#//we can fade to black here or you can do one more to end it out? :)

[dianawinchester03]

Season 3, Episode 3 - Bad Day At Black Road (Part Two)

Series Masterlist

Authors Note: This is part two! Make sure to read part one to understand. Enjoy!

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Later that day, they decided to head back to Grossman and Wayne’s place to find some sort of answers after hearing that Wayne suddenly died of a freak accident. Dean pushed the door open, the trio stalking in slowly as Grossman groaned. He was teary eyed, holding up a picture and a beer. “Oh, man. What do you want?”

“What about your friend, that’s bad luck” Dean answered, drawing his gun. “Fuck off” Grossman narrowed his eyes at them, “We know someone hired you to steal the rabbits foot. A woman” Y/N stated. “Oh yeah? Well how do you know that?” Grossman tilted his head, almost sassing her. “Because she just stole it back from us,” Dean told him.

Grossman erupted in a fit of laughter, cackling at the three. They all glared at him, “Listen man, this is ser- OH!” Sam stepped forward, ultimately tripping on the wire to the radio. He tried to catch it but ended up falling face first again, attempting to grip the lamp for support but thanks to his baby gorilla weight, they all went tumbling down.

Grossman was cracking up, his eyes almost swelling with tears as Dean and Y/N shared a look that said, ‘Oh my god’ Y/N breathed heavily through her nose, “Sam, you okay?” Dean asked without looking behind him. “Yeah, I’m good.” Sam sat up groaning and panting, pushing the radio and the lamp off of himself before gripping the couch.

“I want you to tell us her name,” Dean demanded as he stepped towards Grossman. “Fuck you” Grossman smirked, Dean and Y/N snorted in amusement. “It wasn’t a freak accident that killed your partner” Y/N revealed, “What?” Grossman asked, confused. “It was the rabbit's foot,” Dean added firmly. Grossman chuckled, unconvinced by them. “You’re crazy, man”

“You know I’m not. You saw what happened, what it did. All the flukes, all the luck. When you lose the foot, that luck goes sour. That’s what killed your friend” Grossman’s smile faded slightly as he narrowed his eyes at them, “Right” He scoffed, unconvinced. Y/N’s eye twitched, she suddenly lost her patience in a snap, stuffing her gun in Dean’s hand. She marched over to Grossman, snatching him up by his collar.

Sam and Dean both watched with wide eyes as Y/N pinned Grossman to wall, holding him there. “Hey! What’s the matter with you, you crazy bitch!” Grossman complained, trying to wriggle out of Y/N’s grip. “No, you listen to me” She snapped, her voice was calm but firm. But Sam and Dean knew her well enough to know that she was pissed.

Using her telekinesis, she kept him pinned to the wall effortlessly. Her eyes shone white as her veins lit up aqua blue, “My brother here is next on that fucking rabbit foot’s list. And who knows how many more innocent people after that. Now if you don’t help us stop this damn thing, that puts those deaths on your bald shiny head” She growled at him, reeling him back to slam him into the wall once more.

Grossman gulped at the sight of Y/N’s eyes, he began to sweat as she kept him pinned to the wall. “Whoa, whoa, okay!” He exclaimed. Sam and Dean were gawping as they glanced between each other and Y/N. She loosened her grip on his collar, “Now I can read people. And I get it. You’re a thief and a scumbag. That’s fine. But you’re not a killer. Are you?”

Grossman averted his eyes off hers as he mumbled, “No” He shook his head. “No.” He repeated. Y/N studied him for a moment, narrowing her eyes when she realised he was telling the truth. “Good” She nodded before giving his collar a rough tug,.

Dean was equally shocked at her sudden burst of anger but also mesmerized.

-

They were now exiting the building, Dean was cackling his ass off while Sam looked at Y/N with concern. “Oh my God! That was amazing!” Dean exclaimed, still laughing. Y/N snickered at the sound of his laugh, “It’s not that funny” She muttered. “Not that funny?” Dean replied, raising his eyebrows, “You had the poor guy those close to shitting his pants.” Dean pointed to the door as he cackled.

“Well he pissed me off. You were taking too long” Y/N deadpanned as the three of them walked further down the parking lot. “Yeah, did you see the look on his face? He was about to piss himself” Sam added with a chuckle, he looked over at Y/N. She huffed loudly and folded her arms across her chest.

“I don’t know what got into me, okay? Something in me just…snapped.” Y/N explained. Dean placed a hand on shoulder while he wiped a tear away from his eyes that he got from laughing so hard. “If it makes you feel better, it was hot as hell watching you do that” He whispered into her ear.

Y/N’s face heated up at his words, she blushed deeply at the thought of what he said. “Shut up” She mumbled, shoving him away. “What? It’s the truth” He said through a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows. “You have no shame” She muttered, shaking her head in amusement. “None whatsoever” He agreed smugly.

Sam shook his head with an amused chuckle, rolling his eyes at his brother’s crude comment but chose to ignore it. He then eyed Y/N with the same expression of concern as before. “You okay?” He asked her. Y/N looked away from her boyfriend and met Sam’s eyes, her face dropped slightly. “I’m fine,” She assured him. But even she wasn’t sure how much of that was true.

“Are you sure?” He repeated, he knew her well enough like his brother to know when she was lying. She nodded in response as Dean’s phone rang, “Hello?” Dean answered as he pressed his phone to his ear. “Dean, great news” Bobby’s voice came through the speaker.

Meanwhile, Sam unknowingly stepped on a piece of gum.

Y/N walked towards Dean when she saw his face drop, tiptoeing to press her ear to his phone in order to hear the conversation. “Wasn’t easy but I found a heavyweight cleansing ritual that should do the trick” Bobby told them as Sam grimaced, lifting his foot up when he saw he stepped in gum. Dean and Y/N shared a panicked look.

“Bobby, that’s, uh, great. Except Sam, uh…” Dean’s words trailed when he looked behind him to see his little brother desperately trying to get the gum off of his shoe. “Sam lost the foot” Y/N chimed in, “He what?!” Bobby exclaimed. “Bobby, listen. Listen. This, uh-“ Dean glanced over to y/n, choosing his words wisely,

“This good looking girl stole it from him. I’m serious, she was in her mid 20s. And she was sharp, you know? Good enough with the con to play us” Dean explained as Sam desperately tried to get the gum off of his shoe, scraping it against a sewer grate. “Plus, she only gave the guys she hired a name, probably an alias or something. Lugosi” Y/N added.

“Luigi?” Dean muttered, “Lugosi” Sam and Y/N corrected again in unison. “Lugosi? Lugo-” Bobby thought before it dawned on him, “Oh shit, it’s probably Bela” He huffed, just that moment, Sam’s shoe slipped from his foot and ended up falling into the sewer grate with a loud splash. “Bela Lugosi? That’s cute” Y/N scoffed sarcastically.

“Bela Talbot’s her real name. Crossed paths with her once or twice” Bobby told them. “Well, she knew about the rabbit's foot. Is she a hunter?” Dean asked, “Pretty fuckin’ far from a hunter. But she knows her way around the territory” Bobby scoffed in response. “She’s been out of the country. Last I heard she was in the Middle East someplace” He informed them.

“Yeah, well I guess she’s back” Dean sighed as Sam attempted to stick his hand through the grate to retrieve his shoe but came up short, grumbling and sighing in defeat as he stood up. “Which means seriously bad luck for you” Bobby added, “Great” Dean and Y/N muttered sarcastically. “But, if it is Bela, at least I might know folks who know where to find her”

They sighed in relief, “Alright. Thanks Bobby. Again” Dean chuckled as Bobby rolled his eyes. “Just look out for your brother, ya idjits” The line then went dead and Dean flipped the phone before he and Y/N spun around to face a now frowny Sam. “What?” Dean asked. “I lost my shoe” Sam pouted extensively. Dean shot him an unimpressed look as Y/N covered her mouth, trying not to laugh her ass off.

Y/N barely stifled her laughter as Dean raised an eyebrow at his little brother. “You’re complaining about a shoe?” Dean muttered, disbelief and annoyance filled his words. “My shoe!” Sam exclaimed like an upset child while Y/N muffled her amusement behind her hand.

Sam sighed loudly, crossing his arms across his chest in a child-like manner. Y/N was now snorting, unable to hold back her laugh anymore. “Come on, you poor baby” She laughed, walking over to Sam to grip him by his wrist. “I hate you,” Sam mumbled, shooting her an irritated look. “Yeah, sure you do” She snickered, still clutching his wrist.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a new pair of those cheap, crappy shoes as soon as we find this chick” Y/N promised as she started to tug on his wrist. Dean rolled his eyes at the two before stalking over to his car.

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The Impala and Harley pulled up to a crappy motel, “Alright, Bobby, thanks. We owe ya. Another one” Dean spoke into the phone before hanging up as he parked his car, Y/N turned off her own engine besides him as she peeled off her helmet. “What’d Bobby say?” She asked, fixing her hair. “He’s got it on pretty good authority this Bela chick lives in Queens. Now it’ll take us about two hours to get there on Quinn” Dean told her, checking his watch.

“So what are we doing here then?” Sam asked, raising a brow as he scanned the cheap motel. Dean and Y/N shared a look, “You, my brother in Christ, are staying here with an old friend because we don’t want your bad luck getting us killed” Y/N simply said as she smiled widely. “An old friend?” Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Not just an old friend who wants to see you” Dean grinned as he got out of the car, “Come on” He nodded his head towards the motel while Y/N snickered beside him. Sam groaned in defeat, “Ugh” He mumbled under his breath but trudged towards the motel anyway, Y/N walked by his side, still amused by his annoyance.

She checked her phone, making sure she had the right room number the friend texted her. As they approached the door, Y/N brought her knuckles up and knocked against the door loudly. “Open up, skank. It’s us!!” The door opened after a few moments, revealing a blonde girl, “What the fuck, slut? You scared the shit out of me” Jo grumbled, putting away the knife she had in her hand.

Sam’s heart dropped upon seeing his girlfriend, rushing in to hug her. “Oh thank, Go- AH!” He yelped, only to trip on his own two feet, falling directly onto Jo. Y/N burst out laughing, practically wheezing, the moment she saw Sam’s body collapse onto her own girlfriend. Jo grunted in pain from the impact, “Well, that’s not the hello kiss I was looking forward to but it’s better than nothing” She huffed, shoving her boyfriend off of her.

Sam immediately stood up, his face flushed in embarrassment. Y/N cackled from outside, clutching her stomach in amusement. Dean stood beside her with a smirk, “Smooth as ever, Sammy” He cackled, shaking his head fondly at his little brother. “That rabbit foot ain’t no joke, huh?” Jo said tenderly as Sam helped her up, apologizing profusely.

Sam shook his head, as Jo held his face between her hands, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. Dean and Y/N made exaggerated puking sounds behind them, rolling her eyes at the couple in front of her. Dean shook his head again with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to him as Jo flipped them both off.

“Okay, what are we supposed to do now?” Sam asked, “Nothing” Dean, Y/N and Jo said in unison. Jo then went over to pull a chair, placing it for Sam it sit. “I don’t want you doing anything, okay?” Dean ordered as he pushed his little brother to sit down. “Sit right here and don’t move, okay? Don’t turn on the light, don’t turn off the light.”

“If you need anything, let Jo help you, whether it’s to go to the bathroom or scratch your damn nose, kapishe?” Y/N stated firmly. Sam stared up at them before nodding firmly as he slumped in the chair, “Yeah, got it” He mumbled while Jo chuckled, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. Dean and Y/N left the room promptly as Sam mumbled to himself.

His nose twitched as he suddenly felt his nose feeling it was itchy due to her words. He begrudgingly scratched it, only to get his hand smacked away by his girlfriend. Sam groaned in annoyance, “I can itch my nose and go to the bathroom myself. I’m a grown man” He whined, slumping his head back as he glared at the ceiling in defeat.

Jo rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest, “You also just tripped and fell onto me, so excuse me if I don’t think you can do anything without getting hurt” She deadpanned.

-

Dean and Y/N shut the door behind them, both of them letting out a breath they had been holding in. “Think he’ll be okay?” Y/N questioned, shooting him a concerned look. Dean nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. “Yeah, he’s got his girl with him. He’ll be alright…he’s got to be” He muttered against her neck.

Y/N sighed, nodding slightly as she placed a small kiss on Dean's lip. “Let’s go” She said. He kissed her back softly, nodding his head as he grabbed her hand and intertwined their fingers together. “Yeah, let’s go” He mumbled quietly as she led him to her bike.

She got his spare helmet from Baby’s trunk, slightly tiptoeing to strap it up onto his head. Dean chuckled lightly at the difference in their heights as he bent down for her, making it easier for her to fasten the buckle. As soon as he was strapped up, she swung her leg over, placing her own helmet on and then patted the seat behind her.

He hopped on the motorcycle, instantly snaking his arms around her waist. She started up the engine before taking off, the roar of her motorcycle filling the air.

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Queens, New York

Dean and Y/N made it to Queens in record setting time the next morning before sunrise, meanwhile Bela was up in her penthouse, quarreling with her benefactor over the phone. “Because you shook on 1.5” Bela argued as she descended her staircase, the sound of her heels clanking against the hardwood. “Well maybe I should just take it somewhere else” She challenged, the British twang rolling off of her tongue.

She gently petted her cat, sitting up on her counter. “Don’t threaten me, Luke. Despite your reputation, you don’t scare me” she smirked as she moved to lean against her kitchen sink, her eyes trained on her security monitor. “Well I’m glad you see it that way. I’ll see you at the airstrip in an hour.” With that, she hung up her phone.

Her cat suddenly began hissing as Dean and Y/N quickly averted from the cameras, Bela didn’t see as she was picking up the rabbit’s foot with a pair of kitchen thongs. She placed the foot down on her counter, now on alert due to her cat’s hisses. She then opened her wine fridge, slowly reaching in to retrieve her stashed gun.

Bela kept her clear and wary gaze at her front door. Slowly inching towards it, her eyes widened when her alarm started beeping saying “ERROR” and a sticky note with the words, ‘Turn Around’ was scribbled onto it by Y/N. The cocking of two guns made Bela spin around to see Dean and Y/N aiming their guns at her. She quickly retaliated, cocking her gun at them.

“You left without your tip,” Dean said smugly. This made Bela’s brow twitch with interest.

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Black Rock, New York

Meanwhile, Sam was growing excessively bored in his seat. Jo went to take a shower as he sat, rocking his chair back and forth. Suddenly, the air conditioner across the room started whirring and clucking, causing Sam’s head to whip in its direction. Then smoke began coming through the vents, “Oh, come on” Sam whined, pointing to it in defeat. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-….” he sighed.

The water was still on in the bathroom and Sam didn’t want to bother Jo, so he cautiously stood up from his seat. Inching towards the busted air conditioner. Suddenly, the inside of the air conditioner burst into flames.

Sam flinched slightly at the burst of flames, backing away as he frantically waved his hands around in a panic. “Oh, crap, crap” He muttered under his breath as he looked around. He quickly snatched a blanket from off the bed, rushing over to the air conditioner. He attempted to put it out with the blanket, slapping it a couple of times until it finally diminished.

As soon as the fire was finally gone, Sam threw the blanket on the floor in exhaustion. He sniffed the air, still smelling fire. Sam exclaimed in terror when he lifted his arm, now realizing his left sleeve was on fire. “AHH!!” He frantically patted at the flames in a panic as he tried to put it out.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!” He yelled in horror as he continued to smack his arm in hope for the fire to be extinguished. “ANGEL!!!” Sam called out for Jo. In the bathroom, Jo quickly turned the shower off, wrapping a towel around her body as she opened the door to see the room full of smoke with Sam in the middle of it patting at his arm.

“Sam??” She exclaimed in concern as she ran over towards him. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Jo quickly stripped her towel off, attempting to use it to put the fire on Sam’s sleeve out. Sam tried to use the curtain to pat the fire, panicking as it continued to smolder and burn the fabric of his sleeve.

“No, DONT!” Jo exclaimed, but it was too late, Sam somehow managed to trip, taking her down with him. The naked woman and her oaf of a boyfriend were now both unconscious due to the fall. The curtain ripped down in the process, covering Jo’s body.

Kubrick and his buddy stared at them through the window, wide eyed, amused expressions on both their faces. Kubrick was a friend of the currently incarcerated Gordon Walker. He put out a hit on Sam and Y/N, claiming that they were anti-christs. Kubrick was a fellow hunter friend, who was quite religious.

So he believed that faith led him to Sam after searching for the Winchesters and Y/N for weeks at Gordon’s request. Now staring up at the sky with a content smile.

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Queens, New York

“You’re gonna give it back” Y/N demanded as she and Dean had an intense face off, their guns still aimed at Bela. “Ha, ha. Sweetie. No, I’m not” Bela chuckled smugly. “Yeah, we’ll see. Bela, right?” Dean smirked, narrowing his eyes at her. “That’s right, Dean and Y/N” Bela smirked back in response, “You know the things cursed, don’t ya?” Y/N pointed out as they circled each other.

“You’d be surprised what some people would pay for something like that” Bela snarked, “Really?” Dean cocked an eyebrow. “There’s a lucrative market out there. A lot of money to be made” Dean and Y/N’s brows furrowed with a tinge of disgust at Bela’s words, “You hunters with all those amulets and talismans you use to stop those big bad monsters. Any one of them could put your children’s children through college” Bella chuckled darkly.

“So you know the truth about what’s really going on out there and this is what you decide to do with it?” Dean scoffed as Y/N gritted her teeth, her finger was itching to pull the trigger. “You become a thief?” Dean chastised Bela with a sarcastic smolder, “I procure unique items for a select clientele” Bela defended.

“Yeah. A thief” Y/N stated bluntly, “No. A great thief” Bela grinned widely. Dean clenched his jaw, slightly rolling his eyes, “There’s no such thing as a good thief” He stated as Y/N stepped closer to Bela, glaring at her with fury in her veins. Bela smirked tauntingly in response, “There’s no such thing as a good hunter” She retorted back.

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Black Rock, New York

Kubrick and his buddy, Creedy, were now duck taping an unconscious Sam to a chair. He groaned in annoyance as he slowly came to, “Oh, he’s awake” Creedy mused as Kubrick smirked, “Back with us, eh?” he said as he got off of the bed. “Aye, we didn’t even have to touch you. You just went all spastic and knocked you and your girlfriend out yourself. It was like watching Jerry Lewis ride a stacked chair” Creedy laughed.

Sam squinted, trying to adjust his eyes. “Who are you? What do you- wait- Jo. Where’s Jo?!” Sam’s eyes frantically searched the room, remembering that Jo was completely naked when they got knocked out by the fall. A bile of disgust rumbled in Sam’s stomach.

Kubrick chuckled, walking closer to Sam. “Your girl’s taking a little nap. But you don’t have to worry ‘bout her. We took good care of her. Helped her put some clothes on. She’s in good hands” Kubrick smirked as he pointed to the bed with his gun. A now clothed Jo was gagged and tied to the bed, completely passed out from the chloroform they stifled her with.

Sam’s eyes widened with anger at seeing the state of his girlfriend. He struggled against his chair, trying desperately to break free. “Jo?! Baby, wake up!” Sam shouted, pleadingly. He felt disgusted with himself and ashamed that he touched that rabbit's foot now and pulled her down with him. Now these men, whom he has no idea are, saw the love of his life, passed out and bare.

Kubrick chuckled, moving closer to Sam, putting his face near his, “That ain’t gonna work” He warned smugly. Sam clenched his jaw, swallowing the anger, “What do you want?” He asked gruffly. “I used to think your friend Gordon sent me” Kubrick snapped his fingers, “Gordon? Oh, come on, man” Sam groaned in annoyance. “Because he asked me to track you down and put bullets in your head and Y/N’s.” Kubrick stated as he began to pace the room.

“Great, that sounds like him,” Sam huffed sarcastically. “But…” Kubrick put a finger up. “…as it turns out. I’m on a mission from God” He smirked before backhanding Sam across his face. Sam winced in pain at the force of his backhand. Kubrick leaned down at eye level with Sam, “Gordon said you and Y/N were the most evil sons of bitches there was” Kubrick claimed as he grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair.

Kubrick chuckled darkly, gripping Sam’s hair tighter, “Careful, Samuel. You might burn in hell with them if you keep taking the Lord's name in vain like that” Kubrick teased. Sam winced at his tight grip, grunting in pain. “Fuck you” He spat, rearing his head back to head butt Kubrick in his nose.

Kubrick stumbled back at the head-butt, clutching his now bloody nose. Creedy walked over to Kubrick, helping him up as he stumbled. His face contorted with anger and it was now Creedy’s turn to punch Sam. Sam’s head flopped to the other side, spitting out blood onto the floor as he glared at the two men.

His chin was now covered in blood. It stung badly and he could start to taste the copper of blood. His nose began to bleed, but it didn’t matter. His only worry was Jo on the bed, still passed out, but her eyes were now fluttering, attempting to wake from the chloroform.

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Queens, New York

“Look, Bela, my brother, he touched the foot. And when you took it from him, his luck went from-/” Y/N tried to explain but Bela cut her off, “I know how it works” Bela stated calmly, “So then you know he’s gonna die unless we can destroy it” Dean responded, their guns still trained on her. “Oh” Bela gasped dramatically, making Dean and Y/N’s raise their eyebrows.

“You can have the foot” They looked shocked at this, “For 1.5 million” This made them roll their eyes. “Nice. Yeah. I’ll just call my banker” Dean snarked. “How’d you even find the fucking thing? Stuck in the back of some storage place, middle of nowhere?” Dean asked. Bela then averted her gaze to an Ouija board that was sitting proudly on top of her fireplace.

Y/N seemed shocked, “I just asked a few of the ghosts of the people it had killed. They were very attuned into its location” Bela smirked as she turned back to them. Dean shook his head as he narrowed his eyes again at her. “So you’re only out for yourself, huh? It’s all about number one?” He scoffed. “Being a hunter is so much more noble? A bunch of obsessed, revenge-driven sociopaths trying to save a world that can’t be saved” Bela shot back.

This struck a nerve within Y/N, “Well, aren’t you a glass half full” She retorted, “We’re all going to hell, Y/N. Might as well enjoy the ride” Bela shrugged, this made Y/N’s chest ache when Dean said. “I actually agree with you there” Y/N’s gaze averted to Dean, slightly rolling her eyes to cover up the aching feeling in her chest. “Anywho, this has been…nice, but, uh, look at the time. Oh, and this?” Dean smirked, lifting the rabbit's foot up between his fingers, dangling it with a smirk.

Bela and Y/N’s jaws dropped. “What the fuck, Dean?!” Y/N screamed at her boyfriend, almost dropping her gun in the process. She had been too focused on her growing dislike towards Bela to notice Dean had snatched up the cursed object from the counter. “She’s not the only one with sticky fingers,” Dean shrugged, smiling wickedly. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re a truly awful person” he snapped at Bela.

Bela had enough, shooting at Dean twice but narrowly missing due to the rabbit's luck. Y/N swiftly ducked underneath, charging towards the woman, spearing Bela in the process. Bela yelped from being slammed onto the ground, Y/N pinning her down and now had a tight grip on her hair, pressing her gun to her forehead as a warning to not try anything funny. Bela grunted in pain, glaring at the woman currently pinning her down.

Bela began to flail, swinging her arms out at Y/N wildly in an attempt to hit her, she knocked the psychic’s gun out of her hand, sending it darting across the room. Y/N growled, still pinning her down with her legs as she punched Bela straight across her face. She then retrieved her knife out of her jacket pocket, the dagger’s ancient powers activating her own as she placed it directly underneath Bela’s chin.

Bela froze as soon as the dagger touched her neck, swallowing in fear as she looked up at Y/N, who had a menacing glare, like she was ready to snap any minute now. She couldn’t move, she felt like her veins were on fire from the magic. Bela instantly recognized the dagger, “Where…did you..get that?” She grunted weakly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you” Y/N scoffed, pressing the dagger more into her neck, not enough to draw blood, but she wanted to make the threat known. She narrowed her eyes into slits, baring her teeth at the thief. The sounds of sirens in the distance blaring caught their attention, “Princess, let’s go!” Dean shouted.

Y/N gritted her teeth, staring into Bela’s now terrified eyes, before pushing the dagger away from her and standing up. Dean grabbed her hand and they sprinted out the front door, running down the stairs onto the streets of New York.

-

Bela gasped, gripping her own throat as she attempted to catch her breath, still sprawled out on the ground. She’d know that dagger anywhere, she’d been looking for it for ages. It was nothing but a myth within small circles and minimal people knew of its existence. Most thought it was just a legend, a fable. It was barely documented in any history books and she was stunned.

A relic like that could easily start auctioning at 10 million dollars. The questions that bared in Bela’s mind was,

How the fuck did Y/N L/N become in possession of Maverick’s Dagger? And how would Bela be able to steal it from her?

-

Meanwhile, Y/N was breathing heavily at the adrenaline of what just happened, her hand still intertwined with Dean’s grasp as they sprinted down the road in the city and over to her bike. They quickly got on the motorcycle and she started up the engine, driving off into the distance at top speed. As they took off, Dean tightly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close.

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Black Rock, New York

Jo’s muffled screams through her gag echoed through the room as Creedy and Kubrick repeatedly punched a half conscious Sam, now tossing a cold glass of water over his face. Sam groaned, blinking heavily as he regained consciousness and slowly looked up at the men. He squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the light, still a bit wobbly and dizzy.

“You were part of that demon plan to open the gate” Kubrick narrowed his eyes at Sam, “We did everything we could to stop it” Sam tried to tell them. “Lie, lie, lie. You were in on it” Kubrick insisted, pointing as Sam. “You know what their next move is too, don’t you?”

Sam shook his head, “No, I don’t, okay? You’re wrong about all of this” He whimpered, “Where are they gonna hit us next?” Kubrick asked, Sam just sighed, shaking his head in defeat. “Where??” Kubrick demanded as he slapped the side of his face with his left hand.

Jo continued to struggle and scream painfully, trying to get out of her bindings as she thrashed in her spot. “I don’t know anything!” Sam cried, gritting his teeth. Kubrick took a step towards Jo in the bed, making his intentions clear. “No, please” Sam pleaded, “Don’t hurt her, please” He sobbed, his eyes wide, looking up at the man.

Kubrick ignored him, walking over to her and gripping a handful of her hair, yanking her head back to look at her. She hissed in pain as her eyes met his, a slight fear present behind them but she remained determined, refusing to show them any weakness.

“Gordon told me about you and Y/N, Sam. About your powers. You guys are some kind of weirdo, psychic freaks” Kubrick seethed as he flicked his hunting knife open, pressing it against Jo’s throat. Sam flinched as the blade touched Jo’s skin, his heartbeat thundered in his throat, pounding against his Adam’s apple.

He struggled against the duct tape, “No, not anymore! We have no powers, no visions! Nothing, it’s just-“ Sam pleaded, lying about it to protect Y/N but Kubrick realized so he slid the knife slightly, nicking Jo’s jaw enough to draw blood. “Lie!”

Jo screamed against the gag, shutting her eyes in pain as she felt the blood running down her chin. Kubrick looked over at Sam, narrowing his eyes with a smug expression as Creedy stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Sam looked over at his suffering girlfriend in pity.

“I don’t know anything! I’m not hiding anything!” He sobbed, trying to be convincing. “Now, no more lies. There’s an army of demons out there, pushing at a world already on the brink.” Kubrick demanded, trailing the knife down Jo’s arm. “We’re on deck for the end game here, right?” He smirked sadistically.

“So maybe, just maybe you can understand…why we can’t take chances” He then tossed his knife aside and unholstered his gun, aiming it directly at Sam’s forehead. Sam swallowed hard, his eyes widened as he saw the gun aimed at his head. “Woah, okay, okay. Now hold on a minute-” Sam pleaded, his breath quickening with a mixture of fear and panic as Jo screamed, begging Kubrick not to kill her boyfriend.

Creedy pulled his friend back, trying to stop him. Slapping up Sam a bit was alright by him, but watching Kubrick torture Jo and now try to kill Sam was too far for him. “Kubrick-” Creedy tried to reason, “No! You saw what happened, Creedy. Ask yourself, why are we here? Because you saw a picture on the web? Because we chose this motel instead of another?” Kubrick asked his friend rhetorically.

They stumbled upon a picture of the trio at Biggerson’s on the Internet, which was posted due to Sam winning the millionth customer award. Now the luck had turned sour, they sounded up finding him after hunting them for weeks with no outcome, “Look, I can explain all of that if-” Sam was cut off by a finger from Kubrick pointed at him. “Shut up” He gritted his teeth at Sam before turning back to Creedy.

Creedy sighed, looking conflicted. But Kubrick was stubborn and not going to back down easily, “It’s God, Creedy. He led us here for one reason. To do his work. This is destiny” Kubrick insisted, resuming his gun at Sam, ready to shoot. The cocking of two guns behind them made their heads whip to the side, “Nope. No destiny. Just a rabbit's foot” Dean smirked aiming his gun at Creedy as Y/N stood by his side, aiming her gun at Kubrick.

Kubrick and Creedy looked completely caught off guard as Dean and Y/N stood at the doorway, pointing their guns at them with narrowed eyes. Jo smiled behind the gag, breathing a sigh of relief behind it as she watched the pair stand proudly at the doorway.

Kubrick and Creedy exchanged uncertain looks, as if they were communicating to each other with their eyes on what they should do. Creedy raised his hands in surrender as Kubrick smirked cockily, not taking his gun away from Sam. “Put the gun down, son or you’re gonna be scraping brain off the wall” Kubrick threatened.

“Oh, this thing?” Dean shook his gun, toying with him. “Yeah, that thing” Kubrick smiled menacingly, Dean then handed his gun to his girlfriend (who was still mad at him for touching the rabbit’s foot but hadn’t gotten a chance to chew him out for it yet), “Okay, but you see, there’s something about me that you don’t know.” Dean smirked as he picked up a pen from the nightstand next to him.

“Yeah, what would that be?” Kubrick snorted, now aiming his gun at Dean. “It’s my lucky day.” Dean smiled before suddenly flicking the pen over to Kubrick. The pen got stuck right in the barrel of the gun, shocking both Sam and Jo as Y/N shook her head with disappointment. “Oh my god. Did you see that shot?” Dean laughed, impressed with himself.

Creedy took the chance and lunged at Dean, only to miss drastically when Dean simply ducked out of the way. Then with a wave of Y/N’s hand, she sent him flying into the wall, hitting it back first with a loud thud and heavy grunt. Y/N smirked in satisfaction when Creedy flew back, hitting the wall.

She knew that would’ve hurt a lot. This made Kubrick look at her with suspicion, seeing her use telekinesis on him. He quickly tried to pull the pen out of the gun’s barrel as Dean said, “I’m amazing” before picking up a remote from the table and hurling it straight at Kubrick.

It slammed into Kubrick’s forehead, knocking him unconscious instantly. He fell to the door with a loud thud as Dean smirked smugly, “I’m Batman” He practically mewed as Sam, Jo and Y/N looked unimpressed, “Yeah, you’re Batman” Sam scoffed, “And I’m Catwoman” Y/N added sarcastically, rolling her eyes, harshly shoving her gun into his chest as his face dropped subsequently.

She made her way over to Jo immediately as Dean made his way over to Sam, Y/N took out her butterfly from her butterfly knife from her boot. Flicking it open to cut Jo out of her bounds.

“Are you okay, honey?” She asked as Jo nodded, still gagged, groaning as she tried to talk, which was muffled against the gag tied over her mouth. Y/N cut the duct tape and removed the gag, tossing it aside. Jo coughed, her voice raw and hoarse from the gag and the constant screams she had yelled out.

Dean did the same, cutting his brother out of the duct tape that bound him to the chair. Sam sighed in relief as he felt the tape being cut free, his sore wrists were finally freed. The red marks on his wrists would definitely leave a mark, showing the tightness of the duct tape.

“You alright, champ?” Dean asked Sam, clapping him on his shoulder. Sam simply nodded and immediately crossed the room, over to his girlfriend. Sam rushed over to Jo, checking her over to make sure she was okay. He pulled her into a tight and protective embrace, holding her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder.

Jo held onto him tightly as she shivered slightly, her body shaking from the trauma she just experienced but she attempted to keep a brave face. “I’m so sorry, angel. This is all my fault” Sam’s voice broke as he held her to his chest, his stature fully engulfed her small frame.

Jo shook her head, shushing him before pulling away slightly to look up at him, “No, no, don’t say that, Sammy. This isn’t your fault, I promise.” She reassured him, caressing his cheek, her thumb lovingly tracing his cheekbone as he leaned into her touch.

But he didn’t believe it. He didn’t know what he would have done if he was too late to save her, he didn’t want to know what he would have done if she got hurt.

Dean and Y/N watched Jo and Sam interact with frowns on their face but it eased them seeing how much love they were for each other.

Sam leaned down, capturing Jo’s lips tenderly but short. Her fingers brushed through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly as they stayed in their embrace, holding each other lovingly.

Y/N looked at Dean and nodded towards the door, indicating for them to leave the two to give them a few minutes of time alone before they left to do the cleansing ritual.

Sam and Jo pulled apart, but their foreheads stayed resting on each other, their noses brushing lightly against each other. Sam leaned down to kiss her forehead, his hand on her waist, pulling her even closer, almost as if he was holding his whole world in his arms.

“I love you” Sam murmured, his lips still brushing against her forehead as Jo shut her eyes tight, inhaling his scent, savouring it. The smell of peppermint and coffee soothing her senses. She wanted that smell to fill her lungs. She opened her eyes again, looking up at him, her fingers still playing with his hair and lightly massaging his head.

Sam felt her fingers combing through his hair, massaging his scalp as he leaned into her hand, his forehead still on hers as she said with a small smile, “I love you more, Sammy” She whispered softly, looking into his eyes, getting lost in their hazel-green shade. She felt warm and safe in his arms, her head fitting perfectly in his chest.

-

They all were now in a cemetery, performing the cleansing ritual for the rabbit’s foot. The only thing left to do was toss it in the fire. Sam knelt down, sprinkling the last bit of the cayenne pepper into the hot pit as Y/N chanted the incantation spell Bobby gave them while Jo stood besides Sam.

“Alright. Bone ash. Cayenne pepper and the spell. That should do it” Sam said to his brother as he pushed himself up to his feet. Dean was still trying to milk his luck, scratching away at the last few scratch offs he bought. On the ride back from Queens, he begged Y/N to stop at a gas station and blew all of his money on tickets.

“One second” Dean mumbled, scratching away. “Dean-” Sam groaned, “Hey, back off, jinx. Daddy’s bringing the bacon home” Dean snapped, blowing away the dust from the scratch off as Y/N grimaced. “You’re seriously doing this now?” Jo asked, crossing her arms. “You did not just refer to yourself as ‘daddy’, gross” Y/N groaned, trying not to vomit.

“It’s a term of endearment, sweetheart. Don’t be a stick in the mud.” Dean mocked as he continued to scratch at the ticket. Y/N narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend, “You know damn well I’m no-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence, I’ve had enough torture for one day” Sam interrupted, a look of disgust on his face. “What? You would prefer mommy?” Jo joked with a smirk, earning a groan from Sam. “Dude, stop” Sam complained, a small laugh escaping his lips.

They were all exhausted and just wanted to get rid of the cursed object, finish this whole mess and get the hell out of here.

“Alright” Dean smiled as he moved over to the headstone he placed his jacket on, he stuffed the winning tickets into his pockets before taking the rabbit’s foot out, dangling it in the air. “Say goodbye, wascally wabbit” Sam sighed, shaking his head, “Dean, you really need to stop watching cartoons” He groaned. Jo chuckled at this but bit down on her bottom lip as Y/N snorted.

“I think you’ll find that belongs to me” Bela’s voice sounded behind them. They all spun around to see her now aiming and cocking her gun at them. “Or, you know, whatever” She smirked, “Put the foot down, honey” She demanded from Dean.

Dean swallowed, narrowing his eyes at Bela with a clenched jaw. “No. You’re not gonna shoot anybody” He scoffed, “See, I happen to be able to read people too. Okay, you’re a thief, fine, but you’re not-” Dean’s smug words were cut short when Bela shot twice, once at Sam’s shoulder and the other at Y/N’s.

Sam fell back at the impact of the bullet, groaning in pain as he clenched his shoulder. Y/N quickly stumbled backwards, her hand pressing against the bullet wound as she gritted her teeth to suppress a scream of pain that was threatening to escape her throat.

“SON OF A-” “YOU BITCH!” Dean and Jo shouted enraged, ready to maul Bela. “Back off, tiger. Back off” Bela gritted her teeth at them. Dean held back a growl of frustration, gritting his teeth to the point it begun to hurt, his fist clenched in anger at the fact that she shot Sam AND Y/N. He felt the urge to shoot a hole right in the middle of her forehead with the rage coursing through his veins.

Jo’s glared at Bela so deathly, you’d think the thief would be six feet under by now. She knelt to Sam’s side, cradling him. She shot Y/N a look of concern but Y/N gave her a thumbs up, indicating she was okay.

“You make one more move and I’ll pull the trigger” Bela threatened. Sam attempted to get up but Jo stopped him, gently pushing him back down as she sat him up and rested his head against the grave. Y/N took the shot pretty well, the pain was still stinging like hell but she was still on her feet.

She was still glaring at Bela, the pain in her shoulder forgotten for a moment with how mad she was. Dean’s heart plummeted as he moved back slightly and held his arms up in surrender, his hands shaking in pure rage.

“You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit.” Bela smirked before pointing at Sam with the gun, “But your brother?” she then pointed at Y/N, “And your girlfriend? Them I can’t miss” This made Dean snap. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t just go around shooting people like that!” His voice went up and octave as he shouted.

“Relax, it’s a shoulder hit. I can aim. Besides, who here hasn’t shot a few people?” Bela scoffed cockily. Jo glared at Bela as rage coursed through her veins at the woman’s words. The fact that Bela was making jokes and making this whole thing out to be a fun little game was starting to piss her off.

Jo stood up, pushing Sam gently away from her as she stormed up to Bela, “You really think this is just some fun little game you’re playing?” She scoffed, her fists clenched. “Oh sweetie, it’s just business” Bela grinned before turning back to Dean. “Put the rabbit's foot on the ground, now.” She demanded.

Dean felt his heart pounding against his chest. All this was for a damn rabbit foot. He took a deep breath, his eyes fixated on the ground, trying to keep a calm composure but it wasn’t working. “Alright! Alright, take it easy” Dean slowly lowered the foot, pretending to place it down, “Think fast” he smirked, tossing it into Bela’s hand.

Instinctively, she caught it. “Fuck” She cursed, rolling her eyes. Dean smiled sarcastically, “Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?” She rolled her eyes, annoyed by Dean’s smug cocky nature that she was beginning to hate more and more. She then looked over at Jo, who was glaring daggers at her. She shifted uncomfortably, swallowing the nervous lump in her throat.

-

Bela dropped the rabbit’s foot into the fire, allowing it to be set aflame. “Thanks” She scoffed sarcastically, “I’m out one-and-a-half million and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer” she grumbled as she stuck her hands in her pockets.

“Wow. I really don’t feel bad about that” Dean deadpanned but his hands were still shaking with anger. Jo just glared at the woman. Sam and Y/N weren’t in the mood for jokes after both getting shot. “Sam? Y/N? Jo?”

“Nope” The three responded in unison. “Not even a fucking little” Jo added, seething through her teeth as Sam and Y/N pressed bandannas to their wounds. “Hmm” Bela hummed, turning away from them. “Maybe next time, I’ll hang you out to dry” Bela smirked, leaning against this headstone Dean has his jacket on.

Y/N immediately went over to her, slapping her hand away from her man’s jacket. Oh, don’t go away angry, just go away” She seethed. Sam watched them from a distance, chuckling softly at the sight of the two woman bickering. Jo held Sam close as he shook his head, his lips in a thin line. Jo felt her anger start to fizzle away now that Bela was leaving.

“Have a goodnight, everyone” With that Bela left as Y/N eyed her suspiciously. She took her Dean’s jacket from the headstone and handed it to him.

-

They were now walking out of the cemetery, Dean had his arm wrapped around Y/N, who was clutching her shoulder. As Jo did the same with Sam. “You guys, good?” He asked the two. “I’ll live,” Sam nodded, leaning his head on Jo’s shoulder as she pressed a sweet, gentle kiss to his cheek.

Y/N gave Dean a weak smile, “Still hurts like a motherfucker but it’ll be alright.” She grimaced in pain, “Maybe a trip to the hospital would be good, if it doesn’t stop hurting that is.” Dean sighed, nodding in agreement, “We’ll go as soon as we get back to the motel.” He said, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. He held her close, her head rested on his shoulder.

“So I guess we’re back to normal huh? No good luck, no bad luck” Dean sounded almost disappointed when he said this then remembered. “Oh- I forgot we’re up $46,000. I almost forget the…scratch tickets” His words trailed off when he searched his pockets, only to come up empty.

Dean’s heart plummeted as Bela’s car sped off, she honked her horn twice. Sam shook his head at his brother's stupidity, trying not to laugh along with Jo. “SON OF A BITCH!!” Dean bellowed, thinking Bela stole the tickets.

Dean pulled back from Y/N, his eyes widening as he frantically checked his own pockets. He felt around like a desperate man, praying that maybe he had just hidden them in another jacket pocket instead. This only made the three laugh harder.

“Relax, charming” Y/N chuckled, retrieving them from her pocket. She noticed when Bela went over to the headstone with Dean’s jacket, she was getting sticky fingers with the tickets. That’s why she went over and snatched it away from her. While no one was looking, she stuffed the tickets into her own pocket.

Dean’s heart started beating again when he saw Y/N take the tickets out of her pocket. His shoulders relaxed out of relief, his heart rate finally going back to normal. Dean looked down at his girlfriend like she was his hero, “God, I love you” He smiled, peppering her face with kisses.

She giggled as Dean covered her in kisses, feeling his lips all over her face. Sam and Jo made gagging sounds in the background, which earned them looks from Dean and Y/N. “Oh shut up, Sammy”

“You can thank me for saving your ass $46,000 with a new helmet for Quinn and dinner” She joked, her free and uninjured hand resting on his jaw. Dean grinned, pecking her lips, “I’ll buy the helmet and dinner, princess. Whatever you want” He chuckled, squeezing her hip lightly as they all began walking back to their vehicles.

Jo playfully swatted Sam’s chest, “Hey. Why didn’t you win $46,000 when you had the rabbit’s foot?” She teased him, linking her arm into his uninjured one. Sam rolled his eyes, “Shut up” He laughed, shaking his head. Jo giggled at this, rubbing her thumb over his arm as they walked together with an arm around each other.

“He won at least $5000 from this when I forced him to scratch a bunch, don’t worry” Dean chimed in, flashing Jo a grin over his shoulder. “Really?” Jo raised an eyebrow at Dean, her curiosity peaked. “Yeah” Dean grinned, chuckling as Sam rolled his eyes again, shaking his head in embarrassment.

____________________________________________

Aurora, New York

•Two Days Later

Jo rode Y/N’s bike back to her safehouse while she and Sam rode with Dean. They spent the previous day holed up in the safehouse and living on takeout. But the next day, Y/N insisted on cooking since it had been a while since any of them had a proper home cooked meal.

Her and Sam’s bullet wounds were almost fully healed, thanks to a healing balm she made. It was one of her first concoctions she learnt to make from a spell book Bobby gave her, it was originally owned by an old psychic friend of his. It was basically a ‘Psychism for Beginners’ manual. The balm was basic but smelt like crap so Y/N altered it to give it her own twist.

Now, the Winchester boys were passed out in the living room. Everyone fell asleep there since they decided to have a Back To The Future movie night marathon, binging all three movies.

The sun beamed down on them through the windows as the sounds of birds chirping filled the air. Jo and Y/N sat on the patio of the safe house, enjoying the morning sunlight and a cup of steaming coffee on their laps.

Jo exhaled, taking a sip of her drink before humming in satisfaction. Y/N did the same, her eyes shut as she felt the warmth of the sun’s rays on her face. This was a rare sight, to see the two girls enjoying some peace and quiet together, without the boys.

It was peaceful and relaxing. Something they both haven’t felt for a while, enjoying the silence and peace as the birds chirped outside. Y/N exhaled, taking another sip of her coffee as she let herself forget all her worries for a brief moment. Jo was still shaken up after the incident with Kubrick and Creedy but managed to keep her mind distracted, still trying to move on from the trauma.

Y/N noticed the look of despair on her sister’s face, contemplating whether or not to push on the topic. So instead, “Hey, you wanna head out to the grocery now?” She asked her. Jo snapped out of it, nodding as she finished her coffee, placing it on the table next to her. She stood up, stretching slightly, still feeling a tightness in her muscles from the bullet wound in her shoulder.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, plus the boys will wake up soon” She said, yawning. Jo started walking with Y/N, opening the patio door to head back into the house. They both decided to get a quick shower and fix themselves up before leaving.

Dean and Sam were still sound asleep in the living room, sleeping on the couch and the armchair. Their bodies sprawled across the furniture like dead weight, they were out cold.

After showering, the girls crept downstairs so they didn’t wake up the boys. Y/N tiptoed over to the couch, leaning down slowly to pick up Dean’s keys. When she retrieved it, she quickly stuffed it into her pocket and laid a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Dean stirred a little upon feeling her lips on his forehead but he remained asleep, not showing any signs of waking up. Y/N smiled faintly, his freckles standing out in the sunlight. She could stare at him like this for hours, her heart fluttering at his peaceful look.

Jo did the same with Sam as Y/N tiptoed back to the kitchen. She gently moves his brown locks aside with her finger tips to press a light kiss to his cheek. Sam stirred sleepily, his eyes cracking open. He looked up at Jo, blinking a couple times before giving a sleepy smile. He leaned up to kiss her cheek softly. “Where are you two going?” He asked sleepily. His voice was gravelly and hoarse, sounding sleepy.

Jo chuckled softly, rubbing Sam’s cheek gently, “We’re gonna go to the grocery, we’ll be back soon, I promise. You can take another nap or something, go back to bed, baby” She said softly, her touch comforting. Sam nodded in response, closing his eyes again with a content hum as he got comfortable on the couch.

Jo moved to sit next to him, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. She knew this would help him fall asleep again. It definitely worked as he was knocked out in less than a minute, his breathing even with a small hint of snoring.

“You ready?” Y/N whispered to Jo as she got up from the couch. She went to the kitchen to get her sticky notes, scribbling a note that said, ‘Going on a supply run, brb. There’s coffee in the pot and leftover pizza in the fridge. Make sure you take the coffee maker off after, I love you babe xoxo’

She ripped it out from the pad and stuck it right on his nose, causing Jo to snort. Jo laughed quietly at the sticky note, shaking her head at Y/N. Dean was still sound asleep, unaware of what was happening. She took out her phone and snapped a picture just to show Sam later, knowing he’ll laugh at it too.

Y/N and Jo both made their way out to the driveway, Y/N took out the keys to the Impala, unlocking the car, “Ready to go?” She asked Jo with a grin as she slid into the driver’s seat. Jo nodded as she buckled in her seatbelt, “Yep, let’s go” She said as Y/N started the engine, driving out of the garage, leaving the boys to sleep through the day.

-

A few hours had passed since Y/N and Jo left and Dean was starting to stir from his awkward position on the small couch. Dean groaned, his back feeling stiff as he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck to relieve the tension and pain in his muscles. He rubbed his eyes, yawning and stretching, making a bone or two pop.

Dean looked around the living room, noticing his brother was still passed out on the other couch. He got up from the couch, his head whipping around to look for Y/N, finding her absent. She must still be upstairs but where was Jo? He looked confused and got up to check, rubbing his tired eyes.

He felt a piece of paper crumple at his feet. His brows furrowed as he lifted it up to see the sticky note Y/N left on his nose had fallen and stuck to his foot. He laughed to himself as he read the note, “She knows me too damn well” He said with a quiet chuckle, finding it entertaining that she knew he would have no problem drinking coffee or eating leftover pizza.

Just as Dean was about to pad over to the kitchen for some coffee, his phone rang on the coffee table. Dean looked over at the phone as the loud ringing interrupted him. He picked it up and answered it, not checking to see who was calling. “Hello?” He answered, his voice still hoarse and groggy from the sleep. His free hand was rubbing the back of his neck, trying to work out the kinks.

“Dean?? Where’s Y/N?!” Bobby’s panicked voice echoed through the phone, in the background, Dean heard items scattering. It sounded like Bobby was tearing his house apart. Dean was immediately on high alert as he heard Bobby’s panicked voice through the phone. He was wide awake now, panic coursing through his body. It was a bad habit of hunters to instantly think of the worst possible scenario.

Sam began to groan in his own spot on the couch, twisting and turning in his sleep. Dean paid Sam no attention as his brows knitted together, his heart racing, his mind going to dark places. “Bobby, what’s going on?” He asked frantically, his heart rate picking up speed.

“I can’t find the dagger, where’s the damn dagger?“ Bobby muttered in frustration. Confusion etched over Dean’s face, “What do you mean? Y/N didn’t tell you it showed up in her bag?” Dean asked. “It what?!” Bobby exclaimed, gripping his head. The way Bobby snapped made Dean flinch a bit, “No, the girl didn’t say a damn thing” Bobby snapped, his irritation growing.

Sam began to stir at the sound of his brother’s voice, becoming more and more aware of his surroundings. Dean then took up a pillow from the couch and tossed it at his brother before putting the phone on speaker.

Sam groaned as he caught the pillow, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes, looking like a big bear waking up from his long nap. Dean made a shushing motion with his hand, telling him to remain quiet. “Bobby, just calm down, alright?” Dean said in a calm, soothing tone, hoping to diffuse the situation. “What’s going on?” Sam asked, his voice filled with sleep.

Bobby took a breath as he ran a hand over his face, trying to ease his anxiety, “That knife Y/N found? It ain’t no knife, it’s a damn dagger. It’s Maverick’s fucking Dagger” Bobby told them. “It’s what?!” Sam and Dean asked in unison. Dean’s brows were furrowed again, confused by the name, not recognizing it anywhere but Sam was familiar with the story of Maverick’s Dagger. So his expression was a lot different to Dean’s, his heart pace rapidly growing.

“That’s impossible. I thought that was a myth” Sam gasped. Dean was even more confused. Did he miss a major detail in this mess they were dealing with? “Who the hell is Maverick?” He asked, his face scrunching up in confusion.

Bobby sighed, “Ronald Maverick. He was earth’s first known and widely recognized psychic in the late 1400s. He’s the reason the Seven Deadly sins were banished back to hell. I don’t know how I didn’t put it together when Y/N found that knife on Envy, but the legend goes, he sensed their return to earth in the early 1500s and he became so greedy for more power to send them back to hell. So he crafted the knife, using his own blood in order to exorcise them with the help of a witch, his wife.” He explained, his brows furrowed, the anger and panic was slowly subsiding as his voice became calmer.

“Only, he didn’t know his wife was actually harnessing energy from a ‘yellow eyed demon’ to power the dagger, so, out of anger, hurt and betrayal, he killed her with it. The dagger was never seen again until the Seven Deadly Sins came back on earth. Even I believed it was a myth before Bela called me and told me about it. That woman is a nasty thief and when something pretty valuable catches her eye, she takes it. And if this knife falls into the wrong hands, it’s gonna be hell to pay, boy” Bobby grumbled as he took off his cap.

“That damn hunk of junk makes any creature of nature greedy for power, angry for lost loved ones, it amplifies vengeance in their souls. Tainting it till it’s irreparable. Rumor has it, any full bred-psychic who even breathes too hard near the thing goes berserk if they don’t get enough power or vengeance. Long story short so we need to get that damn thing away from Y/N until it’s late. Good intentions or not, it’s evil beyond explanation” Bobby concluded.

Dean felt the blood drain from his face as he listened to what Bobby was telling them. His stomach dropped as the feeling of dread hit him like a ton of bricks. Dean swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, his heart racing as his thoughts began to race. His mind immediately going to Y/N and her whereabouts, his heart felt like it was going to beat out his chest in that moment.

Sam sat there with his head in his hands, taking in everything Bobby told them, fear and panic coursing through his body. His head was spinning with the thoughts about that dagger and what it can do, the effects it has on psychics who wield it for too long. The fact that Y/N had possession of it right now, just the thought of it made Sam feel nauseous.

“Boys? You there?” Bobby’s voice echoed through the speaker. Either of the Winchesters had yet to say a word. Dean took a breath, shaking his head and forcing his panicked mind to focus again. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, Bobby. We’re still here” His voice was a little hoarse as he spoke.

Dean put one hand over his eyes as he tried to ground himself in the moment, his mind still racing with thoughts. He took slow breaths, in and out, his shoulders rising and falling at random intervals.

-

The door to the L/N New York safehouse opened and in walked Y/N and Jo. They froze in their tracks upon seeing Sam and Dean practically tearing apart the house, looking for the dagger. They tried getting onto Y/N but she wasn’t answering her phone.

As soon as they realised the girls were back, the boys rushed over like dogs in a hunt. They both crowded the girls, Sam grabbed Jo and Dean grabbed Y/N by the arm. “Where is it?” Dean demanded, “Where’s what?” She asked confused, almost stumbling with the grocery bags in hand.

“The dagger you found, where is it?” Dean asked again, his voice a lower tone, almost sounding like a growl. He was desperate, his heart pounding harshly in his ears, he was panicked. “Oh, it’s in my jacket. Why?” She asked as she and Jo placed the bags on the kitchen counter. She then took it out and handed it to Dean.

Dean snatched the dagger from Y/N’s hand. He grimaced, gripping the dagger tightly in his hand, “We need to destroy it” Y/N’s eyes bulged out, “What the fuck?! No, why?!” She exclaimed, trying to snatch it back from him.

“This ain’t a damn joke Y/N. That thing is dangerous as hell! You need to stay away from that thing!” Dean snapped, his tone sounding angry and desperate. “Charming, it’s fine!” Y/N snapped, her tone rising. She attempted to snatch the dagger back, but Dean held it higher out of her reach.

“Y/N, stop!” Sam stepped in, grabbing the dagger from his brother. “Bobby just called us, it’s Maverick’s Dagger” Sam dropped the ball, “No fucking way” Y/N gasped, recognizing its name. She knew the bare minimum when it came to it, having stumbled upon it when she and Sam were researching on lore sites about her lineage. “Does everyone know about this fucking dagger but me????” Dean rolled his eyes.

-

All four of them stood outside the safe house in a small clearing, Y/N and Jo clutching their jackets. “Good riddance” Y/N sighed as Sam, Dean and Jo watched her toss the dagger into the fire pit. The fire crackled and sparked, the flames dancing wildly as they consumed the dagger, slowly turning it to ash.

Not a single ounce of the dagger remained as the fire finally died, leaving nothing but ash and charcoal. Sam wrapped his arm around Jo, leading her back into the house as Y/N rested her head on Dean’s shoulder. “Is it terrible to say that I’m gonna miss it?”

Dean laughed softly, “Of course you would say that princess” He joked, kissing the top of her head as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly into his side. Y/N rested her head against his chest, her eyes shutting as she savoured the moment.

Being in Dean’s arms was her favourite place to be, it always made her feel at ease and safe. She felt his lips on her head, her heart fluttering with butterflies in her stomach. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close. She wished it could last forever.

Dean hesitated for a moment, thinking of the possibilities. Nothing was easy like this, it felt suspiciously easy as if it was way too simple. It unnerved him a bit but he had to push that feeling down for her and Sam’s sake. It wasn’t something they needed to worry about, not at this moment.

But at least it was gone. He looked down at her, “I don’t know but I’m glad it’s gone for good” He said softly, kissing her forehead again. He held her close, resting his chin on her head as he swayed from side to side with her. The fire had died down, the ashes of the dagger were still fresh. He held her protectively in his arms, savouring this moment before it could be ruined.

“Come on, sweetie. I’ll get started on lunch, you must be starving” She said softly, unwrapping herself from his arms but she took his left hand into her right, leading him towards the house.

Dean nodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as his thumb ran back and forth over her skin.

He was starving, food definitely sounded good right about now. Especially with Y/N’s cooking, his mouth was beginning to water.

While she was walking to the house, something at the back of y/n’s mind told her that this wasn’t over yet. She forced herself to leave it there, not voicing her thoughts since they quite literally just burnt the dagger to a crisp.

That meant it was over. That meant it was gone forever. That meant there was no way it could apparently corrupt her now. Right?

____________________________________________

Author’s Note: HEEEELLLLLOOOOO AGAAAINNNN. This was SO long overdue. Once again, I am so sorry for making you guys wait but I really do hope that it was worth it!

This chapter is dedicated to my bestie @nesnejwritings , Maverick’s Dagger is named after him. I love you, sugarbear. I’ve said it once but I’ll say it again, thank you for always giving me the best advice when it comes to Genesis and always listening to me rant about it. I love love loveee you till the day I die❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258 @elite4cekalyma

@ladykitana90 @strawberrykiwisdogog @barnes70stark

All in all, I hope you guys liked it🥰Be sure to tell me what you liked and hated!

Xoxo

[daisyblossomsub]

Daisy preened, smiling broadly in response to his praise. "I thought you'd approve, Daddy." She said, whimpering at the additional, rough squeeze to her sensitive breast. "Mmm, well, my perfect man deserves nothing less, so I'm thrilled to have provided." She melted into the back of the sofa, squealing quietly as he whispered his plans into her ear. "I think that might be one of the best ideas you've ever come up with. I'd be shocked if you could fuck a load into my pussy already after the mess you just made...but then again, I know you and your stamina. It's impressive, but not shocking that you'll be able to breed my little pussy again by the time we get upstairs...my only condition is that we don't rinse your cum off me until we're well and done, okay? I want you to see the remnants of your pleasure dripping down my tits while I rut my gushing little pussy down over your abs..." She whispered back, matching his dirty talk, tit-for-tat. She gingerly straddled him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, preparing herself for him to stand up with her clinging to him. "I'm ready when you are, Sir..."

END

His head spun in the wake of his orgasm, fueled by the sweet, cooing praise his beautiful girl offered. Danny sank back onto the couch, grunting when she sucked on his nipple, his fingers carding through her hair slowly. He glanced over at her, chuckling when he noticed what she was doing with his cum. "Good girl, marking what's mine like that," he praised, squeezing her tit again. "That was so good, princess, my perfect girl." He shifted to lean in to whisper in her ear. "I think it's time to head back to my room so I can fuck a load into you properly and then watch you hump my abs until you squirt, what do you think?"

[evanhereonearth]

Solas, outnumbered seven to one, overpowered by a lot more than that, betrayed by his best friend Mythal who bound him to her service and coerced him into leaving the Fade and coerced him into making a weapon that would make an entire people tranquil to stop the war she started AND ignored him when he said it would create *checks notes* a blight and made him do it anyway. Solas, facing seven blighted wannabe gods who turned on his best abusive friend Mythal when she finally stood up to them after CENTURIES of him begging her to do just that and starting a rebellion to free all their multitudes of slaves: *creates the veil, imprisons the blight and the Evanuris, and preserves all life in Thedas* World: FUCK THE DREAD WOLF, GOD OF TREACHERY AND LIES *worships the Evanuris and their dragon thralls*

Solas: zzzzzzzzzz (knocked out cold from saving the world for LITERALLY SEVERAL MILLENNIA MORE)

Tevinter: *razes what's left of Elvhenan, steals all their magic, enslaves the elven people for entire length of Solas's world-saving-induced coma*

Also Tevinter: *breaks into the fucking black city and brings out the blight*

Also also Tevinter: *uses so much blood magic that the veil ends up in tatters*

The Blight: >:)

World: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck *throws everything they can at the blight, including--*checks notes again*--the blight

Orlais: you know what sucks? elves. let's kill them all

Ferelden: good shout, mes amis

Orlais: you know what also sucks? mages. put them in prisons.

Ferelden: you're full of good ideas when you're not invading us

Free Marches: MAGE PRISON, YOU SAY?

Orlais: add templars who can decide to murder them or make them tranquil on a whim at any moment

Ferelden and Free Marches: *frantically taking notes*

Rivain and Nevarra: we're just going to be...over here...

Blights 1-5: i've got a great idea i've got a great idea

Blights 1-5 after a while: my great idea didn't work :(

Archdemons 1-5: ....... :(

Evanuris 1-5: ......... :(

Solas, waking up in 9:40ish Dragon: what the...WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCKING FUCK. they can just KILL MAGE CHILDREN? AND PURGE ALIENAGES? AND ALMOST EVERY ELF IN TEVINTER IS A SLAVE? *absolutely rabid, seeks out the Dalish, as remnants of his people*

The Dalish, at Solas: *ARROWS*

Solas: ......fuck this shit, fuck all of this shit, fuck these tyrants in particular, fuck this fucking...UGH

The veil, after all this: (o.O:0oO.)

The remaining blighted Evanuris and the 99% of blight that did not escape: :)

Solas: well, that is a problem, going to need to address that ASAP, but turns out millennia of coma doesn't leave a spirit spry

Corypheus, busting out of warden jail: I AM FREE

Solas: hm, could kill that guy letting him unlock my orb, since he broke into my blight prison in the first place and defo deserves dying

Corypheus: veil needs a certain je ne sais quoi, a...bigger hole. i will make one.

Wardens: yes, good plan, blighted magister man. we are in control of the blight inside us and also heroes *in death, sacrifice = divine justinia's ritual sacrifice under thrall*

The veil:

O

Corypheus: >:( but like...not dead

Solas: well, i did not see that coming

Lavellan: *in chains, threatened with execution*

humans: KNIFE EAR >:(

Lavellan: *hole in the sky, hole in her memories, hole in her fucking hand* fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, wait, this hole in my hand helps close holes in the SKY

Solas: *.* It seems you hold the key to our salvation

Lavellan: i'm sorry what

humans: HERALD OF ANDRASTE!!!!!!!! *falls to knees*

Lavellan: I'M SORRY WHAT

Chantry: *choking in the corner*

Cassandra: time for you to decide the fate of the world

Lavellan: I'M. SORRY. WHAT???????? you know what? fine. *stops alexius from blood magicking his way through redcliffe and time itself, gets punted into a hellscape of nightmares and makes it back with the help of a rebel tevinter mage* the mages i rescued from becoming probable slaves to tevinter are our allies and dorian is my new best friend for being the only reason i made it back alive and the whole world didn't die *dabs*

Cassandra: >:(

Mother Giselle: >:(

Lavellan: ffs

Corypheus: *dragon temper tantrum*

Lavellan: *somehow escapes both dragon and Corypheus, trudges through blizzard, collapses*

Mother Giselle: *.* I FEEL A SONG COMING ON

Literally everyone but Solas: *falls to their knees*

Solas: a word?

Lavellan: OH THANK HEAVENS

Solas: these people are wack and aren't going to like that Corypheus is using elven magic *cough*, they're a hairsbreadth from executing us at all moments lol, btw here's a castle, you know, for you cos i highkey see myself in you and god i'm so fucking lonely

Lavellan: me too but wait, what the fuck is happening. you know what? fuck it. solas, what if we kissed,,, in the fade

Solas: what IF we kissed,,, in the fade *fade tongue*

Solas: ...you continue to surprise me. you show a wisdom i have not seen...since my deepest journeys into the fade!

Lavellan: don't you dare walk away from me now

Solas: okay vhenan i stay

Vivienne: this is a DEMON and NOT A PET

Lavellan: *blinks* right, no, this spirit kid who is the literal only reason we escaped Haven alive is my son now. if he hadn't read roderick's mind we'd all be avalanched or blighted dragoned, so SUCK IT UP

Vivienne: >:(

Cassandra: >:(

Sera: >:(

Bull: >:(

Varric: >:(

Solas: :D

Wardens: btw we're doing blood magic and raising an army of demons. not really our fault but also not NOT our fault? idk, blight in the blood, morally grey area. get it? grey...war--never mind, we'll be at adamant xoxo

Cullen: lotsa soldiers gonna die

Lavellan: fuck, is there another choice?

Advisors: ...no

Cory's dragon: *burninating the adamant, burninating the wardens, burninating all the people and this crumbling ROCKY BRIIIIIIDGE! CRUMBLING ROCKY BRIDGEEEEE*

Lavellan, flying through the air hundreds of feet towards the ground: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck *opens a rift into the fade*

Everyone but Solas: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WE'RE IN THE FADE

Solas: we're in the FADE!!!!!

Lavellan, after escaping the nightmare's lair: glad half the team is pissed at me, what's next, an imperial ball? how hard can that be?

Orlesians: they invited an ELF SAVAGE >:(

Lavellan: you know what, fuck this and fuck Celene for genociding the entire Halamshiral alienage and fuck you, Gaspard, you can be Briala's little French Orlesian bulldog

Half the Inquisition: *shocked pikachu*

Morrigan: allow me to shemsplain all of elven history to everyone, including Solas, yourself, and all the ancient elves in this temple

Lavellan: you know what? okay. *rubs at Mythal's vallaslin, makes eyes real big* who is this "Mythal"

Solas: *choking in the corner*

Cassandra, muttering: i do not want to do a ritual to a false god

Morrigan: lemme have the well, lemme have it, i deserve it more than you

Lavellan: ...abso-fucking-lutely not *drinks from the well out of pure spite*

Solas: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, VHENAN

Lavellan: idk vhenan, this world sucks and i wanna make it better and i love you

Solas: ...you are everything and you inspire me, hurry, i need to tell you i'm the dread wolf but am going to break up with you and remove your slave markings instead and btw they're basically a drawing of me in my true form and honestly, this whole thing is real fucked up and you're the only real person in my entire life who sees me

Lavellan: wait what

Solas: i'm bad and don't deserve you and had to harden my heart to save the world before and everyone hated me for it so i'm projecting when i say you must harden your heart to a cutting edge to kill Corypheus, I'll explain after we kill him

Lavellan: ...oh yeah guess we should do that but I gotta go meet Mythal first

Solas: wait what

Mythal: *is Morrigan's mum, is only mostly dead, also 100% cool with overriding her servants' will entirely for shits and giggles, 0/10 do not trust* i'll help you if you fight this dragon lol

Morrigan: *choking in the corner*

Corypheus: *has a mahoosive temper tantrum when Mythal's pet dragon kills his pet dragon, dies*

Solas: ;-; ilu, inky, what we had was real but i'm afraid to do to you what Mythal did to me. I MUST AWAY

Lavellan: ....

World: HERALD OF ANDRASTE!!!!!!!!!!!!*

*some restrictions may apply, like in a couple years we're going to forget everything you did and be real mad at you

Solas, somewhere: been there, vhenan

World, two years later: :D we're here to hate you, right on schedule

Qunari: you are in need of the gentle path. therefore, we are coming to kill you all

Solas: like hell you will. but come to think of it, this is a good excuse to see vhenan again

Lavellan's arm: TIME TO DIE

Solas: defo another good excuse to see vhenan again. probs should study that arm anyway

Lavellan, after several Qunari too many: CAN ANYTHING IN THIS FUCKING WORLD STAY FIXED

Inquisition, including Divine Victoria: *shocked pikachu*

Lavellan: i'm going back through the fucking looking glass to talk to some ancient elven sentinels with Mythal's magic whisper well, they're the only fucking thing that makes sense here

Qunari: *destroying everything in sight but getting hounded by the dread wolf at every step*

Lavellan, whose arm is trying to kill her but is following Qunari through her own people's magic mirror world: ...i think i'm in love with the dread wolf

Companions: pfffffft

Cole: :D YES, YOU ARE AND HE LOVES YOU TOO

Lavellan: thank god i have you, cole, my spirit son

Solas, in a statuary garden of petrified Qunari: i suspect you have questions

Lavellan: honestly, fen'harel, not really

Solas: *shocked pikachu* well done

Lavellan: i'm real tired and you could have just trusted me back in Crestwood.

Solas: this world is broken, i must tear down the veil

Lavellan: yep, i'm one "knife ear" away from putting a knife in the next human's ear who says it tbh, i'd rather live in the fade with you and my spirit son, can i help you pls vhenan

Solas: ...no

Lavellan: wtf

Solas, internally panicking because he followed Mythal wherever she went and she dragged him to literal hell and trauma and now his one true love is offering to follow him while he probably makes things worse again: absolutely not, no, but i love you forever

Lavellan's arm: >:(

Solas: ...right, i gotta take that

Lavellan: wait what

Solas: i will never forget you *trundles through mirror with severed arm*

Lavellan: oh fuck my entire life, you know what, Ferelden and Orlais? Inquisition is no more, i'm going on sabbatical to Stone Bear Hold where at least people are not insane and Storvacker loves me, and then i'm going home to the castle vhenan gave me. don't call me. byeeee

ten years later

Varric: gonna go stop Solas, who invented the veil and is From Fade, from doing things i don't understand, wish me luck, inky

Lavellan: WAIT ONE GODDAMNED SECOND I'M COMING WITH YOU

Varric: no <3 i found a complete rando who will fuck everything up

Rook: hey, what if i drop a statue on this nuclear arsenal protecting the biggest biological weapon of mass destruction known to all of thedas? that'll help

Neve, a literal mage who should know even small rituals can blow up and kill you: probs not a good idea but Varric, a dwarf who knows nothing about magic or the veil or the Fade whatsoever says this ritual must be stopped At All Costs By Any Means Necessary so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Varric: Solas I will shoot you with Bianca

Solas: ffs stop *breaks Bianca*

Varric: can you promise me your way is better

Solas: i know way better than to make promises like that, have you seen this world???

Varric: GOTCHA, YOU LYING LIAR WHO LIES

Rook: TIIIIIIIIIIIIIMBERRRRRRR

Varric: defo going to attack the guy whose millennia of existence has been centred on this massive magical problem i do not even comprehend a little after waiting ten years to ask a single question about it when he'd already got going *tries to stab Solas*

Solas, feeling everything he's spent all of world history protecting the world from breaking out of jail: turns the dagger and stabs Varric instead

Elgar'nan: >:)

Ghilan'nain: >:)

Solas: oh for fucking FUCK'S SA--*exit, stage Fade Jail*

Blight: >:)

Rook: oops

Neve and Harding: omg this could not possibly be our fault at all, not even a little. it's Solas's fault, the lying liar who lies

Lavellan: i will not murder this stupid child, i will not murder this stupid child, i will not murder this stupid child

Morrigan: we have to help the stupid child

Lavellan: we have to help the stupid child

Morrigan and Lavellan: *look at each other*

Lavellan: when this is over, i stg--

Morrigan, who has millennia of memories of Mythal abusing Solas and decades of Flemythal abusing her: yeah no i will throw you a going away party and take care of Dorian for you and help you get your boyfriend back and no way will i fight him, this is actually ridiculous

Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches, all of whom turned on Lavellan ten years ago: hELP help HELP there's BLIIIIIGHT

Lavellan to Leliana: you owe me a hundred gold

Leliana: *hands over a solid gold nug*

Ferelden: X_X

Orlais: X_X

Free Marches: X_X

Lavellan: *grits teeth* i better go meet with rook

Rook: andaran atish'an, honoured inquisitor

Lavellan: yo. sure would be nice to be meeting without our gods, you know, destroying absolutely everything i've spent a quarter of my life protecting and rebuilding after the last apocalypse but here we are i guess

Morrigan: *smirks at shade*

Northern Thedas: ROOK IS THE BEST

Southern Thedas: is rook tho

Ghilan'nain: muahahaha i have so many drago---nooo you killed my dragons and i am BLEEDING LIKE A MORTAL PIECE OF MORTAL SCUM

Elgar'nan: my dragon used to be bigger :(

Ghilan'nain: your dragon's fine

Elgar'nan: Ghilly, make it bigger again

Ghilan'nain: can't, too sad. blood. :(

Southern Thedas: *throwing nugs at blight* hELP

Lavellan, with half of Southern Thedas crammed into skyhold: thanks for the castle, vhenan, we'd all literally be dead without it, again

Morrigan: erm, Inky? seems everyone's telling Rook Solas is just a big monster lying liar who lies and blaming him for everything

Lavellan: that's what people do, blame Solas. had a bad day? blame Solas. Mythal wants to sever the titans' dreams? Blame Solas. Rashvine nettle sting? Blame Solas. Bring the veil 5/7 or so of the way down themselves after releasing the blight? Blame Solas. Rook let the gods out? Blame Solas

Morrigan: Inky.

Lavellan: you want me to go pour out my heart to the person who imprisoned vhenan and let out Ghilan'nain, Mother of Tentacles, and Elgar'nan "My Dragon is Bigger than Your Dragon" First and Worst of the Evanuris, don't you

Morrigan: yee

Lavellan: FINE but you better spill every ounce of tea you've got on the stupid child before i go because i need to at least make rook squirm a LITTLE

Morrigan: i thought you'd never ask

Elgar'nan: you won't make my dragon bigger??? fine i'll move the moon instead

Northern Thedas: i'm sorry what

Anyone at sea anywhere on the planet: I'M SORRY WHAT

Ghilan'nain: *throws a temper tantrum and dies*

Elgar'nan: >:(

Solas: fuck this shit, i'm getting out of Fade Jail

Rook: :(

Minrathous: fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK

Solas: hello, people who enslaved my people for millennia, i am here to save the day i guess

Minrathous, slapping blight tentacles out of their faces: ...honestly thank you

Solas: wait what

Rook: I ESCAPE FADE JAIL SOLAS YOU BASTARD LYING LIAR WHO LIES

Lavellan: i will not murder the stupid child, i will not murder the stupid child, i will not murder the stupid child

Solas: you know what, fair play, here's the dagger, there's elgar'nan, ima bite his dragon, you go have a great time. have fun storming the blight tentacle

Venatori, poster children for the Leopards Who Eat People's Faces Party: nooo the leopards keep eating our faces

Minrathous: wow who could have possibly predicted that

Everyone who has ever met a Venatori: yes, yes, very sad

Elgar'nan, eating every face in the magesterium and effectively cleansing Tevinter of the worst of its monsters in one fell swoop: ah, rook, you can't kill me, i have the biggest dragon ever to dragon

Dread Wolf: honestly he's kinda not wrong, this dragon is a bastard and i am like a fifth of its size and getting p tired, ngl

Rook's Blighted Companion: welp gonnae put this trauma to use for the greater good. go go gadget blight tentacles, release the Dread Pupper

Elgar'nan: *shocked pikachu*

Dread Wolf: *chomp*

Elgar'nan: *throws a temper tantrum and dies*

Solas: oh ffs finally

Rook: not so fast

Solas: oh ffs here we fucking go

Rook: i don't actually want to fight you

Solas: wait, what

Rook: i think this is all my fault but everyone keeps telling me i'm the hero and that's fucked up. and your vhenan, she's nice to me, no one really else is, i'm just everybody's apocalypse therapist, and i even kinda like you tbh, my whole team basically does fun stuff without me and doesn't even invite me to book club and emmrich's the only one who asks me about my feelings instead of just asking me to do stuff for them, and anyway, i'm going to trust the inquisitor here because i'm honestly starved for connection and she thinks you're worth saving so can we talk i don't wanna fight

Solas: what

Lavellan, out of sight, reliving the litany of "i will not murder this stupid child": oh haha awkward

Solas: look,,, i've been bound to the service of an ancient elvhen god for millennia and everything i do, whether i know it or not, is for her, so i can't do what you want and this sucks

Lavellan: even if i'm here, walking the din'an shiral with you?

Solas: ...vhenan

Lavellan: ;_;

Solas: ;_; ...I cannot

Morrigan: yo dread wolf, my mum's a piece of work and i have all her memories and everything she did to you was fuuuuuuuuucked up, anyway, over to her, honestly not pissed you killed that part of her btw, she reeeeally fucked you up, but rook somehow managed to talk her out of her essence, so that's impressive

Solas: what

Mythal: yeah i kinda tore you out of your home and twisted you from your purpose and made you do murder and worse for me for millennia and said i wanted your wisdom and then never ever listened to you ever and just dragged you through every atrocity i created and perpetuated

Solas: it hurts and i guess you're going to kill me now so here's the dagger ;_;

Mythal: it's still mostly your fault but i was there too i guess, anyway, i release you from my service, which i could have done at any point in the past several millennia but instead I tortured you endlessly, lol god of retribution, that's me. k bye

Solas: what the fucking fuck

Lavellan: right there with you, like literally forever, our love is a miracle and the only thing i can even cope with

Solas: yeah honestly fuck this shit, i'm out, i will put myself in fade jail

Lavellan: you are not going by yourself i stg take me with you i wanna go home

Solas: ...home is a literal prison now

Lavellan: sealed away from all this shit? from getting blamed for everything we do no matter how much we sacrifice? if it's you and me there together, i don't care if it's a grey box full of darkspawn

Solas: there's no darkspa--

Lavellan: ffs i said i want to go, you don't have to sell me on it. you're the only person in this world who Gets It. we go on together, forever.

Solas: *.* my wife

Lavellan: *.* my wolf

Northern Thedas: and rook saved the world from the dread wolf, who was a lying liar who lies

Southern Thedas: *busy being dead and blighted*

Lavellan: yeah, fuck this shit, we're out

You can now download this shitpost in beautifully formatted PDF, courtesy of @amburuthings. Thank u for your service *salutes*

You all have had me howling with the tags on reblogs, thank you, I am absolutely dying in deadline hell and needed that

[jaylalolz]

Heyy girl i love ur writing so much! Could i do a request of Father Charlie Smut, with him and reader who loves wearing short dresses and skirts but like she’s innocent girl. She wears one during mass and he can’t stop eyeing her the whole time.

❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 ❜ . . . nicholas chavez

INNOCENT!reader x PRIEST!charlie 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

SUMMARY, charlie can’t take his eyes off of her while she wears those short skirts all the time. he realizes that she needs to be punished.

A/N, thanks for requesting!! hope you like it.

WARNINGS, smuttyyyy

Charlie stood at the altar, his voice steady as he read from the Bible. It was an ordinary Sunday mass, yet something felt off. His words were focused on the sermon, but his mind kept wandering, distracted by a presence in the crowd. A familiar one. He tried to ignore it at first, pushing through the scriptures, but every few minutes, his eyes darted back to the same spot.

There she was, sitting in the third row—his favorite girl. She had a way of turning heads without even trying.

Charlie noticed her as soon as she entered the church, the short, black skirt she wore clinging tightly to her legs. It was far from appropriate for a Sunday service, or for any visit to church. It wasn’t just the length—barely reaching mid-thigh—but the way she seemed completely unfazed by it, sitting there confidently, crossing and uncrossing her legs like the length didn’t matter.

He could feel a tension rising inside him, an unfamiliar mix of emotions that tugged at his composure. Why had she worn that here, of all places?

As mass ended and people began filtering out, Charlie couldn’t help but keep his eyes on her. He needed to say something, to address it before it gnawed at him further. With a sigh, he stepped down from the altar and walked toward her.

She was lingering by the restrooms, her usual smile playing on her lips. As soon as she saw Charlie approaching, her eyes brightened.

“Charlie,” she said warmly, tilting her head. “Your sermon was great today.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, his tone a little more serious than usual. He paused, looking at her outfit up close, his brow furrowing. “can we talk for a second?”

Her smile faltered just a bit, noticing the change in his mood. “Sure,” she said slowly, stepping aside with him.

Charlie took a breath, keeping his voice low. “Listen… I couldn’t help but notice what you’re wearing today.”

She blinked, her brows raising in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“The skirt,” he gestured awkwardly, his eyes darting to the hem that barely covered anything. “It’s… not exactly appropriate for church.”

She looked down at her outfit, as if she hadn’t even thought about it before. Her expression was neutral, but there was a hint of something else in her eyes—maybe defiance. “Is it bothering you?”

He shifted on his feet, unsure how to respond. “It’s just… This is a place of worship. People come here to connect with God, and I think what you’re wearing might distract from that. Not just for me—for everyone.”

Her lips curled into a small smile, her voice softening. “Are you saying I’m distracting you, Charlie?”

His face heated up at her teasing tone, but he forced himself to stay serious. “I’m not trying to make this personal. I’m just asking you to be mindful of where you are.”

She studied him for a moment, her eyes searching his face as if weighing her next words carefully. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene. It’s just a skirt, Charlie. Can’t help it if people stare.”

“I know that,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But people judge, whether we like it or not. And in a place like this, modesty is important.”

Her smile faded, her expression softening. She looked him in the eye, sensing the sincerity behind his words. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. But… I’ll be more careful next time.”

He exhaled in relief, nodding. “Thanks. I just want to make sure everyone’s focus is where it should be.”

She gave him a playful nudge. “Well, maybe you just need to focus a little better.”

“You think this is appropriate? You’re drawing attention to the wrong things” Charlie ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep his cool. He knew he wasn’t explaining it right, but the way she stood there, so confident in defying him, was only making his thoughts more muddled.

She cut him off, her eyes narrowing. “Drawing attention? Isn’t that a you problem? Maybe you’re the one who’s distracted, not me.”

Her words hit a nerve, and suddenly, everything Charlie had been holding back came flooding out. “Yes, I am distracted!” His voice was louder than he intended, but it was too late to stop now. “Do you think it’s easy standing up there, trying to give a sermon, trying to focus on leading a mass, when you’re sitting there in the front row, wearing something that… that—”

“That what?” she pressed, her tone icy now.

Charlie swallowed hard, the confession finally spilling from his lips. “That makes it impossible not to notice you. Every time I look out at the congregation, you’re the first person I see. And it’s distracting. It’s not just about the skirt, it’s about… you.”

The air between them felt heavy with his words, and for a moment, She seemed stunned. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, processing what he had just admitted.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and smooth, “I bet you like it when I give you my attention.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt the color rise to her cheeks. She quickly looked away, trying to laugh it off, but her laugh came out awkward, a bit too high-pitched, betraying the nerves that were now crawling their way up her spine.

“What are you talking about?” she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice wavered. She could feel the heat in her face, the way her hands suddenly felt restless as she fiddled with the edge of the throw pillow beside her.

Charlie chuckled, leaning forward slightly, narrowing the distance between them. “You do this thing,” he continued, his eyes never leaving her, “where you act like you don’t care, like I’m not getting to you. But I can see it.” His voice dropped lower, his tone almost teasing. “I can always see it.”

Her heart raced faster now, a dull thrum in her chest. She pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t wrong. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. She hated that he could read her so easily, hated that she couldn’t hide how his attention made her feel. Nervous, yes. But there was more to it than that, and she wasn’t ready to admit what that was.

“You’re full of yourself,” she finally managed, her words barely above a whisper.

Charlie’s smile widened, that maddening, knowing smile that only made her nerves worse. He leaned back again, but his eyes still held her captive. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong, am I?”

She swallowed, trying to hold onto whatever was left of her composure. “You’re imagining things,” she said, shaking her head, but even to her ears, the denial sounded weak.

“Am I? cause for some reason you always wear a skirt when your around me. I’m not stupid. ” he asked, his tone challenging now, as though daring her to keep denying it.

she looked away again, desperate to break the tension that was steadily building between them. But it was too late. His words had already burrowed into her mind, making it impossible to escape the truth she was trying so hard to ignore.

"Just admit it, already," Charlie said, his voice low and certain, sending a ripple of heat through her.

She swallowed, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she desperately tried to hold onto some sense of control. "Admit what?"

Charlie smirked, standing up from his spot and slowly walking toward her. He was too close now, his presence too overwhelming, the scent of his cologne filling the air around her. He stopped just inches away, his gaze holding hers captive, daring her to keep pretending she didn't know what he was talking about.

"You like it when I give you my attention," he said, his voice almost a whisper, but every word felt like it hit her with the weight of something inevitable. "You like it when I make you nervous."

Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the heat rising in her face, the rush of adrenaline making her pulse quicken. She wanted to deny it, to brush off his words like she always did, but something about the way he was looking at her made it impossible to lie.

Charlie took another step closer, so close now that she could feel the warmth of his body radiating toward her.

She leaned back slightly, her back pressing against the wall as if it would give her some distance from the truth staring her in the face.

"Charlie, I-" she started, but the words got caught, tangled with her emotions.

He leaned in just a little more, his face inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin. She could feel the tension between them building to a breaking point. His eyes softened, just a flicker of something raw and real underneath the teasing. And in that moment, she knew he wasn't going to let her hide.

"Admit it," he whispered, his voice so quiet, yet so commanding. "You wear those skirts for me”

She hesitated for a split second, her heart pounding in her chest, her thoughts racing, before she finally let go. It was terrifying how right he was.

The way he made her feel, the way his attention seemed to pull her in, no matter how much she tried to fight it.

She couldn't keep denying it, not to him, and not to herself.

"I wear them for you," she finally whispered, her voice barely audible, but she knew he heard her.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Charlie's face, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them seemed to buzz with something electric, something inevitable.

Then, before she could overthink it, before she could take it back, Charlie's hand was at her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin as he tilted her face up to his. The world seemed to slow down, the room spinning away until there was only him, only them, in this moment they both knew was coming.

"Good," he murmured softly, his eyes locked on hers. "My naughty fucking girl."

And then, with a deliberate slowness, he leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn't hesitant or unsure. His lips were warm, soft, yet firm against hers, and the moment they connected, something inside her melted. She felt herself lean into him, her hands instinctively finding their way to his chest, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing holding her upright.

The kiss deepened, his hand slipping into her hair, pulling her just a little closer. She could feel the tension unraveling between them, all the unspoken words and hidden feelings pouring out in that one perfect moment.

Everything else faded away-the nerves, the fear, the constant push and pull-until all that was left was the warmth of his lips on hers, the way his touch seemed to set her skin on fire.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other's. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, both caught up in the aftermath of what had just happened, of what had been building for so long.

He says, "I thought about you every single day after I met you for the first time," as he presses kisses to her cheek and slides his hands down her arms in a leisurely motion that mimics the path his wet lips followed on the way up.

She's trying to listen, but as they explore, the ache he's started between her legs feels like it's pulsating in her ears, and his hands are scratching her skin. He shakes his head and lets out a breathy laugh before giving her another painful kiss and nips in between his low, hoarse confessions. “Always thought about those fucking skirts you wore" When he traces his sharp nails from the inside of her knees up to the tops of my inner thighs, she gasps.

He presses his mouth to her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. "No one compares to you," he mumbles, his voice lowering to a low pitch that turns her stomach. He presses his face against her head and lets out a deep groan as the fingers on one hand slide higher and higher until they draw a slow, agonizing stroke up her heat. The other hand smooths back up her stomach.

Her eyes roll closed and she can only hold her breath as her head lulls back. "All those times you teased me.. I think you deserve to get punished," he says forcing her to a wall.

He exhales, "Shit, you're soaking." She can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly against her back as he lingers, slowly and indulgently stroking his fingers along her shamefully damp folds, avoiding where she really needs them. Nipping at the flesh on her neck, he mumbles against her, "Such a good girl for me, yeah?" she nods eagerly.

One of Charlie's fingers sneaks up and softly wraps around her throat, while the other eventually slides up to rest on the area that has been throbbing ever since he had her pinned to a wall. He maintains his lips tight against her ear, matching the pants pouring out of her, starting to circle his fingers around her clit in the same rhythm.

"Do you feel that?" He flicks her nerves more quickly and puts more pressure on them while rasping into her ear. “your chest get tighter and your heart beating faster?"

She shifts her hips against him mindlessly, her mouth hanging wide, and she doesn't even know how she manages to say a breathless yes, but nevertheless, she manages. "How incredible that feels, you never want it to end?" He goes on, getting a closer hold on her throat, not tight enough to stop her breathing, but tight enough to pull a high-pitched groan out of her, taking her earlobe between his teeth. She panted out another yes and swallowed. "That's how I feel when you're around me, looking at me through your eyelashes- smiling at me. I can feel it in my bones."

She squirms, unable to keep still at the fire igniting inside of her, between what he's saying and what he's doing with his fingers, and her legs begin to shake. His loud, taunting voice reverberates around her, his untamed hair strewn about with strands falling in front of his hungry gaze. "No coming just yet, Angel. I need to taste you."

She can only fling her head back and hide a choked groan the moment he presses his lips to her warmth. He offers her one last slow, dimpled smirk as he wraps his arms around her thighs, holding onto her hips as he sits between her legs. His warm tongue flattens against her clit as his fingers bite into her skin while he lets a deep sigh that rumbles up through him and vibrates against her and she whine at the feeling.

Her back arches as she lets out wild cries that she can't control, and she's clinging to his hair for dear life as his tongue begins to circle and draw deft patterns against her nerves. Her senses are completely assaulted by the guttural moans and growls that are coming out of him as he relishes every response he receives from her. The stress within her was nearly too much for her to bear.

She cries out at the sensation as he his ring and middle finger enters her. The build-up to everything and the delicate way he's sucking and lapping at her pulsating core while his fingers coil inside of her to target that point that has her vision blurring are just too many sensations happening at once. He retracts his tongue while maintaining a fixed gaze on her. He accelerates the speed of his fingers, purposefully striking the area of her body that is producing such a strong pressure.

"Charlie" She exclaim, "What-What is, I don't know what's-oh fuck"; she squeezes her eyes tight, feeling a growing sense of violence inside of her. He examines her expression and quickens the tempo of his careful fingers. He purrs, encouraging her to go forward as he flicks his eyes down to watch his fingers thrust into her. "Don't worry baby, just go with it, it's okay, you're okay".

He moans as he continues to watch what he's doing. She begins to shake, her muscles contracting. She can no longer resist the sensation that her body is having a seizure and going into seclusion at the same time. "Charlie!" She throws her head back, arches off the wall, and yells until the pain tears through her like nothing she has ever experienced. When it finally fades, every part of her body feels as heavy as cement, and she nearly collapses on the ground, her chest heaving as she tries to take in as much oxygen as she can.

“Never wear that skirt again or you’ll regret it”

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　THE FARRAR ELEMENTARY SCHOOL IS ALIVE

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: When Sam and Colby bring the Sturniolo Triplets and Y/N, a medium and Matt's girlfriend, to investigate the Farrar Elementary School, they expect only to discover more about its history, but, instead, meet something far darker.

WARNING: Demon apparition, ghost talk, paranormal experiences.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: This can be read as a part 2 of my work 'Medium Girl' with Matt Sturniolo.

A/N³: Happy Halloween, guys! 🩷

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The lightheartedness grew inside the vast gym when Sam, Colby, Matt, Nick, Chris, and Y/N stepped inside of it. The eerie silence of the halls felt distant now, replaced by the echoing laughter and jokes bouncing off the gym's high walls. It was open, empty, and slightly less oppressive than the narrow corridors they'd been walking through. Their cameras' flashlights created stark beams that cut through the heavy dark, bouncing playfully as they pointed at the distant walls and items scattered across the yellowish floor.

"That is terrifying." Chris joked, pointing to a shadowy open doorway at the far end of the gym. His tone was playful, but the door itself seemed to swallow the light, almost absorbing it into an impenetrable black void.

Colby quickly looked over at Chris with a knowing expression, pointing the camera lans at him.

"That is the Boiler Room." He said in a tone both informative and slightly excited.

"That's not an inviting room at all whatsoever." Chris muttered, laughing, his voice betraying more nervous excitement than genuine fear.

As the group chuckled and commented about it, inching forward, Y/N’s laughter faded as her gaze locked onto the entrance. She felt a wave of something cold and clammy wrap around her, more powerful than the draft in the building.

Being a medium, she was no stranger to spiritual energy, but this... this felt different.

Her chest tightened as chills skittered up her spine, her heart hammering faster the longer she stared into the doorway. The energy was thick, almost tangible, pressing down on her like a weight. It was dark, heavy, and so deeply embedded in the space that she could almost taste it on the air; a mix of anger, pain, and a bitterness that sent icy needles racing through her veins.

Matt, standing near her since the moment they entered the school, quickly noticed her shift in demeanor, his brows knitted in concern.

"Hey, you okay?"

She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze from the doorway to look at him, finding comfort in the middle of ocean blue eyes.

"Yeah... Yeah, there’s just... something wrong in there." She murmured, her voice tight. "It doesn’t feel right."

Colby, overhearing, chuckled nervously.

"Yeah, it’s messed up in there." He admitted, shrugging. "We've been in there once before, but if any of you guys want to go, take the camera and look around."

The words hung heavily in the air, a silent challenge.

Nick and Chris immediately pointed at Matt. They both stepped back, dramatically widening their arms to clear a path to the door, their mischievous smirks only amplifying the tension.

"I mean, we all know who the bravest ones here are." Sam teased from behind them, laughing after receiving an "obviously" look from Nick.

Matt flashed a wide, determined grin, meeting Y/N’s eyes with a spark of excitement. After The Driskell Hotel, he discovered that he loved the thrill of these investigations, and with Y/N there, he almost felt invincible. Y/N’s stomach twisted with a mix of fear and anticipation, but she forced herself to shrug, flashing a nonchalant smile in return.

"Guess we’re doing this." She said, her voice more confident than she felt.

Matt took the camera from Colby, giving a quick smirk to the others.

"I feel like there can’t be anything." He joked, his voice steady, earning whoops and cheers from the guys. Together, he and Y/N led the way, with Chris and Nick following close behind.

As they stepped through the doorway into the Boiler Room, the energy shifted drastically. The air was thick, almost suffocating, clinging to their skin like invisible cobwebs. The once-bright beams of the camera’s flashlight seemed to dim as if the darkness here was absorbing the light itself, drinking it up and leaving nothing but a faint glow around them.

Every step Y/N took felt like wading through tar. Her limbs grew heavy, and with each inhale, it was as though she was breathing in the sorrow, anger, and fear that had seeped into the very concrete walls of the room. Her skin prickled, her head was starting to hurt, and a low hum of energy reverberated through her bones, vibrating up her spine and making her feel unsteady on her feet. Matt was ahead, filming with an almost oblivious bravery, but her steps slowed as they entered deeper into the room.

Pain. A pulse of it shot through her, raw and piercing, making her gasp and clench her hands by her sides as if she could wring it out of her body, her heartbeat echoing on her ears. She tried to keep her expression steady, not wanting to alarm the others, but Matt glanced over his shoulder at her, noticing her pale face and furrowed brow.

She shook her head at his questioning eyes, letting him keep walking ahead of her, allowing him, Chris, and Nick to venture toward the back of the room, where another open doorway beckoned, leading into an even darker, more enclosed space.

"Oh my God, it's bigger than I thought-" Matt started excitedly, being interrupted by a scared Nick.

"Matt! Don't say 'Oh my God' like that!"

Y/N stayed close to the entrance, her gaze fixed on the doorway ahead, the corner of her lips lifting slightly with the brother’s bickering. Something felt profoundly wrong in there, and every instinct in her body screamed for her to turn back, to leave the darkness to its own devices.

She took a step forward right after Chris, but the energy hit her like a physical blow. She stumbled, her legs unsteady as she caught herself against the doorframe. Noticing her falter, Chris immediately turned, his concern flaring.

"Whoa, whoa, hey, you okay?" He asked, reaching to steady her, his hand grasping her arm. But Y/N didn’t hear him, nor did she feel his touch. She was already slipping away, pulled into a vision so intense it drowned out reality.

She was now surrounded by towering flames that crackled with a furious intensity. They licked up the walls around her, swallowing everything in a bright, blistering heat. Through the blaze, a young woman appeared, engulfed in flames, her face twisted in agonizing terror. The woman’s scream sliced through the air; a raw, primal sound unlike anything Y/N had ever heard before. Instinctively, her hands flew up to her ears, desperately trying to block out the agonizing cry. It was a cry of pure pain and desperation, the kind that lingered, sinking into the skin and soul.

Then, she saw him. A tall, imposing figure emerged from the shadows behind the woman, his face obscured by the darkness but his presence unmistakably menacing. He loomed over her, radiating a sick, cold satisfaction as the woman screamed, flames rising higher around them. Y/N could feel it, all the malice rolling off the man, thick and suffocating, causing her to gulp, her eyes widening in terror when the man's eyes flickered from the woman to hers.

He couldn't see her, could he?

As the flickering of a lightning, three distinct figures appeared behind the man before vanishing completely, and just as suddenly as it began, the vision ended, leaving Y/N cold, breathless, and disoriented, the horrifying images imprinted in her mind.

Her surroundings snapped back into focus, the dimly lit Boiler Room reappearing around her in hazy fragments. She gasped, struggling to ground herself, her eyes searching around the room frantically, but as her vision cleared, her stomach twisted with a sickening dread. There, in the center of the second room, right in between the other two doorways, crouched a figure that defied anything she’d ever encountered, even in her darkest visions.

This wasn’t a spirit; she could feel the difference. The creature hunched low, its bony hands splayed across the grimy floor, its body twisted and contorted, as if barely contained within the physical plane. Shadows clung to its grotesque form, an aura of darkness so thick it devoured any light that dared come near. Its mottled skin was stretched and scarred, warped with unnatural shapes, as though stitched together from nightmares.

And then, she saw its eyes; deep, glowing red, like embers of molten rage, burning into her with a cruel, penetrating awareness. Those eyes locked onto her, narrowing with a sinister recognition. It knew she could see it, sense it, and understand the threat it posed. The fury in its gaze was suffocating, an anger so intense it filled the room, pressing down on her, trapping her in place.

Before she could gather herself, a voice oozed into her mind, cold and sharp as a dagger, each word dripping with malice. "Don’t tell anyone."

The command reverberated through her skull, a dark echo that chilled her to her core. She felt her heart hammering, her pulse quickening as a frigid terror clawed its way up her spine. The demon remained crouched, but its body tensed, coiled like a predator about to strike.

A whimper scaped from Y/N's throat when it began to inch forward, its gaze never wavering, as if relishing the fear it instilled with each calculated, crawling step.

"Y/N?" Matt’s voice was distant, but it cut through the fog of terror consuming her. She couldn’t respond, frozen in place as the demon drew nearer, dragging itself across the dirty ground, echoing with a disgusting sound of skin pressing against pebbles, her mind trapped in the paralyzing scene.

"What's happening? Why is she looking like that?" Chris's voice sounded muffled, dripping with anxiety, worry, and fear, his hand still holding her arms.

"Baby?" This time, Matt’s voice was sharper, laced with urgency. She felt a shift as he tossed the camera to Nick, then rushed to her side. His presence was solid, grounding, and he wrapped a protective arm around her waist, pulling her close as he tried to get her attention while shielding her from whatever it was that she was seeing. "Hey, babe, are you okay? What’s wrong?"

She could barely hear him, his words muffled, distant. Her legs wobbled, feeling like they might give out at any second, and Matt held her tighter, his warmth battling the unnatural chill that had invaded her body, her skin feeling as cold as the winter.

"Y/N, hey, look at me. Can you hear me?" His tone was steady, doing a great job at hiding the extreme fear that he felt, his hands cradling her face as he searched her eyes for any sign of recognition.

But she couldn’t answer, couldn’t focus. The demon’s furious glare was seared into her vision, its whispered threat echoing in her mind as a thick, oppressive darkness continued to drag her deeper into its depths.

Matt drew a sharp breath, his grip tightening around Y/N as he glanced over his shoulder at his brothers.

"We need to get out of here. Now." His tone was rough, leaving no room for argument.

The severity in his voice snapped them out of their stunned state, and they exchanged a quick look before following the couple to the exit door of the Boiler Room. Their footsteps echoed, tense and hurried, with Nick and Chris casting anxious glances behind them as if hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever had gripped Y/N so tightly, Chris's hand searching desperately for Nick's arm, trying to find comfort.

As they stepped outside the oppressive confines of the room, an almost immediate sense of relief washed over them. The chill that had settled into Y/N’s bones began to ease, and her tense posture softened as if an invisible weight had finally been lifted. She inhaled deeply, her body leaning heavily into Matt’s, letting his steady presence anchor her back to reality. Her scared eyes moved frantically, searching over her shoulders as if waiting for it to follow them, but she only met darkness.

"Shh, you're okay now. I'm right here with you." Matt kept whispered sweet nothings against Y/N's head, gently forcing her to look away from the room, pressing her face against his own shoulder, her hair tickling his chin in a comforting way.

Sam and Colby, who had been standing by, initially cheered at their bravery but quickly went quiet when they noticed the disturbed expressions on everyone’s faces.

Sam stepped forward, worry etched across his features.

"Hey, you guys okay?" He asked, his tone low and concerned.

Matt opened his mouth, his protective instincts kicking in while his arms seemed to wrap around Y/N's body tighter.

"We should give her a second. She just needs a bit to calm down-"

"No." Y/N interrupted, her voice weak but firm. She shook her head, a determined glint in her eyes as she steadied herself, her cold hands finding his biceps, squeezing his hoodie-covered skin in reassurance. "They have to know."

Colby nodded, quickly understanding the weight of what she was about to say. He took the camera from Nick, aiming it at her as he stepped closer, Sam following behind.

Chris and Nick quickly gathered around the couple, assuming protective instances, waiting, their faces a mixture of curiosity and seriousness as Y/N prepared to explain, eyes frantically looking behind their backs every second, the feeling of being watched seeming to grow more intense.

"I... I saw something." She began, her voice a touch unsteady but gathering strength as she continued. "When I looked at that room, there was this... this intense heat, and suddenly, it was like I was somewhere else entirely. I saw flames, a massive fire that seemed to consume everything around it. And in the middle of it all was a young woman, burning alive."

Her voice cracked slightly, and she closed her eyes, trying to shake the haunting image that had imprinted itself in her mind. A warm spread around her left shoulder, and she quickly recognized Nick's comforting touch.

"She was screaming, and it wasn’t like any scream I’ve ever heard before." Y/N continued, her face pale as she relived the vision. "It was pure agony... and then, there was a man behind her, just standing there, watching her burn. He was tall, menacing, and I knew, somehow, that he was the one who did this to her. He for sure worked here back in the day, I just knew it, and he killed her, and he was enjoying it." She paused, her voice barely a whisper. "And then, right before the vision ended, I saw three male figures behind him. I thought it was over, but when I looked up, there was something else in the room with us."

"The janitor, the principal, and the librarian." Sam muttered, furrowing his eyebrows, his eyes meeting Colby's dark ones, which held the same realization look.

The rest of the group was silent, hanging onto every word as Y/N’s gaze darkened, her eyes focused on some invisible point in the distance, Matt's firm hands around her hips keeping her grounded.

"It was a very dark creature, obviously a demon." She whispered. "Big, twisted, and so... so angry. Its skin was... I can’t even describe it. It was unnatural, almost as if it was pulled together from different things, and its eyes... they were red, glowing, and it was looking right at me." Her voice wavered as she continued, a tremor of fear slipping through. "It knew I could see it, and it was furious. And then... I heard a voice. In my head. It told me that I couldn't tell you about it."

A shiver ran through the group, everyone exchanging wary glances, trying to process the weight of what she was saying. Y/N took a shaky breath, her eyes flicking up to meet theirs.

"It started coming toward me, crawling like a snake, and that’s when Matt got to me. But... the warning felt like more than just a threat. It’s like it didn’t want us to have this information. It didn’t want us to know what happened here... This is all way darker than you guys expected."

Colby, his brow furrowed in thought, broke the silence.

"Wait, why wouldn’t it want us to know?"

Y/N hesitated, piecing together the fragments of knowledge she had gathered over years of honing her abilities.

"When it comes to entities like this, especially ones tied to a place or a tragedy... they draw power from secrecy, from fear. If we know what it is, what it’s done, it gives us the upper hand. And even more so if we learn its name."

Sam’s eyes widened, realization dawning on him as his gaze traveled from her to Colby and then back again.

"So, if we know its name, it becomes weaker?"

Y/N nodded slowly.

"Yes. Kind of. Names are powerful, especially with entities like that. It’s a way of binding it, of taking control. And right now, it knows we’re at an advantage. I just... I just have to figure out its name."

[tonycries]

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? [Part 2] - G.S. 

Synopsis. “Besides, Toru, just because it worked for you doesn’t mean it’ll work for me.” “Wanna bet?” For Satoru, convincing you to take the aphrodisiac chocolate too wasn’t the hard part - the hard part was being shoved into that bathroom stall, cock throbbing, mind spinning - trying not to beg for mercy. 

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, slight femdom, overstimulation (male), lots of cum, you absolutely ruin Satoru, semi-public sex, subby! Satoru, aphrodisiac sex, multiple rounds, shutting up Gojo Satoru by making him cum in his pants, pet names (darling, my girl), swearing.

Word count. 3.7k

A/N. Can be read as a standalone, but PART 1 HERE.

Bros this was mad hard to write oml. Art by @_3aem on X.

Satoru had everything he needed to absolutely ruin you tonight.

Overpriced Cartier glasses? Check.

Jet-black Hellcat freshened up, ready with a little surprise for you inside? Check.

You, all dolled up and brows furrowed adorably at him? Holy shit, check.

“Toru, if we’ve missed our reservation because you had beef with the neighborhood cat again…”

“He was looking at you wrong! I had to defend your honor!” Dramatic protests falling on deaf ears, Satoru speeds through the darkening city streets, still grumbling under his breath about “cats these days”.

With your fiancé being absolutely swamped with missions recently, you’d been anticipating this night for weeks now.

Little did you know, Satoru had just as much - if not more.

Soon enough, the neon lights of that upscale, new restaurant you’d been absolutely dying to visit recently come into view. 

Okay, it’s time. 

“Y’know…” he begins, glancing at you with that familiar mirthful glint in his eyes. Laughter bubbling to his throat at your knowing stare, he plows on “Remember that one night where I just so happened to come across your special chocolate?”

“You mean swiped from my secret stash?”

“Semantics” he waves off. “But anyway, I was thinking…” he voice trails off mischievously as he swiftly turns to grab the mysterious black bag sitting on the backseat that you’d been eyeing suspiciously ever since you got in the car.

Oh shit, so that’s what he was onto. Eyes widening, “Toru, no.”

He whines, a pout forming on his lips. “C’monnn, no one’s gonna know except me. I want to make this night unforgettable, my girl.”

You raise a brow, “Unforgettable? Toru, your idea of unforgettable will end up with both of us arrested.”  After the madness of last time, you’d ignored his sticky note for a reason!

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you try to justify - probably to yourself just as much as Satoru, “And just because the aphrodisiac worked for you doesn’t mean it’ll work for me.”

He wiggles his eyebrows, twinkling eyes still undeterred. “Wanna bet? I’ll do the dishes for all of next month. We’ll never know till we find out, darling.” 

You narrow your eyes at the hand already snaking its way inside the bag, faded finger marks from last time still searing into your skin. Catching Satoru’s gaze - behind the amusement, something else shines darkly. 

Shit.

Goosebumps erupt down your spine. 

A beat passes. One. Two. Only the revving of the engine filling the tense air. 

“...two months.” 

It’s all Satoru can do to not jump in joy in his seat right now - knowing his girl, you’ll probably take back what you said and immediately bonk him on the head for being so ridiculous. 

“Deal.” he mutters lowly, pulling up to the driveway.

 A flash of hot pink. In the short time it takes the valet to reach your car, Satoru has already split that too-familiar chocolate, holding out the bigger part to you, eyes gleaming with excitement. “I swear this’ll be a night you won’t forget.” he grins, biting into the chocolate. 

God, he was going to be the death of you. 

The decadent flavor washes over your tongue, a slight tingling on your tastebuds. But, it’s still just chocolate, right? You scoff - at least you won’t have to do the dishes for two months.

Now, Satoru knows he won’t have to do the dishes for two months. 

Ah, how heavenly you’d be, splayed out and begging for mercy underneath him. Heels clacking against the polished tile and your hand warm in his as the maître d’hôtel ushers you both inside, dick twitching in anticipation. Shit, was the chocolate working already?

He risks a glance at how you’re faring - nope, still normal. That’s okay, he’ll be driving you crazy in no time.

---

Okay, maybe he won’t be driving you crazy in no time. 

How dare you sit there so gorgeous and unbothered, sipping slowly on your wine while he’s here mind whirling around how he’ll fuck you right here right now on this table without getting arrested for public indecency.

Fuck, it was hitting him hard.

Cock aching, heat rushing to his cheeks, eyes bleary - he sighs in frustration, resigning himself to do the dishes for two months.

Why did he even think of this? Damn his big fucking ego, he should’ve never taken that chocolate again. Maybe if he eats you out just right he could lower it to-

A feathery touch on his thigh. Too light for any sort of friction - just enough to set his skin ablaze. So deft that Satoru thinks he must’ve imagined it.

Until there it is again. Soft caress dancing delicately up his thigh. 

You.

A shiver creeps down his spine, blood rushing straight to his dick. Probably for the first time in his life, Satoru is speechless - maybe because you’ve reached underneath the table, teasingly sliding a heel along the top of his thigh.

“…darling…”

“Hmm?”

He blinks away the haze in his eyes, raising them to meet yours. “Wha-”

Oh. Oh, fuck.

What has he gotten himself into?

Eyes half-lidded, brows furrowed, and looking into his soul with a predatory glint that jolts the great Gojo Satoru right to his very core - and to his throbbing cock. He’d be lucky to make it out alive. Maybe he should just beg for his life right now.

Minutes tick by - or maybe it was seconds - Satoru is clueless. Mind only focused on the heel inching closer and closer, dangerously near to where he needed you the most. A smug smirk curls your pretty lips as his mouth drops into a soft oh.

The air crackles with an unspoken tension - his hips trying to subtly move you towards the erection furiously straining against his pants. He needed it so bad. It’s fucking pathetic, he knows. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck as your sole grazes his aching head. Pressing down. Hard.

“Fuck!”

Stomach flipping - before Satoru could fully process what the fuck was happening - he cums embarrassingly in thick spurts that pool on his pants, soaking right through the fabric, probably smearing on your new heels.

Head spinning, he bites his knuckles hard enough to draw blood, muffling the desperate moans threatening to escape his lips. 

He grinds his hips in shallow, mindless motions in a desperate attempt for more friction.

Instead, he gets the opposite.

“Behave, Toru.” you warn, swiftly resting your heel back on the floor, voice strained with something that makes his sensitive dick quiver animalistically. 

You huff out a chuckle at the almost-inaudible whimper of disappointment that rips from his throat. It’s laughable, really, he was supposed to be the one ruining you. This was so not fucking suave.

Face burning - whether due to the chocolate or embarrassment at the warm patch on his pants, he doesn’t even know - Satoru wishes the Earth would swallow him up whole. Would it be overkill to just teleport outta here?

The only thing that snaps Satoru out of his little reverie is your pretty lips forming into a tut. “Now now, Toru. It’s rude to make a mess at a restaurant. Why don’t we go to the restrooms and get you cleaned up, hm?”

Oh. Shit. 

A firm grip on his arm, his hands desperately covering his crotch. 

He was not going to make it out of this alive. 

Honestly, it wasn’t hard to bribe the waitress into letting you follow into the restroom after your fiancé - and put up an Out of Order sign promptly afterward. The actual hard part was trying not to rip off his clothes and give into your desires before you two even made it there. But you couldn’t let anyone else see him like that, of course. 

You were sure that if you had Satoru’s powers then you would’ve hollow purpled everyone here and taken him already.

You were going to ruin him.

Mind running a mile a minute, Satoru wouldn’t even be surprised if he’d just teleported to the restroom. If he was in a better state of mind he might’ve even admired the decor.

“My girl.” he breathes out, voice ragged. It’s all that is said before your lips are on his. 

It was like a fever dream - the bruising urgency of your lips, your aching pussy, and the heat of the stall as your quickened breaths mingle in a desperate dance. Your tongue intertwining with his. 

Manicured nails ripping his shirt open, you don’t have half the mind to register the designer buttons hitting the floor.

Satoru’s lips hazily chase yours as you pull away delicate strings of spit snapping just as quickly as your sanity. 

Your mouth waters at Satoru’s chest in all its chiseled glory, creamy skin peeking out from whatever remnants of the shirt were clinging to his sculpted shoulders. You wanted to ruin him.

“You dirtied my heels, Toru.” you frown, mockingly innocent. A choked-up gasp leaves his throat as you snake a hand down to firmly grip the erection straining against Satoru’s wet pants. Unmoving. “What shall we do about that, hmm?” 

“Ah! Please, my girl.”

“Please what? Use your words, Toru.”

“Please. Wanna cum so bad.”

Satoru learned the hard way that he could never turn back after uttering those words. 

Though, he already had an inkling once you immediately slam him against the stall door, fumbling with his belt, nails digging hard into his prominent v-line. “If you say so, Toru. Better not stop till you’re shooting blanks.”

The only thing that registers in his mind is the deadbolt echoing throughout the empty bathroom and his still-rock hard cock throbbing in your hands. 

“Ah- hah! Fuck.” low groans leave his throat at each jerky movement down his length. 

Head thrown back, pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, your tits pressing against his body as your hands urgently move along his veined length - up, up, up. 

Your thumb harshly teases his flushed head, spreading the precum from his leaking tip lewdly. “Oh God.”

His knees buckle, hands slamming against the top of the stall hard enough to make the walls tremble, desperately trying to keep himself from collapsing. Mind spinning, he doesn’t even know if he’s on planet Earth anymore.

“Toru~ Gonna let me join in on the fun?” your dangerous purr sends his cock twitching, breath hot against his ear.

Your cunt quivers, slick soaking your panties and trailing down your legs at the pornographic moans spilling from his lips as you fucked his thick cock with your fist. You wanted him so badly it was driving you insane.

Straddling a muscled thigh, your clothed core meets the fabric of his pants. It was already ruined, so what was another stain?

You grind your hips down on him, hard. Humping him like an animal in heat. 

Your slick seeping into the fabric of his leg. Harsh texture stimulating your needy cunt so painfully good. Swollen folds parting, mewls of pleasure leave your swollen lips as your clit catches on the rough fabric of his overly expensive pants. Over and over. 

Distantly, you register a strong hand tugging roughly on the thin fabric of your panties - easily ripping it and letting it fall to god-knows-where. 

Your hand doesn’t let up either, milking Satoru’s cock mercilessly the way you’d been dying to ever since you stepped foot into his restaurant. Your head spins, hips moving so animalistically on Satoru’s thigh.

A hand reaches down to sensually massage his heavy balls, squeezing and pressing hard circles - just the way you knew he liked it. 

“Oh, my girl. Always so good t’me- Ah! Hngh, gonna-” 

Satoru doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he’s pumping hot ropes of seed that decorate your pretty hands. Hips fucking up into you desperately.

You’re not far behind, juices squirting all over that expensive fabric, pooling on the tiled ground with a drip! drip! drip! that bounces off the walls of the restroom.

You two were so fucking loud. 

But right now, you wouldn’t even mind if anyone walked in to see your Satoru so debauched - as long as they see you fucking the soul out of him as well. 

It wasn’t enough.

“You said you wanted to cum, didn’t you, Toru?”

A shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his dick. “What? W-wait, darling. Fuck- Oh!” the strained words tumble out of Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips as you push down his soaked pants, kneeling to leave a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down to his twitching, thick base. 

“I won’t be merciful, Toru.”

Ah, you could do this forever.

Nipping teasingly till you’re satisfied with the bite marks decorating his pelvis, you pool the saliva in your mouth, spitting a long stream into his furiously flushed head.

Once. Twice. Mixing enticingly with his precum, trailing down his length. “Ah! Hngh- oh, darling. So sensitive-” he bucks his hips into you, moaning loudly.

“You can do it f’me, Toru.” you murmur darkly against his twitching tip. Satoru keens as you take him until his fat head hits the back of your throat, pulsing around your warm mouth.

Your fiancé’s choking on his breaths more than you as you hollow your mouth, bobbing up and down at a ruthless pace. Gagging, you shove his throbbing dick all the way in with a desperation that eclipses the need for air, till you’re nose-deep in those tufts of snowy hair. 

“Oh, darling. Jus’ like that. Losing m’mind.” he whines.

Your pussy quivers at Satoru’s slightly salty taste, making you moan around his rock-hard length. Drool and precum dribble down the corner of your mouth, mixing with the mascara running down your cheeks. It was debauched. It was messy. And it was exactly how you wanted him. 

Tonguing Satoru’s sensitive slit in a delicate dance, you feel drunk off his sinful moans as you suck on him desperately. Breathless. Craving for more. 

Looking up to see a delicate streak of tears falling down his pretty face at the overstimulation, your cunt clenches around nothing. Fuck, you could just devour him.

“Cum, Toru.”

It was too much for him- 

Tight balls twitching sensitively, he cums onto your ready tongue. Fucked out whimpers leave his lips, tears clinging to his long, white lashes as he paints your pretty mouth with his thick, white seed.

Ah, he was always your favorite taste. Tasted so good - so good that you could cum untouched. 

And you do.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head and pussy clamping down on nothing as you reach your high.

You milk his cock ruthlessly, relishing in the thick cum flowing down your throat. But it still wasn’t enough.

Removing yourself off his dick with a lewd pop! you reach a hand to grab Satoru’s flushed throat, nails placed right over his thundering pulse. With a single tug, the great Gojo Satoru is on his knees before you, in the bathroom of some fancy restaurant. 

Walls still quivering, you stand over him, connecting your sweaty forehead - and your mouth - with his. 

Kiss-bitten and smeared with your lipstick, Satoru’s lips are soft - or maybe that’s the cum coating yours. A part of you delights in his half-lidded, fucked out gaze as your eyes bore into his - does he even know what he’s doing anymore? 

Hot seed flowing down his throat, Satoru can do nothing else but kneel there and take it. He feels lightheaded, all the blood in his brain rushing to his cock as you suck on his tongue. This was driving him insane. You were insane.

And he fucking loved it.

“You d-drive me insane, my girl.” his words muffled by your hand still around his throat. His voice cracks with sensitivity in a way he would definitely be embarrassed about if he were in the right mind. 

Yet, how could he ever be with the slow, feral smile that spread across your beautiful face?

Leaning down, you whisper lowly against his ear. “I’m the same, Toru.” 

Maybe it’s your words, and the hot breath that sends shivers down his spine. Or maybe it’s the way you lift your dress so alluringly - cunt dripping on full display, slick trailing down your legs. 

All Satoru knows is, he’s surging forwards. He’s got your front pressed against the cold wall, cock twitching to life and bullying its way through your swollen folds. 

Mindlessly, a strong hand smacks against the stall as Satoru tries to keep himself steady. Too drunk off of you - off of your whimpers of his name, and the feeling of your plush walls clamping down on his throbbing erection, struggling to accommodate his size despite being so dripping wet. 

He doesn’t give a fuck. 

“Hngh- S’tight. Oh, fuck! S-sucking my cock back hah- in s-so needily” 

Ramming in and out of your hole at a merciless cadence, Satoru’s balls smack your clit so animalistically. You two feel like a pair of fucking animals. 

Shudders of overstimulation and pleasure wrack his body. Chest heaving, his blown-out eyes roll to the back of his head at the rapid, desperate thrusts inside your warm core. 

Pulling out all the way to slam back in mercilessly, Satoru could pass out at the sight of your ass jiggling as it arches to meet the rhythm of his hips. 

“God, m’girl. Gonna- gonna cum ah! Fill this pussy the way you want-” he groans raspily into the heady air of the stall, exhausted cock shooting wispy strings of cum that fill you up - some missing as he pumps into you, spilling out to paint your swollen folds white.

Before he knows it, a low hiss leaves his throat as you remove yourself off of his furiously pulsing cock - only to shove him seated on the commode. 

You take a split-second to admire your gorgeous fiancé - face flushed as much as the prettily leaking tip of his throbbing cock, eyes dazed and miles away, curtained by his sweaty white locks. A delicate trail of drool made its way down the corner of his ruby, kiss-bitten lips. Exactly how you wanted him.

What a fucking picture. Maybe you should take that chocolate more often…

“Toru~ Remember what I said? You’re not tapping out, are you?” you hum, eyes narrowing at the way his erection twitches so ferally at your dangerous tone. 

“Ah- don’t know- Can’t, please.”

You loom dangerously close, a hand reaching out to mockingly push his cheeks together, drool pooling at your fingertips. “I’ve told you before, Toru. Use your words. Please what?”

“M-mercy, please!” pathetic pleas muffled by your hand.

“Mercy?”

“Mercy!”

“No mercy for you, my darling Toru.”

The great Gojo Satoru, begging for mercy, will face none at your hands. 

You straddle his muscled legs, shivering with sensitivity. “Ah! Hah- Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god-” he whines nonstop as his quivering tip teases your swollen, messy folds. In one, fluid motion, you sheath him fully in your dripping cunt.

Ah, you feel so full. 

You relish in the way he twitches instinctively inside you. Steadying yourself using Satoru’s shoulders, you drag your cunt along his length, his prominent veins grazing that one spot inside you. Pulling out till his thick head teases your entrance, you drop down - inch by inch - over and over.

Satoru thinks he could cry right now - or maybe he already is. He doesn’t know, nor does he care - not when you’re so beautiful and fucked out, nails digging into his shoulders and heart eyes palpable in your gaze as you ride his sensitive cock into insanity.

He can’t stop the ragged moans that escape his swollen lips, head thrown back and hips bucking up exhaustedly into you to meet your every bounce. A hand is at his throat, pulling your face to his, “Don’t run away, Toru~”

He felt so raw. More a feral beast than a man as he watches his abused cock get swallowed up over and over by your wet pussy.

If he thought his dick was broken after this time then it’s really unsalvageable now.

He wanted to run away. He wanted more. He wanted you to keep looking at him with that fucking predatory gaze that made a carnal part of him twitch so good. He wanted to cum.

“I wan’- I wanna cum, please, my girl.” Satoru gasps out, teary eyes blown and looking up at you so delicately.

“Cum?”

“Yes.”

“Cum, Toru.”

Maybe it was the glint of fondness in your eyes, maybe it was the piercing of teeth as you bit down hard into the crook of his neck. Or maybe it was the way your snug cunt clamped down on him so sinfully as you cum as around him. But Satoru is immediately bucking up into your hips - reaching his climax, if you can even call it that. Poor, exhausted cock cumming dry. “Ah- Cumming- M’cumming hgnh-”

Satoru doesn’t even know if he feels his orgasm, just waves of pleasure that overwhelm him as he rides it out on your cunt. 

Ah, he thinks if heaven was a person then it would be you. 

Maybe he’s died already.

“Toru? Open your eyes, darling.”

Slowly opening the eyes that he didn’t even realize he had furiously scrunched closed, Satoru slowly blinks his vision back.

An angel?

“No, Toru, your fiancé.” you huff out a laugh. Oh shit, he said that out loud? 

Head still reeling from, well, everything - the great Gojo Satoru can do nothing else but sit there, exhausted and fucked out of his mind as you slowly remove yourself off his twitching cock. He’s never felt so vulnerable - so ruined.

Ah, someone remind him to never let you have a bite of that chocolate every again. 

A low hiss leaves him, along with a few tears that later he swears were never there. 

As you tenderly clean both yourselves up in the humid stall, Satoru thinks he’s never been handled with so much care. Ah, he loves your gentle hands. He loves you.

“I love you too, Toru.” you whisper into the intimate silence. Oh, shit, he said that out loud again?

Your beautiful laugh, “Yes, you did, Toru.” Throwing away the used tissues, you grin “Y’know they’ve probably brought out our food by now.”

Absent-mindedly, “Mhm?”

“I was thinking I wanted chocolate for dessert.”

A/N. Oh Satoru, you poor, innocent fool…

Also this turned out longer than expected. Reblogs so so appreciated!

Plagiarism not authorized.

Taglist:

@sage-ove @mo0nforme @thirtykiwis @planetzetra

[buckets-and-trees]

Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for a long time. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond what you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your fingers over the delicate skin between your wrist and up toward the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your other wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, and I've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

read the next part: TAKING YOU HOME

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[ellecdc]

Hi 🥺I’m thinking either

“yes the both of you look adorable, but can i please have my clothes back now?”

Or the “do any of the clothes you’re wearing belong to you?”

Or a little combo with rosekiller x reader 🖤

YES

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who has plenty of clothes of her own [486 words]

CW: somewhat smutty implication at the end but fades to black, fluffffffffff

“Treasure,” Evan could hear Barty start in what he knew to be his ‘I’m pretending to be chiding but actually find all of this rather funny’ voice, “if this is your way of telling us you need more clothes, we're more than happy to buy you more clothes.”

“I don’t need more clothes!” You laughed in response as Evan made his way down the hallway with his morning cup of coffee to see what the two of you were going on about. 

“Well it looks like you had a pretty hard time finding anything of your own to wear today; forgive me for being worried we weren’t spoiling you enough.” 

Evan rounded the corner into the living room to see you lounging on the sofa; one leg tucked under you and the other bent at the knee that your hand was resting on whilst Barty hovered above you with a faux berating look on his face. 

“What’s going on in here?” Evan asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head from behind the couch before making his way around it and settling in the space beside you. 

“What’s going on,” Barty started theatrically, causing you to snort - the sound made the very corner of Barty’s lips rise in the ghost of a smirk before he schooled his expression, “is that our darling angel clearly does not have enough of her own things.”

“Is that true, poppet?” Evan asked you as he played into Barty’s little skit. “Do we not spoil you enough?”

“You spoil me fine.” You groaned, laughing when both boys scoffed in offence. “You spoil me plenty - too much!” 

“Then what is the issue?” Evan asked then.

“Look at her!” Barty shouted, gesturing wildly at you with both hands. “Look at her outfit!” 

Evan shifted his weight onto his one hip and turned his body towards you, his arm thrown over the back of the sofa as he scrutinised your form; a surprised laugh bubbling out of him when he realised what Barty’s ‘problem’ was. 

“Poppet,” Evan laughed, “do any of the clothes you’re wearing actually belong to you?” 

Sure enough, you were wearing a pair of Barty’s joggers, his favourite band tee, and one of Evan’s zip up jumpers with the arms folded over an absurd number of times. 

You blinked slightly owlishly at him, answering after a beat of silence. “The knickers are mine.” 

“That’s too many articles of your own clothing, Treasure!” Barty let out with a loud laugh, clearly over pretending to be miffed at the pilfering of his wardrobe. “I’ll have to buy some of my own knickers for you.”

“If it helps, I’m pretty sure you bought these knickers too.” You offered him solemnly, and Evan watched a salacious expression take over Barty’s face he knew was mirrored on his own.

“Is that so?” Evan drawled. “Perhaps you ought to show us, just to confirm.”

[holylulusworld]

Overdue

Summary: You’re a strict librarian.

Pairing: Mafia!Steve Rogers x Librarian!Reader

Warnings/Tags: short reader, mafia au, size kink (Steve), kidnapping?

I changed by posting schedule to match @navybrat817's Monday ask. Go, have a look a her blog and stories.

I had this one in my finished WIPs so here we go with Steve Rogers saving us from our job and boring Mondays. :)

You yawn and rub your tired eyes. It’s a slow day today. The library is almost empty, except for two teens hiding between two shelves to make out. You give them a pass for now if they don’t overdo it.

You turn your attention toward the books on your desk. Your colleague left them there after their shift for you to take care of. Just like always, they are selfish and lazy.

You huff and throw the pencil in your hands onto the desk. Your eyes are blurry, and you are ready to fall asleep. With only the two teens around, you allow yourself to close your eyes for a moment.  

Close to drifting toward your favorite fantasy you sigh dreamily. Your bed is calling for you, and you already miss your fluffy pillows. “So…tired…”

The door suddenly slams open, hitting the wall and you shriek in terror. Even the teens stopped making out to watch a tall man step inside the library.

He sticks out of this place like a sore thumb in his black slacks, black turtleneck sweater, and expensive grey overcoat. You can’t see his shoes, but you assume they’re expensive too, just like the rest of his outfit.

“Hi,” you put on your best-faked smile. If only he stayed away, you could’ve daydreamed a little longer. “What are you looking for?”

“A book,” he gruffly replies, eyes roaming the library. It seems like he’s searching for more than a book. “Where do I find the—” His tongue darts out to wet his perfect pink lips, “law books?”

“On the left side, the third shelf. Are you looking for a specific book, Sir? I can tell you where to find it if you know the title,” you offer, but he shakes his head. He’s halfway toward the shelf before you end your sentence.

You huff and turn your attention toward the stack of books left on your desk. You still have to handle the books, check them for damage, scan them, and return them to the shelves.

Engrossed in your task you don’t hear the man return to your desk. He clears his throat, drawing your attention toward him. You flit your eyes up to watch him run his hand over his thick, but well-trimmed beard. His blue eyes search yours for moment before he speaks again.

“How can I help you, Sir?” you repeat the line you said so often in your life you can’t even count it anymore.

“I’m looking for a book,” he repeats, earning a smirk from you. “A specific book.”

“Do you have a title?” You slowly get up from your swivel chair and round the desk. “Sir?”

“Hmm…” he simply watches you step next to him. Compared to him, you’re small, tiny even. “You’re short.” He states a fact you already know about. “Very short.”

You frown at his attitude. Yes. You are short. This doesn’t give him the right to call you short. “What?”

“Oh, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he takes a step closer to get a better look at you. “It’s cute, really.”

“Cute?” you are fuming and would love to shove your shoe up his ass. But you cannot risk getting caught while hurting a customer. “Do you know the title of the book, yes or no.” Your polite smile is fading, and you can barely hide that you’re pissed at the stranger.

“I know the title,” he lowers himself to whisper the title in your ear. “Do you have that one?”

“Yes,” you spin on your heels and march away, not waiting for him to catch up with you. He’s a stranger at this place, but you know it like the palm of your hand.

“You’re not very talkative,” he comments while following you.

“It’s not my job to entertain the people coming here. And it’s forbidden to be too loud at a library.”

“Ah,” he laughs. “You’re very strict, huh? I like someone following rules. I have a few too.”

“Hmmm…” you browse the shelf, finger sliding over the back of the books. “There it is.” You pull the book out of the shelf to hand it to the man. “That’s the one you are looking for.”

“You’re very helpful too,” he muses while his eyes roam your smaller figure. “How long are you working here?”

“Do you want to borrow the book? Are you already a member of our library? If not, you can fill out the application form.” You point toward the application forms on your desk. “I must warn you. Do not overdue the books, Sir.”

“Doll, do you honestly believe I came here for a book?” His features darken, and he licks those plump lips again. He dips his head to drink your trembling form in. “Do you?”

“What?” You splutter.

“You, out!” He jerks his head toward the teens. “Now!” They run out of the library, never looking back. “And you…” He turns back toward you, still that smirk on his lips, “will come with me.”

Your eyes widen in fear. “No.” You shake your head. “I won’t go anywhere with you. I don’t even know you, Sir.”

He chuckles darkly. Before you can blink you end up thrown over his shoulder. You slap him and scream. It’s no use. You wiggle and beg but he walks out of the library, with you hanging over his shoulder.

“I told you to take the day off, doll,” Steve laughs as you mutter under your breath. “Sometimes your man must take matters in his hands…”

Tags in reblog.

[bluerthanvelvet444]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝙿𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Frat boy Kyle Spencer x fem!reader

tags: slight angst, fluffy smut!

warnings: swearing, public sex, mentions of Kyle's abuse (poor baby), handjob, p in v.

summary: frat boy kyle being a sweetheart. that's all i have to say.

character count: 11k.

full fic under the cut ↓

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“I'm not going.” You replied, your voice firm and your eyes fixated on the math book that sat on the library's desk, trying to avoid the gaze-that you knew you couldn't resist-of the boy sitting in front of you. You heard him sigh as his doe eyes desperately tried to meet yours.

“But everyone is going…you can't miss it.” Kyle replied with his soft voice.

“I've never gone to any of those parties…why do you want me to go to this one so badly?” You spoke, with a noticeable hint of frustration in your voice.

“Because it's the end of the semester…something to celebrate. Plus, it's gonna be epic.” He said with a toothy smile plastered on his face.

“No, thanks. You know I don't roll with those frat boys.” You rolled your eyes, your words coming out harsh and spiteful.

“I'm a frat boy.” He said, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused by your statement.

“Yea- but you're…different.” You sighed.

It was true. He was indeed different from the frat boys he was friends with. You and Kyle met in Junior year of high school. You were paired up by your physics teacher, who suggested you could tutor Kyle, that at the time had terrible grades. You two clicked instantly, he was fun and outgoing, and you enjoyed spending time with him. Kyle had grown to be incredibly thankful for your help, in fact, he insisted that you were the one who made him passionate about physics, the subject that he used to despise and that now was his main department in college. Although he could seem like the usual asshole frat boy, Kyle was sweet and caring. You knew it, and no one could’ve made you change your mind on that. He was simply a sweetheart.

“Listen, I know my mates may seem rude or not well-behaved…but trust me, as a leader, I established some rules for them. They won’t act crazy, I promise.” His kind voice brought you back from your thoughts. You sighed, thinking about it.

“Brennan’s hosting the party in his summer mansion…it’s next to the beach- it’s so cool, I swear. I-I’ll take you there! I can pick you up and take you home…” He added, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Please?” He said in an adorable voice, his puppy eyes looking hopeful into yours.

You sighed, you didn’t wanna go, but it was utterly impossible to say no to him.

“Fine.”

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You were touching up your makeup. You were ready for the “big night” Kyle was so excited about. You decided to wear something a bit more revealing, a black minidress, because-okay, you didn’t wanna go- but you couldn’t be annoyed and unfashionable all at once.

While taking a final look in the mirror, you heard a knock on your door. You grabbed your bag and opened the door to see Kyle-in his usual frat sweater-smiling at you. He looked at you up and down, scaring you slightly. What if he didn’t like the dress or how it looked on you?

Fortunately, all your concerns faded once you saw his smile widening.

“Woah…you look beautiful. Seriously…you’re stunning.” He said, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, he wasn’t used to seeing you like this.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliments.

“Thank you…” You gave him an awkward smile and bit your lip.

“Shall we get going?” You suggested, to which he nodded. He took your hand and helped you step down the porch. Kyle led you to his car, and opened the door for you with a cute grin.

The ride was calm, you chit-chatted here and there about random stuff, and you swore you saw him staring at your body a few times. After 15 minutes or so, you eventually arrived at the party. Kyle was right, the mansion was beautiful and it faced the sea. You could see lights and music blasting out of the house. He gave you an excited grin and helped you out of the car, walking with you inside the house. It was overflowing with people laughing, playing games and having fun. As much as it seems hard to believe, you didn’t know anyone of those many people. They had familiar faces, sure, but you couldn’t consider them your actual friends. You sighed and nervously looked at Kyle who, on the other side, was flashing smiles to all his fellow frat brothers and friends. You noticed how comfortable he was in his habitat, and how you envied him for that. He introduced you to many people-whom you couldn’t even remember the names of-that obviously didn’t care much about getting to know you, since they even could’ve sworn you did not go to that college. You were invisible even when the attention was on you, and Kyle clearly didn’t catch that. So when he was dragged by his mates to some kind of game, he told you with a chuckle and a rushed tone

“I-I’ll be right back! Chat with the girls, they’re fun!”

Fun. Right. You didn't mean to sound like an antisocial bitch, but they were everything but fun. You saw them from afar just taking pictures of each other-to show on Instagram how much fun they were pretending to have having-or teasing each other about their crushes. You felt bored, so you sat on a chair, sipping a cup of-what you hoped was-punch and waited for Kyle. Time passed, and he didn’t show up, so you got up and started searching for him. It didn’t take you much to find him. Kyle was on the karaoke stage, singing “Rosanna” by Toto.

“Meetcha all the way! Nananaaaaah…” He “singed” while laughing with his mates.

You were conflicted on what to do now. You didn’t want to be a bummer by clinging to him all night, but you were truly bored and felt lonely. So, you did what you believed was best for everyone, you grabbed your stuff and left. The moment you stepped outside, you were met by an unfamiliar feeling of peace, the view surprising you for its beauty and for being so…empty. It was quiet, the only sound that could be heard were the waves splashing against the sand, no people around. You smiled and made your way to the pier nearby. You sat on it and took your shoes off, allowing your feet to sink in the water.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you were brought back to reality when you felt Kyle's voice behind you.

“Here you are! I searched for you everywhere!” He was breathing fast, you believed he had been running while seeking for you.

“I thought I left you a message?” You tilted your head.

“Oh… Sorry. I can’t find my phone. Why are you all alone here? The whole fun is inside!” He replied with a giant boyish smile.

“I like it better here. It’s boring inside.” You turned your face to look at the sea again.

“What? How can you call it boring? There are plenty of games! And people inside-” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“Kyle, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not popular like you. The people inside couldn’t care less about me. I feel less lonely here than in that crowded house.”

He looked at you confused.

“Aw, c’mon…don’t be like this. They’re nice people, you just have to make an effort to try to meet them, and I’m sure you’ll have fun.” You didn’t know why those words started a fire in you.

“They’re not my friends, Kyle. I can’t stand those people, I don’t get along with them. And trust me, I’ve tried to be social and friendly, but you may have to consider the idea that not everyone is like you. You’re easygoing and social, you're a freaking frat boy for fuck’s sake. It’s easy for you to say those things.”

He looked at you, mouth agape at your sudden outburst.

“…why didn’t you just tell me?” He looked at you like a sad puppy for bringing you somewhere that made you uncomfortable.

“And be more of a bummer? No, thanks. They already hate me, I don't wanna be a party pooper as well.” You crossed your arms.

He sat next to you on the pier and his fingers gently grazed your jaw to make you look at him.

“You’re not a bummer to me…a-and I’m sorry about that… I shouldn’t have left you alone. Sorry.”

You wanted to be mad at him, truly, but those cute brown eyes melted your heart in every way possible. You bit your lip as you admired him lovingly. He was so caring and sweet, how did you manage to get this lucky?

“I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I- that’s the last thing I’d ever want. You know I care about you… I can’t stand you being mad at me. Please, forgive me?”

You felt your heart tighten at those words. You gave him a slight nod as your eyes travelled down his lips. You wanted to kiss him so badly, and he probably caught onto that, since he slowly leaned in to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. He pulled away slightly, mumbling against your lips.

“Was that okay?” You nodded, and he leaned in again, kissing you once more. This time he deepened the kiss, letting his tongue slip in your mouth and softly swirling it around yours. You let out a breath at how right that felt and how sweet he was being. You pulled him slightly closer and moved your hand to rest on his neck and caress the skin of it. After a bit, you moved your lips to peck his jaw a few times before trailing them down on his neck. Your lips worked sweetly on his skin at first, earning a few sighs from him. As the tension grew, you started sucking his neck, leaving red marks. He groaned and grabbed your waist, you subtly moved your hand down to massage the bulge from his pants. He let out a tiny gasp, and you felt him stiffen, not in a good way. You looked up at him with a confused expression.

“I-I’m sorry…please keep going…” He said with a nervous smile.

“What’s wrong? Did you not like that? It’s okay if you don’t want to…” You gave him a comprehensive look.

“No! I like that… I swear. Just…bad memories.”

“Do you wanna talk about it…?”

“No, I just wanna feel good now.”

You nodded and gave him a gentle peck on his lips before gently undoing his zipper. You ran your fingers over the visible shape of his dick through his underwear, earning a groan from him. You looked at him for consent before gently pulling his boxers down. You blushed as you saw him so vulnerable for the first time. Your fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly. He let out a breathy moan.

“G-god…don’t stop…”

You smiled and started progressively speeding up. After a few minutes, you heard his moans grow louder, and you felt his strong hand gripping your wrist.

“I…wanna do it. Is that okay?”

You nodded, and he sat up to gently remove your dress and everything underneath. He was stunned by your body, staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He helped you lay down, with a massive gentleness, as if you were capable of breaking if handled too roughly. He hovered on top of you, caressing your face as he lined up your entrance with his dick.

“This okay?” He muttered under his breath, to which you answered with a nod. He gently pushed into you, allowing you to adjust to the new feeling. He groaned when he pushed himself all the way in. He held your hand sweetly.

“Can I start moving?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly started thrusting in you, earning moans from you both. He gripped your hand tighter as he felt how your walls clenched around him. When he felt like you were ready, he started going faster, gripping your hand tightly and kissing you repeatedly through the whole thing. You could've sworn you were seeing stars when he started hitting your G-spot with his tip. Soon enough, your moans got louder and you felt yourself coming on his dick. He tried his best to contain his moans and as soon as you finished he pulled out to come on your tummy. He collapsed onto you, pecking your face repeatedly.

“I love you…” He mumbled.

After some time had passed, he got up and cleaned you with the salty water, giggling like a teen boy receiving his first kiss. When he helped you gain your-and his-decency again, he got up, throwing an arm around you and walking happily towards his car.

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a/n: I love Kyle he's so babygirllll. also look at the cute picture i found on pinterest (the one under the title) that boy looks so much like kyle. got me screaming when I saw it. Anywaysssssss. I might post a part 2 of this with frankenkyle, but I gotta finish Peter fics first (spoiler). Let me know if you like it💕💕

join my taglist!!

all rights reserved!!

[tteotlma]

Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here. 

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in. 

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned. 

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place. 

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight. 

Not that exhaustion was new to you. 

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved. 

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem. 

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].” 

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around. 

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.” 

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind. 

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise. 

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin. 

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration. 

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you. 

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough. 

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body. 

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder. 

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back. 

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles. 

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click. 

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood. 

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for. 

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part.  “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat. 

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust.  Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up. 

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.  

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes,  wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him. 

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.” 

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking  your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed. 

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely. 

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

[drvscarlett]

The Tortured Drivers' Department

— combining another one of my favorites. I'll be taking notes and writing fics about which TTPD song do I associate with the drivers ( + I will be including the retired ones). This is the main list and I'll be linking them when I finished writing them. Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Also give TTPD a listen. Its so beautiful and a masterpiece

Fortnight

— i love you, its ruining my life (Lewis Hamilton x Mercedes!reader)

The Tortured Poets Department 

— At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding (Pierre Gasly x ex!reader)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys 

— 'Cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart left all these broken parts (Lando Norris x reader)

Down Bad

— Fuck it if I can't have him (Charles Leclerc x kpop idol!reader)

So Long, London

— You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? (George Russell x secret girlfriend! reader)

But Daddy I Love Him

— "I'm having his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces (Alex Albon x Horner!reader)

Fresh Out the Slammer

— Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you (Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader)

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine) 

—I need to forget, so take me to Florida (Logan Sargeant x heiress!reader)

Guilty as Sin?

—What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? (Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

— I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean (Nico Rosberg x Lewis Hamilton)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

— they shake their heads, saying, "God help her" when I tell 'em he's my man (Daniel Ricciardo x longtime girlfriend!reader)

loml

— Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion (Max Verstappen x childhood sweetheart!reader)

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart 

— Lights, camera, bitch, smile (Zhou Guanyu x model!reader)

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

— And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive (Yuki Tsunoda x Actress!reader)

The Alchemy

—'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me (Kimi Räikkönen x assistant!reader)

Clara Bow

— This town is fake, but you're the real thing (Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari heir!reader)

The Black Dog

— I am someone who, until recent events you shared your secrets with (Mick Schumacher x driver!reader

imgonnagetyouback

— I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch (Fernando Alonso x wife!reader)

The Albatross

— She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you (Jenson Button x revenger!reader)

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

—So if I sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet. Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon? (Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!reader)

How Did It End?

— The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling (Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri)

So High School

—You knew what you wanted, and, boy, you got her (Charles Leclerc x reader ft Max Verstappen x childhood friend!reader)

I Hate It Here

—I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind (Kimi Räikkönen x interviewer! reader)

thanK you aIMee

— And then she wrote headlines in the local paper laughing at each baby step I'd take (Mark Webber x reader)

I Look in People’s Windows

—What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time (Sebastian Vettel x reader)

The Prophecy

—Don't want money, just someone who wants my company (Pierre Gasly x politician's daughter!reader)

Cassandra

—So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst (Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader)

Peter

— Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold onto the days when you were mine (Lando Norris x reader)

The Bolter

— "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" (Max Verstappen x hollywood starlet!reader)

Robin

— You have no room in your dreams for regrets (Oscar Piastri x girlfriend!reader)

The Manuscript

—One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I re-read the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore (Carlos Sainz x McLaren employee!reader)

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

In Every Life Time

Description: In every life time, you lost him. But in this one, each part of him you lost you find once more, staring back at you with a bit of each one you loved in each life time.

Percy has had many nightmares ever since he was young, especially since coming to camp Half Blood and being claimed as a son of Poseidon.

But he never liked any other dreams like these ones.

Percy would lay in bed, drift off only to end up somewhere else. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere he liked and somewhere he wasn't in a rush to leave.

Unlike the others before, this was different, but the same all at once.

Percy sat in a field, it was dark out, but the fireflies in the air lit up the sky unlike the stars did.

And Percy was breath taken once more as he stared at the same Goddess he saw every night sitting under the same willow rree, dressed in a white and gold trimmed Greek styled dress.

This time, the Goddess didn't look very...Goddes-Like. She looked younger, the same he always sees her as, but this time she felt it. Like in this dream, she wasn't a Goddess. The very first fifteen years of her life.

Like she was normal, younger, an actual teenager relaxing under a willow tree.

A boy in similar Greek clothing held his head in her lap, smiling up at the Goddess as if she had hung the sun up herself, hung the stars and painted the sky right before him.

Percy knew that look. He saw it every time in glimpses shared between the woman and all of the ones before, every single one different but the same all at once.

He looked a bit just like every one of them.

The same nose as the wood nymph from three dreams ago he had, the same green eyes as the Olympian from six dreams ago he had, black hair like the boy who ran around with a much younger goddess he had, the first dream he had of her.

“I would like to stay here.” Percy could make out the paint words, knowing what the man would say even before he spoke.

He saw the goddess speak, and like before, saw a look of sadness in her eyes as she smoothed her hand over the man's wild and messy hair. Hair just like Percys.

“I…I would like that as well…but we can't.” The goddess said, an almost distant look in her eyes before the warrior took her hand, kissing the back of it softly with a sigh.

“Why? You always say that like you're one step ahead. Why can I not?”

“I- I do not know. But...You will find out soon enough.”

And before Percy knew it, the all too well love scene before him faded in battle cries, swords clanging together and shouts of war.

Percy was in the middle of a battlefield, Gods and Goddess's fighting side by side and some against one another, fires roaring all around, he couldn't make out many faces, the ash burning in his lungs as he coughed.

Only thing he could see were her tears. Her tears as she held a limp, and very much so, dead and familiar man in her lap, brushing her thumbs against his cheeks as she said a silent prayer, her forehead to his almost as if it could bring him back.

She didn't sob, but he could hear her almost silent whispers.

"We should have stayed under our tree. I'm so sorry, my love. Please...find me when you are ready."

And just like that, Percy woke up with the bed shaken as Tyson woke him up, dragging him out of bed, to breakfast, and along the way to Annabeth and Grover with the goat boy he called his best friend, almost tap dancing in what seemed to be joy.

“Percy! I- we got chosen!”

“...What?”

Percy didn't expect for Grover to go on a rant about how the upcoming war was brewing, like he didn't already know.

Annabeth even had to cut in as Grover ran out of breath, giving the boy a moment before he started up again.

“Olympus needs all the warriors they can get. And they chose us to find the Goddess of (Create something you like bc idk)!” Grover fanboyed.

“Who?” Percy asked, confused at his friend's behavior and having never heard of that one. He's heard of, and fought, many gods and goddesses, but he's sure that one would've stuck if he crossed that bridge.

“The Goddess of (you choose).” Annabeth re-stated. “She used to be a mortal, but was captured during a really, really bad war and since the ones who captured her were fighting the gods, they punished her with immortality until-”

Annabeth cut herself off.

“Until what?” Percy probed with a frown, not wanting anyone to withhold information from him anymore.

“Until something. Her story doesn't go on from that, the ones that took her never said where she was. Even after they were sent to the Underworld and punished, she's been missing ever since!” Grover finished, almost shaking Percy by the shoulders.

Percy finally got it.

“So- we have to find her?”

“Yeah! Just like when we found Pan- but this can't be like that. This time, she is alive!” Grover insisted.

“We don't know that.” Annabeth sighed.

“Yes, we do!” Grover wasn't living this down and wasn't letting Annabeth either. “I know it, and we are gonna find her!”

And that's how Percy was dragged along the state, searching the skies, the gardens, underground, in every mythical and every sacred place he could think of.

Until, finally, Grover has led them to a garden of lights. For a seemingly prison, Percy has to admit, it didn't look like it.

Deers laid in the grass, birds chirped to their heart's desire, animals frolicking in the grass, koi and any other fish you could name in a waterfall so clear you could see to the bottom that glowed in the light.

It almost looked real. So surreal Percy didn't expect it. Especially when he leaned a bit too close, and a fish jumped up and scared him, falling back into the lake with a groan and his butt soaked.

He heard Annabeth and Grover yelp, their feet clashing with the water as they ran down after him.

He groaned as Annabeth and Grover dragged him to stand up, he almost barely noticed as both his friends froze in the middle of helping him, and a breeze went just past him.

No, not past him. It seemed to go over his entire body, around his arms, legs, messing up his already wild and black hair, feeling it on his nose, cheeks, lips and his eyes.

“Percy…”

Percy could barely make out Grovers whisper, his friend catching Percy's attention barely.

Percy looked between Annabeth and Grover, confused before he looked to see they were staring at a willow tree. Or, more like under the Willow tree.

Percy could feel his breath taken once more like in his dreams, seeing the same girl from them looking right back at him with the same look on her face

[ily-fictional-women]

Since Agatha is coming back for us real soon, I'd love to read more of her. I know you just posted a fic for her not so long ago, but if you have any more up your sleeve, I'd love to read it

Faithful Familiar

Summary: Villains have hearts— it’s just that their minds are set on other things. Not every “villain” is a monster. 

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!familiar!reader 

Warnings: Minor Agatha All Along spoilers (like really small I swear)

Word count: 1361

a/n: Happy Halloween everyone! What’s a better way to spend the night than with your favorite witch? So in this scenario, witch familiars can shift from their original animal form to a human form at will. So yes, it is similar to Diaval in Maleficent. (Reblogs are welcome and critiques/advice are heavily encouraged, but please no translating.)

1972

The two run panting hand in hand down the alleyway. “Okay was it necessary to do your whole power-draining thing while we’re here,” Y/n asks continuing to drag Agatha to some kind of safety. Agatha chuckles, “No it wasn’t necessary. But it was something I felt like doing. It’s not my fault they had some pets.” She grins to herself, “What were they called again?”

As Y/n tries to make a sharp right turn she’s stopped by two women geared up with a variety of potions and weapons. One of the women steps forward, “Have and we are the Daughters of Liberty! Humans sworn to protect witches in-” Agatha cackles. “Blah blah blah blah. Ladies! You deserve a vacation!”

Rolling her eyes at Agatha’s snide remark Y/n begins dragging her down the alleyway in the opposite direction. Agatha smiles at Y/n, “Oh come on! Not even a pity laugh! That was funny and you know it.”

“No time for that Agatha.” Y/n peers over her shoulder to see how far away the other women are. They’re still chasing not that far away but one is readying a lasso that has a glowing blue tint to it, binding magic Y/n thinks to herself. Y/n pushes Agatha ahead of her, “Go!” 

Agatha’s face flashes with concern for a split moment. “Just take a right then a left, there should be some stores nearby to hide out in. I’ll be right behind you don’t worry,” Y/n says assuringly. 

One of the Daughters of Liberty begins to throw down her lasso as Agatha runs farther away, managing her timing though Y/n knocks down one of the trash cans lining the alleyway. Looking above her head though the lasso begins to fall on her. Before it can cinch to her waist though she manages to create a big puff of black smoke, shifting into her crow form. 

Flying much faster than the women can run Y/n catches up to Agatha just enough to see her enter a crafting supplies store. Landing and shifting back to her human form Y/n enters the store her eyes set on Agatha. Alone in a paint supplies aisle, Y/n wraps an arm around Agatha’s waist. 

“There’s plenty of stores nearby why this one? You’re not much one for arts and crafts.” Agatha shrugs. “It was either this or a poultry deli,” she teases. Y/n rolls her eyes cracking a small smile, the moment quickly fades though, as a dagger flies right by Agatha’s head tearing through the paint canvas next to her. 

The witch and crow bolt running through the store as the Daughters of Liberty follow. The Daughters of Liberty finally catch up though one blocking each end of the knitting aisle. Agatha and Y/n stand back to back being similar situations too many times to count.

Agatha’s hands begin to whirl with purple energy, “You think you can handle the one on your end?” Y/n pulls out the feather-shaped dagger strapped to her side, “Always. Let’s put on a show though, we should have an audience within a couple of minutes.”

As Y/n lunges for the woman on her end with her blade, Agatha smiles cockily at the woman on her end. “I think I’m gonna take my time with you little thing.” Clouded with anger the woman tries to lunge at Agatha with the blue-tinted lasso but Agatha simply raises her arm with a slight elegance. 

Purple tendrils begin to wrap around the woman’s hand and arm. “Ah! Drop it!” Immediately in saying so the woman drops the lasso letting it fall to the floor. Agatha inches closer to the woman keeping her hold on her. “Now I’m curious, why be so loyal to something dead?”

The woman grits, “We live to protect witches wanted dead, even if it’s by other witches.” Agatha scoffs, “Well you sure did a poor job of that.” Using her free hand the woman grabs a knitting needle stabbing it into the arm Agatha had been using to keep a hold on her. 

As Agatha jerks her arm back at the pain the woman does not loosen her grip causing the needle to tear through Agatha’s arm leaving a long gash in it. Ripping out the needle the woman tries to go in for a second stab— unfazed Agatha simply examines the wound groaning, “Well that wasn’t very nice.” 

Using her good hand Agatha makes the woman punch herself hard enough a few times to knock her out. Turning Agatha sees Y/n finish off the other woman quickly stabbing her in the stomach with her feather-shaped blade. 

Meeting Agatha’s gaze Y/n quickly notices the cut on Agatha’s arm, she cringes at the site. “Shit, are you okay?” Straighting out her shirt Agatha sighs, “I’m fine. This is why I don’t do hand-to-hand combat though. It is so for losers.” Y/n quirks an eyebrow at the last comment making Agatha grin with amusement. “I mean that with no offense to you obviously,” she says sarcastically.

Y/n nods in mock agreement, “Sure.” 

“Mom?” Agatha turns around the question, the voice familiar. “Nicky?” She mutters to herself trying to follow the voice. “Mom?” All other noise and sound don’t reach Agatha besides this voice, and from the sound of it, it’s coming from the back exit of the craft store. 

Making it to the alley she hears the voice echo out again, “Mom?” Turing in that direction she sees a short figure with its back turned a few feet away at the the end of the alleyway. “Nicky.” She feels some sadness swell up inside her she doesn’t care how or why this happening anymore. 

Falling to her knees closing her eyes and going in for a hug she feels a tightness wrap around her, a painful tightness though. Looking down she sees the blue lasso wrapped around her, it wasn’t real. As the blue glow on the lasso fades she hears another voice. “Agatha!”

Y/n kneels in front of her cupping her face. “Hey, hey. Are you okay? The girl you knocked out released some kind of bottled spell. You were gone when I snapped out of it, then say you and-”

“I want to go back to the apartment.” Agatha’s voice was drained of emotion, her eyes prickled with tears. Y/n lifts Agatha up by her good arm her voice softer now, “Yeah, we can go back.” 

//

Settling Agatha on the couch Y/n grabs the first aid kit from the bathroom sink, sitting next to her Y/n attempts to start cleaning the wound. As the alcohol swab makes contact with the wound Agatha snatches it from Y/n snapping at her. “I can do it myself!” 

Y/n calmly lets go of the cotton swab, “You saw him, didn’t you?” Agatha stares at the wall in front of her unresponsive, which for Y/n was plenty enough of a response. Standing up Y/n puts on a long coat before kissing Agatha’s forehead gently, cupping her face once more.

“I’m gonna go out and get some food, mostly to give you space. While I’m gone please just take care of that cut. Okay?”

“Fine.”

//

Standing in front of a window display of TVs a woman stands next to Y/n. “How is she?” she asks. Y/n sighs deeply not facing the woman, “Why don’t you just ask her yourself sometime Rio?” 

“Now’s not the right time.” Rio’s face gets serious, “Seriously though. How is she?” Y/n shrugs finally facing her. “Not great this second. One of the Daughters of Liberty used an illusion spell, she hallucinated Nicky.” 

Rio conjures some flowers holding them out to her, “Just take care of her for me alright?” Taking the flowers Y/n nods, “I live to serve her. I don’t do it for just you anymore. It hasn’t been that way for decades.” 

“Good, she needs all the love she can get. Even if she is stubborn.” As Rio begins to walk away Y/n chuckles a little. 

“You leaving to go clean up her mess?”

“Always.” 

[skzdarlings]

the fifteenth heir ; faerie prince au ; jeongin/reader ; part one

masterlist.

When you save the life of an injured wolf, you are not expecting him to turn into a prince and save you in return. Of course, as it turns out, fairy tales are not that simple. - A prequel to The Same But Different: The story of how Prince Jeongin overpowered his fourteen older brothers to take the throne of the summer court.

part one | chapters tba | ao3 link.

pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: set in the faerie prince universe, the prequel to the same but different. faerie/human romance. strangers to lovers. eventual sexual content.

content warnings: please heed the following trigger warnings and read at your own discretion. this story is predominately a romance but classified under horror as well. there will be gruesome scenes, images, and threatening scenarios. this chapter features murder, isolation, mentions of human cannibalism, neglect, suicidal thoughts, explicit violence, and dark fantasy elements.

chapter word count: 7000 words.

enjoy <3

-

Absolute silence surrounds the house.  In daylight, pests are lured closer by the meaty red stench of blood.  At nightfall, every lowly thing knows to keep away from the yawning maw of that front door.  Even animals understand a chasm, this black hole that swallows life and belches bones back into the woods. 

You wake behind the eyes of the monster, curled up in your cot by the attic window.  Even the slightest noise wakes you, the smallest disturbed pebble a thunderous exclamation in the silence.  

Your eyes adjust to the moonlight darkness.  You scan the yard.

Leave, you think, pleading with everything and nothing.  You beg whatever is out there to get away before it gets hurt. 

It’s been a week since your father’s last hunt and his hunger is going to get the better of him – and you are a selfish little girl in a terrified woman’s body and you don’t want to hear another murder. 

Silence is absolute until it is not.  It always ends with a scream.

Your own shriek is strangled in the sleepy rasp of your voice, startled by a shape emerging from the thrush of the woods.   Your racing heart patters as the shadow takes shape in the moonlight.  

Oh, it’s a stag.  

Two - no, three of them. 

It’s better than a person.  Your father won’t be hungry for an animal this late in the week. 

It’s still unsettling. Your father occasionally allows you into the woods to hunt for animals.  You are not allowed to venture far and nothing intelligent approaches the house, so you never find anything more than rabbits and squirrels.  If there are more animals out there, it is deep, deep in the miles of trees, well past where the footpaths fade and the branches start to tangle into a wall of impenetrable brambles. 

You have never seen a stag before. 

The first stag crosses the yard.  It steps tentatively, as you suppose deer are wont.  But there is something about the angle of its head, the curious, scrutinizing tilt as it looks at the house – like it’s really considering it, the way people might.  The way people do, with a breath of relief. 

Thank god, they always say.  A house. 

Our car broke down on the highway.

We were hiking and got lost.

There’s something about these woods.

We don’t know how we got here.

You don’t know how they get here either.  Despite the repeated claim, there is no highway anywhere close.  You have looked.  There’s nothing but the house. 

The stags cross the yard one by one, flicking their heads, their antlers waving in the dark.  For a moment, the shadows look like long, spindly fingers, stretching up and up as if taunting you with a friendly wave.  Hello, they say, we’re out here and you’re in there.  Can you see us too?

Then the porch lights wash yellow over the blue night.  Your father steps onto the porch.  He always answers the door, just like you are always in the attic.

The stags run, though it seems more jaunty than afraid, a bouncing trot back into the woods.  Your father hollers after them, enraged his hunger was piqued only to find no satisfaction.

You lay back down and close your eyes.  This screaming is preferable to the usual kind, but it is still screaming.

And it always ends with a scream.

-

You are sitting by the window, legs curled up and arms around your knees.  You watch the yard, the flies zipping here and there in the daylight.  You have been watching for hours, wondering if the stags will come back.  They seem like an impossible dream in the light of day.  Try as you might, you cannot picture them in the yard.  They just don’t belong there.  Nothing does.  It makes that murky dream feel like a nightmare. 

Your watching is interrupted by a creaking on the stairs.  Your father is coming up to the attic. 

You jump out of bed, dressed in your too-small shorts and too-big shirt, like always, and you fetch the key under your cot, like always, and you are waiting at the closed door when he arrives, like always.

Even though you can hear each other breathing, he still knocks at the door. A  semblance of politeness.  Knocking, like he is protecting your privacy.  Knocking, like you can’t hear him hacking his way through human bodies, like you can’t hear the mess, like you don’t know where the meat goes. 

He knocks, like always.

You slide the key under the door so he can unlock it.  It’s a type of understanding, isn’t it?  You can’t leave without his permission.  He can’t reach you without yours.

The door opens. 

He is holding a hunting knife.  It should scare you.  He has used it against you before, the one and only time you tried to run away.  He let you out to hunt and you ran for that elusive highway.  Ran, got lost, got scared, got found.  He cut at your legs, not to sever or maim, but in a frantic, desperate kind of threat.  That he would.  That he would do a lot.

But there are things he won’t do.  He won’t make you eat the remains of his human catches.  He hands you the knife and says, “Go.”

“Do you want something too?” you ask like you don’t know the answer. 

“No,” he says, with no further explanation for what he intends to hunt and eat.

You take the knife.

It’s a cool day.  You think it must be autumn but the deeper you sink into the woods, the warmer it gets.  The gentle breath of the autumnal breeze vanishes as you leave range of the house.  The sun brightens while the shade thickens, the forest a starker and starker contrast of light and dark.  You keep to the shade because it is sweltering in the sun with no breeze. 

It feels strange to do something like that.  Does a moment of comfort really matter?  Your legs are scarred, the woods are hot, and the house is always waiting.  Does a minute of shade really matter?

Resigned, you trudge through the woods in your bare feet, stepping into patches of hot sunlight.  The knife dangles in your loose grip.  You hardly feel the path under your feet.

A sound bleeds into the quiet nothing.  You ignore it even though it could be a catch.  That’s why you’re out here, isn’t it?  To find food?  A rabbit, a squirrel.  There are no stags.  You were dreaming.  There is nothing.  Nothing but the house, right? 

Nothing but this, like always. 

You stop.  Your grip tightens around the knife.  Every part of you throbs like it is begging to be pierced.  Maybe it will wake you out of this nightmare.  Maybe it will set you free.  Maybe you just want the house to spit your bones into the woods.  At least you’d never have to go back in. 

You hear it again.  It is not the skitter of an animal or a human scream or any sound you know. 

Crying, you realize.  It’s the whining wail of a hurt thing, more despondent than afraid.  It pierces those vulnerable places faster than a knife.  A new ache replaces it.

You follow the sound.  It sadness is so persuasive that you begin to cry as well. 

You stumble towards some trees, their branches low and tangled.  You swing at them with the knife like it’s a machete.  You need to get through.  You don’t know why. 

It must be an animal on the other side.  It could be hurt or it could hurt you.  It could be one of the stags.  Somehow, you know it’s not, thinking of those taunting antlers.  They couldn’t make a sound like this. 

The branches cave with a shatter, all at once as if tired of fighting. You stumble into an alcove, a little shelter among the trees. 

In the middle of it, curled up and crying, is a wolf.

A wolf? 

Its fur is a solid midnight black, darker than the shadows around it.  Its big body is irrefutably canine but the face is not wolf-like.   

A fox, you think, though the proportions are all wrong.  Foxes are not this big and overwhelming.

You don’t dwell on it because this fox-wolf is hurt.  In the obsidian darkness of its coat, you almost miss the streaks of blood, the open cuts just barely visible. 

You drop the knife.  The fox-wolf watches it fall, its whine gone silent in your presence.  Its black eyes are steady.  It looks at the knife then at you.  There is a horrible sadness in its gaze, a miserable resignation to the droop of its head.

You know this feeling well.

“Did he do this to you?” you ask, as if you expect an answer.  It is not more unusual than speaking to yourself.

The fox-wolf whines, a sad, imploring beg.  Its gaze goes to the knife. 

“I’m not like him,” you say.  “I’m not here to hurt you.” 

Even as you say it, you are not sure your father is responsible for this.  It’s not his nature.  For all his abominable offences, your father does not hunt for sport.  He slaughters indiscriminately but it is always purposefully.  Animals, early in the week, brought back skinned and ready for cooking.  Humans, later, when he changes, when he starts sweating under some invisible heat source and nothing else satisfies him.   

That is when you go to the attic and let the door lock behind you.  You know he’s still your father when you can hear him breathing on the other side.  When the hunger possesses him, he is a screaming, mindless thing, throwing himself at that fortified door, clawing it up like an animal before leaving to hunt easier prey. 

He has managed to avoid that state for a while, no longer waiting for the arrival of a meal but seeking it out in advance.  Preventative measures became necessary over time.  The length of his satisfaction keeps shrinking.  He used to last months, then one month.  Now it is a week before he hunts again.

He is hunting tonight so the hunger has not yet taken over.  He did not mindlessly attack this animal.  If he deliberately targeted this fox-wolf, he would have brought it back as meat for you. 

You approach the animal, tentative but not as wary as you should be.  It has big teeth: visible, sharp incisors when it opens its mouth.  It would keep away any sane person with a reasonable fear of suffering.  But a bite is not different than a walk in the hot sun.

You kneel beside the animal.  You touch it carefully, parting the bloody fur and exposing the wound beneath.  It is not the work of a knife.  It’s a gash near the neck, an attack as wild as it was intentional.

Blinking, you recall those antlers in the dark. 

“Did the stags do this?” you ask gently.

The fox-wolf whines.  It sound affirmative, even though that’s impossible. 

The greatest impossibility is the sudden pang in your heart.  You thought it had already turned to dust.  A small, broken shard beats for this hurt creature. 

“Poor foxy,” you say. 

You kiss the crown of the fox-wolf’s head.  It emits a whimper.  It rests its head in your lap.

It has been so long since you kissed anything.  You kissed your parents a long time ago.  Long before they disappeared on a walk in the woods, when your father came back alone and unnaturally hungry no matter how much your then-teenage self cooked and cooked and cooked. 

There was one final kiss you gave each of them, but you don’t remember it now.  It would have been inconsequential at the time, taken for granted there would be many more. 

You will remember this one.  Giving affection to another living thing is as important as receiving it.  You were affectionate, once, you think. 

For a time, you sit in the alcove, tucked away from the world and the woods.  You stroke the fox-wolf’s head from the crown to the neck, then back up.  You drag your pinky down its snout and its eyes close like a person lulled to sleep. 

The fox-wolf stirs first.  It lifts its head and looks at the knife.  When it looks at you with those glossy black eyes, you understand. 

“No,” you say without hesitation.  Terrible sadness cloys in your throat.  “I know it hurts, but you’re not going to die.  I won’t hurt you.  Don’t ask me that.” 

You don’t question its seeming understanding.  You know it’s still impossible, but you cling to that connection.  You imagine it sees your own scars and the obvious exhaustion of your weary body.  You imagine it recognizes the droop of your head.  You imagine a broken part of its animal heart beats for you too.

“You’re not going to die like this, okay?”  Your voice is small and rough.  A tear slides right off your cheek and onto the fox-wolf.  Despite your efforts, the tears keep coming, plinking along the fox-wolf’s scars like raindrops.  You brush the creature with careful fingers. 

“You’ll be okay,” you say.  “I promise.”

You use the knife to cut a strip of fabric from the bottom of your t-shirt. 

“This is the only shirt that fits me, you know,” you say, talking to keep the animal calm while you wipe its wounds clean.  “It was big when I got it.  We were just coming to the house for the summer.  I was thirteen.  I didn’t even want to go but Mama said it would be good to get out of the city for a couple weeks.  It’s been longer than that now, you see.  A lot longer.  I’m all grown up.  And Mama’s gone. It’s just me and Daddy and the House.  This isn’t a good place, but you know that.  The forest did something to him and now he gets hungry.  He's not my Daddy when that happens. He’s just hunger. And when he’s not hungry anymore, it’s like he wakes up, and then he’s a mess, like he sees all the blood for the first time.  The worst part?  I think it’s all because of me.”

You never say this out loud, not even to yourself in the quiet nothing.  You say it now because it’s the reason you rip your last shirt and bandage the hurt animal. 

You have to save something because of how much has died to save you. 

“He doesn’t want me to run away, to get too far in the woods,” you say.  “I think he’s scared that what got him and Mama will get me.  And whatever it is, it’s worse than this.  Whatever it is, it makes the house safe in comparison.  He’d rather keep getting hungry and kill all those people than risk the forest getting me.” 

You kiss the fox-wolf’s head when it whimpers. 

“I want to save you, foxy,” you say.  “Because he only stays alive to keep me alive.  He hunts so he won’t hurt me.  All the horror, all the bodies, all the death… it’s to keep me alive.  Trapped, but alive.  And it’s not any kind of life worth protecting, but that’s what a daddy does, I guess.  I’m all he has left to protect.  I don’t think he’ll die until I do.  Maybe I should.  Maybe I should let this all end.”

The fox-wolf whines again but not from pain, lifting its head to turn those solemn eyes onto yours. 

“I know,” you whisper, scratching behind its ears.  “I guess we never know why things happen the way they do.  Maybe I was meant to be here so I could find you and help you.  Let’s make a bargain.” 

Steady black eyes gaze up at you. 

“I saved your life,” you say.  “And maybe that was the purpose of mine.  So you have to use it.  You can’t lay down and die in these woods.  You have to be okay.  Then you have to go back where you belong and you have to keep using the life I gave you.  Okay?” 

You curl around the fox-wolf.  You hide your tears in its fur, uselessly because it can feel your shoulders shake. 

“I think I’ll be okay for a little longer,” you say.  “Until it gets me – the forest, or the hunger, or him.  But I’ll be okay if I know you’re alive, all right?  You’re the first real thing I’ve seen in years.  I forgot the world could make such beautiful things.  If I can think about you free somewhere outside of the woods, it will make me happy, foxy.  Please be alive for me.” 

The fox-wolf curls around you too, twining in a big coil of wolven bulk and fur. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

You lay there for another moment, until the sun has shifted in the sky and the shadows fall differently.  The hot light touches the border of the alcove.  By then, your tears have stopped. 

You sit up and wipe your wet face.  You take a breath and the fox-wolf watches. 

“I have to go now,” you say.  “Be careful, foxy.”

You kiss its head once more. 

Then, because you never take a kiss or word for granted anymore, you say, “I love you.”

Because you do, because all the love you had for the world and your family is somewhere inside you still.  It needs somewhere to go.  It feels right, giving it to this sad creature that needs more life. 

“Take care,” you say. 

It does not whimper or whine.  It watches with those steady eyes as you take the knife and leave the alcove in your too-small shorts and ripped-up shirt, the only thing left that’s yours as you leave your love and hope behind. 

-

Your father usually hunts through the night.  You don’t know where he goes and you don’t what the path is like.  You just know that he doesn’t trust to send you down it even though you could get away once and for all.  You suppose it’s not hard to believe the path would be laden with monsters.  After all, he must be one of them. 

The house is empty.  You go inside with a bundle of berries cupped in the remains of your shirt.  The front door swings behind you.  It doesn’t lock because nothing approaches it willingly.  If it does, it won’t last long.

You go to the attic.  It’s the only locking door.  It traps you, like always.

You put the berries on the bed and the knife under the bed beside the key.  Your shirt is now a sticky, juice-spattered mess, cut at the belly, but it doesn’t really matter.  You sit on the bed and eat your berries one by one, watching the yard. 

You fall asleep at some point.  You wake hours later in your cot, long after the sun has set and the gloaming is gone. 

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark.  You peer through the attic window across the moonlit yard, looking for the disturbance that woke you.  It might be your father.  He is due back.  Sometimes he kills his catch on the way but sometimes he waits until he’s at the house.  The body ends up over the fire in what used to be a cozy sitting room. 

You don’t go there.  You don’t need to see when you can hear and smell.

You hear a clatter on the porch.  He must have reached the house before your eyes adjusted.  The automatic porch lights flip on, that wash of yellow over the dark yard. 

It illuminates something on the border between the yard and the woods.  It’s another stag, tall and broad with spindly antlers.  You can just barely see the shadow of more stags behind it.  It’s hard to count them, antlers blending into branches.

The first stag steps forward.  Your head tilts as you watch, bemused by its awkward step.  Is it hurt?  It seems to crick and creak as it moves.  You imagine a pop as it lumbers forward. 

Then it rears up.  It lifts its head. 

No.  No, it doesn’t. 

Its neck is craning, its torso elongating.  It lengthens and pops and rises until it looks halfway like a person in the yard, hunched with too-long arms dangling down the length of a tall body.  It still has antlers. 

You fall back in a panicked jump when the front door opens and closes.  For a moment, it’s you that feels like an animal, skittering frantically on all fours.  You climb onto the cot and peek out the window.  More antlered half-human figures are in the yard, watching the house.  The yellow porch light glints in the eyes of the closest one, human-shaped but flashing bright with a heated anger. 

It looks at the door.  Then it looks at you. 

You drop down, not making a noise, too scared to even scream. 

There are footsteps on the stairs.  It’s welcome for once.  You have a monstrous thing of your own.  Your father has returned from his hunt.  Maybe he killed and ate it on the way.  He’s coming to see you and he will be clear-eyed and horrified but maybe, maybe, maybe you can find your father in that pain.  He will comfort you and tell you monsters aren’t real, like he did when you were young, when your father was the most indomitable force in the world.  He could keep out any monster. 

You grab the key and dash for the door.  You wait for the breathing, the gentle cadence.  Yours come rapidly.

You slide the key under the door and it scrapes the ground, like always, then it’s inserted into the lock, like always.  The mechanical unclick.  Like always. 

But it doesn’t open like always.  You stare at the door, breathing louder than any scream.  You push it open.  Your eyes are raised to look at your father, but he’s not there.

Your gaze drops. 

“Foxy?”

You don’t understand the sight.  This is irrevocably the fox-wolf, the very same one, still bandaged in your t-shirt scraps, still with those steady black eyes.  It’s sitting on its haunches, gazing up at you.  The key is on the floor beside a small covered basket. 

You take a tentative step to look around.  The house is empty.  Your father has not returned. 

The fox-wolf, who somehow unlocked your door, accepts your unintentional invitation and trots into your room.  You watch as it sniffs around then waits patiently beside the cot. 

You pick up the key and the basket, at a loss to do anything else.  You close the door and it locks behind you.  You don’t know how you are going to hide a wolf from your father, but right now you don’t care.  Its presence is an immediate and thorough balm.  You rush to the cot and take a seat.  A peek out the window shows the yard is now empty. 

“You scared them away, foxy,” you say, rubbing its head.  Its tail thumps happily, its eyes scrunching with pleasure.  It has an almost-human smile.   You kiss its head.  “I think you’re a sweetie,” you say.  “The woods are full of scary things.  We sweeties have to stick together.”   

You place the key under your bed and the basket on your pillow.  The fox-wolf nudges it with its nose, whining eagerly.  Its tail continues to hammer with excitement. 

You smile.  It’s probably an ugly smile, unpracticed and strange, but the smallest uptick of that unused muscle fills you with unparalleled delight.  You didn’t even know you could still feel that way.

“Is this for me?” you ask. 

The fox-wolf watches with that squinty-eyed grin.  Your smile returns, still an awkward flicker on your long unsmiling face, but true.

You uncover the basket. You are truly shocked at what you find.

As much as the monsters scare you, they are not unusual.  You are used to the woods and the horror.  You are not used to smiling and you are not prepared for a basket full of baked goods.

When did you last see such a thing? It feels like a memory of a story, fantasies of someone else’s life.  The basket is filled with rolls of pastries sprinkled with powdery sugar, leaking purple berry and yellow custard.  Dark sugar sprinkles, a spicy scent – cinnamon, you think.  You remember.  Was it your favourite?  Maybe it will be now.

You don’t know where to start or what to say or do.  You look at the basket of sweet sugar wealth, overwhelmed.  The scents are so sweet that it’s almost sickening, your near empty stomach roiling.  Your smile quivers and breaks and then you are crying with hysterical abandon. 

The fox-wolf whines with concern, its front paws up on the cot as it stretches to check on you.  You wipe your eyes and try to speak, though it takes some time to sound coherent through the gasping.

“I’m sorry, foxy,” you say.  You are even more distressed to find those black eyes glassy with sympathy.  “I promise I’m happy,” you say.  “I just don’t know how to be.  I’m sorry.  I promise I feel it inside.”

It continues to look at you with concern, its short ears wilting.  You rub the top of its head affectionately and try to smile again.  It feels toothy, like an aggressive snarl more than a smile, but it’s not afraid. 

You look at the pastries again.  You truly don’t know what to do next.  As much as the fox-wolf seems to understand you, it can hardly communicate, so you can’t ask where it found so much luxury in the woods.   It makes you think your father might be close, that the fox-wolf found this treasure abandoned by unlucky humans. 

You feel guilty, but the pastries are so tempting.  There is something especially wondrous about them.  Maybe because it’s been so long.  The longer you look, the more your mouth waters, and the more it looks like something from a dream.

You lift a pastry, feeling a combination of hunger and nausea.  You haven’t eaten anything like this in years and you are scared your body will reject it.  You still crave it.  You didn’t even realize you wanted it all this time.  You didn’t realize you were capable of wanting anything ever again.

You take a small bite.  The pastry is delicate.  It flakes and melts on your tongue, the sweet sugar leaving a powdery residue on your lips.  You lick it off.  It’s so sweet but so soft that you cry again.

“It’s perfect, foxy,” you say. 

The fox-wolf still looks morose, one ear perked to gauge the slightest negative shift in your tone. 

Your smiles are not reassuring, so you extend a gesture instead.  You break a piece of the pastry and offer it. 

“Please,” you say.  “Share with me.  It tastes even better that way.” 

It tickles when the fox-wolf licks the pastry off your fingers.  If a smile felt strange, laughter feels bizarre, an awkward guffaw, subsumed in the gasp of your tears. 

You eat a few more bites, sharing with the fox-wolf.  Then you cover the basket and put it under the bed.  You pace yourself.  You know you won’t keep down more than that.  Your stomach is already rebelling under the onslaught of foreign sweetness. 

There’s also a special pleasure in knowing it’s there.  You don’t even want to finish the basket because then it will be gone forever.

You look at the fox-wolf.  You know it will be gone soon too.  It can’t stay here.  It’s not safe.  Even at his best, your father will see a beast fit for food.  He won’t care about the intelligence in those dark eyes.

For now, the house is empty and the basket is full.  You rub the fox-wolf’s head.  Its tail thumps again.  You smile a smile you thought you had lost.

“Come on, foxy,” you say.  You make room on the cot. 

The fox-wolf jumps.  It turns in a small circle near the foot then settles.  It rests its chin on your knees.

You stroke your pinky down its snout as it blinks with sleepy contentment. 

For the first time in a long time – since a life that no longer feels like yours – you lay down to sleep with a smile on your face. 

You usually sleep lightly, disturbed by the smallest noise as it breaks the silence, but the silence is not absolute tonight.  The fox-wolf breathes and the gentle cadence of its slumbering breath is like a lullaby.  

It’s the deepest sleep of your life.  You hardly ever dream in your light dozes but it comes in vivid colour tonight.  Swirls of monsters, antlers, and hunting knives.  Also sugar, cinnamon, black fur and dark eyes squinting in an obvious smile.  In your dream, those eyes change, the intelligent but animal gaze softening to something human.  You dream of your attic room, a dream so vivid it almost feels real.  You can feel the cot under you, the chill of the nearby window, the familiar moonlight. 

But it isn’t real.  It can’t be.  The fox-wolf is gone. A  young man sits on the end of the cot, gazing out the window into the woods.  If this was real, you would petrified, but you feel that same peaceful calm, his company a comfort.  Old hurts and present fears feel far away. 

The young man looks at you.  Moonlight and shadows dance across his features, but you think he is beautiful, with eyes so dark and focused, hair black and smooth.  His cheekbones are sharp.  His face is like a knife and yet –

And yet –

There is something unspeakably gentle about him.  Not because he’s helpless, not because he’s dull, but in spite of all that danger and sharpness.  He looks at you with an undoubtedly affectionate gaze, tilting his head as he holds your gaze. 

You blink.  You think you might be waking because you shiver, but you don’t want to wake.  You want to stay right here with him.  You have been wanting him before you knew you could.  You want to look at those eyes forever.  You want to feel this safe always.

He moves, swift and soft as a shadow. A  blink and you would miss it.  He tugs the blanket back over your shoulder.  Your eyes stray along the length of his bare arm, across his bare chest.  The scraps of your t-shirt bandage a scar that runs along the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Then you look at his hand, so close to your face.  Any other hand and this dream would be a nightmare.  But this is a good dream.  You sigh contently as his long fingers gently brush the crown of your head.  His fingertips trace your temple, carefully down your jaw.  No one has ever been so gentle with you, not in a long time.

You sigh again.  He softly sweeps his pinky down the bridge of your nose.  Your sleep deepens.  You sink into a perfect peace, undisturbed for the rest of the night.

The morning is another matter entirely.  You wake in sunlight, more groggy than ever.  It’s not the familiar pale light of early morning but the golden heat of noon.  You haven’t slept for so long in years. 

You feel the usual ache of sleeping on a rickety cot, something designed for weeks of use, not a decade. 

You sit up.  The fox-wolf is gone.  There’s nowhere in the attic for it to hide, the space under the cot too small.  You crouch on the floor and check anyway.  The key is there, the knife beside it.  The basket is there too. 

The fox-wolf disappearing is an impossibility among many, but you know it was all very real.  You uncover the basket to find the pastries as fresh and appetizing as last night, not even a little stale from sitting out all night. 

You look around the empty room, sitting with the basket cradled protectively in your lap.

You don’t know what to do.  You haven’t felt that way in a long time.  Everyday has been the same, passed through a disassociated state of bland observation and slow breathing.  This single disruption has uprooted everything.  You feel the basket in your lap and you know you can’t spend another day sitting at the window. 

The choice is made for you.  There is a clamoring in the yard so you look out the window, not sure what to expect. 

It is the most mundane of all creatures.  Your father is dashing back to the house in a clumsy sprint. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.  There is something wrong about the way he’s moving.  There’s a stumbling desperation to every wide leap.  He looks more like a stag than the stags did. 

Did he come home last night?  His hunt should be over.  The hunger should be satisfied. 

The front door swings and slams.  You can hear his frantic thunder up the stairs, so much thudding he must be racing on all fours.  You curl away instinctively, pressed up against the window, as far away from the door as possible.

He throws himself against it with a scream.  You squeeze your eyes shut.

He’s still hungry.  Maybe his hunt turned up nothing or maybe it didn’t satisfy him.  You don’t know what happens now.  Maybe he will eventually beat the door down.  Maybe he will drive himself to death in his hysterics.  If he dies, you’ll be trapped, sealed in here with that basket as it slowly empties.  Eventually it will taunt you, like the stags, waving, mocking you caged in your glass like an animal –

You are getting hysterical too, even with your hands clamped over your ears to block out your father’s wailing.  It’s not even just the fear.  He’s your father, sometimes, somewhere in there.  He used to make you laugh and tell you stories, lift you on his shoulders and tell you about the world.  He used to scare away the monsters.

“Daddy,” you try, voice breaking on a childish cry.  “Stop it.  Please.  Daddy, it’s me.”

You can’t find the strength to yell.  You doubt he can hear your wobbling voice over his own screaming.  The door shakes so hard that you imagine all the walls crumbling under the force of each slam. 

You drift in the fantasy of it, of this whole house crumbling around you.  There’s nothing to do but stare, silent, and wait to die.  It’s a better end than you expected, a last meal, a good sleep, a sweet dream to send you off.

You close your eyes. 

Something changes in the air.  You don’t hear it or see it, but you feel it, a rush of warmth that fills the house.  Gentle as a hand drawing a blanket over your shoulder.  The sun brightens and heats the window at your back. 

You lower your hands.  It’s then you hear a piercing bark, almost a scream but not quite.  Almost human, but not quite.

It can only be one thing.  You whip around and watch as the fox-wolf careens through the yard, fast as a bullet.  By the time you are on your feet, it’s already in the house and racing up the stairs.

“Back!” your father screams, the only coherent word out of his mouth.

You can hear them fighting.  A body thumps down the stairs but the weight of it sounds too heavy to be your feral, emaciated father.  He must have pushed the fox-wolf.

More than anything, that propels you into action.  You made a bargain with that fox.  You gave it a life.  You’re not going to sit here and let your father take another life at the expense of yours.

You put the basket on your pillow.  A part of you wants to eat the whole thing while you have the chance, die with a full stomach and a face powdered with sugar, but there’s no time.  You reach under the cot and you grab the knife and the key.

Will he even have the clarity to use the key?  You’re not sure, but you slide it under the door.  There is clearly some intelligent thought churning in his mind, because he picks it up.  He fumbles the lock while the fox-wolf stampedes back up the stairs. 

The door explodes open.  Your father and the fox-wolf crash inside, tangled in a violent fury.  Your father yells at it, prying at its jaw to release its brutal clamp on his forearm.  He is not stronger.  The fox-wolf might have ripped his arm right off it you hadn’t cried out. 

The fox-wolf releases your father so it can look at you.  Your father kicks it in its distraction, sending it hurtling to the door with a yelp. 

“Don’t hurt it!” you cry.  “It’s already injured!” 

Your father does not reply.  When he looks at you, your heart stops.  There is nothing of your father in his eyes, something vicious and lost staring back at you.  

No.  Not at you.  He doesn’t see you anymore.  He sees a clear path to prey and he takes it.

He charges you, too fast for you to react in your terror.  The knife clatters to the floor as he tackles you and slams you onto your back. 

Your body fights, an instinctive propulsion from something buried deep inside you.  Under all that disassociation, all that resignation, there is a part of you that wants to live.  It claws its way to freedom.  You push your father, your adrenaline spurred by his.  You scream with the same abandon. 

The weight and smell of him abruptly disappears.  The fox-wolf has clamped its jaws around his ankle.  It drags him clear across the room where your father is left to scrabble against the floorboards.

Then the fox-wolf pounces on you.  You don’t know what’s happening until you’re lifted, grabbed by the arms and hoisted onto your feet.

Except –

Foxes can’t grab.  Wolves can’t stand. 

It happens so fast.  You are on your back, the ceiling overhead, then you are on your feet and the only thing you see is a pair of dark eyes. 

Dark human eyes.  You blink at a face, a familiar face, the face of the young man from your dreams.  If he was beautiful in moonlight, he is devastating in sunlight.  His hair is so black that it sparkles blue in the light, his features so sharp in contrast.  He is like a drop of starlight.

The beautiful man grips you with two humans hands.  He stands upright in a human body.  You can’t look away from his human face, all those sharp and delicate angles.  He is so beautiful that he hardly seems real.  You would have been less surprised to see another monster. 

His grip tightens.  It wakes long slumbering parts of you. 

“Foxy?” you say in a pathetically small and fragile voice. 

Your father is back on his feet and the – the man? –

The fox-wolf-man –

He dives at your father and lands in canine form, those sharp incisors snapping at his face. 

The knife is within your father’s reach.  You see it but the fox does not.  When your father grabs it, you jump, catching his arm before the knife can do any damage. 

The three of you are locked in a messy tangle.  Your father is bleeding from wolf bites and the animal is snarling.  Everything feels wet.  You can’t tell finger from claw, limb from wound, spit from blood. 

You kick and scratch and bite like an animal, seeing nothing but red in the terror of your frantic adrenaline.

That part of you so desperate for life is at the surface.  You feel your whole body for the first time in a long time.  You feel the shattering pain when your father hits your head with his own and you spill back.  He holds you down while grappling with the knife.

The whole thing is over in seconds.  Your mind is flooded with every gory image of a tooth in a slab of meat.  You don’t reach for the knife.  Your father is close, his neck within reach, and the animal of your body rears with terrified instinct.

Do you mean to kill him?  Do you want to kill him?     

It doesn’t matter. You kill him anyway. 

The skin breaks shockingly easily as you tear into his throat with your teeth.  Blood spills out of him, pounding jugular and a bath of red. 

You sputter and choke on it.  You use a last burst of adrenaline to shove him off you.  You are not sure how fast he dies.  You don’t look, spitting up blood and retching. 

You wipe your mouth, smearing more of the relentless red mess.  You are on your hands and knees.  You lift your head and open your eyes. 

The fox-wolf is a man again.  He is on his hands and knees as well, his face only inches from yours.  He is staring like you are the wondrous anomaly, his mouth open with his shock. 

You look at each other for a long moment.  Then he smiles.  He has deep dimples, frighteningly sweet next to the sharp inhuman incisors still visible in his mouth.  Like your own crooked snarl of a smile, it is not a pretty grin so much as it is big.  And like your broken smile, you can see he means it truly affectionately. 

You can’t speak with the blood on your mouth.  You try but you sputter.

He reaches for you.  He gathers a red wet smear on his fingers, gently wiping your lips.  It wracks your whole body with a shiver, the shock of violent residue, the shock of being touched. 

You finally take a clean breath.  He looks at the blood on his fingers. 

He flashes you that sharp, dimpled smile again.

“Wow,” he says with a wheezing laugh. 

You can’t even think about asking what’s so funny.  The last drop of adrenaline bleeds out of you.  The floorboards rush to meet you as your arms and legs buckle. 

Your body surrenders your mind to blackness.

[corroded-hellfire]

I love the AYW universe, whenever I get bored I come and choose a random part to read again anyways the newest update was really good, especially the NKOTB mention cause I'm a big fan of them too ❤️

Anyways a thought I had is what if reader shows Eliza NKOTB music at some point just like my mom did with me. I feel like Eddie would pick on reader for being a new kids fan but once Eliza is on the dark side he knows he'll have to put up with it

This reminded me of the home movie of my big sister doing this dance and now I want to find it lol. Also a big thank you to the lovely @lokis-army-77 for helping me when my brain forgot what words were 💕

Words: 1.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The end of May means that Eliza’s dance classes have paused for the summer, but her brothers are still in school, leaving her bored. Dance also helped burn off the three-year-old’s extra energy, which is now dropped in your lap.

After a week of no dance classes, an idea strikes you when Eliza stumbles upon a box from your childhood while playing hide and seek. 

“Hmm…” you hum as you walk into your room. “Where, oh, where is my little girl?”

The sound of a box shifting in your closet catches your attention. You smile to yourself and tip toe towards the closet. The shuffling continues as you reach for the doorknob.

Quickly, you yank the door open.

“Gotcha!”

Eliza is sitting in a cardboard box, various CDs and cassettes tumbling out and a couple clutched in her tiny hand. Your daughter grins up at you, her dimples heightening her already high level of cuteness. 

“What’s these, Mama?” she asks.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you say, sitting down on the floor in front of the box. “Oh, okay. This is music I listened to when I was a kid.”

“Like me?” Eliza asks.

“Mm, more around Luke’s age.”

“Can I hear?”

“Sure, baby,” you say. 

You pick up a small stack and start to go through them before one in particular catches your attention. 

“Hey, Liza. Want me to teach you a dance?”

Her large brown eyes widen, and she nods so quickly that it looks like her head is about to fly off.

“Yes!”

“Ugh, thank God I’m home,” Eddie sighs as he steps through the front door. 

He kicks off his boots and stretches out the muscles in his lower back. 

“Hey, you.” You smile at your husband as you stroll in the room to greet him. He smiles in return when you slip your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips. “How was work?”

“Not bad,” Eddie says. “Not as good as this.”

“Dinner is almost ready,” you tell him. “But we have a special performance first.”

“Oh?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow. “Luke want to read some Shakespeare for us?”

You laugh and drop your head to Eddie’s jumpsuit-clad shoulder.

“No, he’s doing his homework. Assured me he didn’t want to be here for this performance.”

“That scares me,” Eddie admits. “What about Ry?”

“He’s out with friends,” you say. “This is just for you. So, go get changed and meet me on the couch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eddie yawns as he steps into the living room, scratching his stubbled jaw. He plops down on the couch in one of his old Hellfire shirts from high school and a pair of black sweats that are looking more faded and grayer these days. His mane of hair has been pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck and all traces of oil or dirt from the day in the garage are gone. 

“Thought I was supposed to be entertained,” Eddie says loudly, smiling to himself.

“In a minute!” Eliza shouts back from her bedroom down the hall.

Eddie laughs and stretches his arms out, resting them on the back of the couch. 

A few moments later, you come down the hallway and swipe up the remote that controls the stereo. The spot on the couch next to Eddie looks like it’s been waiting for you, so you grab it and cuddle up to his side. Your husband wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“You smell good,” you murmur to him. 

“Used some of your soap,” he replies.

You take another sniff and realize it’s your body wash from Bath and Body Works. A store where Eddie refuses to buy anything, yet always uses what you get. 

“Thief,” you tease before sticking your tongue out at him.

“A-hem-hem!”

Eliza is peeking around the corner from the hall and you’re quick to remember your role and nod at her.

“So,” you say, looking back at Eddie. “Have you heard that Eliza will be starting preschool in the fall?”

Eddie’s brow furrows and raises at the same time. It’s a look that says of course I have and where in the hell are you going with this?

“Yes…”

“Well, you know what that will make her?” You aim the remote towards the stereo and press the play button. “A New Kid on the Block.”

Bum-bum bum-bum buh

Bum-bum-bum buh

“Oh God,” Eddie whispers. 

A grin splits your face from ear to ear as you snuggle into your husband’s side and watch your daughter emerge into the spotlight of the living room. 

You wanted her to look as authentic as possible for the late 80s, but with Eliza’s wardrobe, that mostly meant finding the right hues of pink to put together. It works for her, but even if it didn’t, Eliza would make it work. 

First time was a great time

Second time was a blast

Third time I fell in love

Now I hope it lasts

“What did you do to our girl?” Eddie grits out quietly through his teeth as Eliza starts to dance. 

“She wanted to listen to some of her mommy’s music,” you say sweetly, laying your head down on your husband’s shoulder. “And she misses her dance class.”

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Eliza puts her hands on the waistband of her neon pink leggings and begins to shuffle her legs from side to side while hopping like the iconic moves from the music video. 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Now, Eliza steps with her left foot and pumps her left hand up towards her right shoulder twice. Then, she switches and goes to the left with her right hand and foot.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Out of the corner of your eye you see Eddie grin. It makes you pick your head up so you can get a full view of his smile as Eliza bounces along to the beat. 

“She gives Joey McIntyre a run for his money,” you whisper.

“I’m going to assume that’s one of the members,” he murmurs back. 

You roll your eyes and silently vow to give this whole family a boy band education. 

The last chorus is about to start, and Eliza runs up and grabs your hand.

“Come on, Mama!”

With a chuckle, you stand up and join her at the front of the living room. Both of you position your hands at the top of your pants and begin to hop on one foot, bring them back together, then hop on the other. 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Eliza giggles wildly as the two of you do this together. She looks up at you as you dance, her curls bouncing and cheeks pink from the small exertion of energy. 

A sort of lightness fills your body, your mind transported back to when you were hardly a preteen and learning this dance for the first time all alone in your room. The fact that you’re now doing it with your daughter in front of your husband makes you nothing short of giddy. 

Now, the two of you go on to the next move. Step with foot, pump hand, step, pump, switch. Step, pump, step, pump.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

The song finishes and Eliza bows. Eddie cheers and you clap your hands until Eliza straightens and tries to tug you down in a bow with her. Instead, you give a deep curtsy and bow your head in Eddie’s direction.

“That’s my girls!” Eddie whoops as he claps. 

Eliza giggles and runs over to her father, launching herself in his lap. He catches her and lets out an oof.

You take back your previous position at Eddie’s side and Eliza flops down to lay across both of your laps. 

“I like that song!” Eliza states. 

“Me too.” You poke her belly, and she lets out an airy laugh. 

“You like it, Daddy?” Eliza asks.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at your husband. Eddie can practically read your mind: Go ahead, babe. You’ve made fun of me a thousand times for liking New Kids on the Block, now tell that to your daughter. 

Eddie looks down at Eliza before responding.

“I loved your and Mommy’s dance. You’re both very good.”

The dodged question doesn’t even register to the little girl; she’s just happy that her dad enjoyed the dance she learned today. 

“Maybe next time we teach Daddy a dance too, huh?” you say.

Eddie whips his head in your direction and narrows his eyes, making you giggle.

“Yes!” Eliza cheers, sitting up. “We’ll find a Daddy dance!”

“We’ll find a really good one,” you add. 

“Mama, don’t let me forget tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure her. “I won’t.”

Eddie lets out a low growl and leans in to nip at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You squeal and pull away from him.

“Daddy, no biting!” Eliza chastises. 

“What if Mommy likes it?” Eddie responds. 

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” Eliza shakes her head. “Biting is bad.”

“But what if I’ve got…” Eddie pauses and leans so far over you that you’re forced to lay back on the couch cushion with a chuckle. “The right stuff?”

He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, despite being tickled by the dad joke. 

Eliza sighs and lays down on top of you, her head resting just above your heart.

“Isn’t Daddy so silly?” she asks you.

You grin up at Eddie as he winks at you.

“The silliest!”