#dare i say the worst quality

[sanitysims]

2. Sunshine

Cassandra "Cassie" Henson, shoo-in for 'Most School Spirit', is cheerful, outgoing, and the human embodiment of the sun. Not in an obnoxious way, though some classmates would disagree. Cassie keeps her head up high no matter what though, just like a sunflower.

for the joyful january cas challenge by @honeysylvan!! i'm in the airport but the #grindset never stops 💪

[courtchip]

CM Punk during the ECW's Extreme Elimination Chamber press conference, Early December 2006

[literaila]

cuddle time

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru's mood is disrupted by some quality family time

a/n: a little fluff for you all because i've been trolling too much

last part | next part

*

year four.

you're working on a report from a mission last week when the two of them appear, simply out of thin air. 

it's early sunday morning, light shining through the windows, the world beckoning you outside--even though you know you need to be in here, working. honestly, you shouldn't have put it off for this long. 

but it's so easy in this house. with satoru lounging around, and both of the children to entertain you all of the time. honestly, if you never checked your phone again, you might forget that the rest of your world existed completely. 

it's nice. easy. 

but not this morning. this morning, just walking into the office felt like surging through a tub full of mud, disgusting and slow. 

and you feel that way now when the kids show up. 

they both peek their heads into the office, the door slightly cracked, and you don't dare look at the two of them--knowing that they'll distract you (and that you would very much like to be distracted, at the moment). 

tsumiki creeps into the room, and you can feel her smile at you from ten feet away. her general aura of benevolence and good. she radiates happiness, your secret drug. megumi follows, not as bright but still pleasant enough, accidentally bumping into the desk, but you still don't look at either of them. 

you can see them in your peripheral, though. you can't imagine what they need at the moment. 

but neither of them says a thing, they simply stare at you, standing on opposite sides of the desk, their eyes darting from the computer screen to you with an obvious frequency. 

you don't know what they want, but you've known the two of them long enough to know that it's something. 

you still don't look at them, but you can't help the smile on your face. 

“yes, children?" you ask, teasing, after a minute of this has ensued. when you just can't hold it in anymore. "am i bothering you?”  

tsumiki leans her head on your shoulder, her face amazingly warm, frowning. “gojo won’t get out of bed.” 

megumi is just standing there, still staring at you, with his arms crossed. clearly, this is a dire statement, and they all need your immediate attention. clearly, your presence is impertinent.

you check the clock. it’s only ten in the morning, and god knows with the children, that is not late. they both wake up with the sun, ready to start the day before you get the chance to blink.

you were up two hours ago, helping megumi get breakfast together, making sure that they both slept well and that no one broke into the house in the middle of the night and stole them. breakfast was a bleary-eyed, silent sort of thing. the three of you basking in each other's company, and not attention.

but you don't really mind waking up that early. because, unlike satoru, your fragile mind doesn't pause for a good night's rest. these days, you'll get a few hours at a time, at the best. a couple of minutes to yourself, at the worst. 

caffeine is a wonderful thing.

so you don't blame the man for hiding in his room all morning. besides, he is the worst when he misses out on his precious beauty sleep.

“we all agreed,” you say, knowingly, resuming your typing. “satoru can sleep in as long as he’d like on sundays.” 

“he’s not sleeping.” 

megumi nods. “yeah, he’s just moaning in bed.” 

you quirk a brow. “is he sick?” 

“no, just a baby,” megumi answers. he says this with such an obvious attitude that you almost snort. where he got the sass, you're not sure. 

(you're sure. it's your fault.) 

knowing he has no good information for you, you turn around to tsumiki. “what’d he say?” 

“that he wasn’t getting out of bed. ever.” 

you roll your eyes, familiar with this act. “just give him a couple of hours. he’s probably pms-ing.”

they both give you confused looks. you make a mental note to pick up parenting books at the library.

“he’s fine, guys," you say, instead of explaining. "just dramatic.” 

tsumiki shakes her head. “something’s wrong with him.” 

“could’ve told you that,” megumi mutters, under his breath, and you attempt not to laugh. and fail. 

you grin at him, nudging tsumiki's cheek, a bit fond of her concern. her sincerity. “just let him sleep.” 

tsumiki leans on your arm, still pouting—you should’ve kicked satoru out three years ago. he’s rubbing off on her. “but he's sad." 

"sad?" 

"i think he's crying." 

megumi snorts. 

you blink at her. "are you serious?" 

she nods, sullenly. 

you sigh, looking back to the computer--where work and every terrible thing in the world (besides satoru) awaits you. you could sit here for the next four hours, doing stuff you should've done weeks ago, or you could deal with an emotional toddler. 

there's really no winning here. 

you sigh again and look back to tsumiki. her face is enough to break your composure completely. "fine," you say, "let's go see what's wrong with him." 

tsumiki smiles at you, grateful, and megumi rolls his eyes but begins to trail out of the office. you shut your laptop, knowing that you won't be back for a while. 

(or the rest of the day, if you have it your way). 

the two of them follow you to satoru's room, where you don't knock--because the door is already partially open, and because you don't care. 

the blinds are still shut, the entire room a stomping ground for candy wrappers and files that satoru definitely shouldn't leave lying around. 

but this is nothing new, so you ignore it. 

"hey, kid," you say, stepping over to the bed, leaning down to look at him. 

or, rather, an expanse of grey sheets. all you can see is a lump of covers, and a pillow thrown on the floor. satoru sleeps like someone's trying to hold him down, failing all the while.

you nudge him with a hand, sighing again. you got lucky with tsumiki and megumi, who are notoriously easy to wake up in the morning, unlike someone else in the house...

there's no response. 

fortunately, you can see a puff of breath from beneath his blanket, so at least he's not dead. 

there's a tuff of white hair peeking out from the sheets, and you pull it, albeit gently. because you actually do really love his hair. 

(it's irritatingly soft). 

"i already know you're awake," you tell him, dryly. "are you crying? tsumiki said you were crying." 

the covers are quick to move, two large hands pulling them down with surprising efficiency, and a red-eyed--though not teary--satoru glares at you. "i'm not crying." 

"oh, great, then i don't have to comfort you. i don't think i have it in me today." 

he pouts, naturally, and throws the covers back over his face. at least this is no different. 

you turn around, looking at both of the children helplessly. see, you want to say to them, he's fine. but tsumiki waves you forward and megumi's got a little quirk in his lip, which is answer enough.

you nudge satoru again. 

"c'mon, you're scaring the kids." 

"they weren't scared when they poked me awake and tried to steal my socks." 

you turn back with raised eyebrows. tsumiki looks away guilty, and megumi's smile widens. but your eyes gleam, because satoru deserves at least that. and because all of them are terribly amusing. 

you roll your eyes when you turn around and there's a single blue eye looking into yours. "well, you're scaring them now. and obviously," you answer. "socks are criminal in bed." 

satoru tries to pinch you from under the covers, and you smack his hand away. "leave me to die," he says. 

"they're quivering, satoru," you say, trying not to laugh. "do you want them to cry? because they will. it's probably the bedhead. or maybe the morning breath. seriously, do you make out with your pillows when you sleep?" 

the covers move once again, and satoru's glare is vicious. "i do not have bedhead. or morning breath." 

"yeah, yeah, you're perfect." you pull the covers back down, even when he tries to initiate a brutal tug-of-war match, which you win, obviously. "grandpa, come on, it's almost ten-thirty." 

"i thought we made a rule that none of you can wake me up in the morning." 

"the rule was that we let you sleep in on sundays. and you're already awake. the kids want breakfast." 

"i know they already ate," satoru's eyes are blinding, "tsumiki told me." 

"well, i want to eat. get up." 

"go cook." 

"get up." 

"can't you see that i need to rest?" he gestures to his face, which looks typical and annoyed. "don't i look sick?" 

you pinch his arm. "i recall someone saying that they were impenetrable, and trivial illnesses wouldn't affect them." 

"i was wrong." 

"as usual," you give him a sweet smile. 

tsumiki and megumi have both crept up on the two of you, watching as you poke his cheek, trying to get a rise out of him. 

it's really not your fault that he looks cute with his hair smushed against his face, slightly sweaty. 

you always have preferred a disheveled satoru. when he's forgotten to put all of the pieces together. 

actually, grumpy, just-awake satoru might be your favorite. your teenage self certainly had a fondness for him. 

though you choose to believe that your tastes in men have since improved (they haven't, nor have they changed). 

"i just wanna sleep," he whines. "please?" 

"no. get up, because i don't want to hear your moaning while i'm trying to work." 

"you can't hear it from the office," satoru hisses, "and it's sunday. go take a nap." 

"i'll be sure to do that, right after i shove a toothbrush in your mouth." 

"go away," he moans, childishly, and turns on his side. "i feel like someone cut me in half. am i bleeding through the sheets? i don't think my organs are intact." 

you make a face. "that's disgusting. please don't talk about your organs in public. i thought this was a safe space." 

satoru huffs, but doesn't say anything back. 

"aww," you coo, while tsumiki climbs up the other side of the bed, putting her face right next to his. megumi lingers at your side. "is our baby sick?" 

"yes." 

"what does a sick baby need, guys? i don't remember." 

"a lobotomy," megumi whispers. 

you turn to him, eyes wide. "who taught you--actually. i already know," you look pointedly back to satoru, who's frowning. 

"i shared those thoughts with you in confidence," satoru hisses to megumi, and covers his face with a pillow this time. 

"cuddles, right? that's what you do when we're sick." 

you smile at tsumiki. "what a wonderful idea, miki. cuddles are exactly what baby needs." 

and so, with the grace of a thousand kangaroos, you jump on satoru, your body molding to his as you come face to face with the man, legs over his side, arm wrapping around his neck. 

satoru is very close, close enough that you almost can't tell that he's glaring at you. 

he's pretty like this, with gleaming skin and dull eyes. 

"was that supposed to hurt? because it didn't." 

it doesn't escape your notice that you can finger his cheekbones while he says this, no space between the two of you, and neither does the slight twitch of his lips. oh, yeah, you know satoru like this. with his attitudes and his lies. 

and you know, really, that this is exactly what he wants. attention, as per usual.  

"oh, good." you tug at his hair a bit with your other hand. "we've still got room. come on, children, we have to help our baby." 

tsumiki giggles, and she joins you, her face on your back as she lays on top of the two of you, barely a leaf in the pile. you can feel her smile against your muscles and you sigh out. "i think it's working." 

you tilt your head to look at megumi, who's staring at the three of you with a look of distaste on his face. "c'mon, megs. we need you." 

he gives you a 'really?' look, to which you respond with a nose scrunch, but eventually, he sighs. and then he promptly sits on satoru's feet, setting a hand on your legs so you know that he's there. 

"how are you feeling now, baby?" 

"smushed." 

"good. exactly how we like you." you nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in. he actually smells quite nice--and not that you'll admit it, but he doesn't have morning breath, the bastard. 

"are you sad?" tsumiki asks, softly, still concerned, but brighter now. she likes this almost as much as satoru. 

"yes," he huffs, again. 

but you all know he's lying, and when you dig your finger into his side, tickling him, the kids are quick to follow. 

work will have to wait. this is much more important. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[greisekinderschar]

regarding book!dandelion’s much discussed misogyny one thing i find insanely amusing is how the gamer bro fanbase perceives it.

because to me, it’s like, supposed to be one of his weaknesses. it’s one of the ways in which he is unhinged that continuously gets him in trouble. yeah, there’s a joke here and there. but like. dudu thinks he can get away in dandelion’s form? nah man, the angry woman with the frying pan knocks you out, worst decision you made that day. he’s afraid he’ll get murdered if they go to toussaint. he survives the quest to end up on a scaffold because he couldn’t stop fucking around.

yet, when you see the dude bro “book stans’” reaction to the queer netflix reveal there are very personal grievances when they say “you made the womanizer gay!!!”. we know he’s not gay. he’s bi. he fucks more than twice the amount. but the fact that “the womanizer” would as much as look at a man somehow hurts these people in their masculinity, which reveals they think this part of him to be the cool, masculine part.

and it’s really funny to me, because i have this idea of sapkowski using bard characters (he does it in the hussite trilogy as well) to have some, dare i say it, subversive masculinities. because dandelion is very un-masculine in the context of the story. not only does he challenge the temerian knights and others by directly insulting their idea of masculinity and often ridicules the hierarchic structures he himself benefits from despite having fled the connected responsibilities. he’s not a fighter, he’s a poet, he’s not ‘hot’, he is pretty. he’s a coward, he is vain, he is bitchy, he is emotionally intelligent. he laments the gruesomeness of war that is nothing like the heroic masculine stories told about it. he is kind of the mum of the hansa. in short, he is very ‘feminine’, except for his womanizing and his misogynist moments (and the drinking). the parts of him that are, as i said, the most pathetic of his character. and yet, readers who are caught up in the structures of hegemonic masculinities perceive it as a way to consolidate his place in the hierarchy. in a way, his assholery is his redeeming quality in the masculine order. or at least that is what i believe, because why else would they have such an extreme reaction. if dandelion loses his one hegemonic masculine trait of putting himself above women by also sleeping with men, then he is not a man.

[i am aware the concept of masculinities has fluctuated massively in history, which is the point of hegemonic masculinities, and that medieval courtly masculinities had their own ‘feminized’ moments, with monks complaining about the knightly fashion making them look like vain women, but this is a fantasy saga that the reader perceives from contemporary standards, and the masculinities presented are very warrior-centered]

plus, i imagine it complicates his friendship with geralt. because they are bro bros, going to the BROthel together, sharing beds, kissing each other on the cheek for goodbye. if one of these bros is interested in dick, it makes emotional intimacy among men ~weird~. it makes the dude bros go “a bro cant have anything”. but bro, bro, you could have everything. you could even have a bite of dandelion.

[bamgyuuuri]

⤷ this side of paradise ┈ cbg.

sypnosis. choi beomgyu had every quality you hated—loud, obnoxious, and endlessly infuriating. this school trip was supposed to be your chance to escape him, but your hopes were crushed when you found out you’d be sharing a room. however, the more you spent time with him alone, the more you began to see a side of him you never expected—one that made you question everything you thought you knew about him.

pairings and tags. classmate!choi beomgyu x reader (f/m) . enemies to lovers . slowburn . so much tension !!! teasing . mutual pining . fluff . forced proximity . fleeting glances . grumpy x sunshine if you squint . angry confession . incredibly cliche at times hehe

word count. 10.6k

short note … i rly liked how this one turned out too ngl,, an immediate favorite as well !!!! especially since personality wise, i relate to beomgyu a lot ^_^ ik it’s pretty lengthy but i hope u guys like it nonetheless !! do tell me ur thoughts <33

if there was one person in the entire school who could single-handedly ruin your day without even trying, it was choi beomgyu.

he wasn’t just a thorn in your side; he was the entire rose bush, complete with sharp thorns, swarming bugs, and pollen that made you sneeze. beomgyu was the human equivalent of nails on a chalkboard, an untimely alarm clock, or a fly buzzing around your head when you were trying to focus.

he had this uncanny ability to be everywhere all at once, like a human embodiment of murphy’s law. quietly reading in the library? he’d show up out of nowhere, leaning over your shoulder and reading the words out loud in a ridiculous voice, making sure to butcher every single one.

if you were trying to focus in class, he’d find some way to get your attention, tapping your shoulder incessantly, passing you notes with doodles of your face and exaggerated scowls, or “accidentally” kicking your chair leg just hard enough to jolt you.

and if you dared to ignore him? he’d double down, whispering your name repeatedly until you snapped and glared at him, only for him to flash that infuriating grin.

it wasn’t just his actions, either. it was his entire existence. the way his laughter was always a decibel too loud, drawing attention wherever he went. the way he seemed to have an endless supply of energy, bouncing between conversations and cracking jokes that were somehow always at your expense.

“say, do you ever smile? or is the grumpy face just part of your brand now?” he’d say with mock concern, tilting his head like some concerned friend while you resisted the urge to smack that smug expression off his face.

yet, somehow, for reasons you hated yourself for, he was annoyingly attractive. it wasn’t fair. how could someone so insufferable look like he’d just walked out of a magazine?

his hair always had that perfect, slightly tousled look, as if he’d spent hours on it when you knew he probably just rolled out of bed. his eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint that promised trouble, and his stupid, lopsided grin had a way of making your stomach flutter despite your better judgment.

but none of that mattered, because his personality was insufferable enough to cancel out any appeal he might have had. and oh, how you despised him for it. you despised the way he always seemed to know exactly how to push your buttons, how he lived to tease you, and how he always left you simmering in frustration while he walked away, laughing like it was all just a game to him.

choi beomgyu was, without question, the absolute worst person you’d ever met, and you were determined to keep as much distance between you and him as possible during this school trip.

you walked into the room with a spring in your step, already fantasizing about two days of peaceful solitude. no obnoxious laughter, no teasing remarks, no beomgyu. for once, the universe had done something right.

that peace, however, lasted all of three seconds. your smile vanished the instant you spotted him. beomgyu. in your room. unpacking his duffle bag like he belonged there.

you froze in the doorway, disbelief hitting you like a slap to the face. this had to be a mistake, right?

“what the hell are you doing here?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes at his hunched form.

beomgyu didn’t even look up. “unpacking,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“no, no, no.” you stepped into the room, pointing an accusing finger at him. “you’re in the wrong room. there’s no way we’re roommates. you must’ve walked into the wrong room. you’re stupid like that, after all.”

he turned his head to give you an amused look. “nice try, but i’m not wrong this time.”

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “prove it.”

with a sigh, beomgyu fished his keys out of his pocket, holding it up as if it were the holy grail. “room 313. same as the one on your key, right?”

your stomach dropped, and you reluctantly pulled your own keycard out to confirm. room 313. damn it. “this has to be some sick joke,” you muttered under your breath.

beomgyu smirked, leaning casually against the bedframe. “aw, don’t look so heartbroken. i’m flattered you care so much about where i sleep.”

you groaned, throwing your bag onto the bed with more force than necessary. “why you, of all people? this trip was supposed to be my escape, and now i’m stuck with you.”

“relax,” he drawled, stretching his arms behind his head. “i’m not that bad. i’ll even let you take the bed closer to the window. generous, right?”

you glared at him, too annoyed to appreciate the so-called ‘gesture.’ “oh, how kind of you, your highness. truly, i’m honored,” you retorted, voice laced with sarcasm.

beomgyu laughed, the sound grating on your already-frayed nerves. “you’re awfully cute when you’re sarcastic.”

“don’t call me cute,” you snapped, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“okay, grumpy,” he shot back with a wink.

you clenched your fists at the nickname, one he liked to use on you, muttering (loudly) as you stomped over to your bed. “this is my nightmare. why couldn’t i have been paired with literally anyone else? even that kid who collects bugs would’ve been better than this.”

but to your surprise, there was no snarky retort. no obnoxious laugh or teasing remark. not even a single snarky retort, or any witty one-liner.

beomgyu had simply gone … quiet.

you frowned, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. he was sitting on his bed, unpacking his things methodically, almost… calmly.

it was suspicious. he was suspicious.

for a moment, you were tempted to ask if something was wrong, but no, this was beomgyu—he was probably just lulling you into a false sense of security so he could spring some ridiculous prank later.

deciding not to risk it, you kept your mouth shut and started unpacking your own things. still, the silence between you two felt unnatural. it hung heavy in the room, and despite your better judgment, you found yourself sneaking another glance at him.

he looked… normal. no devilish smirk, no gleam of mischief in his eyes. just beomgyu, quietly organizing his stuff like any other person.

weird. really weird. and unsettlingly… not unpleasant.

⁺ ༄ ༝ ₊

as soon as the class regrouped in the common area later that day, you were reminded of exactly why choi beomgyu was public enemy number one in your book.

“i told you, taehyun, there’s no way you can out-eat me,” beomgyu crowed, arms flailing animatedly as he reenacted some ridiculous lunchtime escapade. his voice carried above the chatter of your classmates, loud enough that everyone turned their heads to either laugh along or roll their eyes.

you snickered under your breath, shaking your head. of course, the subdued version of beomgyu you’d seen in the room was just a temporary glitch in the system. he was back in full force now, throwing exaggerated gestures and laughing so hard he almost toppled over.

“i knew it,” you muttered to yourself, crossing your arms. “as if he’d ever stay quiet for long.”

“knew what?” one of your friends asked, nudging you.

“oh, nothing,” you replied, still eyeing beomgyu’s theatrics. “just that a tiger can’t change its stripes.”

but any smug satisfaction you felt was short-lived.

“you’ll be paired with the person whose name is written on the card you pull,” the teacher explained, holding out a basket of folded slips.

as luck would have it (or misfortune, rather), the name on your card was the one person you’d been hoping to avoid.

“choi beomgyu,” you read aloud, your voice flat with resignation.

“ah, lucky you!” beomgyu grinned, leaning toward you with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “guess you got the best partner, huh?”

“more like the worst,” you muttered, earning a mock gasp of offense from him.

to make matters worst, the two of you were sent off into a different section of the campground, far enough away that the sounds of your classmates faded into the background. it was a simple task—gather specific items from the forest for a scavenger hunt.

at first, you braced yourself for the usual barrage of beomgyu’s teasing remarks and incessant chatter, but as you walked along the winding trail, something strange happened.

he was quiet.

too quiet.

you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. his head was down, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as he kicked at the dirt path absentmindedly. the beomgyu who had been commanding the group’s attention just minutes ago now looked… thoughtful.

“what, did you finally run out of things to say?” you quipped, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

he glanced at you, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smile. “nah, just… thinking.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you? thinking? must be serious.”

“ha-ha,” he deadpanned, but there was no bite to his tone. unusually so.

the silence that followed stretched on, long and unbroken, like a thread unraveling endlessly between the two of you. the gentle rustle of leaves underfoot filled the space where beomgyu’s usual chatter should’ve been. it was almost disorienting—this odd, fragile quiet.

you bent down to pick up a small, flat stone from the ground, turning it over in your hand. it was smooth and cool to the touch, one of the items on your scavenger list. “this should work,” you murmured, not expecting an answer.

“nice find,” came beomgyu’s voice, soft and low.

your head snapped up, eyes narrowing at him in surprise. there was no sarcasm in his tone, no teasing glint in his eye. just a genuine acknowledgment, plain and unadorned. it threw you off more than you cared to admit.

“oh, uh… thanks,” you said, fumbling over the word like it was foreign.

he offered a small smile—an actual smile, not the cocky, lopsided grin he usually wore—and it made your chest tighten for reasons you didn’t want to dwell on.

as the two of you continued down the path, the quiet didn’t dissipate. instead, it grew heavier, more tangible, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it wasn’t tense, either. it was something else entirely, something softer and… stranger.

you found yourself stealing glances at him, unable to help it. there was something almost… calming about the way he moved. his usual energy—the constant bouncing steps, the exaggerated gestures—was gone. instead, his pace was measured, his gaze sweeping the forest floor with a calm focus. it was unsettling. but more so confusing.

you crouched down again, this time picking up a pine cone half-buried in the dirt. brushing it off, you tucked it into your bag before standing again.

“so,” you began, trying to sound casual, “are you… okay…? did you hit your head before we went out or something?”

beomgyu glanced at you, and for a moment, you thought you saw the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “i’m fine. why?”

you gestured vaguely toward him. “you’re… quiet. really quiet. it’s weird.”

he raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “weird, huh?”

“yeah,” you said, crossing your arms as you started walking again. “what, did someone finally tell you to shut up and you actually listened?”

he chuckled under his breath—quietly, not the loud, boisterous laugh you were used to. it was a softer sound, almost… warm.

and then he didn’t say anything else. he didn’t rise to your bait, didn’t fire back with one of his usual snarky comebacks. instead, he just kept walking, the faint smile lingering on his face as his eyes swept the path ahead.

the longer the silence stretched, the more it started to unnerve you. this… wasn’t the beomgyu you knew. the beomgyu you knew would’ve already made three jokes at your expense and found some way to drive you to the brink of exasperation. this version of him—quiet, calm, almost thoughtful—was an entirely different person.

and the strangest part? you didn’t hate it.

in fact, you found yourself relaxing in his presence, your usual wariness slipping away without you realizing it. without the relentless teasing and constant chatter, it was almost… peaceful.

but the question lingered, gnawing at the edges of your mind. why was he like this now? where was the loud, insufferable boy who had been the center of attention just an hour ago in the canteen? why did he only act like this when it was just the two of you?

the thought made your stomach twist, and you found yourself glancing at him again, searching for some kind of answer in his expression. but beomgyu’s face was unreadable, his focus entirely on the trail ahead.

when you reached a small clearing, he paused, crouching down to inspect a patch of moss. “think this counts as ‘soft greenery’?” he asked, holding it up for you to see.

you blinked, startled by the sudden question. “uh… yeah, probably.”

“cool,” he said simply, tucking the moss into his bag.

and just like that, the silence resumed, wrapping around you both like a thick, heavy blanket. but this time, you couldn’t shake the strange, nagging warmth blooming in your chest.

it wasn’t fair. choi beomgyu wasn’t supposed to make you feel anything except irritation. and yet, here he was—quiet, calm, and somehow disarming you without even trying.

not too long after, you both finally found every item required on the list. with your bag heavier and your mind filled with unanswered questions, you followed beomgyu back toward the meeting point where the rest of the class had gathered. there was an odd weight to your steps, a strange feeling tugging at you—a weird, quiet disappointment that you couldn’t quite shake.

you glanced over at beomgyu as the two of you walked in silence. he carried his bag slung casually over one shoulder, his expression as neutral and calm as it had been the entire time.

when you reached the clearing where everyone was waiting, the energy of the group hit you like a wave; loud voices, laughter, and the chaos of friends recounting their scavenger adventures. you barely had time to process it all when the instructor called everyone’s attention to announce the winners.

and much to you and everyone else’s surprise, the instructor called you and beomgyu out.

your head whipped around to look at beomgyu in disbelief. he was already smirking, the corners of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly familiar way.

“well, look at that,” he said, his voice now laced with amusement. “teamwork makes the dream work, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your cheeks heated under his gaze. “don’t get used to it. this was pure luck.”

he laughed—loud and full, the sound cutting through the noise around you. and just like that, the calm, subdued version of him from earlier was gone, replaced by the beomgyu you knew all too well.

you groaned, stepping away as his friends swarmed him with congratulations and playful jabs. as much as you wanted to revel in the small victory, the shift in his demeanor made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t fully understand.

you lingered at the edge of the group, watching as beomgyu fell seamlessly back into his usual role—loud, boisterous, and always at the center of attention. the difference was jarring, like a switch had flipped the moment he rejoined the crowd.

and it felt… weird.

you couldn’t stop thinking about how different he’d been when it was just the two of you. the calm, quiet side of him wasn’t something you’d ever seen before. it was like a secret he’d accidentally let you glimpse, only to tuck it away the moment you weren’t alone anymore.

why was he only ever like that around you? did he hate being around you so much that he didn’t even want to bother teasing you anymore? the thought made your stomach twist unpleasantly.

but then, why did that calm side of him… comfort you? why did it unnerve you in equal measure?

you didn’t get it. none of it made sense.

as the group began to disperse for the next activity, you felt someone nudge your shoulder. you turned to find one of your friends grinning at you.

“so, what’s the deal with you and beomgyu? you guys actually worked together without killing each other?”

“barely,” you said with a huff, trying to mask the strange cocktail of emotions swirling in your chest. “he was… different.”

your friend raised an eyebrow. “different how?”

“nevermind,” you mumbled, brushing past them as you tried to shake the thoughts from your head.

but even as you joined your friends, laughing and chatting as though nothing was wrong, your gaze drifted back to beomgyu.

he caught your eye from across the clearing and smirked, giving you a two-fingered salute.

and somehow, that simple gesture sent a pang of frustration—and something else entirely—through you.

⁺ ༄ ༝ ₊

the day had been long and exhausting. after hours of team-building activities—most of which involved more yelling and chaos than actual teamwork—the announcement of some “healing time” around the campfire felt like a blessing.

everyone seemed to share the same sentiment, slumping into the circle of logs and folding chairs surrounding the crackling fire, their faces illuminated by its flickering glow.

the atmosphere was light and easy, the warm flames licking upward as students laughed, shared terrible ghost stories, and sang impromptu songs. the campfire’s golden light softened the world, turning the boisterous group into a cozy bubble of warmth and laughter.

you were starting to relax, when someone brought out a guitar, the sleek instrument glinting faintly in the firelight.

“anyone know how to play?” the instructor asked, looking around.

immediately, a group of boys started whispering and nudging one another, and before you could fully process it, one of beomgyu’s friends grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand into the air.

“beomgyu does!” the boy announced loudly, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

your head snapped to the side. beomgyu?

“what—hey, not funny, cut it out…” beomgyu groaned, tugging his hand back down and glaring at his friend.

the group erupted into laughter, some clapping and others urging him to go for it. you leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite yourself.

“come on, beomgyu,” the instructor then encouraged, smiling. “let’s hear it.”

beomgyu shifted uncomfortably, his expression torn between exasperation and embarrassment. “i’m not—ugh, fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair before finally standing up.

he stepped forward and took the guitar, visibly gulping as he adjusted it in his lap. the firelight cast shadows over his face, but you didn’t miss the way he glanced in your direction. it was quick, fleeting, and yet… intentional. like he wanted to see your reaction.

your heart gave an odd jolt. why did it feel like his eyes lingered just a second too long?

the circle grew quiet as beomgyu plucked at the strings, testing them. his fingers were steady, but you noticed the slight tension in his jaw as he took a deep breath. then, without preamble, he began to play.

the soft, melodic chords of “i will give you everything” by lee janghee floated into the night air, delicate and deliberate. beomgyu’s fingers moved fluidly over the strings, coaxing out a gentle rhythm that seemed to wrap around the campfire like a warm embrace.

and then, he started singing.

it began softly, his voice slipping into the quiet like a gentle breeze, carrying with it something raw and achingly beautiful. it was the kind of voice that could hush a crowded room, that could demand attention without ever raising its volume.

it was soothing, unassuming at first, and then it began to grow—layered with warmth, depth, and an unexpected vulnerability that felt almost tangible.

you blinked, your focus narrowing until it was as if there was only him, sitting there with the guitar balanced in his hands, his head tilted just slightly as he poured his soul into the music.

it wasn’t perfect, not in the technical sense. there were moments when his voice wavered, when the raw emotion seemed to outpace his control. but that only made it more captivating. it was authentic, so deeply, disarmingly honest that it felt like a secret he was sharing with everyone in the circle.

you sat frozen, the familiar ache of something unnameable stirring in your chest. the obnoxious boy who teased you relentlessly, who lived to push your buttons, was nowhere to be found once again.

and as the song reached its chorus, he glances up, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes found yours.

everything stopped.

it was as if the world itself held its breath. the fire crackled in the background, but its warmth faded in comparison to the intensity of his gaze. his eyes were tender, impossibly so, brimming with an emotion you couldn’t place.

there was no smirk, no teasing glint, no trace of the boy who drove you insane. just beomgyu, stripped of his bravado, looking at you as though you were the only person in the universe who mattered in that moment.

your breath caught, the air thick and heavy in your lungs. your heart thudded loudly in your chest, drowning out everything else. his gaze was so soft, so achingly gentle, it made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

you tore your gaze away, your cheeks burning, your heart pounding as if you’d been caught doing something forbidden. but even as you looked elsewhere—anywhere but at him—his voice pulled you back.

it was soothing in a way that made you feel too much, its warmth and depth settling into the spaces you didn’t know were empty. you felt vulnerable, exposed, as though he’d reached inside and found the parts of you you didn’t let anyone see.

when the final note rang out, the world rushed back in with a wave of cheers and applause. the spell broke, and beomgyu ducked his head, laughing shyly as he handed the guitar back to its owner.

“happy now?” he muttered to his friends as he sat back down, though his usual cocky tone was uncharacteristically absent.

as the circle erupted into noise and chatter once more, you stole a glance at him. beomgyu was laughing now, nudging his friends as they teased him about his unexpected talent. he was back to being himself—the loud, insufferable menace you’d grown used to.

you went back into conversation like everyone else, but your head felt disconnected from your body, your mind still stuck on that one glance.

those… eyes.

why did it feel like he was singing to you?

⁺ ༄ ༝ ₊

as everyone filtered back to their rooms, you felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension settle in your chest. the day had been exhausting, but not in the way you’d expected. it wasn’t the team-building activities or the endless socializing that left you drained—it was beomgyu.

the memories of him during the scavenger hunt, the haunting softness of his voice as he sang, and, most of all, that fleeting, heart-stopping moment when your eyes met across the campfire… they swirled in your mind like an endless storm.

you walked towards the door your room, your steps growing heavier with each one. and as if sensing your inner thoughts, your heart oddly skips a beat when you turned the corner and spotted beomgyu approaching from the other end of the hall.

sensing your presence, beomgyu’s gaze flicked up, meeting yours. for a split second, neither of you moved, caught in a strange limbo. the tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

you quickly averted your eyes, willing yourself to focus on something, anything else. fumbling with your keys, you muttered a curse under your breath as they slipped from your grasp and clattered to the floor.

“great,” you mumbled, squatting down to pick them up.

but before you could, beomgyu was already there, his hand reaching for the keys. your fingers brushed briefly, and you pulled back as if burned, the unexpected warmth of his skin lingering on yours.

“here,” he said quietly, holding the keys out to you. his voice was soft, almost tentative, your heart now pounding against your chest as if it was threatening to fall out.

“oh… thanks,” you murmured, your voice embarrassingly small as you took the keys from him.

before you could unlock the door yourself, he surprises you again. “let me,” he says just as softly, gently opening the door with his own keys. he slid the key into the lock and opened the door with an ease that felt far too intimate for such a mundane act.

you stepped inside first at his silent gesture, your mind racing.

the room was dimly lit, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting warm shadows on the walls. you moved to your side of the room without a word, setting your bag down and busily pretending to organize your things. the silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward, broken only by the sound of beomgyu setting his own things aside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d been, how soft his voice sounded, how his hand had felt against yours. you shook your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they clung to you stubbornly.

finally, you decided to break the silence, if only to distract yourself. “you, uh… you sounded good earlier. during the song, i mean.”

the words came out more awkwardly than you intended, and you cringed inwardly. you couldn’t even dare to look at him.

beomgyu paused, the air between you tightening. “oh… thanks,” he said after a moment, his tone measured. “i didn’t think anyone would actually pay attention.”

you turned your head slightly, catching the faintest glimpse of him rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. he looked… shy.

you tilted your head, curiosity getting the better of you. “are you kidding? why not? you’re… good. amazing, even.”

his lips quirked into a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “maybe. but it’s not really my thing to show off like that.”

you raised an eyebrow, unable to resist a teasing jab. “that’s a first. i thought showing off was your whole personality.”

to your surprise, he chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “touché.”

you laughed softly, and for a moment, the tension eased, replaced by something gentler. something that made your chest feel a little too tight.

as silence crept back in, you found yourself stealing glances at him, the image of him at the campfire still vivid in your mind. his soft, tender gaze, the way his voice had drawn you in—it all felt too close, too raw.

and then there was this beomgyu, the quiet one sitting just across the room. the one who had gently handed you your keys, who opened the door for you, who seemed to peel back the layers of his loud, teasing persona when no one else was around.

why did he only act like this when it was just the two of you? and why did it make your heart ache in a way you didn’t understand?

⁺ ༄ ༝ ₊

the next day, everything seemed to buzz with activity. everyone was excited for the next round of team-building exercises, chatting and laughing as they gathered their things. but for you? the noise, the excitement, it all felt distant. your mind, it seemed, had other plans. it was stuck on one person—beomgyu.

you couldn’t stop thinking about him. and it wasn’t because of his usual loud antics, no, it was the strange shift in his behavior. the quiet side of him that had shown itself only around you, the one you couldn't quite understand. the one that had made your heart do this... odd thing you hated.

all day, your eyes kept drifting to him, following his movements closely, trying to figure out why he acted like an entirely different person when it was just the two of you. he wasn’t like this with anyone else—no, with everyone else, he was the cocky, annoying, loud mess that had driven you insane since the day you met him. but with you? he was soft, surprisingly calm, almost... shy? it made no sense.

you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the rest of the group moving on, the voices around you fading into the background. without realizing it, you had wandered off the trail, the trees around you growing denser as you turned in circles, trying to figure out where you were. you cursed under your breath, pulling out your phone—no signal, of course. and your battery was almost dead. fantastic.

you couldn’t stop pacing, frustration bubbling up in your chest as you tried to figure out which way to go. each step felt like you were sinking deeper into your own thoughts, but the world around you was becoming increasingly unfamiliar. everything felt... off. and that was when it happened.

you collided with something—someone—and before you could react, your feet slipped out from under you, sending you crashing into the ground.

as you stumbled and fell on your ass, a sharp wince escaped your lips. the grass was rough, and the fall left you a little more embarrassed than you'd care to admit. you groaned, sitting up and rubbing your backside, annoyed with yourself for losing focus like that.

but then, a soft voice broke through your frustration, pulling you from your misery.

"are you alright?"

you froze, and as your gaze lifted, you saw him—beomgyu. his bright and teasing demeanor you saw earlier replaced once more by something else entirely—something softer, almost concerned. he was standing there, looking down at you with an eyebrow slightly raised, as if waiting for an answer.

you blinked in surprise. "you? why are you... here?"

beomgyu took a few steps closer, kneeling down so that he was at eye level with you. his hands were still tucked in his jacket pockets, and there was a quiet warmth to his presence that you hadn’t expected. "i saw you wander off," he said casually, but his eyes didn’t match his laid-back tone. "thought i’d make sure you didn’t get too lost."

his words seemed so... genuine. and yet, you couldn’t shake the confusion that swirled in your mind. he saw you wander off? he was looking at you? following your every move just as you followed his? beomgyu was the last person you expected to show any sort of concern, let alone take the time to make sure you were okay.

"but how did you know?" you asked, still bewildered, glancing at him. "you’ve been with your friends the whole time, right? why would you leave them to—"

"i’m not glued to them," he interrupted quickly, his voice light but with a touch of something else—something uncharacteristically flustered yet calm both at the same time.

without explaining any further, beomgyu stood up first, taking out a hand from the pocket of his jacket before extending one towards you. his hand hovered in the air, palm up, an unspoken invitation that caught you off guard. his expression was soft, almost hesitant.

"come on," he said quietly, his voice low and steady. "we can’t look for the others with you on the ground like that, can we?"

you stared at his hand, your thoughts spinning. the way he looked at you, his eyes so steady and sincere, made your chest tighten in a way that was both unfamiliar and unsettling.

your fingers hovered over his for a moment, unsure if you should take the offer. was this really the same beomgyu who thrived on driving you up the wall? because right now, like yesterday, he felt like someone entirely different.

after a beat, you placed your hand in his. his grip was firm but not overpowering, his hand warm against yours. the touch sent a jolt through your system, a strange mixture of comfort and something far more disconcerting.

as he gently helped you to your feet, neither of you said a word. the world around you seemed to pause—the rustling leaves, the distant chirping of birds, even the whisper of the wind—it all faded into the background. the only thing you could focus on was the way his fingers curled just slightly around yours, like he was holding on for a second longer than necessary.

when you were fully upright, he let go, but the absence of his touch left your hand tingling, like it still remembered the warmth of his.

"you good?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

you nodded, avoiding his gaze as you dusted off your pants. but you could feel his eyes on you, as if he were checking to make sure you were really okay. the air between you felt charged, heavy with something you couldn’t quite name.

beomgyu took a step back, his hand now tucked back into his pocket, but the softness in his eyes hadn’t disappeared. "we’ll find the others soon. let’s just stick together, yeah?"

together. you swallowed hard, nodding again because words seemed impossible right now. something about the way he stood there, a mix of confidence and quiet sincerity, made your thoughts race.

as the two of you started walking, an odd silence stretched between you. it wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. it was charged with an unspoken tension, the kind that made you hyperaware of every step, every breath, every glance he threw your way.

you tried to focus on your surroundings, on finding your way back to the group, but your mind kept circling back to the moment that had happened only a few minutes ago—how his hand had felt around yours, how his voice had softened in a way that felt far too intimate for someone who was supposed to be your biggest annoyance.

and then there was the way he had looked at you. not with the playful mischief you were used to, but with something tender. gentle. like, for a moment, you weren’t just the person he liked to tease—you were something more.

it left you reeling, your heart pounding in your chest as the two of you walked side by side. you couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at him again, afraid of what you might see—or worse, what you might feel.

beomgyu, for his part, seemed calm, though you could swear he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. his usual cockiness had been stripped away, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that made you feel things you didn’t want to name.

what was happening? why was beomgyu, of all people, making your heart race like this? and why did his words, his touch, linger in your mind like a song you couldn’t forget?

you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. this was beomgyu—irritating, obnoxious, infuriating beomgyu. and yet, as you walked through the forest together, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than you’d ever allowed yourself to see.

⁺ ༄ ༝ ₊

as you continued to trudge through the forest path, the shadows of the trees stretching long in the fading sunlight, you couldn’t help but sigh. your earlier irritation with yourself for wandering off had transformed into full-blown worry. 

what if you didn’t find the others? what if you got stuck out here, lost in the woods, forever? and worse—what if you had to spend your last moments with beomgyu of all people?

your thoughts spiraled, imagining every worst-case scenario, until a sudden pressure on your shoulder pulled you out of it.

"hey," beomgyu’s voice was calm, steady, as he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "we’ll find them. don’t worry."

the simple gesture, paired with his soft reassurance, made your heart do an annoyingly traitorous flip. gone was your panic—replaced by a wave of heat rushing to your face. of course, you weren’t worried anymore, you were now flustered.

you glanced at him, trying to gauge how he could be so calm in this situation. but instead of his usual teasing smirk or overconfident grin, he was looking at you with that same quiet sincerity he’d been using on you since the day before.

determined to shake off the growing tension between you, you cleared your throat and finally spoke. "so… why were you even around to see me wandering off in the first place? you’re not exactly known for being observant, you know."

beomgyu blinked, startled by your sudden question. then he narrowed his eyes playfully, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "well, excuse me for caring, i guess. i happened to notice you lagging behind, and since i’m such a kind, thoughtful person, i figured i’d check on you."

you snorted, crossing your arms. "oh, please. kind and thoughtful? you must’ve hit your head on a tree branch or something."

he rolled his eyes, but there was a faint flush creeping across his cheeks. "believe it or not, i’m capable of being nice."

"mhm, sure." you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. "so nice that you waited until i got lost before showing up. really great timing there, choi."

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "wow, no gratitude whatsoever. next time, i’ll just let you wander into a bear’s den or something."

"oh, so now you’re a wildlife expert too?" you shot back, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

the banter came easily, easing the awkwardness that had been building between you. but beneath the light teasing, you couldn’t ignore the way your chest still felt tight, your heart still fluttering from his earlier gesture.

"seriously, though," you said after a pause, looking at him curiously. "why did you come after me? it’s not like you to… well, you know, care. for me.”

his steps faltered just slightly, but he recovered quickly, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "i don’t know," he said, his voice quieter now. "i guess i just… noticed."

you blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. his gaze stayed forward, avoiding yours, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn there was something unspoken lingering in the air between you.

but then he cleared his throat and grinned, his usual confidence slipping back into place. "besides, someone has to make sure you don’t get eaten by a bear."

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the tiny smile that crept onto your face. "right, like you’d be so helpful in a bear attack."

"oh, i would be. they’ll just think i’m one of them," he says smugly, imitating a bear growling with hand gestures, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

as the two of you continued down the path, the unease from earlier began to fade, replaced by a strange, tentative comfort. maybe being stuck in the woods with beomgyu wasn’t the worst thing after all.

as the conversation flowed between you two, it was almost startling how natural it felt. gone was the sharp banter or pointed glares—replaced instead by an ease you hadn’t realized you could have with beomgyu. and for a moment, as ridiculous as it sounded, it felt like you’d been walking this path together for ages.

but then a chilly breeze swept through the trees, interrupting the moment and sending a shiver racing up your spine. instinctively, you crossed your arms and tucked your hands under them, trying to preserve whatever warmth you could.

“cold?” beomgyu’s voice broke the silence, soft but tinged with concern.

“no, i’m fine,” you said quickly, but the involuntary shudder that followed betrayed you.

he didn’t say anything at first. you glanced at him and saw his brows furrowed slightly, as though he were debating something. before you could question it, he shrugged off his jacket and held it out to you.

“here,” he said, his voice quieter now.

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what? no, i can’t—what about you? won’t you freeze?”

he hesitated for only a second before shaking his head. “it’s fine. i don’t really feel the cold anyway,” he said, his tone casual, but the way he avoided your gaze told you otherwise. “just… take it. it’s no big deal.”

now it was your turn to hesitate, your fingers hovering over the jacket, but the way he stood there, holding it out so patiently, made it impossible to refuse. finally, you took it, slipping it on and immediately basking in the warmth it provided. it was oversized on you, the sleeves covering your hands, and it smelled faintly of something sweet and familiar—like peach and vanilla.

“thanks,” you mumbled, the heat creeping up your cheeks doing little to combat the chill.

“don’t mention it,” he replied, but you noticed the faint flush dusting his own cheeks as he quickly looked away.

still, you couldn’t help but frown slightly. “seriously, though... aren’t you going to get cold?”

he shook his head, his hands now stuffed into his pockets. “as long as you’re not cold, it’s fine.”

his words were simple, but they hit you harder than they should have. your heart skipped, the warmth of his jacket suddenly feeling like it had seeped into your chest.

neither of you spoke for a moment, the quiet stretching between you. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something charged about it—like there was a question hanging in the air, waiting to be asked.

finally, unable to ignore the question that had been eating away at you, you blurted out, “why are you so quiet around me but not around anyone else?”

beomgyu froze mid-step, his gaze snapping to yours. his eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might deflect the question, maybe throw out a teasing remark like he always did. but instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair in that nervous way you were starting to recognize. when he finally looked at you, his expression wasn’t smug or playful, it was… vulnerable.

“do you really wanna know?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible above the rustling leaves.

your throat felt tight, but you nodded. “yeah. i do.”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as though trying to steady himself. “it’s because you’re… different,” he said at last, his voice tentative, almost unsure.

you blinked, his words taking a moment to sink in. “different?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat as you stared at him.

he nodded, still not looking at you. “yeah. with everyone else, it’s easy to be… loud, annoying, whatever. because, honestly? i don’t really care what they think. it doesn’t matter if I’m too much for them.”

his words made your chest tighten. “but with me…?” you prompted, your voice softer now, almost afraid to break the fragile moment hanging between you.

beomgyu finally met your gaze, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to find the courage to say whatever it was he wanted to. “with you, i.. i care about what you think, and… actually, i feel like this is who i really am,” he said quietly, his tone raw and uncertain.

your breath caught, and you tilted your head slightly, frowning. “really?” you asked, disbelief lacing your voice. “i don’t buy it. you’re saying the real you is quiet and… shy? come on.”

he let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “okay, maybe not completely,” he admitted, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile before it faded again. “but…”

“but…?” you pressed once more, your voice barely above a whisper now.

beomgyu’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away again, his fingers tugging at his sleeve nervously. “when I’m alone with you…” he began, his voice faltering. “i feel like i can be myself, but… i also feel like i need to be careful. like i can’t mess up. can’t mess… us up.”

your breath hitched. “us?” you repeated, the word hanging in the air between you.

beomgyu rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered now. he looked at you, his eyes filled with something so vulnerable and tender that it made your heart ache. “sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “i probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

but you shook your head quickly, your voice steadying. “no, i’m… glad you did.”

he blinked, caught off guard by your response, but the smallest smile tugged at the corner of his lips. and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you no longer feeling heavy—but something closer to understanding.

before you could ask more about the “us” thing—what it meant, what he meant—the sound of your classmates’ voices suddenly echoed through the forest, distant but unmistakable.

the moment between you and beomgyu shattered in an instant, the bubble you’d unknowingly been wrapped in dissolving into nothing.

you both turned toward the noise, his expression shifting almost immediately. the soft vulnerability that had painted his features was replaced by something more guarded. it was like watching a door close, locking away everything you’d just seen.

“looks like we found them,” he murmured, his voice steady but quieter now.

you nodded, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “right… yay...” you say, trying to mask your true emotions, shrugging off the jacket as you gave it back to him.

as the two of you began walking toward the sound of your classmates, the tension from before had all but vanished, replaced by something unspoken yet undeniably heavy.

but deep down, you felt a pang of something you couldn’t quite name. disappointment? regret? whatever it was, it lingered like a weight in your chest, leaving you more unsettled than you cared to admit.

and as the laughter and chatter of your peers grew louder, you couldn’t help but wish, just for a moment, that you hadn’t found them at all.

⁺ ༄ ༝ ₊

once back with your original peers, the familiar buzz of conversation and laughter surrounded you, bringing a sense of normalcy. the comforting hum of routine should’ve helped ground you, but it didn’t. instead, your thoughts spiraled back to the forest; to the tender and rather intimate moments you shared with beomgyu.

his soft, almost hesitant touch when he helped you up, the uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice, the banter that felt more like a connection than an annoyance… and then there was his small confession, lingering in your mind like an unsolved puzzle.

“us.”

the word echoed in your mind, heavy with unanswered questions. what did he mean by “us”? why couldn’t you shake the look in his eyes when he said it, like it was a truth he wasn’t ready to face?

the day carried on as usual, but your focus was elsewhere. even surrounded by your friends, your gaze would drift toward him. 

and the strange thing was, you weren’t the only one.

more than once, you caught him looking at you. sometimes it was fleeting, his eyes darting away the second yours met his. other times, the moments stretched, and neither of you would look away fast enough.

each glance made your heart thud harder, the silence between those exchanges speaking louder than any words ever could.

as the sun dipped below the horizon and the camp settled down for the night, the realization hit you—you were going back to your room; the room you shared with beomgyu.

your heart rate flared at the thought, your nerves on edge. the memory of earlier replayed in your head—the quiet, the tension, the shared warmth of his jacket.

but this time, you decided you wouldn’t let it all end in ambiguity. no, you’d find out. find out what “us” meant.

as you trudged toward the room, the chill of the night air nipping at your skin, your thoughts raced. this was your last night here, your last night sharing the same cramped space with beomgyu. by tomorrow, this strange, unexpected closeness would most probably dissolve back into whatever it had been before this trip.

if you didn’t do something now—if you didn’t try to get the answers you needed—you might never see this side of him again.

the thought made your chest tighten. you couldn’t let this pass you by.

when you reached the door, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the knob. inside, beomgyu was already there, sitting cross-legged on his bed with his phone in hand. he glanced up when you entered, his expression unreadable.

“hey,” he murmured, his voice low, almost tentative.

“hey,” you replied, your throat tightening as you moved to sit on your bed. the space between you felt heavier than usual, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a fragile thread waiting to snap.

you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you tried to gather the right words. the room was quiet except for the faint rustle of leaves outside the window, the stillness amplifying the rapid thudding of your heart. your eyes flickered directly towards beomgyu, catching the subtle way his fingers fidgeted, the way his gaze occasionally darted toward you and then away again, as if he, too, was battling something unsaid.

finally, the weight of the silence became too much. “so…” your voice cracked, forcing you to clear your throat. “earlier. in the forest.”

his head lifted slightly, though his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. “yeah? what about it?”

you hesitated, your chest tightening as the memories of his words—the softness in his gaze, the tremble in his voice—played over in your mind. “you said something about… ‘us.’” you swallowed hard, the vulnerability in your tone almost too much for you to bear. “i want to understand. i want to know what that means.”

his entire body stilled, his fingers curling into his palms. the tension between you was almost suffocating now, the air thick with an unspoken weight that neither of you seemed ready to face.

he exhaled sharply, a nervous laugh slipping past his lips. “it’s not that big of a deal,” he muttered, his voice lacking conviction.

you couldn’t stand it anymore. the air between you both was thick, suffocating, and every time you tried to get close to the truth, beomgyu just pushed you away again, retreating into his shell. you felt like you were running in circles, chasing a truth that he wouldn’t give you. it was maddening, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“beomgyu,” you said, your voice firm and filled with frustration as you stood up from your bed, making your way in front of his. “don’t do this. don’t keep brushing me off. you know this is a big deal, and you’re not going to get away with ignoring it!”

he flinched, his gaze quickly darting to the side, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. he was so close to losing control, and you weren’t going to let him hide anymore. you took another step forward, your pulse racing with every second that passed. you weren’t backing down.

“this is a huge deal,” you pressed, your voice rising with each word. “it’s killing me that you won’t just say it. say what it is, what’s been going on in your head, why you’re so quiet and distant around me so suddenly.” your breath was coming quicker now, your patience running thin. “i don’t care what you’re trying to hide, beomgyu. tell me.”

beomgyu was looking anywhere but at you. you could see how frustrated he was, his chest rising and falling with every breath, his fingers twitching like he wanted to run away. but you weren’t going to let him. you stepped closer again, your voice almost a growl. “seriously, just tell me!”

beomgyu’s frustration was starting to boil over, and the mask of cool indifference that he always wore was slipping, revealing the raw emotions beneath as he finally stands too. “you don’t get it, do you?” he spat, his voice low and trembling with barely contained anger. “i don’t know how to say it. i don’t know how to explain this. it’s so damn frustrating, and you make it even worse by pushing me!”

his words cut through you, and the intensity in his voice made your breath catch in your throat. for a moment, you thought he was going to explode, his emotions flooding out in a wave of pent-up frustration. but then, in the middle of all his tension, his eyes snapped to yours, and what you saw there shook you to your core.

“you think i don’t want to tell you?” he demanded, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and something much softer. “you think i don’t want to just come out and say it? i do, okay? but it’s not that simple. i can’t just… i can’t just tell you like it’s nothing! i… can’t do that. i can’t pretend it’s nothing, not when it’s you.”

his words were laced with a frustration that you didn’t fully understand, but it made your heart race even faster. “you’re so damn difficult, beomgyu,” you muttered, clenching your fists by your sides, “why can’t you just say it? what’s stopping you?”

his face flushed, and you could see his jaw tighten as he wrestled with his emotions. and then, finally, it all came crashing down.

he stepped forward so suddenly that you almost staggered back. his hands grabbed your arms, his grip tight and desperate, yet also gentle and tentative. his voice was a low growl, filled with raw, unfiltered emotion. 

“because, damn it, i can’t just tell you like it’s no big deal. it’s not just some stupid crush—i like you. a lot! and every time i try to act normal around you, it–it feels like i’m going to explode! i can’t just act like it’s nothing because it’s everything; when it’s just you and me, i.. i just can’t handle it. y-you make me so nervous, like i’m walking on a damn tightrope...”

oh.

oh.

you were caught off guard, completely speechless. the words hit you like a punch to the gut, and before you could even fully process what he’d said, he kept going, his grip on you tightening.

“i can’t stop thinking about you,” he spat, his eyes blazing with frustration. “when i’m around everyone else, it’s easy to hide; it’s easy to be loud and obnoxious because that’s the only way i don’t turn into a damn mess around you. but when it’s just us, i… can’t pretend. i can’t be that guy. i don’t know how to be. it’s why i followed you when you got lost in the forest—you make me care too much, so much, that it scares me.”

his voice cracked with the weight of the confession, and his words hung heavy in the air between you, charged with so much emotion that it was almost suffocating. for a long moment, neither of you spoke, just standing there, the tension between you so thick you could practically taste it.

finally, he let out a frustrated breath and pulled away from you, running a hand through his hair, his chest heaving with every breath. “i don’t know what to do with myself when i’m around you,” he muttered, more quietly this time, “i just… i want to be careful. i don’t want to mess things up. i don’t want to ruin whatever this is. teasing and annoying you was all i could do to get even an ounce of attention from you.”

you stared at him, your heart still racing as his words settled over you, and it was like everything that had been confusing and chaotic finally made sense. all of his teasing, all of the weird moments, the way he acted around you— it all came rushing together in one big, undeniable truth.

he likes you. beomgyu likes you.

and just like that, everything felt different. the tension that had been building between you finally snapped, and the weight that had been pressing on your chest seemed to ease, but the tension still lingered in the air.

“you’re… so frustrating, beomgyu,” you whispered, your voice trembling with exasperation and disbelief. 

beomgyu stood frozen for a moment, his expression shifting from confusion to a mix of guilt and frustration. his fingers twitched at his sides, but he didn’t make a move to speak, unsure how to navigate the tangled mess of emotions between you two.

“you seriously just… couldn’t say it, could you?” you continued, your voice rising in both exasperation and something deeper, something that made your heart race. “you had to play all these stupid games, mess with my head, act all ridiculous just for me to finally understand what you were trying to say.”

you could see the way beomgyu’s jaw clenched, his eyes flitting away, as if trying to escape the weight of your words. he ran a hand through his hair again, his lips pulling into a tight line, but still, he remained silent. in the face of your frustration, all he could do was look at you.

“but, you know what, beomgyu? you’re lucky,” you muttered, barely above a whisper, but the words hit harder than anything you had said before. “because, if i didn’t know any better, i… i’m pretty sure i like you too.”

beomgyu’s eyes snapped to yours immediately, his breath catching. his whole body froze in disbelief, and for a moment, the world seemed to come to a halt around you. his lips parted, but no words came out. instead, his hands fidgeted nervously, betraying how overwhelmed he was. his eyes darted between you and the floor, unsure of what to do with himself.

the silence stretched out between you, thick and heavy, making your heart race louder than ever. you could barely breathe as you waited for him to react, but it was your turn now. it had to be.

"you’re so damn frustrating," you murmured, shaking your head. you let out a shaky breath, your words tumbling out with an intensity that surprised even you. "how did we even get here? why couldn’t you just tell me? why do you always have to make everything so difficult?"

beomgyu’s face flushed, but he didn’t say anything. his eyes were still wide, and his body remained tense, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. you could see the vulnerability in him, raw and exposed, and it only made you more certain of what you needed to say.

"i don’t know why, but you—" you stopped yourself, your chest tightening with every word. "i don’t know why, but no matter how annoying you are, you still make my heart race like this. it’s ridiculous. you frustrate the hell out of me, you know that?" you laughed weakly, trying to hide the shake in your voice. "but even when you do, i just... i still can’t stop thinking about you. i still look forward to our stupid banter, even when i can barely stand it."

beomgyu’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and he took a step closer, as if drawn in by the force of your words. but you weren't done yet.

"and now... after all of this, after seeing the real you, the person behind the jokes, behind the teasing... it’s like i fell for you even more. it’s ridiculous." you let out a frustrated sigh, but your voice softened, almost tender as you looked up at him. "i hate how much i like you, beomgyu. i hate how you make everything so complicated, but i can’t help it. you’re just... you. and i like you. more than i ever realized."

there was a beat of silence, and it felt like your heart was about to burst from your chest. you finally let out a long breath, not noticing that you’d taken another step closer to him until you could feel the warmth of his presence, the heat radiating off him.

beomgyu’s gaze was still fixed on you, wide-eyed, processing everything you had just said. his lips parted, but this time, there were no words—just a shaky breath escaping him as if he was holding back a flood of emotions.

he opened his mouth again, but you reached up, placing a hand gently on his chest, stopping him before he could speak.

"let me just say this," you whispered, your voice steady now, but full of emotions you could no longer hold back. "i get it now. i get why you act like you do, why you tease me, why you hide behind your jokes. but i’m not afraid of it anymore. i’m not afraid of you." you paused, your heart pounding in your chest. "i just want you. all of you."

and in that moment, you saw it—the relief in his eyes, the vulnerability that softened his entire expression. it was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as if everything was finally out in the open.

beomgyu took a shaky step forward, his hand reaching for yours, but this time, he didn’t pull back. he let his fingers brush against yours, just the smallest touch, but it spoke volumes. his gaze lingered on your face, searching for any hint of doubt, but all he found was the truth in your eyes.

"you really mean that?" he asked, his voice so quiet, yet full of wonder.

you smiled softly, your heart thumping louder in your chest. "yeah. i really do."

beomgyu’s lips parted once more, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t find the words. but you didn’t need them. you both already understood. he stepped closer, closing the space between you two, and without a single word, he leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours.

the tension that had been building between you, from the teasing, the quiet moments, the stolen glances—all of it hung thick in the air. every single moment, every brush of skin, every unspoken thought, seemed to crash down in this instant. there was no more room for uncertainty, no more hesitation. only the rawness of everything you had felt up until now.

and then, without thinking, you both moved in simultaneously. his lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss, but it quickly deepened, the weight of everything between you pouring into it. the kiss was slow, yet filled with an urgency, a need to express everything you hadn’t said. the teasing, the frustration, the distance—all of it disappeared with each passing second.

his hands moved to cradle your face, his touch tender, as if he was afraid that even the smallest movement might break the spell. you responded in kind, your hands coming to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. it was as if all the moments you had shared—those fleeting touches, the playful banter, the shared silences—came together in this one kiss.

it was everything. everything you both had been holding back, everything you had been afraid to say, all flowing into this one moment. the kiss was filled with emotion, the kind of emotion that words could never fully capture. the laughter, the annoyance, the softness, the longing—everything.

you felt him deepen the kiss, his lips pressing against yours more firmly, and for the first time, you both gave in completely. there was no more acting, no more hiding behind jokes or walls. just beomgyu, just you. two hearts finally in sync, beating in time with each other.

when you finally pulled away, breathless, his forehead rested against yours, and you both stayed there for a moment, silently savoring the connection. the air was thick with emotion, and in that moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

and just like that, everything finally fell into place.

[robin-evry]

Dr. Ratio! Yuu is going to be NRC's students' worst nightmare, that's for sure.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐃𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 🦉📜

Member of the Intelligentsia Guild. Eccentric temperament, sharp-tongued but with an elegant demeanor. The face under the strange plaster head sculpture is apparently unexpectedly handsome.

( artist of the header : pogogu )

( credit for the dividers : @cafekitsune )

Ew, is there first reaction towards the school and why are all the students wearing such ridiculous outfits It's a school not an accult, and is this Weezer saying about being great magician all they see is nothing but a cat indulging themselves about being great but they themselves see no greatness Infront of them just an overconfident little cat.

NRC number one student, the subjects are so easy for them to the point they have already suppressed most of their seniors, demand Crowley to allow them to become an official lecturer in NRC as well allowed to host after school lectures in their dorm room for students.

Become the scariest figure in all of NRC as well an unofficial new headmaster in NRC , no student is brave enough to up against them not even the teachers ( Crowley is sobbing ), Dr ratio!Yuu is strict and will not allow any slip up. They are the reason why the school held such a dignified reputation.

Even when students complain to Crowley he's not brave enough to go against because he doesn't want to suffer another lecture of his imperfect ways of teaching, he's ego has already been shattered by them, he doesn't need to be more broken

The ramshackle will be a place of where dr ratio!Yuu live as well a place where students have to go for their after school lectures or second school, the dorm has become larger as well possessing some Greek architecture around it in the front of the dorm or the official of the dorm is an owl similar to Dr ratio owl in his arms. The first floor has become a larger lecture to fit in students where there's a large stage in the middle where dr ratio!yuu stands and teaches, and if anyone is caught sleeping they will have a chalk hit them in the head to wake them up or will be hit by a book in the head. No slacking off on their watch.

The second floor is their living quarters. Dr ratio!yuu room is strictly forbidden to enter, their room is full of multiple sculptures of themselves as well a luxurious bathroom with multiple rubber ducks and bath tub in the middle where dr ratio!yuu meditate

During the Octavinelle arc, the first years didn't make a contract with Azul, why would they when they have Dr ration there teaching them. They even managed to make it in the top 50 in the board, all thanks to Dr ratio!yuu teachings.

Wears a head plaster to cover their face so people cannot get distracted by how handsome and beautiful they are, rarely take it off and if they do not wear it many students that have seen their face are unable to take their eyes off them, they are also described to be more goodlooking than vil or anyone in twst.

Has helped twst on new technological advancement in the century and gained large popularity, as well as a fanclub. Many students and others outside the school admired them and had a crush on them.

During one time when a group of savanaclaw students tried to show their dominance, one of them was thrown right across the room to the point it caused the others to back away and admit defeat, as I said no one is brave enough to go against them.

Another situation with the dorm leader riddles saying that their way is a disrespect to the queen of hearts, and Dr ratio!yuu point out their flaws of the queen of hearts and riddles ways.

Dr ratio!yuu : you said that the queen of hearts, was a ruler that upholds rules, but all I see is a tyrant who punishes the common folk for matters that are so small.

Riddle : HOW DARE YOU-

Dr ratio!yuu : and by far I'm seeing the exact same thing about you and the ruler, a child that holds the title of monarch but not the grace or qualities of a monarch. Tell me, are you even worthy of carrying the title of dorm leader similar to the queen of hearts worthy of calling themselves a ruler.

Riddle : i-

Dr ratio : I have met by far many people in my lines of work and by far they have more worth of being called a monarch than you....

Dr ratio!Yuu walk away leaving a stunt riddle behind.

By far that day riddle have an emotional scar, the words that the doctor has said to them have left a mark towards him. Riddle's mother soon learns about this situation and asks for Dr ratio!yuu explosion and even Crowley was afraid to face them, and when riddle mother confronts them, she also suffers from their harsh words of criticism and flaws, soon she even backs away from them.

Dr ratio may seem heartless but they do care about people, they want people to grow and unleash their full potential that's the reason why they are so strict with people.

During their first meeting with Jamil and kalim, during kalim being busy with something. Dr ratio!yuu ask why is kalim the dorm leader they said that Jamil is more worthy of being called dorm leader. This comment stunt Jamil. They said that Jamil is by far less careless and more appropriate to be a dorm leader.

Has respect for vil, Dr ratio!yuu respect vil for carrying him in high standards seeing them similar, together won't settle for less, vil pursuit of furthering peoples Beauty while Dr ratio!yuu is on a pursuit of furthering peoples intelligence and have high expectations for others and will always push others to their limit to reach potential. Saying that by far vil is already worthy of calling himself the most beautiful person as well a person worthy of a dorm leader.

I also like to imagine Dr ratio!yuu is what epel dream physic would be, being able to take down multiple students with ease as well smart and sharp. Epel wanted to ask them to train him but he's also scared to ask them but after enough courage he did ask them and they agreed, every know and then epel will be tutored by them in physical and academic requirements, vil approved and epel grades and physics have enhanced greatly.

Dr ratio!Yuu is an unstoppable force, they always tell the truth even tho it hurts people because if the people are unable to face the truth and how are they gonna grow.

By far after their appearance the standards of grades have risen 100%, there are no students that are being held back as well the standard of high grades started to rise thanks to Dr ratio!yuu after school lectures, and the staff personally thank them for giving students to have a back bone, they are by far a better headmaster than Crowley.

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys , @evadne01 , @serasvictoria02 , @hairdryerducks , @hopeaha , @curiously-lazy , @ harriettesthings , @andrealux16 , @wacko-weirdo , @greatdonutenemy , @yougottobekittenme , @anxiousosaurus , @kinkforwings , @someweirdassnamee , @impracticalantlers , @miyriu , @hobipabo

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 , PART 14 , PART 15 , PART 16 , PART 17 , PART 18 , PART 19 , PART 20 , PART 21 , PART 22 , PART 23 , PART 24 , PART 25 , PART 26 (You're here), PART 27

In the throne room.

Gaius: (enters and bows) Sire.

Uther: (At a table, offers him to sit next to him) It have come to my attention your ward is now quite popular above the people.

Gaius: I'm guessing you're referring to The Unicorn Catcher song, Sire?

Uther: (nods and sighs) Did you bring some of your concoction? (rubs his temples)

Gaius: (pulls out a little bottle from his pocket and starts mixing it with the drink Uther has already there) Sire, you don't really believe Merlin crossed pats with a unicorn, right? Because I can assure you-

Uther: Whether it's true or not is not really the problem.

Gaius: ... What?

Uther: If it's a lie, then that boy did a marvelous job to create himself a reputation portraying as a saint. If it's true, then he's been tempting my son with his virginity! I don't know which option is worst to be honest! This seductive demon-! (his eye tics)

Gaius: Drink. (gives him his drink) Just to get this straight, you aren't worry about the unicorn at all then, Sire?

Uther: (drinks it all in one go) Why would I worry about a horse with a horn wandering in the woods when the actual danger is here between the walls of this castle in the body of a peasant boy?! (stands up abruptly and looks at his vase frustrated) This thing isn't strong enough! (throws it away and Gaius flinches when it breaks) I know his kind, he gained my son's favor so when he becomes King he will turn him into his puppet king, or worst, he wants my son to make him regent so he'll have all the power! This boy is going to steal my kingdom!

Gaius: Sire, I promise you, Merlin is not that kind of person.

Uther: Really? Explain to me then why he dared to humiliate my son infront of his Knights? Tell me how that wasn't him showing off how much influence he has over the Prince of Camelot!

Gaius: (sighs, thinking) Of course he learned about that too. (says) Merlin is impertinent, I won't deny that, but he's not ambicious. In fact, if Merlin indeed encountered unicorn, that in itself would be prove of that. These magical creatures don't only feel attracted to the pureness in body, but the pureness in heart too. If Merlin had any malice in his heart it wouldn't have aproached him at all.

Uther: Oh, please! Why else would that boy humiliate himself to accept the affections of a man if not for his lust for power?

Gaius: Didn't it occur to your Majesty that for Merlin that's not an humiliation at all.

Uther: (frowns, confused) What do you mean?

Gaius: Well, Merlin has never showed any interest in girls, Sire. And, his status as prince aside, Arthur is a very handsome and attractive man. He also posseses very good qualities as a person. He's compassionate, brave, just, a very chivalrous man-

Uther: Are you trying to tell me that your ward is actually in love with my son?

Gaius: With all due respect, Sire, is pretty obvious that Arthur's feelings are not one sided. But you've been so absorbed in only thinking the worst of Merlin since he came here that you haven't realise that! I know my ward. He can be too dense and insolent for his own good, yes, but he's not a greedy person, much less a villain whose porpuse is to conquer an entire kingdom. He wouldn't even think of it. Merlin's heart is incapable of any evil.

Guard 1: (enters and bows) Your Majesty, Sir Silfred is here. He says he has important news for you.

Uther: Let him in.

Silfred: (enters and bows) Sire.

Uther: I'm hoping there's been a progress in your investigation.

Silfred: We still couldn't find any traces of Lady Sophia and Lord Aulfric, Sire. Not of them specifically at least. But we did find some dry blood stains deep in the woods.

Uther: They could be of anybody.

Silfred: That's what we thought. But then we found this nearby. (pulls out a purple neckerchief) It has stains of blood too. (gives it to Uther) Does it look familiar to you, Sire?

Gaius: (pales)

Uther: (analysing the fabric, icy calmed) It does... Thank you, Sir Silfred. You're dismissed.

Silfred: (bows and leaves)

Uther: (turns to Gaius) Your boy can be all chaste, Gaius, but he's definitely not pure hearted. He's evil in his very soul! And this is the prove! (throws the neckerchief at Gaius, who catches it in reflex) I knew something was off when Aulfric and Sophia dissapeared so suddenly and now I know why! He murdered them! He knew Sophia would be an obstacle for his plans so he got rid of her!

Gaius: (composes enough and stands up, firmly) I think you're running to conclusions, Sire.

Uther: Don't protect him, Gaius! Or are you going to deny this is his?

Gaius: It looks similar to the ones Merlin uses, yes, but Merlin is not the only person in Camelot that wears neckerchiefs.

Uther: True, but what about a purple one? Only royalty can afford purple fabric and there are only two royals in Camelot. And neither Arthur nor I wear this type of clothing. But we do know who likes to give expensive gifts to a certain servant.

Gaius: Even if it was Merlin's, we can't really be sure the blood is from Sophia and her father. You said it yourself, sire, it could be from anybody.

Uther: You dare to contradict me!

Gaius: All I'm saying is that in a court that wouldn't be enough prove to condem a person.

Uther: (yells) I am the King and therefore the judge and I say this is prove enough!

Gaius: (yells back) And would it be prove enough for Arthur?

Uther: ...

Gaius: (composes himself) I just fear, Sire, that if you condem Merlin based only on this evidence, Arthur won't accept it.

Uther: (sighs) I'm not naive enough to believe that Arthur doesn't know about this.

Gaius: (a bit nervous) What... what do you mean, Sire?

Uther: Sir Silfred is the best at finding traces and yet he could only find this piece of clothing and some blood stains. Even the smartest and strongest men can't hide a body that well in such short amount of time, let alone a skinny peasant boy. There's only one posible explanation.

Gaius: That he didn't do it?

Uther: That he had help! And not from other than my son, nonetheless! If Arthur's already, not only favoring, but covering him, we're doomed! that boy could even murder me and Arthur would let him!

Gaius: (thinking, worried) He's not stupid. It's incredible that he discovered what happened with so little clues, but his level of paranoia is worrying. He's right, but he's SO wrong at the same time. (says in a soothing voice) Merlin is no murderer, Sire. But even if he was, Arthur would never allow something like that, no matter how much he loves Merlin. You're not only his king, you're his father.

Uther: (grunts)

Gaius: But if you are so worried about my ward, Sire, why don't you talk to him?

Uther: (in disbelief) Talk?

Gaius: If you could take the opportunity to properly talk to him, maybe you'd realize he is not the person you believe him to be, Sire. Now you have this bad image of Merlin, but you haven't actually bother to know him.

Uther: Of course I haven't bother. He's a servant.

Gaius: But you fear the influence of said servant, Sire.

Uther: ...

Gaius: It's just a suggestion, Sire.

Uther: (sighs) Fine. (calls out) Guards!

Guards: (enter)

Uther: Bring the Prince's manservant here inmediatly.

Guards: Yes, Sire. (bow and leave)

Gaius: You could have sent me for him.

Uther: So you warn him in advance? No, I want to see his genuine reaction when a question him about this. (takes the neckerchief from Gaius' hands)

Gaius: Wait...you're going to interrogate him, Sire? 😨. That's not what I meant with "talking"!

Uther: I'm giving him a chance to defend himself, so be grateful.

Gaius: Of course I am, Sire. (thinking) Gods help me! Merlin please deny that neckerchief is yours!

Short time skip.

Merlin: (enters, confused but chill) Did you call for me, Sire?

Uther: You're talking to your King.

Merlin: I know.

Uther: Then why aren't you bowing?

Merlin: Oh, sorry. (bows quickly) Did you call for me, Sire?

Gaius: (facepalms internally)

Uther: I did call you. I have a very important matter to discuss with you.

Merlin: (more confused) Me?

Uther: (turns to Gaius) You are dismissed.

Gaius: (pleades) Sire-

Uther: Do as I say.

Gaius: (sighs) Yes, Sire. (bows and leaves)

Merlin: (starts worrying) What's... going on?

Uther: (about to pull out the neckerchief to start the interrogation) You-

Arthur: (enters and smiles politely) Sorry I'm late. What's the matter at hand?

Uther: I didn't call for you.

Arthur: But you call for Merlin and anything that concerns my manservant concerns me.

Merlin: (hisses) Arthur!

Arthur: (ignores him, but walks a few steps forward to be infront of Merlin) So, what is it that you want to discuss with my manservant so urgently, father? (keeps talking and smiling politely, but somehow he also sounds threatening)

Uther: (thinking) This won't work if Arthur is here. The boy will be confident he'll come to his aid. (says) I was just wondering if you knew anything about this song that's beeen circulating around lately.

Merlin: (nervous and blushing) You mean the Unicorn Catcher song, Sire?

Arthur: You called my manservant here just because of a tavern song? You must know that story is nothing but the product of some minstrel's imagination.

Uther: I'm very aware of that, Arthur. But that song is tainting your reputation.

Merlin: (sighs in relief, though still confused) But the song hardly mentions Arthur.

Uther: It mentions him enough. Now it's a song and then, last I thing I know, everyone in Camelot is saying that The Prince only takes young virgin boys to bed.

Merlin: (blushes more furiously, feeling humiliated)

Arthur: (notices and swallows his anger for the hiding insult to Merlin in Uther's words)

Uther: (to Merlin, aproaching) So, if you had anything to do with that song...

Arthur: (puts himself between Merlin and his father) It was Sir Ewan and Sir Innprudence who spreaded the rumor, father. Merlin had nothing to do with that. I already got them arrested for talking nonsense while drunk and causing all this mess, so you don't have to worry.

Uther: I did hear they were arrested. (sighs) That's all I wanted to know. You're dismissed.

Arthur and Merlin: (bow and leave)

Uther: (thinking) I need to find I way to get that boy alone, but how?

Time skip. Merlin, Gaius and Lancelot in Gaius' Tower.

Merlin: He found what?! 😨

Gaius: Your neckerchief, Merlin. And with stains of blood. So it doesn't look good.

Merlin: But that's impossible! Lancelot burned all the clothes!

Lancelot: I thought I did. But it was dark, maybe it fell while I was carrying the pile. (very guilty) I'm so sorry Merlin, I should've been more careful.

Merlin: Don't be. You saved Arthur's life and we didn't have much time.

Gaius: Uther won't arrest you, I convinced him to give you a chance to defend yourself. So when he calls for you again you just have to deny that neckerchief is yours and show him you are not the villain he built in his head.

Merlin: I need to tell Arthur. (makes a move to leave)

Gaius: (stops him) No! Uther wants to interrogate you alone, if you tell him he will sneak in again.

Merlin: I'll tell him not to go.

Lancelot: And you think he'll listen?

Merlin: I don't know. But he was involved in this too and I won't lie to him more than I need to. (leaves)

Gaius: Wait, Merlin! There's something else I need to tell you. Merlin! (makes a move to go after him)

Lancelot: (stops him) Tell me and I'll give him the message. I'll get to him faster.

Meanwhile, in Morgana's chambers. Arthur and Morgana having some kind of tea party, while Gwen braids Morgana's hair.

Morgana: (laughing) You men are so inmature.

Arthur: I was not inmature. He hit me first, I just defended myself.

Mogana: And then you fighted over who was Merlin's best friend. Yeah, very mature.

Gwen: I thought I was Merlin's best friend (pouts)

Morgana: You are his best GIRL friend.

Gwen: (mocking) So that means you are not his best girl friend?

Morgana: (plays along) How dare you! I'll fight you! (makes silly fighting movements)

Arthur: (complains) Stop it! (but can't help but laugh)

Merlin: (enters sudenly)

Morgana: Merlin! Knock first! I could be changing my clothes.

Arthur: Now you know what I have to endure everyday (looks at Merlin expression and frowns, worried) Merlin, what is it? (stands up and goes to him) Did something happen?

Merlin: Arthur-

Guard 1: (interrupts) Sire, The King wants you to interrogate a sorcerer in the dungeons.

Morgana: (feels mad and sad for what's probably going to be another unfair execution, but doesn't say anything)

Arthur: (notices) Lets discuss this outside.

Merlin, Arthur and Guards: (Get out of Morgana's chambers)

Arthur: (closes the door behind him) Can't it wait?

Guard 2: I fear not. It's a very dangerous sorcerer, we had to put him in cold iron, so the King wants to execute him as soon as possible. But he also wants to get as much information he can from him. Apparently he was the leader of a group of renegate soreceres.

Arthur: I understand. (to Merlin) We'll talk later. (makes a move to leave)

Merlin: (makes a move to go with him)

Arthur: (stops him) Merlin, no. Stay. I have to do this alone. (thinking) I don't want you to see that, nor do I want to put you in danger.

Merlin: You can't stop me. (thinking) Like I'm going to let you alone with a dangerous sorcerer!

Arthur: (sighs) Merlin-

Lancelot: (arrives running) Merlin! (takes a breath) By the Gods, you run fast. (bows to Arthur) Sire, I'm sorry, but Gaius needs Merlin urgently.

Arthur: (releaved) It's alright, Lancelot. I have urgents matters to attend too. (follows the guards and leaves)

Merlin: (about to leave but Lancelot stops him) Let go of me! 😡 Arthur is about to interrogate a dangerous sorcerer I need to be there! Whatever urgency Gaius has can wait!

Lancelot: There's no dangerous sorcerer.

Merlin: (stops struggling) ...What?

Lancelot: There is no dangerous sorcerer and there is no urgency. That's what Gaius wanted to explain to you. Is part of the plan.

Merlin: The plan? What plan?

In the dungeons. Arthurs goes with the guards to a cell, but finds it empty.

Arthur: Where's the prisoner?

Guards: Here. (push Arthur inside quickly and close the cell)

Arthur: (stands up, furious) What do you think you are doing?! 😡

Guard 1: (very apologetically) Forgive us, Sire. It was King's orders.

Arthur: Why did my father order you to lock me up in the dungeons?! I'm not strange to this punishment, but normally I know WHY I'm being punished.

Guard 1: This is no punishment, Sire. Your Majesty just doesn't want you to interfere in... some matters.

Guard 2: It will be just for a couple of hours, Sire. You don't have to worry.

Arthur: Interfere? Why would I... (pales and shouts) Merlin!

Meanwhile in the throne room.

Uther: Has the prince been brought to the dungeons.

Guard 3: Yes, Sire.

Uther: Perfect. Now bring the boy.

...

Finally we get back to the request list!

Arthur has to protect Merlin from his dad ☑︎

An he will continue to do it for the next parts because this shit is far from over!

What do you think is going to happen?

What was the hiding insult in Uther's words the Arthur catched?

Also, credits to my best friend Rosangela, who helped me with some dialogues and situations, no only in this part, but several ones. Love you so much! ❤️

[biribaa]

what if yandere twisted version of vee? (coping mechanism is real)

Yandere!Twisted Vee x reader

Im going to drop school for this game because why its so hard to get a main. First time I found Vee I was like "hey hadnsome🫦" and KNEW I had to get her. Now im suffring. Worst hyperfixion i ever got.

TW/CW: Yandere behavior/themes.

First things first, Vee loved and still loves the attention she had in the stage, its the best activity she could do to gain dopamine, and a larger ego (when Scraps isn't present, of course). Now with Garderview ruined by Dandy, and her along it, her career was broken to pieces, in the end.

She was a star, damn it! But stars were made to fall.

So T!Vee being obssesed over you includes wanting your attention 24/7, along with your presence right next to her.

Being her only small audience have... Qualities, though? She never dares to keep any other twisted close to you and genuinly worries about you. So... Let's go? I guess?

Even so, there are times you imagine Vee only see you as a toy. You aren't sure if she grins because you are listening, or of how small and easy to kill you could be. She holds and clinges at you, but you arent sure if she enjoys phisical attention, or is just being possesive.

Vee likes to touch you in sudden ways, smoothing her cold hand against your still warm cheek or chin. Holding your shoulders, you could feel the weight of her hands against it. Even wrapping her tail all around you.

As I mentioned, she enjoys attention, verbal included. Vee corners you around her tail and face you with a large grin, making you say any praise she could ever wish about her show or her character, even reassure her of your property. Vee couldn't bother about the opinion of her other fans, she knows shes a star already. Coming from you, though? It's a different case she can't help but addict about.

[durrtydawg]

Look, Don't Touch.

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

“O-kay… But how do we get in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My ankle isn't.”

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

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

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

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

“The damn thing pricked me.”

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

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

“Talking about you, or the door?”

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

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

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

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

She snickers.

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

He grumbles, thumb rubbing small circles on his palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm.”

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

“Oh, y- yeah, you might be right.”

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

“You'd love that, huh.”

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

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

"M'lady."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.” is all she can muster.

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

Firmitudo Intus Aequilibrio

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

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

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

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

"Sure. Great hangover movie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all quite something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ooo. Anything juicy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I don’t- what do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inviting.

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

One that he quickly snaps out of.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be evasive!”

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

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

“Samuel, It’s like… sub-zero in-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We need those ones, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sam!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hurry it up.” He winces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. What he wants… to do to her.

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

He absentmindedly licks his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he bites. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s losing himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Revolting. Selfish.

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

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

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

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

She steps closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve- gotta go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t!” He shouts.

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

“Stop-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ogles him, bewildered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She swallows thickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s sweating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s an… aphrodisiac.” She affirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shakes her head.

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

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

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

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

Her skin looks mottled, veins deep purple.

Just like his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, no- what did i do? I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. She wants to hear him do that again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She whimpers up to the ceiling.

“God, it really hurts, Sam.”

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

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

“This okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She squeezes his hand back, her whole body tensing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's so good. So fucking handsome.

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

"S-sam,"

He loves this.

"Agh- Sam, pl- stop-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was it you said earlier?”

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

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

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

“Somethin’ about an HR department?”

She looks at him, a soft laugh fluttering to the surface. It's a quiet sound, tinged with shyness and still wrapped in the lingering sadness of their shared ordeal. Her eyes lower for a moment, the weight of everything that happened settling in.

Seeing her reaction, Sam gets up and moves to where her water flask lies discarded. He unscrews the cap and pours some onto a clean part of his t-shirt. She begins to button her shirt, but he stops her, silently asking for a moment longer.

“Can I?”

She lets go of the shirt, and with gentle, still slightly shaky hands, he dabs the wet cotton softly over her wound-ridden skin.

She watches him, the sadness in her eyes gradually giving way to something softer, his tenderness speaking volumes. As he continues to tend to her wounds, his mouth twists in thought, like there's something he wants to say. So he does.

“I'm sorry.”

He's not the type to apologise, so eye contact is impossible.

“What?”

He continues dabbing at her skin in silence.

“Sam.”

She covers his hand, stopping him from finding any other distraction.

“You didn't ask for this."

He frowns. “I- I just put you through… somethin’ not far off of assault, and your response is-”

“No. Not one part of that was assault-”

“She says, as I wipe up blood from bites I gave her.”

“Yeah, with the mouth that's covered in my cum.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but he can't find anything to say. His cheeks redden.

She sighs again. They're going in circles and she wants to put an end to it all- she's tired. Filthy. Possibly concussed. Which she uses to excuse what she does next.

“Can I try something?” she asks. Fuck it.

“Try what?"

Without another word, she steps closer, her eyes searching for any sign of protest. When she finds none, she leans in and kisses him, her lips soft and warm against his, holding none of the desperation or haze of their previous encounter, completely free from the influence of any perverted pill or potion.

What's she got to lose?

Sam is shocked at first, his body tensing. He instinctively pulls her off, his eyes flitting around her face as his jaw loosens and tightens in search of something to say.

Her heart sinks and she steps back, “Thought so,” she smiles sadly, backing away, knowing it was a mistake to try. "Can we... can we get out of here?"

He should hate himself, right? He's gone against everything he's ever stood for- let every non-committal brick he's built since teenagehood crumble to dust. He's gone soft. Sentimental. By force, to begin with, yet he still hasn't stopped himself. It's… Pleasant. Is this the balance Cassimir fetishised over?

Screw it, he decides, Because if he has to stand by and watch her grow apart from him when she's just shown the same as- if not more vulnerability than him, what use are a few walls?

He pulls her back, his lips finding hers again. This time, it's different- there’s no urgency, no magical compulsion, but rather something deep- genuine. The kiss is tender, filled with all the emotions they’ve been too afraid to voice, and he feels years worth of tension escape him. His sore muscles loosen, hands cupping her face softly, and she melts into him.

When they finally pull apart, their foreheads rest together, and this alone feels infinitely more intimate than anything that had transpired beforehand.

"So... is it safe to assume that we're both on the same page, or...?" She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper, but her usual playfulness breaks through, and it makes him smile.

"What, that we're both in dire need of some good laundry detergent and a shower? Or was there somethin' else on your mind?"

She snorts, gently kicking his shin, the enormity of months worth of repressed feelings finally worn on the proverbial sleeve. She takes a deep breath, the worry in her eyes softening as she looks at him.

"We have a lot to figure out."

He chews the inside of his lip contemplatively, still not entirely sure there’s any reason why she’s being so gracious. So calm, despite it all, like he deserves any of it.

There’s a beat.

And then he nods. Because that’s why she makes his entire psyche shift off-kilter- makes him notice his bad habits.

"We'd… uh, better cash those vials in."

She sees a million-and-one thoughts behind his eyes, but he needs to rest. So she waits, head tilted, suspecting he's got something else to add. 

"How else am I supposed to afford a five-star first date?"

The other million thoughts can wait.

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

I promise to write something short and funny next time x

[gayhenrycreel]

How To Train Your Dragon, and the trap of a bad faithful adaptation

spoilers for httyd, films and books

i hated httyd 3.

Toothless got reduced to a silly pet, Lightfury has a horrible design (i dare say misogynistic design, but other people have already discussed this), and Grimmel was so uninteresting that i legitimately forgot he was even in the movie a few weeks after watching.

the worst thing? its attempt at being a faithful adaptation.

unfortunately a lot of people don't know about the book series the films are based on. this is quite sad really because unlike the movies, the books increase in quality over time.

the end of the book series follows a sea dragons war on humanity, who have been enslaving dragons for centuries.

yeah so the books are about eugenics, slavery, and genocide.

the sea dragon, known as Furious, was the adoptive brother of Hiccup the Second 100 years ago. Hiccup II was murdered by his father when he found his birth family. its not too relevant to my point, but this father was the king of vikings.

now Furious is the king of dragons and is still angry about what Hiccup II's dad did.

my absolute favourite scene is Hiccup the Third, now a king, trying to stop the war by talking to Furious, hoping that he will understand that it was a singular person who killed Furious's brother, and humanity as a whole is able to improve. Furious cant bring himself to kill Hiccup, and sees his lost brother in him.

Furious has a bit of a freak out, saying its too late for the world to change, or possibly too soon. he concludes that its definitely not the right time.

this one line is why the ending is so good.

the dragons and humans cant coexist, because its the wrong time. just like Furious said, its not the time for coexistance.

the dragons go into hiding.

httyd 3, the film, tried to do this same ending, but absolutely butchered it because it didn't have a reason. it tries to justify it like "oh the vikings dont deserve dragons, so they all live in a cave now".

this completely misses the point.

in the books the dragons left because there was a mutual genocide happening.

in the films its because humans suddenly arent good enough now.

the whole point of the ending in the books is that its set in the past, and what was too soon back then is now the present.

so the whole book series has a message like this: "mistakes change the world. if you are a 'mistake' it means you stand out. this gives you the opportunity to help other 'mistakes'. it may feel like the world is not ready to accept mistakes (i.e, people who survived eugenics and saved the dragons no matter how much equality is viewed as a bad mistake), but now it is. those who are different can help the world accept difference. the time for equality is now".

the films ending is more like: "we are failures at creating equality and look what youve done the dragons (who are supposedly an allegory for various marginalized groups) have all left and the right thing to do was to outcast them all over again because you both have girlfriends now and Toothless cant possibly be a friend to humans while also apparently being in heat or something".

so... httyd 3 is a film about romantic relationships not only being incompatible with unrelated platonic relationships, but also so important that a marginalized demographic is unable to exist with another society because the king (who is literally just a regular guy with unexplained superpowers that ruin tension compared to literal mind controlling scaly mountains) has met a woman 5 minutes ago that he has barely any screen time with.

imagine how unhinged it would be if a real demographic cut off its ties to other cultures because a famous person got married.

this is extremely bizarre especially considering how the books had near zero romance (Hiccup has no love interest throughout the whole series and the focus is on love in general, particularly platonic and familial).

the weird addition of romance to the seperation plotline has no connection to the source material. the writers were just pulling this out their asses like 2017 tumblr arophobes.

the books do such a good job of showing that romantic love is a type of love, just like any other form of love. its there and its important, but its specifically important because it involves people caring about each other, which is also achieved through other forms of love.

its ironic because httyd 1 and 2 do this too. Astrid and Hiccup are important, yes, but Toothless and Hiccup are equally important.

why does the third film even exist? the answer is in Toothless or whatever they did to his character. hes silly but not respectful of Hiccup (he goddamn nearly electrocuted him to death and keeps trying to eat his prosthetic leg), hes clearly in heat or something and suddenly doesnt even give a fuck about the guy he has risked his life for multiple times (i guess hes in an alpha rut. you know how alphas get), and even visually there are signs.... of capitalism.

in the first film Toothless can be adorable. hes a panther, which of course is a cat. httyd 1 doesn't forget that a cat is still a predator, and Toothless can be terrifying.

by httyd 3 his eyes are bigger and closer to the front of his face. its kinda uncanny and is clearly to make him exclusively cute.

what happened to the big cuddly dragon that i was once told looks like hed eat other dragons?

hes no longer a character.

hes a marketing tool.

httyd 3 is a cashgrab. we can see it in Toothless becoming a sidekick. we can see it in the hideous weird beluga thing that is the result of normies trying to imagine a sexy dragon (come on guys, Cloudjumper is right there). we can certainly see it in, and i hate bringing this up, Dragons: The Nine Realms. that show need not exist, its literally just because its a popular franchise, which is actually quite funny because i only know about nine realms because of angry critics in my youtube feed screaming about it in videos that last over 2 hours.

if your spinoff is only known to critics who will gladly insult your show to death and superfans who by the looks of it are the same critics, there is a serious problem.

i knew something was wrong the instant i saw the characters dressed like ugly action figures. it only makes sense for Snotlout, he thinks he has perfect taste. this could have actually been funny if Snotlout was the only person dressed like a low budget furry and everyone was like "why the fuck are you dressed like that", but no, the people (children who will grow up to realise this film sucks ass and will despise it) want rpg video game movies that dont have rpg video games.

question for httyd 3. how did you get the idea to make the main cast furries? could you not hire an actual furry to design their fursuits? because fursuits are not typically that painful to look at and they certainly arent usually made of what appears to be plastic in a film set centuries ago which definitely has the resources to have textures other than plastic. ever heard of scalemail? it looks great in DnD art.

its almost like a dreamworks employee caught wind of the furry fandom but didn't actually look into it and in the process picked up something about horny dragons.

i have legit seen dragon scale inspired armour designs better than that as real life furry cosplay.

no one wants to see Fishlegs looking like some sort of very large beetle. its weird and doesnt match anything else in the movie.

httyd 2 had Hiccup with his own gear, textured leather and a wing suit that looked plausible and immersive. httyd 3 has everyone as weird beetles that could not possibly stay aloft because they are seemly wearing plastic dragon suits.

its like.... almost funny. it could literally be an avengers parody.

i want stories that have consistent themes. i want stories that follow their own rules (remember how httyd 1 and 2 involved actual research on flight mechanics).

and i want some respect for the furry artists that clearly were not involved in the fursuit designs.

[velvet4510]

People seem to think that when Erik tells Charles on the plane that “Raven was … we were … I could see why she meant so much to you”, it’s somehow an implication that Erik and Raven were sleeping together.

But I don’t.

Why would he say “I could see why she meant so much to you” to her brother if they’d been sleeping together? If Charles was Raven’s ex, then it would’ve made sense, but no, Charles is Raven’s brother - and thus sleeping with her would never enable Erik to “see why” Charles cared for her.

Also, if you go along with the headcanon that Charles and Erik were sleeping together during First Class, it makes even less sense to assume that’s what Erik is insinuating - “I know we used to sleep together and now I get why you love your sister because I slept with her too!” Huh???

So yeah, that is very obviously not what Erik is trying to imply here.

So what is Erik actually implying?

Well, let’s consider what he’s responding to. Charles just asked “how was she?” He’s inquiring about Raven’s wellbeing back in November 1963, thirteen months after the Cuba incident, when Erik last saw her before he left for Dallas. Erik’s first response to that question was that she was “strong, driven, loyal,” essentially explaining Raven’s personality, traits that Charles already knew about. Charles’ emphasis on “was” when he repeats the question makes it undoubtedly clear that he wants to know if Raven was all right, physically and emotionally. Erik understands Charles better than anyone; he definitely gets what Charles wants to know.

But … all Erik can say is “she was…” before he trails off. He is hesitant to tell Charles about Raven’s wellbeing at the time. As if he knows Charles wouldn’t like the answer.

He then tweaks it to “We were…” The shift from “she” to “we” means he’s about to share both of their emotional wellbeings at the time. Why would he include his own? Because they were feeling/going through the same thing.

I think they both were still, even a year later, quite haunted by what happened on the beach and thinking about Charles - they must’ve found out that he was crippled. Either Emma discovered it with her telepathy or Raven discovered it by sneaking into the hospital in disguise.

So while Charles might’ve misunderstood and thought Erik was insinuating he was involved with Raven, in truth Erik just didn’t know how to say that he and Raven were NOT ok because they missed Charles so much and were mortified that he’d been so badly hurt and probably assumed that he hated them which is why they didn’t dare try to face him again before JFK.

Erik saw how much Raven still cared about her brother, and about all the Brotherhood and all the mutants they were helping. He witnessed her best and worst qualities, and so he came to see what Charles saw in her; hence his comment. He could see why her brother loved her so much, because he also developed a brotherly affection for her.

Also later on in the phone booth, Erik’s comment to Raven “it’s been a long time since we were this close” sounds like a romantic statement by itself, but when you put it in context, it’s really not. Erik has been in solitary confinement for 10 years and still adjusting to finally being free again. So it’s been a long time since he was physically close to ANYONE, let alone Raven, and it’s still so jarring that he can’t help but comment. Plus he knows she’s mad at him for trying to kill her so he says something tender in an honestly pathetic attempt to let her know he doesn’t actually hate her or want her dead. When she understandably isn’t having it, he cuts the crap and tells her the truth about the Sentinels. It’s really one of the most unromantic scenes in the series.

[tmntxthings]

YOU 🫵 *points directly at that mean y/n, you, and that anon that asked for ansgt against rottmnt Raph* how very dare you !!!!!!

(If you have time and if your asks are open (didn’t see any warnings that it was close)) can you PLEASE do something fluffy and that reader is ABSOLUTELY head of hells for raphie? I’m talking flowers, I’m talking spending hours on a claw machine to get a plushie he wants it, I’m talking admiring and tracing his features slowly with the most stupid and hopeless in love expression the turtles have ever seen, im talking speaking up for him against anyone that mistreats him, doing his fav dishes, preparing balanced meals, paintings, little love notes, lipstick marks, poems under moonlight, I want devotion!!!! I want that sweet Puppy love !!!!! EVERYTHING. 100% a simp and isn’t afraid to show it, until Raph returns their actions, then they get bashful/blushing up a storm lol

thank you and have a good day

∑一Wherever You Go・゜・。

author’s notes: ain’t no way I’m doing that whole list we’ll be here forever, BUT don’t worry I’ll make sure he feels the love nonetheless

warnings: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, bordering on a crack fic that’s purely just to show a character love ^ twas asked of me, unedited

Song: Never Getting Rid of Me by Christopher Fitzgerald

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It was no secret that you adored Raph. And it didn’t bother you one bit that everyone, big red turtle included, knew that you had heart eyes for him.

Your love language for him couldn’t be restricted to just one kind. You exhibited all kinds of love for him. You hoped it wasn’t overwhelming. It was hard to stop yourself once you had an idea though.

One time you saw a beautiful bouquet of red roses. Instantly you had them in your hand, and a receipt in the other. They reminded you of his bandana. So bright, eye-catching! And down to the lair you went, shooting off an incoming text to Raph to give him a last-minute notice.

Earlier occasions where you hadn’t sent a text left you waiting around at a manhole cover forever. If Raph was asleep it would be hard to rouse him with just a notification. He’d need a full on blare horn. Or worst case scenario the boys weren’t even at the lair! Thankfully, most of the time they were home. Raph buzzed back with a text saying he’d be right up to open the cover for you. Sewer covers were heavy!

When the round slab of stone was lifted you offered up the bouquet to the darkness below instantly. It was quiet for a moment, before Raph emerged, cheeks tinted a darker green. “For me?” He questioned, his tone held a quality as if it was unbelievable for him to receive flowers.

But you didn’t chide him for it. In fact you only smiled warmly and nodded your confirmation. “I thought of you the moment I saw them. What do you think? Aren’t they pretty?”

His hands finally went out, accepting your gift. Holding them gingerly and away from his plastron. He seemed to not want any of the petals to snag on his sharp edges. “Raph loves ‘em” he murmured, his eyes entranced by the blossoms now that he could get a closer look.

This moment right here was picture worthy! You wished you had Donnie’s ability to just record everything, that way you could screenshot this later. Maybe put it as your screensaver. Instead you just watched, hands clasped as you waited for Raph to come out of his stupor. Which he did, and started asking you about your favorite flowers and invited you down to the lair.

~

You don’t know how they got the arcade machines down there. But it sure as hell beat going to Chuck-E-Cheese! Nothing against the place but it costs so much and all the games down at the lair are rigged to play for free! Which was awesome because you had finally decided, you weren’t leaving the claw machine until you won Raph’s dream plushie.

The poor turtle had played this game constantly ever since they mysteriously got the machine. He was able to get two plushies but they weren’t the ones he really wanted. The ultimate prize was a brown teddy bear with a little red bow tie. He was absolutely adorable. And Raph’s obsession with winning his prize was even more endearing. So when Raph texted you a picture of his defeated expression against the glass of the claw machine, you had to take matters into your own hands.

Raphie 😍❤️😚🤗🥰 - [ <image> 🥺 it’s hopeless ]

Y/n - [ omw asap, don’t worry raphie i’ll get you teddy! ❤️💪 ]

Well, easier said than done is a term of phrase for a reason. You banged your head against the glass or you tried to at least. But Raph’s calloused palm was in front of the glass before your forehead could make contact. Still you drew back to bang it against his rough skin anyway. He knew your frustrations, the claw machine was merciless. You had been at the lair for well over two hours. The first thirty minutes in had been fine. You had chatted with Raph easily, confident that eventually you would get the hang of the mechanism.

But then an hour went by. And then another. Your concentration on the game had dried up the easy conversation between you and big red. The atmosphere was intense as if the two of you were in battle together. Currently you were both defeated. His other hand patted your back, knowing exactly how you felt. “It’s okay, maybe Teddy isn’t meant to join my pile of plushies.”

You took in a deep breath. Stopping your frustrated head thumps and turned to look Raph in the eyes. “You’re right, Teddy is meant to sleep right next to you! And I’m gonna make that happen!” You harrumphed as you turned back to the evil machine. It was your enemy. It was working against you. All you wanted to do was this one thing and make Raph happy! This time for sure, you thought to yourself as you hovered the claw over to where Teddy lay amongst the other plushies.

“Like a boss!!!” You yelled as you smacked the button that lowered the claw. Both of you watched anxiously as it dropped, its metal fingers enclosing around Teddy’s brown fur, and it started to rise. But you had been here before and didn’t dare to celebrate pre-maturely before the damn stuffed animal was in Raph’s arms. The grip the machine had on the animal was shaky at best. The claw swayed from side to side as it carried the plushie over to the drop box. You were sweating bullets and could smell Raph’s anxiety stink.

But before the claw reached its final destination, the plushie tumbled out of its hold. You turned to Raph who let out a breath he had been holding. You expected to see disappointment in his eyes but it was quite the opposite. He looked happy as his snaggle-tooth dug into his lower lip. “Nice try,” his eyes crinkled shut with his smile. “Wanna go play DDR?” You sighed, letting the claw machine have the win for now. Happy to see Raph’s eyes light up with a burning passion as he raced over to his favorite spot, the left side, for DDR. “Ready to face the master??” He goaded but it was pure excitement to play one of his favorites of all time. “So ready!” You laughed, hopping up on the dance pad to get absolutely demolished because you didn’t have any rhythm. But you played regardless because when Raph was having fun so were you.

And yes, later that night you did bribe Donnie with twenty bucks to replace that damned claw with one that would actually work. So next time you were able to win Teddy and present Raph with the ultimate present. It costed you another twenty to keep Donnie’s mouth shut about ever having any involvement so you could have all the credit and look like a hero in Raph’s starry eyes. He sent you pictures of him and the stuffed animal almost every night with his goodnight message.

Raphie 😍❤️😚🤗🥰 - [ <image> Teddy says goodnight! ]

Y/n - [ gnight teddy, and goodnight raph-a-la 🤗 sweet dreams ]

~

“What did you say?!” Your voice raised as you stepped into the lair’s common room. Shelldon had just so kindly lifted the manhole cover, since no one else from the group chat was responding! You thought it weird since usually someone was on their phone *cough* Donnie *cough* but sometimes they were busy! Which you understood. Until you had seen Shelldon’s worried pixelated expression as he urged you on down the sewer system to the abandoned subway station.

That was when you heard it. Heated arguing. It was hard to listen to especially when it was Leo and Raph. You knew how much all of them loved one another, a love that even harsh words couldn’t damage. But sometimes, things were said in the heat of the moment that weren’t meant to argue a point. They were said to hurt the other person. That’s where you drew the line. That’s where you felt the need to step in, even if you weren’t family.

“Leo, if you’d just try, even a little, at accepting the role as a leader. It’s not that bad-“

“If it’s not that bad then why don’t you just take it back huh?”

“You know why. Dad said you-“

“Dad said this! Dad says that! What are you his little pet? Since when do we do whatever Dad says?!”

“Leo, c’mon,”

“Raph if you don’t wanna be the leader anymore. Then fine. But don’t push it on to me.”

“I never said that, Dad thinks-“

“For someone who’s catchphrase is ‘boss’ you really like being someone’s little bit—“

And that’s when you stepped into the room. Eyes hardened as you marched in between the two turtles. “What did you just say?!” You dared Leo to repeat. But as he studied your stance and the way you got in front of Raph, as if protecting him from Leo, the blue turtle started to duck his head into his shell. Feeling remorseful for getting so heated. He made a ‘tsk’ noise before heading off to his room. Mumbling sorries as he passed by.

You turned to Raph to check the damage. It seemed like just the two of you now. You wondered if they had started fighting because Mikey and Donnie weren’t around. Raph was rubbing the side of his head, looking drained and it tugged on your heart strings to see him that way. You knew brothers argued, sure they even fought sometimes. But it was hard to see them go at it like this.

“I know you’re not okay, so I won’t ask. But just know Leo didn’t mean any of that. I know he didn’t.”

Raph gives you a weak smile in return. Like he doesn’t believe you. But doesn’t have the heart to say it aloud. So you go to him, grabbing his hands and pulling him towards the couch. He goes without resistance. Once seated, you turn to him and he turns to you. Your hands go up and you cup his face now that he is within your reach.

“He’s scared. Just like you are. I know it’s hard to tell right now when he’s saying anything but that. But you know Leo, he’ll spew just about any nonsense to not say how he truly feels.”

The words turn over in Raph’s head as he thinks. He sighs, softening in your hold as he nods. He looks a little better now. But you don’t let him go. You trace the contours of his face. Lovingly. Letting the tension in the room ebb out until the early argument has left both of your minds completely.

“It’ll be okay. I know it will.”

You murmur. Your hands finally letting go as Raph’s breathing deepens. He fell asleep to your touch. Leaned back into the couch as his snores start up. You scoot over until your head can rest on his arm, pulling up your phone to text Leo to get his ass over here. A portal silently opens up on the other side of you and as Leo sits next to you, you pull him closer with your arm.

“Dummy.”

You chide the blue turtle as tears fall down his green cheeks. He huffs at the insult but knows you mean well. When you leave the lair that night the two brothers are tangled together in a pile that will surely be four later on, alls forgiven.

~

Raph eats just about anything. His stomach knows no limits. So you could char the meat on accident and he’d still wolf it down like it was the best meal he ever had. While that was kind of him, you wanted to really impress his palate. So on the topic of food one late night text session, you asked of his favorites. To which a long list was sent over. So you had to ask him again.

Y/n - [ Okay, that’s really cool that you have so many. But which one is your favorite among the favorites? 👀 ]

Raphie 😍❤️😚🤗🥰 - [ that’s a hard one… uhmmmmm ]

With a lot of encouragement he managed to get the favorite list down to five choices. To which you just decided to hell with it, you’ll have a feast! It took a lot of preparation. And more time than you thought you’d ever spend in your kitchen. But five meals were cooked and prepared perfectly on your round table. Now, you wished you’d told Raph of your plan sooner and hoped to the moon above that he didn’t have plans tonight.

Y/n - [ >image< hungry? C: ]

Raphie 😍❤️😚🤗🥰 [ 😱 always! headin ur way ]

Raphie 😍❤️😚🤗🥰 [ hereeeeeeee open ur windowwwww ]

And yes somehow he fit. He was good at wiggling around. He cleared each and every plate once you had tapped out after trying to keep up with him. Food comas hit the both of you soon after as he got up and claimed he would do the dishes. He was so cute as he wobbled up sleepily from the kitchen chair. Arms full of plates and platters as well as cups for not only water but various sodas/juices had been served that you knew to be Raph’s favorites as well. When he had asked what the occasion was you didn’t have any in mind.

“I just wanted to!”

You chirped. Happy to feed him. Happy to have made his day. Now he was as careful as one giant turtle could be with your plates, but to his dismay the bottom one from the pile ended up breaking due to the clatter when he placed them in the sink. He wouldn’t know it until he was practically done with cleaning, feeling so good about himself for not breaking any of the— oh there it was. The last one. In pieces.

“Raph is so so sorry! You made a nice meal only for Raph to break your plate!”

No matter how much he wished he could fuse the remains back together, he’d need glue. And you apparently didn’t have any in your apartment. He sighed to which you hushed all his worries away.

“Raphie! It’s just one plate, I’ve got more! Plenty more as you can see!”

You, who had been drying the dishes he washed. Gestured with the damp towel towards the pile of neatly stacked plates that were all dry. The force of which you whipped the towel was more than you had intended and you both watched as that perfect stack fell over, onto the counter and off on to the floor.

“Well. I may need to go buy some more.”

You admitted sheepishly. Raph didn’t know whether to be upset for you or laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

“Yeah, let’s go get some now!”

After picking up and sweeping to make sure all the shattered pieces were in the trash. That’s exactly what the two of you did. It was little things that Raph did, like worry needlessly over you accidentally cutting yourself with one of the broken plate pieces. Or him getting shy at every compliment and gift you had to offer him. His humble nature. How he readily takes on responsibilities. His love for his family. His diligence when it comes to crime fighting and working out. His carefree side. You loved it all. You told him all the things that enamored you to him. And the two of you were happiest, when you could just spend time together like this. Doing little things.

—————————————————————————

[prettypei]

plot: satosugu bf headcanons (seperately); fluff!

reader: gn! Reader

parings: highschool! geto, gojo

warnings:none?? I don’t think so

(a/n): SUGURU ON THE MIND!!!! esp after that new ep gawd damn

✰GOJO

HES SUCH A LOSER BF

like you knew it from the way he asked you out

he planned to ask you out by making a cake that said "date me?" on it

he thought it was romantic

but gojo srsly cant cook

he even though he really likes sweets he cant even fry an egg so the cake turned out something like... imagine the worst cake possible with frosting everywhere and the message on top of the cake is unreadable and the cake is a weird brown color? yeah its like that

you agreed to go out with him anws

if you ever get in a fight hes definitely pullin up to fight with you, no matter how wrong you are

"cats are dogs" "yea they're basically animals so they're the same!"

will ask to copy homework EVERY. SINGLE TIME.

he claims that he trusts you like you grades vould be going downhill and he would still borrow urs

is the type of person to accidentally copy the name too

such a virgin everyone says he's a major f-boy but in reality he has never felt another person touch him romantically

he gives you goofy grins whenever he does sth stupid (and when he does it's mostly bc he wants to see you laugh)

calls you the most ridiculous pet names "sugar bby pookie bear"

also likes referring to you as candies like he called you liquorice one time???

has a habit of applying lip gloss... like A LOT.

"can I kiss u babe" "yeah lemme put on lip gloss rq" *proceedes to spend 10 whole minutes smacking his lips and applying lip gloss*

really big on pda hes suuupperrrr into it, but he'll tone it down if you're uncomfortable

if ur into it tho? he kisses you every two secs

TAKES THE WORST DATING ADVICE EVER FROM THE TRIO

"guys where shld I bring (name) on a date?" "Bring her to a sewer, that way they'll be scared and hug you."-geto "idk a therapist?"-shoko (in the end you were just grossed out, but he somehow makes it sweet and wholesome at the same time?)

✰GETO

he texts you a lot of memes (I'm sure this is widely agreed throughout the fandom lol)

doesn't hug you a lot in public but he does wrap his arm around your shoulder

he wouldn't be reallyyyy affectionate but if you are he'll accept your hugs with a little smile

he likes my melody more than kuromi

his love language is quality time, sometimes you'll spend dates just lounging out on the couch and doing nothing. However, he thinks it's much nicer than just being by himself

really great memory, he notices those small details about you that no one else does, or even the ones you're unaware of like when you always fold a napkin when you're at a restaurant yk hes cute like that

asks the weirdest questions ever: "do you think I'm a squirrel or a chipmunk?" respond with "I think you're an idiot" QUICK!!!

he gets super moody when his hair ties are missing, he has a whole bag of them at his dorm

allows you to give him silly hairstyles when he's sleepin <3

loves truth or dare and 20 questions

has a weird obsession with puzzles and he likes it if he’s piecing one together with you

he also gets competitive without knowing. Like even with you if you guys are at an arcade and you win him at basketball hoops he’s bitter

”let’s do it again I was not ready” “you said that 5 times and I still won” “NO”

he believes in astrology stuff

is more emotionally attracted to people than physically

he may come off as cold but he just doesn’t express as much as gojo

he sometimes paints (mostly watercolor) and a lot of them are of you or are inspired by you <333

MY POOKIE!!! Free my man he did nothing wrong!!!!

[b1rds3ye]

Task Force 141 but it's Battlefield's Bad Company - a unit of disgraced soldiers who are valued no higher than cannon fodder but who are also too skilled to simply get the boot. Despite being thrown at the most devastating threats, they are low on resources and lack respect from the rest of the military. No one bothers learning their names, they're not expected to last more than a week. But a small unit of them always manage to pull through.

Captain John Price says he only took up Bad Company because he was given an offer of early retirement if he survived leading the dredges of the military. In truth, he's gone off the books one too many times, his last mission had him temporarily A.W.O.L. as he pursued what he believed was right. If the military can't silence him with retirement, they'll silence him with Bad Company where they'll throw every mission under the sun at him until he inevitably falls. He doesn't comment on how his last official mission went, but if you ever bring up General Shepherd he says he has a special bullet reserved for that bastard.

No one knows exactly why Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley got into Bad Company, he doesn't say. In fact, no one knows shit about him. All anyone knows is that he's a damn good soldier, the longest lasting in Bad Company - he transferred even earlier than Price. Simon says he willingly transferred here because he thrives with the freedom and informality compared to the standard military and no one dares comment on how utterly unhinged that sounds. Still, his personality seems to fit the story; he's not afraid to go off the beaten path to reach the mission objective which seems to have taken out everyone but him.

Sergeant Johnny "Soap" MacTavish is just a menace, but a crafty one which is a problem for the military. He enjoys being demolitions expert and one day got too bored and a little too curious. Destroying physical objects would be too obvious but he may or may not have infected the military system with a virus to see what sort of information he could extract. He learnt the hard and very expensive way that he has a knack for hacking. Perhaps that's why they transferred him to Bad Company, with trash-quality guns, outdated tech and precisely negative ammo, there's not much destruction he can wreak. Well, that was likely the thought process but Johnny's always loved a challenge.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was framed - he presumes. He excels in all the drills, his performance is promising, he follows all the orders, and yet he's here. What he doesn't know is that he doesn't have the personality superiors desire. He questions too much, he's far too open minded, he can't be molded like other soldiers. He's stubborn - they transferred him because he filed one too many complaints of inefficient directives that could be boiled down into polite military speak of "screw you and your orders, I have a better way (P.S. may your tea always be lukewarm)". He's annoyed the big bad men at the round-table and now he's paying the price. Fortunately, those are the traits that thrive in Bad Company and the exact traits that prompted Price to take him under his wing.

And that just leaves you, the newest member on the brink of promotion to sergeant until you were transferred into Bad Company. You're jittery, you've heard of the nightmare that is Bad Company, how it contains the worst of the worst (and yes you are aware that it apparently includes you now). When you step off the helicopter, you repeat your simple goal - to survive this one mission with Bad Company so that you can go back to your squadron and get your damn promotion.

But as the mission progresses you find yourself getting closer to all the members of Bad Company. You look back fondly at the memory of Price forcing the rest of you to run back into gunfire to retrieve his stupid bucket hat, the same hat he plops on your head if you're ever too on edge. You can only feel thankful for Ghost's unconventional medical advice - you have to give it to him, this discount Bear Grylls has saved your life more times than you can count. You look forward to the new creative ways Soap will blow up an enemy cache, or watch as Gaz hilariously tries to mimic your direct superiors with an overly high-pitched voice as Price begrudgingly talks to them over comms.

And that's when you realise that there will be a day where the mission is inevitably over. And instead of looking forward to your transfer back, you find yourself wanting to risk your life every day with your beloved bunch of military misfits, the group of you against the rest of the world, than whatever stuffy perks come with being sergeant.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[brinnanza]

mortally and lethally offended by a Take I saw on a poll earlier today on tumblr dot com which alleged that the seminal classic deep space nine episode take me out to the holosuites was, in terms of quality and enjoyment (derogatory), roughly equivalent with original series stinker "Spock's Brain" and Next Gen's "Sub Rosa" and may I just say how very fucking dare you. take me out to the holosuites is fun as fuck, it's well-acted, it's well-written, it contains a believeable story regarding something that had been previously WELL established (that ben likes baseball), the effects are inoffensive AT WORST

u think. that ben sisko's homoerotic vulcan baseball rival. worf jeering with "death to the opposition". julian bashir in those fucking cigarette leg white trousers. SCOTCH FLAVORED CHEWING GUM. you think THAT is on the same level as "brain and brain, what is brain?" bitch I'll kill you you're banished from star trek

and it's not like ds9 DOESN'T have stinkers like I personally love it but in terms of sheer cheese, move along home is RIGHT THERE. not to mention the ACTUAL garbage fire episodes, like profit and lace or chrysalis. that you would come into my dashboard on the day of somebody's wedding and tell me take me out to the holosuite is Bad i'll see you in fucking hell

[olderthannetfic]

I’l throw my two cents into the f/f vs m/m wank fire.

I wonder if part of more m/m being written in general isn’t that certain character dynamics are more likely to remind people of mysogynistic tropes if it involves women.

I’m not sure if these are the best examples— but if the woman is the one getting dominated and the one that gets "babyfever" that seems like it invites harrasment and accusations about misoginy because authors of ye olde times reduced women to only that, and you are decidedly not safe even when all the characters are women because "how dare you write a woman uphold patriarchial standards" or something. Talking about wanting to get a cis man pregnant comes off less creepy than saying the same thing about any woman, doesn’t it?

Maybe these tropes are too niche to actually have any considerable bearing on the shipping scene at large, but it does seem to me like men just become the safer bet to explore sex with and don’t carry the fear to need to write a PhD dissertations about misoginy and sexism as a preface before writing dynamics or kinks that you like, or an explanation to why you are allowed to like that kink or dynamic.

It feels like this might extend to other marginalized or uncommon identities where certain things come with unfortunate sociohistorical (is that a word?) implications, and thus becomes much more restricted in what becomes socially acceptable to depict.

And people don’t want to risk or worry about depicting something "wrong" when they are in a space to relax, and in many cases to avoid thinking too hard about things.

More sensitive topics seem to open up more bad faith readings, which is counter productive for more text to be created about it.

Which now typing out a long explanation for seems stupid- I guess it’s a stupidly obvious conclusion to draw now that if there is a selective pressure of any kind on what gets submitted in a specific category, there will be overall less of it.

If people did feel less concious over what the worst possible reading could be of their f/f and m/f fic there’d certainly be more of it, but I don’t know if people complaining about the lack of f/f want to sacrifice the proportions of "quality" over higher statistics.

I think this might have been touched upon in some ways by other anons under "then we should encourage more het men to write f/f", just not with the exact framework I’m coming from I think.

I don’t have a good way to end this and I’m not sure if it’s worth anything (as far as these types of discourse go anyways), but this is way longer than originally intended already

--

This is a pretty standard point in "Why do women like m/m?" discussions going back decades, yeah. I'm sure this is a reason for many women just as some guys write female characters to explore things they find uncomfortable to explore via male ones.

The thing about the cyclical wank is that it boils down to m/m fans listing a bunch of reasons that make a lot of sense... at extreme length.

And then a bunch of f/f fans feeling rather attacked because nobody really wants to read a thousand pages about why their thing is unpopular.

And then someone goes "Okay, but it's weird/bad that women like slash!" and we're back to the tl;dr explanations.