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ashasdiary · 1 day ago

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Pumpkin’s First Birthday

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!reader

Synopsis: it’s your and Nanami’s daughter’s first birthday. Gojo and the students buy gifts for her and meet her for the first time at the party (based on this ask)

CW: so much FLUFF, established relationship, pet names, babies, PAPAMIN WC: 3.2k A/N: This is a sequel to Vitamins and Pumpkin — Pumpkin and this one are SFW! Enjoy thee cutest story ever!! <3

As much of a family man Nanami Kento is, he’s not very traditional. Since you’d both agreed to skip a gender reveal for it to be a surprise at birth, you hadn’t even discussed names.

Tired as you were after pumpkin was born, you were excited to discuss it. She slept comfortably against you while you breastfed. And you found, not surprisingly, that the discussion flowed smoothly and quickly.

“I wanted to say we should go for a name beginning with K, to match yours,” you tell him.

“That’s sweet, but wh—” he begins, you know he’s going to say what about yours, but you shake your head.

“She’s our first child, and I think a K name would work better.”

He chuckles quietly and gives you a soft smile, “Alright, honey. You’re prepared, it seems. Shoot.”

“Kaiyo,” you tell him. He tilts his head, pondering on it.

“Kaiyo,” he repeats, testing it out. Kaiyo, meaning ocean.

You nod, smiling a little as you watch him think, the cogs turning in his head. “It's not one of the most common names, but I thought you might like it both for its literal translation and it being associated with the vast and endless beauty of the ocean,” you explain.

He smiles warmly. “I really like that one. It’s sweet. Nanami Kaiyo works.”

“I thought you might. Now tell me yours?” You request and he squeezes your hand gently, gazing down at his daughter, sleeping soundly.

“Kimiko,” he says, his voice soft, bringing his gaze to yours, “It’s a little more traditional, but it means ‘precious child’ or ‘valuable daughter’. It’s associated with beauty, grace, and elegance. It's not too common but still has a strong connection to Japanese culture.”

While you’d been listening to him explain, so passionately, so lovingly, you felt pumpkin shift a little, as if she was approving, and you knew that that was the one. Nanami Kimiko.

“Oh…Ken, that’s wonderful. And we can shorten it too, even the nicknames still have pretty meanings. That’s so well thought out,” you whisper to him, eyes twinkling.

He grins, “I’m glad you like it, honey. Yeah, it’s versatile. Kimi, like the term of endearment meaning dear, beloved, or sweetheart. And then Miko, which has connotations of grace, purity, and spirituality.”

You lean over and kiss his head, “I love your brain. Goodness. It’s perfect!”

Nanami had taken paternity leave from work for 9 months, and you were so grateful for all of the moments you shared together with your daughter. Being present together, with her.

Kimiko, your sweet girl, was growing too fast. She’d began to crawl at 6 months. Nanami had very much been proactive in her development, having read so much about babies during your pregnancy, so you chalked up her fast progression to him. He was quite hands on when it came to tummy time, independent movement, and the process of introducing her to new foods.

He was also extremely encouraging of Kimiko’s personality development.

It came as no surprise her first word was “dada,” because she was very much daddy’s girl.

At 9 months, Nanami returned back to work. His colleagues, friends, the students, all asked him about you, your daughter, fatherhood, and he would always speak proudly of his family, show them pictures, and go into great detail of Kimiko’s developmental stages.

A couple of weeks later, after he’d come home from work one day, he’s greeted by the sight of you sat at the end of the hallway encouraging Kimiko, and slowly, she totters over to him. Beginning to walk at 9 months was quite the achievement.

“What’re you doing for Kimiko’s birthday?” Gojo asks one day as they’re sat in the staff room. He was perusing his phone and seemingly looked uninterested, but he had grown fond of his niece that he hadn’t met yet, and was actually searching up gifts to get for her.

“Hm?” Nanami looks up from the documents he was reading. “Her mother and I thought of having a little party for her.”

Her first birthday was in a couple of weeks. It was mind blowing just how fast the past year had gone. Nanami finds himself smiling as he reflects on the past 12 months and how his daughter had completely transformed your lives for the better.

“Little? Come on, Nanami, it’s her first ever birthday. It’s gotta be special. Go big or go home. Aren’t you gonna let us meet her? I want to meet my niece,” Gojo raises a brow over his glasses and Nanami eyes him over his.

“Well, of course, but… I’ll have to discuss with my wife first,” Nanami says and Gojo claps and cheers.

“Alright! No way she’ll say no. I’ll just take that as a yes and start preparing,” he grins and Nanami rolls his eyes but smiles a bit to himself.

Nanami was ordinarily quite a reserved man, and he was a little hesitant to invite everyone to his daughter’s birthday party, but with your encouragement, he did, and he was both nervous and excited for the students and his friends to meet his pride and joy.

“Itadori, wh— put the Lego down. She’s only one,” Megumi sighs exasperatedly, and Nobara laughs.

“I’m just looking, Fushiguro,” Yuji huffs and puts the box of Lego back onto the shelf.

“If you’re looking, look at the age on the box, for goodness’ sake,” Megumi mutters.

Gojo pushes along the half full shopping cart through the aisle, humming quietly to himself as he examines the toys on the shelves.

“No, these are much too advanced for her yet,” Gojo concludes, and he pushes the cart into the next aisle, the kids following him, much like a mother hen and her chicks.

“But…why can’t we just get stuff that they could use later?” Yuji offers, and Gojo turns to look at him, raising a brow.

“You have much to learn about children and parenthood, young one,” he says and he goes back to perusing the shelves, picking up a mini musical keyboard and putting it into the cart.

“Use your brain, Yuji. Where would they store it? What if it gets broken before they can use it? Why get something they can’t use yet? Hello?” She knocks her hand on the side of Yuji’s head and he lets out another huff.

“Ow. Okay, got it, stop,” Yuji rubs his head.

“This multipack looks good,” Nobara picks up the big box of Play-Doh, in an array of colours, and shows it to Gojo. He hums.

“Oh, Nanami will probably hate these. But I think she’ll like the bright ones. Put it in,” he instructs and she does so with a small laugh.

There’s a moment of silence as all four of them are perusing the shelves, and then, “Okay, I think this is age appropriate, what do you guys think?” Yuji points to a wooden train set with big wooden blocks to make the tracks.

“Fantastic. Put it in,” Gojo nods.

“Gojo Sensei, is it really necessary to get—” Megumi begins and Gojo claps his hand over the boy’s mouth.

“Yes. It is. Only the best for my niece. No expense will be spared when it comes to her. And you’re not the one paying, so I don’t want to hear a peep out of you.”

Megumi pushes Gojo’s hand away and hums. “Right. Gotta get the best for my…cousin?”

Nobara and Yuji snicker and Megumi’s lips curl into a small smile. Nobara gasps when her gaze falls onto a mini kitchen set, “Gojo Sensei, look at that!”

Gojo looks over and he grins, pushing the cart over to it, inspecting it. “I like this a lot. I don’t think Nanamin will, but…it’s a nice gift. Babies like playing pretend. Alright, hold the cart while I put it in,” he instructs his students, and they hold the cart while he picks up the large box and places it in.

A mini kitchen set, mini instruments, building blocks, teddy bears, Play-Doh, clothes, shoes, accessories— Gojo had practically bought the entire store for Kimiko, and of course didn’t bat an eye at the price on the receipt.

You’d both opted to have the party mid afternoon, not too early and not too late, which worked best.

Both you and Nanami had planned and executed the decorations perfectly, and were quite pleased with the outcome. Kimiko had had her afternoon nap and was well rested, so everything was going smoothly. When she’d seen the decorations, she was so full of joy, her excitement infectious.

Slowly, your guests had started to arrive, and you rub your husband’s back to ease his nerves, though he doesn’t look it, you know him well. “You’re doing fantastic, my love,” you whisper and kiss his cheek.

He gives you a grateful smile and hugs you into his side, whispering back, “Thanks, honey.”

Soon enough, most of your guests are there, enjoying the celebration of a year of Kimiko. The little lady was having a blast, pushing the balloons around. The last of your guests ring the doorbell, and Nanami opens the door to let them in.

The sight before him makes his brows raise. Gojo and the first year students, with so many wrapped presents in hand, it was impossible to count.

“Hey, Nanamin!” They all chime.

Nanami is stunned for a moment at the amount of presents. Gojo grins, “You gonna let us in?”

Nanami steps to the side to let them in and gives a warm smile to the kids as they step inside one by one. “Hi, you three. Thank you for coming,” he ruffles Yuji’s hair, “Hi, Gojo— was all of this necessary?”

Gojo steps in last and hands over a gift bag to Nanami, setting down the big box and looking at Nanami in all seriousness over his sunglasses, “Yes. Where’s my niece?”

“I hope you left a gift receipt. I don’t know about your taste in children’s gifts,” Nanami says, teasing.

“Oh, come on…you’re no fun. I got all good things, like I said to my students: only the best for my niece. But…yes. There is a gift receipt inside should my taste not be to your liking. Which I doubt.”

You walk through the small crowd with Kimiko on your hip to greet them, and you are taken aback by the sheer amount of wrapped presents the students have brought into the house, and you blink, wide eyed.

“H-hi, kids…!”

“Mrs. Nanami!”

“Lovely to see you, Mrs. Nanami—“

“Hi, Mrs. Nanami—“

They speak over each other and you laugh softly as you close the distance to them, greet them and introduce your daughter to them.

She’s a little shy but she’s curious so she burrows herself against you but still peeks at them. You smile softly, stroking her hair gently as you gaze at her, “Miko? Not gonna say hi to your friends?” You turn to the kids and give them a kind smile, “The ice’ll melt eventually. Go and get some food while it’s still warm. Then we’re going to have the cake,” you tell them and they all head further inside to eat.

Gojo was still talking with Nanami, and you approach from behind. It’s when Gojo sees the way Nanami’s entire face softens at something behind him that he whips around.

Gojo’s smile is so bright and he looks so giddy that you laugh softly as you greet each other.

“Look at you, glowing and beautiful as always…motherhood suits you,” he gives you a grin, and your cheeks warm slightly at his playful and flirtatious nature.

“Thank you, Gojo, it’s lovely to see you again,” you embrace him with your free arm and Kimiko peers at Gojo with piqued interest.

She’s quite intrigued by the white haired man and as you’d finished hugging Gojo and stepped back, she leans over to reach for him which surprises all three of you.

“Oh. Am I—…am I allowed to hold her?” Gojo asks and you laugh a little.

“Of course. You’re her uncle, aren’t you?” You tease him, holding her out to him, and he almost melts. He gently takes her into his arms and holds her against him.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Nanami the way Gojo’s hands had trembled slightly, which made his lips curl at the corners— the strongest sorcerer showing a bit of weakness over a baby? He’d never live this one down.

Nanami’s friends and colleagues had come over to greet Gojo as well and the small crowd had gathered around you as Gojo has his moment with his niece.

“Hiii, Kimiko…happy birthday, sweet pea,” Gojo holds her gently as he caresses her cute little round chubby cheek as she looks at him, “oh, aren’t you adorable…yes you are, Kimiko.”

“Meekoh,” she repeats and she grabs his glasses. He chuckles and takes them off for her and she looks into his bright eyes curiously.

“Go-jo,” he says his name slowly to her, pointing to himself and she smiles with her teeth, scrunching her nose.

“Gogo,” she says and everyone either laughs or ‘aw’s. She squeals happily and claps her hands, loving the attention.

“Take her before I cry, Nanami,” Gojo says to your husband and you and Nanami both laugh at this. “I am no longer Gojo Satoru, from here on forth I am Gogo!”

You and Kento were both mindful of having her meet a whole bunch of new people at once, so you take your time between each person, or group them, so as not to overwhelm her.

When Shoko meets her, she sits on the couch with the baby on her lap, talking to you. “And she started walking at nine months? Wow. That’s early for a baby…you may have super baby on your hands here.”

“Shohkoh,” Kimiko stands on Shoko’s lap, Shoko holding her under her arms, and she bends and straightens her legs, bopping to the music as if she’s dancing.

“I wouldn’t mind taking her home, y’know— if you ever need a babysitter for a date night or something, let me know,” she smiles.

“Thanks, Shoko, I’ll probably take you up on that soon. We’ve not gone on a date in a while,” you tell her, “but I don’t mind, it’s parenthood. We’ll find the time at some point.”

“Guggo,” Kimiko says as she steps closer, practically climbing up Shoko’s body. You both laugh, and Shoko looks from you to the baby with a questioning look, playful, as she moves her to stand on her lap again.

“I couldn’t agree more, birthday girl. Your parents definitely need some romantic time together. And I think you and I will get up to plenty of mischief together too. But we have to keep it a secret, okay?” She tells her and Kimiko giggles and holds Shoko’s face.

The students had stuffed themselves with the delicious food you’d made, and you and Nanami take Kimiko to get acquainted with the three of them afterwards. They sit in a circle on the floor and Kimiko totters around.

“She’s such a cute baby,” Nobara fawns. “You have the cutest cousin, Fushiguro.”

Megumi almost laughs, the tiniest of smiles peaking through. Then Kimiko comes over to him and points at him. “Daa…g.”

“What does that mean, Nanamin?” Yuji asks.

Nobara facepalms. “She means dog,” your husband explains.

“How does she—?” Megumi is perplexed and you chuckle at the look on his face.

“I told her about you three. It seems the thing that stuck with her was the fact that you have animals, Megumi,” you tell him.

“Ah…uh, yes, Kimiko. I have dog. And elephant. And frog. And bird. And bunny. I would love to show you, but I don’t think it’s safe for me to do that yet. I will one day, though,” Megumi tells her and she reaches out and touches his hair with a little giggle. He smiles at this, and the sight warms your heart.

The kids are all great with her, they keep her company — under the supervision of the adults — while you and Nanami get the cake.

And when you sing happy birthday to her, Kimiko might just be the happiest baby on the planet sat in her high chair, seeing her parents and all of the new friends she’d made today singing to her. She couldn’t blow her candle out yet, so you and Nanami assist her.

Everyone cheers once the candle is blown out, and she’s happy for a moment but then whines. “What’s wrong, baby?” You say to her and she kicks her legs in her high chair, whining more.

“I know,” your husband says, lighting the candle up again. Kimiko’s frown instantly disappears and you let out a hearty laugh.

She tries to blow out the candle but can’t, desperately spluttering. You stealthily step behind her and blow it out for her so that she thinks she did it, while Nanami picks up the cake before she can spray more saliva onto it.

“That’s enough cake decorating for you, pumpkin.”

This earns a few laughs from your guests and they settle down to eat some birthday cake. As you’re sat with Kimiko, giving her some cake and having a forkful yourself between, Nanami stands up and clears his throat, turning the volume of the music down.

Everyone quietens down as they look and listen to him. Nanami is not one for attention and you smile when you see the slight pink tint on his cheeks.

“I just wanted to say a few words. I was…a little skeptical about having a party like this, but my darling wife was the one who made this happen. Thank you all for attending Kimiko’s birthday and making this day special,” he says and everyone cheers. This was the most relaxed they'd all ever seen him be.

“Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Nanami!” Gojo calls.

“Na-na-mi! Na-na-mi!” Yuji chants and Megumi slaps him upside the head to shut him up, “Hey, Fushiguro!”

Nanami turns up the music with a laugh at Yuji and Megumi’s antics, “Help yourselves to food and cake, there’s plenty left.”

Nanami joins you and Kimiko and sits down beside Kimiko, plate in hand. “Daddee.”

“Hi, pumpkin,” he kisses her head.

“I liked your little speech there. Short and sweet,” you smile at him.

“Hm. Like you,” he grins and eats a large forkful of cake.

“Kento,” you laugh, and eat a big one yourself. He gazes at you with a playful look in his eye.

“You have a little…ah…” he leans in and thumbs away some frosting from the corner of your lips, and then sits back, sucking it off his thumb.

You purse your lips and cast your gaze down, keeping your composure. He knows the effect he has on you.

You look back up at him, and he’s gazing at you, that look in his eye.

Your lips curl at the corners as you look at your husband and you glance over the room until you find Shoko.

“Shoko,” you call over to her, where she was lounging on the other end of the couch and where she’d seen all of this unfold, “How soon are you able to babysit?”

She laughs loudly, “Whenever. By the looks of things, I think you may need my immediate assistance?”

A/N: THIS WAS SO STINKING CUTE, I hope I brought this idea to life in an enjoyable way for you anon - I LOOOOVED writing it, thank you for the request!! <3

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 days ago

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₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 2 | part 1

author note: hey friends, so im sorry for taking so long, i wanted to post it this Saturday but i got lots of work, it's not proofread so I'm so so so sorry for any mistakes, i promise ill fix them a bit later!

also im working on some pre portal stan x reader x ford fic and it's filled with what we love the most - glass and angst (smut included!!), i know i always say it, but im so excited to share it with you guys <3

nsfw, minors dni

Stanford Pines — the enigmatic genius who’s always just beyond your reach, a mind so vast, it feels like trying to grasp the stars. You should be focused, but your gaze keeps flicking back to him. You’re utterly captivated, heart racing, mind spinning.

And then it happens. One moment, you're holding the mug, your fingers curled around it and the next it slips. No! The mug tumbles from your grasp, its ceramic form hitting the floor with a sharp, brutal crack that echoes through the room. You watch in helpless horror as it shatters into a thousand pieces, each fragment piercing the silence like a blade through your chest.

Your heart skips, thundering in your ears, and your face goes hot with embarrassment, an awful flush spreading across your skin as you turn your wide, panicked eyes toward Ford. His gaze meets yours, a mix of surprise and concern, but it’s his calm that gets you.

“Oh shit—” your voice cracks and you curse yourself silently, mortified. Of course, you would screw up right now, in front of him. Stanford fucking Pines, the man whose brilliance makes your own thoughts feel clumsy, an intellectual giant, and here you are, tripping over a damn mug. The pieces of it seem to scatter in slow motion, like a dream you can’t wake up from. You’re so stupid. You feel so stupid.

“I’m sorry— I'm so sorry,” you ramble, desperate to somehow undo the mess, your hands trembling at your sides. You want to sink into the floor, disappear, fade away. How could you be this careless?

But then Ford takes a step forward, and everything inside you freezes. His eyes are soft, so much softer than you expected, softer than anyone else’s gaze ever could be. He’s not angry, not even irritated. Instead, he’s. . . calm. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says, a chuckle escaping him, as though the whole situation is laughable, as though you’re not standing there, mortified in front of him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with worse. Trust me.”

For one second, everything really seems to slow down as his words sinks into you like a balm. You believe him. It’s impossible to not. He’s seen everything and here you are, worrying over a broken mug.

“Im really sorry,” you stammer again, caught off guard by the softness in his tone, the tenderness in his gaze. What did you expect? That he’d scold you, dismiss you? But no. He’s calm, like this minor catastrophe is nothing. As if nothing could rattle him, as if you, standing there like a fool, didn’t matter at all.

Stanford laughs. “You know, after all I’ve been through, interdimensional beasts, curses, that damn triangle demon, a shattered mug would be nothing. So don’t apologize.” his eyes meet yours. “Im not made of glass. It takes more than a broken cup to rattle me.”

And then his voice lowers with that quiet authority. “Sit down,” he commands softly. “I’ll handle this. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

You can’t help it. His voice sounds so low, commanding, yet laced with something so tender it makes your skin tingle. The words come easy from his lips, but when they’re aimed at you, they tear through you. They make you feel like you’re something precious, something to be cared for, protected. But more than that, a part of you craves to be held by him, right now, right in this moment. To be pressed back into the cushions of the sofa, feeling the strength of his arms, making you feel like you’re the only one in his world.

You’re not just obeying his words, you’re aching to obey.

That’s why without thinking, you sink into the soft cushions. And shit, there he is — bending down, his bare chest covered with scars still glistening from the rain, droplets make you ache. They fucking shimmer on his skin, taunting you, daring you to touch him, taste him, make him yours. Every inch of him is fucking perfect. God, how are you even supposed to think straight when he looks like that? Your body is screaming for him, for his touch, for everything.

You try to look away. You can’t. His broad shoulders, his strong fucking arms, his hard chest. It’s too much. He’s a fucking masterpiece and all you want is for him to paint you in ways you can’t even process yet. Your body betrays you, again, that warmth spreading low in your belly, growing. You cross your legs, trying to hide the desperate need that’s already pooling between them. Fuck, how are you supposed to calm this down? It only gets worse.

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and it’s all laid out in front of you, impossible to ignore. His every movement is so natural, so fucking sexy, it makes your pulse race. You just know he can make you feel things you didn’t even know your body was capable of.

You’re trying to calm yourself, really, you are.

You cross and uncross your legs again, desperate to release some of the tension building between your thighs, but it only makes it worse. Fuck, why is this so hard? Every thought you have is consumed with him, with what he could do to you, what he should do to you. And the more you try to control it, the more your body betrays you.

You need to touch yourself, but you’re stuck, just waiting, consumed by the need for him.

And then, the thoughts take over completely.

You’re delusional to the point where you feel his hands on your legs, parting them, spreading you wide. You imagine him on his knees, lowering his head, his lips tracing the inside of your thighs, so fucking gentle, so goddamn slow, as he watches you with those eyes, sharp, hungry, possessive. And then, he presses his tongue to your clit, licks you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, making you whine for him.

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold it back, but it’s impossible. You need him. You want him between your legs, fucking you so deep you can’t think straight, making you beg for it. Fuck, what would he say? “That’s it, baby. . . just like that… good girl, taking what I give you. . .” the words seeping into your skin like a drug you can’t quit.

You bite down hard on your lip, desperate to keep quiet, but your body is louder than you’ll ever be. Fuck, your body’s soaking through, your pussy throbbing for his touch, and all you can do is stare at him, mesmerised. His body is a goddamn work of art, and you want to trace every inch of it, feel it on top of you, pushing inside you, taking you.

It’s so fucking embarrassing, but you can’t stop it. Your body’s so ready for him, for his hands, for his cock. You can almost taste him, can almost feel his cock sliding inside you, filling you so nice.

Fuck, any writer of erotic novels would envy your imagination. The thought of him getting rough with you, pushing you down into the cushions, fucking you into the sofa until you can’t think, can’t breathe. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Mine to fuck whenever I want. You belong to me.”

The thought of him pounding into you, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, makes you want to lose your mind. You just want to hear him growl your name as he fucks you like you’re the only thing that matters.

And you know you’ll let him. Let him claim you, take you apart, until you’re nothing but a mess of pleasure, a good girl begging for more.

“Hey,” Ford’s voice drags you back into reality, unwantedly. Your heart stutters in your chest as you blink, trying to focus on anything other than the way your body’s still burning, aching for him. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, the concern on his face so fucking intense it almost makes you want to tell him everything you’re feeling, right here, right now. But you can’t. God, you can’t. Not when the way he looks at you like that.

“Are you alright? You don’t look too well.” his voice is full of worry, but there’s that edge of guilt creeping in as he mutters, “I really should’ve checked the forecast before dragging you out in this mess. . . feels like a bit of a fool for that.” his fingers are rubbing the back of his neck in that shy way he does, that little sign of guilt that makes your stomach clench in a way that’s too much to handle.

But it’s his fucking proximity that’s driving you wild. He’s so close now, standing there shirtless, looking like some goddamn wet dream come to life. You can’t focus on anything but his body, the way the rainwater trails down his skin, glistening so beautifully. Fucking fuck.

“No, Ford, im absolutely okay, I swear—”

“Hold still,” Ford commands and that’s when you feel his hand so damn warm against your forehead, sending a shockwave of need straight through you. His touch is too fucking soft and yet it feels like it’s scorching you. Or maybe it’s just the fact that you’re so goddamn horny your body’s reacting to the smallest contact.

You try to calm yourself, try to act normal, but it’s too fucking hard. You force a weak smile. “I told you, I— I’m fine,” you answer, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s all you can do to not let the truth slip. You want to scream it, how much you need him, how much you ache for him right now, but you don’t. Not yet. Never probably.

Ford’s brows knit tighter together and his eyes lock onto yours. He’s not fooled, not for a second. “You’re lying. Don’t try to brush it off. If you’re not feeling well, you need to tell me.”

The urge to confess everything is unbearable. You want to tell him you’re not sick, you’re just fucking drenched in need, that’s all! Aching for him to pull you into his arms, to kiss you until you can’t breathe. But instead, you do the only thing you can do: you force a nervous laugh, a weak attempt to play it off.

“No, I swear I’m fine! I could go on a thousand more anomaly hunts with you!” the words spill out with a little too much enthusiasm, a little too much frenzy and you pray to whatever god is listening that it’s enough to get him off your case.

Ford’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms, still towering over you, still so close

Man, just step back or I'll pounce on you and eat you.

“Cold rain can do a lot more damage than you think. You could’ve caught something serious, and ignoring it won’t help. Do you have any idea how quickly a fever can develop if you’re already run down?”

Oh no, his voice shifts into that familiar, lecturing tone, the kind that makes you want to both roll your eyes and lean in closer to hear more.

When he says something about cold exposure affecting the immune system, you should be paying attention. You try to focus on his words, but it’s hard when he’s standing there — half naked, with his chest on full display, his messy hair slightly wet from the rain. God, he's just so fucking handsome. The serious, worried look in his eyes makes you weak and you can’t help but sink a little deeper into the sofa.

Just as Ford’s lecture hits a peak, the door swings open with a loud bang and Stanley Pines strolls in, halting mid-step as his eyes zero in on the scene before him. Ford, half-naked, standing too close for comfort, and you, perched on the sofa with that nervous smile plastered across your face.

Stan’s grin stretches wide, clearly loving the situation as he leans casually against the doorway. His eyes flick between you and Ford, then he gives Ford an exaggerated once-over, raising an eyebrow at his lack of turtleneck. “Well, ain’t this cozy,” he drawls sarcastically, giving a smirk that only widens when he spots Ford’s obvious discomfort. “Ya know, Sixer, when I said ‘show the girl a good time,’ I didn’t mean literally strip down to do it.”

Ford’s eyes snap toward his brother, his mouth twitching in a way that’s almost a grimace. His posture straightens, arms crossing defensively as he glares at Stan. “Stanley, really? Must you always reduce everything to your level? She dropped a mug and I was helping her avoid a mess. You wouldn’t understand, but maybe try acting your age for once.”

“Hey, all I’m sayin’ is, if ya plan on gettin' cozy, maybe take it to a couch that ain’t mine.” Stanley’s gaze slides over to you, flashing a wink. “But if you’re lookin' for company, darlin’, I’m more than happy to—“

Before you can let the awkwardness spread more, you spring into the conversation, desperate to steer it somewhere less humiliating. “Stan, actually, Ford was just helping me to—” you force a friendly smile, trying to make light of the situation.

Stan laughs like he’s heard it all before. “Sure thing, toots. But between you and me. . . you’re doin’ a hell of a job of keepin’ my brother here on his toes. Haven’t seen him all riled up like this since. . . well, ever.” your heart thump so loudly in your chest, you’re sure everyone can hear it.

Ford’s jaw clenches so tight, you can practically hear his teeth grinding, but he doesn’t look away from Stan. The vein in his neck starts to twitch.God, it’s almost painful how much he wants to just end this conversation, end this moment, and pull you somewhere private, somewhere safe, where he can have you all to himself, but he doesn’t. “Stan, enough. We have an anomaly to inspect. Something I’d actually prefer not to delay any longer.”

Stan lets out a low whistle, clearly enjoying every second of Ford’s discomfort. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, Sixer, run off to your little projects. Just don’t forget there’s a real world out here, alright?” he gives you a quick nod, still smirking. “and you, don’t let him lock you in his lab too long, sweetheart.”

***

Grumpy Ford. The kind of irritated, scowling Ford you never realized you’d find so irresistibly enticing. That brooding frustration, that laser-sharp focus, you can’t help but imagine all that intensity turned on you, directed into every inch of your body.

God, if he just shoved you back onto that workbench right now, you’d let him. You wouldn’t care if his precious equipment went crashing to the floor, wouldn’t even flinch at the thought of papers and tools scattering everywhere. All you want is him, his body pinning you down, hands gripping you like you’re the anomaly he’s desperate to dissect, figure out, devour.

Holy shit, you want him to push you up against that wall, pin you down until you’re writhing underneath him, his body grinding against yours, every bit of that frustration poured right into you.

Slick heat building between your thighs as you watch him, the way he moves around his lab, muttering in frustration as he punches numbers into some device, brows knitted in that fierce focus. And all you can do is want his hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck, his cock driving into you like you’re all he’s thinking about.

“The rain seems to have masked the anomaly’s energy signature. I suspect it might be due to ionization in the— are you even listening?”

His voice snaps you back, he’s tearing right through your flimsy attempts at focus with that intense gaze of his, as if seeing everything you’re thinking. You offer him a small, sheepish smile. “Of course I am! Gravity, paranormal. . . s-signatures, right?” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your eyes keep drifting over his body, your ache throbbing inside, thighs pressing together as he stands there, so close you could reach out, slip your fingers through the fabric of his clothes, feel the warmth of his skin.

Ford lets out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Honestly, you’re as distractible as Stan.”

He turns away, but your eyes don’t leave him. Instead, you let your gaze slide over the room, until something catches your eye. A strange, helmet-like device bristling with wires and so, without thinking, you ask, “Hey, what’s that thing?”

Ford’s gaze follows yours, his expression changes as he considers whether to answer. “That’s a thought-reading device. Designed to access certain mental frequencies,” he explains, stepping closer to it and closer to you. “It can pick up surface thoughts. . . theoretically, anyway. I was working on it before I. . . uhm, it’s meant to strengthen and protect someone’s mental processes. Block out. . . certain entities from gaining access to their mind.”

A mind-protective device. Of course, he’d build something like that. It’s so him, his beautiful mix of intellect, caution, that underlying fear of what he’s seen, what he’s had to fight.

“So, it could let me peek into that brilliant mind of yours?” it’s a playful a tease, mostly. But inside you just ache to know, to wonder, to feel his thoughts. Would he think about you. even once, in the same filthy, breathless way you think about him?

Stanford grins. “In theory, yes, but it’s hardly necessary. My mind is. . . complex, too complicated for most people to understand."

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, Ford lifts the machine, his grin is bigger. “Why don’t you try it on?”

Your heart slams against your chest and panic sears through you, cutting under your carefully held composure. Oh god. No. No, no, no. Every filthy thought, every desperate image of him, of those long, deft fingers tracing down your skin, of his mouth, his hands, of him pinning you down and splitting you open on his cock, of moaning his name until you can’t breathe. All of it, laid bare, displayed for him to see?

You choke down the crazy urge to run, instead forcing yourself to laugh. “Why, Professor Pines, are you doubting my integrity?” you counter, flashing him a daring smirk, praying it’s enough to distract him from the heat that’s burning its way up your cheeks.

Ford chuckles in response. “Integrity?” he repeats, his tone mocking. “No. But curiosity? Oh, absolutely. I think it would be enlightening to see what actually goes on behind that amused little expression of yours.”

“There’s nothing interesting in my mind,” but your words barely sound convincing to you, let alone to him.

Ford tilts his head, arching his brow in that all-too-familiar, skeptical way that makes you want to simultaneously squirm and melt. “Oh really? You know, most people would be thrilled to test out new technology. But you. . . you’re avoiding it like it’s some kind of torture device.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” a poor attempt at casual. “I just. . . don’t wanna risk, you know, brain cells or something.” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. God, please just buy it. . .

Ford’s laughter rumbles and by the look on his face, you know he doesn’t quite believe you. But, mercifully, he lets it slide. “Alright, alright,” he relents. “I’ll spare you. This time.”

***

The rest of the evening is a haze of Ford’s intense meticulous rambling as you both sit tucked away in the quiet of his lab, soft lamp light casting warm shadows that stretch over the various gadgets, books, and uncharted maps sprawled out on every available surface, his domain, the world he’s always losing himself in.

He’s explaining again, his words so precise about the anomaly you saw earlier today. His voice rises with each detail, the way the rain altered it, how it vanished before either of you could even think to grab it. You should be focused, but his beautiful voice turns into a lullaby. Your eyelids grow heavy, your body sinking deeper into the chair.

And Ford notices.

The way your head tilts too far, your eyes fluttering closed just a little too long. He’s not as lost in his thoughts as he likes to think. His gaze sharpens, flicking to you with that careful, assessing precision he’s always had. He sees that quiet exhaustion in the way your posture slumps, the way your breath catches unevenly as your body fights against the pull of sleep.

His voice softens. “You’re exhausted,” he murmurs. “Of course you are. . . It’s too late. Go, get some rest. This. . . all of this will still be here tomorrow.”

A sigh tries to escape your chest before you can stop it. You want to protest, to stay longer, to pass just little bit more time with him. But the way he looks at you makes the words die before they can leave your lips. There's something unspoken in his eyes, a quiet concern mixed with that stubborn, unyielding sense of responsibility.

You try to stifle a yawn, your hand reaches out, fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve, as if the touch might change his mind. “Maybe. . . maybe just a bit longer?” however even your own voice sounds tired.

His answer is gentle but final. “No. You need to sleep. I’ll be here, as always.”

You don’t argue. When you step away, you catch one last glimpse of him, standing amidst the piles of notebooks, the soft light casting shadows along the lines of his face, catching the silver in his hair in a way that’s so painfully beautiful so you let yourself stay a little longer before you close the door.

***

The silence that reigns in the room after you leave feels like a huge, endless void that stretches to all corners of the laboratory and suffocates in its stillness. Ford exhales slowly, a sigh caught between frustration and something deeper he can’t quite name. His gaze lingers on the door, where you disappeared through just moments ago, soft sound of your footsteps still echoing in his mind. God, he’s such a fool, he thinks, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, rubbing at the ache that’s been building inside him ever since you spoke those soft words, just a little longer.

He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t ignore it. The way you leaned in, hanging onto his every word, as if he were something more than he really was, something beyond the man who hides behind his work, behind his mind. The weight of your trust presses on him and with it comes the unbearable pressure of knowing he doesn’t deserve it.

And God, he tries to keep himself restrained. He tells himself that this is madness, that you’re too young, that every second he spends watching you, wanting you, is a betrayal of everything he’s tried to build.

But you’re gone now and his lab feels emptier than ever. Even as he reaches for his journal, his thoughts are still tangled with you, with the way you looked at him, the way your sleepy eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to hang on to every word, every breath he took. Did you even realise what you were doing to him?

And as he opens his journal, he knows there will be no more notes on anomalies tonight. No theories, nothing but the restless, fevered words he can never, ever say aloud. Ford knows that if these thoughts ever slipped past his lips, they’d destroy you. You’d never look at him the same again. And he can’t lose you. He couldn’t bear to watch that disgust fill your eyes, that revulsion as you saw him for what he truly is: a man with a heart full of shame, but aching for you all the same.

He writes with a fever, the words coming too quickly for him to even think them through. He’s confessing things he’ll never have the courage to say to you. The way you make him ache, how wrong it feels, how unnatural it is to want you this way. You’re so young, so vibrant, so full of life. How could someone like him, an old man, a man of logic and reason, ever think he could want someone like you?

And yet, it’s all he can think about. It’s all he does think about.

God help him, he wants you.

Stanford’s hand trembles as he writes fast.

“The way she seems to lean closer with every word I speak, as if I’m some kind of god to her. I can’t breathe when she’s near, but I can’t stand being away from her either.”

He’s sickened by it, disgusted by the way his hands ache for you, by how his thoughts run into places he can’t control. But even so, he thinks, I can’t stop. I can’t stop wanting you.

“If only she knew what I was dreaming about, how I want to erase all layers of distance between us. I want to melt into her, touch every inch of her skin, as if she was made to belong to me, only to me.“

Ford can’t let you know how deeply he feels, how far he’s fallen for someone like you, someone so out of reach, someone who might never look at him the way he looks at you. Because if he did, if he let those words slip from his lips it would ruin you. It would break you.

And he can’t do that.

Not to you.

So, he writes. He writes because it’s the only way he can make sense of the mess inside of him. The only way he can be close to you without breaking everything.

“God, if she knew, she'd never see me as anything but the perverted old man I am.”

“God help me. . . I want her breathless. I want her shaking, clinging to me as I bury myself inside her, feeling every inch of her wrap around me like she was made for this. I want her to be mine. The years between us be damned—”

One sentence, scribbled with shaking hands: “if she knew how much I want to make her come on my cock while explaining the fundamental laws of interdimensional, she’d never look at me same way again”

“I want her shaking, spent, marked by me, by the man twice her age who should know better but can’t help himself.”

“I picture teaching her how to harness interdimensional energy, but my mind twists it, images shifting until it’s my body pressed to hers, whispering “concentrate sweetheart,” while I trust into her from behind. Her breath would stutter as I correct her technique with my hands on her hips.”

“I shouldnt crave her, not with the years that separates us like an unyielding chasm. Yet when she laughs, carefree and obvious, I imagine making her cry my name, hands guiding her hips as I thrust inside up into her, showing her exactly what an older man can do. Showing her why age doesn’t matter when she’s trembling and breathless beneath me.”

“She's got no idea, does she? I want her bent over my desk, books and notes scattered beneath her, while I thrust into her like some animal in heat, filling her over and over until there's nothing left of her but soft, pleading sounds and the way her body pulls me back in with every move. I’d guide her, make her feel exactly what it means to be touched by a man who’s twice her age and twice as obsessed.”

Meanwhile, now, alone in your room, you’re haunted by the memory of your lovely scientist, pulsing between your legs, leaving a needy ache that’s impossible to ignore. Just thinking about him, the strong lines of his hands, those six fingers that could make you see stars. . . it all sends a jolt straight through your body and suddenly, you’re melting, undone, utterly helpless to this craving for him.

You let yourself fall back into your bed, eyes closed, his presence wrapping around you like a ghost you can’t shake off. You can’t even catch a steady breath now, the dampness pooling between your thighs, every inch of you begging to be touched — not by yourself, no. You need him, his skilled, explorative touch, those six clever fingers. The memory of every stolen glance, every careful brush of his hand, it all coils up inside, a slow, delicious torment, and now it’s throbbing there, heavy with need.

You drag your fingers down the length of your body, tracing where his hands might go as you imagine him, his fingers slipping lower, finding that sweet, drenched ache and grazing it with a delicate touch that he’d know so damn well. 'Fuck,' you’d gasp, his name like a prayer on your lips as his six fingers roam, rough and relentless, pressing right against that needy opening, filling you up until you’re nothing but breathless whimpers and cries for more.

“God, sweetheart,” you hear his voice, “I’ve wanted this for so damn long. Do you feel that? How hard you make me?” and then he’d press his cock between your legs, hot veins throbbing against your entrance, and you can feel his breath on your neck as he tells you what a beautiful mess you’ve become for him.

Your fingertips brush over your clit as you imagine his hand there, gentle but insistent, exploring you with that scientist's curiosity, his six fingers pressing slow, circling that sensitive bud, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. “Let me feel you. Take it slow, sweetheart. Let me make you mine.” but even as you touch yourself now, imagining his fingers in place of yours, it’s still not enough

You arch from own hand, fingers gliding through the wetness now slick and ready, you press a little harder on your clit, circling it faster, imagining the way his hands would dig into your skin, his strong arms wrapped around you as he thrusts into you, “take it all, darling. Every inch of me.”

And by some lucky chance, Ford stands outside your door, his pulse slamming hard against his ribs, a wreck of a man just clinging to sanity. The sound of you — all gasping, breathy moans slipping through the thin wood, whispering his name in that desperate little voice — he can’t help himself as his hand flies up to the doorframe, his fingers digging in so hard they’re going white, knuckles taut, trying to keep himself together.

But the universe is laughing at him, at his pathetic attempt at control, at the sheer uselessness of his restraint, because fuck, every gasp you make sinks its teeth into him.

Something hot runs through him, then it sinks low, thickening in his chest, then spreads down between his legs. His cock twitches, rock-hard and aching, straining against the fabric, pressing hard, begging for the attention he keeps denying it. He shouldn’t be here — hell, he should be miles away by now, somewhere that isn’t two inches from falling apart at the sound of you! But he’s not. He’s a goddamn mess, held hostage to the way you’re sighing his name.

“Fuck, sweetheart. . .” he’s going insane out here.

Ford knows how you look right now, imagined it thousands of times, laid out on your bed with those soft thighs parted, hands trailing down, fingertips grazing over warm, damp skin, teasing yourself open, getting yourself wet just for him. Fuck, he thinks, I shouldn’t be this fucking desperate.

Ford lets his hand slip down, pressing hard against the hardness straining in his trousers, feeling himself throb against his own palm. There’s no relief, just that painful, growing ache that has him grinding his teeth, biting back the low, broken sound that wants to rip free from his throat. He’s a man undone, ruined just by the thought of you, the image of you with your legs open, your body calling out for him like he’s the only one you need.

“Jesus, fuck. . .” his free hand reaches down, trembling as he slides it beneath his waistband, wrapping around the throbbing heat of his cock, feeling himself swell, hard and pulsing against his palm. It’s wrong, so wrong to be here, touching himself to the sound of your little whimpers, but fuck if he can stop.

The sounds coming from your room grow louder and it’s too much for him. He’s already so fucking close as he imagines himself on top of you, sinking inside you, feeling your cunt wrapped tight and hot around him, your body arching, your hands clawing at his back, those delicate fingers pulling him close, begging him not to stop.

Ford’s back collides with the lab door as he stumbles in, chest heaving, adrenaline of hearing his name on your lips. He locks the door behind him.

Fumbling hands tug at his belt, fingers clumsy, impatient, tearing at the fabric as it’s the only thing standing between him and relief.��Finally, the belt slides free, and he wraps a shaky hand around his cock, swallowing down a low hiss as the raw heat of his own skin meets his grip.

He strokes himself roughly and desperately, letting his thumb graze the sensitive tip with a ragged groan that he’s helpless to contain. His mind runs further, and he pictures you, perfect and pliant, sinking to your knees before him with eyes so innocent, with lips parting as you take him into your mouth. As you let him fuck your throat.

A shiver runs through him and he leans his head back, sighing, groaning and grunting louder as he loses himself in the fantasy. God, if you only knew. If you could see him like that, a desperate moaning and trembling mess with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Ahh— ffuck,” hell, just how much he wants to hear you make those sounds too, moan for him, he wants to feel you beneath him, warm and soft, clinging to him, legs tangled around his waist as he sinks into you. His strokes become faster. Ford imagines pressing you down onto the lab table, your dripping pussy welcoming him as he thrusts deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper until there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed. His breath hitches, hips bucking into his hand as he imagines the way your walls would tighten around him, clenching, pulling him in.

He’s shaking now, barely able to hold himself together, his free hand clutches at the edge of the workbench, knuckles white, as he lets himself sink fully into the fantasy. You’d look so damn perfect spread out for him. Ford’s hand moves faster, tighter, fueled by the image of you writhing beneath him, helpless, pleading, so sweet and open, absolutely his, his beautiful girl, sweetest thing.

The pressure building until he can’t take it anymore. His hips jerk, a loud needy moan spilling from his lips as he cums, his body shuddering with release. For a few long, breathless seconds, everything fades: his mind, his shame, everything but the overwhelming, blinding wave of pleasure.

***

The morning breaks, a new day arriving, one that promises to be spent with Ford close by— and, isn’t that something to look forward to?

When you meet Stanford, the first thing you hear is, “Did you not learn anything from last time?“

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, but before you can protest, Ford is stepping closer, his coat swishing around him as he moves. The wool of his scarf unravels with practiced ease, and in a smooth motion, it’s over your shoulders, the warmth of it spreads around your neck. You want to say something, but all you can focus on is the way Ford’s thumb traces the edge of the scarf, his touch so delicate it feels too intimate for something so simple.

This shouldn’t feel like it does, you think, but your body screaming what your mind refuses to admit.

“There,” Ford says, stepping back. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I thought you checked the forecast this time,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t today supposed to be sunny?”

Ford crosses his arms with a smile. “Yes, well. . . One can never be too cautious. After all, last time—“

“—last time, I nearly froze my ass off,” you finish, the laughter bubbling up between you and Ford shoots you a look that’s equal parts exasperated and fond, like he’s about to scold you but can’t help himself.

“I wasn’t going to put it quite so crudely,” he says, but that reluctant chuckle escapes him before he can hide it.

When the sun climbs higher, the forest around you changes in hues of gold, the leaves thinning just enough to let the light filter through in soft rays. You walk side by side, close enough to hear the rhythmic crunch of your footsteps in the fallen leaves and Ford’s murmured observations, but it’s all you can do not to lose yourself in him. His words float past, about terrain, weather, anomalies and predictions, but your mind doesn’t follow, not when your eyes keep straying to him.

You can’t help but wonder if there’s any room left for you in his head, if he ever thinks about anything other than those damned anomalies. A piece of you wants to shake him, to pull him from his thoughts, to remind him that life is more than equations and mathematics. But, god, there’s something so cute about him when he’s like this, so fully consumed by his world, and you can’t look away.

“You’re thinking about something,” Stanford starts, pulling you out of your trance. “Is it the anomaly, or. . .?”

“Just wondering what it is we’re actually tracking. I mean, last time it disappeared before we could even get a good look, so. . . what’s the plan if it shows up again?”

Ford’s face lights up with approval at your question. “It’s an elusive creature, no doubt,” and again, his voice slips into that familiar lecture tone, one you’ve learned to love despite yourself. “But this time, I have a better understanding of its behaviour. The rain threw it off last time, but if my theory is correct, today’s dry weather should keep it on course! And if we can corner it near the ravine, there’s a chance we might get a clear reading on its—”

“Ford,” you interrupt, he stops talking, his brow lifting slightly. “I mean, yes— corner it near the ravine,” you repeat. Wait, what did you just say?

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Ford asks, smiling at you. “If you’re still tired from yesterday, I can handle this on my own.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, crossing your arms as you look at him defiantly. "Oh, please. I said I could do this a thousand times over with you and still keep up,” you challenge.

He laughs again and his laughter is so damn cute. “That, I don’t doubt.”

Time pass and as you walk beside Ford, your mind drifts, you're not really thinking about the anomaly or the hunt anymore. No, your thoughts are elsewhere. Again. Somewhere they shouldn’t be, but there they are. You can’t help but notice the way the sun highlights the strands of silver in Ford's hair, the curve of his shoulders as he walks, his posture so effortlessly confident and strong. And you think about how much you liked the way his body looked in the rain yesterday, when the wetness clung to his clothes and made every line stand out even more.

You sigh inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye. The weather, as perfect as it is, only makes you feel a bit wistful. Why did it have to be sunny today? You had been hoping for more rain. The kind of rain that soaked him through and made his clothes cling to his skin, the droplets tracing the curves of his chest. That was a sight you’d never forget. But today sun is too bright, too cheerful.

The soft breeze brushes your hair against your face, and you snap out of your thoughts just as you see the clearing ahead. Ford slows his pace, his gaze scanning the area with his usual calculated precision. And just as yesterday, air here feels different, as if charged. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the unease settling in. This is it, the spot where the anomaly was last seen. But, of course, there's nothing. The clearing is quiet, calm, completely empty.

Ford steps forward, looking around with a frown, muttering something under his breath. You stand there for a moment, waiting, listening to the wind rustle through the branches and the distant call of a bird. But there's nothing.

“Where is it?” you ask and Ford turns to you, his expression calm but with that familiar hint of worry in his eyes, the kind that usually only surfaces when he’s feeling frustrated.

“Don’t worry,” he says, though his voice sounds more like he’s trying to reassure himself than you. He straightens up, adjusting his glasses. “The anomaly will show itself. We’ve got all day to catch it.” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

All day with Ford?

Your heart skips a beat and you have to fight to keep your expression neutral. What could be better than spending the entire day with him, just the two of you in this quiet, secluded place? No distractions, just you and Ford, and the anomaly that might never show up.

It takes a little more time while you and Ford are waiting for the anomaly to appear and so, a dialogue ensues.

“I’ve seen some more strange things. In all my years of research, there have been anomalies of all shapes and sizes. Creatures from dimensions we can’t even begin to understand. Some are harmless, just curious things that wander around, never meaning to cause harm. Others. . . Others are far more dangerous. I've seen creatures that could tear through steel without breaking a sweat. Their behavior is— well, unpredictable.”

“What about the really dangerous ones?”

“There's one anomaly, one creature that I’ve encountered that still haunts me, to this day.” he looks away for a moment, as if weighing the decision to tell you more. “a beast unlike any other. Its skin is like iron, nearly impenetrable. And its mind is relentless. It doesn’t think like us. It doesn’t have the ability to reason, only the ability to kill and survive.”

Wow, you already can see it in your mind — a massive, hulking creature, covered in jagged, metallic plates, its eyes wild with an animalistic hunger.

“And you’ve seen it?”

Ford nods slowly. “Yes, once. And it wasn’t an experience I care to repeat.” and then he calls you by your name. “Listen, if we encounter anything dangerous, you stay behind me. Don’t try to be a hero, don’t try to ‘help out.’ I’ve trained for this. I know these creatures; I know their instincts and behaviours. You. . . you don’t. It’s crucial that you follow my lead.”

“I’m not helpless, you know,” you mumble, folding your arms. “I can handle myself.”

But Ford only smirks, oh how cute you are. “And if you ever find yourself lost between dimensions, the key is to stay calm. Panicking is a surefire way to make yourself vulnerable. Reality in those places doesn’t play by the same rules. Your mind can trick you, distort what you’re seeing”

You stare at him, a mixture of awe and confusion washing over you. “Well, thanks, Ford, for the guide on how to travel through dimensions and fight the monsters that live in them.”

“Years of experience. Sometimes the hard way. But you don’t need to worry about that, alright? Just stick close, keep your wits about you, and we’ll make it out just fine.” he smiles.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, your gaze dropping to the forest floor. “You’re. . . you’re Stanford Pines. You’re used to dealing with this kind of thing. Me? I’d probably end up wandering off into some other dimension if I so much as blink wrong.”

He chuckles softly, and you feel his hand gently rest on your shoulder. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure you don’t.”

You open your mouth to respond, but then— crack. A twig snaps somewhere in the trees to your left. The sound is sharp, distinct, echoing through the quiet forest.

Your heart skips a beat and you instinctively grip Ford’s arm, eyes widening. He tenses, immediately going on alert as his gaze darts toward the source of the noise. “Stay behind me.”

You swallow, nodding as you press yourself close to him. Ford moves slowly, keeping himself between you and the sound, his shoulders squared, every muscle tense and ready.

Another rustle, this time from the other side. You bite your lip, feeling the cold prickling sensation of fear clawing up your spine. This doesn’t sound like a bunny, not in the slightest.

The sounds grow louder, surrounding you both. Ford’s posture tightens, his gaze focused and determined, while you hover close behind him, whatever lurks in the shadows isn’t friendly, and Ford, as always, stands ready to protect you at any cost.

Suddenly, Ford raises a hand, signaling for you to stay still. One. . . two. . . three—

A small, furry creature darts out of the bushes, a pudgy raccoon, more plump and inquisitive than fearsome. It scampers out, blinking innocently at you both and you feel sigh with a relief.

You slip out from behind Ford, who’s still standing rigidly, eyeing the raccoon with disbelief. “Well, would you look at that,” you say, glancing up at him with a slight grin. “Our terrifying forest intruder was just looking for a snack, huh?”

“Don’t get too close,” Stanford warns, still frowning. “These things are rarely alone.”

You laugh softly, crouching down and letting the raccoon sniff at your hand. “Oh, come on, Ford. You really think this little guy is hiding—”

The words die in your throat as you catch the look on his face, his eyes wide with sudden horror, mouth open as he shouts, “behind you!” and you whip around just in time to see something that makes your heart freeze, a hulking mass with matted fur and claws like daggers, looming in the shadows. Its eyes flash like yellow lanterns and a rank smell hits you, earthy and rotten all at once. You barely manage a step back before it lets out a furious roar, its maw wide enough to fit a head and then some. The sound is so loud it rattles through you and a splatter of spit flies from its jaws, landing on your clothes. You go stock-still.

“Th-that’s. . .” you stammer, but Ford’s voice interrupts you, calm and steady despite the chaos.

“Stay calm. It’s eyesight’s weak, but sound-sensitive. Just— slowly step back.”

You barely have time to take in his words before the beast’s head snaps toward you again, snarling with an intensity that shakes the trees. Immediately, Ford pulls out his gun, aiming directly at the creature, he fires off a round that echoes through the forest, hitting the beast and it lets out a howl of pain that sends birds scattering from the treetops. But it’s still very much alive, and now it looks angry, furiously angry. The monster's gaze is fixed on Ford with a vengeful glare, and he rushes towards him with a blood-curdling growl.

Ford stands firm, taking careful aim as he readies to fire again. But just as he steadies his grip, a branch underfoot shifts, making him stumble. The gun slips from his hand, landing somewhere in the tangle of roots and leaves and suddenly, he’s weaponless, the monster mere feet away.

Panic flares in your chest as you see the creature, claws poised, ready to strike. Ford scrambles back, but it’s too close, and something snaps inside you. Without thinking, you dart forward, adrenaline flooding through you and you grab a thick branch from the ground. With a yell that’s as much out of fear as it is determination, you swing it at the creature with everything you have, landing a blow that momentarily distracts it from Ford.

But that monster retaliates, slashing out in a blind fury and suddenly you feel the sting of claws raking across your leg. Pain flares sharp and hot, but you grit your teeth, ignoring it, keeping yourself steady enough to stay upright.

Ford seizes the moment, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and fear as he snatches his gun from the ground, turning back to the creature. His voice is hoarse but resolute, “what are you doing?” he shouts irritably, calling your name again. “I told you to listen to me!”

With a final, controlled shot, he fires, the bullet hitting its mark. The monster lets out an agonized cry, staggering back before it turns and lumbers off into the dense woods, its snarl fading into the distance.

The adrenaline ebbs, leaving you and Ford alone in the sudden silence. His gaze finds yours, mad and worried all at once, his hand reaching out to steady you as your breathing finally starts to slow.

Ford’s face twists with frustration, jaw clenched tight and when he speaks, his voice is seething with barely controlled anger. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, charging in like that! I told you to stay back!”

You swallow, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks, not out of embarrassment or fear, but because, god, he’s hot when he’s angry, with that fire in his eyes and his tone like a damn storm. You force yourself to stay upright, despite the dull ache pulsing in your leg. “Ford, it’s fine. I just wanted to—”

But he’s already looking at you, really looking, his gaze flicking from your face to the way you’re leaning on your uninjured leg. “You’re hurt,” his tone dips from anger to something softer and worried. “Damn it, I should’ve never brought you out here. I’m such an idiot—“

“No, Ford, it’s just a little—” you try to brush him off, waving your hand dismissively, but as you shift your weight, a sharp bolt of pain shoots through your leg. You bite back a wince, forcing a smile. “Just a scratch, really.”

“Don’t even think about hiding this from me,” Ford turns annoyed and dead serious again, he steps closer as he assesses you, and there’s something really fierce in the way he insists, “Let me take a look. Now.”

For a moment, you think about arguing. But the pain flares again and you realise there's no winning against that look in his eyes. With a sigh, you give in, nodding reluctantly as you show him your new wound, from where the blood has already soaked into the fabric, turning it dark red.

Ford’s face changes instantly. “Damn it,” his hand hovers uncertainly like he wants to reach out, to touch, but doesn’t quite know where to begin. “This is— this isn’t just a scratch.”

His fingers finally settle gently around your calf, supporting you, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he examines the wound. You can feel his pulse under his fingertips, it’s obvious he’s anxious, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the Ford who always has the answers.

“This was my fault, I shouldn’t have— damn it, I should’ve kept you safe.”

***

The journey back to the shack feels agonizingly silent. Ford has one arm around your waist, nearly carrying you as you limp along, every step makes the wound throb in your leg. The sting, the ache, it’s all mingling with a sick sense of regret. You feel it settling in your chest. The whole day had been a disaster. You both went out to catch that anomaly, that one lead he was so excited about. . . and instead, you ended up facing something brutal. The monster had nearly killed you both.

Ford hasn’t spoken a word since the forest and with each passing second, it gnaws at you more. The thought appears in your mind, he must regret it. Bringing you along, letting you be there, yeah. . . he’s mad and not in the way you find hot. He’s distant, still supporting you, guiding you with a firm hand, but it’s as though he’s somewhere else entirely.

When you finally make it to the Shack, you find it blessedly empty. No Stan’s loud jokes or questions to break the heavy silence between you. Ford helps you to walk, still wordless and the whole way, you’re trying to find something to say. Some excuse, some apology, but every time you look over at him, you just see that grim look and you stop yourself.

Inside, he lets you sit on the couch. You clear your throat, forcing yourself to speak, to try to lift that heavy cloud around you. “Ford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for things to go that way. I didn’t mean to—”

But Ford cuts you off. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I should never have let you come along, I put you in danger.”

That serious tone. . . You nod, saying nothing more and after a beat of silence, you get up slowly, mumbling something about heading to your room. Ford doesn’t stop you, and he watches you go, still worried as fuck, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s rooted there, expression tight as he watches you limp down the hall.

When you get to your room, you close the door softly behind you, but the pain in your leg has started pulsing heavier, sharper, demanding your attention. You look down and finally decide, you’re going to check it, even if just to prove to yourself that Ford’s look wasn’t warranted, that maybe you’re not as bad as he seemed to think.

You settle on the edge of your bed, carefully and slowly taking your pants off, but as you pull the fabric, the sight that greets you isn’t reassuring in the slightest. The cut on your thigh is deep, seeping a fresh, dark line of blood that’s begun to smear against your skin. “Fuck. . .” you curse, tilting your head to get a better look, your fingers hovering over the edges of the wound. Just as you’re mentally preparing to find the first aid kit, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“No, please, just— let me help still. I won’t be calm until I—”

In the midst of your concentration, you hear the faintest creak of the door, and before you can even react, it opens.

You barely have a moment to react, still sitting on the edge of your bed, the bloody gash on full display as Ford steps inside, eyes widening as he looks at you. He freezes and for a moment, you both just stare at each other in silence. You’re sitting there in your panties and a t-shirt, and you don’t know if to be happy or not, realising how exposed you must look. Ford’s gaze flickers to your bare legs, to the wound on your inner thigh.

You cross your legs in shock and embarrassment. “Ford, what—” you start, but he quickly raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ Ford approaches, he kneels beside the bed, looking up into your eyes. “I— I can’t just leave you like this,” he pleads. “Please. . . let me help.”

“Ford—“

Ford’s hands hover over your leg. “You need to stop the bleeding, disinfect it, make sure it doesn’t get infected. It’s going to hurt, but, I can help. I’ll be gentle. Just let me. . . please.”

His eyes search yours, a quiet desperation in them that seems to say more than just his words ever could. Ford may be brilliant when it comes to the unknown, but in moments like this, when it’s you that’s hurt, he’s lost, even if he tries to sounds smart. He doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to fail you.

Slowly, you nod, the vulnerability in his gaze too much for you to ignore.

“Alright,” you whisper. “but be careful, okay?”

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls smut #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #ford pines smut #ford x reader #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls stanford #smut #gravity falls fanfic #ford pines x oc

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retroaria · 14 hours ago

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Hello! I'm not sure if you write for Karasu from Blue lock but if do you can I request first time hcs for him? If you don't write for him, Sae works too :D

✶ first time!

itoshi sae + karasu tabito x fem!reader

a/n: i definitely wanna do these for all the other guys after my event ends!

˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

➜ itoshi sae

when you and sae first started dating he was quick to try and initiate sex, feeling a bit confused if you were to tell him you wanted to wait.

once you are ready to have sex with him he plays it off like it’s no big deal but he secretly is fighting back his own excitement.

it shows in his eagerness to have you undressed beneath him. he takes your clothes off like a savage and immediately aims to mark you up, kissing and nibbling at your skin as his hands graze your body up and down squeezing and gripping at certain areas. sae is the kind of guy who gets off on the feeling of soft clean skin, so he takes his time appreciating your entire body.

normally he’d be more rough, but for your first time he decides to be a bit more gentle with everything. instead of eating you out like a madman he laps at your clit with a leisurely pace and curls his fingers into you slow but still striking.

he’d fuck you in standard missionary so he can moan softly in your ear and have you moaning in his. also likes to nibble at your neck and jaw.

his pace is at a comfy medium. he just doesn’t have it in him to make his thrusts slow and steady, but he enjoys slowing down a bit if only for the ability to make each thrust hit hard against your sweet spot to ensure your nails keep digging into his shoulders and biceps the entire time (his favorite fucking thing omg).

pull out > condom, unless you ask him to wear one which he would be fine with but he prefers not to. keeps his cock snug between your walls for as long as he possibly can. when sae’s close to orgasm he fully nuzzles his face in your neck and wraps his arms underneath you to pull you impossibly closer. he isn’t a loud moaner but his soft low groans are like audible porn.

sae’s aftercare doesn’t feel like he put in a lot of effort but it’s still good bc he basically just has you do all the stuff he would want to do himself after sex. shower, water, snuggle up.

➜ karasu tabito

he’d be so patient if you wanted to wait for the relationship to get more serious! he’s a player for sure but when he’s locked in he’s locked in.

he would want to make it a romantic and intimate experience for you, but he wouldn’t go all out. he’d take you on a beautiful date before hand and he’d run a nice bath for you after, sweet but not too sweet.

loves foreplay omg don’t get me started.

i headcanon him as a beast in the sheets but on the low he loves slow sensual sex. wants to kiss and lick your entire body, have his face smothered between your legs for as long as possible, rubs his cock between your folds so long he almost cums right then and there before stopping himself. loves the way you whimper for him as his tip glides back and forth against your sensitive clit.

he’s got a cheeky smirk on his face the entire time, even while his eyes flutter shut as he slides his cock between your warm wet walls for the first time.

this might be an odd opportunity but i feel like for your first few times with him he’d really amp up the dirty talk and probably drop it later into the relationship unless you happen to really like it lol. he’d drop himself down so he can speak directly in your ear, telling you how good you’re taking him and how incredible you feel wrapped around his cock between his low groans and thrusts.

look at me trying out new themes!! :D

mdni divider creds: @adornedwithlight so cute :3

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soapssuds · 1 day ago

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Gojo x Fem!Pregnant!Reader pt. 3

He comes back, but at what price?

pt.2

@awthem @just-lilita @aesztik @yozora7154

You fretted with your hands, your body all curled up on the couch as you waited for Nanami to bring Gojo back here, back home. You needed time to gather yourself, but both Shoko and Nanami were insistent that you get this over with. That Gojo needs to know the truth.

You were nervous and it could only worsen when you heard the front door open.

“And here I thought I would be living in a flat by myself, but no I got myself a whole house!”

His voice echoed in that excited manner he always seemed to have, it made you smile.

“I wouldn’t say by yourself, Gojo,” Nanami’s voice rings out.

“You mean…?’

You didn’t hear Nanami say anything else, but he probably nodded towards the living room where you were at (where you promised to stay and not run off somewhere). And all too quickly did you see a flash of white pop right through the entryway of the living room. His eyes directly on you, his blindfold haphazardly pulled off and hanging around his neck as he looked at you.

“Y/n-?”

His voice sort of choked out your name.

“But I thought- you- someone else-“

His mind was seemingly at work as Nanami decided to leave you both alone.

“I’m sorry, Gojo…”

His nose crinkled at his name as he walked up to you, his form seemingly towering over you as he stood in front of you. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“We’re married?”

“yes,” you managed to say, your voice small.

“You’re pregnant with my kid.”

You nodded this time, not once trusting your voice.

“And you…weren’t going to tell me…”

“We… got into a fight. You said how it was probably best that we never got together, and when you said you didn’t remember anything I just- I just thought that maybe this was a way of you not wanting this.”

You knew how Gojo was. He was quick to anger. Always lashing out. Especially when he was younger. You saw it when he was arguing with Geto, the higher ups, sometimes with you when you both were too stubborn to admit to being wrong.

Something like this… how could he not get angry?

So you prepared for it. Both mentally and physically.

You were ready for him to yell at you. Ready to be told that “you were really going to walk away because of a single fight.” But it wasn’t just a fight. At least, that’s what you thought.

And instead of being yelled at, Gojo merely fell to the couch beside you. The action made you jump as he captured you into his arms, “fuck…”

His arms pulled you close so his face could fit into the crook of your neck.

“G- gojo?”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, his breath fanning your skin, “call me Satoru or Toru like you did back in school.”

“A- alright, Toru.”

Your voice was still shaky but you could feel Gojo smile against your neck.

“Have we sat like this before?”

You looked down at him, the urge to run your fingers through his hair becoming strong, “yeah… though, lately, before the fight, you have been laying your head on my stomach.”

The moment you said those words, Gojo was already moving causing you to gasp when you felt him lay his head onto your stomach, his body slightly adjusting so he was more comfortable.

“Toru?!”

He looked up at you then, that same charming smile that you fell in love with adorning his lips, “what? I’m only doing what I used to.”

His voice was teasing, his charming smile soon turning cheeky and all too quickly it felt like you both were young and in love teenagers instead of two married adults about to have a baby.

What broke you out of your thoughts was his hands reaching up to caress your cheek.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

You leaned into his touch.

“I’m sorry for what I said, all of it. The fight, I mean. It’s hazy and I don’t really remember it, but…I know I was wrong. I mean, how could I ever not want this life with you?”

#amnesia gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo jjk #jujutsu kaisen gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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areyouwell · 2 days ago

Text

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out.

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times.

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.”

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included.

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking.

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room.

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could.

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles.

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings.

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing.

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her.

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell.

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly.

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision.

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it.

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes.

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon.

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls.

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too.

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation.

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever.

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body.

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children.

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night.

An ancient, local church, ironically enough.

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now.

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out.

“Is he–”

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether.

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond.

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong.

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head.

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end.

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk.

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–”

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors.

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good.

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free?

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away.

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic.

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams.

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short.

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man.

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other.

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right.

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man.

You were a woman.

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.”

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek.

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert.

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber.

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light.

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes.

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch.

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.”

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything.

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you.

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked.

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step.

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground.

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws.

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask.

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades.

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons.

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done.

Like you’d already won.

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince.

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat.

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths.

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself.

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings.

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours.

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale. “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?”

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant.

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes.

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew.

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name.

Logan.

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red.

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended.

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location.

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone.

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him.

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.”

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

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ddodol · 2 days ago

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pepero day mishaps with riize !

summary ⭑.ᐟ they mistakenly grab a box of condoms instead of your usual pepero snack <3 (as referenced from here) content warning ⭑.ᐟ condom mentions, slightly suggestive, secondhand embarrassment maybe.

a/n; i know it's already the 12th... </3

☆ : embarrassed, please go easy on him

shotaro:

it would be the first time shotaro’s ever celebrated pepero day with someone meaningful, wanting to commemorate it by buying you a box before he came to pick you up. he’d show up at your place, smiling brightly as he hands you the box. shotaro would be excited about today, telling you there were a lot of things he wanted to do with you, like the pepero game or getting to decorate a piece for each other. you wouldn’t know any better though, surprised to see packs of condoms inside the box instead of the familiar foil packet that had pepero in it. you’d pour a few out on your hand, still in denial, making shotaro panic once he realizes. he’d be embarrassed, apologizing over and over again as he snatches the box out of your hands. needless to say, he’d be bummed out the entire day, still bothered by the unintentional blunder he made. putting a smile on shotaro’s face wouldn’t be difficult though, going back outside to buy actual boxes of pepero this time and doing all of the things he wanted to try just to make him feel better.

seunghan:

i just know seunghan takes made-up events like this seriously— this is serious business for him. he would have planned out an entire date, along with his gift and a letter to show how much he appreciates being with you on pepero day. it would be romantic just like he planned and as he opens the box, hand scrambling inside to reach for the pepero snack, he pulls out a handful of condom packets instead. seunghan would freeze in shock, the romantic atmosphere crumbling down in an instant. you’d be laughing at the incident, laughing even more at the look on his face. it would take a lot before seunghan recovers, having to seek comfort in your arms because he can’t believe he was careless. he’d explain to you that the packaging was different from their normal ones that he just wanted to give it to you so you’d feel special </3 you'd coo at him, reassuring him that you understood what he was trying to do and that he shouldn't be this shy over condoms lmaoo

anton:

it’d be funny ngl. anton walking in a random convenience store at six in the morning and grabbing a red box reminiscent of the pepero packaging without even checking, all because you’ve been texting him last night about how excited you were for today. you’d wake up to anton hugging you from behind, the red box placed in front of you. it would put a smile on your face, appreciating the gesture even though anton never got the point of pepero day. excited, you’d open it up, getting mixed signals when you see condoms instead of your favorite biscuit sticks. anton was always the type to show affection through his actions so you weren’t too surprised that he went out of his way to 'ask' in this way. he would stir awake to you hugging him back, wondering why you were being affectionate. once you explain to him what he brought you, he’d be confused, scrambling to check with his own eyes. anton would pull out various excuses, like how it’s too early in the morning or even pull the foreigner excuse, cheeks and ears bright red out of embarrassment.

☆ : works out in their favor

eunseok:

did he do it on purpose? who knows. eunseok for sure would’ve found it amusing nonetheless. a quick trip to the convenience store meant that he only grabbed the first thing that caught his attention, whether it was subconsciously or he really didn’t know was all up in the air. you couldn’t really blame him though, the boxes were similar and stacked next to each other. conveniently, you also just ran out of condoms so it works out perfectly. finding out that he bought the wrong thing wouldn’t even faze him, blushing as he laughs. if it was any other day, he’d be too ashamed to even say anything but ‘gifting’ you a box of condoms felt appropriate for an event like today. once you two have settled down, maybe even got an actual box of the snack, eunseok would lay beside you, pulling you in his embrace as you held the box of condoms. he’d praise their marketing sense, mumbling about how he wants to see how good the quality is next so you could write a review afterwards or whatever ;;;

sungchan:

regardless of the event, you’re getting spoiled no matter what because sungchan would definitely be the type to get one of each, the box of condoms accidentally getting added in the mix. he’d sit you down on his lap, going through every single box and feeding one of each to you by mouth. he might even sneak in a little kiss in between just to stay true to the pepero day shenanigans. you would have gone through half of the boxes by this point, the mood starting to get hot and heavy. the moment sungchan grabs the condom packet, he’d stare at it curiously before glancing back at you, a playful smile growing on his face. sungchan wouldn’t even have the time to feel embarrassed because he knows you feel the same way as he does.

sohee:

i like to think that sohee would know, laughing at the drawing on the box (it’s pepero characters with the unrolled condom on their heads). he’d find it funny, buying one along with a box of pepero for you like he planned on doing. he’d even share it to the boys’ group chat, jokingly warning them to be careful </3 sohee would hide the fact that he knows, wanting to surprise you with it. clueless, you’d give sohee a kiss on the cheek, thanking him for the pepero day gift. it would kill him if you started taking photos of it to post on your socials, holding back his laugh as he watched you. sohee would start to feel guilty at how happy you look though, hugging you from behind and telling you to try opening the box. you would be the one panicking in this case, quickly grabbing your phone and deleting all stories and posts you've made of it </3

☆ : the secret third option

wonbin:

poor guy would've went out to buy out an entire stock to make it into a bouquet because he's seen it on social media. wonbin likes doing romantic gestures and he'd be satisfied with himself afterwards, proudly showing the bouquet off as he comes pick you up for your date. you would have to ask him if he walked around while carrying it, which he smiles at and nods— your shoulders moving up and down as you try your best not to burst out laughing in front of his face. it would take him a while to realize, face paling when you explained to him that these boxes did not contain the sweet snack you both knew. seconds later, wonbin’s knees would give out from embarrassment, wailing and beating himself up for not checking. he’d start to connect all the weird glances he got, especially from the cashier, feeling even more embarrassed the more he thought about it. your pepero day date would be cancelled and a movie night will have to do (and maybe put one of the eleven boxes he bought to good use)

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mxltifxnd0m · 1 day ago

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having a witch s/o headcanons ⟡ s. winchester

pairings: sam winchester x witch! reader, sam winchester x gn afab! reader

word count: 1.8K

warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', mentions of death and violence, some angst, fluff, dean being dean and not liking witches, [a part of season of the witch verse!]

a/n: ahhh im so excited for this little universe i've created and i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i had making it!!

as always enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

⟡ before dating you/ how you met:

the two of you didn’t exactly get off on the right foot when you guys met for the first time

you taught at the local university in your town, trying to live as normal as a life as you could while being a witch

the boys were on a hunt in the town you were living in, and they thought that you were the witch that was killing the college students (they were your previous students, hence why they came to that conclusion)

they had tried cornering you in your office after hours while you were working late but you managed to escape their grasp and flee. (you called in sick the next day and canceled classes)

after the minor altercation the three of you had, you managed to track down the winchesters and confront them at their motel room, and you explained the situation to them (it was a rogue witch from your father’s previous coven that was seeking revenge on your family since they were betrothed to each other but your father had fallen in love with your mother, running away, and then having you)

you knew about the winchesters, who hasn’t? so you knew that they would be hesitant about accepting your help, but you weren’t doing it to help them; you were doing it to save your own behind and save your students

dean outright refused your help, but sam, being the smart man he was, knew that without your help or knowledge, tracking down that witch would be difficult, so a hushed conversation later (you heard every single word that they said in that small motel room) they had accepted your help on the condition if you ever stepped out of line that they wouldn’t hesitate on killing you

you rolled your eyes at their threat but agreed (you haven’t killed a human being in all of your years of being alive so you weren’t going to start now, though with dean’s attitude towards you, you just might break that record)

working with the winchesters was like pulling teeth, but at the end of it all, you guys killed the witch, and the winchesters went on their merry way.

you were hoping that would be the first and last time you’d ever see their faces, but alas fate is a mistress that you hate to serve, and they ended up at your office, posing as FBI agents once again and needing your help (it was mostly sam asking and dean standing next to him stone-faced)

you flat out refused to help them, not wanting to be pulled into their world of crazy (your mother made sure you had as normal a life as you possibly could, and you weren’t going to give that up for the winchesters), so you swiftly sent them out of your office but you weren’t very lucky later that night when sam had shown up on your doorstep and all but intruded on what you thought was going to be a quiet night

against your better judgment, you invited the gentle giant into your home, and you shared the pizza that you had ordered in silence before he tried once again to ask for your help

it was either the wine you had consumed or his pleading puppy dog eyes (it was probably the combination of both) but you found yourself saying yes to help them

you swore to yourself that this was the only time that you would help them

but newsflash, they didn’t end up happening, after that hunt, you and sam had exchanged numbers, and you found yourself texting sam and helping them out with either research or spells that they needed for a hunt

hell, even dean had gotten ahold of your number and texted you for help (but this was very rare and sam was typically the person to reach out and ask for help)

then the texts with sam had crossed over from just asking for help and the two of you started to have friendly conversation with one another

it was nice, being able to chat with him, you knew that sam was kind and intelligent in his own right so the two of you texted each other often before it turned frequent

months had passed, and you had a tentative friendship with sam but before you knew it, you had developed feelings for the taller winchester and you were a little terrified about it (you knew that sam was generally more open about monsters, but there was a little voice in the back of your head telling you that he could always turn on you)

you became distant with him, trying to be discrete about it but sam was perceptive and called you out on it, and you gave him a bs excuse about it

turns out that wasn’t enough because a day later, he had shown up on your doorstep like he did when he asked for your help that night and practically confessed his feelings towards you

you were shocked by it, but managed to tell him that you felt the same, you melted seeing the grin that he gave you before he leaned down and captured your lips in a passionate kiss

⟡ dating sam winchester

at first, the two of you took it slow; you didn’t want to rush with sam, considering that you felt so strongly for him and sam to you

sam also had to deal with dean, knowing how his brother felt about witches, and even if you guys were on decent terms, the two of you had no idea how he’d feel if his little brother was dating a witch.

so sam kept it from dean, but it wasn’t going to be for long, just until the two of you were comfortable telling him, but considering you lived a couple of states away, you’d hope it be soon because you knew that the older winchester wasn’t dumb and would question sam about his whereabouts if he visited you often.

the two of you did long distance, which was difficult, to say the least, not seeing each other for weeks at a time, and with you teaching and sam traveling the states for hunts, it left a lot to be desired, but you guys found workarounds for it

but there was an insistence that sam didn’t respond to your texts for at least three days, which was out of the norm (he usually took a day to respond if he couldn’t find time to respond if he was out on hunts) and so you panicked and tracked sam’s phone to a hospital (which worried you immensely). you immediately high-tailed it to the location where his phone was. you burst through the hospital doors, and dean was waiting in the lobby for his brother to be discharged and was confused to see you here

then sam came walking (limping) down the hallway, and his eyes landed on yours, and before he knew it, your lips were on his, but he sank into your embrace nonetheless (dean looked at this scene with wide eyes and when you guys broke away, you expected dean to drag you off of his brother and possibly kill you)

lucky for you and sam, dean liked you enough that you had his permission to date his brother (but that didn’t mean that he pulled you out of the motel room that the boys were staying in and threatened you lightly)

soon after dean had given his seal of approval, sam asked you to move in with him in the bunker after a year of dating

you almost said yes immediately, but you said you would think about it since that would mean uprooting your life and abandoning a life of normalcy

it only took a week to think it through and about a month and a half later, you were moved into the bunker in Lebanon, Kansas living with the boys was a huge adjustment at first, but you guys eventually found your groove, and you had become an important asset in helping them out on research and spell work

speaking about spell work, since you were born with your abilities (thanks to your father), magic came easy to you, but you only worked with healing magic and light magic (you studied everything else; it was good to be knowledgeable about all facets of the craft)

but your healing salves and magic came in handy in their line of work any time they were injured

you had a separate workspace when working with your craft (you had cleared out an old room that wasn’t being used and they were okay with it)

you found yourself in that room more often than not and usually sam would come in and just study you as you bustled around the room (his gaze never strayed from your focused face as you worked and found it adorable when you slightly jumped when you looked up from the book you were reading to find sam smiling at you)

sam never really expressed his feelings about learning about the magic you used, so you were thoroughly surprised when sam came to you asking if you could teach him

you weren’t sure at first but eventually caved (those damn eyes of his would be the death of you)

he was a good student and a fast learner, which shouldn’t have surprised you considering you knew how smart he was

but dating sam while you lived with him was a breeze (bar from the fact that even when he was a human heater, he stole the covers often and the little spats the two of you had, which most of the time were solved in a matter of hours and led to great sex)

it was the first time in a relationship that you felt like you could be yourself for once, having to brush off the side of yourself as a hobby or hide it from your partners

but with sam, you didn’t need to hide it and it felt so freeing

sam was understanding, compassionate, sweet, gentle, and so many more things that you could rattle off but it would take too long to even explain, but you couldn’t have asked for a better person to be your partner

he’d given you the pet name of jinx, and at first it sounded like a nickname that dean would have given you, but it slowly grew on you, and he was the only one who could call you that (mainly because you threatened bodily harm if dean had called you by it)

so in return, you’d given him the pet name of “my heart” which you thought was fitting because he did have it fully and you loved the blush that crept up his neck and bloomed on his cheeks when you called him by it

there were always going to be bumps in the road, and life-ending events looming over the two of you, but you were convinced that if he was by your side and you by his, you guys could do anything

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bitchslapblastoids · 9 hours ago

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Prompted by your post about dnp inviting audience interaction: it /is/ really brave, and so interesting! I haven't been watching them for long at all and one of the biggest things that just drew me in and deeply fascinated me about them is how so much of their work (not just on stage) is in some way a conversation/interaction with their audience and the more you watch the more you notice it. No wonder its easy to be parasocial about them and about the Phandom itself!

To me, at least, they seem to be the sort of performers/creators that need a relatively high level of audience interaction in order to be inspired or for their work to feel meaningful. Like, im absolutely sure they could also create things without this close relationship with their audience but it seems to be what their naturally drawn towards? Obviously the problem has been in maintaining boundaries within that but it seems like that's going better now than at some points in the past, which makes me really happy for everyone!

Sorry about the long yap, this is so interesting to me and I just needed to express it a little

yes!!! i love this!!! so beautifully worded! no need to apologize at all - i am in such hearty agreement and actually think about this so often. i think the engagement with their audience is their superpower, and it runs so deep. what was one of dan's favorite things about phil before he met him? phil's interactive adventure videos, in which he was creating an interactive experience for his viewers.

when they film pinof1 together, what are they doing? they're answering an audience-submitted q&a. the audience interaction is literally baked into their foundation! <3

2010, dan's uni dorm. what's displayed behind him on his wall? art and letters sent to him by viewers. he films danmail vids where he opens and reacts to said art and letters and personally thanks the senders.

for years and years and years, what's at the end of every phil video? fanart! draw phil naked! (in retrospect literally so weird lol but shhh)

the ongoing avalanche of vyous and younows and tumblr reblogs/follows and responding to yt comments and retweets and and and. so much interaction. the videos directly engaging with twitter and tumblr creations. they see us, they know us, they get us.

their first book? included a double-page spread with dozens of pieces of phanart.

every single one of their tours has multiple essential audience interaction components, and even more brilliantly, with multiple different access points that are perfectly calibrated to their audience. too shy to speak up? send in a submission ahead of time. want to be a part of the masses? shout something out during the audience participation segments! and there's always the likelihood that they'll include fanart in the show itself, casually mention an actual actively popular fic, throw in an ancient phwedding manip, or just build whole segments of the show around our tropes and the world that we created with them. all of that keeps things exciting and engaging on stage, bc you never know exactly what's going to come next. but it also keeps their audience feeling seen, valued, and like co-creators in a way.

When you look at the other britcrew and big yters from the 2010s, they simply weren't generating that ongoing, authentic conversation with their audiences. their approach followed the simple format of: i post, you watch. and then it became: i post, you watch, then i try and sell you something while i call you my 'community' because you are all watching me and sometimes you talk to one another in the comments. but it's not like zalfie or joe and casper etc. were chiming in on the convos too, or at least not in any meaningful way. it wasn't a community in the same way.

dan and phil truly built community. i think communities require mutual exchange, communication, a sense of value and worth, commonly agreed upon truths, shared experiences, touchstones of connection, and leaders who have integrity. i know this is all starting to sound a little lofty, but i really do think dan and phil are good humans who have worked hard to wield their power and influence responsibly and compassionately. they set the tone for us, constructed this world, paid attention to what landed for us, how we responded to things, everything that we were up to in response to what they were up to. they listened. they made us feel seen and celebrated and appreciated, and in turn we continued to celebrate them. they created weird inside jokes, we adopted them, then we all shared the weird inside jokes. they existed, we created our own language and lore and encyclopedia in response, and now there's a whole stage show about it.

that's how you get people sticking around for 15 years. that's how you get people to actually want to spend money on you. and yeah, some more boundaries at times couldn't have hurt. they fostered a sense of proximity and entitlement that obviously put them in harm's way. but i'd say ultimately what they've manage to do has been a net good for them and a tremendous success.

you raised such a good point that it seems to be what they are naturally drawn towards. i think it's because they, too, were fangirls. phil was writing buffy fic. dan was running a lost wiki. they both understood the power of online fan community before they were the titans of their own. they get it, they get us <3

#dan and phil #don't think there are any tit specific spoilers in this #me yapping #you said 'let me submit a nice lil anon message' i said 'HOLD MY BEER'

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lie-lacdreams · 2 days ago

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Thermodynamics and Turmoil (Curly x Reader pt. 1)

Hello! I'm putting out my very first piece ever and I'm so excited to feed the masses as much Mouthwashing content as they deserve :) This game has a lot of sensitive topics to it and as such I'll try my best to bring them up as appropriately as possible. The story is gonna start off slow and elaborative because I love all of the Tulpar crew so much (except for Jollof rice, Jimneva convention) and they all have such interesting personalities that I couldn't help but to explore their wants and aspirations. This story will feature an alternative ending to the game because I cannot stomach sad things they make me very sad </3

engineer! reader x curly TW: a bad word or two, I think word count ~ 1.9K

Curly was back in the medical bay for his routine psychological evaluation with Anya. With all of the questions answered and out of the way, the both of them were just chatting before he had to go back to the cockpit and finish up his duties for the afternoon.

“You’re all good to go, Captain. Seems like there isn’t much change from your answers like last time, as usual.” Anya let out a tired sigh.

“That should be a good thing, given we’ve already been on this trip for almost two months now. We should all be used to the routine around here at this point. Has everybody else been adjusting alright?” Curly stood up from his chair, Anya following suit as they moved towards the door.

“For the most part, everyone’s been well but I wish they would open up or take the assessment seriously. I mean, at least Daisuke has been making my job a little easier – he just talks and talks.” she mused. Curly gave a little chuckle in response, thinking about the last-minute intern that the Pony Express decided to add on board to their journey. He wasn’t exactly the most helpful – at least according to Swansea – but he brought an air of lightheartedness that they all needed in a cut-corners, shitty working environment like the Tulpar. “Oh, actually, have you seen (Y/N) lately?”

Curly thought for a moment. Along with Daisuke, (Y/N) was another late addition to the crew. The Tulpar has started showing its age and as such, there were increasingly consistent problems with the water pipes, life support, and fuel usage. However, instead of giving the crew a new ship, they handed the responsibility of keeping the ship up and running to the passengers. After their previous trip, Swansea went straight to the higher-ups and ripped them a new one, stating that “he couldn’t be expected to perform miracles”. When the crew was assigned this trip, they were all surprised that corporate had listened to Swansea’s complaints and granted them with another engineer. (Y/N) was self-sufficient, only really needing to work with Swansea to consult him on how best to move forward and with Daisuke when Swansea needed a break from his overzealousness. As a result, Curly saw and knew very little about her. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Why?”

“She’s due for her check-in as well but I haven’t seen her these past two days to tell her that. Go figure. We share a room yet recently she’s been waking up earlier and sleeping later than I have. When I went to ask Swansea and Daisuke if they’d seen her, they said that they haven’t seen her at all today.”

“Huh. She’ll show up eventually. This ship only has so many places a person can be. If I see her, I’ll let her know to go straight to you. Thanks, Anya.” He patted her shoulder lightly before heading out, making his way back to the cockpit to fulfill his duties.

In the evening, the crew convened at the table for dinner. Curly always looked forward to this time of day, where everyone had finished all of their tasks and could open up with light hearted banter. With only the six of them on the ship for over a year, all they had were each other, and he cherished all of his crew members. Anya and Swansea were chatting to the left of him about Swansea’s kids back on Earth. To his right, he saw Jimmy get increasingly agitated as Daisuke tried convincing him to swap dinners with him. That’s when he spotted the empty chair across from him and realized that (Y/N) was still missing.

No one was concerned by her absence; it was a common occurrence, and he trusted Daisuke and Swansea to be in the loop about what she was up to and would report to him if anything happened. During the work day, everyone was so consumed with their jobs and couldn’t afford to worry about the whereabouts of the others, unless they needed to lend a hand. Curly wasn’t an exception to this. As the captain it was his responsibility to make sure his crew members were okay and that things were moving along nicely, and so far there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that indicated otherwise. With everyone finishing up their dinner, clean up began before people bid each other goodnight.

In the middle of the night, he woke up parched. Debating whether or not to get a glass of water, he finally got out of bed and made his way to the lounge where the kitchen was. Leaving his room, he could hear a faint clacking noise grow slightly louder the closer he got to the lounge entrance. Opening the door to the lounge, he was finally met with the sixth crew member whom no one had seen all day. Sitting at the dining table, (Y/N) rested her feet on the seat of her chair and had her knees drawn up to her chest. All around her were books and loose papers scattered about. Her hair was messed up, likely a direct cause of the hand she kept on her head, fingernails digging into her scalp. Curly gently cleared his throat, trying to make her aware of his presence. Shooting a tired glance his way, her eyes widened a bit before immediately sitting up straight and tidying her hair. She looked guilty, like she was caught in the middle of doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing.

“Finally, we get to see her. Where have you been, Miss Absentee?” He sent a small smile her way, walking over to her.

“C-Captain! What are you doing up? It’s quite late.” (Y/N) nervously fidgeted.

“Just up for a glass of water. What are you doing up so late is the real question.” He crossed his arms.

“Just doing a bit of work. Can’t get enough of it.” She joked dryly. Curly frowned and pulled the chair next to her to take a seat. She sighed and leaned back, finally relaxing from tensing up after seeing Curly enter the room. (Y/N) didn’t know her captain well, and as such she always tried her best to save face and remain professional with him, but at this hour of the night, she was too tired to keep up with decorum.

He leaned on the table, facing her. “I know we may not be as close as you are with Swansea and Daisuke, or even Anya, but as your captain I care about how you’re doing and I want you to open up to me.” Her expression became hesitant as she shifted in her seat. “We’re all busy and even though it’s common for you to go missing during meal times, seeing you like this now is making me worried about how you’re doing.”

(Y/N) kept quiet for a second, looking like she was mulling something over before picking up the object right in front of her. “Do you know what this is?”

“An abacus. Interesting that you have one.” he said.

“Yeah.” she sighed. She moved her gaze from Curly to the plastic Polle statue in the corner of the room. “Before I got on the Tulpar, they had given me all of the supplies I needed to fulfill my duties and do what they asked of me. I had met Swansea only briefly before so he could give me manuals and maps of the ship’s layout. I got the uniform, the steel-toed boots, notebooks, writing utensils, and a solar-powered calculator.” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d think that would be enough to prepare me to be here, but no . If only there was a way to have a bit of sunlight in outer space in a ship with no windows. They gave me something so crucial but useless out here. I had brought the abacus on board with me for sentimental reasons, but ironically enough it’s the only thing here that allows me to do my job.” She glanced back at him. “I’m not sure if you were aware, but Pony Express lied and said this was an internship for graduate students. Little did I know I’d be thrown into something I wasn’t going to have much guidance in. I needed a break from my PhD and even though the pay wasn’t that great, I was desperate for some sort of escape from academia. I thought going to space would give me that, but every day I wake up is a constant reminder that I’m so underqualified. Swansea is an expert with the mechanical side of the ship and he’s helped me a great deal, but the fluid mechanics and thermodynamics of it all are things he knows nothing about. So I’m here, trying my best to play catch-up and praying that I figure out a solution so that this ship has enough fuel, enough air to last us an entire year, and that the Tulpar doesn’t pop like a pressurized soda bottle while we’re out here.”

“(Y/N)...” Curly’s voice died at her name, shocked at this revelation and disappointed he somehow didn’t know about her struggle sooner. “I had no idea what you were going through. You always seemed to have a grasp on your tasks and Swansea always praised the work you did, so I just assumed you weren’t having a hard time adjusting. Have you told any of this to Anya during your evaluations?”

“No… I really wanted to believe that I could do it and stick it out, and so far, thank God, I’ve just barely made it every time. I really wanted you and the rest of the crew to believe I was capable and worthy of being here.” He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder, testing the waters on how he should comfort her.

“You are worthy of being here. The fact that we’ve been having such a smooth trip with no complications so far makes that obvious. I really appreciate you opening up to me now. I want to do everything I can to make sure you aren’t stressed about your work. You need to get rest and eat like the rest of us. Sure, none of us are a chemical engineering smarty pants like you, but you can always ask for help, even if it’s just for something like bringing you food or running errands around the ship.” He smiled at her, and she weakly reciprocated the gesture.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Thank you, Curly.” Too tired to remember formalities, (Y/N) let out a big yawn, much to his amusement.

“So are you gonna go to bed?” He asked. She threw her head back and groaned in defeat, murmuring a “yes”. “Good! I hope I get to see more of you around now that you’ll be asking for help, yes?”

“Yes, of course, Captain. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The both of them stood up, (Y/N) to head to her quarters and Curly to finally get his glass of water. Before completely leaving, she paused and turned back. “Oh, and Captain?”

“Hmm?” He raised his head up to look at her again.

“I know you have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders looking after all of us. Please, rely on me too.” She smiled gently.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” He called after her as she slipped through the door. He felt content that he was making good progress to gaining the trust of the crew member he knew the least. It always made him feel good to be the reliable captain he hoped everyone viewed him as. Having that conversation with (Y/N) made him a little more relaxed now that she had opened up to him for the first time.

#mouth washing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #curly x reader #mouthwashing x reader

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the-east-art · 1 day ago

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You're making me want to get into ceramics&pottery......,,,,,, do you have any tips for beginners? <3

Got so excited I pulled out my laptop cuz it's easier to type on.

So you want to get into ceramics! The very first thing I would do is find a local kiln - google it, find some places that say they have classes (or classes and studios) and shoot them an email. Many of them will have classes and will sell clay and space for you to use.

BUNCH more info below:

But maybe you want to get started without a studio space or without taking lessons or whatever. You will want to ask the kiln how much they price firings for but MOST importantly ask them what they usually fire their kiln at. They will either say Cone [Number] or will say low fire, mid fire, or high fire. These are the three typical ranges for ceramic pieces to be fired at, and when you're doing ceramics you will want to be keeping all of these aspects in line: if your local kiln does mid-range firing, you will want to buy mid-range clay and mid-range glazes. If you have questions about this you can ask the kiln, or google, or shoot me an ask!

Now you know what range of clay you want to buy! Ideally find a local place to buy it - kilns usually sell it, if you have a local art store call ahead and ask, or if you have a local blick store. You can technically ship in clay but it's EXTREMELY expensive because of how heavy it is, so you should really only ship in clay if there's no other option. I recommend buying from Seattle Pottery Supply if you have no other option (or want to start getting into unique colored clays).

Different clay types will have different quirks. Porcelain is a very smooth clay but very weak. There are clays with a lot of grog (grittiness) that are very strong but will rough textured. I personally recommend starting with a Laguna B Mix that matches the cone/range you are firing at. It's light colored and smooth like porcelain but more forgiving. (Naturally if you're taking lessons at a kiln you'll probably just start with whatever they usually use).

As you create things with clay do your best to make things thin or hollow, but NEVER have a closed form with no bubble - there should always be a hole for air to escape from. Air bubbles in clay, or too thick of walls, are likely to explode in the kiln destroying your piece and other pieces as well.

From here there are two main types of creating with clay: hand building and wheel throwing. For hand building you will want to look into slipping and scoring - this is how you will get two pieces to 'glue' together.

Wheelthrowing is one of the msot difficult arts to get started in. I recommend looking up tutorials if you can't have someone irl teach you. Couple of quick tips: to center the clay make sure you anchor your elbows somewhere on your body.

Anything that people have a fancy way of doing has a simple way of doing (some studios have damp rooms, but if you don't have a damp room you can just cover your items in plastic when you aren't working on them). I do my ceramics in a garage, my wedging table is a wooden board that I stapled canvas to, and I don't have space so sometimes I have to put the pots on the floor or sit on the floor to wedge the clay. You got this.

PLEASE tell me if you have more questions. I love love love talking about ceramics.

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hydrangeapartridge · 1 day ago

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My completely biased review and opinion about companions in Veilguard (major spoilers of course)

(Side note : english is not my first langage, I hope I can express myself clearly enough for you all to understand my points)

- Neve

I like Neve, she’s cool. I loved the detail of the noise her metal leg makes when she walks.

Her questline was however a bit bland. We had better portrayals of power hungry blood mages in previous games and Aelia wasn’t that good an antagonist. She lacks charisma and isn’t seen much before the last quest so you don’t really care about her. It could have been more dramatic, like if we had to fight people of Minrathos being controlled, idk. Also not much about slavery.

I get that Bioware tried to make Neve’s quest like detective work, searching for clues and stuff, but for me it wasn’t that exciting, and Venatori are the mobs I like the least, I don’t like the crystals you have to break in order mechanics and stuff.

I chose to make her the hero of Minrathos and it was satisfying.

- Harding

I can’t find it in myself to call her Lace damn it XD

Of course I was happy to see Harding again after Inquisition ! She is a ray of Ferelden sunshine. I really enjoyed her questline with the Titans ; it was mysterious and you really felt the danger in the deep roads, and the potential threat of her newly acquiered magic. I liked the giant oracle and the design of the lyrium caves. It was a nice throwback to the first games.

The end scene of her quest was nicely done, with Rook trying to reach her while the whole cave was collapsing and then a group hug.

I chose the path of compassion.

- Lucanis

His accent was more funny to me than endearing (as is his signature « Mierda ») and I was surprised to find that he was soft instead of suave. I didn’t save Treviso so I feel like I missed a lot of his quest (and the decision at the end) and in the end he was OK but not that interesting to me.

There was also the problem of Illario ; the second he was introduced I smelled the family treason nd so there was no suspense to this quest. It felt like a bad telenovella.

I like that Zara had a literal blood bath in the quest of the same name. It was a cool fight.

I didn’t bring him out much but I enjoyed that he ended up with Neve.

- Bellara

Bellara is adorable. I liked her quirkiness but her dialogues were sometimes terrible. When she talked I felt like she kept repeating the same things phrased differently and sometimes I felt the itch to skip (I usually never skip dialog!).

I had high hopes for her questline because of Anaris and finding that her brother wasn’t dead, but it all flopped in the end when Cyrian got killed by being sent flying away and Anaris didn’t turn out that scary. It felt stupide that Cyrian was not dead and then really dead…

I chose to keep the Archive but that choice felt like the less impactful of all the companion choices.

- Davrin

I didn’t expect Davrin to be so brash ! I enjoyed his banter a lot and the growth of his relationship with Assan. That griffin is an absolute cutie !

His quests were cute for the Arlathan ones and impactful for the one with the Gloom Howler. I enjoyed Isseya’s story and saving the griffins.

I still felt Davrin to be a little too « jock » coded, but his banter with Emmrich and Manfred was perfect ! I enjoyed seeing the wardens again (Antoine and Evka <3) and am glad he was a true Warden this one.

I chose to release the griffin in Arlathan because my Rook was an elven veil jumper.

- Taash

In real life, Taash is the kind of person I would have trouble connecting with. They’re obtuse and a bit rude. I felt like I was intruding during the parts with her mother (it is probably the goal of those moments but it made me uneasy). I wanted to be supportive so I was but I didn’t feel like my Rook and them ended up great friends. The identity crisis wasn’t handled that well I think, but it wasn’t as bad as people make it out to be and maybe I’ll get hate for that but they come out at first more Trans than non binary given their problem is being misgendered as a girl mostly or expected to do girly things? They even say it feels right to be called a man I think I remember? (but I respect whatever pronouns she chose in the end)

I really enjoyed the dragon hunt quests however and their last quest was cool too. Their mother’s death was a sacrifice that made sense and it pained me.

Their romance with Harding was cute (mostly because of Harding’s reactions and that height difference XD)

I chose to push them towards embracing the Rivein life, even if I think they could have made peace with both ?

- Emmrich

Of course my favourite. And not only because he is the handsome older man who swept my Rook off her feet.

To give us a scholar necromancer that was the antithesis of the cliché : a man poised but a tad insecure, nerdy, gentle, kind, a bit posh, extremly elegant and whose favourite colour is lilac ! Genius !

The Necropolis had such a distinct ambiance that every quest there felt special, with amazing details and wonders of finding a wisp, a spirit or hearing a dead’s last words.

To me his personnal quests are the ones with the best handled rythm. The first one in the peace and quiet of the beautiful garden sets the tone : serious but poetic, sad but hopeful, and dares to tackle very real and grave subjects. Death and regret but also life and love are perfectly handled in his story and brought me lots and lots of feels.

There is a great antagonist whose motives are simple but dangerous ; a friend turned rival, similar but so different from dear Emmrich. Johanna is simply iconic (her hand gosh and the fact that you keep her skull in the end, brillant). The fights are well balanced, the cutscenes and dialogues perfect for immersion. And don’t get me started on Manfred… I love this little guy to bits.

I chose to revive Manfred and for Emmrich and Rook to live the rest of his mortality together. In Undying Love

#veilguard spoilers #da veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #dragon age taash #davrin dragon age #neve gallus #lucanis dellamorte #lace harding #bellara lutare #veilguard #da: the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #veilguard companions

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hoes4matthew · 2 days ago

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Warnings: fluff / little!chris / little!matt / cg!reader / bad spelling and grammar / low-key short

Summary: building a gingerbread house with chris :3

A/N: my first age regression fic yippe

Chris excitedly ran inside with the gingerbread house you recently bought whole grocery shopping. Matt happily ran a little bit behind him with a box of hot coco and marshmallows in his hands. They both excitedly ploped their things down on the kitchen counter.

You walked in with the rest of the groceries and shut the door behind you. Almost as soon as you put the groceries away you see Chris run up next to you.

"mama! can we make it now!? Tan we???" He bounced up and down excitedly. He's been so excited to build it ever since he saw it in the grocery store. Ranting about his ideas on how he was gonna decorate it.

"Of course! How about you get the stuff out of the box for me while I put the groceries away." He quickly nodded quickly. He ran back over to the kitchen table where the box was. He quickly and sloppy opened the box, nearly ripping it half.

It didn't take you long to put the groceries away. You walked over to Chris who's been waiting anxiously for you to be finished. He'd layed out all the different pieces and decorations.

"Alright bud!" You looked up to see Matt across the table hugging his stuffed animal and watching you two. He had his cosy Christmas blanket around him. "You wanna join baby?"

Matt shook his head. "I watch." He said quietly, laying his head on the table. Matt wasn't into the messy stuff. He was more of a cuddle with a hearted blanket while watching a christmas movie type person.

"That's okay." You smiled before you saw Chris attempting to build one of the walls himself. Which quickly failed, he let out a little groan of annoyance once the walls collapsed.

"Aw, it's okay bud! Let me help you." You two worked together while you helped build the house. He held up the walls while you used them, not at all helpful, icing. After some failed attempts and a near breakdown, you managed to get it to stand. Chirs let out a happy gasp of happines. "Thank 'ou mama!!"

"Your welcome darling! You can decorate however you want." Chirs turned too you nodding. He began carefully putting this icing on the roof of the gingerbread house. It's honestly the most focused you've ever seen Chris.

You heard Matt shyly mumbled something. You looked over to see him holding up a box of hot chocolate up. He had his favorite snoopy mug next to him.

"You wanna make hot chocolate?" He quickly nodded, getting out of his chair and running over to you with his cup and the hot chocolate.

You let him pour and mix everything himself. Besides the milk, which he requested you to pour. After the last time he spilled it on himself he didn't wanna pour his own milk anymore. He mixed it all up and put it in the microwave. He pressed the buttons as you told him how much time it needed. "Good job baby!" He smiled proudly as you praised him.

Then he quickly turned back to the microwave, swaying back and forth as he watched his cup spin around. Meanwhile Chris was adding his finishing little touches to his gingerbread house. You watched as he stuck a circle peppermint on the front. He'd somehow gotten frosting all over himself in the short amount of time you were turned away from him.

"That looks really good Chris." Matt tugged on your side as the microwave beeped. Pointing over to it. You laughed at his excitement before taking it out the microwave.

"Do you want whipped cream?" He thought for a moment before nodding. He watched you as you got the whipped cream and put some on top of his hot chocolate. He let out a happy squeak like noise.

"thank ou' so much mama!" He took a sip and nodded contently, going back to his seat and watching while Chris added one last decoration onto his gingerbread house.

"tada!" Chris steps back and looks at it proudly. There were sprinkles all over it in random places along with icing covering the whole roof, and apparently him too.

"Woah! It looks amazing!'' Chris held his head up proudly. Making sure you put it right in the middle of the table so anybody could see.

"Hey how about we all get cosy and watch a Christmas movie?" You didn't have to say that twice for Matt to be rushing to the couch. Meanwhile Chris changed into a new, clean shirt. He wanted to pick his own shirt.

"snowman!!" Matt kicked this feet happily. While you two got all ready to watch the movie, Chris was still oogling over his gingerbread house.

He eventually came over with you and Matt, He jumped onto the couch next to you and Matt with one of your holiday sweaters on. Leaning on your shoulder while Matt was on your lap.

This is kinda butt I'm so sorry

@cl4re-cain @1c3b4th @fratboychrisera @cherry-red-heart @mattybsgroupie (sorry is anybody from my taglist being tagged doesn't fw stuff like this 😢 you dont have to read if you donf fw kt c: )

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nicolas sturniolo #Sturniolo age regression #age regression #swf agere

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deesseshesca · 8 hours ago

Text

PAC : SITUATIONSHIP (NO.1) (18+)

Am I ignoring any dealbreakers?

One last time... I need to be the one that takes you home...

ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF)

Y'all are 2 avoidant attachment style living the perfect relationship. Comforting each other, cuddling, PDA, popping up at each job or a from of each other house. Even making love to each other ... no labels is truly a bliss...

Am I ignoring any deal breakers?

PILE 1

What's their energy on 'commitment' – is it giving 'ride or die' or 'ghosting ?

They care for you. They have affection towards. You are their comfort place. The person they can vent when they need something but at the end of the day… they will never love you. You ain’t the one they want to change for. They are still hooked on a past situationship where the person they were dealing with was not settling for their bullshit. Requiring them to change. Having these big conversations, telling them and having faith in them for change. When it comes down to it, you are one of the best things that has happened to them and they want to keep you close for the intimacy and support y’all build for each other. They know they deserve more and you ain’t it…babe.

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF) (Recent review 🎀)

PILE 2

Y'all are on your period.

Am I ignoring any deal breakers?

Yes

What's their energy on 'commitment' – is it giving 'ride or die' or 'ghosting ?

Your person is messy. ‘’ They almost 40 acting like little bitch’’. They act like they never had a good thing, a day in their life. They act like a child. They can’t choose what toy they want. Like they want the money so they dedicated all their time to their job. They are workaholics. Always putting work before you. There’s a meeting, work trip, a golf day, etc. They also want to be providers, that’s why you are there. They are paying your rent, bills, pet medical care and maintenance day. But you are giving BIG BOSS energy. You can get it on your own. You did not welcome them in your life for money. You wanted love, respect and good sex. Technically they are doing it but… they have yet to claim you (officially). Than what do you see on your timeline, they out here fucking stripper and flying out escort. Men you need to choose. What do you want ? Work, family or freedom ? Out here treating you like an option … smh.

1 ) PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF) (Recent review 🎀)

PILE 3

You left for college (even study abroad). You came back with your diploma reading to found a job in your hometown and excited to meet her/him again. Just to stare at the broken version of what you said goodbye a couple years ago. Is truly breaking your heart and all you want to do is nurture them.

Am I ignoring any deal breakers?

What's their energy on 'commitment' – is it giving 'ride or die' or 'ghosting ?

Is giving worshiping you. Is giving more than commitment … is giving devotion. They want to be somebody you can lean on. They want to be your provider and protector. They want to pour even more nourishing energy than you ever gave them. They want to be your safe haven. They want to evolve with you. They really want to build you a house. Wherever you want and you can decorate it whoever you want. They want to be the one you call when your car is acting funny or you need help changing a light ball. Bring it on : the marriage, the engagement ring, the honeymoon, even the future children. They are on whatever you are into. They want to grow with you. They would love to go through couple therapy so they can get the tools to make this forever last. Y’all don’t have any problem but they want to ensure they are doing everything right.

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF) (Recent review 🎀)

#tarot #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #divination #tarot cards #18+ tarot #pac #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #situationships #crush #love tarot reading #love story #free readings #free tarot #free tarot readings #future spouse #future spouse tarot

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mcleantriestowrite · 20 hours ago

Text

Bad Idea - Pt 2

Synopsis: Your step-brother is in debt to Rafe Cameron. Knowing he won’t be able to pay Rafe back, you step up. What a bad idea.

18+

Series content warning – swearing, slow burn, depictions of aggression, jealousy, drug usage, violence, underage drinking, smut

Chapter content warning – mentions of drug usage, violence, aggression, underage drinking

pt 1

***

The Wreck was generally always slammed. It was reliable work and the owners were nice enough to guarantee you shifts when you were home from college. You never seemed to have a moment to relax on your shifts due to how busy it was.

Except for today.

Of all days, of course today was the one day it was slower than normal. Why wouldn’t it be? Obviously, life had it out for you.

It was so slow that your friends were able to come visit you at work. Even crazier, you had time to actually sit down and talk to them.

“I say you shouldn’t bail Carson out.” Lacey shrugged. “He’s always pulling you into shit.”

“You didn’t see him.” You shook your head at her. “It was really bad. I think his nose might be broken.”

Caroline took another fry from their shared plate before saying, “I’m with Lacey. Remember when he threw that party in high school and was ‘too hung over’ to clean up? You spent, like, the whole day cleaning so that he wouldn’t get caught.”

Lacey snorted and dipped her fry in ketchup. “Which time?”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s family.”

“He’s your step-brother.” Lacey deadpanned.

Caroline lightly nudged her. “Chill.”

“I’m just saying.” Lacey held her hands up in defense. “You didn’t know him like 3 years ago.”

“I didn’t know you back then either.” You pointed out. “I would do this for you guys, too.”

Lacey and Caroline were among the first friends that you met when you transferred to the private school. Your friendship with them solidified when all three of you decided to go to the same college. Lacey and Caroline were roommates.

“Oh shit,” Lacey laughed. She looked past you towards the entrance then back at you. “Guess who just showed up.”

Your first instinct told you that it was Carson, but when you turned your head you were met with an intimidating set of blue eyes. You immediately slid down in the booth hoping that he wouldn’t notice you yet.

“Maybe he’s just here for food.” Caroline suggested.

“Yeah, for sure.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’m sure him showing up to my place of work within the last hour of us being open has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I owe him money.”

“Sorry for being optimistic,” Caroline mumbled.

You groaned, bringing both hands up to rub your face. “I thought he was gonna show up to my house again after my shift. I didn’t think he’d come here.” Though, you had no idea why you never considered this possibility.

“Maybe he was excited to see you.” Lacey teased. She laughed a bit. “He just couldn’t wait.”

You couldn’t help but crack a grin at Lacey’s joke. “No one can resist my charm.”

You felt yourself tense up when you saw the host approaching you with an apologetic look on her face.

“Hey, sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but you just got seated.” She told you.

You sighed and nodded your head. “Thanks, Elliot.” When the girl left, you turned to your friends. “I’m assuming he’s going to wait until the end of my shift when I get paid. You guys can go ahead and leave. I’ll meet y’all the Boneyard later.”

Caroline looked at you with a small frown on her face. “Are you sure? I wanted us all to ride together.”

You smiled at her. You appreciated that she was hesitant about going without you.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’d have to shower anyway. I don’t wanna make y’all wait on me.” You reassured her. “If you guys want, you can uber there and I can still DD on the way home.”

Lacey tapped her rings against the plastic cup. “Maybe Noah could take us.” She suggested. “That way we wouldn’t have to pay for an Uber.”

You stood up from the table, picking up your notepad and pen. “Sure, if you can convince him.”

In the 8 months you had been dating Noah, he only attempted to DD once. That attempt ended in you forcing him to leave his truck at the bar due to the several beers he had ended up having.

Lacey smiled at you, “Great.”

As your friends left, you turned to where Rafe was sitting. You felt dread settling into the pit of you stomach. He hadn’t seen you yet, since he was on his phone. You tried to remind yourself of Caroline’s optimism. Maybe he did actually want to eat something.

Doubtful. But it was a possibility.

You forced a polite smile on your face and walked to Rafe’s table.

“Hey, Rafe.” You greeted. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Rafe looked up at you, studying your face. You did your best not to let your smile falter. He watched you for an awkwardly long period of time. You began to shift uncomfortably on your feet.

“I can give you a minute if you want.” You offered.

“Do you honestly think I’m here for food?” Rafe asked.

You clicked your pen closed and dropped your arms in an exasperated manner. All pretenses of being polite were immediately dropped.

“I don’t know, Rafe.” You sighed. “I’m trying not to make any assumptions about your character.”

He slightly narrowed his eyes at you. “And what assumptions do you already have about ‘my character’?”

Jackass. Womanizer. Jerk. Spoiled. Dick–

“I try not to judge people before I know them.” You settled with.

He let out an amused chuckle. “Right.’

“If you’re here for my money you’re gonna have to wait.“ You told him. “I probably won’t be able to leave for another hour and a half. You might as well get something to eat before the kitchen closes.”

Rafe leaned his head back, scratching his neck like he was annoyed at the whole situation.

“I’ll just take some fries then.”

You blinked, not actually expecting him to get anything. You half expected him to make some comment about waiting for you at your house or outside or something.

“Oh. Sure.” You quickly scribbled it down to give to the kitchen.

“And I’m not tipping you.”

This time you did roll your eyes. “I assumed.” You clicked your pen closed and walked to the kitchen.

Fries were normally ready pretty much every moment of the day due to the popularity of it. You got them within 30 seconds of asking one of the line cooks. You could go back and give Rafe his fries quickly.

Or you could make him wait.

You slowly smiled to yourself, thinking about it.

You weren’t going to make him wait too long in reality. The kitchen was hot and the cooks were cranky, so you didn’t want to be back there. You were also still a little scared of Rafe. Not a lot, but enough to where you didn’t want to piss him off too much. But the few extra minutes of defiance for some reason felt so good.

You came back out to Rafe, placing his plate and water on the table. He picked up a fry, inspecting it.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

He shrugged. “Making sure you didn’t spit in my food.”

You crossed your arms, offended. “I wouldn’t do that.” You scoffed, then added, “And that’d be obvious on fries. If I wanted my spit to go unnoticed then I would’ve done it in your water.” You tapped your temple a couple times. “You gotta think about these things.”

Rafe looked at you skeptically. “Did you spit in my water?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Rafe rolled his eyes in response before eating another fry.

The rest of your shift dragged on. Eventually, Rafe moved to wait on the bench just outside the entrance. You were grateful that you didn’t have to delay any of your closing responsibilities for him.

After tipping out the bar, the kitchen, and the host, you had nearly $250 that you were able to give Rafe in addition to the $350 you had from the day prior. There was a very small amount you were allowing to keep for yourself, but he didn’t need to know that.

You frowned as you looked around the restaurant, wishing there was something else you could do to stall the inevitable. Sighing, you told the bar a quick “goodnight” and went outside to meet Rafe.

Irritatingly, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. He continued to text on his phone. You held out the money in front of his screen wordlessly to get his attention.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Rafe drawled.

You opened your mouth to give a snarky reply, but you held back. You just wanted to be done for the day. Giving a tight lipped smile, you spun on your heel to leave.

“Hold up.” His words made you pause in step.

You shut your eyes in frustration when you heard him start counting the money to himself. You turned around to face him again.

“This isn’t even $600. Where’s the rest?”

“I’m working again Wednesday. I can pay you whatever’s left then.”

Rafe shook his head, laughing. “That wasn’t the deal.”

You crossed your arms, feeling anger bubble in your chest. Technically, you didn’t owe Rafe anything. This wasn’t your debt to pay. Rafe was only getting the money from you because obviously he wasn’t going to get it from your step-brother.

There was an extra $20 you could give him, but it was the principle that made you not want to. You knew you should keep quiet, or maybe even apologize, but you always had a thing with anger. After all, you were your father’s daughter.

“We never had a deal. Maybe if you did something better with your life besides dealing drugs then you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.”

Rafe’s face went blank for a moment. It was a terrifying neutral that should’ve been your hint to start running, but you knew from experience that running from someone’s anger would only make it worse. You tried to keep your face passive, but you couldn’t help but to take a step back when Rafe stood up to tower over you. You stared at his chest not wanting to meet his eye.

“You wanna try saying some shit again?” He asked. You clenched your jaw and continued to stare straight at his chest. “Huh? You want me to get the rest from your brother?” Rafe pressed.

“I don’t have anything else. I can get you the rest Wednesday.”

“I’m not waiting until Wednesday.”

God, he was so impatient. You’d think someone like him would be fine waiting a few days for $150. It was almost like he actually needed the money.

You blinked, the sudden realization crashing down on you.

Did Rafe need the money?

If you basically shamed him for sounding desperate, would he back down? Your heart sped up as you contemplated trying out your theory. You swallowed nervously before speaking.

“I mean, if you really need the money, I can check my car to see if I have any extra lying around.” You tried your best to keep your tone as innocent as possible.

Rafe narrowed his eyes at you. “I don’t need anything, pogue.”

You felt a little more confident, feeling as if your plan was working. “Sorry,” you said. “Just trying to be nice.”

Rafe stared at you for a long, lingering moment. For a second, you were scared he would hear how loud your heart was beating.

You began to wonder if you had pushed your luck too much tonight. What if he ended up taking his anger out on Carson?

The silence was loud, the way he was watching you was even louder. After those deafening few minutes, Rafe left without another word.

You let out a loud breath you didn’t realize had been holding.

***

“There she is!” Noah cheered with a slurred voiced.

The Boneyard was in full swing by the time you had showered, gotten dressed, and driven over. Carson was at the house and there was no sign that Rafe had been there to harass him, so you considered your earlier interaction with the kook king a small victory.

You laughed at the way Noah was swaying a bit. “Yeah – you’re welcome.” You joked. “The party can officially start now.”

“Noah–” Lacey stumbled up to you and your boyfriend with a wide grin. Her smile slightly faltered when she saw you. “Oh, you’re here! I was just about to ask Noah where you were.”

“I’m here.” You smiled. “I like your top.”

“Thanks.” Was all she said in return. You had expected her to start talking about where she had gotten it from. She loved talking about that kind of stuff. Instead, the three of you stood in silence. You weren’t sure why, but you began slowly nodding your head.

“I’m gonna go get a drink.” You announced. “I’ll be right back.” You just wanted to rid yourself of the awkward atmosphere.

You greeted a few people on the way to the cooler you spotted upon arrival. You grabbed one of the water bottles for yourself since you knew you were going to be driving everyone home later.

“Hey, pogue!”

The familiar voice made you tense up, and you felt torn between rolling your eyes and shooting him your middle finger, or leaving the Boneyard all together to avoid confrontation. Unfortunately, your indecision gave Rafe enough time to catch up to you.

God, you just couldn’t get rid of this guy.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Big word,” You mumbled low enough so that he wouldn’t hear.

“You still owe me $150, yeah?”

You didn’t really want to answer him. He already knew this. You eyed him warily.

“You’ll get the rest on Wednesday–”

“Here’s the deal,” Rafe interrupted. “I’m not waiting that long.”

You crossed your arms, shrugging. “Well, I can’t get you any more money until then, and my brother definitely can’t. So…” You trailed off.

“So,” Rafe began. “That’s where my proposition comes in.”

You continued to eye him, hesitantly. You weren’t sure where he was going with this.

Rafe continued, “There’s a party tomorrow night. If you show up and help promote the shit I’m selling, I won’t go after your brother for you not paying me the rest tonight.”

You stayed silent and tried your best to ignore the protest that was forming in your mouth.

This wasn’t fair. But he knew that. He knew it wasn’t fair — that this wasn’t even your debt to pay. Rafe just didn’t care.

“I don’t want to help you sell drugs–” You tried to say.

“You’re being dramatic.” He scoffed. “All you’d need to do is tell people where I am and what I have.”

“I really don’t want to be involved in that.”

“You’re already involved.”

“Rafe–”

“Everything good over here?”

Both you and Rafe turned your heads to see Noah quickly approaching. He had a hardened expression on his face. He made direct eye contact with you. “Is he bothering you?”

“None of your concern, Williams.” Rafe waved him off.

You eyes flickered between Noah and Rafe, concerned about where this was headed. Noah was obviously wasted already. He was always a tad on the aggressive side when drinking. Rafe was…Rafe. This could end very badly very fast.

“Nah, I think it is my concern, man.” Noah began to invade Rafe’s personal space. “Since I heard you’ve been harassing my girlfriend.”

Briefly, you wondered who had filled him in on the situation. You hadn’t told him about what happened the night prior.

“Noah, it’s fine.” You told him. “Let’s just go back to everyone else.” You lightly took hold of Noah’s arm to lead him away.

“Yeah, Noah.” Rafe grinned mockingly. “We’re good.”

You shut your eyes in annoyance. Rafe’s condescending attitude wasn’t helping anything. Without a second thought, Noah ripped his arm out of your grip.

“Oh, we’re good?” Noah stepped up to Rafe again.

“Noah–” You tried to protest.

“Yeah,” Rafe antagonized. He nodded over at you. “Your girlfriend thinks we’re good.” Noah clenched his jaw at the comment.

You rolled your eyes at the comment. “Stop trying to instigate. You’re really bad at it.” He was actually good at it, but you wanted to get under his skin. “Noah, let’s go.”

Noah continued to glare at Rafe, but when you tugged at his arm, Noah began to leave with you.

“Yeah, that’s right!” Rafe called out at the two of you. “Follow her like a bitch!”

Noah ripped away from you faster than you could process.

“Hey–”! You started to protest.

Your yell cut out with a startled gasp when Noah swung at Rafe. You stumbled back, not wanting to be in the area of impact.

A crowd started forming quickly from the commotion. Caroline caught up to you fast.

“What happened?” She rushed out.

An irritated expression formed on your face remembering the events leading up to this. You kissed your teeth. “Testosterone.” You tore your eyes away from the boys to look at your friend. “Where’s Lacey?”

“She went to get her sweatshirt out of Noah’s car.” Caroline told her. They both flinched when Rafe tackled Noah to the ground. Now on top of him, Rafe began punching Noah in the face with an open fist.

You looked around at everyone who was either egging on the fight or filming. Some were doing both.

“Is no one gonna do anything?” You asked, exasperated.

Caroline scoffed. “You mean, is anyone going to get involved in a fight with Rafe Cameron?” She threw back at you.

You grimaced as the fight moved towards the water. You began to take a step forward, but Caroline shot her hand out to stop you. “Terrible idea – truly.”

Noah suddenly broke himself free of Rafe’s hold. “What’s up, Cameron? Your daddy’s passing you over as president so now you’re acting out?” He taunted. “Is that it?”

Your eyes widened at Noah. He was definitely only making the situation worse.

Rafe lunged at Noah again, gripping his shirt in tight hold. He shoved Noah to the ground before slamming his fist in your boyfriend’s face over and over. Your breath hitched in your throat, you felt your nerves seeping into your lungs. This was going from bad to worse.

Lacey ran up to you and Caroline. “What happened?!” She exclaimed. “I left for literally five minutes!”

“What do we do?” Caroline panicked.

You brought both hands up to your face and ran them over the top of your head. You didn’t know what you were going to do. You had pulled Noah out of dumb bar fights before, but none of them were as bad as this one.

You tried your best to focus, but your head was going fuzzy. Noah’s movements became slower, filling you with dread. For a moment, you were legitimately worried that Rafe would kill him.

“Hey, Rafe! You did enough!” You recognized one of Rafe’s friends push forward from the crowd. “Hey – chill out!” His friend got a hold of Rafe. He must’ve been severely out of it. Rafe nearly swung at him.

“Stay out of this, Top!” He shoved his friend back.

Suddenly the sounds of the crowd were broken up by the louder sounds of sirens.

“The cops are here!” You heard someone yell. More people began to yell out the arrival the police.

You used the opportunity to rush over to your boyfriend.

“Noah?” You crouched to your knees so that you could get a better look at him. Noah slowly blinked his eyes, but didn’t address you. His face was nearly unrecognizable. Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Noah!” You raised your voice to get his attention. “Can you hear me?

He still wasn’t answering, no matter how much you pleaded. You cursed under your breath. You took his arm and slung it over your shoulder to try and pull him up, but he was too heavy for you.

“Hey, hey. Let me help.” You looked up to see a guy that you recognized from the private school. He got on the other side of Noah and helped you lift him up.

“Thank you,” You breathed out.

“Don’t mention it.” He grunted out.

“Lacey, do you still have his keys?” You asked as you approached your friends again.

“Yeah, I got ‘em.” Her voice was panicked. “Is he okay?”

“Can you unlock his car and push down the back seats? We’re gonna need to lay him down.”

Lacey shot you and Noah one more worried look before sprinting to where the car was parked.

You weren’t sure how long it took you to get Noah to his car, but you were scared out of your mind the whole time. Caroline opened the door to the backset and you laid him down with the help of the guy from high school.

You closed the door on him and ran to the drivers seat. You were going to have to leave your car here and hope for the best.

“I’m gonna have to take him back to mine.” You didn’t really say to anyone specific. You just felt like you needed to talk or you would start spiraling. “His parents can’t see him like this.”

“We can stay over, too.” Lacey offered.

You didn’t say anything in response, you only started the engine. You looked ahead down the street to see everyone running to their cars or into the nearby trees. You paused on the one person looking your way.

That pair of intimidating eyes you never could escape was holding you ransom.

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