#I’m not built yet for this job but I’m not giving up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catfern · 6 months

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1 MILLION SUBSCRIBERS SPECIAL

pairing: ghost hunter!ellie x afab!reader (feminine pronouns used)

music: eyes without a face - billy idol

word count: 2.3k

summary: ghost hunter!ellie needs a new assistant to help film her 1 million subscribers special in a supposedly 'haunted house'. good thing you'll do anything she says.

warnings: SEXTAPE, oral (r!receiving) fingering (r!receiving), ghosts? spooky business, ellie is a shitty clickbait youtuber

an: heyyy this came to me in a dream. nothing much else to say. get ready to fuck dirty while ghosts watch idk. this is probably gonna be my only halloween fic while we're still in october. got some other ideas tho so get ready for a spooky november

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“come on! come on! it’ll be fun! something memorable on halloween.”

“jesus, ellie, you know I don’t believe in that shit.”

it’s a coy laugh. your fingers dance over your phone, unsure what to do. you didn’t believe her when she jumped and screamed, bolstering about her 1 millionth subscriber.

‘The Ghost Detective.’ her youtube profile was almost as shoddy as her Mr. Beast-esque clickbait video titles.

“then it doesn’t matter!” she had a hold on your forearm, intermittent squeezing begging you to fold, “please? the last girl I had thought her dead mom was talking to her and ran off.”

she had an almost pitiful look in her eyes, her eyebrows screwed together as she pleaded.

fucking hell. you were convinced if you hadn’t met ellie, hadn’t started falling behind her like an obedient dog, you’d actually submit most of your assignments on time.

“fine.”

it wasn’t that your tiny town was particularly superstitious, or religious, or any other ‘-itious’, but it was in unspoken agreement that there was something inexplicable here, on the hill that looked over the lights of the suburbs. a decaying prairie protrusion built god-knows-when, the moon shone high in its fullness through the rotting foundations, casting its shadows over the dead grass, falling at your feet with the cool of the wind.

the whisper in her voice ran up your spine, “gettin’ scared yet?”

ellie seemed all too giddy to be here, a wicked smile and a laugh in her throat. her hair was pulled back from her face, and you could lightly see the ghost of freckles across her cheek in the night.

“what? no, no. i’m just tired.”

“right,” she was poking fun, the words dripping from her lips like electricity. she dumped her arms-full of equipment in your arms with a huff, before digging around in her backpack. “here,” cold metal in your hand as she took back her stuff. redbull, “we’re gonna be here all night.”

you don’t know how she did it. even as a certified non-believer, the engulfing emptiness of the house, the darkness that settled in the cracks and corners caught up with you, something unsettling pricking the hairs on the back of your neck.

but here she was. she brought a lawn chair from home, said it was her dad’s. equipped with the built-in beer holder and everything, she was relaxed. her elbows settled on her knees, her hands fallen limp in the space between her legs. she had something in her eyes, a glint. something determined, charming as she stared you down. well, the camera.

but you were staring at her right back. memorising what little detail echoed through the lens of the shitty 2008 sony camcorder.

she said it was for the ‘found footage look’. you know it’s just because she’s broke.

“now, legend has it, ladies and gentlemen, that the last owners of this iconic hillside property were satan .. worshippers. and that this house, this very house that i’m sitting in right now, is actually an active portal. to. hell.”

you’ve gotta give it to her. she had a talent for drama.

“i’ll just point to you when i need you to do like, i dunno, a little camera pan or something, yeah?”

ellie was explaining it to you like you hadn’t just been at home binge-watching her channel for the past few days, meticulous research, you called it. to make sure you did a good job as her assistant. not like the blur of her messy hair and her face in the ghoulish green light of the night vision camera did anything to you.

you knew her video structure. front room first, then five minutes in a spooky hallway, then some time left to freak out in one of the bedrooms, find an old haunted toy that definitely wasn’t planted, and then a quick exit with a lot of swearing, screaming and camera shaking.

“right, you ready?”

you nod.

the front room was, unsurprisingly, boring, although ellie put on her best shiver-me-timbers face, as she calls it. something for the fans.

but when you got back into the hallway, something in the air had changed. you looked to ellie, and you couldn’t tell if what she felt was real, or fake. she just kept looking at you through the camera, the same dramatised ‘concern’ written all over her face.

everything ellie does is scripted. fake.

if there was something wrong, truly wrong, here, you would leave, right?

the feeling was violently oppressive, pushing down on you. run, run, run. a gush of something ran across the back of your neck.

“fuck! what was that? did you feel that?”

“hey, hey,” the sudden normalness of her voice felt misplaced, “just keep the camera on me, okay? eyes on me.”

you could barely see her fucking eyes. the imposing and suffocating darkness of the house seemed to wrap around you horribly tight, the only thing keeping you tethered to your sense of sanity was the sound of ellie’s breath, so close you could feel it wisp around your cheekbone, warm and inviting. the only comfort fighting the cold in the air.

slowly, your sight adjusts to the dark, and you could barely make out the outline of her face in the dim light of the moon. she was watching you, her eyes lidded, flickering over the shadow of your body. your own breath was quick, adrenaline laced, something sore and deep. you feel a slight graze against your arm and you jump, ellie catching your shoulders in her arms, pushing you upright,

“careful, it’s just me,”

there’s a closeness now, a beat. her grip is strong as it soothes the shaking, the fear, the absolute buzz that you’re convinced is the only thing keeping you alive. you quickly become obsessed with the design of her, you’ve never been this close. suddenly, you recognise the way her hair falls on her face, the look in her eyes, the shine as she looks at you. she clears her throat, and her hands drop, coarsely, from your shoulders,

“come on, you’re alright. let’s keep going.”

yeah, yeah. you fumble your hand back through the strap of the camera, a slight twitch in your hand as you press record,

“fucking hell,” her voice was raspy, deep, a soft but commanding whisper, “the spirits sure are stirred up here… i wonder what happened.”

stay close to me. it’s barely a breath, something not meant to be heard, but her voice is luring, and you nod.

your footsteps were a heavy echo against the aging wood floor, the creaks spreading through the house like a warning. to you, or to others, you don’t know.

the bedroom wasn’t far. you had to hike up a flight of decaying steps, but as ellie talked to the camera, she held a hand firm on your back. she wouldn’t let you fall.

the room obviously belonged to some kids, however long ago. abandoned toys and rotted posters littered the floor, and it almost felt painful to see the life that was once in this house. but why did they leave everything here? kids drawings, toys, a closet full of half-eaten, moth-ridden clothes.

what made them just get up and leave?

wind rattled against the window, it felt like it was rocking the house. something was uneasy here, unnerving. you tried to focus your thoughts on ellie, her dramatic storytelling and perfectly practiced ‘scared’ body language, but there was something here. and it was watching.

one final gust of wind surged against the rocky foundations of the house, and the closet doors flung open, an old wooden puppet flying out to your feet.

you were never a screamer, never. which is why, when you heard a blood-curdling shriek rush through the house, it felt like an out of body experience. something foreign. you fell back and tripped over your own feet, desperate to put as much distance between you and whatever was in this house as possible.

luckily, ellie’s fear is fabricated. she’s quick to respond, stepping in to steady you with kind hands and a charming smile. your heart rate was so intense, it rocked the both of you, chest to back, intertwined something fierce. your breath settles against her chest, and you meet her eye,

“thought you didn’t get scared,” she was being a tease. her hands ghosting over your body gently, carefully, thinly veiled under the guise of simply holding you, caring for you, she was keeping you safe. it was a little self-indulgent.

“i’m not,” you steel yourself, stubborn girl, although a soft laugh bubbles in your throat. there’s something unreal about the steady feeling of ellie’s hands, the roughness of her palms pushing through your clothing. you turn, and she’s smiling, the glint of her teeth in the soft light, mischief an echo on her face. her voice was low as she leaned in, tickles of her hair just brushing the apple of your cheekbone,

“really, baby? i don’t think you would even still be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“you think i’m here for you?” she’s so close you can feel your breath swirl with hers, heat brushing down your jaw and dripping onto your neck. her grip on your waist anchors, and you feel her settle in the crooks of your body, the corners of your skin, like she’s home. she’s looking at you, something jokingly fierce, but unsure, and her gaze falls on your lips,

“mhm,”

you’d think she’d been starved. restless, choked breaths fall between you in gaps as she pulls you in, heavy, her lips on yours in fervour. her hands are everywhere, tracing themselves in your hair, down your neck, feeling their way blindly along the softness of your skin. god.

her lips draw from yours, dragging a mix of spit and lip gloss down your chin, along the ridge of your neck, a trail glistening in the edging darkness.

“fuck, ellie.”

you barely register the weight lifting from your hand, only a visceral whine as she pulls from you, walking a safe distance to gently place the camera down, out of the way.

ellie finds herself back in the crook of her neck, dragging your skin through her teeth, soft groans rumbling from her throat as her hands pull their way down to the waistband of your skirt,

a skirt? really?

had you planned this?

“come on, sweetheart,” she’s barely audible against your skin, vibrations dripping down your torso as her hands dive under your shirt, lifting it to bounce above your tits, “that’s it.”

her palm cups the base of your tit, dragging soft moans from your pretty lips as she squeezes.

under her breath, she’s praying. vulgar, tenacious, she can’t control herself, lost in the dream of your body as she presses you against a wall she hopes won’t collapse.

fuck-god, fuck, jesus, baby.

if you’re who she’s praying to, it falls on deaf ears. you’re no god, you can’t help her, but fuck, she feels like she could worship you. properly, forever, falling to her knees and cupping her palms behind your thighs, it’s like she’s pleading,

“can i?” she’s soft, her cheek resting on the inside of your thigh, you’re her altar, “god, say yes.”

her nose just graces the wetness of your underwear and you flinch, “yes! ellie, f-fuck-please.”

she loops her pointer fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs, almost too rough. she loses herself in the heat, the slick dripping from your pussy.

heat poured over your body like molten gold, the feeling of her tongue inside you, raw, animalistic, sending pulses sliding up the ridges of your skin. she hums against your clit, her hand coming down to pull your velvet slick from the rim of her lips.

you convulse, clenching around the encroaching absence of a feeling, of something you didn’t know you needed.

her.

“fucking hell, sweet girl,” deep, ragged breaths shadow your thighs. she needs air, but its not like she wants it. fuck, she wants you, she needs you. your taste on her tongue is metallic, a memory she’s chasing like a quick withdrawal. her tongue finds your clit and presses, a murmur leaving her drowning lips and echoing through your veins as you moan, desperation clawing through your hands and in ellie’s hair, binding.

“please, el-f-shit, i need you. i need to feel you, fuck!”

you didn’t need to ask twice.

fuck, you wrapped around her like you were made for her, godsent, a gift for her devotion. she stretched you, opening you with her fingers and you nearly melted, ellie’s arm wrapped around your thigh the only stability offered for your spent body. your head threw back, digging into the old, rotting wood of the wall, and if ellie looked up, pulled away from her firm spot between your legs, she would have seen you and completely unravelled.

she wasn’t gentle, the way her fingers moved inside you. desperate and completely unforgiving, she needed everything that you were willing to give her, her pace rough, fast, world-destroying.

and there she was, a lazy grin bearing her teeth against your clit, pussydrunk and delirious, tasting you and content enough to die.

she supposed she wouldn’t mind haunting this house, if you came to visit her.

low warbles against your cunt, you couldn’t hear her, even if you were listening. drowning in the push and pull of her touch, in the warmth of her, your head felt like molasses, your body something soft, mouldable to her design. ellie laughed against your walls, sweet and desiring, and you collapsed.

your vision bleary, you could just feel the tips of ellie’s fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing your slick across your skin. your head fell against hers, and you could just make out something blinking in the foggy distance,

the camera,

“hey, el,”

she sighed, heat in the crook of your neck, “yeah?”

“does the red light mean it’s on?”

A few days later, the thoughts of ghosthunting weighing heavy on your mind, ellie texts you,

thought you might want a copy <3

my subscribers will love you

attachment: hauntedhouse.mov

taglist; @whore4abby

dm me to join my sad lil list <3

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou

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nouearth · 10 months

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servicing justice: superman [1]

pairing ; kal-el / clark kent / superman x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, superman. word count ; 2144. series ; servicing justice. genre ; smut. rating ; m. warnings ; bigdick!superman. blowjob. gloryhole. handjob. mouth-fucking. oral (reader giving). sexworker!reader. note ; yeah, okay. maybe i've been watching too much of a certain video genre, ahem. but i hope you guys enjoy my first smut! it's been a WHILE since i've written one, so i know it's rusty, HAHA. looks-wise, i mostly had maws's superman in mind (because the art style is so good and so himbo), but feel free to imagine it with any superman!

it isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. you’ve been kneeling on the floor for quite some time now, waiting for your assigned client. your palms begin to sweat to a minimal but uncomfortable degree. did i fuck up already? you ask yourself as your mind clouds with questions, doubts, and even judgement regarding this new job.

“jesus, what did i get myself into…” you recall the long process it took for you to end up here. the intensive (and ridiculously long) process of reading and signing multiple forms and documents almost had you backing out of this opportunity. though looking back at it, it was understandable since it’s quite unheard of to be… a sex worker for superheroes.

for an incredible pay, your privacy will essentially be stripped away starting from today. all phone messages, calls, and social media activities will be monitored during your venture as a sex worker, and that post-graduate life was not going to pay itself. for the most part, so far everything seemed… great? being driven to work by a chauffeur, having your own personal room and health coverage provided, and most importantly… eating free lunch was not bad at all.

or maybe you’re just naïve.

all you had to do was kneel and suck a few superhumans off. as the newbie, you were told that you’ll be starting on gloryhole duty due to privacy reasons; at least until you built enough camaraderie. though, you didn’t even mind since there would certainly be less strain on your body.

you couldn’t help but snicker at the mere thought of an entire league of superheroes holding a meeting regarding this subject matter. especially since almost everyone in the world, including you, holds these superheroes in such high regard.

“meeting is adjourned until 9 am tomorrow! until then, please help yourself to some delicious food trucks from outer spac-“ your humorous imitation of a noble superhero is silenced when you hear the door opening. within your private booth, all that blocks you from meeting your approaching client is another door with a hole cut through.

your curiosity is piqued when you catch a sight of the man’s physique through the hole. plaid shirt and jeans aside, and assuming he had to underdress, he’s huge. maybe because you’re kneeling right now, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never been near a superhero before, but you couldn’t help but be in awe at the size of the man. your eyes complete a full body scan by the time he approaches the door and before you could say something, he does.

“sorry i was late-“ a gentle voice echoes behind the door. contrary to his soft voice, the man’s large hands work aggressively at his belt, unlooping the leather with impatience yet eagerness as he anticipates the mouth that’s been waiting for his arrival. “there was this whole thing with this cat in this tree and then this school bus got hijacked- not my best day, unfortunately.”

“i’m sorry to hear that. sounds like a stressful day, yeah?” your voice is compassionate. you felt bad for the unnamed superhero and a part of you wanted to continue the conversation further, but your job isn’t to listen to their feelings. it’s to pleasure.

“yeah…” a huge sigh of relief expels from the man’s dry throat when he pulls his pants down. frustration stains another one of your client’s sigh, clearly troubled by the restrictive fabric guarding his erection. you watch with parted lips as he couldn’t help but give himself a needy stroke through his tight briefs, fondling his balls then beelining his palm to the very plump tip of his cock. your own cock hardens at this scene, and you find yourself doing the very same. mimicking his impatient hand to tend to the sensitive pressure below, you tiptoe the fine line between frustration and pleasure as your tightening pants and briefs define what it means to be an absolute nuisance. “very stressful.”

it doesn’t take much time before you’re faceful of cock and somehow, you manage to salivate more than you did a minute ago. the man’s throbbing erection is brimmed with thick pre-cum, stress practically leaving his body with every drip. it’s a heavenly sight that’s enough to make you stick your tongue out just in time to catch the substance into your mouth, not wanting to waste a single drop. the salty taste always catches you off-guard yet at the same time, it puts you under a spell. a tantalizing spell that commands you to drag your warm tongue over and back the underside of his thick shaft, completely avoiding the plump glans to have his cock leak even more… stress.

the taste of his musk drives your palm further into your erection, palming at whatever you could as you preoccupy yourself with teasing the man. you almost felt bad for him. contrary to his build, his whimpers are… so small, so weak. you notice his hands grip over the top of the barrier, and it turns you on upon realizing how this supposed hero could become so fragile at the simple taunt of your tongue.

“please…” the superhero whimpers out, needlessly fucking the air in hopes of granting his cock some type of friction. you’re amazed, and a little proud, by how much pre-cum he’s been leaking by now, and it all goes right onto your tongue. the wet muscle follows the natural curve of his cock to meet up with the wet and plump head. his hips buckle into the barrier and feeling it shake, you keep him steady by wrapping your hand around his shaft. you’re addicted at this point. addicted to the salty taste of his pre-cum as your tongue licks and explores into the slit of his cock, while at the same time, your hand works at his large cock in slow, but steady strokes.

“oh christ-“ he breathes out, repeating the same two words under his shaky breath as you continue to pleasure him with your tongue and hand. after a few licks, you pull away to give your tongue a break. in doing so, your grip tightens around his shaft to pace your strokes quicker. when you find a moment where your wrist needs a break, you let your client catch his breath. his cock throbbing more and more with every passing second when your tongue and hand aren’t exploring him, and you bask in the sight of it. you believe you deserve a medal at this point. not for doing a great job (though, it doesn’t seem too far-fetched), but for having control. you haven’t even sucked him off yet, but you’re content on remaining just like this for a while longer. though, that wouldn’t be fair for the superhero.

before he could whimper out another plea, your warm mouth finally wraps around the head of his cock and your ears perk at the sound of his low moan almost instantly. your hand returns to its rightful position around the lower base of his penis as you cycle your tongue over the glans, satisfying your need to taste his musk once more. seconds later, your hand lets go when you push your head farther, taking in an inch more of the hero’s cock. your knees dig into the floor as you push your head more and more, stretching your mouth with his cock until you feel yourself gagging.

“fuck.” you sniffle out when you pull back. perhaps you were challenging yourself too hard. you think to yourself as you catch your breath, using the remaining moment to sloppily jerk him off with your saliva. part of you wanted to challenge yourself to deepthroat him, impress your client on the first day. but you already know you wouldn’t be able to take it… at least, for now.

“you could hurt someone with this, y’know?” for some reason, you thought you needed to crack a joke as if there was an awkward silence that needed to be filled. maybe you just wanted to hear him talk again. his voice is warm and inviting, somewhat fitting for a superhero or even a television host as the moment you hear his voice again, you felt safe.

“i have before- oh god.” you lube up his cock with your spit as you continue to jerk him off, refraining yourself from fucking his slit with your tongue again to concentrate on his words. “which is why i don’t do this much- sex and stuff… it’s all troublesome, really.”

“yeah?” and just when you talked yourself out of challenging yourself, you feel the competitive spark ignite inside of you again. “well, i guess you just have to find the right one. could be anyone, even people you just met.” you try to play it nonchalantly, hoping that double-handing his wet cock would distract him.

he was beyond speechless at this point, moans drawn out by means of your sloppy strokes. you swear you can hear his heartbeat behind the barrier when you lean your head closer to suck him off again. you moan along with him, drawing out every breath of yours as you bob your head up and down, taking more of his cock every time you come down. your hand twists and strokes the remaining few inches that isn’t violated by your tongue and mouth, following your mouth like a reel as your intent to make him cum is fervent more than ever.

it hurts. your mouth hurts by how large your client is and tears brim in your eyes as you hold yourself back from gagging. but you don’t stop yourself because you’ll know it’ll be worth it. your endeavor to please him to the fullest has you drowning out his groans into white noise and you can barely register the fact that you’ve been on paused for a while now. you find yourself in a closer position than before, where your mouth is open, lips fully pressed around the carved hole as the superhero fucks into your mouth, fucks into your gags like you’re his personal flesh light. you didn’t care how dirty you looked, how you had saliva and spittle dripping out from the corners of your mouth and onto the floor. who would see? and you didn’t care that you were too preoccupied to touch your dick right now, because you know you’ll be thinking about this very moment for the rest of your life. and right now, you didn’t know if you wanted to be covered in his cum or to have your mouth be filled with it.

remaining in this position, you glance your teary eyes up at his grip over the barrier again. the strength in his grasp forms small cracks in the material of the barrier and that was the sign you knew you fulfilled your sense of purpose.

“christ, i’m going to come-“ your eyes shut again and you breathe through your noise, bracing for impact. he pushes his cock down your throat and hits that sore spot one last time before unloading his cum into your mouth with a stifled groan. warm, hot seed quickly fills you up and you pull your head back an inch to fully enclose your lips around his cock, ensuring none escape your lips.

in a heartbeat, you swallowed it all. his warm cum coats the back of your throat like medicine and you moan around his cock at the taste, intoxicated. you made sure to lick every inch of his cock clean, calmly slurping any saliva and cum that threatens to leave your mouth as you pull back up with a soft pop, swallowing the remaining remnants of his stress away.

“t-thank you. i needed that…” he pulls his softening cock out, careful in avoiding the hole as he was still sensitive. “did you need a tissue or anything? i think i have one somewhere…” you can hear him rummage through what you can only assume would be his bag and you find it charming, a quiet laugh leaving your swollen lips as you lean back onto your elbows to take a breather and stretch your legs out.

“no, no. i’m okay. i, uh, don’t think i wasted a drop.” you proudly brag, only for him to respond with a shy chuckle. you watch him tidy himself through the hole from a leaned back view, occasionally tilting your head in various angles to see if you could catch a glimpse on who the mysterious superhero is, but the barrier remains an obstruction to your view.

“well then, i… uh… thank you for your service.” he covers up the silence with another laugh and you join in, re-adjusting his pants and belt before turning his back towards you and heading out the booth. “i’ll try not to be late next time.”

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gildedkrone · 4 months

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meine Sonne

“Why do you keep waiting for him?”

The sunsets are the colours of violet on the metropolis and the drink in your hand has long gone cold. Winters in London are brutal; rainy days and grey skies overcast with the doubts in the heart—forlornly watching the future become present.

“Schatz, I want to know.” The Austrian flag on his arm, with some of its thread loose from the physicality of his job, never once replaced as the man held your patchwork on his uniform as always. He always said, it’s from you—that’s what makes it special.

The patch had been with him through heaven and hell and now, it brings him to the Sky Garden dome in London. The poignant stares are nothing to him as he rests a palm on yours between plates of half finished meals.

His heart is twisting so painfully and pulling into dead knots when he spots the glisten near your eyes and the restraint it takes to hold back, knowing that he hasn’t yet earned the right to wipe away those tears of someone else’s making.

“I don’t know.” He moves closer and you finish the drink in one go and gloved hands take the glass away from you before it could fall through your fingers and go smashing into the marble flooring.

“I guess I thought I had a chance with him. I—hic—I-He told me I was worth it, once. Back during the mission in Siberia, he came back for me. Even if everyone told him not to, he still came back and I—I just thought we had something.”

König listens.

“I keep waiting for him, because one day, I don’t fucking know, I wish he would just see me—see that I’m here. That I am here, waiting for him. All of his extra duties, I take them. I do everything to show him that I-I care about him and he—”

“He never acknowledges them. He knows I am the one doing all of this for him and yet …”

König grasp on your palm tightens and he offers a napkin.

“Y-you shouldn’t have to hear about this. I’m sorry, König.” The bellow in his throat is building to a fervour; all the words he wanted to say, locked away behind a wall he’s built with his own hands.

For once, König wishes to live without the social anxiety that’s come to shadow his existence.

“It’s not right”—he speaks with such conviction and the mask around his face shifts with the rippling flesh underneath—“it’s not right, what he’s doing to you.”

“I just … keep waiting for him and he never looks back. Not since his sergeant met his death two months ago.”

John MacTavish. König has heard of him before, in passing comment.

“I keep holding out for hope; hope that he would at the very least, tell me, if he isn’t interested at all. His glances make me stay, even if he shows it to others. A few months ago, he even made a toast during a Christmas party. He said my name, you know? I thought I was dreaming, but it was my name he spoke.”

I thought we had something, unspoken.

It’s the hope that destroys us all—König knows this, knows this all too well.

“He gives you just enough attention to keep you wanting him, but never enough to make a move.”

You grimace is sardonic and you agree with him.

“Yeah. I … Is it so much to ask for to be loved?”

No, it’s not, schatz.

“This relationship? It’s not healthy and you … you don’t deserve this. Not you, you deserve far better. Far better than a man who would lead you on, and never give you anything in return.”

“Who else could love me, König?”

Me.

“Don’t say that. I … you are worthy of someone better. You are.” He wishes for the strength to say he could.

The crackle and burst of tangerine and purple across the space draws your attention to the fireworks outside. Cold whips across your jacket and König settles beside you and the night sky lights up with fireworks showering London in splendour you once felt seeing Ghost.

Not anymore. Not ever since that day when he took everything away with him into the afterlife.

Fur tickles your face and a heavy weight settles on your shoulders and it’s warm. König pulls the jacket tighter around you and streaks of gold fireworks echo in his eyes in trails of comet dust of longing.

“You always did love the gold ones. Remember in university? In Norway on new year’s eve, how our friends made fun of us for our awful pronunciation and you said something like … ish leeber dick?”

“Ich liebe dich.”

“Yeah, that one. Could never understand what it meant.”

“It … it means I love you.”

His eyes widen and hope—hope is a firecracker in his hands lit and burning with a fuse to no return; time to detonation is nigh.

“What?”

“Verdammt … I—I … fuck …”

He looks anywhere but at you and when he makes a move, his hands are with yours and his eyes are overwhelmed with emotion in depths of blue seas.

“I … schatz, I … I know it’s not my place to comment on your relationship with Ghost but he isn’t a good partner. You deserve more, more than what he gives you and with the sincerity of someone who wants, loves you.”

He presses on, afraid if he stopped he would never start again.

“Your love is not second rate, second class or anything.” He drops your hands to grasp your arms. “I … I can’t stand watching your throw your love away like that. Not when I’m here.”

His jacket is warm with more than just the heat of the man.

“It’s not fair to make you compete with a dead man for love. It’s not right and Stärke, I—I am here. And … I want to show you what love can be.”

“What love can be?”

“If you let me, liebling.”

Impossibly soft and brimming with yearning, the fuse burns through and the world explodes into colour. Of tears and light overpowering the shadows following him since youth into oblivion, König’s scarred lips are pressed against yours in repressed longing and you are pulled in close by his arm around your back.

Finally, he wipes away the tears and love tastes like the chap stick König uses and more. It’s indescribable, with it depth and intangible strings and he holds on tightly with all of his being.

“Your patch is fraying, König.”

“I’ve got you to fix it up for me.”

Ich liebe dich so sehr, meine Liebe. Du strahlst mit den Farben der Sonne. Ich bin so glücklich, dich in meinem Leben zu haben.

Sei mein und nur mein, Liebling.

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist

#fanfic #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x male reader #x male reader #konig x male reader #könig x male reader #könig cod #konig fanfiction #könig mw2 #konig x reader #könig x reader

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rosewaterandivy · 5 months

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1.01 - Notes on a Scene

summary: a meet-fuck cute courtesy of The Hideout.

pairing: teacher!eddie x fem!reader

w.c.: 3.6k

warnings: modern! AU / 18 + no minors! / eddie is in his early 30s, in the tkaa timeline, this is set about two years after the epilogue, hook ups, fwb, Eddie being a menace, my usual filth™️

a/n: an Eddie-centric companion series to the kids aren’t alright. it’s not necessary to read the previous series, but there are certain plot points and characters that will be making an appearance here as well.

nota bene: feedback is always appreciated— reblogs, comments, likes, etc.— but reposting is not. Enjoy! 💜

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

🎵gonna melt the fever sugar, rolling back your eyes🎵

“Hey.” A man says as he scoots into the stool next to you. “Can I buy you a drink?”

You look up and around. The space is dimly lit, brick walls, wooden shelves, a very subtle we don’t give a fuck vibe. There are plenty of women around who are dressed to impress, but he is strangely alert and focused on you. You are sitting perfectly still in denim cutoffs and a t-shirt that has seen better days—grubby house clothes. Even your hair, piled on top of your head screams: go away.

“You look lonely.” He’s dressed in an open green flannel with a crinkled tee underneath, ripped jeans, and dark sunglasses perched on top of his head.

Blinking owlishly, you stare at him some more. This guy has got to be messing with you. You stick the tip of your thumb to your chest. “Me?”

“Yeah. What’ll you have?”

Um. Alone time, maybe? You’re still searching over his shoulder as he says this, stubbornly ignorant of your aloof vibe. You look again toward the door, plotting your escape. Is this guy the type of person to chase you down and stuff you in the trunk of his car? You try to smile.

“I’m uh—I’m ab–”

“Babe!”

A third voice cuts in and then suddenly an arm wraps around your shoulder, “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.”

Your head turns to regard the rest of its owner and your heart leaps into your mouth. Sumptuous brown eyes encased in dark lashes. Corners lifted by a wide smile. They are looking lovingly down at you, and they are magnificent.

“Uh.” Nice job.

“Uh- you—you were waiting on someone?” The stutter is incredibly pathetic when your first suitor clocks the man with his arm around you. He’s deceptively built, much to your surprise. He’s sturdy too, from what you can tell with his side pressed up against yours.

“Yep. Boyfriend. Good to meet you.” His eyes crinkle at the edges, but there’s no kindness in that look. “Care to fuck off now?”

And fuck off he does. When the man slinks back to his group of buddies who are all snickering at him, you turn to your timely savior, “Thanks…”

“It looked like you might need some help.” He takes his arm back and sinks into the stool next to you. “Just playing the part—I’ll fuck off too in a second.”

You’re still too shocked to mouth off yet as you continue to take in the sight of him at your side. He leans over on his palm, takes a quick look behind your head, and then gives you a wink. “Your man’s turned around. I think you’re safe.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” You mumble, facing him, “That flannel was straight from the nineties.” And then you pause, feeling your mouth-motor whir to life. He’s wearing a black leather jacket. Black shirt. Ripped jeans. Long hair tied back half-way, a slight scruff gracing his jaw. Probably sharp as a knife under that. “You look pretty straight from the nineties too, grunge-boy.”

Beer sprays from where his lips touch the rim of the bottle. He hisses, wiping the dribble from his neck. It takes him another minute of fumbling before all the moisture is off, and you can see the tiniest hint of a blush on his cheeks from where he’s embarrassed himself.

“Where are you coming from?” You ask mischievously, “A Spinal Tap convention?”

“No. I’m a townie, thanks very much.” He crosses his arms. “Just having a drink at my local.”

“Good to know.”

“My roommates…” He pauses to take a drink, “Well, I have a lot of them and they’re all coupled up.” He says plainly, “A man can only take so much.”

“So….” You sing, “You went out to… save helpless chicks from creeps?”

“Mmm,” he makes a show of sizing you up, eyes working slowly down your body. “I think you’re pretty capable of handling yourself, maybe a bit of a priss,” he decides, taking a long pull from his beer as the heat rises in your cheeks.

You want to laugh, but the shit-eating grin on his face doesn’t deserve to be encouraged right now. You can tell already he’s a real wild one, so you push the edges of your mouth down and pretend to find a lot of interest in grabbing your purse instead. “Well, mister, thanks for the saving. See you around.” You’re not above picking up a guy in a bar but why not tease him a little more while you’re at it?

He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and grabs your jacket off the back of the stool. “It’s Eddie.” He says, “My name.”

“Hmm, Edward, nice to meet you.”

“Not a chance,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“I know what you are,” you continue voice flat, eyes glinting with mischief.

C’mon, someone named Edward who looks like that, there’s no way he’ll take the bait.

His eyes fix on you, playful. “Say it,” he leans closer to you, drowning out the sounds of Joan Jett asking who wants to touch her where. “Out loud. Say it.”

Giving it your best Kristen Stewart, you go for it: “Vampire.”

“Fuck you very much.” He laughs, voice soft against the din of the bar,

You smile and slip the sleeves of your jacket over your arms. “Well, Eddie, thanks for the saving. Bein’ a helpless chick and all, I sure hate it when a fella doesn’t know his place.”

Eddie’s pink tongue darts out to lick his equally pink lips and he hops off the stool, placing a five under his half-full beer. “Can I walk you to your car?” He asks. “You know—dark night, creeps in alleyways and parking lots… Unless it’s not my place… princess.”

Well, that’s just not playing fair.

You laugh, because it’s barely sunset. But the way he’s looking at you makes your blood rise and leak hot magma right into your tummy. What’s the harm, you think, because you’re new in town and you’ll likely never see him again. It’s Friday night.

“No, I suppose it’s not your place.” You pause, watching the disappointed expression on his face. “Eddie–” You pretend to wipe a smudge off the corner of his leather collar, leaning in until it really does look like he’s your boyfriend.

“You’re welcome to come to mine. But no more of this priss business.” You push your lips into an exaggerated pout.

He laughs a joyful noise, tugs his jacket on close to his chest, and follows you out the door.

Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger. “If you’ll just—”

“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”

Eddie tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he follows you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and you’ve made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.

“Oh, baby,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, princess. You’re makin’ me crazy.”

Fuck. How can one person have so much stamina? This guy must be related to the Energizer Bunny. It’s been nearly two hours and he’s propped up against the headboard of your bed, legs spread, pointer finger beckoning you to crawl between them. This is your third (third!) time going at it.

You paw at your face because you are so sweaty. Eddie’s hair is down, strands framing his cheeks, just as wild as he is. Two hours of some of the filthiest talk you’ve ever head, ass-slapping, spit-swapping, hair-pulling, straight-up debauchery.

“This your usual M.O., Eddie, or are you doin’ me a favor?” You ask as your knees nudge him wider apart. Blowing a damp strand from your forehead, you lie down on your stomach and press your mouth to his thigh. “Death by exhaustion.”

“Sexhaustion,” He laughs, then grunts as your lips finds the blunt head of his cock. “You’re still goin’ too.” He comments. “Jesus, girl. Can I call you sometime?”

You hum a vibrating warble and he shudders in delight, “The helpless chicks of Hawkins won’t mind?”

“Pfft.” Then, as easily as he dismisses the idea, Eddie rests his arm on your shoulder before pulling you flush against him. “C’mere.”

There’s something about him that turns you inside out. Easy-going demeanor. Charm and wit. Just fucking gorgeous. It’s a silly little notion from a romanticized one-nighter, but you’re very interested in prolonging the fantasy. You’ll get the best of this, you think, a no-strings attached kind of attachment with someone who makes your body sing. You don’t even want to know his last name—and you don’t tell him yours no matter how many times he asks. You want to know nothing about him other than what you can touch and taste and feel.

And there’s quite a lot of him for all of that. Your hands roam his shoulders and arms, your tongue laps at the sweat on his neck, your tummy tightens when his cock flexes against your hip.

Even if there might be an attachment, the physical distance of him— you have no idea where he lives, would nip that foolishness right in the bud.

Against the backdrop soundtrack of the neighborhood traffic and chatter, you wiggle your way on top and seal your arrangement with a glide of your hips onto his.

Monday morning finds you unpacking in your new classroom at Hawkins High School (home of the Tigers!) and blaring music from your speakers. The tech guy said he’d be around to check the audio levels and load some editing software onto the Macs at some point today, and you’d been killing time ever since.

After meeting with your department head, along with a few other teachers, and getting the lay of the land, you decided to hang a few prints on your walls— you were standing on a table hammering a nail into the wall when you hear voices from the hallway.

“Ooh, this is a vibe!”

Turning to the door, you see two heads precariously poking in and recognize one from the department meeting. Sliding the hammer through a belt loop on your shorts, you step down from the table.

“It’s Robin, right— graphic design?”

The blonde perks up with a smile, “Yeah! How’s it going, need any help?” She steps into your classroom with another woman. “Oh this is Trouble,” she says by way of introduction, “She teaches sophomore English.”

She waves to you with a smile. “I’m digging the aesthetic,” she says, taking in the few things you’ve managed to unpack. “Sick tats, by the way.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You grab the frame next to you and step back on the table, “I figured I wouldn’t need to cover them up until school starts so.”

“Pfft, don’t even bother.” Trouble scoffs with a wave of her hand, “We have enough teachers with ‘em so it’s a non-issue.” She steps closer to get a better look at the Drive print near your door.

Robin grabs another frame from the pile, “Where do you want this one?”

Settling the Paprika print against the wall you step back down to see which one she grabbed. “Oh,” you say, eyeing the Midsommar piece in her hands, “That’ll be by my desk, you can set it over there.”

You meet her over there with two nails prized between your teeth. Grabbing a chair you step onto it and briefly check the fastening of the frame before lining up where the nails will be hung. While Robin helps you the other woman, Trouble, continues her perusal.

“Okay,” she says with a clap of her hands, “You have great taste based on your playlist, film choices, and is that—” She tugs at your free arm, “A horror sleeve? Oh my god, you have to meet the gang. They will love you.”

Her enthusiasm is heartening— she turns your arm this way and that, surveying the different films represented in black lines and shading. Robin’s eyes find yours with a mouthed ‘sorry about this’ and you shrug.

“Robs has your number?”

“Uh, yeah.” Your arm becomes your own once more as her fingers stop their tracing of your tattoos.

“Great! We’ll text you the details,” she continues to say, “We’re checking out a new bar in town tonight.” A waggle of her brows, “Rumor has it there’s a mechanical bull.”

A smile breaks across your face, “Well, yee-fuckin’-haw I guess.”

They leave with promises to see you tonight just as the tech guy, Bob, makes his appearance. He greets you politely, asking to check your PC and Mac before moving onto the students Macs. The two of you install and update the computers in your classroom before heading to the sound booth to check the audio ports and software. The rest of your day is spent discussing the finer points of your preferred editing programs and Bob peppering you with questions about the best cameras and equipment for sports broadcasting.

Eddie arrives at six-forty at the bar Trouble had selected for this evening, fittingly called ‘Outlawed.’ He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets, quickly crossing the parking lot to enter the bar, his mind elsewhere.

It was too good to be true, really. Meeting some girl and fooling around with her and, of course, he can’t help thinking about her. He doesn’t even know her name, he just calls her princess. Sometimes sweetheart, sometimes baby, babygirl, because their little meet-cute at the bar spawned a million different alternatives to choose from.

He’s only seen her once for fuck’s sake, but the way she giggles when he takes off her clothes and how her breath stutters against his mouth is something he thinks about frequently when he’s in bed with his hand down his boxers.

And now, Trouble wants to set him up with some new teacher at school. She’d told him all about it at lunch. “Seriously Eds,” she said, splitting a burger with Steve as a tomato slid from the bun and landed with a splat on her plate. “She’s just your type, cool as hell and takes no shit,” she hands the burger off to Steve, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Had like, fuckin’ nails in her teeth and was just hammering away on there walls while listening to an amazing mix— Portishead, Death Grips,” her eyes turn to him, bright and excited. “Between the Buried and Me, so she’s automatically better than those chicks you’ve been dealing with on the apps.”

Outside, under the final rays of sunshine people are streaming down the sidewalk, couples with arms hooked around each other, pretty girls in heels and guys looking after them. Monday night in the Hawkins, surprisingly buzzing with life and music.

He spots Steve as he walks in and they walk next to each other, dodging people left and right as Steve leads them into the dark space of a bar, cramped more than sardines in a can. Eddie shuffles sideways to squeeze past a couple already a little too frisky for a public setting. It’s hot and sticky inside, and the smell of fried foods and beer permeates through his clothes.

He doesn’t really get the look of it, either. An entirely metal and southern kind of aesthetic, the kind that reminds him of old bleach-blonde, wrinkly and tanned housewives with rhinestones on the back pockets of their jeans, toting puckered alligator purses. There are string lights over the walls, bumper stickers, and license plates, and all manners of slogans about Texas and being a country girl.

Modelo neon lights. Budlight paraphernalia. The bartender is wearing cowboy boots.

Steve orders a six-dollar pitcher of the house draft and Eddie whistles. Okay, he thinks, for six dollars a pitcher—he gets this place.

He waves to Robin and Vickie before pointing over to Trouble’s table but Steve and Eddie take some time to themselves to shoot the shit.

“So, are ya gonna tell me about that girl or what?”

“What else is there to tell, man?” Eddie asks as he licks the froth from his upper lip, hoppy bursts of carbonation stinging his tongue. He’s kept her a secret even from Trouble, but it’s not like there was much he could say other than, “She screwed my brains out and then I left. Nothin’ more to tell.”

Steve nods along.

“I don’t even know her name. Just called her princess or baby all the time. She’s a goddamn wildcat, knew how to ride like it was her job. Great ass, too.” A shudder passes over him as he thinks of the way she would crush him into the bed and grind until lights burst behind his eyelids.

The last few words of their conversation get drowned out by loud cheers and whooping, drawing their attention to a crowd forming behind them. People press up against each other, holding their beer bottles and glasses in the air, cheering and screaming.

“What the hell is that?” Eddie calls to Steve who sits up straight chair to get a peek over the tops of everyone’s heads. “I think it’s a mechanical bull?” He replies, shrugging. “Wanna go look?”

“Might as well.”

Robin catches Steve’s eye and sends him a nearly lethal toothy grin, cocking her head over to the crowd. “Go get her, tiger!” She yells, one hand cupped over the edge of her mouth. Eddie’s grabbed by his arm and dragged along as Steve’s interest peaks.

It’s like a concert mosh pit. Someone splashes their drink next to Eddie’s shoe, and he steps out of the way. When they reach the center of the ring around the perimeter of the stage, Eddie’s heart drops because the face he sees—beaming with joy is attached to a body he knows extremely well. Intimately. Every single inch. Her hips, gyrating in circles as she holds onto the handles of the mechanical bull—he’s seen it. Her hair, flurrying around her face in circles, moving along to the whipping of her body, adjusting with every jerk of the machine—he’s seen that, too.

“I think that’s the one Trouble was goin’ on about.” Steve announces. “Jesus, how is she doin’ that?”

Eddie is wide-eyed, turning back and forth. It’s too much. The laughter from her throat he’s previously shoved himself down. The cheer from the crowd that is deafening in his already ringing ears. Steve’s clapping– like a trained circus seal.

When the bull bucks for the last time, she leans forward and runs both hands through her hair, flicking it over her shoulders. Then, his girl, ever a gymnast, hops off and gives the crowd a bow, picking up her jacket on the way. Eddie watches her grab the same one she had on the first time they met- faded denim, worn shoulders, decorated in pins and patches.

It’s gotta be fate. Or destiny. Or maybe some fucked-up circumstance.

Her face is bright with joy, cheeks glistening with the lightest sheen of sweat, lips shiny with the way her tongue flicks out and licks it. To his right, Steve discreetly adjusts his pants, but Eddie is already rock hard. He slides back until he’s disappeared behind his friend, a smirk suddenly growing.

Trouble claps you on the back when you step out of the cushions of the ring. Robin and the rest of the gang stand by with so many questions, but you only wave them off. The secret is that in your college days you worked at a restaurant with a mechanical bull, and on your breaks you rode the fuck out of it.

Sometimes, growing up in the dirty South had its perks.

At first, upon entering the bar, you were wary and afraid you might throw out your back now that you’re not a spry young thing, but two pitchers in with Trouble and Robin and you were spitting into your hands and swinging over its seat.

Yep. You think victoriously, still got it.

“Hey!” A coif of hair sticks out of the crowd an inch or so above most other people. Steve, Trouble’s boyfriend and history teacher at Hawkins High, is grinning ear-to-ear, and you duck because you were not expecting him to witness that. Trouble smacks you on the ass and pushes you forward. “So, you hid this from us?” She asks, motioning to the bull and then up and down to you.

“Aw, fuck,” you mutter but can’t help the grin that breaks across your face. “C’mon, y’all… I didn’t think it’d come up.” Steve hands you a glass of amber, and you hide behind it with your hand, pretending to cool off by pressing it to your forehead.

“I almost forgot–” He turns, looking over his shoulder. “I wanna introduce you to Eddie, my other roommate, he teaches at Hawkins too!”

Eddie swivels into view, and any previous thoughts fly right out your head. If you had something in your mouth, you’d probably choke on it. He’s there, in all his glory, just like you remember: black leather jacket, dark stubble and eyes moving like smooth bourbon poured into a glass as he looks you up and down.

His teeth are sharp when he smiles.

“Oh, princess,” Eddie sighs, “I can’t believe you thought you’d get away that easy.”

And you think, as you stare wide-eyed at him, with Steve now coming to the same conclusion—mouth forming a silent “Oh”, you think that you are so fucked.

Maybe your life isn’t a romantic comedy at all, maybe it’s a terrible porno opening scene or some psycho sexual thriller because your former one-night stand is shooting you a mischievous grin, flexing his biceps, pulling on his lower lip with his teeth until it stretches white and snaps back plump and red.

Sensing the tension, Steve quickly turns around to the table.

Eddie cocks his head back, motioning you to follow.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #reader insert #notes on a scene - rosewaterandivy #Spotify

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juqtier · 4 months

Text

☆◞: IM ALWAYS JUST A DOOR AWAY ✧ SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: after blowing up at your neighbor, you and your friend decide to have a night out to help you with stress. what could go wrong?

GENERAL WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and alcohol, angsty, arguing, spencer is kind of (definitely) an asshole, kissing, cursing, somewhat darker plot points as story progresses

THIS CHAPTERS CONTAINS: alcohol and alcohol consumption, characters are drunk, cursing, spencer is an asshole, cursing. also if anything is wrong or said wrong ignore it and pretend it’s all correct thanks 💯🥰🫶🏽

GENRE: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

⋆·˚ ༘ *

chapter 2 : it’s dr. reid

✎ It has been a couple weeks since you blew up at Spencer, and not much has changed. Well, except for your attitude towards him.

You never smiled or waved at him. In fact, if he even glanced at you, you’d quickly roll your eyes before he got the chance.

As you sat in the back at your work, counting tips, you couldn’t help but think about how much you hated him.

God, he’s so stuck up.

He doesn’t even know me.

Wearing a vest doesn’t make you any better than me or anyo-

"(Y/N), are you okay?”

Your coworker (and closest friend), Liv, interrupts your thoughts. She stared at you with a subtle hint of confusion. You hadn’t even realized you'd been zoned out or that you’d been slamming down the cash on the table.

You and Liv met when you first began working here. She was possibly the happiest person you know, and the kindest. She always listened to you ramble about anything, whether it was a stupid hobby, a rude customer, or even the most mundane story about your week.

“Um yeah. Just some problems..” You weren’t even sure how to answer her. Bringing up the situation made you even more furious.

However, Liv became a bit more concerned with this answer.

“Oh no! What’s wrong? Family troubles, a boy?”

You breathe in deeply, trying to suppress the anger building up again before you start talking.

“It’s just... my neighbor.”

Liv leans on the table you sat at, obviously interested in what you have to say. “Go on…”

Her saying that immediately gave your mind the confirmation it needed to go ahead with your rant.

“Well, when I moved in, I wanted to greet him. I don’t know, trying to be neighborly and whatnot, like one does. But.. like..”

You rub your face with your hands. It became clear to you that talking about this would anger you no matter what, so why not just get it over with?

“He’s such a jerk. Like, he interrupted me when I tried to say hello. He even slammed the door in my face.”

Your friend's eyes widen, leaning more towards you, showing her interest. Honestly, even if she wasn’t showing any care whatsoever, the words would’ve kept spewing out regardless. You needed to get this off your chest.

“Oh, and he showed up at my door, telling me to turn my music down. I have no problem with that, but in the same breath, he tells me how I have terrible taste. He said, 'Some of us have jobs and commitments', or whatever bullshit he said to me. Like oh I’m sorry, I never knew because I don’t also work my ass off!”

Your voice gradually became louder, yet you weren’t quite yelling. All Liv does is nod softly, almost as if she knew how much anger and frustration built up inside of you.

“And I live next to him, I can’t avoid him. He’s like the plague! Maybe during the apartment tour, the realtor could’ve been kind enough to give me a heads-up! Maybe like, ‘Oh, by the way, the neighbor is insanely rude and pretentious, so maybe avoid him if you can’, I dunno!”

“Jesus, (Y/N), I’m sorry.” Liv quickly says. Venting to your friend calmed you down a bit, but you were still visibly annoyed.

“It’s fine… It’s not... whatever.” Your body slumps into the chair, the tip money you were previously counting still spread in front of you.

“Let’s go out tonight. You and me!” Liv suggests happily.

The idea sounds nice, but you haven’t been out in what feels like forever. When you moved, you left all of your dresses and more risqué clothing behind to make the move easier. I mean, you didn’t even think you’d have a reason to go out of the house.

“Liv, thanks for the attempt at helping, but I haven’t gone out in so long. I don’t even have going-out clothes.”

"Well, you’re in luck, sweets! I have tons of going-out clothes, or whatever you call them. When I’m out in a couple hours. Finish counting your tips, go home, shower, and I’ll pick you up. No ifs, ands, or buts. See ya!"

With that, she smiles sweetly at you and hurries off, going to serve another table fast enough so you can’t say no to the plans she made. You let out a small huff, seeing no way out of this.

And Liv was nice; what harm could going out with her do?

You gather the cash and stuff it into an envelope, sliding it into your purse and gathering the rest of your belongings. Untying your apron and setting it down, you exit the restaurant through the back and make your way to your car.

Please let tonight be a good one.

-‘๑’-

“Choose an outfit, any outfit!”

Liv displayed all her dresses for you to choose from on her bed. She had picked you up a couple hours prior, and the two of you had been talking for a while before getting ready.

You straightened your hair and did a smokey makeup look, something you hadn’t done in a while.

The dress selection was quite impressive, but a simple short, sparkly black dress stood out to you the most. You pick it up and show Liv your choice.

“Ooooh, skimpy, yet simple. I like!” Liv said, smiling from ear to ear.

“Go put it on!”

She eagerly pushes you into the bathroom to change, shutting the door behind you.

Slipping the clothes on and staring at yourself in the mirror, you felt insanely confident. Since you hadn’t been out in so long, you forgot how fun it was to get dressed up.

Stepping out of the bathroom and into the room where Liv went to change, she audibly gasped upon seeing you.

“Jesus (Y/N), you look hot!”

A giggle escapes your lips as you look down at the yourself and smile at her.

“I might have to steal this dress, I like them too much.”

“I’d pay you to keep it, you look good.”

The comment made you blush slightly as your friend continued to compliment you.

“Alright, I'm ready. Let’s go!”

The two of you order a cab and head to the club. The thought of Spencer Reid is nowhere in your mind.

-‘๑’-

As you arrive at the club, you can already tell it’s quite full. Just upon entering, you see tons of people dancing and drinking—even a drunk girl spilling her drinks all over herself as her friends quickly try to clean her up.

Liv grabs your arm, dragging you up to the bar in a matter of seconds. It seemed so fast; you hadn’t even noticed she ordered you two drinks.

“Two tequila shots, two waters, and two limes, thank you!” Liv orders from the bartender. He nods and heads off to grab you guys your drinks.

“Starting off strong?” You say this, laughing softly.

“Of course! I want you to have a good night, (Y/N). It’ll be fun, trust me!"

Liv smiled softly at you as she grabbed the salt on the counter, seeing the bartender come back with the shots.

“Here you go. Enjoy, ladies.”

The both of you nod as the bartender steps away, helping others with their drinks. You lick the back of your hand and sprinkle salt on it before grabbing the shot and throwing it back.

It burned slightly, going down your throat, and you winced a bit. Quickly licking the salt off your hands and sucking on the lime, you can’t help but shake a little bit. It’s been so long since you’ve even consumed any sort of alcohol, so this shot felt incredibly strong to you.

"Jesus, I forgot how much I hate tequila.” You say, clearing your throat a bit. You grab your water and take a sip as Liv laughs, seemingly having had no reaction to the shot.

“Welcome back to drinking, huh?” She jokes, which makes you both laugh a little.

-‘๑’-

As the night goes on, the two of you dance and drink more, progressively becoming drunker. The shots began going down like water; a lime wasn’t needed to help anymore.

As you and Liv danced together, you decided to get more shots. Liv was clearly having too much fun to get off the dance floor right away, so you made the sacrifice to step off and grab them.

“I’ll go grab us some more shots; you just stay here.” You say to her, words slurring as you walk over to the bar. You lean on the bar to order more shots, hoping to make them your last ones as you get more and more tired.

The bar was full, so the bartender wasn’t going to tend to you right away. As you take a seat to help you have some sort of balance, you become aware of the presence of someone behind you. Assuming it was Liv, you snap your head to look at the person.

No fucking way

It seemed like you could never escape the nightmare that is Spencer Reid.

"Holy shit, Reid... are you stalking me?” You say this, looking up at the tall man. If your words didn’t indicate how drunk you were, your face did. Your eyes were heavy, and your face was slightly flushed red.

“Stalking you? I wouldn’t even if I was paid.” He states, making you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know what karmic debt I have to pay off, but it sure is hell seeing you everywhere I go.”

The words coming out of your mouth were so slurred, it made him chuckle. This made you roll your eyes again, annoyed at everything he did.

“I’m not particularly pleased to see you either." He answers, not even looking down at you as he scans the bar.

“And besides, you’re not the only one allowed to go out. I’m here with some work friends, not for you. They’re all just too drunk to hold a conversation…”

You laugh slightly as you tilt your head. “You don’t drink”

“No, not really. Can’t say the same can you? Try not to clear out the alcohol…”

Of course he had to throw in a snarky comment quickly. Even if it wasn’t normally seen as rude, coming from him was a different story.

“I’m leaving anyway.. have a.. nice night… or whatever.” You reply swiftly, forgetting the shots you planned to order and hopping out of your seat. You stagger a few steps away before feeling his hand wrap around your forearm, quickly stopping you.

“Wait, how are you getting home? You can’t drive like this.”

It almost felt like you couldn’t roll your eyes anymore than you have. You turn your head to look at him, your hair falling in front of your face.

“Don’t pretend to care.. where.. I’m going." Your words seemed to take forever to get out; you just wanted to get as far away as possible in that moment.

“Just because I don’t like you at all doesn’t mean I’m going to let you be in possibly dangerous situations. Especially in this state..." His eyes didn’t seem angry at that moment; they were just worried. It almost felt foreign to see him not roll his eyes back at you. It shocked you.

“How are you getting home?" Spencer’s voice is a lot more stern this time, startling you a bit. You never expected him, of all people, to care.

"Well, mister Reid…”

“It’s Dr.” He corrects you.

“Whatever.. me and my friend… Liv… will get a cab home. Any other questions?"

When he doesn’t respond right away, you think that��s the end of the interaction. When you attempt to slip your arm out of his grasp, he only tightens his grip a bit more. Not hurting you, but stopping you from walking away.

“I- I don’t think that’s very safe. I’ll give you guys a ride.”

Usually you’d argue and protest, but he seemed too serious to even try. And besides, you’d rather get a free ride than pay for one.

“Whatever..” You begrudgingly agree, pulling your arm away to go get your friend. Liv is easily pulled off the dance floor this time as you explain the situation. She holds onto your arms as you exit the club behind Spencer. It was obvious she had many more drinks than you; you could’ve looked a little sober next to her.

"Hello, sir, thank you for the ride.” She says to Spencer, her words are barely comprehensible. Spencer just nods, not really understanding what she said.

You walk to Spencer’s car with Liv on your arm, then softly help her into the backseat, buckling her up. She was laughing and giggling as you did so, not paying much attention to Spencer at all.

"Please, please, please don’t throw up in my car.” You hear him talk to himself as he walks to the driver's side door and gets in.

As you get in the front seat beside Spencer, you look around at the interior of the car. It was completely clean; there was not a speck of dirt in sight.

“Huh, is the car new?” You ask, turning your head to face him. He shook his head as he stuck the keys in the ignition, starting the vehicle.

“No. I just don’t drive much. I don’t like to, I usually take the train or have a coworker drive me. Can you give me your guys addresses?”

You nod, telling him both addresses, seeing as Liv was too inebriated to say much. The car begins to move, and you lay your head back to stare out the window. Watching the world pass by was calming; you even began to drift off a little.

Suddenly, the car stops.

“We’re at Livs.” He almost whispers. You lift your head up and look around before getting out of the car. You still had pretty bad balance, but better than Liv’s, who had passed out by now. Spencer gets out as well and helps you hoist Liv out of the backseat.

“How much did you guys drink?” He asks, referencing how drunk your friend was. The two of you begin walking to the door of her house.

“Not a lot, just... a lot..” You joke, laughing at your own stupidity.

“I wouldn’t do that. Alcohol causes 13 percent of deaths among-“

“Boooorinnng.” You interrupt. He presses his lips together as you two reach the door. You dig through the purse Liv had on her shoulder and fish her keys out, quickly unlocking the door and pushing it open.

“I’ll go put her to bed.” You say, dragging Liv off Spencer’s shoulders and to her room. She is easily carried, being quite light. As you reach her room, you set her down on the bed and take her purse off her shoulder, placing the keys beside it on her dresser. She didn’t really respond much, but you did hear her softly snoring as you laid her down.

As you shut the lights off and exit the house, you see Spencer waiting on the sidewalk for you.

“Come on, I’m tired.”

You walk to the car and get it again, buckling up quickly.

As you begin driving, he suddenly begins talking to you.

“I never took you as someone to go out at all.”

“Dr. Reid, you don’t know me at all.”

Saying this makes you realize, you don’t know him either. I mean, he was annoying, yes, but what did he do? What did he like? Were his interests as painstakingly pretentious as he was? You grew curious, then quickly grew confused as to why you were curious at all.

When he laughs at your comment, you immediately snap out of your head. “I do know you’re a pain in the ass.”

“You’re not exactly a dream either, believe me.”

You go back to staring out the window, waiting for the car to finally park in front of your apartment.

When it finally does, you get out as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, Spencer is right behind you.

“Stop following me, weirdo.” You comment as you walk in front of him, refusing to turn around.

"Sorry, princess, but in case you forgot, I’m your neighbor.”

You groan at this comment as you both reach your apartment doors. You were already so irritated and tired that you couldn’t bear another snarky comment or remark from him. Opening your door, you look at him and nod.

“Good night, Dr. Reid.” Your tone was sassy, yet jokey. He rolled his eyes and smiled at you, lifting his hand to wave goodbye. Before he can reply or say anything, you shut the door.

You made him smile.

He smiled cause of you?

Why did you care so much that he smiled? Shouldn’t that annoy you? Maybe you were just too drunk to function properly. You shake the thoughts off and slip into more comfortable clothes, quickly jumping into bed and falling asleep. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be thinking straight…

-‘๑’-

PT 1 | PT 3

tag list: @daisyridleyss @taygrls @yeonalie @peanutbelley @vivian-555 @ehedrick012110

a.n : this feels really long, and it is, so sorry ! but next chapter is a lil more eventful i hope! also, in my head liv is a blonde sweet sort of ditzy girl, but you can imagine her however you’d like! liv lover regardless 💪🏽💯

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #cm imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #juqtier writes… 🐈

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why-animals-do-the-thing · 9 months

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Happy National Zookeeper Week!

I’ll admit, I’m feeling a little spicy about it this year (well, every year) because zoos use the celebration for lots of positive facility PR, yet staff don’t often get the support and respect that is claimed in those posts.

So I want to share this great article written by a zoo industry consulting group last year looking at the reality of what happens when a workforce ends up conflicted between their passion (zoos and animals) and pragmatism (paying rent, existing in a capitalist society). They assessed AZA compensation rates by region against things such as a living wage and rental rates in the area. (All text formatting within quotes, such as bold and italics, is original to the article text.)

I cannot give the Canopy Group enough support for the way they framed this research:

“By observing the economics of keeper compensation, it’s no secret that keepers land on the lower end of the wage spectrum. Like all other wages and salaries, the market value of keeper compensation is driven by several economic factors – including the size of the labor pool, the rigor and danger of the work, the technical ability required, and the educational requirements. However, there is one factor that artificially lowers the market value of keeper compensation more than any other: passion.

In this article, we’ll take a look at why passion lowers the market value of animal care worker wages. More importantly, we’ll consider many factors that have emerged in recent years that are making people reevaluate the value of following their passion – a trend contributing to The Great Resignation, especially as it applies to zoos, aquariums, and similar organizations. (…)

The argument here is passion versus pragmatism: the unknown versus the sure thing. It is a decision all zookeepers and animal care technicians have made. Working with animals is immensely rewarding, but this passion is also very popular. This, historically, has meant that the keeper candidate pool is very large. Therefore, if the wage is livable and working conditions are reasonable, the pool should remain large. In a very real sense, a passion for animals drives down the market value of keeper compensation. Anyone who has been through an Economics 101 course will recognize this as a fundamental market principle: supply vs. demand.

However, many zoos and aquariums are having a more difficult time filling positions than normal and have started to see higher turnover rates in recent years. This begs the question – is the current keeper wage too low?”

Their findings?

Here’s their graph of “the median wage of keepers from organizations in different AZA-defined regions” from an AZA survey done in 2021. (Median is the type of average that looks at the middle of a data set’s range).

The median wage for AZA keepers in the South/Southeast was just over $15/hr at the low end, and the median wage for AZA keepers in the Far West / PNW was a little under $26/hr. That’s pretty dang low everywhere, especially when you factor in the increased cost of living in places like the West Coast. Also consider that looking at the median wage doesn’t mean this reflects just entry-level compensation - this data indicates the the compensation middle for all keeper positions, including people who have built their careers as keepers in those places long-term.

Then, they compared those wages to the “living wage” in each region - which they defined as “a calculation of what it takes to live in a particular area, without any other income. A living wage calculation takes into consideration how many earners are in a household, how many children are being supported, etc. The living wage includes the costs of all the basic items a household needs to be self-sufficient.”

“If you receive a wage for a job that is below the living wage, then you are essentially taking a negative net income. This is unsustainable for the long term, and essentially defines where wages start to exploit passion.”

Here’s a figure they provided using the MIT Living Wage Calculator showing the average living wage for each of the AZA regions. The chart on the left shows the living wage for a single person with no kids; the second, for two parents with two incomes and one child to support.

“By comparing the two graphs [to the earlier graph of the AZA median compensation rates], we find that median wages in the Southeast/South and Southwest regions are lower than the living wage for each household configuration in those regions. In other words, if you are a single person household or part of a two-income household raising 1 child in the South, a starting keeper salary will likely leave you with a negative net income. While many people work at this level, it increases the risk of accumulating debt, lowers a person’s ability to afford a home, set a much later retirement age, and can lead to many other negative, long-term effects.”

Big yikes, right?

Next, they looked at living wage vs. compensation for single parents.

“The single-parent living wage exceeds the average keeper wage in all AZA regions. In fact, the living wage required as a single parent is double the average AZA keeper wage in some regions.”

And then they did housing, specifically, being able to purchase a home.

“In many places, even a two-income household at an average keeper salary would not purchase a mid-level home. This means that keepers have to wait far longer than their peers to purchase a home. While paying rent in the meantime, this rent will account for a larger portion of their income than their peers. All in, these effects can set hopeful homeowners back years or decades.”

Canopy’s conclusion was something anyone involved in the field knew was coming.

“Companies like Chipotle, McDonalds, Best Buy, FedEx, Home Depot, Publix, and Walmart are all offering similar starting wages near starting keeper wages – plus many fringe benefits (like tuition reimbursement) and ample advancement opportunities. Many potential keepers in younger generations are putting their passion on the shelf so they can meet basic standard-of-living concerns.

To attract and retain quality candidates, an organization must consider the journey each new employee would have to make over their career. If the journey is fraught with massive debt, decreased disposable income, and limited career opportunities, then you are limiting your potential candidate pool to the small group of people who have decided that following their passion is worth significant lifelong financial hardship. There are many potential candidates out there willing to sacrifice and arm and leg for animals and conservation, but they wouldn’t dare jeopardize the financial future of their dependents and families.”

This is something I’ve heard about for years, and seen first hand. The low average wage at zoological facilities has been damaging their ability to hire and retain skilled staff for as long as I’ve been involved in the industry. I know so many zookeepers who still have roommates into their 30’s, or work multiple jobs, just to be able to make ends meet.

There’s a mythology about zookeeping jobs, a narrative that seeps into the field and actively exploits people’s passion for the job: it tells people that they’re so lucky to be able to work with these rare and cool animals; that they’re greedy and ungrateful when they ask for more compensation because they’re privileged to get to have the job at all. It says that most people would give anything to have these opportunities, so current zookeepers are interchangable and easily replaceable. Ask for too much? Push for a living wage? There’s always someone willing to take your spot. Not all facilities perpetuate this mentality - some places do treat their staff well without intentionally manipulating them to stay them in unsustainable jobs, and there can be legitimate financial reasons that limit staff compensation (mostly at smaller facilities, afaik) - but it’s a reality in the field.

For a long time, this type of mentality towards staff was sustainable. There really were always more people wanting to work in the field. But now, after three years of pandemic stressors and inflation, it’s starting to be a problem. A lot of staff left during the last few years, and facilities are having a really hard time hiring people and retaining them for any duration. I think a large part of that is low compensation rates. People are prioritizing long-term financial stability and recognizing when their passion is being exploited.

When I first started on tumblr back in 2011, there was a whole group of us within the United States who were baby zookeepers or volunteering as industry hopefuls. We all became friends, and I’ve stayed in touch with, or at least aware of, most of them as their careers progressed. Of the 10-15 or so people in that cohort? I can think of three who are still employed in the zoo industry. Everyone else has moved on into other fields - often with great grief over the loss - because of the extreme emotional labor, the physical exhaustion, and the lack of appropriate compensation.

But I guess that annual pizza party, being featured on social media, and maybe getting additional snacks all week makes up for it all?

#national zookeeper week #zoo industry #living wage #compensation #please support your local zookeeper #AZA accreditation #AZA zoos #zoos

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luveline · 11 months

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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | two | three | four

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You hadn’t realised moving right along your hemisphere would be enough to change the weather. The UK is cold and often rain-soaked, while Genovia has been nothing but sunny. It's a nice change, and the sun on your skin almost removes the insecurity of wearing a dress that isn’t yours. You feel pretty. You feel as yourself as you have in the days since this whole thing began.

“Sorry,” James says, standing in the sunshine with his hands crossed primly behind his back, “you’re what?”

You sit up properly in the window seat. He deserves every ounce of respect that you can give him, he’s been nothing but caring and kind since you met. You almost regret your decision to leave, if only because you wont get to witness him and his nice friends.

Who will be separated once again, your brain adds helpfully. Thanks to you.

“I'm going home.” Your sketchbook is supple under your hands, a thick and expensive leather bending from the force of your squeeze.

He has the most professional look on his face you've ever seen from him. “If you’ve forgotten something-”

“James,” you say. You'd said quite plainly only moments ago your intentions. “I can't be a princess.” You soften your tone. “I’m sorry.”

“You are a princess. By blood.”

Sleeping on it hasn't made it a truth that’s any easier to accept. You are biologically the daughter of the late Prince of Genovia. He was your father, and now he’s dead. It is agonising to think of, and so you can’t. You look down at the sketchbook pressed flush to your linen skirts, the fabric plain and yet gorgeously rendered. It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever worn. You wonder if they might let you keep it after you renounce your title.

“I can't do this,” you say quietly.

You’re ashamed of yourself, but you really can't do this. You cannot live through your life changing in such a huge way, you aren’t built for it; you've only just learned to function in your tiny flat on your equivalent uni course. You’re finally in a position, as lonely as it might be, where you feel okay with who you are. If you were to accept the task theyre trying to hoist upon you, become a princess, live forever in the limelight surrounded by a better breed of royal, it’ll destroy you.

“You can. Of course you can.”

You look up cautiously. James’ mouth is set in a line. He looked so pleased when he walked in, and he'd given you a compliment subtly and easy as breathing. You worry he wants to take it back now that you’ve thrown in the towel, but he’d never do anything so spiteful. And it’s silly —you’re thinking about a compliment while his life and job are teetering.

It’s just one of the reasons you aren't cut out for this.

“It’s your job to be a good judge of character, right? You read people,” you say tentatively.

He nods. “Yeah. That’s how I know you can do this.”

You set aside your sketchbook and pencil, wringing your hands together as you stand. “You must see it, James. I’m not meant for this, I’m…” Weak, you won't say. There's no use in dramatics. You plaster a smile over your worrying and wear it like you're sure of yourself. “It will be better for everyone if I give up now.”

James looks over his shoulder. Upon his entry, the guard at your side had moved to the doorway to stand with Daniels, and so the room is empty besides the two of you. He takes a step toward you, and he drops his head noticeably. As if he could intimidate you when he's so so sweet.

“It won't be better for everyone,” he says slowly. “Not for the people of Genovia, they need an heir to take the throne.”

“Julianna–”

“Julianna isn't eligible.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain. But Genovia needs a queen, a good queen, someone with a good heart.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the idea of ruling. “James, you don't even know me. I could ruin everything.”

“You said it yourself, Princess. I’m a good judge of character.”

You fall silent. You don't want to argue with him, you don't have even an ounce of malice for him.

"You're a princess, you– you haven't even tried," he says pleadingly.

You trick yourself into thinking James wants you to stay because he wants to be your friend. You know you're desperate for one. Back home, the closest you have to friends are the people who wait at the same bus stop each morning and each night, or your classmates at the college. James could be your friend, you know he would be if you stayed. He's remarkably kind.

But James wants you to stay for a myriad of reasons. For Genovia. For his friends.

"I just want to go home," you confess weakly.

Heat rises to your cheeks and throat, a lump you can't swallow.

"Okay," James says. "Alright."

He nods at you, a picture of a perfect professional, and turns to leave. You open your mouth to say something, but you don't have a clue as to what, and by the time he's left the room you've drummed up nothing more than a pitiful, "James."

You're part way to unexplainable tears when Remus appears. He looks startled at your expression, and you can't make any sense of it yourself, so you mumble, "Please don't ask."

"Do you want a tissue?" he asks sympathetically.

You shake your head.

Remus looks unhappy again, as he had on the plane. His pale skin is nearly grey. You debate asking if he's doing okay, but you've just told him to leave you alone. You assume from his expression he'd prefer the same.

"Do you want to come have some dinner with me?" he asks.

"That's okay, I don't think I'll be in need of any etiquette training after all," you say.

"As friends," he says. "Please. I don't like going down to the kitchen by myself, Marlene harasses me."

Marlene, a dark haired, dark-eyed girl with a sweetheart shaped face and hands covered in tiny burns, does harass Remus, but not in the way you'd thought.

"Eat up, Moony," she says, placing yet another plate in front of him, bringing the total up to ten.

You sit thigh to thigh with him on a small bench set aside in a room just off the kitchens that says 'Staff Only' on the door. Despite this, no one has objected to your sitting down. At least, not yet.

"Marlene, I physically cannot eat all this."

"Ah, but the Princess will help." Marlene smiles at you. She seems genuine. "She needs to get used to our cuisine."

You can't endure the awkwardness of explaining your situation. You smile 'til your eyes crinkle in the corners and take a big mouthful of some mysterious soup rather than speak.

"Ah, Remus, we've been making bone broth for Her Majesty, it's supposed to do wonders for your heart," Marsha adds. She's the opposite of Marlene but no less beautiful, pale and blonde as cornsilk with fine eyebrows and translucent lashes. In the sun leaking in from the window, she's quite golden. "We can set you some aside whenever we make it for her, love."

Remus smiles. "Thank you."

Marsha and Marlene both sequester themselves again behind the huge silver ovens. You've never seen anything like it, a marvel of modern machinery in the industrial instrumentation that heats the room. The windows have been thrown open to combat the thick and fragrant air, but you're still sweating.

"D'you need a drink?" he asks.

"I can't get them."

"Please, Princess. I don't need another person trying to take care of me." He doesn't say it spitefully, but you're sorry all the same.

"Sorry, I wasn't trying to patronise you–"

"I know," he says, standing up. "Trust me, I know. You're just being polite, because you're nice." He smiles. "I'll get us a carafe, okay?"

A carafe. Of what? Do royals drink only from carafes? Is it weird to ask for a coke? You turn your gaze back to the rich foods that have been laid out in front of you and pick up a fork. Then, upon reflection, you swap the fork for the appropriate one, and finish the small portion of chicken ragù you'd set aside.

"Ah-ha!" a familiar voice calls. "Y/N! Here you are. Is my Remus with you, or are you very hungry?"

You twist on the bench to face him. "Your Remus?"

Your question slipped out, really. Sirius grins and sits down to your right. "We have to talk funeral."

"Oh. Alright."

He clasps your forearm for a gentle second.

"Sorry. Truly. I'm so sorry for your loss. I promise I'll make this as easy for you as I can, okay? You'll be in the public eye, and I want to make sure you do nothing that anyone can fault you for."

He has a strange mouth. Not ugly, a million miles from it, but unexpected. It pulls down into a grimace as he talks, his hand patting yours.

"I won't have to speak, will I?"

He shakes his head firmly. "No. All you have to do is look pretty and dress well. You're already doing the first part beautifully by yourself, and I will make sure you have plenty of options for the second part, yeah?"

"Oh, hi, Sirius," Remus says, back with a carafe and two glasses.

"Hello," Sirius says, "did you get asked about the bone broth yet?"

Remus sits on your other side and huffs. "Yes. Did you put them up to that?"

"The opposite! I told them not to bug you about it because bone broth sounds a little…"

"Old-fashioned?"

"Inhumane."

You laugh and fail to smother it with the back of your hand. It feels weird because it hadn't explicitly been a conversation involving you, but neither tell you off or give you a funny look. Remus laughs at your laughing and pours your drink for you, a pale orange liquid topped by slices of orange, blood orange and white flowers.

You take a cautious sip.

"Have you seen my darling James this morning?" Sirius asks Remus from behind you.

"Not since he left my room."

You choke on your drink. Hands smashed to your mouth, juice drips down your arms and ruins the bodice of your dress, sticky orange and spit everywhere. The boys either side of you splutter in shock, though Sirius begins to laugh as Remus presses a tissue into your hands.

"Are you okay?" Remus asks, patting your back.

"I'm fine," you say hoarsely, wiping yourself down with impressive speed as the heat of embarrassment rises.

"Something go down the wrong pipe?"

You're honest by accident, extremely startled by your choking and the subsequent question, "I didn't know James and Remus– that you were– sorry, I was just surprised–"

"Oh, no," Remus says, sounding almost as embarrassed as you now, "no, we aren't. I mean, he's my best friend. He's like my brother."

"Oh," you say, squeaking, desperately hoping the ground will open up and eat you whole.

"We aren't romantically involved," Remus says, and you get the sense that's where he plans to end this conversation.

"Yet," Sirius whispers in your ear.

Remus shakes his head at you solemnly.

Desperate to get away from an awkward conversation despite Sirius' good humour, you stand up from the bench and duck your head at both of them. "Um, I'll just go get some paper towels. Sorry. For spitting."

"Forgiven," Sirius says easily.

You rush away from them both out of the alcove and into the main body of the kitchen. Heads turn as you walk, and some staff even take the time to incline their heads to you like a small bow, but you ignore them all and head straight for Marlene. She smiles when she senses your approach, full lips cherry red and shiny as she asks, "Is there something I can do for you, Your Highness?"

"I'm so sorry," you begin, "I've made a mess, could I get some kitchen towel? Sorry."

"Of course! Can I have someone come and clean it up for you?"

"No, please, it's my mess, and you've been gracious enough to allow me in your space. I couldn't have anyone else do it."

"It's really no problem," Marlene says, but she walks to the utility cupboard south of the huge pantry and produces a roll of kitchen towels for you.

"Thank you." Then, because you might be leaving soon, and she should know, "I– I've never had so many nice foods at once. I can't cook, at home. Everything I eat is from a jar or a tin," —you cough, worried that was an overshare— "and it's nothing compared to all of this. You guys are amazing."

Marlene's smile softens. You hadn't realised she was being diplomatic until genuineness welled to the surface of her expression, her eyes suddenly brighter, and her smile unrestrained. "We work hard, and we love what we do. Thank you, Your Highness."

You rub your lips together and nod. Spinning on your heel, you navigate out of the kitchen as quickly as you can without running clean into someone and return to the staff alcove, where Remus and Sirius sit with their heads together, in the middle of a conversation you can't hear.

You hesitate a few steps away. Remus smiles widely, so widely his face changes completely, and Sirius' hand drifts to his elbow. His thumb presses into the crook, and they both giggle together like kids. You're paranoid that they're laughing at you, and wondering how you could think for even a second that Remus was sleeping with James, when Sirius tucks his hair behind his ear and says, "I can't believe we're finally in the same place again."

You back away. Not sure what to do with yourself, not sure if what you've already done is the wrong thing. You're guilty, and you're afraid of making the wrong choice, having already made it.

A hand pats your shoulder.

"Sorry, Mikkelson," you say.

It's not Mikkelson. James' hand lingers on your shoulder for a half second before he takes a step back.

"Walk with me?" he asks.

—

James takes you out to the Palace Gardens. You insist on walking side by side, and he agrees for the most part because here is where you're best protected.

"I'm sorry for leaving so suddenly. I had something to do. How are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" you ask softly. "I don't…"

"You had some very big news yesterday. So, how are you feeling?"

You squint in the sun. James supposes you aren't used to it, considering you'd been living in one of the rainiest cities in the UK, which is one of the greyest countries in the world.

"I feel fine," you say.

Truth or lie. Probably a lie, but James can't call you out on it, considering your relatively new relationship. A professional relationship at that, the lines of which he has already crossed multiple times.

He can't help it. You're not weak, you aren't in need of his protection for lack of character —you're quite obviously very brave considering the insane pressure of your situation. Brave, but it's James' job anyhow to be your shield.

You get this look on your face like you're deep in thought, he's seen it every day since he met you five days ago, and it reminds him of his melancholy friends. He wonders how he's going to get rid of it.

"I've spoken to our Palace doctor." Even though it is not his job, James seems to have taken on the majority of your care. Your lady in waiting has yet to arrive, and Sirius is rather busy arranging your presence at your father's funeral (and hounding Remus, having missed him dearly). "She would love to have an appointment with you, to assess you, and to adjust for your medical needs. But it's not the physical that I'm concerned about, it's your head."

"My head."

"Yes. I would love for you to talk to a counsellor, or a therapist while you're here."

"What's the point?" you ask sincerely.

"Your father has passed away," he says. "That takes a toll."

"I didn't even really know him." You speak so softly to him, like you're worried your voice will disrupt the summer air.

"I know. That doesn't always make it easier. I want you to experience the compassion and care that you deserve, that's all. If you don't want to talk to anyone, I understand. But if you'll humour me, I'd appreciate it."

"When… do you want me to see her?"

"The doctor?" James winces at his own surprise. "You can see her whenever you want to. She's completely at your discretion."

"Oh, okay. Well, when is best for her?"

James doesn't smile, but he wants to. "I believe she goes home to pick up her son at six. So before then would probably suit her best. But she's on call twenty four hours a day and paid well, I promise."

"Okay. Um. Well, how do I do that? Make an appointment, or?"

"I can make it for you. Or Sirius can."

"I can't make it myself?"

"No, you can. Do you want me to call for someone to get her? Or you can ask the phone to connect you?"

You stop walking at your slow pace and turn your body to the beds of flowers lining the path. Small and dainty flowers much like a Californian wildflower bloom contained to rows.

"Would you mind doing it for me?" you ask. You sound shame-faced.

"No, I wouldn't mind. When do you want to see her?" James asks.

"Not today, please. Maybe tomorrow."

James makes a mental note to ask you about it tomorrow. She really is on call —there's no need to make an appointment. But there's also no need to correct you and no need to worry about it now.

"The Prince, may he rest in peace, will be buried in five days. You're sure you don't mind staying until then?" He doesn't want you to leave, but the memory of your plea twists his guts. I just want to go home.

"I–yes. Of course. I owe it."

James doesn't know about that. But the Prince never did any harm to you, though he never made any efforts to take care of you, and so it won't hurt for you to attend. Still…

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. I know that Lily and Emmeline stressed that your presence was desired, but that's political. It's the image of the country, of our country. And the UK, who's royal family, as you know yourself, are deeply embroiled in scandal and, ah, what's thought to be empty rhetoric."

You're starting to look rather frazzled. James decides to pull back his professionalism a touch.

"Genovia protects the image of the Royal family because they've seen how ire builds in other countries. Deserved ire. They want it to seem as though you are cohesive, cooperative, and not–"

"A secret."

"Yes. If you'd gone to Oxford, they would've lied," —he shouldn't be saying this, for the record— "and said you'd been extradited for your safety. Or spun some tale about a normal childhood."

"But I'm a drop out who lives in a one bedroom flat."

"Yes." He watches the side of your face. Your eyes are glued to the flowers and unwavering. "I don't think there's any shame in that."

"Thanks," you mumble.

You don't believe him. He doesn't mind. He has plenty of time to convince you of your worth.

"Would you like to pick some of the flowers?" he asks.

"I don't want to ruin anyone's hard work."

"They won't mind."

You crouch down, reaching for the flowers. Your fingers weave through the dark stems of gorgeous purple and pink flowers, their colours so marvellously vibrant yet their shapes elegant enough to suit. You choose a purple flower with white edges and pick it gently. After a moment, you pick a second.

You stand, holding the flowers between your thumb and forefinger.

You clutch your flowers like small lifelines as he walks you back into the palace. You worry audibly about the location of your new sketchbook, and don't seem to like it when one of the guards who'd been watching you this morning seamlessly removes himself from a wall with the book in hand.

James asks you what you want to do and you don't know. You aren't hungry, you aren't in the mood for movies or music and it might seem disrespectful for you to be seen at the theatre —not that James thinks you would spend much time there anyhow. You don't want to do anything at all, so James suggests that you retire to your private quarters and have some time to yourself.

He takes up station by the door, listening to the dull scratching of your pencil for a good hour. He wonders if, occasionally, you're talking to yourself: there isn't much to go off of, the suggestion of your voice rather than the reality. You could be humming. You might be clearing your throat.

An hour later and there's silence.

James pulls his radio from his shoulder. Guarding you when you aren't up for talking is, unfortunately, rather dull. And he worries what it is you're upto; quiet is indicative of absence.

"Sirius?" he asks the radio.

Sirius does not often wear a radio, and he has his pager even less. It's a wonder he gets anything done.

"James?" Remus asks, his voice crackling over the channel.

"Hey, is Sirius with you?"

"He's not. He's assembling a potential funeral wardrobe for Her Highness. Do you want me to go look for him?"

James almost laughs. "I have people for that. Mikkelson?"

He can practically hear Mickey's groan at being picked on before the man picks up his radio and says, "Yeah, sir?"

"Find Mr. Black, won't you? Thank you."

Hoping Sirius is on his way, James knocks your door.

He, professionally (and he is trying so hard to be a professional), should call you Princess or Your Highness. But both titles make your skin crawl now that they're fact, so he opts for neither.

"Are you alright in there?" he asks.

You don't answer. James sighs and eases open your door. He wouldn't usually, not every silence is ominous, and your privacy is a right, but your safety is the priority and at the moment you're a high level target whether James agrees with that assessment or not. If he were to ignore protocol, and you were annihilated, he would go to prison for a long, long time.

You're asleep at the desk.

James is honestly surprised. It can't be comfortable, and your bed is probably one of the comfiest in the world with a state of the art orthopaedic mattress and duck-down pillows and quilts. What's worse, your desk chair is solid wood and likely fifty years old. The crick in your neck and the damage to your back will be extraordinary.

And yet, it isn't James' job to wake you up.

Professionally, James should leave. He should go back to his posting at the door. He has no need to wake you.

You're frowning in your sleep. When you wake, he imagines you'll have graphite rubbed into your cheek.

James sighs and leaves the room.

"You wanted to see me?" Sirius asks, sounding spritely as he walks down the hallway toward him.

"Hello," James says, and if they were in school he would stand up from a slouching pose against the wall and collect Sirius into a bear hug, slapping his back, maybe pulling a lock of his hair while saying something flirtatious.

He stands at rigid attention.

"Drop the stance, my love," Sirius says. James snorts. "There's no one here to see you."

"It's not the point."

"I know. What did you want? I'm quite busy."

"Could you start carrying your pager, please? Or better, a radio? Then you wouldn't have to cross the entire building to find me."

"You could've called me?" Sirius suggests.

"I don't have a phone while I'm working."

"Well, that's silly."

"I was…" He lowers his voice. "I'm worried the Princess is lonely."

"Then go talk to her."

"I can't. You know as well as I do that the point of my being here is to protect her to the best of my ability, and that requires an unaffected point of view. I can't give her my full attention while giving her safety my full attention, that doesn't add up."

"Then grab a couple of other men and then go speak to her."

"This is my job, Sirius. I'm paid to do this."

"Not paid to make sure she's in company," Sirius says. He smiles at James like he's won the argument and James, brimming with brotherly affection, wants to chop him in the stomach.

"Her mental health–"

"Yes, I know. Just as important as physical. And while you wear the badge with pride, James, it still isn't your job." Sirius leans against the wall opposite. The hallways here are huge. It is quite the gap. "I was thinking I'd make her an appointment with Cindy."

"She said she'll make one tomorrow."

"Oh, brilliant. You know, Cindy's getting a divorce?"

"I didn't know that," James says. "How do you know that?"

Sirius taps the side of his nose before crossing his arms tightly across his chest, looking smug. "She's very single now, Jamie. And very pretty, she's a redhead."

"Sirius…"

Sirius stands, stretches and meets James at your doorway. "Okay, fine, I can see you're not in the mood."

"It's not because of you."

"I know that, thanks," Sirius says, stepping on James' steel-capped boot as he pushes past him.

"Sirius–"

Sirius pulls his hand back from your door handle. "What?" he asks.

"She's sleeping. Try to wake her nicely."

"If she's sleeping, why does she need company?"

James nods toward your door insistently.

Sirius does as he's being asked because he's a sweetheart with entirely too much time for James, despite also being on the clock. James can't see anything from his position, but he can hear your conversation.

Sirius lets himself into the room. He likely shakes your shoulder with care as he says, "Princess Y/N, poor darling, are you alright?"

"Sorry," you say scratchily. Here James thinks you might've lifted your head and discovered the crick in your neck. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to be somewhere?"

"No." There's an unmistakable fondness in Sirius tone, hiding just beneath the practised facade that comes with working for Royalty. "Do you want me to help you into bed? Or call for an attendant?"

"No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… Sorry. What did you need?"

"I have some clothes picked out for you to wear to the funeral proceedings. I want your opinion, but I don't need it right now. You can go back to bed if you like."

"No," you say. James feels for you. No, no, no. "I can do whatever you need me to."

"Why don't you freshen up, first? James stole you at dinner, I'll go have him order something sweet to the fitting rooms, alright?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Sirius emerges from your room and gives James an elbowing. "You could've woken her up. You're not heartless."

"I'm technically not allowed in there if she doesn't permit me."

"She doesn't know that, and I'm sure she'd prefer a wake up call than to be left like that." Sirius rubs one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Sorry, I'm not shouting at you. But I really don't think you need to worry about permission and not speaking to her. She's not Julianna," his voice drops to a murmur, "she doesn't think she's above us."

"I don't care if she does," James says honestly. Not because he thinks you should feel superior, but because he learned a long time ago that people do, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. "Mary's back tomorrow. If she catches even a whiff of how I've been behaving–"

Sirius holds James' gaze. "Poor girl had pencil on her face."

"Yes."

"They're going to eat her alive."

"Probably."

"But we won't let them," Sirius says.

"Not willingly."

Sirius nods. "Are you coming with us?"

"Yeah." He checks his watch. "Couple hours left yet 'til six. Are you off at the same time?"

"No, are you kidding? I finish at three like a normal person."

"That's not normal. Ever heard the phrase nine to five?"

"Normal compared to the royals, who work never to never."

James shushes him. Sirius shushes James back.

"Are we ready to go?" you ask.

James grins at the shock on Sirius' face, as if to say, What, you didn't hear her? Even though he'd barely heard your approach himself. A picture of politeness, Sirius ushers you down the hallway with him.

You trek down onto the first floor, through the huge foyer and into the main section of the palace hiding behind the grand banquet hall. Here resides the fitting rooms, not too far from the servants quarters in case the tailors or maids are required.

Sirius calls for an attendant despite the horror on your face at the suggestion as he leads you into the biggest fitting room. It's almost like a shop, in that it houses racks upon racks of clothing no doubt loaned in for Sirius' perusal.

He drags a smaller rack to the centre of the room.

"How do you feel about trying things on? Do you need a partition?" Sirius looks at you for a few seconds. "I'll call for one."

You look like you've been slapped.

James clears his throat. "He knows you're shy," he says.

You take that much better. "Yeah. I do want the partition. Please."

James weighs up the possibility of your possible murder and decides the chances are still too high to offer to leave. He truly won't be able to see you behind the partition, and it's not worth the administrative hell in any case. He hates how his job makes him constantly aware of how you might be murdered, but he likes knowing he could protect you with force. It evens out.

"A fancy education may have helped me be where I am today, but it doesn't account for style or taste." Sirius smiles, propping himself on the arm of a suede armchair. "Which is my saying that you don't have to like what I like, and if you hate stuff just say. I won't be offended, Your Highness."

"Please, no Your Highness," you murmur.

"James says I dress like a socialite with too much money and not enough taste."

"I do say that," James says.

You laugh under your breath. "Well, I'm sure you've better taste than me. I've never been to an event like this, I don't want to embarrass myself, so, um, don't let me."

"I won't," Sirius says.

Sirius understands the fashion tastes of the elite even if he doesn't personally enact them. He passes you an outfit, and you disappear behind the propped up partition to change. With the windows closed and the curtains drawn, only the overhead light is in play, and your shadow is reflected onto the floor to the left. James averts his eyes.

You try on a couple of outfits. James tries very hard to look as though he's not paying attention to your squirming unhappiness at the fit and look of your clothes. You get more and more embarrassed as time moves forward. The attendant Sirius summoned, a tailor named Melinda, offers suggestions of alterations and what she thinks would suit your silhouette most.

"Do I have one?" you ask.

"A silhouette?" Melinda asks, a push pin in between her teeth. "Sure you do."

"My stomach–"

"Is that a problem area?" Melinda asks.

"I thought so–"

"If you're worried, we can find something that fits the to the chest and loosens at your abdomen," Sirius says, "but I don't think you need to worry."

James agrees. You aren't skinny and James isn't stupid, he knows the immense stigma surrounding your body type must have battered your self-esteem growing up, but he thinks you're pretty and that you've a lovely shape to you. The idea that you have to hide certain body parts when there's nothing wrong with them in the first place has him biting his tongue, wanting to comment and knowing he definitely should not. You've looked nice in everything you've put on, smart and proper for an unfortunate event.

"I don't know," you mumble.

Sirius has amazing crisis averting senses, having micromanaged a spoiled narcissist for years. You don't require nearly as much petting or fawning, and you aren't throwing a tantrum either way.

"Let's finish for today," he says. "We can look at everything with fresh eyes, and I'm off at three."

James cringes and Melinda looks at him like he's grown a second head; you don't mention the end of a shift in front of the royals. He knows this, and he knows that you don't know this, so Sirius is absolutely pushing his luck. You're a thoughtful girl —you immediately agree.

Though that might be on account of how you look like you've been thrown a life raft. "Okay, thank you," you say, beginning to put clothes back on their hangers.

Sirius waves you away. "Leave some work for the rest of us, Your Sweetness."

Again, second head.

James opens the door and takes you back through the maze of the Palace before Sirius can commit a sackable offence. You're as quiet as you've been all day, your footsteps the only proof that you're present as you climb the steps to the second floor.

Professionalism, James thinks.

"I think you looked nice in everything," he says.

The opposite of professionalism. Oh, he could vault over the bannister.

He just wanted to see you smile today, a real smile, or at least hear something sure in your voice that proves he's made the right decision. That you won't be totally miserable if he convinces you to take on the mantle.

"Yeah?" you say, though you don't give him any time to answer. "I don't– I don't want to look good for a funeral, it's a funeral, but I know it'll be on TV, and maybe in the newspapers, so I don't want to be badly dressed and I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to even like…" You nibble your lip for a while before heaving a big sigh. "Sorry, I'm doing this again, I'm giving you jobs that aren't your job."

"It's relatively easy to tell you that you looked good. It's not a job."

"You don't have to comfort me, is what I mean."

"That's also easy… and it will definitely be in the newspapers. For a long time."

"Oh, sugar."

James holds his hand out as you trip up a short step, but you don't fall, and you don't need his offered help. He tucks his hand behind his back again and follows your lead.

"Newspapers, the news in general, people, they can all be very, very horrible, but I think the focus will be on your DNA, rather than your outfit. I mean, the gossip rags and tabloids will absolutely pick you apart, but they do it everybody, and I won't let you read those."

People are cruel. They don't even realise it.

"Whatever outfit you choose, you'll look good, and people will hate it anyway," he says.

"That sounds awful."

"It is. But… they can't stop you from being you. It's better to do what you want to do without worrying about how it'll look to everyone on the outside. You should do what you think is right."

Okay, he's not exclusively talking about clothes anymore, but his point stands.

"What if I look like an idiot?" you ask him quietly.

"You'll look like an exceedingly well-dressed one."

A sharp veer. Even the word 'professionalism' is starting to annoy him.

"Don't stress, yeah? We'll work it all out tomorrow."

You rub your elbow as the two of you approach your room again. "Thanks, James."

He's on a knife's edge here. Break the rules and face Mary's wrath. Stick to them blindly and drive you further and further from the crown.

James, selfishly, needs you to want this. And if you need a friend, a real friend, to do that, then he can toe the line. He decides it right there on your door jam.

"Princess," he says, "I have to talk to you about something."

"Okay… what is it?"

"When you go home, I'll be coming with you."

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! if you did, I’d love it if you let me know <3 also sry the next part should hopefully be delivered faster lol

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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showtoonzfan · 6 months

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Hey it’s been a bit! The Mammon episode finally came out, so here’s my review!

Pros:

- The sign language scene was cute. Kinda weird that a kid was seeing a show that was clearly for adults but I love me some representation so it gets a pass.

- Despite Blitz not really needing to be in this episode, I thank god he had little screen time and more time was dedicated to Fizz.

- The fish ladies (despite having wonky color palettes that made them EXTREMELY hard to look at) were cute.

Cons:

- Mammon is so flat and uninteresting but I don’t know what I expected from a creator who always hypes her characters up that always end up being one of the three go-to personalities she picks for her male characters. In Mammon’s case he’s just a loud mouth cursing bum so way to ruin another Deadly Sin and make them boring af, moving on.

- I don’t like how Mammon and Fizz’s relationship are similar of Val and Angel’s, Viv keeps recycling stories, characters and plot lines ect, it makes Angel’s story for Hazbin really predictable/underwhelming and not exciting to look forward too especially since we already have the “mafia bad daddy” aspect to him too that they pulled for Moxxie. I guess the idea of Mammon being a controlling ruler is fine on paper but not much is done with it, Fizz just quits in the end like it was easy with zero consequences so what was all that build up for.

- Fizz himself once again feels REALLY out of character, he’s just too soft compared to how he was introduced in season 1. He’s constantly nervous in this episode and insecure, as well as walking on eggshells, and even in Oops he wasn’t THIS sensitive. I’m all for characters struggling and being kicked down but it has to make sense and not feel forced, and once again it feels like Viv is trying way to hard to make the characters she once introduced as snarky assholes to uwu innocent babies. I refuse to believe Fizz was actually INTIMIDATED by this random geeky imp who insulted him, as well as the fish ladies whom he was weirdly nice and welcoming to. It’s also weird seeing how uncomfortable/nervous he was around his fans when I thought the whole point was that he LOVED praise and loved being famous, at least that was season 1 Fizz. Now he feels retconned. Seeing him say “I just need this gig” is weird too, the explanation to why he went through all of this makes no sense, Fizz still has Ozzie and is famous in the Lust ring, and I understand Mammon is his idle but to go through all that abuse for so long for something that could have been so easily avoided feels forced to fit the plot, but it also makes Fizz look dumb.

- There’s confusing lore stuff regarding Mammon and Ozzie, and it makes me realize that Viv should have picked ONE storyline aka ONE Seven Deadly sin to go with Fizz’s story because this is getting mixed up. Fizz acts like if he looses this completion, he looses everything, which confused the heck out of me because no he wouldn’t have? First of all, Ozzie is a fucking powerful sin, how would you loose him? Second, from what we know from season 1, Fizz is a jester who performs at Ozzie’s club. It was Ozzie who built the sex robots across the rings of hell, NOT Mammon, and in season 2 we see that Fizz is under Ozzie’s care and lives in his house. Yet for some weird reason Mammon also represents Fizz and uses him for profit, but it’s not really explained in a way that makes sense, like Love’s art had said in her Fizz redesign video, Fizz’s job is really confusing on what exactly he does. Having both Ozzie and Mammon represent him overcomplicates things and the show did a poor job at explaining how this goes.

- Once again Viv dumps trauma and struggle onto her characters without building it up first. When did Fizz ever give off the impression that he was being controlled or abused, or even that he was so insecure and constantly walked on eggshells to be perfect. In Oops he was happy to be in the spotlight and happy to get the attention, he bragged to Blitz about how successful he was. He seemed happy to perform for Mammon and talked of him highly, and now you’re pulling an Angel Dust situation where he’s expected to be perfect 24/7 and it gets to him emotionally, while also being someone who’s physically and mentally abused. Yet another season 2 episode that wasn’t planned, same as how Millie wanting to feel important wasn’t planned, same as how Stolas seeing Blitz as genuine love wasn’t planned. Different episode, same issues.

- I’m so done with the Hell lore bro, this place officially has no rules and demons can just do anything without consequences. There’s no class system, there’s no rankings, there’s no power dynamics, screw anything that Viv says. There was no fucking reason why Ozzie and Fizz’s relationship needed to be a secret. There was no reason showing Ozzie threatening his workers to not tell anyone about his love life if he was just going to admit it to EVERYONE THE NEXT EPISODE IN FRONT OF ANOTHER SIN ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME— what was the POINT. What is the point of Stolas and Blitz’s conflict. What is the point of Stella being classist. What is the point of these class systems and rules if you can just announce that you technically broke a hell rule and no one gives a fuck and you get off scott free. Mammon telling Ozzie “you’ll regret that” like a cartoon villain doesn’t do anything either. What is he ganna do? Tell Lucifer, the character that canonically won’t appear in HB because the sins won’t appear in HH? If Lucifer rules over the sinners, who the fuck is in charge for the rest of Hell. Where’s the authority? And Mammon is just ganna come back for another episode to give the gang trouble cause lord knows we don’t have enough fucking villains already.

- It feels weird that Ozzie would just sit back while someone whom he knows is a piece of shit is treating his loved one badly. I get he was concerned but you’d think one of the seven deadly sins would have more power and authority.

- I was expecting some big gross bug-like thing to appear when Mammon was transforming into his final form, only for it to the exact same design but with small extra eyes and a spider lower half that isn’t even visible in most shots….GOD VIV.

Watching this episode also made me remind myself that this is supposed to be Hell. Seeing Fizz feel better and stand up for himself was sweet but these soft lessons and morals don’t belong in a show like this, and it’s extra aggravating regarding Viv’s double standard, how she can just pick and choose which characters she wants to be evil and which characters are saints. Overall not anywhere near the worst episode of season 2, but I am officially done with Helluva Boss so-

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva critical #anti vivziepop #helluva boss

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ghoststyles · 10 months

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Fairway to Heaven - Part 1

Hi!! I’m so excited to post my first-ever Harry fic! I’ve been on 1D Tumblr since the very beginning, logged off for 5 years and now I’m back 💀 So I’ve had a lot of ideas over the years that have just lived in my head. GOLFRRY + MUSTACHRRY are my weaknesses, so this is my twist on a golf/bev cart girl + agegap fic 🤩

I’d love to hear your thoughts. I have most of the story written, so I should be able to have a consistent posting schedule. Not sure the total # of parts quite yet. I’m also happy to write additional blurbs if y’all like Harry and Briar as much as I do 🥹🐥🦊

Here is a mood board I put together. Feel free to picture Briar however you please. The mood board is just to set the vibez!

Without further ado...Enjoy!

Word count: 4.5K

Contains mature themes. Read at your own discretion. Agegaps, cursing.

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4

By the time she gets to her designated cart, she’s already fifteen minutes late; but her iced coffee is the perfect color, and her hair didn’t give her too much trouble this morning. She smiles to herself, a win is a win.

Briar Barlowe quickly dumps a bucket of ice in her cart’s side cooler as the bar back begins filling the bin with the usual suspects: Bud Light, Michelob Ultra, Fireball, Tito’s, Casamigos, Ginger ale, and, of course, grape juice. She makes sure to keep her lavender cups stocked and plenty of fun straws to make everything more fun. She even decorates her tip jars to say funny jokes.

Since starting at Wynnewood Country Club, Briar has gained a bit of notoriety among the players as the girl with a bright smile and a heavy pour. This job is exactly what she needs to fill the gap between graduating college and beginning her business degree in the fall. Good money, stress-free responsibilities, and time spent in the sunshine.

Her Uncle, Patrick Barlowe, is the golf pro at Wynnewood; a local legend who was just shy of making the PGA Tour himself. He spends his days teaching lessons, running the pro shop and serving on the Board of Directors for the club. If you’re in with Patrick, you’re in with everyone.

When he heard her worries of not finding a summer job after graduation, it was a no brainer to offer her a position as a beverage cart girl. They both gaze out over the course from a table under the gazebo on the top deck of club’s restaurant.

“That job sounds a little sexist, Uncle Patrick,” Briar sneers. All she can picture is driving around in a little dress and a visor like Malibu Barbie, answering the male members’ every beck and call.

The club is gorgeous; first built in 1914, and the architecture reflects it. It has two golf courses, 4 tennis courts, a pool, and deluxe spa. The member fees skyrocket each year, upping the amenities and overall snootiness of the members.

“The money is good and the members are pretty harmless. From the way you’ve swindled me into throwing teddy bear tea parties, I think you’ll do just fine on the sales aspect.”

“Fine. When do I start?”

Patrick leans back in his seat, “I’ll call Dominic in the morning.”

With that, they finish their drinks and appetizers just as the sun sets.

Walking out to her car, she sees a black Range Rover pull under the carport. The boys at the valet stand are already bickering over who gets to drive this one.

Based on the surrounding town, the level of pretentiousness at the club never surprises Briar. The yearly member fee for the club can cover 2 years’ worth of her business school tuition alone. She shakes her head and jumps into her hand-me down Jeep to head back to her apartment, paying no mind to the man entering the front door of the club.

Her shift this morning started out in the frigid cold, forcing her to change outfits later in the day as the sun came out. She’s sporting her black athletic skort and a racerback tank top. She opts to leave her hair down and sport her black and white Nike trailblazers to keep the look casual.

With a few weeks’ worth of shifts under her belt, she’s learned the ways of the club and fallen into a good rhythm. On any given weekend day, she has to head to the clubhouse to restock twice before 12PM. Today is not one of those days.

As temperature warms up, the course begins to fill up. In the last hour of her shift, she’s left with only a few beers and a few shots worth of Tito’s. Her tip jar is a little emptier than usual, but the pun on her sign got a few chuckles. She sets up shop on the 17th hole and snaps a few photos of the sunset.

“I shot one under today. One under a tree, one under a bush, and one under the water.”

Briar jumps at the voice behind her. Is that an Irish accent? She leans to peer over the side of her cart. She sees a man, older than her, donning a light blue polo with dark blue pants and a white hat, reading the joke on her jar.

“Clever, isn’t it?” She smiles kindly at him.

“Hilarious. It’s like ya been watching my game today,” he laughs. He moves closer to where she’s standing.

“Can I get you anything? I’ll be honest, I’m mostly wiped out.”

He peers down at the contents of the cooler. “I’ll take that last Mich Ultra. Do you have any Casamigos left? My mate is a little picky.”

“No Casamigos,” she says with a slight frown. “I’ll try to keep my drinking to a minimum next time and save you some.”

He lets out a loud laugh and squeezes his eyes shut. “Alright, just this then. He’ll have to deal with it.”

“I can offer you some Peanut M&M’s for your troubles,” she says, pulling out her iPad to ring in the order. “Do you have an account with the club, or do you want to pay cash?”

“The account is under Niall Horan,” he says, putting a $20 bill in the jar. “Thanks for the M&M’s, darlin’.”

“I’m Briar. It was nice meeting you, Niall. Thank you!” She beams. He smiles and starts heading back to the path toward the clubhouse.

After cleaning her cart and counting her money, Briar finishes the day drinking a mojito at the bar, while Cam, her new friend at the club, is working her bar shift.

“How was it out there today, babe?” Cam asks.

“Slow at first, but it definitely picked up. I couldn’t even head back for a restock. Luckily, the members I got at the very end weren’t picky.”

“Oh! Did you see Niall?” she asks as she puts glassware in the dishwasher.

“Yeah,” Briar furrows her brows. “How did you know?”

“I used to serve him on the front course all the time. Now that I’m too old and wretched to work out on the course, he’ll visit me in here sometimes. He mentioned playing the back course with a friend today.”

Briar is always assigned to the back course. There are only minor differences in difficulty, but she finds the back course to be a little more calm and serious. They’re also a little more generous with their tips. She’s not sure if her assignment has something to do with her uncle’s knowledge of the club’s inner workings.

“He is really nice, and generous. I didn’t get to meet the friend, though. Did you?”

“Yes, he was a little more reserved. But Niall is a riot, so he makes anyone look calm. I didn’t catch his name.”

Briar hums and stirs her mojito around as she stifles a yawn. “Well, I’ve been here since 7:30 this morning, so I am ready to goooo,” she drags out her last word. She waves bye to Cam and begins the trek to the employee parking lot.

As she’s walking, she gazes up to the upper deck of the restaurant where she can just barely make out Niall standing by the railing. He’s talking animatedly and waving his beer bottle around.

A bit off to the right, peering down at her, is a tall, striking man with dark features wearing a white button down and a sport coat. The top two buttons are undone just enough to see his collarbones.

The club has a strict dress code for the restaurant. Briar often does a double take when she sees members out of their golf clothes. She wonders if he’s even allowed to show that much skin.

Shrugging it off, she continues toward her car, but not without looking back at the man. He’s still looking at her, curiously, taking a sip of his drink and turning away not long after she looks up.

She can’t help but get this strange feeling, almost as if the hairs on the back of her neck are standing straight up.

As the summer starts to heat up, so do her shifts at the course. By the end of them, Briar’s hair is sticking out sideways and her make up is smeared down her face. She bought a miniature fan that clips right to the visor of her cart to keep her cool throughout the day.

It’s just past 8:30 in the morning on Tuesday when she hears a familiar voice on the 8th hole. She squints and sees Niall, along with the dark haired man from the other night. There are a few guys she doesn’t recognize standing with them.

She maneuvers her cart through the winding path, closer to where the men are.

“There’s the beer angel!” Niall shouts. She smiles and shakes her head. He comes jogging over. “I hope you’re fully stocked this morning.”

“Yep, I am! I even have a few breakfast sandwiches, if you’re interested.”

His eyes light up as she pulls out a bacon, egg and cheese on an everything bagel from the warming drawer. Chef Lambo, the executive chef of the club, made them especially for Briar’s customers.

“Yesss. I’ll take one of those, a Mich Ultra, two Transfusions, and — H! What do you want?” He yells, partially turning to face his friend in the distance.

She faintly hears, “Casamigos!”

“And a Casamigos on the rocks, with a lime,” he finishes. It takes her only a few minutes to make the cocktails.

“Do you want these on your account?” Briar asks Niall.

He takes a huge bite of the bagel and mumbles, “No, you can put it all on my mate’s. Last name is Styles.”

Styles, or, “H” as Niall called him. The mystery man’s Last name is Styles. And, he’s a member here.

“Got it. Well, good luck today.”

“Thanks, we’ll need it. We’re trying to close a work deal with the two guys we’re playing with. Hey, don’t be afraid to swing by us multiple times. We can use all the schmoozing we can get,” he smiles.

“I think I can do that. Let me know if you need help, I’m told I’m very persuasive,” she smiles as she takes the emergency brake off of her cart. He throws another $20 in her jar and then waves, nearly dropping all of the items in his hands.

Niall returns to his group, handing out their drinks. Briar continues to watch before pulling away. H steps out from behind Niall, slightly lifting his cup — his lavender cup — towards her, as a thank you. His facial expression is stoic, watching her carefully.

She smiles to herself and drives off. The rest of the shift goes by in a blur. She swings by Niall and H’s group a few times. Each time, Niall greets her to grab more drinks and snacks.

Is that on purpose? If the drinks are on H’s account, why isn’t he coming over? She’d like to get a closer look at him. She chews on the inside of her lip and continues on with her closing duties. She loves the morning shift; in early, out early.

After parking her cart in the garage, she can see her uncle in the pro shop, glasses on the tip of his nose, peering down at something. She lightly knocks on the door and pushes it open.

“Hey, Briar bear,” he says, looking up at her. “How was your day?”

Briar sighs at her childhood nickname, plopping down on the couch by the practice putting green. Members can test out clubs before purchasing them in the pro shop, making it an optimal spot to hang out and mess around with all of the clubs.

“It was good, I just have to get used to waking up this early again. And I already know you’re going to say, ‘welcome to the real world, kid’, so just stop there,” she says sassily.

Patrick chuckles and focuses back on with his paperwork. They’re quiet for a few moments.

“What’re working on, anyway?” she asks, craning her neck to see what he’s doing.

“Just some budget sheets, and making a list of members who haven’t had a lesson from their amazing in-house golf pro,” he says, punching numbers into his phone calculator.

“They get a free lesson from you?”

“Yes, when they join. But now, to keep up member retention, we’re going to offer sessions to members who have been here for 5 years or more,” he scratches his temple. “Most of ‘em don’t need it, but I feel they always leave with a new drill to practice and some sage advice from yours truly.”

“That’s cool,” she replies absently.

“Wanna help?” Patrick asks her. She nods silently and takes a seat beside him. She sees a list of last names, first initial and an “X” next to their name if they’ve taken a lesson.

She notices an X next to “Horan, N.” but not “Styles, H”. Interesting.

Briar continues to audit the two lists, until she hears her uncle clear his throat.

“Hey, are you going to hang here for a bit? I need to run back into the main clubhouse for a few minutes.”

Patrick runs the pro shop solo during the day, until a high school or college kid can come in in the afternoon.

“Yeah, I’ll hang here. What do I do if someone needs something?”

“Then you can entertain them with your dazzling personality until I get back,” he teases, sticking his tongue out. “Alright, I’ll be back.”

“‘kay,” she says, walking back to her original spot on the sofa, laying her head back on the edge.

Her eyes are shut, only for a minute, until a brilliant idea pops in her head. She rises off the sofa and saunters over to the computer her uncle was just working on.

The employee portal is logged in under Patrick’s account. Briar doesn’t know much about it, aside from using it to clock in and clock out. It’s still on the member screen, an area she’s 100% sure she doesn’t have access to.

She peruses the site until she finds a “Member Look-Up” tab. Briar’s intrusive thoughts win.

She slowly punches in S-T-Y-L-E-S and waits for the results to populate. 2 results found.

She clicks on the first profile. An account pulls up for a Paul Styles, and a photo of a white-haired man pops up.

Well, that’s certainly not him, Briar thinks to herself. She exits out and clicks on the next account. No profile photo opens, but the name is at the top. She bites her thumbnail in anticipation of what she’ll see.

Harry Styles. H. Niall’s mysterious friend. The tequila lover.

She starts to scroll down the page. The profile is more bare than the other man’s, but she can see the basic things about him. He’s 41, joined the club 8 years ago. He lives in another pretentious town only a few miles away.

Then, she sees a “Member Activity” tab. Out of curiosity, she clicks on it. Her eyes widen, seeing every transaction he’s ever made on his account. His “dues” each year. Holy shit.

His purchases seem pretty standard for members of Wynnewood. Mostly rounds of Casamigos on the rocks (shocking) and dinners ranging from $100-$400, with a few bills over $1,000.

He joined 8 years ago, but his transactions have only begun to pick up in the last month or so. Before, his visits were sporadic at best.

Briar can’t even fathom having that sort of money to throw away. She started working at age 14 and never stopped. The only reason she gets a taste of country club life is because of her uncle.

She closes out the portal, not wanting to risk Patrick walking in while she’s snooping around. She returns to her spot on the sofa and begins playing 1010! on her phone.

She exhales and tosses her phone to the side. As she sits up, Patrick reenters the pro shop.

“Thanks, Bri. Heading home soon?”

“Yeah, I gotta get back home for Gus,” she smiles, thinking about her dog. Her baby.

“Alright, I’ll catch you later. Say hello to my buddy for me. And give him a butt scratch — Tell him it’s from Uncle Patty.”

“Will do. See ya.”

When she’s showered and comfy at home, with Gus, her Bernese Mountain Dog, snuggled at her side, she finally feels relaxed.

She’s worked nearly every day since she started. But, those are the sacrifices of a summer job.

She turns on Selling Sunset on Netflix to drown out the silence of her apartment. Already bored of this season, she pulls out her phone.

One last round of stalking, then she’ll let it go. She opens Instagram and begins typing in Harry’s name in the search bar. Nothing. Hm.

She tries Niall, immediately getting a hit. She clicks on his account to find it public, full of funny and happy photos. He’s clearly from Ireland, but has lived in the United States for some time. She wonders if he went to school here, or if he just got a job here.

She scrolls down to a group photo — on the golf course, of course — of Niall, Harry, and a few other guys. They look a lot younger here. She can see the photo is from 7 years ago. Harry’s stoic face is a stark contrast to Niall’s infectious smile. She clicks on the photo to see if Harry’s profile is tagged. Nothing.

Defeated, she moves onto LinkedIn. She tries Harry’s name again. Within 10 seconds of the search engine results popping up on the screen, her eyes land on exactly what she’s looking for. He has a profile. Her heart starts beating a little faster.

Really, Briar? All this for a guy you’ve barely caught a glimpse of? She clicks on the profile and sees the most gorgeous man at the top. He looked good from afar, but this is totally different.

Sticking out to her is his chiseled jaw, pouty lips, and beautiful (green?) eyes. His hair is longer in this photo than what she’s seen him with the past 2 times at the club, but she figures this page is old.

She scrolls down to the employment history. He works for a hedge fund. No wonder he has that kind of cash laying around. He’s been at the same company for a number of years, and received his bachelor’s degree from Georgetown and his MBA from the University of Pennsylvania. Smart dude.

She notes his MBA graduation year is 2006. She laughs, knowing she was probably still playing on a playground that year.

She exits out of the page, proud of her findings. She decides to text Cam about Niall’s friend.

B: Hey! So I totally stalked Niall online. His friend’s name is Harry! 😆

C: So funny, how’d u do it? 😂

B: Instagram for Niall, and earlier, I used Wynnewood’s portal to look up Harry. I just went on his LinkedIn, too. Now, I know all about his work and schooling, lol.

C: Your account is private, right? 😳

C: It notifies people if you’ve looked at their profile unless you’re private…

B: What?! I didn’t know that…WTF do I do?

Briar’s stomach drops. He’s probably already gotten the notification by now. She’s mortified. She logs back on to LinkedIn and deactivates her account. Reddit says those are her best chances of counteracting the notification.

She decides to go to bed, but ends up tossing and turning until 3 AM, knowing her alarm is set for 6:30. She stares at the ceiling, pleading for Harry not to show up at the club tomorrow.

The morning comes around, and after mustering enough courage to get up and make herself presentable, she rolls into work, ready to jump on her cart and be lazy. The universe (or Uncle Patrick, probably!) has a different plan.

Since it’s a holiday weekend, Briar is working inside for a change. She feels a little out of her element. She’s worked in restaurants in the past, but it’s always a little stressful when you have know idea where anything is, or how to use the register.

Taking a moment to survey the large banquet room, she doesn’t see Niall or Harry. She begins to relax. Until, 30 minutes later, she sees both of them enter and begin talking to the hostess.

Please don’t go to my section, she thinks. She watches the girl gathers 4 menus and turns to lead the men further into the room. Briar’s worry grows more with each step the hostess takes toward her section. Fuck.

She seats them down at a 4 person table right in the middle of Briar’s section, assuming the two men from yesterday will be joining them.

She takes a few deep breaths before grabbing a water jug and two stemmed water glasses. She casually approaches the table, lightly placing the water glasses down and filling them.

Niall looks up briefly with a smile before exclaiming, “There she is! I requested you to be our server after I saw you at the coffee machine over there.”

Briar smiles before turning her attention to Harry, who hasn’t glanced up from his menu. She looks back at Niall.

“Awesome! This is going to be great,” she lies through her teeth.

While this exchange is happening, she can feel Cam’s eyes burning through the back of her head. Cam is the service bartender of the day, so she has time to people watch and laugh at Briar’s bad luck.

“Are we waiting for any more guests to join us?” Briar asks.

Niall clears his throat and says, “Yes, those two blokes from yesterday. Harry here is going to close the deal with them today.”

Harry glances up at her with a shy smile. She reciprocates, unsure if he’s aware of her cyberstalking from last night.

“Wow, well, I’ll make sure my service is extra good, then. Can I throw in some drinks while you wait?”

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned. Harry?” Niall turns to his friend.

“Casamigos on the rocks for me, please. With a lime. Thank you.”

“You got it,” she says with a tight-lipped smile. Of course that’s the very first thing he ever says to her. And he’s BRITISH?

Cam laughs as the ticket prints at the bar.

“Oh, shut up,” Briar grumbles.

The other men finally arrive, and the meal goes by at a snail’s pace. When the group is finally ready to order, Briar is already mentally checked out. Briar goes to take Harry’s order.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the chicken, please,” he says simply.

“And how would you like that cooked?” Briar asks, furiously scribbling on her note pad.

Harry’s face contorts to a perplexed look, almost as if he was about to laugh.

“Um…cooked…all the way through?” He stifles a chuckle.

Niall bursts out laughing, cluing Briar in. She realizes the others ordered porterhouse steaks, so, out of habit, she asked how they’d like them prepared.

Her eyes go wide, “Right, well, I’ll go put these in. Thanks!” She shuffles away at lightning speed.

Harry stares at her from across the room, smirking when they make eye contact. She wants to bury her head in the sand trap on the golf course.

When the meal is done, the men shake hands, and Niall and Harry look relieved. They ask for another round of drinks for the two of them and the check. Niall heads toward the restroom while Harry pays. She tries to bolt as soon as the check is dropped, but she hears Harry clear his throat.

She turns to face him.

“We’re about to go play a quick round of 9-holes to celebrate. Are you our beer angel today, or are you stuck in here?” Harry says, as he opens his wallet.

Briar feels her heart begin to race. She’s sure her face is beet red. The word angel rolls off his tongue so easily.

“Um, no, I’m um, stuck in here for the rest of the day. I’ll be back on Sunday, though,” she says quietly.

“Shame, I was starting to think you were bringing me all of my luck. I’ve been crushing these guys in our last few rounds,” he smiles, swirling the remnants of his drink around.

She bites the inside of her lip, unsure if she should still be holding eye contact. He hands her the checkbook, full of cash. She smiles, unable to speak.

“Oh, and Briar— I’m an open book. If you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve just asked,” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile.

That’s the moment Niall returns to the table, and presumably the only reason she doesn’t drop to the floor in fetal position.

“Thanks, Briar. Lunch was great. We’ll see you next time,” Niall says sweetly.

“Thanks!” she squeaks, scurrying to the back, where she nearly mows down Cam.

“Woah! What’re you doing?” Cam squeals.

“He KNOWS!” Briar wails.

“Who? Who knows — OH!” Cam shrieks. “What did he say to you?”

“He said, ‘Briar, I’m an open book. If you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve just asked.’”

Cam’s mouth drops open. “Did he say it with his sexy accent and sultry voice?”

“Shut up!”

“Fine. Well, what did he tip you?” she asks, reaching for the book in Briar’s hand.

She opens it, finding enough cash to cover the $450 tab, and an extra $300 as a tip.

“Damn! Who has that much cash at one time?” Cam laughs.

Briar flips to the back of the book, only to find a note on a small piece of paper:

I’m an Aquarius, in case you were wondering. : - )

She stares blankly at the note. When did he have time to do this? Was he going to slip this note to her regardless? A million thoughts run through her head, until she hears Cam.

“What a creepy-ass old person smiley face,” she says, shaking her head.

Briar thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

Finally, her shift ends and she can escape the club, just for a day. As she heads towards the women’s locker room, she’s rummaging through her bag, attempting to fish out her street clothes so she can change as quickly as possible.

As she stalks closer to the locker room, she collides head-first into a firm, wet object. She feels strong hands grasp her hips to steady her.

“What the fuck?” she says, moving the hair out of her eyes, only to be met with a strong tattooed torso, partially covered by towel tied loosely around the person’s waist.

Her next words die in her throat as she looks up.

Harry.

Harry, who just left the steam room.

He smirks down at her, gently letting go of her waist. Suddenly, she feels hot, as if she were just in there with him. Briar’s fight or flight kicked-in, causing her to spin on her heels and flee in the opposite direction.

He senses she’d run, so he gently grabs her wrist, locking her in place. She peers up at him like a deer in headlights. His other hand is firmly planted on his hip to hold up his towel, in fear of giving the whole club a show.

He tilts her chin up so she’s making direct eye contact. Her stomach drops, sending a wave of nausea through her body. She studies his face; long eye lashes, slight stubble and two dimples that form as he smirks down at her softly.

“I told you, I’m not shy.”

He releases her chin and saunters back to the mens’ locker room.

#ghoststyles #fairway to heaven #Harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #golfrry #dom!harry #daddy!h

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kestisvrse · 5 months

Text

no surprises

pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff & angst.

synopsis ⋆ late night hugs and reassurance.

warnings ⋆ mentions of anxiety. | wc: 0.6k

♫ - moment’s silence by hozier

the cup of tea sitting in front of you in the dimly lit kitchen was slowly getting colder as you ignored it, seemingly more interested in the beige coloured walls, trance broken as the door creaked open.

anthony lockwood walked in, not in his usual suit and tie instead sporting a grey zip up and black sweats, seemingly just rolled out of bed (considering it was around 2 in the morning) but it didn’t look like he had slept yet.

“hi” you muttered out to the brunette boy, who sent you a soft smile as he went over to make himself some tea, drawing you back to your trance like state but this time focused on the table cloth.

it had been a rough week, hard cases, later nights. despite your job and the spotty sleep schedules of your roommates, you always made time to sleep, always able to wake up in a cheery mood after a good rest, but not this week and it was hitting you hard.

“not like you to be up this late.” lockwood breaks the comfortable silence, also breaking your trance to turn and look at him, his back facing you as he worked away at his tea on the counter.

“long week.” you answered, finally picking your tea up to sip, not freezing but definitely not warm enough causing you to sigh.

“are you okay?” lockwood questions, peeking over his shoulder slightly to look for a reaction, finding your legs up on the chair as you leaned your cheek on your knee, placing your cup back on the table.

“it’s just been…a lot lately. and it’s built up tonight and i’m just feeling a bit anxious.” you spilled out, quickly biting down on your bottom lip as if to hold information in. you trusted lockwood, but this was more of a late night talks with lucy situation, but she was asleep which had led you alone in the kitchen.

“do you need a break?” he asked, turning around seemingly forgetting about his tea.

“n-no i just.. i’m good.” you cut yourself off, hugging your knees to your chest.

“i really don’t believe you.” he remarked, raising his eyebrows, the corners of your mouth turned up slightly but in a blink disappeared back to a straight line, “what do you need? what can i do?”

your eyes finally raise to look at his face, eye contact for the first time that night, studying his face as slight confusion was seen on your face from his caring words, ‘what can i do?’

“i… i just needed a hug if i’m honest. but you don’t have to give me one, lucy will in the morning or something..” you rambled on awkwardly at the request, trying to hint the ‘i’m not saying this to make you do it, i’m just answering your question’

but in a blink of an eye, he was standing infront of you pulling you out of your chair, as you try not to stumble from the surprise and the fact that your feet had been on your chair not the floor. you feel his arms wrap around your waist.

you stand still for a beat, waiting for your mind to comprehend his actions, slowly bringing your arms around the back of his neck, hiding your face in his shoulder, it was warm, it was comforting.

“if you ever need a break i understand. just talk to me, okay?” he muttered, you hummed in response, squeezing slightly tighter into the hug, he repeated the action.

“thank you.”

you both stayed there for awhile, leaning into the comfort of each other, savouring the moment of peace and warmth.

#anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #lockwood x reader #anthony bloody lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #sienna’s fics

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iguessthisisanewobsession · 1 year

Text

The Bar

Dick looked over as a familiar face loomed over his table. Tall and built, one would think he was he bouncer instead of the bartender if it weren’t for towel around his neck.

It was hard to ignore the almost disappointed look Danny sent his way each night.

It was reminiscent of Alfred in a way, so sad. It made Dick grimace as he downed his last shot.

“You know, you only got one liver in there Dick? As much as I love the amount of dollars you throw my way, this isn’t healthy.”

“Real subtle, Danzzo.. real subtle. Can I get a refill?”

Danny threw down his towel.

“No.”

“No?”

“Dick.. it a quarter till four.. the bar closed down like three hours ago.”

Dick glanced at the clock on the wall, the hands danced as he tried to read the time to the point that he had to give up before his head split.

“Shit.. I guess it is. Sorry about that man I must’ve dosed for a bit.”

Danny sighed as he sat down beside him.

Uh oh, time for the weekly spiel.

“Richard.. look at me. I’m worried here, and this is coming from a guy who’s whole job is to feed people’s addictions. This is getting out of hand.. you’re getting out of hand. How often do we have this talk? How often do I have to stay up just so I can be sure that you are at least sober enough that I can send you home without worrying that the next time I hear about you is on an obituary?”

Danny sighed as he pulled at his hair,

“This used to be a once or twice a month thing man! You would come in, drink and shoot the shit about work and the family. I know ever since the.. accident. Life has been hard to process. Heaven forbid anyone who has to go through that.”

“let me grieve in fucking peace..”

“THIS ISN’T GRIEVING! This is drowning out your emotions so that you don’t have to feel and one of these days you’re not going to get back up and I-”

Danny took a second to center himself and Dick almost felt sad when he did.

Sometimes it felt like Danny was the only person who gave a shit anymore.

Dick scoffed at the thought as he fiddled with the empty shot, he tried to not let the guilt set in.

It was always this same song and dance. Yet Danny didn’t even have the nerve to say it to his face.

“I’m just saying that Jason wouldn’t want you to join him so soon man. “

Danny’s eyes finally left that place that they always seemed to focus on over his shoulder before he pinned Dick with a look of pity.

“Trust me, I would probably know more than you think..”

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dancingtotuyo · 9 months

Text

Build You the World

Joel Miller X Reader

Rating: PG-13 (Language)

Warnings: fluffiness, just fluff

Summary: Joel was stupid. Saying sorry the only way he knows how, Joel built you something.

Pre- Outbreak/ No outbreak because I want them to live a happy undisturbed life together.

Notes: We take a break from our regularly scheduled Narcos/Javier Peña content to give you this teeth rotting fluff piece about Joel Miller. Cross posted on AO3

Words: 1286

Series Master List | Author Master list

Joel sucked in a breath. Supplies scattered on the floor around him. The industrial fan blew the hot Texas air into his hotter garage. Sarah rode her bike around the driveway, purple fairy wings strapped to her back. She chatted on and on, no doubt caught up in a make believe land. He needed to take the training wheels off her bike. Maybe tomorrow he would have time.

Joel’s gaze drifted back over the supplies he’d bought at the hardware store this morning. Sarah had asked what he was making as her little legs struggled to keep up with his long strides. She’d noticed the unusual components he gathered. These weren’t for a job or the back porch he’d been working on all summer.

“Secret project” he’d winked at her and thankfully, she’d accepted it.

He hadn’t been able to sleep last night. He’d handled the whole situation badly. It was 2 am before Joel gave up the tireless pursuit of sleep and drawn up the plans. He currently wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He was a contractor. He did big projects like framing houses and decks. His fine carpentry skills left a lot to be desired.

Joel pushed those thoughts from his head. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

One lunch break, two first aid breaks, (a splinter in his thumb and a skinned knee for Sarah) and a nap (Sarah’s) later, Joel had all the pieces shaped and sanded. He couldn’t help but admire his handy work. Sure it was a simple design and yeah, it wasn’t assembled yet, but he’d made this. He just prayed it all fit.

Sarah colored at his workbench. She’d woken up not long ago and was still quiet from her nap. “Daddy, what are you making?”

“Top secret, baby girl.” He winked at her, pulling the wood glue and clamps from the cabinet.

She sighed in exasperation turning back to her coloring book. Joel hummed along to the classic rock station. His tshirt clung to his body wet with sweat. At 5:30, the temperature was just beginning its slow descent. He started to assemble to the first side, praying he’d made all the slots the correct size. That had been the most tedious part, ensuring it would all lock together properly.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Are we going to have dinner soon?”

“Soon, I want to get this first side put together first.”

Sarah sighed, her hair floating up and then falling back over her eyes. Joel chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Why don’t you go grab a cheese stick to tide you over?”

“Okay.” She slid off the stool, running inside.

It slid together with relative ease. Only a few profanities dropped from his mouth when he dropped something or spilled the glue everywhere.

He was jerryrigging the clamps when Sarah squealed, darting out of the garage. He glanced up, just able to make out the blue sedan that pulled in behind his pickup. Your blue sedan.

Nerves coursed through him. He reached for his beer. It was warm and flat now, barely touched. Sharp power tools and alcohol don’t mix well. He ignored the taste, taking another gulp. After last night, fear and shame filled him.

Sarah held your hand, talking a mile a minute as if you didn’t kiss her Goodnight last night. You laughed at something she said, but he heard the way it doesn’t quite reach. The first thing he noticed were the dark bags under your eyes and the red rings around them. Guilt flooded him. You need sleep more than ever right now. He felt the exhaustion radiating off of you.

You attempted to make yourself more presentable before gathering the courage to come over. The shower helped, your hair still damp and curling. The mascara kept running so you left it.

You round the corner with Sarah. Joel can hardly look at you. To be fair, you don’t really want to look at him either. You don’t want a repeat of last night but you can’t ignore the situation at hand either.

You finally call up the courage to look at him. You’d grown proud of yourself for learning the ins and outs of Joel Miller in the two years you’d known him. You could read him like the bedtime stories you read to Sarah, silly voices and all, but right now the pages of him blurred. Maybe that was just the tears you fought back.

“Sarah, do you want to grab your fairy wings to show-“

“Yes!” Sarah didn’t allow her father to finish. She was gone through the door in a flash of dark curls.

“She’s been excited to show you. Can’t believe she wasn’t wearin’ ‘em.” His Texas drawl popped out sending shivers down your spine. He forced a smile.

You wanted to return it, but other things pressed your mind. You weren’t good at diversion.

“Joel.” Your lip quivered and you hated yourself for it. You felt out of control right now.

He sighed. “Come here.” He cocked his head back stepping further into the garage.

The fan pushed air through your hair and skirt granting mellow relief to the heat.

“I’ve been working on this.” He swallowed presenting his scattered workspace. He read all nerves but there was the briefest sense of pride too.

Pieces of carefully shaped and sanded wood laid about in piles. You caught sight of what he’d put together. “Porch railing?”

You failed to see the connection. Not to mention it looked too tall and narrow to be for the back deck. And what was with the arch? Was he trying to build a trellis? He’d been talking about putting in some raised beds for you and Sarah.

Was this some kind of joke? An “I’m sorry?” It hardly accounted for one.

“No, it’s a-“ he sighed, running a hand through his curls. He needed a haircut. You had planned to take the clippers to it last night until things went awry.

He picked his notebook up off the work bench. The leather bound one you got him for Christmas. You were convinced he didn’t use it. It sat on his nightstand and you were sure if you’d picked it up, you would see a dust outline. He handed it to you.

You could tell he hadn’t used it much but that didn’t really matter. Your breath caught, all else forgotten the moment your eyes landed on the page. It was rough, dotted with measurements and notes, but it was clear as day all the same.

Tears built up for a whole new reason.

“I stayed up all night working through the design. It's nothing extravagant, but it’ll be sturdy… and safe.” He stuttered.

You traced the design with your finger. All the doubts from the past 24 hours, gone just like that. “You designed a crib?”

“It’s cherry wood. I know that’s your favorite.”

“You designed a crib for our baby?” You stepped into his bubble. You couldn’t believe it. Of everything you anticipated tonight, this was not on the list.

“Baby, I’m so sorry for last night. I was a jackass-“

“Joel Miller, Shut up! You’re building this?”

You looked at him like he hung the fucking galaxy, and his heart settled. He knew the two of you would be okay.

“Yes.”

You kissed him, arms thrown over his shoulders, tears streaming down your face as the nightmare turned into a dream.

You would hear his apology out in full later, lord knows you deserved it after last night, but right now, you just wanted to celebrate. Celebrate him, your love, and the little bundle of joy to join the three of you in 7 short months.

#joel miller #the last of us #fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #fluff

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pparadiselost · 4 months

Note

Hi! In your nsfw headcanons for Luna, you said that you see him as the type to enjoy airplane sex, could you do a scenario with this for him, the reader could be his girlfriend or perhaps a flight attendant, or even better: reader is the pilot that Luna requests every time to fly his private jet (and whom he like very much) and they end up having ykyk (tho do whatever you like best, these are just some ideas). Thanks!

red eye.

leonardo luna x pilot fem reader the best way to pass time on an early flight is to get handsy. warning(s): nsfw, blowjob, plane sex, ambiguous relationship minors do not interact.

the glamorous part of any luxurious lifestyle had to have its downsides. a yin to its yang, like how darkness couldn’t exist without light. but as leonardo luna yawns and rubs the sleep out of his heavy eyelids, he decides that there’s really no need for him to be so dramatic about a flight in the weary hours of the day. this was simply one part of being a professional athlete; he was nothing more than a glorified doll for the higher ups who wanted to rake in money from his talent.

he didn’t care about any of that though. he was happy with what he had, with what more he was pursuing. his private jet was nice enough as is, a privilege very few could even dream of affording in their lifetimes. made just for his personal use, stocked with every kind of amenity possible, it was built for comfort so that he could do whatever he needed while being shuttled back and forth across the wide, wide globe.

it was mind-boggling to even think about how many people wanted to see him. leonardo stretches back in his airplane seat, glancing around the vast cabin area. an almost-finished bowl of fruit sits in the tray in front of him, and the flight has been smooth so far.

that much is all thanks to your expertise. you’re his trusted pilot and plaything, and leonardo has made it very clear that he has no use for useless people in his life. and you’ve made yourself very useful to him. he’s sure that with the flight now stabilized, you’re sure to leave the reins to your first officer and come pay him a long overdue visit. you’ve endeared yourself to him quite a bit.

a door clicks open in front of him, and leonardo knows to smile in greeting before he even knows that it’s you that’s going to be stepping out. he leans back a bit further in his seat, and he relaxes his posture to give off that confident, somewhat sleazy vibe has has going for him. “speak of the devil, angel. i was just thinking about you.”

“good morning, luna. i hope you’re enjoying your flight so far.” you always play coy, putting up a wall of professionalism between the two of you. he doesn’t know why you do it, especially when you both know it’s going to go down crumbling within minutes once he starts buttering you up.

“i always do, more so when you’re in the picture.” his bright green eyes gleam with a kind of delight reserved solely for you, enjoying the thick tension that hangs in the air. it’s moments before he pounces, and he’s simply biding his time for the inevitable ending. he doesn’t need to look behind him to know that the section of the private jet where all the attendants are is locked, and it’s you and him alone for the time being.

“i’m glad to hear that,” you plainly state, “our clients’ satisfaction is what matters most to us.”

there it is again, that faux wall of yours. you two always end up having sex whenever he flies with you, and yet you get so shy each and every time. leonardo likes that side of you, so desperate to cling to your dignity even though he wrecks you so thoroughly that he has no clue how you pick yourself back up to go back to your job.

you purse your lips, swallowing back the nervousness clearly welling up inside of you. his cock twitches inside his pants. lewd images of your pretty lips wrapping around his dick, tongue shyly swirling around his length and taking him bit by bit into your mouth floods his brain. blood shoots down south, and he lets out a deep sigh, adjusting the way he sits. he wants to see every inch of your body again, that cute body you hide so determinedly behind a pilot’s uniform that does nothing good for his overactive imagination.

he really, really does like you.

“why don’t we cut to the chase, yeah? we both know why we’re here, and i’m dying to get a little bit of destressing done before the big soccer guys run me down to the ground playing games,” he groans. you don’t bat an eye as he looks at you expectantly, and a loose smirk dangles from his lips. “work your magic.”

“...how would you like me today?” you murmur. there’s a clear dickprint that’s slowly emerging from his pants, the outline of his thick and heavy cock straining against the fabric. you drool a bit inwardly at the sight. it’s already flattering to work so closely with a famous soccer player and to be on good terms with him, but to know that you specifically have such an effect on him? sure, it might be nothing more than baseless lust, but being desired sexually is still desire at its core.

he pretends to think. “let’s put that mouth of yours to good use today. here. on your knees, angel. open up.”

he spreads his knees and pats his inner thigh. your heart flutters nervously inside your chest, but you step forward obediently and sink down to your knees. you stare up at him through your eyelashes, and leonardo is nothing short of smitten. he’s done well to have you in the palm of his hand like this, and he wants nothing more than to bury his cock down your throat.

leonardo breathes through his nose when he feels you caressing his legs. your fingers carefully tug at the waistline of his pants, and he moves with you so that you can pull them down to reveal his underwear. you rub your hands against the big bulge at his crotch, pressing your fingers against his cock so that you can mimic the motion of jerking him off through his boxers.

dull pleasure thrums at his lower stomach. “that’s it… keep going. i said i wanted your mouth, didn’t i?”

you have half a mind to talk back, but you complacent yank down his boxers. you gasp when his dick springs free. no matter how many times you’ve seen it, taken it in various holes, touched it and sucked it, his size still amazes you. he’s still only half-hard, and yet it stands so proud, its girth and length enough to make you immediately fantasize about how good it’ll feel inside of you. you gather up the saliva in your mouth and spit into your palm, and you gingerly grab the base of his cock to stroke him up and down.

“i’m getting to it,” you whisper. you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his length, and he lets out a small groan. you watch his face as you continue to kiss him, alternating between lazy strokes and stimulating him with your lips. his breath hitches when you press a kiss directly to his lips, and a bit of sticky pre-cum clings to your skin. you aren’t taking him into your mouth nor are you using any of your tongue. it’s oddly intimate and sweet, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly it makes his head spin.

“fuck, angel, you’re being bad… is this your way of teasing me? do you want me to punish you? you should know by now that i’m not a patient man,” he laughs darkly. he leers down at you, and the smile on his face is an unspoken warning. you squeeze your thighs together at the sight, your pussy throbbing at the thought of leonardo being mad at you. he’s a man of his word, and that’s a lesson you’ve learned firsthand.

you tentatively stick your tongue out, and while holding the base of his cock firmly, you lick a straight stripe up the underside of his cock. your tongue can feel every single inch, every little vein, every groove that you’ve gotten far too familiar with. you swirl your tongue expertly around his tip, making sure to lather your spit generously around the sensitive head before pressing your mouth fully against his cock and wrapping your lips around his cockhead.

a throaty noise escapes the blond, and he throws his head back. “hah- fuck- so i have to goad you into doing this? fucking whore… that’s it. take me in your mouth. show me how much you want to fuck my cock with that dirty mouth of yours.”

you sink your mouth down his inches slowly, enjoying the feeling of his cock invading you and hitting the back of your throat. there’s so much of him inside your cheeks, and you get to work swiftly by rubbing your drooling tongue over as much of his dick as you can. the bitter, salty taste of his pre-cum against your tongue is familiar, and you relax your throat the best you can to fit as much of his length inside you.

you hollow your cheeks, and you slowly bob your head. you want him to feel good, the taste and feeling of his big cock weighing inside of your mouth making your head spin. you suck and slurp at his length, and your tongue trails over his skin, memorizing every detail of his cock. it’s heady and heavy, and it weighs down on your mouth like a constant reminder of how much leonardo has you entirely at his mercy.

“hah…,” leonardo groans. his words are low and seductive against your ears, and your core throbs with need at the sound of his husky voice. “god, you’re sucking so hard right from the start. did you want it that badly? did you want to suck my dick that badly? yeah, that’s what i thought… got nothing but my cock on your mind, don’t you? it’s all your mouth is good for, isn’t it?”

heat flares up like a spark inside your body at his lewd words. if you were any younger or any newer on the job, you might have snarked back at him, but he isn’t wrong. just the thought of flying with him again has you squirming in your seat, eager for another few hours of sex in the airplane together, your body completely rewired thanks to the insane pleasure he gives you.

you moan shamelessly around his length. the vibrations send delightful waves of pleasure up the soccer player’s gut, and his fingers curl into his seat. you want to pleasure him, want to do such a good job that he’ll reward you by sticking his cock into your cunt next. just the thought of fucking yourself on his cock makes you feel weak in the knees, and you drool around his dick.

a strong hand lands on your scalp, and his knuckles bury themselves into your hair. he doesn’t force you down further onto his cock or anything, but he guides you. his gentle touch contrasted against his harsh words makes you see stars as you rhythmically bob your head up and down, lathering as much spit as you can using your tongue over his shaft.

leonardo thinks you look nothing short of fantastic: his beautiful, professional pilot on her knees, dedicatedly sucking him off, bedroom eyes that are practically begging for him to fuck you. leonardo knows he could have anyone in the world, using his status and money, and yet he’s hung up entirely over some hard working girl by his side. you’re loyal, dependable, and something about you drives him wild.

his cock twitches and jerks inside of your mouth. you do your best to mimic the feeling of your own cunt using your tongue and spit, dragging your lips tightly against his cock, flushing your cheeks out. god, he loves how your mouth feels. warm and wet, it’s everything he’s dreamed of. he doesn’t even need to lift a finger with you doing all the work for him, and all he needs to do is lose himself to the feeling.

“shit, that’s it… fuck, you’re going so hard- yeah, you love this, don’t you? being so greedy for my cock… ha- i better be the only guy you give this kind of treatment to.” he grits his teeth. he knows you wouldn’t entertain anyone else’s attention, not when he’s this eager to lavish his time like this onto you. leonardo isn’t particularly romantic and he should know better than to give his heart away to his pilot of all people, but he doesn’t know how else to describe this convenient happiness that’s landed in his lap. “can’t have my pretty pilot suck someone’s dick now, can i? you’re mine. my pretty cockslut.”

you hum in agreement. why bother chasing other men when you have him? you can feel more of his pre-cum leaking from his tip, and you obediently swirl your tongue around his sensitive head. you lick at his slit, eagerly swallowing down whatever salty pre-cum you can get. his balls tighten up against him, and you can feel his cock twitching dangerously against the back of your throat.

leonardo lets out a shaky exhale. the confident smile he has on is wavering slightly, his mask slipping under the pleasure. “fuck- yes- that’s it, angel. ha- gonna cum inside your mouth- are you going to be good and swallow it all for me? gonna swallow all of my cum?”

you nod frantically. you want it. you want to taste his cum. you want to make him happy, and you want him to reward you. you suck harder on his dick, milking him the best you can with your mouth. you don’t want to think too hard about how messy you must look, with your once-pristine work uniform ruffled and your carefully prepared hair undone by his hand. there’s drool escaping from the corners of your mouth, leaking down your chin and onto his cock, lubing your lips up nicely to make it easy for you to move up and down his length as rapidly as you can.

his palm is reassuring and yet threatening against the crown of your head, coaxing you to continue sloppily going down on him. his chest rises and falls, and he groans, “god- so fucking close…! shit- fuck, jesus fucking christ- yeah, take it, take it just like that… fucking god, you whore, take my cock like that-!”

you stiffen, and he bucks his hips, cramming his cock down far into your mouth. you momentarily gag around him, choking and spluttering around his length as it violates your windpipe. leonardo groans throatily, and he pumps himself in and out of your mouth a few times before he buries his cock back into you, cumming straight down your throat.

the taste of his cum floods your mouth. you choke and gag ungracefully on it, your throat constricting as you struggle to swallow as much of it as you can. it’s hot, it burns, and you can feel his cock pulsing inside your mouth as he spurts the last bits of his cum down into your windpipe. you clench your eyes shut, steeling yourself and forcing your mind to stay with you as you gulp down mouthful after mouthful of thick semen.

leonardo groans again, and even through the hazy fog of his orgasm, he can see you slowly pulling yourself off of his cock. you lick your lips, and your tongue is coated in a thin layer of his cum as you guzzle down whatever escaped your mouth. he sits there, inhaling and exhaling shakily as you tentatively clean him up, your tongue dragging across his softening cock to lap up any remaining bits of his cum.

you’re good. too good.

he grunts. he just came, and yet the sight of you sitting on your legs, staring up so longingly at him makes him go crazy. he wants to reach forward and rip your uniform right off of your body, to stick his cock straight into your tight cunt. he’s sure you want it just as badly as he does, given that you’re pressing your thighs together and looking back at him expectantly.

it doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s getting hard again, and the lovestruck look you’re giving him only fuels him with ideas. he gestures for you to get up, and he motions for you to come closer.

“did you swallow it all up?” he asks coldly. you stick your tongue out, showing him nonverbally that you did. he clicks his tongue, and another smirk overtakes his handsome features.

“i have a cumslut for a pilot. isn’t that a joy?” he quips breathlessly. “did it feel good, swallowing my cum? or would you have preferred that i stuffed it into your pussy instead? yeah, i bet you wanted the latter, didn’t you? i could see the way you were acting. your eyes were practically begging for me to fuck you.”

you nod. your uniform is too tight, too hot, sticks too closely to your skin. you need him to take care of the burning heat inside of your core, and you need to feel the stretch in your walls as he fucks his cock into you. you wouldn’t dream of doing this for anyone else, yet something about leonardo has you acting as if you’ve been bewitched.

he sits back smugly, his hard dick fully on display for you to claim. “what are you waiting for then, angel? go ahead. ride me.”

there’s an almost possessive gleam in his beautiful green eyes as he sizes you up, eyes undressing you right then and there. you glance behind him, to make sure the compartment for the flight attendants are locked, to make sure everything you’ll do with him stays between the two of you.

his voice cuts through your thoughts, almost as if to soothe you. it’s oddly romantic, despite the bastardized relationship you have with him, edging the line between coworker and lover, professional and romantic, the acceptable and the forbidden.

but that doesn’t matter to him, does it? it never has, not when he has you.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he promises, “not without you.”

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk smut #leonardo luna #x reader #fem reader #my writing

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lucrativesoul · 6 months

Text

Divine Beings

summary: your new job at the town's old mansion-museum is a dream, but it's even more so to be working within its centuries old library. this building is fueled by the ancient lore of the undead walking the halls. it's all just tales, right? your archive master and new boss, Leon, knows all about those divine beings.

pairing: leon kennedy x female reader

word count: 13.0k

warnings: smut, borderline public sex (no voyeurism), blood ingestion

a/n: i can't begin to tell you guys how excited i am to be posting this. consider this my halloween gift, but we all know the darker genres are not just for the season! I had so much fun writing this. diving head first into this has really helped me through this rough time in my life situationships are hell and if no one got me at least leon got me :') (and u guys ofc) thank you so much for stopping by and reading, i really really hope you enjoy, and I promise to be back soon with another one. <3

“It won’t be too much of a challenge.” The soft voice coming from the woman in front of you bounced off the walls and high ceilings, making her even harder to decipher than she was in the first place. “All questions about the archive can be redirected to the master archivist, and I’m sure sooner or later you will be retaining all of that important information.”

You said nothing as you followed her down the hall, the click of your heels ever prominent amongst the deserted expanse. For a mansion built hundreds of years ago, they did well to keep it tidy and up to standard. You were impressed.

At the end of the long hall, yellow from the lamps glittering in intervals in the hall, you could see a grand set of large mahogany doors, intricately carved with inlays that you can only imagine must have taken just as long to complete as the residence itself. The initial nerves of the morning were gone, and now you were just more excited than anything to be able to enter one of the oldest libraries in a hundred mile radius, and now you work here.

The smaller lady who was guiding you, whose name you have already forgotten, leaned all her weight on the doors and pushed both of them inward, the two slabs of wood swinging open revealing possibly your most anticipated sight of your life.

The entryway was one tiny landing, with large staircases birthing off the sides to your left and right, making a gentle curve to the main floor. The walls, well, simply put, there were no walls, rather everything that would have been a wall was lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, each one packed with differing widths, heights, colors of books, paperback, leather, hardcover, fabric. In the middle of the room were more free standing shelves, still packed to the brim, and the occasional long wooden table with seats scattered about the room. Directly opposite the entryway was a large window, facing the front of the mansion, and it served as the main attractor to the building. Rectangular at the bottom, it shaped off at the top, nearly fifty feet high, in a gothic style pointed arch, nestled gently in between two, much skinnier, similarly shaped windows, which were fixed off at the top with stained glass, giving the brown room rays of color on the sunny days.

You stepped forward, and having seemingly expected this reaction, your guide didn’t say a word for a moment while you took in your grand view. You almost couldn’t speak. It was more than you were expecting. It was everything.

Though it was a sunny day, you already found yourself anticipating the oncoming bad weather, knowing the treacherous drive through the rain would be so worth it to be here on a rainy day.

“Let’s go down to the archive office.” The woman’s tone was gentle, knowing you most likely would not have moved from your spot if she didn’t push you along. You followed her down the left staircase.

There were a few stragglers in the grand room. The manion’s open hours were not near close yet, but you were surprised there weren’t more people here at this hour. You doubted that it had anything to do with the age old rumors about the estate, there was no way people truly kept away because of those tall tales.

After coming off the staircase, you craned your neck up high, reveling in the surrounding papers and scrolls adorning the walls. You tried your best to keep up with the woman while also having your attention diverted, but had to fully look down when she ducked into a corridor below the main landing.

This hallway was plain and simple, and you felt your resolve slowly crumble away as you remembered why you were here–a job.

“The furthest of my knowledge is to bring you into the archive office and wait for the master archivist to meet you here. If you want to take a seat, he should be here shortly. Welcome to the museum crew.” She smiled at you, and after a thank you, you pulled out the seat in front of the desk and sat down. Alone in the room now, you turned your head to look at the surroundings, trying to gauge what type of environment this would be.

Despite your history in the field, you were still surprised when you got a call back wanting to have an interview, and when that went well and you were hired a week later, shock still warmed your body, paired with the growing excitement when you realized you would be working in the epicenter of your old town’s rich history museum and archive, and the home of all the town’s tall tales.

With all your years of studying classic literature spinning the yarn of mythical creatures, it was a no brainer when you saw this opportunity present itself.

You jumped in your chair when your name was spoken in a low rasp. You turned around briskly.

“I’m sorry, you startled me.” You stood in an instant, extending your hand, ready to introduce yourself, but it appeared the stranger already knew who you were.

“It’s alright, many say I have that effect.” You sat down at his gesture to do so, and he walked around the opposite side of the bland, deep wooden desk. This man, instantly captivating, wore a simple white button down with a crisp black vest over top. He had a wiry pair of glasses tucked into the collar, where the top button lay opened. His hair was a dirty blonde, browning at the roots. The sharp contours of his face showed years of experience, and you caught no air of uncertainty from the way he presented himself. Intrigued would be an understatement.

“Did our lobby host introduce you well? I know one walk down the foyer isn’t nearly a fraction of the time needed to look around, but, maybe it gave a taste to what’s to come.”

You nodded gently, your eyes still trained on his face. “Oh, yes, she most definitely let me take it in for a moment. I can’t wait to know everything better.”

He nodded, shifting through a folder and some papers. You were almost embarrassed at how you couldn’t take your eyes away from him, not even for a second, hoping the staring would come second to whatever information he was about to share with you.

“What drew you here? It’s quite tucked away.” He was still not looking at you, so you made no move to avert your own gaze.

“Well,” You began, taking a second to form a proper sentence. “I’ve always wanted to work in a grand archive like this one. It is just so full of new opportunities, new experiences. I’ve always loved this place.”

He nodded. “I felt the same as well. I wish I could tell you how swelled I was when I walked in here the first time, but it was so long ago, I barely remember it. Anyway,” He studied the paper intensely, then looked back up at you. You felt heated suddenly. “You had a pretty extensive background in literary culture, criticism, and classic studies. You were with a publishing branch for a few years?”

You nodded. “It didn’t pan out to my hopes, and I jumped at this chance when I saw they were on the hunt for a new archivist.”

He hummed. “I was. I was looking for someone new. Our last had left us suddenly, we had a vacancy.” You nodded again, the innate curiosity taking over about the ex-archivist. “So, you understand the majority of your job title, yes?” Nodded again, but said nothing so he could continue. “Basically, working side by side with me, the better half of our tasks will unfortunately be rearranging once the public comes through, they tend to leave things everywhere, I’m sure you know, and the other half is once our doors are closed, we do many of the repairs on the classics, restocking our souvenir books, and the tedious paperwork that comes along with the museum establishment.”

For a final time, you nodded. “I’m greatly looking forward to it.”

Now, he looked into your eyes, and he tilted his head gently forward. “I’m greatly looking forward to you joining us. As of right now, it’s just me and one other, so now it’s three.”

You smiled, then it faltered a moment once you remembered something. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if you said your name.”

His lopsided grin painted a picture in your mind that you knew you would be seeing even when you closed your eyes. “Leon Kennedy. Master archivist.”

–

You hadn’t imagined you would live to see a day when you were looking forward to stepping into your place of work, but this had proven you wrong. You were motivated by the mere thought of being surrounded by all the books and pages, all the knowledge you could possibly dream about, learning something new every day.

But, you knew secretly since starting, you would be lying to yourself if you denied the effect that Leon had on your willingness to come in everyday. He greeted you with gentleness, and you couldn't help but always match his energy when you walked into the office in the morning hours. Always spotting the grin on his face at the sight of you as well. It grew to a blazing heat in your chest to see this reaction.

There was a routine you followed with great ease after only a week. It truly was the most of what Leon had said it would be, and to your own surprise, when curious visitors asked about the archive’s collections, you picked up on the correct answers faster than you had expected.

One of your favorite end of day tasks, oddly enough, was replacing the books that visitors had taken off the shelves to browse. It exposed you to so much literature and titles that you had or hadn’t heard of, and gave you a better idea of the archive itself, and its shelf locations. There was nothing more relaxing in your life than admiring the centuries of artform adoring these bookcases.

Here, you found yourself sliding leather bounds back into their places, reveling at every cover for as long as you could get away with, feeling the slick material slide under your fingers as you pushed them into their homes on the shelves. Taking two steps forward, looking down at the engraving in the cover, embossed in golden letters, you startle when you knock into something hard, grip hardening on the book so as not to drop or damage it.

“I’m so sorry, Leon. I didn’t even hear you coming. Very quiet.” He looked down at you, his deep black shirt sucking the color out of everything around him. An amused expression danced on his features.

“So people have told me. I was trying to find you earlier for a question, but you’ve eluded me for the last thirty minutes.”

You smiled gently, but had to avert your eyes down to the books you were still caressing, lest your eyes should wander over the fabric stretched thin over his upper arms. You did not need this mental image lasting with you for who knows how long.

“Sorry for that, but, here I am. What’s up?”

Leon, so you have come to the conclusion, is much different than any overseer of a job you have had in the past. HIs gentle authoritative style pushed you in the correct direction he wanted you to take as an archive employee, but he never became harsh or strict with any of his guidelines. In fact, the way he approached conversation felt much more like a casual coworker rather than a boss.

“I had an opportunity you may be interested in. Finish your tasks here, and come up to my office. We can discuss it, I think you’ll be intrigued.”

You nodded, but grabbed his attention quickly at the notice of a small piece of information. “Wait, Leon,” He turned around at the sound of his name. “Your office? I don’t know where that is, I don't think I have been there yet.”

He nodded slowly. “Of course, I forgot. I’ll wait over by the information desk for you to finish. Don’t rush.”

You nodded, though he had already turned around. You took an extra second to trace his path with your gaze, wondering what this tight, breathless feeling in your chest was every time he was in your presence.

With empty hands, you stalked over to the center of the room, finding Leon’s back to you, hands shuffling through a stack of folders. He disregarded them when he heard you approach.

“Follow me.” Then, with a small impressed gesture on his face, “Faster than I expected.”

You said nothing as you followed him through the library, watching his back intently as if something were going to happen any second. Surely he could feel the way you were staring, how could he not? If this were you, you would have felt someone looking all over you.

He presented you to a discreet door tucked into the back wall of the archive, a mere few feet away from the large windows, now letting the dying sunset light in to paint the room orange. He stepped aside to let you in first, but what you were expecting to see was nowhere in sight. Instead of an office, a room, even a closet with a desk, chair, and maybe even a computer, it was a staircase. A spiral staircase at that, and it looked like it went up at least thirty feet.

“Your office is up there?” You couldn't help but ponder out loud while staring listlessly, yet amazed, above. You heard him snicker behind you.

“It is. How could I not have taken that one when presented to me? Go on. They won’t get any shorter.”

You shook your head to snap yourself out of the sudden daze, and carefully took the steps. This location was painfully plain compared to the rest of the archive, and part of you understood why, but also wished you had something to look at on the way up.

The tall, dark, wooden door presented in front of you looked like an import from the homes of the finest wood slabs of ebony, intricate carvings on each of the inlays. Not even the doors of the archive looked like this, it seemed such a waste to be hidden up these stairs, guarding Leon's private office. Maybe he personally requested this door to be here. What an interesting design choice, if so.

You pushed it open, not waiting for further instruction as there would have been nothing else to do. This office held far more personality than the one you were used to seeing on the ground floor, and you were positive you could spend just as many hours dissecting the shelves in this little room as you could on the main exhibit.

It was clear this room was built out of what might have been a buttress back in the gothic ages, the ceiling was high, circular and pointed, raw wooden beams were exposed to support the cone roof above you. The shelves were rounded, contrasted with the straight edge ones below. Books that looked as old as the dawn of time were cluttered on these shelves, a thought that almost made you panic, the treatment of them would make their casings fall off their backs faster than usual.

Leon didn’t miss any of your observations. “These are from a collection that I couldn’t possibly put down on the main floor, obviously they have seen better days. They don’t need more of the public’s touch to wither them even further.”

You swallowed, and forced yourself to face him. He was taking a seat in a grand maroon velvet desk chair. Even that looked ornate. “Aren’t you worried handling them like this is even worse?”

He gestured at the seat in front of the desk, then shook his head. He spoke only when you sat down. “They have been with me for years, I know how they behave by now.”

You had nothing to say in return, so you simply affixed your gaze onto his, waiting to hear the reason he brought you up here.

“You’ve found a passion in this place, I can tell.” His voice was low, and it made you shiver. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone treat this place like a living entity.”

“It feels alive…” You started, but had no way to finish. He was drawing the words right from your mind.

“I do believe so as well. What brought you here? Besides what you studied making this a readily available opportunity.”

You looked down for a moment. Truthfully, it was a little childish why you were here. You knew that much and you could at least admit that to yourself. But, could you admit that to Leon? It had turned out that you loved this place as much as you would love a home you had been in for years, this place never became a burden to walk into, and you doubted that it would ever become that. You didn’t know what kind of answer he was expecting to hear from you, but Leon could be trusted. You knew that well enough by this point. He expressed his gratitude to your presence to the archive many times and surely, don’t you owe him the truth for that?

“To be honest with you…” You started tentatively. His face showed no shift in expression. “I have loved this place since I was a child. Something about it, maybe the aura, drew me to it. That’s why I think I feel it… why it feels so alive to me.” He nodded, not interrupting your thoughts. “This town’s folklore is something I loved for all my life.”

This time, he closed his eyes and nodded slowly, as if finally understanding why you had come here. And, he did, as that once sentence, you knew, would explain to any local why you chose this mansion. This archive.

“Maybe that’s silly of me,” You shook your head at yourself slightly. “But I think I owe it to the child who directed my path in life.”

He smiled at you, no sense of mockery on his face. “Let me ask you this, though,” You sat still, waiting. “Do you believe?”

You did not need to think this time. “Yes. I do.”

Leon leaned back in his chair and let his forearms lay on the armrests by his sides. “I think you are wise for that. Many choose to stop believing in folklore once they hit such an age where they know stories from historical recounts, but, don’t you think the two meld together at some point?”

You nodded. “I have always believed in that. And as soon as I stepped in here… the minute I came here to get this job, and even as a child, when I saw this place, I knew the stories were true. There’s no way that this place doesn’t have its hidden secrets.”

“Hidden in plain sight. Everyone talks of the vampire roaming the halls.” Leon added.

You quirked a smile– you couldn't help it. “What’s not to believe about that? I can feel it when I'm here.”

Leon nodded, his smile not fading. After this conversation, you knew you made the right choice in choosing to trust Leon. How could you not?

“People are drawn here on the idea that they will spot him somewhere, but look far too closely. They think every staff member could be him in disguise. They look down every dark hallway wishing to see him slinking around the corner, trying to hide. They look in every window from the outside, thinking he is hiding from the sun. But, there comes the melding, and the separating of truth and fiction. Why should he be doing those things, because they believe it to be true, or because they were told to believe it?”

You had nothing to say to this at first. You knew Leon would be holding a plethora of information on the mansion-museum’s lore as being home to the city's resident vampire from centuries ago. You couldn’t consume enough information on the idea, and yet, Leon still stunned you with what he had to say about it, simply because he had been here to see the behavior of those who believe in him. You wished he would keep talking about it, but knew that the premonition of a mythical being lurking the hallways was probably not the reason he brought you up here to talk about in the first place.

“Your candor is appreciated here.” He held his smile, and his eyes were sincere along with his spoken words. The windows didn’t allow an incredible amount of light into the room, the lamp sitting by his side on the desk casting a yellow haze over the space, the red lampshade drenching everything above in a blood tint. Even through this distortion, you could see how blue his irises were. Icy. A tingle ran across the skin of your arms.

“Now, for what you are actually up here for.” He broke the gaze, and you involuntarily released a sigh of relief. Looking down at his desk, in nothing in particular, you noticed there was nothing of importance on its surface, he continued. “Every so often, for no reason other than to bring variety in, we have a few shelves in the center of the floor that we rearrange to bring in new displays, or to shift the attention to something else.” You nodded, and you were sure you knew he was going to ask for your assistance in moving everything. You didn't mind. “Right now the table has displays of books on the history of witchcraft and others of the sort, quite fitting for the upcoming season, but quite the insult to the monument they’ve decided to promote within.” He sighed. You couldn’t help but smile. “But, I think we can get even better.”

“I have ideas. I think I could help with this.”

Leon smiled wider. A gesture he doesn't often show to the general patronage. It made you feel warm. “That’s what I was hoping you would say. Now, though, an unfortunate part.” He sighed, and his smile disappeared. More shivers took place in your body of the heat. “I would prefer it to be done by the end of this week, and because the mighty institution is using the Halloween season to promote museum ticket sales,” Another sigh. “They’ve extended our opening hours. Now, we, as the archive, do have the liberty to close our area before they close the museum’s doors, but I've been strongly advised against doing so.”

You nodded again, listening. He shrugged, looking at you, as if waiting for an input you didn’t know you should give. You squeaked out an agreement.

“I would like to shift two days of your hours to overnight. Would that be a problem?”

“It’s not. This is my full time job now, so I'm at your expense.”

He chuckled softly at your words. “Not an expense, just… assistance.”

Nonetheless, even if Leon did agree to your words of expense, you would be agreeing. He told you the guidelines, don’t come in for the day shifts, just come in for the nighttime. He handed over a key, an old, brass one that he told you would unlock the large archive doors after hours. You agreed with no hesitation, of course.

You had discovered soon after this, that fear could exist in the same plane as excitement. Really, isn’t fear just an overwhelming excitement of something unknown? Standing in front of the mansion, you craned your neck as far back as your body would allow. The looming building was dark, save for a few spotlights, but other than that, it was as dead as the night around you. The suspicious lack of insect and animal life noises was eerie, but you swallowed that lump of nerves, and walked up to the front.

As Leon instructed you, flashing your badge to the night guards let you right through, and you followed the path you have come to know so well that led right to the archive doors.

It was a strange aura that surrounded you, one that made you hesitate briefly before unlocking, and relocking yourself inside. The air was so still, and that life you felt pulsing through the corridors on a daily basis was missing now. There was nothing, no one, no noise to fill your ears, so the blood pumping through was your only solace now. Before you could sit on this any longer and unease yourself further, you moved on.

The lock slid cleanly into place, and the resounding click that was heard resonated throughout the hall. You pushed the door open, wanting to get away from any undead lurking eyes that may be watching you.

Not turning to shut the door behind you, you stared out into the vast expanse of the dark archive. The shelves were still, though shadows flitted in between them as if dancing with the moonlight. Every time you blinked, dark figures appeared at the edge of your vision, teasing your brain, making a shudder do its rounds throughout your nervous system. Though you loved this place, the nighttime gave it a whole new personality you weren’t sure you were quite ready to uncover.

Turning to your right, you flipped the first two lightswitches, casting a spotlight down onto the center of the floor, and one at the door where you stood. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you turned back around.

“Leon!” You cried out.

Said man was in the center of the floor, as if coming out to greet you like it was the middle of the day. He had on a white button down, the first two loose around his neck, and his hair falling lazily over the left side of his forehead. It took even longer for your breath to still.

“You’re here?” You gasped out.

“Yes, I was wondering when you would get here. I guess you are right on schedule, though.” You carefully fled down the stairs, not taking your eyes off Leon, curious if he would disappear again.

“Here with all the lights off? How could you see?” He didn’t answer your question until you were now face to face with him, having placed your belongings on the staircase, figuring you would not be spending much time in the office.

He shrugged slowly. “You get used to it after a while. There’s something about this place at night, I don’t get many chances to enjoy it with only myself.” You said nothing to this, just trying to digest his logic. There was no point in arguing it.

“Well, we should probably get started then?” He smiled softly at your words and flung instructions at you, making the night go by as if you were asleep through it all.

With half of the display moved, Leon had stalked away to the main office, and you cleaned up the floor to pass until he let the both of you out. Standing next to the tall shelves, facing the window, you almost started to understand what Leon had said earlier. There is something about the place at night.

You had never thought you would get to experience that, though, of course. What other chance would you be wandering throughout these aisles all alone at night, with all the lights off? You were curious now, and jealous that Leon had been the one to experience that, and you might not ever.

You walked slowly towards the window, the lights behind you fading the further you went from them. Your fingertips grazed the edges of the shelves you walked along, as if picking up all the information held on them in one little touch. The night looked cold from where you stood, and you almost felt the temperature on your skin in that instant. The moon was full and bright, and it lit up your skin like the lights now behind you. Though these walls were thick and with plenty of objects in the room to muffle the sound, it could not drown out the roaring chorus of crickets perched in every branch right outside the glass. The chirps matched the beating of your heart, and soon the rush of blood was replaced by the insects' whispers, a cacophony of life, your vessel was the audience.

You saw yourself in the glass. Your skin lit up by the moon's graces, the hollows of your face carved out in deep shadows, you became painted into the history within these mansion walls, and you looked as if you always belonged. Eternal.

“The moon is bright.”

You gasped and startled again, turning swiftly to see Leon peering over your shoulder, looking at the same illusive mirror that you were. “You should stop doing that Leon, I’m going to have a heart attack one of these days.” You breathed out a laugh.

“I thought I was obvious enough, but I suppose not.” He looked past you back into the window again. “The moonlight makes you look marvelous.”

Your stomach twisted. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, and couldn't help but turn back around to look again, and dare you say, you agreed. Your airbrushed skin, even flawless in the reflection of the glass, a gentle chiaroscuro against the vast emptiness behind you. Except for–

“Full moon nights are when I feel the most company here. I think she wants to be alive here as well.” You turned again, seeing Leon having unmoved from directly behind you. The cool blue light sitting atop his cheekbones, highlighting strands of blonde hair, contrasting the blaze of his hazel eyes, which were unrelenting on you. He, too, was a relief sculpture under the coalescence of the moon and the shadows. Where was his portrait to be viewed next to yours?

“Yeah, I… I agree now.” Though you felt a shiver crawl through you, you couldn’t make yourself turn around again to look. Your body was preventing you from doing so. Simply, you could only walk past Leon, back onto the main floor.

The ride home along in your car proved no more solace than you were hoping. You could see the silhouette of the mansion grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, and it felt like departing from a friend who did nothing but tell all their troubles. It was hard to believe how quickly your image of the place shifted, though, you still felt so drawn, and so attracted to the premises. And, not to mention, the man within its walls.

What you saw puzzled you. Simply, it had been a trick of the light. You knew that there was no way the light from the moon was able to reach every point of the floor, so he was standing in the shadow. But, how had he approached so silently? Leon was always so silent. This wasn’t the first time the man has snuck up on you. A few others have said he gives them a fright as well, but it seems to happen to you much more often.

Leon was an enigma, in more ways than one. He spoke in riddles, or it felt like it. You read plenty of classics in your time studying literature, and it was as if he had taken his vocabulary straight from works published a century ago. With a borderline transatlantic accent, it always took you a moment to decipher his sentences. It wasn’t as if he read too many of the classics, it was like he came from one.

As silly as the idea might sound to others, you believed it fully. It was just a tall tale from times past, warning people of a monster that didn’t exist. They kept the legend going to fuel tourism and sell museum tickets, but some still believed, and one of those some was you. You felt this answer in your heart fully and truly, and while it scared you to a degree, it awoke an excitement as never before felt in you. That almost scared you more.

There was no way that Leon wasn’t the vampire roaming the halls of the old mansion and archive.

His aura was one you had never felt in a person before. You have been attracted to people in the past, but you never felt someone so physically radiant that it was almost tangible. His gaze cut right through you like the sharpest knife, bringing a stinging trail along your skin as well as the burning desire to feel it again. It was undeniable, you had never felt such an insane attraction to someone you barely knew, yet, knowing that plus your newfound discovery, which you fully believed in, you wanted to dive headfirst into this unknown territory to explore.

All day this weighed on your mind. You couldn’t rid Leon’s image from your thoughts. You couldn’t deny, even without the personality that occupied your thoughts, he was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He was picturesque in form, a painting made by the most skilled hands. You were ashamed to admit, only slightly, that you were dying to know more about the maps of his body. He always hid under button up shirts, but none that were ever too big that you couldn’t tell he had large biceps, most of the time the sleeves rolled up so the veins in his forearm protruded with movement. The sight always made your mouth dry.

You had to assume, only based on these facts, that he must have been fit, and if he was, which you had no doubt of, paired with his stunning profile, you weren’t sure how you made it so far into this job without making an attempt to pass out in his arms.

As expected, you could think of nothing else leading up to the hours you had to join him back for the second overnight shift. You honestly forgot the whole purpose of you going at this time, all of that having been pushed to the side in favor of thinking of the man in charge of the place. You were nervous, yet anticipated your arrival, hoping to gain more clues to back up your (unwavering, in your mind) hypothesis.

The guards let you in without the flash of your badge. You slinked quietly through the main hall, footsteps bouncing off of every surface. There wasn’t a soul in sight, yet you felt life all over your body.

The key slid into the lock with ease, and the tell tale clink of the turn mechanism followed.

“Leon?” Your voice echoed through the archive as you shut the door behind you. The lights were off, once again.

You bound down the steps, dropping your belongings on the same stair as the previous night. This time, instead of heading right to the center of the floor to converge with Leon, you stood still on the last step.

“Leon?” You asked again after the man did not do his magical appearance trip at your entry. You felt a cold chill run over your skin. Now, you feel more alone than before. For the first time since becoming involved in the archive, the aisles and books were more sinister than inviting, and every dark corner had a spirit watching you.

You slowly left the stair you held solace on, and walked forward into the center of the room. It felt like every shelf and spine were staring at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to make a wrong move. You wanted to get to work, but you could barely will yourself back up the stairs to the lightswitch. You looked around again as if begging for help from a bystander who was not there.

There was a sudden shift in the air. You weren’t sure now if it was real or if you were hallucinating, but you felt a constricting sensation in your chest, and you felt not alone anymore. Leon was nowhere in sight, but you knew someone else was here.

Suddenly, you couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was enveloping you like a thick rope, and your breath was coming out sloppy. You had to leave.

You took one step backwards and hit a wall behind you. You yelped, not remembering stepping anywhere else besides the center of the room. You turned, and nearly jumped higher out of your body at the sight of what, or who, was behind you.

“You were down here with the lights off. Is something wrong or are you trying out my methods?”

Leon stood before you, in his usual uniform of a white button down shirt and black pants. His hair looked longer tonight, not pushed back with gel, but soft waves were falling across his face, pushed aside to let his sculpted face show through. Here, in the dark, he was much more brooding than he could have ever come across during your typical shifts. That gaze was not the friendly one you had seen in times past.

“No, no I just…” You swallowed, the words falling right out of your mouth. “I thought you would be here. Well, you are, now, but…” You gestured behind you, still feeling the presence of non-existent bodies.

Leon slowly nodded at your words, not moving towards you, but you felt his presence getting closer.

“I have been here. I was in the office.” He gestured behind him lazily, to the office you were used to frequenting as an employee. The door was closed.

You shook your head. “I didn’t hear you, though.” You looked again at the door, and when you looked back into his eyes, he knew what you were thinking. He was lying, and he knew you knew that.

“You know I’m quiet.” His tone felt like a surge straight from your head to your feet, rooting you into place no matter how much you urged your brain to send movement to your limbs.

“Well…” You pushed words out of your throat. “I guess let’s finish this, then.” You broke eye contact and finally felt your body moving forward, but you knew he was still looking at you. You could feel it.

The moon, if it were even possible, was even brighter this night. It’s full face projected into the windows like a spotlight, and once you were able to put your body into motion and further the project of moving book displays, you barely paid note of how Leon never turned the lights on for the both of you. Maybe he could see perfectly well.

It was nearing one in the morning at this point, and you had one last stack to move. You made gentle conversation with Leon throughout, refusing to put on a strange facade solely off of your own thoughts. He reverted back to his normal state, though normal is a generous word to use for a man like Leon.

You walked back to the table being used to house books while they are moved, and picked up the last stack. Bram Stoker, Dracula.

This made you snap your head up. You were sure this hadn’t been on the list set to display, yet, here it was. You looked around, trying to search out Leon to question him about this last minute addition. But, as expected, you realized, he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, you don't remember what he was doing last.

“Leon?” You looked back over to the office door, still closed. You would have heard if he went in there and closed it behind him. You put the stack of books down and walked (slowly, you now felt that desolate aloneness again) over to the back right corner, towards Leon’s private office.

You could not make yourself walk any quicker than the snail pace you currently set. It was odd, and you knew if you were afraid you should be walking faster, but for some reason, surrounded by these books and shelves, you felt as if the faster you moved, the quicker you would be caught. Caught by what? You couldn’t answer that question, yet the word suddenly appeared in your head to describe the situation.

You were distracted on the way to the back. You thought, again, you saw a drift of black smoke waft by as if it were another hallucination. You stopped in your tracks, heart in your throat. You shifted paths, only momentarily, you were now desperate to be back in the company of Leon, your supposed vampire master archivist.

The carpet below you muffled your footsteps, but still, you noticed they were loud enough to be heard, unlike how Leon had been appearing from behind you out of thin air. You almost had to squint as you walked by the windows, the moonlight a sudden burst of fireworks in contrast to the dim workspace you had been habiting. As expected, after leering around the corners, hoping to sneak up on the entity, there was nothing but empty space.

There was a light pattering at the window, and you turned your head to see the sky spitting down on you. The window, slowly becoming stained with raindrops, still held that brush stroked image of you, forever intertwined within the archive. It was a hypnotizing image, as if you no longer recognized yourself the more the rain came down. It was a comforting sound, the taps of the drops on the glass filling the void. It felt like another presence, and it calmed you down to a degree, as calm as you could allow yourself to get.

There was a creak from behind you, as if someone had opened a door, or stepped on a stair. You whipped back around, hoping to see Leon at this point, but still, he was nowhere to be seen. The room was still, everything untouched, but your eyes still scanned every crevice, convinced you were going to miss something if you weren’t careful.

The rain was still sounding off behind you, and you could see the bending of the light as it cast onto the floor. It was the only thing moving. You were far too on edge now.

You turned back to the window…

“Leon!” You took a step back, now more afraid than surprised at his sudden appearance. “Where did you come from? I’ve been looking for you.” You took a huff, trying to catch your breath from his genuinely scaring you. He was standing in front of the window, the moon behind him casting into a deep silhouette, face barely available.

“I’ve been here the whole time.” His voice was lower than before now, and you could barely piece together thoughts. He turned his head to the side, as if surveying the room that you were just inspecting. His eyes caught a glimpse of the light, and you saw the deep yellow in them. It sent a sudden pit to your stomach, and a memory to flash in front of your eyes.

The day he had taken you up to his office, and you spoke about the legends of the vampire, and why you were drawn to the house. You remember the look he gave you when he had said he appreciated your honesty.

Leon had blue eyes that day. That color was nowhere to be seen now.

You swallowed, trying to moisten your mouth in order to speak. “No… no you weren’t. I looked for you. You disappeared. And you just came out of nowhere. What is going on with you, Leon?” As hard as you tried to suppress it, you heard the trembling sounds that came out of your mouth. It was audible that you were panicking, and he knew it.

He stared at you for another moment. His arms were clasped behind his back. “What are you afraid of?”

The rumbling of his voice shot straight through you, to your dismay, and you forced all your composure together to face him without folding.

You gave him a once over, trying to find… something, that might give him away. What you were looking for exactly, you couldn’t say, but you couldn’t stare into his eyes any longer, especially having realized they were not the same eyes you saw a few days ago.

“You’re just… being odd, Leon.” You looked back into his eyes, or what you could see of them from underneath the shadows. Being this close to him, you felt like you were suffocating, and you needed air. “I would like to finish this now.”

You slowly side stepped him, Leon still unmoving in his position against the window. You sighed and turned your head, catching your rain-distorted reflection once again. It was you, a mirror image of someone suffering the same mystifying scenarios as you were in the present moment, standing ever alone against the bookshelves, not offering the comfort they usually do.

You stopped short in your tracks and did a double take. Now your body was fully turned toward the window.

Your reflection stared at you, looking just as perplexed as you did. Without shifting your eyes to the side, you saw the equally distorted reflection of the wooden shelves, illuminated under the lunar glow. You saw your empty hands, you saw the dark hallway behind you, and out of your peripheral vision you saw that Leon had not moved from his spot yet… yet you could not see him.

Leon was not present in the reflection.

You could do nothing but stare in shock and slight horror as you watched the whole scene unfold. A part of you was now realizing, though you had put two and two together in the comfort and safety of your own home, now in the presence of the man and seeing the evidence with your own two eyes, your veins ran cold, and you could not will yourself to move. Not until Leon did.

He shifted, you couldn’t even turn your head to watch. Now he was out of any point of view you had, but you felt his presence press himself against your back, staring into the same image you were. It was the most disorienting experience, feeling Leon’s body behind you, yet not seeing him peering over your shoulder. It didn’t take an expert for him to know how you were feeling in this moment, and you were also sure he knew exactly what conclusion you had just come to.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice presented itself directly in your ear, and you felt the featherlight graze of his lips on the shell. You could feel the strands of his hanging blonde waves hit your cheek, and while your eyes stung like you wanted to cry, a blaze set itself alight within your body at his proximity.

You could only shake your head slowly at first. “You…” You fumbled over your words, unable to take your eyes off of the glass. The mysterious image of only you and not the person directly behind you will forever be burned into memory. “What are you?”

You heard him inhale slowly. You felt the heat from his face lift away from yours, but it only moved up a fraction, his mouth now pressing closely into your hairline.

“Don’t you know already? You’re a smart girl.” He was condescending with his words, most surely using what you had told him a few days ago against you now. All that talk you did about you believing the legend of the mansion’s vampire, yet here you were, standing right in front of him and refusing to say it out loud.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice was barely louder than a tremble. “You let me run my mouth like a fool in your office, and you didn’t even tell me that I was right this whole time.” Your tongue was so dry, speaking became a task. Your fingers were growing numb, but you still found it hard to move.

He snickered, and you felt the air from his breath fan your face. “And ruin the surprise? I’d much rather see the look on your face after you put it together yourself than having told you right then and there. There’s nothing I love more than when I see someone realize the reality of their convictions. Quite especially someone like you.”

You closed your eyes. It was all you could stand to do at this moment. You shot them back open, however, when you felt his broad hand at your back, pushing you forward, closer to the glass.

Walking closer to the window with the rain now coming down steadily against it, he released where he had put his hand, but did not remove himself from your closeness.

“What do you see?”

He said nothing more, waiting for you to find the composure to be able to speak properly again. As hard as you tried to look past your bleary visage to the outside world, it was nearly impossible. It was dark as ever out there, the moon unrelenting in her radiance.

After a few more seconds, “Myself.” You heard Leon hum from behind you.

“And?” He egged you on.

You shook your head. “That’s it. I can see the moon. The rain.” Your voice grew softer, body relaxing slowly, but for what cause, you weren’t able to find. You involuntarily let out a low sigh when you felt the tips of his fingers crawl up the right side of your neck, settling on your jaw. He pushed your head to the side, enough to expose the canvas of flesh in the reflection.

“Curious… Don’t you think?” His hand flitted lower, raising a trail of goosebumps along the tender skin. A finger pressed inward, right underneath the crook of your jaw, feeling the pulse of your bloodstream. “How much of yourself you can see, the first thing you always notice, for the living must look and be vain.”

Chills spread quickly throughout your body. His hand felt shockingly warm, the opposite of what you would have expected from the typical vampirical lore.

“You… you don’t know what you look like?” You whispered.

“How should I? I’m not able to unless someone lets me know, but even then, do I want to?”

You said nothing for a moment, trying to breathe through the weakness in your abdomen at his touch, which was still laid over the tender place on your throat.

“I’d like to think you still look the same as the day you stopped aging.” He hummed again at your words. Despite his remark of not knowing if he would like anyone to tell him what he looked like, he let you continue in your description. “You’re like a sculpture. Rough around the edges but so blended out, only made by hands whom the gods approved of.” His hand left your pulse, settling on the crook of your neck and shoulder, slightly squeezing. You couldn’t see, of course, but you felt that he still held his face close to yours. “You’d almost be better fitted walking the main halls as a work of art than hiding in these books.”

“That is very affirming to hear from a woman like you.” A breath of silence, then he continued. “You’ve always known, you always believed, and you know what I am. I’m quite drawn to you, I am long familiar with the feeling of someone who is covered in fear, it’s nowhere present on you.” He brought his lips down back to your ear, and you felt his left hand sneak around your waist. Your knees almost buckled. “You’re captivating… I cannot bring myself to keep things professional at all times.”

You were now, truly, at a loss for words, however he did not take your silence as resilience. The hand that was not around your waist was now pushing down the shoulder of your top, revealing the smooth skin. You shuddered again, letting your eyes close once more, and you gave in to the physical feelings over trying to rationalize anything verbally.

“I can’t stand here and deny myself from trying to get to you any longer. I have to know… I must know…” His voice was a borderline growl in your ear now, and you shocked yourself with the smallest whimper that poured over your lips. It only fueled him.

You were pushed forward by a sudden force from Leon, both hands coming up to brace yourself against the window. You were glad no one had ever turned the lights on, if any of the guards decided to walk the perimeter, surely you would have been seen.

Interestingly enough to you, despite being in the current position you were, you no longer felt any anxiety from being in the presence of your manifested form of Leon the vampire. Though he did stand there and confirm it all to you, no part of you felt like you needed to run away any longer. In fact, the contrast between the cold window and his warm body was all the convincing you needed to stay.

“I would never do this on an ordinary day, if it were anyone else I would fight these urges, but with you… I just find myself succumbing to something I wanted so suddenly.” His mouth moved against the skin of your neck, and you arched back into his body behind you. “I will not continue unless you tell me not to, but you should know I need more than just the one thing from you right now…”

The deep octaves of his voice had your thoughts swimming, and any rational mind had flown far out the window. There was nothing to argue with when there was nothing you felt the need to refuse.

“I…” A gasp from you, collecting breath you had not known you were holding. “I can’t let you do this then let you loose. This is too far beyond simplicity now.” Your breath fogged the window, and you couldn't help but notice once more how you could only see your bare shoulder in the glass, and not his large hand around the bone.

“I would never,” His lips were tucked up under your jawline, the vibrations from his voice being felt all over your body. A kiss would be less intimate. “You’re mine.”

At once, his hand on your waist tightened and he opened his mouth, his sharp fangs pierced the flesh right underneath your pulse and you gasped loudly, the pinch making you stiffen at first, then making your legs lose balance.

Leon’s hot mouth on your throat was like a painkiller compared to his teeth sunk into you, and his hand held you steady as you slowly felt the need to fall to your knees. He removed his right hand from your shoulder and wrapped it underneath your right arm, crossing over your chest to hold you steady against him, and the more you gasped and writhed at him feeding, the closer he pulled you into him.

He was groaning into your neck, his tongue swiping over the stinging wounds after he had retracted his fangs, and every time more blood pulsed out of the surface, he rocked his hips into you, and you could tell he was enjoying this in more ways than just the one. And, something you never would have believed you would get to admit, you were growing more excited with every passing second as well.

“Leon…” You whispered, unable to find strength to raise to your full voice. You clenched your eyelids shut, a burst of white filtering through the darkness. Your limbs started trembling. “Please…”

With a gasp from the man, he pulled his mouth off of your neck, the cold air stinging the once warm location. He pulled you close into his body. He was breathing heavily.

With his still low and raspy voice, he spoke again, his body twitching against yours from the rush of adrenaline. “With one taste now, I’m not sure I will ever be able to stay satiated without your blood again,” You tilted your head back, resting it on his. He held you up. “You remind me of a time when being alive meant something greater than just a state of being to me. For as long as I can…” He adjusted his head, and you felt the tip of his nose grace your jaw. It made you jump at first, afraid to feel those piercing teeth again, but he let you revel in the soft touch. “I cannot let another claim you to be theirs.”

Leon brought his left hand back upward on your body, caressing your face and directing it sideways to look at him. His eyes were burning bright with gold, and your hazy vision locked onto it like a target.

“Tell me yes,” He whispered now, his mouth grazing yours. You were barely hanging on, the blood loss creating more of a haziness than you were expecting, but you would have been able to say this answer even if you could barely speak. You had made your mind up about this with Leon a long time ago.

“Yes, Leon,” You breathily replied, and the grip on both of his hands intensified, capturing your body even closer to his if it was possible, and came down onto you in a heated kiss.

He held the side of your face to keep you upright, and it only made you melt further. His strong hands and arms were the sole reason you hadn't fallen to the floor by now, your mind was swimming and all of your nerves were aflame. You were barely paying any attention to the dull throbbing coming from the two pinpricks in your neck.

Leon, you could tell immediately, was a passionate lover. He made sure to keep you close to him at all times, afraid at any moment you could run away, from him, from this archive, from this experience. You knew you could never do that, not after such a bond had already been created by letting him feed off of you. His arms were solace in this moment, and his mouth a lifesaver, ironically.

He gently bit at your lips, and when he pulled away for you to catch your breath, you could taste blood. It was your own, you knew, but some sick inner part of you loved the thrill it sent through you. You wanted more.

His mouth was back on your skin in an instant, this time by your cheek, ear, down to your jaw and neck. You flinched when he landed on the bite mark, but he only trailed over it with a light kiss, he didn’t intend on reopening them. One of your hands came down off of the cold glass, now fogged from the heat from the two of you, to wrap around his wrist. You could barely stand, and wanted to stay in his embrace, but needed to look at him.

At your touch, he slowly let you go, and when there was enough space for movement, you turned carefully, purposefully not leaving his contact.

You shuddered at the cold window on your back, but felt heat flood your senses again when you looked into his eyes. Leon loomed over you, gaze full of lust, chest heaving with having spent energy on you, but you knew he had more to give. And you had more you could take.

You grabbed the front of his shirt by the middle and pulled him closer to you. He wasted no time in coming where you had beckoned him, hand slithering around your waist to draw you in again.

After a breath, you spoke, “I can’t… I don’t think I can stand for long,” Your eyes fluttered shut for a few seconds at a time, and you couldn’t help but to let them.

The other hand that hadn’t worked its way around your waist trailed down your side, over the curve of your hips and thighs, and took solace underneath.

“Don’t worry about that,” It took only a second at most for him to lift you, settling himself in between your legs, back still pressed against the window. Leon’s hand was gripping your thigh, and the other was still behind you. Your own arms wrapped around his neck suddenly, and it brought you face to face with him once again. “I’ve got you. I won’t drop you.”

You sighed at his words, thankful he was now holding you, as that surely would have been the breaking point, and you would have been in a puddle on the floor by now. You let your head roll back, hitting the window with a dull thud, but any pain that might have happened due to it was nowhere to be felt, with other sensations at the forefront of your nerve system.

Leon had pressed himself against you again, the hardness of his cock through his pants pressing incessantly against your heat, he reattached his lips to your throat, nipping and sucking at the soft skin, eliciting mewls from your mouth at his touch.

Your hands explored ceaselessly along his strong arms, his biceps flexing from holding you, from the excitement coursing through his own body, and you couldn’t help but arch back into him, trying to get even closer than possibly allowed. You felt him pull away again, and you wrapped one hair through his soft blonde locks and pulled him back, connecting your lips in fervor, kissing him like your life source was dependent on you staying alive.

HIs lips were soft and hot, you were addicted to the taste. The tang of your blood mixed on his tongue danced with the shared saliva between you, and with every kiss you wished you could get even closer to him. You tugged on his hair, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it, he was too wrapped up in you.

His tongue roamed your mouth, both soon becoming slick with spit and sweat between your bodies, and you couldn’t take the heat anymore.

You pulled away, only by an inch but with enough space to whine out, “Leon, please,”

No more communication was needed, he understood your words. Maybe if you let it go on any longer, he would now just by whatever your body was telling him.

The arm he had around your waist snaked back to your side, and dipped down in between the two of you. Leon kissed your neck once, your head still relaxed against the window, unable to conjure the energy to move. You shivered with his touch along your thigh, the casual sweater dress you had on now becoming a good idea. You thanked your past self.

“If I continue will you let me,” He spoke into your neck, close enough to your ear for you to hear the low rumble of his voice. “I got a taste of you, but I know it won’t be enough.” His hand was already caressing the tender skin of your inner thigh, causing waves of chills and heat though your body and straight to your core. He was mere inches away from pulling aside your panties and running his fingers along your wetness, and you didn’t know if you could wait for that any longer.

“I need you Leon,” You whispered, and tried to turn your head to face him as best as you could. “I’ll let you forever.”

He sighed, but it was closer to a growl. He thrust his hips forward, creating a delicious friction in between the two of you, and you couldn't stop the moan that escaped. Your hand was still laced in his hair, and he inhaled sharply, in pleasure rather than pain, every time you pulled hard.

You whined out loud when he withdrew the hand that was so close to putting fingers inside of you, but you quickly quieted down when he utilized it instead to work apart the clasp of his belt and button of his pants. He had no intentions of wasting time, though this was a man that had all in the world.

You lifted your head with the surge of energy you found at the sound of this and attempted to look down, needing to feed your eyes before he fed your pussy. He caught you before you could make the move, smashing your lips together once again, but you didn’t mind the distraction, it was a better way to pass the time rather than have your mouth empty.

Leon wrigled himself around for a moment, attempting to pull himself out with one hand. He sighed after he accomplished this, pulling away from your mouth, but instantly was back on your neck. This time, he gave you what you wanted.

With his other hand still supporting your thigh, and showing no signs of getting tired of this action, he replaced his hand back inside your dress skirt, but skipping right over its previous position. Instead, he placed the pad of his thumb right onto the gusset of your panties, pressing with enough force to give you the friction you were desperate for. You gasped out loud, and he only continued this action to make you writhe against him.

The hand that was not tangled in his hair traveled down his chest, feeling the hard ridges of his muscles and bones, toying with the buttons of his shirt to pull them apart. When he felt your hand touch his bare chest, you could feel the muscles flex for a second.

He decided he had had enough of the teasing, though he was the one doing it to you. He roughly pulled aside your panties, and your mouth dried up at the action. Your breath hitched, and you knew what was coming.

He pulled away from your skin for a second to look into your eyes. You could feel yourself slowly slipping away, the dizziness from the blood loss slowly fading, but that strength was whisked away instantly by the arousal pooling in every crevice of your body. Leon’s eyes were half lidded, pupils blown, mouth slightly parted. You could tell just by looking at him that he barely had anything else on his mind. Just the few sips of your elixir gave him enough energy to last the whole night, most likely.

“I’m sorry if I get rough,” You felt the vibrations of his words through his chest, which you still had one hand firmly planted on. “Everything is heightened now and…” He swiped through your clothed pussy again, making you buck your hips forward. “You are irresistible, and it’s doing something to me… That I haven’t felt in a long time.”

You said nothing, or rather, didn’t have the time to, as after he concluded speaking, his fingers breached the threshold of your panties and he slipped a finger through your wet folds, making you inhale sharply and press yourself further against him. He leaned forward, pinning you fully against himself and the window, using his teeth to gently bite at your neck again.

He proceeded to stay buried in your neck for the next minute or so, his fingers going back and forth from teasing your entrance to applying pressure on your clit, making you whine and wiggle around in his hold. Every time you moaned breathily right next to his ear, he growled lowly.

The rain continued to pound on the window behind you, mirroring the feeling of your dripping heat, tightening around nothing as Leon continued to tease you, the feeling of his twitching head would occasionally press against you, and you desperately tried to rut forward to put it in, but he held you in place.

Finally, when he did decide to show mercy on your state, you whined so sharply your voice cut in and out of audibility, his thick fingers stretching you in a way that felt like bliss, no matter if any pain occurred. He thumbed your clit while slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you, feeling yourself grow slicker with every stroke, the movement becoming less and less resistant as he worked you open.

Surely he was able to feel your thighs trembling in his hand, your legs twitching with the feeling of his fingers, paired with the tongue against your pulse, the non-bitten side, you were almost at the edge without anything major happening.

He pulled away, putting himself once again in front of your face, searching you for signs that he shouldn’t continue. Tears were brimming on your lower lash line, though not from pain, but from the lack of pleasure. He saw this as it was, knowing what you were feeling in this moment, knowing you needed more, needed him.

Leon held one second of eye contact, then dipped into your mouth to kiss you chastely, and at the same time, sheathed himself inside of you. You gasped into the kiss, deepening it as you tried to thrust yourself forward to take more and more of him in. He held your hips firmly in place, not letting you take any of the control. Your fingers were tugging so harshly at his hair now, you would be surprised if you pulled away with no strands stuck between your fingers. He welcomed the sting of it though, pushing himself forward into you until he completely bottomed out, the feeling of his twitching cock in your walls made your whole body shiver, and you felt yourself pulsing around him, begging for some action to relieve your aching.

Your breath was stuck in your throat at this. The fullness you were experiencing made it difficult to inhale anything, and with Leon not only filling your insides, but still keeping his mouth connected to your neck, everything was making your head spin.

“Leon…” You breathed out, and you received a grunt in return. He pistoned his hips forward again, making you whine sharply, before pulling himself out and repeating the action. You quickly became loud.

There was nothing rough about the action. He was slow and thoughtful with every stroke, hands gripping your ass where he held you up, pushing bruises into the skin where his fingers made contact. He groaned with every other thrust, enjoying the feeling of you around him as you were of him inside of you.

You could barely make any more noise at this point, just heavy breathing was coming from the both of you, a whine occasionally making its way out from your throat, but too many sensations were happening at once, it was all so overstimulating.

Your hands were roaming, trying to find any surface on him possible to steady yourself. You were clawing at him desperately, feeling a little sorry for the marks you were creating along his chest, but every line of pain was being pushed into his performance, and he was not relenting on his power.

“Fuck,” Leon moaned into your ear, and he took one second to collect himself before resuming his pace. You could feel how wet the both of you had become, as well as hear it. “You feel amazing…” Your head rolled back once more and thudded against the rain stricken window, but it was not loud enough to drown out the incessant squelching happening. Leon began to pick his pace up slightly, most likely your sign that he was getting close.

He thrust hard and stayed seated inside of you, making your legs tense up, and pleasure shoot throughout your entire body. Your hand had finally let go of his hair at this, squeezing with as much strength as you could muster up in your body on his thick shoulder, where you could feel every muscle as he struggled to hold you up and keep himself together.

“You’re too much for me,” He gasped into your ear, “I can’t hold on much longer,”

You lifted your head off of the window and leaned down, he met you halfway and sealed his words with a deep kiss. Moving away from other spots on his body, your hands traveled back up and cupped both sides of his face, kissing him with passion as he tried to split focus between kissing you and fucking you.

You could feel his breath on your face as he began stuttering, and his sounds made your stomach tighten, and you clenched your walls around him, making it even harder for him to continue.

He pulled away by a mere centimeter, saliva stuck between you two in a string, the look in his eyes soft yet strong, he admired you in a way that made you forget he had seen a thousand other beautiful things in his lifetime. It made you feel like you topped the list. Sweat was beading on his forehead, it was catching the moonlight behind you, making his skin shine like silver. His eyes were blue again.

He furrowed his brow together, his hips losing its steady rhythm. “I–I can’t,” He almost whimpered, and you took pity on his state. It was arousing to see this man fall apart under you.

You tried your best to speak, voice cutting in between heavy breaths. “So don’t.” These words elicited a sob-like sound from the man in front of you. His mouth dropped open, eyelids scrunching together, letting the last of himself loose that he had been holding together barely at all.

With broken gasps and groans, you felt Leon push himself for just a moment more, the pleasure on his face driving you right to your orgasm, and the knot inside of you came loose. Solace was found on his chest again, and your nails dug into him as you rode it out, knowing the feeling was going to push Leon over as well.

You felt it before you saw it on his face. You felt the throb of his thick cock inside of you, his hips unable to do anything steadily at this point, and he let himself go inside of you.

He was looking down between the two of you, though you were sure his eyes were closed as you were still pressed together. He groaned once, twice, and when he eventually looked up, in between his panting lips and huffs for air, you saw his shining fangs that had come out to play again.

You almost invited him to bite you again. Surely it would have allowed him to continue.

You blinked and they were gone. His facial features softened as he looked at you, your skin was on fire from the warm air settling in around you two, and your lungs wouldn’t fill efficiently enough.

He gulped, trying to wet his mouth. You were experiencing the same. “Are you alright to stand?”

You removed your hands from his chest and placed them on one of the panes of the window. “I think I will be, maybe… eventually.”

He huffed a laugh. He gently maneuvered his hands to let your feet plant back onto the ground. After being held up for so long, your knees felt like jelly. You stumbled.

He still loomed over you after you had regained your balance. He discreetly put himself away while you were busy controlling the rush of blood back to your head, and now he was keeping a watchful eye, scared, like you were fragile.

“I’m just unsteady. I won’t break.” You remarked. You pulled the hem of your dress down.

Leon smiled. It warmed you. “Of course I know that. I just…” He looked away for a moment, as if ashamed. “I drank a lot more than I should have. And then proceeded to heighten your heart rate, which was not my best course of action, but at times, I tend to get ahead of myself.” You stared at him as he talked. You felt endeared by his worries.

“I feel fine, right now. But I was hazy. But…” You bit your lip, wondering if you should continue your train of thought. Why not, you concluded, the most intimate act was already water under the bridge. “I liked how it felt.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a slight difference to the tone of the moment, but you noticed his hair, which he hadn’t yet patted down from your fingers running wild in them. It made him look rugged, playful. Human.

“I…” Leon said nothing else for a few more seconds. You observed each other. Reveling in the events that just transpired, and exactly what this means moving forward. There was no more strictly professional relationship. You could feign it to the public, but you will always want him. He will always crave you.

He continued. “I meant what I said. I had a little too much just for a first taste, and it heightened every nerve ending in my body, you allowed me to continue, and I fear… Well, now I need to see where this takes our relations. I would like…” Another pause for humility. “I would like you to stay. Stay here, not for the building, but with me.”

You were the one to gulp this time. Even just his words had a sweeping effect like a wave, and you were desperately trying to breathe through the undertow.

You walked forward, grabbing his shirt by the half undone buttons and pulled him into a kiss. You let the passion take over in place for the lust a few minutes prior, and you could feel the difference all over your body. You knew your answer.

You pulled away, both of you slightly dazed. You whispered into his lips, “That was already my plan.”

The moonlight hugged you both goodnight.

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