#okay i've yapped too much in the tags

[yearnstarved]

─── ⋆ TO EACH THEIR OWN METHODOLOGY, McCoy shrugs. He's had to drag Jim places using worse methods before. The one Jim won't ever let him live down is nearly setting off an anaphylactic shock just to sneak Jim on the Enterprise. The first domino for the rest of their lives, McCoy reminisces in the span of a long sigh.

"Quarantines orders by the doctor aren't just there for my health," he grumbles through the thought before his eyes widened. Dinner. Shit. He'd forgotten all about their invite.

"I think you know as well as I do, one of you is incapable of fulfilling that promise." He pauses, watching the treys of food placed before him. "Do I get a plus one at least?"

aside from their friends, not many dare to tease her about the captain so openly. then again, they have known each other for many years, & the doctor hardly holds back. it is one of the many yet primary reasons why she likes him. ❛   does it have to be by the ear ? i don't need to resort to such means to drag his ass here.   ❜

either way, she takes his order & disappears for a few minutes before returning with a couple of cheeseburgers & some fries to share. plus some coffee. ❛   i know you prefer STRONGER drinks, but . . .   ❜ he is technically on the clock.

❛   it must be one hell of a virus if i couldn't escape it because of my enhanced physiology.   ❜ Carol comments, her nose wrinkling as she thinks. usually, she is one of the few who can function in such a case, given her Kree genes. ❛   anyway, no shop talk. when are you gonna join us for dinner ? we promise to BEHAVE.   ❜

[kitkatsgalore]

you have my soul, you have my heart ♡

[starcollectorsilas]

Fuck you. *disables your able-bodied and pretty much superhuman character*

[armorguard]

hc + 👪 for a family-themed headcanon

thematic headcanons (accepting!) | hc + 👪 for a family-themed headcanon

also asked by @phantomiaou <3

SPOILERS FOR: THE BELOBOG CAMPAIGN!! please scroll past if you haven't played it yet and want to go into it blind \(^^)/

i will begin with this: in the time they were mother and daughter, bronya and cocolia loved each other very much.

i have no doubt in my mind that cocolia truly cared for bronya. from bronya's character story, we know that cocolia is quite affectionate with her—she reads her stories and lets her sit on her lap, embracing her. throughout the belobog campaign, cocolia also shows genuine concern for bronya, even going so far as to doubt the stellaron's plans when bronya disappears. bronya herself also says how cocolia tried to be the best mother for her. 

while bronya also acknowledges that she may not have known cocolia as well as she thought, i think cocolia was never actively malicious towards bronya. or towards anyone, as a matter of fact. (but this isn't a cocolia analysis oops)

you have to understand, guys: they are each other's only family. for more than a decade, they were the only ones who could enjoy each other's company outside of politics. so bronya loves her mother. terribly. and cocolia loves her daughter as well. but cocolia isn't just her mother—she is the supreme guardian. and bronya isn't just her daughter—she is the heir. and this is where i must also state the following:

bronya and cocolia loved each other very much, but their love doesn't change the circumstances under which it was born. they are the only ones who can enjoy each other's company outside of politics, but politics is so inherent to their lives that all the lines get muddled.

what do i mean by this? well, lest we forget, cocolia adopted bronya. she chose bronya out of all of the children in the overworld and underworld to be her heir. from the time since she began being bronya's mother, she was also priming bronya to be her progeny. her heir. this complicates their relationship far more than you could think. because while cocolia has been a very good mother—as supreme guardian, we all know what she's done. but to bronya, cocolia is both her mother and the supreme guardian—the lines have been blurred and that's why it was so hard to sway her at the beginning. it was only until she saw belobog for herself, without cocolia's influence, that she was able to form her own opinions on things.

i think bronya's relationship with cocolia is directly correlated to her relationship with the guardianship. bronya has had doubts about the role of the supreme guardian—how much can they actually do? how meaningful are their actions? this is precisely why she begins breaking away from cocolia to begin with. but we see it's difficult for bronya to cut away entirely. because cocolia is still her mother, and despite all of her faults, bronya still reaches out to her anyways. she doesn't even condemn cocolia for what she's done. and if you watch the cutscene where cocolia dies, you see bronya desperately trying to get to her. because of how personal the role of supreme guardian is—because of how it seeps into the mother-daughter relationship, bronya's dynamic with cocolia ends up affecting both the family and the work dimension of her life.

and i think this is why bronya takes her job so damn seriously. the supreme guardianship is not just a position she must fill in: she has personal stakes in it as well. she needs to make up for what her mother has done. she needs to carry on this legacy. she needs to ensure that her planet will thrive. because she is her mother's daughter as much as she is belobog's guardian.

[digitalfang]

trying to learn Sign Language cause throat hurts too much to speak :(

[cutielando]

Hi can I request simp!charles leclerc x actress!reader like tom holland and zendaya kind of relationship plz

just us | charles leclerc

social media au

synopsis: in which he's a simp for you

my masterlist

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 2,140,385 others

yourusername me lately <3

view all 201,485 comments

charles_leclerc so beautiful😍😍

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user3 charles leclerc, vroom vroom guy, dating THE Y/N?? impossible🥴🥴

charles_leclerc actually, very possible and accurate

landonorris he won't stop yapping about you

charles_leclerc i don't yap

carlossainz55 you do

pierregasly you invented yapping

oscarpiastri you never shut up about her

georgerussell63 we know her as well as you do

charles_leclerc OKAY WE GET IT

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carmenmmundt gorgeous gal 🫶🏻🫶🏻

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charles_leclerc um?????

georgerussell63 just get used to it, there's nothing we can do

carmenmmundt good boy george :)

user4 the fact that Charles is finally happy and comfortable enough in a relationship to share his love with us makes me so happy 😭

user5 what do you mean? what about his past relationships?

user4 he's said before that he didn't feel as comfortable in his past relationships as he feels now and that being with Y/N has changed him for the better and makes him feel like a better man

user6 that's actually so cute :(((

francisca.cgomes OMFG YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL BABY 😭❤️

yourusername i love you so much <333

pierregasly can you please stop stealing our girlfriends?

yourusername no <3

scuderiaferrari ❤️ liked by charles_leclerc

lilyzneimer 🩵

yourusername ly lils <3

lilyzneimer lyt���

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charles_leclerc don't even bother, i've tried

yourusername good boy

user7 the relationship between the drivers and wags and y/n is my favorite thing in the world😭😭😭

user8 your honor, i love her🫶🏻💘

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 3,193,275 others

charles_leclerc forever in awe of everything that you do and everything that you are❤️i love you so much tagged: yourusername

view all 391,485 comments

yourusername charlieeeeeee😭😭😭😭

yourusername i love you so much❤️

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charles_leclerc best boyfriend award?

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user1 i want what they have 😭😭

landonorris simp

yourusername at least he has someone to simp over😁

landonorris that’s rude

charles_leclerc it’s also true

landonorris don’t remember asking your opinion

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alex_albon why is your girlfriend stealing our girlfriends?

yourusername cause i'm better than all of you

charles_leclerc i don't even try anymore

oscarpiastri are they even our girlfriends at this point?

georgerussell63 we'll be left single if things progress from here

yourusername who says you aren't already? ;)

user2 they are the IT couple😭😭

user3 my parents🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️❤️

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charles_leclerc you're one to talk

yourusername boys, behave

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kendalljenner you're glowing, so proud of you ❤️

yourusername thank you, ken ❤️❤️❤️

francisca.cgomes i see you've been taking my advice, Charles

yourusername ????? what advice?

charles_leclerc she told me i should dress more appropriately so i am suitable to be at your arm

pierregasly babe, we talked about this..

francisca.cgomes shhhhhhh, look how cute they look now

yourusername um????? thanks???

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iamrebeccad what about us?????

scuderiaferrari uh...

charles_leclerc you're on your own for this

carlossainz55 well done, cabron. never believed you had it in you

charles_leclerc ...to support my girlfriend?

carlossainz55 to have one :)

charles_leclerc ...

yourusername LOL

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 1,592,684 others

yourusername taking some well-deserved time off with my one and only ❤️ tagged: charles_leclerc

view all 98,184 comments

charles_leclerc you're so beautiful❤️❤️❤️

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joris_trouche disgusted, more likely

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joris_trouche seriously starting to question that

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yourusername he is in Monaco with Charles' mother!! he was feeling a bit under the weather so we decided he would feel better if he stayed at home☹️

user4 leo is sick :((((((

user5 the fact that i care more about this couple and their dog than my own well-being is concerning😭😭

user6 I LOVE IT LOL

carlossainz55 i thought you said you weren’t going on holiday without me?

yourusername um, charles_leclerc?

charles_leclerc i’m pleading the fifth

carlossainz55 you’re not even American???

user7 i love the chaos in the comments

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[prettyboykatsuki]

best friend yuuji? you’ve just rang the dinner bell

i was just thinking like.

im adding this after writing but this is soooo fucking long lmao im sorry.

tags for fem!reader (reader is referred to as a girl many times, no explicit mention of anatomy), best friends to lovers, 18+ etc

okay. i feel like you and yuuji meet in a stereotypical way

yuuji is your best friend. you met when you guys were sat next to each other in school (classic case of quiet kid and loud kid) but yuuji is uber friendly so he naturally made friends with you. you guys always clicked. in a weird way. no one else could ever fully grasp it

but you just get each other. you have similar mindsets and find each other comfortable. so you grow up and into each other - and become best friends after a long while. he comes over a lot to yap while you study and while it looks one-sided - you often take care of and look after yuuji and make sure he's not carrying too much at once.

anyway . you have a really good relationship. you're not glued at the hip but it's like, you stick together so much people often ask where the other is when one of you is missing. you get older to around middle school and puberty starts to really . hit you know.

a lot of girls confess to yuuji in that time. it's normal. sure he's rowdy and loud but he's the kind of good guy you notice when you really talk to him. fundamentally good, and not crude and shallow like other boys your age. popular but not obviously. it's the first time in your relationship you are self conscious about being his best friend and just happening to be a girl

there's rumors and stuff. you and him never talk about it until some stuff happen (like yuuji seeing it cause problems) and then you talk. the gist of it is basically that - you're yuujis best friend in the world and nothing could change that. it doesn't matter who you are. he's just trying to show you he cares

and you realize right then you are in love with him.

years go by. you get a little older. you go through highschool much like middle school - with no boyfriend. yuuji dates infrequently but usually gets broken up with. this pattern repeats into college.

(what you don't know, because yuuji never bothered to ask - is that the girls he used to date broke up with him simply because he wouldn't shut up about you. everything he should've done with a girlfriend he did with you already. he even keeps pictures)

when you get into college and grow into adulthood, you and yuuji are still extremely close. you chose to stay home and so did he - so not much is very different. except now you're meeting all sorts of new people and having new relationships form.

you don't know how exactly it comes up. you're studying for an upcoming midterm, yuuji is talking about how he got turned out by the cute girl that he works with and he pauses and asks.

"you know, i know you study hard but you should have fun too," he says this laying in your bed like he owns it, turning his head to look at you where you're bent over your desk. "haven't you thought about getting a boyfriend now that you're in college?"

you are good at brushing this off. you've been doing it for years. you do not tell yuuji that you don't date guys even after you get asked out because you're in love. you just shrug and tell him straight.

"i already told you. im not going to think about dating until i'm finished with school and i've held my career for two years."

"but aren't you bored?" yuuji asks, sincere. he doesn't press you but he is being nosy. "i don't play around that much either but i don't know. a little is healthy. and you've always working hard. playing around with handsome guys might be fun."

"not gonna change my mind."

"don't you get i dunno," he lays on his back. "sexually frustrated, though?"

you pause. you flinch. you've never talked about this before.

you clear your throat a little. "don't be inappropriate. and i do the job myself just fine."

"i guess girls don't have to worry about losing their virginity as much as guys but,"

you try to move on as swiftly as you can from talking about this in relation to yourself. "you make it sound like you slut around, yuu-chan."

he laughs a little behind you. "well no but you know. it's nice laying with another person. only if we're together though."

"yeah, sure. good for you. stop pestering me about it then and go get a girlfriend."

"so mean," he replies, laying back on his stomach. "but do you really not care at all about losing it?"

you frown, swallowing the words explaining that you do care but not just anyone will do. you give him a half truth. a lie of omission.

"it's not that i don't care but it has to be with someone i trust a lot. i don't know any guys like that, so,"

"ehh?? what about me?"

you freeze. you're sure you're mishearing it. "what about you?"

"well... you trust me right? so i could help you with it until you do find a boyfriend,"

you turn around. surely not. surely you misheard. surely he did not tell you to have sex with him so casually. you turn around to verify he's fucking with you.

only to find the most blatant sincerity you've ever seen. he's never been entirely stupid but well. he has his moments.

"do you even know what you're saying? you have to get it up for me to do that."

"well sure. but im reliable and trusrtworthy. and maybe it'll relax you a bit."

you think at that point you're definitely losing your shit but no. unfortunately your guy is dead serious. and you know, yuuji is an idiot but he's not enough of an idiot to not know it's unconventional - but in the moment, in the second he asks, his reasoning is for good. he gets a weird little feeling thinking about you losing it to someone you don't trust you know?

you obviously debate with him on this. you refute him, even - telling him that there's no way he thinks that's a good idea. and you go back and forth and you stop him at some point. to just be like

"do you even think you could kiss me?"

and yuuji just stands to his feet, leans over your desk, and kisses you.

and well. after that, it's kind of like you can't keep your hands off of each other.

it's clumsy your first time. you have no experience. but yuuji is your best friend, and he's himself - so he's patient and gentle and sooo very helpful. he teaches you to kiss and breathe through your nose and open your mouth and all sorts of other things. he's big so it's kind of hard to put it in but he takes is time. the sex feels really, really good and is intimate - almost naturally because that's your very best friend in the entire universe.

and so like. you guys have sex. you dont really plan it or anything but somehow when you get alone - it just gets so, so tense and neither of you can seem to cool down.

and how could you, you know? you've always wanted to fuck yuuji and maybe, seemingly, he wants it too. he gets so red when you bend down on your knees and try to blow him and it makes you so confident. you just... start fucking all the time. and you guys have been so close that no one cares if you two are alone together or not.

and so like. you begin this intensely sexual relationship and miraculously unchanged relationship. like you hang out as normal. and you fuck alot. and it's amibigous and vague.

you're kind of torn up about it, but yuuji is the kind of guy to not hook up with more than one person - so it's not hard to delude yourself into dating. he's already sweet and cuddly and thoughtful. and you know, you've always been so, so strict with yourself. you're really on top of your shit you know? so you reason with yourself, fine. ill just do this and see what happens. it's not like you.

(but it's hard to be strict with yourself when he makes you cum six times you know.)

so weirdly, in a weird way - you're kind of fine. you're a bit numb, a bit adjusted to it.

BUT YUUJI? OH YUUJI IS GOING THROUGH IT.

look. i mean what i said about yuuji being sincere and dense about this whole thing. he really does just want to help you and he doesn't think anything of it. sure sex is for someone you love, but yuuji does love you so it's fine to him.

the problem? the problem is you go from looking like a vague, amorphous and wonderful friend whose appearance he rarely thinks of (outside of beautiful, because of course you are - you're his best friend)

and instead become the most insanely fuckable person he has ever laid his eyes on and it is . ruining his life.

again. it's not as if yuuji ever thought you were unattractive. beauty is bigger than appearance to him, always has been - and you've always been the most beautiful girl in every room because you had a lovely character to you. he adores you. as a friend.

he never.... saw you in any other way. not even when other people kept assuming he did. you're a girl so he knew people would try to box you into that with him regardless but it was never like that. or at least, in his head it was never like that.

sure, whenever he dates someone - he is subconsciously compares them to you and sure, no matter what the person he has the most fun with is you but that's normal right? best friends is a big deal after all

you have sex for the first time and it's like. all of a sudden he's seeing all these aspects of you completely different. it's such a dramatic shift for him. like.

but it's not.... just your body really. of course not. he's not just lusting after ou but there's just something different about how you look in his eyes. something about how you readjust your sweater, how you wipe the corners of your mouth. something about the way you look at his place with shorts and a comfortable shirt just barely riding up your stomach and matching fuzzy socks (that are kinda matted from being worn)

all of this is just so, so fucking sexy now. he gets the weirdest fluttery feeling and just . can't help but be on you. you don't even know what you do to him either, and how could you? but god it destroys him. really ruins him to see you all doe eyed. know how you feel when you cling onto his biceps.

for the longest time - he can barely figure out whats doing it to him.

and then like. one day you're finished having sex and you're both so tired you fall asleep. and you're at his place - naked in his bed. he wakes up in the middle of the night. he moves the covers you know, to get up and get a towel - wipe you down.

and then you sort of hold onto him. still asleep. you let out a very soft whiny nooo, and he just. finds it so cute. so without thinking, he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead and tells you to keep sleeping which you comply with bc ur not awake anyway.

and then when he sits up again he's like. oh. shit shit shit. shit.

that's when it hits him that he's in love with you which is. troubling to say the least. not only because he feels guilty for ruining your friendship but also because he knows himself well enough to know there's no way he could hold himself back.

but he thinks about and... does he have too? he knows it won't be right away but you do this with him too. so maybe, just maybe, there's a chance right?

for what its worth, i do think you two end up together with a minimal amount of angst. but the amount of heavy ass pining...the months it goes on of you two getting insanely, unbearably intimate and then not talking about it. and like. yuuji tests the waters with you. kisses you before he leaves, and does all sorts of stuff but you always go with it. you both cover it up but eventually it all spills and i think that's mostly cause yuuji is so open ......

anyways.... best friend yuuji.... he is on my mind....

[earendilsass]

I've finally finished my life series art yipee

Im so proud of these considering i've never tried anything that looks like stained glass

Theres also a Cleo one in the reblogs

As usual click for better quality

Flat colours (and me yapping about them) under the cut

These are also not edited for better colours just straight from the art file, idk i can never get colours just right so i usually edit them in my gallery app lol

The line art colour match the characters vibes they're not really lore based but you know what is

The poses. Obv grain is looking at the camera (and has eyes) cuz he's a watcher but also scott and martyn are looking to one side cuz they were happy about their win and pear and scar are looking to the other cuz they were sad/confused

None of them really have facial features cuz like they're players in a game come on why would they ever have an actual identity other than 'player'

Also look at scotts bow and scars cane please i put way too much detail into them

Okay enough yapping now (i lied theres more in the tags)

[islandofsages]

HEYY!! I love your writing from what i've read and i was wondering if i could ask for a gn reader (yuu) teaching the housewardens about like classic fandom lore- like imagine them turning into matpat to explain fnaf and undertale!! 😭😭 feel free to not do this and have a good day!! Thanks :D

characters: housewardens x gn!yuu

tags: platonic, fluff, crack kinda, imagines format

warnings: swearing

author's notes: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG also all the fandoms mentioned here are all fandoms ive been in at some point :D fun times mhm

Riddle Rosehearts

He knows you’re very passionate about fandom culture but you never really had the chance to infodump about it to him

Until one day, you drop by Heartslabyul for a leisurely visit, when you see a not-so-clearly distressed Riddle sitting in the lounge

Not-so-clearly meaning he’s holding a teacup in his hand yet not drinking it, eyes closed as if he’s holding in all his emotions

You grow worried at this sight and slide next to him on the couch where he is seated, hoping you can help alleviate some of that stress

He sees you and he allows himself a sigh, then musters up a smile for you. He greets you and you cut straight to the point - can you help him with anything?

He releases a second sigh and shakes his head, telling you he only needs some sort of distraction. He just had a long day and needs to take his mind off things

You take a second to think of things that you can distract him with – that’s when a lightbulb goes off in your head. This is a prime opportunity for you

“Okay, I’m guessing you haven’t heard of Five Nights at Freddy’s since it’s a franchise from my world and all but the lore is crazy. So it starts like this…”

He wasn’t expecting to be paying much attention to the contents of what you’re saying but sooner or later, he ends up leaning towards you with his hand cupping his chin, mouth slightly agape at the story you’re telling

This inspires you to dump even more information about the media somehow at the rate that you’re going

By the end of it, he’s completely forgotten what he was so worried about. His head is full of creepy pizzerias for kids and haunted animatronics

He ends up having some trouble sleeping that night though. He’ll get you for that later.

Leona Kingscholar

He won’t lie, your interest in fandoms is too reminiscent of Idia for him – he doesn’t admit this to you obviously, since he hasn’t had the chance to

But on one particularly boring day, you decide to skip class with him and he lets you tag along for the hell of it

In the span of three seconds, he’s already off in dreamland. Sometimes you wish you had such a skill

Since you have nothing better to do and he’s way too deep in his sleep to even care anyway, you start rambling to yourself and a slumbering Leona

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about Undertale lately so I need to dump it all somewhere. So basically you play as this kid…”

Little do you know halfway through his nap, he wakes up from how much you’re talking. At first, he’s annoyed by your yapping but then he grows interest in what you’re saying

He’s almost tempted to try that game for himself and almost disappointed that it’s not available in Twisted Wonderland. Emphasis on almost.

When you’re done rambling, that’s when he stretches his arms over his head and yawn, commenting how noisy you were

You shrug it off. You're used to him complaining about you yapping instead of napping alongside him

…But then he asks you to tell him more about Undertale, if there's any more information you’re keeping from him out of the kindness of your heart

You smile smugly at this and his expression seems to say “don't make me regret asking” but oh, you definitely will make him regret even being friends with you in the first place

Needless to say, regrets were not the only thing he held at the end of that day.

Azul Ashengrotto

Similar to Leona, your fixation on fandom culture reminds him too much of Idia. not that that’s necessarily a bad thing - it’s more of an observation

And he gets more than an observation when you get the chance to show him what you’re made of: useless fandom culture and gaming knowledge

Speaking of Idia, he goes to you as a last resort to ask you to help him understand whatever the hell Idia’s talking about

You don’t know too much about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture just yet but when Azul explains the premise of a certain game and its fandom, it gives you an idea

“Sounds pretty similar to Yandere Simulator. Ooh, that one has a lot of history. Let me tell you about it…”

Unfortunately for him, he ended up unlocking your geekiness instead of having you address the things he was confused with

But at least your story makes it a bit easier to understand? He’s yet to decide that really but at least it sounds like you’re taking his lack of slang knowledge into consideration

Your infodump really gripped his attention though - it’s interesting to know another side of human culture, even if it’s not the humans of Twisted Wonderland

He would nod understandingly (or at least, politely) and thank you and your geekiness

He relays your story to Idia and finds it intriguing how similar fandom culture is in both Twisted Wonderland and your world

He would invite you to Board Game Club meetings so that you can rave and find out more about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture with Idia

He’d realize that was a big mistake and he may or may not have created the nerdiest pair in the world - but you guys are his nerdiest pair in the world.

Kalim Al-Asim

He’s very curious about fandom culture - he doesn’t know too much about it nor anyone who knows a lot about it so almost all the fandom information in his head are from you

He really wants to know more!!! So of course that warrants a hangout session fabricated as a study session to get Jamil’s stamp of approval

So there you are in his room, books laid out in front of the two of you but most importantly, a laptop

You two watch about a dozen videos on Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture and as you absorb all the very-much-useful information, you sneak in tidbits from the culture of your world

“This one in particular is reminiscent of Danganronpa. Man, that one was a wild ride…”

It’s exciting to be able to talk about it with someone you trust wholeheartedly, especially Kalim, whom you know wouldn’t be so judging

He only nods in understanding at every point you made, his eyes sparkling with all the curiosity in his body

You were on your thirteenth video when you two are interrupted by a rap on the door and an unfortunately-familiar voice

So obviously you and your bestie hurriedly rush to close all the tabs on your laptop and open up something more academically-inclined

Which is obviously a…dictionary site

Jamil blinks twice at this, says nothing (but probably noting how it makes sense for you guys since you two are bumbling idiots) and walks away

If there’s any dictionary being read that day, it’d be a dictionary of fandom terminology, that’s for sure.

Vil Schoenheit

He doesn’t know too much about it - and doesn’t bother to learn much about it since he has better things to do - but since it’s you, he tries his best to be a good listener

The two of you sit down in the courtyard one day, the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves music to your ears; beauty truly is everywhere around you when you’re next to him

He’s talking about something. You’re not sure what because you’re entranced by the way his hair hangs above his eyes so elegantly. He notices this and calls you out for it

You shrug and excuse how you can’t help it - he’s like a dating simulator love interest in the real. He asks you what you mean by this. Now’s your chance to shine!

“Hmm, you know, something like Mystic Messenger? Hehe, let me tell you a bit about it…”

Unluckily for him, your “a bit” turns out to be a four-hour long ramble about the aforementioned dating simulator a little too reminiscent of Rook for his liking too

Despite his reservations, he really did enjoy hearing you talk so passionately about your interest; it’s a bonus that the topic itself is interesting

He tells you he wouldn’t mind trying out the game or at least finding out more about it though unfortunately it’s not available in Twisted Wonderland

You share his shame - until he says he’ll pitch the concept of the game to some authorities he know and perhaps make it a reality

Sorry, he’s going to what now?

You’re a little shaken. Sometimes you forget he’s a world-class model, despite his looks and mannerisms. You save your nerves for if a Twisted Wonderland version of Mystic Messenger actually ends up happening

He thanks you for enlightening him about fandom and video gaming culture. You use this as a cue to add another four hours of ranting about V’s route in the game.

Idia Shroud

You’re another victim for him to taint��� or so he thought. You’re more of an ally than a victim at this point, considering how nerdy you are

He’d dump fandom lore on you and you’d reciprocate it right back. He’s genuinely so impressed with your knowledge, even if they differ by some degree due to being from different worlds

He gets more impressed when you pull up with knowledge about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture like damn, you really brushed up on your talking points already

Friendly rivalry aside, he really does enjoy talking about fandom culture with you and hearing about the things from your world - every story you tell adds a little color into his world

One day, the two of you are leaning on each other, on your phones because of course you are, even if you two are friends, talking still isn’t Idia’s strong suit

That’s when you blurt it out–

“Hey, wanna hear about this game called Persona? It’s a turn-based RPG and…”

Regardless of his response to your question, you ended up babbling away either way. It’s how conversations start between the two of you

You’re speaking so fast, he would have mistaken you for a rapper - or a doppelganger of himself even

Consider him entertained - he finds himself smiling by the end of your yapping and intrigued by your story

He then obviously starts to relate it to something from Twisted Wonderland, passing the listener baton to you

You don’t mind – you can stay there for hours and hours, just going back and forth with your fellow nerdy-ass friend.

Malleus Draconia

This man barely knows how to use a smartphone so you had to be a little patient with him when guiding him through the fandom culture trenches

He’s happy that you trust and cherish him enough to talk about your interests with no reservations or shame – and the feeling is mutual

On a certain weekend, the two of you are hanging out as usual. Chatting as friends would do

You don’t know why but the conversation reminded you of a certain fandom

“It’s kinda like Genshin’s community, I guess. They’re a riot, let me tell you that.”

Oh? What’s a Genshin and why is its community a riot?

You’re glad he asked – because you’ve prepared a 100-slide presentation on the history of the game and its fans

He asks you why and how did you find the time to make that. You tell him to shut up and that it doesn’t matter, he just needs to listen to you

You start and it feels like you’ll never stop – there’s just so much to say and Malleus has so much time in the world

Seeing his reactions to certain events makes you crack up and at times, you’d laugh at his shocked expressions (or sigh exhaustively, depending on the event you’re explaining)

When you finally stop, he gives you a one-man standing ovation. You blush a little at the attention and unexpected reaction but you appreciate his sentiment nonetheless. He tells you that your presentation has been very informative for him

You’re relieved to have been able to get that off your chest… and Malleus is more than ecstatic to relay the information to everyone he’s ever known. You obviously pretend that you had no involvement in his sudden investment of a game from another world.

[bucksaiga]

i'll believe you when you're sober

E Rating Tags: Drunk Evan "Buck" Buckley, Fix-It, Frottage, Reconciliation, Dubious Consent

Every night feels quiet and monotonous. No one to yap his ear off with random trivia. No one to insist on massaging his scalp in the shower after a long shift. No Evan.

It's all Tommy's fault, he knows, but he constantly tells himself that it was for the best. It was the right thing. Even if every sunset is a vicious cycle of endless darkness. He's not sleeping as well without the goodnight kiss…and another…and another…and one more. He's not eating as well with out the "is this sauce too spicy?" "no it's perfect" pasta. Tommy's just not the same anymore.

At 10:40, he dragged himself to bed and tried to sleep on what used to be Evan's side. All it does is make him miss him more. Dream about him more. Toss and turn without him more.

He stared at the ceiling, ready for another sleepless night.

He slowly turned his head toward the night table, following the sound of his phone vibrating.

The number on the screen was unfamiliar, but at 11 PM, it had to be a mistake, or an emergency.

He answered either way.

"Hello?"

"Hey, yeah…are you Tommy?" A man on the other end of the phone asked.

"Yes? Who's calling?"

"My name is Greg, I'm a bartender at Bigg's Bar. I've got a guy, Buck, at the bar who's been disturbing the patrons and crying over you. He's had too much to drink so I suggested giving you a call. Can you come pick him up?"

"…Buck? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he almost got into a fight with some guy over…the moon, or something. Anyway, can you get him out of here? It's almost last call."

Tommy had to shake off the momentary shock. "Uh…Yeah, I'll be there as soon as possible."

The call ended and Tommy rushed to put on some clothes, any clothes. He put on one black sock and one white sock, some grey sweats that were a bit snug and Buck's favorite hoodie. He'd be sure to explain to Buck why he still had it once he was sober.

Bigg's was a 30 minute commute from Tommy's, but Tommy was sure to get there as quickly as possible.

He rushed inside and immediately approached the bartender. "You called me? About Buck?"

"Oh, yeah, he's over there." Greg pointed to the end of the bar to a man with his head resting on his arm and a glass of water in front of him. "Buck? Buck." Tommy nudged him.

"Mmh…" Buck mumbled as he slowly sat up. His heavy, glossy eyes went wide. "To-Tommy?"

Tommy nodded. "C'mon. Let's get you out of here before you get in trouble." Tommy attempted to help Buck off the bar stool, only to receive no cooperation.

Buck yanked his arm out of Tommy's grasp. "I don't…wanna go with you."

Tommy felt his heart sink immediately. He knew all along Buck hated him, but this was proof. "Why?" He asked, knowing the question was pointless.

"Because you hate me. You don't want me."

"Listen, I don't hate you, okay? And I'm not leaving without you."

Buck whimpered and put his head back down. "M'not going."

"Please." Tommy sighed. "You can't stay here all night, they want you to go."

Buck snickered. "So nobody wants me."

"Just let me take you home, okay? I promise I don't mind."

Buck slowly sat up and allowed Tommy to escort him out of the bar. Tommy strapped Buck into his backseat and handed him a plastic bag from one of his grocery shopping trips earlier that week.

"If you need me to stop or slow down, just say so."

Buck mumbled something as his head bobbed to the side, gently knocking against the window.

Tommy began driving, occasionally glancing back at Buck, who hadn't said a single word since they left the bar.

"I told him…" Buck slurred.

"Told who?" Tommy asked.

"The guy…at the bar. I told him…there were active volcanoes on the moon and he…he said I sounded stupid. You…never called me stupid." "You're not stupid, Buck."

"Can we go to your house?"

"Why my house?" Tommy narrowed his eyes into the rear view mirror.

"Wanna…use the white noise machine."

Tommy did not want to bring Buck to his house, but he also did want to bring Buck to his house.

"Fine." He acquiesced.

Tommy drove Buck back to his house, helped him out of his clothes and into the bed. He turned on the white noise machine and tucked Buck in securely.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"No!" Buck exclaimed, grabbing his hand. "Stay with me."

Tommy shook his head. "I can't sleep here with you."

"Why?" Buck whined. "Y'don't wanna?"

He did wanna. Very much so. He craved nights like this every night since he broke up with Buck. But he didn't think he deserved it.

"No. You're drunk. I don't think you'd want to sleep next to me if you were sober."

"Please." Buck begged. "I've missed you so bad. I just want to lay next to you. One more time."

Tommy joined Buck in the bed, against his better judgement.

He let Buck flop into his arm and nuzzle against his cheek.

“Goodnight kiss.” Buck mumbled.

Tommy slowly turned to Buck. A kiss is just a kiss, right? No big deal. They’ve done it a hundred times. Maybe even more.

Tommy planted a soft, chaste kiss on Buck’s lips.

“Another.” He agreed. “Another.” Of course. “One more.” Anything he wanted.

Until Buck rolled on top of him, the chaste kisses becoming slow, passionate and sloppy.

It was the kiss he remembered. The taste he remembered. The tongue he remembered. The Evan he remembered. It was so good, it made him moan.

But they hadn’t discussed the breakup. This wasn’t something that could be left in the past and forgotten. They were too broken to be here. He didn’t deserve these kisses.

Buck slid his hand down, freeing their cocks from the restricting shorts that kept them separated from one another, grinding against Tommy slowly and lazily.

He didn’t deserve the feeling of Evan’s cock slowly gliding against his own, so slick and wet and eager to push inside him.

“E-Ev—baby. We-we shouldn’t.” He moaned, attempting to refuse himself the oncoming orgasm. He didn’t deserve this.

“Tommy.” Buck whined. “I needed you. Missed you.”

“I missed you too.” His moan was a little louder than he anticipated. His cock was sputtering and leaking weeks of pent up precome.

“You’ve never been this hard before.” Buck whispered with a smirk he couldn’t see in the darkness.

“We’ve been apart for a long time.” Tommy admitted, gripping Buck’s ass and grinding up against him, meeting his movements.

Tommy should have been focused on other things. You are so drunk, I had to scrape you off a bar stool. We aren’t together anymore. What are we even doing?

But all he could focus on was—

“I’m gonna come!” Tommy moaned. “Don’t stop.”

“Come for me, daddy. Yeah. You feel so good.” Buck praised. He leaned into Tommy’s neck, softly biting his sensitive skin.

Tommy let out a guttural groan as his cock spilled between them, and Buck soon followed, continuing to slowly grind against Tommy, kissing him until they both had nothing left.

Buck rolled onto the pillow and sighed happily. “Man. I really needed that.”

Tommy slowly sat up. “I’m gonna go get something to clean us up with.”

“Don’t be gone long, baby. I wanna talk to you.”

Tommy wasn’t in much of a rush to return. Buck was drunk. There was no way they could have a decent conversation like this.

He returned, hoping Buck was sound asleep, slightly disappointed when Buck turned toward him as he cleaned him off.

“Tommy.” Buck mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you so much. I love you…so much.”

“I’m sorry, Evan.” Tommy said sincerely. “But I don’t think you know what you’re saying right now. Let’s pick this up in the morning.”

“Mmh. I do.” Buck weakly argued. “I mean it.”

“Okay. I will believe you when you’re sober.”

“Kiss me.”

Tommy offered Buck one more kiss. Two more kisses. Three more kisses. Ambushed when Buck pulled him in for a fourth, smiling against his lips as if he’d won something.

Tommy didn’t deserve to feel like a prize.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Evan.”

Tommy lied flat on his back and Buck rolled into his arms, lazily peppering kisses on Tommy’s cheek until he fell asleep.

Tommy could feel Buck’s breathing evening out and his breath tickling his cheek.

It was nice. And he didn’t deserve it at all.

The following morning, Tommy woke up in bed alone. He’d be able to convince himself that last night was a dream if Buck’s cologne didn’t linger on his sheets and on his skin.

This is exactly what he deserved. Buck obviously came to his senses when he woke up and realized this was a drunken mistake.

Tommy dragged himself downstairs to make some coffee. There was no way he was going to make it through the day without a cup or two.

He didn’t expect his door to swing open the moment he reached the counter.

“Oh h-hey, good morning.” Buck greeted. “I thought you’d still be asleep before I got back.” He lifted the bag in his hand. “I went to get us some breakfast, to thank you and apologize for last night. I-I don’t remember everything, but I know you picked me up before I did something I would regret. So, thank you.”

“Thank Greg.”

“Greg?”

“The bartender. He said you were crying over me and asked me to get you out of the bar. I felt responsible.”

“Yeah.” Buck laughed. “I uh…I memorized your number in case anything ever happened. Since we’re both first responders…” He trailed off, sighing. “So. Hungry?”

“Yeah. Thank you. I’ll make us some coffee.”

“So…about last night.” Buck began. “I don’t really remember everything. Did we…”

Tommy nodded.

“I figured. Did I say anything stupid?”

“You told me you love me.”

“W—hey, that’s not stupid.” Buck frowned.

“When you’re drunk and don’t mean it, it is.”

“I did mean it.”

Tommy shook his head. “You don’t.”

“Tommy. I’m not stupid. Or confused. I do love you.”

“I never said you were any of those things. I just don’t think you can love me for everything I am when I’ve been holding so much back.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I feel like I’ve…" Tommy sighed. "I've conditioned myself to be a good boyfriend. To be right. To be perfect. And in the process of all that. I don’t know if I’m ever really…myself. I’m afraid to let go. To unwind. To not be the confident, comfortable person. I’ve tried to be everything you were attracted to, but I can’t be that all the time. And when that veil is pulled away, I’ll lose you. You’ll lose interest.”

“Don’t you think I want to see more of that? It’s okay to fall apart in my arms, and give me a chance to love you unconditionally. That’s what I want to do. I want to see you. All of you.”

“You only think you do.”

“I know you’ll have a moment of weakness. Everyone does. I’ve seen it before. You’ve questioned your place in the 118 family more than once, and I’m always here to remind you how special you are. Beyond all the cool things you do. I just—I want to love everything about you.”

Buck nervously watched Tommy. He was quiet. Pensive. It made Buck’s grip tighten so much on his coffee cup, he could’ve cracked it.

“I told you last night that I would believe you when you were sober.”

“So…do you believe me?”

Tommy nodded. “I do, and I love you too. I don't ever want to let you go again."

Buck smiled. "Hey ca-can we have sex?"

"That's your first order of business?" Tommy snorted.

"I just wanna remember it this time! And maybe it'll help with my hangover."

"Can we finish breakfast first?"

Buck's sweet smile turned into a mischievous smirk that Tommy knew all too well. Before he knew it, he was being dragged upstairs by his collar.

"We can finish breakfast later."

Give me kudos <3

[durrtydawg]

Look, Don't Touch.

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

“O-kay… But how do we get in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My ankle isn't.”

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

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

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

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

“The damn thing pricked me.”

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

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

“Talking about you, or the door?”

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

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

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

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

She snickers.

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

He grumbles, thumb rubbing small circles on his palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm.”

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

“Oh, y- yeah, you might be right.”

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

“You'd love that, huh.”

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

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

"M'lady."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.” is all she can muster.

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

Firmitudo Intus Aequilibrio

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

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

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

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

"Sure. Great hangover movie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all quite something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ooo. Anything juicy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I don’t- what do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inviting.

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

One that he quickly snaps out of.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be evasive!”

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

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

“Samuel, It’s like… sub-zero in-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We need those ones, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sam!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hurry it up.” He winces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. What he wants… to do to her.

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

He absentmindedly licks his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he bites. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s losing himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Revolting. Selfish.

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

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

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

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

She steps closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve- gotta go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t!” He shouts.

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

“Stop-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ogles him, bewildered.

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

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

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

Her insults die in her throat as she’s shoved harshly into the wall. The fragile book slips from her fingers, thudding onto the floor.

She stares up at Sam, wide-eyed and startled. His painful grip on her wrist, the back of her head pulsating after colliding with so many hard surfaces- it’s all making her ears ring. His grip is firm and bruising as he pushes himself onto her, his stare intense. Unrelenting.

“What are you doing?" she stammers, her voice trembling, brows furrowed in frightened confusion.

But Sam doesn't answer. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath hot against her skin, eyes locked onto hers with an unsettling intensity that makes her stomach flutter. She can feel his heart pounding against her chest as he presses into her, matching the now frantic rhythm of her own as heat radiates off of him.

Sam's certain he can hear her blood flow as he holds her gaze, his senses heightened to the point of overload. The warmth emanating from her skin, the rapid rhythm of her pulse beneath his fingertips, and the heady, sickly sweet scent of her- it’s all driving him to the brink of madness.

“What… the hell are you doing, Sam? Let go.” she whispers, her other hand tentatively going for him in an attempt to wrench herself free, though, with an instinctive speed, he captures her other wrist, pinning it on the other side of her head as a startled gasp leaves her lips. She struggles against his grasp with an anxious whimper, but he only tightens his hold, his wild expression a frightening mix of confusion and horror. Yet his grip on her remains tight. 

"Make it stop-," he stammers through his tightened jaw, his voice trembling with remorse. "I don't know what… I didn't mean to- I need-” A wave of dizziness washes over him as he speaks, a growing tightness in his chest, threatening to send him spiralling into oblivion- he feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest.

Her eyes are wet with anxiety as he cages her in, brows wavering as if she’s attempting to prevent herself from tearing up.

But he’s frozen. Mind rapidly toing and froing between wanting to let her go, and wanting to see her cry. What he’d give to see her eyes brimming with tears, his fingers tight against her scalp while her lips grow swollen, drenched by her own drool as he rams himself down her throat. “I can’t- I can’t stop thinkin’ about… Jesus, the things I wanna do to you.”

His fingers tighten their grip further, pushing himself harder against her, keeping her painfully upright against the stone. Their eyes meet once more as her own chest starts to heave. God. The way he’s looking at her. It’s… carnal.

Amongst this sudden yo-yoing of fear and confusion, she feels herself heat up more, a cramping feeling tugging at her abdomen as he stares at her, breathing deeply- slowly.

“What?” She just about manages to rasp, lips parted, wrists aching, head pounding. “What are you talking about?”

She knows exactly what he's talking about. She can feel him pressing against her.

“You s- sound like a mouse.” He mumbles as if inebriated, one side of his mouth twisted into an almost malevolent grin that makes her stomach drop as he presses his forehead against hers, rendering her virtually immobile. “So small. So scared.” He mocks with a pout as she shudders. “But you’re not just scared, are you?” He speaks through his teeth, eyes trailing down to watch himself push his hips against her with a deep groan.

The sudden friction sends an embarrassingly high-pitched gasp spilling out from her mouth before her teeth have a chance to trap it. Fuck.

His eyes go back to hers, darkened, pupils blown. “Thought so.” He smirks. “I can pretty much taste you from-” a grunt permeates the end of his sentence as his darkened resolve wavers.

He shakes his head, a sudden maelstrom of panic and culpability in his chest making his eyes water. 

“Not- me. I didn’t mean-” She remains glued to the wall, wide-eyed and disoriented, as he stumbles over his words, her heart racing as she watches him lose balance and fall into her, palms braced at either side of her waist as the vice-like grip on her wrists finally relents. “I’m s-” he hisses, his body burning as if demanding him to succumb to what it wants.

Much to her own dismay, she doesn’t move her freed hands- there’s no attempt to push him away again. She’s so caught up in the shock of how good that felt and all of the confusion and guilt that are beginning to plague her head. She must've hit it hard.

Sam’s hand digs into the small of her back, his shoulders slumping as his fingers slip just beneath the hem of her shirt. His grip is tight and desperate as he drops his head against her chest, leaning into her for support as he whimpers, gasping for air. “I can't help it- I want- to stop, but-” 

She takes in a shaky breath, momentarily paralysed, as if her body and vocal chords are in combat against her brain. There's something hypnotic about the way he's looking at her, something frightening about the desperation and the spontaneous Jekyll-and-Hyde-ness of it all, yes, but equally… satiating… as if this is something her body's been vying for for ages.

She swallows hard at the feeling of his skin on hers, and the soft, needy sounds coming out of him- at his weight keeping her firmly pressed against the wall, and the smell of his sweat, cheap detergent, the gift set aftershave he feels obligated to use that’s making her heart thump even harder.

All such normal things- usually so unnoticeable. But it’s a sudden assault on her senses that she can’t shake off- it clings to her, burning her eyes, creeping up her nose, down her throat, settling in her stomach. It’s grounding. Exhilarating, to the point where she wants to tug him closer and inhale him to the point of suffocation.

And she’s baffled by this revelation. Nauseated, almost. She should be angry with him. Furious. How dare he manhandle, bite, bruise and then withhold an explanation from her. Instead, she can’t help but feel an intrinsic need to keep him as close to her as possible. To see, smell, hear, taste him.

Why is her body reacting in such a way? Why is she soaking wet? 

Sam’s terrified. The thoughts he’s had in the past few minutes have been depraved. Actions violent, and he would rather die than cause her harm, so he’s trying with all his might not to let himself give in. Even if he wants nothing more.

From day dot, she’s been off limits. And he's always stuck to that.

He's aware of how she reacts every time he's pushed their banter a bit too far, leaving her flustered. Every hint of jealousy she's let slip when he's talked about his ‘dating’ life. He knows about her ‘crush’– cute, he thought, but inevitably fleeting, surely. Unlike his own feelings- oh no! They’ve fused to every fibre of his being like hot glue.

This whole situation is nothing but a cruel joke. Like fate has conspired to mock him- to force him into getting his way via a horrible, depraved, manipulative circumstance since he's been too much of a pussy to act upon it otherwise. She’s right. He is stubborn. He should’ve let her pull the damn lever. At least that way, she wouldn't be a victim. Or... perhaps less of one.

His stomach lurches and he slumps to his knees, hands maintaining an unstable hold on her hips. He feels pathetic. “Makeitstop.” He heaves again.

He tries to speak again, but as he bucks his hips again, completely against his own will, the blazing friction against his own jeans causes him to hiss, his forehead collapsing against her thigh, eyes wide as he pants for air. “Holy shit.”

She looks down helplessly, shaken and clueless. She watches his hand dig into her thigh, holding it in place as he burrows his face into it.

“You smell so fucking good, I-” He cuts himself off with a groan, shaking his head and pursing his lips. His voice comes out rough again. Dark. Crumbled asphalt, absinthe poured straight down her throat, settling into her bloodstream. “No, no, no…” He just about pulls away to give himself air, eyes flitting up to her, warring between despair and yearning.

The sight of it makes her… warmer still. Hot, even. The bite on her thigh burns as his proximity agitates it. “What should I do?” She rasps, fingers anxiously pulling at the curls by the nape of her neck as if she’s trying to withhold from touching him. “I don’t know what’s… happening.” She whispers, vision losing focus for just a moment.

"I need..." he grunts, struggling to find the words. He weakly tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, but his strength is failing him. "I need you to... take it off... please," he begs, his voice barely more than a desperate whisper.

He looks so pretty like this. On his knees… whining softly, cheeks flushed, his hands grasping at her. It’s so unlike him. Samuel Casanova Drake- reduced to this. The flirtation. The teasing. Getting her all worked up on purpose, only to be reminded that she’s nothing special- that that’s just the way he is. All bark, no bite. Is he being taught a lesson?

She swallows thickly.

She thinks about how it felt when he grinded himself onto her and forcibly suppresses a moan as a pleasurable jolt shoots up her spine, setting her hairs on end. Her head is swimming. This is all so… artificial. So odd. She’s always been attracted to him, but fuck, this is wrong.

She hesitates, her heart pounding in her chest as a wave of guilt-ridden nausea rushes through her. Is- is she taking advantage of him?

“Please.” He repeats, his plea punctuated with a desperate whimper. She blinks, nodding, and with trembling hands, she crouches and reaches for the hem of his shirt, her fingers brushing against his heated skin. Gently, she lifts the shirt over his head, her touch lingering on his arms as she pulls it free.

Sam gasps as the cool air hits his bare skin, a momentary relief from the feverish heat consuming him. He leans heavily against her, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. "Thanks," he murmurs, his eyes closing briefly as he savours the sensation.

She swallows hard, feeling a strange mix of fear and sickening lust fester in her bloodstream. Her hands remain on his arms, steadying the both of them.

"What now?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

Her eyes are drawn to the sheen of sweat covering his body; the way dark hairs lay matted on his chest, softly trailing down his stomach, past fading ink and mottled scars, beyond where his belt keeps his jeans smouldering against his skin.

She watches her own hand rest under his chin, tilting him up to her. It’s like she’s watching it unfold through a TV screen.

Delicate wisps of condensation coming from his parted lips makes her mind wander; What would they taste like? How would the roughness of his stubble feel against her? Her mouth, her neck, her bare stomach, down down down- she's had these thoughts before; fingers delved between her thighs as she stares breathlessly up at the ceiling.

Saliva pools under her tongue as she imagines rutting against his pretty nose and open mouth like a bitch in fucking heat- oh god- her teeth graze her lower lip as her thoughts begin to spiral further than usual- why are they spiralling like this?

She’s sweating.

There’s so much desire- so much insatiable hunger in his eyes alone as he looks at her that it makes her thighs tense together. As she does so, she’s reminded of the bite again. It fucking hurts, snapping her out of her depraved trance; her eyelids flutter unsteadily as she regains focus, her cheeks burning.

His pulse thuds frantically against her thumb, and her nails stroke gently at his skin as his shoulders rise and fall harder, amplifying his restraint which is growing more and more painful by the second. 

“You…” he pauses and grunts, fighting himself as his eyes remain shut. “Don’t… know what to... ugh- hurts. It’s too- too much." Every tiny little touch feels like he’s being swallowed whole. It’s like a cold spring and a flow of lava all at once, and he wants to scream. 

She pulls her hands away, looking at them as though she’s the cause of the problem. Hoping to herself that her sick mind will sort itself out if she distances herself from him.

He shakes, sweat beading off of his chest, blood pumping through him at a dizzying pace as his eyes pine for her.

“N-no.” He’s craving- starving. A trembling hand raises to her wrist, and he winces as his fingers wrap around her. As his fingertips dig into her forearm, the thought of sudden absence of her touch feels like a death sentence. “Don’t.”

He swallows audibly as his body jolts again at the touch. The contact hurts him. Arouses him to such a painful degree, but he’s not letting her get away. He can’t- he doesn’t want to. He’s too far gone.

Sam’s eyes squeeze shut and he screws up his face in some sort of pained internal conflict. He grabs her wrist tighter and she winces, but as he drags her hand back to his face, her eyes follow.

“Help.” he blurts, finally deciding it’s time to bite the proverbial bullet as he sits fully and leans back against the stone table, accidentally pulling her with him. “I need- need you- your help. The last pages- another way to-” He eyeballs the notebook. “Make it stop. Before I hurt you again.”

She picks up the book and kneels. Her thumb swipes across his cheekbone as his hand rests over hers. Her hands on his bare skin are fucking excruciating; he can feel every single ridge of her fingerprints despite her stillness, like thousands of knife edges grazing his skin all at once.

“Okay- I- I’m looking.” She says, and oh, she sounds like velvet. Liquid gold that he just wants to swallow forever and ever and ever. He’s transfixed by her lips as she speaks, absentmindedly snaking his other hand up the nape of her neck and into her hair.

His fingers tighten their grip, gently pulling her head backwards, and with watery eyes he nuzzles into her neck, breathing deeply- slowly. “Hmmm, God.”

His hips buck towards her, and the feeling of his lips grazing over her neck make her swallow hard. She doesn’t need to read the book to know what’s going on. He whispers breathless apologies, guilt making his heart ache whilst he loses control of the rest of his body.

Her eyes continue to flit around the pages nervously, no longer to read, but to hide. This is ridiculous. Her skin hasn’t felt this sensitive before.

Her eyes fall over a likely explanation; a sketch of a lever mechanism, an embedded sharp needle, designed to assault the user of the lever- the intruder, all annotated in scrawled purple ink.

This artifice serves twofold: first, as a deterrent to the audacious; and second, as a penance, a punishment to those who dare disrupt the harmony of my sacred space. May they find the scales tipped; themselves lost within the labyrinth of their own psyche, ensnared by the very primal urges that govern the basest instincts.

She looks at his hand again, and takes in the details written on the page. Primal urge. Base instinct. Her cheeks flush as she converts the words into layman's terms, confirming her theory.

“It’s an… aphrodisiac.” She affirms.

As the wayward thief succumbs, such symptoms shall manifest: The skin shall burn, the point of breach becoming the source of a webbed discolouration as dark as ones fevered desire, and the pulse shall quicken with an infernal craving, subjugating the relentless pursuit of knowledge with the all-consuming tug of the insatiable id. The mind, entangled in the labyrinth of unbridled lust, shall forsake rationality. The thief shall be led astray from their pursuits, ensnared by their own voracious yearnings, knowledge plundered.

Sam hears the uncertainty in her voice as she grapples with the implications of the infection. Their eyes meet for a split second, and he feels a surge of humiliation that’s so unfamiliar to him he’d probably wretch if his mouth wasn’t preoccupied.

She takes in a shaky breath returning to the page again as the pieces begin to fit together.

“S’there another way?” he murmurs into her, the low vibrations of his voice making her close her eyes for a moment. She grunts to herself, forcing her eyes back to the page.

In the safety of companionship, the afflicted may find respite. Should the infection remain unchecked, the heart will strain beyond its limits, ultimately succumbing to the weight of its own longing.

The ‘cure’  is plain and simple. Two people. Balance. Or, by the sound of it, death.

She shakes her head.

The thought of said cure makes her shiver, tongue rolling over her bottom lip.

A coil begins to tighten in her abdomen as he groans into her skin. His hips buck towards her, and the feeling of his lips on her neck make her exhale harshly.

She looks at her leggings as another sore, shooting pain emanates from the bite mark, Sam’s wandering hands peeling apart the small tear in the fabric as his teeth graze against her throat.

Realisation fills her lungs, a bubble forming by her tonsils; the disorienting mix of undeniable, rising pleasure and panic creeping into the forefront of her mind.

Her skin looks mottled, veins deep purple.

Just like his.

The telltale discolouration, mirroring the ominous staining making its way up Sam's arm sends a shiver through her as she comprehends it all. As she watches his brows waver in internal dispute, her own contort in… concern, yes. But also a sense of desperation, wanting to feel more as Sam drags himself more upright with a cracked groan that makes her lips part and her throat seize when she’s pushed harder against him. More importantly, perhaps, the relief from knowing that neither of them can help it. That, for what it’s worth, is a mutual need.

She takes a gamble, grappling with the part-insidious, part-alleviating truth as she looks back to him, legs parting to straddle him properly.

Her chest heaves; the air feels thick, and there’s a strong pulsing ache between her thighs every time her nipples rise and fall, sore and tender underneath her tight sports bra. All of her clothes feel tight, creating tangible friction all over; her whole body, her face, her skin- is clammy and sticky and so fucking overwhelmingly hot.

A small part of Sam is still trying to stop, to control himself, but as he drags himself away from her neck to look at her, it’s clear that this prolonged contact has its consequences; his psyche swells with a sudden growth in appetite as she settles over him, and suddenly, he barely registers that he’s doing anything at all.

Moving his hand to the back of her head, he pulls her closer in a sudden move that draws a gasp from her as her hands brace themselves on his chest- the sudden harshness of his desperate fingers tugging at the roots of her hair is unexpected. The strength coming from this movement alone renders her unable to pull away- even if she wanted to.

He pants harder, unable to let her go, but so afraid of causing her harm all the same. His fingers impulsively flex at her scalp, and she gulps down a whine at the sensation as her eyes squeeze shut.

“I’m- I’m s- I can’t stop. I’m sorry-”

A hand moves from his chest to the back of his neck. With a gentle pull, she guides his gaze downward, her fingers pulling apart the material to trace the mottled purple that’s started snaking across her skin.

Sam's heart lurches in his chest, an undercurrent of panic rising up his throat like bile.

"No, no- what did i do? I-“

“Sam.” She hushes, pressing her forehead onto his, forcing him to stay still- to focus. She silently implores him to find solace in her. “It’s... we’ve just gotta...” Her eyes non-verbally tell whatever flecks of her Sam that’s still in there that she’s here for as long as he needs her to be. That she wants this. She's wanted this. That she’s willing- God, she’s willing.

This is where he feels himself begin to dissolve away completely. Prolonged closeness. Her voice. The heat rising throughout her pretty little face, the growing heaviness of her eyelids, her freckles subdued by an involuntary heat spreading through her cheeks.

And, he can feel the warmth pooling between her legs.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise that this kind of reaction from her is fuelling him. He needs more of it. Craves more of it.

He’s slipping just beneath the surface, but he’s too tired to drag himself up for air. He supposes he doesn’t really need to, now. He could drown in her and die happy.

She’s starting to feel it worsen, too. The ache. The coercion of mind from body.

Her lips brushing against his feels like molten sugar; a searing heat that’s so sickly sweet he can’t pull away despite the blistering heat that’s destined to leave a nasty burn.

“We’ve just… gotta…” she repeats slowly, voice low and speech slurred. She can’t finish her sentence- every part of her is swarmed by the need to close the gap. She has no idea how he’s managed to hold out for so long.

With a shaky exhale, he nods, releasing the tension he's been painfully holding onto, allowing himself to surrender to the overwhelming heat pulsing through him. He finally allows himself to sink under as she plants a tentative kiss on his lips. A kiss which he only returns, though much more urgent- more voracious; it’s like stumbling across an oasis in the middle of the desert- it’s his first sip of fresh water in days, and it makes her eyes widen.

She brings a hand round to the back of his neck, clinging to him eagerly, her thighs spreading further- non-verbal consent, a silent plea for more as she begins to feel the simmering deep in her belly hurriedly rise to a boil.

He grinds himself upwards without a thought, and she whimpers into his mouth. The friction, the sweet, fucking friction has him press back into her desperately, wanting more, sending a groan up from deep in his chest.

He’s gone. Rationality dwindled entirely as the slightest bit of pressure is applied, steadily being replaced with a frightening strength and burning need to have his way no matter the consequences.

She feels her heart rate quicken as she takes in the sight of his pupils. They’re fucking blown out. The pretty specks of amber that normally contrast the darker brown in his irises have been eclipsed by a deep amethyst.

“… want...fu-” Sam’s voice becomes lower still, grating through gnarled teeth, and as his fingertips dig into her back, keeping her in place, he shifts again- he’s so hard, so perfectly angled underneath her- she salivates as she chokes out. “Want to f- fill you up.”

Hey eyes gloss over and her brain numbs. She nods frantically. Heat floods between her thighs with a vengeance, rationality waning as a shockwave shoots through her arched spine. She wants everything to be touched by him.

The third time comes quicker; more brutal, more needy, taking advantage of her lack of composure as she succumbs to his grip, his mouth hungrily taking a dive for her neck again, except this time there’s less restraint. None, even.

“Oh-- sh-mmf-” Her body shudders as she slurs her words, and as his teeth pull harshly at her skin, she cries out into her hand.

Her legs tremble, knees aching as the stone beneath them digs in, breath pitching in her throat as she’s hit with a shamefully sudden climax.

Her wide eyes water as her hand remains clasped around her mouth, chest heaving as she struggles to register how little action it took for her to come, waiting for the pressure to abate and the fog to clear.

Instead, as she feels his hands roam, and watches his frantic eyes fail to decide what to settle on, the fog only thickens, overruling any semblance of critical thinking.

It hits her like a fucking tidal wave, in fact; she can’t fathom anything other than the fact that she needs more.

And in that split second, she surrenders to the pull, inhibitions fizzling away as she leans in, closing the distance between them again with a fierce determination. A surge of adrenaline tips her over the edge and she takes control, seizing him hungrily, fingertips digging harshly into his scalp to bring him back up to her. He protests, growling, biting harder until he feels himself pried away by force, her nails pressing into his jaw, leaving crescents as she gets him where she wants him, lips crashing together again in a tumultuous collision of lust and fervour.

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She wants everything off- to feel her skin pressed up against his, but the time it would take to unbutton and unzip is a repulsive notion that ignites an almost animalistic frustration within her. The thought of it drives her insane- feverish fingers move from his hair and chin, and instead scramble for his belt buckle, clumsily tugging it apart as his teeth mirror the action at her bottom lip.

The messy exchange of teeth, tongue, and spit takes precedence over Sam’s brain, and he feels himself fall into her, torsos glued desperately together as the heat in his belly burns stronger. Hot blood pumps rapidly to his cock as her choked mewls drag him perilously close to the edge after no more than some mere friction.

His mouth traverses down her chin to her throat, ravenous groans muffled against her skin as he grips onto her for dear life, beginning to feel some give in the confinement of his jeans as she unzips them. She doesn’t even try to pull him away this time- her objective has changed.

He’d swear if he could, but his brain can’t even conjure up letters any more.

His teeth pierce the delicate skin of her neck, and a startled cry escapes her lips as she loses balance and tumbles backwards onto the unforgiving stone beneath them.

Sam looms over her, his weight pressing down until she feels almost crushed beneath him. Only his hand, gripping the back of her head with a fierce intensity that verges on violence, prevents her skull from meeting the ground with bone-shattering force.

His weight bears down on her, the back of one hand planted firmly against the ground underneath her head, while the other moves to maintain its bruising hold on her jaw, thumb hooking around her bottom teeth.

Every nerve in her body seems to betray any remnant of morality as she keens, her thighs tightening around him, trapping him in place as grinds himself against her. He selfishly draws tiny pinpricks of blood from her neck, and she claws at his arm, holding it against him as she bites and sucks what he gives her- almost every inch of her has become an unforgiving erogenous zone; it's all too much but not enough. It’s not enough. Teeth piercing her skin, tongue lapping up the mess- It’s an exquisite sort of agony, and she wants- needs- 

“More.” She murmurs around his thumb- or is it his finger now?

His teeth leave a trail of fire along her collarbone, her jawline, finally settling on her pulse point as it throbs beneath his lips. He grunts in response. There, he bites down harder, eliciting a guttural sound from deep within her throat as she struggles to catch her breath beneath him. Every break of the skin permits small bleeds of that relentless purple colour, rendering her virtually feral as she grows increasingly more overruled by the substance.

Rough hands roam beneath her t-shirt, sending goosebumps rising over heated skin as speckled blood bruises settle around her neck wherever his teeth have failed to puncture. To find some semblance of control amongst the chaotic frenzy, her trembling fingers pull at the waistband of her leggings, her urgency matching his own.

Fumbling clumsily, he joins her, his fingers tugging at the fabric with an urgency nigh on feral as his other hand harshly kneads at her waist. God, he wants to dig his fingers into her flesh, to break the skin, tear her apart, and fucking consume her from the inside out.

Before the waistband can even reach her thighs, she’s reaching down, pulling him out, drawing him towards her as a dribble of precum trickles over her fingertips, and he pushes up his torso to watch.

He’s sensitive. So, so, sensitive. In her desperation to pull him closer, she squeezes her palm around his shaft, and he chokes on his sudden gasp, hands smacking hard against the floor to hold himself up. 

Fuck. She wants to hear him do that again.

She grips him harder, stroking up and down with a cruelly tight fist. He’s all breathless whimpers and fluttering eyelids, allowing her to revel in the sounds as he drinks in the sight of her hand wrapped around him.

He shudders, undone, from virtually nothing, shaking violently and audibly moaning behind pursed lips. He can’t even think to muster up a verbal warning before he comes, pearly hot liquid spurting over her hand, dripping down onto her stomach. Yet, similarly to her, there’s no comedown. No time for shame about such a short build up. He’s still hard, red hot and weeping, body vying for more as his eyes glue themselves to the mess he’s made on her t-shirt, seeping through to her skin- Christ, her skin-

He’s hooked; her plushness, every recess and every convex curve, how her t-shirt clings to her stomach, made tacky by him. If it were possible, he’d cover her in him just so he could spend minutes watching it drip and bead and roll across and in-between her soft, smooth, warm skin. Sam’s so mesmerised that he barely even takes in the fact that he’s pushed her t-shirt up, his tongue and teeth licking and pulling at her stomach until his hips buck harshly at the saltiness of her sweat mixing with the flavour of his own stickiness. He shudders.

Her hands slide and scramble, clumsily unhooking her bra, scraping her knuckles on the floor beneath her before pulling it all off, over her head; all just in time for his mouth to open and cram as much of her left tit inside as he can. Sam sucks with a ferocity that’d be frightening if this wasn’t a shared affliction, rutting his hips sporadically against the bunched up fabric of her leggings rolled down to her thigh.

Her nipples are hard, sore, aching, and the pressure of his teeth rabidly biting and pulling, contradicting the soothing warmth of his tongue rolling in tandem, make her jaw go slack and her brows knit tightly together as she tries to navigate the fluctuating sensations.

Her hands slide over the back of Sam’s neck and down his shoulder blades, to his waist, his hips, sticky fingers stretching, running over hairs and scars and flexing abdominal muscle as they reach for his cock, slick, swollen, and heated as it meets her palm. Squeezing him closer to her, Sam groans, mouth pausing its assault on her chest, face falling flat into it, bucking harshly as she impatiently pulls him close, close, closer, writhing restlessly ’til her leggings are low enough for her thighs to part enough to let him in.

Incoherent, mumbled moans are hummed and panted into her tender chest, hands digging into the flesh of her waist as his shaft is squeezed and dragged against her sopping cunt. She moans, a languid, filthy thing as he meets her swollen, sensitive clit, the sodden cotton of her underwear brushing tortuously against it as she brashly pulls them aside.

His impatience builds, fingers digging into her deeper and deeper until they become restless and tug fiercely at her leggings. She hisses sharply as her naked back scrapes suddenly against the floor, her body shunted downwards til one of her legs are fully exposed to air, allowing Sam to hook his knee under hers, pushing up harshly and pinning her thighs apart- access that they’re both burning for. She urges him on with a whine as he pushes down on top of her, words lost to the both of them, communication reduced to vying grunts and desperate writhing.

His pupils dilate enough to make him look feral, purple-flecked irises madly dancing left, right, up, down, as if committing the sight of her, greedy and parched, to memory, before he finally complies, long groan grating out of him as his tip breaches her slightly. He can’t hesitate any longer. His lips part as his thick cock sinks into her inexorably, leaving her completely pliant beneath him. Despite how impossibly wet she is, the stretch is still so intense- she feels like she’s being split in two; it’s both the best and worst thing she’s ever felt, but something she never wants to end.

“S-ss…” She hisses, screwing her face up in frustration as she tries and fails to say his name, nails digging into him more. “Pl-P…” She grunts again, frustrated with her inability to conjure words. Her thighs tremble, the sharp, tight warmth in her stomach tugging and pulling and obliterating every sense as she tightens around him, eyes flickering, rolling back almost painfully as he fills her deep, retracts, and fills again, each time not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.

For a moment, head spinning, he stares down at the way her head falls back, eyes squeezing shut, arms flopping, knuckles smacking against the ground as she traps a warbled cry behind her teeth, greedily sucking him into her. He grunts, brows drawn together, and thinks he’ll never be sated again like this. It's perfect. If only it weren't manufactured.

Heat sears him apart from the inside out, savage gluttony evident in the way he gasps and he groans when his hips slam forward, over and over, pressed so tightly against her that each movement reverberates astoundingly against her clit. She’s so tight, so perfect, so wet, around him as she whines and bucks up into him.

Sam holds her down; hand pinning forearm, fingers digging deeply into stomach and waist, knee prying thigh from purple-stained thigh, pumping into her at a relentless pace; She groans as he harshly works her open, arching into him as her stomach tightens— tighter, tighter, tighter, until she’s screaming, unpinned arm smacking into his back, nails clawing crescents into his sweat-slicked skin as another wave of arousal floods every sense of her being.

She can’t breathe- she doesn’t want to- the energy needed to do so would take away from the white hot pleasure coursing through every inch of her. Liquid gushes, her cunt clamping down hot around him and squeezing, milking him so tight it makes him choke on his own sharp inhale, so good it burns- it’s almost excruciating. He shudders as he breaks, palm slamming against the floor to hold himself up when he comes, too.

She groans at the fullness and the warmth of him spilling inside her, breath coming out in messy, uneven bursts as she feels herself suck in every drop.

For a moment, she watches him come down from his peak, heavy-lidded eyes grazing over the vulnerable crease in his brow, the way his cheeks flush as he catches his breath above her, and his parted lips- she wants to kiss him. Sweetly. She wants him to let her show him she's not a ‘kid’. She wants to feel what it's like to be wanted by him. She's strong, capable, undeniably and irrevocably attracted to him, and… God… She still feels hot. Despite coming twice- or is it three times, now- the need for more is already becoming unbearable, and she fails to decipher if these thoughts are coming from the chemical festering in her veins, or if they're being made apparent due to its diminishing strength. She stings. Oh, she's a mess.

He’s still hard inside her, twitching, demanding still. The question gnaws at her, but her body burns for more, more, more. He slows above her, the lack of physical stimulation, and the completely deriding overstimulation of her mental state making her eyes water. She wriggles slightly, an impatient grunt echoing around the small room as she tries to roll her hips under him. The stillness of his cock inside her has her mewling, still spasming softly around him.

“S- Sam-” She sputters, eyes widening in realisation of her somewhat rehabilitated ability to speak.

For just a few seconds his mind’s feverish occupation dilutes, replaced with a glimpse of a soft, sated afterglow… he falters, his mouth hanging open like there’s something he wants to say. 

“Mm…more. Need more.” She beats him to it, murmuring between shallow breaths, feeling the rising ache cloud her mind already.

His heart thuds so fast it’s a surprise it’s not sat in his throat- is it gratitude he’s trying to muster? Or, an admission perhaps? “I-” Just like her, the words are fighting to get out of him, but just as he strings a sentence together in his head, he starts to tense again. “Gotta… I- I’m-”

For a second, she feels sympathetic as she watches him war with himself. But her body doesn’t let the sympathy hang about for long, and she finds herself making his mind up for him, tugging him down by the back of the neck, tongue meeting tongue as she ferociously bucks up, calf hooking around thigh to pull him tight against her, giving her leverage to twist her hips and roll them both around.

It burns, the white hot anticipation, and he can barely move. His brain has been dumbed down; near-irrevocably stuck between wanting to split her open again, to keep biting and bruising and claiming, or to actually feel- to savour her in her entirety. His indecisive stupor makes him ache even more, brows knitting together tightly as his mind tries and fails to establish where to go next.

Sam can barely process anything outside of the softness of her sticky palm on his chest, the ridges of her fingerprints and the gentle sharpness each time her nails brush against his skin as she pushes him against the ground. She rolls her hips, soft curses spilling out of her lips as she feels his hands clumsily dig into her ass. He shuts his eyes, head lulling sideways as he swallows hard, choosing to feel.

Grip loosening momentarily, his eyes open at the feeling of her fingers branching up, wrapping themselves around his throat; loose, but just enough pressure that he can feel his own pulse reverberate against her thumb. She squeezes harder, turning him to face her, his head numbing with a pleasurable fizz as his vision transfixes on her.

He's too tired to fight against her- truth be told, he probably wouldn't try if he did have the strength. Jesus, she's so pretty, he thinks. Well that makes a change. Significantly less violent than the thoughts circulating his head earlier. She could squeeze tighter and tighter if she wanted, and he still wouldn't protest if it meant he could watch her, like this, from underneath her. Especially when she comes again, back arching as she moans like a fucking animal- and still she doesn't stop.

“So- you’re-” Between the pressure on his throat, her relentless pace, and his own spasmodic panting, he can barely string a sentence together, “s-damn tight- so good- fuck.”

He finds himself completely and utterly caught up in how tight she still feels around him- how fucking gorgeous she looks with her eyebrows drawn tightly together, eyelids heavy as she ferociously rocks her hips, stomach flexing, tits bouncing- the speckled bruises and drying blood stippled across her neck and collarbones- and then there's a hard pang of guilt; he did that to her- made her bleed- infected her- it's his fault that she's being made to give him this-- exactly… what he's wanted…for months.

He expects the thrumming ache to cloud him over again, but it never comes. Instead, a strange clarity claws its way through the haze of his mind. This is what he has longed for for months, but now that it's here, the moment is tainted by anguish. It took this entire horrible ordeal to force him to act upon his feelings, and he mourns the likelihood that this will be the one and only time he gets to be this close to her.

And then, beneath the sorrow and the dread, there lies a deeper, more corrosive guilt. It gnaws at him, a conscience-grating burden that leaves him nauseous. Despite the mental torment, despite everything, his body betrays him, running rife with boiling hot pleasure. The contradiction tears at him, a cruel reminder of his own skewed morality and the complex, painful nature of his...is it his love for her?

The obscene squelching sounds and the wetness leaking out of her and down her inner thighs, forming small puddles on his skin, and the floor, and, fuck, as she murmurs an exhausted plea, the taste he's getting of being wanted- needed- used by her- it all sends him over the edge.

She whimpers and falls into him, moaning incoherently into the crook of his neck as her fingers tighten, nails scraping against stubble, and-- jesus, he's coming again.

His hands meet her upper back, holding her down as he fills her once more, rasped groans and a string of murmured curses vibrate against her skin as he swallows against her hand. He holds onto her selfishly, savouring the feeling of her weight on top of his- bare skin on bare skin, the way she seeks comfort in him- he's thought about this countless times… and he hates how much he's enjoying the consent-less reality of it.

Her movements slow, becoming sloppier, lazier, her energy dwindling as she tries to chase the release she desperately needs. She whimpers, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes, dampening Sam's shoulder as they fall, and she finds her swollen, sensitive clit with one hand while the other moves from his throat to his hair.

He continues to hold her as his sensitive cock twitches inside her, nose nuzzling into her hair as he whispers; "Did you...?"

She shakes her head, a soft whimper coming out of her as she tries to push herself into another orgasm. The sound of his voice. Raw, raspy, quiet in her ears makes her tear up even more, and all of a sudden, her body's pursuit of pleasure has become torturous. She looks at Sam, his eyes clearer, amber flecks of colour visible again, his expression one of concern and exhaustion. Guilt churns in her stomach, sharp and nauseating, as the fog in her mind grows lighter by the second- the physical pain persists.

Her body, still wracked by the effects of the drug, betrays her with every shiver, flush of heat, and every desperate circle of her fingertips. She feels humiliated, the intense need now a source of shame, tucking her head back into his shoulder as she arches her back despite herself. Tears well up in her eyes, and she can’t meet Sam's eyes. "I... I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice breaking. "I still need to-" she sniffs, "I can't- hurts."

Sam’s heart aches at the sight of her distress, and he nods, one hand smoothing down to her soft hip as the other stays on her back. He breathes in the scent of her hair, wanting to savour the moment- hell, he probably won't see her again if this is how she's reacting before she's fully recovered.

He wants more of her, he knows he does. But he's sensitive… and the clarity is still there. The clarity. The stabbing, blunt, serrated knife sawing in and out of his gut that makes him realise that he's never going to have this again. And that none of it was real anyway. But she sobs, and the sting in his chest wanes from his pain to hers. For now, curing hers takes precedence. 

Gently, he pushes against her, and exhausted, she complies, rolling back round to her back, eyes closed, borderline hyperventilating. He pulls her hand from between her legs and she huffs out a shaky breath.

“Sorry…hgnn- I'm sorry.” She whispers, her chest tightening.

He watches her try to cover her face with her forearm, and as he slides out of her, she sobs quietly, tensing her thighs together and rocking her hips softly to try and give her clit the friction it needs as she's left empty.

He rubs the palm of her hand with his thumb, gently lacing his fingers between hers, eyes glued to the way their skin glistens with their mixed arousal. “None’a that.” He says, squeezing her hand as he gently pries her thighs apart. “Not your fault.”

She whimpers up to the ceiling.

“God, it really hurts, Sam.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He holds himself up on an elbow and exhales. His free hand traverses down her torso, giving her waist a reassuring squeeze before reaching between her thighs.

She keens at the nickname, making a shuddered whimper as his fore and middle fingers gather some of the copious amount of shared arousal, rubbing against her carefully.

“This okay?”

Her chin trembles as she nods. “I need more.” She whispers, and almost immediately he pushes two fingers knuckle-deep into her aching cunt, pearlescent slick oozing out onto the palm of his hand down to his wrist. She squeezes his hand instinctively, a groan bubbling out of her throat.

His eyes follow the trail as his fingers stroke her from the inside and his thumb flicks softly at her clit, her soft moans permeating his mind. He's hard again; the thick liquid warms his wrist as it trickles down further, up to where the veins in his forearm meet the inside of his elbow- the veins that were deep purple not too long ago. He looks at his hand, then her thigh; still a small webbing of colour coming from the bite mark, whilst nowhere to be seen on him.

He swallows. There's a soft haze over his brain again, but it's gentle this time. Normal, even, bar the bittersweetness of it all. There's no burn. No malicious desire eating away at him… He just wants to savour her; to soothe, to make her feel better. She looks so ashamed. He wants to take that away from her.

Sam glances back up at her, eyes shut and arm crossed to cover her chest and it feels like a kick in the stomach. He purposely slows his hand, and her eyes open.

Before she can choke out another plea, he leans over her again, pressing his lips to hers gently, slowly building up his hand’s pace as he feels her sigh heavily. His chest thuds as he takes the time to memorise the softness of her lips, acknowledging that this might be the only time he gets to be so soft with her. It breaks his heart- another unforseen circumstance.

Her stomach flutters as he kisses her, the unexpected softness of it making more tears prick at her eyes as he works her closer to her peak. She moves her arm from her chest back to his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

After a moment, he moves from her lips, gently licking and pecking at each bruise and break in her delicate skin, relieved that there's no more purple, but unable to shake the guilt as he mutters apologies interspersed with each break for breath.

She squeezes his hand back, her whole body tensing.

His mouth traverses lower; down her sternum, all the way to her lower abdomen, until he reaches the tops of her thighs, where tacky quickly turns to wet as he moves lower still. Her breath catches as his eyes lock onto hers, and her lips part slightly, a subtle invitation, or perhaps merely surprise, but it's enough to keep him rooted, suspended between action and restraint as he feels himself salivate. In that silence, he waits, desperately vying for the smallest sign of consent.

She winces, her body aching as it waits for release, but she doesn't break eye contact. Instead, she takes a deep breath, and her fingers, trembling, unhook from his and reach out to rest on his jaw, her thumb brushing lightly against his lower lip. It's so brief and gentle it almost feels imagined. Yet, it's there— an undeniable gesture that heats his blood- organically, this time; He tastes them both on her skin and fuck, it's nothing short of heavenly. 

He swallows, eyes flitting around, learning the sight of her by heart before looking back up at her. He licks again and his cock twitches.

With a mixture of reverence and hunger, he closes the distance between them, movements measured and purposeful, each stroke of his tongue filled with a tenderness that belies all of the turmoil eating away inside him.

Her grip on his hair tightens as she sighs up to the ceiling. He loses a little restraint as she breathes out his name, begging him for more, and small, neat licks turn more rabid when his hand wraps around his shaft. He pumps himself with the same intensity as his tongue as it works in and out of her, his soft groans making her hips buck into his mouth as her breaths become more shallow.

She moans- cracked and raspy with exhaustion- at the feel of his lips, his nose, his tongue licking and sucking and savouring the satiating nectar dripping from between her trembling legs. His tongue broadens to gather and swallow before alternating to target her clit with the tip, wet and hot as he laps and swirls and buries in and around her. He tightens his fist around his cock, causing her stomach to roll as he moans into her- it's sloppy and messy and downright vulgar, but there's something so enamouring about his enthusiasm. His forearm wraps under her thigh, pulling her tight against his mouth as he grows closer to another climax of his own, and she gasps and arches even closer.

"Fuck, Sam-I, I'm-" she can feel him looking up at her as she struggles to string a sentence together, using the sight of her to coax his own pain-numbing, breathtaking orgasm. He moans, stimulating her tenfold as he releases warm ropes onto himself, his eyes rolling back as he near-suffocates against her.

He keeps going, and going, even when he lets go of himself to grip her stomach and pin her down- and she almost chokes, unable to breathe as she's utterly overwhelmed by the pleasure and the raw, visceral feelings for him that stabs relentlessly into her heart. She feels the pain raking its way through her body dissipate with each second that goes by.

He's so good. So fucking handsome.

She finally comes, a warbled cry trapped behind her teeth as her eyes squeeze shut and a rapturous wave of coolness floods her body. It's overwhelming- asphyxiating, even; tears streaming, fingers knotting rougher into his curls as he holds her tightly in place, devouring her through and past her climax. He takes and takes and takes-- shit, he loves this.

"S-sam,"

He loves this.

"Agh- Sam, pl- stop-"

He loves this. He fucking loves this- her. He- he loves-

She yanks hard enough on his hair that he's forced away from her with a pained hiss, gasping heavily like he hasn't taken a proper breath in minutes, his entire face from the bridge of his nose down glazed and glistening. He looks so pretty. She aches.

His eyes traverse, conflicted and somewhat melancholic from her thighs, up to her face, and she sees that he's... crying too. It's alien to her. What has she done to him?

She holds his gaze, her own eyes red-rimmed and tear-filled. The regret feels like a physical ache in her chest, mingling with the remnants of aftershock and the soreness between her legs and all over her broken skin across her thigh and décolletage. Despite the excruciating shame, she wants to reach out, to tell him that it's okay, that they had both been caught in the same storm. But the words don't come.

Instead, she sits up ever so slightly, wincing as she scoots closer, their bodies brushing as she nervously pulls his head to her shoulder; a tentative, fragile gesture, but she hopes it speaks volumes nonetheless. He stiffens at first, but eventually relaxes, his arm scooping beneath her to hold onto her gently.

She cradles his head against her, staring at the ceiling with tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. The physical pain was dulled now, but the emotional ache was fierce. She had never fantasised it being like this, tainted by necessity and confusion, and she doesn't know what to do. It's suffocating.

For a moment, they both just breathe, soaking in the sickly, unfiltered aftermath of the whole ordeal.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours—they've lost all sense of time in this weird fucking space where the boundaries have been irreparably corroded. They're cold. Exhausted. Emotionally bare. And now he feels like a damn coward, letting her stroke his hair and cradle him against her chest, after all he's put her through. He grits his teeth in an attempt to keep his watery eyes from spilling over.

But the attempt fails, and he hates how uncharacteristic this is. Screw this place. Screw Cassimir. Screw their client, screw his own greed that brought them here in the first place, and screw- fucking screw her for taking away his ability to remain a husk- and for letting him hurt her.

Finally, she pulls back as she feels her skin dampen and his shoulders jolt ever so slightly, her hand forcing his chin up. Her eyes search for him, and in that moment, she fully takes it in, and sees what she hopes to be the same fear, the same shame, and yet, the same insane level of care that has gnawed at her heart for so long.

Sam opens his mouth to speak as her brows furrow, but no words form, let alone come out, aside from a pathetic, choked sigh that hints at the tumult of emotions stirring inside him. His tongue rolls over his lip, and the lingering taste of them has him shudder and shut his eyes.

He can’t bring himself to look at her, the shame too sickening, too palpable. But then, as he pulls away, getting up to his knees as he fumbles with his jeans, he feels her hand on his arm, steadying him. He looks down, and in her eyes, he doesn't see pity, or accusation, but- and for a second he considers pinching himself- understanding, a non-verbal acknowledgment of his vulnerability.

Delicate and trembling, her fingers reach up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw as if to reassure herself that he is real, that this moment, however fleeting and fraught with confusion, was real. At least she'd have it stapled to her memory. Sam closes his eyes at her touch, a self deprecating huff leaving his lips. He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to her palm; a silent apology and a desperate plea for reassurance that she's actually thinking what he hopes she is. He even hazards a look to her thigh for any sign of coercion from the drug still coursing through her, but there's no purple in sight.

She reaches one of her arms above her head, just about reaching her shirt. She grunts in disgust, the material sodden, and she drops it back down with a shaky huff, the room's frigid temperature finally having an effect once more.

Sam pushes himself up again, rubbing his damp cheeks with the back of his hand as a sense of normalcy seeps back into his senses. And with that normalcy, grief.

He finds his t-shirt, quickly sliding it over his head despite the excess of sweat and bodily fluid covering both his skin and the material. He grimaces as it clings to him, and she watches on with a poignant shiver, pulling her knees to her chest after adjusting her soaked-through underwear, her boots scraping against the ground as she does so.

He clears his throat, picking up his plaid overshirt from where he'd discarded it earlier before looking over his shoulder at her as he pulls the sleeves through the right way. 

Someone has to speak sooner or later, she thinks, but can't bring herself to. Her nails scratch nervously at her skin as she weighs up what to do, trying not to cry at the prospect of Sam's walls being rebuilt so fast after pouring everything- mind, body, soul- into her moments ago. She feels so naive- so fucking silly-

“What was it you said earlier?”

Her head shoots up as he speaks, caught off guard by how much he sounds like his usual self. Charming, cocky, collected.

She tilts her head slightly, her eyebrows drawing together and her eyes narrowing in a mix of confusion and curiosity. Her lips part just enough to show she's on the verge of speaking, but she holds back, waiting for his next words to clarify the moment.

He extends his shirt out to her, lips quirking into a soft, somewhat reassuring smile. She looks at him for a moment, taking the shirt and putting it on.

“Somethin’ about an HR department?”

She looks at him, a soft laugh fluttering to the surface. It's a quiet sound, tinged with shyness and still wrapped in the lingering sadness of their shared ordeal. Her eyes lower for a moment, the weight of everything that happened settling in.

Seeing her reaction, Sam gets up and moves to where her water flask lies discarded. He unscrews the cap and pours some onto a clean part of his t-shirt. She begins to button her shirt, but he stops her, silently asking for a moment longer.

“Can I?”

She lets go of the shirt, and with gentle, still slightly shaky hands, he dabs the wet cotton softly over her wound-ridden skin.

She watches him, the sadness in her eyes gradually giving way to something softer, his tenderness speaking volumes. As he continues to tend to her wounds, his mouth twists in thought, like there's something he wants to say. So he does.

“I'm sorry.”

He's not the type to apologise, so eye contact is impossible.

“What?”

He continues dabbing at her skin in silence.

“Sam.”

She covers his hand, stopping him from finding any other distraction.

“You didn't ask for this."

He frowns. “I- I just put you through… somethin’ not far off of assault, and your response is-”

“No. Not one part of that was assault-”

“She says, as I wipe up blood from bites I gave her.”

“Yeah, with the mouth that's covered in my cum.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but he can't find anything to say. His cheeks redden.

She sighs again. They're going in circles and she wants to put an end to it all- she's tired. Filthy. Possibly concussed. Which she uses to excuse what she does next.

“Can I try something?” she asks. Fuck it.

“Try what?"

Without another word, she steps closer, her eyes searching for any sign of protest. When she finds none, she leans in and kisses him, her lips soft and warm against his, holding none of the desperation or haze of their previous encounter, completely free from the influence of any perverted pill or potion.

What's she got to lose?

Sam is shocked at first, his body tensing. He instinctively pulls her off, his eyes flitting around her face as his jaw loosens and tightens in search of something to say.

Her heart sinks and she steps back, “Thought so,” she smiles sadly, backing away, knowing it was a mistake to try. "Can we... can we get out of here?"

He should hate himself, right? He's gone against everything he's ever stood for- let every non-committal brick he's built since teenagehood crumble to dust. He's gone soft. Sentimental. By force, to begin with, yet he still hasn't stopped himself. It's… Pleasant. Is this the balance Cassimir fetishised over?

Screw it, he decides, Because if he has to stand by and watch her grow apart from him when she's just shown the same as- if not more vulnerability than him, what use are a few walls?

He pulls her back, his lips finding hers again. This time, it's different- there’s no urgency, no magical compulsion, but rather something deep- genuine. The kiss is tender, filled with all the emotions they’ve been too afraid to voice, and he feels years worth of tension escape him. His sore muscles loosen, hands cupping her face softly, and she melts into him.

When they finally pull apart, their foreheads rest together, and this alone feels infinitely more intimate than anything that had transpired beforehand.

"So... is it safe to assume that we're both on the same page, or...?" She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper, but her usual playfulness breaks through, and it makes him smile.

"What, that we're both in dire need of some good laundry detergent and a shower? Or was there somethin' else on your mind?"

She snorts, gently kicking his shin, the enormity of months worth of repressed feelings finally worn on the proverbial sleeve. She takes a deep breath, the worry in her eyes softening as she looks at him.

"We have a lot to figure out."

He chews the inside of his lip contemplatively, still not entirely sure there’s any reason why she’s being so gracious. So calm, despite it all, like he deserves any of it.

There’s a beat.

And then he nods. Because that’s why she makes his entire psyche shift off-kilter- makes him notice his bad habits.

"We'd… uh, better cash those vials in."

She sees a million-and-one thoughts behind his eyes, but he needs to rest. So she waits, head tilted, suspecting he's got something else to add. 

"How else am I supposed to afford a five-star first date?"

The other million thoughts can wait.

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

I promise to write something short and funny next time x

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 21: A Crowbar Called Love

GIF Credit: @carmen-berzattos

Bearblr Promptober Day 21: Drunk Confession

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend (who he calls Darling) drunkenly confesses something that sends him into a tizzy; that she wants to have his kids.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of trauma, self-doubt, evolving Dad!Carmy, maybe the start of a breeding kink(?), fem reader/generic lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns. (822 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

21 Oct 2024

She said she wants to have my babies, and I honestly don't know what in the fuck to do with myself.

How did I get here?

What the fuck did I do to earn that?

What?

How?

I'm a fucking disaster, why the fuck would anyone think I'd make a not-shitty dad?

And she said it in front of Richie and Nat. That asshole is never gonna let me hear the end of it. This is what I get for taking my eyes off the cider for five minutes. Richie probably didn’t even fucking measure before spiking it.

Fuck. My. Life.

I have no business having kids, I'm just gonna end up like ma! No! No! Abso-fucking-lutely not!

Okay, yes, they'd be cute, but this is a terrible idea!

I can’t stop fucking thinking about this. The adoration in her eyes, the way she whispered it into my mouth, the way she pulled my hair and repeated it—whined it—until my brain checked into reality in a confused state. Carmen, I wanna start a family with you. I love you so much. I want babies. Carmy… Carmy, please? Please, can we talk about kids?

It’s the next morning, and I woke up an hour before my alarm, invaded, besieged, strangled by thoughts of cradling her belly, of feeling little kicks against my palm through her soft, supple skin. The thought of baby shoes while I stared at my own, hand trembling as I dragged it through my hair and tried to recompress so I could make it through a workday. What was more was that I couldn’t stop fucking thinking about how wonderful of a mother she’d make. She’d be sweet, kind, understanding, protective, a great advocate, teacher, counselor. I thought of being home with a kid in my arms. Nat’s daughter is so precious, so innocent, so pure. I could have one. A few. And I could do better than ma or dad did.

I wanted to do better than ma and dad did.

I wandered back into the bedroom, leaned against the doorframe and just watched Darling snuggled up in bed, her face buried in my t-shirt, a cute little croissant under the covers. There existed in my mind, sometime before then—couldn’t figure out exactly when it changed—this looming understanding of this arrangement being temporary. This relationship was a ticking clock, a sword dangling over my head by a horsehair, and in all likelihood, I was going to fuck up, and she was going to leave. It seemed like an inevitability. But permanence, comfort, routine, it crept up on me. Could I imagine an existence without Darling? Did a future without her even exist? Did I allow myself to love her so completely, so deeply, that my forever was staked in the ground with her?

Two kids. And a dog. Our own house. It’d be nice if one of them liked cooking, but I wasn’t going to be upset if they wanted to try something else. I’d support them trying new things. I’d reduce my hours at The Bear, too, so I could be around to hug them and read them bedtime stories. My vision abruptly blurred. Droplet of warmth fell from my eyelashes and drew a streak down my face.

Of course, I was fucking crying again.

Ever love someone so much that it hurt? That the love embedded itself so deep into you that it burrowed roots in the same places that all your fucking trauma lived? That it crumbled and frayed the armor of bitterness, apathy, hatred, and anger you’d been using to hold yourself together against the assault of being alive and being so many things the world didn’t like—short, sensitive, warm, caring, quiet, shy? For your curly hair, for your features, for your weird fucking quirks and habits? The world stabbed you in the fucking kidneys for daring to exist, and you walled off yourself behind protective mechanisms to stop the knives going any deeper than they already had, from piercing the softest parts of you; and out of nowhere, this little thing called love shows up as a crowbar and jams under that armor with no ceremony and certainly no warning. It fucking hurts at first. It hurts like you can’t fucking believe or imagine, and it scares the shit out of you because if that armor comes off, you feel like you’ll die, but eventually? Eventually, the armor starts crumbling away, and you feel the saccharine mercy of love in all the places that the armor hurt. Yeah, you thought your trauma was the thing that inflicted agony all these years? Your fucking armor wore chasms in you all the same.

This wasn’t a contest, baby girl, but you win. I surrender. I love you. I love you so much that it hurts, and I can’t get enough of it. So, yeah. Yeah, we can talk about kids.

[lokimobius]

✨ 2024 in gifs ✨

rules: post your favourite and most popular post from each month this year (it’s okay to skip months)

Tagged by @mobius-m-mobius, whose gifs are absolutely gorgeous! thank you for tagging me! i love seeing you and your creations on my dash 💖

January - favourite: it HAS to be my set of mobius writing SKIN? and sulking - most popular: taylor swift performing anti-hero at the eras tour! February - favourite: literally just mobius and his milkshake 🥺 he's so cute!!!! - most popular: the iconic "i was following you." "no, i was following you!!!!" March - favourite: this set of mobius talking about jet ski's and the difference between how loki & brad listen to him. also the bonus of loki remembering what mobius said and repeating it to don 🥹 i wish that i'd added the bonus gifs in the original post, but alas, i wasn't that forward-thinking - most popular: loki and mobius smiling/laughing with each other! i love this set so much! they're everything to me. April - favourite: this lokius set i made with lyrics from taylor swift's loml. i'd never made any gifs with transitions before, so it was new to me. but i looooved the way it turned out. i also really leaned into the green/gold theme when colouring the set too! it was a lot of fun to make! 🥹 - most popular: literally just lokius standing together looking smug as brad is taken in. May - favourite: lokius + elevators!! they're always going somewhere in an elevator so i wanted to compile those moments together! i love how this set turned out bc the colour difference between s1 & s2 is literally hell and i think i managed to match them well! - most popular: lokius in their tuxes in breaking brad. breaking brad you will always be famous to me!!!! June - favourite: can i offer anyone some thor/jane & loki/mobius parallels... - most popular: tom hiddleson behind the scenes of the actors on actors photoshoot! July - favourite: the legendary "it is adorable that you think you could possibly manipulate me" scene 🤭 - most popular: tom hiddleston for the 2024 paris olympics!!! August - favourite: just a general lokius in s2 gifset bc i love them - most popular: IT'S GOT YOUR SHAPE TO IT September - favourite: mobius in the ikea scene looking frustrated and cute - most popular: "i'd never stab anyone in the back! that's such a boring form of betrayal!" 😔 October - favourite: the variant/breaking brad parallel with loki leaving/staying - most popular: lokius on their date at the worlds fair eating cracker jack! "it tastes like ash." November - favourite: it's never too late to change / trying to fix what's broken is hard. hope is hard. - most popular: what did you expect? it's president loki! December - favourite: owen knocking something over in r&a and being cute af about it in the loki s2 bloopers! - most popular: lokius (tom & owen) in the s2 bloopers wearing the tuxes

apologies for the long post, i did a little bit of yapping and now i'd like to do a little more...

i've had SO much fun creating gifs this year, especially for lokius! seeing everyone screaming, crying, theorising, etc., in the tags is literally my favourite thing ever - i literally read ALL tags so pls keep them coming.

thank you for supporting the lokius brain rot. i love this fandom so much, and i'm grateful for all of the friends/mutuals i've made 💖

tagging @dilfmobius, whose gifs i also love! 🥰

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Hiiii me again

Related to the post about the ownership of characters and the tags you put-

I just wanted to mention that you’ve given me a lot of confidence. I used to be the type of person who believed “if your oc even breathes in the direction of a canon character, it’s cringe and Mary Sue and you’ll be ripped to shreds for it.” I’d have to tread so lightly with characters I enjoyed and love them from afar because I felt if I made even a joke post someone would bring it up.

I’ve only just gotten into the cod fandom, found your blog a couple months ago, and it’s given me a lot of like. Idk!! Just “fuck it, do what you want” kinda vibes in the best way? It’s really hard to word this lmao. But since finding your blog I’ve made a 141 character, a shadow, literally shipping an oc with ghost now, and I’m having fun that I wouldn’t have if I didn’t find your blog

So thank you <3

Hello! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

Well, It's been an apparent issue in this fandom. idk why, but when I visit other fandoms, the sense of ownership and possessiveness to the characters is not that high, like what's up with these people I don't know. Like, the characters in media, especially in games, don't belong to anyone except the studios that made them 😭

We as fandom members can create original characters, alternative universes, and stuff for them. I can't imagine a piece of media without fanarts, fics, and OC's really. Heck, that's what keeps the fandom alive. If there's one thing we can learn from history of media, is that you can't hold back people's creativity. OF COURSE, there are cringe ones and unhinged ones, but it's fandom, of course, it's filled with different types of people from normal to bizarre ones.

Here's the thing, just because one person has already shipped their OC with one character, that doesn't mean that character is LOST forever to that one particular OC like it's a damn popularity competition 😭.

I've also seen some people saying that they're so emotionally attached to this one character, that if they see him with someone else's OC. they get super emotional and super angry?? Okay that's just-- WOW.

If you feel uncomfortable seeing your favorite character being shipped with someone else, then that just means that you're NOT ready and not mature enough to be an OC creator and be in a fandom space. Full stop.

and if I may speak from experience, I've lost a few friendships due to being... quite popular OC shipper with Ghost 🥲 I personally don't feel anything when I see other's OC's with Ghost, or any character I like with other OC's -- I EVEN DRAW OTHER OC'S WITH GHOST FOR COMMISSIONS 😭

But yeah, before I yap too much, thank you so much for the good words in the last paragraph! It's very very lovely, and I'm glad you have your own OC to have fun with! Happy creating and happy drawing💖!

[stardustmuncher]

get to know me!!

okay, wow. guess who has not expected their art to get any attention at all, let alone even incoming requests for art. i apologize if i haven't done ur request yet btw, i've been awfully busy!

however, since i am getting traction and my bday is today (yippi to me, even tho my age is now much too serious) i think its appropriate for me to do a bit of an introduction post..

so without further ado, i present t you...

ME!

hello!! my name is aj, aka stardustmuncher we're being all official with name tags and stuff

i'm bi and use any pronouns! like, fr, any pronouns. get creative guys.

i like to think of myself as somewhat of an artist. i wanna study animation one day, so that's pretty cool i guess.

i'm american, not proudly but i'm still surviving.

also, i'm a total band kid. i'm apart of my school's percussion ensemble, which is neat. it's pretty cool, i suppose.

some of my other hobbies include:

attending drama club like the nerd i am

writing for my school paper

listening to music

sleeping a bunch

hanging out with my friends and being idiots

baking

fashion. (i'm a huge fashion nerd..)

i'm an artist, sure. which means i'm in a lot of communities, i guess. my fandoms consist of:

the owl house (proudly a goldric shipper)

gravity falls

five nights at freddy's

mouthwashing

sally face

don't hug me i'm scared

hamilton

heathers the musical

mean girls

class of 09

helluva boss/hazbin hotel

the spiderverse series

nimona

miraculous

tim burton films

the amazing digital circus

i also LOVE my music, like a bunch.

some of my favorite artists are:

tv girl

chappell roan

olivia rodrigo

mitski

the moldy peaches

tyler the creator

lil peep

dazey and the scouts

laufey

adrienne lenker

pinkpanthersss

madilyn mei

now... my favorite songs.

anyone else but you by the moldy peaches

do the act like you've never met me by tv girl

nuts by lil peep

prom queen by beach bunny

kiss her you fool by kids that fly

break it off by pinkpanthersss

before he cheats by carrie underwood

good luck babe by chappell roan

hot to go by chappell roan

not allowed by tv girl

hate yourself by tv girl

now.. just some fun facts abt me!!

for no particular reason, i am cross-eyed. like i js came out this way idk??

i wear the same barbie pants like every other week. i love these pants.

honestly i prefer chocolate over fruity flavors, they're js better

always looking for more music recommendations, hmu if you got smth good

dms are always open if you need to vent :D or if you just want someone to yap ur interests to, either way

also art requests r always open. i will draw it like one day or smth but ive been busy.. maybe this next week ill draw again

big stuffed animal fan, i sleep with the same three everynight

i have a guinea pig named amity, yes after the toh character

i also have a fish named mr blubs

and two dogs and two cats, i love my pets so much

also i love queer stuff, im way too easy to queerbait i fear

always open to friends and mutuals, just ask!! <3

some of my fav youtubers r louis mcclung, chadchad, drama mama/benoftheweek, drama kween and heather grayce

thanks for reading this total yap session, hopes this helps the people of the tumblr site to know who i am!!

much love,

aj (stardustmuncher) !!

[l0stfoster]

★ INTRO POST ★

(Last Updated: 1/8/25)

ーー

🔭 About My Ass

☆ Foster / Percy ( <- not my real name + friends & irls only ) ☆ 18yrs || enby & bi + aroace spec || they/them ☆ est || audhd & anxiety + bpd symptoms (no diagnosis yet, working on that) ☆ semi-freelance art & pursuing HVAC ☆ my carrd can be found here ! (updating it in the near future)

// Tone indicator user cause autism // OCs and Epic The Musical are my primary fandoms/content as of now. I also engage in Fear & Hunger and ROTTMNT every now and then. Expect Webfishing art as well. // DNI proship, racist/sexist/antisemetic/ Igbtphobic/ableist, nsfw, boundary breakers-- the basic shit // Just in case it's bought up; I'm not a system of any kind but I occasionally say "we" when referring to myself. It's a weird force of habit. // Feel free to Buy Me A Coffee😏

ーー 🎃 Misc Info

☆ Inbox asks can be about anything— sharing headcanons, asking ab au's, general QnA nonsense, or just for ghits and shiggles. ☆ Ask spam is okay as long as it's got a reason behind it [like multiple separate questions, etc] instead of just aimless spam. ☆ My art can be used for pfps, layouts, wallpapers, edits, heavy referencing, and design usage w/ credit. I do not want my art REPOSTED anywhere off Tumblr if it's not by me but REBLOGS are completely fine, go wild. ☆ I adore reading the tags you guys leave, I highly encourage them /silly ☆ Please do not DM me sporadically!! If we're friends or you've asked then it's okay but I don't really like to talk to people one-on-one unless I've known them for a while.

ーー 📍Taggings List (May Update)

★ #my art -- Pretty much any and all of my art, usually includes rendered pieces and non-rendered ones. ★ #my wips -- Self explanatory ★ #my writing -- Also self explanatory! ★ #foster doodles -- My whiteboard or other doodles that I wouldn't consider full art ★ #foster animates -- My animations/animatics ★ #fosters ocs -- Self explanatory - ★ #foster talks, #yapping -- Posts where I yap a bit, sometimes I put them on inbox answers or art posts. ★ #foster answers -- Answering Asks ★ #foster reblogs -- Stuff I reblog ★ #moots my beloved -- Tag for whenever I interact with my mutuals/friends ★ #fav -- Posts I reblog that I love ★ #thugging it out (failed) -- vent/ranting tag ★ #autism is stored in the balls -- It's... It's my tag for pure autism brain hours. I used it once and it stuck I apologize - ★ #cursed tulsa au, #cursed tulsa - Tags for The Outsiders Cursed AU ★ CURSED TULSA MASTERLIST

ーー

🦔 Art Related Info

☆ Art requests open from time to time, I'll either post about them opening or it'll be displayed on the ask button. I do have the right to not draw what you ask for, so fair warning on that. ☆ Art Trades are semi-open, this is mostly for mutuals and I probably won't do them too often. ☆ I do commissions!! The carrd is currently in the works but I do have some old sheets lmao. The art is pretty outdated, prices are negotiable. My rules are pretty simple based on wise; no nsfw for minors, no mecha, nothing problematic. Things such as reference sheets and heavily detailed backgrounds vary as well. Just let me know what you’re interested in and we can discuss!! My discord is @/akafoster