#nobody got time for your bullshit and other shit

[masonsbf]

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[a-dash-in-the-middle]

wanting to visit the archives without looking like a fanatic bc nobody likes posting government documents online apparently

[beeseverywhen]

I mean like. Not to bring the mood down but... you guys know that's because American media is everywhere right? Like the world is unable to avoid some version of American accent on a regular basis. Of course ppl find it easy to mimic. This is absolutely not restricted to ppl in the UK, its really common for ppl who learn English as a foreign language to have perfect 'American actor' accents (cause the reason everyone's so good at the American accent that's expected of them as actors is cause at large there's little distinction between regions in the 'Hollywood accent' that ends up on TV and films and stuff. You guys have massive regional differences in pronounceation, but what makes it on to TV (in 9/10 cases) is a very standardised version of American English.)

But yeah. It's not just actors lol. Most British ppl can speak in a passable american accent, as can loads and loads of people worldwide. I'm not saying this to be like 'you should feel guilty! 😡' but it does always stun me when Americans are unaware of the impact their country has worldwide on all versions of English (and even on use of native languages. Many countries are using English more and more over their native languages and dialects , and yeah, historical colonialism has had an impact there.)

But in the last few decades things have progressed way way faster and that, is thanks to the impact of anglo/american/ect lead capitalism. I'm in no way dismissing the impact the UK has on this, but in recent years, its the US that is largely pushing that train .While the UK and several English speaking commonwealth countries are very involved in this kind of capitalist imperialism, there's a reason that more and more people are speaking American English. Not one of the many UK dialects, not Australian English, or NZ English. Across the world more and more people are increasingly speaking in the same standardised american dialect that's in so much of the media you export. Hollywood based media, with that standardised accent/ dialect and the standardised 'normal american life', has a stranglehold on the world and I just find it crazy that a lot of you guys don't even know.

It's stupid stuff like. So many countries are importing american cars and are widening their roads/ changing town planning to account for it (this is less of a thing in the UK but I see it more and more when I travel). Its the food becoming avaliable everywhere. Its the influence that for profit healthcare has even on countries with socialised health systems. Its houses being built to account for American style appliances. Fashion trends. Worldwide, everything is slowly evolving to be closer and closer to this 'American standard' which honestly? I really don't think actually represents the lives of real American people either. You've been turned in to products, the system has taken an unrealistic snapshot of 'American life' and it's being sold to you all day in day out, but it's also being sold to the rest of us. It's being pushed on us all.

Kids in the UK go through phases of talking only in American accents. Anyone born later than the 90s is carrying round 2 sets of spelling and vocab, cause we're all so used to the American way, that you barely know which one you're using half of the time. In the UK we have always had really strong regional accents yeah, and dialects differ between areas that seem tiny to you guys, I know. But like. Those dialects are being lost cause all UK accents are evolving to become closer to this standardised american and yeah not great, but at least we share a language! US American society is largely rooted in the same foundations as UK society, largely we have the same flaws! But oh my god. What about the rest of the world.

It's global. This impact continues to be seen, steamrollering ahead, in places that had completely different starting points. UK culture isn't that dissimilar to that of the US, so we aren't losing nearly as much as cultures that had something completely different. So much is being lost.

Languages and dialects and everything else is just being wallpapered over so we all meet the same ideal of the 'American life' and it's not even real! It's just a product based on how ppl were actually living in the US, manipulated until it's the most marketable mould. You guys are victims of it as well but like. It's based on your culture so you don't lose as much if you conform to it. Just like how in the UK, if we conform, we lose more than US, but nowhere near as much as countries that had languages, dialects and cultures that were so so different to UK/US culture. The less like the US, your starting point, the more there is to lose.

And look. I said it to start with. I'm not having a go. That's not what this is. But you guys really need to be aware, you need to make an effort to understand the impact that this plastic Hollywood american culture is having on the rest of the world. You need to actively look for it, and make an effort to not pay in to it. Because when Americans see other cultures represented in media and say its not relatable, when you guys go on holiday and make no effort to learn local customs, and try and pay in dollars and spend your time abroad like you're still in America, when you see cultural differences and immediately argue that the American way is better and of course everyone should have giant cars and never dry laundry outdoors and live in American style homes, without any kind of critical thought. Just 'this is how we do it so why wouldn't everyone else do it this way. This is the only way. The American way is obviously best.' When you guys do that you are individually feeding in to this absolute bulldozing of cultures (including American ones!) to allow for better marketability.

It isn't any one individual American citizens fault that things are the way they are, and you guys are victims of the same system, but you need to have some self awareness when it comes to the fact that as individuals you are unknowingly, helping driving this forwards and as individuals, there are things you can do to limit your personal impact (and no arguing that you have no culture is not it!!! Being all self deprecating doesn't do shit. Take some responsibility and accept that individual Americans didn't create this system, but currently, individual Americans really are doing their bit to keep promoting it, to keep pushing it on the rest of the world.

And I've already rambled for an age so I'll stop here but I just want to make clear as an ending note here, that this really isn't about piling on Americans and being all 'boo it's all America's fault. They should apologise. Their culture isn't worth anything.' Not at all this is the opposite of that. The fact that millions of Americans have been convinced you have no culture, all while a mimicry of American culture is plastered on to the rest of the world, and while you as individuals are encouraged to help that happen, often without even realising what you're doing; is a crime. You've been wronged, as have we all.

And America is not the problem. The problem is imperialism and it didn't start with you guys. It started in Europe, and Europeans, particularly British ppl, have a responsibility to push back and be self aware, take some fucking responsibility and not inadvertently keep feeding in to that system, just as you guys do. The US didn't start the fire, imperialist capitalism is a fire that started burning long before the United States was even considered, but its on all of us, to do what we can to not feed that fire. And right now? You guys are the face of it.

This idea of what America is, is the face of imperialistic capitalism, and that means that even if you don't mean to, you guys are feeding that fire more so than the rest of us. You're responsible for spreading it, more so than the rest of us. And if you don't step up and take responsibility, accept that you're gonna get it wrong sometimes and you need to try to do better; if we don't all do that. There will be nothing left. They'll paper over it all, the lives of real Americans just as much as those in Scotland and India and the Netherlands, and 100 other cultures, that are at risk, thanks to this fire, that's currently, largely coming from America.

So yeah. It's absolutely not just on you guys and ppl who act like there's no racism or wealth divide in Europe or anywhere else for that matter are complete idiots, however, this Americanisation of the world (and I hesitate to call it that. Because its not a representation of real American lives. Its simply wearing an American face.) Its real. It's happening.

And we don't tell you about it to make you feel guilty (those of us who aren't dicks at least) ,we are telling you. We are kicking up a fuss. Because it isn't fair. It's not right and while individual Americans ignore that and refuse to take responsibility where they can (small apples. We aren't asking for you to call a violent revolution in our names. Just take some time to learn about the rest of the world. Stop assuming America is always right and examine your biases. When you find them. Stop personally pushing them.) , while that is happening, as individuals, you are contributing to this. It's not even altruism. This system is hurting Americans too. It's hurting us all. All we ask is that you do what you can to not personally contribute, and keep an open mind, be aware. That's all any of us can do.

when a british actor does an american accent everyone’s like “i didn’t even know they were british until they were on colbert.” but when americans do a british accent everyone’s like “they’re supposed to be from east cocksford but their glottal e’s are north dicksford. shameful.”

[mars-ipan]

y’know i do have a lot of similarities to my mother and i do celebrate that but if i keep getting reduced to a “mini-me” i may just lose my shit

[dexteri0us]

i know i haven't been perfect, but give it some time; 'cause not a single day goes by where you don't cross my mind

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: fluff, injuries (burns and cuts), louis greene, and you know... dexter's dark passenger

summary: requested: "dexter being super protective of you and when he finds out someone hurt you he immediately starts hunting him to kill him"

w/c: 5.5k

a/n: spoiler alert? it made me sad that dexter didn't get to kill louis, so here we go.

Louis is taking me to the hospital. Don’t freak out. Lab mishap.

You pressed send and the text appeared in a blue bubble, under it, there was a Delivered sign that quickly turned into Read.

Which hospital?

Jackson Memorial.

I’m on my way.

You didn’t really like it when people fussed over you. It felt unnecessary and only brought you discomfort most of the time. But this time, you couldn’t deny the relief knowing Dexter would meet you at the hospital.

“Who are you texting?” Came the voice from the driver’s seat.

You cleared your throat and shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “My boyfriend.”

“Dexter?” Louis asked with a feigned curiosity.

You couldn’t stand him anymore; he was such a fake asshole it was physically hurting you. And today was honestly the last straw.

You’d spent the better part of your morning setting up your experiment, testing your final samples. The data was supposed to solidify your findings and allow you to finish your thesis.

Everything was in place, your samples loaded into the centrifuge as you triple-checked everything. Everything. The protocol, the settings on the centrifuge, spinning the rotor with your hand, ensuring that it was balanced and the lid was closed tight.

Louis had been hovering all the fucking time. You had tried to ignore him, but you couldn’t exactly tell him to go fuck himself. The lab at your school was a shared space.

“You really think you’re going to finish today?” He’d mocked you. But that didn’t throw you off. You knew you were, because you were prepared.

But then you stepped away from the centrifuge for just five seconds to retrieve your laptop. When you returned, you put the laptop next to the machine and pressed the start button on the centrifuge, causing it to whir to life, the rotor spinning faster and faster. Then suddenly, a sharp, metallic clunk echoed in the room, followed by a horrific screech. The centrifuge rattled violently and the lid flew open. Glass shards and liquid shot out like shrapnel and you barely had time to shield your face with your arm.

The pain was instant. A jagged piece of glass sliced across your forearm, and a burning sensation spread where the liquid splashed onto your skin.

“Shit!” Louis exclaimed, rushing forward with exaggerated concern. “Are you okay?”

You just clutched your arm, blood seeping between your fingers. The burn on your forearm throbbed, angry red splotches already forming. Your vision suddenly became blurred with tears of pain and frustration combined, but you held them back. You were not going to cry in school.

The commotion drew others into the lab, including your supervisor. And of course, Louis was quick to throw you under the bus. And, okay, you weren't wearing your lab coat, but nobody really was if they did something as simple as loading samples into a centrifuge.

Your supervisor sent you to the nurse, telling Louis to escort you in case you got dizzy. The nurse bandaged your arm and sent you to a hospital for further treatment. Louis chimed in, playing the part of a kind and worried colleague, and driving you there himself.

“Yes; Dexter. He’s on his way, so you can just drop me off and head back to the lab.”

“Nonsense. I can't have anything else happen to you.”

Bullshit. He wouldn’t even blink if the shards had hit your carotid artery and you bled out right there. Who knows, maybe that had been his plan all along. Louis had it out for you and Dexter, his petty vendetta against you couldn't be more transparent.

“Louis, please.” You closed your eyes in exasperation, your eyes still burning from the tears that tried to push their way through. “I know that you messed with the centrifuge. I don’t have proof, so don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything. But at least have the decency to stop pretending that you’re innocent.”

You saw his jaw flex and his knuckles get white from how he clutched the steering wheel, but he didn’t say anything. Frankly, you were getting uncomfortable being alone with Louis in the car, but luckily, the hospital came into view.

You tried to convince Louis to go, but he wouldn’t budge. He knew you hated his presence, and he reveled in the feeling that he was making you uncomfortable. You also had a hunch he waited for Dexter so he could provoke him too. He was like a lurking predator, leaning against the far wall, as the nurse gave you a sympathetic smile, adjusting the bandage on your arm. The burn cream was cool against your skin, but the sting of the injury sent vibrations through your whole arm.

The door opened, and your muscles finally relaxed. Dexter stepped in, his focused gaze sweeping the room. His eyes landed on you first, taking in the bandage on your arm and the nurse’s careful work. Then, his gaze flicked towards Louis.

Louis straightened up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Dexter, hey! Don’t worry, YN’s alright. I made sure she got here safe.”

Dexter ignored him. If he hadn’t, he might have done something… nobody here needed to see. There was going to be time for that to do it right. Instead, he made his way straight to you.

“Hey,” you said with a tired smile.

His hand reached out to cup your head, his thumb brushing your temple and over the edge of your eyebrow in a soothing manner as his other hand hovered over your injured arm, as if to make sure it was still attached. His brows were furrowed, his shoulders and chest stiff as if he was holding his breath.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Getting burned by an oven hurts more.” You tried to lighten the mood, but humor wasn't exactly his way of coping.

“What’s he still doing here?”

“I think he wants to steal you away from me.”

“YN…”

“I don’t know, Dex. He’s a fucking vulture, you know that. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t.”

You weren't even joking anymore; it wouldn’t surprise you if Louis had done this to get Dexter’s attention. Or get back at you for having Dexter’s attention. Louis had probably been obsessed with him long before you started coming to the Miami Metro’s forensics lab to work on your thesis. Louis, as a graduate and now a lab tech at your university as well as a senior intern at Miami Metro, was supposed to be your guide, to help you acclimate.

You had known Louis from school, and ever since he’d started working at Miami Metro, his ego had been bursting through the roof, so you hadn’t been so psyched when you’d found out you’d have to share a working space, but hey, what could you do. At least, he was genuinely eager to assist, proudly showcasing his knowledge of the lab’s high-tech equipment and Miami Metro’s most famous cases. But his favorite thing to do was name-dropping Dexter. Louis had never said it in those words, but Dexter was like a god to him.

“He’s a genius. Everyone here knows it. Stick with me, and you might even learn enough to impress him.”

You’d fought the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m here to work on my thesis, Louis. Not to waste my time.”

Louis had always been too loud, too close and most importantly, too self-important for your liking, and you’d thought back then already, that his admiration for Dexter bordered with obsession.

And when you finally met the famous Dexter Morgan, you were surprised how underwhelming it was. You actually expected another loud and arrogant scientist, but he was the exact opposite.

One morning, while you were struggling with the calibration of a piece of equipment, a calm and monotone voice spoke behind you.

“You’re off by a millimeter.”

You jumped out of your skin, closing your eyes to regain composure before turning around and finding Dexter with his hands in his pockets, just standing there. You hadn’t met, but you knew what he looked like.

“Fuck, thanks. Were you trying to give me a heart attack to keep me from using it? Jesus Christ.” You were still shaking off the jumpscare you just received.

“Sorry.”

“You’re good. Dexter, right? The guy who specializes in puddles.”

“Blood spatter analyst,” he corrected with a nod, and for a moment, you were taken aback by the lack of reaction to your joke. You introduced yourself and shook his hand, before he left without another word.

To him, you were just another in a parade of visiting academics, someone he’d forget as soon as your project ended.

Well, apparently, you liked to talk, making it hard for him to ignore you. It's not like you were targeting him specifically, you were just a naturally friendly person.

Vince's attention wasn't exactly hard to earn, especially if you were a woman, but Dexter noticed how you laughed even with Angel. Not that Angel was a touch-me-not, but it was still surprising to see you navigate the station with such ease, like a newcomer staking a claim in unfamiliar territory. You didn't force yourself into conversations; you didn't even have to. You had your own gravity around you, and people were magnetized to it.

“If you need something, Louis is your liaison.” He tried to brush you off one time, gesturing vaguely towards the open lab door.

“Oh, I know,” you replied, undeterred. “But Louis is busy explaining to someone how he’s basically the second coming of Einstein, so I figured I’d ask the real expert.”

But you didn’t wait for him to respond, taking the hint and leaving him alone. For now anyway. It made the corner of Dexter’s mouth twitch, but he caught himself and got back to his work. He thought about it for a moment before deciding that it would be suspicious if he was the only one ignoring you.

Over the next few weeks, you made a habit of dropping by his desk. At first, he found your presence… perplexing. You asked too many questions – some of them genuinely insightful, others just… so absurd. You often hovered just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be intrusive. And your sense of humor seemed to exist solely to see how far you could push him before he reacted. And to create a bond with his sister.

You and Deb shared that bark, and he didn’t know what to make of it. The sarcasm often rang through the breakroom, and while he wasn’t one to eavesdrop, one time he heard a mention of his name.

“Does your brother ever smile?” you asked Deb, leaning against the counter.

“Well, you know, occasionally.”

“Yeah, what’s the occasion? Winning the lottery? Accidentally putting sugar in his coffee instead of salt?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. Why would I put salt in my coffee? But unlike him, Deb laughed.

“More like when someone's bleeding out somewhere. You don’t even wanna see that, it’s creepy as hell.”

“He’s fascinating actually,” you said when you stopped laughing, taking another sip of your coffee.

Fascinating. Most people called him odd, socially awkward, or at best, smart. His victims called him sick or a freak. But fascinating was new. And unsettling. He didn’t particularly like being noticed, but he found himself not minding your attention. Dexter realized that when he came in on Louis scolding you for talking him.

“He’s not your friend or your assistant, okay?” Louis snapped at you, his voice rising in frustration. “I am. So, stop bothering him and do some actual work.”

Before you could respond, Dexter stepped in, his voice firm. “Woah, Louis. Thanks, but I think I can handle myself.”

“I’m just saying, she’s supposed to focus on her thesis—”

“And she is. I also don’t mind helping her.” He turned to you then. “At least, when she ends up working here, she’ll already know the ropes.”

Dexter wasn’t serious, he didn’t even know if you ever wanted to work in forensics. But to Louis, the words felt like a slap. For months, he’d bent over backward to gain Dexter’s respect, but he’d never earned more than a dismissive glance. And you just waltzed in, cracked a couple of jokes, and suddenly, you were like Dexter's personal pet.

It was clear he didn’t like how Dexter responded to you. You noticed how his behavior changed, becoming petty even at your university lab. It was like he was waiting for you to make a mistake while his jokes grew meaner, more passive-aggressive

However, Louis was still essentially a random guy. He wasn't your superior, so you didn’t let him scare you off. If he wanted to report you to your school, you had Vince's backing, and now Dexter's too, you hoped. You believed you hadn't done anything wrong, you still got your work done, so there was no reason to feel guilty.

That meant that you never limited yout contact with Dexter, who also grew more responsive over the time. You figured out that most of his laughter stemmed in ridicule, with his brows furrowed and looking at you like you were an alien which made a smile grow on your face, so you decided to lean into it. Did it make you look dumb? Yes. Did it make Dexter laugh? Yes in capital letters.

Deb was the one who finally pointed out what you had been trying to make painfully obvious for weeks.

“Jesus Christ, Dexter,” she said incredulously, smiling at him as if asking are you serious? “Are you blind, or just stupid?”

He looked up from the folder, his expression blank. “What are you talking about?”

“YN. The girl from the lab. She’s been flirting with you nonstop, and you’ve been staring at her like she’s a new blood sample. Do you even know how to human?”

His whole face scrunched up, going over your past interactions in his head. “She hasn’t been flirting. She’s just… talkative.”

Deb rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t sprain something. “Oh my God. You’re hopeless. She’s into you, Dex. And honestly? I think she’s kind of awesome. She’s smart, funny, and she’s got this great thing where she acts like an airhead just to see your face do that confused frown thing. It’s hilarious.”

Dexter’s frown deepened. “She does that on purpose?”

“Yeah, dumbass. Seriously, ask her out before she gets bored and moves on to someone who actually knows how to crack a smile.”

Weeks passed, and to Deb’s disdain, Dexter completely ignored her amazing advice. But she wasn’t one to sit idly by and she had had enough.

One afternoon, as you were bent over a microscope in the lab, Deb stormed in with an unyielding grip on Dexter’s arm.

“Hey, YN!” she said, her voice unnaturally cheerful.

“Uh… hey, Deb. What’s going on?”

She didn’t waste any time, her hold on Dexter's arm tightening as she shoved him into the room.

“Dexter has something he wants to ask you,” she announced, crossing her arms and giving Dexter an expectant look.

Fiddling with the pen in your hand, your eyes darted warily to Dexter, not really sure what was going on. And from the looks of it, Dexter didn’t know either. He looked genuinely confused, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words, but nothing came out.

“Uh…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Deb groaned. “He wants to take you out. On a date. There. It’s done. The cat’s out of the bag.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. A warmth surged through you, a small flicker of happiness bubbling up, but then you saw the horrified look on Dexter’s face, and it fizzled just as quickly. You turned back to Deb.

“Wow, Debra. I didn’t know you moonlighted as a matchmaker.”

“I don’t. But someone has to get the ball rolling.”

“And the first step is holding someone hostage?”

“Hosta�� are you fucking kidding me?” She turned to her brother, jabbing a finger into his ribs, making him flinch. “Dexter, tell her!”

But before he could say a word, you got up from your chair and headed for the door.

“I appreciate the effort, Deb, but can we discuss this later? I need to bring these to Louis before he has a meltdown.”

“Yeah, well, fuck him,” Deb said as she watched you leave.

“I’d rather not,” you quipped with a smirk, closing the door behind you.

But maybe Deb had a point.

Maybe he should ask you out.

It had been a while since he’d had a girlfriend, and perhaps it was time to change that. Saying no to you outright might be suspicious, and blending in was a cornerstone of his life. Besides, you weren’t so bad. Being around you wasn’t unpleasant. It made sense.

That's actually what he said when he finally asked you out: it makes sense. No fumbling over words or overly rehearsed lines. And you actually liked his reasoning. It was honest in its own way and you appreciated the lack of pretense.

That was one thing you’d learned about Dexter during your time at Miami Metro: he liked a logical approach, unlike most people who responded to emotion, whose actions were driven by feelings. He felt things, sure, just not in the same way, and he rarely expressed them outwardly.

It wasn’t like you were absolutely positive that it could turn into something meaningful or that a relationship with Dexter would last, but his way of interacting with the world was so unconventional that you simply felt drawn to it.

Dexter never really offered grand romantic gestures or gush over your presence in his life. But he noticed things you liked and made small accommodations for them. He listened with the intent to understand. And while he wasn’t exactly overflowing with emotion, you saw the quiet ways he cared.

You’d once mentioned in passing how receiving gifts made you uncomfortable, the pressure to perform gratitude leaving you uneasy. So when you joked that a specific brand of coffee was your lifeblood, he didn’t hand it to you wrapped in a bow. Instead, the next week, it simply appeared in the breakroom.

He wasn’t selfish about it, like most people were when they insisted on seeing your reaction. No, he just wanted to make you happy. And with that, he scored a double.

However, ever since you started going on dates, for the lack of a better word, because neither of you ever labeled it that way, he started second-guessing himself. He became more careful, often overthinking and calculating his answers. You suspected that Deb might have been partly to blame. She was too blunt sometimes, too quick to get into his head. But you made sure to let him know that he was more likely to scare you off by saying nothing rather than saying the wrong thing.

“You’re more confident about that than I am.”

You'd told him that he was the living embodiment of having a wall up. And not any wall. It was as if someone else had built it for him, and he was struggling to climb over it.

“You’re not even bad at climbing. You’re just trying to figure out where to put your hands.”

It was a strange way for your to put it, but you managed to create a whole think tank in his head which often left him with a dull ache between his eyes. He found himself admiring your honesty, the way you refused to put on a mask just to please the people around you or conform to societal expectations.

It’s not like you outright spilled your deepest, darkest secrets, but you gave him glimpses. You hinted at your own traumas that had shaped you, so matter-of-fact and so human.

It stirred something within him. For days, he debated whether to share his own scars, until he finally did, one night during a quiet walk along the beach. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his chest when he told you about his mother, the blood, the screams everything. Well, almost everything. He expected recoil, but it never came. You didn’t judge, it didn’t scare you away; you just looked at him with the same attentiveness, maybe a joke on your tongue about how that explained his line of work, because that's how you coped. And somehow, knowing he knew that made it easier for him to breathe.

And that night was also the night he kissed you for the first time. He didn’t plan for it. He just simply looked at you and the moonlight twinkling in your eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a different kind of urge. One he didn’t have to fight or wait to satisfy it. He let himself feel.

Later that evening, you also invited him to spend the night at your place.

He’d be lying if he said that he regretted a single second spent with you. Yeah, you never seemed to stop talking, never seemed to stop moving.

“It’s like you’re daring your neurons to keep up,” he’d said to you one day.

“Well, I need to keep my synaptic connections in shape, right?”

But still, you made the chaos seem… manageable. You were a walking paradox, bringing a strange sense of order to his life, a balance. He started to think that this was his final and definitive chance at happiness. And he wasn’t going to screw it up. Nobody was going to take you away from him. Nobody, and it was in his control.

Before you could discuss it further, the nurse came back with a new bandage.

“Your boyfriend, I presume?” she asked with a warm smile, glancing between the two of you. But Dexter barely looked at her, his focus was entirely on you.

“Was it him?” He tilted his head toward Louis, his voice low enough that only you could hear, but you saw the nurse make her way to you to apply the bandage.

“Not here,” you murmured, darting a glance toward Louis, who was still lingering near the door.

The nurse, oblivious to the tension, spoke up. “She’s going to be fine. The burn isn’t deep, and the cuts didn’t hit anything major. Could’ve been worse. You might’ve earned yourself a Nobel Prize for dedication to science, though.”

She smiled, and you saw Dexter’s lips twitch into a grimace that was supposed to look like a smile.

“What chemicals?” he asked.

“Phenol and chloroform mix,” you replied, and the nurse followed up.

“Not ideal for skin, but we got to it quickly. Keep the bandage clean and dry, and she’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks,” Dexter said shortly. Then, turning back to you, he added, “I’ll be right back.”

“Dex…” you began, knowing very well where his mind had taken him. And honestly, a part of you didn’t even want to stop him, because you wanted Louis to leave you alone.

“I said I'll be right back,” he repeated, his voice stern.

Dexter straightened to his full height and walked toward Louis, a predator closing in on its prey.

“So? How is she?” Louis asked as soon as Dexter approached him.

“How do you think, Louis? I suggest you stop fucking around or I’ll make your life really difficult.”

“What?” Louis laughed with faux confusion. “I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, and I think you’ve done enough. You can leave now. And if I find out you had anything to do with this, anything at all, you’ll wish it was you sitting on that hospital bed. Do you understand?”

“Geez, Dexter, are you –”

Dexter took a step closer without raising suspicion from other people.

“I’m serious, Louis. Do you understand?”

Louis nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Louis turned on his heel, but before making his exit, he turned to Dexter one more time. “Well… Catch you at work.”

Dexter ground his teeth, closing his eyes as he tried to suppress his need to protect you from Louis right then and there. He’d started seeing crimson the moment you texted him about Louis taking you to the hospital. Now, it was spilling everywhere, the red taking over his body, causing it to shake and ring in his ears. He wanted to fucking kill him. Louis had been trying to provoke him for quite some time, but he just crossed a line. Nobody will ever hurt you without consequences.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice brought him back to the present, your hand lightly brushing over his back as you tried to comfort him, ground him.

“No. I think I’ll kill him.”

You snorted. “Okay, drama queen,” you said, and hooked your arm around his, making your way out of the hospital.

Dexter hadn’t said a word during the drive, not a single one.

He’d even turned on his marching music, which he rarely did when you were with him. That was a signal in itself. He was thinking. Hard.

Once you reached his apartment, he tossed his keys onto the counter with an unusual force, and without a word, he headed straight for the first aid kit.

“Dex, I just got it bandaged. You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. I want to see for myself.”

You weren’t entirely sure if this had something to do with the whole I don’t trust nurses thing or just general paranoia, but you decided not to argue.

“I know this isn’t your fault, but you should’ve worn your coat,” he said, his voice almost shaking as he held back from lashing out.

“I know.”

Dexter gestured for you to sit on the couch, taking a seat himself on the low table in front of you. He gently reached for your hand and began unwrapping the bandage.

“Tell me what happened.”

You described the incident in detail, including your suspicions that Louis might have been involved. Dexter gave you that Kubrick stare as his jaw tightened at the mention of Louis’ name.

When he uncovered the burn ringed by shallow cuts, he muttered a quiet Jesus.

“Once it starts blistering, you can’t scratch it, okay? It could get infected.”

“Yes, doctor,” you teased lightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s what the nurse said.”

It made his head twitch as he gave you a look. But he didn’t comment, instead gently placing your hand in his lap as he prepared a fresh bandage.

“Do you have any other samples left?” he asked, and it warmed your heart knowing that he cared about your lab work, too.

“Yeah, I should have some stored at the station,” you said. “Unless Louis decided to get rid of them too.”

“I’ll head back and check on them for you.”

“Well, I’m coming too. I need to get back to the lab, it’s not like I’m incapable of running the experiment again.”

That was a hard no. He didn't even have to think about it.

He didn’t like the idea of you being back at the lab, not when Louis was going to be there. But he also knew he couldn’t keep you away from the lab for long, so he needed to do this fast. He convinced you to stay at his place until the next day, at least. After all, you did feel tired from the burning pain and the pills that started to kick in. As Dexter stood to leave, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, before kissing you on the lips, anchoring himself to you before heading back to work. And to take care of Louis once and for all.

It was easy. Louis was obsessed with serial killers, but he still lacked the skillset Dexter’s usual victims challenged him with. Now, he was going to give him the full-time experience.

He broke into his apartment and waited until Louis got home. A sharp prick to the neck and strapping him to a chair. Not his usual routine, but this wasn’t really to satisfy his urges. This was to protect you.

Once he was all tied up, Dexter broke a capsule of smelling salt under his nose and Louis' eyes shot open. Dexter wasn’t going to waste much time here, but he brought something to make it more enjoyable for himself.

“Wakey-wakey,” Dexter’s voice broke through the fog of Louis’s confusion.

He blinked, before he started thrashing against the rope. “What the hell?!” he shouted, panic rising in his voice. “What is this?!”

Dexter stepped closer to him, a faint curl of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. In his right hand, he held a bunch of vials filled with liquid.

“Do you know what chemical burn feels like, Louis?”

“What?” he asked, confused at first, but then it dawned on him. “Wait, wait, wait! I didn’t do anything! I was just looking out for her. A-Accidents happen! Labs are dangerous places if you’re not careful, you know that!” Louis rambled, making Dexter watch him with an amused smile.

“Accidents don’t usually involve sabotage,” Dexter said evenly.

“Sabotage? Jesus, Dexter, you're blowing this way out of proportion. You're doing all this for some chick? Does her pussy feel that good?"

Dexter lurched forward, his fist connecting with Louis's face before he could react, the chair creaking against the floor as it moved with Dexter's strength. He leaned down to Louis’ eye-level, pointing a finger at his face. Louis squeezed his eyes shut, his bloody face scrunching in fear.

“Don't push it, Louis,” he said through his teeth. Dexter was quick to recover, his calm mask slipping back into place. “Let's talk about the fact that accidents always seem to happen when you’re around.”

Louis coughed, spitting blood onto the plastic-covered floor.

“You’ve got a pretty vivid imagination.”

Dexter’s lips twitched. He rose to his full height and backed away just to put down one of the vials and take a piece of cloth instead. He poured the chemical on it as he talked.

“It’s called pattern recognition,” he said, coming around the chair to stand behind Louis. “You should be familiar with that by now.” And with that, he stuffed the wet rug into his mouth. Louis twitched and thrashed, but Dexter was stronger. He made sure the cloth didn’t fall out, that Louis got the exact taste of what you’d gone through.

“How is it, Louis? You have my full attention now! The only time I’m willing to listen to your bullshit!”

He tortured him some more, before pulling the cloth out. As soon as Louis’ mouth was free, he started coughing. Then, Dexter poured some of the prepared solution on his glove.

“Did I get the concentration right, or was it too strong?” Dexter asked, rubbing his covered fingers together, the rubber shining under the kitchen light. Louis’ breathing quickened.

“Please. I won’t go near her again. I swear!” Louis cried out.

Dexter leaned in close again, his face inches from Louis’.

“You’re right. You won’t.”

And without further explanation, he pressed the gloved hand against Louis’ arm, holding it there long enough for the sting to start. Before Louis’ scream got too loud, Dexter stuffed his mouth with the rug again as he writhed in pain, the burning sensation spreading.

“That’s just a fraction of what she felt. And you’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood tonight. Otherwise, I would pour it right into your fucking eyes, your mouth, I would cut your skin open and fill it up before stitching it back together.” Dexter put his still wet hand on a different part of Louis’ arm, watching him squirm. “I would make you fucking drown in it.”

Dexter stepped back, watching Louis’ chest rise and fall with his heavy breathing, some tears sliding down his cheeks, mixing with his blood. Dexter closed his eyes, bathing in that satisfactory feeling as he breathed in, the smell of chemicals and sweat and fear tickling his nostrils. He made his way to the counter where his knives were splayed out, taking the sharpest one and making his way behind Louis again.

“Goodnight, Louis.”

And with that, he sliced his neck, blood spilling onto the plastic underneath the chair.

When he came home that night, he found you still on his couch. Safe and sound. Your bandaged arm rested on the book you were reading, and when you looked at him, you greeted him with that casual smile of yours.

It was so genuine, so automatic. Like it had been waiting just for him. He couldn’t let himself be the reason you’d ever lose it, couldn’t let his or anyone else's world dim yours.

Without saying a word, he approached you, pinched your chin between his fingers and tilted your head to kiss that smile, because he knew it would only make you grin wider, and that’s what he wanted. He was making a silent promise, to you and to himself, to keep it safe, because seeing you light up like that, illuminating his dark world was everything he needed. And he wanted it to last.

[quizzicalwriter]

dally winston x virgin!reader who asks her boyfriend dally to be her first time

Sweet Thing

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Intimacy, intimacy, intimacy.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Kissing, touching, fingering. Inexperienced and slightly innocent reader. Loss of virginity.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 2.8k (I got carried away.)

You’d always been Dallas’s favorite preoccupation, distracting him from everything else in life. The sweet thing he carted around whenever he hung around with the boys or found himself in the drunken den that was Buck’s on a Saturday night. You’d be there, propped on his lap with his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

Not that you didn’t have anything to say besides sitting there, hell, the guys loved you. You could hold your own when it came to their wit and it made you a worthy companion for Dallas in their eyes, not to mention your inexplicable ability to put up with his shit when nobody else had before - or seemingly nobody else had been given the chance.

Normally Dallas would’ve gone for girls at the drive-in, greaser girls, or any woman he could get his hands on or who could handle his banter for longer than a minute without giving him the back of their hand. You weren’t one of them, and frankly, that terrified Dallas. There was a part of him that wanted to pull away, push you away in hopes that he’d save himself the pain of heartbreak later on he’d convinced himself he’d suffer. But he always stopped himself whenever you found yourself in his arms, gazing up at him with your doe-like eyes.

It was a difficult thing, Dallas being intimate. He was born and raised in a constant battle for survival, not showing love or producing it, but you made it easy. The longer you two had been together the longer he found himself wanting to keep you close, protect you from dangers he seemed to see everywhere. The worries you once had about him leaving eventually faded, the look in his eyes as he gazed at you whenever you laid in his arms far outweighed any ill thoughts you’d suffered with.

The only way you could describe it was ardent, laced with a deep desire that you’d never seen before in his brown eyes. A deep desire that would show itself in the bounds of the night after the two of you had disappeared together, culminating in you on his lap in his bed, hips rocking together as he kissed along your throat and down onto your chest. Or with your legs wrapped loosely around his hips, him grinding into you, you whispering sweet moans into his mouth spurring him on to do more, touch you more, please you more.

Dallas never pushed, he was always understanding whenever you pulled away. Of course, he’d have to adjust himself in his jeans, but he’d quickly pull you to his chest and press delicate kisses along your face, murmuring how much you mean to him, something he didn’t dare do in front of others. That side of Dallas was for you, nobody else, so you treasured it whenever he showed it.

On one particular Saturday night in the midst of autumn, you found yourself propped up against Dallas’s side on one of the couches in Buck’s bar, legs bent up at your chest as you fiddled with frayed denim at the end of your pant leg. Dallas was in a debate with a random man, someone he seemed to know well enough to bullshit with, talking about how the two had snagged something good off a rich man’s car not too long ago.

If it hadn’t been for the incessant country music Buck played when it rounded two in the morning you’d likely have fallen asleep against Dallas, but the occasional jump of a new song kept you jerking awake, a tired pout situating itself on your features as you rested your cheek against Dallas’s shoulder.

“Looks like your miss is real tired.” The man stated, taking a long puff from his cigar before gesturing toward you with the end of it, a snicker following his words as he propped himself up against the end of his pool cue. Dallas quirked a brow, looking down at you where you were tucked into his side with a hidden smile.

“Guess she is.” He murmured, not saying anything more beyond that before moving to prop himself up straighter, hand smoothing down your back as he looked down at you. “Tired?”

You weren’t tired, tired. More so bored, the constant scent of smoke and alcohol wasn’t helping the boredom or the budding headache in the back of your skull. But knowing if you said anything other than ‘yes’ at that moment would result in another hour downstairs, you nodded, feigning a yawn as you let your eyes flutter deceptively.

Dallas caught on, but he didn’t say anything. Instead choosing to click his tongue against his teeth as he played along, shrugging as he moved to stand. “I’ll see you later, man.” He stated, causing the older man to shrug himself before dispersing off into the crowd. Dallas turned to you, helping you to your feet before leading you up the stairs.

“Lyin’ is a sin, y’know that right?” He chuckled out, quiet enough for only you to hear as he nudged open his bedroom door with the toe of his shoe, causing you to laugh yourself and avert your gaze from his as you moved into the familiar room.

“Didn’t lie.” You mumbled out, another pout crossing your lips as you kicked off your shoes, making your way to his bed. “Real tired, Dally.”

“Sure, doll.” He snickered from the corner of the room as you made yourself comfortable on the bed, the familiar metallic clang of his belt hitting the wooden floor echoing throughout the room soon after.

He moved beside you then, letting out a sigh as he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling your back flush with his chest. The sound of country music and clattering pool balls still echoed from downstairs, but the only thing you could bring yourself to focus on was the feeling of Dallas’s knee between your legs.

It was an innocent move, both of you slept with your legs intertwined, it felt comfortable given how small his bed was. As he shifted to get more comfortable his knee pressed harder against your clothed cunt, causing your cheeks to flush red as you choked back a whine. Dallas stiffened, breath catching in his throat as he took a moment to gauge your reaction before moving his knee again.

“Dal-“ You whined, hand moving down in between your legs as you buried your face into the pillow you two shared, his scent lingering heavily on the fabric doing nothing to quell the growing ache between your legs.

“What, doll? Feel good?” He whispered, words ghosting across the nape of your neck, causing your back to arch involuntarily as you slowly nodded. His hand smoothed down your front, bumping over the fabric of your shirt and jeans as he slowly moved to cup your sex, ever so gently applying pressure as he rocked himself against you.

You felt yourself soaking your underwear with arousal the longer he rutted against you, his fingers pressing against your cunt through your jeans as he did. A familiar sensation bloomed in your lower stomach, one that left you clenching your thighs around his palm as you tried to quell the growing ache.

“Gotta tell me what you want.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, trailing a litany of open-mouthed kisses along the curvature of your throat, pressure from his fingers increasing against your cunt. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck, Dallas, just fuck me.” You whined, embarrassment over the prospect of voicing your needs soon being overweighed by the sheer need you felt for him, your hand moved to grasp at his forearm as you begged. “Please, Dal.”

That seemed to be all he needed as he moved to sit up on his knees, pressing another kiss to your jaw before pulling his shirt up and over his head. You laid there, lips parted as you watched him undress, feeling your blush spread from your cheeks to the top of your chest. You wanted to touch him, feel him, kiss him - so you did. You moved to sit up, folding your legs underneath yourself as you moved to press a kiss to his lips, hands moving to cup his jaw, only pulling away when you felt that familiar pull to touch him elsewhere.

You’d seen him without a shirt, but you’d never truly been able to admire him until now. Your hands wavered over his body, fingertips dipping in between the rivets of his toned skin, along healed scars, a faint bruise that still lingered under the left side of his ribcage. Above it all you found yourself fascinated with the way his chest rose with each breath and the small freckles that lined his skin. They reminded you of the ones he’d gotten from his time in the sun that plastered themselves against his cheekbones and upper shoulders.

Dallas let you look, eyes fluttering whenever your hands would drift farther south than before. You could hear him taking in shuddering breaths, chest catching every few minutes as though he were teetering on the edge of self-control. He raised his hands then, looking to you for approval before he lifted your shirt up and over your head, bundling the soft fabric in his hands before letting it fall to the floor.

You reached your hands behind yourself, unclasping your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders until your bra collapsed into your lap, exposing your breasts to him. Dallas had seen women before, he’d seen plenty, but none of them had ever had the effect you currently had on him. He felt his throat dry, brown eyes flickering between your chest and your eyes before he moved to gently lay you back against his bed, situating himself over top of you.

“You want this?” His words were hushed as his hand drifted down over your bare stomach, slowly unbuttoning your jeans as he kept his gaze locked on your face, watching for any sign of discomfort or worry. When you responded with a nod and a quiet, “I want this.” He smiled, a soft laugh leaving him as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

You’d envisioned losing your virginity hundreds of times, a perfect encapsulation of what sex had to be painted in your mind, vivid and blaring. But this was so different, the way Dallas was so gentle, not afraid to laugh if something awkward happened, both of you sharing the pure moment of intimacy with smiles on your face. Nothing could’ve ever prepared you for it and that somehow made it all so much better.

As he slid your jeans off your legs he smiled up at you, a soft look on his face as he tossed the denim to the floor, moving back up to place another languid kiss to your lips. His hand moved between your thighs, fingers splaying against your cunt through your underwear, a groan passing his lips when he felt just how wet you’d become.

“Dallas, please-“ You begged, thighs trembling as he continued to tease you through your underwear. He relented, placing a gentle kiss to your jaw before moving to sit back up, slowly sliding your underwear down and off your body before discarding them to the floor as well.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, eyes wandering over your form laid in front of him, hands smoothing up and down your sides as he took it all in. “So fuckin’ beautiful, doll.”

You watched with bated breath as he slipped his jeans off, kicking his boxers off along with them. His length was bigger than you’d anticipated, only having felt the shape of it when you’d ground down against him during your frequent make-out sessions. As if sensing your apprehension he moved back over you, hand moving to cup your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“It won’t hurt, alright? We’ll take it slow, real slow.” He whispered, voice soothing as he helped you to wrap your legs around his hips, your heels subtly digging into the flesh of his lower back. He smiled down at you, eyes voicing a silent question if you were alright to which you quickly nodded back, a smile upon your face as well.

He braced himself on his arm, face close to yours as he slid a hand down between you, helping to guide himself inside before sliding his fingers up to slowly circle your clit. A moan left you at the feeling, leaving you clenching around his tip, the feeling causing him to bite back a grunt as he slowly began pushing in.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned out, brows screwing together as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of your welcoming cunt, pausing in his movements to give you a chance to grow used to the feeling. “Doin’ so good, baby, so good.”

You’d heard horror stories from your friends, tales of how their first time had been painful and rushed, but this felt the complete opposite. While it took you a moment to grow used to the feeling of him inside of you, it was an incredibly welcome feeling. You could feel yourself clenching down around him, his fingers circling your clit only adding to the feeling building in your stomach.

“Dal- Dal, move.” You whispered out, voice hoarse as you grasped at his shoulders, desperate for him to move. He snickered at your pleading tone, slowly pulling himself out before pushing back in, slowly and deeply fucking you as he whispered words of praise into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses against your damp skin whenever he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of your warmth surrounding him.

You could hear your wetness coating his cock with each thrust of his hips, his fingers slick against your clit. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, broken-off moans, and whispered words. Your thighs tightened against him as he adjusted himself, lifting himself a bit, unknowingly brushing against a spot within you that you’d never known existed - one that pulled a drawn-out moan from your chest.

“Yeah?” He asked through a smirk, hand moving down to cup your hip as he pushed back into you, hitting that very same spot. You could hardly think, let alone breathe as he fucked himself into you, fingers working at your clit as he angled himself to hit that spot over, and over. “Taking me so good, doll.” He grunted out, grip tightening on your hip as he picked up his pace.

Your hand shot down to his wrist as he continued toying with your clit, eyes fluttering shut as you felt your orgasm building to its peak in your lower stomach, the feeling causing you to rock your hips in tandem with his thrusts. The look on your face was enough to make him groan, his hand moving from your hip to your jaw as he tilted your face to look at him.

“Look at me when you cum on my cock, baby.” He murmured, voice soft yet authoritative as he slammed into you. As soon as you opened your eyes he moved his hand, pressing it against your lower stomach as he continued fucking himself into you. It felt as though he were pushing you down onto him, that spot that nearly blinded you with pleasure constantly being rutted against by his cock.

All you could muster was a weak, “F-fuck,” as you came undone, back arching off the bed as you whined out his name. He didn’t stop, stifling a groan at the way you writhed beneath him as he felt his orgasm building. Once you started swatting at his fingers that still circled your clit he moved his hand, choosing to grab the other side of your hip, effectively propping you up against him as he fucked you.

The pace was near brutal, moans forced from your body as your breasts bounced with each thrust. You couldn’t focus, still reeling from your last orgasm as he continued fucking you into oversensitivity-fueled bliss. You could feel his thumbs pressing into your hipbones, short curses slipping past his lips.

“Gonna cum, baby.” He grunted, pulling out of you a second later, spilling his cum across your lower stomach. His chest heaved, cheeks flushed red as he pumped himself through his orgasm. You could only watch in a haze of your own, still catching your breath as he looked up at you, that familiar crooked smile taking over his features as he moved on top of you once more.

“Did so good, doll. Real good.” He murmured against your cheek, pressing a kiss to your skin between each sentence. “You feel alright? Need me to get you something?” He asked after a moment, a hint of concern evident in his tone that made you smile as you shook your head.

“It felt perfect, Dal. I’m alright.” You whispered back, turning over onto your side to face him, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek, leaning up after to press a kiss to his waiting lips. “Perfect.”

A/N: Thank you for reading if you made it this far, or even if you just skimmed it over - either way I appreciate the interactions! As always you can find my work over on my ao3 under the user “Unscriptural.” Thank you anon for the request! (Sorry for the late posting, or early? Wherever you are? I finished editing it and didn’t want to queue it, so here is your daily scheduled reading material.)

[yazzwrites6962]

hi! I really loved your niragi and chishiya works! I can't wait to see more of redemption! I really enjoy seeing how people write characters like these two and how they interpret them, and so far, I've enjoyed how you wrote them!

Redemption ♡ Suguru Niragi ♡ Part Two

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suguru Niragi x Fem!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Part One: Here

Part Three: Here

Author's Note: UNEDITED! Shoutout to those who asked for another part. I love you guyssss. Also, Y/N's profession/life before the Borderlands is mentioned. Feel free to change it! Sorry for the super long chapter. I know it's pretty messy. I'll work on editing and cleaning up soon. I had four midterms this week, because my professors hate me. Again, I don't own any characters/images!

Genre: Angst

Summary: As it becomes obvious that Niragi has a soft spot for Y/N, he is forced to prove where his loyalties lie.

Word Count: 5397

Warnings: Sexual themes, language, OOC Niragi, derogatory language referencing the reader, mentions of substance use, fear, blood, injury, death, cliffhanger

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"You seem different." A gruff voice teased, nudging Niragi's arm. "You're all smitten over that one girl, aren't you? Is the pussy that good? Maybe I'll have to try her out myself." Niragi flinched, growling at the fellow militant. The room filled with laughter. "She's got a pretty pair of eyes I'd love to see rolling back."

"I'm not different," He huffed, loading his gun. "and I'm not smitten. Get outta here with that lovey dovey bullshit." It had been four days since your last game with Niragi, and the members of the Beach would have to be blind not to have noticed the change in his demeanor.

Every day since that game, Niragi would wake up bright and early to have a silent breakfast with you. You didn't speak much, as you were usually very groggy in the morning. Instead, he would enjoy your sleepy presence. He had grown fond of your messy hair and the way you covered your face when you yawned. He enjoyed seeing the way your eyes drooped even while you shoveled food into your mouth. He loved to look at you; The raw you.

"Nahhh man. You've obviously got a soft spot for the chick." Chimed another militant. "You used to go 'round killing people and shit. Yelling and fucking bitches, getting high all the time. You were fun. Now you're having breakfast with the boring one."

Why were you referred to the boring one? That's difficult to say. Maybe because you spent so much time with Kuina and Chishiya, who mostly seemed to be on the sidelines at parties. Maybe because of your calm nature. Maybe because you were a decent diamonds player. Either way, nobody had envisioned Niragi falling for a 'boring' girl. He was always spotted dragging rowdy women back to his room, notorious for his partner of the night being loud enough to shake the entire floor.

"I do not have a soft spot." Niragi seethed, slamming his gun against the wall and making a loud bang. Everyone jumped, but then continued to laugh at Niragi's frustration. He didn't know why it irritated him so much to be accused of having a soft spot for you. Normally, he couldn't care less about what others thought.

"Then prove it." Chuckled one of the guys. "Your visa is about to expire, ain't it? Hers too, right? Why don't you kill her?" In the normal world, death would be extreme. The mere suggestion of killing another person would send the room into a silent shock. However, in the Borderlands, killing people meant nothing. The militants, especially Niragi, would kill people all the time.

Death to traitors, death to enemies in games, death to anyone who got in the way. It's safe to say that Niragi was probably the most trigger happy of the whole group. Then why? Why did the idea make him feel so nauseous? Even in the last game, you'd injured your led. Watching the blood run down your body as you limped through the game felt like torture to him.

"I'm not gonna kill a the girl just because you tell me to, asshat." Niragi replies, trying to summon up everything he has in order to seem calm. Really, he's panicked inside. He may not be religious, but he prays to any deity that will listen; He prays that the other militants will drop the subject.

"No, think about it." The guy shining his gun in the corner inserts himself into the conversation. "We are the power; We are the order here at the Beach. Right? We gotta stick together. We can't have you getting distracted over a pretty bitch."

"Man, maybe that's a little extreme. She seems like a fine girl, so why not let the man have his fun with her?" Relief washes over Niragi as someone advocates for him. For you. You deserve an advocate in your defense. Why was he so hesitant to be that?

"If the people of the Beach see Niragi going all soft, they're gonna think the rest of us are soft too. This place runs on fear and respect. If people don't fear us anymore, it creates chaos. Do you want chaos? Huh?" The man shining his gun continues to explain, slowly winning over the agreement of the others.

"Bro you must be drunk or something." The advocate rolls his eyes, standing up to leave the room. Before he can get to the door, a loud shot fires and echoes through the little room. There is no more laughter, only absolute silence. The advocate, your advocate, was dead. Shot, clean through the back of the head.

"Dude what the fuck-" Someone pipes up, but the man who shot him only rolls his eyes, unphased by the death. Maybe nobody in the room is very phased by death itself, only at the man's extreme reaction to someone's disagreement.

"This is what we're about guys. C'mon. Fuck! We're the militants. Even saying our names brings fear into people here. Lives are meaningless in this place. His life meant nothing to anyone. Can a single person in here tell me his name?" Crickets. Silence. Niragi debates shooting this lunatic, but every pair of eyes in the room suddenly land on him. "So, Niragi, is it gonna be us or your bitch of the week?"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"What were you, before you came here?" You ask, suddenly breaking the silence in your morning ritual. You were more alert today, knowing that at the end of the night, you could be dead. Your visa expires today. "Were you in the military?"

"No." Niragi replies coldly, poking at an egg on his plate. You continue to watch him as he toys with his food, still waiting for a longer answer. His eyes meet yours before he groans and sits back in his chair. "Game engineer. Why in the world would you think I was in the military?"

"Oh, it's just the way you swing that gun around. You always seem so confident." You giggle and flash him a smile. "Who would've thought there a brain somewhere in that hard head of yours?" His eyes flash with irritation for a moment at your joke.

"Watch yourself. I could still shoot you." He grumbles. You know he's joking. You are truly convinced that behind that hard exterior, Niragi is a sweetheart. You could see it in the little things he did. In the way he would look for you to waddle down the stairs every morning, in the way he glanced at you while you were with Kuina, in the way he always happened to be around your hallway at the end of the night to make sure you got back safe. His excuse was that he just seems to be patrolling the area around that time. "What did you do?"

"I was studying pediatrics." You take a sip of your drink, remembering your life before the Borderlands. You were always the perfect student. You were praised for your talents and intelligence, following the expectations that were always weighing in your life. You enjoyed your field, of course. You wanted to help children and make the word a safer place. However, the academic burnout had been really catching up to you. In a way, you were grateful to be taken to the Borderlands when you were. As horrific as all the death was, at least you had some peace during the visa days.

"That girl will be a doctor, or a lawyer someday. Maybe even an engineer." You recall the endless praise you received from teachers and loved ones. It was always the expectation that everything came naturally to you. "I'll be sure to push her in the right direction. She has too much potential to let it all go to waste."

"Cute." Niragi comments, taking a sip of his coffee. "Suits you." Your cheeks flush at the compliment, and you can't help but let a filly grin grow on your face. Niragi rolls his eyes, smirking and shaking his head. "Don't get used to it. You're still a dork."

"Y/N!" You hear your name being hollered, and quickly turn your head to see who it was, despite already recognizing the voice. It's so early, the sun has barely risen. Most people aren't up at such a time, leaving a sweet privacy between you and Niragi. However, this was interrupted by a very concerned looking Kuina. She had never seen you and Niragi actually talking before.

"Kuina! You're up unusually early. What's up?" You say joyfully, as if you weren't caught having a meal with the one person Kuina had been warning you about since you first arrived at the Beach. She eyes Niragi skeptically before he got the message, throwing his hands up and scoffing as he pushed his chair back and left the table. "Hey, why'd you give him such a dirty look?"

"What are you thinking?!" She whisper-yells, as a certain pierced male is still in earshot. "What are you doing down here with Niragi? You know nobody else is down here, right? He could do something to you!" You chuckle, thinking the idea absurd that Niragi would every do anything to hurt you.

"He's not really as bad as everyone says he is. We were just having breakfast. We do every morning." You explain, continuing to ramble on about your pleasant breakfasts. Kuina bites her lip. Of course, she cares about you and your wellbeing, but she also worries about what she will tell Chishiya.

Chishiya had a plan to steal the cards and use you as a decoy. Although Kuina wasn't entirely comfortable with this, she didn't have much of a choice. Now seeing how close with Niragi you were becoming; She debated if it would be much of a good idea to recruit you for the plan at all. Maybe, it would make you even better for the plan. Maybe upon being caught, Niragi would take it easier on you.

"Kuina? Are you okay?" You stand, taking her hands in yours, rubbing your thumbs over them gently. She blinks a few times, returning to the present moment before nodding. "I'm sorry I've worried you. I know you had concerns about him, but I'm a grown woman. I think I can judge him for myself, and I am super sure he would never do anything to me."

"How sure can you really be about anyone in a place like this?" Kuina sighs at your unrelenting trust in the good of humanity. If there was any good in this place, it's you. "Just be careful, okay? How sure is your super sure?"

"I am one-billion percent sure. I trust him." You nod, hugging her. You've been so grateful for what life in the Borderlands has brough you: A break from the pressure of your old life, Kuina, Chishiya, and Niragi. You trusted these people, your friends, with all your sweet, naive heart.

Little did you know, every single one of them had already been plotting against you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Wow! Two games in a row we get paired together! How lucky is that?" You exclaim, holding up your little piece of paper right beside Niragi's. It wasn't luck. It was rigged to be that way. You were meant to die in a game tonight.

"Uh huh. Luck." Niragi grimaces. You're terrified of what may come, but being in the same game as Niragi brings you a little comfort. After he had so nobly helped you in the last game, you had every bit of confidence that this one would be no different. "Just don't be a nuisance."

"Hey! I never am." You whine, making your way towards the car you're meant to take. Niragi watches you walk, the way your arms sway beside you. No matter what it is you're doing, he finds it alluring, and he begins to hate it.

He had come to the revelation that his fellow militants were right. There was just something about you that made him feel weak. It brought him back to the days when he was ruthlessly bullied and tormented, doing nothing to stop it. Would you be his downfall, and is he doing nothing to stop it? He growls, shaking the thoughts from his mind and following you to the car.

As usual, it was you in the back with two other people. Except this time, they were not lip locked lovers. They were strangers, sitting on either side with you in the middle. The young man beside you couldn't have been any older than fifteen, twiddling his thumbs nervously and staring out the window. You remember how afraid you were during your first game and wondered if this was his first game too.

Finally, after a drive that felt like hours, you arrive at a large building. It's not a tower, like your last game was. It's a gym with two floors, filled with various types of exercise equipment. Some rooms have ropes and rock walls, there's a pool, and the technology in the gym was generally very impressive.

"Must've cost a fortune to get a membership into this place." Someone comments. You make your way to the table with several phones on the table. It looks like one has already been taken, but you don't see anyone else in the room other than the people you made the journey with.

You take your device, holding steady as it scans your face. Two minutes and one second until registration closes. You look around the room, searching for Niragi. He's already eyeing you, but this time he doesn't look away when you spot him as he usually does. He gives you a look of pity, something you'd never seen from him before.

"Are you scared?" You ask, approaching him and hugging yourself. "No matter what the game is, we can get through it. I trust you, and you can trust me." You were terrified of the idea that there could possibly only be one survivor in this game. If it came down to it, the only chance you had in beating Niragi was in a diamonds game.

You stop your train of thought. Why were you already thinking about how you could beat Niragi? The game hadn't even started, and you were already brainstorming how to betray him if you truly had to. You shove those thoughts out of your mind determined to stay loyal to your friend.

"Scared?" He raises an eyebrow, scoffing. He was scared shitless. Not because of the game, but because of what may happen to you. On the one hand, he hoped you would die in this game. You were proving to cause more internal turmoil than you were worth. The other part hoped you would make it out alive, so you could eat breakfast together tomorrow. "If there's anything to be scared of here, it's me."

You giggle, finding his confidence adorable. If this game ended up being a gym related physical challenge, you had no doubt that he would make it out. You were not so confident. You weren't weak by any means, but you definitely weren't the strongest. You recall how badly you wanted to start regularly going to the gym, but you were always so engrossed in your studies.

A chime echoes through the room as the game instructions begin to recite over the speakers. The missing phone and its owner poke out of a shadowy hallway. It's a woman about your age with beautiful long brown hair.

Game: Workout - Seven of Spades

Rules: There will be three stages in this game, testing endurance, balance, and strength. Once a stage is completed, you may not return to that room. In your final challenge, there will be a key waiting for you. Retrieve your key and use it to unlock your door out of the building. Should you attempt to take another player's key or exit through a door which is not yours, you will be eliminated.

Clear Condition: Retrieve the key in the final challenge and unlock your door.

"Players, please make your way to the first room." The voice over the speakers says before going silent once again. A big arrow sign lights up, pointing to a room near the back of the gym. Everyone hesitantly follows the instructions.

The young man you sat near in the car opens the door first. Inside, there are several large balance beams and signs with each person's face, indicating which one each player should go to. You find your face, noticing the weights laid neatly at your feet.

Below the balance beams, which are hoisted nearly six feet in the air, the floor is littered with broken shards of glass. You shiver, dreading what would happen if you were to fall off your beam. There are instructions near each beam, clarifying that each player must make their way across the room on their beams with their weights, which are assigned based on body mass.

Your clock is ticking, and you'd rather not waste time. While some are arguing about trading weights, you pick yours up. They're decently heavy, you won't lie. You feel the tug in your shoulders. With your weights in hand, you begin to make your way across the balance beam. The height is terrifying, and you make mental note to breathe in and out at a healthy pace.

"Look! She's already going!" Someone says, but you don't dare look back. The beam stretched several meters, but you simply try to take it one foot in front of the other. Somehow, you make it to the other side quickly, dropping the weights onto the ground once you reach your destination.

"It's really easy, guys! Just don't panic. We'll finish this game in no time!" You shout back to the other side of the room. "How is this a seven of spades? That was... simple." You say to yourself as you watch the woman with long brown hair step onto her beam.

She had taken her shoes and sweatshirt off in an attempt to make this easier on herself. You could see the panic on her face as she turned back to look at the rest of the group.

"I- I can't! I'm scared of heights!" She squeals. Though you had never met this woman before, you sympathized with her terror, and you called for her to not look back. She took a step forward on the beam, trembling.

You continued to try and reassure the brown-haired woman while others began to cross their beams too. You advised her to watch her breathing and not focus on looking down, but on what was ahead. She had actually managed to make it halfway across the beam, and pride filled your heart.

Unfortunately, good things never last in the Borderlands. The woman looks down, her knees wobbling as she grows panicked once again. She looks back, realizing she is too far on the beam to turn around. You try to console her, but she is too terrified. Her legs buckle underneath her, and she slips off her beam, the weights falling out of her hands as she crashed six feet down into the ground.

The crunch of glass fills the room and the woman begins screaming, blood pouring out from her body as she tried to escape the sharp shards. Wailing and crying, she attempts to crawl the rest of the way. Her palms and knees are reduced to wounded fleshy matter and her throat grows hoarse from her shrieks. This is when you notice the large bloody fragment protruding from her right eye.

You feel as though you're going to vomit, and you turn around, unable to watch. You hear other people shouting, starting to make it across the room and beckoning for the brown-haired woman to endure a little longer. You feel a hand on your shoulder, but you don't dare check who it is. You are too nauseated by the sounds of cracking glass and howling.

"I- I'm here!" The woman's pained voice shouts. "I made it to the end! I'm here-" Her sentence is cut off and you hear the sound of blood splatter. You feared she would be eliminated for not completed the challenge in the way it was intended. How cruel to make her crawl all the way across the room, only to die. You're about to turn and look at how close the dead woman came, but a voice tells you not to.

"Don't look." You had hoped the hand on your shoulder was Niragi's, but instead, it belonged to the young boy you say near in the car. "It's not pretty. Just move on to the next room." He speaks. You nod, your hand tracing the handle of the door to the next room before shoving it open.

Before you, there were pull-up bars positioned over stepping stools. Again, there were instructions to take your place at one of them. You let out a shaky breath and approached one of them. A timer on the wall was stopped at five minutes.

Nobody spoke. Maybe everyone was still processing the gruesome death which had taken place in the last room. There was no celebrating that we'd all make it out. Only mourning for a stranger. You watched the others climb up their stepping stools, and you did the same, gripping onto the bar above your head tightly. You didn't need to be told what to do. You only need to hold on for five minutes.

The challenge begins, and all the stepping stools get lowered into the ground. Trap doors open up beneath everyone. If someone were to let go, they would fall onto the concrete grown of the basement below. Nobody could survive that fall. The timer ticks down tantalizingly slow. You can already feel the burning in your arms. You need something to pass the time.

"Hey." You turn to the young boy, who had taken his spot next to you. "What's your name?" He smiles, seemingly unphased by the deadhang challenge. Underneath the layers of clothes, maybe he actually had some muscle to him. "How old are you?"

"I'm Shinji." He replies politely. On the bar behind Shinji is Niragi, his eyes shut in concentration. "I turned fifteen over the summer. What's your name, Miss?"

"Y/N, and unfortunately I'm not quite as youthful as you." You joke, earning a light chuckle from Shinji. You adjust your hands, glancing at the timer. Four minutes and twelve seconds remaining. "What's your favorite color?"

"Oh, shut up!" Someone growls. It's the man who had been driving the car on the way to this game. "Nobody wants to hear all your boring chatter. Nobody cares about your favorite color, or your name. Just focus on not dying."

Suddenly, there is a mechanical whirring as your bar begins to rotate, your hands nearly slip, but you continuously adjust your grip. The stranger who had been sitting on the other side of you in the car slips, banging her head on the ground before falling into the darkness below. You nearly let out a scream, but you have to focus on the task at hand.

Your pull up bar was now rotating, and you constantly had to adjust your grip while still enduring the burn of keeping yourself on. Three minutes and thirty-nine seconds left. You only hoped there wouldn't be any more surprises during this challenge. Despite the difficultly you were facing now, at least you weren't injured, like in your last game.

You hear another person slip, the crunch of their bones echoing as they crash into the ground. You bite your lip, drawing blood as you attempt to stay stable on your bar. Two minutes and fifty-six seconds.

You don't dare to try and make any conversation now. You are barely able to stay steady as is. One of your arms slips, earning a popping sound in your other shoulder. You scream as pain surges up your arm. You must have dislocated something. You reach back up, attaching both hands to your bar again. Tears prick your eyes, but you can't afford to let go right now. Your life depends on it.

Two minutes and two seconds. More than half the time is already passed. You feel your palms trembling as you try to hang on. Your left arm is now completely numb from the shoulder down. Suddenly, the bars stop rotating. It's a relief, a moment of rest and bliss. Unfortunately, this moment does not last long before they begin to rotate in the other direction. You hear Shinji groaning in pain, and you look towards his direction again.

"Almost there Shinji. Just hang in there a bit longer." You try to sound confident and comforting, but your voice is cracking. He gives you no reply, sweat dripping down his forehead as he desperately tries to keep up with the rotation.

Fifty-five seconds. Five minutes has never felt so long. You hear no struggle or complaints from Niragi or the driver. It makes you regret focusing so hard on your studies rather than being more well-rounded. Maybe if you had regularly gone to the gym a little more, you wouldn't be having such a hard time now.

Three.

Two.

One.

Finally, it's over, and the trap doors beneath you close. You sigh in relief, dropping down to the ground and tumbling on your knees. Shinji is the first to approach you, eyeing your shoulder with a grimace.

"Miss Y/N, your shoulder really doesn't look too good..." He says, crouching to help you up. "I think it's your shoulder blade. It's kind of... Sticking out?" You try to get a good look at your shoulder, but it feels nearly impossible. Your eyes land on Niragi, who has felt incredibly distant during the whole game.

"Niragi!" You shout to him. He pauses, taking a deep breath and begrudgingly walking up to you. "I think my shoulder blade is dislocated. I need your help." You say, looking up at him expectantly. He stands, observing you for a bit before groaning.

"Fine. Turn your ass around." He grumbles. You turn around, waiting for the searing pain that you're about to experience as Niragi pops your shoulder blade back into place. You shriek, but the pain only lasts a moment before relief washes over you. "You've gotta quit your screaming, you banshee." Niragi teases, turning away and trudging into the next room.

You and Shinji follow close behind, being met with a large stairwell going downwards. It makes you uneasy to be going down, especially considering there is only one more challenge before the end of the game. At the end of the stairs is an already open doorway. Niragi and the driver have already gone through.

The next room is a large rock-climbing facility, except it seems the rocks have already been removed from the ragged walls. Instead, there are several long ropes. At the top of the ropes, there are keys. Finally, this is where you're meant to be.

You approach the rope indicated to be yours. Upon a closer look, you realize that this is not a normal rope at all. It's barbed wire, braided up into a thick long cord. This is going to really hurt, but at least your shoulder is fixed for this portion of the game. So much for having no injuries.

There was yet another timer on the wall. Fifteen minutes. This filled you with dread. You would have to climb up this giant barbed wire rope in only fifteen minutes? You spy Shinji inspecting the rope before pressing his finger against it. It slices right into him, a drop of blood pooling on his pointer.

Before you can say anything, a loud beep sounds, and the timer has begun. You gulp, looking in Niragi's direction. He's already begun climbing, having torn some fabric from his shirt and wrapping it around his hands. You steal the idea, advising Shinji to do the same. You tear off part of your clothes, wrapping it around your hands and starting up the rope.

You can still feel your hands being pricked, but at least the spikes aren't digging into you. Shinji is making some good progress. So are you. Maybe everyone will make it to the end without any more death or injuries. Just then, you hear a yelp from your young friend. You look his way, seeing that the piece of fabric around his left hand had come undone. When he notices you looking, he waves the hand in the air.

"It's fine. I've still got the other one! Keep going!" He shouts. You nod, continuing to hoist yourself up the rope. Your hands tingle from the sensation of light pricks over and over again.

You turn back to check on Shinji. He's fallen farther behind, his left hand bloody from climbing. There are eleven minutes left. He can still catch up, right? You try to focus on your climbing, but Shinji's groans in pain keep tearing you away. You want to help him. You wish you could, but there would've been no way for you to reach him.

Your leg slips and a gash is created in your thigh. You hiss in pain as the warm blood begins to drip down your leg. It's always the same leg that happens to end up bleeding in these games. It takes you a moment to readjust, scratching up your limbs as you try to find your position once again. The fabric wrapped around your right hand gets torn, leaving your palm exposed to the barbed wire.

You continue onwards, trying to distance your mind from all the pain you're feeling. It burns like a million papercuts on your skin. Your movements grow sloppier and the wounds on your body grow until you are littered in lacerations.

You're lightheaded, and when you look down, you realize why. The barbed wire is covered in your blood. Not enough to be fatal, but enough to feel dizzy. You feel like you're underwater, and all sounds around you are muffled. There are somehow only four minutes left. Looking up, you see you only half a little more than a meter to go.

You gather all your strength, pulling yourself up further. You're almost there. You can see your key nearly in front of your face. You look back again, searching for any sign of where Shinji is.

He's still very far down, and your heart drops as you realize he likely won't make it in time. Then, you search for Niragi. He must've already made it up, because he was nowhere to be seen. You curse him for leaving you and Shinji behind. The rules clearly stated you could help one another.

"Keep going Shinji! You're nearly there!" You lie, hoping this will motivate him. You reach up to take more of your rope, inching closer and closer to the top. Suddenly, your other arm gives out and you slip down a few more feet. You screech as the wire cuts your face, thighs, arms, and chest. This is not so bad in comparison to falling to your death, but the agony still leaves your brain foggy.

You're getting to the point where you're losing too much blood. Tears fill your eyes as you force yourself to keep going. This is what it's all about, right? Surviving. Living. You need to live to get back home. To see your loved ones again. You need to finish your studies. You need to make it through this game.

You look up, spying Niragi standing on the ledge over you. You gasp, grateful to see that he stuck around. You reach your hand up, well within range for him to pull you to safety. Exhaustion was beginning to set in, and your body ached.

"Niragi!" You choke out his name, your arm outstretched to him while the other barely clung for dear life. "Pull me up!" Yet, you got no response. You didn't feel the warm touch of another hand grabbing yours. Only the cold air around your bloody palm. There was a pause, a hesitance, from the man you thought you could trust. Your sight blurred with tears of fatigue and heartache.

You watched his fuzzy form turn his back you to, walking away without another word.

[alex51324]

Now, more than ever, we need to be careful about spreading misinformation and rumors

I can guarantee that over the next few months, we'll be hearing about a lot of alarming things going on here in the US. Some of those things will be true, and some won't. (And some will have both true and false or exaggerated elements.)

It's going to be absolutely vital that important information is not drowned out by misinformation, rumors, and ragebait.

That means, when you see something that would be important if true, before sharing, you check whether it's actually true.

In library world, we use the acronym SIFT:

STOP: Don't spread the information, or get caught up in your emotional reaction to it, before you've checked it out. INVESTIGATE: Who is saying it? How do they know? If there are links or sources in the post, do they actually say what the person is saying they do? FIND other coverage: Do an internet search for key details: quotes, people's names, specific locations. If something major is happening, there will normally be a lot of coverage. TRACE claims, quotes, and media back to their original context.

Usually you don't need to do all four things: just STOP and then pick what makes sense from the other three. If you decide to share the information, you can also say what you did--"This is a firsthand account from XYZ protest; it lines up with what the local TV station is saying, but has a lot more details about what the cops did," or whatever.

The more urgent the information seems, the more important it is to make sure it's reliable.

If we're hearing every other day that this or that vulnerable group is in immediate, life-threatening danger--but 49 times out of 50 it turns out to mean Trump rambled somewhere about something which, if actually implemented, could end up having the described consequences at some point down the line--then people aren't going to know the difference the one time in 50 when the danger really is immediate.

Think, here, things like immigration crackdowns, CPS investigations into parents who affirm a trans child's gender, or demands that health care providers report miscarriages to law enforcement. We all know that these are things Trump World talks about a lot and would like to be able to do, in some form. For the sake of the people affected by these topics, we need different ways of talking about, "Here they are, back on their bullshit," versus, "This is a policy proposal for a real thing that could happen," versus, "Holy shit, grab the kids and run."

We cannot go to "Holy shit, grab the kids and run" every time Trump, or someone in his inner circle, decides to bloviate about something that could disastrously affect people lives. The people who are most in danger can't stay at DefCon 5 every day of their lives, and when they do really have to grab the kids and run, we need that alarm to be heard over the constant background hum of dread.

The same goes for action items--whether protests, ways to help, or little things people can do to stay safe/sane. There's going to be plenty going on, and nobody is going to be able to do everything, so do your part by passing along those things that you can vouch are true and important, and skipping the things you aren't sure about.

I'll leave you with an example. Remember how a few years ago, we were all-in about hand hygiene and disinfecting surfaces? And then it turned out that those were not actually very important in terms of preventing the transmission of COVID-19, and what we really need is better air filtration in public spaces--but, at my work at least, we still have canisters of surface-disinfecting wipes sitting around, and tattered old signs up about hand hygiene, and no air filters.

At the time, early in the pandemic, we were sharing the best information we knew about how to stay safe, but people got a little too fixated on that initial advice--remember how people would wipe down their groceries? And those little sticks for pressing elevator buttons?--and then when the advice changed, they didn't want to hear about it.

Distrust, fatigue, superstitious attachment to the old grocery-wiping ways--there were a lot of reasons, but the key thing to take away is that attention, energy, and goodwill are all finite resources. Try to avoid wasting it with grocery-wiping--or worse, shilling for the guy selling little sticks to press elevator buttons with.

[bloodibambiidoll]

Say It

(Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Summary: You and Rafe both want to make your relationship official, but neither of you want to say it out loud. WK: 1.2k

Warnings: Unprotected sex, choking, possessiveness, jealously, face slapping, daddy kink, breeding kink, degradation, switch!Rafe & Switch!Reader 18+MNDI!!

“Fuckin’ say it.” One of Rafe’s large hands has your chin pinched between his thumb and pointer finger while the other is buried in your hair, tugging on it to force you to look into his eyes. His face is inches from yours, blue eyes almost black from how wide his pupils are blown out, the look in them feral. He’s got you on your back with your knees hiked over his shoulders while he plunges his dick deep into your wet cunt, over and over again. When you don’t respond he lets out a low growl, releasing his grip on your chin to slap you across the face. “I said tell me who owns this fuckin’ pussy, slut.”

“Not you.” You smirk at him as you let the words slip from your mouth matter of factly. You let out a scoff that turns into a moan when he slaps you again.

“Yeah? If I don’t own you then why is your fuckin’ pussy suckin’ me in like a vice grip every time I slap you across your pretty little face then, huh? Looks like she knows who she belongs to.” Rafe pulls out until only his tip is still inside you before slamming back into you with breathtaking force. “Say it.”

“Fuck.” Your eyes roll back and a loud moan rips through you, much to your chagrin. You hate that even when Rafe was pissing you off he still fucks you so good it make your head spin. “You didn’t seem so concerned about my pussy when you were balls deep in some other bitch two days ago.”

“You sure about that?” He pushes himself up on his knees, his thrusts falter for a mere moment before he’s fucking you rougher and deeper than before. “Cause I’m pretty sure I’ve told you multiple times nobody grips my dick like this tight, wet cunt. What if I said I fuckin’ think about you every time, huh?”

“Oh fuuuckkingshit - don’t bull - shit - don’t bullshit me, you probably say that to all of your hoes.” He pulls out to the tip before slamming his hips against yours again, repeating the action over and over again, the sound of your hips smacking together and the squelching of your pussy filling the room.

“God, shut the fuck up, aight? ‘My pussy belongs to you daddy’ are the only words I wanna hear come out of that pretty little mouth.” He grips onto your chin again, squeezing your cheeks together so hard it almost hurts as he shakes your head slowly side to side. He pushes his hips flush against yours, stopping his thrusts all together. “Say it and I’ll make you cum on my cock.”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up and just make me cum? It’s not that deep -“ you feel him start to pull out of you and you can tell by the smirk on his face that he’s going to stop fucking you if you don’t just tell him aloud what you both already know is true. “Ugh! Fine!”

“Fine what, huh?” Rafe leans down so his face is inches from yours that is still grasped tightly in his hand as he rolls his hips against you. It sends your eyes rolling in the back of your head but he’s not having any of that. He taps your cheek roughly with his free hand until your eyes meet his again. “Fuckin’ look at me. Whose fuckin’ pussy is this?”

“It’s yours, okay!? It’s yours, daddy! Now please just fuck me I’m -“ your words are cut short when Rafe pushes him self up, throwing your legs back over his shoulders before he continues to fuck you with in an inch of your life. “Oh fuuuuck.”

“Yeah, that’s right, this daddy’s fuckin’ pussy, you’re fuckin’ mine.” Rafe growls as he brings his hand up to your mouth, shoving it between your lips before hooking two fingers on the inside of your teeth. He tilts his head down to let a glob of spit drop from his tongue onto your already slippery bud. His free thumb snakes between you to rub quick circles on it and it has you clenching around him.

“Oh god, fuck! Daddy, I’m - fuck - I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.” Your words are slurred from pleasure and his large fingers still occupying your mouth, drool drips down your down and you’re so wet that your juices are coating both of your thighs. You feel white hot pleasure shoot through you as your orgasm washes over you, making you practically see stars.

“Good fuckin’ girl. Cum for me, fuckin’ give it to me. Cream all over my cock baby.” He fucks you through it and once you feel yourself start to come down you hook your legs around him and use what little strength you have left to flip him onto his back with you strandling him.

“Now, whose fucking dick is this then? Since you wanna be all cocky.” You smirk down at him grabbing onto his shaft that just barely slipped out of you, you run his head through your folds before slamming down on his cock. You don’t give him a second to think before you’re riding him hard and fast. Your tits bouncing deliciously above him.

“Goddamn baby, you’re so fuckin’ fine, shit.” Rafe’s hands grip onto your ass for purchase as he leans back and lets you take him for all he’s worth. Your pointed nails are digging into his chest so deeply that he feels like you might break the skin but god does it feel good. He feels himself start to get lost in pleasure before he’s snapped out of it by your hand landing a harsh smack on his cheek. “Fuck.”

“Say it, Rafe, tell me your cock is mine and I’ll let you fill my pussy deep with your cum. Say it or I’ll stop.” It’s your turn to grab onto his jaw as you bounce on his cock like a little fucking bunny rabbit, with a fire in your eyes he’s never seen before. He swears he could bust right fucking now. “I can tell you’re about to cum. Tell me who owns this cock, now.”

“Fuck, baby, you. You’ve always had me, aight?”

“That’s what I fucking thought.” You give him a Cheshire smile before leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs giving him a perfect view of your pussy swallowing his cock whole over and over again. “You wanna fill me up, daddy? Breed my little pussy? Go ahead. It’s yours after all.”

“Oh fuckinshit - fuck, you’re such a good fuckin’ girl, bouncing on my cock so good. I’m gonna fuck this god damn pussy full. Knock you up so everyone really knows who owns this fuckin’ cock.” He’s drunk on your pussy by the time you feel his cock start to twitch before you feel him start to spill inside of you. That combined with his filthy words has you cumming right along with him. Once you both come down from your highs your body falls limp against his as you both pant, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?” Rafe chuckles as he lets his fingertips mindlessly caress the skin of your back.

“Yeah? And you’re kind of a fuckin’ dick.” You snort, resting your chin on his chest so you can glance up at him.

“Yeah? I’m your dick though.” You both start busting up laughing at that before you’re tilting your head enough to latch your lips onto his in probably the most tender kiss the two of you have shared.

“And I guess, I’m you’re brat.”

Divider is by @strangergraphics

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

2

Y/N

"Now this one's called Mouser," Powder says, shoving the mini smoke bomb into my palms.

"Mouser?" I peer at the scrawled whiskers and ears.

"Yeah, silly, 'cause it's a mouse," she giggles, prodding one of the ears. "Ya like it?" She looks so hopeful when she asks that, like a puppy just wanting to make its owner happy.

I nod, smiling. "I love it. It's so cute. What color does it boom to?"

"Guess!" Powder singsongs, and I groan.

"Don’t make me guess. I hate guessi—"

"Just guess! Pleeeaase."

"Fine... pink?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Blue?"

"Guess again!" But before I can... BOOM.

I jolt awake in bed, panting softly. This is an infestation, relentless and vile. First, she worms her way into my daily routine, always there… looming. It’s disgusting, absolutely revolting. And now, this ridiculous fixation is ruining my sleep schedule—worse, my study schedule.

I find myself at my vanity, applying a ridiculous amount of makeup to hide the bags under my eyes. It’s fine, just a slip-up—one tiny mistake. Nobody has to know everything fell apart. Not today, not ever.

My hairbrush clatters to the floor as I throw it, frustration rising. No. No. My entire day cannot be derailed by this one tiny lapse. It was just a dream. My subconscious was simply in the mood to revisit the past, nothing more.

I take a deep breath and focus, moving with deliberate precision. When my hair is halfway secured in a perfect pink bow, I grab my uniform. The school uniform is simple—appropriate, modest, as it should be. Certain people, however, don’t wear it that way, why did my mind jump to her so instantly? There are plenty of other people who flaunt the dress code, make a mockery of it. Why her? It’s infuriating. Completely nonsensical.

I grab my bag from its designated spot by the door, double-checking its contents—binder, planner, pens in their correct case, and books for every class, organized by schedule. Satisfied, I sling it over my shoulder and head downstairs, the rhythmic click of my Mary Janes echoing throughout the otherwise empty house.

I move through the familiar routine—toast, tea, and the faint hum of the dishwasher in the background. Every detail falls into place, a perfect puzzle...

Until I step outside. The cool morning air brushes my skin, crisp and biting, and my mind drifts again. Why her? I shake the thought away, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. This is school. My space. My domain of control and focus. She can’t ruin that too. She won’t.

By the time I reach the front gates, my mental walls are firmly in place. They hold strong as i rush over to Cait and Mel waiting by our grouping of lockers. But then I catch a flash of blue in the corner of my vision—braids swaying, a grin that’s far too self-assured. My barricades shudder, and I bite down on my lip. Hard. Hard enough for those tiny droplets of blood to form.

I force my eyes forward, swallowing the sharp sting. Today will be just like any other. I won’t let her mess it up.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

School’s supposed to be a regular thing for me—well, that’s a lie. I only show up when Silco’s got that whole “I’ll cut your allowance!” thing looming over my head.

He's always 100000% bluffing, the mans a softie at heart.

Anyway, I only actually give a shit about the damn place when I’ve got a deal lined up. And hey, two days in a row?

Fucking impressive.

Todays little deal is 3g of molly, ecstasy, MDMA whatever floats ya boat.

It's a person by person basis. The pompous little Pilties will always call it Molly, like saying ecstasy would give them a fucking meltdown.

Like somehow Molly makes it sound all sweet and innocent—total bullshit to be honest.

As I march through the school parking lot, boots thudding against the cracked tarmac, I spot her. Miss Saboteur. I shove the bag of pills out of sight, just in time.

Ha, not today, toots.

She's standing there with her little Piltie entourage.

Honestly, it's pathetic. Her naivety to the class divide. And she let me tell you Y/N must be insanely thick because its very, very obvious.

You can even see it in the lovely parking lot.

On one side, you’ve got these busted-up Chevys and beat-to-hell sedans. On the other? Shiny Cadillacs and those fancy little luxury cars, the ones that scream Daddy’s money with every brrrrr of the engine.

A very diverse range if i do say so myself.

But ladies and gents, deny it all she wants, roots stick—Zaunite dirt doesn’t just brush off.

I toss the little purple baggie into locker 505 as requested, and it lands with a soft plop at the bottom. Job done.

The bell rings, but who even cares? School’s just a place to mess with people, anyway. Everyone’s all in their little cliques, walking like robots to their boring classrooms, all stiff and predictable.

So fucking boring.

I shove my way through the crowd, elbowing a few people ‘cause why the hell not? My boots clunk on the floor, and I can practically hear them wincing behind me. Good. I love that sound.

The second-floor art stairwell is, by far, the best skipping spot.

none of those nosy hall monitors or teachers lurking. Plus, it’s got this weird, artsy vibe from all the random graffiti and doodles left behind.

Honestly? It’s mostly me. Who else has the guts? Or the creativity? Maybe Ekko, when I rope him in. He always starts with "Jinx, don’t," blah, blah, blah—but give him five minutes, and he’s tagging like it’s his idea. Classic

So, I’m waiting for him now. He’s my usual skipping buddy—rebelling against authority and all that jazz.

By the time Mr Boy Saviour appears I've got a shit eating grin on my face as a doodle a certain girl on the wall, a little too focused on getting the details right.

"Look," I chuckle, "she's got horns."

"That Y/N again?" He leans in front of my masterpiece, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I giggle, lying through my teeth. "Totally not."

Liar, liar, liar.

"Gosh Ekko, get off my back, heard of artistic expression?" My grin vanishes, like, boom, gone in an instant.

Poor guy’s used to my outbursts by now. He just plops down next to me when I curl my knees to my chest, all casual-like, like I didn’t just snap at him for no damn reason.

But there is a reason, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

"I don't even get why you still talk about her, Ekko," I mutter into the fabric of my ripped tights. "I fucking hate her."

"Right, don't lie," Ekko says, leaning back against the wall, his voice all too casual. "You’ve been drawing her nonstop for the past week."

I huff, glaring at the floor.

Typical. He always knows.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Calls me out like it’s nothing. I roll my eyes, sinking into my knees even further.

“Shut up, Ekko,” I mutter, my fingers twitching against the ripped fabric of my tights. “It’s not like that.”

It totally is, though.

"Don't lie, you've been drawing her for days," Ekko says, grinning like he knows something I don't.

I squint at him. "I’m not—" I cut myself off, glancing at the sketch again.

Shit.

He leans closer, all smug, "Oh really? Then what’s this?" He points at the doodle like it’s the evidence that’ll finally put me on trial.

"Fuck off," I mutter, tossing the pen in his direction like it's some kind of missile, damn wish it was before stomping off.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hey this is my first fanfiction on Tumblr, hope you like it :) please like and reblog!

[simp-ly-writes]

The Comment's Section (pt.10)

─────── · ·

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: an epilogue (no spoilers here!).

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, slowburn, fluff, light angst, cheesiness, friends that act like lovers, friends to lovers, mutual pining, attempt at humour, social media au, officially lovers.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT

─ · · A/N: my last smosh fic! thank you all seriously for all the support. I wouldn't have written as much as I did for the fandom without the comments, reblogs and tags I have had the pleasure of receiving. I may come back once I get through the creative burnout i'm feeling for smosh but who knows! Anways-uh... enjoy!

─────── · ·

A few years later...

🔔 (name)s_username just posted for the first time in awhile, check it out!

─────── · ·

Liked by phatchance, spennser, glen_powell, and others

(name)s_username Never really been much of a secret just how much I love my best friend that I can now, officially, call my husband 🫶

Thank you, Spencer, for dealing with my bullshit, for calling me out, letting me cry on your shoulder, yell in your face, eat everything in your fridge and yet still find ways to love me, all of me, and never make me question it for a moment. Thank you, my love, for showing me what love can feel like, what it can look like, and how it can be practiced.

It does not feel like twenty years have gone by but then again, I see you everyday and now I get that with the promise of forever. I love you and that is something I will never take for granted.

*No pictures from the wedding, sorry everyone but I'm keeping those for myself, friends, and family :-) Have roadtrip pictures instead!

View all 11,301 comments

spennser gosh, I didn't know we were hard-launching already?!

↳ (name)s_username babe, we did that nearly five years ago... 😬

username01 I will NEVER get over these two! 😭 I want a love like this! Its been so incredibly beautiful and fulfilling watching you two interact on screen together, congratulations! You both deserve nothing but happiness! #(yourshipname)isforever

username31 why is nobody else commenting about that last picture 🤣

co_mill you have me inspired to re-new my vows! Gosh, I remember meeting you both for the first time and seeing that initial re-spark and to see it, to celebrate it now, gosh-bestie you have my crying. I'm so happy for you both 🫶 #(yourshipname)isforever

↳ (name)s_username you have me sobbing now too! and I told myself I wouldn't cry anymore today! 😭 thank you for always believing in us (even when we didn't lol) ↳ co_mill of course! some people are just meant to be, just at a different time. ❤️❤️ ↳ (name)s_username couldn't have said it better myself ❤️❤️ ↳ username24 okay but why is this thread the most wholesome thing on the interweb??? ↳ username00 who tf says "interweb?"

username69 still don't understand why anyone would care about such a terrible person like yourself. The biggest liar is here and everyone knows it- you lie to yourself too.

username31 congratulations!!! 🎉

username12 OMG THEY GOT MARRIED????? 🥳 YESSSS #(yourshipname)isforever

shayne_topp woah! you got married? OMG I did that too!

↳ (name)s_username oh shit really? I'm still trying to figure out if I like this whole marriage thing or not... /sarcasm ↳ shayne_topp ehhh, I mean, I don't know about you but I have a pretty killer marriage. You and Spencer can try... ↳ (name)s_username SPENCER!! 👺 ↳ spennser yes, love? ❤️ ↳ (name)s_username do we have a better marriage than shourtney? 🥹 ↳ spennser I-uh... 😬 ↳ anthony_padilla (psst, just say yes!) ↳ spennser yes! 😄 ↳ (name)s_username see shanye! take that! 😄 ↳ username88 "yes, love" AHHHHHHHHHHH 💞

username33 #(yourshipname)isforever #(yourshipname)isforever #(yourshipname)isforever #(yourshipname)isforever

username29 YESSS LET"S GOOOOO BOYSSSSS!!!!!!

filmingamanda does this mean I can't make anymore "spencer is attractive jokes, now?"

↳ (name)s_username I mean... you're not wrong so I won't stop you 😉

username90 this all feels surreal... but congrats!! 👏

ianhecox proud of you both, truly ❤️

chickenshopdate and here goes another ex of mine getting married. WHEN WILL IT BE MY TIME GOD??? PLEASEEE

phatchance you both looked so beautiful today 🫶

tomeybones wishing you both years of happiness to come!!

username12 I hate you, so much now.

─────── · ·

🔔 spennser just posted for the first time in awhile, check it out!

─────── · ·

Liked by (name)s_username, filmingamanda, and others

spennser today and everyday from now, I get the pleasure of waking up in my spouses arms. if you would have asked me in college that I would be dating a movie star, comedian, writer, and director as talented, smart, and gorgeous as (name); I would have, quite frankly, told you to shut up and fuck off.

Funny how things change, huh? I now cannot think of a singular day without you in it and cannot remember a day without you in my life. I am so incredibly thankful that you fell in love with me, trusted me with your heart up until now and for forever.

You will always have my love and support. My arms to welcome you back home and I will make sure you never question how much I love you, my love and show you everyday just how much you mean to me.

*No pictures from the wedding! Keeping that private, please do not go looking for pictures.

View all 4,220 comments

(name)s_username I love you, so much. 🫶

↳ spennser I love you. 🫶

username01 AHHHHH. 😭 No but like- AHHHHH you GUYsss are killing me here. After years of waiting im now dying here. My heart cannot take this level of sweetness 🫶 #(yourshipname)isforever

smosh #(yourshipname)isforever

smoshgames #(yourshipname)isforever

smoshpit #(yourshipname)isforever

↳ username99 not all the smosh channels coming together LMAO 😂

username24 "So this is love, mhmm, mhmm, so this is what makes like divine~" - (name) x Spencer

username68 babe, wake up! (name) and Spencer actually got married! #(yourshipname)isforever

damienhass you guys are so stinkin' cute 😊

username77 eh. I bet it'll last a year or two before Spencer gets sick of em.

anthonypadilla with everyone getting married im beginning to feel left out...

↳ ianhecox I mean... we could always get married?

username33 I love that this whole post is about Spence being both genuinely so happy the get to call (name) there's but also wondering how on earth he managed to get with (name) too XD

username90 wishing the couple nothing but happiness and respect 🫡

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: and holy shit! the comments section is finally over! thank you all again for reading this far, I hope you all have enjoyed reading this series as much as I did writing it. 🫶 - I will always think about this lol

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt @thevintagefangirl @uniquely-haunting @maricarorp @sarahskywalker-amidala @laurasdrey

[420days]

Chapter 2

masterlist

“Ahh, fuck!” Kaliyah moaned as Jey pounded in and out of her from the back.

“Damn Kay, you feel so good around my dick. You got that good pussy for real.” He groaned as he gripped her waist and went deeper.

All she could do was moan as he pushed her head into the mattress and continued to drill into her. The two of the had been going at it for a minute and Kaliyah could feel her fourth orgasium building up in her stomach.

“Oh my god, right there baby!” She moaned

“Where? Right here? I’m hitting yo’ spot ?” He leaned down to whisper in here ear as he gripped her bun, using it as leverage to angle her body just the way he wanted it.

“Mmh, right there baby.” She nodded her head slowly as drool rolled down her face. He was hitting all the right spots and her body felt like she was on a cloud as he did so.

“So fucking pretty just taking all this dick. I should nut all up in your pretty pussy.” He rasped as she threw her ass back on him.

Running his hand over his face he braced himself and tried to keep it together. This girl was driving him crazy and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“Look at how you take it. I love that shit.” He continued talking her through it as he slightly lifted her head so she could see herself in her vanity mirror. Her face was now bright red as tears of pleasure streamed down her face.

“I’m cumming.” She shut her eyes as the pressure built up in her stomach and cum dripped down her legs.

“Damn shorty.” He let out as he released every drop of his cum into her without thinking twice. It felt too good to pull out and he wasn’t going to.

“Fuck” he breathe out as he pulled out of her. Her soft moans filled his ear before he stood up and walked to the bathroom.

Kaliyah laid against the bed trying to catch her breath and ignore the throbbing between her legs. Just like every other time they had sex she felt herself dozing off until he came out the bathroom with his sweatpants on.

“You’re leaving?” She asked softly as she pulled herself up against the headboard.

“Yeah Kay.” He avoided looking at her as he collected his stuff from around the room.

“But why? You don’t want to stay?” She asked him as sat on the bed confused as to what he was doing.

“Kay, you already know what it is.” He mumbled as he searched for his phone.

“No I don’t.”

“Kaliyah why you being difficult? Every time I give you some dick you start with this nagging shit when you know what it is.”

“I thought you wanted more than this. More than what we have right now.”

“I never said that Kaliyah. I told exactly what it was from the beginning.”

“That’s bullshit! So taking me on dates, fucking me, and talking on the phone all fucking day was just because you wanted to fuck?”

“Aye, don’t say it like that because I let you know from the beginning what it was. You started catching feelings and that’s why I have to leave you alone.”

“Leave me alone? Is there someone else? I’m not understanding. I thought we were fine the whole time.” Kaliyah sat in the bed with tears streaming down her face.

“There’s nobody else. I told you I don’t want to be in a relationship. Your vibe is cool and everything but that’s not what I want right now. It’s really not.”

“So what? You’re going to find someone else to fuck? Someone who won’t catch feelings for you?” She yelled at him.

“Lower your voice talking to me. What I decide to do doesn’t have nothing to do with you.” He told her.

“Wow, that’s so fucked up. That you would do that to me. I’m glad you were able to get your last fuck before you broke my heart.” She sniffled before making her way into the bathroom and slamming the door.

[renhanaschewtoy]

Favorite Bartender

This one also got away from me OTZ I hope I did okay with Strade. Pardon my translation all I have is Google. I'll write Ren the cosplay handler when I get back from a con next week. If you're at Colossal North lmk! 💖 NSFW MDNI

There was something endearing about dive bars, there was something exclusive about them in their own right. People knew each other, there was a decorum of understanding. Regulars were their own type and new folk, out of towners, well- they usually couldn’t appreciate it fully. The Braying Mule was well and good, always rife with interesting people, but nobody could be “on” all the time. Strade knew that. In his own time, on the quiet nights he decided to be out but lay low, not on the prowl, not looking for an easy bright eyed mark, he was in this dive bar. The name didn’t even matter, the sign was so worn it had been taken down in a storm years ago- the owner just never bothered with it. Regulars kept business in order and they helped keep the place in check. Strade included himself in that roster. Granted nobody really knew him, all by his design. But he was endearing, he was liked here. Maybe it was just nice to shed away a little, wear a different mask.

And sometimes, even he had to admit, the acrid smell of the place reminded Strade of his own little projects. Pushing open the door, Strade moseyed up to the bar, giving a little nod and grin to a few other regulars who greeted him similarly or with a small wave or raise of a glass. Settling on an old worn stool, he leaned on the sticky lacquered wood and inspected the beer taps.

“You can stare at ‘em from sun up to sun down, they still haven’t gotten that funny sounding beer you keep trying to pitch.”

A teasing lilt of a voice draws his amber gaze over to your form shouldering the door behind the door open dragging a bucket of ice to dump into the bin and let the metal lid clatter shut. A grin pulls your lips as always. Ah- you. The feisty bartender who wasn’t afraid to talk shit to anybody, get their hands dirty if need be, keep the establishment and all in it in line with a way that was firm but fair. Admirable. “Ah, liebling, I didn’t know you were working tonight!” Strade mirrors your grin with a warm chuckle.

That was bullshit.

He knew your schedule.

He preferred to be here when you were here.

Though of course, sometimes he had to skip out or change it up so nobody, or you, got wise.

You give a playful roll of your eyes as you deftly pluck a stein and pull a tab with the glass tilted at the perfect practiced angle. A rich dark dark beer sits in front of him on an old cardboard coaster so worn it should likely be trash at this point. “It isn’t the one you were talking about but…you must’ve worn him down. He got a German beer.”

“You spoil me!”

“All I did was pour it.” You chuckle and lean against the back of the bar folding your arms expectantly, awaiting his verdict. Maybe it was because it was your job to serve him but Strade liked the attention you paid to him. It was different from the other patrons and regulars. You didn’t snap at him, your lips didn’t curl in a sneer at him, you didn’t wave him off. No- you paid attention, you listened, you participated. All beautiful qualities wrapped up into once very enticing package. Strade gives a little contented sigh before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a healthy swig, setting the glass down and wiping the foam from the corner his lips with his thumb.

“Hmm…it’s good. Strong.” Strade comments with a nod of approval before lifting his eyes to see you look some pleased with yourself about it. You could say all you wanted, but Strade picked up your tells. You were probably the one bothering the owner enough about getting a keg of something for him. You sweet little thing, you. “Do you know what it is?” He leans forward on his elbows with a tilt of his head as a lazy grin curls his lips. You look away and shrug.

“I dunno something something doppelbock or whatever.” You fib lamely, pretending as if you didn’t care, as if you weren’t pleased with your little stripe of success. Strade huffs a chuckle and leans back on the stool giving a hum of acknowledgement as he takes another sip. “How much do I owe you then?”

“Nah, on the house.” He knew that was coming, you always give him a few freebies here and there under the usual saying that everyone gets a free beer here and there with their regular patronage. But that usually only held after he had one or two, not just off rip. He gives you that disarming smile that makes most women swoon. It isn’t that you’re immune to it perse, rather a little more used to it. A motion of endearment to match your own. Strade watches you idly bustle around the bar, serving other customers, fetching fresh bottles, wiping down the bar- though the latter, it didn’t matter how much elbow grease you used. Occasionally he watches whatever is playing on the TVs around the joint, sipping his beer- of which you never let stay empty for too long. You always insisted it was muscle memory and your years of working but Strade noticed that he was given far better attention.

Drumming his fingers on the bar, he lazily looks to you, “It’s a slow night.” He muses thoughtfully, “Do a shot with me. It’s too lonely to alone.” His grin splits to show a flash of teeth and you chuckle, setting down a few clean pint glasses with a shake of your head as you lift a small, narrow can to your lips.

“Sorry, Strade. I don’t drink on the job.” You admit easily with a languid shrug as you take a few sip, Strade’s eyes glimpsing down to the column of your throat as it works to swallow your energy drink. He wonders what your throat might feel like in his grip, how smooth the skin would be against he callouses of his palms. How your pulse would flutter if he applied just the right amount of pressure. If he kissed that soft, unblemished skin, perhaps left marks. What did you like, he wondered? Did you prefer to be taken soft and gentle, peppered with praise and coos of endearment? Or did you like to be roughed up, bruising grips and mottled marks to decorate your skin while you’re growled filth at and degraded? It was a curious thought he entertained quite often, even so much as when he did take a victim home, sometimes he would imagine you when they were face down in the cheap foam mattress, when their hair was in his hand as he bucked his hips into their mouths…but you’d be different. You were different.

“Mmm…what a shame. You aren’t allowed to have a little fun?” Strade flutters his eyes for a moment to focus back on you, with a curious little brow arched on your face as you caught him daydreaming for but a moment. “Come on, it can be our little secret.” He teases mock conspiratorily, leaning towards you on the bar as. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Ah, I just don’t wanna risk getting messy on the clock.”

“One shot won’t fuck you up, liebling. You’re made of stronger stuff.”

“...You’re not going to let up until I do, eh?”

Strade pretends to look half heartedly apologetic but you both know he isn’t in the slightest. And to him a foot in the door is a foot in the door, sure- a shot on your shift is but an inch and he would just love to take your world. To become your world. He watches you give an exaggerated sigh of defeat and roll of your eyes before a playful smirk pulls your lips while you fish two shot glasses and begin to fill them. 

Taking you, owning you, breaking you- it’s all part of the same pipe dream. As tempted as Strade is, as easy as it would be; you had family and friends, you had a wide social circle that was sure to garner attention with your disappearance. And he would be directly connected to you with this little song and dance routine he’s come to adore so. Doing such to you is a thrilling danger he can only flirt with but never act on. And that’s part of the allure of it all, of you. The shot glass is pushed in front of him, some of the liquor spilling over the rim before he picks it up and meets you half way in a cheers. “To our little secret.” He grins and you both tap your glasses on the bar twice before clinking your glass against his, downing your shot with the same practiced ease that Strade does. Strade watches you exhale through your nose before shooting him a smirk. “See? And you’re fine!” He chimes and you roll your eyes playfully before scooping up the dirty shot glasses.

Strade shuffles up beside you, easily stringing an arm around your shoulders and tucking you into his side. He smells of the beer you poured him, of lingering cigar smoke, a cologne of spice and musk that's as oddly comforting as it was masculine. “I'm…uh, just around back that way.” You mutter with a blush rising over your cheeks and pointing towards the back of the block. Strade chuckles to himself and nods, leading and preening at the feel of you leaning against him in kind. His large hand gives you shoulder an affectionate squeeze as you walk with some amicable conversation and goofing as usual, Strade's charm laid on a little thicker as he feigns a slur as if it was all your pours that impacted him so.

Hours tick and tock on by before you’re hollering last call for the bar. Strade settles up his tab and leaves you hefty tip that you, as always, try to give at least part of it back. Strade shakes his head, running a hand through his wavy chestnut hair. “You’ve earned it.” Strade insists as you pout at him before begrudgingly pocket the money. Not that you weren’t grateful but it felt excessive. Not that it mattered to him. “Hm…Let me walk you to your car.” Strade hums as he stands from the stool and fixes you with an expectant look.

“What? I’m not going to be done cleaning up here for like…another hour. I’ll be fine. I do it all the time. I’ve got my means.” You reply, waving him off as you begin to collect empty bottles and discarded napkins or coasters around the establishment. Strade’s huff is brief, but he rolls his shoulders back. Maybe he was being gluttonous after convincing you to break one little rule. “Besides, nobody but staff after we’re closed.”

“We already share one little secret, what’s one more? Surely some help and getting home sooner would be nice?” Strade urges, already beginning to upturn some barstools on other tables and onto the bar counter. Seeing you pause and chew your lip, seeing him already being able to sink his hooks in you, in any little way, is simply delightful. You play tough, you’re feisty, but clearly you like being looked after, like the attention he grants you. But you relent and give him a little smile that curls your lips, looking almost bashful. Strade gets a better look of behind the bar, be a little closer, be a little more alone with you and ultimately that’s all this was about really. Fostering trust, drawing you closer. Though it felt as if he was more in your orbit than anything but he was loathe to give up that control. This could only go so far, after all. Eventually you both finish up with your tasks about closing down the bar and you pull keys out of your pocket to lock up the doors as Strade waits behind you, hands leisurely in his pockets while he takes in the stillness of the night, or rather early morning. As if you two were the only people left alive for a moment.

“Ah, your chariot, liebling. Be safe getting home.” Strade grins as you unlock your car and he reaches for your door with a playful flourish and bow. You snicker to yourself, that ever charming grin pulling on your lips as you move to tuck into the driver's seat. He closes the door as your car rumbles to light and you give a shy little wave before pulling away which Strade returns. 

Fuck does he want more. Want you. Standing there in the empty back lot he gives himself a moment to envision you again. Spattered in warm, sticky blood…begging under his hands for mercy…what kind didn't matter, tears beading your lashes, the way your eyes would roll back and flutter in agony or pleasure… Strade’s cock begins to stiffen in his pants as a shaky sigh parts his lips, lidded gaze watching your taillights disappear down the street.

×××

Perhaps he couldn't do all he wanted.

But there were some he could.

Coincidences were funny things, unexpected, sometimes happy, sometimes messy, Strade usually embraced them with his large open arms. The confidence of a man who lived and knew that he could spin just about any scenario to his favor. Tonight was a night he opted not to go to your humble bar. Sometimes, distance made the heart grow fonder after all and Strade couldn’t bear to let you make him go soft. Well…you usually had a different lingering affect but that wasn’t here nor there. There were some critical things he wanted that you simply couldn’t satisfy. Strade knew better. Nobody should shit where they eat. Strade was many things but he wasn’t stupid. So tonight was a little more routine, a little more…designed for the inclinations that you couldn’t sate. But Strade could pretend through perhaps someone who looked a smidge like you.

Oh goddammit. God, of course he would come over and say something- you made a point to make eye contact. You suck in a breath through your teeth and force a smile as you turn to look at Strade; toothy grin on his face and holding his stein close to his chest. “Hey Strade. Yeah, uh…got cut early so figured I’d have a night out.” You shrug, unable to hold his honey colored gaze for too long which seems to raise his brows, a curious twinkle in his eye as he sets his mug down on the table beside your glass as you idly poke at the straw and shift the ice around. The woman he had been chatting up wasn’t beside him but you could feel her eyes prickling at the back of your neck.

At a different bar across town, Strade was posted up a heavy glass stein laden with a dark doppelbock like you had last served him. Fortunate that the bar served something similar but not quite the same. It seemed to be the theme of the night as he chattered up an oblivious and bubbly woman, they had hair just a few shades off from your own- too (short/long) to quite fit you but Strade could make do. Their eyes were a darker tinge of (color) from your own, their smile didn’t carry that unspoken sarcasm, her clothes nearly polar opposite but that was the least of his concerns. Those certainly didn’t matter at all. “A shame you got stood up, truly. But I will say- their loss is certainly my victory.” Strade chuckles smoothly as the woman gives a titter of laughter, covering her painted lips with her hand trying to be coquettish. He leans in to murmur the final string of words that will put the nail in the coffin.

“Hey- uh…can I get a (preferred drink)? Thanks.”

Strade would know that voice anywhere. What were you doing here? Today was usually another one of your closing shifts. His attention falters as he looks over to you and catches you glimpsing at him with a rather annoyed side eye before turning your attention back to the bartender. Taking your drink you flash the bartender a grateful smile and slip your tip on the bar before quickly turning on your heel to disappear into the throngs of other people in the bar. Your lips set in a tight line as you skulked over to your friend settled up at one of the tall tables and you leaned against it with a bitter sigh.

You had no right to feel this way, to feel jealous. Strade was a regular, he was a patron where you worked. You weren’t blind, you knew he was good with his words, you knew he was charming. You naturally had tripped up at his charms but felt damn good that you’d never gone ass over tea kettle for them. Maybe it was foolish to think you had chemistry. Maybe it was stupid to have a secret little self rule not to date regulars- after all there were plenty of other bars. But seeing him lean over that woman, being so close to her, that lazy little grin he often gave you, the way the woman looked up at him so enamored…it made your stomach twist in taut knots. Your friend raises a brow inquisitively that you simply shoot them a look that makes them swallow their words as you raise your glass to your lips for a sip.

“Buddy! I didn’t know you would be here! What a nice surprise.”

“A night out, well- I’d say that’s a good reward for you, hm? Be served rather than serving? I could never forgive myself if I missed an opportunity to buy you a drink myself.” Strade places a hand to his heart in playful theatrics that for a moment make you forget your sour mood and a small smile quirk your lips.

“I mean, I’d hate to interrupt your night. You seemed pretty uh…busy.” You’d cringe at the delivery of your own words, a small grimace crinkles your nose for but a moment as your shoulders stiffen. It takes all Strade has not to let smug satisfaction come over him as he hears the bitterness tinge your statement. You were jealous. Oh, he relished in that, he adored it even. You simply had a way of always just making his evenings. Elation rose in his chest as a better opportunity presented itself in you. Sure- your beautiful blood would never paint his basement but if Strade played his cards right, he was more than certain he could make you scream and cry in other ways.

“And miss such an occasion? Please. This was a boring night until you came along. As always.” Strade replies smoothly with a toothy grin, “It isn’t every night we get to be on the same side of the bar.” And with any luck he can get you all to himself. Play the right cards, say the right things, get you wrapped around his finger, or his cock- whatever worked. You return his smile, your shoulders relaxing as you look up at Strade and give a little bob of your head to relent.

“...Yeah, yeah you’re right. It could be fun.”

“Of course it’ll be fun, have you met me?” Strade gives you a little wink before being interrupted by the woman who decides she’s had enough of being sidelined.

“Uhmm…I thought we were leaving?” Her arms wind around Strade’s arm, pressing herself against him with an exaggerated pout, trying to set a tone as you simply look between Strade and the woman, as Strade simply arches a brow to her, and your friend raises their brows to their hairline, sipping their drink with rapt attention as if watching some sort of reality TV program.

“Hmm? Mein Gott, wie peinlich…” Strade mutters for but a moment, his words and tone are genuine though some irritation belies the sheepish look he forces onto his rugged features. “Just a moment, buddy.” Strade gives your shoulder that same squeeze as the nights before as he places a hand firmly on the other woman’s back and leads her away from the table. Your throat grows tight again with an irritated exhale.

The night carries on, you getting a little bolder with each drink, every shared shot as you laughed and joked, growing a more and more affectionate with each little sip of courage Strade was happy to give you. But you were smart, you didn’t want to wake up hungover and with no recollection of this night. You wanted to remember whatever it was that you got from him, be it another simple walk to your car and a night of revelry or if it was tangled up in either of your bedsheets. And Strade was all too happy to oblige, watching you flaunt your mettle in the bar but being careful all the same as not to lose your head. Strade wanted you to cut loose. Wanted you to be as untethered and wild as possible. But maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Your friend had since excused themself quietly- reading the room and sending you a knowing little wink and wave that you gleefully grinned at.

Unbeknownst to you, ever the opportunist, Strade wasn’t willing to let the other woman go either. After leading her out through the alley and cracking her head hard enough to the wall to hear the skull fracture, she was swiftly bound, gagged and deposited in his trunk. A midnight snack for a later date. So when he returned with a reddened cheek, he had an easy story to spin.

“The fuck happened to you? Christ.” You remark, instinctively reaching out to his cheek before retracting your hand.

“Ah…well, she didn’t quite take so well to being told I…wasn’t interested.” Strade remarks with a roll of his broad shoulders and he could almost see that flicker of approval in your eyes that he’d opted to spend his night with you instead.

“Feels like I should be the one buying you a drink.” You quip playfully, nudging him with your elbow, you’re careful with your contact now, you don’t want to seem too eager. And that’s fine. Strade flashes you a grin of pearly whites before slinging an arm around your shoulder again to tug you close in a side hug again.

“No, no, no, I am a man of my word, liebling. Tonight is all about showing you a good time.” Strade chuckles warmly, the timbre of his voice sending a shudder down his spine that he can feel against his built frame. His hand slips from your shoulder to the cinch of your waist this time with a firmer squeeze, possessive. And you leaned in. Like he knew you would.

“I could go for a cigarette right about now…care to join me?” Strade’s voice is low in your ear, warm breath fanning over the side of your neck as he carefully tucks a strand of (color, type) hair behind your ear before his hand slips down past your hip to slip itself into your back pocket. A large hand gropes the plush of your ass through the denim eliciting a sharp inhale from you, a rosy hue blooming over your cheeks as you bob your head and let him guide you out the back door as the crisp night air meets your exposed skin.

“I didn’t know you smoke.” You look up at him curiously as Strade tucks the two of you into the cover of an empty side alley.

“There’s much you don’t know about me yet, liebling. But I could say the same for you, no?” Strade’s eyes glance to the side before returning back to you, leaning against the brick wall so cavalier, so unaware of what Strade could do to you, all he wants to do to you.

But he would take this, there was an outlet for later.

Sweet serendipity.

Your eyes drift up as you see Strade’s frame looming over you, silhouetted by the moon. Suddenly aware of how close he is to you, that you can smell his cologne again and your breath hitches slightly before you swallow thickly. “...Stra–mmpf!” His name is barely off your tongue before his lips crash onto your own. Hungry and all consuming as Strade descends upon you, devouring you as he presses you back against the cold brick wall, pinning you to it and the bulk of his body. His teeth nip at your lower lip, demanding entry that your foggy brain is powerless but to comply to. You can taste the bitterness of beer on his tongue and he can taste the sweetness of whatever you had been ordering on his tab. Strade’s groan is swallowed as your arms lift to string around his neck, fingers carding through his hair and nails raking against his scalp. He feels your back arch, pressing your body closer to his own, Strade lets a low growl at your willing surrender as he shifts a thigh between your legs, applying pressure to your aching core. Strade’s lips leave your kiss swollen lips to let you pant and catch your breath, rivulets of spit connecting your mouths as your lidded, glassy eyes slowly lift to Strade.

“Look at you, liebling…” Strade coos almost mockingly and it makes something tighten in you abdomen  as the vice grip on your hips moves you lightly as if to help you ride his thigh that pulls a ragged moan from your throat. “Mmm…needy, hm? Don’t think I didn’t see that…that look from before…” Strade mutters as he dips his head to kiss along the curve of your jaw down to your throat, teeth nipping and tongue laving at the spots to leave a litany of marks in his wake. Little mewls leave your lips as you squirm under his grip, wanting to be closer, trying to form words but your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “...Don’t be embarrassed. I liked it…I’m flattered.” Strade purrs as he feels your hips buck against his thigh eagerly, hands fisting his wavy tresses that sends shockwaves straight to his cock that strains against the zipper.

Large hands drift to the button of your jeans, popping them open and the draw of your zipper being pulled down that makes your lashes flutter. “W-Wait…woah, St-Strade…not here, I-”

“Mmm? Why not here?” He teases, dragging the fabric down the smooth skin of your thighs that you suddenly tried to clamp shut. “No, no…” He tutts softly, prying them back apart, “Wouldn’t this be just so perfect? We are in private…and if someone were to see, well…” His tone is alight with amusement, “They could be jealous instead…that I have you.” Your nervous eyes can’t tear themselves away from the sight of Strade crouching between your legs, forcing you to lean back against the wall in nothing but your underwear that he moves about to expose your throbbing, eager sex. “Behave, liebling…I don’t do this for just anybody.” And that might be one of the truest things he’s ever said. Control was always a given, Strade to take what he wanted, perhaps you made him feel…generous. All the attention you’ve fawned upon him in your own way, how pliant you showed him you could be- and only for him, that was something that deserved to be rewarded. To melt you, make you more malleable in his hands. His tongue traces shapes and patterns along your sensitive flesh, one hand keeping your thighs apart before one disappears to nudge a finger at your entrance before easing a finger in, crooking it against that spongy spot of nerves before thrusting slowly as he spelled his own name with his tongue in a way that had you fighting against bucking your hips.

“F-Fuck…St- shit..! Strade…!” Your breath fans out in ragged pants as you watch him lave attention over a bundle of nerves paired with a thrusting digit that almost has your knees buckling. “...’m gonna…!” You keen eagerly, lashes fluttering as he feasts upon you wetly, soft sounds in the alley with your muffled moans as you bit down into your knuckle to feebly stifle your wanton sounds. Pressure builds and coils tight in your belly, flirting with the edge of euphoria until Strade bites the inside of your thigh eliciting a yelp from you. “The fuck?!” Strade stands up fast, with a dexterity and agility that didn’t match his size and stature, that had your body falter slightly against the bricks. Strade’s hand holds your chin in place  as he looks down at your lips and your furrowed brow. Your pleading was so sweet, so beautiful…god- he could make you beg more. But for now…well, Strade has his ways, as always. “Strade, please…” You groan and he seems amused all the more.

“Open your mouth.”

“Wh..huh?”

“Open, liebling. I won’t ask again.” There’s an authoritative edge to his voice that has your core throbbing, leaking as you’re exposed in the alley. The thrill of it all sending lightning through your veins as you slowly part your trembling lips. Strade gives a low, rumbling hum of approval before spitting onto your tongue making heat flood your cheeks and a humiliated whine in the back of your throat. “Swallow. You should be grateful…you taste so good.” Strade watches you close your mouth, your throat bob slowly as you swallow and sigh before your breath is stolen from your lungs again in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moan greedily. Parting for air is brief as you feel large calloused hands gripping your waist to pull you further upright, shuffle you around until your front is pressed to the brick, the fat of your cheek pressed to the cold bite of brick but Strade seems to mind the pressure and strength he holds over you as you’re bent, pants now pooled around your ankles but you’re too far gone to care. You arch your back with purpose, pressing your ass back against his hardened cock with an eager obedience that Strade adored so.

“So good for me, liebling…like you were made for me…” Strade huffs as you hear the soft clink of his belt buckle coming undone, a calloused hand groping the fat of your ass before shifting your underwear to meet with your jeans below you before you feel the bulbous head of his cock press against you. The hand on your ass moves to grip your hip and keep you steady while the other trails up the beautiful curve of your spine, up the nape of your neck before his fingers tangle in your hair, the grip is firm enough to sting a little but not hurt. Strade could if he wanted to, temptation was there most certainly but he’d go slow for you. Breaking you in piece by piece with rough affections that would leave you satisfied. He could feel how eagerly you were, how badly you wanted this, and how readily you responded to his means. You whine with his fingers in your hair, pressing your hips back and urging him in. And that’s all Strade needs, to have you wrapped around him. And wrapped around him you will be. Until you are bent and broken, full and delirious; treated better than anyone one else. You were something different, something special. Untouchable but in a way immortal to Strade.

Maybe you could be something… special and more permanent.

He was already flirting with something similar in Ren back home but you…oh, what fun it could all be. Thoughts for another day.

With a sudden snap of his hips, Strade buries himself in you with a brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs and has you choking on air as your body quivers at the sudden intrusion. “Ich kann fühlen wie du dich nach mir sehnst (I can feel you aching for me)…”Strade huffs with a smug smirk curling the corners of his lips as he sets a ruthless pace, the wet sound of skin colliding with skin, his heavy sac slapping against you with each push of his hips that you reciprocated in kind as your teeth dug into your lower lip trying to keep your sounds hushed but your body betrayed you. Strade bent over your back nipping at your ear as he stilled to more shallow thrusts to torture you further, “Just imagine, Liebling…someone seeing you spread out here for me…” He lilts in that low silken tone that has your walls clenching around him, fluttering with each filthy, honeyed word that drips from his lips. “Just a perfect little cock sleeve…just for me, yes?” Punctuated by a deliberate roll of his hips that has your lashes fluttering and eyes threatening to roll back into your skull. A sharp tug to your hair leaves your mouth agape as you tighten around his dick again with a breathy groan. “...Say it.”

“Sh-shit…please! Yes, please!” You nearly sobbed, desperation and want clouding all rational thought as you begged Strade, giving him the allowance to do as he pleased with you. Soft mutterings in his mother tongue left his lips; an assortment of praise, of filth, obscenities as his thrusting became staccato before a long, low growl parted Strade’s lips, muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Spilling into you with rivulets of thick, viscous cum while your walls milked him greedily, your own orgasm threatening to have your knees to collapse around you but Strade was quick to move his thick arms around your middle to keep you up, keep you in place as he pumped you full of his cum until it dripped out of you obscenely, forming a small puddle on the concrete. The vacant alley was only given life by the two of you panting raggedly to catch your breaths, Strade’s grip still a vice you wouldn’t be able to break from.

“Hhnngh!...fuck…just for you!” You manage to choke out pleadingly, trying to push your hips back but Strade halts entirely in a way that makes you whine.

“You can do better than that.”

“I d-don’t…wh…uh…” The brick digs into your palms as you try to collect your addled thoughts, of what words might appease him, “Haah~...mmm…J-Just for you, Strade.” You try as his name seems to be all that can fill the folds of your brain; his taste, his smell, the feel of him felt ingrained into you.

“That’s better…” He croons to you, however the feeling of you throbbing around his aching cock was just as torturous for Strade but he could be patient from time to time, when it counted anyway. Impulse won most of the time. “Taking me so well…” his breathing labored as you could feel him pressed to your back, hips pistoning with newfound vigor as Strade’s hand left your hair to close around your throat. No pressure is applied, simply relishing in the feeling of your erratic pulse as he fucks all coherent thought from your brain as he uses the leverage to bring your face to his in a sloppy kiss. All tongue and teeth, as if to consume you whole, that you would be devoured. “Mnnngh…hah…sucking me back in like that…such a slutty little hole…” Strade growls against your mouth as his hips slam against your ass so hard you were certain you’d be bruised by the end of it. “...fill you to the brim…” He huffs, a deep flush had risen from his throat to his cheeks, a heady look that washed over his features as sweat beaded on his brow dampening the curls that fell over his forehead.

“F-Fuck…” You breathe, slowly raising your hands to rest on his forearms, giving them a little tap, “I just…I can’t…” You were still trying to collect your thoughts and you could almost feel him smirk against your skin as you felt his breaths warm your sweat slicked skin.

“...Maybe I can interest you in a nightcap? At my place?” He hums, dislodging himself from your depths with a deep grunt as he watches you quiver and leak. You seem to take stock again, remembering where you are, as you quickly reach to tug up your underwear and jeans, pulling your shirt back down as Strade tucks himself back into his pants and adjusts his belt. You look so pretty like this, embarrassed but thrilled, debauched but dressed again- the tell tale signs of what- or rather who, happened to you, evident on the outside and inside.

“Huh? Oh, no…I don’t think so.” You breathe with a little chuckle and Strade looks at you, a dark and almost hollow look upon his face but for a minute that you seem to misinterpret. “Just cause my place is closer. C’mon.” You give him that fond, disarming smile as you dare to reach for his hand and lead him to the parking lot that has the brief uptick of annoyance assuaged from Strade entirely at your quick turnabout. He pushes a small smile on his lips before raising a hand to cup your jaw before holding the back of your skull and pressing another searing kiss to your lips.

“Give me your address and get ready for me…I just have to stop home very quickly. But I will be there.”

“If you stand me up, I’m pouring you Malort every time.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, liebling. You said so yourself, you’re just for me now.” He flashes you grin that holds an underlying meaning you can’t quite ferret out, but you giddy stride to your car to do as your told for a promised nightcap.

[syscest]

hi im assuming the us vs them post is about a specific term, which one would that be?

so the sysmed out-group term being referenced in the joke post was (as the reblogs guessed) "endogenic", and I'll lay our thoughts out straight just once to avoid being potentially taken the wrong way

I've got two angles here, existential theological linguistic bullshit, and harm-reduction. stay with me here because even if you're not on board with the first thing you'll want to see the second.

so "traumagenic vs endogenic" is a false dichotomy, and I don't just mean "there's a secret third thing", I mean both classifications are fundamentally not real.

personally? we haven't the foggiest idea why we're a system. but the thing is, I don't think anybody else does either - I think it's genuinely impossible to know why your own consciousness is behind your own eyes and controlling your own body, why you *experience* existing in first-person at all. Like shit, lots of singlets believe it's because a soul has been created or introduced to their flesh, and a bunch of others think that's a load of crap and the chemicals just *do this* on their own. Singlets get this unalienable right to believe whatever the hell they want about why they're experiencing being themselves all the damn time, and I refuse to believe that systems are uniquely special in a way that singlets are not such that anyone can fucking flawlessly divine the cause of our consciousness all of a sudden. These are existential-tier questions and to deny their impossible complexity and the right to self-belief over them is, in my eyes, to deny systems something many singlets feel is part of what makes them human.

You can believe all sorts of stuff about the nature of your own systemhood just like how you can believe all sorts of stuff about the nature of your own existence - that doesn't make you definitively right, it's just a meaningful mechanism through which you understand your own experiences that other people should respect - it's like any faith, go figure.

Frustratingly, these words - traumagenic, endogenic - they're not talking about belief, they're objective buckets actively being used for exclusion. So every time we use the term "traumagenic systems", in saying "systems that objectively exist because of trauma" we are saying, loudly, "it is possible to know why a system exists". and frankly? no the fuck it isn't.

Anyway that's airy bullshit and reflects very idealised interactions so - practical, realist opinions, and harm reduction:

Saying "I'm pro-endo" is a net good, though I think "I support all systems" is probably marginally better because it doesn't perpetuate categories pushed by sysmeds for exclusionary reasons as being essential to defining systemhood - as we joked about.

Contrastingly, self-declaring "traumagenic" or "endogenic" in a bio is a net bad. Saying "I'm a traumagenic system" also says "Hello sysmeds, I believe in your dichotomy and I'm one of the good ones" (great way to get sysmed followers), and that factor doesn't go away if you go on to say that you support all systems - you've already thrown away your opportunity to shield more vulnerable systems from harassment through making who sysmeds need to target more obscure.

In fact, regardless of whether your bio says to sysmeds "I am a target" or "I'm not a target", by saying it explicitly, you're pressuring other, more vulnerable systems to similarly self-declare. It's like cis people putting pronouns in their bio to shield trans people from harassment through obscurity and embarrassment, but in reverse - if you shut up about it, and *just* call yourself a plural system, even if you do believe in their categorisations, you stop the propogation of the self-labelling and exclusionists are forced to make themselves look like idiots because most of their harassment would have to be done at random. It's basically herd immunity - nobody talks, everybody walks.

anyway yeah there's context for future, though honestly the section in plural respect is a lot more succinct lmao

[godmadeaterribleerror]

The Only Place That I Call Home - No Love Love Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: The real tragedy in No Love Lost is The Boys having to watch Her and Ben pretend they're capable of being normal about each other. Title from Heartlines by Florence and the Machine.

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary/Warnings: It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, pre-established relationship, smut (blowjob, some fingering, p in v sex)

“We’re not playing codenames,” MM snapped. “The ban is fucking permanent, so drop it.”

“It’s a stupid ban,” She muttered, glaring at Ben’s hand as she turned it over between her fingers. It was hard to focus when She touched him like that. So natural and thoughtless, like he’s only an extension of her. He might be. She was perfect, and Ben would gladly just be a fucking extension of her. There wouldn’t be another goddamn idiot pussy he’d rather just be a weapon or tool of. “You’re just a sore loser-“

“We ain’t sore losers, Love,” Butcher snapped. “We’re just bloody sick of you always winning. Because you fuckin cheat.”

Ben almost snorted at the look of indigence on Her beautiful face. It was adorable, how She looked so genuinely offended by the very idea that she’d ever cheat, when they both knew that she cheated at almost every goddamn game they played with the team. Codenames is just the only one everyone else has caught.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She stuck her chin up at Butcher, and it would be regal if she wasn’t full of such fucking bullshit. “I’ve never cheated in my life, Butcher, and I’m wounded you’d think that low of me.“

“I’ve thought a lot fuckin lower,” Butcher drawled Her name, and she scowled. “And you are cheatin. Because that cunt,” Butcher nodded to Ben. “Always helps you.”

Her hand folded fully over Ben’s as she held Butcher’s glare. “Last time we were on different teams-“

“And that motherfucker sabotaged everyone for you,” MM grunted. “No fucking codenames.”

Her sharp eyes turned to Ben. Are you going to fucking defend our honor.

You don’t have honor, Sunshine. He grinned, kissing the top of Her head. And we do cheat. All the fucking time.

I don’t make you cheat-

My loyalty is to you. He shrugged. Not whatever pussies I get put on a stupid fucking team with. And you never complain-

Because I like winning, Benjamin, and-

You don’t have any fucking honor.

Fuck you.

At the dinner table? In front of everyone? He raised his eyebrows, smirking down at her pretty, flushed face. That’s fucking disgusting-

I hate you.

No you don’t. Ben smirks, pulling her closer to his side. You love me.

I do, She sighed, whacking his arm before dropping her head on his shoulder. You’re such a fucking asshole, but I do.

“You twats want to clue us into your secret bloody brain sexting-“

“No.” She shot Butcher a glare, and he was smart enough to just wink back. “If it’s not codenames, what are we doing.”

“We could do Monopoly-“ 

Annie shook her head, cutting Hughie off. “Butcher always wins Monopoly, and he’s always a smug ass about it after.”

“It ain’t my fault I got killer business instinct-“

“I think you’re just a heartless dick,” Annie shrugged. “Only psychos are good at Monopoly-“

“You’re just real fuckin salty, Starlight, cause you hate admittin I’m good at somethin-“

“Oh, shut up-“

“What about Clue?” Frenchie cut off Annie this time, flinching slightly at her glare. “My apologies Annie, but I would like to begin with a game before it becomes midnight-“

“No Clue,” MM grumbled. “Those two cheat with that one as well.”

Ben decided not to punch MM, because they did in fact cheat at Clue, and Her annoyed pout made him want to pick her up and suck on her lips until she moaned, and they did end up fucking at the dinner table.

Ryan raised his hand slightly. “Could we, um, could we do Uno? I like Uno.”

The table fell silent, nobody willing to point out that She and Ben would almost certainly be cheating at Uno when Ryan looked so fucking hopeful, and Her glare made it pretty damn obvious she’d kill anyone who shot the idea down.

“I can do Uno,” Hughie mumbled, and when everyone gave small nods of agreement he rose up, going to retrieve the game from wherever the fuck they kept it.

Ben felt a tug on his arm, and looked down to find Her very pointedly not looking at him, attention focused on Frenchie, explaining Uno to Kimiko.

What.

Are we cheating.

He coughed, failing to cover his laugh as Annie gave him an odd look. No fucking honor, darling-

Shut up. I had a fun idea, but if you’re going to be a dick-

Ben tangled Her fingers between his, muttering Her name between their heads. If you want to cheat and win, I don’t give a fuck about it-

I want to win. She glanced up at him. But I can win at multiple things.

Ben frowned. What the fuck are you talking about.

No cheating, a smile played on her pretty lips, and Ben wanted to trace them with his hands and mouth and cock. She was so fucking beautiful, it was an issue to his attention as she continued. Because we’re competing against each other.

Why the damn hell would we do that.

Because whoever wins gets to be in charge of sex tonight.

Christ, he fucking loved Her. You sure you want that, Sunshine? Ben leaned down, bumping his nose with Hers, smirking as her heart jumped slightly. Because I’ll fucking kick your ass, my love. And you won’t get off easy, he nipped at her lower lip, and her mouth fell open. When I win.

If you win.

He chuckled. Brat.

Cunt. You in, or are you too much of a fucking pussy-

Ben tangled his hand in Her hair, pulling her up into a deep kiss. I’m in. Get ready to fucking lose.

Take your own advice, Pretty Boy. She pulled back with a wide smile, and Ben had never seen anything better. I’m going to make you regret being born.

That wasn’t fucking possible. Ben didn’t think he’d ever regret a thing again, when whatever he’d done before had gotten him here. Feeling all Her love for him in every corner of the world, with her perfect, sharp, bright eyes on his and her body fitting like a missing half against his.

She was real fucking serious about winning—she’d stood up, moving to sit beside Ryan across the table so Ben couldn’t see her cards—and it was going to make it so much more satisfying when Ben emerged victorious. He was already lining out what he wanted to do—maybe some edging, make her moan and beg and squirm under him as he teased her—but he was adaptable. If they got home and he realized she was already fucking dripping through her underwear, he’d probably just fuck Her. But he had to win first.

They’d had to combine two Uno decks—nine people was apparently too much for one fucking pussy deck to handle—and it took Ben about fifteen seconds after Frenchie dealt to realize that he couldn’t fucking remember how to play Uno. And when he looked up at the casual, sharp amusement on Her face, he realized She’d fucking expected that.

You cheated.

We’re not cheating, Benjamin. We agreed on that-

I didn’t fucking say we, I said you.

I don’t know what you’re implying. She glanced up from her cards with almost fucking sparkling eyes, and Ben felt like someone had dropped a building on him. Actually, he’d had a building dropped on him. This was a whole lot fucking better, because it was made of all her love and adoration and perfect, clever brain and smart fucking mouth. Are you getting worried, Pretty Boy? Want to call it off?

Never in a million goddamn years. Want to hear how I’m going to fuck you when I win?

She hummed, looking back to her cards. I think that’s foul play.

This whole thing is foul fucking play. Distracting Her with dirty talk was also the only fucking chance Ben had to win, but she didn’t need to know that. I’m going to finger you first, darling. See if we can get three fingers at the start this time, if I make you wet enough. Her heartbeat picked up, her eyes becoming slightly glazed, and Ben pushed on. You might already be fucking wet enough, you’re always so fucking wet for me, but I’d like to get you so wet you fucking squirt all over me. Make you fucking scream-

Ben. She shot him a half-hearted glare. Shut it. Stop cheating.

You started it.

She wrinkled Her perfect nose at him. Fuck you.

I will. With three fingers, then my tongue, then my cock, until you’re a beautiful, wrecked mess-

A crumpled up napkin hit him in the face, and when Ben glowered at Her, she just shrugged. I told you to shut it.

Ben didn’t shut it. By the time the game was halfway done, he’d gotten hit in the face with five more napkins, a plastic spoon, and a cup that still had some fucking water in it. But he was still fucking losing. By a lot. Half the damn deck was in his hand, She was down to two cards, and there was no actual warning in Her glares or distress trading between their bodies, so Ben kept telling her every single filthy thought that crossed his mind.

And he still fucking lost. Kimiko—despite only learning the game twenty minutes ago—won first, but everyone groaned to keep going for second place. When Ryan won soon after that, it became about third. Ben was hardly able to hold his cards in his hands—everyone had a fucking vendetta against him, and he’d been hit with so many plus two cards it had to be some sort of targeted fucking play they’d all agreed on behind his back—and the game was between Her and MM.

She won, with an overdramatic slam of a green five on the pile, and a wide grin around the table. And when Her eyes met Ben’s, already blown out and thirsty, he felt his dick twitch in his pants.

“If you losers will excuse me,” She stood up, still holding Ben’s gaze. “I’ve had to shit for the last fifteen minutes.”

MM’s face twisted in disgust. “You could’ve just fucking left, you don’t need to tell us-“

“Sorry,” She shrugged, clearly not fucking meaning it. “If you wanted not to hear about my bowel movements, you shouldn’t have shot yourself in the foot by changing it to green.” 

As She turned away from the table, walking off to the dining hall bathrooms, her voice rang in Ben’s head. Give it five minutes, then follow me.

He gave it three. They were now going for fourth, nobody seemed to think he was a serious contender for the title, and Ryan eagerly volunteered to play for him, so with a grumbled thanks and half-run to the bathroom, Ben followed Her.

She was waiting for him, arms crossed as She leaned against the wall. “That was not five minutes-“

Ben locked the door behind him, and slammed his mouth onto Hers with a groan, swallowing every single moan and pulling her half off the ground as he touched Her fucking everywhere.

“Ben-“

“So fucking smart,” he muttered, dropping his head to her neck and sucking on that one spot that made her like putty in his hands. “You’re such a fucking brat, Sunshine-“

“And I won,” Her voice was breathless, but still smug. “So I’m in charge, Benjamin-“

He chuckled Her name against her skin, moving one hand under her shirt, palming at her breast. “We both know this ends with me fucking you, darling, so just damn say how you want it-“

She pushed him off—her hands heated enough to grab Ben’s attention, but not to burn him—and dropped to her knees, smirking up at him as she ran a hand up his thigh. “I’m in charge. And I want to suck your dick. Can I please-“

Ben had never moved fucking faster. Belt off, pants down, freeing his cock to press against Her pretty, parted, slightly swollen lips. Even if she hadn’t won that stupid bet, he’d never fucking turn Her down for this. Not when she was smiling up at him under her lashes, playing with his balls as she swirled her tongue over the head of him, teeth scraping as she squeezed him and he bucked forward slightly.

He growled Her name, fighting every single instinct in his body to just pick her up and fuck Her. Push himself into her perfect pussy, make her breathing as heavy and ragged as his was. Cover himself in the wetness he could see dripping onto the bathroom floor, her pants having been tossed off to the side so she could fucking finger herself. “If you don’t move-“

She leaned back, giving him a fake pout that made his cock jump in her hands. “No.”

“Christ, woman-“

She started to stroke him, gentle and almost fucking painful with how goddamn slow it was, and he groaned.

“I won, Ben. And I want you to fuck my face,” He hissed through his teeth as She licked the underside of his cock. “But if you’re going to be an ass-“

“You won,” he grunted, gripping the sink with one hand and tilting her head back with the other. “You fucking won, and I’ll fuck your face any goddamn day-“

She nodded, grinning. “When I tell you, pull out.”

“What-“

“Trust me.”

He nodded slowly, and when Her mouth fell open, Ben pushed himself down her throat, almost fucking moaning at how good she felt. Fucking sinful, Her tongue swirling around him, Her pretty eyes fluttering as he bumped the back of Her throat. He was pretty sure that he could find release just like this. Watching Her below him, her cheeks hollowed out and one of Her hands playing with herself as she held his gaze. She was fucking threat to Ben’s health, with how goddamn perfect she was. With a little drool escaping her lips as Ben’s cock rested between them, a hand steadying herself against his thigh, grinding onto the fucking floor-

That’s what got Ben to move. She was squirming against her own touch, and he could fucking smell how wet she was, hear her whimpers around his dick when his hips rutted slightly, and he wasn’t allowed to take care of Her until after this. So he tangled his hand in Her hair, tugging her almost fully of of him before slamming her back down, bucking his hips before repeating it over and over until She was moaning, pretty eyes rolling back in her head and her lips perfectly fucking puffed.

He was close. She’d started to suck on him when he hit the back of her throat, and lick the tip of his cock when he pulled back, and Ben could feel the coil in his gut growing tight and hot, and fuck She was so perfect and beautiful and he felt goddamn high-

He hissed Her name as her nose bumped his lower stomach, her high and desperate whine making him rut up into her. “Christ, you’re so fucking good. Gonna fucking paint your perfect fucking body in me, darling, fucking love you, look so fucking beautiful with your pretty fucking mouth stuffed with my cock-“

Her nails began to sink into Ben’s skin, Her hips rolling against her own touch. Ben had never been fucking jealous of someone actively sucking him off, but god fucking dammit it should be him touching Her. She should be squirming under Ben’s touch, not having to fucking drip all over the bathroom floor. Everything was fading into a daze of Her, bright and soft and so fucking full of love it made Ben a little insane, and he was so fucking close to cumming right in her fucking vice of a mouth-

Out. Her voice was breathless in Ben’s head, and his hand loosened on her head before he’d even fully registered the words.

“What-“

She surged upwards, grabbing Ben’s face and pulling it down to hers, and he let every fucking instinct of Her, Her, Her take over. Spinning them around, slamming her into the wall as one hand dropped down, pinching and flick at her clit until she became putty in his arms, running one finger between the lips of her pussy, teasing at her opening but never pushing in-

“Ben-“ She gasped as he dropped his mouth to her neck, biting that one spot as he pressed his thumb around her clit, rubbing slow circles everywhere around it. “Fuck-“

“So fucking good, Sunshine-“

Ben’s words were cut off with a strangled groan as her hand wrapped back around his cock, pumping him so fast he was pretty goddamn sure it might make him pass out.

“Inside,” She whispered, lips brushing against Ben’s ear as his arms tightened around her. “Want you to cum inside-“

Ben dropped one hand to Her thighs, pushing them open without a further fucking question and ramming himself into her with a half shout of pleasure. He felt himself bottom out, rolling his hips just enough to angle himself against that deep part of her that always made her scream, and when She came—her moans and shouts of his name in his ear, her pussy contracting around him, and her hands scratching at his back—Ben cracked the wall as he slammed up into Her, relief crashing through him.

“So fucking tight, darling.” He growled against her skin, and she whimpered. “Good girl, taking me so fucking well. Fucking love you-“

Someone slammed their fist against the door, and they both froze.

“We can all hear you horny cunts humpin like bloody rabbits! Keep it in your fuckin pants!” Butcher shouted through the walls, hitting the door one last time.

“Either we cheat or we fuck,” Ben drawled back, letting Her bury her beautiful, flushed face in his chest. “So let us cheat, or buy some goddamn earplugs.”

“You could just not fuck,” MM yelled, sounding a little further away. “Not fucking is an option-“

Ben rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back where it belonged. With Her.

“If we run,” he muttered, forcing himself to pull out of Her and ignore the way he was already half-hard again from the sight of his cum, dribbling down her thighs. “We can get you back to the apartment, and keep fucking without any goddamn interruptions.”

“I, um,” She leaned against him as they dressed, and Ben realized there was a slight wobble to her knees. He’d fucking done that. “I don’t want to run-“

He scooped her up into his arms with a smirk and a kiss to her brow. “Hold on.”

“Wait,” She looped her arms over his neck, playing with his hair as she studied his face. “I’m still in charge. When we get home.”

Ben snorted, hauling her further up his chest to mutter against Her lips. “Tonight you’re in charge, Sunshine. But next time, I’m fucking winning, and you’re going to cum so many times you can’t walk for a goddamn week.”

She swallowed, mouth parting, and Ben pushed his tongue between her lips, sucking on the lower one in a silent promise.

“And if I win again-“

“You won’t.” Ben pulled back, giving her a wink. “Because we’re going to do a team game, and I’m going to take Ryan. And you’ll lose for him on fucking purpose.”

She scowled. “Cunt.”

“Brat.” Ben grinned at Her, and her pretty lips—still fucking swollen from his cock—pulled into a smile as pure, raw fucking joy painted Her feature. “Let’s get you home.”

End Note: I feel like the Boys would have the most foul Jackbox night. Things would be said that should've never been said in the first place, and will never be said again. She and Ben would make a voting block. MM would quit when his smart joke lost to Frenchie writing "massive balls" for the seventh time in quiplash. Someone would break the TV.

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[cottondo]

vox x reader ; please?

Nobody really understood how it happened— it just did one day.

You ended up really hitting it off with the man of Voxtech himself; and wow lookathat, you’re dating him now.

It wasn’t unusual to be waking up in his bed, either. But what something Vox wasn’t used to, was a sunshine personality like yours. Of course you have your devilish charms still, as thats what drew him into you to begin with. But, the small appreciations you had for just about everything? It was weird, right? For a sinner in hell, it was marked as a rare occurrence to see someone like you.

( Other than the Princess of Hell, though she was much more over the top than you were. )

As your eyes opened, surroundings gaining a much clearer focus, you let out a tired little sigh.

There’s a soft buzzing beside you, where Vox was passed out in a deep sleep. It was such a nice state to see him in. Calm, not stressed out and dealing with everyone’s chaotic bullshit.

Honestly, it was nice being awake before everyone else. You could just take in the small beauties of silence before everything got obnoxious.

Your eyes flicker over to the windows, and see a bright neon sign with arrows pointing downward towards its front door.

A brand new building had just opened up, and it was a place you’ve been waiting to check out for a while now. Honestly, you couldn’t contain the excitement. It seemed like it took forever to finish, as most demons tried to overrun it while it was still in a vulnerable state.

With a little gasp, your hand falls to vox’s shoulder, and shake it lightly. “Oh my god, Vox, wake up!”

A static noise enters the air, as a small groan of annoyance leaves the tv screen. “What—”

You smirk, leaning over his shoulder to view his annoyance. “It’s finally open~ we gotta go!”

He heaves out a heavy sigh, turning to lay on his back with a dull, tired expression. “Y/N,”

“Please?” The little pout you made usually got him to do what you wanted, but this time it didn’t. He looked tired and visibly annoyed. Honestly, fair. You did kinda just wake him up in one of the worst ways possible.

“Can you at least let me wake up a little, first?” His lopsided smile made your heart flutter. Fuck, he was just so cute no matter what.

“Okay, fine. Just don’t fall back to sleep.” You fully sit up, crawling over his figure, and hoping to avoid stepping on any part of him in the process of getting off the bed. Standing to your feet on the floor, he **almost** chuckles. “What the hell even is the place you wanna go to, anyway?” His one eye widens out of curiosity over at you.

You roll your eyes, annoyed that he never usually remembered the little things. “The first like, ever, plant shop in hell. Somebody actually got things to grow down here,” you inform, taking a step in front of the mirror. “I think they used, like, human world magic or something.”

Vox sat up, stretching his neck and letting out a little groan. “Since when can anybody just get access to earth?”

You deadpan him briefly, “Does it even matter? I need one.”

He shakes his head, sitting up.

“I don’t know how you can be this happy so early in the morning.” He smiled at you. Holy shit, he actually smiled at how stupid your little obsession with this place was.

“Did— did you just smile~?” You decide to point it out, a smirk curling up to your features.

His eyes widened, body slightly startled at your reaction to him. “What?”

You inch closer to him, a brighter look of excitement as he stares at you in curiosity. “Oh my god you did! I saw you, so there’s no denying it.”

Vox takes on the tv effect to his tone as he looks up at you. “Alright, alright.” He then stands, and you notice how he slightly towers over your idling frame. “Only you can convince me to do shit I normally wouldn’t do.” His screen looks away with an almost embarrassment to it.

Your arms gently slip around his waist, causing him to tense up, arms raising.

“Thank you.” You smirk up at him. It didn’t take much to get him wrapped around your finger.

Vox sighs, lowering his arms, and slinking a hand around your waist. He gently guides you forward into his figure. His little smile comes back, and for a moment, you can actually feel him soften his outer shell with you. “Anything for you, my dear.”

______________________________________

I’m so sorry my writing hasn’t been up to par lately lmao 🥲 Not loving this one rn