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[gnohomotho]

May I play with you?「✦Pt.2✦」

Pairing: The Salesman // The Recruiter x fem!reader Summary: Oh man, you're screwed. Can you save your friend? Can you play the game right? Or are your cards all wrong, closed off with a deranged man who is enthralled with you? Simple truth or dare, or is it far worse for you? And is that large hand caressing your thigh more intricate than you thought? This one is roller-coaster, please strap in. Warnings: I think I may see what everyone saw in this hot lunatic NSFW language, obsession, kidnapping, bondage, gagging, guns, using said guns, abuse, fondling, drugging, no consent and dubious consent, mentions of death, threat of death, mentions of sexual themes and a very enamoured maniac. MDNI, 18+. Porn with a plot. Word count: 6k A/N: *chuckles* I'm in danger. ˙ᵕ˙ Seriously, this man is quite something, doing my best here but I do finally see why so many requests featured this handsome mother----. Link to previous Link to next Gorgeous gif by @lenoirexv! If you enjoy my works, I'm grateful for every like // reblog // follow // request // message! ♥

Mishko, Mishko, Mishko…

You ran.

The train would take too long.

You dodged dark streets and glittering puddles, streetlamps casting an orange glow that only helped fuel your desperation. Your eyes, momentarily dizzy from each scene leaving a burnt image of itself the faster you ran, darted to your phone screen, and you followed the little red square as if life depended on it. Masterfully dodging inhabitants, your own feet, reflecting puddles.

Every light was hope you clung to. The rhythmic move of your dark tights blurring against the reflective surfaces reminding you to hurry.

Surely he isn’t that unhinged, surely this is all a big stupid joke. Maybe Mishko put you up to this.

Maybe he’s in on it, yes, you huff as you turn another corner into a dark alley, coat flying behind you. You didn’t even notice it start to rain again. Droplets cling to your hair which clings to your face.

You stop before what looks like a motel. A tall building with a burnt-out sign, barely flickering a pink glow around letters that no longer work. It has begun to pour.

Your hair clings to your head and your shoulders, as if trying to shield you from the oncoming inevitable.

You walk up the soaked path, noting the dead flower garden. Though you detest roses, you’d give anything to see some kind of life reassure you that life indeed has a place in the decrepit building.

Doorbell? Knock? Tear down the door? No time for that, you look at your phone one last time to make sure you’re breaking into the right place and run against it shoulder first.

It was unlocked and you fall inside unceremoniously, catching yourself mid-stumble.

Your coat only just now catching up whooshes past your legs and swings back, the crinkling sound and your hurried breaths the only thing you can register. Everything is so eerily…silent.

Like a forest with no life, indicating a predator on the prowl.

“Mishko?!”

You yell into unlit hallways, the ominous reddish pink barely reflected from the outside the only means of light. This place won’t even let light in, let alone hope.

Nothing. Nobody answers.

Just the tapping and flow of rain on a tin roof, drips and water hitting the ground, the downpour covering all else.

You begin to check each empty room, each room with a door, anything. So hectic you don’t notice your breath and vision unable to keep up. You’ve wrapped your arms around you, and you don’t even notice. If anyone were to see you, they’d think someone stole Death’s cape and was trying to blend in with little success.

All you get in return is creaking floorboards, the stench of rotting wood, and a place that looks at best deserted. At worst like the cliché scene of a murder.

How did I manage to turn this into such a tragedy in a matter of minutes?

You drag the hair out of your face and stare ahead. The way up is blocked. One room left. One more shaky breath, as deep as you can muster in your burning shallow lungs. Your fists clench.

You dart to the door, but rest your hand on the doorknob, not moving. Your heart is beating out of your chest. You’re…so sure yet terrified.

It all feels so…gaudily maquette-like. Fake. Like you’re unknowingly on a theatre stage, not knowing the play for the amusement of an unseen audience.

Until you open the door, this is all just a bad dream and none of it counts. No real-world repercussions. Until you twist the knob on the door. You feel water on your cheeks and realise it is no longer rain. Almost angrily does your hand shoot up, pushing the moisture from your eyes – you need to see clearly, not cry, for goodness’ sake. Even though your lips are quivering and your breath running through a barely open throat, your resolve strengthens.  

You kick the door open ready to jump at or be jumped, but you are ready.

Yet the sight that greeted you left you as unprepared as could be.

Your colleague, your friend, sits tied up, mouth gagged, eyes carved with terror and tension.

They meet yours with utter confusion and blind fear. The moment he sees you, he immediately stops blinking, pleading at you with no words, arms wrestling against the ropes. His head is shaking so vigorously you see droplets of sweat fly away, even in the pale-yellow light from the streetlamps outside. You’re almost paralysed but act on nothing but impulse and placid resolve to get him out.

“Mishko!” Your voice is barely a cracked tone, you’re chilled to the bone and shaking but cannot let your friend be hurt. Continue to be hurt.

“Hold on, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

You run to him, kneel to him, softly placing a hand on each cheek, his forehead, checking his body for harm. No blood. No bruises. Yet. You put his shaking face in your own shivering hands and cup his cheeks.

“Please, just nod or shake your head. Are you hurt?”

You gaze into his soft dark eyes darting back and forth chaotically, tears streaming down his face.

But he shakes his head, and you feel the vibrations going through him, his stifled breathing, his attempts to speak.

You pull his face to yours and lay your forehead on his, knowing that calms him down when he’s panicked. “Oh, thank god, Mishi, Mishi...” And you’re also providing a human shield should anyone wish to visit.

With a gentle whisper, you try to assess the situation and look like you’re not panicking out of your mind yourself.

He’s tied to a chair, there’s furniture in the room, a window. The dark red carpet doesn’t do anything to ease your mind, and the walls are ostentatiously empty. No potential weapons. One way out.

You look back at him, his eyes visibly wishing to convey something. With a slow gaze you follow his chaotic movements and whisper once more, slowly, barely above the rain outside.

“Are we alone?”

His eyes stop darting like tennis balls across the room and gaze into you with utter desperation. Very slowly his head moves to make an almost unnoticeable motion from left to right.

Your heart drops.

You guide your hands to his cheeks and try to hush both him and yourself again.

“Shh, Mishi, it’s ok. I’ll get you out of here.” Fuck fuck fuck… “It’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” Why are you lying to the both of you?

You fling the coat down for more range of motion and resolve to compartmentalise – the gag. Then ropes. Then window.

Although the light provided should be enough, and your fingers are usually long and nimble, the gag is well knotted, and you can’t seem to get rid of it yourself even though you’re doing your level best.

Fingers shaking, paralyzed, losing feeling. Rain pouring through your thoughts. You feel your own mind begin to try to leave the horrendous situation but you drag it back kicking and screaming.

With exasperation and a huffed curse you leave the back of his head unable to undo the gag, instead endeavouring to fish out your phone---but suddenly your friend starts frantically shaking his head, staring above you and behind you, looking to your phone and vigorously trying to convey disagreement.

“No…phone? Ok…don’t worry.” You go back to him, trying to undo the ropes instead, but you did dial out a small emergency number. Just didn’t press ‘call’.

“Got it. I’ll get you out.” You both inadvertently yet subconsciously hold him through the ropes as you lower to get rid of the restraints and search for a way to undo the knots. They’re good, but the ropes were too thick for any intricacies.

“Almost…almost…”

You’re breathing so fast that the sharp intakes of air are actively hurting your throat.

The sharp movements and concentration against your own cold shivers and the hush of rain outside completely envelop you, and you don’t notice something very important.

Your friend has stopped fidgeting under you.

Even though your arm is halfway around him fighting with the restraints, his heart beating into it is the only motion you feel now. His breathing is low, turned to muffled whimpers. His body language is pointed to a single source, no longer aiding your rescue attempts. A chill runs through you.

“Mishko?” You barely utter his name, fear gripping your shoulders.

Just as you were before the door, now you do not wish to continue the next few seconds lest you find out the source of his paralysis and breath turned to whimpers. Your eyes are caught in a wide look into nowhere, clutching your friend’s chest with your arm unmoving, and you do not wish to recognize what made his startled breath stop.

And the source was delighted to make itself known.

❥❥❥

The voice carves through the thick silence; through rain, through caught breaths, through your shivers turning the atmosphere blurry, like a hot knife through butter.

“What a pair of lovebirds.”

The familiar voice.

That self-satisfied smile.

That curve of inflection that could be making a sales pitch.

All have been burnt into your brain; you don’t even have to turn around to see. And you don’t. You cup your friend’s face once more and stare directly into his eyes, ignoring the visitor entirely for one last whisper.

“Look at me. Mishi. I’ll get you out. It’s ok. It’s all ok. I promise, I’ll get you out.”

A firm hand on your cold, soaked through shoulder reminded you of how futile your words felt. The shirt clung to your skin so closely that his fingers felt like they were directly on you with no layer between, exacerbated by the sensitivity of your tingling neck.

You shake out of the grip, pushing the hand away as you would a worrisome insect, and spin around. Now face to face with what you knew was waiting for you, but hoped against hope against it.

In dim light reflecting orange streetlamps and burnt out pink signs, half enveloped in shadows now in full height driving nails of frost through your spine…

Is that charming face, reptile-like smile, the smart suit, and the eyes…eyes far darker than you remember from the subway.

Looking down at you with such feigned pity your heart skips several beats, and your breath catches in your throat anew.

❥❥❥

“Clever girl…” he articulates to himself with feigned surprise, as he rests his hand back to his side, almost hurt that you deprived him of your touch so fast.

But he continues, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. His eyes are following your friend, reminding you of a predator satisfied with its ensnared prey and enjoying the seconds before its feast.

“The lady got here so fast I didn’t even get a say in the way the evening was going to go,” he sighs, leaning into the area behind you as if he’s reading the latest headline of Gardening Weekly.

Calm. Jovial. Nonchalant.

You cannot even gather a reply; you’re in a state of shock. Your friend’s muffled crying slaps you in the face and you shake through and through, mustering the words.

“What the hell, what in the god damn hell is wrong with you?! He didn’t do anything---”

The salesman’s hand lifts to his face with a single finger resting against his smiling lips.

“Hush, miss Y/N. Nobody’s harmed…just yet.” He smiles his cheshire grin and steps closer. You don’t step back, firmly planted between the man and your friend.

Amusement flickers in his eyes. Almost a hint of affection curled in something depraved and waiting, yearning to leap out.

“Brave little lady, aren’t you…” his hand lifts to your cheek and you still.

Refuse.

To move.

His eyebrows lift, and he makes a small, cut off movement to your skin. Teasing. Closing the distance.

Then another.

Those lips slightly open, the plastic smile, those dark eyes piercing you…was that an “ah?” sound as he moved to you?

You still don’t flinch.

“And. One. More.” He smiles as he brushes your skin.

Eyes so sickeningly soft and hands so falsely gentle you feel nauseous.

Suddenly, the salesman grabs your cheeks into his hand, his large palm and long fingers easily able to hold your jaw and dig into your skin with no effort at all.

“Very brave little lady…” his words curl into a slow purr in exaggerated amusement. He pulls his hand away, leaving you with red indentations on each cheek and an aching shivering jaw.

“Perhaps…a very naïve little lady. With such adorable new dimples.” His head cranes to one side, studying you. As he straightens slowly, brushing down his suit, he simply asks as if nothing were terribly wrong:

“Now that we’re all here, how about a game?”

❥❥❥

Truth or dare?!

Did you hear that right?

“Truth or dare…?” You utter, the salesman nodding with a polite, closed-lip smile. Somehow, the man is closer to you than he seemed before. You can once again smell his cologne, the spicy mix of his contemptuous persona and effort he must be putting into this play.

“Quite self-explanatory. Dare – one of you must do as they are told, or there will be consequences.”

You don’t even manage to muster a flinch as he pulls out a gun in place of a spinner.

You know you’d flinch back into him, slowly realising how far ahead he thinks in the game behind the game.

As he lays his briefcase down beside the table, he leans into you, brushing the tip of your ear as if whispering a secret.

His hand strokes your hair as he does so, periodically, ever so lightly.

You feel his hot breath on each millimetre of your earlobe and neck, driving ice through your back anew. He remains there before speaking, as if knowing exactly what he’s doing to you and relishing it.

“And truth, as in, ‘truth be told, I would far prefer my little lady in place of her boring paramour as we speak, tied and pleading with those big doll eyes of hers that leave me no rest, begging for me’ but rules should be respected.” His smile never fades as he pulls away and sees you visibly shiver from your toes to your ears.

❥❥❥

All three of you sit at the dingy table, the gun lying in the middle.

The salesman kindly did undo your friend’s gag but left him tied up. You can see Mishko's mind racing and his mouth uttering unsaid words, eyes darting from you to the salesman and back to the gun on the table repetitively. His soft brown hair clings to his forehead as yours does to your skin, though it’s through sweat and tears – and you want nothing more than to reassure him.

Yet you’re very aware that every word can and will be used against you.

You don’t want to tempt the volatile substance of a man now uncomfortably close to your side – you feel like you’re swimming in a room full of ether trying not to light a match with each breath.

The salesman remains ever jovial.

“I think the lady should go first.” He coos, cocking his head to you, sinking those eyes into yours. How is his hair still perfectly in place, how does he still look charming while I feel like I’m the one to blame and doing everything wrong?!

You touch the gun and make sure to not even brush the trigger, motioning it to spin. The barrel points to the salesman.

“Oh my…” he turns to you, self-satisfied eyes closed into coin slots and a smile playing with each corner of his mouth. He leans into you, so close your noses threaten to touch and whispers:

“Dare.”

“I dare you to let him go.” You reply, in monotone, not pulling away. Not playing his game.

He pulls away in feigned disappointment, mouth curling into a frown.

“How disappointing…but no, I can’t do that, we wouldn’t have enough players. The game wouldn’t work. Try again, little lady, and…try to play fair.” He nudges the gun with a single finger never letting his gaze off you. “I don’t like to be bored.”

“Take away any weapons you still have on you, your phone, any recording devices – all electronics, anything – take it out and place it far away from reach.” Your mind was racing, you tried to think of something better – like daring him to take out every single bullet from the gun’s chamber, but you were sure the rules wouldn’t let you sabotage the game.

Wordlessly, he shifts through his pockets, still gazing at you. Nothing.

Breast pocket, nothing. A pat in a playful manner to indicate emptiness, you hate him so much in this moment your eyes will set fire to the table.

With a single circular elegant leg motion, he slides his briefcase away from the ground below the table, circling his leg back and laying a hand on your thigh as he straightens back into the chair.

“Such a clever girl.”

He spins the gun, still resting his other hand on your thigh. The place where he caresses seems to burn straight through into the chair. You daren’t move and feel the outline of his watch digging into your skin as he ever so teasingly moves his hand up.

The gun lands on your friend, whose eyes dart from the barrel to your face, wordlessly pleading for help. Your lips curl into a voiceless whisper of his name, trying to say “don’t worry, it’s ok” but he doesn’t look like he’s even remotely there.

His eyes dart to your legs to see the contrast of a large hand covering your upper thigh, almost digging into your tender flesh as you sit, paralysed, and it seems the gears in his head are spinning for dear life.

Once more you understand that you’re behind on the game behind the game; he’s not the only piece of collateral in this room. He’s playing you against each other while the both of you are each other’s bargaining chips.

“T…truth…” his shaky voice stumbles out, and you realise it’s the first time this cursed evening you’ve heard him speak. It hits you like a brick of reality – it’s not a game, the gun is loaded, and you’re fucked.

“Mishi…” you whisper, unable to contain the fear and sorrow and in your voice, unable to stop the worry lining your face from spilling out. Don’t try anything. Please let me take care of it.

The salesman smiles and rubs your thigh, momentarily letting you go as he gathers his hands under his chin, gazing from you straight into your friend. He leans into his words and the table creaks in utter indifference.

“Do you love her?”

❥❥❥

That self-satisfied cheshire grin, as if he laid down a royal flush. Your heart stopped in your throat. The man before you, frozen in place. Everything could have stopped breathing and held its breath, and you wouldn’t notice.

You’re growing dizzy, this must be a bad dream. Just a bad dream. This is so stupid, so fucked up, so stupid!

Your friend looks like he’s going to be sick.

“As…as…a…friend…friend…y--yes…”

Perhaps it was your hypervigilance, your head-counting proclivities, but you could sense the atmosphere stiffen around you, air growing hard to breathe. Did you imagine it, or did the man beside you somehow darken without moving a brow? You say nothing, but your eyes growing wide and inability to speak say enough. You don’t take another breath.

Both your hand and the hand of the salesman darted for the gun at the same time, only yours failed to grab it first and landed straight on the salesman’s wrist.

With undue resolve you do not let go, trying to keep his pinned arm locked and unable to raise from the table.

From the corner of your eye which is darting from your friend to the gun, you see a head lift in amusement and slowly lean down to one side, mouth growing from an open expression of entertained indulgence into a closed mouth grin, watching you from your periphery.

“Amusing, little lady. As much as I enjoy your tender fingers grabbing me, do let go. Or I will be forced to end the game prematurely for lack of viable players.”

With heavy reluctance, you let go of his wrist, pulling your arm away.

“Don’t hurt him. Don’t break the rules. Please.”

It’s barely a whisper and he doesn’t react. Merely takes the gun and places a finger on the trigger.

“I truly dislike people who do not listen. People who speak so much and say so little. I detest people who are impolite, people who break the rules so carefully put in place to protect them, people who think they can just skirt by and cheat and…” he stands up, gun pointed straight at your friend, “…waste my time and my breath. Say it once, why say it again? Let’s see…” he lets the gun grow limp in his hand, checking the chamber.

“Mhhm.” The gun is pointing at your friend again. The salesman’s stance is straight, arm outstretched, a perfect line with the gun’s barrel.

“First time player’s privilege,” he says, the joy leaving his voice entirely. “Answer truthfully, one last chance.”

“Y…yes, I do, I …I…love her, please…please…don’t shoot----I----”

The gunshot rings through your ears leaving your head a ringing, blurry mess and your voice sounding screams without your influence into a slow-motion void.

For a moment you cannot see, won’t look, growing sick from the sudden chaos and noise and a heart stopped with the unforgiving shot.

Forcing yourself to open your eyes into the smoke and horror, you see the salesman still holding the gun. He is unmoving, dominant arm cocked slightly to the side of your friend’s shivering form. A bullet hole gapes in the wall behind him, narrowly missing his head.

“Was it that hard?” He purrs, sitting back down, straightening his suit as he does so. Treating the gun as a mere extension of his arm, nothing more.

He lays it back on the table and spins it. Through the fog and frozen shock, you register something about your friend being in no position to spin, favours, you don’t know anymore, you want to drop dead or faint or just wake up…

“Be glad there is a lady present, young man – I could have just as easily asked you how often you’ve touched yourself to thoughts of those ethereal legs alone.”

His tone darkens, and a very short glance in his direction shows something…ominous in his penetrating, dead eyes. His movements have grown slow, underlined in their oddness, as if he were moving in honey. The way he cocked his head with that smile frozen in place as he spoke could chill a corpse.

“Or…how often you’ve offered her tea with a little bit of that pesky white powder still undissolved…hm? Poor little thing doesn’t even know why she missed our dates – she’d never stand me up like that! I thought it so odd. When I found out. I was a tad. Angry. Hm…My little lady. Helpless in the crude intentions of another. Tell me. Will she or I ask you first, just what exactly did you have planned? The two of us know your sick answer to that...”

The salesman lifts his eyebrows, his hand teasingly back to caressing your thigh – this time, with added fervour. His unblinking eyes, his speeded breaths, his focused demeanour – he’s grown excited. And the fingers of his large hand echo it directly in the way he grabs at the inner side of your thigh, almost prying your legs apart the more you push them together.

“…Does she know about the photographs? Does she know about where your dirty, undeserving, pitiful little hands have been? I bet she’d be very eager to find out…where the audacity you had when she was conscious ends and the depravity of the trash you are once she is not begins.”

As if on cue, the hand stops and merely rests in your lap. You realise that a large part of his words was reverberating through the walls and the rain, loud and sharp with something resembling cold venom, cold anger, cold…abhorrence. You look down at the hand in your lap.

Resting there. Perfectly cut nails. Strong fingers. Still.

You think you’d very much like to hold it, but don’t move.

❥❥❥

All of a sudden, you shiver straight through.

You've grown so cold.

The tension in your thighs gives way to weakness.

The words turn poisonous in your ears and against your wishes, you feel violated.

Less by the hand on your thigh stroking its fingers upwards, now having stopped, satisfied with your surrender.

As silly as it seems, even to you in your current state. Violated.

More so by his words, because...you know. You know it's true and feel disgusting. Your brain somehow compartmentalised too hard and the scene in front of you fades away leaving only your thoughts and fears; circling a maelstrom to drag you down with no sound.

His clingy love, his unwanted touches, his abuse of your kindness – your gestures of care swallowed by shallow need and hormonal outbursts.

On those late evenings.

Wherever you were, he was.

Wherever you tried to make a place for you with boundaries.

There he was.

Playfully violating them.

Ignoring your tenth 'no thank you'.

Stealing touches and hugs and even playing on your compassionate strings, asking for cuddles and head pats and telling you to softly caress his hair as he leaned into your chest and dragged his head down to your breasts pretending to search for a tense heartbeat.

All because he was stressed. He needed it. He needed you and pretended that what he gave back was adequate. Though all you wanted was safety, peace, and to be left alone. That never featured in the equation.

You remember how it was always suddenly four, five in the morning. The bitter taste in your mouth. The way the tea tasted funny. How clouded your head was.

Suddenly, the soaked shirt clinging to every inch of your skin feels so very exposing. The mess of a friend in front of you blurs as you try not cry.

So fucking stupid, Y/N. So fucking stupid.

Naked, violated, stupid.

You register the lower, slow voice, almost mocking in its sympathy and disdain.

"Oh, now, look at what you've done. And I was being so very reserved, ignoring a chance to ask for a truth I thought better of asking sooner. Anyhow. No matter. Tell me, young man…"

The salesman lifts a hand, leaving it to hover over the gun but only caressing the air above it.

"Tell us what you told your colleagues, when discussing that interesting study you grew so invested in. I hear it was quite the riot among men of your position. Tell me what got you so mesmerised, so...worked up as miss Y/N worked hard only a few rooms away. Careful, don't let your trousers grow too tight when you do..."

His hand lightly brushed the gun's trigger.

"...my fingers are itchy."

"That's…that's against the rules," you half-whisper, half-rasp into air that barely carries your words.

The hand on your thigh begins to slide up and down, as if reassuring you. The whole dynamic is so fucked up you feel your limbs losing sense of touch, growing colder. So cold they might as well be stone.

"So is making my little lady so disconcerted. Pardon the rudeness, miss Y/N, if you may. But I am so very interested and want you to hear it with me. Let the trash talk."

You know he's making that puppy-eyed expression in your direction, toying with you. You don't even have to look.

"Making my dear so very…" his hand finds yours and holds your dead fingers between his warmth, rubbing them in what has to be faux, manipulative, performative care. This is all pretend. He's lying. You know he's lying. One worse than the other. Your sister was more correct than she knew.

Funny. It would remind you of a play you liked, a fun performance where a bloke goes by each member of the audience with a list, yelling as he scratches out lines - "Twit, dumbass, twit, dumbass..." he stops mid-performance and gazes with hope to the back of the audience and announces: "Ah! But back there! There's a change! Two dumbasses right next to each other!" You don't laugh, but feel that is very much your situation.

"…cold." He frowns and rests his hand in your lap with yours still inside.

Now you look. His face isn't smiling. His voice isn't warm. His lips aren't cheeky, his eyes are zoned in and glassy. Aimed at the man ahead like a bayonet right under the chin.

What's happening to you? Is it the transfer of affect? Your emotions both high and subdued? The tension, shock, adrenalin find each nook in your body and mind, forcing you to cling desperately to the safest thing around?

Or spewing over everything like a sickening cloud of mustard gas and clouding rational thought? Which is it?!

Your breath had grown slow, shallow, and the walls of the dingy room were fading together in nondescript floating blurs. You heard him. You heard someone you trusted, cared for, when all was said and done, speak of what you were aware of but didn't know the details of.

A study concerning human behaviour and what some men would do, should they face no consequences.

The salesman nudged the gun if the words were growing slow.

You learned that the friend you trusted would endeavour to do things to you that you hoped were only categories in bad adult content. You learned he thought of you that way and dreamed of it, even if he hated himself for it afterwards. He did try it, over and over. He lied to you. Over and over.

Couldn’t help himself.

Limp, lifeless, dead eyed – no consequences.

Fair game.

You felt like being sick and setting the whole building on fire, the two of them included.

❥❥❥

So, you did what any rational person in your situation would do.

You stood up.

“I need some fresh air,” you hear your lips mumble and don’t even register that the hand doesn’t try to stop you. Mechanically you turn around and walk slowly towards the exit. Two voices follow you out:

“Of course, miss Y/N. The game is paused. Do come back as soon as you can. We’re having such fun, aren’t we?��

And:

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way…I thought you felt…I thought you would…”

You don’t even turn around as you hear the blunt sound of something slapping against something else hard. No more voices follow.

You only walk to the very first door and when you are nearly sure you’re at least partly alone, you sink to your knees in sobbing shivers that make no sound, only force your face to grimace and your hands to hold you around your body in nothing short of desperation and being done.

Why don’t I just play a truth and lie? He’ll shoot me. Everything works out. Boom. Peace. Maybe a dare, so I can ask to shoot the gun into the wall. And shoot myself. Fuck. Such a dumb bitch you are, Y/N. All your fault.

You’re leaning against the doorframe, half outside, and the rain is helping wash your thoughts away. How you wish it would go straight through and dissolve you with it.

“Tender flower, tender flower…” a voice humms behind you as if caught in a fond memory. You don’t look up or behind you. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re beginning to feel like you have nothing much to lose, over something so...silly.

“You know, you remind me of my favourite flower, little lady.” The voice stops beside you and you still don’t lift your head. You just stare into the pavement, far away from yourself.

The salesman bends down to be level with you, hands behind his back. Head cocking to the side in his usual manner, almost in a play of affection. Your heart sublimates from frost straight to anger and then…nothing. You grow numb again. But do look into his eyes as he speaks, noting the small smirk.

“Beautiful white blossoms, sharp, geometrical. Elegant. Everything in place, everything in order. Even closed, the flowers seem to sleep in a manner that exudes quiet beauty. Leaving one waiting for them to open, just to see them in bloom.”

Is he truly that mental?

“But what I appreciate most about this flower is the fact…that its leaves have nothing but sharp prickles around every edge. They themselves carry a smooth surface with unnoticeable little hooks should anyone try to touch their flowers. The stems are thorny, even in their dark, mesmerising stature and grace. And the parts hidden below ground…where the life of the plant resides…are safely covered by a shell enclosed in sharp thorns.”

He is truly that mental.

“And…” he leans closer, making sure to not touch you, but you can see that small smile and those piercing dark eyes almost caressing you through the rain, “the whole plant is deathly poisonous. Not only does it help you die, but you will desire death every second that your hallucinating brain cannot see its own lungs unable to lift…as you suffocate on dry land, slowly, slowly…so very slowly.”

He smiles as if remembering a fond memory.

“The blossoms carry the poison. The leaves carry the poison. The stem carries the poison. The seedpods and their precious seeds are the most poisonous parts of the whole plant. Imagine that. The grace of the plant, the beautiful life-giving hidden piece, the essence itself…so very lethal.”

You look up at him. You know the plant he’s describing. You know it because it happens to be one of your favourites too. Your lips open just a tiny bit and you see something else in those eyes for only a little fleeting while. Something you’re surely placing there yourself. You really must be damaged, out of it, desperate.

But you speak nonetheless:

“…Funny…the whole flower, in its beauty…with each sharp edge and prickle…simply says…don’t touch me. It won’t hurt you until you transgress and grab at what doesn’t belong to you…But the being wordlessly says…Don’t touch my flowers. Don’t touch my leaves. Don’t touch my stem. And don’t fucking touch me.”

You see his smile grow in a small act of genuine amusement. The salesman’s eyes are looking at you, through you, but you sense no lies in that look now.

He genuinely looks…affectionately satisfied. Am I high? He looks…sweet.

“What if I were to be very cautious with each blossom, and ask the plant for permission when she’s feeling shy? Would she bloom in my presence? I know her well, I know where I may and may not lay my fingers – I have studied her quite closely. I know when to let her grow in peace and gather strength in solitude. Tell me, miss Y/N. Would she bloom for me if I tended to her?”

“Depends. What if the plant asks you to throw her into a wall?”

A very surprised chuckle escapes his lips and wanders into the night rain.

“Then I’ll take her upstairs and arrange for that to be possible. Anything for her little lethal, tender heart.”

[argumentativantitheticaldream]

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲

ੈ✩₊christmas at your old family home˚˚୨୧⋆

Warnings: age-gap, smut and handjob

Word Count: 7.2k

Under the twinkling string lights that were somehow still aglow, the path to my old holiday home glistened with an incandescent glow, blanketed in a thick layer of freshly fallen snow. Towering evergreens flanked either side, their boughs sagging under the weight of frost, as though bowing in reverence to the season’s magic. I stopped to stare at the shimmering colors that reflected off the frosty ground, their soft hues painted the snow beautifully.

The air was crisp, biting at my cheeks, but it carried that unmistakable scent of pine and woodsmoke, a fragrance that wrapped around me like a scarf. Every crunch of my boots felt louder than it should, the sound sharp in the stillness. Yet it’s a sound I could remember clearer now, as though the years had rolled back in an instant.

The house appeared suddenly through the trees, as though it’d been waiting for my presence. Its roof was heavy with snow, the gables edged with glinting icicles. The front windows glistened softly, the warm light inside spilling onto the porch, onto the wreath hanging on the door. The red ribbon was a little frayed and the plastic firs had started to discolour but it was that same wreath from all those years ago.

Every step I took over the frost-laden ground seemed as though I was splitting the peace this house had sat in for years. I could almost hear the hum of voices from years ago, how my mother would call us in from the cold, the sound of wrapping paper tearing and the crackle of the fire. For a moment, I wasn’t stood at an abandoned house but I was outside of a home bustling with people. Laughter seemed to echo faintly, ghostly yet comforting, woven into the fabric of this place. I recalled snowball fights in the front yard, the smell of cinnamon wafting from the kitchen, and the way the world always seemed simpler here. The memories are almost tangible, pressed against me like a familiar embrace.

The path, though dusted with snow, felt alive like an artery that led straight to the heart of my childhood, pulsing with the energy of holidays past. As I reached the porch, I hesitated, letting the moment linger. It felt as though the house had been waiting for me, timeless and tender.

I hesitated for a moment on the porch, my hand hovering over the doorknob. It felt almost sacred, standing here again, as though stepping inside might disturb the memories still lingering in the air. But the soft glow of the lights through the frosted windows and the faint hum of something–music?, drew me forward.

As the door creaked open, the familiar scent hit me first: pine, woodsmoke, and something faintly spiced, like mulled wine or cinnamon. The warmth of the room wrapped around me instantly, chasing away the chill clinging to my coat. I stepped inside, and there he was, my dad's best friend, Alex, standing near the fireplace, his broad shoulders backlit by the dancing flames.

He looked the same as I remembered, though a few fine lines had etched themselves around his eyes and mouth, giving him a rugged, almost weathered charm. His brown hair, still thick, caught the light, glinting with strands of silver that hadn’t been there before. And his eyes—deep and warm, the kind of brown that reminded me of autumn woods met mine, sparking with recognition and something unspoken.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice a low rumble, full of surprise and affection. “It’s been… what? Seven years?”

I managed a shy smile, brushing the snowflakes from my hair as I stepped fully into the room. “Eight,” I corrected softly, my voice small in the cozy expanse of the living room. The contrast between us struck me in that moment; he, tall and steady, every bit the grown man I’d remembered, and me, barely twenty and still finding my place in the world. I was sweet, I suppose, in the way people describe someone who hasn’t yet been hardened by life. Though we shared the same brown hair and eyes, he carried the weight of experience, and mine the soft light of youth.

Alex chuckled, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the years. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

I shrugged out of my coat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, though it was anything but unkind. “And you haven’t changed a bit,” I said, though it wasn’t entirely true. He’d grown older, yes, but there was something deeper there, an enduring warmth, a steadiness that felt grounding that I hadn't noticed until now.

“Come on,” he said, stepping forward and reaching for my coat. “Let’s get you warmed up. You must be freezing out there.”

As he moved past me, his presence filled the space, familiar and comforting in a way that made the house feel even more alive. It was like stepping back in time, but with a strange, bittersweet edge because though nothing had truly changed, I had. I rubbed my hands together, trying to shake the chill from my fingers, even though the warmth of the room was already sinking into me. Alex motioned for me to sit by the fire, but I hesitated, still standing awkwardly in the center of the living room.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to show up while you were here,” I blurted, my voice tumbling out faster than I intended. “I just-” I gestured vaguely toward the door, my cheeks flushing under his steady gaze. “I wanted to visit the house. I didn’t know anyone would be here.”

Alex tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. “Why would you think no one would be here? It’s Christmas. Of course someone’s here.”

I shrugged, biting my lip. “I don’t know… I thought maybe it’d just be empty. Like it used to be when we’d come up for the holidays, you know? I guess I just wanted to…” I trailed off, searching for the right words not finding them until he’d interrupted.

His eyes softened, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, understanding smile. “To remember,” he muttered, as though the words carried weight for him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I added suddenly. “I didn’t even know if the place would still look the same.” I hesitated, my eyes darting to the wreath on the door, the glow of the lights, the crackling fire.

Alex stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re not intruding, sweetheart. It’s as much yours as it is mine.”

The warmth in his words caught me off guard, and I found myself swallowing hard against the sudden lump in my throat. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at him, unsure of what to say.

He broke the silence, his voice lightening with a hint of a teasing edge. “Besides, if anyone’s intruding, it’s probably me. I just came up here to get away for a few days, clear my head. Didn’t expect to have company.”

I laughed softly, the sound awkward but genuine. “I guess that makes two of us.”

Alex smiled, his gaze lingering on me for a beat longer before he nodded toward the couch. “Well, since we’re both here, I might as well make the best of it. Sit down. Warm up. I’ll make some tea—unless you’re still a hot chocolate kind of girl?”

I felt my face flush again, this time with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. “Hot chocolate sounds perfect,” I admitted quietly, and he nodded, disappearing into the kitchen.

As I sat down on the worn couch, the memories seemed to wrap around me like an old quilt. I let my eyes wander over the room: the familiar beams of the ceiling, the photographs still on the mantel, the faint hum of Christmas music crackling from a vintage radio in the corner. This place hadn’t forgotten me, not even after all these years.

The kitchen was steeped in a quiet kind of warmth, the kind that wrapped itself around you and refused to let go. The air smelled of chocolate, rich and sweet, mingling faintly with the scent of aged wood and the faint musk of a house that had seen generations pass through its doors. I cradled the chipped mug in my hands, its warmth soothing my cold fingers. The faded floral pattern on its surface seemed to whisper of the past, of hands long gone that had held it just as I did now.

Across from me, Alex sat in the weathered stool that shifted under his weight. He held his mug close, letting the steam rise and curl around his face like an ephemeral veil.

“You’d have caught your death if you stayed out in that snow any longer, love,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with an easy familiarity. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on the crooked bookshelf, the worn rug, the faded curtains that swayed slightly in the draft from the window, I assumed he was avoiding my intrusive gaze.

I took a sip from my mug. The chocolate was thick and velvety, the perfect kind of sweet. It spread warmth through my chest, a feeling that wasn’t entirely from the drink.

For a while, we talked about everything and nothing, our voices mingling with the sound of the wind outside. The house seemed to breathe with us, its wooden bones creaking softly in response. I watched Alex’s hands as they wrapped around his mug, his fingers strong yet gentle, his nails short and clean. The way his thumb traced absent circles along the edge of the ceramic seemed almost hypnotic.

As I reached for my mug again, our hands brushed. Just a whisper of skin against skin, but it was enough to make the moment still. His fingers were warm, rougher than I’d expected, but gentle in a way that sent a ripple of something unspoken through me.

He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second. “Sorry,” he murmured, though his hand didn’t move right away.

“It’s fine,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavier than they should have, carrying a weight I couldn’t quite name.

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. The fire crackled faintly in the corner, but everything else faded into the stillness between us. Then Alex pulled his hand away, his lips curving into a sheepish grin.

“Careful,” he said lightly, breaking the tension as he raised his mug again. “Wouldn’t want to spill and ruin your mother’s precious mugs.”

I smiled, though my heart was still beating faster than it should. “She’d never let me live it down.”

He laughed softly, the sound filling the room, but the echo of that brief touch lingered, quietly reshaping the space between us.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth seeping into the room and wrapping around us like a heavy quilt. I stretched out on the sofa, my legs tucked under me, while he sat at the other end, one arm resting along the backrest, the other draped casually over his lap. His presence filled the room effortlessly, a quiet confidence that seemed to settle into the old wooden beams and faded upholstery.

The bows on the back of my boots caught his eye as I shifted slightly, the ribbons brushing against the sofa cushions. Without saying a word, he leaned forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the soft fabric.

“These are… sweet,” he said, his voice low, almost amused, as he hooked a finger around one of the loops and tugged gently.

I glanced over at him, catching the playful smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. ���Sweet?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, his hand still toying with the ribbon, the firelight catching the roughness of his knuckles. “Yeah. Like something a little girl would wear. But they suit you.”

I scoffed, though I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “You know, some people find them charming.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, his voice teasing but soft. He tugged at the bow again, looser this time, like he was testing the strength of the knot. His fingers lingered there, warm and deliberate, as though the act of untying it was more interesting than it should have been.

“Alex,” I warned, trying to sound light, though the closeness of his hand sent a shiver through me. “tying those bows took ages.”

His grin widened. “That so? Guess I’d better not ruin your handiwork, then.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. His fingers hovered over the ribbon, brushing lightly against the fabric, and I could feel every quiet pull of the room between us. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, the playful smile fading just slightly, replaced by something softer, quieter.

“I didn’t think you’d still wear things like this,” he said, almost to himself.

I shrugged, my voice a little more hesitant now. “I guess some things don’t change.”

“Not everything has to,” he murmured, letting the ribbon slip from his fingers before leaning back again, the firelight catching the thoughtful curve of his smile.

The ribbon fluttered back into place as he leaned into the sofa, his arm brushing the backrest as though claiming the space between us without thought. I adjusted slightly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders to pool at my waist, though the fire’s heat was enough to keep the chill at bay.

He tilted his head to look at me, his gaze steady but warm. “Houses like this… they take on the weight of the people who leave them behind. It’s why I never stayed in one place long enough to feel that.” his tone shifted back to something firmer, though it still held that quiet intimacy that he seemed to demand.

I looked at him, his words hanging in the air. There was a quiet honesty in what he said, a crack in the carefully composed presence he always carried. “That’s not true, though,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “You come back to people, don’t you? That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

He glanced at me then, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite let it through. “Touché,” he said, and for a moment, the tension eased, a soft laugh settling between us.

I leaned back again, letting the sofa creak beneath me. “I guess this place will always feel like home,” I said, turning my gaze to the fire. “Even if it’s not the same anymore.”

I felt his hand then, resting on the back of the sofa, just inches from my shoulder. It wasn’t intentional, not exactly, but I was suddenly aware of how little space there was between us. My breath caught slightly, though I tried to hide it, shifting to tuck my legs beneath me again.

The blanket slipped further, and without thinking, he reached out to adjust it, his fingers brushing against my arm. The touch was light, but it sent a ripple through me, one I knew he must have noticed.

The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, it was thick, heavy with all the words we weren’t saying. The fire crackled softly, the warmth of it pressing against my skin, but it was his presence that made my chest tighten.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, his gaze still fixed on the fire. “How some moments feel bigger than they should. Like this one. Sitting here with you.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Yeah,” I said, barely managing the word. “Funny.”

He turned to me then, his expression unreadable but his eyes searching mine, as though waiting for me to say something else or maybe as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words.

I hesitated, my eyes dropping to the ribbon he’d let fall loose on my boot. “Everything feels so different when you’re not a kid anymore. The way the house creaks, the way the fire sounds, it’s all the same, but it doesn’t feel the same.”

He nodded, leaning back just slightly, his arm still draped across the back of the sofa. “That’s growing up, I guess. You start to realize the world’s not as big as it felt when you were younger. The edges get sharper. Things feel… closer.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the house or us.

I glanced at him, his face illuminated by the firelight. There was something in the way he looked at me, something quiet and unspoken, as though he was trying to puzzle out the thoughts I couldn’t bring myself to say.

“Closer, huh?” I said, forcing a smile to keep my voice steady. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes flicked to mine, catching the faintest hint of mischief. “You have another way?”

I felt the corners of my mouth tug upward despite myself. “Maybe. But I’m not sure you’d like it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, shifting slightly closer, just enough for me to feel the weight of his presence. “I’m pretty open-minded.”

The words were light, teasing even, but the way he looked at me softened their edge. I bit my lip, unsure whether the warmth in my chest was from the fire or from him.

“Don’t test me,” I said, feigning a warning tone, though I couldn’t keep the smile from my voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, though his gaze lingered, betraying the lie.

The silence that followed felt thicker this time, not awkward but charged, as though the room itself was holding its breath. I let my fingers trail along the edge of the blanket again, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to shake.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he said, his voice dipping lower, enough to make my pulse quicken.

I glanced at him, meeting his eyes only briefly before looking away. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

The word hung between us, an invitation I wasn’t sure how to answer. I hesitated, letting my gaze drop to the ribbon again, its soft edges now slightly undone.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Doing what?” I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant.

“Deflecting,” he said simply, reaching out to brush his fingers against the ribbon again. This time, he tugged it loose entirely, the bow unraveling beneath his touch.

“Alex!” I protested, sitting up straighter.

He smirked, holding up the ribbon as though it were a prize. “Relax. I’ll tie it back, better than it was before.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, though my heart betrayed me with its quickened beat. “You’d better. That bow took me ages.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning forward to take hold of the loose ends. His fingers worked deftly, surprisingly careful for hands that looked so strong.

I watched him, the firelight playing across his features, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “You’re awfully invested in this bow,” I said softly, my voice almost lost in the crackle of the fire.

He glanced up at me then, his fingers stilling for just a moment. “Maybe it’s not about the bow.”

The words hit me harder than they should have, the weight of them settling in my chest. I held his gaze, my breath catching as the charged silence returned, this time sharper, more defined.

“Then what is it about?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought he might actually answer. But instead, he tied the ribbon neatly, his fingers brushing against the back of my boot as he leaned back with a quiet smile.

“Done,” he said softly, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still held something deeper. “Better than it was before.”

I stared at him, my chest tight with the weight of the moment. “What is it about, Alex?,” I said, though my voice wavered.

His smile deepened, his hand resting casually on the cushion between us. “Shh, darling, you’re disrupting the silence.”

The ribbon sat perfectly tied, a little neater than before, though I barely registered it. My focus was on him, on the easy way he leaned back, his arm still resting on the back of the sofa, his fingers so close they might as well have brushed my shoulder.

The firelight danced across his face, softening the sharp angles of his jaw, and for a moment, I wondered if he felt it too–the pull, the quiet gravity between us that seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

“You’re staring,” he said, his voice breaking through my thoughts. His tone was light, teasing, but there was something behind it, something softer.

I blinked, caught off guard, and quickly glanced away. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” he said with a quiet laugh, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Should I be flattered?”

I scoffed, though my cheeks burned. “Maybe I was just admiring your handiwork.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “The bow, huh?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the edge in my voice didn’t quite land. “It’s a very good bow.”

“Thanks, m’love” he said, leaning a little closer, the movement subtle but impossible to ignore. “I take pride in my work.”

The shift in the air was palpable. The teasing, the playful back-and-forth, it was still there, but now it felt like it was building toward something, like the words were just a way to stall whatever was about to happen next.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” I murmured, my voice quieter now, almost unsure.

I swallowed, my throat tight, and glanced back up at him. The firelight reflected in his eyes, warm and steady, and for a moment, I felt completely unmoored, like I was standing at the edge of something I couldn’t name.

His voice split the silence, holding a sincere air of honesty. “Christmas doesn’t feel the same now, when I’m not spending it here with your family. When I’m not with you,”

The silence that followed was almost unbearable, thick and heavy with words unsaid. I could feel my heart pounding, and I was sure he could hear it too, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet of the room.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I whispered finally, my voice barely audible.

“Why not?” he asked, his gaze unwavering.

“Because…” I hesitated, my breath catching as I searched for an answer. “Because it feels wrong.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly, but there was no humor in his expression. “Maybe it’s supposed to.”

His hand shifted then, moving from the back of the sofa to rest on the cushion between us. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but it made my pulse race.

“Are you going to keep playing with that blanket,” he asked, his tone light again, though his eyes betrayed him, “or are you going to actually look at me?”

I froze, my fingers stilling on the fabric as I glanced up at him. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and for the first time, I realized how close he was, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, even with the fire blazing in the corner.

“I’m looking,” I said softly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

“Good,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the fire’s crackle the only sound as his words settled between us. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think—all I could do was watch him, my heart pounding as though it was trying to tell me something I wasn’t ready to hear.

His calloused touch grazed the bows again, this time pulling my boots off with a gentleness that I’d not expected coming from him. He gently pulled at the hem of my sock and ushered me over with a slight nod of his head, his voice monotonous and sure. “Over here, darling.”

The space between us seemed to shrink with every heartbeat, the air heavier, charged with an electric tension that neither of us could ignore. I could feel the weight of his gaze, steady and warm, pulling me toward him. My breath caught as I shifted slightly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders entirely now, exposing the softness of the moment in its most raw form. I wasn’t sure what possessed me, but something in the stillness between us, in the way he looked at me, something told me to move.

Without thinking, I shifted closer, just a little at first, then a little more, until my legs brushed against his. His body shifted instinctively, creating space, but his eyes never left mine, the quiet invitation undeniable.

I settled in slowly, my knees grazing his, my hands resting lightly on his chest for balance, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. The sudden proximity, the closeness of his warmth, made my pulse quicken. It was like everything I’d been trying to hide, every silent question, was suddenly laid bare.

There was no hesitation in his gaze, only a softness, a kind of understanding that made my heart race faster than before. And before I could second-guess myself, I shifted again, this time fully into his lap, my legs gently draped over his, my body pressed flush against his chest. The warmth between us was almost overwhelming, but it was a comfort too.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The crackle of the fire filled the silence, and I could hear his steady breathing, feel the way his chest rose and fell beneath my fingertips. My hands rested against his collarbone, the steady rhythm of his pulse under my palm grounding me.

“You’re still quiet,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, like he was trying to keep his own composure. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

I leaned in just slightly, enough for my forehead to rest against his, the gentle heat of his skin against mine making everything else fade away. “Just… taking it all in,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “This moment. You.”

His hands moved then, slowly, carefully, like he was unsure of how much space to take up. One of his hands slid gently up my back, just grazing the skin beneath the hem of my sweater, the touch so light it made my breath catch.

“You feel so… real,” he said, his voice low, thick with meaning. “Like everything else is just noise, and you’re the only thing that's… real.”

I shivered slightly, the warmth of his words sinking into me, filling the space between us in ways I hadn’t expected. Slowly, carefully, I reached up, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the rough stubble beneath my fingertips grounding me in this strange, quiet moment.

“I feel it too,” I whispered, moving even closer, until I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand moved to cradle the back of my neck, his thumb brushing softly over my skin, and I closed the small distance between us.

The kiss was slow at first, tender, like we were both trying to navigate the weight of everything that was unspoken between us. His lips were warm, the taste of him familiar, yet new in a way that sent a flutter through my chest. As we deepened the kiss, I felt him pull me closer, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with mine.

When we finally pulled away, our foreheads still pressed together, I could feel the lingering warmth of him, the shared space between us now feeling like something undeniably real.

“Isn’t this wrong?” I said softly, my voice barely more than a breath.

“Do you think it is?” he whispered back, his fingers brushing through my hair, sending a shiver down my spine.

I shake my head.

I shifted, pressing in a little more, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the solid strength of his body beneath my touch. His hands shifted too, grazing the sides of my face before gently cupping my jaw, his thumb lightly brushing over my lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a whisper, a tremor of uncertainty threading through it, as if he needed my affirmation before he let himself lean in further.

I nodded, a soft exhale escaping me, a breathless laugh at the back of my throat. “Certain,” I whispered. The words felt like an admission, like a truth I hadn’t known I was ready to speak until now.

Without another word, he closed the space between us again, his lips brushing mine once more. This time, the kiss was deeper, more insistent, as if we were both trying to capture something, to hold onto this fleeting connection before it slipped away. His hands slid down to my waist, pulling me in closer, until I could feel the length of him pressed against me, the warmth of his body completely surrounding me.

I didn’t pull away, didn’t hesitate. Instead, I shifted, moving so that I was straddling his lap, my hands curling around the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, as though we were two parts of something that had always been meant to fit together.

His breath hitched, and I could feel the heat rising between us, a soft tension hanging in the air as I traced my fingers along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my fingertips. He shuddered slightly at the touch, his hands moving to my back again, the warmth of them seeping through my clothes.

“You feel so right here,” he murmured, his lips grazing the edge of my ear as he spoke. The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I pressed in closer, my hands tightening around his neck.

“I know,” I breathed, the sound of my voice a soft gasp against his skin. “I don’t want this to stop.”

His lips found mine again, this kiss more urgent, more frantic, as if we were both desperately trying to keep hold of something that felt too perfect to let go of. My body responded instinctively, moving closer, pressing into him, and I could feel the way his pulse raced under my fingers.

His hands slid up my back, the heat of them spreading through my sweater, and I gasped softly, my body arching toward him in response. The moment felt suspended, as though time itself was holding its breath, waiting for us to take the next step, to move even closer.

Alex’s voice was soft, his hands found my hips and gripped them just enough to keep me steady in his lap. He gently guided my hips over his lap and a pit of warmth settled in my lower stomach, a familiar feeling that echoed through my entire body. His erection pushed against me, straining against the thin polyester of his trousers and it left me aching.

I was already gasping, each subtle shift of his body causing his trousers to rub against mine, sending waves of burning pleasure through my every nerve. The friction, every tiny contact, was enough to leave me breathless, my pulse quickening with each passing second.

“Alex, please-” I murmured against his skin, my voice barely a whisper but heavy with the weight of what I longed for. I tried so hard to maintain some semblance of control, but the need was growing, the desire coiling inside of me. I could feel his warmth radiating through the fabric of my clothes, like his very touch was igniting a fire within me. My hands clutched at his shirt, my nails lightly digging into his skin as if grounding myself, trying not to let the rush of feelings overtake me.

A reassuring nod brushed against my hair, the weight of his breath warm and steady. Then, with deliberate slowness, his hands slid down my sides, the sensation sending a soft ripple through me, each movement more intentional than the last. My breath caught as he paused at my hips, his fingertips grazing the gold embellishments of his belt before he quickly unbuckled the strip of leather and let it falter to the ground. I felt my chest tighten, and the world around us seemed to fade, leaving only the two of us in this fragile moment of suspended tension.

His hands moved lower, steady, calculated, as if he was savoring every inch of my skin he could touch. I could barely catch my breath, each moment feeling like an eternity, his body an undeniable magnet pulling me closer. My pulse raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Lift your hip, love.” His voice was muffled against my skin as he left kisses down my jaw but I still complied, lifting my hips from his lap.

He didn't waste a second, tugging down his trousers and boxers simultaneously, needing to free himself from the pressure and then his hands found me. The tenderness of his touch juxtaposed the way he’s just handled himself, his rough fingers trailed up my skin and under my skirt, finding my panties. He held my hips firmly and pushed up against me, his tip brushing the material of my underwear. It was achingly pleasurable and a reluctant whine spilled from my lips.

He was relentless as he spread his precum over the fabric and rubbed the lace over my clit only using his length. I bit down on my lip and his eyes caught mine. A wicked grin found his mouth and he nodded knowingly, slowly slidiing two fingers down from my navel to my clit, then pushing the fabric aside, spreading the wetness around which echoed through the confined space of the living room.

“So wet for me, love.” His voice was husky and drawled as if his sentence was one big word.

My thighs had started to tremble and his unwavering teasing had become overstimulating. “Alex,” I pleaded.

His face flashed with recognition and he gently rested his hardness against my entrance. “Relax, hm?” Alex muttered roughly. He used his hands that were secured with a white-knuckle grip on my hips to guide me onto him. He filled me perfectly but the initial stretch sent a gasp from my lips into the air, splitting the heavy silence.

“Perfect” He groaned through gritted teeth as he started to rock his hips deeper, slowly moving them back and forth. I could feel him as he twitched inside me, each brush of his tip against my walls coaxed a wanting sound from my lips. His grip tightened on my hips pulling me down onto him to meet every thrust, he pushed deeper, brushing my sweet spot that sent a harsh jolt of heat through me.

“Alex,” His name was all I could manage. It escaped me like a prayer, soft and trembling. He had this way of pushing me to the brink, only to pull back at the last second. His lips wandered down my neck, deliberate and unhurried, leaving heat in their wake. When his fingers skimmed the curve of my collarbone, I felt the weight of it, like I was something fragile, something sacred. There was no rush, no frantic need. Just him, savoring every second, and me, unraveling beneath his touch.

I felt it tightening within me, an unbearable tension that coiled deeper with every passing second. It was relentless, like a spring wound too tight, each movement, each touch pushing me closer to the edge of something I couldn’t name but desperately craved. My breaths turned shallow, my chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm as his hands gripped me with a mix of certainty and care, as if he knew exactly how far he could push me before I unraveled.

It wasn’t just the physicality of it, it was the way he seemed to draw out every fragment of my will, leaving me completely at his mercy. My fingers dug into his shoulders. The tension spiraled tighter, hotter, until it consumed me completely.

A sound escaped me, half gasp, half plea, as my body betrayed any composure I had tried to keep. My back arched, pressing into him as though I could fuse us together. I was trembling in his lap, every nerve in my body alight, shaking with a release so complete it left me raw and vulnerable. I couldn’t stop the ragged breaths that tore through me, couldn’t hold back the way my fingers clung to him, desperate and unsteady. I felt exposed, seen in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. And yet, in that moment, I didn’t care. All that mattered was him; his presence, his hands grounding me, and the way he pulled me back from the brink as if I was the only thing he’d ever held.

"Are you okay, darling?" His voice came low and rough, scraped raw with exertion, matching the labored rhythm of his breathing. I barely had the strength to nod, but I did, my limbs heavy and slow as if they were no longer mine. He shifted beneath me, his movements deliberate but unhurried, almost tender. His hands, warm and slightly calloused, slid to my waist, guiding me off him with a care that felt surprising in its quiet gentleness.

And then I saw it, the way his hand replaced me, confident and practiced, fingers curling around himself with an ease that spoke of habit. The tension in his jaw, the subtle twitch in the muscle near his temple, betrayed his focus. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic, the way his body moved in response to his own touch. I had never seen anyone so unguarded, so wholly caught in the grip of sensation.

I didn’t mean to stare, but I couldn’t look away. Something about it felt intimate in a way that surpassed words or actions, a glimpse into a vulnerability he didn’t bother to hide. His head tilted back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as his breathing quickened. The muscles in his abdomen tensed and released, his body arching slightly as if chasing something just out of reach.

When it came, the moment he unraveled, it was as though the air itself had been sucked out of the room. His breath hitched, his movements stilled for a heartbeat, and then he shuddered, the tension in him snapping like a coiled wire. He didn’t hide the sound he made, a raw, guttural exhale that felt more honest than anything he’d said tonight.

I watched him crumble, watched the way his chest rose and fell, his hand slackening as the last shreds of control bled away. He lay there, undone, as spent as I was, his eyes closed and his expression unreadable. A strange mix of awe and curiosity curled in my chest, like I’d just witnessed something private, something meant to stay hidden.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. It felt charged, like the room itself hadn’t quite settled. And then his lips quirked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You always watch that closely?” he murmured, voice still rough but tinged with something lighter now, something almost teasing.

I blinked, caught off guard, my cheeks warming as I realized how openly I’d been staring. “Only when it’s worth watching,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt.

His smile deepened, a flash of teeth now, as though he’d been waiting for exactly that answer.

By the time we’d both showered and cleaned up, the heat between us had softened into something quieter, something that lingered in the space between words. The bathroom had been a quiet exchange of towels and knowing glances, his smirk a little too satisfied, my blush a little too obvious. We didn’t say much, but the unspoken understanding was enough.

Now, we were in the living room, the fire crackling low in the hearth, filling the room with a golden warmth that made the world outside feel a thousand miles away. The snow still whispered against the windows, but it felt less intrusive now, like a soft rhythm playing counterpoint to the calm that had settled over us.

He was already stretched out on the sofa when I joined him, fresh from the shower and wrapped in one of his pullovers. It smelled like him, clean, faintly woody, and grounding in a way I couldn’t quite name. He’d pulled a blanket over himself, leaving just enough space for me to slide in beside him.

“You took your time,” he said, his voice quieter now, softer, as though the stillness of the room demanded it.

I rolled my eyes, settling in beside him, the blanket shifting to cover us both. “Some of us like to be thorough.”

“Mm,” he hummed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as I leaned into him. His body was warm, solid, and I felt his fingers absently trace circles against my upper arm. It wasn’t intentional, I don’t think, just a natural extension of the closeness between us now.

For a while, neither of us said anything. The fire popped and crackled, and the weight of the day began to pull at me, softening the edges of my thoughts. I felt his chest rise and fall beneath me, steady and rhythmic, like a metronome drawing me closer to sleep.

“You’re being quiet again,” he murmured, his lips close enough to my ear that I felt the words more than heard them.

“Just... tired,” I admitted. “But in a good way.”

“Good,” he said simply, and I felt his hand shift, threading his fingers lightly through mine where they rested against his chest.

It was the kind of moment I’d always thought should feel contrived. But now, with him, it felt effortless. Real. The weight of his arm around me, the heat of his body, the occasional scrape of his stubble against my temple, it all made me feel safe. Like I could let the world fade out entirely and just stay here.

His voice broke through the quiet, low and tinged with a softness I hadn’t heard before. “I like this,” he said.

I tilted my head to look up at him, his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. “What? Me being quiet for once?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. You. Here. With me.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. But then I didn’t need to. I shifted closer, tucking myself more securely against him, my face buried in the crook of his neck.

“I like it too,” I whispered, the words muffled but no less true.

His hand stilled against my arm, resting there like a promise. And as the fire burned low and the storm outside softened into a distant memory, I let my eyes drift shut, lulled by the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

a/n: Is it too early to post christmas stuff? Never! I wrote this rather late last night and fell asleep right before the end so if the last bit is quite rushed my sincerest apologies, I also think the start of the smutty part is quite arse because I didn't really know where it was going and then I kind of got into it. Also, I've forgotten if I've mentioned in the fic but Alex is meant to be your father's best friend and I can't remeber if I ever specified, it'd be really odd if I didn't. Anywho, hope you love it, enjoy!!! xxx

[enemiestolovershoe]

Heyy. First off all I love your blog :). Second can you maybe write something where readers is best friends with sam and colby and they celebrate christmas together. maybe do something with presents etc and then they decided to play a drinking game and they get absolutely wasted. sam whispers something to reader and she eagerly nods and just says ��lets fucking do this“ so sam takes her hand and leads reader to his bedroom and colby is just „have fun guys but remember wrap the present“

thank you :)

Not such a silent night

Sam Golbach x bsf!reader

Summary: Sam gives Y/N a different kind of Christmas present this year.

Words: 8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, Alcohol use, drunk people, swearing, use of petnames

A/N: Like I said in my previous post this got deleted half way through so please ignore mistakes and maybe show it some love. Thank you and Sorry :)

The soft hum of Christmas music filled your bedroom as you stood in front of your mirror, biting your lip in thought. Clothes were scattered across your room—a clear sign of indecision. Tonight was Sam and Colby’s annual Christmas party, and you wanted to strike the perfect balance between festive and comfortable.

You held up a pair of black tights in one hand and a black skirt in the other, tilting your head as you considered your options. “This should work, right?” you murmured to yourself, eyeing the combination critically.

The tights slid on effortlessly, their sleek material hugging your legs. You paired them with the skirt, zipping it up and smoothing the fabric. Then came the pièce de résistance: a red Christmas sweatshirt adorned with a goofy reindeer face and the words Oh, Deer! printed across the chest. You chuckled at your reflection, the bright red contrasting perfectly with the darker tones of your outfit.

“Festive, but not trying too hard,” you muttered, grabbing your black boots to complete the look. You pulled your hair into a loose half-up, half-down style and dabbed on a touch of makeup—just enough to make you feel like you’d made an effort.

Satisfied, you grabbed your coat and phone, double-checking your gift bag containing presents for Sam and Colby. Before heading out, you shot a quick text in the group chat:

You: On my way! Should be there in 15.

Sam: We’re ready for you!

Colby: Hurry up, you’re missing all the fun.

You: Colby, the party hasn’t even started yet.

A laugh escaped your lips as you ordered the Uber. Minutes later, a car pulled up outside, and you slid into the backseat, the faint scent of peppermint in the air reminding you of the season.

The ride to the boys’ house was uneventful, with the city twinkling in Christmas lights. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement as you neared their place. Every gathering at Sam and Colby’s always promised unforgettable memories—and likely some chaos.

When the car rolled to a stop, you stepped out, clutching the gift bag. Their house was already glowing with fairy lights strung along the roof, and you could hear faint music from inside. You barely made it to the front door before it swung open, revealing Sam with his signature grin.

“About time!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug.

“Hey, it’s not like I was late,” you teased, laughing as you hugged him back. His arms lingered around you for a beat longer than usual, but you brushed it off, assuming he was just in a festive mood.

“Don’t crush her, dude,” Colby interrupted, appearing in the doorway and pulling you into a more casual, one-armed hug. “You brought wine, right?”

“what even is this question,” you shot back with a grin, holding up the bag. “Fair enough,” Colby said, stepping aside to let you in.

The familiar warmth of their house enveloped you as you stepped inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon wafting through the air. Their living room was decked out with Christmas decorations: a tree bursting with ornaments, garlands draped over every surface, and even a Santa hat perched on the corner of the TV.

“Let’s get you a drink,” Sam said, leading the way into the kitchen.

The three of you crowded around the counter, where an array of bottles was already on display. Colby grabbed a bottle of wine and waggled it in your direction. “Red or white?”

“Red,” you answered immediately.

“Bold choice,” Colby said as he uncorked the bottle and poured three glasses.

Sam handed you one, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass.

“To another chaotic Christmas party,” Colby added with a grin.

“To not be hungover tomorrow,” you chimed in, clinking your glass against theirs.

Sam chuckled. “You’re too optimistic for your own good.”

The doorbell chimed, and the three of you exchanged glances before Colby dramatically sighed. “Guess we have to be good hosts now.”

He pushed off the counter, but you followed behind him with Sam right on your heels. As Colby swung open the door, Jake, Johnnie, Tara, and the Sturniolo triplets filed in, bundled up in scarves and jackets, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Merry Christmas!” Jake announced, stepping forward to pull you into a quick hug.

“Merry Christmas!” you replied, squeezing him tightly.

Johnnie was next, offering his usual goofy grin as he hugged you. “Nice sweater,” he teased, tugging at the hem of your sweatshirt. “Very on brand.”

“Better than your sweater,” you shot back, eyeing his plain green pullover.

“I’m minimalistic,” he argued with mock indignation.

Tara pulled you into a warm hug, planting a kiss on each of your cheeks. “You look so cute, babe,” she said, her tone genuinely affectionate.

“You’re one to talk,” you said, admiring her glittery gold dress. “You look like a Christmas goddess.”

“Stop, you’ll make me cry before dinner,” she joked, wiping away fake tears as Matt, Chris, and Nick approached.

Nick greeted you with a bear hug, lifting you off the ground slightly. “Hey, superstar,” he said, setting you back down.

Matt waved before giving you a casual side hug. “Nice to see you not in sweats for once.”

“Wow, thanks for that,” you deadpanned, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

Chris was the last to step forward, his shy smile immediately softening you. “Hey,” he said simply, pulling you into a brief but firm hug.

“Hey,” you replied, giving him an extra squeeze before stepping back.

Once everyone had their coats hung up and glasses of wine in hand, you all moved to the dining table. The feast was already spread out: turkey, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and enough side dishes to feed a small army.

“Damn, you guys went all out,” Jake said, eyeing the spread appreciatively as he took a seat.

“Colby was in charge of the decorations,” Sam said, pulling out a chair for you before sitting down beside you.

“And the food?” Tara asked.

Sam raised a hand. “That was all me.”

“I helped,” Colby interjected, pointing a fork in Sam’s direction.

“Boiling water doesn’t count,” Sam shot back with a grin, earning a round of laughter from the table.

The conversation flowed as everyone dug into their plates.

“This turkey is insane,” Matt said, his mouth half-full. “What’s the secret?”

“Hours of YouTube tutorials and one minor kitchen fire,” Sam admitted, making everyone laugh.

“Remember when he almost set the microwave on fire last year?” Johnnie chimed in, earning groans and giggles from the group.

“I was reheating gravy!” Sam defended himself, though even he was laughing now.

As plates were cleared and the last bits of dessert disappeared, everyone leaned back in their chairs, visibly satisfied.

“I think I’m gonna explode,” Nick groaned, patting his stomach.

“You say that every year,” Chris said, shaking his head.

“Because it’s true every year,” Nick retorted.

“Alright, living room,” Tara declared, standing up and clapping her hands. “I need to lie down before I go into a food coma, and we still have presents to open!”

You followed the group into the living room, wine glasses refilled and spirits high. The Christmas tree sparkled in the corner, and the stack of gifts beneath it looked almost too good to disturb. Almost.

“Who’s going first?” Colby asked, plopping onto the couch and stretching his legs out.

“I think we should make Nick go last,” Matt said, smirking. “Make him suffer a little.”

“Why me?” Nick demanded, throwing a pillow at Matt, who easily dodged it.

“Because you’re the most dramatic,” Chris said, shrugging.

The bickering continued as you settled onto the floor near Sam, your gift bag resting beside you. You sipped your wine, a warm buzz settling over you as laughter filled the room.

“Alright, let’s start this,” Tara said, grabbing a gift from under the tree. “Otherwise, we’ll be here until New Year’s.”

The first exchange began, and you watched as everyone’s faces lit up with excitement, their laughter and gratitude filling the room. The warmth of the night, the company, and the holiday cheer wrapped around you like a cozy blanket.

The group gathered around the large U-shaped couch, everyone settling into their spots with wine glasses in hand and cheeks flushed from the meal. Sam sat beside you, close enough that his knee brushed against yours every so often. You noticed how he leaned slightly toward you, his shoulder just barely grazing yours as he laughed at Colby’s commentary about Nick’s dessert plate still sitting abandoned on the table.

“Nick, are you seriously going to let that ice cream melt?” Colby teased.

“Maybe I’m saving it for later,” Nick shot back, slumping into his seat at the corner of the couch.

“You’re saving a puddle,” Chris said, smirking.

“Guys, focus,” Tara interrupted, tapping her wine glass with her nails. “It’s time for presents.”

Sam reached for his wine glass but kept his body angled toward you. “Excited for this?” he asked, his voice low.

“Always,” you replied, ignoring the way your heart fluttered when his smile lingered a bit too long.

Chris cleared his throat, standing up with a sheepish smile. “I guess I’ll go first.”

He reached under the tree, pulling out a small stack of neatly wrapped gifts.

“Chris, you wrapped these?” Tara asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Of course I did,” he said, handing her a gift bag. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Or a man of many YouTube tutorials,” Matt quipped, earning a laugh from everyone.

Chris worked his way around the room, handing out gifts until he reached you. He gave you a small rectangular box, wrapped in silver paper.

“Open it,” Chris urged, sitting back down as everyone tore into their gifts.

Inside the box was a delicate bracelet with a tiny charm shaped like a star.

“Oh my God, Chris,” you said, holding it up to the light. “This is beautiful.”

“I figured you could wear it for good luck,” he said, smiling shyly.

“You’re the best,” you said, leaning over to give him a quick hug.

Chris had given Colby a new pair of wireless headphones. “Because you always steal mine,” Chris added, Matt a sleek black beanie that immediately went on his head, Jake a pair of ugly pajama pants, Johnnie a pack of rare trading cards, and Nick a hardcover book on photography.

Matt went next, handing out his gifts, which ranged from a bottle of whiskey for Colby “It’s your type of sophistication,” Matt had joked. A custom framed photo collage for Tara of their favorite group memories. For you, he’d picked out a soft plaid scarf in your favorite color.

“This is perfect, Matt,” you said, wrapping it around your shoulders.

Jake’s turn brought practical but thoughtful gifts: A giant gummy bear dick for Johnnie, and a handmade scented candle for Tara. “I made this myself, okay?” he added, and for you, a new journal for your junk journal addiction.

“I thought you might like something personal,” Jake said as you opened it.

“Jake, this is so sweet,” you said.

Johnnie was next, handing out quirky, personalized gifts like a t-shirt for Sam and Colby that read Professional Ghost Hunter and a glittery phone case for Tara. When he handed you your gift, you opened it to find a small framed picture of you, him, and the rest of the group from last year’s Christmas party.

“I figured you’d want to remember how great we look,” Johnnie said, making you laugh.

“Thanks, Johnnie. It’s perfect.”

Tara’s gifts were chic and thoughtful. She gave you a makeup set you’d been eyeing for months. “I knew you wanted it but wouldn’t buy it for yourself,” Tara said, grinning.

“I love you,” you said dramatically, throwing your arms around her.

Finally, it was Sam’s turn. He picked up a neatly wrapped box and handed it to you first.

“For you,” he said, his voice a little softer than usual.

Inside was a soft, oversized hoodie you had been eyeing for months now.

“You’re always saying you want that hoodie so I got it for you,” Sam said, scratching the back of his neck. “And it’s your favorite color.”

“Sam, this is perfect,” you said, your heartwarming at how thoughtful he’d been.

“I knew I was winning gift-giving this year,” he said with a wink.

Colby’s turn was filled with playful energy, gifting you a pair of fuzzy socks with little snowflakes on them and a mug that read This is probably wine.

“Because you can never have enough fuzzy socks,” Colby said, grinning as you laughed.

When it was your turn, you handed out your gifts: a pair of engraved keychains for Jake, Johnnie, Sam, and Colby with little inside jokes on them, a signed copy of a book for Tara, a box full of different Pepsi flavors for Chris, a Necklace for Matt and hoodie for Nick.

Finally, Nick’s turn arrived, and he gave everyone hilarious gag gifts—a banana costume for Colby, a potato-shaped stress ball for Matt, and a shirt for you that said Holiday Chaos Coordinator.

“Very fitting,” Nick said with a smirk as everyone roared with laughter.

The room was filled with thank-yous, laughter, and a sense of togetherness that made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be. Sam nudged your arm gently, and you looked over at him, his gaze warm.

“Pretty good haul tonight,” he said softly, his smile making your heart flutter again.

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling back. “Best Christmas yet.”

The room buzzed with the lingering excitement of gifts as everyone settled back into their spots on the U-shaped couch, laughter and casual chatter filling the space. Colby was holding up the banana costume Nick had given him, inspecting it with an exaggeratedly serious expression.

“I’m just saying,” Colby began, “this might be the best gift I’ve ever received. You’re never going to top this, Nick.”

“You’re welcome,” Nick said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

Tara sipped her wine, her legs curled up beneath her as she glanced at the potato-shaped stress ball in Matt’s hand. “What’s the story behind that?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Matt gave a dramatic sigh. “Nick thinks I’m stressed all the time, so naturally, his solution is a potato.”

“It’s a multi-functional potato,” Nick retorted. “You can squeeze it and pretend it’s your dinner companion.”

Jake burst out laughing. “Matt and his emotional support potato. Coming to a theater near you.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” Matt groaned, tossing the stress ball at Jake, who dodged it easily.

Meanwhile, Jake was fiddling with the engraved keychain you’d given him, turning it over in his hands with a small smile. “This was a really thoughtful gift,” he said quietly, nudging you with his elbow.

“I’m glad you like it,” you replied, smiling back.

Sam, sitting close enough that his arm brushed yours, leaned in slightly. “I can’t believe you actually found a signed copy of that book for Tara,” he said.

“Let’s just say I had to pull some strings,” you said with a wink.

“Impressive,” Sam said, his grin lingering a little too long before Tara interrupted.

“So,” Tara said, gesturing to the now-empty wine glasses scattered across the coffee table. “What’s next? We need to keep this party going.”

As if on cue, Colby suddenly stood up, stretching his arms overhead. “Don’t move,” he said, already heading toward the kitchen.

“What’s he up to?” Jake asked, leaning back against the couch.

“Knowing Colby?” Johnnie said, smirking. “Something ridiculous.”

You all continued chatting, speculating about Colby’s plans as you sipped your wine and lounged around. A few moments later, he reappeared in the doorway, grinning mischievously and holding up two bottles of Christmas-flavored vodka.

“Time for the real Christmas spirit?” he announced, waggling the bottles in the air.

The room erupted in cheers, everyone raising their glasses or fists in agreement.

“Hell yeah!” Jake exclaimed, already sliding off the couch to sit on the floor.

Colby sauntered into the room, setting the bottles on the coffee table with a flourish. “Let’s gather around, my festive degenerates.”

Everyone scrambled to sit on the floor, forming a loose circle around the coffee table. You found yourself between Sam and Tara, the former sliding closer as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

“What are we playing?” Matt asked, already grabbing a shot glass.

Colby sat cross-legged at the head of the circle, uncapping one of the vodka bottles. “I was thinking we’d start with a classic. Truth or Drink.”

“Dangerous,” Tara said, grinning as she poured herself a small shot.

“Dangerously fun,” Colby corrected.

“Just don’t ask me anything too crazy,” Chris said, shaking his head.

“That’s not how this works,” Jake said with a laugh.

As everyone poured their drinks and settled in, the excitement in the room buzzed with anticipation. The vodka smelled faintly of cinnamon and nutmeg, filling the air with a festive warmth as the first round began.

The game started innocently enough. Everyone poured their first shots, laughter already bubbling in the air as Colby rubbed his hands together with a mischievous grin.

“Alright,” Colby began, looking around the circle. “Let’s ease into this. Jake, truth or drink?”

Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “Truth.”

Colby smirked. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done this year?”

Jake leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Easy,” he said. “Remember that hike where I tripped over my own feet and slid down the trail on my ass? In front of that group of strangers?”

“Oh my God, that was amazing,” Tara said, laughing so hard she had to clutch her side. “You looked like a cartoon character.”

“You’re welcome for the entertainment,” Jake said, holding up his shot glass in mock pride.

The circle moved on, with everyone taking turns answering light-hearted questions or taking small sips of vodka. The cinnamon burn warmed your throat and stomach, the buzz creeping in slowly.

When it was your turn, Johnnie grinned devilishly. “Alright, truth or drink?”

“Truth,” you said confidently, leaning forward.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “If you had to swap lives with one person here for a week, who would it be?”

You laughed, glancing around the circle. “Easy—Tara. She’s got her life so put together, and I’d probably spend a week just trying on all her clothes.”

“Excellent choice,” Tara said, flipping her hair playfully.

As the rounds went on, the questions began to take on a more daring edge, fueled by the increasing buzz from the vodka.

“Sam,” Matt said, pointing at him. “Truth or drink?”

Sam hesitated before saying, “Truth.”

Matt smirked. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone in this room?”

The group collectively “oooh” -ed, leaning in eagerly. Sam flushed bright red and quickly reached for his shot glass, downing it in one go.

“Oh, come on!” Nick said, groaning. “You can’t leave us hanging like that.”

Sam just shook his head, his cheeks still pink. “Next question,” he muttered, earning a round of laughter.

The bottle made its way back to you, and this time, Colby’s gaze landed on you with a smirk.

“Your turn, Y/N,” he said. “Truth or drink?”

“Truth,” you said, feeling a little braver now.

Colby leaned forward, his grin widening. “What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Oh, that’s easy. This guy once took me to a drive-thru, ordered himself a meal, and then told me he ‘forgot his wallet.’ I ended up paying for his food and leaving before he finished his fries.”

The group erupted in laughter, with Nick practically wheezing. “No way that actually happened.”

“It did,” you said, shaking your head. “And I blocked his number before I even got home.”

“Legendary,” Sam said, clinking his glass against yours.

The game continued, the questions gradually becoming bolder.

“Matt,” Tara said, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Truth or drink?”

Matt leaned back, a cocky smile on his face. “Truth.”

She tapped her chin dramatically. “What’s your biggest turn-on?”

The group erupted into laughter and whistles, and Matt raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re evil for that,” he said, laughing.

“You answered truth!” Tara shot back, raising her glass. His grin faltered slightly as his gaze flicked around the room. “Uh...confidence, I guess?”

“Lame answer,” Nick said, shaking his head.

“I’m not gonna give you a whole list!” Matt retorted.

As the game progressed, your buzz deepened, the warmth of the vodka and the closeness of your friends making everything feel a little brighter, a little louder. You couldn’t help but notice how Sam’s arm rested against yours more often now, his laughter always seeming to linger just a bit longer when he looked your way.

When the bottle circled back to Colby, he leaned forward, holding the vodka in one hand and his shot glass in the other.

“Alright, group question,” he said, smirking. “What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done? If you don’t answer, you drink.”

The room burst into chaos, everyone groaning and laughing at once.

“No way,” Matt said, immediately reaching for his shot glass.

“You’re all cowards,” Tara said, though she quickly poured herself a shot as well.

Chris buried his face in his hands. “This game is getting dangerous.”

You exchanged a glance with Sam, who raised an eyebrow at you as if to say, Are you really going to answer that?

You laughed, the vodka making you bolder than usual. “I’m drinking,” you said, lifting your glass.

“Smart move,” Sam said, clinking his glass against yours again.

As the game continued, the questions got riskier, the laughter louder, and the group more uninhibited, the holiday cheer blending with the undeniable buzz of the vodka.

The circle had dissolved into a chaotic mess of laughter, slurred words, and increasingly questionable decisions as the vodka bottles emptied. The once-civilized drinking game had spiraled into a parade of the most shameless questions imaginable, fueled by the holiday spirit and far too much alcohol.

Nick was sprawled on the floor near the couch, snoring softly, one arm flung over his face like he’d given up on keeping up with the group.

“Nick’s down for the count,” Chris said, waving his hand in front of Nick’s face. “I give him an hour before he’s asking for pizza.”

Tara was doubled over, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her stomach. “You guys,” she wheezed, struggling to catch her breath. “I can’t—it‘s so funny—oh my God!”

Jake, meanwhile, was leaning back against the couch, mumbling something incomprehensible. “Shss... s’like, ya know?” he slurred, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

“Exactly, Jake,” Matt said with mock seriousness. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Colby was leaning back on his elbows, his cheeks flushed from both alcohol and laughter. “This game’s officially off the rails,” he said, shaking his head. “And I love it.”

You sat cross-legged on the floor, your back resting lightly against Sam’s chest. At some point, he’d shifted closer and closer, his thigh pressed against yours, his arm draped casually behind you. You were both laughing at something Matt had said, but your brain was starting to feel foggy from the vodka.

Sam leaned down, his voice low and close to your ear. “You’re way too good at this game, you know that?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze, which was laced with mischief. “Or maybe you’re just bad at it,” you teased, your words a little slower than usual.

He grinned, his face so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Nah, I think you’re just trying to distract me.”

“Distract you from what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“From how ridiculously pretty you look right now,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of sincerity that made your stomach flip.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sam, you’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “But I’m not lying.”

Tara, still cackling, pointed at the two of you. “Oh my God, Sam’s flirting, everyone. Someone write this down.”

“Shut up, Tara,” Sam said, but he was smiling, not even trying to deny it.

Chris groaned, throwing a pillow at Tara. “You’re gonna embarrass them.”

“Oh, please,” Colby chimed in, smirking. “I think Sam’s doing a good enough job on his own.”

Jake tried to say something, but it came out as an incomprehensible mumble, which only made Tara laugh harder.

“Jake, are you even speaking English anymore?” Matt asked, looking genuinely concerned.

Jake waved him off, his words slurred but his grin unbothered. “ M fine... jus’ talkin’... ‘bout... stuff.”

Sam ignored the chaos around you, his attention focused solely on you. “I’m just saying,” he continued, his voice softer now, “you’ve been looking at me like that all night.”

“Like what?” you asked, your heart racing despite your alcohol-fueled haze.

“Like I’m the only guy in this room,” he said, his voice teasing but his eyes serious.

You felt your face heat up, though you weren’t sure if it was from the vodka or the way Sam was looking at you. “Maybe you’re imagining things,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He chuckled, leaning even closer. “Or maybe I’m not.”

Colby clapped his hands together suddenly, breaking the moment. “Alright, who’s next? Someone’s gotta keep this circus going.”

“I’ll go,” Tara said, still giggling as she picked up a bottle and pointed it at Matt. “Truth or drink?”

As Tara launched into her question, Sam didn’t move away, his shoulder brushing yours as he stayed close. His hand rested on the floor behind you, but his fingers toyed lightly with the edge of your skirt as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re trouble,” you murmured, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

He smirked, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips. “You have no idea.”

The group around you continued to spiral into drunken hilarity, but you could barely focus. The warmth of Sam’s closeness and his bold flirting had your heart pounding in a way that even the vodka couldn’t numb.

The game continued in the background, but you and Sam had completely checked out. The vodka had dulled the edges of your thoughts, and the warmth of his body so close to yours was all-consuming. Every little move he made seemed intentional—the way his fingers brushed against your knee, the way his voice dropped just a little lower when he leaned in to speak to you.

“You know,” Sam murmured, his lips barely an inch from your ear, “I can’t decide if you’re ignoring me on purpose or if you’re just trying to drive me insane.”

You turned your head slightly to meet his eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Why not both?”

He chuckled, his gaze dropping to your lips briefly before snapping back up to your eyes. “You’re trouble,” he quoted you, his voice thick with something that made your stomach flip.

“And you’re repeating yourself,” you teased, leaning just a little closer, your noses almost touching now.

Meanwhile, the game carried on without you, though Tara seemed to notice your zoning out. “Uh, Y/N,” she called, laughing as she nudged a shot glass in your direction. “It’s your turn, by the way.”

You blinked, glancing around the circle, but Sam’s hand rested lightly on your thigh, and your focus immediately snapped back to him. The room around you blurred into irrelevance as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest, most teasing of kisses.

You froze for half a second before leaning into him, and suddenly, the light teasing kiss turned into something deeper, hotter. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. You barely registered the collective gasp from the room or the way the laughter faltered, giving way to a chorus of catcalls and cheers.

“Holy shit,” Matt finally said, breaking the spell as he waved a hand in front of him. “Get a room, OMG!”

The group burst into laughter, Tara clapping her hands together. “You go, girl!” she shouted, raising her glass in a mock toast.

Jake, still slumped against the couch, squinted at the two of you. “’M I seein’ things? Or are they…?”

“Nope, you’re seeing it,” Colby said, smirking. “It’s happening.”

You pulled back just slightly, your breath mingling with Sam’s as you both grinned at each other. His eyes were dark, full of heat and mischief, and he didn’t seem remotely fazed by the group’s reactions.

“You’re terrible,” you whispered, though the smile on your face betrayed your words.

“And you love it,” he shot back, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Without saying another word, you stood up, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet. He followed you willingly, his grin wide and boyish as you led him toward the hallway.

“Where are they going?” Chris asked, though his voice was more amused than surprised.

“Where do you think?” Matt said, laughing as he leaned back on his hands.

Tara cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. “Have fun, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Oh, please,” Colby said, shaking his head with a grin. “Remember to wrap the present!”

The room erupted into more laughter, and you turned back just long enough to shoot them a playful glare. Sam, however, just smirked, giving a little salute before following you down the hall.

You barely made it into Sam’s bedroom before his lips crashed against yours again, this time with even more urgency. He pushed the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, his hands gripping your waist as if he were afraid you might slip away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice breathless and husky.

“Then stop wasting time,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

He groaned softly, his hands sliding down to your thighs. Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you firmly against the wall. The cool surface contrasted with the heat radiating from his body as he pressed his hips against yours, the growing hardness between his legs impossible to ignore.

You gasped at the sensation, your head tilting back slightly, giving him access to trail kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Each touch of his lips sent sparks through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips.

“Fuck,” Sam whispered, pulling back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “You sound so beautiful.”

His words made your cheeks flush, but you didn’t have time to respond before his lips were on yours again, more demanding this time. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, while his hips rocked gently against yours, teasing you with just enough friction to make you want more.

“Sam,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. “You’re driving me crazy,” he admitted, his voice low and rough.

“Good,” you said with a smirk, your fingers threading through his hair.

He let out a soft laugh before stepping back from the wall, still holding you securely. He carried you over to the bed, laying you down gently as his hands brushed over your sides. The weight of his body over yours made your heart race, the heat between you nearly overwhelming.

Sam propped himself up on one arm, his free hand trailing along your side as his eyes raked over you. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, your hands tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Now, are you going to let me see more or just keep talking?”

He chuckled, sitting up just enough to yank his shirt over his head before tossing it to the floor. “Better?” he asked, grinning.

You reached up, your fingers skimming over his chest. “Much.”

He leaned down again, his lips capturing yours as his hands began to explore more boldly. Your hands moved to the hem of your sweater, but before you could pull it off, Sam stopped you.

“Let me,” he said, his voice a mix of command and plea.

You nodded, lifting your arms as he slowly pulled the sweater over your head, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. He trailed kisses down your neck, his hands working their way to the waistband of your skirt.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said softly, his voice sincere even as his desire was clear.

“I won’t,” you assured him, your fingers already tugging at the button of his jeans.

He groaned softly, helping you push them down as his lips found yours again. The rest of your clothes quickly followed, each piece discarded in a growing pile on the floor. The air between you was electric, every touch, every kiss stoking the fire building between you.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in a soft, golden hue from a nearby lamp. You could hear faint chatter and laughter from your friends in the living room, but here, in this quiet moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you. Sam’s gaze held yours, warm and intent, his lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and steady. The sincerity in his tone made your cheeks flush, and you found yourself shyly looking away, though the fluttering in your chest told you how much you appreciated it.

“Sam you‘re...” you started, your voice trailing off, but he gently tipped your chin back to meet his eyes.

“I mean it,” he insisted, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “Every bit of you. Everything.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss so tender it left you breathless. The room seemed to tilt as his warmth enveloped you, the closeness of him erasing every stray thought. His hands slid to your waist, grounding you as his lips began a gentle exploration, tracing from the corner of your mouth to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Sam,” you whimpered, a mixture of anticipation and disbelief in your voice.

He hummed softly in response, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed a kiss just beneath your jawline. His touch was slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring every second. His lips moved lower, tracing a path down your neck, pausing every so often to leave the softest kisses that sent shivers racing along your spine.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice cutting through the haze. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his brow furrowed in concern. “Tell me if this is too much.”

The tenderness in his expression nearly undid you. You nodded, your breath hitching. “I’m more than okay,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled at your reassurance, his confidence returning as he resumed his journey. Each kiss felt like a silent conversation, his care evident in every touch. When he reached the edge of your collarbone, he paused to look up at you again, as if seeking permission.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice laced with an earnest vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

You didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

That one word seemed to light something in him. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, then continued downward, his hands steadying you as you leaned back against the cushions. Time felt suspended as he traced the curve of your arms and sides with the same careful attention, his gaze flicking up to meet yours now and then, as if to ensure you were still with him.

The warmth of his presence, and the way he handled you with reverence, made it impossible to focus on anything but the moment. You couldn’t hold back the soft moans that escaped your lips, each one making his smile grow.

“I think I like this,” he teased lightly, his voice breaking the stillness. “Hearing you like this.”

You laughed softly, though the sound was shaky. “Don’t get too cocky.”

He chuckled, the vibration of it resonating against your skin as he placed another kiss over your sternum. “Too late.”

The sound of your friends’ laughter drifted through the door again, and you froze for a moment, suddenly aware of how thin the walls were. Sam noticed immediately, his lips pausing as he looked up with a grin.

“Worried they’ll hear?” he asked, his tone teasing but kind.

You shrugged, feeling self-conscious, your drunkness wore off as soon as Sam kissed you. “Maybe…”

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let them. They’ll just be jealous.”

You swatted his arm, laughing, and he grinned, the playful glint in his eyes making your heart race.

His breath was warm against your skin, and when he chuckled softly, it was as though the sound itself ignited something deep within you.

“You’re so sensitive here, Y/N,” he teased, his voice low and filled with affection. His lips pressed against the delicate curve of your neck again, and this time you couldn’t hold back the soft sigh that escaped your lips.

His hands traced down your arms before resting at your waist, grounding you as he continued his slow exploration. He didn’t rush, letting each kiss speak volumes as he moved lower, his lips brushing over the line of your collarbone.

“Sam...” you whimpered, unsure if it was a plea for him to slow down or to never stop.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with a mix of playfulness and intent. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

The nickname sent a rush of warmth through you, pooling low in your core. You shook your head, unable to form coherent words, and he grinned as if he knew exactly what you were feeling.

“Nothing? Alright,” he teased, his lips curling into a smirk. “I’ll just keep going, then.”

He shifted slightly, his hands moving up to your sides as his lips made their way to your chest. The first kiss he placed there was slow and deliberate, his lips soft against your skin. He took his time, letting his hands trace gentle patterns over your back as he moved lower. Your breath hitched as he kissed along the curve of your tits and sucked on your nipples, each touch deliberate, like he was savoring every moment. His hands joined in, brushing over your sides before settling, strong and steady, as he leaned in closer.

“Sam...” you moaned again, your voice trembling.

“Still with me?” he asked, pausing to meet your gaze. His expression was soft, full of affection and care.

You nodded, unable to do much else. “Always.”

That was all he needed. He leaned back down, letting his lips travel further, pressing kisses along your stomach. Every touch sent shivers through you, each kiss slower than the last as if he was committing every inch of you to memory.

When he reached your thighs, he paused, his hands steadying you as he looked up once more. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity.

And then he continued, his lips tracing down the length of your thigh before moving to the other. You felt your breath falter, your heart racing as he inched closer, his movements purposeful but never rushed.

“Sam...” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

“Hmm?” He glanced up at you with a grin, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“That feels... so good,” you admitted, your words tumbling out unguarded.

“Good,” he said, his grin widening.

When he finally closed the distance, his touch was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Every movement was deliberate, every moment focused entirely on you. You couldn’t hold back the soft moans that escaped you as he sucked and licked on your clit. You were sure he spelled the lyrics of jingle bells with his tongue.

“You sound so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of admiration.

His words made your chest tighten with emotion, and you reached down, your fingers brushing against his hair as if to anchor yourself. He worked with a focus that left you breathless, his touch and his presence leaving you completely undone.

Your mind was a haze of warmth and light, and you could feel that familiar pressure building in your core, coiling tighter with each passing second.

“Sam,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “I’m so close... don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He gave his best performance, his movements unrelenting yet tender, and when the knot finally unraveled, the wave of release left you trembling beneath him, your breath coming in loud moans.

As you came down from your high, your breathing still uneven, you reached for Sam, pulling him up to meet you. His lips found yours instantly, soft and warm, grounding you as the aftershocks still coursed through your body.

“You’re the best,” he whispered between kisses, his voice thick with awe.

A playful grin tugged at your lips as you broke the kiss, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Now,” you said, your voice teasing, “let’s wrap this present, shall we?”

Sam froze for a moment, then let out a laugh that rumbled through his chest. “Quoting Colby? Now? Really?”

You smirked. “Seemed fitting.”

His laughter softened into a grin, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze as his hand trailed over your side. “Alright then.”

Without wasting a second, he leaned over to the nightstand, pulling it open to retrieve a condom. He glanced at you as if asking for silent permission, holding it up with a raised brow. You took it from him with a confidence that surprised even you, tearing the foil carefully. Sam’s breath hitched as your hands brushed against his cock, his lips parting slightly when you began to roll it down his length.

“You’re going to kill me,” he murmured, his voice unsteady, a low groan escaping his lips as your touch lingered.

You smiled, leaning forward to kiss him again, slow and deliberate. “You’re being dramatic,” you teased, though your own heart was racing at the intensity of the moment.

When you pulled back, Sam cupped your face, his expression softening. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked tonight, but you could see how much it mattered to him to hear your answer again.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady and clear. “Absolutely.”

His smile was gentle, almost reverent, as he kissed you again, his hands steadying you as he moved closer. The anticipation was electric, every touch heightened as you felt him align himself with you.

And then, with infinite care, he pressed forward, his eyes never leaving yours as he slid his cock in, his movements slow and deliberate. The tension between you and Sam was electric, both of you moving in sync, the shared rhythm of your body a language of its own. Each thrust, each moan seemed to draw you closer, until you could feel the heat of his skin, the weight of his presence in ways that made everything else fade into the background. Sam moaned softly, his grip on you tightening, his movements slow but intense. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You gasped, your own body responding with a heat that only deepened with every touch. “Sam, you fill me up so well,” you whispered, your words breathless but filled with awe.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “You’re killing me, Y/N,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re so perfect.”

The connection between you both felt like it was building to something beyond words. You felt it in every kiss, every touch, and every movement that seemed to echo the urgency and intensity of the moment. Without any warning, something in you shifted. A quiet challenge passed between your eyes as you changed positions, now hovering above him. The change in power felt electric, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the shift in dynamics.

Sam’s hands gripped your hips, his eyes dark with admiration and something deeper. “Fuck Y/N,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled down at him, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “Not yet,” you teased, your own heart racing as you took control, moving with a rhythm that made everything else blur.

The room was filled with the sounds of both your breaths—labored and urgent—and the shared moments of quiet connection, where every glance and every touch said more than words could express. As the two of you moved together, the world outside seemed to fade away. The room was filled only with the sounds of your breaths and moans. Your heartbeats echo in time with each movement. The tension between you both was palpable, a steady rhythm that drew you closer with every touch.

You leaned down, pressing your lips to Sam’s. The kiss was slow and deep, a reflection of everything you felt in that moment. Your body trembled, the connection between you both growing stronger with every passing second.

“I’m so fucking close, Sam,” you whispered, your voice breathless, the words escaping without thought.

Sam’s eyes locked with yours, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Me too, baby. Cum for me” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. You let yourself go with loud moans

Sam groaned beneath you, his grip tightening slightly as he followed you with his release. You collapsed against his chest, your body still shaking with the remnants of your shared moment.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but the steady beat of your heart and the sound of your heavy breath filling the quiet room. You rested there, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you, a peaceful warmth wrapping around you both.

“That was…” you started, your voice trailing off as you tried to find the words.

“Incredible,” Sam finished for you, his voice warm, full of sincerity. He gently stroked your hair, the movement tender as he held you close.

You could hear the laughter from your friends in the other room, a soft reminder that life continued outside this moment.

But then, unexpectedly, a loud voice cut through the air.

“OMG, finally! I can enjoy my pizza! Well, that wasn’t such a silent night for you two!” Nick’s voice boomed from the living room, his words a little slurred, but unmistakable.

You and Sam both froze for a moment, exchanging a glance before you both bursted out in laughs “Seems like we woke Nick up from his drunk slumber,” you said, still laughing.

Sam grinned, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “Looks like it,” he chuckled. “At least he’s got his priorities straight.”

The two of you laughed together, the awkwardness fading into something lighthearted, a shared moment that somehow made everything feel more real.

As the sounds of your friends’ laughter mixed with the muffled sounds of Nick's pizza indulgence from the living room, you settled into the quiet, peaceful feeling of the moment, knowing that things had shifted, but in the best way.

[nvareim]

bite me, v. garza x fem! reader

tags; predator/prey, fearplay, dacryphilia, degradation, drugging, thigh riding, stalking, dubcon and toxic dynamics. MDNI w/c; 4.4k ao3 link | pinterest board a/n; never arguining with a woman with big brown eyes, whatever u say gorgeous

The streets of Las Almas are still blood-stained the day you escape.

It’s been quieter since the Shadows combed through the city, killing anything that moved. The dogs no longer bark, kids don’t play in the streets, and the armed men who roamed every alley are few and far between. It’s the perfect opening. You spend the morning preparing. 

You pack lightly, only the things you’re sure you’ll need. Clothing for layering, socks, underwear, and cash. It all fits nicely in a backpack you can easily carry. You leave both of your phones on the nightstand, the backs pried off and batteries neatly stacked atop each other. 

The better part of an hour is spent prying at the metal collar around your neck. You pry at the latch until your fingers are bloody, picking at the screw that holds it together. As a last resort, you use the point of a utility knife. You sit just inches away from the mirror, neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle as you slowly unscrew the locking mechanism. You’re stock-still, barely breathing out of fear the blade will slip. 

 The second the collar unlatches, you rip it from around your neck and throw it aside. It slides across the floor, hitting the baseboard with a heavy thud. You take deep, ragged breaths as you study your reflection. The lack of weight around your neck is foreign. With it gone, your decision is final. There’s no turning back now.

Las Almas is teeming with Mexican soldiers. They pace the Greyhound station, X12s strapped to their thighs and rifles slung across their chests. Their watchful eyes follow you as you pay for your ticket in cash with shaky hands. The old woman in the booth hardly scrutinizes your forged papers, clicking away at her keyboard as she logs information. She slides your ticket through the opening in the plexiglass, wishing you a safe trip. 

You practically fall onto a bench, sighing as you hug your bag close to your body. Rain pours down from the roof, streaming toward the storm drains. The air is thick and warm with moisture, heavy on your skin. You bounce your knee nervously as you wait for the bus to round the corner. 

When it does arrive, you’re the first to board. You snag a window seat at the very back where you can watch every passenger enter. You hold your breath with each new rider, nervously anticipating Valeria or one of her men to be the next passenger. It isn’t until the bus is pulling away from Las Almas that you feel the weight lift from your chest, though just barely.

Your journey north becomes a slow crawl. The best ticket you could afford brought you just north of Denver. The rest of your cash is rationed out and stuffed beneath your clothing.

In the beginning, the kiss of cool air against your skin is refreshing. It’s a welcome reprieve from the sweltering Mexican heat. A reminder of how far you’ve gotten. But the novelty quickly wears off once the slight chill turns unforgiving. You attempt to adapt by picking up a free coat from a local church and bartering over warmer clothes from thrift stores, but they only do so much to protect you from the bitter cold. Homeless shelters aren’t an option, the lines are longer as the dead of winter draws nearer. By the time you reach Wyoming, you’re running low on money to spend. You resort to stealing food from gas stations and sleeping in alleyways. You spend your days in local libraries, reevaluating your route north and searching for updates on Valeria. Librarians typically quirk a brow at your peculiar behavior, but leave you alone until they close down for the night. 

As the nights grow longer, they become even more difficult to get through. You curl yourself into a ball, your money stuffed into the band of your bra and a knife clutched tightly in your hand lest anyone gets any ideas. Hostels are few and far between and only reserved for nights you’d surely die if you slept outside. 

In early December, you spend a decent chunk of your food budget on a cheap motel room. It’s a shady establishment just outside of a small city, the kind of place you pay for by the hour. Snow flutters down and gathers in the parking lot, the pure white flakes quickly soiled by the gravel beneath. Multicolored Christmas lights are wrapped around the wrought iron railings in honor of the upcoming holiday. A few women smoke in the shadows of the building, seemingly huddling together for warmth. 

Inside the room, The wallpaper peels away to reveal yellow-stained drywall beneath and the heating unit rattles when you turn it on, blowing a small cloud of dust into the room. You refuse to peel away the comforter out of fear of what you’ll find, so you toss a blanket overtop instead. The lingering stench of cigarette smoke and artificial lemon is nearly caustic. 

 You turn the TV on, upping the volume until it’s loud enough to drown out the noise of the heater. The throw beneath you is scratchy and thin, but the bed itself is comfortable enough that you allow yourself to sink into it. With so many miles between you and Valeria, it’s easy to lull yourself into a sense of false security.

You shrug your jacket off to use as a makeshift pillow. It’s a far cry from Valeria’s luxurious bed back in Las Almas, but it’s the best you’ve had in weeks. The steady flow of warm air filling the room thaws the stiff joints in your limbs and loosens the long-held tension in your shoulders. It’s easy to fully settle into the makeshift pillow, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. It’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in weeks.

It’s pin-drop quiet when you wake up. The constant hum of the heating unit has ceased, though the room has long gone cool. The TV had been shut off, leaving the room completely dark. 

You blink away the last bits of sleep from your eyes, willing your vision to focus. Something primal stirs in your gut, fight or flight instincts urging you to move. The darkness comes into focus slowly, the shape of the furniture comes into focus. So does a figure sitting at the foot of the bed. 

Your blood freezes in your veins. You push yourself up from the bed, heart pounding in your ears. A firm hand wraps around your upper arm, throwing you back into the mattress. The springs squeak from the force. You kick and thrash in Valeria’s hold, desperate to land at least one hit. You refuse to go down without a fight, not after all you’ve been through. You manage to land a single scratch across her cheek. Blood bubbles up from her skin, smearing onto your fingers and her face when you push her away. 

One of her hands pins both your wrists to your sternum as she bears down on you. Her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in place. You take in a gasping breath, lungs struggling to expand under her weight. For the first time, you get a good look at Valeria and what you see terrifies you. There’s a feral glint to her eyes and not a bit of playfulness in her smile. Your heart pounds against your ribcage like a rabbit. 

“You scream and I’ll gut anyone who comes in that door,” Valeria hisses, hand tightening around your wrists as she wraps a zip tie around them. Tears spill from your waterline as composure crumbles. The edge of the tie presses into your skin uncomfortably, but Valeria doesn’t soften at your whining.

“It was a fun chase, sweetheart, but it’s over,” She fishes a small bag from her pants pocket, shaking a small white pill into her palm. Valeria holds it to your lips with one hand, the other pinching your nose shut. You go as long as you can without air, stubbornly clenching your jaw shut until your lungs burn. 

Valeria watches with interest, grinning as the seconds tick by. You barely make it a minute before you’re gasping for air. Valeria doesn’t waste a moment before she’s pushing the pill past your lips and pressing her palm over your mouth before you can spit it out. Her fingers still pinch your nose shut, her grip unyielding against the restrained fists that pound against her chest.

“Swallow, baby,” She goads as black creeps into the edges of your vision. By now, the pill is reduced to bitter white chunks on your tongue, but you make a show of swallowing to satisfy her. The reaction is almost instantaneous, her fingers prodding past your lips as you desperately gulp down oxygen. Her fingers taste like sanitizer and lotion as she inspects your gum line and beneath your tongue. You cringe away from her touch but with the bed beneath you, there’s nowhere to go. 

When she’s confident you swallowed, she gives you a quick pat on the cheek. The corner of her lips twitch up in only a ghost of a grin before she’s hauling you to your feet and bending you over her lap. You huff, balance thrown off kilter by the sudden movement and lack of oxygen. Valeria’s knee digs uncomfortably into your stomach and ribs. A hand wraps around your upper arm, holding you firmly on her lap. 

“You thought I wouldn’t hunt you down?”  She asks, free hand trailing down the curve of your spine. Her chipped and jagged nails drag across your skin, leaving raised lines in their wake. Fingers curl around the waistband on your sweatpants, gripping tight. You kick your legs, gritting out empty threats as she pulls them down. She tugs until the cleft of your ass is exposed to the stale air.

“I’m sorry,” You sob into the comforter, tears wetting the scratchy blanket. You sound like a broken record, the apologies spilling from your mouth only broken up by promises to never do it again.

“I don’t believe you,” Valeria coos, a condescending smile playing at her lips. She splays her hand against your ass cheek, lightly pressing into the soft flesh until it dimples beneath her fingertips. Her grip on your arm has tightened enough to be bruising.

The heat between Valeria’s thighs only heightens at the sight of you draped over her lap. Idly, she considers the merits of a more sadistic punishment. Purpled bite marks across your shoulders would certainly remind you who you belong to. Or maybe nice ‘V’ carved into the soft fat of your ass. Both would crush your little attitude beneath her boot. Ultimately, she decides to stow those thoughts away for now, saving them for when you’re back home with her. It’d be easy to go overboard now, with the adrenaline and anger rushing through her bloodstream. For now, she just wants to make you cry. 

The first hit comes when you least expect it. The impact sends a ripple through the soft flesh of your ass. Valeria groans lowly at the sight. Your hips jump at the sensation, skin going hot beneath Valeria’s palm. The strike has you screeching, thrashing beneath her in a futile attempt at an escape. You clench and unclench your restrained fists.

“Count.” Her brown irises are swallowed by her dilated pupils, trained in the spot where her hand met your cheek. The heat of your skin bleeds into Valeria’s cold palms, goosebumps popping up across your exposed skin. 

“What the fuck?” You squeal, humiliation and fear petering into indignation. It’s not a surprise to Valeria, she’d always known there was a bit of you that needed training. You were impatient, even selfish at times. A wily little thing she enjoyed wrestling into submission. The brattiness was endearing in her own bed, but after the past few weeks, it only stokes her anger. 

“Count,” She repeats, a little louder this time. “Count and maybe I won’t fucking chip you.” The twist of anger in your expression has her raising her hand again, coming down in a perfect arc to hit the same spot again. You shriek into the bedding, fingernails sinking into your clammy palms. Valeria’s arm tightens around you, dragging you even further into her lap. “Not gonna do it?” She brings her hand down three more times, alternating which side she hits to keep you on edge. “You think I’m lying? Tracked you down like a fucking dog, tell me why I shouldn’t treat you like one?” 

“Won’t do it again, Val,” You sob. “Please, I’m sorry!” Hot tears stream down your flushed face, mixing with the drool smeared across your chin and mouth. Your voice cracks with the force of your crying. Valeria grows impossibly wetter, slick dampening the gusset of her panties. 

“Then start counting.” Your fingers claw at the blanket as she strikes you again. There’s no screech or resistance when her palm hits you, just sniffling. The seconds drag by like hours as Valeria waits with bated breath, hungrily watching the tears spill from your eyes. 

“ One .” Valeria releases your chin and you press your cheek to the mattress. She groans at your thin voice, hoarse from all your yelling. Her palm rubs soothing circles over the spot she’d just hit, contrasting the rough treatment just seconds prior. A shudder runs up your body at the sensation, eyes screwed shut. 

“Good girl,” She murmurs, lips curling into a predatory grin. The next hit has you tensing up beneath her, stammering out a low two . There’s still some resentment buried beneath your submission. It shows in the impudent curl of your lips, the angry furrow of your brow. The quiet whimper that slips your mouth before three is delicious. It appeases Valeria’s growing appetite.  

By ten , you’ve run out of tears. The quiet groans spilling from your throat have a knot winding in Valeria’s stomach. Your ass is marred with her handprints, raised marks from the trauma. Come time, they’ll darken into bruises, the sting of red-hot flesh fading to an overwhelming ache. And every time you see them, you’ll be reminded of your mistakes. Valeria loosens her grip on you, knowing you won’t even try to run. 

By fifteen , your eyes have glossed over and your thrashing has ceased. The numbers are whispered through gritted teeth between quiet grunts, attitude fully snuffed out by Valeria’s hand. A little pain and you’re her good girl again, all sweet and pliant beneath her. Your inner thighs are dewy with the slick that leaks from you, dribbling down your cunt to your swollen clit. 

There’s no resistance as she hauls you to your feet, hands placed beneath your armpits like you’re a doll. You brace your hands on her shoulder, legs too shaky to keep you upright. Valeria tugs your panties and sweatpants up, brushing the bruised curve of your ass too firmly to be accidental. You shift a little, lurching forward to escape the pain. 

Valeria grabs you by the hips, dragging you into her lap. You let out a little yelp upon resting your ass against her thighs, the sudden weight against the raw skin overwhelming. For a moment, you hover, but Valeria presses you down firmly, ignoring the way you wriggle away. Once the pain subsides, you practically meld into her, head resting in the crook of her neck as you sniffle. Valeria brushes the hair from your face, damp with tears and cold sweat. Your limbs are loose, heavy with warmth that emanates from the pit of your stomach.

“Why’d you run?” She murmurs, dragging her splayed palms up and down your thighs. When you don’t reply, she tugs your head from the crook of her neck, hand cradling the base of your skull. Valeria studies you with her dark eyes, searching for a flicker of resistance in your lachrymose gaze. She finds nothing. “Hm? What was it?” 

“I was scared,” The words slip out before you can consider them. It’s an admission only made more pathetic by your thin voice. Something in Valeria’s gaze shifts as her lips press into a line. Her hand tightens on the back of your neck. The weeks of false composure fracture when faced with her dilated pupils, only a thin rind of warm brown surrounding them. The fear hits you like a cold wave, washing over your body as the words are spilling from your chest. 

“I-I didn’t know if it was safe for me to stay,” You stammer out, clenching your hands into fists in an attempt to ward off the tremors overtaking you. “I was worried that maybe they’d come for me next and you wouldn’t be there, Valeria, and I-” The corners of her lips tug up into a smug, satisfied grin and your words are cut short with a stifled sob. 

It’s not a lie, but not quite the truth either. Valeria can see it in the split second of hesitation before you speak. There’s fear there, but not fear of her enemies. No, she saw that terror in your wide-eyed gaze when you realized she had been the one to find you. 

“Oh, mi vida ,” Valeria coos, a hand coming up to cradle your cheek. Her thumb brushes away the few tears rolling down your face. Her other hand brushes up and down your side, dipping beneath the fabric of your shirt. “You thought you’d be safer running?” You sniffle as she squeezes at the fat of your hip. “This,” She gestures to the room around you with a sardonic chuckle. “This is worse than if you stayed put. I can’t protect you when I don’t know where you are.”

“I’m sorry.” You say for the millionth time. It’s the only response your brain can formulate. She’s right, running only left you more vulnerable to people who would use you to reach Valeria. But she doesn’t take your fear of her into consideration, even with the marks spread across your ass cheeks. 

“I believe you,” She says, “But it’ll take more than an apology to make me trust you. You understand, right?” 

You nod, eyes cast downward in shame.

“Good girl,” She tugs at your lower lip with her thumb. “Missed you s’much, you know?” She purrs, pressing two fingers past your lips. Your jaw widens to accommodate the push of her finger against your tongue. “Was so excited to see my girl. Bet you can imagine how I took the news, hm?” Drool gathers behind your teeth, dripping down your chin as Valeria ‘accidentally’ bumps your gag reflex. You lurch, but her fingers remain firmly hooked in her mouth. You don’t have the energy to resist her, any coherent thought slipping from your grasp before you can make sense of it. 

“So pretty like this,” She muses. Valeria adjusts you like a doll, one hand grabbing and moving your limbs until you're straddling her thigh. “You know who owns this cunt, don’t you?” Her other hand grips your hip, rolling it against her muscled thigh. Valeria laughs at your garbled moan as pleasure sparks in your core. “Just my stupid little pet that doesn’t know what’s good for her.” 

“M’not,” You slur, fingers curling into the collar of her shirt. She continues the slow pace, occasionally bouncing her knee to relish in your yelps. The heat in your stomach only grows. Electricity shoots up your spine when Valeria perfects the angle, pressing the seam of your pants against your clit just right. You moan around her fingers, lips and chin shiny with spit. In the weeks you spent running, pleasure had been an afterthought. You never had the time or privacy to worry about getting yourself off. The neglect left you swollen, sensitive, and all too receptive to Valeria’s touch. 

“Really?” She coos, slowly pulling her fingers from your mouth. They come to rest on your other hip, fingers dampening the fabric beneath them. “Grinding your cunt on me like a dumb mutt, aren’t you?” With a firmer grip on you, she presses your cunt even harder on her thigh, rocking you back and forth. You mindlessly follow her movements, chasing your high. 

Valeria studies the pinch of your brow and pitch of moans, watching every minute expression that crosses your face. Your thighs tighten around her own, desperately humping at her. Quiet pants escape your swollen lips, your head hangs low, and your eyes shut. The languid pace is entirely your own, she’s barely moving you along.

When your moans take a higher pitch, fingers tugging at her shirt, she knows you're close. Valeria’s hand comes to pull at your hair, tugging your head back and exposing the bare column of your throat. Her jaw clenches upon noticing your collar’s absence. She meets your wide eyes, your scleras flushed red and pupils dilated. Your pace falters, but Valeria prompts you to keep going with a bounce of her leg. 

“Please,” You whimper. “Wanna come.” The desperation in your voice is palpable. It’s pathetic enough to have Valeria pitying you. It’s hard for you to keep your grip on her shirt, your muscles seem to have a mind of their own. Your restrained hands fall to your lap, numb and warm as you continue to grind. 

“Yeah?” She taunts. “You wanna cum on my thigh?” Her fingers dance up your shirt, calluses brushing over your fluttering abdomen as she makes her way to your breasts. You part your lips when her fingers toy with your hardened nipples, plucking and twisting the sensitive buds. 

“Mhmm,” You nod, eyes fluttering shut. Your tongue is too heavy to form a proper response. By now, your head has gone cottony and light, filled with nothing but Val. It’s hard to even remember how you got into this situation or even recognize the dull ache of your bruised ass on every grind. Her body heat is suffocating, the scent of her perfume leaving you drooling. Valeria can see the distant look in your eyes, so she lets your lack of verbal response slide. She dips her head to your shoulder, pressing wet kisses along the curve of your neck.

“Please,” You manage to wail, repeating the word until your voice gives out on you. Valeria’s teeth glint in the moonlight as you come, nipping at the thin skin above your pulse point. Your wetness soaks the crotch of your panties, leaving them wet and sticky along the curve of your folds. The heat bleeds through your pants, warming Valeria’s thigh. 

When your hips stop twitching and your breath slows, you slump into Valeria. The hand beneath your shirt traverses up and down your spine as you hiccup and cry. Shame curdles in your stomach, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. Valeria presses soft kisses to your cheek, slowly making her way to your chapped lips. 

The kiss is sloppy and almost entirely one-sided. You struggle to keep up with her, clumsily tilting your head the wrong way and hardly moving your tongue. Her teeth knock against yours. When you cringe away at the sensation, she follows you, biting down on your lower lip hard enough to break skin. Hands wrap around your upper arms hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer to her. She licks along the sharp edges of your teeth, presses her tongue against yours. You squirm and whine through it all, only settling when she pulls away, a string of blood-tinged saliva connecting you. 

Satisfaction blooms in Valeria’s chest as she meets your teary eyes. You weeks of planning, the effort spent running, all of it was rendered pointless in a matter of minutes. The regret has your chest tightening, wishing you’d fought harder, bared your teeth. It’s too late, you realize as she heaves you to your feet. There’s no chance at escape with the way the room sways, legs weak beneath you. Valeria anchors you to her side just as you're about to fall, pulling you toward the door. Your mind desperately screams to push her away, but you can’t feel your arms anymore. You stumble and trip over the door frame, only held upright by Valeria’s arm around your waist. 

You can’t help but feel like a prisoner approaching the gallows when you see the idling car. Gravel crunches beneath your feet as she drags you forward, ignoring your attempts to dig your heels in. Each step is one step closer back to Las Almas, back to her mansion, to the gilded cage she’ll lock you in. Fear curdles in your stomach, but there’s nothing you can do with Valeria practically pinning you to her side. She pushes you into the car, quickly sliding in next to you and slamming the door shut. The click of the locks cements your fate. Valeria wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close when you try to shuffle away. She barks out orders to the driver. The car shifts gears, quickly leaving the motel and meeting the open road. Valeria murmurs something about going home as your body loosens, her knuckles brushing over your arm. It’s only a matter of minutes before you’re sprawled across the seat, head resting in her lap. The promise of deep, dreamless sleep is irresistable. 

Valeria idly brushes the hair from your face, humming a quiet tune just loud enough for you to hear. For a while, she watches you fight to stay awake, eyes fluttering shut adorably each time you do. She smiles when you finally slip away, that pinched, fearful expression finally leaving your pretty face. It’s the culmination of weeks of work, countless outbursts, and more than a few deaths. You gave a good chase, she’ll admit, but she won. 

Valeria’s sure once the rohypnol’s effects wane, you’ll be back to your feral self. It won’t be easy to earn your submission, but to her, that’s half the fun. Valeria can already hear the foul threats you’ll grunt out from behind your gag, drool dripping down your chin as you pull against your leash. But that’s trouble for another day, another training session. It’ll take more than one session to fully domesticate you, but Valeria is eager for the work ahead. She’s always enjoyed playing with her food. 

[gildedphoenix]

When Stars Collide

AO3 Link:

Chapter 1 -

“B, I understand that you want to get to the bottom of this, but I’m beginning to think that you’re upset! This is a great change!” Nightwing stood with Bruce at the edge of the building overlooking the city.

Bruce was not upset, he was concerned. He did not like when things in his city changed without reason. He especially didn’t like when things in his city changed magically. The hustle and bustle of Gotham continued on the streets below. That hadn’t changed. But the sky overhead was clear. It had been for a weeks now. Bruce found it unsettling. A Gothamite at heart, he was used to the overcast days and cloudy nights. Sure, Gotham had clear nights once in a while, but this was the 17th clear night this month. It happened slowly. The smog thinning. The constant cloud cover abating. The moon was now visible to some degree almost every night. Shining down its reflected light in its various phases. And nothing else seemed to be affected. The rainfall hadn’t changed. The winds didn’t blow differently. The harbor wasn’t suddenly cleaned of filth. It was just clearer. And it didn’t make sense. He didn’t trust it.

The plants were certainly benefiting from better light quality, which did lead Bruce to suspect that Poison Ivy had something to do with the changes. But she was just as surprised as he was. She asked him to let her know who did it so she could send them a fruit basket! After clearing Poison Ivy of fault, Bruce was forced to reach out to the Justice League’s Dark division. Constantine had answered his call and arranged a meeting for tonight. He should be arriving shortly, having given Batman this exact rooftop as the easiest place to portal to, given the number of “curses and magical fuckery” that lay over the city. 

Bruce wanted to take offence to that but he knew the city had its problems both mundane and magical. So he stood waiting. Brooding. Nightwing insisted on coming as backup though they both knew it was to help smooth communication between the two otherwise ornery men. 

Nightwing and Batman both felt a shift in the air and turned to see John stepping out of a portal, which spiraled out of existence after his feet were firmly on the gravel roof. 

“Batman.” Constantine said in greeting. “And the biggest Robin. What a pleasure…” he deadpanned as he lit his cigarette. He took a long drag and looked around and then up at the clear skies. “Oh, that is….something. I see why you called.”

“This started about a month ago.” Nightwing supplied after a beat of silence. “Not that the better air quality isn’t nice, but it’s definitely not natural. We were hoping you could help us find the cause.”

“Yeeeeeah, probably for the best. I’m not the best at scrying magic, I think Raven holds that title, but whatever is causing all of that-” he gestured vaguely to the entire sky, “-should be bloody obvious to anyone who cares to look.” 

John pulled a map of Gotham from one of his coat’s many pockets and laid it on some nearby ductwork before pulling a pendulum from another pocket. Releasing it over the map, it swung wildly for several seconds before freezing. For a moment John thought it had found its mark, and rather quickly at that, but the chain was not taut. It had simply stopped midswing at the top of its arc, hovering somewhere over the harbor and pointing to absolutely nothing. 

“Strange…” he looked to the Bats to see what they might make of it but they were also frozen. “Oh, bugger.”

“Hello, John Constantine”

[mrsdillydallyduck]

OLNF SECRET SANTA FIC

@olnfsecretsanta2024 @olnfsecretelf

HEYY @smileylord ! I'm your secret santa this year!!

So Merry Christmas! i had a really fun time writing this especially cause it was a fun challenge with someone else's OC.

it takes place in step one on christmas day.

it doesnt have a title and i'm sorry if its super descriptive.

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Golden Grove had its usual chilliness to it, except now it was wintertime. Snow layered every roof and branch, and all the warm tones of leaves had been buried under the snow by now. Edwin Porter walked slowly into his yard, heading towards the street exiting their little cul de sac, his shoes crunching rhythmically against the freshly fallen snow.

It was nice and quiet. After a full day of Christmas with his mom—presents, eating at the diner table, and a movie marathon in their living room—it felt good to stretch his legs. The cold air nipped at his cheeks, but Edwin didn’t mind. He was meeting his best friends, Qiu Lin and Tamarack Baumann, in the center of town, a cozy spot at the heart of Golden Grove.

The town was always decorated to perfection. Golden Grove seemed to thrive in winter, the small-town charm heightened by the festive season. Twinkling lights lined every storefront and home, and Edwin could already see the glow of the giant Christmas tree lights reflecting off the snow. He fiddled with the zipper of his coat as he walked, tugging it up and down absentmindedly, the sound blending with the soft crunch of snow beneath his boots.

The center of town was alive with quiet activity. People shuffled from shop to shop, snow sticking to their boots, their chatter blending into the hum of distant holiday music playing from hidden speakers. Families passed him with wide grins and bright scarves, pulling sleds or holding cups of steaming cocoa. It all felt peaceful in a way Edwin found comforting.

The town was hosting a little gathering today for Christmas, and Qiu, Tamarack,  and Edwin all agreed to meet each other there. It didn't take much convincing from Qiu and Tamarack for Edwin's mom to let him go. It's a safe town after all, and it's not the first time they've done this.

As Edwin got closer to the spot they were planning to meet, he could see everything closer. There were tables set out with little snacks and pastries provided by local businesses, and familiar faces from town all around the decorated streets. Now he just needed to find his friends. 

“Winnie!” Tamarack’s voice rang out, clear and cheerful, from across the street.

She was easy to spot, bundled up in her usual outfit, only it was now winterized with a pair of leggings underneath her overalls and a fuzzy hat that made her look a little like an overenthusiastic elf. She waved at him, her arm flailing like she was signaling an airplane.

Beside her stood Qiu, definitely calmer but no less warm. He was sporting his usual green coat, with little snowflakes resting on the fluff of his hood. “Hey!” He nodded at Edwin, his small smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Edwin raised a hand in greeting, his heart lifting a little as he approached them. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. His friends understood him.

Tamarack wasted no time, closing the distance and pulling him into a quick, squishy hug. Her sweater made it feel like being hugged by a marshmallow.

“You made it!” she said, her breath puffing out in white clouds. “I was starting to think you might get snowed in or something.”

“It’s like, barely snowing,” Qiu said, gesturing to the light flurries drifting lazily around them. His voice was soft, a grounding presence compared to Tamarack’s exuberance.

“Okay, Mr. Weatherman,” Tamarack shot back, giggling a little.

“Anyway,” Qiu said, stepping closer to Edwin, “we saved you a spot by the fire. Come on!”

Tamarack grabbed Edwin’s sleeve and tugged him toward a little bonfire at the edge of the street. The warmth grew stronger with every step, and Edwin felt the heat on his cheeks even before they reached the circle of glowing fire. Families gathered around, their quiet laughter blending with the occasional crackle of burning logs. Tamarack plopped down on one of the wooden benches surrounding the bonfire, patting the seat next to her.

“Front row!,” she said with a wide grin.

Qiu sat on Edwin’s other side, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. He nodded toward the fire. “Perfect spot, huh?”

Edwin gave a small nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His friends always made things easy, even on days when words felt impossible.

“Look at what my omi gave me!”

Tamarack was already digging into her bag, producing a slightly squished chocolate bar. “Okay, marshmallows or no marshmallows?”

“Marshmallows,” Qiu said immediately, his tone so serious it made Edwin silently chuckle softly.

“Good answer,” Tamarack said, passing out skewers and marshmallows.

The three of them roasted their marshmallows over the fire, the sticky treats bubbling and turning golden brown. Qiu started to talk about his family’s Christmas morning, things ranging from what he did, who he hung out with and what he got, “My parents got me some new pens for my notebook,” he said, his voice full of contentment.

“Maybe it’ll make you keep track of your litter more now,” Tamarack said.

“Hey, I don’t lose them that much!” Qiu exclaimed, waving his marshmallow like it was a sword. “They always come back to me anyways.”

“Because you lose them so much!” Tamarack groaned, but Edwin caught the way her lips twitched like she was trying not to laugh. He smiled faintly, his eyes crinkling. Tamarack always brought this kind of lively energy to their group, and Qiu always managed to lead the conversation with his affability. It was a balance Edwin liked.

Edwin mostly listened, his skewer turning slowly in his hands. He didn’t feel the need to contribute; he didn’t have to. The rhythm of their voices, the crackle of the fire, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air around him, wrapping him in warmth.

When their marshmallows were perfectly roasted, they carefully assembled their s’mores. Tamarack, somehow, ended up with sticky marshmallow on her hands and the tip of her nose. She didn't look particularly upset about it though. 

“how did that happen?” Qiu questioned with a shake of his head, handing her a napkin.

“I don't know, it just did,” she said cheerfully, wiping her face.

Edwin handed her another napkin without a word, his smile hidden behind his scarf. Tamarack noticed and smiled at him.

After the s’mores, Qiu pulled out a thermos. “Hot cocoa. My mom made it this morning.”

The cocoa was rich and warm, with just a hint of cinnamon. Edwin held his cup close, letting the steam warm his face. Tamarack let out a satisfied sigh after her first sip, and Qiu smiled quietly, clearly pleased with their reactions.

As they drank, Tamarack started humming what was probably a Christmas carol. It was soft at first, barely audible over the crackle of the fire, but soon Qiu joined in. Edwin didn’t hum along, but he didn’t mind. He simply leaned back, watching the snowflakes drift lazily through the firelight.

After a while, there was an interruption in the silence. “Oh wait!” Qiu nudged Edwin gently. “We got you something.”

Tamarack reached into her bag and pulled out a small box wrapped in shiny red paper. “Merry Christmas!”

Edwin hesitated, his hands brushing the wrapping paper. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a set of metallic gel pens in a rainbow of colors. Tiny stars and planets glittered on each pen, catching the firelight, each in their respective colors.

“I saw them at the store and thought of you,” Qiu said. “You like space and stuff, right? Plus, they’re perfect for school.”

“They’re perfect,” Tamarack added. “Way cooler than boring black pens.”

Edwin nodded quickly, his way of saying Thank you.

Edwin’s eyes lit up as he turned the pens over in his hands, his smile growing. He glanced at Tamarack and Qiu, his gratitude shining through even without words.

“See? Were the best friends ever,” Tamarack said, leaning back with a triumphant grin.

Qiu chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright then”

Edwin let out a chuckle, not loud enough for most people to hear, but Qiu and Tamarack did. They always did.

They sat there for a long time, sipping cocoa, roasting another round of marshmallows, and sharing quiet laughter. The world outside was cold and vast, but here, with his friends, Edwin felt safe.

And for the first time all day, he realized he wasn’t just happy—he was content. And that was the best thing he could have gotten this Christmas.

______________________________________________________________

Anyway that's it I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT SO SORRY IF YOU DON'T. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

[stuffforme2]

Lil writing inspired by these image of Michael Fucking Holden

Tw!!intrusive thoughts

I stare at the ice beneath my skates. I am unsure for how long I've been skating in circles for but it's oddly comforting.

Loosing is something I am not a fan of which is clear by the embarrassing childish way I'd ripped paper to shreds infront of Tori Spring. Tori Spring. Tori Spring a magical, pessimistic, self hating, depressed, sunshine of a person.

I feel my face get hot with anger at myself. My anger boils over me, and, I think how shameful and annoying it is that the ice won't act like a mirror and reflect myself to my eyes like it does in animated movies. I'd like to see my red angered face. I'd like to see the hatred in my eyes behind my large glasses and messy hair that I haven't even bothered to clean up today. I had been lazy enough to not gell down my hair. So fucking lazy.

I wonder what, just like in the movies, if there's water underneath the ice inside the roller rink. If I stomp right now as hard as I possibly can, will the thin layer that is holding me up and together break?

So I stomp.

I stomp and stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

I must look rather peculiar but there's not a doubt in my mind that if I do stop stomping then I'd break apart and tear to shreds the skating ring bit by bit.

My coat that kept me warm throughout my inside childish tantrum is starting to bug me and so is my jeans and my annoyingly plain shirt. Maybe when I stop stomping, when my brain registers that I won't fall through, I'll go buy a shirt that's not plain.

My stomping ceases even though my brain still hasn't accepted I won't fall through instead it's made a scenario. I stomp one more time and I fall through I fall into an endless abyss of cold dark water that's filling my lungs. It grabs me, its dark arms around my stomach, and begins to tug me down like an achor. My breaths gurgle out in fish bubbles that float to the Michael Holden shaped hole in the ice roof. My back hits the bottom and I kick and kick but to not avail. I'm stuck. I'm drowning. I'm dead.

My brain is rather poetic sadly rhe words that do come out of my mouth don't match. Imagine if I was Shakespeare. I could make the best mother fucking plays and leave DiCaprio quaking in his boots.

[heatcure]

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Lost Sons of Nightmares

Part 2 of Lost Sons

Fandoms: Vicious by V.E. Schwab & Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo (w/ references to Shadow and Bone)

Summary: After Victor and Kaz make a deal, Sydney dreams of a wolf with a strange demand. Though Mitch is losing faith in Victor, both the crows and the people closest to Sydney decide to trust her.

Warnings: spoilers for all listed book series bc it takes place after!! Inej is the smart one, discussion/depiction of abandonment, trust issues

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

A/N: I finally returned to this! I'm working on the next part which might be the last, but I'm not sure yet. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist Directory | Victor Vale Masterlist | Crossovers | Request Info/Fandom List

Victor reached for another jar of ink as he flipped through a leather-bound book. Soft footsteps echoed every few seconds, and the curtains fluttered in the night breeze blowing off the harbor.

“Is she sleeping?” Victor asked.

“Yeah,” Mitch answered flatly. “Restlessly, but yes.”

“I did what I had to do, Mitch.”

Mitch scoffed, walking to another shelf to survey the ornaments sitting atop it.

“You didn’t have to follow me.”

“I didn’t want to, Victor,” Mitch spat.

Victor set the book on the wooden desk, covering a deep cut poorly hidden by dark stain. He glanced at the closed bedroom door, where Sydney was asleep.

“Where’s Dol?” Victor inquired.

“With Dom. Waiting for her to come back I would guess. Is this what you were going for all along? Rip another group of people apart in pursuit of your own revenge?”

“Don’t, Mitch.”

“It’s a little late for that, Vic. I’m on the other side of the world – in a place I didn’t even know existed. Save your warnings, make another stupid plan, get yourself killed, I don’t care anymore. But do not hurt her in the process.”

“I was trying to keep her safe,” Victor defends.

“Lot of good that did. You were her safety, and you left her. When this goes south, and we both know it will, you are on your own. I’m not letting her put her life on the line or sell her soul for you this time.”

“I never asked her to help!”

Mitch nodded, pressing his tongue against his cheek. “But you never told her not to.”

Before Victor could consider defending his actions or try to explain that, at first, he thought he was doing what was best for everyone, Sydney screamed. She’d had nightmares before, but this was different. Mitch and Victor locked eyes as the sound echoed, forgetting their argument as they burst into the bedroom. Mitch walked to one side of the bed as Victor knelt at the other, seeking a source of pain within Sydney.

“Syd,” Mitch urged. “Wake up!”

Sydney jerked to the side, a sheen of sweat across her forehead reflecting the pale glow of light entering through the window. Her scream silenced, but as she thrashed, Victor heard something or, more likely, someone, land on the roof. He stood, turning his back to Sydney as he reached out, picturing the dial in his mind as his worry for Sydney threatened his focus.

“It’s me,” Nina whispered, stepping into the open bedroom door. “And the Wraith.”

Inej slipped in the window behind Mitch and muttered an apology when he jumped. Victor turned back to Sydney just before she woke. Sydney sat up, panting for air, and stared at Victor’s chest. As if she could see through his thin coat, she looked directly at the scars surrounding his heart.

“Are you trying to get yourselves caught?” Kaz asked, stomping with his cane as he stopped beside Nina. When he saw Sydney, he looked to Inej. “Is she alright?”

“Are you?” Inej asked Sydney.

“There… there was a wolf. A big black one with white teeth,” Sydney murmured.

Nina looked at Matthias, who stiffened at the description. Kaz didn’t look away from Sydney, watching for any sign that she was lying. Her panicked breaths seemed genuine, and when she clutched the sheets in her hand, he nodded once to reassure her.

“The wolf had a- a shape in his fur. It was black, but a different kind of black than his fur. More like a shadow, I guess.”

Inej inhaled sharply as Mitch took Sydney’s hand.

“He spoke to me,” Sydney whispered.

“What did he say?” Matthias inquired.

“To get out of the Barrel, run, and never look back.”

“It’s good advice,” Matthias said, looking at Victor. “Maybe you should take it.”

“We are fighting a war, Matthias,” Nina reminded him. “It won’t end because of a nightmare.”

“That wasn't a nightmare,” Inej argued.

“Who would try to scare you away from acting against the merchant council?” Victor asked, taking a measured step toward Kaz.

“There’s a long list,” Kaz replied.

“Few who can invade dreams,” Jesper added from the corner. “Fewer who’d issue that kind of warning.”

“There’s more to it,” Inej tried again.

“If someone hired a Grisha, they’d have to know what we were planning,” Kaz mused. “How would that have come about?”

“Maybe someone in the club told them about Victor,” Wylan offered.

“No one saw me,” Victor assured him.

“You can’t be sure of that,” Jesper argued.

“I was sitting at the table right beside you.”

Jesper pinched his brows, then shook his head. “That’s good,” he mused, smiling. “Teach me?”

“Not unless you’re willing to die by electrocution.”

“I’ll pass,” Jesper decided, stepping back.

“We’re asking the wrong questions!” Inej interrupted, finally drawing attention.

“And what would the right one be?” Kaz asked, leaning heavily against his cane.

Victor stopped by the window and felt the harbor breeze, cool and wet. Assuming it worsened the pain in Dirtyhands’ leg, he turned the dial in his mind, then watched Mitch and Sydney’s joined hands.

“Why tell her?” Inej asked, gesturing toward Sydney.

“She’s young,” Kaz offered. “Gullible, a weak spot.”

“Hey,” Sydney murmured.

“It’s sound advice,” Matthias said. “No matter who gave it or why.”

“If there is someone in her dreams,” Victor began, “in her mind, I want to know who it was. You think it’s related to the merchant council, and I will do more than steal their kruge and rip away their power.”

“When does the sun rise?” Sydney asked suddenly.

Mitch moved his other hand over their joined hands as Wylan answered.

“Why do you ask?” Inej asked kindly.

“Because the shape in the wolf’s fur was a sun. A sun made of shadows.”

Victor looked at Kaz, who shook his head. There wasn’t a clear answer as far as either of them were concerned.

“Sydney,” Inej said, lowering onto the bed. She pulled a blade from her coat, and Victor spread his fingers toward her. Inej flipped the blade, showing Sydney the small, carved handle as she asked, “Did it look like this?”

“Yeah, just like that, but it was moving,” Sydney answered, sitting up straighter. “Do you know what it means?”

“To leave while you’re still alive,” Matthias grumbled.

“I can’t be certain,” Inej began, facing the rest of the crows. “But it seems that the Sun Summoner may have returned in Sydney’s dream.”

“Sankta Alina?” Nina questioned. “How?”

“Your dead saint?” Victor interrupted. “I understand that you have science that looks like magic, but ghosts aren’t real.”

“You would know,” Mitch murmured.

“Do you have a better idea?” Kaz challenged, standing firmly on both legs.

“EON experiments on EOs. If one of them has the ability to manipulate dreams, they wouldn’t hesitate to do so,” Victor explained.

“Why Sydney?” Inej asked.

“To get to Victor,” Mitch answered.

Victor didn’t argue as he dropped his eyes from Mitch’s disappointed and angry glare to Sydney. She was holding Inej’s hand now, but her brows were pinched as if she was thinking.

“The wolves don’t speak,” Kaz said, glancing over his shoulder at Matthias.

“Not like that,” he agreed. “They communicate, but you have to know how to read them.”

“And a dream is ill-fit to destroy a language barrier.”

“Sankta Alina?” Sydney whispered.

“The Sun Summoner,” Inej replied. “She destroyed the Fold and freed us from the Black Heretic.”

“They sell her fingers in the street.”

Inej smiled. “People are desperate for power, and anything that helps them feel more confident quenches that thirst.”

“Victor,” Sydney called.

Victor turned and knelt, causing his coat to flare out behind him, and laid his hand on the bed beside Sydney.

“You left,” she reminds him. “And I didn’t know what to do. When we got here, I thought we’d be too late, too far behind you again.”

“I’m s-“

“I touched one of the bones,” Sydney interrupts. “Mitch said they were fake, but the idea of having the power of someone who gave life rather than bringing back some twisted version of it… I didn’t mean to.”

Victor looked up at Mitch, who insisted, “They’re fake.”

“They are,” Inej agreed. “No one knows exactly what happened to Alina after the Fold was destroyed, other than her body was burned. Anything that was left was probably collected, but it isn’t sold in the Barrel.”

“Whatever you brought with you, find a way to control it,” Kaz rasped.

“We didn’t bring anything into Kerch,” Victor replied, standing. “Your Sun Summoner isn’t dead.”

“She was burned,” Nina argued. “I know people who were there, they watched her and the Darkling go up in flames, stayed until the bitter end.”

“They may have burned someone, but you said it yourself, there are people here who can change appearances.”

“Why would she pretend to die?” Jesper asked.

“She was a saint, there was no shame or reason to hide the good she did,” Wylan added.

“Because being a god is not all it’s made out to be,” Victor said. “She… if she had the powers you claim she had, she was no more than an experiment, someone capable of the unnatural. Was she burdened or was she the burden?”

“She is a saint!” Inej insists, standing. “What she did was honorable, noble, and we would not be here today if not for her.”

“You would be somewhere.” Victor turned to Sydney, watching how she rubbed her fingers together. “Can you find it?”

“Find what?” Nina wondered.

“I can try,” Sydney offered, nodding.

She stood, walked to the window, and closed her eyes, swaying gently in the breeze. Victor moved to stand behind her, a stoic guardian who had once betrayed her. He could never make up for what he had done, never apologize or make it better, but he could keep her safe again.

“There’s a field,” Sydney mumbled. “In Ravka. East Ravka. Ker-Ker-something.”

“Keramzin,” Inej whispers.

“There are children, and a man and a woman.”

Sydney stumbled back as she opened her eyes, and Victor extended a hand to catch her. She stood quickly, and he withdrew his touch, turning in one fluid movement as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

“As a saint, Alina had no connection to Keramzin,” Nina said.

“But we have no idea about her connections as a person,” Wylan added. “It sounds like she had a family.”

“How much faith do you hold in the girl?” Kaz whispered to Victor.

Sydney returned to Mitch’s side, observing Victor. He watched her as he answered, “All that I have left.”

“Inej,” Kaz called. “Do we act or leave the barrel as the wolf instructed?”

Inej ran her fingertips along her blade, bearing Sankta Alina’s mark. Looking out the window and into the dark of the Barrel, she answered, “The deal’s the deal.”

“Meaning?” Mitch asked.

“We made a deal,” Kaz explains. “We move forward. Should this Summoner reappear, we will consider obeying her demands.”

“The merchant council?” Victor asked.

“Convenes in the evening three days from now for a weekly meeting.”

“And EON?”

“Whispers, shadows, nothing I can trace. They’re not close.”

“Are they in Merit?” Sydney interjected.

“No,” Kaz answered. “They were, but they moved months ago.”

“They may be following Victor,” Mitch suggested.

“Then we’ll be ready to meet them,” Kaz guaranteed.

“You shouldn’t bring them into the Barrel,” Victor said.

The crows silenced, looking between Victor and Mitch.

“They’re worth protecting?” Mitch challenged.

“Yes. That’s why I would leave them if the danger got too close. Just as I’d leave you with them.”

“You’re running. Again.”

“Maybe. But you are still alive. The same cannot be said for the people I stayed with.”

“What are you saying, Victor?” Mitch asked.

“I’m telling you that I stand by what I did. If it hurt you, there’s nothing I can do to change that, but I wouldn’t change my actions.”

Mitch sighed, then nodded. Part of him hoped that Victor would realize he could do both: save the people he cared about without hurting them, but his bad luck had taught him that the scars left by losing those closest to you run deep. Victor’s scars weren’t just deep; they were painful, and it was the kind of pain that he couldn’t take away. Not that he would if he could, Mitch thought, because that pain informed his decisions.

“If you’re ready to strike against the merchant council, so are we,” Victor offered.

“The deal was-“

“The deal was to do both,” Victor interrupted.

“My office, tomorrow night,” Kaz invited. “We’ll lay the plans.”

Victor nodded once, and the crows seemed to disappear from the room. As Victor left Mitch and Sydney, he was unsurprised to see Kaz waiting for him at the desk. He flipped a page in the old book, his brows raising at Victor’s edits.

“You found something?” Victor asked.

“I found everything,” Kaz answered. His smile should have scared Victor, but he recognized the look, the deathly sharp edges, and the bloodthirsty eyes. Vengeance was within reach, and Victor would be victorious, gaining everything and losing nothing. “There’s an EO…”

[desos-records]

Magic's not allowed in Gotham, but Jason's never been one to follow rules. // Jason Todd helps out the local exorcist.

Jason Todd/Reader

Chapters: Next

Word Count: 1,464

Warnings: some mild violence, demonic possession

-

Jason still liked churches. He told himself it was the architecture, Gotham Cathedral had no shortage of vaulted ceilings, gargoyles, and huge stained glass windows. Its roof was one of the best places to watch the city—high up, plenty of corners and crevices to hide in, no guards making rounds or rogues ready to attack. The bells echoed against the city's metal and glass, the strong notes sounding solemn or joyful, but always reliable.

On pain of death or torture, he wouldn't tell anyone that he liked the quiet most of all. Silence in Gotham often meant something was about to go violently wrong. It was an empty feeling, the second between fire sucking in oxygen and the shockwave exploding. But here, the quiet air was full and warm, something almost hummed just outside his hearing. Even sitting on the roof in the cold air, he could still feel the warmth.

He didn't dare go inside though. He had a thousand reasons not to, namely that he didn't feel like getting another lecture. Bruce was self-righteous enough to last Jason a lifetime. He didn't want to sit under the judgement of the person sitting in the pew beside him. He didn't want to talk about what he believed in or what he didn't.

All Jason wanted was to sit in the quiet and warmth. He could do that from the roof.

On an especially cold night, he sat leaning against a gargoyle, watching the light from the stained glass reflect off the gently falling snow—red, blue, gold, green, and a hundred others swirling in the wind below him. Then the quiet shattered.

"Don't move! It's gonna be okay."

He recognized that voice, its clarity and ability to be kind and commanding all at once. You didn't operate in Gotham very often; your particular brand of justice took you all over the world, but when you did, it meant something had gone very very wrong. Jason smiled to himself anyway.

You didn't keep a secret identity like he did—there was no point when all the bad guys were after your soul—but Bruce had taken to calling you Harbinger and the name stuck. He still preferred your real one though.

Then Jason heard a guttural string of sounds that fell through the air like curses. You spat the demonic language back and Jason caught a flash of golden light somewhere in the Cathedral’s cemetery. Quickly, he shot his grappling gun and swung down, landing in the snow with a soft crunch. Keeping his head down and hood up, shielded by the Cathedral’s shadow, he tracked the familiar sounds of a fight and the eerie echoes of magic.

"No, you'll get out of her right now or so help me God, I will exorcize your head right up your ass."

Jason peeked around a statue and saw you under a cluster of Yew trees, magic sparking from your hands as the golden lines pinned a young woman to one of the trees. A little boy was crouched behind a headstone nearby. Even at a distance, Jason could see how the woman's eyes had turned black. She writhed and snarled at you.

Demonic possession. Your version of stopping a mugger.

You looked a little worse for wear. He saw burn marks in your coat, cuts and scrapes that hadn't yet healed, and something dark and slick had splattered across you—something that was not mud. Even still, he couldn't help the warm buzz he felt every time he saw you.

He wanted to jump in and help, but he knew he wasn't much use while a demon still had its hold on someone. And he'd learned not to distract you while you worked magic.

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

You strode forward and pressed a hand against the woman's sternum and the other against her forehead. The weave of magic kept the woman's arms and legs pinned back even as she struggled. You were speaking Latin now and the demon screamed curses in its bitter language. Smoke rose from the points where you touched it.

A shockwave erupted outwards and a thick black liquid, like crude oil, gushed out of the woman's mouth, eyes, and ears, staining the snow. Instead of flowing away, it pulled itself inward, forming a humanoid creature taller than Jason. Looking at it, he felt a deep instinct to run.

The little boy screamed and the demon turned its head. Jason bolted forward. He scooped up the little boy, drew his gun and fired all in the same motion. The demon screeched, more surprised than hurt, and staggered backward. You were there to catch it, your magic tangling itself around the demon. With one final shouted spell, your hands moved as if pulling something apart. The demon shattered into fiery pieces, dissolving into the snow.

Quiet returned to the graveyard. You helped the woman to stand, then turned to Jason.

"I need to get her to a hospital," you said, a phone appearing in your hand with a flick of your wrist and a flash of golden light.

He nodded and set the little boy down. "I'll wait for you on the roof."

A tired smile flickered over your face as you reached out, took his free hand, and squeezed gently. "Thank you," you said softly.

Over an hour later, he heard the whoosh of sudden magic, saw a flash of gold in the dark, and then you appeared across from him on the Cathedral's roof. He smiled and slid off his helmet as he strode towards you.

"Can I assume that won't be the last one?" he said.

You shrugged, pulling your coat tighter around you. "Like rats, aren't they? Where there's one, there's ten more. Best to warn your people."

He stopped a few steps shy of you. If you were surprised to see him, it didn't show.

"How long are you here?" he asked. Longer than last time, he thought, please say longer than last time.

You looked up and over his shoulder, staring at the steeple. "A couple days maybe. Depends on how long it takes to find the nest."

Damn.

"Want some help?"

Now you squinted at him, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "I appreciate it, but it's a little outside your wheelhouse, Red."

He shook his head. "That's what you always say. It's my neighborhood, you know."

"I know. But if I make any more noise, The Bat will stick his nose in it and slow things down." You spread your arms out, twirling your hands like a performer, as sparks danced between your fingers. "No magic in Gotham, remember?"

Jason watched you carefully, paying closer attention to your injuries and noting the weight pulling at your posture, the slight tremor. "At least let me give you a place to crash. You look dead on your feet."

You smiled again, still faint as you looked away from him and dropped your hands. The lights went out. "I'm not so safe to be around at the moment."

"You never are."

You looked him up and down, considering, weighing your options. "Does this offer include take out? I took a little detour through Hell, you see. Hard to get a decent meal down there."

Jason let his smile spread wide and easy as he offered you his hand. "Sweetheart, you got yourself an in-house chef."

Shaking your head, with a scoff that sounded like a laugh, you took his hand. As always, your skin hummed with the magic that coursed through you and, as always, it sent a shiver up his spine.

"Still flirting with death, I see," you said.

He tugged you forward gently, then wrapped an arm around you and lifted his grappling gun from its holster. "Well, you're awful pretty."

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, you draped your arm across his shoulders, pulling the two of you even closer--the only trouble was you smelled of death too, blood and brimstone. But you were warm and radiant and never judged him and he wanted to be those things for you in return, if you'd let him.

There was something there in the space between you, humming like the air around the Cathedral, something magic. But it might break if he spoke it out loud, so he settled for holding you tighter. He didn't flinch from the steady glow of your eyes, inches away from his.

"Charmer," you said, the edge of a genuine smile in the corner of your mouth.

"You said it, not me."

Sparks erupted inside him when you nearly laughed. Then he fired the grappling gun and you both clung tight to each other as you rushed into the air.

[nataliabdraws]

darling heart, i loved you from the start (II)

pairing: maglor x original female character

summary: maglor begins to adjust to farm life, Olwyn takes a trip to town

warnings: N/A

word count: 2.3k (kinda a short one)

author's note: I'm so glad you all have been enjoying this fic! please let me know what you think of it on ao3!

read full thing on ao3 (read to the end for some concept art!)

The Elf joins her in the garden most days—quietly, without fuss, kneeling among the herbs as though it is the most natural thing in the world. His long, slender fingers sift through the dirt, finding the best place for each seed to take root. The rows he tends grow precise, straight as an arrow's flight, every leaf fanning outward in healthy arcs. Under his care, the vegetables flourish: thick-stemmed and vibrant, as though mocking the season's lingering chill.

Olwyn watches from the small stable across the way. She pitches hay into stalls, arms moving in practiced sweeps; but her gaze drifts toward the Elf, observing how deliberate he is in everything he does. She has asked for his name more than once—only to see him slip around her words like a well-trained hound avoiding a snare. She doesn't press him. In time, she tells herself, he will speak.

Later in the afternoon, she brushes the mud from her sturdy grey mare, its flanks dappled with remnants of the day's work. The mare's muzzle, cold with the approaching dusk, nudges her hand. She offers a sugar cube from her apron pocket, lingers in the gentle nuzzle of warm breath against her palm. The brush sweeps slow circles over the horse's coat, each stroke a quieting lull, smoothing the tension from Olwyn's own shoulders.

Satisfied at last, she settles the saddle upon the mare's back, cinching the girth with an efficient tug. The bridle slides into place. She checks the straps by running her hand along their length, ensuring no sharp edge or knot might chafe. Everything feels right beneath her fingertips—the surety of leather, the steady beat of the horse's breath.

Leading the mare toward the stable doors, she nearly collides with the Elf, who leans against the frame. He has a casual air, though she knows he notices everything, his eyes unwavering upon hers.

"You're leaving," he says, tone low and even, a statement rather than a question.

"I am." She steps into the stirrup, mounting in one fluid motion. Her skirts gather at her knees as she reins the mare. His hand lifts, pressing gently against the horse's flank, steadying.

"Where?" he asks.

"To town," she replies, voice firm. "For supplies. I'll be back before dark."

He nods once, but doesn't move aside. Instead, he fidgets briefly with the edge of his cloak, tugging it free where it clings to his shoulder. The dark cloth ripples in a faint breeze before pooling in his hand, a gathered hush of fabric.

"Take this," he says, extending the cloak toward her.

She hesitates, a polite refusal rising in her throat, but the sky beyond the stable yawns open—an expanse of swirling clouds over the distant sea, thick with the promise of rain. Reluctantly, she accepts. The worn wool feels both rugged and comforting, a shield against the chill that creeps through the dusk. She drapes it across her shoulders, the weight of it—a solemn gift—settling around her.

"Thank you," she murmurs, fingers curling into the folds.

He inclines his head, a silent acknowledgment. For a moment, they simply regard each other, the air heavy with unspoken words. Then he steps back, a hand on the mare's neck, guiding her forward.

“I’ll return before nightfall,” she promises, her grip tightening on the reins. Her heels press against the mare’s sides, and the horse springs forward, hooves drumming across the ground as they break into a steady canter.

The town rises into view as the sun dips lower, the edges of its thatched roofs catching the last traces of golden light. A faint glow spills from scattered lanterns, their reflections quivering in the dark waters of the harbor. The air here is heavier, tinged with salt and wood smoke, and Olwyn breathes it in, the scent a familiar balm.

Her horse slows as they cross the village square, its gait measured and calm. Voices drift toward her—low murmurs, the occasional burst of laughter spilling from the open door of the small tavern. She lets her gaze linger for a moment before dismounting, her knees protesting the motion.

She gathers the reins over the mare’s head and ties them to the post, the leather cool and smooth in her hands. Vendors line the square ahead of her, their small, dust-streaked tents leaning into the breeze.

Their calls rise over the hum of the village, voices warm and lilting as they beckon her closer. Faces light with practiced cheer, hands flashing toward rows of vegetables displayed in tidy piles—turnips, rutabagas, parsnips. The colors stand out in the fading light, their skins smooth and unblemished, a small miracle of the season.

The chill begins to creep in as the evening deepens, and she pulls the cloak tighter around her shoulders, the fabric heavy against her arms.

A man sits within the tent, hair white as snow, shoulders bent beneath the weight of years. Beside him, barrels brim with fresh-caught fish, silver scales glinting in the dim. Glassy eyes stare unseeing, still and lifeless.

Olwyn knows him at once. Relief washes over her.

"Old man Rendil," she calls, a smile curving her lips. "I feared you'd not have another good haul before winter's coming."

The fisherman chuckles, voice deep and steady as the tide. "Right you are, girl. But the waters were kind today. Caught them just this morn, before the clouds crept in." He nods to the sky, dark shapes gathering ominous above the distant sea.

"I'll take two greyfish," she says, fingers fumbling for her coin purse, "and a half-pound of mussels."

Rendil's eyes twinkle with mirth as he sets to work, pulling her order from the barrels with practiced ease. "Mighty appetite, haven't you, girl?"

"Oh, it's not her appetite, Rendil." A woman's voice, sharp and knowing. "It's for the man in her house."

Rendil's wife appears, keen-eyed, gaze fixed on Olwyn. "Is it true, then? He's an Elf?"

Heat floods Olwyn's cheeks. She straightens, tugs her cloak tighter round her shoulders. "Word spreads quickly here, does it not?"

The old woman cackles, hand swatting at her husband's arm. "Heron's boy spotted him by the cliffs just last eve," she says, grinning wide. "Now the whole town's abuzz with tales."

Olwyn keeps her eyes on her hands, adjusting her cloak. Heron—quiet, sharp-eyed Heron—worked with her brother on the fishing boats in warmer seasons, when the hills were lush and green. She'd always wondered at the silences he carried, the weight of words unspoken.

"It's true, then," Rendil's wife presses, curiosity like a knife's edge. "He is an Elf."

[to be continued! read full thing on ao3 ]

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  This is when things seem to get better with the Shelby family —at least with Polly— that a drunk client crosses the line with you at the Garrison. Haunted by his past insecurities and his burning jealousy, Arthur snaps. And he snaps very bad. For the first time since you've met, he reveals the beast he hides inside... And Tommy obviously uses the incident to blame you.

Words: 5k

TW: Angst, Obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy, graphic depiction of violence, murder, lot of blood, canonical violence, witch trial, allusions to smut, allusions to blood!kink, Arthur being an emotional and slightly psychotic mess

Notes:

✞ I don't condone Arthur's behavior. Also, keep in mind that Heaven is certainly a bit twisted too.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

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The sound of your heels hammering the cold pavement of Small Heath echoed in the nocturnal streets as you walked to the Garrison. Even though the expansion of the Shelby Company led the family’s interests away from the pub, they still hold the place dear to their hearts and sometimes they liked gathering there for old times' sake. Especially Arthur. Hence, rather than staying at home, reading in front of the fireplace, and dwelling on Polly’s odd behavior at the last family gathering, you decided to occupy your buzzing mind by surprising Arthur at the pub. A raven flew above your head and cawed, its presence stirring interest in you for he had followed you from the moment you had left your house. As you walked to the Garrison, you took a quick glance at the black bird’s silhouette, which was perched on a roof a few houses away. 

"Silly boy, want to tell me something?" You told to it, amused. The animal, dressed with dark feathers, replied with another caw. You chuckled and kept walking.

The white dress and fur coat you were wearing contrasted so well with the dull night that the few people you passed were not sure what they had just seen. Indeed, the moon's glow reflected its light on your porcelain skin, adorning your frail body with an almost supernatural aura. That was why some of them thought they had caught sight of an angel, just like Arthur did the first time you and he met.

When the dark wooden door of the Garrison opened, its noise overcoming the laughter, chatting, and sounds of glasses clinking against each other, a soft wave of warmth caressed your cold face. You had barely stepped inside when people almost all turned around, many pairs of eyes weighing on you. Curious and dumbstruck gazes looked at you, wondering what such a holy-looking creature was doing here — but you did not really care. Your petrifying aquamarine iris swept the room to become familiar with the place before you headed to the counter behind which you saw Arthur’s tall frame. The man was back to you, talking with his little boss-brother Thomas. Awesome, you thought, little King Shelby is here. Sarcasm filled your head at the mere sight of him. To be true, you were well aware that Thomas was always doing his best to avoid you, but it did not annoy you. Quite the contrary, you were more than satisfied with never seeing him — you still did not come to terms with him trying to strangle you after all. Nevertheless, you leaned over the counter, arms resting on its varnished wooden surface, and parted your juicy lips to speak. 

“Good evening, Mister Shelby. Care to serve me a drink?” 

Arthur’s whole being shivered with delight as soon as he recognized the enchanting and oh-so-peculiar tone of your voice — the same voice that had led him to you one bleak and sleepless night. Shaken to the core by your presence, he forgot about Tommy the moment you had started to speak and turned around to face you, the corner of his lips stretching in a genuine and blissed smile. Each time his steel blue eyes fell on you, it was as if God's grace struck him — even though you were living together. The thrills you gave him never left.

“Good evening, love. What is such a delicious little Angel like you doing here? It’s a bad town for such a pretty face ye know.” He almost cooed with his hoarse voice, his hands on the bar and his eyes sparkling with a teasing gleam.

“Fell from the sky and got lost in these streets, so I just followed the light.” Your fingers grazed the back of his hand and went up its skin, leaving pleasant tingles in their trail, until they reached one of the many rings he was wearing. The simple gesture, barely touching him, lit up a blazing fire in his soul. Thomas looked at Arthur and quickly understood that no matter what he would say or do, he held no power over his older brother anymore, “Evening, Tommy.” You said, finally acknowledging him.

“Thomas. It’s Thomas.” He retorted with a voice as cold as an arctic blizzard that could freeze Hell’s inferno itself. He stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and left without any single word, his shadow disappearing in the streets as he left the Garrison, for your sole presence seemed to bother him. Well, at least his opinion about you did not change. However, the lack of peculiar reaction from him reassured you: Polly had not told him what happened to the tea party yet.

“Don’t mind him eh,” 

You did not.

“I should probably give you one hell of a strong drink if you fell from Eden… Miss?”

“Heaven Lavey.” You winked, enjoying his silly way of hitting on you as if it was the first time you met, “A glass of red wine would do the trick… And the barman’s heart.” Your teasing grin widened, unveiling perfect white teeth. Arthur let out a long exhale through his nostrils, enraptured by your whole being. From your smile to your bratty pout, you got him on his knees. Each time he would dive his eyes into yours, his heart would quicken in his chest and dopamine would rush through his veins — who would want to keep taking drugs after tasting you? Not even himself. He was already high enough by your presence in his life and God knew he never wanted to sober up from you.

“As you wish.” He leaned over the counter to lay a tender kiss on your forehead. The way his mustache gently tickled your skin made you chuckle. How sweet he was, not afraid to lavish you with sweetness even in front of other people. Then, he gathered all his strength to pull away from you and take care of your order — which was nearly impossible to do, for you were both attracted to each other like two powerful magnets. But still, he did and then poured the finest red wine the Garrison had in a glass before putting it in front of you. Then, he leaned a second time over the counter to bring his face close to yours again, “as for my heart,” he paused, his eyes abandoning yours to drop on your full lips he watched with utmost desire, “You already snatched it, angel.” 

“You’re incorrigible, Arthur Shelby.” You could not help but laugh when you noticed that, as you spoke, his focus was still fiercely anchored to your lips. The urge he had to devour them was almost palpable, electrifying the air around him. Yet, you resisted the need to kiss him, rather bringing your small hands to his neck to fix his bow tie with indescribable tenderness. The pair of eyes that were watching you since your arrival could not believe that you had managed to tame the brutal Arthur Shelby — how he behaved with you was so different from the way he was with the others it almost scared them, “I hope you like this little surprise.”

“You can’t imagine how much I do.” He purred, grabbing your hands and putting them on his cheeks. How he loved feeling your cold skin against his. You cupped his face, looking right into his fair eyes with a never-ending love, and he instantly melted. His eyelids half-closed, for you had brought peace to his scorching soul again, “Lemme clean a few things and we’ll go back home eh.”

“Take your time. Je t’attends mon amour — I’ll wait for you my love —“

“Yer comfy here?”

“Arthur,” Your eyes rolled, amused.

“Want a cushion to sit on? Want to wait in a quieter room?” 

“That’s okay.”

“Mmm’kay” 

You freed his face from your sweet grip, leaving him lingering for more. When he reopened his eyes he could not hold the little growl that escaped his lips for you had not kissed him. He blinked several times, trying to chase away the charm you had cast on him with your sole presence, and reluctantly left you. Stars still danced in front of his eyes because of your intoxicating beauty — so hypnotizing he struggled to come back to what he was doing before.

Waiting did not bother you. In fact, you preferred to wait for hours here, in the comforting warmth of the pub and its hullabaloo, rather than being left alone with your thoughts in the quietness of your house. Sipping on your red wine, you were minding your own business when a man sat next to you, his body collapsing on the stool as if walking had been quite a struggle for him. Which was probably the case considering he was drunk. Only a few people were still at the Garrison, the others went home stumbling or dragged away by a fellow friend. The suffocating smell of whiskey and sweat that was emanating from the newcomer made you wrinkled your nose.

“Hey doll, all alone by yourself? ”  The man said, bringing the whiskey glass to his chapped lips to gulp what was left in it. You glanced at him and simply nodded, not really wanting to do any kind of conversation, “Your glass is almost empty. Lemme buy you another one.” 

“I really appreciate it but that’s fine.” You answered with a polite smile — but even when doing the bare minimum your angelic traits never failed to captivate your audience. The man noticed your strong accent and saw the opportunity to carry on with the conversation.

“You come from France eh? I fought in France! Bloody hell, still got the mud of this country under my nails!” 

Maybe he talked a little bit too loud, or maybe Arthur’s senses were as sharp as a wolf’s, but the fact remains he immediately raised his eyes from what he was doing to watch over you. His steel blue iris shifted their attention from you only to cast their furious fire on the drunk man that was talking to you. His woman.

“You know, I always thought it was kind of sad that all the people here only link France with the war. This is a beautiful country.” You answered, taking another sip of red wine. Somehow, you allowed yourself to talk with the man. At least time would probably fly faster that way.

“If France’s as beautiful as ya, I’ll rush back to it by tomorrow, doll. The name’s Jim.”

You silently replied to him with a light smile, gently shaking your head at the fella’s attempt to compliment you.

You smiled at Jim — And Arthur broke the glass he was holding in his hand. It had been crushed by the pressure with which he had tightened his grip around it until it shattered into bits. Sharp pieces of glass had pierced Arthur’s flesh, blood dripping from his palm, but the tormenting anger that was building within him was so overwhelming he did not even feel the pain. As seconds passed, his face contorted with rage and his eyes darkened with jealousy.  You. Smiled. At. Him.

That was definitely not okay — the man did not deserve your blissful smile. 

Deafened by the sound of his own heart pounding in his tight chest, Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat in a vain attempt to keep control. To not let his anger issue show. The rational part of his mind was telling him to keep calm, for he knew you loved him and only him. You had told him plenty of times, after all. And he trusted you, really. But the other part, led by his insecurities and his mental instability, whispered foul insinuations to his ear.

Why would she stay with such a criminal like you? You’re sick. You’re old. You’re broken — and no one loves broken men. 

You’re stupid, far less clever and charming than Tommy. HE is a real man. 

You either scare or repel women. Linda told you. You don’t deserve Heaven. 

Useless. So useless… Broken. Crazy, you’re fucking crazy. She’ll see what you are. A monster. Monster. Monster. 

Arthur’s jaw clenched as his mind spiraled into a never-ending maze of whipping thoughts and insufferable feelings. Self-loathing was becoming too much to bear — so messy it had started to drown him. He felt his sanity slowly slipping through the cracks of his skull and the only thing he could to do make it stop was to break things. And by things he meant Jim. 

“Listen, Jim. I think you should go back home and rest. This is the whiskey talking.” You stated.

“Only if you come home with me, doll.” He ought to say, his grin widening. 

Breathless with rage, Arthur felt the heat pooling in his face. A few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead as he shook his wounded hand to clear his flesh from the shards of glass.

“You really should —“

“Come home with me and I’ll make you beg.” He cut off before you had time to turn his invitation down , bringing his hand on one of your thighs to strengthen his point.

Destructive anger flowed through his veins like lava,  exploding at the moment the man laid a finger upon you. Agile like a wild cat, Arthur jumped over the counter and rushed toward you, his shoulders tensed and his arms swinging as he walked.  Earth shook under his feet, opening the gates of Hell more and more at each of his steps. 

“AL-FUCKING-RIGHT THEN,” He blurted out, standing fiercely behind Jim. Arthur’s thundering voice almost made him jump — and it was enough for him to take his hand off your thigh and turned around to meet the Devil’s eyes. You froze on your stool, astounded by your man’s anger.

His face distorted with both fear and confusion at the sight of Arthur Shelby, green with jealousy and maddened with fury, “What the fookin hell did ya say, pal? WHAT THE FOOK DID YOU SAY TO ME WOMAN?” He roared, blue eyes shining with a threatening glow. At this point, Arthur was almost choking with rage. 

“Oh my God Arthur, I did not know she was your woman. I’m sorry! I really did not —“ Jim could not finish his sentence for Arthur had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away from you in front of the few last clients' terrified looks.

“You TOUCHED her! You bloody touched her, ME ANGEL. ME HEAVEN. I can’t fucking believe it,” He spat, his words coated with bitter venom. Swirling in the chaotic vortex of his own fury, he did not hear the man’s bargains. And somehow, he did not care. There was nothing he could say to stop him anymore. Jim tried to utter another apology.

He had barely opened his mouth when Arthur’s fist crushed his nose with such a violent blow the sound of broken bones echoed through the Garrison. The man, almost knocked out by the uppercut, crashed on the wooden floor, a jet of blood gushing from his face, “Oi! Thought you fought in France. Come on, bastard! Fight me!” He snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal.

He’s going to kill him. That was what crossed your mind when you came back to your senses, overcoming the shock of seeing Arthur in such a frenzy state. You got up from your stool, “Arthur… Stop it please.” You called him, trying to be as soft as possible not to fan the flames of his anger. 

“I AM NOT GONNA STOP!” He barked, looking at you.

He looked at you 

and you saw the Hell in his eyes.

“Heard how he dared to talk to ye? Ah, you wanted to make me angel beg eh?” Arthur kneeled over the whimpering man, almost straddling his quivering body, to grab him by the collar of his coat, “Yeah that’s what you said right. But trust me, you sonofabitch, I’m the one who’ll make you beg!” He yelled, sending another powerful blast to the man’s face with his fists as sole weapons, adorned with thick silver rings. “BEG, YOU BASTARD!”

“P-please—“

Another disgusting sound of torn flesh and cracking skull filled the room. “By order —“ A third punch. Breaking teeth. Jim spat three of them at your feet. “Of the —“  Fourth. Fifth. His knuckles bruised and split under the strength of his blows but Arthur could not care less. All he wanted was to reduce Jim’s face to an unidentifiable slop of flesh.  “Peaky —“  Dislocated jaw hanging loosely. The horrible sight was accompanied by the cacophony of bloody gurgles. “Fookin — “ Jim had lost count of the punches that rained down on him. All he knew was that his body was giving up. At one point Arthur Shelby had stopped beating him, only to unstrapped the combat knife he kept in his holster, “BLINDERS!” 

“ARTHUR NO!!!”  Running to the scene and falling on your knees, you managed to grab his hands and keep him from stabbing the drunk man, “Don’t do that, please I need you. Please, please stop it.” 

Please.

Your voice, like a light piercing the thick veil of his darkness, snatched him from his murderous craze. Waking up by the smell of blood mixed with your sweet spring-like perfume, Arthur stopped in the midst of what he was doing and realized he was holding a knife above his head, ready to plunge it into a man’s chest. He took a look at you, noticing the shocked expression on your holy face, and all his anger disappeared into a void. His fingers loosened around the knife, which fell on the wooden floor with a metallic noise, “please Arthur, calm down… Call down, Mon amour.” You whispered, begging him with your eyes. Silence fell on the Garrison, as well as in his mind. The maddening voices had stopped and the buzzing hatred had vanished. Arthur left the unconscious man and collapsed in your arms, panting and shaking. Adrenaline made you shiver too, but you gently hugged his frame, one hand stroking his hair, “That’s okay… I’m here …”  You repeated just like a healing chant as a few men grabbed the severely injured victim and took him away from the pub.

“I’m … I’m sorry— Heaven, oh my god —“ Arthur stuttered, slowly realizing what he just did. He buried his face in your breasts, for comfort as well as to hide the blood that had splattered on him. He barely dared to hug your frail body for fear of breaking you.  Sometimes, he swore he had hell in his hands and he did not want to bring you down in the flames with him. 

“Shhhh… Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do it.”  You said with a soothing tone. With divine softness, you ran your fingers through his hair, not minding the blood he smeared on your clothes and bosom, “that’s okay, you’re a good boy..” But as you were trying to chase away your man’s demons, a far too familiar voice echoed in the room.

“What the fuck is this mess?!” Thomas Shelby exclaimed for he had just entered the Garrison, John by his side. His freezing blue eyes looked at you from above.  The king was here and he hated what he saw.

“John, bring Arthur home. Everyone OUT.” 

This was all it took to empty the Garrison from its remaining clients. When John gently put his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, Arthur’s embrace tightened around your tiny silhouette for he did not want to leave you.  “No,” he managed to beg between two heartbreaking sobs. His face still hidden, not daring to look at you for fear of seeing disgust and anger in your eyes, Arthur refused to let you go. Somehow, he was convinced you would not go back home — why would you after what you had just witnessed? “Don’t take me away from her!”  He said, a bit more fiercely, which resulted in John taking a few steps back and looking at you, silently begging you to help him. In the midst of the chaos, only you could bring him back to his senses. A brief sigh escaped from your lips before you gently forced Arthur to look at you.

“Listen, chéri. I need you to go back home and calm down. I’ll be very quick.” 

“No, no, you won’t come back.” 

“ I’ll do,” You wiped away his tears with your thumbs, accidentally smearing more blood on his face doing so, “and when I do, I’ll take care of you alright? I’ll keep you warm and loved.” Punctuating your sentence with affection, you slicked his hair back with a frail but oh-so-loving grin on your face. He finally accepted.

When he left alongside John, your smile vanished and you got up from the floor, legs still slightly shaking. Thomas was still standing in the middle of the pub, towering you with all his height, and looking at you with his cold eyes. His chilling stare followed your movements as you walked to the bar and poured yourself another glass of wine.

“I told you to keep a low profile,” He began. Thomas Shelby’s voice was dressed in an apparent quiet, but something in his tone was threatening — and even though he did not display any sign of emotion, you knew his blood was boiling.

“Oh come on Thomas, all I wanted was to make a surprise to Arthur.” You took a mouthful of wine — the much-needed alcohol calming your anxiety.

Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop his dawning headache, “ A surprise… I hope you like the result then,” He retorted, before shifting his eyes back to you,

“Listen, I know you don’t like me but — ” 

“He nearly killed someone for you. What the fuck are you doing to my brother, eh?” Tommy slightly tilted his head to the side, a spark of resentment lightening up his icy iris. You remained silent, still not believing Thomas was really blaming you for Arthur’s outburst. Of course, you had not reacted immediately, but the shock had petrified you for a few long minutes — but was it your fault if he had beaten the man? Certainly not. At this point, Tommy was just lashing out at you for all the issues his family was facing. It was far easier than admitting his own flaws and responsibility. Visibly infuriated by your silence,  Tommy walked to you and stopped only a few inches from you, trapping your body between the counter and his own strong frame. He was close — so close your breasts were almost pressed against his chest, “Look me in the eyes when I fucking talk to you, Heaven.” He spat your name with disgust, as if he had just bitten into an apple filled with maggots.

“Get my pretty name out of your mouth,” You looked dagger at him, anger rushing through your veins at such an unwanted proximity. Yet you did not flicker.

“You fucking white Devil,” He hissed through his teeth, his low voice still calm in spite of his blooming hatred, “Are you happy to spread chaos in our life? What do you want from us ey?” He leaned over you, bringing his face closer to yours. With his brows slightly furrowed, Tommy’s sky blue eyes were probing yours, trying to understand the mystery they hid behind their aquamarine wonders, ”What do you want from me?! After Arthur is this me you want to control??” He growled. Your heart raced in your chest — shivers ran down your spine, and goosebumps appeared on your porcelain skin, for his unpredictable behavior was starting to worry you.

“I don’t want anything from you Thomas Shelby. Whether you like it or not I’m being honest with your brother. You know Arthur’s emotional, you can’t blame me for that.  You take away his meds, turn him into a killer, and now you’re surprised he snaps?? How. Fucking. Unbelievable! Do you know what I think? Well, I think you need me to be your scapegoat . You need to blame me for your sins. For everyone’s sins.”

“Fucking burn in hell,” He spat again but could not find something to retort properly. It seemed like the skies gave you the gift of shutting Thomas Shelby's mouth. Instead, one of his hands grabbed you by the neck and forced your face to get closer to his. His breath fanned over your skin, as burning as a dragon’s fire.

“Be careful with the Rule of Three, Thomas. For each spell you cast always returns to you three times stronger.”  You whispered. Then you gathered all your remaining strength to push him away from you, his musky and peculiar perfume almost making your head spin.  Not wanting to stay here any longer — and also longing for a hot shower to wash away the blood from your skin —, you headed to the Garrison’s door. Obviously, Tommy’s eyes followed you but he did not say anything, muted by his resentment. Admittedly, he was torn between the urge to bounce on you and the desire to see you leave. You were about to disappear, the cold breeze of the night jumping at your face and rushing into the pub as you opened the wooden door. But your instincts kicked in. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally decided to warn little king Shelby.

“By the way..." You looked at Thomas from above your shoulder.

"You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.” 

He froze. Confused and infuriated.

You left. Hurt and bitter.

When you came back home, you crossed your reflection in the corridor’s mirror.  Your body refused to work anymore and forced you to stop in front of it. Facing your own person was something you hated. With trembling fingers, you brushed the blood stain Arthur had left on one of your cheeks.

Mom! Mom, no!!

I’ll fucking kill you all!!

You clenched your jaw at the memory it triggered, but still, you kept looking at your tainted ivory skin as if you were slowly learning to come to terms with what you did and what you were. Your fingers trailed down your throat until they grazed the top of your bosom, where the blood had accumulated the most. Another painful memory assaulted your mind, replaying the aching, almost inhuman screams of your little sister when her flesh had been eaten alive by the hungry tongues of the pyre’s flames.

Only God knew how you managed to keep your mind from spiraling into the darkest pits of your trauma, but you did — maybe that was because Arthur needed you. That protective instinct was stronger than your own pain. That was why you tricked your body into moving away from the mirror and went upstairs to take a hot shower before joining your man in bed. John had probably managed to convince him to sleep. Or his body had collapsed on the mattress, exhausted by the energy poured in his latest outburst.

As the running water of the shower was filling the bathroom with its regular and soothing noise, you slowly let your white dress slip along your body until it fell on the floor, as well as your lace panties. You stepped over the pile of clothes and, without waiting any longer, you hopped under the shower and welcomed its warm water with utter joy. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips as you tilted your head back, water hugging your body and raining down on your long white mane that cascaded down your lower back. You almost managed to empty your mind when, suddenly, one gentle calloused hand brushed your hip. Jumping in surprise, you turn around and saw that Arthur had joined you under the shower. His hands, arms, and face were still splattered with half-dried blood he had not cleaned. To be true, he had been too busy curling up on the bedroom floor, panicking about at the idea of you leaving him after what you had witnessed.

“You’re here…” His gravel voice said, water falling on his naked body whose millions of freckles drew magnificent constellations on his skin.

“Told you I’d come back.”  

He smiled, softly. His steel blue had stopped avoiding you and was now firmly anchored in yours.

 He took a step toward you.

You stepped back in response until your bare body met the cold shower wall.

Your pulse quickened, fascinated by the way Arthur looked. He had something in his eyes — a mix of limerence and pure madness who, combined with the crimson stains on his face, made your legs weak. His breath was slow but yours soon became erratic, even though he had barely touched you yet. 

“You ain’t scared, love? Please, tell me you ain’t scared of your Arthur…” He said, his lower lip trembling as his body perfectly interlocked with yours. A small growl escaped from his throat at the intoxicating sensation of yours curves pressed against his skin. But despite his inextinguible desire, he still looked at you with hesitation and genuine guilt — his puppy eyes would surely break anyone’s heart.

“No, I’m not scared,” You replied, not shifting your gaze from him. The corner of your juicy and honey lips stretched in a small grin, “You…” You paused, bringing one hand to his stained cheek, “you look pretty with blood all over your face.”  

Arthur’s eyes lightened with both surprise and ravaging desire, for you had witnessed the beast’s violence but still thought he was attractive. A twisted wave of arousal shook you to the core when he bared his teeth in a vaguely dangerous but oh-so-seductive smirk.

“Oh bloody hell, angel…” Not finishing his sentence, his lips captured yours in a fury kiss for he could not wait any longer. The need to possess you, to feel you, was too devastatingly strong to resist. At first, his lustful kiss surprised you, and even though you burnt for him l, a part of you felt it was wrong to feel this kind of twisted attraction. Last thing Arthur needed was someone encouraging his violence — but your brain soon shut down at the thought he did it for you. Only you. Your arms locked up around his neck to deepen the waltz of your tongues, sending fireworks in your loins. It was far than enough to turn Arthur on who, all of sudden, lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, already suffocating with the hungry way he devoured your mouth and the shower’s steam accumulating around you.

As water rained down on your two intertwined bodies, it washed away the blood from your skins. The tainted liquid disappeared down the drain, leaving pale red stains on the bathtub's immaculate marble. 

You kissed him harder. Rougher. Until his flesh dived into yours in an explosion of pleasure and shooting stars.

For you had seen the Hell in his eyes, and loved it anyway. 

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alones but I advise you to read everything if you want a better understanding of details.

Tagging those who might be interested: @areyenotfondofmelobster @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08

[lastimeexteriors-omaha]

What Are the Different Panel Options for Residential Metal Roofing?

If you're considering a roof upgrade for your home, you've likely come across the option of residential metal roofing. It's become increasingly popular among homeowners due to its durability, energy efficiency, and aesthetic appeal. But before you decide, it’s essential to understand the different panel options available. In this article, we’ll explore the types of panels you can choose from, their benefits, and what to consider when selecting the best fit for your home.

Understanding Residential Metal Roofing

Residential metal roofing has come a long way from its early days. It's not just a practical choice but also a stylish one. With advancements in technology and design, homeowners can now choose from metal roofing panels that enhance curb appeal while providing lasting protection.

1. Standing Seam Metal Roofing

The standing seam panel is one of the most popular choices in residential metal roofing. This style features vertical panels with interlocking seams that rise above the roof's level. Its design creates a clean, modern look and offers several practical benefits.

Durability: Standing seam roofs are made from high-quality materials, often steel or aluminum, and coated to resist rust and corrosion. With proper maintenance, they can last 50 years or more.

Hidden Fasteners: The screws and fasteners are concealed within the seams, reducing the risk of leaks and providing a sleek appearance.

Energy Efficiency: The standing seams allow for thermal expansion and contraction, which helps maintain the roof's integrity in varying temperatures. This characteristic, combined with reflective coatings, can significantly improve energy efficiency.

2. Exposed Fastener Metal Roofing

Another common option for residential metal roofing is the exposed fastener panel. Unlike standing seam roofs, the fasteners are visible on the panels' surface. This option is often more budget-friendly and has its own advantages.

Cost-Effective: Exposed fastener roofing systems are generally less expensive than standing seam roofs, making them a popular choice for budget-conscious homeowners.

Ease of Installation: These panels are typically easier and quicker to install, saving labor and time. Styles: Exposed fastener panels are available in various styles and colors, allowing you to customize the look to match your home’s exterior.

3. Corrugated Metal Roofing

Corrugated metal panels, known for their wavy design, are another option for residential metal roofing. They offer both aesthetic appeal and practical benefits.

Lightweight: Corrugated panels are lighter than many roofing materials, making them easier to handle and install.

Strength: The corrugated shape is durable, making it an excellent choice for withstanding adverse weather conditions.

Affordability: These panels are often one of the more affordable options for metal roofing, making them a popular choice among homeowners looking for a cost-effective solution.

4. R-panel and PBR Panel Roofing

R-panel and PBR panel roofing systems are designed for durability and efficiency, making them excellent options for residential use.

Versatility: These panels are available in numerous colors and finishes and can be used for various applications, including residential roofs.

Wind Resistance: R-panels and PBR panels are designed to withstand high winds, making them suitable for storm-prone areas.

5. Tile-Style Metal Roofing

If you love the look of traditional tile but want the benefits of metal roofing, consider tile-style metal panels. These panels mimic the appearance of clay or concrete tiles while offering the advantages of metal.

Aesthetic Appeal: Tile-style metal panels provide a classic, elegant look while lightweight and easy to install.

Energy Efficiency: These roofs often come with reflective coatings that help reduce heat absorption, making your home more energy-efficient.

Longevity: Like other metal roofing options, tile-style panels can last for decades with minimal maintenance.

Choosing the Right Panel for Your Home

When selecting the best panel option for your residential metal roofing, consider the following factors:

Climate and Weather Conditions

Your local climate plays a significant role in determining the type of metal roofing best for your home. If you live in an area with heavy snowfall, a standing seam roof may be more suitable due to its sloped design and hidden fasteners. Conversely, exposed fastener panels might be fine if you reside in a warmer, drier climate.

Aesthetic Preferences

Metal roofing panels come in various colors, textures, and styles. Consider the overall look you want to achieve for your home. Whether you're leaning toward a modern, sleek design or a more traditional appearance, there's a metal panel option to match your vision.

Budget

Budget is a crucial consideration for any home improvement project. While standing seam panels may offer excellent durability and energy efficiency, they can also come with a higher price tag. On the other hand, exposed fasteners and corrugated panels may provide a more budget-friendly solution without sacrificing quality.

Energy Efficiency

If energy efficiency is a priority, look for panels with reflective coatings or thermal performance. Standing seam roofs often excel in this area, making them a popular choice for energy-conscious homeowners.

Transform Your Home with Style and Strength

Residential metal roofing offers a range of panel options to suit various needs and preferences. There's a solution for everyone, from the sleek design of standing seam roofs to the affordability of exposed fastener panels. By considering factors like climate, aesthetics, and budget, you can choose a roofing option that protects your home and enhances its value and curb appeal.

Ready to explore your options further? Visit Lastime Exteriors today to learn more about our residential metal roofing services and discover how you can transform your home with energy-efficient roofing solutions!

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Can Residential Metal Roofing Be Used on Sheds or Cabins?

When it comes to enhancing the functionality and aesthetics of your outdoor structures, you might be wondering what roofing options are best for your shed or cabin. If you’ve ever considered residential metal roofing, you’re on the right track! This durable and energy-efficient solution is not just for houses anymore. For many reasons, metal roofing for sheds and cabins can be a smart choice. Let's dive into the benefits and considerations of residential metal roofing on these structures.

Why Choose Residential Metal Roofing for Your Shed or Cabin?

One of the primary reasons people opt for residential metal roofing is its impressive durability. Unlike traditional roofing materials like asphalt shingles, metal roofs can withstand harsh weather conditions and resist damage from elements like wind, rain, and snow. This makes them an excellent choice for outdoor structures that may be exposed to the elements more than your home.

Energy Efficiency

Residential metal roofing is also known for its energy efficiency. The reflective properties of metal roofing can help keep your shed or cabin cooler during those hot summer months. This means you won’t have to worry about excessive heat buildup, making your space more comfortable whether you're using it as a workshop, storage area, or a cozy retreat.

Low Maintenance

Another significant advantage of residential metal roofing is its low maintenance requirements. Unlike other roofing options that may require frequent inspections, repairs, or replacements, metal roofs can often be maintained with just a simple cleaning. This efficiency allows you to spend less time worrying about upkeep and more time enjoying your space.

The Aesthetic Appeal of Metal Roofing

Residential metal roofing is not only functional but also visually appealing. Available in various colors, styles, and finishes, metal roofs can enhance the look of your shed or cabin. With options ranging from traditional standing seam panels to modern corrugated profiles, you will surely find a design that complements your space beautifully.

Sustainability and Eco-Friendliness

For the environmentally conscious homeowner, residential metal roofing presents another significant advantage: sustainability. Many metal roofing materials are made from recycled materials and can be recycled again at the end of their lifespan. This makes them an eco-friendly option that reduces waste and conserves resources.

Considerations When Choosing Residential Metal Roofing

While there are numerous benefits to using residential metal roofing on your shed or cabin, it’s essential to consider a few factors before deciding.

Initial Cost

The unsettling can be more expensive than traditional materials like asphalt shingles. However, given theiritsevity and low maintenance requirements, many homeowners find that the long-term savings on repairs and energy costs justify the initial expense.

Installation Process

Installing residential metal roofing requires two materials. To ensure proper installation and maximize the benefits of your metal roof, it’s often best to hire experienced professionals.

Best Practices for Installing Residential Metal Roofing on Sheds and Cabins

To make the most out of your residential metal roofing, consider following these best practices during installation:

1. Choose the Right Type of Metal

Different metal roofing materials, including steel, aluminum, and copper, are available. Each has its benefits and drawbacks, so consider what works best for your specific shed or cabin needs regarding durability, weight, and aesthetic preferences.

2. Opt for Quality Coatings

Look for metal roofing with high-quality coatings, such as cool roof pigments. These coatings can help reflect sunlight and reduce heat absorption, keeping your shed or cabin cooler and enhancing energy efficiency.

3. Ensure Proper Insulation

Even with the energy-efficient properties of metal roofing, proper insulation is vital. Ensure your shed or cabin is well insulated to maximize energy savings and comfort throughout the seasons.

4. Regular Inspections

Although metal roofing requires less maintenance, regular inspections are still a good idea. Check for loose panels or fasteners and ensure that the roofing remains debris-free.

Using residential metal roofing on your shed or cabin can be a wise investment for homeowners looking to enhance durability, energy efficiency, and aesthetics. With its low maintenance requirements and eco-friendly properties, metal roofing is a smart solution for outdoor structures.

If you’re considering upgrading your shed or cabin with residential metal roofing, explore your options and find the best fit for your needs.

Ready to take the next step? Visit Lastime Exteriors to discover how our energy-efficient roofing solutions can transform outdoor spaces. Whether you’re looking for a stylish aesthetic or a practical roofing option, we’re here to help you every step of the way!