#what did fiona apple say again

[sonicnurse]

i wish i could buy back the woman you stole.

i wish i could buy buy the woman you stole

[godmadeaterribleerror]

What You Do

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving, fingering), light angst, light fluff, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this.

But the asshole is still going to try.

Author's Note: Back on my (not) sex pollen bullshit. Enjoy!

Title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple

Word Count: 7.6k

Sometimes you wish Dean was just a little bit worse of a person. 

He seems to think he’s a worse person. He thinks he’s a bad person. 

He’s not. 

Because a bad person would have left you to writhe and moan on the floor after you got hit with this stupid curse, snapping at you to stand up and pull it together. But Dean had fallen to his knees at your side, brushing away your hair and wiping sweat and blood from your skin. With his hands. Big hands. Big, warm, rough hands with strong, deft fingers that always move so deliberately, that can bruise and mark your skin and fill you up and-

You wished you’d had the strength and mind to push him away in that moment. To grab those hands and shove them away from your face, because where they were usually sparking fireworks, they were setting off nuclear explosions. You wished you’d screamed at him in that moment to at least stop cradling your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones and sending lighting through your blood and into your gut.

But you hadn’t understood what this was. You’d really thought that you were just high on adrenaline and Dean’s touch, the combination making you hornier than usual. 

You’d been so fucking wrong. And now Dean won’t stop being a good person, and it’s going to kill you.

He’d insisted on carrying you. You’d taken two, shaking steps, your knees had bucked in an attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs, and Dean had simply refused to let you fall.

“Dean, I can get it, I just need to keep-“

“You say trying,” He’d snapped your name, hooking his arm under your knees and hauling you up his chest. “I’ll fucking shoot you.”

Normally you would’ve protested—insisting that you did need to keep trying, and Dean was just being dramatic—but he’d been warm and strong around you, muscles flexing and shifting as he walked back to the Impala, and your face had come into dangerously close contact with his neck. 

You’d bitten through your lip in order not to brush soft kisses over his jaw, suck a spot on his neck, or bite him and see what he’d do to get you back. You’d only made it to the car—and later, into the motel—because you’d been able to bury your face in his skin, and it had tided you over. The smell of Dean—evergreen and spice and gunpowder and something you knew to just purely be him—acting as an anesthetic. Dulling the stabbing, throbbing, and aching pain between your legs and in your gut, soothing your heart back down from the franticly paced rhythm it had set since you’d been hit by that spell.

When he’d set you down on the bed, there had been a brief moment of relief—no more reason to worry about accidentally jumping on him at the worst possible time—before it had all gotten worse. Dean had drawn away, and everything had become a white-hot flame on your every nerve and a sore, blistering cold on your skin. You’d screamed, Dean had rushed back to your side, and he’d started to touch you again. Looking for a wound or mark on your body that he could blame.

There wasn’t one. This was entirely the curse. And every time Dean drew away it was worse—sweat staining your clothing and shivers moving up and down your spine—so you’d agree for him to just stay near you. On the edge of the bed, not touching you because that made everything worse in a different way. Proximity was the best he could offer. 

But it wasn’t a fool proof. You were still going out of your mind with desire. And Dean was not helping. He was still being a good fucking person, and he wouldn’t leave you alone. You’d been rolling and moaning into the sheets, whining and humping the air, and Dean had just sat there. 

His arms had been braced on his knees. You’d almost started crying as the memory of those knees being shoved between your thighs had sent a newer, stronger wave of desire through your body.

Just another reason Dean needed to go. He’d been refusing to look at you—only staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen—and that makes your lungs feel like iron in your chest because why. Why wouldn’t he look at you.

It could be is that he was disgusted by the sight of you. That he’s only ever seen you like this in low, glowing darkness, and when you’re cast in the shifting sunlight between the blinds, he can’t pretend you’re just another body in a bed. Maybe this is making that too real for him. That you’re the one that makes those desperate sounds that always make his hips stutter. You’re the one who grinds like this onto his dick, and who scratches at his back the same way you’ve been scratching at the mattress.

But then sometimes Dean would look at you, and it was far worse. You couldn’t read that expression, either because he didn’t want you to, or because nothing existed outside of Dean when he looked at you. Things like reading him—studying his every breath and shift in the chair—didn’t matter. He was so handsome. Strong jaw and tanned skin, small freckles you could map in your sleep—you’ve certainly done it before, in the dead of night when he couldn’t know—and green eyes that were almost too pretty. They were like falling stars. Bright and colorful and never yours to just reach up and take. Passing by you in the night. Never colliding with you in a way that would leave a damage you’d love to suffer through.

Dean would look at you, and you’d get lovelorn and drunk on his attention, and then you’d make a lewd sound you couldn’t swallow and buck off the bed. 

And he’d cough, sit up a little taller—more vigilant, like he could just defend himself for the horrible sight of you—and look away.

And you’d be left in pain and want again.

He’d kept trying to talk to you, while you waited for Sam to call him back with a name for this curse, and a way to cure it. 

“So, uh.” He’d cleared his throat, the sound had been gravely and rough, and you’d almost flown out of your skin. “We’re gonna have to stick around for a few days, to make sure this isn’t a coven situation, but we can do whatever the hell we want. Long as we’re in town. I was thinking, I saw a movie theatre-“

You’d gasped, something jumpstarting in your chest and shooting into your gut at the idea of going to see a movie with Dean. His hand on your thigh in the dark, wandering up your leg and tracing pattens, leaning down to your ear to whisper bad jokes, chuckling when you told him to shut up, but fully laughing when you’d joke back-

“Shit, are you-“

“I’m fine.” You’d said, and you don’t think he’d believed you. Fuck, you hadn’t believed you. “Movie sounds good.”

“Yeah, uh, I saw a diner too. We could do a movie, and get dinner.”

You hadn’t been able to see him. You’d started to lie flat on your back a few hours ago, and Dean had been nothing more than a deep, strong voice that sounded like rainfall and crackling fire in your head. Drowning you in the sound and echoing it around your skull, ravaging through you with just noise and igniting an iridescent light on every part of you he’d touched before.

He’d touch you everywhere before. He’d touched you at a diner. Bumped his foot with yours under a table, raised his brows in a silent question, and smirked when you’d given a small nod. He’d knocked on your door that night. He’d been gone from your bed the next morning. 

And dinner and a movie wasn’t what you and Dean did. You did things like that.

But Dean had been suggesting it. Saying it casually in that impossibly powerful voice. You’d had to bite down a scream at the idea of getting to lean over the table in the diner—wiping some crumbs off his lips as he grinned at you—and he’d still been talking- 

“Then I saw an awesome looking carnival a town over, we could check that out-“

You’d passed out. 

When you’d woken up, Dean was hunched at the side of the bed, muttering low words into his phone. 

The first one you’d been able to make out was Sam.

You’d never moved faster in your life.

You’d grabbed the phone out of Dean’s hand, ignoring his grunt of protest and how touching his hand had made you a little dizzy. “Sam Winchester, if you can’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m going to throw your fucking hair mousse-“

“I don’t- Uh-“ Sam had cleared his throat through the speaker. “How did you know about-“

“I get bored and snoop.” You’d snapped. “Nothing gets past me, Samuel, and I swear to god I’m going to take all the razors you hid and let Dean shave your head-“

“Jesus,” Sam had muttered your name, and it hadn’t been a good sign that the didn’t sound mad or annoyed. He’d sounded like he pitied you. It had made your whole body tense. “It’s really that bad, isn’t it.”

You’d frowned into the air. “I don’t-“

“The curse. You’re really pissed, Dean says you get like that when you’re, um…“ Sam had trailed off, and you’d scowled.

“When I’m what?”

 “I don’t wanna say it.”

“Sam-“

“Pent up.” Sam had muttered, the words clipped through the speaker, and if the thought of him dead didn’t make your heart fracture and splinter, you would’ve killed Dean right there. The asshole.

He’d still been sitting on the bed. If you’d leaned a little closer, you would’ve collapsed over him. He’d needed to stop looking so fucking worried. Being so warm you could feel it radiating from his body and seeping into your skin and stoking that need-

“Sam,” you’d whispered, your fingers curling in the sheets and your nails pushing into your skin. “What’s going on?”

He’d let out a long breath, only static silence on the phone for a long moment before he spoke. “I think it’s a famine curse.” 

“Oh.” You’d said, then blinked into the air as the words actually sunk in. “What?”

“Look, just so you know, I told Dean it was a sex curse. This isn’t really my thing to tell him, and it’s not technically a lie, but you are going to have to tell him or this, it will kill you-“

“It will what?” Your voice had cracked, and Dean had frowned. 

“Are you-“

You’d given Dean a thumbs up, lowering your voice to a hushed, nervous whisper. “Sam, please just say it, I don’t know what going on and I’m so tired and it hurts-“

“It’s-“ Sam had sighed, his voice far too fucking gentle. “The thing you’ve been starved off and craved the most, you need to have it, or you’ll die.”

 You’d shaken your head, falling flat onto your back. “I don’t know what I-“

“Yeah, you do.” Sam had said, and now you understood the sympathy. The pity. The rambling and awkwardness.

Because Sam knew. You’d gotten really drunk and cried about the thing to him a year ago. He rarely mentioned it, but he knew.

And this wasn’t going to get better. Not until you made it better. 

Until Dean made it better. 

So you were fucked. 

“What do I do?” You’d whispered into the phone, closing your eyes to pretend Dean wasn’t only a few feet away. “This isn’t going to- There’s nothing that will- Sam, what do I do-“

You’d started to cry, Dean had moved to hold you in a flash—taking the phone and muttering to Sam that he’d deal with it before hanging up—and after your breathing had steady back to a ragged rhythm, you’d gotten a text from Sam.

Tell him.

You’d stared at the screen, ready to throw it across the room or smash it to pieces so you could just die in peace, and another message had come through. 

Please.

And now you’re here. And Dean’s still being a good person, and you can’t do this.

He thinks it’s a sex curse. Sam had apparently said that you needed intimate connection, Dean had taken that to mean sex curse, and Sam hadn’t correct him. In Dean’s defense, it really does seem like a sex curse. You’re twisting and grinding and moaning on the bed, your skin long bare because clothing stuck to your skin and felt acidic on your body, and you’re pretty sure he can smell your arousal, but you don’t crave sex.

Dean offers you plenty of it. You haven’t wanted for sex in almost three years. 

What you want is going to be impossible to have. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t do love. 

And he still won’t stop being a good person.

He tells you it’s okay to rub one out. He cares so much that you’re comfortable. He keeps putting water on the bedside table so you don’t pass out again, and he coaxes you out of bed for food with slow, firm words.

“You need to eat.” He mutters, reaching for your body but flinching back at the last second. You have to bite down a whine. “You look like shit, sweetheart, and until you let someone help you, we’re going to need to keep your energy up.”

You shake your head, burying your face in a pillow and bunching the blankets between your legs, managing to relieve enough pressure to speak. “I don’t wanna.”

“Don’t wanna-“

“Move.” You mumble, rubbing your thighs together. “It hurts-“

Dean says your name, his voice low and rough and not at all helpful. “I’ve told you I’m okay dealing with this-“

“No.”

“Why the hell not? It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and you know we’re good together-“

Your gaze goes a little blurry, and you almost pass out again. He can’t keep saying shit like that. 

“Dean, I-“ You roll onto your back to glare at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks concerned. And handsome. And a little flushed as he watches you hug your chest and fuck the mattress. 

You can’t look him in the eyes. 

You can’t really do anything at all.

“Please just drop it.” You curl further into yourself, praying he’s started to stare at the floor again. “Please.” 

Dean lets out a long breath, but he does. He drops it, on the condition that you eat. And when you do, he keeps trying to talk to you, and you’re too exhausted to tell him to shut up.

“What’d you mean, when you told Sammy you snoop?” He asks, and it takes three steady breaths to answer him.

“Sometimes you guys go out, I stay behind, and I get… bored.” 

“Bored?”

You nod, fidgeting with your fingers and trying not to hump your chair. “I go around and find where you’re hiding things.”

“Like...” Dean pauses and you can hear his confused frown. He’s probably making an adorable face. You wish you could look at him and not moan. “Hair gel and razors?”

“And romance books. And a secret laptop for personal use.” You drop your brow to fully rest on the table, raising your voice. “And a Taylor Swift cassette tape, and a very soft blanket, and three emergency pies-“

“Alright, alright I get it.” Dean chuckles, and the sound rolls right through your body. “You’ve really just poked in our business, huh, sweetheart?”

“You poke in mine all the time, Dean-“

“I don’t know where your secret stash of shame is-“

“And you never will,” you mumble, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I hid it where even demons wouldn’t want to go.”

Dean hums. “Sammy’s room.”

“No.”

“Your room?”

“That would be a terrible hiding spot-“

“My room?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean’s tone becomes disbelieving.

“You hid it in my room?! What’d you do that for?!“

“Shut up.” 

“Nah, baby, you’re gonna have to explain that one-“

“Dean!” You snap, glaring up at him. “Shut up!”

You’re looking at him. His eyes are darkened. And you’d misread his tone. It’s awe on his face. Awe and confusion.

You fall out of your seat with a moan.

Dean catches you. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters, half dragging you back to the bed and placing you carefully on the mattress before digging through his jeans. “If you’re not going to let me help you, I’m calling Sam and he’ll- fuck- he’ll do it-“

“Dean, no-“

“Yes.” He snaps, shooting you an almost violent glare. “I don’t know what the fuck I did that you don’t want to touch me, and I’m not gonna cross that line, not for nothing, but we’re still fixing this. You don’t want me, you get Sam. You don’t want Sam, I’m calling Cas. You don’t want him, you better start brainstorming, sweetheart, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to just fucking sit here and watch you die-“

You’re going to start crying again. It’s all too much. He sounds angry and your cursed and addled brain can’t handle it. You’re burning up from the inside. You’re breathing and it doesn’t feel like oxygen because Dean’s mad and you can’t do anything-

“Please don’t call them.” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest. “They won’t be able to help.”

Dean shakes his head, his focused, furious determination not breaking. “Then what the hell will help?! Because you’re going to have sex! You’re not allowed to clock out on me,” he shouts your name, and now he just sounds pained, and it’s worse. “I don’t- I’m not- If I can’t be the cure for this we’re finding someone who can-“

“It won’t work-“

“Yes, it will! Sam said you needed to fuck, you’re-“

“That’s not what Sam said.”

There’s a long pause as Dean blinks at you, and then-

“What are you talking about.”

“He said I needed an intimate connection.”

“Yeah, sex-“

“No-“

“It’s a fucking sex curse, baby-“

“Stop saying that!” You scream, and the room seems to be spinning a little bit. “Stop calling me baby! It’s not fair, and I- I can’t- You’re making it worse, Dean! Just stop being so fucking nice!”

The silence is going to suffocate you. It’s like oil and gasoline leaking into your lungs and surrounding your body, and you’re going to drown in what feels like nothing at all as Dean’s just silent-

Dean says your name, his every word slow and measured. “What kind of curse is it.”

“Dean-“

“You said it’s not a sex curse.” He snaps. “So what the hell is it.”

You swallow, and you’re too far gone now to push back. “Famine curse.” You whisper. “I- I need something that I’ve been starved off. And craved.”

You can hear his frown. “But we fuck all the time-“

“We do.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palm over your pussy. It doesn’t really help. “It’s not just about the sex. It’s- I need more.”

“More…” Dean trails off, and you’re defiantly crying now. “More intimacy? Would we like, need to cuddle or something-“

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “More than cuddling. It’s- You’d have to- I-“

Dean says your name in a low warning, and you might break that hand between your thighs. ‘What-“

“You’d have to mean it. You’d have to, um, fuck me and-“

“And mean it? I always mean it-“

“You have to love me!” You almost scream, your mouth moving faster than any sense of self-preservation or will, and you’ve fucked it.

You’d said the thing. You weren’t even supposed to think it. You’d trained yourself to keep it only a ravenous, deep and insatiable feeling inside your body that picked up and rioted when Dean was around you and grew bitter and heavy when he wasn’t.

But you’d said it. 

And he’s not gone. He didn’t fly out the door or scramble off the bed with wide eyes. He’s not reminding you in gentle but firm words that that is not what you two are supposed to be. 

But what he does is worse. He leans over your body to look at you, takes your face between his hands and scans over your slack, open features, and says your name.

You pass out again.

It’s not hard, waking up. This time it’s simple and slow, a comfortable weight draped around your shoulders a sense of ease filling your whole body. 

There’s a strong arm wrapped around your stomach, and a warm thumb rubbing small circles on the bare skin of your waist, and nothing is aching or painful at all.

Oh.

Oh, no. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is low in your ear, and you almost moan again. He’s not naked behind you, but he’s changed into sweats, and his shirt is gone. You can’t stop the frantic grind of your ass back into him, or the desperate sound that leaves you when Dean’s grip tightens, stopping any further attempt to move on him.

“Please,” you whisper, squirming against him, because if you’re going to die from something as dumb and pathetic as this, you might as well go out with Dean buried inside you. “Dean-“

“None of that right now.” He mutters, completely pinning you against his chest. “Not yet. We gotta talk first.”

“Dean-“

“You want me.” 

“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean hums, his voice slightly hoarse.

“You love me?”

“I love you.” You can’t stop the words, and he’s still not gone.

His hand starting to drift lower. And when he speaks, and his voice is almost a growl, and you’re going to implode or explode or something. Burst into flames somehow, because that’s his I’m going to fuck you so good, baby, voice.

“You need me to mean it?” He mutters in your ear, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah, Dean, but you don’t have to-“ 

Dean grabs your chin and angles your head back, slamming his lips into yours with a bruising but careful force, and you don’t explode. You melt. Molding against his body and going slack in his arms, leaning your head back to try and devour the taste of him. Cheap coffee and mint and that purely Dean thing that’s always been like a drug. Always hooked you and dragged you right into him. 

This won’t be different. It might end in your heart literally breaking, but you’ll still be chasing him until your legs give out. If he catches you, he catches you. If he doesn’t-

There are worse deaths that this.

“Sit back, sweetheart.” Dean murmurs against your skin, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “I’m going to mean it so hard you’ll see stars.”

“Dean, I- It’s more than that-“ 

He cuts you off with another kiss. He needs to stop doing that, because now he’s being soft and sweet, running his tongue over your teeth and letting you melt all the way into his touch without thought. Teasing you with a deep hum that you can feel in his chest behind you, making your eyes flutter close as you let yourself get lost in him. How good he is, how he good tastes, how good his hands feel as they start palm at your tits-

You gasp as he pinches and rolls a nipple between his fingers, and you’re already so overstimulated from nothing at all that it’s like being slammed with a freight train. A good freight train. A freight train that’s made of Dean’s mouth starting to wander down your neck, and his thumb rubbing soothing circles around the peak of your breast.

“I know, baby.” Dean keeps speaking against you, and it only stokes the borderline maddening need for him in your body.  “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. You’re drowning in this almost primal need for him, and he still hasn’t said the thing that would save you, but he’s got you. 

And you’d trust him. With everything you have, you trust Dean. Every single shadowed and scarred and mauled part of you has long known that, even when you have nowhere and no one, you have Dean. Not the way you want, but at your side in the day and above you in the dark. He can be a protector and a secret. You really could’ve lived with both, if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking curse. 

But Dean says he’s got you, and you can’t think of anything to do but believe him. Especially because this isn’t the dark. There are lamps on, and he can see you. All of you, naked in his arms, and making lewd sounds as his knee shoves between your legs and his mouth starts to suck small marks on your neck.

He’s never done that before. Dean’s only marked you between your thighs and on your breasts. You think he’d liked that only he would be the one to see them. He’d been possessive every time he’d put laid them there, muttering low praise and gripping you tight enough to bruise your hips, tracing rough fingers over the dark spots with a gleam in his eyes you’d never allowed yourself to read into.

He’s being possessive now, too. Every time he moves to a different spot on your neck, he kisses the mark he’d just left, and he’s trapping you against his knee with an arm over your stomach, growling as you grind against him and throw your head back on his shoulder.

“Dean,” you gasp, your nails digging into his skin as he flicks your nipple. “God, please, I- I need- Need it-“

“’S alright, pretty girl.” He mutters, and your hips jerk against him. “Just let go, I’m here-“

You scream as you cum, and Dean grabs your chin, keeping your head against him as he swallows the sound with a groan.

“There’s one.” Dean smiles against your lips, and your wiggle against him as he rubs his knee back and forth on your cunt. “Good work, baby.”

For a second, everything is okay again. Dean’s kisses wander over your jaw, he’s still holding you, and the bliss in your body is only a clear, dazed light in your head and gentle warmth in your gut. 

But then the light becomes blinding and searing in your skull, and the warmth becomes fire. Leaving blisters on your organs and making your skin spiked and wired and burnt-

You barely have a moment to shriek before Dean’s kissing you again, and it dulls everything but the pleasure. Just Dean’s tongue pressing onto yours, his hands gripping you by your hips and rolling you onto your back, his body covering yours entirely as he pulls away with a wide, almost boyish grin to look at you.

You’re a mess. You must be a mess. You’re wet in every possible sense of the word—arousal leaking between your thighs you know he’d been able to feel on his knee, sweat pressing your hair to your brow and staining the sheets below you—and you’re flushed and panting and a little fucking dizzy as you hang on the edge of. This isn’t how you’d want Dean to see you. Not like this, not for the first and last time, not when your breathing is ragged and you’re already wrecked and he looks like a god-

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, shaking his head like he almost can’t believe. “Shit, baby, you’re gorgeous.”

You whine, because it’s all your mouth can manage to figure out how to do, and if you’re hot Dean’s volcanic. His nostrils are flaring as he scans over you, his skin looking like it fucking glows and his body carved from your deepest desires, and his cock is big and proud and poking on your thigh, and his eyes-

There’s a gleam in them. The possessive gleam you’ve never seen in full light. It’s intoxicating, and aimed at your soul like the barrel of a gun. 

Dean starts to move again, and all you can do is let him work. Let him leave those same marking kisses down your chest—between and across your breasts, briefly sucking each nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue before moving on—and over your stomach, trailing feather-light touches over your torso and arms and waist, driving you out of your mind as you focus on breathing. Just breathing as your body starts to roll and rush with pleasure, and your head just spins around Dean. Everything smells like him, and you can hear him groaning against your skin, and you can feel him everywhere.

He’s reached your abdomen. And when his mouth finally drops lower, all he does is press one, soft kiss right over your clit before drawing back. Letting two broad fingers run over and between your pussy lips, spreading your folds wide for him to see and pressing his thumb right over your cunt without breaching inside.

“So fucking wet,” Dean says your name, and you really wish you could see his face right now. See if he looks as awestruck as he sounds.

You make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be his name, and he chuckles.

“Jesus, babygirl, you’re fucking soaked. Bet this pussy is ready for a proper fucking.” He presses his thumb slightly down, and if you had the energy to spring off the bed, you would. “But I think you’re going to need to hold it for a second. Let me get you nice and ready to take this cock.”

Your fingers curl in the bedsheet as you try to figure out how to scream at him to just take you, to stop being so fucking good and just fuck you, but you can’t. All you can do is listen to Dean’s deep, lustful drawl and hope you look half as pretty as he pretends you are.

Dean drags your hands from the sheets to tangle in his hair, and all you get is a small squeeze of your thighs before he’s shoving them fully apart and burying his face in your cunt.

It’s unfair, how good Dean is at this. He can’t be handsome and funny and able to ruin you with just his mouth, but he is. He knows exactly how to touch and taunt and toy with you, how to play with your pussy until you’re higher than fucking heaven. He tongue-fucks your cunt with an almost brutal fervor, and his strong nose rubs back and forth of your clit, and fuck, his hands are teasing at your thighs and keeping your legs split open for him to devour you. 

You’ve never made these sounds before, and it’s spurring him on. Dean starts to circle your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking and rolling until you’re in a frenzy, and his stubble is perfectly soft and rough on your skin, and his teeth are grazing you ever so slightly-

You don’t scream this time. You moan and choke on air as you cum, and a flood of warmth rushed through your dripping cunt as you tug at Dean’s hair. 

He rises up, wiping his face of something shiny and wet that you might have put there, and grins at you with bright, sparkling eyes. 

“I didn’t know you could squirt.” He examines his fingers, looking back to you with a wide grin “We’re gonna have to figure out how to make you do it again, though, because that was fucking hot.”

You didn’t know you could squirt either. And you’d linger on how you might not have an again, but this relief is lasting longer, and Dean decides it’s a good idea to lick his fingers clean. 

You’d had just enough strength to push up on your palms. You almost collapse back down at the sight, the ache starting to reignite between your legs. 

But it’s not enough to hurt, though. This orgasm seems to be cresting, tiding you over for a little until the curse regains its hold on your body, and you plan to take full advantage of that. Dean’s still hard. And massive. And fucking throbbing.

You need him. Now.

When you move to your knees, crawling forward on the bed, Dean’s eyes widen.

“Shit, wait, sweetheart-“

You surge up when you meet him, crashing your lips to his and hanging off his body as he holds you upright. Thank god, he lets you have this. Dean groans into your mouth and ruts into your thigh, tugging on your hair to grant himself further access to your lips and throat. 

You lower yourself to your knees and take Dean’s cock in your hands, slowly pumping him as he keeps a hand in your hair, shaking his head slightly.

“Baby, you don’t have to-“

“I do.” You whisper. You have to. Not for the curse, but for you. He needs to feel good too. You have to taste him, feel him heavy on your tongue and hear him groan when you touch him-

“I-“ He lets out a low groan as you run your thumb over his already weeping slit, and God, he’s so handsome. “Are you feeling-“

“I’m good. I promise.” You stroke him one last time before leaning back, rising your arms over your head as you hold his gaze. “Please.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters your name, rubbing his jaw. “You’re- shit, okay.”

You smile at him as he moves to straddle your chest, bracing one hand on the headboard and the other in your head. 

“Don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you, baby.” He mutters, pressing his dick on your lower lip and grunting when you part for him. “So fuckin’ pretty. Gonna fuck your mouth until you scream, sweetheart, so you need to-“

You grip Dean’s thighs, fully opening your mouth in a silent invitation, and his eyes flash, his hand tightening in your hair.

It’s all the warning you get before Dean shoves his cock between your lips and starts to rut into your mouth. He’s bumping the back of your throat and groaning your name above you, and he looks divine and tastes like salt and earth and Dean. 

“God, you feel so good,” his words are fully slurring, low and almost a growl as you hollow your cheeks. “Shit, babygirl, you’re a fucking sin, look so beautiful suckin’ my cock, so fuckin’ good-“

He’s so fucking good. Dean’s head thrown back and his eyes hooded and trapped on yours, his biceps flexing as he leans forward and angles your head, and the ache is starting bubble over again so you drift a hand between your legs, and every time his hips jerk you whine and swallow around him-

“Fuck-“ Dean hisses, and he pulls away from you with a pop and groan, grabbing your wrist and pinning it back above your head. “Can’t do that yet, I told you we need to hold on-“

“Please,” you whisper, the pain starting to become overwhelming again. It’s worse this time. You feel like you’re being flayed alive every second Dean’s skin isn’t pressed to yours, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on for. “Dean, I need you, please.” You almost sob, and his jaw clenches. “I’m sorry, I just, it hurts-“

This is the softest kiss so far. Just a press of his lips on yours, the type of kiss you’d give a real lover, just to assure them you’re there. That you’ve got them and you’re never letting go.

“I know, sweet girl, I know. I’m gonna take care of you.” Dean scans over you, his voice so painfully gentle. “How do you-“

“However you want.” Your voice is barely a breath, and you spread your legs as wide as you can, praying he’ll just take what he wants.

But he’s a good person. So he doesn’t. Dean presses one last kiss to your brow, rolls you above him, and guides you down onto his cock. 

You make a loud, shameless sound of relief as he bottoms out. You’re in a daze of pure Dean—filling you up and pressing deep inside of you and so good—and when you start to rock your hips, he lets you. Dean just watches you grind onto his dick with a dark, slightly glazed expression, grunting when you roll in a circle and holding you upright by your waist.

He lets you set the pace, lets your hands wander over every scar on his chest and your body writhe above him.

“Dean-“ You gasp, falling forwards to kiss him deep and desperate into the pillows. “I- you’re- God-“

He sucks on your upper lip, his voice only a growl that rumbles right into your cunt. “Say it again.”

“Dean-“

“No.” His hips jerk up, his grip tightening slightly. “Say the thing.”

“I love you,” you moan, and this time there’s no panic. He already knows. And whatever he asks of you, you’ll offer. Anything to stay here. Stuffed with Dean’s cock, a little high on how he’s watching you like you’re the first sunrise. “I love you, Dean, you’re- fuck, you’re so good-“

The sound that leaves Dean is feral, and he flips you over without effort. Pulling out briefly to reposition you beneath him, slapping the head of his cock on your clit, and shoving back into you with a groan and deep, rough kiss. 

His pace doesn’t change from what you’d set. It’s almost in perfect time, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of you and kissing all over your face as he drags you right back up to the edge. 

“Look at you, baby. Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ good,” he grunts in your ear, his skin slapping against yours. “So pretty, such a tight, sweet pussy, so good, all mine-“

You moan, squeezing around him, and Dean groans, speeding up just enough to slam against at gooey, needy spot inside of you.

“There we go, sweetheart, gimme one more-“

You shake your head, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to rub furious circles on your clit. “Dean- I can’t-“

“You can. I know you can, baby, you gotta cum-“

“Dean-“

“C’mon!” He growls your name, and he sounds almost desperate. “I’ve gotcha, baby, I’m here, you just gotta cum for me, fuckin’ cum-“

You think you scream his name. You’re not really sure. Pleasure numbs your every other sense as your orgasm hits, and all you can hear is your blood pounding in your ears and Dean’s voice, right next to your ear.

“I love you,” he says your name, and you really wish the world wasn’t just light and hazy warmth right now. “So much, and I- fuck- I need you. Please.”

The next few moments are utter oblivion. You can’t tell if you’re cured or not, because all you can smell and feel is Dean and warmth leaking between your thighs, but all you can hear are Dean’s words bouncing around your head, and all you can see is white.

He loves you. 

He needs you.

And when you come back down, your vision clearing and every bit of pain evaporating into the air, you feel good.

Dean’s no longer above you. He’s moved you into his lap, and he’s holding you to his chest as if you’re a stuffed animal. Your face his pressed into his neck, and his voice is low enough you can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s praying. 

You wait a second as your mind returns to your body, and he’s not praying. He’s mostly just saying your name, over and over again, but his tone is heavy and rough, and it sounds like a prayer.

“Dean,” you whisper, pushing slightly off of his chest to meet his wide eyes. “I-“

He kisses you. But this isn’t one of the soft, reassuring kisses, or the heady, lustful ones. It’s long and deep and careful, and it feels like he’s trying to push his breath into your throat. He’s holding you like you’re fragile and—when he pulls away and presses his brow to yours—looking at you like just his gaze might turn you to mist in his hands.

“Did it work?” His voice is strained, his fingers digging slightly into your skin like he’s trying to tether you together, or drag you into his body. “Are we good?”

You nod, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth because you can’t help yourself. “We’re good.”

“Thank fuck.” He lets out a long breath, his eyes squeezing shut. “Son of a bitch, I had the three orgasms down, but Sam said you I’d have to say it during climax, and he didn’t say if it would be mine or yours so I had to take the gamble-“

“Sam said?!” You lean away from him, gaping slightly. “When did you ask Sam-“

“After you said you love me, then passed out.” Dean gives you a flat look. “You weren’t going to be helpful, sweetheart, and I needed to know how to fix this.”

“You-“ You swallow, flushing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Did you- Did you know you could fix it? After I told you how?”

Dean nostrils flare, and he nods. “Yeah.”

“And did you mean it?”

A small smile plays on his lips. “Curse wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, whacking his arm. “Shut up, I’ve had a long day-“

“You’ve had a long day?” Dean raises his brows, his grin becoming shit eating. “The girl I love almost just died because she would just let me fuck her-“

“Well how was I supposed to know you loved me! You’d never said it-“

“Neither had you-“

“Yeah, but- you-“ You scowl at him, even as you drop your brow back to his. “You never fucked me with the lights on.”

“You never asked me to fuck you with the lights on.” Dean lets out a long breath, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I thought you just didn’t want me to.”

“Oh.” You sigh. “Well, fuck.”

Dean chuckles in agreement, nodding. “Also, did you tell Sam and not me-“

“By accident-“ You pause, your eyes widening on Deans. “Wait, he didn’t know that you-“

“He was the only person that knew. The little bitch.” Dean grumbles, and you giggle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sam is not little.”

“He’s gonna be little when I’m done with him. Letting me think you didn’t love me when he fucking knew-“

“I did tell him not to say anything.” You offer. “There were threats of stabbing.”

“He shoulda risked it.” Dean snaps, and you just hum against his skin. 

You could get used to this. 

You really need to make sure it’s real, and that the oblivion wasn’t actually death, and you’re not just in heaven right now. You probably wouldn’t actually make it to heaven, but it could also just be a really creative hell, so you have to check.

“Dean?”

He grunts, tracing pattern on your hips, and you let out a slow breath.

“How long have you… loved me?”

“I-“ He sighs, not quite meeting your eyes. “A while.”

“How long is-“

“Long enough that I don’t remember.”

“Oh.” You mumble, and he lets out a dry chuckle.

“How about you?”

“Forever.” You whisper, scanning over his face to figure out if you can find what you’d somehow missed before. 

And there it is. In the light, it’s easy to see. Clear, soft and solid love written on Dean’s every feature, all of it designed for you. It’s not really in his eyes or the curve of his lip, or how he’s holding you or shifting to keep you comfortable above him. It’s all of it together, spelling out so obviously that Dean loves you.

You wonder if he can see something similar on you. If that’s why his eyes flash and his lips part, his hands stilling on your body and his voice growing rough.

“Are we- Is this it?”

“This-“

“Us.” He mutters, and you’ve never seen him nervous before. Bowing his head as he blushes, leaning a little closer to your body like he could move into you forever. “Together.”

“I-“ Your fingers trace over a scar on his abdomen, and you take a long breath. “Do you want to do this? Us?”

“More than anything.”

“Oh.” You swallow, and Dean looks up at you with an almost panicked expression.

“Do you- I get it if you don’t, Sammy and I don’t have a great track record, but I fucking swear, baby, I’d-“

It’s your turn to cut him off with a kiss. And when you pull back he looks a little dazed, and you smile.

“I want you, Dean. More than anything.”

Dean drags you into a deeper longer kiss, he really is the best person you’ve ever known. 

A worse person wouldn’t hold you like this. A worse person wouldn’t say they love you and make sure you feel it in your bones. A worse person could never smile like Dean does—wide and toothy and bright—or light up your whole world with just his presence and voice.

“You and me, baby?”

“Okay.” You smile back, and he’s so good. “You and me.”

“Awesome.”

End Note: Is it even porn if it isn't emotional??? Am I even me if I don't make it emotional??

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[abbotjack]

If Robby and Jack had a sex playlist, what songs do you think would be on there? And who would be most likely to take you in the bathroom while at work?

jack’s playlist is all brooding grunge and controlled destruction. he touches like he’s trying to remember what softness feels like. he fucks like he thinks you're not going to stay.

robby’s? smooth. curated. intentionally devastating. think al green, foreigner, bryan adams. slow hands. warm mouth. praise in your ear like it’s second nature.

i hope you have as much fun with this as i did 🖤

content/warning : NSFW. sexual content (descriptive but not explicit). public sex. emotionally intimate sex. suggestive dialogue. praise kink. grief/comfort themes. light dom/sub energy (hand placement, control). slow, intentional pacing. mention of trauma. emotionally repressed men losing control. 18+ MDNI!!

word count : 1,611

🎸 Jack – Combat-Bred Grunge Heat, Wrapped in Denial and Softness He Won’t Name: (link)

Jack made a playlist because you told him he needed one. He gave you that look—eyebrow raised, half a scoff—but later, when you weren’t around, he opened his music app and typed “bedroom” into the search bar like he wasn’t about to overthink every damn song on it.

What’s on it? Stuff from his twenties. Stuff that gets under his skin. Stuff he’d never admit turns him on—but it does. No title. No cover art. Just ten songs that sound exactly like the way he touches you when it’s quiet.

1. “3 Libras” – A Perfect Circle This one plays when he’s slow—when he’s pressing you into the mattress like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your ribs. His mouth is at your throat, his hands steady.

When he says “I got you,” it’s not because you asked—it’s because he needed to hear it out loud.

2. “Hurt” – Johnny Cash (NIN cover) You don’t fuck to this song. You end up fucking to it. After a bad shift. After a code. After he tells you “I’m fine” with that look that means don’t ask.

Then he’s in you—fully clothed, jaw clenched, forehead to yours—and you know this isn’t about pleasure. It’s about surviving something.

3. “Outshined” – Soundgarden When he fucks you against the wall, he doesn’t speak. Just lifts you like it’s instinct. His dog tags hit your collarbone.

The song’s loud, but he’s louder—grunting into your shoulder like it’s the only way he knows how to ask you to stay.

4. “Shadow on the Sun” – Audioslave He’s riding that high from the trauma bay. Blood on his sleeves. No time to decompress.

And you—waiting in the stairwell, looking at him like you already know.

His mouth is on you before the first verse ends. You don’t even make it out of the hallway.

5. “Nutshell” – Alice in Chains He joins you in the shower without a word. His hands are gentle.

Forehead pressed to your shoulder blade.

It’s not about sex—until it is.

He makes love to you like grief is still living in his ribs.

6. “Love Ridden” – Fiona Apple You called him out earlier—said he shuts down when you try to talk about feelings. He didn’t respond.

Then he played this. Pushed your hair back. Stripped you bare like he needed to know what it felt like to be understood without saying anything at all.

He comes too fast. Says your name like a confession.

7. “Blue” – A Perfect Circle (Yes, again, but hear me out) Not rough, but unrelenting. His fingers are between your legs while you’re still in your scrubs. The door is locked. The blinds are pulled.

“Tell me when.”

You can’t. He already knows.

8. “Colorblind” – Counting Crows He doesn’t mean to cry. It’s barely anything—a tremble in his exhale when your hands slip under his shirt. He says “You’re good to me” like it’s a warning.

Then he fucks you like it’s the last time—and maybe it is.

9. “The Chain” – Fleetwood Mac He tears your shirt in half.

You laugh.

He doesn’t.

You ride him to this. His hand at your throat, the other gripping your thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him here.

10. “Simple Man” – Lynyrd Skynyrd This one plays low. Real low.

You’re still catching your breath, legs tangled with his under the covers. The lamp’s off. Just streetlight slipping through the blinds. He brushes your hair off your forehead. His hand never leaves your thigh.

“You okay?” he asks, even though he already knows.

You nod. He kisses your temple like he’s trying to memorize you this way.

Like he thinks he won’t always get to.

♡ ୨୧ Will he take you in the bathroom at work? : ✅ Absolutely.

Without hesitation. But only when he’s sure you want it just as badly. He keeps it professional—up until the moment it stops being professional.

You brush past him during a shift, fingers grazing his, and he looks up at you like you just started something you better be ready to finish.

He waits. Watches. Doesn't pounce.

But when you corner him in the hallway between consults, lips parted like you're about to say something you shouldn’t? That’s it. He grabs your wrist, pulls you into the nearest staff bathroom, and locks the door behind you.

📻 Robby – Soft-edged Dilf Who Says He’s Not Into This Song and Then Destroys You to It (link)

Robby’s playlist has existed for years. It’s got a stupid name like “🌙 late” or “bed (clean ver)” but the songs are insane. You don’t know whether to laugh or moan when they come on—and sometimes it’s both.

His taste is classic. Romantic. The kind of man who puts Marvin Gaye and Springsteen in the same playlist and makes both feel filthy. And yeah, the songs are upbeat—but that just means the sex is good, unrushed, and flirty as hell.

1. “Let’s Stay Together” – Al Green The bassline’s still rolling when he pulls you into his lap—steady hands, mouth at your neck, one palm already sliding beneath your shirt.

He fucks you like the groove: slow, deep, deliberate.

Every roll of his hips syncs with the beat.

“I’m so in love with you…” plays in the background—and he doesn’t say it. But he doesn't have to.

2. “Sara Smile” – Hall & Oates You laugh into his mouth when it starts playing—“You put this on?” He doesn’t answer. Just lifts your shirt and kisses every inch of skin he reveals.

He’s gentle with you here. Kisses your thighs before he touches you.

Tells you how good you look spread out for him.

3. “Waiting for a Girl Like You” – Foreigner You’re on top, and his hands are braced at your hips, holding you in place as you move.

His eyes are soft, jaw tight, chest rising with every breath.

The synth swells behind you and so does everything else—his pace, your moans, the tension building in your thighs.

By the time the chorus comes in, he’s gripping you tighter.

You finish before him. He’s proud of that.

4. “Woman” – John Lennon You called him soft. Teased him.

Now your chest is flush to the mattress and his hand is at the back of your neck—not cruel, just firm.

The lyrics echo like a challenge: “I love you… now and forever.” And he proves it with every slow, deep thrust.

When you come, he doesn’t stop moving—just kisses your shoulder and keeps whispering, “Still think I’m soft?”

5. “Drive” – The Cars The mood shifts. It’s dark. Intimate.

You’re half beneath him, half wrapped in a blanket, his fingers between your thighs while your eyes start to flutter shut.

The synth is warm, steady. The lyrics ask: “Who's gonna drive you home tonight?”

He already did.

And now he’s driving you straight to the edge

6. “The Way You Make Me Feel” – Michael Jackson You’re teasing him—swaying your hips in the kitchen, batting your lashes.

He gives you one look, pushes you against the counter, and kisses you like you asked for it.

He’s all rhythm. Tight grip on your waist. Thrusts in time with the beat. You come mid-song, laughing and moaning at once. He bites back a smile.

“Told you not to start.”

7. “Babe” – Styx You’re riding him slow, hair in your face, hands pressed to his chest.

The lyrics are soft and sentimental—but his grip is anything but. He cups your ass, tilts your hips, groans into your neck when you roll just right.

When the song swells, so do you—tight around him, gasping.

He holds you there until you stop shaking.

8. “Let’s Make a Night to Remember” – Bryan Adams This is the one he plays on purpose.

The lights are low. You’re already in his shirt.

He kisses your shoulder. Your spine. Your thighs.

And when he slides into you, it’s all hands and warmth and rhythm. You don’t come once. You come until he can’t hold back anymore.

9. “Sledgehammer” – Peter Gabriel This one hits different.

You’d been mouthing off all day—teasing, taunting. Now you’re bent over the couch, one knee up, dress rucked around your waist.

The drums hit with each thrust.

His grip doesn’t loosen. Your voice breaks. He doesn’t stop until you’re wrecked and smiling, legs trembling.

He smacks your ass once, then kisses it.

“Still smug?” he murmurs.

10. “Wonderful Tonight” – Eric Clapton It’s the song that plays while you’re brushing your teeth in his t-shirt, and he’s watching from the doorway like you just knocked the air out of him.

When you climb into bed, he doesn’t say anything. Just reaches for you—pulls you close, settles you against his chest like it’s second nature.

You kiss him slow. He flips you onto your back.

No rush. No games. Just skin to skin, fingers laced with yours, the kind of sex that makes you feel known.

“Look at me,” he whispers when you start to come apart.

And you do. Because how could you not?

♡ ୨୧ Will he take you in the bathroom at work? : ✅ Yes. But only if you really push him.

Robby’s the kind of man who follows the rules—until you give him a reason not to. He’ll resist at first. Say something like “Not here,” even as his eyes drop to your mouth.

But if you back him into that on-call room, hands in his coat, voice low in his ear?

He’s locking the door before he finishes his sentence.

[formiito]

Hello! May I request some pre-relationship/crush headcanons with Kunikida, Atsushi and (ADA) Dazai (all separate) with a reader from the port mafia? How would they realise they are in love? How would they handle it etc etc. I love love love crush headcanons with all my heart<33

heart to heart — crush hcs!!

author's note: i'm an idiot who wrote this fic almost exclusively in hours 2-4 am. my eyes are in pure suffering. an unhealthy amount of fiona apple and unreleased lana del rey songs went into writing this. idk how to write headcannons so this ended up kind of like a fic with bullet points lmao 

— KUNIKIDA

• Working with the Port Mafia is something he is (unfortunately) no longer a stranger to. Still, an extended mission was a bit too risky for his tastes. But everyone said that he was fine, so he should be, right? If only he knew what novel sort of trouble he would face once he took the job.

• For the mission, he was partnered with you. You must've been of a different unit, because he is sure he has never seen you in person before. Except for being mentioned in passing by Dazai in his inane conversations, there was little he knew of you.

• At first, he was skeptical. Not sure whether he could truly trust a person with your affiliations to not double cross him in some way. However, you proved yourself capable soon enough. You worked with decisive efficiency, and even with his rather ridiculously timed schedules, you seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him.

• Needless to say, you two got to know each other fairly well over the course of a month. By now, you were acquainted atleast a little of his likes and dislikes. The late night sessions to plan out the routes and inspect the case files over and over; your friendship sprawls over late cups of coffee, the impatient scratching of pen on paper, and the files scattered on the table while you both worked.

• This was still professional; he'd reason with himself. So what if he's had a few drinks with you once in a while? So what if you've been spending a little too much time at his home lately?

• Dazai’s endless teasing on the matter did not help. At all. As he grows more and more defensive, he wonders if he has grown a little too attached to his new partner.

• Kunikida isn't an idiot. Even he can see how much you've made an impression on his life. He simply isn't ready to admit that this could possibly be romantic in nature. After all, you fit none of the ideals he's decided for his supposed future partner. In some form of pointed irony, the pages of the notebook that carry said ideals are also filled with the random, little things he's noticed you need; chapstick, switchblades, pens— all for them to be ready when you inevitably reach for them.

• Nor can he help stealing a little glance when said chapstick swipes so elegantly along your lips.

• Absolute gentleman, with or without a crush. Opens the car door for you on the other side, makes sure you have your seatbelt on, makes sure to watch your back while you both do field work. It’s just a nice thing to do, he reasons, but feels your touch like it was branded into his skin where your hand accidentally brushed on his elbow.

• The weeks that follow after are drawn out, confusing. As time goes on, he cannot help but read into your every action, taking note of all the little details that outline you as a person; from your tastes to little quirks. While you seem blissfully unconcerned, he could not help but feel the weight of the tension between your conversations. It is not these emotions that scare him, but their intensity. His hands tremble as they once again bandage your wounds from the day’s work, mouth dry as he looks at the gashes you think nothing of—and he wonders since when he started caring so much.

• Kunikida may be a man of his ideals, but he can be honest with himself when he needs to be. And whether he says it aloud or not, he’s already known the effect you have on him. He's known it for a long time.

• When he inevitably confesses to you, there is nothing special about it. It's another evening at his house discussing work, and when you both take a break from investigation, he brings it up to you. He isn't expecting the sentiment to be reciprocated. In fact, he is not sure he even wants that to happen. He says it to be honest. With himself and with you. You deserve to know. And perhaps if he said it out loud, the feelings would subside, even for a little while; with a definite answer, he’d have a reason to put out the growing ember.

• Nothing could've prepared him for the shock of learning that this troublesome feeling could possibly be mutual. And nothing could have prepared him for the coy kiss on his reddened cheek after.

— ATSUSHI

• someone help this poor guy

• no, he's really hopeless with it, but let me explain

• When he was asked to collaborate with the Port Mafia once more, he expected to be paired with Akutagawa once more. You were a pleasant change of pace. At first, he was only met with your suspicion; something that drove an initial rift between the two of you. You weren't sure whether you could truly trust this weretiger you've heard so much about to hold up his end of the deal, and neither could he rely on this complete stranger who regards him so frigidly. However, you both were indebted to your respective organisations—it had to be worked out.

• Your staunch independence, and the confident countenance that carried with it an understated superiority, no doubt the effect of years of experience; at first it irked him. It made him taste a little of the helplessness that trailed him like a shadow all those years ago. He attempted to chase away the feeling; biting back at your subtle digs at his skill and experience, trying to keep up with you as best as he could. You matched each other surprisingly well when you both were at your most competitive; the combination of your finesse and his strength was lethal in the most satisfying of ways.

• Over the weeks, you both get to know each other a little better. The small talks on the way to station were something that he was, despite knowing better, looking forward to. He always seemed more affected by your banter than you were by any retort he could possibly throw at you; and when the sly curve of your lip made him feel the strangest sensation of a sort of rush in his veins, he made no notice of it.

• After that morning, this strange feeling had been growing worse. Steadily through the days, but even so he could point out that the emotion that seemed to sit just beneath his chest was unfamiliar. Sometimes he had to force himself to look away from you just to get it to stop and actually be able to hear what you were saying over the erratic beat of his heart. It was blatantly obvious to everyone but him, and despite the constant teasing and prodding by Dazai on what’s got him so nervous, he still assumed it was merely admiration. Perhaps he was simply in awe of your abilities. For weren't you so impressive when you dispatch your targets so effortlessly, or when you execute such flawless plans with an ease in your mien that makes it look oh so simple?

• But then that begs the question as to why he still stares in a daze when you're doing nothing, just catching your breath in the wall crack you had pulled him into to throw off the people chasing you both; his back hitting the wall and you the only separation between him and whoever was at your tails, stalking the alleyway outside. Breaths held, not making a sound; if you both got caught, this was over, and you both understood the stakes better than anyone. He definitely knew just what was waiting for the both of you out there, and that just made the situation far more frustrating, because then why is he so absorbed in how pretty your jelly-like gaze is, or how cool you looked back there when you silently felled that patrol guard? He feels like his brain has melted. Or atleast the still working part of it, because it's not even the first time you've had that effect on him.

• Your hand tentatively shifts, and for a moment he snaps out of the daze. There is abject fear in his eyes, because what the fuck are you doing when the both of you are one slip up away from messing up this mission you both worked so hard on? Yet your fingers, trembling with the rush of adrenaline and the fear of death, wipe the blood on his cheek, observing a rather deep cut inflicted by the serrated edge of a dagger. He could take a hit, but for some reason worry seemed to claw at your mind relentlessly until you could make sure he was okay.

• Perhaps he'd stopped functioning right there and then, because when the footsteps receded and the coast was finally clear, he could barely hear you say that it was safe to come out. Instead, his first move is to hold his heart and take a deep fucking breath. Not just to calm him down from being chased like that—for he's already been chased so many times—but to stop thinking about that brief, soft touch that reasonably, should not even affect him.

• At this point, he's kind of convinced he's going crazy. And like so many problems in his life, there's only one other person to hear it. Coincidentally also the worst person to go to for that kind of counsel.

• Dazai.

• Bastard laughed for fifteen whole minutes before explaining in broken wheezes what Atsushi was possibly afflicted with. Then immediately began sighing and bemoaning about having to help his coworker with silly love problems once he finally stopped cackling like a witch.

• After this… enlightening conversation, Atsushi promptly decides that he's never going to be able to look the man in the eye ever again.

• Now, he's got a whole slew of new problems going on. This mission, you, the fact that he just embarrassed himself in front of his coworker, and that he had no idea how to even face you after this realization.

• Naturally, he wants to avoid this situation. Atsushi doesn't even consider telling you. He wants to, so badly. His throat feels tight when you look at him so sharply, and he can't help but feel that if he sticks around you for too long, you'll look straight through him and somehow find out. But he has every reason to think this won't work out. Every reason why it won't work out. It wasn't the time for love, not even in the small moments of respite between the constant violence you two had to deal with.

• This distance he's been keeping from you…there is no doubt that you feel it too. He can see as much. The disappointment in your gaze when he keeps on pushing you away; it hurts. And he knows with the way your hands are curled in fists now that you're at your breaking point.

• But instead of the argument he thought this would inevitably lead to, you simply pull him into a corner. In the most sincere tone he's ever heard you speak in, you ask him if you did something wrong. Between your deliberate words, your hands on the collar of his shirt that hold him in place with nothing but gentle firmness, and the emotions that he tried so hard to stifle for the past few weeks; he confesses. Leaves nothing unspoken, even if he consciously knows that this is a bad idea. Knows he shouldn't hand you that kind of power over his heart.

• Yet he doesn't regret it a single bit when he feels your hands leave his shirt collar and wrap around his shoulders, your silent answer that kills the bitter uncertainty left in his heart and replaces it with relief.

— DAZAI

• Your history with the brunet was brief, but not something he has ever forgotten. He’s not quick to forget faces in any case, but yours remained in his memory still.

• You both worked together fairly often some three or four years back, the timeline is blurry in his mind now—in those days, your presence seemed like it would be a permanent fixture in his life. Something to count upon. Perhaps he had hoped for the fact, until an year after when he finally decided to leave this life in the dust, and you with it.

• At the time, Dazai had dismissed those feelings as puppy love; the sort of infatuation that comes with simply being of that age where every emotion feels so amplified in intensity. You were one of his first friends, it was only natural to want to cling on, wasn't it? Only with time it became easier to ignore the hold your presence had on him, his mind too consumed with the ongoing chaos in his life to think about that craving he had during initial weeks of your separation— thumb trembling over the call button.

• A few years after, seeing your face stirs nothing in Dazai. A feeble sense of regret is all that remains, and within a few seconds even that dies off. You've changed, definitely; rough-hewn edges from mafia life, knife-hand no longer trembling when it goes for the kill. Decisive, swift movements, a certain confidence in your words that comes from experience. How the glimmer that used to be in your eyes has long since been clouded over. In a way, it makes him feel closer to you, that your soul is being slowly chipped away, just like his.

• Initially, you regarded him like any other professional acquaintance. Not daring to breathe a word of the past, even when you wanted to demand an explanation out of him so desperately. Anything to make the memories of your shared past more bearable. You know better than to give into those whims. If only for the sake of your mission, the past had to be put aside. Between the both of you, there seemed to be a mutual, unspoken understanding for the need to let go. Your slates are cleaned, and you both once again end up in the same place you started; Yokohama’s shipping docks.

• Over the weeks, being around you feels easier. You both work well into the nights, but it's a little more bearable around your company. The banter is easy between the both of you. Lips curved into a cheshire grin at his antics, you always seemed to be more amused with his actions than annoyed.

• Even now when he decides that diving head first into the sea would've made for a perfectly delightful method of suicide, a knowing sigh leaves your lips, painstakingly pulling him out of the fishnets with a firm grip on his beige coatsleeve. Of course, the effort is in vain when you lose your footing and end up falling into the water with him too. Splash!

• Somehow, even when he's walking home, sopping wet in the winter breeze, he feels strangely warm as you chide him, observing how your lips twitch as if to hide a smile.

• It’s your fault, really. Perhaps if you both didn't fit together so well, if it wasn't so effortless to be around you, he might have avoided feeling the same way around you again. It's not lost upon Dazai, how comfortable he's getting with your presence, especially when he knows it's a temporary one. A fact that he is compelled to face again and again everytime you both end up in the field.

• The danger they were facing were still very much real. Despite how confident you seem to be in your ability, your tight shoulders and shaky breaths betray you in the heat of the moment. Through your hesitation to follow through his plans, you still trust him at his word. He can't help but wonder why.

• Your actions hold a certain carefulness—he doesn't want to call it care, for when it comes to you, he finds it hard to tell what you're thinking—that he doesn't understand. As you wrap the gauze around the wound on his arm from a bullet graze, fingers touching his skin with a kind of gentleness he's only ever known from you… Dazai wonders when you'll finally tell him what you're really after.

• The brief thought occurs to him, no doubt, that maybe you do these things simply because you want to. That perhaps you still care too much, like you did all those years ago. But he knows better than to count on something as fickle as the kindness of people’s hearts. He was never that naive.

• Even so, as the long days and even longer nights pass by, he can't help but once again start feeling as he used to in the distant past, only that this time he has no excuse for it.

• Dazai doesn't blush and his heart doesn't race when he sees you. Instead, it's something far more sickening and confusing. With you, it's easier to drop the delicate layers of pretense that seem to obscure his true thoughts and emotions like delicate gauze. There is a sort of ease of being around you, a sense of belonging. In the delicate moments of the late night hours with you, humanity doesn't simply feel like a cloth to wear to hide the rotten core within. You touch him like you know him, even when he knows that the blood staining his hands is far darker than yours.

• You don't even have an inkling of how he feels, and Dazai believes that it's for the best. He’ll tell you in the future, if he can grow to trust you. He wants to say it when he can be sure of it, in a more peaceful time. Even if he doesn't want you to slip through his fingers again like he did in the past, he wants to wait.

• But right now, all he can see is your bloodied fingertips trembling in the aftermath of the day’s chaos, barely having escaped with your lives. In the silent night, neither of you mention how he holds your hand silently on the walk home, bandaged fingers holding yours with deliberate care.

[lacroixwh0r3]

The First Taste

DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You meet Joel, your dad's best friend, for the first time after your dad begged you to join them at the lake to keep Sarah company. Both you and Joel become fascinated by each other the moment the two of you met.

Warnings: SMUT!!! DUB CON, heavy sexual tension, drug usage (weed only), petnames, age gap (Joel is 36 and reader is 21), masturbation (F and M), fingering, voyerism, daddy kink, dom!Joel, Joel is a perv and an asshole, cursing, swimming??, no outbreak

Song inspo (feel free to read if you want): The First Taste by Fiona Apple

PART 2 PART 3

A/N: This takes place four years before Blow My Load, but can be read as a standalone.

Please share, comment, like, and reblog...enjoy lovies! <33

"Dad, I thought it was supposed to be a "boy's trip," and the last time I checked, I am not a boy." You point at your body as you tell your dad. For some reason, he is begging you to come to the lake with him and his friends the day before they leave. "Why won't you just tell me why you want me to go? And maybe I'll give you an answer."

You finally got him to crack.

Your dad let out a defeated sigh as he scratched the back of his head and avoided eye contact. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever bullshit your dad was about to say. "Well, you see, honey, one of the guys couldn't get a babysitter for his kid, and I offered you to keep her company." He winced.

And there it is. The thing he was holding back from you

You let out a sarcastic chuckle. You really couldn't believe this shit. "Are you serious, dad? I refuse to babysit some random kid because you offered me up without even asking me first!" You exclaimed at him. "I don't even know a damn thing about this kid."

"Look, I know it was wrong for me to do that, sweetheart, but I swear Sarah is a good kid. Most of the time she has her headphones in and minds her business." He tries to reason with you, almost pleading with you. You began to feel bad for blowing up on him like that, but it really did piss you off that you had to watch someone else's kid. "I'll even pay you."

This weekend, you planned on doing nothing but self-care. You wanted to do nothing but stay home, watch movies, get a mani and pedi, go get a massage, drink, and maybe even play with the new toy you just bought yourself at Spencers.

You feel yourself giving into your dad; it wasn't the money that made you say yes, but the fact that he always found a way to make you feel bad, even if he didn't mean to do it. "Ugh, fine!" You scoff as you turn to look away from him. From the corner of your eye, you can see his body perk up.

Your dad lets out a sigh of relief, saying, "Thank you so much, sweetheart! You're such a lifesaver; you know that, right?" He slaps your shoulder playfully, causing you to shrug it off and narrow your eyes at him playfully as well.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. How old is your friend's daughter, anyway?" You asked him, unfazed by it all.

"I think she's around 14?" Your dad said cluelessly. "Not too bad, right? I'm sure that you can find something to talk about with her."

It wasn't that bad, but what the fuck would you, a 21-year-old, have in common with a 14–15-year-old girl?

"I guess. I'm gonna start getting my stuff all packed up," You tell him as you turn around to go up to your room.

"Alright, sweetheart, and thanks again!" He exclaims to you as you make your way farther up the steps.

"Yup!" You yell it out dismissively.

As much as you hated the circumstances, you were happy you were finally able to get away for a little bit.

...

It was the next day, and you were tired as hell after only getting four hours of sleep. You had spent all night packing and stressing about what you were going to wear. It wasn't like you were trying to impress anyone, but this was your first time meeting your dad's friends, and you wanted to look decent.

You had left it up to your dad to pack your things into the car as you were too tired to do anything besides shower, put your clothes on, and lay back down for a little until it was time to go. As you lay face down on the bed, knocked out, you heard your dad knock on the door. "Hey, kiddo, are you ready to head out?" He asked you as he stood at the door.

You slowly sit up on your bed as you yawn and stretch your arms over your head. "Yeah, let me just get up and grab my purse and stuff."

"Got it." Your dad says this before turning around and making his way downstairs.

After moments of sitting on your bed, stairing into space, you got up, grabbed your purse, and began to leave your room. However, on your way to the door, you see the pouch that contained your weed and weed paraphernalia. You hesitantly swiped it from your dresser, dropped it into your bag, and went downstairs.

If the men got to have their fun, why couldn't you?

Once you get to the last step, you hear your dad saying bye to someone on the phone before turning to you. "My buddy, Joel, just got to the lake house, so we should start headin' out." He says this as he grabs his keys and motions for you to follow him to the door.

After making sure the security alarm was set and locking the door, the two of you were finally on your two-hour journey to the lake house.

...

You and your dad finally made it to the lake house. It was a three story house that sat on top of a hill, surrounded by nothing but trees.

You and your dad hop out of the car and start bringing your bags to the front door. All of a sudden, the moment you sat the last bag down and brought your fist up to knock at the door, it swung open, revealing a man who looked to be in his early 30s with short, dark, curly hair.

Beside him was a woman with long locs, smiling warmly at you. Meanwhile, the man looked at you with confusion, trying to piece together who you were. You looked familiar to him, but he couldn't put a name to your face.

"Tommy!" Your dad said loudly behind you. You could hear the excitement in his voice as he greeted him. Tommy's eyes moved to look behind you at your dad, and his eyes lit up.

"Oh man, y'all come on in!" He opened the door wider as he and the unnamed woman moved out of the way to allow you to walk in first, followed by your dad. "I'll grab the rest of the bags out there." Tommy says.

Tommy brought the bags in as your dad greeted the lady. "Hey, Maria!" He asked her as he gave her a side hug. "I didn't know you were gonna be joining us this weekend as well."

So that was her name.

"I didn't think I was going to be joining either. Tommy invited me last minute, so I just decided to take some time off of work," She replies back.

They stood near the entrance as they began to get deeper into the conversation, talking about God knows what, leaving you standing there awkwardly as you watched them. You decided to take that moment to observe the room. Even though the house was spacious, it still had a cozy feel to it.

As you were in your own world, your dad gently slapped his hand on your shoulder unexpectedly. "And this young lady right here is my daughter." He smiles at the two as Maria and Tommy turn their attention to you.

"Nice to meet you, kid," He says as he offers his hand to shake yours, which you accept. You shake hands with him before dropping them to your side. Tommy then points to Maria. "This is my wife, Maria."

You shake hands with her as well while you tell them your name. "It's so great to meet you two!" You beam at the couple.

They begin to ask you a series of questions about yourself, such as what university you attended, what your major was, and so on, to which you gladly answer.

However, in the midst of your conversation, your words are abruptly interrupted by the sound of the sliding door opening, followed by heavy footsteps. "And here comes my asshole brother, Joel, and my niece, Sarah," Tommy says to you, prompting both you and your dad to look behind you. You can hear Maria let out a loud laugh at Tommy's words.

Your eyes immediately focused on him as he got closer to you, not even paying attention to the fact that his daughter was right behind him as well.

The man named Joel had short, dark, curly hair like Tommy’s; the only difference is that he is a lot shorter, and the roots of his hair were slightly gray at his temples. Joel also had a patchy beard with a thick mustache. He has this rugged and mysterious look to him that completely enraptures you.

He and your dad greet each other, giving a quick bro hug and pulling away. Joel then turns to you, and you feel your hands quiver. His dark, dominant eyes intensify the intimidating aura that surrounds him, yet it still makes him even more interesting to you.

Holy hell, you think to yourself. This man is so fucking fine.

You continued to stare at Joel, saying absolutely nothing, until you realized that he was giving you a confused look as if he were waiting for something. Your eyes darted down, and you realized that he had his hand out, waiting for you to shake it. You felt your face heat up with embarrassment as you went to shake his hand.

"Joel," was all he said as the two of you shook hands before he let go and discreetly rubbed his hands into his shirt. You could feel yourself shrink with embarrassment as he did this. Not only did he not even give you a chance to introduce yourself, but he wiped his hands after shaking yours.

What a fucking jerk! Tommy was right; he is an asshole.

You quickly snapped out of your feelings when you realized that Sarah was now in front of you. She wore a pink crop top and jean shorts, while her curly hair was placed in a low ponytail.

She suddenly brings you in for a hug with a massive smile on her face, catching you off guard. Nonetheless, you still happily return the hug.

"I'm Sarah. It's nice to meet you!" Unlike Joel, Sarah was a lot more friendly with you. She had this radiant energy to her that made you wonder where she got it from because it definitely wasn't from Joel's grumpy ass. You tell her your name.

"It's nice to meet you as well, Sarah!" I return a smile back to her. She seems like the sweetest 14-year-old you've ever met. "I think we're gonna get along just fine this weekend."

"We sure are!"" She agrees.

"Sarah, sweetheart, how've you been?" Your dad asked her.

As your dad began to talk to Sarah, you decided to check Joel out while he listened to the conversation, occasionally putting in his two cents. Unlike the rest of the group, Joel wore a dark gray shirt, jeans, and some boots.

How is he not hot?

I mean, he is hot, but I meant temperature-wise, you think, causing yourself to let out a low chuckle.

You guess you said that out loud because Joel’s head, along with Maria's, Sarah's, and Tommy's, suddenly snapped over to you with eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Your dad's voice slowly began to fade when he saw the mortified expression on Sarah's face.

"Wait, what happened?" Your dad asked cluelessly as he looked around the group. He was so in his own world that he didn't hear what you said. Thank-fucking-goodness. "Everyone just stopped talking all of a sudden."

"Nothing!" You quickly tell him as you give him a disengenious smile before looking at everyone else. Sarah looked embarrassed for you, as Tommy and Maria still looked shocked. You get a glimpse of Joel as you wince in embarrassment and close your eyes; he had this smug look on his face.

You gathered that Tommy obviously loves to fuck around with people because he let out a stifled laugh, causing his wife to slap his arm and tell him to shut up.

You just wanted to die right then and there. This is now the second time today you've embarrassed yourself in front of this sexy ass man.

Your dad, being the clueless person he is, continues on with whatever he is talking about, not even realizing that no one is paying attention to him. Maria interrupts your dad as she clears her throat to catch your attention. She had a sympathetic look on her face. "Sweetie, your room is on the second floor next to, uh, Joel's, if you wanna get settled in," She offered to you. "We're going to head out to the lake and start putting some things on the grill around 2 or so." You just nodded your head because you were too afraid to speak.

"Hey, Joel?" Tommy looked at his brother with a teasing look on his face. "Why don't you go show her to her room, yeah?" He nods his head in the direction of the staircase.

You wished that you could just punch Tommy across the face at this very moment.

"Umm yeah..." Joel agrees slowly as he gives Tommy a dirty look before glancing at you. "Follow me," You nodded your head and grabbed your purse and other bags. As you followed Joel, the group quietly picked up their conversation again.

Without saying a word to each other, you and Joel arrive in the room. He steps aside, allowing you to enter, and turns around to make his way down the hallway to go back downstairs, but you quickly stopped him before he could get any further. "Hey, I'm sorry about what happened down there." You apologized to him. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable or anything."

Joel just turns around and gives you a small smirk. "Oh, darlin', I'm far from uncomfortable. I'm actually flattered...more than flattered as a matter of fact." He winks at you before departing down the hallway, leaving you shocked.

You were somewhat relieved that Joel wasn't disgusted by you, but it still didn't help with your embarrassment as much as you hoped it would.

You scanned the room, taking in the room that you were going to be spending your weekend sleeping in. The walls were painted a light gray. There was a queen-sized bed that looked really comfortable and had bedside tables on each side as well as a TV, which was mounted onto the wall opposite the bed. There was a door that led to a balcony. You could see an overview of the calm lake and the tall trees. It was a beautiful view.

...

It's been a while since you went downstairs with everyone. You were still so embarrassed by the incident this morning that you decided to spend most of your time scrolling through social media and catching up with your college friends. The only time you came out of the room was to go to the bathroom.

You eventually rolled out of bed and worked up the courage to join everyone.

After changing your clothes that you had on earlier and putting on your swim suit, you slipped on your oversized shirt, put on some waterproof mascara, and put on some lip gloss.

You made sure to grab your sunglasses, put on your flip-flops, and jogged down the steps.

Once you got down there, you realized that Maria was in the kitchen. You headed towards her, quickly greeting her. "Hi, Maria," You say while positioning yourself behind the chairs on the island. She was gathering something that she needed to put outside.

"Hey, sweetheart!" Maria happily greets you back with a smile as she turns her attention to you. "How're you feeling?" She asked you gingerly as she looked at you with sympathy. Her goal wasn't to embarrass you; she truly wanted to know if you were okay after earlier.

You felt yourself begin to get flustered. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking." You sheepishly replied. You avoided her eyes, beginning to feel awkward.

"Of course. They're out in the back; you should join them." She points to the sliding door. You just nodded your head and made your way to the door. Before you went out there, you stood there looking outside. You could see Joel's tall figure standing over the grill as he flipped the meat and sipped on his beer.

You felt yourself getting nervous just looking at him.

You then looked and saw your dad helping Joel take the food off the grill and start to place it on the table. Meanwhile, Sarah and Tommy sat at the table, talking to each other. Whatever Tommy had said made them let out loud laughs, causing Joel quickly turned around, let out a chuckle, and shook his head. He then went back to putting things on the rest of the food on the serving platter.

His smile is so gorgeous, it almost takes your breath away.

"Are you going out, sweetheart?" Maria asked behind you, startling you. You had forgotten that she was still here.

You turned to her as you began to stammer over your words and realized that her hands were full with plasticware and plates. "Do you need me to help you take those?" You asked her without even answering her question.

"I do actually," She just looked at you with a questionable look before speaking up again. "Can you just grab the forks and spoons from the top and place them on the table out there, please?" She asked. You grabbed the utensils before turning back around and opening the door.

They didn't notice you at first until Sarah caught sight of you and loudly called out your name as you got closer, causing Joel to look over at you as he closed the grill's top.

"Sarah!" You exclaimed dramatically. Once you reached the table, you sat the plasticware down and went over to sit next to her.

You noticed that her hair was wet and that she was wrapped in a towel. "What've you been up to, girlfriend?" You asked her as you sat down in the seat.

"Nothing much; I just took a quick dip in the lake, and now I am starving," Sarah whined out as she looked over at her dad, who was coming over with the food.

You can hear the sound of Joel's heavy feet approaching behind you and stopping at the free seat at the end of the table, which was next to you. He first put the food in the middle of the table, then plopped himself down. We all began to put things on our plates and begin eating.

Tommy grumbled something about starving, causing Sarah to make a joke about how he was always starving. In reply, Tommy stuck his tongue out at the young girl in a teasing manner.

As Joel ate, he was manspreading under the table. You could feel his hairy, bare leg graze against yours, making you move your leg away. Joel wiped his mouth with the napkin, took a sip of his beer, and looked at you with a blank stare, not saying anything.

You decided to speak up and compliment him on the food. "Joel, this is really good," You smile. Everyone hummed in agreement as they ate.

"Why thank you, darlin'?" Joel says, going back to eating.

...

After eating, we all sat there with our tummies full as we sat around talking about whatever came to mind. That was until Sarah ran into the house without saying a word.

"Oh goodness, that girl." He sat back as he watched his daughter running around the house through the sliding door before running back outside with a box of Uno cards.

"Who wants to play?" She asked the whole table as she ran to her seat and plopped down.

We all agreed. She began to shuffle the cards, dealt them out to everyone, and then set up the game. It first started with you, Joel, Maria, Tommy, then your dad, and lastly Sarah.

Sarah was the first one to get Uno, even though she had the most cards at one point. We all accused her of cheating, which she was quick to deny. No one at the table believed her, especially Tommy and Maria. She just rolled her eyes and helped your dad while he was stuck figuring out which cards to play next.

While the two silently argued about which card was the best, you looked over at Joel and saw that all his cards were showing. You looked around and noticed that no one was paying attention to his cards. Tommy and Maria were sitting there watching your dad and Sarah.

"You're bleedin', Joel," you whisper to him as you point to his card. His face scrunched up with confusion as to what you meant. He looked down at himself and saw no blood.

"What, sugar? I ain't bleedin' anywhere," He said as he tried to recall if he had maybe scraped himself anywhere, but it wasn't coming to him. You couldn't help, but laugh at his confusion.

"It means your cards are showing, Joel." You giggled at him as he chuckled a bit and put his cards up so that he wasn't "bleeding" anymore.

"That's so stupid, who taught you that?" You just shrugged your shoulders at his question and looked back over to see if your dad had finally picked up his card yet.

"Oh my gosh, this isn't rocket science, dad! Just pick a card already!" You exclaimed it, causing everyone to laugh.

"I'm tryin', I'm tryin'!" Your dad waved you off as he went back to silently arguing with Sarah about which card to choose.

The game got drawn out longer than it was supposed to because every other minute someone (usually Tommy) would start arguing about another person cheating. And in the end, Tommy lost the game.

We put the cards away as everyone except for Maria decided to hang out by the dock and take a swim. She said something about having to get on the phone with a client of hers, but she would come join us when she was done and would bring popsicles.

You and Sarah walked in front of your dad, Joel, and Tommy until you yelled out, "Beat you there!" to Sarah as you both haphazardly ran down the steps to get to the dock.

"You girls, be careful down those stairs now! Don't want y'all gettin' hurt," Joel yells out from behind. The two of you don't respond or slow down; you just keep giggling and running. Joel had to suppress a smile from appearing on his face. It brought him joy to hear how much fun Sarah was having with you.

Once you make it to the dock, Sarah flings off her towel and jumps into the lake with a squiel before she goes under water and floates back up. You quickly kick off your flip flops, throw your sunglasses down, and take off your shirt. Unlike Sarah, you didn't jump into the water, you sat down on the dock and scooched into the water.

Oh, come on! You should've jumped in!" She says this to you as she splashes you with water. You splashed her back.

"I'm too afraid, Sar-bear!" You yelled out to her, and she gasped. The men appeared from the concrete steps just as she did so. Joel dropped the towels in his arms before walking over in front of us, while your dad and Tommy moved to the other side of the dock with their beers and their folding chairs.

"Dad, can you believe that she's too afraid to jump into the water?" Sarah yells out to her dad.

He looked down at you from the dock with his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side in confusion. "Really? It's not that scary, sweetheart," He tells you.

"Then how about you get in, Joel?" You say to him without even thinking.

"Yeah, come on, dad. Get in and show her how it's done!" Sarah yells out as she encourages her dad to get in.

You watched Joel as he took off his shoes and shirt, all while keeping his eyes on you. You couldn't help but suck in a breath and bite your bottom lip when he pulled off his shirt. You got a glimpse of his shirtless chest. Joel wasn't the most muscular man, but whatever his job was, it kept him fit, and you loved it. Your eyes quickly scanned over his neck, then his broad shoulders.

Those damn shoulders of his. You wished you could hold onto them as you rode on his co-

Your thoughts were abruptly shattered when Joel took a big leap into the lake, causing a splash of water to hit your face and go up your nose. You tried to make an attempt at turning your head, but it was too late. You coughed as you tried to clear the water from your lungs. As you do so, Joel comes up from beneath the water.

He gasped as he allowed the air back into his lungs and used his big hands to wipe his face. Once he noticed that you were coughing, he quickly swam over to you with a look of concern.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He asked you as you let out one last cough and nodded your head. He brought his hand up to stroke the side of your head and gave you this tender look before pulling away when he noticed that Sarah was coming over.

If it were just you and Joel on the lake, he would've probably pulled you into his body and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

Even though he had just gotten into the lake, Joel decided to get out before he did something that he would regret.

"Alright, girls. I'm gonna get out now." He says more to Sarah than to you. Once again, you just nodded your head at him. You knew that if you spoke, you'd embarrass yourself again.

"Wha-Dad! You literally just got in." She tries to convince him, but he just shook his head and grabbed onto the rails. He pulls himself up with a grunt and walks onto the dock.

"I'll get back in in a little bit." He dismissed her as he went to get a towel.

Sarah began to say something to you as she swam around you, but you were too focused on Joel to listen to what she was saying. She was too busy talking to notice that you weren't listening. Your attention was stuck on Joel, and his wet shorts stuck to his surprisingly nice ass. He then turns around as he dries off. Your eyes drifted down and widening when you saw his bulge. You were taken aback by the sight.

Oh my god, you thought to yourself.

You looked back up at his face to realize that Joel was already staring at you and smirking while he wrapped the towl around his waist.

Oh fuck!

He obviously saw you staring at his cock because he was fucking smirking.

Joel walked over to have a seat with his brother and your dad. You diverted your attention back to Sarah, acting as if you knew what she was talking about. You just nodded your head a couple of times, and she believed it, but again, your mind drifted.

You were thinking about her dad; snap out of it for Christ's sake.

For the rest of your time at the lake, you refused to look at Joel. And just as promised, Maria finally joined you all about an hour later with the popsicles she said she would bring. Once we ate them, Maria convinced the other adults to have a swim in the lake, to which they all agreed after some groans and pressure from her and Sarah.

...

After spending most of the afternoon outside, everyone went off to do their own thing. Sarah decided to take a shower and then go to sleep while your dad, Tommy, and Maria opted to go out to a bar that a local had told them about, and Joel refused to go out tonight because he said that he was beat from the lake. As for you, you took a quick shower and decided to watch the sunset on the balcony that was connected to your room and smoke.

Before slipping onto the balcony, you grabbed a preroll and a lighter from the pouch, your headphones, and a water bottle from the bed.

When you first got here, you didn't notice that there was a door connected to the balcony that led to Joel's room. However, the sheer curtains were closed, so you could only assume that he was asleep, meaning it was safe for you to smoke without him seeing you. You sat down on the lounge chair, put your headphones on, turned on some music, and began your session.

After two hits of the preroll, you felt the effects of the weed. Your body began to relax, and your eyelids felt slightly heavy. As you continued smoking, you couldn't escape the thought of Joel. You know that he is your dad's friend, and you would never think to go after him, but you have to admit that he is an attractive older man. Just your type.

You barely spoke to him throughout the couple of hours you had been there, yet you could tell the type of man he was. He is very reserved, doesn't speak unless spoken to, and likes to observe. Joel is respectful, but he didn't take shit from anyone. It was very visible that he was protective of not only Sarah but also Tommy.

Everything about him drew you in more and more.

With a few more hits of your preroll, you see a figure standing in the corner of your eye just a few feet away from you, causing you to quickly pull off your headphones and flick the preroll from your fingers and off the balcony. You look over to see Joel watching you with his eyebrows frowned and his hands on his hips. Your eyes widen with shock.

"Shit! I mean, hey, Joel..." You smile up at him awkwardly, trying to seem as sober as possible. "What are you doing out here?" You asked him in a sickly sweet voice. He continues to stare at you before answering.

"I just came out here to check on you. Heard you out here, so I decided to see what you were up to." Joel grumbles as he switches his weight to his other foot.

You prayed that Joel didn't know you were out here smoking weed; your dad would kill you if he heard about you doing this. Little did you know that your attempt would be a complete failure. As soon as Joel walked outside, he could smell the smoke and aroma of weed. He could also see your bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, yknow, nothing much really, just out here enjoying the view and listening to music!" You say this while waving your hand, gesturing to the view in front of both of you. You visibly cringe after this sentence because, even though it was the truth, it wasn't the full truth. He seemed to buy it, so you relaxed a bit.

"Mm, you enjoyed yourself today?" he asked.

"Yeah, I had a lot of fun today. Sarah definitely made it fun for me, she's amazing." You admitted to him, and it was true. His daughter was truly a joy to be around.

"Yeah," He laughs out as he looks out at the sunset, his handsome smile threatening to appear on his face. "She's amazing, for sure." He whispers. You can't help but smile at his words. It was refreshing to see that there was someone who was able to crack his hard exterior.

A silence falls over the two of you before he speaks up again. "Y'know, when we were walking back to the car after the lake, she talked about you the whole time. I couldn't shut up about how much cooler you are than Tommy and me." He scoffs as he rolls his eyes playfully and folds his arms to his chest. His confession made you laugh so hard that you couldn't stop, which caused him to laugh as well.

"I mean, she isn't wrong." You teasingly say it to him, causing him to shake his head.

"Yeah-fuckin'-right, darlin'. I can be cool, too."

"Mmhmm.." You reply back to him as you turn your head to look back at the view. However, Joel's eyes remained on you, but you didn't mind too much.

Once again, silence fell over you two. You wanted to look back at Joel, but you knew that if you looked at him in the eyes, your heart would beat out of your chest.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Joel?" You asked him without looking at him.

"What?" Joel asked.

Was he that engrossed in my face that he wasn't even paying attention, or were you not loud enough?

You suppress your laugh as you turn your head to look at him again. "I asked if you enjoyed yourself today." He quickly snaps out of his trance and looks away.

"Oh, yeah, it was enjoyable for the most part, sweetie," Joel sighs out. You said nothing else after this.

You didn't realize it until now, but you were starting to grow tired from the weed. You also wanted a snack.

"Well, I'm going to head back in, maybe fall asleep to a movie or something." You tell him as you grab your belongings, get up from the chair, and walk to the door.

"Alright," He says as he watches every step you take. "And one last thing, darlin'," You stop with your hand on the doorknob and look up at Joel as you wait to hear what he has to say. With a mix of your high and the nervousness you were feeling because of Joel, your heart was pounding out of your chest at this point.

"You don't gotta lie to me, sweet girl. You know that, right?" He says lowly as he motioned to his eyes.

Fuck!

Your body tenses up, and you freeze. You decided to play dumb, even though you were caught. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Joel," You say as you let out a nervous laugh. Your eyes shifted to the ground, avoiding eye contact with Joel like a guilty puppy.

"Oh, no need to play stupid with me, sweet girl; I won't tell your daddy." Something about the way he said these words made you want him so bad; it was almost like he was teasing you.

You felt your walls crumbling, no longer feeling the need to lie to him. "You swear, Joel?" You asked him as you looked at him with pleading eyes.

Joel wished that you would look at him with those pretty eyes while you were on your knees, pleading and begging for him to feed you his cock. In all honesty, he'd give you the world if you asked for it with that look. You made Joel feel something he hasn't felt for a woman in years, and he was willing to do just about anything to have you. However, he could tell you weren't ready for that yet, but he knew in due time he'd have you.

"You have my word, darlin'," He nods his head. "Just don't lie to me again," Joel tells you as he points a finger.

You frantically nod your head in agreement as you bite your lip. "I won't do it again, Joel."

All Joel could think about was how obedient you are, so eager to please him and do as he says. He could feel his cock getting hard in his shorts as he looked at your bare thighs and had these thoughts. Not once did you realize that Joel was checking you out.

Oh, how badly Joel wanted to grab your chin and kiss those lips of yours. He kept reminding himself that he needed to be patient.

"Good." He says before speaking up again. "You should go inside, darlin', maybe get some rest." Joel insisted as he made his way to the door and gave you one last look before walking inside, leaving you outside by yourself.

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment as you think about your interaction with Joel. You weren't sure if it was just you thinking too much into the interaction, but you felt like there was some sexual tension between you and Joel.

Any time you're around him, nervousness takes over, and a sense of yearning aches deep in your bones.

You needed him badly.

"Don't," You say to yourself. "Don't fucking think about it." You say it lowly as you try to shake the thoughts out of your head.

Joel is off limits; he's your dad's best friend.

You realized how crazy you must look standing at the door thinking about Joel, so you went inside.

Once you entered the room, you noticed that it was a little too warm in there for your liking, so you decided to leave the balcony door cracked to get some fresh air.

You put your things away, got into bed, and watched a movie on the TV across the room.

...

You weren't sure when you fell asleep, but you did during the movie without even realizing it. You felt very discombobulated, so you sat in the dark for a few minutes. Your clothes felt disgusting on your body as you sweated through them, and your throat was dry.

You quickly got out of bed, slipped off your clothes, got back into bed, and took a sip of the water bottle that lay next to you. During this, you got a glimpse of the digital clock that sat on the bedside table. It read 12:48.

The house was quiet. You were sure that Maria, Tommy, and your dad were back from the bar by now and asleep. Sarah and Joel were probably sleeping as well.

You laid back down on the bed, pushing away the uncomfortable blanket, leaving your body bare. You should have gotten up to close the door because if Joel were to come to your balcony door, he'd surely get a glimpse of your naked body. However, you were still sleepy and a little high, so you lacked the motivation to get up.

It really didn't matter anyway; he's probably still sleeping.

You had laid restless in the bed, constantly flipping the pillows to get the cool side and changing positions, but you still couldn't sleep. You decided to lay on your stomach; it helped you fall asleep sometimes.

You knew one thing that would definitely make you fall asleep, but with a particular someone lingering in your thoughts, it felt wrong. It is completely wrong to have these thoughts about him.

He's way too old for you, and he's your dad's best friend.

Though you tried your best to resist these thoughts, you couldn't help yourself.

Fuck it, it's not like I'm gonna actually fuck him, you think to yourself.

You were suddenly taken back to earlier, when you first laid eyes on him. Those eyes and the curve of his nose. You wanted nothing more than to feel his beautiful nose rub against your clit while he ate you out.

Or when he shook your hands and you felt those thick, rough fingers against your smooth hands.

You were sure that Joel knew how to use them very well.

Subconsciously, your hips had bucked into the bed, trying to get friction onto your clit causing the headboard to hit against the wall ever-so-slightly.

"Shit!" You cursed out loud, hoping that Joel didn't hear. Your heart was pounding at the thought of being caught by him, but your pussy dripped with your wetness.

You waited a couple seconds until you took your hand from underneath the pillow and slowly moved it between the bed and your body, allowing your finger tips to graze against your pussy. You couldn't help but whimper at the feeling. Your arousal ran down your fingers, to your knuckles, and onto the bed.

What you didn't know was that Joel wasn't even in his room; he was sitting out on the balcony. He had been sitting out there for about an hour or so because he couldn't sleep, not with you on his mind, so he decided to sit out there and bore himself to death until he got some sleep. When he first came outside, he checked on you and saw that you were knocked out. The room was dark, and the only thing that brought some light to the room was the bright moonlight reflecting over the lake.

As Joel got up to check on you one last time before he went back to his room, he heard you let out a whimper. He slowly walked to your balcony door so that he wouldn't scare you in case you were having a nightmare, but that wasn't the case at all. Again, Joel heard you let out another noise.

First, you sharply gasped, then moaned out, "Oh, Fuck!"

Joel became more intrigued with whatever was going on in your room because it became very apparent that you weren't having a nightmare. In fact, it didn't even sound like you were sleeping anymore.

Like a thief in the night, Joel peered through the door that was half open. What he saw before him could've brought him to his knees.

You were lying down on your stomach, fully naked on the bed. He noticed that with your right hand, you were touching yourself. Joel wasn't hard before, but he's definitely hard now. He felt as his cock strained against the fabric of his shorts.

Joel knew it was wrong to watch you masturbate without knowing, but he couldn't take his eyes off of you. It had been nearly two years since the last time he had been sexually active, and quite honestly, it was catching up to him at that very moment. He had been so busy with everything in his life that sex was the last thing on his mind until now.

As Joel watched you hump your hips into your fingers, you were imagining a shirtless Joel sat up on the bed, with you sitting in between his legs. Your legs would be wide open, propped up over his, as you allowed his calloused middle and ring finger to collect your arousal from between your folder and rub it into your clit. With his deep Texas accent, he would be whispering into your ear about how much of a good girl you are and how wet you were for him. Your head would be laid on his sexy, broad shoulders as your eyes rolled with pleasure. You imagined that as he played with your clit, his other hand would touch your breast and quickly tweak your nipples as they continued going up and firmly wrapping around your neck.

You were so caught up in your thoughts and pleasure that you hadn't realized that you were moaning out Joel's name.

"J-Joel, please," You quivered out quietly enough so that you weren't too loud, but loud enough for Joel to hear. "I'll be good, p-please, daddy." You followed up.

Even though you thought that Joel was in the next room over (which he wasn't) and there were other people in the house, you still continued to touch yourself as the headboard faintly knocked against the wall.

Yet you were so blissfully unaware of it all. So unaware of the fact that Joel was standing right outside the door, watching you rubbing yourself completely nude, and unaware that Joel had pulled his cock out while he watched and listened to you.

Joel didn't care that what he was doing was wrong. He didn't care that watching you, this freshly 21-year-old, masturbate without your knowledge was bad.

The sounds of your panting, moans, and dirty talk made him want to walk right into the room and give you the pleasure you needed.

Joel has always been a selfish lover when it came to the bedroom; he liked to be the one who was dominant and always took control. He could tell you needed someone like him to fulfill your desires—not some foolish 20-something year old, but a real man.

As you continued to grind against your fingers, Joel saw how your ass moved back and forth. He wanted to spank you for being such a naughty girl. Touching yourself without asking for his permission. He would remind you that only slutty, bad girls did that.

He jerked his cock at the same speed as your hips moved. "Oh my god, daddy!" You moaned into the pillow, causing it to be muffled. The thrusting of your hips had sped up. You were on the cusp of cumming, but that changed when you suddenly pulled your hands from between your legs and got up to change positions.

You were now lying on your back with your legs bent up to your chest as far as they could go. Using the hand you just used to grind up against, you bring your middle and ring fingers to your mouth. You began to suckle on them intensely, pretending they were Joel's fingers. You could taste yourself as you did so.

A minute later, you pop your fingers out of your mouth and bring them down to your pussy. As you sink your fingers inside yourself, you can feel the wetness, allowing you to slip deeper into your tight hole. You squirmed as you felt a little discomfort due to your fingers. You decided to slowly thrust your fingers in and out, allowing yourself to get used to the feeling. With your free hand, you brought it up to your mouth to muffle your soft whines.

Oh, my baby, she can barely take her own fingers, Joel thought as he watched you.

To Joel's surprise, you still didn't see him standing by the door, hastily jerking himself off at the sight of you. It wasn't like he was being discreet about it either. He was almost fully through the door at that point. Your eyes were closed as you fingered yourself.

Finally, you were able to adjust to your fingers. As you picked up the speed, Joel could hear the wet, slick sounds coming from your pussy all the way across the room. Hearing this only heightens the pleasure for him.

"Joel, I'm-oh my god-I'm gonna cum!" You moaned lowly.

Joel wanted to be the one to make you cry, but he knew he couldn't at that moment.

Your messy wetness had allowed your fingers to go deeper inside, causing you a certain spot. Your legs shuddered as your finger tips grazed the spot. In a 'come here' motion, you continued to hit the spot over and over again. "Fuck! That's it, baby. Keep going just like that." You purred out.

Joel convulsed at the way you said these words. He was ready to cum at any moment, but he wanted to cum with you.

With his hand still rapidly moving up and down his length, he finally heard your release.

"Yes! I'm cumming all over your fingers, Joel!" You moaned a little louder this time. Joel could hear you breathing hard as you continued to ramble about how good it felt.

Instantly, Joel was cumming. He withheld his groans and grunts as the hot cum hit the palm of his other hand. Instead, he was breathing hard through his nose, hoping to God that you couldn't hear him.

Finally, your orgasm began to die down. "Oh my god," You sighed out blissfully, as you pulled your finger from your pussy. Your legs moved from your chest and you dropped down on the bed. You were still trying to catch your breath. With his mind still cloudy from cumming so hard, when Joel saw you move your legs, he thought that you were going to get off the bed, causing him to panic and move away from the door so that you couldn't see him.

You could feel the cum webbing between your two fingers. You decided that you wanted a look, so you opened your eyes and brought your hand close to your face. You could see the bright moonlight illuminate your cum. You'd never come so hard. Not with any of your hookups, let alone when you masturbated.

You felt spent after that, but you needed to get up to clean yourself off. You decided to rest your eyes a bit before getting up, but without even realizing it, you had dozed off into a dreamless sleep.

Less than five minutes later, Joel heard light snores coming from your room, so he decided that it was safe to look again. You were dead to the world. Joel saw your limp hand hanging off the bed—the same one you had used to fuck yourself with. He could see the wetness gleaming on your fingers. He wanted to come over them and suck your cum off of your fingers, but he stopped himself.

The post-nut clarity had hit Joel, and he realized that he must've looked like a creep with his cock out while he watched you sleep. So he closed your balcony door and headed back into the house to wash the cum from his hands.

Joel knew that he would have you one day; it didn't matter how long it took for him to get you. He would get you right where he wanted you eventually.

...

You woke up feeling like a brand new person that morning. Your limbs felt loose, and you felt like you could conquer the world.

You could feel the sun on your naked body as you rose out of bed to stretch. The sounds of people moving around let you know that everyone was awake.

You suddenly realized that the balcony door was now closed. You don't remember getting up to clean yourself, and you definitely don't remember ever getting up to close the door.

Realization had hit you hard, and your heart dropped.

Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

There was no way anyone could have come into your room because you had locked the bedroom door. However, Joel had access to the shared balcony.

He was the only one who could've closed that door.

Whatever, you were going to enjoy yourself this weekend and act like nothing happened.

=============================================

A/N: I had a lot of trouble writing this for some reason, but next one is going to be a lot better. I got so much planned already hehe

[grimsonandclover]

Next Last

Sympathy is a knife.1

or; Broken bones hurt less than broken girls

Stanford!Tashi x tennis player!reader

Song of the post 'Limp - Fiona Apple'

You didn't respect tennis, so why should she respect you? She hated you. The spoiled nepo-baby who's never had to work a day in her life, and yet somehow you've managed to pay your way into NYU and play on the team. Somehow, you managed to beat her last year when Stanford played NYU, and now she's scheduled to play you again at the French Open. You're a goddamnned mess, everyone knows that.

So how are you still so good?

You're a trainwreck self sabotaging in front of the world.

So why does she feel so terrible when you're on the ground, crying like that, clutching your knee? She should be celebrating. But she's not.

SFW

6k words

angst, rivals to ...something? more in part 2 whenever that is, reader's got issues, death of a parent, mommy AND daddy issues, substance abuse by the reader and possible addiction/dependancy, injury, early 2000s NYC socialite treatment, reader is very irresponsible with a DUI (ewww don't do that please), some vomit, panic attacks, some trauma post-parent death, pre-established relationship, cheating, art follows tashi like a lost puppy, suicidal thoughts/depressions, thats a weird order to put those warnings in but oh well, just overall sad times, big sister tashi, reader should get a therapist but instead she parties and plays tennis, best friend patrick

"You're fucking joking." Are the first words Tashi Duncan says when she's told that she's going to compete against you next week. They come out venom-laced and shoot from her lips like daggers. Then, she says them again. "You're fucking joking."

You, the prodigy of NYU that should've been kicked out long ago if not for your pure, unbridled talent (if unbridled talent meant daddy's money, too). You, the daughter of a late, hot-shot Hollywood producer father and triple-divorcee restauranteur mother. You, the younger sister to B-list nepo-baby actress Seline, the older sister to teenage heartthrob boyband member Jonah. You, the tennis star with her name known by people who've never even seen a single match of tennis in their life during the day, and hot-mess socialite with her DUI mugshot from last year plastered on TMZ by night, your name sprinkled over several blind items on Crazy Days And Nights despite your big-name boyfriend. You, the only person comparable in skill to Tashi Duncan. You, who had already beat her once the same week you got that DUI.

Tashi Duncan hated you.

No, hate was too simple of a word. Hate couldn't begin to describe what she felt. It was more akin to revulsion. You were revolting to her. She felt physically sick when she was in the same room as you, which wasn't often. Until now. Now she had to once again share a court with you at the French Open.

For a split second, she considered pulling out. Then, she got her shit together and remembered that she's Tashi Nicole Duncan, and she wouldn't let a mess of a person like you with no respect for the sport make her think like that.

"Art, could you call my coach?"

Her pet-- I mean, her friend did as she asked, handing the phone to her. "What's the earliest you're available tomorrow?"

"You're fucking joking..." Are the first words you say when you're told that you're going to compete against Tashi next week. They come out quiet and tired, slow and disappointed. "She hates me. She hates me and she's going to kill me.

Tashi, the prodigy of Stanford with better grades than you could ever dream of achieving. Tashi, the daughter of a very much alive working-class father and happily married once mother, oldest sister to twins Nathalie and Renee, who are very normal teenage girls still living their normal lives in high school. Tashi, the tennis star every coach wants to get their hands on, with sponsors creaming their pants for her name on their products. Tashi, who's never once been arrested because that's just not a thing well-rounded people do. TMZ has barely ever even heard of her, and nobody's ever anonymously speculated who she's sleeping with. Tashi, the only person comparable in skill to you. Tashi, who looked like she'd rather she was pronounced dead the day before than hear your name announced by the umpire last year.

Tashi Duncan hated you.

It wasn't just your insecure mind making that up, either. She made it blatantly obvious that she did when you went to shake her hand after winning against her. You could still see the laser-hot glare she gave you if you closed your eyes. Feel the iron grip of her soft hands on yours, like she was restraining herself from snapping your wrist. You didn't look forward to seeing those eyes stare holes into your skull until you got a headache, again, next week.

"Maybe I shouldn't go this year. I don't know... I mean, I just recovered from my ankle, and-"

"Don't be ridiculous." Your best friend, Patrick, cut you off, rolling his eyes. "You're not a pussy bitch, you're a tennis player. Act like one."

Despite his choice of words, you knew it came from a good place. The reassuring smile on him reaffirmed that. Patrick seemingly knew what you were capable of better than you did. "You're going to do fine."

Charlie, your boyfriend, patted your shoulder as he passed you to grab a bottle of water, offering no words of comfort past that. He never tried much in that department. Or most departments, it seemed. It's like he thought relationships were like modeling: show up and look pretty, that's all. You were there showering him with praise and words of affirmation when he had a stomach bug during fashion week and was scared he couldn't walk. Charlie reciprocated by patting you on the shoulder while you paced your living room.

Turning to your mom, who was sitting in a chair nearby, didn't do much to help ease your anxiety like Patrick's words did, though. She was on her phone, texting and calling the dozens of people she kept in contact with a day. It took her a minute to realize you were trying to get her attention.

"Oh, Christ, Y/N, you'll be fine." She waved her hand nonchalantly. "You'll win and it'll all be fine. And if you don't, well... maybe she'll feel like you're even. How's that?"

God, your feet were killing you in these chunky platforms. Is that wet patch on your skinny jeans from a spilled drink or are you so drunk you wet yourself on the dancefloor? Where are you, what's the name of this place? Patrick doesn't seem to know, either. You're pretty sure Paris is about two shots away from making out with him, based on the way she's staring at him. Why the fuck did you choose to wear skinny jeans, these are miserable. The sequin dress was right there. Is the music louder than usual? The brights are too light right now-- wait, shit, no, the lights are too bright. Where's Patrick?

You feel bile rise in your throat and shove a girl out of the way so you throw up into the club toilet. It tastes like strawberry and tequila and shit. Someone's banging their fist on the stall door begging to piss, and you can hear moaning and skin slapping in the other stall. Fifty-fifty chance it's Patrick. Twenty-eighty chance it's Patrick and Paris.

You flush, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and stumble out the stall to the sinks. God, you're a mess. You know you started the night with two hoop earrings, where did the other one go? The couple in the stall are so loud, and you can definitely recognize the sound of Patrick now. Mascara is smudgeding and it's making your eyes irritated and water, but you didn't think to use anything waterproof.

You almost trip over yourself and have a repeat of last time (the time you sprained your ankle at 1OAK and couldn't play properly for three weeks) as you approach the stall, knocking on the door. "Patrick," you gag a little as bile threatens to resurface, "Pat we gotta... gotta go. It's..." you pull your phone from your bra, "Fuck, it's three. Amber's gon' fuckin' killllllllll me." Amber being your coach. You wonder how not-hungover you'll be able to act when you see her in three hours.

It takes a couple more bangs on the door for him to stop. You can hear clothes shuffling, some giggling and whispers, and the zip of his fly before the stall door opens. Paris stumbles out with a giggle, adjusting her skirt before announcing that she's gonna go find Kim, and 'good luck with Amber.'

You're barely standing and conscious, but you're not so out of it to not notice how he looks. White residue on his nostril tells all. "You've got coke?"

Patrick steps out of the stall, eyeing a girl at the sink throwing him dirty looks in the mirror before he looks back to you. "You know what I'm going to say to that, Y/N."

"Come on, just enough to keep me up. I'm gonna crash by four."

"No."

"Patrick."

"No."

You huff, leaning back on the counter and crossing your arms. "Fuck you. Since when did you join the morals police?"

"Since last week."

That's not a pleasant reminder. You want to slap him in that moment, even if it was a perfectly reasonable excuse for his sudden reluctance to feed your craving. You were a nightmare to everyone you knew last week. And the week before. You wonder how far back this could go. "Fuck you."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, wiping his nose again and checking himself out in the mirror, adjusting his jacket.

TMZ, oh how you loathe them, has pictures of you leaving the club by the time you're meeting Amber on the rooftop court of your residence. She's livid, as she always seems to be. Like someone shoved a lemon in her mouth and no one told her she could just spit it out. "You're late. You've got the Open in four days and you're fucking late. And hungover."

"It's only two hours."

Your voice is tired and croaking, and you haven't slept longer than two since yesterday. Hungover is a generous diagnosis. You're still drunk. Charlie, who was absent from your all-nighter club hopping, makes sure you don't trip over yourself going up the stairs to the roof before leaving your side to lounge on the pool chairs. Someone texted you "Hey girl, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but..." around the time you made it out of bed, but you deleted the text before you saw any more of it. Your mind wanders to that text when you look at him.

"Two hours, my ass. Christ, I should quit."

Amber threatens leaving you as much as you promise it won't happen again. Like 'yes', 'no', and 'You do this one more time and so help me God I will make sure you can never find a coach again,' are all the basis of her vocabulary. You play and pay too well for her to ever commit to those threats.

Practice goes on until your bones ache and cry for a break. Charlie's fallen asleep with a magazine tucked under his chin. Amber leaves for the poolside cabana and calls her girlfriend while you just lay on the ground, staring at the clouds. The adrenaline starts to wear off, meaning you feel like shit. Your mouth is incredibly dry, the sun is blinding. It's like your body remembered that you're meant to be hungover and is only now catching up. At least it's after practice. Not that you did all that well. You can hear Amber argue with her girlfriend over the phone and it only makes you feel worse about being such a horrible player by showing up late and half-shitfaced. You knew they were going through a rough patch. Least you could do is make her job easier.

Closing your eyes is only temporary relief. You can still hear the cars from the streets below and Amber whisper-yell into the receiver. "I told you already... Wednesday's no good, no... well then tell them to reschedule... Rebecca, it's not like you didn't know what kind of schedule I've got when we started dating..."

It feels like your legs are going to snap when you roll over, hands planted on the hard court ground and you silently beg your muscles to push you up. You're dizzy, the doubled, now tripled vision bringing back the bile from last night/this morning to the base of your throat, but you swallow it down. Over your shoulder, you look at the pool, the sunlight bouncing from the cold water. Amber's on the other side of it, brows furrowed. She sees you watching her and turns around, back facing you.

She turns back around when she hears a splash. You fell face-first into the pool. On purpose. The cool water feels amazing, the sting from hitting the water nothing compared to the ache in your bones that has been there since childhood. You open your eyes, watching your hair billow around you like smoke, the way the sun glimmers on the surface like sparkles, the shadow peering over the ledge. "Oh, god. I'll call you later, Becca. I love you."

When was the last time Charlie said he loved you?

It's so quiet under the water. You wish the bubbles that escape your lips and float above you would carry out everything you hold in your chest. Then you could float like they do.

Like all moments of perfect peace, it doesn't last long. Babies must leave the safety of their mother's womb. People wake up every morning despite wishing to stay in bed and fall back into nothing. Amber reaches into the water and grabs your arm to tug you out and you feel like you could cry. The first wail, the sign of life. Opening your eyes to the sun leaking through blinds, signaling to you it's morning.

Is death truly the only time we have? When you ask Amber, she just frowns and tells you to stop drinking as she dries your hair with a towel.

"Come on, Y/N. Put your back into it!"

The ball barely makes it over the net, bounce, bounce, bouncing down the other side of the court. The racket is heavy in your small hands, but he won't let you put it down yet. "Dad, I can't." You whine.

"What did I say about can'ts?"

You should bite your tongue. Can't's for quitters. "Maybe I am a quitter!"

He stomps across the court, grabbing the collar of your little tennis whites. Despite the action, there's no violence behind it. "No daughter of mine is a quitter."

His voice is low, like he's whispering a secret to you. "You can."

Your collar is let go and your father stands straight. "And you will. Now, do it again like Ronald taught you."

It's Renaud. Grabbing another ball from the basket behind you, you try again. And again. And again. By the time you're done, your arms are sore for days to come and you've got blisters on your feet. He makes you drop out of your preschool Mother's Day dance to practice with Renaud instead. You had the dance down pat, practicing it for weeks.

You only ever started playing because he wanted you to. Maybe five-year-old you should've held your ground more.

Tashi bit the inner skin of her lips, her mother talking casually into her ear through the phone. "And Nathalie, well, you know how she felt about it all. Cried the whole way home."

"Is she alright? Well, clearly not, but..." She zips up the final suitcase on her bed, taking a breath. They were flying out tomorrow, the Open being the day after.

Her mother sighs, nodding her head even though her daughter can't see. "She will be, in time. First heartbreak's going to be pretty tough, poor girl."

A knock on her dorm door pulls Tashi's attention from the call. Looking up, she sees Art peeking in. She holds her finger up, asking him to wait. "Well, let Beetle know that she can call or text me about it anytime. She forgets to check my texts."

"You forget to call."

Tashi huffs. Her mother's right, of course. It's not on purpose, it's just she's constantly go, go, going, her phone often goes forgotten. "Still. I'll pick up whenever she wants me."

Her eyes trail a bird outside her window. It hops across the little ledge, pecking at something on the brick. She wished she had wings. Tashi would just up and fly to her family right now. It's been two months since she last hugged her sisters. Did they forget how she felt? Sometimes, when she can't sleep, Tashi thinks about when they were just little soft fleshy things in bassinets, waking her up at night as they cried in her parent's bedroom. Now, Nathalie was going through her first breakup and Renee was going through some rebellious phase back home.

"You've got your hotel booked for tomorrow?" Tashi asks after a moment, biting her lip again. She can't help it, her worries jump from one subject to another.

"Yes, Tash. I love you, we all love you. We're booked, we're packed, we're ready. I've gotta go finish dinner, have you eaten?"

Tashi hums a response, smiling to herself. "I miss your cooking, mom."

"I miss you. Now, get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow."

When the call ends, Art steps in fully. "Everything with Nat alright?"

She frowns in response, shaking her head and sitting at the edge of the small single in her dorm. The old mattress creaks under her, the weight of dozens like her over the years taking its toll on the springs. "Brodie and her broke up last night at some party. Nat's taking it kinda hard."

He frowns with her and sighs. "I do not miss high school..."

"What'd you come in here for?" Tashi asks after a moment, turning to face him better. She tucks a leg under the other thigh, and Art's eyes catch on the flexing muscle under the warm toffee skin for a moment. Blinking hard, he sits beside her, grabbing one of her pillows to play with. It's a nervous habit of Art's. "It's about her."

When Seline sees the news, she doesn't call. Just sends a text asking if you're alright. Jonah does call, but you don't pick up. You know if you do it'll be like pouring your feelings to a brick wall. And then, when you're done, the brick wall will recite some line from his therapist and ask you for your new dealer's number, and that will be that. Your mother has stopped trying all-together.

Tashi feels a strange sense of pity when Art shows her the headlines, an emotion she doesn't associate with you.

Charlie, mid-grind at the club, decided he no longer liked playing your boyfriend. He forgot to relay that information to you, though. Honest mistake, he assumed you'd gather that when he turned around and stuck his tongue down another girl's throat. Oh, you should've seen the look on your face.

All those unrequited 'I love you's coming back to hit you in the face in a single moment. You had even tossed one on the way here. One that he let hit his turned shoulder and slide off the curve of it like bird shit. Now, here you were, frozen on the dance floor as you watched your boyfriend of a year make it painfully clear how much it all meant to him. Charlie Maddox was known for his looks, never his brain or heart. You tried so desperately to make up for it. You'd rip the beating muscle in your chest out for him and for what?

You've never been good at holding in your emotions. You were the 'wear your heart on your sleeve' kind of gal, much to your dismay. Meaning, you slapped him in the middle of the crowd, screaming something about love and his small dick (it was average), and stormed out of the club only to be met with dozens of paparazzi who were always there waiting for someone to leave. Patrick was just getting another drink at the bar when you left, missing the whole thing. You barely made it five steps out the door, tears streaming down your face, ankles twisting with every step, before taking a detour and puking in the alley behind a dumpster. Pictures were taken of every moment. One guy even ran up and took a picture of the puddle.

Sure he wasn't the best boyfriend, and it was a long time coming, but you weren't exactly in the mental state for such a sudden change in relationship status. You flew to France tomorrow. Amber said no distractions. Here Charlie was, throwing a wrench in everything with his stupid model face and his stupid model lips and his stupid model ego. You think you would've married him if he asked. Have his stupid model babies. Not like he ever would want that with you. How pathetic are you?

You're a hiccuping, sobbing mess. Why'd you take the train here? That club was hardly worth the trip.

It's embarrassing to be sitting on the subway seats, slumped down as you stare at the floor. Not because of your status or who you are, but because... well, just look at the state of you. Your hair is a mess from partying for hours on end, you ripped your heels off your feet the moment you sat down (and they've already been stolen), mascara is running down your cheeks and frankly, you haven't stopped crying. You try to cover your face when you see camera phones curiously life up, some obvious and some not so obvious. The guy next to you gives you the side eye, squinting like he's trying to tell if he recognizes you.

You just want to curl up and die. That girl, the one Charlie practically impregnated through a kiss with his tongue so far down her throat he could probably taste her lunch, looked like Mila Kunis. It wasn't, of course, but she looked like her. Why didn't you look like her? Maybe then he'd stay. He'd try and taste your lunch. Or maybe it wasn't looks. Something that you felt like you had even less control over. You cry a little harder.

If your dad was here he'd have something to say. He'd have some schpiel about life and relationships that you probably wouldn't want to hear anyway, but at least you'd be hearing him. You'd take just about anything. Your phone rings with Patrick's number and you don't pick up. The guy next to you snaps a picture. You wonder if your dealer has anything available. Amber's going to murder you in cold blood. You'd welcome it just about now. The P.A. announces the next stop, and it's not yours, and it would be an hour of walking barefoot across New York to get to your place, but you leave the subway anyway when it comes to a stop. Because that guy kind of stank, and a kid was crying too loudly, and you could hear someone calling someone else to talk about who they just saw on the train, and you just wanted to go home.

The walk was miserable. Your feet hurt and you had to put too much attention for your liking on where you were stepping so you wouldn't get some uncurable disease from the sidewalk. Less people noticed you on the streets, but someone had clearly let the press know what train you were on and they knew if you'd left by foot, they could probably catch up. They did. Now, they had pictures of you crying leaving the club, crying on the New York City subway, and crying walking home. Fantastic. By now you were known more for your tears than your tennis. You'd hail a cab but it was rush hour, and there's no point in even trying then.

You knew it was a fruitless effort asking for them to stop taking picture of you, but you tried anyway. All requests were drowned out by the snapping clicks of the cameras. You were still drunk, and the flashes made your eyes burn and head spin. Your name was being called all around you.

"Need a ride home?" "What happened with Charlie?" "Any news you can share about your sister's latest project?" "Chin up, darling, I can't get your face." "Excited for your match with Tashi Duncan, Y/N?" "Hey, you need some shoes?"

You look over to the guy who just offered you shoes, stopping in your miserable and painful tracks. He's at least wearing socks when he pulls his sneakers off. They're a size or so too big, like clown shoes, but they get the job done. You thank him, and then go back to keeping your head down as you walk. You can already see the headlines.

Your head was spinning so much you didn't know if you could play. You're on the stationary bike to warm up, an hour or so until your match. An hour or so until you face her. You already spent last night with Amber on the practice courts, getting re-used to how the clay changes the speed of the ball, perfecting your strikes as best you can. She offered to take you again, but you were too nauseous to go. That seems to be a constant for you.

Patrick's back in New York. He's got his own tennis career to take care of, but he's sending you texts here and there. Words of encouragement.

"picture her naked or smething"

"actually no dont do that. that wouldnt even work for me"

"make chuck realize what hes missing by winning"

"i just took the fattest shit!!!! oooooh I wanna send you the pic soooo bad. thatll take ur mind off of it"

You had to block his number for a good fifteen minutes just in case. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd done that. That did almost get a laugh out of you if you weren't still so nervous.

Someone was watching on the small TV in the corner of the room, you think it was Rebecca. They're saying it's going to rain tomorrow, but that's all you can understand. So much for those French classes you took for five years straight. You tried to focus on the blurring syllables you once knew as you cycled.

Seline sends you a bouquet of good-luck flowers, but she forgets you're allergic. Jonah forgot altogether that the Open was today, and you don't have it in you to remind your little brother. He's on tour anyway, what could he really do?

Tashi's pacing the practice courts with her coach, Art in the corner talking with her mom as they half-watch her. She's stressed out of her mind. She played and won the Australian Open earlier last year. To win this would already take her halfway to a career Grand Slam. Tashi needed this. To have anyone like you get in the way of that would be unacceptable.

Her coach is doing his best to assure her she'll win. Forget last time, this was it.

"I mean, have you seen her lately?" He said with a scoffed laugh. "Nobody wins an Open like that."

You have. You won the Australian Open, too, a few years ago at 16, and you were equally off the rocks back then. It didn't do much to quell her nerves. "You've put in the work, Tash. You've been training for years, harder than she could ever imagine doing. It's in the bag. All you need to be worrying about is where you're gonna put your Suzanne Lenglin cup."

"It's only the first round. Once you get through the initial nerves, the rest will go by like nothing."

"Right." You said with no real believability. Amber was leaning over the front of the stationary bike and you slowed down your cycling, nearing the end of the warm-up. "Except it's not just the first round."

It's Tashi. It's Charlie. It's Seline, and Jonah, and your mom. It's the first major tournament you've played since...

Since him.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Amber could hear all of it just by looking at you, and she had nothing left to offer but a pitying sigh and a pat on your shoulder. Even Patrick, now unblocked again, had nothing left to offer through the phone.

Nathalie is crying on the couch and Renee is doing her best to console her twin when Tashi returns to the player room, their mother and Art following behind. She starts doing stretches in the middle of the room as she addresses her weeping sister. "Beetle, he isn't worth your tears. You know that."

Tashi's mother wraps warm arms around her twins. "Baby, heartbreak heals. You're left only with the unconditional love you hold for yourself. Let it out."

It was her mantra. Words she'd repeat after all three of the sister's occasional breakups. Time heals all wounds.

Tired legs climb off the bike. You overdid it, and Amber silently panics that the overexertion will affect your playing. The couch facing the door connected to the player's tunnel is plush enough. Thoughts trail off to your family, all of which aren't here to watch you play.

Your mother was in France, too. You asked her to come but she was busy meeting with vendors for her new restaurant. Seline was on set for some blockbuster horror film back home. Jonah, well... maybe you should text him a quick 'hey, just letting you know im about to play one of the biggest tournaments a tennis player can, against the scariest woman I know. wish me luck!' But you don't. And your father. Oh, your father. He might've been the only one out of all of them willing to show up.

That doesn't matter now, though. He won't.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He won't.

Breathing gets a little harder to do, even though you're sitting.

He won't, he won't, he won't, he can't.

The words are falling out of your mouth now like sand seeping through the cracks in fingers. "He's not here. My dad's not here."

Your wild eyes look up to Amber, whose head whips to you. Her heart drops. Rebecca stops watching the TV. You've been here before.

"Amber, he's not here. He's not here. I can't play, he's not--"

A knock on the door, your name being called by two voices. One tells you to breathe, the other tells you that "they're ready for you."

You can only assume what comes from who as tears blur in your waterline. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He's not here. The one person in your life that always would be. The one person who promised not to leave.

Tashi threw up after she played you and lost. Tashi Duncan lost.

Stanford Vs. NYU. She should've had it in the bag. It should've been nothing.

Top players lost all the time. It's a fact. Human error, lucky streak for the opponent, off-days. Not for Tashi. Losing to you was a slap in the face. It shook her confidence in herself so bad she didn't know how she'd recover. It was only when she played and won the Australian Open later that year, with you nowhere to be seen, that she got it back.

She spent a weekend learning everything she could about you. A weak moment in her own eyes, but she had to know more about the person who made her crumble. It wasn't hard to do-- researching you. You were in the press constantly, along with the rest of your family.

Your DUI and countless failed relationships, your sister getting thrown out of galas for fighting with other actresses, your brother sleeping with groupies and their tall tales about the ordeal, your mother's countless failed business ventures post-modeling career, and your father. Life and death.

Tashi had found an old interview of yours, done right after your own Australian Open win at 16. You mentioned how he's responsible for it all, pushing you to play since as long as you could remember. How despite his crazy career as one of the big producers in Hollywood, he'd still make time in his schedule to be there for all your games. He was your biggest critic and biggest fan, you said. That you didn't know where you'd be without him in any sense of the word.

When she checked the date of the interview, her heart stopped for a moment. A week before his accident. She even remembers seeing it on the news. How Tashi looked over to her dad as he folded laundry on the couch, watching it with her. "Hollywood producer found dead in major collision in L.A. A break malfunction is the suspected cause."

Maybe that moment, reading that interview on her bed with her father knocking on the door to offer tea, was the first time she saw you more than a mess. More as a hurt, teenage girl. Maybe she forgot it all, though, looking at you now.

You couldn't sit in a car for three months without having a panic attack after it happened. The mere mention of them could even make you spiral. It was after the funeral that you started your infamous 'spiral down the drain'. There was so much paparazzi outside the cemetery gates.

It's the only reason you didn't try to compete in any of the Grand Slam tournaments after winning the Australian at 16. Every time you picked up a racket for the next four years, you heard his nagging voice in your head.

"Come on. Not good enough. Put your goddamn all into it!"

"You're not getting a Grand Slam with this attitude. Do it again."

It was too much to do anything bigger than challengers or school tournaments. Every single one left you teary-eyed in the locker rooms before and after. Amber suggested a therapist several times, but nothing came of it.

You can still see the look of pride on his face after you won the Open. Every time you close your fucking eyes, he's there. Such a rare treat to see him smile, and you did it.

You thought you'd be ready now. You told Amber you're ready. It's been four years, damn it. You're supposed to be over it. What happened to time heals all wounds?

All this time, you thought you were scared of seeing Tashi again after beating her in '06. It's only now, the crowd in your ears as your name is announced, that you realize how wrong you were. He's still there, in the back of your heart. Oh, how that bit of flesh has been carved out over the years of your brief life. How it still beats, after all the shit you've put it through, only to make him proud. Could you ever make him proud again?

The only thing you could hear was your heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

A tennis ball soars over the polyethylene net in a perfect arch. Long-loved Chanel tennis sneakers skid across the clay ground, arm slicing through the tension and humidity in the air. Thwack! The ball is launched back to Tashi Duncan. "Come on. Not good enough."

Then, the hitch of your breath; a sharp intake like more air in your lungs would be the thing to save you.

Sweat drips from your brow to your cheekbone, sliding down like a tear. From the back of your neck down your spine like a chill. Even from this distance, you can see the drops slide down her temples and the slope of her chin. Another crack emanates from her racket. You brace for impact. You see your father behind the net.

The court ground under your feet scraping. The sound of skin ripping open in thousands of tiny cuts, the cccccrrrrrrrrack! of bone. Bone. The gasps of the crowd. The crack of bone. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Then, the only thing anyone can hear is the shriek of your cry.

Next Last

[kikyoupdates]

Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑦

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

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Man. Am I seriously going to have to reject another guy from the same family? 

You blink tiredly, not even bothering to hide your lack of enthusiasm. Rowan grips your hand tight and faces you with a bright, expectant gaze, still down on one knee. Fiona’s been trying her hardest to retain her composure, but you can hear her squealing excitedly in the background. 

To put it simply, there’s a lot happening right now. Certainly not how you envisioned your day going. 

Well, alright, then. Better to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Sorry, but no,” you say, and you watch as Rowan’s eyes go wide from shock. “This is very abrupt, first of all. And I already mentioned that I’ve been recovering from illness, so now isn’t an appropriate time to be having this discussion. You can’t just spring something like this on me. Also, I didn’t get to finish my apple juice earlier because you decided to trespass all of a sudden.” 

Rowan furrows his brows, but he doesn’t stand up right away, nor does he let go of your hand. 

“You won’t marry me?” he frowns. “You didn’t even take a moment to properly think it through. I apologize for startling you, but if you just give me a fair chance, I’d be happy to prove what a fitting partner I would be. I believe I’m a suitable candidate, and I’m confident that your parents would approve of our union.” 

…shit. 

Come to think of it, that’s right. You already told your dad that you would be fine getting engaged to pretty much anyone other than Alistair. Rowan has a point in saying that your parents would likely be on board. They may dote on you tirelessly, and you’re spoiled as can be, but they still have a few basic expectations, and one of those is that you marry a wealthy, respectable man. 

Since Rowan is Alistair’s cousin, they share the same household name and prestige. In fact, your parents might jump on this opportunity in an effort to try and mend ties with the Calderwood family. You’re not sure how you’ll be able to get out of this one. 

Then again… do you really have to? 

You take a moment to think about it. Officially, Rowan had nothing to do with the plot of the game or any of the villainess’ bad endings. He didn’t fall for the heroine, nor did he ever interact with her, as far as you remember. He’s a side character. Even less than a side character, perhaps, because his character doesn’t tie into the progression of the storyline whatsoever. 

Even if you agree to get engaged to him, it’s unlikely that anything bad would happen. The only reason you’re so hesitant is because he’s related to Alistair, but why should it matter to him if you end up marrying his cousin? You’re still not following the plot of the game, and you’re not interfering with his love life either. 

You know that most of your concerns may be rather unfounded, and a lot of that is due to simple paranoia. If you break things down and analyze them rationally, getting engaged to Rowan carries little to no risk. It’s certainly not a death sentence. 

Unfortunately, there’s another issue.

You just don’t like this dude. 

He gives off a bad vibe. The fact that he waltzed in here uninvited isn’t a good sign. Nobles have certain rules and etiquette they’re expected to follow, and while it’s understandable that an outsider like you would need some time to adjust, he didn’t seem to care that he was acting without any respect or regard for your feelings. 

Not to mention that his intentions seem incredibly crass. What kind of person would jump at the opportunity to get with their family member’s ex-fiancée? It’s in rather poor taste, you have to admit. Plus, his expression when he was recounting how he’d heard of Alistair’s engagement falling through…

He looked positively delighted.

You hastily withdraw your hand, much to Rowan’s visible disappointment. All you really know about him is that he and Alistair don’t seem to be on good terms. They had a few brief, unpleasant exchanges in the game. Just a few sentences of dialogue, but more than enough to convey how disconnected they are.

It’s entirely possible you’re reading into things too much here, but if your hunch is right, then it sounds like he wants to marry you purely to spite his cousin. 

And that’s the kind of pettiness you’d rather not have in your life. 

“I’m not sure how my parents would feel about you going after your cousin’s former flame,” you remark with a grimace. “I’ve never heard of someone within the same family openly pursuing their relative’s ex-fiancée. It makes me question your character, if I’m being honest.” 

Sensing you likely won’t be swayed anytime soon, Rowan finally stands up. He takes a moment to adjust his coat back in place, and despite being rejected, his self-assuredness quickly returns. 

“The heart can’t help what it wants,” Rowan smiles. “And I’d been interested in you well before Alistair even announced his engagement. I had been working up the nerve to propose to you for quite some time, so imagine my surprise when I heard that he’d already beat me to it. I felt incredibly discouraged, but he’s family, so what could I do? I simply endured all the while and tried to work through my frustrations, but when I heard the news, I knew I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by.” 

Everything he’s saying reeks of bullshit. What was stopping him from proposing to you sooner, as he claims he wanted to? He didn’t need to wait and ‘work up the nerve’ to do anything. He could’ve just gone ahead and done it.

“Of course, even then, I still wasn’t completely convinced,” Rowan piles on. “I’d heard many tales of your beauty and extravagance, but now that I’m actually seeing you and speaking to you, I can confidently say I’m sure of my decision. I admire your strong spirit, and you’re so inexplicably charming, in a way I can’t even describe. I understand that it doesn’t paint me in a flattering light to covet the woman my cousin once planned to marry, but I’m not the kind of man who can deny what he wants. My heart is set on you, and I doubt that will ever change.” 

Fiona squeals again, having to clamp her hands over her mouth to try and quiet down. It’s not like you can really blame her. What she’s watching right now is basically the equivalent of a soap opera. 

You narrow your eyes. If he’s really doing all this just to stick it to his cousin, that would be horrifyingly pathetic, but also kind of impressive. You have to admire the sheer strength of will it takes to commit to something so stupid. 

“Well, I’m not thinking of marriage right now,” you say. “My engagement with Alistair only just recently settled. Above all else, I want to focus on myself for a while, and I need to properly assess all my options. I’m not just going to rush into yet another engagement.” 

Rowan looks like he still wants to keep pushing the issue, but fortunately, he must realize he’s not going to make much headway, so he relents. 

“I understand,” he nods. “I’m sure you must have a lot of things weighing on your mind. And it must be especially difficult hearing this after you spent a grueling night recovering from sickness. You’re such a strong, dauntless woman. It’s truly breathtaking.” 

Bro. Is this guy ever going to stop kissing your ass? 

“Uh, sure,” you reply, scrunching up your nose. “Anyways, I gotta go now. Please show yourself out.” 

“But you’ll consider my proposal?” Rowan asks hopefully. “Because I really do think that we would make an incredible pair. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove my worth to you.” 

You’re just about to brush him off again and put an end to the conversation, but as it so happens, that’s not what fate has in store for you today. 

Instead, your father emerges from the manor.

Oh, balls. 

You already know this can’t possibly end well, so you go as far as trying to shove Rowan along—much to his blatant disbelief. It’s difficult to get him to budge since he’s bigger than you in stature, but either way, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference, because your father has already spotted him. 

“[Name]!” your father calls out. “What’s happening? Who is that man? One of the servants said they noticed a strange carriage pulling in. Hey, you there! Get away from my daughter at once! Just what in the world is the meaning of this?” 

He’s furious—or at least, as close to furious as he can be, all things considered. You’ve come to realize that he’s not exactly the most intimidating guy. Unless you’re the kind of person who’s terrified of math problems, that is. 

Your father cartoonishly stomps across the lawn, looking less authoritative by the second, but Rowan still minds his manners (which is something you didn’t think he even had) and bows deeply.

“Please forgive my intrusion, Count [Last Name],” Rowan says, greeting him with a calm, confident smile. “My name is Rowan Calderwood. I understand you must be startled by my appearance, but I came here hoping to speak to you and happened to chance upon [Name] while she was out in the garden.” 

“He was just leaving,” you blurt, but of course, your attempts to end the discussion are futile. 

Your father glares at him. “How dare you solicit my daughter’s company after showing up here uninvited. You didn’t even have the decency to announce your arrival. And you say you’re from the Calderwood family? I was under the impression that our households weren’t speaking. This is remarkably classless of you.” 

Hell yeah! You tell ‘em, dad!

You’re tempted to start pumping your fist in the air and cheering, but against all odds, you manage to hold back. 

However, if there’s something you’ve learned about Rowan in the brief time you’ve known him, it’s that he’s a stubborn, determined son-of-a-bitch. It takes a lot to faze him, and even then, he doesn’t let his smile slip. 

Most people in his position would have been ashamed to be called out for their rudeness, but he manages to face your father with a clear, unwavering gaze. 

“I am Alistair’s cousin,” he nods. “It’s true that we’re related, and that I am technically from the same household as him. But his decisions have no bearing on my own, and although that side of the family may not be speaking to you at the moment, it doesn’t change how I feel. All I care about is [Name], and today, I came here to ask for her hand in marriage. With your blessing, of course.” 

You sigh. 

Well, he went ahead and said the thing. You suppose there’s no backtracking now. You’ll just have to hope that your father won’t be so easily swayed by—ah, never mind. He’s already struggling to contain his smile. 

“You want to marry [Name]?” your father blinks. He pauses to clear his throat, but the twinkle in his eyes is unmistakable. He looks as excited as a child on Christmas morning. 

“She’s an incredible woman,” Rowan nods. He’s not an idiot, and he clearly realizes that the best way to turn the tide in his favor is to start praising the ever-loving shit out of you. “We admittedly haven’t spoken for very long, but I can already tell that she’s a very intelligent young lady. She has such a vibrant, distinct personality too. I find myself drawn to her more and more with every passing second.” 

Your father fails to hide his smile altogether this time. “Well, of course,” he hums. “My daughter is remarkable in every possible way. And she’s not just intelligent, mind you. I daresay she’s an honest-to-goodness genius.”

“That’s no surprise. I instinctively knew she was far more distinguished and impressive than any of the other ladies I’d spoken to. She’s the type of woman who can’t possibly be forgotten or overlooked. She shines as brightly as a lone star in the dark of night.”

…okay, I’m all for being complimented, but they seriously need to stop acting like I just solved world hunger.

“Yes, yes, I’m amazing,” you mumble half-heartedly. “Anyways, I was under the impression that I would have the entire day to rest and recover my strength. I’m not well enough right now to be entertaining guests.” 

You’re not being subtle about how desperately you want Rowan to hurry up and leave already, and the bastard clearly knows it, not that he gives a single shit. 

Luckily, your father still seems to believe that you nearly crossed over into the afterlife last night, and he quickly assumes a more stern expression.

“That’s right,” he frowns. “Forgive me, sweetheart. You must still be suffering from the aftereffects of your illness. I’m afraid we’ll have to cut today’s meeting short, Rowan. You must not have known that [Name] wasn’t feeling well, but all the same, she needs enough time to fully recover.” 

Rowan glances over to you, and although he does a pretty good job of hiding it, you can tell that he still doesn’t buy into the story about your ‘sickness’. 

Which, fair enough, since the story is total bullshit.

“Of course,” Rowan nods gravely. “I didn’t realize that [Name] was unwell when I decided to make the trip here. Given the circumstances, I understand why it would be difficult to come to a decision right away, and I don’t mean to rush you along. I just wanted to make my intentions clear. I hope that you will at least consider me as a potential marriage candidate, and allow me to court [Name] in the meantime.”

Your father stops to purse his lips, then looks over at you hopefully. It’s obvious that he wants you to get engaged, and normally, most noble parents wouldn’t even bother asking for their child’s opinion on the matter. You’re fortunate in that they love to spoil you rotten, otherwise this decision would already be set in stone.

“[Name], I know you’ve just recently ended an engagement, but you were saying you’d be open to marrying other men,” your father prods gently. “I will give you some time to think it through, but will you please give Rowan a chance for the time being? Your mother and I want you to find a good man to spend the rest of your life with. It’s important to keep an open mind.”

Rowan smiles brightly. “Please allow me the chance to prove myself, fair lady. I promise to devote the rest of my life to your happiness.” 

He certainly says a lot of pretty-sounding words, and by the looks of it, your father is quickly being won over. 

Still… at least there’s no official engagement or anything. Your father is giving you the opportunity to date him for a little while and see how you feel. Plus, you did say that you would be okay with virtually anyone besides Alistair. It wouldn’t be fair to shoo every man away without even giving them a chance. 

“Alright,” you concede. “I wouldn’t mind meeting with you for a while and seeing how things go. But I make no promises. My engagement with Alistair taught me that I’m looking for someone who is up to my standards. I don’t want to get engaged again without feeling confident about who my partner is.”

“That is completely understandable. As expected, you are mature beyond your years, and I wouldn’t expect you to settle for anything less than what you deserve.” Rowan crosses a hand over his chest and bows once more. “I will do whatever it takes to reassure you that I am your perfect match.” 

Well, he’s definitely confident, you’ll give him that. 

“I wish you a swift recovery, dearest [Name].” Rowan grabs your hand in his again, and without wasting a beat, raises it to his lips and gently kisses it. You wish you could say that you’re completely unfazed, but he’s damn attractive, and it’s admittedly been a while since you had any love in your life. 

He offers you one last smile before he goes, eyes twinkling with amusement, delight, and some other emotion that you can’t quite make sense of. 

“Good day, my lady. I will await our next meeting with bated breath.” 

Finally, he leaves, and he’s barely halfway in the carriage before your father pulls you into his arms and starts peppering your forehead with kisses. 

“Oh, my sweet, lovely girl!” he praises. “Look at you! It’s hardly been a few days since you broke things off with your former fiancé, and you’ve already got another suitor lined up! I apologize for ever being stern with you. I should have known you would have countless other prospects. A fine lady such as yourself will have her pick of all the men in the land.” 

You chuckle weakly and let him hug to your heart’s content. It’s good that at least one of you is excited. Actually, Fiona looks pretty damn excited too, based on how she keeps grinning ear-to-ear and clapping her hands. 

Even now, you can’t help but worry that Rowan has ulterior motives, but you suppose it’s a good thing you’re going to have a little trial phase. You can get to know him and figure out what he’s actually like. He didn’t make the best first impression in your eyes, but perhaps his rudeness can be overlooked if he genuinely wants to be with you. There’s no harm in at least giving him a chance.

Besides, how bad can he be? 

Charming, handsome, benevolent, desirable—those are only some of the words that have been used to describe Alistair. 

In truth, he’s heard just about every compliment there is. Having grown up in a family that constantly stressed the importance of reputation and elevating oneself, he devoted his entire life to becoming the kind of person he could take pride in. Even now, he continuously seeks to improve upon himself. As his father once said, a man never stops growing, and he should never seek to be satisfied with mediocrity. 

Alistair isn’t perfect. He knows he will never be perfect, and nor will anyone else, because humans are inherently flawed. 

But he can strive to be as close to perfect as possible, and that’s exactly what he’ll spend the rest of his life doing, until his very last breath. 

Lately, though, he hasn’t been feeling so good. Something happened to him that completely shook his worldview and left him in utter disbelief. Something that reminded him of just how imperfect he truly is. 

And that, of course, is the fact that he was rejected by you. 

Alistair isn’t good at handling rejection, mainly because he’s gone his entire life without ever being spurned. He’s used to being met with nothing but praise and approval, looks of adoration, and oftentimes, envy. 

So, when you kicked him to the curb and outright called him ugly, right to his face, his ego took a massive hit. 

It just doesn’t make any sense. 

Roughly a week has passed since you broke off the engagement. At the start, Alistair felt rightfully offended, but he told himself that it was for the best. He never wanted to marry you in the first place. Clearly, you are even more unstable and thoughtless than the rumors suggested, so good riddance that he’s not being forced to become your husband anymore. 

It’s better this way. He was able to avoid a painful, miserable marriage. Now he can move on with his life and focus on what he actually wants to do.

And yet, his mind is filled with thoughts of you, no matter how hard he tries to make them all disappear. 

He simply can’t wrap his head around it. Someone like you actually had the nerve to reject him? Seriously, you? The most infamous noblewoman in all the land, who is notorious for stirring up discord and being utterly distasteful? 

It wouldn’t have hurt as much if some other woman had rejected him. It still would have shocked him, of course, but it wouldn’t be such a bitter pill to swallow. 

After all, what does that say about him? If even you didn’t find him fit to be your husband… how can he ever hope to reach the heights he’s always dreamed of? What kind of pathetic life is he living?

He’s so ashamed he can’t even put it into words. 

“Greetings, Alistair!” 

…and unfortunately for him, it’s about to get even worse. 

Alistair knits his brows together. His least favorite person in the world (other than you) has just arrived. 

Rowan, his insufferable cousin, proceeds to flash him a grin. He’s always got a rather off-putting expression, but today, it seems especially pronounced for some reason. 

“What do you want, Rowan?” Alistair sighs. “Yet again, no one was expecting you to come by. It’s quite tiresome how you keep showing up without warning. My parents aren’t even home right now.” 

Rowan keeps smiling. “Do I really need a reason to visit family? I found myself in a good mood today and figured I would drop in. It’s a shame that my uncle and aunt aren’t around, but surely us cousins can exchange a few words, no?” 

Alistair doesn’t bother to hide his scowl. That’s honestly the last thing he wants to do right now. Goddammit. It figures he’d be stuck dealing with this asshole when he’s already in a terrible mood.

“Make yourself at home,” Alistair shrugs. He beckons a servant closer and asks them to prepare a fresh pot of tea, then sits down on one of the sofas and folds his arms. Rowan sits across from him, still with that shit-eating grin on his face.

What does he keep grinning about? It’s so irritating. 

Alistair narrows his eyes. “Is there something on your mind? It looks like you’re rather excited for some reason.”

“Oh, you noticed?” Rowan muses. He leans forward, interlacing his hands, and his grin widens, disturbingly enough. “Forgive me. Like I said, I found myself in a good mood today. I got rather lucky earlier, if I say so myself.”

“In regards to what?” 

“Ah.” Rowan stops to frown for a few seconds. “Sorry. Now that I think of it, I’m worried it may not be a good idea to share the news right now. I’m afraid it may still be a sensitive topic for you.” 

Naturally, Rowan could care less about hurting his feelings, but now that he’s said those words, Alistair can’t help but want to know. 

And so, he takes the bait. 

“What are you on about now, Rowan?” Alistair mutters. “Just stop with all these mind games and say what you want to say. Get to the point.” 

Heavy silence settles over the room, until finally, Rowan chuckles. 

“In that case, I may as well be candid. Truthfully, earlier today… I paid [Name] a visit. I received her father’s permission to begin courting her. With the intention of marriage.” 

Alistair blinks. 

Uh, what? No. There’s no way. It can’t be. Surely he must have misheard or something. 

Because… because it just wouldn’t make any sense. You rejected him not long ago. You told him you couldn’t foresee a future with him. For the first time in his life, he was tossed aside and treated like he was useless and unwanted. 

And now, he hears that you’ve already picked someone else to replace him? And not just anyone, but his piece of shit cousin, Rowan? 

Alistair feels sick. He clamps a hand over his mouth and draws in a sharp, shaky breath. It feels like the room is spinning. He swears he can see stars. 

Needless to say, Rowan has never been happier. 

“Oh, my,” he mumbles in a fake, condescending tone. “Are you quite alright, Alistair? You look rather pale. See, this is why I was hesitant to share the news. I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it. Chin up, cousin. You’ll get through this.”

Alistair doesn’t respond. It takes a while to get a hold of himself, but he slowly withdraws his hand from his mouth and lets it fall to his side. 

Once his breathing finally settles, he proceeds to glare at Rowan with the intensity of a thousand blades. 

“...are you fucking kidding me right now?”

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[555aturn]

Whispers of Zaun⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

chapter three

chapter two if you haven’t read it

summary- Two days pass since Sevika was at the shop. Apothecary receives interesting intel and she spends some time at the local brothel and gets an unexpected visit.

warnings- SMUT THIS CHAPTER!! sesbian lex, fingering+oral (oc!recieving), reader is gettin the job done (she’s a giver) Sevika is her own warning:)

words- 3.5k

a/n- yes smut witchy!reader is finally gettin some and sevika tension omggg i was biting my lip while writing their scene and ofc readers brothel scene🫦👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 this is my first time writing smut so bare with me annnd I recommend listening to "slow like honey" by Fiona Apple while reading

minors don’t enter for real this time!!

It has been two days since Sevika’s last visit. I tidied up the shop a bit to distract myself; I bought Hex a little lilac collar; I got tons of new herbs and flowers, and Seraphine came by before opening to have tea and breakfast with me. Now I’m alone, alone with my thoughts again.

I shake away the uneasy feeling that swarms around me and go to light my candles instead. I have candles that line almost every flat surface in the shop. Not just for the aroma and decor but for Janna. Janna is the ancient wind spirit that has kept me and many citizens of Zaun strong and holding their heads high. 

In the depths of Zaun, where smog chokes the sky and the wind fights to weave through rusted metal and crumbling stone, the lighting of a candle is more than a mere act of illumination—it is an offering. A whisper of flame against the dark, a plea carried on the smoke to something unseen, something ancient.

Janna does not ask for worship, nor does she demand tribute, but those who still believe in her—those who feel the faint kiss of a breeze when all should be still—light candles in her name. They are sacrifices of warmth to the wind, gifts of fleeting light in a place where daylight is scarce. The flame flickers, wavers, and dances, feeding the unseen currents that coil through the city’s veins. Some say she listens to the prayers carried in the curling wisps of smoke, that she breathes them in like a promise, like a memory of the world before Zaun sank into shadow.

And when the wind howls through the alleys, tearing through the smog and carrying away the heavy air just long enough for the desperate to take a full breath—those who know Janna’s name whisper their gratitude and light another candle.

At least that’s what my father told me before his end. 

As I am lighting the last candle, my bell rings. “Hey,” I hear from behind me. It was Ran.

“Well, hello dear, long time no see. What does the boss want?” I ask while crossing my arms over my chest. 

“Oh, I'm here to actually chat this time.” They chuckled. “So what’s up withcy? I got some free time before I have to pick something up for Silco.” I chuckled. Ran came up with that nickname after their first visit to the shop. “Oh, are you now? Well, what would you like to talk about, Ran?” I asked them. Ran took a seat on my sofa with a huff and pretended to ponder in thought at my question. “Hmmmm. Oh! Actually, I heard that Sevika came by a couple of days ago… She was hurt pretty bad, and she came to the shop, right?” I swallowed but kept my cool and nodded. “Yes, that is right, she did. Let her sleep on the sofa, and she left at dawn before I could check her wounds.”

Ran nodded while stretching out their limbs. “Wow, I am shocked, honestly. She’s usually pretty stubborn when Singe tries to help her out, but it’s rare that she gets really hurt, you know.” Ran kept talking, but I wasn’t really listening. I just stared into the pillow that’s placed next to them on the sofa. I tuned back in when Ran let out a little yelp. I looked at them, and it was just Hex terrorizing them. 

“Aw honey, that’s my new cat, sorry. Hex! Stop that.” I scolded the feline. Ran laughed and petted the cat on her small head. I could have sworn I saw Hex glare at them. 

“So, uh, did Sevika say something, or did Silco mention it?...” I asked Ran. Ran leaned back and put an arm behind the top of the sofa. “A bit of both? I was in Silco’s office when she walked in, and she said she went to you, but then I got kicked out, so I don’t know what they talked about. Sorry.” 

All I did was nod. “Don’t be sorry, hun, I was just… curious.” I said with a small smile.

Time to run some errands.

The streets of Zaun hum with life as I weave through the crowds, my satchel bouncing against my hip. The scent of damp metal and distant oil fires mingles with the sharper tang of herbs hanging from vendor stalls. I pluck a bundle of dried lavender from a familiar cart, the old woman behind it nodding in silent recognition as I drop a few coins into her wrinkled palm.

Further down, I stop at a rusted-out pharmacy, ducking under a low-hanging pipe to step inside. The air is thick with incense, sharp and medicinal. I run my fingers over rows of glass jars, selecting a fine white powder I know will mix well with my own remedies. The shopkeeper doesn’t ask questions—he never does. I hand him his payment and leave without a word.

My last stop is a small, tucked-away stall near the Sump. The vendor, a man with ink-stained fingers, hands me a wrapped bundle of thick parchment. Good paper is hard to find here, and I’ve learned to take it when I can.

With my errands complete, I make my way back, the familiar hum of the Lanes settling into the background. It’s only when I push open the door to my shop that the bell jingles softly and then I pause.

Sevika is here.

She’s sitting on my couch like she never left, one arm draped over the backrest, her mechanical fingers tapping idly against the fabric. Her boots are kicked up on my table—on the same spot where her lipstick-stained mug sat days ago.

She glances up, unimpressed. “Took you long enough.”

I blink at her, then sigh, closing the door behind me. So much for a quiet afternoon.

I set my things down onto the counter and then go back to flip the sign in my window to ‘closed.’

“What are you doing here?” I asked calmly but sternly—or attempted to, at least. I was still in shock. She stood up from the couch, her red cloak hanging on her shoulders as she did so. “Silco wants a few things.” Sevika replied bluntly. “Well, why didn’t he send Ran?” I asked back, genuinely asking since they were in the area earlier.

She shrugged. “Why? Not happy to see me?” She walked closer to me. I stepped back slowly and hit my counter, successfully pinning me against the wood. Sevika now loomed right over me, just looking into my soul. Without looking away from me, she reached into her pocket, unfolded a piece of paper, and gave it to me. At first I just stared blankly at it, but then I shook it off and read that it was a supply list. Sevika stood still, almost caging me in, leaving me against the counter, but I squeezed out and pretty much ran to the back. 

I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. What in Zaun just happened? What was that about? What is this feeling? I just stood there for a long minute trying to recollect myself and snap out of whatever daze I was in. 

After what felt like hours, I emerged from the beaded curtain with a basket of everything Silco wanted. Sevika was leaning against the counter, the counter she practically pinned me against. I walked behind it and set the basket down loudly. 

“20 coins, please.” She smirked and reached into her pocket and pulled out a little chain purse and set it down next to the basket. “Thanks, doll, I’ll be sure to tell Silco of your cooperation.” And with that, she grabbed the basket and walked out. I stood there dumbfounded. Was this some sort of test? A test of my patience? Janna, she is infuriating.

After that, the shop remained empty and quiet. It was just Hex and I doing nothing on a Friday night. Until I got an idea. Was it a good idea? Probably not. I wanted to take a visit to the Gardens. The Gardens is the most popular brothel in Zaun and another place that fell to Silco’s advances, which is why I have not been there for… pleasure. Sometimes I will go because one of the girls fell ill and needed a remedy for small things like that only in business. 

But tonight I wanted a distraction; no, I needed a distraction. My encounter with Sevika would not leave my head, and I don’t know why. It made me livid. 

So I went to my room to rummage through my drawers and my closet for something sexier to wear. My eyes landed on this velvet burgundy dress I stole from a boutique up in Piltover. I was doing business and conducting research there two years ago. I never had an event to wear this little number to. Until now. 

I locked up the shop and put my coat on, then made my walk over to the Gardens. I always keep a pocket knife on me when I walk out at night. Even though most people avoid me since I am known to be the ‘weird lady who still worships Janna’ or because I sell poisons so abused women can murder evil men. 

When I arrived at the double doors, two burly men walked out, clearly high out of their minds, and cackled loudly. Gross. Men literally irk me to my core. I walk in the building, and it’s just like I remembered. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, the soft magenta lighting all throughout the place, and the women talking in sultry tones. Exactly what I needed. I see Babette at the front desk. She recognized me immediately.

“Wow, darling, is it really you? Come, come, let me get a good look atcha.” She said with her low, raspy voice. It made me smile; it’s good to see an old friend. “Why yes, Babette, it is me in the flesh.” She smiles with her signature crooked grin. “None of the girls are ill, so what can I do for you?” I bit my bottom lip for a moment, mentally preparing myself for what I am about to ask. “Well, I was hoping I could spend an hour with one of your beautiful girls.” I said, low but loud enough for her to hear me. This made Babette smirk. She surveyed the room to see if anyone was free or roaming around alone, and while she was doing so, I felt someone’s presence behind me, taking my coat off. I turned around; it was a beautiful tan woman with this deep red hair that almost looked like blood. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you, taking my coat.” This made the woman blush. She bit her lip. “Hmm? Can I at least get a name, sweetheart?” It was like I was back in my element. This made me realize how long it has been since I have been with a woman. It felt good. 

“Cherry, my name is Cherry, but you can call me whatever you want.” She said with a pretty smile. She had such plump lips. “Oh, Cherry, very pretty; that explains your hair too.” I said to her, and I took her free hand that wasn't holding my coat. “Would you lead the way to your room, sweet thing?” She nodded rather enthusiastically. I chuckled under my breath as she dragged me away. Babette winked at me. 

She brought me to a small, cozy room with a mini bar and a bed flush against the wall. Cherry hung my coat on a hook near the curtain. “Would you like a drink?” I nodded. “Sure hun, what do you have for me?” I said in a sultry tone. She squatted in front of the bar, examining the bottles on the last level of the cart. “Bourbon, vodka, tequila, and rum.” I walked over to lean against the wall so I was standing in front of her crouching form. “Hm, I will have a glass of bourbon, please, dear.” She nodded with a grin and stood up to pour it for me. “Thank you, darling.” She nodded and blushed. She stood in front of me closely. I took this as an opportunity to admire her little outfit as I sipped the strong liquor. She had on black lingerie and a black sheer babydoll dress over it. Cute. 

“You look very pretty, Cherry.” She blushes a deep shade. “Thank you, miss.” I chuckle mid-sip. “No, honey, you can call me by my name.” I tell her my name, and she repeats it, testing it on her tongue. It sounded like a melody coming from her lips. Cherry came closer towards me; now I can feel her warm breath against my lips. With the heeled boots I am wearing, I’m a little over two inches taller than her. 

“What would you like tonight?” She practically purred. I set my drink down onto one of the coasters on the bar top. “Oh sweetheart, I just want to explore you, take care of you, and feel your gorgeous body under mine. If that’s alright with you, of course.” I said flirtatiously. She was back to blushing. Not surprised since I’m sure she didn’t get this treatment a lot. Always having to please others, and the poor girl doesn’t get taken care of the proper way she should. “Really, baby? Is that what you want?” She was closer to me now, her body almost completely flush against mine. Caressing my velvet-clad shoulders. I nodded slowly. “Mhm, sweetheart. Just wanna make you feel good.” I said simply. And with that she reached behind me to untie the strings that kept the top half of my dress up. When it fell, I felt her trace her dainty fingers across all the intricate patterns and lines of my back tattoo. I got a hold of her waist and brought her back to standing in front of me. 

“Can you strip for me, darling?” I asked in a soft, sensual tone. She nodded and slipped her sheer dress over her head and got to work on unclipping her bra. Holy Janna, her breasts were beautiful. It has truly been too long. When she was completely nude, I gently guided her to the bed and pushed her onto it. She caged me in between her smooth legs. I leaned down and started to softly kiss her jaw and her throat. She was so soft against me. She let out a soft moan of my name as I bit the spot behind her ear.

“What do you want?” I asked, muffled into her neck. She whined. “I need words, baby, just tell me it’s okay.” I said, moving away from her neck and looking into her brown eyes. Cherry took one of my hands that held her waist and interlaced our fingers. “Want you to touch me, p-please with your fingers.” She stuttered and blushed. How cute. “Yeah, that’s what you want? All you had to do was ask for it, my love.” I cooed. And with that I stood on my feet to shuck off my dress fully this time. Revealing my bare body to her. She unashamedly licked her plump pink lips. Almost made me blush. No one has looked at me like she was right now in years. I crawled back on top of her and roughly kissed and bit at her neck. Not too hard, though, because I knew the rules around here. No marks. 

I eventually kissed my way down to her tummy and gave her soft kisses and licks around there and towards her hips. I nibbled there too. I couldn’t resist. While I gave small, almost feather-light kisses to her thighs, I trailed my fingers to her core. But not touching, almost taunting her to ask for it again. She whined, and I smirked. “What is it, baby? I told you to use your words if ya wanted something.” She squirmed under me. “Your fingers, please; I want them so bad, baby.” She said in a desperate tone. Exactly what I wanted. With that I spread her pussy with two of my fingers. Gosh, she was so damn wet. Getting my fingers all sticky and slicked up. 

“Hmm, so wet, honey, is this all for me?” I teased her. She nodded rapidly and bucked her hips into my hand. Urging me. That’s all it took. I gently eased my middle finger into her warmth. I pumped it for a few seconds, then curled it on her sweet spot and held it there. She moaned and bucked her hips more. I chuckled, then kissed and sucked at her thighs. I eased my pointer finger into her pussy, then curled it to meet the other one. She arched her back and howled my name. 

I kissed her inner thighs and then kissed her clit, gently teasing her. Then sucked hard. She grabbed at my hair and moaned louder than the last time. I smirked against her bud and pumped my fingers harder and faster into her. I can feel her clenching around my digits, so I licked at her clit before taking it into my warm mouth again and curled my two fingers into her g-spot until she evidently came all over my face and coated my hand. I let her ride her high, and I gently eased my fingers out of her. I placed one last kiss on her clit and leaned back onto my haunches. 

I licked and sucked my fingers that were covered in her sweet essence and moaned louder than I wanted to. I swear she tasted like a cherry pastry. She was panting softly and very flushed in her face and chest. But she locked her eyes onto mine as I sucked on my fingers like it was a lollipop. I let go of my fingers with an audible pop and smirked down at her. 

“How was that, darling?” I asked. She laid her head back against the comforter and had a dopey smile on her face. “Mmm, very good.” I smiled and leaned down to leave a soft kiss on her lips. 

I got off the bed and found our discarded clothes. I folded up her outfit and placed it next to her on the bed. I redressed myself and put my boots back on. Cherry watched me hazily. I walked over to the side of the bed she was lying on and kissed her cheek. “Take care of yourself, baby. I’ll see you again, I’m sure.” And with that I opened the curtains and walked back to the counter and found Babette. She had a knowing grin on her wrinkled face.

“So how was your time with Cherry?” She asked as she was organizing papers. “Wonderful, do I pay with coins or papers?” I asked. “Oh, coins please, dear; let me go fetch her bin.” I nodded. I leaned against the counter and observed all the little trinkets that adorned her space. I was so in my head that I didn’t notice the presence looming over me. Until I heard her voice. “Oh well, look at what we have here.” Sevika. Fuck me. I slowly looked up at her. She had her usual red cloak covering half of her body, and she had a smug grin on her face. She raised an eyebrow when I wasn’t responding and just looking at her. “Piss off.” That’s all I could come up with. 

“Oh? That’s how you greet me? I thought we were friends, sweetheart.” She kept that smug grin on her face. “I’m shocked you came to a place like this, doll; didn’t know you could get down and have fun.” She kept going. “Who did ya, see, huh? Bet it was Miguel, or do you like a big man? Was it Ezra?” She wouldn’t shut up. Luckily, Babette came to the rescue. “Alright dear, how much are you givin' Cherry?” That shut Sevika up really quick. Guess she wasn't expecting me to sleep with a woman. 

“25.” I answered simply. I was desperate to leave as quickly as possible. “Have a good night, dear.” And with that I adjusted my coat and started to make my way towards the exit. But Sevika got a hold of my arm. “What the hell?” I said to her in a gruff tone. “You have a smudge there.” Before I could figure out where and what she was talking about, she used her flesh hand to wipe at my lip. Then let me go and walked to the desk. Like she didn’t just touch my lips. What the fuck.

The walk home was cold and long. I unlocked the door to my shop and lay on the couch with a defeated sigh. No matter what I did or who I did, Sevika just won’t leave me alone.

[miiashiifts]

𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 ♱

before i begin, i know i’m 200 followers too late to make an introduction post, but i just wanted to come on here and share a little bit about myself so i can get closer to you guys (and so i get an excuse to talk about myself…)

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𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 - 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘢 ♱

hiii !!! i’m mia & im a british shifter <3 i started shifting in april 2021 and have been completely infatuated with it ever since. i started this blog not too long ago, but i’ve been regularly posting on shifttok since summer 23’ (though i restarted my account & started posting more seriously in may 24’). i have severe anxiety & i’m currently out of education because of it so i have a LOT of time on my hands to make content when i’m not up at night stressing about how tf i’m going to be able to pass my gcse’s (shifting seems to be my number 1 priority at the moment???)

i have yet to have a fully successful shift, but i don’t let that bother me at all because just being part of the shifting community is enough to keep me going (but it’d be super cool if i did happen to shift tonight…not saying anything…) . i like to think that i am knowledgeable about the science behind reality shifting but i’m really not, so if you have any questions, ask away but i can’t assure you that i’ll know the answer since i’m really just here for the fun instead of the science </3

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𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 - 𝘮𝘪𝘢’𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘴 ♱

i only have 3 actual drs at the moment!!! i know, insane - but with only having 3 drs i can focus a lawtttttt more on them & imo it makes me feel closer to them, so all is well ?!

1. twin peaks dr ; the tv show not the chain of restaurants. this dr is my actual baby i love it so so much, i feel an absolutely sickening longing for anything twin peaks so the second i finished watching fwwm for the first time i knew exactly what i had to do. and that was make a dr where literally none of the plot happens and poor laura gets the life she deserves, all whilst i simultaneously manage to fit myself into what’s left of the practically non existent plot!

2. actress dr ; hell yeah!!! this is the dr that i drift off to sleep thinking about every night, this is the dr in which i am the most chic nepo baby to ever walk the planet. of course i’d be the one to make a dr where i get to physically embody all of my favourite characters whilst also looking hot and smoking cigarettes…of course…

3. band dr ; a definite work in progress, BUT it’s coming along veryyy nicely id say! i’ve had this dr for over a year and i still haven’t even scripted my date of birth so !?!? if anyone’s getting into scandals whilst also yet again looking hot and smoking cigarettes it’s me in this dr!!!! or me in all 3 of my drs i guess 🤷‍♀️

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𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 - 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘴 ♱

my whole life revolves around consuming media so here’s a sneak peak into my brain & what’s making me giggle and kick my feet at 2am !

music : hole, elliott smith, jeff buckley, sonic youth, dean blunt, joy division, jack off jill, the smashing pumpkins, massive attack, slowdive, radiohead, have a nice life, nicole dollanganger, nirvana, cocteau twins, fiona apple, mazzy star, alice in chains and soooo many more i can’t think of

films : my letterboxd top 4 is nowhere (1997), wild at heart (1990), natural born killers (1994) and smooth talk (1985); but besides from that some of my other favourites include grease (1978), twin peaks: fire walk with me (1992), the breakfast club (1985) , dirty dancing (1987), mulholland drive (2001), possession (1981) etc etc you get the idea

i am completely obsessed with anything david lynch as you can probably tell, i watched twin peaks for the first time in april 24’ and everything this man ever made has completely consumed me for the past almost year, i still stand by the idea that he was atleast somewhat aware of reality shifting (i mean…on the back of my inland empire dvd it literally mentions the phrase “shifting realities” but yknow…that could mean anything…) but i won’t go into that, that’s for another day 🙂‍↕️

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𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 !! ♱

my asks will always be open because i love talking to you guys so if you everrr have any concerns or questions pls don’t be shy!!!

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

A Second Chance Is A Better Chance - Part 13

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Witch Reader, eventual ? x Omega Witch Reader and Alpha Steve Rogers X Omega Witch Reader

Summary: Rejected by your true mate at 21, you’ve given up on the Fates and the Moon Goddesses giving you a second chance. Being a Roamer for the last 9 years, you’re an Omega hardened by the world. You’re safe on your own because of your witchcraft, but it doesn’t stop Alphas and plenty of others sniffing around, especially when you’re an unmated Omega witch, who’s wolf also happens to be white, the rarest kind. You don’t need anyone, but why do you keep coming back to Brookville and why do you keep walking into trouble and helping people that you don’t know but for some strange reason feel like family. And where is that smell of apple pie coming from?

Series Warnings: A/B/O, eventual smut, violence in parts, witchcraft, shapeshifters

Chapter Summary: Have you survived the fight and fall?

Chapter Warnings: Witchcraft

Pain. That was what you felt first. Then a hum of voices, like you were underwater. Familiar scents dashed around your nose. Your cloak was pulled firmly around you and you felt yourself rise from the floor. Were there arms around you? Shouts and gruff voices, and a hand in yours, whooshing of brooms, then silence again.

Later, beeping and harsh lights, shouts of an argument and your name and then darkness.

Then there’s something on top of you, blankets you think and the smell of lavender, as whispers of spells haunt your dreams. Then it’s dark again.

You’re not sure how long has passed when you fully start to wake. You don’t know where you are but you know that you’re safe. Scents of Frank, Billy and the pack fill the room, with a hint of Storm, Jean and Logan mixed in. You’re sure Fiona’s mixed in there too but her scent's different somehow.

You hear Frank and Billy’s voices and slowly begin to open your eyes. Frank and Billy. Your Frank and Billy. Your Frankie and Billy Boy? Your Alpha and Beta? Could they be? They weren’t your second chance, not officially but did that matter? Did anything else really matter anymore? As long as you could be happy together, that would be ok right? Billy had saved your life during the fight and you’d saved his in return. You’d all saved each other over and over. This could work right? You needed to wake up and speak to your boys. You tried to force yourself awake as you began to listen to their hushed conversation.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” Frank asked.

Billy nodded in reply.

“Elektra mentioned when you were hit with that spell, y/n, she told you to think of something good.”

Billy nodded again

“What’d you think of?”

Billy let out a sigh.

“Not what you’re guessing.”

Frank pointed at you, layng in the hospital bed.

“A little.”

“Maria?”

Billy nodded a single tear running down his face.

“Hey, come on now.” Frank replied throwing an arm around him.

“I’m such an asshole.”

“Bill.”

“Listen” Billy replied getting more upset, “she’s saving my life, I’m laying there because I took my eyes off what I should have been doing, to fucking flirt with her, in a battle zone, and I’m laying there and she’s saying think of something, think of something good, and for a second I thought of her. I swear I did Frankie, and then I was choking on that stuff and even as she’s saving me, she disappeared and it was Maria. It was her and the little ones and….”

Billy began to sob and Frank held him tightly. Glancing at you Frank had a realisation. As much as he loved you, as much as he adored you, as much as he appreciated you and everything you’d done for his pack, and as much as he was drawn to you, you would never be his. Or Billy’s. They could never love you as much as they had loved Maria. It wasn’t fair to keep hold of you. It wasn’t fair to hold you back.

Frank would burn the world down for you and so would Billy, but you weren’t their second chance and the more Frank thought about it, he knew they wouldn’t get one. Maria had been it for the them. Billy hadn’t even had that long with her but she was it for him too.

“I don’t want to let her go Frankie but we have to don’t we?” he sniffed.

“Yeah bud, we do.”

Frank continued to hold Billy as he sniffled, not noticing the single tear that ran down your face.

Maybe Agatha was right, maybe nobody would ever want you.

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

Comment to go on the taglist!!!

@animegirlgeeky @jvanilly @slut4srogers

[rafeslittlevixen]

OBX SEASON 4 RANT

SPOILERS AHEAD

This is just my opinion on how this played out, so lets get into it

Rafe and Sofia: I love both of them (Drew and Fiona) but, the storyline is straight up a fanfic, they took the most common fanfic of Rafe and said "yeah, lets do that his redemption arc". I do think Sofia is great for him, does he deserves her? absolutely no. He was so far beyond redemption the only way he could´ve had it was by going to jail or dying, just like Ward did. They were adorable, don´t get me wrong, that version of Rafe was amazing and I know he was trying to change for her and be a better man, and have what Ward had. But I don´t think he actually loved her, he cares about her, she was what he thought was perfect for him, what Ward would want, but then again, Rafe does not know what love actually is, he cares about her in a way he has never cared about anyone, but I do think it was just for the looks and what would people say. As for Sofia, she cares about him, I would say she is really close to loving him, but if she truly loved him she would have never sold him out to Hollis and Groff. If she had truly loved him she would´ve told him about it when he proposed, I know she kinda didn´t let her, but come on, she had to know it was gonna come back to bite her in the ass. So idk, do I think they made a cute couple? yes, but it was bound to happen.

Pope and Cleo: That was the dumbest decision he has ever made, I get that he wanted to protect JJ cause that´s his brother, but come one everyone know you don´t attack a cop. I think its a bit unrealistic that he got away by enlisting, but also I think if that was the only option it is gonna be great for him. I do think Pope has let go a little through the seasons and I love it, but I think that was out of character for him. Cleo, my baby; she IS a though cookie, she´s been kinda on her own her whole life, I do think she would have figured it out but she did not have too. Pope is, in my opinion, the stable thing she needs. Also, him killing the guy who killed Terrance was also out of character but it made sense and also the reaction he had. Do i think it´s gonna haunt him for life? yes. OH AND THE NO GOODBYES CLUB???? adorable, i love them and their little clubs, they ate this season.

Sarah and John B: I knew she was gonna be pregnant, but the fact that the Pates didn´t let her mention she had a choice, does not sit well with me. John B being terrified of becoming his dad was so good, it gave him a complexity and that makes you see a character growth. Also John B being so protective of Sarah was so adorable, the way he looked at her when they were looking for that apple for her to eat in Morocco was adorable. ALSO SARAH BEING BABY ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO MARRY HIM WHEN SHE WANTED WAS SO CUTE, I LOVED IT. I also wanna thank Cline and Chase, because they do care about this characters and their relationship. Jarah would have sufferd so much if they had not remain professionals.

Pogues and Rafe: The way he safe them???? I get it he wanted his 400k back but also so out of character for him? I loved it but also i know they dont trust him and thats completely fair, but also, after that scene, you guys know which one, thats not the way to make him part of the core.

Sarah and Rafe: my babies, the whole season both of them have been wanting to talk about everything or at least they wanted each other back. I do think both of them would work together to get back Wheezie cause wtf is that that she´s with Rose??? I never actually thought she adopted them. Rafe just wants his family back, or whatever he´s got left from it. I think that after finding out what a backstabbing bitch Sofia is, (Fiona yo te amo hermana, pero Sofia si está bien wey) he was terrified of also trusting the Pogues and thats why he acted the way he did after Sarah saved him, but also finally listening to Sarah and what actually happened in El Dorado and what she told him about being the only family they have left? I do think he is gonna be better and he is gonna be protective of Sarah now, because he knows its only the three of them and he does not wanna lose any more people. Drew and Cline carrying the show yet again.

JJ and Kie: what a fucking mess this two are, the body dobles while being just sitting down near each other in Morocco? The handshake when he was leaving with Groff? They had a great chemistry during season one, the slow burn they were building and how he was pinning after her and he had to watch her be with John B and Pope? He slowly opening up to her? He going crazy when she was kidnapped in Barbados? The reunion after she escaped with Rafe? Saving her from Kitty Oaks? I don´t know what went wrong, but the fact that in most of their scenes they looked fucking uncomfortable makes me sad. She knows she loved him, she was trying to distract herself from him because he was so tough at the beginning, it just makes me fucking sad the way it all ended. Also, no shame to Bailey but I cried more during that scene than she did.

JJ and his parents: where do I begin? He deserves so much better, he deserved a happy ending. I think they also ran with the theory of JJ not being a pogue, but just because they took Rafe´s fanfic they thought that it would be too obvious if they made him a Cameron. He had such a rough life, if this had not happened he would still be JJ, he was so out of character the second part, and I get it. They tried to make us hate him for the way he was acting, but just as he and Kie knew they would not do what Groff was telling them, we know JJ. But also, he was a loved baby, Larissa loved him so much and he had a family. I know everything would be so different if she wasn´t murdered, but if she was able to leave fucking Groff and being with Luke, I do think JJ would´ve found his way to John B and Pope eventually. He would also probably already been friends with Kie and Sarah, and maybe the just maybe he would not have been an ass to the pogues. I do think Luke cared about him, but the resentment toward Groff and taking care of a child who was not even his made Luke that way; but also he probably only cared about him because he liked Larissa, so he felt that he needed to care about JJ for Larissa to care. Fucking Groff, he made Ward and Big John look like parents of the year. I know he only probably had JJ to keep up with appearances but the fact that he played him like a fucking violin??? I know there are a shit ton of mess up things in this show, but that one takes the cake. HE COULD´VE WALKED AWAY WITH THE DAMN CROWN, JJ GAVE IT TO HIM TO SAFE THE FUCKING LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND HE STABBED THE SHIT OUT OF HIM JUST BECAUSE??? no, that´s fucked up.

Idk, if JJ died because someone did not wanted to be in the show anymore I think that speaks volumes in terms of how the set works. The fact that they had to kill the fucking glue of the group and both of the actors involved on the onscreen couple could not act professional to keep it going is crazy to me. If you were on the whole Nina and Ian debacle back in the day, you know how bad this things can get, but the fact that we have a real ex couple remaining professional after a public break up and having their onscreen couple getting married and having a kid speaks on the level of professionalism those two had. I´m more pissed for how JJ was handle than Rudy leaving the show, we all saw it coming, and I do think we all went into the season with the feeling JJ was gonna die but we also had hope of being wrong. I´m so sorry JJ, you deserved so much better that what was written for you, and how the actor who played you handle things.

[clydesavage-thefox147]

CW//Suggestive Content?

I don't think we realize just how dirty Janus' Spotify Playlist is. We've overlooked it so much. In this little analysis post, I wanna point out the handful of songs that show the sluttiness behind the Snake-Man because damn this playlist shows he can't keep it in his pants. You thought Remus is dirty..you haven't seen Janus...

First is "I put a spell on you" By Nina Simone. This song is believed to be about the poisonous and hypnotic throws of love. The dedication and devotion of love. Specifically a jealous love. Of wanting someone who doesn't want you. I'm not exactly sure who this could be directed to. It could be directed at Roman but I think there's another song that hints to that. Could be Virgil but again, there's another song that could be that as well. Overall a sexy song regardless, come on, it has the word Daddy in it ffs.

Second is "Evil Night Together" by Jill Tracy. This song is believed to be about seduction in the darkness of life. The art of manipulation through allure and enticement. Feeling of intimacy beyond ordinary and the unknowns of seduction. Embracing darker parts of yourself instead of holding back. This song to me seems directed at Roman and what Janus did during SvS. Enticing him with the happiness of the callback and the positive praise he's always wanted. Keeping Roman on a leash of temptation for the betterment and self-desire of Thomas achieving his goals and dreams. With lines like "Who's gonna make you a hero?" It only just further shows that.

Third is "Cabaret: Don't Tell Mama" from Cabaret, which features Liza Minnelli. This song is about a young women who has an active nightlife working as a nightclub erotic dancer and performer. She doesn't want her conservative mother finding out about her exploits so she pleads for no one to snitch. It's interesting here because Liza Minnelli is in this and Roman wanted Liza as a wedding performer..and Liza wears an outfit very similar to something Janus would wear...I think you see what I'm going for here.

Fourth is "You're a Cad" by The Bird and the Bee. This song is believed to be about a woman falling for a man, knowing he has a bad reputation. She knows this man wants to be better but she doesn't see a point in him doing so since it's never enough. Even hinting that she could be worse than him, making them perfect for one another and partners in their chaos. She taunts and teases him "Tug at your line" , "Wait by the phone", "You're reckless with my heart" all lines alluding to the fact of attraction. She could and would waste her life on someone she knows is bad for her, she doesn't care. This song is 100% directed at Virgil. With lines like "So now you want the whole world to notice that you've come around, now you expect we'll see how you're really so much better now" and "What's the point pretending that you could be a better man? Just give in since you always end up right back where you began" all hint to Janus being aware of Virgil's departure from the Dark Sides and his attempts to be better and change but he knows Virgil will always fail. Virgil in response with "Ignorance" on his own playlist shows that he thinks Janus is blind to his change. But yeah, very "loving" song towards Virge dontcha think?

And fifth and finally is "Criminal" by Fiona Apple. This song is believed to be about a woman who used her sexuality to exploit and manipulate a man. She feels regret for doing so even if it's what she had to do. This song is basically the musical equivalent of saying "I've been a naughty boy, punish me". Another song seemingly directed Roman. Showing Janus does feel bad for doing what he did to Roman despite it being for the greater good. He knew Roman was sensitive and insecure but that's how he knew to get to him for a betterment. Yes, he knew it was shitty but it had to be done. It also hints to still lingering feelings. Like "oh I'm so bad to you, a villain you say, well why don't you punish me since you like that" You could say it's also directed at Patton with a line like "I've been careless with a delicate man" but that could be Roman or Patton honestly.

So with all of that said, it seems Janus is quite the whore. I mean 2 songs directed Roman in a provocative manner. And 1 song directed Virgil. And just the overall seduction and temptation of these songs shows his slutty nature. Snakes are even common symbols for sexuality. This snake man knows how to play his deck and dick right...or dicks if you believe that lol

[victor-veloci-simp-69]

Episode 1:

I've always loved the intro song ngl. A good intro song makes me love a cartoon. That's how W.I.T.C.H and Huntik got me

Fiona gets to class. Ms Moynihan says she broke three rules. She says this before Fiona bites her apple. Fiona then says that's only two and then misses her shot, making three. This inplies that Fiona either does this regularly, or that Ms Moynihan has some form of clairvoyance.

(The clairvoyance thing could make some absolutely fantastic fanfiction ngl. *writes that down* oooh, I have IDEAS now) anyway, back to episode

The fact that Fiona only took one bite of that apple bothers me

Oh man, that bio class room looks almost exactly like the one I had in high school.

Oooooh yaayyyy! Mah Boi is here!!! Stripey gay boi

Okay, first off:

This place looks like a giant OSHA violation.

Regardless of that (Peter, go fix this giant OSHA violation. Hey, maybe that's why we never see him again, he's too busy fixing the questionable workplace) those scientists look properly enriched.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THINGS IN THE TUBES THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE FROM BEN 10 I SWEAR TO GOD THAT LOOKS LIKE SWAMPFIRE.

On that note, why do we never see Veloci's creepy test tube creatures??? His scientists worked hard on The Horrors

The one on the pink test tube looks like the rose from beauty and the beast

Is that a fucking rail track. I think I remember that one featuring in an ep, but I could be wrong. If I'm right then why was the continuity placed here and not on anything else???

"I got into business to swim with the sharks, not be eaten by them"

Me: Oh, you're declining it? Unexpected.

Peter: I'm in!

Me: ???

That bit of dialogue has always thrown me off. Its the clunkiness.

Bye Peter. It was nice to meet you.

"Break into your usual groups". The dinosquad comes together but kinda acts like they've never interacted before.

Max and Roger seem like they've teamed up before tho.

Caruso at 4:21 is barefoot. He has shoes on at 4:26. We know he had no time to put shoes on and off and on because he's barefoot when he leans over and drops his jacket. When he picks it up he has shoes on again.

...why did they all (I understand Caruso getting his jacket and Buzz getting thrown in) go into the water????

Roger says "nah, I ain't getting in" and then not only gets in the water but throws buzz in.

(The fact that Roger throws Buzz in the water which later results in him becoming a Dino is a great angst fic waiting to happen. If Roger hadn't thrown him in, he would still have been living a normal life)

Ms Moynihan shows up and goes " I thought I made it clear no one was to go in the water"

First off, that was never shown on screen and I don't like that

With the context of dinosquad as a whole, this kind of implies she knows Veloci is dumping his nuclear jizz in the water

I guess it could also be because she didn't want wet students on the bus, but still.

Wait. If no one was suppose to go in the water, and there doesn't seem to be an area with tide pools, then Caruso's stupid sushi list is even more useless since fish don't count.

Anyway, MY BABY RUMP!!! BOOBOO! I LOVE YOU BABY! MY BABY!!!

Hnnngg sexy library I wants please I will crawl into my computer just let me at that library I can live with dinosaur shenanigans. (But can I live with redoing high school? No.)

"Young man, if you don't remember, this is a library 😡 "

My brother in christ, what horrors have you been through that you hear a dinosaur roar and conclude that that is the sound a normal teenager makes naturally.

Caruso's jacket gets shredded. He immidiately blames the dry cleaners. Bro, it was whole when you put it in your locker. What

Fiona gets a tail and it sticks out her truck window. My good bitch, how did you not feel the cold air on your tail???

The fact that Buzz waves his arms while playing video games is kinda adorable

The fact that Ms Moynihan showed them what happened telepathically leaves a lot of possibility for her to leave certain things out and show them only what she wants them to see and think.

And besides that, its also kinda fucked up. There are implications here. My brain is a little fried to parse them all, but there are implications. I know it.

Ohhh!! The cave has a light source! That implies that there are two entrances, which solves my age old question of how tf did they get out of that cave.

Oh holy shit. Young Ms Moynihan is HOT

...she looks a lot like Caruso. Hmmm. Formulating THOUGHTS tm

You think that (if the story she tells is actually true and not her lying to hide a bigger truth that she doesn't want them to know about) Ms Moynihan and Veloci gained the ability to transform because of. Idk. Space radiation or something?

Cuz your genes don't just. Mutate. For no reason. This backstory feels fake af. I think she just lied bc she knew her students knew fuck all about biology and would believe anything

Why did ms Moynihan change foreheads. Did she want to be inclusive and touch everyone's forehead or is she afraid their brains can only handle so much... or did they refuse to hold hands like she asked and now she has to switch foreheads?

"You're a vicious Carnivore!"

"I've moved past that but there is one who hasn't: Victor Veloci"

Might be because I'm getting back into twilight, but this gives off major Vegetarian Vampires vs Normal Vampires vibes.

In this case, Ms Moynihan is Dr Carlisle Cullen and Victor Veloci is Aro Volturi.

"What do you believe?"

Ms Moynihan: "Humans gained dominance because brute force lost out to reason...and love. That's why I parted ways with Veloci long ago."

I smell a Secret. I smell Tea. Spill. I can practically hear tragic dramatic backstory. Was this a "I fell in love story" or a "Veloci didn't care about me" story. Ms Moynihan sounds bitter.

Also, the sheer contempt in her voice when she talks about Victor Veloci. Say what you will about Dinosquad, but it has some pretty good voice acting sometimes.

Max: "I don't want to be a dinosaur"

Ms Moynihan: this is bigger than you, this is about saving the world.

"Can you cure us?"

"Yeah"

Roger: "But I want to stop Victor Veloci :( "

Ms Moynihan mentally: *nevermind, ya'll are too stupid to help me save the world. What was I thinking*

(Genuinely a very confusing arguement. People changed opinions so quickly damn. Not even a line space in between)

"I can't afford all the fancy tech Veloci has" <takes them to her lighthouse filled with huge computers and monitoring equiptment> hmmm. Ms M, I'mma assume you banged some rich bitches in your time and inherited, because no way can you affort a lighthouse on a teacher's salary.

Conclusion: Ms M is loaded.

"The cold forces the Dino DNA to the skin as it seeks warmth" um. That's ominous. It makes the DNA sound like a living parasite. Ugh

Ms Moynihan definitely faked "curing them". She is way too calm about the situation. She was very insistent on them helping her fight Veloci before. And the fact that she could cure literally everything else except for them is sus.

That Megalodon shark was trolling ngl

Veloci sees Fiona as dino: this can only be bc of my experimental dna...or....

That 'or' implies things. Ms Moynihan things.

The fact that Veloci sees the Dinosaurs but not the squad turning into dinosaurs the dinosaurs. Like, by the time Ms Moynihan jammed the feed several transformations have already taken place

Veloci ending with his ominous ass "can't wait to find out more about my new dinosaur friends" is so fun. Love him. Dramatic ass fuck. Ominous. Very sexy.

[fionaapplerocks]

Early stories about Extraordinary Machine painted her label as the big bad corporation that pushed around a vulnerable little girl. In the end, isn't it nice to know that she herself did the pushing? 'I've been in the driver's seat throughout this,' Apple says. 'Sometimes not driving. Sometimes not actually moving. I was stalled for a long time, but I've definitely been in the driver's seat. And by the way, that's something I learned very early on by giving a certain speech [at the VMAs]. I can make these decisions and no one can force you to do anything. No one could have tied me up and they couldn't have made me sing. You can't squeeze the notes out of my throat.'

Ask Apple if she's thought about what she'll say if she wins at next year's VMAs, and she claps her hands and leans in conspiratorially. 'Not enough people would get it, so I would never do this. But there's a part of me that would really want to make a completely sweet speech and then at the end say, 'This world is bulls---!'' Her big eyes light up at the idea and she bursts out laughing. 'I just think it would be really funny if people were like, 'Oh, God. Not again. - Fiona Apple EW Interview, 2005

[happylandfill23]

hey babes x

welcome to my lovely little dumpster that may or may not be on fire hope ya have a great stay! here's a lil about me woohoo

☆ i'm ember aka the evil bisexual alien from pluto. or something. use whatever pronouns 4 me idc go wild

☆ i luv making art!! my art tag is styrofoamm if ya wanna check it out <3

☆ FREE PALESTINE 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸 don't forget to do your daily click! and here are palestinian blogs that have reached out to me

☆ more about me under the cut xoxo

where can u find me??? other than the bog. ofc

☆ my other blogs! -- @styrofoamm (art blog), @ask-cyberdevils (oc ask blog), @murdocniccalsreactionimages (exactly what it sounds like), and cyberdevils' blogs totally not mine - @gu1t4rf41ry (pixie), @acexofxspades (ace), and @shags-shags (shags)

☆ youtube (i post song covers n art-related stuff mainly. but i also just kind of do whatever y'know a bit like this blog but probably slightly less annoying probably)

☆ pinterest

☆ letterboxd

☆ ao3 (i don't write very often bc it scares me lmao)

for a more comprehensive list/info on my tagging system, here's my links page from my custom blog setup :] (there's fun stuff in there!!)

i have a lot of interests. yay

☆ damon albarn's numerous projects (gorillaz, blur, the good the bad & the queen, solo music, etc) as well as jamie hewlett's numerous projects (gorillaz once again, tank girl, phoo action/get the freebies, the 16s even tho there's not much content of it i just think they're neat dot jpeg, etc)

☆ the mighty boosh!!!!!! (it's becoming a problem actually i think i love this show a little too much)

☆ manic street preachers!!!!!!!!!!!!!

☆ more britpop/britpop-adjacent stuff (elastica!!!!!!, suede, pulp, lush, oasis, the stone roses, etc etc)

☆ other music too (bikini kill, nine inch nails, björk, fiona apple, skinny puppy, einstürzende neubauten, joy division, siouxsie and the banshees, david bowie, MF DOOM, gary numan, mars argo, kylie minogue, robots in disguise, nirvana, julie, the cure, poppy, radiohead, pj harvey, and i'm going to stop now. sorry there's so many jesus fuck)

☆ scott pilgrim :] (the comics, the movie, and the series! especially the series actually. never played the video game tho)

☆ um i luv comic stuff. and i plan on making comics in the future. i like a lot of comic stuff (tank girl, scott pilgrim as i mentioned b4, heartstopper, the st. hell series, nimona, the junji ito collection, etc) i also like reading books in general (some faves r the bell jar, solitaire, the spirit bares its teeth, and no longer human)

☆ daria/beavis and butthead

☆ i like movies too. woohoo (tank girl, rocky horror picture show, scott pilgrim again lol, velvet goldmine, american psycho, the machinist (← yes i intentionally put those three after one another. yay christian bale yay cheering applause woohoo), perfect blue, nimona, labyrinth, corpse bride, atomic blonde, and other stuff too i'm avoiding saying 'etc' again bcuz i've said it a lot)

☆ moomin! as u can tell from my moomin cookie dividers yippee hooray (ily moomin shop i hope i go again soon <3) ← how did the text gwt that small holy shit

☆ skins uk <3 (my fav is gen 1 :] my fav character is probably cassie but i luv maxxie n jal)

☆ collecting objects such as records/cds (maybe i'll show off my respective collections of those sometime), buttons, soda can tabs, cool rocks, small broken pieces of things that used to be something such as zippers or little fake rhinestones or perhaps the tops of acorns

☆ goin 2 concerts!! in order (4 the most part) i've seen (not counting th openers) -- taylor swift (oh yeah ember lore i was super into her as a kid), depeche mode (2x), the rolling stones, queen w/ adam lambert, gorillaz, julie (2x), foo fighters, bikini kill, fontaines d.c., and paul mccartney!! my next stop is nine inch nails!!!!!!!!!! fuck yeahhh (i'm so fucking excited. by the way) and hopefully some other future stops include poppy, deftones, and pixies ;]

ok that's enough interests 4 now figure everything else out on yr own lmao

currently reading: the picture of dorian gray by oscar wilde :)

currently watching: um. literally just the mighty boosh over and over sorry. but i'm thinking of starting either the it crowd or wwdits soon. or nathan barley (if u see this. help me pick between those three actually. pls)

currently listening to on perpetual loop: onemanmilitia by manic street preachers, mnemonic by robots in disguise, pantomime horse by suede, afterbloom by nicky wire, postcards from... by robots in disguise, metal by gary numan

spotify playlist of my current faves (hopefully i'll remember to update it regularly lmao)

currently obsessed with: the mighty boosh (obviously), manic street preachers (as always), anything shiny unfortunately, blue eyeliner, gary numan, big earrings (especially this one i have with colourful feathers that reminds me of adam ant or my david bowie earring or my vinyl record earring. i say one like they don't all come with two. but i only have one pierced ear lol), big shimmery scarves

that's all!

thanks 4 stoppin by lol i hope i haven't scared u off yet with my strange demeanor xx

divider here!

[les-pompiers118]

What a cruel thing to pretend

1000 words | rated Teen | Hen & Buck

A 1x03 coda ficlet for @911hiatus's prompt, "cruelty." Song title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple.

“I didn’t even know Chimney was going to propose,” Buck says, just to break the silence that’s been hanging over the table for too long.

Hen hums into her coffee cup in acknowledgement, but her eyes stay fixed on some point across the cafeteria. Her sandwich sits abandoned in its plastic clamshell with only a couple bites taken out of it. Buck scarfed down his own in about ten seconds flat and he’s thinking about getting back in line for another. But he shouldn’t abandon Hen, not when she still looks so wrung out.

Chimney’s out of his coma, which should be cause for celebration, Buck thinks. He’s choosing to be optimistic—inside his head anyway, because every time he says it out loud, Bobby and Hen feel the need to lecture him about long recovery timelines and the complicated nature of traumatic brain injuries. Hey, it won’t hurt to put some good vibes out into the universe, Buck figures. And besides, Chim seems like the kind of guy who never lets anything keep him down for long.

Hen slides her sandwich across the table with a loud sigh. “Go ahead. You’ve been staring at it for five minutes.”

Buck protests, but accepts it anyway. Ham and cheese. There’s a pile of baby spinach under the top half of the mushy croissant, which he picks off before taking a deliberately big bite. Hen shakes her head at him with a hint of a smile, which Buck returns. That’s better.

“So his family’s all in Korea?” he asks.

“Yeah, his dad and his stepmom,” Hen replies, fiddling with her empty cup. “His mom passed away a long time ago.”

“Do you think they’ll come to see him?”

Hen shakes her head again. “It’s not a good relationship.”

“I get that,” Buck says thoughtfully, then grins. “Hey, if I ever get hurt, do not call my parents, okay? Even if I’m on death’s door with my guts hanging out and only five drops of blood left in my body. Just don’t.”

Hen frowns, even though he tried to say it in a joking kind of way. She looks like she’s about to ask questions—ones that Buck definitely doesn’t want to answer—so he crams the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Her frown turns into a grimace of disgust.

“We’re in public, you know,” she chastises him.

“So? I’m sure they’ve seen hungry firefighters here before,” Buck says through his half-chewed mouthful. “Should we bring something back for Bobby?”

“Just coffee, he said.”

Buck piles their trash onto the plastic tray and pictures Bobby sitting alone in the ICU waiting area. Three rows of empty chairs and a TV with a cable news network on mute in the corner. “Tatiana’s really not coming, is she?”

“I don’t believe so,” Hen says tightly.

“Geez. There’s his answer, I guess.”

“Yup.”

“Ouch. Maybe he should have given that decision a little more thought.” Buck notices the disapproval in Hen’s face, and it’s not directed at him for once. “He didn’t tell you he was gonna ask her, did he?”

“Nope.”

Buck huffs. “I thought you guys told each other everything.”

“So did I, Buck. So did I,” Hen sighs. “They’ve been dating less than a year. I don’t know what got into his head.”

“He was afraid she would leave him,” Buck finds himself saying with sudden certainty. “It was a Hail Mary.”

“He tell you that?” Hen demands.

“No, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? He hardly ever mentioned her except to say he didn’t understand why she was dating him. I mean, besides the firefighter kink. It’s kind of like he knew, deep down, that she wasn’t in love with him.”

Hen’s eyebrows shoot up. “That is surprisingly perceptive, Firehose.”

“Okay, okay,” Buck says, holding up his hands. “You know I’m not doing that anymore. As a matter of fact, I got asked out on a date last week—an actual date—and I said no.”

“Did you now?” Hen looks totally unimpressed. She wrinkles up her nose and asks, with feigned sympathy, “Was she not hot enough, Buckaroo?”

“No, I have no idea what she looks like! We’ve only talked on the phone a few times, and she’s really nice. I just—”

“Don’t know if you want to date her?” Hen finishes for him.

Buck shrugs. He doesn’t want to repeat the excuses he gave Abby, because he has a feeling Hen will never, ever let him live it down if she hears him describe himself as irresistible. Truthfully, he’s not even sure he knows how to start a serious relationship, much less sustain one. Confidence and decent looks can only get a guy so far—no further than a quick fuck in a fire engine, it turns out.

Let’s not ruin everything by actually getting to know each other. It felt like a small, casual cruelty at the time, but now Buck thinks it was probably for the best that she didn’t give him her number. How messed up is he, gorging himself on meaningless sex? Chimney and Tatiana’s sudden nosedive doesn’t exactly make Buck eager to give it a go, either. Almost a year wasted trying to hold onto a woman who was probably never in love with him. Who wants that?

“You know, I think I’m steering clear of women altogether for a while,” Buck says, at last, then changes the subject. “So, how long have you been married?”

“Six years and counting,” Hen answers.

“Happily ever after?”

She chuckles. “That’s not a thing in real life, Buck. There are always bumps in the road, sometimes right from the first date. Big, big bumps. That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, though.”

“Right from the first date, huh? That sounds like a story,” Buck says with an expectant grin.

“Oh, it is. Come on.” She waves her hand at the tray on the table as she stands up. “You take care of that. I’ll grab some coffee for Cap. And then I’ll tell you on the way back to the ICU.”

“Have you told Chim the story already?”

“Chimney is the story, at least for our first date. Actually,” Hen laughs, “he’s more like the punchline.”

Buck laughs, too. “That’s Chimney for you.”

“It certainly is,” Hen agrees.