#(back contorted severely to reach said shirt)

[bytedykes]

this of course makes binggeyuan that much better btw

honestly i think sy is a yassification victim i dont think he was sexy when he was alive. to me he will always be a sweaty gamerchair loser man rotting in his bedroom all day. the sunlight blinds him etc

[imtherain]

How We Used To Be (Forced Closeness)

Oh Hai - Logan has inspired me again. This was supposed to be a very different story and there was supposed to be smut, but it didn't work out that way.

Warnings: Talk of injuries (basically that scene in Logan (2017)), Not smut, almost tho, talk about the past, angst I guess? Old Man Logan, who has issues with intimacy and it's not what you think (or maybe it is). I used y/n but it's in first person and I gave her powers/a mutant name, so idk what that's called.

Old Man Logan x mutant!reader I guess? I'm too old to learn the new tricks of labeling these things, all I know is I've been thirsty for Logan since I was literally 7 years old and this is quickly turning into one of the recipe blogs where you have to read a bazillion words before you see the directions. Sorry

Word Count: 3.2k (don't look at me)

[Masterlist]

[Logan Masterlist]

“You look like shit, love,” I said, leaning in the doorway to the bathroom. Logan’s eyes shot up to glare at me in the mirror. He was bleeding from several bullet wounds and was currently shirtless and heaving over the sink. 

“Get the fuck out,” He ground out. I hadn’t seen him in almost six months. Almost a record.

“Calaban called me,” I told him, knowing he likely knew that was how I ended up here. “I’m glad he did, you’re worse off than anticipated.” 

“If you touch me, I’ll rip your arms off,” A caged animal snapping his teeth. I knew all of his threats to me were empty, but it still made my heart ache that he would rather suffer than let me help him.

“I’m not scared of you,” I told him, pulling myself off the doorframe. I shut the door behind me and crossed the tiles until I stood next to him. He was snarling in general, but didn’t move away when I took a cloth and began to clean the blood from one of the wounds on his arm.

My gift had earned me the name Booster back when things were good and goofy mutant names were all the rage, as my main ability was that I literally boosted other mutants powers when I touched them. I always joked about how it was a lazy XMen name. But now? There weren’t many of us left, no reason for silly code names. But we still stuck together when we could. I told myself that was the only reason I hung around this part of the country still. To be close to the few mutants I knew were left.

Nevermind that it was really the bleeding man in front of me that I stayed for.

“I don’t need your help,” Logan’s voice was quieter now, but still sharp edged like his teeth. I shushed him and wiped at another spot of blood, waiting for him to give in to the knowledge that I could actually make him feel better.

“I’m sure you don’t, but it would make me feel useful to help, would you deny me that?” I quirked an eyebrow at him and he looked away from me. 

“Last time you helped me I hurt you, I’m not letting that happen again,” I reached up and took his face in my hands. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Cuts heal,” I told him. He moved to cage me with his arms for a moment and I was sure he was going to give in. But all at once he shoved me away from him and I stumbled into the wall. “Logan,” I chided. 

“Leave, Y/N,” There was no snarl left in his voice, just defeat. 

And pain.

“No,” I told him simply. “Now are you going to let me Boost you or not?” 

“Last time…” 

“Yeah, yeah, last time,” I rolled my eyes as I cut him off. My abilities didn’t just boost one part of a mutant, it boosted all of them. So in Logan’s case, it made him a bit more animalistic for a time. Made him more likely to use his teeth, or use his claws.

The claws are what got me that last time he kept thinking about. He got me good, I'd give him that, I even had the scars on my ribcage if you looked close enough. But I didn't tell him that.

“If you do that again, I won’t be able to stop myself from…” Logan snarled at himself as a wave of pain contorted his features. “Fuck,” He cursed lowly to himself. I sighed and pulled my shirt off while he watched me in the mirror. 

“I’m a big girl, love, I can handle you,” I half teased, half soothed him. “And don’t forget, I get to keep a bit of what I boost, so anything you do to me won’t last long,” A secondary benefit to skin to skin contact with me. I got to taste the powers that others had. I hadn’t used it on too many mutants in my life. Most mutants didn’t really have powers that benefited from boosting all that much. But Logan and his healing factor? It was useful. Even if it made him extra feisty for a day or so.

It also made him horny usually but that was hardly a complaint from me.

“Fine, but only for a minute,” He finally gave in. I smiled at him and stepped behind him.

“Want me to take my bra off too?” I smirked over his shoulder at him and he shivered, shaking his head no. Too bad I was a bad listener. I shucked my bra and made a big show of dropping it to the floor next to us. Logan let out a shaky breath, knowing what was coming.

We’d been here before.

I pulled his beater out of his pants and slid my hands slowly up his ribs. He grunted as my hands slid over bruises and broken things. I hummed softly as I let my powers unfurl into his skin while I slid his shirt up. I’d learned pretty early on that the more skin that touched skin, the better my boosting worked.

I pressed myself along Logan’s back as I helped ease his shirt over his shoulders and arms. He groaned when the shirt finally came free over his head and joined mine on the floor. 

My arms closed around him, one moving up towards his chest, one circling around his middle. Skin searching skin as he caught my eyes in the mirror. 

“How does it feel?” I whispered against his shoulder. I had aimed for his neck but he avoided me.

“Warm,” He murmured. “Always does,” I pressed a soft kiss to his skin and he shivered again.

Instead of teasing him anymore, I focused on the task at hand, closing my eyes and leaning against him. I could feel my powers seeping into his skin, like sunshine that time we took a bunch of the kids to the beach the summer it was so hot the AC kept going out. I wondered if he ever let himself remember the good times or if he only ever lingered on the bad ones.

Logan let out a shaky breath followed by a deep groan as a bullet pushed free of his flesh. It landed with a metallic thud in the sink, closely followed by a second and a third. 

“Do you know how many there are?” I asked. 

“More,” Was all Logan got out from between his clenched teeth. I adjusted my hold and focused back on my breathing. Healing and boosting were both somehow tied to breath. 

My powers were not a magic fix though either. It still took time. I still remembered the days when he didn’t need me to boost him, but he’d ask just so I’d touch him a little. Back then I’d been shy, always holding his hand, or maybe his arm. I was shy a lot until the day he kissed me the first time.

Then all the cards were on the table…all the clothes on the floor.

A metallic thud on the floor brought me back to the task at hand. I moved my arms to touch different skin and Logan covered my hands with his, holding me so I didn’t pull away. I smiled against his shoulder and playfully nipped him with my teeth.

“And you didn’t want me to touch you a second ago,” I teased him. He growled, low in his throat. The animal was coming up in his chest and I knew what that meant for me. Logan was scared he’d hurt me again, but I knew the risk, and I was eager to face him. 

“That’s enough,” Logan panted, but he didn’t pull my hands away. I waited to see what he’d do, pull away or pull me closer. 

He brought one of my hands up to his mouth and kissed each finger tip. I hummed in pleasure, not so subtly rubbing my suddenly erect nipples along his spine. Another growl and my fingers were suddenly in his mouth.

“Logan!” I chuckled as he nibbled on my fingers. “I know that’s technically skin, but my arm isn’t helping if you hold it up like that,” I tried to pull my hand back and he just grumbled at me. 

“How do you still taste so good?” Logan mused, not expecting an answer. “It’s been years and you still taste just as sweet,” 

“You’re a romantic is why,” I hid my blush from his hungry eyes by dipping behind his shoulder again. Logan pulled me in front of him, caging me between his chest, his arms, and the bathroom sink.

“You should leave now, before it’s too late,” His eyes were hungry in the same way they had always been for me. I reached up and took his face in my hands again, tracing the crows feet around his eyes with my thumbs.

“And miss all the fun?” I mused. He rolled his eyes at me. “And you’re still bleeding,” I pointed out, tracing the one wound on his arm that hadn’t quite healed yet. It must have been the nastiest one because it appeared to be the last one to go.

“Y/N,” he warned. 

“I’ll stop touching you when this one heals,” I told him. “Promise,” it was a baldfaced lie. I wouldn’t leave him unless he bodily threw me out the window. And not only would I not fit out the closest window, he would never dare.

“I don’t know if I can hold out that long,” Logan’s pupils were blown and his smirk was hazy. I knew exactly what he was craving and I was pretty impressed he’d managed to hold himself back as long as he had.

“I can take you, big boy,” I smirked. “Always could and always will,” I pulled myself on his shoulders so that I could press my lips to his. It was just a quick peck, testing the waters. Logan stared at me for a long time, neither of us noticing that the last bullet hole had finally closed. 

But there was still pain in him, still things to heal, so I held onto him, hoping to fix everything I could before he made me leave him again.

Logan finally got himself together enough to push me away from him. I swallowed hard, wondering if he’d be mad that I clung to him as long as I had, wondering if this time I’d sassed my way into making him actually hate me.

His eyes drifted from my flushed cheeks, to my parted lips, down the curve of my neck and the valley between my breasts. I knew they’d seen better days, having drooped with the years, but from the hunger in Logan’s eyes, you’d think he didn’t notice.

His hands moved from my shoulders to my chest and I gasped at the sudden sensation of him pawing me.

“I shouldn’t,” Logan complained into my throat as he dragged his teeth along my pulse.

“I can take it,” I assured him.

“What if I hurt you?” 

“I can take it,” I told him again.

“Fuck,” Logan’s growl tickled my neck as he moved to lift me onto the nearest surface, a sad excuse for a bathroom cabinet that gave way with a crack as soon as he set me on it.

“I’ll fix that,” I told him but he didn’t care, his mouth was on mine before I could come out with another apology. Logan pulled me flush with his chest, off the now broken surface to my feet, and walked backwards with me until he ran into the door frame. 

I giggled a little as he cursed, unclear why this was so difficult. I got us through the door, smiling and pulling on his hands, making sure to keep my skin touching his somewhere. Anywhere.

Everywhere I could reach. 

Logan licked his way into my mouth as we stumbled through the living room, bouncing off the wayward furniture as we made our way to his bed. Finally, something soft to land on.

I was on my back looking up at him. I’d seen him in his prime, when his hair wasn’t graying, when he didn’t keep a beard. I’d seen him when nothing could stop him. And looking at him now, I felt exactly the same as I did back then. Hungry for the animal of him, for the things I knew he could do to me. Lust for the sensations he could cause. And love, still burning brightly after all these years.

Love for the man he was underneath it all.

When Logan didn’t join me right away, I reached up to him and whined, knowing he always liked how desperate I got for him. He shook his head at my shenanigans and I wiggled for him as his hands worked to undo his pants.

“Impatient as always,” Logan chuckled.

“It’s your fault for making me go away all the time,” I countered. His slacks hit the floor and he moved to kiss his way up my bare stomach as he worked on getting me out of mine.

He just grunted as his mouth ran along the skin he exposed when he pulled my pants and underwear down my thighs. I knew it wasn’t the time to bring it up, so I didn’t push him or ask him to ask me to stay.

Logan pressed his face into the soft spot behind my knee and I squirmed as his beard tickled the sensitive skin.

“God you smell amazing,” He mumbled, tracing the inside of my thigh with open mouth kisses. I let my hips relax and fall open for him and his eyes zeroed in on the place that, at the moment, needed him most. With a growl, Logan moved to bury his face in my folds, and I couldn’t help the surprised yelp I let out at his movements. 

There was a time he would devour me for hours if given the chance. A time when he’d want me in any place we were. Broom closets, empty classrooms, offices that we weren’t even supposed to be in. Every hotel and far too many bathrooms. Quickies and love making and slow fucks and even hate fucks now and then. We had everything, but now? 

“Fuck, Logan that tickles,” I wiggled against his face as he breathed me in.

“Shh,” He murmured. “Just let me have this,” 

“I’m trying to give it to you,” I groaned. Logan rolled his eyes at me, but adjusted so that he could pass a long lick of his tongue through me. I shivered at the sensation, a fire sparking along my nerves. I felt his self-satisfied smirk against my core before he moved his mouth against me again. 

“I don’t remember you being this desperate,” He mused, pulling two long fingers through the dampness he’s been lapping at.

“Logan, baby, please,” I begged him to do more than tease me.

“Please what, sweetheart?” Logan’s eyes caught mine as I huffed, annoyed that he wasn’t fucking me yet.

“I want more of you,” I told him. 

“Yeah well, ‘more of me’ ain’t exactly working at the moment,” He admitted. I knew finally growing old had caught up with him in a lot of ways, but my chest ached for him that it came for him this way too. He’d always prided himself on his virality.

“I want any of you I can get, baby,” I smiled at him, reaching down to pull him flush with my chest so I could kiss him again, my mouth opening easily for his tongue to explore. I let my powers unfurl into the kiss, into any skin of his that was touching mine. Trying desperately to let him feel like himself again.

“Hmm,” He mumbled, pulling back slightly. I kissed the side of his mouth, his jaw, as he tried to shake the feeling out of his head. “Warm,” His eyes were suddenly really far away, sleepy. I kissed him again, softer now. 

“It’s ok, baby, I’ve got you,” I told him. He made a grumbling noise in his chest as sleep zapped his strength.

“What did you…what did you do to me?” Logan tried to push himself off of me, but only managed to roll to one side. I held him close.

“Nothing, love,” I whispered, kissing his face again. “Healing is just, just a lot, remember?” 

“But I was gonna fuck you,” Logan mumbled, eyes closed now.

“I know baby,” I smiled gently at him. I had my arms around him still, trying to help him heal some of the damage that the bullets hadn’t caused. “You can fuck me tomorrow,” He tried to move away from me, but he was unable to untangle our limbs before his body told him it was nap time.

I sighed heavily, a bit bummed that neither of us had ended up getting our rocks off, but happy too, that I’d been able to help boost his healing. But I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that he was far worse off than I thought he was. 

When we were younger, he’d almost go into a rut after being Boosted. It was madness but it was always a good time. The last few years, with his body slowing down, the Boosting made him feral, but then he’d pass out for a long time while his body caught back up. The last time I’d been here, he’d fucked me through two orgasms and himself through one, before the sleepiness came for him. That time, he’d lashed out, thinking he’d been drugged. It was like the nights he’d wake up with nightmares, only he’d not gone fully to sleep yet.

Part of me was glad he didn’t try to gut me at least. But my heart clenched at the thought that maybe the end of him was closer than I wanted to believe.

To stave off the tears that were suddenly crowding my throat, I adjusted our bodies so that Logan could use my chest as a pillow. He mumbled something in his sleep, and his arm pulled me closer, holding me like maybe this time he wasn’t going to let me go. I circled his head with my arms, carding my fingers through his hair, happy to be able to comfort him, to allow him to sleep.

For just a moment, it could have been any other day. We could be young again. All of our friends, still alive. I closed my eyes and imagined the sounds of the school. Kids running down wooden hallways, calling after each other. Tears escaped me then, because most of those kids were gone now. And any kids like them, like I had been so long ago now, didn’t have a school to go to. They would be rounded up and killed now. Or taken away to some place horrible. And I knew there was nothing I could do.

Except maybe hold Logan just a little bit tighter, knowing that every fight ever fought for those kids, eventually made its way to him too.

[Another Logan Fic]

[Masterlist]

[Logan Masterlist]

Likes/comments/reblogs directly correlate to how much fanfiction/fanart you see ;)

[suzdin]

The Apartment

(Lucien Flores x F!reader)

Summary: Porn with very little plot. Lucien is your sleazy pot dealing neighbor.

Warnings/Content: Drug use (weed and blow), nicotine use, alcohol use, groping/sexual harassment (not from Lucien), some mild jealousy, age gap between Lucien and another chick (20s), fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, pull out method, spitting of bodily fluids (idk the proper term for it).

Word Count: 4,900+

Dedicated to: @ohheypedrito who held a gun to my head until I wrote this (lol jk, or am I? 😰)

Other Tags: @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @kellybelly1978 @awilderi @oberynslady @daddy-dins-girl @heavennumber2 @natdeandar @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept idk who else to tag.

You hear the party long before you even make it to your apartment block, droning 90s alt rock cascading down the sides of the building.

The residence itself is aging and quaint, not exactly located in the nicest area of downtown, but also not the worst. At least, you’d like to think so.

You had inherited the apartment from your grandmother when she passed several years ago. Roughly four dozen or so residents, including yourself, shared the building with you.

Amongst said residents was Lucien Flores, who had also inherited his apartment, from his mamá Claudia, who now lived in the suburbs, last you cared to hear. You didn’t speak to Lucien often, or the other inhabitants for that matter, other than in passing in common areas.

It’s roughly 11PM when you arrive home from work that night, your legs weary and straining as you make your way up the creaky old stairs to the third floor.

Lucien lives at the opposite end of the hall on the same floor as you, but that doesn’t seem to make the music any quieter, or the cloying stink of weed any less prominent. As you navigate your way through thick plumes of smoke and fog, you’re sure you’re getting a contact high just walking to your apartment.

You sigh. It’s going to be another long night.

The hallway is crowded and you push your way through a myriad of faces you’ll likely never see again after all is said and done.

As you make your way through the gauntlet of tight and twisting bodies, you feel unknown hands belonging to a faceless entity groping and pawing at you as you pass; you snarl and slap them away. Your palms sting from the contact, incorpereal laughter bellowing in your wake.

You spot Lucien just as you’re reaching your apartment, propped up on his shoulder against the wall, ankles crossed casually, watching you. Silk watercolor shirt practically dripping down a broad torso, hair mussed and gnarled, a gold chain nestled in the hollow just beneath his throat where his shirt is undone to the third button, exposing smooth, olive skin.

He wasn’t the man who groped you, no, you’re sure of that. He was too far away for that to be possible.

A filterless cigarette is perched between two of his fingers, cherry glowing brighter as he takes a long drag, tendrils of smoke curling into the air and consolidating with the rest as his dark eyes study you.

You stare back, unblinking. And then he moves without warning, graceful and fluid as a lithe cat, pushing his way through the crowd and seeking out the man who had touched you only moments before. Unlike yourself, he could pinpoint the man’s face without hesitation.

Without so much as discarding his cigarette, Lucien’s free hand twists around the man’s collar, pulling his face close to his own. Teeth gnashing, face contorted in a sneer, Lucien spews what you can only imagine is pure venom from two plush, pink lips. You wish you were close enough to decipher the words, but the last thing you want to do is fight and claw your way through the crowd again. So you perch against your door and watch, doing your best to garner context clues as the man’s face goes pale and his eyes widen.

Their gazes suddenly dart to you in tandem, making you flinch. And then, seemingly cowing to Lucien, the man lifts his hands in defeat, drifting down the stairs and out of sight without so much as another word.

Lucien’s dark visage finds yours again, his head cocked forward, as he brings the cigarette to his lips a second time, cherry visible through the fog.

You dip your head in acknowledgment and gratitude before disappearing to the welcoming confines of your home.

——

Just after 2AM and the music is still raging, hard as ever.

You aren’t surprised. Lucien, your building’s resident pot dealer, seemed to know everyone. And everyone, him.

His parties were commonplace enough to be a regular hindrance to your sleep cycle. Not to mention the other residents. But the cops were rarely called… people in your neighborhood didn’t particularly care for law enforcement. Cops weren’t too fond of the neighborhood, either.

You lie in bed, wide awake as the bass thrums on without an end in sight, clad in only a pair of panties and a t-shirt. Your head hurts, and you have work tomorrow. You crossed the border of pissed long ago. Now you are fucking livid.

Lucien couldn’t keep getting away with this. You had to say something.

You slide out of bed, throwing on your house robe and slippers as you make your way back out to the corridor.

Most of the party had drifted inwards, into his apartment, but a few stragglers lingered here and there. Some were drinking, some smoking. Some were doing a little of both.

You could see into his home just slightly, getting a glimpse of the pink walls his mother had painted years ago, the ugly palm frond wallpaper lining the kitchen.

Your eyes zero in on Lucien right away. His shoulders, rounded and bunched around a thick and corded neck, colorful silk shirt swimming along his waistline.

His back is to you, a young woman — who you think can’t be older than 24 or 25 — is pinned between himself and the wall, one of his hands positioned next to her head, the other folded as he lifts a pile of white powder to her nose. She brings one of her hands up to pinch the other nostril closed as she snorts the substance into her body; Lucien’s lips curve into a wry smirk.

Your gaze shifts lower when you register movement, finding her opposite arm extended between the two of them, palm cupping and stroking his cock over his pants. Lucien doesn’t appear to be reciprocating her touch, which seems to have her more than a bit… frustrated, judging by the look on her face.

Cinching your robe tight, you approach the couple, clearing your throat loud enough to catch them both off guard.

The woman, whomever she is, draws her hand back instantly, eyeing you with disdain at the unwelcome interruption.

Lucien’s eyes flit to yours. Then, slowly, blatantly, the same dark irises travel down your form, methodical in how he checks you out. He isn’t even attempting to hide it in front of her.

You glance away, your skin heating.

With a scoff, the woman dips under Lucien’s arm, whispering something to him before she joins the rest of the party inside. He nods to her, disinterested, before turning back to you.

She’s beautiful and young. Lucien is twice her age and roguishly handsome, a truth you didn’t care to indulge often. You aren’t the least bit surprised by what you walked in on, as he always seemed to have a revolving door of women hanging around.

“Hey, baby. Want a bump?” he asks you.

“Fuck, no. I actually want to sleep tonight,” you tut, crossing your arms in indignation. “I have work tomorrow and I’m already exhausted. Do you think you could lower the music? Shut your door, maybe?”

His face falls and his lips pinch into a frown at your utter and outright rejection, although he understands your reasons and chooses not to argue, checking you out a second time. You feel your skin growing warm beneath the robe at the attention.

“For you. Anything,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes but dip your chin in gratitude anyway. “Thanks.”

He turns to shut his door behind him, drowning out a better chunk of the noise than you expected. As you turn to walk back to your apartment, you feel a warm, broad hand circling your elbow.

You stall, contorting your body to look back at him. “Lucien, what—“

“Hey. Are you okay?” he questions.

“No, I said I’m fucking tired and I have work tomorrow…” you reiterate, looking down at where his hand currently connects to your body.

His grip loosens and he lets his hand fall away from your elbow.

“No, I mean, from earlier. The man… who was pawing at you like some horny dog,” he explains, recounting the events that you would care to forget. “Are you okay?” he repeats, gaze softening, fluffy curls framing his face.

Your heart races at the sight of him, and you swallow down the rising lump in your throat.

No. No, you are not going to get involved with your drug dealing neighbor. Stop it.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I’m, uh, fine. Thanks… thank you.” You offer a faint smile, suddenly flustered.

He nods, plush lips parted in thought, brow furrowed as he studies you. Those eyes of his are goddamn entrancing.

“Here,” he says, placing his palm against the small of your back as he gingerly directs you back to your apartment, halting in front of your door.

He fishes a freshly rolled joint and lighter from the breast pocket of his shirt, holding both items up so you can see. The light overhead catches the chain around his neck, reflecting it, making it shimmer.

“Girl Scout Cookies,” he explains, his voice low and hypnotic as he gives the joint a heady whiff, “So you can sleep.”

“Or… you could just turn off the music and ask everyone to leave instead,” you suggest, plucking the joint and lighter from his fingers anyway.

“They’ll drift out little by little the rest of the evening,” he counters, watching you ignite the joint and take a hit, holding the smoke in your lungs. “Most of them have left already.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, snorting. Take a second hit. Pass it back to Lucien, whose callused fingers brush yours as he takes it.

“Your girlfriend didn’t seem too keen on leaving,” you point out.

“She isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Okay, girl you want to fuck,” you correct.

He takes a long, slow draw of the joint, exhaling the plume through rounded lips as he watches you. “Isn’t that, either.”

“Oh, so she was grabbing your dick for no reason, then?” you retort, arching a brow.

Lucien takes another hit, forming his lips into an ‘O’ as he blows the smoke gently in your direction. He scrunches his lips up in thought.

“Precisely. Wasn’t even that hard,” he explains.

You choke out a small laugh, leaning against the wall. “Jesus, Lucien.” You open your door to go back into your apartment, alone. “Thanks for the weed.”

“You brought her up, not me.” He grins.

“Goodnight…” you say firmly, trying not to let your vision linger on his lips. Or his puppy dog eyes. Or that goddamn gold chain. Fuck.

“Wait,” he murmurs, reaching for your arm again. Warm, thick fingers brushing your skin.

“What?”

He takes another pull from the joint, trapping the smoke in his lungs as he moves languidly into your space. Free hand cupping your cheek, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, he hovers over you, mouth nearly touching yours.

Your lips part instinctively, causing his smirk to widen even more as he exhales the cloud directly into your mouth, your lips briefly making contact. You take in a deep, heady breath, tasting the smoke, tasting the essence of him.

The small point of contact is enough ignition for both of you to act. It was the catalyst needed to convince yourself yes, yes you ARE going to let yourself get involved with him, reputation be damned.

His hand travels from your cheek to your hip, squeezing, smirk transforming into a grin as he guides you backwards through the mouth of your apartment.

And you let him. You’ve been nursing this unhealthy crush on your neighbor for long enough, you realize.

Your own hands find the collar of his shirt, and then his chain, wrapping the metal heated by his skin around your knuckles, dragging him into you. He smells like weed and clove cigarettes, like cheap red wine and musky cologne.

You aren’t sure who closes the door, but somehow, it closes with a bang behind you, and he spins your body, wedging you between himself and the hard surface, his hand unmoving from your hip as he bends to thrust his pelvis flush against yours, grinding his hard length against your center. Even through the robe, it’s unmistakable.

“Thought you said you weren’t very hard,” you tease.

“Wasn’t…” he replies with a wry smile, grinding into you, hand moving back up to your neck as his lips crash into yours.

He deposits the still smoldering joint in the small metal bowl by your door where you keep change for laundry, hands bracketing either side of your face, pressing himself firmly against you as his tongue slips into the hot cavern of your mouth, eliciting a small mewl of longing and desire from your lungs.

He tugs at the binds of your robe, the material falling open like the wings of a butterfly for him, revealing your bare legs, your soft cotton panties with the little cherries.

“Well, well…” he groans, palms locking onto your hips, thumbs moving in semicircles along your silken flesh as his fingers flirt with the elastic band of your underwear, snapping it against your hip bones.

He dips to grind his erection against you again, and this time, without the barrier of your robe dampening his motions, you feel his hard cock dragging over the sensitive nub of your clit, your hips bucking back with equal fervor.

He kisses along your jawbone, down to the sensitive apex of your jaw and column of your neck, mustache and beard gently scrubbing at your skin, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear.

“Only reason I was hard at all is because I was thinking about you,” he whispers, before taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a slight tug.

“Bullshit,” you scoff, breathless, and although you can’t see it, he grins, giving the elastic another harsh snap before his thumbs hook around the material, sliding them down your legs, cool air licking at your exposed folds.

“I don’t bullshit,” he grates, lowering to his knees in front of you, kneading your upper thighs in his hands as he takes in the vision that is you.

Slick dribbles down your inner thigh as he spreads you open and admires you, everything about you.

“Look at you, opening up like a pretty little flower for me,” he groans, leaning forward to swipe his angular nose through your soaked folds, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your arousal.

A small chirp escapes the back of your throat, fingers sinking into his dark curls for balance as his tongue flicks out to taste and tease you, lifting one of your legs to toss over his shoulder.

His tongue breaches your entrance, penetrating you deeply, your body juddering with every broad stroke of his tongue inside your walls.

“Fuck, Lucien…” you purr. He hums in approval, hands sliding up your backside to cup and massage your ass as he drinks of you.

You find yourself gyrating against him, your body chasing the sensation of his mouth, and not only does he let you, he furthers it along, fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he pulls you into him repeatedly, groaning.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, protesting the loss of his mouth on you as he pulls away for a beat, the feeling only short lived when his lips circle and tenderly suction around your engorged clit, two of his fingers sinking into your fluttering hole.

The resulting squelch as he fucks into you with his fingers is lascivious and loud, your spine forming a perfect arc against the door.

His fingers curl inside of your tunnel, making contact with the soft, spongy flesh at the mouth of your womb, each thrust getting you closer and closer to seeing stars.

“God, oh my fucking god…” you moan.

Your walls begin to tighten, your hips shaking, fingers twisting against his scalp as you feel your pleasure mounting. And you swear you see his lips hook into a grin as he gets you there, the sight of it with his nose and curls, the way the silk and gold chain catch the light, only spurring your pleasure on. It’s all so much. So much and not enough.

“I, fuck, I’m gonna cum…” you sob as the sensations reach a head and the feeling consumes every fiber of your being, your vision going white as your head lolls against the door with a faint thud, hips rutting forward to chase his mouth.

He rides you through it, growling into your core almost as though he’s enjoying it as much as you are, the reverberations making you crave more.

He pulls away from you when your body calms down, mouth coated in a sheen of your slick, hair stamped down with sweat from where your palms had gripped onto him.

Catching his breath as he stands, his lips and tongue tangle with yours once more, letting you taste the evidence of your release before dragging you toward the bedroom.

You can feel the cannabis coursing through your system now, relaxing you, making you feel lighter than air. You smile to yourself, knowing your orgasm is going to be sweet and lingering.

“You would look beautiful by my side at every party,” he says, brown eyes twinkling back at you, head tilted.

“You have plenty of other women for that…” you reply, letting him guide you to the bed as he slips your shirt over your head, revealing your naked breasts to his hungry gaze.

“And none of them are you,” he tuts, “None of them are as beautiful as you… as this.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond as he pushes you down into the mattress and crawls over you, teeth dragging along your shoulder, your collarbone, upper body propped on an elbow while the opposite hand kneads one of your breasts. He plucks the nipple to a sharp peak between his fingers, making you arch and moan.

He sheds his shirt and pants nearly in tandem, your vision settling on him as he slithers out of his underwear, a girthy, uncut cock between his legs, twitching at the sight of you.

“Fuck…” you gasp, his eyes shining in amusement as he manipulates you onto your back, pushing your legs apart and taking up residence between your thighs.

“I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he groans and kisses you again, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth.

Fisting himself at the base of his cock, he teases it along your folds, gathering your slick, nudging your still swollen clit. Your breath is ragged and unsteady in your chest, every motion of his body leaving you wanton and desirous.

“Lucien, please,” you plead and he chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Need it that bad?” he asks, bemused, dragging the head of his cock over your clit again, making you cant your hips, chasing the sensation.

“That must be a yes,” he purrs, his voice low and velvet.

He lines himself up at your entrance, giving a few short, preliminary thrusts with just the head, teasing and testing how ready you are to take him, before pushing himself further in, inch by inch.

After a few more precursory thrusts, he bottoms out with a long exhale and faint moan, lower lip taut and jutting outward, holding himself within your walls for several seconds, before pulling almost all the way out to slide back in again, slowly. Oh so slowly.

You grunt and arch your spine, your hips lifting to meet his, needing him to move faster…harder.

“Come onnnn,” you groan.

A smirk forms on his lips as he cages your head in with his upper arms, lips finding your throat, whispering against your pebbled skin.

“Always knew you’d be cock hungry, baby.”

He doesn’t allow you a chance to recant, pulling himself partially out and then slamming himself in again as hard as he can, teeth grazing your tender skin, gold chain smacking you in the face with the momentum of it.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care. Not that you mind much, either.

You whimper and paw at his shoulders, clinging to him, still needing, desiring more.

“Yeah? You liked that, didn’t you?” he whispers again, slamming into you hard a few more times for emphasis, making you keen, your bed smacking the wall harder each time.

“Need you to go faster, please,” you whine.

“Alright, baby. Since you’re asking so nicely…”

He leans back now, settling his weight against his calves as he lifts your legs to rest against his vast shoulders, tan skin shiny with perspiration. His dark curls are skewed and clinging to his face, dark brown eyes glistening with lust.

He looks so goddamn hot like that.

He doesn’t waste anymore time, fingertips digging into the meat of your calf muscles as he begins railing you with everything he has to give, the sounds of skin smacking skin filling the room, shaking the bed with impact.

He’s more than focused now, teeth exposed, brow furrowed, droplets of sweat pooling in the little divot of his collarbone. You wish he was closer so you could lave at the sweat collected there.

It isn’t long before you start to feel the familiar, telltale tightening in your lower abdomen again, your breath hitching in your chest, droplets of perspiration forming at your hairline.

“Yes! Yes! Don’t slow down! Don’tslowdooooown!” you cry, your hands reaching for his, where they grip your legs, fingers curling like talons around his digits.

Everything about you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, feels as if you’re floating.

A few more rough slams of his hips against yours and you’re seeing stars, head falling back against the pillow with a cry as your walls flutter around him, strangling his cock, sucking him deeper. He growls, his breath hissing through clenched teeth, and you know he’s almost there as well.

“Fuck, I’m gonna… fffuuuu—“ Lucien grunts, sucking in lungfuls of air as he pulls out of you at the last possible second, perched on his knees, pumping himself in his fist with your slick.

The squelchy wet noises of Lucien beating himself off fills your ears, and he emits a loud, guttural groan as he reaches completion, tendrils of seed spurting thick and hot across your stomach, some of it collecting in your navel.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you hardly have time to gather your thoughts and bearings before you feel his tongue gliding across your stomach, scooping himself onto his tongue.

His mouth hovers over yours as your lips part, Lucien spitting the cocktail of saliva and cum onto your waiting tongue, his own tongue meeting yours as he kisses you deeply, moans getting lost in your throats.

“Fuuuck,” you sigh when your lips eventually pull apart.

You both settle on your backs, shoulder to shoulder, still catching your breaths. You stare up at the ceiling, your head still light as air and swimmy.

The party continues on down the hall sans Lucien, but it’s quieter now, more subdued.

“I’m definitely going to sleep really well after that, but I may call in to work tomorrow anyway,” you giggle.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet,” he says, eyes shining with mischief as his hand trails down your body, fingers swirling through the remnants left on your stomach.

“But all those strangers in your apartment. Are you not worried?” you ask.

“I have someone watching it for me. It’s okay.”

His lips tease along your neck. “You’re like a goddamn drug, baby.”

You don’t even question it further, smirking as his fingers lift to your lips, painting them like gloss, laughing inwardly to yourself when you realize that the girl in the hallway doesn’t get to have him like this, like you do, as he dips his head to kiss you again.

—

fin. xx.

[nervocat]

“Reverberations Left Behind” (cws: talk + depictions of war, major loss, blood + war descriptions, morbid(?) descriptions of death, major spoilers for Jiyans companion quest - wc: 850, angst/platonic/romantic, gn reader)

Jiyan and Rover had made it to the Knell Square, face to face with the illusions of the soldiers, who were facing the bell of said square. Jiyan looks at the silhouettes, a solemn look in his gold eyes.

“Are these all.. Tacet Discords?”

“Nonsense!” Jiyan says, a bit harshly as he looks at the silhouettes ahead, face contorted in thought. Rover looks over to Jiyan, inquisitive.

“What on earth are they doing?” they ask, looking to Jiyan for a reply. The generals fist clenches.

“They're reenacting our first lesson for new recruits,” Rovers eyebrows furrow, lips pulled downward in a frown.

“What's this lesson about?” Jiyan goes on to explain how in the Knell Square, before the new recruits are allowed on the battlefield, they must pay tribute to the fallen soldiers.

He confessed that even when he himself first did this, he didn't know the meaning or significance of this. He now knows, all too well.

“My teammates weren't the only ones who died in that battle that were dear to me,” Jiyan continues, Rover curious as to who this was. “Their name, it was..” he swallowed hard, looking up at the soldiers again. “It was [name].”

“[name]?” Rover parrots, still giving Jiyan their full attention.

“Yes..” he seemed deep in thought, reliving some memories. “They died in my arms, I saw the moment when the life left their eyes. I remember it all too well,” Jiyan looks over to Rover, still deep in thought.

The way your deep red blood coated his outfit, the blood making his shirt stick to his skin. It was an uncomfortable feeling, having the blood of someone so dear to you seep into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the loss he felt in that moment and onwards, knowing that you would die, even if he did everything he could in his power to help you.

“[name], listen to me, you will make it.. I promise!” desperation wove its way into Jiyans voice as his eyes glazed over, the sight of you all bloodied as your weapon lay on the ground was horrific to look at. The sounds of other weapons clashing with the attacks of the Tacet Discords filled what would have been silence. Silence — that sounded nice right about now.

All you did was smile at him. You went into this battle not expecting to come out alive. “Jiyan, I'm sorry, but you and I both know my wounds are too severe to cure, even for you,” he just shook his head, tears finally spilling over.

“[name], I..” he was cut off by a gentle squeeze to his arm. Jiyan looked you in the eyes again, the ones that had shined so bright, now dim as your life reached for its death.

“Go out there and fight for me and your teammates, we'll be cheering you on.”

That was all you had said to him before your life was so cruelly taken from you so early. Jiyan had hugged your body for a bit, feeling how the warmth slowly left your body. He soon went to fight for you and the others, just as you had asked of him in your final moments.

“Jiyan? The soldiers are moving..” Jiyan comes back to reality as Rover points out that, indeed, the silhouettes of the soldiers were now moving.

They walk towards a cliff, soon to disappear. Jiyan and Rover look at each other, and decide to bid farewell to them one last time, but the blood curdling screams of those who died followed them. It was daunting, really, the cruel reinactnent of that battle.

They had done it, they had defeated the Tacet Discord, and the soldiers were free after ten years more of fighting — you and his teammates were free, and a TD outbreak was prevented. Jiyan reached his hand out, a glowing gold orb landing in his hand before it disappeared. He wonders if that was you. Jiyan balled his fist up once more, looking back to Rover.

“Let's go now, shall we? Show these collected Reverberations to the lab for studying,” Rover looks over and nods to Jiyan, moving to leave this ominous place. Jiyan walked slower behind, looking around the area.

He was glad you and the others were no longer trapped here.

Jiyan had invited Rover to plant a seed of his flower he had the lab make, Emortia, and he watched as they took care to plant the seed after he told them the deep meaning behind these flowers, and why he had them made.

He now stood alone on that cliff, hair swaying in the wind with the Emortias. He looked to an area where a more separate group of flowers swayed. Jiyan knew which one represented his teammates, and you.

He walked over to them, careful not to step on the other flowers, and knelt down beside the small group of flowers. Jiyan sighs.

“You're free now, [name]. You can finally rest like you deserve to — I miss you.” Jiyan looks to the setting sun, wondering where you rested now. He hoped that his Emortia flower would be planted by yours.

[ ★ notes - this is definitely one of my favorite fics I've written ever omg.. like guys?? Anyways yeah Jiyans companion quest made me love him sm more (but abt made me cry) and I HAD to write smth for him.. should probably start working on my requests tho huh 💀💀 I was tempted to keep it going but I think ending it like that was pretty good. I'm also actually rlly surprised this wasn't 1.0k words lol maybe I could've done the talk between Rover and Jiyan more detailed but I'm very very happy with this fic hehe :33 ]

[wordsonamission]

Slimav and itch 👀

Hey hey! Sorry for the delay, the writing muse was not having it for the past couple of days. My writing gets a bit away from the ask a bit, but I hope you enjoy this anyway!

This prompt comes from the comfortable intimacy tag. Prompt: (itch) sender assists receiver with an itch they can't reach.

PS - I could be tempted to continue this story if anyone is interested. Slimav is always a fun time . . .

Maverick twisted in his chair, face creased with concentration as his hands scrabbled around trying to reach a spot on his back.

Slider raised a condescending brow. “What’s got your panties in a bunch, shortstack?”

“Goddamn mosquitos,” Maverick fumed back sharply. “Goose and I were on the court after sunset last night and the stupid things were everywhere.”

“Hmm.” Slider watched as the furious contorting continued. “And I assume you weren’t wearing your shirt during the game?”

“Of course not! Gotta keep this California tan somehow.”

 “You look like a dog with fleas.”

Maverick’s expression went nuclear. “You’re so hilarious, Sli.” His face was an alarming shade of puce as he left the chair with a huff.

Maverick headed for the partial wall near the small kitchen as Slider laughed. He turned around and wedged his back against the sharp corner, rubbing against it like a bear on a tree.

“Come on, that’s just pathetic,” Slider sighed. He crossed the room in four long strides and grabbed Maverick’s arm.

“What the hell, that was working!” Maverick groused.

Slider rolled his eyes as he spun Maverick around and pulled up the back of his shirt. The tanned skin beneath was riddled with small red marks. He whistled through his teeth.

“Yeah, that does look rough.”

Maverick started to respond, heat coloring his tone, but Slider didn’t wait for a reply before running his big, hot hands up Maverick’s spine. He dug in with his fingernails, scratching firmly. Maverick hissed and shuddered, jumping as broad fingers dug in to his waist.

“That hurts! And Goose said not to scratch, it’ll just make the spots worse.”

“Trust Mother Goose to have an opinion but not offer to help,” Slider snorted. “But that does make sense. You’ll just get redder if I keep this up.”

“But it’s still itchy!”

Slider’s hands didn’t leave Maverick’s skin. He lingered, pressing against the curves of his spine and alone the muscles of his shoulders. The mosquito bites were still irritating, but the long, sweeping touches both soothed and inflamed Maverick in another way.

“C’mon, I have another idea,” Slider said after a pause. “Lose the shirt and get in the kitchen.”

“You having ideas is dangerous.”

“Now who’s full of jokes?” Slider grabbed a clean dish towel and opened the freezer, rummaging around and cracking several ice cubes out of the tray.

Maverick hesitated. He toyed with the hem of his shirt and considered his options. On the one hand, he could see that icing the bites could reduce the swelling and the itch. On the other hand, he didn’t really trust himself to be half naked in the same room as Slider. And that’s before he considers what it’ll be like for Slider to touch him more.

 But Slider gestured impatiently with his handful of ice, so Maverick pulled the shirt over his head and faced away, his gaze level to the cheap laminate countertop. He jumped at the first touch of cold.

“Settle down,” Slider grumbled. “If you keep flinching so much, this is gonna take forever.”

Maverick swallowed hard. Slider’s hands roamed over his back familiarly as the first bite cooled down. He had to admit – the cold did sooth the itch. Slider stepped closer, a wall of warmth along Maverick’s back. He plucked one of the cubes out of the towel and pressed it against a bite low on his shoulder blade. Maverick hissed at the surprise.

 Slider chuffed a laugh, warm air rushing through Maverick’s hair. “Easy, now.”

 “You could have warned me.”

“Mmm, but what’s the fun in that?”

Maverick had no answer. Slider shifted the towel to another bite and the cooled skin trembled when exposed to the kitchen air. Maverick breathed carefully through an open mouth as Slider put the uncovered ice cube on a bite up by the nape of his neck. Slider’s thumb balanced on the side of his neck, making his pulse flutter.

“That should be most of them,” Maverick rasped an interminable time later.

“Are you sure?” Slider accompanied the question with a lazy glide of his hand down Maverick’s spine, the cooled tips of his fingers lighting up every inch of skin he touched.

“Yeah.” Maverick needed Slider to stop touching him. He needed him to never stop . . . “I think the ice did all it’s gonna do for me.” The cubes were melting. Water trailed down his skin, making him shiver as it streamed down toward the waistband of his pants.

Slider grabbed Maverick’s hips and spun him around. Maverick’s head dropped back, startled, to make eye contact. “I-I can do the front.”

“Of course you can.” Slider bit back a smile, but lines deepened around his sparkling eyes.

Wet and cold trailed over Maverick’s pecs. There was a bite on his sternum that got covered first. He shifted as Slider’s hand moved once the inflamed spot was cold, the motion making the ice land on his nipple. Gasping, he pushed up into Slider’s arm to move him away.

“Where are you going with that?”

“Wherever I want?” Now Slider had to be messing with him. He glided the loose cube down the centerline of his midsection and watched as it trailed into the coarse hair above his bellybutton.

“What if I want you to do what you want?” Maverick had to clear his throat twice before the words came out. Slider’s eyes snapped back up to stare into his face, blown dark with want.

Maverick reached out and cupped the side of Slider’s face, reveling in how the rasp of his stubble felt against his fingertips. Then he traced the bridge of his nose down to his grinning mouth. From there it was easy to sway closer and close the distance between their lips.

Slider deepened the kiss with a soft growl. He tipped Maverick’s chin up to improve the angle of attack, their noses bumping as they worked to set a give and take. His strong hands clutched at Maverick’s waist and drew their bodies in closer, pressing the growing warmth of their arousal together.

The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted them. Flushing, Maverick threw himself off the countertop and raced to retrieve his shirt as Ice walked in to the living room.

“Maverick? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“Mosquito bites. Ice helps.” He got caught with one arm in the head hole. Ice snorted and helped get him sorted out.

“Slider, next time you want to flirt with your boytoy, make sure I’m not going to walk in. This could have been very embarrassing for all of us.” Ice glared at his RIO, but he fought back a smile.

Maverick spluttered, but Slider cut in before he could reply. “Sure thing, Ice. We wouldn’t want to scar you for life.”               

Slider winked at Maverick as he turned to dump the ice in the sink. Confused and feeling very caught out, Maverick darted away from Slider to the relative safety of the couch. Ice’s mirth diffused a lot of the tension in the room, but interest still simmered low in his belly. Maybe next time (was he really going to consider that there could be a next time???), Ice wouldn’t show up, and he’d see how far things would go

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)  MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS

Rating: Explicit 

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con 

Content Warnings: Dubious Consent, Prostitution, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Violence

Categories: F/M, Multi, F/F 

Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Original Female Character(s), Nanami Kento/Original Female Character(s), Getou Suguru/Original Female Character(s), Ieiri Shoko & Iori Utahime 

Major Characters: Original Characters, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, Okkotsu Yuuta, Toudou Aoi, Zenin Naobito, Zenin Jinichi, Zenin, Zenin Ougi, Fushiguro Megumi, Kamo Clan, Nitta Akari, Inumaki Toge, Ieiri Shoko, Iori Utahime, Kusakabe Atsuya, Muta Kokichi, Itadori Yuuji, Hakari Kinji

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Chapter 2 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

In the heart of the city, where the neon lights flicker like stars against the canvas of the night, there lurked a man, his mind lost in the labyrinth of hallucination. A soul tangled in the web of his own unraveling sanity. As the man stumbled down the alleys, the shadows morphed into twisted figures, dancing to the rhythm of his fractured mind.

Faces contorted into grotesque masks, whispering secrets that only he can hear. He tried to shake off the hallucinations, but they clung to him like a shroud. In the dimly lit corners, monstrous silhouettes lurked, their eyes gleaming with malevolence. His heart raced as he quickened his pace, each step echoing against the pavement like a drumbeat of impending doom.

Suddenly, from the depths of the darkness, a figure clad in crimson emerged, a demon's mask obscuring half his face. The hallucinating man's breath caught in his throat as he met the gaze of those fiery eyes, burning with an otherworldly intensity. With a swift motion, the red-masked man lunged forward, his hand striking the man's temple with a force that sent him spiraling into oblivion. As his consciousness faded, the neon lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors, and the man was consumed by the void.

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Geto confidently walked down the corridor of their headquarters, casually placing his hands in his pockets and humming a tune. His mask swung loosely around his neck, while his partially unbuttoned crimson shirt added to his signature style. As he reached the corner, he lightly tapped on Yaga's office door with the back of his hand, patiently anticipating Yaga's gruff response.

"Enter." Yaga grunted, just as expected.

"Morning, boss." Geto said with an easy smile on his lips, "I ran into something interesting last night. I wanted to get your thoughts before I move on my own plan."

"Alright." Yaga answered, tapping his cigarette in the ashtray in front of him, "Tell me."

Geto pulled over a rolling chair and sat down, "On my patrol I ran into a man severely intoxicated. I assumed at first he had just overdone it, but the smell coming off of him was like pure cursed blood. And on top of that, he had little small curses dripping out from behind him. Tiny things, but lots of them like little sweat drops."

He spun his hand with a dramatic gesture, causing a collection of tiny curses to materialize on Yaga's desk. These curses were no larger than a thumb and promptly joined hands as they gathered. Yaga arched an eyebrow, observing the miniature curses as they proceeded to stroll hand-in-hand in a small circle on his desk.

"So you're suggesting whatever he was on was making this happen?" Yaga asked as Geto scooped the curses back up.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting." Geto nodded, "It seems to have an effect somewhat like acid. He was most certainly hallucinating when I saw him, although he wasn't enjoying it."

"So what is your plan going forward?" Yaga asked, tapping his cigarette once again.

"I plan to bring him down to Tenjiku. The girls have a doctor there who can probably figure it out." Geto said, sitting back in his chair, "That is, unless you'd rather I keep it quiet for now."

"Let's keep it quiet while also investigating." Yaga said, "Take him there. Deal with Rin or Sarah only on this matter. Keep it from the other girls for now."

"Understood." Geto nodded, standing up, "I'll report in after I get some information."

After that, Geto exited the office and made his way through the numerous hallways within their headquarters. Resembling a traditional Japanese residence, the interior was predominantly made of wood and featured shogi screens, contrasting with the cold concrete exterior. The neutral tones were occasionally complemented by vibrant hues from the scrolls adorning the walls, giving the place a touch of understated sophistication.

"Fuck outta here, bitch!" Gojo's voice interrupted Geto's train of thought as a young woman hurriedly made her way down the hallway. Her attire was disheveled, with her dress only partially zipped up, as she hastily headed towards the exit, closely followed by Gojo. He was without a shirt, his pants barely fastened enough to stay in place, and he clutched onto his t-shirt tightly, his knuckles turning white. Geto entered the hallway with a sigh, raising his hand.

"I told you to get out last night!" He shouted after her, stopping against Geto's arm, "Fuck off! You ain't special!"

"Enough, Satoru." Geto sighed, "She's already leaving."

"Can you believe that?" Gojo grunted, wiping off the corner of his lips with his thumb, "She actually had the balls to stay here last night."

"Yeah?" Geto chuckled, "Brave girl." He hesitated for a moment, tilting his head to admire her figure as she dashed out the front door, "Was she any good?"

"Eh." Satoru grinned, "I've had better."

"Well," Geto turned down the hall towards his original destination, "In any case, I've got something to do today."

"Going to Tenjiku, by any chance?" Gojo asked, pulling his t-shirt on over his head, "I think I left my sunglasses there last night. I need 'em back."

"You have other pairs." Geto said as he walked down the hall, "I'll ask, but I'm sure it's not a problem right?"

"Ah, yeah." Gojo shrugged, "Right. Yeah, I've got others." He ran his hand back through his hair, watching as Geto slid open the door to the stairs before he wandered back to his room.

Going down the stairs to the basement, Geto turned on the light switch. The fluorescent lights buzzed to life, the sound of electricity bouncing off the cement walls. Walking past the steel cells, he entered the interrogation room where the man he had captured the previous night was still unconscious, tied to a metal chair.

Pulling out his phone, he tapped a contact and sent a voice message. "Inumaki, could you come downstairs and help me with a guest?"

Geto got to work, releasing the man from his restraints and grabbing additional sedatives. After filling a syringe, he sealed it and tucked it into his blazer pocket as a precaution. Returning to the man, he nudged his shoe to partially awaken him from his daze. 

"Are you awake?" Geto inquired, bending over to open the man's eyelids and peer into his unfocused eyes, "Are you alert enough to listen to me?"

The man gave a lazy nod, his head tilting to the side. His mouth was agape, with saliva trickling down onto his dress shirt. Looking back, Geto considered that he might have gone too far with the sedatives. However, considering how the man had been spewing curses non-stop, it felt like the right decision at that moment. Even if he had passed away, it would have been preferable to more curses emerging.

"Good!" Geto smiled, patting the man's cheek as he stood again. 

While Geto searched through the man's pockets, Inumaki entered the room. Despite his small stature, Inumaki's purple eyes exuded a menacing aura. His black mask, resembling an Oni but with a muzzle, was firmly fastened to his face with metal clasps. Due to his cursed speech abilities, he was deemed particularly hazardous, hence the added security of his mask.

Inumaki greeted his superior by raising his hand, to which Suguru responded in kind. Gesturing towards the man, Suguru requested, "Can you use your technique to make him follow me?"

Inumaki gave a silent nod as he removed his mask. His tongue briefly stuck out, displaying the round tattoo on it. Stepping closer, he leaned in and softly uttered, "Follow him," making sure only the man sitting nearby could hear.

Rising from his seat, the man obeyed without question, getting in line behind Geto. Inumaki gave Geto a thumbs up as he replaced the mask on his face. Geto nodded, "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Come with me to Tenjiku." Geto said after a moment, "I may need you again." 

Inumaki nodded, making the signs for, "Should we bring others?"

"Not this time." Suguru shook his head, "I'll trust that you can keep this quiet for now." He chuckled a little at his own joke, then moved past Inumaki towards the hallway with the cells.

They made it back up to the highest level, and then they stepped outside onto the bustling streets. Geto quickly secured his mask, the bright red paint reflecting the sunlight. The man obediently trailed behind, with Inumaki's technique occupying his thoughts as they confidently walked through the busy streets.

Two sorcerers was enough for people to clear a path on their own, but only very specific sorcerers chose to fashion their masks like Oni. Averting their gazes, the locals knew not to get too close and any outsiders stared with curiosity. It was clear they were not a pair to be trifled with, especially not when a non-sorcerer trailed behind them in some kind of stupor.

"Inumaki," Geto said thoughtfully, glancing at the young man, "You've been with us for about a year now, correct?"

Inumaki nodded.

"How old are you?" Geto asked.

"Seventeen, sir." Inumaki signed.

Geto looked the young man over. Lovely sharp purple eyes. A decent face under that mop of gray hair and he was in great shape even if he was short. Geto nodded before he smiled a sly cat-like smile.

"Have we taken you to Tenjiku yet?" He asked, "Because I think you just turned eighteen."

Inumaki's cheeks flushed a little and Geto laughed, "Don't worry. They don't bite unless you ask them too."

As they made their way up the grand entrance, climbing the marble stairs and passing through the hall, the two individuals escorted their prisoner to the front desk. Geto greeted the hostess with a smile, causing her to giggle and playfully twirl her finger in her hair. Before turning his attention to Inumaki, he winked mischievously.

"Hey," his voice was low, almost a purr, "I need to speak with either Rin or Sarah if you wouldn't mind finding them for me. I'm going to take this young man to meet with some of the girls, so we'll be on the floor."

She nodded, "Yes, sir. Of course." She giggled again, "Go right ahead."

Inumaki cleared his throat, awkwardly following Geto. The older man looked back with an easy smile, "Relax, you'll be just fine. We'll find you a girl that likes inexperienced ones."

"Geto." A voice grumbled, and Geto's smile faltered as he spotted Utahime approaching.

Dressed in her typical tailored suit, her sleek dark hair was neatly pulled back keeping her classic Japanese beauty on display. Leading the bars and hostesses, she set the standard for the other non-pleasure based staff to follow. Standing confidently in front of Geto, she exuded authority with her hands on her hips.

"Is this kid even old enough to be here?" She asked, "There are rules, ya know."

"He just turned eighteen last week, right?" Geto asked playfully, giving a nudge to the young man. Swiftly, he wrapped his arm around Utahime's waist and guided her towards the bar. "Why don't you fill me in on your day? I wouldn't mind trying one of those unique drinks you've been concocting. What was the name of the last one you had me taste?"

Inumaki found himself alone suddenly, uncertain of the appropriate course of action. A moment of hesitation was all he got before he resolved to trail after Geto, only to encounter an unexpected interruption from a gathering of elegant women. Their discerning gazes meticulously scrutinized him, while their lips, adorned with a delicate touch of artistry, gracefully uttered words of admiration and curiosity. A profound blush tinged his cheeks, as their collective excitement resonated through the air, compelling him to succumb to their enchantment. With a harmonious chorus of delight, they gently guided him away from the grandeur of the atrium, into a realm of unknown allure.

"You're such an ass." Utahime grunted, swatting Geto's arm off of her. With a sigh, she led him to the bar and watched the non-sorcerer wobble after him. "Who's the stiff?" 

"Oh, no he's still alive." Suguru answered, waving his hand, "I'm coming to have Shoko check him out."

"Really?" Utahime asked, looking the man over, "Shit, he's really fucked up. Why do you need to see Shoko?"

"Can't talk about it for now." Suguru said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, "I'm sure you'll find out later. Shoko tells you everything."

"She'd better." Utahime grumbled as she mixed him a drink, then shifted her gaze back to Geto, "Anything interesting going on that you care to share?"

"Ah, no. Nothing that I'd care to share with the biggest gossip." Geto chuckled, Utahime clicking her tongue. 

"Well, then who are you waiting on?" She asked, pouring the drink into a crystal glass and sliding it over to him, "I think the only one of the big three that's in today is Rin and she--"

Geto coughed into his drink for a moment then cleared his throat. "Sarah isn't here today?" He asked.

"She had a job from the Zen'in today." Utahime shrugged, "Something hush hush apparently, but she'll be gone until tomorrow morning."

"Damn." Suguru sighed, "What about Boe?"

"She's out scouting a new camp." Utahime shrugged, leaning on the bar with one hand, "Curses are congregating in one spot again so she's gonna either clear it or make some kind of truce."

"So only Rin is here to--"

"Geto." Rin said, her heels clicking on the tile as she approached, "What can I do for you today?"

Geto smiled, turning to face Rin. "Well, good to see you too." He chuckled, "I just haven't seen you since we had that wonderful meeting two weeks ago."

"Right." She nodded, her expression partially hidden by her mask, "Of course. Well, it has been lovely."

Geto rolled his eyes, "Alright, fine." He stood up straight, "I need to see Shoko."

"Is it an emergency?" Rin asked, "I can't guarantee that Shoko has time to see you."

"Depends on what you'd call an emergency." Geto said with a small shrug, "So, how about we talk in private?"

"Ah." Rin nodded in understanding, "Follow me then, please."

They walked through the atrium together once more, climbing the black marble steps. Geto decided to keep his hands in his pockets this time, saving his charming looks and playful smiles for the ladies for later. With Rin by his side, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. 

She extended her hand towards the brass handle of the main office door, but before she could grasp it, Geto beat her to it and pulled it open. He then stepped aside, giving a slight bow with a smile. Despite his polite gesture, she simply glanced ahead and walked past him. No words were exchanged, but he already understood that his actions would go unappreciated.

"Explain yourself." Rin said calmly, letting her fingertips trace across the wood of the large desk, "Shoko is a very busy woman. Why should she take the time to help out Yaga's group specifically?"

That's why he preferred to work with Sarah. Rin understood the delicate balance of Tenjiku very well. She couldn't just let him do whatever he wanted, and she wouldn't relent easily no matter how much he toyed with her. Although Sarah would have questioned him, she would have been quick to agree if he irritated her enough. Rin, on the other hand, seemed to take pleasure in making him uncomfortable.

"In this particular case," Geto explained, "This man seems to be secreting tiny curses from his body. He was under the influence of some kind of drug last night which is what I assume the curses are originating from."

Rin shifted the hefty leather chair, smoothing out her skirts as she settled down elegantly. Opening a drawer, she placed a notepad and a particular pen on the desk. Jotting down his words, she then looked back up at him. 

"Is this man still alive?" She asked, looking at the man in question as he swayed gently behind Geto.

"He is." Geto nodded, "Heavily sedated and under a cursed technique, but very alive."

Finishing her note, she capped the pen once again and lifted up the pad of paper. Waving her hand over it, the words faded from view and she gently placed it back on the desk once more. 

"Are we assuming this is some new type of synthetic?" Rin asked, "I remember we had a similar situation last time a new drug was circulating."

"Probably?" Geto said with a shrug, "To me, it looked as if he was hallucinating and his body was sweating more than it likely should have."

"Was he alone?" She stood again, her eyes flicking up to his momentarily before down to the notepad again.

"Yes." Geto answered with a nod, "Although if he did have any companions he'd long since lost them when he was trying to escape the hallucinations."

They paused a moment as writing began to appear on the notepad in front of her. "Alright. She's agreed. Please follow me." Rin said as she approached the back wall of the office.

Geto politely turned his head away as she gently rested her hand on the wall, tracing a delicate pattern on the vibrant red wood. As soon as the door slid open, she discreetly cleared her throat before confidently descending into the hidden passage. He quietly followed suit along with his captive, his eyes gradually adapting to the darkness that enveloped them as the door silently slid shut.

Into a large sterile room, his nostrils were immediately assailed by the smell of cleaning supplies and alcohol. A row of large metal tables sat empty in the center of the room, a rolling table beside one of them mercifully empty for now. Steel cabinets lined the walls and shelves of liquids in mysterious jars and a single solitary door that simply read, "Do Not Enter".

Shoko emerged from the doorway, clad in her typical lab coat layered over a cozy sweater and trousers. The dark circles under her eyes were a constant reminder of her never-ending workload. With a cigarette perched between her lips, she observed Geto and his companion with a hint of curiosity in her brown eyes.

"This the guy?" Shoko said, walking up to the man. Her hand gripped his chin, turning his head side to side as she looked him over, "He's absolutely blasted on sedatives. You could have killed him, idiot."

"Well, I wasn't exactly sure how much to use." Geto said with an uncaring scoff, "He's not dead, so it's alright."

"It's difficult to examine someone this messed up." She grumbled, "His body is all kinds of screwed up." 

"Well, just do your best I guess." He said with a lazy wave of dismissal, "I'll come back when you're done."

Shoko rolled her eyes, "Right. Sure." 

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Nanami took a deep breath, inhaling through his nose to clear his mind. Gripping his dull sword tightly, he swung open the metal gate before him and confidently entered the compound. His brows were knitted together in deep concentration, his gaze fixed firmly on his objective. This mission was one he was determined to complete without leaving a single person alive, except for his intended targets.

As he walked forward, a man yelled about unwelcome intruders as he appeared from behind a corner. Completely disregarded, his body was sliced in an instant by Nanami's sword, glowing with cursed energy. Blood sprayed like a paint on the ground as Nanami made his way to the front door without even a second glance.

As he walked through the hallways and chambers, there wasn't a soul left breathing. It didn't matter if they were men, women, humans, or even cursed beings. None of them could claim innocence. Despite their feeble attempts at justifying their actions, they were mercilessly slain and left to suffocate on their own blood.

He angrily marched through the spacious lab, passing by the chilling examination tables. The room was filled with gruesome evidence of cruelty. Jars containing organs, eyes, and tongues displayed on the wall like macabre decorations, all meticulously clean and spotless. Poorly drawn diagrams hinted at the experiments conducted on their unfortunate subjects, in a futile attempt to uncover a distinction that probably didn't even exist beyond the ability to manipulate cursed energy.

He remained unwavering in his determination until he located the intended individuals. Even at that moment, his face remained unchanged as he observed the sorcerers who were tied up and silenced. Not even when he noticed the marks of their mistreatment and carried out medical experiments. Not even when they cried tears of gratitude upon being released from their restraints.

Only when he got the call from a room nearby did a grin break out from behind his golden Oni mask. 

"Nanamiiii~!" The voice cackled, "Found them."

Sarah, true to form, didn't bother to wait for him at the front gate. It was no surprise that the guards were already on high alert, having detected the powerful Sorcerers in their sinister abode. She had taken matters into her own hands, causing chaos and taking down any threats that crossed her path.

Nanami pushed the remains of the shattered door aside finding Sarah standing over a man with her foot on his throat and a woman in her grasp held against the desk. "This is them." She gritted, "Mr. and Mrs. Hayashida."

In Sarah's free hand was a long hooked sword, a cruel choice of weapon even for her. Its pair hung off the hook on the hilt, resting against the thigh of Mr. Hayashida. The silver edges of both swords were tainted with crimson, while the bone handles had taken on a grimy, brown hue. Glancing back at Nanami, Sarah's face contorted into a sinister smile.

"Zen'in asked for them alive." She said, "So I'll leave them to you. I don't think I have the self control."

Nanami lowered his mask, letting it hang around his neck to ask, "Were there any other captives?"

Sarah shook her head, dropping the woman on the floor and letting her crawl to her husband. "None that deserved to live with what was done to them."

Nanami caught a glimpse of the extensive scar stretching across her back, from shoulder to hip, as she turned around. The scar was deeply etched, at least half an inch in depth, and had a vivid red hue. It was a topic she would never discuss, not even with those who were close enough to know the truth.

"I'm still itching." She gritted, sliding the weapons into the scar as she produced a long gleaming sword from it instead. She hesitated before turning back to look at him, "What does Yaga want? That's why he sent you, right? Instead of the slut or the crack head, yeah?"

"He wants their medical documentation." Nanami answered, "If there is anything of use, he wants to utilize it for us."

"Cool." She pointed the sword at the computer on the desk, "Their security is shit. I had Muta clear a path for me."

"Muta?" Nanami raised an eyebrow, "Isn't that one of Kamo's?"

"Yeah." Sarah huffed, "He's already copying the information onto a hard drive." Reaching into her pocket she clicked her phone on, "I'll ask him to make you a copy. Text me when you're ready and I'll meet you out front."

Nanami glanced around as she stepped out into the hallway again. Her light blue oni mask hung loosely around her neck, and her intense green eyes stayed focused on the shadows ahead. Taking her time, she set off on her mission to discover any hidden creatures. No rush needed, as there was nowhere for them to run.

He made sure the two leaders were secure, then pushed them up and guided them into the main experimentation room. There, the prisoners had regained enough composure to stand and had covered their exposed bodies with whatever clothing they could find. Nanami felt a wave of nausea as he saw some of the youngest captives, including a little boy who couldn't have been older than five, among them.

He showcased the individuals who'd been leading the cruel torture directly in front of everyone. Their gazes fixated on the duo, their hollow and vacant stares filled with a sense of dread. Nanami remained silent, ensuring that each captive had a clear view as he guided them towards the exit.

"Come with me." He said to the captives, "We'll get you somewhere safe and have your wounds treated."

They walked out behind him through the chain link fence and onto the street. It was really surprising that a place like this could exist within the city limits, especially under the control of such extremists. Sorcerers were already unpopular, but this level of mistreatment was just unacceptable.

Nanami checked his watch, and right on time, a large white van pulled up. Kusakabe, the driver, gave him a short salute. Nanami nodded back in greeting to the driver as he walked around and opened the back of the van. He shoved the two leaders into the back, then he turned to the captives with an even expression.

"The drive is about twenty minutes." He explained, then said nothing else. The implications were clear as he stepped aside, letting the captives into the small space with free reign, "Keep them alive." He mumbled, uncaring if they actually followed his direction.

Kusakabe leaned out the window, "All set?" He called, getting a nod from Nanami as the blond closed the back doors of the van.

As it pulled away, Nanami dialed Sarah's number on his phone. She answered with a huff, "Done?" 

"Yes. I'm waiting out front." Nanami said.

After ending the call, she promptly joined him. Gazing up at him, she completed the text she had been composing before tucking her phone away in her denim shorts. Her blood-soaked white shirt was stained, and her mask dangled loosely, even in the presence of humans. She never really bothered with such matters, and Nanami longed to possess her carefree attitude towards it all.

"Muta is almost done." She said, "C'mon. I've got a hotel room down the street. We can change and clean up while we wait for the kid."

Nanami's expression twisted into a fierce frown as they strolled towards the hotel. The sickness and anger within them refused to dissipate, fueled by the unfairness sorcerers endured simply for being born with powers. It was evident that none of those sorcerers posed any danger, or perhaps they were simply unaware of how to be threatening. This ignorance likely made them prime candidates for cruel experimentation.

Sarah wasted no time stripping down once she entered the hotel room. Nanami, being a gentleman, averted his gaze as he passed by the bathroom door and went to the window. From there, he could see the entire compound and noticed the various watch posts set up by other sorcerers who had joined forces with Sarah for the rescue mission.

"How many captives survived?" She called from the bathroom, over the sound of the shower.

"Eight." Nanami answered.

She clicked her tongue and Nanami heard a thud on the tile that was likely her fist striking in frustration. "Those bastards."

"How many did you mercy kill?" Nanami asked.

"Fourteen." She answered, more quietly than before, "They wouldn't have been able to live anyway."

Nanami let out a slow breath, shutting his eyes. It was all so repulsive, yet sadly not uncommon. Humans were adamant about trying to prove that Sorcerers were some sort of curse or mysterious entity, and this marked the third instance of a facility being established solely for studying these supposed disparities.

"Muta is gonna meet us up here with the hard drives." She called, "I'm almost done, just rinsing all this off."

"Not a problem." He replied, "Take your time."

After almost thirty minutes, Nanami emerged from the bathroom, freshly cleaned up, only to see Sarah engaged in conversation with a young man who was clearly Muta. The slender teenager, probably around seventeen years old, sported a top knot with dark brown hair and was dressed entirely in black. His intense black gaze met Nanami's with caution.

"Muta, Nanami." Sarah said quickly to introduce them, then pointed to the table where two hard drives sat, "Take one when you go, Nanami."

Nanami nodded, picking up the black device in his hand, "This is all of it?"

"Yeah, it's all there." The kid nodded, "Everything they did and planned to do as well as the database where they stored their own personal records. I also put in their email correspondence, some of them weren't currently at that facility and we can probably track them down this way."

"Good work." Nanami said, sliding the device into the pocket of the clean sweat pants he'd put on. Sarah must have left them for him. As cold as she was, she genuinely tried to be accommodating when she could. 

Pulling on his jacket over his bare chest, he fastened his mask on again. His bloody clothes had been placed into a plastic bag and he scooped it up by the door, "Need any help with cover up?" He asked, slipping his feet into his shoes.

"Nah, no worries." Sarah answered, "I have taken care of. Stay safe."

And with that, Nanami left.

Nanami preferred jobs like this that were fast and effective, making sure to wrap things up neatly without any unnecessary drama.

The hard drive in his pocket felt heavy with sin, making him constantly think about the extreme lengths humans would go to in the name of justice. Lately, their desperation seemed to be spiraling out of control, especially with a potential curse candidate running for office and the sorcerers strongly advising against making a reckless decision.

He clicked his tongue in frustration, looking ahead at the crowd as the neon lights flashed to life above and the city came to life once again.

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[incorretlynamedcambrianexplosion]

Floating

Ao3 link

Word Count: 1147

Relationships: Mountain/Dewdrop

Tags: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Just after Dew's violent transformation, he finds solace in Mountain and the lake.

They’ve all been trying their best. Dew isn’t supposed to be left alone for more than a couple of minutes, and someone has to be there with him in his room most of the time. Now, it’s Mountain’s turn.

Dew hasn’t said anything to him in a while, he’s just been sitting there in bed staring blankly at the wall. Mountain sits across from him working through a knitting project with another skein of yarn. It’s an uncomfortable silence. At least Dew isn’t burning or having an outburst, or anything of the sort.

“Mount?” he asks, saying something for the first time in hours. He doesn’t turn his gaze away from the wall.

Mountain sets his project down in his lap and looks with concern, “What do you need? Is there anything I can do for you-?” There’s a taken breath ready for a nickname to roll out, but he doesn’t think Dew would appreciate being called water lily right now.

They’re all tired. Each and everyone one of them. Mountain knows he doesn’t look his best, and Dew has dark circles under his eyes. His hair is flat and oily, and he just frankly looks dirty, but he’s been too tired to do anything.

His voice is quiet when he finally speaks again, “Can we go to the water?”

“You might get an infection,” Mountain chides pursing his lips. Dew is covered in gauze from his neck to his ribs and forearms.

Dew shakes his head, though it seems more like he’s being controlled by a puppeteer rather than doing it of his own accord. “Aeth said I’d probably burn any infection. Said it’s rare for fire ghouls to ever get sick.”

Mountain stares at him, Dew starts picking at his hands looking down, and he sighs deeply. He sets the soft yarn to the side and runs his hands over his knee several times. Another deep breath, another long exhale.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll take you out there.”

For a moment he thinks he sees a small glimmer of light in Dew’s eyes, and not the burning flames that now reside in his irises. It’s a small glimmer of hope.

The new fire ghoul has to be all but carried out to the pier, but Mountain doesn’t mind. His skin feels warmer than it’s supposed to be, but he supposes that’s going to be the new normal. Mountain lets him stand on his own feet once they reach the edge of the pier. Dew’s shaky, but he manages to stand for a moment before quickly sitting without a care of where his legs land.

Mountain brushes his shoulder for a moment with a hand, then he kneels and slides off the edge of the pier. The water of the lake swallows him silently, black dark waves lapping at the wooden beams underneath, and Mountain’s shudder at the cold water echos under the pier. Slowly, he looks up at Dew and reaches his hands out.

Dew’s eyes have a new glow to them, his tail, as still as it is, sits with a small flame licking up the spade. Those glowing eyes flick to Mountain’s hands, and a semblance of fear crosses his face. It’s an awful thing to see a fire ghoul wearing Dew’s face and contorting it in fear.

“It’s okay, Dew. I gotcha. Slide in and I’ll catch you.” Mountain leaves his arms outstretched.

Dew hesitates for a moment before nodding. He lets his legs dangle off the pier, feet touching cold water that feels so familiar, and he takes a deep breath. Holding it in his lungs, Dew slides off the pier as Mountain did. It hurts; the wood of the pier scratches through his shirt and up his back, but Dew can’t care. The water is cold and steals the breath he held, and he flails.

Panic rises in his throat. He can’t swim like this. He has no fins, no easy way of keeping himself a float. His arms thrash and kick with a new life to them, and just as his head starts to sink, arms pull him back. Mountain holds him close to his chest.

“It’s okay, see? I got you,” Mountain soothes. He holds Dew up with one hand and uses the other to situate himself onto his back. Broad shoulders make it easy for him to lazily float, and Dew holds onto him legs kicking under the water to hold himself up. If Mountain were a piece of driftwood, then Dew would be the sole survivor clinging to it.

An arm comes to Dew’s back and pushes slightly. “Lay on your back. Trust me, I won’t let you sink.”

Dew nods, but doesn’t move. He knows this, he knows how swimming and buoyancy works, but it’s terrifying without large billowing fins behind him. Mountain presses his back again, and with arms around Mountain’s side, he slowly raises his feet and lets himself fall back. Mountain lifts his hips the rest of the way with a hand, and Dew takes a few fearful breaths clinging to Mountain.

“See? It’s okay,” the earth ghoul mutters quietly. Mountain’s voice is as soft as he can make it.

Dew just nods and stays close to Mountain with a hand digging into the other’s side. They float there, and in just a moment Dew’s starting to heat the water.

Mountain shifts and pulls Dew in the water so that he lays partially on Mountain’s chest. He wraps arms around Dew holding him close. His face isn’t visible, but he can hear small sniffles coming from Dew, little sounds that are barely audible above the calm waves lapping at their skin. Ripples are cast from the way Dew occasionally shakes, and Mountain can feel it, but neither say a word about it.

They simply float together in that silence.

Occasional sobs leave Dew, ugly and painful sounds that neither acknowledge. Mountain holds him close through it, his arms tightening and only releasing once Dew’s breathing is back to normal. One hand finds Dew’s hair and Mountain starts to run his fingers through Dew’s hair.

Dew hiccups and presses against Mountain as they drift towards the center of the lake. He tries to not think about how deep it is, about how far out they are, about how cold it is. None of those are problems he wants to think about right now. Mountain is a good enough swimmer, and Dew slumps slightly knowing that even if he can’t swim, Mountain would drag him along.

Something soft bumps Dew’s arm, soft petals barely visible in the dark. Flowers sit on the water’s surface. Dew touches one and picks it up holding it against the dark sky. Lilies.

“M’sorry, Dew,” Mountain mumbles into Dew’s hair, “Can’t control it. They just grew.”

Dew is silent for a beat staring at the flower. He’s still Mountain’s lily.

[serickswrites]

Make Me Your Villain XI

Master list here (includes chapter links, summary, and character bios)

Warnings: violence, threat of death, self sacrifice, falling from a great height, broken bones, crush injuries, blood, injury, gore, character death, unconsciousness, power exhaustion, heart break, shock

Nova realized she made a mistake when she lunged for Jude’s latest apprentice. He was a hulking brute whose power was, unsurprisingly, strength. And so when his hand closed around her wrist and he threw her towards the roof’s edge, Nova realized she was definitely going over. She could hear Henry distantly screaming in her comms. But it didn’t matter. Nothing he was going to say was going to stop her from flying over the edge.

“NO!” Liam shouted, shadows shooting out from him and grasping onto her wrist. He was on the opposite end of the roof and the brute was charging towards him. As Nova felt the familiar sensation of being pulled through the in-between, Nova saw Jude’s apprentice tackle Liam and the two of them fall over the edge of the roof.

“NO!” She screamed as the Haven materialized around her.

Henry stared at her open-mouthed. “You’re ok.”

“How do I go back? How do I go back?” Nova was up and trying to reach for the in-between.

Henry shook his head. “You don’t.”

Nova felt frantic as panic clawed its way up her throat. Liam. Liam was falling. “He needs me, I have to go back! He was falling off the roof!”

“He’ll teleport here in just a moment. You see.” Henry tried to not look concerned. “He never lets himself land.”

“Jude’s apprentice was holding him, Henry! Holding him! He can’t teleport out without—“

“Bringing him here, too.” Henry’s face fell. “It’ll take us over an hour to get to him.”

Nova opened her mouth to scream it wasn’t good enough when Liam’s scream of pain had her spinning around. Liam lay in the middle of the floor, a limp, and very bloody apprentice on top of him. His shadows stayed in place on the ground, though she could see them try to rise. “Liam! Liam!” She shouted as she hurried forward.

“PLEASE! PLEASE!” Liam screamed. “OFF! OFF!” His face was contorted with pain as tears streamed down his face.

Henry carefully rolled the apprentice off Liam. Liam shrieked with pain as the apprentice’s leg jostled his hips. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Henry repeated.

“Liam, Liam, baby, look at me. Look at me, baby,” Nova said as she knelt beside him. She could see several broken bones jutting out through his skin, blood soaking his shirt and pants. She wasn’t sure how much was his and how much was Jude’s apprentice’s. He seemed to be shaking as he lay there.

His pale, pain filled eyes turned to her. His eyes were hazy and Nova could see he was on the verge of passing out. “Baby, I can heal you. I can. Just tell me what’s the worst pain and I’ll start with that.”

Liam blinked slowly. She could see that his tenuous grip on consciousness was fading fast. She tapped his cheek. “Liam, Liam, don’t faint.” But his eyes had already rolled into the back of his head as he fainted.

“The apprentice is dead,” Henry said as he watched Nova begin to glow. “Combo of what looks like some stab wounds and crush injuries.”

Nova’s stomach lurched. “Not crush. Injuries from falling off the roof.” She concentrated on Liam’s spine. She could feel his muscles and sinew reknit, his bones reforming beneath her light.

“They both hit the ground. And Liam waited to teleport out until he knew the apprentice was dead.” Henry knelt next to Liam, stroking his hair gently. “Can you heal him?”

Nova nodded. She had built up more stamina since the last time she had to heal a serious wound. But this was a lot. Both of Liam’s legs were broken in multiple places, his collar bone, hips, and she was fairly certain his arms were also broken. After healing his spine, she realized she had to heal his ribs, or else they could pierce his lungs.

“I’m going to need a lot of coffee. And something to eat. A lot of something.” She had learned that if she kept up her blood sugar, she could keep healing for quite a while. “But, I can heal him.”

And Nova healed Liam. When she was done, she could barely sit up, but he was whole. Liam hadn’t regained consciousness the entire time she healed him—prompting her to try focus her light on his head—but she realized he probably wouldn’t regain consciousness for a while.

She let Henry carry Liam to his bed while she tried to get up and follow behind. She managed to stand, but collapsed as soon as she went to take a step forward. Maybe she had pushed herself a little too far. She was saved from having to crawl across the house by Henry coming back for her.

“Thought you would need some help,” Henry said as he lifted her in his arms.

“Thanks, Hen-Hen-Henry,” she muttered failing to stifle a huge yawn. As Nova’s head hit the pillow, she let the exhaustion that filled her bones suck her under. Though she very much wanted to check on Liam, she knew he would sleep until morning. That he was whole. That he was safe. And that Henry would come get her if anything was wrong.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains by the time Nova woke. She had clawed her way to consciousness, no longer wanting to be trapped in her dream state. Liam’s screams, his broken body, haunted her dreams. He was alive. She had healed him. He was ok.

Nova dragged herself from bed, groaning as she went. She was still exhausted, but couldn’t sleep any longer. She needed food. And she needed to see Liam. She knocked on his door as she headed slowly down the hall. His room was silent as she pressed her ear to the door. She thought that perhaps he was still asleep as she continued to the kitchen. He needed sleep.

Henry wasn’t in the kitchen either. Nova enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee by herself in the kitchen—a rarity at this point. The house was strangely silent, a lonely hush falling over the rooms. Nova wasn’t comfortable with the quiet, hadn’t been since she arrived. This was a house that needed to be filled with laughter and chatter. But it had been silent for so long. She had begun to fill it with sound—an indoor fountain tinkled in the entry way, music played in several rooms, and most of all, she filled it with their laughter. Her laughter. Henry’s laughter. And Liam’s laughter.

But she was too tired now to try and fill the house with sound. Liam’s screams still echoed in her ears. The house needed sound. She needed sound. But she needed sleep. Liam was still asleep. Perhaps Henry was as well. As she trudged back to her bed, Nova flicked on the radio in her room, filling the room with the soft, sweet sounds of a piano and cello. Nova shoved her face in the pillow once more, promising she would fill the house with good sounds when she woke again.

The next time Nova woke, the sun was low in the sky, though the warm light still filled her room. She stretched as she rose, turning to look out the window, gazing out over the vast grounds. Maybe she could pick some flowers to put in Liam’s room. Fill all the rooms with something bright and lovely.

To Nova’s complete and utter surprise, she saw Liam in one of the lawn chairs, wrapped in a large, soft blanket. He was awake! Nova rushed from her room. If he was awake they could talk. She needed to see his was ok. Needed to hold him and be held by him.

Liam’s face was pale, paler than his normal pale, and his features drawn with pain. He was wrapped completely head to toe in the soft blue blanket than Nova knew normally lay on his bed. His hands lay limply in his lap. He shouldn’t be up, Nova thought to herself as she walked across the grass. He’s too ill, he should be in bed. “How did you get out here? You shouldn’t be teleporting yet, baby,” She said as she approached.

Liam’s shadows moved slowly, sluggishly, barely moving towards her. “Henry helped me,” Liam said as he retreated behind his curtain of golden hair.

“That’s good, baby. I’m glad you didn’t teleport out here. I would have helped you, Liam. You could have just—“

“Nova, I can’t ask you to do that.” Liam’s voice was flat and stilted.

“What did you call me?” Nova’s heartbeat quickened.

“Nova. Your name.” Liam still hid behind his hair. Nova couldn’t even remember the last time he had done with with her.

“You haven’t called me Nova in months.”

Liam let out a sigh. “Nova, I….I think you and I both know that this would never work.”

“No. Why are you saying this?” Nova couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t put you at risk like that. If Jude gets wind that I love you, he will do everything he can to kill you.”

Nova couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let him go without a fight. “He’s already doing that.”

“But this is worse, Nova. He will try and end you to hurt me. I can’t let that happen.” Liam’s words were quiet, but clear.

"What are you saying?” Nova knew he didn’t mean what he was saying. That once he went to say the words he would realize his error.

Liam’s hands twitched in his lap. “I’m saying I think you would be safer if we would be just friends, Nova.”

Nova’s heart pounded. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t mean it, she knew that. She knew that he was being an idiot and just needed to be reminded of how much she loved him. How much he loved her.

“What about what I want? Huh? What about what I want or need? Liam, goddamnit look at me!” Nova breathed heavily through her nose. How dare he do this to her. How dare he make the decision for her.

Liam looked up at her at last. His pale, soft, blue eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Sometimes we can’t always get what we want. It’s not you, Nova. It’s never you. I’m….I’m in no position to be in a relationship. I think you should just forget about this.”

“I don’t want to, Liam. Please.” Nova felt her own eyes water.

Liam stood up on trembling legs. “And I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. I’m sorry, Nova. I never intended to hurt you. But I also won’t be the reason why Jude doubles his efforts to kill you.” He started to lift his hand to her, but dropped it to his side after a moment.

Before Nova could reply Liam disappeared. “FUCK!” Nova screamed as she dropped to her knees and began to sob in the grass. She couldn’t bear to only be friends. Especially when he still loved her. Liam loved her! And Jude had successfully wounded both of them, driving them further apart instead of bringing them together. “GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!”

Tags: @dutifullykrispyland@jesssmolfur@parad0xical2@st0rmm@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@pigeonwhumps@gala1981@allylovessweets

[aces-to-apples]

could you perhaps be enticed into writing more codakin? with:

❛ you’re such a tease. ❜

❛ you know where to find me. ❜

you’ve written them so fabulously before 💖

This ask is. From January 2022. I wish you all a very I live in shame :margehiding: but hey, here's a visual reference lol? Note: Cody is deeply horny and thirsting hardcore under the cut

Cody hadn’t been present on Geonosis for the start of the war, but he was assigned to lead the 212th Attack Battalion under General Kenobi barely a month later.

Alpha-17 had given him a full briefing before shipping out, and an entire section of it had been dedicated to the behavior and neuroses of both the general and the general’s commander: a Padawan-Commander by the name of Skywalker. One-Seven had hardly been complimentary but the briefing had been helpful in dealing with them both, even after Skywalker was promoted to general himself and took ARC Trooper Rex with him to the 501st Legion.

(The captains’ tiles look good on Rex, when he’s forced into his dress whites, but that’s hardly the point.)

It’s been nearly two years since that briefing and Cody has more than enough experience to put together his own hours-long briefing just on Skywalker himself.

There are so many things about him—how his mind works, how his brain works—that Cody doesn’t think anyone else in the galaxy knows. Not Kenobi, not Commander Tano, not anyone else who’s ever shared his bed, even. And even so, Cody would never have guessed it before they started breaking formation together, but—

“You’re such a tease,” he hisses, low and resentful, as Anakin struts past.

The Jedi shoots a sunny smile back at him before reaching the front of the room and proceeding to contort himself into several showy, highly flexible poses, ostensibly to warm up. His shirt stretches with him and these poses in a variety of new and vaguely life-changing ways.

Shirt, of course, being a generous term for what the little padawan-commander’s devious mind has conjured up.

If Cody wasn’t sure she’d have let on long before now, and in a much louder fashion, he’d assume this was a deliberate attack on her part. Psychological warfare, even. If Rex knows, of course, then it just might be, but ‘get Cody so horned up, in front of a crowd of unaffiliated brothers, that he nearly bites a data-pad in half’ is not a Rex-typical form of retaliation.

The pants are—fine.

Brown fabric in a twill weave, they have a loose fit for a wide range of movement and only stay up thanks to the valiant efforts of a thick letheris belt. Of course it also has an eye-catching bar of silver for a buckle. Cody thanks every god large and small for that belt, buckle be damned. Without its stubborn presence keeping some semblance of modesty, Cody might actually shame the whole of the 212th with his lack of subtlety.

The training room is large and padded thickly, made for and used to the acrobatic nonsense of Jedi cadets. At the front—leading a mixed cohort of brothers from various assignments just barely maintaining a sense of propriety through said showy stretches—Anakin isn’t even wearing boot-liners.

And then that damned shirt.

Cody has seen glittering, sinuous dancers wearing more of a shirt than that kriffing thing.

He wants to rip it off—possibly with his teeth—and replace it with something with more coverage. Possibly himself.

At the back of the room, he watches Anakin slide his legs out to a 90-degree angle, bend, and place his hand flat on the mats. Someone finally breaks and wolf-whistles, to which Anakin simply flashes a smirk at the whole room and pushes himself up onto just his hands. Cody would be noting down the whistler for disciplinary action if he wasn’t desperately adjusting himself in his codpiece.

The shirt.

The shirt is practically nothing—or nearly so.

A black scrap of fabric dug out of a garbage bin, if Cody has to guess. It stretches obscenely around Anakin’s bulk, cut off at the diaphragm and leaving his soft belly exposed. No sleeves or real neckline to speak of, horizontal cut-outs bare inches above what’s already generous to call a hem.

The diamond cut-out in the center of his chest is the last straw.

High on his left pectoral, just under the clavicle, is a little spot of brown pigment. Cody knows that little spot intimately and with great fondness. Lying flat, the shirt covers it; showing off for an adoring crowd, the fabric twists and bunches, flashing that little spot to keen eyes.

Each time seeing it makes Cody want to stalk up to the Jedi and block everyone else's line of sight. And then bite it. Or something.

Cody has never been the jealous sort. He's from Kamino, how can he be? He's never owned a thing in his life, much less had an exclusive claim on a lover. That his jaw aches from grinding his teeth is—abnormal, to say the least.

Obnoxious, even.

And General Anakin kriffing Skywalker has the gall to enjoy it. The air around him practically crackles with his delight, even as the stupid kriffing outfit is supposed to embarrass him, or whatever Tano’s intention.

Cody has been through actual physical and mental torture modules constructed by sadists and abusers and yet, the 90 minutes that Anakin spends leading the assembly through a series of stretches and moving meditations are the longest of his life. In fairness, he wasn’t fully armored, in the middle of a crowded room, painfully aroused for the torture modules.

By the end of the time slot, Anakin’s hair is darkened and his skin glistening slightly with sweat.

He flashes an exasperated grimace at his padawan—the first indication of discomfort since he strutted into the room to start—but dismisses the troopers but his usual warm half-grin and takes their farewell-ribbing with grace. Cody watches his shoulders slump just slightly when the final trooper turns away, before he rallies.

The strut returns and Cody, unthinking, grabs his wrist as passes on the way to the exit.

Anakin meets his eyes through his helmet visor and words fail him. What is he supposed to say? ‘That was unbearably hot, never do it again’? ‘Fuck me before you go or else I might explode’? ‘May I pretty please, with a moonberry on top, suck you off’?

He hesitates too long.

Anakin Skywalker can be achingly sweet and often is, but he can also be unbearably smug and self-assured. His eyes and smile darken, becoming something wicked and teasing, and he hooks gentle fingers around Cody’s utility belt and tugs him just barely closer. Trails those fingers up the center of his cuirass. Taps them just over his sternum, where he knows a small sunflower is inked brightly, just between his pectorals.

If his helmet was off they’d be sharing breath, foreheads nearly pressed together, as close to a kiss as they can get on a battlefield.

“You know where to find me,” he murmurs, low and deep, irises nearly swallowed by pupil as he keeps Cody’s gaze.

Then fingers tap sharply against his armor and Anakin rocks back on his heels, ruffling his curls and smiling sunnily. He whistles something jaunty as he swaggers away—a normal song at one point, probably, but most likely a filthy rendition thought up by bored troopers on campaign—and Cody can’t move or speak for several moments.

If he moves, he’ll do something very much not acceptable in public, either by himself or after hunting Anakin down through the halls; if he speaks, it’ll be to moan or whine or beg, damn the consequences of whoever hears. So he stays still and quiet as a stealth mission. Until sense returns.

Or his brain boots back up.

Once it does, though, ooh…

He is going to get his revenge for that, one way or another.

[gottchi-kun]

I am Never Going to Get You Back, Am I?

By: Gottchi (Ao3, Tumblr, YouTube)

Prologue (!!SPOILERS!!)

He struggled to grasp the doorknob, his hands shaking. But this time, Sunny wasn't scared - he was weak. So weak that he had trapped himself in his dreams for four long years before Kel had broken into his house and dragged him out by the collar of his shirt. He felt like he had been beaten down by life, but at least he had managed to defeat Omori. Things had to get better eventually, if not for him, then for Basil. Kel, Aubrey, and Hero deserved to know the truth about Mari's death. As the door opened, Sunny's eyes were empty as he entered the silent room.

Sunny’s voice was hollow and emotionless as he said, "There's something I need to tell you."

Hero was the first to reach Sunny. "It can wait," he said. "It's not important right now."

Sunny stood in silence for a long moment, while everyone else in the room gently tried to persuade him to leave. However, he resisted and remained where he was. He couldn't bring himself to look anyone in the eye, feeling his heart pounding and his newfound confidence slipping away. He reached up and brushed the bandages over his eye, then looked down at the floor with his remaining eye. "Mari, it's my fault."

His friends’ faces paled. "No, Sunny, it was her own choice," Kel tried to console him, but Sunny gently slapped his hand away; he didn't want comfort.

Sunny croaked, “It's my fault. Mari had nothing to do with it." The room fell silent. He struggled to contain his panic as he noticed a glimmer of hope in his own eyes, instead of the usual sadness he felt. His gaze then drifted towards Basil, who appeared troubled even in his unconscious state. Sunny blamed himself for Basil's condition and Mari's death.

“The day of the recital, she wouldn't stop yelling. I tried to run away and take a break, but my hands were already blistered, and I was scared. She suddenly blocked my way, and I couldn't think of anything else. In a moment of panic, I pushed her down the stairs, and she must’ve died on the impact." Sunny paused, not bothering to look at his friend's face, as he recounted the tragic event. “I dragged her to her bed, I thought she needed to rest… She wasn’t breathing.”

The words he had spoken felt easy, he felt fortunate that they were. “Then how did end up strung up like a decoration?” Aubrey said, and seethed. Her face was of contorted rage and sadness, tears fell down her face. Sunny looked at Basil again. All the guilt Basil had felt, what he had seen, it was Sunny’s fault. Everything was his fault. And he couldn’t escape it on his own, he needed someone else to carry their burden with them.

“Basil saw it, he didn’t want me to get in trouble. Basil found the jump rope, and we staged it.” A sharp pain ran across his face. Aubrey had just slapped him. He felt shocked, more so that she had the guts to slap him after he had just been severely injured. He barely looked back up tears welled at the sides of his eyes. But he was happy, and he didn’t want to be. His friends were so sad, but it was over. It had to be over.

Aubrey had run out of the room, Sunny could not see her expression. Hero followed his face contorted into a sob. He looked up, Kel was the only other conscious person left in the room. Sunny couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t muster any more courage than he had. Now it was his friend’s job to muster up their courage. Silent tears dropped from his face. Kel walked past him and exited the room, letting the door slam behind him. The truth was out, his friend’s sadness was the consequence.

“Sunny?”

Upon hearing Basil’s voice, Sunny turned around with tears streaming down his face. “Everything is going to be okay,” Sunny said with a reassuring smile.

“They know?” Basil said gently. Sunny nodded, the smile never fading. They were free, they were finally free. They didn’t have to carry around the guilt anymore. They didn’t have to be scared. Basil looked stunned for a moment, then he too smiled. Tears welled in the side of his eyes, happy tears. Though the immense guilt still lingered he was still able to smile. He stood at Basil’s side, their hands clenching.

But when he looked back up again, he caught a glimpse of something out the window. Omori. He diverted his gaze. He didn’t want to focus on that for now. They spent minutes there, both unmoving. Sunny’s smile had turned into a more genuine one. His dull eyes retook their place. But he was finally feeling something, anything but pure dullness.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S2:E6; Chapter Six, The Spy - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

will's connection to a shadowy evil grows stronger, but no one's quite sure how to stop it. elsewhere, steve and dustin forge an unlikely bond.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Get him out. Go! Go!"

"God! Hold on, sweetie!"

Will screams in anguish as he is wheeled throughout the lab. He clutches his arm tightly, wishing he could tear the very skin off of his flesh, he feels as if he is being cooked from the inside out. Joyce stays close behind him, her tears clouding her vision, Bob and Mike right on her tail.

When she had left the tunnels, she was faced with the horrendous sight of her youngest writhing in the grass, near unconsciousness.

"I'm right here, honey. Just hold on." She cries, her hand outstretched for him.

They reach a room faster than she anticipates and she feels herself being ripped away from her baby when he is placed onto a bed. Bob is gently pulling her back, but to her, the distance is too great. She needs to be there, show him he's there. But for now, she's stuck, watching helplessly as her son is dying.

"Vitals?"

"Heart rate 220. Temperature's 106."

Several hands are prodding and poking, adjusting and readjusting but one nurse, in particular, leans forward. Her gloved hands gently grab the sides of his face so as to grab his attention - this whole while, his eyes have been closed as he screams.

"Will," she says urgently. "where does it hurt?"

His face is pale and his eyes sunken and dark, but he manages to open them for a brief moment to speak before falling into a fit of groans.

"All over."

"She says he feels like he's burning." Dr. Owen's interjects. "Check for burns."

Will's shirt is quickly cut open allowing them to work but there is no sign of burns to be found.

"I don't see anything!"

Once again, she grabs a gentle hold of Will leaning down to get his attention as the other nurses begin to apply wires.

"Where does it hurt the most, Will?"

"Everywhere!" He screams, launching his head up. "EVERYWHERE!"

His head is thrown back into the pillow in anguish, the doctors swarm his bedside doing all in their abilities. Joyce collapses in Bob's arms, her trembling hand over her mouth and Bob finds himself unable to bear the sight.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Here we stand or here we fall

History won't care at all"

The newly formed, unlikely duo of Dustin Henderson and Steve Harrington stew in thick silence, nothing but the lilting voice of Freddie Mercury's carrying through the car's otherwise silent atmosphere as Hammer To Fall plays from the radio. Night has fallen and the two ride in silence, the maroon BMW barreling down the streets of Hawkins, clouds of leaves in its path. Dustin had shared his previous encounters with his newest ally which has caused the aforementioned silence. Finally, Steve finds his voice.

"Wait a sec. How big?"

Dustin stretches out his forefinger from his thumb roughly an inch, indicating to Steve.

"First it was like that," he then stretches both hands out wider than his shoulders. "Now he's like this."

Steve rolls his eyes, returning them to the road as he scoffs.

"I swear to God, man, it's just some little lizard, okay?"

"It's not a lizard."

"How do you know?"

Dustin turned to Steve with an incredulous look, mocking his confidence and the two begin to speak over one another.

"How do I know if it's not?"

"How you know it's not just a lizard?" Steve said, his voice rising.

"Because his face opened up and he ate my cat." Dustin snapped.

Steve's eyes widened, though his face quickly contorts into an awkward expression. Willingly admitting defeat, he shrugged as he pulls into the Henderson driveway.

The two exit the car and meet at the trunk, as promised Steve opens his trunk to reveal the infamous spike bat from the previous year.

Having ditched his toxic friends, Steve had come to the Byers's house to make peace with Jonathan after their fight. Only to find Nancy there with Jonathan as they set a trap for the Demogorgon the night of Eleven's disappearance. Consequently, Steve had been thrown into the chaos in their battle with the Upside Down where he upheld the infamous bat. The less than pleasant memories came flooding back to him as he glanced down at the makeshift weapon, and he sighs.

Tossing his keys to Dustin, he grabs his bat, twirling it in his grasp and he can't help but notice the spark of adrenaline that comes with it. The feeling of the weight in his hands, knowing he needs to be prepared at any moment. And he is.

Slamming the truck, Steve follows Dustin's lead into the backyard. He finds himself standing in front of a chained up cellar and Steve waits in hushed silence for any signs of movement. The flashlight beam dances across the steel as he waits, but the pair is only met with more silence.

"I don't hear shit."

"He's in there." Dustin shrugs.

Cautiously, Steve leans forward, his bat outstretched and he gently taps the wooden end of the bat against the steel. Again, no other sounds can be heard. Testing his luck, he steps forward again and whacks the doors with the bat creating a larger sound. Still no reply.

Steve turns hotly on his heel and shines the flashlight directly in Dustin's eyes with a less than impressed look on his face.

"All right, listen, kid. I swear, if this is some sort of Halloween prank, you're dead."

"It's not," Dustin argues, wincing from the harsh light.

"All right?" Steve pressed.

"It's not a prank." He urges. "Get it out of my face."

Steve reluctantly replies, lowering the flashlight and he gestures to the cellar.

"You got a key for this thing?"

The cellar doors are ripped open with an ear-splitting squeak and Steve peers deep into the darkness, his bat at the ready. Dustin stands behind him, flashlight in his shaky hand and Steve gladly takes it. He shines it further into the cellar, the milky white beam reached the bottom of the steps and dances across the cold, grey concrete.

"He must be farther down there," Dustin says uncertainly. "I'll stay up here in case he tries to escape,"

Steve looks up at the boy with a deadpan expression before back into the dark abyss with a supposed cat-eating monster. He shakes his head, unable to believe the dramatic, unforeseen turn his day has taken.

He sighs once more, not bothering to hide his unease as he looks from the boy to cellar once more.

"You have a brother, don't you? Why isn't he helping out?"

Dustin shifts uneasily.

"Yeah, about that," Dustin says, causing Steve to sigh. "He's with Byers. Also, he has no idea I found Dart after we lost him at school, or that our cat's dead so I'd rather not lead with that..."

"Jesus, I- Fine. Whatever, let's just get this over with."

Both bated breath, Steve descends into the darkness, his bat gripped tightly in hand, flashlight in the other. His body is tense and he is ready for any sign of movement. He reaches the last step, and his flashlight quickly scans the area though it finds nothing but a metal chain hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. Deeming it safe, his guard lowers ever so and he steps forward turning on the light, the chain dangles around his head and for one blissful moment, he finds nothing but a regular cellar.

That is until his eyes land on the peculiar sickly pale green shape on the floor before him. In the dark, his vision had mistaken it as an old plastic grocery bag. But now, with the light illuminating the surface, it had a bright pale sheen and he could see it certainly wasn't anything normal. Extending the ends of the bat, the nails hooked into the strange wet substance and held it up to examine it.

The beam of the flashlight shone through the substance. After moments of contemplation as he watches it drip with mucus-like slime and is met with a horrid stench, he realizes it had once been skin.

His gaze wandered to a spot on the wall just beyond where he had found the shredded skin and he looked on in shock, his stomach plummeted as if he had dropped ten stories.

From above the surface, Dustin waited less than patiently, growing nervous for the Harrington boy.

"Steve?" He called uneasily.

The cellar light had been turned on but no other sign of life had shown itself. Fear crept into Dustin's heart and his unease festered.

"Steve, what's going on down there?" He asked a little louder.

Dustin jumped back in surprise when an unexpected beam of light hit his face so suddenly. His heart leaped into his throat and he was thankful he hadn't screamed. Behind the beam of light was Steve, looking up at him worriedly.

"Get down here." He ordered.

His voice sounded shaky, a factor in Steve that did not comfort Dustin at this moment. But reluctantly, he obeyed. Dustin descended the cellar steps to find a familiar substance dangling from the spiked bat, and his stomach twisted into knots.

"Oh, shit."

Without a word, Steve pulled the bat away and shone the flashlight towards the far corner of the cellar revealing his second discovery. A large trail of slime was strewn across the concrete leading to the far left corner of the cellar. Dozens of discarded bricks, broken remnants of splintered wood sprinkled the area as well as of mounds of dirt all flowed in from the gaping hole in the wall where Dart had escaped.

"Holy, shit!"

The duo stepped forward, bending down to examine the tunnel. The small beam of light was redirected once more and the two gapped at their microscopic view of the infinite tunnel that wound its way throughout all of Hawkins.

The currently vacant Byers living room is bathed in the pale moonlight, the only evidence of life is Will's abandoned maps that travel through the house like veins. An abandoned glass of water on the kitchen counter vibrates in only the slightest as the growing rumble of engines surrounds the house. A fleet of men flood routinely from the identical swarm of HAWKINS WATER AND ELECTRIC vans and storm the Byers porch. Within moments, the house is flooded with agents, dozens of flashlight beams dance across the floors, walls, and ceilings as they dissolve across the perimeter.

Light switches, remotes, doorknobs - apart from the front door - go untouched avoiding any trace they were ever here, only doing that which was necessary with gloved hands. They were quick and thorough, and apart from the brief but blinding flashes of cameras documenting the maps and the fleet of flashlights, the house is illuminated only by the moons soft rays. A pair of hands confiscate the videotape from Halloween night, that had previously remained tucked into the player, while another takes several photos of Will's drawing of the shadow monster that sits in his room, undisturbed.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Will's small and weakened frame lays unconscious on the medical bed. The color in his cheeks that gave him his usual warm and pinkish hue withered and was almost nonexistent, his skin now paled a sickly white and covered in a sheen of sweat from the long night behind him. Bob and Mike sit at his side, their eyes trained on him for any signs of disturbance as his body shakily rises and falls in a feeble attempt at stabilizing.

Meanwhile, Joyce sits at the head of the conference table among the lab's finest doctors and agents. She - much like Bob and Hopper - had traded their regular attire for scrubs during the night and she is in a heated discussion with Owens and his team.

"That thing, it..." she gestured over her shoulder. "It did something to him."

"Okay," Owens thoughtfully scratches his head, his mind scrambling to catch up and understand the situation. "And these now-memories, as you call them, how long has he been experiencing them?"

The impatience grew in Joyce at the repetitive question and fights a huff.

"I told you, since Thursday. Since I found him in the field."

"And why wasn't he brought in?" Asked an unnamed scientist to her right.

Her sharp and hostile gaze snaps to the man and she gives him a cynical glance, her palms hitting the surface of the wooden table.

"I have been bringing him in, and what have you done?" She spits coolly. "Nothing. Nothing!"

Owens nervously jumps in with an unintended stilted tone, his movements stiff, all in a pathetic and useless attempt to minimize her concerns.

"These are new symptoms, Joyce."

Joyce shook her head profusely, jabbing her finger in Owens's direction. Her promise to Will burning protectively in her heart.

"No. No, he has been telling you over and over that something wrong, and you said it was all in his head."

Owens squirms uncomfortably in his seat, his composure cracking under Joyce's fire. His mouth opens and closes, though his voice fails him.

"You said, 'Be patient.' Those were your words."

As she leans back into her seat, shifting restlessly Owens finally finds his voice. Her adrenaline and unease find a small and temporary outlet as her fingers drum against the wooden conference table.

"I understand that you're upset, okay? I get it. And I would be, too, if I were in your shoes." Owens gestured around the room. "But we are all in the same boat here, and I just need you to try--"

"What? Stay calm? Trust you?" Joyce looks around the table in disgust before shaking her head. "No, I want him transferred to a real hospital."

Dr. Owens's eyes shift to the papers in his hands, and while his voice is firm his nervous actions give away his discomfort.

"Well, you know that's not possible."

Another doctor joins in much to Joyce's bewilderment and chagrin.

"He really will get the best treatment here, Mrs. Byers."

"He really will." Another interjected.

She looked between them, utterly baffled, unable to believe the blinding negligence in themselves. She merely scoffs.

"And what are you treating him for, exactly?" She shrugs exasperated when she is met with no response and she rises to her feet. "Can anyone tell me what's wrong with him? Can a single person in this room tell me what is wrong with my boy?"

No one spoke, and she was met once more with dozens of eyes that avoided her gaze. Several men squirming uncomfortably in their seats and it only fuels the flames in her chest and her voice rises with her anger.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BOY?"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Oh, He-Man, thank you for saving my life. What strong muscles you have."

Erica smirks at the dolls in her hands as she is splayed out across her bed. In one hand, her favorite Barbie doll, Christie. In the other, Lucas's He-Man action figure she had lifted from his room. She brought the two together in an embrace, their plastic faces touching as she made exaggerated kissing noises. The door was thrown open by Lucas and she looks up at him distasteful. His eyes fall to the doll in his hands and he glares at her.

"I knew it!" He scoffs, stomping in and ripping He-Man from her hands.

"Hey! They're in love!"

Lucas turns in her doorway, rolling his eyes.

"No, actually they're not. They don't even exist on the same planet."

"Aren't you too old to be playing with toys?" She quips.

Words die on Lucas's tongue and another rough sigh escaped him. He shakes his head, ridding himself of the comment.

"That... That's not the point. The point is to stay out of my room." He fires back, marching off into the hallway.

Erica calls after him, unfazed.

"Then tell your little nerdy friend to shut his mouth."

Lucas backpedals and returns to her doorway, giving his sister a quizzical look.

"What are you talking about?"

Erica merely shakes her head slightly and exaggerates Dustin's previous cries.

'''Code red, Lucas. Code red. Code red.' Bunch of nerds."

She rolls her eyes, reaching back for a nearby stuff animal, missing the horrified look on Lucas's face. He runs quickly to the end of the hall, not caring if he crashes into his door. He grips the doorframe as he scans his room, a frightened mantra slipping from his lips.

"No, no, no, no, no, no."

Sure enough, on his bed is his walkie, completely shut off. He rushes to his bed, flipping the dials and extending the antenna as quickly as he can.

"Dustin!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The steel buckets hit the concrete with a decisive smack, and a container of gasoline is placed next to them. Dustin and Steve unload the trunk of monster hunting supplies they had scraped together for their plan against Dart. They had procured buckets and buckets of raw meat from the butcher shop and managed to gather the other supplies from Steve's garage. Dustin's comms come to life and immediately he recognizes Lucas's voice.

"Well, well, well, look who it is." Dustin feigns a smirk, gloved hands on his hips as Steve continues to unload the trunk behind him.

"I'm sorry, man." Lucas sighed. "My stupid sister turned it off."

"Well, when you were having sister problems, Dart grew again, he escaped, and I'm pretty sure he's a baby Demogorgan."

All Lucas could do in that short moment was blink as he processed the truckload of information.

"Wait. What?"

"I'll explain later," Dustin answered. "Just meet me and Steve at the old Junkyard."

Another wave of shock hit Lucas abruptly.

"Steve?"

"And bring your binoculars and wrist rocket."

"Steve Harrington?"

Behind Dustin, Steve had finished packing his bag and he closed the trunk. His voice barely echoed through the mic and into Lucas's ears, but it was undeniably Steve's.

"All right, let's go."

Dustin grabs the remaining bucket - the other in Steve's hand - and quickly falls in line.

"Just be there, stat," Dustin ordered into his headset. "Over and out."

[space-cadet-blues]

June 3rd prompt - Sniped

Ed/Stede - Modern AU

Stede can hear Ed before he reaches the living room, swearing up a storm. He and Jack have been playing a new video game online together for the past week, and the yelling has finally gotten so out of hand that Stede is now determined to break their gaming streak and wean Ed off of the console. At least until Stede can finish the last chapter of his book without wearing noise cancelling headphones.

“Got you motherfucker!”

Stede can hear the crackle of Jack’s voice through Ed’s headphones. That can’t be good for Ed’s poor ears.

“Stop playing dirty, dickfuck!” Ed growls.

“Hahahaha.”

Quietly, Stede sweeps into the living room, sheer black robe fanning out behind him as he walks, book in hand, heels clicking against the hardwood.

Let the games begin.

He passes in front of the TV to reach his armchair, which he settles into at an angle, kicking his legs over one arm and opening the book.

It takes a moment for Ed’s brain to compute and Stede subtly watches his face contort a little with several passing emotions. Then Ed is staring, wide-eyed, taking him in.

The robe, the teal lace lingerie, the silver bracelets Ed had gifted him last valentines day, the strappy black heels and painted nails.

Stede raises an eyebrow, enjoying the way Ed’s mouth works open and closed a few times before Jack’s annoying voice can be heard cackling through the headphones again.

“You’re easy pickings tonight Eddie!”

“Shit,” Ed says eloquently. Then again, as he lets Jack draw him back in.

But that will be only temporary. Stede knows he has Ed’s attention now. It’s only a matter of time.

He pretends to read while Ed spares him some hungry glances in between button mashing, and then finally Ed crows with triumph.

“Can’t believe you fucking spawn killed me you prick!”

“Fuck you Jack, get sniped bitch! See ya.”

“Wait, Eddie you fu-“

Ed disconnects and turns everything off with a flourish and Stede feels his heart race as Ed then struggles out of his lounge shirt, flinging it over the TV.

“If you wanted me to stop playing you could of just said so,” Ed says, amused.

He scoops Stede out of the chair, shocking a squeak out of him.

How undignified.

The hand on Stede’s barely covered arse gives it a squeeze.

Never mind.

“I believe I got my message across regardless,” Stede says, looping his arms around Ed’s neck. “Do you have time for me now darling?”

Ed walks as carefully and as quickly as possible towards the stairs.

“Yeah. I believe I do.”

[wandasmistress]

Unthinkable

Synopsis- After doing the unthinkable can Y/n mend what’s left of her relationship with Nat, or was she too late?

Pairings- Natasha Romanoff x Cheater!Reader

Warnings- Cheating, Swearing, and lots of angst! 

Word Count- 3.9k

Part Two

➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

It was the heat of the moment for you, trying best to ignore the thoughts inside your head that it wasn't Nat lying beneath you, that it wasn't her moans and near screams echoing through the course walls, it didn't feel right but you tried everything to feel something again after a long time of feeling absolutely nothing. 

You didn't expect her to get back from her mission so soon, it all happened too fast.

Just as you were making the blonde woman, May come to her second orgasm of the night in the last hour you heard the door burst out of its hinges, swinging your neck around while your hand was planted on the bed resting with Mays entwined hand. Too shocked to speak, your eyes immediately darted to Nat’s stoic face. You knew that she was trying her hardest to make her face expressionless but failed when a subtle whimper escaped from her mouth causing her hand to fly up quickly to block the rest.

Hearing Nat is what broke you out of your trance, quickly scurrying off of the blonde woman who was looking anywhere but at you, trying to find a way to escape this situation also. Springing into action you swiftly snatched your shirt and sweatpants from the ground, rushing to put them on as you could see Nat’s retreating form from outside of the bedroom door.

Finally getting the last piece of loose clothing over your body you ran out the door, feet slapping wildly on the ground. Your heart was racing as if it was the apocalypse.

Catching up to Natasha’s sulking form you shakily reached out to her, out of breath from what seemed like running a mile. Just before you could reach her she jerked back, causing your heart to tug in pain as if you weren't the one who caused this.

Her head whipped to you, and that was just when you thought you could die. Seeing her tear-stained face, mucus threatening to burst out of her nose dams. You couldn't handle looking at her and seeing the pain you caused, looking away at the television running. A brief smile gracing your face, it was you and Nat’s favorite show, Brooklyn Nine-Nine. 

“H-how could you do this t-to me?” Natasha’s voice broke the silence as she stared deep into your eyes rendering you speechless.

“I. Said. How could you fucking do this to me.” She spat as she shoved you hard in the chest, almost making you fall back over from her strength.

“I'm sorry.” You manage to mutter out with furrowed brows waiting on her response.

Right on cue, her face contorted to a grimace from your response, causing the tension in the air to yet again spike.

“That's real fuckin rich of you to say.” She retorted as your eyes began to glimmer from the betrayal lacing her voice and clouding her face.

You took a step towards her, in hopes of trying to diffuse the situation but she took several steps back, entering your shared kitchen, her foot hitting the back of the corner as she would always do rushing out the door on days when she was always running late to something.

Hanging your head down in shame realizing that a mediocre fuck was getting in between you and the love of your life. Your face contorting into pain as you realized you royally fucked up everything,

“There's no way in hell that you're crying right now, you really are something aren't you?” She berated you as you looked down at the floor with a defeated look spreading across your face slowly, there was no way you could possibly fix this. But were you the only one in the wrong, it's okay if she starts spending less and less time with you, excusing it for missions that occupy more of her time?

Suddenly all the guilt left you as if a cloud had finally moved out the way of the sun, except in this situation you were no saint.

“It's not entirely my fault, it takes both partners to fail a relationship” You snapped back at her raising your pointer finger in her face.

“So now you wanna deflect the blame and put it on me, I'm not the one who decided TO FUCKING CHEAT Y/N!” She yelled, raising her voice as she broke the distance in between you both.

In the midst of the tension-filled argument, there was a large crash as both your heads whipped over to see what caused the disturbance to find May with her clothes barely put on properly and high heels in hand sticking her hand out for the door handle but pausing mid-air when it fell off its hinges disrupting your argument.

Natasha was already walking towards the woman with blistering eyes, you knew what was gonna happen and you didn't want things to spiral even more from what they have become. Jumping in between Nat and May, placing your hand on Nat’s chest to push her back. She slapped your hand before you could even touch her. She whipped her head towards you, telling you to back down and back up before she would put you in your place.

Quietly muttering for May to leave now, hesitantly holding Nat's glare as if she was gonna lunge at the cowering woman a few feet away from you both. You didn't have to tell her twice before she was already out the door. The air suddenly turned cold around you both.

“I’m s- it didn't mean anything, I swear. I shouldn't have done what I did bu-” You hurried out looking into Natasha's eyes meaningfully in hopes of her taking your half-ass apology before she cut you off.

“Nothing you say will take back what you did y/n, and you know that. I might have neglected to spend time with you but I would have never done that to you, ever, and you know that.” She responded in a softer tone, you could see the fight leaving her. How you longed to wrap her in your embrace telling her everything would be alright while her face was tucked into your neck. 

“I did the unthinkable Nat, and I know that. I’m sorry and I know that doesn't mean shit to you right now but I am, I really am just let me make it up to you!” You said putting your hand on her lower back as you inched even closer knowing this intimate touch could have her jumping back from you or jumping into your arms faster than the speed of light.

But this time it was different, not like any other times you have touched her. She didn't tense up or relax at all. Causing worry to spring in our mind you tried to find her eyes but she was focused on something else, the television which was still silently going.

You shifted your head to look at the television, your breath catching in your throat as you saw a commercial with a married couple happily kissing at the altar. Feeling a pit growing in your stomach, you looked back at Nat to see the tears yet roll again down her porcelain pale face. Hating yourself for how much hurt you brought upon her.

Subconsciously you brought your hand up to her face wiping away the slowly dripping tears streaming down her face, hoping she would stop crying but it seemed endless as she stared off into space. The next words that came out of her mouth made your heart stop for a few seconds.

“That could've been us, happy and...married,” She squeezed out of her constricting throat, fighting against a sob. “But you don't love me so it would have never happened, right?” She continued with a hushed voice as she looked away from your sorry eyes.

Your heart shattered ten times more as she leaned into your touch for what felt like the last time. You were almost close enough where you could smell her lip balm, spearmint something that would always calm you down, but had no chance of helping in this situation. 

She backed away from you slowly, almost hesitant like she was fighting an inner battle to either stay or leave. You felt the cool air yet again settle in between you both now that she wasn’t near. But it looks like she made up her mind already with one, quickly turning around and swiftly heading out the door she came in from, moments before everything changed for her. 

Too stunned to speak, your eyes locked on her retreating figure as the oak door clicked shut a few seconds after her departure. Knowing that there was absolutely nothing you could have 

done or do now to fix your situation falling to your knees in the middle of the empty hallway.

Never feeling so hopeless and isolated like you are now, nothing was worse than losing the only person you loved. 

»

It had been days since she left you, and for all those days you have stayed on your apartment floor at the Stark tower, never leaving once. You would try and ask Jarvis where Nat was or what she was doing but the A.I. system would never give you a definite answer, making your stomach do hurls each time you tortured yourself with asking it again as if it was suddenly gonna change. 

You stayed cooped up in your room for most of the time, flicking on the television every now and then in hopes of getting any form of entertainment to help your predicament but nothing worked.

Laying like a starfish staring at your ceiling while your mouth was agape, stuck in your mind going over every possible explanation of where Natasha could be, you would think the team heard of what happened and come to crucify you for your senseless action, but nothing yet again. 

The only person who came to try and enter your apartment was Steve, he went on about how he was missing you at training and wanted to talk. He would occasionally sit down at your door telling you about his day, how he saw a very cute type of dog at central park but he couldn't quite identify the breed so he went up to the owner and they almost fainted marveling at the fact that an avenger came up to her in the park out of nowhere. Which made you give out a low chuckle, he stopped talking because he heard it and you knew he heard it because you were sitting right at the door listening intently to his story. You got up quickly and went to isolate yourself even further in your room curling in on your blanket cluttered bed thinking how you shouldn't get to feel the slightest bit of happiness or laugh when you caused the person you love the worst kind of pain.

»

While you were upstairs sulking for the second week in a row, bathing in the sorrow of your own problems you were clueless to what was about to happen, currently starting at the lower levels of Stark tower.

Clint walked past the elevator doors with a beyond pissed-off face, steam practically coming out of his ears with how enraged he was. But standing there next to him matching his empowering stride was a cowering Natasha, she looked frail and looked as if you said one wrong thing she would break. 

Steve just being in close proximity to the elevator doors could see the scene playing out his eyebrows quirking up instantly at seeing the state that Natasha was in, and reading Clint's facial expression he could tell something was definitely up. Springing into action he jogged to where Nat and Clint were now entering the threshold of the common room. He unwrapped his arm from her shoulder and crossed his arms together tightly.

A question on the tip of his tongue Steve decided it would be best not to ask anything now at the moment and let clint explain it when he felt like it.

“Steve.” Clint said eerily calm, “Would you take Nat to the med wing, she needs to get checked.” He asked staring Steve directly in the eyes.

Shifting on his feet uncomfortably because of the brought-on attention and staring Steve shook his head eagerly but before he could think to stop himself he asked, “Clint what happened to Natasha?”

But to Steve’s surprise, Clint wasn't all affected by the question and instead shifted his gaze to a frozen Natasha who had seemed to blend in with the air, still and quiet. His eyes softened slightly as a single tear slid down her face, she was quick to wipe it off her face trying to not break her facade but nearly punching herself with the force. 

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready.” He answered as his gaze shifted back to Steve.

As soon as Steve took Natasha who just seemed to drift in any direction he went Tony popped up from the corner of the hallway, seeing Natasha and jogging over quickly. Too slow to catch up now that she and Steve were entering the elevator. He couldn't help but notice her demeanor and how her head hung low and her arm was wrapped around her front insecurely. 

He coughed quietly to grab Clint's attention who was also stuck staring at the sight of a broken Natasha and a worried confused Steve as the doors shut slowly. 

Just before Tony was about to start rambling on how he thought this whole place was starting to feel like a sad house from everyone's absence Clint cut him off before he could even start.

“Where the hell is y/n.” He breathed out almost too calmly. Tony’s mouth hung low as he watched Clint stare directly back at him with an unidentified type of rage in his eyes, almost daring Tony to start his pointless rambling. Tony nodded his head slightly leading the way towards the other set of elevators, praying for you internally.

»

As soon as the elevator door creaked open Clint dashed out of the elevator at an alarming speed knocking Tony out of his thoughts to get the elevators revamped for the next big project. He watched in bewilderment as Clint came right up to your apartment door, seeing the left-out food Steve and Sam had left out for you in hopes of getting you to come out of your apartment. He absentmindedly kicked the rotting food over muttering a few curse words under his breath as he jiggled the doorknob hoping that you left it unlocked by any chance. 

When he realized it was locked his second plan came into view, he started banging on the door so loudly causing Tony to fast walk over to him with wide eyes waving his hands in the air for Clint to stop his destructive antics. 

On the other side of the door, you were awoken by what seemed to be a banging noise. At first, too consumed in your sleep to care you closed your eyes until you heard Clint's name being yelled out by a male's voice which you concluded was Tony because of his shout. Nearly jumping out of your bed where you have spent the better of the week in you scurried out of your room, frantically dashing from corner to corner rambling under your breath how this was the end that they were coming to take you out for what you have done to Nat. 

The loud rambling beyond the door was starting to become more and more consistent as you could hear Clint argue with Tony to tell Jarvis to unlock the door automatically and that it was urgent. Then you heard Tony counter that whatever was so “urgent” was about to make Clint catch a homicide and that he was clearly enraged by whatever you seemed to do.

You groaned hearing the bickering continue and the volume of their voices rising more as Clint demanded to be let in. Your blood ran cold when he started speaking directly to you now ignoring Tony like he knew you were listening and by the door from his tone.

“Open the door y/n. Don't make me break it down because you damn well know I will, and I won't ask again.” He told you calmly enunciating ‘won't’.

Sitting up from your crumbled position on the floor you stalked slowly towards the door, pulling at the sleeves of your oversized sweater. Praying that he wouldn't try killing you, but then again you didn't really care because you’d never be complete without Natasha again.

As you got closer to the door you could hear Clint going back to start arguing with Tony again, taking in one last final deep breath as if you felt anxiety spread through your body, aching your bones. Your feeble hand touched the cold metal of the handle, pulling it back to unlock it and twisting it, and taking a step back to make room for the door to open.

Not knowing that your movements were that quick you catch Clint and Tony still in their heated argument, releasing a loud breath which catches Clint's attention quickly. But before you can even blink you feel yourself being lifted up swiftly off the ground and plunged into the wall of your apartment letting out a loud groan in discomfort.

Opening your eyes to see the big grin on Clint's face, the satisfaction he got from seeing you hurt. Taking in a deep breath of air since you just got it knocked out of you, blinking your eyes a few times to ease the dizziness you felt taking you by a storm. But before you even had a few more seconds to recollect yourself you could hear Clint begin to speak.

“Really y/n?” He sneered now grabbing you by the collar of your sweater.

“I don't know how it happened ok, i-it just did and I’m sorry, I didn't mean it. I-I never meant to hurt her, I promise Clint. Y-you have to believe me.” You stuttered out avoiding his harsh glare as his hands wrapped around the collar of your sweater harder you could hear the fabric start to stretch from the pressure as his knuckles pressed into your sternum making you wince slightly at the pain.

A second later he scoffed followed by a grim chuckle, “And what? Your word is supposed to mean something to me? Is it supposed to mean something TO HER?” He yelled picking you up vaguely.

You responded quickly to him, “Yes, because I love her..”

This made him freeze up instantly as he looked you directly in the eye with such disgust you hung your head low again stifling a cry.

“Funny how you did her wrong but you seize to act like the victim, and you are nothing but that,” He told you in a demeaning manner, “you know what you are y/n?” He whispered in your ear.

“A worthless piece of shit cheater who never deserved her, ever, do you know the pain you caused her? She came driving all the way to my house. My house! On the verge of tears!” He screamed in your ear causing you to flinch and shut your eyes.

“She didn't stop crying for a week straight, and that was after she refused to sleep and eat! Damn near traumatizing my children seeing their auntie Nat like that. And she still didn't talk or explain what happened, still protecting your loser ass even after you wronged her so bad.” He told you, his grip on your collar tightening even more if that was possible, causing you to look up at the ceiling for air as silent tears rolled down your face.

“When she finally told me, she blamed herself. Saying how she was always on missions and never there for you, but that gives you no right. No right!” He yelled the last sentence.

You were trying not to break down crying as you felt embarrassed enough by your actions. You knew that you would have a lot of explaining to do to the team, but you couldn't feel anything after he said the next words to you.

“I don't even know how she could have thought to love something like you. You are nothing compared to her and you never will be, I think she was faking it when she said she loved you, no one could ever love you, ever.” He said finally as he shoved you up against the cracking wall.

He waited a few seconds to see if he could get a rise out of you, failing to realize how you had started to struggle with your breathing. The tears, your contracting throat, his words, your heart was all too much to handle at the moment and you could feel yourself mentally breaking and you couldn't help but wonder if this was how she felt.

A few moments later you could feel being released by him, your vision too blurry to see him walking away from you towards your apartment door, a loud slam following after him. Shaking uncontrollably you slid down the cold wall acting as your only form of stability right now. The pain is all too much to handle.

Never using your teleportation powers in the past few weeks in hopes of Nat coming right back to you, Nat crawling under the sheets, feeling her warm body press against you. You knew you would never get that again but you had hoped, so you never left, but that's gone now.

You didn't bother taking any one of your personal items with you, better to leave it all behind because you are sure as hell didn't want to carry it with you. Wiping your blurred vision to see your apartment one last time before you vanished, and just like that, you were gone. You were a disease, a plague and you didn't want to hurt anyone anymore.

A moment later Nat came bursting through your apartment door, seconds after you teleported. Still distraught from the past two weeks she searched everywhere for you because she heard Clint yelling at you in the apartment from when she arrived on the floor with Steve after leaving the med bay against his request. 

She tried her best to break through Tony's hold but he just wouldn't let go, she tried, she fought so hard to but she couldn't. Once Clint exited your apartment with an emotionless face she knew he had gone too far, too far to go back and fix what was severed. 

She managed to break out of Tony's grasp when he looked back at Clint with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Steve stood in shock from what he just heard. But she didn't hear it, she didn't hear anything because she was too busy struggling against a stronghold, too busy mentally cursing herself for believing she stopped loving you. 

When she couldn't find you anywhere in the apartment she knew what you had done. She knew that you had truly left her, that you would never be coming back. 

She fell to her knees on the floor of your living room, tears gliding down her face like a waterfall. Her body shook uncontrollably as pained screams left her dry throat, tearing it apart. Her heart beyond the point of breaking, fragments of it fading away with you.

She hated you for what you had done, hated you for cheating, hated you for letting her go, hated you for not trying hard enough, and hated you for making her fall in love with you. But most importantly she hated herself for being one second too late.

»

[littlemissnoname13]

Hello can I request where draco in fourth year having a crush on a hufflepuff reader but acts as arsehole cuz he doesn’t know how to show affection , leading it to her avoiding him which makes him depressed about what did he do wrong ?

Hi love. Thanks for the request.💕

I love writing Draco x hufflepuff!reader stories! I am a sucker for a slytherin x hufflepuff pairing.

I added a few extra details here and here. Hope you like it. X

Hopeful (Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader)

Word count: 2100 sorry got a bit carried away. 😅

Warnings: None. Soft!Draco being an absolute blubbering idiot.

Draco’s thoughts are written in green

Spring had arrived. 

It could be felt in the cool and gentle zephyr that made the shiny new leaves on top of the once barren and dead trees rustle. 

Daisies were in full bloom and the wind had managed to carry some of the petals away—making them fall to the ground, acting like a harbinger of the fast approaching summer. 

Draco couldn’t be bothered if it was spring, or autumn or winter. 

In that particular moment, all he wanted to do was get away from the Slytherin common room and Pansy Parkinson. 

He had taken her to the Yule ball and things had sort of fizzled out afterwards. He couldn’t get himself to see her as anything other than a friend. 

Having ran all the way to a far and secluded area of the Hogwarts grounds, Draco leaned against a tree trunk and panted heavily in an attempt to catch his breath. 

“Are you—are you alright?” 

Your voice startled him and he quickly stood up straight to look around. 

You were sitting criss-crossed on the grass with your transfigurations textbook opened on your lap. Your shirt sleeves were rolled up and your yellow and black tie hugged very loosely around your neck. 

“Fine.” He muttered as he slowly sat down noticing a single daisy tucked behind your ears. 

After sitting there in complete silence for the next few minutes, he finally spoke up. 

“What are you even doing here anyway?” 

“Just wanted some peace and quiet to be honest.” You said, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s a beautiful day.” 

Draco just hummed in response and kept staring at the daisy in your hair that swayed lightly with the breeze. 

“What?” You asked when you noticed. 

“You have—you have a twig stuck in your hair.” 

“A daisy.” You corrected him as you closed your book and moved a bit closer to where he was sitting. “It’s a daisy.” 

“Yeah I know that. I’m not stupid.” He said quickly. “But why?” 

"Well, Daisies are essentially two flowers blended together in complete harmony." You said pulling the daisy out of your free falling hair before putting your hand forward to hand it to him. 

“And?” Draco reluctantly took the flower from you and blinked his eyes in confusion. 

“They are said to resemble innocence—true love even.”  You explained getting comfortable next to him.

“You believe in all that?” Draco scoffed, twirling the flower between his index finger and thumb. He couldn’t tell if the floral fragrance was coming from you or the air but it made him slightly queasy nonetheless. 

“Merlin. No.” You scrunched up your nose. “It just gives me hope I guess.” 

Draco gave you another hum in response. For someone who came up with snarky and sometimes witty comments on the spot, he found himself weirdly tongue tied. 

“I know you were hiding from Pansy by the way.” You remarked, making a small smile pull at his lips. 

“How come?”

“What do you mean how come?” You rolled your eyes. “Everyone can see that she is obsessed with you for some reason that I personally can't seem to comprehend.” 

~~~~~

The next day during potions class, Draco slowly opened his book and started to absently doodle on it with his quill while Snape talked about the upcoming potions essay that had to be done in pairs. 

Draco knew he should be paying attention but he just couldn’t get the interaction between you two out of his head. 

And just when he took a deep breath and decided to focus, a familiar scent started to fill his lungs up. 

Fruity, almost spicy notes of strawberry and pink grapefruit mixed with gardenias, vanilla and musk. It felt like someone had tossed a huge bouquet into the room. 

He knew it was you without even bothering to look up from my book. 

"Ah, Miss y/l/n. Late again." Snape muttered. “Five points from Hufflepuff house.” 

You quietly sat down next to your friend with your head hung low and Draco fought an unexplainable urge to give you a hug. 

"The essay must be done in pairs.." Snape said.

Great. 

"Ronald Weasley and Gregory Goyle." 

This is exactly what I needed right now. Thanks Snape. 

"Blaise Zabini and Hannah Abott." 

The last thing I need is someone weighing my essay down. 

"Draco Malfoy and y/n y/l/n." 

What? 

You turned back to look at Draco and gave him  an apologetic smile and he didn't understand why you kept smiling at him. It's not like the both of you had suddenly formed an unlikely bond with each other. 

Draco scowled at you in return and quickly raised his hand. "May I work on my essay alone?" 

"No. You may not Mr. Malfoy."

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

You and Draco had been studying in the library for almost an hour. Because you were quietly sitting next to him, his elbows and knees slightly brushed yours every few seconds and as much as he hated to admit it, He secretly enjoyed it. 

Contrary to yesterday, Draco was trying very hard to make a conversation with you. You seemed somewhat offended that he had asked Snape to work on the essay alone. 

“I am happy to do most of the writing if you can look up all the ingredients.” You offered.

You don’t have to do all of that yourself. I am happy to help with the writing too. Is what he should have said. 

“Fine whatever.” He said instead as he reached for a copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. 

That night, Draco stayed up tossing and turning in his bed before giving up on getting any sleep for the night. 

He lethargically walked towards his dresser and put his hands in his blazer pocket pulling out the now dried and pressed daisy from the other day. 

Taking a deep breath, he put the flower in between the pages of his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. 

You were drawing him in, undoing him, unraveling him even. 

He knew that. 

But did you?

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

"Draco! Open up." 

His head jolted towards the door and He quickly walked over to open it. 

You stood on the other end with books tucked in your arms, wearing your denim shorts and a plain white tank top—looking like summer personified. 

The more time he spent with you, the more he started to notice your quirks. Like that the way your skin glowed as the days got warmer. 

Compliment her. Do it. It’s not Difficult. 

“Did you do something different to your hair?” 

“Uh—no why are you asking.” 

“It just looks a bit strange.” He commented wanting to slap himself. 

"Okay, well are you going to let me in?" You questioned, wondering why he was blocking the way and asking you about your hair. 

Why did you have to wear that God damned tank top-

"Sorry?" You asked stepping inside making his cheeks burn when he realized he wasn’t meaning to say that out loud. 

"Just shut up and get back to working in the essay or whatever it is that you were doing." Draco grumbled feeling embarrassed as he grabbed some fresh parchment. 

Okay. Focus. The Strengthening solution requires...

You stretched a little and pushed your hair away from your face. 

several days to mature...

"Staring is rude Draco." You suddenly interrupted his thoughts as you set your eyes on his—peering right into his soul.

Draco felt like he was giving you some sort of power over him and the possibility of you using that power and leaving him heartbroken made him feel so very vulnerable.

He couldn't take the vulnerability a second longer.

 "I don't think we should study together anymore." He blurted quickly standing up. “It's for the best.”

"Huh?" You stood up contorting your face in total confusion—wondering just what you had done to piss him off. "What's wrong Draco? Did I do something wrong?" 

"Leave. Now." He muttered with his teeth clenched. 

Please don’t go.

"Just go—leave please."

You couldn’t help but feel a sharp sting burning your insides as you gathered all the books that were on the floor and ran made your way towards hufflepuff dormitories with tears threatening to flood your eyes. 

As soon as you ran off, he punched his wall and muttered out the plethora of angry curses when the impact bruised his knuckles.

~~~~~~~~~~~

During the following week, Draco failed to show up to any of your shared classes after you had refused to talk to him after what happened. 

Even if you did manage to see him walking down the halls or walking with Crabbe and Goyle, you noticed that he looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. 

On a Tuesday, Draco looked at the Hufflepuff table during breakfast and when you caught his eye, all you did was look away. 

Everyone at school had their opinions about him—most of them weren’t good opinions. 

But when you were with him under that tree, he seemed different. His smirk was more playful than condescending. It managed to charm you in a way. 

You took a final bite of your toast and gathered all your books, walking to your Potions class. 

His seat still remained empty and you shook your head, trying to snap away from the thoughts of him as you flipped open your book. 

Only it wasn’t your book. 

You didn’t remember writing on the margins and making annotations on your book. 

Running your fingertips along the pages, you flipped to the very first page of the book. 

D. Malfoy was written in ridiculously neat handwriting and you shook your head when you realized that you had grabbed his book with you that day by mistake. 

And just when you were about to put his book away, something fell from in between the pages and fell onto your desk. 

It was the daisy you had woven into your hair the other day. Even in its dried state, the petals remained intact like her had done something to keep them that way.

When class was finally over, you made a quick beeline towards the slytherin dungeons, bumping into people along the way. 

~~~~~~~~~

“Some hufflepuff girl is standing outside the dungeons asking to see you.” Theo shrugged when he saw Draco at the common room sofa. “Says it's urgent.” 

He felt terrified yet so elated as he quickly stood up and made his way outside. 

“Here’s your book.” You said taking a step towards him. “You never told me what’s wrong by the way.” 

“Thank you.” Draco quickly took his book from you and stared at the ground. 

“Why did you stop talking to me y/n?”

“You told me to go away—If I remember correctly.” You said shaking your head at him. “Tell me Draco, what’s wrong?”

“Everything.” He said quietly, meeting your gaze. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You make me feel all weak.....and smiley...and I hate it." He looked at you with agitation.

"Weak?" You ran your  fingers through your hair in confusion. 

"And your ridiculous white tank top." Draco half yelled. 

"What's wrong with my top?" You asked, raising your voice slightly as if you had had enough of this. 

"Nothing is wrong except for the fact that you look stunning in it.” He blurted involuntarily. "It is absolutely distracting when one is trying to study!." 

He watched you open your mouth in shock and close it. Before he could spend another minute trying to solve the riddle that was your expression, you grabbed him by his tie and placed your lips on his. 

His brows furrowed as he kissed you back tenderly. Tasting the sweetness of your lips—pouring out every bit of suppressed passion and adoration he felt for you with his lips.

There was something so strange and euphoric about finally kissing someone he had been longing to kiss for so long. 

Something so magical about holding the person that fits perfectly into his arms. 

Freaking Finally. 

He was slightly disappointed when you slowly backed away, but the glow on your skin and the glossy ness in your eyes made him smile. 

"I guess I'll leave before I realize the consequences of what I have just done." You said softly as you held his face and placed a small peck on his lips.

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

The next day, you found a tiny box and an envelope on your desk when you woke up. Your roommate let you know that Draco Malfoy had stopped by late last night when you were asleep and half begged and half threatened her to leave the box on your desk. 

You slowly opened the box and found a bedazzled and whimsical looking daisy necklace, encrusted with gems.  

A Daisy for my daisy. 

You give me hope.

- D.M

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

Draco Taglist: @dracomalfoyisindahouse @dracomalfoys-wh0re @maybesandohnos @justfangirlthingies @desiredmalfoy @dlmmdl @trainintersection @fa-me @dracoswhore007 @paulina1998 @wh0re4blaise @marrymetheonott @quacksonsssandtea @letoof @rvaldez7569 @loloo22 @emma67 @berriemalfoy @thegaudess @itchywitch33 @louweasleymalfoy @lunar0se10 @savagelysarcasticslytherin @fleursbabe @teawineaddict @thebitchybeatle @malfoyxxdraco23 @fantasyfairysworld @trashyvicks @h0ggyw0ggyh0gwarts @l0vely-lupin @linasylveon @amwitherspoon @the-bisexual-bitch

Love you all sm. (if i was unable to tag you, please look into your privacy settings)

Fell free to send me reuests. My other stories can be found here.

Join my taglist here.

- violet-Anne

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Know Thyself

Description: When Eric invites you to his dungeon, you get more than you bargained for.

Notes: 5,800 words of kinky Eric Northman smut. Reposted because this hellsite reordered several paragraphs for no reason.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content, bondage, spanking, orgasm control, forced orgasms

"You're not on the schedule tonight," a familiar voice drawled as you arrived at Fangtasia for your shift. Pam stood in front of the mirror in the break room applying her blood red lipstick with razor thin precision. "Boss's orders," she added, her lips curling with an amusement that was frankly disquieting.

You shoved your purse in your locker anyway and gave Pam a skeptical look. "What are you not telling me?"

Pam slid the gold lid back onto the tube of lipstick with a click. "As much as I would love to stand around and answer stupid questions all night, I still have a job to do," she said. Dark, grungy rock music began to blare in the club proper, signaling that Fangtasia would soon be open. Pam closed your locker in the blink of an eye, a wicked grin spreading across her pink lips. "You’re coming with me," she said. She gave you a little push out of the room and steered you downstairs with a firm grip on your shoulder. It would be pointless to argue, so you stumbled along in front of her as Pam’s dagger-like stilettos echoed in the stairwell.

As far as you knew, the basement of Fangtasia was little more than a crammed storage room filled with excess liquor, Halloween decorations, and old VHS tapes from its heyday as a video rental store before vampires came out of the coffin. A set of keys rattled in Pam's hand and she unlocked a metal door that you had always assumed led to the broom closet. She held it open and stared at you with cold eyes.

“Go on.”

The hard edge in Pam’s voice chilled your blood, but you swallowed your nerves and stepped into a long stone corridor dimly lit with torches. You heard nothing except your own heartbeat and the faint crackling of the torches as you stepped inside. Her hand connected with the small of your back and you both proceeded down the passage, which had several alcoves walled off with iron bars that were so dark you couldn’t tell if they were occupied or not. Pam stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall and produced an old-fashioned key that she had tucked into her bodice. She eyed your black Fangtasia t-shirt and pursed her lips.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Pam,” you said nervously, but the rest of your words dried up in your throat as she stared you down. You took off your top and shimmied out of your jeans, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to your face.

No matter how many times you undressed in front of Pam, you always felt like a piece of merchandise under her scrupulous gaze. She slid her fingers under the elastic waist of your panties and snapped it against your skin. “And these,” she added. You slipped out of your panties and took off your bra as well, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Pam said in a flat tone that was not even a little bit reassuring as she opened the door and gestured for you to go inside. “You look good enough to eat.”

You crossed the threshold into a spacious stone chamber with vaulted cathedral ceilings and arched doorways leading off in four different directions. But what caught your eye was not the architecture or the flickering candlelight in the rooms beyond. It was the ancient iron maiden that stood in the center of the room, its doors clamped shut and its strange carved face contorted with anguish as it stared wordlessly at the place where you stood.

Behind you, the heavy door creaked shut and you heard the scrape of the bolt sliding back into place, locking you within. Even though you knew this had to be orchestrated by Eric, your veins suddenly iced over with fear. You heard soft footfalls coming from one of the rooms beyond and instinctively took a step back, your heel colliding with the door behind you. A tall figure appeared in the central doorway wearing a wry smile and a plain black tank and jeans.

“Where are your clothes?” Eric asked. You furrowed your brows, realizing that you stripped down in front of Pam for no reason. “Ah,” he said. “Pam.”

“She never misses an opportunity,” you said, embarrassed by your own naiveté.

Eric chuckled and took your hand in his. “I will deal with her later,” he said. “Come with me.”

You followed him into the room to the far left, which reminded you of a Roman bath. A pool of dark water rippled below, its steaming surface scattered with purple flower petals and floating candles. The smell of incense hung in the humid air—something warm and inviting, laced with exotic spices. At the end of the chamber, a reclining skeleton was painted on the wall with two words written in Greek letters below it. Eric retrieved a short silk robe hand painted with peony blossoms from a hook on the wall and held it open while you slid your arms into the sleeves.

"What does that say?" you asked. Eric's lips brushed against your temple as he reached around and tied the robe shut with a decisive motion.

"Know thyself," he said. "It's a replica of the memento mori in the baths of Diocletian in Rome." He kept his arms around your waist and you leaned against him, enjoying how solid he seemed as he held you from behind. It wasn't often you had uninterrupted time alone with your lover. He was always being pulled in one direction or another by whoever was above him in the complicated vampire hierarchy, or he was occupied with the problems his own subordinates brought to him. But tonight you knew you would not be interrupted. You turned in his arms and looked up at Eric, trailing your fingertips over his bare muscled shoulders.

"What do you want to do with me?" you asked with shy smile as Eric inhaled the scent of your hair like a sommelier using all of his senses to sample a fine wine.

"Possess you utterly," Eric murmured. His voice was gravelly and full of desire, and his candor surprised you. He tangled his fingers in your hair and captured your mouth in a languid kiss. You swayed a little, but he held you steady as he tilted your head back and dragged his lips down your throat, savoring your taste. He sucked lightly on your pulse, which seemed to be directly connected to your center. You hummed softly in encouragement and reached for his belt, but he pulled away.

Candlelight reflected in the dark water below, dancing to the syncopated rhythm of your heart. Worry itched at the back of your mind as you watched Eric walk away, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor. Perhaps you had done something wrong. He retrieved a black gift box from a hammered metal table and stood before you again in an instant.

“I have something for you.” Though Eric seemed to possess an endless store of confidence, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He was trying to be careful, you realized, fearing he might scare you away. You summoned a reassuring smile and traced your fingers along the edge of the box.

“You spoil me.”

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what Pam keeps saying,” Eric said. He took the lid off the box, revealing a solid metal choker. It was thin but surprisingly sturdy, with a small keyhole on the clasp at the back. A delicate spray of flowers and vines swirled across its surface, carved with such care that they created a sense of motion. You lifted it out of the box and studied the pattern quietly, aware that you were being studied as well.

“It’s beautiful,” you said sincerely. You lifted your eyes and offered it back to Eric, gathering your hair away from the nape of your neck. He turned you to face away from him and opened the clasp on the necklace. After a moment, smooth metal circled your throat. It felt cool against your warm skin and fit snugly into place without being too tight. You heard a tiny click at the back of your neck and realized it had locked when he closed it. Your breath hitched in your chest. Eric’s lips brushed against your ear as he spoke.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Your mouth felt dry, but you nodded, reaching up to brush your fingers over the floral inlay of the necklace.

“What will you say if it’s not okay?” Eric asked. He placed his large hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him again. You pressed your lips together in thought for a moment. You had never needed a safe word with him before.

“Clementine,” you answered.

“Good.” He trailed his fingers along the edge of your jaw, drawing you closer. “And if you can’t speak, what will you hum?”

Your eyes widened and you forgot every song you’d ever known. “Um...” you said. “Yankee Doodle?”

Eric’s eyes crinkled with amusement, but he made no comment about your song choice. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “Are you ready, pet?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said, but your voice sounded shaky and small. You weren’t sure what lay in the rooms beyond or what he had in store for the night. The torture device in the foyer had frightened you, but you trusted Eric. You chewed on your lip and tried to summon a playful smile. “Are you going to put me on a leash?”

The arched brow on your lover’s face told you he was now considering it. “Would you like me to?” he asked, always willing to up the ante.

“I...” you stammered. The thought filled you with horror and excitement in equal measure, and you weren’t sure how to answer. But Eric’s blue eyes were full of mischief as he approached a mahogany apothecary cabinet and opened one of the drawers.

“I hadn’t exactly planned on that.” He rifled through the drawer for a moment and took out a fine metal chain. “But I can oblige.”

Eric returned to you and attached the chain to the choker around your throat, testing it with a small tug. The solid metal acted as a collar, and you found yourself stumbling forward, forced to follow his lead. A toothy grin spread across Eric’s face. You wanted to be mad at him, but you were breathless with anticipation. He wrapped the chain around his hand and you trailed after him without resistance as he led you from the room.

“I could get used to this,” he quipped, entering the foyer.

“I’m sure you could.”

Your eyes met the gaze of the iron maiden again, and you were relieved when Eric walked past it without a second glance. “What is that for?” you asked.

Eric looked at the torture device. “Pam liberated it from a museum in Spain, but I doubt it was ever used before she got her claws in it,” he said. “It's more ornamental than practical.”

“So, you’ve never used it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Eric said with an air of mystery. He tugged on the chain, urging you to follow him into a rounded chamber with a circular dais in the center. Thick shackles hung from the walls on massive chains that looked strong enough to secure a vampire, and several human shaped cages were suspended from the ceiling. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“What are those?” you peeped nervously as Eric removed the chain from your choker and untied your robe. His eyes followed yours toward the ceiling.

“Another of Pam’s acquisitions,” he said, pushing the robe off your shoulders. The fabric pooled at your feet and his gaze swept over your naked flesh approvingly. “The English used to hang the corpses of criminals in them after execution as a warning to others.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer to your next question, but you blurted it out anyway. “What does Pam use them for?”

Eric shrugged. “I don’t ask.” He took you by the hand and led you to the dais, holding you steady as you stepped onto it. “Stand here,” he said. “I want to get a good look at you.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and watched as Eric circled you slowly like a predator stalking its prey. The surface beneath you was rough and uncomfortable to stand on with bare feet. Something told you that was by design. Eric appeared in front of you again, considering you with a steely gaze.

“Kneel,” he commanded in a firm voice.

You lowered yourself to your knees and realized you were trembling slightly. The uneven surface of the dais below you dug into your knees as you sat back on your heels and cast an uncertain glance at your lover. He had never spoken to you in that tone of voice before, and you weren’t sure what it meant.

Eric studied your face with hooded eyes and tucked your hair behind your ear. “You look so lovely on your knees,” he said as though it was a thought he had not intended to say out loud. You tilted your head toward his hand, craving his touch, but he withdrew it and looked at you with a stony expression. “Lift both of your hands as high as you can.”

You did as he instructed and he gave you a small nod of approval. “Good,” he said. “Now, don’t move,” he added. “I will return in a moment.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. You sat alone in the strange circular room with your arms stretched above you and the floor digging painfully into your knees. Though you heard no sound from the other rooms, you had the unmistakable feeling that you were being watched. You shifted a little, trying to find a position that was comfortable, but moving only seemed to make your knees hurt even more.

You had no way of knowing how long you waited. Soon the muscles in your shoulders began to ache, but Eric did not return. You wondered if you should call for him. Maybe he had lost track of time.

“Eric?” you called softly. In the empty room, you received no reply. Your knees were stinging now and the muscles in your arms burned with the continued effort to keep them lifted in the air. You knew you would not last much longer. A whimper escaped your lips and you wobbled a little, lowering one of your hands. Eric appeared in front of you instantly, his expression stormy.

“What did I tell you to do?” he asked. His voice was quiet but keen like the blade of a knife.

You looked at him with wide eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. “Keep my hands in the air,” you said.

“And what did you do?”

“I... I lowered them,” you answered. You furrowed your brows together, feeling it was deeply unfair for him to blame you for something you couldn’t help. “But you weren’t here, and I couldn’t do it any longer.”

Eric’s brow arched in warning and his icy blue eyes hardened. Silence fell over you like a spell and you knew it had been a mistake to argue. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. You lowered your gaze to the floor and took several deep breaths, waiting for him to speak.

“I know you are,” Eric said. “And I will forgive you after you’ve been punished.”

He grabbed both of your wrists and dragged you to your feet. You wobbled as he pulled you off the dais, hauling you out of the room without giving you a chance to catch your balance.

“Eric!” you yelped, staggering after him through the foyer and into another room. He stopped abruptly in front of a wall where countless whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and riding crops were hung.

“Pick one,” Eric said. He released his grip on your arms and sat on the foot of a black four-poster bed covered with a dark velvet quilt, waiting for you to make your selection.

You stared at the array of instruments before you. Some of them looked like the sort of thing you could pick up at any average sex shop, while others seemed to be custom-made or possibly the real thing. You swallowed your fear and reached for a leather riding crop with a narrow tip and a flexible handle. It seemed small enough that it might not inflict too much damage. You approached the foot of the bed and placed it in Eric’s hands. He whipped his open palm with the riding crop and shook his head.

“This one will sting too much,” he said. “Pick one that’s more rigid.”

He waited with patience while you tested several others in search of one that would meet his specifications. The anger that radiated from him before had now dissipated and he seemed set on administering your punishment based on principle rather than wrath. You had the distinct sense that everything was going exactly as planned—that you had been thrust into a labyrinth of impossible choices, and he was the minotaur that would delight in making you suffer. You had half a mind to throw the riding crop in Eric’s face and tell him you were going home, but you had enough faith in him to trust that he would be good to you.

Eric rose to his feet as you held out another riding crop. He tested it on his hand and nodded in approval. You thought he might draw his hand back and strike you at any moment, but he set it on the bed and picked up a silky blindfold, securing it over your eyes.

“Lay on your stomach,” he said in your ear. He grasped the nape of your neck in his hand and guided you down onto the bed so that you were folded over the foot of it with your ass prominently displayed. You turned your head to the side and took a few nervous breaths. The dull ache of desire throbbed in your center even though you had to fight off the urge to bolt. Eric squeezed the rounded flesh of your ass, caressing it appreciatively. “I want you to count for me when I strike you,” he instructed. “I’ll start with my hand, and then switch to the crop. We’ll do five of each.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“Do you remember what to say if it’s not okay, pet?”

You considered the possibility of cashing in your get out of jail free card, but his hand slipped between your legs and stroked the length of your slit, offering you the promise of even greater reward if you played his game. A small gasp escaped from your lips and you pressed yourself into his touch, but his hand was gone. “I remember,” you said breathlessly. “I’m okay.”

“Then count for me,” Eric said. He drew back his open hand and delivered a stinging blow across your ass.

“One,” you managed to say.

“Good girl,” Eric purred. He massaged the sore spot for a moment and then struck you even harder, making you yelp in surprise. Your hips jerked and Eric pressed his left hand into the small of your back, pinning you in place as you gasped for breath. “Count,” he reminded you.

“Two.”

The third blow followed quickly, but Eric’s firm hand held you still. A stinging warmth was spreading over your ass and felt arousal pooling between your legs.

“Three,” you whimpered.

Eric struck you again and kneaded your ass, producing a low moan from your lips.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his own enjoyment evident in his voice. “What number was that?”

“Four.”

The fifth blow landed harder than the rest. You forgot to count, but Eric didn’t seem to care. He let you lay there panting softly, trying to catch your breath while he massaged your tender skin and teased you between your legs. The adrenaline in your system dulled the pain until it mingled with the sensation of Eric’s fingers stroking you, making your entire bottom radiate with pleasure. You whined needfully and rolled your hips into his touch.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Eric said. He withdrew his hand and sucked your arousal off his fingers. “Cross your wrists behind you,” he said. “I don’t want your hands to get in the way.”

You wanted to tell him he could punish you any time he liked if he would just fuck you then and there, but you knew you weren’t in a position to negotiate. You closed your mouth instead and did what you were told. Eric wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, pinning them against your lower back. You always knew he was strong, but you were stunned to realize he could immobilize you completely with just one of his hands. The riding crop made a whooshing sound as he swung it in the air experimentally, making you flinch with anticipation.

“Five more,” Eric reminded you. “Count for me.”

The sharp bite of the riding crop against your flesh stole the air from your lungs. The pain was much more concentrated than before, and the shaft of the instrument seemed to gather momentum easier than a bare hand.

“Breathe for me, pet,” you heard Eric saying. “That was one.”

You inhaled and exhaled, speaking in a shaky voice. “One.”

“Very good,” Eric murmured. “Focus on your breathing.”

He struck you again and dragged the tip of the riding crop over your dripping cunt, making you shiver.

“Two,” you moaned.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Three more.”

Tears began to sting your eyes with the third blow, wetting the silk fabric that covered them.

“Three,” you whimpered.

“That’s right.”

The fourth blow struck even harder, and Eric held you steady as you bucked your hips. You were crying in earnest now, your tears leaking from the blindfold.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he said softly. “Just one more.”

“Okay,” you sobbed.

You cried out when he struck you one last time, but an overwhelming sense of relief flooded your body as you realized that was the end. You were shaking all over and you could feel your pulse throbbing between your legs.

“F-five,” you stammered.

Eric released your wrists and trailed his hand over the marks on your ass, massaging it with care. Your hands fell limp at your sides, feeling leaden.

“Do you promise not to disobey me again?” Eric asked. He swirled his fingers around your swollen clit, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“I promise.”

“Then you are forgiven.” His melodic voice filled you with warmth and a moment later his fingers thrusted inside you. A long, breathy gasp escaped your lips and you felt your insides beginning to clench, but he pulled away.

“Don’t,” you pleaded. “Don’t stop.”

“Patience,” Eric said. “The night is young.”

He rolled you over and pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt weak, but he let you lean your full weight against him and bury your face against his chest as he untied the blindfold. It felt good to press yourself against something cool and familiar. A few stray tears leaked from your eyes. Eric wiped them away with the soft pad of his thumb and licked the salty liquid from his finger.

“How are you, pet?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled into his shirt. And it was true. Even though the punishment Eric doled out had been painful, he had helped you through each moment. The fear that coursed through your veins earlier in the evening had been released in a kind of catharsis, and you now felt strangely at ease with whatever might happen next.

“Good,” Eric said. There was a hint of pride in his voice as he stroked your hair. “You’re very brave, for a human.”

You pressed a soft kiss against his throat and felt Eric’s hand tighten in your hair. “You’re very tender, for a vampire.”

“Only with you,” he mused. He took you by the hand and kissed your fingers, leading you out of the room. “Come.”

The last room was outfitted with several strange pieces of furniture that you suspected were part of Pam’s collection of authentic medieval torture devices. You recognized a rack in one corner and a set of stocks in another, but what caught your eye was the wooden frame in the shape of an X in the center of the room. It was covered in soft leather and had thick padded cuffs at the end of each arm.

Before you could ask Eric what it was, he spun you around and pinned you against it with his hips, giving you a bruising kiss. You moaned against his mouth as he secured your wrists to the frame. He kicked your feet apart and trailed his hands over the smooth curves of your body, scratching you lightly with his nails. Then he bound your ankles as well.

Your face felt flushed and your pulse roared in your ears as he stepped back and raked his gaze over your body. You knew you were utterly helpless, and every part of you was on display. Your legs were spread wide and your breasts heaved with each panting breath you took, trying to regain control of yourself. A smirk spread across Eric’s face. This was what he had been waiting for all night.

“In all my years, I don't think I've ever seen something so exquisite as you, pet.” He took a step closer and grabbed a fistful of your hair, kissing your throat as he spoke. “You're beautiful,” he said. “And you're mine.”

His words made your whole body resonate with satisfaction. Eric’s fangs scraped against your throat, but he did not bite you. Not yet. He wanted to savor every inch of you before deciding where to sink his teeth in. His tongue licked your throat while his hands roamed your body, pausing when he felt your heart begin to beat faster to lavish attention on the places where you were sensitive.

He smoothed his hand over your stomach and caught your nipples lightly between his teeth, enjoying each whine and whimper that came from your lips. He teased you with agonizing patience. Your body felt like a spring compressed under an enormous amount of pressure, and you were desperate for release. It would not take much now for you to come undone, but each time you were close, Eric ceased his ministrations.

“No, no, no,” Eric murmured against your breast as he stopped circling your clit with his thumb. “I haven't given you permission to come yet.”

You were about to protest when he took hold of a handle on the side of the X and suddenly rotated it upside down. Blood rushed into your face as you hung from your ankles, your arousal on full display. Eric made a small sound of satisfaction at the sight and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He thrust his fingers inside of you while he drank, stilling his hand whenever he felt your muscles begin to contract.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, Eric, I want you to fuck me.”

He withdrew his hand and dragged his tongue along the length of your slit. “Do you?” he asked with a surprised inflection. “Hmmm, I don't remember asking what you want, my love.”

Eric pulled away and righted the X before too much blood could rush to your head. Your heart was beating rapidly and your breathing was ragged. You watched his tall form shift out of view and heard him rifling through a drawer to the side as you caught your breath.

“Please,” you whined when he reappeared in front of you. “I need you inside me.”

“I know,” Eric said with mock sympathy. “But it gives me such pleasure to hear you beg.”

You heard the familiar buzz of a vibrator before you felt it. Eric pressed the powerful toy against your sensitive mound and produced a low, guttural moan from your throat. “You're not allowed to come yet, sweet girl,” he reminded you.

“You’re gonna make me,” you panted. “Eric, please.”

Eric lubricated the vibrator with your arousal and guided it over your clit. “I’m warning you,” he said, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Do not disobey me again.”

“I-I can’t help it,” you whimpered.

He increased the intensity and kissed your throat roughly. “Don’t you dare do it,” he growled in your ear, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. You cried out as your release overwhelmed you, sending shockwaves from your head to your toes. Your sensitive nerves were flooded with a blissful warmth, and you fell limp in the restraints after a moment, breathing shallowly. Eric turned off the vibrator and nipped your ear with his teeth.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble now, you wicked little thing,” he said in your ear. But he let you recover for a moment while he returned to the cabinet against the wall and searched in another drawer.

Soon he stood in front of you again. He grasped your chin and opened your mouth, pushing a rubber ball gag between your teeth. The surprised sound that came from your throat was muffled by its presence as Eric secured it behind your head. He framed your face with his hands and forced you to look into his intense blue eyes.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Remember what I said about humming?”

“Mmhmm,” you managed to hum, but you didn’t want him to stop. You felt perfectly at ease, caught in a strange liminal state between dreaming and waking. Eric stroked your hair and studied your face.

“Good,” he said. And then the tenderness in his voice was replaced with a hard edge as he curled his fingers around your throat. “Now you're going to come until I decide you can stop,” he growled, switching the vibrator to its highest setting and pressing it ruthlessly against the oversensitive bundle of nerves at your center.

The intense vibration sent sharp rippling aftershocks through your body. You moaned into the gag and felt yourself tensing painfully, but you were too weak to struggle. Eric was telling you to relax. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on his words, allowing the tension to melt from your body. Soon you felt yourself building to another climax far more intense than the one before.

“That’s right,” Eric said. “Take it like a good girl. Let’s see how many we can get out of you.”

You weren’t sure how much time had passed or how many times Eric had pushed you over the edge before the vibrator finally switched off. The ball gag was removed from your mouth, but you couldn’t formulate the words to ask for what you wanted. You let out a small needy whine instead, begging for him.

Eric captured your lips in a kiss and thrust his length inside you, filling you with what you needed most. He rolled his hips at a slow pace, making sure you felt every movement as he fucked you. You moaned weakly and soon you were clenching around him, pulling him to the edge with you. “Come for me,” Eric said, his voice low and gravelly. “Now.”

You gave a small cry as you came undone again, soaking his cock with your release. Eric groaned against your neck and followed you swiftly, one hand fisted in your hair and the other clutching the side of your face as his hips stuttered to a stop.

He remained inside you for a few moments as you took a few ragged breaths. Then he reached up and released the restraints circling your wrists. You sagged against him, too exhausted to hold yourself up. Your legs felt like they were made of rubber and your head felt woozy, but you were at ease, knowing he would take care of you.

You were vaguely aware of the warm scent of Eric’s cologne as you pressed your face into his chest. Soothing words poured over your consciousness in a language you didn’t understand. You tasted blood on your lips and felt the bruises on your wrists and backside simply melt away.

When you woke again, you were laying between fresh sheets in your own bed. Your hair was still damp from a bath and your legs were tangled with Eric’s as he slept beside you, one arm outstretched so you could lay your head on his chest. The light tight shutters had been sealed over the windows in your bedroom, blotting out the midday sun. Eric had them installed ages ago, but he still was hesitant to sleep above ground. You trailed your fingers over one of the ancient scars on his bare chest and relished the rare treat of waking up beside him.

The alarm clock rolled over to noon, and something reflective glinted on your nightstand. You stretched out your hand and picked up the elegant metal choker. In the darkness, you ran your thumb over the floral inlay and found that the clasp was open. You had forgotten about it by the time the night was over, but Eric had not. You glanced at your lover’s face. He was always eerily still when he slept. You drew your hair over your shoulder and closed the choker around your throat, listening to the soft click as the lock snapped shut.

You laid back down and tucked your head under Eric’s chin, listening to the sound of your own heartbeat. He stirred slightly, circling his arms around you and drawing you to his chest. His fingertips traveled along your spine and paused when they reached the cool metal at the back of your neck. After a moment, he cradled your head in his hand and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“You were so good for me, pet,” he mumbled sleepily.

You hummed in contentment and kissed his chest. “I like being yours,” you whispered.

“That’s good,” Eric said, playing with the ends of your hair. “Because I have no intention of ever giving you up.”

[frankiekatt]

Hiiii can I request maybe how would Bo (House of wax) react on his s/o "cheating" on him? He maybe walks on his s/o while they were trapped by a guy and he was kissing them, but s/o didn't actually kiss back, even tho it looked like they were kissing him back? Hope that this isn't confusing, have fun writing <3

Okay so this is set in high school, I hope you don't mind!

TW: Blood, mentions of murder

Words: 1400

Bo Walking In On His S/O Kissing Someone Else:

You were the one thing in Bo’s life that made him feel human. His mother, who was dying slowly with each passing day, always made him feel as if he was some rabid dog who could never compare to her precious Vincent, who could do no wrong in her eyes. His father, in his own words, viewed and treated him as a monster. His two brothers, however, offered him relief in his life. Vincent was his biological other half. He felt powerful next to his twin brother, a nice change from feeling so small and incapable in front of his parents. Vincent was submissive and hated conflict, which made ordering him around quite easy.

But you - you were his spiritual other half. The only person on earth he would willingly bow down to.

The two of you had met in kindergarten. Bo was loud and outgoing, while you tended to stick to yourself, not making very many friends. The two of you couldn’t have been anymore different, but that didn’t stop the both of you from gravitating towards each other.

Bo thought you were pretty and nice, and you found Bo to be funny and alluring. The two of you became fast friends, playing together during recess, coloring together and sharing snacks during snack-time.

In middle school, the two of you began to develop both physically and mentally. Bo began to see you in a different light - more than just pretty - you were beautiful and kind and when Bo thought about you his chest pounded.

For you, Bo began to grow handsome and charming, making your cheeks glow red at just the thought of him.

Once high school hit and Bo and his two brothers spent time in foster care, the two of you were inseparable. You gave Bo’s life a sense of normalcy in contrast to the death of his parents, his disfigured and troubled twin brother, and life in an uncaring foster system. You were more than happy to stay by Bo’s side, comforting him whenever he needed it. Bo’s happiness was vastly important to you, and you would do anything, sacrifice anything, do help him achieve it.

The two of you began dating in freshman year, only deepening the bond the two of you shared. The two of you were attached at the hip, spending everyday together. Bo was affectionate with you, peppering you in kisses and holding you by the waist every chance he could. To everyone else, he was rough around the edges, snarky, and unfriendly. With you, however, he was unashamed to show his love and adoration for you. He wanted you to feel special, to feel cared for. He was infatuated with you

So when he walked across the parking lot towards your car after school only to find you pressed up against the side of your red Volkswagen bug, locking lips with some blonde footballer, he felt like his world was crashing down around him.

“The fuck?” he shouted.

The two of you sprang apart, both of your faces holding a look of shock. You looked more mortified and dismayed than the boy who had been kissing you. The jock looked more startled than anything.

“Bo,” you began, voice trembling. “This isn’t....I didn’t-”

Bo smashed his fist into the blonde boy before you could finish. The boy fell to the ground with a grunt before wiping the back of his hand across his lips, revealing a severely split lip. Bo then bent down to grip the front of his t-shirt, and punched him again. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”

The blonde boy scrambled his feet, face bloodied and bruised, and rushed off before Bo could land another punch on him.

Bo could hear you whimpering behind him, but he refused to turn around and look at you.

“Bo, it’s not what you think, I swear.”

Bo let out a humorless laugh. “Not what it looks like? So the two of you weren’t making out, you were just playing pattycake, is that it?”

Tears streamed down your face, dripping off your chin to wet the asphalt beneath your feet. “No, Bo please just listen-”

Bo finally whipped around to look at you. “I don’t listen to whores like you. After everything I’ve goddamn done for you, you throw it all away for some dumb jock who couldn’t less of a fuck about you?”

Bo was hurt. It was written all over his face, swimming in his eyes, etched into his facial features. Masking his vulnerability with anger was something Bo always did, but never with you. Seeing him look at you with such contemptment and sadness made you cry harder. It reminded you of all the late nights you and Bo had spent together throughout freshman, sophomore, and junior year, baring your souls to one another as you laid in each other's arms. Bo often worried if he was enough for you, if he deserved you, and had voiced these concerns to you on more than one occasion. Every time without fail, you reassured him that he was the only one for you - that you were soulmates, and you were incapable of loving anyone else but him.

Knowing how betrayed he must feel, you attempted to reach for his hand, hoping he would be quiet for just five seconds so you could explain, but Bo jerked away from you in an instant.

“Don’t fucking touch me. You’re a liar and a slut, and this? Us? It’s goddamn over.” With that, Bo stormed away from you before you had a chance to react.

Bo had just broken up with you over a misunderstanding and your heart felt like it was splitting in half.

Bo spent the rest of the day and most of the evening in the town’s auto shop, trying to cloud his brain by tinkering with cars.

It wasn’t working. Bo’s only thoughts were of you - of your smile, your laugh, the way you hid behind him when you got nervous, the sweet way you told him you loved him. Everything about you made his chest ache. He couldn’t fathom how your pure, unbreakable relationship had ended so suddenly on a random Friday afternoon, because you cheated on him.

You cheated on him.

You cheated on him.

Why? Why why why why? The two of you had always been immensely close and faithful to each other. You had both talked about marriage, about getting out of Ambrose and starting a family together. Was that all gone now?

“Bo?”

Bo stiffened at the sound of your voice. Why were you here? He had ended things. He had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone, that the very sight of you made his blood boil.

“Go away,” he snapped.

Stepping further into the garage, you grabbed both of his shoulders and forced him to look at you. “Baby, please, please just listen to me. I did not kiss David! I would never do that to you.”

Bo shook you off of him. “I know what I fuckin’ saw. Get the hell out of here, I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“I didn’t kiss him! I swear! He came up to my car and started asking for my number. I told him I was taken, and then he just pushed me against the car and shoved his lips on me!” Your voice was cracking with every other word. “I couldn’t push him off of me. He was holding my arms down so tight he left a bruise. Just look”

Bo looked down to see you lifting up your sleeve to reveal a large purple bruise on your upper arm.

“He did that to you?” Bo snarled.

“Yes! Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Baby, I would never cheat on you, you know that. I’d rather die than betray you like that.”

Bo’s face contorted into fury. Some fucker had forced himself on you, made him think you had betrayed him, made him call you names, made him break up with you.

“I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll slit his fucking throat.” Bo grabbed you and crushed you to his chest, letting out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for calling you names and for leaving you like that.”

You let out a sigh of relief. You were back in Bo’s arms again, the one place you felt safe and secure.

“It’s okay, it’s okay honey,” you cried. “I’m just happy to be with you. I’m sorry you had to see that. I felt so disgusted with his lips on mine.”

“I meant what I said, you know,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to make him suffer for what he did. I’d burn in hell for you, and I’m going to make sure that cock sucker does too.”