#this man is a walking fucking hazard

[frnkiebby]

PLEASE LETS TALK ABT THIS PLZ PLZ PLZ HE TWO OF HIS TOES, HAS 4 CHIPPED TEETH ETC HES SO SILLY

i’ve got one up on frank now, i’ve broken all of my toes~🎃

[justalildudewhoissonotsuspicious]

I will never understand the people that go in public in pajamas. Like, you don't have to wear a tuxedo to school, but at least wear actual shoes and not slippers

[teaboot]

OH FUCK YALL THOUGHT I WAS *ARMED GUARD*????

BRUHHHHHHHH

I'm the lowest level licensed security you can hire

I work foot patrol for shit like wet cement, construction sites, malls, libraries, outreach centers, and local events

My job is, essentially, human scarecrow

I am not permitted to carry a gun.

I am not permitted to carry a taser.

I am not permitted to carry pepper spray.

I am not permitted to carry a baton

I am not permitted to carry a knife or any multitool containing a knife

I don't have a plate vest

I'm not permitted to make any physical contact outside of administering first aid or in self defense, which must be made in minimal force required to ensure personal safety

I escort employees to make bank deposits, ask aggressive or violent people to leave, and take notes on safety hazards in patrolled areas

If someone bleeds, throws up, or takes a dump somewhere they shouldn't, it's between me and the custodian to make sure nobody slips in it bay bee

It is none of my business if someone is doing drugs. If they aren't an active danger to themselves or others then they're golden

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

If you're selling drugs in clear view I will ask that you please do that elsewhere, ideally with more discretion. End of interaction

If you are using drugs in clear view I will tell you *exactly* where the property ends so you can smoke your bong 3 feet outside of that line where I can't do shit if someone complains. End of interaction

Site Security is not police. It is not LPO. Someone could point you out as you run off the site and say "I saw him shove a microwave down his pants and walk out" and it would be approximately none of my business.

THINGS THAT ARE MY BUSINESS

Overdose in the bathroom. I will verbally check twice that you are conscious, and if I get no response I will warn that I am coming in to check on you. If I find you on the ground I will again try to speak to you, warn that I am touching your shoulder, and give you a jiggle. If I can't wake you up I roll you into recovery and wait for paramedics.

Threatening or harassing staff. You cannot make passes at the highschooler operating the pretzel stand. You cannot tell the bank teller you'll "track him down eventually". The lady at the nail salon said she didn't want to marry you six times now and now I'm your problem

Abuse, endangerment, or neglect. If you leave your baby on the sidewalk so you can shop by yourself then I will be the jerk who ruins your day. If you hit your kid I will become very much your problem. If you locked your dog in the car with the windows rolled up six hours ago and it isn't getting up when I tap the window I'm gonna be the biggest pain in the ass you'll see all day

Safety hazards. Don't shoot off a bottle rocket in the parking lot. Yes it's very cool and you probably won't hit anything important but there's a pretty big empty lot like six blocks away man, what if you nail a kid or something. If you wanna take your bearded dragon to the food court, keep him in your coat or in a carrier. Climb the telephone pole on Tuesday because thats my day off

Client complaints/concerns. Boss says you've been here living in your car for three days and it's time to move on. You and I know it's been a month but between us if you switch locations every couple days around the lot she won't catch you again till at least May. As long as you don't leave a bunch of trash laying out we're good.

END NOTES

If you have tattoos on your face, throat, or hands and you wanna pull something you gotta be so incredibly discrete, is so incredibly easy for Law Enforcement to track you down you have no idea. I know like 3 guys with face tattoos in town, one of them's been my buddy since highschool and the other 2 were introduced to me like "watch out for a guy with a star on his cheek, his name is Patrick Sturblish, he's 43 years old and I saw him pocket a redbull once".

Always assume someone is operating the cameras live.

The courts are so insanely overwhelmed all the time, if you nab something small and vital like bandages, tampons, underwear, whatever and don't have a long list of priors usually even a cop won't bother trying to charge you. If I can't tell you not to steal for the consequences then at least don't get cocky about it

In my own experience if you walk into a big store and straight up tell someone "I don't want to steal but I need this very badly" then usually someone will find a way to get it to you

If someone tells me you're stealing on camera I will let you know that someone caught you and it's your last chance to put stuff back before they do something

If you pull a weapon on me or someone else while I'm working then I'm required to inform police so please don't do that thank you

[deadsetobsessions]

Gotham rained a lot more than Amity ever did.

Danny could not help but appreciate the differences. From the way the city itself curled around her inhabitants to the weather, Gotham was far darker than Amity ever managed to be.

Still, there were similarities. The screams, for one. In Amity, it was ghosts, their victims, and whichever ghostbuster of the day rocking up to rock each other’s shit. Another similarity? Danny’s inability to not get himself into troublesome shit, because he could never ignore a cry for help.

That scream was a cry for help if he’s ever heard one.

Danny cursed himself as he slipped through the alleyways, strides becoming smoother and agile than he normally walked like. He stuck to the shadows, the prickling of ghostly senses and honed vigilante instincts guiding him towards the scream. It was a man, getting stabbed by a guy in a red helmet.

Danny maintained that he was new here.

Which is why his foot connected solidly with Red Helmet's... red helmet.

"Motherfuc-" Red Helmet shouted as he was punted several feet away.

"Holy shit dude, are you good?"

Danny helped the guy up.

"Thank fuck! Back up! What took you so long?! Boss is gunna be so pissed if we're late!"

Hold up. Boss?

"Boss?"

“Black Mask, asshole! We gotta go before he decides to cut off our limbs!”

Danny yanked the guy to the side just as a bullet ricocheted off the rusted fire escape.

“Ope!”

“You’re not going anywhere.” A mechanical voice growled behind them.

“Oh fuck, Red Helmet guy.” Danny muttered.

“Shit, ya gotta run, tell boss I got caught.” The injured goon- because it was now apparent to Danny that the guy was working for someone dangerous- said. Danny appreciated the thought, but he only intervened because the guy was getting stabbed.

“Uh,” Danny hesitated. Clearly the guy had the wrong idea.

“Don’t make a move, unless you want your fucking heads blown off,” Red Helmet guy- wait, why does he feel liminal?- raised his guns. “Why don-”

Red Helmet guy was cut off by the thud of the now unconscious goon.

His helmet tilted down and then back up at Danny.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” Helmet guy sneered out. “Better tell me everything you know about Black Mask, or else you’ll get a taste of what he had.”

Danny held up his hands even though he knew he could just let the bullets phase through him. The smart thing would be to absolve himself and not get in the middle of two criminal’s beef as a civilian.

Danny’s full name, however, could have been Danny ‘Dumb Decisions’ Fenton. So, Danny practically interjected himself like an overexcited puppy at a doggy daycare.

“Okay, no need to get bloody. But uh, I have a question.”

Red Helmet cocked his head and mockingly gestured with his gun. “Sure, why not.”

Danny let as much of his midwestern accent into his voice as possible. “Who’s, uh, Black Mask?”

Red Helmet paused. Then he sighed. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“No…? I’m, uh, new in town.”

Red Helmet lowered his guns, and for some reason, Danny could tell that he was exasperated.

“Why would you even get in between a fight, dumbass? I have a gun! I coulda killed ya! He’s a criminal’”

Danny protested. Rude! “In my defense, you were stabbing him! You’re a criminal too, you know!”

“That makes it worse! You-!” Red Helmet paused. “Wait, do you even know who I am?”

Danny let his gaze wander down to the red bat-shaped logo on the guy’s chest. “Uh… Red Helmet… bat-guy?” He hazarded a guess.

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

Danny gaped. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me,” Red Helmet put his gun back and planted his fists on his hips. “You’re an idiot. Who gets in between a vigilante and the goon of a crime lord.”

Danny crossed his arms, leveling an unimpressed look at Red Helmet. “I’ve never heard of a vigilante killing someone, Red Helmet Bat-Guy.”

“It’s Red Hood.” Red Helmet sighed, walking closer. “And I wasn’t going to kill him.” Danny scoffed.

Danny relaxed, sensing the truth coming from Red Helmet guy’s liminal aspects.

“He’ll die looking at your ugly mug,” Danny sassed. “You’re gonna get him to a hospital, right? I’ll go with you.”

“Are you midwesterners all this trusting? What if I was the goon and this guy was the vigilante?”

Red Hood hiked the goon over his shoulder in a fireman carry. Danny followed after him.

“He’s the one that told me to go running back to his boss, Red Helmet.”

“It’s Red Hood.”

“That doesn’t look like a hood.”

Danny grinned as Red Helmet grumbled. How interesting! Maybe he won’t miss Amity as much as he thought he would!

“Ugh, fine, I guess someone’s gotta watch your dumb ass so you don’t get mugged.”

“I can take care of myself!”

Hood grunted. “I guess that kick wasn’t half bad.”

Danny beamed at him. “Thanks!”

——

Danny chucked a chimichanga at Red Hood.

“Wait a minute, you’re a crime lord! Being a goon was way less illegal than being a vigilante crime lord!”

Red Hood cackled at him.

[hairmetal666]

Eddie thought inviting Steve to the Grammys would be fine, cool, no big deal. And it should be, but Steve is walking out of the suite's bedroom wearing a burgundy tuxedo that fits him like a fucking glove. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to let chest hair peak out, and Eddie thinks he might faint.

He's always been attracted to Steve, of course, but never let it go further than that. Like, sure, Steve was hot as fuck, and sure he was the best guy Eddie had ever met, and sometimes, yeah, he did have to force away thoughts of Steve when he jerked off, and in other circumstances he'd totally be head over heels. Just, Steve is straight, the straightest, a fucking arrow.

Eddie tears his eyes from Steve's body. "You look great, man." He slaps Steve's back. Keeping it cool; keeping it so cool.

"Psh," Steve says. "Have you looked in a mirror? Oh my god." His eyes are saucer wide as they travel down Eddie's body.

"Is it too much?" Eddie crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"Are you kidding? You're--fuck, man. You look good as hell."

He's wearing a silky burgundy shirt, open to show off the necklaces around his throat, his tattoos, the silver in his nipples. His pants are leather, tight, sitting low on his hips and putting the cut of his pelvic bone on full display. They have a lace-up closure that comes dangerously close to showing pube.

Heat rushes to his face at the compliment. "It's--you know. Hazard of the job."

"Yeah, hazard, sure. Guess it's a hard life having hot dudes literally throwing themselves at you."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "That's a vast exaggeration."

"Is it?"

He blushes harder. "You're my date tonight, Steve."

"My point exactly."

His manager and publicist usher them out the door before he can ask what the hell that meant.

---

The ride is giddy and playful, Steve popping champagne to celebrate Eddie's nomination for Song of the Year, even though there's no chance in hell he wins.

Steve is happy. His face is bright with joy, eyes shining, laugh loud and infectious. He's gorgeous, knows it, will be an absolute menace on the red carpet. He's been with Eddie to parties and stuff before, doesn't have any anxiety in front of the camera and isn't obsessed with musicians like Eddie is, unafraid to meet them.

Or so Eddie thought.

Because now they're standing at the edge of the red carpet, Steve very nearly trembling next to him.

"Harrington?"

"That's--That's Madonna." Steve points to her. "We're not even ten feet away from Madonna." He gulps. "Eddie. Madonna."

Steve has met famous people before with Eddie. Ozzy, briefly, Janet Jackson, Dave Grohl, James Hetfield, and he'd always been fine. Barely batted an eye. But get him within reaching distance of Madonna and he falls apart.

Eddie doesn't think about it, grabs Steve's hand, twines their fingers together. "Okay?"

The smile Steve throws him, grateful and a little embarrassed, stabs straight through his heart. He calms as they make it up the carpet, but he doesn't drop Eddie's hand, even when they pause for pictures. In fact, he leans into it, drapes his arm around Eddie's shoulders, or around his waist, seeming to thrive the closer they are. Eddie feels this dangerous pull to indulge in it, to let himself believe it means something, and he doesn't quite have it in him to turn it off.

By the time they reach their seats, Steve is relaxed back to his normal charming and handsome self, doesn't bat an eye as Eddie introduces him around.

The show passes quickly with all the performances and Steve whispering jokes in his ear. It's the best time he's ever had at an award show, like he should have been bringing Steve along this whole time. He's so distracted that he's not really ready when Paula Abdul comes out to announce Song of the Year.

His name is read off as a nominee and Steve grabs his hand, squeezes tight. Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He's not paying attention when Paula opens the envelope, too focused on Steve's strong hand holding his. He hears her say, "And the Grammy goes to--" and everything goes fuzzy.

Steve is saying, "oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. Get up, get up."

And his fucking song is playing and everyone is cheering, a couple people slap his back, and oh shit, oh shit, he fucking won. He stands, Steve with him. He thinks they're going to hug, that's what you do in these situations, but Steve is kissing him. Not on the cheek and not a quick peck, but lip-to-lip, soft and sweet.

Steve just kissed him and he has to get on stage and give a speech. He has no idea what he says because Steve just kissed him. On the lips. On purpose. His ears are ringing and words tumble out of his mouth, thinks he says, "couldn't have done it without you, Stevie," before tripping over his feet to get backstage.

Interviews, photographs, congratulations all help him settle. He's still buzzing with the win, but aware enough now to think the kiss had to be an accident. They've been friends for nearly a decade and Steve never seemed interested in men generally or Eddie specifically.

It takes a while to finish up the backstage business, but when he makes it to his seat, Steve just beams at him. He doesn't mention the kiss, which makes Eddie think he's overreacting. It wasn't a big deal. Sure, he could still feel Steve's lips, warm and soft, against his own, but it didn't mean anything. He's just too in his big gay feelings to be objective.

They don't get a chance to really talk until they're back in the limo and on their way to the after-party.

"You won," Steve says.

"I won." Eddie smiles. "Crazy."

"You deserved it."

He shrugs. "I don't know about that."

"Doesn't matter. You did." Steve fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. "About earlier, um. The kiss. I--"

Eddie feels his face heating, heart kicking up. It was nothing, he knows, and Steve shouldn't have to-- "It was an accident. It's okay. I know you don't--it was the heat of the moment and--I know you're not--you don't--"

Steve blinks a lot, emotions flashing across his face faster than Eddie can categorize.

"What if I do?" Steve asks. His voice is too soft, eyes locked on the cuff link he's fiddling with.

"You--what?"

"What if I did mean it?"

"You're straight."

Steve goes pink. "I'm really not."

"Steve?" He shrieks. "Since when?"

"Um. Since you invited me to this?"

"What the fuck?" Eddie shoves him. "What the fuck, man?"

"I know, I know!" Steve pulls his hand through his hair. "You invited me and I freaked out and I didn't know why, and Robin made the saddest little face at me. Said, 'oh, dingus, you didn't know?' How the fuck was I supposed to know!"

"I think you wanting to fuck me should've been a pretty good indication!"

"I thought that happened to everyone!"

"It doesn't!"

"That's what Robin said!"

They're both yelling.

"Jesus christ. Jesus christ," Eddie keeps repeating.

"Look, I get it if you don't want me too, dude. I know that's not how it works, but I've been pretty crazy about you without realizing it for a while now, so--"

He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he laughs. Like, super loud. Like a donkey bray.

"Okay, can the driver let me out? Like, can I go? I can't--"

"Wait, wait, sweetheart." Steve's gotten up, like he's about to knock on the partition, but Eddie grabs his wrist. "Of course I want you back, you idiot, oh my god."

"Oh." Steve's ears are pink. "Oh. Well. That's good."

Eddie huffs. "Just good? I won a Grammy and the guy I've been pining over for years wants me back. I'm having the night of my life."

"Shut-up." Steve's smile is so big, his eyes so bright.

He raises an eyebrow. "Make me," he says in his lowest register, but he's truly not prepared for it when Steve clambers over to him and lowers himself to straddle Eddie's hips.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers. "Holy shit, Steve."

He give a wry little smile, eyes locked on Eddie's mouth. "Baby, can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Eddie clears his throat. "Yes, please, do that. Yeah."

Only, he doesn't. He's straddling Eddie, they're so close their breath mingles, and Steve's eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and his eyes, lips so close to touching but not.

"C'mon, asshole," Eddie says.

"I knew you'd be a brat." He whispers. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair. "Been dying to do this."

And then they're kissing. They're kissing and it steals all of Eddie's breath and his thoughts, and it's new but it's also like they've been kissing forever, like their lips and tongue know each other, like coming home.

He whines, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve laughs, kisses him deeper, moves closer, and Eddie feels how hard Steve is, the persistent pulse of him. And shit Eddie's close, on the brink just from this, from nothing, oh my god.

Steve's hands drift down Eddie's torso, mapping his chest and his stomach, coming to rest at the laces of his pants. "These have been driving me insane," Steve breaks the kiss to say. "Been thinking about undoing them all night."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that," Eddie groans.

"Why not?"

"Because--because," Eddie sputters but then Steve's lips are on his neck and he's rolling his hips for friction.

Steve's fingers find the laces again, trace against them. Eddie's legs fall open, arching into the touch. "We're going to be so late," he murmurs as Steve's fingers get to work.

[burguesinha24]

KITTY KAT

a/n: I need her… P IS FOR PUSSY P-U-S-S-Y, THAT PUSSY

Pairings: personaltrainer!Vi x f!reader

Warnings: she does indeed take you to pound town, very self indulgent (i hate working out), fingering, oral (you receiving), spitting (tehe), kinda fluffy idk, semi-public sex GRRRAH

Song: Kitty Kat, Megan Thee Stallion (our queen)

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

The gym.

One of the worst fucking places in existence. 

Who the fuck could ever take pleasure in being sweaty and tired and sore?

You, apparently. 

You didn’t necessarily like working out. (It was the bane of your existence) But your doctor had said it was healthy, and it was New Year’s, so now was as good a time to start as any. Plus, it gave you an excuse to wear the adorable sports bra and skirt combo your sister had gotten you.

As expected, the gym was absolutely packed. You could see white dudes flexing from every corner, along with a few (glorious) muscle mommies. Unfortunately, the universe did not seem to support your dream (that was whole-heartedly pushed on you by your friends and doctor) of getting fit for the year.

“Apologies, ma’am, but we just don’t have enough space at the moment.” You stared down at the poor, overworked receptionist and frowned, credit card already in hand.

“Really? But I can spot a few extra spaces-”

“It’s a fire hazard, ma’am. You’ll have to wait outside or come back at an earlier time.” 

“There’s really no space? At all?” The teenager looked down at the computer in front of him. 

“Well, we do have available spots with our private trainers, but you’d have to pay for the session. As well as an extra fee for being so last-minute.” You cursed under your breath, moving to put your credit card back in your bag when someone cut you off.

“I’ll take her.” You looked up at the sound of the voice, only to find piercing blue eyes already staring at you. It was scary, honestly, how fit she was. Her messy pink hair flopped carelessly to the side, over one of her eyes, and her body was littered with tattoos. She was already glowing, probably from an earlier exercise. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her grey sweats as she walked over to the teenager behind the desk.

“You sure, Vi? You don’t usually ta-”

“I said I’ll take her, Ekko.” She glanced up at you again, an easy smile playing on her ridiculously attractive features. “She looks like she’s never stepped foot inside a gym before.” Your face flushed at her absolutely correct observation. Her gaze darted down to take in your appearance, shamelessly dragging up and down your frame. You suddenly felt a little self-aware about the light pink set you had decided to wear, even if your sweater was drowning your figure. 

Fuck, I do look like I have no idea what I’m doing.

“I’ve been inside a gym before.” You finally responded, frowning at the way her grin only grew.

“Sure you have, cupcake.” Your heart pounded erratically at the nickname, and you silently cursed the universe for putting you in the position to make a fool of yourself in front of such an attractive woman. The teenager behind the desk, Ekko, glanced between the two of you, sighing and turning back to his computer with a look that said, ‘I-don't-get-paid-enough-for-this’.

“Alright, that’ll be-”

“Free of charge, Ekko.” You tore your gaze from her hypnotic blue eyes to look down at the young man. He raised an eyebrow. “Fine, whatever. I gotta give a reason, though. What should I code in? That you were too horny to-” She coughed loudly, drowning out the rest of his sentence. He smirked at her as she sent him a harsh glare. 

“I’ll deal with that later, just give her a damn card.” 

One sibling-like argument later and a shiny new membership card in your hand, you found yourself in one of the training rooms with the attractive stranger. 

Vi.

Her name echoed in your mind. You wondered what it was short for. Victoria? Vivian? Vienna? She watched as you set your stuff down in the corner of the room, nervously fiddling with your water bottle until it finally decided to stand upright without falling over. She eyed you expectantly as you turned around.

“What?” You finally said, picking at the fabric of your sweatshirt. 

“You gonna take that off?” Your cheeks flamed. “I don’t go easy.” She tilted her head. “I would hate for you to get uncomfortable and sweaty before we even start.” Holy shit the way she was talking had you second guessing what you were really here for. You obeyed her request, (because, duh) slowly sliding off your sweatshirt to reveal the set you had chosen out for today. Something flickered in her eyes as she drank in the sight of you.

Shit, she had thought you were hot in the lobby, but this? This was just fucking unfair. You looked like a goddess. Your skirt just barely hung half-way down your thighs, and your bra pushed up your breasts in a way that had her mouth watering. She quickly tore her gaze off of your body as you cleared your throat.

Get it the fuck together, Vi.

“So, what are your goals, hm? Any particular things you want to hit?” She made her way over to the closet in the room, sifting through the selections of weights and trying to ignore the heat thrumming through her body that had nothing to do with her previous workout. 

“I don’t really know. I guess just… being healthy?” You sounded so shy, so tentative. She fought the shudder that was threatening to roll down her spine. 

“Well, I guess I’ll start you off easy. Work on your core,” Now it was your turn to shudder. “Maybe hit some squats too.” She turned back around, closing the closet and tilting her head to better look at you. “Just to get a lay of the land, hm, cupcake?” Your face felt like it was in a perpetual state of fire. You nodded eagerly.

She made her way over to you after turning on some music that felt way too sensual for a workout. (of this type, anyway.) 

“We’re gonna start with some stretching, ok?” You fiddled with your fingers, nodding like a child being instructed by a teacher. Vi circled your form before settling on standing behind you, her hands gently resting on your hips. “Gonna need you to spread your legs for me, pretty.” The words, whispered so softly and so dangerously in your ear, almost made you gasp. You tilted your head to look back at her, eyes blown (adorably, if she might add) wide. She grinned, a seductive, dangerous thing that made your panties drop. (Figuratively). She raised an eyebrow. “What? I don’t want you to pull a hamstring, cupcake.” You swallowed thickly, trying to will away the increasingly inappropriate thoughts that were crowding your mind.

Slowly, slowly, you spread your legs, biting back a whimper as her hand snaked up your back, gently pushing your upper body down into a sort of downward dog position. The burn you felt in your legs was almost embarrassing. The moment you were down, fingertips brushing the floor, Vi’s gaze went straight to your ass.

“Fuck.” The words slipped past her lips before she could even realize what she was doing. She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth, dragging the hand that was on your back higher, just tracing the curve of your ass. 

You were wet.

She could see the faintest of outlines through the thin layer of your undershorts. 

You whimpered, legs shaking ever so slightly from the strain of the stretch. (You really needed to workout more)

Now she was wet.

Without even thinking, she grabbed you by your ponytail, yanking you up into a standing position. The force of her movement made you stumble, your legs still awkwardly stretched wide. Thankfully, she had stuck out her knee for you to sit on. 

“I think,” She breathed in your ear, a hot, heavy thing that sent an embarrassing amount of slick oozing out of your cunt. “That we should focus on a different type of workout, hmm, cupcake?” You nodded slowly, dazed. And fuck, was she a woman starved. 

In a second you found yourself on the floor, looking up at her with wide, desperate eyes. You clenched your thighs together, your hips rocking up into the air for some form of friction. She took her time, just staring at you. At the way your hair fanned out around you like a halo, the way your breasts moved with each shuddering breath you took, the way you looked so, so wrecked. A dangerous grin spread across her face.

She was going to ruin you.

There was not a single coherent thought in your mind as she hastily dragged your skirt and panties off of your legs in one, harsh tug. She was manhandling your legs open, and you swore she whined at the sight of your glistening arousal. 

“Fuck, baby.” She whispered out hoarsely. You squirmed under her gaze, cheeks burning in embarrassment as you tried to close your legs. “No no no no no, don’t you fucking dare.” She dragged her middle finger down your slit, gathering up your juices before bringing her finger to her mouth and sucking. “Been dreaming of this sweet pussy for so long.” She moaned out. 

“B-but, we just met like, h-half an hour ago.” You sputtered out, your cheeks rosy and your eyes hazy with lust and confusion. She grinned again, lowering her head so she was a hair's breadth away from where you needed her most.

“Thirty minutes is a long fucking time, cupcake.” You didn’t even have time to process her words before she was wrapping her lips around your clit, giving it a harsh suck that left you keening. 

“Oh, f-fuck!” You gasped out, back arching at how her tongue skillfully lapped at your pussy. She hummed against your burning flesh, the vibrations against your puffy clit making your toes curl. The obscene sounds of slurping and squelching filled the room, and you might have had half a mind to care about it if you weren’t so fucking far gone by the feel of her mouth. 

“Taste so good, princess.” She mumbled against your skin. You dared to look down and, fuck, she looked even more wrecked then you were. Her eyes hazy and half-lidded, cheeks flushed and shiny from your juices, and her hair sticking to her face with each deliberate suck. You could vaguely make out how she was grinding against the ground, but she pulled away before you could actually think of helping her as well. You whined at the loss, reaching down to try and tug her closer to you. 

“P-please-oh-” You gasped as she spit on your already slobbering cunt, once, twice, three times, before she was satisfied. Your clit twitched as the globs of her saliva attacked it. 

“Shh, baby, trying to make sure your nice and messy f’me.” She rubbed a few quick circles on your clit with her thumb before prodding at your entrance with her pointer finger. Her eyes were glued to the way your face contorted as she pressed into your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” She whispered in awe.

“OhmygodViplease.” Your begging was nothing more than a long string of incoherent words. She chuckled, pressing yet another long, thick finger into your opening.

“Fucked dumb already?” She cooed, thrusting into you shallowly. You almost sobbed. It was only when she added a third finger that she was finally satisfied. Her slow, shallow thrusts turned fucking manic. Her eyes never left your face as she curled her fingers up with each thrust searching for-

“Fuck!” You squealed, your walls clamping down on her like a vice. She crawled up your frame, leaning down to nip at your neck before thrusting in that same spot again.

“Found it.” Her gazed dropped from your face to look down at her fingers as she fucked you, her mouth parting open in awe at how you were swallowing her up, you arousal dripping onto the floor beneath you. It didn’t take long before you were on the very precipice, just dangling off the edge of oblivion. She pressed down harder on your clit, and then you came. 

Your back arched into an almost painful position, your fingernails digging into the floor for something to anchor yourself to. She whispered in your ear as you saw white, her fingers still fucking you through your orgasm. 

“Shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. There we go, perfect fucking pussy.” She finally stopped as you collapsed, boneless on the floor. You turned your head to look up at her, smiling tiredly.

“What’s your name short for?” She grinned.

“Violet.” 

“Mm, pretty.” You winced as she closed your legs, then blushed as she sucked her fingers clean. “What about you?” Your brows furrowed as you pushed yourself up by your elbows. 

“You can do me later. After our date.” You blinked in surprise, your mind still a little hazy.

“Date?” She stood up, then helped you stand on shaky legs. 

“Well, our session has ended, so I figured we could pick things up at your place, maybe. I know a bomb-ass asian restaurant just off Main.” You smiled softly, and it made her beat just a little faster.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll see you then.” You walked out of the private room looking a hell of a lot more disheveled then when you first walked in. Ekko rolled his eyes, praying to whoever was up there that he wouldn’t have to clean any suspicious stains from the floor. 

You looked down at your phone as it pinged, smiling to yourself as you read the message.

Hope you enjoyed our workout, cupcake ;)

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

a/n: my first ever like actual fic pls don't kill me guys ik its kind of shit, was honestly just trying to get this out of the way so i could work on oil rig worker Vi. ANYWAYS I LUV U ALL MWAH!

[narnian-neverlander]

One of the Fools [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Preview: You don’t miss the way he slightly, unconsciously, taps his cane against his bad leg and your heart shatters. Running your thumb over the back of his hand, you swallow any remaining self pity and instead focus on trying to at least give him some comfort and stop him from spiraling any further. “That’s ridiculous. I love being with you; it doesn’t matter wether people are watching or not.” He scoffs. “Of course it matters. The way people perceive me will rub off on how they perceive you. I can keep a distance as your friend, but as your lover? Please. You shouldn’t have to put up with the ridicule that would come along with it.”

Genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut

Word Count: 11,2k (I don’t know how this happened, I’m so sorry)

Warnings: self loathing, internalized ableism, mentions of human trafficking, slight smut (not super descriptive, but not subtle either)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: I originally planned on a fade to black with the smut, but I’m feral for this man so have this instead. This is also the most christmas-y thing you’ll ever get from me, so merry early crisis I guess ✨

What are you so scared of?

It’s the same question you arrive at over and over again as you pace the length of your kitchen, teeth bruising your cuticles, mind racing.

What if you asked him out on a date? Told him you’re head over heels in love with him?

What’s the worst that could happen?

Rejection. Deep down you know that’s it. Of him not wanting the love you’re offering, not wanting you, all of you.

Would he though?

All evidence to the contrary, if you’re truly being honest with yourself. And if you dare believe Jayce.

You’ll never know unless you actually tell him.

Uncomfortable, but true. Not to mention you aren’t sure you can keep it a secret from him for much longer. That dance after the gala had been the closest you’d been to crossing the line. And while you’d decided against it on that particular evening, part of you regrets that. Part of you had wanted to finally confess. To finally know. The fear had won that night, but you’re oh so tired of being scared. Of pretending that what you two currently have is enough.

Groaning, you scrub your hands over your face in irritation, your pacing coming to a stop to stare at the solution to all your troubles: two small, rectangular pieces of cardboard on your kitchen table. You pick them up, the light in your apartment making the gold lettering shimmer. It reminds you of the way Viktor’s eyes light up anytime he talks about something he’s passionate about.

Fuck it. Now or never.

The next day at about noon, you enter academy grounds, your solution safely tucked into a pocket inside your heavy winter coat. Luckily enough, you arrive just in time to have a student holding the door open for you, your own hands full with bags of food, and you quickly thank her as you duck inside.

You’ll never know how these two managed without you; they might be certified geniuses, but they’re both absolutely piss poor at taking care of themselves. Like remembering to eat. So over time, a mutually beneficial, symbiotic relationship had developed: you keep them from accidentally starving themselves and they play guinea pigs for your new recipes in return. Not to mention gossip about the Hextech pioneers frequenting your restaurant hadn’t exactly hurt your business.

You encounter the same problem from earlier in the form of a different closed door when you reach the lab; a shortlived problem when said door opens so rapidly it almost smacks you in the face and what happens next is mostly a blur, but you’re fairly certain you just watched Jayce sprint past you with something in his arms that was definitely smoking. Maybe still burning, you can’t be sure. Peeking your head through the open archway, just to make sure you’re not about to walk into a fire hazard, you only find Viktor at the open windows, coughing terribly and trying to wave remnants of thick black smoke outside.

“You know this is exactly why I don’t let either one of you anywhere near my kitchen, right?” you state matter-of-factly as you place your bags on one of the desks, making your friend jump in alarm. Try as you might to suppress it, a highly amused snicker leaves your lips as you take in the state of him: face covered in soot, hair an absolute mess and parts of his clothes singed. Still giggling, you unwrap the dish towel from one of the containers you brought and hold it out to him. “A wise choice, evidently.” he groans, trying to clean himself up as much as the current circumstances would allow. It’s… a hopeless cause, really, and with a click of your tongue you snatch the towel back from him and before he can protest, grab his chin with your other hand. He stills immediately, blinking at you in surprise with big eyes that seem all the brighter than usual in direct comparison to his dirty face. Heat creeps up your cheeks under his intense gaze, but you try to ignore it and focus on the task at hand. “There, that’s as good as it’s gonna get. Probably. You should take a shower before going back out into public, though.”

“There’s plenty of public between here and my shower.” he remarks, which earns him a deadpan “So go home when it’s dark.” He tries to make a grab for you, smear some of the soot on your own face in retaliation, but you manage to avoid him and get out of his reach all together just in time. “Please, like you ever go home before that anyways. When did you last see actual sunlight?” You immediately know you won’t like what comes out of his mouth next, with the all-knowing smirk forming on his face. He throws a thumb over his shoulder at the open windows, rays of sunlight filtering into the room, breaking up the remaining bits of smoke. “Right now.”

Your mumbled ‘Oh for the love of—‘ is so quiet, you don’t expect him to hear it, but he does and the bastard actually has the audacity to laugh at you. And you can’t possibly stay mad at him while he’s laughing, not when it’s one of your favorite sounds in the whole world. So you just roll your eyes and busy yourself with unpacking the rest of the lunch you brought while he makes his way over to the blackboard and starts erasing and rewriting a huge chunk of calculations, presumably to avoid the same mistake happening again. Hopefully.

Finally shrugging out of your coat and placing it over a nearby chair, you catch a glimpse of gold letters on dark blue cardboard and immediately feel your palms get sweaty. Right. You came here for a reason. “Hey, Vik? You, uh… you got a minute? I wanted to talk to you about something.” A quick look over his shoulder at you, a small smile, a teasing glint in his eyes and “For you? Always.” is all it takes for your heart to pick up speed. For your nerves to be replaced by something soothing and warm. For you to know that you’re doing the right thing and you never should’ve doubted it. So you snatch the cards out of your pocket and close the distance between you quickly as you explain.

“Well, you know how in preparation for Progress Day in a few weeks, Piltover is hosting expositions from pioneers out of all kinds of fields?” He nods, so you place the two tickets in your hand on the desk between you and he picks up one of them, studying the fine, shimmering cursive and ornate details. The card alone already looks like it cost a fortune, so he can’t even imagine what event it would grant one access to. “One of them is a traveling market. It’s mostly about food, but there’s merchants and inventors from all over the world all very conveniently put into the same space. And… And I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go there with me?” He’s quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet. And yet the way he’s still staring at the ticket in his hand with pinched brows tells you that the gears in his head are turning faster than you can keep up, so when he opens his mouth to respond, you beat him to it, anxiety back in full swing, forcing the words out of your mouth before you can think too much about any of this. “It’s… This is something I’ve been dreaming about for a long time. Worked my ass off for years to maybe get a chance to go there. It’s really important to me, so—“

“Then I definitely shouldn’t be the one to accompany you.”

The laugh you let out is soft, disbelieving. You must’ve heard him wrong, misunderstood him. “What?”

Denial.

“If it’s that important to you, you should take someone who’d be able to appreciate it the same way you can.”

There’s something hot and ugly that flares up in your chest. “Well, they’re my tickets and it’s my decision. And I’m asking you.”

Anger.

A sigh as he places the card down on the desk and turns back to the chalkboard. “And I appreciate that. But you said it yourself: Progress Day is coming up and we have plenty to do. And as you saw earlier it’s not going along quite as smoothly as we’d hoped.”

“The market isn’t just for a single day and the tickets are good for whenever. I’m sure you could take one day off…?”

Bargaining.

The way he says your name is gentle and hushed and you never thought it could pain you so much to hear him say it like that. “I’m grateful you thought of me, I truly am, but I’m just… now isn’t a good time for me to get distracted. Please just find someone else to take?” The look in his eyes is pleading, desperate almost. No, not desperate. Exasperated.

You’d told him that this was something incredibly precious to you and… and he simply doesn’t care. Or rather, he doesn’t care enough. About how much this means to you. About how much going with him would’ve meant to you. This wasn’t something akin to the violent, ridiculing rejection you’d envisioned this was… uninterested apathy, at best, bored annoyance at worst. And somehow that hurts on a different level entirely. A level you didn’t even know existed until now, as your heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

Depression.

He’s not even looking at you anymore, back turned to you and busy with scrawling numbers in white chalk on the board again. Limbs heavy and shaky, you take your self imposed solution to your problem back and cradle the cards close to your chest. It had been a solution; it had given you clarity on where exactly you stood with him and it wasn’t where you thought. Getting dressed, you shuffle over to the door and leave him with “I’m sorry I bothered you with this. Won’t happen again.”

Acceptance.

The thud of the door closing seems to echo through the quiet lab too loudly, golden eyes immediately darting to where you just left. And Viktor bangs his head against the blackboard in front of him a few times as he sucks in a sharp breath.

Why didn’t he just say yes? He’d wanted to more than anything else in the world. The vile, little voices in the back of his head are quick to answer: ‘Because they deserve better than you. You know that.’

He does know that. It’s why he turned you down in the first place. It doesn’t make the pain that had been so clearly written all over your face at his rejection any easier to bear. But he picked this particular form of torture himself and now he has to live with it. You both do.

Meanwhile, you at least manage to make it to one of the exits before the first tears start falling and you stop in your tracks to wipe a sleeve over your eyes. Big mistake, you should’ve just left. A call of your name from down the hall and your head whips up to find Jayce waving and jogging towards you.

Shit. Fuck. Please no, not right now.

Pulling your scarf up over your nose, you try to hide as much of your face as you can in the short amount of time it takes him to reach you. “Done with the daily food delivery?” he jokes and you simply nod. “You’re a lifesaver. With Progress Day coming up we’re even busier than usual, you know.” He barely catches you mumbling ‘So I’ve been told’ into your scarf and the smile on his face slowly disappears. Something’s off. He figures a change of topic might help and gestures at your hand. “What’s that?”

The text on the tickets blurs just like the rest of your vision; they feel as heavy as your heart, dragging you down and making it hard to breathe. Just looking at the things makes you nauseous now. Blinking back the tears, you hold them out to him. “They’re a gift. For you. It’s a market in town for the Progress Day celebrations and supposedly it’s good fortune to visit it with your lover. If you’re the superstitious sort, I suppose. I figured maybe you could take Mel.”

He takes the cards from you and you immediately shove your hands into your pockets so he won’t get any ideas about handing them back. “That’s… really sweet? But wouldn’t you rather ask Viktor?” There’s a teasing edge to his tone, one you know all too well and normally you’d respond in kind; it’s a practiced dance between you two at this point. It seems today, you’ve forgotten the steps. “I did. He wasn’t interested.”

The double take he does might’ve been amusing, even comical, under any other circumstances, but it just adds insult to injury for you right now. So you bid him goodbye and flee out the door before he can even think about questioning you. Never one to leave well enough alone, Jayce just does the next best thing instead: make a beeline for the lab and question Viktor.

He finds his partner hunched over his notebook on a desk, in an at least somewhat cleaner state than he left him in, and immediately grabs the backrest of his stool to swivel him around, sending the pen in his hand flying in shock. He waves two all too familiar pieces of dark blue cardboard in front of Viktor. “Explain this to me?”

Confusion on his face, then resigned indifference in his tone; a clear sign that he’s already very done with this conversation. “You too? I did not think that was your kind of venue.” Jayce rolls his eyes in return. “They’re not mine. Guess who just gave these to me in the hall.” That brings his attention back on track. “That… that makes no sense. They were just in here telling me how going there has been a lifelong dream; why would they just give their tickets to you?”

The brunette straightens up and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Why indeed. You tell me.” Viktor throws up his hands in bewilderment. “And how would I know? You talked to them last.” Jayce’s mouth is set in an irritated thin line as he shrugs. “And you were the one who talked to them last before they fled this building in tears.”

All the annoyance and grievance disappears at once, replaced by something much worse. Dread. Guilt. Downright horror.

You’d been crying?

“That’s not what I… I didn’t meant to—“

A heavy sigh from Jayce interrupts him. “I’m sure you didn’t. And I wasn’t here so I can’t know what happened. What I do know,” he starts and then hoists Viktor up from his seat, pressing his cane into his hand and tucking the tickets safely into his vest pocket. “Is that I’m not letting you back in the lab until you fix this.”

“What?! Jayce don’t be ridiculous.” he protests as his friend shoos him towards the exit. “Our presentation for Progress Day just blew up right in our faces; this is too much work for you alone, I need to—“ Another interruption, this time in the form of his own name and it makes him pause. The look on Jayce’s face is calm and determined and Viktor has learned by now that when he looks like that, he’s usually about to say something terribly important. Usually something terribly true as well, for better or for worse.

“You really hurt them this time, V. Unintentional, I know, but still.” Viktor flinches at that; not as unintentional as his partner might think. But he’d considered it a necessary evil for your own good. “You don’t do something… I don’t think they’re gonna come back. Is that what you want? A life without them in it?”

Viktor hates being right sometimes. Terribly important and terribly true. Exhaling sharply, he runs a hand through his hair and states “I… I’m not sure I can. Fix it, I mean.” He grabs his coat off the wall nonetheless. A slight upturn of the corner of Jayce’s mouth is the first sign of brevity since he’d entered the room. “You’re about to find out. But you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t at least try.”

Shrugging on his coat, he tries very hard to look annoyed at his friend’s uninvited interference, but he knows he can’t fool the man opposite of him. “There are times when I can’t stand you being right, you are aware, yes?” The slight quirk of Jayce’s lips turns into a full blown, gap-toothed grin. “Nah, you love me and all my infinite wisdom. Now get outta here before I carry you to their doorstep myself.”

Viktor had managed to talk him out of that one, but now, a shower and a few hours later, alone in his apartment, he considers taking Jayce up on his offer after all. He couldn’t find the courage to go see you and now he’s sitting on his worn, little couch, watching the light slowly dwindle and die outside his windows and it all feels oh so awfully fitting. His floor is littered with crumpled up sheets of paper; when he hadn’t been able to formulate even one clear sentence in his mind, he’d decided writing out what he wanted to say to you might help. Except… he’s not sure what that even is.

‘I’m sorry, I think myself so utterly undeserving of you, I broke your heart before you could give it to me, please forgive me?’

Yeah. That would go over well.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he reaches for the cup of coffee on his table, only for his hand to freeze halfway as he notices the corner of a book peeking out from under the mess of papers and he recognizes it as a tome you lent him for some light reading and ‘variety in his narrow minded palette’. Grabbing it instead, a dark blue cover with golden lettering stares back at him, the irony of the design not lost on him. It’s laughable, how the thing that’s gonna solve his dilemma looks almost exactly like the thing that started it. So he takes out a new sheet of paper, cracks open the book and gets to work. This would have to be perfect; if this would cost him another all nighter, so be it.

Next time you’re pulling an all-nighter… save me another dance?

The memory almost knocks the wind out of him and the hand furiously scribbling notes stills. He has to make this right. He’d beg and grovel and get on his knees if he had to, not for your forgiveness, he really doesn’t deserve that anyways, but to make you understand that you were never the problem in the first place. That you had done nothing wrong. It’s the very least you deserve.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Maybe you should’ve thought that one through a bit more thoroughly. But even if you had, this wouldn’t have made your list, you think.

It’s been almost a full day now since you fled the scene of the worst heartbreak of your life. You’d let your friend and head of staff know that you weren’t gonna come in today and then had just collapsed onto your couch. Grief and shame are suffocating you, weighing you down like lead; the bright, warm sunlight shining through your windows a stark contrast to your dark mood.

‘You should’ve seen this coming…’ the nasty voices in the back of your head whisper and they’re right. He’s grown tired of your company and why wouldn’t he? You’re disgustingly ordinary, especially compared to him, you always had been, even all the way back when you were both children. While he was busy with his newest invention, you were busy getting punched in the face because you’d gotten in over your head again. And yet he was always there to patch you back up and lighten your mood. The little mechanical cat he’d once built you to cheer you up still sits on your shelf, watching over you with eyes as gold as his own, though it’s gaze feels cruel and mocking today.

He’s been your rock, your light, your everything whenever he managed to be in your life and what do you have to offer in return? Some half decent food and the occasional witty banter? It’s a miracle he didn’t leave you behind for better things a long time ago. He should’ve. You’ve done nothing but drag him down and pull him away from more important matters, this is for the best.

A knock on your door distracts you from your self loathing momentarily; a knock you decisively ignore. Whoever it is can come back when you’re not busy hating yourself and wallowing in self pity. The person outside your apartment apparently has other ideas and knocks again. And again. And again. Groaning you roll off the couch and shuffle towards the unwelcome noise.

Maybe it’s Jayce, with your tickets in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other, all dressed up and wanting to take you out just to lift your spirits, because you know you didn’t manage to hide your sorrows from him well enough. It’s something he’d do, bless his heart.

Opening your door, you find you’re half right: there’s flowers and your tickets and from what you can see peeking out from under his open winter coat, a nice vest with a fancy tie. But it’s not Jayce. And you have to blink dumbly several times to make sure you’re not seeing things. “What…” your voice is hoarse from disuse, so you clear your throat and straighten up a little in an all but useless attempt to seem a little more put together. “What are you doing here…?”

Oh. Oh he messed up this time.

Same clothes you left in yesterday, but rumpled and dishelved, hair a mess and dark circles under your puffy, red eyes. He’s never seen you so out of sorts and knowing it’s his fault almost makes his knees buckle under the weight of the guilt. His mouth is dry, but he forces the words out anyways. “I wanted to apologize.” Your answer is quicker than expected, concise but unsure. “For what?” He’d had it all prepared and planned out, but now that you’re here in front of him and he can see what his words did to you, his mind just goes blank. What if he says the wrong thing again? What if he makes things worse?

Watching him open and close his mouth in a desperate attempt to come up with something, you hold up your hand to stop him before he can utter a single word. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He actually startles at that, offense all over his features, because “I beg to differ.”

A heavy sigh as you lean against your doorframe and run a hand through your hair, pushing some strands out of your face before you cross your arms over your chest. Might as well get the whole truth out there, it can’t get much worse. Not to mention you don’t expect to be seeing him again after today. “Listen, Vik— Viktor.” A small part of him withers and dies at the correction from the nickname you’ve been using since childhood to his full name. “I… I was actually trying to ask you out on a date, okay? Suffice to say, you’re definitely not interested. And t-that’s okay, I can’t force someone to love me after all. But I… I still would’ve liked to go together as friends, because this is really important to me and so… so are you. I guess I just overestimated my value in your life.”

What?

The blood in his veins turns to ice. That’s what you think? That’s what his well intentioned rejection of your offer had resulted in?

“It’s not a big deal, I get it.” you continue, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I mean, I dunno why you stuck with me as long as you did. The free food shtick must get old pretty damn quick and I’ve really got nothing else going for me.” A laugh, bitter and self depreciating. “What would someone like you even want with someone as disgustingly ordinary as me.”

“Someone like me…?” he manages to breathe out, mind still reeling from even trying to comprehend what you’re implying. Disgustingly ordinary? Have you gone mad? Your scoff leaves him even more confused. “Someone brilliant. Handsome. Eloquent. Caring. Someone about to change the world. And I’m just… I’m just…”

Boring. Mundane. Inadequate. Worthless.

“Passionate. Witty. Kind. Wonderful. Absolutely perfect.”

You end up choking on your own spit, a noise akin to a dying engine forcing itself out of your throat; half whimper, half sob. What did he just say?

The bewilderment is completely gone from his face, replaced by a fierce determination, fire in in his eyes. “I think… I think there’s been enough talk for now. You should get dressed.” It’s your turn now to be utterly baffled. “Get dressed? Viktor, I’m not gonna—“

He says your name so softly, almost in reverence, you immediately clamp your mouth shut again. “I’m not going to let you miss something you’ve been dreaming about all your life on account of my mistake. You are under no obligation to grant me a chance to fix this, but I would still like to try. I will give you your tickets and leave, but please just promise me you’ll go?”

A cold breeze ruffles your hair, sounds of the nearby river and the bustle of people going about their lives lessening the quiet between you both as you stare at him, wide eyed and slack jawed. “Please?” he repeats, and something inside of you just breaks. No, it’s the opposite, you realize. Something is starting to put itself back together again.

You step aside and incline your head towards your apartment. “Well, get inside. I’m gonna need a minute and I’m not gonna leave you out here in the cold while you wait.” He shakes his head lightly, slowly backing away from your porch. “I shouldn’t. I don’t want to ruin—“ Catching his sleeve before he gets any further you drag him inside and close the door. “Having you around has never ruined anything for me, it only makes things better. Besides, you came all this way and these tickets were expensive.” It makes him feel even guiltier for a moment, but there’s the slightest teasing edge to your voice and the smallest of smiles on your lips, so he considers it worth it. “Alright. Take your time.”

Luckily, the venue for the market isn’t far from your home, because the silences between you two have never been awkward - until now. So you’re beyond relieved and elated when the entrance comes into view, giving you a distraction from the oppressing atmosphere. And you’re honestly a bit surprised at yourself; how quickly your mood lifts the moment you’re surrounded by your passion. Viktor’s watching you almost vibrate out of your skin in excitement as soon as you step through the archways leading into the square. It’s a miracle your head doesn’t snap off with how fast your gaze is turning in every direction, trying to take in everything at once. “Well? This is your playing ground. Lead the way.”

He spends the next hours watching you flit from vendor to vendor, stall to stall, person to person. He himself makes conversation with a few shop owners whose wares catch his attention just fine, but he’s much more interested in you. The way you light up at everything new presented to you. The way you’d actually looked offended and utterly flabbergasted when he’d asked why you weren’t buying anything, because ‘Vik, do you have any idea what it would cost to import these things on a regular basis?! I can’t incorporate that into my recipes, it would ruin me! Doesn’t mean I can’t try to replicate it though…’ And then you’d pulled a pen and a little, frayed notebook out of your pocket, mumbling to yourself as you continued to walk and scribble notes. You’re lost in your own little world and it’s absolutely charming and endearing.

The sun’s slowly starting to dip behind some of the tallest towers in the city, signaling the passage of time as you finish your talk with a man selling fruits from a tropical region. When you look around for your companion, you find him animatedly conversing with a vastaya two tables over and can’t help but grin. You knew he’d fit right in at this place; everyone here is as brilliant and passionate about their projects as he is, after all. When he catches you staring, he waves a little awkwardly, then bids goodbye to his conversation partner and starts to make his way over to you. And that’s when your smile falls, because you don’t miss the way he grimaces slightly. The way he leans on his cane a little heavier than usual. You’ve been up on your feet, walking around almost all day. In the freezing cold. You really are an imbecile.

The poor man actually startles when he reaches you and he doesn’t even get the chance to utter a single word, as he’s immediately hit with “I’m so sorry, Viktor! I know the cold’s awful for your leg, I know that, and yet I still insisted on dragging you along and I really didn’t think any of this through to the end.” You gesture at a nearby bench overlooking the river. “Please, go sit down and take a break, I’ll be right back!” And you’ve disappeared into the crowd before he can argue, so without much of a choice, he goes to sit over on the bench you indicated - he does, however, consider drowning himself in the river for a second. He settles for a hateful, disgusted glance at his aching leg instead.

You’d been so joyful and happy, no traces of the gloom and self loathing from earlier in the day left, and he’d reduced you to a frantic, worried mess. He knew he’d ruin this for you. He shouldn’t have come.

It takes you a good twenty minutes to find your way back to him, a cup of something steaming carefully balanced in your hands and a paper bag under your arm. Handing him the cup, you explain “I remembered seeing an apothecary here, but their stall was on the other end of the venue so it took me a minute. They said this blend’s good for chronic pain and should help quickly.” You don’t tell him about the bag of tea leaves of the exact same blend tucked into your inner coat pocket. Accepting the hot beverage with a small thanks, he takes a careful sip as you settle down next to him on the wooden bench. It’s the same horrendous, uncomfortable silence between you as earlier and you despise it. You’d felt as if you’d taken the first steps back towards normalcy in the last few hours and then you had to go and ruin it by not even being able to consider his wellbeing. You’re not able to do anything right, are you?

In dire need of a distraction from your own thoughts, you reach into the bag you brought for one of the treats you’d surprisingly found in the apothecary’s repertoire and as you spin the sweet chestnut between gloved fingers, the lights from the fair glinting off of it’s purple-ish blue shell, an idea strikes you like lightning. It’s not much, ridiculous and laughable even, but it’s worth a shot. Anything to make the air between you less suffocating.

“Hey, wanna see something cool?” When he nods, you strip off your gloves and peel off the thin shell, grinding it to dust as finely as you manage between your palms. Opening them a fraction, you blow into your hands and scatter the remainders into the evening sky; floating and glittery lights in purple and blue, like you’d just created a tiny galaxy between your hands.

“Astonishing…” he whispers, completely spellbound as the last of your self made stars is taken away by the breeze that blows past you.

Shrugging, you state “Its just a little parlor trick. It wouldn’t impress anyone at a fancy Piltover gala, I’m sure.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s a chemical reaction; the oils from your hands they—“

His laugh cuts you off, genuine and clear, as he shakes his head. “No, no, I meant I don’t understand why you always do this. You show me something incredible and then you… belittle it so terribly.” Your features scrunch up in disdain as you disagree. “I’m not belittling anything; this isn’t anything special, it’s—“

“Really?” he interrupts and puts a finger to his chin in mock thought. “I wouldn’t have known to do that. Neither would Jayce. Or anyone at one of those ‘fancy Piltover galas’, I assure you.” He sees you open your mouth and he knows you’d end up protesting yet again so he simply keeps talking. “I spent the last few hours watching you come up with recipes and herbal remedies on the spot, like it’s as natural and easy as breathing to you. You talked about ingredients and spices I can’t even pronounce, much less remember the uses of. You chatted up complete strangers like you’d known them for years and they immediately treated you like family in return. This is exactly why I wanted to come here, to quite literally put you into your area of expertise, before we continued our talk; you can not deny your own accomplishments when they’ve literally just happened. I wanted to prove to yourself that you are not… lesser than me. Lesser than anyone. That you are not… how did you put it? ‘Disgustingly ordinary’? You’re far from it. To me, if nothing else, even though I know it’s not much.” He reaches out with a careful, gloved hand to wipe away the tears you hadn’t even realized were there. “You’re passionate and resilient about everything you put your heart to, you’ve got a mind and tongue so sharp you give most people at the academy a run for their money, you remain kind and open hearted despite all the hardships you’ve had to endure - how could I not respect and rever that? How I could not love that? How could I not love you? All of you?”

A sob manages to wrench itself out of your throat and his heart breaks when the first word out of your mouth is a ‘but’.

“B-but I distract you, and I mess things up and I-I’m not always useful to you and—“

“That’s not what love is supposed to be.”

“It is in my experience...” you whisper and remove his hand from your cheek as you carefully mull over your next move. Wiping a sleeve over your eyes, you get up and offer him your hand. “Come on. I’m starting to freeze and honestly I’d rather not have a breakdown in the middle of a crowded square. Let’s walk and talk?”

A safe distance away from the people and the hustle and bustle, you still haven’t let go off the hand he’d given you. Not that he seems to mind. Good. The contact grounds you as you try to find the right words to continue this difficult conversation.

“My dad… he chose me. Saved me from a pretty bad time in my life. So I always tried to be useful; useful for him, for the restaurant. Because if I stopped being useful, then… maybe he wouldn’t want me anymore. Maybe he’d leave me behind for something better. Cause maybe if I’d been more useful, my birth parents wouldn’t have sold me. The first people in my life who were supposed to love me unconditionally and they just… couldn’t. Wouldn’t. So I guess I just never saw how anyone else would be able to.”

A squeeze of your intertwined hands is all you need to find the courage to keep going.

“I know how to love others, I can do that. What I don’t know is how to let myself be loved in return? I always attach all these rules and requirements to it that are impossible to keep up with and I know I’m only sabotaging myself but—“ Another sob, and you just decide to stop talking and to take some deep, slow breaths instead so you won’t have a full meltdown in public, even if the street you’re currently on is fairly empty.

Viktor keeps the one hand you have a hold of right where it is, gently bringing you to a halt. “You deserve to be loved not because of your contributions, but for you, without any rules or requirements. You are worth more than what you can give to other people.” An inelegant snort leaves you as you give him a look that’s a tad more judgmental than strictly necessary. “Sweet, but a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” When he doesn’t answer you simply raise your brows and purse your lips, you know he understands what you’re talking about; while your situations are different, he’s as hopeless as you are in regards to the way he perceives himself. A sigh, his shoulders slump and his gaze wanders out across the river, the sun’s last rays reflecting off the water’s surface.

“I initially turned you down specifically because this is important to you. Because this is a place where you get to shine and be proud of yourself and I didn’t want to… taint that. It occurs to me I never actually apologized to you, because while my rejection might’ve been well-intentioned, I still hurt you and I am sorry for that. And while I want to say it came from a place of love and care for you that would only be a partial truth. The truth is that I simply don’t think I belong in the light that you bring with you anymore than I belong in the lights up on stage with Jayce. Where everything is bright and people will… see. See me, standing beside people who could, should, clearly do better for themselves.”

You don’t miss the way he slightly, unconsciously, taps his cane against his bad leg and your heart shatters. Running your thumb over the back of his hand, you swallow any remaining self pity and instead focus on trying to at least give him some comfort and stop him from spiraling any further. “That’s ridiculous. I love being with you; it doesn’t matter wether people are watching or not.” He scoffs. “Of course it matters. The way people perceive me will rub off on how they perceive you. I can keep a distance as your friend, but as your lover? Please. You shouldn’t have to put up with the ridicule that would come along with it.”

“I don’t care how other people see me. Or you. Or us. I care how you see yourself.” Cupping his cheek with your free hand, you coax him to look at you and the affection that’s clearly written all over your face threatens to force the tears burning behind his eyes to spill. “And Gods I wish you could see yourself the way I do. That you could see the man I love so much, cause I think you’d like him, actually. He always puts his heart and soul into everything he does. He’s constantly working to try and make the world a better place, even at the cost of his own health. I’m proud of him, but I wish he’d stop that, to be honest.” A weak chuckle from his side, accompanied by a few stray tears. “He’s the only person I’ve met who can keep up with me in a battle of wits, he’s even managed to leave me speechless several times, but don’t tell him that, it’ll only go to his head. He’s got a bit of an attitude, but fortunately for him, he’s eloquent enough to usually talk himself out of any trouble it gets him in. He’s got an absolutely brilliant mind, even though sometimes it would be better for him if he put it to rest more often instead of always overthinking everything. Now tell me, he doesn’t sound so bad, does he?” you finish while tucking some chestnut strands out of his face. A quiet laugh, his breath clouding in front of him as he leans into your touch. “No, he does not.” You nod in satisfaction. “I thought so. Now I just wish he— I just wish you would stop ignoring all of these qualities in favor of focusing on something as… as irrelevant as a bad leg. It’s a part of you just like everything else.”

“Regrettably so…” he mutters and drops his gaze. You’re not having any of that, so you curl your fingers under his chin and force his eyes back to you; golden pools still glassy, but not as dark as when you started this conversation. There’s a spark of something lighter, of hope, somewhere there and you’ll be damned if you let it go. “The only thing regrettable about it is that it causes you pain. That’s it. It doesn’t make you less of a person or a partner or a lover.” There’s another protest ready when he opens his mouth, you can feel it, so you talk over him. “How come you get to love all of me with all my flaws and imperfections and I’m not allowed the same with you, hm? That doesn’t seem very fair, you know.”

The smug smirk on your face grows despite your best efforts as you watch him stutter and fumble, trying to come up with a counter argument. He doesn’t find one. He exhales heavily and shakes his head, looking up at you through his lashes, the small grin on his face matching yours. “There are times when I can’t stand you being right, you are aware, yes?” You simply shrug happily in response. “Maybe we could… help each other? To try and learn to be loved without… requirements?” The grin on your face melts into something softer and more genuine at his suggestion and you nod. “There’s no one I’d rather try this with than you.” Pressing a kiss to each of the beauty marks on his face, a way of sealing your deal, he hums in gratitude. Reluctantly separating from him, you lace your fingers together and start guiding him down the sreet again. “Come on, we need to get home.” He cocks his brows at you in curiosity. “Why the sudden rush?” Wincing, you rub a hand over the back of your neck sheepishly. “Cause I just remembered that I forgot to put your flowers in water and I’d rather not start this relationship by immediately killing the first thing you gifted me.” His laughter echoes along with you, as you hurriedly drag him towards your home.

He settles on your couch with a cup of tea, your own on the table in front him waiting for you, as you rummage through your cupboards in search of a vase. The flowers get a new home quick enough and as you arrange them in the glass cylinder, you realize it’s the first proper look you’ve given them. In all honesty, you hadn’t been in any state to pay attention to them when he first showed up; you’d registered their existence, yes, but you’d just assumed a generic bouquet of roses, maybe even courtesy of Jayce. You should’ve known better. And the longer you study them the bigger your eyes grow; if you’d paid even the tiniest bit more attention to the flowers when he first presented them to you, you could’ve saved yourself a lot of time and insecurity, because it’s all right here, clear as day.

Grabbing the vase in both hands, you all but dash over to your living room, almost tripping over your carpet in your hurry, to place them on the couch table in front of you both and then sit down next to him, staring at him expectantly. He glances at you out of his peripheral as he sips at his tea. “You look like you would like to ask me something.” It’s not really a question, more of a fact. “You read the book I lent you.” Snorting in amusement as he puts down his cup, he turns slightly to give you his full attention. “You’ve lent me a lot of books over the years, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.” You gesture at the flowers animatedly. “The one on flower language.”

“Oh?” Thick brows raised in mock surprise, a smirk tugging at the corners of his pretty mouth. “So now you finally notice. And here I spent all night trying to come up with the perfect combination to give you.” Heat crawls up the back of your neck at that, both out of embarrassment and guilt as well as affection and happiness. Mumbling an apology, you point to the colorful petals yet again. “Tell me about them.” But he only settles back into your soft couch, crossing his long legs. “What possibly for? It’s your book, you should know, shouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but it’s been a while since I’ve read it. And a lot of flowers can have multiple meanings. Besides…” you bring your legs up on the couch to carefully poke him in the ribs with your toes before scooting further down to get comfortable, settling your feet in his lap, which earns you an amused, slightly perplexed sideways glance. “I love your voice. I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored.” Voice all sweet and coy and honeyed, batting your lashes at him; the picture perfect flirt making starry eyes at their lover. How in the world is he supposed to say no to you when you look at him like that? But you getting your way doesn’t necessarily mean he can’t have some fun with it.

So when he casually wraps slender fingers around one of your ankles you don’t think much of it and are utterly unprepared for what happens next; which involves you getting dragged further down the couch, eliciting a shocked squeak, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening your legs are on either side of his waist and he’s propped up above you with a hand next your head. “And where’s the fun in just reciting everything? How about we make it a game instead.” Two fingers under your chin guide your gaze back to the table and the bouquet, which leaves him with perfect access to run his nose along the slope of your neck. “And you expect me to focus like this?!” you hiss and you feel more than hear him chuckle. “Terribly sorry, am I distracting you in any way?”

Smug bastard. He wants a challenge? Fine. “Lavender. It represents devotion.” A kiss to your collarbone. “Good. What else?” There’s a small blue flower that you manage to recognize. “Iris. Uh… hope? Faith?” You’re already mostly guessing, that’s not good. “Yes, but it can also represent a deep bond of trust.” A kiss to your pulse point this time. A pretty purple one with a color gradient and spotted center catches your attention; you remember seeing it’s picture in your book, but the name had been too complicated to bother remembering it. “The purple one, that’s… friendship?” He hums in disappointed acknowledgement while he lifts his head to throw a quick glance at the flowers. “Alstroemeria. It can mean friendship, but it’s also used to express mutual support and fascination with the person you’re giving it to.” Honey eyes manage to catch your own and he actually clicks his tongue and tuts at you. “You’re slipping already. Do try a little harder, you wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you, miláčku?”

No, no you wouldn’t. You never do, but right now the connotation feels real damn different and you don’t want to find out what’ll happen if you do end up losing this little game of his. ‘Yes you do’ some part of you argues back and you kindly tell it to go shut the fuck up. It’s hard enough to focus as is, with your heart going a mile a minute and his intense gaze focused solely on you. So you bring your attention back to the task at hand; there’s only two flowers left, you can do that. “White carnations…Love…” you whisper a bit hesitantly and it earns you a press of his lips against your temple. “Sincere love” he adds, “also new beginnings and respect.” There’s only one kind of flower left now, but as far as you can recall that one is considered a symbol of love as well. “Pink camellias. Don’t they also symbolize love?”

He pulls back to look at you again, gaze soft and warm. “Eh, they do. As well as standing for loyalty and admiration. But as opposed to the carnations they represent…” Some form of higher power has decided to grant you some mercy, as he actually pauses and seems to lose some of his confidence, now replaced by humility. “It’s eternal love.” Your heart stutters and your breath hitches as he brushes some hair away from your face with the back of his hand. “I’m yours for as long as you want. If you’ll have me.”

Cursing quietly, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to finally, finally kiss him, legs locking around his lanky waist to eliminate any remaining space between you; you don’t plan on letting go again anytime soon. The kiss is hot and heavy and the culmination of years of yearning and ‘what if’s’ and you’d love it to last forever, but you do regrettably have to part to breathe eventually. “So? You’re the one who wanted make this a game. Who won?” Warm breath fans across your face as he laughs softly. “Oh, I’d say we both won. Is that agreeable with you?” Grinning like a madman you nod and pull him in again to continue where you left off. The next time you manage to tear yourselves away, you nuzzle your nose against his and ask “Would you maybe want to stay the night?”

Echoing his words from earlier “If you’ll have me.” makes a bark of laughter escape you, because “You’re not gonna tell me you were planning on leaving like this,” you buck your hips into his, grinding against the obvious bulge in his pants, rewarding you with an incredibly satisfying moan from the back of his throat. “Were you?” His answer comes out breathless and strained. “Not unless you asked me to.”

“Please. There’s not a single universe where that happens. However, in this universe, I think we should be moving to the bedroom.” Out of all the things that could’ve happened next, you don’t expect him to actually pout. “What for? I think the couch is perfectly sufficient.” Utter disbelief, mixed with tendrils of heat crawling up from the pit of your stomach as you gawk at him. “My love, I applaud your enthusiasm, and while I absolutely would fuck you on my couch, I don’t plan on moving afterwards and I’m not about to sleep here when my much bigger, much more comfortable bed is right in the other room, so be so kind as to move.” The exact opposite happens as he plops himself down on top of you with all his weight; uselessly shoving at his shoulders gets you nowhere as he complains. “That would mean separating myself from you. I don’t like it.” Huffing in mild, fake annoyance, you barely hold back a laugh. “Oh for the love of— You’ll have to do that anyways if you plan on getting me out of my clothes, so would you just…?”

It takes some more bantering back and forth, but you do eventually manage to shoo him off of you. Not that it does you much good, cause as soon as you’re in an upright position on the couch again, he has your legs over his shoulders, practiced fingers on the button of your pants and he doesn’t let you up for air or from the couch until he’s brought you to ruin twice. Hunched over, hands buried in his hair, fresh air can’t seem to fill your lungs fast enough and when you have to watch him wipe the back of his hand over his mouth you actually feel like you might pass out. You try to gather every ounce of willpower and rational thought you can still muster, and fuck that’s not a lot at the moment, so you don’t tackle him to the floor right then and there. But you’d both definitely regret that one in the morning, so you haul him to his feet and finally drag him off to your bedroom.

Once he’s seated on the edge of your bed with you in his lap, the urgency that seemed to have been driving all your actions eventually ebbs away and vanishes entirely. The fear of this only being another dream, of the other person just vanishing into thin air is gone so you take your time; you have plenty, after all. Your kisses turn no less passionate, but slow and deliberate instead of frantic and bruising. Touches go from hectic and desperate to slow and sensual. Like how you spend a good portion of time, when you finally get him in the same state of undress as you, mapping out the moles and freckles across his body with your fingers, creating a star chart of your very own perfect little world. Or how he leaves marks from your things all the way up to your neck, taking mental notes on which spots make you squirm the most.

And you definitely weren’t lying earlier in the evening, when you told him you loved his voice, but the way he’s talking now? Gods have mercy on you, you’re never gonna recover. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to be obscenely filthy and terribly sweet all at once - leave it to him to prove you wrong when your bodies are eventually interwtined in the most intimate way possible.

“You’re doing so good, always so good for me.”

“Fuck, you should see yourself… Like a work of art…”

“Taking me so well, like you were made for me. Do you like the thought of that, hm, moje světlo? Of being made for me?”

Oh you damn well like it enough for it to send you over the edge yet again, a broken version of his name leaving your lips in a sob, like a violent prayer. He just holds you impossibly closer and gently hushes you.

“It’s alright, just breathe, I’ve got you. I promise, I’ve got you.”

And he keeps that promise, all through the night until exhaustion takes you both and lulls you into slumber.

All things considered, he fully expects to wake up next to you, so when his unconscious mind alerts him to your warmth missing, it irks him awake and sure enough, the bed is empty. There is however, the smell of something unfairly delicious and the sound of soft music coming from under the closed door, so you can’t be far. He manages to find his shirt and underwear in the mess of clothes on your floor and slips them on, leaving the buttons on his shirt untouched. He’d just mismatch them in his current drowsy state and you hate the cold, so your apartment is unsettlingly warm anyways. Plus, he doesn’t think you’ll mind too much, getting a view of all the marks you left, now in broad daylight.

Groggily traipsing out into the big, open space that makes up your living room and kitchen, he wonders if maybe he’s still asleep after all, because the couch table and the surrounding space is covered in book stacks that definitely weren’t there the night before. He calls out your name and your head pops up from somewhere between the piles. “Oh, hi, you’re up! Sorry, did I wake you?” He denies it, carefully making his way over to you, weaving through book towers, to sit down behind you on the couch, legs on either side of your form on the floor. He leans his cane against the cushions and wraps his arms around your shoulders in a loose hug, chin coming to rest on top of your head. There’s a mess of flowers, kitchen towels and books spread out in front of you. “What are you even doing this early in the morning?” he mumbles into your hair and you snort. “Early in the morning? Darling, it’s almost noon. I’ve already had Jayce at the door because you weren’t at the lab at ungodly hours of the morning.” You feel him shrug. “Eh, he’s the one who prohibited me from coming back to the lab before I fixed things with you. He’s only reaping what he sowed.” Snickering, you ask “He kicked you out of the lab? However did you survive?” He bumps his chin against your head in retaliation. “Stop deflecting and answer the question; what are you doing?”

“Pressing your flowers.” Short, simple, matter of fact. “Yes, I can see that.” A statement just as obvious. “So why did you ask in the first place?” He groans, burying his face in your hair. “Miláčku…” and you laugh; it’s not annoyance more… exasperated endearment.

“When I got up this morning and looked at them, I realized they were gonna wilt eventually and I didn’t like that thought, so here I am.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I can just get you new flowers, you know. I will.” Your heart swells and you lean back into him a little more, feeling him press a kiss to your head. “I know. But they won’t be these ones. These are special. If I can keep them around for a while, look at them daily, maybe they can serve as a reminder. To help with the whole ‘letting myself be loved unconditionally’ thing.”

Ah, so that’s it. It’s not about the actual act of receiving flowers as a gift, then. He contemplates your idea, watching you gently cradle a tiny lavender bud in your palms. “We’ve been working on something that could help with that, I think.” he starts. “It’s a kind of resin, won from a plant, liquid, but it dries solid and clear. It’s still in development, but you might be able to use it to preserve them further. Ms. Young is leading the project, I will ask her about it. You could probably pour it into a mold as well, turn the flowers into something else entirely. The face of a clock, maybe. Or a tray, for breakfast in bed.”

Stacking more books onto your latest set of petals, you send him a fake offended look over your shoulder. “One night and he already has such outrageous expectations? The audacity.” A quick kiss to the corner of your smiling mouth. “And why do you assume you’re not the one who gets to stay in bed?” The answer is quick and deadpan. “Because you’re still not allowed anywhere near my kitchen, Vik. Not without supervision and being searched for anything explosive beforehand.” Rising to your feet with a groan, you wince slightly at the soreness between you legs as you make your way to said kitchen to check on your breakfast. “A full body search, I’d hope.” he calls after you and you just barely resist the urge to chuck your oven mitts at him. “Behave. Or no sweetmilk for you.”

Accompanied by two mugs and a plate of fresh croissants, you return to him only a little while later and the self satisfied grin spreads across his face before he can stop it; so he really wasn’t imagining you limping a little. He opens his mouth against his better judgement and all common sense. “What’s this now? Don’t tell me you’re a little sore?”

Dear Gods, if looks could kill, he’d be six feet under. Settling back on your spot on the floor, you very specifically put his cup just outside of his reach out of pure pettiness and spite. And maybe he’s actually trying to get himself killed, because “I could lend you my cane for the day, if you’d like?” You grab said cane from it’s position against the couch and blindly try to whack him with it. Chuckling, he manages to get it back before you take someone’s eye out, probably his, and mirroring your actions, puts it just out of your reach. “You’re a menace.” you complain, taking a bite of your warm, fluffy pastry. “Well, yes, but you knew that already and you decided to keep me around anyways. What does that say about you, I wonder?” You shuffle about, huffing and pouting, until you’ve managed to turn around and face him fully, intending to poke him in the ribs with an accusing finger.

Your downfall comes when you make the mistake of actually looking at him: the cutest bed head you’ve ever seen, chestnut curls sticking up in odd places, very much like when he unconsciously twirls random strands around his long fingers when he’s lost in thought. Shirt falling open just enough to clearly make out the bruises and marks on his slim chest and stomach, a beautiful contrast against his pale skin. The sunlight filtering into your apartment through the windows seems to only exist to accentuate the sharp angles of his face and match his golden eyes, just as bright and warm. Not to mention it almost gives him a halo and all of a sudden you feel like on your knees in front of him is a rather fitting place.

It’s strange, really; he’d braced himself for the full brunt of your wrath, but as soon as you’ve turned around, your eyes go wide and all the fight seems to go out of you at once. And next thing he knows, you’ve got your head nuzzled against his thigh and are staring up at him with a unique mixture of annoyance and admiration. “Oh come on, how am I supposed to argue with you when you look like this? That’s hardly fair.” He breathes a quiet, disbelieving laugh as he tangles his hand in your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “And what, pray tell, do I look like?” A smile so sweet and genuine, his heart actually aches. “Breathtakingly beautiful.” It’s like you can actually see the gears in his head grind to a screeching halt and you’re immensely proud of yourself for catching him so off guard, he ends up speechless.

“I’ll consider the dumbstruck look on your face enough of a repentance for your antics. Now eat your breakfast; they’re best while they’re still warm.” Wrapping one of the croissants in a napkin, you hand it off to him before grabbing your own off the table and shifting lightly, back now pressed against his thigh and knees tucked up under your chin, continuing your breakfast with a content sigh.

Meanwhile he’s certain he still has the same dumbfounded look on his face you found so amusing. His eyes dart between the pastry in his hand and you, before they start to wander around the rest of your apartment. He’s been here plenty of times, he’s used to your shelves, cluttered with books and mementos, your messy floor getting abused as a closet, your spotless, perfectly organized kitchen. The old heater in the corner squeaking and hissing, fighting for his life because you always run it way too high in the winter. The handwritten notes and recipes scattered across your coffee table, currently buried under books and flowers. The little mechanical cat he built you when he was a kid that he still can’t quite believe you kept staring at him from across the room, golden eyes seeming to wink at him. The used phonograph in the corner that he fixed up for you, currently playing the same gentle, slow melody he remembers from the last time you danced together in the lab in the middle of the night. He’s familiar with all of it, and yet everything feels slightly different today.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a morning quite like this…” he mumbles, more so to himself than to you, but you catch it anyways. “How so…?” He doesn’t immediately answer and for a moment you think he might not have heard you. When he speaks again, it’s slow, contemplative. “With the smell of food coming from the other room. With soft music being the thing to wake me. With the lingering warmth of someone else still in the sheets. With someone waiting to greet me, someone happy to see me, first thing in the morning. It’s… nice. I think I could get used to it. I’d like to.” Mistaking your wide eyes and silence for judgement instead of the astonishment they actually represent, he quickly apologizes. “Ah, don’t mind me, I’m just rambling. Everything I just recounted is… normal for most people, I suppose. I’m sure I sound foolish; forget I said anything.”

There’s a pretty blush crawling up from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears and you’re somewhere between wanting to kiss him and wanting to slap some sense into him. The former impulse wins, lucky for him. Crawling into his lap, you press a kiss to his nose and giggle at the way his face scrunches up in surprise and confusion.

“Happiness is the folly of fools, pity poor me, one of those fools…” you recite in a sing-song voice and he cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “That’s pretty, what’s it from?” You play with a strand of his hair as you answer. “My dad always used to hum it when he was cooking. I, uh… I never got to meet the person he seemed to be singing it to, but he was always at ease when this melody was around. He always seemed happy to have been one of the fools.” It’s your turn to feel a little abashed and sheepish now. “Soooo… you know. Even if you sounded foolish, which you didn’t by the way, I don’t think it’s— You’re not— I mean, you’re my fool, so — Wait, no, that’s not it.” Good fuck, your brain really just stops functioning around this man, doesn’t it? Not that he seems to mind, as his laugh is honest and bright as he cups your cheek and leaves a sweet kiss on your temple.

“One of the fools it is then.”

[chuthulhu-plays]

I generally watch LPs of horror games bc I'm too anxious to actually play them but a lot of them have FANTASTIC stories, so sometimes I just binge-watch KrinxTV for background noise. Been watching a lot of playthroughs of Still Wakes The Deep because it's such a delight to hear Scottish voice actors get work and I thought I'd address some questions I keep seeing Let's Players ask:

--Adair is a member of the National Front as you can find out from posters in his cabin, a Neo-Fascist British political party that’s been going since the sixties. While it often preaches British ethnic unity, in practice that often means “everybody in the UK should be exactly like East End Londerners” and features plentiful disdain for Scottish, Irish, and Welsh folk, alongside those perceived as “not British”. No wonder the wanker eats alone in the canteen.

--Neeps and Tatties=turnips and potatoes, mashed, drenched in butter or sauce. Fills your belly, keeps you warm, probably makes you sink like a stone because it’s so heavy.

--Cranachan=a dessert made of raspberries, honey, cream and oats, absolutely delicious

--Rennick calls Caz a “wee ned prick”. Ned is apocryphally said to stand for “non-educated delinquent” and is basically just a way of calling someone an uneducated, lower-class criminal

--A lot of things said by and about Roy indicate that he’s a teetotaller who went through AA and specifically became Catholic and is making an effort at converting Caz.

--I think it’s entertaining how Scottish nicknames often follow a pattern of shortening/rejiggering that I also see a lot with Australian nicknames—Cameron becomes Caz, Rafferty becomes Raffs, etc. Trots is an unusual one but is almost certainly a reference to him being a communist, presumably a Trotskyist. Gibbo is also an unusual one in that it’s just very silly. There’s a kind of indignity implied in being killed by a guy called Gibbo.

--A few times on the radio you hear the Shipping Forecast, a type of weather report aimed at specifically reporting weather conditions out on the ocean, and is also famous for the report being read in such a calm, soothing tone that some folk use it as a sleep aid.

--All the yellow paint for interactable things is very video gamey, yes, but is also in line with old British health and safety standards, and yellow paint on things like emergency ladders or on the edges of stairs that are trip hazards is a thing ou can still see in some older buildings.

--Caz keeps saying he’s “good with the leccy”; leccy=electricity. Caz is implied to be quite a wee guy who can get through a lot of tight spaces, and my uncle swears blind that electricians used to refuse to take on apprentices over a certain size because they only wanted to train wee guys who could get up into the tight spaces that a lot of older buildings are full of. On that note, “wee man” is a term of endearment, generally, and isn’t exclusively applied to short guys.

--Finlay saying of Gibbo that “he’s no right” is INCREDIBLY OMINOUS. It sounds mild but “he’s no right, that boy” is what older folk say about a child who’s been found disembowelling cats for fun or someone they strongly suspect is a pedophile. It’s not something you’d say about a friend who’s just acting a bit unusually.

– “Great minds united over a Buckie”--Buckfast, or Buckie, is a caffienated tonic wine that’s cheap, widely accessible, and is a bit like rocket fuel for bad decisions.

– “Ya roaster” tbh I don’t really know where it comes from, calling someone a roaster, but I’ve always felt like it has a vibe of telling them they’re huffing their own farts.

--Scunnert/scunnered--buggered, screwed, utterly fucked, etc

– “You’re the jammiest bastart on this rig” Someone who is jammy is someone who has incredible luck that is implied to be related to their sheer confidence or willingness to engage in risky behaviour. Walking along the street and finding a pound coin isn’t jammy; crossing the road confident that the cars won’t hit you and stopping in the middle to pick up a pound coin before making it unscathed to the other side is jammy as all hell.

--Barlinnie is the biggest prison in Scotland, and largely hosts violent offenders—it’s where Caz would definitely go for hospitalizing a man.

--Weans are children (contraction of wee yins/wee ones). I thought this one was contextually obvious but apparently not.

SPOILERS BELOW

--”One spark and the whole thing’ll go up”—this is referring to the wee spark of flame in the lighter used to blow up the rig, but is also kind of a pun because electricians are often called sparks or sparkies, and in the end it’s Caz who blows up the rig.

[boltwrites]

I need a Logan/Wade/Reader fic where reader is dating Wade (before movie) and meets Logan, sees how he acts with Wade, and makes a ton of “just fuck already” jokes that Wade (ofc) encourages and it pisses Logan off until he does one day (reader included lol) 😏

A/N: i'm going to have to make a part 2 for this, since this is pretty much solely humor and reader making fun of wade and logan. i will be making a part 2 for the smut, though. mark my fucking words.

some things to note: reader is stated as polyamorous and LGBT (no specific label is mentioned). also, lots of sex jokes and fourth wall breaks lmao.

You were used to Wade bringing around some strange characters. Usually, they thought he had drugs or something (which he did, most of the time. Until they all mysteriously went missing right before his birthday party. Almost like his unsavory lifestyle was suddenly sanitized for wider consumption. Hm. Weird.) Sometimes they wanted money - other times it seemed more likely that Wade was holding them for ransom and relapsing into his merc days. But that wasn't really your business.

The point to your opening statement was: you didn't really want to fuck Wade's friends. Astonishing, really - you went to high school with a group of weird kids that all turned out to be some flavor of L,G,B or T and as such, you either wanted to or did fuck most of them. But Wade's friends? They just lacked a little something-something. Al was too old and too high most of the time. Yukio and her gruff girlfriend were far too young for you. Colossus was too Russian. Vanessa was Wade's ex - which would have been hot, honestly - but you weren't the biggest fan of how the two of them handled the post-breakup, and therefore she was off limits. But Peter... maybe...?

No. No, if you fucked Peter, Wade would never let you hear the end of it.

So, you were typically relegated to Wade, and Wade alone, which was more than fine by you. That insane healing factor meant the man could go all night, and he was naturally (or, unnaturally. Mutantly?) ribbed for your pleasure. Nice.

So when he came back from his most recent world-saving (multiverse saving?) adventure, you expected him to bring back maybe some kind of bright-eyed teenage sidekick, or a wacky off-the-wall team up, like Dopinder.

Ah, right, Dopinder. God, you would have fucked him. Sadly, the man was staunchly monogamous like some kind of fucking freak.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, when you walked into Wade's unbirthday party? He had company. And the company? Hot. Old. Man.

Oh no. Your fucking weakness.

You'd really never forgive Wade for evaporating Cable before you had a chance with him.

Maybe this was his make-up present.

And said present - or, man, shouldn't objectify - could not take his damn eyes off Wade. Glaring at him, huffing a little half-chuckle when Wade insulted someone with a joke, rolling his eyes as Wade recounted some story of their conquests with exaggerated arm movements and wild, unnecessary additions.

Oh my god. Oh my god? Did Wade fuck him before you could? That bitch!

You scoffed to yourself as you threw your jacket on the coat rack - or was that Peter? Who gives a shit. You were on a mission. You sauntered straight up to Wade, no greeting or preamble, and tossed your arm around his shoulders, setting your ass down right in his lap.

"Oh, hell yeah! There's my sugar ass-" Wade grinned at you, and you just rolled your eyes and planted a big kiss on his bald forehead. Thank god, he'd stopped wearing that dumbass hair. It made him look like a social studies teacher. And not a good one - like one of the ones that just took the job so that he could coach the JV boy's soccer team, and he's not even very good at that. Anyway.

Wade wrapped an arm around you, and you adjusted yourself on his lap, hazarding a glance over at the man sitting next to him. His eyes flit from Wade to you, then to Wade again, brow scrunched a little closer together than when you'd first seen him.

"Wolvie, meet my little discord kitten. And you-" he broke the fourth wall, just to look you straight in the eyes. "This, is the big bad wolf. Er-ine. Yeah. Yeah, that works."

"Wade," you replied, trying not to think about the fact that he just looked into your eyes like you were a camera on the Office. "You never told me you were bringing home a third. I would have brought the nice strap."

The man - Wolvie? Wolverine? Whatever - choked on his beer, and shot Wade a confused, accusatory glare.

"What about the-"

Wolvie gestured in the direction of Vanessa, and Wade's eyes widened, his mouth actually fell open. And this time, it wasn't fake or sarcastic shock, but actual, genuine emotion.

"Oh, no no no - that metal skull of yours really is dense, isn't it, peanut?" He knocked on Wolvie's forehead with way more force than he would use on any normal human, and the man batted Wade's hand away like a pissy tom cat, lip curled over his teeth in a growl.

That was. Hot. Ok.

Wade continued talking anyway - as he always did.

"No, Vanessa? Lovely lady, don't get me wrong - but that ship sailed loooong ago, my temporally-challenged friend," Wade sighed, squeezing the arm that was around your shoulder. "No - that relationship was, as the kids say - 'lacking in communication and emotional openness' - oh, and she made me feel like chicken shit for not being a superhero!"

"Babe, you did that to yourself," you shook your head at him. Really - Vanessa and Wade had just grown apart. She'd looked into more gainful employment, and Wade had followed, struggling to integrate into whatever the fuck "proper" society was. What really happened was that Wade blamed himself for her death and tied way too much of his self-worth to their relationship. And Vanessa - well, she just didn't feel safe with him anymore. It wasn't her fault; it was the PTSD. But it still hurt him. It was better for the both of them to part ways. You always knew Wade still held a torch for her, but you didn't mind much in a relationship sense. You were polyamorous - your man loving multiple people didn't bother you. What did matter was the fact that for Wade's mental health - or what little of it remained - he shouldn't be trying to get with that woman again.

"Yeah! I know! I was getting to that - shh," he pressed a finger to your lips and you kissed it, which made him go "aww" before returning to his rambling. "Anyway, while I was on this beautiful journey of self-discovery, I realized so many things, buttercup."

He sighed, cupping your cheek. "The Avengers are absolute booty ass - without their mainstay former drug addict, I'm afraid they lost out on the crowd of little white girls that want to fuck older men, and we all know that demographic is vital to the longevity of a franchise. Furthermore, the Honda Odyssey fucks hard, which means I have to re-examine my vehicle-related inherent biases. Oh, and also - I'm not a hero. Can't pretend to be some kind of 'normie.' So I'd rather be a freak with the rest of the rejects."

Wade gestured to the rest of the party, and your grin widened, arms wrapping tight around his neck and pulling him in for a stupid, sloppy kiss. God, that's what you'd been trying to tell him for goddamn ages. Thank fuck, the whole multiverse just had to be threatened for him to realize it. You should have expected it - that's just kind of how men are.

Wolverine cleared his throat, and you pulled away, patting Wade on the chest. The older man looked at the both of you with trepidation, like he might be interrupting something. Your heart skipped a little - he really did like Wade, didn't he? Well -

"That's great, baby," you patted Wade's cheek. "Glad you had to experience whatever is closest to death for you to realize what's really important. That's so incredibly healthy and absolutely viable in the long-term."

Wolvie chuckled, grinning at both you and your boyfriend. Oh no - not only was he hot, he was pretty. That stupid little cat ear hair wasn't helping, especially not when he was laughing at your joke.

You took the opportunity to raise your leg just enough to brush your calf along the inside of his knee, and his eyes immediately flicked to yours, smile faltering as he calculated whether to lean into it or shy away.

"Thank you, I so appreciate you, baby-boo-" Wade nuzzles his nose against your cheek and you giggled, biting your lip to quell your laugh as you tried to watch both boys. "But if I remember correctly, before we went on this plot-hole addressing rant, you said something about the good strap?"

He waggled his hairless brows, and your gaze flicked between the two of them again - Wade, eager and grinning; Wolvie, tense and most certainly blushing.

"Yeah," you sighed dramatically, waving your hand in the direction of the refreshments table. "Unfortunately, the food at this party isn't bottom friendly. Shame."

"Fuck!" Wade cursed, head snapping forward in frustration. "I knew Peter forgot something! That insensitive metrosexual!"

You snorted, shook your head as your gaze pulled to Wolverine, you dragged your leg just a little higher.

"Oh, don't worry about it. If your friend here wants, we could recreate your favorite Lonely Island music video."

Said friend's brow knit, his jaw clenched as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, as if you'd translate your Wade-speak for him.

Thankfully, your boyfriend did it for you, with an exaggerated gasp for comedic effect.

"3-Way (The Golden Rule) (Featuring Lady Gaga & Justin Timberlake)?" He cried, leaning over so that he could smush his face closer to yours. You waggled your eyebrows suggestively.

He all but squealed, kicking his feet to the point where he almost launched you straight out of his lap.

"You hear that, Logan-boy? It won't even be gay - with a honey in the middle there's some leeway," he gestured to you dramatically, jazz-hands and all.

"It might be a little gay," you whispered in Wolvie - Logan's? - direction.

Either way, it seemed like something one of you said made the poor man short-circuit. He was just looking at the two of you like Wade was regrowing a baby head.

"It is, like, a genuine offer," you clarified for him. "We're not fucking with you - well. Wade's always fucking around."

"Oh, but I am so serious about this, babygirl. Wanna find out if that 207th bone is also adamantine, let me tell you-"

"Shut your whore mouth," Logan hissed at Wade, and you heard the man's teeth click as Wade's jaw snapped shut. What?

"Hey, did he just listen to you when you told him to shut up?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, but gave you a curt nod as answer. Your head whipped from one man to the other.

"You two definitely fucked already!"

"Oh-"

"What did he tell you?" You cut in, finger raised as Wade tried to speak. His eyes widened, and his lips closed like he had no control over them. Your jaw fell open. You turned to Logan like he was some kind of evil sex magician. Which - maybe he was. Or maybe that was a different man from the same movie that no one knows how to write because someone actually gave him an accurate accent. How would you know?

"We didn't fuck," Logan clarified. "We fought. Hard."

"It was the only way around the Hays Code censor!" Wade cut in, words spilling out like he only had a few seconds before Logan shot him another look that had his mouth shutting and his pants tightening.

You rolled your eyes. "Sweetie, the Hays Code was abolished in 1968," you patted his cheek like you were talking to a child.

"Tell that to the mouse!"

"Well," you did your best to get this trainwreck back on track. "Anyway. What do you think, hmm?"

You directed your question at Logan-Wolvie-Wolverine. It was so hard to learn somebody's actual name when Wade just threw nicknames out like candy.

But still, the man frowned, lips pursed as he considered the proposition. His lips twitches as he swirled the bottle of beer in his hand, like he could find the answers in the foam that swelled there. He shook his head, then took a sip, smacking an "ah" before the bottle hit the table with a thump.

"Eh. What the hell."

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

[moonieandi]

snapshots | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines

warnings (TW): swearing

tags: fluff, early relationship described, vague-pining 

notes: this is probably just for me… but if anyone enjoys it then ill endeavor to continue it in some fashion. No note beyond that i just really really really like stanley.

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist of parts concerning this one-shot turned series. thank you, and enjoy!

word count: 2.3k

| masterlist | part ii |

 His earliest memories of her are hastily intertwined with the abrupt disappearance of his estranged brother. 

There is a sudden break in his memory, between following Ford to the crumbling shack’s basement, to returning upstairs without him, and eventually opening the door to her very hazarded face. 

Her head had been engulfed by a too-big hat, hair matted and stringily stuck to her flushed face, thanks to the bitter winds that racked northern Oregon that winter. She had hauled ass from the “middle-of-nowhere” bus stop to in-town, to the shack. Miles, he had presumed, and her wet socks had solidified the fact. 

If he had known she would appear at the shack's front entrance not even a week after Ford had disappeared before his very eyes, then he would count himself lucky for the forewarning, because she made in through the front door like a tidal wave. 

He eventually welcomed the intrusion, of course, but it took not even 10 minutes for his hackles to rise after she implored at the whereabouts of his long-gone brother. Unfortunately for Stanley, she never once bought the practiced lie that he was Stanford. A lie that he only had the courage to voice now, but it fell weak on her ears. Of course, she had known poindexter… and of course, she had no inkling of Stanley’s own existence. Stanford had never spoken of his no-good brother then. Another nail in the coffin, next to the nails Stanley had put there himself. 

She spoke only in bursts as if it pained her. Voice dry from the winter air. 

“Where is he?” She frantically waved a pressed paper around, previously having been folded up in her pocket. “He asked for me, so where is he? Where is that idiot?” 

“Look hun, I have no idea what you're talking about.” Hands dragging through his too-long hair. “I’m him, he’s me, now what did I send ya again?” He moves to reach for the paper, but she crumbles it in her mittened hands, clutching it like a lifeline. 

His lie is weak, but he could do without the intrusion after the long week of attempting to compile his brother's ramblings in that god-forsaken journal. 

He didn’t even know her name for fucks sake. 

This was never the fault point in his lie to her though. Because she knew instinctually that he was not Ford, and that was all that mattered conclusively to her in the end. They shared features, that was something she could not easily deny. The same curve of their jawlines, the same texture of hair, the same set eyes, but she knew simply by the way he talked that this was not her former colleague. 

Her colleague was not nearly as broad-chested as the man in front of her. Not as sure-footed as the man in front of her, and despite them both sharing obvious features, wasn’t as striking as the figure painted in front of her. 

Unfortunately for her predicament, the man in front of her made her nervous, suddenly. Whether it was the sudden realization that she had entered this random man’s home, or that she was entranced by the way the distant kitchen light lit his features. She was unsure. 

Looking back at the paper, and then again at his large outstretched hand, she admitted defeat to her curiosity surrounding him. She would need a cup of coffee. 

Sighing, she brought the paper back to its original place in her pocket. Taking off her hat, her shoulders began to droop. She had walked miles, and she would get an explanation from him no matter what. 

“Do… do you have any coffee?” 

Movement in the shack was constant. 

He was used to the usual up and down the basement stairs nowadays, and the usual venture from room to room also. 

The woman had a habit of nesting. Much like his own mother. 

She constantly had to move things, change around Ford’s shitty sci-fi bullshit, and rearrange cupboards. The first month she took to doing it he figured it was her way of simply coping with the reality of their shitty situation, but after the third month, he changed his toon. 

My god was she short, but oddly fucking mighty. 

It was on the third month he had caught her rearranging the livingroom finally. It had been the most intimidating room in the shack, thanks to the mud-soaked 80’s carpet, and the mysterious tanks that Ford just had to store upstairs for some reason. 

Luckily in their cohabitation, they both agreed that Ford’s stuff all needed to be moved from out of site. Not really for them per se, but more so so they could both catalog all his bullshit. Cataloging was something she insisted on, so he got very used to random sticky notes with her small handwriting. He would admit that his knees began to ache not too many weeks ago from the constant movement of Ford’s shit to the basement, but he more or less refused to let her assist in the move when it came to walking down the very steep flight of stairs. 

He didn’t want her to fall, okay? 

He didn’t want anything to happen really, in regards to her. He tried to separate genuine feelings when it came to her presence in general. So when they eventually parted ways, it wouldn’t feel like another nail. 

But she had to goddamn move everything in this house, and he got the distinct feeling she didn’t enjoy the fact that none of it was really theirs to move. She had insisted though, one night, that it was important that they made themselves comfortable. 

“I’ll take the goddamn fall for this, mmk Stanley?” A slight upturned smirk on her lips. “Ford can yell at me all he likes, but if we are stuck here for some time let's not live like he’s just around the corner.” 

Despite his constant bickering about her and the stairs though, he found her upstairs one evening, attempting to move the long three-person couch from one of the rooms to the downstairs living room. 

She blushed, caught red-handed. “Okay okay, but this would be better downstairs in front of the T.V., no?” 

He tisked, hands on his hips. “And ya’ just couldn’t wait, huh.” 

She laughed while he reached for the other end, cursing under his breath. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute.” 

The couch did make it downstairs, but not without some cursing, teamwork, and some pinched fingers when taking it around the bend to the top of the stairs. Stanley leading in front, holding the majority of the weight the entire way. Not that he would tell her that. 

The couch made a home in front of the tiny box T.V. that they had, and they both enjoyed the comfort it brang. The shag carpet wasn’t as comfy to sit on as the couch. 

They both sat with a grunt, after adjusting the long couch. 

“Ah, now this I could get used to.” He flung himself onto the couch, closest to the back door. 

Popping down, she made her home on the other end. “Mhmmm. Good plan, good decision, go team!” Her hand extended out for a fist bump from him. 

His hand dwarfed her own as he met her in the middle. 

She was smart, he realized, too smart for the likes of him.

She was quick as a whip for sure, with knowledge of a hodge-podge of things, and half the time she talked when they were both downstairs he didn’t have a clue what she was saying. He hated it down here at times, her rambling reminding him of his faintly forgotten childhood. She was so different in the basement. She was so different from when she was upstairs. Like she turned it on and off. 

She herself knew that Stanely probably didn’t understand most of what Ford had been doing, but at times she felt she understood even less so. So she spoke it to him, to fill some void when they were down there. The void being Ford, of course, the bridge between the two.

She couldn’t help but get the inkling that Stanley did not think fondly of the basement, whether it was due to her ramblings, or because this was essentially his brother's coffin, she didn’t wish to ask. It was the one thing she hadn’t bothered to voice yet. 

He had been assisting with moving the portal's original structure all week. She needed the area cleared, to properly reassemble the shape of the portal and then lift it to its original place on the basement wall. The pulley mechanism was hastily drawn out somewhere in the control room,  but she also needed a proper understanding of the material's weight and durability to calculate the simple engineering equation. 

Of course, she attempted to do this without looking up from her scribbles. 

Stanley’s movement around the basement set her on edge. The sweat-soaked tank top, the curly messy hair, the broadness of his chest, the god-damn grunting as he moved material around. 

I mean, okay, she had asked him to do this specifically, but she… was beginning to forget why exactly she had. She had also offered assistance, too, which he shrugged off like he had the furniture.

Right, yes the weight she needed the weight. 

“Umm Stanley, have you been able to find in the journal what kind of material this is?”

He grunted, metal falling to the wayside as he turned to her. “Nah Doc, couldn’t find shit.” He lifted his tanktop end, dabbing at his forehead. “But I can tell you one thing, ain’t like anything I’ve seen before.” 

“Hmmm. You are right, this is almost too heavy to be normal steel, and it seems Ford didn’t exactly weld these pieces together. There’s no evidence of tig welding traditionally used.” 

He moved closer, his hand on his hip, the other extended. 

“Lemme check the diagram again, he leaves weird shit in the ledgers all the fucking time.” 

His hand grazing her own, she passes over the journal. 

He flips to the part of the portal page they have access to, his fingers meeting his tongue as he flicks from page to page. Contemplatively, his hand rests on his chin, and the entirety of the book rests in his own hand. 

Leaning over like that, he takes her breath for a moment. 

“See here.” He grabs her forearm, pulling her back in front of the journal still in his grasp. “He writes this cryptic message in the ledgers around the drawing, but it cuts off because we only got one part of this bullshit.” 

She sighs deeply, her hand running through her hair multiple times. 

“Fucking hell Ford goddamn it.” She quickly rethinks, hands waving to push Stanley back a bit. So she can breathe again. “I’m sorry, really, I just mean-” 

His laugh is low and shakes his shoulders until his head falls forward, his hand meeting her own on his chest. 

Breath gone, again. 

“Doc, ain’t no way we gonna get this done unless we curse him out from time to time.” His hand engulfs hers, making her form a fist he brings it to his head, knocking his temple. “I curse him too from time to time, but usually up here.” 

“Stanley, I really am sorry. I just-” A sigh, a shake of her shoulders. “I wanna know what the hell he was thinking, Stanley, I wanna understand I really do, but I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know what to do.” 

Three months of rearranging upstairs combined with the two additive months spent in the basement had drained her, and he knew it. 

She was different down here, changed. That’s why he fucking hated it down here. Because it upset her like this. She was too pale down here, too weary, and too goddamn self-conscious. 

The thing that had plagued him for so long, the inadequacy he felt all his life when compared to his other half, was seeping into her subconscious. Ford wasn’t even fucking here, and he had somehow made her feel less than. He had been working all his life to feel equal to him, but that was his own cross to bear, and his own nail to hammer. Not hers.

He didn’t think much of letting go of her hand, in favor of grabbing her chin. Tears made trails down her dirty round cheeks, eyes wide. He thinks she stole his breath for a minute. 

“Now listen here Doc, you ain’t gotta do this alone. I never wanted you to do this fucking alone, that’s not why I told you everything.” He takes a step forward. “I told you everything because I know we can figure this out.” 

She sniffles, moving closer, leaning into the warmth of his hand. Her own curled up into his dirty tank top, journal forgotten on the floor in favor of comfort. 

“It’s gonna take some time.” She mutters under her breath, only answered by the laugh in his chest. 

“Don’t I fucking know it Doc.” A pause. “But… I mean at least we got each other, right?” 

A smile blooms on her face, her heart slowing under the struggling reassurance Stanley was attempting to bring. 

“Mmm, yeah.” Sniffling, and nodding. “Ya, I have you Stanley.” 

“And I you, Doc.” 

He steps closer, encasing her in his large arms, her head making a home in his shoulder. He was warm, she noted, and strong under her withering confidence. 

His hand reaches up, knocking on her temple. “You can’t be calling me Stanley while we are upstairs, I hope ya know.” 

She nods in his chest. Only down here can he be Stanley to her now, even in her mind. 

[keyaho]

Hematology

The request: @nayaesworld psycho!surgeon terry richmond x surgeon!black oc

To Terry, blood had a particular hold on him. The warmth, the metallic scent, the sticky texture as it begins to oxidize and harden as he fisted his dick with a bloody hand soothed a beast in him he let free on Saturday nights. Another successful night out and he was back in his penthouse apartment, jacking off to a photo of a recent hire in the hospital. The laminated photo was stuck to his shower wall, a hour glass figure in a white sting bikini taunted him. Long lean legs, tits he knew would fit in his palms perfectly, and a smile that reeled him in. He walked the halls when he wasn't scrubbed in for the chance to see it in person. 

He got lucky this morning, the young anesthesiologist in training was doing her clinicals and had been assigned to his OR team, by a stroke of luck and a few long deep strokes to the head of human resources. She was an easy fuck but not one he enjoyed. A part of him had been craving for more lately.

"Shit,' he hissed, his cum spurting out his tip and mingled with the blood on his hand before disappearing down the drain. He had a much better place in mind to dump his load. 

The rest of the red liquid of life had been rubbed into his chest and abs though washed away by the steaming hot shower. He damn near wanted to taste it but that would not be very smart of him. This particular strain of neanderthal DNA had crossed him and his decision to remove it from existence was instant. It dared to touch Yara in the club. She had been too shy to deny his advances, but he could see she wasn't interested. Good. For him at least. Not so much for the man who had pleaded for his life before Terry severed his trachea with a scalpel in size ten. The cut came swift, the manish screams barely registered in the night. He followed the cut vertically and grinned as crimson stained the concrete where he had left the body. Terry carefully collected blood in a specimen cup and placed it in a yellow hazard bag, alone with the scalpel. 

He'd seen the reports, saw the bodies as they passed through morgue. He even harvest a few organs from his victims, further enjoying how their blood pooled in their supine state. He spoke with Detectives from the Seattle PD, encouraged them to look into someone with military training as the cuts were not typical of medical personnel. He only gave that information because he slipped up once seven months ago and left behind the blade of a scalpel in a victims neck. Terry was fucked up in the head, but he wasn't that fucked up to make that mistake again. 

Terry's walk down memory lane was interrupted by his alarm. He stuck his head under the shower, cleansing himself with antibacterial soap he swiped from the hospitals inventory. Like always he poured the remaining blood down the toilet, careful not to splash it. He'd dispose of the container as he always did. At the hospital. The scalpel joined the others, labeled with the date and name of who he killed only to be locked in a safe he kept behind a large oil painting in his bedroom above his bed. Trophies he once jacked off too. Now, his nights of staining his bed with cum was because of Yara.

He gathered himself soon after, scrubs, phone, keys. All lined up in his closet as usual. He was trying to pace himself, there was no need to rush. Yara, work, would be there when he got there. 

"Dr. Richmond has been looking at you since you clocked in." 

Yara looked up from her charts behind the nurses station. As an intern she had limitations on what she could and couldn't do, so she was doing menial tasks until she was able to scrub in and observe Dr. Richmond in a routine appendectomy. She had been excited to see it on her rotation and once it was complete she was free to leave for the day. 

"He's not." Yara replied. "I'm just a new face and I'll be in his OR today, he's probably just wanting to put a face to the name." 

Honey. Sweet, thick, and antiseptic. Terry sipped from a black mug of earl grey tea with a large dollop of honey in his office. He had a view of the nurses station and Yara, whom he kept his eyes on as much as he could. Until another nurse noticed. They were important, sure, however, right now, Nurse Carmen was a nuisance. An observant nuisance. 

"Whatever you say,' she hums, picking up her charts and signing out her COW to begin her shift. "He's fine as hell though. If you hit that let me know,' she winks and Yara tosses a pen her way, trying not to look scandalized. 

She turned back to her charts, inputting information into the patients portals for their viewing. A moment passed when she needed to look at something other than the computer and her eyes locked with Dr. Richmond's. He was standing outside his office, staring directly at her. A second later he tilted his head towards his office. 

"Dr. Matthews,' he called, 'we need to discuss the appendectomy." 

She nodded and shut down the portal, logging out to keep the information secure. Wiping her hands on her marron scrubs, she pushed chair back and stood, his eyes watching her as she walked around the station. He took another sip from his cup as she stepped into his office, the door clicked shut behind them afterwards. 

"Have a seat,' he says from behind her. 

Vanilla. Something in him softened as his dick hardened and strained against the two pairs of briefs he wore to hide it. 

"Tea?" He asks, his back to her as he walks to his small kitchenette. 

"Oh, no, no thank you. I just finished a cup of coffee and the last thing I need is more caffeine." She replied, a smile spreading across her lips. 

Terry refilled his own cup, honey followed, but what surprised her was the flick of vanilla he added. She watched him take a sip, the steaming liquid seemingly not bothering him. Yara's eyes roamed over his tall figure in the standard teal colored scrubs. His badge was clipped to the pocket on his shirt, his face plastered over it. 

"You'll be scrubbing in with me and my team in a few hours." He walked to the desk with the cup in one had and the patients thick file in another. "This particular patient is young, no previous health concerns. The procedure is routine and in this case preventative. They are an athlete and well, a burst appendix is worse than just removing it." 

"I didn't think people could just remove body parts,' Yara said, though she knew they could. Medical studies had proven that.

Terry smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges. "Money talks, sweetheart." 

He opened the chart and pushed it towards her. Terry slide a notepad across he desk to her and she looked up at him confused. 

"I won't be putting him,' Yara stuttered, she was not prepared to actually perform the anesthesia. 

"No, no, no, but at the bottom are the supplies I will need. Can you gather them? About an hour before the schedule scrub in time I like my OR set and ready. Minus, taking the materials out of their packaging." 

"Of course, Dr. Richmond." 

He noted her bubbly handwriting. The way it looped as she scribble in cursive short hand. A bright one she was. 

"Why Anesthesiology?" He shook his head. "Please, Terry is fine. Dr. Richmond is a formality I tend to not adhere to." 

"I mean, you've earned that title. I'd use it all the time." She thought about his question while he thanked her for the slight compliment. "Um, other fields didn't grab my attention. I wanted a challenge and for some reason anesthesiology just stuck out to me." 

"I used to think that as a surgeon I held life in my hands,' he spoke casually, "until Dr. Ramos kicked my ass and reminded me that she and you are keeping that patient alive and sedated." 

"You still do life saving work." 

Terry mused over her words while taking another sip of his cooling tea. 

Inventory was checked bi-nightly, and Yara was thankful the restock had been complete prior to gathering supplies for surgery. Gloves, scalpels, gauze, among other items necessary fill her hand basket. She'd pass it over to the surgical technician for set up while she would be scrubbing in. Yara could hardly contain her excitement and as soon as she passed over the equipment, she went to the staff shower and 'dorm' area to switch into different scrubs. She always kept a pair of the rough standard issue scrubs in her locker along with shoe covers and a head wrap she'd have on under the surgical cap and face shield. Seeing it was empty, she pulled out scrubs and kicked of her shoes, shimmying out of the scrub pants she had on, completely unaware of the eyes trained on her. 

He'd already been in the showers, hands full of his dick, when he heard her come in. Terry showered briefly before each operation, not wanting to carry the previous hours of filth into the OR. He'd already cum once and th thick ropes of his semen had coated the drain at his feet before sliding down into the pipe system. He thought that would have been enough, but Yara's voice as she talked to herself stiffened his dick in seconds. 

Terry rolled his tongue around his mouth, the vanilla from his tea lingered and he swallowed, imagining this was what she tasted like. He was in the farb ack shower, hidden by the stall's silver wall, but able to peek around it just enough to see her bent over at the waist as she stepped into her pants. Black thong on display, he couldn't help but notice the way her pussy swallowed the fabric. 

His hand slipped and rubbed harshly against the tip of his dick and he grunted. He wanted to taste that. Vanilla in his coffee wasn't enough. He needed her on his face in his bed and beneath the shrine of scalpels dedicated to keeping her safe. That white boy wasn't the first and until he had Yara, it wouldn't be the last person. 

B cup. At least. Her slim fingers smoothed over her breast as she adjusted her sports bra, the racer back hid a moon phases tattoo he wanted to lick. The curve of her back and the plumpness of her backside made his hand move faster, the water just enough slip he didn't give himself a friction burn. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he came, busting a strong nut on the shower stall. He had to angle the shower to clean it up and missed Yara leaving for his OR. 

He joined them later, just outside the OR where they began washing their hands and forearms. Dr. Ramos was showing Yara how to prepare the IV for intravenous induction. 

"You'll be right beside me. I'll have you monitor vitals and assess accordingly." She explained, her eyes flirting over to Terry who was being helped into his smocks and gloves. 

Another nurse had already placed on his surgical cap and face shield. He said nothing as he walked backwards into the OR, hands up as he greeted the patient warmly. 

"I love watching that man work,' she mumbled, though her eyes were downcast on his ass. She looked to Yara with a half smiled. "You're in for a treat." 

And a treat it was. Yara had noticed, twenty minutes into the procedure, there was a rupture in the colon. She tried to motion towards it when Terry's snapped his head up to her. His eyes were wide, then narrowed slightly. 

"Is there a reason you're about to reach over, Dr. Matthews?" His voice smooth and inviting, but she knew not to lie. 

"I…I just saw a,' 

"She's an intern, you know they get ahead of themselves." Dr. Ramos interjected. "Come back over here and watch his vitals." 

Yara looked down at the open body on the table. Terry's eyes followed and he let out a laugh. 

"You just save this patient another trip to my OR, Dr. Matthews." 

"What,' Dr. Ramos flustered her next words, "what are you talking about?" 

"Our patient has a tear in his colon. About half an inch, but a tear nonetheless." Terry looked up to Yara as she stepped back. "Good eyes, you can see that through all the blood. Come, suction it away, repair the tear." 

"Shes not,' Dr. Ramos began, but Terry silenced her with a look. 

"My OR, my rules. She caught it so she will repair it." 

Yara stepped up to the operating table on the other side of Terry. He instructed the surgical tools to be pushed to her side and she stared down at them. 

"Ridiculous!" 

Terry ignored her and shifted his focus to Yara. To him they were the only two people in the room. 

"This is medical school 101, over and over continuous stitch. You can't mess it up." 

"Okay,' she exhaled and reached into the body cavity after watching the suction remove the blood blocking her vision. 

"Easy,' he whispers, "take your time." 

"You what!" Carmen said, pulling Yara into the staff lounge just behind the nurses station. 

"I repaired a tear in a colon. Dr. Ramos hates me now." 

Carmen rolled her eyes. "She's been sniffing behind Terry for months now, long before you got here and he turned her down."

"Yeah, she's still trying her luck with him. Some of the things she said about him were down right, gross." 

"We can talk about it over drinks,' Terry stepped into the lounge with a smile on his face. "Carmen." He nodded. "Are you okay, Yara?" He tilted his head towards the door. "I overheard Dr. Ramos speaking to you. Is everything okay? Should I handle her?" 

If only she knew what he meant. Yara was lucky he kept his thrills from work property and employees. However, he'd make an exception if Yara even felt discomfort with Dr. Ramos. 

"Oh no, I mean, she's not a issue. I just brushed it off,' Yara folded her arms over her chest. "I was called up to pediatrics and I don't know how long I will be there." 

Carmen gave Yara a squint before leaving the two in the lounge. "Call me later, girl,' she says, pursing her lips in jest. As the door shut, Terry dropped his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

"You did good in there. I haven't seen a stitch that clean in a long time. You sure you don't want to be a surgeon?" 

Smiling, Yara shook her head. "That was stressful. I've practiced on cadavers, but having my hands inside of a live body is different. I think I will stick to putting them to sleep." 

Bergamot. 

She liked to layer her scents he noted and his mouth water. He moved closer, under the guise of grabbing an apple from the counter, and their arms brushed as he passed. This close he could smell all of her. Honey. Vanilla. Bergamot. A peculiar combination, but one he'd gladly stick his nose into inhale. 

"So that's a no to the drinks?" He asks. "Your first surgery deserves a celebration." 

"I'm not sure if that's appropriate Dr. Richmond." 

Terry squeezes the apple in hand as he brings it to his mouth. It's unnoticed by her as his face doesn't give away his budding frustration at her refusal. He chews and swallows, then smiles. 

"It was just an offer for drinks, but I understand." 

Said offer had been on her mind through her two hours in pediatrics. The small babies she got to met didn't distract her from how Terry had offered to take her out. It was clear her was flirting; his sly smile when they were in his office, how he looked at her while she stitched up the colon, even back in the lounge as he ate the apple. Fraternizing with a surgeon was the last thing she needed to be doing, but he drew her in. She wanted to know more and it didn't help that Carmen was urging her to go. It if sucked she could just request a department change to avoid the awkwardness. 

Dr. Ramos was heading to her car. She tapped her unlock button on the keyfob and timed perfectly, her scream was cut off by the sound of the car unlocking and the engine starting. Tossed into the hood of the car, Dr. Ramos scrambled to her feet, shouting for help. 

She knew she was done when she felt the prick of a needle in the side of her neck. Not that he was delicate with his female victims, but he liked to watch the life leave their eyes as he cut open their necks. In disguise, Terry, laid her on the ground behind her car. His multi-gloved hand and arms had been secured as if he was headed into surgery. Done from the confines of his car, placed in a camera blind spot, he stepped into the elevator as normal. Only to come out masked, and unrecognizable. 

Dr. Ramos laid there, paralyzed and and scared. Unable to speak her eyes only watered as they pleaded for her life. The scalpel pressed to her neck, the tip cutting into her neck with ease. Yara didn't want him to do anything, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to. No one slighted his girl. 

"You knew I didn't want you." 

Dr. Ramos's mouth dropped open as he pressed the scalpel into her neck, he twisted once and used her coat to block the blood from splattering against his clothes. He did watch the light leave her eyes and the last breath as it left her lungs. She'd be found in the morning and by then, she'd be another scalpel in his bedroom. 

"You blood isn't even worth jacking off with." 

She found him packing up in his office. His back was to her, but she could see him gathering his things like they all were. With her shift finally over, Yara had talked herself into going for those drinks. She knocked on his open door. 

"Dr…I mean, Terry?" 

He looked up, surprised on his face, the specimen cup slipped down into his bag with practice ease. 

"You changed your mind?" 

Nodding, Yara fiddled with her hands. "Yeah, I mean, it's just drinks right?" 

It should have been just drinks. She ended up at his apartment beneath him in his bed. His hands were wandering beneath her shirt, hands tugging at her bra. Alcohol was on his breath, but the surgeon was sober and planning to get intoxicated on her pussy. 

"You smell so fucking good, baby," he moaned, his mouth traveling from her mouth to her neck and down her shoulder. "So fucking beautiful,' he hummed. 

His hands tugged down the cup of her bra and she arched her back as his thumb swiped across her nipple. Yara braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed. 

"Wait, Terry,' she whimpered, eyes clenching as his mouth wrapped around her nipple and sucked. 

His tongue was cold and wet, creating a matching wetness in her panties. His hand was so close to sliding into the black thong that had teased him earlier. She pushed against and he lifted his head, concern etched in his forehead. 

"I'm not hurting you am I?" He asked. 

He knew he was being rougher than he intended to, but he didn't think it was painful. Terry didn't want to hurt her but he was so excited to have her. He glanced up at the oil painting. All his hard work. 

"No, I'm not, it's just,' she flustered, tugging her shirt down after fixing her bra. "It's embarrassing,' she admitted, reaching over the side of his large bed for her shoes. 

He reached out and grabbed her arm. "What's wrong I thought you were into it?"

"I am…I mean I want to be,' she stood up with her shoes in her hands, hot cheeks, and embarrassment creeping up her chest. "I've….neverhadsexbefore…" 

That truth slammed into his chest hard. A part of him growled in appreciation for the information. The fun he had planned for her was magnified. 

"I wasn't expecting that." He admitted. 

"It's nothing against you Terry, I just wanted my first time to be more….special." 

Special. She was already special. Yara was the object of his desires and if she wanted to feel special then he'd do just that. Terry crawled off the bed and stood in front of her. 

"I'm sorry,' she said, "I should have said no to coming to your apartment." 

Terry shook his head. "I invited you here. I wanted you here. Had I known I wouldn't have been so eager." Her took her shoes and dropped them on the floor by his closet. "You want something to eat? I know a few places that are open this late." 

Yara knew she should leave. "You want me to stay? Even if we don't have sex?" 

"I'm not some horny teenage boy, Yara." He reaches around her for his phone off the dresser. "Think of it as our first of many dates." 

"Dates,' she repeated, more to herself. 

"Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel more than special, sweetheart." 

@nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo @virgomess @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch

@insertcatchynamerighthere @writingsbytee @pocketsizedpanther

[wildemaven]

dream with me…

You’ve been with Joel for a few years— not in that sense. You met him somewhere between outbreak day and Boston. Smugglers together under the guidance of Tess.

You were both hardened by the same thing— tormented by the fact that you both lost everything that meant the most to you.

The only difference between you both, you harbored feelings for a man who would never have the same for you.

It was on a failed smuggling operation that your life moving forward would change forever. You fumbled the job horribly, nearly getting yourself killed by a group of runners.

Joel had to save your ass. Wasted energy and time, Joel told you, costing you both to forfeit the rest of the job and head back empty handed.

You knew you fucked up and the tension that simmered upon arriving back was obvious. You attempted to smooth things over, apologize for your fuck up and promising to make up for the loss in any way possible.

‘I don’t care what you do, you almost got us killed. I’d be fine if we never spoke again’ was all Joel said to you before icing you out completely.

Tess tried to convince you to stay. Let everything blow over like it usually does. But you couldn’t bear to stay any longer, feeling like a walking hazard to the group. It was only time before you got hurt or worse— someone else would.

Tommy offered you to join him, as he was leaving in the morning to meet up with a group of fireflies heading west. You agreed, asking him to not tell anyone that you were leaving with him.

You took one last look at what had been home for you since arriving in Boston. Glancing at Joel’s closed door briefly, then slipping out undetected, before the sun even had a chance to shine over the QZ.

‘Tommy!!’

The whole town was stunned by the commotion. Tommy and a newcomer’s reunion on display for everyone to witness. Only to you this wasn’t a stranger.

You watched from behind a wall of people, happy to see the two brothers together again. It’s the first time you’d ever seen Joel smile in all the time you had known him.

Silently, you retreat from the crowd and excitement, hoping to remain undetected for the time being.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel was made aware of your presence immediately. Tommy giving him and the young girl that arrived with him a tour of the fenced in grounds, making sure to point out the home you had been residing in since joining the community.

It’s only a matter of time before your paths cross, but you kept your distance, quick steps and redirection, avoiding any and all interactions with Joel Miller.

One evening you’re making your way home from dinner with friends, knowing you had plenty of time before Joel would be joining Tommy and Maria in the same spot. The air cool and crisp as the sun descended behind the Jackson mountains.

Your name being called out by a familiar voice stops you in your tracks. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest listening to the crunch of gravel beneath his boots as he walks closer.

‘Jus’ wanted to come say hi ‘n see how you’ve been. Seen you around here ‘n there. Seems like you’ve been avoidin’ me though.’

You turn to face him fully. He’s a much older version of himself. Greyed and still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

‘I’m fine, Joel. Just makin’ sure I keep up my end of the bargain— with never speakin’ again and all.’

That’s all you manage to get out before you turn and head up the path to your home and closing the door behind you.

Anywho. This was a dream I had last night and it’s been bouncing around my noggin most of the day. Of course it would end on a cliffhanger like that too.

[just-some-trans-nobody]

Naga boyfriend head cannons

Gender neutral reader

Warnings:light NSFW, brief mention of kink choking, biting, mentions of eating rodents, snakes

Minors Don't Interact!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

You are his personal heater I'm sorry I don't make the rules. Your body is warm and he wants that warm. It's a bonus that it comes from you, he loves you.

Ha you have cold hands? So does he don't worry about it.

Oh you have warm hands? Let him hold them. Hold his face in your hands he will melt into them this poor touch starved man.

At the start of the relationship he couldn't stand you touching him. It wasn't that he hated when you touched him oh no no no he absolutely loves when you touch him. He's just scared he's not used to being touched so gently before and he's terrified that he'll hurt you with his large size and not realize it. It doesn't help that once he started to get sexual feelings for you everytime you touched hin turned him on. Your pinkie could have lightly grazed his shoulder and he would hve grown aroused.

Further into the relationship he knows how much you can handle you and will absolutely man handle you. You'll be walking past him and he'll use his tail to swoop you in so he can cuddle you. He still gets turned on real easy but it's more tame now. Doesn't mean he won't be tame when having sex though.

Home boy is kinky will choke you if your also into and biting is a must. If it's agreed too and he's not venomous he'd love to bite you, really sink his fangs in. There will be times you'll be completely wrapped up in his tail will he fucks you.

If you manage to top him he'll be leaning on his own tail draped out on it begging and panting. He didn't know he could be so sensitive before.

Times he's being a grumpy pants he'll snap right out of it if told you'd top him. Instant good mood.

Whenever it gets even slightly cold he's super clingy. Will do grabby hands at you until you set down whatever your working on and come cuddle him.

Owns 700 heating blanket, hope one or both of you have a good paying job cause the electric bill is oit if this world.

Don't insult him by offering to feed him mice or rats thats gross. Guinea pigs have more meat on them any way. Just give him a BLT you weirdo he eats normal foods.

Hates broccoli though. Introduce him to cheesy broccoli and it's a whole new ball park for him.

Will be so confused on why you have a pet reptile, doesn't see the appeal.

Pet snake you say? Your mistake that's your guys child. Will refer to as himself as dad when talking to the snake.

"Now Junior be a good boy for dad and let me change out your water. Junior? Junior please get out of your water... Yes I see you blowing bubbles it's very cute."

The snakes name isn't junior he just keeps calling him junior.

Will get himself a shirt saying number one dad and wear it any time he picks the snake up.

Loves soaking in the tub, join him he'll love it.

He'll wash your hair and die from bliss if you wash his it feels so good.

Shedding is a cranky embarrassing time for him please be patient he's feeling very uncomfortable. If it's early in the relationship he won't want you near him, it's not you it's him he's not comfortable enough to have anyone bear him during this vulnerable time. If it is further into the relationship he'll be more comfortable with you being around him but just don't get to close to him, just be there for emotional support. Now if the relationship is a good amount of years in he'll act all spoiled asking you to peal his shed off for him after he soaked for a few hours at the least. He'll get all whinny and clingy demanding cuddles and snacks.

Bundling in a ball with way to many heated blankets on, this man is a fire hazard. Fire men hate him.

Can't cook for shit. Will order every meal out if you let him. Hates doing the dishes but he's good at vacuuming and dusting. Likes tidying up, not a fan of messes. He'll make sure he does his fair share of the chores and if he sees your having a bad day he'll take on more chores. Will buy your your favorite foods and snacks in hopes of making you feel better.

[thepixelelf]

superhero cheol x tech whiz reader warnings: coarse language. food. wc: 1.0k

[anonymous nights] As Seungcheol ducked behind the world’s most disgusting, foul-smelling, gag-inducing dumpster, he thought this was perhaps — no, definitely — the worst idea you’d ever had. His full-head mask was starting to itch, and he felt stupid in his suit sneaking through alleys and hiding behind trash cans.

“Remind me again why I’m following this random ass dude instead of Seo Jewon? What happened to catching the city’s ‘fourth most dangerous villain’?”

A bit of static tickled Seungcheol’s ear through the communication device implanted in his suit, which he knew meant you were getting further and further away the more he pursued the target. He had no idea where you parked your small van, aside from knowing it was somewhere in the city — a precaution put in place so Seungcheol would never be able to give away your location. Or, more accurately, so he wouldn’t risk losing the petabytes of information you’d collected over the years.

“Seo Jewon was a total red herring, this is our real guy,” you said through his earpiece.

The man he was following kept walking, and Seungcheol almost thanked him because he had to get away from whatever was polluting that dumpster. “And you know that because…?”

“Hey, who’s the brains of this operation?” You sounded slightly garbled, but Seungcheol could hear your mouse clicking in the background. “That’s right, me.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes even though he knew you couldn’t see it.

“I can feel you rolling your eyes, Solar Flare.”

Okay, maybe not.

“How do you always do that?”

He could hear your smile through the device. Maybe it wasn’t so hard. “I told you. Brains.” You tapped your mic twice, and Seungcheol winced at the plosive sound. He was about to complain when you spoke again. “Eyes up, Solar, you’re losing him.”

Glancing around, Seungcheol realized he did, in fact, lose track of the target, and he cursed under his breath. He heard you holding back laughter before you muted yourself. Picking up the pace and getting heavier on his feet, Seungcheol searched for your supposed ‘true villain’. Your silence only spurred him on; he knew you were making fun of him in your head.

You’d been assigned to him about a year ago, a decision made by the higher-ups because Seungcheol was apparently “too much of a handful” with his fiery powers (plus an equally fiery attitude), and you were the prodigious tech newbie they could force into working with him. Little did they know, spending too much time with him made you just as annoying. Hence why you and him were out tonight, chasing a completely new suspect instead of the one the bosses sent you after.

“Check your two o’clock.”

Seungcheol slipped into another alleyway, sticking close to the walls, though a load of good that did. “You know,” he said, a little breathless from his efforts to catch up to the target, “it might be a bit easier for me to tail this guy if I wasn’t dressed like Guy Fieri.”

“Hey, I didn’t design the suit, I just built it.” Your words sounded weird again. “Blame the fashion department, not me.”

“Okay, one, we don’t have a fashion department, and two, are eating cup fucking ramen right now?”

He could hear you slurping noodles up. “What? I can’t have dinner and save the city at the same time?”

“Dinner?! It’s like one in the morning!”

“I'm a busy sidekick.”

“You are not my sidekick.”

You snorted into the mic, an undignified sound you never held back from making when it was just you and Seungcheol. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“Whatever. Tell me you at least had breakfast.” The line went silent, and Seungcheol cursed again. “You’re a hazard.”

Seungcheol could feel your greasy smile through the comm as you cooed. “I’m your hazard, Solar Flare.”

After working together for almost a year, you still hadn’t called Seungcheol by his name. You said it was “keeping things professional”, but Seungcheol was pretty sure you just liked to tease him. Before you, no one had ever made jokes about his destructive superpowers. In fact, most people stayed away from him as much as possible. Then you came along and started saying he was your personal barbecue grill or space heater, never once afraid of his tendency to catch things on fire.

Seungcheol never told you how much he appreciated that.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“You lost him again.”

“God damn it.”

Seungcheol spent the next twenty minutes tailing your suspect through the city with you piping in every few turns, letting him know what he couldn’t see. He was beginning to think this was stupid. Of course this guy wasn’t the culprit, you must have been wrong — it wasn’t like you’d never been wrong before.

But then the guy turned a corner where almost no one ever went. He walked through another totally gross alley and went down some rusted outdoor basement stairs, glancing around. Almost like he didn’t want to be followed. Seungcheol silently pleaded it wasn’t what it looked like. (Though he probably shouldn’t have, considering this meant he was about to catch the bad guy.)

After the man entered the door, Seungcheol walked up to it, peering through the tiny barred window. He couldn’t see anything, so he opened the door just a crack and stepped through as quietly as he could. A dark hallway was all that greeted him, but down it, he could hear angry voices going at each other over something he couldn’t quite make out. Peeking out of the hallway, Seungcheol immediately retracted when he saw everything. A bunch of men and piles and piles of… well he didn’t know exactly what, but it didn’t look good.

“I fucking knew it!” you cheered through his earpiece. You must’ve already taken a picture during the millisecond Seungcheol had poked his head out and scanned it. “Alright, I’m calling backup.”

“What’s our cover story tonight? That I just so happened to stumble across the city’s fourth most dangerous secret lair?”

You clacked away at your keyboard. “No cover story this time. I found this guy fair and square.”

part 2 | part 3

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

I WON'T TELL IF YOU WON'T

KINKTOBER DAY 6 - PROFESSOR AU WITH CILLIAN MURPHY

Pairing.| Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

Summary.| You’re Professor Murphy’s star student and play on his obvious obsession with you. But when he eavesdrops on a secret of yours, he has to mark you as his.

Warnings.| Dubcon, noncon, head f!receiving, groping, manipulative, blackmail, Cillian a creep.

Word count.| 2.6k

You were a teacher’s pet. It was in your female nature to grovel to those men in power. Your future depends on it hence why you need to take every opportunity you could. Professor Murphy, your literature teacher had a spellbinding fixation on you. You were his unsaid favorite student. You knew Mr Murphy had the hots for you from day one. It was a different kind of confidence boost you craved everytime you walked into his class. 

It was a dirty pleasure of yours, being a tease. It’s common for you to act in such a way, many other women do. Women desire male attention to feel validated, to feel good about themselves. A lot of the time it’s based on their raising, a lack of parenthood as an example. 

Mr Murphy would bend at the knee for you. He always had your best interest in class. You’d receive extra help from him without asking. He’d reply to your emails in a snap. Your little mistakes on your assignments would also go unnoticed by him. In return, you dressed flatteringly for him. Short skirts and cleavage showing every lecture, just for his ogling eyes. 

Flirting with him was a piece of cake, and he licked his lips clean every single damn time. Sometimes you’d brush your fingers over his. Grab onto his shoulder as you leant over him to point something out. But who really gave a shit. He pretended to be too much of a gentleman to bring to light your subtle advances, but really he was too horny to brush away those opportunities. It made him miss his youth a bit too much.

But one day you made the dumb decision of being too open in front of your professor. An urge inside of you wanted him to hear - because you knew he was already listening - that you were still a virgin. Your tongue dript of so much dignity, pride and amour propre that it would be considered a slipping hazard. A rush of adrenaline clouded your logical judgment. It’s normal to act with emotions over maturity, even at your age.

Of course your eyes have seen a couple of cocks in your life. Your hands and mouth have touched them, but you refused to a man touch you, let alone fuck you. Truth was, you were iffy with having a man inside of you. Someone touching you in that manner made you feel dirty. The longer you waited from puberty, the less you desired to do it. Your self-esteem ended up relying on your state of virginity.

When his class was dismissed, Professor Murphy couldn’t pull out his aching dick quick enough as he fisted himself behind his desk. Quicker than anticipated, he spurted out his white seed against the draw as he panted heavily, his chest heaving. He grumbled your name over and over, craving you to be underneath him.  

His mind was a drawing board on how to devour you. There were so many possibilities, but all could have severe consequences if he acted through his primal needs. But now, Professor Murphy knew that he had to act quick. A fellow classmate has captured your attention. William was kind, funny, considerate, and promising. Not to mention, a great kisser. But you were still too subconscious to let him touch you that explicitly. You started sitting next to him in class, he was distracting you a lot. Your attention on Mr Murphy lowered. Do you wonder how Mr Murphy felt?

His blood boiled. He was ready to commit murder at that moment. But no, he just had to act quicker and sharper. He had to confess, you had to confess, your binding love for one another. It was understanding, why would you admit such a thing on your own? Professor Murphy understood how anxious and restricting you would be on your thoughts towards him, towards being together. 

Yet, he couldn’t help but to wonder if you were trying to move on or trying to make him jealous. Both seemed to be logical. Either you couldn’t deal with the pain of wanting a man you couldn’t have or you wanted to make him break his moral code, his legal obligation. You got a reaction out of him, that’s for sure. 

His emotions got the better of him however. He was a harsh critic of your recent assignment, clearly shown through his final mark. You’ve never failed at anything before. Not only was it a massive smack to your ego, your scholarship depended on it. It made you angry, frustrated and anxious. So you had to know how on earth you could have failed. 

As you stood before him, you went unnoticed. It was a first, him not noticing you. The insecurity weighed down on you. Like everyone sitting in the room was watching you. “Sir, I don’t understand my mark” you mumbled, fingers twirling with one another as you stood before him sitting at his desk. 

He took a moment to acknowledge you before he even spoke. “I suppose I could go over it in detail with you” he replied, his no eye contact and no emotional tone left you dumbfounded. “But I wouldn’t be available until after my meetings after school hours” he added, finally making eye contact with you.

No, you had to be in over your head right now. He was not making a sexual advance on you. That anxious mind of yours was thinking of the worst possible outcomes. But his dark expression told you otherwise. 

“I suppose I could give you a call when you’re free” you half offered, half begged since your dignity and desperation fought with each other. 

“It would be easier doing it in person” he counted, fuck. “Just drop by my office after seven” he said carelessly, not phased if any other student would hear. Your heart started pounding. He spoke as if you were already consenting to this. How were you meant to reply to that? “Is that all?” Mr Murphy asked, a small grin on his lips. You nodded your head and did the  walk of shame back to your seat. 

You couldn’t look at him for the rest of the class. It made you feel nauseous and your skin was crawling. But he had no shame in watching you. Those gorgeous blue eyes of his was picturing fucking you in every position possible. 

Later in the day, you walked the deserted halls. Your mary jane shoes clanked over the polished floors. No one was at school at this time since it was a Friday. You could hear your footsteps echo down the hallways. With a hesitant thought, you knocked on his office door. He called you in, the door creaked open. 

“Hi there” he smiled, sitting behind his desk, the only source of lighting was his desk lamp. All of the blinds were shut. As you began to walk to the desk, he stopped you, “shut the door behind you, love”. Obediently doing as you were told, you shut the door slowly, your hand placed firmly on the knob. “Now, lock it” he ordered. You don’t know why you did it. Maybe because you were intimidated, anxious of what he would have done if you didn’t. Or maybe because it made your core naturally clench. “Come here” he gestured, you did, there was usually a pair of chairs in front of his desk but they were out of sight. Walking up to him, your teacher turned his seat to face you, legs wide open, silence filled the room. 

“Come on” he grinned, his hand patting his slim thigh.

“Professor” you whimpered.  

“Do what your professor tells you” he sighed, a hint of frustration in his tone as he patted his thigh on a slow heavy beat. 

“I thought we were going to go over my mark” you responded through a clenched jaw, refusing to make eye contact with him. 

“We can do that later” he said blankly. 

“I want to do it now” you whimpered, finding it hard to keep your guard up, your posture curling forward. “This is what I came over for, remember?” You tried to show some sternness, remembering you still had to have some power over him. His expression was as cold as ice. 

“Fine, you were sloppy. Your piece lacked creativity. I’ve never read something more rushed, do you know how many grammar issues I found?” he spat. You felt yourself tear up, not sure if it’s because of his tone or the fact that you were always a high achiever. Out of the blue he added a ultimatum, “I haven’t entered it yet, if you submit to me, then I’ll give you a more generous mark”. His eyes were dark and tone was blank. 

You gasped out and took a large step back. Professor Murphy stood from his seat abruptly, making you flinch. 

“No- I, I can’t do that. That’s wrong” you shook your head, hiding your tempting body with your arms. 

Mr Murphy sighed, his eyes lingering up and down your perfect figure. His mouth always frothed over when he saw you wear that beige pleated tennis skirt with the white see through blouse. 

“I won’t tell… Will you?” He cocked an eyebrow, head tilted as he carefully stepped towards you, as if you were a timid animal. 

“No” you replied softly. 

“Then what’s wrong?” Mr Murphy pulled a face. 

“I’ve never had sex before” you whimpered. 

“I know baby, I know. You said that knowing I’d hear you. A cry out in hopes that I would claim you. The clouds have rained a blessing for us both. I can’t wait any longer, I can’t risk you acting foolishly with anyone” he mumbled slightly towards the end. “I know you have feelings towards me” he brought to light. “And I want you to know that I reciprocate those feelings” a gentle sigh escaped his lips. 

As the distance closed in, Mr Murphy grabbed onto your hands and placed them on his beating chest. His expression was hidden by the dark, your face scrunched as you tried to decipher anything. Your heavy breathing filled the room, your ears felt blocked as you blinked with teary eyes. Slowly, he placed his hand on your heartbeat, but gradually his hand began to roam across your breasts. His other hand snaked around the small of your back, his fingers cautiously tugging your shirt out of your skirt. 

“You can’t help but to feel subconscious over your attraction towards me. It’s taboo after all, you’re so young. You still have a life to live. I’d want to get over it as well, it must hold you back so much” another sigh, a gentle smile on his lips. “But I’m here, right now. I need you to know that. That it’s me here” he said unsmiling now, his grip on your back much tighter than before. 

“I don’t want to fuck you!” you shrieked, your lips trembling. It was all a joke, it was just fun to tease him, with all of them. After trying to rip yourself out of his firm hold, you lost balance and fell onto your backside. 

You never could have predicted him to be so obsessed, so insane even though it was as clear as daylight. It terrified that he felt this way about you. Mr Murphy acted swiftly and pounced at you before you could get up. He pinned you down, your head whacked against the floorboards. You cried and thrashed to break free but it was no use when his hand smacked over your open mouth. “Why are you fighting me? You wanted this didn’t you!” Mr Murphy hissed with frustration. Hushing you of your muffled cries, he held you still until you managed to calm down.

“Now, don’t be a fucking prickteaser” he spat by your ear. “Sick of your fucking vamping, when I was so good to you” he mumbled as he started kissing your neck. You whined underneath him, still squirming like crazy, but he held you down with ease. “Now, be a good girl and stay quiet otherwise I’m going to have to spank you” he warned, a cheeky grin on his lips. His clamped hand slipped down, his fingers brushed over your wobbly lips. 

“Please sir, I don’t like this” you cried, keeping your volume down low. Mr Murphy started cooing you and brushed your hair to the side. 

“Hey, you’re stressing over nothing. I’m going to take care of you, okay baby?” Mr Murphy assured. His expression was unhinged but tone was kind. 

The only way you could respond to that was by quietly crying more. There were so many things going unnoticed by you, like how badly your body was shaking or how your core was squeezing like crazy. Admiring your face, Mr Murphy slid his hand down to your breasts and began kneading them, you bit your lower lip. 

“Such a good girl” he praised. “Always dressing up for me, looking sexy, just to make me happy” he grinned. “So your cunt is untouched mhm?” He questioned with his hands unbuttoning your shirt, exposing your cream bra. 

“Y-yes” you whimpered. 

“Good girl, you were saving yourself for someone special, for me right?” Mr Murphy asked, a sinister look on him. 

“Yes” you unwillingly repeat yourself. A soft moan fell off your lips as he played with your tits roughly. 

Slapping both of them harshly, you shrieked as he rode up your skirt, revealing your matching panties. “You did this on purpose yeah?” He mumbled with a grin. To keep him happy, you nodded. 

Slowly, he slid down your panties, you whined, heart racing and throat tightening as he pulled your panties off complete. Mr Murphy hushed you and slid down to practically lay on his chest as he took your thighs to wrap around his head. His ass was poking up like a slut, legs planted widely apart as he admired your gorgeous cunt in the dim lighting. The first lick was slow, he grumbled as you yelped at the sensation that ran up your skin. The next lick was deeper but quicker, Mr Murphy’s eyes rolled back, his cock twitching in his pants. Fingernails digging into your bare skin, you tried to grip onto the floorboards but found your hands slipping too much for your liking, resulting in you gripping onto his luscious, dark hair. 

His tongue slipped along your slit, your core was gushing now. Whimpering against his tongue, you found your back arching and hips locking up onto his mouth. Circles around your clit, up, down and zig zagging along your slit, deep inside your canal, Mr Murphy’s tongue was attacking your cunt in every movement. Your sweet, soft moans were music to his ears. 

Your walls began pulsing around his tongue, your legs shaking like crazy and your words unable to form a sentence. Nose deep into your cunt, your teacher started moaning into you, the vibrations made you yelp. With a massive pop sound, he pulled his mouth away from your cunt. 

“Does my sweet girl want to finish?” He smugly asked, his fingers slipping over your folds. You nodded instantly, hips moving up higher to him. Mr Murphy chuckled, a finger slowly slipping inside of you. You mewled, his tongue warmed you up but it still hurt to have his finger inside of you. “You’re gonna have to get used to my fingers first if you want to come. God, how are you going to react when you feel my cock inside of you?” he pursed one’s lips.  

[witchygagirlwrites]

Not Him

Jay Halstead x Reader

You love your job in intelligence. It provides it's challenges along the way though and the biggest one proves to be that you and your partner can't get along.

Rivals to lovers 👀 I'd say I'm sorry for how feral this man makes me but I'm not.

You enjoyed working in intelligence. Voight was a bit of a hard ass but if you were one of his detectives he would go to bat for you if something happened. You handled some of the hardest cases to hit the CPD and was a pretty well respected unit.

You loved working out of the twenty first, Trudy ran a tight ship of her house and it always ran fairly smoothly. You were long time friends with Kim, Adam and Kevin and it hadn't taken long for a friendship to form between you and Hailey.

All in all it should seem besides the hazards of your job you should be happy in it. You probably would be if it wasn't for the fact that you and your partner couldn't get along for over five minutes if your lives weren't currently on the line.

Jay was a damn good cop. He went above and beyond at his job and you trusted him with your life when it came down to it but that didn't change the fact that when danger wasn't in the equation you two were constantly at each other's throats.

“For fucks sake Halstead!” For a second you considered just how pissed Voight would get if you aimed your coffee for the back of Jay's head as the two of you walked up the stairs. He'd purposely held the gate until you were almost to it then let it slam shut in your face.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, a smirk slipping onto his face “If your short ass throws that coffee at me I'm moving all of your gear onto the top shelf” 

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the coffee to emphasize the fact that you clearly weren't going to do that, annoyed that he'd yet again been able to anticipate what you were thinking.

He raised an eyebrow at you before heading towards his desk. You headed towards yours, smiling when Hailey told you good morning “Morning Hails. At least you know how to talk to a partner” you glared across the room at Jay who smirked “Aww did I hurt your feelings? Admit it and I'll apologize”

“You know what…” you started but was interrupted by Voight coming out of his office “Alright, listen up” 

_________________

You moved around your desk to sit on the edge of it as he ran down the most recent case. There were guns coming in, highly modified, highly illegal guns. Someone had to go under to pose as a buyer so all of you could trace them back to the source and hit the high man on the totem pole instead of just the salesperson.

He pointed at Jay “Halstead you're up on this. You fit the mark” “Pretentious white guy?” You asked which earned you matching glares from Voight and Jay but a muffled laugh from Kim. 

Voight turned his eyes on you “I wouldn't get ahead of myself sweetheart. Your partner needs backup. You're going under as his wife”

“Yes sir” you replied, knowing you'd pushed too far from his tone. You cut your eyes at Jay who was already staring you down “C.I. is gonna set the initial meet for tomorrow night. You two get your story straight and get ready” Voight ordered before going into a preraid plan.

Great. You and Jay had to act like a married couple, undercover which meant trying to avoid a dangerous situation. How the hell were you gonna make it through without killing each other?

Kim was helping you to get ready and Hailey was wiring you up. Voight gave you three the use of the tech room while Jay was upstairs using the locker room.

“Try not to kill him?” Kim asked as she put the final touches on your hair. “I don't kill suspects for no reason Kim, damn” Hailey glanced up from where she was running the wire along your bra “She means Jay”

You cracked a laugh “Oh, no promises on that one” they both shook their heads. “You two are ridiculous” Kim laughed so you shrugged, trying to think of a reply other than “He started it”

“He's insufferable” you scoffed and they shared a look before laughing again. A knock at the door made all three of you look before Kevin's voice drifted through “Hey, yall ready?” 

“Come on in Kev. I'm dressed!” You hollered and he opened the door. He let his eyes flit over you then nodded “Damn, you clean up good” you put one hand on your hip and looked at Kim “Was that a compliment or insult? Felt like it could go either way” 

She laughed as Kevin started to backpedal “No…I just meant” “Easy Kevin. I'm messing with you” you laughed, grabbing your jacket off the desk.

You followed Kevin out into roll up with Hailey and Kim following the two of you. “Where's Jay?” You asked and his voice came from behind you “Right here”

You turned around and tried to not let your eyes wander. Jay was an asshole to you ninety percent of the time but damn if he wasn't the most gorgeous man you'd ever laid your eyes on. The fitted black suit he wore hugged his shoulders beautifully, the stark white shirt making his eyes seem an even brighter shade of blue. 

You swallowed hard and turned your eyes to Voight who had just walked down the stairs “What's the play boss?” 

You sat in the passenger seat of the Ashton Martin that was being used as Jay's car. It felt insane being in a car that would pay off your mortgage but that was your job.

Jay bumped your arm over the console “Act like it's your husband's car. You're too damn stiff” you glanced towards him, watching as he steered the car through the busy street confidently as if it didn't cost what it cost. 

You didn't want to admit the act of confidence was sexy in itself. “Maybe I'd be less stiff if I liked my husband?” You teased, turning your head to look at him. 

His jaw clenched tightly before he said “I want to choke the life out of you half the time and yet I can act like I am an adoring husband" you raised an eyebrow “That's kinda kinky of you to say Jay, not gonna lie” and was rewarded with a light blush gracing his cheeks. Luckily your coms weren't active until you got to the meet so no-one else heard that little comment.

He shook his head “You're a fucking pain in my ass” You grinned “right back at ya partner” then settled into the seat, smoothing your dress down your legs. You noticed his eyes flicker your way when you adjusted the long slit that was on the side and smirked to yourself.

The slit was the selling point. Made your legs easier to use over a dress this style without one. Now you were thinking it had a different selling point if it helped you torment Jay. 

Jay's fingers dug into your hips to the point you knew that you'd have bruises come morning. Thankfully you were single because damn that would be hard to explain.

“What's wrong baby?” He whispered into the shell of your right ear, low enough the suspect or com wouldn't pick it up.  “I hate being in your presence, I hope you know that.” you replied in the same tone and he grinned adjusting his thigh that was under you just enough a gasp of surprise left you  “You’re literally sitting half on my lap.” “Because there is nowhere else to sit!” you bit back before the suspect started talking about the actual sale that demanded both of yours full attention.

________________

By the time you were able to leave the meet you were fairly certain you very well may murder Jay.

The sale was set with the pretense that the big boss had to be there. He would call Jay and it would go from there.

You sat down in the passenger seat of the Ashton Martin and this time nearly melted into the seat. Jay pulled out onto the road and cut his eyes at you “You seem relaxed now” you glared at him “What the fuck was that about?”

He shrugged “Honestly? It was funny as hell to watch you squirm after I saw you checking me out back at the precinct” your mouth fell open “I was not” he chuckled “It's ok partner. You can look”

“You’re not that good looking, alright?” you damn near growled and he basically fucking preened “So you admit I’m good looking?” “What? N-no. Never.” You kicked yourself when you stammered. 

He pulled to a stop at a red light and turned his head to look at you. His eyes drifted from yours down to your neck then followed the low neckline of your dress “I'm looking so what's the shame in you looking?”

Before you could respond the light turned green and he pulled away. You clenched your thighs together, trying to soothe the ache his words and the weight of his stare had caused. So this was his newest torment? Oh you could play that game.

 

Ok, so maybe you didn't have to slip in front of Jay to grab a cup of coffee. It was the last cup and he had already had two. You overestimated the amount of room however and felt his hips bump into yours, his crotch effectively being pressed against your ass.

You looked over your shoulder up at him and the fire in his eyes made you bite your cheek to keep from making a noise. “Wanting me to bend you over that bad?” He asked low and you glared at him “Shut up before I-” he leaned down to the point his body was nearly folded over yours  “Before you what, huh? No, say it. Let me see if you can finish that sent-” 

With no other idea you grabbed one of the mini muffins Kim had bought in that morning and shoved it into his mouth, using the shock of the moment to untangle yourself from him. 

He shook his head, chewing the muffin as he laughed. You weren't sure where this little game was headed but you were damn sure playing with fire because you had just nearly folded like a $2 lawn chair in a hurricane.

 

You were sitting in the passenger seat of Jay's truck, trying to ignore his eyes on you. The two of you were sitting on a C.I. for Voight 

“When's the last time you dated anyone?” He asked breaking the silence and you laughed sharply “Dated or fucked, which we talking here?”

His smirk dropped “When's the last time you fucked someone?” Your tongue slipped out to wet your bottom lip, your clit throbbing when you saw his eyes track the movement. “A few months ago” you admitted honestly, despite knowing this was so far off conversation you should be having with him.

“Explains why you're so bitchy” he shrugged. You felt anger flicker to life in your stomach “Fuck you Jay. You're not exactly a ray of sunshine either there partner” 

He adjusted down in the seat, the movement pulling your eyes to his crotch and you mentally kicked yourself for doing such. “Maybe I need a good fuck too and it's a pain in the ass to constantly be stuck in close quarters with you when all I can think about is the fact that you wouldn't be able to bitch at me if your face was down in my bed”

“Jay!” You gasped and he smirked “What? C'mon you've never thought about fucking me? Not once” you turned your face to look out of the window and he laughed “I fuckin knew it. I bet you'd let me fuck you here in my truck if I asked”

Your head snapped towards him “Halstead, tow the line” he leaned over the console “You're thinking about it huh? My hands on your body, finally feeling my lips on your skin, the way my dick would feel buried in that pretty little pussy..” 

“Jay” you warned low and he called your name to get you to meet his eyes “Tell me you don't want me and I'll drop it. I swear”

When you didn't reply he slipped one hand over to rest on the thigh closest to him “Patrol car will be here any minute to relieve us. I can take you home and we can act like this conversation never happened or..”

“Or?” You asked, your legs unconsciously falling open a little further as if to invite his touch. He smirked when he clocked the movement “Or you come home with me”

 

What were you thinking? What the hell were you thinking? That was the only thing going through your mind as you followed Jay through the hall to his apartment.

You stood back while he unlocked the door then cut his eyes at you “Second thoughts princess?” You shook your head because no matter how bad of an idea this was you wanted it.

He smirked “Give me words baby. Before you ever step foot into my place I wanna hear you say it” you took a step closer to him, hands coming to rest on his belt before raising your eyes to meet his “I want you Jay”

“Fuck” he groaned and the next thing you knew he was crouching to scoop you up with both hands under your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he stepped into his apartment, kicking the door closed before slamming you back against it.

_______________

The look in his eyes made you roll your bottom lip between your teeth “You're so damn beautiful. Do you know how fucking much you annoy me?” He asked before slipping a knee between your thighs, bringing your body down to roll your hips along his thigh, putting just the right amount of pressure on your throbbing core.

When you moaned lightly he chuckled “Listen at that. You sound so fucking sweet” you glared at him “You're an asshole” he grinned “and yet you're in my arms” before he caught your lips with his. The kiss was hungry, hard and bruising. Everything you knew it would be but damn you needed more.

Your fingers dug into his biceps, trying to find something to ground yourself because it was not fair this insufferable man had you on the verge of an orgasm from kissing and his thigh. He grinned against your lips, dragging your body down his leg again and you moaned “Fuck Jay”

One of his hands slipped between your thighs, pressing hard on your clothed core. One swipe was all it took for your back to arch off the door “Damn darlin” he muttered and kept teasing at you, your breathing quickening with every swipe.

You could feel the orgasm building and when he dropped his head down to bite across your neck that was all it took to push you over that edge,making you shake lightly under him. 

He pulled back and grinned at you “You look so pretty shaking under me. I'm gonna have to see a lot more of that before I'm through with you”

He readjusted to get you back in his arms, you wrapped your legs around him, feeling the tremor in your thighs. He grinned, lips finding yours again as he walked towards his bedroom. He moved from your lips to your neck, kissing and biting the skin. Half of your brain said to tell him not to mark you but the other half knew if you did he would definitely mark you.

He dropped you unceremoniously onto his bed but before you had time to bitch he was back on you. His lips tasted better than any damn liquor and was twice as intoxicating. 

He rocked back on his heels, tugging your shoes off and tossing them behind him before reaching for your jeans. “Take your shirt off” he spoke low, eyes never leaving yours. 

Any other time you would've argued but you found yourself eagerly tugging your shirt over your head. He laughed lightly “Give her one orgasm and she suddenly listens”

The moment you were down to just your bra and panties he licked his lips “Fuck you are gorgeous” he slipped his shirt off along with kicking his shoes off then crawled up your body, kissing and teasing every inch of skin along the way. 

When he got to your lips the kiss he gave you was more tongue than anything and you moaned, nails gracing his shoulders in an effort to pull him closer. You'd seen him shirtless more than once but this time you could touch his skin, taste it.

When you pulled away from the kiss he eyed you for a moment before you tilted his head to let your lips find his neck. You'd always loved Jay's neck. Too many days you'd dreamt about tasting the skin there. You kissed across his pulse point, then bit down lightly and he moaned out your name, clothed hips rutting down into yours.

You kissed across his collarbone, biting and licking along the way. The soft sounds coming from him were heavenly. When you got to the other side of his neck he suddenly grabbed both of your hands and pinned them over your head in one of his. You met his eyes and he grinned before he started to kiss across your neck, his bites light enough to not leave marks but heavy enough to pull gasps from your lips. 

By the time he got down to your chest you were a frustrated mess. You squirmed against his grip on your arms as he used his free hand to reach under you to unsnap your bra, tossing it to the side. “Jay let me go” you demanded and he cut his eyes up at you before rolling one nipple between his teeth. A moan left you and you pulled at your hands again, trying to free them. 

“Jay fucking let go of my damn hands!” you all but yelled and he immediately loosened his grip. You grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back up to your lips. “Do that shit again and I swear I will fucking put my clothes back on and go to Mollys to find someone to finish what you started” 

His eyes darkened at your threat and he nipped at your bottom lip “Why are you always so damn mean?” you smiled up at him as sweetly as you could manage “Your brother thinks I’m a sweetheart” 

His eyes flew up to yours and just the look in them made you clench around nothing “Well by all means sweetheart if you think you’re with the wrong brother feel free to leave” one of his hands came up to wrap loosely around your throat before he leaned down to whisper in your ear “But Will can’t fuck you like I can. I can promise you that”

“Prove it” you whispered and he shook his head “Can’t wait to fuck the bitch right out of you” his hand slipped down under your panties and you moaned loudly when one thick finger slipped into you, followed by a second. “Hmm doesn’t sound like you want someone else” he muttered, curling his fingers so he could brush against that spot deep inside of you.

When he hit it your back arched off the bed and he chuckled “There it is” he continued to pump his fingers into you, adding his thumb down to rub tight circles onto your clit. Your hands gripped his comforter as gasps of his name fell from your lips, your orgasm slamming into you. He worked you through it, coaxing you with praises of “Damn you look pretty like this” “Feel so good squeezing my fingers”

When it became too much you shoved at his wrist and he pulled his hand away, sucking his fingers clean as he held your gaze. “Taste as pretty as you sound” he moved down the bed,laying between your spread legs.

The sight of Jay Halstead between your legs was enough to make you fall apart on its own. He winked at you before gripping your panties to pull them off your legs. He tossed them across the room. One finger teased at your slit “Look at that pretty little pussy” he brushed his finger across your clit and your head fell back against the pillows.

He lowered his mouth to you and the first lick had your eyes rolling back. He worked his tongue across your clit, his fingers pushing into you and finding that spongy spot that had your legs clamping around his head.  You could feel another orgasm building and when he barely grazed his teeth across the sensitive bud the building pressure burst. Your vision went soft around the edges and your legs were quivering around him.

He left a kiss on your inner thigh before pulling back to look up at you with a cocky smirk “How ya feeling partner?” you glared at him weakly “Fuck you Jay” he grinned “Is that an offer?” you shook your head “Take your jeans off and get up here”

He pushed them off his hips “Normally I wouldn’t take orders from you” when he kicked them and his boxers away you felt your mouth go dry. He looked like he was sculpted by the damn greek gods as a personal favor “Like what you see?” he asked and you shook your head “I’m liking it so far”

He pulled you down closer to him, kissing his way up your body until he got back to your lips. When he kissed you, you could taste yourself and that made a moan escape you. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh. “Are you clean?” you asked and he chuckled, kissing along your neck “Just had a physical last month” 

“Then fuck me Halstead, damn” he bit down on the bend of your neck as the head of his cock pushed into you. “Fucking bossy” you couldn’t attempt to say anything back as he slowly pushed into you, the feeling of him stretching you around him was nearly overwhelming.

Once he was fully inside of you,his hips resting against yours he pushed your hair back out of your face and looked into your eyes for a moment “You still with me?” you smiled “I’m good”

He brushed his lips against yours and gave a tentative thrust of his hips. When you hooked your legs up around his waist he chuckled against your mouth “Impatient” he gripped one of your hips tightly and gave a sharp thrust of his hips, snapping them into yours. 

“Like that Jay, please” you gasped and he grinned “Dammit sweetheart” and buried his face in your neck as he found a hard pace, hips slamming into yours hard enough you could vaguely hear the headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust.

Your nails dug into his back, his hips burying into you hitting that spot with every thrust. You could feel another orgasm building already. One of his hands slipped between your bodies to play with your clit, rubbing heavy circles. You screamed his name as you came, nails digging into his flesh. He gave a few more hard thrusts then buried himself inside of you, you could feel him coating your walls, pumping some back out with his thrusts. 

He slowed once he finished and all but collapsed on top of you,both of your chests heaving. “Fuck”you gasped and he laughed “Yeah, that was a lot more fun than arguing”

You were fairly certain Jay was asleep. After the two of you had cleaned up, he’d wrapped himself around you which you hadn’t expected. You’d expected to get tossed your clothes and get told to go home.

You started to shift to get out of the bed and felt his hand shoot out to wrap around your wrist “Where are you going?” you looked back at him, a smile slipping onto your face “I know this isn’t a stay the night thing Jay. I’m gonna get dressed and summon an uber”

He shook his head “Stay, please” you stared at him for a moment “You’ve always acted like you can’t stand being around me” he raised an eyebrow and motioned around the bed “That was determined to be a lie” you laughed “What just happened Jay?” he shrugged “The start of something if that's what you want because I can’t go to work tomorrow and act like everythings how it was”

“Say the words baby. I need to hear you say them” you teased and he rolled his eyes “I want you. I want you to be mine, just mine” you raised an eyebrow “Will you be just mine?” he nodded “Yeah” you took a breath and saw the hesitation start to worry him before you turned to curl up to his chest “Ok” “Ok” he agreed, leaving a kiss on the side of your head.

You were almost asleep before he said “You were fucking with me about Will though, weren’t you?” you shook your head “Go to sleep Jay”