#Cross always has somebody leaning against his side

[somegrumpynerd]

I like imagining that when the MTT drink they get silly. Like they kinda return to Sans a little bit and fall back into bad jokes and get kinda giggly about it.

Like just picture them busting out some booze for a holiday or something and Cross saying he'll stay sober to keep an eye on things. He's fully expecting to have to break these guys up when they start getting rowdy and trying to fight each other, but instead he's stuck babysitting three people who cannot stop tripping over each other to tell him the lamest jokes of all time and keep giggling at their own punchlines

[munsonluhvr]

HOW TO FAKE IT (MINI SERIES) (PART 1)

contents: steve harrington x reader. best friends/fake dating to lovers. sfw! In an attempt to cover up a lie and make his ex-gf jealous, Steve enlists you, his best friend, to fake date him // slowwww burn. word count - 3.7k

notes: welcome to 1/4 of 'how to fake it,' my first mini series for Steve Harrington. I hope you enjoy; part 2 coming soon!

installments: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Steve, as much as I care for you, I can’t take this anymore,” you say, leaning on the counter of Scoops Ahoy. “You have to stop; It’s been months and she’s not changing her mind.” 

Steve sighs, shaking his head. His scoops ahoy hat slips down on his head, nearly falling off. “Don’t say that, yes she will. I’m Steve Harrington, she has to take me back.” 

For the hundredth time, you were listening to your best friend Steve complain about his ex-girlfriend Tina – who broke up with him several months ago, and despite Steve’s beliefs, was not taking him back any time soon. Although Steve was torn up about the breakup, you were relieved for him. Tina was a bitch, and you knew Steve could do a lot better. 

“There’s a million girls in Hawkins, you can find somebody else.” You hum, starting to roll your eyes at Steve’s demeanor. “It’s not healthy to be dwelling on someone who obviously doesn’t care about you.” 

Steve fumbles with an ice cream scoop, sighing as he fiddles with the utensil. “She’s going to come back, just wait.” 

Behind you, the door bell jingles, signaling that a customer is entering the ice cream shop. Steve’s head jerks up: “Welcome to Scoops-“ Steve says, his voice trailing off towards the end of his mandatory phrase. You watch as Steve’s face drops, his mouth gaping at the sight behind you. You turn around, seeing exactly what Steve was looking at. 

As if she had been in the room seconds earlier, waiting for Steve to say the magic words that she’d come back, Tina, and a male dressed in a Hawkins sports team jacket, walk through the ice cream shops door. When Tina realizes it’s you and Steve at the counter, you can tell she wants to turn on her heel and walk out. You can’t help but roll your eyes and shake your head. 

“Oh,” Tina says, her eyes catching yours briefly. “I didn’t think you’d still be working here.” 

You lean back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. Tina always hated you due to the way you and Steve were so close. You and Steve had inside jokes and regularly scheduled hang outs; all of which Tina despised. To Tina, you were a constant competition.

“It’s my job, Tina, why would I have quit?” Steve says, flushing at the sight of his ex-girlfriend. 

Tina shrugs, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Even from a few feet away you can smell her sickeningly sweet perfume. “I don’t know, it’s just what I figured,” Tina hums, clasping her hands in front of her. The boy next to her, someone you didn’t recognize, stood next to Tina silently.

Steve, ignoring the fact that Tina had a male with her, was upfront. “I’ve called you a bunch of times and you’ve never called back.” 

You let your eyes close out of discomfirt and awkwardness. You can’t bear to watch your best friend gravel with the devil. 

“Yeah, I know Steve. We broke up, there’s not much else to say. I mean I’ve moved on already.” Tina says, gesturing towards the boy next to her. The boy had no facial expression whatsoever, his eyes trained on the rows of ice cream, standing there as if he was a rock. “You’re not seeing anyone?” 

Steve shifts behind you on the other side of the counter, obviously thinking of some excuse. “No, I am.”  You frown, looking over your shoulder at Steve. You give him a look, wondering how he was going to maneuver out of this conversation. 

“Who?” Tina asks. “Do I know her?” 

Steve shrugs, trying to avoid naming an imaginary girl. “Can I get you anything? We have a bunch of new flavors this week.” 

Tina sniffs and shakes her head, obviously unsatisfied at the lack of answer Steve gives her. You’re sure she’s going to go home and phone her friends to see if Steve is dating one of her perky, blonde friends. Even though she's trying to be nonchalant, you have no doubt Tina brought her new boyfriend to Scoops Ahoy, knowing that Steve would be working - just to make him jealous.  “Chrissy Cunningham and Jason Carver are having a party at Jason’s house tomorrow; you should bring your girlfriend. I’d love to meet her.” Tina says with a painfully fake smile.  “I’m glad we’ve both moved on.” 

Steve smiles, standing up straighter. “We’ll be there.” With a single nod, Tina turns on her heel and walks out of the store.  Once Tina is out of the store, you turn sharply towards Steve. “What the hell was that?”

Steve covers his face with his hands, bending across the counter to lean on the platform. “I know, I know, I screwed up. I didn’t know what to say.” 

“Well, good luck with that. Getting a girlfriend by tomorrow should be interesting.” 

Steve groans, “I’m so screwed.” 

You lean back on your bed, a book resting on the top of your thighs. You're dressed in your favorite pajama set, fuzzy socks adorning your feet. After you visited Steve, his lack of a girlfriend unresolved, you headed home, nestling into your bed early. Throughout the rest of the evening, your mind circled back to the Steve and Tina situation, each time you thought about it you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

You are engrossed in your book, about to flip a page, when you hear a soft knock on your window. You pause, thinking it could be the wind and choose to ignore the sound. The knock happens a second time and you get up from your bed, moving to look out your window. You hold back a scream when you see Steve on the other side, sitting on your roof. 

“Steve,” you say, lifting up the window. “It’s like you want my parents to catch you and ground me for sneaking you into my room.” 

Steve maneuvers into your room through the open window. “Your parents love me, they wouldn’t mind.” 

You scoff, lowering your voice. “If they love you then why didn’t you use the front door?” 

Steve waves his hand, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Let’s not focus on that, let’s focus on why I’m here.” 

You sit on the chair that’s tucked into your desk, sitting across from Steve. “Go on.” 

“So I was thinking - I want you to be my fake girlfriend.” Steve says, glancing at you. “You’re the person who knows me best and we get along great; you’d play a perfect girlfriend.” 

“Are you crazy?” You look at Steve as if he has ten heads, shaking your head. “No, I won’t.” 

“Why not? It would totally piss off Tina, no offense but she hates you. It can just be for tomorrow and then we can break up.” 

You scoff again, looking away at the other side of your room. “I don’t want to be known as one of the notches in your belt. Plus, that’s just weird, everyone knows we’re best friends.”  

Steve pouts, wringing his hands together. “Y/n, please. Just for tomorrow, I need Tina to be jealous and see what she’s missing out on.”

You surprise yourself when you catch yourself considering Steve's proposition. It's insane to fake date Steve; you're sure nobody would believe it but Steve looks so pathetic sitting at the edge of the bed, his big, brown eyes wide with hope that you'll agree. Steve is your best friend, and you truly would do anything to help him, potentially even fake date him for an evening. Steve has always been there for you, taking you to go see 'girly' movies, sneaking you your favorite flavor of ice cream after he finishes work at Scoops Ahoy. What will everyone think? What will everyone say? You push the unanswerable questions out of your mind, sighing as you realize what you’re about to say.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

“If we leave now we could probably make the last viewing at Hawkins Theater,” you say while glancing out Steve’s passenger window, Jason Carver’s home staring back at you. You sit in his car, your trendiest dress on with converse sneakers – and Steve’s old varsity basketball jacket on (a prop in which he insisted on you wearing to make your relationship believable). The jacket dwarfs your body, the sleeves are entirely too big for your arms; and it smells of mothballs, signaling that Steve had pulled the article of clothing out just for this occasion. 

“We’ll just stay for a little while, until Tina notices us.” Steve says, pushing his sunglasses onto his face even though it’s 9 o’clock and dark out. From previous experience, staying ‘a little while’ at a party meant staying until it was over, and people were heading home. 

Steve pops his driver’s door open, coming around the front of the car to open the passenger door. “Ready to do this?” Steve asks, slinging his arm over your shoulder. He brings you in close to his body, his grip tight on you. You can feel his nervousness through his touch. 

You weren’t entirely sure if you were ready, you hadn’t even fully processed the arrangement you and Steve had come up with. After you agreed to fake dating Steve, you both shook on the fact that the arrangement wouldn’t last longer then tonight. You never dated before, Steve dated enough for the both of you, and you weren’t sure how to act as a girlfriend. You decided to take cues from the movies you watched, picking up pointers from the characters. 

You are also, of course, nervous about how other’s would perceive you as Steve’s girlfriend. You are meek, your personality only coming out for Steve and your other friends, and you preferred to stay home and read rather than partying with Tina. Everyone knew you as Steve’s best friend but how would they receive you as Steve’s girlfriend? 

“Ready,” you say despite your lack of confidence. Within a few strides you’re at Jason Carvers front door. Even from outside you can hear the chatter, music, and laughter that’s unfolding inside. Steve reaches out, grasping the doorknob. Before twisting it to unlatch the door, he hesitates beside you. 

The door creaks open, revealing the cramped hallways and rooms of the Carver household. Dozens of people in chic 80s clothing flitter around the house, red solo cups in their hands. Off to your right is the living room, people standing against the wall in groups or sitting on the two sofa that faced each other. To your left is the dining room, a long table covered in bottles of alcohol and cheap party snacks. Straight ahead was the kitchen, a girl being encouraged to drink from the keg. 

“Steve!” A voice calls from the crowd. Your eyes follow the sound, revealing Jason who pushes his way through the crowd. “So glad you made it, we can’t have a party without our king of the keg. And you brought y/n; of course, you did, you guys are a pair.” Though Jason’s eyes linger on Steve’s arm around your shoulders. 

Steve laughs, looking off into the crowd, no doubt trying to spy Tina. “Y/n is actually my date to the party, she’s my girlfriend.” 

Jason’s eyebrows raise as he rocks back onto his heels. “Wow; I wish I could say I’m surprised but I guess I always thought you guys would be good for each other.” 

Now you frown, realizing Jason actually could see you and Steve as a couple. You wish you could tell Jason that he was wrong, that you and Steve would never date. 

“Does Tina know?” Jason asks before Steve or you could answer. 

“Now she does,” Steve says, nodding his head in the direction of the living room. Tina stood in the middle of the room; a red solo cup placed tightly within her grip. You could tell she was fuming. Jason recognized Tina’s distraught look and glances at you and Steve. “I should probably bring up another keg from the basement, enjoy the party.” Jason says, slipping away quickly. 

Tina approaches you and Steve within a few steps, but she keeps her distance from where you both stand. “What do we have here?” Tina says, crossing her arms over her chest. A drop of beer sloshes over the rim of the cup. “Did I really just hear you tell Carver that you two are a couple; that y/n is your girlfriend?” 

Steve didn’t say anything, and you offer a thin-lipped smile. 

“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday that you two were dating?” Tina asks, as you watch her jaw clench. Steve shrugs, “you left before I could say anything.” 

Tina’s eyes narrow, her eyes analyzing you and Steve intensely. “How long have you been together?” 

At the same time, you say, “two months” and Steve says, “three months.” You both glance at each other. “Two and a half months, to be precise.” You say, offering another small smile. 

Tina hums, continuing to investigate you and Steve. Beside you, Steve shifts uncomfortable, feeling yours and his charade start to crack. “Babe, do you want something to drink? Let’s go see what they have.” Steve says, glancing down at you. His arm drops from around your shoulder to your hand, letting his fingers interlace with yours. You feel your palms begin to moisten. You nod, letting Steve guide you away from Tina. 

“Holy shit, Tina’s really pissed.” Steve says to you once your away from his ex. Steve weaves through the crowd, tugging you along with him. “Did you see her face when she saw us talking to Jason? I wish somebody had got a picture of her so I could frame it.” 

Steve rambles and you hum trying to fill your half of the conversation. You, however, are too caught up in your thoughts, feeling the eyes of the party guests boring into your skin. All around you people turn to look over their shoulder, noticing how Steve guides you through the crowd lovingly, or the way his fingers caresses your back as he shepherds you around the party. When you got to the drink table, people watch as curious onlookers as Steve pours you a drink, swiping a piece of your hair that had fallen in your face. To the outside world, you’re sure it all looks so natural, so real. 

You’re sure Steve notices it too. “Let’s sit,” Steve says, bending down to whisper to you. Again, he guides you through the party, steering you to the open seat on one of the couches. Steve sits down promptly, beside another couple that are in their own world, lips only millimeters from each other. You stand awkwardly at the end of the couch, feeling people watch you closely; there’s no place for you to sit. 

“Sit on my lap,” Steve says through closed teeth, noticing your lack of fluidity. You hesitate, not knowing you feel about putting your bottom so close to Steve’s groin. You push out your uncomfortableness and gently, and gracefully, sit on Steve’s lap. 

You face in one direction, maintaining a perfect view of the lip-locking couple, and you lean against Steve and the end of the couch. “This is weird,” you mutter, feeling your tenseness. 

“Act natural,” Steve says, placing an arm around your waist. His fingertips grip your hip. 

You loop an arm around his neck. “There’s nothing natural about this,” you say. From any angle, you know you look stiff and uncomfortable – certainly not like a girlfriend of ‘two and a half months.’

“Y/n, please?” Steve pleads, leaning back in the cushions of the couch, furthering pushing your bodies together. You sigh, mimicking all the other couples around the party. You nestle into Steve’s arms, remembering how you’d do anything for this girl-crazy best friend of yours. 

Steve lets his hands wander down your thigh, the tips of his fingers tickling your bare skin. You feel your cheeks and neck flush with heat, the foreign feeling igniting something within you. You had never been touched by a boy before. 

Again, your mind flashes back to the millions of scenes in movies that you’ve watched before where boyfriends and girlfriend interact with each other. You know they kiss, though you can’t bring yourself to kiss Steve, they hug and fondle each other. Physical touch seems to be the love language of choice in the movies you’ve seen. 

In the corner of the living room, you see Tina standing with one of her friends, you’ve forgotten her same – Sophia or Sydney or something like that, looking in yours and Steve’s direction. You realize it’s game time. 

With utmost confidence, you let your fingers wander into Steve’s luscious hair, your fingers interlacing between his brown locks. Steve looks in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Tina’s looking,” you say, turning your nonchalant gaze into a gaze of affection. Your fingers comb Steve’s hair and you feel how soft and silky it is. You let your thumb brush across his temple, letting the tips of your fingers trace his cheekbones and then jawline. You don’t think about what you’re doing, it’s as if your fingers are in autopilot.  

Without moving, Steve keeps his big brown eyes trained on you, his fingers gripping your thigh. You assume he’s playing his part nicely, making it seem as if this is what you and he do every night – caress each other’s skin and gaze into each other’s eyes, but little do you know, Steve’s mind is blank, his body in a trance under your touch. 

Your fingers pause where they get to Steve’s lips, the pad of your thumb itches to brush across his plump bottom lip – you’ve always admired Steve’s lips, but you stop yourself; that’s just a bridge too far. 

You lean back at last, looking back out at the rest of the party, away from Steve’s face. Steve exhales, learning he had been holding his breath the entire time. Steve realizes it’s his turn to play the game; as you lean against him, his arm unlatches from around you to allow his hand to travel freely to your neckline where he sweeps your hair away from neck. Leaning forward, Steve places a small kiss on your shoulder blade where his varsity jacket had slipped off your shoulders. 

You glance back at Steve, a smile lingering on your lips. “This is crazy, Steve.” 

“I know but it’s kind of fun; making Tina mad, I mean.” Steve says, his eyes flickering to where Tina stands with her friend. 

You aren’t sure if you agree but you know you’re tired of thinking about your every move, knowing a crowd is watching you perform. “Can we leave yet?” you ask, expressing displeasure across your face. 

Steve bounces his knees, making your jolt on his lap. Your hair falls back into place, covering the burning spot where Steve had just kissed. “Pretend to be having a good time, just for a little longer.” 

You sigh, leaning back into Steve’s chest. You smell his cologne that clings to his clothes. You wish you could be in Steve’s room, laying out on his plush bed, his cassette player on and listening to him complain about girls or his coworker Robin. 

You’re almost in the fetal position on Steve’s lap, his arms wrapped around your body tightly. Steve dips down to your ear, “Pretend I’m saying something funny and laugh.” 

You put your week of theater summer camp that your mom sent you to when you were eight to good use and laugh softly, as feminine as possible. You glance up at him from your position. “You owe me big time, Steve Harrington.”

This time Steve laughs, but it’s genuine and not fake at all. 

Eventually the party begins to die down and you convince Steve to take you home. For the last hour, you and Steve worked together to make this relationship believable, whispering into each other’s ears and letting Steve’s hand slide up and down your thigh. By the end of the night, your head aches. 

“You were amazing,” Steve says, “You know, you should consider becoming an actress.” Steve puts his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, as you walk out of the party. 

“No, it’s just what I do for my best friend. I meant it when I said you owe me.” 

Steve laughs, taking his sunglasses off. He swings them in a loop, by holding one of the arms of the glasses, before he places them on top of your head. You pull them down over your eyes. “How can I repay you, Miss Harrington?” 

You scoff at the new nickname. “Pretty in Pink is at the theaters; you, me, bucket of popcorn, this weekend.” 

Steve groans – he isn’t a fan of Molly Ringwald. “Fine,” Steve says. 

You smile satisfied. You reach Steve car that’s parked right in front of the sidewalk. As Steve opens the passenger door, someone yelling his name causes you both to turn around. It’s Tina. 

“Steve!” Tina yells across the Carver’s lawn. Beside you, Steve tenses. Jogging, Tina approaches you quickly. 

“What’s up Tina?” Steve says. 

Tina’s slightly out of breath, as she begins to speak. “This weekend Chrissy and I, our boys, and some friends were planning on going to Chrissy’s family cabin – She and I were talking, and we think you and y/n should join us – since you’re a couple and all.” 

Steve shakes his head. “We have plans this weekend, we’re going to the movies.”

Tina rolls her eyes. “Hawkins theater will still be in town when we all get back, you can go next weekend. Really, Steve, I insist – we should be able to hang out around each other without it being weird or awkward.” 

Steve sighs, glancing at you. You glance back at him, an unspoken agreeance unfolding between you. You have to keep the charade going for a few more days. “Okay,” Steve says, turning his glance to Tina and taking your hand into his. “We can’t wait.” 

Tina clasps her hands, her eyes sending daggers your way. You have no idea what you’re in for. “Can’t wait,” you mumble, squeezing Steve’s hand as hard as you can.

[maxillness]

Figure You Out || KR7 x Seb’s gf!Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, cheating, thigh grinding, oral (f), fingering,

Wordcount: 1.1k

Kimi was sitting with Sebastian around a table just sitting and talking “I got her a penthouse on the west side”

When will he learn she’s afraid of heights? “Oh, nice”

“Yeah. I also got her a Benz” He smiled at his teammate

When will he learn she likes to tandem bike? “Wow”

“Yeah- Oh, hey, liebe” She had walked over to the table, catching Kimi’s eyes before Seb’s

“Hey. Whatcha talking about?” She asked, sitting down on Seb’s lap, her arm around his neck as his were around her waist

“You” She chuckled as she felt his lips against her jaw “Don’t worry, only the good parts”

She was about to speak, but Seb’s phone rang on the table

“Sorry, I need to take this” She stood up so he could walk away to speak in private

“You okay, Kimi?” She noticed the way he hadn’t said a thing since she had joined them “What’s on your mind?”

I could love you with my eyes close

Kiss you with a blindfold

Figure you out

I might hold you with my hands tied

Show you I’m the right guy to figure you out

“Nothing. I’m fine” He leaned back and crossed his legs by his ankles, his arms crossing over his chest

She kicked his foot under the table, getting his attention back again “You know, you can always talk to me if you need to” She smiled, leaning over the table

God, did her boobs look good like that. He knew it was wrong of him to look, but he just could keep his eyes away

“Why are you still with him?” He asked, managing to get his eyes upwards for the conversation

“What do you mean?” She kept her position but with a confused face instead

“He obviously doesn’t know you. ‘Penthouse by the west side’ while you’re afraid of heights. ‘A Benz’ when you like to tandem bike. He doesn’t know you, rakkaus” He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, brushing her cheek with his thumb

She has never heard him say anymore than 7 words in a row without somebody else speaking in between, so his words startled her a bit

“I don’t have the heart to break up with him, besides, the sex is good” She shrugged, light smile on her lips

“I could treat you so much better” He whispered, leaning back into his chair “And the sex” He almost regretted saying it when he noticed she had heard

She looked over her shoulder, seeing Sebastian deep into his conversation on the phone. She looked back at him before standing up

“I need you to prove that theory” She walked towards the bathroom, Kimi hurried to follow after her

He had her immediately pressed up against the door, lips on hers as his hand went to lock the door

Her hands went to the back of his head, pressing him further into the kiss. She groaned into his mouth when his hands went on her hips as his leg shifted to be between her thighs

“Please, Kimi” She started grinding against his thigh, pulling whimpers out of herself “Please, I need you so bad”

“Sure about that, rakkaus?” He smirked into the kiss “Sure you don’t want to go back to that boyfriend of yours?”

“N-no” Her hands went down his chest, landing them under his shirt “Need you to prove you’re better than him, please”

“He’s gonna kill me” He mumbled as he got down on his knees

He looked up at her while he pushed her skirt up above her waist. Her hands were placed on his shoulders as he pulled down her panties

“Only if he finds out” She said, her breath hitching as he placed her leg over his shoulder

“Then you better keep quiet, Rakas” He smiled into the skin of her thigh as he kissed her there

She let her head fall back against the door and bit her lip as his tongue drew through her folds, collecting the wetness she had gotten

One of her hands come up to cover her mouth as her sounds were threatening to spill out of her as his tongue made contact with her clit

“Fuck- just like that” She started grinding down in his tongue, giving her more friction on her clit

She felt the tips of his fingers tease her entrance before pushing inside her. She had to bite down onto her hand to minimise her sounds as he started moving inside her

Her other hand that wasn’t in her mouth, tangled in his hair, her grip so tight it pulled out whimpers and groans from him

Her legs had started feeling like jelly “Please, Kimi. ‘M so close” She almost fell to her knees when her orgasm hit her

He put her leg back down before standing up “So much better” She chuckled, her chest heaving at a rapid pace

“Good, ‘cause I’m not done with you” He turned her around and bend her over the sink

He placed one of her legs onto the sink as well, giving him more access

He got himself out of his jeans and boxers, pumping himself a few times before he drew the head of his cock through her soaked folds

They both moan low when he slowly entered her. When he had pushed all the way in, he waited and let her adjust to his size

“Move, please” She whined, pushing her hips back against his

He started moving, putting a hand over her mouth, muffling her moans

He himself had a hard time holding his sounds in when she clenched around him, pulling him closer to his orgasm

“Fuck, you feel so good around me” It wasn’t long before his thrust had started getting sloppy and out of rhythm

Her loud moan was muffled by his hand as she came around him. The feeling of her rapid clenching, pulled him over the edge as well, holding his hips still as he came inside her

He removed his hand from her mouth, pulling out of her a second later, both whining at the loss of contact between them

“You’re so much better” She said, tip-toeing up to peck his lips after they had gotten their clothes on

“Do you think he noticed us gone” He asked, fixing his hair in the mirror

“Depends if his phone call is over” She said wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him

[classypiratevoid]

A JEALOUS CONFESSION PT1

Gambit/Rumy Lebeau x Reader

Sorry if there's typos 😅 or if it sucks 🙃 and pt2 is out and has some spice 🥵

You and Gambit have been hooking up on the down low for the past couple of months. Of course neither one of you wanted anyone on the team to know. You were still new to the team, and he apparently had some sort of past with Rogue. It didn't really bother you though, it seemed like whatever they had was in the past, or, at least that's what you thought. But all today, he was following her around like a lost puppy dog. Constantly trying to start conversations with her, help her out in the kitchen, not to mention the shameless flirting!  You weren't normally the jealous type and you hated that you were feeling this way, but, it was hard not to grow attached to somebody like Remy. When you first came to join the X-Men, he was the first person that made you feel like you were at home. That's not saying everyone else wasn't nice to you, they were, especially Rogue. That's why you hated feeling this way even more. You  couldn't blame her, you also couldn't blame Gambit if they had something. You were the one sleeping with him, but somehow you felt like a side piece. Irritation and frustration filled you as you walked down the halls. You  just wanted to get to your room and relax a little bit and try to get everything out of your head. You didn't know how much of this you were overthinking and how much of it was real, but of course nothing ever goes as planned. The moment you walked in your room, you saw Gambit sitting on your bed waiting for you. "Mon cheri Gambit, just wanted to come check on you" he said. As he stood up, walking over to you, you felt torn. A part of you felt irritated with him, but another part of you wanted to push him down against your bed and make him remember why it was you he always came back to for pleasure. "If you're looking for a quick fuck, I'm not in the mood" you said in a irritated voice as you shoved past him. "Cheri, Gambit ain't looking for that, I just thought you looked upset" he said in a calm Southern draw "why would I be if anyone should be, it's your girlfriend" you said in a pissy voice as you rolled your eye. "What are you talking about cheri? Gambit don't got no girl, well none besides you" he said, a little confused has he knocked his eyebrows together. You tried not to falter, but your heart was practically skipping a beat at his words. "You could have fooled me with the way you were all over Rogue today" you said a little petty as you crossed your arms over your chest. An amused smirk played on Remy's lips as he looked you up and down. "Oh I see what's going on here" he said with a smug smile. "What are you talking about?" you asked as you gave him a dirty glare. "You're jealous" he said taking a step closer to you. "So what if I am?" you said with frustration as you looked away from him, only to feel his hand lightly grab your chin, tilting your head up, making you look at him. "Cheri I'm sorry, Gambit knows what jealousy feels like. I didn't mean to make you feel it too" he said softly as he brushed his thumb against your bottom lip. It was almost impossible to stay mad at him in that moment as your heart pounded against your rib cage. You found yourself staring at his black and red eyes, and then down to his lips. He noticed you staring at his lips as the corners of his mouth began to pull up in a smile he leaned in closer, "Is there any way Gambit can make up for it" he said just above a whisper. Your heart pounded in your chest, he knew exactly what to say and do to make you fold, and as much as you wanted to push him away, you couldn't. You yearned for his touch, but jealousy was a bitch and didn't seem to want to help the situation. But what was jealousy if not wanting something that wasn't yours, and if that was the case, why was he here alone with you in your room?

[luveline]

what about reader being stressed and feeling really bad due the amount of blood and how wild the murder happened in a mission and hotch comforts her?? i really love your work and i hope you write but of course it's okay if you are not comfortable with it!! though i crave some hurt/comfort right now 🥹 take care, we love you 🫶🏻🫶🏻

ty for requesting, i love u! fem!reader

You're used to depravity, but the body cannot truly desensitise itself from carnage. You shouldn't know the inside of a person like that, shouldn't be able to pinpoint gore with the accuracy of a mortician. You feel sick knowing what was supposed to be where. Enough blood to kick down the door and have it flood the hallway, stain your shoes with a permanent rust. 

You turn away from the scene, sirens and shouting white noise, and leave blood footsteps like a breadcrumb trail down the paving stones, huge slabs of white grey printed by wet soles. You're just past the red flash of the ambulances when you freeze, your legs won't carry you. You've no choice but to sit down hard in the road. 

There's just blood everywhere. No metaphor to soften the blow, no explanation. There was blood everywhere in the crime scene and it took less than ten minutes inside of it to be plastered with it too. 

Blood and cold floor. The road is cold, maybe wet, seeping into your trousers. You put your hand down and feel the dirty bite of it pressing into your palm.

Considering his duties, Hotch finds you quickly. You'd know him from presence alone, but hiding hand is familiar on your back. He crouches down behind you. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, second hand curling around your shirt. "You can't sit here. Can I help you up?" 

You manage to get to your feet by yourself. Hotch walks you to a car like you're injured, leaning you against the hood. "What's wrong?" he asks. 

You shake your head. This isn't some slasher flick where the blood is sugar syrup and everyone goes home, this is your life, that was somebody's life, and to be killed in such a violent way… nobody deserves that. Your arms twist around your stomach as your stomach twists into itself, churning. 

Hotch watches you severely. Anyone might think he was pissed with your behaviour, but he isn't like that. He's probably pissed he can't immediately fix the problem, arms crossed against his chest, the font of his SWAT vest glaringly white. He's neat and official as always, but there's blood on his shoes. 

You try to talk and it's like your lips are gummed shut, a hum with nothing intelligible as you lean forward. 

Hotch gives in. He breathes out, the barest ghost of his cologne distracting you from the smell of rust as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You curl your fingers into the strap of his vest, quick to press your face into his side, wherever you can that's softest. 

"I know," he says quietly, his arms tightening around you. The slide of his sleeves against your shirt, the sound that it makes, feels loud as a bell. 

You hadn't realised you were shaking. Hotch tries to wring it out of you one steady stroke of his hand at a time. You can imagine his viewpoint, your feeble position on the car and the white washed crime scene behind you. They'll be setting up the flood lights and taking photographs soon enough, no bodies to lay to rest, only gore to wash away. 

"I didn't think we could save them," you confess into his shirt, ashamed.

When he replies, it's measured, as though he's thought about his response carefully in little time. "That's realistic. This case has been… heavy from the beginning." 

Heavy isn't the word he would usually choose. He's talking to you, he knows exactly how you're feeling because he knows you well, and cares about you more, if his cheek pressed to your temple is anything to go off of. "I have to go coordinate," he says, his thumb rubbing with pressure into your shoulder blade, "I'm sorry. I'll get Reid to come sit with you in the SUV… Y/N, listen to me…" Hotch leans back, meeting your eyes. "There was nothing more we could do. I'm confident that you performed to the best of your ability. This outcome– this isn't what anyone wanted, and I'm sorry we couldn't fix it this time." 

"I just don't get how you can do that to another person," you say. Why you'd want to. You're a profiler, and you know a wealth of information about what makes certain people act as they do, but you still can't empathise with the killer. It's too much; it's beyond explanation.

"That's a good thing." His hands squeeze the tops of your arms. "It is." 

You look down at his shirt collar, thinking you probably don't deserve his comforting. This is your job, and tonight you couldn't do it. "Sorry I– I freaked out. I shouldn't have walked away." 

"That's a good thing, too, in a way."

He offers you a small smile. You can't smile back, but Hotch doesn't mind, his hands falling down the lengths of your arms. His fingers tangle momentarily with yours. 

Reid comes around to sit with you when Hotch leaves. He probably wouldn't have needed telling, your friend's hand curling over your shoulder protectively.

"You okay?" he asks. 

You watch Hotch lead his jurisdiction of operations. Things aren't okay, you're far from it, but you trust that it'll get better with Hotch at the helm. Still, a bitter taste lingers. 

"They won't be," you say, nodding to the crowd of people behind the rapidly erected barricade. At the very front is someone's mom. 

"Not for a while." Spencer tries to lighten the mood, throwing you a life jacket. "You're his favourite, you know?" 

You recall the subtle strength of Hotch's arms around you, the lean length of his torso and the warmth of his breath as he'd spoken in your ear. Without trying for it, your pulse calms. Your despair dulls to an ache. 

"You think so?" you ask. 

Hotch looks in your direction, checking on you. Spencer nods. "Definitely." He has a list of interrelated BAU statistics to prove it.

[wheels-of-despair]

Boys Are Idiots Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman gets partnered up with Steve Harrington for a science project. Which means she has to TALK to him? And be NEAR him? Eddie Munson is NOT a fan. Contains: Jealous Eddie, Oblivious Steve, Annoyed Evil Woman, Terrified Hellfire. Words: 1.6k

"Alright, see ya," you say with an awkward smile, going the opposite direction of your new project partner outside the classroom door.

You head for your locker, spin the dial, and pop it open. A Polaroid of you and Eddie falls out. You scramble to pick it up off the floor before someone can step on it and ruin his pretty face. When you stand upright, the boy himself is in front of you… but he's not looking as happy as he is in the picture you've just rescued.

"Why were you talking to Steve Harrington?"

"And hello to you too, Edward," you say brightly. "Hold this." You hand him the picture and start searching your backpack for tape. "We're doing a science project together."

"Why?"

"Because he's smart and popular and I thought maybe some of his extreme coolness would rub off on me," you deadpan.

You take the picture from Eddie and tape it back where it belongs, on the inside of your locker door, and glance at him. He is not happy.

"Or because we got randomly paired up, take your pick."

Eddie crosses his arms and leans against the wall of lockers as you swap out books for your next class. You're not sure why this bothers him so much, but you see a storm brewing on his face.

"We're just partners in a high school science class, we're not engaged, calm down."

He rolls his eyes, and you slam the door.

"K, gotta go, see you at lunch," you say quickly while leaning over for a peck. Your lips meet his, and the issue is forgotten.

Until the next morning, in the parking lot where you always loiter by Eddie's van until the bell, when Steve Harrington gives you a little wave on his way inside. You return it - just a single wave and a half-hearted smile to your classmate and his girlfriend - and Eddie turns to see who you're waving at. His body tenses.

"Relax," you grumble, giving him a playful shove. It catches him off-guard, and he bounces against the side of his van before stabilizing himself.

"He's an asshole," he says simply.

"He's been nothing but nice to me," you counter.

"He's just another rich prick who thinks he's hot shit because he gets to drive Daddy's BMW around town."

"I'm sorry it's not as cool as your trash-filled van," you tease. Eddie's face turns red. That may not have been as funny as you intended. You wrap your arms around his waist and look up mischievously, in hopes of de-escalating your insult. "But I bet him and Wheeler couldn't achieve what we did in here last weekend, in that puny little thing."

Eddie smirks at the memory. Saved by the--

The bell rings. You peck Eddie's cheek and drag him into the building, and that's that.

Until you're spotted talking to Steve on your way out of science class a few hours later. Eddie is waiting at your locker when you get there, glowering in Steve's direction.

You roll your eyes and spin the combination dial on your locker. This is getting old.

"Can you not be a dick, please?"

"How am I being a dick?"

"You know exactly how you're being a dick." You trade out your books with a little more force than necessary. "Now quit. It's not cute."

"It's not cute that Harrington's trying to make a move on somebody that doesn't belong to him."

You turn to him with raised eyebrows and bubbling rage.

"Oh, I belong to you now? Am I your property? Do you have papers confirming your alleged ownership?"

Eddie doesn't respond, so you slam your locker door and head to your next class without looking back.

He's still tense at lunch, but he didn't hide out in the woods to avoid you, so he must not be too upset.

Until you have to break it to him that you and Steve need to hit the library this evening.

"Wanna stop by Family Video on the way home?" Eddie asks, sliding his bag of pretzels toward you. A peace offering.

"Uh… can't today," you smile apologetically as you take a pretzel. "I have to go to the public library."

"Okay," he crunches… suspiciously. "Want me to drive you?"

The boys start to protest, because this change will surely impact their afternoon plans, but Eddie silences them with a wave of his hand and awaits your answer.

"Uh…" you nibble a side off the pretzel. "I'm going with Steve, actually."

His face hardens.

"Don't start," you ask of him. "It's just a stupid science project. I would much rather be watching movies with you, than scouring encyclopedias and cutting construction paper with him."

"I bet that's not what he wants," Eddie scoffs.

"Seriously?" you ask. Are you really doing this? Eddie fixes you with his best glare, and you instinctively match it. You're doing this. "He's with Nancy. I'm with you. And up until very recently, I was quite happy with that arrangement."

Eddie seethes. You finally break eye contact and turn back to your lunch, although you've lost your appetite. Is this about Steve making a move, or Eddie not trusting you?

"What are you even doing with him in the public library that can't be done here?" The way he says it makes you clench your fists.

"You caught me, Eddie. We're actually going to his house to test the effectiveness of various condom brands. Wanna come watch?"

A hush falls over the Hellfire table. You and Eddie glare at each other. And then, in the blink of an eye, he's out of his chair and storming through the cafeteria doors. You close your eyes and breathe out heavily, trying to calm yourself. When you open them again, the whole table is staring at you.

"Shut up," you snap at no one in particular, and begin cramming your - and Eddie's - stuff into your respective backpacks. He'd left everything behind; his lunchbox, his backpack, his jacket.

Loaded down with an overfilled backpack on each shoulder, you head toward the door without another word. You could've sworn you heard somebody mumble "I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight" behind your back, but you don't have time to murder anyone today, so you decide to let it slide. For now.

You have a list of places you plan on looking for him, but he's at your first stop: the van, in its usual spot in the back parking lot. He's perched on the bumper, facing the road; cheeks red, arms crossed, glaring at the ground. You reach into the pocket of the jacket that he'd left behind.

"Forget something?" you tease, jingling his keys to get his attention.

"Fuck you," Eddie grumbles without even looking up.

You're not mad. You don't have a snarky response. You just want things to be okay. You wish you hadn't teased him about Steve Harrington. You wish you'd never been partnered up with him. You wish you didn't even know his stupid rich-boy name.

"I'm sorry."

He glances at you, then drops his gaze back to the ground.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," you clarify. You let the backpacks slide onto the pavement. "Not a fan of this jealousy thing, Eddie."

You put his keys back in his jacket pocket and hold it out to him, but he doesn't take it. You take a cautious step closer, drape it over his shoulders, and retreat.

"You've gotta stop acting like I'm gonna leave you for the first jock that learns my name."

"Everybody else would," he mumbles at the ground.

"Everybody else is a cunt."

He smirks a tiny smirk, and finally looks up at you.

"Really, though," you assure him as you take a step closer. "You've got nothing to worry about. With him, or with anybody." You take another step toward him, and he parts his legs so you can stand between them. You close the distance. You're so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. You want desperately to wrap your arms around him, but you hold back. Not yet. "Why would I want a Steve Harrington when I've got an Eddie Munson?" You cup his face with your hands, and his eyes close.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. You have nothing to worry about. Say it with me." You squish his cheeks together.

"I've got nothing to worry about," he mumbles with you, through his squished cheeks.

"Good boy," you praise, leaning down to peck his still-puckered lips. When you stand, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold him close. He buries his face in your chest, but doesn't hug you back.

"You still mad?" you ask, stroking his hair. One day, you'd probably laugh about the condom comment. Today was not that day.

"Not at my girls," he mumbles into your breasts.

"What about the rest of me?"

He shrugs.

You reach for his hands and bring one to rest on each of your back pockets. "How 'bout now?"

"Hmmm…" he hums into your chest, thinking about it. He gives your ass a squeeze, then he lifts his hands and smacks you on both sides. "Yes."

"What can I do to make it up to you?" you smile, knowing he's almost over it.

"Tell me you want me," he mumbles.

"Of course I want you, you idiot."

He looks up at you and bats those beautiful eyelashes. "Only me?"

"Only you." You kiss the top of his head, then move to sit on the bumper beside him. "I don't want any of those idiots. You're my idiot, and I'm keeping you."

"What if you find someone who's not an idiot?" he asks quietly.

"Impossible," you grin. "All boys are idiots."

[saltyyuuri]

Cypher X FEM!Reader

🃏Keep up🃏

Song: Keep up, odetari (duh 😂)

words: 5600

Warnings: foul language, Nsfw, BDSM, degradation and maybe some violence (please know I write this before writing the Fic, so I'm taking a guess here)

Warning 2: um. I decided to do something as a "Joke" that ended up not being a joke- ish. So if you read WRITER'S BLOCK, I make mention of a Gun scene- .... Go figure, it has happened.

@hollowbutcanlove enjoy :)

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

"Amir~ come on, you weren't this stuck up the ass before." You taunted, currently cuffed to a metal chair, you couldn't do much more other than taunt him with your words. You moved your arms just slightly, and even though the movement was minimal, it still made the metal handcuffs clink loudly against the chair.

How did you end up in this situation? A slight mishap- you were doing your usual little side hustle as you would call it; hacking into shady corporation's data and making copies of it. At this point you were just making yourself a big folder of all the good information- more out of the fun of doing it rather than doing it to ruin them.

It was definitely an odd pass time, but it was the thrill of it that kept you going back again and again, the thrill of being able to infiltrate their systems, no matter how many times they tried to change them or recode them- it was just a challenge to you, a puzzle that was meant to be cracked. A pass time that you did to chase a specific goal- but still were yet to achieve it.

And who made you this way? None other than Cypher, one of your... Past buddies, as you said. He was the one who initially showed you how to get your way around anything hacking- but then you just continued out. The moment you started, it was like you found the one thing that would scratch that little itch in the back of your mind. Without even wanting to, Cypher had created one of the biggest cybercriminals of the century.

"I am not stuck up-" Cypher sighed in frustration, currently leaned over his desk, his hands rubbing his face as he was trying to not lose it. If he would have known that the cyber criminal they have been chasing for the past months was you - he probably would have backed down from the chase, he probably would have left it for someone else.

Because he knew exactly how infuriating you were. How you just had some sort of ease to get under people's skin- just like you had an ease to get information. He made you this way; and at this exact moment he was regretting it so bad.

"Okay, maybe stuck up isn't quite the right word. What about...." You took a moment to consider your next words, looking him over up and down. It was quite easy to recognize Amir- it wasn't every day that somebody wore full body masking to make sure no one would catch on to their identity. But what you especially would recognize was his goofy hat. You always told him it looked goofy- but it was a part of his gadgets, so it was to be expected that it wouldn't be tossed aside.

"Just don't finish your sentence. You're getting on my nerves." He snapped back, letting out a frustrated sigh again. "Already? Damn and I thought you were more patient~" you snickered out, crossing your legs as you spoke. You were getting a bit uncomfortable in the chair, give or take your hands were cuffed in the back of it, meaning your shoulders were pulled back.

"Usually, yes. But you-...." He cut himself off before he said anything else, instead just getting up to walk around his desk. "لعنة عليك يا شقي" He muttered out, his blue mechanical eyes narrowing as he looked you over. "Just answer the question I asked you earlier. Why do you just stockpile all this data?" He finally asked again, leaning on his desk as he faced you. He was standing maybe a foot in front of you at most, but he was still careful not to touch you.

"Maybe I wanted to give it to you on your birthday?" You answered him with a smirk, mischievous glint in your eye as you spoke. "Or Christmas. I was still trying to figure it out~" you added to your answer, leaning back a bit in the metal chair. "Can you please just give me an actual answer?" Cypher snapped, his tone much more Stern this time.

He was starting to lose his cool, not appreciating the way you were toying him around- how every sarcastic remark seemed to just prick him in the wrong way every time. "Technically it was an actual answer." You snickered out.

Cypher's gloved hand lunged forward, grasping your jaw roughly. "Listen here, (Y/n). You and I both know it wasn't a damn answer. " He said, his grip tightening every second. You were infuriating, and he was so tempted to just squeeze as hard as he could- but refrained and just kept his grip harsh.

You winced a bit- you weren't much of a fan of getting touched out of nowhere, but even less when it came to just getting squeezed the shit out of. You still tried to save face, keeping the cocky smirk on your face as you replied with yet another sarcastic remark. "What, you're saying this isn't your ideal Christmas gift? Nearly one terabyte of stolen information from all your enemy corporations, all nicely put in a hard drive?" You continued with your taunts, your own goal to drive him insane so he would drop this interrogation.

"You know, I don't mind having to put my hands on you if that's what makes you talk." Cypher said, his voice cold as his patience was running low. When there was a lack of response from your part, he simply continued. The hand that was on your jaw went down- this time around your neck, starting to squeeze it. "I know how much you hate when people touch you. So that's exactly what is going to happen - the sassier you get, the more physical I'll get."

You tried to keep a neutral face as you felt the hand around your neck, slowly cutting your airflow. That was one thing you really didn't like about him interrogating you- that was the one thing you hated the most. Getting touched around was definitely not something you liked, and of course he had to remember that. "You asshole-" you muttered out before he squeezed your throat harder- making you gasp as you couldn't breathe.

There was a small moment of silence between the two of you, like some quiet rivalry that was going on-except on your end you couldn't breathe. You could feel the special leather of his gloves around your neck, just squeezing enough to make sure you would barely be able to breathe. You could feel your cheeks heating up, assuming it was from the lack of air.

"So? Are you going to answer me?" Cypher asked, loosening his grip enough to give you a chance to take a deep breath. You inhaled, that breath felt heavenly at this moment- feeling both numb and like you could feel everything vividly at the same time. "Why would you care what I do with that information? Aren't those organizations your enemy?" You finally asked back after catching your breath, cheeks still heated.

"That's not the answer I was looking for." He said, his hand tightening around your neck once again. You could start feeling this like tingling sensation in your limbs once more- the lack of air was slowly getting to you, and his constants on and off was messing with you. But- even though right now you are in a lot of trouble- you couldn't come to understand why you were feeling butterflies in your stomach while he did this.

His grip was tight, it would probably bruise you if he had to do this multiple times- but even if it was rough, you just couldn't seem to hate it as much as you should have. Cypher released your neck once again, his mechanical eyes narrowing once more as they stared right at you. "Why did you store all that information?" He asked again, his tone sharp and firm, once more going he didn't want to get messed around with.

You gasped once more, now the second time that you were doing that. You felt the butterflies in your stomach once again- and it didn't take you much longer to figure it out. You started chuckling, smirking as you had your eyes half closed, still panting as you were trying to fully catch your breath. Your face was flushed, but there was amusement and excitement in your gaze.

"Hate to break it to you, Amir... But I think I'm into getting choked." You said through your gasps, still having an airy chuckle as you spoke. Cypher paused- his hand still hovering over your neck. He wasn't expecting you to say that- that's one thing for sure. He's always known you to hate getting touched in any way, and here you are fully admitting that it was turning you on-...

''Are you... You can't be serious-" He finally said, retracting his hand. His tone was annoyed and a bit irritated- he couldn't tell if you were messing around with him once again, or if you were genuine. But he wasn't too sure if he wanted to figure it out; he had a job to do after all. So he decided to resort to a different tactic.

He took out his gun from its holster on his waist, placing it under your chin and lifting your head with it. This time he wasn't going to mess around- he was going to get that answer. You shivered when you felt the cold metal of the gun on your skin, watching as he undid the security with his thumb- clicking It off as he made sure to keep it in your view. His finger was just hovering over the trigger, making you understand that it was only a millisecond that it would take- only a millisecond and it was done for you.

You tense up- looking up at him as your smirk fell. There wasn't any more joking around, no more sassiness or sarcastic quips. You didn't have many choices at this point- it was answer or be gone. "Let's try this one more time, (Y/n). Why did you have those files stored?" He asked again, the Canon of his ghost pushing under your chin roughly.

"I was looking for something. But since I already had the files, I decided to store them." You finally answered, your voice a bit lower and not as cocky as before, but you still tried to keep your confidence as you spoke. Cypher hummed, pressing the gun a bit rougher under your chin. "Keep talking. You know what I want to hear." He said, lifting one of his feet to rest on one of the chairs arm rests, leaning in towards you. He was invading your personal space and pointing gun at your throat- all the things that could finally make you crack.

"Fine. I was looking for my file with Kingdom. I wanted to know exactly what they did to me." You finally spat out, your mischievous look turning to a cold one as you glare to him. "Because the day you decided to drop me, they decided to take me in. Low and behold, I became a lab rat. I just wanted to know the shit they did."

"They did what-" his pressure on the gun loosened- not pressing it as hard under your chin. He didn't want to pull it away just yet, still wanting answers- but he didn't want to be as rough. He wasn't expecting that answer exactly, striking a bit of pity in him- to which he was glad he was wearing a mask so that you couldn't decipher his expression.

"I don't know. That's the thing. I was injected with something- then sometime passed and everything was hazy. The next thing I remember I just got kicked out of the facility, left to rot. The moment I decided to start making use of the skills you showed me- they've been putting bounties over my head." You explained; still omitting quite a few details, but giving the gist of the story. It was enough, or at least you thought it was enough.

Cypher let the gun fall- clicking the security back in place but not moving from his position, still invading your personal space. "So, you're chasing after a file- to know what they have done?" He asked again, confirming the information. You nodded, giving a light shrug as you could, your hands were still cuffed to the back of the chair, so any shoulder movement was a bit hard.

"But hey, if you do want to keep the hard drive, be my guest. I don't actually care for the information on it- just kept it stored for a rainy day." You said, your sarcasm coming back slightly considering that now his gun security was back on- making you stress a bit less. He let out a sigh once he heard your sarcasm once again, "you're too cocky for your own good." He grumbled out , rolling his eyes behind the mask.

"I thought you knew that already, Amir. You did show me the ropes, after all." You said, your smirk slowly returning to your face as you spoke. You were just adding oil to the fire constantly- the moment he gave you just a bit of slack you just kept taking it and pulling on it. But Cypher was on his last nerve.

He grab your jaw, squeezing it roughly to open your mouth. The movement was sudden and caught you by surprise - and you were even more baffled when you tasted metal on your tongue. He had shoved the canon of his gun into your mouth, and he had unlocked the security once again. That small little click - it sent a shiver down your spine- eyes widened in slight fear.

"You really don't know when to shut up, do you? The moment you see even the slightest opportunity, you just have to pull on it until you reach the end of the damn thread, don't you?" He said, his tone sharp. The hand on your jaw squeezed it once again, practically forcing your mouth shut on the gun. You had a bit of a cold sweat starting to form, hands getting a bit shaky. You were just thankful that he couldn't see, they were behind the chairs backrest after all.

"The only time you shut up is with a gun to your damn head- is this really how you want it to go? Constantly having your life on the line, like some game?" He continued- pushing the canon of the gun a bit further in your mouth- to which you had to be careful not to choke. You were scared that any movement would set off the trigger- your heart was beating hard in your chest at this point, tears starting to well in your eyes.

Cypher's hand on your jaw finally loosened, trailing down to your neck once again. He didn't hesitate to choke you- watching as you struggled to not cough, seeing the fear in your eyes. The both of you knew that the slightest movement could end really badly- and he was having a rush from the power he held in this situation. He knew he had the upper hand, he hand his finger on the trigger after all.

You shut your eyes, the tears that have weld up ran down your cheeks as you felt a weird mix of feelings- excitement from the choking but fear from the gun- the lack of air was starting to get to you at the same time. You were trying your best to stay absolutely still, body tense. There was only a slight breath of relief when you heard the security click back on again, feeling his hand on your throat loosen. He took the gun out of your mouth, letting you take a deep breath.

You could still taste the metal and gunpowder on your tongue, not necessarily a pleasant mix. There was saliva that ran down you lips, breathing heavily. His hand was hovering around your throat again- and it was sending a rush of confusing signals to your mind. "So? Have anything clever to say? Maybe a stupid remark?" Cypher asked sharply, gun still in hand as he looked down at you.

"I... I think I have a problem." You mumbled out, looking up at him, staring into his mechanical eyes that glowed on his mask. "You think?" He asked again. "Yeah... I really don't think I should be turned on by this." You said, your head dropping as you spoke. Your face was flushed and you were still catching your breath, tugging slightly on the cuffs in you back again.

Cypher remained quiet for a few moments- that was until you heard him put down the gun on his desk behind him. You were going to look up, but the hand on your throat immediately went to tighten again, and he leaned down, his masked face directly in front of yours. "You're trouble- an absolute brat... And now a slut? Quite the combo." He said, his voice much smoother than earlier.

He made sure to squeeze a bit harder this time, leaving bruises on your neck from how hard he was tightening his hand. You couldn't even gasp for air this time- feeling your body go numb slowly while he held you like that. After a few seconds, maybe moments before you were going to pass out- he let you breathe, completely taking his hand off of you.

Your head fell back, gasping as you tried to take deep breaths at a time, swallowing a couple of times to try to pass the taste of metal on your tongue-still lingering. You shut your eyes for a short second- just trying to ground yourself a bit. That was until you felt him tilt your head back up- wrapping a cloth around your eyes. You couldn't see anything anymore and your body felt a bit numb from the lack of air.

Suddenly every small noise that was made, anything tiny just alerted you instantly- it was the only sense you could currently trust properly after all. You could hear some rustling of clothing in front of you-assuming that Cypher was probably messing around with his own clothes. You were still panting - alert and left to guess what would happen next.

Seconds later, you felt his hand up your cheek, this time it was bare. The realization of what was going on hit you- sending a jolt of excitement through your body. "Fuck... You're going to have your way with me, aren't you?" You asked, your voice a bit raspy from getting choked. You heard a chuckle come from his end, his voice much more clear now- you assumed he took his mask off with how it didn't sound muffled anymore.

"Well, you're over here getting all excited every time I touch you; even admitting it. May as well enjoy myself too, no?" You heard him say, his hand tilted your head upwards. His free hand trailed down your neck again, his fingertips barely grazing you. "Looking like such a whore, accepting anything I do to you... Should I be paying you for your time? Or are you so desperate that it would be free of charge?" He asked, his tone teasing as his hand continued down.

You couldn't think of anything to answer, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden change of situation- moments ago he was threatening your life, now here he was, feeding into your unconventional turn on. His hands made their way to your button-up shirt, starting to undress you without asking. You gasped- once more your head falling back. It was practically resting on the backrest of the metal chair, feeling like you needed to continue catching your breath for all of this.

The cool air of the room hit your mostly bare chest- your button up shirt was completely opened up, giving a full view to Cypher-to the exception of your bra still covering you a bit. His bare hands immediately attached themselves to your body, first on your stomach, trailing upwards as they touched you all over. He leaned in, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, biting down a few times.

He ended up drawing blood, one of his bite marks on one of your shoulders made you hiss- while he had the pleasure of licking up the wound. He had the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, not minding one bit. His hands finally trailed up to your bra- working on unclipping it instantly. Your top was finally completely bare, to which he took a step back to admire.

"You're such a pretty thing. You don't put up much of a fight when I put my hands on you... Were you that desperate?" He taunted, while you panted. You could feel the rise and fall of your chest from how you were sitting, feeling the cold air against your body while he just sat back and talked down to you. It strikes a chord in you, the way he was talking about you like this- the slight degradation mixed with the complement....

You definitely felt messed up for it, but your body seem to have a mind of its own as you whimpered slightly. Cypher chuckled out, his hand reaching out to cup your breasts, taking the steps that was separating the two of you. His bare hands played around with you, caressing your nipples before he'd give into his impulsive thoughts and would just squeeze your breasts roughly - leaving red markings that would eventually bruise all over.

You tugged once again at the cuffs, letting out small whimpers and moans as he touched you - letting out a small hiss when you felt his nails dig into your skin this time. You couldn't see what state you were in- but you had a feeling that by the end of this, you were going to leave this room bruised and scratched.

"You're going to remember my touch for days. I want you to see every place I touched you I the mirror, a reminder of what a good little slut you were today." He said, once more leaning in to kiss along your shoulder. You shivered, the mix of the rough touching and the soft kisses made you moan lightly again, your head still leaned back.

He finally trailed his hands down from your breasts, giving them a bit of a break from the rough groping. His hands gripped onto the hem of your pants, not even hesitating when he pulled them down. Your legs aren't restrained, so he could easily remove the clothing from your bottom, unlike your button up shirt that was still open and laid out on the chair behind you, hanging off your arms.

His hands trailed down your legs- stopping at the back of your thighs as he lifted them up a bit- his nails were digging in your skin once again as he had fun placing you in lewd positions. "That's it... Just let me do what I want, like a good little whore. Let me enjoy this beautiful view~" he purred out, lifting your legs as pushing them back, as if testing your flexibility.

Your face was red- completely flushed as he did his little game. And you were getting put in various positions, all more exposing than the other. Whenever he would grope at you, he made sure to dig his nails into your skin, not only leaving scratch marks but rough reddened areas.

"Hm- keep your legs spread like this. Don't move." He said, finally placing you in a way that he seems satisfied with- your legs were over the arm rests of the chair, completely spread. You were scooted forward in the chair, and the arm rests of the chair were digging into your thighs a bit uncomfortably, but you didn't dare to move.

His hands trailed up your thighs, pausing just around your ass, grabbing a handful as he could and giving a squeeze, letting out a satisfied hum at the sight. You couldn't do much more than make noise, a small whimper once again leaving your lips.

The fact that you didn't know what was going to happen next, that you didn't know what he had in mind and you couldn't even see anything- it was thrilling just as it was nerve-racking. He could see everything right now, your every reaction- while you were just stuck here, cuffed to the chair.

''You're being a good girl. I suppose I could reward you." You heard him say- and the moment you heard the words 'good girl', you whimpered again. You didn't know why it was affecting you so much- the degrading nicknames were something- but the praise? You could quit literally feel the heat build in your core, feeling the wetness below.

"Someone likes to be called a good girl, hm?" Cypher teased, of course he could see the entire reaction, once again just taking his time to look over you, positioned in such a lewd way. You heard him move once again, but you didn't know how he positioned himself other than the fact that his hands are still groping your ass .

That was until you felt his tongue press against your clit, a surprised moan leaving your lips as a wave of pleasure hit you almost instantly- the small act giving you so much satisfaction from being teased this whole time. You heard him chuckle, where he lapped a few times at you- enjoying every sound that left your mouth. He would occasionally pause to turn and bite your thighs, cutting your own pleasure to mix in some pain for the fun of it- just adding to the collection of markings over your body.

"hm~ be a good girl and moan my name. It's the least you could do if I make you this wet~" He said for that short moment he didn't have his mouth on you. You nod to show that you understood- but then you were left confused when you felt him pull away completely.

You thought he was going to continue- you thought that he was going to give you a reason to moan at least- not just edge you and leave you like this. The mix of his saliva and your own juices were dripping out of you, off the chair while you were left on edge- fully exposed and looking like a mess.

"Amir?" You quietly asked- your voice a bit shaky and much softer than it would usually be. You didn't hear him anymore and he wasn't touching you- you were wondering if he actually just left you in the room like this- a dripping mess with your legs spread, giving a view to anyone who could come by.

You lifted your head a bit- still in the haze of pleasure, on edge, it was definitely clouding your judgment. You are also confused- and yet you stayed exactly in the position he left you in just like he told you to do earlier. You don't even know why you lifted your head up- it's not like you would have been able to see much considering the blindfold over your eyes.

There was still a lack of response on his end, and you couldn't hear anything. When you were going to call out to him again- you were pretty brutally interrupted when you felt something push inside you- letting out a small yell of surprise. You were instantly quieted down, fingers shoved in your mouth while he roughly thrusted into you.

"You're so innocent ~ thinking I left you like this... And you stayed exactly like I told you to~ such a good girl~" He growled out in your ear, his free hand making its way down to rub your clit and folds, providing extra stimuli on the outside.

The sudden pleasure was so intense in one shot- feeling him fuck you roughly while pleasuring you clit, sucking and choking on his fingers... There was so much going on at the same time- your mind going completely blank as the only thing you could do was moan like a slut, taking everything like a good girl.

When he pulled out his fingers from your mouth, he instead went to grab your jaw, spreading some of your own saliva around it shamelessly. "Say my name, sweetheart." He ordered you, thrusting harder. "Ah-...Amir-" you moaned out his name trough gasps, you could feel your orgasm, so close to come through. "Again. I want you to cum screaming my damn name." He ordered you, his grip on your jaw tightening again as he continued with his rough pace, his fingers staying constant with their pace as they rubbed your wet clit.

You moaned out his name multiple times, trying to physically stop yourself from shutting your legs on him as you wanted to stay in the same position he put you in, just like he asked. But it was becoming pretty hard- even worse when you finally came. Your walls tightened around him as you practically yelled out his name, legs shaking as you were trying to force them to stay in place.

Both his hands went to your thighs, roughly grabbing them to hold them in place, pressing you into the chair to avoid your hips bucking back. "I'm not done. Stop moving." He aggressively ordered as he continued to thrust inside of you, leaving you a whimpering mess under him. The sound of metal hitting metal could be heard, you were pulling on your handcuffs again pretty roughly, enough for them to leave marks on your wrist. You were becoming a bit overstimulated, and every extra movement was sending jolts over overwhelming pleasure and pain through you.

Cypher moaned, letting out a few breaths before letting out a slightly more exhausted moan, his hips finally slowing down their Pace before coming to a stop. You heard him cuss out in Arabic, where he paused, still inside you, his hands still on your thighs. He stayed like that for a short moment before finally pulling away.

He took a step back to look at the results of this little passionate moment- seen you panting, bruised, scratched, littered and bite marks as you had his cum leaking from your cunt- he let out a satisfied chuckled, a bit airy and exhausted. "Your quite the sight like this, (Y/n)." He said, this time his tone back to a more laid back one, nowhere near the same as when you first came in.

He had definitely taken out all his frustration in a go- feeling a bit more refreshed after having his way with you. You on the other hand were left a shaking mess on the chair, still slightly whimpering in a lewd position. You are still getting down from your high, overwhelmed with all that happened.

Cypher got to enjoy that view while he took his sweet time getting dressed again, taking care of putting back on his mask and any other article of clothing that masked his identity before taking care of you.

He at least had the decency to use wet wipes to wipe off the dripping cum from you, cleaning you up a bit before sliding back on your clothing much more gently than he had taken it off. He even took care of making sure your bra was back in place properly, going as far as placing your breast comfortably in the cups- even though it was a poorly masked pass to just fondle you again.

When you were fully dressed, he removed your blindfold- to which you blinked a few times, completely out of breath and exhausted. You looked up to see him properly dressed, playing around with the blindfold. "Welcome back~" he said in a cocky tone, this time his turn to have that mischievous air. He picked up a water bottle off the desk, bringing it up to your lips so you can take a few sips of water.

Only once you were finally a bit hydrated, caught up on your breath and off your high you finally spoke up again. "... Didn't even have the decency to kiss me- just straight up took me like a goddamn animal." You said in your sarcastic tone, looking away as you pouted. Of course, even after all of this you just couldn't let go your sarcasm.

"You... You've got to be kidding me." Cypher said, letting out a loud groan at what you said, sounding like he was just about done with all of this. You didn't reply to him, keeping up your little pouty act instead.

Until his gloved hand covered your eyes, his other hand turning your head forcefully back towards him. There was a short moment where the hand on your jaw was taken off, once again you can't see anything because he was covering your eyes. Before you could even say anything- you felt his lips on yours, it was a bit rough but not too much.

The kiss lasted a lot shorter than you were hoping, he pulled away and you could hear him pull back down his mask before taking his hands off of you. "You happy now?" He grumbled out, to which you simply nodded. He let out a sigh, going back on the other side of his desk and picking up the hard drive that had all the files you had collected from all the times you launched a cyber attacks on kingdom corporation.

"Good. Now be quiet, I want to be able to run through these files without having a headache." He mumbled out, plugging the hard drive into his computer. "But what about-" you started to say before he brutally interrupted you. "Be a good girl and shut the fuck up." You shut your mouth immediately after.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

[alienoresimagines]

Prompt: “You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

Pairing: Clegan

Thank you for this, it was a lot of fun and a very nice distraction from the one shot that does Not Want to be written lmao Also, I finally managed to write something shorter than 2k, yay 😂 This is 681 words that I hope you'll like ❤️ Featuring two very-much-in-love and caring Buckies, a guilty Buck and a head-over-heels Bucky Also on AO3 My other Clegan fics

I'd rather be in hell with you (Than in Heaven with somebody else) | Buck x Bucky

"You won't get rid of me that easily," the teasing falls flat despite his best attempt but his lips curl in a soft smile as he looks up, though it falls too when he takes in the state of the other man. Gale's hand shakes slightly as it drags a wet rag on his forehead, cleansing away the blood and the mud. His lips purse, eyes tightening above purplish bruises and cheekbones more pronounced than ten days ago and it hurts John more than the German mob ever did.

"Buck," Gale hums but doesn't stop his ministrations, jaw clenching every time he tries to meet John's eyes and is faced with the bruise of his swollen right eye instead. Heart leaping in his throat, John closes his hand around Gale's wrist -had it always been so thin?-, effectively stopping him in his care, tired eyes glued to John's fingers around his wrist with something looking an awful lot like longing in the blue John missed so much. Tenderly, he squeezes the wrist in his hand, trying not to worry at how fragile it feels in his hold, how his thumb entirely covers his forefinger's last knuckle. He doesn't have to try to pour all the love and devotion he feels in his voice, rough from raw emotions but unshakeable in its conviction.

"I'm with you." Gale flinches a bit at that, eyes slipping closed as though in pain before he opens them again and refuses to let them leave the dirty wooden floor. There's a half-hearted attempt at tugging his wrist out of John's grip but a mere squeeze is enough for Gale to deflate, a shaky sigh that sounds like crying carried away by the heavy air surrounding them. With John sitting on the edge of a bunk and Gale standing in the space John's carved for him between his legs, he has a front row to watch the blond man worrying at his bottom lip, a frown etched deeply on his forehead and eyes full of sadness and-

Oh.

John recognizes that twirl of emotions, like a storm looming over the ocean. It's the same he felt when he saw Gale through that fence for the first time, once the heavenly chants of 'he's alive' had quieted enough for him to hear the cries of men condemned to a slow death in cages.

Heart squeezing painfully, he swallows past the lump in his throat and turns his head in the cradle of Gale's calloused but oh-so-gentle palm, nuzzling the sensitive skin there for a bit before touching his lips to Gale's pulse point, softer and with more reverence than he's ever kissed a cross. He allows himself the small indulgence of closing his eyes as he stays there for a bit, Gale's heart beating under his lips, his skin warm against his face. 

Gale, alive and there, back at John's side where he's always belonged. 

Above him, Gale takes a shuddering inhale, and John opens his eyes at his call, finds him looking back with such love and fondness he can only mirror it. For a second as he smiles softly at the love of his life, he's soaring through the skies. When he speaks, voice tucked against Gale's wrist, he does not speak a lie but the truth his heart sings.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." Gale smiles a bit then, eyes suspiciously wet but he leans down to press a lingering kiss on Bucky's forehead, and it's John's turn to close his eyes to swallow his tears. It feels like salvation, to finally be so close he can breathe a lungful of Gale.

John tilts his head up, and Buck obliges the silent request in a heartbeat, as though he'd been waiting for permission- which is ludicrous in John's mind. 

After days of wondering if he'll ever feel Gale's touch again, feel him warm and breathing under his fingertips, Gale slots their lips together like John's the piece he's been missing since October 8th, both hands now cupping his face tenderly, and it feels like hope.

[wyn-n-tonic]

I'll Have Another

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader Word Count: 3.3k+ Warnings: Protected PiV. Mentions of guns and allusion to sexual violence (but neither guns nor sexual violence are apart of this story, they are just passing comments). Oral (f! receiving). Author's Note: This is all @d-sav's fault, she derailed me from writing the fifth chapter of Days of You & Me (a Joel Miller x OFC story), you can read the first chapter HERE.

Please follow @wyn-writing and you can sign up for my new taglist HERE.

Two whiskeys, two fingers full, down for the second night in a row as the clock ticks closer to a new day.

It’s only a Wednesday night but the nice weather drove people into the bar in groups of friends looking for a place to watch the game or somewhere new for their fantasy football league. Not him though, all alone at the bar with anxious hands and tired eyes. 

You shouldn’t be looking at him, staring at him like this from the other side of the bar. He’s never been here, you didn’t think he’d come back.

Crowd starts to thin and he raises his hand to call your attention over. 

“Final call was about half an hour ago, stretch,” you tell him, eyeing the empty glass and thinking he wants more. “If you wanna keep going, you’re gonna have to do it at home.”

“If I wanted more,” he grins out, “I would’ve asked for it half an hour ago at last call or”—he rocks his head back and forth, like he’s about to make an obvious statement—“maybe an hour ago when I finished it in the first place.”

“Then why on earth are you still here?” You ask him, arms crossed to consider the man in front of you. “Does it take you that long to sober up?”

He’s got a smile like a little kid, secretive and boyish like he’s never known true hurt because he’s always had somebody else standing in front of him to take the bulk of the blow. Or maybe he just hides it really well.

“I’ve been sober for a minute, actually,” he declares. “Just been spending all this time looking at you and how you keeping looking away from me when you see that I’ve caught you.”

“You’re new here,” you shrug. “It's my job to keep an eye on the newbies, never know who’s gonna start swinging.”

“And what would you do?” His head cocks to the side, eyes looking you up and down to the best of their ability with a bar in between you both. “If some dumb, drunk asshole were to start swinging, what would you do?” 

“If this is a threat, handsome, I should probably remind you that you’re in Texas—my daddy put a gun in my hand long before I ever knew how babies were made and said to use it if some dumb, drunk asshole got handsy.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

He is. Long face and a slightly rounded nose, black curls and half full lips on sun kissed olive skin.

“‘Cause, see,” he leans forward, and drops his thickly accented voice, “I'm talking about fighting and you’re talking about fucking.”

“To most men, that’s the same thing.” 

He considers that. “Well, I may be a dumb asshole but I’m not drunk and I certainly mind my manners.” He winks. “I'm Tommy and I would certainly like to get handsy with you.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re crashing into bed with his hand down your pants, long fingers fighting against the tightness of your done up jeans to touch you in that spot that makes your skin burn.

“If your soft little pussy is as tight as these jeans,” he drawls out, “you may never get rid of me.”

It’s not just the stimulation of his callused fingers against your clit that makes you burn, it's the words and it’s him. Has been since he sat down in the same seat last night and ordered his first drink.

He’s over you now, knees pressed into the mattress as he sits bowed towards your center with full concentration on the buttons between you. 

“You can touch me too, you know,” he says, grin splitting his face again as he looks up. With the button free, he undoes the zipper and starts to peel back the denim gently, like it’s painted on something delicate and only concentrated precision can clean it off without hurting what’s underneath it. “Oh, I hope you do. You can pull my fucking hair right out, sweetheart, it’d be an honor.” 

Shoes and pants tossed to the side, he focuses on his own as he pulls the large buckle free of his belt followed by the button of his fly and a deep sigh of relief.

“Well, you get right to the point,” you tell him, poking a pointed toe into his hip. You’ve never been more thankful for a pedicure than you are right now. “Don’t you?”

Starting with the contact of your foot poked into his side, he drags his gaze up the length of your open leg—takes in your body beneath him—and laughs.

“I really don’t,” he tells you, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt with the same deft fingers you were bucking against not even five minutes ago. “My cock's just real fucking hard and needed some breathing room.”

His voice is raspy, raw with the burn of alcohol and lust heavy on his tongue. He pulls the button up open and shrugs it off, revealing a sleeveless, white, ribbed undershirt over a barrel chest and thick, defined arms.

Lifting yourself up on your elbows, you look down at the straining material below his belt. “I really think you should give it some more.”

“Oh no,” he bends and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “I'm a real selfish son of a bitch”—he starts to pull the material down—“sometimes I can’t control myself and my pent up little dick can’t last longer than a few minutes so I try not to leave a lady too dissatisfied.”

His confidence is sexy—a magnetic charisma you’ve been drawn to the last two nights he’s ordered whiskey and laughed at all your jokes. You’ve never heard a man willingly, or with such enthusiasm, refer to his dick as little. But here he is, setting a precedent of what to expect that you feel is the direct opposite to the one you’re usually fed.

Finally, his eyes trail away from yours back down your body, pushing your legs open as he tosses the soaked fabric over his shoulder and he whistles. Not the cartoonish kind of wolf whistling reserved for Jessica Rabbit but the kind of silent disbelief and awe.

“It's cute how wet you are already,” he says, pressing two fingers flat against your mound. “The way the streetlight reflects off this slick little thing makes you look like fucking magic.” 

Still on your elbows, he crashes a kiss down on you but unlike the hungry, hard kind of desperation in his lips at the door, this is soft; this is gentle. 

There’s whiskey on his breath and a little more; tobacco; coffee; mint and cinnamon—probably gum to cover it all up.

“May I please eat your pretty little cunt?” He breathes out against your lips.

Dazed, you nod your head. He may look it but this is not the frat boy hook up you’re used to. Hell, this isn’t the kind of hook up you’re used to with any kind of boy you’ve been with up until now. Using the word cunt as a positive, associating it with prettiness and, even, filling the word pretty with so much awe and wonder like he’s lucky to be here.

He kisses you again before sliding back, laying down flat on his stomach as he lifts your shirt to place a kiss to both of your hips and the soft skin of your lower stomach. 

Tommy does not get right to the point, he drags it out.

Shoulders settling between your thighs; soft lips against the inside of your knee, your thighs, and repeated patterns on the opposite side.

Anticipation builds within you, his hot breath ghosting across the sensitive skin he’s already set ablaze while yours comes out in short, heavy puffs.

He looks up at you again with that cheeky grin, like he has a secret that he’s just dying to tell. “Go ahead and lay back,” comes his low voice, breath fanning right over where you want him. “Let me take care of the rest and feel free to pull my hair.” 

Talking back isn’t even an option, not when he hooks his arm over your thigh to place one heavy, rough palm down on your mound. Still, you can’t sit back, too mesmerized by the crooked smile and lonesome dimple as he spreads you beneath that grip.

Then he kisses you. Open mouthed, free hand gripping around your thigh, he closes his mouth around you like he has never seen food, never known the satisfaction of a good meal or a good fuck. 

You do crash then, one hand sinking into your own hair as the other threads through the curls reminiscent of the darkest night you’ve ever seen. 

He hums and the vibration makes you jolt against his face which only makes him laugh. The laughter, continuous and contagious, mixes in with his moans until your own are dancing up to meet his.

You’ve been loud before, but never like this. This aren't the cries of a dorm room pornstar persona keeping herself in the good graces of drunk boys with mean streaks. This is heavy breaths and his name like a prayer before God who you are also calling to in desperation. Not to ask His spite for the man between your legs, but to ask His mercy and protection over him for the rest of his life.

This is tender and gentle.

This is warm and all encompassing.

This is pressure on the dam building up in a hard rain.

“Tommy,” you say his name in a panic, the familiar feeling of a full bladder hitting you. “Tommy, I’m gonna—“ It’s too late.

Pressure releases and warmth slides down to meet his tongue—his fingers—different in feeling from the slick you’ve dripped with after every fleeting moment of eye contact. Different, further, from the feeling of relief you get when you finally find the toilet after a four hour lecture hall.

Lifting himself, he runs a hand across his bottom lip and then his tongue along that too. “Been a while since I made somebody come for me that fast,” he says, surprise lacing his voice. “Tell me who’s not treating you right, I’ll beat the fuck out of them.” 

Covering your face—your embarrassment—with your hands makes him laugh and he lifts his weight off of the bed.

“Hold this for me, sweetheart,” he says as a small object no heavier than a quarter lands on your stomach followed by the sound of a zipper.

Tommy’s toeing his boots off when you sit up to look at him, undershirt already tossed to the side somewhere near his button up from earlier. His pants go next but he leaves his briefs, the soft cotton material leaving nothing much to the imagination as it stretches with his growing cock.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” He asks, calling my attention up to his eyes. I can see him slipping his underwear down in my periphery before he joins me back on the bed, but I don’t look—too taken by the liquid coal color of blown out pupils against dark brown irises.

“I don't think I’ve ever come before,” you tell him, lower stomach still clenching and unclenching. There’s a wet spot just beneath where you’re sitting, subtle and cooling against your ass in a way so different than the room temperature spillage of an uncovered cock you’re used to.

He smiles. “That’s why I asked you who hasn’t been treating you right,” he responds. “Somebody as pretty and smart as you should be coming as often as she goddamn pleases.”

“How do you know I’m smart?”

Eyes darting around the room, he lands on you again. “Framed bachelor degree, textbooks on the nightstand and on the desk with big words I don’t understand, figured you were a smart girl.”

“I'm trying.” There’s something so fucking intimate about how close he is, certainly the most intimacy you’ve ever felt.

“Help me with this condom, baby,” he says after several beats. “Been dying to get your soft little hands around my dick since the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Not my mouth?” You ask. “Usually, it’s my mouth that’s wanted.”

Gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he encourages you to open up to him, something you find yourself doing so easily, as he leans over to press his tongue flat against against yours.

Kissing after a man has been down on you is something you’re accustomed to, even if men won’t give the same courtesy of kissing you after you’ve reciprocated, but you’ve never tasted this. Tangy and sweet and mixed with his bad habits, there’s a throbbing building down within you again.

“I don’t have time for this sweet little mouth around me tonight,” he whispers when he pulls away. “I’m gonna three pump chump you and I’d like to do that deep inside of your pussy and not your throat.”

Stunning, charismatic. This man could tell you to rob a bank for him and you’d probably do so.

Taking your hand, all eyes focus on the weeping length of him between you. Even if he’s gonna three pump chump you as he says, part of you wants to ignore him and take him in your mouth anyway. He got to taste; why shouldn’t you?

Controlling yourself is hard, wanting to willingly give over everything you so closely protect in other encounters—the vulnerability, the tears, the communication of what feels good and what hurts. It’s usually always just what hurts and no amount of communication can solve a lecture fatigued college boy’s mind. 

With trembling hands, you help him push the condom down his shaft; careful beneath his guidance not to squeeze too hard.

You let him lift your shirt off, his eyes kept on yours as he peels yet another layer of fabric away. The amount of respect within this unforeseen encounter is the kind of shit you’ve only seen in movies.

“Magic,” he whispers again, finally looking down your body when the bra comes off as well. “You look like fucking magic.”

He leans himself into you, open mouth to open mouth as he takes your body back down to the mattress. All of his weight is braced against one arm and you’re gripping half-moons into his ribcage as he breathes heavy and slow, so close to you. It’s like he knows there’s a limit to air between you and he’s saving most of it for you.

Guiding himself to your entrance, he goes slack jawed with a small groan as he pushes slowly inside.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Goddamn, you’re never getting rid of me.”

He lays you down fully, body weight pressing against you like a hard wind, and he laughs when you start counting.

“One…” Your arms curved around his hips. “Two…” His hands smoothing across your hair. “Three…” The heels of your palms pressing into his ass to encourage him.

“There were your three pumps, chump,” you whisper. “Shouldn't you be done?”

Chest to chest, his hips stutter into a slow grind. “Oh, I’m taking my time with you, sweetheart.”

Continuing that same languid pace between your legs, it’s all soft touches and heavy breaths and moans traded back and forth in the space between until that pressure is building in you again.

Before, you thought it was an accident waiting to happen—part of you still does—but you only encourage him to continue fucking up into you at this pace as you chase down the high that fueled your embarrassment not too long ago.

It’s better this time, the same but different. Different in the way that he’s inside of you; the way his cock stretches you makes it all build that much slower and come down in a similar pace around him. His reaction, too, is different with his choked sound of pleasure and the changes in pace with which he continues pumping into you. 

“Never getting rid of me,” he whispers against your lips as another wave rushes through you. “I could live inside this cunt, pretty thing, nothing else has ever gripped me so-oh fuck—so fucking well.”

He doesn’t make a spectacle of his release, doesn’t grunt like a man through the fake tan fumes of a body building competition. This man you wouldn’t have necessarily pegged for gentle not even two hours ago releases soft sounds beneath his grasp for air and stills with closed eyes.

“Believe it or not,” he says a few moments later when he’s rolled onto his back, “I've never fucked like that.” 

“You're right,” you tell him. “I don’t believe it.” 

He’s not in a rush to leave and you’re not in a rush to push him out either. So different, still, from other encounters you’ve had. It helps that he smells good; tastes good; treats you with respect and kindness.

You watch as he stands up and moves across the room towards the ensuite. He’s got a cute little butt, not much going on there but enough to grab onto as you already know. He smiles when he looks up and catches your reflection in the mirror.

“Don't make fun of my booty,” he says over the sound of running water. “I’m very insecure about it.”

You watch again as he walks back and slips naked out the bedroom door. Small moments like this and you’re glad you have the apartment to yourself more often than not.

Returning, he hands you the glass of water he filled up and joins you back beneath the covers.

“So… I’m gonna guess from all the books and the fancy paper framed up on the wall that you’re not just a bartender. Are you still studying?”

“I am,” you stutter; half caught off guard by the interest he’s taken, half caught off guard by the fondness you already feel for him. Like this is normal. “I graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Public Health from Texas A&M.”

“Go Aggies,” he says.

“More like Go Longhorns now,” you continue. “I’m getting my masters here in Austin and then the dream is a doctorate from Johns Hopkins, all public health.”

He looks confused but interested. “I said I was a dumbass so excuse me, I promise I’m not trying to sound like a dickhead, but what does that enable you to do?” He shakes his head. “I never went to college, I’m actually really curious.”

“I'd like to be an epidemiologist,” you answer. “They study infectious diseases, aid in the prevention of them for the good of global health. Prevent pandemics and shit.” 

He nods, crooked smile returning. “That's like superhero level of shit, you know that? What are you doing having sex with a random hick in some bar?”

You laugh in return. “What's a random hick in a bar doing knowing how to eat pussy that well?”

“Oh, I was stationed in France for a bit,” he tells you. “French girls do not let you get away without eating them into a goddamn stupor, best skill I picked up in the army.”

“And you used a condom without me having to beg you, that’s so sexy.”

“Yeah?” He asks, leaning in with that same crooked, cocksure smile of his.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Don’t think I wanna get rid of you, in all honesty.”

Gently, he takes the water glass and sets it over on the nightstand before pushing back up against you. “I got another condom in my wallet, how about another round?”

“I have a whole box,” you counter, “how about several?”

He kisses you again, mumbling something about soulmates against your lips as he takes you back down beneath his naked body.

[shmothman]

Confessional

Pairing: Wolfwood & Reader, Vash/Reader Rating: Explicit (for language and discussion of explicit topics) Words: 773 Tags: gender neutral reader, Wolfwood's stupid portable confessional, trigun 98, reader has a crush on Vash and thinks it's unrequited, Wolfwood is my best friend who makes me want to punch him in the face A/N: this isn't really crack but it sure is stupid!

“You’re brooding,” Wolfwood says, coming to lean against the siding of the building next to you.

You shoot him an annoyed glance. “I'm not brooding.”

He plows forward like he didn’t hear you. “It’s about needle-noggin, ain’t it?”

“No,” you lie, “it’s not.” It’s not about him, or the way you wish he felt even an ounce of what you feel for him, or the way he was so close to you last night while he was drunk and now is keeping a careful distance. It’s not about any of that. Of course it’s not.

“It’d probably help if you confessed your sins,” he says, pulling out that damn ‘portable confessional’ with a shit-eating grin that makes you roll your eyes at the best of times—and now just makes you scoff.

“Yeah,” you reply with biting sarcasm, “I’m sure it would.”

“Come on,” he says, grinning wider. “You know you want to.”

“Not a single part of me wants that, Nic. I don’t even know the however-many-sins-there-are.”

“Seven,” he supplies helpfully, ticking them off on his fingers: “pride, sloth, greed, gluttony, wrath, envy, and—“ he winks at you— “lust.”

You laugh, incredulous. “Right. Okay. You know what? Fuck it.” 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you snatch the confessional from his hands, putting it over your head and crossing your arms over your chest. If he’s gonna be an ass, you’re gonna make him regret it. 

“You wanna hear me confess my fuckin’ sins, Nicholas? Here: hey, father, I’ve been lustful as hell! I can’t even look in his general direction without getting horny! I can’t stop thinking about making out with him, and every time he pulls a trigger I think about his fingers inside me! I wanna fuck him six ways to sunday, in every position imaginable, over and over again until neither of us can walk for days!!” You can’t see his face right now, but you hope you’re making it as red as yours feels—though, damn him, it does feel good to confess this shit to somebody. Even if that somebody is Wolfwood. “I am lustful every minute of every goddamn day, and especially every minute of the night. And, hey, Isn’t masturbation a sin? I’m super guilty of that one. Like super guilty. Like every night guilty. He so much as smiles at me and I’m gonna jack off about it. I want to ride him like a goddamn Tomas, and you know what? I’m so in love with him, it hurts!”

…Well, you’ve sort of lost the plot, now. And you’re feeling much less confident than you were ten seconds ago. You pull the stupid box off your head and hold it back out to Wolfwood, jaw set and face flushed. 

His eyebrows are still sky-high, but he doesn’t quite look like you’ve embarrassed him… just yourself.

“There,” you say with finality. “That’s my confession.”

“Hi guys!” the voice behind you makes the blood drain from your face. Come on. You feel the warmth of him as he comes up behind you—you feel his presence, like you always do. “What’s up?” Vash asks.

Wolfwood’s eyes dart to you, then up to meet Vash’s gaze as he grins predatorily. “Oh, they were just telling me something really funny.” He cocks his head at you, and you want to wipe that damn smile right off his face. “Hey, why don’t you tell Vash what you just told me?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re actually going to kill him. Glaring daggers, you do your best to make your tone cheerful, though it sounds forced even to your own ear. 

“Oh, it really wasn’t that funny!”

“Sure it was,” Wolfwood says, smug as all hell. “Made me laugh, anyhow.”

You grind your teeth.

“I’m sure it was funny, I wanna hear it!” Vash says, and Jesus Christ, why did you ever open your mouth?

“Yeah, he wants to hear it,” Nicholas taunts.

You take a deep breath. “Oh! Hey, uh, I just remembered that Meryl and Milly need me for—um—something! Gotta run!”

With one final death glare thrown Wolfwood’s way, you turn on your heel, pointedly not looking at Vash as you make your completely un-smooth exit—you can’t let him see the way your face is burning.

God. Wolfwood’s never gonna let you live this one down.

Vash frowns as you leave, sure that he’s stepped into something, but not sure what. “What was so funny, Wolfwood?”

Nicholas claps him on the shoulder, the portable confessional set down on the ground. “Believe me,” he says, slipping a cigarette between his lips. “You’re gonna wanna hear it from them.”

[slvtforoldermen]

Forget Me Not

Chapter One: The Mission

Forget Me Not Masterlist

Navigation List

Summary: When Lemon and Tangerine are sent on a mission, they encounter an internationally known super spy, and discover that sometimes enemies of enemies can’t always be friends.

Pairing: Tangeine x Fem!Reader

Trope: Enemies/Rivals To Lovers

Chapter Warnings: Violence, fighting, one kiss (is that really a warning), alcohol consumption, no use of Y/n but reader is implied

Word Count: 1.7k

“What carriage is it in, Sharon?” You ask as the lady speaking into the earpiece types away on her computer. Currently, you were sent on a mission to steal back a briefcase full of some money that had been nicked by the two twins, Tangerine and Lemon. Due to the attack of the Bolivia job, they had earned themselves a name, just like you.

You, to your allies, were known as Forget Me Not, but to your enemies, you were known as The Stalker. This was due to your ability to get in and out of crime scenes without being seen. It was like your superpower, you were practically invisible. However because of your skill and the under toned sexism of the world, most of your enemies, expected for you to be a man, but you guessed that enhanced your invisibility even further.

“Between Economy and First Class,” The scouse accent came through the earpiece and informed you of the briefcase’s whereabouts. “Just try and avoid the owners of the case, because they are not a couple of happy chaps.”

“It would help if I knew who they were,” You mumbled bitterly as you approached the Economy carriage.

“Lemon and Tangerine,” As if on cue, you saw the two come out of the opening into economy and you sighed.

“I can see them now, I’m gonna have to get past them,” You say as you walk into economy too. Lemon sits down and Tangerine is taking a few extra seconds to sit.

“Sit down mate,” Lemon chuckles, getting out his phone.

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” You ask politely and Tangerine turns around, looking down at you.

“Oh, pardon me darlin,” He nods and moves to the side and you shuffle past. You carry on walking down the train and Tangerine’s gaze follow you as you walk. “Fuck me…” He mutters as he sits down, still looking at your backside.

“You’re bloody vile, mate,” Lemon scoffs. “She doesn’t look like she belongs in First Class though, does she?”

“Maybe she’s with somebody,” Tangerine shrugs.

Meanwhile, you were looking through the luggage.

“And there’s a train sticker on the handle?” You ask confusedly.

“Apparently one of them has an obsession with Thomas The Tank Engine?” Sharon explains, you stand up straight.

“The- The kids show?” You questioned, Sharon made a sound of agreement and a silver box catches my eye. “Found it.” You pick up the briefcase and grab a note from your pocket.

Lock Com: 758

As your fingers spin the number keys around, the case clicks open and reveals a lot of money. About 10 million yen, your employer had said. You close the case and stand up. But as you did, somebody cleared their throat behind you.

“Having fun there, love?” A familiar voice shook you to your core and you sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose. As you turn around you see Tangerine, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Look, I’m only returning something to the rightful owner,” You defend yourself.

“Gimme the case, and I won’t hurt ya, ‘lright?” Tangerine smirked cockily and held his hand out. You raised your brows, and put the case right next to your feet.

“I mean, I didn’t want to do this but it’s your choice,” You sigh and retrieve a lipstick from your pocket. He looks at you a little confused as you begin to apply it, as he opens his mouth to speak, you held up a finger. As you finished applying the makeup. You took off the other end of the stick and pointed it towards him. Suddenly, two taser wires shot out of it, the clamps attached to the collar of his blazer. As his body fell to the floor, you leaned over him and wink before calmly walking into first class.

You sighed with relief as made your way down the train, through first class, another economy class, the family’s carriage, and the bar. But as you were about to sit down, you saw something that shook you. A Mafia family who you had betrayed a few years back, they knew you and knew your face. The Yakuza agents were heading your way. You knew for a fact that Tangerine would also be heading towards you, but you were far less afraid of what he was going to do than what they’d do with you.

You’d be extremely lucky if they just killed you on the train.

Three carriages ahead, Tangerine was heading towards you, gun in hand, and quite angry. More so angry at himself for letting someone so pretty distract him from his mission. He’d never seen your face before, and he’s seen (almost) every agents face in the field, and this is why you confused him. As he made it to the bar, which was empty, he saw your face and held up the gun. You raised your hands immediately, keeping the case firm in your grip.

“Stop! Stop!” You yell, and Tangerine scoffs.

“Why, gimme one good fucking reason why I shouldn’t shoot you!” He shouts, you point behind you.

“Because someone is chasing me, and whoever it is will see you with the case and unlike you and I, they won’t ask questions, they’ll shoot first,” You explain quickly.

“Who’s this ‘someone’?” He asks.

“Yakuza,” That one word sent shivers down Tangerine’s spine. What on earth was this girl doing to have the Yakuza want her dead? “Please.” He could see that truthfully, you was terrified, but his grip on the gun didn’t falter, he just continued to glare at you.

“Oh my god, fine!” You yelled as you threw the case to the ground. “Take it!” You tried to run and Tangerine grabbed your arm. “What the fuck?!” Tangerine picks up the case and then pulls you out of the carriage and into the room between the bar and family class. He clearly didn’t care and he clearly wasn’t going to let you leave.

“I think these Yakuza will favour me if I pop you on the chopping block, don’t you reckon?” Tangerine clears his throat as he cocks his gun.

“They’ll kill you too, even if you try to give the case to them, they’ll assume you’re with me and they’ll kill you too, please…” You speak quickly. You heard them smashing up the bar and you thought of everything. One thought crossed through your mind, it was dangerous and a little weird, but it was a good one.

“Look—“

“Are you married?” You ask quickly, his facial expression drops.

“What?” You heard them approaching the door and you snatch the suitcase, putting it behind your legs, he opened his mouth to speak but you got there before him

“Just go with it, or they’ll kill us both,” You said as fast as you could, before you pressed your lips to his. You saw the Yakuza enter the room and you gasp pulling away and hiding your face. Something in Tangerine’s mind clicked, he suddenly felt like he did have to go along with this.

“Jesus fucking Christ, can never get any fucking privacy, get out you bloody twats!” Tangerine yelled, pulling your head into his chest, acting rather like a possessive boyfriend. The five men look at each other awkwardly before rushing through to the next carriage. You sighed and then shoved him off you.

“Jesus…” You mumbled, before looking at him. “Thank you…” Tangerine brushed himself off before nodding.

“Anyday, darlin’…” He replied, you shook your head and kicked the briefcase over to him. You looked into the bar carriage and then back to him.

“I’m getting a drink,” You say, going into the bar. Tangerine picked up the case and followed you.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked sarcastically. You held up a middle finger and poured yourself a whiskey. As you chugged it down, Tangerine raised his brows and chuckled. “You can drink, fucking hell.”

“Look, you’ve got the case, so why don’t you just leave me alone?” You mutter bitterly.

“You kissed me, why?”

“Publicly displayed affection makes people uncomfortable, more so the audience than the people who commit the act,” You explain as you pour yourself another glass. “It was a distraction.”

“Okay, another question… the Yakuza was after you, why?”

“That’s classified,” You say before drinking the whiskey again.

“Wow, you’re very friendly…” Tangerine mumbled, the train came to a stop, and the speakers on the train started talking in Japanese.

“This is my stop,” You say. “It was nice working with you.” You grab your briefcase and head to the exit.

“Ta-ra,” He says, holding up a hand. You made your way out the train and into a public bathroom, opening a suitcase you nicked before stepping out of the train, you changed into some different clothes, and to your luck they fitted you. You take off the wig you were wearing and shove it in the case, fluffing your actual hair out a bit. As you leave the stall and leave the suitcase in there, you look in the mirror and sort out your makeup, letting out a delightful chuckle before making your way out the bathroom and then out of the station.

On the train, Tangerine returns to Lemon, who raises a brow. He waves the suitcase at him and chuckles.

“Got it,” He says as he sits down, Lemon has a smirk plastered on his face. “What?”

“You snog the girl too?” Lemon asks, a laugh escaping his lips. Tangerine’s eyebrows raise before he looks in the reflection of the window. Theres a lipstick stain on the side of his mouth, he wipes it away with his thumb.

“Son of a bitch,” He whispers. He put the briefcase on the table and looked at his wrist, which is where he had written the lock combination ‘758’. It clicked open and Tangerine’s heart dropped. “Bollocks.” Lemon stood up and looked in the case. Inside, there was nothing, except for a note.

To whom ever has opened this case,

Thanks for the money ;)

Love, The Stalker x

[houdinicarpenter]

THE OTHER SIDE

When Tara's hysterical screaming interrupts her phone call, Sam goes to investigate and finds herself in for a challenge.

fandom: Scream characters: Tara Carpenter, Sam Carpenter, Chad Meeks-Martin, & Mindy Meeks-Martin content: sfw tickle fic, post Scream VI, siblings doing stupid shit a/n: i'm very nervous to post this. i originally wrote it as an experiment and had no intention of posting it, but i've been encouraged to do so by some dope-ass people (even if they have no idea what it is that i wrote). also... if this fic looks/reads familiar to you, no it doesn't 🤫

“NAAA-HA-HA-HA! STA-HA-HA-HAP I-HI-HIT!”

Around her little sister’s scream-laughing, Sam pressed the phone against her ear, closing the other with her ear to hear Danny’s voice on the other end.

“I’m good Wednesday or Friday. So, whichever day you’re free…”

“Uh…” She took a moment to think it over, before a loud squeal cut into her thoughts. She refocused. “Wednesday… I think?”

“Okay, I—” Before he could finish his reply, Tara’s hysterical vocals drowned him out again.

“AAHH-HA-HA-HA-HAAA! GUY-HY-HY-HYYYS! PLEEE-HE-HEASE!”

Sam sighed and brought a hand to her head. “Danny, can you just hold that thought for a minute? I’m gonna have to call you back. My sister’s screaming about something, and I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” She hung up and left her phone on the couch as she made way towards Tara’s room, where the noise was coming from. She busted open the door. “What is going on?!” 

Tara was lying halfway in Chad’s lap and halfway on the floor, her face bright red and chest heaving, while Chad held her against him and Mindy moved away from her. She looked between the three, expecting an answer.

“Tara was being a little turd, so we tickled the hell out of her,” Chad reported. Still in his hold, his girlfriend looked up desperately at her sister. 

“More like they tried to kill me!” Chad snaked a couple fingers into her underarm and gave it another scratch, to which silenced the younger Carpenter with a ticklish whine. “Stop it!”

The eldest just sighed and shook her head. As irritated as she’d seemed on the phone, now that she knew what the noise was all about, she couldn’t help but give a playful roll of her eyes. Even at 20 years old, her baby sister was still as ticklish as she’d been when they were kids. She’d always fallen victim to the quote-unquote, “Tickle Monster,” when she’d get on Sam’s bad side. Of course, she’d never hurt her, like other older siblings might. However, all the older Carpenter had to say when Tara was starting to get on her nerves was, “I’m gonna get you, Tara, if you don’t stop.” It was enough to warn the little girl off, unless she was feeling extra risky that day—which she did a lot. “Okay, well, keep it down,” she told them, “I was on the phone, all the way in the living room, and I couldn’t hear over the screaming.”

But Mindy just shrugged. “It’s not our fault she’s so ticklish,” she insisted, nodding towards the youngest.

Her brother kissed the top of his girlfriend’s head, before he let her go and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I did not expect that.”

While she watched Tara retreat onto her bed for safety, Sam crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Yep. She’s always been that way,” she confessed, making the other’s already-flushed face darken even more.

She glared at her. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not ticklish, Sam. I know you are.” If Sam was going to expose her, like it was nothing, then two could play it that game. “Mom and Dad got you good many times, and so did I.”

Before her big sister could say anything to defend herself, Chad challenged, “Okay, but is she as ticklish as you?”

Tara met his gaze confidently, even leaning forward a bit to show her sincerity, “Yes.”

“No,” Sam immediately objected, gaining all of their attention.

“Ooh…” Mindy glanced between the sisters. “Somebody’s lying…” She and Chad exchanged glances, before she put her hands up towards each sister. “Maybe we should test it?”

Tara shook her head, when the twins looked at her. “Don’t look at me, I just did my test. I’m still trying to recover.” She pointed at Sam, “That’s the liar, right there. Test her.”

But when she received all eyes again, Samantha shook her head with a disbelieving scoff. “This is ridiculous. I’m leaving.” Right as she turned around to walk out, her younger sister’s voice fought her to stay.

“Why?” she quizzed, leaping off the bed and slipping past the threshold to stop her from leaving. “Don’t think you can take it?” There was a sparkle in her eyes that mimicked her child years. After what just happened, she had nothing to hide, but Sam was another story.

“I can take it!” the older snapped, not realizing how defensive she sounded.

“Then, why not?”

“Because it’s stupid.”

“Then, prove me wrong,” Tara insisted, stepping forward to force her sibling to back up into her bedroom. Sam’s brow hardened a little, which made her go on to propose, “For a full minute, we get to tickle you and see if you’re as bad as me.”

The other was already rolling her eyes and sighing, indirectly saying everything she’d been insinuating about it. “Tara…”

“What?” she grinned. “If you think it’s so stupid and you insist that you’re not as ticklish as I remember, then one minute should be nothing, right?” She took another step forward, cornering her further. “If you win, you can choose to do or make me do anything you want. You can have revenge, make me do the dishes or make me cook dinner for a week, whatever you want,” she offered. “But if I win, I get bragging rights, and I get to tell Danny.”

“Ooooohhhh,” Chad teased the idea as he looked up at Sam, who was now almost standing in front of him. 

This made Tara’s smirk grow as she raised her eyebrows. But her big sister just blinked at her, unfazed.

“You’re serious?”

Instead of replying, the younger just took a step back and held her hand out for a deal-making handshake. Her smile dropped into a serious expression. “Deadly.”

On the inside, Samantha was groaning at how ridiculous this idea was, but she knew if she were to keep refusing, none of them would get off her back. It was a minute. 60 seconds. That was it. After, she’d be free to walk away without being hounded about irrelevant nonsense. She had to admit, she truly didn’t know how she’d take this ‘challenge,’ because Tara was right, it had literally been years since she’d been in a situation like that. And everybody and their dog knew just how much she’d changed from her younger self.

“Fine, I will do it, to make you get off my ass…” 

Tara’s head tilted in a form of a nod, “Fair enough.” She then made way to her bed and jumped up on it, spinning around to sit like a dog. She tapped the space next to her, “Take a seat, Sammy.”

While she looked calm on the outside, the older Carpenter’s heart started to pick up speed as she moved towards her assigned spot. She sat down with a sigh, to which invited her sister to move behind her, making a half-circle around her like a cat to its human’s leg.

“Just to let you know,” she warned, “if you start to get out of control, Chad’s gonna have to hold you.”

“What the—”

“You agreed to a minute, we shook on it!” she reminded, cutting her off. “You’re strong, so I can’t trust that you won’t fight for escape.”

Sam just wanted to get it over with, as much as she was quickly growing to hate it. She swallowed uneasily, but luckily Tara didn’t hear.

“Chad, Mindy, what are you still doing down there? I’m gonna need backup!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Chad leapt off the floor, while Mindy came around the opposite side of the bed and pulled her phone out.

“You better be timing this shit,” Sam growled.

“I got it right here,” Mindy flashed the screen in the others’ direction. “Tell me when, T.”

Tara sat down right at her sister’s back and rubbed her hands together like she usually did when she was about to kick someone’s ass in a game. “Go!”

Not even a second after the cue was given, Samantha felt her sibling’s fingertips skitter up her back and through her hair to get to her neck. Instinctively, she stiffened, but she stayed where she was. A swarm of chills flooded her, but it wasn’t the cold-type. It was the kind that told your brain that your skin was crawling, and it wasn’t sure how to respond.

Tara still maintained her confidence as she drug her perfectly filed nails around to the sides of her neck, threatening to further explore the soft underside of her throat. She got more of a reaction here, the older’s shoulders jerking up, while a small noise emitted from her larynx. Bingo. She then put her lips up to her ear, intentionally whispering, “Is Sammy afraid of the Tickle Monster?” Whispering into her ear had always been something Sam couldn’t stand, because it tickled.

And like she expected, her older sister twisted away, her face cringing as she closed one eye and hissed in irritation. Baby pink talons slithered beneath her chin, which made her try to back up, but she just ended up bracing against Tara.

The younger Carpenter giggled at this and slithered her fingers down her collarbone and into her underarms. The owner’s spine twisted, clenching her arms to her figure, but it just trapped her dangerous touch. 

Sam’s barrier broke, and she started to snicker as she tried to twist away. However, a different pair of hands crept onto her torso to keep her where she was, and just that contact made her snickers turn into giggles. She pulled her knees up and tried to push Chad off of her.

“I didn’t even start ticking her, and she’s already laughing.” Chad looked over at Tara, who encouraged him with a nod.

“Well, get on it! Time’s running out!” She relieved her sister from scratching at her underarms and went back up to her neck.

Her boyfriend shrugged and obeyed her order as he attacked the victim’s abdomen and ribs with menacing fingertips. 

A loud whine came from Samantha, before she erupted into full-on laughter. She kicked out in a struggle to gain a grip on the mattress to push herself out of her 2nd tormentor's reach.

Tara had to work around her writhing, making her think back on what she had claimed before she agreed to this. “You’re squirming a lot for someone who swore they could take it, Saaam,” she teased in a sing-song voice.

Beneath her dominance, the older Carpenter choked out, “Shu-hu-hut up, Ta-ha-hara!” She shook her head, shoving her hands against Chad’s.

From the head of the bed, Mindy shouted, “She’s tryin’ to get away! Chad, switch places with Tara!” She held her phone up, “She’s got 40 seconds!”

The pair did so, in a smooth transition, Tara not taking her hands away from her sibling as she tickled down her sides and in between her ribs.

Given his size, Chad was able to get a hold on Sam pretty quickly. He slipped his forearms beneath her arms and dragged her back until she was mostly on the bed, holding her upper body in his lap, like he had done with Tara only minutes ago. There, he was able to twist his wrists to occupy her collarbone, some of her neck, and her upper ribcage.

The underdog was in a constant cycle of guffaws and wheezing, her face bright red from the intensity, which mimicked her little sister’s patterns as well. She wasn’t even able to get words out before Tara took things to the next level. 

She slipped her hands beneath her big sister’s shirt and forced it up, before going after her bare stomach. “How about this, Sammy?” she taunted as she earned a squeal from her new tactic, “Does this tickle even more?”

Samantha gave a hard buck, her head throwing back into Chad, which she instantly regretted when his fingers danced on her exposed throat. She pulled her head down. “NAAH-HA-HA-HA! TA-HA-HARA-HA-HAAA!” Her knees yanked in, but to no avail, simply leaving them to kick out again in another buck.

Her sibling kept one hand on her fluttering belly, while the other controlled her legs by raking her nails into her inner thighs. “It’s not just me!”

“20 seconds!”

“Come on, Sam! Finish it out!” Chad cheered her on from above, even though he was busy scratching at her ribs. He retreated one arm enough to then tickle beneath her underarm again. “Find your inner Loomis! Prove Tara wrong!”

The older Carpenter nearly shrieked, when he did this, one hand weakly holding Tara’s wrist while she tried to bear the handle he had on her left ribcage to shrug out of his new point of captivation. “S-STAA-HA-HA-HAP! I C-CA-HAAA—” Her voice gave out in another violent wheeze.

With the grace of a cat, Tara eased up on her contribution to leap over her big sister and finish the rest of the time on the opposite side. Her back was turned to Mindy as she tore into Sam’s lower abdomen, slipping her nails beneath her beltline to assault the sensitive flesh between her hips that she knew would throw her overboard. “I almost forgot about this spot!” A squeal-entwined “no” answered her, and she trailed one hand away to skitter down her bent leg, catching the sole of her foot. “And here!”

Sam retreated her leg instantly. “NO, TA-HARA, DO-HO-HO-HON’T!” She braced her heel into the bed to try and push herself up out of her lying position. 

However, before her baby sister could do anymore damage, the timer went off and was followed by Mindy lunging forward.

The female twin broke the challenge to wrap her arms around Tara’s waist and pull her backwards. “Extra 15 seconds for Tara!” she announced, pinning her against her and digging her fingers into the younger’s stomach. “TICKLE ATTACK ON THE CARPENTER SISTERS!”

Tara exploded into shrill laughter, still too weak from earlier to push her off. “NO-HO-HO! STOP! THA-HA-HAT’S NOT FAI-HA-HA-HAIR!”

“Careful what you wish for, babe!” Chad teased and continued his playful torment on Sam, while his girlfriend’s familiar squeals and laughter filled his ears.

The younger Carpenter kicked and shook her head furiously as Mindy raised one hand to wave her fingers in front of her view. She was just as much a victim to air-tickles—when already under the ticklish spell—making her squeal when those dreadful words came from her attacker’s tongue.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” Meeks-Martin taunted, then unleashed merciless fingertips everywhere Tara couldn’t cover.

“AAHHH-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA! NAH-HA-HA-HAT THA-HAAT!” She bucked and thrashed, receiving karma for her cruel treatment on her older sister. “MI-HINDYYY-HE-HEEE!”

Chad was the one to call everything off after 15 seconds, which was more like 20 for Mindy and Tara. “Alright, Mindy! That’s a wrap, they look like they’re about to pass out,” he told her.

Luckily, his sister obeyed and let Tara lean against her as she recovered.

The football player sighed as Samantha covered her eyes with one hand and rested the other on her still-exposed stomach, panting almost in-sync with her sister. He glanced over to his sibling. “Aw, I kinda feel bad now…”

Before she could reply, Sam did, breathlessly. “Good… You should…”

“Hey,” Mindy piped up, “It was your sister’s idea!”

Tara pushed herself up from leaning against the twin, glaring over her shoulder. “Yeah. And you messed it up!” she hissed, shoving her away. “The point was to target Sam, not me!”

But her former attacker just chuckled, “I know. But I couldn’t resist.”

She rolled her eyes and looked over at Chad. “So, what’s the verdict? Did I win?” She then glanced at the others.

Chad shrugged, “I don’t know… Sam doesn’t break as easily or quickly as you do.”

“That’s because she was trying! You guys caught me off guard,” she countered, then pointed to Sam, “She was expecting it!”

Mindy gave the younger Carpenter the benefit of the doubt, “Sam is a lot more squirmy than Tara is, though. Tara just kinda gives up.”

This made the youngest frown, “Okay, that’s rude. But it’s a point…”

By now, Samantha had caught her breath enough to sit up on her own, even though her abs ached from the laughing onslaught. She cleared her throat and combed through her ruffled hair. “Just make a decision,” she ordered as she pulled her shirt down to its intended length, “I told Danny I’d call him back, because Tara was being too loud.”

Finally, Chad put his hands up in defeat. “Honestly, I think it’s a tie,” he decided.

His girlfriend rolled her eyes and slouched her shoulders, “Okay, fine, but I still get my share of winning, right?”

Behind her, Mindy nodded, “Sure, but because y’all tied, Sam gets her pick on what you have to do, too.” She glanced up to the eldest, who stood up and continued to adjust her shorts.

The other two looked in her direction too.

“What do you want, Sam?” Tara asked in partial disappointment.

Her sister rubbed her hand over her face, then glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll think about it,” she answered, the small smirk pulling at her lips promising something that Tara would dread. Rightfully so though, with how she handled the so-called challenge. Oh, she would make her decision wisely. 

Chad chuckled at that response, while the younger Carpenter groaned. Beside them, Mindy jumped up.

“Alright!” She clapped her hands and pointed to Sam, “Now that that’s over, Sam, go call Danny back and finish your conversation. After that, we’ll watch the movie.”

Her brother nodded. “Agreed. Can’t have a slumber party with the Core Four without a good movie.” He glanced over to Tara as she slid off her bed and started towards the bathroom.

“I’ve gotta pee now, thanks to you, Mindy!” her voice carried as she shut the door.

That’s when Sam decided to take her leave. “Okay, I’ll let you know when I’m done. Or if you guys wanna go ahead and set it up, you can do that, but our TV’s a little different than the one that y’all have, so you might wanna wait for Tara.”

From beyond the bathroom door, Tara hollered. “Tell Danny to expect some dirt on you, in the near future!”

She just rolled her eyes and shook her head as she walked out.

───────────────────────────

🫣 welp... there you go

p.s. i've already been requested a pt. 2 for this so i'll be working on that in the near future. i don't know if i will be posting that one, but if this one does ok or if someone mentions they want me to share the 2nd part, i will consider :)

yolo, right?

- parker (HOUDINICARPENTER / BWS) 🖤

[eventinelysplayground]

A Glance & A Dance

This is @violettduchess request for my 50 follower event. I already explained the saga behind this but it really was so much fun! I decided to go less trauma more because the one I had with more trauma and angst was getting pretty dark and I also couldn't pull it together. Only thing I wish I could have come up with a better title, I'm trying to get more creative with them just it's not working well. I hope you enjoy and that it adds to your day, and thanks again for the support and congrats! Mild swearing, WC approx 1967.

The stars in the night sky glimmered like jewels, as did the young ladies in their splendid dresses. The palace ballroom was lively and the music drifted on the night breeze while everyone laughed and enjoyed themselves, everyone except for two princes who stood on opposite sides of the room, one smiling while talking with everyone and masking his pain, the other silently watching.

He's always been strong. He'll get over her, he has to.

The first notes of another waltz began to play but rather than ask any of the dozen young ladies around him for their hand Leon gave them all a smile and walked away.

Come on Leon there's gotta be one woman here that-

“For somebody who's idea this whole thing was, you don't look to be having any fun.”

Jin didn't even bother to turn in Clavis's direction.

“Me having fun isn't the point of this.”

“Oh?”

Jin took the drink that Clavis so casually offered him and took a long sip, his gaze still focused on Leon.

“It won't work, you know that right.”

“Why not? He fell in love before and a ball is the perfect place for it after all, two hearts can become one with a dance.”

Clavis blinked in a daze for a moment then he burst out laughing.

“If it were really that easy I don't think you'd be feeling so guilty now would you."

Perceptive bastard aren't you.

“It may hurt for a while but it'll be better in the long run for everyone if he just moves on. None of us were supposed to fall in love with Emma to begin with-”

“But some of us did, didn't we? And I'm not just talking about Leon.”

Jin's grip tightened around his glass and his jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“You confessing to being in love with her too, Clavis?”

“Me no, but perhaps you want to take a good look at yourself.”

“I'm not in love with Emma.”

I can't allow myself to be. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me, better than Leon too. She deserves a life better than anything that awaited her here, she deserves to be happy.

Jin was expecting Clavis to laugh or try to push him on the matter but instead there was only silence. When he finally bothered to look at Clavis he found him staring down watching the grape juice swirl inside his glass as he toyed with it.

“I don't think any of us is qualified to give lectures on love or what to do about it to anyone but, I know Leon isn't happy and I doubt Emma is either. Is making two people so obviously miserable really the right thing to do, or is it what's easiest for you?”

Clavis didn't wait for a reply, instead walking off into the crowd leaving Jin alone with his thoughts. Jin was frustrated, not even with Clavis but with himself. How many times had he asked himself the same questions Clavis had just asked him? Jin downed the last of his drink and started walking across the ballroom.

I need some damn air.

He crossed the ballroom and exited out onto the balcony. The night air was cooling and helped to calm his thoughts as he leaned against the railing. As he stood there listening to the music he was brought back to a night similar to this one some twelve years ago.

“How have you been enjoying tonight's ball so far?”

“Fine.”

“What do you think of the guests? Any in particular that have made an impression?”

Jin knew what his father was asking and internally he grimaced.

“Sure, quite a few of them have sand in all the right places.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“I'm sure there's a couple that wouldn't mind playing by my rules in-”

The King's fist came down hard on the balcony railing sending a dull thud into the night air.

“Is that all you care about? Just satisfying your base lust and carnal desires!”

Jin's jaw clenched, how dare his father try to lecture him on giving into base desires.

“What about your future? What about love?”

“Love!?”

Jin spat the word out as if it burned his mouth.

“Yes love. I would like for you to have love in your life, like I did once. A ball is the perfect place for that after all, it was when I was dancing with your mother that I realized how in love with her I really was.”

“What?”

“It was a waltz. We were from two different worlds and I hadn't really allowed myself to think…but all it took was a glance during that dance and I knew. She loved me and wanted me as much as I did her and so I took a chance. When the waltz was done I took her out on the balcony and I confessed my love for her and asked if she loved me in return. She gave me the sweetest smile and and an even sweeter kiss, our two hearts became one because of that dance.”

“Love is nothing but a curse.”

“Then I hope it's a curse you one day have.”

Jin stood there and sighed at the memory, he was about to go back in when he noticed Leon further down, his hands resting on the balcony railing and a look of sadness in his eyes.

Come on Leon, you have to know that doing this is best for everyone. Hell if Emma could have been happy here I would have made my move well before you ever had a chance to make her fall in love with you but she wouldn't be happy she’d just be mis-

‘Is making two people so obviously miserable really the right thing to do?’

No, no it's not. I really screwed this one up didn't I? Hopefully I still have time to make this right. I may not be the one who gets to make her happy but-

“Hey.”

Jin called out to Leon as he approached him but Leon didn't acknowledge him, things had been strained between them lately. Leon had come up with a proposal to keep Emma by his side and all their other brothers had readily agreed to it but Jin wouldn't budge, not until tonight.

“Leon.”

“Oh Jin, sorry I didn't see you out here.”

“You looked like you were thinking pretty hard about something.”

“It was nothing, do you need something or.”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On you admitting what you were thinking about.”

“Then forget it.”

Jin knew Leon had every right to be angry with him, and that was only for the stuff Leon knew about, but the distance between them now and the venom in Leon's voice stung. As Leon began to walk back inside Jin called out to him.

“You were thinking about Emma again weren't you?”

“If you're going to try and-”

“Just listen okay, I promise you don't have to listen to another word I ever say as long as you listen to me now.”

I'm the one who needs to let go so she can be happy.

**** One year later ****

On another night when the sky was filled with stars that shined like jewels and music was carried on the breeze a prince stood silently watching but this time it wasn't another prince he watched.

Emma had agreed to annul clause ninety nine and shortly after she had returned to the palace for good. All his brothers were happy she was back but especially Leon, Jin had never seen him as happy as that night on the balcony when he told him he would give in but only if Emma agreed to it.

I guess it all worked out for the best. I'm not the type of man who could make a woman like Emma happy, not really anyways but Leon's different. I know he'll do anything to make sure her life is full of love and happiness. Guess you got your wish after all huh old man?

Jin was watching Emma as she talked with a group of women her age then suddenly their eyes met across the room and she smiled at him.

I love seeing you smile like that. If only I could truly let you go but as much as I've tried I can't.

Jin saw that Emma was excusing herself and his eyes followed her as she came to stand at his side.

“Hey there Emma, you look like you're having fun.”

“I really am, I've talked to so many people and danced so much tonight.”

“That's good, it's important to enjoy yourself.”

“What about you? I’ve barely seen you talk to anyone or dance once tonight.”

“Haha. Is that your way of trying to get me to dance with you?”

Jin reached out and playfully tousled Emma's hair.

“I'm flattered but I couldn't possibly dance with you.”

“Are you afraid I'll step on your toes like I did to Yves?”

“No, I'm afraid that with just one dance you'll fall madly in love with me.”

“Oh I see…wait, what?”

Jin slid an arm around Emma's waist, his voice taking on a seductive lilt.

“It's only natural after all, the soft music, the rhythmic motions, how close you have to be to one another, the longing gazes. One dance is all it can take for two people's hearts to become one”

This may be selfish of me but...

“It also helps that I'm already madly in love with you. I have been for a long time and I want to be the one to make you happy so badly it hurts. You have no idea how jealous I am of Leon, that he’s the one who gets to be with you, kiss you, make love to you.”

Jin tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“I'm also super sexy and still in the prime of my youth, so all those combined the only thing you could do is fall in love with me and then I'd have to fight Leon for you, shirtless of course.”

I can't be with you and that's the best thing for you, even if you didn't love somebody else it would still be best for us not to be together. All I can do for you now is watch over you.

Jin’s voice was purposely light, a smile on his face and he started to laugh as he removed his hand from Emma's waist.

“You should see the expression on your face, did I take it too far this time?.”

“Jin, don't tease me like that! I thought you were serious!”

“Sorry, I promise I won't tease you like that again. How about I make it up to you by dancing with you after all?”

Jin was about to offer Emma his hand but then he noticed Leon approaching from the corner of his eye.

“Looks like that dance will have to wait for another time, unless you really do want me to fight Leon shirtless?”

“No! I'm perfectly fine with no shirtless fighting!”

“Do I want to know what the two of you were talking about?”

“Leon! Jin was just teasing me again, that's all.”

“Well then it looks like I'm just in time, care to dance Emma?”

“With pleasure!”

“See you two later. Oh and Emma, don't forget what I said, it only takes one dance.”

I don't really mind living with this curse. Leon makes you happy and as long as you can always be happy, unlike them.

The ball was long over but in the stillness just before the dawn, when shadows played along the walls there in the middle of the ballroom the ghosts of a Belle and her Prince took one more glance and one more dance.

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter four

[ 5k words ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three ] [ masterlist ] "he's actually asking you the question—you, of all people. it’s so funny, it could break your heart." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn warning: vague conversation about assault (no actual assault happened against any canon character), organized crime activities, mild claustrophobia

when you push open the door, you expect to find richie tucked away safe from the harsh wind, leaning against the wall in his usual spot. instead, he’s sitting on the sidewalk in front of your building, his ass on the curb and his feet on the asphalt, like he’s daring the cars to run over his toes. he doesn’t look like he’s waiting for somebody, he looks abandoned.

you tuck away your latest story—egyptian history is clearly not meant for tonight—and walk over to him. what’s up? 

he says nothing. 

all right, then. you sigh and you drop into a squat beside him, both feet flat, knees under your upper arms, and arms loosely crossed.

i can do this all night, you say.

his eyes don’t so much as flicker. his big black leather jacket has always looked ridiculous, oversized, like he’s playing dress up in his dad’s clothes, but there’s a touch of pathos to the slouch of it now. there’s a weariness that has soaked into him because he’s been marinating in it over the months. there’s pain, too, so much that you can’t help but think of michael. 

it’s eva, he finally says.

the richie bad news thing? you say. it’s a wild guess but better than nothing. you have to say something, anchor him before he drifts off again.

he shakes his head. she said this man at school, he, uh. he really freaked her out today. i don’t know. 

your stomach drops. nausea sets in immediately, but you push past it. step one is to protect her, and everything else can be dealt with later. you’re horrified to discover that after all that painstaking care you spent making sure he’s never cross-contaminated with your business, now there’s no choice. now there’s a threat. whatever the cost of the method, the threat has to end.  

uncrossing your arms, you reach out and put your hand on richie’s arm, grip him firm through the leather jacket, and look at him squarely. 

he blinks, looks down at your hand—you’ve never touched him before—and then up at your face. 

slow, steady, marshaling every word of your command to pierce through the fog he’s in, you say: don’t do anything. i know a guy. 

at that, his eyes sharpen and narrow, baffled. what are you talking about? he says. ow, jesus.

you search his face hard and clutch his arm even harder, like you can wring the truth out of him by the strength of your fingers alone.

she’s okay? you say.

she’s okay.

oh. pause. when the relief hits, it hits so hard, it’s nearly grief and it’s far too late. your mouth has gone bitter and your heartbeat is like a jackhammer to cement, reverberating through your body loud and fast and unstoppable. you let go of him.

richie’s face wrinkles with confusion, and he figures it out entire minutes too late. why would you think—

because it’s always some dirty old man, there’s always—you have to stop. your voice has gone transparent and you’re helpless to fix it. swallowing hard doesn’t help. standing up so fast that you’re lightheaded, that helps a little, though you don’t like the useless swing of your arms at your sides. 

finally, you manage to say, i’m not crazy, these things fucking happen. 

these things happen, but eva’s okay. nothing’s happened to her. richie says it with a terrible gentleness you can imagine him bestowing on a car crash survivor or a starved stray dog. his hand closes over your ankle through your jeans, the touch a shockwave that goes right through you. hey, i’m sorry, he says. 

between leftover nausea and fresh embarrassment, you can’t even look at him, so stare far over his head and say, don’t.

he lets go. you wish he didn’t. 

after a while, he says, you’ve never even met her.

she’s yours, though.

and there it is. the truth. you don’t know when this happened, but somewhere along the way, your care has stopped being richie’s inheritance from michael. now you care simply because it’s richie. it’s a surprise to find that there is someone left alive you’d kill for, but it also feels completely natural. if you’re dropped in water, you will swim. if you’re hit, you’ll hit back. if eva ever does get in trouble, you’ll do what you have to do. and that’s it. 

the thought becomes so real you could touch it like a photograph in your back pocket. there’s someone left that you’d kill for. good to know.

you turn away from him, using the wind as an excuse, sheltering your cigarette and lighting it up again. richie stays sitting right where he is, as though you haven’t confessed anything. there really is a merciful streak in him about five miles wide.

the nausea abates, after a little while. the thought occurs to you that you can’t just get lost in your head again. he’s still sitting there, he still needs you.

so what’d this guy say. you keep your voice as casual as you can. the man at the school. what freaked her out so bad?

never mind, richie says. it’s okay.

i swear to god, richie, after all that, you better tell me about it. 

okay, he says, every bit as exhausted and miserable as before, but at least no longer fully bogged down in his own head. you wanna sit down?

no.

he nods. into the fraught silence, his words come slower now. he speaks like he’s groping in the dark for the shape of his thoughts, fitting his hand to each individual word, mindful of sharp edges. 

a poet visited her school today. he’d written something for them about the class caterpillar that died last week. i don’t know whose genius idea that was, but anyway. he pauses. now she’s asking me about things dying. people dying, you know. her mom. me.

after a second, you say, fucking poets, with real sympathy. 

he nods wearily. somebody shot at the beef today too. we’re fine, nobody got hurt, it’s nothing, it’s. he rubs his forehead with his hand. it was a nice poem.

yeah? you say. 

whole city’s just fucking…

he gestures once, gives up, and lets his hand dangle from his knee. 

after a second, you sit down next to him, cross-legged and companionable.

what was it like? you say. the poem.

i can’t remember the words, he says. the general idea was, like. all a caterpillar needs to do is be what it is. eat everything, dream of flying. that’s what it’s meant to do. he looks over. you know what we’re meant to do?

he's actually asking you the question—you, of all people. it’s so funny, it could break your heart. you shake your head.

me neither. when he looks back out at the street, his eyes rest on the shadows in a way that makes the shadows seem that much more desolate. i mean, i’ve done things, but not. he doesn’t finish the thought aloud. 

finally, he says, what would a poet even do with me?

a dark suspicion tries to grab onto, but it’s so ludicrous and so extreme that you bat it away. you just made the mistake of falling prey to a baseless, sick fear once. twice in one night, that’s too much.

what would a poet do with either of us? you say. but you’re not gonna die.

i might.

the worst thing about it is how quiet richie says it. it's not an argument. it's just a fact.

you’re not, you say fiercely.

richie turns his head and looks at you, his blue eyes fraught and unwavering. 

how do you know?  

ping! 

fuck. your phone shouldn’t go off now, of all times. you haven’t had to deal with so much as a simple flesh wound since little caruso got shipped to the hospital, and now is the moment you get called in? if you ignore this text while you’re supposed to be on call, you could get fired or worse. 

you ignore the text. back to the question: how do you know richie’s not gonna die? because he can’t. because you won’t allow it.

you say, if you’re not around, who’s gonna explain to your daughter that poets are all a bunch of shitheads? 

ping! ping! ping!

fuck me, you mutter, putting your phone on vibrate.

it’s all right, never mind, richie says. he looks faintly sick, or maybe that’s just the cold and the time of night. 

it’s not all right, but you open your phone anyway. as you start reading the texts, your heart rate goes into overdrive and the eerie calm of crisis descends on you. 

i’m sorry, you say, meaning it. i’m really sorry. but you gotta get out of here.

as if to drive home your point, your phone vibrates in your hand with two more texts.

at first richie doesn’t move, and you’re afraid he’ll argue, or protest, or do anything that will force your hand to choose cruelty so you can get rid of him fast. but instead, he finally hauls himself to his feet. 

you know a guy, huh, he says.

you don’t want to acknowledge the insinuation with any kind of an answer, which as it turns out is a mistake.

it’s all right, he says. i’m kind of a diy guy myself.

you look up. don’t be.

the wind is tearing at your hair, and at that angle, in shadow, his eyes look unusually dark, not one hint of blue.

i can’t track the fucking joke with you sometimes, richie says.

i’m not joking. 

your phone vibrates once again.

fuck. you have no choice. you stand up, look at him as kindly as you know how, and say, get out of here. please. 

and he does. 

.

.

.

the texts come from an anonymous number, just like always. 

> 28 ppl carbon monoxide poisoning

> 2 dead already

> no hospital

> beth can’t come

> 3 dead

> be there soon

the answer is obvious. if the poisoning has gotten so advanced that some of the victims are already dying, then only in-hospital treatment can save them. even a quick google could’ve come up with this answer, and yet it feels like it’s taking you twice as long to reason it out when half your brain is helplessly looping over and over on you’re not gonna die and i might.

when a black corolla pulls up next to you only a minute later, you yank open the passenger’s side door only to find the seat already occupied.

holy shit.

jack? you say, stunned. i thought you were in prison.

he’s big, round-shouldered and full-bearded, and he looks even bigger squashed into this small car. he’s also sweating like a motherfucker. 

i was. get in.

you hurl yourself into the backseat and the driver takes off before you’ve even managed to get your hand on the seatbelt. the sudden violence sets you back on track. who cares how the oldest caruso kid got free? what matters are your patients. 

listen, if we don’t do a hospital drop, these people are all dead, you say.

why? 

you’re so grateful it’s jack. he’s brutally competent and efficient, not a word or a breath wasted, and he’s the only caruso kid who ever actually listens to you. 

if carbon monoxide poisoning is this bad, we can’t just slap a bunch of oxygen masks on them and call it a day. that’s not enough, it won’t work fast enough. not with three dead already. 

what do we need?

your skin is practically humming. hyperbaric chamber. lay them in an airtight container built specially for the purpose, fill it with pure oxygen, crank up the pressure. this is the kind of equipment that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars, so they probably don’t even have them at a place like saint anthony’s. these people need a level care of care that only northwestern-level money can buy, okay? or maybe uic. i don’t even think they’ll have enough chambers for all of them in one building, we might have to do two separate dumps, or—

no hospitals, jack says. we have orders. 

now you remember why he’s the worst of the caruso kids too. he’s the smartest, which means he should fucking know better. 

how much do these people know? you say. when that gets you nowhere, you drop subtlety and go straight for the jugular. are you really willing to kill twenty-five people just to please your fucking dad?

i’d kill you if i got orders, he says. don’t waste time.

it’s a breathtaking thing to hear, and yet, on some level, you were expecting it. after a second, you say, they’re dead, then. but tell me what we got.

no hospital raids, not around here. dad says it might fuck things up for little if a theft cranks up hospital security. but you’ve got as many oxygen canisters as you want down at the blackbird processing plant. 

and that’s where we’re headed?

yeah.

okay, you say, and it sounds like a question. but then, five minutes later, you say okay like it’s the answer too.

jack fully turns around in his seat to look at you. he’s going prematurely gray at the temples, and in the dark, his eyes look bottomless.

what do you need?  he says.

and for once, you know. what you need, what you are, and what you’re meant to do. so you tell him.

.

.

.

when you arrive, there are only a few lights on inside the factory. you and jack get on an indoor vehicle, a little white golf cart, and speed through a looming, shadowy forest of metallic machinery. 

your patients are waiting for you, all of them unconscious and laid out neatly like logs in two rows on the ground. their faces and clothes look sickeningly similar to each other, so you glance at jack and mentally add human trafficking to the long list of his family’s crimes. 

there’s also around two dozen men who all came to attention when jack stepped off the golf cart, standing silent and expectant. one of them is different from the others, a short man with the distinctive, overwhelmed expression of a civilian who just got drafted. that must be roberto, the floor manager that you talked to earlier on the phone. 

sedatives? you say, and one of the men hands you a big plastic bin full of smaller boxes. you pick one up and squint at the tiny print on the white and orange label. fuck me. 

the sedative they managed to get on short notice? it’s dormosedan. which is mean to be used on fucking horses. horses. jesus christ. yeah no, you’re not giving that to your patients. 

we’ve got ahold of ten oxygen masks, says jack. eta twenty minutes. 

you shake your head. you can see everything in viciously crisp color, time has slowed to syrup, and you can clock even the far-off horn of a distant train. oxygen masks aren’t enough. 

turning to roberto, you gesture at the massive section of piping in front of you. is that it?

i don’t think it’ll work, he says, this close to shaking. 

you speak past him to the assembled men. load them.

beside you, jack nods. with that, the men begin picking up your patients and carrying them to the wide-open hatch in the huge pipe, getting down on hands and knees, crawling, and pulling the unconscious people after them. 

you can’t do this, roberto says. we have to call the cops, we can’t just—

jack reaches for the gun tucked into his jeans and you close your hand over his wrist just in time to stop him from pulling it out. if he gives this guy a heart attack, that’s just one more casualty for you to deal with.

roberto, this is fucking happening, you say. you let go of jack’s wrist, go over, and lean in close to him, ignoring his flinch. you lower your voice. please don’t make me deal with another casualty, we’ve got enough of those already.

after a second, roberto walks away and put his password into the control pad.

when the hatch closes, there are two bodies left lying on the floor, people who are already dead and thus not worth loading. how many patients left living does that make? twenty-four? twenty-three? you’ve lost count.

flood it with oxygen and then increase the pressure, you say to roberto.

how high do you want the pressure?

double whatever the psi is right now.

you can actually see the movement of roberto’s adam’s apple as he swallows.

hey, you say warningly.

after a second, he types in the command. you can hear the humming of the machine as the pressure increases.

you want me to pause it in intervals so the pressure doesn’t increase too fast? he says. 

you have no fucking idea. no, you say. just do it.

you take out your phone and start a timer. you don’t even know how long these people should be in for, or how long the canisters will last, but you sit there with your pencil and paper, gather what you know, and get to work.

they can’t stay in for too long, because you’re terrified of one of them improving enough to wake up trapped in the dark. they’d die of a fucking heart attack, breaking into the list of the world’s top ten most miserable deaths. on the other hand, they have to stay in as long as it takes to oxygenate them, or they’ll be dead for certain. and a third consideration? if they’re in for too long, there is such a thing as oxygen poisoning. which. fucking hell.

you write out your calculations so hurriedly that you can barely read your own figures. god only knows if they’re correct. you finally come up with a number of minutes, and once that time has passed, you tell roberto to lower the pressure. in intervals this time, with pauses in between. after all this maniac effort, you’re not gonna lose anyone to the bends like they’re fucking scuba divers. no, no. you’ve entered the stage when everything is hopeful with zero basis in fact. they’re all gonna make it. every last one of them. 

this is the worst part. the part when all the decisions have been made, and all you can do is stand there and wait. you abandon your paper and pencil on the floor and begin to pace like a maniac, not caring who sees you. 

jack is texting to somebody on his phone, mountainous and intent, but when you pass by him, he says, homemade hyperbaric chamber.

are you supposed to feel fucking encouraged by that?

if they all die, you’re gonna have to kill me too, you mutter in a venomous undertone.

don’t make threats.

the oxygen masks arrive. turns out that only eight of them work, but at least they come with appropriately sized canisters. you instruct jack’s men on how to use the masks on the patients once they emerge from the pipe. if more than eight patients end up making it, they’ll have to rotate the masks between the patients in fifteen-minute intervals. somehow, you don’t think that will be a problem. 

you can hear roberto praying quietly in the background.

time disappears, and the one thing you want most in the world is a smoke, though you can’t have it, not with all these gas canisters around. just one cigarette, that would save you. not a menthol, a sapphire. or maybe just standing partly sheltered from the wind in a spot that smells of those cigarettes, drinking half a smile over a stupid joke, you want it to be over already, you want to go home—

finally, the pipe has been completely depressurized and the patients are taken out one by one and laid out once again in their two rows. you dart forward, accidentally bashing your shoulder against an unexpected bit of machinery in the dark, and kneel beside the first one you see. 

the woman is weathered and broad shouldered, somewhere in her forties, and looking as peaceful as if she’s just taking a nap. there are strands of gray in her dark hair and laugh lines in the corners of her eyes. you don’t want to check her pulse, but you do.

she’s alive. 

all around you, there are footsteps padding by you, quiet words being exchanged. survivors are being laid out, men are fixing the oxygen masks on them, and somewhere in the background, roberto is trying to argue with jack, his voice pitching ever higher with every denial he’s dealt. some of the machines are being turned on in preparation for the morning’s work, great dark monsters humming and growling at each other in the dark. 

this is not over. there is so much left to do. and yet, for a moment, you close your eyes and feel her pulse murmuring it into your fingertips: still here, still here.

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when you were first charged with the care of these people, twenty-five of them were alive. by the time they’re carried away from the factory and you’re forced to go home, only nineteen of them are still breathing. 

it’s nineteen more than you thought you could save. it’s still not enough.

when the car drops you off at your building, your eyes go to the spot where richie should be standing, but of course he’s not there. it’s morning, not his hour. why you were expecting him, you don’t know.

you want to tell him about this night more than anything, but you know you never can and you never will. 

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you find him laid out neatly like a log, gone cold and facing up. no blood, no wound, nobody else. at least this time they let you come and see him.

the sun comes up over the bridge and stains the cityscape as gold as good. oh, michael.

you kneel without a prayer, run your fingertips across his sweater, soft and slow as though you could still wake him up. your knuckles knock against metal, so you stop short, look down, and there it is: the gun, your gun, the ready death you try to pull from out of his fingers. 

baby, let it go.

his grip goes tight, his blue eyes open slow.

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the sound of your evening alarm tears you out of your dreams. you find yourself clutching at empty air so tightly that your nails leave red half-moons in your palms, and at first, you remember nothing but the feeling.

it all comes back in bits and pieces jumbled together: the little white golf cart speeding through the factory floor, the sunrise over the bridge, closed eyes above oxygen masks, the rows of bodies, richie’s eyes. you’re not gonna die and i might.

you sit up fast, fully awake. a chest-crushing certainty takes hold. all the old excuses are carried away from you like paper in the wind. 

he says shit that would scare anyone into wondering if he’s okay, but then he turns around and jokes like nothing’s wrong. he has people he loves dearly, but he still comes to you for comfort that you are hardly able to provide. he has access to a gun. this time, it’ll be his own. other than that, it’s all the same as last time.

the fact that you’ve noticed the pattern is no comfort to you at all. by now, you know richie right down to the ground, from his peculiar little habits to his pet baseball peeves to his customary jewelry to the shape his mouth makes when he doesn’t want to admit that you’re funny. you know him so well.

and you’ve only ever been able to save people if they’re total strangers.

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by the time richie strolls up to your building, it’s occurred to you that somewhere in the haze of grief and touch starvation and whatever words a shrink would use to describe the feeling of twenty-five lives depending on you, maybe, just maybe, you’ve gone a little fucking crazy yourself. 

jack won’t return your texts or calls, so you have no idea how your patients are doing, and that is so deeply fucking upsetting that you swerve right back to richie. 

maybe richie’s not deeply depressed. maybe it’s like the time—literally yesterday—when you assumed eva got hurt and psyched yourself up to request permission from old caruso for a full-on murder. 

also, and this cannot be emphasized enough: you only slept for two hours. 

so, mustering the last bit of mental strength left at your disposal, you head downstairs early and decide not to bring up your batshit theory unless you’ve got actual evidence that you’re right. 

richie seems a surprised to find you waiting for him, and he approaches a little awkwardly, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. the sight of him alone is enough to calm you a little, the reality of his stained shirt and haggard face. 

hey, you say, in your very best imitation of a normal person. 

yo, he says. last night was.

yeah, you say. then, as casual as you can, you good?

he shrugs. i am if you are?

you nod. in the silence, you can feel the awkwardness draining away, so you give it a little while before you finally say say, so what’s the story, morning glory?

his nose is running a little and he’s as tired as ever, but the smile is real. you wanna see something crazy?

always.

he gets his phone out of his pocket and flips through a blur of emoji-studded texts to find the thing he’s looking for. 

my buddy tim got video of this crazy fight on the l this morning. looks exactly like that one with the nerd. like, same fucking thing, i swear to god. 

he turns to you and catches you watching him close, soaking him up. he’s stubble-cheeked and grinning, he’s standing solid, he’s completely fucking fine. he has to be.

what one with the nerd, you say, a little too late. noticeably too late, so you add an explanation. i didn’t get much sleep last night.

yeah, i wasn’t gonna say, but. he raises his eyebrows, tilts the words playful enough so they’re not a threat. secret agent?

you hum a bit of the james bond theme song, then point at his phone. you’re gonna have to show me the nerd one first, cause i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. 

you’re gonna love this, he says.

you shake your head as you get out your pack and your lighter. you have no idea what it’s gonna be, but you’re smiling already. am i actually gonna love this, or is—

no, you’re actually gonna love it, he says.

cause you remember the one with the fuckin poacher trying—

well, maybe my tastes are a little too eclectic for you, a little too avant fucking garde, but—

avant—you burst out laughing. you bruce springsteen motherfucker, don’t talk to me about avant garde. 

bruce springsteen is the man, was that supposed to be an insult? before you can say a thing in your defense, he interrupts. shh, it’s starting. 

you lean against the wall and watch. you’re not gonna cry, but there’s something in the way his body protects you a little extra from the wind. he’s okay. he’s okay, so you must be too.

the video turns out to be exactly the opposite of what you expected, because the nerd wins. in detail, a meathead picks a fight with a skinny little twentysomething redhead, and the redhead retaliates so fast and dirty that even the meathead’s friends seem impressed when they arrive on the scene drag the redhead off him.

right? richie says, when the video ends, supremely satisfied. it’s so funny to you that he loves that video, because between meathead and nerd, you wouldn’t have guessed him as identifying with the nerd. rather than ask him about it, you settle for a childish little poke. you’re too exhausted to do anything else. 

that’s a nerd to you? you say.

he’s wearing fucking glasses, what else do you want.

everyone wears glasses, numbskull. you flick the screen with a finger. that’s not a nerd.

richie splutters. and he’s short!

everyone’s short to you.

richie half turns to you and leans a little into your personal space, looming in a way that makes him occupy your whole field of vision. you stand your ground on instinct.

yeah, you’re short to me all right, he says.

well, you’re fucking… 

he’s so tall, and that’s terrible, and yet you kind of wish he was even taller so his face wouldn’t be so close to your face. there’s really nothing you can think of to say. you’ve well and truly lost the plot.

richie bursts out laughing.

…a pain in my ass, is what you are, you say. rick. 

so you got no sleep last night, he says, still laughing but moving back a fraction, letting up. 

you shake your head ruefully. like none.

then what are you doing vertical?

good question. technically, it’s against the rules for you to sleep while you’re on call, but at this point you’re pretty done with the carusos and their fucking rules and you really only got out of bed this morning so you could see richie. 

you shrug and raise your cigarette, half hoping he gets it and half hoping he doesn’t. 

he does, of course. you can tell by the way he says, go, then. go take a nap.

you should be grateful that you’ve gotten through the conversation without making an utter fool of yourself with your little conspiracy theory, but being with him right now feels so easy, you don’t want to leave it behind. 

you good? you say.

i’m fucking golden, baby. 

so you leave. as you wait for the elevator to come down and get you, you look back at him one last time through the glass of the apartment building’s doors. he’s standing there watching one of his videos, totally engrossed, totally delighted, his fist pressed to his mouth.

sleep should be safe for you now, right? sleep should be safe for you now.

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[ chapter five ] [ masterlist ]

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@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie — if anyone else wants a tag, let me know.

[solacefiles]

As the Saboteur yanks Rascality’s elongated tail, the fellow experiment lets out a small yelp of surprise as the shark-finned tail jolts and is dragged down a few feet. The tail is severely long, almost endless though not nearly as thick as Sebastian’s tail; akin to a rope, even.

The ominous stranger in question seemed to have been shifting his position in the vent to properly move away at the time, as he had stumbled and had to catch himself with..1..2..3.. How many arms did the fellow experiment have? A 4th and 5th arm peaks lightly from the gloomy setting above, mostly covered in a cream-white sleeves with ruffles. The hands itself lacked proper nails altogether, but webbed in nature. All of these hands varied in patches of ivory skin, transitioning into patches of coral red, tangerine, and white scales that closely matched the tail. These hands and tail alike were covered in a catalogue of scars ranging from gunfire of UrbanShade personnel and slashes and cuts of weaponry or surgical operations.

Z-651 retracts their hands and body that had been leaning toward the edges of the ceiling’s vent entrance back into the darkness. A subtle hiss emits from the throat, perhaps he bumped into the metal walls. The fellow experiment speaks after a dragged pause, voice expressing bafflement and taken aback. Z-651 is wary when it comes to revealing his full appearance, always on edge… and perhaps insecure in some deep down gut of his.

“My my, someone didn’t want the encounter to end so soon..? If you wanted me to stay, you could of thrown in a polite word over a hold of my tail y’know..”

Rascality begrudges a bit, though the voice remained overall playful and delighted. The words had been cherry picked; selected to dodge the question of where Rascality was heading by intention as Rascality prioritized their privacy at the given moment.

“Can’t be keeping close regards and encounters, I’m sure. Not here to get my head on some pinboard on UrbanShade’s hitlist, after all.. Besides, am I not allowed to simply just drop a gift over your way as thanks, dear?”

Bullshit. The scrambler on Sebastian’s back would make any electrical signs of communication or prying around his radius utterly useless on UrbanShade’s side. P.AI.nter has the hold of the cameras scattered throughout the facility as well, and a lingering suspicion told Sebastian that some fellow seasoned experiment such as Z-651 would be well aware of that.

The shark-finned tail swishes, still a bit shaken from being yanked out of the blue. An assumption from Z-651’s side—With the Saboteur’s infamous aversion for contact, he didn’t suspect to be grabbed so suddenly by Sebastian himself nor the response of some sarcastic-flirtatious remark. He notes to be more cautious of the way he moves his tail.. Well, that didn’t exactly matter. Z-13 is a cheetah compared to Z-651; Z-651 lacked any sense of nimble mobility, not exactly known for any maneuvers that were too fast for the eye to catch or anything of sorts.

(An action of your liking can be taken!)

—🐉

Sebastian took a moment to take in the little appearance he was able to see, leaning back against the slightly dusty wall of his shop and crossing his arms. taking another puff of the cigarettes he'd been given. oh so grateful.

He let out a scoff, flicking the ends ash onto the ground in front of him, before he spoke, his tone slightly lower.

"Forgive me for being curious, princess." He began, "But shouldn't it be more respectful to show your face when you're greeting somebody? I don't bite, you know?"

He chuckled. Sebastian didn't bite, he wasn't lying. Sure - he did a lot more. he's pumped plenty of expendables full of lead at the mildest annoyance , but he doesn't bite.

"How long have you been down here?.. If you're an experiment with those levels of side effects, I assume quite a while. Unless you were born a monster, then thats a story for another day."

He took a drag of the cigarettes, a hum under his voice. A quiet invite, perhaps. He was chosing not to listen to the temptation to yank his tail enough to drag him down fully - he knew what it was to be touched without consent, and wouldn't stand to make them uncomfortable to that degree.

"You'd be safer in my shop then anywhere else, you know.."

[skulltramarine]

*[While it's not a place Phthalo visits particularly often, it's one he knows how to reach perhaps instinctively; it nearly ails him to admit it to himself, but he's certain he can feel his vague and wishy-washy connection to this world. This universe. At first that had been much more unsettling, and surely even now could throw one for a loop... but it's also become comforting in the strangest way. Something he finds a little too easy to lean into, even with how foreign and DANGEROUS it all proves to be nonetheless.]

*[Which is why he shouldn't be here. They both know that. And when he is, when here they are in the same room, Alizarin figures straight away that something is either very odd... or very wrong. But he's nothing if not skilled at playing it up or off. Grinning a bit wider, a showcase of how unalike their teeth are, he spreads his arms out wide to either side as if to greet and welcome someone important to a glitzy venue. Knowing full well which of their worlds the both of them might prefer to be in.]

🔴 * " if it isn't number one... here i thought ya might be fuckin' with me. but ya actually showed, huh? "

*[Phthalo sighs. He earnestly does HATE that nickname deep down, and how every overly familiar face has taken to calling him that. A joke they all feel entitled to be in on. Still, that sigh is long suffering and dramatic. He scoffs in what appears to be annoyance... before a long beat of silence passes, and the both of them start genuinely chuckling. He crosses the room to lean against an empty work bench, and here surrounded by Alizarin's unfinished works, he might even look like he fits right in. Like they're his doing. Again, too easily nestled at first-- and why not? It's not like he NEEDS to come here that often for it to be this way. It's only natural, right? But when Phthalo looks to his right, to the empty space in the back corner of this locked workroom, that particular immersion is broken in a very immediate way. The glowing eyes which look at him are too piercing, too bright, too RED. Her silhouette possesses too many jagged edges. The glint of her metal exterior deflects all light, like a warning. The threatening aura that hangs in the air when their gazes meet, even while he's certain she recognizes him by design... it's all wrong. Phthalo makes companions, after all. Now, after everything. His projects have always been much smaller scale, too. A cat here, a rat there, a bird when he really wanted to push himself.]

*[... And KEY9? There is none of that sentimentality visible in her, internals be damned. To put it bluntly? That's a big, menacing WOLF. She isn't shy about it, a testament to that being the very point. Neither of them look away until Alizarin is knocking his closed fist back on the wall he's resting against, loudly enough to get the both of their attention.]

🔴 * " hey. focus. ya said ya needed m'help, right? so out with it. "

*[A more nervous sort of laugh this time, as Phthalo shrugs nonchalantly.]

🔵 * " well... yeah, i did. could say i was focused though, uh... she's sort'a why i'm here. "

*[Alizarin definitely looks confused to hear this, casting a deadpan look to KEY9 which is returned in record speed. When Alizarin looks back to his alternate, it's with a slightly warier gaze. Voice sounding tentative as he inquires.]

🔴 * " ... yeah? what 'bout 'er? ya can't have 'er, if that's the kind'a weirdo shit yer on right now. "

*[Phthalo can't help but huff a laugh at that. As if he'd be the type to show up out of the blue and take something so important to somebody.]

🔵 * " no, that's not-- never mind. keepin' it short, since i know ya hate me beatin' 'round the bush... "

🔵 * " ... d'ya think... i could make somethin' like that? like her, i mean. "

*[The rumble of a soft growl which sounds from the corner of the room is ghosted with a faint static. Now it's Alizarin's turn to bark a short laugh, smirking playfully.]

🔴 * " what, y'mean a WEAPON? "

*[Phthalo winces, eyes darting to the side. Alizarin doesn't wait for the reply he knows isn't coming anyway, and instead deigns to actually answer the question.]

🔴 * " sure don't. "

*[Yeesh... that was shot down fast. Not that he's amazed, when it's exactly the answer he expected. So that's that, huh? Or so he thinks. It makes sense. He's not afraid to admit that Alizarin is capable of and practiced in things he isn't, since that's exactly why he came here in the first place. But in the awkward lapse of quiet that seems to drag on after that blow, unable to see it looking away as he is, Alizarin wavers quite clearly. Gritting his teeth with a barely audible grumble, and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. You're caving. You're too soft.]

🔴 * " ... 'm not finished, though. "

🔴 * " -- no, i don't think ya can... alone. but lucky fer you, i'm feelin' generous 'nough ta lend ya a hand. "

*[Phthalo's surprise must be evident, because Alizarin is quick to continue on. Likely trying to bypass receiving the thanks he can see the other readying to give, with a wave to dismiss it altogether.]

🔴 * " and don' bother thankin' me. heh... maybe ya haven't considered this, but i'm not the only one here who'd bring somethin' unique ta the table. 've sort'a been hopin' you'd 'ventually come 'round ta my way'a doin' things. "

*[Phthalo is swift in ignoring the smugness in Alizarin's tone, as if he's won something. He doesn't say anything to argue it, though. He supposes the monster in front of him should be allowed the win this time, if it means he'll help. Alizarin has forever been a fickle one, truth be told. Fairly sensible for the Red type, but he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to and is rather unshakable on that front. The burning in that red pupil however, the one uncovered by an eyepatch, tells Phthalo that he was worried for nothing. Because Alizarin is also fairly unmoving when it comes to doing the things that he DOES want to do, especially when it comes to his engineering. ]

*[ Good. This is good; this will work. Who can he trust if not himself? This is a real plan. Phthalo will stay here for the night, and by morning they'll have come up with something much more tangible to set in motion. It's better than doing nothing and waiting for the worst, isn't it?]