#oc reader

[alldthoughtsinmyhead]

All Roads...

Clark Kent AU | Cowboy!Clark x Vet!Reader | Tension + longing + horses. CW: allusions to sexual activity. Not explicit. (I've had this in my drafts for weeks, just writing and rewriting. Lemme know your thoughts in the comments. One shot, or should I release more parts?)

Just like she thought, the wild mustang had ended up at Kent Valley Ranch.

Training a mustang was grueling work—so grueling most ranchers didn’t bother, opting instead for calm, already-domesticated horses. But not Clark Kent.

His skin was bronzed from long hours beneath the sun, taming wild horses with nothing but quiet strength and unshakable will. Everyone in the county agreed: Clark’s horses were the best-behaved.

Maybe it was the dreamy sighs that followed his name, or the dazed look in her own eyes anytime someone brought him up, but somehow, Charlotte’s father had decided she was never to set foot on that ranch.

Especially not around Clark.

Sheriff Coleman—rigid, protective, and thoroughly unimpressed with Clark’s reputation with women—had banned her from going anywhere near him. Even when she cited her work as a veterinary doctor, he shut her down every time.

But today... luck was on her side.

Deputy Ray was heading to Kent Valley Ranch to confirm the mustang was safely secured until training was complete—just standard protocol. Everyone knew Clark Kent ran a tight ship when it came to safety, both on and off the land.

Charlotte devoured her breakfast in record time, shoveling spoonfuls of grits into her mouth while trying not to smudge her lipstick. She grabbed her bag, stethoscope, and files, and bolted out the door.

“Ray!” she called, spotting him. “Can I hitch a ride with you?”

Ray tipped his hat in mock respect, earning a playful eye-roll from her. He was a few years older than her twenty-eight, having made deputy at thirty-one.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said cheerfully. “But I’ve got one stop to make first. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, Ray,” she smiled sweetly. I’m counting on it, her inner voice whispered. "I don't mind at all."

She checked her reflection a dozen times before they pulled into the ranch. At one point, Ray looked over and asked, “You always get this dolled up for your patients?”

She snorted and smacked his shoulder. He knew she was a vet.

But when they pulled into the dusty drive, Charlotte wasn’t ready for what greeted her.

Clark was mid-rope in the pen, working the mustang.

His dark jeans clung to narrow hips, thick thighs, and a firm ass that disappeared into weathered leather boots. His cotton shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing a broad chest dusted with dark hair. A worn Stetson sat low over his brow, shading the clear blue of his eyes.

“Howdy, Clark!” Ray called, giving him a heads-up.

Clark stepped out of the round pen and latched it behind him, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Howdy, Ray,” he replied, voice rich and deep. “What brings you out here?”

“Just checking in on your new boy. He’s locked up safe?”

“Always,” Clark said.

“Good. Break him in right, then bring him to the race so I can lose all my money betting on you.” Ray chuckled and turned back toward the car.

Clark gave him a nod - but his eyes had already drifted to the passenger seat.

Charlotte sat frozen, taking him in like a fever dream: the sweat, the chest hair, the way those gloves clung to his hands. Her thighs clenched involuntarily.

I may never get to have him, she thought, but damned if I don’t collect enough mental footage to work my rose later.

Just as Ray reversed, Clark turned fully and looked straight at her. He caught her gaze -- and held it.

Then he smiled. Lazy. Crooked. His eyes crinkling at the corners.

Charlotte forgot how to breathe. That image seared itself into her brain even as Ray pulled out of the ranch.

Meanwhile, back in the pen...

Clark’s eyes lingered on the car as it rolled away.

The forbidden fruit.

Sheriff Coleman had paid him a personal visit the moment Charlotte moved back into town.

“Stay away from my daughter, or I’ll hunt you down.”

Clark had respected the man -- not out of fear, but because he understood. The sheriff loved his daughter. Wanted the best for her. Clark got that.

But none of it made the ache go away.

He wanted her.

In more ways than one. He wanted to tie her to his bed, mark her soft thighs with his teeth, make her scream his name as he claimed her again and again. But instead, he took other women, any who would have him.

Every single time, he closed his eyes and imagined her. Her mouth. Her body. Her name.

He’d even requested a vet from two counties over, just to avoid calling her clinic.

Now, standing in the heat, he pushed back his Stetson and shut his eyes, as if the sun could burn the desire from his body.

It didn’t help.

Because when he'd looked at her, he saw the same need mirrored right back at him.

The mustang neighed in the pen.

Clark turned to it slowly, body back on autopilot. If there was one thing that distracted him, it was work.

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about dry humping and how fucking dirty it is dirty even dirtier than being completely naked, all spread out in the most obscene way yet you can’t see anything because the stupid short shorts he insists on wearing around the house, fabric ending above his knees and getting shorter and shorter as you start dry humping his ass , rubbing your hard cock directly up against his hole, rough fabric racking against your dick til it’s complety soaked and you can easily glide between his cheeks, like you’re plowing into him ,and he’s moaning so loud like he’s already got a cock buried in his ass, even going as far as bucking up to meet your touch , maybe you’d let him cum maybe you won’t, but you’d at least make sure to finish all over his shorts pulling yours down the very last minute before you blow your load, spurting ropes all over his shorts and thighs and forcing him to wear them around the house since he seems to like them so much

Thinking about dry humping in clothes that definitely aren’t appropriate for that tight slacks that threaten to rip at the seams as he straddles your lap buttons to his dress shirt coming undone when your hands wander his body, cocks rubbed raw from from the friction til you get fed up and rip a hole in the middle of it, fat cock spilling out, jerking him off in the very same pants he gets his promotions in, meets important clienteles and runs his businesses, leaving the piece of clothing completely soiled then stuffing his mouth with it and fucking him til he cums a second time

Thinking about him dry humping your pillow whenever you’re gone on a business trip or whatever it is. You’d left him the keys to the house just so he can keep track of the mail or feed the cats or whatever. And he does all that, he really does (feeds the cat three times a day checks mails on Friday) but at some point in the week he starts getting needy. His hand isn’t doing it for him not even the toys hes got at hand and the apartment smells like you, so much so it goes straight to his cock, leaves him all hard, so hard. He feels absolutely ashamed as he crawls onto your bed, but can’t stop himself, not when it almost feels like he’s straddling your lap, back arching in the air as if showing off for you, grinds his cock against the satin sheets like he’s grinding himself agaisnt your dick, tries in half dazed state to tell himself its alright he’s not ruining them since he still got his clothes on him, but his shorts quickly get soiled with pre as he starts erratically thrusting into the fabric , each thrust making a bigger stain on the pillow below him, he doesn’t even notice what’s happening and if he does he can’t find it in himself to care, mutters half hearted apologies as he cums all over the pillow case, later on he’ll try to cover up his tracks but for now he’ll shamelessly stuff it in his mouth while he fingers himself to another orgasm

[cas-kingdom]

The Night Shift

A/N: First NCIS fic! Decided to keep my OC's name instead of reader as I'm pretty attached to her.

If you're alone on V Day, here's some Gibbs. <3

Title: The Night Shift

Summary: What's worse than a sick Gibbs? A sick mini Gibbs.

Words: 2568

It was two am, and Emmie Gibbs was tired.

She wrinkled her nose as something tickled at it and sat up to reach for the packet of tissues sitting dutifully by the pillow.

It was two am, and Emmie Gibbs was sick and tired.

Tony, the shit-stirrer that he was, leaned precariously back in his swivel chair to stare at her. If it weren’t for the squeak of the chair itself, she still would have noticed his sudden attention by the feeling of his eyes boring into her for perhaps the tenth time since they’d set up camp in the NCIS building about five hours ago. He was relentless.

Emmie paused. Tissue wedged in her nose, sinuses burning, she looked up and stared at him. Tony rose an eyebrow. Emmie hardened her stare. Tony, because he was Tony, purposefully leaned further back so she could see the exact moment he dramatically cupped a hand to his stupid little mouth and—

“Giiibbs!”

Emmie’s jaw tensed. Tony grinned in superfluous victory.

Another squeak, a more familiar one this time, and Gibbs’s swivel chair glided along the carpeted floor around the divider between the cubicles until he could see Emmie. She was still sitting up, looking quite the sight with a tissue halfway up her right nostril and her hair sticking at all angles. On any other day she would have responded to Tony’s pure gall by glaring him straight into the ground. But today was not that day. Today was a bad day. Today, her week-long, just-about-bearable cold had decided to manifest into sinusitis, and she’d woken with a face that felt as though tiny little men were mining for gold in her skull. Ducky had liked that metaphor.

Partly because she was absolutely awful at caring for herself when she was ill, and partly—mostly—because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on work if she was left to fend for herself at home, Gibbs had dragged Emmie into the office with him. She’d made her rounds all day—curled up on Abby’s little couch at first, then bundled off to an empty room when Abby found working in silence too impossible. At lunchtime, a meeting had been scheduled in the room, and she’d been forced to accompany Gibbs and Tony in the car to a naval base connected to the case they were working on, sniffling and groaning in the back seat like a Victorian child on her death bed.

And here she was now, at two a bloody m, lying on an ungodly amount of blankets, wrapped in Gibbs’s jacket and Tony’s hoodie, on the floor, feeling like her body was readying to explode. Life couldn’t get worse.

Unless you were acquainted with Tony DiNozzo. In which case, life could, and most certainly would, get worse.

Gibbs dipped his head and rose an eyebrow at Emmie. Emmie couldn’t do much in her defence but sniff. Hard. A slight protest only she had the guts to attempt. It was when he pointed a finger at her and motioned with it for her to lie down again that Emmie tossed her arms up.

“Do you know—” Another sniff—“Do you even know how hard it is to lie down and feel your sinuses drain into your throat?” Her voice was so nasally she couldn’t sound stern, even if she put every ounce of effort into it.

Tony, naturally, did not try hard to cover his amusement at that. He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, spinning from side to side absently in his chair with the tip of his tongue held between his smirking lips when Emmie turned narrowed eyes on him.

“I was getting a tissue, FYI,” she said to him and only him. “So, you can stop being a kiss ass, Anthony.”

“Emmie.” Gibbs disappeared behind the divider again. “Back to sleep.”

Tony, meanwhile, gaped. “Kiss ass who?”

Emmie ignored him and shuffled back down again. She shut her eyes and swallowed. Already the disgusting stuff had decided the place it wanted to be right now was her stomach, and was meandering slowly down her throat towards it.

“You were being a bit of a kiss ass,” she heard Gibbs agree.

“Oh, come on. You said you wanted her to sleep!”

“Yeah, and I do.”

“But you’re gonna call me a kiss ass when I tell you she’s not sleeping? Kiss my ass.”

“What was that?”

“Sorry, Boss.”

In all honesty, there was nothing more that Emmie wanted least right now than to sleep. True, she was exhausted, but the part of her brain not currently still enshrouded in said exhaustion wanted to be up and active again, helping Gibbs with the case like her internship allowed.

And yet, the man still believed she needed her head on a pillow.

The team had been working on a case all day, one she didn’t know the specifics of. It wasn’t exactly often that they stayed in the office well into the night to continue their current case, but it appeared Gibbs had a weird feeling about this one. From the snippets of conversation that she’d picked up and actually retained in her decrepit brain, a potential witness was lying unconscious in a hospital bed somewhere, and Gibbs wanted to speak to him the moment he woke up, which, according to the doctors, could be at any time. That apparently required the entire team to stay behind which, considering the fact Emmie was currently holed up on the floor of Ziva’s empty cubicle, not everyone had complied with.

The moment Tony got out of his chair to help Gibbs with something and disappeared from her line of sight, Emmie eased herself into a sitting position once more. She reached for the tissues again, rubbing at her leaking nose with the sleeve of Gibbs’s jacket and not possessing the brain power to regret that decision. She blew into a tissue, paused to catch her breath, then—

“Gibbs.”

Emmie deflated completely. Wow. The world truly hated her today.

She looked up to see McGee walking in with a bag of takeout. He barely glanced at her as he passed, choosing to instead spend that energy alerting Gibbs to the fact she was, again, not lying down.

Before either Tony or Gibbs could come into view once more, Emmie sighed, stuck two bits of tissue in both nostrils, and scooted backwards to sit against the wall.

“Can’t breathe lying down,” she said before anyone could say a single word. “And I’m tired of being tired. I don’t want to sleep anymore. Leave me alone. Don’t talk to me. Shush.”

Tony’s head appeared around the corner, and he snorted again. Then the squeak of Gibbs’s chair as he got up. A rustling. A moment later he appeared with a takeout box in his hand, walking towards her. He lifted it so she could see, and she groaned, shaking her head. A corner of Gibbs’s mouth lifted but he wasn’t about to back down on this fight. He never did.

He knelt in front of her, close enough to see the pallidness of her face and the slight sickly tremble of her small frame. Emmie visibly relaxed when he reached out a hand to press against her forehead, the coolness of his skin momentarily dowsing the heat of hers.

Gibbs checked the watch at his wrist. “Another couple hours and you can dose up again.”

“Thanks.”

“Yep. ‘Till then…” He went to withdraw his hand, but Emmie’s own hand shot up and pinned his to her forehead.

“No,” she said simply.

“No to my hand leaving, or food?”

“No.”

“You gotta eat. You know the drill. Eat or sleep.” She grumbled something and Gibbs reached with his free hand to lift the lid on the box. The smell of warm chicken soup filled the space between them, and Emmie wrinkled her nose. “Come on, kiddo. It’s only soup.”

“I feel too sick to eat.”

“Sleep it is, then.”

“Dad—”

“Hey. The cure for alll Emmie-related illness is sleep. Always has been, always will be.” It was true. Gibbs knew his daughter better than she knew herself, after all. Everyone was different, but Emmie’s medicine was sleep until she could look him in the eye and confidently tell him she felt a bit better. If years of being a single parent had taught him anything, it was that.

With a bit of reluctance, he pulled his hand from her head and leant forward on his toes. “You don’t have to lie down to sleep,” he told her. “Here—” Emmie wasn’t quite sure what he was doing with the pillows and blankets behind her, but when he sat back and she turned as much as her aching neck would allow, there was a nice little DIY upright-bed against the wall. Gibbs, seemingly proud of his work, was met with a look of absolute discontent on his daughter’s face.

He puffed his cheeks out and glanced at the soup. “Aeroplane?”

“Seriously?” Emmie deadpanned.

He reached for the spoon, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Worked when you were a kid.”

“There’re a few keywords in that sentence, Dad. Are you trying to give Tony more fuel to embarrass me?”

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder. Tony had returned to his desk, leaning dangerously back in his chair to gain the best vantage point. The man had absolutely zero shame.

Gibbs jerked his head. “Check with the hospital about Lupin, would you, DiNozzo?”

Tony visibly deflated. Emmie sent him a smug look and he stuck his tongue out. Reluctantly, he wheeled back to his desk and picked up the phone. “Do this, DiNozzo, do that, DiNozzo,” he grumbled to himself. “Oh, while you’re at it, why don’t you polish my boots and write a thesis on my intellectual prowess, DiNozzo? Sure, I’ll get right on it, Boss!” He dialled the number and put the phone to his ear. “Should I get your laundry and your coffee too, Boss? Should I do—hi, there! Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS, calling for an update on a patient? Ryan Lupin. Yeah, I’ll hold. Thanks.”

“Dad.” Such an exasperated voice could only belong to the resident invalid, and after only a second’s hesitation, Tony—slowly—wheeled himself back, as far as the cord to the phone still held against his ear would allow. Emmie and Gibbs were still on the floor, the former looking most disgruntled at the spoon in the latter’s hand.

“I’m being serious,” she said then.

“So am I,” Gibbs said, “very serious. I’m being very serious right now. Soup?”

Emmie rolled her eyes, but a smile was pulling at her lips all the same. She shook her head. “Go back to your desk, old man.”

Tony’s brows shot up and he grinned. “Oohoohoo!” He was close to rubbing his hands together in sheer glee. “You gonna let her get away with that, Boss?”

“Lupin, DiNozzo.”

“I’m on hold!” The fact that Gibbs made no sign that he was going to pick his daughter up on her insult, when Tony knew that if he’d been the one to call his boss elderly he’d be getting a bit more than a slap to the back of the head, hit a sore spot. “Wait,” he said, looking hilariously appalled, “you’re actually gonna let her get away with it?”

Gibbs, defeated in this part only, dropped the spoon back in the box and put it on the desk. “I’ve been called worse,” he called back, “believe me.”

“Grandpa,” Emmie said.

“Thank you, Em, that’s very helpful.”

“Ninnyhammer, pillock, douche canoe, old man—”

“You already said that one.” Gibbs chuckled. “Douche canoe?”

Emmie shrugged. “Dunderhead.”

“Alright.”

“Ugly…nut.”

“Jemima.”

McGee, who’d since been silently working and eating at his desk, paused. Mouth open, forkful of noodles on its way, he turned confused eyes to the ground.

“Her name’s Jemima?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “How long you been here McGee?”

As soon as Emmie looked the slightest bit like she was about to resume her name-calling, Gibbs put his palm over her mouth. He rose a brow in warning. She blinked. Blinked again. Then—

“Aw, come on!” Gibbs’s face contorted into one of absolute disgust as a rush of air and wet stuff flew at his hand. He withdrew it immediately, holding it away from him, while Emmie sniffed and nonchalantly used the jacket sleeve again.

“You little crapbag.” It was the best he could come up with.

“What? You think I plan my sneezes?”

Tony, up until now quite enjoying the performance, rolled quickly back to the desk with the phone at his ear. “Hi, yeah, I’m still here.”

Gibbs stood and walked briskly to his desk so he could grab the stack of napkins the takeout had come with. “I don’t doubt anything when it comes to you.”

“Thank you.” Emmie rubbed at her red eyes with her hand and slumped against the back of the wall. Gibbs, coating his hands with sanitizer, watched with a knowing eye. He shook his hands and walked back around to Ziva’s cubicle, perching on the desk to look down at her.

“You’re sick,” he said.

“I know. And?”

“And, sick people eat soup, and they sleep. Okay? They don’t stay up at all hours of the night—nooo, no, no. I’m talking now, kiddo. I know you’ve been sleeping all day, I know you wanna get up and back to work, but that’s not happening until your fever’s gone. No point in fighting that, and you know full well. Clear?”

Any other day. Any. Other. Day. The protests were practically clawing at her throat. But a sudden wave of nausea rushed over her and she backed down immediately. Still, the thought of lying down again was awful, and the tired eyes she turned on her dad somehow translated that.

Gibbs sighed. “What’s it gonna take, huh?” Emmie didn’t need to think about her answer to that. She wasn’t even sure her expression had changed at all when Gibbs shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he said, “come on, now. I gotta work.”

This time, she did change her expression, putting it on in the way she knew worked best. Gibbs, naturally, relented.

“Fine,” he said, motioning with his hands for her to move over. She did, though admittedly it was a bit of a pitiful move with her aching body. He breathed a short laugh but came to sit in the miniscule space she’d made beside her anyway.

“Thanks, douche canoe,” Emmie whispered.

Tony put the phone down. “Still knocked out, Boss,” he said, pushing his chair backwards. When he saw Gibbs on the floor, arm wrapped around his daughter, who had her head on his shoulder, he crossed his arms over his chest and positively pouted.

“Hey, why do you get to sleep?”

Gibbs chuckled and shut his eyes. “When you’ve got a sick kid, I’ll let you sleep on the office floor with her. Wake me before Lupin does, would you?”

“How am I—Boss? Boss?” Tony threw his arms up in the air and shook his head, grabbing a notebook from his desk to doodle in. “Kiss my ass.”

“Heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

Well, one thing was for certain. Gibbs may have won this fight, but so had Emmie.

NCIS Masterpost

[artspats]

Late Checkout / Tashi Duncan

The first time they saw each other it was… pretty normal, just the ‘oh... look she also has a daughter’. What a nice coincidence!

Your 7-year-old daughter crossed paths with the daughter of the attractive woman you saw several times by the pool. Both playing in the splash area.

Her daughter had a love for swimming, an athletic spirit. Very cute, she must have gotten it from her mother.

Your little one was more like the sunbathing type, with the heart sunglasses she wore even sleeping, almost imitating you.

You laughed when you saw her, your eyes watching from the edge of the magazine. Smiling before continuing to flip the pages through the news, fashion, sports section... let’s see... tennis?

You were too focused to realize someone had sat in the chair next to you… until your hand reached out to take your lemonade from the table.

It was her.

The pretty woman with short hair.

You smiled slightly at her and lowered the magazine a bit—not because you’ve finished reading, but because her smile is suddenly more interesting than tennis stats.

She was the brave one to bend down and stretch out her hand.

“Hey,” she was prettier up close, Jesus.

“Hi,” you smiled, taking her hand.

“Tashi, Tashi Duncan.”

“Nice to meet you…”

And her hand is warm when you shake it. You can’t help but notice the tiny scar across her knuckle and wonder for half a second how she got it. Probably something cool. You always imagine short-haired women have stories.

“Tashi,” you repeat softly, still holding her hand a second longer than necessary. “I’ve seen you around.”

You introduced yourself before shifting up in your seat. Her eyes were distracted for a second while your magazine left the top of your chest in sight.

Huh.

“I’ve seen you, too.” Her smile is slow, like she’s testing the temperature between you.

Your daughter shrieks with laughter in the splash zone, and her daughter is right there next to her, already mid-cannonball. You both glance over. An unspoken relief: they’re entertaining each other.

“She’s cute,” you say.

Tashi turns back to you. "Thanks. She's got more energy than I know what to do with. Yours?"

You glance over your glasses at your daughter who is now reclined on her towel like a pint-sized diva, sipping from her pink lemonade with a little umbrella. "She's... more into the aesthetic of pool life and summer, you know."

Tashi laughs. "She gets it from her mom?," it lands low and warm, you laugh too.

"What are you implying?" you tilt your head sipping a little of your lemonade with the same smile.

"That swimsuit? Kinda stealing the spotlight. And coming from me, that’s a compliment."

You feel that warm flush creep up again, and this time you don't bother hiding it with your magazine. "This old thing?" you tease.

Tashi leans back in her chair, arms stretched over her head. Her toned stomach glints in the sun, and you pretend not to notice-failing spectacularly.

Her partner was lucky.

"Do you live around here?" she asks.

You nod. "Just moved in. Trying to make this whole suburbia thing work."

"That makes two of us," she says, eyes on the girls now, "We should— get the girls together sometime. They seem to click."

You smile. "Yeah, I'd like that," you pick up your magazine again just to have something to do with your hands.

She notices there's something about the way you hold your magazine–not like you’re reading it, but like you’re keeping a boundary in place. A gentle one that says: Not yet, not here, but maybe.

Tashi likes that.

She shifts in her chair, careful not to seem too obvious when she says, “Lily likes hotels.”

You look over at her, surprised by the non sequitur, but intrigued.

“We’re here for Art,” she explains. “My husband. He’s got a few gallery shows and a regional circuit he’s doing. The hotel 's easier. Less messy than short-term leases. And Lily thinks the hallways are made for racing.”

You smile, already picturing the little girl running barefoot down the corridor.

“How long are you here?” you ask.

Tashi shrugs. “A couple weeks, a month, maybe. Depends how the shows go.”

“We are kind of in the same boat. My husband— he writes a column, but lately he’s very into the real estate content thing, i don’t know. He found this place and decided it’d be his first experiment.”

Your sunglasses slip a little down your nose. Tashi catches a glimpse of your eyes—curious, a little guarded.

“You like it?” she asks.

You shrug. “I like the quiet moments.”

Tashi nods. “Me too.”

She has this calmness to her, even her name gives you comfort. Not smug– just settled in her own skin. The kind of woman who doesn't mind when the pool towel is too short or when the kids draw on walls.

You admire it.

Her laugh is soft and the way her eyes keep traveling down to look at your bathing suit makes your stomach tighten, not in a bad way.

There’s also that strange comfort in the way she says Lily likes hotels. It’s a statement, but also a reveal. It tells you more about her than if she had rattled off five facts about her marriage.

You offer your life in return, casually at first. Your husband’s weird freelance path, the way he refers to this as “content” like it’s a mission, not a career. You’d followed him here, not unhappily, but not exactly inspired or expecting something more than just clean white sheets, chlorine, the fact that your daughter sunbathes like she’s 27.

She's not the woman who brags about how far her husband has come, because it's clear that she also has a great career and her personality makes you think she's good at everything she does.

Tashi listens, she really does. That’s your surprise right there.

Is this what people refer to when they say that good things come when you least expect it?

You both glance at your daughters now, ankle-deep in water, heads close together like they are sharing a secret. Maybe about how maple syrup is better than marmalade for pancakes, maybe about the rules of mermaid society.

And then Tashi says, “I’m glad they found each other.”

You murmur, “Me too.”

Both girls approach their moms, Tashi slides the little robe on Lily’s shoulders, you help Hanna slide her feet on the crocs.

You stand up before you can think of something to say, “See you two around,” you smile at Lily and then look at Tashi.

She stands up too, nodding with a smile. “I suppose that means you take me on that offer I told you about.”

“It does.” You place your sunglasses on top of your head, and that warmth again—stretching across your ribs as Tashi waves at Hanna.

[nnovus]

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ━━━ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴏ.ᴋ

SYNOPSIS… She was the most breathtaking woman, Choso had ever seen. She’s also a high-ranking and violent criminal full of frustrated ambitions and equally frustrated appetites. But Choso, a sculpture student prodigy, can only see her beauty and perfection—not the darkness. One way or another, He will pay the price for his muse, with his body... or with something far more costly.

INFO...18+, Choso Kamo x oc!reader, nerdCHOSO!!, drugging, kidnapping, violence, guns, knives, abuse, parental death underthegreenlight!!xjjk!crossover , Choso is obsessed and very down bad, ( I usually give the reader an appearance and personality when I write cause it’s easier for me so this time I based it off a female Sasuke Uchiha)

OTHER…likes and reblogs are appreciated

“LET ME ASK YOU SOMETHING…”━━━━ She balanced the phone in between her ear and shoulder, holding it upright effortlessly, while her fingers deftly sparked the lighter. Bringing it up towards the cigarette, which perched between her perfect lips. Catching the flame as a thin wisp of smoke curled upwards, blending with the air around her.

“You’re telling me, that you’re planning on using this expensive piece of land to build, not a commercial and residential complex.. but an art museum??” Y/N smirked. Eyebrows furrowing at the stupid idea the chairwomen had been persistent on for weeks.

“It’s obvious you’re right on money yet for some reason, you’re insisting on this ridiculous plan.” She added. Her frustrated grin not leaving her face for a second.

“You insolent child! Since when do you need a reason to do your job?” The chairwomen yelled across the phone. Her loud scolded practically piercing through Y/N’s ears.

“Now cut the small talk and buy off the construction rights from whoever is involved.” She finished. Her stern instructions were something Y/N was used too but this time it sounded much more important.

“I see that you still lack manners and are as unyielding as ever, Madam Chairwomen.” Y/N mocked, clearly wanting a reaction out of the older woman.

“Oh Shut up, you idiot. Just keep in mind that the damage will be much greater if the museum construction and other companies fail. If you neglect the job, you'll be eating fish instead of meat.” She scolded before ending the call without letting Y/N say something snarky back.

“What a nasty hag.” Y/N sighed. Lifting the phone from her ear and throwing it on the car seat next to her. Of course the chairwoman wouldn’t bother to explain her reasoning so easily.

“I need coffee now..” Y/N said pinching her forehead to indicate she had gotten a headache from the old hag.

Chuckles were heard coming from the front seats of the call from her two bodyguards, Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo. In other words Y/N L/N had indeed secured her spot among the elite to be important enough to be protected by the two ‘strongest.’

The street they drove upon had a worn, half-forgotten look—faded signs, shuttered windows, and streets that hadn’t seen fresh paint in years. Still, the closest coffee shop, thankfully wasn’t far, placed just a few blocks away.

They pulled in and parked by the curb, the car falling quiet as the engine shut off. It was beginning to rain heavy. Geto and Gojo had stepped out the vehicle. Gojo with an umbrella as it was raining quite heavily. Though Geto went without one for he was the one entering the coffee shop to order.

Y/N lifted her head when hearing a soft knock on the window. “You want to step out for a bit?” Gojo asked. “Might as well stretch your legs while we wait on the coffee.”

“Welcome!” A loud feminine voice echoed the second Geto entered the shop. It came from a woman who looked to be about in her mid 40’s while still looking fairly young and healthy. Quite beautiful actually.

She was a very tall woman with quite an curvy and athletic build. Long blonde hair that extends well down her back with two tufts on in front of each side of her face, aswell as wide brown eyes.

She had quite a civil outfit that consisted of a black long sleeve shirt and some basic blue skinny jeans. It paired well with the cafe’s black apron. On her apron there was a name tag with that Geto could see her name was ‘Yuki Tsukumo.’

She seemed to be the owner of the cafe as her confident, energetic and friendly spirit would concern Geto otherwise. Though he ignored her and went towards the younger male who worked at the counter.

“2 Americano and 1 latte for take out. Oh and make sure the latte is filled with sugar, thanks..” Geto ordered. Taking Satoru’s major sweet tooth into consideration.

“Of course... Please just wait a moment.” Geto’s eyes stayed on the male barista as he made the coffee’s. He was way different from the manager.

He was a tall and well built with long, black, stringy hair tied into two high ponytails that jut upward and outward. He had small dark brown eyes with slightly thin eyebrows and a tattoo mark that extends from both sides of his face across the bridge of his nose. Though it was hard to see since he wore glasses. He seemed to still be young, specifically 24-25 years of age.

Besides from his odd tattoo. He didn’t seem to stand out with his grey shirt, plaid jacket and black smart trousers he wore. Not to mention his name tag only consisted of one name. ‘Choso.’

“Here. Your order..” Choso muttered. With Geto examining his surroundings it surely made time pass. He nodded before grabbing the plate of drinks from the barista and heading outside

“Boss, have some coffee.” Geto handed her the drink while winking at Satoru who began to laugh at the nickname ‘Boss.’ Despite Y/N’s intense glare being right On the white haired male.

‘What the?-- It' tastes like crap.’ Y/N’s forehead wrinkled at the taste of the coffee. She grimaced, holding the paper cup away from her like it had personally offended her.

From behind the cafe window, Choso’s gaze traced her every movement, lingering on the way she brought a cigarette to her lips after taking the sip of coffee.

His pupils widened, as they were practically shimmering with light when staring at her. It didn’t take long for her to turn around and take a quick glance of him.

“Boss, it's almost time for the meeting with the director.” Geto informed Y/N, taking her focus away from Choso who still refused to look away.

“I’ve lost my appetite. Let's go.” She sighed, only rolling her eyes and purposefully dropping the americano on the pavement and walking towards the car.

Choso stood frozen, heart thudding in his chest as he watched her car disappear down the street. A rising panic clawed at his throat — he hadn’t even gotten the chance to speak to her.

His eyes dropped to the coffee she’d thrown onto the concrete just before leaving. The paper cup laid on its side, contents seeping into the pavement. For some reason, that hit him harder than he expected.

“Ma’am, Please allow me to leave early today!!?” Choso shouted, sounding extremely desperate which slightly shocked Yuki.

“What's wrong? Is it because of the assignment?” Yuki asked, her curiosity was already piqued. Choso had never this shaken.

“No. This is more important than the assignment. I'll finish that before the deadline tomorrow.” The plead in his voice being quite concerning.

“Why are you in such a hurry? Oh well, just be careful about the car passing by and the traffic lights.” Yuki called out, shrugging her shoulders and yawning as she watched Choso hurriedly pull off his apron and grab his shoulder bag before dashing out the store.

His sneakers pounded against the pavement, chasing the black car already pulling away at the end of the block.

The rain was immediate and punishing—cold, heavy, soaking through his clothes within seconds. His hoodie clung to his arms, water dripping from his sleeves as his shoes splashed across the pavement.

His glasses began to cloud over, raindrops sliding down the lenses and blurring his vision—but he didn’t stop to fix them.

He kept running, squinting through the fog, tracking the shape of the car through the glowing traffic lights and the reflections off the wet asphalt.

He stayed on the trail. And then finally the car slowed. Turned. Then pulled into a long driveway beneath a wide stone arch. As he finally reached his destination.

MUNICIPAL ART MUSEUM EMBRIO ALI

He walked through glass doors of the museum alone. The museum greeted him with warmth and silence. His soaked shoes and clothing squeaked faintly on the polished marble floor as he moved past the front desk, ignoring the curious glance from the receptionist.

He followed the sound of distant footsteps and classical music. Past the portraits. Past the ancient maps. Past the whitewashed halls that smelled of stone and varnish. And there, in the sculpture wing. He saw her.

“As many of you may already know, Vanderbilt had a massive influence on sculpture in the late 18TH CENTURY. But, what’s really special about this year’s giovanni vanderbilt exhibition is…” The tour guide explained. Though his voice was muffled in Choso’s mind for all he could stare at was the woman in front of him.

For a second, it felt like everything slowed down. The black suit she wore hugged her figure perfectly. Sharp shoulders that took nothing away from her femininity. A cinched waist, and a deep neckline that gave just the right hint of skin without trying too hard.

The blazer flared slightly at the hips, structured but still soft, like it was made just for her. Paired with matching high-waisted pants that fell into a graceful flare, she looked effortlessly put together. It was clear she made well for herself. Perhaps she was a businesswomen?

“After twenty years of being showcased exclusively in foreign exhibitions, this is the first time it’s being displayed here, in our very own Municipal Art Museum.” The tour guide announced.

“The model for this creation, Albert, was Vanderbilt’s lover. their fateful encounter may have been the touch of perfection that was needed to complete his greatest work.” He added. Although Choso was an art student who specialised in sculpture, yet he couldn’t have care less to what he had to say and only stayed focus on the familiar woman infront of his eyes.

“And, this concludes the guide tour. Please enjoy the rest of the exhibit.” The tour guide ended before him and other visitors walked off. Though Y/N stayed staring at the statue. Her eyes glued onto it. Examining it. Though truthfully she had no idea about anything that had to do with this statue.

“You could pierce a hole with the way that you’re staring. You must like what you see…” Y/N said. Letting Choso know his staring was getting a little overboard.

“Yes I do.. And you?” Choso’s words were spoken low, his tone raw but strangely calm. There was no attempt to hide the admiration in his voice. Not from the statue, but from her. Oh how beautiful she was.

“I’m not quite sure. It’s a fine piece of art-a masterpiece. Elegant yet..grotesque. Though I don’t know a ton about it.. I know about Vanderbilt’s famed promiscuity- that he slept with as many men he could.” She replied. Her eyes narrowing with sharp curiosity as she didn’t bother to look at the male by her side but continued to stare at the statue.

“While it is a nude piece. There’s more to it than what first meets the eye.” He stepped closer, his chest facing her shoulders, his voice softer.

“I don’t know how amazing this piece looks to you, but they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder... But to me, It’s nothing but a naked man trying to cover himself with a towel.” This made Choso slightly confused. If she had no care or understanding for art. What was she doing here??

Her eyes continued to stay locked, cold and steady. As for That smirk? It wasn’t meant to charm. It was alarming and addicting. ‘Has this woman not have one flaw?’ Choso thought.

She turned her head slowly, the motion smooth and deliberate. Her features were carved with impossible precision. She had the kind of face that made people unable to stop staring.

A face that was perfect. Refined, elegant and delicate. Matching well with her perfect, slim, curvy, body. Her long, spiky black hair that had a tint of blue to it, swept past her lower back, feathered and untamed. Though it wasn’t exactly messy.

It framed her face well, a contrast to the soft, pale scar that split horizontally across her forehead. Faint but impossible to miss. like a crack on a statue that had no imperfections. It should’ve lessened her beauty. Instead, it amplified it

And then she smirked. It was the smallest movement. Just the corner of her mouth twitching upward—but it was still enough to make Choso lose his mind.

“Now then, It’s only natural we get to know more about each other...” Her dark, addicting eyes narrowed just slightly, locking onto him. Distracting him from all his surroundings.

Exactly why he wasn’t able to see it coming. It happened fast. A blur of white and black.

Gojo came running up from behind him, grabbing Choso’s arms with a strength that left no room for resistance. Soon placing both his arms behind back. Geto was seconds behind him, fist twisted into Choso’s hair, yanking his head back with surgical force. Choso stumbled and dropped to his knees, the cold marble biting against his legs.

His breath hitched. The mood had shifted. Fast. Y/N didn’t even flinch. Her smirk faded. Simply just looking down at him. “You… You’re the barista from that café earlier, correct?” She asked.

“Are you with an organisation? Or are you a cop?” Her voice dropped not loud, but sharp and stern. This made Choso slightly confused. Why a person acquainted with any of those jobs be after her.

“Neither…I’m just a regular college student.” The words stumbled out, weak even to his own ears. At one point even he didn’t believe it. Not under her gaze.

“TSK TSK. Are you gonna start telling the truth?” Gojo teased, His usual smirk drawn on his face as his fingers tighten in Choso’s hair without warning,

Gojo then shoves Choso’s head down by his hair. His face is forced downward, nearly colliding with the cold tile floor. His breath hitches. As a grunt leaves his lips.

“I am telling the truth.” His voice is muffled, spoken through clenched teeth.

“So you came all this way to cause after me... Only to stare bullets at me?” Y/N began to walk closer. heels echoing ominously on the polished floor. She closed the distance between her and Choso before stopping directing in front of him.

As he stared down he could see her manicured feet through her open toe heels. She then raises one leg and places the side of her foot beneath his chin, tilting his face up with just enough pressure to force eye contact. His breath catches. The contact is cold, demeaning, intimate in a way.

Then without breaking eye contact. She lowers herself to one knee, her movements slow as Her fingers wrapped around the edge of his collar.

“Just how exactly do you plan to explain that?” She raised an eyebrow. A soft flush soon creeping up his neck, blooming across his face.

He remains silent. Impatient, Y/N grabs him, Yanking him foward. Her voice luring as she whispers.“well”

“I did it because..I’m interested in you. Does that not answer your question.” His voice is low, barely audible.

“PFFT. You’re really something. Geto search him.” Her fingers intertwined from his collar, soon releasing him. Her eyes narrow as she turns to Geto.

Geto crouches, picking up and then unzipping the worn canvas bag. One by one, the contents spill onto the floor. Sketchbooks, pencils, a cracked folders, Keys, and eventually, a wallet. Y/N watches, arms crossed again. Though this time Choso kept his head down. Avoiding her eyes.

“He doesn’t have any weapons, or anything suspicious. Guns, knives, nothing of the sort.” Geto informed. He glances up, tone neutral.

She soon glances at an rusted wallet that was dropped at her foot. Then bending down slowly, and flipping it open. Her eyes scan the student ID that came to reveal.

“Choso Kamo?? So you’re majoring in sculpture at a fine arts school, huh?” Her voice changes slightly—less suspicion, more disbelief. Eyeing out his School ID where he wasn’t wearing his glasses and had a plain black T-shirt on. Y/N couldn’t that he was definitely attractive.

“Y’know, This would not be the first time these methods were used to track you.” Geto raised his brows and inspected the wallet that Y/N had just now handed to him.

“Forget it. Let him go.” Y/N sighed. Her expression shifts again—cold, almost bored. She’s made her decision.

“Seriously, just like that, Y/N?” Gojo steps forward slightly, shocked, Though his grip on Choso had not loosened. He trusted Y/N heaps but this time he’s hesitant.

“Then did You want to torture him without any evidence? Do you think we came here to showcase our gang tactics?” Her eyes harden. Tone stern. It’s wasn’t a question that had multiple answers.

“Just know that you got lucky, Punk.” A low growl leaving Gojo’s lips. Finally letting his hand drops from Choso’s arms and hair. Before stuffing it in his pocket and looking away with a frown. Was this grown man seriously sulking?

Choso on the other hand stood up from the tile ground. breathing hard, face flushed with heat and tension. “Please excuse me…” He muttered before bowing his head slightly.

Soon walking past Y/N who’s lingering eyes traced his every movement, The fact he knew those hypnotising onyx eyes of hers were examining him only made him wanna disappear down the hallway quicker.

His hands shake as he clenches them into fists, retreating to the only place he can find privacy—the bathroom.

The tension eased off Choso’s shoulders as a ringing cut through the silence, vibrating from the inside of Geto’s coat pocket. He pulls the phone from his coat and steps aside, placing a finger to his ear as he listens.

“Yes, I received your call…”He nods slowly, eyes narrowing slightly as the voice on the other end speaks.

“Y/N, Director Oh said his golf round is being dragged out a bit longer and is suggesting we delay the meeting until tomorrow.” He lowers the phone and looks toward Y/N, awaiting a response.

“What? He’s making the boss wait over a round of golf?!” Gojo scoffs, incredulous. His hands raise in a dramatic shrug. He’s halfway between laughing and punching a wall.

“Oh well, That’s good for us. Let him know that we’ll come back tomorrow.” She waves a hand dismissively, but her gaze drifts toward the hallway Choso had walked out from.

“I guess I have time for some fun…” Her lips curl at the corners. She tilts her head, watching the path he took, thoughts shifting into something more intimate.

“I'll be taking a closer look at the exhibition, so just wait on the car.” Her voice is calm, disinterested. Waving them a goodbye as she’s already moving, not waiting for agreement. Her heels echo against the floor again, rhythm smooth and deliberate.

Choso on the other hand was currently leaning back on the edge of the bathroom sink. His reflection from the mirror stares back at him. flushed, wide eyed, humiliated. And yet… there’s something else in his expression. Something alive. Something that made him crave her more.

Soon the sound of the door creaking makes him spin. His eyes widen. His breath catches in his throat. Y/N steps inside slowly and confidently. He keeps his mouth shut as his face began to burn up once again.

“Hey, Part-timer. If you have time to spare. Shall we have a talk-just the two of us?” She asked. Though it wasn’t shown on her face. She felt nothing but amusement.

“You said you were interested, right?” Then, without a word, she began to walk forward. Reaching out two fingers that curled lightly around the front of his shirt. She guided him backwards, past the sink, and toward the bathroom stall behind him. He followed, driven by curiosity and the need of her.

Slamming and Locking the stall door behind them. She then pushed him on the cubical’s wall. Her left hand against the same wall he leaned on slightlyg trapping him while her other hand found its way to his zip. Right leg resting between both his legs.

“Wait a s-second…” Choso muttered, Eyes concentrating on the shorter woman in front of him. Who was currently digging into his boxers.

“You said you were into me, so what’s the problem?” She asked, Sounding slightly pissed. What’s more was She was biting her inner-cheek. Seems obviously getting way too impatient.

“I didn’t mean like this…!” He replied, Though his words didn’t add up with actions. For he refused to stop her delicate hands from touching him.

“HM?? If this isn’t what you mean , then what is this? It’s not very convincing when you’re at full attention down there.” His Harden bulge completely out his pants and now in reveal.

“If this is all because of me, I guess I'll have to take responsibility..” She said batting her long eyelashes at him. While leaning her mouth towards his neck.

“I don’t even know why I’m like this-” He whispered through the pleasurable feeling of her teeth biting and licking his neck.

“You don’t know?” She lifted her head slightly. Curious to hear what else he had to say. “Well... It’s the first time anyone has done this for me, so..” He told her. Shocking her.

“First time!??” Y/N repeated. What got Choso nervous was her blank, surprised expression. The raise of both eyebrows and her stare made him feel as if he had something wrong.

So this guy, Who’s both healthy and well-hung, really hadn’t lost his virginity yet. “If you think saying that it’s your first time, will make it easier to tempt me, It’s not going to work. Give it up.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Clearly not believing his words.

“HNH, I’ve never tried…to tempt anyone.” He grunted. Though at first it seemed unrealistic but as she stroked him. His reactions made her more certain he was telling the truth.

Y/N usually wasn’t the type to be interested in being touched by first-timers. But, his clumsy movements make this all though more amusing, much better than expected.

So what if he was a bit of a nuisance. Y/N was having fun. She then gazed up at him before leaning closer. Both their lips inches away from each other.

“Is it your first time doing this as well?” She teased. Showing off her addicting smirk to Choso. Before her lips crashed onto his.

Oh how he loved it. The way she continued to stroke him even while kissing. Even more was she tasted, the slight drag of her teeth against his bottom lip, the smell of her perfume up close before she pulled away. Way too soon. He was craving for more.

Soon releasing his load all over her hand. A smirk appearing on her face when she did. “This was fun.” Y/N said. Backing away from him and grabbing tissue to clean the mess on her hand.

Choso stayed leaning back. Trying to regain his breath. Though he then noticed her smile quickly fade. “You said your name was Choso, Right?” She asked once more. Though this time she had a slightly serious tone.

“Can we...maybe see each other again, another time?” He asked her. His glasses crocked. Face flushed. Hair a mess. With a massive love bite on his neck. It was clear what he had been up to.

“I’m not quite sure, Choso. Should we?” She mocked before turning her body and walking out the restroom door. Leaving a yearning man behind. Not the first time she’s done it. Not the last time she plans on doing it.

“Man, I didn’t even get to cum..” She whined, slapping her hand on her face and dragging them down while whispering to herself about how she wanted to have more time. Then moving her hands to rummage through her pockets for a lighter as she existed the museum.

“you took longer than we anticipated.” Gojo said watching her walk down the outside stairs of the museum. Leaning onto the front of the car while Geto opened the backseat for Y/N to enter.

“Did I?” She yawned. Eyes getting teary. Then getting a cigarette to balance between her lips as she went to light it up. Truthfully she wasn’t aware of how much time went by. It was the first time she got super turned on after such a long time. She couldn’t have missed out on it.

“It seems that exhibition was worth seeing.” Geto raised his eyebrows, was there something he was missing out on. A secret plan or something?

“Oh, it was definitely worth seeing.” She grinned. Blowing the cigarette smoke out her mouth as the thought of Choso came into her mind once again.

GUYS I DO NOT WRITE 18+ so that is why it might be a little messy or not making sense. Though for future updates if someone knows anyone willing to help me write some scenes pls lmk.

THANK YOU FOR READING MAKE SURE TO SUPPORT <3

[aylacavebear]

An Arranged Marriage - Alternate Version

Your parents told you when you were twelve. You’d seen lots of Disney and kid movies up until this point, so you thought you had a good idea of what being married to someone meant and how it was supposed to go. On top of that, you were taught how to be a hunter and use your unique set of abilities. 

The way they had explained why you, it had to do with Bastet and her desire to bridge the world of hunters and monsters. Not all monsters were evil or killed people. Some hunters saw this and acted accordingly, letting those monsters live. However, it was less than a handful, and Bastet was hoping for a better way to bridge the gap.

But what happens when, on your 21st birthday, you meet a stranger in a bar who makes you feel things you know you shouldn't?

Paring: Dean x OCF Reader/You

Word Count: 8593

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Dean being an ass, Longing for strangers at a bar.

A/N: Here's the alternate version I had in my head that I mentioned in the first one I posted. It's not as long as the other one, but no less emotional. I hope you guys like it.

Original Version Here.

----------------------------------------- For a while, you daydreamed about some handsome prince and a fairy tale life. You’d write out things in your personal journal, dreams of a child. When you’d watch movies with a romantic couple, you daydreamed it was Dean, even though you had no idea what he looked like or what kind of personality he had. You were a kid and so very naive. 

After graduating high school, you began going on hunts alone, having honed your abilities over the years. There was a freedom in it, without the politics of niceties during interactions. With other people, it was like a dance of words, testing to see what was okay to talk about and what not to talk about so you didn’t set someone off. Monsters were easy to deal with. Monsters were either good or bad. They didn’t have that gray area like humans did.

It was six months after your eighteenth birthday that you were supposed to meet this Dean Winchester, your soon-to-be husband. You couldn’t help but be excited and had spent nearly an hour in your room attempting to figure out what to wear. Clothes were strewn everywhere, several pieces laid out over different surfaces. You finally went with a pair of jeans and a comfy shirt and pulled a red flannel over that, leaving it unbuttoned. As the time neared, you felt butterflies in your stomach and anticipation coursing through you. It was the phone call ten minutes before the time that made you frown. Then, your mother was apologizing to you, saying something had come up on their end. You brushed this one aside. They were hunters too. It was a viable reason, this time.

When it happened two more times, your fairy tale world shattered. This one, you heard him in the background of the call as you sat near your mother on the couch. “I’m not marrying a monster!” Those had been his yelled words laced with anger, venom, and disdain.

Even being eighteen and technically an adult, you still had that child-like wonder, hope, and optimism. You dreamed of the kind of love they wrote about in stories. You had run to your room before the call had even ended, the tears already falling, then slammed your door. Monster, he’d called you. Technically, you were. You weren’t human, so you fell into that category. As you sat on your bed, trying to wipe away the tears as they fell, you thought back to the movies you watched growing up. The monster was always killed. The monster didn’t get a happy ending. The monster wasn’t loved. 

With that realization, you began packing a bag, your hunting bag. It was at that moment that you started constructing walls around yourself. You knew you couldn’t get out of this marriage and that at twenty-five, it would happen by Bastet’s hand if it hadn’t been done before. 

Seven years. I have seven years to postpone this.

You kept yourself busy with hunts, being home less and less. The next meeting that had been set up, you sat on your bed, dressed in what you called your hunting clothes, far too lost in thought. So far, the Winchesters hadn’t canceled. Your bag sat packed behind you. The sound of an engine pulled your attention from your thoughts as your heart hammered. Then your expression hardened. Fuck this asshole. With the anger welling up again, you grabbed your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder, and slipped out of your bedroom window. Cats really do always land on their feet.

Moving quickly, you went for the nearest tree, extended your claws, and climbed it till you were hidden by the foliage. With quick thinking, you pulled out your phone and put it on silent, then slipped it back into your pocket. 

Part of you wanted to see your future husband, the curious, hopeful part. So, you had lingered in that tree, but you never did get a clear view of him before the four Winchesters had reached the front door. Only a minute later, your phone started vibrating in your pocket. You knew your parents were pissed, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hurt Dean like he had hurt you.

Yelling had begun coming from your house as you slipped from the tree and walked away, head held high and feeling justified, at least a little. Why? You’d heard Dean yelling and could hear the anger in his tone, as a smirk had found the corners of your lips.

—------------------------ A/N: Here’s where the story changes…

On your twenty-first birthday, you headed to the local bar. You were supposed to be home, getting ready for another meeting, but you weren’t in the mood. What was the point in meeting a man who only thought of you as a monster? The bar wasn’t loud, but it thrummed—low music pulsing from an old jukebox in the corner, the speaker crackling just enough to irritate your sharp ears. Laughter rose now and then in bursts, mostly from a corner table near the pool table where someone had stacked a win streak. Ice clinked in lowball glasses. A ceiling fan ticked overhead with every sluggish spin, keeping time with the lazy rhythm of the room. Somewhere behind the bar, a dishwasher cycled through cloudy glasses that still smelled faintly of hops and lime.

You paused inside the door, instincts bristling beneath your skin. The air was dense—wood, old beer, smoke woven into fabric, the metallic tang of a fresh scrape, and too many people wearing too much cologne to cover nerves or loneliness. You tasted the mix in the back of your throat and blinked slowly, adjusting.

Still better than spending the night pretending to smile for a man who called you a monster.

You chose a stool near the far end of the bar, where the light was low and the press of bodies thin. The vinyl seat gave a soft squeak beneath you, and you crossed your ankles beneath the high stool, back to the wall, gaze sweeping the room behind half-lowered lashes. From here, you could see everyone. No one could see too much of you.

The bartender was already moving your way before you could lift a hand—mid-thirties, with a buzzcut, a crooked nose that had broken at least once, and a towel slung over his shoulder. “ID?” he asked, voice roughened by years of talking over crowds.

You didn’t answer right away. Just arched a brow, then slid your hand into the pocket of your flannel. The plastic caught against the edge of your nail as you pulled it free and held it out—not delicately, but not disrespectfully either. Just… flat. Like a challenge wrapped in casual disinterest.

The bartender took it with a glance, raised one eyebrow, then handed it back.

“Happy birthday, I guess,” he muttered, already reaching for a clean glass.

“I didn’t say it was,” you said, slipping the ID back into your pocket.

“But you didn’t deny it,” he said without looking at you, pouring with the kind of measured experience that told you he didn’t need the conversation, but he didn’t mind it either.

You shrugged a shoulder, watching the amber liquid slosh into the short glass. “Double whiskey.”

“Any particular kind?”

“Whatever bites back.”

That got a small smirk out of him. “You one of those tough types who drinks it just to prove you can?”

“No,” you said, fingers curling around the cool glass as he set it down. “I drink it because I’m tired.”

That shut him up in the right way. Not uncomfortable—just respectful. He gave a slow nod and moved on without asking more.

You raised the glass, let the scent hit your senses—oak, char, just a hint of smoke—and took your first sip like you’d done it a hundred times before.

The burn was real, but you didn’t flinch.

The whiskey burned less the second time around.

You didn’t ask for another. Just gave the bartender a glance and a subtle lift of your glass. He got the message and poured without a word, setting the bottle aside with a quiet thunk.

You cradled the drink in your hands, eyes fixed on the amber swirl, but your ears stayed tuned to everything. Clinks of glass. The scrape of boots. The low murmur of conversation. The couple in the booth to your left were fighting in whispers—about money, probably. Someone near the jukebox had just picked another Springsteen song.

Then—

The front door opened hard, too hard. A gust of outside air rushed in, pulling smoke and bar-stale heat with it. Heavy boots hit the floor with the kind of rhythm that announced a man was either on a mission or just pissed off enough to not care how loud he was.

You didn’t bother looking. You felt him long before he got close—confident stride, broad presence, heat rolling off him like a furnace. And something else. Anger. Not the reckless kind. This was deeper. Focused. Familiar.

He scanned the bar like he was expecting someone specific, and your instincts flickered to attention. Not danger, exactly. Just… tension. Static. He looked right at you. And then moved on.

Just a chick at the bar. Nothing more.

He slid onto the stool beside yours, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, and ordered a beer with a voice that could command a room. Gravel, whiskey, and a little too much mood.

You didn’t look at him. Not right away. But you could feel his eyes on you. Like he was trying to read your story just from the way you held your glass.

Dean didn’t know who you were. Not yet. But you matched the description in his head in all the wrong ways—wrong because you were supposed to be something else. Some monster. Some responsibility he didn’t ask for. Not a woman sitting alone at a bar on her birthday, drinking like she had something to forget. But you couldn’t be her, not with the human emotions swimming in your eyes.

He saw the braid first. Tight. Precise. Like everything about you had been chosen with care. Jeans that fit. Tank top. Flannel unbuttoned and loose enough to say you didn’t care—but not quite loose enough to convince him you believed that.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you sip your drink, the flicker of pain behind your eyes disappearing before it could settle. That sadness? Hidden well. But not well enough.

So of course he spoke.

“You don’t look like someone who drinks cheap whiskey on a Tuesday night.”

You didn’t glance over. Just kept your eyes on your glass, tongue flicking against your inner cheek before answering.

“I’m legal today,” you said, tone cool, casual. “Figured I’d try out a bar.”

Dean’s brow lifted slightly, intrigued. “Yeah? And is it all you thought it was cracked up to be?”

You chuckled without humor. It was a short sound—dry, sharp. “Nope.” You popped the “p” like punctuation, then took another sip before adding, quieter, “It’s just better than being home.”

The sadness wasn’t in your words exactly—it was in the pause between them, the breath you held too long, the way your shoulders dipped the tiniest bit before you caught yourself.

Dean watched you. Not in a leering way. Not even a flirtatious one—yet. Just… studying. Trying to read between the lines like they were salt rings on the table.

“Homelife that bad, huh?” he said after a beat, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Not mocking—just trying to pull the weight off the air between you. His voice softened a touch. “Can’t tell if that’s relatable or tragic.”

You finally turned to look at him.

And he was…

Too handsome. That was your first impression, and it pissed you off a little. Messy, short-cropped hair that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be light brown or gold under the bar’s flickering neon. Stubble along a sharp jawline. Freckles ghosted across his cheeks and nose—just enough to suggest he spent more time in the sun than most. That jaw alone could’ve carried its own arrogance, but his eyes didn’t match it.

Green. Clear. With a trace of something tired at the edges.

Your gaze flicked over him once, quick and cool, before you turned back to your drink.

“I’m supposed to marry someone who doesn’t exactly like me,” you said.

Just that. Flat. Matter-of-fact. No weight behind it. Like it didn’t matter, even though it did.

Dean blinked, lips parting slightly in surprise—but not at the arranged marriage part. That wasn’t uncommon in his world. He was thrown by the honesty. The lack of spin.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, lifting his beer to his lips. “That’s one hell of a birthday present.”

You chuckled again, but it was dry and brittle around the edges. “Tell me about it. I thought I was kinda likable…” You paused, frowning faintly. “…maybe.”

Dean tilted his head, watching you over the rim of his beer. Something in your voice tugged at a thread in him—not pity, not even sympathy exactly. Just… recognition. A familiar ache in an unfamiliar shape.

He leaned an elbow on the bar, turning slightly toward you, posture loose but attention sharp. “Did he say why he didn’t like you?” he asked, voice dipping into something less teasing. Genuine curiosity had crept in now.

You hesitated, brows pulling together. That was the tricky part, wasn’t it? You couldn’t exactly say, He thinks I’m a monster. That kind of honesty didn’t go over well in bars.

“Not really,” you said, voice quieter now, the words dragging a little. “Just that I wasn’t what he wanted.” It was close enough to the truth for you that you could say it and mean it.

Dean let that sit for a second. Took another sip of his beer and weighed his next words carefully. He didn’t know you, didn’t know the story—but something about the way you said it… it didn’t sound like rejection from a bad date. It sounded like rejection of something deeper.

So he tried a different tack.

“Well,” he said, tapping his fingers once against his bottle, “why don’t you tell me about some of the stuff you do like? Might help narrow it down. Maybe I can diagnose the problem.” He offered a half-smile then, all charm and mischief—the patented Dean Winchester smirk that had knocked more than a few hearts sideways.

You didn’t look at him. Just shrugged, gaze focused on the melting ice in your glass.

“You’ll probably just think I’m weird,” you muttered.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low and amused, “I already think you’re weird. But in the good way.”

That earned a ghost of a smile. Just a flicker.

You downed the rest of your drink in one practiced motion and set the glass down with a soft clink, nodding toward the bartender without a word. He poured you another with a grunt, and you wrapped your hands around the new one before answering.

“I like classic rock,” you said, still watching the swirl of amber in your glass. “And… some other stuff, but not as much. I like baking sometimes—when I’ve got people around to share it with.” You paused. “I love horror movies, but I also love Scooby-Doo.”

Dean blinked. Then grinned.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, straightening a little, “Scooby-Doo is a goddamn classic.”

That made you look at him again, sideways, with a trace of surprise.

“I’m serious,” he went on, gesturing with his bottle. “Traps, monsters, a dog that talks, and a bunch of idiots solving mysteries in a van? That’s peak entertainment. I don’t care how old you are.”

You shook your head slightly, not quite laughing—but it was close.

“You’re weird,” you said.

Dean grinned wider. “Takes one to know one.”

You didn’t expect the conversation to last past that second drink.

But somehow, it did.

It slipped from music to movies, then food—his favorite was cheeseburgers, and when he said “with bacon… and also just bacon,” you laughed, a real laugh, the kind that caught you by surprise and made him grin like he’d won something. He liked pie. Of course he did. You said you’d die for a good slice of cherry, and he nodded solemnly like that was a universal truth.

He never asked your name, and you didn’t ask his. That felt… safer. Like keeping the moment in a snow globe—perfect, contained, untouchable.

You told him you liked thunderstorms. The scent of wet asphalt and pine. Baking when there were people to eat what you made. The feeling of worn-in cotton. The quiet between songs when you’re driving alone at night. You told him you liked to be outside, barefoot in the grass, stargazing when it was warm enough. He didn’t tease you. He just… listened. Like it mattered.

He shared things too. Bits and pieces. He hated paperwork. Loved classic cars. Said there was nothing better than the sound of a good engine. He talked about music like it was stitched into his soul—told you which tracks were best blasted loud, windows down, the wind trying to steal the sound away. And he asked things, too. Not in a prying way. Just curious. Easy.

The bartender eventually cut the jukebox and called out, “Closing time.”

You blinked, as if waking from a dream. The bar had emptied around you, the seats near you now cold and bare. The quiet hit like a tide pulling out, leaving you weightless.

“Shit,” Dean muttered, glancing around, surprised. “Guess time got away from us.”

You smiled, soft and small, still cradling your half-finished last drink.

He looked at you, and something in his expression changed. Not dramatic—just deeper, heavier around the edges. Like he was seeing more of you than he had at the start of the night.

“Well,” he said, voice lower now, sincere, “hopefully the guy you’re supposed to marry can open his eyes and really see you. ’Cause I think you’re pretty damn amazing.”

The words landed like heat against your skin. You weren’t used to hearing things like that. Not anymore. And especially not from someone who didn’t know what you were.

Your breath caught, just for a second. Then you smiled again—this one shy, a little crooked—and ducked your head.

“Thanks,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against the rim of your glass. “Really.”

You pulled out your wallet, paid your tab with quiet efficiency, and slid off the stool.

His eyes followed you as you walked to the door, but he didn’t call out. Didn’t ask your name. Just watched, like maybe he already knew he wouldn’t see you again.

The night air hit your face like a soft slap, cool and sharp. You tucked your hands into your pockets, the buzz of whiskey keeping your limbs loose as you stepped into the shadows.

You didn’t look back.

But your heart did.

Your mind wandered and argued like it often did when you were alone. Only now, it was worse and better simultaneously.

It wasn’t fair.

He had been kind. Warm. A little cocky, yeah—but in a way that felt earned, not weaponized. The green-eyed stranger at the bar had treated you like you were worth knowing. Like you weren’t strange, or wrong, or less.

Why couldn’t he be the one you were supposed to marry?

You didn’t go home. You didn’t want to hear the disappointment in your father’s sigh or see the frustration in your mother’s eyes. You didn’t want to hear more about duty. About the bond Bastet had set in motion. You didn’t want to hear how grateful you should be.

Instead, you drove until the gas gauge hit a line and the ache behind your eyes became a dull throb. The first motel you found had a flickering vacancy sign and a front desk clerk who didn’t ask questions. You slid your ID across the counter, got a plastic key, and walked into a room that reeked of bleach and regret.

The bedspread was too stiff. The wallpaper was peeling at the corners. And something about the carpet made your skin crawl—but it was still easier than going home.

You dropped your bag on the chair, kicked off your boots, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on your knees. For a moment, you just stared at the floor. The silence roared.

Eventually, you dug your phone out of your back pocket. You hadn’t looked at it since you left home when the Winchesters had shown up. There were texts, missed calls. One from Jess—concerned, but soft. One from your father, short and clipped: We need to talk.

And one from your mother.

That was the one that made your stomach twist.

“The wedding has been moved up. Bastet is stepping in to handle everything. You'll meet him soon. Be ready.”

Your thumb hovered over the screen for too long.

The room suddenly felt too small. Like the walls had leaned in while you weren’t looking.

You dropped the phone on the nightstand and leaned back, staring at the ceiling with wide, dry eyes. Your chest felt hollow and full all at once—grief, confusion, guilt, and something sharp beneath it all.

Because now you knew.

Now you knew what it felt like to sit next to someone who looked at you like you mattered. Who made you laugh. Who didn’t flinch at your weirdness. Who thought you were amazing, even when you didn’t say your name.

And you knew exactly who you weren’t allowed to want. The green-eyed man.

You didn’t sleep much that night in the motel. Dozing came in fits and starts, the hum of the air conditioning unit battling the noise in your head. You kept thinking about the bar. His smile. The way he listened. The ache that had bloomed somewhere deep when he told you you’re pretty damn amazing.

It wasn’t supposed to matter.

And yet, it did. More than it should have.

The next two days blurred past you, a mess of arrangements handled without your involvement. Bastet’s influence was subtle but absolute—vendors lined up, a venue secured, paperwork already signed and sealed in places you hadn’t touched. Your mother looked relieved. Your father tried to meet your gaze and couldn’t hold it long.

You didn’t fight it. You didn’t speak against it.

You just… moved.

Hair trials. Fittings. Table settings. Flowers you hadn’t picked but somehow liked.

The morning of, you woke with your stomach in knots and your head full of cotton. Everything felt distant. You floated through it—the makeup, the hair, the half-hearted small talk from your mother’s friend. You nodded when prompted, thanked people with a voice that wasn’t yours. You sat when told to sit, stood when told to stand.

It wasn’t until you were alone in that room at the church that it hit you.

The mirror didn’t lie.

You looked beautiful.

The dress was elegant—ivory silk with subtle beading along the bodice, a fitted waist that flowed into a gentle train. Traditional, but not stiff. It moved when you did. Bastet’s magic, you were sure. She always had taste. Your hair had been done so it was half-up, half-down—soft curls cascading over your shoulders, the rest pinned back with delicate, silver combs. Makeup light. Natural. Just enough to define.

And yet.

Staring at yourself, you didn’t see beauty.

You heard his voice instead. From that night your parents tried to introduce you.

“I’m not marrying a monster.”

The echo wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

You sank down into the chair beside the vanity, fingers curling in your lap to keep them from shaking. You didn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the first time he’d said it.

The door opened, and you didn’t move.

“It’s time, sweetie,” your father said gently from the doorway. His voice was soft. His tie was crooked.

You didn’t look at him at first. Just pulled the veil down over your face and stared into the mirror. Your face had settled into the one you wore on hunts—calm, unreadable, armor behind your eyes.

You stood slowly, shoulders squared, chin lifted. Your father offered his arm. You took it.

The music started.

You didn’t really hear it. Just felt the shift in the room—the silence that fell when the doors opened. The hush that rippled outward as people stood.

Murmurs followed your steps down the aisle. You didn’t register the words. Something about beauty. Elegance. Perfection.

None of that mattered.

Looks faded. What stayed… was how people made you feel.

And then—

Your gaze lifted, moving toward the altar.

He was standing there.

And your heart stopped.

Green eyes. The same messy hair. The jaw you remembered. The mouth that had told you he thought you were amazing. The man who had unknowingly told you everything you’d needed to hear two nights ago.

Dean.

Dean Winchester.

He couldn’t see your face through your veil, and you weren’t sure if you were thankful or annoyed by that. Questions swirled through your mind at a speed that was too quick to think any of them to completion. You wanted to turn around and run.

The steps forward kept happening anyway.

You couldn’t stop walking.

You didn’t breathe.

—----------------

Dean’s POV… Dean stood at the altar like it was a firing squad.

Hands clasped in front of him. Jaw tight. Shoulders stiff beneath the weight of a suit jacket he didn’t want to be wearing. The collar itched. Everything felt too formal, too stiff, too final.

He’d stopped arguing two days ago. Bastet herself had intervened, and you didn’t win fights with gods. Especially not ones that technically meant well.

Didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

He didn’t know her—this girl, this stranger he was supposed to build a life with. All he knew were the headlines. Touched of Bastet. Powerful lineage. Good intentions. Not human.

And that was the part that stuck in his throat.

He’d grown up knowing what monsters could do. What they took. What they cost. Even the good ones—the ones you spared—they still walked the world with something other than human in their bones. Something dangerous. Something other.

So no, he hadn’t been excited.

Not until two nights ago. Not until the bar.

That woman—god, that woman—had sat beside him with tired eyes and a mouth that gave as good as it got. She’d been funny. Smart. Sharp around the edges and soft just beneath. He’d made her laugh. And she’d made him forget.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.

Didn’t get her name. Didn’t ask. It felt wrong somehow, like naming the moment would pop the bubble they’d found themselves in. A perfect, fleeting night.

He hadn’t expected her to stay with him like that. But she had.

And now here he was, standing in a church that smelled too clean, wearing a tie he hated, waiting to marry someone who—

The music shifted.

Dean’s breath caught.

The doors opened.

And for a moment, time did that weird thing where everything slowed and narrowed.

She stepped into the room like something out of a dream. Long dress, veil drawn, moving like she was weightless. Like she didn’t belong to the world around her. There was something magnetic in the way she carried herself—shoulders back, chin lifted, grace in every step even as her father guided her forward.

Dean stared.

He couldn’t see her face, not yet. But something about her presence scraped against the inside of his chest. A whisper. A pull.

Familiar.

His brows pinched slightly. He didn’t understand it. His pulse picked up. His palms were suddenly damp. What the hell?

He locked his jaw and forced himself to breathe evenly as they came closer.

Three steps.

Two.

One.

Dean didn’t breathe when they stopped in front of him.

She stood so still beside her father, veil pulled down, gown catching the light like moonlight on water. There was something about her posture—regal, composed—that made something in his chest clench.

He could feel Sam’s presence at his side. Could feel the eyes of the crowd. But none of that mattered. Not really.

His focus narrowed the moment her father reached up with trembling hands and gently lifted the veil.

And everything shifted.

Dean’s world dropped out from under him.

Her.

Her.

The girl from the bar.

The one who drank whiskey neat and smiled like it cost her something. The one who liked baking and classic rock and Scooby-freaking-Doo. The one who made him laugh—really laugh—for the first time in longer than he could remember.

She was standing in front of him, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly.

And she was his bride.

He didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t say anything. His body moved on autopilot—reaching out, hands brushing hers as her father gave her away. There was a look on the old man’s face—grief, pride, fear—that made Dean’s throat tighten.

You looked up at him, and your eyes met—really met—and something clicked.

He saw the way your expression shifted. The softness that overtook the armor. The surprise. The hurt.

Dean’s breath caught as your hands slid into his.

He hadn’t known.

If he had known…

The pastor began speaking, voice a soft drone above the roar of blood in Dean’s ears. He couldn’t stop looking at you. Couldn’t stop remembering the way your eyes sparkled when you teased him. Couldn’t forget the way you’d said you weren’t what he wanted.

Jesus Christ.

He’d said that. He’d meant it. Back then.

But now?

Now, standing this close, fingers brushing yours, seeing the fear and strength layered behind your gaze—he wasn’t so sure anymore. Not about any of it.

Your lips moved, repeating the words the pastor spoke. Your voice was strong. Steady. You slipped the ring onto his finger like a vow wrapped in silence. His jaw twitched. He tried not to react, but the emotion burned through his mask.

Then the pastor said something that didn’t track.

“As you hold the ability of his life in your hands…”

Dean blinked.

Sam moved. And from his belt, pulled a gun.

Dean’s body tensed even before he saw it.

The Colt.

The Colt.

Sam offered it handle-first, and Dean took it slowly, weighing it in his palm before sliding it into the holster on his hip.

A single flicker of movement drew his gaze back to you.

Your eyes.

They’d dropped to the weapon. Just for a second. But it was enough.

Your mask cracked—just barely.

Fear. Pain. Resignation.

He’d seen that look before.

It gutted him.

Dean’s fingers twitched at his side, aching to reach out, to offer something—anything—but the pastor’s voice came again, final and full of weight.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

And Dean, who just two nights ago had laughed with a woman he didn’t know, now stepped closer to her—you—with something aching behind his ribs, whispering that maybe fate had a wicked sense of humor…

…but maybe it wasn’t wrong.

The kiss was barely more than a brush of lips—over in a heartbeat, polite and practiced, just enough to seal the vows and nothing more. The church erupted in applause and cheers like they’d all been holding their breath.

Dean stepped back the moment it ended, his expression unreadable. You didn’t even try to match it. You just stood there, staring into a sea of strangers clapping for a love story that didn’t exist.

You didn’t recognize most of them.

It hit you all at once, how many of his people were here. Friends. Family. Hunters. People who had watched this unfold, had participated in it—planning and coordinating and probably even laughing together at rehearsal dinners and meet-and-greets you never attended.

You had your parents. A few distant cousins. Bastet hadn’t come in person—only ensured the details had been perfect, like a divine wedding planner working behind the veil.

It was a reminder.

You’d always been the outlier.

Dean reached for your hand, still wearing that careful mask, and led you down the aisle together like it meant something. Like it wasn’t just survival instinct and obligation. You gave a faint smile to the crowd when they looked your way, something close to gratitude, though it was more muscle memory than feeling.

The door of the limo was opened for you with a practiced gentleman’s gesture. Dean helped you inside with the same detached grace he’d used for everything since the veil lifted. You gave him another soft smile, not quite real, not quite fake.

The moment the door shut and the limo began to move, silence settled like fog.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not yet.

He didn’t say anything. Just sat there, perfectly still, one arm braced on the door, the other resting on his thigh. The space between you might as well have been a canyon.

You focused on the glass, on the shifting blur of city lights and evening shadows. Your thoughts spiraled in all directions—none of them leading anywhere good.

How? How could someone say they wouldn’t marry a monster… and then tell you, not knowing who you were, that you were amazing?

You thought about the bar. About the way he’d looked at you. The warmth in his voice. The way he made you laugh and listened to every damn word like you mattered.

You clung to that night like a life raft—and hated yourself for it.

The reception was worse.

Too many voices. Too many eyes. Too much pretending.

You smiled, nodded, let them hug you. Told people how beautiful the ceremony was and how grateful you were. You laughed in all the right places, clinked your champagne glass when prompted, said thank you and of course like it meant something.

Dean stayed close when necessary, but always with that strained, polite distance.

The only real moment between you came during the dance.

His hand found yours like it had been scripted. His other rested at your waist—barely there, as if touching you too long would burn him. His jaw was locked, his smile hollow. You matched it with one of your own.

Neither of you said a word.

You caught him drinking more than once. Fast shots. No savoring. Just getting through it. You weren’t much better. You found the bar when you could, took your own drinks when no one was looking.

You stopped keeping count.

Eventually, the night ended.

The limo came again, like a hearse for whatever remained of your hope.

He didn’t touch you on the ride. Sat just as stiff and quiet as before. There was space between you—visible space, enough for a stranger to sit between.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

When the car pulled up to the house—your new home, a wedding gift from a goddess—you forced yourself to move. He was already out and around before you reached for the door handle. He opened it. Held out his hand.

You took it.

You smiled.

The moment the limo pulled away, his hand dropped.

He walked ahead without waiting.

Of course he did.

Your heart twisted again, sharp and bitter.

You followed, slower, quieter. The porch light glowed soft yellow, catching the edges of his silhouette as he unlocked the front door. You stepped in behind him and closed it—locking it out of habit.

The house smelled new. Clean wood and sage, maybe a hint of lavender. Bastet had filled it with warmth. She’d tried. There were signs of her everywhere—carved symbols tucked into corners, handpicked furnishings with comfort in mind, a stocked kitchen, thick curtains for privacy.

None of it mattered.

Dean had already shrugged off his jacket and was halfway to the bedroom, tugging at his tie.

Still not a word.

And you didn’t chase him.

You just stood in the middle of the living room in that stupid, beautiful dress with your heart in your throat and that sentence still playing on loop in your head—

I’m not marrying a monster.

Followed by the one that had come after, spoken in another life:

’Cause I think you’re pretty damn amazing.

And for the first time since the veil had lifted, you weren’t sure which version of Dean was real.

You followed, but only because you wanted out of the dress.

Dean was already by the bed, unfastening his cufflinks, his tux jacket tossed onto a nearby chair. His movements were mechanical—precise, practiced. Not rushed, not angry. Just… numb.

You didn’t speak.

Instead, you slipped into the walk-in closet, unable to care if he saw you or not.

You found one of your oversized shirts—a faded Led Zeppelin tee soft from age and wear—and a pair of cotton sleep shorts. They didn’t match. You didn’t care. They were you, and you needed that more than you could explain.

The dress came off piece by piece, fingers careful with the clasps even though part of you wanted to rip it free. The thing had felt like a costume since the moment Bastet summoned it into being. Beautiful, yes. But weighty. Unforgiving.

You hung it in the back corner of the closet, out of sight.

You weren’t sure when—if—you’d ever want to see it again.

Once dressed, you moved into the master bathroom. The makeup came off in slow, methodical swipes. You didn’t look yourself in the eye until the last of it was gone. Even then, you didn’t hold your gaze.

Your hair came down next. The gentle wave stayed in the strands, even as you brushed through it. You took your time. It gave your hands something to do. Something else to do.

When you stepped back into the bedroom, Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed. The tie was gone. Shirt unbuttoned halfway. His tux pants wrinkled from where he’d sat.

But it was the Colt in his hands that stopped you cold.

He wasn’t aiming it. Wasn’t even holding it with intent.

Just… studying it.

Turning it in his palm, fingers ghosting along the barrel.

Like he was trying to understand the weight of it.

The tension in the room changed—dense and still, like a thunderstorm waiting to break.

You didn’t say a word.

You just quietly turned and left the room.

Downstairs, the air felt different. Less suffocating. The kitchen was warm, inviting in its simplicity. A farmhouse layout with deep counters, a cast-iron skillet already seasoned and hanging from a rack, butcher block countertops, and a fridge stocked better than you expected.

You were hungry.

But you weren’t the kind of person who cooked for one.

So you pulled out the things for burgers.

Beef. Bacon. Cheese. Buns. Condiments. Onion.

The motions grounded you. The rhythm of cooking was familiar, comforting. Seasoning the meat, forming the patties, laying strips of bacon in the skillet. The sizzle was immediate, the smell intoxicating. You moved with precision and muscle memory, letting your senses guide you.

You didn’t expect him to follow.

But you heard him anyway.

The soft creak of the stairs. The shift of weight as he reached the threshold. He didn’t announce himself.

Didn’t need to.

His presence rolled in like smoke—quiet, lingering, uncertain.

You didn’t turn to look.

You flipped the bacon.

And waited.

—------------------- Dean’s POV…

The limo ride was quiet. Too quiet.

Dean sat stiff in the corner of the seat, one arm braced against the door, eyes locked on the blurred landscape outside. Her wedding dress kept its distance, even in stillness. That should’ve made things easier.

It didn’t.

He’d always been a man of action—shoot the thing, fix the car, patch the wound. Do something. But this?

This was different.

He kept stealing glances out of the corner of his eye. Not to make it awkward. Just… to look. And every time he did, he saw her—not the woman people had warned him about, not the Touched he’d been told he was marrying whether he liked it or not, not the monster he let his mind make her out to be.

No.

He saw her. The woman from the bar. The one who laughed like she hadn’t in years. The one who sipped whiskey like it was armor. The one he’d stayed with until closing just to make her smile one more time.

And I told her she was amazing.God, he thought, dragging a hand down his face. What the hell is wrong with me?

It was easier when he didn’t know.

But now? Now he was stuck in a memory loop, trying to reconcile the person he'd imagined—the threat he thought she'd be—with the woman who'd made him forget his own name two nights ago.

And he was failing.

By the time they reached the house, he was drowning in it.

He didn’t even think—just got out, walked to her side, opened the door, offered his hand. It felt automatic. Mechanical. But when her fingers touched his, something shifted. Just for a second.

And then he let go.

He walked inside first, every step echoing with something between dread and exhaustion. The house was warm—too warm, like it was trying to be welcoming. He hated how it made him feel. Like it was mocking him for not deserving it.

He headed straight for the bedroom.

Untucking his shirt as he went, loosening the tie. His hands moved like they’d done it a thousand times before—except nothing about tonight felt routine.

She followed, quiet as ever. Didn't say a word. Just disappeared into the closet to change.

And maybe he shouldn’t have looked.

But he did.

Just out of the corner of his eye, as he sat on the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. She didn’t know. Didn’t even glance his way. She was focused—removing layer after layer of lace and satin, slipping into that old t-shirt like she was stepping into her real skin again.

He swallowed hard.

The curve of her spine. The long, lean lines of her legs. The quiet strength in the way she moved.

It hit him low, sudden, visceral.

He had to look away.

Had to sit.

He braced his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, willing his body to not respond to her. He’d screwed this up enough already. The last thing she needed was him making it worse with… whatever the hell this was.

She passed by him then—clothed now, but barely. Loose shirt. Those shorts. Hair down. No more veil, no more armor. Just her. Real and raw and completely out of reach.

Dean didn’t even breathe as she crossed to the bathroom. But when she came out, not more than minutes later, she looked like herself. Like that woman from two nights ago, sad and alone.

The door shut softly behind her.

He exhaled like he’d been holding it for years.

Then, like a reflex, his hand went to the holster at his hip.

The Colt felt heavy. Wrong.

He turned it over in his hands, thumb brushing the grooves in the grip.

As you hold the ability of his life in your hands… He shall hold the ability of yours.

The pastor’s words echoed loud in his skull.

He looked at the weapon. At his own reflection in the polished barrel.

And suddenly, the weight wasn’t just metal.

It was her.

Her trust. Her pain. Her goddamn bravery, standing beside him anyway.

He didn’t deserve to carry this.

Not if it meant what it used to.

He got up slowly, walked to the dresser, and opened the top drawer. The gun slid beneath a layer of boxers with a soft thud, and he closed the drawer like he was sealing away a piece of the past.

He couldn’t hurt her.

Not anymore.

Not like that.

He didn’t bother finishing changing. Just padded barefoot down the stairs in his unbuttoned shirt and tux pants, stopping only when the smell hit him.

Bacon.

Grease. Beef. Toasting buns.

He rounded the corner and leaned against the kitchen doorway, and the sight stopped him cold.

She was cooking.

Two plates already out.

She’d made enough for both of them.

He watched her move, focused and steady, turning a burger in the skillet, stacking bacon on a plate lined with paper towels. Her hair swayed gently with each shift of her shoulders. She didn’t glance his way.

She was still trying.

Even after all of it.

And it gutted him.

He stayed there in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, the other clenching and unclenching at his side.

How the hell do I fix this?

He didn’t have the answer.

But maybe… maybe this was where it started.

He didn’t mean to move.

Not really.

But somehow, his feet were carrying him forward—slow, measured steps across the tile. Like his body knew what his mouth still couldn’t find the words for. His heart thudded against his ribs, hard enough he was sure she’d hear it the second he got close.

He stopped just a foot behind her.

Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

Close enough to smell the mix of shampoo and burger grease and something unmistakably hers.

His voice came quiet. Rough with everything he still didn’t know how to say.

“I’m sorry.”

—----------------

You startled, even though you’d heard him move—sensed it. His scent had grown stronger, heavier in the space between you. But when he whispered those words, it sent a tremor down your spine. Your body jolted, lips parting as you turned, only to find him right there. So close. Too close. Not close enough.

Your breath caught.

And then your eyes met.

It hit like a thunderclap—recognition, not just of face, but feeling. All that time in the bar, the easy laughter, the weight of shared silence, the honesty of two strangers who didn’t know they were supposed to be enemies, or worse—married.

In his eyes, you saw the fear you’d buried in your own chest.

The anxiety you’d worn like armor all day.

The guilt that had gnawed at you for years.

And something else, something that made your stomach twist with painful hope—softness. A flicker of care. Something real, fragile, alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, barely above a breath.

His hand lifted slowly, cautiously, like he was afraid you'd flinch. But he gave you time, a silent plea for permission. And when he cupped your cheek, warm and calloused and grounding, you didn’t pull away.

His thumb brushed gently under your eye, and his voice cracked on the next words.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Your heart stuttered, thudding hard enough to make your ribs ache. But you stayed rooted in place, his touch steady, his presence overwhelming.

You should’ve pulled away.

You should’ve walked off and let the silence swallow everything he’d broken.

But instead… you held on.

You held onto the stranger in the bar who made you laugh.

You held onto the way he’d looked at you—like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve, not a threat to neutralize.

You held onto those five words he didn’t even know had stitched themselves into your bones:

“I think you’re pretty amazing.”

You didn’t let go of that.

Not even when your mind screamed monster, not even when you remembered how much it had hurt to hear him say those other words all those years ago. Because tonight, he wasn’t looking at you like you were a monster. He was looking at you like you were a person. Someone special. 

Just you. Just him. Just this moment.

He leaned in, slow and reverent, giving you every second to pull back. You didn’t.

His lips brushed yours—light as breath, soft as regret.

And you let him.

Because this wasn’t a kiss made of passion or desperation.

This was an apology.

This was a confession.

This was a man trying to show you what his words still couldn’t say.

And in that suspended second, with dinner quietly waiting behind you and the weight of years between your mouths, something fragile cracked open.

Maybe it wasn’t love.

But it was something.

Something real.

Dean didn’t deepen the kiss.

Didn’t push for more.

He just let it linger, let it say everything he hadn’t figured out how to say. When he finally pulled back, it was slow… like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment. His forehead nearly touched yours, breath mingling with yours in the space of a sigh.

Only a hairsbreadth of air separated you.

You blinked, just once, and your lips curved into the smallest smile. Not wide. Not forgiving. But real. And that made his heart ache more than any sharp word or angry glare ever could.

Then he saw it—the tear, slipping silently down your cheek.

Without hesitation, his thumb moved to brush it away. Tender. Careful.

He opened his mouth, breath catching. “I—”

But your fingertip rose, gentle and sure, and pressed lightly to his lips.

Stopping the apology before it could leave his throat.

Your voice came quiet. Steady. A little raw around the edges.

“I’m not ready to forgive you,” you whispered. “But… I’m willing to give you another chance.”

His eyes searched yours, full of questions, full of guilt.

You held his gaze, unwavering.

“But I need you to be real with me, Dean. I need honesty. No masks. No walls. No doing things just because someone told you to.”

Your hand fell slowly from his lips, resting gently against his chest, where his heartbeat was thrumming under your palm.

“If this is going to work at all,” you continued, voice softer now, “I need it to be choice, not obligation. I can’t be someone you just… put up with. I won’t be.”

Dean didn’t say anything right away. He just nodded, a small motion. But it was full of meaning. Full of weight.

You weren’t asking for everything.

You were asking for truth.

And for a man like Dean Winchester—raised in duty, defined by responsibility—that was the most intimate thing you could’ve asked of him.

The two of you had a long road ahead of you, but in this moment, his breath mixing with yours, hope bloomed inside both of you. It wasn’t like a fire. Or even a storm. It was gentle. Like how a flower slowly parts it’s petals as dawn approaches.

And Bastet smiled gently. She’d done what she could to guide the two of you together that night. Both of you just as stubborn as the other. Then, like mist on a breezy day, she was gone from outside the kitchen window, knowing this was just the beginning for the two of you. 

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[brokenpieces-72]

Echo

Note: I have been working on this oc for a while, and there's a lot I wanted to do with them. This story is oc reader insert, so I leave the name open but the hero name is already established.

CW: Foster system (abuse of it), injured reader, financial abuse, car crash, let me know if I missed anything.

You know that feeling when everything seems to be falling apart? You’ve had it before, when you lost your parents and separated from your sibling in the foster system. You feel it now too along with plenty of soreness from your injuries.

You lay in the hospital bed, with your cracked phone screen. Foster parents hadn’t seen any of your texts and no phone calls had been answered. You messaged your sibling but they wouldn’t be able to make it to you. Your friends were either stuck at work or asleep right now. The nurses and doctor suggested calling a lawyer for yourself, since the other driver is a lawyer and his family wants to press charges. Insurance company has you covered for any other surgery or treatment they need to do so no need to contact them.

Still, you stare at your phone screen staring at the small text message history you have. You could try. He might be busy, but you could try. While your boss wasn’t the softest or kindest person, he still cared. Many not a lot, but at least a little. Then again, maybe it would be a chance for him to stop mentoring you, and go solo again. The pros and cons fight over what to say in the text. Regardless you wouldn't be out of hospital for a while so he needed to know that.

E: Hey boss, sorry but I can’t come in to work for the next couple days.

You shut your phone off after sending it. Then you turn it back on again, debating whether to delete it, edit it, or leave it. Honestly with the drugs in your system, it’s a little hard to make proper decisions. You know he’ll ask, you know he’ll be hard on you for reckless driving, but he’s all you’ve got right now. Right now you just need another person with you, even if they’re somewhat of a stranger.

Your phone rings. Holy crap it can still do calls? Whatever not the point. You answer the call without paying attention to the screen, though you briefly see the name. This would not be pleasant.

“Hello?” You answered, before coughing. Maybe you could cover up your sore voice as a sick one.

“What's going on?” Your boss asked.

“Uhh… can I…” you pause a lot, the war still going on, and fighting over your vocal cords. To your boss's credit he’s patient right now. Finally, you get something out. “Are you on patrol?”

You rub your head, praying you don’t have a headache coming on. Your boss takes a moment to answer.

“Yes why?” He asked. He sounds irritated. You don’t want a lecture when he gets here.

“Nevermind. Forget it.” You say quickly.

“Outlaw, answer the question.” He said.

“… I…” you swallowed. “I’m in hospital. No one can make it, and… was wondering if you could come see me?”

There’s silence again and you shut your eyes. This was a bad idea. You hear a sigh over the phone, and regret sinks in.

“Forget it, I’ll be fi-“

“On my way, give me a few minutes. Do you need anything?” Your boss asked.

“Maybe a change of clothes.” You suggest. “That’s kind of it.”

He hangs up, and you sigh. He was gonna lecture you, but at least he was coming. Especially if they needed to do more surgery. God knows your fosters wouldn’t come anytime soon.

Jason Todd arrived at the hospital, jacket on, hood up, and a small backpack with a change of clothes for you. Trying to see you as your boss likely wouldn’t work very well, but seeing you as your brother could pass. He approaches the desk where a nurse is typing away. The nurse looked up, seeing him almost towering over her.

“Here to see Y/N L/N.” he asked.

“Down that hall, room 168.” The nurse instructed. Jason made his way down the hall, keeping an eye out for the room. He stopped himself just outside your door, ensuring the face mask he brought covered his face. His eyes were uncovered, but the hood shielded them enough. Then he overheard you on the phone.

“It was an accident, I swear I did-no it wasn’t for attention. I was just-“ you tried to get a word in as your foster parents demanded to know why they were getting medical bills. Jason steps in, quietly as you continued to plead innocent. “I just went out to meet a friend, I wasn't even drinking. Insurance money will cover it, I checked. I'm not asking you to cover it, I'm just telling y-...Okay. I'll transfer the mon-I'll take it out when I get the chance.”

You’re on the phone getting yelled at until they finally hang up. Your head is down, and you're holding back tears. When you looked up you nearly jumped out of bed, seeing the large figure that had come into your room. The red hoodie was a dead giveaway. Jason stepped in and set the bag down nearby.

“What happened?” He asked, not bothering with a greeting.

“Car accident… don’t quite remember. I swear I was driving on the right side, and I tried to move out of the way, but…” you trailed off.

“At least you’re alive.” He pointed out.

“Yeah so I can get medical bills, foster parents barking at me, no car for the next who knows how long, and now I even have to get a lawyer because the family of the other driver says it was all my fault, and I won’t be able to go to work or go on patrol or even train.” You say, trying to keep the lump in your throat down. The last thing you wanted was to start sobbing.

Jason sits in a nearby chair. “You’ll need more than a couple days.”

“The couple days is just for me to get out of hospital, the rest I can do easily enough.” You say, shrugging. As if shrugging really got rid of the weight of everything. Red Hood needed Echo, they were close to a breakthrough in a fighting and drug ring.

“You need rest.” Jason told you.

“For a couple days, then I’ll be back on my feet. The next load is coming Thursday, I'll be fine by then.” You said firmly, but there was a crack in your voice from emotion. Sidelining is the last thing you want. You’ve worked too hard for him to take you out of the game. Jason is quiet in the chair. It looks like he staring at the floor or the bed but you know he’s looking at you under his hood. You refuse to break.

Jason knows you are though. You’re tired, you’re injured, you have morphine in your blood stream, and financially you’re fucked. When he sighs, you think it’s pointed towards you and your stubbornness. It’s not. He realizes that you’ve been carrying a lot more than he thought. Now he has to call for a favour, one he didn’t want to ask for.

“Kid, right now, you are unfit to fight-don’t interrupt.” He said, holding his hand up, before you could argue. “You’re injured, you’re stressed, and you’ll be distracted. The last thing I want is your death on my conscious because I let you get yourself killed.”

“I don’t need to be sidelined.” You said, your voice breaking.

“You’re being benched for your own good. When you’re ready to get back into the game, I’ll pull you in. Don’t rush it but don’t waste time.” Red Hood ordered. You nodded. It’s a bit of a relief, since you haven’t had much time for regular life, let alone time for yourself.

“How long do I have?” You asked. Of course you wanted to be on a time limit. Jason did it to you for a lot of your training, whether it was posting up or reaching a checkpoint.

“Knowing shit like this, it will take maybe a week or so until you’re out of here.” Jason thought out loud.

“Then I have to get a lawyer which is a week or so, I have enough money… I should. I can do that while I’m recovering, and then I have work, and my side job. Chores, extra because I’ll be away. Then getting my vehicle repaired which will take a while…” your voice broke again thinking about the work you had after you leave the hospital.

“Hey.” Jason said. You looked up at him and it’s the first time you’ve seen his eyes. They were more natural than you thought. For some reason you thought they’d be red or maybe yellow. “This isn’t a fight, focus on what’s in front of you. I’ll give you a month.”

“I won’t need a month.” You said, take a deep breath to calm yourself.

“You’re getting one. Consider it mandatory vacation or something.” Jason said.

You want to thank him, and hug him but you’re a little incapable. The relief is massive wave, almost drowning you. You look down at your broken phone, feeling it vibrate.

“Thank you.” You said, the tears finally breaking free from your eyes. You sniffle and wipe at them. “Sorry.”

“Just fucking cry kid. Your life is falling apart it’s a normal response.” Jason said.

You let out a small noise that he thinks is you laughing. You nod, wiping your eyes, and a small smile on your face. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you. You wouldn’t happen to know any lawyers would you?” You asked. Your phone vibrated and you checked it, seeing your friend had replied, saying he was close by.

“Recover for the first while, then worry about a lawyer.” Red Hood said. Jason notices you smile at your phone, and takes it as his cue to leave. “Rest. I’ll be in touch.”

Jason gets up, leaving the backpack. Once he steps into the hallway he sighs. He doesn’t want to make this call, he really doesn’t. But you’re his partner, his apprentice. Hell, you’re basically his Robin. Jason had a rough life. You might have what he didn’t, but that didn’t make your life perfect. He’d been pulled out of that struggle and sure it wasn’t perfect, but it was at the very least decent.

Once he’s out of the hospital, he dials on his phone. He didn’t want to but with the bs justice system Gotham has, you would need some help.

“Alfred?” Jason said, hearing a familiar older voice on the other end. “Is Bruce there? I need to talk to him.”

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[sturniolo04]

Tooth Upgrade M.S.

Bf!Matt x Gf!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

It was a well-known fact that Nessa and Matt were known to be the most attractive couple on the internet, so says your guy's fanbase from being on social media and having a consistent social media presence. You for your music career you were trying the build and Matt having Youtube with his triplet brothers Nick and Chris.

The one thing that not only your fans found attractive about you both but also quite frankly you two were obsessed with on each other, was your teeth and Matt really was down bad for your teeth to the point where Nessa questioned if he was even listening to her during a serious conversation or rant.

Nessa for the longest time wanted to get tooth gems and finally had made the decision to do so not telling matt because she wanted it to be a pure surprise knowing he is in love with the form and shape of your smile and teeth.

Time Skip

Nessa finally made it out of the appointment absolutely adoring them considering the number of times she not only ran her tongue across the curved alignment of her top teeth but also the continuous amount of times she glanced into the rearview mirror of her car at every stop light to flash her pearly whites decorated with shiny sliver gems.

Nessa finally pulled into the driveway of the Sturniolo household overflowing with excitement, just knowing how surprised her boyfriend was going to be when she finally shows him what she did today without him knowing, for very obvious reasons that she wanted it to remain a surprise.

"hey chris hey nick"

Nessa greets the pair walking in the house finally as the both look up to be met with your cheerful spirit.

"hey where did you go and matts in his room if want to go in there"

nick simply states as Nessa nods her head.

"i had an dental appointment nothing new"

you shrug nonchalantly, hoping the pair would notice it soon enough.

"we love dental appointments"

nick jokes as you giggle. You and nick had started engaging a conversation about editing youtube videos and unbeknownst Nessa Chris was trying his hardest not to stare but he couldn't help but notice something glimmering in your mouth.

"im so sorry nessa open your mouth for a second"

chris asks confused as ever thinking his mind was playing tricks on him.

"why"

nessa giggles really knowing why as nick looks over at his brother with a 'serious' expression painted on his face.

"just please i want to see if I am crazy about something"

he huffs out as you comply and open your mouth because that is what he asked her to do.

"see anything"

nick jokes with Chris rolling his eyes.

"nick shut up show me your teeth"

chris states to his older brother and rolls his eyes redirecting his attention to nessa once again. Nessa nods at his second request taking a deep breath out and showing them your pearly whites and low and behold the big reveal.

"holy shit"

nick breathes out

" oh my god nessa that looks so good"

chris exclaims looking at nick sharing that same surprised expression.

"thanks"

you giggle out.

"so that was the dental appointment"

"yes nicolas that was the dental appointment"

you giggle out the response.

"matt is going to lose his mind when he notices that"

chris chuckles out.

Time Skip

"matt"

you hum out walking into his room finally after talking with Chris and Nick for about an hour.

"Hey my love"

he hums out replying to you shifting his attention away from his computer screen when you walk in, as you made your way over to him straddling his lap to cuddle and hug him in his chair at his desk his hands finding a place on your ass as you do so.

"how long have you been here"

matt asks simply as you have face nuzzled into his neck.

"about an hour i was talking to nick about some editing stuff.

you simply respond finally sitting up and wrapping your arms around his neck looking at him.

"oh okay well i am glad you are here I missed you"

he jokes out knowing what you are going to say.

"matt you saw me yesterday"

you giggle out as he softly runs his palms along the curve of your ass comfortingly.

"yeah but you were at the studio all day yesterday so I only saw you last night"

he chuckles as you playfully roll your eyes placing a sweet kiss on his supple and cherry-bitten lips.

"so what did you do today"

he asks finally as the moment of comfortable silence passes.

"um i went to the studio and record some stuff with my manager and I -"

you trail off in your response as you look as matt looking at you like something was wrong when all reality he was noticing your new accessory.

"what why are you looking at me like that"

you cutely giggle out leaning your forehead against his.

"n-nothing im just looking at your face and teeth continue"

he replies mumbling that last part mainly to himself.

"um okay so i also went to starbucks with madison"

Nessa continues as matt nods his head to everything you are saying but still is truly focused on your teeth and you knew that.

"i also had a dental appointment"

you huffs out as matt raises his eyebrows

"oh you did"

he chuckles out as he readjusts his grip underneath your ass to pick you up as he stands from his chair headed to the bathroom connected to his room.

"matthew where are we going"

you giggle out as he walks into the bathroom setting you on the counter in there.

"i had to pee and i knew you weren't going to get up without a fight"

he replies as you playfully rolls your eyes.

"what did you get done at the dentist"

he ask you as his made his way over to the sink to wash his hands as you climbed off of the counter to stand next to him admiring him In the clean mirror.

"just a basic like cleaning nothing special"

you reply as he notices the piece of jewelry on your teeth.

"okay thats good did you eat already"

he asks squinting his eyes to look into the mirror to see if you saw what he that he saw at first.

" yeah but it time for dinner so we can-"

"hold on ness smile for me"

matt chuckles out as he turns back to the mirror you two were standing in front of after drying his hands.

"why"

you giggle out knowing he noticed it finally.

"please for me"

he pouts as you giggle and appease him by doing so.

"no fucking way"

he exclaims seeing the sliver jewelry in your mouth

"you like it it"

you giggle turning to him.

"like it i fucking love it wait smile again"

he rambles out as you show him your pearly whites again as he groans at the sight.

" your so fucking hot"

he grunts out placing a hungry kiss on your lips as you smile into the kiss. The kiss quickly turned into a heated makeout with Matt reach his palms out to grip onto your ass pulling you towards him and lifting you onto the bathroom counter. You gasp at the quick actions as you quickly connect you and matts lips together again. As you two continued your heavy makeout you slowly lost your clothes to the marble tiled bathroom floor.

"turn around"

matt huskily breathes out as he helps you shifts your hips and body off of the counter turning you away from his naked body. You teasing sway your ass out of impatience.

"fuck"

matt groans out dragging the 'k' as his eyes trail your every curve. He reaches his hand out to caress the plush skin of your bare ass, totally captivated by it not even noticing you slightly bite your lip and showing off your new upgrade on your teeth admiring him through the glass mirror you were facing in his bathroom.

Matt finally starts teasing your slick walls with his pink tip as you let subtle gasps fall from your lips as you gain matts attention in the mirror. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror as he continues to only give you the tip knowing you were eventually going to get frustrated.

"fuck matt"

you moan out as you lower your head onto the counter you were leaning on. Matt snakes his tattoo arm to place a loving and dominant grasp on your neck tilting your head back to meet his eyes. This angle awards him the precious sight of your perfect teeth gripping your bottom lip tight underneath your teeth perfect alignment.

"is this what you wanted"

matt teasingly asks you as he allows himself to slowly bottom out inside your slick walls as your jaw goes slack nodding your head within his grasp on your neck, agreeing with the movement.

Matt begins to rock his hips to meet yours as he trails his hand up towards your mouth, slipping his point finger in between your teeth. You catching on quick lightly secure his finger between your teeth.

"god you're such a good girl"

matt groans out still admiring how well you are taking him each time his tip kisses your cervix. Matt picks up the pace of his strokes inside of your as you whine subtly letting him know you were getting close.

"fuck im g'nna c'm"

you whine out to him as he removes his finger from your mouth placing it back around your neck, craning it back to meet his gaze once again.

"y'h you g'nna c'm f'me"

he teasingly questions you already knowing the answer from how tight your walls were squeezing his dick. You slowly blink your eyes trying to maintain focus on your boyfriend feeling your orgasm getting ready to crash over your senses.

"im cumming"

you squeal out fluttering you eyes close as matt groans as your orgasm triggers his, painting your walls white. Matt releases the loving grip on your neck, pulling out of you.

"fuck"

you sigh out as you slowly turn around to face him looking at the mess you two made.

"look at the mess you made Matthew"

you giggle out looking at the floor and the counter.

"the mess i made that was all you love"

he chuckles out as he loving pats your bare ass a couple of times.

Taglist

@dirtylittleheart333 @mintsturniolo @wh0resstuff @spicymuffins03 @aaliyahsturn @stayingstromboli @emely9274

[the-blog-of-a]

Chapter Two: What it takes to be a hero

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Hello here are your crumbs sorry, I'm having a lot going on lol, I'm so sorry y'all this is kinda edited but again not really, it also seems really rushed imo but the episodes are so short there really isn't much more I can write 😭😭 -A

------------------------------------------------------------

With Izuku missing and Nova injured, it takes all her strength to make it to the Hero's to find help, only to be thrown into something much bigger than herself. 

------------------------------------------------------------

Waking up was a slow start.

The ringing in her ears came first, loud, harsh, obnoxious ringing. Everything around her felt muted, like her surroundings were closing in on her she tries to move but to no avail. It's dark, pitch dark she can't see a thing, or feel, the only feeling is suffocation. 

Breathe she can't seem to get herself to breathe. It's like shes drowning lungs, eyes and ears all burning with the feeling. Water surrounds her like a silent killer, waiting and watching like a predator about to pounce.

get up

There was something itching in the back of her mind, something important, something she couldn't quite place. Think. Think. But thinking only bought on more pain. 

Pain.

Get up

Why is she feeling pain? Where is it coming from?What happened? What's happening? Where is she! How'd this happen!?

Get Up

Search, thinking, feeling, for anything to try and find a source of salvation from this torture.

Suddenly it all stops.

GET UP

The water drains and the panic subsides, and she can finally breathe. The burning suffocating feeling in her lungs disappeared but the fear remained it was still dark, so so dark. 

All that remains is a harsh riveting pain. One that begins at the base of her spine spreading and shooting through all her nerves. 

GET UP NOW.

Her eyes snap open in and instant sunlight streaming directly into them. Shutting them just as quickly as she had opened them, she tries to think, but she can't. Her head hurts, her back hurts, everything hurt. 

She tried to move but no dice, the pain just keeps getting worse with her movements. She was able to peek her eyes open slightly to try and check her surroundings. All she could see was a pedestrian crossing sign above her head.

Pedestrian crossing??

In that split second it all came rushing back to her, School, kacchan, Izuku,   walking home, the sludge monster, Izuku, getting hit, the sludge monster...

Izuku. 

Where is izuku.  

More importantly.

Where is the villain.

What the hell happened.

She has no idea how long she has been lying there, she's hoping it hasn't been long, it's still daylight out so It couldn't have been too long, right?

It takes at least 10 minutes before Nova finds the courage to move again. Pain shoots through her entire nervous system as she moves about but she manages to get herself into an up right position. 

Looking around slowly she assessed her surroundings. It dawns on her that she's still where she was when she presumably got knocked out. Her head hurts something fierce and her throat burns like hell, why she doesn't know. She's scared and confused and worst of all, Izuku is nowhere to be found. This frightens Nova more than the idea of being passed out on the side of the road.

She slowly tries to stand up but she immediately regrets it, stumbling as a sharp pain flares up her left leg, forcing her back to the ground. Her head is spinning and her ears are ringing, she sits and collects herself for a moment, taking deep calculated breaths.

Opening her eyes she carefully looks around once more for any sign of izuku, a bunch of Izukus things are on the ground scattered in different places around her. Things she knows for a fact that Izuku would never voluntary leave behind if he had the choice. 

His backpack for one was a limited edition All Might golden age backpack that Izuku saved up for, for two years. There was no way in hell he'd leave that behind. Nor would he voluntarily leave his hero trading cards, he has been collecting t since he was at least 6 years old.

Nova spends a moment trying to get herself to stand back up despite the pain and when she does her leg starts to throb just as much as it did before. But she can't worry about that, she has to find Izuku. She pushed through the pain and slowly limped to all of Izukus belongings and picked them up one by one. She looked around for any more clues on what could have happened and the only thing she sees is the flipped over manhole cover in which she assumed is where the villain came from, or escape into. 

From what she can remember she tried to shove Izuku out of the way of that.....thing, then she was hit in the chest by it and then ....waking up on the side of the road. Nova couldn't stop thinking about all the possibilities of what could be happening to him right now. She was trying not to freak herself out,  she decided the best thing she could do was go home to Inko or no maybe a police station or- 

*BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM*

Nova nearly jumped out of her own skin. The noise was so loud she thought something had dropped or crashed not even 10 feet from her. The noise made her notice the ringing in her ears as is got worse by the volume, she probably has a concussion, the explosion made the ground beneath her feet shake violently. Nova started spinning around to the best of her ability trying to look everywhere and anywhere, trying to find the source of the sound or anything in relation to it, and when she finally turned to her left she saw a plume of black smoke billowing into the sky from a distance.

Bingo.

If she's going to get help anywhere it's there. She knows heros and police officers alike will show up no matter what the commotion is, and she could get the help to find Izuku in no time. Even though her leg was on fire she forced herself to walk on it hoping to get there quick because deep down she was freaking the fuck out. 

Her journey was slow and painful, since school and work were out there weren't maybe people walking around. The people that did see her gave her odd looks but they all kept to themselves mostly, one by one passing her as if she didn't exist. 

Novas head feel like it's splitting in two, there is no way she doesn't have a concussion of some sort. The villain had sent her flying pretty far from where she and Izuku originally stood and he hit her quite hard if her leg had anything to say about it. The strength of the villain surprised Nova as he seemed to be made of nothing but liquid she had noted from the brief glance she got of him. If the situation where any different Izuku would already be analyzing and writing in his notes about the villains quirk. 

Nova trudged one for at least 30 minutes before she was able to make it to the cloud of smoke, it was billowing up from the Tatooin Shopping District and said smoke was billowing into the sky worse then before. Looking up from her spot behind the crowd Nova could see why.

There were heros, police, and firefighters, everywhere, yelling and shouting orders at each other and at the near by civilians. Everyone was yelling and screaming in panic, trying to flee the terrible scene. The sounds of glass shattering and wood burning could be heard loud and clear. Fire raged everywhere, licking up the walls of the Shopping District destroying anything and everything in it's path. 

*BOOM*. *BOOM* *BOOOOM* 

Nova had no time to think before some heros came billowing right towards her. She tried to grab one of their attentions, she tried to flag them down and let them know this isn't the only terrible situation happening right now. But in that moment they didn't care about her they cared about the fire, about the people, about the visible threat in front of them, they all ran past her without a second glance before the bigger of the three heros speaks up. 

"Look, it's taken someone hostage, how dare you pray on a child!" The hero threw himself into the fray to try and stop the villain.

A child, could it be Izuku? 

Please don't let it be Izuku. 

Nova shoves herself to the front of the crowd to try and get a better look. But the view she got was not one she would ever hope for. 

The seemingly liquid sludge monster that had attacked Nova and Izuku was here causing a rampage, he must have got himself cornered to try and go on like this. The villain kept moving, the sludge that is his (body, quirk??)  looked like it encasing what one the heros said was a child. 

"Ha! Stay back, or I'll snap his neck!"

His

He said HIS neck

Oh God, Oh God Oh God Oh god, Izuku!

But that thought was soon squashed by the desperate hollar of none other than Katsuki Bakugou.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

YOU PICKED THE WRONG GUY TO MESS WITH!

IM GONNA SEND YOU BACK TO WHATEVER SEWER YOU CRAWLED OUT OF!

LET ME GOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bakugou was growling and snarling like and animal caught in a trap thrashing and squirming trying his best to get free. 

The child thought to be Izuku is actually Bakugou. How did this happen? Where's Izuku? How did Bakugou get attacked? Is Izuku ok?  All these thoughts and more circulate in her mind. She can't seem to slow it down. Bakugous screaming and usage of his quirk wasn't making matters any better. His explosions breaking glass and setting fire to the surrounding area. 

It looked like the heros were having hell of a time trying to rein this villain, on the account of his sludge body, nobody seemed to posses the right quirk in order to stop him. But it's only a matter of time before he could seriously injure Bakugou or one of the heros.

Through all the noise Nova could hear the villain conversing with Bakugou "Man I really hit the jackpot, with a quirk like yours under my control, I can take All Might down with one punch." The villain was laughing and cackling like he had just said the funniest joke on earth. 

More and more heros are arriving on the scene, heros like Mt Lady and Kamui Woods, who only show up to realize how useless their powers are for the current situation. 

Bakugous quirk was throwing the whole district up into flames without him realizing or caring. He may have been defending himself but his explosions were making matters worse, an they aren't calculated their random and spontaneous at this point he's just trying to escape not to fight. 

By now a large crowd had accumulated in front of the scene and Nova has forgotten her original plan. She is frozen in fear, all she can do is stand and stare at the helpless Katsuki Bakugou as he fights for his life right in front of her eyes. The crowd is getting restless. "Why hasn't anybody captured this guy yet?" "What's taking so long?" "Why are they just standing around do something for Christ sake!" 

Bakugous movement were becoming slow and sluggish, he's been struggling for the last 5 minutes against this sludge, Nova can't imagine she'd last even half that time suffocating under all that sludge. Bakugou tries to turn his head away from the monster and when he opens his eyes Nova heart drops. 

Katsuki Bakugou the bully, Katsuki Bakugou the strong outstanding student, Katsuki Bakugou the student so sure in his abilities he's been bragging for weeks about getting into the best hero school Japan has to offer, was standing before her with a look of defeat and something else something that screamed 'help me please, I'm scared'.

Her body moved before she could think, disregarding the pain that flared through her entire body Nova did nothing but trudge forward. Putting one foot in front of the other she sprinted toward him. Why...she doesn't know Bakugou has never been nice to her always calling names and throwing punches why should she care what happens to the town bully. But she moves regardless. 

"No you idiots! Stop, your going to get yourselfs killed!" Nova could here the heros yelling and screaming but she didn't listen all she did was continue on.

Idiots....plural??

"Are you nuts what are you doing here?!" 

Turning her entire body Nova visablly deflates, standing before her is none other than Izuku Midoryia, unruly hair, bright eyes, and same old freckles shes been starring at for the past 10 years of her life.

Before she can quip back Izuku shoves Nova off to the side before shot putting his hero notebook into the villains face hitting him square in the eye. This stunned the villain, only temperaly allowing Bakugou to breathe. "What the hell? Why are you two here?" Bakugou screamed in frustration Nova had no answer so Izuku answered for them both. " I don't know. My legs just started moving." At this point both Nova and Izuku are clawing helpessly at the villain in hopes to get a grip on Bakugou.

With Izuku confession Nova found her own voice " Just because I hate you doesn't mean you deserve to die fuck face what kinda hero would turn a blind eye to their enemys pain, I'm not just going to stand around and watch you die!" 

Bakugou doesn't respond to them only screaming at the villain to get the fuck off of him. The sludge villain raises his hand once more to strike and its not in slow motion,  shes been told near death experiences slow down time and how your life flashes before your eyes. The latter may be true but the former certainly was not everything is sped up ten fold. The villains hand comes down in an instant and in that second Nova manages to pivot on her feet to grab izuku shoving him to the ground, throwing her body over him like a shield, bracing for impact. 

Nova eyes are squeezed shut and all she can hear his Izuku soft wines and whimpers. He smells like burnt mint and eucalyptus a nasty combination from the normally clean smelling Omega. As time goes on and the blow never comes Nova finally removes her head from Izukus shoulder thought still keeping Izuku down in case something happens. What she doesn't expect is for the Number one hero her and Izukus idol, to be standing right in front of them, seemingly having protected them from the villains mighty blow. 

"I really am pathetic, I told you the traits that make a great champion, but I see now I wasn't living up to my own ideal. Pros are always risking their lives! That's the true test of a hero!" 

What he was talking about Nova had no idea but all might had effectively gotten a hold onto Bakugou as he made his little speech. 

"DAMN YOU ALL MIGHT!" the sludge villain screams in deafeat as all might yells out his infamous, 

                                  DDDDEEEEETTTTTRRRRRROOOOOOIIIIIIIITTTTT

SSSSSSSSMMMMMAAAAAAAAASSASSHHHHHH

It takes one mighty blow from the hero to send the sludge monster flying, breaking up the villain into multiple tiny fragments the force of the punch not allowing him to pull himself together. With his other hand he held Bakugou, Izuku, and Nova back so they also didn't scatter into the wind. 

All Might kneeled on the ground first in the air in honor and a silence fell over the the crowd behind him. Before the exclamations of surprise started breaking through. "Woah what was that" , " Hey is that water, wait is that rain?" "Rain, it, it can't be." "Don't tell me all that wind just now was...?" " Look at the clouds they're moving!" 

* Holy crap he just changed the fucking weather* Nova stared at the hero in amazement and wonder as water started falling from the sky. All Might stands up with a proud smirk on his face. The crowd goes absolutely wild men and woman alike hollering in surprise and awe. "He changed the weather with a single punch like it was nothing!" Said one Pedestrian" , "All Might saved the day again, he amazing!" Said another. All Might raises his fist in triumph and the crowd roars in approval and it seems like All Might is enjoying the attention. 

Novas attention although was stolen from the amazing hero when Izuku tugged on her sleeve. Turning to face him his reaction was not one she had been expecting. She expected tears, many many tears, and snot looots of snot. But what she found was a face full of excitement and wonder one full of determination and drive.

As the heros collected all the scattered mounds of sludge and the villain went into police custody where he belonged, Nova and Izuku were getting chewed out by the heros, big time.

" You morons, do you have a death wish?" Yelled Kamui Woods 

" There was absolutely no reason for you two to put yourselves in danger like that!" Deatharms screamed 

This when on for sometime but Bakugou was getting quite the opposite. Bakugou was praised for his bravery in such a situation. He was receiving compliments left and right even gaining sidekick offers from some wannabe heros. 

When the heros finally decided to stop yelling at them they had to make statements on what happened and get checked for injuries. The pain she has felt before dulled to a slow ache as time went on and the paramedics couldn't see nor feel any injuries so she was sent on her way, against their better judgement Nova was not going to go to the hospital, the bill would absolutely kill her even if it wouldn't be much she needs all the money she can get right now and a hospital bill certainly wont fit into the budget. 

After about and hour or so they were finally free to go. Within the last hour Nova finally figured out what had happened to Izuku when she passed out. Apparently  the sludge villain has popped up out of the manhole cover hence why it was flipped. Turns out the villain was using the sewage lines under the city to traverse from place to place. After he knocked Nova unconscious he had tried to steal her body just like he tried to do to Bakugou, but when the villain was nearly done All Might himself had popped up out of the sewers following his trail and had blown away the sludge villain  for the 1st time around and when All Might tried to leave to take the villain to the police apparently Izuku had a better idea. 

"I still can't believe you left me unconscious on the side of the road to ask All Might a freaking question!" Nova fumed as she and Izuku finally made the trek home " I mean I understand why you did it it All Might for Christ sake, but for real Izuku I was unconscious, I could have been seriously injured." Izuku sulked like a child being scolded. Nova has been apart of many villain attacks in her city, either just really bad luck or the universe must really hate her. Either way villan attacks were a common thing for her but it did sadden her that she wasn't a priority in the situation given the circumstances but she's used to it. 

"Nova I'm so so so sorry I never should have tried to stop him if I didn't Kacchan and all those innocent people wouldn't have been attacked and those businesses wouldn't have been burned down and this is all my fault I'm so sorry.  I'm so so sorry I'm such a terrible person." 

(note: I am aware Izuku Midoryia would never leave a defenceless unconscious woman on the side of the road just to talk to All Might but this is just for plot purposes 😋)

" Izuku, Izuku, IZUKU!' 

His rambling finally stop as his mouth snaps shut with an audible clink of his teeth. " You had an opportunity to talk to All Might of all people and took it." Izukus eyes filled with unshed tears, " It's ok really Izuku if you think about it I was only out for 10 or so minutes anway so it not like I was in any real danger." The words sting because anything could have happened to her in those 10 minutes, another villain could have shown up, or a drunk alpha with nasty intentions could have taken advantage of her, she's actually very lucky. "I'm ok now are I?" The question does little to sooth Izuku so she pulls out her last resort.    Humor.   "Alright if you really want to make it up to me, you'll just have to be my human shield when the apocalypse inevitably starts. "  

Izuku blinks one, twice, and then he snorts loudly and obnoxious, "This is not the time and place Nova." Thought as the words come out Izuku can't help but try to hide his smile. " Well hey I say it's fair and square." Izuku raises his brow " Fair? If we're doing Fair then I should be your shield for 10 minutes max!" Nova and Izuku stop walking and they only stare at each other, before they burst out into obnoxious laughter. 

"I wish I could have apologized to All Might for making him drop that villain, if it weren't for me Kacchan wouldn't have another reason to hate me, I guess I can always just say something on his website when I get home." Izuku speaks with a dejected tone, and Nova doesn't know what to say to that because he's right it is his fault if he wasn't so selfish he wouldn't have grabbed onto All Might as he tried to spring away and the villain would have never attacked another person. 

Coming to the forked path of Okiqa road Nova and Izuku stop. "Seriously though are you ok whatever that villain was doing looked like it really hurt, are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" Nova has a nasty thought pop up before she squashes it down with a cough *Where was the concern when I was unconscious?*

"Yeah I'm all good zu, nothing a good night's rest won't fix!" She tried to stay cheerful but at this point her facade was slipping. "Well I guess I'll see you tomorrow!" "But..." Before Izuku could utter another word Nova starts down the left side of the forked path while Izuku slowly ebbs into the right one keeping and eye on Nova until she is out of sight. 

Novas walk is silence except for the constant buzzing of cicadas, the low songs from the birds of the night, as well as the sound of her feet dragging against the gravel road  

And then she hears it, loud obnoxious huffing and stomping making its way towards her. Looking up to find it source she comes face to face with Bakugou Katsuki who is no doubt on his way home from the whole fiasco himself. "Hey, we need to fucking talk!" Bakugou stands and pants heavily like he'd just ran a marathon. "Listen I would never ask for two weaklings like you to help me, don't think you can look down on me especially that deku."

Nova scoffed and rolled her eyes " Yeah cause being saved by All Might himself is totally handling it, but continue." 

Bakugou seethes, " HUH? THE HELL DID YOU SAY, I WAS FINE ON NY OWN GOD DAMMIT YOU TWO DIDNT DO JACK GOT THAT! I WAS FINE BY MYSELF!" 

" YOU GOD DAMN HERO WANNA BES WOULDN'T EVEN MAKE IT AS RENT A COPS!" Bakugou iS huffing from his outburst and is shaking with pure anger. "You didn't help me, you did nothing, because you are nothing, don't forget that, I don't owe you anything!" And with that final statement he pushed past Nova like she didn't exists and continues to stomp and huff as he walks away. Leaving Nova confused and slightly hurt, she understands she didn't do much, but hell she did more than what most the heros did combined, so fuck him and his temper tantrum. 

Nova didn't need his bullshit, she didn't need it at all.

All she needed now was a bath and a goddamn nap.  

[alldthoughtsinmyhead]

The Good On-Set Assistant.

Summary: You're not a slut, you're just really good at your job.

Warnings: Smut

Click to read in dark mode🌙 (turn on desktop view if you're reading on mobile).

What if you worked in production on a movie that had Aaron, MBJ, and Lewis Hamilton?

I mean... you're not a slut... but some things can't be helped, can they?

You're assigned to all three men. You have to do whatever assistants do. Make them feel at home. Whatever that means.

On your first day with MBJ, he’s nursing a headache. A painkiller should fix it, but there’s none available, so you do what every dedicated assistant does:

You offer to empty his balls.

Guess what?

He feels better right after.

The problem? He now thinks you’re his. So he drags you into a dark corner every chance he gets on set to empty his balls—right into you.

So now you’re stuck gargling Listerine so your breath doesn’t smell like cum every time you open your mouth.

MBJ wraps, and you heave a sigh of relief. Your kidneys will fail if they have to process another dump of cum into your stomach.

Next, you’re assigned to Lewis.

He’s so sweet—he really is. Problem? He can’t stop staring at your ass.

See, you have a thing for skin tights. They’re super comfy. But they also show every curve of that wagon you’re dragging around.

So Lewis has the same problem every other man—and bisexual woman—has on set: he can’t take his eyes off it.

One day, when he’s had enough, he begs you like his life depends on it.

“Just a taste,” he swears. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

So you let him bend you over. What’s the worst that could happen?

The worst that could happen? He’s grabbing your ass cheeks every chance he gets.

He’s standing nude in his trailer, running down your battery with calls, while precum drips from the tip of his flagpole because he’s been dreaming of backshots with you the whole time he was on set.

You’re not one step into his trailer before he’s dragging down your tights and heating himself up inside you, groaning out his gratitude and relief.

You go home full of cum every day.

The claps from his trailer had just started getting noticed when he wraps.

You heave another sigh of relief. It’s finally over, you say.

But then Aaron fucking Stone Pierre gets cast.

And guess what? You’re assigned to him.

Yeah... the gods hate your coochie.

His first day on set has you wearing panty liners for no other reason than to prevent a damp stain on your tights.

These are high-quality tights, but they’re definitely going to snitch on you. So you slap on those liners like a seal on your nether lips.

The first day with Aaron goes well. He’s so tender, so gentle, handles you like a cup of tea.

But by day three?

He’s staring at that ass like a starved man.

The day he asks you, it’s a different kind of request.

“Can you sit on my face?” His eyes boring into yours.

How can you resist?

So you oblige.

Peeling your tights off your skin, you plant your cooch right on his face... and he sends you straight to heaven.

Moments later, he’s wiping fluids from his nose and face while you’re struggling to rediscover your legs.

And so your routine starts.

Every morning before he goes on set, you sit on his face as you read him his lines.

Helping him memorize his lines is in your job description.

So what if you grind your coochie on his face? He’s not complaining, is he?

Evenings after he wraps his scene for the day have you on your back, holding your legs open as he pumps into you aggressively, taking out all the anger he held back on set.

He batters your love tunnel and fills your baby pocket with cum over and over again.

You take him, your cries and whimpers muffled by the panties he’d shoved into your mouth.

When he’s drained the last drop of cum, he takes out the tiny thong from your throat and kisses you.

So now you’ve been a good assistant to three good men. Helping them do their jobs, because that’s what good assistants do.

Aaron wraps now too—and suddenly you’re feeling alone. And bored.

One day, you get an invite to a private party.

You get dressed and arrive on time. When you open the door?

All three men are standing there… waiting for you to step inside—and close the door.

@daniiwrites, you inadvertently inspired this one. lol. Got drunk and drafted this... please ignore typos.

[poisonlove]

Lust +18 | Jenna Ortega

Martina Smith, a university student passionate about soccer and casual encounters, follows an inflexible rule: no emotional commitments. Meanwhile, Jenna Ortega, a writer married to a successful but distant entrepreneur, seeks to revive her creativity by accepting a job as an English literature teacher.

In an intertwining of worlds, both women face the challenge of staying true to their principles, exploring the trials of life, love, and authenticity. On this journey, forbidden feelings might challenge their self-imposed rules, leading them to question the barriers they've set in their hearts.

This is a fanfiction and will have many parts.

"Alright… when do we make things official?"

I look at Jessica with a raised eyebrow, tired of her constant requests. I sigh and light a cigarette, closing my eyes to savor each puff.

"What are you talking about?" I mutter distractedly, letting the smoke slowly escape through my nostrils.

Jessica smiles with a touch of challenge, placing her hand on my abdomen and tracing her finger along my skin to my jaw. Her blue eyes meet mine, and her delicate gestures elicit sighs of pleasure.

"You know…" she whispers, leaning towards me to gently kiss my neck, "we've been seeing each other for a while."

"Jess…" I start with irritation.

Jessica is trying to elevate our casual encounters to a more official level. I don't want to hurt her, but my heart doesn't flutter when I see her, and I don't feel the classic butterflies in my stomach. Jessica only offers me shivers of excitement for her beauty and the extraordinary sex we share.

I extinguish the cigarette on the ashtray on the nightstand.

"Come on, Marty… the sex is fantastic." Jessica interrupts, smiling broadly. The head cheerleader of our school in Miami frees herself from the sheets to straddle my legs.

My eyes burn as I watch her slender figure, biting my lower lip at the perfection of her breasts. Jessica's touch on the rose tattoo on my right arm distracts my attention from her body.

"You said it right…" I begin, smiling slightly. "Sex is fantastic, why ruin it with a relationship?" I ask curiously, biting my lower lip with mischief.

"Because you know I want to be with you…" Jessica looks at me through her long lashes. "Be your girlfriend," she concludes, emphasizing the last word.

I scoff and lean my head against the pillow.

"I love you, okay?" She confesses, and my body tenses hearing these words. Instinctively, I make Jessica slide off my body, her eyes showing a mix of pain and confusion.

I grab my jeans from the floor and put them on quickly, buttoning them before pulling up the zipper. "Jessica, we need to be clear. I don't want anything serious."

"But… I thought there was something more between us." Jessica looked at me with teary eyes. The sheets wrap around her body as she gets off the bed.

"You misunderstood everything. Sex is what I'm looking for, nothing else." I say seriously, putting on the jacket around my shoulders.

"You can't treat people like this, Martina." Jessica looks at me with glassy eyes and trembling lips, her voice broken by my words.

"Sorry if I can't fulfill your romantic dream." I reply with a bitter smile.

Jessica, visibly angry, walks towards me. "Don't talk like that! I love you, and you're just a… a selfish jerk!" My eyes curiously observe her face, and then my face turns to the other side due to the slap I received.

"Screw you," she adds with a broken tone, and I just stay still, sighing loudly for her psychotic crisis.

"Enough," I take her hands and move them away from my body. "My idea won't change," I mutter distractedly.

Jessica lifts her face and looks at me with confusion, blue eyes reddened from crying. My hands rest on the sides of her cheeks, my thumb playing with the entrance of her mouth.

I lean slowly, and my lips brush against her ear, a moan unconsciously escaping from the depth of her throat. "If you can't continue fucking without seeing me as a girlfriend… maybe it's better if you find someone else," I smile against her skin and move away from her body.

Jessica looks at me with fury.

I quickly bend down, seeing a brush flying towards me. "GET OUT," Jessica breathes loudly through her nose, flushed with anger. "Damn daughter of…AHHH" the girl takes a notebook from the desk and throws it at me, but fortunately, it hits the wall.

I pick up the backpack from the floor and open the door.

"So… see you tomorrow?" I say playfully. Jessica opens her mouth in disbelief and grabs the lamp from the desk.

"I think that's a no," I quickly say, closing the door behind me, later hearing the sound of the lamp shattering against it.

"She's crazy," I say, smiling in disbelief. "But she'll change her mind," I say smiling maliciously, walking down the stairs.

I take out my phone and call Jackson, my best friend.

"Hey, sweetheart! How did it go?" Jackson's voice sounds excited, and I smile pleased. "Actually, I got slapped… but it was worth it," I say tilting to the side to let an elderly woman with groceries pass and walk out of the building.

"I called you…" I start hesitantly, "to ask for a ride, I know," Jackson concludes, laughing.

My eyes look at the surrounding environment, the cars passing peacefully on the streets, and the sounds of passersby exploring the city, increasing the lively atmosphere. A smile paints on my lips seeing a child walking hand in hand with his mom.

"Exactly…" I clear my throat and close my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that were going through my head. "Did you also take the bag? I have practice in a bit," I bite my lower lip nervously.

"Of course, sweetheart," Jackson chuckles, and I roll my eyes at his comment.

"It's a shame you don't like football," I mutter, walking absentmindedly on the sidewalk, occasionally kicking a small pebble that was in the way. "I couldn't play anyway, I'm a man," Jackson laughs. "You have nothing of a man, at most, you like them," I comment, and Jackson sighs slightly.

"Come on! Move it," I smile hearing Jackson curse at someone honking incessantly.

While I walk absentmindedly on the sidewalk, lost in my thoughts, someone bumps into me, making me lose balance.

"Watch where you're going!" I exclaim a bit irritated, clutching the phone tightly. "Sorry, I'm really in a hurry. I hope you're okay," says the woman with a conciliatory tone, her gaze expressing a mix of apologies and concern.

"Okay, no problem," I reply, trying to hide my irritation. The woman quickly moves away. "Bitch," I whisper to myself, shaking my head as I continue my way. The city's frenzy continues around me, and my phone vibrates again, a sign that Jackson might be around the corner for the ride to practice.

After the collision, I sigh lightly, and as I walk away, I notice something on the side of the road, near a small tree.

I squint my eyes, curious, and approach. I bend down to get a better look and discover a bracelet with a heart. "How cute…" I whisper, selfishly thinking it might be a perfect way to make amends with Jessica. Maybe the owner despairs, but in the end, who cares? Life is full of opportunities, and this could be mine.

I casually tuck the bracelet into my hoodie. A car honks, and I smile seeing Jackson's perfectly restored 1976 Ford Torino.

I get into the car, and we start a conversation as we drive through the city streets.

"Do you have any idea how magnificent this Torino is?" I ask, admiring Jackson's car.

"It's a true beauty, I know," he responds proudly. "So, spill… what happened? You have a nasty mark on your cheek." Jackson absentmindedly points his hand towards me, and I nonchalantly fasten my seatbelt.

"I had a little incident with Jessica." I shrug. "She can't accept that I just want sex from her," I confess, and Jackson opens his mouth in surprise. "Well… can't blame her," he comments, raising his eyebrows, starting the car.

"But look what I found along the way." I quickly change the subject and show the bracelet. "Free! Not bad as compensation, huh?" I chuckle. "A girl bumped into me, and she lost it… but who cares," I comment timidly.

Jackson laughs. "Maybe it could be useful to patch things up with Jessica," I add with a smile. "Maybe," he comments absentmindedly, shifting his attention to the car window, admiring the external landscape.

We almost immediately arrive at our university's sports field after the short journey. The 1976 Ford Torino roars to a powerful stop, and I get out of the car thanking Jackson for the ride.

"Good luck with the training," Jackson wishes me with an encouraging smile.

"Thanks, I'll need it," I reply, closing the door. I walk quickly towards the locker rooms, hoping not to attract the coach's attention.

But just when I thought I had gone unnoticed, the coach catches me red-handed. "Smith… you're late," he says with a serious voice, staring at me with a stern look.

"Traffic mystery, coach," I try to joke, but his look clearly indicates that he's not amused. "For this, you'll do 5 extra laps around the field," he decrees, and my smile fades. I start running towards the locker rooms, trying to make up for lost time and prepare for training, now with an extra load of fatigue to face.

A message arrives on my phone, and I smile seeing that it's from Jessica.

"Hey… sorry for earlier…"

The only thing I think is that maybe this whole affair is resolving itself more easily than expected.

JENNA'S POV

My breath is short, recovering after the frantic run to make it to the interview. Anxiety tightens my chest, but there's a particular reason amplifying the tension: I've lost the bracelet my husband gave me for our fifth anniversary.

Harry, though not the most present husband, is a good person. His executive career keeps him away from home most of the time, and this distance reflects on our marital life. His professional commitments often make him an occasional guest in our home.

My mind is torn between interview anxiety and the regret of misplacing such a special gift. Additionally, my shoulder hurts from the encounter with a grumpy girl. As I try to catch my breath, I realize this day didn't start in the best way, but perhaps it will hold unexpected surprises that will change the course of things.

I take a deep breath before knocking on the door labeled "Principal West."

"Come in," the male voice inside calmly calls for me to enter the office.

I step in and look around, noticing the photos and trophies on the shelves. I quickly observe that the man is surprisingly well-dressed.

"Mrs. Robinson!" The man opens his arms with enthusiasm, smiling with all 32 teeth. "Please, have a seat." He gestures towards the empty chair in front of his desk.

I sit down, and the interview begins. "So, Mrs. Robinson…" Principal West starts, picking up my resume.

"I prefer you to call me by my maiden name, Ortega," I correct gently. Principal West nods strangely. "Why is the wife of a prestigious businessman in my school?" he asks with genuine interest.

The issue is that I'm recognized for my status as a wife, not for my skills as a good writer with a master's in literature. I don't bring up this fact, of course. "I desire this job," I murmur distractedly, playing with my fingers.

In reality, writing makes me feel stuck, and I need a break.

Principal West, with a polite smile, looks over my resume. "I must admit, Mrs. Ortega, that your resume is impressive, perhaps even overqualified for the position of English literature teacher at our school."

I genuinely smile, but with a hint of embarrassment. "I appreciate the compliment, Principal West. I'm aware of my academic experience, but I strongly believe in the importance of contributing to students' growth, regardless of my background."

The principal seems to reflect on those words, then changes the subject, asking about my previous experiences in the field of education. The conversation continues, and I try to convey the passion I have for literature and teaching, hoping that it can overcome any doubts about my excessive qualification for the position.

"Alright, you've convinced me," the principal stands up and reaches out his hand to shake mine.

I blink in surprise and reciprocate the handshake. "Does this mean…" I begin, and the principal smiles.

"Yes, you got the job. You can start tomorrow," he announces, and I genuinely smile, happy for the news. A mix of excitement and gratitude fills my heart as I realize that a new chapter of my life is about to begin.

As he's about to leave the office, the principal stops me. "And give my regards to your husband… I'm sure he'll be proud of you," he says with eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "I will, thank you so much, Principal West." With light steps, I leave the office, carrying with me the enthusiasm for the new opportunity and the awareness that even my husband might appreciate this achievement.

I walk through the hallways, looking at various lockers, and sigh for the nostalgic memories those places evoke. I check my phone and decide to inform my husband of the news as I make my way through the corridors.

"Hey, Harry!" I smile hearing that he accepts my call. "Hi, Jen," he responds calmly, his voice distant as if immersed in something.

"I need to tell you something." I bite my lower lip, hiding the excitement. "Is it important? I have a meeting," Harry whispers weakly.

I sigh audibly. "I got the job," I say suddenly, feeling discouraged. "Ah, good," he responds absentmindedly.

My eyes lift from the floor, and I see our car parked at the entrance of the institute. "Did you come to pick me up?" I ask with enthusiasm.

"No, I sent Tom to get you," he answers calmly. "Now I have to go," he mutters weakly.

"I love you," I say with a soft voice and hold back tears as I hear Harry hang up without responding to my statement.

I walk towards the car and sigh audibly, my heart heavy with sadness. "How did it go, Mrs. Ortega?" the driver asks kindly, sensing my melancholy.

"Yeah, good. I got the job," I reply with a faint voice, trying to mask the disappointed tone I feel inside.

The brief conversation with the driver is just background noise as I settle into the seat. I look out of the window, trying to hold back emotions. The landscape passes in front of me, but my mind is lost in thoughts. A single tear wets my face, and I can't help but feel vulnerable. The joy for the new opportunity is overshadowed by the realization of how distant my marriage is.

[huffelpuff210]

You belong to me now part 3

Warnings: crude talking, slapping violence,

Summary: Bucky learns that you don't take no shit from anyone including your boss.

                                            Bucky POV 

The moment the scent hit my nose I knew it was her, and those piercing green eye, I still had a hold of her, inches from the ground, she looked stunning. 

Regin...

ever since that night, I can't get her out of my head, Her expression, the way she carried herself, It did something to me, Now here she was, Staring at me in utter shock, our noses inches from each other, it was as if in this very moment time stood still. 

I helped her up, she cautiously took her hand out of mine, 

I studied her, the way the deep red dress hugged her body. her exposed skin, her deep red lipstick, I could imagine those lips around my cock, my hands tangled in her hair. I close my eyes trying to rid those thoughts before I get a hard on, 

"Thanks." She says bringing me out of my thoughts, 

She was about to walk away when Peter came running, 

"Sorry Regin, Steve called me over for something, Mr. Barnes thanks for saving her from a nasty fall." He says 

She sighs in irritation, 

She narrows her eyes at him, 

"I mean boss." He says straightening up, 

She just has to give him a look and he straightens up and changes his demeanor completely changes, 

Damn I should hire her to straighten out my rookies. 

"It's fine, Thank you Barnes." She says 

"I told you doll to call me James," I say 

She narrows her eyes at me, 

"We are not on first name basis." She says 

just as I was about to say something someone interrupted, 

"Now here's a face I've never seen before." I hear the irritating voice of Brock, he is our rival, but this is neutral ground, now fighting was permitted. 

His hand reached to touch Regin's face, I was about to snap, but Regin caught his wrist, her thumb on a pressure point. 

This surprised me, 

She narrowed her eyes at him but suddenly scanned the room, and smiled this confused me, Peter's expression was neutral like he knew what she was thinking, 

"Forgive me...?" She began looking at me

"Brock Rumlow." I say 

"Mr. Rumlow, but haven't you ever heard it's rude to touch a lady without permission?" She asked her thumb on a pressure point making the man wince, 

Sure she was smiling but her voice was threatening, 

"Sorry. You were just so tempting." He says with a low grunt, 

"Just don't let it happen again, I would hate to have to teach you some manners." She says releasing his wrist, 

He narrowed his eyes at her but then noticed everyone staring, she was smiling like talking to a old buddy, 

I arched my brow, did she know they were watching? 

"Of course." He says smiling and walking away, 

Her smile drops, 

"Creep." She mumble 

I smirked 

"Excuse us, Come on Peter I believe we are done here." She says he nods and follows after her, 

Steve chuckles next to me, 

"She certainly isn't like most of the women we meet." He says 

I nodded crossing my arms, 

"No she isn't." I say smirking,

I motion for Sam, and he walks up to me, 

"Find out everything you can about her." I say nodding towards Regin who is leaving, her hips swaying in that dress, 

"On it boss." He says 

                           Regin POV 

(Her outfit)

It was the next day, I walked into the hospital my heels clicking on the tiled floor,  taking the elevator, That fundraiser couldn't have gone any worse. But at least I got Tony Stark to make a investment so it wasn't an utter failure, 

I was just about to my office when Greg stopped me, 

I narrowed my eyes, 

"You are not going to believe who just bought the hospital." He says motioning for me to enter his office, 

I did not have the energy for this. 

As soon as I walked into his office I stopped I froze in place, there stood Barnes, 

What the hell, 

I sighed pinching the bridge of my nose, 

"And here I thought I already had a migraine." I say 

"Regin!" Greg yelled 

"I'm sorry sir she has no filter," He says with a smile, 

I narrowed my eyes at him, He was happy too happy this man never smiled always yelled, 

"Mr Barnes would like you to be his assistant." Greg says with a smile, 

I look at Barnes narrowing my eyes at him, He just simply smiled as if I didn't have a choice, 

I looked directly at greg, 

"Not gonna happen." I say in a cold tone, 

"Uh can you excuse us, we just need to talk a moment." Greg says motioning me outside slamming the door behind him, 

Everyone stopped what they were doing, they knew how greg abused his power on this floor, they also knew I had a tendency to humiliate him where he had a tendency to yell and call me colorful names, They always enjoyed the show, but they also knew that I supported this floor, did all his work for him, helped all the interns out as best I could, 

He pointed at me with anger, 

"Who the hell do you think you are!?" He yelled 

"Do you have any idea who he is?!" He yelled 

"Yes and frankly I don't give a damn, My title says director assistant, not secretary." I say in a calm yet bored tone, 

"You will not make me look like a fool!" He yelled 

"No, you do that perfectly fine on your own." I say 

He scrunched his nose in anger, 

"And you know what else, I bust my ass for this department while you take all the credit." I say I pull out the fundraiser report that he should have gone to and done, and ripped it into tiny pieces 

"Have fun explaining how you ditched the fundraiser and typing up a report." I say 

His eyes almost bulge he was beyond pissed 

Everyone was whispering, I crossed my arms waiting for his next comment, I can see in the corner of my eye Bucky watching from the doorway along with Steve, 

Greg raises his hand to slap me, and I catch it, 

"Really your gonna slap me?" I say narrowing my eyes at him his face was shocked, 

I took my hand slapping him with my palm then again with the back of my hand, his head went back and fort quickly from my quick slaps, 

Everyone murmured,

I released his wrist where he holds his cheek in shock, 

"You power hungry men are all the same," I shake my head grabbing my jacket throwing it over my shoulder as I looked back at him, 

"Good luck trying to demote me, Now if you'll excuse me I have a meeting." I say walking away

                          Third Person POV 

Bucky and Steve watched in shock how she practically humiliated this man in front of the entire floor, also slapping him the way she did turned him on extremely. 

Steve chuckled 

"She doesn't take any shit does she?" He says 

Bucky nodded licking his lips in hunger, 

"No she doesn't." Bucky says with a smirk

[rogue13245]

Mend

Word count: 3.6K

Warnings: Father figure issues, hints at domestic abuse but nothing too graphic.

A/N: I fucking love Joel Miller and love writing for him. Bear with me darlings. (also I picture Logan looking a little like Kurt Cobain.)

-----

When you come home after a trip with your current boyfriend. You weren't expecting your life to change so drastically as it did. 

----

After spending 3 months at a beautiful spot in Italy with your boyfriend. You were much more tan than when you left. Texas was a beautiful place but nothing beat the Italy sun and how crisp the air was. Their small towns with all the shops and the water you could go too and spend your days at. It was all so pleasant there, it was like living our your Mamma Mia dreams. Especially when you chose to wear a sundress on your first day there. Nothing bad could happen to you there and you chose to remember it that way. Choosing to block out the bad things that occurred.

When you had finally returned home it was the hot air that first greeted you. It was so different from Italy, in Italy you didn't really sweat, but in Texas that's all you did. Especially on hot days like this. You had been carrying three of your suitcases while your boyfriend Logan was only carrying one of your small bags. Just so he could feel like he was helping you out. Walking inside you were trying to breathe through your nose as you felt your arms growing tired from carrying all the suitcases. You see your father in the living room sitting on his chair that he always sat at as he watched the news. "Hi dad" you say and he barely gave you any sign that he heard you.

The only way you knew he saw you was because he had glanced over to look at Logan before back to the TV in front of him. "come on" Logan says as he passes by you and makes his way into your room where he has been so many times before. When he opens the door he tosses your bag onto your bed while you gently place your suitcases into a corner in your room so you could unpack them at a later time. 

Logan was always so careless with your stuff, he would toss your things not really carrying where it landed or how rough he was being with your things. It was one of the many things that both of you argued about. "Could you please not just toss my things. You don't know what could be in that bag" you say as you turn to face him. He sighs as if it was such an inconvenience to him to take care of your things "I've told you so many times that whatever breaks I could just pay for another one. So does it even matter?"

Fuck him and his mommy's money. His mom was loaded with money, more money than she even knew what to do with. So with him being her only child it seemed the extra money went all to him. It was so much that the man in front of you hasn't worked a day in his life. His nails were never dirty and there were no callouses on his palms or fingers. Not saying that's what made you a man but you loved men who got dirty and had rough hands. Rough hands that would touch you ever so softly. You looked at him and said "There could be something inside that's really valuable to me that I don't want broken" pushing him further even though you knew it would only be a bad idea. However you never learned to just let things be. 

He looks at you before grabbing your bag. "why do you have to be so fucking annoying. Look I'll show you what all you have in here" he says as he unzips the bag in front of you. In the next moment he is tossing things everywhere in your room. Things like tampons, pads, makeup, chargers etc. It's not until he gets to a box that you freeze and hope he doesn't toss but he does. Just like the others it lands somewhere into the room before you could go to catch it. When he's done he looks at you "look nothing. So stop being a bitch when all I was doing was trying to help you"

You look at the box and get down onto your knees to grab it. Ignoring his words you open it up and see your grandmothers pendant necklace. It was one of the only things she had given you before she died. The pendant is cold against your warm hand and as you run your fingers against its cool metal you see that it's broken. Tears formed in your eyes and you refused to let them fall. Logan has never seen you cry and you wouldn't let it happen now. "get out" you say with a sudden bravery. 

There had only been a few times you've ever stood your ground with him and it never seemed to end well. He looks at you with a shocked expression "excuse me?" As he takes a step closer to you, you stand up "its just a stupid necklace. You could get hundreds of those exactly like it. I can just get you another one." He knew it wasn't just a necklace to you, in fact he knew the story behind this necklace and it gutted you that he was just so emotionless. 

Looking into his eyes you shake your head "I don't want another one! Nothing could replace this one you asshole!" anger was boiling inside of you and the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself. He walks closer to you until your back was pressed against the cold wall and that's when he does it. His fist goes through the wall and your head turns to the side as you recoil against the wall. Wanting it to swallow you whole. 

His hand roughly grabbed your face and jerked your head to look at him. You knew that there would be a bruise or two on your cheek from how rough he was being. It doesn't take much till you are looking at him, he was only an inch taller than you. "Id watch how you speak to me from now on. We wouldn't want any repeats of the other night would we" his words make your stomach drop as he reminds you about what happened a few times while you were in Italy. 

Italy that was once beautiful he had tried to taint and ruin for you. You would not let him, that place had been a dream. Next time you would just have to go without him. Fully enjoy the weather and the people. Get to know people that passed by you and interacted with. You loved people in fact you were a really outspoken person so why does this man, along with your father make you so different. 

Shaking your head you get a bit dizzy, not responding verbally. "You know what to do" he says as he lets go of your face. The familiar words that you've spoken more times than you'd like to admit start falling from your lips once again. "I'm sorry, please I'm so sorry. I know you didn't mean to break anything. Just trying to help me and it's my fault for making you so angry. Not being appreciative of what you were doing. I just need to keep my mouth shut"

He seems to like what you are saying because there is a sadistic smirk forming on his lips. There was no softness to those eyes of his. No love, not adoration. You don't think that he has cared for anything or anyone in his life. In fact you don't think he even cares about his own mother. If she didn't give him money he would have no use for her. Before you even can react he kisses you and you cant help but flinch back "great job babe. I knew you would come to your senses" when he pulls away he walks downstairs and you slowly follow behind him. 

When the both of you walk downstairs he walks over to speak with your father, while you go to your mother who was in the kitchen. She turns her head and sees you for the first time since you've got back and runs up to hug you. Your face bury into her neck and for the first time in months your body relaxes just a bit more than it has. "hi mom" you say and she smiles as she pulls away to look at you "hi sweet girl. I missed you. You will have to tell me all about your trip when you get the chance" 

Things between you and your mom were really good. You've always had a great relationship with her. However one thing you would never understand was why she was with your father. He was such an asshole to you and she stood by him. If he went to bed we all had to follow suit, no matter how early it was. It felt as if we couldn't live if he wasn't watching us closely to make sure we didn't step one toe out of line. That couldn't be how love was could it.

If that was how love was supposed to be like then why didn't you love Logan. He acted just like your father if not worse. Your father had only ever hit you once when you were a child and that was the first time your mother ever yelled at him. Lets just say he has not done it since. Maybe that's why your father practically shoved you right in front of Logan like a trophy and he made it his mission to get the two of you together. Unfortunately for you, he didn't stop until he got what he wanted so that's why you were stuck with him. There was no out for you, if you left not only would Logan hurt you but so would your father. 

Yeah you refused to believe that's what love is supposed to be like. So now the question is, what is love supposed to be like. 

Logan and your father had stopped talking and he pulls Logan into a quick hug. His hand hitting his back firmly like they were best pals. When they pulls away and Logan opens the door he looks over at you and your blood runs cold "I'll see you later babe" he left before you could say anything back. 

Babe. That's the only thing he ever called you and you hated it. There were so many other things you could be called. Things like honey, dear, love, darling, good girl, shit at this point you would take baby. Babe was just so basic and boring, it held no meaning to it at all, especially not in the way he said it. Maybe it was just him..you don't know. It could be because you felt nothing for the man you were dating. But what could you do about it, nothing.

There also were never any loving kisses. Hell there were barely any unless it was when he wanted to use you for sex. Sex which you never got off too and had to take care of yourself when he left you there. No kisses before he left or just because he wanted too. This man acted as if you had the plague and you hated how much it ripped you into shreds. 

When you hear his fancy car that was honestly quite ugly to you drive out of your long driveway. Your father turns to finally speak to you "get your things unpacked and put on an outfit other than that. Your mother is making dinner and we will be having a guest" of course the only time he talks to you is to subtly insult you and to boss you around. He never wanted to get to know you, never was that dad and you knew better than to expect him to be. You knew how he was from a young age which is why you loved your mother. 

"okay father" those are the only words you say before heading back upstairs into your small bedroom. Honestly you couldn't even call it a bedroom it was more like a closet. It fit a twin sized bed that was too damn small for you and made you wake up with a stiff neck and sore back almost all the time. Along with your dresser and a few bookshelves. Of course you made it cozy because you decorated heavily. There were band posters hung all over your wall and tapestries on your ceiling. On your bookshelves there were tons of books and even your record player. Your records being in sleeves and on their own special racks. There were a few lights in your room since you liked warm tones in your room after the suns tarts to go down. Never use much light when the sun is up because you loved natural light and it saved on the electric bill. 

You grab the suitcases that were in the corner and start to unpack them one by one. It takes about 30 minutes to finish unpacking everything and as soon as you were done you got ready. Going through your clothes you pick out jeans and a white blouse that was more nicer than what you currently had on. Which was shorts and a baggy t-shirt. You always needed to be presentable in front of your father so you made sure to brush your hair and pull it up nicely before heading back downstairs. 

When you walk downstairs you see your mother working away in the kitchen while your father was sitting In his chair. It always pissed you off how he made your mother do everything while he just sat on his ass. He worked while your mother didn't she was always a stay at home mom but she had told you years ago she wishes she worked because she got bored staying in the same place for so long. You were walking into the kitchen to help her when there was a knock on the door. "Natalia answer the door" your father yells loudly so you'd be able to hear. Rolling your eyes you mutter "please would be appreciated" your mother heard you and you swear a small smile was on her lips. 

A small smile forms on your lips after seeing your mom smile which was rare for her. You head to the door and open it, revealing a man who was considerably taller than you. Looking up at him you think he had to be 5'10 or something. The man looks down at you and waits patiently to be invited in. "Come on in. Make yourself comfortable" you say kindly

He walks in after saying a quick thank you and your eyes follow him, he was the epitome of what a man in Texas would look like. He's be on the cover of a magazine or something if the title was "a Texan man." The man was wearing a grey shirt with a flannel that was unbuttoned, then jeans that were tucked into the boots he was wearing. Noticing that he hadn't taken them off at the door and you couldn't imagine your father not telling him the rule at some point. Maybe he was trying to piss them off. You didn't know. 

While he talks with your father you go to help your mother in the kitchen. "so who is he?" you ask her quietly and she smiles "He is the neighbor, your father and him have become acquainted. He is a good man" you nod and just as soon as you start finishing up the pasta your father calls for you "Natalia come introduce yourself. Don't be rude." His tone left no choice but to obey. So you dry off your hands after washing them and then walk to the man beside your father and hold out your hand. "I'm Natalia its a pleasure to meet you" he takes your hand firmly but not roughly and you could feel his rough hands against your soft ones "The names Joel" A warmth spreads through your body and you are quick to let go as his eyes linger on you.

Seeing that could have been rude to just pull away like that your father glances at you. "I'm sorry. I should be going to help in the kitchen. Food will be done any moment now." you give Joel a kind smile before turning away to walk away. Its like you were trained to be sweet and kind in front of your father. Ever since you were younger if you weren't a certain way he would discipline you if you stepped a toe out of line. Always telling you that a man never likes when a woman speaks out of turn or doesn't listen. It's probably one of the reasons you didn't like men very much.  

His rough hands aren't the only thing you notice about Joel Miller. The more you hear him talk to your father at the table you notice he has such a deep southern drawl. He must have been born and raised here and you've always loved a man with an accent. Shaking your head you plate everyone's food and pass out everyone's plates in front of them. Your father thanks your mother while ignoring you completely while Joel makes sure to say it to you. "your welcome" you respond before sitting down to eat with everyone. 

As everyone talked you stayed quiet and in the short time you've learned a few things about Joel Miller. He had a daughter who was 12 years old and that his whole world revolved around her. It was so refreshing to see a father who loved their kid. It was a pleasant time until it wasn't because your father must have brought up a sensitive topic. 

"I'm surprised you came to dinner tonight. You are usually a very busy man" Joel's shoulders tense up. "yeah I've been taking care of my daughter. She just got over a cold" he responds as your father begins to eat his food. "Cant you have her mother watch her? I know how tiring it is to be with a daughter all the time" 

Your fathers words make you look at your plate and you can feel Joel eye you for a moment before looking back him. "Mother isn't around" is all he says and your father seems to not notice how tense the man is because he thinks for a moment "well if you ever need anyone to watch over your daughter. Mine would be honored to help you out. It will get her out of the house" he looks at you "wouldn't you?" You nod and finish swallowing your food before responding. "yeah of course. I'm sure she is lovely. Whenever you need" 

Joel looks at you for a moment before noticing how distant your eyes look. He was good at reading people, he had to be good at it for his business. Needing to know if people were bullshitting him. "sure, uhm. You free tomorrow night, I've got to work at 7 and wont be home till real late?" 

your eyes widen at how soon it was but you fix your expression and smile. "yes of course. I don't have any plans so I'll be there." Honestly you would do anything if It meant you would be out of the house and away from your father. Your mother was safe with him, in fact he was so nice and kind to her it was so different than how he treated you. So you wouldn't have to worry about her. Joel looks at you again and nods "good."

Another thing you noticed was that Joel was a man of few words. He wasn't coming across as being an asshole so you didn't think that was his intention. It was just who he was. He wasn't super intimidating or threatening so he seemed harmless. The only thing was that he made you a little nervous every time he looked at you. It was as if he was reading you and you hated it. You've spent years trying to make yourself as complicated and difficult to read. You've done it for so long that you don't even know who the real you is anymore. Is it this innocent sweet girl you were with your father, or your outgoing and confident persona you put on when you are partying with friends. You honestly didn't know and you didn't need anyone to figure it out for you. 

Eventually everyone is finished with their food and you tell your mom you will get the dishes. A kiss is placed on your cheek before she leaves you in the kitchen while Joel was saying goodbye to them. Once he leaves your father looks at you "clean everything up before you go to sleep. Then tomorrow you will work in the yard because its getting out of hand" you nod and he goes to bed with your mother

The rest of your night is spent scrubbing the floors, sweeping them, dusting. Not stopping until everything is spotless and you are about to drop to your knees from tiredness. As soon as you get ready and into your bed you lay down and pass out instantly. 

A/N: I picture Logan to look a bit like Kurt Cobain. (photo just for reference)

[rorynn]

Stanford gets too exited when showing love to his gf