#but mark my fucking words when the topic comes up i WILL fight

[cinnabeat]

i love when i make a post abt a topic and then the tags get derailed and it becomes abt something else

[calisources]

𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂, 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋, 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences have been taken from different media to be compiled into a list. This is not a meme for minors, the content here goes from mild to highly sexual, topics like dominance, submissive, bondage,praise kink and breeding are all present so discretion is key. Change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

You are perfect. And now you wear my mark, your ass is mine.

Tie me up, please…

Kiss me hot,heavy,wet & angry with that attitude like you do when your mouth yells it hates me but your tongue screams it can’t wait for me.

Let me undress your body, caress your skin and wetly massage your mind back into making love to me again.

They wanted her. They all loved her. And they wanted to keep her.

A little vanilla never hurt anybody.

If you have any sense you’ll stay away from him.

Touch me, like this, like a good girl.

That’s it, use your tongue. 

I'd planned to have you on your bed the first time, but maybe I should take you here, by the mirror, so you can see how splendid we are together.

I’m not going to deny that I want to fuck you. I cannot do anything else, But I will say that I have plans for you if you say yes.

I’ll fuck you so good, for so long that the only thing you’ll crave is my hands on your skin, my cock deep in your pussy.

I want a second serving of you. I’m hard just thinking of your perfect breasts and hard nipples.

As much as I appreciate that, right now you’re all I want to eat.

Now will you please sit on my face already?

You are corrupting me, Theo.

But you like being corrupted, don't you, sweet girl?

The destruction of something beautiful can appear so entertaining.

If women were totally satisfied with their sexual and lovemaking experiences, women would welcome the lovemaking experience as much as men.

I want to learn from you. Teach me what you know.

Once I make you mine, you will be mine forever. I will call you and you will come, in more ways than one.

What have I taught you? Show me, sweet girl.

Use your thighs, ride like it’s your last day on this earth.

I been aching to be inside you since we met, you devil woman.

Hands braced against the wall, and open your legs.

You tasted sweet, like oranges, liquid sunshine in my mouth.

I need you. Every pore of my being is begging. This is what we do.

The things I want from you, darlin’, will give you nightmares, ones like you’ve never had before.

If you could read my mind, I’m pretty sure you’d either be traumatized, sexually aroused or both.

The nicer you treat her outside the bedroom, the naughtier it will get inside the bedroom.

Sex is a part of nature. I go along with nature.

That’s it. You can take a lot more, don’t you? Hold on to me.

If you behave, I’ll let your hands go and touch me.

I love your skinny legs, and what's between them.

 I don't want words, but inarticulate cries.

All you have to do is beg, and I will give you what you want.

I want you splayed out on the table like my own personal feast.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

You make the sweetest little noises. But I need you to be louder, let everyone know.

It's like an itch, isn't it? You can feel it in your throat. You want to scream for me.

Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I've been here. Only me. You are mine.

I felt like an animal, and animals don't know sin, do they?

And ye whimper under me, and struggle as though you wanted to get away, and I know it's only that you're struggling to come closer, and I'm fighting the same fight.

I can help you with that.

Forgetting him. Moving on. I’m okay with being your rebound. I’ve already said that I want you.

You’ll give yourself to me? Let me take control? Let me send you over the edge of ecstasy time and again until you awaken?

Possess. Have. Hold. Enjoy. Control. Dominate. Pick your verb, Ms. Fairchild. I intend to explore so very many of them.

I feel claimed.

You’re so primed. I can feel that hot little pussy clenching around me every time I move a muscle or say a word.

Yeah, arch your back so I can look at you going nice and tight around my fingers.

Pet, I give you permission to be as vocal as you wish, because I am going to blow your mind in a few minutes and I want to hear how much you enjoy the ride.

If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is ask. It would be my pleasure -  and yours.

Watch me make love to you.

I'd like to bite that lip.

I want you sore, baby.

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you.

There is no room in my body for anything but you.

Eat me, drink me; thirsty, cankered, just take me as I am.

I live for sex. I celebrate it, and relish the electricity of it, with every fibre of my being.

I’m not wearing anything underneath. Want to see?

You will be staying here until I’ve deemed it safe for you to go back to your life. Do you understand me?

Dominate you? Yes. Master you? yes. Make you yield to what you want, make you surrender to who you truly are? Yes.

Why don’t you scream my name? Let every other man and woman who you belong to.

I don’t want to think, I just want to feel.

I taught you everything you know. Every man after me is just a shadow of what I did to you.

I knew you could be a good girl.

You were fucking made for me.

God is not gonna save you from me, baby.

My mouth wants you, I want to feel you in my mouth, way down in my mouth.

I am moist between the legs.

I came three times. During sex. 

Do you know all the ways a Lady can be seduced? The things I could teach you?

You stay right where daddy puts you, baby girl.

Wait until you taste her. She is fucking delicious.

Lick my fingers and feel how wet you are.

Are there big, bad monsters in the woods who want to eat me up?

Right there, don’t stop. I can feel it. 

Please come in me, I don’t care, I want to feel you.

Where do you want it, baby girl? Your cunt, your mouth or your neck?

Close your eyes and relax. One kiss. I don’t bite.

Seriously? In the morning, again? 

You said to rest but I can feel you hard against my back. 

You can do all the rest sweet, let me take care of you.

I want you to fuck me, Chris.

A little playful banter never hurt — or did it?

One should always explore something, before one goes in deeper.

Come here and undress me.

How am I supposed to do my job when all I can think about is getting back to you?

Someone could walk in on us. 

Better be good and come fast, then. Or everyone will see you begging for more.

I can imagine my hands getting your fucking clothes off right now.

Do not shy away from the sensations I create, Cherry Blossom. Take pride in them, as I do.

Am I doing it good, baby? Just like you taught me? 

Tell me I’m a good girl. Your only girl. 

When I come, I come for you. Because of you and your mouth, hands, and insatiable little cunt.

My tongue, my fingers, my cum inside you. Just you and me, Eva. Intimate and raw.

How many have been with you ever since? Or no one compared? Tell me.

Show me then. I demand that you show me. That’s an order.

[punishereditz]

Hot Topic

Pairing: Drew McIntyre x f!reader

Warnings: 18 plus only! Minors DNI! DO NOT COPY! One use of y/n. Little bit of blood. Mentions of blood. Smut. Scratching (both sexually and non-sexually). Oral. Both F and M receiving. Praise kink. Breast play. Hair pulling. Dirty talk. Marking. Claiming. Drew and the reader fighting over dominance.

AN: Do I have news for you guys. There's another fucking white man. There's another fucking white man of the month.

Word count: 3.3k. (I got carried away. Okay? okay.)

Summary: When Drew interrupts your promo so he can use you to gain his popularity back; he didn't expect the reaction you would give him. And he certainly didn't expect what he found backstage after...

~

Monday night raw. You were trying to cut a promo. Walking back and forth in the ring. Talking into the mic. Telling the WWE universe your plans for your current rival, Zelina Vega.

You were on a roll. You had the crowd in the palm of your hand. Everyone's eyes on you in your tight leather pants and corset top. But you didn't just have the WWE universe's attention. You had Drew McIntyre's attention. You heard the sound of a sword clashing. Interrupting your words. You looked to the ramp to see the huge Scottish warrior slowly making his way to you. It made your heartbeat grow faster and your breath grow unsteady. This wasn't planned. It had you nervous. But you didn't let a bit of that show.

"So, you're the famous Ms. y/n that everyone's been talking about." He walked down to the ring, and he looked into your eyes as he stepped over the rope. He put his mic between his arm, and he reached into his pocket. Pulling out his phone. He held it up and took a photo with you. What the fuck? You thought.

"Don't mind me. Since you're the new "hot stuff" here, I just need to use you to get my status back." He said as he tweeted the photo right then and there. Then he put his phone back. His eyes slowly grazing over your body. Sizing you up. He tried not to let his eyes linger too long on your thighs.

"I got to say. I'm not impressed." He chuckled to himself. "I've been hearing your name all over the lockers room and I've been seeing post after post. Headline after headline and now that I stand in front of 'ya... I think I'm starting to understand why you're the hot topic." He took a step closer. Towering over you. You had to completely lean your head back just to be able to look up into his eyes.

"You're just a pretty face." He said with a devilish smirk. You chuckled and you looked down. Taking a step closer. "Aw. You think I'm pretty?"

Your words caught Drew off guard, but he hid it. Just like how you're still hiding your nerves. "You're nothing more than all the other pretty faces that have had their one night of glory." You hummed and you started to walk around Drew. A crease between his eyebrows grew as he watched you. Not knowing what you were doing.

"So... Scottish Knight-"

"Scottish Warrior." Drew Corrected.

"Same difference." You shrug and your eyes racked up and down his body as you circled around him like a predator with its prey.

"Let me get this straight. And correct me if I'm wrong." You paused. "You come out here... interrupting my promo. Then you insult me?"

Drew's eyes followed you. "Yeah." He nodded. Speaking arrogantly.

You hummed. Placing a hand on his shoulder. Making his breath hitch. You slowly ran your hand down his chest. Over the leather. Your hands feeling the muscles through his jacket. His body tensing and his cock hardened as your hand moved along his back. Up on his shoulder and back to his chest.

"Honey... since you don't want to have any manners..." Your eyes stayed on your hand as you watched it move along Drew's skin. Then stopping right in front of him. Your hand on his chest. "I'm going to have to teach you some."

Drew's cheeks flushed lightly, but his cheeks glowed an even brighter shade of red when you dug your claw rings into his chest. Leaving three perfect long scratch marks on his chest. Blood coming to the surface. "Don't ever interrupt me again." You said coldly and you left the ring.

Drew was frozen there. He couldn't believe it. He looked down at his chest. His hand going to the blood. You just made him bleed! Drew wasn't sure if he should be pissed off or turned on. The cuts weren't bad at all. They were just deep enough for there to be a little bit of blood. Drew's felt plenty of pain in his career, but he couldn't get over this. You scratched him! He stormed out of the ring. Marching past the curtains. Asking crew where you are as he passed by. All of them not knowing until one said that you were in your locker room.

So, Drew made his way over there. He banged on the door; impatiently waiting. When you opened the door, he noticed you were still in that damn corset. He sighed and he pushed past you. Coming into the room rather you liked it or not.

"What was that for, huh?" Drew asked. His tone was firm and his stare intimidating.

"What?" You softly spoke and he walked closer to you. "Don't "what" me. You know damn well what 'ya did."

"I'm sorry. I just thought it would be the icing on the cake for the promo."

Drew noticed that you kept a soft tone and that you would barely look into his eyes. What was this? In the ring you kept a confident, seductive tone and kept your stare on him. It's like you're a different person right now. Like a switch had been flipped.

"You should be sorry." He growled and he tried to give you his meanest stare as he towered over you. When you looked away and you started packing your bag, it confused Drew. He wasn't sure if he did scare you, or if you were just unfazed.

"You okay? The cuts aren't too deep?" That confused Drew even more. You were checking on him? It made Drew smile. It made his heart skip a beat. The fact that you were making sure he was okay.

"I'm just fine princess." His tone was a touch softer, and he crossed his arms. Tilting his head as he watched you. He was starting to piece things together. The soft tone. Avoiding eye contact. Barely talking. You're Shy. Drew wonders how far he could push you.

"In a hurry?" He asked. Leaning against the doorframe that was nearly as tall as him.

"Guess so." Drew rolled his eyes at the dry answer. He wanted more.

"What for?"

"Just ready to be home."

"Hmm." He hummed and he leaned off of the door. Taking the short steps over to you.

"Someone waiting for you at home?" He stood only a few inches from you. Close enough that the smell of your perfume filled his nostrils.

"No." You shook your head and he smiled.

"Oh no? I would've figured there be a lad waiting for his princess to come home." He spoke teasingly and his eyes traveled up and down your body. Walking over to your other side.

Drew tried to think of something that would make you break. He wanted the fierce girl he was with in the ring. But how could he get that? Then it hit him. Sure, it would be mean, but it will work. Well, at least Drew hoped it would.

"Who are you trying to convince?" He suddenly said. Playing with one of your curls before he went over and leaned against your dresser. Giving you a dry look.

"I'm sorry?" You were confused.

"I was just wondering who you're trying to convince." He paused. "You know... that little act you put on out there. Them or yourself."

You didn't know where Drew was going with this. You scoffed and you looked down. Drew knew then he was getting somewhere with this.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You practically whispered.

"Oh. The confidence. I mean, it's clear you don't have it now. Your just an insecure timid girl. So, when you're in the ring and put on that mask of confidence and seduce of yours... are you trying to convince them... or yourself?"

You shook your head and put your things down. He was pissing you off. His plan was working perfectly.

"Who do you think you are coming into my locker room and aggravating me?" Drew had to bite back a smile.

"I'm just curious about you Princess." He walked over to you. Looking down at you with a smirk.

"Well, you got my apologizes for your chest. So, you can leave now." You said annoyed and turned back to your bag. Drew didn't move. He stayed in the same spot. Crossing his arms with a sigh. Staring at you.

"It wasn't a request." You turned back to him. His smirk growing. He took a step closer. The smell of your perfume driving him mad.

"I'm not going anywhere. At least, not until you answer me."

"Neither."

"Bullshit." You sighed, frustrated at his words. Drew knew he almost had you.

"Go on. Let that frustration out. Use those claws on me." He challenged and you furrowed your eyebrows. Looking up at him. You figured out what he wanted. He wanted it again. He liked it.

"No." You challenged back and Drew looked taken aback for a moment. But he quickly replaced it with a mean stare.

"No? No, you're not frustrated?" He didn't want to let you know that he knew you figured him out.

"No. I'm not going to sink my claws into you." You took a step back. "You can leave now." You turned your back to him to walk away, but he grabbed your wrist. Pulling you back.

"Are you going to show me what you're capable of... or are you going to keep being shy princess?"

You were torn. You were truly this shy person. The person you are in ring is who you wish you were. That person in the ring is the person that lives in your mind. Your mind filled with thoughts of leaving marks and claiming the big Scottish warrior that was Drew McIntyre. You just didn't know if you had the strength to do it. To do all the filthy things you wanted to do to him.

Oh fuck it! You grabbed his hair and pulled him down so that you would be able to reach him. Crashing your lips onto his. His body immediately following the action of yours. His large hands going to your waist. Lifting you up. Your legs wrapping around him. His hands gripping your ass. Your hands laced through his hair. Gripping his hair. He groaned into your mouth. Then he pulled away from the tense kiss.

"I knew you had it in 'ya princess." He huffed and you smiled up at him. You jumped down from his hold and started pushing his jacket off of him. He quickly got it and he started to untie your top. Pulling it down. He bent over and he took your breast into his mouth. Sucking on it. Whirling his tongue around your nipple. The he pulled his kilt off and he tossed you up on his shoulder. Carrying you over to the couch. He yanked your leather pants down. Groaning at the sight of your beautiful naked body in front of him.

Then he sat you down on the couch. He held eye contact with you until he was down on his knees in front of you. Grabbing your knees, he made you spread your legs. Pulling you to the edge of couch and placing both of your legs on the tops of his shoulders. He slowly ran a finger in your folds. Making you gasp. He used his middle finger to rub circles on your clit. Causing you to moan and close your eyes in pleasure. He chuckled when your body jerked as his movements got a little bit faster on your clit.

If you were this sensitive now, then he couldn't wait for what he was about to do. He moved his finger down. Rubbing your entrance before he slowly pushed his finger in. A louder moan coming from you. He curled his finger up. Smiling at the sight of your chest rising and falling. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Oh, he couldn't wait! He wanted to take his time though. He wanted to savor every little breath and moan.

"You're doing so good for me princess." He praised before he lowered his head, and he gently kissed your clit. Then he wrapped his lips around it, and he ran his tongue up and down. Lightly sucking. Your back arching and your hand moving down to grip his hair. Turning him on even more. His cock throbbing in his gear. The taste of your sweet cunt and the sound of your beautiful voice moaning his name was becoming too much for him. He was loving this. He couldn't decide if he wanted to stay between your thighs for the rest of the night or be fucking you right now. "So sweet." He raised up. His hands going to your hips. But you sat up. Moving back. Your eyes following him as he stood up and you grinned. He wants dominance? You think you can manage that. You looked into his eyes as you gripped his gear. Pulling it down. His cock bouncing out. You had to hide your surprise. No wonder he's so cocky.

"So hard for me..." You whisper and he swallowed hard. Trying not to let you see how badly your words affected him. But his cock gave him away as it twitched. You wrapped your hand around his cock. Slowly stroking him. A groan leaving his lips as he watched you, but then he moaned a little louder when you licked the pre-cum off of his cock. He wanted you so badly, but you were going to drag it out for as long as possible. You can't give him what he wants. Not yet.

So, you keep slowly stroking him. But you decide to take it just a step further. Gently kissing the tip of it. Then you kissed down the side. Then kissed down the other side. But as you came back up, you stuck your tongue out. Running your tongue up his cock. It twitching in your hand and against your mouth. You softly chuckled and you ran your tongue all the way from his balls up to the tip. Licking it. You finally put the tip of his cock in your mouth, and he moaned in pleasure. His eyes slowly closing. His head falling back. But he quickly looked down. Wanting to watch.

Watching as you suck on the tip of it. Your hand still working. It was the prettiest sight he had ever seen. Your lips wrapped around him and your eyes looking up at him. He had to look away to control himself and you had to hold back your smile as you pulled your mouth up until his cock wasn't in your mouth. Your hand still slowly stroking him. You knew you had him right where you wanted him. You could see the effect you were having on him, even though he was using all of his strength to hide it. It didn't matter how hard he tried to be strong, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. You had him on a leash... and that leash was about to get tighter.

You took his cock in your mouth one last time. Taking it in as deep as you could. The tip of it in the back of your throat. A strangled groan leaving his lips. Then you stood up. Moving your mouth and hand away. Leaving him with nothing; and right when he thought you really were going to give him nothing, you pushed him down on the couch. Smiling devilishly down at him. He took a deep breath. Looking up at you with innocence. His hands going out to your thighs and his eyes going down to your breast. He was so flustered.

"What's the matter honey?" You gently grabbed his chin and tilted his head up, so he looked you in the eyes. His cheeks flushing a brighter red.

"Cat got your tongue?" You narrowed your eyes at him and smiled as his breath hitched when you placed the tip of your rings under his chin. "Go on.... Speak up."

He went to speak, but nothing came out at first. Struggling to find his words. "P-please." He stuttered. His words almost unnoticeable because they were so quiet.

"Please what? You're going to have to tell me." You moved so that you were straddling his lap now. His hands going to your hips and tightly gripping them. His eyes slowly racking up and down your body. This was getting too much to bear for him.

"Please... give me your pussy. I want it. I need it. I need to be inside of you." He begged. Looking up at you through his eyelashes. Giving you a pleading look on top of the begging words. God, it was so cute.

You placed your hands on the wall and leaned closer to him. Tilting your head down to his ear. "Good boy." You whispered. Your words becoming the fuel to Drew's fire. He couldn't take it anymore. He gripped your breast in his hands, and he brought his mouth down. Sucking on your nipple. Moaning in pleasure into your breast as you slowly lowered yourself on his cock. Taking the tip of him in you. Letting out a soft gasp as you try to adjust to him. Slowly bringing yourself lower until you were completely sat on his lap. Your walls clenching around him. Making him gently nibble at your nipple.

His hands gripping your breast tighter before they traveled down your sides. Finding a home on your ass. Your hands finding a home in his hair. Gently gripping it as your eyes closed, your head falling back as the pleasure took over. His cock twitching as you bounced on his cock. Sliding your hips up and down. A louder moan leaving your lips as the pleasure grew stronger. Slowly building up more. The knot in your stomach twisting further. Your breath getting heavier. Your hand pulling at Drew's hair. His cock hitting that spot deep in you that makes your head feels like it's spinning.

Your walls clenching tighter around him with each time his cock hits your g-spot. Making his cock throb. He couldn't stand it anymore. He wrapped his arm around your waist and with one swift move, he moved you down on the couch. Getting on top of you. Thrusting his cock deep in you. Taking your breath away. Your rings digging into his shoulders to keep yourself from screaming. "Oh fuck." He growled as he felt your fingers pressing into his skin. Causing him more pleasure. His slow pounds starting to speed up.

"You like that, huh?" You questioned teasingly through moans. "You weren't kidding when you said you wanted me to use my claws on you-" You let out a sharp moan as he thrusted deep in you. Barely being able to get your words out. His thrust making you scratch down his back. Your rings pulling down in his skin driving him absolutely crazy.

"Fuck. You're so tight. Feel so good." Drew said through grunts. His eyes closing for a moment before he looked down at you. "This is for me. Me only. I'm the only one that gets to see you like this. I'm the one that gets this cunt." He growled. His grip on the couch tightening until his knuckles flushed a ghost white. Trying to make this last for as long as possible.

"That's right." You moaned. "I'm yours." That was Drew's breaking point. He moaned your name as his climax crashed over him. His cock throbbing and twitching as he released his cum into you. His climax driving you into yours. Your hands scratching down his back as you came on his cock. Yours and his breath starting to slow as you both came down from the intense orgasms.

"Come on princess. Let's get you home. Then I'll show you what all I really want to do to you."

[lesbianpepsi]

'Cause I'm a jealous, jealous, jealous girl

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!reader

Summary: A visit to the doctors was only supposed to bring good health, not jealousy.

Warnings: dislocated ankle, tripping, swearing, jealous tara...?, bad writing, not proof-read

Words: 6.634k (ik.)

A/N: i fucking suck at summary's. but on a happier note i've finished all my exams, yay. my enthusiasm can clearly be detected. my first shift at a new job is tomorrow and i am shitting dicks from nerves, it's at a icecream shop but that doesn't make me less nervous rvkjnoxnoa. anyway, hope you enjoy this!!<33

part II

“It cannot be topped. The Babadook is top tier and nothing will change my mind.” 

You rolled your eyes as you turned your head to look at Tara, raising your eyebrows slightly. “You’re such a snob when it comes to horror it’s unreal.” Tara gave you a fake hurt look at your comment, you could tell she’s faking it since the girl has a small smile on her pink lips.

“How am I a snob just because I enjoy horror movies that aren’t teens getting killed at a camp that has some cheesy name like ‘Camp Cover.’” 

“Don’t you dare disrespect Friday the Thirteenth or Sleepaway Camp like that!”

Throughout your and Tara’s walk around Central Park the topic of horror movies has been one the two of you debating on. You taking the side of defending slashers meanwhile Tara taking the side that elevated horror is much better. 

Did you expect your peaceful walk with your crush best friend would turn into a horror movie debate? No, but it didn’t surprise you either. In fact horror is what made you and Tara even become friends.

You had been at a party and after a while it had died down and you ended up with a group of people sitting in the living room putting on a horror movie. After a few arguments on what to put on everyone decided to simply put on the latest Halloween movie, Halloween Ends. 

You weren’t particularly enjoying the film much and ended up chatting with a girl named Anika while the movie played. At the halfway mark of the movie a poor drunken soul asked a question that ended up turning into a full on debate in the group. 

“Who would win in a fight, Micheal or Jason?”

Almost immediately after the person uttered those words people started voicing their opinions.

“Micheal obviously, he’s been in the game longer than Jason.” 

“Micheal. Literally nothing kills him meanwhile Jason has been killed a shit ton of times.” 

“Jason is a mommy’s boy who didn’t even show up till the second movie. Definitely Micheal.” 

You were alarmed with the amount of comments made slamming Jason, so naturally you went to defend him. Your strongest argument was the fact Jason was factually stronger than Micheal, something everyone had to accept. 

“Sure Micheal did crush someone's skull with his boot in the twenty eighteen Halloween, but in Jason Takes Manhattan Jason literally punched a guy's head off. Jason would destroy Micheal.” 

You knew you were on the right side since even horror nerd Mindy agreed with you before going on a much longer speech. 

Not long after Mindy had finished her speech most had either gotten bored and left or decided to head home anyway. but a small group of you still stayed to finish the movie, one of those people being Tara. 

“I bet Mindy’s glad somebody else agreed with her.” Was the first words Tara ever said to you. To which you replied with. “I’m just surprised how many people underestimate Jason.” 

And the rest is history.

You became closer with Tara and all of her friends and after a few months even snagged the ‘best friend’ title, but it only took you a few weeks for Tara to snag the ‘crush’ title for you, something you’d take to the grave. 

On this particular sunny day Tara has begged you to join her for a walk, in the beginning you declined since it’s boiling and would’ve much preferred to stay inside in your room reading. Unfortunately for you, you and Tara both know you can’t say no to her. 

That’s how you and Tara ended up walking around Central Park talking about random things until the topic of horror movies came up.

Tara rolled her eyes as she shook her head in amusement, staring up at you as the two of you walked. “Alright then, what’s your top three horror movies then?” She questioned with a raised eyebrow, her smile turning into a playful one.

“Easy. You’re Next, My Bloody Valentine and,” You pursed your lips as you tried to think of your third favourite names such as Bride of Chucky, Ready or Not, Stab, Evil Dead, Halloween, Friday the Thirteenth swirled in your mind until one particular movie landed in your mind. 

“Hush.” You finally added with a confident smile, taking a few extra steps in front of Tara as you turned your entire body to face her, walking backwards. “You’re Next has one of the best female leads who fights fucking back and even kills the douchebag brother with a blender. Iconic. My Bloody Valentine is easily one of the best horror movies that came out in the eighties, tied with Sleepaway Camp and The Thing. For the eighties the gore is insanely well done and its plot and acting is just spectacular.” 

You took a second to catch your breath before you began to talk about your final favourite horror movie. 

“Hush is one of the most underrated horror movies in history, don’t even try to change my opinion on that.” Tara lets out a small giggle that makes your heart skip a beat at the angelic sound. “Its plot is downright scary and the acting by Kate Siegel is truly out of this world for this role of Maddie. An intense movie that in my opinion was one of the best one of that year.” 

As you carried on talking the more engorged you got into the topic meaning you simply got even more excited like a puppy getting a treat. Your smile at its best as you walked with a slight bounce, your eyes focused on Tara’s dark chocolate brown ones. 

“Honourable mentions are definitely the classics such as Halloween, Stab, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the Thirteenth and Nightmare on Elm Street. Without a doubt each movie holds one of the most infamous horror villains ever made. Micheal Myers, Ghostface, Leatherface, Jason Voorhees and Freddy Kruger. Even if you don’t like horror you still would know those names.” 

Just as you finished your sentence you went to turn back around to actually look where you’re walking, you spun around quickly as you tried taking a step forward. Apparently your pain couldn’t handle the simple task which inevitably ended up with you falling to the ground, landing on your ankle funny. 

You groaned as you could feel the harsh pain in your left ankle already, looking down at your legs before you turned to look for Tara who is crouched next to you already, a worried look on her face.

“Are you alright?” She asked in a rushed tone as she looked you up and down, a small frown tugging at her lips. The small crease between her brows told you she’s worried, one hand behind your neck and the other on your side confirming that thought. 

You give a stiff nod as you push yourself up with your arms, biting at your bottom lip to not let out a strangled yell at the pain radiating from your ankle at the movement. “Peachy.” You mumbled through clenched teeth as you give her a non-convincing smile. 

The brunette gives you a ‘are you being serious’ look as she swiftly moves one of her hands to grab yours, the feeling of her hand in yours erupting butterflies to go off in your stomach.

Not the time to have a gay panic, you mentally yell at yourself.

“It’s just a scrape, Tar.” You reassured as you manoeuvred your right leg to try to stand up, Tara swiftly stood up herself as her grip on your hand only tightened. The second you moved your left foot the pain increased, you bit at your bottom lip roughly to stop yourself from screaming. 

Deciding to simply fight through the pain you placed your right foot flatly on the ground, ready to stand up. You look at Tara who looked down at you with an even more worried expression than before.

 “Help me up?” You asked which she did, she began pulling you up slowly until you had to place your left foot flat on the ground to stand up, deciding to bite the bullet your roughly moved your foot to place it flat. 

The second you felt your left foot make contact with the ground you stood up quickly, tears swelling up in your eyes at the immense pain radiating from your ankle.

“Y/n I don’t think it’s just a scrape.” The worried Tara announced as she took a step closer to you and placed a hand on your shoulder comfortingly.

You smiled softly at her as you shook your head ‘no’. “Alright then a bruise, which is still manageable.” Tara gave you a pointed look as she gazed into your eyes, her soft dark brown eyes making your knees feel weak. 

“I don’t believe you.” She states.

“I’m fine. I swear, T.” You replied as you squeezed her hand in reassurances, trying to ignore the horrible pain in your ankle. You didn’t want to worry the girl even further.

The smaller girl insists on a silent staring content as she challenges you, if you back down that means she’s right and you’re wrong, if she backs down that means she’ll drop it for now. Your gaze never breaks as your eyes bore into hers, an eyebrow raised challengingly. 

Tara shows no sign of backing down either with her own brows raised as she stares at you, her lips pulled into a straight tight line. The deadpan glare really reminding you of Sam.

The pain from the ankle radiated higher up the leg with much more fierce pain which forced you to hold back a whimper at the pain, at the feeling of pain you relent and back down from the contest, breaking eye contact first.

“Fine, you win.” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest like a child losing a game. Tara’s grins smugly as she sticks out her tongue to get all the glory possibly at the small win. “I knew I’d win.” Tara says her tone dripping with smugness, oh the things you’d do to wipe that grin off her face.

Luckily you didn’t have to do anything since Tara’s eyes suddenly widened as if she just remembered why she was competing in the first place. “Shit your leg.” She mumbles mostly to herself as the worried look replaces the one of victory. 

The brunette glances around the park and notices a bench not too far away from you two. You watch as she mutely nodded her head to herself as she planned a plan in her mind, her head turning back towards you a few moments later. 

“I’m gonna carry you to the bench and then I’ll check your ankle.” Tara explained as she took a few short steps closer until she’s invading your personal space. You give the Carpenter girl an amused smile. “Okay then Doctor Carpenter how are you planning to carry me over when I’m literally taller than you.” 

“I could carry you if I wanted to.” She remarks as an offended look appears on her face, her own arms folding over her stomach. You rolled your eyes as you let out a huff, without much more explanation you wrapped an arm around Tara’s shoulder, pulling her in. 

Ignoring the sudden warmth you feel in your cheeks you raise your left foot off the ground, using Tara to lean on. “C’mon,” You mumble as you begin to hop forward with your right foot. Tara immediately complies and begins walking with you, her own arm tightly wrapped around your waist, her free hand raised to hold your hand which dangled off her shoulder, something that most definitely didn’t help the blush on your cheeks.

Damn your gayness. 

After a handful of grunts, a few stops and a thousand “Are you okay?” from Tara the two of you reached the bench, Tara making sure to lower you down slowly. 

Sitting down you could feel the throbbing pain in your ankle as if it had another heartbeat there. Clenching your jaw you look at Tara who is kneeling in front of you, one hand on your calf and the other near your left foot.

“I’m going to take off your shoe okay, I promise I’ll try my best not to hurt you.” Tara affirmed softly as her eyes gazed up into yours not trusting your voice you gave her a curt nod signalling her to go ahead. 

As she untied your shoe laces you began to loathe your past self for deciding to wear converses. Every small movement she did the pain only intensified making you flinch or let out a pained moan. 

“Sorry,” Tara apologised as she began to take off the shoe. The throbbing pain in your ankle only got worse, you raised your hand and bit at your knuckle harshly as Tara kept apologising as she took the shoe off. 

The second your foot was without a shoe you could feel a slight relief but the pain didn’t change much. “Jesus Christ.” Tara gasped as her delicate fingers gently wrapped around your calf. You let out a humourless chuckle as you looked down at Tara and your swollen ankle. Your ankle had already began to swollen as a nasty dark purple began tainting the skin around it, you grimaced at the sight of your fucked up ankle.

“Maybe it isn’t that bad?” 

_________

“-severely dislocated ankle.” 

So it was as bad as it looked.

You sighed as you glanced over at Tara who is standing next to you paying much more to what the nurse said than you. Her worried look hadn’t slipped away for a second ever since Sam dropped you two off at the hospital, in fact you’d say it’s probably even gotten worse.

The older Carpenter sister couldn’t come in with you two since she had a shift at the bar she worked at.

“You’ll be given crutches to help you keep weight off the ankle as well as an ankle brace that you’ll have to wear for a few weeks. Medication will also need to be taken three times a day with each meal.” The nurse listed off in the most montoned voice you’d ever hear, seriously, it competes with Arnold Schwarzenegger in the Terminator. 

You nod your head weakly as Tara nods her head curtly, an appreciative smile forming on her lips. “I’ll make sure she takes them, thank you.” 

The nurse mumbles something under her lips before turning to glare at you, her blue dull eyes void of any emotion. “The doctor will be here in a minute to give you some painkillers to ease the pain.” 

“Okay, thanks.” You replied with a small smile, the old nurse glare got even colder before she abruptly turned her back and walked away. You sigh dramatically as you lean your head even further on the thin hospital pillows, looking over at Tara who’s already right by your side. 

“I can’t believe you got so excited over horror movies you sprained your ankle, that is more nerdy than Mindy.” She teased in a playful tone as she slightly leaned on the side railings of the bed, her eyes focused on your face. You could tell she’s trying her best to try to find humour in the situation rather than turning into a worried mess.

You let out a laugh of disbelief at that smirk toying at your lips. “I could’ve cosplayed as Jason and broken my arm over getting so excited and that still wouldn’t be enough to beat Mindy.” You retort in the same playful tone as you pushed yourself further up on the bed, flinching at the pain radiating from your ankle at the movement.

“Once you’ve gotten your painkillers we can leave, we’ll just stop by my apartment so I can get a few things then go to yours.” Tara declared as her hand moved to lay on top of yours, her warm hand warming up your cold one. 

You tilted your head to the side like a confused puppy at her words. “What do you need from your apartment?” You asked, flipping your hand over so you could lace your fingers with Tara’s. 

Tara’s eyes averted from yours and flickered down to your linked hands, the tip of her ears turning red at the contact, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope at her reaction. The brunette stared at your hands for a few moments as if she had completely forgotten you asked her a question.

You smirked as you gave her hand a squeeze making her eyes snap back to yours straightaway with an embarrassed smile on her face as she let out a dry cough. “What?” She stuttered out.

“What do you need from your apartment?” You repeated for her sake, the smirk never leaving your lips. “To get some spare clothes, charger, headphones and my spare inhaler.” 

“I already have a spare inhaler at my apartment.” You say right after she mentioned the spare inhaler. Tara’s eyes softened even more at that, her nervous smile turning back into that sweet smile that made your heart beat increase. 

Something you became incredibly aware of as the monitor to your heart started becoming louder and more frequent. 

“Really?” She asks as her eyes flicker over to the monitor before coming back to you. You nodded your head. “Yeah just in case of an emergency or you’d forgotten yours at home.” You answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Before Tara could reply, heavy footsteps are heard walking towards the two of you, both of you snapped your head towards the noise and that’s where you see the second most gorgeous human being on earth. 

(Tara obviously being first)

The doctor had long black hair that reached a few inches below her shoulders, her eyes a dark brown colour that almost looked black. The woman looks around thirty years old, one or two barely noticeable wrinkles on her face. With or without she had your gay heart speeding at the sight of her. 

She strutted closer to the two of you with a warm smile on her lips with a clipboard in the clutches of her right hand. “Y/n L/n?” The doctor asked in a raspy voice that told you she’s most definitely smoked a handful of times in her life, the thought somehow made the woman even hotter to you.

“Yes.” You stuttered out, starstruck at the pure beauty of this woman. She flashed a grin as she started to prepare the IV for you. “I’m Doctor Edwards and I’m going to give you some painkillers to ease the pain, is that okay with you?” She confirmed which you could only dumbly nod at.

The older woman let out a low laugh at your reaction which made heat rise to your cheeks at the sound. Jesus who knew older women had such an effect on you? 

A tight grip on your hand made you let out a low whine as you turned to look to your side to see a not so happy looking Tara Carpenter. Her smile had completely vanished and her soft looking lips pulled into a tight line. 

“You okay?” You whispered to Tara bringing her glaring eyes away from the doctor and to look at you. She replied in a curt nod as her features slightly softened at the sight of you. 

Before you could reply you felt a cold hand graze across your elbow, firm fingers taking a tight yet somehow soft grip on it. You turned to look back at the Doctor Edwards who is now closer as she prepared to insert the needle attached to the IV full of fentanyl in you.

“This might feel a bit uncomfortable honey.” She told you as her eyes glanced towards yours, your heart monitor frantically picking up at the fact this practical milf just called you ‘honey’. The dark haired woman smiled reassuringly at you as she positioned the needle at the top of your forearm. “It’ll be over before you know it.” 

“Okay, thank you.” You croaked out as the grip in your and Tara’s interlocked hands got even tighter. This time you squeezed back as you felt the needle start to stab into your skin, you’d never been a fan of needles. 

“You’re doing so good for me honey.” Doctor Edwards encouraged in a honey sweet voice that would attract bees.

God is she trying to kill me, you thought to yourself. 

After a few seconds you could feel something flow into your body which made you grimace at the feeling before you eventually relaxed as the pain instantly started to calm down in your ankle. 

“All done.” You turned back to look at the doctor who took a step back moving to grab her clipboard and scribbled a few things down on the paper. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to see how you are and then you’ll be good to go.” 

“Thank you so much.” You replied as you gave her a smile, the painkillers coursing through your veins soothing you. She looked at Tara and gave the grumpy looking girl a smile before she took off to deal with other patients. 

You sighed in relief.

“So unprofessional.” Tara mumbled next to you in a low voice. 

Your brows furrowed together as you turned to look at her, that annoyed look still on her face. “How was she unprofessional? She was lovely and gave me sweet drugs to ease the pain, what’s not to love about her?” You defend as you look at her. 

Tara scoffed as she dropped your grip and crossed her arms over her chest like an angry toddler being told ‘no’. “She was flirting with you. She’s the doctor and you’re the patient, that’s beyond unprofessional.” Tara argued back, dropping to sit down on the small one person blue chair next to your hospital bed. 

You could already begin to feel the effects of the painkillers, must’ve been a high dosage, you thought. You cocked your head to the side as a teasing smile complimented on your lips. “If she was then I might ask for her number before we leave.” 

“No!” Tara said a bit too loudly making you let out a giggle. Damn, how strong was the dosage? 

“Why not? She’s the first woman in months to actually flirt with me.” You retorted as Tara’s stare hardened as her eyes glazed over to the doctor a few beds down talking to another patient in a leg cast. 

Tara looked back over at you as she tried to think of a suitable reason why you should reject the apparent flirting doctor. You smirked as the silence filled up between Tara and you telling you that Tara didn’t have a solid reason for you to not ask the doctor out. 

Your eyes slowly averted to the older woman who had a soothing smile on her lips as she talked to her patient, you could tell she actually cared for the people rather than just taking the job for money. 

“I just don’t think you’d be a great match that’s all.” Tara’s voice piped up resulting in your eyes glancing back over to the sour looking girl. The strong painkillers already having an effect on you, boosting your confidence and lowering your care as a teasing smile emerges on your face.

“You didn’t even speak to her, how could you tell she isn’t good enough for me?” You pressed, wanting to get a bigger reaction from her. You’re no Emily Prentiss at reading people but even you suspect that Tara Carpenter seemed a little bit jealous. 

The thought egged you on to try to get the green eyed monster to erupt in hopes of the girl maybe actually doing something rather than sit there seething with jealousy. 

Tara shrugged her shoulders as she bit the inside of her cheek, a bad habit you’ve noticed she keeps doing when she’s either annoyed or stressed. She doesn’t give you a verbal answer as her eyes refuse to make contact with yours. 

“Alright then,” You begin as your eyes gaze into Tara’s side profile, she glaring at the innocent wall rather than looking at you. “If she isn’t a good match for me, who would be then?”

“Anyone else.” Tara replied swiftly as her eyes maintained on the wall. 

You nodded your head weakly to yourself, the teasing smirk still on your lips. “Anyone else?” You repeat her words as she hummed in agreement. “So do you think Quinn would be a good match for me then? Quinn has great humour, she’s a part of the friend group so you can trust her and she definitely knows how to please someone in bed.”  

Tara still refused to look at you as she spat out her answer. “Quinn is a heartbreaker and prefers to have flings rather than stay in a relationship.” 

“No Doctor Edwards and no Quinn, how about Sam then.” Tara’s head snapped to glare at you in such a fast movement it looked like she could get whiplash from it. She shook her head curtly. “No.” Is all she says in a low voice. 

You let out a laugh as mischievousness swirled in your eyes as they locked with Tara’s dark brown ones. You bit at your lower lip for a second before speaking. 

“Well who then? You?” 

The annoyed glare on Tara’s face dropped as a stunned one supplanted it. Her eyes widened as her once tightly pulled together lips now relaxed, her dark chocolate eyes melting as they didn’t tear away from yours. A scarlet red hue of a blush accompanied her cheeks the longer you gazed into each other's eyes.

A lazy smile complimented your lips as you raised your eyebrows at the girl, silently asking her ‘Well?’. Tara stayed quiet. She didn’t nod her head, she didn’t shake her head either. All she did was gaze at you and your lazy grin.

Her mouth opened but no words were uttered, she looked like she’s mimicking a fish. Tara shut her mouth back closed and stayed like that for a few moments before she opened her mouth again, more prepared to say something this time.

“Are the painkillers working, Y/n?” Doctor Edwards interrupted as she appeared from thin air, standing next to Tara whose glare instantly focused on the doctor. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at Tara’s pissed off look as you turned to look at the older woman. 

You smile loosely as you give an awkward thumbs up to her. “Superb, doc, now I understand why people like them so much.” She chuckled as she nodded her head stepping closer as she pulled the IV needle from your forearm, a small dot of blood appearing at where the needle once was. 

You stared in awe as she moved to grab a cotton ball from her trey of medicine on the other side of the bed, pressing the ball against the blood before she taped it there with medical tape that made sure it stayed there. 

She smiled kindly at you before she checked your vitals quickly, once done she took a few steps back to get a good view of you. “You’re good to go, Y/n. I’ll write you a prescription for your medicine and get you your crutches and then you can leave.” 

You sighed in relief as you nodded your head giving her a thankful smile. “Thank you, I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”

She shook her head as a raspy laugh escaped the older woman’s lips. “I think that’s a little bit over the top but either way it was my pleasure.” Before you could reply a cough is heard from next to you. 

You turn to look at Tara who is now standing up and much, much closer to you now. A fake sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face as she looks over at the doctor, her hand on your shoulder. 

“Thanks for all your help doc but we should really get back home and make some dinner.”  Tara says in an even more sweet voice that you just know is fake. Your eyes avert back to the doctor who has a smile on her lips as she looks between you and Tara. 

She hums as she takes a singular step back. “Don’t worry honey I know you two just want to get home and get into bed together and sleep after such a stressful day. I’ll be back shortly with the crutches and prescription.” She promises as she turns on her heels and exits the room to do what she just said. 

“Bitch.” Tara grumbled next to you as she glared at the woman walking away. Her fake smile vanished into thin air. You roll your eyes as you carefully push yourself to the edge of your bed, stiffly moving your legs off of the bed. 

“There’s no signal inside the hospital. Do you wanna go outside and call Sam? She’s probably finishing her shift around now since we’ve been here for hours.” You asked her, as you moved your left leg back and forth steadily, sighing at not feeling much pain anymore due to the painkillers. 

“Okay, I’ll be back in a second. Do not leave this bed.” Tara demands with a threatening point of her index finger that simply makes you giggle, raising your hands up with a goofy grin on your face. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Tara stares at you for a few moments before she hurriedly walks out of the room, taking her phone out of her pocket and already trying to call Sam. You didn’t look away at her retreating figure until she was fully out of your view, only then turning your head away. 

“She has to be jealous, there’s no other explanation for her behaviour.” You tell yourself as you observe the seat Tara was sitting in a few minutes ago. 

“Oh she’s practically the green eyed monster honey.” A voice says from behind you. 

You jumped as you snapped your head to look in the direction of the voice to see Doctor Edwards standing there holding crutches and a small slip of paper. You sighed dramatically as you dropped your head.

“How the fuck do you move around so quietly? You’re like a cat.” The woman chuckles as she walks in front of you presenting you the crutches. You smile weakly at her as you take them, quickly putting your arms through the holes and gripping the grey handle. 

Slowly, you push yourself up until you’re fully standing up, your left foot hovering off the ground as you bend your knee. “The older I get the quieter my steps become.” She replies stretching her arms to your sides ready to catch you in case you’d fall.

You smile bashfully at her as you steadied your stance. “Well you don’t look a day over twenty five.” You compliment her, your voice coming out much stronger and confident that you anticipated. 

These painkillers are really having a toll on me.

“I think the drugs are really starting to hit you now, sugar.” She says as if she heard your thoughts, her eyes glanced away from yours to behind you for a second before they smoothly returned to yours. 

The older woman leans closer until her mouth is not too far away from your ear, in a whisper she says. “Tell her the truth.” You quickly put the pieces together and guess what she’s talking about. “What if she doesn’t like me back?” You questioned worriedly in a whisper.

She lets out a low chuckle as she pulls away looking behind you once again but for longer this time. “I know the look of love as well as I know the look of jealousy, dear.” You turn to look at what the older woman is already glancing at; not surprisingly you see a proper pissed off looking Tara near the doorway. 

You smile happily at Tara as you retrieve the prescription from the doctor’s hand, gripping it in your non-dominant hand. Glancing back at the woman she steps aside gifting you a soft smile. You wordlessly nod at her before wobbling over to Tara, grunting at every hop you took with the crutches. 

Tara snaps out of glaring and briskly makes her way over to help you, that gorgeous smile not showing on her face. 

“Sam will be here any minute.” Tara confirmed as she took the slip of paper from your clutches to give you more of an advantage. You mutely nod your head at her words.

__________

By the time you and Tara left the hospital, having to take one too many stops since you were struggling with the uncomfortable clutches as you felt more and more tired with every passing moment, Sam is already there in her car. 

The car ride to the Carpenter’s apartment was filled with low music from the radio and no small talk being made. You sat in the back with your crutches while Tara and Sam were in the front. You took that time to check your socials and ramble to Mindy about your massive gay panic at the hospital. 

Before you know it you’ve stopped at the Carpenter’s household and now just arrived at your apartment complex. Flinging the car door open, you grunt as you lean out of the car putting on the crutches, Tara somehow appears in front of you and guides you to stand up with much less of a struggle. 

You give Sam a wave and a smile as you hop over the driver’s side window where Sam has rolled down the window. “Thanks for the lift, Sammy.” You mumble tiredly to which Sam rolled her eyes at. 

“Don’t call me that.” The older Carpenter sister grumbles in her usual grumpy tone. You grin lazily as you take a small step backwards. “You know you love it.” 

“I don’t. I hate it as much as I hate you.” Sam said as she shifted the gear stick as she started to drive off. “Love you too, Sammy!” You yell as she drives off, giggling like a child when Sam’s hand emerges from the window flipping you off. 

“Let’s get inside.” The tired Tara says from behind you, her hand pressed against your back gently. You turn to look at her letting out another weak chuckle. “Please.” 

Tara smiles softly at you as she begins walking by your side into the apartment complex. Taking the elevator, the two of you staying in silence the entire journey until you both arrive at your apartment, Tara unlocks the door with her spare key and walks in first flicking on the lights as she holds the door open for you. 

You smile appreciatively to Tara as you wobble over to your bedroom, desperate to get to your bed. Tara closes the front door before she follows you into your bedroom, dropping her blue backpack on the floor outside your bedroom before entering. 

“Oh sweet bed how I have missed you.” You murmured against the pillows your face dug deep inside of them, your forgotten crutches thrown on the floor beside your bed. You feel a dip in the bed at the side of your head, you roll over to lay on your back as you look at Tara sitting beside your head. 

“You can’t sleep in those, Y/n, you need to change out of your jeans.” She reminds you in a knowing tone causing you to let out a loud groan, covering your face with your hands. “But I just sat down.” You say in a muffled voice behind your hands. 

Tara laughs sweetly as you feel her weight move off of the bed, her footsteps telling you she’s headed towards your dresser. Peeking through the crack of your hands you see her pull out your favourite pyjamas. 

Is it completely childish? Yes. Do you care? Not at all. 

The brunette pulled out your deadpool pyjamas, the set being your all time favourite piece of sleep clothing. She throws it over at you before heading towards the door, leaning against it as she turns to look at you once again. 

“If you need help just yell my name.” She offers before silently leaving and closing your door quietly. You sighed as you sat up grabbing the clothes that landed on your lap. 

You took your time changing into the pyjamas. Taking off your shirt and bra and replacing them with the red oversized deadpool shirt took a few seconds at most. The real challenge being taking off the thick long grey boot on your leg foot before slowly shuffling out of your jeans and into the sweats. 

Once changed and the brace back on you move to lay back down on your bed, your eyes fighting the urge to shut with every passing second. Right as when you start to feel yourself drift off to sleep a knock is heard at your door. 

“Y/n? You good?” Tara’s muffled voice is heard through the door. 

You smile as you nod your head as if she can see you. “Yeah you can come in if you want.” Tara quickly takes up on that offer and re-enters your room with a small smile on her face as she walks over to you. 

She had also changed into her pyjamas which consisted of an old shirt she stole from you which practically devoured the girl’s figure. You couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her in your clothing. 

“How’re you feeling now?” Tara asks as she sits down near your head once again, you look up at the sitting girl with a smile. 

“You never answered my question.” You tell her, completely ignoring her question. The Carpenter sister faintly cocks her head to the side with confusion clear in her eyes. “If you’d be a good match for me.” You add as you blink slowly at her. 

Tara’s breath hitches. Her eyes averted from yours to look at the doorway. “Do you still feel high from the painkillers?” She questions back. 

You giggle as you nodded your head, raising your hand and hovering your index finger over your thumb. “Just a tiny bit.” Tara scoffed a laugh as she nodded her own head weakly, finally looking back into your eyes with hers. 

“Then you probably won’t remember this in the morning then.” She mumbles mostly to herself with a smile. Tara sighs as she leans down to give a soft kiss to your forehead, your ears burn at the feeling as butterflies erupt in your stomach at the feeling of Tara’s unbelievably soft lips. 

“If you remember that in the morning I’ll tell you.” She whispers against your temple before she pulls away, making you frown. Tara gets up from the bed and retreats back to the door making you even more confused.

As if reading your thoughts Tara leans against the doorway, the light from behind her shining around her figure. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight and don’t even bother trying to make me sleep in your bed since you need the space with the brace.” 

You let out a huff at that, not agreeing with Tara’s words at all. You hear her chuckle as she pushes herself off the doorway. “Goodnight, Y/n.” She says. 

“I’ll remember in the morning.” You say confidently as you lay your head back down on the pillow, your eyes lingering on Tara still in the doorway. “I hope so.” Tara whispers before exiting the room and closing the door shut silently. 

“Me too.” 

_____________________________________

A/N: part 2 anyone?👀

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 13 | You Can’t Save Me

“I thought I could do it without dragging you deeper. Shit, I was wrong.”

summary: Matt was a gang member and you knew the life as one or alongside one was a constant gamble for your life, never knowing what you’ll roll nor what consequences you will have to face. Today you didn’t know you would be facing one of them out of Matthew’s not informing you that they owed money to the violent rival gang, not thinking as an outcome I’ll have to face the barrier between life or death, will you somehow survive or face the consequences and give into the dark feeling of death?

warnings: ANGST, painful death, hospital setting, gang membership, heavy language, arguing, between life or death, swearing, mentions of B&E as well as fighting, sensitive topics that could trigger some readers & viewers advisory is supervised! English isn’t my first language so these can suck ass

authors note: lately I haven’t rlly been feeling the best and have got into some issues but I still found the courage to write something for yall for NNN and the intro post is gonna be out later tonight and I just gotta finish up some stuff and I’ll post it, luv y’all sm and hope y’all enjoy this one.

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The fluorescent lights above flickered inconsistently, a cruel reminder of the life I was currently losing the grasp over. The sterile scent of disinfection filled the air, mixing with the lingering smell of regret. I lay sprawled on the hospital bed, tubes snaking from my body and monitoring the slow and steady decline of my life. The beeping machines around me marked time I had left and even that was slowly slipping away from my grasp of control, each note a reminder of the moments fading away. My heart was still pounding, but I could feel its rhythm weakening.

Matt stood at the foot of the bed, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket with his shoulders hunched as if he were carrying the weight of the whole fucking world. His usually cocky demeanor was stripped bare from him leaving only a vulnerable kid who never actually grew up. Tears streamed down his face while cutting tracks through the sweat that adores his skin like a cruel battle map. “Look, I’m really fucking sorry, okay?” His voice cracked like a twig as he took a step closer, desperate to build a bridge between the gap in between us. “I never thought they’d come for you! I swear, I thought I could handle it!”

My mouth felt dry, each breath a labored struggle to grasp any control over my life. “Handle what, Matt?” I bite back, an involuntary bitterness flowing through the veins within my body. “You think you can just barge into my life, drag me into whatever shit you’re tangled in and then act surprised when it bites us in the ass You’re a goddamn idiot!” “I know!” he shouted, fists clenching and unclenching as if trying to beat the regret from his body. “I know, and I’d give anything to take it back. But I was too fucking proud, too stupid to admit we owed those bastards money! I didn’t think they’d get violent, you know? I thought they’d just scare us or shake us down but then they—”

“They busted through the door like a goddamn SWAT team!” I stated, choking on anger and pain I was feeling all at the same time. “You didn’t think they’d want blood? You dragged me into a fucking war, Matt, and now I’m stuck here.” “I didn’t mean for this to happen!” His voice broke like an old doll and he stepped closer to my slowly dying body. “I thought… I thought I could keep you safe. I thought—” His words faded into a heavy silence instead filled with the beeps of machines surrounding us and the muffled sounds of hospital life outside. I could see the regret washing over him in waves, each one crashing harder than the last. I wanted to hate him, to blame him for this whole mess but I knew that life in the gang was a constant gamble for your life and I had rolled the dice alongside him. Now regretting my choice more and more as my life slipped away from my fingertips.

“Why didn’t you call?” I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper as it couldn’t go any louder without hurting my throat. “You could’ve just called for help instead of trying to take it all on by yourself. We were supposed to be in this together.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, the weight of his decisions evident in the deep wrinkles now shadowing his forehead. “I was just trying to protect you,” he murmured under his breath, his words barely making it past the knot in his throat. “I thought I could do it without dragging you deeper. Shit, I was wrong.”

Tears continued to stream down his face as he moved closer to my bed, taking my hand in his shaky one. In that moment, his grip felt both comforting and suffocating. All I could think was how this was it, this was the end of my life and I was stuck with the boy who had pulled me irreversibly into the chaos now I’m loosing my life over. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, desperation dripping from his voice. “Not like this. Please don’t leave me.” The warmth of his palm felt like fire against my cool skin, dragging my attention back into the moment. “Don’t you dare fuck up your life over this, Matt. You think you can just take all the blame?” I gasped, the effort of speaking exhausting me out of every last bit of energy left inside of me. “If I go, you better make sure to get the hell out of here. Get away from this life but especially get away from this… all of it. Just… live.”

“No,” he cried, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to! It doesn’t make sense. You’re my—” “Your what? Your fucking partner? Your—” A fit of coughing washed over me, sharp pangs radiating through my chest as I struggled against the pain. “This isn’t a damn movie, Matt.” I took a ragged breath and stared hard into his eyes. “You get to be free, get to choose a better fucking path. Don’t waste my death living the same life.” Matt fell silent then, the resolve in his eyes cracking intensely. I could see the fight draining out of him, and I realized that we had both lost long ago. “Promise me,” I said, the words barely a whisper.

He nodded slowly, his tears blending with the chaos that filled the space between us. “I promise,” he said. “I will. I’ll do it for you.” As my breath slowed becoming less and less consistent, I focused on him and felt the weight of my own defeat. “Goodbye, Matt,” I gasped, my words slurring and fading. “Please, stay with me!” he pleaded, his voice breaking into pieces like shattered glass. But deep down, I knew the battle has finally came to an end. The darkness was creeping in and as I drifted away into unconsciousness, the last thing I heard was the sound of his broken heart echoing in the sterile silence of the hospital room.

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[dufferpuffer]

In continuation of the 'pillow prince/ss/' topic.. Snape sex hcs? I remember you said it's basically impossible to drag him into bed but I'D TRY.

You're just spoiling me, aren'tcha? First Remus now Sev... Severus Snape is devoted to duty. Its the only thing holding him together. How often does he even go to bed…? A full-time teacher, a spy, a death eater, Dumbledore's dark little knight - He probably considers the time he spends marking 'rest enough'.

His self-esteem is dead. So dead he has come to terms with its corpse and uses it as protection. He's been teased his entire life for his looks. By his parents, by his schoolmates, by his teachers, by his cult, by his students... He's proud of how it has hardened him. It's become part of his ego: He's heard it all before - and now the words run off his oily feathers like raindrops.

Having someone say they think him anything less than hideous? Baffling. But while Remus would become a flustered mess... I think Severus would stages-of-grief it. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression… Because his romantic, affectionate side is also a corpse. It died alongside his best friend and he's spent the last decade-and-a-half making sure it stays buried.

To bring it back? That will take a stubborn dedication that rivals his. It takes grit and damn near necromancy. He will fight back, too - because to raise it from the dead is to raise Lily along with it. That is the greatest hurdle: Best friend or love of his life - either way she was the only person he has been affectionate with. He will need to digest that. He hasn't worked through his grief yet, because it is a difficult thing to work through alone. …but he CAN reach Acceptance.

One step, one stage at a time - peeling down each layer of his onion, like an ogre... Things move slowly with Severus - and in the opposite order you might expect. I guess I will go through what a relationship would be like with Severus, in a sorta dot-point fanfic format:

First note: He is allergic to showing weakness - and what he considers a weakness can be... strange. Indulgence. Emotions, affection, touch, company - he has no time for that garbage. He is in control of himself, of his body, of his feelings, of his life. Meticulous, complete control. This man 'tops' exclusively**

He is ashamed of masturbation. It means he has lost control of his emotions - and it grinds against his ego like sandpaper. He almost never does it. Thinking about anyone in particular when doing it is an insult to them - and he hates feeling guilty. He keeps it simple and almost self-harmingly dry. He has more important things to be doing with his time than engaging with this weakness…

You make your interest in him clear. He goes through everything - he belittles and denies your feelings, he gets angry with you for bothering him, he asks you to stop saying such nonsense... and he gets frustrated that even when you've finally shut up, he is STILL dwelling on it. He spends so long just tossing things up, sorting through his grief, imagining it... so, SO sick of jerking off… …when the dam bursts - he fucks. If he is going to be spending all this time obsessing over these stupid feelings he may as well get something out of it. Only sex, though. Sex he is in control of. Clothes on, greedy, not pretty, not nice. 'Thats what you wanted from me, yes? Well you've gotten it. Happy?!?' ((He does not expect the answer to be 'yes'.))

He thinks one time was too many, and did it only to take it off his mind - and to stop having you bother him about it. But it is easier for you to get him to do it a second time. And then a third... fourth... The more times it happens - and nothing embarrassing or bad follows... well, if he has done it once, he may as well do it more, right…? You are evidently trustworthy. '…You may come to my chambers IF I call - at no other times. I am too busy to play silly games.' A casual physical relationship - to solve a problem of distraction and concentration. That's all.

He does start to call. Occasionally at first - and every time he almost shows surprise that you actually turn up. But he gets less and less surprised... and starts getting more and more needy. 'You're late. I sent for you half an hour ago. Do you think I am made of time?!' He doesn't even realize how needy he sounds, because this activity is now ingrained in his routine. He is used to it. And because he is used to it: He touches more. More clothes come off. But never his own. He has gone from 'hands-on-waist' fucking to caressing your naked body - slow rolls of his hips, making his own breathe shudder, enjoying every sensation.

One day his summons aren't replied to. At first he angry. How dare you. How DARE you waste his time!? The next time they are alone he snaps at you bitterly. 'Finally tired of me? Got your fill? Met a better man?' When the response is more along the lines of 'I was a bit ill' or 'I was out'... he realizes he has shown far too much of his hand. How embarrassing. He is speechless at his own foolishness. He showed an inch of vulnerability and expects to be raked through the coals for it. ...What he doesn't expect is acceptance, tenderness and respect.

He had forgotten that he wasn't the one to initiate this arrangement - that he was wanted. Desired. In his mind he had taken control: Everything happened when he wanted, where he wanted and in whichever way he wished. To be touched in a friendly way? To he apologized to - for being made to worry? To have make-up sex offered…? '…Yes. Alright.' Its the next layer peeled off. He starts listening to offers, enjoying being asked instead of being answered. It's still a casual affair - and yet seeing them talk to other people no longer makes his hackles raise in concern for his secrets. Running into them in the morning no longer makes his skin crawl with shame and embarrassment for the night before. He feels excited when they pay a visit in the midday, offering an impromptu meeting. It is oddly... comfortable.

Of course it can't always be sex in the midday. It is too much effort, takes too much time, energy and clean-up. It suits him fine when you jump on the chance to put him in your mouth. At first he is a little taken-aback - but it feels nice. He says nothing other than contented hums, but as you get better he groans and arcs his back a little. He doesn't care what happens when he finishes - swallow or not, as long as it is not a mess for him to clean up. …Well, he tries to be that callous about it… but it doesn't last long. There is a tenderness to the act he can't deny. It isn't the mutual-benefit fucking. This is a gift for him to enjoy. That realization settles and festers in him. It creates a soft feeling he doesn't recognize... and a desire not to owe you anything.

So, without much fanfare: he reciprocates. He gets you on his seat, or on his desk, and gets down on his knees... He is a little nervous about it - when was the last time he did this, if ever…? - But he has no need to be. He is a god with his mouth. It's his attention to detail. His devotion to getting things done thoroughly and properly - even this. What starts as an embarrassing action from the weakness of his heart turns into a strong pleasure for him. He LOVES oral. It isn't him losing control: it's him gaining it. Even when his hair is gripped and yanked, even if he is pulled close and suffocated a little on you - HE is making that happen. HE is making you do that. He never expected this to make him so happy, so hot. He never expected to undo the buttons of his high collar so his neck could move more easily, to unbutton and fold up his right sleeve so he could get his hands messy... To have enough fun to start saying some truly dirty things… 'That good, is it~?' 'My-! How delicate you are today!' 'Stop squirming. Too sensitive…? Just grit your teeth and bear it.' ...and he didn't expect to not be laughed at for such things.

He certainly didn't expect to get so into it that he kissed you to shut you up as you came. A shock to both of you… another wall crumbled. Turns out he likes that too. He starts initiating sexual activity with a kiss. He prefers kissing to talking. It is succinct and expressive. Walk into his office: as soon as the door is shut your back is pressed against it, wrists in his hands, his mouth against yours. If he starts losing control of the kiss he gently bites your lip, dragging his teeth along it teasingly. Your tongue invades his mouth before he has a chance to do it first: he just about shoves your hands into his robes, tearing into your clothes... This man lives for kissing now.

But he still doesn't realize this is more than casual, that this is something he needs… Until you chat. Its a quiet moment. You comment on the parchments rolled at the edge of his desk. 'Oh - that is just my own research into the effects of aconite. I had to work with it extensively a few years ago.' You take an interest, and he starts regaling deeper and deeper into his studies: how poorly documented others' research is; how it reacts to other ingredients; how modern brewing processes can draw so much more out of it - 'you know, the plant is often just passed off as toxic when even basic purification charms are enough to-' ...He is blabbering. On and on about a dull topic nobody cares about… yet you are listening. His jaw drops a little. He realizes that, for the first time in two decades, someone cares. Someone truly cares. About HIM. His thoughts, his interests... He never thought he could have this again. He didn't think that for the sex, either - but sex, compared to this, was easy to procure. He wants to kiss you again. But not for lust this time.

Suddenly it doesn't feel so embarrassing to allow his eyes to become wet, to draw a shuddering breathe as he builds the courage - of which he has masses of - to say something important: '…I am afraid I have come to love you.' It is a terrifying thing to say, but he has never once shied away from saying what is important, even if it results in pain. And yet this time, for once… he feels like he can trust that it wont.

** Many times later, he is laying down as his shirt gets unbuttoned, his collarbone kissed... He doesn't feel ashamed, even as he gently strokes his own dick, encouraging it to harden. He pulls his arms from his shirt sleeves, fearless of his dark mark being exposed. For once work is at the back of his mind as he allows himself to be pushed back down to into the pillows, chuckling as he is told: 'Shh… just lay still darling… I'll take care of you tonight…' ...And he does. Control well out of his hands and a smile on his face.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XX.

GIF by bestintheparsec

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The night of the ritual.

WORD COUNT: ~9.1k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: dead dove: do not eat!, kidnapping, mc is held hostage, allusions to SA (nothing explicit. will be explained later on), hallucinations, humiliation, wound care, hurt/no comfort, crime thriller vibes are vibing, demon worship, cult ritual, supernatural elements, non-consensual drug use, angst, whump, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i'm missing any other tags please let me know.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i’m going to hold y’all’s hand when i say this... i am putting paloma through it 😓 i was initially going to just bang everything out and post it in one big chapter, but as i was writing... i just felt like it would be better if we let the suspense of it all do its thing and end with a cliffhanger. i am a sucker for ‘em, even if they’re so frustrating (in the best way possible) 😭 i hope that all the lore revolving the cult has been concise and strong enough to hold up during the ending bit of this. i wish i could say things are going to get better from here but they’re not… they’re actually going to get worse 🤠 as always, feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it 🖤

♰  read on ao3. ♰

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When ten minutes pass, Javier brushes it off. She’s probably just caught up in something. It’s nothing to worry about.

But when twenty minutes roll by, that’s when the unease creeps in. He starts pacing the living room, fighting the urge for a cigarette, glancing at the clock.

Where is she?

By the time half an hour has come and gone, he’s dialing the library, wondering why Paloma hasn’t come home yet. The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. His stomach tightens, and he wills himself to remain calm. She’s probably fine.

At the hour mark, Javier’s behind the wheel, speeding into town. Maybe she’s still upset from the argument they had earlier, and instead of coming home, she went to Tammy’s.

But when Tammy tells him she hasn’t heard from Paloma for a few days now, a knot twists in his chest.

Panic threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. He can’t let it consume him—not yet. Not until he has a real reason to worry.

But she has that damn habit of disappearing to sulk in random places when she’s upset. And that habit is gnawing at him now.

He drives to every spot he can think of, the abandoned tracks, the clearing behind the cemetery, the creek—but there’s no sign of her.

That terrible feeling grows, heavy and unshakable. He marches into the sheriff’s department, jaw set, not caring who sees the frantic look in his eyes.

He storms the file room, ripping through boxes. His hands tremble as he plucks out the file he’s searching for.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath, jaw tightening as the photo of Paloma’s mother stares back at him.

Now, he has a reason to panic.

He should have known when he first laid eyes on it. The familiarity of her features—her eyes, her hair, her smile; it was all too close to Paloma. Too close to ignore. But he had, all because his mind was completely elsewhere at the time. Now look where that got him.

It’s like a scene from a horror film, where everything snaps into place too late.

The recent victims; brunettes in their mid-twenties with similar features, similar backgrounds—they resembled her.

The staged chamber, the gore, the man who killed himself.

All of it was leading to this, tying up the gruesome mystery with a neat little bow, like a gift Javier wishes he could burn. They had been played—manipulated, distracted from seeing the bigger picture.

Whoever orchestrated this whole thing has been after his girl from the very beginning.

He fights the urge to smash his fist into the nearest wall, to tear down every shelf in the room in a fit of blind rage.

But what would that solve? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rage won’t lead him to her. Fear won’t undo what’s already been set in motion. All he can do is cling to hope, even if it’s slipping through his fingers.

The ultimate goal of this fucked-up cult—their twisted mission—is to birth the flesh reincarnate of their so-called, bullshit deity.

His blood runs cold at the thought of Paloma being used in some horrific ritual, being touched, violated, forced into madness.

He’s shaking, on the verge of a panic attack, his heart slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape. But he forces himself to breathe—slow, deep, steady breaths, locking the perturbation away. 

Javier puts out an APB, his voice tight as he details her car, her appearance. Every word feels surreal, like it’s not really him saying it, like he’s watching someone else’s nightmare play out.

Romeo’s going to hear this, and he’s going to have to explain how they missed all the signs, how Paloma has been in danger this whole time.

The weight of it presses down on him like a thousand pounds of guilt.

Gathering what he needs and delegating some of the overnight officers at the station, he frantically drives to the Leighton house.

He’s already chain-smoked half a pack. That nasty habit he’s been trying to shake is clinging to him. The file in his hands feels too light for the bomb he’s about to drop.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this? How do you tell someone their wife’s past is tangled in a nightmare, and that their daughter—a woman they both love—is at the heart of it? How do you stay composed when you’re barely holding yourself together?

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

Javier’s barely set foot out of his truck when Romeo’s fists twist in his shirt, shoving him hard against the vehicle.

The impact rattles through him, but all he can see is the wild, desperate look in the sheriff’s eyes—a terror that matches his own but runs even deeper, cutting into every line on his face.

“Romeo, listen to me!” Javier’s voice is authoritative, that familiar guarded wall of stoicism building as his trademark defense mechanism to the absolute anxiety that’s gnawing away at his body. “This is gonna be hard to hear—I’m barely making sense of it myself—but I need you to listen if we’re going to figure this shit out.”

Romeo’s grip tightens, then slowly loosens, and Javier seizes the moment, shoving the older man back, no longer giving a fuck about keeping the peace.

He yanks the folded photo from his jacket pocket and holds it up, letting him get a clear look. “Tell me. Is this Paloma’s mother?”

Romeo’s gaze flits to the photograph, and the recognition that floods his face is immediate.

His fingers snatch the photo from Javier, and his expression cracks, aging him in just a matter of seconds. “Where did you get this?” His voice is barely a whisper, “What the fuck is going on?”

Javier’s own dread deepens. “From the old files,” he says, voice hollow. “The ones from the original group. She’s connected to all of this. They both are.”

He takes a breath, then begins to explain everything he knows. He lays it out, bit by bit—the tangled web of what Paloma had uncovered, the twisted threads that pointed to this cult, the fake leads that had kept them chasing shadows. Every word feels like glass in his throat.

Confusion, fear, anger—every emotion etched on Romeo’s face makes Javier feel like he’s the one who has failed. 

“Did you know about any of this?” he asks, though he already knows the answer from the lost look in Romeo’s eyes.

His mouth opens, then closes. He seems to gather himself, shoulders dropping under a weight he’s only just begun to grasp. “None. When I met Abby… she was just a woman startin’ over. She’d moved into a small house near the church. Said her parents had passed and she needed a fresh start. Picked a random town—that’s how she ended up here.” The sheriff’s gaze drifts to a place Javier can’t reach, caught in the bittersweet memory of his late wife. 

“Paloma said she found this out by going through her mom’s things,” he says carefully, each word a stone dropping into his gut. “But I don’t think she was telling me everything.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy and loaded as they lock eyes in an unspoken understanding.

They need answers, and every second they waste is another second Paloma could be slipping further away.

“Before we make accusations,” Javier says, forcing himself to stay grounded, “we need to dig through their belongings. There has to be something there—a lead, a hint—something that’ll tell us who’s behind this.”

“But you already know who it is, don’t you?”

Javier’s eyes darken, and his jaw locks as one name barrels into his mind, clear and hateful: August.

The red flags he had dismissed, convinced they were just a byproduct of his hate for the guy, now stand out like beacons.

He meets Romeo’s gaze, a grim certainty settling into his features. “I believe it’s Augustus Dixon and his group.”

Romeo’s face twists with anger, and he grits out, “Motherfucker—” His fists clench, his whole body radiating fury.

“Be pissed off later. We’ve got a job to do.”

They stalk up the stairs, both men moving with purpose—Romeo heads for his wife’s things while Javier makes his way into Paloma’s room.

It feels surreal, even wrong, to be rummaging through her life like this. The last time he’d been in this position, it was in Jessica’s room, and even then he could see the resemblance her space shared with Paloma’s—but he’d never thought he’d be here, seeing his girl as a victim.

His fingers skim over a leather-bound book tucked away on the top shelf in her closet, hidden behind a jewelry box. It’s as if she’d placed it there purposefully, stowed away out of reach.

When he pulls it down, he realizes it’s a scrapbook brimming with photographs and clippings.

Inside, he finds images of Calmana, surrounded by groups of men and women, all dressed in matching, traditional attire. A towering cathedral looms in the background, religious iconography scattered throughout—symbols he now recognizes from his research.

Maps, faded with time, span several pages, and in the center lies an intricate, sprawling family tree with Paloma’s name written at the bottom.

He spots envelopes tucked between the pages, each one addressed to her in cursive hand.

He calls out for Romeo, and the sheriff is by his side almost instantly, his expression a twisted mix of hope and dread.

“What’d you find?” 

Javier silently hands him the scrapbook, keeping the envelopes for himself. 

One by one, he opens them, unfolding each paper. His breaths come out ragged, and he feels his stomach drop as he reads.

They’re love poems—explicit, filthy in their adoration. Line after line, they detail all the things August wants to do to her, each word penned with obsession.

The praises he lavishes on her, how he calls her a spectacle, the power he insists she wields—it’s like poison seeping into Javier’s mind. 

His hands start trembling, and the implications tighten around him like a noose.

Romeo, sensing his agitation, reaches out, his voice rough. “What’s that—what did you find?” 

Javier jerks the papers away, swallowing hard. “Trust me. You don’t want to see these—not now.”

“Let me see them, Javier! Goddammit, my daughter is in danger!”

Before their back-and-forth can spiral any further, Javier’s walkie talkie crackles sharply, an officer’s voice coming through:

“A dark green, 1970 Buick Electra matching the APB put out an hour ago has been found in Lake Fraiser alongside an unidentified female body.”

The air thickens and shatters as Javier and Romeo lock eyes, both of them wearing the same look of wide-eyed horror. 

“Romeo—” Javier tries, reaching out, but the man is already out the door, the scrapbook falling from his hands and hitting the hardwood floor with a hollow thud that reverberates in Javier’s chest.

He mutters a quick fuck and scoops it up, rushing after him, yet the sheriff is a blur, tearing down the driveway with the kind of desperation only a father can muster when everything he loves is on the line.

Now that he’s left alone, Javier grips the railing, and the weight of it all—of losing her—comes crashing down. His heart’s splintering, his chest tight, mind skidding out of control.

This is what he’s been running from all along—failure… loss… grief. Now it is all coming back, circling like vultures, ready to take the one thing that’s ever brought him true happiness.

But he forces himself to breathe, to anchor his mind to the one cold comfort he has left. “He wouldn’t kill her. He needs her.” The words taste bitter, chilling him, but they hold him steady.

Paloma is at the center of this plan—there’d be no sense in taking her, just to end it so abruptly.

Despite everything, he finds a sliver of reassurance in that cruel logic. He clings to it with everything he has, because right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Javier pulls up to Lake Fraiser, where the scene is a flurry of first responders, flashing lights reflecting off the water’s dark surface in sharp reds and blues.

He parks haphazardly, barely cutting the engine before he’s out of the truck, heading straight toward the area cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape.

His heart slams against his ribs as he spots Romeo, kneeling by the edge of the lake beside a body draped in a white cloth, his face blank, almost empty.

Javier’s eyes dart to the surrounding officers, scanning each one, trying to get a read on the situation before he speaks.

“Is it her?” His voice breaks the stillness.

Romeo doesn’t look up, his gaze locked on the covered body. “…No.”

Relief floods through him, dizzying him for a moment before his gaze lands on a tow truck pulling Paloma’s car away from the scene. 

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to swallow back the bitter uncertainty rising in his throat.

Romeo stands slowly, brushing the dirt off his hands, his expression hardening as he relays, “Just got a call from the hospital. Our girl from the woods finally woke up. Tonight of all nights.” He chuckles dryly. “Asked to speak with me specifically. So I’ll head that way tomorrow after she’s been stabilized properly… which means you’ll be in charge of all this.” He gestures around them vaguely.

The pulsing emergency lights cast fractured shadows over their faces.

“It’s best for you to step back momentarily. Clear your head. You’re too close to this,” Javier adds quietly, “She’s your daughter.” And while Javier is her lover and every inch of him is fraying at the edges for her, he understands that his pain won’t amount to the agony that Romeo is drowning in.

The sheriff’s silence stretches, words hesitating on his tongue, until finally, with a quiet confession, he murmurs, “I was too harsh on her. On you. I was an asshole, and if it’s any reconciliation—thank you for tryin’ to get her out of this shitty town.”

Javier’s caught off-guard but doesn’t show it, the self awareness on his behalf is appreciated. “I’d do anything for her.”

Romeo studies him for a moment, as if measuring the resolve behind his words, then he nods, his expression taut, “Gonna start combing through everythin’ back at the station. Probably call Olsen, see if he’s got any cameras ‘round the library so we can get a timeline goin’.”

These two men are similar in that regard, backing themselves into their jobs to mask the turmoil inside. They talk through some of the procedures before Romeo is pulled away by other officers, leaving Javier to handle things here.

He forces himself to switch gears, to summon every bit of authority he has left to do his job. He’s got a dead body to assess, a team to command, and then—then he’ll focus everything he’s got on finding Paloma.

Paloma stirs awake, the pitch darkness of the early morning pressing in from all sides.

She’s disoriented—a dull ache in her head and the sting of thick, abrasive rope biting into her wrists.

Her hands are suspended and bound above her, tethered tightly to an old, rusted pipe overhead, which creaks slightly as she shifts her weight.

She can feel the grit of dried blood matting her hair against her temple, the aftershock of Sloane’s vicious hit with the bat ringing sharp behind her eyes. Her boots are missing, leaving her barefoot against the cool concrete ground.

As reality sharpens around her, she realizes this isn’t a dream and it nauseates her, instilling panic in her heart.

She barely remembers the car ride or the way they dragged her down here, everything muddled from the hit she’d taken until she’d finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Now, the throbbing intensifies as she tugs instinctively at the ropes, her wrists burning, but no amount of pulling loosens her bonds.

Frustration and terror mix, unwieldy coiling in her chest and tears sting at her eyes despite her attempts to fight them back. She doesn’t want to imagine what they plan to do to her.

She knows Javier and her father have to be looking for her. They must be tearing themselves apart with worry. She can almost hear her father’s harsh reprimands and Javier’s quiet, determined rage—they’re relentless when it comes to protecting her. 

They’ll find her. They have to.

The cellar door creaks open and she freezes, her pulse skittering as August, Sloane, and Gabriel descend the stairs.

The dim light barely touches their faces, but she doesn’t need to see them clearly to know what they’re capable of.

She tries to hold her head high, pushing back the tears, refusing to let them see the fear that’s boiling inside. She won’t give them that satisfaction, not if she can help it.

Their footsteps echo against the walls of the basement. August stops just close enough that she can feel his presence invading her senses, suffocating, his familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, P,” he drawls, voice dripping with the charm that managed to slither its way into her heart.

What she once found magnetic in him is now hollow, a mask that hides something so unfathomable. 

“Pretty nasty cut ya got there.” Sloane’s voice drips with fake sympathy. Her eyes glint with that special brand of cruelty she’d always kept hidden behind a guise of friendship.

The satisfaction in her tone is unmistakable, like she’s savoring every moment of seeing Paloma in such a vulnerable state.

The urge to spit in their faces, to lash out, is almost unbearable, but she remembers her daddy’s lessons, advising her to stay calm, to never let them know how afraid she really is.

Every word of advice he’d ever given her about self-preservation hangs heavy in her mind. 

She keeps her face blank, her mouth a hard line.

“Silent treatment, huh?” August steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers are inches from her forehead when she sees the sick satisfaction in his eyes, and she can’t suppress the involuntary grimace as his fingers hover over the gash near her forehead.

The moment of weakness feels like a win for him, his smile widening as he grazes her wound, pressing just enough to send a wave of pain radiating through her skull and a fresh stream of blood to trickle out.

Sloane watches her reaction, faux innocence weaving through her sneer. “You make for a pretty damn good damsel in distress. Thought you’d put up more of a fight, if I’m bein’ honest. You really disappointed me, doll face.”

Paloma’s grip tightens around the rope until her knuckles ache. She wants to tell her off, to fight and scream—but instead she just turns away, refusing to even look at them.

August’s hand cups her chin as he forces her to meet his eyes, eyes that once held promises of affection and loyalty now filled with something so dark and consuming.

His fingers dig into her soft skin. “I need you to look perfect, little dove. All stitched up and pretty.” His thumb trails along her chapped bottom lip. “Gabriel,” he calls, not even glancing back at the other man, “Tend to that. Tonight’s a big night, after all. Lots to prepare for.”

There goes that trepidation again. Her mouth twitches, half-ready to break her silence and demand to know just what the hell he’s talking about. But she’s already committed to keeping quiet.

Gabriel lingers behind them, shifting uncomfortably, the first aid kit clutched tight in his hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as usual, eyes flicking from Paloma to his partners, some part of him clearly unsettled yet too cowardly to intervene.

He’s her best shot of getting out of here, she just knows it.

“‘S’okay, you ain’t gotta talk,” August’s coos. “I actually prefer you like this—makes things a hell of a lot easier. The others…” He snorts, shaking his head.

How many other unfortunate women had been dragged down here, suffering at his hands?

“Too squirmy, too squeamish—like fuckin’ pigs.” His laughter is mirthless and Sloane joins in with loud, exaggerated snorts that mimic a pig’s squeal. The sound claws at Paloma’s ears.

There’s this twisted admiration in his stare as he studies her. “That’s why I knew I needed to have you. No one else on this planet holds a candle to the magic you have, Paloma. You should stop bein’ so scared and embrace it.” He murmurs, dropping his voice to a whisper.

His hand snakes down from her jaw, tracing her neck, lingering in an unsettling crawl between her breasts before settling at her hip.

His fingers dig in, and she flinches, her body stiffening in revulsion. He smirks at her reaction, savoring her discomfort like a fine wine.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, alright?” His tone is falsely tender. "Gotta make sure everythin’ is perfect. Can’t afford any fuck ups now—I’ve been way too patient for this."

He steps back at last, allowing Gabriel to shuffle forward with the kit in hand.

With a jerk of his chin, August motions for Sloane to follow him. She blows Paloma a mocking kiss and winks with a saccharine sweetness that really piles on the hatred that burns a little hotter for her specifically.

The heavy cellar door slams shut, casting them back into dim silence as the first pale light of dawn begins to creep through the basement windows.

Paloma’s heart pounds as their shadows disappear, leaving her helpless in the creeping morning light.

“What are you goin’ to do to me?” Her voice is hoarse, each word scraping her dry throat like sandpaper, but she can’t keep quiet now that they’re alone.

Gabriel wordlessly drags over a stool, placing the first-aid kit on top. He opens it, sorting through supplies as though she isn’t even there.

Paloma yanks at her restraints, the old pipe groaning in protest. “Fuckin’ say somethin’,” she snaps, anger edging her desperation. “It’s the least you could do—just… tell me.” She hates the pleading tone that slips through, the last thread of her control unraveling as she imagines what fate awaits her.

His gloved hands move to clean her wound, and she clenches her jaw against the sting, glaring at him as if she could force him to talk through sheer will. He’s careful and practiced, clearly having done this before.

“The Crimson Rite,” he mutters, brows furrowing as he concentrates, his voice a barely audible murmur. “It’s where the conception will happen… on the altar of incarnation.”

Paloma’s heart stumbles, her mind racing to piece together the fragments. “What the fuck are you even sayin’?” Her voice wavers, but there’s no denying the chill in her spine.

She knows what those words mean on their own, but together, they paint a picture she’d rather not face—the harrowing reality of how August truly plans on using her.

“August’ll explain,” he replies, brushing her off with the indifference of a man following orders. “He’s better at that shit than I am. I just do what he asks and stay outta the way.”

“Like a fuckin’ coward,” she spits.

The needle pauses, its sharp tip hovering an inch from her skin, and he raises his eyes. “You get all lippy with me, but keep your mouth shut around them? What, I ain’t intimidatin’ enough for you?” 

She holds his gaze, defiance simmering behind the exhaustion in her stare. “Nothing about you’s intimidatin’ enough to keep me from tellin’ you exactly what I think.”

His lips twist downward, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he resumes stitching, each tug at her skin rougher than the last. 

“At church that day, you were warnin’ me, weren’t you?” Her voice is barely a whisper, the memory of that awkward conversation rattling in her mind. “S’not too late, Gabe. You can still help me outta this… We both can be outta here ‘fore the sun comes up.”

There’s a lapse, just for a second, in his eyes—something she wants to believe is regret, a part of him she hopes she can reach.

The sliver of optimism she’s mustered might awaken that dormant part of him buried under layers of August’s bullshit and the bitterness life has forced him to swallow.

But he shakes his head slowly, avoiding her gaze as he finishes stitching her wound, his hands deft. “You don’t get it. Don’t matter if I do the right thing. He’d find us—he always does.” He sprays her wound with a numbing mist then covers it with a small gauze.

“He wouldn’t find us,” she insists, her voice fraying. “Daddy would protect us. He’d make sure we’re safe.”

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? He promise you that or somethin’? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, you don’t look all that safe.”

A bitter, frustrated cry escapes her as he begins to pack up his kit, her pleas bouncing off him like stones against steel.

“Please, Gabe, don’t leave me down here alone,” she chokes out, and the words twist something deep inside her, pulling her further into a desperation she’s been trying to keep at bay.

“Breakfast’ll be down in a few hours,” he mutters, almost as if talking to himself, keeping his voice low and detached. “Probably get you a shower at sundown so you ain’t all sweaty and grimy. Needs you all fuckin’ pristine.” The last words slip out like a hiss, a disgusted edge in his tone. “S’gonna be a long day for you down here. Scream all you want; ain’t nobody around worth a damn to hear it. You got a better shot at rubbin’ the skin off your wrists than gettin’ out of that rope.”

Paloma snaps, her control breaking in a flood of panic and fury as she yanks at her restraint, her wrists burning as she curses him, calling him every name her mind can summon.

The words pour out in a desperate torrent, trying to cut him, to provoke something human out of him, anything.

But he stays silent, barely flinching, his face a mask as he gathers his things, turning his back on her without a word. 

When the cellar door finally slams shut, it echoes through the basement, and her last shreds of resolve crumble as she sinks into sobs.

The thoughts come in fragments, jagged and bitter, cutting her deeper than any wound.

The way things were left with her father—how they’d argued and he looked at her with that final, dismissive silence, like she’d become a stranger for daring to chase her own life beyond their town.

The love that took root so unexpectedly, so completely with Javier. He came into her life at the perfect time, pouring a rare, tender kind of intimacy into her soul; the kind that made her feel seen for the first time in her life.

He was a good man who’d endured his own share of hardships —and she let their last conversation end in anger and frustration. She’s just like her father.

Perhaps if she had told him the full truth about how she came across her mother’s past, she wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

This mess—it’s her inheritance. Not a blessing like August wants her to believe, but a curse Calmana left behind, the forced sins of her mother she didn’t choose but can’t escape.

Her suicide is starting to make more sense.

It all makes her feel like a lamb at slaughter, her life never really hers, and now her blood and body are an offering to feed whatever he believes she’s meant to bring to life. 

The promise of an explanation later on hangs over her like a guillotine. Does she even want to know? Will it make a difference?

She got herself kidnapped by trusting them all, falling for August’s romantic words and impressive knowledge. All of his lies. She’d thought she was smart enough to see through him, to keep a grip on her own heart, and instead, she’d unknowingly let him manipulate her.

Sloane was right—she is the helpless damsel she always denied being, someone who hadn’t fought hard enough to save herself. 

Paloma has to believe she’s got people searching for her, that they’re smart enough, relentless enough to find her before night falls. She has to cling to that hope, however fragile, because right now it’s all she has.

Her cries fill the empty space around her until exhaustion claims her in silence.

The basement is her prison as the sun traces its lazy arc above.

The day drags on in a haze of stale air and the natural sounds of bugs chittering about. On occasion, she’ll hear people walk by or see their shadows through the small windows.

She's trapped here, the only visits marking the hours coming when Gabriel brings a bucket for her to relieve herself—like she’s some kind of animal—or sets down a tray of food she refuses to touch.

“You need to eat,” he says, setting the tray with her dinner on the floor. His hands working on cutting the thick rope binding her wrists, each tug and scrape freeing her a fraction at a time.

“What’s the point? M’gonna die anyway,” she mutters, exhausted but still pissed. “Won’t matter if I’ve got a full stomach or not.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not goin’ to die, Paloma. You’re too important to all this. How haven’t you realized that yet?”

“Oh, forgive me if I haven’t picked up on all your twisted bullshit,” she snaps. “You all speak in fuckin’ tongues and riddles. No one’s told me a damn thing that makes any sense.”

At last, the final fiber of rope snaps, and the weight drops from her wrists. She lets out a low, relieved sigh as her arms fall to her sides, stiff from the hours of suspension.

The ache in her shoulders is intense, and her wrists are lined with red from the coarse bondage.

“Don’t try anythin’ stupid,” he warns, his voice low. “They might not kill ya but they’ll hurt you in ways that’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She doesn’t doubt it, so she reins in her impulses and instead glances at the food, the bitterness slowly giving way to resignation.

If the chance to escape comes, she’ll need her strength. She takes the cup, drinking greedily, barely noticing the water spilling down her chin—it’s just a relief to feel the dryness ease, something grounding in a nightmare that feels endless.

The meal tastes dull, but she swallows it down anyway, each bite a fight to hold onto her sense of self, to stay sharp.

Gabriel watches her with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“I tried leavin’ years ago, when August first started buildin’ the group.” He looks down, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “But he caught me at the train station. Gave me the ass-beatin’ of my life. Locked me up in a shed in the middle of the woods for days, left me there until I learned my lesson. I swear, I lost every bit of myself in that dark place.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “After that, I never thought ‘bout leavin’ again... not until he got his sights set on you.”

Paloma’s chewing slows, her eyes flitting over to him, reading the conflict etched in his expression.

For August to treat Gabriel, his so-called “brother,” with such brutality to keep him in line... it makes all too much sense now, why he is August’s silent shadow, obeying every command.

“His obsession with you is different. Everythin’ suddenly became different. He has this way of makin’ you submit to him that gets me wonderin’ if all this Eurynomos shit is actually real.”

The twisted loyalty, the deep-seated fear that’s tangled around them like shackles, intertwined with stories of divinity.

She’s barely scratched the surface of what August is capable of.

“That’s terrible,” she whispers, sympathetic to what he’s been through. “I’m sorry... ‘n I get why you’re scared, but there’s two of us now. We could make a run for it, slip away while we have the chance.”

Her food is forgotten as Paloma edges closer, her gaze steady and imploring. For a moment, he genuinely considers their escape.

But the heavy, thunderous creak of the cellar doors breaks through the moment, both of them jerking apart.

She scrambles backward until her back presses against the cold, damp wall, her heartbeat racing as Gabriel stands abruptly from his stool, his face hardening again. 

It’s only August this time, his usual shadow—Sloane with her biting sneers—thankfully absent.

He strides down with a bag in one hand and shower supplies in the other, eyeing her like she’s some prized possession he’s been itching to inspect. 

“Unrestrained, ate her dinner, and didn’t even try to run? My, my. Little dove, you’re such a good girl.” He passes the items to Gabriel as he steps closer, and she hates the way she’s wedged in a corner, wishing she could melt into the wall or skitter away like a mouse.

He crouches, gently moving the gauze out of the way, his sharp gaze examining the stitches worked into her head wound. “S’lookin’ better already. Now, let’s get you a shower. I can smell you from here, and, sweetheart, it’s not exactly appealin’.”

“Fuck you.”

He smirks, the cruel curve of his lips almost congratulatory. “There she is. Glad to see that fire hasn’t died just yet, my love.”

With a vice-like grip, his hand latches onto her arm, dragging her up to her feet and across the basement to a sad excuse for a shower—no curtain, nothing remotely resembling privacy, just exposed plumbing and mildewed tile. He shoves her into the cramped space, gesturing at her with a command that chills her: “Strip.”

Her stomach tightens, and she squares her jaw. “Turn around.”

A laugh bursts from him, sharp and mocking. “You think you’re in any position to make demands? You may be special, darlin’, but that don’t mean you’re runnin’ shit. Now strip, or I’ll tie you up and rip that little outfit off myself.”

She grits her teeth, fists clenched. “No.”

His smile vanishes, replaced by a darker, crueler expression.

In a flash, his hand is around her throat, shoving her harshly against the slimy tile, the back of her head meeting the hard surface making her cry out in pain.

Her breath snags as his grip tightens around her neck, the cool press of a switchblade grazing the scar on her hip, making her pulse hammer in her ears. “Don’t push me,” he growls, the blade’s edge nicking her skin just enough to sting. He knows exactly where she’s sensitive, and he revels in her flinch. “I’ve told you—I don’t like hurtin’ you, but I will if I have to. Strip. Now.”

He releases her, the air rushing back into her lungs, making her cough.

Her hands tremble as she peels away her clothes, starting with the long, flowing skirt that puddles around her ankles, leaving her in just her underwear and camisole.

August’s eyes rake over her, and his silent demand pulls at her last nerve.

She swallows back her tears, fingers shaking as she slides the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor and then stepping out of her underwear, kicking the pile aside.

Now entirely naked, her arms wrap protectively around herself to shield what she can. She looks away, the sting of indignity making her skin crawl, willing herself not to cry.

August steps forward, adjusting the shower’s dial, and the pipes clank and groan as water finally bursts out of the rusted shower head, icy at first. She shivers, her teeth clattering, and only once the water turns warm does the chill ease up.

A snap of his fingers brings Gabriel closer, setting the shower supplies within reach. August then places them at her feet, his mocking gaze never leaving her as he drags a worn wooden chair up, seating himself like a perverse audience settling in for a show. 

Paloma doesn’t move, clinging harder to her body, her nails digging into her own skin, praying he’ll lose interest and turn away. But he just smirks. “Don’t be shy, P. Not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” His tongue drags over his lips, blue eyes glittering darkly, drinking in her discomfort.

She would rather die where she stands than have him touch her, lingering his hands over her body like a wolf savoring his meal. Slowly, reluctantly, her arms fall to her sides, shoulders curling inward, as she begins to wash herself.

The hot tears mix with the water streaming down her cheeks, each drop hiding the sobs she’s swallowing.

August’s stare trails over her figure, his smirk deepening every time she flinches under the weight of it.

He doesn’t hide his hunger, watching her every movement—the rise and fall of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the sway of her shoulders as she soaps herself in silence.

Gabriel’s eyes stay firmly on his boots, shame evident in his posture. 

Finally, she shuts off the water, chest heaving as she swallows down the humiliation, covering herself again and feeling his satisfaction lingering in the room like a toxic cloud.

A towel lands at her feet, and she grabs it, pulling it around her trembling frame, feeling like her skin might crawl right off her bones. 

“Got this dress made just for you,” August says casually, standing then pulling out a white dress and red flats from a worn bag. He tosses them onto the chair he’d just been sitting in, not making any effort to move or look away, and she swallows back the lump in her throat.

She’s barely holding herself together, her fingers fumbling with the towel as she dries off, eyes darting between the two men.

One won’t meet her gaze, too timorous, and the other stares at her with lecherous eyes.

She slips on the dress, it’s something she would’ve picked for herself under different circumstances; calf-length, delicate ladder lace along the trim, cap sleeves, and three charmeuse red ribbons that match the shoes.

But the beauty of it feels like a cruel mockery against the ugliness of this moment. 

“You look so beautiful,” August purrs, “Get a good look at yourself.” 

She’s forced in front of an antique mirror, the glass warped and cracked, but she can still make out her reflection. 

The dark circles beneath her eyes, bruised skin, the way her hair clings to her damp skin, the faded pallor of her face against her outfit—she looks like a ghost.

His hand slides to her shoulder, pushing her hair aside as he leans in, trailing his nose against her skin and inhaling deeply. “You smell like summertime.” He presses his lips to her neck, and bile rises in her throat.

Then, he pulls back, her mother’s cross pendant in hand, fastening it around her neck with a satisfied smile.

Her heart clenches once she sees it. She’d left that at Javier’s, tucked away safely with all the other things she moved out of her childhood home in preparation for their big trip.

The thought of August being in his space, doing God knows what, gets her alarmed. “What did you do to him?”

August looks momentarily confused by her query, but then his smirk grows as he eyes the pendent and sees that look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your precious narc. He ain’t been home all day. He’s out there, sniffin’ around for you like a lost dog. Thought about killin’ him, but… I think he’d suffer more thinkin’ he failed you. Just another life he couldn’t save, huh?”

The words press against those bruising, sore spots on her heart. She scowls, throwing back as much defiance as she can muster. “You wouldn’t get close enough to try.” Her voice trembles, but she knows Javier and what he’s capable of. 

He just shrugs, the malicious glint in his eyes unwavering. “Maybe not. But Sloane?” He grins, knowing how even mentioning her gets under Paloma’s skin. “Now, I think she could.”

He doesn’t give her time to respond, moving to bind her hands again, this time in smooth silk restraints that feel uncharacteristically gentle against her wrists.

Time moves in slow motion, she becomes unresponsive, like a melancholic statue, as he brushes her hair, fussing over her appearance as if she were some doll, changing the gauze over her stitches.

Her hope of getting out of this has diminished. Gabriel won’t help her and August has run the two men competent enough to figure this out in circles, so tangled up in deceit to find her.

The evening melts into night, shadows deepening when he finally leaves, just to return moments later with a steaming cup of tea that smells rancid and earthy, like decay.

“Drink up.”

She shakes her head, refusing it, but he pries her mouth open, forcing her to swallow the scalding liquid. It’s bitter and burns her throat, her tongue singed as she swallows unwillingly. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad,” he taunts her, wiping away some of the remnants that spilled from the corner of her mouth.

The effect is immediate; her mind hazes, thoughts swirling, until her body feels sluggish, as if it is no longer tethered to her.

Just as her vision starts to fade, a red, body-length veil is draped over her, the fabric casting her world into blood-hued darkness.

“I need to see it again.” 

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose at Romeo’s request, fingers then pressing hard against his closed eyes as the footage gets rewound. 

It’s the only evidence they have—a single security camera capturing what transpired. The grainy video shows her crossing the street, pausing, and then August and his accomplices stepping into view. She runs, disappearing off-camera for what feels like a lifetime, before being dragged back and shoved into the bed of the truck.

Each time Javier watches, another shard of him breaks away.

Romeo shifts beside him, watching the screen with unrelenting focus. He’s insistent, searching for anything, some small clue to pinpoint where they went.

Javier, though, is at his limit, fighting the urge to hurl the screen across the room.

“Romeo,” he begins, a little strained, “we’re not going to find anything new here.”

“We missed shit before. Can’t afford to miss anythin’ now.”

They’d spent the whole damn day combing through the trio’s hometown, hoping for any piece of intel, some breadcrumb that would lead them to the group’s hideout.

The search had been maddeningly fruitless. Fayette’s local authorities helped spread the word, but there was nothing, no tracks, no whispers, no real leads to follow.

Every registered address tied to the three was a dead end. Their only childhood homes, a trailer park, had burned down over a decade ago, leaving no trace, no history to sift through.

Everyone close to them—parents, guardians—were either dead, in prison, or admitted. The few family members with any sense had cut ties long ago.

“They were hellraisers,” the retired sheriff had muttered. That’s all the town could say, the simple acknowledgment that the trio had always left destruction in their wake.

The only useful piece of information they dug up was that August had left his job at a local grocery store to work for some woman, an outsider no one really knew.

She’d shown up, taken August with her, and he’d returned a few years later with a more hardened resolve, recruiting Sloane and Gabriel.

After torching some local acreage and serving time for arson, they’d vanished from Fayette until the recent spree of murders started.

“He’s been planning this for a long time, Romeo. They knew how to hide; they’ve done this before.” Javier mutters, frustration simmering in his tone.

They’d tried running a partial plate of the truck, only to come up short once again.

Javier moves near the blinds, unable to keep watching her kidnapping, glimpsing the sea of people that make up their search parties gathered in their too small department.

The faces blur together, civilians and first responders alike, all waiting for direction.

“It’s probably best if you go to the hospital and get Harper’s statement. She’s cleared to talk, right?” 

Romeo takes a beat longer to respond, clearly grappling with his own anguish. “Yeah. Got the official call ‘bout ten minutes ago.” 

“If anyone’s got something to give us that can break this open, it’s her.”

The room is quiet except for the low murmur of voices spilling in. The tape finally ends and Romeo’s gaze falls to the corner of his desk, where a lone photo of Paloma sits; she’s grinning with his cowboy hat perched high on her head, radiating joy.

He stares at it like he’s trying to draw strength from that moment, then he slowly picks it up, pressing his lips together in thought, handing it over to Javier.

“Here. This is the one I used for the flyers.”

Javier swallows hard, taking it, his thumb grazing over the image, his own heart sinking. This is the Paloma he can’t let slip through his fingers, the one who belongs right here, laughing and safe. Not wherever she was now. 

Romeo’s tone holds firm determination. “Do what you gotta do. For her. You understand me?”

Javier just nods, no words left to offer in the face of everything unsaid.

The sheriff lets out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that speaks of too many hours awake, too many close calls, too many second chances lost to bad luck or timing or whatever fate is left to them.

He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders, steeling his expression as he leaves the office, moving through the throng that instantly swells around him.

They close in with questions, worry, and hope—all of it colliding in one tense space.

Seeing them converge on Romeo, Javier takes a steadying breath and steps out right behind him, his presence commanding even in his silence.

He straightens, letting the authority in his stance speak for him, his gaze hard as he begins relaying their plan with swift, unyielding precision.

The world tilts and sways as Paloma returns to half-consciousness, vision still muddled from the drugged tea that has her head feeling like it’s filled with lead and limbs sluggish.

She’s seated upright in an ornate, over-decorated chair with her hands still bound in front of her. She tries to blink away the fog clouding her mind, but the red veil over her face continues to shroud her vision.

Her stitched wound throbs faintly, then suddenly, she’s being lifted and carried by four indistinct figures.

The swaying motion makes her sick, but she’s too weak to cry out, her voice nothing more than a ghost lodged in her throat.

She starts to feel the dampness of the humid Texas night pressing into her skin, the scent of flowers floating in the air, sickly sweet as it mixes with the distant smell of incense.

She’s paraded down a candlelit path where kneeling figures line the walkway, bowing in silent reverence. The sound of murmuring voices hums around her like a distant, dreadful lullaby. 

Finally, the procession stops, and her chair is lowered to the ground.

Her surroundings feel unreal, like a fever dream she’s trapped inside. A dark shadow moves in front of her, reaching to pull her to her feet. She tries to make out their face, but it’s just a dark, hollow blur.

Her legs tremble as she takes a few shaky steps, guided by an iron grip that steers her from the soft earth to a hard surface. Somewhere to her right, she hears a voice—August's—so sharp that it almost makes her ears bleed.

“We have to capture this moment.”

Paloma’s body is positioned, hands adjusting her like she’s an ornament rather than a person. She can barely keep her knees from buckling, her body swaying as they try to hold her up.

Her mind is a mess, every thought tangled, every movement slow, as if she’s moving underwater.

She falls, just as she hears the flash of a camera, her legs finally giving way, but hands grip her before she hits the ground, lifting her, steadying her as her head lolls to the side.

Then, in one swift motion, the veil lifted from her face.

August stands there, close enough that she can see every cold line in his face, conforming into possessive delight. 

He’s dressed to match her, red bows on his collared shirt, the same lace design on his pants.

Her skin crawls as his fingers trace the side of her face, his voice a leering purr. “My special little dove.”

He pulls her close, spinning her so that she faces their creation in her honor. The white marble gleams in the halo of the candlelight, surrounded by a sea of blood-red spider lilies, their spindly petals stretching out like claws.

Candles of every size and shape cast their shadows over the altar, illuminating the intricate carving of their emblem, miniatures and other offerings strewn about.

“All for you,” his lips brush against her ear.

The hands surrounding her are unyielding as she’s lifted and maneuvered onto the cold slab, the hard surface unforgiving beneath her back.

Her wrists are freed only to be tied again, the silk binding each one to a small stone pillar at each side.

Her ankles follow, strapped to the pillars near the end of the altar, legs bent slightly and spread, leaving her trapped and exposed.

Her breath quickens, each ragged inhale catching in her throat as the reality of her fate crashes down with brutal clarity. The red veil is drawn back over her face.

Tears blur her sight, mixing with the snot and sweat as she starts to sob, desperate cries spilling from her lips, pleas tumbling out in a desperate stream that echo out into the vastness of the field.

“Please… please, let me go. You don’t have to do this, please.” Her words come out strangled and slurred but she’s ignored. She jerks against her restraints, each movement growing weaker as the drug saps her strength.

August stands before his followers, his voice low yet electrifying, every declaration steeped in reverence and simmering triumph. 

“For centuries, we have waited in the shadows, prayed in whispers, bound by oaths that our forebears swore. Those before us dreamed of this moment, yet they were weak, too fearful to claim what was rightfully theirs. We will not repeat their mistakes. The bloodline of the first, the birthing bloodline, flows through her veins, and she is ours. Eurynomos will have a body made of flesh and bone, a place in this realm, because of us.”

Paloma shakes her head side to side, desperate to block out August’s devious words. Just as a surge of strength flares within her, sharp fingers dig into her shoulders from behind, pressing her back down, anchoring her in place.

Through the haze of drowsiness, her blurred vision lands on Sloane, looming over her with a short, black veil shrouding her face. Beneath it, Paloma can make out an expression as evil as it is watchful.

“No more dreams. No more consuming or offering flesh that rots before dawn. Our devotion, our patience, has led us here. We are the last of our kind—the ones who bring forth the new age. Now is the time for fulfillment. Now is the time to step into the eternal night and bring our deity home.” 

His gaze sweeps over the bowed heads, the flicker of candlelight dancing in his eyes as his words coil around them like a vow.

Sloane relinquishes her hold, seemingly fading away.

He approaches her slowly, each step deliberate, his hand drifting up the length of her body. His fingers come to rest on her cheek, stroking gently, almost reverently.

August leans in, his nose brushing against hers, and without a word, he presses his lips to hers, a slow, possessive kiss over the sheer material of the veil.

She wants to pull away, to resist, but she’s trapped within herself, her will slipping as though he’s holding the reins to her very soul.

When he pulls away, his voice lowers to a rhythmic timbre, the words twisting together in an incantation she can’t understand.

Each syllable makes her sink further into delusion, the compromising position heightening her vulnerability. 

The weight of her own helplessness crushes her as she lies there.

Suddenly, the speaking stops. An unnatural silence blankets the moment, thieving sound until it’s just her shaky, pitiful cries. Even the cicadas quit their insistent chirping.

Paloma blinks, barely able to see through the veil, but she watches August step back until his figure is swallowed by the darkness beyond the altar. 

She shivers as a chill wind flows over her body, extinguishing the flames around her and plunging her into the night, save for the heavy, luminous moon hanging full and merciless above.

Two glowing eyes flicker into view at the far end of the clearing. They hover, eerie and inhuman, watching her with a predatory patience.

A twig snaps in the shadows. Her breath catches. Another snap, closer this time.

Blood rushes in her ears, but above the pounding, she hears something else—labored breaths, thick and wet, the sound too guttural to be human. 

Her body locks up and quivers as a shadow casts up to the very heavens, emerging from the backdrop of trees, its form towering and monstrous. It seems to stretch endlessly, merging with the dark sky above, as if it could reach out and seize the lunar sphere.

Paloma tries to scream, but her body is frozen, paralyzed in a state of unholy dread.

Her eyes widen, tears leaking silently, her throat closing tight as the figure moves forward.

The dark, hulking mass leans over her, and she feels something press down on her belly, then sharp claws caress her bare legs, creeping upwards, scratching at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Her chest tightens as if she’s having a heart attack, fright coursing through her like poison. She can’t breathe, feeling herself teeter on the edge of consciousness.

Black spots swallow her field of view as her eyes roll to the back of her head, and in that instant, she’s slipping away, her mind yanking her away from this horror, casting her into the darkness of her own making as she loses herself, the terror too great to bear.

[sideprince]

for the snape asks: 1, 12 and 14 please :)

Your favorite thing about Snape?

He gives no fucks and yet also cares so SO deeply.

He doesn't care what people think of him. He has a wonderful tenacity that comes from standing up for himself and not being intimidated by how others perceive him. We see it on the Hogwarts Express when he meets James and Sirius, we see it in the way he fights back again and again when they bully him, and we see it in him as a teacher. He doesn't care if people don't like him, because he's certain in his perceptions and perspectives. He doesn't care what the students think of him, or what Fudge thinks of him as he shows him his Dark Mark, or even what someone like Umbridge thinks. He can't help but be snarky because however full of self-loathing he might be, he also knows that he's the smartest person in the room and ran out of patience for everyone else's bullshit a long time ago.

At the same time, he is so deeply invested in serving Lily's memory and protecting her son, and as he grows as a person he comes to care so much for saving any lives he can, that his dedication ultimately costs him his life. As he works towards that moment, knowing it's on the horizon, his lack of needing to be liked by anyone serves him every step of the way. Chef's kiss.

12. While on the topic of Movie Snape, what’s your favorite Snape-shot from the films?

Brilliant. Best moment in the entire film series, without a doubt. Not one word of dialogue, yet it says so much. This is why Rickman was right for the role, in my opinion. He was incredible with physical work, and Snape, being a terse, serious, closed off character needed to be portrayed by an actor who knew how to speak through their eyes and movements.

The way he lowers his wand to signal he means no harm to Harry and isn't threatening him. The way his eyes convey a trust in Harry while also asking him to trust him in kind. The certainty in his hand as he puts his finger to his lips to convey that he knows something Harry doesn't. The look on his whole face, that says, we're not teacher and student right now, we're both here to serve the same greater purpose and we both know what's at stake. It starts with these these two characters who have a history of not trusting or respecting each other raising their wands to each other, and ends with him having Harry's trust and being in control, all in the span of three seconds. It shifts the dynamic between these two characters entirely. It’s the most connected and intimate these two are in the entire film series.

Snape's motivation is that he knows the moment he's dreaded has come, that he has to kill Dumbledore now, and he also knows that he needs to keep Harry quiet and below the action of the scene to protect him. Even though seconds later he will kill Dumbledore, in this moment Rickman is able sell the audience on the idea that this character has Harry's trust, serving both the goal of the moment between these two characters, and of the story itself because having that trust gives him something to subvert and raise the stakes in the drama of the moment that follows immediately after. There's an incredible amount of storytelling packed into three seconds here, and it's all character work. It's not the dialogue, and it's not the direction, it's pure physicality and decades of acting training and movement work culminating in a moment that looks deceptively simple and is beautifully, profoundly effective.

14. Favorite Snape line/moment? (books or movies!)

I love the moments where he lets the control over his facade slip for a moment and gives away who he really is, like when he's in the middle of an Occlumency lesson with Harry and hears a scream upstairs and immediately runs off without locking his office or telling Harry to get out. Or like when he runs upstairs from the dungeons in his night shirt in the middle of the night because he hears the opened TriWizard egg screeching and doesn't know what it is, just that it sounds like wailing. He forgets his own vulnerability, running out in a nightshirt that would, no doubt, make him look silly in front of colleagues or rogue students, and definitely doesn't help when he's confronted with Moody who already has him on the back foot Not to mention that the castle is described as cold and the man doesn't even think to throw on a dressing gown, he's just off like a bullet because someone might be in danger. I love seeing this character who's controlled, meticulous, who thinks first and then speaks, who observes more than he reveals, who's set up as a foil and is villainized by the protagonist of the narrative, drop everything because he thinks someone is threatened. Love a good chink in the armor.

I also love his first scene in the PS film. Dramatic. Ruthless. Establishes exactly who this guy is and his zero tolerance policy on bullshit. Irrevocably changes the vibe in the room when he walks in. Threateningly charismatic. Love to see it.

[space-station-collective]

some of the less pretty parts of plurality

we talk a lot on this blog about the funny or nice parts of being plural, but there's also a lot of bad shit that can come with it. it's not all good, just like it's not all bad. it just is! sometimes, seeing posts like this makes us feel a little better, knowing we aren't alone in these struggles and seeing other people who have come through it, so, here's this

this is going to require a lot of me being vulnerable on the internet lmao

everything is going under a cut, and i'm marking applicable TW and CWs here as well as in the tags. i tried to keep it as light as possible (if there's any tags i missed, PLEASE do let me know and i'll add them ASAP /gen)

(this is also quite a long post, under the cut the word count is: 437)

WARNINGS: addiction mentions, physical illness, exotrauma mentions

-) developing an addiction/dependency that everyone has to manage, due to one headmate's actions

-) trying to collectively recover from addiction when not everyone wants to, and some headmates actively working against the progress and goals

-) more specifically, having to maintain a clean streak for everyone, not just one individual. not just yourself. we have an agreement- we stick together with this stuff

-) headmates who actively dislike people we know, and generally collectively like, and having to manage and ignore secondhand emotions towards those people when the headmates in question are around (not to say, ignoring how those headmates feel about people, but moreso not letting the emotions bleed through into our own interactions)

-) panicking because your job directly relates to helping other headmates, and despite your best efforts, things keep getting worse (not directly applicable to me who is writing this -host)

-) having to agree with headmates, who have done nothing wrong, that they can't be around front, because they're symptom holders, and the body is ill enough all the time that we physically can't handle them fronting

-) fighting. constant fighting. i can't think of a day since our syscovery that there hasn't been some sort of fight, argument, breakdown, violence, some sort of incident internally

-) so many headmates with so much exotrauma. some of their triggers have bled into our collective triggers, and holy shit is it hard to explain thost to people who don't understand exomemories, or even who don't know about the system

-) having to watch littles who are far too young for any of this experience this whole ordeal

-) "Atlantis" by Seafret. it's about an extremely different topic, but the lyrics hit home. "i can't save us, my atlantis, we fall. we built this town on shaky ground." because holy fuck, it feels that way sometimes

several of these things are now managed, several are not. being human is a weird, messy, fucked up experience, and when you shove a bunch of consciousnesses into one human body, it gets even more convoluted

whoever you are, whatever reason you might have for reading this: i love you. you are not alone in your struggles. you have support from so many places, and you will get through whatever you're currently experiencing, be it so simple as your favourite pencil breaking, all the way to personal tragedy. you are loved

-the host (he/they), expressing thoughts of the collective

(scheduling this to post outside of the queue because our content is usually much more lighthearted than this and i don't want to take up a spot for that)

[patrochillesvibes]

Achilles is definitely someone who does not share like if patroclus smiles at someone he's gonna want to start biting that person and it shows on his face and he would even admit it if he has to , while patroclus doesn't like the idea of sharing either but he's more quiet about it and his touches and body language speaks more than words but his face is calm and neutral like do u see my vision.

With much respect to other hcs regarding sharing, SAME!

Achilles is a crossbreed, half orange cat and half golden retriever. He’s very cat-coded but his Moon sign is all dog. Which is good because Patroclus is a dog-person.

With anything Achilles does not like or considers threatening, the teeth and claws are coming out and there’s gonna be some growling. Maybe even some hissing too.

Achilles might be a well-trained soldier in war, but in a fight he’s all girl. He fights dirty and nasty and it gets very bloody. He’s going for the eyes, the throat, and the hair.

But I dunno if he’s so possessive that he finds it threatening when others hit on his husband. Imo he’s very vain and he thinks he’s the prettiest princess of all princesses. So very few people, only the handsomest/prettiest, are true competition. And also, his husband is the handsomest of all husbands, so people should be envious. They should be looking.

Even so, Achilles does not strike me as a guy who shares. It’s a ‘look but don’t touch’ situation. You can admire from afar, but you can’t act on it. If casual flirting ever turns into an actual hookup attempt? Oh boy that person who tried to pick up Patroclus is fucked.

At his core, Achilles is a brat. Brats are needy by nature, and Achilles is the neediest. For Pat’s attention, specifically. He only likes and cares about Patroclus. Because of the sheer amount of attention he requires from Pat, there’s nothing left for Pat to spare for other people. It’s not so much that Achilles wants Patroclus’ attention (and for Pat to likewise be obsessive and possessive of him), he needs it (to live). So, Achilles can neither afford nor does he have the desire to share (imo) (and I’m getting off topic) (ANYWAYS)

Patroclus has got himself a real bad bitch. Like the psycho pussy kind. The once in a lifetime kind. You do not fumble these kind of bitches. Pat is going to do anything and everything he can to not fumble. This includes not messing around with inferior pussy -and let’s face it, all pussy is inferior to what Achilles has got going on.

Achilles will drape himself across Patroclus or even outright say ‘this is my husband’ to mark his territory, but Pat is subtle. He’ll stand a little too close, touch his arm, maybe even place a hand on his waist. If it escalates, there will be a look. The person receiving this look might even wet themselves a little.

A caveat. I do think Achilles can be a little flirt when he wants to be. I mean, in TSoA he was quite literally throwing himself at Patroclus. He’s not always good at it, but he does flirt when the mood strikes. Moods such as feeling extra bratty and wanting to rile Pat up real good. I can see Achilles spending an evening at the club flirting and dancing and drinking liberally to rile Pat up enough to fuck his brains out in the men’s bathroom. He was probably wearing a plug too so he was nice and ready, all planned in advance. Such a brat! 😈

Thank you for the ask!

[tonydaddingham]

On the topic of dark grey Crowley though, I agree, and I think actually being seen as some sort of gallant hero type who makes mistakes but ultimately is good is the sort of reading of his character that would frustrate him. Crowley genuinely likes to fuck with people sometimes. When Muriel shows up Crowley can barely resist having a little fun at Muriel's expense and mocking them for being naive, and he's so excited to do it. Like I think that is the happiest we see Crowley all season. He does the paint-gun trick just for fun and can barely contain his laughter when Aziraphale freaks out, and bragging to Hell about his evil deeds constantly is a facet of his personality and something Aziraphale even scolds him for. That isn't all just for show, Crowley has a conscience, but he can still be a stinker. That said, in the same way Aziraphale has a hard time going a week without doing a good deed, you can tell Post-Retirement Crowley is also trying to refrain from some of his meaner habits in S2 with his "count to ten" stuff, and especially in his interactions with Jim. Like he's working on being better, but having a hard time not letting his temper get the best of him, or not being a little bit evil sometimes. That's how I read that quick look in the Bentley after his fight with Aziraphale when he takes off his glasses and looks exhausted. It to me reads a bit like; "I didn't handle that well." You can also see his growth at the end of the season. Like he actually listens to Nina and Maggie and takes them seriously when they tell him he needs to be more communicative, and he makes an effort to follow their advice. S1 Crowley would not have done that.

hi @oatmealaddiction, sorry for taking so long to reply to you!!!✨

this is... brilliant - you're absolutely right and i completely agree with you; he definitely seems to try getting a handle of himself in s2. there's a lot that he does in 2023 that shows that he's trying to be more gentle, conscious of his words/behaviour, and all-round a softer person. you've highlighted "count to ten" (and i'll add his immediate recognition of 'my bad' when he restores power to the coffeeshop), and how he interacts with jim, but also the way that he gently questions aziraphale about his 'naked man friend', how he interacts with muriel in the backroom and in heaven, and putting the shop back together before aziraphale comes back (firmly believe that this is the stress-cleaning as alluded to in the book, but it's still a measure of kindness and respect to aziraphale and the shop).

he still occasionally falters in all this though, which is a nice touch to show that it's all a work-in-progress (he still mocks muriel slightly in ep3 as you say, still violently loses his temper, still shown to treat aziraphale's things with a degree of disrespect, and still handles aziraphale quite abruptly on occasion), but the common denominator throughout all of that, relapsing so to speak, is him being under a good measure of stress and threat - so once again, completely understandable that he does so!!! i also like your remark on the conversation with maggie and nina; even if he doesn't necessarily listen to/act on the key points of that conversation that he possibly ought to have done, the fact that he does at all - even considers what they have to say as being worthy of his attention, as wise and insightful - is another mark of how he begins to evolve in s2, compared to s1 where he seems to be stuck in a state of inertia. crowley seems to spend a good deal of s2 anchorless (and not just in the literal 'hes living out in his car' way), and therefore seems to be grasping for routine, purpose, and/or connection wherever he can find it...?

i do wonder if its wholly to do with being out from under hell's thumb, though. as you say, and ive suggested in previous asks, crowley does seem to get some joy out of being a demon and doing demonic things, and acts in those instances with - as it seems to me, anyway - very little conscience... but these all largely occur before he breaks away from hell, even if some bad habits (?) remain in s2. im also of the (i think) widely-shared belief that crowley begins to fear hell from 1827 onward, and that his disappearance for however-long-a-time/his obvious fear and paranoia in 1862 is directly linked to how he reacts to aziraphale calling him nice/good/thanking him.

so with that in mind, his emerging willingness, as it seems in s2, to be 'nicer' and 'gentler' correlates directly to the threat of hell being removed; that would be a fairly logical conclusion. but we know that he's not out from under hell's thumb... i would like to think that crowley isn't naive enough to believe that shax is simply a harmless, innocuous protégée... but if we consider how he seems to underestimate other fellow demons in the show, it's entirely possible.

but then again, the time that beelzebub drags him from the bentley does seem to be the first time they've interacted since armageddon... so did crowley truly think that he was safe from hell? that they wouldn't dare to fuck with him again, after the bathtub ruse? did he see it as freedom to start being nicer, without fear of repercussions that - we can assume - he suffered beforehand? is he doing it for himself, because he wants to be nicer, or is he doing it to build further on the 'us' he and aziraphale were tentatively creating in the four years we didn't see?

sorry that the above is a ramble - this is basically a transcript of my brain talking itself in circles, but i think it's nonetheless interesting to think about; how much of crowley developing into this character, that seems to purposefully try being a kinder/nicer/more patient and conscientious person, is because he personally wants to, had wanted to all along, and is now free to do so, and how much is it because he thinks it's a compromise on meeting aziraphale's assessment of being 'at heart, just a little bit, a good person', so that he's more... idk, likeable - agreeable? - to aziraphale directly? wants to live up to what aziraphale thinks of him? how much of this is all the same thing?✨

[yinnina]

It Might Be Him

There were more than four-thousand kids in this school, about a thousand for each grade.

A little less than half of those kids were surrounding us. Some kids, who were smart, watched from the stairs reeling, shouting like wild dogs for who they thought would win.

He yelled something that I couldn't catch on due to how loud the people were around us.

"Sorry!" I yelled back, "Doc said I shouldn't listen to bullshit!"

Everyone 'ooh'ed and laughed at the guy, whose name I knew was Eren, and the only reason he found out he was fighting was thanks to Gabby being the one who knew about him.

He got into a fighting position, which looked funny to me, and tried throwing a punch.

Luckily, I had a fast reflex and ducked under his fist, grabbing his arm and pulling it behind my head.

We are face to face now, and taking that to my advantage I kicked the front of his knee, making him fall, but before his face hit mine I moved out of the way, making him fall face first into the ground.

I grabbed his arms and put them behind his back, restraining him from punching or moving due to pressure I'm placing on his back.

"I would give up if I were you." I whispered in his ear.

"Like I would do such thing." He said harshly, struggling to get out of my grip. That was my cue to raise his right arm with the elbow facing me.

Crack!

Everyone was in sock, and the guy was screaming in pain after a few seconds.

His arm was bent, it would not fold frontwards but backwards.

"I warned you, you didn't listen." I told him as I walked away, people making way for me to walk through.

After that was over with, I made sure to head straight for the Grab-N-Go, where I knew Vance would be at.

I walked through the front doors, with the sound of a bell warning my entrance.

"So?" Asked the blondie, not looking away from his game.

"He won't touch anyone for a few weeks if not months." I told him.

He looked up at me this time, not caring about his score and him losing. He was in shock, but it wasn't very visible, only reason it was given away was due to his eyebrows rising up slightly then going back to their original place.

"What did you do?" He asked, rather curious.

"Arm's bend." I said simply, with a plain voice.

He chuckled, but his face showed no new emotion. "Who would've thought, since when do you know how to bend arms?"

"You're underestimating me, I know many things that would fall under the medical field. Some things don't fall under it, but fall under murder 'field.'"

"Surprise me." He ordered.

"If you inject digoxin into someone who doesn't have heart failure then they will die and it will look like they had blood pressure, and if it's injected under the tongue then the pinch mark is most likely to not be found." I reassure.

He was shocked at this, but knew it was true due to how I said it. I didn't stutter once, I didn't eat my words, and didn't trip over them.

It was a rather interesting topic to look into, I didn't use that knowledge on anyone or anything, but it could come in handy.

"Fair enough. I trust that you won't say a word about this?" He glared at me.

I chuckled lightly, "Of course."

It was a shocker he even talked to me, so I better keep my mouth shut to not get on his nerves like I did back in middle school.

His temper was a ticking bomb after all, the only exception was that you knew when a bomb would explode thanks to its timer, with Vance though, it was different, you never knew what he would do.

There was no capable way of reading him.

I turned to leave the store, before I saw it once again.

The black-fucking-ban.

"Oh my, do I have a secret admirer or something?" I whispered to myself.

There was no way I would go out through the front door where they could see me, so I went back to Vance, who was playing Pinball, and sat down next to the machine, waiting for the ban to notice my absence and leave.

I was lucky that the man didn't notice me walking away from the door, for he was probably searching for something on the passenger's seat.

"Asshole's following you again?" Asked the curly haired guy.

I sighed and nodded my head, yes.

I was not playing this man's little hide-&-seek game, I ain't patient enough to hide nor patient enough to seek.

My temper was running short with the top hatted man appearing everywhere I went.

I found it extremely weird how every time he appeared I was always near Vance. It was almost as if he wasn't just targeting me, but Vance too.

"Does he follow you anywhere?" I asked quietly, only for him to hear.

"Not really, it's always when you are around." He confessed. "Vance..." I started and he hummed.

"He only ever appears when you are around..."

He stopped playing, not caring when the machine made a small noise to announce how the game was finished.

His face was stiff, in a position where you could tell.

He was getting pissed, and a pissed Vance was not a pretty Vance.

"That son of a bitch..." He whispered, trying to remain cool.

"You don't think... He's going for both of us, right?" I started fidgeting with my nails. This whole thing was crazy.

Then I thought about the odds. What if he really was the one who kidnapped the other kids?

It wasn't impossible, he seemed cliche already.

"I'm not sure." He confessed, and for the first time, he actually looked down to the floor.

He too was thinking the same thing, I knew it by his face.

This top-hat man might be The Grabber, and was awaiting his next victims.

He was waiting for the next kids he will take from their home.

Those kids might be one of us, and we didn't know who. This man had no reason to do what he did, he merely did it for the sake of his own pleasure and entertainment. We didn't know a thing about him, and he didn't know a thing about us.

And for the first time in a while, I actually got scared. I got scared for myself.

For Vance.

I knew we both could handle ourselves, but this is a new thing, we are talking about someone who has kidnapped other kids who haven't even been found yet.

"I'm not sure..."

[pillowcaseghostie]

If you're going to watch South Park watch the earlier seasons when they were clever. Edit: So I started writing this and I got carried the fuck away, I love South Park and it's always been my favourite show and I really owe it a lot as I'll explain below. "But they're homophobic, antisemetic-" Lemme stop you right there. I grew up in a conservative household. Homophobic, racist, so much bigoted shit was spouted constantly. Hard R N word a common thing if the subject came up. If it was not for South Park I would not have escaped.

I was a loner, a socially awkward kid (and kinda abused emotionally and neglected so like just literally no idea how to talk to people, still kinda true I'm really blunt and stunted and come off as aggressive when I'm just in "default bland" mode for lack of better term. So if it was not for this show I would not have learned tolerance and would not have found normalcy in things like homosexuality. And considering I like girls, that was important for me Old school south park has some bangers like Big Gay Al's Big Gay Boatride, an episode where Stan's dog Sparky is gay and Stan does not like this. Big Gay Al takes him on his boat ride to teach about the gays and why he shouldn't try to change his dog and just accept him for the fabulous bitch he is. There's the Death Camp of Tolerance which went over slurs and such and, while the message is more or less at the end "You don't have to be okay with <insert group or thing here> but you should tolerate it because it doesn't affect you once you go home" a message that I think more people should follow.

There's an episode where Mr. Garrison (as Mrs. Garrison which I'll...touch on in a minute) is rejected by his former boyfriend Mr. Slave because he doesn't like vaginas he likes penis, so he does the whole "raise a baby"thing with the class with eggs. Stan and Kyle are fighting but they end up as the odd couple/gay couple with their shared egg. The episode revolves around the topic of same sex marriage and is very supportive of it in the end. There's a beautifully done episode about Butters being suspected of being bisexual/bicurious when Cartman, being a dumbass, "pranks" him by putting Butters dick in his mouth. So when he tries to do the prank "right" by having Butters put his dick in his mouth instead, his dad catches him, and sends him to a conversion camp. The best line at the end comes from Butters "If I'm bicurious and I'm somehow made from God, well I think God is a little bicurious himself." The show mixes a lot of really stupid humor to touch on current events and when it hits the mark, it does it beautifully.

"But what about.." Mr. Garrison. Mr. Garrison is NOT a character you are supposed to root for (Neither is Cartman most of the time, some of the new season is kinda toning down his shit though, but Mr. Garrison remains the racist, bigoted, homophobic gay guy you're supposed to DISLIKE even if you enjoy watching his antics on the show. That said I do think that times have changed and some episodes (or eras) have aged really poorly such as Mr. Garrison as Mrs. Garrison when he gets a sex change operation. Basically the joke is SUPPOSED to be "Mr. Garrison is such a dumbass he thinks the "next step" of being gay is to have a sex change." I don't think it aged well at all and while trans people have always existed, it wasn't really until discussions became more open online that people started to actually TALK about them existing and so these episodes look very terrible in hindsight. I will follow up that the episode "Eek, a Penis!" where he goes back to Mr. Garrison after a penis is grown on a mouse does kind of point out that this era of South Park was mostly shit, with a couple of gems in there (Like Follow That Egg as mentioned above) Antisemitism:

Matt Stone is jewish and comes from a jewish family. All of the jokes are just poking fun at himself and as a jew myself I've never found it offensive, but have met some who are put off by it. South Park is a show where no one is safe, that's very much their brand, but unlike Family Guy who does the same thing, they at least always do it tongue in cheek.

transphobia: If you have not actually sat down and watched the episode where Strong Woman is beaten up by a man claiming to be a transwoman so he can easily beat women in sports, you need to watch it in full before making your judgement. The whole message is that we can and should allow trans athletes but shouldn't let people take advantage of that either. I think it's very clumsily done but I don't think the message was supposed to be 'trans bad" I think the "cissy" episode is also kinda clumsily done but it's also got Cartman as the front, so again, you're not supposed to be on his side. That's why Wendy, a feminist character who is never treated as the butt of the joke for her viewpoints even since the 90s and who HAS kicked Cartman's ass before, is his foil for this episode. I think Trey Parker especially is pretty honest when he learns/comes to terms with the fact a joke has aged poorly or maybe should've never been made to begin with. He and Matt Stone regret ever making fun of Al Gore and his attempts to warn people about Climate change, and they recently had an episode all about Tolkein, who's name was originally Token to poke fun at the 90s trope of having a "Token black" character (or female, asian, etc but in his case obviously he's the token black). they poke a LOT a fun at themselves for ever thinking it was okay, and put the awkwardness of discovering his name was "always' Tolkein after the LOTR author on Stan. They even have him feeling awkward and trying to gauge if anyone else ever thought it was Token this whole time by pointing out how he's named after Tolkein, and then Tolkein finally calling him out because he doesn't like LOTR himself. I think the show is imperfect, but I also think that unlike a similarly "mean spirited" show like Family Guy, the creators have always had their humor coming from the right place. They do what they think is funny, and have some commentary on current events, and usually their views line up more with the left than with the right. I mean when Obama became president they didn't even bother making an episode for if he didn't win, and when Trump became president they made him Mr. Garrison who is, again, a character you are not supposed to resonate with. Meanwhile Family Guy is very much just "look at this silly gay guy, ewwww" and I think it's only like within the past few years they've finally stopped doing those kinds of jokes and acknowledged it but more in a "our bad" kind of way and not in a "Yeah that was never cool" kind of way. Idk. I have very little respect for Family Guy and I grew up watching both shows. Other things such as liberal use of the words "retard" and "fag" in earlier seasons are products of the time. It's a hard truth but in the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s a LOT of us used those words casually. It's hard to explain but there was always a distinctive thought that you didn't mean for the words to disparage against those with disabilities or with the LGBT community, and if you DID use them that way you were trash, but it took awhile for people to kinda realize that "Uh yeah there's no way of explaining around it, you can't really say one without meaning the other." and theyve toned down on the usage a lot over the years. I don't think I'm missing any of the major gripes people have about the show but basically I think people need to think about what they're watching and see it as more than face value. Most of the people I know who like South Park are liberal or at least democrat and recognize these points and the growth of the show. I will be more than happy to discuss this show with anyone who'd like to and cover anything I didn't cover myself in my lack-of-sleep passionate ramble about a show that greatly shaped my viewpoints for the better. Like if it wasn't for South Park I'd be just as bigoted as my family. Am I perfect? No, but I'm always willing to learn and have my views challenged. I won't engage if you're not respectful though.

Closing notes: My favourite episodes are in no particular order:

Make Love Not Warcraft (and I rewatch it everytime a new expac comes out lol) the LOTR episode

The game of thrones triology

Imaginationland triology

Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics (a must on the holidays) Tonsil Trouble (Funfact, came out the same week I got my tonsils out so I was terrified something would go wrong. Was able to bond with my brother, which was difficult, by quoting this episode when I got home though)

AWESOME-O (honestly any episode that's just a Butters and Cartman adventure is fun)

Good Times With Weapons

Le Petit Tourette (An extremely respectful episode regarding tourette's syndrome)

Tweek x Craig (Aka that time the most popular ship in the fandom was made canon with the staff LITERALLY asking fans for fanart of the ship to put in the show. It's still canon too it didn't end after the episode)

You're Getting Old (Makes me cry no joke)

The List (a rare episode where more than just Wendy does something)

idk what teenager needs to hear this but please stop watching south park

[starryhyuck]

birthday party. (m)

pairing: yuta x afab!reader x hyuck

words: 4.6k+

summary: if he’s being honest, the only reason yuta can’t get close to donghyuck is because he wants to fuck his girlfriend.

genre: smut

warnings: threesome, yuta and haechan are mean, reader is fucked stupid, butt plugs, vibrators, mention of dildos, a little dubcon, anal, face fucking, squirting, major degradation, double penetration, creampies

It’s not like Yuta has always seen you this way.

You’ve been dating Donghyuck for a couple of years, the first two being filled with puppy love and teasing from the members about how embarrassed the both of you would get from simple hand holding. Then, of course, Donghyuck grew more confident in himself and your relationship and hand holding turned into ass grabbing at the dinner table, which Doyoung always complained about.

It wasn’t until one of the company dinners when Yuta finally started to notice you. Normally, the event was very exclusive but since Donghyuck was the sweet talker, he brought you along with no complaints from any of the staff. Yuta remembers how pretty you looked in your baby blue dress, barely reaching the tops of your thighs. Donghyuck was happier than ever, copping a feel for you whenever he thought his managers weren’t looking. You would just giggle and swat his shoulder, scolding him playfully.

Yuta imagined what it would be like to have his hands roaming your body, sliding up your tiny dress and ripping the fabric down the middle so he could fully see you. He’s heard countless stories of Doyoung and Taeyong getting into fights with Donghyuck because the two of you are too noisy during ungodly hours of the night, keeping the rest of the members awake from the bedframe hitting the wall and your high pitched moans. Donghyuck would complain because it’s not his fault you tend to get turned on around 3am, and he would be considered a horrible boyfriend if he didn’t take care of you.

Yuta wants to hide the idea of fucking you far from any of his members, keeping the thought to himself only when he needs it late at night. He knows he’s not the only one thinking it though, often catching Mark or Jaehyun’s lingering stare whenever you come over to the dorms in nothing but a small tank top and sweatpants.

But if Yuta thinks you haven’t noticed him, he was a complete idiot.

“Hyuck, have you seen Yuta staring at me?”

You bring the topic up to your boyfriend one night, watching as he taps away at his keyboard, playing games with Taeyong and Johnny. He turns off his microphone briefly to answer your question.

“Why would Yuta be staring at you, baby?” He asks innocently.

You shuffle around on his bed, glad that the members now have their own rooms so you don’t have to awkwardly ask Johnny to leave so you can spend time with your boyfriend.

“He just does. I don’t know, I’ve noticed it recently.”

You shrug absentmindedly, even though you know what you’re trying to get at. Donghyuck seems to know it too, having memorized your emotions like the back of his hand.

“And you like it when he stares at you?” He questions, eyes still focused on his gaming screen even though you both know he’s more focused on this conversation.

You shrug again. “I don’t know. I was just thinking, with my birthday coming up and everything, we could try something new.”

Donghyuck hums in understanding, knowing exactly what that meant. The both of you have tried nearly everything at this point, one of Donghyuck’s nightstand drawers being filled with various toys and butt plugs of your liking. However, you’ve never invited someone else to join in on your fun.

“You know I’ll get you anything you want, baby. Let me take care of it.”

You almost squeal in delight at your boyfriend’s eagerness to please you, and Donghyuck is forced to hang up on Taeyong and Johnny while you ride him on his gaming chair as a thank you.

—

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Donghyuck shrugs, leaning against the wall of Yuta’s bed casually. The menace had marched into Yuta’s room only moments ago, letting Yuta know that his girlfriend desperately wanted to fuck him.

“I don’t think it’s that difficult to process,” Donghyuck says, smirking like he usually does. The little shit that he is, he props his feet up on Yuta’s bed and sighs. “Her birthday is coming up and she wants you.”

Yuta swallows. There’s at least a sixty percent chance Donghyuck could be fucking with him right now just to see how Yuta responds.

Yuta’s known for never backing down from a challenge, so he straightens up and glares down at his younger member. “If that’s what she wants, then I’m fine with it.”

Donghyuck scoffs at Yuta’s attempt at being subtle. “Alright. Whatever. I’ll text you the day and time. She also wants to know what you want to see her in, you know, since you’re staring at her all the time?”

The tips of Yuta’s ears turn bright red and he tears his gaze away from Donghyuck’s questioning eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. I’ll just have her wear that blue dress from a couple years ago. You remember? At the company dinner?”

“Sure. I don’t mind,” Yuta says, ignoring Donghyuck’s evil chuckles.

“Good. See you then.”

Donghyuck exits his room, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just spun Yuta’s world upside down.

—

It’s only a week later that you celebrate your birthday. All of the members gather in the kitchen to sing for you, and Yuta can’t help but stare at the baby blue dress from all those years ago. It still fits your body perfectly, riding up slightly from being pressed against Donghyuck’s side.

The members have decided to give you and Donghyuck some privacy as your birthday present so that you two have the whole floor to yourselves. Doyoung’s only ask was that you stay far away from his room.

Donghyuck texted Yuta last night to come over once all of the members have left. Yuta doesn’t want to say that he’s nervous, but terrified at the thought of fucking you tonight. He doesn’t exactly know what kind of boundaries you and Donghyuck have established, but you’ve barely glanced in Yuta’s general direction since they brought the cake out. You’re only smiling at Donghyuck affectionately, kissing his cheek and thanking him for the birthday surprise.

So when Yuta arrives at Donghyuck’s door later that night, he’s feeling defensive.

“Haechan, if this is some sick joke-“

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Come in and stop complaining.”

Yuta nearly stops in his tracks at the sight of you on Donghyuck’s bed, sitting on your knees. You’re still wearing the dress from earlier but now it’s accompanied by a baby blue collar strapped around your neck, Yuta’s name dangling on the metal.

Donghyuck smirks at the sight of Yuta being so flustered that he can’t even speak.

“She wanted to wear it for you,” Donghyuck hums softly. “Normally, I wouldn’t let her wear any other name except mine, but it’s her birthday today and I’m not going to deny her anything. Princess is going to get whatever she wants.”

You tilt your head innocently, smiling softly at Yuta. He wants to do nothing but ruin you.

“You’re not going to tell me how pretty I look?” You pout, fingers brushing over the hem of your dress. “I wore this just for you. I know how much you like it.”

“Go on,” Donghyuck prods Yuta forward when he doesn’t say anything. “I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll join you. Do whatever she wants. But no real fun until I come back.”

Donghyuck gives you a warning look and you simply smile. Your boyfriend knows better than anyone how mischievous you can get. Once Donghyuck leaves, the room settles into silence.

You frown. “Do you not like me, Yuta?”

“What?” He laughs awkwardly, still feeling embarrassed by the current situation. “Why would I not like you?”

“Because I prepared all of this for you,” you pout, bottom lip sticking out. Yuta wants to kiss you so badly right now. “Wore this dress for you, bought this collar for you, made myself all pretty. I thought you would like it.”

You’re a little bit defeated by Yuta’s lack of excitement. Donghyuck warned you he would probably be nervous because of the circumstances, but you didn’t believe it. After all, you can’t recall the last time you ever saw Nakamoto Yuta nervous.

You decide to tease him more just to see how far his resolve would go. You rise from your position slightly and grab the hem of Yuta’s shirt, dragging him closer to you. His eyes widen at your boldness, looking down at you. You grin and tilt your head, lips inches away from his.

“I thought you would want to kiss me as soon as you saw me,” you confess, voice barely a whisper.

He swallows. “Kissing seems a little intimate, don’t you think? You’re still Haechan’s girlfriend.”

You roll your eyes and Yuta can start to see why you and Donghyuck are so perfect for each other. “So what if I’m Hyuck’s girlfriend? He gave you the go ahead, didn’t he?” You take Yuta’s hand in yours before guiding his palm downwards to your soaking core. “Plus, Hyuck doesn’t mind. He’s possessive for sure, but he knows I’ll always belong to him. But this, right here, belongs to you for the night.”

Yuta’s breath hitches when his fingers brush by your cunt, which is completely dripping in anticipation. That’s when Yuta finally snaps, lips crashing into yours as he pushes you onto the bed. You squeak in surprise at his aggressive nature, trying to balance yourself by gripping his biceps.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groans, tongue slipping into your mouth.

You figured Yuta would be a messy fuck, and you’re proven right by the way he almost swallows you whole. You moan against his lips, allowing him to take control.

He grips the fabric of your panties before tearing it in half like it was nothing. As much as you love your boyfriend, Donghyuck has made many attempts before to try and rip anything off of you with no success. Yuta’s strength makes you grow even wetter.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first time I saw you in this dress,” he growls, moving to attack your neck. You gasp when he bites down forcefully. “Such a fucking slut, walking around with barely any clothes on. I don’t understand why Haechan allows you to dress like a whore.”

You whimper. “I-I’m not a whore.”

He laughs sinisterly. “Yes, you are. You’re a filthy whore who should be doing nothing but getting fucked all day.” His fingers tug at your collar and you attempt to catch your breath. “If I were Haechan, I would make you wear this around just to show everyone who you belong to. Mark and Jaehyun want to fuck you so badly too, you know.”

Your eyes widen slightly at Yuta’s confession. You’ve never seen Mark and Jaehyun take a second glance at you, if you’re being honest, and now you’re slightly regretting asking Mark for guitar lessons last week when you were wearing only Donghyuck’s shirt and your underwear.

“That’s not true,” you try to deny, moaning when you feel Yuta’s fingers playing with your folds gently.

“Oh, it’s not true?” He laughs again, and it sounds even more degrading as time passes. Perhaps you accidentally unlocked a sadistic side of Yuta. “Then why did I catch Jaehyun jerking off to the sound of you and Haechan fucking a week ago?”

You gasp. “Jaehyun doesn’t even live on this floor!”

“That’s the thing, silly girl. Sometimes we need a little help getting ourselves off and the sound of Haechan railing you does the trick. Sometimes we come up here to stand outside the door, listening to how you beg for Haechan to give you a break. Sometimes we imagine that it’s us on top of you, fucking you until there’s not a single thought in that pretty little head of yours.”

He pushes three fingers inside of you with absolutely no warning, and the intrusion causes you to scream.

“Y-Yuta! Wait!”

He just smiles at you, watching you squirm and try to get away from him when he starts pumping his fingers furiously. He bends his digits in an attempt to find the spot that will completely break you. Your back arches and you groan when the pleasure entirely takes over your body.

“There we go,” he coaxes, enjoying the look of you falling apart. “Don’t think about anything else, baby. Just me.”

You try to push Yuta away from you to catch your breath. The pressure is building up too fast, and something feels different.

“Yuta, I d-don’t know- Something’s wrong-“

“Nothing’s wrong, baby. Trust me,” he murmurs, pressing kisses down the side of your face. “You wanted me as your present, remember? I’m giving you your birthday gift.”

You nearly black out at the sheer force of your orgasm, pulling Yuta closer to you so you can hold something. You faintly hear the wet squelching sounds of your pussy as he moves his fingers rapidly, trying to get you everywhere as much as possible.

“Woah, how did you do that?”

You register the sound of your boyfriend’s voice and you try blinking to make out where he is. His blurry figure stands by the door, dressed in nothing but a towel covering his lower half.

“Hyuck,” you whisper pathetically, hands reaching out for him. Usually, when you’re this out of it, Donghyuck rewards you in cuddles.

This time, your boyfriend has no care for your suffering, beaming at Yuta and talking to him animatedly.

“Usually I have to give her four orgasms before she squirts like that! Teach me how you did it!”

Yuta laughs at the youngest’s eagerness. He rises from his spot above you and gestures for Donghyuck to come forward.

“Do you guys have any toys?”

“Do we ever,” Donghyuck hums, walking over to his bedside and opening the nightstand. Yuta’s eyes widen at the sight of various dildos, butt plugs, and vibrators. Donghyuck whistles happily as he sorts through the organized mess of sex toys. He pulls out a plug with a fluffy bunny tail attached to it, showing it off to Yuta proudly. “This one is her favorite. Makes her look like a cute little bunny.”

He tosses it to Yuta, who looks over the plug carefully. Donghyuck then shows off your favorite vibrator like it’s a new toy he got for Christmas.

“This one makes her cum really fast. Especially when you press it against her baby button.”

“Baby button?” Yuta questions.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Her clit. You can’t use real words with her when she’s like this,” he points to you as you’re still trying to recover from your orgasm. “She turns super dumb real quick. Watch this.”

Yuta observes as Donghyuck grips your cheeks harshly, forcing you to look at him.

“Aren’t you going to thank Yuta for allowing you to cum? Bad girls like you won’t get orgasms if you’re not nice.”

You whimper. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Yuta’s eyebrows raise at the word. You shift your attention to him. “Thank you for letting me cum, Yuta. You’re really nice to me.”

Donghyuck laughs. “See? She gets crazy stupid. Super subby and needy too.”

Donghyuck points out how you’re practically clinging onto his arm, afraid of him leaving. You watch as he turns on your favorite vibrator and you smile happily.

“Oh? Baby likes that sound, doesn’t she?”

You nod eagerly at your boyfriend’s question, spreading your legs wider. Donghyuck laughs and locks eyes with Yuta.

“So easy. I’ve thought about just passing her around the members before, but you know how Jaehyun and Johnny get. They’ll probably want to put a ring on her finger as soon as they get their dick inside her.” Donghyuck leans over and spits on your cheek, watching it drip down the side of your face. Yuta thought he was a messy fuck, but he never anticipated Donghyuck to be the same. “And the only ring she’ll ever wear on her finger is mine, isn’t that right?”

You fail to answer the question since Donghyuck chooses to turn your vibrator up to the highest setting and push it against your clit. You release a string of moans, whimpering and begging for Donghyuck to have mercy on you. Your boyfriend does the complete opposite, nails digging into your throat as a warning.

“You better fucking answer me or I’ll have Yuta fuck your ass with no prep right now,” Donghyuck warns, and Yuta thinks he’s never found the youngest’s voice so intimidating. Now he knows why Doyoung and Taeyong constantly complain about the noise.

“Y-Yes! Yes!” You cry, feeling the first set of tears slipping down your face. “I’m sorry, D-Daddy! I’m sorry!”

Donghyuck smirks before shifting his attention to Yuta. “How do you want to fuck her?”

“How do you usually fuck her?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “From behind, missionary, up against the wall, in the shower, on the dining table, blah blah blah. We’ve tried most positions and places, honestly. We even fucked in Doyoung’s bed one time just to spite him, but don’t tell him that.”

“I usually like it from behind.”

“Good! I can fuck her face then.”

You whine when Donghyuck removes the vibrator, feeling the loss immediately.

”Hands and knees, ass up. You know the rules,” Donghyuck commands, and you instantly obey. You shakily find your position, ignoring Donghyuck and Yuta’s snickers at your predicament.

“Condom?” Yuta asks.

Donghyuck shrugs. “We usually just chance it. Sometimes she takes her birth control but sometimes she forgets.”

“You- You chance it? She could get pregnant!”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes again and Yuta starts to see why Doyoung feels the urge to punch the youngest every once in a while.

“So? She would be a great mom and I would be a fucking amazing dad. Plus, don’t you think she would look so nice with a swollen belly, carrying my child around? Perfect little housewife if you ask me.” Donghyuck grips your face again and forces you to look at him through bleary eyes. “Wouldn’t you love to have my babies?”

“Of c-course, D-Daddy. Whatever Daddy wants.”

“Good girl,” Donghyuck praises you. He discards his towel and strokes his cock, watching as your mouth waters at the sight. “Pretty little cockslut. You want Daddy’s cock that badly, baby?”

“Yes! Please, Daddy! I’ve been good!” You beg, pawing at his thighs to try and get more of his attention.

Yuta grows even harder at the sight of you being so perfectly trained. He can’t believe Donghyuck has you wrapped around his finger like this.

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at Yuta. “Are you waiting for permission or something? She’s not going to give it to you when she’s like this, she can barely remember her own name.”

Yuta swallows. He’s never fucked someone bare before, and he can’t believe Donghyuck’s just been chancing his luck so far. He won’t lie though, the thought is extremely enticing, especially since your pussy is soaking wet and ready to take him. He decides to push all sensible thoughts away and takes his cock out, rubbing the tip over your folds gently.

You keen at his touch, eagerly pushing your hips backwards, which earns you a slap in the face by your boyfriend.

“Don’t be such a slut,” Donghyuck hisses and you scramble to apologize. “Suck my cock since that’s all you’re good for.”

You immediately get to work, wrapping your hand around his base and taking kitten licks at his tip. You gasp when Yuta finally pushes into you, and Yuta lets out a long groan.

It’s been so long since he’s been in a pussy that’s felt this good. You’re so fucking tight, gripping his cock like a vice.

“Tight, isn’t she?” Donghyuck says cockily. “I fuck her everyday and she still feels like that. It’s a fucking mystery to me. I even fucked her for six hours once and she still felt like a fucking glove. Such a good slut.”

“Fuck, Haechan, I don’t know how you do this,” Yuta sighs, feeling like he’s in some other type of heaven. He’s quick to press deep inside you until his balls hit your clit at the force of his thrusts.

You cry and moan as loudly as you like, surprised by Yuta’s girth. He’s too big for his own good, and you’re struggling to focus on Donghyuck’s cock. Your boyfriend notices your struggle and forces your mouth open with his fingers. You get the message and open as wide as you can, allowing him to slide his cock down your throat.

Just like when he fingered you, Yuta’s able to find the spot that makes you unravel in a matter of minutes. Once he hears your moans around Donghyuck, he knows he’s got you. He’s nearly feral at this point, spitting out the dirtiest, meanest things you’ve ever heard him say.

“Stupid fucking whore,” Yuta hisses loudly. “All I’m gonna think about for months is this golden pussy and your dumb little face begging for me to fuck you. I want to fucking destroy you so badly, give you that stupid baby that’s going to be raised by a cockwhore of a mother.”

Donghyuck just snickers, watching as you choke around his cock and saliva drips down the side of your mouth. He knows you’re close to passing out from not breathing, but he also knows you love the feeling.

“Why don’t you push that plug into her other hole, Yuta? Watch her little bunny tail bounce on your cock.”

Yuta grins at the idea, locating the plug and licking it until it’s nice and wet for you. When he begins to push it into your other hole, Donghyuck finally allows you to breathe. You gasp loudly, choking and coughing as you try to collect yourself.

There are so many sensations you’re currently experiencing right now and you have no idea what to focus on. You can feel Donghyuck slapping his cock over your cheeks while Yuta pounds your poor pussy, his fingers pushing your favorite plug into your other unprepared hole. The pain is as overwhelming as the pleasure, and you truly have no thoughts running in your head except the two men fucking you like animals.

You hear your boyfriend hum thoughtfully, and you know that sound is far from good. “Yuta, do you think there’s room in that small pussy of hers to fit me?”

Your eyes widen. “W-What?”

But Yuta merely chuckles. “We’ll make it fit if there isn’t.”

“W-Wait-“

Your pleas are ignored as the two adjust you how they please, manhandling you until your boyfriend’s underneath you and Yuta’s on top, both of their cocks lined up to your soaking hole. You squeak when Donghyuck’s thumb presses against the plug in your ass.

“Hyuck, I don’t think-“

“You can’t think,” Donghyuck says before you can finish your thought. “You can’t think because you’re nothing but a whore for us now. Shut the fuck up and take us like you’re made to.”

You swear that white clouds your vision when both of them press into your cunt. You’re being stretched like never before, and your mind goes completely blank. Your body slumps against Donghyuck’s, and he laughs as he holds you close.

“She really is dumb,” Yuta cackles. “She’s so fucked out right now.”

“You should see her when she’s ovulating. A fucking crazy horny slut, she literally mounts me at any given chance. So cock drunk that she doesn’t give a fuck who sees us.”

The two pick up a brutal pace on your pussy, and they both groan at the fact that they not only feel you, but each other as well.

You whine and cry, words garbling together. “W-Want it- So g-good, Daddy- I love it- M-More please!”

Donghyuck scrambles to find your vibrator before turning it back on and pressing it against your clit again. The sensation causes you to fall headfirst into your second orgasm, cunt tightening around both of their cocks.

“Fuck,” Donghyuck hisses. “You fucking love it when I press against your baby button, don’t you?”

You know any question your boyfriend asks must be answered, so you try your best to formulate a response. The best you can come up with is, “Mmm huh.”

Yuta laughs again at your lack of understanding. “God, I can’t wait to dump my load in you.”

“I can hold out for one more, how about you?” Donghyuck asks Yuta over your shoulder. At this point, you’re just a hole for them to fuck.

“I’m good with that.”

When they resume their original tempo, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. You can barely register what’s going on, accepting whatever’s being given to you. Donghyuck presses the vibrator to your clit again and your thighs start to tremble.

“Hyuck,” you whisper softly, not sure of your own voice.

“Yes, my baby?” He mumbles softly, as if he isn’t pounding you senseless.

“B-Break?”

He chuckles. “No breaks, baby. This is what you wanted for your present, remember?”

“Present?”

“It’s your birthday, dumb whore,” Yuta answers this time, glaring down at you. “You asked for me.”

“Birthday,” you hum, faintly recalling a delicious birthday cake made by Taeil. “I think I’m gonna cum again, Daddy.”

“Go ahead then, baby.”

You let out a string of whimpers as your final orgasm takes over you, your pussy squirting around both of their cocks as you try to push them out.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna give you all of Daddy’s cum,” Donghyuck says in your ear.

You perk up. “Daddy’s cum? I l-love Daddy’s cum!”

“Yeah? You want Yuta’s cum too, you fucking cumslut?”

“Yes! Please, Yuta!”

The sound of you begging for his cum pushes him over the edge, and Yuta loudly groans as ropes of his seed fill your pussy. Donghyuck follows after, and soon enough, there’s so much cum inside of you that it starts to drip out onto the sheets.

The three of you catch your breath before Yuta pulls out first, causing you to sigh at the emptiness. Donghyuck pulls away shortly after and you start to cry when you feel him move away from you.

“Don’t go, Daddy! Please!”

Donghyuck looks at Yuta. “She’s in her deep subspace. Can you get a towel and clean her up? She’ll cry for hours if I try to leave.”

Yuta does as instructed, fetching a towel from the bathroom and cleaning the inside of your thighs gently. It’s a struggle since you desperately want to move positions to cling onto Donghyuck to make sure he doesn’t leave you. Once he’s finally finished, he tugs his pants back on and gets ready to exit the room so that you two have privacy.

“Where are you going?” Donghyuck asks, ignoring your pleas for attention as you bury your face in his neck, your body curled up on his chest.

“Back to my room. This was a one time thing, right?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Yeah, but if you like eating pussy, she loves to be woken up that way. You can stay and cuddle if you want.”

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Donghyuck scoffs. “But just know that she’s mine. If she asks to fuck you again, I won’t give a fuck but remember where you stand.”

“Yeah yeah,” Yuta waves off, burying the fact that he’s already so fucking in love with you. He joins you and Donghyuck on the bed, closing his eyes and finally registering what just happened.

Donghyuck breaks the silence.

“Your dick feels real good, by the way.”

“Haechan, don’t make it fucking weird.”

[thatredheadwriter]

Mine

steven grant x reader (mentions marc spector x reader)

The suit, the suit is amazing. Honestly it is. But you can’t help but be the slightest bit annoyed when it erases the marks you leave all over him. Lucky for you, Steven’s more than happy to let you have another go.

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Steven Grant of the show Moon Knight (with mentions of Marc Spector). This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18 (or the age of majority in your locale). As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Mentions of canon-level violence

Swearing

Cute pet name for reader

Marking/biting

Possesiveness kink (use of the word ‘mine’ a lot, not jealousy)

grinding/dry humping

Spit as lube (kinda, you’ll see)

P in V penetrative sex

Unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

Riding (female on top)

Creampie

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

You had a love-hate relationship with Khonshu the moon god.

While others might balk at your open animosity towards a deity with his power, you felt it was perfectly justified given how much he fucked up your life and your boyfriend’s life. Well, technically boyfriends, plural. It was a little confusing sometimes, being in a relationship with both Marc and Steven, and them being part of the same system, but oh if they didn’t make it worth your while every chance they got.

But no, sometimes you couldn’t stand Khonshu, and this was one of those times.

You’d spent the entirety of your lazy Sunday afternoon sucking hickeys and leaving little love bites on Marc as you wasted the day away drinking cheap wine and watching horrible television. Beautiful crimson scratches decorated his back that night once he was finished with you.

You put in all that work, painting his skin so beautifully with the evidence of your love, only for it to be gone as he stood before you now.

Now, you were grateful for Khonshu. He’d saved Marc’s life all those years ago and it’s true that without him you would have never met either of them, and it is his armor that protects them when they’re fighting evil, or whatever. And you were grateful for the armor itself. You’d seen Steven shishkabobbed, Marc stabbed and shot, and the armor allowed them to come out completely fine, better than fine really.

But did it always have to undo your masterpieces?

Every time one of them would call up the suit, its healing properties would magically undo the constellation of marks you’d worked so hard on, usually just hours earlier.

Steven played with the hem of his sweater, watching as you worked in the kitchen of your shared flat. He could tell something was bothering you. It was in the way your brow stayed furrowed even after you’d scrubbed away the stubborn spot of dried cake batter from the counter and how you were silent, rather than humming a song from one of the fifty different playlists you had for cleaning.

Typically he wouldn’t disturb you. As a neat and tidy person himself, he understood wanting to work alone for a bit, finding calm in the monotony of cleaning. But something was eating at you, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

He made his way around the bar and came to stand behind you at the sink where you were wiping out coffee mugs from breakfast. His arms wrapped around your middle as he leaned in to the side and placed a chaste kiss to your left temple.

You sighed, a further sign of your irritation.

Steven took the dripping mug from your hands and set it in the drying rack before taking a step back from you. His lingering hands on your waist pushed and pulled, prompting you to turn and face him.

“What’s wrong, dove?” he asked, head tilted like a confused pup.

You were chewing on the inside of your cheek before you answered a simple, “Nothing.”

“I know when you’re hiding something,” he pushed, hands reaching out for your hips once more, his thumbs running in soothing circles over your lower abdomen.

You looked at his cocked head and raised eyebrows and sighed in defeat.

“It’s stupid, that’s all,” you turned back to the sink and reached in for something else to watch.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Steven said from behind you.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“How can it be stupid if it’s bothering my dove?” he asked, moving your hair aside so he could kiss the back of your neck.

His sweetness made you smile and roll your eyes a little.

You turned back to face him, wiping your hands dry on a nearby dishtowel.

“No, no, it’s just that…I hate it when…” you trailed off, wringing the towel in your hands.

“Hey, hey,” Steven leaned down until he was eye level with you, “You know you can tell me anything. What is it?”

“I just hate it when that stupid suit undoes all my hard work,” you confessed with a pout.

“The suit? What are you talking about?”

Your hand reached up and traced down the side of his neck, and his eyes widened in recognition. His face contorted as he stifled a chuckle and he managed to frown a bit.

“I’m sorry, darling. I know how much you like marking me.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head into his chest. He allowed your weight to push him back into the counter behind him. When you opened your eyes, you realized his exposed collarbone was right there and you took a moment to appreciate the fact that he never replaced his old stretched out jumpers.

With your arms still wrapped around him loosely, you moved just a bit so you could kiss your target before nipping at it lightly. Steven tensed underneath you as you began to work at the spot, sucking a fresh mark into the delicate skin.

Once you were satisfied with that one, you moved up higher, nose nudging his jaw as you searched for the special spot that made him putty underneath you. You knew you had it when he moaned in your ear, the sound making your core throb.

“Shit,” he whispered as your teeth sunk into the spot, leaving a pretty little mark.

“Love marking you Stevie,” you hummed, pulling him down so you could nip at his earlobe a little bit. “Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he sighed shakily. You could feel his cock hardening in his sweatpants up against your thigh, and you couldn’t help but grind against the growing bulge as you tangled your hands in his curls, still damp from the shower, and pulled his head back to give you full access to his jaw.

You finally pulled away after kissing and sucking down the hard line of his jaw, satisfied with what you’d done so far, and admired your work.

“God, Steven, you’re so pretty,” you breathed, running a hand over the stubble he hadn’t bothered shaving. Your thumb traced his bottom lip before you cupped his jaw and pulled him into a kiss.

Steven was an amazing kisser, despite his self-proclaimed lack of experience. Marc liked to claim it was muscle memory. But Marc’s lips and Steven’s were entirely different. Marc’s kisses were hungry and desperate, and yet somehow incredibly precise. Steven, on the other hand, he was soft and sweet. His mouth could be hot and needy, too, but he was always more gentle, more sloppy.

As  you pulled away from him, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging on it just a bit before releasing him completely.

“I want you now,” you murmured into the hollow of his throat, letting your hand come up to play with the gold chain that always hung around his neck.

“Then you can have me,” he smiled down at you.

Keeping as close to him as possible, you tugged him around the counter and pushed him towards the couch. There was no way you were making it all the way to the bedroom, not when he was just so beautiful and all yours.

You straddled his lap almost instantly, pulling his face down so you could pepper it with kisses and making him giggle. Your heart soared at the sound an you couldn’t help but let out a little giggle yourself.

“I love you,” you grinned at him, pressing your forehead to his.

“I love you too,” he pecked you on the lips, once, twice, then the third kiss turned into something much deeper.

Your hands wandered up and down his chest, coming to a rest at the hem of his sweater for a moment before slipping underneath and caressing the warm skin there.

“Take it off f’me,” you urged, earning another giggle from Steven as he reached down to pull the worn fabric over his head and toss it onto the other end of the couch. You made a mental note to steal it later, as it was one of your favorites.

Your palms flattened against his chest to push him back against the couch cushions so you could kiss and nibble along his now exposed chest. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your sides and reaching down to knead your ass.

Little grunts of ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘so good’ left his lips as you worked across the wide expanse of bare skin, intent on leaving plenty of marks. Unconsciously your hips began to grind into his lap as you worked, his hands making you feel wonderful things.

“Mmm, “ you sighed, resting your head on his chest for a moment and listening to his steady heartbeat. Your hips were moving more deliberately now, your desperation growing as you rutted into him. “Need to feel you, Steven.”

He swore under his breath as you moved back a bit so that you could pull down his sweats and access his hard cock, finally freeing it.

You hunched over a bit and spit into your hand before wrapping it around Steven’s cock and pumping a couple times. His head was tossed back against the couch as you worked, mouth forming words that you couldn’t quite hear.

When you stood up, he whined, head snapping up to find you and figure out what made you leave him, but what he saw more than made up for it.

You were pulling your t-shirt over your head, revealing the delicate flesh of your breasts and stomach. Steven’s hands explored your body as your thumbs hooked in your short and panties, pulling them down your legs in one quick motion.

Steven’s hands on your hips helped to guide and steady you as you moved to straddle him once more and position yourself over his cock.

The two of you groaned in tandem as he filled you, taking a moment to enjoy the closeness. Your arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders, holding him closer that you ever thought possible.

“God, I could stay like this forever,” you panted, your grip loosening so your hands could roam his back.

“I-I don’t know about forever,” Steven laughed breathily. His hips rutted up against you involuntarily and you bit down on your lip so hard that you were afraid you’d drawn blood.

You began rolling your hips in a circular motion, grinding his hips into you. Both of you were trembling groaning messes, a tangle of body and mind and soul.

His pubic bone ground against your clit so perfectly, your mouth opened in a silent scream. Steven saw this as the perfect opportunity to capture you in another open mouthed kiss, teeth knocking against each other as both of you gasped for breath.

You changed your approach a little, electing to bounce up and down on him a bit. Steven helped of course, thrusting up into you as much as he could.  Your hands tangled in the short hair at the back of his head as your pleasure built.

“Fuck, Steven. M’gonna cum,” you whined, dipping your forehead to rest on his shoulder as he took the lead, fucking up into you with all he had.

“Come on, you can do it, dove,” he whispered in your ear. One of his hands left the bruising grip he’d had on your hip to slide two fingers in where your two bodies met. They curled up, rubbing hard on your clit.

You came fast and hard and it felt like every molecule of your being was vibrating on the same frequency. The only thing in your universe was Steven underneath you.

Steven was still chasing his own high and as he became lost in the throws of his own pleasure, he was worried about dropping you or allowing to slide off of his lap, so he carefully rolled you over to rest your back on the couch.

He slipped out of you only for a moment before he was inside you again, thrusting irregularly and you knew he was close. You drew him to your body as his climax built and scraped your nails down his back. The slight sting of pain mixed with the sensation of your cunt squeezing him finally took him over the edge. 

“Fuck,” he swore into your ear as you sucked one last hickey on the side of his neck. His heart rate was slowing and his breathing became more steady as he finally pulled out of you.

“Mmm,” you hummed blissfully as he sat back on the couch, a tired sigh leaving his swollen lips. “I got you all marked up again. Now everybody’s gonna know you’re mine.”

He laughed at that, but stopped suddenly, cocking his head as if he was listening for something.

“Marc wants to know if you’re up for round two in the shower,” he said, slight flush to his cheeks. He’d just fucked you raw, and now he was getting embarrassed. Steven always managed to make you smile with how cute he was.

You smiled, lolling your head back to study the ceiling.

Steven cleared his throat, “He says…well he says it’s our turn to leave some marks on you.”

The thought had your thighs rubbing together, wanting to feel their teeth on you, mouth all over.

“I think we can make that happen,” you grinned at him before jumping up and moving towards the bathroom.

“Hey, Marc,” you addressed the alter, “First one in gets to pick the water temperature.”

You watched as Steven’s whole body tensed and his eyes rolled back in his head before he jumped up, chasing after you. Marc was competitive, and you loved to get him worked up so you could get him worked up.

thatredheadwriter’s Masterlist

[angry-geese]

rises the moon

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Warnings: angst and smut with a happy ending. makeup sex, toxic relationships, mentions of a breakup. fingering, oral (fem receiving), breeding mention, creampies, dirty talk (reader calls gojo a slut like once), slightly dubious consent (reader is into it but tagging that just in case), afab reader. not beta read so i apologize in advance for any spelling/grammar errors lol

synopsis: you and your boyfriend need to have a chat - a breakup turned makeup sex when the strongest can't quite communicate how he really feels about you

a/n: i was in the mood to write some angst so my victim of choice this time was gojo

Word count: 2.7k

jjk masterlist

It's never a good thing when someone starts a conversation with 'we need to talk'. It's one of those things that's fine in theory, but not in practice. It always has a double meaning. A darker one.

Really, you had no clue he was back in town. Gojo was on a trip. Work. It's always work. He’s always gone on some job, only to come home in the dead of night. You never understood how he stomachs so much of it. In the past it was tolerable, but as of late his jobs grow longer, and he spends fewer days at home.

He usually texts when he gets back. Or calls. Usually. This isn't the first time he;s forgotten to do such a thing.

In a split-second decision he asks you out to coffee. He’ll pay, he said. His treat.

He makes a lot of those. Rash decisions. Ones without much thought paid to the consequences. Why would Satoru Gojo ever have to worry about consequences for his actions?

You’re wearing one of his shirts. A white button up. You didn't mean to. It wound up in your laundry from the last time he stayed the night. You’ve been meaning to give it back to him, but haven't had the chance.

It still smells like him.

And the earrings he bought you- a birthday gift. Along with other things. Your anniversary must be coming up soon. One year? It's hard to believe it's been that long.

That was one of the things you always argued over. Your anniversary. Really, it was deciding what day it really was. Gojo says that it's days before you do. But you say it doesn't count if only he knew you two were dating.

It's hard to stop your thoughts from getting away from you. That was always a bad habit of yours. You assumed the worst. Because then you had time to prepare yourself for it. You always let your thoughts run wild, doing little to rein them back in.

Satoru has never been a bad boyfriend, but it's hard to call him a good one. When he is around, things are fine. But he’s almost never around anymore. He never left the honeymoon phase of the relationship. You did. He's not cheating on you. He never would. He’s not unfaithful, or stupid. Even if he had to deal with not fucking you—or anyone, for that matter—for weeks at a time.

You can't find it in you to understand. But you know things are inherently wrong.

You aren't happy anymore.

You’re not sure when it happened. But dating Satoru hurts more than it feels good. The few times you’ve tried to talk to him about it only end up in arguments. Or one sided conversations. Or makeup sex that only serves to avoid the one topic worth talking about.

You don't blame him. Not anymore. The strongest was never given the option to talk about feelings. Who was going to bother with that? He's the strongest. His entire life has always been about other people. Protecting other people. Fighting for goals he doesn't believe in.

He knows. Gojo doesn't want to say anything about it. But he knows.

"Satoru," you say, "we need to talk.”

Your lipstick leaves a small red ring around the straw of your drink. He remembers that lipstick. The one that left stains on his shirt- stains that refused to come out. The one he seemed to like you leaving marks on him with. He’d always parade around with those pretty red marks smeared across his neck, and the collar of his shirt.

“What's the matter, Mochi?” He asks. “Missed me?”

Your teeth leave small marks on your straw. Unknowingly, you’ve bitten into it. “I think we should take a break,” you say.

“Huh? You want something to eat?” He asks.

“No-” you say with a sigh, “I’m not hungry- I just wanted to talk. You’ve been so busy with work. I feel like I’ve hardly seen you lately.”

Nine days. He’s been away for nine days.

“‘M sorry Mochi,” he says, “I’ll make it up to you.” You watch as his tongue runs across his glossy bottom lip. He moves to push his glasses further up on his nose.

“You don't have to. It's okay,” you say, “really. I think we’d both feel better with some time apart.”

You’re on your feet, pushing away from the table. Under your arm you gather your bag. Gojo is quick to rise after you. One strong arm wraps around your waist. But instead of leaning into his touch, you pull away. You don't want to make a scene. Not here. That's the whole point of breaking up with him in a public place!

The bells above the door jingle as it's pushed open, and the two of you spill onto the empty street.

His hand finds yours, his fingers lacing with your much colder ones. When he spins you around to face him, his forehead presses against yours. On instinct your eyes screw shut. From any other angle you’re two lovers sharing a moment. It's only the harsh tones of your conversation that point to anything otherwise.

“Mind telling me where you’re going?” He asks.

“I've gotta stop by your apartment to get some of my stuff,” you say, “I won't be long.”

“Slow down there,” he says, “what's gotten into you?”

He tries to kiss you, but you turn your head, and his lips find the corner of your mouth instead. Those same lips attack your neck, sucking a dark mark into your soft skin. The scent of his cologne is heavy on you.

“Satoru stop!” You scold, giving him a weak shove.

How cruel. You’re practically laid out in front of him as a full course meal; dressed in his clothes, wearing that lipstick of yours, smelling like him.

“I’m just not happy anymore.” You say. “And I don't blame you. But I really shouldn't stay. I’ll only make us more miserable.”

He's silent as his eyes find yours. You're quick to avert your gaze.

But you’re his girlfriend. His partner! The one person he feels truly protected by! Satoru Gojo’s one and only.

"You're… serious," he says.

You're serious. You really mean all this?

“I want someone I can hold. I want someone who will be there to fall asleep next to me. I can't stay with someone who will just waltz in and out of my life as he pleases!" You say. "Is it so wrong for me to not want to be alone?!"

“If you don't want to be alone, then don't do this. Please," he says, "please don't do this.

You take a step back, head turning towards the empty bus stop. You don't want to walk home. Not anymore. He's stumbling towards you, trying to wrap his arms around you.

“Hey, it's not like it's all been bad,” you say, “I did have fun with you. And it's not like I didn't know what I was getting into when I agreed to this—you warned me—but I should have listened to you when you said it was a bad idea.”

"Please I'll make it up to you," he says, "I'll buy you anything. What would you like? Dinner? A handbag? New makeup?"

Peach tinted lips find your neck, pressing a soft kiss to the junction where your shoulder and neck meet. Harsh stubble grazes across your skin. It's been a few days since he last shaved.

"Please, I'll make it up to you," he says, "please. Just give me a few days."

"No." You say. "I can't do that. You know that."

His lips find yours—again—pulling you into a soft kiss. Needy. Desperate. Begging without words. One where he’s pressing his tongue into your mouth. Where he’s sucking on the tip of the strong muscle that resides between your teeth. Where he’s memorizing the taste of your lips, and the feeling of your tongue against his.

"Satoru, stop!" Your hands plant on his chest as you give him a good shove. He's sturdier than he looks, and this is something he takes in stride, shrugging off.

Gojo only pulls you closer; arms looping around your waist, tugging you flush to his chest. The sudden swell of his cursed energy proceeds a wave of nausea. Your heartbeat drops off suddenly, before picking up in pace.

The air shimmers like heat reflecting off a highway. You’re no longer on the street outside the coffee shop, but your—his—apartment.

He fucking teleported you? The sleazy bastard!

Close your eyes and you’ll be hundreds of feet in the air, completely at his mercy. Or he’ll steal you away into his domain. Just you, him, and infinity.

But he won't. Gojo can, but he doesn't want to upset you further.

Your knees hit the edge of the bed and you fall. The mattress dips under you as you sit, then lay back, nudged by him. He climbs on after you, caging you under him.

His head rests in the valley between your breasts. Not in a sexual manner. There's just something so intimate about listening to the beating of your heart. Most nights you’d coax him in close, letting him lay there, head nestled against your chest. Your fingers would comb through his hair, repetitively brushing it from his eyes.

Your hands find his shoulders, planting on them like you’re about to shove him again.

His hands work their way under your—his—shirt. Gojo is shameless in the way he grinds against you, humping your leg like a horny virgin. He’s already hard, painfully so, cock leaking against his thigh in his expensive pants.

There's the sound of his jacket hitting the ground as he shrugs it off. His lips are on your neck again. Lingering. Sucking a dark mark into your pulse point. Gojo can almost taste the way your pulse races. Soft “pleases” are spilling past his lips, as he grinds against you with desperation you’ve never seen from him before.

“Please,” he says, lips pressed against your neck, “please don't go.”

And you can only comply, hands finding his white tufts of hair and burying in them.

“We shouldn't do this,” you say.

“I know,” he says.

With one swift motion he slips your shirt over your head, tossing it in the way of his jacket. Your belt is next. Then the buttons on your pants. You lift your hips enough for him to slide them—along with your panties—down your legs.

His hands find your breasts, palming them through the padding of your bra. His fingers hook under the band, pushing it up—and over—your breasts.

“‘Toru-”

“Sorry, Mochi,” he says, “I just can't help myself when you’re splayed out under me like this.”

With one hand he clumsily undoes his belt. His movements are rushed. Eager. His arms hook around your bare legs, pulling your hips flush to his.

Two long fingers work you open. Pressing against the entrance of your soaked cunt, curling against the spot that makes your toes curl. Gojo groans when you clench around his fingers. Your hips buck, your clit grazing against his open palm in a way that has you seeing stars.

He leaves a train of kisses down the valley between your breasts, free hand groping at the mounds of flesh. Greedy. Needy. Gojo can't get enough of you. He never could.

“Fuck-” his tongue finds the bundle of nerves between your legs and you jolt. The feeling of wrongness behind this only adds to its appeal. Only igniting a fire that burns low in your stomach.

“Almost forgot how you tasted,” he says, lifting his head just enough that his slick-coated chin is visible, “can't believe it.”

Your hand finds the back of his head, shoving his face back into your cunt. This is followed by a muffled sound of approval. Your touch sends a shock of pleasure up his spine.

Gojo laps and sucks like a man starved. He might as well have been. He can't remember the last time he’s done something like this. Satoru may not be the best with his words—not when it comes to you—but he’s certainly good with his mouth. The way he’s moaning nearly—if not as loud as—you would have you embarrassed if the circumstances were any different. Any semblance of shame has flown out the window. You shouldn't be doing this. You know that. The whole plan was to cut things off. To end them there.

But he knows what he’s doing. Gojo knows just what he needs to do to have you melting under his touch.

When you finally cum, you cum hard, your thighs clamping around his head as your cunt twitches around his fingers. Gojo makes a show of licking his fingers; popping the digits into his mouth with a groan, eyes rolling back. Like you’re water after he’s been trekking through a desert for days.

“Now be a good boy and finish what you’ve started.” You say.

It's as if a switch has been flipped in his mind. Gojo’s brain practically short-circuits upon hearing your words. His pupils are blown; pretty blue eyes fixed on your face.

“Hrng- yes,” he says, “yes, I’ll be your good boy.”

His cock springs free from his boxers, slapping against his toned stomach. He may not be the biggest, but he sure is pretty. The carpet matches the drapes; the neatly-trimmed hairs towards the base of his cock are white. The head is a ruddy color, and leaking precum all over his hand as he strokes himself.

There's no stopping the groan that leaves him as he sheathes himself in your cunt. Your warm, velvety walls clench around him as he bottoms out entirely. He can't help himself. Or that's what he tells himself. Really, he wants the entire apartment complex to know how good you feel.

His hips snap against yours in a tentative thrust. Testing the waters, as usual. Seeing how far he can push the envelope before you realize.

"Fuck-" he says, face buried in your neck, "fuck I love you. I love you and I want you so much. Please call me your good boy- I’ll be good, I promise!"

Your arms find his neck, wrapping around him, pulling him close. He sighs, contentedly.

“Really?” You ask. “You’re going to be a good boy?”

“Yes,” he says, voice trembling.

He’s a whining, whimpering mess, rutting into you like his life depends on it. Your legs lock around his waist, forcing him to thrust deeper. Quiet “I love you”s are falling past his lips as his face pressed against your neck.

“Then cum inside me.” You say. “Breed me like the little slut you are.”

Gojo makes a noise like he’s been choked. The boldness of your words catches you both off guard, but you’re hellbent on not taking them back. Whether or not you want to; you mean it. A dark, possessive nature of yours won't allow him to mark you anywhere but inside.

He’s practically on cloud nine. The elders won't be too happy that he’s not more careful with his precious ‘seed’, but Gojo could hardly care what those old crones think.

“Shit-” he says, and it's as if the floodgates have been opened. His cum paints your fertile womb white and he groans, sinking his teeth into the crease where your neck and shoulder meet. He doesn't pull out, choosing instead to cage your body under his. You could throw him off if you wanted to—his body isn't that heavy—but you don't. So you allow him to stay.

“I love you,” he says, softly, “I love you.”

Your fingers comb through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. His lips press against your collarbone—not in a kiss—he’s savoring your closeness. The heat of your skin. The smell of sweat and his cologne mixing with your perfume.

His breathing evens out to the point where you’re certain he’s fallen asleep. Gojo’s eyes close too much, and a bit too frequently for someone who says he isn't tired.

“Please,” he says, “just talk with me. There's nothing we can't work out.”

And despite your better judgement, you do answer him.

“Fine,” you say, “we’ll talk.”