“Look I get it, I know you have an image to maintain but can we please just talk about it” Nobara said following Maki who sighed and stood up ahead.

“No, can we please just drop it”

“It's ok to be embarrassed but honestly I think it's really cute you're always the little spoon! I'm sorry I called myself your jetpack!”

“Panda is never gonna let me live this down,” Maki said. “And you can stop smirking too!” She yelled pointing her staff at Megumi who raised his hands and backed away going down the other way through the corridor.

[multifandomfanficss]

You Really Gotta Get Better At Lying

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

Featuring platonic!Peacemaker, Goff, and the rest of the 11th Street Kids

Adrian Chase Masterlist

Prompt: You’re a civilian with a superhero boyfriend. It was working out pretty well for you both until one day when you’re hanging out in his best friend’s trailer and you get stuck in the crossfire. This is based on episode 6.

Warnings: Mentions of guns, Cannon compliment jokes, language, and violence, joking references to m-preg and daddy kinks (this is Adrian and Chris we’re talking about and it’s based on the butterfly interrogation scene lol), Angst with a happy ending

A/N: Hey Guys! Cannot believe this is my first full fic I’ve been able to finish since last August…11 months! This year has been pretty nuts for me, but I miss my man :)))) ❤️🧜‍♂️❤️ (Also the part in italics is a flashback if that’s not clear.)

“Come in Adrian!” You heard a voice coming from the trailer as your boyfriend knocked.

“How did you know it was me?” Adrian asked.

“You knock in a very annoying way. Hi, (Y/N).” Chris said as you walked into his place.

“I’m sorry.” You placed a hand on Adrian’s shoulder.

“Well I think it it’s cute.” You smiled at him. He smiled down at you, breaking into an infectious smile. Your own smile only grew. “Hi, Chris.” You said turning to look at Peacemaker. Today was your day off and Adrian wanted to get wasted at the trailer. Despite not always getting along, you were pretty good friends with Chris so you loved going to his place with Adrian to hang out. When you got there he was in his super suit. This was no surprise to you. Adrian had brought his as well. Usually a day at Chris’ meant at least an hour would be spent doing target practice or what you liked to call watching your two favorite idiots fuck around.

You had learned about Vigilante not too long into dating Adrian. It wasn’t hard to figure out. You loved him, but he was an awful liar. One slip up lead to another and suddenly it was 3am and Vigilante was knocking on your door. You’d had a nightmare and called Adrian because you knew he was a night owl. You woke up hyperventilating and sweating, too scared to go back to sleep. You just wanted to hear his voice, but you weren’t gonna complain when he said he couldn’t sleep either and was on a late night walk by your apartment. You didn’t question how weird that sounded, you just wanted to be with him so you said he could come over. What you didn’t know was that he was actually on patrol on your side of town. He meant to change, before reaching your door, but somehow he was in such a hurry to get to you he just forgot. He didn’t realize when you screamed upon opening the door, already shaken up from your nightmare and now confused as to why the news’ least favorite costumed crime fighter was at your apartment. He screamed back at you.

“What are you screaming about?!” Vigilante asked.

“What am I screaming about?! What are you screaming about?!”

“Okay! Stop screaming! I am really confused right now!”

The more you thought about it the more you realized you knew that voice.

“…Adrian…”

“Of course it’s me! I know it’s late and it’s dark, but is it that hard to recognize me? I think you might need to check your eyes again, Bug-a-boo.”

One of those silly nicknames you loved. It was Adrian.

“…mask…”

You saw his eyes go wide behind the tinted red visor. His gloved hands went up to touch his face. He’d forgotten.

“Oh shit…” He said under his breath. “I- I don’t know who Adrian is…who’s that? I’m sorry I scared you, innocent civilian. I was just out doing my patrol duties and I-“

“Adrian…” You started to tear up.

“I told you I’m not Adrian. I’m Vigilante. Common mistake. Both names sound like super similar actually-“

“Adrian…” You cut him off again, bursting into tears, hugging him. He sighs.

“You’re okay, (Y/N). I’m here. Everything’s okay.”

You stared at a jar on Chris’ table. It had some sort of bug in it. It was a species you’d never seen before.

“What’s that?” You asked.

“You kept Goff?” Adrian questioned.

“Is that like the name of the bug or did you guys name it?” You keep staring, confused. It almost seems to stare back at you.

“That’s his name. We found him in a shitty politician.” Adrian answered. In him…? You didn’t want to know so you decided not to press as the boys continued to argue about keeping Goff as a dangerous pet.

“Why is he dangerous? Is he invasive?” You questioned.

“You could say that!” Adrian joked.

“Where is it from?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think they came from our solar system. I feel like NASA would have figured that out by now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were fucking lying to us.” Chris said on the verge of telling another conspiracy theory.

“What…?” You finally broke your gaze from Goff.

“Don’t even fucking get me started on the moon landing and-“

“No, I mean this- this is an alien?” You cut off Chris. You turn to Adrian. “You’re fighting aliens?!”

“Yeah! How cool is that?!” His face lit up.

“So fucking cool!” You started nerding out with your boyfriend until your attention was drawn to Goff who was drawing a peace sign on the jar in some sort of weird goo. The three of you, after taking about a minute to freak out, sat on the couch to investigate. You sat in between Chris and Adrian. You were hoping this would keep them from arguing, but it did nothing of the sort. Before you knew it your head was resting on the back of the couch as the two guys argued above you. “Will you guys just kiss and make up already?! Jesus! Get a room! Chris you gotta have more patients and at least try to see his point of view. Adrian, baby, we have to ask yes or no questions because Goff can’t speak to us verbally and we don’t have an alphabet for him to spell things out with.”

“What if we got like an ouija board and just let him move the little triangle thing around?” Adrian wondered.

“I think that’s a great idea, but we don’t have one right now, so just while we’re limited on time we gotta keep it to yes or no questions, alright? Think of it like that pendulum thing I showed you. It can only swing so many ways like how Goff can only tap so many times.” Adrian finally seemed to understand. One of your favorite things to do together was info dump about your interests. Not too long ago you’d had a really big hyperfixation on ghosts, which is probably where he’d gotten the idea for the ouija board in the first place. It wasn’t that he was stupid, he was often just running a marathon in his head to find different solutions to the problems everyone else had already given up on. While he was trying to figure out a solution, everybody thought he was an idiot for even trying. That was one of the many reasons you and Adrian worked so well together. You both understood how the other person’s brain worked.

“Okay. Goff, are you here to put babies in us like in alien?”

Two taps: No.

Adrian sighs.

“Dude, you’re upset about that?” Chris asks.

“Well how else am I gonna experience motherhood?” Your boyfriend asked sadly. You rested your hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry, baby. But you know what? Maybe one day you can be a really incredible dad to our kids.” You blushed.

“You think I’d be an incredible dad?” He asked in awe.

“I think you’d be the most incredible dad.” You kiss him as Chris gags.

“Now it’s my turn to say get a room and not one in my trailer. I don’t want you guys fucking roleplaying your daddy m-preg shit in my bathroom.” Chris rolled his eyes.

“Oh my god that is not what I meant! Please can we just get back to the alien bug sitting on your coffee table?!” You exclaimed.

One tap: Yes.

“See! Even Goff agrees you’re being ridiculous!” You tell him.

“I am not!” Chris started to argue like a toddler.

Two taps: No.

“You’re acting like a toddler.”

One tap: Yes.

“Woah! It’s like Goff’s on (Y/N)’s side.” You smiled at Adrian’s amusement.

One Tap: Yes.

“You are not helping me here.” Chris whispered in a harsh tone to the jar.

One Tap: Yes.

You laughed. “Goff, do you wanna be friends?”

One Tap: Yes.

As you and Adrian continued to argue with Chris, much to Goff’s amusement, Adrian’s phone started to ring.

“Who is this…Vigilante? I- I don’t know that person. That’s um- is that even a name? I’m- sounds Italian and I’m- I’m- I’m American, so I can’t even-“ Chris ripped the phone from his hand and you gave him a sympathetic look.

“Babe, you really gotta get better at lying.”

“I’m great at lying!” You gave him a smile.

“Okay, honey.”

“I am!”

“A month after we started dating you showed up at my door fully suited up, completely forgetting to change after patrol.”

“That’s because I wanted to. It was my way of telling you.” He was obviously lying again

“Okay, honey.” You smiled as Chris shushed you. He was panicked, far more panicked than usual.

“What’s happening?” You questioned, starting to get nervous.

“The entire police force of Evergreen is outside right now. This place is fucking crawling with cops.” Chris whispered, opening his sunroof.

“Are we gonna fucking crawl up there?!” You whisper yelled, trying to keep your voice down. You were a civilian and despite hanging around superheroes you had never been in on the action yourself.

Adrian grabbed your hand. “It’s gonna be okay.” He tried to give you reassurance, despite not quite knowing what they were up against. “I need you to promise me you’ll stick by me, okay?” You stared at the roof in fear. “(Y/N), I need you to promise me.” Adrian looked at you desperately searching for an agreement.

“O-okay” You stuttered, your mind barley able to process what was happening. Chris climbs through helping pull you up as Adrian lifts you through the hole. You were so scared you didn’t even really notice Adrian had Goff tied to him with duct tape. Chris started climbing in a nearby tree. Adrian pushed you towards it. You shook your head at him, giving him a face that said ‘There is no way in hell I’m doing this’.

“I’m not gonna let you fall.” He promised. So much for that. Not long into climbing Adrian himself fell out of the tree. Usually you would find his clumsiness cute, but now was not the time. Chris put his free hand over your mouth to stop you from screaming.

“Oh fuck…I’m okay…” He said, a little out of it, just having at the wind knocked out of him. Of fuck. Goff. This is when you fully process the glass jar taped to Adrian’s back…the broken glass jar. Chris quickly helps you get down. You run to Adrian.

“Are you okay?!”

“I’m okay, I promise.” Adrian reassures you.

“DON’T MOVE!” The police detective yelled, pointing her gun at you. Adrian rested one hand on his hip, close to his knife and the other on your back so he could push you underneath him in a second if bullets started flying. You were terrified. You didn’t even notice Goff flying towards the woman until he started to fly into her mouth. Now you knew what Adrian meant by in the senator. Blood started pouring out of her mouth.

“What the fuck?!” You yelled in shock as Chris and Adrian started pulling you up from the ground. Everything was happening too fast. Suddenly you were running through the woods. Bullets were flying. Knives were being thrown.

“At worst, he’s paralyzed!” Adrian’s voice barley broke through to your clouded mind. You could see a clearing up ahead. Just get to the clearing. You can do it. Just get to the clearing. You saw Chris stop in front of you. He had a gun pointed directly at him. Then another. You and Adrian stop behind Chris. You’re surrounded. Adrian keeps you close. Then one of them falls to the ground. You grab onto Adrian’s back, not wanting to limit the movement of his arms. He reaches behind himself to put a hand on you. You turned to see another policeman had shot the guy who was pointing a gun at you.

“What the fuck?!” You yelled, trying to keep your panic down.

“Do you wanna ask stupid questions or do you wanna live?” He asked you as you hid behind Adrian again.

Chris and Adrian pulled you away from the scene as the man shot the defenseless low level cops on the ground. He mocked their cries as he shot them. Chris and Adrian brought you to a car the man had told you about. A getaway car that was waiting for you just down the road at the edge of the woods. Adrian shoved you into the car. You sat in the back seat with him as he continued to argue with Chris, even throwing his phone out the window at one point. He kept an arm around your shaking body. Eagly was squawking in the passenger seat. It was all too much.

“SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU PLEASE.” You started to cry. “I LOVE YOU BOTH, BUT PLEASE! FUCK!”

Adrian placed a kiss to your forehead gently starting to rub your arm. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not you. Usually I wouldn’t care, but what the fuck is happening?! Is the detective fucking dead?! Like is that what they do?! Just like fucking drill into your skull through your mouth and play Ratatouille?!”

“They can go through your butt too…” Adrian said quietly.

“Oh great! So glad! That must be so much more pleasant!” Adrian went to open his mouth, but you knew what he was gonna say. “Yes, I’m being sarcastic!”

“Okay. Thank you for specifying. Let’s just breathe. Can you do that? Can you breathe with me?” Adrian asks, starting to exaggerate his breathing for you to follow. He knew you were starting to get worked up. You always got upset when you were confused, but this was an entirely new level with an added sense of extreme terror and danger. You try to follow his breathing. “In and out. Good job.”

“Forget about the aliens I wanna know what the fuck was up with that one cop!” Chris questions from the driver’s seat, now done using Adrian’s phone to call headquarters.

“You mean you didn’t fucking know that guy?!” You question.

“No! Why would I just know a crazy fucker at the police station?!” Chris yells.

“I don’t know! Maybe the fact that he gave you a car?! You know some pretty weird fucking people! I’ve never met King Shark!” You scream, letting out a sigh, leaning further into Adrian’s touch as he kisses your forehead again, still trying to calm you.

The rest of your short drive to headquarters was mostly spent in silence. You had never been there, but you knew where it was. You were the only person Adrian told everything to. You walked into headquarters quickly, not wanting to be seen stashing the getaway car.

“What the fuck just happened?!” Chris yelled bursting into headaquarters.

“Who’s the civilian? I don’t think I have to remind you of the privacy of this mission.” A man who seemed to be in charge asked as you tried to make yourself small feeling scared and embarrassed. You think you remember Adrian saying his name was Murn.

“They’re my partner.” Adrian told the team.

“You have a partner?” The man who was absolutely John Economos asked. He was even taller than you imagined.

“I told you I had a partner. You knew about them.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think they were real.” John laughed at his own joke.

“Um…hi. Sorry. Very real partner over here, what the fuck is happening?!” You interrupted. They all exchanged a series of looks you couldn’t read before one of them spoke up.

“Hi my name’s Leota. Why don’t we go talk in the other room for a bit?” You didn’t answer her, you just squeezed Adrian’s hand, not wanting to be separated from him.

“It’s okay. You can go. I’ll just be a few minutes. I promise you can trust her. Eagly does!” Adrian smiled at you.

“I guess he’s pretty good judge of character.” You joked, giving Adrian a smile.

“It’s okay. We’re safe here. Here, take this.” He reached for the back of his chair and grabbed a sweater he’d accidentally left there. He wrapped it around you. He knew how much you loved to wear his clothes. You were happy to be surrounded by his smell. You sighed, calming a little bit. “I won’t be long and I’m not gonna leave the building. I promise.” You nodded, reluctantly following Leota.

“Harcourt you handle this. Peacemaker, Economos in my office now.” You heard as you walked up the stairs. As Leota was answering some of your questions Harcourt and Adrian were downstairs having a very difficult conversation.

“You don’t look so happy. I thought you loved violence. I thought you said it was awesome.” Harcourt started, her voice thick with sarcasm. Adrian missed it yet again.

“Not when they’re involved.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have involved them then.”

“I didn’t mean to! I’m not normal. I know and usually I don’t care, but they are the only thing in my life that makes me feel normal- the only part of my life that feels normal. Even…even when I’m just Adrian Chase, the busboy at fennel fields, everybody acts like I’m a fucking freak or some big burden. But not them. They let me be myself. They like me! They’re separate from all of this. I should be allowed to have this one thing.”

Harcourt’s face softened. “You should be and I’m sorry…but that’s not how this life works. I know you want to keep them safe. It’s only gonna get more dangerous from here. You know what you have to do, right?”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Look…” Harcourt paused taking a deep breath. “Adrian…I’m sorry. Doing what we do- it isn’t easy.” She used his real name. He thinks this might even been the first time she’s really called him anything other than Vigilante, psycho, or dumb shit.

While they were talking downstairs you were upstairs asking all sorts of questions to Leota about the butterflies. She was answering as much as she could until Adrian knocked on the door. “Can I have a minute alone with (Y/N)?” He asked.

“Of course. Let me know if either of you need anything.” She smiled at you on the way out.

“She’s nice. I’m sorry I freaked out earlier. I think I finally have a handle on everything now.” You smiled at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were glued to the ground. “Ade, what’s wrong?” You asked.

“I’m breaking up with you…”

“Yeah haha very funny. Now, what actually happened downstairs?” He stayed silent. “You’re serious? Adrian, you’re not breaking up with me.”

“Yeah I am actually.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to date you anymore.”

“That’s not true. You’re an awful fucking liar, so look at me and tell me why you’re breaking up with me.”

“I already told you why.” He was starting to get choked up.

“Adrian, I love you.”

“I love you too-“

“Then don’t break up with me!” You cut him off.

“I have to!”

“Why?!”

“I need to keep you safe!” He raised his voice at you. He’d never raised his voice at you like that before. You started crying.

“Why don’t I get a choice?! What about what I want?! Shouldn’t it be my choice?! Adrian, I don’t give a fuck if it’s dangerous! Before I met you my life was awful! I was a freak! You are the only person who makes me feel like I can be my fucking self! You are the only person I don’t feel like a fucking inconvince around! The only one who understands me! Why can’t we just have this one fucking thing?!” You yelled.

He laughs through the few tears that had just started falling down his cheeks. “That’s what I said.” He sighs, sitting on the couch, wrapping you in his arms. “I’m sorry.“

“Please don’t leave me. You’re my entire world.”

“I may be your world, but you’re my sun, I live for you- because of you. There would be nothing without you. Nothing.” He kisses you on the forehead.

“So, don’t break up with me.” You were pleading quietly through your tears at this point.

“I’m sorry. I don’t wanna say I was eavesdropping, but I was totally eavesdropping. If you’re worried about them being safe I think I can help.” Leota entered the doorway again.

“How?” Adrian asked.

“Well, I have my wife set up in a safe house right now while things are a little extra sticky. Sometimes things get lonely. I bet she’d love a new roommate.”

“Adebayo, are you serious right now?”

“Very serious, Adrian.” She smiled.

“Oh my god I could kiss you.”

She laughs at his comment. “Don’t kiss me. I’m married. Go kiss your partner who you’re not breaking up with and don’t tell Harcourt about this.”

“I won’t.” He smiles.

“Okay, now I think you should really take her advice and kiss me.” You smile up at him, kissing him.

“Okay, lovebirds. I’m gonna go distract buzzkill 1 and buzzkill 2 downstairs. I’ll let you know if you’re needed.” She smiles, leaving you to alone.

“I can’t believe you almost broke up with me.”

“Yeah that would have been stupid.”

“Really stupid.” You added, both laughing. “I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too more than anything.” He said. You both smiled, kissing. You snuggled deeper into him and started a discussion about the logistics of how you would navigate this new adventure.

[kittyball23]

Diaper Duty (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: It’s obvious by the stinky smell coming from Baby Branch’s diaper that ONE of his brothers has to do the dirty work. Question is, who?

A/N: Taking place before TBT

__________________________________________

John Dory sighed, his head slumped against the windowsill of their pod and a pout on his lips. Outside, a harsh storm had just started to pour down, the sky clapping with thunder and raindrops beating harshly against the land. It was so not the way that he’d pictured this evening. It was supposed to be another great one up on the mushroom stage, belting out a song alongside his brothers, eating up the claps and cheers from the audience and soaking in the praise – not getting soaked in raindrops.

Behind him, he could hear the sounds of soaked feet squishing against the soft carpet and the sounds of water droplets patting against the floor as hair was wringed out. He, Spruce, Clay, and Floyd had made an effort to try and get out as quickly as they could before their concert got rained out, but it just hadn’t been fast enough. Heck, even Baby Branch, who was too young to perform and had only been there to watch, was soaked from head to toe. And all four of them were also less than pleased with the turnout of that evening.

John Dory groaned, finally prying himself away from the window and turning towards his brothers. “This stinks!” he exclaimed, kicking at the air angrily. There were only so many rehearsals they could do before they got bored and craved the real deal of an actual performance.

The other boys nodded, solemnly agreeing.

Floyd sighed. “Yeah…” But then, he scrunched his nose, a look of disgust crossing his face. “Ugh… but that’s not the only thing that stinks…”

It was then that Clay and Spruce, too, donned their magenta sibling’s same expression.

“Aww, ewww!” the yellow-haired Trolling moaned, pinching his nose to keep the putrid odor from infiltrating his nostrils. “Spruce, did you let one rip? Not cool, man!”

“Don’t blame this on me,” the purple-haired Trolling said, defending himself from the accusation, “it was you who probably did!”

“No way, dude,” Clay retorted. “I might be all for jokes n’ stuff, but I wouldn’t do something like that. That’s just wrong!”

John Dory, who’d made his way over as Clay and Spruce bickered, suddenly realized where the smell was coming from. “Bros, I think it’s Branch!”

The boys paused. “Branch?” they echoed.

JD picked the little baby up off the ground, who babbled at his brother with his one-toothed grin. It was when he was up close to his youngest brother that JD saw the lump that hung in his diaper, and noticed the awful scent that wafted into his nose was much stronger now.

“Ugh! Okay, I don’t think it’s Branch. I know it’s Branch.” He held the baby at an arms length away. “Okay, guys, whose turn is it to…”

But John Dory trailed off when he turned to look at the others. Within the split moment in which he’d affirmed the case of Branch’s dirty diaper and began to ask the question, Spruce, Clay, and Floyd had already picked up and dashed off from right under his nose, the only evidence of them ever having been there in the first place being a strand from each of their colorful hairs in the spots where they’d been sitting.

“Seriously, guys?!” John Dory complained. “Just cuz I’m the oldest doesn’t mean I gotta do all the dirty work!”

But, left without a choice, JD just sucked it up, using one of Grandma Rosiepuff’s clothespins to pinch his nose and grabbing a fresh diaper from the package they had.

“Remind me to add potty-training to your schedule, bro, a’ight?” he said rather nasally to Branch as he laid him down on the changing table and began to undo the diaper, cringing distastefully with every move.

Baby Branch just giggled in response.

[salty-croissants]

Reader who performs in musicals x Bullfrog, Rayman and Ramon (all separate) please? Thank you! Have a good day/evening/night!

Thank you for the request ! 

This one was really neat and fun to write :D

Hope this turned out okay !

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

established relationships ; 

no warnings needed 

Bullfrog 💚

When you first told him that you were a musical performer , Bullfrog was absolutely amazed by it … no matter what role you actually play , for him it’s like you’re the most talented person in the whole world . 

< Oh my dear , c'est incroyable ! I can’t wait to get to see you perform one day ! >

< Aw , thanks love , but are you sure that wouldn’t be dangerous for you ? You know , with your job and many people around someone could recognize you and … I wouldn’t want you to get hurt because of me … > 

< I’m going to be careful don’t you worry , I’ll do anything I can to be there : it’s not just any musical if you’re in it mon amour ~ > 

Yeah , Bullfrog really meant what he said : 

you can often spot him hidden somewhere in the room when you’re on stage , staring at you with those loving eyes that never fail to make you blush …

He’s just so cute , and the fact that he would go to such lengths just to be there to support you makes you all giddy inside … as well as a bit worried for his safety , but you try your best not to think about it too much .

When the performance is done and you get to go backstage to your private room to take a moment to breathe and relax , you already know that you only need to count to three before you hear a knock on the door and find a very enthusiastic Bullfrog on the other side …

< Thank you for coming , sweetheart ! So … what did you think ? > 

< I think you did wonderfully , y/n : I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you during your song , c'était si beau ! >

< Really ? I was honestly afraid I didn’t hit some of the high notes right … god , you wouldn’t believe how anxious that made me the second the song ended , and plus - >

Bullfrog can’t help but smile as he listens to you talk , holding your hand while walking back home …

You’re just so passionate , it’s something that makes you even more beautiful in his eyes if that’s even possible . 

Your songs often get stuck in his head , so it’s not rare to hear Bullfrog humming them to himself while showering you with affection when you’re together , but sometimes also during missions :

it helps him to remain calm , reminding himself that he has you by his side and that he has to stay alive to get back to you …

Bullfrog’s life really wouldn’t be the same without you in it . 

Rayman 🧡

One of Rayman’s favorite things to do is just sit and listen to you preparing for your current musical’s role , closing his eyes and focusing on your beautiful voice …

You’re always happy to have him there , especially since if you get easily self conscious about something his help will definitely help .

< Man … this sucks , it’s been days and I still can’t get that part right … the performance is ruined , how am I going to - > 

< Hey , hey … slow down y/n , take a deep breath …

There’s plenty of time before the performance , you just gotta keep trying and most importantly not push yourself too hard . > 

< *sigh* … yeah , you’re right … thanks Ray , sorry about that . >

< You don’t need to apologize honey … here , how about we take a break ? 

You’ve been working on it for hours now , I think you’ve earned it . > 

Even tough the Directors are constantly monitoring him , you can bet that Rayman will do everything he can to be there the day of the performance , and whenever you see him cheering for you among the crowd it always fills you with joy … 

He’s just so sweet , you can’t help but love him even more in those occasions ://) 

Rayman actually has lots of recordings of you singing , that way he can listen to them whenever you’re away and he misses you … 

Oh , and you can be sure that he will gush about you to literally everyone , because they all need to know just how wonderful and talented you are . 

< Ahh , you should’ve seen it … 

The way their eyes were shining while singing on that stage was simply magical !

Isn’t my y/n just amazing ? > 

< Mhm … 

Mister Rayman , can I leave now ? It’s been one whole hour … I’m just a janitor , remember ? > 

Since he does have quite a nice singing voice himself , you and Rayman definitely love to sing duets together , sometimes even dancing in the middle of the living room while the sun sets outside the lounge …

It’s a beautiful , precious moment for the both of you , ones that you will carry in your hearts forever .

Ramon 🖤

Okay , so now that he murdered the Directors and officially became wanted by Eden , Ramon knows that it’s not safe for him to show himself in public anymore … 

However , since you still need to perform in your musicals he can’t help but feel very torn about the whole situation , especially since he’s way more protective of you after all that’s happened . 

< I’m telling you sweetie , I’m going to be just fine ! It’s only a few hours … > 

< But I have to … I need to make sure nobody hurts you . > 

< Ram , I won’t have you risking your life to watch over me . We’ve talked about this . > 

< I can’t lose you , y/n … > 

< You won’t … I promise . 

I’ll be back before you even notice . > 

Remember those recordings of your performances he made when he was still regarded as the Voice of Eden ? 

Well , Ramon definitely listens to them a lot more now to try and keep his head distracted from thinking about what dangers could take you away from him when you’re gone .

It’s not a rare occurrence for you to arrive home and find Ramon asleep with one of the recordings playing in the background , and it’s during those moments that you fully realize that you really are the only thing keeping him together .

Whenever he happens to have a nightmare ( let me tell you , it happens often … this poor man is just so scarred by what he saw and what he did ) , Ramon is really going to appreciate it if you decide to sing him to sleep :

he just holds you tight , all the tension in his body finally leaving him thanks to your voice and your gentle touch caressing his hair …

< Mmm … y/n … > 

< I’m here , darling … I’m right here … >

< I love you so much , y/n … > 

< I love you too Ramon … there , just close your eyes , you should really try to sleep some more . > 

< Mmkay … > 

Sometimes when you’re having a bit of a rough day , Ramon is going surprise you by suddenly hold your hands and start slow dancing with you , singing your favorite duet … 

It’s one of the only moments in which all of his troubles seem so , so far away , leaving just you and him in the comfort of your home , being happy in a place were no one can hurt either of you … not Eden , nor anybody else . 

[whilomm]

i think part of the reason why ppl have a kneejerk reaction to others pointing out that marcille is kinda conservative (besides the usual desire to sand down characters edges to make them Less Problematic™) is that theyre thinking "conservative=republican" rather than similar to like, that girl who will swear up and down that she is SO progressive and 100% feminist and everything but when a girl doesnt shave her legs she says "ugh but its just so UNSANITARY" but at the same time if a guy DOES shave their legs she just "thinks its weird!!!", and if you point out the contradiction there ("didnt you say it was UNSANITARY to not shave? doesnt that mean you think ALL guys should shave?") she will BSoD a little bit and uhhhh i mean uhhh its just that–

or you know, someone who if you come out as a trans to her she'll accept it (after a bit of confusion and a few of the usual dumb cis questions) but maybe thinks that the way to ✨validate✨ you is to go all in on gender stereotypes like okay if youre a woman that means MAKEUP and DRESSES and LONG HAIR and ACTING LADYLIKE and PARTICIPATING IN GIRLY ACTIVITIES and NOT BEING TOO LOUD and NOT TAKING UP TOO MUCH SPACE. and if your a man that means dressing MANLY and HAVING SHORT HAIR and ACTING MASCULINE and TOUGH and BEING UNINVITED FROM THE (GIRLY) WEEKLY HANGOUT SESH

or people who like, will never outright say they HATE homeless people, like if you talk about volunteering at the soup kitchen or donating to the food bank shes like yeah!!! but then she also getting weirdly uncomfortable when it comes to actual homeless people who arent like, the model of 'trying but down on my luck', and just thinking the tents are unsightly and worrying about how if you give someone money on the street if they'll just use it for drugs and being anxious about the vague specter of "violence"

(im not necessarily saying "marcille herself would 100% do these things" but just "when people say marcilles a bit conservative they dont mean rightwing republican they mean like this kinda shit which self-proclaimed Progressives do when they dont recognize they still got shit that they picked up from living in a So Sigh Titty to work thru")

like, listen, a big part of marcille's character is that she is very prideful and sure of herself and her opinions. half of marcille's character building parts are "marcille has a preconceived notion! oh, someone challenges the preconceived notion! marcille is RESISTANT to this! oh my GOD this is AWFUL how could you CHALLENGE HER WORLD VIE- oh. oh wait no. okay you might have a point BUT SHE STILL HATES IT!!!".

she changes and she learns things! but shes kicking and screaming the whole way and kinda annoying about it and even after she has one thing challenged shes still got a whole backlog of other things she learned from So Sign Titty shes also gotta work thru even if she doesnt realize it yet. sometimes she gradually realizes these things on her own sometimes someone basically has to hit her over the head with the Very Special Episode about how halffoots arent children and orcs aren't evil and maybe shes treating falin a bit like a dress up doll and infantilizing her and like thats a problem maybe?

like. its an interesting part of her character! let marcille be a bit conservative. she aint perfect. actually theres a lotta little things she kinda sucks about. but its okay bc she can learn and have her tidy little worldview challenged and its interesting to see her go thru it all!

(and i also wonder if part of the resistance to people pointing out how shes a bit conservative in some ways is also like, refusal to admit "hm maybe i also hold some regressive views". like, the general thing of "wanting to believe you are already a perfect progressive and dont hold any shitty views" is extremely realistic, its defo a trap ive fallen into before! most of us probably have! but like, step one is admitting it rather than putting your foot on the ground and saying la la la i cant hear you)

[miyuhpapayuh]

twenty

“Oh my god, I know it's been a week but where the hell have you been??” Nique asks Zora, right before jumping damn near on top of her outside of her apartment.

“Nique!” She laughs, catching her before they both hit the ground, all the while Leon's coming up with her suitcase, staring between the two like they were crazy.

“What—”

“Lank!” Nique squeals, smacking him up for all the days she wasn't able to. Just like a sister. He chuckles and swats at her, ultimately pulling her into a bear hug.

“Missed you short stuff!”

“Yeah, y'all just left us behind out here!” She laughs, following them into the apartment.

“It was only a week! You didn't miss us that much!” Zora laughs, leaning on her kitchen counter, while Leon plops down on the sofa.

“I did, too! Darnell missed Leon so damn much, he's been tearing my ear up about all the shit they used to get into in college— getting on my nerves, man!” She laughs, making them join in.

“Ah, he done told you about some wild ass shit ain't he?”

“Has he! What's up with y'all and streaking?!”

“I'm not even surprised,” Zora laughs, moving to take her suitcase into her room.

“Man, we was proud of them track bodies, girl! They was gon see us!” He animatedly yells.

“Oh my god,” Nique laughs, rolling her eyes. “How can I save Zora from the madness??”

“It's already too late!” She yells from her bedroom, making them snicker up a storm.

“Stop laughing Nique! It's too late for you, too!”

“Nah for real, y'all treatin’ each other nice?” Leon asks, first time he's asked about their relationship.

“Yeah, he's really a sweetheart. Might like his ass too much,” she laughs, “but that's my baby.”

“Aw, that's cute! I'm happy for y'all.”

“Thanks!”

“Nique, I need assistance right quick!” Zora hollers again, making Nique disappear down the hallway.

“Yes?”

“Are we having a sleepover tonight?”

“Uh, duh! I need to be caught up, cause Neoma told me some things about some things, and I gotta hear it from you to piece it all together.”

“Oh lord. This finna be a mess.”

“My favorite!”

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“Okay, spill!”

“So, before we went on this nice lil vacation, we ran into a little more bullshit. I'm assuming you heard about Craig and Eryn?”

“Have I? Eryn is ready to sink her teeth into that boy! I'm ready to do it for her, cause he knows he's wrong.”

“I agree! He definitely shoulda let them work that out, cause Eryn isn't a child anymore. I think that might've influenced his decision cause they've known her for so long— no excuse. She's grown now.”

“Yeah?? And I don't know how well the conversation between them went, but she still seems kinda sad about it all.”

“Really? I haven't talked to her since we left. But that's another thing! After Leon finds out about everything from Craig, he starts telling me about it, and I already kinda knew about it cause she sat down and told me, like a day or so before.”

“Oh no,” Nique says, shaking her head. “She got you all caught up in it, huh?”

“Yeah, but I'm not mad at her. She just needed advice. Leon did kinda blow up on me, though.”

“Huh??” Nique asks, damn near breaking her neck to look over at her.

“Yeah, he was feelin’ it that day, I don't know.” She shrugs.

“Zora, what do you mean he blew up on you? He yelled at you?”

“No, no. He cut me off while I was trying to talk to him about everything. He asked me if she ran it by me and I told him the truth cause I didn't wanna be in the middle, and he like hopped off the couch and I'm still telling him that I didn't wanna be in the middle cause now he's upset and he's saying that he ain't mad at me, but he also just pacing back and forth and I was kinda nervous, I ain't gon lie. And I'm just tryna reason with him and his fuse is really short, so he cut me off and shut the conversation down.” She sighs, eating another handful of popcorn.

“And then what happened??”

“Oh, he was definitely asking for forgiveness before leaving the crib, but I wasn't up for talking anymore. You don't cut me off and expect a conversation after that. Kissed his ass goodbye and he came to my job the next day with flowers and another apology. I think he almost cried tryna talk to me. Hell, I know I cried enough.” She laughs, while Nique is still staring at her.

“Do I need to kill him?”

“No,” she laughs again, reaching out to grab the hand that's closest to her. “He apologized. Several times. Took me home and made it up to me real nice. He's a good man, just has a temper problem.”

“Hm. I'll keep my guns near, just in case.”

“Lord. He knows not to test it. Trust.”

“Why? You tie him up when y'all got out to that cabin?”

“You're so nasty, no. I definitely taught him what patience is, cause he was killing my nerves.”

“How I'm nasty? I'm talking about straight torture shit! Shoulda muzzled his ass.” She huffs, but Zora shakes her head.

“You know I use my powers for good and not evil… anymore. He understood I wasn't playing. I promise you, he don't want whatever ill fate awaits him if he even thinks about it.”

“Okay, I'll let it go. This time.”

“Good, I'd hate for shorty and lank to call it quits!” She frowns, making Nique smile and shake her head.

“He better be glad I like him a lil bit, cause I'll still kill him. It just won't be as harsh as normal.” She shrugs.

“Girl, anyway. Back to Eryn. I hope she's okay. Maybe I'll call her in a few days.”

“Yeah, poor baby. I had to get your sister together a lil bit, too.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. Done found a lil rockheaded boy to ride and now she lost her mind. Cause why was she bucking up at me cause I told her that she was wrong for giving him the okay to say shit to Leon?! Like I ain't wrong for saying that! Am I?”

“No. Absolutely not, she shouldn't have said anything to him but, “mind your business”, but you know how she is. Lovita is the same way. That older sister complex be havin’ them telling other people's kids what to do. Like how you giving him the go ahead??”

“That's what I tried to get her to make sense to me! Eryn wasn't mad at her, but I told her that she should be. Cause it's too many hands in this situation and she just an extra one that don't belong. Be a girlfriend, nothing more.”

“This really made you mad, huh?”

“Yes. Eryn is twenty five years old. She don't need nobody hovering over her back, snitching on her or whatever other stupid overstepping bullshit has been going on. We had a long heart to heart, cause I just feel like she's just been ridiculed by so many, she just needs some love.”

Zora nods, sighing deeply. “Yeah, I know that feeling. I feel for her, I do. But she did speak up for herself. Leon said she was not happy with him yelling at her, ‘cause she is fragile right now, and that's not the way you get your point across anyway.”

“Good for her! Lank and his friends need to get it together. Neoma needs to get it together before I knock her out.”

“Y'all still beefin’??”

“Nah, I'm just saying. I mean, she was mad as hell when I left but so the fuck what? I shoulda sat in her face while she was mad, but I had a nail appointment.” She raps, while Zora shakes her head, staring at her imaginary audience. “But she got over herself after a day or so. The three of us had lunch and shit like usual, she was fine.”

“Y'all are gonna give me gray hair.”

“Please, if all you have to do is hear about it, I think you'll be okay. Besides, you've been living your carefree life since that boy came into it, so I don't wanna hear it.”

Zora can't help but smile, knowing it was the truth. Besides the minor bump in the road, the last almost year of her life has been absolutely wonderful.

“It's about time, I say.”

“Here, here!” Nique faux toasts with a handful of popcorn.

“Stupid,” Zora laughs.

“And, you know this!”

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“Wow, I forgot how good you looked in your uniform.” Zora says, shamelessly gawking at Leon as he walks around his room to tidy up, before heading off to work.

He chuckles, feeling his face grow hot. “Alright now.”

“For real. I need to come watch you work out now, cause the way them arms are filling out that sweater..” she trails off, shaking her head.

He stops in front of her, beginning to put on a show and flex for her. She giggles, eating it up.

“You like that, huh?”

“Oh, please. Don't start!” She warns, laughing it off as best as she can.

“Don't be shy, baby!” He laughs, bringing his arms down anyway.

“Stop, before I keep you here.” She half jokes, and he can see the seriousness in her deep brown eyes.

“Hm.. I might just have to be a lil late today.” He replied, leaning in to kiss her, unbuttoning her nightshirt.

“Yeah?”

“Just a lil,” he repeats, laughing at himself.

She squeals in excitement, rushing to unbutton his jeans and yank them down with his briefs, moaning at the sight of his dick already hard and ready to go.

“See? This happens every day.” He stresses, stepping closer between her legs to rub against her, his hands at either side of her head.

Reaching between them, she wraps her hand around him, guiding him inside of her, looking up to see his mouth open, eyes stuck on her in pure lust.

“So fucking wet,” he mumbles, languidly stroking just to hear the way her slick smacked through the air. His head dipped down to give wet kisses to her breasts.

“That happens every day, too,” she softly laughs.

His thrusts turn curt, poking right at her gut, making her claw at his arms and chest through the thick material, her wild moans bouncing off the walls of his room.

“Unh! Fuck me, just like that!”

“Mhm, it feels good don't it?”

“Yes! Please don't stop! Please!”

“Shit… I ain't stoppin’ baby… make you cum right on this dick.”

Her fingers ball up the material of his shirt, quickly losing her sanity as he drives right into her spot, bringing them both closer to their peaks.

“You like that, huh?”

“Yes,” she whines, “fuckin’ hitting that spot, babyy!”

“Right here?”

“Yes, I'm so c-close!” She whines, pulling his face closer to hers as he cages her in, his scent evading her senses and vice versa.

“Cum with me,” he moans against her lips, gripping her hips tighter as she squeezes around him, giving him no choice but to give in to the sweet feeling.

“That was amazing,” she breathily laughs, smothering his lips with her own, much to his liking as he groans all into their liplock.

“I wanna be so much later now,” he chuckles, hissing as he slides out of her, still covered in her essence. Their breathing still ragged.

Zora licks her lips and gets on her knees on the bed, bending down to lick him clean. If he didn't have hearts for eyes already, they were definitely there now.

After sending him to work on a high he'd be on for a while, she went back to sleep for a few hours, woke back up and decided to channel her inner Leon and chef it up in his kitchen.

Her omelet was a success.

After a nice long hot shower and hygiene routine, she decided to get her mani/pedi redone. The color is orange.

Zora soon headed through the lounge with Leon's lunch in hand like always, loving the look on his face as he digs through the bag to see what she'd brought.

Today was a Cuban sandwich with fries, and he was more than delighted. “I've been craving one of these!”

“Yeah? I had one on my lunch break the other day, and it was so good! Had to get you one.”

“Thank you, baby.” He says with a kiss to her lips, as she sits down beside him.

“Welcome. How's your day been?”

“Great, actually. We got through most of our pallets already, so I might just get outta here early today.”

“Oh, I always love the sound of getting off work early! I hope you do make it home before six, today.”

"This morning gave me a lil extra motivation.” He nudges her with a smirk on his face, as she hides her own.

“Shut up,” she laughs as he wraps an arm around, pulling her closer to him. “But also, you're welcome.”

“Thank you sweet stuff. How's your day off been?” He asks, humming as he bites into his sandwich.

“Well, this morning was great,” she winks, making him chuckle. “But, I took a nap, got up and ate breakfast, then I went and got my toes done— they're orange like my nails, but my feet got cold so I had to put my socks back on. I'll show you later.” She smiles. “I've been laying around, other than that. It's too cold outside to be out there for too long.”

“What did you make?”

“An omelet. It was so good!” She smiles, making him mirror her in no time.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I gotta make you one. Use my secret ingredient.”

“Word? Let me find out you were a chef this whole time, Z.”

She laughs. “Oh come on, I'd never steal your lane. It's like a family secret but I add a lil sumn to mine. You'll love it, I promise.”

“I can't wait,” he fondly shakes his head, kissing her lips.

“Can't wait to see these cute ass toes either. Love ‘em.”

“You got a foot fetish?” She squints, to which he laughs.

“Zora, I've got a you fetish.”

“Oh my god,” she laughs to cover up the way she's just melted inside.

“Act like you ain't know,” he shakes his head, taking another couple bites of his sandwich.

“I don't wanna go back out in the cold. It's so bitter out there.” She says, looking out the big window in front of them.

“You ain't lying, babe. It's cold as fuck in the room we work in too. Metal insulation should've been installed a long time ago.”

“You need me to say something?” She asks, raising her brow.

“No, mama, I got it.” He snickers, kissing her forehead. 

“It better be in there by my next visit.” She firms, before leaning on him.

“They like yo pretty ass, ima tell ‘em so they can speed the process up.” He laughs.

“Whatever works, right?” She responds with a laugh of her own.

“Mmhm…whatchu feelin’ on me for, Jean?” He asks with a grin, already knowing what she was up to, rubbing on his knee, her hand casually sliding up.

“Ya know, just the sight of a hardworking man gets me going.”

“Yeah? Where's this hand of yours going?”

The way she licks her bottom lip, biting down on it before it escapes has him ready for whatever.

“I'll be waiting in the bathroom.” She says with a smile, before getting up from the table, leaving him dumbstruck.

She giggles before slipping into the employee bathroom, not having to wait long as he finally makes his way inside, locking the door behind himself.

“Hey.” She says, smirking as he walks them backwards into the counter, her body becoming flush with his, much to her liking.

“What's gotten into you, lately?” He playfully asks, rubbing her hips.

“I don't know, you said to ask for it any time I want it, but I think it's more fun this way.”

He chuckles, before spinning her backwards, her ass now pressed up against his crotch. She smirks at him through the mirror.

“How much time do we have?”

“Mm,” he shrugs. “A good ten minutes.”

“More than enough time.”

Her sweats and panties are pulled down, and he can't help but run his fingers through her slick folds, feeling how unbelievably wet she is.

“Fuck,” he mumbles before squatting down, stuffing his face in between her cheeks, burying his tongue in her.

Her hands find the countertop as she bites back her moans, rolling her hips against his face. He wildly licks her slit, before suckling her clit into his mouth.

“Please… that feels so good!” She quietly whines, reaching back to rub her fingers through his curls.

Her legs begin to shake as he wags his tongue against her, her grip on his hair tightening. Her soft panting is making him strain against his jeans.

“I'm g-gonna cum!” She whimpers, arching and gripping the back of his neck as she does just that, wetting up his nose and mouth with her juices.

He happily licked it up, standing up to yank his own bottoms down, groaning all in her ear as he stuffs himself inside of her, bottoming out. Her lips are pursed together tightly, thankfully muffling her gasp.

“Good ass pussy,” he lewdly moans.

Her eyes stay glued on their reflection, her mouth now agape as he taps that spot over and over again. The way she's squeezing around him feels heavenly.

“Fffuck,” she quietly moans, “hittin’ that fucking spot so good!”

“Yeah? This spot right here?” He taunts, smirking at the way her eyes rolled back, her lips sputtering out a yes.

One hand comes up to grip her neck, “say it again” spilling out of his mouth with a grunt.

“Yeah!— fuck, I'm c-cummin’!” She moans a bit louder than she meant to, quickly biting into her lip to muffle herself as her orgasm rushes through her. His strokes never cease.

“Mmhm, gimme that pussy,” he grunts, nearing his own peak as he gyrates into her, kissing the back of her neck.

“H-holy shit, babe,” she grits, biting down on her lip.

“So fucking close,” he grunts into her ear, digging a bit deeper inside.

She damn near draws blood from her lip by the time he's releasing inside of her, fingers bearing down on her hips, leaving bruises for her to admire later.

“You… are fucking incredible.” He rasps, as they laugh and catch their breaths.

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Eryn’s busy shuffling through the small crowd of people at the mall, when she bumps into a familiar face. Just the person she was hunting for, too.

“And, so we meet again.” Craig says, trying to hide the fact that he might have been laying low, afraid to face her.

She scoffs. “At least we see each other this time.”

“Baby E—”

“Nope.” She cuts him off. “That's the issue, right there. I'm not a baby, Craig. You can't keep doing this shit like I'm that same little girl you knew way back when!”

“Okay, okay, I hear you,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “I was in your business and I'm sorry.”

Eryn rolls her eyes before stepping around him, having no time for his tired apology. But he wasn't gonna stop, now that he'd started.

“Eryn, come on.” He says, walking after her.

“Nah, I'm cool. I don't have time for this.”

“For real? I'm tryna apologize to you—”

“Are you?” She stops and turns in his direction.

“Quit cuttin’ me off.”

“Stop saying stupid shit and maybe I'll refrain.” She spat, crossing her arms over her chest, making her many bracelets clink together.

He stares at her, holding his tongue because she was rightfully upset and now was not the time for banter.

“Look, I'm really sorry. I instantly regretted it after I said it. I even told him to relax on you cause maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. I know I shouldn't have done it, regardless. It's not my business.”

“No. It's not your business.” She frowns. “Had that man yelling at me like he'd lost his mind. I should kick your ass.”

“I know, I ain't mean to unleash all of that.”

She sucks her teeth. “Yeah, whatever. You wanted him to yell at me like he always does. That shit funny to you or something?”

“No!”

“Hm. Well, are we done here?” She asks.

“Uh yeah.. I guess? I don't think ima say anything to make you not mad at me.”

“No, you're not. Thanks for the apology, though. Just stay out of my business. I'm not your little sister.” She reminds him, before walking away.

“Damn.” Craig sadly mumbles before walking away with a hung head.

Her phone rings and she answers it with a bright smile. “Hey B, wassup?”

“I know you just left, but damn I miss you girl.” 

“Is that right? Maybe I'll swing back that way.”

“Yeah, why don't you do that. I got sumn for you when you get here.”

“If it's dick, you can keep it Brandon.” She laughs, and so does he.

“Come on, it's not like that. I actually got you something.”

“Mmhm, I'm on my way.”

Right after her heart to heart with Leon, she had a separate one with Brandon, in which she admitted her feelings and told him that they would unfortunately have to go their separate ways, to which he did not agree.

He had also developed a crush on her, in the time they had reconnected, and he wasn't gonna deny it just because his ex-best friend happened to be her brother.

He assured her that they would just have to talk it out. Said he was going to reach out to him personally, which she agreed and suggested that he should've done that in the first place, to which he agreed and apologized.

She was ready to face the music a second time, when the time came of course. But for right now, she was going to enjoy herself.

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“I haven't been home before six in so long,” Leon groans into the pillow, while Zora is perched on his lower back as she rubs her hands up and down his sore muscles.

“Getting off early is the best feeling, ain't it!” She laughs, moving up to his shoulder, rubbing his tense spots.

“Why are you so tense, baby?”

“I think I pulled something earlier,” he shrugs, instantly regretting it. Zora shakes her head like he can see her.

“Okay, relax..” she moves off of him, “sit up so I can get that knot out.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Moving behind his seated body, the natural heat between her thighs is warming his bare back. Her fingers relocate the knot in his left shoulder, working to relieve pressure.

His head lolls forward, his hands rubbing the sides of her thighs as she works her magic.

“Damn, that feels good.” He mumbles, eyes closed.

She smiles, dipping down to kiss the back of his neck. He was in pure bliss as her other hand reached for his other shoulder, kneading his skin like precious dough.

“What's the real reason why you're tense, Avery.” Zora asks again.

He sighs. “I don't know, I just feel like something’s going on.”

Her brows furrow. “With what or who?”

“Eryn.”

“Oh.”

“I know she's not a baby and she makes her own decisions. I just feel like… I don't know, I just don't like it.” He sighs again.

“Listen, baby. I know she's your sister and this isn't the ideal situation for either of you I'm sure, but she's gonna have to learn some things on her own. You can only guide her so much. You're only gonna give yourself a headache, worrying about that. I'm sure that if anything is going on, she'll tell you about it, just like she was about to the last time. Let her.”

“I hear you.”

“I'm serious, Avery.”

“I'll let her come to me. I hear you.” He repeats, turning his head to look back at her.

“Don't make me fight you.” She half jokes, mushing his head back in the other direction.

“Fight me naked?”

“That's our type of fight ain't it?” She snickers.

“Huh, you right.” He nods.

“Duh!” She replies without missing a beat, making him suck his teeth and laugh.

“Alright, you're kink free up here now. Please be more careful at work!” She scolds, still rubbing his left shoulder.

“I will, I promise. Now come lay with me.” He says, moving onto his back, and pulling her right down on top of him.

The covers fall over them as they snuggle up and rub their feet together. The heat was blasting through the vents, warming their cold bones right up.

“You think I need a space heater?” He asks, flipping through the channels.

“You be that cold at night?” She asks, drawing imaginary patterns on his right arm, already dozing off.

“Sometimes, yeah. I sleep with socks on like an old man, babe.” He stresses, making her tiredly laugh at him.

“Yeah, I'll get you one, then.”

“Oh, you don't have to do that.” He assures her.

“I want to. Don't fight me on it.” She playfully smacks his cheek, before sliding up to stuff her face into his neck, sighing contentedly.

“You comfy?” He asks, arms draped around her waist, rubbing circles into her hips as he begins to doze off, himself.

“So comfy.” She responds, before going super quiet, and ultimately falling asleep to his scent and the lull of his heartbeat.

Sometime later, after coming back from the bathroom, Leon slides back under the covers and kisses Zora’s forehead, softly laughing at her still being asleep.

Mindlessly scrolling through his phone, his eyes dart up to read the incoming message from Instagram. It was Brandon and he was ready to talk.

Tapping the message before it disappears, he taps across the screen and sends a message back, letting him know he was on his way.

“Z, baby,” he leans over to press kisses to her face, watching her stir slightly and reach out for him with her eyes still closed.

“I gotta head out real quick, baby.”

“Hm,” she stretches, rubbing her face, “where you goin’?”

“Gonna go chat with Brandon.” He simply says, making her eyes finally pop open.

“Before you start scolding me,” he continues, “I'm not gonna beat him up or yell or any of that. I'm going to hear him out, for real.”

She stares at him for a few seconds, before nodding and rubbing her eyes again. She was adorable when she'd just woken up from a nap.

“Okay, be careful. Where are you meeting him?” She asks.

“His crib.” He answers, still hovered over her.

“Okay. Call me when you get there.”

“Yes ma'am. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

It's finna get juicy!

21

@ghostfacekill-monger @thegifstories @blackerthings @harmshake @brentfaiyazwhore @honestpreference @sheabuttahwrites @essaysbyciara @starcrossedxwriter @blowmymbackout @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @abeautifulmindexposed @henneseyhoe

[sunwarmed-ash]

WIP Thursday

@harrgrove helped me tear through some fucking AWFUL writers block this morning so im gonna post the next part that I have written for neverender as a treat 😘

you can read chapters 1-3 here!

Ch 4 preview

Billy stays at Steve’s as long as it takes for the bruises to heal. And then, without a word to anyone, he takes off. 

He doesn’t go far. He can’t yet. Mostly because he’s broke, but also because someone has to clean the blood off the floor before it sets for good if they want to have a prayer at selling the house. Now that Neil’s out of the picture, locked up without anyone to call and post bail, there’s nothing tying any of them to Hawkins.

-

It takes over three hours but finally, the wood is starting to resemble the chestnut color it began at. He’s exhausted, his hands burn and his knees ache, but it’s done. All final traces of Neil Hargrove have been scrubbed clean from the place. 

Billy could really go for a shower and an ounce of weed right now. Wash away and burn out all memories of the last two weeks. Even the good ones. Because Billy knows from personal experience, even the good ones don’t stay that way for long.  

Steve and Max will be pissed when they wake up and notice he bailed. Even more so when he finally does for good, but they will get over it. Move on. They already have once, and that was when there was still something left of Billy to miss. 

He digs into his jeans for his wallet. After all the fucking cleaning supplies, gas, and a 6 pack to make the day a little less miserable, Billy’s left with barely enough money for either lunch, or a carton of cigerettes. 

With a heavy sigh, he chooses the cigarettes and gets in his car headed north. 

-The Diner-

“Hey you! Got a table that just opened up, come on in.” 

Within seconds of his arrival, Debbie’s waving him inside with a friendly smile. Her motherly affection feels like an assault after spending so long face down over his fathers blood. He needs to do this now, before he loses his nerve. 

“Hey Debbie, I’m uh not actually here to eat.”

“Well, I know you can’t just be here to see little ol’ me,” she smiles, putting both painted hands on her chest for emphasis.

Any other day, he might play along. He doesn't have the energy today.

“I uh, I’m looking for work, actually.”

“And you wanna work here,” she asks, suspicions raised. 

The best part about Debbie's transplant status is she didn’t the full exent of Billy’s tragic backstory. Which is also why she’s realistically the only person in Hawkins who would hire him. He desperately needs the money. He’s gotta get the hell out of here. Fast. 

“I’ll take whatever you got.” 

Just then, their cook shouts as he burns himself on something for seemingly the last time. 

“MOTHERFUCKER! FUCK THIS PLACE! FUCK! STUPID CHEAP FUCKING EQUIPTMENT! I’M FUCKING DONE!” 

Debbie, Billy, and the 3 other customers watch as the line cook tosses off his apron, grabs his stuff and storms out in a huff. 

While every eye in the restaurant blew wide, Billy’s included, Debbie barely reacts. She just keeps chewing her gum, watching as the man leaves before returning her eyes to Billy.

“Know how to cook?”