#gray matter increase

[techdriveplay]

Mindful Mastery: How meditation has become more manly

By Luke McLeod, author of Everyday Enlightenment and founder of Soul Alive In a world that often associates meditation with the serene and the delicate, the notion of mindfulness is undergoing a radical transformation. Meditation has now carved out a resolute space within the realm of masculinity. This shift represents a departure from the stereotypical ‘woo woo’ mantras and incense, as men…

[yanderestarangel]

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻... 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻

♡⁠┊TW — dp, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, monster fuck, praise, breeedkink, afab reader, dark smut, dead dove, Ghost has two dicks here (because I chose to write it like that)

"Don't look anywhere else, look at me... I'm still your husband." The words were followed by the wet sound of the two cocks of your now radioactively-rayed husband, who looked like a monstrous anomaly — with two extra heads, two extra arms, and... two extra cocks.

You hadn't expected that in thousands of years, but when Simon came out the door completely safe and sound, looking like that was shocking and at least scary to your eyes.

Even so, you were on your hands and knees, feeling one of his cocks enter your ass while the other filled your wet pussy, making you whimper loudly as you felt his very hot and heavy balls hit your clit with the slow thrusts that the military man was giving you.

You could feel every pulsing vein of his shafts in your wet holes, the slickness between your thighs and his groin increasing. His now gray eyes were locked completely on your figure, two of his four arms gripping your waist while the other two held your wrists behind your back, ready to dominate and maneuver you as he pleased.

Hearing your moans of acceptance, his two cocks throbbed like never before, impaling you to the point where you even forgot that your partner was now a shadow of what he once was.

All that mattered in that moment was that you could take every inch of what he was giving you, as if your life depended on it—as if every fluid that came out of his cocks was a poison that made you crave more and more of him.

The slow, flesh-to-flesh pounding that had once been tender was now replaced by Simon's almost animalistic movements above you. A little drool dripped from your mouth as you could only wriggle your toes every time one of his cocks reached the tip of your womb while the other kissed limits you didn’t even know existed.

Grunts escaped his lips, muffled by the mask that was now completely part of his skin, fused to his flesh like a second garment. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to leave marks as a hoarse growl came from his throat, echoing like a triad through his three heads.

"Come on, sweetheart... I know you want to cum, don't deny it... cum for me." His words were tinged with the same honey that once soothed your soul. It was still him, even with that new body—and you felt yourself becoming addicted to it, like a drug, leaving you with pleasure so intense it made your system shut down.

You felt him give one final thrust, and at the same time, your pussy was filled with the warm, viscous liquid of his semen. Your other hole was filled as well, causing tears to spill from your eyes as you whimpered from how full you were. But your partner didn’t stop—Simon continued with small thrusts until he felt your inner walls drain him. One of his many hands moved to your pussy lips, slowly opening them to expose your tight slit as it swallowed his cock.

"I won’t let you leave here until I see you beautiful, full, and carrying my children in your belly... Do you understand, my angel?" His words left no room for argument, and no matter how tired you were, saying "no" wasn't an option. After all, you wanted him too, regardless of his appearance. He was still yours.

[wearysparrows]

Give an Inch, Take a Mile

ao3/masterlist

Summary: Sylus shows up at the door of your motel room after finding out you're investigating protocore energy fluctuations in the middle of nowhere. He claims he has business in the area and needs to stay the night -- but there's only one bed.

CW (18+): only one bed trope, grinding, vaginal fingering, AFAB mc (no usage of pronouns, no use of Y/N), reader is MC, a brief mention of birth control, Sylus comes in his pants, you both have a good time, etc. 6.4k

This situation had turned out to be less than ideal.

The Hunter’s Association had sent you on a mission that had seemed simple enough on paper: investigate the suspicious protocore energy fluctuations that were occurring in a fairly rural area, just outside of Linkon city. However, they had conveniently failed to mention the nature of your accommodations. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to staying in less than ideal conditions – you just weren’t prepared for this situation in particular. You pulled up to the motel on your bike, your belongings in a bag on your back. This was the only accommodation for miles around, and unless you wanted to sleep on the ground again, this was as good as it was going to get.

You weren’t sure how much more of sleeping on the ground your body could take.

There was nothing outwardly alarming about the motel on the outside – it was unassuming, two stories lined with austere gray doors. It was quiet. No one came in or out, despite the full lot. Somehow, this made you feel more uneasy than if there had been people milling about. Attempting to push these worries from your mind, you approached the check in window. A young boy’s face – no older than ten or so – peered at you with wide eyes from behind the glass that divided you. You were momentarily stunned into silence when he asked if you were checking in. You quickly showed him your Hunter’s ID, and he checked you in, giving you the key card to your room. You hurried towards it, now feeling eager to get settled away from the strangeness that was beginning to fall on the goings on around you.

You pressed the key card against the lock, and it opened with a soft click. You opened it just a crack, checking inside before fully going in. All was quiet. You opened the door fully, stepping inside and closing it behind you. The room was unassuming enough – a box spring mattress, a coffee table, a couch that had seen better days, and a strangely large mirror hanging over a countertop in the back corner of the room. You checked the bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for a rather tastelessly colored plaid blue shower curtain. You felt your body involuntarily relax. You returned to the main room, and set your bag on the coffee table that sat next to the couch. You sat down on the bed, which creaked loudly underneath you. It was a strange sort of creak, one that clicked loudly with each minor movement you made. A sigh escaped you as you unlaced your boots. It was only until you found the source of the strange fluctuations, you reminded yourself.

Just as you had finished kicking off your boots, your phone rang in your pocket. You checked it, eyeballing the contact on the screen.

It was Sylus. Rather, his contact said ‘Sy,’ as you had recently updated it to reflect the nickname you gave him in your head.

What could he possibly want right now?  

To your own irritation, you felt your heart rate increase exponentially as you looked at his contact. You hadn’t heard his voice in a few days. You missed it, and him. You answered, intentionally letting it ring a few times so you didn’t seem too eager.

“Hello?” You kept your tone level.

“Where are you right now?”

Sylus sounded somewhat out of breath on the other end of the line, like he had been exerting himself. You found yourself wondering what he had been up to, but there were much more important matters – like why the hell he had called you and requested your location so rudely.

“Most people say ‘hello’ back before asking questions, at least. Why are you asking?”

Sylus tutted into the microphone, as if you were asking him something obvious.

“Well, I’m not most people, sweetheart. I’m asking because it seems like you’re stationary in the middle of nowhere. Is this the work of your oh-so-wealthy association?”

You didn’t even bother to ask how Sylus knew where you were. You had unwittingly grown used to his constant keeping of tabs on you. You had long assumed he had put some kind of tracker in your phone (though you could find no such thing after checking), or using Mephisto to keep an eye on you (you hadn’t seen him at all today, either). At the very least, you weren’t expendable to Sylus, though why he went through such great lengths to keep tabs remained unclear.  Sylus’s natural purr of a voice calmed your anxious senses, despite his critical words. You leaned back on the creaky bed before you answered. It was so loud that you wondered if Sylus heard it through the speaker on his end.

“Don’t blame the Association. These are the only accommodations in the area, short of sleeping outside again. Besides, it’s not like it’s the worst place I’ve ever stayed. I only wish I’d come more prepared.”

You chewed at the inside of your cheek after you spoke, unsure why you’d offered that last admission of information. Though you were certain Sylus was aware of your personal flaws, being unprepared usually wasn’t one of them. You didn’t like to tarnish your own image – you had your pride, after all. Sylus hummed thoughtfully. 

“I see that the bar couldn’t possibly be any lower, as usual. Alright, I’m on my way. There’s something I need to do in the area. Don’t be surprised when I knock.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Sylus had already hung up on you. You stared dumbly down at your phone. It reflected your stunned face silently. You flipped it over, not wanting to see your own expression.

Something he needed to do in the area?

You couldn’t possibly imagine what Sylus needed to do in the butt-fuck middle of nowhere. Or why he was coming to stay with you. Or if he was planning to stay the night, and where. Or how he would know what room you were in. You felt your face flush at the image of Sylus laying in the shitty motel bed with you. Based on past experiences, you were almost certain he slept naked.

Couldn’t he just get his own damn room?

You shook your head, attempting to free your mind from these circling predatory thoughts. You changed into more comfortable clothes, careful not to let your bare feet touch the paneling of the floor. You showered in the little bathroom, trying to ignore the state of the towels there. After, you busied yourself looking over the mission files in bed, finally losing yourself in the information before you.

A sharp rapraprap on the door broke you from your absorption. It made you jump, your eyes flicking instinctively to your Hunter’s issue gun on the nightstand next to you. The sound came again twice more. All at once, you remembered Sylus had said he was coming, though you had half expected him not to show. You quickly checked your Hunter’s watch. It was nearly dusk, already. You hurried towards the door, feeling irritated and excited all at once at the prospect of seeing the enigmatic leader of Onychinus. Of being in the tiny room with him. You steeled yourself emotionally before unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door. 

Sylus stood before you in his usual leather getup that he wore when using his bike. He looked no less handsome than usual – his moon-white hair was tousled by the wind, and his eyes shone deeply in the light of the setting sun. He had a suspiciously large duffel bag thrown casually over his shoulder. He regarded you coolly, an easy smile on his lips. You found yourself struck by him despite yourself, and struggled for words for a moment. Sylus found them for you.

“May I come in, my little hunter?”

You scowled at him, but found yourself stepping aside anyway. He slipped in the room, his steps strangely silent for a man of his size. He set his bag on the table next to yours. You deadbolted the door behind him, and put one hand on your hip. The other pointed at him accusingly.

“Aren’t there other rooms? Why could you possibly need to stay at this motel in particular? Surely this is a hovel compared to where you’d normally stay. And what’s with the bag? It looks like it’s about to burst.”

Sylus had busied himself removing his leather outerwear and shoes, putting them away neatly. He turned towards you with arms crossed. You thought he made the small room look even smaller with his height.

“The other rooms were all full. You’re right about the hovel, though. That’s putting it kindly.” Sylus scanned the room critically as he spoke. He was pointedly ignoring your question about the bag. You eyed it suspiciously. 

“Besides, you stay at my base all the time when you’re on missions. Can’t you return the favor just this once?” Sylus’s tone was playful, and he regarded you with his usual air of confidence. 

He did have you there, and he knew it, too. You more than frequently took advantage of the hospitality and resources he freely offered for your usage. He rarely made comments about it, and now it was coming back to bite you in the form of the man you were doing your very best to hide budding romantic feelings from. You adjusted your sleep shorts, suddenly feeling more cold and exposed under his crimson gaze. You had forgotten you had already changed into sleepwear. You crossed your arms around your upper body.

“Nothing in life is free,” you muttered. 

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” 

You sat back down on the bed, attempting to make a return to your files. You knew it would be impossible to focus with Sylus’s overwhelming presence in the small room. But you could pretend, for now.

“Such a cynical creature, aren’t you?” 

You looked up from your paperwork. Sylus’s words were teasing, but his tone and gaze were incredibly warm. You hurriedly looked away again, hoping to hide the redness of your face. 

Why did he say that like it was a compliment?

You heard more than saw him unzipping his bag and rifling through it. His socked feet appeared in your periphery at the side of the bed, and you felt something plush drape around your shoulders. You looked up in surprise. Your previously bare arms were now covered with the warmth of a periwinkle fleece blanket. You hadn’t even realized how much of a chill had crept into you until the blanket was around your body. You opened your mouth to say something – anything – to Sylus, but he had already turned back around, and was producing another item from the bag. He wordlessly placed a pair of slippers neatly on the floor next to your side of the bed. You watched all of this occur with a degree of shock before finding the ability to speak again. 

“What’s all this? Why go through all the trouble?” You tugged the blanket closer around yourself, grateful for its warmth despite your suspicions. Sylus shrugged.

“You said you were underprepared. So I came prepared for you.”

You stared at him in stunned silence.

For you?

Before you could respond to his previous statement, Sylus spoke again.

“I’m going to shower. There’s more in the bag. Feel free to take a look.” He made his way to the bathroom, toiletry bag in hand, without sparing you a further glance. You opened and closed your mouth silently. He was hardly letting you get a word in. The last thing you had expected the bag to be full of was items for you.

You padded over to it quietly, having slipped on the slippers Sylus had brought. They were annoyingly comfortable, and just the right size. You ignored the little butterflies emerging from their cocoons in your stomach. You peeked inside the bag. It carried the lightest hint of Sylus’s scent.

The contents consisted of various wants and necessities – clothing of Sylus’s (you pointedly ignored the pairs of boxers, though your wicked eyes were drawn to them), extra towels, a small pillow, some food items, and a bag of toiletries. You unzipped it curiously. It was all travel sizes of the same kinds you used at home. You felt yourself blush so furiously that you swore it colored your fingertips, as hot as they suddenly felt. You put the toiletries back in the bag hurriedly, running a hand through your hair in a self soothing motion. The idea of Sylus keeping note of every single self care item you liked should have been alarming, but it only endeared him to you further. Any other man keeping such close tabs on you would have sent you running for the proverbial hills. You decided, distantly, that spending so much time with him had only deepened whatever burgeoning mental issues you were already saddled with. You threw yourself back into bed, and found yourself listening to the comforting sounds of Sylus showering. You could hear the water fall in waves as he moved underneath it. 

You found much of your earlier anxieties had melted away for his presence at the motel. Despite your protests, it was nice to have another soul staying with you. You could take care of yourself, but Sylus’s energy was nothing if not reassuring, and you were grateful for it – even if he was only here on some mysterious business that he refused to disclose.

Not that you could ever tell him that. It would certainly go straight to his pretty head.

As if summoned by your thoughts of him, Sylus appeared from the bathroom, fresh from the shower. He had nothing but a towel around his waist, and was rubbing another smaller one on his wet hair. It wasn’t the first time you had seen him like this, and your mind was immediately drawn back to the brooch fiasco. You swallowed. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t manage it. Steam was still rolling off of his taut muscles, which rippled under his skin as he moved. Your eyes raked over his form, lingering where his obliques disappeared underneath the towel. Your mind kept trying to fill in what he’d look like without it. He really was unfairly beautiful. He looked even more ridiculously out of place in the room while half naked. He belonged in another world entirely. An evocative, tormenting vision of hell.

You felt his gaze on you, then. Your eyes snapped to his face. He was smirking. He gestured to his form nonchalantly.

“You’re pretty bold, aren’t you?”

You scoffed at him, trying to cover the fact that you had been staring. Nearly an impossible feat. You tore your eyes from the sight, insteading focusing desperately hard at your phone. Having no notifications, you opened the weather app instead.

“I wasn’t exactly planning to have a naked man in my room at night. Especially not you.” You grumbled. You didn’t mention all the times you had imagined a naked Sylus in your room, just like this. You kept your eyes glued to the weather. It was getting pretty cold outside. You were glad for the blanket.

Sylus’s face appeared in your vision. He was bent over at the waist next to where you sat on the bed. He was significantly more dressed than before, wearing a black tee and corresponding sweats. Definitely not how he usually slept, you noted. 

“Is there another man you'd have preferred to have naked here tonight?” His voice was low, teasing – but there was something darker underneath it. You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You rolled your eyes at him, trying to cover the way you felt. His gaze was burning into you, intent on your answer.

Why the hell was he even asking?

“Sy, are you jealous of just the idea of someone else being here with me?” 

Your nickname for him inadvertently slipped out. At some point (which you would hardly admit to yourself), you had started shortening his name to a diminutive form. You pressed your lips together, and hoped he had either missed it, or would simply choose not to acknowledge it. 

Sylus’s eyes flashed at the use of the nickname. No such luck. A little chuckle reverberated out of him, and he removed himself from your personal space, standing upright. 

“I don’t think I have anything to worry about, actually.” He had returned to his usual tone. His back and forth always gave you emotional whiplash. You attempted to control your expression.

“I’ll take the couch.” 

He jabbed a thumb towards the offending piece of furniture, and your eyes followed the motion. It was a sad excuse for a couch, and had a suspicious sunken-in shape in the middle. It was much too small for a man of Sylus’s size – even for someone your size. You shook your head immediately. 

“No way. You’re way too big. I’ll take it.” You made to stand up and head towards it, but Sylus was in front of you just as quick, blocking your way. You poked him in the chest with a finger.

“You’re in the way.”

Sylus had hold of your index finger, now. It was dwarfed in the grip of his large hand. 

“So you won’t even pull back this duvet to sleep on the sheets,” he nodded towards the bed, “but you’ll sleep on that couch?”

Sylus was right. Considering the state the towels had been in (and the sudden appearance of a new blanket), you had elected to sleep on top of the duvet with just the blanket Sylus had brought. You didn’t trust the state of the sheets. The couch may have been even worse off. You had hoped he wouldn’t notice – but he was as perceptive as ever. Sylus released his grip on your finger, and your hand fell limply by your side. He continued.

“It won’t kill you to share in the name of comfort. Besides,” he went around to the side of the bed you hadn’t been resting on, and sat down.

“It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed, right?”

Sylus’s words brought back memories of the times he was referring to. Not only had you shared a bed before in similar circumstances, there were times you had slept in his bed. You rubbed a hand over your face. Why did it always feel like he was catching you in a trap with his words? You really didn’t want to touch that couch. You also knew you wouldn’t be getting a lick of sleep with Sylus next to you in bed. Your pulse was already thundering at just the sight of him adjusting himself into a more comfortable position on the mattress, as if he already knew what your answer was. 

You resigned yourself to your fate, sitting back on the bed, leaning on the pillows that had been propping you up to do your work. Sylus looked at you, his expression somewhere between smug and pleased.

“Perhaps being in bed together more often will make our resonance stronger.” He said offhandedly.

 You shot him a look.

“Aren’t you normally only active at night? Why are you suddenly going to bed at the same time as me?” You pulled the blanket over yourself, chasing away the chill of the night air in the room. You ignored the siren’s song of the heat radiating off of Sylus’s body. Why did he only bring one blanket to share?

“I always adjust my schedule to accommodate yours, kitten. Especially since you’ve so kindly agreed to let me impose on your space.” He turned away from you to do something on his phone. He made no effort to hide its screen from your eyes. You turned your head ever so slightly towards it, so as not to alert him to your prying. Sylus turned his phone to a vantage point at which you could see better.

“You’re welcome to watch, but it’s not very interesting. It might put you to sleep. Actually, in that case, maybe you should watch.”

You felt like you should be embarrassed at having been caught, but something about Sylus’s devil-may-care attitude kept you from feeling too ashamed. You scooted a modicum closer to see the screen better. Sylus leaned towards you. Your shoulders were practically touching. You focused on the screen instead of his proximity.

“Are these businesses?”

Sylus hummed in affirmation.

“These are just what’s for sale at the moment. So far nothing is standing out, though.”

You watched as Sylus scrolled through the listings. The sound of the gentle tap of his thumb against the screen somehow made you feel more at peace. The pricings next to the listings suddenly reminded you that this was the leader of Onychinus who was staying with you in this seedy motel, looking at buying listings that were likely worth this business ten times over. The thought made you puff out a little laugh. Sylus tilted his head towards you, questioning.

“What?” He sounded amused just to hear you amused. 

“It’s just funny that you’re here. Probably the most wanted man in the world – the leader of Onychinus. Relentless Conqueror. Endless assets at your disposal, and you’re at a shitty motel in bed with a Hunter. Shopping online.”

Sylus laughed too, then, and the smile lingered on his face. He set his phone down, and put his hands behind his head, relaxing. The movement was decidedly masculine, and found yourself even more attracted to him in that moment.

“Here – with you – I’m just Sylus. The ‘where’ doesn’t really matter.” He was looking up at the ceiling as he spoke, sounding sort of far away. His words made your stomach twist and flip upon itself, like a prey animal that chose to freeze rather than run from danger. You propped yourself up on an elbow to look at him, turning on your side. 

“Are you saying you can be yourself around me?” You were half teasing, half actually asking. You tried not to wait for his answer with baited breath. He turned his face towards you, the back of his head still in his hands. He had a soft smile on his lips. 

“Is there anyone else who I devote so much of ‘myself’ to?” 

You were taken aback by his question, though not surprised he answered one question with another. 

Devote?

His wording made it sound like this side of himself – this sense of self – was dependent on his devotion to you. Words had power, and devotion was a particularly strong choice. You felt like you and Sylus were always dancing around each other, just on the edge of the truth. He was always trying to say something without actually saying it – without inciting you to run away. You struggled to maintain eye contact with him, but managed to hold your ground.

“What are you trying to say, Sy?”

Sylus was quiet for a moment. He shook his head.

“Nothing. You don’t want to listen to me wax poetic about meaning all night. You have an early morning, right?” 

His words prompted you to check your Hunter’s watch. It was way later than you thought. You nodded, though you wanted to press him again for answers – you knew he would offer none. 

You found yourself laying on your back in bed, sharing a blanket with Sylus. His breaths were coming deep and slow. He had fallen asleep rather quickly, and you realized he must have been exhausted. You wondered what he had been doing before he made the decision to come stay at the motel – and whether it was really true that he had some business to attend to out here. Eventually, the serene sound of his breaths lulled you into a dreamless sleep. 

You woke, eyes creaking open in the pitch blackness of the room. You really didn���t want to get up, but your bladder had other ideas. You slunk out of bed and to the bathroom in the darkness, careful to not wake Sylus. The bathroom light was bright, and it cast a menacing orange beam on the room before you could shut the door and finish. You cursed it mentally. 

You washed your hands in the darkness, as the sink was outside of the restroom. You fumbled around for the hand soap, and found it, turning on the water to just a drip. You didn’t think about why you were going to such lengths not to wake Sylus. You just did it. You dried your hands, and tiptoed back to bed, sliding in under the covers. 

Just as you thought you had accomplished your stealth mission successfully, Sylus had turned towards you, and wrapped you in a too-warm embrace. He had you crushed up against his chest as he lay on his side, your head now resting on his bicep. 

“Sylus?” You asked, your whisper intense. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might make an exit through your throat. You could feel every part of his body against yours – the hard lines of his muscles were pressed flush to you. Your hands had been pushed up against his hips. You kept them very, very still. Sylus didn’t respond.

He was still asleep – or so you thought. The arm that was thrown around you came up to rub circles in the back of your scalp. His thumb brushed the shell of your ear a few times – intentionally or not, you couldn’t be sure. Your hands fisted the material of his shirt near his waist, and your knuckles were touching his lower abdomen. His scent completely enveloped you. You knew you should have pulled away, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to. You weren’t even sure you would have been able to, with how strong Sylus was. You could feel your own arousal curling in your belly despite your best efforts to curtail it.

His voice, rough from sleep, came from above you. It shot tingles up and down your spine. 

“When did you get so close?” 

He made no move to remove you from his embrace. His hand had migrated from your scalp to in between your shoulder blades, pressing between them like he was trying to make space for you to sprout wings. The touch caused the smallest arch of your back in surprise, and the movement pressed your flesh harder against him. You heard him let out a quiet gasp, nearly imperceptible. 

“You pulled me close in your sleep, dummy. You’re like a vice.” You tried to keep your voice level, but you thought you heard some of the heat you felt slip into it. You could feel his growing erection pressing hard against your stomach. You steeled yourself mentally, willing yourself not to acknowledge it. You weren’t in any better of a state, being so close to him. 

You tried to push him away, but only succeeded in putting pressure on his lower abdomen with your knuckles. You felt his hardness twitch against you at the touch. His bare skin was hot under your fingers, a stark contrast to the coldness of the room. He held you a little tighter, hand finding your lower back now. Pressing. Massaging. You couldn’t help but relax some into the touch, but your mind still raced. It was like some invisible force was testing the level of your self restraint, tugging at the needs of your flesh, inciting them to rear their ugly heads. 

“You’re so soft.” He murmured. His fingers were trailing lazily up and down your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You weren’t sure if he meant your skin, your body, or your mind – or that it really mattered.

“Sy?” You questioned, not even really sure what you were asking. 

Why haven’t I pushed you away yet? Why haven’t you pushed me away yet?

Sylus rolled on top of you suddenly, legs on either side of you, holding himself up by his palms. Even in the darkness of the room, you could see the heat of his carmine eyes. He was so close that his hair was brushing your face. 

“I like it when you call me that.” 

“Yeah?” You squeaked out. Everything around you was Sylus – the sound of his voice, the heat of his body, the scent of him – it was overwhelming, all encompassing. Your body was pleasantly too hot, lulled into submission underneath Sylus’s dominating aura on top of you. You swallowed dryly. 

“Yeah.” You could feel his breath against your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was heady with need. 

The question barely registered in your brain. He was on top of you, pinning you to the bed, and he was asking you for permission to kiss you. How many times had you thought about him kissing you? You managed a nod, beginning to wonder if this wasn’t just some elaborate fabrication of your desires haunting your restless dreams. 

Sylus’s lips on yours were very real. The kiss was languid and warm, but insistent and desperate all at once. His tongue pried your mouth open, and he pressed it against your own. The inside of his mouth was even more unbearably warm than the rest of him. Your hands, which had found their way to his chest, were sliding down his abdomen now, lost in the heat of the moment. Sylus was sucking on your tongue, which made you pause your ministrations. The sensation had done much to increase the wetness pooling in between your legs. He pulled away, laughing breathlessly. Your chest heaved, having finally been given back access to air.

“I’ve been wanting to do that. You have a cute tongue.” 

Sylus pressed his forehead against yours. You struggled to form words.

“How can a tongue be cute?” 

Your hands resumed their downward journey, emboldened by his compliments on the muscle in your mouth. You found what you were looking for – Sylus was rock hard underneath your touch, straining against the thin material of his sweatpants. He hissed as your hands made contact with him, instead of coming up with an answer to your question. You wrapped a hand around him as best you could through the fabric, feeling momentarily brought out of your reverie by the sheer size of him. You palmed him up and down, trying to gauge his size.

“You’re so big.” You blurted out. Like he didn’t already know. You felt him twitch once, twice, under your touch at your words. He pressed another kiss to your lips. One of his hands was making its way underneath your shirt. He cupped your bare breast with his warm hand, squeezing. His fingertip circled your nipple, and it hardened under his touch. You shivered.

“Yeah. You feel how hard you make me?” His hand enveloped yours that was touching him, pressing down. He ground into your palm, and you could feel the wetness of his precum through his sweats. This only lasted for a moment. He released your hand, instead sliding his fingers inside your sleep shorts. Everywhere he touched left a buzz under your skin in his absence. He slipped two fingers against your cunt over your panties. You arched into his touch, fully knowing he could feel the wetness there. There was no way your attraction was a secret, now. It felt so good to finally have his hands on you. That you were mutually aroused.

Sylus was kneeling in between your legs now, fingers sliding up and down your pussy, refusing to give you what you wanted. His free hand alternated fondling your breasts and pinching your nipples in between his fingertips. You were caught between enjoying the pleasure, the ache for him that was reaching through you, and telling him to put it in you already. 

This thought caused something else to occur to you.

“Sy – ah – do you have…a condom?” 

Sylus paused his movements. His fingers hovered above you. He cursed quietly under his breath. 

You couldn’t help the exasperated laugh that escaped you. You hadn’t been on birth control for a while – not since you had stopped seeing other men because of your feelings for Sylus. You hadn’t expected this to happen, ever. 

Sylus pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“I don’t. I didn’t think…” He cleared his throat. 

“I came here in a bit of a rush.”

You filed that comment away in the things to ask Sylus about later drawer in your mind. 

“Fuck.” You exhaled. You didn’t want to come away from the momentary bliss and back into reality. Before you could take the thought any further, however, a pair of strong arms had wrapped around you, carrying you in front of the large mirror in the room. Sylus set you gingerly in front of it, and you instinctively put your hands on the counter to steady yourself. Even in the darkness, you could see how Sylus’s form dwarfed your own in the reflection. He was pressing up against you from behind. Not just pressing, but grinding his arousal against your ass. He wrapped a hand around to your front, and began rubbing little circles on your clit through your panties. His voice was low in your ear.

“Let’s do this instead, then.”

Sylus set a pace, rutting against you. You were so wet that one of his fingers slid inside you easily, and you ground down on his palm, attempting to find friction there against your clit. You could tell Sylus was losing as much of his composure as you were, because he was pressing you hard into the counter, and kept sucking hickies into your neck that you knew would bruise later. You couldn’t find it in you to care. The sensation of him marking you was exhilarating. He had two fingers inside, now, the lewd wetness of the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet motel room. 

“Sy,” you panted out, “want you inside me so bad.” 

You felt yourself clench around his fingers, which only seemed to encourage him to add a third. You were close now, over stimulated by Sylus in every way possible. He was grinding on you at a stutteringly erratic pace. 

“Fuck. ” he growled.

“I wanna be inside you, baby. Fill you up. Stretch you out.” 

His fingers forced your mouth open, and he stroked your tongue with them. You sucked them eagerly. The thumb of his other had found your clit again, pressing against the hard button of your own arousal with increasing desperation. His words were enough to bring you over the edge. You clenched around the fingers inside you, your orgasm finding you white and hot, making your knees buckle underneath you. The sound of your own moans was foreign to your ears. Sylus held you up by the waist, the force of his movements practically lifting you off your feet as he ground on you.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Baby, fuck.” His hips stuttered against you without further warning, and you felt his cock pulse against your ass as he rode out his orgasm onto you. He groaned through it in a way that made you want to cum all over again. Through your blissed out state, you distantly realized he had cum in his pants. Not that you were any better off. Your panties were completely soaked. 

Sylus peeled himself off of you gently, still supporting your weight. He hoisted you up instead, and held you in a princess carry. Your head lolled against his chest, and you were hit by what had just occurred. Sylus had worked you to orgasm with just his fingers, and he had cum from grinding on your ass. You looked up at him through your lashes. He was carrying you back to the bed as he spoke.

“Was that alright?” He was looking down at you. You thought you could see concern on his face in the dark. He set you gently down into the bed, sitting next to you. You stared at the stain on his pants. It almost would have been funny if it wasn’t so hot that you had worked him up so much – so easily. 

“It felt really good for me. Did it feel good for you?” 

The words felt a bit awkward on your tongue, but they were the truth.  You liked him too much to be crass – you couldn’t believe he had just fingerfucked you to orgasm in a run down motel and cum in his pants from grinding on you. You felt like you were floating outside of your body, still not fully accepting that you had very nearly had sex with Sylus. Your face flushed hot all over again at the thought. Now he knew without a doubt that you wanted him inside you.

“Very good.” He gestured to the spot on his pants. “If you couldn’t already tell.” 

The two of you had cleaned yourself up separately that night, settling for changing into clean clothes. Showering would have to come in the morning – you were both too exhausted. As you lay back down to sleep, Sylus had pulled you close again, and you didn’t try to protest. You fell asleep against his chest to the sound of his steady heartbeat. 

The blaring of your alarm awoke you with a frightened start in the early morning. You sat straight up, cutting it off quickly. The events of the night before came crashing back into your mind. Sylus’s fingers inside of you, his body pressing you against the counter – you felt yourself flush all the way up to your scalp.

Now how were you supposed to act?

Sylus sat up next to you, pushing his hair out of his face. He was squinting in the morning light. You felt a pang of regret that you hadn’t been able to see the way his face looked while in the throes of pleasure last night. He turned to you, blinking. A large hand squeezed your thigh. 

“If you’re going to investigate the fluctuations in the area, let me come with you.” His voice had the same sleep roughness to it that made your stomach hot. You cocked your head at him.

“I thought you had business in the area?” 

“You are my business.” He deadpanned.

You groaned, and reached out to smack him half heartedly on the shoulder. He caught your hand, and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles instead. You couldn’t deny it – he really had come all the way out here just to see you. The thought made you giddy rather than annoyed, now. The mighty leader of Onychinus really went the extra mile when you gave him an inch.

[fangsandfeels]

Rewriting Veilguard factions because I can:

Some things I'd have changed for each faction:

First of all, I'd introduce particular race restrictions for every faction because stop pretending they don't matter. The latter only destroys the unique specifics behind every race and its history in the world of Thedas.

Add extra background options for Rook related to their fraction for more roleplay and dialogue options. For instance, "noble" and "foundling" for the Mourn Watch, "new blood" and "veteran" for Grey Wardens, etc.

Remove the "Rook had to temporarily leave their faction because they did the thing and made the upper management mad" thing. Make their decisive action part of their bio, but not the reason for their participation in the main quest. Instead, let Rook to be actually entrusted by their group to get out there and find out what's going on - and end up cooperating with the Solas search group. Let whatever Solas is doing affect every fraction: spirits going stir-crazy in the Grand Necropolis, Lords of Fortune having to deal with Qunari and magical anomalies at the sea, not to mention increased dragon activity, weird elf disappearances in Treviso, Tevinter authorities growing more and more paranoid due to spike in elven slave rebellions (that Shadow Dragons had nothing to do with) and their rare magical artifacts going missing, Dalish elves hearing whispers and voices calling to them, Grey Wardens cooperating with the Inquisitor's initiative to find Solas and sending their volunteer (Rook) to assist. That would add more competence to their character.

Antivan Crows

I'll be frank: it should be Zevran's group, whatever he would call it. While Zevran is definitely not a good boy, he wouldn't make his trainees undergo the same torture he did.

Also, he'd hate the conditioning and brainwashing done by the Crows. So, Rook could have been one of the Treviso orphans already traumatized by the Antivan Crow training - until Zevran came into picture and, after killing the Crows, ended up with a bunch of fledglings on his hands. You can't exactly tell the younglings to go and be free, you have to teach them - while do something about them believing they're only good for killing. Due to this, Zevran ended up training them and getting that self-degrading bullcrap out of their heads. He didn't expect to have a guild of his own, but joke's on him, he is a leader now and now he is going to make Antiva a better place for his underlings.

Once again, it doesn't mean playing for the "good assassin guys", but if you want your morally gray faction, it will do nicely. Zevran isn't exactly a hero, but he is also not a total scumbag who buys people and makes child soldiers.

I can believe that he and his associates would actually be interested in organizing partisan movements around Treviso and killing occupants. After all, Zevran knows Quanri and their views better due to him traveling with Sten (from their interactions, I didn't get the idea that he was super into the Qun or comfortable with Sten's ideas), so he knows what exactly is going to happen to the Treviso denizens. Moreover, he is done with ANY attempts at brainwashing, will breaking, and reconditioning so he wouldn't stand for Qunari doing it, no matter their reasoning.

Available races: human, elf

Lords of Fortune

Just let them be pirates led by Isabela. Yes, the kind that doesn't care if the stuff they take belongs to another culture - because money. But also the kind that takes in runaway slaves and anyone else as long as they can keep up.

The kind that takes on merc jobs and also assists in defending Rivain because it's their territory - and for many, it's their home.

Rook starting out as a former escaped slave from Tevinter is a great template for both a merc with a heart and standards and an absolutely ruthless pirate who sees the world as the dog eat dog place.

Available races: all of them, Lords don't discriminate.

Veil Jumpers

I'd even change the name because it sounds so...not serious. Even Fade Stalkers sounds better (come on, writers, I see what you did with the Arlathan forest, you clearly wanted a fantasy version of S.T.A.L.K.E.R., so just embrace it).

Let this faction be created by one of the ancient elves who used to be stuck in the Fade, then got out - but were NOT happy with Solas, don't want to follow him and don't trust him to fix things. The Evanuris once led them and they ended up enslaved, why should they trust Solas and his good intentions, especially if he claims to be the one to fix and restore the world? So they don't.

They don't see the point in "burn it down and rebuild again" because they already have the bitter experience: so they would rather try their chances with what they have right now, by equipping their people with information and truth.

So, they manage to gather the Dalish people willing to believe and follow them, seeking to educate them and teach them on using magic and tools long forgotten and salvage whatever is left of their heritage, only now with the knowledge of using it.

The most difficult faction to gain approval for if you're not an elf: because some leaders are willing to cautiously cooperate, while others think that Felassan was right and that this world was so much better without humans, dwarves, or Qunari.

Available races: the elf only club.

Shadow Dragons

The in-game faction is mostly fine, aside from the game trying to make it look like Venatori are the only ones who want them dead. No, Shadow Dragons are beefing with the entire Magisterium (aside from Dorian and Maevaris' party) and are depicted as an extremely violent terrorist group both within and outside Tevinter, with only slaves and low-class citizens actually believing in their cause and hoping for their assistance.

Because this is what a corrupt government does - invest in smear campaigns so vile and vicious that you have to be prepared to debunk numerous myths about your group and cause before engaging with people.

This should be particularly painful if you, as a Shadow Dragon, interact with people outside Tevinter because given the real life experience with westerners, people living in safe and privileged first-world countries would rather gobble up the comfortable and refined lies spread by your enemies than listen to you, someone who was oppressed and hurt by your enemy.

Realistically, a Shadow Dragon Rook would have to facepalm their way through the ridiculous shit like "Don't you guys kidnap slaves from their cozy kennels only to forcefully conscript them to your army?" or "Aren't you guys just a bunch of mercenaries sponsored by one of the Senate parties to undermine its political opponents?" or "You're just part of the Par Vollen and Tevinter war. Do you think I'm stupid and don't know you're on the Qunari payroll?" or "All you want to do is to escalate and spread chaos, don't even try to do it here".

Another realistic issue for Shadow Dragons should be dodging Qunari spies. Because, lets be honest: Par Vollen would want to exploit that vulnerability in their continuous war with Tevinter. They would try to offer assistance to Shadow Dragons in order to find a way to weaken and conquer Tevinter or get their hands on secret information.

But since Shadow Dragons want to change their government, abolish slavery and the horrible political system, they don't want to do it at the cost of getting subjugated by the Qunari. So, they have to be extremely careful when picking their agents, making sure they aren't just conveniently placed Ben-Hassrath.

Available races: human, elf, dwarf, Kossith

Grey Wardens

Generally the most involved faction ever since the events of the Inquisition. First of all, where is one taint-corrupted ancient magister, there is two or even three of them. After the Adamant Fortress, they can't allow themselves to be inactive - if exiled from Orlais, they need to make up for this disaster and prevent any further manipulations, if allowed to stay and rebuild, they work closely with the Inquisitor and provide assistance with the search for Solas. Probably, not all of them are aware of the Solas' true nature - they're only given information that he is a much more powerful mage than anyone imagined and that he was the one who released Corypheus and plans for another disaster.

The First Warden is aware of the full story, but pretends to be skeptical for the sake of not arising suspicions (in case Solas' spies are around).

They should also experience issues with some of their elven Wardens suddenly leaving (you can't tell me that elf Wardens won't be tempted with a promise of never succumbing to the Calling) and detect suspicious darkspawn activity.

Available races: all, with Kossith and elves getting extra race interactivity bonuses.

Mourn Watch

The faction and its representatives are generally fine in the game, I just wish there was Cassandra to make disgusted noises at the Mourn Watcher Rook.

Imagine dodging interactions with Nevarran Mortalitasi to the point of appointing a random apostate bum as your Fade expert, only to work with a fucking Mourn Watcher because that bum you hired to be your Fade expert turned out to be a freaking elven god who started all that shit.

The irony is fucking delicious.

Aside from that, I think that Mourn Watch should be the mage-only faction because a) the order is founded by Mortalitasi, who are mages, b) what are the non-mage Watchers even supposed to do when working with spirits and the undead?

They have no tools or means of interacting with them, which means they can end up dead. It's not logical for Watchers to allow a non-mage in their ranks for the inclusivity sake, exposing them to a constant risk and knowing that the mages will be held responsible for the imminent tragedy. I imagine there is non-mage personnel at the Grand Necropolis, but I don't think they're entrusted with the same secrets and duties.

Also, there should be an option to choose between "foundling" and "noble". The foundling!Rook can have a particularly close connection to the spirits, which allows them to single-handedly calm the undead during the War of the Banners, while the noble!Rook has an established family, much more political connections and is well-versed in diplomacy and negotiations, which allowed them to trick the undead barons and put them down when they least expected it

Available races: human, elf

Bonus: new faction idea

Kal-Sharok

Give more exposure to the Titans and the dwarven connection to Stone through the perspective of the Kal-Sharok dwarves. In DAI, they were already shown carrying out their own operations and cooperated with the Inquisition on their own conditions. So, I can't imagine them not being active, especially if they are at least partially aware of the history of Titans and the Evanuris.

Rook can start as one of the Kal-Sharok agents (probably acting undercover at first), and to them stopping or even meeting Solas is of a particular priority because he holds the key to the history of the dwarves, their connection to lyrium, and many other things. This Rook is looking for the truth - and ultimately can decide, whether they should use their knowledge for advancing Kal-Sharok exclusively or should they reconnect Kal-Sharok, surface dwarves and Orzammar because they share the same past and the same trauma.

Also, a Kal-Sharok Rook can have unique mage classes if they're the one with connection to the Stone.

Available races: only dwarves

[creedslove]

COZY SUNDAY EVENINGS WITH JOEL 🍓 - HEADCANONS

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: I missed pedro so much 😭

Joel works so hard during the week that it's almost impossible to get him out of the house on Sundays, unless there's something important he can't skip, such as someone's birthday or a family lunch, but even then, he's definitely home by 6 pm and that's because he loves the cozy time he spends with you

Sundays are so peaceful, especially after dark, when there's no one in the house but you and him, no Sarah around, no Tommy eating his stuff and drinking his beer, just you, his lovely soon-to-be wife - which still makes you squirm when he calls you that

Joel likes awful movies, he's such a dad™ at this matter, he's just crazy about action without a plot, fast cars, explosions, bad CGI of gigantic animals eating people and destroying things, all it takes for him to be mesmerized is a bad acting and free violence in movies and yet, you agree to watch that with him, how much you love your handsome Joel

But he knows you aren't into his kind of movie and being the loving boyfriend he is, he also agrees to watch whatever you like, no matter if it's a chick flick, or a questionable reality show or a boring documentary, he's gonna be there for you

And of course in the meantime, you'll be snuggled up on the couch, sharing the same blanket - unless it's boiling hot outside

But the important part is that Joel loves to be touching you, he enjoys when you lie your head on his lap, the way his fingers run through your hair, or he just gives you foot rubs, with his big, calloused hands gently massaging your feet, it makes your heart warm

And you also love helping him relax, mostly massaging his back, or his shoulder, or just playing with his graying hair, the way you scratch his scalp makes him so sleepy, it's actually sweet

But sometimes you don't spend time in front of the tv, sometimes you just go to bed, lying next to each other, with the house dark and silently and napping together feels good, Joel's the kind of person to turn on the fan and cover himself up with a blanket and though you thought it was odd at first, now you got used to it

And you love how easily he falls asleep and how he looks for you in his slumber, his arm always reaches for you, and the warmth you feel makes your heart melt, the sense of protection and love always increases

When the weather is too hot, Joel takes you to the backyard for an evening swim in the pool, it's just refreshing and so cozy to see him relaxed and cheerful like a child. It's a sight of Joel not many people see, but it's certainly one of your favorites

Most of the time, during your cozy sunday evenings, you and Joel get intimate; sometimes it's romantic and the two of you make love, sometimes it's kinky and you fuck until you're both exhausted

And sometimes nothing happens at all, it depends on how tiring the day was, if either of you ended up falling asleep first or if you had no time, but it doesn't matter, because you both love each other and you know you'll always have monday morning to compensate

And that's why Joel often goes to work late on Mondays 🤭

_____

[celiastjamesoscar]

Night Shift

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader. Sam x reporter!reader

Summary: Sam blamed you for the 2022 attacks, she blamed you for everything. But guilt drives people into blindness, and Sam eventually finds herself seeking your comfort.

AN: this is the longest fic I’ve ever written, so I apologize if at times it seems redundant. Based off of this request!

Warnings: angst, slight cursing, mentions of past drug addiction, small part of canon typical Scream violence, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of alcoholism, Tara is a little shit. Let me know if I missed anything!

My Masterlist

Word Count: 18.0K

Nothing. That’s all you could think about as you listened to the sound of Tara’s heartbeat monitor. This was your fault. You were the reason Tara was now in the hospital with multiple stab wounds and a broken leg. If only you had gotten to her house sooner, she wouldn’t be in this position. All your friends tried to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that you had no idea some dipshit in a mask was going to attack her, but you knew better.

You were only nine when it happened, but you could still feel the sharp pain of Jill Roberts’ knife plunging deep inside of your abdomen. Sometimes, you swore you could still hear her black combat boots sneaking around on the wooden floor, and the only thing that would play throughout your mind was the sweet release of not having to look over your shoulder at every sound.

The sound of Tara’s heartbeat monitor increasing in speed pulled you out of your thoughts. “Hey, Tara. It’s alright,” you whispered to the sleeping girl, but you got no response. Her heartbeat monitor began peeping so rapidly, that your own heartbeat began thumping in your ears, and it eventually blocked out Tara’s.

Your heartbeat echoed throughout your ears as it continued its rapid pace of 150 beats per minute. You had no idea why you were anxious, but then your surroundings suddenly changed. You were no longer in the monotone gray walls of a hospital, but you now found yourself in Tara’s kitchen. The smaller girl was no longer in her hospital gown; she now wore a pink long sleeve shirt and jeans, and you instantly knew where this was going.

You tried to scream, but no sound left your throat as you watched Tara answer that dreaded phone call. The pounding in your ears continued as you began to sweat and frantically tried to move, but your feet were glued to the floor; no matter how hard you tried to move, you simply could not compel your body to move. You watched as Tara fought against Ghostface, and just like every night, you watched as Ghostface plunged his knife deep into Tara’s stomach. Over and over again.

But unlike the real events that conspired, you couldn’t save Tara. In this version, you watched as Tara bled out onto the floor, her crimson red blood staining the nicely wooded flooring. Her screams were the only thing that drowned out your heartbeat, and you begged it to stop.

“Y/N! Y/N, help me!” Tara cried out in a broken voice as blood now began to seep from her mouth as she tried to crawl toward you, but Ghostface stopped her. In a single motion, he leaned down to Tara and pulled her up by her hair, and slit her throat. When he stood up, you were met with those haunting hollowed out eyes, and when you blinked, the mask was gone.

Jill Roberts stood before you with murderous eyes as she slowly started to advance toward you. You tried to walk backward, but your feet wouldn’t move. Jill was not an arms length away, and you noticed the beautiful glint of light that reflected off the blood as she brought it down in a single motion.

Before the knife could sink into your chest, you were being shaken away. “Y/N. Get up; you’re having a nightmare,” the rough voice of Sam Carpenter stated as she awoke you from your nightmare.

Your eyes instantly shot up as you leaned up from the couch, checking your surroundings. “Oh, thank you,” you weakly replied as Sam let go of your shoulders and walked away from you, not giving you a response. Sam noticed the sweat that lined your forehead and caused some of your hair to stick to your face, but she didn’t care. Why would she care about someone that ruined her life?

Technically, it wasn’t your fault, but it was easier for Sam to blame you for what happened and she liked having it that way. It was her own fucked up way of keeping you at arms length while also always keeping an eye on you.

You checked your surroundings again and you were grateful that you were in your home and not that dreaded house that Tara used to live in. You had fallen asleep at some point on the couch and you left the TV running while your homework was spread out on the coffee table in front of you. You had gained a terrible habit of staying up until ungodly hours while trying to cram in information for your exams.

You groaned while standing up from the couch and you checked the time, 11:30 pm. If Sam was still here, that meant the rest of the girls were here as well, and you dreaded the thought of being around them. That was the worst part about living with Anika; you were constantly around the people that despised you. ‘People’ as in just Sam, but you liked to make it plural for the dramatic effect.

With a sigh, you grudgingly left the living room and went into the backyard, where a fire was going with the group huddled around it while sitting on hay bales. “Good morning, Y/N,” Tara teased with a gentle smile while scooting over on her hay bale, inviting you to sit next to her. “Yeah right,” you mumbled as you sat down next to the girl, ignoring the glance Sam threw at you, “What are you guys doing out here? It’s starting to get cold.”

“We were talking shit about you, but now we can’t do that with you out here,” Mindy joked as she rested her head on Anika’s shoulder. You and Mindy had a special ‘situationship’ going on for a while, but you two ended on good terms and occasionally picked on each other. “I hope it was good then,” you replied with a smile and Mindy nodded her head.

The conversation around the fire was an ideal one as you caught up with the group about any gossip you might have missed while you were asleep. Nothing sparked your interest too much, not until Tara mentioned Sam having a boyfriend.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Sam dryly stated as she stared down her younger sister, “We’re just friends, that’s all.”

“You have been saying that for months, Sam! All you two do is check each other out but you never talk! You have to give this guy a chance!” Tara exclaimed and you felt an unwarranted feeling of jealousy shoot throughout your chest. “What guy are you guys talking about?” You asked, starting to get more involved with the current conversion.

“This guy that has been after Sam’s heart ever since we moved here,” Tara casually remarked as she grabbed a stick and poked around the fire; the little shit had a thing for a fire.

You could feel Sam’s eyes burning into the side of your head as you racked Tara’s words around in your head. Sure, Sam was old enough to make decisions for herself, but the thought of her actually being with someone other than you makes you sick to your stomach. And just like the masochist you were, you had to ask Sam about it. “So why don’t you talk to him?”

Sam huffed, clearly annoyed by the fact that you, of all people, would ask her about her love life. “Why? So you can go and tell Gale about it? No thanks,” she dryly stated with a roll of her eyes.

“Hey, you little shit, that wasn’t Y/N! I’ve told you that before,” Tara defended as she comfortably put a hand on your knee, “And even if she did, I support her wrongs.”

“Tara, you’re not helping,” you whispered with a small, awkward laugh. A small groan left Sam’s lips as she stood up from the fire, “I’m going inside,” she said while walking toward the door to the house.

Once she was inside, Tara broke the tension, “I’m sorry she’s like that, Y/N. She doesn’t want to accept the truth.” The comfort from Tara was nice, it actually made you feel like someone at least cared for you that had the last name of Carpenter.

“It’s okay, no need to apologize on her behalf. I get it,” you said with a weak smile as you hid your pain. It was a stupid feeling: pain. You owed Sam nothing, but you still couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt run through your body every time you saw the woman.

“So, Y/N, what’s it like fumbling an amazing woman like me?” Mindy playfully asked, her own way of trying to lighten the tense mood that had settled around the fire, “I need Anika to know how special I am.”

It was a shitty attempt, but it still put a smile on your face. “Mindy once got in a revolving door,” you said with a laugh, “she was in it for a solid 5 minutes.”

“Blasphemy!” Mindy shouted as she quickly stood up from her hay bale, “It was one minute and you didn’t help at all! And you let Tara record it!”

“Oh my god, I need to find that video,” Tara butted in as she pulled out her phone, quickly trying to find the video while Mindy tried to steal the phone from her.

It was small moments like these that you enjoyed with the group; moments were everyone was happy and they could forgot about their fucked up pasts. Those moments were rare, but you cherished them like they were your life support.

As time dragged on and the night got colder, everyone outside called it quits. Well, at least on being outside.

“Hurry up, Gizmo, I’m freezing,” Mindy joked as she walked behind Tara, almost stepping on the girl’s shoes. “Don’t call me a gremlin,” the shorter girl shot back with a glare as she approached the back door to your house, “apologize and I’ll open it.”

“Fuck you,” Mindy retorted as she made a move for the door, bud Tara was quick to react as she kicked one of Mindy’s shins.

“Apologize.”

“No.”

Several beats of silence pass by as you and Anika watch a stare down between the two friends before Mindy inevitably sighs with defeat. “Alright fine, I’m sorry I called Gizmo. You aren’t a gremlin, more like a fun sized Lord Farquaad,” Mindy said, trailing off toward the end of her sentence.

“Hey, hey! Stop it!” You exclaimed, quickly catching Tara’s fist that was inches away from connecting Mindy’s face.

You were too busy trying to keep Tara from ripping into Mindy that you didn’t notice Sam opening up the door until she spoke. “What the hell are you doing to my sister?”

The position you found yourself in was an uncomfortable one, to say the least. You were holding Tara from behind, with your arms holding the smaller girl’s ones back.

“Mind your business, Sam,” Tara stated in a strained voice, trying to get hold out of your tight hold, “this is between me and Mindy.”

Her sister’s words didn’t seem to phase Sam at all, as the older sister couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of you. The way you had your hands on her sister made her blood boil. Deep down she knew that you would never hurt Tara, but that didn’t stop the over growing feeling of protectiveness come through.

In a single motion, Sam stopped out of the house and gripped your bicep with her right left hand. When you looked down, you could see her veins in her hands as her grip tightened, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say that was trying to flex as well.

“Let her go,” Sam demanded, leaving zero room for arguing. So, you shrugged your shoulders and let go, not caring to warn Sam about the can of whoopass her sister was about to unleash on Mindy.

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

“She was like a tiger! A short-legged one with asthma, but a Tiger!” Mindy cried into her phone, telling her brother about her vicious fight with Tara. Honestly, it was impressive how quickly Tara moved to latch onto Mindy, but even more impressive how surprisingly strong she was. The wounds that Mindy sustained weren’t anything terrible; a small cut on her cheek and a busted lip, but nothing was hurt more than her ego.

“You asked for it,” Anika commented, but then gave Mindy a quick kiss for the look she received. You chuckled at the small encounter as you excused yourself from Tara, who had a smug smile on her lips. She knew where you were going, and she didn’t think about warning you that Sam was also there; it was like her own way of playing matchmaker—a shitty matchmaker, but still one nonetheless.

The kitchen was a weird place you found solace in; nothing was special about it. It was where you went when you needed a step back from reality. Another odd thing: Sam also found the same comfort in the kitchen. Maybe it was the quiet nature, or the dim lights that brought comfort, or even perhaps the shitty decorations that littered the walls, but whatever it was, there was a soft comfort.

“Hey,” you said upon entering the kitchen. Sam was leaning against the countertop, arms crossed over her chest as her eyes refused to leave the floor. To anyone else, it would have gone unnoticed, but not with you, not with it involved Sam. You noticed her slightly heavy breathing and the barely visible sweat that glistened her forehead. And when her eyes finally left the floor, you could see nothing but black in her irises.

It took not even a second before Sam finally snapped out of whatever trance she had found herself in and returned to her usual self. Well, about as normal as Sam could be. She quickly wiped the sweat off her forehead and recrossed her arms as she looked at you. “What are you doing in here?” She all but demanded; her eyes seemed never to leave you as she stared you down.

The question was a weird one, as this was your home, but you just chalked it up to Sam's bizarre way of asking, ‘Why are you here with me and not my sister?’

“Hanging out in the kitchen; it’s where I belong,” you said with a smile, and to your surprise, you managed to pull a chuckle from the Latina. It was a quick laugh, but it sounded like angels were singing in your ears, and you would go through hell and back with nothing but the Hamilton soundtrack to keep you busy if it meant hearing that laugh again.

Sam smiled faintly as she spoke, “Yeah, well, I’ve tried your spaghetti before; you don’t belong anywhere near the kitchen. I’m sure they would have sent you into the army and made your husband stay at home.”

“Okay, wow, that one hurt!” You exclaimed with a joking smile as you placed a hand over your heart, pretending to be hurt, “That one dug deep, but bold of you to assume I would have a husband.”

“Bold of you to assume I would care.”

A tense silence filled the air after Sam spoke, but it was a silence you were starting to grow comfortable with. And for the first time in her life, Sam felt terrible for what she said to you. She wanted to apologize for saying she didn’t care about you, but she couldn’t muster up the pride to admit she was wrong. So all she did was look at you sadly and hope you would pick up on it.

“You know, I seriously thought we were having a moment,” you halfheartedly joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It took several seconds before Sam replied, just as you walked out of the kitchen, “Yeah…I don’t really think the whole ‘husband’ thing would work out for me either.”

This comment certainly caught you off guard. “Why is that?” You asked while returning back to the kitchen, clearly interested in what Sam had to say, “Not much of a marriage person?”

Sam shuffled awkwardly on her feet as she uncrossed her arms, gripped the counter behind her, and looked down at the floor. “No, it’s not the marriage part. It’s the man part,” she admitted while slowly looking up at you with the most vulnerable eyes ever. The look she gave you said a thousand words: this was something not even Tara knew about.

Sure, the Carpenter sisters shared everything, but Sam wouldn’t share this. Her attraction toward women was something that further ruined the bond between her and her mother, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let it ruin her relationship with her only family left. Of course, Sam knew about Tara’s relationship with women, especially once she found out about Tara and Amber, but she still couldn’t help the feeling of being afraid to disappoint Tara.

But before you could comfort Sam, before you could tell her that her fears meant nothing and that Tara would still love her, you got interrupted. “Sam! Y/N! Get your asses in here!” Mindy yelled from the living room, “We want to watch this movie with you two!”

Sam quickly got rid of the vulnerability on her face when she heard Mindy’s voice, not wanting to show that kind of weakness to anyone.

“Sam-” you started, but the woman quickly brushed past you, subtly wiping a tear from her eye as she walked into the living room.

Following behind her, you entered the living room and sat at the only open spot on the couch, which was conveniently next to Tara, who had Sam on her other side. “Thank god, I was starting to think you two were fucking in there or something,” Mindy remarked as she grabbed the tv remote, “Let me introduce you guys to the scariest movie on the planet: The Cat in The Hat Live Action!”

The rest of the night was filled with laughter and playful teasing as the hours slowly seeped into the early morning hours. The small banter between Mindy and Tara kept things interesting; Mindy compared Tara to the Things, as Anika tried to keep it peaceful. The stolen glances you shared with Sam had their conversations, and when you went to bed that night, you would consider this night a step in the right direction at changing your relationship with Sam.

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

One thing Sam hated about working a 9-5 was how inconsiderate most of society can be. It was already a busy day at the cafe, more alive than average, and her nerves were already shot for the next and a half. From people complaining about not getting orders in a short time to people demanding to have their drinks remade, it was a rough day for the older Carpenter.

She had half a mind to tell the next person who complained about their coffee not being proper that it was just coffee; if they wanted it right, they should buy a Keurig and make it themselves. Although that would be funny, it would also end in Sam getting fired, so she just bit her tongue and continued working.

As if her day couldn’t get any worse, you always had a habit of catching Sam at her worst. “Are you stalking me now?” Sam questioned once she saw you approach the front counter.

“Oh yeah. You know me, I can’t get enough of the Carpenter girls,” you said with a smirk as you quickly checked Sam up and down, frowning when you saw a faded coffee stain on her apron. It wasn’t hard to notice the looks Sam got in public, so you could imagine how customers would treat her. If the universe would allow it, you would put Sam in your back pocket and protect her from the rest of the world; God knows that the woman deserves some peace in her life for once.

“For whatever reason, Tara can’t seem to leave you alone,” Sam mumbled as she pulled out a pen and notepad, “What can I get you?”

“Just a small cappuccino, please,” you replied as Sam wrote down your order and took your payment. She liked writing things down, which helped her remember the important stuff. And maybe, in the distant future, she might want to buy you a coffee sometime.

Once you ordered, you went and sat down at a booth by yourself and took in the place: it had indeed calmed down from earlier; only a couple of people remained from the rush hour. You enjoyed the calmness, as it gave you time to observe people. Not in a weird or stalkerish way, but in a way to think about other people’s lives, how these weren’t just random people who had no life. These were people who had dreams, who had family and friends; you enjoyed watching the way the world works around you.

You watched as a man with stress lines on his forehead eagerly type away on his laptop, mouthing every word he typed. How sweat lined his hairline, he could have had a deadline for work that he pushed off until the last minute. You then turned your attention to the girl at the opposite end of the cafe, a book in hand as she wore black headphones over her ears, entranced into the world of fantasy without a care in the world while sporting a soft smile. The world amazed you in ways like that: two completely different people who somehow ended up at the same place at the same time, with different things going on in their lives. Maybe it was fate that brought these two strangers together, and you smiled when you saw them bump into each other before leaving, both wearing a smile and talking about the book she was reading. Maybe that’s what you wished had happened between you and Sam: an accidental meeting somewhere where a good relationship was possible and not this borderline hostile friendship.

A couple of minutes passed before Sam brought over your drink to you. “How late are you working?” You asked once she handed you your drink. The questioning look she gave you was a funny one, but not that it mattered.

“I’m here till 5. Why?”

“Damn, you got a 9 to 5? It looks like I’ll take the night shift,” you joked, but Sam didn’t laugh, only giving you a questioning glare, “Lucy Dacus? No? You’re boring.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not obsessed with three grown women who refer to themselves as ‘boys,’” Sam remarked. She had no desire to learn anything about Boygenius, especially after listening to her sister talk for an hour about all of the unholy things she would let Julien Baker do to her. If Sam was being honest, half of the stuff Tara said deserved at least a ten-year prison sentence.

“But you know who they are,” you said teasingly as you stood up from the booth, “Don’t worry, Sam. You’ll soon grow to appreciate Boygenius. I’ll have Tara fix that.”

“Mhmmm, I’m sure about that,” she mumbled as she returned to the counter, bidding you farewell with a slight nod, not caring to return your toothy smile or wave.

If Sam drove home after her long shift listening to Julien Baker, that was no one’s business but hers.

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

When Sam got home, she only wanted a nice, hot shower and go to bed. She didn’t even bother to eat dinner, as she didn’t have the energy or care to do so. As she opened the door to her apartment, which seemed heavier than usual, she kicked off her shoes with a sigh as she made her way into her bedroom, utterly oblivious to the voices in the living room.

“What’s wrong with her?” You asked Tara once the taller Carpenter had shut her bedroom door. “I don’t know; probably work stuff. Do you have five of spade?” Tara asked, more intrigued with the game she was playing than her sister.

“No, go fish,” you replied while looking at Sam’s door; something was telling you to go check on the girl to make sure she was alright, but you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“Ohhhh my god, you hate me,” the younger Carpenter dramatically stated, dragging out the words as she threw herself backward onto the couch.

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t have done your entire English paper, would I?” You questioned while shooting a glance at the pouting girl, but when your comment earned you a middle finger, you placed your cards down as you stood up from the couch, “I'll be right back.”

Tara scoffed at you as she leaned up on her elbows. “Have you learned nothing from the Meeks family? I hope you don’t come back,” she mouthed off as she started looking at your cards, “you fucking asshole! You did have that card!”

“I never said I didn’t,” you replied with a smirk as you walked toward Sam’s door, ducking out of the way of a flying shoe courtesy of your best friend Tara.

A soft rasping of knuckles pulled Sam away from her almost meltdown. She had felt a constant pressure on her all day, and it started to lift briefly, but it suddenly came back by the end of her shift. Sam was used to the constant pressure and needed to be the best version of herself now that she was providing for her sister, but it all started to get too much for her.

“Sam, you okay?” Great, not only did she have this overwhelming feeling about to take over, but she was also about to have a high speed come apart in front of the person she didn’t want to see her weak.

“I’m good, Y/N. Go back to Tara,” she called out as she backed herself against a wall, slowly sliding down to sit on the floor.

“Are you sure? You didn’t seem too happy when you got home,” you replied, hoping to get somewhere with the older woman. “I’m fine. Please, leave me alone,” Sam pleaded, but the way her voice broke off toward the end of her sentence told you that she didn’t need to be left alone right now.

Several seconds passed, the sound of Sam’s bedroom clock ticking away, slowly counting down the seconds until Sam couldn’t bear the deafening silence. She felt like she had somehow found herself in her version of ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’ at any moment, she would succumb to the voices that were guilting her. For what guilt, she did not know; guilty of her origins, guilty of neglecting her baby sister for five years, guilty of torturing her body for years on end, putting any substance into her body to help calm her mind? Sam didn’t know what was causing this constant guilt that followed her anxiety and pressure, but she would do anything to make it stop. And she did make it stop.

“Fuck it,” she mumbled as she pushed herself up from the floor and walked to her door, grabbing the handle but making no motion to open the door. If she opened that door, it would be an invitation to open herself up to you; she only opened up to one person in her life, and look what he did to her. This constant fear of having to look over her shoulder, as if the shadows were going to transform into physical beings and take her life, or even worse, take Tara’s life. Sam wears scars, both physical and mental, from him, and she would lay down her own life if it meant protecting her sister. But when she looked at you, with your innocent eyes that beamed when you looked at her, Sam knew you could never hurt anyone. But Sam was never one to make accurate judgments.

The creaking sound of Sam opening up her door pulled you from your thoughts. Thoughts that weren’t any special; who you would have in your ideal Hunger Games lineup. You knew for a fact that the president would be Cersei Lannister and the game maker would be Jigsaw. However, you still have yet to determine who the twenty-four tributes would be: the only tributes you had so far were Santa Barbara Ellie, Pioneer Kim Kardashian, Regina George, and Chanel Oberlin. It's not the best list, but it's a solid start.

“Hey,” you said quietly, eyes darting over Sam’s bloodshot eyes with dark bags underneath. Even at her worst, she always somehow managed to captivate you like she was a siren, slowly bringing you into your inevitable demise. Still, you could never seem to pull yourself away from the beauty that was Sam Carpenter.

Sam scoffed at your weak greeting while ignoring the feeling of her stomach turning at how you looked at her. She knew she looked like a hot mess, and she believed it was your way of silently making fun of her. But the way your lips were slightly parted and your eyes seemed a bit too dilated, refused to leave her own, told her that you weren’t judging or making fun of her. No, you were admiring her, which sent a slight shock of guilt throughout her; Guilt, that was Samantha Carpenter’s best friend.

Sam’s eyes drifted down to the floor, as she couldn’t handle the feeling of your eyes burning into her skull. “Who’s shoe is that?” She asked, motioning down to the floor, where Tara’s shoe landed.

“Well, if you look closely, you can see that it’s a size three for babies,” you remarked teasingly.

“Kill yourself!” Tara shouted from the living room, not caring enough to storm out into the hallway and show you how vicious she can be.

“Charming, isn’t she?” You stated as Sam looked back up and made eye contact with you. Her face told you that she didn’t want to talk, but her eyes were silently begging you to stay. It was a dilemma that you stumbled upon, but you were always someone who loved conflicts. “Is everything alright?”

Sam sighed as she leaned against her doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that what you wanted? To ask me if things are okay?”

“Um, yes and no?” You trailed off, not wanting to make things more awkward than they were, “Hold on.” You quickly moved from Sam’s door into the living room, and Sam ignored the hushed threats being spoken; her sister was an angel, after all.

“Here ya go,” you said with an embarrassingly large smile once you returned to Sam’s door. In your hand, you held a small brown lunch bag. Sam had to fight off any instincts to punch you in the throat.

“I don’t like gifts,” she said instead of resorting to violence. Truth be told, Sam loved gifts; she just hated receiving them, as it made her feel like she was in someone’s debt.

“Well, good thing it’s not a gift,” you replied, smiling, pushing the gift bag toward Sam, who gave you a questioning look before accepting it. The bag itself was featherlight, almost as if nothing was in there. Sam gave you one last questioning look before opening the bag and looking inside.

In the bag were several containers, all hosting different kinds of cookies and brownies, and to Sam’s surprise, they were all her favorites. There was something much more prominent at the bottom, but she couldn’t tell what it was as the rest of the cookies sat atop. Sam gave you a small smile as she walked over to her chest of drawers and began taking out the items, ignoring how you were now peering into her room as you leaned against the door frame.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Sam genuinely said in a weak, almost fragile voice as she slowly got to the bottom of the bag, “I appreciate this. it has been-” The rest of her words died on the tip of her tongue as she stared into the bag, as silence filled the room. Those silent seconds dragged on into a quiet minute, neither of you saying anything. You knew it might have been too bold or maybe even wrong, but you wanted to let Sam know that you were proud of her.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you quietly whispered, gaining Sam’s attention. Your heart broke once her eyes met yours, tears glossing in her doe eyes as her lip quivered. She gave you a slight nod of recognition before turning her attention back to the bag as a single tear ran down her cheek, grateful that you had already left by the time it broke from her eye.

With a dry chuckle, Sam reached into the bag, pulled out a 10-inch cookie, and sat it down on her chest of drawers. She stared at it for several moments before her lips pulled into a smile as a new feeling shot throughout her heart, one that she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. But that feeling of hope wasn’t for her; no, it was a hopeful feeling about you.

Sam smiled down at the cookie one last time before she went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife and plate, thankful that Tara had gone off to her room so she could enjoy her treat by herself.

Once she returned to her room, she pulled the lid off the container and cut a small piece out of the cookie. Making sure not to ruin the words that said, “Happy three years of sobriety.”

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

The minutes seemed endless as you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You didn’t know why you were waiting, but you just were. Your mind was telling you to get up, to do something productive, but your heart and soul were seemingly forcing you to stay put, like something important was going to happen anytime, and if you were just a fraction of a second too late, you would miss it.

It was a stupid feeling, but you couldn’t compel yourself to move; it was as if your mind was in a trance, stuck in some faraway land, and you could do nothing to pull yourself back into your body. You were on the verge of losing your mind when you knew exactly what you were waiting for, and when you finally accepted why, it happened.

Your phone dinged on your nightstand, and you immediately smiled; you didn’t have to look at it to know who it was. In a swift motion, you quickly got up from your bed and grabbed your phone as you read the text message. It wasn’t a long one, or even a special one, to be honest, but the smile on your face was almost comical, and your heart soared. The text read, “I don’t know how you found out about the date, nor do I even want to. But thank you, Y/N, I needed that today.”

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

“I will never understand the hype for ‘Hamilton,’” Mindy stated with a look of distaste as she flopped down onto the Carpenter’s couch. It wasn’t movie night but more of a girl’s night. Since it was Tara’s idea to have a girl’s night, she got to pick the movie. But it wasn’t for her, no, it was for Sam.

The older Carpenter sister would never admit to liking such things, but she did have a soft spot for musicals. She didn’t know where this love for them came from, but ever since she was young, she had loved the idea of singing.

Before Sam had discovered her mother’s journal, which had ultimately led to the destruction of her family, she used to sing in her church’s choir. It was the first thing her mother didn’t force her into doing, and she loved singing in front of people; it made her feel like nothing in the world could touch her.

Singing was the only thing Christina Carpenter told Sam she was good at and the last thing she ever took away from Sam.

Once Mr. Carpenter left, Christina stopped taking the kids to church, which caused Sam to be pulled from the choir. It still didn’t stop Sam; she saved up enough money to buy a guitar and write songs while practicing the guitar in her room. When Sam started to dabble around in drugs and alcohol, she slowly started to lose herself. She lost who she really was, but she never lost her voice.

Only when it was the day of Sam’s 18th birthday did Christina finally ruin the last good thing Sam liked about herself, “Your real father had the voice of an angel.”

Sam left that night, and she hadn’t sung since.

But now, five years later, Sam still loves everything to do with music. She was glad that Tara had taken one for the team and turned on Hamilton because Mindy would never let Sam hear the end of it.

“‘Hamilton’ is okay, but not Lin-Manuel Miranda’s best work,” you stated as you stood in the kitchen, making a bag of popcorn for yourself. Sam was also in the kitchen with you, which has become a common meeting place. She was making herself a sandwich as she quietly listened to the banter between you and Mindy.

“I don’t believe you. What is his best work?” Tara challenged as she shifted on the couch, throwing an arm over the side as she looked into the kitchen to glare at you.

“His best work is easily ‘In the Heights,’” you declared with too much emphasis on the movie title.

“No!” Tara yelled, “You only say that because the lead actress looks like Sam, and you said she was hot!”

“I did not say that!” You lied as heat rushed up your neck and flooded your cheeks. It wasn’t embarrassing because Tara called you out; you were embarrassed because you were in the kitchen with Sam. It didn’t help that you could hear Sam snickering as you were defending yourself.

“Yes, you did. Do you want me to pull up the screenshots from the long chain of text messages you sent me?” Tara asked, even though it wasn’t a question, as she pulled out her phone. “Example one: ‘Oh my god, Tara. I’m watching this movie, and this woman looks just like Sam.’”

You quickly threw your bag of popcorn down onto the counter as you sprinted into the living room. You simply couldn’t live with the idea that Sam knows just how you yearned for her.

“Example two: ‘This is Sam, just in another universe.’ Example three, in all caps: ‘Oh my god, Tara! I am not joking when I say that-’” You quickly snatched the phone from the younger Carpenter sister before she could say possibly the horniest text message you had ever sent.

“You are no fun,” Tara whined as you deleted the messages from her phone. “You’re evil,” you retorted before handing Tara back her phone, who was quick to grab it. You walked back into the kitchen to grab your popcorn and became embarrassed when you saw Sam.

She was wearing one of her light-colored long-sleeve muscle shirts again with a pair of gray sweatpants. In simple words, she looked amazing. Usually, when Sam wore some variation of the muscle shirt combo, you could act ‘normal.’ But now that Tara had practically outed your attraction to Sam, you just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Thankfully, she just gave you a small smile as she watched you grab your bag before heading back into the living room, no doubt about to be the subject of constant teasing from Tara and Mindy.

“So,” Mindy started once you sat down on the couch next to her, “Are we going to talk about those thirst messages-” “Start the damn movie, Tara.”

By the time the movie started, Sam had entered the living room, but not without earning a cat call whistle from Mindy, no doubt a jab at you. She opted to sit by herself in the loveseat as she kicked her feet up on the opposite end. She sent you a smile when no one was looking, and you could have sworn both hearts started beating as one.

Throughout the movie, you had to deal with Tara rapping and Mindy ranting about the musical, but overall, it was a fun night. Sam was slowly starting to warm up to the idea of having you around more often, and you slowly felt yourself catching feelings for her.

Of course, there was this natural attraction to Sam, she was simply beautiful, but her protective personality mixed with her stand-off, almost bitchy, personality was merely perfect. But with her bitchiness, she was the sweetest, most caring person you had ever met. Her laugh was so angelic, and the way her eyes crinkled when she did laugh was so heartwarming. Sam Carpenter was perfect in your eyes.

To say that this attraction was one-sided wouldn’t be fair. After you had dropped off her cookie, Sam started to act differently around you. She would smile more, and only at you most of the time. It seemed like she had begun to reserve that confident smile just for you. She started to see you more as an individual with feelings and plans for the future rather than a simple 2-dimensional person who was only in her life to make it hell. Sam had actually started to care for you even though she still tried her best to despise you.

So when the movie finished and Mindy went home, you grabbed your coat to follow suit soon.

“Thank you for coming, Y/N,” Tara said as she hugged you while you were standing next to the front door, “You know I love you, right?”

You quickly reciprocated the hug, pulling the girl into a warm, soft embrace. “I know you do, and I also love you too. Even though you can be a shit sometimes.”

“Yeah, but you love it!” She happily exclaimed while pulling back from the hug to pinch your left cheek, “Drive safe, okay?”

“I will, Ms. Carpenter, I will,” you replied, smiling as you opened the door, and Tara disappeared into her room. You had gone halfway out of the door when someone spoke.

“You’re just going to leave without saying goodbye?” You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was; you could pick that soft voice from anywhere. Granted, she was the only one left in the apartment, but you still have yourself the credit for knowing it was her.

“I didn’t think you would want to say goodbye,” you replied as you entered the apartment and shut the door, “I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries with you.”

That was the thing about you: you were so damn respectful. Sometimes, Sam wanted to slam you against a wall to beat the hell out of you. Other times, she wanted to slam you against a wall with her tongue down your throat. Sam had a weird way of showing her attraction to you.

“You didn’t think you were overstepping boundaries when you brought me that cookie?” Sam questioned with a faint smile on her lips. She would never tell you this, but she loved teasing you, as it was the only way she could see the more embarrassed side of you.

“I figured I was, but I thought the gesture of it would be nice enough,” you replied in a weak voice as you rubbed the back of your neck with your hand and shuffled from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry if it was rude of me to do that without asking first. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

The older woman laughed a bit as she walked closer to you and opened the door, “At least let me walk you out,” she offered. You gave her a smile with a nod as you followed her out of the apartment, making sure to close the door behind you.

“So, what do you think of musicals?” You asked as you walked down the stairs with her. “Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” Sam joked with the slightest hint of flirtation in her voice, and you almost felt your knees give out.

“Ha, you wish,” you replied as you matched her tone of voice, which earned you a playful smirk to get sent your way. If you figured your one way to win Sam’s trust was to flirt with her occasionally, you would go out giving it your all.

You two reached the floor level of the apartment building, and you held the door open for Sam as you walked outside. “But seriously, though, what do you think of them?” You asked as Sam followed you to your car.

“I enjoy them well enough. Why?” Sam responded as she eyed you suspiciously.

“Because the ‘Aladdin’ musical is going to be here soon,” you stated before you continued with your proposal, “And I was wondering if you would want to go with me?”

The offer was a genuine one from you; you wanted to spend more quality time with Sam, but you also have been dying to see the musical. It was a win-win situation all around.

“Y/n,” Sam started with a beaming smile that matched her chocolate eyes, “I would love to go with you. When and how much do I owe you?”

You quickly picked up Sam’s hand and held it between yours, “You don’t owe me anything. Consider it payment for letting me terrorize your sister.”

Sam glanced down at your hands before looking back up at you. Her beautiful eyes held so much darkness in them that they couldn’t help but draw you in. When you looked into Sam’s eyes at just the right moments, you didn’t see the gorgeous woman; no, you would see her father. And it made you yearn for her even more. Sam had never experienced actual love, but when you looked into her eyes, it made you wonder why thieves bothered to steal pieces of art; you knew you were in love with her.

In a swift moment, before Sam had time to think about her actions, she leaned in. She had meant to kiss your cheek, but in a sudden and indescribable moment, Sam slightly turned her head to kiss the corner of your lips, millimeters away from your lips.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she whispered with a small smile as she said goodbye. You were too busy hoping she left a lipstick mark to respond.

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

The seconds seemed to drag on endlessly as you tapped your foot against the floor. Your stomach was wrapped up in knots you could barely remember to breathe; the only thing you could think about was the constant nervousness that was rattling you to your core. You were early, half an hour earlier, to be exact, but you would rather be early and have to wait rather than be late.

You were sitting on the bottom stairs of Sam’s apartment building, impatiently waiting until it would be an acceptable time to go to the Carpenter’s apartment. It was the night of the musical, and you were wearing a simple yet elegant suit as you pulled at the collar of your shirt as if it was slightly choking you.

‘Nervous’ wasn’t the correct word to describe your feelings. Petrified would be a better word for it. You were terrified that you would somehow mess up this night, had somehow overdone it, or that Sam wouldn’t have fun. Self-doubt was your greatest friend, after all.

You picked up the bouquet of roses from beside you and stared at them. “Maybe it's too much,” you thought out loud as you turned them over in your hand. Neither of you had explicitly said it was a date, but the way Sam kissed your cheek was something you would never forget. Even though you wanted to consider an actual kiss, since it was so close to your lips, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Samatha Carpenter is a strong woman who takes what she wants in this world, and if she wanted to kiss your lips, she would have done so.

Your phone vibrated with a text message, pulling you away from self-doubt. It was from Sam, telling you that you can come up whenever you would like.

Like an idiot, you wanted to run up the stairs as fast as you could to get to Sam quicker, but you forced yourself to play it cool, to not look like a loser. So, ever so slowly, you began your journey up the six flights of stairs.

Within a few minutes, you were standing outside Sam’s door. You had arrived quicker than you wanted, but the excitement was too much. Then, your mind slowly started to get the better of you as you stared down at your fancy dress-up shoes. You hoped you weren’t overdressed, but if you were, you could easily change into the clothes you kept in Tara’s room. But then what if you were underdressed? How would you fix that? You wouldn’t have enough time to go home and change into something more congenial, and you certainly weren’t going to make Sam change. What if Sam wasn’t even dressing up at all? What if this was just a friendly outing, and you completely fucked it up? What if-

Before you dive further into the scenarios that could play out, the door opened, and all of the air within your lungs left.

“What the fuck are wearing?” You asked with slight irritation in your voice, bewilderment written all over your face.

“What? You don’t like it?” Tara questioned as she spun around in a circle for you. The younger Carpenter sister was wearing a yellow shirt with a pineapple that had on a thong; underneath the fruit was the word ‘slut.’ She was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, and when she turned around for you, you saw ‘baby girl’ embroidered on the butt.

“Clearly It’s referring to the pineapple, not you,” you said with a smile before it fully registered what was on the girl’s pants, “Hey, turn back around!” Tara did as you demanded, “If I would have known you were wanting to check on my ass, I would have done some squats first,” she teased with a smirk.

When you reread the word ‘baby girl,’ you scoffed at the more petite girl, “Why are you wearing those?”

“Because it's funny! It’s called having a sense of humor!” Tara shot back before an evil smirk appeared, “Why? Do you want me to take them off? I don’t think Sam would like that too much; she gets territorial over you.”

The comment certainly surprised you, and Tara quickly noticed her mistake. “I didn’t mean that,” she tried to explain, but it was too late.

“What do you mean she ‘gets territorial’ over me?” You questioned, completely forgetting about why you were talking to Tara in the first place as the thought of Sam ran rapidly throughout your mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tara replied with a nervous laugh as her eyes darted around the room. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone this, and Sam made her swear not to tell anyone. Now, she has broken that promise to the one person who wasn’t supposed to know.

Now, it was a simple mistake that led to Tara finding out about the flirtatious relationship between you and Sam. It was the night Sam kissed your cheek; Tara saw that bright smile on Sam’s lips and how her eyes held so much admiration. She had never seen that look on her sister’s face, and she knew something had happened.

So, like any good sister, she interrogated and terrorized Sam until she finally caved.

Sam only told Tara the bare minimum; you two were going out later in the week to watch a musical together and that you had gotten her a gift a week ago. She didn’t plan on telling Tara that the gift in question was her sobriety treat basket, but when Tara went to grab a water bottle from Sam’s mini fridge, she saw a small box of brownies with your handwriting on a sticky note. “I believe in you :)” was written on it, so Tara asked Sam about it.

Sam told her sister about the gift, but Tara didn’t seem bothered by it. “Oh, yeah. I figured something fruity was going on between you and the biggest homo of the century. But why the fuck did you keep this from me?!” Tara shouted, moving the box around in the air.

“I didn’t think you would want any,” Sam defended with a weak sigh, but she knew it wouldn’t help.

“I would give a strip show to the old people’s home just for a brownie from this place, and you didn’t think I would want any?” She questioned in a slightly more demanding voice before huffing and leaving Sam’s room with the box in hand.

But now, in the current moment, Tara wished she hadn’t opened Sam’s fridge. That annoyingly hopeful smile on your lips drove her insane, not to mention that lovesick look in your eye.

“Stop it, you’re freaking me out,” Tara stated as she made a disgusted face at you. “No. Tell me why you said that,” you pressed on, hoping to get an answer from the younger sister.

“Y/N, what are you hounding her about?” A soft, angelic voice questioned, and your attention immediately shot to Sam. She was wearing a black dress that clutched her curves and somehow made her look even more beautiful if that was even possible. The dress had a plunging neckline, and you had to force your eyes away from her cleavage, earning you a smile of approval from Sam, but an elbow followed by a look of distaste from Tara.

“You look amazing,” you stated breathlessly as your eyes wandered down Sam’s body, admiring the leg slit that showed off her left leg. You prayed for nights when that leg would be wrapped around your head.

“Thank you. You look not so bad either,” Sam replied with a soft smile as she picked up her black clutch bag and walked toward you.

“Have fun on your date,” Tara sneered as she entered her room. Truth be told, she couldn’t have been happier for her sister, but she would rather die than let you know that.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled under your breath as your eyes followed Tara before they shot back to the goddess before you. “Are you ready?” You asked, and she gave a curt nod before walking to the door. When you got to the car, you opened the passenger door for Sam, and she thanked you with a soft smile that made your heart explode and your knees weak.

The car ride to the theater was a peaceful one filled with pleasant conversation as you asked Sam about her day and her about yours. Sometimes, you would catch her looking over her shoulder with those soft doe eyes, and you had to fight off any urges to kiss her soft lips.

“Here we are,” you stated as you pulled into the back parking lot of the theater. As you parked the car, Sam observed people leaving their cars, dressed in all kinds of formal clothing, as they made their way into the theater. It took several seconds for it to click in her mind; this was a date.

Of course, she had assumed it might be considered one whenever you asked her, but as she watched the couples get out of their cars and link hands while they all wore fancy clothing, she knew that this was a date. Sam also knew that if she asked you if this was officially a date, she knew that you would deny it. So when you both stepped out of the car and started walking toward the entrance together, she reached out to interlace your fingers with hers.

It was a simple gesture, but the warmth of her hand in yours was enough to warm your cheeks and set your heart afire. You looked at her, only to find that Sam had already been staring at you.

“What?” You asked with a slight smile and a hint of nervousness in your voice. Sam bumped her shoulder into yours, “Nothing, it's just you look beautiful tonight.”

As if your face couldn’t get any redder, you laughed nervously as you looked down at the ground. The compliment threw you off, but you still accepted it nonetheless. “Thank you. And you look beautiful as well, Sam,” you stated.

“I know; you said that earlier,” she teased as she squeezed your hand, “Come on,” she continued as you two walked into the building.

You held open the door for her as you two entered, and then she patiently waited while you got the tickets.

“My lady,” you said as you returned to Sam, sticking out your elbow. “You are such a dork,” she replied, smiling as she locked her elbow around yours and followed your lead. Sam kept quiet as you led her past row after row, but her surprise never stopped until you led her to the third row up front. “Come on,” you stated as you led her down the row toward the middle, “these are our seats.”

“Y/N. How much did these cost?’ Sam questioned as she hesitatingly sat down next to you. “Don’t worry about the price. Money doesn’t mean anything when it comes to memories,” you eagerly replied, which was the truth. You didn’t care about the ticket price; the only thing you cared about was making Sam happy. Sam was someone who found happiness hard to come by, so you devoted your time to try and make her life better, even if that meant putting a massive dent in your credit score.

“I will stab you in the neck with a knife if you don’t tell me how much you spent on these seats,” Sam demanded with a soulless look in her eyes. It was meant to be threatening, maybe it was, but the only thing you could feel toward those dark eyes was a sense of attraction.

“Shhh, it's getting ready to start,” you silenced her, and soon enough, the lights began to dim as the crowd quickly stopped their chatter and turned their focus to the stage. Sam scoffed at you and turned her attention away from you. She wanted to be angry with you for not telling her how much you spent, but she knew that doing that would only ruin this night, which was something she knew you had been looking forward to for longer than you had been leading on.

So, when the curtains opened, she quickly glanced at you. She noticed how your eyes seemed entirely dedicated to the actors on stage and how your lips were curved up in the slightest of a smile. Sam thought you looked the most beautiful woman in the entire world.

Sam moved her hand from her lap to place it in your lap. She turned her hand so that her palm was facing up, and you didn’t have to ask what she wanted; you interlaced your fingers with hers and pulled them further into your lap.

If Sam noticed the way your hands started to sweat, she didn’t say anything. She was too busy focusing on how your thumb was featherlight stroking her hand to concentrate on anything. No one had ever touched her with such softness; she wanted to cry.

When the play finished, and you took her back to her apartment, she couldn’t help but give you a goodnight kiss as a thank you.

Maybe one day you could bask in the sweet taste of her lips on yours. But for now, you would live with her lipstick stain on your cheek, and you would wear it with honor.

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

Things had changed between the two of you. They were highly subtle at first: Sam’s eyes looking for you in a crowded room, her fingertips lingering on your hand whenever she handed you your coffee, and she even gave you another rare kiss on the cheek when you brought a very drunk Tara home late one night. Then things started to pick up; she would text you and ask you to pick something up for her and Tara, and when you would drop them off, Sam would ask you to stay for a while. She would always say Tara asked you to stay, but you knew better, even though you never questioned her.

It was one of those nights at the Carpenter’s apartment, movie night with just the three of you. Of course, typical movie nights with the core four plus Anika and you were on Fridays, but the sisters liked having you over just by yourself, as you weren’t nearly as much trouble as the twins. Tara wanted to refer to you as a plant; check in occasionally to make sure you weren’t dead and give you some stuff to keep you from dying.

“Tara, I am not watching ‘The Babadook,’” you stated as you sat on the couch alone. Tara was doing her dad's stance while flipping through movies to watch while Sam was in the kitchen making popcorn.

“Who?” She asked, not even caring to look back at you. “What-” you started to say before the shorter Carpenter cut you off, “Asked?”

“Why do I even hang out with you? All you do is insult me,” you joked as Tara moved to sit beside you. Well, on you. She threw an arm around your shoulder as she got comfortable on your lap. “Because you love me, obviously,” she remarked, still looking for the perfect movie.

Sam knew it was spiritual love, but she couldn’t help the feeling of jealousy grow throughout her chest. Especially over her sister! With a slight shake, Sam tried to fight off that feeling as she grabbed the popcorn bags, along with some bowls, and made her way into the living room.

“Just two bags?” Tara questioned once Sam entered the living room. “Yeah, I figured you and Y/n would share. Why; is there a problem?” The older sister questioned with a raised eyebrow as she set the bowls on the coffee table.

“No, it's fine. But I am getting an entire bag for myself,” Tara stated as she left your lap to grab a bag from Sam before moving to the opposite end of the couch. “Looks like you two will have to share,” she added with a sly smile.

You shared a look with Sam, who had slight irritation on her face. She handed you the bag as she spoke, “I’ll go make more.” When Sam moved to head into the kitchen, you quickly grabbed her wrist, stopping her from getting further.

“No, I’m alright with sharing. Only if you are, though,” you said quietly, ignoring the snickering coming from the end of the couch. Sam gave you a small smile as she nodded, sitting beside you on the sofa.

A small laugh left your lips as you looked at Sam’s outfit. “What?” She questioned.

“We are matching,” you responded with a smile as you looked up at Sam, who was already looking at you before she looked at your outfit. It was true; both of you were accidentally wearing practically the same outfit: blue plaid pajama pants with solid black shirts.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” Sam said with a smile as her eyes met yours. It was a small moment between the two of you, but it was quickly ruined when the sound of gagging pulled you two from it.

“Please, no homosexual activities in front of my popcorn. I don’t want it forced down my throat,” Tara complained as if she wasn’t someone who also suffered from those homosexual tendencies as well.

Sam cleared her throat as she grabbed one of the bowls and opened the bag of popcorn, pulling all of it into the bowl. “What movie did you pick?” You asked as you kicked your feet onto the coffee table, earning yourself a slight glare from Sam. She wouldn’t classify herself as a neat freak, but she hated it when people put their feet on furniture not used for sitting.

“‘It puts the lotion on its skin, or it gets the hose again,’” Tara quoted while throwing a piece of popcorn into the air and catching it with her mouth.

“I love that movie so much,” you commented while grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch, covering up your legs as you got comfortable.

“What movie?” Sam questioned as Tara hit play. “‘The Silence of the Lambs.’ It's one of my favorite movies,” you replied with a smile, leaning over to give Tara a quick fist bump for the choice.

“Is this the one with Jodie Foster?”

“Yep,” you and Tara replied simultaneously, earning a small groan from Sam, but she didn’t protest.

Once the movie began, Sam pulled at your blanket and placed some over her lap. You thought nothing of it until you felt Sam’s thigh brush against yours. You guessed it was an accident, but she didn’t move her leg; you relaxed your body and pushed your thigh against hers. You felt your chest flutter at the slight smile on Sam’s face at the contact.

As the movie progressed, the distance between you and Sam slowly became nonexistent. Your shoulders were now touching each other as you shared one blanket. In a moment of braveness, with a little bit of stupidity, you moved your hand underneath the blanket, which was where Sam had been keeping her own. Slowly, your hand inched toward Sam’s, hoping to reach the desired location without Sam pulling her hand away.

When your hand gently grazed Sam’s, the Latina made no effort to pull away, so you took it as a sign to continue. You linked your pinkie with hers and waited. I waited for her to finally realize what you were doing and pull away or glare at you and then ridicule you for such actions. So when Sam did pull her pinkie out of the lock with yours, you tried not to show your disappointment on your face.

But before you could get too comfortable with your sadness, Sam interlaced her fingers with yours, giving your hand a gentle yet firm squeeze. It was a small gesture. Some people might even call it friendly, but how your heartbeat quickened at the contact was embarrassing. You only hoped that your fast heart rate and nervousness would cause your palms to sweat. If they did sweat, though, Sam didn’t say anything about it, which you were grateful for.

As the end credits rolled, you let go of Sam’s hand, much to the older woman’s disappointment. You helped Sam clean up the mess made during the movie while you two let Tara sleep peacefully on the couch.

“I can clean those,” you said while walking into the kitchen. Sam was at the sink washing the bowl that you two had used.

“No, it’s okay. I got it,” she replied as she looked over her shoulder at you. “Thank you for staying tonight. I know Tara can be a little shit sometimes.”

You laughed at Sam’s words as you walked over to her, leaning against the counter. “It’s no problem; I love hanging out with you guys,” you genuinely replied, smiling, “Thank you for letting me stay over. I know we haven’t always had the best past.”

At the mention of the one-sided distaste that was formerly between you two, Sam stopped cleaning the bowl. A frown appeared on her lips as she looked down, refusing to meet your piercing gaze.

She took a deep breath before she spoke, “I’ve been an asshole to you, I know. I thought you were only getting close to us so you could tell Gale, but I know better than that now. I’ve been so…closed off to people that my judgment blinded me. I’m sorry, is what I’m trying to say.”

To say that Sam’s apology took you aback would be an understatement. You had just assumed that Sam would never own up to how she treated you in the past, opting just to pretend nothing ever happened. But you could tell that she had been working on this apology for a long time, so you appreciated it while you could.

“Thank you, Sam, for apologizing. I won't try to play it down, but it does mean a lot to me,” you said with a soft smile as you looked at the vulnerable woman before you, “but I have to ask. What changed?”

A sigh left Sam’s lips as she turned on the sink, washing out all the soap. She then began drying it off to think about her response. It wasn’t a difficult thing to explain. Well, the logical reasoning for her change of mind about you. But what she was trying to avoid was telling you that she also had a change of heart. Sam had started to enjoy your presence and hated being without you; she yearned for your soft, gentle touches that followed your caring words. She wanted to tell you that she still hates you but cares deeply for you.

Sam dried her hands off as she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “I honestly don’t know entirely,” she began, “I know my opinion started to change after you brought me that cookie. But I feel like things changed before that, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” you said with a soft laugh, “I think I’ve just gotten so used to you being a dickhead to me that I kind of don’t associate anything else with the way you treat me.”

Sam had to pretend your words didn’t split her heart down the middle; she had to pretend your words didn’t pierce her heart like an ice-cold dagger. She knew she had no business to be hurt by your honesty, but still, she hated being reminded of how things were.

“I am sorry about that. You were there to protect Tara when I wasn’t, and for that, you will always have my gratitude,” Sam stated as she took several moments to decide on what to say next, “Tara told me that while I was gone for those five years, that you took care of her. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” was all you said in a quiet voice, almost as if you were preparing yourself for when Sam started to ask more questions but silently prayed she wouldn’t.

“How bad was it?” The older Carpenter asked with a voice filled with regret. You didn’t have to ask to clarify what she was asking about; you could tell by how her left fist started to clench as she brought her right arm to rub over the median cubital vein in her left arm. She wasn’t asking about how bad the attack was. No, she was asking about how bad Tara’s home life was when she was too high to do anything about it.

“I made sure she wasn’t left home alone,” you admitted. It was the half-truth, and you hoped Sam would accept it, but you knew better. “What was it like when Christina was there?” Sam pressed on.

“Things were okay; nothing was too bad,” you replied, trying your best to sugarcoat the truth.

An awkward, dry chuckle came from Sam as she shook her head, “Don’t lie to me; tell me the truth.”

You debated whether you should spare Sam the details or try to lie to her about how ugly it got sometimes. But fuck it, Sam had been making your life hell for almost a year now, so it's time she found out what you dealt with for five years.

“Christina’s a drunk; everyone knows that. But it got ugly once you left, especially once you left. It was like, maybe three weeks since you had left, and Christina had drank herself into a coma. The only problem was that it was in some European country, and no one back home knew about it. Christina was only supposed to be gone for the weekend and return home by late Sunday. Only, that weekend turned into a week, which then turned into a month.”

You gave Sam several moments to digest everything you told her, waiting for her to object. But when all she did was nod, you continued. “Tara didn’t tell anyone about her mom not coming back, and she only just told me why she didn’t tell anyone about it: she didn’t want people to view her as some monster because her entire family had left her.”

A soft sob came from Sam, and that was when you noticed she had been silently crying. When you moved to comfort her, Sam smacked your hand away from her body. “Keep talking,” she demanded. And you followed your orders.

“I didn’t notice anything different until I heard her stomach growl during lunch. She had been rationing her lunch for weeks, trying to make every piece last as long as possible. School food isn’t the best, but you would have thought Gordon Ramsey had made it how she cherished every bite. By the end of the school day, I finally got Tara to tell me what had happened, and I forced her to stay at my house. I told my mom that she would stay with us for a while, and she didn’t bat an eye; it was like she already knew what had happened but didn’t want to find out. That night, my mom had cooked lasagna; Tara had three full plates of it.”

“She hates lasagna,” Sam said in a choked-up voice. “I know,” you responded with a small laugh, “After that night, I made sure Tara always had something to eat and that she was never alone. But the one time I wasn’t there,” you had trailed off, not being able to finish your sentence without a tear forming in your eye.

Sam knew what you were talking about: the first Ghostface attack. Instead of pushing you away, she reached her arms and grabbed you, pulling you into a hug. It was the first hug you two had ever shared, but it was still the best. The grief you two shared could be felt by each other in that warm embrace, and you both found comfort in each other’s arms, which was something no one had ever made Sam feel.

You two hold on to one another as you both quietly cry over the past, hoping to be free of it with every tear that falls down your face. It was a bonding moment, but it was something you both needed; you two needed to be vulnerable together and for the other one to pick the other up.

After a few minutes, Sam pulled back from. She wiped the remaining tears off your face as she tucked your hair behind your ear and did something unexpected but not unwelcome. Sam leaned forward and placed a small, lingering kiss on your forehead as she quietly muttered, “Thank you.”

Once Sam pulled back, she gently squeezed your shoulders as she left the kitchen. You followed after her, only stopping to watch as Sam picked up a still-sleeping Tara from the couch and returned the gremlin to her bed. While Sam dealt with Tara, you grabbed the blanket you shared with Sam and some pillows to make your ‘bed’ for the night. The couch was comfortable, and you preferred it over sleeping with Tara. As small as she was, she always took up the entire bed.

After you deemed your sleeping quarters right, you went into the bathroom to brush your teeth. Props to being over so much; you had your toothbrush. It was a small gesture from Tara, but it gave you unlimited bragging rights. As you brushed your teeth, you could hear Sam talking to someone. With your curiosity getting the better of you, you peeked into the hallway to see the woman talking to someone on the phone.

“Thank you for inviting me. I had fun going out with you, but I don’t want this to go any further than friendship,” she quietly said into the phone as she paced back and forth. Deciding to give her some space, you stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door before spitting out the toothpaste and then rinsing your mouth with water. You wiped your mouth off with a towel before opening the door and leaving, finding Sam still talking on the phone with a mysterious love interest.

As she continued to talk to the person, you got situated on the couch, but before you could get too comfortable, Sam started to snap her fingers at you.

“What?” You hissed out, staring at the woman growing slightly more agitated as her phone call continued. You noted that Sam had already changed into her pajamas for the night: a loose band t-shirt with a pair of shorts.

“Have a good night; I'll talk to you later,” she abruptly said as she ended the phone call, “Are you seriously sleeping on the couch?”

“Um, yeah? Where else would I sleep? And besides, the couch is comfortable,” you replied as you gave Sam a questioning look. If she was insinuating that you sleep with her in her bed, well, that warranted some questions. But not that you would reject her offer.

“Are you alright with that? I know you usually sleep with Tara, but she might try to fight you if you go in there while she’s already asleep,” Sam said, trying to hide that she wanted to ask you to sleep with her. She found comfort in holding your hand earlier, and she surprisingly enjoyed the depressing conversation you two shared in the kitchen. Sam hated to admit it, but she found herself seeking you out for comfort. Not only the comfort but the fact that you warmed her heart as well; she had started to fall for you most unexpectedly.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. And besides, she usually ends up taking up the whole bed anyway. I’ll have more space out here than I will with her,” you responded, and Sam couldn’t help but nod at your words. “Yeah, she’s small, but don’t doubt how much space she can take up,” she said in agreement, “But would you like my bed?”

Now, that offer caught you off guard. You hadn’t even considered that Sam might provide you with her entire bed so she could sleep on the couch. As considerate as it might be, you were either sleeping on the sofa or in Sam’s bed with her, no in-betweens.

“No, I can’t take that from you and leave you on the couch. I’m honestly fine on it; don’t even worry about it,” you stated honestly, but Sam only shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t be a good host if I let you sleep out here.”

Neither of you wanted to be the one to offer it up, but you refused even to suggest the idea of sharing a bed. Nope, that was going to have to be something that Sam does, and you would happily wallow around in her swollen pride.

Just as you predicted, Sam swallowed her pride and offered the best solution if it did come with a backhanded offer. “Since you enjoy being difficult and making me feel like a horrible person, would you want to share my bed with me? Just this once?”

When she said the sentence, it didn’t sound as rude as the first one; it sounded a lot nicer, like she was hopeful that it wouldn’t be just this once, that this night would turn into another night, and maybe even the rest of the nights you could share.

“Only if that’s alright with you,” you said in a calm, normal tone as you tried to convince Sam that you weren’t mentally bouncing off the walls. “Sounds good to me. Come on,” she replied as she pulled you up from the couch and led you to her room. Sam dared not let go of your arm the entire walk there.

Once you entered her room, she only dropped your hand as she walked over to her side of the bed. She pulled back the covers as she got in bed, stopping to stare at you. You stood uncomfortably in the middle of the doorway as you looked around Sam’s room.

You felt like you saw a new side of Sam as you admired her room; the walls had old types of vinyl, and a single guitar was hanging from the wall. Along with the guitar, there were some framed movie posters, one being ‘Kill Bill’ that was signed. There was a singular bookshelf that didn’t have a single open spot. A record player was also sitting atop her desk in the corner of her room. How you missed all of these small details when you dropped off the cookies, you had no idea.

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned, pulling you out of your mind. “Sorry; I was just looking at your stuff,” you admitted with embarrassment as you walked over to the bed. You halted before getting in as if you were waiting for Sam to change her mind and kick you out suddenly.

“Is something wrong?” Sam asks as she leans up in bed, her doe eyes shimmering under the dimly lit light. “No, no. It’s just…,” you faltered on an excuse. You didn’t want to admit that you were nervous about sharing a bed with that goddess of a woman, but you also didn’t want her to think you were disgusted by the thought of sharing a bed with her. “Do you want me to sleep in my street clothes? I have New York on me, and I doubt you want that in your bed.”

With a sigh, Sam exits her warm, comfortable bed to grab you a pair of fresh clothes. She didn’t even bother to ask if you happened to have a spare set here-which you did; she started rifling through her closet.

“Here,” she stated as she handed you a faded shirt before walking to her chest of drawers. Sam opened her top drawer and grabbed a pair of shorts for you.

“Thank you,” you said softly while grabbing the shorts from her, “I’ll change in your bathroom real quick.”

Sam hummed in response as she quickly got back into bed, missing the warmth of it.

After you had changed out of your dirty clothes, you decided to put them in Sam’s hamper—a subtle move at her being able to keep your clothes without offering them.

As you left the bathroom, you were still slightly pulling down your shirt, only showing off the lower portion of your stomach. The skin was only visible briefly, but it caught Sam’s full attention.

The scars that littered your abdomen were scattered, but she could recognize a stab wound from anywhere. The story about Jill Roberts haunted you night and day, so you never told Sam about that nightmare. The only one who had some faint idea about it was Mindy, as she had seen you naked on a few occasions. She never asked about the scars; she felt that asking would have been more intimate and personal than the sex was.

But things were different with Sam; you wanted that intimacy with her. And she liked that intimacy with you. Sam wanted to be able to share every nasty, dark part of her past with you, just as much as she wanted you to tell her your dark past. It was opening up with your pasts that allowed you two to share a possible bright future.

So, she asked you about it. “What happened?”

It was a stupid question, but Sam wanted to know your side. Of course, she was aware of the fact you were involved with the 2011 Ghostface killings, but she wanted to know why you were targeted.

You softly sighed as you climbed into bed next to Sam, who was fully sitting up with her legs crossed as she stared at you, silently encouraging you to trust her. If there was going to be anyone to judge you for your past, it certainly wasn’t going to be Samantha Carpenter.

“Well, I was nine when it happened,” you began, “and I suppose it all boils down to being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

You waited several seconds, debating whether you wanted to share this information. It wasn’t a secret; it was out there for the entire world to read about, courtesy of Gale Weathers, an author who turned a tragic story into a multi-million dollar yearly profit.

“Jill was my babysitter. It was after the first few attacks, and she was still babysitting me. She was always nice to me, well, about as nice as she could be. I had been messing around in her room, and I found this camera, so of course, I started to watch what was on it. On it were videos of all of the recent attacks, ruthless shit. Instead of telling her I found it, I hid it in my backpack, and I had planned to bring it to Judy Hicks. Well, Jill finds out that it’s missing and goes ape shit.”

You shifted around in bed as you got more comfortable, opting to fully lay down on your back as Sam propped herself up onto her elbow to engage herself in your traumatizing story fully.

“Anyways, she starts ripping the house apart, turning it inside out and upside down. Of course, she eventually finds it in my backpack, and I don’t even defend myself. I just stood there like a deer caught in headlights. The scariest part about it was that she didn’t even hesitate. One moment, she had my backpack in hand, then the next, she had a knife,” you finished, not wanting to recall the gruesome experience.

Sam was silent momentarily as she thought over what to say to you. She wanted to comfort you, but she didn’t know how. In a way, she felt like your attack had been her fault. Logically, it couldn’t have been, but she felt guilty about it, guilty about her father.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, especially at such a young age,” Sam stated. She truly did feel heartbroken for you, but she couldn’t seem to express her sorrow adequately. The only emotion she was good at convening was her anger, a trait she inherited from both her mother and father.

“It is what it is,” you replied with a soft sigh, “Who were you talking to earlier?”

The older Carpenter sister let out a small groan as she fell onto her back, running her hands down her face to add dramatic effect. “It was Danny,” she replied as she interlaced her fingers and placed them on her stomach.

“Oh yeah?” You asked with a teasing tone. Now it was your turn to prop up onto your elbow. “What did he want?”

“He just wanted to go on another date,” Sam responded, to which you huffed. This slight noise got her attention; she turned her head to the side to look at you as if she were studying your facial expressions to try and guess what you were thinking. “Why do you ask?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Just curious. You seemed annoyed, and you hung up pretty quickly. Just thought you were having a sneaky link I didn’t know about.”

“Oh, please. If I wanted a sneaky link, I certainly wouldn’t let my family know about it,” she joked softly, and your heart erupted. Sam’s smile was rare, even more rare around you. It was as if the angles had parted the sky, and you could catch a glimpse into heaven. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen, but the most teasing one.

“Okay, but be honest: what happened?” You pressed on while clarifying that you respected Sam’s boundaries if she didn’t want to tell you.

“We went on a date. Danny kissed me because he felt something; I didn’t feel anything. He called to ask me on another date; I said no. Simple as that,” she replied with a monotone voice, but you knew there was more to the story.

“Sam,” you said with a soft voice.

“Mhm?”

“I will throw myself out of your window if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sam questioned with a voice full of laughter as she smiled from ear to ear.

“Tell me, or I’ll paint the sidewalk red,” you joked with a smile that matched hers.

“I told him no because I don’t want to be with him,” she replied honestly as she stared at you with those dark, doe eyes. You swore you could get lost in that void. “Now, will you leave me alone so I can sleep?”

You scoffed at her but entirely laid down nonetheless. “I guess so,” you grumbled as you rolled onto your side, facing away from Sam.

Sam only laughed at your shitty attempt to pout as she got out of bed to turn off the overhead light. Once she was back in bed, she rolled onto her side to face your back.

Slowly and very hesitantly, she wiggled closer to you, wrapping a loving arm around your waist. Sam didn’t have to wait long before she felt your hand atop hers, pulling her closer to you. Soon enough, her entire front was pressed against your back, and you couldn’t have been happy. Your heart seemed to only beat for Sam, as your entire body started to feel like it was catching on fire.

“You know,” Sam whispered into the dark room, “I listened to Julien Baker the other day.”

“That’s not the one I was talking about,” you responded, not missing a beat.

She scoffed at your weak response, “There’s too many.”

“Girl, there are only three!”

“Whatever,” she mumbled while she pulled you closer into her body as if she couldn’t get enough of you. Sam placed a chaste kiss on your head before slowly drifting off to sleep, with you in her arms.

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

The picture frames hung on the walls rattled as the loud, booming sound of music filled the air. Against your will, the twins plus Tara dragged you to a frat party. Drunken college students mixed with obnoxious music was not your cup of tea, but you did enjoy the theme: early 2000s club. From Lady Gaga to Timbaland, even to Beyoncé, it was the first time a party had gotten the music right! There’s nothing wrong with today’s music; they don’t make them like they used to.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Tara offered. Even though she forced you to go out tonight, she still wanted you to have fun without pressuring you to do too much. She could be a little asshole sometimes, but she had her soft moments.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you replied softly. The two of you were sitting together on the only couch that didn't have people either passed out or making out, even though Tara suggested doing either with you.

“Tara, I think you are wonderful and completely captivating, but I do not want your tongue down my throat,” you joked with a soft laugh. The younger Carpenter whined in response as she kicked her feet up into your lap.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s the other Carpenter’s tongue you want,” she teased with a wink as she made a V with her middle and pointer finger, bringing it to her lips while sticking out her tongue.

“What is wrong with you?” You questioned while politely shoving the more petite girl, forcing her to stop. “Oh yeah, how come I found you two wrapped up in each other’s arms then? Mmm?” She pressed.

It was a simple question but an entirely challenging one as well. You needed a place to sleep, so Sam offered to share her bed with you, as it was better than the couch. That part you could explain, but you couldn’t explain why or how you woke to Sam’s face pressed against your chest. It was the first time you had ever felt so loved, so seen. It wasn’t just you who had found so much comfort that night. Sam loved falling asleep to your heartbeat; the drumming sound soon became a lullaby.

“She tried to kill me and forced me to share her bed for warmth,” you stated, but Tara didn’t believe you for a second. “You know, if you would have told me that four months ago, I would have believed you. But now that you have stolen my sister from me and somehow tricked her into falling for you, I don’t believe you.”

Your ears perked up at the mention of Sam falling for you, and your cheeks started to get warm at the thought of Sam recouping your feelings. “She likes me?” You asked with a love-sick smile on your lips.

Tara rolled her eyes at your question and pushed herself off your lap. “I don’t know how you did it, but Sam cares about you. I think she started to go soft on you when you took her to that musical,” she stated as she stuck out her right arm to you. You grabbed onto her hand and allowed the more petite girl to pull you off of the couch, then you followed her into the kitchen.

“I didn’t even know that Sam likes musicals,” you commented as you grabbed a Seagram from the bucket full of ice on the kitchen island. “She loves them more than me. I fully believe Sam would sell me for some ‘Six’ tickets,” Tara remarked as she grabbed a beer.

You laughed at the younger Carpenter comment. Sadly, she wasn’t being dramatic; you now knew the extent of Sam’s love for musicals, and you hated that you agreed with Tara.

“Yeah, I hate that you believe you on that one,” you replied as you followed Tara into the backyard. The two of you sat down together on a swing, drinking in silence as you two silently judged the drunks amongst you.

All in all, it was a nice night to socialize; exams were finished up for the week, and you two needed a break from all of it. It was nice to get out occasionally with friends, even though you preferred drinking the safety net of your own home. It wasn’t because you didn’t trust people. It was that you hated being around drunk people, and you were a homebody. But just when you started relaxing at the party, the universe had to ruin it for you.

It wasn’t anything terrible at first; Tara had left to grab some more beers for the two of you. She was back within a minute, and as she walked toward you, a man grabbed her arm and pulled her into him.

You couldn’t hear what was being said, but you could tell from the anger in Tara’s eyes that it wasn’t anything good. Sometimes, you wondered if the Loomis genes were airborne, due to how quickly Tara got angry and violent.

Before you had any time to react, Tara had taken the beer bottle in her right hand and smashed it against the man’s head, causing him to fall to the ground. You quickly sprang up from your comfortable seat as you rushed over to Tara, now held back by two of your friends from college. You checked over her hands to ensure no glass had gotten in them, and when you deemed her safe, you took her from friends, who then went to check on the man, who was still on the ground.

“Come on,” you mumbled as you dragged Tara from the backyard and into the front yard.

When you two entered the front yard, she shook herself from your grasp and dramatically flung herself onto the ground, sighing in defeat. The air was full of tension as you stared down at the more petite girl, who held her head in shame.

“What happened?” You questioned as you sat down next to her. With a sigh, she wrapped her arm around yours and rested her head on your shoulder. “He’s from my theoretical film studies class. The other day, we had argued about the Harry Potter movies. And-do not fucking laugh at that!” She exclaimed as she playfully smacked your arm once you started to laugh at her.

“I’m sorry, but you two argued over Harry Potter?” You asked with laughter in your voice, “That’s insane!”

“Shut up, no, it's not. Anyways, before I was so rudely interrupted,” she replied with attitude, “the argument was over who was the real bad guy: Dumbledore or Snape. We disagreed, but we didn’t have enough time to discuss it before class ended. Tonight, he stopped me to tell me I was wrong and that he was right, and I kinda got a little angry.”

“‘A little angry?’ You smashed a bottle against his head,” you exclaimed with a look of bewilderment.

“I’m little; my anger fills up my entire body, and sometimes it gets the best of me,” she shrugged as she stood up and held out a hand, “Come on, let's go home.”

You accepted her hand as you followed her home. You didn’t need to ask what she meant by home; you both knew it was the Carpenter’s apartment.

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

“You did what?!” Sam shouted as she stared down you and Tara. The two of you were sitting down on the couch together, sharing shame as you listened to Sam ridicule you. “I let you go out for one night and I promised not to text you the entire time, and you do this? And you,” she then turned her attention toward you, “I can’t believe you let this happen.”

“Sam, I'm so sorry. It happened so quick and I-” you tried to defend but she interrupted you. “You had one job, Y/n. One!”

Sam paced back and forth as she rubbed her temples. This was supposed to be a night of relaxing; she had already had two glasses of wine and ate a little bit too much pasta that was acceptable. Sam even had plans to ask you to stay the night again, that’s why she had the wine; she needed that liquid courage to taste your lips for the first time.

But now, as she went over the possible outcomes of her sister assaulting one of her classmates, all she wanted to do was go to sleep. With a sigh, she dropped her hands and stopped pacing. “Alright,” Sam said in a defeated voice, “I will let it slide, but just this once. Go take your shower, but then you are going to bed.”

Tara was out of the room as soon as Sam said it was okay, not wanting to waste a second as she feared that her sister might change her mind. Tara also wanted to give her sister some alone time with you; she noticed the wine glass on the living room table and she was praying that tonight would be the night the two of you stopped pussyfooting around.

“Sam?” Your voice pulled her out of her thoughts and her eyes automatically snapped to you. “What’s up?” She asked.

You stood up from the couch as you approached her. “I’m sorry about tonight. If I would have known that was going to happen, I would have stopped her,” you apologized but Sam was already shaking her head.

“No, it's okay,” she replied as she grabbed her wine glass and finished it off as she walked into the kitchen, with you a few paces behind her.

“Are you sure?” You quietly asked as you awkwardly looked around. “Yeah. Why do you ask?” She questioned as she placed her glass on the counter and looked at you. You could feel her eyes burning into your skin, and you couldn’t help the words that soon poured out of your mouth.

“I don’t know, I’m just worried that you are actually really upset with me but you don’t want to tell me that because you don’t want to upset me. I’m worried that things are different between us now, and I don’t know why I feel that. I’m just terrified I fucked up somehow, and I really really like you, Sam. I’ve worked so hard to gain your trust and now I’m scared I lost it. So, I am so sorry-” she cut off your rambling by cupping your cheeks and pressing her lips against yours.

Your heart automatically started beating quicker as your hands found home on her hips, pulling her closer into you. When you kissed her back, you could have sworn she let out the slightest moan, and it drove your mind insane.

You couldn’t recall her walking toward you, but the only thing that was running through your mind was how soft her lips were; how sweet they tasted mixed with the wine.

The wine.

You quickly pulled away from Sam’s lips. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to do anything while you’ve been drinking,” you apologized, but your eyes darted between Sam’s own eyes and her lips.

With a soft laugh, Sam leaned forward and kissed your cheek, something she had found out she loved doing. “It’s okay, Y/N. I really really like you too, and I hope that we could possibly go on another date again soon?” Sam asked with a look of hopefulness, and you had to fight the urge to lean back in.

“You’re also considering the musical a date too?” You questioned with red cheeks. Sam nodded her head with a smile that matched hers, and oh how your heart beat for the woman in front of you. You swore you were love drunk off those lips that you’ve only tasted once, but now that you’ve tasted them, you’re sure that nothing was as sweet.

“Y/N, would you like to stay the night?” Sam asked, “With me?”

“Are you trying to get in my pants?” You teased as you playfully pushed her shoulders, to which she grabbed your hand and pulled you into her.

Sam reached up with her right hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then ran her fingers down the side of your jaw as she admired your features. “I’ve been an asshole to you, I know that,” she admitted as her thumb stroked your jawline, “But I hope over time I can make it up to you fully. I’ve blamed you for things that weren’t your fault and I’m sorry I was that dense. I know you are just following Gale’s writing as a way to forge your own career, and I shouldn’t have blamed you for the book she wrote.”

Sam took a deep breath as she tried to collect her thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for how much of a dick I’ve been to you, and I would like to make it up to you,” her voice got quieter as her eyes refused to meet yours, “By hopefully being your girlfriend?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to wrap your mind around what Sam just asked. When her eyes did meet yours, they were holding so much love and hope that you felt your heart explode. Tears welded in your eyes as you cupped her cheeks and pulled her into a loving kiss, forgetting about the alcohol in her system.

“I would love to be your girlfriend,” you mumbled against her lips as you quickly pecked them, “But how much have you had to drink tonight?”

The older Carpenter sister laughed at your comment as she grabbed your hand, pulling you toward her room. “I’m fine, Y/N. I’m sure you and the demon child have had more than me. Besides, I only needed a few drinks to actually make a move on you,” Sam admitted as she opened her bedroom door and dropped your hand, to your disappointment, “But how much have you had?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you walked over to the vinyl set in Sam’s room and began flipping through them. “I’m fine; a little buzzed but nothing too bad,” you replied.

“Mhm, yeah, you’re not as awkward as you usually are. I don’t like it,” Sam stated as she handed you a clean pair of clothes to change into you. You noticed they were her clothes, and an embarrassing large smile over took your lips as you finally realized that Sam Carpenter was your girlfriend.

You leaned to kiss her, but Sam placed her hands on your shoulders, preventing you from doing so. You gave her a little pout, so to make you feel just a little bit better, she sighed and gave your cheek a kiss. “Go change and get ready for bed,” she quietly commanded you and you did as told.

The clothes fit you perfectly, as if Sam had bought them just for you. There was a toothbrush laying on the sink, still in its packaging, and you knew that Sam had gone out shopping for you tonight.

Walking into the bedroom, you climbed into bed with the older Carpenter, who was sitting upright with her back against the headboard of her bed, reading a book. “Did you buy me a toothbrush today?” You asked as you laid down and scooted closer to Sam, wrapping your arm around her waist.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied as placed her bookmark in the book and set it down on the nightstand, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because there was a toothbrush that hadn’t been opened yet, and these clothes fit a little bit too nice,” you commented as you watched Sam turn off the bedside lamp and lay down next to you.

“Yeah, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied as she pulled you into her body. Sam brought her hand up to the back of your neck and brought your head close to her chest. You sighed in comfort as you nozzled your head, hoping to get as close as you can to her breasts without making Sam uncomfortable.

Sam placed a kiss on your head as she tightly hugged you, “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight, my lovely girlfriend who used to hate me,” you cheekily replied, earning a laugh from Sam.

“When will you ever let that go?” Sam asked with a slight annoyance in her voice, but you knew she was joking.

“I don’t know, until I’ve deemed that enough time has passed for me to be able to move on,” you replied, “But a goodnight kiss would help.”

The Latina chuckled at your words as the hand that was your head was now cupping your cheeks, pulling you into a loving kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, and you knew that you could never leave them. So when Sam pulled away, you chased after her lips, hoping to taste them for just a second longer.

But she stopped you, much to your disappointment. “In the morning you will give you all of the special treatment you want. But for now, let’s go to bed,” Sam stated in a loving voice, and all you did was nod your agreement. You placed your head back on your chest as you two allowed sleep to overtake you.

When the morning came, you awoke before Sam, greeting her with kisses all over her face and sweet nothings about how much you cherished her as your girlfriend.

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

Taglist: @elduster @silentwolfsstuff @maskthedwarf @canvascoloredin

[miruscenic]

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. kento never thought he would be one for domesticity, until you came.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. nanami kento x gn!reader, soft soft fluff, a bit of angst on kento's part, first writing post on this blog :)) enjoy !!

Kento Nanami has a hard time believing that domesticity was a possibility for him. 

It was his pipe dream ever since he’d chosen to become a sorcerer, despite his aversion to both this job and the soul-breaking desk job. He hates the monotony, and he hates the danger he puts himself in, and he despises the concept of overtime. Because, really, who enjoys working more hours with no increase to the pay? It irks him terribly, but work is work. If he can find stability in the form of money or a career, then it was enough to keep him alive.

It was enough, but it didn’t satisfy him.

He’s come to enjoy some of the mundanely comforting moments during his salaryman days and his gradual return to the Jujutsu world— from the sweet girl manning the counter in his favorite bakery, who knows him well enough that his sandwich is finished being prepared within minutes to the silence he basks in until he inevitably has to stare blearily at his laptop screen during ungodly hours. They were welcome distractions from the emptiness he so often felt, and yet, it still felt like he was going through the motions.

Kento had money, but no means of defining his purpose. His desires of settling down pushed to the backburner, dreams of a golden-eyed child crushed by surrounding deaths and lecherous bosses who saw him as nothing more than a cog of a bigger machine. The only sign of the life he could’ve given himself were the books slowly gathering dust, pictures of the calming beaches of Kuantan a stark contrast to the rigidness of his home.

He didn’t understand how easy it was to let someone in. Someone like you, of all people. More importantly, he didn’t realize just how fearful it made him, now that he’d returned to his life of jujutsu sorcery. 

Looking forward to you was jarring, at first—it took Kento a while to get used to not doing everything alone. Though there wasn’t anything he could complain about being by himself—it was his preferred way of life, in the first place—it did start to feel like this was all he would ever do until the light blonde of his hair turned gray. 

But now, he’s making stops at places he never thought he would visit so casually. He’d made a note to get your lunch from the resto you came to during your first date, snagging your favorite drink from the cafe and almost risking his daily commute on the train. Kento was a man with limitations, but he found himself so pleasantly amused when he ran errands for you. It felt like something he would willingly do rather than come home battered and with a gash in his newly dry-cleaned shirt. 

But even that was a part of his life that you gradually took over. Frequent dates turned into visits to each other’s home, then those sporadic visits turned into sleepovers, often falling into a deep slumber after indulging yourselves in meaningful heart-to-hearts. That would soon culminate into calm knocks on your door one night only to reveal Kento practically limping and his side mangled. 

He felt a lump in his throat then, at the look of horror on your usually pleasant face, but he knew he felt like tearing up when you’d been so gentle with his wounds, inquiring him about what went wrong. It didn’t feel correct to answer your question; what happened to him was out of your awareness, the dangers of his job was a secret until it wasn’t. How was he supposed to explain that a humanoid manifestation of humanity’s hatred for each other—a rather ugly one, to be certain—was very close to ending his life, and how incredibly lucky he was to even manage to limp back to you?

Never mind the hatred simmering in Kento’s chest, not when he was too caught off guard by your generosity to even air out his grievances. All that mattered was that he still had you, time to get to know and love you better. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest easy knowing he’s left you confused and grieving. 

“Just so you know, I wouldn’t have a problem with crawling back to you if I was more injured than this.” He’d murmured once you were close enough to feel his breath fan against your chin. To this day, Kento isn’t sure what prompted him to be so sentimental, all he knew was that he had all the right reasons to lean in and leave a light peck on your lips right after.

Nothing could’ve really prepared him for the following morning, after a night of endless persistence that he could take the latest train back home. 

Kento was more used to bringing his own things when you ask him to stay over, but waking up in the foreign but cozy texture of one of your shirts and a pair of faded sweatpants wasn’t something to complain about. He’d felt his heartbeat spike at the thought of running late to work, but the slight dimness of the room suggested that he’d woken up a bit after dawn broke. 

The firmness of the bandages around his torso paired with the mild soreness of his wounds weren’t exactly the most comfortable, but Kento had managed to pull himself out of his sleeping situation groggily, pushing the door open. He was starting to wonder where you’d gone, despite his prior knowledge of your own early bird tendencies. It instantly warmed his heart to see you bathed in brighter morning light, quietly watching the coffee maker. In his peripherals, he could see his formerly bloodied suit neatly folded on the couch.

At this point, it wasn’t uncommon for the both of you to start your mornings steadily, though there was something different about this particular one. Stillness fell upon your home, with neither of you showing signs of hurrying just yet.The only audible sounds were the whirs of the coffee maker, followed by Kento beelining towards your direction. You looked lovely, with your head perched on your arms, bent down to be at eye level with the machine.

Kento could only huff out an amused sigh, letting one of his hands rest upon your shoulder as an indicator that he was finally awake. Instead of the usual shock that graced your features, it felt as though you were indulging in the light touch. Slowly but surely, you’re leaning back up to rest your back against his chest, your smaller hand wrapping around his that was still perched on your shoulder. 

The weight was so, so comforting, especially when you’d leaned your head against his shoulder, a toothy smile on your lips. Kento thinks you look rather adorable upside-down, he couldn’t help but leave another affectionate kiss on your forehead when you’d whispered, “Good morning, Ken.”

Now the man was completely left unguarded, with a lovely little thing resting against him and the sunlight softly filtering in through the windows. He doesn’t dare pull away, only brings you to face him instead so you’re more comfortable. Perhaps this was growth—he wasn’t irked by the prospect of slowing down with a companion anymore, despite the deep-seated fear of having so much to lose. 

But he could get used to this. A time when he could just bask in his more human side without worrying about work or death, a time when he could just let himself be without the need to explain himself. Because you understood him, you were willing to understand him from the very beginning. All this was possible, because he believed that something good would come out of letting someone like you in.

Kento decides that he likes this sensation and, for once, he would like for it to stay.  

I’m quite good at being domestic and romantic, don’t you think, darling? 

brought to you by MIRUSCENIC © 2025. all rights reserved.

[pendingnomdeplume]

hold me hard and mellow pairing: hozier x female!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Miscommunications/Misunderstandings, Pining, Drunk Flirting, Drunk Sex words: 4.0k

[Read it on AO3]

title from Pillowtalk by Zayn divider by: sylusz

Though your 30th birthday was months ago, it’s difficult to ignore some of the changes that aging has brought on. You’ve noticed a few new gray hairs sprouting where there were none before, and your cheeks have lost some of the cherubic plumpness that made you look like a high schooler attempting to swindle shops for alcohol every time you wanted a beer. These changes don’t bother you. In fact, you’re excited to look a little bit older, more like your actual age. 

What catches your attention is entirely different. Something embarrassing, really. Something that you’ve been mildly self-conscious of while living in a giant, moving tin can with several other people and absolutely no privacy.

It takes exactly one Google search to confirm what you already started to suspect. 

Why am I so aroused all the time??? 

The question marks aren’t necessary, but they feel right given how perplexed you are by this development. What’s returned is page after page of different threads and message boards, all filled with women over the age of 30 confirming that, yes, their libido also increased with age. In fact, it seems fairly commonplace for women to experience their sexual peak a little bit later in life. 

While you’re relieved that this phenomenon isn’t unusual, you’re still frustrated by the fact that you feel insatiable. There’s absolutely no time to take care of yourself as often as you’d like, no space with enough privacy to even try. Your bunk on the tour bus is your only sanctuary, but even then, the curtains are easily ripped from their velcro tabs, and someone is always awake when you’re at your most desperate. 

Hotel rooms aren’t any better. You always end up sharing the space, which you can’t begrudge anyone for, really. It’s a matter of pragmatism made up for by all of the other perks of touring with Hozier—or, Andrew, as he prefers from colleagues. 

Therein lies your other issue: Andrew is currently the bane of your entire fucking existence. Not for any malicious reason, it’s just…well, you have eyes, and he’s an attractive lad. A kind lad. Funny, sensitive, talented—the list goes on. But he’s Hozier, for Christ’s sake. If he’s not a household name by now, he’s very well on his way with the release of “Too Sweet,” perhaps to his chagrin. 

Honestly, it’s just a silly crush that you would handle a lot better were it not for the fact that you live within 20 feet of the man constantly. You’re either singing on stage behind him, or sitting a stone’s throw away from him on the bus. The only reprieve you get is on hotel nights, but even then, you’ve been dragged out for dinner and drinks on several occasions, somehow always ending up either seated directly across from him or squished into a booth next to him. 

Recently, you’ve been trying to maintain a reasonable distance. You’ve stepped out of rooms he’s entered, hidden around corners as he strides by, and recused yourself from group outings for your own peace. It’s not as though anything would ever come of your crush, and it’s better to maintain space than force yourself into proximity to him and suffer at the hands of your own libido.

Honestly, you never expected him to take notice. Sure, he’s kind to you, and he’ll strike up a conversation with you when he’s in the mood, but otherwise, you’ve always thought of yourself as inconsequential. Not like Alex or Rory who have been with him since the beginning. Not like Larissa who enmeshes themself into the fold with their radiating energy and charm, nor Kamilah who is the human embodiment of glee.  

Tonight is another night of planned avoidance. The group is getting ready to go out for dinner and enjoy their evening off before the show the next night. You’ve already declined the invitation in the group chat, already fended off Joy and Mel who follow you with exaggerated pouts and pleas. In the end, they respect your decision to stay behind and promise to bring something back for you. 

With the next few hours to yourself, you curl up in bed and crack open the same book you’ve been attempting to read for the past few days—some fantasy novel with a gratuitous amount of steamy, spicy scenes that are…a little silly, if you’re being honest. But it’s fun, nearly brainless entertainment. A dessert of a novel, or perhaps the after-dinner mint. 

A quiet, polite knock at the door startles you out of your reading not even 20 minutes later. You wonder if it’s Mel, if she forgot her damn room key again, and hop out of bed in your pajama shorts and tank top without another thought. 

When you open the door, you’re surprised to find that it’s Andrew on the other side, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Oh, hey!” You greet, befuddlement obvious in your voice. “What’re you doing here? I thought you went out with everyone else.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Nah, I wasn’t feeling up for it tonight.”

“Ah.” There’s a few beats of silence as you stare at each other, until you finally ask, “Did…did you need something, or…?” Because, really, why the fuck is he here?

He’s quiet as he studies you, head tilting to one side. You’ve never been on the receiving end of his scrutiny before—at least, not that you’re aware of, anyway. It’s slightly intimidating, mostly because of his stature, but also because his attention is solely directed on you in a way you haven’t experienced previously. 

Finally, he lets out a little huff and asks, “Are you avoiding me?” 

Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open. You quickly snap it shut, a flush already making your ears go hot.

“No! Of course not! What gave you that impression?” Lies, lies, lies, but what are you supposed to say to a question like that? 

Andrew looks rightfully unconvinced. “I just…haven’t seen you around lately.” 

He noticed?

“Right, yeah, uh…” You flounder for a response, rubbing your clammy palms against your shorts. “I’ve just—I’ve been busy, y’know? With stuff. And things.” 

“Stuff and things,” Andrew repeats back slowly with a half-smile. 

You nod, smile tightly. “Mhm. Stuff and things. Matters, even! And, um…affairs. States of affairs.” 

“Of course.” He nods sagely. “It just seems like one of those very important matters that you’re tending to might be avoiding me.” 

“Oh,” you reply lamely. “It’s—I’m not—” You’re beginning to panic, trying to think of anything to get out of this conversation that doesn’t involve slamming the door in his face. 

“Because you haven’t gone out with us in weeks,” he continues as you stammer. “And you’re fairly quick to leave any room that I enter. Or, is that just a coincidence?” 

Annoyance buzzes beneath your skin.

“There have been stranger occurrences, I’m sure,” you reply evenly.

“Right. I’m sure.” He pulls a grimace of a smile, lips pressed together tightly as he knocks once on the doorframe before taking a step back. He almost looks dejected, though that’s probably just wishful thinking on your part. 

You’re ready to close the door on him, ready to curl back up under the blankets and try to sleep off your embarrassment. Just as he begins to turn away, Andrew stops and turns back to you with a curious half-smile. 

“Would you like to go down to the hotel bar with me, then?” 

You blink. “What?” 

He shrugs easily, assuredly. “Since you’re not avoiding me, come down and get a drink with me.”

Anxiety grips your heart as your stomach flutters. It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, even. Being alone with Andrew under the influence of alcohol? You can only imagine that being a one-way ticket to a massive disaster that ends with you getting kicked off the tour entirely. God knows what dumb shite will spill out of your mouth the moment you start to feel loose.

His smile turns coy as he tilts his head. “Or I could always bring something up for you. They’ve a lovely wine list here.” 

You swallow, searching his face as he raises a questioning eyebrow at you. 

Finally, you sigh and let your head rest against the doorframe. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

Andrew laughs, shakes his head. “No. Unless you tell me to fuck off, of course.”

You can’t help but smile and shake your own head. “I would never. Can you give me a few minutes, though? I can’t go down looking like this.” 

He waits outside like a gentleman, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. He smiles as you reappear in clothes more suitable for a public setting—merely a hoodie and a pair of jeans, but it’s good enough for a booth in the dimly lit, fairly empty hotel bar. 

You order a glass of blush wine, smirking when Andrew requests the bottle for the table instead. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” It’s light, airy, asked as a joke and nothing more. 

Andrew looks at you with a sly tilt of his head. “Trying to find reasons for you to stay a while.”

The answer stuns you, your face going pink as you avoid the waiter’s amused expression.

He orders a glass of Woodford Reserve, neat. When the waiter drops it off, he holds it out to you for a taste, and you hold out your wine glass in turn. The whiskey is bitter, spicy, and makes you cough into the crook of  your elbow as the amber liquid burns all the way down to your stomach. 

“Good lord,” you splutter as he grins at you. “That’ll put some hair on your chest.”

You study him as he sips from your wine glass, as he tilts his head in thought and nods to himself assuredly before commenting that it’s actually quite good despite blush wines not being his thing.

“So…” you start, hands folded on the table as you level his stare. 

“So…” he echoes as he rests his head in his hand, elbow planted firmly on the table. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

The question startles a laugh out of you. “Straight to it then, yeah?” 

He shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. “It’s not typically how I operate.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head, an exaggeration of his own mannerisms. “And what makes me the lucky one to be graced with your focus and attention?”

Andrew chuckles. “I think you’re trying to dodge my question.” 

“And I think you’re trying to dodge mine.” You smirk before taking a sip from your glass. 

There’s a brief pause as he studies your face. “Honestly? I think my ego is a little bruised.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he continues, “You can’t deny that you’re avoiding me, yeah? It’s been fairly obvious. And I…well, you've been on my mind, is all.” 

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. He’d been thinking of you? Apparently so, and often enough that he’s not only noticed the distance you’ve maintained from him, he’s actually hurt by it. The thought of hurting him at all makes your chest feel tight.

“It’s not personal,” you say weakly. 

“Feels personal,” he retorts. “Have I done something or said something to…I don’t know, make you not want to be around me?”

“No! No. Of course not.”

Andrew frowns. “I haven’t made you uncomfortable, have I? I try not to be too forward, but I suppose it’s the Pisces in me. Or something. Alex told me that once, I don’t know.” 

You blink. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable.” Not in the way he would expect, anyway.

His cheeks turn rosy as he runs a hand through his curls. He seems almost frustrated, as though your answers perplex him further. Andrew takes another sip from his drink, and you decide to follow suit, gulping down the last of your wine. Before you can even reach for it, Andrew takes the bottle and begins to pour a generous refill into your glass. 

You meet his eyes as he sets the bottle back down with a thud before bringing the glass up to your lips again. He watches you carefully, unable to maintain your stare as his eyes flit to your mouth, your throat, your fingers carefully curled around the stem. 

“Good. Grand.” He sighs. “If I haven’t made you…I mean, is there something else, then?” Your puzzled expression makes him frown. “Or, someone else, rather?”

The gears slowly begin to turn in your mind.

“Someone…else?” 

It must be your tone, the obvious confusion in your voice that clues him in, a look of understanding softening his features. Embarrassment quickly overtakes him as he covers his reddening face with a nervous laugh. 

“You—you’ve no idea what I’m—? Oh, Jesus…” He avoids your eyes as he slams back the remainder of his drink in one go, then sets the glass down with a wince and a grimace. “I think we may have a misunderstanding here.” 

Your own embarrassment has you speechless, mouth opening and closing as you process what he’s just said. Surely, he didn’t mean…? No, he couldn’t mean that, because things like that don’t just happen, at least not to you. Not when it’s Andrew of all people. 

It’s the wine that grips your throat and controls your voice, and you laugh incredulously as you ask, “Oh my god, do you have a crush on me?”

He groans into his hands, then smooths them back over his hair before collapsing onto the table with a laugh. His face is tinged pink with drunken embarrassment, and he smiles at you before turning to hide his face in his arms. 

“In no uncertain terms,” comes his muffled reply.

You laugh again and cover your own face, unsure of what to say. Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest, your pulse thumping as a familiar heat begins to pool in your stomach. 

After a moment, Andrew lifts his head again and pulls himself from the table until he’s upright once more. His eyes are tinged red now, bloodshot from booze. Your own head swims as you rest your head in your hand and smile at him warmly. 

“D’you want to know why I was avoiding you?” You avert your gaze to the table, then sigh before the words tumble from your mouth. “Because you’re too fucking attractive. How am I supposed to get anything done when you walk around looking like this?”

He splutters a laugh as you gesture vaguely towards him. “Oh?” 

The wine bottle is nearly empty now as you encourage him to pour some for himself in the empty glass on the table.

“It’s terribly inconsiderate of you,” you hum, and you catch his grin before he takes a drink.

Andrew grins. “My apologies for being such a distraction. I’d no idea I caused such distress.” 

You chuckle and eye him coyly. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it distress.”

“What would you call it, then?”

“Hmm…” You scrunch your face as you pretend to think. “Intrigue, certainly...and the uncanny ability to make me—” 

“Anything else for you?” The waiter’s voice startles you both, and you whip your head up to look at him wondering how much of that he heard. If he’s heard anything, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he mostly looks bored, and you can see the black booklet in his hand that surely contains the check. 

Andrew is quick to take it and scribbles in his room number for the charge, nearly shoving the booklet back into the waiter’s hands with hasty thanks. 

You’re both drunk enough to make bad decisions that you know you’ll regret come morning, but it’s difficult to care about that when he’s pressing you back against the wall in the elevator and kissing you like you’re his only source of air. When his hands are all over you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“C’mon,” he murmurs as the doors open to let you onto his floor. 

You stumble over yourself with a whispered, “Shit!” as he pulls you over the threshold of his room, and he laughs and apologizes before flipping a light on. 

Andrew is a messy creature, and his room looks as though his overnight bag spontaneously exploded while he was out. It’s weirdly charming, another reminder that he is, in fact, just a regular fucking guy with standard quirks. 

A thrill runs through you when he kisses you again, softer this time as he cradles your face in his hands. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The question is sudden, his eyes wide as he searches for any hint of doubt. 

You’re quiet for a moment as you turn the question over in your mind. Even in an inebriated state, he’s still so concerned about your comfort, your consent. It’s unsurprising given how anxious he seems in general, but it’s sweet all the same. 

Finally, you rest a hand on his arm and look up at him with a smirk. “What I was saying earlier, about you and intrigue…well, you have a knack for making me weak in the knees, amongst other things. It’s typically based on your proximity, though.” 

You see his mouth turn up in a half-smile just before he crowds closer to you, pulling you flush against him as you wrap your arms around his neck and laugh into another kiss. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he breathes just before moving to kiss along your neck. 

“I feel like I should be the one saying that.” You gasp when he bites down, not hard enough to cause any truly lasting damage, but enough to know that you’ll still be wearing his marks come morning. A thrilling thought, though you’re sure you’ll be mobbed by the ladies and Larissa for details later on. 

Your hoodie is in the way, impeding his access, and he steps away to tug at the hem until you’re helping him peel it off. He stares at your chest, clearly surprised by your lack of bra and the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. 

“In my defense,” you say with a smirk, “I didn’t expect all of this to happen.”

He laughs quietly as he walks you back towards the bed. “You’ll hear no complaints from me.” 

The sheets are rumpled and easily kicked away as you shuffle back on the mattress. Andrew drops kisses along chest, teeth grazing your skin and leaving little imprints. You squeak when he shoves your shirt up roughly, and he throws an apologetic look your way. 

“Sorry, just a bit enthusiastic,” he muses. 

You laugh, feeling breathless as his hands wander along your newly bared skin. 

“You’ll hear no complaints from me.” 

His responding laugh— a low, warm sound, sweet as honey—makes you blush. You gasp when he gently bites your nipple just before taking it into his mouth. It sends a shiver through you as he moves to the other, and you squirm beneath him, almost glad that you’re too drunk to really be embarrassed at the moment. 

Once your jeans are off and tossed away, Andrew freezes, his eyes greedily taking in your nearly nude body before snapping back up to meet your stare. He dips a hand beneath the waistband of your panties—a simple black pair without any details or flair, because you didn’t expect to have Andrew’s hand shoved into them like this.

He seems surprised to find you an already slick mess, his fingers dipping easily into you before pulling them back to rub your clit in slow circles. 

“I told you,” you huff a harsh laugh that breaks into a small moan. “Weak in the knees, amongst other things.” 

Andrew’s grin is obscured by his hair that curtains his face. He continues to touch you slowly, methodically, while capturing you in a kiss and swallowing down every little sound that escapes you. 

He breaks the kiss with a small gasp and asks, “What do you—how do you want to—?”

You’re far too impatient for anything that isn’t his cock inside of you right fucking now. You’re aching, feeling empty in a way that you have so many times over the past few weeks. Except this time, the object of your affections is stumbling over himself to rummage through his bag after you ask about protection. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you muse as he approaches you again with something square in hand. 

“So are you,” he shoots back, and he watches in awe as you slip your underwear off and cast them aside without batting an eye, emboldened.

He licks his lips before saying weakly, “Oh, you’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

Andrew is far too impatient to remove everything, barely able to focus on even shoving his own jeans down and hastily rolling on a condom with shaky hands. 

The feeling as he presses into you is heavenly, so full, warm, and satisfying. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder as he sets an even pace. The slick sound of your arousal makes you blush, but it’s obvious how much it spurs him on, delighting in your body’s reaction to him, his touch, his everything.

Weeks of wishing and wanting, and now you can’t hold back your moans as he fucks you the way you’ve imagined. You can feel the way he stretches you as he fills you, and he gasps when you clench around him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes screwing shut as he takes a deep breath. 

You reach up and brush a stray curl from his face. “Are you okay?”

When he opens his eyes, he gives you a little smile and a nod. “Yeah, yes, grand,” he huffs, then lets his head fall forward until his forehead rests against your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He grips your thigh and squeezes gently, a silent bid to get your legs around him. 

At first, he’s slow, taking his time as he kisses you between breathy laughs and whispered swears. It isn’t until you murmur, “You don’t have to treat me so preciously,” in his ear that he hums and shifts to press your legs further, damn near folding you in half. But it’s good, so fucking good, and you can barely form a thought as your eyes roll back and flutter as he picks up his pace.

And, Jesus, how are you already so close to your peak? Another testament to your seemingly insatiable desire. You cry out when he rubs a thumb against your clit roughly, out of sync with his thrusts as you press back and grind against his palm.

The stimulation is enough to send you tumbling over the edge. Tears blur your vision as you let out small, sobbing moans against his neck. Each wave of pleasure has you clenching down around him.  and then he’s snapping his hips one, two, three more times before groaning in your ear while his cock twitches with his release.

Andrew is quick to collect you into his arms after collapsing next to you in bed. He reaches blindly for a blanket to tug over both of you, seemingly more of a courtesy than anything. You allow yourself to relax into him, nuzzling his shoulder before settling with your head on his chest. 

“Wow,” he says after his breathing has evened, and he laughs quietly as he squeezes you. 

“Yeah,” you hum.

There’s another stretch of silence, and your eyes begin to feel heavy as you follow the pattern of his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

Another small laugh from him stirs you, and you look up at him questioningly. 

“We’re going to feel fucking awful tomorrow, aren’t we?” 

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is a hungover breakfast a proper first date, d’you think?” 

You grin at him and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Proper? No. But we haven’t done things by the book so far.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 9: Hollywood]

A/N: We're in the home stretch now, besties! Only 3 chapters left until the curse is lifted 🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, Maroon 5, illness/death, angst, ice cream, Sunshine makes her red carpet debut! 😍

Word count: 6.5k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Time machine, walls like glass, the dial turned back to 2009. It’s Viserys’ funeral, and no one can even pretend they’re sad. They stopped being sad years ago, and only relief is left. No more long nocturnal hours of the deathwatch, no more hushed sympathetic updates from the hospice nurses, no more unrecognizable white-haired organic matter contorted in his hospital bed. The chains are broken and they are free, all except one of them, the nineteen-year-old son who believes—without proof, without logic—that the curse is not lifted but only transferred, living on in him like an echo down a long hall.

It’s 2005, and Viserys has turned mean: paranoid, volatile, lashing out with fury at his increasing limitations as his brain is hollowed out like a Halloween pumpkin, like a cored apple. He roars and he throws things. He forgets his family are not torturers. Alicent could shut him away somewhere, but she doesn’t, the guilt would eat her alive; and so while nurses are present at the Malibu mansion around the clock, the Targaryens are not spared his wrath. One night Viserys breaks a window and wields a shard of glass like a dagger, and when the nurses flee screaming, Aemond stops Alicent from entering the room and goes in himself to clean up the mess. Someone has to.

It’s 1999, and after years of anomalies that nobody knew were symptoms—mood swings, muscle weakness, difficulty making decisions, balance problems, memory lapses—Viserys has been diagnosed with a disease that must have been lurking in his forebearers for generations, unbeknownst to them without the longevity or genetic tests of modern medicine. And like so many absent husbands and fathers who experience a revelation of their impending doom, he is determined to make up for lost time. He bakes with Alicent in the kitchen. He walks with Helaena in the garden. He stops condemning nine-year-old Aegon for long hours spent with his favorite toy, a charcoal gray Nintendo 64, first edition; the Fire Orange console won’t be released until the following year, part of the Funtastic Colors series. And now that it’s too late, Viserys’ children learn to love him.

Viserys takes Aegon’s hand and asks the boy to show him how to play Nintendo 64, here at the very start like a mirage, already beginning to disintegrate around the edges.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Thursday, August 7th. You don’t have an appointment to see Aegon, but you’re here in Elysian Park anyway. You park on the curb and sweep out into the gilded morning glow, already mid-80s and rising, wrinkled goldenrod-yellow sundress that you left in the drier too long, flip-flops, bare-faced. You barely slept and ran out the door as soon as you clawed your way out of brief, fitful dreams, autumn leaves and endless corridors through apple orchards, distant stars and deep water.

At his desk, Brandon is on the phone and making notes with his flower pen. He gives you a smile; you can only manage a quick wave. You continue into Aegon’s office, where he is engrossed in Mario’s expedition into an ice world where snow falls in unhurried, harmless white spheres. The music is pleasant, but the pools of frozen water are so cold they burn. Mario is making his way towards a block of ice in which a star has been hidden, accessible by navigation through narrow tunnels. Aegon, his green Nike Killshots propped up on his cluttered desk as usual, is surprised but not disappointed to see you.

“Hey, sunshine!” he says, still clicking the buttons on his transluscent orange controller, still swiveling the joystick. “What are you doing here so—?”

“Your dad died of Huntington’s disease.”

He freezes, and on the television screen, so does Mario; a malevolent snowman entity appears and hurls snowballs at the abandoned avatar until he is dead. You wait for Aegon to say something—no, that’s not true, no, you’re wrong, no, that would be a death sentence—but he only sits there, jaw fallen open, eyes filling up his face…and then he jolts to his feet and goes for the door.

You whirl around to watch him leave. “Aegon…?”

He stops in the doorway to the lobby and calls out: “Brando, you’re done for the day. Bye.”

“Oh for cute!” Brandon replies. “Let me just send an email to that moving company and then—”

“No, now. You’re done right now.”

Brandon sounds perplexed. “Okay, literally right now, you got it.” You can hear him gathering up his things, the jangling of car keys, the snapping shut of a laptop, and you remember all the hours you’ve spent gazing into a small rectangular blue-light screen as you combed through Aegon’s filmography, inspired potential that came to a collision of a stop in his mid-twenties. From the threshold, as he waits for Brandon to leave, Aegon watches you with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes thrashing with dark choppy waves like the riptides of the Pacific. You stare back thunderstruck, and only now do you realize how desperately you were hoping you were mistaken.

Out in the lobby, the front door of the half-duplex opens and closes, and now you and Aegon are alone. He walks back to his desk—loose papers, manila folders, framed photographs, that ever-present bowl of Honeycrisp apples—and drops into his chair, drags his fingers through his slicked-back hair, gazes vacantly at the mint green wall and sighs deeply.

“Who told you?” he asks, like hardly anyone knows, like the few who do wouldn’t have said anything.

“Nobody,” you say, startled. “I just kept guessing different diseases, and I didn’t think it was cancer, and…and…Aegon, Huntington’s is genetic.”

He looks up at you. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“Have you been tested? Because if one of your parents had it then you have a fifty percent chance of inheriting the gene.”

“No, I haven’t been tested.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I just haven’t, okay?”

“Have your siblings?”

“Yeah, and they’re all negative. But I didn’t take the test.”

“I think you should take the test, Aegon.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you should know!” you burst out, and your hands are trembling like his do sometimes, dire adrenaline in your bloodstream and your voice frayed like someone has taken a razor blade to it. “Because if you’re negative then you’ll be relieved, and if you’re positive then you can…you can plan for it, you know? And there are treatments that can help manage the symptoms! I looked it up, I spent like four hours last night on Wikipedia—”

“But no one can stop it,” Aegon says. “They can’t even slow it down.”

“You think you have the gene,” you realize, horrified. “You forget things. Your hands shake. And that’s why you’re leaving Los Angeles and avoiding your family, and that’s why you’re marrying Becca—”

“Stay the fuck out of my head,” Aegon says, the first time he’s ever spat his venom at you, and his knuckles are unbruised and yet it feels like he’s hit you, a crack in a wall, bones that split and arteries that hemorrhage.

“Aegon, you can’t run away like that when you don’t even know for sure if you’re sick!”

“It’s actually really common for people in my situation to not want to take a test.”

You speak without any awareness of what you’re going to say. “I would take care of you.”

“You think I want to hear that?!” Aegon shouts. “You think I want to imagine you being there when I lose the ability to walk, and speak, and feed myself, and remember who the fuck I am?”

“I would do it,” you insist. “You believed in me. You helped me. I would help you.”

He shakes his head and glares at you, his eyes going slick and glassy. “You have no idea what you’re offering.”

“Your family has money, they can afford the best doctors and nurses. You wouldn’t be a burden on any of us, but we’d still get to be with you—”

“I saw what my dad dying did to my mom,” Aegon says bitterly, hatefully. “First he was himself, mostly. And then he was depressed, and then he was angry, and then he became a monster. He’s the reason my mother still has nightmares. He’s the reason Aemond lost his eye. You don’t do that to people you care about. You don’t inflict that on someone you love.”

“But what if you move to Texas and you’re fine, and you don’t have Huntington’s, and you don’t die and nothing terrible happens to you?!”

“Then it will be a relief,” Aegon says softly. “And I can always come back.”

“What about me?” you ask, your voice splintering. “If you’re sick, you’re just never going to see me again?”

Aegon smiles faintly, sad, resigned. “I would rather you remember me the way I am now.”

“Afraid? Avoidant? In denial?”

“Just get out,” he snaps, rubbing his face with his palms, wincing like he’s in pain.

“Aegon—”

“No, you don’t know what it’s like to watch someone die of this!” he roars, slamming his fist on the desk. Documents rustle; photographs fall over. “And if I don’t want a diagnosis, if I don’t want to live staring down the barrel of a gun, then that’s my fucking right and you don’t get to say I’m a coward for it!”

“You’re already living like you know you’re dying,” you moan, you plead. There are tears flowing down your cheeks and turning to salt on your lips; your face is hot with blood. “You don’t have anything to lose.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“But you’re making all these choices for the wrong reasons, and you deserve to know the truth, and if you take a test then you can make an informed decision about what you want your life to look like—”

“I would never pick you,” Aegon says, flat, direct, gutting. “So get that out of your head, because it’s not happening.”

You gaze at him helplessly. “Then what are we doing?”

He shrugs, like this is an idiotic question. “I’m your agent. I’m helping you get jobs.”

“That’s not what this is!” you sob. “It’s always been more than that, it’s been more than that from the very first day! Why did you sign me when no one else would? Why were you feeding me boneless spare ribs off your fork? Why did you throw me that apple?!”

Aegon is incredulous. “Why did I fuck you in this office, why did I fly to Minnesota to have dinner with your awful parents? Because I wanted to. Because I really like you, and I think I’ve been honest about that. But that doesn’t mean it’s serious.”

Never serious, you remember miserably. That’s how Aegon had described his affairs. “Does Becca know you could have Huntington’s?”

“No,” Aegon says. “But if she did, it wouldn’t change anything. She would still want to get married.”

“She would want to take care of you.”

“Yes, exactly. She would be upset for a while, yeah, but she…she needs someone to need her. Her parents were doctors, and they weren’t abusive or anything but they were gone all the time, and the house was like a museum, and now she’s…I don’t know, I guess she’s obsessed with creating warmth, and for Becca warmth means homemade bread and bento boxes and dogs and getting my suits tailored for me, and me being her full-time project…I think a part of her would enjoy that. Having me to herself, finally being the center of my universe. And when I get really bad, when I’m…” Aegon swallows noisily. “When I’m dead, she can move on. She can find someone else to marry and she can have kids, and she’ll always have that trophy on her shelf: I was a Targaryen, I was the perfect long-suffering wife. And Aegon loved me more than any of the others.”

More than me, you think. And then a ricochet of Aegon’s words: I would never pick you. “She’s not mad at you? Because of what we’ve done?”

Aegon chuckles uneasily. “I mean, I’m sure she’s not thrilled about you still being around. She’s been a little temperamental, she’s been suspicious. Right before we left for Minnesota, I woke up from a nap and she was swabbing my cheek for an STD test, can you believe that? But she knows this is temporary.”

What had Becca said the day she pushed you just outside this office? And if he was going to leave me, he has better options than you. You nod like any of this makes sense.

“Can we just be us again?” Aegon asks, and now he’s calm, gentle, exhausted. “We have a month left together. I don’t want to waste it.”

“Okay,” you say numbly.

“Don’t forget about the music video premiere tomorrow night. And I haven’t heard anything from the vampire movie people yet.” Then he adds: “That doesn’t mean you didn’t get it.”

“But it’s not a good sign.”

Aegon tries to soften the blow. “They might just be thinking it over. They might still be scheduling the callback for the other actress.”

You—unsteady, dazed, despondent—stare down at the scuffed wood floor and try in vain to smooth the wrinkles out of your sundress. “Sounds like we’ll both be leaving Los Angeles soon,” you tell Aegon; and then you walk until the walls disappear and only the city is left, sun glare, humming air conditioners, dogs barking, children laughing, engines revving, the immense metallic shadow of Downtown on the horizon.

At home in your apartment building, just as you are about to scan your keycard to unlock the front door, you hear Baela and Jace talking inside. The television is on and the microwave is purring—maybe Jace is making one of his favorite snacks, corn dogs or pizza rolls—and their voices are just barely distinguishable.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Baela asks, sounding distressed. “That I’m officially too rich and famous to need a roommate? I can’t just kick her out. It would break her heart. She’s so sweet, and I know she’s trying really hard but it’s just…well…”

“No, I get it,” Jace replies. “She’s chill.”

“It sounds like her parents are going to make her move home soon anyway, unless she lands a big part, and…you know…I don’t really see that happening.”

“Yeah.” The microwave beeps and someone pops open the door to retrieve the contents.

“So just please don’t say anything, okay? And when she’s gone in a few months we’ll start looking at apartments in Venice or Santa Monica…”

You put your back to the hallway wall and wait long enough that they won’t think you’ve overheard anything, listening to the sounds of cars whooshing by outside, people coming and going from the places where they belong in the world, and you wonder what that feels like.

~~~~~~~~~~

You stay up too late watching YouTube videos of people with Huntington’s disease, and so the next morning at Cold Stone Creamery you are in a haze, dull throbbing headache, eyes bloodshot from crying, and the frat bro you’re making a Gotta Have It-sized Cookie Mintster for probably thinks you’re high but it’s the opposite: you’ve never felt lower, you’ve never been adrift like this, and you don’t know what to do next. You can’t unknot the threads fate has tied to Aegon. You can’t imagine a life for yourself back home. You can’t remember why you ever thought you’d be able to build something here in the City of Angels, glittering and golden and ever-rushing towards perfection, those who fall behind drug under the wheels.

“Can I get some gummy bears on that?” the frat boy is saying, but your gaze catches on someone behind him. The little metal bells on the glass door jingle and Aegon scrolls inside, khaki cargo shorts and a wrinkled short-sleeve white Oxford thrown over a pink tank top, and he’s traded in his Nikes for flip-flops, and his hair is gelled back from his face so you can see him clearly, vividly, and he leans against the window with daylight flooding in all around him and grins at you.

Why…?

“Can I please get some gummy bears?” the frat boy asks again.

Your manager Josh is blending up a strawberry banana smoothie and glowering at you. “Yo, what is wrong with you today?!”

But you don’t care what he’s saying, because Aegon pulls his black aviator sunglasses out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and slides them on and beams at you, and you hear the words as if he’s spoken them aloud: You are so bright, sunshine.

“I got the part?” you say from behind the counter.

Aegon nods. “You got the part.”

You scream and sprint to him, and when you throw your arms around Aegon he catches you, laughing and warm, and right now his hands are perfectly fine, steady and strong as they cradle the small of your back, the arc of your neck.

“Where the hell are you going?” Josh snaps from the blender. The frat boy, still waiting for his Cookie Mintster, is glaring at you impatiently. “I didn’t say you could take your break yet!”

“Hey,” Aegon says, taking a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and waving it around so Josh can see before dunking it in the tip jar. “She’s quitting. Call someone else.” And then he pulls you, grinning and exhilarated, out of the Cold Stone Creamery and into the August air, moving swiftly beneath a cerulean sky full of cumulus clouds, 90-degrees and diesel fumes.

“Aegon, I can’t quit yet, I still have to pay my rent—”

“I’ll pay your rent,” Aegon says. He stops when you are under the shade of a palm tree and stands there with you in the oasis. His Sebring is parked illegally in a fire lane; it is adorned with a new malady, a massive dent in the bumper. “You’re going to have costume fittings and table-reads, and you have to learn the script, and you’ll have appointments with hair and makeup, and you’ll have a personal trainer, and promo obligations…you won’t have time to work.”

“You didn’t force them to hire me, did you?” you ask, the effervescent high dissolving away. “You didn’t threaten to blacklist them with your whole family or anything, right? Because I don’t want this if it’s not real.”

“What?” Aegon says, mystified. “No. No, I swear, I wouldn’t do that. And I don’t think it would have worked even if I’d tried. First billing is a huge deal. Not even Taylor Swift has managed to buy herself a starring role in a movie yet. They liked you. They wanted you.”

The hope quivers in your voice. “I’m going to be an actress?”

Aegon smiles. “You already are one.” He takes off your red apron and your grey hat and stuffs both in a nearby trashcan. “Are you parked around here?”

You point to your Honda Accord, 2003, Desert Mist Metallic paint that gleams under the sun. “I’m just across the street.”

“You aren’t bringing Jace to the Maroon 5 thing tonight, right? Because it’s in your best interests to appear unattached.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Unattached?”

“Yeah. Being ostensibly single makes you confident and alluring and mysterious. Dragging along your mop-haired boyfriend makes you look like a high school kid at prom.”

“And how does dragging along my sulky, disillusioned Targaryen agent make me look?”

“Like a star,” Aegon replies simply.

“I’m not bringing Jace. Or anyone else besides you.”

“Great.”

“Can we drive to the premiere together?” You don’t want to be away from Aegon; you are a little petrified of the fanfare that awaits you in Downtown tonight. You have no idea what to expect.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, outwardly casual, unmistakably pleased. “I have a driver booked. We’ll swing by your apartment in the limousine around 7 p.m.”

“Why aren’t we taking the Sebring?”

“Because people don’t drive themselves to premieres, sunshine,” he says, like he’s explaining to a child an obvious and fundamental truth: the sky is blue, the Earth is round. Then he gestures to his white convertible and its sizeable new dent. “And also I keep running into things and I don’t want you in the car when I’m driving.”

Because his hands shake? Because his reflexes are slowing until they inevitably stop? “Maybe you’re just stressed because of the wedding,” you say softly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Or it’s psychosomatic. You expect to see symptoms, so you do. But really you’re fine.”

Aegon sighs as wind blows eastward from the Pacific Ocean. He wants to change the subject. You can’t stop yourself from talking. “It’s possible.”

“Maybe whatever’s wrong with you isn’t Huntington’s. Maybe it’s something else, like a vitamin deficiency or a thyroid disorder or lupus or fibromyalgia, or diabetes from all the super unhealthy food you eat. Maybe it’s something a doctor can fix.”

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” Aegon says; and he kisses your cheek and climbs into his Sebring and speeds off towards the interchange of the 110.

~~~~~~~~~~

You told your parents you needed a dress for Clara’s bachelorette party so they wouldn’t yell at you when they saw the charge on the credit card. You will have to devise a new strategy for future purchases; you are running out of wedding-related excuses. The gown is electric yellow and less formal than the one you wore to the charity gala, sufficiently frivolous for a music video premiere, a V-neck and a high-low hemline. Your hair is down and your eyeshadow warm and smokey: Gilded Ganache and Semi-Sweet by Too Faced, Night Star by NARS. You drench yourself with sugary Shimmer Mist from Bath and Body Works, then realize that was probably a stupid idea. But there’s no time to try to scrub it off; Aegon has texted you that he’s five minutes away.

You click out into the kitchen in the yellow heels you found at T.J. Maxx. Jace is sprawled on the couch and bobbing his head as he sings along to a Charli XCX song pulsing out of his iPhone:

“You wanna guess the color of my underwear,

You wanna know what I got goin’ on down there…”

Baela, who had been getting a can of La Croix from the refrigerator, turns and is startled when she sees you. “You’re glittering. And that looks like a prom dress.”

You scrutinize yourself, suddenly self-conscious. “Is it bad?”

“No!” Baela cries, overcorrecting, not wanting to hurt your feelings. “No, it’s so cute. Jace, isn’t it so cute?”

“Totally,” he says from the couch, not looking at you.

“No contrast, huh?” Baela muses, glancing at your shoes and clutch purse.

“Doesn’t yellow go with yellow…?”

“Of course it does.” She beams, too broadly. “Have fun tonight! Walk really slowly on the red carpet. It will feel ridiculous, but that’s how they get good photos. And cycle through four or five different poses. Count to ten in your head and then switch to the next one. And don’t smile too much! You’ll look creepy and your cheeks will get tired and go numb and you’ll start twitching. Do a small smile and then laugh a lot when the interviewers make their dumbass jokes. It’s good television and they’ll like you and give you more airtime.”

You try to commit this to memory. “Okay.”

“Here.” She gifts you an ice-cold can of La Croix, coconut flavored. “Drink this on the ride over, then make sure you have a lot of water at the premiere. Stay hydrated. Keeps you peppy and glowing.”

“Okay,” you say again, a good little foot soldier.

Baela gives you a quick hug goodbye; but you catch the way she frowns at your carefree hair, the deep but not-so-revealing V of your neckline. Maybe she’ll reconsider the implants thing, Baela’s face reads. You can feel cold beads of sweat bleeding from your ribs, your spine. Then you are out the door, descending in the elevator, trotting onto the sidewalk to find the limo already waiting there, black and sleek under a sky that is slowly sickening from midday blue to dusk embers. The windows are tinted so dark you can’t see anything from outside.

“Hey, sunshine,” Aegon says as you slide into the back where he is waiting in the suit he wears to auditions and film shoots and, apparently, premieres: skinny black tie, slightly rumpled and untucked white shirt. He sees the La Croix. “Don’t you not like that?”

“My roommate gave it to me.” You set the can, wet with condensation, in a cupholder. Aegon hands you an iced vanilla latte to replace it. And as you buckle your seatbelt and the limo driver coasts east to hook into the 110 and then heads dead north towards Downtown, Aegon pulls a tiny spiral notebook out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and reads off names to you: people who were involved in the production of the music video you filmed over a month ago, people to praise, people to thank. You’re trying to listen to him, but your thoughts are fuzzy and your heart is racing.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon asks, and you return to him and smirk guiltily.

“I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“Why? You’re not nervous when you’re acting.”

“Because I’ve acted a million times, but I’ve never done a red carpet before. Not even a mini one like this. What if they ask me something I’m not expecting and I freeze up? What if I accidentally offend someone? I’m always saying things that make people think I’m stupid.”

Aegon laughs lazily, peering through the window as the freeway takes you through Vermont Vista, Broadway-Manchester, Florence, blurs of houses and palm trees and graffitied concrete barriers. “Yeah, you are always saying ridiculous things. But that’s who you are, and it’s charming.”

“You think it’s charming.”

Aegon smiles at you. “I do.”

You stir your latte so the ice cubes clink together and you make a jittery little sound, half-sigh, half-whimper. Aegon puts a palm on your bare thigh, pushing the hem of your dress just above your knee; his hand is warm, and gentle, and heavy enough to ground you.

“You’re shaking,” he says, alarmed.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I’m fine. I think it’ll stop once we get there.”

Aegon lifts his hand away—no! you think, pathetically—and then unbuckles his seatbelt and crawls over to the window just behind the driver’s seat, which is all the way down. The limo driver is in his fifties, salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard, classic rock radio station. The opening notes of Dani California pump out of the speakers, the bass reverberating through the leather seats. “Hey,” Aegon says to the driver, thumping his fist on the window slot. “Roll that up.”

“Yes sir,” the driver assents immediately.

“Don’t park or unlock the doors until I tell you to.”

“Yes sir.��

The dark opaque window closes, the driver disappears, and Aegon comes back to you. He takes your half-finished latte out of your hand and places it safely in a cupholder.

You’re smiling as you ask: “What are you going to—?”

He reaches beneath your dress—tulle ruffles the color of unclouded daylight, or lemons, or butter, or sunflowers—and his fingertips know where to go, their corporeal memory is perfect, and they apply divine spiraling pressure over your panties, silk to leave no lines beneath your dress; that’s a trick Baela taught you. You gasp and clutch for the back of the seat, sweated skin on black leather, your spine arching, your blood cascading south as the freeway runs northbound.

“Are you nervous now?” Aegon whispers; and his words are taunting but his voice is hushed, and he’s in front of you, leaning in so close your lungs are filled with him, Juicy Fruit and sunlight and the heat and the city, and his other hand turns your face away from him so he won’t ruin your makeup. Instead of your lips, his mouth finds your throat and collarbones, and he kisses you there as his fingertips press down more forcefully beneath your dress, so insistent, so hungry, and you are blinded by the realization of how much you have craved him, how desperately you miss him each time you’re apart, and only being with him feels like this, you don’t belong anywhere else, and your chances to touch him are vanishing like sandcastles turned to ruins by the surf.

He’s getting married in a month.

But he’s here now, and you want him.

He’s choosing Becca.

But his hands are choosing you, and his lips, and the outline of his hardness that you can feel when he leans against your thigh, nudging your legs further apart, and surely even through the silk he can feel how wet you are.

“You shouldn’t have taken your seatbelt off,” you say breathlessly. “That’s not safe.”

Aegon laughs as if this is a ludicrous concern, and maybe he doesn’t think that dying in a car accident of a fractured skull or an aortic dissection would be the worst thing in the world. “Don’t worry about me.” He breezes the fingers of his left hand through your hair, nuzzling you, inhaling you, saccharine sweetness and young frenetic nerves, endorphins pouring from your bloodstream.

He’s good, he’s very good; but for you it can take a while, and how far is the limo from the premiere venue? “I’m not going to be able to finish—”

“Yeah you are,” Aegon says, drawing back to look at you, his eyes locked with yours; and you moan as his fingers move the strip of silk aside and sink into you, and you are filled with him as his palm keeps up the euphoric friction, and then it collides with you—knuckles, gravity, riptides, fate—and it takes everything left in you, worn wrung-out scraps, not to cry out, because you’re not alone now, and you’ve never truly been alone with him when this happens, and you know you never will be. The sweetness and the bitterness are coiled up together like threads of fabric, like the lines of a family tree.

You are still panting as Aegon sweeps his left thumbprint just beneath your eyes, clearing away the eyeliner and mascara that has begun to run as your eyes water.

“Don’t cry, sunshine,” he murmurs, concerned.

You chuckle shakily. “I’m sorry. You know I get like this.” When it’s good. When it’s with you.

“Are you still nervous?”

“No,” you answer truthfully.

“You’re going to do great.”

“What should I say?”

“Whatever you want,” Aegon tells you. “Be yourself. Be real.” Then he kisses you on your lips only once: feather-light, immaterial enough to not mar you. “Oh, we have to clean up,” he realizes, panicked, and he hasn’t thought this through.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

You open the can of coconut La Croix that Baela gifted you and soak a handful of napkins that Aegon gets from the driver. You erase the evidence between your legs as best you can; Aegon cleans his hands and gives himself a generous squeeze of hand sanitizer from a tiny travel bottle in your clutch. Then he uses the corner of a napkin to dab away stray flecks of mascara on your cheeks. You check your face in the mirror of your makeup compact: dewy, but acceptable. Natural. Lived-in. Aegon rearranges a few wayward strands of your hair. You slurp down the rest of your vanilla latte. The limo is rolling to halt. You reach for the door handle.

“No,” Aegon says, stopping you. And he gets out first and then waits for you, hand open, until you emerge from the limousine and into a new world: flashbulbs, video cameras, microphones, assistants dressed in black, screaming Maroon 5 fans. Aegon fluffs the train of your electric yellow gown and then leads you into the chaos.

The music video premiere is being held at the historic Broadway Theater. The red carpet rolled out for the occasion, in a nod to the name of the band, is not a bright bloody red but a deep maroon. People are shouting and waving at you, and you have no idea what’s going on; and yet in your ribcage your heartbeat is slow and measured and strong. Aegon has a hand on the small of your back, and you think: I want it to be like this all the time. I want it to be like this forever.

Now a young man in a teal suit is rushing up to you and Aegon has disappeared to the sidelines, and the man is telling you that he is from E! News, and although he says his name you immediately forget it. You don’t panic; you smile softly and try to listen through the noise of the crowd. Now Maroon 5 has arrived and is posing for photographs as the fans screech and beg for autographs.

“So how’s your day going?” the man from E! News asks, a microphone held to your lips.

“It’s been so exciting, this morning I got to quit my job!”

The man laughs hysterically. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’ve been working at an ice cream place for months, but not anymore!”

“And do you have a passion for ice cream?”

“Not really, I just had to pay rent, you know?”

“Girl, do I ever!” the man says, still laughing. “What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”

You smile sheepishly. “Vanilla.”

“Oh, so you’re a vanilla girl, huh?”

“I am, I really am, and I know the joke. But vanilla can be great! It’s a classic, and it’s sweet and uncomplicated, and it’s not trying to be anything it’s not. It’s pure. It’s innocent.”

“Oh my God, that was poetry! I might have to give vanilla another shot. You’ve convinced me.”

“Cool,” you say. Aegon is watching you from behind the video camera that you’ve just noticed; he is nodding, he gives you a little thumbs-up.

The man from E! News asks next: “So, ice cream expert, if I was an ice cream flavor, which one would I be?”

You ponder this. “Well someone once told me that interesting adults like strawberry, and you seem really interesting, so I’d say you’re strawberry ice cream.”

“Adorable,” the man sighs, marveling at you. “What are you going to be up to now that you aren’t working at the ice cream shop anymore?”

“Well according to my agent—and I have the best agent in the world, he’s absolute magic—I just got my first starring role in a movie.” The E! News man shrieks in excitement. “And I can’t really tell you anything more about it just yet, because I don’t know what I’m allowed to say publicly, but I’m so so so excited and so grateful, and Los Angeles is an incredible place. I’m in heaven and I’m thrilled to be here with you tonight.”

Another E! News correspondent, a woman in a salmon-colored dress, dashes in to join the conversation. She has blindingly white veneers and so much Botox she can’t move her forehead. “Could you tell us what it was like working on this music video?”

“It was an amazing experience,” you say; and in this moment you believe that, and Dan doesn’t exist, and neither does the bathtub scene that almost happened, and neither does the terror that threatened to consume you before Aegon smothered the flames. Now, Aegon is watching closely as Dan navigates the red carpet. They make split-second eye contact, Aegon glares fiercely, Dan keeps a wide swath of space between you and him as if you are radioactive, a silent poison that cooks malignancies into blood and bones. “We filmed in this gorgeous mansion in Beverly Hills, and everyone involved in the production was so imaginative and professional. I got to wear outfits designed by Schiaparelli and Rodarte, oh, and Phoebe Philo, and the actor playing my awful ex-boyfriend was fantastic, and there were these weird exotic cats that kept trying to bite me…”

You keep talking and interviewers keep descending, appearing out of nowhere, and then you are posing on the red carpet—you even take a few awkward photos with Maroon 5, none of whom remember who you are—and to your surprise, several fans even ask you for an autograph. Without thinking, you add a tiny sun after you sign your name each time.

“There, a little bit of sunshine,” you say to a preteen girl who beams up at you. “Not that you need it, look how brightly you’re shining!”

As you are about to enter the theater, you glance back to see where Aegon has gone. An interviewer has entrapped him, although Aegon clearly resents being caught on camera. He’s a good sport though; he forces a smile and answers the questions. He’s being asked about you.

Aegon says: “She has a great attitude about work, and about life in general. She’s very talented. And obviously she’s beautiful, so…yeah. I feel really lucky to have found her. She’s usually the best part of my day.”

“And are we going to see you in any upcoming films?” the woman from Entertainment Tonight asks flirtatiously. “We all know you have the chops!”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles. “No. You wish. Okay, thank you very much for your time, I’ll talk to you afterwards.”

“Thank you, Aegon!” the interviewer calls out, waving, and you think: He really could have been a star if he never left acting.

You and Aegon sit together at the screening, and he keeps feeding you pieces of popcorn—your lips brushing his fingertips, salt stinging on your tongue—and you have to resist the urge, no, the gravity, the effortless instinct to rest your head on his shoulder. Maroon 5 do a panel after the music video and take questions from the audience. They manage a few comprehensible responses.

Afterwards, Aegon doesn’t take you straight home to Harbor Gateway. He doesn’t take you to his office in Elysian Park either. Instead, he tells the limo driver to follow the 101 northwest to Hollywood, and he drags you out into the cool indigo night—veined with florescence and neon—and onto the intersection of Vine Street and Sunset Boulevard at the genesis of the Walk of Fame, a trail of 2,800 stars carved into the sidewalk, into eternity.

Aegon stands on a star of this earthbound constellation and says: “You’re going to have one of these someday.”

And here under the aisle of a streetlight with Aegon smiling like that, kind and radiant, you could almost believe him.

[harryspet]

can u plsss do something where reader keeps noticing dark rafe always looking at her at the gym and then he follows her out one night w noncon 🙏🏾

[warnings] dark!gymbro!rafe x reader, NONCON sex, little editing READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

word count: 1.1k

When a brand new gym was built near your apartment complex, you knew you had no excuse but to start going on a regular basis. Despite how scared you were of the gym bros and pilates princesses, you pushed yourself to start. First, you attended the group workout classes to get yourself comfortable. Slowly, you started using all of the other gym equipment. 

Once you started going to the gym after work, you got even more comfortable with working out in the presence of others. Sometimes you were even brave enough to start conversations with other girls who were working out by themselves. You still considered it a time for you to decompress, and often, you listened to music or podcasts for the entire time. 

As you got into a routine, you started to notice the gym attendees who were always there when you were. You started to differentiate the people you saw on the weekend versus those you saw during the weekends. There was one attendee in particular you began to notice more and more. Whenever you were at the gym, he seemed to be there too. He was always there before you, and he was often still working out when you were leaving.

At first, it wasn’t an irrational thought to believe he spent a lot of time there. His upper body was no laughing matter, in fact, he almost looked dangerous when he was lifting in front of the mirror. Short dark blonde hair and empty blue eyes often greeted you whenever you were trying to mind your own business. At first, you thought it was a coincidence because why would someone like that take an interest in you? 

Besides that, he’d never spoken to you. Unsuccessfully, you tried to tune him out. There were always eyes lingering on you while you walked on the treadmill or when you were grabbing weights from the rack. As you grew more comfortable with your body, you started buying cute workout sets, ones that hugged your curves. The staring only increased, making you feel conflicted about your choice. 

He was not at all your type. You’d never been with a muscular type of guy, and you’d feel quite intimidated by someone like that. Deliberately, you started wearing jackets and sweatshirts again. 

There was a grocery store also near your apartment, and you’d often stop by after your workout. One night, you noticed him standing near the bakery section, gray hoodie over his head, as you were looking through the smoothies in the fresh produce section. 

You debated going up to him and just saying hello to put yourself at ease, but when you turned around again, he was gone. You carried your few bags of groceries back to your apartment, listening to one of your favorite podcasts and fantasizing about the relaxing bath you were going to take. 

Like always, you used your key fob to enter your apartment. With your arms being occupied, you kicked the door to close it, before heading into the kitchen. When all your groceries were placed on the counter, you took off your headphones, immediately hearing your door click shut. You turned around to see a dark figure standing at the entrance of your door. 

You took in a sharp breath and immediately stepped back. As you recognized that hoodie, the horror began to truly set in. When he pulled off the hoodie and revealed those dark eyes, you couldn’t stop the scream that your body released. 

As he lunged towards you, your eyes darted to the knife block sitting on the counter. You charged towards the knives as he grabbed ahold of your waist, lifting you away from the counter. Before you could scream again, he pressed his hand into your mouth, muffling the sound. 

Desperately, you kicked and bit down on his hand. He groaned as he through you down on your living room couch, “Shit,” He cursed, but he was already pinning you down onto the couch, “Scream, and I-I swear I will kill you.”

He wrapped a strong hand around your throat and pinned your lower body down with the weight of his body, “I’m serious. Before anyone came for you or before anyone could call the police. Do you want to die?” You quieted your strangled cries, staring up at him with teary eyes, “Good. I don’t want to do that. You’re so pretty …I would hate to have to …”

His voice was deep and raspy, only adding to your fear, “Y/N … beautiful angel Y/N … my name is Rafe,” All you could ask yourself was why he would give you his name. Why would he show you his face if he was going to leave you alive. Laying helpless beneath him, you felt your odds dwindling away, “This gorgeous body is all mine, right? You don’t mind if I … see more of it, do you?”

He kept his grip on your neck as he pulled up your sports bra, freeing your breasts. With his free hand, he grabbed and kneaded at the sensitive area. He felt and pinched until your nipples were standing at attention, “I knew you’d have such pretty titties …” You watched his lips pull into a smile, “But you know what? I bet your pussy is even prettier.” 

You were caught off guard when Rafe released your neck. As you gasped and struggled for air, he lifted himself off of you, grabbing your waist and pulling your lower half off of the couch. You were bent over the furniture as Rafe again gained control of you, his hand gripping the back of your neck as he pushed you into the furniture. 

He was kneeling beside you, his fingers beginning to trace the folds of your pussy through your leggings. You squirmed in his grasp, feeling every detail of his finger through the thin material, “Shit, I need you, baby,” He groaned, “I need you so bad.”

Abruptly, he ripped open your leggings, causing you to beg, “Please, please, don’t.”

“I’m so hard for you; I need you,” You felt even more humiliated when you heard him spit into his hand and as he pressed it into your exposed area. You felt him moving behind you before he held your hips tightly in place, and you felt his tip against your entrance, “You need me too, don’t you? All these weeks I’ve been watching you, you’ve never had anyone over. You need that pretty pussy filled, huh?”

 Rafe’s words were hasty, panicked almost, like he truly couldn’t control himself, “Please, Rafe, w-we can take it slow,” You tried, but he began to hush you. 

“I’m sorry,” You heard him say as he pushed into you; your body did its best to stretch around him, “I’m so sorry, I …I have to have you, baby.”

+

send dark rafe ideas

[covid-safer-hotties]

Global Emergency Compounded by the AIDS-like Features of SARS-CoV-2 Infection - Published Sept 1, 2024

Over a million people in the US are being infected with severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus type 2 (SARS-CoV-2) every day.

Originally named after the acute respiratory syndrome it can cause as a consequence of blood vessel damage in the lungs, SARS-CoV-2 is actually primarily a blood vessel virus that spreads through the airways. It causes a complex multisystem disease (1). It is airborne (2). It can persist in the body, and is detectable in body and brain tissue even at autopsy of “recovered” patients (3).

Each infection ages the body, causes damage to the blood vessels and the immune system, and affects organs including the heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, bones, etc. (4, 5, 6)

Each infection ages the brain. Specifically, it reduces gray matter and cognitive ability (7), and potentially IQ score (8). It increases the risk of psychiatric disorders (9). SARS-CoV-2 has also been identified as contributing to accelerated dementia (10).

The potential post-acute phase impacts of SARS-CoV-2 include long COVID, some manifestations of which are chronic conditions that can last a lifetime, including heart disease, diabetes, myalgic encephalomyelitis and dysautonomia (11).

The Economist has estimated excess deaths from the beginning of the Pandemic through May 2024 at up to 35 million people worldwide. (12)

In Addition, Many Scientists Are Now Issuing Warnings… SARS-CoV-2 triggers a new airborne form of Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (13, 14, 15) (some are proposing specific terms such as “CoV-AIDS”).

This is not AIDS as we know it from human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) infection, it is a new type of acquired immunodeficiency syndrome with different deleterious effects on immune function (16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21), but both resulting in increased vulnerability to infections (22). Immune system deficiency and other COVID properties also suggest a potential link to greater risk of cancers (23, 24, 25, 26, 27).

The “original” AIDS caused by HIV takes up to around 10 to 15 years to make its presence felt, with the initial infection usually barely noticed and often resembling the common cold or a flu-like disease until its damage manifests itself leading to death in the absence of treatments (28, 29).

With SARS-CoV-2, immunodeficiency develops in the weeks and months following infection. It involves reduction and functional exhaustion of T Cells (30), enhanced inhibition of MHC-I expression (31), downregulating CD19 expression in B cells (32) and other evidence of immune dysregulation (33, 34). In one study, the dysregulation persisted for 8 months following initial mild-to-moderate SARS-CoV-2 infection, the length of the study (35). There is no “cure” for any of the damage caused by SARS-CoV-2 including immune dysregulation.

Did You Know? Repeated infections are leading to prolonged immune dysregulation, and increase the risk of progressive disability and death.

Long COVID is a multisystem disease with debilitating symptoms, which has had a profound impact on society and the global economy. In the USA, economists have estimated that long COVID will incur cumulative future costs of more than US$4 trillion (36, 37).

The worldwide devastating economic consequences of this mass disabling event have been measured in terms of total work hours and GDP lost around the world (38).

It theoretically only takes a single viral particle to initiate an infection, and most infections are initiated by very few viral particles (39).

Despite current popular belief, the immune system is NOT a muscle, and does NOT benefit from being repeatedly challenged with disease-causing microbes. In fact, its finite resources are depleted with each new infection.

Herd immunity is unattainable for a rapidly mutating, immune-disrupting virus, and there is no basis to believe that a vascular infection will evolve into the common cold. Continuing to ignore SARS-CoV-2 will not make it go away. Depriving the virus of publicity does not deprive it of its continuing lethal effects.

SARS-CoV-2 is continuing to evolve and mutate – it is not running out of evolutionary space. It is not a cold or the flu, but primarily a blood vessel disease. It is damaging society as we know it.

How many repeated infections can we expect young people to endure and survive? Even if they get only 1 infection each year, that’s 10 infections in 10 school years. This is not compatible with health and a long life. Repeated infections can lead to long COVID and shortened lifespans.

How Do We Protect Ourselves, How Do We Protect Our Children, When Government Public Health Advice Has Failed?

By reducing transmission so that R0 remains less than one (meaning that each person infects less than one other), we can suppress and gradually eliminate the virus, targeting a safer return to pre-2020 normal.

Handwashing is helpful, but it is not the main way to stop the spread of this airborne virus.

Respirators can block 95% or more of virus particles through electrostatic action, and are therefore highly effective at reducing infection even if only one person in a conversation is wearing them. They are far more effective if all people are wearing them (40).

Transmission can be reduced with HEPA filtration and ventilation of indoor air.

The virus spreads more quickly in indoor settings, but also spreads outdoors.

For medical facilities, it is essential to clean the air with ventilation and filtration and require universal high-quality masking (with N-95/ FFP3 respirators or better) to protect medical staff and patients.

For workplaces, clean air will reduce transmission; and encouraging employees to test and stay home when infectious is essential. High-quality masking should be encouraged in the case of symptoms, a sick person at home, or any other suspicion that one could be carrying the virus. Remote work should be normalized and encouraged wherever possible.

For entertainment venues, events should be held outdoors when possible; and if indoors, clean air is key to protecting audiences. Audiences should also be encouraged to wear respirators to avoid getting infected and infecting others. Digital streaming options should always be offered.

For restaurants, an emphasis on outdoor dining will substantially reduce transmission. Patio service should be encouraged, and indoor dining areas should be well-ventilated with a high level of air-exchanges. Home or curbside delivery offers a safer alternative.

For schools, clean air will reduce transmission; encouraging students to test and stay home when infectious is essential to preserving their health. Masking or remote learning should be initiated whenever a case is detected or the incidence in the general population sharply increases. A permanent hybrid model / digital option can accommodate children with disabilities or those who simply do better learning from home.

Teachers and medical professionals may prefer to use transparent masks, or to wear HEPA-filtered headgear equipment that may be more universally tolerated/accepted.

To track our progress, we need sustained wastewater and population-level testing.

With just 60-70 percent of people taking mitigation measures such as masking, testing and isolating when infected, we can dramatically reduce forward transmission of the virus.

Even with very imperfect measures, as long as one infected person does not infect more than one person on average, the virus will eventually die out. The fewer people each person infects on average, the faster it will happen.

We still have a window of opportunity. Protecting ourselves and our families is in fact protecting the economy and the continued orderly functioning of our society.

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Tag-Along

Written: Feb 6 2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Black Reader

Works: 1.3k

Summary: A hot tip lands you getting stuck with your colleague!

Warnings: 18+, smut, sex pollen, fluff, bit of gray!Clark (?). Proceed as you like.

divider by writeyourmindaway

A/N: Thank you @titty-teetee​ for reading through this! And thank you @littlefreya​ for providing this awesome gif!

“It’s a fake?” you asked in a hushed voice. Your eyes dropped back down to the shiny box. 

The tiny red handle turned and turned, with each movement the familiar click-click put your nerves on edge. 

“It’s a jack-in-the-box. Who left it here?” your voice rushed out.

Clark Kent stared at it for a moment longer before he started to speak. “It’s more than that.”

The second he reached for you in the tiny lid on the top popped open. Along with the raggedy, tattered clown, a cloud of purple smoke filled the space in a matter of seconds. 

You choked on it and fell to the marble floor. 

So much for following one of the Daily Planets’ successful journalists. You should have just handed him the tip and not convinced him to let you join. 

But here you were at the end of a horrible joke. The moment you and Clark set foot in the vault, in the basement of a derelict hospital, the door slammed shut. With zero obvious ways to escape the silent countdown had begun.

This was the result.

Within the light of a single dingy bulb, the violet mist suddenly began to clear. With blurry eyes you stared up at Clark as the cloud, no - it couldn’t have been? The cloud appeared to be sucked into his mouth.

“What was that?”

Clark coughed hard. Once again silence descended within the wrecked vault. 

You continued to stare at him as you rose from the dirty floor. “What was that?” you repeated the question.

“I don’t know, some sort of Joker-”

“No!” you all but shout and wave off the now open box. “I saw you.”

Clark adjusted his glasses, with a hand to his chest he didn’t look at you, he stared at the box instead.

“You just inhaled-” 

Your eyes widened. The tightness in your chest increased. “You..” 

He’s something else. But a wave of constriction settles inside every muscle. Tight, everything feels so fucking tense. You look down to the floor, concentrate on the piles of paper strewn at your feet. Your breaths come on hard, and slowly but then all at once, the unbending sensation drops to your groin.

“Oh my god.” you managed to grumble out before doubling over. 

A rush of wetness paints the inside of your underwear and you wonder if Clark could hear the hushed moans at the back of your throat.

Crooking your head from the floor to him you unconsciously leer at the man. Biting back the pang with your bottom lip tucked into your mouth you try to steady your breathing, unsuccessfully. 

Clark felt you staring without having looked over to your glistening face. “I think something is wrong.”

His voice vibrates down your spine. What the fuck? You close your eyes, pray the feeling dissipates down below and bow your head to it. 

“No shit,” you grit out and half-assed stand up straight. You took a step toward the counter in the center of the vault and cling to its edge. 

You glance over to Clark, he was staring at you, the kindness in his eyes was all but gone and in its place an expression wholly undefinable. 

He feels it too. Your eyes dart away, back that the cursed child’s toy. 

“Great, I’m stuck in here with a man that just let me tag along.” You wiped the sweat away from your hairline and bowed your back to another surge in the pit of your belly. 

“No-no I didn’t.” Clark’s voice shakes. “I think you’re a great reporter.”

Your chuckle falls flat, no time for sarcasm, you raise your head back to him. “I’m just the workrooms secretary. No one even laughs at my jokes.”

Clark doesn’t look away from you. “I did.”

A few fleeting painful seconds you remember the chuckles under his breath, the amused grins from across the conference table. Yeah. 

You attempted a smile but the up-turned corners of your mouth folded into a grimace as another unwanted gush, this time, trickled down your leg. Thank god for cotton pin-skirts. Sweating in the cheap polyester blouse you reserved only for the occasional outing it felt like it was melded to your skin. 

“Are you okay?” Still observing your obvious discomfort Clark walked around the counter. “You don’t look so good.”

Sweat rolled from his forehead, down the line of his nose before he could wipe it away. “You don’t look so swell yourself,” you added. 

God, he smells great. Once more your eyes inadvertently moved from his lips to his chin. Further, lower to the base of his neck where tufts of black hair stuck to his wet skin passed the lip of his plaid red and black shirt. Fuck.

The heat of his body so near pierced what little calm you had cultivated in the last fifteen minutes. 

“Stay--back..” you weakly asked. “I--”

Clark did the opposite. His warm fingers coasted from your wrist to your arm, the other landed on your back as he stood closer to you. 

You hesitantly recoiled at his touch but your eyes shot to the shadows of his pants. A girthy long bulge did not go unseen.

“Listen, whatever this was, “ his eyes darted to the box and then back to you. “It’s causing a-” Clark’s eyes slowly fell to your lips. “-reaction,” he mumbled.

You nodded quickly. “I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t-”

He mimicked your nod. “This is -”

“It’s fucking insane,” you whispered.

You walked back to the nearest wall and turned around, leaned on it while watching Clark. 

“If..this is what it feels like it is,” You couldn’t look away from him. “Uh..we need to-”

This was insane. Covering your face, you bared down as another hit came rolling in. You wanted him. That wasn’t the word for it. Clark Kent was the kindest, hottest, man at the office. You never looked twice at him for anything other than tips and tricks of the trade. Insecurities were loud, you were out of his league. A man like that probably wouldn’t have noticed you. And like an eager goof, you jumped at the chance to ask him if you could join. 

“I’m--”

“You’re beautiful.”

When did he get so close? Clark stepped in closer, a shiny loafer pushed in between your flats, and placed his hand on the wall near your head. 

“You’re the sweetest girl there,” he confessed quietly. He dipped in closer to your face. “I’m sorry it’s taken this to happen to get us here.”

You tilt-up and rest the back of your head against the cool metal. Clark never said much about his life, but your keen eye always noticed his hands, strong when prying open the shoddy delivery lift door, but also used a gentle touch as he thumbed through documents. And now, his hand was cupping your cheek, taming the shake in your shoulders. 

“I’m not sure I could keep my hands off you if I tried,” he said.

Closer and closer, Clark’s lips hovered over your own. “Then don’t,” Your voice was cut off by his mouth clashing with yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands immediately began hitching up your skirt. The bottom of your shoe slipped on scattered papers forcing you to tumble back against the wall. 

No matter, your hands drifted down the soft fabric over his chest, down to the waist of his jeans. You pulled hard on the button while Clark parted your lips with his and touched your tongue against his. The jolt bucked your hips forward and away from the wall, spreading your legs for Clark’s touch to go higher and higher. 

He ripped your underwear, the sound went unnoticed because now your hand was buried in his pants while gripping the long shaft of his cock. A vein down the center of his forehead pulsed. You couldn’t help the smile that followed.

You broke the kiss, stroked him shorter underneath his jeans, “Fuck me, Clark.” you moaned.

Clark froze, his eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses darkened. You don’t stop touching him though. Breaths coming wild, you kiss him wantonly. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never wanted any man more than I want you right now,” you replied desperately.

Clark doesn’t ask twice. He gets you to the floor, your legs open around him while you struggle with the waist of his jeans. It feels like slow motion, but the moment moves like a speeding bullet. Clark drops to his elbows, plants tender kisses along your jaw as you guide him in. 

The head alone stings as he sank in deeper. What started out as a shy, demure first time quickie dissolves into Clark slapping his hips against your skin. You go for his face, a caress, an intimate touch but his hands find your wrists and hold them to the filthy floor. 

Having your touch yanked from you, the focus shifted to the building ache wrapped around Clark’s cock. Soaking wet, he slides in and out short but fierce. He hovered above you, arms outstretched, his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose, and steadily thumped into you. It doesn’t take long before you were a puddle, a mess of squawking whimpering moans just before the pop of grit. 

Your legs snapped harder to his sides as you road out the sensation. Moaning still, Clark kept his pace, he released your wrists and cuddled in closer to your body. 

“Holy shit,” you hiccupped out passed ragged breaths. Hardly out of stamina Clark pounded into you, weakly you clung to his shirt while his hand held the back of your neck.

With your eyes clamped shut you reveled in the feeling of his body on top of yours. He nudged his lips to your chin, a few of his fingers stroked your cheek.

 “Open your eyes,” he quietly begged.

And you did so to look upon his face inches from your own, becoming unraveled, he grinded a few pumps more before spilling inside you. And the after was silent save heavy breathing. You gazed at him and hoped the feeling that had passed would somehow become more.

“I think you should know a few things about me,” he finally said.

Clark pulled from you, helped you up from the floor. “Look, this was an - I mean, this situation-” you stuttered.

You watched Clark fix his clothes, and as you continued to mumble out excuses he walked to the vault door. The further he got away the more embarrassed you began to feel.

“I--the damn Joker did this to us, Clark. We don’t have to tel-”

Clark glanced back at you and then turned to the door. He stood there, stretched his arms out in front of them palm first, and stepped forward in the blink of an eye. The screech of metal on metal and then it thundering to the floor on the other side shook the vault. 

Clark shifted back around toward you.

Your mouth hung open slightly, your eyes moved from him to the now-open escape. 

“I’m Superman.”

[gugudalala]

pairing: Toji x reader / TojiMMA 

synopsis: Toji MMA with an upcoming match with Sakuna. Y/N a new reporter with a last chance on the job she need Toji help where he offer his help in exchange for sex.

warning: pet names, smut with plot, overtim, squirting, dumbification, size kink, unprotected, praise, ect+++

words: 1964

A/N. English is not my first language if there any mistake plz forgive me. I do not own any of the character or picture (credit to the rightful owner) only the plots are mine. 

Enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

CH: (1) | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Toji Zenin, a heavyweight MMA fighter. He is not only known for his amazing winning record but also for his sexy, dangerous body and looks that could put down anybody who passes his way. With all the body muscle and his good look no wonder he is so popular. Nobody knows where the scar on his face comes from but that does not stop the increasing number of his fangirls and boys yet, he hates the attention that he receives. 

“Fuck off” he shouted out to the reporter who had crowed him after his match, which of crouse he had won 

“Stop scaring them off” said his manger, as he quickly followed him into the break room leaving the press behind with the help of their bodyguard “They just doing their job, why don’t you enjoy their attention a little more” 

Toji ignores him sitting into the chair relaxing his muscles provided for him by his physical therapist, as they help him cool down his body 

“You know, they’re just excited for your upcoming match. With you fighting one of the MMA legend, how would they ever stay calm” 

“Sukuna, a MMA legend? Funny” 

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Y/N POV

"Listen here and listen well, this is your last chance. You will do an interview with Toji about the upcoming MMA match of Toji Zenin VS Sakuna. Do you understand?!" scream your boss

‘Fuck Toji, fuck the MMA’ you mentaly curse as you drink down another glass of whiskey. Becoming a reporter had always been your dream, however the only kinds of news that had your interest were about crimes. Mystery and thriller which was your favorite, not some celebrity life. Yet, the crimes had been decreasing and there was nothing for you to make a living off

‘Not sure if I should be happy or sad about it’ you thought as you asked for another glass. Looking over you just happen to notice that there was a man sitting 3 seats away from you. You can’t recall when the man came by. However, that does not matter now when all you want to do is to forget your boss

Looking over to that man all you can tell is that he might be loaded as he dresses so comfortably for these luxury bars. With a tight black shirt and gray sweatpants. With all of his muscles that are hugging his shirt. You could not tell if the shirt is too small or his muscles too big. ‘Must be the latter’ you taught to yourself  

“Like what you see?” said the man as you realize that you’re caught from staring at him

“Not much to see” you lied as you look away blushing from the embarrassment from getting caught

A light laugh leaves his mouth as move toward the seat beside you and leans on his palm facing you. Seeing his face close up all you can say is that he is handsome- too handsome for your little heart. With a scar on his mouth you can't help but to let that little thriller heart of your run free

“Your face is red” he smirk 

“I drank a lot tonight” you replied holding onto your glass tighter looking forward not wanting to face him 

“Hmm” he slowing reach his hand out to you with one of his finger touching your ear dragging down to your neck pass your shoulder to the collar of your shirt  “it all red” his eyes never leaving you

“Oh” is all that you can reply hoping that he would not hear how hard your heart is pounding 

“Where does it end?” he asked with a smug. As his finger traces upward back to your ear. You knowing full well of what will happen next based on your answer 

‘A night won’t hurt’ you thought, losing your mind into the alcohol. “Want to see it out yourself?” You asked him now facing him and by the time you know it you were already in one of the hotel rooms. Him being all over you, kissing harshly as you were pushed against the wall

You felt dizzy, as he hungrily kissed you as he bit into your bottom lip. You parted your lips allowing him to kiss you deeper with his hand onto the back of your neck holding your face upward toward him as he pressed himself between your legs. Never in your life had been kissed like this before and as he pull away leaving small kiss around your face to your ear as he whisper ‘get on the bed’

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You both move toward the bed, walking backward following his lead with his mouth never leaving you. Once on the bed with his body on top of you leaving a small kiss along the side of your neck down to your breast. He unbuttons your shirt, pants, and undergarment, throwing them away leaving you naked. He sat up while scanning your body from top to bottom with only the bedside lamp as your light source. A small smile formed on his mouth “it's all red” he smirked as his strong hand held onto one of your breasts playing with your nipple as he blended down to suck on another. He smiles as he hears you whimper, his hand reaching down playing with your clit. A moan escaped your mouth as his finger entered you. Lewd squelching sound filled up the room as he hit all the right spots in you. Your moan became louder as your stomach tighten almost reaching your climax 

“Gonna cum on my finger? Show me how you cum, little one” with him fingering you faster helping you reach your climax. He help you ride it down your hand reaching out grabbing his shirt 

“Take it off” you plead. So he did, finger leaving you hanging wanting for more and within a second his shirt was off thrown away leaving him only in his sweatpant. Him standing on his knee above you, the little light helps define all his muscles and you take your time scanning him from the top only to stop at the bulging on his sweatpant. You hand reach out to touch it as you sit right up and you can’t help but to pull down his pants freeing his dick only for it to hit your face. You were stunned at how huge he was, worrying if you could even handle it. Before you could say a word he pushed you onto your back with one leg in his arm over his shoulder. Feeling his tip rubbing your fold “Such a sweet little thing for me” he teased  

“Are you on pill” he asked “yes” and with that he slowly sank in stretching you out. You moan out as you feel every inch of him entering you. “Fuck, so tight” he moan as he pull out just to push right back in. You suck in a shaky breath never once you had anything that big in you. “Too big” you murmur, lip trembling. He picks up his speed and pounds right into you. Burying it so deep and thrusting fast and rough. “I’m go-gonna” You whine as you climax for the second time of the night. Drunk on pleasure, you didn’t notice that he slowly positioned you into the matting press with your two legs up on both of his arms. 

“Think you can handle me more” he ask. Looking to where you both connected only to find out that he is only half way in- all this time. “W-wait” before you could reply he already sank himself deeper into you hitting your cervix. Your mouth pops open with a gasp taking him in more and more. “You feel that, taking me so-so well” he praised as he was pounding harder and deeper than before. With every thrust he hits your cervix you can’t help but to cry out of pleasure. “I can’t- no more-“ you cried. “Shhh, you can and you well” he shushes you, as he bent down kissing you. You never had sex this intense in your life before, the amount of pleasure you felt scare you. “W-wait some-something coming, I feel strange” you cried as you tried to move away from him yet with his strong arm he was able to hold you down. Now you're back facing him with you in all four. His arm is holding onto your side forcing you down onto him as he continues trust into you. 

“Go on then, make a mess” one of his hands reaching down, playing with your swollen clit. Your core tightens as you reach your high, leaking all over the sheet beneath you. Screaming with your eyes roll back from the intense pleasure. “Fuck” he groans seeing you squirt all over. “Good girl” trusting faster, reaching his own climax coming inside you. Before you can even catch your breath he flips you over, now facing him with him in between your legs. Looking at his face, his eyes dazed in pleasure with a smug expression and his hand stroked his once again hard on “Again” he demanded while looking at you “cum like that for me again” he positioned himself right at your entrance. “Hmmm” you moan back too tired to form a word, feeling him going in-

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

*buzz-buzz buzz-buzz*

You woke up to your phone ringing. Reaching out you receive the call "Y/N! Finally the phone went through, I just received mail from the team that you are allowed to go in for a quick photo of the gym today. Meet them at their gym at 2 and take this as your chance and meet up with the coach to get closer to Toji-san. I will send the location of the gym to your mail. Don't forget this is your last chance" your boss ended the call

'Fuck' you mentally curse sitting up you look around to see the other side of the bed empty- no note, no men cloths, nothing. You recall the night before which was the most intense sex you ever had and which you had enjoyed thoroughly. Hell, you never knew that sex can be that extreme and with the guy whom you never get the chance to know his name

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Looking in front of you is the so-called gym that your boss forces you to come to. You had gone home, got dressed and gathered your stuff even with the difficulty of your sore leg and muscle you finally made it to the gym. One of the men came out and greet you

"Hi, you're the reporter right? I'm the coach assistant that will be helping you around today" he introduced himself. He brought you into the gym which can only be accessed by the members of the team. Which he introduces you around through the building, rooms, and the equipment along with some new addition members of the team. Everyone is friendly as they help you along the gym yet you can't help but feel the soreness from last night is getting back through you from walking around.

"-and so this is Toji-san's personal break room" he guides you to the front door "Can't we go in?" you asked. During the tour you were able to access into other member's personal room, so you questioned him. "Sorry, unlike other members Toji-san rooms are off limits. He hated when people come into his room without permission" he answer you with a small awkward smile "Oh, what a jerk"

"That is not what you called me last night" a familiar voice calls you out. A shadow looms over you from behind, turning around looking up you recognize the face- the exact same one that makes you cum over and over oh god how could you ever forget

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 10

Elijah Mikaelson, Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having recently moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they are until it's too late.

This Chapter: The powers that be reveal that they've been pulling the strings all along, and you're forced to finally choose a brother.

Warnings: Mature Content, Love Triangle, Klaus' Filthy Mouth, Violence, Blood, Knives, Cutting, Blood Drinking, Witchcraft

Word Count: 3.6k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

“Oh good, you’re awake!” A woman’s voice rings in your ears, echoing off the walls of the room that you open your eyes in. It’s an older southern accent, it’s pitch and volume signaling that she’s standing only a few feet away from where you sit, even if you can’t see her just yet. “You must be exhausted from entertaining two of the world’s most lethal vampires for the past few weeks. I’ll bet you needed that rest.”

“Excuse me?” You blink a few times and try to focus on what’s around you, noticing the chill of night and the steady drip of water leaking down from the roof a few dozen feet behind you. It drips in a slow, unchanging rhythm, surpassed only by the increasing beat of your heart as panic begins to settle in, stifling your breath along with it.

Oh great, you’ve been taken.

“Where am I?!” The smell of rust and sage surrounds you as the rest of your senses start to kick back in, your eyes now focused enough to take in the barren walls towering over you, flanked by rows of boarded up windows with all sorts of symbols painted on them as outdated newspaper clippings peel off their corners. It doesn’t take long to figure out that you’re in an abandoned warehouse out in the middle of nowhere.

“I almost feel sorry for having to put you through all of this, baby.” The voice comes again, this time curving around your right side as it gets closer with each click of her heels against the concrete floor. “Almost.”

You turn your head to look at her, to put a face to that voice which taunts you, but quickly realize that it’s the only thing that you can physically do. You can’t turn your torso at all in the chair that you’re tied to, the tightly bound ropes digging into your wrists, chest and ankles as you try to move your limbs in a painfully futile attempt at freedom.

Holy shit, you’re not going anywhere! This is bad… REALLY bad.

“What do you mean, feel sorry for me?! Did you really knock me out and bring me here? Kidnap me?” You ask, absolutely dumbfounded. “People still do that?” You have to admit that out of all the absolutely insane things you’ve witnessed recently, this is the most incredible. You expected there to be violence from your immortal suitors in your immediate future, but kidnapping? Well, you didn’t predict that at all. She must be one of their enemies, one of the people Klaus had trained his men to protect you from. Lot of good that did. “Who are you?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter who I am, child.” The woman steps in front of you, her dark hair littered with streaks of gray as it falls down onto her shoulders dressed in a colorful linen dress. She holds a stick of sage in front of her as she chants indistinguishable words beneath her breath, the white smoke wafting off of it slowly thinning into the stale air around you both. “All that matters now is you and the part you still have to play.”

“Look, I don’t know what I did to offend you, or what ancient tradition I broke, but whatever it was, it was an accident. I’m sorry, I swear to God, I promise I am! I was on my way out of the city anyways, I’m not even staying in town anymore after today, so none of this is really even necessary! We can just forget about this and all go home. Both of us.” You try to plead your case as she continues walking circles around you, her chants getting a little louder as you notice the large ring of salt around the bulk of the room.

Shit. She’s a witch. Another one of Klaus’ warnings that you should have heeded… but how? What would you have done differently besides ask more questions about how to avoid them? Would he have even answered them for you?

“Oh honey, I wish it were that simple,” she smiles somberly, amused by your ignorance. “But I still need you to bring them here for me.” She sets her sage down somewhere that you can’t see, its earthy scent still lingering in your nostrils before she comes back into your field of vision. “Which shouldn’t be that hard at this point. I was planning on waiting a little longer before doing all this, planning to let you bond with them both just a little bit more, to really twist that knife. But you had to go and wise up, now didn’t you?” She shakes her head and laughs.

“What are you talking about?” You force your wrists upward again, testing the strength of the ropes one more time as their frayed strings cut into your skin, drawing little droplets of blood out in the process. “Wise up to what? Is this about Klaus, about Elijah?”

She nods. “A little slow, aren’t we, child? Did you honestly think that both of the original vampires could fall in love with ‘little old you’ at the exact same time? That it was mere coincidence that these two wildly different monsters wound up in your bed absolutely smitten with their little nurse?” She pulls out a phone… your phone that she had to have taken from you sometime between leaving your brother’s place and tying you up here. She holds it up to your face to unlock it and then turns it around to take your picture. “Smile for the camera.”

Wait, WHAT?! Is she saying that everything you’ve experienced in the past few weeks has been nothing more than a lie? A spell? A curse? But how could she do that? How could that BE?!

The flash nearly blinds you in your devastated stupor, forcing your eyelids to close as you hear her fingers type away on the digital keyboard of your smartphone, your eyes finally adjusting enough to see her grinning the entire time.

“You put a spell on me?” You venture a guess as your heart feels like it’s being torn in two, each tattered piece slowly sinking down to the very bottom of your chest.

How can what you feel for them not be real?

“The spell I cast is for all three of you, actually. It was the only way that any of this could work, and despite your little hiccup with the time frame, I think it will all work out in my favor.” She smirks with a tilt of her head. “Only one of them has true feelings for you, and you for them. But in order to find out which one, to break the spell, you have to choose one of them.”

“What? No… no, that’s not fair!” You scream shakily, the pain in your chest taking root in your stomach as nausea bubbles beneath the surface. You’ve already weighed the pros and cons of choosing one of them, and neither result is favorable. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why would anyone do this? You may have just moved here, child, but vampires and the Mikaelson family have been terrorizing the people of New Orleans for centuries; killing innocent people like my Charlotte just to get a meal, or simply for their own entertainment! I needed a way to divide their house, a way to tear their family apart from the inside out, and what better way to do it than with a pretty girl like you in their beds? Once they get here and find out the dirty truth, they’ll have no other choice but to destroy each other.”

“You’re sick, you know that?” Your lip quivers in fear, realizing now that you’re going to die here in this empty warehouse as you imagine the very worst ways for that to happen.

She puts your phone back in her pocket as it vibrates almost immediately, a smug look gracing her aging features as she glances up at you in silence, refusing to answer. She gives you a look that no one else has ever given you before, a look that shakes you to the very marrow of your bones; as if somehow you’re the answer to all of her malevolent prayers.

“Please!” You beg again, a single tear falling down your cheek as your sinuses begin to fill with a sick sorrow. You feel your heart race as the taste of bile backs up into your mouth as you watch her pull a large knife out of her bag, its blade glinting in the dim candlelight. “I don’t even know you! I’ll forget your face! I’ll leave them both alone, I swear, you’ll never see me again!”

You watch in awe and devastation as she raises the knife up into the air before cutting into her own palm, letting her blood drip onto the array of random objects and ingredients she has scattered on the floor.

“It’s too late for all that now, child. They’ll be here soon.” Her tone is cold and flat as she steps toward you, her blood glistening a ruby red on the blade before she drags it across both of your arms.

It stings at first, the piercing pain searing into each layer of your skin before cutting through to the muscle. Your own scream surprises you at first as it vibrates in your throat, nearly deafening you as it bounces off the empty walls of the warehouse. More tears stream their way down your reddened cheeks as she pulls the knife away, swiftly disappearing from sight as the pain from your wounds simmers into a low, heated throb. Your bound hands are unable to do anything to stop her or subdue the bleeding as it spills onto your thighs, staining your jeans a deep burgundy before the rest of it drips onto the floor in an off beat of the leaky ceiling.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

This is it, isn’t it?

——————

“It’s okay, I’m here now.” Elijah’s voice suddenly distracts you from the growing pain as it radiates up your arms, his nimble fingers making quick work of untying your right wrist.

Oh thank God, you think, just before remembering the rest of the witch’s plan. Uh-oh.

“Elijah, I’m so sorry.” You mumble, the rope digging deeper into your skin before it eventually eases up and releases your arm altogether.

“Shhh, don’t be sorry. I should have been here sooner. I should never have put you in any kind of danger.” His voice is tinged with a hint of fear and regret as he unties your other wrist and immediately bites into his, bringing it up to your lips to drink.

You open your mouth and swallow it without question, knowing that his blood will help heal your wounds and give you strength as he kneels to untie your ankles. You can feel it working almost immediately as the pain begins to dull, then subsides completely as your skin seems to stitch itself back together right before your eyes. You’ll never get used to that.

“There, you’re free.” Elijah gets up off his knees and reaches his hand out for you to take, a confused look knitting his brows together as you refuse to take it. “What is it?”

You can’t help but stare at Klaus as he storms through the entrance of the warehouse, his presence sealing your fate as he fulfills the requirements for the witch’s twisted revenge plot. His dirty blonde curls fall in front of his eyes as he takes in everything from your healing injuries, the tears on your cheeks to his brother’s blood smeared across your lips to tell enough of the story for him to clench his jaw in frustration.

“What’s all this, then?” Klaus’ tone is cold and dismissive as he waltzes toward you, noticing the familiarity between you and his brother while Elijah still reaches for your hand.

You remain speechless as you watch the wheels in his head spin, each cog fitting into the next as he puts all the pieces of the puzzle together, setting the blue of his eyes ablaze in an infernal, glowing yellow. But just as he’s about to open his mouth to speak, to yell and scream at you and Elijah, he steps into the circle of salt, igniting the candles that surround it with a nearly deafening WHOOSH.

Elijah flinches just slightly as the flames grow taller, turning reluctantly toward his brother, “Niklaus, what are you doing here?”

Niklaus? Who the hell is Niklaus?

“What am I doing here, you ask?” Klaus laughs, casually pointing to you as if you’re nothing more than a mere piece of furniture as you sit there, frozen in fear. “Well, I could ask you the same thing, dear brother. I just got a message that my lovely little protégé was being held here against her will, and here you are, so quick to swoop in and play the hero once again.” He smirks, tapping that pointed finger against his lips as he continues. “You know, I’m beginning to think that your desire to save her is fueled by much more than just your noble oath of ‘always and forever’.”

“Your protege?” Elijah’s breath catches in his throat as he looks at you before glancing back at his brother, eyes shining with the realization you’d hoped he’d never come to.

FUCK.

“You’ve been seeing her, too?” The hurt in Elijah's voice is everything you dreaded it to be, another painful stab in the series of a thousand tiny cuts that you’ve endured tonight. You watch him take a deep cleansing breath, shifting the weight in his hips as he tries to regain his composure before speaking again. “For how long?”

“Well, why don’t you ask her?” Klaus leans forward and grabs onto your neck with a nearly deadly squeeze, lifting you up so far out of your seat that your legs begin to dangle. “How long after I pulled out of you did you let my brother slip inside, hmmm? Did you even allow the paint to dry on your skin before letting him into your bed? How far did my come drip down between your thighs before you so desperately helped him out of his three piece suit, whore?!”

“Klaus…” You attempt to explain yourself as he squeezes even tighter, the betrayal in his eyes shifting to anger as your hands frantically grasp onto his fingers. “I didn’t know you were… it wasn’t my fault!” You gasp for air as he lifts you even higher, his strength so much greater than you could have ever imagined.

“I’m sorry, love, what was that? It sounded like you were trying to speak.” Klaus’ eyes glow gold again as the veins around them darken and engorge with blood, showing you a side of him you’ve never seen before as fangs descend from his canines. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Enough, Niklaus!” Elijah finally stops him, releasing his grip with a mere pinch to his brother’s wrist. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, but this is clearly some sort of… witch’s plot meant to trap us here. Perhaps we should focus on that instead of our menial transgressions against one another.”

Menial? Do you mean that little to Elijah? Does he even care?

Klaus stares at you like a lion would an antelope beneath its paw, ready for the kill at any point, but after what seems like an eternity of torment, he eventually softens. “Very well.” Klaus’ features return to normal before loosening his grip on your neck, gently lowering you back onto the chair as a growl brews just beneath the surface of his words. “After all, you always know best, now don’t you, brother?”

“She put a curse on all three of us! She needed to pit you two against each other!” You push your words out as fast as you can in your now gravelly voice, rubbing your palm across your neck to soothe the irritated skin.

Jesus!

“What else did she say?” Elijah consoles you with a palm to your cheek before pulling back a second later, feeling Klaus’ eyes on you both.

“She said that only one of you has real feelings for me. That I only have feelings for one of you. But we won’t find out who, we won’t be able to leave the circle until…” You choke up a little as they both stare at you with rapt attention. “Until I choose someone.”

Elijah clenches his jaw as Klaus huffs.

“Well, I say we get on with it then, love!” Klaus lifts his arms up in the air like the dramatic showman that he is. “Why waste any more precious time to chance?” He steps in close to watch every micro expression on your face as you wrestle with the pain and heartbreak of this zero-sum game that you’ve been forced to play with them. “Ticktock, darling.”

“I can’t…” you look into his eyes as he closes the space between you, your whole body trembling with the anticipation of what’s to come before looking over at Elijah for guidance. “I can’t possibly choose.”

“I see,” Klaus nods with a whisper, pressing his lips together as he pulls back from you slightly, his anger still simmering just below the surface. “Let me make it easy for you then.” He grins before instantly reaching back and snapping his brother’s neck with a loud CRACK, all while keeping his eyes fixated on you.

You gasp as Elijah’s limp body falls to the floor, your eyes darting back and forth between the two brothers dozens of times as fear immobilizes you completely, nearly paralyzing your lungs.

“I would have given you everything! Can’t you see that?” Tears blur in his eyes, making that deep blue seem a slight shade of green in the glowing candlelight. “How could you even think of choosing him after what he shared together? Just so you can be judged for every mistake, ridiculed for every flaw and controlled for the rest of your life? I would have let you be who you were meant to be! I would have helped you grow!” Those tears stream down his cheeks in tragic trails of saline, dripping down onto the floor as they mix in with your blood near his boots. “I would have loved you no matter what!!!”

His scream nearly shakes your entire body, triggering your lungs to expand again enough to take a gasping breath. You aren’t sure what to say, or what to do next, afraid that no matter what course of action you take, it will lead you down a road that ends up just like Elijah’s. So you decide to take a page out of his favorite book, to try to appeal to the monster before you.

“I was the one who had my brother look you up.” You confess, figuring you might as well tell him the whole truth. “I was scared that I was falling too fast for you, and I wanted to be sure that you were real, but when he came up with nothing… no driver’s license, no property, no nothing, I freaked out.” You pause and see the tension release a bit in his shoulders, urging you to keep talking. “I’ve been lied to a lot in the past, and I didn’t want to go through that pain again. I know now that I should have confronted you and asked you about it myself, but before I had the chance, we were attacked by those men warning us to forget your name. You can imagine why I didn’t come back to see you after that.”

Klaus’ maddening mask of anger morphs into a sullen shade of hurt as his tears curve down the outline of his pouty lips, reminding you of the champagne from the night you first met. He lets those tears fall down his face as he gently strokes your hair, searching your expression for any signs of deceit, but unable to find any.

“So you fuck my brother instead, thinking he’s the better, safer choice, hmm?”

Damn. So much for honesty.

“Klaus, please,” you beg, your tone changing to one of nervous desperation. “It was the curse, the spell… the witch, she…”

“And where is this witch now, hmm? How do I know you aren’t actively working with her to destroy me? That you haven’t been conspiring against me with my brother from the very second you stepped foot in New Orleans?” He cradles your face with both hands, an act that might normally be mistaken for intimacy, but in this case is clearly a threat.

“She was here just a second ago, I swear!” You feel your breath become more rapid and shallow as his fingers press against your scalp, this newly heightened state of stress dizzying you as he tightens his grasp. “Can’t you read my mind or something? Isn’t that one of your powers?” You offer up in a last ditch effort of transparency, hoping to God that all the vampire movies you’ve watched up until now haven’t led you astray.

He smirks as he watches you struggle, licking his lips before leaning in close enough to whisper into your ear. “I’ve got a better idea, one that’ll make your body choose once and for all.”

He bites into your neck without hesitation, pulling you in as close as possible as his fangs sink deep into your flesh, swallowing what little blood you have left. The pain is so much different than the cut from the witch’s knife, the sensation of his lips and tongue massaging your skin lulling you into a false sense of euphoria as you drift off to sleep.

------------------

Tags: @hcqwxrtss123 @hayleym1234 @derangedangel @spnaquakindgdom @natalie668 @arbesa-mind

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ❤︎ 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

ㅤjavier peña x plus size f!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers/fwb, minors dni

word count: 4.5k

summary: it's the 80s. when the dig you've been working at has to take a short break due to escobar and politics, you decide to wait it out at medellín. while hitchhiking, a charming stranger pulls up.

warnings: mild weed usage (reader), car sex, nipple play, dirty talk, dry humping, age gap, piv, creampie, unprotected sex, brat taming if you squint, some weight-related insecurities if you squint but mostly she's just vibing and living her life

a/n: i would really consider writing more of this so please let me know what you think! a special shoutout to @inklore because i feel like i wouldn't think about hitchhiker smut on the bus if it wasn't for her fic roadside delight which all of you should go and read rn because it's amazing, ily bby 💗

**dividers by the amazing @saradika xx

Raindrops land sparsely over your skin, most of the wetness caught over your cheeks. Sliding down your neck, they sneak beneath the sweetheart neckline of your olive green dress. The skirt dances with the wind, teasing the inner curves of your thighs as it playfully flutters in your wake. Despite the rain, it’s still warm. However, that doesn’t stop the chill of the gray clouds from settling over your skin. With a deep sigh, you lift your thumb once more. 

You have no idea how long you’ve had your thumb sticking up; maybe it’s been only ten minutes or an hour, regardless, you’re frustrated and want the wait to end. 

Some cars had slowed down but upon seeing the men that were driving, you had quickly hidden your thumb away. You knew what they were thinking. Thanks to the rain, there was only little left to the imagination. The dress that already hugged your breasts and hips hugged you even tighter now, the fabric almost sheer as it exposed your tight nipples. You should’ve brought a jacket with you but honestly, how were you supposed to know it was going to rain today? 

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, pushing your wet hair away from your neck in frustration. Not a single car in sight after what you thought had been at least ten minutes of waiting. Clicking your tongue, you reach into your bag, retrieving a lighter and a joint thoughtfully rolled by one of your colleagues at the excavation site. It was greatly appreciated since you weren’t the best at rolling. 

Taking a drag, you sigh, the smoke mingling with the misty air. The excavation site had declared a short break due to some unforeseen issue related to the escalating Escobar problem in the region. It's hush-hush among the team, but you've caught snippets of worried conversations about increased security concerns and the need to lay low for a while. 

Your shoulders relax as the smoke swirls in your lungs, your body now feeling rejuvenated instead of cold under the rain. In the distance, you hear the soft hum of a car approaching and narrow your eyes as you look at the distance. Your eyes light up when you see a car approaching and this time, no matter who’s in it, you promise yourself you’ll just get in. 

The cigarette still between your lips, you lift your thumb with enthusiasm, taking a step further into the road, you giggle slightly thinking you might just as well jump in front of it to make it stop. You want to get out of the rain, want warm clothes and blankets. 

The car comes to a smooth halt. 

You lean towards the already open window, you quickly pluck the join away from your lips and smile broadly at the dark-haired stranger. 

“Hola,” you say, hoping your accent is decent enough. “¿podrías darme un aventón?”

The stranger gives you a curious look, his lips curl upward, eyes dropping to your cleavage before lifting them back up to meet your gaze. Your breath catches in your throat, chest heaving at the sight of him. He’s beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, plump lips. Blinking, you swallow and press your legs together, thankful he can’t see it. 

“Where you headed?” he asks. 

“Medellín,” A timid chuckle escapes your lips. “Did my accent give it away?” 

“A little,” he jerks his head to the side. “Hop in. You must be freezing like that.” 

Grateful, you open the car and slide yourself inside. Warmth immediately envelops you like a cozy blanket and you sigh happily, leaning into the comfort of the seat. “Thanks,” you say, offering your name along with it. “What’s your name?” 

“My name’s Javier. But you can call me Javi.” 

“I think I’ll stick to Javier, I like the way it hits my tongue.” 

He grins, “Do you, now?” 

It takes you everything to ignore the delicious roll of his tongue and how it would feel on your skin. You lift your hand suddenly, the joint visible between your fingers. 

“Is it okay if I smoke this in your car?” 

He looks confused for a brief moment. You notice him taking in deep breaths, sniffing the air, his eyes go slightly wide with realization but then the surprise in his eyes molds into amusement. 

“Go ahead,” he says. “You’re awfully bold to ask that without knowing who I am or what I do. What if I was a cop?” 

“Cops don’t look as good as you do.” 

Shit. 

“I look good?” 

You hear the mirth in his voice and quickly change the subject, “You want one?” 

“No,” he answers firmly. Confusion furrows your brow and his tone quickly softens. “Let’s just say I’m not a fan. And it’s illegal.” 

“Oh, sorry. I can put it out, you don’t have to be nice about it.” 

He thinks about it for a while but shakes his head. “You don’t have much of it left anyway,” The car starts moving and you look at the spot you’ve been waiting at for god knows how long one last time. Good riddance. “So, Medellín, what business do you have there?” 

“No business,” you answer promptly, taking another drag. You blow the smoke out the window, the wind whisking it away. “I’m studying archeology. I was doing research at Ciudad Perdida but we had to take a break for safety reasons. We might still go on so until I get a firm ‘go back home’ I was thinking to wait it out there.” 

“It’s not really safe there either, you know. You gotta be careful when you get there,” he gives you a side glance, eyes moving up and down your curves. Your heart rate escalates and when you press your legs together once more, it doesn’t go unnoticed. “You’re awfully squirmy there,” he says, voice low and all gravel. “You okay?” 

Your veins buzzing, you throw the remainder of the joint out the window. Your head is swimming pleasantly, the smoke loosening your tongue and making you eager to confess all the dirty things you want to do with him. But along with that, uncertainty creeps in. You don’t even know if he wants you that way. He seems older than you. He might’ve just been looking after you and the lust you heard in his deep voice might’ve just been in your imagination. 

“I’m not squirming,” you say quickly. He doesn’t look convinced by your answer, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “How long until we get there?” 

“A couple of hours,” his eyes catch your lingering gaze and he smiles. “There’s a gas station a little ahead so I suggest you go to the bathroom, sweetheart. If you have to go.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“You hungry?” 

Your hand wanders to your stomach, you can’t tell if he’s asking because of your appearance or if it’s a genuine question. He speaks up before you can decide. “I’m starving,” he says. “I also need to buy a pack so if you want anything just tell me. I’ll pay.” 

“I have money.” 

He laughs at that, and laughs even harder at your pout, “You’re a student in Colombia, hitchhiking. I doubt you have much,” he shrugs. “Besides, you’re a guest in this country, let me treat you.” 

“You’re being awfully nice.” 

“Am I? I don’t think so.” You see the gas station coming into view. “But mamá always did say I had a soft spot for pretty girls.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” you answer, hoping to have more a sultry tone but your words come out breathless. Excited. 

The car slows, his eyes are glued to your neck, he slowly moves them down. His dark gaze eating you up. You can almost feel it caressing your skin, heating you, and licking over the waterdrops that stubbornly remains on your skin. 

“Don’t say it like you don’t already know.” The car stops along with your breath. He pulls the keys out and leans close, lips almost touching your pulse. You feel his breath on your ear, warm, it coaxes goosebumps to rise across your skin. His eyes trail over the curve of your lips. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, “No.” 

His lips touch your cheek. It happens so quickly that you feel you might’ve imagined it. The rough hairs above his lip tickle your skin and you instinctively chase the heat of him as he moves away. 

Before you know it he’s out of the car, the patch of skin where his lips touched still burning with delight. Stunned, you touch your cheek with the tips of your fingers. 

Maybe waiting in the rain for someone like him wasn’t so bad after all. 

You should’ve known it would end up like this. 

Him, to park the car in a semi-remote spot. 

You, to cradle his lap, your dress pushed up all the way up exposing your soft thighs with his hands all over you. 

You should’ve known. 

The soft pitter patters of rain hit the top of the car, you’re too occupied by his mouth to realize the sun had slowly started to peek through the clouds, warming the damp concrete. Javier’s tongue is awfully skillful. He slips his tongue between your lips, licking himself deeper into your mouth, his hands pull at your neckline, exposing your bare breasts. He flattens his palms against them, your nipples tighten against the heat of his palm. 

He breaks away with a groan, “I knew you were braless,” he rasps, dipping to your neck. “I fucking knew it.” 

“And I knew you were staring,” you tease and expose more of your neck. He nips at the tender skin playfully, a shiver runs up your spine. “Here I thought you picked me up out of the goodness of your heart.” 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“No—god, no. I don’t ever want you to stop.” 

And that’s all he needs to hear as he lifts your breasts towards his mouth. He dips his head, swirling his tongue over the pebbled flesh. Your body seizes. Your breath caught in your lungs, burning like wildfire. He twists the other with his finger and you moan loudly. The fabric of your underwear grows damp, sticking to your skin. He sucks harder. The thick outline of his cock rubs against your core, a feeling like electricity shooting up your spine, your head falls and he bites. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” you whimper, grinding down. Another wave of arousal washes over you, the effect of the weed you inhaled pounding between your thighs.  

Javier glares up at you, “Such a dirty mouth,” he grunts and holds your tongue between two fingers. Your brows furrow with pleasure, the hard denim of his pants growing damp thanks to you. “I don’t like bad girls. And you seem to be walking on the edge of it, sweetheart.” 

“I–I’m not bad,” you whimper, your words slurring thanks to his hold on your tongue. He lifts a brow, unconvinced. You don’t know why you’re hurt by him calling you bad, but you want to make it up to him—why you do, you have no idea. “I’ll. . . I’ll be good.” 

“Promise?” 

You only nod and he pinches your tongue, pain blossoms over the soft muscle. 

“Promise,” you slur. “I’ll be your good girl.” 

Satisfied for now, he releases your tongue and brings his hand back to your aching nipples. He sucks on one while pinching the other, both sensations making your mind whirl. 

“You like it when I play with your tits, hermosa?” he groans at the way you rolls your hips, pulling away his lips, he starts playing with both with his fingers. Twisting, pinching, and pulling. You’re trembling. A sopping, wet mess. “So sensitive. You think you can come like this?” 

You only moan, your lids fluttering like a butterfly’s wings as you look at him. He smiles, something dark crossing over his handsome features. “I think you can,” he says. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” 

Slack-jawed, you answer, “Y–Yes.” 

Javier guides the sloppy roll of your hips. His mouth on your neck, he teases the flesh there while mercilessly playing with your tits however he sees fit. Your nipples are so hard from stimulation it almost hurts, Every twist of his fingers prompts a fresh wave of arousal seep into your underwear. Your body is out of control. Burning from the inside out. You’ve never felt it this intense before, never felt your orgasm nearing so viciously. 

His lips hover an inch away from yours, you part your mouth for a kiss but he smiles cruelly, you can smell the hints of tobacco when he speaks, “I can feel how soaked you are, baby. So wet and all for a stranger you just met,” he nips at your chin, gives your nipples a hard pinch that makes you see white. “I wonder if you’d do this with all the others who would’ve stopped for you?” 

“Others did slow down,” you say followed up by an elongated whine. Javier thrusts his hips, the rough denim of his pants catching against your clothed clit. He licks your bottom lip. “But they gave me a weird feeling so I hid away my hand. So. . . I wouldn’t do this with just anyone.” 

“Fuck, preciosa, you’re saying all the right things,” with one hand, he slides your dress up further, fingers teasing your slit. “It’s an honor to have this cunt all to myself.” 

Only then does he kiss you. It’s hungry, depraved. He sucks on your tongue, presses his lips hard into yours. The hand toying with your core moves to your hip, he squeezes your love handle, tugs you down as he thrusts his hips into the air. You cry out and he swallows the wanton sounds that rattle your throat. 

“That’s it, come for me,” he purrs, his hips pressing into yours. You grind down helplessly, aching to feel the hardness of him. Your ears begin to ring. Your body tingling and tensing while the taste of your nearing release stains your tongue. Your eyelids flutter closed, his lips once again drawing an aching nipple into his mouth. He sucks and sucks and sucks—and you finally break down, gushing and squeezing around nothing. You feel the wetness bleeding into the fabric, your legs shaking around where they frame his narrow hips, your head falls over and the soft locks of his hair soothe your burning cheeks. 

Javier is still moving against you. His cock painfully strained against his zipper, coated in your slick. Both his hands drop to your waist, squeezing as he finds your lips, giving you a tender kiss. 

He doesn’t say a word, his hand sneaking between your legs, he slips them under the elastic and pushes two between your folds. You swear you feel his cock throb when he realizes how wet you truly are. 

“Shit,” he breathes out. “Fuck, you really did come. Such a good girl,” he lifts your head by the chin and stares into your eyes, your pulse races again. “Good girl,” he repeats, watching as your lips tighten and eyes go wide. “You feel so good on top of me, making a mess out of these shitty pants. You come so pretty, querida.” 

“Javier,” you moan, your nipples tightening again. 

He pulls his fingers out out and tastes you in earnest, he moans around his fingers, “So sweet.” 

You moan again, the fire between your legs roaring to life. He cups your breasts and pushes them towards you, watching the way your eyes roll, “Let me fuck you in the backseat,” he says, as if you would ever say no to that. “I wanna see this ass bouncing on my cock.” 

No one ever mentions how awkward car sex can be, especially when you need to move around. 

You try not to show it to Javier but you have a sneaking suspicion your face is basically an open book. He slides to the back first, moving between the middle of the front seats. Moving around in a car already makes you awkward, it’s even worse when your tits are out in the open, moving side to side. 

But you guess it can’t be too bad since Javier is staring at them instead of you. 

“Is it bad that I want to play with them some more?” he chuckles.

“Definitely not,” you smile back, the light-hearted conversation gives you the courage to finally move between the seats. He quickly slides to the side, his lips on yours before you can even sit. He strokes his cock through his jeans, tongue dancing along yours, he sucks the air from your lungs. 

“Take off your dress,” he orders, watching, he unbuttons his jeans. You strip quickly, your body already aching to feel him deep inside you. He hums with approval when you’re bare to him, he doesn’t bother taking off his clothes, instead, he slightly pushes down his pants and frees his cock. 

A bead of precome glistens at the head, the head of his cock swollen, a hint of red adding color. He’s thick enough to have your pussy already throbbing. Your mouth waters. Javier wraps a hand around his length and pumps it under your lustful gaze, more precome gathers at the slit, slowly trickling down the side. Your breath hitches when you notice him smiling. 

“You want a taste?” 

You immediately lean down with your tongue out, sucking the tip, you clean him and push yourself further down. Your lips stretch around him deliciously. 

Javier doesn’t allow you to taste him further though, with his hand on your nape, he squeezes, “If you do that I’ll come in seconds.” You look up to him between lowered lashes. “And I’d rather come somewhere else, preciosa.” 

“How do you want me?” you ask, voice horse. 

“On all fours.” 

Again, a bit tricky because you have the constant fear your leg is going to slip and you’re going to fall, but the backseat is comfortable enough for that not to happen. His hands slide up your back and he holds you by the shoulders, bringing you close. His cock pushes between your thighs, parting your folds, your slick wets his cock, making the glide easier. 

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping dangerously. “Anyone could see us right now. Anyone who decides to drive by is gonna see us fucking.” 

You don’t expect yourself to clench at his words but you do, a soft whimper echoing from your lips. You can’t see it, but you know he’s smiling from ear to ear. “Does that turn you on, hermosa?” When you don’t answer, he leans closer, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Don’t worry, it turns me on too.” 

Pushing the tip of his cock into you, your chest begins to move with labored breaths. He buries himself to the hilt with ease. A loud moan escapes his lips as his hips are snug over your ass. Your elbows give way, your head dropping to the leather sheets. It feels too good, too full, too intense. Your body breaks in sweat, your body fluttering around and clamping desperately around his cock. His hands follow the curve of your back, laying on top of each ass cheek. 

“Love this ass,” he mutters. “Are you alright? Can I move?” 

“Y–Yeah,” you choke out, desperate. Javier begins to move. Slowly pulling back his hips, he slams into you, ripping a moan from your chest. The leather seats creak as he thrusts into you, his pace gradually picking up. Each time he snaps his hips forward, you feel like your world is spinning. He grips onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pounds into you.

“Come on, sweetheart, push those hips back. Prove to me how good you’re feeling on my cock.” 

All coherent thoughts leave your mind as you surrender yourself to the sensations. You meet his thrusts halfway, your body screaming at how deep he is. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, your hard nipples grazing against the leather, it adds to your pleasure. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the car. He leans forward, his lips brushing against your neck as he groans your name.

You can feel the tension building up inside you, your body on fire. The coil in your stomach tightens, your legs starting to quiver, you gasp his name, barely able to breathe. “Come on my cock,” he commands, licking the start of your spine. Arousal pours between your legs, slick trickling down his cock. “Show me how good you are—” 

You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him. Your breathing is caught in your throat. You roll your hips desperately, begging him to fuck you harder, god deeper—he does. He hammers into you, groaning over and over about how much of a good girl you are. His praise short circuits your brain and another orgasm washes over you, softer this time, but still powerful, enough to have you dripping over the seats. 

Javier continues to thrust into you, chasing his own release. With one final deep thrust, he spills himself inside you, his body shuddering. He grinds his hips, pushing himself deeper until he’s dripping from where he stretches you. You moan his name, your lips moving against the leather. 

Both of you collapse onto the seats, panting heavily as you try to catch your breath. Javier hugs you tight and pulls you up until you’re draped over his chest. You feel pleasantly lifeless, your lids heavy. He strokes your damp hair, fingers grazing over your cheek, he kisses your forehead. The gesture makes your heart swell.

“Mi preciosa, eso fue increíble, fuiste increíble.”

His words were said heavily as if he was barely keeping himself from falling asleep. You smile, burrowing yourself into his neck, you focus on the sweetness of the fleeting moment and not the come dripping out from between your legs. 

“You were the one that was incredible,” you sigh happily. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that good in my life.” 

“Let’s just say it was a team effort then,” he grins but his smile quickly falters. “How the hell am I supposed to drive now, I need a nap.” 

“We could. . .” 

He sighs, “Sadly, I have work I need to get to.” 

“You never did tell me what you did for a living,” you muse. “Care to share?” 

His grin is back, lips curling mischievously, he looks you up and down. Your body shudders at the heat of his gaze. 

“We were busy doing other things,” he quickly gives you a peck on the cheek and reaches for your dress. “I’ll tell you later.” 

You pout a bit but shrug it off quickly as you take your dress. To each his own. If he wants to keep his job a secret, that’s fine. You just met him after all. And you’ll probably never see him again after you reach Medellín. 

The thought sours your mood. Turns your stomach. You don’t want to think about that. You don’t want to think about the end. You always did get attached too easily. 

With a sigh, you put on your dress and watch as Javier slides back to the front. You still have a couple more hours with him, you might as well make the best of it. 

The ride had been a pleasant one. You’re pretty sure you talked the poor man’s ear off but he talked a bunch too, telling you about his father, his hobbies—which weren’t a lot—and his dislikes about the city. You had listened with rapt attention, eating up every last detail. But still, you had no idea what he did for a living and refused to ask, not wanting to pry. 

Almost at Medellín, you notice a checkpoint ahead. Your eyes narrow for a better look and groan, these guys meant business, especially when cartels were on the rise. No matter how many times you batted your eyes, you know your bag is going to get checked along with Javier’s belongings. 

“Oh no,” you mutter, prompting Javier’s eyes to shift from the highway to you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I still have a couple of joints in my bag. If they search it I’m toast. They won’t let me go back.” 

You’re not sure why but he smiles, did he know the checkpoint would be here? Your heart drops and stomach lurches. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, then he winks for good measure. “Trust me, querida. You won’t get into trouble.” 

You have your doubts but nod and lean back anyway. The car slows down as you approach the checkpoint, and you can feel the tension building up inside you. Javier pulls the car to a stop, and a stern-looking man walks up to Javier. The officer’s gaze lingers on you before turning to Javier. 

“Documentos e identificación.” 

“Hola,” he greets along with a short nod. “Soy Javier Peña, de la DEA. Estamos de paso.”

Your eyes grow wide when Javier shows his badge to the officer, your jaw nearly drops, blood rushing to your ears. You desperately have the urge to shake your head and yank the badge out of the officer’s hands to inspect it yourself. To feel it under your fingers. 

The officer nods and motions to the others to let you through, “Adelante, buen viaje.”

The car starts to move again and finally—finally, you allow your jaw to drop. 

“You’re DEA?” you ask, upper body rising up from your seat, your tone shrill. Javier doesn’t say anything but he does nod, eyes never leaving the road. “Oh my god,” you say. “Oh my god—why. . why didn’t you tell me? I—I smoked weed in your car! You could’ve arrested me at any given point—I. . . I—” I fucked a DEA agent. 

You drop back down, defeated. 

“You don’t need to worry about me arresting you,” he answers, smiling. “I would’ve if you were a threat but. . . I think we established that you aren’t.” 

“A bunch of criminals fuck with agents you know,” you snap, weirdly offended. “Just because we did it doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous.” 

“Do you want me to arrest you, hermosa?” 

Cuffs do sound tempting but you aren’t playing that game right now, “No. . .” 

“Good, we’re on the same page then,” he drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “My intention wasn’t to trick you or anything. You already seemed miserable under the rain, waiting for that long. I didn’t want to stress you further. And you can’t really blame me for thinking like that when the second sentence you said was ‘do you want a joint’ you would’ve freaked out. Am I wrong?” 

“No,” you say, clearer this time. “I still feel embarrassed though.” 

“You’ll live.” Finally entering the city, he turns to you, meeting your gaze. It’s a bit ill-advised since he’s driving but you appreciate having his full attention. “Where should I drop you off?” 

Oh. 

“I. . actually don’t know. Do you know any good places to stay? A room I can book on short notice?” 

“You don’t have a place to stay?” 

“I’m a girl who was hitchhiking through a country I don’t know. Do I look like someone with a plan?” 

“Fair enough,” he says, eyes turning back to the road. “Well, this is going to sound weird but you can stay with me if you want to.” Before you can answer, he adds. “I have a spare room.”

Saying yes is easier than you thought. 

[lazyneonrabbitt]

The beast of Mordor

Adar x reader | SMUT🔞

Mordor has monsters, and no one was stupid enough to cross its borders, right?

What can I say, the discord said Beauty and the Beast and it kinda went unhinged from there on.

The woods were unsafe ever since the mountain spewed fire and darkened the sky. Never in your long life had you seen a land so gray.

You knew it to be the middle of the day as you left at first light in your own lands not too far off the reclaimed lands now named Mordor.

The woods were unsafe but you would never travel around its vast area only to fetch products on the other side where your merchant friend had settled.

With sword and dagger you traveled light, on foot as horses were too loud and would alert the monsters hiding in the shadows. Nocturnal beasts, deformed and bloodthirsty. Or, at least that's what the stories said. No one had ever met a beast and lived.

Deep in thought your calculated steps faltered and something snapped under your foot, the sound ringing out throughout the forest.

You froze at the noise, dagger up in defense as you took in your surroundings.

Nothing.

It looked like you were truly alone in the area and took up your pace, moving on to be out of the woods as quick as possible.

You had been walking nonstop ever since you broke the branch, the panic never really leaving causing you to forget to keep track of your directions.

You had no idea where you were.

You were lost in cursed lands with no way of backtracking or seeking out the sun to figure out your location.

Fear rose in your chest, its grasp constricting your airways as a soft faltering gasp left your lips and tears started brimming your eyes. In all your ages you had never felt fear like this.

Until a noise caught your ears.

It was everywhere around you. A low rumbling sound. Gutteral and deep, raising the hairs in your neck as you drew sword and dagger in defense once more.

The sound worsened before it died down, being followed by a voice speaking in an unknown tongue, distorted by evil itself.

Fear crept so far inside you you hadn't even noticed the fog had thickened in these parts of the woods. No matter where you looked, all around you were tones of gray. Ashen lands shrouded in a thick fog that forced itself into your lungs with each breath.

"Intruder."

The voice centered behind you all of a sudden and you ran. Your legs carrying you through the dark lands but to no avail. A heavy weight settled against your back and threw you to the ground and you were forced onto your back.

You waited for the pain that would end it all, eyes shut and body rigid but nothing ever came.

As you ever so slowly dared to open your eyes your surroundings became clearer again, as if the fog had dispersed around you.

You allowed yourself to sit up and try to assess the situation. To find whatever it was that attacked you but again you found yourself alone. In a clearing this time.

No plants grew in this soil beneath you. Only deep clawmarks broke the otherwise even ground. The trees surrounding you bore the same marks, giving the area an even more eery look.

You had to run.

Shifting your weight to get up, you were suddenly back on the ground. The impact had you again shut your eyes in panic and knocked the air from your lungs and none dared to enter as a weight pressed down, denying you of a much needed intake of breath.

"Open."

Something touched your brow and pulled it upward, forcing you to open your eyes and stare at the being now standing over you.

It sat on its haunches towering over you, a blackened arm outstretched to your head.

You now understood why no one dared to venture into Mordor.

"Elleth."

Your brows furrowed at the creature's speech.

"Sindarin?" The word left your lips before your head caught up with it. He just called you an elven woman in your own tongue. What was this thing?

In return the pressure on your chest increased and a huff of warm, rotten breath fanned your face as the beast crowded over you even further.

You wanted to close your eyes again, turn your head away as the beast crushed your chest but instead of doing so it moved its claw off your chest and held your jaw, prying open your mouth and moving your head to its will.

You had no option but to take it all in. From the long black hair that hung in thick strands framing its face, scarred and torn scales adorning its cheeks, up to its temples where the skin blended into thick horns that curled up and forward like a crown. Deep black eyes held cold blue irises, dark circles under it contrasting its otherwise pale skin.

The beast felt your breaths evening out and let out a noise akin to a breathy laugh, showing a maw full of sharp teeth, its tongue darting out to graze past its fangs.

Its jaws opened then, lunging forward at your head.

Without thinking you blocked, hands grabbing onto the protruding horns and taking its ears along with them earning a rumbling noise as it stopped immediately. You pulled your hands back and laid them flat on the ground beside your head, palms up. The creatures ears swished as its head shook, looking you dead in the eye and letting out a roar inches away from your face.

You watched the pitch black arm raise, claws gleaming and a torn wing twitching at its shoulder.

This was it.

The claw swiped down and tore fabric and flesh, leaving only shallow cuts that earned the beast a whimper.

The cold air came in contact with your skin, your body reacting in the worst way as you laid exposed underneafh the large monstrous being.

Once more its maw opened but instead of lunging at your head its tongue found your chest, curling it around a perked nipple with eager energy.

Your breath hitched as you tried your hardest not to let the beast hear a noise out of you, not a peep as its tongue violated your chest and its clawed hand traveled south, dragging the rough pads of its fingers across your stomach and shredding any fabric left in its way to where it wished to be.

Where your mouth kept quiet your body betrayed you as the beast moved its head south and inhaled once, twice, taking in your scent and letting out a clicking growl before shoving its face between your thighs.

"H..ahh stop it!" Your hands flew out to grab its horns again but instead of stopping like it did before it only let out a vibrating humm against your core, worsening your situation even further.

You pushed at its head with all your might but it easily overpowered you, especially now with your strength leaving your body as you neared a most unwanted orgasm. It did not help that the creature felt the need to shove its entire tongue down your entrance and swirl it in exploration. Its fangs grazed your skin and it continued humming and growling, adding even more sensation to the already overwhelming assault. You begged it to stop, whines now flowing freely from you as you tried to squirm out of its grasp but it only pulled away after your walls clenched as you came.

You couldn't even register your hands still rested on the beast's horns until it moved back up your body, nuzzling at your tears and wiping a combination of drool and your slick across your cheek.

With a claw on your hip to move you around the creature shuffled until it had your legs on each side of its waist.

"N..no. No no please no!" You knew it wouldn't work yet you still tried to pry yourself from its grasp.

"No, Adar." The beast tilted its head, moving closer to your face. With raised brows its ear perked. "Speak." It snarled.

"No, Adar.. Please."

You felt the beast's length twitch at the call of what you assumed to be his name.

"Yes, elleth."

With your hips still held in one massive clawed hand he rose to his upper body to full height, staring you down as if you were his next meal. Cracking sounded as his wings unfurled behind his back and framed his already impressive being.

The scars that ran across Adar's face extended down his chest and along his absomen. Thick raised lines ran in a pattern down his body and along his arms, one of them being much worse for wear with the shoulder slumped and the wing hanging down against the ground. There was no way he could still fly with those things.

Still he looked as threatening as he could be.

It was an impossible task to remove your gaze from him. Your gaze that slowly traveled lower to where your hips laid against his and his large member rested between your folds.

It was as black as his scaled flesh, ridges over its entire impressive length and already leaking for you.

Fear crept back over you after your moment of distraction. He wouldn't. ..would he?

You watched and compared. "Y.. you won't fit. I'll tear!" You were back to squirming and trying to reason with the monster but he took none of it into consideration, yoir fear only adding fuel to his already raging fire.

"Still, Elleth." Even as you willed all your strength to shove your hands between your thighs to cover yourself you failed as you were easily maneuvered back into a position he preffered, now with the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Its girth already stretched your lips past anything you ever had inside and with the addition of each ridge, one, two, tree the pain turned into something else. Fear ebbed away and made place for something far more dangerous.

Thr large, monstrous cock inside of you started to feel.. good.

Adar could feel your change and let go of all restraint, rutting into you with a purpose and pulling the most delicious sounds from you until he pulled you over the edge once more.

You cried out in pleasure, walls squeezing around his cock but his pace did not falter.

"Ahh--Adar slow.." your hand grasped at your stomach where with each thrust you felt him move inside of you through your skin. The sharp bones of his hips slammed against the back of your thighs at a rough pace. You were going to be bruised inside and out once he was finished with you.

Adar's face came back down to mouth at your chest as he fucked into you, soft grunts and growls informing you he felt pleasure as well. His entire being enveloped you, his touch everywhere overhwelming you easily. So much you didn't notice the hand moving between the two if you or stutter in his hips, just the soft roar that acompanied it as he spilled his load deep inside of you without stopping.

You felt warm, safe even with this beast hunched over you. The valar would abandon you for falling into this darkness that this beast led you into. That Adar led you into.

Adar's teeth were at your throat, his claws raking thin lines over your torso as he lost himself in the moment. His noises became more prominent the second your hands found his ears. Rubbing at the very tips of them pulled sweet purrs from his throat.

In return his hand snaked its way down your stomach, resting right above where he entered you and rubbed to find your clit, ever so careful not to nick you with his claws.

At his first touch you cried out his name, giving his ears a harsh tug making him fuck into you even harder, feeling the swell at the base of his cock press firmly against your entrance.

His fingers pressed harder and you tugged, he deepened his thrusts until you felt the thick knot slip past your lips and he stilled suddenly with a choked roar. The stretch of his swollen base pulled another orgasm from you, your body giving up entirely and slumping down barely able to catch your breath.

Adar's arms wrapped around your small frame and he let himself fall onto his back, keeping you on top of him as he waited for his knot to deflate.

"Ow."

Your simple outing of discomfort had Adar chuckle, murmuring an apology as he stroked your back.

Tattered clothes still hung off your limbs as your mind wandered. You had to find new clothes somehow. Were you going to see your friend after all and explain all of this? Would you lie? You trusted her enough to keep your secrets, and even if you came up with an excuse she'd give you nee clothes regardless.

"Loud.." your beaat beneath you spoke, no doubt refering to your racing mind.

Adar let you go, to see your friend and return home after. He assured you safe passage through his lands and marked trees so you'd find your way. He was kind in a way.

Home was less kind.

They interrogated you immediately on arrival. You weapons and gear were gone and you showed up in another region's garments. Besides you reeked of filth and acts unspeakable for an elf of your rank to smell of in public.

You were scolded and sent away but day after day the stares and complaints never left. No matter how much you scrubbed your skin or used every scented item in your possession and that of the merchant the smell would not leave your body.

You isolated yourself after a while. It had to be at least one moon's phase when a sudden realisation came to you in the middle of the night.

Without a second thought you took your most important belongings and left once more for the dark lands of Mordor.

"Adar?" You called out from the path he had carved for you, following it in hopes he would dwell near it.

"Adar? It's me, Elleth." Your name was still unknown to him, so you tried the name he called you before.

"..Elleth?" The name echoed back all around you, but this time it did not strike fear into you.

"Elleth." It echoed once more, now from just one single direction and you stepped towards it with excitement you never thought you had in you.

Before you in the thick greenery your beast sat, clearly just woken up by your calls. "You return." He did not expect you to.

"They care for me no longer. I smell of you no matter how long I scrub myself clean." Your tone was sad and your arms curled around yourself in what almost looked like shame.

"It's like the smell comes from inside of me." You let yourself slump to the ground at his side, legs crossed under you and fave hidden from his view. "I didn't even realize until tonight.."

Adar kept his gaze on you, letting you speak your needed words before he'd act.

"I haven't bled since then."

In a sudden flurry of moves you were once more on your back pinned to the forest floor. Only now you were being aggressively sniffed at, Adar's purrs almost being drowned out by it.

Once he was done he sat back on his haunches in front of you, his eyes closed i concentration. You watched him with curious eyes as you sat up as well, taking in his form that changed right before your eyes.

The sound of cracking bones accompanied the grimace on his face as his wings disappeared from behind him and his whole self took a more approachable form.

His animalistic legs kept their shape and scales, as did patches on his shoulders and temples. His claws were no longer the size of your entire fingers and his eyes now resembled those of a normal being. The horned crown stayed in place, albeit now smaller along with his ears too.

"I assume you'd prefer this form, as a fair elven lady." His voice caught you off guard with how gorgeous it sounded, deep and inviting.

"For now this is fine." You smiled up at his now less beastly form. "It's nice to be able to talk to you like this, it's difficult for you when you're big."

With a nod to agree Adar stood and offered you a hand, using his other to take the bag from you and sling it over his shoulder. As he turned you could see the scarring on his back, the black scaled skin running along just his shoulderblades where scarred stumps sat with thin red lines going down to his waist.

"Come." He called from a few steps away. "We have a village. My children would love to meet their new mother."

"And their new sibling as well, soon."