#toss me wrench

[hornyverymuch]

I'm very normal about my wife

[blindedguilt]

//Was thinking about posting this on my alt, but since I figure I've spoken about this frequently enough on this blog and it's THE dedicated Leonard Space™️... //I'm throwing up and crying thinking about how leonard had never gotten to experience romantic or sexual attraction (or will ever GET to experience those things, unrequited or not) without complete dread and self-blame and guilt and how that must have been growing up with the hope and expectations of "Being in love must be so nice, I hope I'll be able feel that one day" and not ONLY having that hope gradually dwindle as he grew into the "expected marriageable age" watching those around him go on with their lives and attain those things in a way that seems so natural but is so foreign to him and the absolute sadness of the point the notion of "attraction" and "falling in love" turned to complete and abject horror and disgust when he realises that this is what his mind has decided is "Normal" for him, and all possibilities and aspirations he may have had of a child, teen, young adult, etc. up to that point of even the bare minimum is now a complete impossibility. //how it fully sets in he'll never experience love. never find his own family or someone to be interested in and care about in such a way or even feel attraction without that weight attached.... like idc, actual relationships are one thing but if ANYTHING you should at least be able to know the joy of falling in love if even for a SECOND without any strings (Disgust, guilt, self-hate, etc.) attached!!!! guys!!!!!!! //HE'S WAY TOO KIND AND GENTLE AND HANDSOME AND CARING AND HUMBLE AND A GENTLEMAN AND HANDSOME AND HIS VOICE IS WAY TOO SEXY FOR THIS SHIT, HE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS!!!!! LET HIM LOVE!!!!!!! HE'S SHOWN TO HAVE SO MUCH TO GIVE IN SO MANY DIFFERENT WAYS (Parental, familial, just being an empathetic person towards his "enemies" in general) AND YET HE DIES HAVING NEVER KNOWN IT...... WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO HIM........... ouuugughhh.........

[righteousliar]

not to be sad on main but I miss my mom

[grokebaby]

Warning ahead of time but you may or may not see more gore or dark subjected art in the future?

[screampied]

vegas id give you the sloppiest head ever if you wrote scissoring w shoko 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

★ : rubbing pretty clits w shoko.

cw. fem! reader, wlw, scissoring, praise, spanks, nıpple play, overstim, petnames, mdni.

shoko who can’t help but giggle, watching with doe brown irises as your hips stutter every few seconds. you were simply no match for her pace. with your slick cunt repeatedly grinding back against hers, you were already this close to losing it. to making yet another mess. she’s lied flat on her back, one hand gripped against the left side of your waist before humming, tilting her head in faux coy. “cupcake, c’mon, thought you said you knew what you were doing, hm?”

as your mouth hangs open—you lock your legs securely against hers, trying to scissor her properly. the heat of skin clashing against each other makes a school of butterflies flutter inside of your tummy. “m tryin’ shoko,” you pant, watching as she trails a hand down your ass, a thumb brushing up against it’s shape as if it was carved into a heart. “fuck, feels so good, ‘sho.”

“try harder, honey,” she huffs, almost about to break out a sweat herself. long brunette locks tangle around her finger as she keeps a keen eye on you the entire time. puffy cunt hoods glissade against each other back and forth and oh, the stimulation. with the mixture of her growing heat, you felt hot. shoko’s angle of her thigh legs wrap around yours and you felt everything. “pick up the pace, uh huh—good . . girl,” and a sharp gasp wrenches out of her throat once you start to accelerate. “thaaat’s it, fuck me, pretty girl.”

both scorching hot bodies continue to move in rhythmic sync. she lets off a sweet moan, feeling the convulsing thumps of your clit pulse against hers and it feels almost too good.

her breath hitches as she snakes a hand toward your breasts that bounce right in front of her face. “come closer, cupcake. don’t be shy,” and her words were a bit low—she lets off a tiny hiccup as her eyes roamed at your perfect jittery body. with each lengthy second that passed, she was getting more and more drunk from your sweet cunt. as you lean closer, pawing your right hand into the mushy skin of her right leg, she grabs ahold of one of your tits, latching her plump glossed lips against the tender nipple. “mhm.”

you moan out a singular hiss, bouncing against her body as she lies right underneath you—

skewing the bulb of your cunt straight against her drooling opening. with the merciless speed of your hips, she could barely keep your sweetened neglected mounds in her mouth. although, she left a pretty trail of her sheeny saliva onto each of your tits. she sucks against them both, briefly closing her eyes shut as you’re merrily rutting into her sloppy core salaciously.

“shokooo,” you drag out her words in a candied slur of both twin syllables.

the slow yet deadly grind of your hips had her head spinning. not just hers but yours too.

clammy hands of hers make their way back toward your unsteady hips, yanking them closer to her sweltering, sticky heat before she spanks your ass.

with that single spank . . one turns into two, then three, then four.

shoko’s obsessed with your ass, never failing to leave it a few concise stings near the very plush parts of your flesh. “f— fuck,” she stammers, a shake in her voice due to your insane rhythm. she felt it too, with both sloppy mounds bumping against each other, the incoming pleasure was almost inevitable to feel. she pried one of your legs open just a bit farther apart, strumming her slender fingers against your pulsating cunt to play against your throbbing slit. “mhm, twitching so good for me, huh. you gonna make a mess already? barely been a few minutes, cupcake.”

your throat was parched with dryness — with the bed underneath you and shoko wailing out in weak creaks, you moan. as your head tosses itself back in rapture, your trembling thighs briefly shifts to acclimatize against her wide open angle.

“gonna cum, shoko,” you warn, feeling the furrow of your eyebrow pull both arched brows together. for just a second, you take a second to suck in a nice amount of balmy air.

everything around you felt so warm, including the welcoming cunt of your girlfriend who’s just humidly sultry with tepid heat.

effortlessly, it sticks against your own core, creating a lewd concoction of damp juices, forming into a little soaked cobweb. there’s an entering ring that goes through your ears and hers. it’s never ending screech makes your back arch at the moment of your climax and she slumps back against the mattress. her skin’s met with the velvety silk sheets. as her body directly underneath you moves back in drowse, her lowly hooded eyes meet yours again once you prepare to speak out a whimper. “can i cum, shoko? pretty please?”

“with those manners, you can do anything you want to me, cupcake,” she hoarsely whispers, pulling you close to her face.

inches away, you close the remaining distance to drag her into a needy, wet kiss.

both bodies remain to rut back ‘n forth, limbs all tangled and intertwined in pure bliss.

she tasted so sweet. her syrupy gloss ghosts against your tastebuds and you moan right into her mouth. shoko was handsy, wasting no time to feel all over the curvature of your presentable physique. starting at your ass — then back toward your hips and the rest of your body. she even leans in, lolling her tongue out to lick a long stripe down the valley of your chest.

“mhm,” you whimper, sappy soddened juices squelching against each other. as you both eventually succumb to your orgasmic peak, in each mouth, you both moan in pretty flawless unison.

your hips come to an abrupt slow but you’re still jerking against her, swerving in swift addictive arcs as she feebly wrapping her arms around your waist. the rickety of the bed continues to sob out creaks from the double amounts of weight. “baby,” she croaks out lowly, strings of fluids departing with each inch that you move your cunt away from hers.

exhausted, you slump forward into her chest and you feel a rumble of her shoulders. “ah, worn out already? i guess we can take a break,” she whispers, feeling your body still shiver within her hold. her touch was always gentle—she loved how you’d always lean into it, lean into her. with a sheepish smile curling against her slight crooked lips, she makes you sit up. you unlock your weak legs against hers before lying on top of her, droopy eyes meeting her lust filled gaze. she gives your forehead a single kiss before huffing. “you did so good, baby. always so good for me.”

“s- shoko,” you stutter out, her perfume making you throb. you were already starting to fantasize about the lewd feeling of her cunt rubbing off against yours in carnal harmony that was literally just seconds ago.

“shhh,” she shushes you, a thumb swiping its way over the part of your lips. body again body — it was warm, her sweat mixed with yours and you could feel yourself aching for more. already, you missed the way she felt bumping against your sensitive pussy. it made your head spin, your nerves were still in overdrive before she makes you lie on her chest. “let’s rest, okay,” and her slight raspy voice made you let off a soft content sigh. she strokes your back, hearing your breathing slow a bit before she coos against the shell of your ear. “when you’re well energized again, i’ll start a nice bath for us both,” and she gives the crown of your forehead one more kiss.

“my sweet girl.”

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[pathologicalreid]

a long way to go | s.r.

in which your family breaks no contact and Spencer reminds you that you're doing the right thing

margovember

kindergarten teacher!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst? (hurt/comfort) content warning: nondescript childhood trauma, kindergarten teacher!reader word count: 1.4k a/n: okay so the request was for angst and it is but the comfort gives fluff. at this point my genres are arbitrary. huge shout out to anyone else who isn't going home for thanksgiving for one reason or another.

Frowning at the email on your computer, you shifted your weight on your rotating chair and leaned your head back into the chair cover that Garcia had crocheted for you.

We’d love for you to join us.

It felt as though someone had tossed a bucket of ice water over your head, years and years of blocking emails and leaving your phone number unlisted had culminated in this moment. It shouldn’t surprise you; you worked at a public school and your email was listed in the faculty directory, but the sight of your father’s name left a sour taste in your mouth.

You were alone in your classroom, the fluorescent lights were turned off, leaving you in the gentle illumination of the string lights that you kept threaded along the walls. Contract hours were over, but you still had papers that needed to be completed. Opening your email after the final bell had thrown a wrench in your plans.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your haze, you looked up to see Spencer standing in the doorway. You checked the time in the corner of your monitor to find that it was nearly six, well into the evening, and you hadn’t even noticed. “Did we have plans?” You asked, alarm rising in your tone, you looked down at your day planner and didn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t miss something.

“No,” Spencer said immediately, wanting to quell any of your anxieties before they had the chance to develop. “I hadn’t heard from you today, so I might’ve asked Garcia if she had your location on your phone and found that you were at work much later than usual,” he told you, setting his messenger bag on one of your student’s desks before leaning against yours.

You leaned over your desk, setting your chin in your hands and sighing. “You found me,” you mumbled unenthusiastically, eyeing your monitor again.

He’d cut his hair again, in a moment of frustration he’d started snipping, but he ended up calling you for help. It no longer feathered the tops of his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, tilting his head to the side and tapping the bobblehead you kept on your desk.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head, “Nothing, I just have a lot of work to do.” You were designing a holiday coloring page, making the outlines yourself because you didn’t like any of the ones you found on the internet.

“Okay,” Spencer responded, extending his vowels. “Now you’re lying to me,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation; he was merely stating the truth.

It bothered you that he was right, and it bothered you that you lied to him. You shouldn’t feel the need to lie to him because, really, if anyone was going to understand how you felt about the email, it was Spencer. You wedged your hands beneath your thighs, keeping yourself from digging your nails into your palms, “My father sent me an email.”

Dad felt too casual, and his first name felt too detached. He was just your father, someone who had been chosen time and time again over you, and whom you hadn’t spoken to in nearly six years. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Five years ago,” you answered distantly, remembering how he’d had the nerve to show up at your college graduation even though the rest of your family knew you weren’t in contact with him. Wetting your lips, you looked back at the email on your screen, “He wants me to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family.” People that you shared no connection to—blood or otherwise—and made up the family that had taken your place in his life.

Spencer straightened up a stack of papers on your desk, the shuffling sound so familiar that it put you at ease, “What do you want to do?”

You pinched your eyebrows together, not used to someone asking for your wants, “I want to reply to him, but I know that engaging with him would be equivalent to opening the floodgates.” Releasing a dam of trauma that wasn’t suited for your kindergarten classroom, “I can’t reply to this email.”

Nodding softly, Spencer studied your eyes with a pained look in his eyes, “I know, honey.”

Taking the computer mouse in your trembling hand, you scrolled over the email and blocked the sender before deleting the email and deleting it from the trash for good measure. Hot tears welled in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I hate him.”

You despised him. A man who you shared blood with just so happened to be someone you hated with bone in your body. Bones he had contributed to that you wished you could pull from your body and replace with an untainted set. What was worse was that he had the ability to influence your emotions like this, he could make you angry with nothing more than digital mail.

Anger felt so useless, it was something he used as armor, and you feared that by being angry, you were becoming like him. You were so horrified by the mere idea of your own anger that it made you cry, and you were terrified of your life becoming one big circle.

They say if you grow up with an angry man in your house, then there will always be an angry man in your house. All you needed was to believe in Spencer’s ability to be gentle, but nothing Spencer did would change the fact that you cried as soon as you were pricked with rage.

Spencer crouched in front of you, taking both of your hands in his larger ones and keeping them warm for you. “You don’t owe them anything,” he told you, watching you carefully with his big brown eyes, “It hurts. I know it hurts right now, but you know that you just did the right thing. I’ll remind you of it for as long as it takes for you to believe it.”

The dam broke then, tears fall from your chin to your lap as Spencer gathered you in his arms to the best of his ability, you tried not to flinch away from his embrace. You reminded yourself that he wasn’t there to hurt you, he was there to help you. He ran his palm flat along your spine as you gave in, burying your face in the crook of his neck and basking in the darkness of your own sorrow.

“You did the right thing,” he muttered softly, pulling away and using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away your tears. “You don’t need to apologize to anyone about it,” he said preemptively, knowing you were about to apologize to him for your show of emotion.

You nodded dazedly, leaning your cheek into his palm as he cupped your face with his hands, “I don’t know what I do now.”

Spencer smiled gently at you, “We’re gonna keep moving forward. Are you hungry? Do you want to get dinner?”

Sighing, you shrugged despondently, looking back at your now blank monitor, “I should get some stuff done.” You wiggled the mouse and typed in your password, you stared blankly at your unfinished coloring page, any and all motivation to finish the drawing had vacated as soon as your father made contact.

“What if,” Spencer started, “You come home with me tonight, and tomorrow I’ll come in with you? You can finish up your work and I’ll get to spend some time with you.” Spencer Reid might just be the only person willing to accompany you to work on a Saturday just because you’re having a hard time.

You bowed your head, “You don’t have to do this, Spence.”

He hummed in response, “I want to, and besides—we have plans to make.”

You frowned, your head lifting so you could look him in the face and inquire for more details, “Plans for what?”

“Thanksgiving,” he responded as if it should’ve been obvious, “You’ll get to join BAUsgiving this year, it’s one of Garcia’s favorite holidays.”

Faltering, your eyes widened at his insistence, and you took a deep breath, “I’m not… I don’t want to intrude on your family time.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows incredulously, “Honey, you’re part of that family now. Besides, sometimes I think the team likes you more than me.”

[simplygojo]

Gettin' A Full Service

author's note ⸺ Y'all I'm so sorry im nothin but a nasty dog bc no way this is 4.3k 💀. ANYWHO this smutty fic idea came to me when seeing the art used as the cover for this by @actuallyvalerie (original art is linked here), I just couldn't help myself from writing this...heh. Hope you enjoy!

pairing ⸺ Mechanic!Toji Fushiguro x reader

word count ⸺ 4.3k (im a nasty dog y'all...)

warnings ⸺ 18+ content, SMUT!, oral (reader receiving), intercourse, dirty sex, choking, pet names (pretty girl), fingering, slight overstimulation, mndi, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions || discord channel

^^ art by @actuallyvalerie

The low rumble of engines filled the air as you stepped into the garage, the familiar scents of motor oil and gasoline swirling around you. Your heartbeat quickened the moment you caught sight of him—Toji Fushiguro. 

He was bent over the hood of his car, focused on something behind the propped-up hood.

The muscles in his broad back flexed as he worked, his white tank top clinging to his sweat-slicked skin. His strong arms glistened with a light sheen of sweat, smudged with streaks of oil that only added to the raw masculinity he exuded. 

A dark smear ran along his sharp jawline, the grease contrasting with his striking, rugged features. The late afternoon sun filters through the wide windows of Toji’s garage, casting long shadows across the floor as you lean against the doorframe, watching him work. 

His muscles flexed as he tightened a bolt with practiced ease. His black hair falls into his eyes, and he grunts, annoyed, pushing it back with his forearm before continuing.

You can’t help but smile at the sight. Toji, focused and in his element, and it was really turning you on…

The way he concentrated on the task at hand, brow furrowed and lips slightly parted as he grunted with effort, was enough to send heat coursing through you. Each twist of the wrench, every subtle shift of his frame, seemed to radiate raw masculinity, igniting a spark of desire deep within you.

Your pulse quickened, and you felt a warmth pooling in your core, drawn in by the mix of confidence and sheer masculinity he exuded.

Toji, sensing your gaze, glances over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna stand there all day or actually say something?” His voice is teasing, rough around the edges, but there’s that familiar smirk tugging at his lips, the one that makes your heart skip a beat.

You push off the doorframe and walk over, hands in your pockets, pretending to study the car (like you gave a damn) as if you understand half of what he’s doing. 

“Just admiring the view,” you reply with a grin, leaning against the workbench. “You sure know how to make fixing a car look… good.”

Toji snorts, wiping the grease from his hands onto a rag before tossing it aside. “Yeah? Well, don’t get used to it. Not many people get a free show.”

You roll your eyes at his usual bravado but can’t deny that there’s something captivating about him. He straightens up, towering over you with that smug grin still firmly in place. “What, you just came here to stare?”

You shrug, deciding to play along. “Maybe. Can’t blame me, right? You’re good at what you do.”

His smirk widens, and he steps closer, towering over you now. There’s an intensity in his gaze, but it’s softened by the playful glint in his eyes. “You saying I should charge for it?”

You laugh, lightly shoving him. “Please, you’d drive everyone away with that attitude.”

He chuckles, leaning back against the car, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Probably. But you’re still here, so I must be doing something right.”

You look up at him, biting back a smile. “Guess I’m the lucky one, huh?”

Toji’s eyes narrow playfully, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Damn right.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the garage filling the space once again. 

After a moment, you speak again, your voice softer. “Need any help?”

Toji glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You offering?”

You shrug, moving closer to inspect the tools scattered on the workbench. “Maybe. I’m not exactly a mechanic, but I can hold a wrench.”

He snorts, amused, and hands you a tool.

“Don’t hurt yourself. That’s my job.”

You take it, rolling your eyes at his comment. But as you stand next to him, following his instructions and working together on the car, there’s a quiet contentment in the air. 

You grip the wrench, watching Toji’s hands as he guides yours to the right bolt. His touch is firm, steady, sparking a heat between your thighs. His body is so close to yours that you felt the warmth radiating off him. 

You try to focus on the task at hand, but with Toji standing over you, the subtle scent of engine oil mixed with his cologne makes your heart race, and it's hard to concentrate.

"Like this?" You ask, adjusting the wrench in your hand, trying to distract yourself from your dirty thoughts.

Toji’s lips twitch into a smirk as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Tighten it, don’t baby it, baby." 

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. You give the wrench another turn, putting more effort into it this time.

"There. Happy?" You ask, looking up at him.

Toji’s gaze flickers down to meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you seems to thicken. 

His eyes darken, a hint of something playful yet dangerous lurking in them.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans in even closer, so close you can feel the brush of his arm against yours.

"Not bad," he murmurs, his voice low. His big arms reached over you and tightened the bolt even more, just showing off his strength. "Maybe you’re not as useless around here as I thought."

You narrow your eyes at him, though there’s no real annoyance in your expression. "Oh, please. I’m the best help you’ve ever had."

Toji’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Big words for someone who didn’t even know where the wrench was five minutes ago."

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, he reaches past you to grab another tool, his arm brushing against your side. 

He doesn’t move away, staying so close that your shoulders are practically touching. It’s deliberate—you can tell by the smug look on his face.

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t back down. Instead, you let your own smile grow, deciding to meet his teasing head-on.

"Maybe I don’t know cars, but I know you like showing off. How long did it take you to fix that last engine again? Two hours?"

Toji lets out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying your banter. "Two hours, and it was perfect. Don’t forget that part."

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. "Perfect, huh? Or just barely passable?"

He narrows his eyes at you, though there’s a playful edge in his gaze.

"Careful. You’re gonna talk yourself out of a favour if you keep that up."

"Oh? What favour?" you ask, leaning against the car now, your arms crossed, fully enjoying the back-and-forth.

Toji leans down, bringing his face closer to yours, his grin shifting into something more dangerous, more tempting. "The one where I let you stick around here. Don’t think I’ll keep you around for free."

Your breath hitches slightly, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you match his energy, pushing back without missing a beat.

"Oh, so you’re saying I have to work to earn my keep? What’s the price, then? More wrench-holding?"

He chuckles again, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the air between you. 

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the teasing fades into something heavier, something that lingers in the charged space between your bodies. 

He’s close enough now that you can see the flecks of green in his eyes, close enough that you can feel the warmth rolling off him.

"Nah," Toji says, his voice dropping an octave, turning more serious but still holding that playful tone.

"I’ve got enough wrenches. I’m thinkin’ of something a little more… personal."

You can feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t look away. "Oh? Like what?"

He leans in, just barely brushing his lips against your ear.

"Guess you’ll just have to stick around to find out."

For a second, the world seems to slow down, your senses overwhelmed by the proximity of him, the way his voice sends shivers down your spine. 

But before you can say anything, Toji pulls back, the smirk returning to his face as he casually grabs another tool and turns back to the car, as if nothing just happened.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Toji always knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to get under your skin in a way that leaves you wanting more.

“Tease,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head with a smile.

Toji glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“I’m not teasing this time, I’m just busy. Like I said, stick around...”

His voice was low, almost serious, but that playful gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. 

He gives you a wink, and something about the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine.

You open your mouth to reply, but words seem to get stuck in your throat. The way he’s looking at you right now—like you’re the only thing in the room worth paying attention to—makes your pulse quicken. 

The air between you feels heavy, charged with an energy you can’t quite name.

Toji watches your reaction closely, his grin fading into something softer, more intense. He drops the tool he was holding onto the workbench and turns fully toward you, wiping his hands on the rag before tossing it aside.

“You really think I’m just messin’ with you?”

Your breath catches as he steps closer, closing the already small distance between you. His presence is overwhelming—tall, broad, and carrying that rough, irresistible confidence he always seems to have. 

But this time, there’s something else in the way he looks at you, something different. His teasing smirk is gone, replaced by a look that makes your heart race.

“Toji…” you start, but you’re not even sure what you want to say.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your chin, tilting your face up so that you’re forced to meet his eyes. The touch is surprisingly gentle, almost tender.

“I’m serious,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough around the edges. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you look at me, the way you linger around here like you’re waitin’ for something to happen.”

Your cheeks burn at his words, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment or anticipation.

Maybe both.

But before you can respond, Toji’s hand slips from your chin, moving to rest against the side of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“I’ve been holding back,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, like he’s been keeping this confession locked away for too long.

The dark, dangerous edge in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. His grip on you tightens slightly, a subtle indication of just how much control he’s been forcing himself to maintain.

You’re painfully aware of how close he is now—his broad frame nearly eclipsing yours, his body radiating a heat that makes it harder to breathe. The faint scents of oil and metal lingers in the air, mixing with something distinctly him. It’s intoxicating.

“M’didn’t wanna push too far, but... maybe I’ve been waitin' for you to give me the green light.” His words hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in velvet. It’s like a line drawn in the sand, daring you to cross it.

Your heart pounds, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Every inch of you is hyper-aware of Toji—the way his hand lingers on your neck, the way his gaze seems to devour you. You want this. God, you want this.

“What if I gave you that green light right now?” The words leave your lips before you can fully process them, but there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing.

For a fleeting moment, Toji’s pupils dilate, his eyes narrowing with something primal, something dangerous. The smirk that spreads across his face is no longer playful—it’s predatory.

“Then I wouldn’t waste any more time.”

Before you can draw another breath, his mouth crashes down on yours, and it’s like a dam breaking—everything he’s been holding back unleashed in one searing, possessive kiss.

His hands move from your throat to your waist, pulling you against him so fiercely that your feet nearly leave the ground.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses you. His lips are demanding, rough, as if he’s staking a claim.

You can feel the pent-up tension in every movement—the way his teeth graze your lower lip, the way his hands grip your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold.

Your hands move instinctively to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, pulling him even closer.

You match his intensity, giving in to the heat that’s been simmering between you both for far too long. Every brush of his lips, every press of his body against yours ignites a fire low in your belly, making you ache for more.

Toji pulls back for just a moment, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours as he catches his breath. His eyes, hooded and dark, search yours as if looking for any trace of hesitation. But there is none.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” His voice is low, rumbling with barely restrained need.

Your answer comes not in words but in the way you tug him back to you, pressing your lips to his once more, harder this time, as if you’re trying to tell him with your body what your words can’t quite express.

Toji groans softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth as his hands begin to explore, sliding under the hem of your shirt.

His touch is scorching, sending jolts of electricity through your skin. 

There’s an urgency now, a desperation in the way his hands roam your body, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. 

Your back hits the cold metal of his car behind you, the chill momentarily cutting through the heat between you, but it only seems to heighten the tension. 

Toji’s hands are firm on your waist, holding you in place against the cool surface, his body pressed against yours in a way that has your pulse racing.

He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes smouldering with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. The darkness in his gaze has only grown deeper, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, husky, full of raw need.

“I’ve been patient,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your jeans. “But you don’t want me to hold back anymore, do you?”

The way he says it, the low growl in his voice, sends a wave of heat straight to your throbbing pussy. 

You can only manage a small shake of your head, your throat too tight to form any words.

His lips twist into a smirk, something predatory glinting in his eyes as he steps back just enough to grab you by the waist and hoist you effortlessly onto the hood of the car behind you. 

He quickly unbuttoned your jeans, sliding them off your legs, letting his hands roam your skin.

The cold metal beneath you contrasts sharply with the warmth of his body as he steps between your legs, spreading them open with a firm grip on your thighs.

“You’ve been teasing me, y’know that?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as his hands trace the outline of your hips, fingers brushing the edge of your panties.

“You comin’ in here wearing these tight jeans, given’ me those looks.”

Before you can respond, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and, with one sharp tug, the fabric tears apart in his hands. 

The sound of it—quick and final—echoes in the small garage, and the cool air hits your skin, making you gasp.

Toji’s eyes darken as he looks down at you, his gaze hungry and unrestrained. He licks his lips, the smirk from earlier gone, replaced with something far more serious.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your inner thighs, rough fingers brushing the sensitive skin as he leans down, bringing his face closer to your dripping cunt. His breath ghosts over your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Such a pretty sight.”

He pauses for a second, his thumb brushing dangerously close to your center, teasing, but not yet giving you the touch you desperately need. You squeeze your eyes shut, your head falling back with pleasure.  

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he lets his thumb slide over your slick folds, testing your reaction, watching the way your body responds under his touch. The anticipation, the raw hunger in his gaze, it’s all too much, and you let out a desperate moan. 

Your breath hitches as Toji's thumb slides teasingly through your folds, his touch both rough and deliberate.

You try to bite back the groan threatening to escape your lips, but the way his eyes flicker up to meet yours tells you he notices everything.

“Don’t hold back now,” he rasps, his voice gravelly, sending shivers down your spine.

“I wanna hear every pretty sound you make.”

Before you can react, he dips his head between your thighs, and the warmth of his breath against your sensitive skin makes your body tremble. His hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you in place, as his tongue traces a slow, agonizing path over your slick heat.

Your gasp echoes through the garage, head falling back against the hood of his car as pleasure surges through you. 

You feel Toji’s lips curl into a smirk against you, clearly enjoying the way your body reacts to his touch. 

He doesn’t hold back—his tongue flicks, swirls, and sucks, each movement precise and calculated, as though he’s savouring every moment of this.

“Fuck, Toji—” you gasp, your hands instinctively flying to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as the heat builds inside you.

Toji growls in response, the vibrations of his voice against your pussy sending waves of pleasure through you, making your thighs shake. 

He dives in deeper, his mouth working relentlessly, tasting every inch of you, each flick of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

The sensation is overwhelming—his lips, his tongue, the way his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open for him, like you’re his to devour. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once. Every brush of his mouth over your clit sends electricity shooting through your body, and leaves you whining for more.

Your hips buck instinctively, seeking more, needing more of the pleasure he’s giving you.

Toji chuckles, dark and amused, his voice muffled as he continues to work you with his mouth. “So needy,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet against your heated skin. “I like that.”

It’s like he knows exactly how to unravel you, like he’s been waiting for this moment, studying you, learning your body, just so he could do this—just so he could make you fall apart beneath him.

“Toji—m' gonna cum,” you choke out, your voice barely a whisper, but he knows what you need. 

He speeds up, his mouth and fingers working in tandem, the relentless pace driving you higher and higher, until the world falls away and all that’s left is him, his touch, and the pleasure that crashes over you in waves.

You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, your thighs clamping around his head as your body shakes with the intensity of it. 

But Toji doesn't let up, continuing to lap at you, drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling from the aftershocks.

Finally, he pulls back, his lips and chin glistening as he looks up at you with a satisfied grin, eyes dark with lust. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, standing back up, towering over you once again.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he rasps, his voice a low growl that sends another wave of heat through your body.

Before you can catch your breath, his large hand slides behind your neck, gripping it firmly, but not harshly. 

He lifts you from your position on the car, pulling you up until you’re sitting in front of him, your legs dangling off the edge of the hood. His hand lingers at your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse, feeling the rapid beat of your heart.

Your body is still humming with the afterglow of your orgasm, but when you glance down and see Toji’s other hand move to the waistband of his pants, your breath hitches again. 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he unbuttons them slowly, deliberately, the tension between you thickening once more.

Toji's eyes gleamed with that dark hunger as his grip on your neck tightened just a fraction, enough to remind you who was in control. His free hand moved to the back of your thigh, pulling you forward on the car until you could feel the heat of him between your legs.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice low and rough as his hand caressed the curve of your hip, dragging you closer to him.

“So pretty, all spread out for me.”

Your breath caught as you felt the tip of him brush against your entrance, your entire body already aching for him, needing more. You leaned into his grip on your neck, your pulse racing beneath his fingers as you whispered,

“Please, Toji…”

He chuckled darkly at the desperation in your voice, his grin widening as he pressed himself just a little harder against you, teasing you.

“Please what, baby? You gotta use your words.”

You squirmed under his grip, your body screaming for more contact, for him to stop teasing.

“God Toji—I want y’to fuck me,” you said in frustration, your voice barely audible as your body begged for him.

“Good girl.” His voice was a low, approving growl as he finally lined himself up with you, his voice sent another wave of heat to your aching pussy. Without another word, he pulled you forward, thrusting into you in one swift motion.

The sudden stretch had you gasping, eyes wide as your walls adjusted to his size, the feeling of him filling you completely was overwhelming.

Toji groaned, his grip on your neck tightening as he stilled inside you, savouring the feeling for just a moment. You grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes locked on yours as each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

Your hands instinctively reached for him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as you clung to him, every nerve in your body on fire. Toji’s lips curled into a smug grin at the way you responded to him, the way your body seemed to melt under his touch.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He rasped, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in closer while maintaining his rough pace. His grip on your neck shifted to pull your head back slightly. 

“Tell me how good it feels.”

“It’s so good,” you moaned, your voice trembling as he began to pick up the pace, the force of his thrusts making the car creak beneath you. 

Every movement pushed you higher, the pressure building inside you all over again as Toji took you apart piece by piece.

Toji’s pace became relentless, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, and your body was a live wire, every nerve tingling under his touch. The pressure inside you built impossibly fast, the pleasure coiling tight in your core, threatening to snap.

“Toji—" you whimpered, barely able to form words as he drove into you, your body quivering beneath him. 

Hot tears pricked at your eyes from the overstimulation you felt—never ever had anyone fucked you like this.

He groaned at the sound of your voice, his lips brushing against your ear.

"That’s it, pretty girl. Cum f’me," he rasped, his hand tightening around your neck just enough to send a thrill through you.

The roughness of his voice, the commanding way he held you—it pushed you over the edge. 

Your body tensed, the world spinning as your orgasm ripped through you with a force that left you gasping, your walls clenching tightly around him as wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

You cried out his name followed by a pornographic moan, legs trembling, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode the intensity of it, your whole body shaking as the pleasure overtook you. 

Toji’s hand slipped from your neck, sliding down to your waist as he kept moving, working you through the aftershocks as your body convulsed beneath him.

“There you go,” he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction, his hips slowing as he watched the way you writhed under him, completely lost in the ecstasy he’d given you.

Panting and spent, your body collapsed back against the car, your chest heaving as the last waves of your orgasm rolled through you.

Toji’s eyes gleamed with pride as he pulled out, his hands still possessively resting on your hips.

"You look so damn pretty when you cum," he murmured, leaning down to press a rough kiss against your lips, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

You were utterly spent, trembling in the aftermath, but as Toji’s lips curled into that familiar smirk, you knew...

He wasn’t done with you yet.

[bookshelf-dust]

promise to take care of my heart

carmy berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,830

warnings: nothing? a little swearing, but this is pure fluff and that’s all

synopsis: carmy wants to cuddle with you for the first time.

a/n: hi! new character, i know. but i’ve become rather attached to carm in the past few months and i had a cute idea for him and here we are. he’s bringing me so much comfort right now and now i’m gonna share that with you <333

————

“Why don’t you pick out a movie or somethin,’ bub?” 

“If I could find your damn remote, Carm, I would.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes on his hands where they sit deep in the dishwater below. Good luck, he thinks. 

You scan the coffee table, the rug below the shabby couch. It’s not like there’s any use checking the tv stand because it’s still a fucking table tray. You know he doesn’t even own the full set of four table trays? He’s just got the one? That knowledge keeps you up at night. Just like how he doesn’t have a ceiling fan pull and has to get tweezers to change the speed.

You find the remote nestled in a stack of freshly organized books. You helped Carmen assemble a very simple bookshelf so that his stash of cookbooks wouldn’t have to live on the floor anymore. 

Just getting to help him turn his apartment into something other than a place to sleep brought you a contagious giddiness. Carmen’s chest aches with how much he’s laughed since he met you. 

Look at all my muscles, Carm. I’m practically ready for my dick now, don’t you think? 

Where’d you even get these? He’d looked down at the little allen wrench in your hand and said I don’t know, they were just here one day. 

Now you have a bookshelf, Bear. What a grown up. 

Carmen wouldn’t let you help him with the dishes after he cooked you dinner. He’d just kissed your shoulder and said, “Let me take care of it, alright?” with that little raise of his brows and quirk of his lips telling you not to argue because you’d never win. 

And when Carmen tells you to let him take care of something, well…you listen. 

You haven’t been dating very long, but it’s been enough that you’ve both developed this rhythm, this way of moving around and with each other and you just…work. 

He doesn’t understand how you can dial his shyness, his hesitance, so quickly, how you can make him feel like a human again so easily. But you do. 

You settle against the back of the couch, flipping through the tv guide (because Carm has never subscribed to any streaming services) until you find something worth listening to. It’s already a few minutes in, but you’ve seen the movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter. 

The overhead light in the kitchen switches off and Carmen pads out to the living room, socked feet dragging on the hardwoods. Your biggest pet peeve is people who don’t pick up their feet, but somehow it’s more tolerable when it’s him. 

He sits down on the edge of the couch. Just sits. On the edge. That means he wants to say something. You give him the time to psych himself up. 

Carmy chews on his thumb nail and rubs his nose before he turns to you, placing his hand on the couch. His blue eyes burn into yours, and the intensity of his gaze, trained on you, makes you feel like the most important person in the world. 

“H-hey, um…can we—could we snuggle, maybe?” He flushes at the fact that he just used the world snuggle. Richie would have his ass so quick if he’d heard him say that. 

Your grin is brilliant. You’ve never cuddled properly with Carmen before. Maybe a head on a shoulder or a leg tossed across another, but never a real cuddle session. “Fuck yeah, we can, Carm.” You giggle and the sound softens that bubble of fear in his chest. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, letting out the barest laugh. 

“How did you want t-to lay, Bear?” You blink at him. “Were you just gonna—” 

He starts to nod. “I was just gonna lay on your chest, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Y-yeah.”

You snort. “Lemme’ stretch out for you and then you can be a teddy bear.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Carmen shakes his head at you. He lets you pull that shit because he likes it. Secretly.

When you have a pillow under your neck and are laid out on your back, Carm slips beside you against the back of the couch and clumsily settles on top of you. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything, so he settles between your legs, only allowing the weight of his torso to envelop you. 

One arm wraps around your back, the other cradling your hip, his curls brushing your chin. He turns his head to face the tv and lets out a satisfied sigh. 

On instinct your hand threads through his tangled hair, scratching at his scalp gently and sorting through any piece that feels knotted. 

“What is this?” Carmy asks, nodding in the direction of the screen. 

“The Wedding Planner. It has Jlo and Matthew McConaughey in it.” 

“Chick flick?”

You hum in agreeance. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t hate it. Jlo’s character is like you but if the restaurant was a wedding planning business and you were, you know, a chick.”

He laughs lightly against your stomach and you can feel the puff of air over your shirt. 

The weight of Carmen’s body on top of yours is easily the most calming feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can’t get enough of him. 

“This okay?” you ask, scratching his scalp a little more for emphasis. This is a new way of showing affection. Uncharted territory. 

“Hm?” He looks up at you briefly, blue eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yeah, feels nice. I like it.”

You grin and continue to play with his hair. He’s right. It does feel nice. It is. 

The next few minutes go by without any conversation, just silence. But it’s so comfortable. Carmen’s tired gaze is on the tv. You can feel him breathing, feel the way he scratches over your back absently. You don’t know if he’s aware he does it, but he nuzzles his nose against the soft of your stomach every now and then like it’s keeping him safe. 

“You know I thought about being a wedding planner?”

Carmy pushes up onto his elbows, looking at you with the smallest smirk playing on his lips. “Really?”

You playfully bat at his shoulder and he moves to lay back down, but not before pressing a kiss to your sternum over your shirt. “Mhm. Still think about it sometimes.” You pause, but Carm doesn’t say anything yet because he knows you aren’t finished with that thought. 

“I guess I just thought it’d be nice to help put things like that together? The organization would make me feel…complete, I guess. And you know I don’t like to help people in such an extroverted way? I like to be behind the scenes.” You laugh, a little self-deprecatingly. “Does that make sense?”

Carmen squeezes your side. “‘Course it does. And then you could come home and tell me stories about all the family drama you eavesdrop on.”

You giggle, and Carmy loves that he can feel it where he lays on your chest. He can feel your joy, and that’s fucking cool. “That I could.”

He rubs your back in small, gentle circles. “And you know, I happen to have some friends who make pretty good food and would be happy to help if you ever needed.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Berzatto. You’ll have to give me their number.”

Carmy laughs into your chest. A pure, genuine laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, and you truly think you’d have it tattooed all over your body if that was even remotely possible. His glee makes you laugh, and then you’re both snickering like you’re teenagers doing something that’ll get you in big trouble. 

You reach for his hand, the one that’s resting on your hip now, and he lets you lift it towards your face. He bites his cheek, fighting the smile that rises when you press your warm and chapstick covered lips to his knuckles. 

“You have such pretty hands, Carmy.”

He pinches your back. “I still don’t get why you’re so fascinated by them.”

“Because they’re pretty. And, look—” You hold yours up to his. “—they’re so much bigger than mine. And I like your tattoos, obviously. I like that I know how talented you are with your hands and how capable. I’m very lucky to hold such capable hands, Bear.”

“Capable, huh?” He gives you a look, one that makes you want to both tackle him and smack him on the arm. Instead you roll your eyes and he raises up to kiss you. 

“Capable of being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

Carmy laughs. It’s that little chuckle, light and airy and like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but he wants to hear more anyway. He flops back down on your chest, making you let out a rather loud oomph. 

You take Carmen’s hand in yours again, rubbing over the dry patches on his knuckles, the scabs on the insides of his fingers, the scar on his palm. His whole life is written in these hands. 

You start massaging the pads of his fingers without even thinking about it. No one’s ever been that gentle with him—definitely not with his hands—and a little part of him melts at the feeling. 

You kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand and just look at his skin. You’re determined to memorize each line and freckle and fucked up cuticle he’s got. 

“At least your nails don’t look like Richie’s, Carm.”

His chest moves with the giggle that travels throughout his body. 

“Trust me, they didn’t look like that when he was still with Tiff.”

You grin, your eyes falling back on the television. Maybe Carm would be open to setting it on the bookshelf? That table tray has put in a lot of work. It deserves a break. 

Carmen can see why you’re so fond of this movie. It’s one of those that doesn’t require much thought, that has humor and feels more human than most. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but you having said what you said before makes him wonder if you’ll plan your own wedding…with him. 

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself. But maybe we’ll get there. 

You catch him smiling when they fuck up the statue in the garden and pretend not to notice. You both keep quiet now, but Carm reaches up and puts your hand back on his head.

Your fingers thread through his curls again, scratching at his scalp gently. Your other hand does the same thing to his back. You know it’s going to lull him to sleep. 

When you say it, he’s already dozed off. But you are so happy that you get to make him feel safe. That he’s comfortable enough to sleep on you like this. Lucky is an understatement. 

“Thank you for letting me in, Bear. I don’t think my life has ever been this beautiful.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[alchemistc]

Once again I need to get off my ass and go work but instead all I'm thinking about is Them:

Buck's mostly got his breathing under control by the time he hears the side door slide open, and he adjusts his weight automatically, tips his chin as he straightens his spine, tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket like that will fix the wrinkles he'd made bending at the waist for the last ten minutes.

"Buck?"

He's turned away, thank god, so Tommy can't see the wince.

"I'm fine," he says, annoyed with himself and the world at large when it comes out wobbly. "Go back ins-." When he hears the door click shut again he takes a moment to hope Tommy's just left, again, but -

No such luck.

"That door locks from the inside," Buck murmurs, and tears his gaze away from the gentle expression on Tommy's face. There'd been a cardboard box wedged up in there by whatever line cook had been out here smoking when Buck burst through the doors, and the guy had left it with a warning about how insanely large this building was and how few doors along its perimeter were unlocked, and now the broken down box is somewhere beneath Tommy's left foot.

Tommy tries the door anyway.

It doesn't budge. "We could just call Eddie," Tommy says, and Buck feels the ire rise in his throat.

"Eddie's not here," he spits, and it feels like a knife under the ribs. Everyone fucking leaves, eventually. "Call your date, if you want. I'm walking."

Buck heaves himself up from his lean against the brick, takes two large strides to make it past Tommy and keeps going.

He should have known better than taking Bobby at his word that this stupid gala would be worth his time. So far he's dodged conversations about the curse of the 118, spent an unbearable five minutes smiling blandly at Gerrard before he could excuse himself, and tossed two numbers written on raffle tickets into the trash in his mad dash through the kitchens because apparently Tommy had been chosen as the rep for 217 and he looks fucking good in his suit, and he'd been pretty sure they'd be spending this Christmas together, until last month.

He's twenty yards down the alley when he hears footsteps catching up to him. Light, brisk - he's jogging to catch up and Buck doesn't want to deal with -

"Not my date," Tommy says, and Buck curses his own body for automatically slowing to allow him to catch up.

Buck snorts. "Okay." The guy was older - than Buck, at least. Grey around his temples, fat lips and clever eyes that caught Tommy's mid-sentence and sent them both into quiet hysterics.

"Buck, would you just -."

He's close enough to reach for Buck's arm, so Buck wrenches it away before he can make contact. "Don't call me that."

December twenty-third is one of those weird days where the world doesn't quite work the same. Traffic is heavier or lighter in weird places, people with nothing to do wander the streets or hole up in their homes making too much food and watching weird holiday movies, and even in LA it gets chilly enough at night to need a jacket. This one isn't doing shit to keep Buck warm, but the anger catching in his throat sure is.

"It's your name," Tommy says, exasperated.

"Not to you." Buck stops dead in his tracks, watches Tommy take another three steps before he realizes he's alone. When he turns, Buck doesn't allow himself to turn away from his gaze. Annoyance isn't a new look - Buck has tested the waters enough in six months to know intimately exactly how far he could push it before Tommy stopped indulging him.

He looks upset. Frustrated. Tired. Hot as fuck. Buck sort of wishes he'd do something about those first two.

Something other than walk away.

Tommy sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, and the sides aren't as high and tight anymore. There's a piece curling over the tip of his ear and Buck wants to tug at it, slide his fingers in there and tuck it back. "That was Sal," he says, and Buck flicks through the sadly small Rolodex of names Tommy has mentioned in the past. Another boundary Buck hadn't realized was a brick fucking wall in the way of getting to know his boyfriend.

Ex.

Sal. He'd been at the 118 with Gerrard, in the early days. Before Chim and Hen, before Bobby. He'd been the one to prompt Tommy into filing a complaint against Gerrard even though he'd been scared out of his mind to do it.

"I don't care."

He does care, is the problem. He cares so much. He's got a pile of fruit cakes and half a dozen pies sitting on his kitchen island right now that prove it. He can't seem to stop caring.

Tommy looks sceptical.

Buck brushes past him again, keeping his strides long. Tommy's the same height, but both literally and metaphorically he's always struggled to keep up when Buck had somewhere to be.

At least the panic attack has passed. Maybe he could take up running, as a cure all, instead of the weak ass recovery period he usually takes that involves him drinking a bottle of water and staring at the same spot on the wall until he sees stars.

So, fine. Tommy hadn't brought a date to the work function it was entirely possible Buck would be at six weeks after breaking up with him and disappearing into the damn wind. He'd bubbled Buck seven times that Buck knew of, and he hadn't brought a date.

Fine.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked -."

Buck had watched Tommy wheeze with laughter and curl a hand around the dudes - Sal's - wrist and he'd felt like maybe he was gonna throw up. Like six months and the something he'd been working his way up to defining hadn't meant a damn thing. Like Tommy could just move on like he seemed to think Buck could.

"Doing great, Tommy. My best friend is moving to Texas and the man I thought I could -." Buck clears his throat. Shuffles sideways just a bit because Tommy is keeping pace now and his cologne is familiar and devastating. He doesn't have anything inside. Once he rounds this corner he could just order an Uber and go home.

There's nothing keeping him here.

"Eddie's moving?"

The no contact thing had extended to everyone at the 118, apparently. At least Buck wasn't alone in that.

Buck digs out his phone, slows his pace just enough to pull up the app he needs. He can feel Tommy's eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

"Yeah, well. I'm getting used to people leaving at this point," he says, filling it with as much ire as he can. His voice doesn't wobble this time.

"Buck."

It's soft, this time, same inflection as when he'd cage Buck against a counter and lick into his mouth. "Don't worry about me, Tommy. You made it a point not to."

"That's not fair."

Buck couldn't care less. He's spent six weeks on a depression baking spiral and now he wants to go home and destroy every bit of baked goods he's made that are still left.

It only takes a few taps. They're surging prices, but that's not exactly a shocker.

He'd really thought the next time he saw Tommy he'd just be sad. Maybe he'd feel a little wistful about all the moments they'd shared that had meant something to Buck even if they hadn't meant the same to Tommy.

He wants to swing a fist, if he's being honest. He wouldn't. Not ever. But the desire is there and he hates it.

"Buck, could we just -."

"Stop calling me that!"

"I pay a mortgage, Evan!"

Buck can't remember Tommy ever raising his voice. It's - weird.

"I'm forty years old and I own a house and you asked me to move in to your loft after you told me you admired me." The emphasis isn't lost on him.

His ride is three minutes away.

"I got it the first time, Tommy. Haven't sucked enough cocks or done enough tests to know what I really want, so. Go enjoy your evening with Sal and -."

"That is not what I said." Cool, calm. Infuriating.

"Well that's what I got from it, so clearly we were never on the same page. I wanted a future with you and you've been eyeing the expiration date the whole time so -."

He's definitely not expecting Tommy's lips. But there they are, on his, and Buck's stumbling back, fully expecting the sharp crack of the brick at the back of his head as Tommy surges forward with him, only Tommy's hand curls around his skull at the last second and takes the brunt of the landing. His mouth opens on a groan and Buck licks up into it. Their noses clash and rather than shifting for better positioning they just press closer. Tommy's free hand finds the soft give of Buck's waist and his thigh finds purchase between Buck's legs and -

"You're willfully misunderstanding me," Tommy says, lips on Buck's jaw, heart pounding under Buck's hand, his breath ghosting along Buck's cheek.

"Never really gave me the opportunity for clarity," Buck bites back, and Tommy huffs, rolls his hips, tucks his forehead into the juncture of Buck's shoulder.

His pulse is pounding in his ears and there's a cloud of Tommy Tommy Tommy obscuring his senses.

"Do you still want that?"

Buck's phone dings in his hand.

His ride is here.

"Not if you're just gonna walk away again," Buck bites out, and shoves. Hard.

It barely moves Tommy, but it's enough to slip out of his grasp.

He doesn't glance behind to see if Tommy follows as he pulls at his suit jacket again and rounds the corner to try to catch - he eyes his phone - Sheri before she cancels the ride on him.

Doesn't stop him from hearing the footfalls behind him while he searches out the blue Honda Civic.

[alltheirdamn]

My Kink is Karma | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend breaks up with you, so you decide to get revenge... Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 3k Warnings: no-outbreak AU, undefined age gap (pick your poison), teasing, revenge sex, unprotected piv sex, size!kink, daddy!kink, joel folds you like a pretzel, filthy language, pet names (sweetheart, daddy, good girl, etc.), orgasm, creampie, a touch of cuckholding i guess??, slight voyurism, heavy kissing, language... is that it? A/N: Y'all already know I get influenced all too easily when it comes to music... anyway, the song inspo is, of course, My Kink Is Karma

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Stupid. So fucking stupid. 

Two years together, and he decides to break up with you? Granted, things were already on a downward slope, but over text? Seriously. Fucking asshole. You were cramming his shit into an all too-small cardboard box, huffing a slew of obscenities. Old t-shirts, bullshit birthday cards, photos… you didn’t want a single one. You should burn them all, but you wanted him hurt. You wanted him to stare at those memories and regret it all. 

Pulling up to his house—well, his dad’s house since he was a deadbeat without a place to stay—you hauled the box into both hands and staggered up the porch. You had put on what you considered your ‘revenge dress’: a flowy sundress that barely covered your ass. Yeah, I hope you regret this, you thought to yourself. Princess Diana would be looking down at you proud as fuck. 

Hoisting the box on your hip, you pounded on the front door, a scowl on your face. Jesus, the box was heavy as you balanced it in one arm. The door wrenched open, and you were ready to toss angry words in his face. 

His father, Joel, stood in the doorway, and you were quick to bite your tongue. Soft, brown eyes nestled under thick eyebrows gazed down at you. His lips twitched into a cautious smile, the plush pout covered by a dark mustache. Joel’s frame practically filled the doorway, and damn, was he always this attractive? 

“This is a surprise,” he stated. “Whatcha doin’ with all that stuff?”

You shoved it into his chest, your arms tired from holding its weight. 

“Your piece of shit son broke up with me,” you grumbled. 

Joel wrapped thick fingers around the edge of the box, his eyebrows furrowing together. Guess his son didn’t fill him in on his latest fuck up. Real shocker. 

“M’sorry to hear that. Y’wanna come in for a minute? I’ll get you some iced tea to cool down.”

“I don’t wanna impose on you. I figure I’m probably not welcomed here anymore.”

“You’re more than welcome here,” Joel argued. You didn’t miss how his eyes fluttered over your body, catching sight of your dress blowing upward in the breeze. 

Ohh…

“If you insist,” you said.

Joel nodded toward the doorway, letting you walk in first. He discarded the box by the front door and led the way to the kitchen. You kept yourself fixated on how his back flexed under his flannel, the muscles in his shoulders stretching across the fabric. If only his son had been this hot, maybe you would’ve had sex more often. 

You propped yourself on the kitchen barstool, swinging your legs beneath you as you watched Joel pour you a glass of sweet tea—typical Southern gentleman. After pouring himself a glass, Joel leaned against the counter, his muscular forearms braced against the edge. 

“So…” He drawled. “Y’been alright since the break-up?”

You rolled your eyes, bringing the glass to your lips. Joel’s dark eyes tracked the movement of your lips around the rim, and you rewarded him with a coy smile. It was enough to make him clear his throat and readjust his stance behind the coverage of the counter. 

“Oh, I’m great,” you smiled, licking your top teeth. “It’s always fun when your boyfriend breaks up with you over text. He didn’t even have the balls to do it in person.”

“He ain’t the brightest,” Joel commented. 

“No, he definitely isn’t.” 

Joel quirked a grin, and you quickly realized you were talking to your ex’s dad; you should hold back a bit. “Shit, sorry. That’s not nice of me.”

He shook his head, tipping his glass to his lips. Now, it was your turn to obsess over his mouth and how his plush bottom lip curved around the rim as he gulped down the liquid. You pressed your thighs together, attempting to quell the throbbing ache between your legs. 

“No need to be sorry,” Joel said. “You’re too sweet of a girl for a man like him.”

“Calling him a ‘man’ is generous of you,” you laughed sarcastically. “Barely got a few inches on him to call himself that.”

“No need to kick him while he’s down, sweetheart.”

“Respectfully, Mr. Miller, fuck him. I deserved better,” you argued. 

Joel’s jaw clenched, and you could almost see the wheels turn in his head. Stepping away from the counter, he strode to where you sat, towering over you with a flicker of lust behind his chocolate eyes. The lace thong barely covering your sex was already drenched just from the way he looked at you.

“What you’re sayin’ is that you deserve a real man,” he offered. 

You parted your legs just a few inches, but it was enough of an invitation for Joel to step forward and crowd your body. With his knee pressed to the apex of your sex and his hand braced against the back of your chair, you had nowhere to go. The thrill of it all was electrifying your veins. 

“I think I do,” you said defiantly. 

“Would that make y’feel better, sweetheart? Fuckin’ a real man?” He asked, his fingers twirling in your hair that hung over your shoulder. 

“God, yes,” you whined, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning at his words. 

Joel leaned forward, a breath away from your lips. Were you seriously about to do this? Hell, it was too late now to even think twice. You wanted revenge, and here was the perfect opportunity. You craned your neck higher, waiting for him to close the gap. Joel only gave you a pitying smile, the silver strands in his beard glittering in the kitchen sunlight. 

“Naugty lil’ thing,” he taunted, grinning wide.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. Joel crushed his lips to yours, his tongue prodding your mouth open wider. The moan you had been holding back slipped out at the same time he sank his teeth into your bottom lip. You reached up to tug at the soft curls atop his head, your nails scratching against his scalp. Joel groaned into your open mouth, his hand coming down to grip your bare thigh. 

“Gonna let your ex-boyfriend’s daddy fuck you, sweetheart? Gonna let me show y’what a real man is like?” Joel panted. 

“Please, Daddy,” you begged, the word slipping right off your tongue.

You pulled away embarrassed, your lips swollen and wet and your face burning a bright red. Joel didn’t seem phased at all by your little slip-up. In fact, he looked at you with even more hunger than before. Pupils blown wide and a smile brighter than the sun, you were so in over your head. Whatever he was promising, you knew you’d be in for a treat. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, y’can’t be callin’ me that and expect me to go easy on you,” Joel said. 

“Then don’t go easy,” you insisted. “Show me what I’ve been missing out on, Daddy.”

Joel practically lost it as you repeated the word, his arms coming around your back to haul you up and out of the chair. You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking your heels together, and let him drag you away from the kitchen and into the living room. 

Your back hit the couch in seconds, the sundress on your body billowing onto the cushions. Joel hunched over your sprawled body, sucking marks down the column of your neck. Everything in your body hummed with pleasure, the growing need inside your stomach building. 

Joel dipped a hand under your dress, his fingers brushing up the lacy thong that stuck to your skin with arousal. You preened into his touch, lifting your hips to seek any sort of relief from the tension twisting inside your core.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Joel exhaled. “Y’already this wet for me? Fuckin’ soakin’ my hand, and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Mhmm,” you whispered, rolling your hips against his fingertips.

Joel pinched your lace-covered clit between his fingers, rolling the sensitive bud softly until you cried out. Your hands clung to his forearms, digging into the bulging veins hidden under the fabric of his button-up. God, revenge would taste so fucking sweet.

“S’alright,” he cooed. “Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.”

It shocked you how fast Joel managed to yank your underwear off, tossing it halfway across the room before working at undoing his belt. Your eyes nearly fell out of your head when you saw his cock spring free from his boxers. His son was definitely not packing this kind of heat, and your sex clenched around nothing as the anticipation flowed through your veins. The shocked silence and wide-eyed stare you wore garnered a laugh from Joel.

“We’ll make it fit, sweetheart. You’re gonna take every inch of me like a good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you nodded, biting your lip.

Propping one leg on the couch, Joel gripped the back of your thighs and pinned them at either side of your head, nearly folding you in half. 

“Keep ‘em right here, y’understand?” 

You muttered a quick yes, settling your fingers around the backs of your knees. Joel gave his cock a few lazy strokes before lining the weeping head of it at your entrance. Brushing the tip through your silky folds, he pushed in an inch, grunting as you cried at the intrusion. Fuck, it hurt. 

“Tightest pussy I ever felt, sweetheart,” he groaned, sinking in another inch. 

The stretch of his cock inside you was unbearable, every part of him rubbing against your walls until you were filled completely. The moment Joel bottomed out, you lost all capacity to breathe correctly, your voice coming out in small whimpers and cries. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Just suckin’ me right in. God damn, y’feel like Heaven.”

“It’s so big, Daddy,” you moaned. 

“Takin’ it so well for me, sweetheart. Y’ready for more?”

You bobbed your head, your eyes falling to see where your bodies connected. The hair around Joel’s cock brushed over your swollen lips with each shallow thrust, his hips colliding with yours in a steady rhythm as you adjusted to his size.

“My son ever fuck you like this?” He growled. 

“No,” you exhaled shakily. 

“Didn’t think so.”

Then he was ramming into you…hard. Your sweaty fingers slipped off your legs, but Joel was quick to replace them with his own hands, molding you into the couch as he took you rough and fast. The room fell apart around you, leaving you crying out every time his cock shoved deeper inside you. You swore you felt him in your stomach, the thick girth of his cock stretching you beyond measure. 

“Fuckin’ take it, sweetheart,” he choked out. “Keep takin’ daddy’s cock. Lookin’ so pretty folded up under me.”

“Yes! Yes!” You shouted.

The weight of your breasts bounced with each onslaught of thrusts, your chest heaving for air as he stole it from you over and over again. Even with your ears muffled by your legs, the sound of your sex suctioning around his cock was unmistakable. Reaching between your bodies, you pressed your fingers against your clit, blindly searching for release as it trembled through your muscles. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” Joel teased, glancing up at you.

He pinned you with a violent stare, his lips twisted up in a smirk, and a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Christ, you were a fucking whore for this, but you loved it. You couldn’t give a damn about your ex when his dad was balls deep inside you. 

“Daddy, I’m so close,” you whimpered.

Your fingers were working twice as fast now, chasing that inescapable bloom of pleasure unwinding inside your core. You pulsated around his cock, sucking him in further as his thrusts grew ragged and out of sync. 

“Yeah, you are. Can feel this pretty pussy milkin’ my cock already.”

“Harder, Daddy. Need—fuck—need you deeper inside me.”

Joel tensed at your words, his movements slowing down—the exact opposite of what you begged for. He tilted his head over you, studying how your eyes welled with tears, and your lips trembled.

“Daddyyy,” you pleaded. 

He bent down over your body, his weight crushing into yours and plunging his dick as far as your core would let him. You cried out as he molded his mouth to yours, swallowing down every noise you tried to make. From this angle, you could feel Joel everywhere. The bruising hold of his fingers around your legs, the twitch of his cock against your cervix, the heat of his tongue intertwining over yours. 

Why hadn’t you considered dating older men from the start? This was ecstasy. 

Joel rocked his hips into you in a slow rhythm, the urgency having left his body and replaced now by determined movements only to bring you closer to the brink of release. You lapped at Joel’s tongue, sloppy wet sounds from your mouth mixing with the lewd noises of your bodies slapping together. 

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” You cried, the sound muffled against Joel’s lips. He buried his head into your neck, his teeth bearing down on your scorching skin. The precipice of release was at your fingertips, and you were toppling over. 

“That’s it,” Joel crooned. “Cum all over daddy’s cock. Wanna feel you chokin’ it when you come undone.”

Stars shot across the back of your eyelids, your orgasm ready to barrel through you. You heaved in a breath, anticipating the spiral ready to unfurl inside you when the sound of the front door opening paralyzed you. 

“Dad?” A voice called out.

Joel whipped his head toward the hallway, his cock throbbing inside you. You pinched his chin, dragging his face to meet your eyes. 

“Keep fucking me,” you demanded. “Let me be your good girl, Daddy.”

Joel’s lip parted, a protest on the tip of his tongue. You wordlessly shook your head, lifting your hips to meet his in a silent plea for more. This was the moment. This was your chance at revenge.

“S’gonna get me in trouble, sweetheart,” Joel hissed, assaulting you with another series of quick thrusts. 

You arched upward, your mouth brushing against his ear.

“I wanna cum for you,” you whispered. “Let’s show your son what it looks like to make a girl really orgasm.” 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned.

You anchored Joel to your chest; your legs pressed into his shoulders as he drove his hips against yours over…and over… In the distance, you could hear your ex-boyfriend call out for Joel again, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Let him fucking listen to you; let him see what his dad was doing to you. You clawed at Joel’s back, your nails tearing into his shirt as your orgasm vibrated in your muscles. Right as the spark of adrenaline hit your veins, your ex came into view in the doorway, his eyes wide with horror. 

“Yes, Daddy!” You pleaded.

Everything inside you tensed up, your sex gripping around Joel’s cock until his movements strained above you. Joel groaned in your ear, your name falling off his tongue in choked syllables as he painted your insides with his release. As he slumped against your body, you peered up at your ex, a satisfied grin on your face. 

“What the fuck?” He seethed, standing motionless just feet away. 

“Your shit’s by the door!” You shouted at him. “Why don’t you take it upstairs? Your daddy and I are busy.”

Joel loosed a breath, chuckling softly in your neck. 

“You’re mean for that, sweetheart,” he mumbled. 

“Fucking your son’s ex-girlfriend seems a whole lot worse,” you whispered back, keeping your voice low enough for only him to hear. 

Peeking back over the back of the couch, you noticed the doorway empty, all signs of your ex gone from view. You tapped Joel’s shoulder lightly, urging him to unwind your limbs from above your head. You ached all over but in the best fucking way possible. Straightening his spine, Joel lowered your legs down and slowly pulled out of you. The warmth of his seed leaking from your entrance was a welcomed reminder of what you had done. Revenge tasted sweet but felt so much sweeter. 

You groaned as you stretched your legs, staring up at Joel with a wide smile. Despite the wreckage you caused, Joel smiled right back, and his eyes shifted from your red face down to your dripping sex. You squeezed your legs together, swinging them over the edge of the couch. 

“Shit,” you muttered. “Where the hell did you toss my underwear?”

“M’sure they’re ‘round here somewhere,” Joel shrugged, tucking his cock back into his jeans. 

“Well, if you find them, you can keep them.” 

Joel extended a hand, insisting on helping you to your feet, which you appreciated since your legs felt like jelly. Heavy footsteps shook the roof above you, no doubt from your ex, as he stormed through the house. You giggled at the thought, knowing you had just given him the best taste of karma. You glanced at Joel, seeing his wild curls sticking up at odd angles. 

“I should probably get going.”

“Leavin’ me with a whole lotta mess, sweetheart,” he huffed. 

You leaned into his solid frame, kissing his lips quickly. 

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” you smirked. “It’s him you might need to worry about.”

Joel swatted your ass, urging you out of the living room and toward the front door. You gave him a quick flutter of your fingers and said goodbye before skipping down the porch steps with his cum dripping down your inner thighs.

[aceday]

Agatha Harkness x Reader and Rio Vidal x Reader

summary: you’re but an innocent young actor slightly in over your head filming a movie opposite rio vidal, directed by milf extraordinaire agatha harkness. what could possibly go wrong and what could possibly go right?

warnings: age gap, slight dub/non!con themes, fingering, oral, slight exhibitionist themes, public sex

*afab gender neutral reader

@covenofagatha @d-z20

i guess i straight fucking lied when i said i don’t do this last time bc here we are again whoop de fucking doo

The Director’s Cut

With a satisfying pop, Rio Vidal’s fingers slip out of your mouth. The fingers of her other hand tighten around your throat, wrangling a strangled moan from your lips, and she pushes you back onto the mattress. Your fingertips scratch desperately at her forearm, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you fight for breath, and Rio’s knee shoves your legs open.

“Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head fervently, a plea in your eyes. Rio releases your throat and you gasp, only for her mouth to be on yours immediately, smothering you, her hands greedily grabbing at your hips, sides, ribs. Her mouth detaches from yours only to find itself immediately at your neck, her hands now attempting to tear your shirt off of you.

“Professor,” you gasp out, voice strained with blissed pain, with velvet panic. With some frantic struggle the shirt is wrenched off of you and the air nips at your skin. The hair on the back of your neck lifts. Rio finally stills for one cold, heavy moment, to stare at you under her, her face contorted in a cool sort of snarl, her eyes sharp.

“You act up, you play by my rules.” Her hand grabs your face, squeezing your jaw painfully. “Understood?”

“I-”

“CUT.”

A scatter of voices and murmurs arise immediately. Rio lets you go and heaves a barely-restrained sigh.

“Cut!” The voice of the director demands again, and both you and your co-star sit up on the mattress. You scratch awkwardly at your throat and look around for your costume shirt somewhere in the sheets.

“It’s wrong, really. Wrong. Fuck.” Agatha Harkness steps onto the set. You squint against the spotlights, feeling your face burn. You and Rio exchange a glance. “The energy, the dynamics. We’re going to have to totally rework this.” She paces furiously. Rio stands from the bed and grabs your shirt, which had apparently been tossed off in the heat of the scene. She hands it to you and you nod gratefully, pulling it back over your head. Agatha has been in an awful mood all day. “We’re going to take twenty. I want everybody to go splash cold water on themselves and get their heads out of their asses.”

You can’t conceal your exhausted sigh as you wriggle awkwardly off the bed. You’re about to go get some water when Agatha snaps her fingers at you, freezing you in your place. With an inward groan and your heart going a million miles a minute, you turn dejectedly to your director.

“Not you. You’re going to meet me in my trailer, asap.” You stare at her for a moment with bald-faced shock, but she’s already turned to her assistant director and is complaining her ear off. You swallow your… so many things, your pride, shame, embarrassment, fury, and stomp off set to the trailer lot.

You don’t bother waiting for Agatha to catch up to throw open the door and walk inside, toeing off your shoes. You’ve never been in her trailer before. It’s not as sterile as you would have imagined; there’s stacks of books and papers and binders and folders and a whole bunch of other boring shit on every flat surface, along with more than a few half-full mugs of what seems to be black coffee.

You slouch doggedly onto her couch, rubbing your eyes. It hasn’t been your best work, you know, but you’re certain you haven’t been bad enough to quite warrant getting chewed out in private. You stare out the small square window. It could be worse, you suppose, she could be chewing you out in public. This is easier to manage, even though you hate the thought of your director being unimpressed with you, but you might as well cut your losses now and move on.

As you sit and stew, the door flies open. Agatha marches in, doused in all black, the sleeves of her button up pushed up to her elbows and her hair tied up into a messy ponytail. She seems to have calmed down a little, a very little amount, well, maybe not at all, actually, maybe she looks angrier than she did before-

The door slams shut and knocks you out of your thoughts. There’s a sizzling silence. A huge knot forms in your throat.

“What was that back there, hmm?”

You don’t know what to say. You cried that take. “I cried that take.” It’s impossible to hide the desperate edge to your voice.

Agatha holds out a finger and your mouth snaps shut. “No excuses,” she hisses, “your face is fine, more than fine, but you act like you’ve never been fucked before.” A huge, violent, and deep blush spreads immediately from your collarbones up. You look away quickly. “You’re simultaneously stiff as a board and loose like a slinky. You wanna look like a slinky out there?”

Agatha has such a way with words. You shake your head. “No, I do not want to look like a slinky out there.”

Agatha doesn’t seem to notice nor care that you’ve spoken. The heat in your face burns brighter as she paces exasperatedly in front of you. Your fingers begin to scratch anxiously at your jeans. “Rio Vidal is a hot young woman. I can’t imagine that she’s not your type. And yet- hours of intimacy coordination later and we’re still at square one.” That’s firstly not true and secondly a bewilderingly unfair thing to say. The rejection stings. Tears well in your eyes and you blink them away furiously, adamant on keeping a tough front for your director. She paces furiously, dizzyingly, back and forth and back and forth. “Seriously, kid. Hours of intimacy coordination and talking and talking and going over the movements step by step. I could do your part in my sleep by now. And maybe I will!” She whirls on you, then pauses. You can’t imagine what you look like right now, your body unnaturally still to keep your leg from bouncing, feeling neon you’re blushing so hard, your jaw clenched, your eyes narrowed and wet.

Agatha has always had a way of being four steps ahead of you, always in the know before there’s even anything to know, so you shouldn’t be surprised when she takes one look at you and suddenly declares, “You’re a virgin,” as if it is the most obvious truth in the world. You look away, trying hard, desperately hard, to maintain your composure. But what can you do? She’s right, for the most part.

Agatha’s eyes narrow when you don’t reply. The manic air about her stills, and you’re suddenly wishing for her fiery temper instead of the cold, calculating dread that suddenly sits heavy between you two. She crosses her arms and continues pacing, but slowly this time, less like she’s being whipped around by her own anger and more like she’s a shark circling something tender and bloody.

“Well,” she says, gesturing lazily in the air, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” You sound defensive. It’s because you are.

Agatha appears to be lost in thought, “No, no,” she hums. “Nothing bad about a little prude ruining my film, hmm?”

Well. That shuts you up. Your mouth is closed, your eyes are a little wide in disbelief, you’re pretty sure this kind of talk violates some sort of workers rights something, and upon seeing your speechless state, the ghost of a smirk tugs at Agatha’s lips. A shiver runs down your spine.

In stunned silence you flounder, opening and closing your mouth like a fish, while Agatha waits, leveling you with her knowing stare, sizing you up, her eyes tracing up and down your frigid form, for you to say something.

“I’m sorry?”

Are you apologizing or asking “Excuse me?” - you hardly know. Agatha steps in closer to you, your knees almost touching her legs, what is she thinking? Really, what could she possibly be thinking?

“Are you?” Maybe? Agatha sighs and sits next to you on the couch, an arm slung behind you. “How about I propose something for you, for us, hmm?” She turns to look at you, and you’re suddenly caught in the narrowed ice of her eyes as if under a blinding spotlight. She’s always had one of those absolutely shriveling stares that you can’t tear away from. You nod for her to continue, and a smile crawls on her lips. Something brushes your arm and you flinch, only to realize that her fingertips are floating lightly up and down your bicep.

“Tell you what, kid. I’m having a shit day, I’m definitely making it your shit day, and you’re a little prig that needs to loosen up.” She leans in closer to you, far enough away, but you can feel the heat of her breath, can see each delicate flick of her eyes around your face. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Why don’t I fuck you silly here in my trailer, blow a little steam, and teach you what it looks like to feel so, so, impossibly good?”

You blanch. A terrifying expanse of heat sears down your stomach, not out of embarrassment this time. “E-Excuse me?”

“Tell me, kid. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“Agatha, I-”

“And don’t pretend like you don’t sneak glances down my shirt every chance you get. I see the way you look at me. The way you’ve been looking at me.”

“No, no, I-”

“Then I’m wrong?”

She’s so close to you now, her mouth hovering just above yours, eyes drifting lazily across your face. The worst part, the worst part about it, is that she’s not wrong, she’s not, you do stare, you do imagine, and even now you can feel sharp tendrils of lust unfurling inside of you, dampening your underwear.

“Come on, kid,” a low whisper, her voice like the trembling string dangling the carrot of her offer in front of your face. “Tell me what you want.”

Breathless: “I…” you shake your head, “I want-” to your infinite surprise, you cut yourself off, pushing your mouth against Agatha’s, your body propelling forward almost as if of its own accord. Agatha hums in delight. She wastes no time.

She climbs on top of you, pushing you back down onto the couch and straddling your hips. Her tongue slides between your lips and, hesitant, your mouth opens, and the kiss grows sloppy, wet, Agatha’s tongue and teeth and lips on and against and in you. You whimper, your hands finding her ribs, your hips bucking involuntarily as her knee slides between your thighs. Your muted breaths melt into a high pitched moan as her knee presses against your cunt.

“I knew it,” Agatha whispers when her mouth breaks from yours, and her head dips down to the soft space between your neck and shoulder. She bites, hard and fast, not enough to leave a mark but enough to send a pained spasm through your body. You tense and dig your fingertips into her sides, and Agatha chuckles.

“Come on, kid,” Agatha says, pushing up on her palms to look down at you. Your lips sting, your chest rising and falling heavily, your breathing audible, not quite gasping, but stuttering. “Pay attention, okay?”

You nod, and Agatha pushes your shirt to your collarbones. She kisses down your naval, down your stomach, her thumbs brushing your nipples and mouth hot beneath your belly button. She looks up at you, eyelashes dark, eyes pale and sharp.

“Are you watching?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Agatha’s fingers undo your jeans. Your heart clenches at the soft snap of the button being released from its denim hold, a cold sweat at the back of your neck as you hear the zipper being pulled down. Agatha looks slowly up and down, between your eyes and each new inch of skin revealed underneath your clothes.

She tugs your jeans off of you, your underwear going with it, the bits of your costume being shed from your body. Agatha sighs, relieved, the way a dog does curling up in a warm patch of sunlight, and your skin dances at the gust of breath crawling up your body.

“I needed this, kid. Let me tell you.” She leans close to your cunt, you already know you’re dripping, you’ve been dripping, but Agatha doesn’t remark on your pathetic state. Instead she hovers close and inhales deeply. “Fuck,” she whispers, barely audible, and your head falls back, a whimper dislodging from your throat.

Her tensed tongue licks slowly through your folds, the tip circling carefully around your clit, and the shudder you release grips your entire body. Your hands, which had, up until this point, been white knuckling the cushions of the couch, fly to your mouth, and Agatha is suddenly on you, lips and tongue breathing pleasure into you like a gust of wind, like fire from a dragon’s belly, and it’s intense, intense. You’ve been fingered a few lackluster times by lackluster people, but Agatha runs hot, runs feverish, and everything feels scalding, your pleasure, your — Agatha scratches down your sides — your pain, and you want more and more and more.

“Agatha,” you mutter. Your voice sounds like it’s being forcefully pulled from your throat. “Agatha.”

Agatha’s fingers play against your folds, joined with her tongue, and your hands thread through her hair. She lifts her head to look at you, and you can see the glisten of yourself on her chin. Her fingers work you, slowly, in tidal beckoning motions. Your pleasure, vague, dazzling waves, suddenly straightens, taut and defined, and you can feel your orgasm inching into you. Your breath becomes shallow.

“Let’s see,” Agatha murmurs, “how did the coordinator do this? Rio has you pinned, she’s being a little violent, there are tears in your eyes, and when she fucks you, she fucks you rough.” Agatha stuffs three fingers into you, setting a brutally slow and violently deep pace. Your yelp sounds more like a cry and Agatha narrows a cold glare at you. “Shut it, kid, I don’t want to have to do it myself.” You bring a hand to your mouth, stifling each staccato whimper to the tune of Agatha’s thrusts. “And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

Strung with pain, your skin shivering, your heels digging into the cushions, Agatha’s pace finally relents, slows, and she studies you maliciously. “In the next sex scene, our Professor acquiesces, takes pity on her disobedient but young student,” she pulls your thighs over her shoulders. Her fingers slip out of you, and though your body aches with relief, the wavering string of your pleasure keens for more. Agatha chuckles. “This is my favorite part.” She licks a broad stripe against you. You shiver. “You should see the way Rio looks at you when we film this part. It’s perfect every time.”

Agatha crawls up, your knees still hooked around her shoulders, and you whimper, feeling impossibly small as two of her fingers bury gently into you, stroking gently against your walls, her thumb brushing a light touch against your clit. The beaten, puppeted orgasm you’ve been chasing swells once more against you, rearing, an animal about to pounce.

Agatha kisses you, and you’re ready, your lips parted and waiting for her tongue, which slips eagerly between your teeth. You taste yourself. You think of Rio, stripping you on that damn bed, all hard touches and stinging words and dark, velvet eyes, and Agatha behind the camera, in her all black outfit, blending into the shadows behind the key light like a predator, biting the knuckle of her pointer finger, watching and watching. Fuck. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Agatha’s fingertips curl against what you can only imagine is your g-spot and you gasp against her mouth, earning a quick nip of your bottom lip in response.

“You gonna come for me, kid? It’s about time. Just like you do for Rio right about now, hmm?” Your body teeters slowly, achingly slowly, into an orgasm, its golden edges fizzing like a pot about to boil over. You thrash against Agatha, your hands clawing desperately at her back but your body still trapped in the curled contortion she has you pinned in. “Good, good. Much better, right? You’ll be perfect in front of that camera. Just like that, kid. Perfect.”

The thread snaps. Your orgasm douses you. You throw your head back, the cry in your throat wrangled out of you, unbidden, until Agatha slaps a hand over your mouth. “Don’t ruin your pretty voice, kid,” she purrs wickedly, “Save it for the camera.”

Agatha holds you while you shudder through your orgasm, your vision blurred at the edges, eyes unfocused, and she gently frees your legs from her shoulders, kissing you softly. Your hard panting mellows, evening out steadily. Agatha checks her watch and clucks her tongue.

“You made good time, kid. Are you going to remember this?” You nod, running your fingers through your hair. Agatha rights your jeans and helps straighten your shirt, pressing a kiss to your head as you wriggle into your costume.

“Good, because we’re getting right in it. Be ready to run the scene in ten.” A knot of shock flashes through you. Director Agatha is still director Agatha.

“But don’t I…”

“Don’t you what? Smell like sex? Still sensitive in your cunt and legs? That’s the goal, kid. Now get out of my trailer.” She waves you off. You gulp, cursing silently in your head but undeniably relishing in the hot flush at your cheeks. You stuff your feet into your shoes and let the door swing shut loudly behind you.

The team is in motion, cameras adjusting, the boom guy talking with Rio, who has her arms crossed. She casts her gaze briefly to the side and catches sight of you. She pauses. Her eyes narrow. Your stomach flips, but before you can think of what that look could possibly mean, someone grabs your arm. You whip around and face your makeup designer.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! I-” she cuts herself off. You must look a little like a mess, flushed, wet-eyed. If you had to guess, you probably look like Agatha spent the entire break chewing you out. Chewing, no. Eating, on the other hand…

You chuckle dryly, and your designer takes a step back. “Nevermind,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look perfect. Break a leg.”

“Alright everybody. Places.” Agatha’s voice cuts like a knife over the noisy bustle. There’s immediate quiet as everyone hustles to their designated spots. “We’re starting from ‘Got something to say now’.”

You situate yourself on the bed. Rio climbs on top of you. A shudder runs unprompted down your spine. With horror, you realize that you are still sensitive. Violently sensitive. Above you, Rio’s eyes narrow. She inhales deeply. You think she’s sighing, but a treacherous thought flickers through your mind that maybe she smells you, smells Agatha, smells you on Agatha on you. Rio’s eyes trace down your body, seeming to clock every unfortunate and incriminating detail. Your messed up hair, your hot skin, your shaking legs.

You’re not sure if it’s to your relief or distress, but Rio chuckles lowly. “Extra lesson, hmm?”

You swallow. “S-Sorry?”

She leans down close to your ear. Her hands wrap slowly around your wrists, pressing them above your head. This wasn’t in the intimacy coordination. “That’s fine. If you’re going to get a little extra help, maybe we can have a little fun, right?”

A knot forms in your throat. Your ears feel hot. “I think-”

Agatha’s voice, booming, as if from heaven. “Scene 30. Take 7. And… action!”

Rio grabs quickly at your throat. You feel dazed, but vaguely remember your blocking and shakily hold onto her forearm. Rio flashes you a toothy smile, a creepy, toothy smile that hollows out your chest. “Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head quickly, and to your surprise, instead of releasing your throat, Rio shoves a knee between your legs, knocking against your clit. You gasp out your next line, “Professor-” and Rio’s fingertips dig harder into the sides of your throat. Her other hand finds your wrist, slamming it above your head, her grip tight. “Professor,” you choke out again, finding Rio’s gaze, the wild, manic look in her eyes shooting guilty sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you beg, off-script, and this time, Rio relents.

She releases your neck. Your hand flies up to it, your breath scraping down your throat, heavy, but Rio catches your other wrist and shoves it down with the other. “You act up,” she hisses, “you play by my rules.” She gathers both wrists with one hand and strokes a manicured nail down your jaw. You strain your face away, breath light and fluttering.

“Understood?”

At the word, she grabs your jaw sharply, forcing you to meet her eyes. There’s something of a challenge in her gaze. You’d probably break if you weren’t so fucking turned on, but your own arousal dampens your underwear. You feel hot everywhere.

“I understand, Professor,” you whisper. A well timed tear traces from the corner of your eye down your temple. “Please, don’t go too hard.” You blink pathetically up at her. “I didn’t mean to.”

The double meaning is more than received. Rio laughs loudly. “Didn’t mean to? Yeah right.” Her knee pushes up into your hot cunt and you whimper loudly, your eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your jaw drops down between your legs. You whine and buck your hips. Rio scoffs, shaking her head. It’s miserably clear to her that you’re not acting anymore.

“Pathetic,” she sneers. Her hand quickly unbuttons your jeans and sinks beneath your waistband. Usually, she doesn’t come close to touching you. The jeans are low-rise and loose, but this time, Rio has no qualms about pressing her fingertips against your underwear, no doubt feeling the hot, soaked cloth. She groans and curses.

“Professor,” you gasp, choked. Your tears flow freely now. Her fingertips dig blindly against your cunt, feeling through the fabric your folds, your clit, warm and sensitive. You feel raw from the orgasm you just had, so violently raw, and even the lightest touch sends a dark pleasure scattering through you. You jerk uncontrollably, writhing beneath Rio, feeling an orgasm, a fucking orgasm, climbing panicked below your stomach.

Rio’s mouth crashes down onto yours, as if trying, and failing, to mute each desperate noise that crawls from your throat. The result is you moaning wildly into the kiss, choking around her tongue, her fingers kneading into the cloth and sending you sputtering into a lingering orgasm that you’re not sure ever fully evaporated - a fact Rio seems to be well aware of.

Your body tenses and you careen through the waves of pleasure splashing in you, swallowing you whole. Rio pulls her mouth off of yours to watch the bliss bloom across your face and the cry that erupts from your throat is somehow both a whimper and a howl.

“Much better,” Rio whispers, pulling her hand from your jeans, kissing down your neck and stroking your cheek with her thumb. You can smell yourself on her fingers. You lay there dumbly, shivering through the dregs of your orgasm, sighing into an exhaustion you’ve never known. “That was good, that was really good,” Rio hums, pleased.

When your eyes meet, there’s a bit of tentativeness. This got out of hand. The smile you give her is, you hope, both wayward and reassuring.

“Did I-” you’ve started your line while still out of breath, and interrupt yourself to take a deep breath, “Did I do okay, Professor?” A phrase carrying a triple meaning, at this point. You’d give anything to look at Agatha right now, but manage to stay in character, keep your gaze trained on Rio’s glazed eyes.

“You were amazing,” she whispers, kissing you softly.

“Cut!”

Both Rio and you jolt in surprise. She peels off of you, lightly intertwining your fingers with hers, and you sit up, looking towards Agatha. You only see the camera, and in the darkness, her dark form slides from behind it. Her outline becomes slowly visible as she takes a few steps closer towards you two, though shadows still cut across her. You can see a smile stretch across her face.

“Now that,” she says. “Was perfect.” Agatha turns to face the crew. “On that note, that’s a wrap for today. Everybody go take a cold shower.” Agatha then steps fully into the light. The look on her face is indescribably malicious, a smile that could be angry or just evil, pale eyes glinting. You exchange a glance with Rio and notice a soft heat on her cheeks. “You two, meet me in my trailer first.” Agatha’s eyes narrow. “I want to discuss some notes with you.”

[elikajinnie]

I Let The World Burn For You - N.R |Part 2

P: Serial Killer!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions, Murder, Manipulation, Attempted Murder, Injury/Blood, Teasing, Angst, Obsessive Behaviour, Mind Games, Ni-ki is a nerd.

Synopsis: You’ve always loved crime shows, captivated by the mystery and mind games, but you never expected to live in one. When a killer develops an unsettling obsession with you, you’re thrust into a deadly game where you’re not just a target—you’re the centerpiece.

a/n: i see i made Ni-ki a GIANT red flag!! mhh but i love horror so whatever :) @totallynotj3zz you gave me too much power.

See request here | Read part 1 here

--

The door bursts open, and there he is, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, his figure towering, his shadow stretching across the floor like it’s ready to swallow you whole. But you’re ready this time. Your grip tightens on the wrench, and as he steps into the room, you swing.

The wrench cuts through the air with a force that surprises even you, but he’s fast—unnaturally fast. He sidesteps, the tool narrowly missing his masked face. The momentum of your swing sends you stumbling forward slightly, but you recover quickly, your grip on the wrench tightening as you raise it again, desperate and determined.

This time, you swing with even more force, aiming for his chest, but his hand snaps out with alarming speed, catching your wrist mid-swing. The impact jars your entire arm, pain shooting up from the sudden grip. His fingers digs into your skin as he pulls you closer, wrenching the weapon from your hand and tossing it to the floor with a metallic clatter.

You’re pulled into him, your chest nearly colliding with his as you struggle against his hold. His mask looms inches from your face, and you can hear his heavy breathing beneath it, eerily calm despite your thrashing. One hand keeps your wrist firmly pinned, while the other tilts your chin upward, forcing you to meet the blank, haunting stare of the mask.

“Well, aren’t you feisty,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. His grip tightens slightly as he leans closer, his head tilting as if to study you. “I like that. Makes this so much more fun.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a mix of fear and fury bubbling inside you. You feel trapped, but you refuse to let him win. His hand lingers on your chin, tilting your face slightly, as if he’s savoring the moment.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement. “Shame you don’t know when to quit.”

Before he can say anything more, your legs jerks up, slamming into his shin with all the force you can muster. The impact is solid, and his grip falters as he lets out a grunt of pain, momentarily stumbling. You take the opportunity and yank yourself free, adrenaline surging through you as you spin and bolt for the doorway.

He curses behind you, a sharp sound filled with irritation, but you don’t dare look back. Your bare feet skid against the wooden floor as you push yourself forward, your lungs burning with each ragged breath. You can hear him recovering, his footsteps heavy and fast as he begins to follow you again, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You barrel down the hallway, your heart hammering in your chest, searching desperately for another way out. Doors blur past you, each one closed, each one a potential death trap if you’re cornered again. Your mind races as you try to remember the layout of the house. There has to be another way down, another way out—anything to put more distance between you and him.

The only thought in your head is survival.

Your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest as his heavy footsteps echo behind you. The house is a labyrinth of creaking floorboards and peeling wallpaper, and every turn feels like it leads you closer to him. But somehow, you manage to stay just out of his reach, darting through doorways and ducking under tables, fueled by sheer desperation and adrenaline.

You burst into a dusty living room, skidding on the wooden floor. Your eyes scan for an escape route, and you spot a heavy armchair near a window. Without hesitation, you shove it toward the door just as he rounds the corner. His masked face tilts, almost amused, as he watches you struggle to block the entrance.

“Smart move,” he taunts, his voice laced with a twisted sort of admiration. “But not smart enough.”

You dive for the window, frantically trying to lift the old, stuck frame, but his footsteps are closing in fast. He’s almost on you when, in a flash of inspiration, you grab a nearby lamp and hurl it in his direction. It smashes against the wall, shards flying, forcing him to pause and shield himself. You use the moment to slip past him, sprinting back into the hallway.

“Always so clever,” he calls after you, his voice carrying a strange mix of irritation and delight. “I love it.”

You find yourself in a small kitchen, the counters cluttered with decades of dust and grime. You grab a drawer handle, yanking it open to reveal a collection of rusted utensils. Your trembling fingers close around a knife, and you whirl around just in time as he bursts through the doorway.

He lunges at you, and you slash wildly. The blade grazes his arm, and he lets out a sharp hiss of pain. For a moment, you see him falter, but then he laughs—low and rich, like he’s genuinely enjoying this.

“Feisty as ever,” he says, clutching his arm, his stance relaxed despite the blood seeping through his sleeve. “You make this so much fun.”

You don’t waste time responding, instead darting past him again. His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist, and for a brief moment, you’re yanked back against him. His grip is ironclad, and you twist and thrash, trying to break free.

“Caught you,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost tender. “You know, it’s so sweet for me when I finally catch you.”

“Let go of me!” you scream, your free hand clawing at his arm, but he only chuckles, his mask tilting down as if he’s watching you with amusement.

“Why would I let you go? You’re the prize, sweetheart.”

Fueled by anger and fear, you stomp hard on his foot. He grunts, his grip loosening just enough for you to wrench yourself free. You sprint out of the kitchen, back into the endless maze of hallways. You hear his laughter behind you, echoing through the house like a sinister melody.

“You can run all you want,” he calls out, his tone teasing, almost playful.

You whip around a corner, slamming a door shut behind you and locking it. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, pressing your ear to the door. His footsteps grow louder, then stop right outside.

“You’re not bad at this,” he says through the door, his voice muffled but still unsettlingly calm. “But I’m better.”

The knob rattles, and you back away, searching the room for anything you can use to defend yourself. Your eyes land on a metal curtain rod, and you grab it just as the door bursts open. He steps inside, his shoulders squared, his head tilted like he’s enjoying the sight of you scrambling.

“Stay back!” you shout, holding the rod in front of you like a spear.

He pauses, then raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along.”

But the moment you lunge at him, he sidesteps effortlessly, grabbing the rod and yanking it out of your hands. You stumble, and before you can react, his arms are around you again, pinning you against his chest.

“Got you,” he whispers, his voice soft but dripping with satisfaction. His grip tightens as you thrash, his laugh rumbling against your back. “You’re such a fighter. That’s what makes you so perfect.”

“What the hell is your problem?” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration and fear.

He leans down, his masked face close to your ear. “You,” he says simply, his tone almost reverent. “You’re my problem. My reward.”

That word sends a chill down your spine, and your instincts kick in. You throw your head back, slamming it into his mask. He stumbles, momentarily dazed, and you break free once more, running with every ounce of strength you have left.

The chase continues, his footsteps never far behind, his laughter haunting every turn. But one thing is clear: he’s not just chasing you for sport.

You burst into another hallway, your lungs burning from the effort. Your legs feel heavy, but adrenaline keeps you moving. The sound of his footsteps behind you is relentless, echoing through the abandoned house like a predator stalking its prey. Every step sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

Your eyes dart around, searching for an escape, a weapon, anything that could give you the upper hand. You spot a door slightly ajar to your left and dive into the room, quickly pressing your back against the wall. Your breaths come fast and shallow, your body trembling as you strain to hear his movements.

The footsteps stop.

The silence is deafening, wrapping around you like a vice. You clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your breathing. A creak comes from the hallway, followed by his voice—low, teasing, and far too calm.

"You're so close," he singsongs. "I know it."

You grit your teeth, the urge to cry nearly overwhelming, but you swallow it down. This isn’t the time to panic. You inch toward the edge of the doorway, peeking out just enough to see his shadow moving across the opposite wall. He’s taking his time, dragging it out like he’s savoring the chase.

You step back into the room, your hands fumbling in the darkness for something—anything—that can help. Your fingers brush against a broken table leg lying on the ground. It’s splintered and rough, but it’s better than nothing. You grab it, holding it tightly, readying yourself for his inevitable arrival.

And then you hear it—a faint creak right behind you.

You spin around, swinging the table leg wildly, but it hits nothing but air. He’s standing there, just out of reach, his white mask tilted slightly as if he’s amused by your attempt to defend yourself.

“You’re getting predictable,” he says, his tone almost playful.

“Stay back!” you shout, your voice trembling but firm.

He takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the old wooden floor. “You’re not really in a position to give orders, are you?”

You swing again, but he moves too fast, ducking under your attack and closing the distance between you in an instant. His gloved hand grabs the makeshift weapon, yanking it from your grasp and tossing it aside like it’s nothing.

Before you can react, he’s on you, his hands gripping your wrists and slamming you against the wall. The force knocks the air out of your lungs, and you struggle against him, but his grip is like steel.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost affectionate. “That fire in your eyes. I love it.”

“Let me go!” you scream, kicking at him, but he easily avoids your strikes, his body pressed too close for you to gain any leverage.

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re some kind of puzzle he’s desperate to solve. “Why would I do that? We’re having so much fun.”

“You’re insane,” you spit, your voice shaking with anger and fear.

He chuckles softly, his gloved hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face. The gesture is oddly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence of the situation. “Maybe,” he says, his tone almost contemplative. “But you make it worth it.”

Summoning every ounce of strength you have left, you lift your knee sharply, aiming for his stomach. He grunts, his grip loosening just enough for you to shove him back and dart past him.

You don’t look back as you run, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. The house feels endless, the hallways stretching on forever, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Behind you, his laughter rings out, cold and unhinged. “Run all you want!” he calls after you.

You burst into another room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind you. Your eyes dart around, searching for an exit, but all you see are boarded-up windows and a single, dusty wardrobe in the corner.

The door rattles violently, and you back away, your body trembling as the lock starts to give way.

You find an old crowbar leaning against the wall. Without hesitation, you grab it and rush to the boarded-up window. The wood is old and brittle, but the panic coursing through your veins gives you strength as you wedge the crowbar between the planks and pry them loose, one by one.

The door behind you shakes violently as he slams into it again and again, each hit sending splinters flying from the frame.

“Hurry, hurry,” you mutter under your breath, sweat dripping down your temple as the final plank falls free.

You look through the shattered glass and gasp. The drop is much higher than you anticipated—two stories at least. Your heart sinks, but the sight of thick, overgrown bushes below gives you a sliver of hope. You glance back just in time to see the door burst open, the lock snapping off entirely.

There he stands, his chest rising and falling as if the chase had been a thrill for him, the white mask gleaming in the dim light. The way he tilts his head, slowly and deliberately, makes your stomach turn.

"Going somewhere?" he teases, taking a step forward.

Without thinking, you climb onto the ledge, gripping the sides of the window for balance. The cool night air bites at your skin, and your heart races as you glance down at the bushes.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice sharp now, losing the playful edge.

You don’t wait for him to finish whatever twisted thing he was about to say. Instead, you suck in a deep breath and leap.

The air rushes past you, the world spinning for a split second before you crash into the bushes below. The impact knocks the wind out of you, branches scratching your arms and legs as you tumble through the foliage. For a moment, you lie there, stunned, your lungs burning as you try to catch your breath.

Above you, his figure appears in the window. He doesn’t follow immediately; instead, he leans out, watching you with a predatory stillness that makes your skin crawl.

"You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?" he calls, his voice echoing in the night air.

Ignoring him, you scramble to your feet, your muscles screaming in protest. The bushes have softened the fall, but you’re bruised and battered.

You take off running, your feet pounding against the uneven ground. The house looms behind you, its shadow stretching out like it’s trying to pull you back. The grocery bag left behind.

The house’s silhouette fades into the distance as you sprint down the overgrown path, branches snagging at your clothes and sharp stones biting into the soles of your shoes. The air is cold, sharp, but it does nothing to dull the heat of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

For a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart in your ears. The silence feels eerie—too quiet. Your instincts scream at you to keep going, but a flicker of doubt slows your pace.

That’s when you hear it.

The heavy thud of footsteps slamming against the ground, gaining on you.

You risk a glance over your shoulder, and your blood runs cold. He’s there, his long strides closing the gap between you. The mask hides his expression, but his posture, the way his shoulders hunch slightly forward in pursuit, tells you everything: he’s not letting you go.

“Run faster,” he taunts, his voice carrying through the still night air. It’s playful, like he’s enjoying the chase.

Fear electrifies your limbs, pushing you to move faster. The path ahead disappears into a thick forest, the tree line dark and menacing under the faint moonlight. You hesitate for just a second, but the sound of his footsteps—closer now—leaves you no choice.

You dart into the woods, branches whipping at your face and tearing at your jacket. The uneven forest floor threatens to trip you with every step, but you refuse to stop. The tall trees feel suffocating, their shadows long and jagged, closing in on you as if the forest itself is conspiring with him.

His footsteps follow, crunching leaves and snapping twigs. He’s still behind you, relentless. The sound is maddening, his pace steady, like he knows he’ll catch you eventually.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls out, his voice unnervingly calm now. “You can’t hide from me.”

You stumble over a root, barely catching yourself on a nearby tree. Gritting your teeth, you push forward, weaving through the trees, hoping the dense forest will slow him down.

Your lungs burn, your legs ache, but you can’t stop—not when you can still hear him.

Then, up ahead, you spot a small clearing. You race toward it, desperate for open space, for anything that might give you an advantage.

But as you burst into the clearing, you realize your mistake. It’s a dead end, surrounded by towering rock formations on three sides.

Panic grips you as you spin around, searching for another path. The forest is silent again, but it’s the kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. You know he’s there, watching.

And then he steps into the clearing, his figure tall and imposing against the dark backdrop of the trees. The mask tilts slightly, like he’s studying you, savoring the moment.

“You’re making this so much more exciting than I imagined,” he says, his voice low and smooth, almost like a purr. He takes a step closer, the blade glinting faintly in his hand.

You back away, your chest heaving, your mind racing for a way out. But the rocks block any escape, and the forest behind him feels like a trap.

“Don’t look so scared,” he says, taking another step forward. “You’ve been so clever tonight. It’s almost a shame it has to end.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to think.

Your back presses against the cold rock, the jagged surface biting into your skin through your jacket. Your breaths come in sharp gasps, your chest heaving as you try to think. Anything. A way out. A distraction.

He steps closer, his boots crunching on the forest floor, deliberate and unhurried. He knows you have nowhere to go. He tilts his head, studying you like a predator savoring its prey.

“You know,” he says, voice dripping with mock affection, “you really are something else. I’ve chased plenty before, but none of them…” He pauses, gesturing toward you with the knife, “…none of them made my heart race quite like this.”

You feel your stomach churn, the sheer audacity of his words igniting a spark of anger amidst your fear. But there’s no time for a retort—he’s only a few steps away now.

His eyes—hidden behind the mask—feel like they’re boring into your soul. You glance around the clearing, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. A stick, a rock, anything.

He notices your shifting gaze and chuckles. “What’s the plan now? Going to throw a pebble at me?”

Focus, you tell yourself, swallowing the lump of fear rising in your throat.

When he’s close enough, you act on impulse. You crouch low, grabbing a fist-sized rock near your feet. With all your strength, you hurl it at him.

He reacts quickly, dodging the rock with ease, his body twisting to the side. But it’s the distraction you needed. As he recovers, you dart to the side, aiming for the gap between him and the edge of the forest.

He’s fast—faster than you expect. You feel his hand graze your arm as you slip past him, but you manage to keep running, your feet pounding against the dirt as you plunge back into the dense trees.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable!” he shouts behind you, his voice tinged with amusement but also frustration.

You don’t stop. The forest is darker now, the moonlight barely penetrating the canopy above. Every branch that snaps under your feet feels like a signal to him, guiding him closer.

Your lungs burn, and your legs threaten to give out, but the primal need to survive keeps you moving. Then, in the distance, you spot it—lights. Faint, flickering, but unmistakable. A cabin? A campsite? You can’t be sure, but it’s hope.

You push yourself harder, your eyes locked on the distant glow. But the footsteps behind you grow louder, closer. He’s gaining on you.

And then—crash. You trip over a root, your body slamming into the ground with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. Pain radiates through your knees and palms as you scramble to get up, dirt caked on your hands.

Before you can move, his boot slams down on the ground beside you, the blade of his knife glinting as he crouches down.

“There you are,” he says softly, his voice dripping with mock relief, as if he’s found something precious. His hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist before you can crawl away.

“Let me go!” you scream, kicking and thrashing. One of your punches lands on his chest and he grunts in pain, momentarily loosening his grip.

You seize the chance, wriggling free and stumbling to your feet. Your eyes dart back to the lights in the distance, and you take off running again, ignoring the burning pain in your legs and the pounding in your chest.

“You’re just making me want you more!” he shouts after you, the words sending a fresh wave of terror coursing through your veins.

The lights grow brighter as you draw closer. You don’t know who or what you’ll find there, but it’s your only chance. Please, you think desperately, please let someone be there.

Behind you, his footsteps quicken, and you know he’s not far.

You don’t even hear him closing the distance behind you until it’s too late. A hand suddenly clamps over your mouth, muffling the scream that instinctively rises in your throat. His other arm snakes around your waist, locking you against his chest like iron.

Your heart pounds wildly as you thrash and kick, but he’s too strong, dragging you backward as if your struggling means nothing.

“Caught you,” he murmurs in a low, almost amused tone, his breath brushing against your ear.

The lights in the distance—your last shred of hope—fade further and further away as he drags you back toward the clearing. The forest seems darker now, the shadows deeper, closing in around you as if they’re working with him.

When he reaches the clearing, he wastes no time. He throws you down to the ground with a force that knocks the wind out of you. Your back hits the dirt, and before you can even think about scrambling away, he’s on top of you, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other pressing firmly against your shoulder to keep you in place.

“Stop squirming,” he growls, his tone no longer playful. It’s sharp, commanding, like he’s finally losing patience.

You try to buck him off, twisting your body and kicking your legs, but he doesn’t budge. His weight presses down on you, and the knife in his hand gleams in the faint moonlight.

“I really don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice softening into something unsettlingly tender. His free hand brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his gloved fingers lingering against your skin. “But you’re making it so difficult.”

You glare up at him, fire burning in your eyes despite the fear gripping your chest.

“God, I love that,” he says with a low chuckle. “That fight in you. You don’t even realize how much you stand out, do you? How much more alive you are compared to everyone else I’ve met.”

His words send a chill down your spine. You thrash again, but he only tightens his grip on your wrists, leaning in closer until his masked face is mere inches from yours.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, his tone almost mocking. “You should be thanking me. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be just another nobody. But now…” He trails off, tilting his head as if he’s admiring a work of art.

You turn your head to the side, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying out in frustration or fear.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice low but firm. When you don’t comply, his grip on your wrists tightens painfully, making you wince.

You turn your head back to glare at him, hatred burning in your eyes.

“There she is,” he says softly, almost reverently. “That fire… Don’t ever lose that.”

The knife in his hand flashes as he moves it closer, and for a horrifying moment, you think he’s going to stab you. But instead, he presses the flat of the blade against your cheek, the cold metal sending a shiver through your body.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And no matter how far you run or how hard you fight, I’ll always catch you.”

You grit your teeth, your mind racing for a way out. He’s too strong, too fast—but maybe, just maybe, you can use his arrogance against him.

“Go to hell,” you spit, your voice trembling but defiant.

His laughter fills the clearing, low and dark, as if your defiance only fuels his twisted amusement. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in closer, his mask nearly brushing your forehead. “Hell is wherever you aren’t.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, the weight of them suffocating. His voice is smooth, almost sweet, but the malice behind it is unmistakable. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, fighting the fear clawing its way through your chest.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs, tilting his head as if observing you from a new angle. “You can run, you can fight, but in the end, it’s always going to be me and you. No one else matters.”

Your breath catches as his gloved fingers trail down your cheek, the contact both gentle and deeply unsettling. You flinch away, but the weight of his body keeps you pinned to the ground.

“Still so stubborn,” he muses, almost fondly. “It’s adorable, really. Makes this so much more satisfying.”

You glare up at him, your jaw clenched tightly. You feel your pulse pounding in your ears as your mind races, searching for any way to escape. His grip isn’t as firm now—his arrogance has left an opening, and you have to act fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you jerk your knee upward, slamming it into his stomach. The air leaves his lungs in a sharp gasp, and his grip on you falters just enough for you to slip free.

You don’t waste a second. Scrambling to your feet, you push past him and take off running, your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

Behind you, his laughter rings out again, low and cruel, but you don’t dare look back.

“Run, sweetheart!” he calls after you, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Let’s see how far you get this time!”

You tear through the forest, the branches clawing at your arms and face. The air is cold and sharp in your lungs, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

The sound of his footsteps behind you sends a fresh wave of terror through your veins. He’s faster than you, more experienced in this game of cat and mouse. But you refuse to let him win.

As you weave through the trees, you spot a cluster of rocks up ahead—jagged and uneven, but large enough to provide some cover. Without hesitation, you dive behind them, crouching low and trying to steady your breathing.

The footsteps slow, then stop.

“Where are you, little mouse?” his voice calls out, taunting and playful. “I know you’re close.”

You press a hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing, your entire body trembling. He’s so close you can hear the crunch of leaves under his boots as he moves.

“You can hide all you want,” he says, his tone almost sing-song. “But you’ll come back to me eventually. You always do.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to steady your racing thoughts. There has to be a way out of this. There has to be.

The sound of his footsteps fades slightly as he moves further into the forest, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he circles back. You glance around, your eyes darting between the trees and the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy.

Then you see it—a narrow path winding down the hill, almost invisible beneath the dense foliage. It’s risky, but it might be your only shot.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you take a deep breath and bolt from your hiding spot, darting toward the path as silently as you can.

But his laughter follows you again, closer this time, chilling and relentless.

“Oh, there you are!” he exclaims, and the sound of his footsteps erupts behind you once more.

Panic surges through you as you sprint down the path, the uneven ground threatening to trip you with every step.

You darted down the narrow path, your smaller frame weaving effortlessly through the low-hanging branches and dense underbrush. Every breath felt like fire in your lungs, but you had gained some distance. His heavier, taller frame wasn’t as agile as yours, giving you the upper hand in this chase—at least for now.

Your mind raced as you spotted a small clearing ahead. You knew you couldn’t keep running forever; he was relentless, and eventually, he’d catch up. But you had something he didn’t: creativity and a desperate will to survive.

Scanning the area quickly, you noticed a tangle of vines hanging from a low branch, some loose rocks scattered on the ground, and a sturdy fallen tree trunk. An idea sparked in your mind, and you didn’t hesitate.

Grabbing the vines, you tugged them free from the branch and looped them across the path at ankle height, tying them tightly between two trees. Next, you placed the rocks strategically along the trail, half-buried in the dirt to make them harder to spot. Finally, you pushed the fallen tree trunk to the edge of the path, balancing it precariously against a rock, so the slightest nudge would send it rolling.

You heard his footsteps approaching fast, his taunting voice cutting through the silence.

“Getting tired, sweetheart? You’re making this too easy!”

You ducked behind a thick tree trunk, your heart pounding in your chest. You clutched a thick branch in your hands, ready to fight if your trap didn’t work.

The sound of his boots hitting the ground grew louder until you saw his dark figure barreling toward the clearing. He didn’t slow down, too focused on chasing you to notice the subtle trap you’d set.

The moment his foot caught the vine, he stumbled forward, his balance thrown off. His boot slammed into one of the hidden rocks, sending him lurching sideways. Before he could recover, the fallen tree trunk tipped over and rolled directly toward him.

“Shit!” he snarled, barely dodging the trunk as it crashed into the ground.

The commotion gave you the distraction you needed. While he cursed and scrambled to his feet, you slipped away, keeping low and moving as quietly as possible.

You didn’t stop until you found yourself on the edge of the forest, the dim glow of the streetlights in the distance signaling safety. Gasping for breath, you spotted your abandoned grocery bag near the roadside. Without thinking, you grabbed it, clutching it tightly to your chest like a lifeline.

Reaching into your pocket, your fingers fumbled over the smooth surface of your phone. Relief surged through you as you unlocked it, your shaking hands dialing the police.

The line rang twice before a calm voice answered. “Emergency services, what’s your location?”

“I… I’m near the forest,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “There’s—there’s someone chasing me. He’s dangerous. Please, you have to send help!”

“Stay on the line,” the operator said firmly. “Officers are on their way. Can you describe the man?”

You glanced back at the dark forest, half-expecting to see that white mask emerge from the shadows. “He’s… tall. He’s wearing black, and he has a mask. Please, hurry!”

“Stay where you are, and keep yourself safe,” the operator instructed.

You nodded, even though they couldn’t see you, clutching the phone tightly as you kept your eyes fixed on the forest’s edge. Your body trembled with exhaustion and fear, but you refused to let your guard down.

In the distance, you heard the faint wail of sirens. Help was coming. You just had to hold on a little longer.

As the sound of the sirens grew louder, you felt a flicker of relief—hope that maybe, just maybe, this nightmare was coming to an end. You stood rooted to the spot, your breath shaky and uneven, staring at the dark line of trees, half-expecting him to step out at any second.

The grocery bag in your arms felt like dead weight now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of it. It was the only thing grounding you in reality amidst the chaos.

Suddenly, a rustle came from the forest’s edge. Your heart leapt into your throat, and your entire body stiffened. There he was.

He didn’t move closer—he just stood there, half-hidden by the shadows, watching you.

You stumbled back, gripping your phone tighter. “The police are coming!” you yelled, your voice cracking. “You’re done!”

He cocked his head, unmoved by your words, his hand slowly reaching up to adjust the mask as if to taunt you.

The sirens were deafening now, blue and red lights flashing in the distance. A police car screeched to a halt at the curb, two officers stepping out quickly, their hands hovering near their holsters.

“He’s there!” you shouted, pointing toward the forest.

But when you turned back, he was gone. The trees were still, the shadows undisturbed. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air.

One of the officers approached you cautiously, his flashlight scanning the area. “Miss, are you hurt?”

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was right there. He… he was watching me.”

The second officer moved toward the forest’s edge, his flashlight sweeping across the trees. “We’ll check the area,” he said, motioning for his partner to follow.

They disappeared into the woods, leaving you standing by the police car. The operator on the phone was still speaking, but their words sounded distant, drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

A few minutes later, the officers returned, shaking their heads. “We didn’t see anyone,” one of them said. “But there are clear signs of movement in the brush. We’ll keep searching.”

“He’s out there,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “He’s the one who… who killed those kids. He tried to kill me!”

The officer nodded, his expression serious. “We believe you. We’ll make sure the area is secured. Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your phone. Ni-ki’s name flashed across the screen in a text notification. For a brief moment, you considered calling him, but then you shook your head. This wasn’t something you wanted to drag anyone else into—not him, not anyone.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied, your voice barely steady.

The officers exchanged a look but didn’t push further. “We’ll escort you home,” one of them said, opening the passenger door of the car for you.

You climbed in, clutching the grocery bag like a lifeline as the car pulled away. Through the window, you stared back at the forest, half-expecting to see that mask watching you from the shadows again.

But there was nothing.

Just the trees, silent and still.

--

You lay in bed, the blankets twisted around your body, but the warmth of them did nothing to calm the chill that had settled deep in your bones. Your phone sat on the nightstand, screen glowing softly in the dark, but you hadn’t looked at it in what felt like hours.

Every time you closed your eyes, the image of that mask—the twisted, mocking grin—seemed to float in your mind, just out of reach. You could almost hear his voice in your head, low and smooth, the way he’d whispered into your ear, the way he’d taunted you. “Hell is wherever you aren’t.”

The words had haunted you all evening.

You had tried to shake them off, to bury them beneath the numbing exhaustion that should have come with the adrenaline you’d been running on, but your body refused to cooperate. Even with the police’s reassurances, you couldn’t stop the feeling that something was still lurking just beyond the edge of your awareness.

What if he was still out there? What if he had been watching you tonight, too? The thought of it made your pulse race, your heart thumping too loud in the silence of your room.

You grabbed your phone, staring at it in your hands, weighing whether to text Ni-ki. He had sent you a message earlier, asking if you were okay, but you hadn’t responded. Part of you wanted to reach out, wanted to tell him everything, but another part—no, a bigger part—didn’t want to drag him into this any deeper. He didn’t deserve it.

You tossed the phone aside and stared up at the ceiling, the quiet of your apartment settling around you like a heavy blanket, thick and suffocating. The rain had started up again, tapping lightly against your window. You listened to the rhythmic pattering, your mind drifting in and out of awareness, trying to push away the lingering fear.

It wasn’t long before the sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment.

Your heart leapt into your throat, your whole body freezing, every muscle stiffening at once. The sound of the doorbell, so sharp and unexpected, felt like an intrusion, a sign of something you couldn't escape.

You waited, breath held, listening for footsteps. But there was nothing. Not at first. Just the sound of rain falling and the eerie quiet of the house.

Then, a faint knock at the door. Three taps.

You didn't move. Didn't even breathe.

And that's when your phone buzzed, the text you had been avoiding lighting up the screen.

"Are you okay? Please let me know."

You knew it was Ni-ki. His concern was so evident in the words, the kind of concern that made your heart ache. You felt a wave of guilt rise in your chest.

But that knock, those taps on the door—they wouldn’t go away.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the knock echoed again. You sat frozen, unsure of what to do, your mind racing with possibilities. Was it him? The killer, the masked figure who had haunted your every step since that night? Or was it someone else—someone who could help you, someone who had heard your silent cries for help?

You reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you unlocked it and quickly typed a response to Ni-ki.

I’m okay. Just… a little freaked out. I’ll be fine.

You hesitated before sending it, but the longer you sat there, the more you realized you couldn't keep the fear buried. You needed help, but you didn’t want to drag him into this. You didn’t want him to be in danger, especially when you didn’t know who or what was on the other side of that door.

But the knocking continued. Three slow, deliberate taps again. This time, it felt more urgent. Like whoever was out there knew you were in the apartment.

You moved cautiously to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if there was anyone outside. The rain had let up slightly, but it was still dark, the street barely visible in the dim light from the streetlamp. There was no sign of anyone.

Still, the knocking continued.

Your mind raced. Could you trust it?

You quietly moved to the door, pressing your ear against it, listening for any sounds from the other side. The knocking had stopped, and the silence stretched on for a few moments, stretching your nerves thinner with each passing second.

Then, without warning, the door handle jiggled. You stiffened, holding your breath as you backed away.

Whoever was out there was waiting.

You reached for the lock, your hands shaking, and with a quiet click, you turned it. Just as you were about to open the door, you heard a faint voice, soft but clear.

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The voice was familiar.

You opened the door, and there he was. Ni-ki. Standing in your doorway, looking concerned, his expression soft but full of worry. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of distress.

“You… you came?” You whispered, surprised and relieved all at once.

Ni-ki stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. “I got worried,” he said quietly, his voice low.

You nodded, a wave of relief washing over you. But before you could speak, Ni-ki’s eyes caught something on the table—your phone, with his message still displayed.

His expression faltered slightly, his eyes lingering on the text as if searching for the truth behind it.

“Are you really okay?” he asked softly, stepping closer to you. “I know you said you were fine, but… I’m not sure I believe that.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you managed a weak smile, trying to reassure him. “I’m okay now… I’m just… I’ve been a little scared, that’s all.”

Ni-ki didn’t say anything. He simply walked over to you, and without another word, he wrapped his arms around you.

Ni-ki gently guided you to the couch, his touch reassuring and steady as he helped you sit down. The weight of everything—of the fear, the tension, the uncertainty—finally began to crash down on you all at once. You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders trembling as the tears you’d been holding back for so long finally spilled over.

Ni-ki sat next to you, his presence calm and warm, like a shelter from the storm. He didn’t say anything at first, just let you cry, the sound of your sobs the only noise between the two of you. His hand found its way to your back, rubbing slow, comforting circles, as he whispered softly to you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. “I’m here.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into the comfort. The tears flowed freely, the weight of everything you’d been through crashing over you in waves, but there was no judgment, no rushing to make you feel better.

“I know it’s been so hard,” Ni-ki continued, his voice steady and warm. “But I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, the sobs slowly beginning to subside as his words sank in.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the gesture simple but grounding. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I swear.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to burden you with all of this. I didn’t want you to have to deal with my… my fear.”

Ni-ki shook his head, his eyes softening. “Hey, don’t apologize. You’re not a burden. You’re my friend, and you mean more to me than anything. I don’t care what’s going on, I’m not leaving you to deal with it alone.”

His words wrapped around you like a lifeline, and you felt a warmth that cut through the cold fear still lingering in your chest.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. "I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."

Ni-ki gave you a soft, reassuring smile. "You don’t have to. I’ll always be here for you."

After he put on a movie, its soft glow illuminating the room, you felt yourself slowly relaxing next to Ni-ki. The weight of everything still lingered in the back of your mind, but his presence beside you—calm, steady, unwavering—made it easier to breathe, to forget, even if just for a little while. The tension in your body began to ease as the gentle hum of the movie filled the space, and before you even realized it, your eyelids grew heavy.

You shifted slightly, curling up against the couch, subconsciously inching closer to Ni-ki, the warmth of his body providing comfort. It wasn’t long before you drifted off, the quiet rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Ni-ki, noticing your soft exhale, glanced down at you, a small, amused smirk curling at the corners of his lips. You were so still, so vulnerable in your sleep. His gaze softened as he studied you, his fingers gently brushing the strands of hair that fell across your face, tucking them behind your ear.

His heart beat faster as he took in the sight of you, lying so trustingly beside him, completely unaware of the way his eyes roamed over you. His fingers lingered, caressing your skin. He admired the way your features softened in sleep, how relaxed you looked.

“I’d do anything to make sure you’re always by my side.” He whispered, his voice low, barely audible.

His smirk deepened, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek. “You’re far too precious to let anyone else have you.”

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered into your ear, “I’ll protect you, forever. You’re my treasure, and I won’t let anyone take you away. Not now, not ever.”

Ni-ki pulled you a little closer, adjusting your position so you were nestled more comfortably against him, and he rested his head against the back of the couch, keeping his gaze fixed on you. The way you slept so soundly in his arms sent a strange rush of satisfaction through him.

Ni-ki's fingers gently brushed over your hair, his touch tender as he continued to gaze at you. His mind raced with thoughts, each one swirling around the way you looked so peaceful, so trusting, in his arms. There was a sense of calm that settled over him too, a deep, almost primal satisfaction in knowing you were there—safe, protected, and unaware of the way his heart beat faster with each passing moment.

He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, as his gaze moved from your peaceful face to the way you nestled against him. The warmth of your body, the slow rise and fall of your chest, all of it made him feel something deep within, something that told him, you’re mine. His fingers slid down your arm, brushing lightly against your skin as if to remind himself that you were right here, with him.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his feelings for you had become so much more than just care or friendship. You had a hold on him—one that was impossible to ignore, impossible to break free from. He’d always been protective of you, sure, but now, as he looked at you sleeping so soundly, he realized how much deeper his attachment had grown.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Rest now," he whispered, barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the perfect moment. "I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry about a thing."

The way you fit against him, how natural it felt to have you there, was enough to make his heart ache in the best way. You had no idea how much he needed you, how much he wanted to keep you close, but he would make sure you felt that care every single day.

He wasn’t going to let go of this moment—not yet, not ever. He would make sure you were safe and happy. You were his world now, and he would do anything to keep it that way.

--

As the days passed, you started to notice two things. The first was that Ni-ki seemed to be… everywhere. Whether it was during lunch, between classes, or after school, he was always by your side. It wasn’t just that he was constantly close to you; he somehow made sure that no matter what, your attention was on him. Even when you tried to talk to your friends, he'd find a way to insert himself into the conversation, either by cracking a joke or pulling you away with a light touch on your arm, directing your attention back to him. e was making sure he had some kind of excuse to keep you close—whether it was an excuse to study together, a reason to walk you to your next class, or just a casual invitation to hang out after school. He was clingy, yes, but it didn’t feel suffocating.

The second thing that began to weigh on you was the strange shift happening around the school. It wasn’t a loud change, but it was impossible to ignore. The usual bullies, the ones who would taunt others, pick on those weaker than them, and make life miserable for anyone they considered "lesser," some of them were gone entirely, never seen again. Others were found in a state that was… unsettling. And the ones who still lingered, seemed to have a new fear in their eyes. They were nervous, always looking over their shoulders, as if expecting someone to jump out at them at any moment. You heard hushed whispers in the hallways about how the only people who were being targeted were those who’d tormented others—bullies who had crossed a line and had paid the price for it.

It wasn’t just idle gossip anymore. There was a clear pattern forming—those who’d been mean, those who had taken pleasure in others' pain, were the ones disappearing or found dead. And no one wanted to be the next victim. It was almost like there was a sense of fear hanging in the air, suffocating the usual bravado that these students carried.

One afternoon, as you sat with Ni-ki in the cafeteria, you couldn't help but notice the change in the atmosphere. The usual suspects who would pick fights or belittle others were nowhere to be seen. A few students whispered nervously, glancing at the empty seats where the loudest voices used to sit. Ni-ki, ever the observant one, seemed to catch on to your unease and leaned closer, his voice low as he spoke, “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quiet it is now. Not many people causing trouble anymore.”

You glanced over at him, slightly startled by his words, but the look on his face was almost… satisfied. It was as if he knew more than he was letting on. "Yeah," you said quietly, lowering your voice, "I haven’t seen some of them around lately. It’s… like they’re just gone."

Ni-ki smirked slightly, a glint of something dark in his eyes, but he didn’t comment further. Instead, he reached for your hand, gently brushing his fingers against yours as if to reassure you, but also claiming you in his own quiet way. “People like them never last long. They always get what's coming to them.”

You looked at Ni-ki, about to say something, to defend the idea that not everyone deserved what was happening. But as you paused and really thought about it, the words didn’t come. What could you really say in defense of them? The bullies at school had picked on others without mercy, with no regard for the pain they caused. They had gone out of their way to hurt people, and more than once, you had seen how cruel and relentless they could be. They never showed any sympathy. So why should you feel sympathy for them now?

The thought sat uneasily in your chest, but you couldn’t find the words to oppose what Ni-ki had said. Instead, you turned your attention back to your lunch, pushing the food around on your plate without much appetite. You shrugged casually, as if the whole thing didn’t matter to you.

But in that moment, Ni-ki's grin grew wider, a silent triumph flickering in his eyes. He’d been watching you closely, sensing that shift in your mindset, and now, he had won this silent battle. You didn’t argue. You didn’t fight him on it.

For a moment, you felt his gaze linger on you, as if trying to decipher the change within you. His fingers tightened around your hand just a little, a subtle claim, as if to mark his success.

“Good,” he said softly, almost under his breath, as he leaned back in his chair, still watching you with a look of quiet satisfaction.

You were barely aware of how much Ni-ki had already influenced you—how much his presence and his words had started to shape your thoughts. You couldn’t deny that you felt a strange sense of security when you were around him, a feeling that only grew stronger with each passing day.

As the lunch bell rang and people started to get up, you stood with him, quietly gathering your things. Ni-ki followed you out of the cafeteria, his presence close behind you, and you didn’t voice it, you didn’t mind having him by your side. Not one bit.

The days blurred together, and without realizing it, Ni-ki’s influence over you deepened. It started small, with offhand comments he’d make during class or when you were walking home together, words that felt comforting at the time, like whispers of protection. “No one understand you like I do,” he’d say, casually brushing your hair out of your face or squeezing your hand.

At first, it was easy to dismiss. A small comment here and there, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone. But slowly, those comments became more frequent, more insistent. Ni-ki’s voice seemed to crawl into your mind during the quiet moments when you were alone, when the noise of the world faded away.

“You don’t need them,” he’d tell you, his voice soft but certain. “They only want something from you. They don’t care about you, not like I do.”

It was subtle at first—just little seeds of doubt about the people around you, people you had known for years. The classmates who had once made you feel safe now started to feel like strangers, like people who would only bring harm.

The bullies, those who had tormented you and others for so long, would occasionally come to you, apologies on their lips or fake smiles plastered on their faces. They’d try to beg for your forgiveness, as though everything could just be forgotten with a few words. You had tried to be kind, to forgive them in the past, but now? Now it felt wrong. Ni-ki’s words echoed in your mind every time one of them came near.

“You don’t owe them anything,” he’d whisper. “They don’t deserve your kindness. Don’t be fooled by their fake apologies.”

And so, you didn’t. You turned away, ignoring their desperate attempts to make amends, not feeling guilty or conflicted anymore. They didn’t deserve your forgiveness. They hadn’t earned it, not after everything they had put you through.

But it wasn’t just the bullies. Ni-ki’s words had woven themselves into your everyday life, shaping your thoughts and actions, slowly erasing the boundaries you once held so firm. He started influencing the way you saw people, the way you interacted with them. Slowly, everything became a reflection of what Ni-ki wanted, a twisted mirror of his desires.

And Ni-ki knew it. Every time you followed his guidance, every time you chose to act in a way that fed into his plans, there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes, a quiet pleasure in his smile.

It was as if he could feel the power he had over you, the way your thoughts bent to his will, the way your heart seemed to beat in time with his words.

“You see?” he’d murmur, that sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The world’s a lot easier when you’re with me, isn’t it?”

You didn’t have the words to fight back. You didn’t even want to anymore.

The more he was with you, the more his words echoed in your mind, the more you realized that the satisfaction he found in your compliance wasn’t just for him. It was for you, too. You wanted to make him proud, to feel his approval. It became your quiet obsession, that each small action you took to please him made you feel good.

The line between what was right and wrong began to blur, as Ni-ki’s influence crept deeper into every part of your life. You found yourself thinking less about what you had always known and more about what Ni-ki told you was true. His twisted view of the world started to become your reality.

And somewhere deep inside, you knew this wasn’t normal. But it felt too good to stop. It felt too easy, too natural to follow him, to listen to his words.

And with every step you took further into his world, Ni-ki’s smile grew just a little wider.

--

The late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets as you walked home. The air had a faint chill, and your bag felt heavier than usual after the long day spent visiting your family. You adjusted it on your shoulder, absently scrolling through your phone as you neared your apartment.

Suddenly, someone walking toward you collided into your shoulder. The impact jolted your phone from your hands, and it clattered loudly onto the sidewalk. You gasped in surprise, looking up at the person who’d bumped into you.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man snapped, his tone laced with irritation. He didn’t even glance back as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and kept walking, his head bowed against the wind.

Your mouth opened to retort, but you decided against it, your annoyance bubbling silently. With a sigh, you bent down to retrieve your phone, brushing off the faint scratches on its case. Muttering under your breath, you straightened up and continued on your way, your steps quicker now as the fading light seemed to make the streets feel emptier.

But you didn’t get far.

Just a few blocks from your building, you collided with someone again. This time, the impact was sudden and hard enough to make you stumble back a step. “Oh, I’m so sor—” The words barely escaped your lips before you felt something press firmly against your face.

A cloth.

You froze in shock as a strong hand gripped the back of your head, holding the cloth against your nose and mouth. You struggled immediately, panic coursing through your veins. You thrashed, clawing at the arm that held you, your muffled cries lost in the fabric. The sharp, sickly-sweet scent of chemicals invaded your senses, making your vision blur.

Your heart raced as you kicked out, trying to fight against the overwhelming dizziness that began to take hold. Your bag slipped off your shoulder and fell to the ground with a dull thud, but the grip on you didn’t loosen. The person—no, the attacker—held you firmly, their breath steady against your ear as your strength ebbed away.

The world around you dimmed, your arms growing heavy as your movements slowed. Your fingers lost their grip, falling limply to your sides as your knees buckled.

The last thing you felt was the strong arm catching your weight as your consciousness slipped away, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears fading into nothingness.

You woke with a pounding headache, the world spinning as your eyes fluttered open. The smell of damp earth and mildew hit your nose, making your stomach churn. Blinking, you tried to take in your surroundings. It was dimly lit, the flicker of a single bulb swaying from the ceiling casting eerie shadows on the cracked concrete walls.

A chill ran through you as you realized you were sitting on the cold ground, your arms pulled tightly behind you. Panic surged when you tried to move and felt the rough bite of rope against your wrists. You were tied up.

Your heart raced, and you looked around the room. It was then that you noticed them—two figures sitting directly across from you, also bound. One was gagged, their muffled attempts to speak barely audible, while the other sat in stunned silence, their wide eyes staring at the floor as if processing their own horror.

Recognition hit you like a punch to the gut.

The first person was someone you recognized from school, a notorious bully. You’d seen them torment others countless times, their cruel laugh echoing through hallways. They looked disheveled and terrified now, their bravado stripped away as they squirmed uselessly against their bonds.

The second person made your blood run cold. It was the man who had bumped into you on the street, the one who had insulted you without a second thought. His face was pale, his body trembling as he glanced around the room like a caged animal.

“What the hell...” you muttered under your breath, your voice shaky and raw.

Neither of them responded to you directly. The bully’s gag prevented them from saying anything coherent, and the man’s eyes darted nervously between you and the rest of the room.

You tried to calm your breathing, your mind racing for an explanation. Why were you here? Who had brought you here?

Before you could piece things together, a sound broke the tense silence: the creak of a door opening.

Your head snapped toward the far end of the basement, where a narrow staircase led up to a heavy wooden door. The hinges groaned as it slowly swung open, and for a brief moment, the only sound was the faint echo of dripping water from somewhere in the room.

Then, slow, deliberate footsteps descended the stairs.

Your breath hitched as the figure came into view—a familiar white mask catching the dim light, its hollow eyes fixed on the three of you. The killer’s tall, looming form filled the narrow staircase, and your heart plummeted into your stomach.

It was him.

He moved with a terrifying ease, his boots thudding against the worn wooden steps. The bully across from you froze, their muffled cries growing more frantic. The man from the street tried to scoot backward, but his bindings kept him in place.

The killer reached the bottom step, pausing to survey the room.

Then his eyes found you.

“Awake already,” he said, his voice low and smooth, laced with a mockery that made your skin crawl. He stepped closer, the soft scrape of his boots against the concrete amplifying your fear. “I was hoping for a little more suspense, but I guess this works too.”

You couldn’t speak, your throat tightening as he approached. Your heart pounded so loudly you thought it might burst.

The killer stopped just in front of you, towering over you like a shadow. He crouched down slowly and you flinched back instinctively, the ropes biting into your skin.

“Don’t be scared,” he said, almost soothingly. “I’d never hurt you. Not like them.”

He jerked his head toward the others, his tone darkening. “They’re the real problem, aren’t they?”

The bully whimpered, their body trembling violently. The man from the street muttered something incoherent, his face pale with terror.

The killer’s head snapped toward them. “Quiet,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. Both of them fell silent instantly.

He turned his attention back to you, his tone softening again. “You don’t belong here with them,” he said, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “But I couldn’t risk letting you get hurt, either.”

You recoiled from his touch.

The killer chuckled, low and dark before standing to his full height. “You’ll thank me someday.”

He turned his back on you, walking toward the bully, who was now shaking their head violently, muffled pleas escaping through the gag. The killer tilted his head, as if considering them.

“You,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “The things I’ve seen you do. The way you treat people. It’s pathetic.”

He pulled a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming under the flickering light. Your stomach lurched.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t—”

He turned his head slightly, addressing you without looking back. “Don’t what?” he asked, his tone mockingly sweet. “They deserve it, don’t they? After everything they’ve done? After everything they would’ve done to you if I hadn’t stepped in?”

Your mind raced, panic gripping you. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

You pulled against the ropes desperately, but they didn’t budge. Your heart pounded as you watched the killer raise the knife, his focus solely on the bully.

You couldn’t look away.

The killer crouched over the bully, his movements methodical, almost clinical, as he ran the blade down their arm, leaving a crimson trail. The muffled cries of pain filled the room, mixing with the sound of your own panicked breathing.

“Shh,” the killer whispered, his voice soft, mocking. “We wouldn’t want to disturb anyone, would we?”

The bully’s head shook frantically, tears streaking their face as they squirmed against the restraints. The knife moved again, this time slicing into their leg, and they screamed against the gag, their body convulsing in agony.

You felt frozen, your mind screaming at you to look away, to close your eyes, but you couldn’t. The horrifying scene played out in front of you, each sound, each movement burned into your memory.

The killer leaned in closer to the bully, his head tilting in that unnerving way. “This is what happens,” he murmured, his voice dripping with venom. “This is what you get for being cruel. For thinking you’re untouchable.”

Blood pooled beneath the chair, thick and dark, as the bully’s movements grew weaker. Their muffled screams turned into whimpers, their head lolling forward.

The killer stood up, the knife dripping in his hand. He turned to the other man—the one who had bumped into you earlier. The man’s eyes widened in terror, and he struggled against his bindings, managing to let out a strangled noise.

The killer took slow, deliberate steps toward him, his boots squelching in the blood-soaked floor. The man’s cries grew louder, more frantic, and you could see the pure panic in his eyes.

“Quiet,” the killer snapped, his voice sharp. “It’s your turn, but I promise to make it quick.”

You saw the man try to shout, his body thrashing violently, but the killer moved with chilling efficiency. He raised the knife and plunged it into the man’s chest with a sickening thud.

The man’s body jerked once, his muffled scream cutting off as blood bubbled at his lips. The killer twisted the blade before yanking it out, letting the body slump back into the chair, lifeless.

The room fell into a deafening silence, save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the drip of blood hitting the concrete floor.

Then, slowly, the killer turned towards the bully.

He reached up, fingers hooking under the edge of his mask. You held your breath, your body stiffening as he began to lift it.

The white mask came off in one smooth motion, but from your position, you couldn’t see his face. His back was turned to you, shielding his identity.

What you could see was the reaction of the bully, who weakly lifted their head, their bloodied face twisting in horror. Their eyes widened, and a choked sound escaped their throat—half gasp, half sob.

The killer crouched in front of the bully, setting the mask down beside him. “You should’ve stayed in your place,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

The bully’s lips quivered, as if trying to form words, but no sound came out. They slumped further, their body trembling.

You didn’t dare move, your heart racing as you strained to make out his features, but the angle made it impossible.

The killer stood again, slipping the mask back on before turning his attention to you.

Your stomach churned as he began walking toward you, his footsteps unhurried, almost casual.

You pressed yourself against the chair, your mind racing for a way out, but there was nowhere to go. You were trapped.

His voice was calm, disturbingly so, as he crouched down in front of you, his bloodied knife resting casually in his hand. “People like them… they take and take, hurt and hurt, until someone stops them. I’m just doing what no one else will.” He said softly, almost as if speaking to a child.

You thrashed against the ropes binding you, the rough fibers biting into your skin. “You can’t just decide that!” you shouted, the words pouring out before you could think. “You’re not some kind of… of judge or executioner!”

The killer leaned forward, his presence overwhelming, his masked face inches from yours. You could feel the cold metal of the knife near your leg, the blood dripping from it staining the floor beneath you. “I don’t decide anything,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm, laced with a sinister undertone. “They decided it themselves. Every cruel word, every time they tore someone down, every life they ruined… they sealed their own fate.”

You shook your head vehemently, your breathing ragged. “That doesn’t make it right!”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating in the hollow space of the basement. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You still think the world is black and white, don’t you? That there’s some kind of fairness in it all?” He stood abruptly, towering over you, the knife twirling between his fingers. “The world isn’t fair. It’s a cruel, ugly place where people like them thrive because no one holds them accountable.”

Your voice cracked as you shot back, “And what makes you any different? You’re not saving anyone—you’re just a murderer!”

For a moment, the room fell deathly silent. The killer froze, his grip tightening on the knife. Then, he let out a dark, humorless laugh, his shoulders shaking. “A murderer?” he repeated, almost as if testing the word. “You’re wrong. Cause the difference is I know what I am.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, your body trembling as he slowly crouched back down, his masked face so close to yours.

“And here’s the thing, doll,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Deep down, you know I’m right. You’ve seen what people like them do. You’ve felt it.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words wormed their way into your mind. You hated how his tone softened, how it made him sound almost reasonable.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he continued, brushing a finger lightly against the ropes binding your wrist, his touch so delicate it sent chills down your spine. “You get it, even if you won’t admit it.”

Your breaths came out in short, shallow gasps as you watched him, your mind racing.

The killer stilled, his head tilting as he studied you, the sharp edge of his knife glinting in the dim light. “Where did the good version of you go?” he asked softly, almost disappointed. His voice carried a quiet intensity, laced with frustration. “The one who listened to me. Who followed my instructions without question.”

You blinked, confused and terrified, your lips trembling as you struggled to process his words. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your fear.

He let out a sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher scolding a wayward student. Slowly, he reached up to the edges of his mask, his fingers brushing over its smooth surface. “I guess it’s time we stopped playing this little game, huh?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, dread building with every passing second as he began to remove the mask. First, his chin came into view, sharp and familiar. Then his mouth—lips curved in a small, knowing smirk.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your stomach twisting into knots.

The mask came off fully, and your breath hitched as the rest of his face was revealed. Those eyes, dark and piercing, stared back at you with a twisted mix of affection and amusement. It was a face you knew better than anyone else’s.

“...Ni-ki?” you stammered, tears spilling from your eyes as your mind struggled to reconcile what you were seeing.

He tilted his head, his smirk widening into something more sinister. “Surprise,” he said, his tone almost playful, as though this was all some sick joke.

Your body froze, every muscle locking in place as you stared at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “No… no, this can’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s very real,” Ni-ki replied, crouching down in front of you so you were at eye level. His gaze softened for a moment as he reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you.”

You jerked your head away from his touch, your breathing ragged. “You—how could you—”

“How could I what?” he interrupted, his voice sharp now. “Do what needs to be done? Protect you from people like them?” He gestured toward the two lifeless bodies still slumped in the room.

“Protect me?” you choked out, incredulous. “You call this protection? You’re killing people, Ni-ki! This isn’t normal, this isn’t—”

“Shh,” he cut you off, pressing a finger to your lips. “Don’t ruin this moment with your panic. I know it’s a lot to take in, but think about it. Haven’t I always been there for you? Always protected you?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak as he leaned closer, his face just inches from yours.

“I did this for you,” he whispered, his tone eerily tender. “Every single one of them… they hurt you. Or they would’ve. And I couldn’t let that happen. I won’t let it happen.”

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head, your voice cracking. “You’re not the Ni-ki I know. You can’t be.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Oh, but I am. I’m the real Ni-ki. The one who loves you enough to do what no one else will.” His hand reached out, cupping your face as his thumb traced your cheek. “You just don’t see it yet. But you will.”

You flinched under his touch, bile rising in your throat as you tried to twist away from him. “You’re crazy!”

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, his voice sweet, dripping with affection. “That’s why I can’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Your breathing was shaky as you stared at Ni-ki, his face so familiar yet warped by the sinister edge in his expression. Tears blurred your vision, but you forced yourself to speak. “When… when did this start? Ni-ki, why—how did you—” You struggled to find the right words.

His head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a strange, unsettling mix of amusement and frustration. “When did it start?” he echoed, almost as if asking himself the same question. He leaned back slightly, still crouched in front of you, one knee on the ground, his arms resting on his bent leg.

There was a flicker in his dark eyes, a spark of something—anger, pain, sadness—all swirling together. He took a deep breath, his expression shifting to something almost depressing.

“You remember that week you got sick?” he asked softly, his voice calm but laced with something far darker.

You blinked, startled. “When I had the flu?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. You were out for almost a week. Barely even answered my texts. I was worried about you, of course, but… it wasn’t just that.” He paused, his jaw clenching as his tone grew colder.

“That was the week they started targeting me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

You froze, the blood draining from your face as you realized what he was saying.

“They,” he continued bitterly, his gaze hardening. “The second you weren’t there, they saw me as an easy target. Your absence gave them permission to attack.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “I thought I could handle it. At first, I did. But then… it got worse. They didn’t stop.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. His words poured out now, each one sharper than the last.

“They’d corner me. Taunt me. Spread rumors. Push me around in the hallways like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even human. And the worst part?” His voice cracked slightly, his fists tightening at his sides. “You weren’t there. You didn’t even know. I told myself it wasn’t your fault—you were sick—but I was alone, and no one cared. No one stopped them.”

His voice rose with each word, anger and hurt dripping from every syllable. You could see his hands trembling slightly, his chest rising and falling as his breathing grew heavier.

“Ni-ki…” you started softly, guilt twisting in your stomach.

“I didn’t deserve it,” he snapped, cutting you off. His eyes burned with fury now, his voice trembling with emotion. “I never did anything to them. I was your friend, but that was enough for them. Just being close to you made me a target.”

Your mind reeled, piecing everything together. Memories of those days flooded back—how Ni-ki had seemed distant when you returned to school, quieter, more withdrawn. At the time, you’d thought he was just giving you space to recover, but now you understood.

Your lips parted in recognition, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut. “It was them,” you whispered. “Those same people. They’re the ones who—”

Ni-ki’s head snapped toward you, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes: validation. He nodded, his expression a mix of satisfaction and pain. “You understand now,” he said, his voice quiet but intense.

But you weren’t finished. “They’re the reason you… snapped,” you said, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

His lips curled into a humorless smile as he tilted his head at you, studying your face like you were a puzzle he was finally solving. “Yeah,” he admitted. “They pushed me too far. And then… something inside me just… clicked.”

He leaned in closer, his voice soft but chilling. “I realized they didn’t deserve to get away with it. Not with what they did to me! They’re parasites, and the world is better off without them.”

You stared at him, trembling, your tears flowing freely now. “Ni-ki… this isn’t you. This isn’t—”

“It is me,” he said firmly, cutting you off again. His hand reached out to gently cradle your face, his touch surprisingly tender despite the blood still staining his fingers. “Oh, but this is the real me doll!”

“You can’t…” you choked out, your voice breaking. “You can’t just decide who deserves to live and who doesn’t. That’s not your choice to make!”

He smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek, smearing a tear. “Oh, but it is. Because no one else will. And I’ll keep doing it—again and again—even if that makes me seem crazy.”

You shook your head, sobbing quietly, but he only leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, his voice softening again. “I’m not the villain here. You’ll see that someday.”

You turned your head away, unable to meet his gaze, but his grip on your face tightened just enough to bring your attention back to him. “Someday,” he whispered, his lips brushing your forehead, “you’ll thank me.”

Ni-ki’s voice was calm yet insistent, each word weaving its way into your mind like a snake, coiling tightly around your thoughts. “They were the problem,” he repeated, his tone soft but unwavering. “Every single one of them. They hurt you, they hurt me, and they would’ve kept going. People like that don’t change.”

You shook your head weakly, tears blurring your vision. “No… no, you can’t just… You can’t decide—”

“I didn’t decide anything,” he interrupted, his voice sharpening just slightly. “They chose this. They chose to torment others, to stomp on anyone they thought was beneath them. You’ve seen it yourself. How many times have you been their target? How many times have they made you feel small?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. Memories of those moments flashed through your mind—the taunts, the rumors, the laughter at your expense. You could still hear their voices, their mocking tones, still feel the sting of their words.

Ni-ki leaned in closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “They didn’t care about you. About anyone. They’re leeches, feeding off other people’s pain. And you want me to just… let them live? To give them the chance to hurt someone else?”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “People can change,” you whispered, though even you could hear the doubt in your voice.

“Can they?” he challenged, his lips quirking into a bitter smile. “Tell me, have you ever seen one of them apologize? Have they ever truly felt sorry for what they’ve done? Or do they just pretend to care when it benefits them?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He sighed, his hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face as if he were comforting you. “You’re too kind,” he murmured, almost wistfully. “That’s what I love about you. But kindness doesn’t work on people like them. They see it as weakness. They use it against you.”

His words slithered into your mind like a viper, sinking their fangs into your thoughts. They coiled around the doubt already lurking there, tightening their grip.

“They were the problem,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “You know I’m right. Deep down, you’ve always known it.”

You shook your head again, but it was weaker this time. The venom of his words was spreading, clouding your judgment. Memories of the bullies flashed through your mind again—how they’d laughed at you, taunted you, humiliated you. How no one had stopped them. How no one had cared.

“They didn’t deserve it,” you whispered, though the conviction in your voice was faltering.

“Didn’t they?” Ni-ki pressed, his gaze never leaving yours. “Think about it. Think about everything they’ve done. Everything they’ve said. Did they ever feel sorry? Did they ever stop to think about how their actions hurt others?”

You stayed silent, your breathing shaky.

“They didn’t care,” he said, his voice low but firm. “They never cared. And they never will. People like them… they only stop when someone makes them.”

His words kept slithering into your mind, twisting around your thoughts until they were all you could hear. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but… was he?

You felt your resolve cracking, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy stone. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe they really wouldn’t have stopped.

Your silence seemed to embolden him. He smiled, leaning closer, his forehead almost brushing yours. “See?” he whispered. “You’re starting to understand. I’m not the monster here. I’m the one who’s doing what no one else will.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you didn’t speak. You didn’t deny him. You couldn’t.

Ni-ki smiled wider, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with a twisted kind of pride. “You’ll see. One day, you’ll see that I did this for us. For you.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out his words, but they were already there, buried deep in your mind.

You barely registered what was happening. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, the emotional toll of the past hours rendering you too drained to fight or even think straight. When Ni-ki untied your wrists and re-bound them in front of you instead, the shift barely registered in your foggy mind. You flinched slightly at his touch, but even that was weak.

Before you knew it, he was scooping you up, his arms cradling you securely as if you were something precious. Your legs, still bound, dangled uselessly. The motion made you groan softly in discomfort, but you didn’t resist. You couldn’t resist.

He carried you up the stairs, out of the dim, suffocating basement, and into a softly lit living room. The space was strangely simple, furnished with a small couch, a coffee table, and a few personal touches—a bookshelf in the corner, a stack of neatly folded blankets on a chair. It felt too… normal. Too domestic.

Ni-ki carefully lowered himself onto the couch, keeping you in his arms as if he were holding a fragile doll. He adjusted your position so you were leaning against him, your cheek resting against his chest. His fingers moved gently, brushing strands of hair out of your face, his touch light and tender.

“You’re so tired,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’ve been through so much. But it’s okay now. I’ve got you.”

Tears continued to stream down your cheeks, silent and unrelenting, as if your body didn’t know how else to process everything. You didn’t have the energy to speak, to scream, or even to flinch when his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears.

“Shh,” he cooed, his lips curling into a soft smile, though his dark eyes gleamed with something far less gentle. “No more crying, sweetheart. They can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now. Safe with me.”

You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he was the danger you needed saving from, but the words wouldn’t come. Your chest felt tight, the weight of everything suffocating you.

Ni-ki’s other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispered, his tone achingly sweet. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. Just like I always have.”

The warmth of his embrace was suffocating in its own way, the tenderness of his touch a cruel mockery of the terror coursing through your veins. But as the minutes ticked by, your body, weakened and overwhelmed, began to betray you. Your muscles slackened, your breathing evened out, and though your mind screamed for you to resist, the exhaustion dragged you closer and closer to unconsciousness.

Ni-ki noticed the change immediately. He shifted slightly, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over the both of you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment.

His eyes softened as he watched you, his gaze lingering on your face, as if he were memorizing every detail, every emotion flickering across your features. His fingers brushed lightly over your cheek, tracing the path of a tear you hadn't realized had fallen.

Then, slowly, he leaned down. You could feel his breath against your skin before his lips ever touched you, a soft, tentative brush against your temple. It was the faintest of touches, but the moment it happened, your heart skipped in your chest. His lips moved slowly across your skin, tender, careful, as if testing the waters.

You closed your eyes instinctively, your breath catching, not sure what to make of the emotions stirring within you. Your body reacted before your mind could process it—an unexpected warmth spreading from your chest outward, the quiet, gentle touch of his lips on your skin softening the frantic thoughts that had been chasing themselves through your mind.

Ni-ki’s kiss lingered on your forehead, then your cheeks, as though savoring each moment. He was taking his time, savoring the moment in a way that made everything feel too intimate, too personal.

As he kissed your jaw, you couldn't deny that your heart raced. It was a strange feeling, unfamiliar, and yet somehow soothing. His lips were tender, his touch softer than you expected. When he finally stopped, you opened your eyes, only to find him hovering over you, his lips just barely brushing yours.

He looked at you then, his dark eyes intense, searching. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but there was something else in his gaze—something that felt more possessive than loving.

"Can I?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if seeking your permission.

You blinked, the weight of his question sinking in. You had no words, no deflection, only the silent pounding of your heart in your chest. You looked up at him, and the moment seemed to stretch on forever.

With a soft sigh, almost as if resigned to whatever this was between you, you nodded. “Yes.”

The moment you gave your consent, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. Ni-ki kissed you with a quiet hunger, the kind that felt as though he were marking his place in your world, making sure you wouldn’t forget him. And in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and his lips claiming yours, it was hard to think of anything else.

Ni-ki, sensing your acceptance and the lack of resistance, initiated a deeper kiss, his lips pressing more firmly against yours, his tongue teasing and exploring.

You gasped softly, your breath catching in your throat as the intensity of his kiss took you by surprise. With your bound hands, you instinctively gripped onto his arms, your fingers tightening around his muscles.

The sensation of your touch seemed to drive him wilder, his kisses becoming more passionate and demanding, his lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of passionate marks. His teeth grazed your skin lightly, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

As Ni-ki pulled back just a fraction, you watched with a mixture of curiosity and tension. His hand reached down into the pocket of his jacket, and for a moment, you tensed—your body still wired with caution. But when he pulled out a knife, it wasn’t the sharp gleam of the blade that caught your attention. It was the way his gaze remained locked with yours, intense, but strangely calm.

He held the knife with practiced ease, his fingers brushing against the rope around your wrists. You held your breath as he made a precise cut, the rope falling away in seconds. The pressure on your wrists eased, but you didn’t move, not immediately. You kept your eyes on him, and he studied you back, as if waiting for a reaction, something that might hint at what you were thinking.

But instead of pulling away, instead of running, you found yourself unable to budge. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but they held you in place, as though you were stuck in an invisible web.

The silence between you stretched, and without thinking, without second-guessing, you slipped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He didn’t hesitate for a second. His lips found yours in an instant, and the kiss was urgent, almost hungry, as if he had been waiting for this moment. His hands moved and there was no mistaking the way he pulled you into him, as if he never wanted to let go.

When he finally pulled away, his lips still lingered over yours, his breath warm against your skin. You looked into his eyes, seeing the satisfaction there.

Ni-ki, with a hint of sadistic pleasure in his eyes, leaned in and kissed your lips, his movements calculated and precise. As he pecked your lips, his words flowed like honey, sweet yet dark.

"You know I only want what's best for you, don't you, doll?" he whispered, his voice laced with control. "I'm the only one who truly understands you. I can give you everything you desire, everything you've ever wanted."

Your lips, soft and pliable, parted slightly as if in agreement. You nodded, a slight movement that confirmed your acceptance of his words, your mind clouded by the intense passion he had instilled in you. The depth of your love for Ni-ki had clouded your judgment, making you susceptible to his every word.

"I can make you feel things you've never felt before," he continued, his voice low and compelling. "I can take you to places only I can show you. Trust me."

Your heart raced at Ni-ki's words, your mind a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. "I trust you," you said, your voice filled with surrender.. "Take me wherever you wish."

Your logic, once a steadfast companion, had fled, leaving you vulnerable to the allure of his charm. His words, like a drug, had you addicted and longing for more.

Ni-ki, with a calculated smirk, leaned in close, his eyes piercing into yours. His voice, laced with a hint of dark seduction, whispered, "You know you belong to me, don't you? I've crafted you into the perfect companion, one who adores and loves me unconditionally."

You no longer questioned, no longer resisted, for you had become a willing participant in his world.

Ni-ki's hands roamed over your body, a gesture that was possessive. His touch, once gentle, had transformed into a commanding force, a reminder.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded again, your mind a maze, created by Ni-ki. You had become his willing captive, a puppet. Your love, once pure and innocent, had morphed into something complex.

Ni-ki's kisses became more frequent, more insistent, as if he were claiming ownership over your very being.

"I love watching you surrender to me," he purred, his eyes dark with desire. "You're mine to command, and I will make sure you never question that."

You, under the spell of Ni-ki's kisses and his presence, felt a surge of something unknown.

"I want to be yours," you whispered, your voice soft and surrendered. "Command me, control me, and make me yours forever."

Ni-ki's kisses became more intense, his lips moving from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands, strong and assertive, roamed over your body, leaving no part untouched.

--

The next day at school, you walked through the halls with Niki at your side, the two of you almost in sync. Everyone around you seemed unaware of the shift, the change in the air. To the teachers, you were just another student; to your friends, you acted as though everything was perfectly normal. You laughed at their jokes, smiled when needed, and joined in conversations as though the world hadn’t turned upside down just a day ago.

But when the moments between you and Niki were private, things were different. You weren’t the same person you had been before; you were only his. Every glance he gave you, every touch, sent a spark through your body. And you, in turn, clung to his words, listening intently as he spoke, like they held the key to everything you needed to know.

The moments alone with him, in the quiet spaces between classes or in the halls when no one else was around, were when you felt the most alive. He’d find ways to hold you close, one hand on your back, the other gently cupping your chin to pull you in for a kiss that felt like it could last forever. Each kiss left you breathless, like it was all you needed in that moment.

You began to notice that Niki, too, seemed to only listen to you. The way he would react when you spoke, how he would follow your requests without hesitation, no matter how small or trivial. If you asked him to do something, he did it—immediately, without question. If you needed him to hold you, he would. If you wanted him close, he was always there, like he couldn’t bear to be any farther away from you.

--

Standing in the empty hallway, the buzz of the school day fading into the background, Ni-ki's strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you against him. His lips, soft yet demanding, met yours, and the kiss ignited a fire within you.

With each passing second, the kiss grew more intense, more passionate and you welcomed it with open arms, or rather, open lips.

As Ni-ki pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your lips, he smiled, a smile that held a mixture of satisfaction and mischief. "See how easy it is to let go?" he whispered, his voice low. "The way you surrender, the way you let me take control…"

You nodded, you didn't need to speak; your actions and your body language spoke for you.

His smile widened, and he leaned in once more, his lips finding yours with precision. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing and exploring.

The wall behind you provided support as Ni-ki pressed his body closer, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you tighter against him.

As the kiss lingered, you could feel his breath against your neck, his hot words whispered against your skin. "I love having you like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "So ready to give in to me."

You nodded again, a silent affirmation of your agreement.

Ni-ki's smile, a triumphant smile, told you everything you needed to know - you were his, and he had you exactly where he wanted you.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

[1800-fight-me]

Old man Logan going through the five stages of grief when you tell him you're pregnant, and the kid is his

Five Stages

Old Man!Logan Howlett x Female!Reader Rating: E (Explicit-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Warnings: Pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, explicit oral sex (f receiving) and explicit PiV sex, daddy kink Word count: A little over 2.1k Synopsis: As Charles' caretaker and Logan's long term lover, life hasn't been the easiest and a possible pregnancy throws a wrench into things. (Set before the events of Logan) Author’s note: With all my talk, I cannot believe this is my first fic with old man Logan, he drives me insane - please enjoy and thank you for the request!! P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Main Masterlist

At first you thought it was the flu. You were nauseous, exhausted, and had constant headaches. 

Logan brought you some cold medicine, but it wasn’t like you could go to the doctor- living in hiding pretty much prevented that. 

It was Charles’ odd comments to you about a new mutant that made you decide to take a pregnancy test. At first you brushed off his comments as due to his dementia, but eventually the signs became too hard to ignore. 

You gave Logan the list of supplies you needed to care for Charles and at the bottom you’d written a pregnancy test. 

He’d stuffed the list into his pocket without reading it, pressed a brief kiss to your forehead, and said a gruff goodbye as he walked out the door. 

It was a two day wait before you saw him again. You puked both mornings he was gone. The food you made for Charles made you sick and you missed Logan something awful. Your emotions were all over the place, but the strongest one was panic. 

You’d always wanted a baby one day, but then the world went to shit and it was impossible to live safely as a mutant, and life everyday was a battle for survival as you cared for an aging Charles and Logan tried to scrounge up enough money to get the three of you somewhere safer. 

This was not the ideal situation for a baby. Though if you were being honest, a part of you was thrilled. If you were pregnant, you wanted this, you wanted to have Logan’s baby- to be his in an irreparable way. 

You just weren’t quite sure how he’d feel about it. 

You stood before the stove and stirred a pot of soup. You hummed as you made dinner for you and Charles. Logan had texted you that morning that he would be back tonight, so you hoped he’d be back in time for dinner but you didn’t count on it. 

You hummed quietly and the peace of the moment was interrupted by the clanging of the door. 

Logan shuffled in and you gasped at the blood on his shirt. 

“S’not mine, princess,” he grunted as he sat down heavily at the chair before the kitchen table. 

You sighed in relief and took a step towards him but he leveled a glare at you. 

He had a paper grocery bag, he’d sat it on the floor next to him. He reached inside and tossed a box towards you. 

It slid across the table and stopped just before it fell off. Right in front of you laid a pregnancy test- it was as if he’d thrown a grenade. The both of you just stared at one another. 

“You wanna explain this?” He asked. 

“I’ve been sick…” you whispered. 

‘Why did I have to find out from a fuckin’ grocery list babygirl?” He asked sharply. 

You gulped. 

“I-I could be wrong, maybe it’s just the flu, I don’t- I was worried you’d be upset with me and clearly you are so-“ 

“C’mere,” he grunted. 

You sighed, knew there was no arguing with him, and took the few steps towards him. As soon as you stood close enough to reach he pulled you onto his lap. 

“I could never be mad at you,” he said with a sigh as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and buried your face in his neck. He held you tight and ran one hand up and down your back. 

Your heart slowed its rapid pace. 

“Go take the test,” he said and you stood, prepared to do as he said. His hand slipped down your arm and held onto your hand. 

“You're not gonna give your daddy a kiss?” He said and his eyes twinkled as he teased you. 

You smiled for the first time in days and leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chapped lips. 

He smacked your ass gently as you walked out of the kitchen and you swiped the pregnancy test off the table as you left. 

Several excruciatingly long minutes later you walked back into the kitchen. 

He looked like he’d cleaned up a bit, at the very least changed his shirt into one that didn’t have dried blood all over it. 

You loved Logan, it didn’t matter to you that the metal inside him was slowly poisoning him and it didn’t matter that his body was aging and at this point he looked significantly older than you. He was still painfully handsome with his salt and pepper hair and rough beard. He was gruff, but only you knew of the gentleness within. You loved him more than anything, but you knew the stress he was under and worried that this would create even more. 

You slid the test across the table the same way he had, this time with tears in your eyes. 

He grabbed it with his large scarred hand and stared and stared and stared at it. 

He looked up and as his eyes met his, you swore the torrent of emotions within them mirrored the five stages of grief. 

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance- you watched him experience the full range within a few moments as he stared at you. 

This wasn’t the ideal situation for either of you to have a baby. But you knew Logan would be a good father, you knew you’d be able to figure it out as a team, you hoped it would be okay. 

He stood with a grunt and walked towards you. Your heart felt as if it were in your throat and you forgot how to breathe. 

You looked down at your feet unable to meet his heavy gaze. 

“Look at me, babygirl,” he murmured. With a gentle hand on your jaw and chin he lifted your head as he stood close enough that your chest brushed his. 

There were tears in both your eyes. 

“You want this?” he asked gently. 

You nodded, unable to form any words. 

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Do you?” you finally asked, your voice more timid than you’d ever heard it. 

He wrapped you in his arms and held you tight. 

“Of course,” he said and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

You breathed out a shuddering sigh of relief and burrowed your face further into his chest. You sunk into his embrace and let a few tears slip from your eyes.

“Are you panicking as much as I am?” you asked after a few long moments of peace. 

He chuckled and said, “Probably, but we’ll figure it out.” 

You took a few more calming breaths. “Yeah, it’ll be okay.” 

He lifted you up and placed you on the kitchen counter behind you. A gentle hand caressed your stomach. 

“This isn’t the ideal situation to have a baby, but I don’t want you to worry, princess. Daddy’s got you. I’ll take care of you,” he said fervently. 

You curled your fingers into his gray hair and yanked his lips to yours. 

He huffed a laugh against your lips as he kissed you with the same passion. 

“S’your fault,” you murmured against his lips. 

He pulled back and glared at you, which caused you to giggle. 

“You forgot to pick up my birth control last month when you got Charles’ meds, remember? I went a few days without it,” you said as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, then down to his neck. 

His hand slid up to your throat, he gently gripped you - only enough to pull your lips from his throat and force you to look him in the eyes once more. 

“Really, you think that’s the reason- but who was beggin’ for my cock, huh? Who was beggin’ for me to come inside?” he said, his voice low in that dominant way that turned your brain fuzzy. 

“Me,” you breathed out. 

He smirked and pulled you to him again as he slotted his lips over yours. 

“You gonna do some more of that pretty begging?” he asked after several minutes of his lips on yours as he consumed you. 

You let out a shuddering breath. 

“Please, daddy, need you so bad,” you breathed out. 

He groaned and his knees cracked as he kneeled on the hard tile before you. Your breathing quickened as he spread your legs and slowly pushed his rough palms up your sensitive thighs. He pushed your dress up, up, up, until he could see your panties. 

You whimpered at the sight of him kneeling before you. 

“Gonna give you everything you need, princess. You’re giving your old man more than he ever could’ve dreamed,” he praised. 

Your breaths came quick and heavy and wiggled yourself closer to him. He chuckled at your eagerness and began to press gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh. 

His nose ran up and pressed against your needy pussy. He took in a deep breath and groaned at the smell of your arousal. 

“Gonna be my pretty little mama, huh? You gonna have my baby- be mine forever?” he practically growled as he yanked off your soaked panties. 

“Y-yes, yes, oh god, oh yes Lo,” you whimpered as his warm wet tongue licked you from your desperate hole to your clit. 

You gripped his silver hair as you clenched your thighs around his head. You squirmed where you sat on the kitchen counter, desperate for more of him. 

His expert tongue circled and flicked you at the center of your pleasure. 

Your spine began to tingle, your entire body filled with warmth, and your thighs trembled. You moaned wantonly as his lips surrounded your clit and he sucked. 

“Fuck, daddy, so good!,” you exclaimed. 

Just as you felt like the wave of pleasure you rode was about to crescendo, he pulled back. You gasped in dismay and almost came at the sight of him disheveled with your slick coating his beard. 

“Logan,” you whined and reached for him as he stood. 

He grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. 

“Patience, babygirl, need you to come on my cock,” he growled as he began to unbuckle his belt. You whimpered as you saw the evidence of his affection for you. 

Slowly, all too slowly, he unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, and finally pulled out his huge cock. 

He batted your hand away and yanked you to the very edge of the counter. As his lips crashed against yours he lined his cock up and with no preamble thrust himself inside you. 

You gasped at the taste of yourself on his tongue and the sudden feeling of fullness. 

Your head fell back and almost hit the cabinet behind you if it weren’t for his quick reflexes as he slid his hand and cradled the back of your head. 

He huffed a laugh and kissed you deeper as he tangled his tongue with yours. You wrapped your thighs around his waist and linked your ankles in an attempt to pull him deeper inside you, to somehow feel closer to him. 

All of the clothes still remaining on both your bodies frustrated you, but you were too desperate for him to pull away and rid either of you of any clothing. He pulled your chest tighter to yours with a hand on your back as he ground himself deeper inside you. 

There were no words to say, to define the feeling of connection and closeness, as he continued to thrust inside you and your breaths mingled as his forehead rested against yours. 

He noticed the shift in your breathing and slipped a hand between the two of you and pressed his thumb against your clit. 

With a kiss to your forehead he murmured, “C’mon, give it to me princess, you’re fuckin’ perfect- I love you so much.” 

You whimpered and tears filled your eyes as you clenched down on his thick cock and came. 

From the stuttering of his hips you could tell he was close too, and you pressed your lips to his and murmured, “I love you, Logan, please come inside me, fill me up, please.” 

He groaned your name into your mouth as he thrust once more, deep inside you and came. You felt perfectly, exquisitely full and there was no better feeling in the world.  

You rested your head against his chest as you both came down from such intense heights. 

His hand rubbed up and down your back. 

“We’re having a baby, Lo,” you mumbled. 

His hand again rested against your lower stomach. 

“Yeah, we are,” he said and there was a lightness in his voice you hadn’t heard in a long time. 

[hischierhoney]

bruised — a nico hischier x reader blurb

warnings: mentions of injury/bruises/blood, undefined relationship

There’s a bruise on Nico’s ribs.

It’s dark and purple and big, splotchy across his bare skin. It looks worse in the stark kitchen light at 2am than it did in the picture he’d sent you the day before. The one he’d taken in the hotel room, a funny grimace on his face, captioned with something about warning you so it didn’t scare you when he got home. Home. After nearly two weeks straight, he’s here. Standing in the kitchen, shirtless. Your kitchen. He’d gotten off the plane and got in his car and drove over.

It’s messing with your head, a little bit.

You’ve been friends with him for a while now, since he moved to Jersey and you made mutual friends. There was a shift, though, months ago- at the end of the last season, in that tiny sliver of time between seemingly endless games and his trip back to Switzerland. Maybe one too many drinks, a little bit too much mutual liquid courage. It had ended with you in his bed that night, and then in the morning, too, a sheepish grin on his lips and a blush on his cheeks.

Then he’d flown off to Switzerland and you’d moved on.

Until- until he came back, and he got stressed and complained about it to you, and you’d offered stress relief in the best way you knew how, and it ended with you on your knees, his head tossed back against the couch, and the look of relief on his face afterwards was so worth it. Worth doing it again, and again, and when you’d been stressed he’d reciprocated, taking you out of your own head for just a second, and-

And now you’re the type of friends who have to warn each other about their bruises, because he knows you’re going to see his bruises. Now he’s the type of friend who’s standing in your kitchen shirtless at 2 in the morning. Now he’s eating your ice cream, straight out of the tub, taking bites between sentences as he tells you about the roadie, as he complains about Jack’s yapping on the flight home, as he turns too fast and winces, his hand coming up to press at his ribs, still holding the spoon between his fingers.

“Looks worse than it did in the pictures,” you tell him, nodding at his side.

His face twists. “Feels worse than it did,” he admits.

He must see the worry on your face, the frantic feeling of did you get it checked are you okay what if you’re hurt, because his face softens, and he gives you something between a smile and a grimace.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Nothing’s broken. Was just a hard hit.”

“This is where you tell me I should see the other guy,” you say, laughing, hoping he believes it’s genuine.

You can’t explain it, is the thing. Why you’re feeling like this. It’s just. The bruise is giant, and you’d watched him take the hit on your tv screen, watched him get shoved up against the boards, and. It had nearly wrenched your heart out of your chest. Like someone had reached past your own ribs and squeezed. And you didn’t understand, still don’t, because he’s played hockey the whole time you’ve known him and you’ve never felt like that before, never been curled up on the couch, hand pressed to your mouth, waiting for him to get back up. Get back up. Please get back up. Come on, baby, get up-

Nico sees straight through you. He sets the ice cream down and makes his way around the kitchen island, a soft smile on his lips. You bite back a gasp when he takes your hand in his, his fingers still cold from the carton, and brings it up to his side. To the bare skin, mottled with dark colors.

“I’m okay,” he says, looking down at you where you sit on the stool. “I don’t break that easily.”

You chew on your lip, thinking of concussions and scratches and that clip of him playing in Switzerland over the summer, blood running down his cheek, the one that almost made you call him even when you swore you wouldn’t be that girl. You press your palm over the bruise, softly, and find relief in the warmth of his skin. It’s just a bruise.

He leans down and presses a kiss against the crown of your head, and then stays, nose buried in your hair. He cradles the back of your head in the palm of his hand, holding you close, and- this feels like something friends don’t do. It feels like more.

“I’ll always come back to you, baby,” he says.

The ice cream is melting on the counter. But when you lean up to kiss him, you can’t bring yourself to care.

…..

hi this popped into my head and i had to write it. very much unedited hope you enjoyed!

…..

[fatecantstopme]

Unattached Drifter Christmas

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: Dean decides he’d rather spend Valentine’s Day curled up on the couch with you.

Warnings: Cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), oral (M & F receiving)

A/N: in honor of Valentine’s Day, I gift you an adorable Dean Winchester fluffy smutty delight. 💜

"What are your plans, Sammy?" you asked from your perch on the kitchen counter.

"I happen to have a date," he replied with a smirk.

"Oooo with whom?"

"Just a nice local girl I met at the library last week."

"Sam Winchester and the nice local girl...sounds like a book I'd read," you teased.

He rolled his eyes and threw a dish towel at you. "What about you?"

"I have an excellent night planned," you confirmed. "Since Dean will be out cruising for ladies to go home with, I figured I could steal the Dean Cave for the night. I'm ordering a pizza, watching scary movies, eating a shit ton of junk food, and washing it all down with a bottle of wine."

Sam laughed. "Now that sounds like a party."

"Someone say 'party'?" Dean asked as he entered the kitchen.

"We were just discussing our Valentine's Day plans," Sam responded.

"You celebrating Unattached Drifter Christmas?" you asked in a teasing tone.

Dean shrugged and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. "Nahh, I think I'm gonna sit this year out. I'd rather stay home."

"Awww man," you grumbled.

Dean looked at you with an arched brow. "Is that a problem?"

"No," you answered quickly. "It just puts a bit of a wrench in my plans."

"And what are your plans?" he asked.

"I was gonna take over the Dean Cave for the night--scary movie marathon, pizza, snacks, alcohol."

"Pizza, snacks, and alcohol is my holy trinity," Dean said with a wide smirk. "Would you be opposed to me crashing your party?"

"You hate scary movies," you said.

"Yeah, but you love them," he countered. "I'm the crasher, so I'm not gonna demand a change in movie genre."

You smiled at him. "Alright, then you can come. I'll even supply beer."

Dean winked at you. "The way to my heart," he teased.

You rolled your eyes and hopped off the counter. "Oh, did Sam mention he has a date tonight?"

Sam shot you a look and you hurried out of the kitchen, laughing quietly as Dean started to tease his brother.

"A date, baby bro? Look at you!"

**********

You'd sent Dean to pick up the pizza while you set up the Dean Cave for the evening's festivities. You'd made a run to the grocery store earlier in the day to pick up yours and Dean's favorite snacks, as well as a decent supply of wine and beer.

You were more than satisfied with your selections, but for some reason you felt anxious. Well...to be honest, you knew the reason. You hadn't expected Dean to be staying home and you certainly didn't count on him joining you for the evening.

You'd known Dean for a little over five years and in that time you'd grown to care about him deeply, more than you should. He was a genuinely good person underneath his gruff exterior, a facade he had dropped with you long ago.

If you were completely honest with yourself, you knew you loved him, but you would never say anything to him. You knew him too well. Dean had lost virtually everyone he'd ever loved and he blamed himself for their deaths. He avoided romantic relationships like the plague because he didn't want to add another name to the body count. It was hard enough for him to bring you into his life as a friend, and there was no way he would risk anything more than that.

So of course, you kept your mouth shut, hiding your feelings from both Winchesters. The only person that knew how you felt was Jody and she would take that secret to the grave if you wanted her to. You would rather have Dean as a friend than lose him completely.

You tossed your favorite oversized blanket onto the couch with a sigh. You were trying not to think about curling up next to Dean for a movie marathon on freaking Valentine's Day of all days. You knew it was the romantic nature of the day itself that had your stomach in knots. You'd watched movies and binge ate with Dean countless times before without issue, but there was an added intensity to this instance simply because it happened to be February 14th.

You also couldn't help but wonder why Dean wasn't planning on going out. You couldn't remember the last time he neglected to celebrate 'Unattached Drifter Christmas' as he'd always called it. In fact, Dean hadn't been out to pick up a girl in weeks...you were struggling to recall the last time Dean didn't decline a girl's invitation to come home with her.

"I've brought sustenance!" The man in question spoke from behind you, startling you out of your thoughts.

"Jesus!" you yelped.

Dean chuckled lightly. "Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to scare you."

You shot him a look that clearly said 'I wasn't scared', which only caused him to laugh harder.

You tossed a piece of popcorn at him and headed towards the door. "I'm gonna change into comfy clothes before we get started."

"Good idea," he agreed, placing the pizza down on the table before following you out the door.

Five minutes later, you came back into the Dean Cave wearing your most comfortable leggings and an oversized worn out band tee you'd had for at least a decade. You'd opted to forgo a bra for comfort's sake and you hoped Dean wouldn't notice.

Dean was already sitting on the couch, wearing his gray sweatpants and a plain black tee. It was almost offensive how hot he looked in that outfit--no man had any right to look that good in sweatpants.

When you walked in, Dean's gaze traveled from the TV to you. You noticed his pupils dilate slightly as he looked at you, but you figured that was due to the change in light.

You plopped down on the couch beside him, leaving plenty of space between the two of you to avoid any awkwardness. "Ready to be terrified?" you teased.

Dean groaned softly. "You know I'm only watching these because you love them."

You grinned and snagged the remote from him. "They're so good!"

"Our life is a scary movie," he grumbled. "I don't know why you like these."

"I think that's actually why I like them. Our real lives are full of the kind of shit that would make people lose their minds, but for us, it's just another Tuesday. These movies are either cheesy as hell or have an exaggerated version of a monster we have hunted and killed--so it becomes entertaining instead of scary."

Dean raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Or you're crazy."

You smiled at him and shot him a wink. "That's just an added bonus."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a slice of pizza. As he shoveled food into his mouth, you opened up a streaming service and typed in the name of the first movie you wanted to watch.

"You remember The Conjuring right? And Annabelle?"

"Yeah," he answered. "That Annabelle one was creepy as hell."

You grinned. "Well this one is in the same universe and I've been dying to watch it."

You pressed play on the remote and the opening credits of The Nun began to play. You snuggled up under the blanket and sighed contentedly, a piece of pizza in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

Dean glanced at you and couldn't help the soft smile that graced his lips. It was rare he got to see you truly happy and content, so this was a moment he intended to fully savor. He studied your face, desperate to commit it to memory, unwilling to forget how beautiful you looked in this moment.

He sighed softly and closed his eyes, still picturing your face clearly in his mind. It brought another smile to his lips and he breathed in deeply, smelling a mixture of your shampoo and your perfume. He wanted you to be closer to him, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

He made a split second decision and voiced his request aloud, "It's a little chilly in here. Do you mind sharing the blanket with me?" He wasn't cold at all, but he thought it might get you to move closer to him to share.

"Oh! Sure." You smiled and scooted in his direction, holding the edge of the blanket out to him.

He took it and started to cover himself. "You're gonna need to come a little closer, sweetheart," he said with a chuckle. "I need a bit more coverage."

You laughed and moved even closer to him so your arms were now touching. "Better?" you teased.

"Much," he affirmed.

You tried to keep your body relaxed and focused on the movie, but Dean's proximity was overwhelming your senses. You could smell his aftershave, feel his body heat, and see the rise and fall of his chest much more clearly than before. The simple act of a man breathing should not be a turn on...yet here you were.

You shifted slightly as you felt a familiar wave of heat pool in your belly. Not now, you thought to yourself.

"You okay, doll?" Dean asked softly.

His voice sounded lower than before, huskier even, and you had to bite your lip to keep from audibly moaning. As it was, you could feel the slick gathering between your legs, which was mortifying enough.

"I'm fine," you lied, shifting again.

Dean wrapped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. "Come 'ere," he muttered. "Get comfortable."

You gasped softly at the sudden movement, but you allowed him to pull you closer. You laid your head against his chest and sighed quietly. You had to admit, it was a much more comfortable position to be in, even if it increased your longing.

"Better?" he whispered, echoing your earlier question.

"Yeah," you mumbled.

Dean smiled down at you even though you couldn't see it. He liked this new position--he liked holding you. He knew he was crossing boundaries he'd never intended to cross, but his feelings had become unbearable as of late.

He couldn't remember a moment when he didn't want you and it was getting harder to remember a time when he didn't love you. The last couple months had been hell on his heart and he was starting to break. He hid it from everyone, especially you, but he knew he couldn't do that for much longer.

His random hookups had stopped alleviating his desire to be with you, instead increasing that need tenfold after every encounter. So he stopped hooking up with women altogether. He'd considered moving out of the bunker for a while to get away, but he couldn't do that to Sam or to you.

He found himself in a predicament he'd been trying to avoid for years and the walls he'd built around his heart had started to crumble. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you safe--he'd rip out his own still-beating heart if he had to--but he couldn't find the strength to stop loving you. No matter what he did, his love only grew.

It wasn't fair to you and he knew he shouldn't love you, shouldn't tell you, shouldn't pull you into something with him that would almost certainly get you killed, but his own pain was becoming too much. The physical ache in his chest when you were apart was beginning to impact every part of his life, including hunting. He'd be lying if he said it didn't terrify him, but he couldn't fight his feelings any longer.

"(Y/N)?" Dean asked softly.

"Hmm?" you hummed, eyes still trained on the TV.

"Can you look at me, sweetheart?" he murmured.

You shifted your head to look up at him. You were struck by how brilliantly green his irises looked in the dimly lit room, your lips parting slightly in surprise.

Dean's heart was hammering in his chest so quickly he was certain you could hear it. When your pretty (y/e/c) eyes met his, he was immediately lost in them--adrift in an ocean of (y/e/c).

He knew this was it--it was now or never...he could either take the leap or let his pain drown him in loneliness. He chose the former. He lowered his head the short distance to place a soft, warm kiss against your lips.

The moment you felt his lips on yours, it was like the world stopped spinning. Suddenly there was nothing but you and Dean--nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. Just you and Dean.

When your lips began to move against his, returning his kiss, he groaned happily. His hands grabbed at your torso, seeking comfort in your soft flesh. He tugged you towards him, and you shifted your body to straddle his lap, lips never leaving his.

In your new position, you could feel his hardening member pressing against your clothed core. You ground against him, earning a moan from deep in his throat. His hands tightened their grip on your hips and your nails dug into his shoulders as the sensation sent a bolt of electricity through you.

Dean's hands snaked under your shirt and he began tugging it upwards in an attempt to remove it. The logical part of your brain suddenly kicked back on and you grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Dean--wait," you gasped, pulling away from him slightly.

His eyes widened and his body tensed. He quickly removed his hands from your body and held them up in surrender. "I'm sorry, we can stop. I--"

You shook your head. "I just need...I need to say something." You bit your lip. "I don't wanna be a one night stand or a friends with benefits thing. I-I can't, Dean. I can't."

The pain in your voice nearly broke his heart. He wanted to reassure you, but he wasn't sure you would believe him. He had a reputation and it was Valentine's Day...what were the odds you'd believe him?

"(Y/N), listen to me," he said gently, taking your hands in his. "I would never ever make you to do something you didn't want to do...and I would never purposefully hurt you. I need you to know that. Do you know that, (Y/N/N)?"

"Yes," you whispered, nodding slowly.

"Good...because I mean it. I can't do any more one night stands or casual hookups or friends with benefits situations. I can't handle any of those things anymore than I can pretend I don't need you. And I do need you, (Y/N/N). I need you in every way a person can possibly need another...mentally, emotionally, physically--all of it. You're the best part of my fucked up life and I don't want to lose you."

It was rare to see Dean so open and vulnerable. This was one of the very few times you'd been witness to it, but this was, by far, the most emotional moment you'd ever shared with him. You wanted to respond, to say all the things you'd carried in your heart for years, but you couldn't think of a single word to say.

Your silence dragged on long enough that Dean began to worry he'd crossed a line he shouldn't have...a line he couldn't uncross. "Please, (Y/N)," he begged. "Say something."

"I'm sorry," you said quickly, realizing you'd been silent too long. Dean's face fell and you knew he believed you were about to reject him. You placed your hands against his chest in a calming manner, desperate to infuse your love in the touch.

"You're not going to lose me, Dean," you assured him. "I'm not going anywhere...my place is here, with you. This is where I belong--where I want to be. Wherever you are is home to me."

He didn't need grand gestures or romantic poetry. He didn't need some eloquent speech about how much you loved him. All he needed was to hear your sweet voice saying he was your 'home' and he was a goner.

When his lips met yours for the second time, everything felt different. It was as if all the moments of his life before this were in black and white and he was seeing in color for the first time. He felt alive in a way he'd forgotten--whole, in a way he'd never experienced.

He'd had very few positive relationships in his past and most of them ended bloody. He'd thought he'd been in love before, but those feelings paled in comparison to the way he felt about you. This was love, a love so real--so lasting--it was branded into his very soul.

His fingers gripped the edge of your shirt again and this time, you allowed him to remove it. "Fuck," he groaned, hungry eyes trained on your naked chest. "No bra?"

"I wanted to be comfortable."

His large, calloused hands gripped your heavy breasts and he gently kneaded the supple flesh. "I want my girl to be comfortable all the time," he murmured. "So I think we should burn all your bras."

Your soft chuckle morphed into a moan as his lips found one of your nipples. You rolled your hips against him, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

Dean wanted to take his time with you and he was thoroughly enjoying his current activities, but it seemed you had other plans in mind.

"Dean," you whined. "Need you."

He gave your nipple one last gentle lick before lifting his head. "I'm right here, baby."

You rolled your hips against his throbbing cock and he groaned. Clearly you wanted more and he was in no position to deny you anything.

He gripped you tightly and stood up. You yelped in surprise and wrapped your legs around his waist. He turned around so your back was to the couch and he slowly lowered you down, placing you on the couch in front of him. He kneeled down and looked up at you, eyes dark with desire.

His hands slid slowly up your thighs, coming to a stop at the hem of your pants. "Can I take these off?"

You nodded rapidly.

He smirked and began to peel your leggings down at a painfully slow pace. You whined in annoyance, but Dean simply smiled. "Patience, sweetheart."

Finally, your pants, and subsequently your underwear, were tossed onto the floor, leaving you completely bare before him. There was a small part of you that felt self-conscious being naked in front of Dean. It was always uncomfortable for you the first time you found yourself in this position with a new man, but Dean was different. You weren't sure if it was the hunger in his gaze, the affection he clearly had for you, or the love you felt for him...you felt safe, you felt comfortable, and you felt loved. That was all that mattered.

Dean licked his lips in anticipation as he slowly spread your legs, revealing your soaking wet pussy to him. He groaned softly, spreading your legs wider to get an even better view.

"Now that's the prettiest pussy I've ever seen," he murmured. He slid a finger between your folds to collect some of your juices before bringing the finger to his mouth. He sucked it clean with a moan of enjoyment. "Delicious."

Before you had time to react, Dean had grabbed your hips and dragged you forward so you were closer to the edge of the couch. His mouth was on you in an instant, feasting on you like he might never eat again.

Your head fell back against the cushion and soft moans began to stream from your lips. Your legs rested on his shoulders and your hand gripped his hair tightly. Salacious sounds filled the room and you were glad Sam was gone for the night. You had a feeling it was only going to get louder.

Dean's experience in the bedroom was very evident as he ate you out. He was extremely skilled, but more importantly he paid attention to you. He was desperate to learn exactly what drove you wild and he wouldn't stop until he'd mapped out all of your pleasure points.

"Dean," you gasped softly, grip on his hair tightening.

He knew you were close, the way your legs began to tremble and your grip on his hair indicating your impending orgasm like a flashing neon sign.

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place so you couldn't squirm away. With expert precision, Dean spelled his own full name against your clit with his tongue, sending you into a spiral of moaning, shaking bliss.

Dean continued to lap up your juices as you came down, and to your surprise, he didn't stop, even as you began to tug on his hair in earnest. "Please, Dean! Too much," you pleaded.

Dean sucked your little bundle of nerves into his mouth and slipped two fingers inside of you. He quickly found your sweet spot and began to drag his fingers along it repeatedly. The shock waves of pleasure had you changing your pleas to moans in seconds.

Your pussy gripped his fingers like iron and he couldn't wait to feel you grip his cock in the same fashion. He hadn't even been inside you yet and he already knew he would never want another woman's body the way he wanted yours.

"Dean!" you cried out, thick thighs squeezing his head, hips gyrating against his mouth as you came once again.

He lapped up everything you had to give him hungrily--wishing he could stay between your legs forever. This time, however, he allowed you to pull him up by his hair.

You were completely breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly. Dean licked his lips and wondered how sexy you'd look riding him, breasts bouncing as he slammed up into you.

"I think," you mumbled, "you have...too much...clothing on."

He laughed at your breathless remark. He had to agree with your sentiment, so he stood up and removed his shirt quickly. When he stood, you were rewarded with a nice view of his erection pressing against the confines of his sweats.

He smiled at you and slowly lowered his pants, revealing his very large member. The tip was red and throbbing, precum leaking from the slit. You licked your lips and eyed him hungrily, wanting to wrap your lips around it with a desperation that surprised you.

"Sit," you begged.

Dean smirked and obliged, sitting down beside you. You slid off the couch and crawled the short distance to settle between his legs.

Your soft hands wrapped around his cock and he groaned softly. "You're so big," you whispered.

"Your hands are small," he teased.

"But my mouth isn't."

Dean didn't have the time to process your sassy comment before your mouth wrapped around him and you began to suck his cock in earnest.

"Holy fuck-" he groaned, head falling back against the cushion.

He tangled his hand in your hair and gently guided your head as you began to take his cock deeper into your throat. You flexed the back of your tongue as you did so and he groaned loudly.

Having gotten the reaction you'd desired, you did the same move a couple more times, allowing his cock to almost leave your mouth before sucking him deep into your throat.

His grip on your hair tightened and his hips thrust forward, causing you to gag slightly. Instead of trying to lift off him, you breathed deeply through your nose and held steady, relaxing your throat as best as you could.

"Baby, you're doing so good for me," Dean murmured. "Making me feel amazing."

You moaned around his cock and reached between his legs to cup his balls and give them a gentle squeeze. His hips bucked slightly at the action, causing you to smirk.

You continued to suck his cock until he tugged your hair a little more harshly. "You gotta stop, doll, or I'm gonna cum."

You hummed in disappointment, but allowed him to pull you off his cock with a soft popping sound. He looked down at you with lust filled eyes and beckoned you towards him.

"Come up here, baby. I wanna touch you," he begged.

You climbed onto the couch with him, straddling his legs once again. You lowered yourself slowly, rubbing his cock against your wet core. You leaned forward to kiss him and repeated the action. He moaned against your lips before pressing his tongue against them, demanding entry.

You parted your lips and kissed him deeply, allowing his tongue to assert dominance. The kiss was passionate and loving, but the fire that burned inside of both of you in that moment only cared about pleasure.

"I need to be inside you," Dean whispered against your lips.

"Please," you begged him, rutting against him once more.

He gripped his cock tightly and lined himself up with your entrance. Once the tip pressed against your tight opening, he released his grip, hands settling on your hips to help guide you down.

You moaned softly as you continued to lower yourself onto his cock--the stretch both painful and enjoyable all at once. He was larger than you were accustomed to, both in girth and in length, and it almost felt as if you were a virgin all over again.

You had to lean forward, pressing your body against his for support as you lowered yourself down completely. You'd never felt so full, your toes curled at the mere feeling.

"You okay, baby?" Dean murmured, hands gently rubbing soothing circles into your back as he allowed you time to adjust.

"Never better," you whispered in reply.

You pulled yourself up into a proper sitting position and gasped as he somehow sank even deeper into you.

Dean worried he'd hurt you until he saw the look in your eye. His concern quickly turned to a smirk of pride. He pressed his hand against your lower abdomen and growled, "You feel that, baby? I'm so deep inside you, you'll be feeling me for days."

You moaned softly, his words having the desired effect on you. You rolled your hips a little and he hissed softly.

"Fuck, doll."

He gripped your hips as you started to move, bouncing up and down on his cock slowly.

His lips attached themselves to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone--anywhere he could reach. He was reveling in the feeling of your soft body against his muscular one, your curves providing him with plenty of flesh to hold on to.

"You feel so good, baby," he moaned in your ear. "Pussy squeezing me so tight--can hardly breathe."

"Feels good, Dean," you whimper.

"Yeah, baby? You like the way my cock feels in your pretty little pussy? Stretching you just right--you were made for me."

You preened at the praise, which only made him want to praise you more.

"This perfect body of yours makes me feel so good, sweetheart. You take my cock so well. Wanna stay here forever just making you feel good--listening to those sweet sounds you make. Fuck, never wanna stop."

You loved his praise, but your thighs were starting to get tired from the exertion. Dean could feel you slowing down, so he pulled you forward, pressing your chest flush against his.

"I've got you, baby. Let me take over," he whispered.

You gripped his shoulders and nodded, more than willing to allow him to take control.

As soon as he felt your body relax against him, he planted his feet firmly on the floor and began to piston up into you. He held you tightly against him to prevent you from moving too much.

"Dean!" you cried, nails digging into his shoulders.

His cock pressed into your g-spot with each thrust and in a matter of moments, you were teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

"Can feel you squeezing me, baby. You gonna cum for me? Huh?" Dean asked huskily. "You gonna coat my cock with your sweet cum, baby? Cum for me, sweet girl. Wanna feel it."

You loved the way he begged and it had you coming undone in an instant. You screamed his name as your walls fluttered around his cock. It took all of his focus not to cum along with you.

"That's my good girl," he whispered. "I'm gonna cum soon, doll. Where you want it?"

"Inside me," you begged. "Please, Dean--fill me up."

"Oh, fuck-" Dean moaned loudly as he came, coating your walls with his seed.

After a few more thrusts, Dean stilled. He continued to hold you tightly against him, needing to feel you close to him as he came down from his high.

He rubbed your back soothingly and placed a soft kiss to your damp hairline. "You were so good for me, (Y/N/N)."

You kissed his shoulder. "Felt so good, Dean."

He smiled and squeezed you tighter. He sighed contentedly, enjoying the feeling of the woman he loved pressed against his chest.

His cock had begun to soften and his cum was leaking out of you and onto his thighs, but he couldn't be bothered. Taking care of you was his one and only priority.

"Do you need some water, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

You shook your head.

"Food?"

You shook your head again.

"Tell me what you need, baby," he begged.

You finally lifted your head to look him in his eyes. "I know it's cliché to say I love you after sex, but I don't care. I love you, Dean...I love you wholly and completely."

Dean nearly breathed a sigh of relief at your admission. "I can't even begin to express how happy it makes me to hear you say those words. I've been pushing the feeling down for years, but I can't do it anymore, (Y/N). I love you with everything I have--it might not be much, but it's yours. You have me forever--mind, body, and soul."

You smiled and gently caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. You kissed him softly, which he immediately returned in kind.

When you separated, you noticed a mischievous glint in his bright green eyes. "Dean?"

"What are your thoughts about round two in my bedroom?"

You laughed lightly. "Are you gonna kick me out of your bed at 2am?"

"Not if you don't snore," he teased.

You smacked his shoulder affectionately and he laughed. "You're lucky you're so damn cute."

He grinned. "Actually, I'm adorable."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You know, I think I like the idea of round two."

Dean smiled and pulled you even closer. "Hold onto me, sweetheart."

You gripped him tightly and he stood up, holding you to his chest. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he headed towards his bedroom.

When he entered his room, he gently tossed you onto the bed, earning a soft giggle from your lips. He climbed on top of you, pressing sweet kisses to your skin for several moments before finally kissing your soft lips.

"I'm glad you skipped 'Unattached Drifter Christmas' this year," you murmured.

He smiled. "Me too, baby. I think it's more 'Attached Drifter Christmas' now."

You laughed. "I love you, you dork."

He kissed you again. "Not as much as I love you."

The two of you spent the next couple hours continuing to explore each other's bodies, experiencing blinding pleasure over and over again.

Nothing could ever compare to the love you felt for each other, and in spite of everything, you both fell asleep in the comfort of each other's arms, dreaming of the beautiful future ahead.