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flowerxbunnie · 5 months

Note

can you pls pls write about shy reader she and chris are a recent couple and one day he founds out that she likes dirty talk and tries that with her

Dirty Secret

Chris x Fem reader

Warnings: SMUTTYYY smut, lots of dirty talk, degradation/praise

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT OKAY WITH SMUT OR ARE A MINOR!

Tags: @lustfulslxt

Chris’s POV

I can’t wipe the dumb smile off my face as I peek at Y/n’s nightstand, multiple tubes of chapstick covering the surface along with notebooks, pens, scrunchies, and lots of half empty water bottles. Her personality shows in her room so clearly, methodic but carefree.

These past four months have made me nothing but happy. We’ve done a good job at keeping our relationship out of the public eye after agreeing she didn’t want to handle any kickback from my fans yet. I hate that I can’t show her off, but it’s for the best, at least at this point.

I roam around her room with no ultimate goal, just waiting for her to get back from her nail appointment and I got bored. I scan her makeup table, brushes and random products strewn about as evidence that she’d been here hours before. Her jackets and hats hang on a hook behind her door and I run my fingers across the different fabrics, moving closer to inhale the vanilla scent that floods my mind with images of her. Fairly lights twinkle above her bed, something I’ve definitely taken notice of during all our nights tangled in her sheets.

I move to her bookshelf and look at all the spines of her books, some neatly lined up and some thrown haphazardly into piles. There’s collectible figures of the things she likes, crystals, and random little trinkets littering the shelves. I can’t help but reach out and touch the book that’s lying on the shelf at my eye level, running my fingers along all the multicolored sticky notes she’s placed into her favorite pages.

I guess it was a little too close to the edge, because even my light touch caused it to topple over and fall open, landing face down on the carpet below. I breathe out a curse and lean down to pick it up and put it exactly how I found it. I don’t want Y/n to think I’ve been snooping, because I haven’t. I’m just admiring all the little things that make her room feel like home to her.

I close the book and bring it back up to the shelf, turning it around to glance at the cover. Priest by Sierra Simone. I know a lot about Y/n already, but I didn’t know she was into religion. Sounds like a biography from the summary on the back. Something about a priest breaking their vow of celibacy and needing to confess. My interest is growing, I didn’t think she would enjoy this kind of book, maybe I should take a peek?

I pick the first sticky note my fingers brush across, knowing Y/n highlighted it for a reason. An audible gasp falls out of my mouth as a skim across the words on the page.

“Stay the fuck still, or I’m going to come before I want to, and if that happens, then I will take you over my knee and spank your ass until you learn how to listen.”

“What the fuck?” I question out loud.

I flip through multiple pages, each sticky note highlighting incredibly filthy words. It’s a fucking sex book. My cheeks burn at the thought of her reading these while she’s alone in her room, wondering what she looks like as she’s turning the pages and writhing with anticipation. I grab onto a pink sticky note and pull on it, flipping it to the page and reading what she had highlighted.

“But I won’t lie. It makes me hard as fuck knowing that I was the first man to taste you.”

This sticky note has her own handwriting smeared across it. I squint to make out the words.

If Chris would have said that to me…

Ouch, I think?

I’m not a vanilla guy by any means, but I’m not the weird fuck from 50 Shades of Grey either. I think our sex life is great, it’s more than enough to keep me satisfied. We’ve made love in the car, fucked while she was bent over her dining room table, stolen kisses in restaurant bathrooms after we snuck away from our friends. It’s all been so exciting to me, and even better because it’s with her.

I continue flying through the pages, my eyes widening at every line she made a point to come back to. This dude talks so much while he’s fucking this chick.

“No, don’t touch yourself, sweetheart. We’re going to get there together.”

Remind Chris to be more vocal!

It all clicks in my bird brain. I’m a fucking idiot. She’s highlighted almost all dialogue. She wants me to talk more during sex. I’ll admit, I’m not the best at speaking my mind while she’s bouncing on me or sprawled out below me. But why hasn’t she told me yet? I hope she hasn’t been disappointed with how things have been going.

I put the book back and angle it as best as I can remember, moving to lay down on top of her comforter. I stretch my back out and throw my arms behind my head, thinking about what I’m going to do when she gets home.

Y/n’s POV

I take my keys out of the door and lock it behind me, smiling as I see Chris’s sneakers sitting on the shoe rack in my entryway. My nails took way longer than I expected and I’m just so excited to be able to waste the rest of my day away with him. I make my way down the hall after placing my shoes next to his and creep into my bedroom, sprinting and jumping to lay beside Chris who’s stretched across my bed.

“Hiiii baby, I missed youuu!” I singsong before pressing a kiss against his stubbly cheek.

“Mmm, missed you more.” he mumbles into my neck as he turns and molds his body into mine.

His arms encircle me and the smell of his cologne floods my senses, washing a wave of comfort over me. I could lay like this forever.

“Let’s see the nails,” he says as he breaks away from me, suddenly sitting up and grabbing my hands.

I sit up beside him and watch as his large hands hold my own, moving my fingers around and watching the duo chrome polish shift colors in the light. His smile spreads from ear to ear as he takes notice of the “C” I asked the nail tech to paint onto my ring finger.

“Aren’t they so cute??” I squeal, so ecstatic at the way they turned out.

“So cute,” he coos, bringing them to his lips to place a tender kiss on each finger. “I think they’d look even cuter wrapped around my cock.” He says in a low growl as he brings my hand down to his lap, shoving my palm onto the fabric of his sweatpants.

I feel his erection through the layers of clothing, rock hard and throbbing. I can’t help but gasp at his words, I’ve never heard him speak like this before. I watch as his pupils dilate, the black overtaking the blue of his iris as he flickers his eyes to my lips.

“Nothing to say, sweetheart?” He asks almost in a belittling tone.

“N-no I just.. I’ve never heard you say something like that,” I squeak out as he pushes my hand down with more force.

“What, you don’t like it?” He says with a smirk.

“I don’t know.. I th-think so..” I stammer.

“When were you gonna tell me, hm? Such an innocent girl reading such filthy books. Does it turn you on?” His hand leaves mine against his hard on and comes up to caress my cheek.

“Huh, what are you talking about?” I spit out at him, my cheeks igniting red with visible embarrassment.

Has he snooped through my room?

“I saw it all, baby. And it’s okay. It’s okay if you need me to tell you how dirty of a girl you are, or how good you make me feel. You have to let me know these things..” he trails off as his thumb brushes against my lip, smearing my peppermint chapstick onto the corner of my mouth.

“I-I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t… I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to think I was weird.” I look down, intimidated by his cold gaze, and he tilts my head back up, his eyes serious.

“It’s not weird. Do you touch yourself to those books baby? Reading about a man talking to a woman like that.. does it make you feel good?” He whispers the last sentence and his free hand finds my inner thigh, caressing and warming my skin.

I nod sheepishly, afraid to speak my thoughts out loud to Chris.

“Use your words. Do you ever imagine it’s me saying those things?”

“Y-yes… every single time.” I say as I release a breath.

He groans and pushes my hair behind my ear, inching closer to me and ghosting his lips over my ear. “Such a naughty girl.”

Shivers fall down my spine as he places a kiss onto the sensitive skin between my ear and jaw, his lips lingering and sucking lightly. He slides the hand on my cheek to the back of my neck, lacing his fingers into my hair and pulling down, my neck exposed to him.

“Look at the way your body reacts to me.” He whispers, placing a finger onto my jugular, and I feel it pulsing mercilessly beneath his touch.

He moves his hand to grip around my throat, his thumb and fingers pressed firmly against both pulse points of my neck. My head begins to tingle, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. His lips pepper wet kisses along my jaw, every one of them seeping into my skin and heightened from the constricted blood flow.

“You like that, my hand around your throat? I could squeeze as hard as I want.” he says before constricting his grip.

My core begins to throb hearing his inner thoughts spill from his mouth. My field of vision starts to shrink, a black vignette closing in.

“I’d never hurt you like that, sweetheart. But don’t you like the risk?” He suddenly releases his hold on my throat and all my blood rushes back up into my head. I’m dizzy and completely aroused for him.

I nod furiously before his lips crash against mine, low growls seeping out of his throat and being released into my mouth. He bites and tugs at my bottom lip before pulling away and licking a hot stripe up my chin and back up to my mouth. His lips meet mine again, his mouth open and begging for my tongue. I push it into his mouth only to be dominated, not standing a chance as his hunger grows.

Chris’s hands latch onto my hips, lifting me off the mattress and into his lap, his erection poking at my core. He breaks the kiss and grabs the hem of my shirt, sliding his hands up along with the fabric. I help him get it off, discarding it somewhere in my room. His eyes burn holes into my chest, examining the bralette covering the skin. He grabs the bottom and slides it up, my breasts bouncing as they fall out in front of him. He pushes the excess fabric up to rest on the plate of my chest.

“Fuck, Y/n. If I died with my face in your tits I’d be happy.”

He begins ravaging my breasts, nipping and licking and leaving red and purple marks across the skin. He sucks my nipples while looking so deep into my eyes I start to think he can see the back of my skull. The line of pain and pleasure is completely blurred when he takes one of my swollen nipples between his teeth and tugs on it.

“F-fuck, Chris..” I cry out, bucking my hips instinctively and pressing down onto his throbbing dick.

He lets out a deep moan, gripping my waist and prompting me to stop my movements. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.”

I let out a little grin and begin to rock back and forth again, his head falling against the headboard with his eyes squeezed shut. His cock rubs against my clit through the multiple layers of clothing, but the pressure and friction still causes both of us to pant and moan in unison. He brings his head back up and grips my hips tighter this time, my body unable to move.

“Such a dirty girl. Can’t listen to simple instructions.”

He removes his shirt, a layer of sweat starting to form on his skin, then brings my bra over my head, not bothering with the clasp. He throws it across the room and then lifts my legs to remove my shorts before lifting me up and sliding his sweatpants off, all of which meet the same fate as the rest of the discarded clothes. He presses a hand against my chest, my back hitting the bed as he pushes me down. He comes to hover over me, his eyes dark and half lidded. His knee is pressed inbetween my thighs touching my core with a teasing amount of pressure.

“You’ve already made such a mess, baby..” he says with false concern, referring to the wetness that has seeped through my panties and is touching his skin.

“I’m s-sorry..” I whine, fighting the urge to grind against his knee.

“Don’t apologize, sweet girl. I’ll help you out.”

Chris trails kisses down my chest and stomach, randomly sucking marks into my skin on the way down. He circles his tongue around my navel before licking across it, a trace amount of his warm saliva dripping in. He traces his tongue along the lace hem of my panties, his breath burning against my skin as he grips it with his teeth.

“Please, Chris..” I whine and push him closer to the place I need him most.

His eyes show his grin as he dips his face down, flattening his tongue across the fabric covering my core. He licks and sucks at it, humming and closing his eyes as he spreads my legs apart.

“So sweet,” He whispers as he flicks his tongue up and down.

He hooks his fingers into the band of my panties and pulls, his mouth only disconnecting for a brief second to slide them down my legs before his tongue finally connects with my bare pussy. I arch my back off the bed and cry out as his tongue works against my heat. I’m a mess under him- gripping the sheets, tugging on his brown waves, grabbing my own breasts, doing whatever I can to release some of the tension building up in my body.

“You like the way my tongue feels on you, princess?” He asks in a raspy voice as he wipes his wet mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yes.. fuck please keep going..” I pant, not wanting to lose momentum as my climax has started inching its way to the top.

“How about you do what you need? Use my face and get yourself off.”

He leans back down and presses his tongue against me, holding still as he keeps eye contact. I start circling my hips, feeling the way his tongue remains in place as I grind against it. I grip onto his face and pull it closer, moving my hips down so his nose rubs my clit and his tongue rubs up and down my folds. I buck up and down in complete control and he hums against me to the point I feel like my intestines are vibrating. I speed up and increase the pressure as my stomach begins to ache with a familiar feeling.

I nearly scream, tensing up as my body burns through my climax. He remains still just letting me use him as I ride through it and come down, my grip on his hair relaxing and my body falling slack on the bed.

“Taste yourself baby. Let me show you what you did, all for me.” He whispers against my lips after he climbs to hover over me.

I’m still trying to catch my breath as his lips collide onto mine. I taste my own juices on his tongue, sweet and tangy. He presses his hips down onto my stomach and reminds me of his need, humping forward a few times and moaning into my mouth.

“Now are you gonna bend over or just sit there and look pretty?” He growls as he swiftly stands up and pulls his boxers down.

His pink tip is swollen and leaking precum. His grips his hand around his base and squeezes until his knuckles turn white, his head falling back out of pleasure or maybe the throbbing pain, there’s no way to tell. His eyes lock onto mine and he starts pumping up and down on his dick, sucking in a sharp breath.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

I pull myself to my feet as quick as I can and limp to the end of the bed, my legs like jelly after tensing up so hard.

“That’s cute. Can’t wait to carry you to the shower after this one.” he smirks and licks his lips.

My breath hitches as I turn around and bend over the footboard of the bed. His hands run up and down my ass, jiggling it before giving me a light smack with both hands. I gasp, jumping forward and my ribs hit the wood I’m bent over.

“So fucking hot, can’t believe this is all mine,” he coos, running his fingers down my folds before wiping my juices onto my lower back.

I feel his head against my clit, slick with warm precum. He soaks himself in my juices as he swipes it across my entrance, barely dipping in as he grips my hip with one hand.

“Chris.. oh my god. P-please just fuck me.” I whine, my legs already shaking and twitching.

“Mmm I plan on it, baby.” he whispers before slowly pushing forward.

He slowly gives me inch by delicious inch, my walls stretching around his thickness as we moan out together. He starts slow and stays deep inside me, barely pumping in and out. He runs his hands up and down my spine as he rocks into me, his breathing slow and controlled. My pussy clenches around him as his tip brushes repeatedly over a sensitive spot.

“P-please Chris go faster,” I draw out in a moan.

He listens. His thrusts become rough and rapid, my ribs slamming against the wood with each stroke but my brain seems to tune it out. He keeps his grip on my waist with one hand and reaches around to my face with the other, shoving two fingers in my mouth. I suck on them hard, swirling and lapping my tongue around them.

“Such a fucking slut, so willing to have all your holes filled, aren’t you?�� He pants as he hooks his fingers onto the corner of my mouth and pulls back.

“Nhgnh.. fuck..” is all I can manage through his manipulation of my mouth.

“What? Am I fucking you dumb? Can’t even get your words out.”

I moan in response and feel my pussy throbbing around him, my lower abdomen on fire as I climb to my next release.

“S-so close..” I mumble as drool drips down my chin.

He lets go of my mouth and grips my waist, his thumbs pressing into the dimples on my back.

“You need me to cum in you, don’t you? I know you wanna be filled up, so full your eyes start to float.” He pumps as deep as he can go, my eyes rolling back into my head and words failing to form. “Answer me.” He spits with a smack on my ass.

“Please… p-please cum in me. Need it.. s-so bad Chris!”

With that he shoves his hips against me and shoots his hot load into my pussy, coating my walls as I fall over the edge with him. I’m screaming his name as he moans mine, pure ecstasy echoing through my room. I feel his cum leaking down my legs, such a big load that it has nowhere else to go. His thrusts slow down before they come to a halt, his dick still twitching inside me.

He pulls out and hums as he backs up and takes in the sight in front of him. I have no energy to stand, my muscles aching and tired.

“Look at that. God I wish I could burn this into my brain.”

He walks over to me, wrapping his arms around my torso and lifts me, my legs helping very little to hold me up. He hooks an arm under my thighs and picks me up to hold me bridal style. I’m so tired that my head can only manage to flop against his chest, and I hear his rapid heartbeat in my ear.

He starts to walk towards my bathroom but first places a lingering kiss on my forehead. I can feel the smile on his lips.

“Told you I’d have to carry you to the shower.”

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader

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somedaylazysomeday · 3 months

Text

Hooked

Billy Butcher x fem!reader

You're called to tow Butcher's truck. He's unsurprisingly offended by that. (Takes place before the pilot of The Boys)

Rating: Mature. Minors DNI

Word Count: 4,600

Warnings: Swearing, veiled threats, feelings of helplessness, mentions of alcohol, descriptions of injuries from a fight, insults, and frank discussions of sexuality. (Butcher is his own warning, tbh)

Next | Masterlist

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When most people said they were on a run, it meant that they were getting some exercise. Or going to the store. Or maybe fleeing from enemies.

For you, a ‘run’ meant that you were out to tow a car from an illegal space. Honestly, it felt like fleeing from enemies sometimes, but that was only because the customers of your Uncle Bo’s tow service and impound lot didn’t want his product. Like any customer service job, you had your share of unpleasant interactions.

This particular one was an easy pickup. Some guy had parked on private property and the owners were having his car towed. Simple, quick, legal. Those were the best jobs, at least in your opinion. Bo tended to favor jobs where he could get a little extra for helping or inconveniencing the right people.

You didn’t need to pay attention to the familiar motions of placing the lift under the car’s front wheels. It was an older car with significant damage to the paint and body, so you didn’t have to worry that you and Bo would be sued for scratches or dents. In fact, there were good odds that the car had been abandoned on the property.

Still, you kept an eye on the surrounding neighborhood as you worked. This wasn’t a good part of the city. Just because you could take care of yourself in a nasty situation didn’t mean you wanted to get in one.

“Hold on, love,” an accented voice called. “That’s mine.”

You turned, already dreading the conversation. You had been helping your Uncle Bo long enough to not be cowed by many people, but that didn’t mean confrontations with angry vehicle owners were fun.

Fortunately, this vehicle owner - dark-haired and wearing a long coat - didn’t seem to be angry… yet. He also didn’t seem to need any input from you to keep the conversation going. “I’ll need you to lower my car back down. I’m on official business. Agent Butcher, CIA.”

The skepticism was clear on your face, you were sure of it. “Do you have some kind of identification?”

His eyebrows lifted, but not in disbelief. No, it was like he took your words as a challenge, one that he relished. He fished inside his black leather duster and retrieved a wallet. He flashed a shining badge at you, making sure you could see the identification card displayed in the opposite panel. “That all you needed?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, climbing back into the bed of the truck you drove to pick up tows across the city. The parking brake was already locked, so engaging the lift mechanism only took the press of a few buttons.

Your new friend was finally displeased. With a face like thunder, he stood outside of the truck and frowned up at your open window. You had already locked the doors, of course, but you were ready to start rolling up the window if needed. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d had a pickup get violent.

“Last chance, love,” he growled, accent thicker than ever. “Let me car down or I’ll have you charged with obstruction of justice and inconveniencing a federal officer.”

That surprised a laugh out of you. The man looked equally surprised, though with a lot more displeasure than you felt. “It’s not a crime to inconvenience a federal officer.”

“C’mon,” he urged, leaning heavily against the outside of your door. It was hard to claim that he was breaching your personal space through a truck door, especially when his expression changed to one of pleading. “Do me one favor. Just one.”

“Fine,” you conceded with a sigh. The triumphant smile that flashed over his handsome face convinced you that you were doing the right thing. “Here’s your favor: get a new forger.”

“Pardon?” he asked, frowning.

“The CIA doesn’t carry badges,” you told him.

He tilted his head at you, pulling out the wallet once more. He flipped it open to display the badge. “Hate to argue with a beautiful bird, but what would you call this?”

“I would call that an FBI badge with ‘CIA’ written across the top.” You reached out through the window to tap on the identification badge with his face on it. “The CIA doesn’t carry badges to show the public. They just have these ID cards. Get a new forger or change your cover story.”

You pulled your arm back into the truck for just long enough to retrieve a business card from the collection stored on top of the passenger sun visor. “Pick up your car here between six and ten pm, or anytime after nine tomorrow morning.”

That face was darkening again, but you didn’t give him the chance to say more than a syllable or two before you were pulling away from the curb. His car on the back of the truck made it more difficult to weave through the heavy traffic of downtown, but you managed. You had been navigating these streets for most of your life. Nothing about this was any different than every other day.

When you dropped the ragged car at the yard, Uncle Bo examined it with an expression of deep skepticism. “Tell me none’a those bumper scratches are from you.”

You scoffed. “How long has it been since I scratched a bumper?”

“Years,” Uncle Bo admitted readily. “You’re getting better.”

“Admit it,” you jabbed, “you’re going to leave this business to me when you finally decide to retire.”

Uncle Bo snorted loudly. “If you’re still around the tow yard when I decide to retire, sure. You’ll have earned it. But you better not hold your breath - I’ve got years of steam left in me.”

“I’ll remind you about that next time I catch you napping in the office.” You turned, patting him on the shoulder. “Speaking of, I’m going to go enter this in the books. The owner caught an attitude. We’ll probably hear from him again and I want to make sure all of our paperwork is in place.”

“Good idea,” Uncle Bo agreed. “I’m heading out for the night, but I’ll have my phone if you need anything. And I don’t nap in the office. My poor old eyes need rest!”

You didn’t bother replying to the age-old argument. Bo was already gone, and you were working the late shift. The lot stayed open until ten most nights, and all of Bo’s other employees had the day off. All two of them. They were both mechanics, and since they had planned to service all of the company vehicles early the next morning, you were stuck at the yard alone that night. Bo would have to cover tomorrow night, his tired eyes be damned.

You weren’t proud to admit that you had zoned out while entering the crappy sedan’s information into the tow yard log. This wasn’t a bad job, but there had to be something more out there. Working a dead-end job at a towing company wasn’t how you wanted to spend your life. Maybe it was time to start job-hunting. Again. During a recession and a notable lack of jobs on the market.

The groan you let out was slightly muffled when your forehead hit the log book.

The rest of your shift was spent at the desk in the back room, scrolling through employment sites on your phone. Tragically, the shitty job market hadn’t improved in the week since you had last checked. It seemed like your options were to stay at the tow yard, work in another equally unfulfilling job, or go back to school and learn to do something useful.

At two minutes past ten, you let your phone clatter loudly onto the table as you began to gather your things. You had chosen to wear a thicker jacket than normal that night. It wasn’t quite winter yet in the city, but it was close enough that the darker hours were unpleasantly chilly. The thick material was warm against your hand when you grabbed the jacket and started to put it on.

And, of course, that was when the phone started to ring.

You stared at it for a long moment, dismayed. It was almost five past ten by that point, which meant you were five minutes past any obligation to pick it up. But you couldn’t risk losing business for your uncle. And if he was happy with the work you had done, he would complain less when you left early the next day.

Cursing your own work ethic, you picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

“I’m here for my fuckin’ car.”

You seriously debated hanging up immediately. It was close, but you managed to hold onto your temper. “We get a lot of that here. Wanna give me some details?”

In a longsuffering tone, your charming caller gave you the license plate number. That information confirmed your suspicions: this was the same man whose car you had picked up earlier in the day.

“I’ll meet you at the gate,” you told him. “Did you bring a form of payment to settle your bill?”

“I’ve got your money,” he growled.

“Great,” you said, then hung up.

You were glowering as you stomped outside into the chilly night. Bo was going to have to pay your overtime. Family or not, you refused to work for free.

“Finally,” the man growled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Don’t wanna stand here all damn night.”

You stopped, crossing your arms. “We’re closed.”

“Now you tell me?” the man demanded. His accent was even thicker than it had been earlier, a rough British twang. His face was in shadows, but he was clearly irritated. “What the fuck are-?”

“I’ll help you get your car,” you interrupted tersely. “I’m just letting you know that I’m helping you when I don’t have to. Because I’m a great fucking person. You’re welcome. Now give me your ID and stop being an asshole or you can come back when we’re actually open.”

To your shock, he kept his mouth shut and held his ID out for you through the gaps in the chain-link fence. You took it, double checking the name against the one that the car had been registered to. An image labeled ‘Billy Butcher’ smirked up at you from the laminated card until you handed it back.

“Give me your keys and the money. I’ll bring your car.”

Butcher huffed at that. “Not a chance. Let me in and I’ll get my own car.”

“We’re closed,” you reminded, putting your hands on your hips. “I’m not letting you into the yard when I’m the only one here.”

“Fine,” he gritted out, offering a wad of cash. A moment later, a set of keys was also slipped through the fence, dangling from his fingers.

You frowned as you took the money and keys. Were his hands dirty? They looked dark around the knuckles… Quickly, you peeled off the correct number of bills and handed the rest back to him.

“Not taking a tip?” he asked, cocking a dark brow at you.

“I don’t need to steal your money.” With willpower, you managed to keep back a comment about how seeing idiots like him getting their cars towed was payment enough.

“Be careful with her,” Butcher warned. “She’s temperamental.”

He stepped closer to the fence as he cautioned you, and you fought back a gasp. Butcher looked like he had gotten in a few fights in the few hours since you had picked up his car. One of his eyes was black, his lip was split, and one side of his face was beginning to swell. With that image in your head, you could see that his hand wasn’t dirty. His fingers were bruised, dried blood flaking at the joints of his knuckles.

“I’ll be right back.”

Butcher didn’t say anything else as you walked off deeper into the lot, but it didn’t matter. You were lost in thought, trying to remember the signs of a concussion, and you were unlocking the door of his shitty sedan before you thought to wonder why you cared.

Uncle Bo always liked to say that you were too soft-hearted to live in the city. You had always answered that with a snort and a rude comment, but you were starting to wonder if he may be right.

A quick search on your phone brought up a list of symptoms, and you were keeping them fresh in your mind as you pulled the car up to the gate. As soon as you had thrown it into park, you slid from the stained seat and unlatched the chain.

“No stupid moves.” You backed up slightly when Butcher stepped through the gates. “I’m armed.”

Butcher looked you up and down, amusement on his face. “Whatever you say, love. ‘Sides, I don’t want nothing from you except my car.”

You gestured invitingly toward his car. Butcher slid into the seat, caressing the steering wheel for a moment longer than you were comfortable with. He slammed the door, then rolled the window down. “See ya around.”

Your reply - not that you intended to give one - was interrupted when he revved his engine and it promptly died.

Butcher sat in shocked silence for a moment. He broke it almost immediately with a loud curse that he punctuated with a slam of his palm against the steering wheel. “Didn’t engage the battery disconnect, did you.”

“Didn’t know you had one,” you said. “All the shit you said when I towed your car and you didn’t think to tell me you had a battery disconnect?”

“Too busy findin’ out me badge is bullshit, weren’t I?” he hissed.

“The disconnect couldn’t have been on when your car was towed,” you pointed out. “If it had been, it would have been on this whole time.”

“I wasn’t planning to be away from my car that long.” Butcher whacked the dashboard for good measure. “Just needed to scope out the supes. Twenty minute job, then I was gonna be back in and driving away.”

“The supes?” you repeated, frowning. “You were illegally parked in front of the Vought building. That’s why they called me to come tow you. You were spying on them?”

“Someone has to!” he snapped. “Everyone thinks those fuckers are up in their tower, waiting to protect the helpless and all of that shit. But they’re not. They’re a bunch of selfish cunts, and the only things they use their powers for is to get ahead or get off. And you’d better hope you’re never in their way for either of those, or you’ll be gone without anyone to ask what happened to you.”

The silence that fell after that was heavy and awkward. You nodded too many times, eventually finding the voice to say, “I need some coffee. Want some?”

Butcher gave you a look so full of disbelief that you almost apologized outright, but he gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

You retreated to the office, filling two cheap paper cups with the pot of coffee you had unwisely brewed at eight thirty. Butcher hadn’t told you how he took his coffee, but he had answered one of your more pressing questions: he was definitely concussed.

Ultimately, that was none of your business, but it was still a little concerning. If you let him leave and he crashed his car, would it be your fault? Probably not in a legal sense. You could always claim that you hadn’t known he was injured. But would you be able to handle the guilt if he died or killed someone else?

The moral questions tumbling through your mind kept you so focused on your thoughts that you handed Butcher his cup in utter silence, staring at him. Eventually, he swallowed a sip of the black coffee and begrudgingly said, “Thanks.”

You blinked. “No problem. So, dead battery?”

Butcher scowled into the open hood of his car. “Yeah. Does this a lot.”

“I can get you a replacement,” you suggested. “As long as yours is decent and just needs charged, I can switch it out for another one for free. Or I have jumper cables if it’ll hold a charge long enough for you to get where you’re going.”

With a slow shake of his head, Butcher said, “Nah, the battery is shot. And the alternator was holding on by a thread. This will’ve bumped it off for good. I’ll need a full replacement for both before I can drive this thing more than a mile or two.”

Well. You sighed. “I can’t help you with a full replacement for either. I know a mechanic around the corner, but he’s not gonna be open this late. Best he’ll be able to do is tomorrow morning. At least it’ll be easy to get over there.”

Butcher gave you a sidelong glance. “Suspiciously helpful for someone working after hours.”

“I get paid overtime,” you replied, not missing a beat. “Besides, maybe I’m trying to earn a place in heaven.”

“I know a faster way.” Butcher took another sip of coffee while you waited, brows lifted. “Get a drink with me.”

The non sequitur made you blink. “What?”

“A drink,” he repeated, exaggeratedly slowly. “Something better than shitty coffee. With me. In a bar - I’m not going to a fucking dance club.”

“How did we get from you threatening me to wanting us to get a drink?” you asked.

Butcher smirked, and you suddenly understood the expression ‘curl of the lips’. “I’ve never threatened you, love. Trust me, you’d remember. But it’s been a shit night. Shit week, actually. The only good part of it so far has been you. Best I can figure… you’re the only thing that can keep tonight from being a waste of my fuckin’ time.”

“Flattering,” you said dryly. But you didn’t turn him down. You couldn’t claim to be interested in Billy Butcher. At least, not romantically. You thought he was interesting in a tragic comedy kind of way. More importantly, you thought - if you played your cards right - you might be able to convince him to see a doctor and make sure he didn’t have some kind of concussion-induced brain injury.

“You know what?” you asked, watching Butcher brace for whatever horrible thing he thought you were going to say. “I could use a drink. But I get to choose the place.”

He was quiet for much longer than you had expected, but he nodded at last. “Don’t choose somewhere shitty.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching the coffee cup from his hand. Despite his complaints, it was almost empty, and it sailed neatly into the trash can when you tossed it with an expert hand. “I’ll call my mechanic on the way.”

Butcher paused to lock his car before you left. It was a futile gesture since you would lock the yard’s gate behind you, but he insisted. Besides, it gave you a chance to call the mechanic. You even had time to find a route to your favorite bar that led past a 24-hour health clinic. All you had to do was make light conversation until you made it to the doors…

“Why do you work at a towing company?”

You blinked at the abruptness of the question, but gamely answered it: “My uncle owns it. I’ve been helping him since I was a teenager.”

Butcher grunted. “Most people leave their first job.”

“And what about you?” you asked, a hint of challenge in your voice. “Why do you do what you do? What do you do?”

“I help keep supes from killing us all.”

“Yeah,” you agreed awkwardly. “They seem like a real threat to society with all of the crime-fighting and donations to charity.”

“Public relations, love,” Butcher told you, “nothing more.”

“Of course they use public relations,” you replied, trying to ignore the little tingle that went through you at him using that pet name in that tone. “Most businesses have to do some kind of public relations. Especially big companies like Vought.”

Butcher snorted. “They don’t use PR to neaten up their image; they use it to cover the mountain of shit their pet psychopaths get into. And that lot ain’t heroes. They’re a bunch of cunts with too much power and not enough people to tell ‘em to knock it off. They’re dangerous, and what makes ‘em that way is people like you who think they’re heroes.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, trying to decide between pacifying him by agreeing or antagonizing him so you could hear more of his ranting. It was fascinating and oddly entertaining, and you found yourself slowing down so you could keep talking before he got to the clinic. “But what about-?”

“They ain’t good for society,” he insisted, interrupting you without seeming to notice. “You’re probably more of a hero than they are, and all you do is inconvenience good people.”

“You were parked in a fire lane,” you reminded him, getting irritated. “If anyone was inconveniencing people-”

“Have you ever thought about the people who are around for a supe fight?” Butcher asked, ignoring your excellent point. “Collateral damage, they say. Supes ruin a lot of lives, and it’s supposed to all be worth it.”

“Sometimes,” you conceded. “But it all depends on the situation, right? If you’re just basing it off of lives saved versus lives lost, doesn’t it make more sense to sacrifice a few to save a lot of people?”

Butcher narrowed his eyes at you. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to see a kid crushed by a car or a couple cut in half by a laser beam.”

“What are you doing about it, since you hate supes so much?”

“Fuck-all,” Butcher told you. At your strange look, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Seems like it most days, anyway.”

“And on the other days?” you pressed.

“The other days…” He frowned, staring at the dirty sidewalk in front of you both, but he didn’t really seem to see it. “Some days, I help people. Help ‘em from being the next statistic Vought sweeps under the fuckin’ rug, you know?”

You didn’t, not really. But something about the weariness in his voice was familiar, and you felt its echo in your chest. “Yeah, I know.”

Both of you fell silent after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or stilted. You were at ease beside him as you walked. In fact, you were almost a little sad when you saw that you were rapidly approaching your secret destination.

Halfway up the block, a small medical clinic advertised its services with signs in multiple languages and a well-illuminated caduceus symbol. The automatic doors opened at odd intervals to let patients in or out, spilling light across the sidewalk every time. It was staffed and reliable without being crowded, and everything in the clinic was ruthlessly clean. It was the place you took Uncle Bo, your coworkers, and yourself if something happened at the tow yard, or if someone was feeling under the weather. They had always been good to you, and you knew they would be good to Billy Butcher, too.

“Maybe we should stop here for a minute,” you suggested, pausing by the door.

Butcher glanced up at the sign, dark brows furrowing. The next instant, his eyes were roaming up and down your body and face. “You hurt?”

“No, but you might be.” Butcher sighed and started walking again, but you didn’t budge. “I’m serious! You might have a concussion and that can end up ruining your life.”

Butcher rounded, now several feet ahead of you. “You really think I don’t know what a concussion feels like? Just call me a pussy. It’s faster.”

You rolled your eyes, but caught up with him as he started walking away again. After a block of irritable silence, he glanced sidelong at you. “Are you actually interested in a drink? Or did you just want to get me to a doctor?”

“Bit of both,” you answered after a moment of consideration.

“Makes one of us,” he muttered. “Don’t know how much I feel like having a drink now. You’ve ruined my appetite.”

“Wanting a drink doesn’t count as an appetite.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were still following Butcher down the sidewalk.

“Is this what you do?” he demanded, stopping short and rounding on you. His face was all righteous fury, dark brows stabbing upward as his nostrils flared. His hands braced against his hips, splaying his coat until he looked like a big creature puffing itself bigger with rage. “Nag people to make yourself feel more important? It’s annoyin’ as fuck.”

You had stopped short to keep from running into Butcher, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that you dropped your eyes to the bit of sidewalk between you. After a few breaths to get yourself back on an even keel, you met his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized freely. “I didn’t realize I was bothering you so badly. I’ll have one fo the technicians call you tomorrow morning with details about your car.”

It was your turn to whip around and start walking in the opposite direction. You weren’t entirely shocked when a second set of footsteps began to echo yours. You glanced up at Butcher. “You don’t have to come back with me. I’ll make sure your car gets to the mechanic shop tomorrow.”

“Not gonna let you walk back there alone, am I?” he asked. “There’s too many dumb fuckers about for that.”

There was clearly no point in arguing with him, so you didn’t bother. You wrapped your arms around yourself, even though it made you walk like a duck. The evening was just tipping from cool to cold, especially with the wind picking up. And the lack of conversation between you and Butcher somehow managed to be colder than the autumn night.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you started, breaking the silence, “I don’t think that you’re concussed. Not anymore.”

“Yeah?” Butcher pressed when he had finished giving a loud snort. “What am I then, doctor?”

You stared him full in the face as you replied, “A conspiracy nut with a vendetta against supes. But you’re pretty harmless, all things considered.”

Butcher laughed at that, loud and sharp. The joy made him look more savage, his teeth flashing sharply white against the darkness of his facial hair, and you needed a moment before you could pull your eyes from his face. “Can’t argue with none of that, love. But if you think I’m anywhere near as dangerous as an uncontrolled supe, you haven’t been payin’ attention.”

“Maybe you’re not, but I don’t see any supes around here,” you pointed out. “Controlled or otherwise.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Butcher muttered. “Well, seein’ as I’m not so dangerous after all, maybe we should go get a drink.”

“Thought you weren’t in the mood anymore,” you said, a challenging little tilt to your chin.

Butcher stroked his chin, thoughtful eyes on you. “I could be persuaded. That is, if you’re still in the mood.”

“Not really,” you admitted, watching him deflate slightly from the corner of your eye. “But I have some energy and frustration to burn off. You interested in helping out with that?”

It took a moment for Butcher’s parted lips to form words, and you watched the process patiently. “Are you propositionin’ me?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “Are you offended by that?”

“Offended you beat me to it.” Butcher’s grin had gone from disbelieving to wolfish in less time than it took to get that sentence out. “And I accept.”

“Good, we’ll go to my apartment,” you decided. “It’s close and clean.”

“Had me at ‘close’,” Butcher told you, trailing close to your heels. “Lead on, love.”

---

Author's Note - This definitely isn't a substantial enough plot to need two parts, but I ran out of time to edit. Explicit part two coming tomorrow!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #the boys #the boys amazon #reader insert #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x you #fem!reader #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fic #the boys fanfic

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atlabeth · 1 year

Text

enigma - tyler galpin

summary: you're the new girl at weathervane with a penchant for staying silent. tyler is the guy who's going to get to know you or die trying.

a/n: watched wednesday, thought tyler was hot, and now we're here. wrote this instead of my final paper due on sunday. help

wc: 3.6k

warning(s): short mention of death, some emotional damage but basically all fluff. no canon stuff just coffee shop, forced proximity hijinks

Tyler rubbed his eyes with one hand as he walked across the street, raising the other to thank the oncoming driver for letting him cross. It was still dark outside, so early that the sun hadn’t yet risen, and it was moments like these that he questioned why he decided to work at a coffee shop.

His paychecks said part-time employee, but the hours he worked suggested full-time. He closed last night, and yet here he was at the ass-crack of dawn opening.

Maybe it was time to start searching again, he thought absentmindedly, because this was beginning to wear on him.

But when he got to the door, there was a girl standing there, leaning against the wall with arms crossed and a distant gaze. Jeans and a rainbow striped tee, battered Converse—devastatingly attractive.

Tyler blinked. Cleared his throat, cleared his mind.

“Uh, we’re not open yet.” Your attention snapped to him and he jerked his thumb at the sign hanging behind the glass doors. “But we open in thirty minutes—you can hang out here until then if you want?”

“I’m not a customer,” you said, and you pulled something out of your pocket. A nametag, one that matched his own. Oh. “Today’s my first day. Thought I would get an early start.”

Tyler frowned. “Peyton didn’t say anything about new employees.”

You shrugged as you tucked it back into your pocket. “Guess she forgot. I signed my contract last week, so I work here.”

“...Okay,” he said slowly. It wasn’t worth fighting over, and there were most definitely worse things than pulling the opening shift with a girl that looked like you. “Welcome to the Weathervane crew, I guess.”

He unlocked the door and held it open for you, then walked in after you. “Are you new to Jericho? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here.”

“You could say that.” You walked together into the backroom where you set your bag down, grabbing an apron from one of the hooks as you tied it around your waist. Tyler expected you to elaborate, but instead you just walked back into the cafe.

“Not much for conversation, are you?” he asked dryly as he followed you, and he tied his own apron on before adjusting his nametag.

“I’m here to get a paycheck,” you said, “not get to know you.” You looked at him. “Tell me what to do so we can get this place opened.”

He paused. “Are you a Nevermore kid?”

You frowned. “The hell is Nevermore?”

“You really are new here,” he marveled.

“What, did you not believe me?” One side of your mouth quirked up in a little half-smile, and he found himself unable to look away for the short moment it lasted. “Seems like a weird thing to lie about.”

Tyler shrugged. “Jericho can be a weird place.”

“Yeah,” you said, “really weird. I heard that the baristas take really long to open in the morning.”

Tyler just shook his head with a small chuckle. “Fine. You start cleaning the front, I’ll get the machines ready. Then we’ll get everything ready together.”

You nodded, grabbed a broom from the back, and got to work.

Well, he thought wryly, at least they would be productive today.

You were there the next morning as he walked over, in the same spot leaning against the wall. This time, though, you sported leggings, a black tee, and a letterman. The same beat-up Converse, he noticed.

Tyler raised his eyebrows as he gestured at your jacket. “You play anything?”

“No,” you said. Once again, you didn’t elaborate.

He sighed. He could deal with it a little better this time—a wonder what adequate sleep could do for him.

“Y’know, you don’t have to wait for me to get here every time you open,” he said, and once again he held the door open for you after he’d unlocked it. You filed inside, and he followed. “I’m not always this punctual.”

“I don’t have a key,” you said.

“Oh.” He frowned. “Uh, I can get you a spare. We keep them in the backroom—Peyton’ll be fine with it. She probably just forgot to give you one.”

You nodded, and that was that.

Tyler didn’t see you for two weeks after that, all your shifts scheduled at different times or on each other’s off days. He didn’t make a habit of going into the Weathervane on his days off, not wanting to get more tired than he already was of the place that gave him half his livelihood.

The next time he did, actually, was at the end of his morning shift. He raised his eyebrows as he saw you come in—cardigan, jeans, Converse—and couldn’t help the small smile.

“Business or pleasure?” he asked as you walked in.

“Business,” you said. “I’m the one filling your shift.”

“Ah.” Tyler tapped his fingers against the counter and started undoing his apron, his eyes following you as you walked around and into the backroom. “Y’know, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Are you avoiding me?”

You frowned. “I barely know you.”

“It was—” he chuckled awkwardly— “it was a joke. I know you’re not avoiding me.”

And once again, you let him flounder in the silence.

“But, uh,” he tried again, “the reason you barely know me is because you don’t talk at all. I know you can make coffee and you like Converse, but that’s all.”

You glanced down at your shoes for a moment, as if surprised he even noticed, then your brow furrowed. “I told you, Tyler, this is a job. I’m here for a paycheck. We don’t need to be friends.”

“Yeah, but I always try to make friends with my coworkers.” He offered a slight smile and shrugged. “It makes it a lot nicer.”

You looked at him for a good, long moment before you turned around and went back into the cafe.

Tyler blew out a loose sigh. Strike two, he thought dryly.

But you said his name. And right now, that was as close to a win as he was going to get.

The next time you ended up taking over his shift, you just walked in, put on your apron, clocked in, and got to work. Zero acknowledgement, zero conversation.

Tyler sighed. He needed to start a count of how many times he did it while he worked with you.

And that was how your shifts together went for a month.

A month. A whole thirty days of barely any talking to his coworker during half of his shifts.

You— you weren’t mean. You did your job well, you were pretty damn good at making coffee, and you were pleasant enough to all the customers. Your silence didn’t hinder his work either—you communicated when you had to, just nothing above work conversation.

Tyler knew that because he had tried to start a normal conversation up more times than he could count. Each and every time you either shut it down or just left him to flounder in silence.

Silent or not, though, you were a good worker, and that put you above most of the baristas he’d worked with in the past. He didn’t have any rational right to complain.

So Tyler didn’t know why he had a growing urge to talk to you, to get to know you. There was just something about you he couldn’t shake, something about you that demanded his attention. Maybe it was just the mystery of it all—he had always liked the chase.

You were an enigma. And it was driving him crazy.

“Tyler!”

Your voice calling his name snapped him out of his haze, and he blinked a few times before he turned around. You were closing together tonight, meaning he had another one of your signature silent nights to look forward to. He was cleaning up the front and you were organizing a bunch of equipment in one of the closets. But you’d only actually said his name twice before, so this meant something.

“Yeah?” he responded, glancing away from the table he was cleaning.

“Where’s the stepladder? I need to put something on the top shelf.”

“I’ll get it,” he said, and he set the towel on the table before he went over to their utility closet.

“Thanks,” you said as he placed it down, and you climbed up to the top with one hand around a coffee maker.

“Wow,” Tyler said as he watched, “you actually thanked me for something. That’s a first.”

Instead of a snarky response, or sarcasm, or literally anything that anyone else would give, you just said nothing. And he sighed, as he usually did in your presence.

“What are you putting that away for?”

“It broke,” you said. “You can talk to Peyton about getting a new one.”

“Why me?” he frowned.

“She knows you more,” you said, “and she likes you more.”

“If you actually talked to people, they would get the chance to like you more.”

You rolled your eyes as you climbed down the ladder, but as you reached the bottom the door slammed shut. You scoffed, but Tyler had a different reaction. His eyes widened, and he immediately started patting down his pockets.

“There’s gotta be a draft in this cafe or something,” you muttered as you walked over to the door and twisted the doorknob. Nothing happened.

“It won’t open,” Tyler said, a bit of panic rising in his voice as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Front and back, but still nothing. “That— that door locks automatically when it closes.”

You whirled around, your eyes wide as his. “What?”

“It locks on its own,” he said, his voice strained, “and the key’s in the breakroom.”

You shook your head and moved away from the door. “Do you have your phone? You can call someone to get us out of here.”

“My phone’s in my jacket,” he mumbled. “I’m guessing that means you don’t have yours?”

Your hands clenched into fists for a moment before you shook your head. “I just had to wear pants without pockets today.”

You moved back over to the door and tried the handle again, but still, nothing happened. And again, and again, and—

“It’s not going to open on the tenth time you try,” Tyler interrupted.

“If it doesn’t open,” you said, annoyed, “then that means we’re stuck in here. And I am not going to be stuck in here.”

Tyler tossed up his hands as he leaned against the wall. “Well, it looks like we are. Perfect way to end the night.”

You tried the door one more time, for good measure, he guessed, and then hit your fist against it hard when it didn’t work. “Who designs a door like this?” you exclaimed in frustration.

“Whoever built this place,” he said.

Then, maybe just for emphasis, you rammed your foot against the door.

“And still, nothing happened,” Tyler said.

“I don’t need your sarcasm right now,” you snapped.

“At least I’m giving something!” he exclaimed. “If my coworker was a piece of cardboard instead of you, I literally wouldn’t notice a difference. You’re wooden.”

“I’m sorry that I don’t have riveting conversation for you at my second job,” you grumbled.

“You have two jobs?”

“This place doesn’t have the greatest pay,” you said dryly.

“And in two minutes locked in a closet, I’ve learned more about you than I have in a whole month of working with you.” Tyler shook his head. “I just don’t get it.”

“There’s nothing to get,” you said. “I don’t care about small talk.”

“It’s not just small talk,” he said. “You don’t do any kind of talk.”

“And why does that bother you so much?”

“Because I want to get to know you!” Tyler exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Is that so hard to believe that someone wants to be your friend?”

You stared at him with your brows knit. “Why do you want to be my friend?”

“Because you’re my coworker?” he said, and he counted it off on his fingers. “Because you’re someone I see a lot, because I want to get to know you, because there’s something about you that I want to figure out. Is that enough reasons for you?”

You scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Tyler just shook his head and huffed an incredulous laugh. “Oh my god. This is going to be the longest night of my life.”

It had been an hour since your little tiff.

You were sat on the floor, your knees pulled up to your chest and your arms crossed as usual, staring at nothing as usual.

Tyler was leaning against one of the shelves, a bag of flour in his hands as he read the back of it. He’d already been through a bag of cocoa powder, baking soda, and powdered sugar.

He didn’t know how he was going to make it through to the morning shift’s rescue.

“I live on Beechwood Lane,” you said suddenly.

Tyler blinked, wondering if he heard correctly. Were you actually the one to break the silence?

“What?”

“You said you wanted to get to know me,” you said, flourishing with one of your hands. “There you go.”

“That’s not getting to know you,” Tyler said. “That’s— that’s the most basic thing you could’ve told me. Tons of people live on Beechwood.”

“What do you want then?” you said, obviously frustrated.

“Anything,” he said. “Anything about you, that’s actually about you. Why are you in Jericho, for starters?”

Your lips twisted into a slight frown. “Family reasons.”

“That’s it?”

Your frown deepened as you looked up at him. “My grandmother lives here, and her health took a turn for the worse. I’m here to take care of her.”

“...Oh.” Tyler suddenly felt ashamed, pushing for an answer for something as personal as that. “I— I’m sorry.”

You shrugged. “It is what it is. I’m here so I don’t have to deal with any more sorrys in the future.”

“Is that why you have two jobs?” he asked.

“Part of the reason,” you said. “Medical bills are expensive. So is college.”

He raised his eyebrows. “College?”

“Gap year,” you said. “...My parents couldn’t afford to pay for it, so I’ve been saving up since my first job freshman year. And now that some of it’s going to my grandmother…”

“You have to make up the difference on your own,” Tyler said.

You nodded. “Might have to pick up a third if I’m lucky.”

“Geez,” he muttered. “I only have this job for some extra cash and to get away from my dad.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Your dad?”

“He’s the sheriff.” Tyler sighed. “He has all the time in the world for his job, but none for me. I figured I might as well make some money if I’m gonna be on my own all the time.”

“Smart.”

Tyler chucked. “I like to think so.”

“You asked about my letterman,” you said.

“You remember that?”

You shrugged. “It’s my dad’s. He played football in high school, and he gave it to me when I graduated. A way to remember him whenever he was deployed.”

“That’s sweet,” he said. “That’s… yeah. That’s nice.”

Tyler hesitated for a moment, then pushed himself up from the wall. He walked over and sat down next to you, and he took it as a win when you didn’t bristle or flinch or move away. He also took the breath exhaled through your nose as a laugh, and therefore as another win.

“What about the reason you don’t like talking to anyone?” Tyler asked. “Are we at that base yet?”

“I’m new here,” you said. “Been here for a few months, getting a lay of the land while I take care of my grandmother. But I’m either going to leave to go to college, when she gets better, or…” You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to be gone soon enough, therefore there’s no point in making friends. Especially with co-workers.”

He frowned as he looked at you. “That’s a sad way to look at things.”

“Why? I’m going to leave eventually, and if I make friends, I have to leave them too. It’s a clean break.”

“Yeah, but…” Tyler chuckled mirthlessly. “You don’t know how long you’re going to be here—that could mean months of just keeping to yourself, working every single day at your jobs and then working even more when you get home, and you don’t even have anyone else to talk to at the end of the day. That can’t be any easier.”

“I’ve been moving around all my life,” you said. “Military brat. I know that a clean break is always easier.”

Tyler was silent for a moment. He felt bad for you, that you had these self-imposed walls around you, so high that you wouldn’t let anyone through. But he knew you probably didn’t want his sympathy.

“How about one person?” he asked.

You glanced at him. “I’m assuming you want that role.”

Tyler shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a person in this town that I’ll eventually leave behind,” you said. “You’re nothing special.”

“Ouch,” he said with mock hurt. “Nothing special?”

You rolled your eyes, but he noticed the smallest smile on your lips. “Why are you so insistent on getting to know me?”

“Because I know what it’s like to not have anyone,” he said. “My mom died a while ago, and my dad hasn’t been the same since. He throws himself into his work, and that doesn’t leave him much time for father-son bonding.”

Your brows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is, right?” he said dryly. “I wasn’t in the greatest place for a while. All the friends I made were jerks, so I was a jerk. By the time I finally dropped them, I was basically alone. And that’s where I’ve been for the past year. Part-time barista, full time loner.”

Tyler looked at you again. “So that’s why I’m not just gonna let you go on with your clean break. No matter how infallible you act, I know that it hurts. Because it hurt me too.”

You looked at him for a good, long moment, your eyes unusually soft, before you held out your hand and said your full name.

“Tyler Galpin,” he said as he shook it, and he couldn’t help his smile. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”

“It means we’re still locked in a closet together for the night and I don’t feel like being on your bad side,” you said. Tyler just laughed.

“You’re something else.”

The rest of the night was… interesting.

The two of you talked more than you had during any of your shifts.

You told him about all the traveling you did as a kid, from California to Texas to Germany and a bundle of other states and countries. You told him about your aspirations to become a child psychologist so you could help kids in a way that you never got. You told him about your grandmother, how you tried to stay strong for her and your parents but it was terrifying being the only one there for her apart from some call-in nurses. You told him more than you ever anticipated, but… it felt good.

Tyler told you about the months after his mother’s death, the toll it took on him and his father. He told you what it was like to grow up as the sheriff’s son, how sometimes he felt more like a shiny symbol of his father’s success than his son. He told you about his old asshole friends, how he used to be just like them. He told you more than he ever anticipated, but… it felt good.

Somewhere in the middle, the two of you fell asleep.

And when Tyler woke a few hours later and saw your head against his shoulder, the slight rise and fall of your chest, your arms crossed around your midsection, he couldn’t help but smile.

“What the hell are you two doing in here?”

Tyler jolted as his eyes flew open, meeting the confused expression of one of his co-workers. Jackson, if he remembered correctly. Opening shift was finally here.

“We got locked in last night,” Tyler said, and he elbowed you to get you to wake up as well. “Door closed on us, and we didn’t have the key or our phones.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Good goin’, Galpin. You didn’t close last night, so you’re helping me open.”

“That’s fine,” Tyler said, and he walked away. He looked back down at you and said your name. “Hey. Morning shift freed us.”

Your eyes cracked open, and you grimaced a bit. “Finally,” you mumbled.

He smiled a bit. “You gonna get up?”

It took you a moment, but when you noticed that you were laying against him, you immediately jumped up and put distance between the two of you. You cleared your throat as you smoothed out the wrinkles in your clothes. “I’m not responsible for what I do when I’m asleep.”

Tyler laughed a bit. “I know.”

He got up after you, and the two of you walked out of the closet together. He was surprised that his first thought wasn’t how thankful he was to be out—rather, he was thankful that it had happened. Maybe all it took to get to know people was to get stuck in a tiny place together overnight.

“We’re helping Jackson open, by the way,” he said. “As payment for, uh— not closing last night.”

“Fine,” you said.

“...So,” Tyler said, glancing over at you. “Now that we’re no longer locked in a closet together, are we still friends?”

You rolled your eyes, but that small smile tugged at your lips once again. “Sure. As long as you don’t let it go to your head.”

A smile of his own formed and Tyler nodded. “I would never.”

Enigma no more.

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator @louderfortheback

#tyler galpin x reader #tyler x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday 2022 #wednesday netflix #x reader #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin #sadie writes

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sincerely-sofie · 3 months

Note

Hi! This may come across as a dumb question, but I wanted to write my own PMD:EoS fic, but I’m kind of lost on how I want to organize my thoughts and the plot. Additionally, I get new ideas and then I end up struggling with what I want to do. How did you organize things for your story?

This isn't a dumb question at all! It's something I've struggled with for a long time as a writer, and I'd be happy to share what I've come up with to solve my fight with story organization! I’ll try to speak coherently, but this is something I’m really passionate about, so I might ramble a bit, haha. Keep in mind that this is what works for me, and what will work for you may be very different. Take from this post what serves you well and ditch the rest :>

Organizational Tools

You can use pretty much anything to organize your story— I’ve used everything from loose printer paper in storage clipboards to expansive Google Docs that are hundreds of pages long in the past. But what I’ve found that really works for me is an app called Notion. You may have heard of it— it’s really popular with productivity enthusiasts and small business owners, but it works like a dream for organizing creative projects! There’s a bit of a learning curve, but you can find a lot of templates out there for free that work really well if you don’t want to set things up yourself.

This is how my Notion page for TPiaG was set up:

The “Cheat Sheets” dropdown list was full of character sheets, links to Bulbapedia articles I’d refer to while outlining or writing, and also my completed outline. “Fun Stuff” was full of memes and jokes about the characters, an empty page that I’d start filling once I received kind comments on my fic, as well as ideas for additional stories relating to the AU— stuff like oneshots and possible sequels or diverging AUs. Fun fact: this is where I first wrote down my idea for The Present is a Gift: Paradox Edition AU!

“Chapters to Write” and “Chapters I’ve Written” were dropdown lists where I divided my outline into little sub-dropdown lists in “Chapters to Write”, and everytime I wrote a chapter, I would move it over to “Chapters I’ve Written”. Nothing is as reassuring when you’re stuck in the middle of writing a nearly 60k word fanfic as seeing the chapters slowly migrate to the right.

Organizing the Story

Outlining is a big part of my organization process, so I’ll be talking a fair bit about it. The first part of any story is your premise / core idea (it sounds like you’ve already got some of your own, so I won’t discuss coming up with those). The next step is brainstorming what you want to revolve around that premise. I already knew the characters fairly well, so what I did for TPiaG is write out a bunch of ideas for scenes on scraps of notebook paper and start arranging them on a table in different ways. I eventually settled on an order of events (many of which ended up cut for clarity in the actual fic), and then I started structuring them into chapters.

How I structure chapters is inspired by the Kishotenketsu structure that is used fairly often in Asian storytelling. I divide each chapter into 5 parts: an Introduction that provides a starting point for the chapter, Development that builds on and adds context or tension to the introduction, a Twist that causes a new perspective on either the situation, characters, or something else in the story, a Resolution that helps wrap things up in a satisfying way, and then a Hook that leads the reader to want to read the next chapter. This is a structuring method that works way better for me than the Three Acts or the Hero’s Journey— I prefer the stronger focus on character vs. plot— and so I try to use it as often as possible. Here’s an example from my outline (if you’ve read TPiaG, you may notice some differences between it and the actual published chapters of the fic! It’s chapter 4 instead of chapter 3, for one thing!)

Organizing Characters

I’ll be honest— I didn’t fill out character sheets like I should have for this project. I kind of just went with the flow as I wrote them. Twig and Grovyle are the only characters who got sheets at all, and Grovyle still only got a half of one. However, I do have a blank copy of a character sheet I can share as reference!

I think most of this is pretty self-explanatory— but if anyone wants clarification on anything or what goes into the individual note sections, let me know! This is what the topmost part of Twig’s character sheet bio looks like:

The Torment of the Human Mind, or: How to Deal with Idea Overload

This is an ongoing struggle for me. I’ve mentioned having ADHD in the past, but it really turns idea generation and shiny object syndrome into a purgatory of unspeakable proportions. Before TPiaG, I had never finished a creative project because I would constantly ping-pong back and forth between newer and funner ideas, inevitably abandoning WIPs, come back to them for a few weeks at a time, and then dart off to the next thing. This feels awful because you never finish anything when you’re stuck in this cycle, and having all those ideas as open tabs in your brain is exhausting.

My greatest advice for figuring out what you want to do and then doing it? Figure out a fun idea— maybe not the funnest idea, but an idea you enjoy and can create with your current skills and a good helping of hard work— and then commit to it with a story priority hierarchy. Every time you want to work on another idea, you have to work on the idea you committed to first for 30 minutes (or a different block of time, whatever works for you!). After that allotted time is up, you’re free to work on whatever other projects you like— but you have to start at the top of the priority hierarchy. That way, you still get work done on your #1 project, but you’re not restricted to it.

Alternatively: Write until that priority project is done. You can make notes on ideas, you can make Pinterest boards for them, and you can make playlists— but you can only write for your priority project. I’d recommend doing this with a deadline in mind. Something like Camp NaNoWriMo or a similar month-long challenge. Novelty is an important part of my workflow! I get it. But for some people, bouncing back and forth between ideas is detrimental to their ability to focus / write, and committing to a single project at a time is extremely beneficial. I thought that I was someone who needed total freedom to work on any of my projects, but it turns out that being handcuffed to a project and a word count goal for a month was exactly what I needed to finish my first ever complete manuscript.

Yikes, this was a lot. I hope I answered your question well enough. If not, ask again and give me another shot! I love talking about creativity, and I would be overjoyed to help you create however I can.

#stuff by sofie #sofie says stuff #creativity tips with sofie #writing #writing advice #writing tips #writing motivation #writer advice #writer tips #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writers of tumblr #fanfiction writer #fanfic writing #the present is a gift au

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suzdin · 7 months

Text

Mad Max Phillips

(Vampire!Max Phillips x f!reader)

Summary: When trying to deliver a message to Max Phillips doesn’t go according to plan.

Warnings: no use of y/n but use of a nickname/pet name, violence/gore, blood kink, fingering, unprotected p in v (he’s dead it doesn’t matter), squirting, biting (obviously), kind of soft Max at one point

Notes: Basically wanted an excuse to write something about vampires to exercise my knowledge of vampire lore, that’s all really. Enjoy!

18+ MDNI

——

You aren’t sure what compels you to knock on the door to Max’s office. It’s after hours and you should be sitting in traffic by now, chugging down your third or fourth iced coffee of the day, mentally preparing yourself to go to the bar for St. Patrick’s Day celebrations with Alice and Tristan later. Not standing on the fifth floor, where you definitely don’t belong, with some name and phone number scrawled on a post-it note because asshole Max Phillips wouldn’t answer his goddamn phone.

You got the call right as you were about to clock out—a client called ManeGain that sells hair growth products for men. Needed to talk Max Phillips about their account. Fine, you thought. Last one of the day.

Let me direct your call, you’d told the voice on the phone. One moment.

You thought you were home free after that. That is until another call rolled through right as you were slinking into your purse and jacket, fingers hovering over the keyboard to log your hours for the day.

He isn’t answering and I need to talk to him immediately. Please see to it he gets my message, the voice said.

You’re under no obligation to hand deliver messages. Your job is to man the front desk, answer and route phone calls to the appropriate recipients. Direct visitors to the bathroom down the hall. Be a smiling face—or not—as people you barely recognize wash past you and into the building for a long and exhausting 9 to 5 in corporate America.

You had a vague idea of what Max looked like. By and large, he ignored you. As if you weren’t really there. Which was fine by you; the less interaction you had to endure throughout the day, the better.

So you aren’t sure why you’re here, on this empty floor crammed full of cubicles by yourself, hand delivering a message to a man you couldn’t care less about right now. Especially after hearing what sounded like screams as you stepped off the elevator into the hall; and especially after said screams had fallen stagnant and the only other noise audible to you is the crescendo of your own breath as it warbles out of your chest.

You rap your knuckles softly against the door, a lingering sense of dread snaking its way up your spine. “Mr. Phillips? I’m from downstairs. From the lobby? I have a message for you from a Jim Hicks with ManeGain?“

You wait patiently and you’re met with silence so heavy your ears ring. Not even the creak of an office chair or the tapping of fingers on a keyboard can be heard. Perhaps Max has already gone home for the day? You don’t recall seeing him, but it’s possible you missed him in the rush to complete your end of day tasks.

Now that you think about it, you don’t remember seeing him much at all lately.

You could just stick the note to his door and be done with it. After all, it isn’t your job to play delivery person. You’ve done more than is necessary already.

But there’s a persistent intuition rising in your throat that something is off. That something is wrong—you’re sure you’d heard screams. What if Max is hurt? What if you could help him?

The smart thing to do would be to call 911 and vacate yourself back to the safety of the lobby while you wait for emergency services to arrive. But if Max or someone else is injured, they may only have precious few seconds to live, so if you could just check that everything is alright first for your own peace of mind…

As you raise your hand to knock a second time, the door abruptly whooshes open in front of you, an arm shooting forward to hook around your neck and snatch you into the confines of the office, a second hand clapping over your mouth to dampen the horrified yelp that works its way up from your lungs. Your back collides harshly into the door as someone you can’t see spins you, pinning you between themselves and the wood. This all happens within fractions of a second.

At first you think you’ve lost your vision; the room is black as pitch and you can’t even make out the edges of the space around you, much less whoever is inches from your face. Once your vision adjusts, you pick up on the faint blinking glow of a modem against the wall; aside from that, you’re completely blind, your other senses going into overtime.

The first thing you notice is the smell. A thick coppery tang, it almost seems to cake the inside of your nasal passage, overburdening your senses. You think you know what it is—it can’t be though, right? Why would it be?—but you can’t be sure without your sight.

And then you hear something…dripping. Whatever it is, it isn’t far. Few feet, maybe. It seems to be low, which means the source of the sound isn’t coming from the ceiling, where you would suspect. Possibly a desk. Perhaps someone spilled a drink?

Everything happens quickly, within split seconds of one another, and it’s only then you’re acutely aware you’re still being pinned by a faceless assailant, and that whoever it is is breathing against your neck, their breath rife with the same copper stench of the surrounding room. You make a pathetic, mewling sound, your muscles pulled tighter than a snare drum over your trembling frame.

“I can hear the blood coursing through your veins,” murmurs the phantom voice. Then, a dark chuckle. “Fear makes it taste better. Lucky for you, I just fed.”

You feel a shift in your bodies as he manipulates you into a position more advantageous for him, lining his pelvis up with yours. You feel the hard pressure of his erection prodding at your center, dragging your seam through your thin leggings. You relinquish a small sound, one that sounds more gratuitous than you intend it to be, your core throbbing at the sensation in spite of—or perhaps as a consequence of—the spikes of fear and adrenaline currently threading their way through you.

“Did someone like that?” the voice chuckles. You feel the sharp hook of his nose press against the flesh of your neck, skimming along your pulse point. He groans salaciously and rolls his hips against yours, your own utterance of pleasure reverberating your lungs and dying in the meat of the palm still clamped over your mouth. Fuck, this shouldn’t feel good, it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t, but it does—

—it’s the fear, you think. Your mind is trying to help you cope by flooding your body with endorphins. That has to be it. It must be…

“I can smell your blood, sweetheart. Smells so fucking sweet and intoxicating,” he asserts, his tone heady and full of longing. “Never smelled any like yours before. What is your blood type?”

His hand moves away from your mouth, sliding down to circle the underside of your jaw. “Make a sound and I’ll snap your neck like a toothpick,” he warns. Max knows he isn’t above fucking a corpse. Hell, he is a corpse.

You could scream now if you wanted, and you most definitely should. But in spite of yourself, you don’t. You know as well as anyone there’s no one in the building who can save you. And even if there were, they’d never make it in time; the firm press of his hand against your jawbone confirms your suspicion that his threat is anything but idle. You vaguely remember your crisis training and know that compliance is key to survival in hostage situations, if that’s what this is.

“AB negative,” you answer, your voice quavering. Hot tears collecting along the rims of your eyes. “R-rarest… rarest blood type,” you finish.

Max grins and pulls back to study your face. Unlike you, he doesn’t need light to see, his supernatural senses honed now that he’s grown accustomed to using them. He recognizes you as the pretty face from downstairs, the first and last he used to see every work day. Although not so much lately; not since the shift and that pesky allergy to sunlight that would render him to a pile of ash if he tempted it.

“Excellent,” he croons, licking a slow stripe along your neck, simultaneously drunk on the blood in his belly that is making his head swim, and the way he can feel your artery pulsing under his tongue.

“Maybe I’ll have a taste anyway. Always room for dessert, right?” His hand travels from your jaw to the curve of your waist, then to your thigh, where he grabs your leg to hitch it up against him, slinking you around himself so he can deepen the angle of his erection against your core. He needs to be inside you sooner than later, the high of his recent kill making him insatiable.

You let out a sob. It isn’t exactly loud and you hope it isn’t enough to get you killed, but you can’t help it, panic now taking the wheel. A taste of what? Your blood? Does he think he’s a fucking vampire?

You’re definitely the kind of weird girl to believe such things—vampires, aliens, ghosts and the lot. But now that it actually appears to be happening, you’re paralyzed with disbelief, your heart telling you there’s no other logical explanation, but your brain not wanting to accept.

“Shhhh, shhh. Quiet now. I’m going to turn on the light so you can see. And again, you will not make a sound. Right?” he implores.

“R-right,” you mumble, your tongue feeling like a dead lump of flesh in your mouth. “W-won’t make a sound,” you promise.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, flicking on the switch that you discover is only inches from where your head meets the door, reminding you that you could have turned it on at any point yourself.

You bring a hand up to shield your eyes from the onslaught of luminescence and Max does the same, his eyes far more sensitive than your own. You adjust faster than he does, your gaze already pointed at his chest as your hand lowers, and the first thing you notice is the smattering of blood adorning his suit, staining his white dress shirt. He’s wearing a green tie for Saint Patrick’s Day and you can’t help but think grimly that it looks like some sort of macabre version of Christmas.

Only after you gather your bearings do you allow yourself to look around fully and what you’re met with is nothing short of a horror show. A lifeless man is draped across Max’s desk, both arms displaced from his body, tendrils of sinew dangling gracelessly from the sockets where his arms should be. A gaping chasm decorates his chest which is devoid of a heart as far as you can tell. A smaller but similar impression is found in the stem of the man’s neck, which you deduce is the source of the dripping you heard, the shape and jagged edges of the wound indicative that Max took more than a generous bite out of him.

Rivulets of blood stream down the sides of the desk, collecting in a puddle which is still slowly spreading dark vermillion across the tiled floor. You inhale sharply, your tears flowing freely, thinking to yourself how you’ve never seen this much blood in your entire life. How you may be next.

You will yourself to look at the man’s face. You recognize him from earlier when he’d come up to you in the lobby to ask for directions to Max’s office. His eyes are glazed open in a perpetual loop of his final moments, his jaw slack, mouth ajar in a silent scream. Your stomach turns and you release another sob that you’ve been holding in your chest, but you don’t dare make any other sounds lest Max rips you asunder.

You find one arm on the floor next to the desk, your gaze pulling directly to it. Your eyes search with urgency for the second one, as there are very few places it could possibly be, but you don’t find it on visual inspection alone.

Max forces your visage back to his, black and endless as they scrutinize you. His face is streaked in blood, a goatee of red flowing down from his curved lips, which is splayed into a tilted smirk. You sniffle, your chest shuddering with effort as you attempt to collect your breath and your faculties.

“He wanted to pull his account from our company,” Max explains with a shrug, waving a hand dismissively. “There were some…choice words exchanged. Things escalated. I was hungry. It worked out.”

Max drags you backwards, twirling you toward the wall opposite the door as he releases you, turning the lock behind him. You swallow, dread hammering hard in your chest, doing all you can to regulate your pulse rate but easily failing, pinpricks of sweat breaking out on your skin.

You’ll make it through this. You’ll make it out alive. You won’t end up another meal for this… vampire, incubus, deranged cannibal. Whatever he is.

He steps forward, slipping out of his jacket and waistcoat, discarding them in the bin in the corner. They’re ruined, anyway.

“Fear makes…everything better,” Max intones, giving you a cursory once over as he licks his lips. “On both sides.”

He begins rolling up his sleeves on each arm, pinning them at the elbow, revealing a twin set of thick, toned forearms. His tie is last, which he removes deftly, stepping closer to you to loop it around your neck. You shrink away, or try to, your backside bumping against a cabinet. Max laughs when he effectively corners you again, your mingled scents driving him to madness, threatening to turn him into some sort of savage beast; he can smell the fear being excreted from your adrenal gland, the heady arousal pooling amid your thighs, the invigorating scent of blood pulsing in your veins. It’s enough to make any vampire crazy.

He cinches the tie around your neck, wrapping the other end around his fist. He knows he could use his mind control powers to will you into submission, but there’s no sport in that. No challenge. He prefers when it feels more like a game of cat and mouse and so far, you were being plenty acquiescent, stunned into submission like a timid little dormouse. He can’t help but wonder what you’d let him do to you. How far you would go.

He pulls you against him using the necktie for leverage, causing you to stumble into his chest. He can feel how hard your nipples are underneath your green blouse. You hate how much your body is betraying you right now.

“Taste,” Max quietly commands, lifting his fingers to your lips, the digits still slick with the drying blood of his victim. You whimper and shake your head, tilting away from him.

“N-no, please,” you beg. “Anything but that.”

“Anything? That’s a dangerous proposition, dollface,” Max tuts, smirking crookedly.

“I don’t think I c-can,” you reiterate, shaking like a leaf in his grasp. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. And it tastes fucking amazing.” He places his fingers against your soft lips. “Open. Now.”

You ultimately resign yourself, knowing you shouldn’t fight him. You’ve seen what he can do—did do—the last thing you need is to antagonize him further. Your lips part softly for him and his fingers delve into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue.

You note the distinct coppery tang of blood right away and it makes you gag, sending you into an inadvertent coughing fit, your own hands pushing Max’s away before you’re aware you’re even doing so, more tears crowding your eyes. If it was your own blood or Max’s, you’re sure you could handle it. But knowing where it came from is enough to make you want to wretch. And you almost do.

Max chuckles, shaking his head at how easily you succumb to your pathetic human morals. “Not good?” he asks.

“Tastes like…rusty pennies,” you spit, swiping at your tongue in anguish to get the taste out of your mouth. In your peripheral, you can almost see the dead man’s eyes watching you. Rightfully judging you.

Max grins, musing over how easily he can make you fall apart, but satisfied that he got you to try, which is good enough for him. For now, at least. “Suit yourself. More for me,” he says with a flourish of his shoulders, licking the remnants of blood from his fingers. “Tastes like the best fucking drink I’ve ever had. I bet you taste even better, though.”

He’s pushing into you again, tightening the tie a few more inches until it’s just barely flush against your throat. His words go straight to your core, his nostrils flaring when he smells more arousal creeping into your panties.

His hand coils tighter around the other end of the necktie, a wry grin playing on his features. He studies you, memorizing all the different shades of your eyes; the curvature of your lips, of your soft cheeks. “I should make you my pet. Would you like that? Being a pet for a vampire?” he asks, his free hand cupping your cheek. “I would like that.”

You attempt a nod. You don’t dare say no. Part of you thinks you would like it, though. But the killing? The constant slew of bodies? You aren’t sure you could get used to that.

“That’s what I thought,” Max muses with a small puff of air from his lips, his opposite hand traversing the curves of your body at a agonizingly leisurely pace.

His hand finds your sex, fingers stroking along your folds through the cloth of your leggings. He can feel you’re soaked through already. His mouth dips to your neck, tongue trailing your pulse point, eager to taste you, but allotting you ample time to get used to the feeling of him there. His teeth tease across your pebbled skin, but he doesn’t clamp down yet, his vampire canines still tucked away for now.

He notices the way your muscles tense and your heart flutters each time his teeth graze, anticipating being bitten, being fed on. He wishes he hadn’t already gorged himself on some jerkoff right before you showed yourself at his door—you would have made a far more delicious meal than this guy. Not that he would have given you the same treatment. Unlike the corpse still cooling on his desk, he’d rather keep you around for future feedings and other forays.

“My pet likes this, doesn’t she?” he coos, nipping at the delicate intersection of your neck and shoulder with his human teeth, causing you to jump. He chuckles. “Relax, baby.”

There’s a sudden tight pull in your lungs, an inexplicable rush of air, and you start to panic when it feels like you can’t breathe, the oxygen punched out of your lungs. Everything goes static and you almost black out, the edges of the room slowly blotting away but then quickly coming back into focus, and you feel an inexplicable chill roll up your spine as a blast of cold air stings your skin.

There are two fingers tapping at your entrance and you look down in time to see Max’s thick digits sinking deep into you, all the way down to the meat of his hand. It occurs to you that you’re completely naked, your clothes discarded into a hasty pile on the floor. You look at Max with a quizzical expression, but before he can answer, your head is rolling back to brush the wall as he furls said fingers inside of you, slowly pumping, a moan departing your lips.

“Super speed. Comes in handy sometimes,” Max explains with a low chortle. “You get used to it.”

If there were any doubts before that Max could be a vampire, you definitely have none now. Unless you’re going insane, which is a very real possibility at this point, there is no other logical explanation for how expeditiously he was able to get you undressed.

He continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers, watching the way your expression transitions from horror to pleasure, your mouth dropping open in a small “O”.

He can tell by your scent that you haven’t been with any other men recently, indicating that you most likely don’t have a regular suitor in your life. He would be right, your last boyfriend out of the picture for several months now. That’s a good thing, because Max doesn’t do competition.

“Would you like to know the other ways it’s useful? My super speed?” Max questions, curving his fingers into a spot that makes your body roll into an arch against him.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “Please.”

It’s fucked that you’re enjoying this. Max is a killer who’s cloaked in another man’s blood. Said man wasn’t particularly kind to you—was in fact, curt and rude—but that doesn’t mean he deserved such a fate.

Whatever conflict you’re currently having over the whole ordeal hastily disperses when it’s almost like Max switches on a vibrator between your legs, the edges of his arm blurring away, an exquisite tingle pooling amid your thighs, spreading through your abdomen.

Max doesn’t use his advanced speed often as it takes a lot out of him to do so. Vampires were not as invulnerable as everyone perceived them to be, so he only used it when it was its most advantageous, such as now.

Your head droops forward to rest on his shoulder, blood and all, biting back a moan between your teeth. You think he’s probably even better than your vibrator back home, as you can’t recall something ever making you feel this good.

He lifts your eyes back to him and bites down against the side of your neck—once again only human teeth, which still hurt by all accounts—your muscles clamping down around him with a whimper. You feel the familiar stirring growing low in your core, and you know your orgasm is not far off.

“Max—“

“That’s it, sweetheart. Quiet now. Cum for me. Cum for me, but don’t make a sound.”

His eyes are dark, brow pushed down into a stern line. They bore holes straight through your soul, unmoving from your face as he watches you. You close your eyes to concentrate on the impending orgasm and he snaps the tie against your neck, making you gasp, bringing you back to the present.

“Don’t take your eyes off of me.”

His thumb finds your clit, anchoring itself there and that does it, the coil inside of you unfurling, euphoria peaking as you struggle to keep your sounds to a lower pitch.

And then a not-so-recognizable sensation overtakes you and you’re suddenly gushing around his fingers, your eyes going wide with shock as you realize what is happening, knowing you’ve never done that before, you never knew it was something you could do.

“Messy little thing,” Max muses, fingers slipping free with another rush of fluids that trickle down your inner thigh.

Mind somewhat foggy now with over exertion, he can’t help but think how much it was worth it as he tastes you on his fingers.

He hikes your leg up once more, wrapping it around his waist like a belt as he undoes his pants, pulling himself free. His cock springs forward, rock hard and twitching eagerly, flaring red at the tip, more than ready to bury himself in your depths.

You can’t stop your eyes from wandering and you marvel at his size, swallowing in anticipation of it, but your gaze quickly whips back to his when he tugs harshly on the tie.

“Eyes stay up here, dollface.”

He swipes the head of his shaft through your folds, gathering your slick. He admires the cluster of stars you have tattooed on your inner thigh, dragging a thumb over it. An impulsive thing you did as soon as you turned eighteen simply because you could.

You notice as you watch him that Max also has a tattoo—a small bullseye no bigger than a dime on the side of his left hand.

“My pet needs a new name,” he hums as he aligns himself with your entrance. “How about Star? Would you like that?”

You nod in affirmation. “S-star, yes. I like it.”

Max grins. That wide, self-important grin retained from his former self, blood still staining his lips and chin. “Good. Because if you’re a good little pet, that is what you will be. My Star.”

He starts to push into you, slow at first so you get used to the stretch of him, and then snapping forward the last inch or so, sinking until his hips slot against yours. He lets out a groan that sounds almost demonic in its ardor, causing your heart to skip a beat or several.

“I can…hear your blood…moving. Fucking hot,” he growls.

The first thing you notice about Max as he begins thrusting inside of you is how cold he feels. Not ice cold, but for sure not the warm bodies you’re used to sharing yourself with. Oddly enough, you kind of like it.

You wrap one hand around his neck to steady yourself as he ruts into you. He isn’t going any faster than you’re used to, but that’s probably for the best. If he went even half as fast as he did with his arm, he might actually rip you in half.

You’re the first human Max has been with since the change. He missed it, the warmth of it. Sex with other vampires was too cold, both physically and psychologically, too cunning and dispassionate. He much prefers this, the warmth of your skin sinking into his, making him feel almost like his mortal self again; your little moans and mewls of passion bringing out the monster in him.

You have to hide your face in his chest to muffle all the various sounds of being fucked you’re making, which he surprisingly lets you do without retribution this time, each thrust of his hips jerking you halfway up the wall, the cloth of his nice dress shirt damp from blood, not sweat. Strangely enough, there is no sweat aside from your own, his skin smooth as porcelain.

He slants his hips to deepen the angle inside of you, causing you to whimper louder than intended, his hand tightening around your hip, bruising. If not for the previous expenditure of his energy and the fact he was going easier on you than usual, he could do this all night and then some. You’re making him absolutely ravenous and his self-control not to taste you is waning by the minute.

He pins you in place with the span of his body, increasing the speed and power of his thrusts, and within seconds your walls start to clamp around him, another orgasm building low in your belly.

“That’s it, Star. Cum for me. Cum on my cock,” he beckons.

His face tilts to your neck, aquiline nose nuzzling in the small hollow at the back of your jaw, the soft area that bridges your neck and throat. Grazing his teeth over the warmth of your skin, the heat of your pulsating artery.

The feel of his teeth dragging your skin, teasing, testing, making you clench, and then you’re cumming again with a muted whimper lost in the wide breadth of his chest. You feel his mouth part against your skin as you come undone, a sharp pain suddenly blooming hot in the muscle of your neck.

You feel liquid pooling in the dip of your collarbone, and you realize that Max is feeding on you, sharp canines sinking deep into your neck, tongue laving across your skin with a deep, guttural groan as he feasts upon you. The sounds he’s making are lascivious and lewd, sending a fresh new wave of arousal through you despite your panic, amplifying your orgasm.

Lips still locked to your neck as he feeds, Max’s hips stutter and then draw to a halt when he begins to spill himself inside of you, unable to fully contain himself now that he’s gotten a taste, an unholy, inhuman roar erupting from him so terrifying in its potency that you nearly scream.

Max pulls his face away, lips dark and shiny with a fresh coat of blood as he looks down at you, half-cocked grin playing there. There’s something unsettlingly alluring about it.

You begin to sob softly, you can’t help it, your adrenaline and endorphins dwindling now that all is said and done.

“Shhhh, my Star. It’s okay. You’re okay. You did so well for me,” he consoles, tracing your cheek with the back of his hand.

You see his fangs now, which you’re positive weren’t there before, sharp and pointed and slicked in red. He pricks a finger on one of them and squeezes it, blood beading at the end of his fingertip. He smears it over the punctures in your neck, and you feel a small tickle as they close up almost instantaneously.

And then you see his teeth retract, not dissimilar to a cat’s claws. There one second and gone the next.

He leans forward to clean up any remaining traces of blood, gently pulling you off of him. “See? Good as new,” he says with a wink.

“W-what do I do now?” you ask with a tremble in your voice. You start fidgeting with the tie to see if he’ll let you take it off. He cocks his head curiously.

“You stay with me,” he explains. “You’ll live with me. I’ll take fabulous care of you, my pet, don’t worry.”

“C-can I take this off?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

You take it off and hand it to him, although it’s stained beyond usefulness, so he tosses it to the floor. He bends to gather your clothes, meticulously redressing you, placing a small kiss to your neck where he fed.

“You taste so fucking good, Star,” he pines with a stretch, sucking air through his teeth. “Best I’ve ever tasted. Now that I’ve had you, I’ll never be sated.”

He wraps his arms around your torso in an uncharacteristically tender embrace, skimming his lips along the shell of your ear. “Sleep, now,” he whispers, and you slip away just like that, Max lowering your now-limp body to the floor as he tucks his discarded jacket under your neck.

——

When you wake up—you don’t know how many minutes or hours later—Max is standing over you. Your eyes dart about the room and the man’s body and every trace of him is gone, as if he never existed. Max offers you a hand to help you up and you take it.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Just before sunrise. It’s too late to leave. You can call in today and I’ll keep you hidden in my office.”

You frown. Calling in after St. Paddy’s Day isn’t a good look, but what other choice do you have? You just hope you don’t lose your job.

“Okay,” you reply, nodding your head in confirmation. “And at the end of the day?”

“We wait until sun down,” Max begins with a grin, “and then we go home.”

#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #dark romance #max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #vampire fiction

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atinylittlepain · 3 months

Text

Care

college!steve harrington x f!oc

a brief continuation of Warm and Maybe, Probably, Definitely because my brain is fully rotting out of my ears over these two

.........................................

“That smells brutal.”

“It’s bleach, Steve, what did you expect?”

“Are you sure this is, like, you–” What he was going to ask, are you sure you know what you’re doing? But Andy pulls away from where she had been folding her fingers through his hair to fix him with a look, crooked brow and pursed lips, and he knows better than to finish that question.

“Well if you don’t want me to.” She draws out the last word, little sigh, little tug of her hand in his hair, her smile threatening to creep into a grin when his hands curl around the backs of her thighs, squeezing, and no, honey, I want you to, I do.

“Then no messing around while I’m working, unless you want to end up with skunk stripes.” He’s not entirely sure how they got here, him sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat in her tiny bathroom, trying hard to stay seated upright while her ministrations, pushing and pulling at his scalp, only make him want to slacken and slump against her hip where she’s standing between his legs. Sylvia sits perched on the lip of the tub, batting at a sheet of tinfoil a bit disinterestedly. No, not sure how they ended up here. Chalk it up to a long weekend and nowhere to go and a low murmuring thunderstorm outside. They had been lazing, languid on her couch, and he could practically see the gears turning in her head, clicking into one perfect do you want to try something?

And so they’ve ended up here, the light pattering of rain against the window and a Yo La Tengo tape she left playing filtering in from the other room, and he’s on the brink of dozing off, his chin nearly perched on the soft of her hip while his hair starts to get weighed down by folded tinfoil. Just a few though, it doesn’t take her long, her palm settling between his shoulder blades with a light scratch and, we’ll give them twenty minutes. He feels loose, pliant, and a little unsure why. Just good, he thinks, this feels good to be bored with her, to do you want to try something with her.

When twenty minutes are up, she ushers him back into the bathroom and has him take his shirt off, leaning him over the sink and under the faucet. And she works with a deft care that’s surprising, one hand cupped over his eyes to keep water from rinsing into them, and the other working through his hair, making him smell like her with her shampoo. An aunt, she tells him, owns a salon back home, and she’d help out in the summers.

“I thought it wasn’t very women’s lib to care about stuff like this.” He says it light, a joke, sitting on the lip of her bathtub and watching her plug in a blow dryer. He used to do this stuff, this preening, prepping stuff every morning, probably was part of the reason there’s a hole in the ozone layer with the products he used. That dropped off somewhere along the way, and he can’t presently remember why.

“Good thing you're not a woman then. Besides, it’s nice to pay attention sometimes.” And maybe that’s what it is, he thinks, that’s turning his heart into melt and burst in his chest. Care and attention, and how easily she’s giving all of hers to him over something so simple, and a little silly. She blow dries his hair, uses that round brush he watches her use in the mornings on her hair that’s now grown into something closer to a bob, and he likes that a little too much, a little too freakishly, the filaments of her mixing with him. And when she’s done, she takes a step back, a smile jumping in the corners of her mouth.

“Oh baby.”

“What? Is it bad?”

“Hey, a little more faith please.” And then she’s coaxing him up by his hands and getting him standing in front of the mirror with her chin hooked over his shoulder. He really looks, like, really looks. And it’s good, subtle, little golden lightness here and there in his hair, but he’s less interested in that than he is in the thick flush blooming at his clavicle and creeping up into his face. She’s got him blushing, making his grin slip sideways, a little sheepish when she starts smattering kisses up the line of his neck, not fair how pretty you are, Stevie, criminal, honestly, and a kiss to his cheek, to his temple. Both of their smiles start to melt when he turns his head and catches her bottom lip with his, and he knows, he knows. No, nothing like this before, not ever. Care, just because they can.

“Do you like it?” A question hummed into his mouth, turned around, away from the mirror, so he can really kiss her, his hands slung low around her waist.

“I do, honey, you did good. How much do I owe you?” She pantomimes consideration, her head tilted while she brushes her hand back through his hair, curling at his nape.

“Hmm, I think a little Careless Whisper performance would suffice.”

“Not happening, sorry.”

“Oh come on, you were so good at the bar last weekend.” The bar last weekend with Robin and Eddie and her, and he had gotten just drunk enough to make karaoke seem like a good idea. He doesn’t remember it, but according to Eddie, there was a table, and Steve standing on it with a mic in hand and George Michael blaring through the speakers, and a very disgruntled bar owner that didn’t appreciate his zealous little performance.

“I’m never getting that drunk again.” He drops his forehead down to her shoulder, a groan even as she breathes out a laugh, not letting him hide for long.

“Well, I guess you can make me dinner.”

“Yeah?” “Mmhmm, I liked that chicken thing you did before.”

“I can make the chicken thing.”

Care, give and take, willing and wanting, his way and her way. He likes getting to do this with her.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington ficlet #steve harrington au #steve harrington imagine

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thetaleoflevi · 2 years

Text

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Lovers Who Hesitate

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Pairing: Levi x fem!reader

Content: NSFW, Modern AU

Content Warnings: Insinuated poor relationship with family, explicit language, workaholic reader, alcohol *wine, drunk reader, vomit, 18+ smut, rub a dub dub…sorry, hand job through boxers, PIV sex, breast play, clitoral stimulation, scratching, more 18+ things, 18+ warning no. 3!, friends to lovers

Word Count: 13.4k

Description: Just a whole fic dedicated to Levi and Reader acting like dumb lovers throughout their friendship.

A/N: I hate writing descriptions//summaries. You guys know this and yet I still mention it every time I post something. Apologies :p. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy! 💙

⭐️Taglist: @urfilgoth @ackermandick

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You were in love. You fell so hard, and it was the messiest thing you’d ever felt. It was upsetting when you finally came to terms with it, because you had given into one of those things you said you wouldn’t get into. “Money and success are the way of life,” you vividly remember your mother telling you when you were just twelve years old. Love had no room in the equation, or so your days on this popular, lonely planet showed you.

The universe was cruel for letting someone like him get in the way of you making life your bitch. It was stupid. He had a habit of walking into your office and watching you work, knowing he had things to get to before the end of the day. You found it childish whenever you blushed at the feeling of his body heat radiating from behind you. He enjoyed the rage that engulfed you when you were forced to stay later because your boss was a lazy asshole who pretended he didn’t know how to do his job so that you would do it for him. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Right…?

“Hey, Levi?” You poke your head through the doorway of his office.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” He spins his chair to face you, folding his hands in his lap, giving you all of his attention. It shouldn’t affect you as much as it does, but you can feel your ears getting warmer by the second.

“Oh, um, I was gonna go get some coffee from the shop across the street, and I was wondering if you wanted something.” You straighten your posture, your whole body in the room now.

“Did you ask anybody else?” His lip quirks up a little. You’re too kind for your own good.

“N-No. You’re kind of my only friend here,” you chuckle nervously, your whole face now growing warm at the lame confession.

“I see. I think it’s only fair that I join you, then. As your friend.” He stands up from his chair, grabbing his coat from the hook built into his door.

“I can just bring it to you. You don’t have to come with me,” you insist. “It’s right across the street. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

“It’s lunchtime. I doubt you’ll be back in two minutes.” He grabs his keys, putting them in his pocket as he nears the exit. “The lunch rush is killer for that tiny shop.“ He’s out the door before you are, but when he continues walking and doesn’t hear you behind him, he turns around.

“Come on. We can even sit inside if you want.”

You nod, an awkward smile on your face as you follow closely behind him.

—

“Have you had anything from this place? I’m looking at the premium black tea. It says premium but in my experience, anything with the word premium before it is a simple product with an extra charge.” He scans the board filled top to bottom with different items handwritten in a curly font.

“Actually, I haven’t. I just really needed some caffeine, but my go-to cafe is closed today.” You inch closer to the person in front of you as the line moves forward.

“Ah, then I guess this will be a first time for the both of us.” He looks away from the board, facing you. Your cheeks have a pink tint to them. You shove your sweaty hands into your pockets, still clenching them tightly.

“I can help the next guest,” the cashier calls to you and Levi. “What can I get started for you guys today?” The brunette says, emerald eyes flickering from your breasts to your eyes.

“I have a question about your premium black tea. What about it makes it a premium drink? There’s an extra charge for it, so it must be deserving of it.” Levi talks to the cashier, not getting full attention from the him. His name tag said ‘Eren’.

“Uh, yeah, give me a second. Mikasa!” He calls the black haired woman in the other room. She was quick to get beside him.

“Yes, Eren?” Her soft spoken voice was a great contrast to her pretty face.

“The guest wants to know what makes the premium black tea a premium drink.”

“Oh, the tea leaves are imported from China. The price per pound is a bit expensive, so we do want to make sure we make our money back eventually.” Her tone is flat as she answers any follow up questions Levi has.

“Did you need anything else, Eren?” Her voice gains its softness again.

“No, that was it. Thanks, Mikasa.” He winks at her, the woman’s pale face going red in seconds. She walks away, quickly turning to hide her blush.

“I’ll try the tea, then. What do you want?” Levi turns to you.

“Coffee,” you blurt. You’re not blind. You can see the direction the man’s eyes are looking in, and it’s unsettling.

“Okay. Did you want any sugar, milk, or creamer?” Levi catches onto your uncomfortableness.

“Yes.”

“Okay. She’ll have her coffee with milk and sugar.”

The cashier rings it all up, giving Levi a receipt. Once the drinks are ready, Levi goes to pick them up. “It’s polite to look customers in the eye when helping them.” He picks up the two cups, looking at Eren’s name tag one more time before going to the table you sat at.

“This one is mine and this one is yours.” He puts the cup down in front of you. “I don’t think we should come back here.”

“Why not?” You bring the cup to your lips, the hot liquid instantly burning your tongue as it enters your mouth.

“I know somewhere better. We’ll have to finish our work quicker, but I promise it’s worth it.”

Why does he have to be so impressive? Why can’t he give you a reason to hate him? A reason to focus solely on your life and forget about him.

“That sounds nice, but when aren’t we slammed with work? We got lucky today.” You attempt to push away from the idea.

“Why does it have to be during work?” His sterling eyes look into yours, his focus unwavering.

You think you should just come clean. You can’t stray off the path of success. Sadly, happiness isn’t part of the equation either.

“Levi, I-“

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. Your boss’s name pops up on the screen.

“One second,” you say, clicking the green button. Your boss wanted to know where you were, and unfortunately you got an earful.

Levi took the time to admire your features. Your lips formed the syllables of every word so elegantly, and your word choice is so careful, like you’ve prepared for conversations you haven’t had yet for days. He looks down at your neck, a simple necklace decorating it. Levi realizes something as you defend yourself on the phone. You’re beautiful, kind, and you know what you want, but you seem unavailable. You seem oblivious to his advances, or just plain uninterested.

“Okay. See you there,” you say, ending the phone call. You exhale frustratedly. “Boss called. I have to go.” You stand up, pushing your chair in with one hand, picking your cup up with the other.

“If you have to go, I have to go.” A small smile forms on his face.

“No, you’re fine. He didn’t ask for you.”

“If I sit here alone, it defeats the purpose of me coming with you. I wanted to spend my break with you.” He stands, repeating the same process as you.

“Sorry, Levi. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy the drinks next time.” You blush as he gets closer. The smell of his cologne wafts into your nose, and suddenly you feel even more nervous than before.

“It’s fine. We’re not coming back here. Let’s go.” His palm lands on your upper back, guiding you towards the exit. He turns to look at the cashier one more time, giving him a cold expression before following you back to the building.

You went right back to your office and slaved yourself for another three hours, sipping on the coffee that got cold as you focused on the endless reports on your computer screen. You clicked the last key for the day, slouching in your chair immediately after. Your phone buzzed on the desk, and the screen glowed with a notification. Levi’s name popped up.

Have dinner with me?

Your blood ran cold and your heartbeat was erratic. What about you intrigued him so much? Why did he want to spend time with you? What made you special?

Okay. Nothing fancy.

Just for tonight. Let me take you somewhere nice.

‘This sounds like a date’ you typed before deleting the message.

This is a one time thing, Ackerman. What time?

9PM. I’ll pick you up.

Deal.

—

It’s eight forty-five and you’re still panicking about how you should do your hair. It’s so unmanageable, too. It keeps sticking out in different directions, and you’re stressing about it like hell.

Just parked. The reservation is for 9:30 and it’s a 20 minute drive. Not trying to rush you or anything :)

No. The smiley face. You wasted a solid three minutes staring at it, and your hair still looked crazy.

—

You got in his car, feeling proud of yourself for being able to tame your mane.

“God,” Levi says, gawking at you. He’s blushing and you don’t even notice because you’re too focused on second guessing your outfit choice.

“W-What? Don’t we have to get going? It’s nine ten.” You try to distract him from your appearance.

“Forget the reservation. I’m cooking for you.”

“Oh, but you spent all that money. Let me at least pay you back.” You open your purse and pull out an inch of your wallet before Levi pushes it back in.

“It doesn’t matter. You can pay me back by letting me cook for you. I promise my cooking isn’t as bad as you might think.”

You chuckle before giving in.

“Okay, fine.”

He grins, putting the gear in drive, before driving you to his lovely home.

—

“Make yourself at home. Can I get you like something to drink?” He taps your shoulder, signaling for you to give him your coat.

“I’ll have what you’re having.” You feel strange in his house, not comfortable, but not totally uncomfortable. Being in a house that isn’t yours makes your nervous for a number of reasons, the main one being that if something breaks or goes missing, you’ll be the first person to blame as the invitee.

“I was gonna have a glass of wine. Are you sure you’ll have the same?” He goes into the kitchen, heading towards a cabinet where he stores fancy alcohol that is reserved only for the most special occasions. The occasion of today—you’re spending time with him outside of work, and that makes him feel like a hundred lightning bolts are powering him up.

He feels good about having you in his home. He prefers it because it’s more personal for him to cook for you than to pay for someone else to do it.

“Yeah, that should be fine.” You tiptoe towards the kitchen, stopping on the nonexistent line that divides the kitchen and the living room. You watch Levi as he skims through the labels on endless bottles of wine, not knowing that he’s choosing the most elegant one to share with you.

“This one looks good. We’ll start you off with half a glass because I don’t know what your alcohol tolerance is like.” He reaches up to grab two bulbous glasses from the cupboard.

“I don’t drink much wine, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you either.” You chuckle, still awkwardly standing between the two rooms.

The scarlet colored liquid pours into the glasses, yours only filled halfway, as promised, while Levi’s fills up just a little more.

“I’m gonna boldly assume that you have a high tolerance for alcohol. Correct me if i’m wrong.”

“Exactly. I’m still going to sip on it, but only because I’m trying to prove a point.” He goes into the fridge and brings out colorful ingredients for the meal he’s going to wow you with.

“Which is?” You question.

“Hmm…I need this, and this…and some of this,” he mutters to himself as he picks more ingredients from the drawers. He puts them all in a basket, thoroughly washing them before setting the basket on the counter so that he can rinse his cutting board and a knife. The water shuts off and he sets the cutting board over a damp towel.

“I know how to cook more than just scrambled eggs and ramen noodles.”

He finally says something about the way you’re still standing between the kitchen and living room, quirking a brow at the strangeness. “Sit on that stool for me, will you?” He points at a circle shaped stool that positions you in front of him, with his knife. He rolls up the sleeves of his light grey dress shirt before starting the prepping process for dinner.

You talked about so many things while watching him cook. How he got lured into the company you both work at, how much you both hated your lousy boss, dreams, places you’ve always wanted to go to. You got stuck on that last one for the longest time because Levi kept offering to take you to the places you only saw in your dreams. You settled for going on a spontaneous trip to Salzburg with him. The only rule was that it couldn’t be any time within the next two years, and that the trip had to be spontaneous. He agreed.

“It smells so fucking good, Levi.” You inhaled the smell that filled the air deeply. The profanity was a surprise, but he was glad you liked the aroma of the food he’d put so much effort into.

“One more minute.” He leans against the counter, watching as you eye your glass of wine. Half of it was gone, and you felt fine, or maybe you didn’t. Maybe that’s where the vulgar word came from.

“Time is a weird concept, don’t you think? In another dimension, the food would be done already, and in another dimension you would barely be putting it into the oven. I hate to break it to you, but in another dimension, we got carried away finding out about each other, and your food burned.”

Levi had figured out that day that your alcohol tolerance was weak. “I think it’s ready. Let’s get some food in your stomach.”

His oven mitts were cute. They were a gift from someone named Hange, and regardless of how stupid Levi thought the penguin littered, baby blue mitts were, he didn’t have the heart to throw them away. Hange moved hours—miles away, and these were one of his prized possessions.

—

“This is so good. Where did you learn to cook?” Halfway through the meal you sobered up a little. Partially because you stopped drinking the wine and stuffed your face a little.

“I’m self taught. I came to a realization during my final year of university,” he takes another sip of wine, taking his time to tell you his background of cooking, while you’re hanging onto every one of his words.

“What was the realization after all of that?” You ask, finally taking another sip of wine.

“I never want to live off of instant macaroni and cheese or frozen pizza ever again.” He picks up the perfect serving of vegetables and steak with his fork, feeding it into his mouth. “For something that takes two minutes to make, you get some shitty paste of a meal, when really, if you take more time and put in a little more effort, you can make something healthy—something that actually fills you.”

You suddenly feel ashamed of your stash of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

“Do you know how to cook?” He asks, washing down his last bite with a sip of wine.

“Not like this. I can cook you a piece of steak at most.” You savor the last bite of your meal. It’s something you wouldn’t even think to make in a million years.

“I can teach you, if you’d like,” his face warms up at the idea of spending even more time with you.

“No, I can’t ask you to do something like that for me. I’d only test your patience, and your patience is already tested at work.” You smile politely.

“I would have so much patience with you.”

Your face goes rosy at his last sentence. He didn’t mean it that way, but sometimes your mind likes making you think in that manner.

“Well, i’ll leave that at a maybe.”

—

“More wine?” He asks for the fifth time that night.

“Yes, please, Mr. Ackerman,” you slur. He had drank the same amount as you, maybe even more, yet it made less of an effect on him than you.

You stare blankly at the remaining drops at the bottom of your glass.

“On second thought, I don’t need it. It’s getting late, and I have to walk home,” your eyes were halfway shut and you spoke sluggishly.

“There’s no way you’re walking home in this state.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “And why is that? You’re telling me I can’t go home?”

You’re a mess. A stubborn, beautiful mess. Levi feels honored to be allowed to see you this way. You’re not stressing over work, you’re not stressing over family expectations. You’re intoxicated and honest.

“Maybe,” he replies to your cold gaze. “I’ll give you two options. One: you spend the night here. I have an extra room you can sleep in and i’ll be right next door if you need anything. Two: we sober up in the next few hours and i’ll drive you home as soon as I can.”

You go into a pensive state, struggling to remember the first option.

“One is my favorite number so i’ll go with that choice.”

At least you forgot how irritated you were a second ago when Levi said you couldn’t walk home.

“Levi, my favorite number is one,” you repeat.

“You mentioned that earlier.”

“Becauseeee, it’s so lonely. I could keep it company.” You blink. “Are you lonely? Am I keeping you company?”

“Yes.” That answered both of your questions.

“I’m so happy to be here with you, you know. I have something to tell you, but you can’t tell anyone. Okay?” You scooch closer to him, your shoulder touching his.

“Okay,” he says, mainly to entertain you.

You lean in, cupping his ear as you whisper what you’ve kept to yourself for months, maybe even a year now.

“I have a crush on you, Levi.” You giggle in his ear. “You can’t tell anyone, though.”

His cheeks are bright red, and suddenly it’s difficult to sit so close to you. His silence scares you, and you’re scared he might spill tea that isn’t meant to be spilled.

“Swear you won’t tell.”

“Who would I tell?” He asks, turning his head to face you.

“Your friend Hange and the people at work. Please don’t tell them, Levi. It’s embarrassing.” You hide your face behind his shoulder. “Swear.”

“Okay, I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

You come out of hiding and kiss his cheek multiple times, a surprise that spreads fire to his whole body.

“I like you a lot. I’ve been dying to do this since…” you hiccup. “I don’t remember, but it’s a really long time,” you slur as you hop onto his lap, holding his face in your hands as you pepper more kisses all over it.

‘It’s just kisses,’ Levi thinks to himself. If it goes further, he’ll put an end to it.

“Your hair is so soft,” you say, twirling a strand between your fingers. You sigh, your breath bringing goosebumps to his skin. Something must have disappointed you, because you stopped immediately and put your face in his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Levi asks, looking down at you. He’s hesitant, but eventually he puts a hand on your head, smoothing down some ruffled parts of your hair.

“I-I don’t want to say it. It’s embarrassing,” you speak into his shoulder.

“You said i’m your only friend. That means you should be able to tell me anything.”

You hum in agreement, lifting your head to face him once again. You pull the straps of your dress down, revealing your bare shoulders. You can’t look at him as you do it, so you look at the wall behind him.

“I-I want you to take me to the bedroom, Levi.” You lower the bust of your dress, exposing the matching red strapless bra you’re wearing.

He wants this so badly. He hasn’t wanted anything as much as he wants you, in so long.

“How about we get ready to sleep?” He pulls your dress back up, sliding your arms back into the straps.

“But Levi, I need you.” You squeeze his waist with your thighs.

“You need to sleep it off is what you need,” he says, holding onto the bottom of your dress so it doesn’t ride up when he carries you to the extra room.

“Okay, maybe next time,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck and laying your head on his shoulder as he stands up. He carries you as if you weigh no more than a feather. He can hear what sounds like quiet snores coming from you before you even make it to the room. He flicks the light switch on with his back, before moving towards the bed. He lays you down on the comfy bed, but you refuse to let go of him. Your arms stay wrapped around his neck tightly.

“You wouldn’t let me sleep alone in here, would you?” You mumble, your eyes still closed.

“I think it would be inappropriate if I stayed,” he whispers as he unlinks your arms from his neck. He straightens his posture, looking down into your barely open eyes.

“Levi, stay,” you whine, reaching your arms towards him slowly like a sloth. “You have my consent, look.” You put a thumbs up and grin toothily. “You can even bring me a notepad and i’ll sign the legal documents needed for you to sit your ass in that chair.”

If he knew you would be so needy, he wouldn’t have continued to offer you more wine after the third glass. Then again, it was nice to know that you trusted him enough to be around him in this state.

He sighs knowing he’s lost the fight. He won’t lay in bed with you, he’ll just sleep in his home office chair. Before he sits down, he turns you onto your side, and brings the trash can close to the edge of the bed incase you wake up in the middle of the night feeling sick.

“You gonna go to sleep now?” He asks, getting comfortable in the chair.

Your eyes roll as you fight off sleep, but eventually you stop trying to open your eyes. You nod once they finally close, and Levi watches you to make sure you’re asleep for good.

Levi didn’t go to sleep until almost four in the morning because you kept moving onto your back, and every time you did he had to put you back on your side again. You wiggled into a position where you laid flat on your stomach, and Levi decided that he preferred for you to vomit on the bed than to choke on your vomit in your sleep.

You both slept peacefully until seven in the morning, when the alcohol had finally begun to irritate the lining of you stomach. Your cheeks felt hot, and you felt uncomfortable in every position you laid in. You looked over at Levi who had fallen asleep with his cheek resting in his palm. The squish was adorable, but you couldn’t enjoy it due to the discomfort in your guts.

Your stomach gurgled and you decided to make a run for it, almost tripping over the bottom of your dress as you sprinted to the bathroom.

Levi’s eyes snapped open, and he sharply inhaled as he woke up from his light slumber. His head turned rapidly in search of you, and he quickly discovered where you were due to the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut.

“Shit,” he muttered in a gravelly voice. He quickly stands up and traces your steps to meet you behind the bathroom door. He leans against the door, hearing all the upchuck, gagging, and coughing coming from you on the other side. This goes on for a good four minutes. He hears the way you groan after you think you’re done, only for you to gag before spilling your guts into the toilet again.

You spit into the toilet one last time before flushing, whining when you nearly collapse as you attempt to get off the floor. You blow your nose, throwing the evidence away, and immediately go for some water from the sink. You rinse your mouth a few times before actually swallowing some water.

“Are you okay?” Levi asks, his knuckles lightly knocking.

You open the door, startling him a little with your appearance. The beautiful makeup that you stunted the night before was now an enormous mess on your eyelids, waterline, and cheeks. The residue of mascara on your eyelashes left fan shaped marks on the upper part of your cheeks.

“I’m disgusting. D-Don’t ever let me drink like that again,” your eyes gloss over with newly formed tears that eventually slide down your cheeks.

“You’re fine, sweetheart.” Despite the mess of makeup all over your face, and the wet spot of vomit on the front of your dress, Levi still manages to pull you into his embrace. You sob openly, mainly due to the embarrassment of Levi hearing you throw up in his bathroom, and the fact that you smell horrendous, yet Levi still holds you like it doesn’t matter.

“We’re gonna get you cleaned up. You’re gonna shower, and then we’re gonna get that messy makeup off your face.”

You pull away and look up at him, resembling a raccoon with all the dark makeup around your eyes.

“I don’t have clothes to change into,” you nearly start crying again, but Levi prevents it.

“I have clothes you can wear. Wait here.” He leaves you for a few seconds to bring essentials for you. A clean towel, a shirt, and some sweatpants. He also brought you a new bar of soap, assuming you might not want to use the one he’s been using.

“Shower, change, then call me when you’re done. I’ll be in the kitchen making your hangover cure.” He sets everything down on the counter, and leaves you to it.

The warm water feels nice cascading over you despite your body already being uncomfortably warm. You refused to take a cold shower, even if it was probably better for you. The smell of the soap was comforting and it didn’t make you nauseous as you lathered it onto your body. You used it generously—the thought of having puke on your dress earlier was even more repulsing now. You examined the bottle of shampoo sitting on the shower caddy and reached for it to wash your hair. You hope your hair turns out as soft as Levi’s on the first use.

You finished up in the bathroom and called Levi as told. He was quick to follow your voice. You stood at the entrance of the door, holding the door in one hand, the other holding onto the doorframe. You looked adorable in his clothes, even with the heavy traces of makeup under your eyes.

“Let me help you take the makeup off. Sit on the counter.” He opens the bottom cabinets, crouching down to get some wipes. “I know they’re not as good as the ones you probably have, but they’ll do the job.” He stands up again, closing the cabinets. You’re already sitting on the counter.

“I’m sorry…” you say almost inaudibly. You don’t want to cry again, but damn, you feel pathetic.

He’s listening, so he doesn’t say anything. He pulls a wipe from the pack, wrapping it around his index finger to be able to clean with more precision.

“You did nothing wrong. It’s fine. Now stay still.” He gets closer, the wet towel inching towards your face until the coldness touches you. He wipes gently to make sure your skin doesn’t get irritated.

“I’m never drinking again. I’m never leaving my house again,” you babble.

“You still have to go to work. Again, stop moving.” He folds the towel, covering the dark makeup residing on it. The darkness around your left eye had been completely removed.

The coldness touches your face again, this time beneath your right eye.

“I don’t deserve your friendship, Levi. I don’t know how I can still face you after what happened last night. Why are you even my friend?” Your head slumps as your pessimistic mind takes over.

He raises your head and holds the bottom of your face, your cheeks squished between his thumb and the rest of his fingers in a semi firm grip. He wipes at the splotchiness around your left eye, total concentration taking over because he’s trying to avoid your eyeball.

“I told you to stop moving, but you wouldn’t listen so this is what it had to come to.” His focus remains on your right eye as he speaks, collecting all the color onto the clean part of the wipe. “I want you to know that I invited you out because I wanted to. I knew there was a chance something like this would happen, but I still wanted you to be here.” He moves back a little to see if you had any stains from the makeup.

“You throwing up in my bathroom doesn’t change the meaningful conversations we had yesterday.” He releases the hold be has on your face and throws the wipe away once he’s all done. “I would go through all of this again if it meant you would keep hanging out with me.” His hands lay on the counter beside your legs.

“All done. You’re back,” he says looking into your tired eyes. You look back into his eyes, and they look just as tired, maybe even more. He looks handsome even with his disheveled appearance. His soft hair sticks out at random parts of his head, resembling the sun.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumble, looking away.

“Like what?” His tone is soft, and it runs smoothly. He leans in a little, just enough to see the blush rising on your cheeks closely.

“Like that, so attentively with those eyes. You’re making me nervous.” You feel trapped by him. His hands have yet to move from their position beside you legs, and you feel the urge to move. You don’t want to accidentally brush your leg against his hand, it would make the situation awkward.

“It’s not my fault you can’t hold eye contact with me.” There’s a small grin on his lips. “Now, come on. Your hangover medicine is sitting on the table.” He backs up, allowing you to hop off the counter.

You follow him into the kitchen where you see the two unwashed glasses that held wine the night prior, in the sink.

“What a way to start off the morning, huh?” You joke, attempting to make small talk after what happened in the bathroom.

“I’ve seen worse.” He pours some tea into a mug and hands it off to you. “This stuff is way better than that premium crap at the shop.” He pours some for himself in another mug.

“But I don’t like tea. Do you have any coffee?” You take a whiff of the hot liquid in your cup. It smells good, and you decide you can’t knock it ‘til you try it.

“The tea is gonna help your headache, whether you like it or not. And no, I don’t have coffee.”

You take a sip, and scorch your tongue in the process. Your eyes water for a second, but now that you know how hot it is, you can take another sip knowing what to expect.

“It’s actually really good. Thank you, Levi.”

—

Levi took you home a few hours later when you felt better. You said you had things to do at your house, but in reality you just wanted to sleep in your own bed again. You wanted to feel comfortable with knocking things over, knowing they were yours.

Levi checked in every hour, and reminded you that if you needed anything he would get it for you. At some point in the afternoon, you knocked out and didn’t wake up until twelve in the morning. You checked the few messages that Levi left when you told him you were gonna take a nap, and then went right back to sleep.

—

You couldn’t stop thinking about your time with Levi as you made your way through the main entrance of your work building, carrying some folders in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. It’s seven in the morning. You need some form of caffeine pumping in your veins if you’re going to function even remotely.

You step into the elevator, back against the wall as you wait for the doors to close.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice says, breaking the silence you reserved. The doors shut a few seconds after he enters the elevator.

“Oh, good morning, Levi,” sleep treads lightly on your voice. You restrain from taking another sip of coffee on the elevator to avoid him smelling your coffee breath.

“Don’t tell me you just woke up.” The elevator dings as you reach your floor.

“Would that disappoint you?” You ask, a playful smile on your face.

“Very much.” He lets you step off first, following behind you.

“Well, that’s too bad. Not everyone can wake up at three in the morning every day like you.” You chuckle, waving as you head into your office.

He peeks his head into your office just to take the final word from you.

“For the record, it’s two thirty, not three in the morning,” he says in a jokingly matter-of-fact way, before walking to his office next door.

You giggle as you set your stuff down onto your desk. Your joyous energy leaves when you load up the work you have to do on your computer. There are so many reports that need to be filed by the end of the day, and you’re actually scared that you might have to take your break later in order to make a dent in the workload. You sigh, sitting down in your office chair. You realize there’s no point in just sitting there and sulking, so you roll closer to the desk and begin typing and clicking away.

At around twelve you get an email from Erwin, the department manager that says:

Hello _____,

Today I will have to leave work a little earlier than usual, as I am meeting my in-laws for lunch with my wife. They flew a couple thousand miles to meet with me and my wife today and I will not be able to finish the work I have pending for today.

Would you do me the biggest favor and finish whatever I don’t get to by the time I leave? It would mean a lot.

Thank you,

Erwin Smith

You shut your eyes tightly and think about how easy it would be to run out of the building and drive home, but instead of doing so, you reply to Erwin’s email.

Hi Erwin,

Hope all is well with your wife and the in-laws.

No worries, you can leave the remainder of your unfinished work to me and I will get it done. I will have to take a later lunch than usual because I have a lot of work to get done as well, but you can definitely count on me to finish the job.

Best of luck,

_______

You felt like bashing your head on the keyboard, but nonetheless, you continued to work through your weariness.

—

“Hey, by any chance are you taking your lunch anytime soon?” Levi asks, leaning on the doorframe of your office.

“Nope. I have so much work to do, it’s hilarious.” You don’t even take the time to turn and face him.

“You don’t seem to be laughing. Is there anything I can help you with?” He stands behind your chair, looking at all the reports you had to finish by the end of the day. “Hey, aren’t those Erwin’s reports? Why the hell are you doing his work again?” He moves over, standing next to you so he can see the screen more clearly.

“He has this lunch to go to with his wife and her parents. It’s not like I was gonna leave work early today, anyway.” Your typing was flawless, almost robotic. No typos or extra spaces, not a capital letter or punctuation mark out of place. “It’s fine, Levi. Are you going on your break?”

“I was going to, but you’re still working like a maniac. I’ll just wait for you.”

“No, it’s okay. Go take your break. You must be exhausted. I’ll buy you a cup of tea later if you go on your break now.” Your eyes scan the large lettering as you speak like your sentences have been pre-recorded so that you can say them while you work.

“Fine. I’ll take my break in here.” He sits in one of the extra chairs in your room.

“But Levi, I need to focus.”

“I won’t say a word to you. I’m just sitting here.”

You give in and let him stay while you work, and he stays true to his word. Not a word is said during his break, but you can feel him staring at you, and it makes doing your work just a little harder. You make more mistakes in your typing, and you can hear him ‘tch’ every time he hears you tap the backspace key repeatedly.

When his break is up, he puts a hand on your head before he goes back to his office. The endearing gesture made surprise goosebumps rise on your arms.

—

You finished all the work you had to do in record time. Erwin’s work was your top priority so you finished it first, then you finished your work. You didn’t get to take a break, but you did get some overtime in. Hopefully, Erwin is okay with it.

You turn off the computer and grab all your possessions before leaving the office for the day. Levi is waiting for you around the corner.

“All done?” He asks when you shut the door to your office.

“Yeah. I’m tired as fuck.” You chuckle at his wide-eyed expression. “Sorry. I’m really tired is what I meant to say.”

“We’re both adults. You can mean what you say.” He offered to carry your bag as well as your folders, and you let him. “What do you need, right now?” He asks as you walk side by side to the elevator.

“Rest,” you reply instantly.

“Okay, let’s get you home.”

“Let’s?” You question.

“I’ll drive you home, and once you wake up i’ll drive you back here so you can get your car.”

“That’s not necessary. You really don’t have to, Levi,” you insist. You enter the elevator and Levi follows after you.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I really appreciate you. Thank you for your kindness.”

—

He brought you home, and you invited him in because you thought it was the polite thing to do after everything he’s done for you.

“You’re welcome to anything that’s in the cabinets or the fridge, or just take anything you like.”

Levi was in awe at how organized your cabinets were. The truth was that you had organized them the day before, before you went to sleep, because when you laid down to sleep, the guilt of lying to Levi was eating you alive. You told him you had things to do at your house, and yet you were just about ready to knock out on your bed.

“I’m okay, but thank you.” He goes back into the living room with you.

“Come hang out with me in my room?”

He looked like you asked him to steal the Mona Lisa—confused, conflicted, unsure if he would go that far even if you were the one asking.

“Okay,” he finally says a few seconds later.

He follows your lead as you direct yourself towards your room. As soon as you are within reach of your bed, you toss yourself on it, spreading your limbs like a starfish.

“You’re welcome to join me,” your words are muffled by the pillows.

“I don’t think there’s any room there for me,” he mumbles as he searches for a small area to sit, where he won’t interrupt your starfish pose.

“Sorry, let me just…” you reposition yourself. You’re now on your side, curled up. “You can lay there.” You point to space next to you.

Levi lays down on his side, facing you. He doesn’t know if this is overstepping boundaries with you, but it feels nice.

“I’m sorry I don’t have an extra room like you do.”

His eyebrows furrow, displeased with your apology.

“Don’t apologize for something so unimportant.”

“Are you uncomfortable? I can sit on a chair if you want-“

His hand lands on your shoulder, immediately silencing you.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to go anywhere. Let’s just lay here together.”

You blushed furiously at how romantic the words sounded. If you were smarter you wouldn’t have gone for the kiss and your relationship would have kept its romantic and sexual tension, but you couldn’t take it anymore. You, the one who avoided love at all costs, were the first to admit you wanted to love Levi.

His heart raced as if he ran every day of his life, just to meet you here, in this moment. He pulled you onto his lap, your position exactly like the night he invited you over, only this time you were in total control of your actions.

His hand on your hip, his fingers threaded in your hair—it was the proof that let you know he wanted this just as much as you. It may have been wrong to just spring this on him, but if it wasn’t a moment for now, then it would be a moment for later, which sounded like forever in your mind.

You pull away to see the reaction behind all of this. His heart is uncontrollable. He can’t calm it down, and he can barely hear his own thoughts with the way his heart beats in his ears.

“That’s how I feel. How do you feel?” You ask, staring into the storm residing in his grey eyes.

He leans forward to reach your lips, luring you back to him. His hands now hold your waist, occasionally squeezing to ground him when his soul threatens to vanish from being there with you. His lips chase yours endlessly, and you hate remembering that you need to breathe in order to stay alive, because you love the intimacy of kissing. It gives you uncontrollable butterflies that you refuse to tame because you continue to do the thing that sets them free.

This time he releases you, taking in the dazed expression on your face.

“That’s how I feel.”

You both stare at each other like a new world has been introduced, and you’re waiting for each other’s approval to go in together.

“I want you, Levi. Make me yours.” It’s your sugarcoated, romanticized way of saying ‘claim me because I don’t want anyone else to do it’.

“You want me to…” his ears go red. He’s scared to assume you want him sexually, so he waits for you to specify.

“Make love to me?” You say in the form of a question. You cringe internally, but you think it matches the moment better than saying ‘fuck me’.

“M-Make love to you?” He repeats, flustered by the request.

“Please,” you say with false confidence. You can tell he’s nervous, and you know you’re nervous, so you have to show him as much fake confidence as you can muster if you want to progress with him.

“Let’s take it slow. Nobody is leading, and we’re gonna roll with however things go.” You put your hand on his shoulder, an attempt to calm him. “Does that sound okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees.

“O-Okay?” Your veil of confidence collapses after your last statement, and you go back to being putty in Levi’s hold when he pulls you down onto the bed with him. There’s no way he’ll abide to your ‘nobody is leading’ statement. He’s a natural leader, and regardless of how nervous he is, he will take total responsibility for the way he makes you feel.

You still jump a little when his hands meet the warm skin of your cheeks and stay there, but nonetheless, you like it. The touch feels familiar even if he’s never touched you like this before.

He takes his hands off your face and begins unbuttoning his shirt. Little by little, you begin to see pale patches of skin from his chest and stomach. You nearly panic when the whole shirt comes off, and reveals toned parts of his torso. You strongly believe he was sculpted by some artistically driven gods.

You’re wonderstruck, and even if he doesn’t know it, he’s ruined men for you in a way only you can understand.

“I’m not that striking,” he says, a blush rising to his cheeks. You can now see that the color doesn’t start on his cheeks, but on his chest.

“I don’t even know what to say.” You’re smitten, and it was over for you the second his lips merged with yours. You played yourself by starting this, but there’s no way in hell you’ll go back to depriving yourself of him.

“Then don’t say anything.” He goes down to meet your lips again, his body feeling hot when you reach up to touch him. Physical affection is rare for Levi, and nobody has touched him like this in a long time, so deep down he’s really happy you’re the one he’s sharing a bed with. You don’t feel obligated to shed layers of clothing for him. He’s content with just having you, and though he would never admit it, knowing you had no words to describe the sight of him without a shirt was a major boost to his self confidence.

You reach down to untuck your shirt from your pants and begin unbuttoning it. Levi only noticed this because your hands weren’t running all over his body anymore, and he wanted you to keep touching him.

He almost chokes on his spit once your shirt is open, the loose halves laying next to each corresponding side of you. You picked the perfect day to match your lingerie. You donned a lacy black bra with panties that Levi had yet to see.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, scanning every inch of you that is now revealed.

“You think so?” Your cheeks glow like you’re surrounded by Christmas lights.

“I do,” the last words he says before he snatches your lips up again. Strands of his hair brush your face, tickling your nose and cheeks. You don’t think there should be a time limit for how long a make out session goes on for. It gives you an otherworldly feeling when Levi’s lips lock with yours. To say it’s electrifying would be a dulled down version of what you really feel.

The pace picks up suddenly, and your heart drops to your stomach. His hands hold your waist firmly, and your lips struggle to keep up with his. You don’t think you’re imagining the panting sounds coming from him as he kisses you with a fervor that can’t be pacified.

“Mmm…fuck,” he almost growls. “How are you able to make me feel this way?” He looks drunk on your affection.

You had an effect on him. The sweet, composed, professional Levi you knew as your best friend, was now bound to you.

He presses his nose to the column of your throat where he leaves so many kisses. His mouth ghosts over your chest, an occasional brush of his lips to your skin as he lowers down to your stomach. It’s such an intimate gesture filled with sincerity that does nothing but intensify the thrashing in your chest.

His hands wander, bringing goosebumps wherever they move. You see the way he looks at you—like he would devour you if this weren’t the first time he was bedding you. His eyes are so cold you think your gaze is frozen to his.

“Should I keep going?” His indirect way of asking for your consent again, even if you were the one who asked for this. You take the hint when you feel him tugging lightly at your pants. You respond by unbuttoning your trousers, shimmying them down your hips. He helps you get them completely off when they reach your thighs.

The black on black bra and panties combination… Something flipped in his head because for a few seconds his eyes just flicked up and down between the two areas. To capture this untainted sight of you for a few more seconds was all he wanted, because he knew that you wouldn’t look like this again for the rest of the night.

His hands roam around your body—running over your waist, then trailing down to your hips, which leads to them slithering down your thighs.

“Is that…” he points at the gusset of your panties, a darker spot contrasting the rest of the garment. It’s only noticeable because he’s so close. “Is that what I think it is?”

“U-Um…” you divert your attention from him. Your cheeks feel hot again.

“You’re so excited, yet we haven’t even done that much.” His hands splay on your thighs, spreading your legs as wide as you can comfortably have them. “Now I know what kissing does to you,” he says as he proceeds to kiss your inner thighs.

You inhale sharply, your stomach quivering a little.

“May I?” His hand nears your clothed cunt, centimeters away from the wet spot.

“Okay,” you simply say. Any more words and you’ll stutter up a storm.

Your heart might leap out of your chest with that gaze of his. His pupils are enormous, the lust almost blocking all the color in his eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take it slow. I want to make you come once through your panties, and another time without them.”

Come? Panties? Another time without panties? It’s so strange hearing these words from someone who’s been just a friend for years. It’s strange hearing the words from Levi in general.

“O-Okay,” you stutter this time.

“Good.” His fingers finally make contact with the fabric of your panties, a circular motion stimulating your cunt. He can feel the wetness of your slick on his fingertips, the amount increasing with each pressurized rub.

Your arm comes up to cover your eyes, embarrassment flooding through you as Levi spectates you.

“Let me see your pretty face, please.” His voice is so commanding, you don’t think you can deny him of the things he asks of you.

Your forearm shakily raises off of your face, dropping down onto the mattress. He can now see the effectiveness of his fingers, on your expression. Your mouth is slightly open, your eyes begging for more from him. The whole thing makes the hardness in his pants twitch.

“Is this what you wanted?” He teases, knowing your words won’t beat the moans leaving your mouth.

“Mhm,” you whimper. “Please…please.”

“Didn’t think I would have you begging so fast.” He leans forward a little to whisper the second part in your ear. “That’s good, sweetheart. Keep doing it.”

You nearly lost it when he kissed the area below your ear right after.

“Levi… Levi, more please.” You can’t stand that look on his face as he continues to torture you. His teeth occasionally sink into his bottom lip. There’s so much lust behind the expression, that you’re actually nervous for what will happen to you after he makes you come the first time.

Your moans become more frequent, and you can feel that familiar heat in your core. You don’t remember ever touching yourself in a manner that made you feel this way, and he isn’t even touching your bare cunt.

“Oh, already?” He goes down your body, stopping at the elastic band of your panties and scattering kisses on the skin above it.

“Fucking—oh god—Levi,” you say, breathlessly. Your hands go to the back of his head and you tug his hair with unmeasured strength. He can handle the discomfort for as long as you provide it, and he won’t complain about something that makes his cock twitch. Your thighs shut around his hand, and you grind your cunt against it. It’s humiliating when he raises his gaze to watch you as you take control of your pleasure. At this point, you’re doing most of the movement, rolling your hips against the cupped form of his fingers.

“There you go,” he murmurs. He loves watching the way your chest heaves and hearing the cries of his name. The racing of your heartbeat is indomitable, you swear Levi can hear it over your breathing.

After a few minutes of catching your breath, you look down at Levi who’s mesmerized by the dazed look you give him.

“That was taking it slow?”

“Mhm. I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” His hand brushes your thigh in a comforting manner. It triggers goosebumps in the area which brings a sly grin to his face.

“Excuse me? Your pants have a little something on them. Now let’s talk sensitivity.” You raise your arms, stretching your taut muscles, a strained groan leaving you as your muscles were freed of their tension.

You didn’t catch the way his eyes sparkled when you bit back, but in that moment, he knew you could handle his snarky remarks at all times and put him in his place when necessary. That was definitely a turn on.

“Please tell me you’re ready to go again.”

You laugh through your nose.

“You want me?” You tease. A gear rotated in your head, and you suddenly remembered something from the night he cooked for you.

“Yes. So badly,” he says.

There’s a wicked grin on your face. You sit up, leveling yourself on the bed with him.

“How about you show me that patience of yours I was promised.”

His head visibly tilted in confusion. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen him do.

“Let’s switch positions. Lay here where I am, and i’ll take your spot.”

“Okay,” he says, seemingly understanding so far what you said. He crawls over to where you sat and lays down, and you sit in the spot he previously sat in.

“Care to explain what’s about to happen?” His head rests on his folded arms.

The act is so sudden, so quick that his arms fly out from underneath his head to hold onto your hips. You straddle his hips, your legs on either side.

“Uh… u-um… what are you doing?” He swallowed thickly, trying not to let the brush of your cunt against his crotch unravel him.

“I think you deserve be taken care of, too, Levi.” You unclip your bra, sliding the straps off your arms before throwing it to a corner in your room. Your breasts are definitely a sight for him, a sight he isn’t sure he can look at without your permission, so he holds eye contact with you.

You lean forward, covering his chest with kisses. You can see the way the area turns red upon contact with your lips, like your touch sets him on fire. Your lips maneuver around his upper body, trailing up from his chest to his neck and the curvature of his jawline. He almost freezes when he feels your breasts against his chest. You cup his cheeks, looking into his enamored eyes before kissing his lips.

“Do you think you can handle what i’m about to do?” You press your forehead to his, looking into those fascinating eyes of his.

“I think so.” His hands ride up and down your sides, nearly touching the sides of your breasts.

“Good boy.”

His brain felt fuzzy when you said the words. It’s something he’s never experienced before when hearing them. You seemed to have reinvented the meaning behind the words when you used them in this scenario.

There you went again, going down his body, kissing everywhere you could. You discovered areas where he was sensitive, such as his ribs and the area beneath his navel. He gasped or shuddered every time you licked or sucked the skin in those areas.

“May I?” You ask, hooking a finger around one of his belt loops.

“Do whatever you want to me.” His hands go down to assist you in unbuttoning his pants, lifting his hips just enough to lower them until you could pull them off. He sported some dark blue boxer briefs, his erect cock forming a very noticeable tent. You now saw the large spot of pre-cum that had ruined his pants, on the blue garment.

Your hand wraps around the silhouette of his cock, the wet fabric wrinkling as your hand moves up and down. You see the vein in his neck pop out and the way his stomach tenses. You don’t need vocal proof of the way he feels because you can see it, but he still gives it to you anyway, and it just brings that much more excitement to you.

His breath is shaky as you rub his tip with your thumb, the fabric of his undergarment absorbing every drop of his pre-cum.

“You’re really pretty, Levi. I know that probably doesn’t say much for you, but i’m looking at you right now, and…” you sigh, completely astonished by him. To see someone like Levi with his walls completely torn down was beautiful. He’s tough. Not with you, obviously, but things don’t get to him so easily. To think that you were able to get him in a vulnerable position like this… He must really like you.

“You know, I really like you,” your hand speeds up a little. “I’m gonna be honest with you…I lived an enormous lie for what felt like an eternity. I tried to see you as a friend for so long. So long. But, sir, you made it impossible, because you never treated me like a friend.”

He shudders, his cock twitching beneath your grasp. You lean down to kiss his clothed tip. His mouth gapes slightly, his eyebrows creasing the slightest bit when it slowly disappears into your mouth.

“F-Fuck. You’re kidding,” he mutters under his breath. Your eyes look wild. It seems like you’ll have to hold onto his soul for a few minutes, because he’s floating.

The shape of his tip is completely outlined now, your saliva darkening the fabric of his briefs. Even the slightest brush of your fingers against his length has him shaking.

“Give it to me, baby. You’ve got it,” you say, encouraging him to let loose. Your hand speeds up a little more, and before you know it, Levi lets out a whimper and some grunts as he leaves yet another damp spot on his briefs.

“F-Fuck—a-ah—oh my…” he sits up halfway before you push him back down. His eyes shut tightly and you can see the protruding shape of his ribs with every breath of his as you continue to jerk him into overstimulation.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you murmur, your hand stopping when you see him writhing.

You giggle, watching as he catches his breath.

“Was that okay? I know it would have been better if I had actually touched…it. I just wanted to do something similar to what you did.”

“Don’t worry,” he sighs heavily. “It was perfect.”

You blush, watching as he fulfills his task of fully sitting up. You can clearly see the layer of sweat on his skin now. It gives him an ethereal-like glow.

“Are we gonna actually, you know… today?” You ask when he doesn’t say anything. He just looked into your eyes for a few seconds.

“I’ll do anything you want me to do. Do you want to?”

It feels wrong to want more, but you do want more of him. You want to feel him close to you. Right up against you, meshing into your skin, or just pressed against you as close as possible.

“I want you so fucking badly,” you chuckle. It’s almost pathetic how much you want him.

He tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, softening the intensity of your gaze on him.

“You can have me, just sit on my lap.” His eyes look down at your breasts, watching the way they move when you breathe. You smile, holding in a laugh when he looks back at you with a flustered expression. “You can hold them if you want,” you position yourself between his legs, your back to his chest. “None of this…” you grab ahold of his hands and drag them down your body. “…is off limits. Touch as you please.”

He hums, content with having you so near. You release his hands, allowing them to roam freely. The first thing he does is roll the elastic band of your panties down. You lift yourself a little, allowing him to roll the garment below your thighs. You kick them off your legs, and wait for Levi to finish getting his briefs off. You turn around, immediately looking down. A quiet gasp escapes you before you quickly face straight ahead again. He’s big.

“Say the word, and we can get started,” He mumbles into your shoulder. One of his hands reaches for your breast, the other slides down to your cunt. He toys with your clit, rubbing it just the slightest bit with his middle finger. He lures a breathy moan out of you, your decision being made quickly after.

“O-Okay, okay,” you breathe.

“Ready now?” His voice goes deeper, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Mhm,” you hum, rising up just the slightest to settle onto his lap.

“Easy,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “W-Wait. Not so fast,” he groans, as his tip nudges through your folds, the cockhead sliding into your messy hole while you sink down as slowly as you can.

Your moans are synchronized once he’s in all the way. You can feel his warmth inside you, twitching, even with your idleness. He lays his forehead on your upper back, soft wisps of his hair tickling your skin. Soft, warm breaths make their way onto the tippy top of your spine.

“F-Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You lean back against him, your head on his shoulder. Your eyes shut tightly, your mouth gaped open once he starts moving beneath you.

“W-We’re friends, right?” You have an obvious amount of difficulty keeping your voice steady. Gasps, and random pauses litter your sentences every time Levi pushes in and out of you. His hands were cupped around your breasts, your nipples wedged between his index and middle fingers. Your heart dropped every time you remembered that he bought you coffee as a friend two days ago, and now he’s taking charge of you in your own bed.

“Sure. What’s on y-your—hah—your m-mind?” His lips attach to your shoulder, sucking an intense mark onto the clear patch of skin, like he’s trying to draw blood. You wince, your back arching a little.

“This is the only way you’ll picture me after today, isn’t it?” Your eyes roll as his lips brush over your shoulders and nape for areas to leave more marks on. You hear the quick breaths that leave his nose and the sound of his lips slipping against your bruised skin. It’s a good way of not answering the question that’s eating away at you.

“Would that be okay with you?” He finally whispers into your ear, a slight rasp in his voice.

“Oh, fucking hell, Levi,” your hands find his thighs, your nails sinking into the pale skin, leaving red lines as you draw your fingers in close like you’re fisting sheets. “I—mm…You— Fuck!” You cry out impatiently, unable to form a proper thought, completely flustered due to how fucking attractive that simple gesture was.

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. It’s like he’s taunting you.

“I’ve pictured you in so many different ways. This is definitely one of them, but not the only one,” he clarifies. A sweet kiss is pressed into the side of your neck. “You don’t have to worry about that ever. Understand?”

“Mhm…” you hum, lost in the way his cock prods so deeply inside you.

“Use your words, sweetheart. I don’t know what that response means,” he teases. One of his hands releases your breast, dropping down to play with your clit. You nearly fold in pleasure, leaning forward the smallest amount before Levi’s arm drapes over your chest, pinning your back to his chest. “I need you here with me. Now give me your words,” his finger rubs the tiny bud lightly, just enough to make you writhe in his lap from the pleasure.

“I—fuck—I understand, Levi. I understand,” you cry out, your eyes tearing up due to the way he holds you so close the edge. It’s not enough pressure, and he knows it, but he likes the tone in your voice, and he wants to hear it for just a tad bit longer.

“Do you now?” He hums, followed by a breathy ‘ah’.

“I do,” tears nearly flow out of your eyes. “Please, Levi. Need more of you,” you plead.

His pace doesn’t speed up, but his thrusts are stronger now. Your pussy flutters around him, the intensity of your arousal almost completely unbearable. His finger brushes your clit in a tedious manner. It has you trembling on top of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. The clenching of your pussy has his cock in such a tight hold—so snug inside your velvety walls. You breathe heavily, unable to stay still on his lap anymore. You’re now chasing his thrusts, meeting them halfway to strengthen the pleasure derived from Levi.

“Fuck! Please, please, please! Please, Levi!” You gasp, heaving every time you inhale. The knot inside you is on the brink of snapping in one of the most concentrated ways you’ve ever felt. Levi was close, too. His cock pulsated with every one of his thrusts, and every time your pussy clenched, it just inched him closer to his end.

He succumbed to your cries of his name, your trembling form now shaking in rhythm with his powerful thrusts.

Choked sounds, breathy mutterings of each others names, whimpers, and cries of passion filled the room.

“Levi! Oh god, oh fuck!” The final words leave you before an overwhelming tidal wave of pleasure consumes your whole self. You’ve never felt pleasure from suffocation, but Levi was almost inhaling you from how close he was, and you didn’t want him to back off. His arms held your writhing, trembling frame tightly against him, while he whispered things into your ear.

His hips continued to roll just a little slower, just enough to bring him right to the edge. Drool coated your lips, threatening to slide down your chin. You could feel almost every part of him on you—his arms, his legs, his chest, his abs, his lips. Being trapped by him was endearing.

“Fuck… keep doing that. D-Do that again, please,” he moans, breathing against the shell of your ear. You clenched around him again, and audibly heard him go weak. His shuddered breaths and strangled groans were the sexiest things you had ever heard. He painted your walls white, the feeling so immense that he clawed at your chest, leaving red streaks on the clean area of your chest. He whimpered out so many sorry’s, not stopping the roll of his hips until the overstimulation was too much.

You stayed in that position for a while once he came down from his high. He held you tightly, his head laying on your back. His warm cheek rested on your spine as he looked at the closed door of your bedroom. The long silence was broken by the sound of you sighing.

“We’re friends, right?” You ask the same question from earlier. Maybe his answer will be different now that he’s not as distracted.

He did take a little longer to answer than before. “We’re not like them,” he finally mumbles against your skin.

“Like who?” You question.

“Like those stupid people that do the whole friends with benefits bit. Tell me we aren’t them.” His postures straightens, and he pulls you close again, not holding you too tight, just allowing you to lay on his chest.

“We’re not them. This was… a one time thing. Right?”

“I don’t like that.” He moves the hair away from your face and plants a kiss on your forehead.

Your eyes flutter shut, and a lazy grin appears on your lips.

“Let’s talk about this some other time. For now, we’re friends.” You break free of his hold and get off of him. You search for your clothes scattered across your room.

“I should probably get going. I really need to shower.” He picks his clothes off of the edge of the bed, putting everything back on.

“If only I had clothes you could wear. I would’ve loved to have you over for the night,” you say, feeling guilty once again for not being as hospitable as Levi. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for dumb things like clothes, or the amount of rooms in your house.” He sits on the edge of the bed, slipping back into his trousers. “There’s always next time.”

‘This is a one time thing.’ Yeah, right.

“Well…” he exhales, running a hand through his damp, disheveled hair. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for…”

You suck in your lips, suppressing laughter at his inability to say what you both just did.

“Thanks for having me,” he finally manages to utter.

You simply nod in acknowledgment, a smile gracing your features.

“Get home safe, Levi.”

“I’ll call you.”

And call you he did. The phone call could’ve been shorter. A simple ‘I’m home. I’ll see you at work,’ would have sufficed, but it’s like he needed to have some sort of connection to you. He spent a good portion of the phone call asking about how you were feeling physically. He didn’t go any deeper than that, not wanting to put any pressure on whatever you and him were.

He did something spontaneous and didn’t know how to react as soon as it happened, so he hung up immediately. He said ‘Goodnight. Love you,’ the last two words so quiet that you didn’t even hear them through the thin layer of static on the line. And that’s why you were so confused when the dial tone sounded in your ear. You thought the call ended due to bad reception, and expected him to call back, but he didn’t.

—

The next day was no different from any other day. Levi greeted you on the elevator, and acted as he usually did. There was nothing strange in your relationship according to the way he acted, or the way he talked to you. It was like the day before never happened.

“See you at lunchtime?” He says, stopping at the entrance to your office.

“Sure,” you say, unpacking your things. “I’ll have time for you today.”

“Good. See you then.” He turns and leaves your sight, heading into his own office.

You power through your work, making as much time as you can for Levi. He never left your mind as you read all those emails mindlessly. You were a zombie, the feeling of his hands roaming your body was engraved into your memory. It made you zone out a lot, the memory rolling in your mind so vividly because it was literally yesterday.

Your heart begins to race, at the sound of him calling your name. So desperate and needy, so unlike the Levi you knew before.

“Hello? Are you there?” Levi says, tapping your shoulder. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Huh? Oh, Levi. What are you doing here?” You check the time on the corner of your computer screen. “Shit, it’s already two thirty.”

“Right. Lunchtime,” he says, focused on your blank expression.

“Okay, yeah. What do you want to do?”

Not much besides kiss you, hold you, and more.

“Are you hungry?” He sits in the chair behind you, folding his hands on the table.

“Not really. Are you?” You rotate your chair to face him. Those eyes are intimidating every time you look at them, now. His gaze feels more intimate.

“Not at all.”

“Any other suggestions?”

He swallows every ounce of fear he feels, and prepares himself mentally for how this conversation could end. He could lose you or he could gain more than just your friendship. He can’t gauge which direction he’s leaning towards because you’re both actively ignoring the things that occurred. The things that friends don’t do.

“Let’s talk.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach, your nerves on edge. You wanted this conversation to happen, and now that it’s happening, you want nothing more than to be swallowed by a black hole.

“Okay,” you respond, your hands awkwardly splaying on your thighs.

“Did we overstep any boundaries yesterday?”

You look to your left, the door wide open for your coworkers to see and hear your private conversation. You give Levi one more chance. Maybe he won’t go into detail.

“I didn’t think we would actually act on the sexual tension—”

“Okay, hold on.” You stand up and head towards the door, pushing it shut, and shutting the blinds. “We don’t need any more workplace drama. This is between just you and me,” you say, sighing as you sit down again.

“We’re friends is what you’ve been telling me, and i’m completely fine with that.” The truth hides behind those flimsy words. He would rather destroy his favorite teacup and throw away his entire cabinet of expensive tea than fully accept that you’ll never be more than a friend. “But how will we prevent this from happening again?”

“Easy,” you reply. “It won’t happen again. We hang out at work, and only hang out outside of work when there are others around.”

“That’s an immature way to fix our situation.” He wants all the time with you. No division with others. “We can control ourselves. We don’t need people around to prove that. That’s just…absurd.”

“It’s the best solution. We won’t be tempted to do anything we shouldn’t do. There won’t be any tension. It’ll all work out fine.” You look down at his hands, his knuckles are nearly white.

He chuckles. “God, there is so much tension between us. You can cut it with a fucking knife.”

“I don’t feel it,” you say, averting your gaze immediately.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He grabs onto the seat of your chair, rolling you closer to him. He decides you’re close enough when your knees are brushing his, a nudge with enough force would send his knee between your thighs and vice-versa.

“What are you doing, Levi?” You question, a perplexed look on your face.

“I’m only asking you to do one thing and it’s really simple.”

He leans in, little by little, not close enough to kiss you, but enough to make your heart race when he doesn’t stop until you can see his slate colored eyes up close.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

You do as told, and look straight into his eyes. The intensity makes your head spin. You feel so vulnerable and submissive. You look away for a second, and he clicks his tongue.

“Don’t look away from me,” he instructs. His eyes don’t waver at all. They keep their intensity, and look at you dead on. You’re pretty sure he can hear your heartbeat.

After a minute of silence and staring into his eyes, you made a decision. You didn’t think at all about what you were fighting for and went with what your heart longed for. You cupped his cheeks and crashed your lips onto his. They were as amazing as you remembered, even so, imperfect. It felt right, holding him like that. Your breathing was synchronized, the heavy pants coming from both of you bringing some color to your face.

You pull away looking into his eyes again. There was a major difference. His pupils were huge, and there was a tenderness to his expression. He’s so weak for you.

“Fuck,” he curses. He swipes his bottom lip a few times with his index finger.

“What was the point of that?” Your voice is filled with disappointment.

“It was a test. You failed horrendously.”

“You did that on purpose, Levi. You’re being unfair.” Your eyebrows crease with frustration. “You knew you would get me like that.”

“I thought you were more self-disciplined,” he teases.

“You kissed me back. You should have had the willpower to push me away,” your arms cross in annoyance.

“I didn’t want to.”

You sigh, trying so hard to be mad, but in all your faux anger, you crack a smile that eventually evolves into a giggle.

“We’re so bad at this.” You think quickly, trying to figure out what to say after. “I think the only way to fix something like this is for us to stay apart for a while,” is the only thing that came to mind. You really didn’t think before you spoke, and you didn’t mean it.

His entire demeanor changed. This was the worst idea you had ever come up with, and all he could do was hope you would take it back.

“What do you mean?” He asks, secretly buying time for you to change your mind.

“We can’t be friends right now. It’s not working out like it should.”

“No. We don’t need that. All that would do is make an awkward gap in our friendship. We’re fine, we can handle this like adults.”

You stand up in your chair. “Adults who are old enough to passionately fuck, and kiss, and look at each other with longing stares. Adults can handle things recklessly, too, you know.”

“Where are you going?” He watches you grab your coat, in search of your car keys. You find them, the jingling making them easier to locate when you patted your coat pocket.

“Out,” you respond, pushing your chair under your desk.

“Okay. I’ll be in my office.” He pushes his chair in, following you out the door. You can feel the shift in his mood based on the way he avoids looking at you.

You shut your eyes tightly for a second, silently cursing yourself for having a heart. You pull on the back of his collar, bringing him to a halt. He turns around to face you.

“Fucking hell, let’s go on a date, Levi.”

“What are you saying?” He says, looking around the office to see if anyone heard your announcement. “You’re giving me whiplash with your indecisiveness.”

“It’s now or never.” The ultimatum is weightless— it means nothing because you will forever hold a spot in your heart for Levi.

“Okay.” It was the simplest way to accept your proposal. If you had more time, he would’ve stuttered for you, but you were both on your lunch break.

You both walk to the elevator, hands next to each other, trying not to link. It was like a staticky zap every time you accidentally brushed fingers. Your hands quickly moved away from each other every time it happened. Once the doors shut, Levi pinned you to the back wall of the elevator, and kissed you with so much ardor that you could feel the heat radiating off of his cheeks. You went through that first date with him, nervous throughout the entire thing, but nothing made electricity course through you like that thirty second elevator ride.

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breakerwhiskey · 22 days

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185 - ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY FIVE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but I’ll be quick, I promise.

I came back to the house. I staked it out for a good three hours first, to be sure that no one else was here, but it’s clear that someone has been here. The house is torn apart since I was last here—I don’t know what Junior is looking for…maybe nothing. Maybe his father’s watch. Maybe he heard my broadcast the other day. Maybe he just wanted to break anything and everything in his path, just because he could.

A lot of our supplies are gone too—I don’t know if Harry took some when she left or if he’s taken them, but I just hope they’re being used by someone. I’m still not sure how to feel about the whole Junior thing—I’m mostly trying to not think about it at all if I’m entirely honest—but I’d be happy to inadvertently be feeding him or helping him survive somehow. Mi casa es su casa, I guess.

I’m not thrilled about my Carhartt jacket though—that seems to be missing as well. I’d been hoping to…I don’t know, I didn’t really pack all that many sentimental objects when I left but I wanted to—I don’t know. I liked that coat. And coming back here made me realize how much I missed—

[click, static]

Well, I fucking miss cigarettes that’s for sure. If I ever have a garden again, I wonder if I can figure out how to grow tobacco and roll my own. Though, at this point, with everything I’ve been dealing with, I might have to resort to smoking the seven year old packs lying around.

Anyway, the jacket is gone. It wasn’t on its usual hook and I searched the whole house and its…gone. I’m assuming Junior didn’t take it, but I can’t remember if it was here last week when I came back to the house for the first time. Maybe Harry threw it out the day I left. Maybe she took it with her when—

(scoffs) Probably not that. More likely she just tossed it. Or cut it up into scraps to line the chicken coop.

I should get going, I think. It’s not good to linger. But I—well, I left Harry a note. On the off chance that she does come back here. It’s got the same info I’ve said on the radio, with a new meeting place in case…

Well, in case. I also—well, I wrote—I know he probably wouldn’t want to hear what I have to say, so maybe I’ll just keep it and—

[click, static]

(sigh) I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if there’s anything I should be taking with me from the house. Any other bits of sentiment, any remaining supplies.

I have this feeling…I don’t think I’ll ever be back here after this. I think—

[a creak of the door opening behind her]

(gasps) Wh—

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

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somethingclevermahogony · 2 months

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ROY G. BIV Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @illarian-rambling! These are all coming from books 1 and 2 of my WIP, The Testaments of the Green Sea.

Um I suppose content warning for violence and blood for the first one, if that is something that you are uncomfortable with, skip red and go to orange.

As he bent to continue his impromptu drink, the deck erupted. It was as if the wood itself had chosen to spring at the man, or the sea had punched through the ship's hull. The massive hand closed around the front of his skull, the rough and leathery palm engulfed the entirety of his face and muffled his shrieks. Blood spattered the deck, mixing with the wine. The crunch and the snap of bone and of wood were nearly indistinguishable. His form was pulled through the jagged hole, ribs and shoulders cracked and folded in on themselves, the sheer force ripped the left arm from the body. A spray of red painted the deck where a moment before he had stood. And then he was gone.

Of course, it's been great having more than just me down here. After Zanuk died, I was getting worried that Wadikir was never going to get another slave for the Hall, not that I’m happy that you and Suru are slaves, it's just if you had to be slaves anywhere I’m glad it was here, and -” Now it was Shela’s turn to blush; she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Her last few words had been barely more than a squeak. She quickly pivoted away from Otilia, careful not to send the scrolls rolling across the floor again. She wasn’t entirely sure why she felt so embarrassed, but she was. The two walked in silence through the labyrinthian pathways, past the flickering clay lamps that threw their dancing orange light over the ancient walls. Both were deeply mired in their own imaginations. So I was right, Otilia thought, It’s not just me. Otilia couldn’t help but smile.

“How long is this tunnel?” Narul groaned. “You’re almost at the end sir, just beyond this bend.” The tunnel abruptly opened into a large octagonal room, its walls carved from yellow stone, punctuated by three doors as well as the tunnel from which Narul had emerged. At its center lay a large round pool, shallow on one side and deeper on the other. Placed around this pool were various benches, cushions, and vases. He looked at the strange clay bottles which hung from the ceiling like exotic fruits and at the bronze tools laid out on a nearby table; pincers, hooks, and ladles among other things. For the slaves of Labisaj, baths had consisted of water pulled from the well poured over the body once or twice with a bucket, just enough to get the majority of the grime off of the skin. He had no idea what he was expected to do here, there was no bucket to be seen. On a whim, he walked towards the water. “Do I just get in?” He turned to the attendants. They looked at him, perplexed. “No sir, it's not heated yet, and you have not been cleaned.” “Cleaned? Isn’t that what the water’s for?”

The production was extravagant, even for Ninma. Dish after dish were presented to the tables. Fish and crusteacans played a central roll; stewed, boiled, baked, fried, even raw. Narul lost count of the varieties. After a short while, each silver tray would be whisked off by the servants to some unknown location, often with the majority of the food still left on them. Along with fish there came slabs of meat; beef and goat, nearly every dish drizzled with sauces of vinegar or mustard or else coated in herbs and oils. Occasionally vegetables; peeled asparagus, cabbage, and other greens would make an appearance and would be almost entirely ignored. Bowls of beer and wine were constantly replenished, with the banqueters drinking from golden ladels dipped directly in the bowls. Fluffy wheat bread too was in constant supply, this was only the second time Narul had tried wheat bread, barley being far more common. Otilia looked up from a dish of tiny octopi swimming in vinegar and sesame oil, to see Shela across the room, a sloshing bowl of beer balanced on her head. She smiled and waved. Shela frowned, eyes darting from side to side and mouthed. “We need to talk….tonight…” Otilia frowned, but nodded. Shela smiled weakly, setting the bowl at one of the tables and returned to the kitchen to receive yet more food for the banquet. The sensation of fullness was not one with which Narul had ever been particularly familiar. He leaned back with a groan, one hand on his belly, he felt somewhat sick. Ninma looked similarly green-faced.

It was dark now. He was alone. Did he dare call out for help? Only the reflection of the moon lit the world around him. There were no birds, no animals, just the soft whistle of the wind. He looked for something to cover himself, to warm his aching body, he found nothing but more snow. He could swear his fingers were turning blue. As he felt his breathing slow and his eyelids grow heavy, he saw two figures coming towards him through the snow, people he thought, what kind, he couldn’t be sure. Were they Apunian’s coming to kill him? It didn’t matter, they were something. " Help me." He pleaded as the figure drew near.

“I hope you have saved some wine and women for me!” A voice crowed as the tent flaps were pushed aside. Four men entered, still dressed in their armor, they were all southern nobility from the cities of Kotsa, Felu, and Kitsu. Tizanush, son of Atab the lord of Kotsa, was at their head. He was tall and handsome, with flowing brown hair and broad shoulders. He could have leapt from the mouth of a poet or from the chisel of an artist. He was new to war, having only joined Akard’s cabinet the year before when his father and by extension the city of Kotsa had sworn allegiance to the throne of Labisaj. The other nobles greeted him cordially, offering him wine and food, one of the prettier girls was even shoved his way. As he stood he began to undress, taking of his armor, and this clothing underneath, leaving his body bare. He grinned and flexed. “A true man doesn’t mind the cold. Even if parts of him might.” The others laughed. Zatar did not. He eyed the brat and his sword, coldly. Tizanush bent to retrieve his silken belt. The lordling inspected the indigo fabric for a moment and then tied it over his naked waist, and hung his sword from it. It was a beautiful blade, mountain bronze perhaps from Bur or Kurk, long and thin like a rapier in the the style of the southerners best-suited for slipping between armor, rather than hacking or slashing.

I should head back, I’ll already be later than Suru said I should be. Narul gazed at the shadows stretching away from the descending sun. It was only as he stood that he saw the figure bending to drink at the water’s edge. He had seen wolf pelts in the markets or draped over the shoulders of street performers in costume, but he had never seen a pelt still attached to the creature which had grown it. But even he knew that this beast was nothing like the creatures that had supplied those pelts. It was massive, the size of a horse, each paw as big as a man’s head. Its silvery fur seemed to glimmer a soft blue in the sun’s waning light. A stone came loose beneath the giant’s foot and clattered loudly against its peers. Narul swore under his breath as the beast straightened, its shaggy head turning owl like to see what had disturbed its drink. Narul felt a pang of fear as he looked into violet eyes, there were no irises nor whites, just dark pools like lost forest springs. It had the face of a human, smooth and hairless, its skin as pale as moonlight, its delicate lips the same golden hue as the sunset.

Tagging @hallowedfury, @treesandwords, and @peresephones

#writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #fantasy #tag game!#worldbuilding #fantasy writing #testamentsofthegreensea #fantasy world #tag game #cw: gore #queer fantasy #cw blood #world building

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twistedtummies2 · 7 months

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Fifteen Days of Disney Magic - Number 10

Welcome to Fifteen Days of Disney Magic! In honor of the company’s 100th Anniversary, I am counting down my Top 15 Favorite Movies from Walt Disney Animation Studios! We’ve reached the Top 10! Today’s entry truly never gets old. Number 10 is…Peter Pan.

Okay, let’s get the elephant out of the room immediately…no, some parts of this film (I think a lot of you will know which ones) have NOT aged well. It was made primarily for children in the 1950s, with development reaching as far back as the late 1930s, and certain elements are clearly a product of their time. I acknowledge this, and how it was as wrong then as it is wrong now. I concede it’s an issue for at least some (if not, indeed, many) modern audiences. If those elements or any others bother you for any reason – and I imagine they probably bother a LOT of people – I won’t pretend like you don’t have justifiable grounds for disliking the film as a result. With that said…I freaking love this movie, despite those issues, and that is the hill I choose to die on.

While I don’t know if Disney’s Peter Pan is the BEST interpretation of J.M. Barrie’s classic fantasy adventure, it’s certainly one of my top three favorites. (The other two are the 2003 film, and the musical that originally starred Mary Martin…also, no, I’m NOT counting “Hook" there, because “Hook” is a sequel, not a direct adaptation or reimagining.) When I think of the character of Peter Pan himself, it’s Disney’s version that most immediately comes to mind. The same can be said for many of the other characters, such as Smee, the Darling Children, and Tinker Bell…in fact, I think the only exceptions to this rule are Captain Hook himself (and he’s certainly not a version I dislike; easily in my top three takes on the character, as well as one of my Top 5 Disney Villains of all time), the Mermaids (who have so little to do with anything it hardly matters), and the Native American characters, who...I'm not going to touch here with a ten foot pole. 'XD I think it’s my passion for the story itself, and the fact the film introduced me to it, that helps make this such a major favorite for me. It also has the advantage that, like “Fun and Fancy Free” and “The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad,” it was one of the first Disney movies I ever owned, and I watched it over and over again. In fact, I think I saw it perhaps more than any of the others I had on VHS. Something about Peter Pan just spoke to me as a kid, and still speaks to me as an adult. I loved its sense of cartoonish comedy, I loved its spirit of swashbuckling action and adventure, and I loved how it had this sort of strange edge of something unsettling under its colorful exterior. Hook is a funny villain in a lot of ways, but he’s also a murderous psychopath who’ll kill and betray you at the drop of a hat. Peter is, in some ways, who we all wish we could be, but he’s also brash, cocky, and not exactly the most likeable protagonist…and then he’ll turn right around and do or say something that makes you like him all over again. While one could say the film really only covers the superficial elements of Barrie’s darker and more psychological story, it does brush on those deeper layers in some interesting ways, and still makes the ride enjoyable all the way through. This is possibly one of the single most merchandised and frequently referred to films in the entire Disney canon. There’s a preschoolers-aimed TV show, a whole spin-off franchise about the fairies, books, plays, a sequel film that was actually brought to theaters (and, in my opinion, while flawed it is actually not really bad; rare for Disney sequels), and numerous appearances by the characters in various other properties and attractions. It’s one of those stories and worlds that seems impossible to mine dry, and I think that also may be part of why it appeals to me. I was actually fully primed and ready to place this one in 8th place, at the top of the heap of the four films in the stretch between 11th and 8th...but after revisiting it, I found it lacked some of the punch the two films above it had. But hey, Top 10 isn't too bad, right? The countdown continues tomorrow with my 9th Favorite Disney Movie! HINT: If You Were Hoping It Would Be Here, Wish Granted!

#disney #disney 100 #disney 100 special #list #countdown #top 15 disney animated movies #fifteen days of disney magic #number 8 #peter pan #disney peter pan #peter pan 1953

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wonderlandleighleigh · 1 year

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(inspired by @theycallme-thejackal)

It’s a hurried explanation over the phone, and Midge registers “Lenny” and “Sinai” and “Get here” and she’s off like a shot, leaving the kids with Zelda, tearing out of her apartment and into a cab to the hospital.

It’s easy to go into demanding mother mode when she gets there, interrogating nurses until she finds out he’s on the fifth floor and when she gets there, Sally is in the waiting room with Kitty sleeping in her lap.

“Thank god,” Sally breathes out, shifting the little girl into her own chair and getting to her feet.

“What happened?” Midge asks. “I didn’t even know you two were in town.”

“We got in yesterday to visit,” Sally tells her. “Lenny invited us, wanted to talk about Kitty’s housing situation. He said you two had an argument, he didn’t want to bother you.”

Midge takes a breath. They’d had an argument. About taking another step in their relationship. Whether they were ready or not. He didn’t think so. She did. They’d agreed on a week cooling off period.

“What happened?”

Sally rolls her eyes. “He had a set tonight. One of his old dealers showed up at his gig, just wanted to talk. One of her other customers apparently followed her in, and she refused him product. He thought Lenny was carrying and-”

And.

Midge takes a sharp breath and rushes away, down the hall to the room the nurses she terrified downstairs gave her and stands in the doorway.

And, as promised, there’s Lenny.

His hand is broken, and there a bandage on his jaw, clearly stitched up. He’s got an IV hooked up, and his eyes are closed.

“See,” Midge says tearfully. “If you wanted my attention, there are less extreme ways to get it.”

His eyes open a little, bleary and clearly with a concussion. “Whatever works, right?” he slurs out.

She rushes in, picking up the chart and trying to make it out. “Did they give you-”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No. I told ‘em not to. Ma did, too. Just dazed...in pain.”

Midge puts the chart back and sits down next to him, stroking his hair gently. “You didn’t tell me Sally and Kitty were coming.”

“Last minute thing,” he tells her.

“Yeah?”

He nods, looking up at her. “I thought about what you said. About us. About - that we’re ready. And I...I was scared when we were talking about it, but I thought about it and I think-I think you’re right. So I...I wanted...”

Midge sniffles a little. “You wanted to talk to your mother about Kitty living with you so you could show me you were serious about us making things more permanent.”

“You’re so smart, Midge.”

“You’re really loopy, Lenny.”

he chuckles a little and winces. “Ugh. Fucker broke a rib.”

“What did he attack you with?” Midge asks, bewildered.

“Grabbed the baseball bat the bartender keeps,” Lenny explains. “Graduated from the bat to a busted bottle, which is what happened to my face.”

“Jesus.”

“Addicts, you know. They’ll do anything for a fix.”

She can’t help it anymore, and a couple of tears fall. “You have got to get better friends.”

He chuckles a little and takes her hand. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You should be,” she snaps, trying to sound more playful than she feels.

Lenny grins at her understandingly. “Cooling off over?”

Midge nods vigorously. “Cooling off over.”

#fic #au #tmmm #Midge x Lenny #Midge/Lenny #a lil angst

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noonaishere · 22 hours

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Music of the Heart [J.YH] - forty-six | do you know how to do cubes?

“So where have you gotten most of your information?” Hongjoong asked after copying your music file over to the studio computer.

“Umm… I bought a couple music writing books that friends on the internet have recommended to me… and then videos I found on youtube and blog posts and stuff.”

He nodded. You didn’t know what to do so you nodded back. He clapped his hands together.

“Okay. So on first listen I can tell you a few things:” he ticked the points off on his fingers, “you have the structure of a song, you have a melody and a harmony, and you have a pretty nice chord progression.”

“And what’s the bad news?”

“Your drum sequences are a little weird.”

“I was having some trouble with the program I have. I also-- uh--”

He looked at you.

“I didn’t want to pay for the premium version because I didn’t have a lot of money when I started this song, so I didn’t have all the features.” You rolled your eyes.

He nodded. “Okay. So that’s a thing I can definitely help with. I’ll call IT right now and ask someone to come over and set up the program for you-- do you have a laptop you?”

“Umm… I do but it’s kind of hooked up to a bunch of stuff at home…”

“We can give you a work computer.”

“Really?”

“Of course, why would Wonderland let their producers run around without the ability to produce? I think they might still have an unused desktop sitting around, so they might be able to bring it in a couple days. You can use that for a while and they’ll order a new one. I’ll call right now.”

Hongjoong picked up the desk phone and dialed the number for IT and spoke to whoever answered.

“As long as JUPiTER doesn’t fuck up their wifi again.” Maddox added from where he was sprawled out on the couch, facing in the other direction.

You snorted. “Do they do that often?”

“Enough that management started sending our IT guys to their dorm to fix it because they felt bad for this one time when it put the internet out for the whole building.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah, I have no idea what it is they do.”

You nodded, not that he could see you, and paused for a second. “Porn or illegal movies.”

Maddox wheezed a laugh before giggling to himself.

You laughed, satisfied by his reaction.

“Hey, do you know how to do cubes?”

“...Is that a like drug?”

Maddox held what was in his hands over his head for you to see: a rubix cube that was part way done.

“Oh. No, I don’t know how to do cubes.”

He hummed, annoyed at it, turned it a few more times before giving up and rolling it across the floor. He sighed and draped his arm over his face.

“Okay,” Hongjoong said after hanging up the phone, “They can bring a new computer tomorrow and set it up in here. I also asked them to get you on the licenses of the programs we normally use, and before you leave today, one of them will come over with the usb with the programs and the instructions on how to set it up on your computer at home.”

“Ooh, nice.”

He nodded. “It’ll have the production softwares, the samples we use, the drum machines, all that fun stuff. And I’ll start training you on them here, but you’ll have them at home so you can work on your original stuff whenever you want.”

“That’s awesome. I’m excited.”

“So, if it’s okay, I think we’ll hold off on your song until you have your own computer.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“I also had another question for you,” Hongjoong said as he turned his chair towards you and crossed his arms. “It’s a pretty big one though.”

Your eyes widened. “What is it?”

“I let our CEO listen to a few of your mashups, the ones with groups from our company.”

“Oh god! Are you serious? What’d he say?”

“He liked them.” He smiled.

“Okay, okay, that’s good. Okay.”

Hongjoong chuckled at your reaction. You had never even met the CEO before, how could you have known that he would like the mashups you made with his groups. But that was good, he liked them. Good.

“He wants you to work with us come award show time.”

You stared at Hongjoong blankly for almost a solid minute - the sound of it bluescreening almost audible to your coworkers - before your brain restarted. “What?”

Hongjoong laughed. “I could see the buffering animation over your head for a second there.”

“Isn’t-- isn’t that too fast? I only started working here like… a couple months ago? I haven’t been here-- half a year yet!”

He nodded and moved to speak.

“Shouldn’t only the senior producers be working on award shows?”

He held his hands up to stop you. “What kinds of songs are normally used for award shows?”

“What? The… good ones? I’m confused.”

“Songs that try to put as much of an artist’s catalog from the past year into one performance so people can see it, right? You know, taking a bunch of songs and, I don’t know: mixing them together? Mashing them up?”

“Oh… yeah I guess they are.”

“He really liked your sense of music and said you’d be great for the year-end performances.”

“...Holy shit.” You covered your open mouth with your hands.

“You can give it some thought if you want. I know it’s a little fast, but you have a lot of time before we start getting ready for them anyway.”

You pulled your hands away. “I… I mean I don’t even know how to produce yet. All I know is how to chop up songs and audio files and fudge the rest so people can’t really tell that I haven’t separated the layers to use them properly.”

Hongjoong chuckled. “You did a good job of fooling me.”

“Really?”

“Well, on most of your mashups. I have a more trained ear than the average listener, so I was able to pick out a few moments where it was apparent. Not apparent enough for a casual music fan though.”

“Oh. No one’s ever said anything so I guess you’re right.”

“For someone who, as you say, has been using an inferior method to make mashups, you’ve been doing an amazing job.”

You nodded slowly.

“You have plenty of time to learn the programs before then. I think that learning to use professional tools will just make your work better.”

You nodded. “Umm… So I had like, kind of a silly question.”

“No such thing. Go ahead.”

You nodded again. “The other producers all have names like… Viper, and NekoChan, and LuCee, and… like they have their own names and identities, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Could I… maybe use my name from my channel?”

“Nero Music?”

“I was thinking of just ‘NERO’, maybe? All caps.”

He thought about it for a second. “I like it. It’s interesting though… where’d you get the name from? The Roman Emperor?”

You shook your head. “The Turbo song?”

Hongjoong laughed and you heard Maddox chuckle from the couch.

“Cute.” Hongjoong nodded. “Yeah, I don’t see a problem in using it. It is who you are, after all.”

“Wonderland won’t get mad?”

“No, established producers are always a good thing. It means whatever fans you have come to the company.”

“Well… I’m not really a producer--”

“Not yet. And stop saying things like that. This is the last time. I’m training you, that means you’re a producer now.”

“I’ve heard that if you look at your mirror at 3am and whisper ‘I cannot dream big’ three times, a ghost named Kim Hongjoong will appear and slap you ten times.” Maddox said, arm still over his face.

Hongjoong kicked the side of the couch and Maddox laughed.

“I saw someone say that on Twitter after JUPiTER posted a vlog with you in it.” ***ateezmylifeu

You laughed quietly.

“Well, they’re not wrong. But someone has to make sure all of you have dreams big enough that reaching them is worthwhile. If you don't want to bear the crown, don’t try to wear it.”

Those words seemed familiar to you, you weren’t sure why. You thought for a moment, and when you realized what it was it had reminded you of, your eyes widened and you reflexively stood.

“...Your solo work is Hearts Awakened Live Alive? You’re HALA?!”

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felassan · 2 years

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BioWare Blog post: BioWare Developer Story – Pride Edition

Welcome to a very special entry in our Developer Story series! While previous editions have featured a single subject, in the wake of Pride Month in June, we invited some of our LGBTQIA+ colleagues to talk about what the studio and its games mean to them as queer folks. So please allow us to introduce you to Technical Product manager Lina Anderson, Technical Animator Samantha Wald, Programmer Rachel Hammond, and Cinematic Designer Mikayla Stock, who were all kind enough to share their personal histories with us.

How did you end up at BioWare?

RACHEL: Game development was something I’ve wanted to do my entire life, from when I first played with our family’s Atari and NES and on through all my childhood. By the time I got to college, I’d fallen in love with programming as well, so I joined my campus’ Game Developer Association, where I made friends and contacts who helped me land my first job in the industry a bit over 15 years ago. I worked with a few smaller companies before getting my job with BioWare 11 years ago, and I’ve been here ever since.

SAMANTHA: My path into the industry was a lot less direct! I studied broadcasting in college to get into video editing, but I eventually started rendering graphics in 3D. I was instantly hooked, and I started doing rigging for animated shows and films. But I had always been a huge gamer, and about three years ago, I realized my skills would transfer perfectly to technical animation. BioWare has always been one of my favorite studios, and I was so excited when I got the offer to come work here six months ago!

MIKAYLA: I’m relatively new to the games industry, too; I got my start working on 2D educational kids’ games after graduating with a degree in animation. I‘ve been with BioWare for a little over a year now, working on Star Wars™: The Old Republic.

LINA: BioWare is actually my first experience in the games industry, but I’ve been here for over five and a half years. I had dreamed about working in games since I was a kid and was really surprised to get in on my first attempt!

How have BioWare games impacted you as a queer person?

SAMANTHA: As a trans woman, I spent a large majority of my life being uncomfortable with who I am and how I’m perceived by society. Before I transitioned, games were always an outlet for me to feel comfortable and explore my identity; BioWare games in particular gave me that in a completely supportive, non-judgmental space, and I really don’t think I’d be where I am today without them.

LINA: Agreed. Both Mass Effect and Dragon Age were instrumental in helping me rediscover myself. I’d repressed so much over the years, and building characters that reflected aspects of me that I’d been hiding allowed me to safely explore these thoughts and feelings. I found I was able to talk about things I’d previously kept bottled up, using my characters and companions as proxies—something that I wasn’t yet comfortable enough to do on my own. Nobody batted an eye when I talked about Lady Shepard having a fling with Garrus!

MIKAYLA: I also found BioWare games—specifically the Dragon Age games, for me—at a time when I was still kind of figuring out who I was. I was fortunate enough to be raised in an open-minded household, but it’s always different being told something’s okay versus seeing it on screen in front of you, presented as being completely normal, you know?

RACHEL: Yes! Watching them start pushing for more inclusion years ago, allowing gay and bi romance options, that was a real help for me at the time. But even outside of my direct personal experience, it was so good to see that inclusion spreading through the industry.

Why do you think BioWare games resonate so well with queer players?

SAMANTHA: BioWare games have always been about playing your character however you want, so I think it’s exceptionally easy for players to insert themselves into the main character. And since queer folks have had so little representation in the past, BioWare games are likely to be the first place a lot of folks are able to see themselves reflected in media.

MIKAYLA: Right, they provide a space for players to explore their identities. There are so many well-rounded characters that it’s hard not to find a couple that resonate with you, and watching the story of a character you deeply connect with play out can be incredibly cathartic. And it’s about not being afraid to tell LGBTQIA+ stories!

RACHEL: Yes—games that try to be more open and attentive towards queer identities definitely help us find ourselves in them. But they help other people see us too; the benefit doesn’t stop simply with our firsthand experience. It also helps normalize queer identities for other players, letting others know we’re real, we’re normal, we’re part of the industry.

LINA: And the thing for me is that the games don’t just have a couple queer characters you can run into, and then you’re off shooting aliens again. These are characters that we grow with through the series, form bonds with, and can choose to be close to.

Do you think BioWare games have made an impact on the way the industry approaches LGBTQIA+ topics?

MIKAYLA: I think any exposure to LGBTQIA+ topics in games is a step towards normalizing them in the industry, and BioWare’s decision not to shy away from telling those stories, but to embrace them, was a welcome breath of fresh air.

SAMANTHA: And I think that’s really led the way in de-stigmatizing queer relationships in games. By being this inclusive in games that are both successful and popular, they made it clear that queer representation is not a detriment, but actually a positive and something a lot of players are hungry for.

LINA: Yeah, I remember seeing the original Mass Effect making waves for having a same-sex romance option. It was absolutely the first major game I was aware of where this was a thing at all, and I think that by showing you could have a gay romance between a human and an alien and not have retailers refuse to stock your games, that may have opened some eyes and made it an easier pitch.

RACHEL: That’s exactly it. The way BioWare handled inclusion rippled through the industry, leading to other studios leaning into that content, which meant that even more games were comfortable with it. It helped move everyone forward.

Do you feel like BioWare sees and supports its queer employees?

SAMANTHA: To me, the biggest thing I see BioWare doing to support queer employees has been to empower them! I have never seen so many queer people in senior leadership positions as I have in my time here.

MIKAYLA: Everyone I’ve had the pleasure of working with has been nothing but kind and accepting, and I’ve never felt the need to be anything but myself. That fosters such a great sense of communication and community. I don’t feel like I’m living inside a vacuum while I’m working; the rest of the world still exists and its impact on employees is not taken lightly.

RACHEL: I’ve been with BioWare for more than a decade at this point, and I’ve only seen the support for our LGBTQIA+ staff grow. There have been some missteps along the way, sure, but the most important thing I’ve seen is that people are eager to listen, learn, and do better. I’ve seen a great amount of work put in to ensure that happens in every circumstance. When I started here, I was not out to anyone about being trans. I had transitioned years ago but I was afraid to tell anyone. But in my time here I was given the confidence I needed to come out again, on my terms. So many other workplaces I’ve been at pushed me back into the closet, but BioWare helped me actually feel free to express my whole self.

LINA: Oh, absolutely. If I wasn’t in a place like BioWare, I probably still wouldn’t be out. Coming out as trans was terrifying in general, but knowing my manager and leadership were there for me as I announced who I really was made all the difference.

Thanks to Mikayla, Rachel, Samantha, and Lina for sharing their stories. At BioWare, we’re dedicated to a diverse, inclusive culture, and try to show that through our people and our games. Of course, we know there will always be more to learn in order to best support our teams. But we look forward to that continued growth—because while it may no longer be Pride Month, BioWare is always proud of all our colleagues.

[source]

#dragon age #bioware #mass effect #mass effect: andromeda #video games #lgbtq #vetra nyx #spikywife #jaal ama darav #long post #longpost #sw:tor #garrus vakarian #best boy

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kyddosebastian · 2 years

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Endgame (Sebastian Kydd x Reader

*loosely based on Season 1, Episode 6 of The Carrie Diaries, except for that you’re Carrie because she never deserved Sebastian*

“(Y/N), I thought you said you couldn’t cook, though?”. You sighed impatiently into the phone, though Mouse was definitely right.

“This year I have to though, it’s our first year without Mom, and I need it to be perfect”, twirling the telephone cord around your fingers idly,you continued, “Can you come over to help? Or do you have a turkey recipe?”.

Mouse laughed on the other end, “Sorry, we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, I have nothing for you. The extended family is coming today anyways since it’s school break, I don’t know if I can get away”. Despite the rejection, Mouse did sound genuinely perturbed that she couldn’t make it and so you couldn’t find it in you to be upset. You would have tried Maggie but she had mentioned being at Walt’s for the holiday, and well, even that might be better than your current predicament. Your only other option would have been Sebastian, but his mom was meant to be in town and he saw her so little as it was that you couldn’t so much as entertain the prospect of cutting into his time with her.

Bidding Mouse a sullen goodbye, you put the phone back on the hook, the plastic making a satisfying clunk. Frustrated, you rubbed your hands down your face, muffling a groan behind them. Luckily, your father and Dorit didn’t hear due to the volume of the Thanksgiving Day game playing on the television set. You had assured them at least ten times that morning that you could do this, despite your not so clean track record in the kitchen, but since then everything that could have gone wrong, had gone wrong. Multiple times, even. The turkey was still half frozen and you didn’t even want to think of how long it would take to cook, especially considering that you had no idea how to prepare a turkey. You had managed an ambrosia salad, but of course that wouldn’t make a meal. That, and everytime you turned around it seemed like your younger sister was causing another problem entirely. Under the circumstances, you couldn’t even feign productivity and so instead you slumped down at the kitchen counter, banging your head on the counter with a thunk. Maybe if you hit it hard enough, you would pass out until the holiday was over.

You were shaken from your moping by a familiar, deep voice that sounded as if it had come from the doorway, laced with amusement, “Hey now, what are you doing to my beautiful girl’s poor head?”

Whipping your head around hard enough to give yourself whiplash, you were greeted by the sight of Sebastian leaning against the frame of the door, arms crossed over his chest and snow melting in his blonde fluff of hair. Immediately, you were scrambling from the stool and he uncrossed his arms so that he could wrap them around you, holding you tight to his chest, the thumb of one hand rubbing rhythmically over your shoulder blade. You sighed contentedly, leaning your head against his shoulder, “I have never been so glad to see you, you would not believe the day that I’m having”.

Sebastian laughed and pulled away slightly to lay a kiss against your temple, “Oh, I heard, Mouse called me”.

Realization swept across your features and you left his arms completely, staring up at him with eyebrows raised, “Hey, weren’t you supposed to be with your mom today? You don’t have to be here”.

He shrugged, pulling his leather coat off and draping out over the chair, eyes flitting anywhere but your face, “She bailed again, it’s alright though, I would rather be with you anyways”.

You frowned at him, corners of your mouth tugged down in a pout as you reached for his hand, “I’m sorry, I know you were excited”.

Sebastian shook his head, letting out an airy laugh, “I told you it’s okay, what can I do to help?”

Distracted from his problems, you quickly remembered your own predicament, “Oh god, anything. I haven’t even started the turkey, actually I don’t know how to make a turkey, and really I haven’t started much else either, there's still a pumpkin pie, and the cranberry sauce, stuffing, sweet potato casserole…”.

You were speaking a mile a minute until Sebastian grasped your face firmly in both hands, his palms big enough to cover both cheeks completely, fingers carding into your hair, “Hey, hey, slow down, take a breath. In and out, sweetheart”, amusement danced in his bright blue eyes and it was with a chuckle and a smirk on his lips that he continued, “Let’s start with the turkey, that will take the longest”.

You nodded, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Of course, you and Sebastian weren’t necessarily going together. You had at the beginning of the school year, but the stress had been a lot and ultimately you had split, though the both of you remained close friends. You hadn’t expected him to show up at all, but now in the close proximity butterflies were erupting in your stomach and your heart was pounding wildly. It felt like an eternity that he stood there, so close that your bodies were practically touching, his eyes searing into yours. Finally, he released your face, pinching your cheeks affectionately, “C’mon let’s get that bird going”.

You nodded and pointed to where it lay in the sink, now mostly unfrozen. Sebastian heaved it out of the basin, letting it land on the counter with a wet plop. You cringed, nose wrinkling at the pink, seeping flesh. He laughed at you, “If you don’t like it now, you’re really not gonna be happy with this next part”.

“What?”, you whined, unsure of how it could get grosser than it was currently.

Sebastian smirked, lips tugging up in one corner, “Well you’ve gotta gut it, you know”, he said, handing you your pair of gloves from the counter. You slid them onto your hands, brows knitted together in disgust.

You slid your hand into the turkey unhappily, gagging at the texture of it as you pulled the insides out. Sebastian’s smirk was long gone looking at it now, a queasy expression replacing it, one hand clamped tightly over his mouth and nose.

When you were finally finished you all but shoved the turkey into the largest pan you had, though you quickly realized the oven wasn’t nearly big enough. Sebastian watched you try squeezing the pan into the small appliance for several minutes before attempting to step in, “Hey, do you want help?”.

You shook your head vehemently, ever so independent and slammed the oven door against the pan, stumbling backwards into Sebastian’s chest in the process. He caught you easily, hands wrapping around your upper arms, “Careful there”, he chided, waiting until he was sure you had regained your balance to let go of you.

You turned, gazing up at him with a small smile etched across your lips, “Thanks”, you mumbled shyly, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

Sebastian smiled back, resting one hand on your neck so that he could tilt your face up to see him better, “Not a problem, sweetheart”.

For the second time that day, your eyes latched onto his gaze and you found yourself leaning in at the same time as he was leaning down, his fingers curling around the back of your neck to bring you even closer. You closed your eyes, feeling his minty breath ghost across your mouth, the scent of his cologne overwhelming you. His lips had just barely brushed across your own when an echoing slam drew your attention away. Reluctantly, you stepped away, “We should probably work on that pumpkin pie”, you mumbled, eyes now trained on the ground.

Sebastian cleared his throat and nodded, setting about gathering ingredients. For the next several minutes you co-existed in silence, him mixing the filling and you attempting to roll out the pie crust. It was harder than it seemed and you struggled to get it even. Eventually you gave in, blowing a strand of hair off your forehead with a frustrated breath. Sebastian glanced over to you, frowning just slightly. He was a bit frightened of how you would react, considering how you’d dodged him earlier but nonetheless he shifted over, pressing his chest to your back so he could grasp the rolling pin over your hands, “It’s gotta be a bit harder”, he advised gently, adding just slightly more pressure to roll it out. You smiled down at the counter, subconsciously following him when he pulled away, though he seemed not to notice. You wanted more than anything to be back in his arms, but you were more scared that he would break your heart, given the power to do so.

Clearing your throat, you went to put the pumpkin pie into the fridge to bake later, “I’ve got the rest of it if you want to go watch football, I think they still have the game on”.

Sebastian frowned but nodded, sensing that something was bothering you but not wanting to upset the delicate balance of things. He headed into the den with one last glance back at you, studying your tense posture and white knuckled grip on the box of stuffing. In his absence, you set to work, now stressed out about both Sebastian and being a perfect faux-matriarch to both your father and sister. You listened to the lighthearted banter and laughter from the den and that relaxed you to an extent as you continued your work. You checked on the turkey at around 2:00, groaning in exasperation when you realized that it would never be done by six at its current rate. Biting your lip in thought, you scanned over the various settings on the stove, and with only a little hesitation, you went ahead and punched ‘broil’, you were sure that it would have it cooked a bit faster.

By the time you had finished preparing things it was nearing seven at night, and it was with panic that you realized this, having meant to take the turkey out at least an hour and a half prior. You hurried to the oven and tried to pull it open, though the door was stuck fast, jammed from you slamming it shut earlier. Unwilling to ask for help, you cursed under your breath, only tugging harder and harder, until the door popped open, the metal hitting your arm hard and scorching the flesh. You cried out in pain and frustration as smoke billowed out into the kitchen, setting the fire alarm off and then as if things couldn’t decline any further, the blackened bird burst into vibrant orange flames.

Your dad was the first into the room, quickly followed by Sebastian, though he didn’t have the chance to say anything before your dad was gesticulating wildly, voice raised about three octaves, “(Y/N), what the hell did you do?!?”.

You understood his anger, a new oven would surely be incredibly expensive, but you couldn’t find it in you to be empathetic, you only held your arm tighter to your chest, attempting to hold the tears at bay while your dad muttered under his breath and tried to knock the button on the smoke detector to stop its incessant shrieking. Sebastian had grabbed the fire extinguisher and was quickly putting out the fire in the broken oven, though once the crisis was averted, attention was only put right back onto you, which was the last thing that you wanted.

Looking down at the linoleum tile, you scuffed your shoes against it, not daring to meet your father’s eye while he tore into you about the cost of ovens and whatnot, and then when it seemed as bad as it could get, the power cut off as well, plunging your father, his friend, Dorit, you, and Sebastian into near complete darkness.

Your father threw up his hands in exasperation, apparently rendered speechless, while at the same time you finally found your words, your voice coming out weak and upset despite your best intentions, “Someone needs to care enough about this family! Someone needs to make the turkey and potatoes, and get it all done at just the right time so you can watch your stupid football game! I’m gonna lose it!”.

Dorit snorted from where she was standing on the opposite side of the counter, “I think you already kinda are”.

At that point, steam was practically spouting from your ears and you continued speaking to your father, voice high and shaky, “You don’t even have a clue! You have no idea what’s going on in your own family! Dorit and I are trying to deal with mom not being her today, and you didn’t notice, and now smoke is pouring out and my turkey is ruined, all because I just wanted everyone to have a perfect thanksgiving! Obviously that’s a joke, because I’m not mom. I’m your daughter and you’re supposed to be taking care of me!”.

Your dad only blinked at you, finally stating he was going to look for some candles and flashlights, but you expected no more. He never was good at admitting he was wrong, especially when he had already reamed into you about it.

Upset, you turned and rushed for the door, Sebastian following close behind, “(Y/N)! (Y/N), wait!”.

You stopped but didn't turn around, arms wrapped tightly around yourself and hiccuping softly as you tried not to let yourself spiral into a full breakdown. When Sebastian caught up to you, he slipped his jacket off, wrapping the warm fabric around your shoulders and coming around to face you. The concern in his eyes when he tilted your head up to look at him had you crumbling and you stumbled forward into his warm embrace, your head falling against his chest. Sebastian hushed you gently, one hand splayed across your upper back and the other on the back of your head, pressing your face further into the crook of his neck. “It’s alright”, he murmured sweetly into your hair, “C’mon, my parents aren’t home, you can crash with me tonight, get some space”.

You nodded and sniffled, drawing back so he could lead you to his car, pulling the red painted door open so that you could clamber in. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, pulling the seatbelt across you at the same time.

You were arriving to his house not long after, Sebastian coming to a stop in the circular driveway. He looked fondly at you as you snored quietly, cheek pressed against the glass window, having fallen asleep sometime during the short drive. He woke you gently once he had your door open, fingers rubbing through your hair, “Baby, we’re here”, he murmured, though it took a few more tries to rouse you enough that you could stumble out of the car. Sebastian wrapped an arm tightly around you, walking you up to the front door and attempting to unlock it with just one hand so that he wouldn’t have to release you.

Once the door had been opened you wandered in unsurely, your eyes drawn to all of the very expensive decor, though you were pulled away from your musings when Sebastian grabbed your hand, pulling you up the stairs to his bedroom. You felt much more comfortable in it, rather than glass chandeliers and expensive paintings, his own room was much cozier. He had a few pictures, standard wooden furniture, a cozy looking duvet covering plaid sheets, lit only by the amber glow of his bedside lamp.

Awkwardly, Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, rooting through his drawers for a moment. When he turned to face you, he was holding an old t-shirt and a pair of boxers, which you gratefully accepted. He pointed out the bathroom and you were quick to change, brushing your teeth with your finger as you hadn't necessarily thought to grab a toothbrush before you left. When you returned, Sebastian was settled under the covers, and he lifted an arm for you to slide under it. You did so without pause, curling right into his side and laying your hand over his heart, head dropped down against his shoulder. Sebastian stroked your hair with one of his hands and the two of you fell into peaceful silence for a moment until you broke it with the question that had been on your mind all day, “Sebastian, why are you doing this for me?”.

He paused the movements of his hand, seeming to need a moment to think, “Because we’re friends”.

“Oh”, you mumbled, you had been hoping for a different answer but if that was the way he felt, you supposed that you could at least enjoy his embrace as a friend.

Sebastian sighed and resumed combing through your hair with his fingers, daring to press a kiss to the top of your head and murmuring quietly to you, “And because I still love you”.

You had already fallen asleep.

#sebastiankydd #austinbutler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader

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