#and also if you don't want to be tagged then let me know!

[prettyboykatsuki]

exception(al) | sunday hsr

𖤓 tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, established d/s dynamic (implied to be 24/7), extremely submissive!reader, soft dom!sunday, shoe humping, oral (m!recieving), cock worship, deep throating, lots of praise / pet names, thumb sucking, cum swallowing 18+

𖤓 wc ; 2.2k

𖤓 a/n ; if you care abt me you won't say a word about this post. okay. alright. takes place in this universe, but not required reading.

𖤓 synopsis ; he'd give you anything you ask for. his one love. his only exception.

If Sunday could use one word to describe you, he would pick the plainest option: obedient.

You're other things. Loyal, desperate, beautiful, adoring. There are other words more well-fitted to your character and better words to describe the way you look through his lens. Ethereal. Charming. Provocative

But above all else, if Sunday had to sum up all of your parts he'd choose to put your obedience on the pedestal it deserves to stand on.

Obedience like yours can't be bought with fear, can't even be bought with manipulation. You have to get lucky to find someone so perfectly, unflinchingly obedient in the same way you are.

The leash Sunday keeps you on, intentionally tight, never appears that way on your throat.

That is to say: you bear the suffocation of Sunday's affection so well, a lesser person would be at risk for taking you for granted.

Not Sunday. Never him, of course. No one knows better how much you deserved to be cherished then him. That's how the cycle between you always goes. You live at his beck and call— his mercy. You're obedient with his whims and patient with his insecurities. Eventually, after some time passes, he'll praise and reward your efforts.

(The truth is, Sunday is always one difficult day away from spoiling you. Showering you in his affection after the thread-bare strands of his patience snap is his idea of letting go. There's few things more precious than how doe-eyed you get when he does.

But, a good owner knows to raise loyal pets - you must let them work towards rewards. He refrains for your sake. Always for your sake.)

Sunday always asks you what you want as a reward. Your requests are usually innocuous. Prey-like innocence in your eyes as you fiddle with the ends of his coat and ask for things like a date together or a bath or matching rings.

Sunday sometimes wants to tell you that's not the sort of thing you really need to beg him for. Sunday wants to tell you everything in his order is also yours.

He is yours, just like you're his. Mind, body, soul—devoured heart and all.

(Later, when Aeons abandon Sunday, he will find contentment in the fact you still belong to him. Even falling through Dreams or chained to hell. Still his. )

He doubts he ever will. He will continue along with rewarding you ask. Anything you want, you can earn.

It's rare you ask him for anything sexual so overtly. You do often beg to touch him and it's rare that Sunday lets you. He doesn't like to indulge too often, lest he lose the control that binds him so tightly.

Your latest request is half surprising. The desire to pleasure him being predictable and your bashful request to rub yourself against the toe of his dress shoes being the surprise.

He could tell at the time that it took all of your courage to ask. Clenched fists at the knees, gaze cast down instead of looking into his eyes, fidgety and uncertain.

It's an easy desire to fulfill and Sunday is, by all means, a loving master. If you want it, he'll will it by any means.

"Are you sure this is what you want, my heart?"

The affection bleeds into his voice as he cast his gaze at you. Bent down on your knees, naked from the neck down with the exception of a heather-blue collar with golden embellishments. You flicker your eyes up to him after he speaks to you, but don't talk.

"You may speak," He hums. He places a hand on your head, reaching down to pet your cheek and scratch under your chin. You preen under the silent doting. "It's your reward today, remember?"

"It's important to mind the rules no matter what."

He thinks about bending down and kissing you with a hand on your throat but keeps his composure. Instead, he pats your head and offers a smile. "That's right. Very clever, my dove."

You're elated just hearing it, staring at him. Pure need paints your expression, eyes wet as you squirm naked underneath him. He meets your look patiently, expectantly.

"Use your words."

"My reward," You swallow thickly. "Is it okay if I have?"

"Of course," He appeases your anxiety with a hand cupping your chin, thumb running your lower lip. "Do as you please."

You always wear your heart on your sleeve but it's times like this he finds it most impactful. Excitement radiates off of you in waves, shaky hands fumbling with his slacks. Your fingers are shaking as you unzip them slowly. Each step you take to get him undressed, you look up at him and wait for him to nod. Always obedient.

You get him partially undressed, each step slow - before you permit yourself to pull the rest of his clothes down. His cock springs free from fabric confines as you tuck the band underneath it. He hitches a breath trying not to lose his composure.

"You're hard," You observe in awe. He laughs breathlessly.

"Of course," He tells you staring down at where his cock cast shadow over your face. "It's you, after all."

The praise makes you wide-eyed. You mutter some kind of thank you that he smiles at gently. He can't help but be entertained by how you assess him. You've seen it before, a few times - yet you're awestruck. Every movement is tentative despite all of his encouragement. You mostly stare at it.

"It's alright. Take what you want." Sunday tells you, like it's some sort of gift. You treat it as such.

He feels his stomach tighten as soon as your hands fist the shaft of his cock. You frown a little. "It's really okay?"

"Yes," He hums, suddenly feeling aware of every nerve in his body. Spurred by his approval, Sunday merely watches you. He's fascinated, in his own right.

You're shaking with want by the time you move to do anything.

You stick your tongue out of your mouth tentatively, eyes transfixed on the tip so eagerly it makes his chest feel tight. Sunday is more familiar than most with desperation, but yours he knows like the back of his hand.

And Aeons, don't you look so desperate? The warm wet slide of your tongue is messy as you run it from base to tip, spitting gathered saliva on the tip with each go. It's clumsy, too desperate to count as a kitten lick and too practiced to count as virginal. It falls somewhere in between, like watching desire mix with your perfectionism.

He adjusts himself slightly. He tugs on the leash in your hand to pull your closer until you're wrapped around his leg, cock pressed against your cheek as he pushes you down by the shoulder. You squeak suddenly at the sensation, too enraptured with his cock to remember the other half of your request.

"I won't help you," He hums, teases - something he rarely does. You nod, not expecting it. You never are and it endears him.

There's parts of him that couldn't understand that this is what you wanted. You begged him for it but it felt unfathomable before now.

Your longing for his cock down your throat, in your mouth is so obvious it makes him waver. It's not something he gets used to. You slide your tongue all over his cock, drool giving your skin shine as you wet it over and over not even taking it in your mouth. Just spitting and licking like you're trying to remember every inch with your mouth and burn it into your memory.

Blissed out with your eyes nearly lidded shut, he can feel you rut your soft cunt over the point of his dress shoes over and over all the while.

It's interesting to affirm all the ways you feel pleasure. Sunday knows you let to put something in your mouth. He's fond of the habit - opts for cum soaked gloves or his own tongue to fulfill the urge for you.

This is an extension of your baser desire. Still, still - you do it with remarkable enthusiasm. It would almost feel torturous if you weren't so thorough. You remember points of pleasure on his cock. Along the veins, underneath the glans.

When the arousal starts to floor his system, you dip your tongue messily into the tip - precum staining your saliva with a pale white.

It moves you further along. You open your mouth up all the way, staring as you hollow your cheeks around the shaft of his cock with impressive ease. Fluttering your eyes shut, you hold onto his thigh and ease yourself as far down as you can go.

Your throat is wet and wanting for him. Over eager even with all the patience you try to demonstrate.

A thought passes by him as he watches you do it so expertly. The warm, slick cavern of your mouth accommodates him perfectly. No teeth, just throat and spit and drool. The corners of your lips flood with saliva as you take his cock in, breathing through your nose.

"Have you been practicing? To do this?"

You jolt, suddenly embarrassed. But you don't move to pull yourself off of his cock. Instead you stay for several moments, stretched throat - nose pressed into the thin hair above his cock and breathe him, humping his dress shoes like you're in heat. When you look up, he gets the confirmation he wants.

He's impossible endeared by you.

There's something strange in that it seems you relax after making it down. Heat stricken, swallowing his cock, chasing animalistic pleasure - truly content as your whole body begins breaking out in an aroused shudder. He can feel your chest against his leg, hardened nipples evidence of your arousal. Your wetness shines his shoe till it's reflective.

When you find you can no longer hold it and breathe, you pull back - a filthy slurping noise resulting. The tip sits on your tongue afterwards as you hum. It's lewd and filthy, not something he thought he'd be so interested in.

But it's you, after all.

Sunday admires you. How wrecked and lustful you look. How excited you are from something like this. An extension of your loyalty to him, down to bone.

He'd underestimated you, somehow. His mistake. When you pull off, before you go back down - he hooks his thumb into his cheek. His voice is thick with desire. The arousal is painful in his stomach as it ties in knots, cock twitching at the sight of your spit-soaked face.

"What do you want?"

You look at him confused before something seems to cross your mind. He encourages you. "Tell me,"

"Cum down my throat," You offer, debauched beyond his understanding. "Please."

Fuck. He takes in a breath.

"If it pleases you, dove," He says, then pets you affection as you go to deep throat him again. He decides to praise you. He can't think of anyone who would deny how sincerely you've earned it. "It feels good. You're thoughtful, hm? I'll return the favor ten fold after, like always."

You make a strangled noise as his cock hits the back of your throat again faster. You're sucking hard this time, quicker - your hand massaging his balls as you do. You hold his gaze the entire time even when you gasp for air, nose running. You're still perfect somehow, doe-eyed and innocent to him despite yourself.

"You're beautiful," He tells you and means it more than anything. Means it as you swallow and suck on his cock like it's everything you could ask for, means it as you hump against his shoes and stare up at him with crushing reverence.

Beautiful, perfect, the sweetest thing he's ever felt in his life. His most obedient possession. His from top to bottom, skin and bone and mind and body. Everything in Sundays possession - wholly his.

He pets your cheek as you move back and forth slowly, doing it properly. Bobbing your head back and forth, slow and smooth and deep with each motion until you feel comfortable enough to go rhythmically without gagging in excess.

You suck with such fervor he's inclined to believe you feel more pleasure than he does. Muffled whimpers and whines as you chase your own high. Sloppy at both ends.

Sunday lets himself slip. He moans - moans your name, soft and sweet and watches your whole body go alight at the reaction.

He can feel you cum before he can see it, the wet pulse of it and the sound of your high pitched whine.

It makes you cum, hearing Sunday express that. So he lets go, just for you, like always and watches tears fill the corner of your eyes like it's the happiest you could be.

Obedient thing you are, so tender - sweeter than all things in the world. Sweeter than a a dream. The thought makes his body lurch. His hips thrust this time and you let him with ease, shaking as Sunday lets himself fuck your throat a little harder.

"Gonna cum for you, sweet thing," He says, holding you close as he bottoms out again. He puts a hand on the back of your neck to hold you steady.

Sunday groans, shudders as an orgasm rips through him something irreparable. He cums hard, and you swallow all of it like it's easy despite how far he is down your throat.

He stays like that, catching his breath until he's ready to pull off. A long thick trail of saliva follows, drool dripping down against the hotel room floor as you leave your mouth open to show you swallowed it all.

Your expression morphs into fucked out pleasure, voice hoarse as you smile. "Thank you,"

You're his exception, Sunday thinks. If he's to deviate from structure, order, routine - it'd be only for you. He wipes the spit from your chin as he bends down to kiss your forehead.

"You made me feel good and did exceptionally well," He murmurs, soft and sweet. You melt under the touch, under the praise. "I love you,"

You smile happily. "Me too. I love you,"

"Now get up," He says, stroking your skin. "My turn, hm"

[espressiimartinii]

vii. god forbid a woman have hobbies

part 7

summary: new year? new me! it does take y/n l/n a little bit of time to get used to the rb15, and favouritism does really sprint in the red bull racing family.

pairing: none - it's all platonic 💅

warnings: apart from rewriting actual events so they fit better, there may be a sprinkle of typical motorsport ✨sexism✨

tag list is back open! turns out i still don't understand the tagging system, so i will be tagging in comments.... sorry? i will be capping tags at about 25

author's note: and if i said i got sick, what then... shout out to the regular flu, you're a real one for that.

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offseason shenanigans

rbr_y/nl/n my focken PIZZA 😭😭 also, i could not post the picture were alexi looks STUNNING!! 😍 tagged: alexirexi; surves

f1brainrot ma'am.... the trolley?? you could be injured??? why??? ↳ rbr_y/nl/n it's fun, hope that helps👍

redbullracing ✔️ this does not look things that are on the approved list of activities... ↳ rbr_y/nl/n okay? close your eyes then? 🧐

alexirexi I LOOK HAWT 🥵 ↳ surves why are you gripping the back of my head like that tho... ↳ rbr_y/nl/n did you want to smash your face against a PUBLIC toilet rim? ↳ surves thank you for holding my head up alexi, i didnt doubt u for a second ↳ alexirexi anything for u bby gorl 😜

danielricciardo Are you taking applications for new members? ↳ rbr_y/nl/n I hate to break this to you.... but you're not eligible to become a member 😔 ↳ danielricciardo But you said I could join. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n Positions aren't open to ex-red bull drivers, that's like hanging out with an ex ↳ maxverstappen What about current drivers? ↳ danielricciardo There is no way that my best friends are deciding to hang out with me. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n membership approved for max, but i guess he can bring a plus one..... 🙄 ↳ maxverstappen I will bring you, Daniel, do not worry. ↳ danielricciardo YEE HAW 🤠

pierregasly vraiment, sans ton frère? ↳ rbr_y/nl/n oui 🥖 ↳ pierregasly 😡

womeninf1 she's besties with danny ric and max verstappen?? it's only been literally 1 month since she got to red bull... ↳ stany/n i just know that max was outdone.... maxplaining? nah, y/n is a certified yapper ↳ y/n4wdc was that even a question?? what i wouldn't give to interrogate christian horner and find out who his favourite adopted child is ↳ maxstans it's max for sure ↳ f1brainrot is it?? did you see danny ricc's christmas insta post where he revealed that only y/n l/n got a horner family christmas invite?? ↳ maxstans THE FAMILY CHRISTMAS!?!? ↳ stany/n max also revealing in a press interview before christmas that christian would NOT shut up about how proud he is of y/n ↳ womeninf1 you forgot to include the fact that max was just maxplaining how monumental it is that y/n is in f1 and how he admires her work ethic ↳ maxstans oh, so you're telling me.... max and y/n are siblings now ↳ pierregasly No. Not true. ↳ f1brainrot PIERRE GASLY? ↳ pierregasly Max is not the brother, I am.

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we release the christmas photos

rbr_y/nl/n y/n!! release the evidence!! release the pictures!! well here is evidence that i got to spend christmas AND new years with THE geri halliwell and her husband (whoever that is?) tagged: gerihalliwellhorner; alexirexi; surves

gerihalliwellhorner It was our pleasure to have you staying with us for Christmas and New Years. Let's do brunch when you race in Silverstone and maybe we'll be able to escape Christian's racing lectures for a little bit. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n Yes!! I will clear my calendar, anything for you!! ↳ redbullracing RED ALERT RED ALERT RED ALERT THE BOSS IS LOOKING A LITTLE BIT MIFFED INNIT

danielricciardo I've been with the team for 5 years and I haven't been invited? Ever? Am I witnessing favouritism? ↳ rbr_y/nl/n you don't even work here anymore!!! ↳ danielricciardo You never truly leave the Red Bull Family, once a red bull racer, always a red bull racer. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n Well, boss has a favourite and it's me. ↳ maxverstappen That sounds incorrect, I literally exist. ↳ redbullracing The boss would like to relay that he has no favourites and he would never choose one. ↳ maxverstappen I will literally put the car into the wall if he does not choose me. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n contracts agreed to under duress are not legally binding!

pierregasly So this is why you declined the invite to spend Christmas with us.... I see... ↳ rbr_y/nl/n pierre... I am so sorry.... I will spend Christmas with you this year... ↳ pierregasly Maman will be very disappointed in you if you do not turn up.

stany/nl/n I think she just got adopted... well, at least we can call her a nepo baby. ↳ f1brainrot This is the only nepo baby I will support. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n I'M ADOPTED?!?! ↳ mamal/n No, honey, we found you on the side of the road. ↳ f1brainrot NOT Y/N'S ACTUAL MOTHER SAYING THIS ↳ womeninf1 what's a better bit, y/n continuously being censored by the red bull PR team or the dubious beginnings of y/n's life - like who are her parents if she was found on the ground? ↳ redbullthegoat is that even a legitimate question? Her father is literally 2012 Sebastian Vettel. ↳ stany/nl/n i think that means she is a child of a teen mum. ↳ womeninf1 yeah, that kinda checks out tho...

alexirexi THANK U GERI FOR HAVING US OVER AS WELL!! ↳ surves Thank you so much for having us, it was a BLAST. Sorry for climbing on top of the fridge... ↳ gerihalliwellhorner It was a pleasure to have the both of you over as well!

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the australian grand prix weekend starts and we are off to an okay start

note: trying a new format for the instagram post comments, cause the indenting was not working el em ay oh

taglist (cause i'm kinda stupid and forgot to include it in the original comment tagging spree): @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy;

[violetasteracademic]

On the different versions of Elain Archeron

*Deep breath*

Alright. This is a long one. So I went through the transcript of the infamous shipwar podcast on Spotify. I am not going to speak much on it, because it was honestly more disappointing than I could have ever imagined. Some of the worst takes being that Elain could still wind up with Grayson because he isn't dead and is still single. She could wind up with anyone alive and single, because SJM confirmed we have met her endgame love interest and that's it. She clearly doesn't have chemistry with Azriel OR L/ucien. Whoever she gets with next has to be a rebound so we shouldn't even be shipping her with anyone because she can't go into a new relationship without a fuck buddy first. I am going to stop here, because it was honestly over an hour of all of the worst takes I've ever heard about Elain. I do respect that Steph put an immediate stop to Ava trying to use Elain's pelvis as an indicator she and Azriel cannot be endgame, and refusing to engage in or platform that conversation.

It was a lot for me to take in at once. I honestly don't go into anti tags. I see a variety of takes because it simply happens, whether you want or intend for that or not, usually on Insta or tiktok where filters are less effective. I stay in my little bubble and frankly immediately block and do not engage with anyone who shows up in my comments to fight. I am extremely careful with my posts and tagging, and often ask my rebloggers to only use Elriel tags because I am not here to argue with other people online or convince anyone of anything. This is for fun, and more than that, my goal is to provide comfort. If I'm wrong about a fictional ship, I'm wrong. But if I made someone feel better and more hopeful during the process, then I'll never look back on this and be embarrassed about participating here. These are books. This is a fandom. I'm here for the joy. And yes, sometimes I get sassy. And when that side of me emerges, my hope is it can provide some laughter.

All that being said, while I can't say I am glad I read the transcript and overall wish that I hadn't, there is one piece I feel comfortable speaking on that I think distills what I believe to be the largest issue making the different takes people have on Elain's future so volatile, which is that the fandom has chosen to regard Elain as someone who either will be stagnant or move backwards to who she was prior to becoming Fae. Thus, having a completely backwards trajectory from her sisters. If this happens, I actually very much agree that Elain is boring. I just don't think that is going to happen, and I don't know why so many fans are accepting of the only confirmed FMC remaining in such a stagnant place. But let's get into it:

Essentially what we are seeing here is this:

E/lucien makes sense because of who Elain was before becoming Fae. I think what this fandom lacks is the ability to see growth or an arc in a traditionally feminine character.

We (Elriel's) don't expect Elain to become a warrior, but we also don't expect her to spend the rest of her days as a ball host and party planner/gossip queen living out her life as L/ucien's socialite wife without putting herself in danger. So E/lucien shippers are shipping a years old version of Elain because that is the version of her that makes sense with L/ucien. And there is this idea that Elain is the only one of the sisters that doesn't fit in or is unhappy, or wants to go back to being human or living in the human lands again. I've tackled that as well here.

I believe there are enough details in the books to prove that is absolutely not where we are headed (not to mention Elain has already killed a king, beat hellbeasts with her bare feet, and demand she be utilized to serve her court and find the Trove despite the danger, but I digress), but more than that, I think if people are honest about Elain being widely regarded as the most boring character, it makes very little sense to ship a storyline of stasis. People are very focused on who she used to be, versus who she is becoming, because they can't imagine a traditionally feminine character with no warrior training arc being good for anything but gossiping and hosting parties.

I don't want to beat a dead horse and re-write about the same points over and over, so if you are interested- I have broken down the grooming done to each Archeron sister and how it was deeply entrenched and part of all of them and their stories. Elain is likely to both use and overcome hers just as Feyre and Nesta both used and overcame theirs here.

Most importantly, Sarah has already told us that Elain's personality has been a mask, and that she has behaved in the way she thought wouldn't disappoint her family. But with time and safety, a new side of her will emerge.

Sarah showed us that she is aware that fans call Elain boring, and literally reminds everyone that she is not afraid to get her hands dirty and torn up by thorns.

When I see these conversations unfolding in the ACOSF bonus chapter, I see a different side of her emerging. I see we haven't yet seen all she has to offer.

I see growth. Emergence. Depth. Complexity. I see clarity that Elain's pretty, people pleasing behavior is not her. It is who she pretends to be to keep those around her happy.

I see her becoming more confrontational. I see her standing up for what she wants. I do not see her being set up to find her way back to the human lands so she can simply become who she was as a child once again.

It has already been established that a relationship with Azriel is pure risk. It could be destructive. It could threaten fragile peace and allies. Therefore, a relationship has been forbidden.

It has been established that exploring a relationship with L/ucien would resolve all of these pesky conflicts. It would best serve her family and her court and maintain peace. She would be exactly what she was groomed by her mother to be, a beautiful woman whose match and marriage will best serve her family. And her mother stated that it will be THEIR maneuvering's, not Elain's, that would win them an advantageous match:

Elain is not best suited to L/ucien. Her mask is. To believe that they are a good fit is to believe that Elain will not grow beyond being, as Ava says, the belle of the ball. A socialite. A beautiful woman who will marry whoever best serves her family's needs. To imagine Elain and L/ucien is to believe Elain will grow backwards, not forwards. Elain was eleven years old when much of this was established about her.

Elain was never intended to have a choice in her love life, but for her family to work behind her back to provide the most advantageous match. That story is playing out with L/ucien as Rhys has demanded that Azriel not interfere with the mating bond because of the threat it poses to the security of the Night Court's allies.

At the end of the day, there are two versions of Elain. The version of her that was groomed and pleasant and sweet, the version of her that will present herself exactly how her family wants to see her to keep them happy and pleased with her, OR the version of her that is growing stronger and sharpening her teeth. The version of her that may be able to utilize her smiles that can bring kings to their knees and convince anyone to do anything, just as Nesta used her dancing and political machinations, just as Feyre used her tracking and abilities, but will not let it define her.

What the sisters can do because of how they were raised does not inform who they love.

How they've been taught to be is not how they will remain.

And because I'm an Elain girlie first and foremost, I'd rather she start a goddamn war and burn the whole system to the ground to be with the man she loves and the man she CHOOSES for herself. I'd rather she say to hell with the consequences, and take control of her own life and her own narrative. I'd rather see her grooming be a tool in her tool belt that she now takes control of rather than a life sentence.

I want Elain Archeron to grow. I want her to define herself.

I want her to shed her mask and set the world on fire with her strength and her light.

The reason people are seeing two Elain's is because there are two Elain's. The author herself has made that quite clear.

I can't wait to see her tell us once and for all who she is going to be.

[steddieas-shegoes]

firsts and seconds

for @corrodedcoffinfest day one prompt 'firsts'

rated t | 1000 words | cw: alcohol mention | tags: i would die for gareth emerson, i don't think you understand, bisexual king gareth emerson

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Gareth is the baby of the group, always has been, always will be. He's a year younger than Jeff and Frankie, and four years younger than Eddie. He was behind in everything, but it just was how it was.

He was a drummer and they needed one. The fact that he was the best drummer in a 100 mile radius helped.

But because of them hitting the ground running the moment he graduated, he didn't really get to have much of a regular young adult life.

He didn't really have much of a rockstar one either.

He had three extremely overprotective big brothers constantly by his side making sure he didn't do anything dumb, but they also made sure he didn't do anything at all.

"Promised your mom we would watch out for you," Jeff said.

"Last thing we need is you getting involved with some girl and ruining the band," Frankie said.

"Don't rush it, man," Eddie said.

But Gareth was now 20 years old and had never even kissed a girl. Or a boy, he didn't know what he was into. How could he? None of them would leave him alone long enough in the bars he was technically too young to get into to try.

Tonight. He would find a way to shake them tonight. He'd find a girl in the crowd, he'd buy her a drink, and he'd hope that she'd at least be willing to check this one thing off his list.

If he was gonna be a rockstar, he should get to kiss someone.

They were playing a smaller venue tonight, opening for a band that was bigger than them in theory, but not in talent. Story of their lives.

Hopefully, everyone would be distracted by the main act to not pay attention if he slipped off.

He was dripping sweat, cursing the fact that these small venues never had decent ventilation or fans for them to cool off, and the stage lights were always too close, building up a furnace on the stage.

His drums were packed, his shirt rolled up to help him cool off the best he could while he sipped on water. He hadn't even gotten a beer tonight, a nervous flutter in his stomach that he didn't want to make worse with feeling bloated from the combination of hops and heat.

"Gare!" Jeff's voice interrupted his walk towards the bar.

Dammit.

"You wanna head out? We're all so fuckin' hot."

"Yeah, yeah, let me just grab another water. Feeling kinda lightheaded."

That was definitely not the right thing to say. Jeff's mouth turned down in a concerned frown.

"Well, let's get you outside then. You need some fresh air. Eddie!" Eddie yelled back in acknowledgement. "Get Gareth a water!"

"I'm okay, I can get it." He argued, desperate to let his plan work. "You guys head out, be there in a few."

"Like hell am I leaving you alone when you're not feeling good," Jeff wrapped his arm around his shoulders and started pulling him towards the door. "You gotta speak up sooner."

"Jeff. Please."

Something in his voice must have alerted Jeff to the seriousness of his plan because he quickly pulled his arm away.

"What's going on?"

"I just need to be alone for a bit. Please?" Gareth wasn't afraid to pull out the pout. The pout worked on his mom every time. It had to work now, too. "Just for a little bit?"

Jeff searched his face, probably trying to see if there was something he should be worried about.

"I'll distract them for 15 minutes. But that's all I can guarantee," he finally agreed. "Whatever it is you're planning, please be safe. Please."

"What the hell could I possibly get up to in 15 minutes?"

Jeff sighed. "Don't ever ask that question to Eddie or Frankie."

He walked away and Gareth watched as he convinced them both to walk outside, probably to get some fresh air. He probably didn't have to be that convincing.

God, it was so hot.

The bar area of the venue was crowded, a lot of people taking the break between sets to throw back a shot or chug a beer. He genuinely did just need a water, so he forced his way through the people and got the attention of the bartender.

"Not a fan of beer?" A woman in a black dress and leather jacket asked him. She was smiling, sipping on something that could be water, might be a vodka tonic. The lighting wasn't good enough to see bubbles.

"Not a fan of being hot," Gareth smiled.

"Awful confident of you."

Oh. Oh shit. Was she flirting with him?

"Trying something new tonight, I guess."

"Oh? Anything in particular?"

Gareth liked her smile, her eyes. She seemed a few years older than him, closer to Eddie's age.

"Well…I've never actually kissed anyone before," Gareth figured honesty was the best policy.

"Never?" She didn't believe him, but that was okay. She'd figure it out if she let him make a move.

"Never."

"Let's give it a go then."

So he did.

She leaned in, closed her eyes, and he was having his first kiss. He didn't know her name, he was surrounded by hundreds of people, and he was certain that stars were exploding behind his eyes.

She pulled away after a few seconds, smiling, winking, and walked away.

"Damn, she didn't even give you a name?" A guy to Gareth's left asked, watching as she walked away.

Gareth shook his head. "Didn't need it."

The guy touched his arm and smiled at him, much like the woman had before.

"I'm Evan. You're the drummer, right?"

"Sure am."

"You wanna have a kiss with someone you know the name of?" Evan asked.

Gareth wasn't about to pass up this opportunity, so he nodded.

When Evan kissed him, he saw fireworks.

Stars and fireworks.

"Wanna come outside?" Evan asked.

Gareth shook his head.

Firsts and seconds were enough for now.

[ghstzzn]

saints. ━━ jung wooyoung

pairing(s): jung wooyoung x fem!reader (a dash of san x reader.)

genre: SMUT! MDNI! angst (if you squint)

synopsis: addicted to the sweet taste of hatred, you let wooyoung use you over and over again— even after fucking his best friend. 1.6k words.

warnings/general tags: smut (mdni.), angst like if u squint fr, unprotected sex, mean dom!wooyoung, cum eating (?) rough sex, kind of degradation?, name calling (he calls her a whore twice but one is not in a sexy way), ass smacking, overstim, none really for san except f!rec oral, honestly his scene wasn’t all that intense, it was for plot, they are toxic, not a lot of plot just needed dom wooyoung, he sends pics of u both to san ;) (lmk if that needs an actual tag???)

note: needed to put out a cute little nasty smut to distract everyone from my evil plans!! i wanted to do a threesome (we know how much i fw those) but i got way too into the solo wooyoung smut so 😭 sorry!!!!! // also i tried a new thing in my writing with the sudden scene changes idk if i fw it tho!!

You weren’t going to lie to anyone– you knew exactly how you got here.

With San, the best friend of your ex-boyfriend (some would even call them platonic soulmates), in between your legs, lapping up your juices and praising you as if you were a goddess.

Yet, you weren’t anything close to a god. Not a saint, an angel– you were nothing. Wooyoung’s top priority was making sure you got that through your pretty little head during every screaming match that ended with you fucking the souls out of each other. You would feel guilty for San, but you can’t.

Because he knows.

Sans bruising grip on your thighs tells you everything you need to know. He pushes your legs further apart as he sits up, your release smeared across his lips. You stare at him, breathing heavily as you recover from your orgasm.

“Ride me?”

And with that, you’re whimpering as you force your body upright to ride him. San grips your hips, assisting just enough to help your hips roll against him, his cock hitting that sweet spot so deliciously.

If there were a badge specifically for fucking your best friends ex girlfriend; San would wear it with honor.

Your phone dings repeatedly, enough to snap you out of your fucked out state. You lift your arm to reach for your phone but San is quick to grab your wrist, and within a second you’re placed on your back again as he sets a pace that has you seeing stars.

And it always ends the same.

San is wiping your cum stained thighs, massaging your hips as he does so. You both giggle and tease each other as you dress yourselves.

“See you soon?”

“Get home quickly! It’s cold.”

“Drive safe, baby.”

“Text me when you get home!”

Such domestic, comforting statements that could have anyone’s heart fluttering. Phrases that would surely allude to you being in a relationship with the man who leaves your dorm multiple times a week during the night.

You smile to yourself as you watch your ex-boyfriend's best friend walk towards the elevator, closing your door softly once he enters.

Sitting criss cross on your bed, you grab your phone, checking through your notifications. You pause when Wooyoung's contact pops up; multiple missed calls and over ten messages sent to you.

do not answer him, girl:

are you up? y/n answer the phone please. i just wanna see you. baby? are u studying? can i help? baby come on u read all my messages

you:

don't call me baby, wooyoung

wooyoung: where are u? let me pick u up?

You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You know you shouldn’t. It never ends well for either of you, and your heart physically hurts when you see him or hear about him.

So you do exactly what you shouldn’t do.

━━━━━━━━━

Your eyes flutter open and you breathe in softly as you bury yourself deeper into Wooyoung's hold. You lift your head slightly to study your ex-boyfriend’s face.

It’s moments like this that delude you into thinking everything could change. That you and Wooyoung could work again— to be happy again. To be the couple you once were.

You held onto every ounce of hope you could, because you really did still love him. But at the same time, you held so much hatred for the man holding you in his arms as if he were yours. You didn’t sleep with him last night, he really did want to see you. And this only made it worse for you.

“You’re still here?” A groggy voice speaks up.

You scoff. “Of course I’m still here, Wooyoung.”

He yawns and removes his arms from you with haste, quickly sitting up and running his hands through his hair.

“Why?” You don’t reply to him. Why were you still there? Lingering around you ex-boyfriend pathetically— as if you hadn’t just fucked his best friend. What is wrong with you?

Wooyoung stands from the bed, rolling his shoulders back as he stretches and pops his neck, “You know, when I picked you up last night?”

“What about it?”

“Your room reeked of sex.” And with that he walks out of his room, mumbling something about you.

You roll your eyes and practically jump out of his bed, following him to the kitchen.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that?”

He lets out a dry chuckle, “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, Wooyoung.” You stomp in front of him. “Say it.”

“I just think it’s pathetic how you let another man fuck you yet ran straight to me after a few texts.” Wooyoung states, leaning against the counter.

A few texts?

You inhale deeply, “First of all, it’s none of your business who I’m fucking or not. Second, you practically begged me to come over— don’t act like a goddamn saint here”

“You look like a whore.”

“Good one.”

“Get out of my house, Y/N.”

Wooyoung pushes past you, ignoring your presence as he picks up any messes from the nights before.

“You can’t just-“ You run your hands over your face, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Wooyoung.”

He doesn’t respond, giving you a sign to keep going.

“What are we doing here? We are broken up for fucks sake. You sit here and start fights with me but a few days later you’re begging me to come over, Wooyoung, begging.”

He turns around, rolling his eyes directly at you. Your chest only boils with more anger at his childish antics.

“Is this a fucking joke to you? Do you think this is a game?”

“Yes! It’s hilarious, Y/N.” Wooyoung shouts in response, “it’s fucking hilarious that no matter what you’re doing in your life, you will always come back to me.”

“And I'm trying to tell you that you aren’t any better.”

Wooyoung chuckles, “Well aren’t we just perfect for each other then?”

You lean against the back of the couch as you watch him march around his house.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just work.. like try again.”

━━━━━━━━

“F-fuck, Wooyoung!”

You grip the back of his neck as he harshly thrusts into you. Your legs wrapped tightly around him as he fucked you into his mattress.

“Does he fuck you like this? Huh?” Wooyoung sits up, removing your hands from his neck and gripping your face with his own hand. “Answer me.”

“N-no, no, please!” You throw your head back at a particular thrust, clinging onto his forearms.

He groans as you clench around him, readjusting your legs and throwing them over his shoulders.

“So pathetic— like I said.”

He pulls out, but before you could whine and whimper, he flips you over onto your hand and knees, smacking your ass before thrusting back into you.

Wooyoung groans and lets out breathy moans as he returns his brutal pace, muttering profanities and slight praises at you.

“Fuckk, taking me so good. Made for me to fuck you, right?” He smacks your ass again. “Should I record this? You look so- fuck.. You look so pretty. Gotta show him.”

You drop your face into the mattress, Wooyoungs words going in one ear out the other, too fucked out to pay attention.

“Whaddya think? Wanna let San see how good you’re taking my cock?”

Your eyes widen as you choke back a moan. Wooyoung chuckles from behind you, delivering another thrust that has you clenching and releasing around him.

“That make you cum?” He slows his thrusts down, but doesn’t stop once. “C’mon tell me— is he good? He fuck you like this, baby?”

Wooyoung starts to speed up again, drawing a whimper from your throat.

“Ah, pl- please, too much!”

“No, no, baby. Tell me everything.” He whines in your ear, mockingly. “Wanna hear how good my best friend fucks you.”

“N-not like you..” You whine.

Wooyoung lets out a low laugh, taking his fingers and wiping at the arousal and cum leaking down your thighs. He pulls you by your hair and taps his fingers at your mouth.

“He make you cum like this?” You submit once again and take his fingers in your mouth, sucking and lapping at your mixed juices on his fingers. He drops your hair and you catch yourself on the pillows.

“I'm sorry! I- "I'm sorry, ah, please!” You plead and beg with him as he thrusts into you at a brutal pace, tears lining your eyes.

“Awwe, you’re sorry? Wanna tell Sannie that you’re sorry too?” You almost miss the camera shutter click coming from his phone. “Should I send these to him? You look so pretty, my little whore.”

He tosses his phone to the side and grips your hips, tugging you back against him with every thrust. Wooyoung continued his pace as he chased his own high. You’re a trembling, crying mess as he finally cums inside of you, pulling out as he catches his breath.

Wooyoung rolls over to the side of you, running his hand through his sweaty hair and grabbing his phone with his other. He quickly taps away and throws it to the side again.

You slowly sit up, reaching over the bed to grab a shirt before Wooyoung stops you and tells you to wait. He comes back quickly and cleans you up just enough for you to rest without feeling like a puddle of body fluids, he leaves the room just as his phone lights up.

Suddenly you remember his remarks that he made as he pounded into you.

He knows about San.

You quickly grab your phone, seeing Sans's name pop up in Wooyoung notifications. You click the message without even thinking twice, gasping softly as you see a few photos of Wooyoung taking you from behind, covered in sweat and arousal.

You would get frustrated or embarrassed with the entire situation— considering your ex found out you were sleeping with his best friend. Especially right before seeing him. But San’s response only sent shivers down your body as your face started to heat up and your thighs clenched together.

taglist: @yourlocaljonghoe @304files (i know i dont have anything stating, but feel free to comment or send an ask for any taglists!)

(leaving his message up to ur sexy imaginations bc im gen thinking abt a woosan x reader next)

[sixteenth-day-event]

Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Post-Canon Month!

This is a monthly event celebrating the Dream SMP's iconic 16th day of the month, this time under the theme of post-canon! (In other words, the season 2 we never got to see!)

Sign-up: HERE!

Signing up will allow you to get your prompts! Each prompt will contain a DSMP character for you to base your work around, as well as a vague post-canon (season 2) prompt to give you a little more direction.

Example prompt: Ranboo finds an interesting new object

How to participate:

Fill out the linked sign-up form. The information you provide here will help determine the prompts you'll get for creating your own work. Prompts all come from the event organizer, NOT from other participants.

Approximately a week before July 16th, you'll get two asks from this blog in your inbox, each ask containing a prompt like the example above. Choose one of the prompt asks.

Use your choice of prompt to create a piece of art, writing, or something else—whatever you like!

On July 16th, post your work! This could be as a direct response to the ask with your chosen prompt, or it could be a separate post. Either way, remember to @ this blog and use the tag #sixteenthdayevent so I can reblog anything you create!

Important information:

Please keep in mind that this is an event focused on the Dream SMP story and characters, although AUs are also welcomed. Since this month's event focuses on post-canon—that's the time period after the final lore streams take place—you'll have to rely especially heavily on hints and headcanons!

This is NOT a gift exchange. This means that there is no expectation of quality, nor is there a minimum or maximum amount you can create. You can even drop out at any time! Filling out the sign-up form only means that you will receive a prompt; it does not mean that you have to participate. This event is supposed to be as stress-free as possible.

The reason there are two prompts is just to give you a choice in case you don't like one of them; you don't have to complete them both! (But you can if you want to.) If you strongly dislike both of your prompts, let me know so I can send more.

Prompts this month will only mention one character by name, but feel free to include as many other characters as you like.

Good luck!

[jananakookie]

Rumor Has It | pjm - Chapter 7

💬 Pairing: Jimin x OC (Reader)

💬 Genre/Tags: enemies(?) to lovers, fake-dating au; angst, fluff, smut

💬 Chapter warnings: swearing, almost? physical fight, angst, contains sexual themes! fingering, nipple play, protected sex

💬 Word count: 11.3k

💬 Recap:

Rumor has it, Park Jimin is single again after his latest girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend.

Rumor has it, he's willing to get back at them.

Rumor has it, you're the perfect means to an end.

Previous Chapter - Index - Next Chapter

short notice: Please let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore. Since I've been away for over a year, I could really understand that. Don't wanna bother anyone!

If you're still here pls leave feedback and a reblog? x

Chapter 7: There's something in the water.

All eyes are on you as you stroll down the hallway with two cups of coffee in one hand and a paper bag with breakfast in the other, gradually trying to find your destined room while also desperately trying to block out curious gazes. 

Getting stared at is nothing new for you, but this time it feels a little more personal since you don’t think you have ever been in this part of the building before. You never really had a reason to visit the dance department until now.

Today marks another new experience because you suddenly woke up this morning with the urge to surprise Jimin and be the one to make the first step toward him instead of letting him do all the work. 

Your little heart-to-heart the other day opened your eyes and let you see him in a different light. It made you think that maybe - just maybe, he is not the enemy. Perhaps he is just some guy, trying to get along and make things easier for the both of you and maybe it is your turn to do something nice for him for a change. 

The first thing that came to your mind was surprising him with his favorite coffee (and your presence) right after practice, which is why you went to the dance department for the first time today. 

You spot Jimin in a room at the end of the hallway, after nervously walking around and praying to find him as soon as possible. It looks like he’s still going over some moves whereas most other people are already departing. But as you get closer you see that there's someone else with him. 

You don't know her name but think you've seen her around before. Was it with Nayeon? Or one of Jimin's guy friends? Wherever you saw her before, you're sure she's in Jimin's friend group whatsoever. 

From your point of view, it looks like he's showing her how to get some moves done, and you don't want to interrupt their practice session so you decide to wait at the door until they're done even if that means that you are exposed to the torture of other people's vile looks for even longer.

Today is the first time you see Jimin dance and even if your opinion is perhaps influenced by your untrained eye and therefore doesn't say much, you must admit that he's insanely talented. The way he moves makes it look so easy even though you could never do it like that.

The girl is pretty good Aparrentlytoo, but you can't take your eyes off Jimin. He has something about him that attracts people's attention. You were already aware of that before, but he seems to be having it in everything he does.

A few steps later, just as it looks like she's about to jump into his arms, she suddenly stumbles and... falls into his arms anyway, albeit not very gracefully.

Jimin's quick reflexes have probably just spared her face a collision with the ground and you are glad nothing else has happened. But after she holds on to him for just a tad bit too long and presses her face into his chest to hide her sheepish giggles, you can't help but roll your eyes in annoyance.

“Bad timing?” you almost shock yourself with how unexpectedly loud your voice echoes through the room as you stomp right in and judging by how quickly Jimin turns around to face you, with wide eyes, you’re not the only one. 

You send him a shy grin, suddenly feeling stupid for coming here unannounced and interrupting their practice when you’ve never done that before. What the heck were you thinking?

Jimin wastes no time coming over to you, wearing a big smile on his lips, but his expression still looks confused. "Am I dreaming, or did you leave your place to come visit me here," his gaze quickly wavering to your hands, "and bring me coffee?" he asks, raising a brow.

“What makes you think I’m here for you?” You sass, a little irritated, even though you can’t blame him. This is a pretty unusual situation after all. 

“Right, I’m sorry. I just assumed since I’m the one you asked if it’s bad timing, which it isn’t, by the way,” Jimin laughs.

You roll your eyes, gradually taking one of the coffee cups out of the cup carrier and holding it out for him to take, which he immediately does, smiling brightly as if you gave him a cup of gold instead. 

“Thank you, seriously. I overslept today so I didn’t get the chance to have one before class,” he tells you, quickly taking a sip from his cup and moaning in delight. “I could kiss you right now, but I'm too scared of the reason you're here so please do it quickly. Like... ripping off a Band-Aid. What happened?”

“You’re acting like I didn’t make cupcakes for you and went out of my way to even draw your face on one of them before!” You scoff, feeling a little offended. Unbelievable.

“When you tried to poison me?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you shrug. “Nothing happened. I just wanted coffee and thought you would too. And you tend to skip breakfast when you have practice but if you don’t want it, I can-”

You’re interrupted by his hand lightly grabbing your wrist as he takes the paper bag out of your hand with a teasing smile. “Thank you, ___.”

“Don’t mention it,” you shrug, feeling shy all of a sudden, so you avoid his gaze. 

A few coughs interrupt your moment and you have to admit that you had already completely forgotten about the other person in the room with you. And Jimin had too, it seems.

You gasp as you take in the girl behind Jimin. “I'm sorry, I didn't want to disturb you guys. You can continue if you want. I'll be on my way.“ 

You don't know why you're so insecure today but you're ashamed of yourself. Of course, you wanted to interrupt them. You can't lie to yourself, even if you pray to God they won't see through you.

“Don't go. Leah and I are done here.” Jimin quickly catches your hand to keep you from leaving while his face is still turned to the girl - Leah. “I think you got it now. You just have to be careful not to give it too much momentum, then it will work just fine in the future.”

She looks like she wants to object but Jimin unknowingly doesn't even give her the chance to do so as he packs his things and you and then bids her farewell as he pulls you out of the studio.

Jimin is still holding your hand as he leads you outside. He quickly finds you both a quiet, sunny spot on the large meadow and gets comfortable while pulling you down with him. Since he still hasn't said anything yet, you assume that he doesn't see your interruption as bothersome at all which reassures you a little.

“Hey,“ Jimin whines as he pokes around in his fruit salad. “Where are all the grapes?”

You bite your lip sheepishly, shrugging as you take your phone out of your pocket. “Aw. Did they seriously forget the grapes? What a bummer,” you mumble, while you skillfully ignore his sharp gaze.

Knowing fully well why the grapes are actually missing, Jimin starts to discuss your plans for the rest of the day. 

For the opening of some new club in town, the owners will hold a big celebration tonight. Jimin has suggested that the "gang" (that's what he's been calling it lately whenever you do something together with Nayeon and Hyunjin) meet at your favorite restaurant to eat and then check it out to see if it's worth it.

You’re always on board when it’s about food and as far as you know, the others have already agreed to come and it fills you with excitement. For the first time in so long, it feels like you’re living your life again, going out with friends, eating, drinking, and having fun. That’s how it’s supposed to be. 

Well, it might not be for everyone, and that’s fine too. You enjoy the occasional lazy days at home, but you like to do things once in a while as well. And since you're fake-dating Jimin, you've been doing so much that you can't even think about your dramatic life anymore. 

You didn't even notice that a new neighbor had moved into the apartment next door. You must have looked pretty silly when he introduced himself this morning and mentioned that he'd been there all week, but this was the first time he'd met you.

“Maybe we should ask Jungkook if he wants to join,” you carefully suggest, quietly observing Jimin’s face as you sit next to him with your fingers still lazily intertwined with his. 

You see him furrow his brows almost immediately after those words leave your lips, and he turns his head to look at you. 

“I mean… because I’m sure he would want to come too but doesn’t have anyone to go with,“ you shrug.

“Lots of people from school will be there. He’ll find someone to hang out with like he always does,” Jimin voices, not very interested in your subtle suggestion. 

“What is your problem with him anyway? Why don’t you like him?” You sigh. Neither Jungkook nor anyone else has ever really answered this question for you and you don't expect a clear answer from Jimin either but are still interested in any possible reason.

“No specific explanation, I just don’t,” Jimin answers, without giving it much thought. “Pretty sure he feels the same way. We don’t match, that’s all.”

You pout, not agreeing with him in the slightest, but knowing pretty well there’s no point in arguing. 

“Maybe you should give people a chance once in a while. Who knows, you might find something that’s worth it.”

“Thanks Gandhi. You’re one to talk,” he snorts, sending a wink your way, when he sees the expression on your face. 

“I gave you a chance. That’s more than enough for the next ten years, I’d say,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. 

Jimin laughs, as he swings his arm around you. “And have you found something of worth yet?” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows. 

You gulp as you try to leave his grip, but he only holds you closer, already sensing you trying to get away. “I don’t need to answer that. Your head is big enough,” you chuckle, trying to wiggle your way out again. 

And in a moment of slight distraction, he loosens his grip, resulting in you being able to free yourself as he gasps loudly. “Wait, that means you have!”

“Never said that,” you sing song, skipping through the busy field.

Jimin takes a moment to look after you and smiles before he scoffs out a laugh and runs after you. 

Jimin was right — almost everyone and their mom came to the opening party and for the first time you are glad about Jimin's connections who have reserved a good table for your group of friends. 

While your friends enjoy their time and talk about this and that, you let your gaze wander around, admiring the beautiful, expensive-looking ambiance. It's classic but cool, chic but not snobbish. 

Whatever Nayeon has spent the past few minutes telling you appears to be funny, because suddenly everyone is laughing. Not wanting to let on that you're not listening at all, you also fake a soft laugh, but it's completely lost in the noisy surroundings.

It would probably be more polite to listen and take part in the conversation. Still, you find it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything when Jimin's hand is far too high up your skirt to be considered appropriate. 

You're not sure exactly what it is, but something seems to be in the water today because his over-touchiness is truly on a different level. 

As always, you sit next to each other and the fact that he has his hand on your thigh is nothing new, Jimin is by no means afraid of contact. It has also happened before that he feels a little too comfortable when it comes to body contact. But today, every warning glance in his direction seems to have no effect, and you can't even count how many times you've grabbed his hand and moved it closer to your knee only for him to move it back up right after.

You don't even know if he's doing it consciously since he hasn't even given you a dirty smirk yet like he always does when he's messing with you. 

And what irritates you the most is how your own body betrays you. As much as you want to claim it, the goosebumps covering your body are not from disgust.

As a way to distract yourself from Jimin, you try to imagine which group of people this place is most likely trying to appeal to as your gaze falls on two, wildly waving arms, attached to a familiar-looking goofball.

A wide grin stretches over your lips as you wave back, which he probably mistakenly sees as an invitation to join you at your table. 

Sensing the drama, you quickly wrap yourself around Jimin’s arm and earn his attention as he gives you a questioning look. “Please be nice,” you plead, making him raise a brow in question before he sees him too.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you hear Jimin mumble to himself.

“Hey, guys! What's up?” Jungkook greets you, not wasting a second before he plops down on the empty seat next to Nayeon’s right side, who looks nothing but confused as to why Jeon Jungkook, whom she never even exchanged a word with has spontaneously joined her group.

“You have to stop inviting yourself to events where you aren’t welcome, man,” Jimin quips, clearly referring to your birthday party and earning a light slap to his thigh from you. 

“Oh, this is your club?” Jungkook counters, not expecting an answer from Jimin. “And who says I wasn’t invited?” Jungkook grins, wiggling his brows as he tries to annoy Jimin even further - and is successful. 

Even without looking at him, you can feel his eyes burning through your skull. “Wasn’t me,” you shrug, quietly sipping your coke. 

And it wasn’t. Even though you had asked about inviting him earlier, you wouldn’t just invite someone to a friendly gathering without letting the other people involved know about it. You wouldn’t like it either if one of the others did it. 

“Nah, don’t worry, she wasn’t going behind your back,” Jungkook chuckles, coming to your rescue. “I just like to crash parties, you know that already. One of my hobbies.”

“How about you go crash it at another table then?” Jimin suggests, sounding overly friendly even though his words suggest everything but kindness. Jungkook doesn’t seem to care. 

But you do. And you’re just about to argue with Jimi about his rude behavior when Hyunjin speaks up first. “Why bother? We have enough space here, you can join if you want. Right, guys?” 

He appears sincere, and you're relieved that at least someone here was brought up with good manners when Nayeon also speaks up. 

“Sure! The more the merrier, I guess,” she smiles brightly, offering him her hand to shake, which he does. 

But Jimin is displeased and he makes anything but a secret of it. Jungkook can sense it too, and even if he likes to get on the older guy's nerves because it’s fun, he doesn’t want you to fight because of him. So he lies and says he has someone waiting for him at a different table before he bids everyone a quick goodbye and leaves again. 

“So the rumors are true,” Hyunjin states, as soon as Jungkook has left around the corner and is nowhere to be seen. You can already feel Jimin tensing up beside you and you feel your heart sink already. 

“You and Jeon actually know each other?” 

You try to hear a condemning tone in his voice but breathe a sigh of relief when you don’t. There’s no judgment. Instead, he sounds and looks surprised.

“They do know each other. Everything else is not true.” Jimin takes it upon himself to answer his friend, not missing the chance to send a daring look his way. 

Hyunjin innocently lifts his hands, trying to show that he didn’t mean to sound judgmental, even if you didn’t think he meant it in a bad way. 

“It’s fine, you can ask me anything,” you smile, trying to tell him that he did nothing wrong. “I’d rather you ask me stuff instead of believing something that isn’t true.”

“He seems nice,” Nayeon chimes in, offering you a kind smile. “He should join us sometime.”

You would agree, but knowing it would upset Jimin, you don’t further argue about it and instead replace the topic of Jungkook with another one. 

About an hour later you find yourself alone in the middle of the long hall that holds the restrooms after you went there with Nayeon. The problem is that you somehow lost her on your way out and now she is nowhere to be seen.

You anxiously look around, full of worry about what might have happened, when you finally see her just a few meters behind you. You breathe out a sigh of relief when you realize she's just chatting with a cute guy. 

She doesn't look annoyed or worried at all. Instead, she seems interested, if you interpret her body language and flirty looks correctly, so you decide to give her some privacy and not disturb her, but stay close by to jump in at any time if you need to.

“Bit creepy, don’t you think?” A voice appears right next to your ear, making you twitch in sudden fright. 

“Jesus Christ, Jeon. Stop appearing out of nowhere, you freak!”

“It was too tempting.“ He looks like a supermodel as he leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes squinted shut while he laughs at your frightened state.

“Anyway, why are you spying on Lee Nayeon? I thought we hated her 'cause she treated you like shit,” he asks, taking his eyes off you and frowns at Nayeon instead when he says that. 

“First of all, we?” you raise a brow, sending him a questioning look, “second of all, we made up ages ago. Please keep up with the reality drama show that is my life. Thank you.”

“How am I supposed to do that if you never tell me anything?” 

You sigh, copying his theatrical expression. “Why did you leave earlier?” You then change the topic while stealing glances at Nayeon every once in a while.

“Really?” Jungkook scoffs. “I think your boyfriend had a problem with me being there.”

You can’t help but grin wildly while crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you scared of him?”

You see him opening his mouth, but before he can answer, Jimin comes walking around the corner at a fast pace, surprising the two of you.

“I should have known you were behind this,” he grunts, looking at Jungkook. 

“What did I do now?” Jungkook sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Do you need to buzz around her like a fly all the time? It’s starting to get pathetic, Jeon.”

You can see that Jungkook is about to lose his temper, which implies that Jimin is slowly but surely getting on his nerves a little too much. However, this brief flash in Jungkook's eyes disappears as quickly as it appeared. Instead, a grin of satisfaction spreads across his lips.

“What are you so scared of? She isn’t even your real girlfriend.” 

If his expression is anything to go by, Jungkook appears to be just as shocked by his slip-up as Jimin is. Even though you never explicitly mentioned it, he knows he wasn't supposed to tell Jimin about being aware of your plan. But looks like he couldn't resist exposing Jimin without considering the consequences.

Before any more things are said that are better kept quiet, you step in and tell Jungkook that he should leave. You prepare yourself for the inevitable confrontation with Jimin that awaits you as soon as you turn to face him.

“You told Jeon about us?!” Jimin is attempting to lower his voice to avoid attracting unwanted listeners, but the bulging vein on his neck reveals his current rage.

“Calm down,” you hiss, putting your hands against his chest. “He has known from the start. He wasn’t going to believe me anyway, trust me,” you explain, watching the frown on his face turn deeper.

“Well, thank you very much, ___,” Jimin pouts, making you roll your eyes. 

“What? It’s no secret that we don’t like each other that much. If we would, it wouldn’t be so hard for us to make other people believe us.”

It looks like Jimin wants to argue about that but he decides against it, biting his lip instead as he glares at the cup in his hands.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. He won’t tell on us.”

“How do you know that?” He exclaims, wildly flaring his hands around. “You don’t know him, ___. Nobody fucking knows him! We never know where he goes when he suddenly disappears for days! He’s a fucking ninja!”

“I know enough to be sure he will keep our secret, trust me.”

“Yea no, thank you. I already made that mistake once,” he hisses, turning to leave again but you stop him, quickly grabbing his hand.

“Come on don't be mad at me,” you sigh, tugging on his hand to keep him from leaving you there. “I’m sorry, Jimin, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t be mad at me,” you plead, trying your best to prevent another fight between you both. You do feel bad because even if you don’t know the exact reason for all this, you know, that it means a lot to him and you don’t wanna fuck it up the way you seem to fuck everything else up. 

“It’s not like I told him so we can joke about you behind your back or make you look stupid. That’s not the case. He just figured it out immediately. But he hasn’t told anyone, and he isn’t going to, I swear.”

Jimin takes a moment before he gives you an answer, deeply studying your face as if he’s looking for any indication that you’re lying to him. “Is that also why he’s always around?”

“I mean he’s kinda strange. He spawns whenever to be honest,” you shrug, “but he does try to look out for me, I think. He says he doesn’t trust your intentions.” 

Something between a scoff and a laugh comes between Jimin’s lips when he hears you say that but contrary to your expectation, he doesn’t comment on it. 

Wherever Jimin goes, he sees them strutting around like royalty, holding their heads high, as if they haven't done anything wrong. It's as if they hadn't betrayed their childhood friends and partners, as if it was nothing. They act like they haven't taken advantage of you without your knowledge and made you look ridiculous in front of the entire school.

They walk around as if nothing happened and they have the nerve to even look at him and greet him. Even if it’s just from afar. And what’s even worse is that no one other than the people involved seems to remember or, well, care. It makes Jimin’s blood boil.

He doesn’t deserve that. Nayeon doesn’t deserve that. YOU do not deserve that.

How little shame can two people have?

Jimin can’t help but glare at them until they get swallowed by the crowd and are no longer in his sight after what feels like an eternity. It takes a lot for him to calm down again but when he sees you and Nayeon dancing together, having fun, and not caring about anything else, it makes him feel even worse about himself. 

He doesn’t want to be the only one stuck in the past. It’s not like he wants to think about them anyway but it’s hard for him to move on from all of this when it’s just so… unresolved. 

How come they get away with everything without having to pay for anything they did?

Completely lost in his head and frowning down into his drink, he doesn’t see you creeping up to him until he feels your arms wrap around him from behind. “Why aren’t you having fun?” 

The feeling of your breath right next to his ear sends shivers down his spine and he doesn’t even have to look into your glassy eyes to know you’re already enjoying yourself. 

You’re not drunk, but it’s safe to say you’ve had a couple of drinks by now because you’re never this touchy when it comes to him - not that he’s complaining now. 

“Who says I’m not?”

“Hm, I don’t know…” You squint your eyes, pursing your lips slightly as you study him. “The frown between your eyes, your clenched jaw, or the way you hold your glass so tightly your knuckles don't contain even a drop of blood anymore. Choose one.” 

“Nothing escapes your otherworldly instincts I’m afraid,” Jimin sighs dramatically as he takes your hand in his and reverses your position until you're pressed to his chest with his free arm around your back, making you suck in a breath from surprise. “But maybe I’m just jealous you spend all your time with Nayeon and not with me, babygirl.”

“Very funny,” you huff, desperately trying to hide how flustered his words make you. “But if you insist,” you smirk, letting your hands teasingly wander up his chest until you intertwine them around his shoulders. “I’ll spend it with you from now on.” You see him gulp and it makes your heart skip a beat from satisfaction — two can play this game, Park. 

“I know you think this is you getting the upper hand, but what if this is exactly what I want?” 

“Honestly, wouldn’t surprise me since you’re joking about getting in my pants ever since we met,” you feign a grin.

“How can you still think I’m joking?” He smirks, slowly leaning forward to slightly press a kiss behind your ear.

It takes a lot from you not to make a sound and you’re just about to push him off of you when something in the corner catches your eyes, making a fictional lightbulb appear above your head.

“Kiss me,” you say, placing one hand under his chin to make him look at you.

The sudden look of confusion on his face quickly turns into a pleased expression as he tightens his arms around your waist even more, leans in, and starts kissing you. 

When his lips first touch yours, they feel soft and so familiar that it's as if you've been transported back in time. The last time he kissed you, you were drunk out of your mind, but it seems like you haven't forgotten the way his lips feel on yours. 

The kiss gets heated very quickly when he lets his tongue slip in between your lips to find yours. One of his hands moves to the back of your neck to tilt your head towards him and grant him more access, eliciting a breathless moan from you.

He kisses you deep like that for what feels like a small eternity, letting his tongue fight with yours before he breaks it again. You didn't even realize how urgently you need to catch your breath until his lips only hover above yours.

“Happy?” Jimin asks hoarsely, smiling down at you.

You nod before you clear your throat in desperate need to get your pathetic self together and find your voice again.

“Yeah… I'd say that was a success,” you say, biting your lower lip as he raises an eyebrow.

“Yeji was walking in so I asked you to kiss me to make her jealous and it worked because she left when she saw us kissing and she looked pissed,” you ramble, a little surprised when you see his confident smile slowly fade. 

“Oh.”, he rasps. “Right, uhm...” 

Jimin slowly lets go of you and returns to his earlier spot beside you. You cannot help but notice a slight difference in his behavior compared to earlier. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, trying to make him look at you but he’s frowning down at the floor again, not even turning his head in your direction.

“That’s… That’s still the plan, right?” You don’t even know why you’re asking such dumb questions. It is still the plan of course and yet, you feel like you have to apologize for faking a supposed intimate moment with him.

“Yes,” he quips, looking at you for a millisecond before he clears his throat. “I need to use the restroom.” 

And with that, he’s gone and you feel like the biggest idiot. You should have told him about your real intentions when you asked him to kiss you because now it feels like you lead him on and you feel dumb about feeling like that when you shouldn’t because that’s the only reason you should be asking him to kiss you anyway isn’t it? And ugh, when did things get so complicated?

“Everything okay?” Nayeon asks as she comes walking to you. “Where did he go?”

“Oh yeah, he just needed to use the restroom,” you say, trying to muster up a smile which seems to be enough for her to let it go for now. You’re trying not to let it show how much his sudden behavior confuses you as well.

“I know I say it all the damn time but I love the two of you together so much,” Nayeon gushes, making you cringe internally. You send her the fakest smile ever, but she doesn’t even notice. 

“He seems so much more like himself when you’re around.” 

Nayeon is sweet but what is that even supposed to mean? 

"He's just so much more...” 

“Horny?” 

Nayeon gasps, giving your arm a light slap before you both fall into fits of laughter. 

“No, ___, not horny. He’s calmer. More relaxed. He lets go of this golden boy image in your presence. It’s nice to see because that was never really him anyway. It’s just that… he sometimes tries too hard, you know? And it’s a shame because he’s already pretty cool the way he is.”

You find yourself listening intently when she explains and you think you can agree with some of that. 

From what you’ve known so far, Jimin is someone with a big ego and plenty of confidence. However, it seems like he's a different person every time he interacts within his social circles. As if he always has to try not to lose his position. He's different when it's just your little group. And you wonder if it has anything to do with what he told you a while ago. That all these people, all his contacts are nothing but a facade. That he has close to no real friends.

That's probably the saddest thing he's ever told you about himself and yet you just accepted it and never really gave it a second thought.

"Well, anyway, whatever you're doing, you're doing great. Thank you," Nayeon gives you a warm smile before she shifts her attention to something else.

You think about her words for a while, but the longer you do, the worse you feel. You do not deserve her praise in the slightest.

You’re the worst fake girlfriend ever.

This night did not turn out the way Jimin wanted it to. It was supposed to be a nice night out with a couple of friends to have fun and make some good memories. He thought it was more than necessary for all of you but perhaps he shouldn't have set his expectations too high. Now he’s in a bad mood, sitting on a brick wall right outside the club and getting drunk on his own.

He knows he can't stay here for much longer, knowing that you will probably be looking for him soon. He has also promised not to leave you alone anymore, and yet here he is. The only thing that reassures him is that Nayeon is with you, which is why he's not in such a hurry right now. He just needed a moment to think. One moment to come clean with himself. And the best way to achieve that is probably not by getting drunk alone, but sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.

A lot is happening tonight, and right now, he doesn’t have a healthier way of coping with the mess inside his head, so this will have to do.

He isn’t even one hundred percent sure why he’s in such a sour mood all of a sudden but he blames it on all the little inconveniences he has encountered throughout the night. 

First Jeon appears out of nowhere — again, then he finds out that you told Jeon about your deal ages ago, he is once again being forced to see Taehyung and Yeji and if that wasn’t enough already, you only let him kiss you to make Yeji jealous. 

The last point shouldn't be a problem. He's aware of that. After all, you're just trying to help him and keep this stupid deal without crossing any boundaries which you are so persistent on. But he can’t help but feel so stupid for not realizing it at the time and thinking you wanted him to kiss you when you’ve made it more than clear multiple times that that’s not something you’re interested in. 

Yes, your dynamics have undoubtedly changed, and you are much more open to spontaneous flirting and subtle touches these days, but your fundamental attitude toward the whole thing is still the same, and Jimin accepts that. He would never want you to be uncomfortable or anything. 

A group of very loud people interrupts his sulking but he doesn’t find it in himself to even look up from his half-empty bottle of— what was it again? He doesn’t remember what he got but hey, it’s a sign that it’s working, right?

“Woah hey buddy, you alright?” It is the voice that suddenly arouses his interest after all. “Why are you out here by yourself Jimin? Where is your girl?” 

Jimin's head jerks up as soon as he hears the voice of the person addressing him directly. He wants to see if he is dreaming or if the person he believes is really standing in front of him but the movement is perhaps a little too fast for him in his current state because everything starts to turn at that very moment and he can’t see straight.

Fortunately, it doesn't take long before everything stops spinning and his eyes manage to focus again, landing on a stupidly smirking Taehyung.

And suddenly Jimin can feel his anger in his whole body as he knocks his opponent's hand off his shoulder. “Don’t touch me. What the fuck are you doing?”

He may be a little tipsy right now but he’s in his senses enough to bring as much space as possible between him and this lying, cheating bastard.

“I’m just trying to help,” Taehyung says, adding a small unnecessary scoff at the end which doesn’t rub Jimin the right way. 

“I don't need your help, you've done enough already,” he quips, glaring at Taehyung. "I can't believe you even dare to talk to me. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Taehyung looks annoyed and not even remotely interested in having this conversation when he rolls his eyes disrespectfully.

"Look, I understand what I did wasn't great, and you have every right to be mad. But don't you think you're being a bit dramatic? It's been months, Jimin, and you still refuse to talk to me. You won't even acknowledge me."

Jimin scoffs out a laugh, taken aback by what Taehyung just said.“Even if it had been years, I’d still not talk to you!” Jimin’s anger grows with every passing second, his feet bringing him closer to his ex-best friend without him even noticing. No doubt the alcohol is playing a part in the way he struggles with calming himself down right now but Taehyung’s sole appearance and the way he tries to make him look like the bad guy is pissing him off. "You've got some nerve coming up to me and acting as if nothing happened."

“You should learn to let things go man.”

Taehyung barely finishes his sentence before Jimin shoves him hard, making him stumble back a couple of steps. The stupid look on his face alone was worth it.

“Maybe you should learn to own up to your mistakes and keep other people’s names out of your mouth.”

Another hard push to Taehyung’s chest made him stumble back into one of his friends. Taehyung pushes back and italmost escalates until someone suddenly intervenes and pulls Jimin out of the conflict by standing between them.

Jimin glares at Taehyung, breathing heavily in anger as he is gently pushed further back to create some space.

“There’s no need to do this here right now, Jimin. Especially when you’re in this state,” a calm voice directed at him tries to appease him.

Even though his eyes only alternate between Taehyung and Yeji, Jimin knows that it's Jungkook, who is trying to mediate. But he doesn't have the head or the attention to think about why it's him of all people who stops him from doing something inevitably stupid right now.

He ignores Jungkook, completely captivated by how Taehyung steps closer again, despite Yeji grabbing his arm to try and keep him from it. 

“If you have something to say then fucking do it. Or tuck tail and let others sort it out for you like you always do.”

“He’s just trying to rile you up. Don’t stoop to his level.“ Jungkook gives Jimin another nudge, hoping he’ll listen and remove himself from the situation. “Come on, let’s find ___.” 

“Yeah, better listen to your girlfriend’s boyfriend.” Taehyung snickers, his posture toughening up when he hears approving laughter from his friends.

This time, Jimin is ready to wipe the smirk off of his face for good, but Jungkook beats him to it, his eyes full of bottled-up anger.

“You’re one to talk. Don’t you have one of your hookups waiting for you? The one from last week is somewhere around here. I saw her earlier.” Jungkook clips, clearly irritated as well before successfully turning Jimin away from him.

The last thing Jimin sees is a fuming Yeji going at a dumbfounded Taehyung before Jungkook leads him around a corner. 

“I just made that up,” Jungkook admits with his jaw still clenched. “Gave him some of his own medicine. Looks like his girlfriend doesn’t trust him that much,” he adds, a sheepish chuckle leaving his lips.

Although still quite agitated, Jimin can’t help but grin at that. “He deserved it.”

“He did.”

He is considering what to say next, feeling awkward in Jungkook's presence now that he stood up for him when he didn't have to. Normally, he would think that Jungkook would have been happy to watch this fight escalate, but instead, he mediated and even took his side. 

Jimin knows Jungkook didn't do it for him but for your sake. He's still pleasantly surprised by Jungkook's unexpected actions, especially since Jimin never has anything nice to say to the younger guy.

Fortunately for him, Nayeon suddenly pops up, followed by you, interrupting the uncomfortable atmosphere.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Nayeon is the first to reach him. You're holding back a little, but the look in your eyes reveals that you're also worried. “Some people were saying you and Taehyung got into a fight. We were looking for you.”

“Ah, Taehyung was just trying to start something. Don’t worry though, nothing happened,” Jungkook explains before Jimin gets to say anything. 

While Nayeon refuses to accept this answer and asks Jimin for further details, Jungkook leans down towards you. “Take him home. I think it’s better we bring as much space between them as we can and something tells me Taehyung isn’t gonna leave soon.”

You know there's more to it than just Taehyung trying to start something, but you decide not to pester the boys anymore. You don't feel like partying anymore anyway, so you give him a silent nod and walk towards Jimin, who gives you a surprised look when you suddenly take his hand. “Let’s go home, yeah? I don’t feel like staying here any longer.”

Remembering how you two parted earlier, you're not sure how he'll react, which makes you a little uneasy. Luckily for you, a slight smile creeps onto Jimin's lips and you feel him squeeze your hand lightly as he nods in agreement.

The rest of the group agrees to leave as well. Eventually, you all find yourselves in a cab about twenty minutes later.

The last thirty-ish minutes have sobered him up, but something in you doesn't feel comfortable leaving Jimin alone, so you quickly decide for him that you only have one stop, which doesn't appear to bother him, although he seems quite surprised. 

You can't blame him. Not so long ago, you wouldn't have expected that you would voluntarily spend more time with him than necessary. Yet, here you are, inviting him to stay the night at yours.

He still hasn't said much to you - he hasn't said much in general since you left the club and it's hard to tell if it's because of you or if he just doesn't feel like it right now. 

He already lays comfortably in your bed when you come out of the bathroom. Part of you wants to complain about his audacity and condemn him to the couch. But in the end, you've already crossed that line before. Your bed is big enough to prevent discomfort, while your couch is sometimes too uncomfortable even to sit on.

So you don’t say anything while you climb into the space next to him. 

You lie there in silence, pondering what you should do before you finally take the initiative and break it with a silent whisper. “Are you okay?”

A long sigh leaves Jimin’s lips as he drives his hands through his face. “No, I’m an idiot.”

“Hey, it’s not like that’s news,” you grin, trying to make him smile but unlike usual, your bickering does not stir anything in him so you feel a little stupid for trying to lift the spirit like that when he’s obviously not in the mood. “I know you're not particularly into that, but do you want to tell me about it? I promise I can be serious when I need to be.”

He doesn’t reply for a while which you take as him not being interested. You know that as an emotional cripple yourself, you have no right to but it still makes you mad that he always refuses to open up about the stuff that went down when it bothers him.

“Yeji hurt you with what she did. I know you try to deny it and act like you don’t care whenever someone talks to you about it but you cared about her. And what she did, hurt you. I don’t know why you won’t admit it and if everyone juststraight up chooses to believe your bullshit then that’s on them but I can see right through that act.” 

You feel your fist grip your blanket in frustration when he still refuses to say anything and you huff in annoyance. “You can't even look at her and go almost manic every time someone even mentions her or Taehyung's name.”

You sigh. It’s not your intention to force him to talk to you, of course. But he must know he can confide in you. You have already figured him out anyway. “I’m mad too but it’s not healthy to keep all that in, trust me.“

“She broke my heart.” His voice is quiet, and you might have missed it if you weren’t lying there in complete silence. Still, it holds so much pain that it almost makes you wince as you turn your head, trying to see the expression on his face. His eyes stare right at the ceiling, brows creased slightly as he scoffs. “You’re right I never talk to anyone about it. And I hate to admit it but she did break my heart.”

“Because you loved her,” you whisper understandingly, turning your head to look straight at the ceiling once more.

“At one point I did. Not in the end anymore though. She broke my heart but I’m not talking about the cheating stuff.”

You don’t quite understand, and you’re just about to ask what he means when you hear his voice again. 

“It happened over a long period,” he rasps. “I was really in love with her in the beginning, but she changed. Or maybe I changed.��Things changed. I don’t know.” He says, furrowing his brows, unpleased that he struggles to name it. “We hadn’t been close for a while when it happened, at least emotionally. I know she felt it just as much as I did, and maybe I’m to blame too for not breaking up with her as soon as I felt… close to nothing.”

“She could’ve broken up with you too. Lots of couples go through that at some point. It doesn’t justify cheating,” you argue, feeling yourself get worked up at him saying that before you remind yourself that it’s not the right moment for that. You don’t think that’s what Jimin needs or wants to hear right now. “At least that’s what I think.” 

“Anyway, it doesn't matter much, considering our relationship was pretty much over. Don't get me wrong, I am mad at her too. But Taehyung is the one who broke my heart this time,“ he then sighs. “I just don't get it.“ 

The frustration in his voice is clearly audible, and even if you've never experienced this exact situation, you know what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you used to trust.

“We grew up together. I used to tell him everything, he knew about my problems with Yeji. I wanted to save my relationship. He listened to me, comforted me, and gave me advice. All that while secretly having an affair with her behind my back?“ He sounds genuinely crushed while telling you all that.

“Who does that, ___?“

You have a lot of suitable terms for such people, but you know he doesn't expect an answer, at least not one like that. Since you've known him, he's already called Taehyung every insult under the sun himself, so that isn't what he needs.

“There are so many questions left unanswered in my head. Has he always been like this? If not, when did he change? If yes, why did I never notice anything? Was I like this as well and only noticed now because it's affecting me for the first time?“

It's the last question that really troubles him. You can see that right away.

“Some people are good at only showing you the sides of themselves that they want you to know. That doesn't necessarily make you simple-minded or blind. It just makes them good manipulators,“ you try to explain as best as you can. “Take it from someone who started with the worst opinion of you and has put up with your cocky ass every day since - you're a lot of things, Park Jimin, but you're not like that.“

Even though you didn't say much, his shaky exhale shows how much weight your words carry for him.

A couple of moments pass in silence between you two and you almost think he has fallen asleep when you feel the warmth of his hand engulfing your own.

“Thank you.” His words pass as a whisper. “For having my back in this.” 

Even in the dim light emitting from your bedside lamp, you can see the sincerity in his eyes as he gifts you a grateful smile and you can’t help but join in as you give his hand a slight squeeze. “Of course. As your fake girlfriend, that's kind of my job,” you reason, not thinking much of it.

His brows crease. “Yes. Your job,” he mutters.

He doesn’t say anything after that and neither do you but you still can't switch off. There's still something that keeps you awake. It’s an intrusive thought for sure and you’d be damned to give into that, but it won’t let you rest. 

You can't see from your position right now whether he's still awake or not, and you're too nervous to check. But you don't think you can sleep if you leave it as it is. 

“Jimin?” you whisper. Your teeth dig into your lower lip in agony.

You hope he doesn't hear you — or that maybe he's already asleep. You tried and that should be enough to silence your thoughts. After all, it's not as if you can just wake him up—

“Yes?”

Not only is he not sleeping yet, he sounds as awake as you feel. You nervously nibble on your bottom lip for a moment while you try to weigh up what you're about to do. 

You can feel his questioning gaze on you even before you lift your head, but it is ten times more penetrating the momentyour eyes meet. He is lying on his back with his head turned towards you, dark eyes looking up at you expectantly.

The little bedside lamp doesn't exactly provide a lot of light, but it's just enough for you to see the outline of his face. You carefully lift your hand and place it on his cheek before leaning forward without a comment. Out of uncertainty, you stop in front of his face and reconsider as your lips hover over his for a second. 

He must know by now what your intention is and even though he is anticipating your next move, he isn't moving a muscle, once again not wanting to accidentally rush you into anything you might not want.

You can feel his breath on your lips and figure that if you've already come this far anyway, there's no point in turning back now so you quietly close the gap and let your lips meet in a gentle kiss. 

Despite the circumstances of neither one of you being drunk or in public right now, it doesn’t feel awkward at all. It's quite the opposite. 

It goes against both, your principles and your ego to be the one to orchestrate a kiss, especially if it's a kiss that has no meaning in the course of your deal. And even though you feel the heat shooting into your cheeks and the tips of your ears, you don't care.

At first, your shared kiss is sweet and innocent, completely different from the one before, but no less breathtaking - literally. He lets you take the lead but kisses you back just as eagerly. 

His lips fit perfectly with yours and at some point, you completely lose track of time and instead lose yourself in your kiss.

You don't know how much time passes, but you are the one who eventually breaks away from him. Or at least you try to, but you only have a momentary chance to catch your breath because Jimin isn't having it, quickly lifting himself up and using his right elbow to keep himself upright while his other hand finds its place at the back of your neck to glide you back into him. 

His lips are back on yours in no time, your kiss turning more eager now that he’s taking control and it’s not long after that you feel his tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You grant him and in no time, your kiss that was so innocent just a minute ago turns into a full-on make-out session in your bed. 

It gives you flashbacks of the night at the bonfire. The only difference is that neither of you is drunk this time. A small but possibly significant difference depending on how far you’re willing to take it this time.

You’re already too far gone when the next thing you notice is how he swaps your positions in a simple move, making you the one lying underneath him.

Originally it was supposed to be nothing more than a simple kiss. It felt like the right thing to do after the awful night and the little heart-to-heart you two had but now that he has you under him it doesn’t feel that bad at all…

He’s letting his hand wander all over your curves and the moment you move yours just a little from around his neck is when you notice he’s not even wearing a shirt.

The little fucker snuck into your bed without having the decency to at least wear something. Although, since you practically forced him to spend the night with you without him having any clothes here, you can’t judge him for that.

He lets his hands wander under your shirt, when he realizes you're not backing down. The tips of his fingers leave hot trails on your skin, his own skin burning under your touch as you glide your hands down his chest.

Your fingertips linger at the level of his navel for a while, anxious to go lower only to be rejected again. You don’t think you can endure that humiliation again, especially not while being sober.

But any doubts are gone the moment he takes the initiative and bucks his hips into you, immediately making you moan in pleasure when you feel yourself getting more aroused. 

It's not enough for you though and you feel yourself getting more eager by every passing second. You eagerly let your hips sway and press your center against his crotch, moaning as you rub against him.

His hands grab your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh so hard you think he might leave bruises as he tries to bring you even closer. 

Since everything seems to move too slowly for your liking, you’re just about to take your top off, when he suddenly untangles himself from you with a low curse.

“You’re not doing this out of pity, are you?” 

His voice doesn't sound judgmental or disappointed in any way, but it's unmistakably important to him that whatever happens, happens because you want it to.

Still in a daze, you need to find your words so you only shake your head. And you don’t even have the time to wait for his reaction before you’re chasing his lips again. Unfortunately, it does not suffice for more than a short peck before he breaks away again, even making a desperate whine escape you.

You don't even manage to be ashamed of how obviously you want him when the way he looks at you right now tells you he feels the same way.

He chews his lip while his eyes pierce you, looking for even the smallest detail that you might not be in your right mind but not able to find anything.

So he slowly inches closer again, captivated by the the way you let your tongue glide over your lips to wet them and he smirks. 

“And you’re not going to pretend you don’t remember anything tomorrow morning?”

You roll your eyes, annoyed he can’t stop teasing you about that incident but not in the mood for any more bickering when he could do so much more with that mouth of his.

“Depends on whether you make it worth remembering,” you smirk.

It was meant as a joke, but it probably came across more as a challenge the way his eyes darken at your words. And it gets you excited. 

He gets to it immediately, finally taking off your top in a hurry and locking your lips again in a heated kiss as his hands wander further down to take the rest of your clothes off. 

You are now lying completely naked underneath him, which makes your heart beat a little faster. As if he senses your nervousness, he takes it slow, trailing his kisses from the corner of your mouth to your cheek and further down to your neck where he lets his tongue run over your skin in a gentle circle that has your eyes roll back into your head. 

But there's still something in the back of your mind that won't let you relax completely, and you need to get it off your chest.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, yeah?”

“Of course not,” he rasps in between light nips to your neck that would have you weak in your knees if you weren’t already lying down.

It seems like this confirmation is the last thing you need, to let go completely, with no second-guessing thoughts left. Jimin seems to notice too, feeling how your body melts against his when he lets his kisses trail further down your neck to your chest. 

“Man, you’re gorgeous.”

Him praising you like that makes your stomach flip, but it also raises a few new concerns. Since you need to keep your relationship as platonic as possible, compliments that affect you like that are dangerous territory. To avoid spoiling the atmosphere, you remain silent, hoping things will stay that way.

Jimin starts gently. He places kisses around one of your hardened nubs before taking it into his mouth, sucking and nibbling until you respond with a breathless moan. He then moves on to the other one, repeating his actions until he’ssatisfied with your reaction. 

You’re trembling at this point, squirming beneath him to try and get any kind of friction against the heat between your legs - the only part of your body he hasn’t touched yet. 

The little whines and moans that escape your throat intensify when his hand replaces his mouth on your breast, squeezing it while his other hand slowly wanders down your body. He begins with just two fingers pressing down your soaked center. 

Jimin is considerate and gentle, allowing you time to relax and become accustomed to his touch. However, he also gets straight to the point and fortunately does not attempt to tease you initially and you're very grateful for that. 

His thumb brushes over your clit in slow circles finally releasing some of the pressure that has built up by now, letting your moans intensify with every stroke as you feel his pointer and middle finger circle your entrance. 

Feeling how ready you are to take not one but two fingers without much preparatory work, he stops, raising a questioning eyebrow with a mischievous glint in his eyes. But you interrupt him before he has the chance to comment on it.

“Don’t open your mouth and ruin it,“ you warn.

Jimin lets out a breathy laugh, swallows whatever he was about to say, and then dives back into kissing you hard while pushing them in, in one swift motion, making you moan from the surprise and the pleasure engulfing you all at once.

He moves them in and out a couple of times, picking up the pace as he does so all while letting his thumb take care of your aking nub.

Your hips begin to roll upwards, trying to fulfill the need to feel as much of him as possible. You don't even care anymore about how desperate you come off as long as he gives you what you need. And it's not like he isn't affected at all. 

His teeth dig so hard into his lower lip that he might just be drawing blood by now while his eyes wander over your entire body in a desperate attempt to burn this image so deeply into his brain that he will never forget it again. 

He takes a moment to watch his fingers glide in and out of you, wandering up higher over your smooth stomach up to your perfectly shaped breasts pushing up whenever you arch your back to meet his thrusts, and finally your contorted face. Eyes closed, lips parted, allowing every little moan to escape, just how he likes it.

He dives back in to kiss you again, capturing all the beautiful sounds you make along the way. But he doesn't have the chance to enjoy it for long when you break the kiss soon after.

“I'm ready now,“ you gasp.

Jimin eagerly nods, jumping out of bed to clumsily remove his boxers and get something from his jeans. You don't have to ask him to know what he's getting, but you still can't help but wonder...

“You came prepared?” 

He only looks over at you briefly before concentrating on opening the pack and putting on the condom, very careful not to keep you waiting for too long.

“I always come prepared,“ he affirms. “The way you're always hitting on me… phew,” he jokes, rolling his eyes before he sends a wink your way.

You almost regret letting it get this far in the first place, and you're afraid you'll backtrack if his mouth isn't busy with you again soon and more words come out.

“Just make it quick. I’m losing more and more interest the longer I hear you talk.”

You hear him laugh, but just a blink of an eye later, he's back, and he doesn't let a moment pass before he eagerly kisses you again, his thumb lightly pressing your clit again. A moan escapes your throat before you can suppress it, and he uses it to dip his tongue inside, brushing it against yours.

Not wasting any time, he nudges your thighs apart and positions himself between your legs, guiding his cock up and down your slit a few times until he positions it right at your slick opening.  

“Do you need me to prep you some more or are you good?“ he groans, feeling the warmth of your heat consume him.

“Yea, yea, just put it in,“ you whisper hurriedly, physically and mentally unable to wait any longer.

“Wow, could you be any more romantic?“ Jimin chuckles, a playful pout forming on his lips, mischief shining in his eyes. 

“I don’t want romance. I want you inside of me.“ 

“I’m sensitive, baby, I need to be charmed. Say please?“ He grins childishly, knowing exactly what he's doing.

Oh, he's having so much fun right now, although he knows you're going to make him pay for that one way or another. But he can't help it.

Not only does it turn him on like crazy, but seeing you be so desperate for him is something he knows will never happen again so he needs to enjoy it as much as he can.

“Jimin,“ you whine, partly upset and partly frantic, as he hums in acknowledgment.

The way his cock is sliding with ease through your folds while he waits for you to give in is taking a toll on him too. He is good at restraint and self-control and it would be more than embarrassing to be the first to give in in this game he has started but he might just need to if you don't soon.

You sigh, fists clenching your sheets for all the wrong reasons. Why is this man always like this in such inappropriate situations?

Clenching your jaw you look at him with the deepest scowl while mustering the sweetest voice possible. “Jimin, please please please fuck me. I need you and I can’t wait any longer, please.“

And that's all it takes for him to crumble completely. “Good girl. How could I say no to that.“

Once more, he positions himself right at your entrance and starts moving his hips forward. Anytime but now, you'd be embarrassed by how easily he's able to slide in, but your head is empty, mind numb the moment he's finally fully inside, filling you up.

You don't need time to adapt and that's probably clear to both of you, because the very next moment he starts pumping in and out with such hard and fast movements, you almost see stars. You push your hips up against him, trying to meet his thrusts, your hands clinging tightly to his arms while moan after moan escapes your lips.

There's not a single thought in your head. His rough moans fill your ears as he momentarily slows his strokes to a sensual grind as he leans down to suck on your nipples, causing you to throw your head back, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. 

He talks a lot of pretentious bullshit but when it comes to this, you must admit he has the goods to back it up.

You feel yourself getting closer with every delicious stroke he gives you, the tip of his cock reaching the perfect spot again and again. But you need more.

“Harder,“ you pant, digging your nails deeper into the flesh of his arms. 

Jimin hears you loud and clear, following your instructions almost a bit too eagerly which suggests that he needs it just as much. Still fully inside you, he gently lets his hands brush down to your knees grabs the back of your knees, and pushes your legs upwards. 

The new angle allows his cock to reach even deeper, making the both of you moan when he picks up speed again. One of his hands is gripping your thigh tightly, surely leaving bruises, while he moves the other down to your clit, teasing it while he pounds into you as hard as he can.

“Goddamn,“ he gasps while he watches you squirm under him. There is little in life that Jimin takes so seriously. But even though there are more than enough opportunities to tease you verbally right now, he can't concentrate on anything but eliciting more of those needy moans from you.

He's close as well. Luckily for him, it only takes a few more thrusts and he feels you tighten around him. As a response, he rubs your clit faster which eventually pushes you over the edge as more and more loud, whiny moans just spill out of you.

Your pussy lazily pulsating around his cock while you slowly come down is what it takes for him to let go as well. He feels his balls tighten instantly before his dick finally blows, making him tumble over and groan into the crook of your neck. 

You don't stay like this for long, only waiting for you both to come down from your highs before Jimin lazily rolls off you. 

Pushing some damp strands out of his face, he can't stop himself from grinning contentedly. When he turns his head to see your expression, he notices you staring at the ceiling, nibbling your lip in deep thought. You do look satisfied and there is no trace of regret, thankfully. But there is a trace of concern that emanates from you.

Jimin's expression softens, his hand slowly reaching for yours which makes you look at him as well. 

You both exchange subtle smiles, silently agreeing not to worry about anything until the morning. And you don't. You sleep like a baby.

tagged: @ggukkieland | @ttaeby | @rkvi | @cuteipat | @pjiminslove | @mawwnsterr | @aamalaaa | @spideyxxboi | @lil-sracha | @katsbqbe | @bex-92br | @natalie-rdr | @canarystwin | @wespers-jaan | @bangtanxcoffee | @bri-mal | @so-kou | @lonleycoffee | @rjsmochii | @kiwiaroha | @chimchimmarie | @scoupshawt | @xmochiloverx | @kristinkristinuk | @thejiminshieffect | @yes-fangirl-things | @cuteinjapanese | @leticiaesteveslp | @jkkkkkay | @miss-rainy-days | @bangtan4everr | @i-never-post-but-i-am-here | @dumdaradumdaradum | @thesmeraldogirl | @deliciouslydeliciouspenguin

[seramilla]

EXORCIST AU

What has she done wrong that has led to this? She was a good soldier. Following orders like she was supposed to. Listened to every word to the D, trooped through every command, passed every judgement they decided upon. Yet... She finds herself standing on edge of Heaven's gates.

Just over the edge whole new world of destruction and suffering can be seen. Carmilla briefly glanced behind her. There stood her home... Her now ex home.

There weren't any more welcome looks. Just glares, that made her shiver to the core. The high angels of Heaven are staring daggers into her. And... She doesn't know why.

What's even worse. Her lover was there among them. Not even daring to look her in the eye. What kind of betrayal is this? She served heaven as she was supposed to, yet she was being chased away.

"Why!?", she screamed on top of her lungs towards them. They ignored her and pointed their weapons towards her. One of the higher ups, Michael stepped forward, bearing his spear.

"You know what you did. You betrayed Heaven and now must be punished by law." "But, but, I didn't... Arrrhgh", screamed Carmilla as the angel grabbed her wings, squeezing them together painfully.

"You don't deserve them."

Carmilla then felt excruciating pain spread through her spine. It made her fall to the ground as she writhed in pain, her back arching, her hands trying to find her now lost wings. Tears flew from her eyes as her screams turned into sobs.

After that, Michael grabbed her by the hair and started dragging her towards the edge. She fought as much as she could, trashing her legs around, trying to find some sort of footing, but to no avail. Clouds were always her worst nightmare, but now her only salvation.

Then, there was nothing beneat her. The last thing she sees were the angels by the gate. And her lover's tears falling down. That look of desperation and need to help, but inability die to the rules. At least she knows now that Sera wasn't against her. With that salvation, she accepts her fate as she is falling down from Heaven.

She is a fallen now.

:3

How dare you make me cry before I've had my morning coffee!!! 😭😭 (It's the ass crack of dawn at the time I'm queuing this up)

(Also, I'm so sorry, I can't remember which AU this one is for. Is it proto-Exorcist Carmilla falling??? Let me know and I'll tag appropriately)

There is just something so fraught and heart-breaking about Carmilla being paraded out in front of the elders and other angels, humiliated and defenestrated in front of her peers and fellow Exorcists, that makes even the other angels who are bearing witness to the event take pity on her.

The concept of falling is not a new one. Ever since Lucifer and his legions dared to go against Heaven's mandate, the threat of becoming Fallen perpetually sits at the back of every angel's mind. It's a parable all elder angels tell their younger counterparts, that if they deter from the path or fall out of line, they could be tossed into the pit of fire. Heaven's control over its population is absolute, and they do not hesitate to make an example of one another, to keep angels and Winners alike in line, and maintain that control.

Carmilla's sin is similar to Lucifer's. She is a dreamer, in the sense that she wants better for herself and those around her. She has never given in to the pomp and circumstance of Heaven's hierarchy, or ever hesitated to question why things are the way they are. She's a "Lucifer apologist," is what they call her. She questions why Heaven pushes such antiquated, ridiculous rules, such that an angel of her limited standing can't mingle with the likes of a High Seraphim. Why two people who are in love can't be happy with one another. It's moronic -- it's bogus -- that she and Sera can't love each other, on their own terms.

That she's being cast out, for daring to touch another angel above her station, is beyond her comprehension. Not even mentioning that the other angel is a woman, which adds yet another layer of complexity to her sentence. Carmilla can't begin to comprehend the predicament she finds herself in. None of these pointless rules even make any sense!

Michael pushes her, and she falls, and during the descent, Carmilla can only ask why? Why hadn't Sera come to her defense? Why did she just watch them force her out, without saying anything? Why didn't Sera at least try to save her? Did their feelings and declarations of love ever mean anything? Or was it all just a farce? Were they just words whispered in moments of passion, that never held meaning beyond surface level?

Now Carmilla will never know. And as she falls, her head swims with so much regret and sorrow, and she cries tears of desperate grief. She succumbs to her fate as she disappears into the void, the flames licking at her aching back.

[lilithmeadow]

after taking a much needed hiatus i'm back!

some people on reddit asked me for the cc i used on her, and i needed to put this lesbian icon up for download during pride month. i'm obssessed with her and i hope you guys like her too!

download and cc list below the cut!

general: skinblend, lenses, eyeliner (18), eyeshadow (29), highlighter, blush 1, blush 2 lipstick 1, lip contour, skin details (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8), lashes, nails 1, nails 2, nails 3, tattoos, piercings, watch

everyday: hair, top, bottom, jacket, shoes, earrings, necklace

formal: hair, top, bottom, shoes, glasses, earrings, necklace

active: hair, top, bottom, shoes

sleepwear: hair, top, bottom

swimwear: hair, outfit, glasses

outerwear: hair, top, bottom, shoes

i do not own any of the cc listed above! all credits go to their wonderful creators @cozygirlsimmer, @rollo-rolls, @sourlemonsimblr, @satellite-sims, @smallsimmer, @synestesi-vtmb, @syninplays, @billsims-cc and more!

i use sliders, so the sim might look slightly different in your game

you are free to use them however you want!

if you play with them, i would love to see it! feel free to tag me or dm me :)

please do not claim them as your own!

cc is included in the file. place into your mods folder

.package (sfs)

since i know some people don't like downloading sims as .package files, i'm also giving you the option to dowload them as a .sim file. place it into your savedsims folder (My Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\SavedSims).

beware that the sim will not include any of the cc. you will have to download it manually!!

.sim (sfs)

let me know if i messed up with any of the links and/or if i used your cc and forgot to mention you!!

[durrtydawg]

Look, Don't Touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-kay… But how do we get in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My ankle isn't.”

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

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

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

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

“The damn thing pricked me.”

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

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

“Talking about you, or the door?”

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

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

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

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

She snickers.

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

He grumbles, thumb rubbing small circles on his palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm.”

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

“Oh, y- yeah, you might be right.”

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

“You'd love that, huh.”

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

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

"M'lady."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.” is all she can muster.

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

Firmitudo Intus Aequilibrio

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

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

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

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

"Sure. Great hangover movie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all quite something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ooo. Anything juicy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I don’t- what do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inviting.

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

One that he quickly snaps out of.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be evasive!”

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

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

“Samuel, It’s like… sub-zero in-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We need those ones, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sam!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hurry it up.” He winces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. What he wants… to do to her.

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

He absentmindedly licks his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he bites. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s losing himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Revolting. Selfish.

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

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

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

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

She steps closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve- gotta go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t!” He shouts.

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

“Stop-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ogles him, bewildered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She swallows thickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s sweating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s an… aphrodisiac.” She affirms.

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

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

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

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

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

She shakes her head.

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

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

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

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

Her skin looks mottled, veins deep purple.

Just like his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, no- what did i do? I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. She wants to hear him do that again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She whimpers up to the ceiling.

“God, it really hurts, Sam.”

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

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

“This okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She squeezes his hand back, her whole body tensing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's so good. So fucking handsome.

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

"S-sam,"

He loves this.

"Agh- Sam, pl- stop-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was it you said earlier?”

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

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

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

“Somethin’ about an HR department?”

She looks at him, a soft laugh fluttering to the surface. It's a quiet sound, tinged with shyness and still wrapped in the lingering sadness of their shared ordeal. Her eyes lower for a moment, the weight of everything that happened settling in.

Seeing her reaction, Sam gets up and moves to where her water flask lies discarded. He unscrews the cap and pours some onto a clean part of his t-shirt. She begins to button her shirt, but he stops her, silently asking for a moment longer.

“Can I?”

She lets go of the shirt, and with gentle, still slightly shaky hands, he dabs the wet cotton softly over her wound-ridden skin.

She watches him, the sadness in her eyes gradually giving way to something softer, his tenderness speaking volumes. As he continues to tend to her wounds, his mouth twists in thought, like there's something he wants to say. So he does.

“I'm sorry.”

He's not the type to apologise, so eye contact is impossible.

“What?”

He continues dabbing at her skin in silence.

“Sam.”

She covers his hand, stopping him from finding any other distraction.

“You didn't ask for this."

He frowns. “I- I just put you through… somethin’ not far off of assault, and your response is-”

“No. Not one part of that was assault-”

“She says, as I wipe up blood from bites I gave her.”

“Yeah, with the mouth that's covered in my cum.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but he can't find anything to say. His cheeks redden.

She sighs again. They're going in circles and she wants to put an end to it all- she's tired. Filthy. Possibly concussed. Which she uses to excuse what she does next.

“Can I try something?” she asks. Fuck it.

“Try what?"

Without another word, she steps closer, her eyes searching for any sign of protest. When she finds none, she leans in and kisses him, her lips soft and warm against his, holding none of the desperation or haze of their previous encounter, completely free from the influence of any perverted pill or potion.

What's she got to lose?

Sam is shocked at first, his body tensing. He instinctively pulls her off, his eyes flitting around her face as his jaw loosens and tightens in search of something to say.

Her heart sinks and she steps back, “Thought so,” she smiles sadly, backing away, knowing it was a mistake to try. "Can we... can we get out of here?"

He should hate himself, right? He's gone against everything he's ever stood for- let every non-committal brick he's built since teenagehood crumble to dust. He's gone soft. Sentimental. By force, to begin with, yet he still hasn't stopped himself. It's… Pleasant. Is this the balance Cassimir fetishised over?

Screw it, he decides, Because if he has to stand by and watch her grow apart from him when she's just shown the same as- if not more vulnerability than him, what use are a few walls?

He pulls her back, his lips finding hers again. This time, it's different- there’s no urgency, no magical compulsion, but rather something deep- genuine. The kiss is tender, filled with all the emotions they’ve been too afraid to voice, and he feels years worth of tension escape him. His sore muscles loosen, hands cupping her face softly, and she melts into him.

When they finally pull apart, their foreheads rest together, and this alone feels infinitely more intimate than anything that had transpired beforehand.

"So... is it safe to assume that we're both on the same page, or...?" She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper, but her usual playfulness breaks through, and it makes him smile.

"What, that we're both in dire need of some good laundry detergent and a shower? Or was there somethin' else on your mind?"

She snorts, gently kicking his shin, the enormity of months worth of repressed feelings finally worn on the proverbial sleeve. She takes a deep breath, the worry in her eyes softening as she looks at him.

"We have a lot to figure out."

He chews the inside of his lip contemplatively, still not entirely sure there’s any reason why she’s being so gracious. So calm, despite it all, like he deserves any of it.

There’s a beat.

And then he nods. Because that’s why she makes his entire psyche shift off-kilter- makes him notice his bad habits.

"We'd… uh, better cash those vials in."

She sees a million-and-one thoughts behind his eyes, but he needs to rest. So she waits, head tilted, suspecting he's got something else to add. 

"How else am I supposed to afford a five-star first date?"

The other million thoughts can wait.

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

I promise to write something short and funny next time x

[thezombieprostitute]

💐Zombie's Bouquet Event💐

I'm still not quite sure how it happened but I'm officially over 500 followers. At the same time, I'm on staycation this week, so I actually have time to do a little celebration event.

I want to thank @the-slumberparty for inspiring this. I learned, from their flower event, that really enjoy writing personalized drabbles for people.

So how about I write personalized drabbles for you?

Taking a very simplified version of "How to Build a Bouquet", I've set up a form with the following items:

Focal Flowers: Your character of choice

Secondary Flowers: What trope would you like?

Foliage: The AU/Setting for your bouquet/drabble

Ribbon: Mood (fluff, dark, etc.)

Now, while the form will have some set options, I did make sure to allow for "Other". I will do my best to fulfill requests, but I make no promises.

If you feel a little weird or awkward about requesting a bouquet for yourself, please don't worry! It's perfectly fine to treat yourself to some flowers! You can also submit the request for someone else. The first question on the form is "Who will this be addressed to". Just give me the Username and they will be gifted a bouquet!

While the plan is to send these bouquets via Asks, because this is a side blog, I can only send these via Anon asks. If your blog does not accept Anon asks, I'll post it on my own blog but make sure to tag you (I hope that's okay).

Please let me know if you need more information.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Brother's Favourite | Jung Wooyoung

-> Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Wife!Reader

-> Request: From Anon

-> Summary: Wooyoung tries to win back the title of his brother's favourite person. Can be read as a part two to Plans Changed but doesn't have to be.

-> Warnings: Pouty Wooyoung. Fluff. Cuteness. Pregnancy

-> Word Count: 590

-> Requests: Closed. I will make a post when they are open again.

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©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

“Did I do something wrong?” Wooyoung Y/N with a frown as Kyungmin walks straight past him without greeting him like he usually does. He couldn’t lie and say his little brother’s cold shoulder doesn’t hurt his feelings. 

“I’m not sure. He was fine on when I picked him up and didn’t mention anything on the drive over,” she shrugs, slipping off her shoes. She greets him with a peck on his pouted lips. “Maybe he’s still a little upset about the last time he came to stay.” 

“I thought we resolved that. I promised him no interruptions this weekend.” He says, with a sigh as he follows her into the kitchen. “I even told everyone not to call me into the company until Monday. This weekend is strictly for you and Kyungmin.” 

“I know baby, but he’s a kid. Words can mean nothing until they have actions to back them up,” she tries to assure him, emptying the bag of food his mother had made for them. “After this weekend, everything will be back to normal and you’ll be his favourite again.” 

“I doubt it,” he pouts again, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her shoulder. “You’ve been his favourite since the day I introduced you to him.” 

Y/N chuckles, turning around to face him. "Well, I can't help it if I'm the cool sister-in-law," she teases, wrapping her arms around his neck. "But you’re his favourite person ever, so don't worry too much." 

Resting his forehead on hers, he pecks her nose. “You’re not just the cool sister-in-law. You’re the best wife ever.” 

“I know,” she smiles cheekily. “Now, go talk to your brother, while I sort out dinner.” 

“How about we go out for dinner?” he suggests, despite him having only arrived home 10 minutes before her and Kyungmin. 

"Sounds good to me. Give me five minutes to get changed into something more comfortable,” Y/N agrees, pulling away from him and heading towards their bedroom to change.  

As she walks away, he can't help but smile to himself, grateful to have her as his wife and mother to his unborn child. Heading to the guest bedroom, he knocks on the door and enters to find his brother opening his new toys that they promised him.  

"Hey, kiddo, how's it going?" he asks, taking a seat on the bed. Kyungmin looks up briefly before continuing to play with his toys. Wooyoung tries again, "We're going out for dinner tonight. You can pick the place."  

Wooyoung smiles, watching his brother’s eyes light up at the mention of being able to choose where they go for dinner. He watches as Kyungmin carefully considers where he wants to eat, his face scrunched up in concentration.  

After a few moments, Kyungmin finally looks up at Wooyoung and says, “McDonald’s!"  

The older Jung chuckles and gets up from the bed, tousling his brother’s hair as he agrees, "McDonald’s it is then.”  

The young boy’s excitement wavers a bit, prompting Wooyoung to ask, "What's wrong?"  

"Can Y/N eat McDonald's?" he asks, showing his concern for his sister-in-law's pregnancy food preferences.  

"She can eat at McDonald's, in fact, the baby loves McDonald's," he reassures him. 

Kyungmin's little face lights up again after hearing that his niece or nephew also loves the fast-food restaurant. 

“Let’s go see if Y/N is ready to go,” Wooyoung suggests and follows Kyungmin out of the bedroom. 

As they enter the living room, they find Y/N ready and waiting for them. She smiles seeing the two acting all brotherly again. 

Wooyoung Tag List: @staytiny2000 - @treehouse-mouse - @kpopmenace143 - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea -

@rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson - @yeonjunnie – @hollxe1 –

@deltamoon666 - @skz1-4-3 - @pinkies-things  - @everythingboutkpop - @oddracha -

@http-gyu - @skittyneos - @pinkpunkdynamite - @keshivibes - @bookswillfindyouaway

@katsukis1wife -

Wouldn't let me tag you (properly or at all - I don't want to have to remove anyone so please let me know if you get a notification): @trinxt - @marianxde08

If you aren't able to be tagged: how to change mentions (tags) settings on phone

[dragonotaku-justineverything]

Happy single Awareness day

Maybe a double date with Ruby and Penny plus Jaune and Pyrrha with Blake and Hera spying?

Happy (very late) single awareness day!

Inside a rather nice restaurant up in Atlas, four people just sat down at a table together. The group consisted of three redheads and one blonde, and after they got their drink orders in, they all started conversing amongst themselves.

"Thanks for inviting us out to dinner you guys!"

"Indeed! This is going to be very excellent!"

"No problem. It's our pleasure, Crater Face." Jaune had to dodge a roll being thrown at him after using his nickname for Ruby, and he did! Just not the second one that bounced off his forehead back into the basket on the table.

"Indeed~! We were trying to find somewhere that we could bring Hera as well, but not many places are open to pets here. We honestly could only find reservations for this place anyways, and only if we had a certain number of people.”

"Wait, is that why you asked us to tag along?"

"Well kinda, but it isn't the only reason!”

"We did think to ask you for that reason at first, but then we also thought that it would be much more fun to spend time with friends rather than just be alone all night again. Besides, we haven't really had a chance to see each other for almost three weeks. Catching up with you will be much more enjoyable than just us being by ourselves at such a fancy place."

"Yeah Pyrrha's right, this isn't exactly our usual outing location. I don't normally like to put on a suit."

"No, but I still think you clean up very well, Jaune."

Jaune's cheeks turned the slightest bit pink with her saying that. "Thanks Pyr. You look great in your dress too! S-so Penny! How is Team Ruby's training going up at the Academy?"

Ruby slapped her hands down on the table, but not rattling anything on it. "Hey! Why are you asking her and not me?"

"Because you would try to sugarcoat it."

Ruby sat back and crossed her arms in defiance. "No I wouldn't."

"You did it when you told Yang about our journey to Mistral."

"So you're telling me you wanted me to tell my short temper, over protective big sister Yang about all the things we ran into? All the Grimm, the Nuckelavee, that psycho scorpion guy, uncle Qrow being hurt most of the trip. You think I should have told her about all of that after seeing her for the first time in almost a year?"

...

"She does have a point, Jaune."

"Yeah, I guess she does."

Penny didn't seem to get what they were referring to, but wasn't bothered by it. "Well I think that team RWBY is doing wonderfully in their training! It has been so exciting to see them all fight again after so long!"

"See! That's what I would have said!"

"And Ruby has gotten much better with evolving her semblance! She is no longer accidentally running into walls or dropping people when she tries to carry them with her!"

"Peeenny, you didn't need to tell them that!"

"But they asked."

... ... ...

Blake, the ninja cat faunus that she was, was perfectly hidden in a bush outside the restaurant's window and peering inside, going completely unnoticed. "You know, this is honestly a lot more wholesome than I was expecting."

Hera, who was trying her best to copy her auntie Blake, was also peering into the window to get a look at her mama and papa. However, she unfortunately had her floofy butt sticking out of the back of the bush they were hiding in. Somehow, it didn't give them away. Hera let out a super sneaky growl to agree with her Auntie. "Rrrrrrr."

"Yeah. As long as they're having fun, I suppose that's all that matters. They all deserve to unwind for a bit."

"Rrrorf."

[blindmagdalena]

Let the world burn by Chris Grey is THE Homelander soulmate au

oh my gODDD ANON. you're so SO right.

I let you get too close Just to wake up alone And I know you think you can run You're scared to believe I'm the one But I just can't let you go I'd let the world burn Let the world burn for you This is how it always had to end If I can't have you then no one can I'd let it burn I'd let the world burn Just to hear you calling out my name Watching it all go down in flames

okay okay so i've had this soulmate au in my back pocket for like, a full year. i have a whole ass tag for it that i've been building up, and i've even explored it as an oc story with @theonlymanintheskyisme. i'm genuinely so infatuated with the concept of an enemies to lovers soulmate au that it rots my brain in the most hyper specific way.

the idea Homelander—despite being told they didn't exist, that he's not a real boy, that labrats don't GET soulmates—was sincerely holding out hope that his One Perfect Person was out there waiting for him WOUNDS me.

now he meets them, they're REAL, he's on cloud nine... only to be struck down by the realization that oh they ALSO want him dead

thanks anon i'm gonna be insane about this for the rest of the day

[niuniente]

Hi Niu! I wanted to stop by and let you know that I binged all of DHD last night and this morning. It's FANTASTIC and I'm a bit mad at myself for having slept on this for so long. I've been reading the updates you post here off and on and I *finally* took the plunge and read everything. I love it I love it I love it! You are phenomenal 💖💖💖💖💖

Welcome to read DHD! I'm genuinely so glad and happy you've enjoyed it (I binged it myself recently, too - I need to reread what I have done occasionally not to miss anything).

Good thing for arriving a bit later than others to any series is that there's lot to watch/see/listen and you can indulge yourself as much as you like :D

I do have other comics which you might also enjoy.

FUZZY is completed and tells a story of a seer Irene and a solid black monster called Fuzzy. It was very liked and got on Webtoon's front page as recommended series. READ FUZZY

Demon Sanctuary has been in a hiatus for a long time but I do genuinely want to finish it - even if it took me 20 years. It tells a story of a priest Furmann, who rehabilitates demons instead of exorcising them. One of his demons is a little girl's ghost-demon Suzie, who screams at flowers. READ DEMON SANCTUARY

I'd also like to serialize these three poly-flatmate-idiots at some point with 4 panel style but I have not made any big decisions yet. I have their comics on Tumblr now, tagged as #flatmates (needs a proper name)

Ironically speaking I know how Demon Sanctuary ends and I just need to draw it but I haven't gotten to do it...

Second ironic thing is that there's also another comic which I have had in mind for 7-8 years by now. I know the characters (Poju and Siri, series has no name), I know the story, I pretty much have it all thought from beginning to its end. Again, I don't know when (or how!) this story will come out. I somehow have a hunch that some other form than a comic would fit it really well. A book, perhaps? A game?

NOT TO MENTION that there's also ANOTHER comic idea I've been thinking for a few years now and doodled the characters a bit. It would be about a demon who is VERY proud of being able to manipulate anyone - until he meets a woman who doesn't react to him in anyway. Kind of the same idea as in Lucifer series, but a comedy.

Wow, where these keep coming from?! Not that I complain but I have only two hands, 24h per day and health issues (albeit slowly getting better).

But anyway, long story short; THANK YOU FOR READING DEATH-HEAD'S DEAL! If it's up to me I'll keep drawing comics until I croak or my osteoarthritis wins.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

My Sunshine

Author's notes: Alpharius in Living Water AU. T hank you to @egrets-not-regrets for letting me borrow Mara the Harpy Elder. :)

Past =-= Next

Warnings: None that I can think of. Let me know if you need me to add anything.

Summary: Zariel and his brothers enjoy time with their and pestering the Scout-lings. One in particular is their favorite to harass.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Zariel decides to uncurl from around his lovely Lana as he goes stalking after Claude. Of all the Scout-lings, when he or the others in his squad stalk after him. The little Raven spots them first and has the most displeased scowl on his face and zoom off to find his battle buddy to have help getting the mean old Alpha legionary to back off.

“Why don't you spar with me yourself, Claude?” Zariel asks, pitching his voice in a taunting tone.

“I don't want you to touch me,” Claude retorts.

“We don't have cooties or a touch born Plague for you to worry about,” Zariel says half amused.

“I don't want you to steal my face,” Claude says, still scowling at him and moving swiftly through the water 

“Now that's silly,” Zariel says amused,”Why do you think I need to touch you in order to do that?”

Claude scowls at him again, “I want as little to do with you and your squad as possible. Leave me alone.”

“I’ll back off for now,” Zariel says raising his hands, a smirk on his stupid teal scaled face as the older Space Marine swims off.

Claude doesn’t relax until after Zariel has fully swum into the air and started to flirt with Lana again. Good that will distract the First Born Marine for hours and he can finish helping the Gannet Harpies with their chores, easily lifting heavy weights and carefully, delicately setting them down where they asked him to put them.

Mara calls him over after a few more hours of work, noticing how twitchy and upset he’s been getting lately, “What’s the matter Claude?”

She isn’t the only to notice that Claude seems to be particularly upset by the Alpha Legionaries and how those same older mers tend to harass the poor fledgling. He takes in a couple of deep breaths as he tries to figure out what to say.

“The… Zariel and his squad keep bugging me,” Claude says as he rubs his face, “I… think for my own peace of mind, I’m going to have to tap out of helping you all for a while… until they decide they are bored with me.”

“If you think that’s best,” Mara says, peering up at him. “I could talk to Lana to see if she can get them to back off?”

“That will only partially work,” Claude says, “but I’d appreciate it if you would. I’ve fold them before that I don’t want to have anything to do with them, but they b-... they won’t listen much. They back off, only to try again later.”

He knows from his fellow Primaris Marines, those who also were cursed with teal in their scales, unless they focused to become different. That physical touch, even if both of them are in armor, a mental link is formed between both. Telepathic communication and other benefits and drawbacks can arise with such a thing.

Claude knows that Zariel is the highest ranking, and strongest personality of the squad of Alpha legion Space Marines in this squad. He knows that Zariel will realize as soon as he touches Claude, or one of his squad does, what Claude has.

The trainers warnings ring in his ears, of what the Chaos or Renegade First Born Alpha legion troopers would do, could do, to them if it’s ever found out that the Mechanicum, in all their infinite wisdom decided to mix Holy, Loyal, Primarch Geneseed, with despicable, Treacherous and Deamon Primarch gene-seed. Not that most knew what it was they had. 

The voices giggle and cackle in his ear, crooning that change is inevitable, and unless he wants to avoid the Gannet Harpies until Lana either decides she’s sick of the Alpha Legion First Born, or she dies and that same squad leaves for another potential bond that something must give. 

He’s glad that at least Cedric knows and still cares for him. Even the unsightly parts that have him wishing he was something, someone else. Cedric has said that he should talk to the others, and should show them that Jophiel of all of them would understand as he has similar self image and body issues. 

But he… can’t. The fear of Rejection, the way that they reacted to the First Born Alpha Legion Troopers had… been eye opening. He’s been… hiding what he truly is for decades. They are likely to react, understandably, poorly for this deception of his. 

He snaps out of his spiral as he hears Lana’s voice, as she’s firmly talking to Zariel and focuses on her words as she continues to speak, a stern look on her face. Mara beside her, the elder Harpy also looks disappointed in the first born Alpha legion space marine.

“-ow many times do I need to tell you this?” Lana continues, “Claude doesn’t want  to interact with you! He’s stated it in multiple different ways and methods. If he decides to change his mind, then he will approach on in his own time. Leave. Him. Be.”

“But Lana,” Zariel whines at her, his teal eyes wide and pleading, “I just want to get to know the little brother, I mean cousin better.”

“Brother?” Mara says with a light trill cocking her head to the side as she says that.

“All younger space marines are either brother’s or cousins,” Zariel says by way of explanation with a shrug and a gesture with one of his tentacles. “I don’t know why I said brother, when he’s a little cousin from the Raven Guard.”

“Must of been a slip of the tongue, then,” Mara muses.

Meanwhile, Claude just barely able to contain himself as he almost felt like both of his hearts were about to burst from his chest after they stopped for a moment or two when Zariel had referred to him accidentally as a little brother, not cousin.

From what Zariel continues to say, he hadn’t… he and the other First Born Alpha Legion Space Marines don’t know what he is. At least not consciously. Fuck. He needs to get away from rock and stay away for a while. Likely months, if not years, if he can speak with Cedric and see what they can do to coordinate things so that when he does visit the Rock, that they aren’t nearby.

“I… have to go,” Claude tells one of the other Gannet Harpy cousins.

“Are you sure?” Leo says, frowning up at him, “You look like you just saw an Orca.”

“Ah- no, I could fight and win against that,” Claude says confidently, “It’s just…”

“The Alpha Legion Space marines are bothering you again?” Leto finishes, they had landed nearby, having heard the pair of them talking. “You know, running from them won’t help in the long run, no matter how tempting it is.”

“... I just don’t want to confront them right now,” Claude says, “And it’s up to five on one, and they are… older and can be very dangerous if provoked. Besides, they have a bond with Lana. They can be very territorial.”