pretty please come on over and ruin my life!

viper grasps your hand, one hand settled on your waist while she manoeuvres you out of the club and into the night air. she doesn’t like dancing, and neither do you.

but with you, viper thinks it might be okay.

take my hand, while we dance on the edge of a knife..

she calls a cab (you’ve both had too many drinks to count) and tugs you into the backseat with her, one hand splayed possessively on your right thigh. viper doesn’t like talking; she doesn’t have to. you understand it all the same when her hand gives a light squeeze.

..she said: you can’t tie me down but you can tie me up.

viper relishes the way you giggle and laugh when the both of you stumble back to headquarters, as coordinated as a newborn lamb while you try to navigate valorant’s security so the silent alarm isn’t triggered. that’s what happens when you sneak out after curfew.

she on an ego trip, baggage in the trunk..

“come on,” viper mutters, a slight smile gracing her lips while she tugs you through the stairwell.

“i’m coming,” you grumble back.

..so pretty and you know it, my heart goes hammer time..

viper tugs you into her lab, shutting the door with a quiet click of the lock before she crowds you against her desk. it’s messy, as usual, littered with reports and drafts and scattered pens.

“it’s gonna crumple,” you protest weakly when you land promptly on viper’s hard work.

“it’s fine,” she mutters. it’s fine if it’s you, is what she means.

because her work is replaceable and her time with you is not.

..the love we make is poison, it’s like my only vice.