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aplaceinthedark · 4 days

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Scar - Chapter Five

PAIRING: Jolly Karlsson x Sam (ofc)

What if your teenage daughter's fantasy became your reality?

Summary: Samantha surprises her daughter, Lyric, with tickets to see her favorite band for her sixteenth birthday. What's supposed to be one the best days of her daughter's life, also becomes hers.

CW: none, just dadomens trying to find momomens

happy bday jolly💛

Masterlist

word count: 2.3k

Sam’s chest tightens as Jolly’s carefree laughter fills her car. It feels like an eternity since someone other than Lyric was sharing the front seat with her, let alone another man. She tried the online dating thing– but with her crazy work schedule and Lyric’s after-school and weekend practices– it doesn’t leave her much time for dating.

“So how long have you lived here?” Jolly’s sudden and intriguing question softens the pressure in her chest. No other man has asked me that before.

“I grew up here, but left when I graduated high school,” she sucks in a shaky breath as she continues. “Fate would have it that I would come back when James did; we always knew we wanted to raise a family here.”

“James sounds like a really great guy and a wonderful father to Lyric,” Jolly says softly as Sam pulls into the hotel parking lot.

“He was the best at everything,” she confesses as she pulls her SUV into the nearest parking spot to park. “The best father, the best handyman around the house, a supportive husband…” Jolly watches as her green eyes shimmer bright before a tear wells and cascades down her cheek.

Swiftly, he unbuckles slipping from the seat belt to lean closer to Sam. His hands hesitate as he ponders if she is comfortable with him touching her but when he catches the small nod he moves in to cup her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with a gentle brush of his thumbs.

“Thank you,” her whisper fills the space between them.

He would give anything to take away her pain and sorrow, but all he can muster is a small smile that he hopes conveys how he feels. As Jolly begins to pull away, he finds moist lips pressed against his. He tenses to the touch at first but when she parts her lips for him, he’s done for. He leans in, mouth hungry, tongue ready to explore more. He licks at her bottom lip, threading his fingers through her hair, pulling her in closer. And he stops. Shit, what if I went too fast? What if I misread the signs? Wait, did she actually kiss me?

Something stirs in Sam when Jolly touches her face. His hands are so warm and comforting that the tears she was holding back finally break. An unfamiliar emotion bubbles in her stomach as Jolly leans forward; the scent of him overwhelms her senses. Before her brain can stop her heart, she leans. His warm lips against hers sparks electricity down her spine. She can’t get enough. She melts into Jolly when he runs his fingers through her strands. His tongue is moist against her bottom lip and she is more than ready to let him in. Her lips still burn when he abruptly pulls away. When her eyes pop open she finds Jolly with a pained expression on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “Did I overstep?” His thick accent accentuates the concern in his voice.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sam reassures the Swede with a smile.

Suddenly, the tall guitarist yawns, stretching as best he can in the small space, causing Sam to do the same. “Wanna go up to my room?” With a shy giggle and a playful punch to Jolly’s arm, Sam agrees.

Jolly opens the door of his room with a sweeping gesture of his arm, “Welcome to my crib.” His husky tone turns into a snicker when Sam smacks him in the arm as she steps by.

“You’re a dork,” she huffs a laugh as she enters the room.

“I know,” he winks at her before threading his fingers to hers and leading her further into the room. There’s a large white bed against a navy blue accent wall and across from it hangs a flat-screen TV. An L-shaped couch fills the space under the window next to the bed.

“This is where the magic happens so make yourself comfy, Sam. There’s water and booze in the mini fridge and the TV remote is on the bedside table. I’m going to take a quick shower.” She makes a small noise in understanding but doesn’t move from the window as she takes in the view of her small hometown. The shrill of the tap turning on pulls her from her nostalgia so she makes her way to the bed. She steps out of her beloved Converse, settles into the covers, and starts to scroll through the TV guide.

Loud knocking stirs Sam awake. Rolling to her side, something digs into her stomach. Her eyebrows scrunch together when she finds the remote strangled in a death grip. Way to go, Sam, you fell asleep clutching onto the remote, like an old grandpa.

Groaning, she slides out of bed and stretches rubbing her neck. Fuck me. I’m going to need to see my chiro on Monday. I hope she can squeeze me in. God, I hope Jolly doesn’t think I’m lame. Wait, did we kiss-

“You’re awake!” Jolly’s bright voice breaks through Sam’s post-nap brain fog. When she turns her head following the sound she gets lightheaded. Swaying slightly, she grips the arm of the couch and settles herself onto the furniture, hoping Jolly didn’t notice. If he did, he was gracious enough not to say anything as he continued. “The guys are heading out to see a movie, want to come?”

“Sure!” she says without hesitation, ecstatic to spend more time with Jolly. But soon insecurity takes its rightful place in the pit of her stomach. “But let me fix my hair real quick,” she rushes by him, nerves bubbling in her stomach– but when Jolly grips her wrist, it’s not forceful, but just enough that she stops dead in her tracks. The setting sun casts a warm glow on Jolly’s long brunette hair forming a halo of light around him.

“You look beautiful, Samantha.” Jolly takes a step closer closing the space between them. He tucks in a lock of hair behind her ear before brushing the pad of his thumb over her cheek. Sam feels her cheeks warm to the delicate touch and finds herself leaning into him. Looking up at him, his expression is soft- the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles at her. She sneaks a glance at his lips and back at his eyes hoping he didn’t notice. She wants him to kiss her, wants to feel more of his touch, wants to feel love again– but her old heart is so scared. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as Jolly leans down, willing her eyes shut she balls her shaking hands into fists. “Stay”, she tells herself “don’t run.” His hot breath is warm against her cheek. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst from her chest– suddenly she jumps when there’s a knock at the door.

“Hey lovebirds, you two ready?” Noah yells from the other side of the door. Sam’s cheeks flame red at the nickname and she curls into herself overcome with shyness.

“He’s an ass, isn’t he,” Jolly chuckles squeezing Sam’s shoulders. Her small smile spreads into a wide grin, “yeah he is.” He pulls her into him and she unfurls her arms to hug him back. For a few breaths, they remain as her heartbeat steadies, the scent of him soothing her senses and her nerves.

“Ready?” he hums as he twirls his fingers in her hair.

“Yeah,” she says softly pulling from the embrace. This time she doesn’t stop herself from threading her fingers into his as they walk to the door. When the pair reach the lobby Sam finds the rest of the band lounging on various couches and chairs and Matt is pacing.

“The Uber is late,” Matt groans pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll drive!” Sam chimes in as she squeezes Jolly’s hand despite her insecurity still looming in the back of her mind.

Matt stops dead in his tracks, “Are you sure?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” she lets go of Jolly’s hand to walk past Matt. “Come on.” She waves over her shoulder for the band boys to follow her. Jolly meets up with Sam to open the car door for her. Before he ducks out he pecks a kiss to her cheek. She giggles as she settles in the driver's seat.

“Alright boys, buckle up please.” She grins, looking up at the rearview mirror as Matt, Noah, Nick, Nicholas, and Bryan pile In. A mutual groan rumbles through the car. “Yes mom,” they grumble and groan in unison.

There are a scattering of families and couples in the theater as the pair stroll in behind the rest of the guys. Sam is about to slide in beside Nicholas when Jolly grips the back of her elbow causing her to stop.

“Come on,” he nods his head to the top dark corner row of seats which happen to be vacant.

Butterflies dance in her stomach as they ascend the dimly lit staircase. It’s impossibly warm when she sits down and Jolly follows suit, their knees brushing together when he hands her, her drink. Sam takes a few sips hoping the soda will quench her thirst and give her some relief; unfortunately, it does not.

As the opening credits start, Jolly’s heart pounds in his chest as the opening credits start. He’s been waiting anxiously for this movie for as long as Nicholas has been ranting and raving about it. The one show all of them seemed to like and a tour favorite, so when Noah mentioned the movie, he could only hope that Sam would want to come too. In the corner of his eye, he sees her start to fidget with the popcorn bag nervously. Absentmindedly, he places his hand on her thigh as the scene starts.

Sam busies her hands by eating some popcorn, almost too aware of how she chews, she grips the bag a little tighter when suddenly Jolly’s hand rests on her thigh. Her body tenses to the touch. She wants to say something, to ask him to move his hand, but instead, she goes against every fiber of her being when she sets down the popcorn and places her hand on his.

“Oh, sorry,” Jolly jumps slightly when their hands touch, pulling his hand away. When Sam looks up at him, concern furrows his brows and creases the corners of his eyes. His eyes look nothing like her late husband’s and at this moment Sam has come to terms with it. She finally gives in to what her heart has been telling her all along. The pads of her fingers graze his cheek and for a few heartbeats, they exist in the space between them where nothing else matters. Her gaze drifts to his plump lips and back to his eyes.

She nods, silently saying Yes! Please! I want to kiss you! Before pulling him in closer, their lips just barely touching. Sam squeezes her eyes shut and presses her lips onto his. When Jolly kisses her back, it’s soft yet cautious. She tilts her head, clasping his head between her hands to pull him in. A giggle erupts from her throat when his stubble brushes against her cheek, making Jolly pull away slightly. He puts a finger to her lips just as a nearby shh echoes from a few seats away.

Jolly leans in, “I have a way to keep you quiet,” he whispers in her ear, his hot breath and suggestive tone send a shiver spider crawling down her spine. His lips ghost her cheek before replacing the finger to her lip. She invites the heat of the kiss, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt as his tongue parts her lips. When the pair are both breathless, he places a chaste kiss on her cheek. He kisses the tops of her knuckles before they find their resting place on his thigh. The world melts away in their soft embrace, hands entwined and hearts beating as one.

Sam blinks a few times as her eyes adjust to the theater lights flickering on. Sure she has no idea what happened in the movie, but she couldn’t care less as long as she was next to Jolly. She doesn’t know what will happen next between them and right now she’s okay with that. Jolly gathers their trash and she follows closely until she can slide her hand back into his. When they reach the other guys outside, she spots them climbing into their Uber. Her stomach drops when the reality hits her that Jolly will be leaving too. She can’t help when a lump forms in her throat and her eyes prick with tears.

“It’s time-” Jolly stops dead in his tracks when he spots the tears cascading down her cheeks. Before his feet step off the curb he turns and pulls her in tight, arms wrapping around her waist.

“I got you,” he says low and calm as she starts to shake. “I don’t want this night to end either, Samantha. These last few days have been some of the best days on tour and I can’t thank you enough. This is not goodbye, ok?”

He pulls back to wipe away her tears, caressing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Smile, pretty girl,” he smiles when she giggles and pink washes over her cheeks. “We play only a few hours away tomorrow and I snagged you VIP if you want to come. I know it’s a school night but I still wanted to offer.”

Sam doesn’t hesitate when she wraps her arms around his neck in excitement. She knows she will be dead tired come Monday morning-thankfully just an in-service day before the end of the school year- so she can show up a little late.

“Yes, yes I’ll be there!”

“I can’t wait!” Jolly leans down for one more kiss. “Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, Jolly,” she says before kissing him back. She watches as the full moon illuminates his path to the others. She smiles to herself, smitten- a feeling she hasn’t felt in so long.

tysm for reading and reblogging💜 dividers by cafekitsune💜

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Please show your support with a reblog! If you want to be a part of Royal Readers👑 (tag list) please fill out this form OR you can leave a comment // send me a DM - whichever you prefer💜

#jolly karlsson fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #jolly karlsson fic #jolly karlsson fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens rpf #jolly karlsson x ofc #fic: scar #ladyveronikawrites

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aplaceinthedark · 5 days

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My WIPs:

Project HEPTAD

LOOKING for the MEANING

Playing: Lore Corner

Tagging: @cookiesupplier @malice-ov-mercy @nerdraging4point0

FERN'S WIP WEEKEND GAMES

Hey y'all! Let's force each other to work on our WiPs, even if it's just to talk about them or think about them!

EACH WIP WEEKEND RUNS FROM FRIDAY 5PM UTC-5 TO SUNDAY 11:59PM UTC-5

To participate, reblog with up to 5 filenames of your WIPs, and also which games you want to participate in this weekend (example at the bottom of this post).

Each game is basically replying to asks about your WIPs in different ways! For that reason, please make sure to search the reblogs to find other players - send them an ask, keep the game going, force each other to work on their WIPs!

If you see this, you are invited to play, even if you weren't tagged!

There are 3 different games. You can play all of them, or only the ones you like best:

1) Three by Threes: The OG WIP Wednesday game. For each filename you receive in your ask box, reply to the ask with 3 NEW sentences on that WIP. Then, send 3 asks to other WIP Weekend players!

2) Lore Corner: Answer questions about your WIP. It can be anything from headcanons to backstory that you have for your WIP that don't even make it into the fic. Askers - get creative with your questions! (If you are playing Lore Corner, please give a single-sentence description of each of your WiPs so askers have some context)

3) Moodboard Mania: Make a moodboard for your WIP! Askers can also specify a moment or a character-specific moodboard relating to your WIP so that you're not making the same moodboard over and over.

————————

MY WIPS:

• the universe and us in the night (vampire!Jolly x girl!Noah) - Ever romanced your sleep paralysis demon? Ever embraced the void of night? Ever lost your fucking mind? Noah's really going through it in the pandemic.

• rainy ghost (Nicholas x Noah) - Church boy Noah is caught in the closet with the pastor's adult son and is excommunicated, destroying his life and effectively leaving him homeless. Thankfully, Folio's dead distant relative owned a big, spooky mansion on the coast that needs tending. Nobody told Noah about the haunting, though.

• more fae shit (Nicholas x Noah) - In the same universe as strap the wing, but a millenia earlier.

GAMES I'M PLAYING: three by threes, lore corner

Tagging @throughwoodsanddirt @the-way-of-words @cowpokeomens @blessedwithabadomen @poppy-in-the-woods and anyone else who wants to play!

#ferns wip weekend #wip weekend #Ive been working on nothing but HEPTAD background stuff sorry

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aplaceinthedark · 7 days

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Blood Magic

The monster fucker is back, baby! In this installment of the Nocturnal Creatures series, you're camping along the Appalachian Trails when mysterious things start to happen in the woods and you meet a stranger with a funny accent.

Thank you to the beautiful amazing wonderful @throughwoodsanddirt for beta-ing this for me. I’m a better writer bc of her input 🫶💖

Warnings: nasty horny feral fuckin’, cnc if you really squint and the lights are off but I’m putting it in here bc reader does say she’s gonna die taking cock once or twice! Speaking of which, Jolly’s canon monster cock so size kink, oral (f receiving), this is the ass eating fic I mentioned so that’s in there (f receiving again), spanking, degradation (but also praise! dw I gotchu), dacryphilia!! Like a lot of it. He bakes for her and speaks Swedish, that needs its own cw. I think that’s it. As always, if I missed it, let me know! Eat ass smoke grass!!!!

______________________________________

In hindsight, you really had no business being in this neck of the woods this late at night.

“I’ll be fine!” You told your fellow campers. “I left my water bottle right by the stream - it’ll take just a second to grab it.”

A second turned into 15 minutes, during which time you had not only failed to locate your water bottle, but also the stream it was supposedly located near.

You aren’t even attached to the damn water bottle itself. The stickers, though, you covet, and spent the last year painstakingly collecting. To part with them felt like the severing of an emotional bond, and you know you can’t handle any more of that this year.

Trish, a fellow camper and your best friend of 8 years, was hesitant to see you embark on your own. Her backwoods hick of a boyfriend - Steven? Samuel? - was downright derisive.

“You shouldn’t go into them woods right now.” Stuart - Solomon? Whatever his name was, he was giving you a warning look, entirely too serious for the topic of retrieving a water bottle.

Cocking a brow at him, you were more than happy to make your contempt known. “Why? You said there wasn’t any wildlife over in this part. And the chupacabra doesn’t migrate this far east.”

Trish attempted to hide her snort, coughing into her jacket to disguise the sound.

His expression didn’t waiver, though. “There’s worse things in the woods than animals.” He eyed you warily, before tacking on, “Don’t whistle back. And don’t run.”

Don’t run - yeah fucking right.

Rolling your eyes, your response was to wave your pocket-sized flashlight in goodbye as you walked away. You didn’t think you’d even need it, it wasn’t dark when you left. If you actually had any idea where you were going, you would have the stupid water bottle, adorned with its stupid stickers, and be happily scarfing down s’mores with your friends back at the campsite.

Where does this incessant need to prove yourself come from? You wonder. You think back to his cryptic warning, the genuine fear in his eyes. You heard of the Appalachian superstitions, sure, but you also know that half the hollers around here don’t even have internet. Superstition stems from ignorance, you reason, so the only thing to really fear is the mosquitos nipping at your legs.

Don’t whistle? You almost sneer at the memory. What kind of big scary monster hates whistling?

Experimentally, you breathe out a short tune through pursed lips, curiosity getting the best of you. You’re met with silence, broken up only by the buzzing of insects. Sighing, you continue with a longer melody you barely remember from your 5th grade music performance.

Your internal grumbling continues as you trudge through the thicket, whistling off-tune as you go. Nothing would have happened if you left the damned thing where it was. Who’s going to use it? A squirrel? It’s not like a deer would have run off with your fucking water bottle-

The crack of a twig snapping cuts off your internal monologue, your melody coming to a stop alongside it.

Head whipping up, your eyes scan the abyss around you for movement. Inside your chest, your heart starts thumping erratically, the hairs on your arms rising with some unperceived threat.

You realize too late that it’s completely silent - even the bugs have left. There’s no breeze, the air balmy and dense around you. As your stomach sinks, you come to the humbling conclusion that you may have fucked up bad.

You take one step back, staggering in your growing panic. The breaths you release are short puffs, getting more shallow with each passing second.

Chill the fuck out, You hiss to yourself, trying to subdue the twisting in your gut. It’s too dark to see anything beyond the trees immediate to you, but you can’t shake the feeling that something is watching you from beyond them.

Your lower lip trembles, unshed tears welling in your eyes. Frantically, you mentally catalog everything you brought with you, looking for some kind of defense: you don’t have your phone, but you do have a small lighter and -

The flashlight!

Patting down your jacket pockets as quietly as possible, you fish out the tool quickly, clicking the on button in record time.

The light is weak, barely illuminating the wall of trees surrounding you, but it's something.

Sweeping the treeline with the feeble light, your eyes race back and forth, unsure of what you should be looking for.

You take another step back, leaves crunching under your feet.

From the darkness, you hear a whistle.

Fury replaces your fear. That guy - Scott or whatever - was fucking with you. Don’t whistle back - God, you’re so stupid.

“Haha, very funny!” You call snarkily, shoulders sagging with relief.

Another whistle is all you’re met with.

“Oh, fuck off!” You’re fed up now; The temperature dropped and your jacket is nothing compared to the warmth of the insulated bedroll waiting for you back at camp. You’re about to voice your frustration when a third whistle interrupts you.

Don’t whistle back, Sean or whatever had said.

Part of you scoffed at the memory. He probably can’t read past a 3rd grade level and has just heard the town people crying about the Devil in the woods because they don’t believe in vaccines. He’s fucking with you.

Or, Another voice suggested, Maybe we should trust the guy who has lived here his entire life?

You remained silent as you debated your next move, the logical part of your brain battling it out with the primal fear that kept you and every other living thing alive since the dawn of time.

If you ignored the call? You stay in the woods overnight, wander into bear territory, and get eaten.

If you whistle back? Simon or whatever pops out of the bushes, says “Boo!” in between fits of laughter and guides you back to camp where you can have a s’more in your tent. No dying required.

It was a blow to your ego, but it beat staying out in the elements overnight.

Fine, you’ll play his stupid game.

You whistle back, trying your best to convey your impatience through the tune. It’s short and sharp, slicing through the night air.

There's a beat of silence before you hear anything. It’s not a whistle, though- it’s some kind of commotion, like a strong gust of wind carrying away a pile of leaves. It crackles unnaturally, like it’s breaking branches as it blows. You are trying to pinpoint what and where the noise comes from when realization dawns on you.

It’s not the wind.

The crackling you heard was, in fact, branches breaking. It’s something… running? Moving quickly through the thicket, disturbing the outstretched arms of trees as it goes.

It's getting louder. Cracking, snapping, rustling- it grows into a crescendo, all of the sounds tying together in an almost deafening cacophony. With your flimsy flashlight aimed out into the abyss, you think you see the commotion, debris flying up in a straight path, getting closer and closer.

It’s something running towards you.

Almost falling in your haste, you spin around where you stand, running back the way you came - or at least away from whatever the fuck was running after you.

Your legs propel you through the darkness, lungs burning with the effort. Behind you, the noise grows ever closer, a scratching sound like nails on a chalkboard following you.

You don't bother wiping the burning tears that stream from your eyes as you sprint, trying earnestly to avoid tripping over roots or tripping any bear traps. Hot, damp air ghosts against the back of your neck. You try and fail to convince yourself the feeling is just the wind, but the regular pattern of the gusts leaves no room for misinterpretation. It’s breathing down your neck, poised for attack. You suddenly understand with startling clarity that trying to get away is futile.

You are going to die out here.

Gasping for breath, you push yourself further, further -

And then it’s silent again.

I’m dead, You think. At least it was quick.

Slowing to a jog, you double over from the effort, breathing irregular and shaky. Your palms are slick with sweat, the chill of the night disappearing as you fled.

Trying to even out your inhales and exhales, you dare a glance around.

You’re still in the woods.

It’s dark, and you can’t make out anything more than a few yards away, but it’s definitely the same woods you were racing through ten seconds ago.

So, you’re not dead?

You’re trying to gather your bearings, make sense of what happened, when you hear them.

It's not a language you understand. You’re not even sure it’s a language at all, sounding more like a series of hisses and clicks.

Trees, you think. It sounds like a tree in a storm, leaves whooshing from their perch on outstretched branches, bark groaning in the wind.

There’s a figure, maybe two yards in front of you, standing directly in the path of where you were running from. Its back is to you, but it’s tall, easily six feet in height, and broad.

You think it's wearing some kind of cloak, or at least that’s what it seems like in the darkness of night. A person? An animal?

There’s worse things in the woods than animals.

Panic fills you once more. You need to go, keep running -

“Don’t run.” A voice commands, the formidable timbre of it ricocheting between your ears and your racing heart. Distantly, you feel some sense of comfort at the fact that it’s at least a human voice, though it does not belong to any of the men you know.

You freeze, rooted to the spot. Trying to lift your foot, you find it unresponsive, as if asleep.

The cloaked figure turns towards you, just enough for you to make out that it’s a person - So it is a man, you think.

“It likes chasing. Stop trying to run.” His words echo in the dark, though he doesn’t speak above a conversational volume.

It likes chasing?

He returns to his conversation, if that’s even what you could call it. He’s talking to something below him, tone hushed. Though his figure is blocking most of the creature, you can still spot a set of unnaturally long, spindly, humanoid limbs.

You surmise that it - whatever it is - is talking back, its voice akin to the scratching you heard chasing you earlier. The sound rises over the man’s shoulders, drifting to where you’re stuck in place.

After what feels like an eternity, the man straightens up, taking a step backward, towards you. The… thing takes off into the woods, back the way it came. You can’t see it clearly, but you catch a glint of something that looks like pointed, sharp teeth before it's gone.

Turning to you fully, the man stares at you for a long moment, or at least that’s what you think he’s doing. He’s almost entirely shrouded in darkness, features indiscernible. You don’t dare shine your light on him for fear of what’s lying within the shadows. “Why did you whistle back?”

The question takes you off guard. You answer honestly, unsure of how else to proceed. “I thought my friends were playing a prank on me.”

He straightens, back going stiff. “There’s more of you out here?” There’s a lilt to his voice that you can’t quite pinpoint- it doesn’t sound like the dialects or accents of this region.

Shaking your head quickly, you make a loose gesture over your shoulder. “No, they’re - they’re camping. I got lost and -“

“The nearest campsite is 15 miles south. No one told you to bring a local with you?” His tone is harsh, unforgiving. Distantly, you feel like a child being scolded for doing something very obviously stupid.

Continuing, you try to redeem yourself. It’s hard to sound confident, because your chest is heaving as you still fight to catch your breath. “We did! But he’s just a superstitious kook, said not to ‘whistle back,’ so I thought it was his idea of a game-“

“Someone explicitly tells you not to do something, so you go and do it?” He’s livid now, and if you weren’t so exhausted, you might be fearful of his obvious disdain.

Shrinking back at his words, you look down at your feet, opting to not respond.

With a tremendous sigh, he snaps his fingers at your feet. All at once, the bonds keeping you tethered in place disappear. You think you’ll fall, but then a hand on your arm catches you.

You look up at the stranger, who is finally close enough to you to roughly make out a face. You can’t distinguish features, but you get the vague idea of a nose, and a mouth - forming a sentence directed at you.

“Stupid girl.” A pause, like he was thinking deeply about something. There is a note of finality when he continues, “You’ll have to come with me, there’s no way to get you back this late-”

“I am not going with you.” The words escape before you even register thinking them.

You desperately wish you could see his expression in the beat of silence that passes before he responds. “I’m sorry, are you actively trying to die?”

“Being alone in the woods is just as dangerous as being alone with some weirdo who hangs out in the woods.” You point out matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry I was in the woods and able to save you from a wandering-“ A rustle nearby interrupts whatever condescending point he was going to throw at you. His face glances up quickly, so fast you almost don’t catch it in the low light.

You try to follow his line of sight, but are unable to pinpoint what’s caught his attention beyond the noise. You’re still craning your head to see around the trees when he speaks again.

“Come on. I’m not negotiating on your behalf again - keep up.” He turns on you then, cloak billowing behind him as he takes off into the woods, in the direction you were running away from. It feels counterintuitive, going deeper into the brush, but you think it’s probably better to follow someone who calls you names than something that wants to… what?

Eat you? Dismember you? You don’t think anything that chases has good intentions, so you take off behind the mysterious figure.

Struggling to keep up with his long strides, you manage to disrupt every leaf on the ground, breaking every twig within a three-foot radius of your path. In contrast, the stranger seems to float above the ground, his path untraceable to your eyes. He never glances back, just sighs loudly when another crack! ricochets around you both.

Unsure of how long you’ve been walking, you’re about to ask how much further you need to go when you step into a clearing. For the first time since you left your campsite, you can fully see your surroundings. Lanterns are stationed periodically along the fence encircling the clearing, spindly white flowers climbing out of the ground where the wooden posts meet the earth.

At the center of everything is a house - no, a cottage. The rocks that make up the facade are covered in moss, only patches of their gray exterior visible. The porch is made of wood, an obvious, newer extension of the original house, that features a single rocking chair and a small table. More of the same white flowers bloom around the structure, along with some kind of berry bush that grows in clusters around the porch. A chimney is blowing a steady stream of smoke, and your heart aches with the promise of the warmth awaiting you.

Beautiful, you think faintly.

As you grow nearer the house, your hand reaches out to brush the bushes, curiously -

“Don’t touch those.” Comes the accented voice, sharp.

Your hand snaps back to your chest, as if struck. “Are they poisonous?” You call to his back as he continues walking, not trying to hide the worry in your tone.

“No, they’re delicious.” He says flatly, tossing the words over his shoulder. He sounds… amused, almost. You think you can hear a smirk in his voice as he goes on, “And difficult to grow in this region. Leave them alone.”

Frowning, you don’t dare to reach out again.

The porch steps creak as you climb them, wind rustling the flowers so that they bend towards you, grazing your legs. They’re feather-light, and so smooth they almost feel like air. It tickles pleasantly, the sensation sending goosebumps up your legs, a shiver running down your spine. You wonder what kind of plant it is, not having seen it anywhere prior to entering the clearing. Its pale petals grow in a column, looking almost like fingers as they curl around your calf in a caress.

A snort above you draws your attention. You drag your gaze away from the blooms to look at the source of the sound.

He’s framed by the glow of a lantern on the porch, features still masked in darkness. It creates a kind of halo of light around him, flickering with every lick of flame in the lantern. You think you see the air pulsate around him, just once, but decide to chalk it up to the rustic quality of the lighting.

“What’s so funny?” You inquire, sounding too defensive for it to be unassuming.

He’s looking at you, you can tell, but it’s unnerving to not be able to directly meet his gaze. “They’re flirts.” He explains simply, turning away again.

Brow furrowing, you press him further. “Who?”

“The black snakeroot.” He jerks a thumb at the flowers, still barely brushing against your skin.

You look down at where the petals meet your flesh, studying their movements. Upon closer inspection, you find they aren’t guided by the breeze that makes its way through the clearing. You take a sudden step back, inhaling sharply.

“Relax, they’re protective.” He sounds bored as he says it, having reached the front door, scraping his fingers against the wood of a door in a way that appeared simultaneously random and very, very intentional.

The door unlocks with a quiet click, your guide disappearing inside without a word back to you.

You glance around, eyes running over the trees, the fence posts, the flowers, still outstretched toward you. With a sigh of your own, you follow him inside.

He’s nowhere to be found once you cross the threshold. It should have been unsettling, but the warm atmosphere distracts you as soon as you walk in. You take the moment of solitude to openly stare at your new surroundings.

In a word, it’s cozy. The fireplace you dreamed of outside is crackling comfortingly from the living room, a green couch covered in blankets sitting across it. The floor is some kind of stone, but covered in carpets so that it’s cushioned when you walk. There’s a set of stairs ahead of you, and a doorway to your left. The room is cast in a golden hue, thanks to the fire, and it feels worn-in without being old.

A bookshelf lined with ancient and dense looking tomes catches your attention. You wander across the room to it standing on your toes to peer up at the higher shelves that just barely escape your reach.

Most of them were leather-bound, in varying earth tones of brown and green. The language was some kind of Latin base, because you recognized the letters, but couldn’t understand the meaning. Words like “Växtmagi” and “Ört” stared back at you with utter unfamiliarity, while others like “Encyklopedi” could be inferred with a bit more ease.

You reach a hand up, unable to resist the curiosity of what the worn leather would feel like against your fingertips.

“Why do you keep trying to touch things?”

You jump into the air, hands snapping down to your sides as you whirl around to face the intrusion.

Your stranger is standing about four feet away from you, sans cloak, holding a mug of something steaming. He looks huge in this little cottage, head a meager foot away from the ceiling.

He is, you realize with a jolt, terribly handsome.

A high contrast face; Dark eyes, dark, tousled hair, perhaps longer than even yours. His face was thin, but not gaunt. Defined. He couldn’t have been more than ten years older than you, though the stubble along his jaw probably aged him considerably. His expression was unflinching, almost cold - but his lips held a softness to them that was hard to ignore.

Lips that were currently scolding you, again. “My cloudberries, my books - And your shoes are still on? I make you tea and you track mud into my home?”

You look down at your boots, which are, admittedly, caked in mud, leaves, and grass. Doing your best to tip-toe, you gingerly make your way back to the front door, sliding the shoes off carefully to avoid any more debris falling onto the floor.

Boots safely set aside, you straighten yourself, face almost colliding with a hot mug being held by an outstretched arm.

He still looks like he hates you and might kick you out for bringing in mud, but you suppose the tea is an act of kindness you can accept. If he wanted you dead, he could have just left you in the woods after all.

You take the mug with a quiet “thank you” that goes unacknowledged as he turns around, disappearing through the doorway you saw earlier. Gnawing at your lip, you’re unsure if you’re meant to follow. You are curious, after all, about what lies beyond the mystery doorway. You hear a soft clanking, then a dull thud, and your feet move before your mind can make a decision.

The first thing that hits you is the aroma. It makes you salivate, something spicy and warm that heats up the room and your fingertips. Your nose follows the delectable smell to a tray of rolls, striped and knotted in intricate patterns, sitting on the kitchen table.

“Are these cinnamon rolls?” You ask, peering at them over the rim of your mug.

“No. Kanelbullar.” His reply is curt. He’s grinding some kind of herb with a mortar and pestle, not looking up at you.

Lowering your mug, you try a different tactic. “Um, I’m sorry, by the way. For the mud and the books and the cow-berries-“

“Cloudberries.” He corrects you, walking to stand over a pot, stirring some kind of liquid. That must have been the clanking you heard earlier. He adds the herb-paste from his bowl into the pot, along with a sprinkle of some kind of jarred powder.

It reminds you of those old Halloween movies, where the witches make potions in great big cauldrons hanging over open fire. Only his orange Dutch oven is a bit less menacing than a proper cauldron, you suppose.

It takes your mind a moment to catch up with your ears. “Cloudberries? I’ve never heard of those.”

You can see him roll his eyes. “And because you’ve never heard of them, they must not exist? How very American.”

Your mouth gapes open, taken aback. “I never said they didn't exist.” Frustration bubbles up in you as you barrel on, “What’s your issue, anyways? If I’m pissing you off just by being here, I can go.”

Going was the last thing you wanted to do, but your wounded pride wouldn’t let you say that out loud.

Setting down his spoon with a huff, he turns to you, arms crossed. “My issue is stupid little girls wandering into the woods-“

“I am not a little girl.” You spit at him venomously. “I am a grown fucking woman who appreciates the help, but doesn’t need to put up with some know-it-all man who-“

He turns off the stove as he cuts you off. “‘Grown women’ don’t go on suicide missions to retrieve a water bottle-“

The air goes still as he realizes his mistake.

You set down your mug, slowly. Taking a shaky breath, the words come out steadier than you feel. “I never told you what I was doing in the woods.”

His dark gaze is cast downwards, refusing to meet yours. His fingers twitch, like he’s resisting the urge to fidget.

That emboldens you. “How did you know what I was doing out there?” Your eyes narrow to slits as the evidence begins to accumulate in your mind. “How were you there so conveniently?”

His mouth opens, closes again. After a moment, he speaks, voice softer than you’ve heard this entire time.

“The dandelions are gossips.”

Titling your head as if that will help you to hear better, your response is an eloquent, “Huh?”

He sighs, uncrossing his arms, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s the dandelions - they gossip, all day long, floating around to try and chat up anyone who will listen-“

“You’re blaming the weeds for being a stalker?” Your eyes widen incredulously, voice steadily climbing in volume.

“I am not a stalker!” He has the gall to look insulted. “They told - they said there was someone. Someone new. Someone they liked.”

You blink at him once, twice, unable to form a cohesive string of words in response. What the fuck did you get yourself into now?

“I’m not crazy!” He insists, as if reading your mind. His eyes are wide, like if he opens them enough you’ll see the honesty there. His voice rushes as he continues. “Look, let me start from the beginning, okay? I’m not crazy.”

You can’t pinpoint why, but you want to hear him out, if only to satisfy your own curiosity as to what, exactly, is going on.

He’s grumpy, sure, but being a complete fucking wackjob is a surprise to you.

You wave a hand, motioning for him to continue. He sits down at the table, so you follow suit, the tray of pastries resting between you. Your eyes must linger on the rolls for a moment too long, because he sighs and pushes the tray towards you. An offering.

Delighted, you pluck one off the top of the mountain, tearing off a piece and popping it into your mouth. You have to fight back a moan at the taste: cardamom, sugar, and butter melting on your tongue. You understand his earlier disdain at your question, now, because this is infinitely better than a cinnamon roll.

He’s hesitant to speak, mouth opening and closing as you scarf down your roll, like he can’t find the right words to sway you. After a moment, he sighs. “So the dandelions -”

“Nope.” You cut him off around a mouthful of bread. “Try again, without the magical gossiping dandelions.”

He frowns, looking more petulant than upset. “They are gossips, have you really never spoken to them?”

Swallowing your last bite, you level a stare at him. His expression is earnest, genuine - you realize he is waiting for your answer. Briefly, you wonder about the flavor quality of peyote, thinking he’s absolutely laced your food with whatever he’s been snorting. You set down the remaining scraps of your roll before you respond.

“Um, no? I don’t really talk to plants?” It comes out as a question rather than a statement

The look he gives you mirrors your confusion. His eyebrows are knitted together tightly, like he’s trying to work out a particularly difficult problem. “Why?”

You’re getting nowhere in this conversation. Pressing your palms into your eyes, you continue, unable to conceal your exasperation. “Because plants don’t talk, big guy. I’m sorry to have to be the one to break this news to you-”

“Humans don’t talk to their plants?” He sounds less confused, more… Sad. His phrasing seems strange, though.

“Why do you say ‘human’ like you’re not one?” Your voice wavers more than you would like, betraying your nerves.

The sadness disappears, replaced by contempt that borders on disgust. “Ugh, because I’m not. I’m a häxmästare-”

“You’re a hamster?” You echo, ready to grab the tray of rolls and take your chances in the woods.

“No, I - Blessed be to the old gods and the new, shut up, girl.” His head is fully in his hands, and you’d be insulted by his exasperation toward you if he wasn’t bat shit crazy.

There’s a pause, as if he’s thinking over his next words. After a minute, he lifts his head. “Okay, here’s how we’re going to do things: You’re going to eat the kanelbullar, be good and stay quiet, and I’ll do the talking.”

Your mouth opens in protest, only to be silenced by raised eyebrows and a warning finger pointing at you. Your face furrows into something that definitely isn’t a pout, eyes narrow and lower lip jutted out, as you take another roll, tearing off a chunk with more force than necessary.

He seems happy enough with your response, straightening his posture before he begins speaking again. “The dandelions told me when you arrived in the woods. They got the snakeroot overly excited in the process - but that doesn’t matter right now.” His eyes are glazed over, unfocused as though he’s looking through you rather than at you as he continues. “They said you were new, and that they wanted to meet you. I think-” A wince, “I think they might have convinced the water sprites to steal your water bottle, so I apologize for that. They’re hard to keep a hold on.”

You chew thoughtfully, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but feel more confused than ever. He must recognize it in your expression, because he tries again.

“I’m a häxmästare, a ‘warlock’ is what your people call it, I believe. I take care of the woods and the creatures who inhabit it.” His expression is bashful, as if he’s embarrassed to be explaining himself like this. You can’t help but find it endearing. “They keep me informed of what’s happening, but I haven’t spoken to a human in awhile, so please be patient with me.”

He’s looking back at you now, as if to check if you are okay. His expression has softened, the corners of his eyes downturned as his gaze meets yours. You can’t help but notice how his mouth has the same pretty curve to it, a slope of sincerity that ends at a decline. You resolutely keep your mouth shut, silently urging him on with a wave of your hand.

“I had to check - just for preventative purposes, of course.” He explains hastily, eyes widening. “The people in the town have been trying to build some kind of factory or another out here for the last century. Usually nothing a well-placed missing persons report can’t fix, but -“ A shrug, “I still monitored the camping grounds, making sure nothing was amiss. I didn’t find anything remarkable, but then…” He trails off wistfully.

He’s quiet for long enough that you feel inclined to speak up. “Then…?” You prod.

Blinking, as if lost in his own thoughts, he looks at you again. His eyes look old - older than the rest of him, if the crinkles of crows’ feet are anything to go by. It’s as if you can see a millennium of sadness encapsulated there, swirling in pools of a brown so deep it appears black at first glance. Your heart aches, though you can’t pinpoint why.

The haze dissipates then, replaced with perfect clarity. His focus is sharper now, honed in on you in a way that teeters into the territory of being overwhelming. You resist the natural inclination to look away, to break the thread of tension that connects you both.

“Then I saw you.”

Your sharp intake of breath is thunderous in the heavy silence between you. It’s tense, charged - like the air before a lightning storm.

Swallowing thickly, you choose to press in. “And?”

His mouth is set into a thin line, eyes downturned, like he’s delivering the most heartbreaking news to you. “And I thought you were perfect.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a sad looking smile as his eyes scan you, studying your face closely. “The dandelions did you no justice.”

Your heart thumps erratically in your chest, threatening to escape through your throat. “What did they say?” You hear yourself ask.

He blinks at you slowly. “They said you were beautiful.” His head tilts slightly as he studies your face. “Not enough though. They could say it until the sun implodes and still not fully encapsulate what it felt like to look at you the first time.” A pause. He breaks eye contact first, looking down suddenly. You immediately miss the weight of his gaze on you, fearing you’ll float away without it to anchor you down. His hands are clasped on the table, fingers laced together. You’re wondering what it would feel like to be woven around the aforementioned digits when he continues shakily, “And every time after that.”

Your cheeks are hot as blood rushes to them, unfamiliar with this kind of praise. You had boyfriends, girlfriends - but none of them looked at you the way this stranger did. It was reverence, and despite the circumstances, you found yourself wanting to bask in it.

You realize your body is leaning forward, towards him - you’re closer now, him mirroring your posture, elbows resting on the table. “What else did they say?” The words fall from your lips without conscious thought, your tone betraying your need for more. It’s a new feeling, one that you can’t name for a moment. Searching your brain, you try to pinpoint the emotion, the need to have him talk to you, about you. Then, an epiphany: Desperation. That’s the feeling. Desperate for what, though, you’re still unsure.

He’s close enough now that you can feel the breath he lets out against your cheeks. “They said -“ he falters, eyes darting down to your lips before coming up again to meet your gaze. His voice is raspy, thick. “They said you are mine.”

Something about his tone has you fighting the urge to squirm in your chair, thighs pressing together unconsciously. The motion doesn’t go unnoticed, his eyes darting down to where your legs are hidden by the table. Briefly worrying he can see directly through the piece of furniture, you go completely still.

“What’s your name?” You croak, a pitiful sound that does nothing to distract from your fidgeting.

“Joakim.” Is his soft response, looking up from the table. “My friends call me Jolly.”

The irony isn’t lost on you, the two of you sharing a smile at the nickname. Feeling more relaxed at the interaction, you can’t help but goad, “You have friends?”

He faux-winces at your jab, the expression melting into a slight smile. “Not very good ones. Liars and beggars, vampires and demons, the like.”

You’re not sure if he’s joking, so you don’t ask - you’d rather not know if he’s in cahoots with evil beings at the moment. It does prompt another question, though. “So, you do… magic?”

His eyes brighten at the question. “Mm, yes. Mostly cottage magic nowadays. I’ve mellowed with age.”

The idea of this iteration of him being “mellow” makes you snort. Propping your chin on your hand, you lean back in your chair, thankful for the respite. “So you were doing crazy dark magic before? Summoning demons or something?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, despite how quietly you’ve both been speaking.

He’s looking you directly in the eyes as he responds. “No, I did sex magic.”

That’s… you’re not sure what you expected him to say. It wasn’t that, though. And though you want to respond delicately, though you now have more questions than you do answers, all you respond with is: “Oh.”

He leaning even closer now, inches from your face. Your eyes settle onto your fidgeting hands in a poor attempt to cope with his heavy gaze.

“Would you like to know how it works?” His voice barely surpasses a whisper, but his breath fans over your face, and you might melt here and now.

Yes, your body screams. You want to look up, read his expression - is he just teasing you? To what end? Making you feel embarrassed, or making you want to know more? The threat of his eyes and the depths you may find keep you staring resolutely at your hands as you contemplate your options.

On one hand, not knowing will not hurt you. You can return to your very normal life, water your very normal plants (that do not talk!) and have a glass of wine in the evening after you figure out how to make those cannula-things.

It would be fine. But, for some reason, it sounds awful.

You already understood it now: The not knowing would eat you alive. You would always wonder what would have happened if you said “yes.”

Finally, with your eyes still fixed on your hands, you give him a short nod. He lets out a long exhale and, despite not looking at him, you can feel his eyes trail over you, hear his mouth open as his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Everyone has different intentions with it. I was stupid, and wanted to be immortal. Or something close.”

You brave a look at him, breath catching when your eyes lock with his blown black pupils, which contrast deliciously with his pale skin. His lips are tinged a faint shade of candy apple red, shiny and slick with spit from licking them. You almost wonder what they would taste like…

“You can’t just do the deed and have the potential for magic, though. Magic needs a… reserve, so to speak. Something to draw from.” He’s staring at your barely parted lips now, breath coming out ragged between them.

Unable to look away, you wait for his attention to refocus. You can’t help but think that he may be just as feverish as you are, skin burning just as hot under his clothes.

“The point of climax, release: that’s when the magic is at its highest potential, when it can be harnessed. Do it right and you can add ten, twenty years to your life span in one go.” His words are scientific, objective - but his tone is entirely different, rumbling and low. It feels like every word he speaks sizzles on your skinlike drops of oil in a scalding hot pan.

“How old does that make you?” You inquire, swallowing around nothing. You’re unsure if you want to know.

He grins, just slightly, a nefarious thing that makes your stomach clench in an unfamiliar way - like a roller coaster drop, but more caustic. “I’m seven hundred and forty-three.”

Your inhale is sharp, chest tightening. “You must be good at it then.” You say, tone veering towards flirtation. The implication is not unintentional.

He stands then, slowly, his figure coming closer until he’s looming over you. His fingers latch onto a stray tendril of your hair, twirling it around idly. He eclipses the overhead light like this; it illuminates him from behind, and you suspect he's fully aware of how unearthly it makes him look. Your breath catches in your throat at the proximity of his hand to your neck, wanting to lean into it until your skin touches his. You stay stock-still, though, and he sounds self-assured as he says, “I’m very, very good at it.”

You’re separated by about four inches of air, charged like a cloud in a thunderstorm. If you leaned up, your noses would touch. Any more and -

“Would you like me to show you?” His words make your entire body tense. Underneath layers of clothing, your nipples ache. Clenching on nothing, your jaw tightens in anticipation.

You want him to show you everything. His eyes are taking you apart systematically, separating skin from bone in careful strips. You feel raw, as though he really did free you from the that first layer of dermis, carving until you’re nothing but a ball of nerves and want, lying on his kitchen table. How would it feel for him to put you back together?

“Please.” Comes your wanton reply, high-pitched and whiny.

He gives you a demeaning smile, as if he’s won a prize, or bested you in an elaborate game. You find you don’t care if he’s at the advantage here - part of you relishes in being the one who lost.

He pushes in his chair then. You swear you feel the vibrations of it dragging across the stone in your flesh, like a bone-deep itch. Without another word, he extends a hand to you, giving you one final out.

It’s an escape you don’t take. As you slip your hand into his, you try not to shiver when his rough palms trail across your own.

His grip is firm but not overbearing as he guides you out of the kitchen and up the stairs. They groan as you step, but somehow, they conspicuously remain silent under his light tread.

Upstairs is less illuminated, but still visible enough for you to get around, even being unfamiliar with the space. A mattress is laid on the floor to the right of the room, a desk to the left. The back wall is made up of bookshelves, though how they stay upright from the sheer amount of books stuffed onto their shelves is a mystery. There’s more volumes stacked on the desk, papers covered with unfamiliar symbols tucked between the pages. Two empty mugs sit on the floor beside the bed, dried tea leaves stuck to their walls. A plate with nothing but crumbs and a lonesome bread crust sits atop a stack of books near the desk.

It’s kind of a wreck, you realize, and you hate how enamored you are with it all. It’s entirely too easy to picture him up here, reading until the early hours of morning, drinking tea and falling asleep before it can be cleaned up.

He at least has the decency to look bashful. “I would have cleaned, had I known I’d be having a guest. Nicholas is the only one who really stops by anymore, and his standards are in Hell.”

You flash him a smile you hope is reassuring. “I understand. Who’s Nicholas- should I be jealous?”

He shakes his head, huffing a small laugh. “No, he’s not really my type.”

You’re walking over to him slowly, speaking as you go. “Oh yeah? What is your type then?”

It’s a challenge, one he seems happy to accept. “Hmm, let me think.” He closes the distance between you both, hand coming up to push your hair past your shoulders. “Human.” He states plainly, unzipping your jacket and pulling it off your arms swiftly. “Kind of stupid.” A finger runs from the hollow of your throat to the top edge of your t-shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

You roll your eyes, but say nothing. He grins at your silence, leaning in so that his lips graze the shell of your ear. “In fact, I love stupid girls who clench their little cunts at the mere thought of me fucking them.”

It's a wonder you don’t collapse onto the pile of books nearest you. His breath fans across your ear, grazes your neck. When he’s this close you realize how large he actually is, frame towering over you. It makes you feel small, bordering on vulnerable, and part of you almost wants to run away- just to see what he does.

As if he can sense your instinct, one of his arms snakes around your waist, pulling you securely into his chest. “And you? What’s your type?” His eyes are half-lidded, gazing down at you.

“Hmm, let me think.” You mock. His lips twitch, as if fighting back a smile. “Weird. Old. Lives in Baba Yaga’s hut.” Your tone is flat, doing your best to give him an unimpressed look.

His returning smile is wicked, a glint in his eye making your heart flutter. “You are going to be so much fun to break.”

You don’t have time to gasp before his lips lock with yours, the hand on your waist pushing you impossibly closer. Your hands come up to brace themselves against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

His free hand comes up to tangle in the back of your hair, jerking your head back so he has unfettered access to your neck. A trail of sloppy, wet kisses are left there, hindered only by your shirt.

Releasing you to grab at the bottom hem of the pesky garment, he yanks it over your head roughly. You can feel your hair standing up in every direction, but you find you don’t care as he works to unhook your bra, too, breasts swinging freely as the scrap of fabric falls to the floor.

His lips find your sternum, kissing down to your stomach as he moves to his knees, fingers working at he button of your pants now. The trousers and your panties come off in a single movement, so that you’re suddenly very bare in front of him.

He stops then, pulling back to survey you hungrily. You resist the urge to fidget under his stare, finally asking “What?”

“Hush.” Comes his response. “I’m trying to figure out what I want to do to you first.”

Your mouth goes dry at his words, toes curling into the plush carpet beneath you. “Well, are you going to do it, or are you going to just think about it?” As soon as the words escape, you know you’ve fucked up.

His dark eyes trail up your body to your face, leaving a burning path in their wake. With an unnatural ease, he shoves you up against the wall, still on his knees before you. “We need to fuck this rebellious streak out of you.” He informs you, running a single digit along the top of your bare thigh. “I bet you’d be docile, if someone just gave you what you need.”

You’re searching for a response, mouth opening and closing with unspoken protests. “I’m not a horse to break.” You finally stammer out, sounding much weaker than you had hoped.

“No, you’re not quite that wild.” He says smugly. “You have the potential to be a very good girl, though.”

You hate that it gives you goosebumps, hate that he’s so close he can clearly see them, hate that he can see how much you want.

“You can’t even lie, don’t even have it in you to pretend you don’t want to be taken apart.” The same finger is on your hipbone now, tracing circles. “I could do it, tutta. I could break you down so easily. All you need to do is ask.”

Your breathing is ragged, chest heaving with the effort. “Do it then.” You spit, trying not to to tremble.

He leans in, closer, closer, until he’s no more than two inches away from where you need him. When he speaks, his hot breath on your core makes your thighs shake. “Try again with some fucking manners.”

The strength leaves your body as you let out a noise that could be considered a sob. “Please.”

“Duktig flicka,” he sighs, hands diving between your legs to grip the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up the wall, your feet hovering above the ground.

You gasp in surprise, but it’s drowned out by a strangled moan as his lips wrap around your clit and suck. Your fingers instinctively find his hair, gripping onto the brunette tresses desperately.

His tongue makes a sloppy line from your clit to your hole, finding it wet and wanting. Your head collides with the wall as your neck snaps back when he plunges his tongue into your cunt, groaning like he’s the one receiving pleasure.

Mouth open and panting, your eyelids flutter at the sensation, almost unable to stay open. You can’t even grind into him, any leverage you have currently out of commission with your legs over his shoulders. It’s a feat he’s kept you up this long- though you aren’t going to complain.

As if you thought it into existence, he’s lowering your legs quickly, and you’re thankful they don’t collapse underneath you. There’s no time to celebrate your accomplishment, though, before he’s spinning you around to press you against the wall again.

His hands grip your thighs from behind, yanking your legs back until you’re bent forward ever so slightly, arms holding you up. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when he dives back into you, and-

Oh.

No one’s ever dared put their mouth there, and it feels so lascivious and depraved that you can’t help but grind back into it desperately. The noise you make is more gargle than moan, but you can’t bring yourself to be particularly invested when he’s dragging his tongue between your two holes, lapping at the taut skin that bridges them.

One of your hands blindly reaches behind you to pull his face impossibly closer, stretching to your tip-toes to rub yourself against him. You think you feel him grin into you, which you shouldn't find so hot, but a gush of arousal escapes you anyway. His tongue delves down your leg to lap what escaped him the first time, the streak of spit left on your thigh like a brand in its heat.

His hands are on your hips, pulling you farther away from the wall so that your arms are fully extended to keep you upright. His nose nudges between your folds, the friction making you dizzy.

“Want to see a trick?” He asks into your pussy, panting.

You don’t know if your heart can take any more surprises, but you still whimper out a pathetic, “Please.”

He hums approvingly, giving you a, “Good manners” before he goes back in, tongue following the creases of your pussy until he reaches your hole, which is embarrassingly clenching and unclenching around nothing.

His tongue darts in, pointed, and you sag with the relief of having something inside you. It extends, flexing, dragging against your walls deliciously. You think nothing of it until it keeps going, far past where a human tongue could go. Lapping at a tight bundle of nerves in you, it continues until there’s nowhere else to go, licking so deep inside you that your eyes roll back into your skull. You let out a guttural sound that’s akin to a dying breath, stomach so tense it’s a wonder you haven’t puked.

One of the hands gripping your hip comes down between the mounds of flesh on your backside, thumb dipping into your ass with ease. The newness makes you jolt, relaxing into the intrusion almost immediately. No one has ever done this to you before. You don't know how you ever came without it.

The fullness is what does you in. You feel stuffed to the brim, can’t imagine fitting anything else inside you even if you tried. Joakim replaces the tip of his thumb for the entirety of his index finger, thicker and longer, and your vision explodes into white.

He coaxes it out of you, finger working in and out of you in shallow movements, tongue still curled up inside your other entrance. Your legs are shaking, but you can’t stop fucking back against his face, staccato moans escaping you in a flurry as you twitch through it.

Eventually his tongue retreats, pulling out his finger simultaneously. The sensation alone makes you slide down the wall to your knees, spent. You vaguely register him taking off his shirt, unzipping his pants. Any other time, you’d want to watch, enjoy the process, but you can’t even imagine moving right now.

His grip returns to you immediately, though, repositioning you as though you were nothing more than a rag doll, shoulders pressed into the floor, hips in the air.

“What about the bed-“ You don’t get a chance to finish before you feel the blunt, wet head of his cock lining up with your pussy.

“I’ll fuck you on the bed when you can show me you deserve it.” As he speaks, he runs a calloused hand up your spine, pushing you further into the ground. “Until then, you get fucked on the floor where you belong.”

You’re going to protest- going to put up some kind of fight, but then his cock breaches your hole and the complaint on your lips turns into a pathetic mewl as your back arches to accommodate him better.

It’s big - it’s so big, and you can’t figure out if it’s a magical thing or a natural-born gift from the heavens, but your nails are clawing into the fabric of the carpet as he slides it into you. It’s unbelievably thick, and long enough that it leaves you wondering when he’ll bottom out. The stretch is wonderful, bordering on overwhelming in its bulk. You don’t think there’s enough room in you for it, but you’re willing to sacrifice a few organs to make it fit. Finally, after what feels like minutes, you feel the press of his pelvis against your ass.

“Breathe.” The softness in his tone betrays the nature of the command. You suck in a deep breath, unaware you weren’t doing so before, as he rubs your back soothingly. A puddle of drool has accumulated on your cheek, a result of your open, unbreathing mouth as he sank himself into you.

“You feel perfect.” He sighs, the hand on your back moving to grip at your hips, squeezing the flesh there. “So wet for me, huh? Couldn’t wait to get a cock in you.”

You’re focusing on breathing, chest heaving irregularly. Still, you manage to gasp out a, “B-big.”

He chuckles, the motion of it making him shift inside you, and you thank whoever above that is listening that you’ll likely die like this instead of in the woods, mauled by a bear.

“Ready for me to fuck you?” He asks sweetly, giving your hips another squeeze.

How could I be? You don’t say. You don’t think you’ll ever be ready, which is why you do your best to nod and whine, “Please.”

He pulls out slowly, too slowly, you fear you’ll go insane before he’s done pulling out of you. Then, with a snap of his hips, he’s stuffed back inside you in an instant.

You scream, tremors rock through your body as you’re jostled forward. Your muscles are tensing and relaxing sporadically, hands becoming claws, then fists, then spreading open-palmed where they rest on the floor.

“See what good manners get you?” He taunts as he ever so slowly slides out again. You almost collapse without him inside you to hold your lower half up, but his firm grasp on you keeps your ass in the air at a humiliating angle.

You’re seeing stars when he fucks into you again, so fast you don’t even have time to miss the feeling of his cock. His pace picks up, spearing into you rhythmically, grunts escaping him as he did so.

You almost wish you could be a more active participant, but the force with which he fucks you leaves no room for you to try and grind back onto him. All you can do is take, take, take, legs quivering from the constant stimulation.

Joakim is murmuring profanity behind you, some of it in English, much of it in whatever language he spoke before. You can tell by his inflection that whatever he’s saying is foul, degrading, and wicked. Desperately, you wish you knew what it meant.

“Gillar du det här?” On a particularly targeted thrust, his hand releases your hip to tangle in your hair, yanking you up so that your back arches at an impossible angle.

You keen, arms shaking in their quest to hold your body up. “Does your pussy like this?” He grunts, still holding a handful of your hair.

An animalistic moan is your response, open-mouthed and piteous. He pulls out, until just the tip remains inside you, then stills. You all but roar in protest, but a swift slap to your ass silences you.

“I asked you a question.” He says pointedly.

Your shoulder blades flex, elbows trying to bend despite the impossibility of the movement. “I wan’na cum, please, I’m so close-“

Another loud smack, this one leaves the skin stinging and hot in its wake. You choke on a sob, fighting back the urge to scream, cry, or spontaneously combust.

“I expect an answer.” He goads.

“Wha-“ Smack. A tear escapes your eye. You want to bang your fists on the ground in frustration, mind too muddled to understand what’s warranting this egregious mistreatment. Taking a deep breath, you think back to what he asked earlier.

When you answer, it’s a rush of words, like you can’t expel them from your body quick enough. “Yes, yes, yes my pussy likes it, please-“

“Awh,” His response is all taunting remorse. “Just ‘likes,’ huh?”

He still hasn’t moved. Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, desperation creeping up on you. If he doesn’t let you cum you’ll die, you’re sure of it. As it is now, you’ll never be able to fuck anyone else again. You’re ruined.

“My pussy loves it, please Joakim-“ Your words are cut off in a wet gurgle as he resumes his pace, as if he never stopped. You’re weeping from the pleasure now, sobs wracking your body. To an outsider, it would look painful - but you’re sure that if he stops again, your heart will stop with him.

“There she goes, that wasn’t so hard, huh?” Even he is starting to sound worked up, syllables coming out as puffs of breath. “Your pussy is mine.” He emphasizes the last word with a thrust that has your eyelids fluttering shut, unable to stay open any longer.

“All yours.” You slur, vision hazy when you open your eyes again.

Something is pulsating in your gut, seeming to grow with every second that passes. It’s not just your orgasm creeping up on you - it feels bigger. He must sense it too, because his thrusts get faster, sloppier. “Feel that?” He asks between gasps.

You try to nod, only to remember that he’s maintained an iron grip on your hair. Sweat and tears mix and run down your neck. “Yeah.” Is all you’re able to croak.

“Cum with me, käresta, you can do it.” His voice is in your ear, in your head, in your cunt. You don’t have any fight left in you, feeling emotionally spent. His voice is such a comfort to your raw nerves, you can’t resist doing as he says.

When you cum, it’s in a silent inhale, body convulsing almost violently on his cock. You can feel him cum inside you, feel it start to leak out as he fucks you through it. He’s speaking, something about “good girl” and “that’s it, give it to me,” but your foggy brain doesn’t register anything beyond those praises.

He lets you go slowly, gingerly helping your legs collapse fully on the floor. When he pulls out, a rush of his cum follows him, sliding down your thighs and splattering grotesquely onto the carpet. When you finally open your eyes, it takes you a moment to register the change to your surroundings.

Everything is tinged in a rosy glow - it’s warm, and you can smell jasmine in the air, like it’s growing from the vertices of the walls. When you lift your head, you’re awestruck when you see the ceiling has somehow been replaced with a summertime sunrise, golds and pinks mixing seamlessly above you.

Someone - Joakim, you think deliriously - is lifting you, setting you on something cushioned and incredibly cozy. He follows your line of sight to the ceiling, grinning when he realizes what you’re staring at.

“It’s a magic thing; If you don’t give it a specific purpose, it kind of just hangs out in the air and dissipates after a while.” He has a washcloth in hand, though you don’t know where he procured it from, and is gently wiping down the inside of your thighs. It’s almost too much, but he works quickly, patting you dry with a towel that must be made of clouds, it’s so soft.

He’s crawling over to lay next to you, then pulls you into his chest. He smells like campfire and woods and freshly mowed grass, a smell you find yourself burrowing into. One of his hands is rubbing your back, featherlight so as to not overwhelm you.

“You’ve ruined me.” You murmur into his chest.

You can feel the rumble of his laughter. “Oh, did I?”

Nodding, you pull back just enough to look up at him. “How am I ever going to go back into the real world? How am I supposed to ever enjoy sex again?”

His eyes darken, but his lips press a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Easy: Don’t go, only have sex with me.”

You giggle now, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Don’t say that. You’ve already fed me, you can’t fuck me too. I’ll keep coming back. You’ll be tempted to give me a name, then the kids will get attached -“

For the first time tonight, you see him laugh. Granted, it’s not much - more of a snicker through the nose. But it’s contagious enough that you break character and smile as you feel him smile into the kiss.

“Shut up, mouthy girl.” He moves from your forehead to cover your mouth with his, pulling a cover over you both so that the sunrise won’t disturb your sleep.

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens smut #joakim karlsson fic #jolly karlsson fic #jolly karlsson smut #I'm gnawing on my leg to escape this bear trap #stupid girl indeed #makes me wish i could whistle #Taylor don't do this at home

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aplaceinthedark · 8 days

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Reblog if you didn’t write My Immortal

We’re going to find the author by process of elimination.

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aplaceinthedark · 11 days

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Some writers: *meticulously plan out every plot point and the tone and meanings before they start writing*

Me:

#y'all #i wrote LitL literally as i went

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aplaceinthedark · 15 days

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prologue: JOURNEY to the OAKEN GROVE

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm.

Word Count: 1,011

CW: supernatural themes, character death, off-screen carnage, mind control, male dominating a woman's will

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

FEATURED CREATURES

@ladyveronikawrites @lilhobgobbler @deathblacksmoke @cookiesupplier @thatchickwiththecamera

Long ago, in ages past, all living things commanded infinite power and roamed unchecked across the land. They were as spirits and could speak and perform strong magic. Though in time, an evil had spread across the land, and it was decided that the world’s magic needed to be protected.

That’s what a lot of children in this part of the Shenandoah Valley was told, as part of some tales told by their Grannies. But not miss Elin Young. When she was a child, she was taught that those were selfish practices.

“Darkness only sought to make all creatures equal,” her granny told her, “and to share their power totally amongst all things…” But still, some creatures wanted to keep their strengths secret, and concealed their divinity, leaving the world lifeless and dull. Only the wise Watcher of the Woods remembered how the world had been, and could guide others to true Enlightenment.

Elin Young had done a lot of things most people would have been ashamed of in her past, but it had all been in the name of that such True Enlightenment, she told herself. She had sacrificed much in the journey, but she had remained strong. There was no way anything would stand in her way.

At least that’s what she tried to tell herself as she bled out into the cold, dark earth.

As that same ancient dirt beneath her leeched the warmth from her bones, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth it in the end, if this was the end she was receiving. Lying on a bed of pine needles, her body torn asunder, was not what she envisioned. It was not what the Watcher of the Woods had promised her.

It had been exactly a year and a day since the disastrous summer solstice, when a new Vessel was supposed to be Hollowed and Imbued with the Black Stag’s might. Instead, the Towering Man had stolen that might and kept it for himself, selfishly hoarding it from her Family. Through that year and a day, Elin remained strong, her belief telling her that the Revered Father would return to reclaim his stolen crown.

But earlier this dark night, the Family had tried to summon the Black Stag and instead was met with the form of a beast: a pale, silver-furred Grim whose eyes danced with glee when he saw the meal that had assembled before him. The congregation tried to scatter and she knew that they were being picked off, judging by their screams.

Elin had escaped the Grim only to have a brush with the second of the horrors of the Shenandoah Valley. Luckily, the Drowned had been preoccupied with his own victims, lured to him by his siren song, and then torn apart by his teeth and claws. Elin had pressed on, certain that she would soon find her way out of the woods.

Finally, she had felt certain that she was near the edge of the woods, when she had run into a familiar face. “Nick! Oh my god, thank goodness I found–”

Elin had barely gotten those words out when she felt herself freeze, and before she turned around, she swore she could see Nick’s eyes glow green in his stony face. Against her will, she started moving back into the woods. In horror, she realized that Nicholas was as he trailed behind her, directing her further and further in, until they had reached the place where the old and twisted oak tree grew.

There she was forced to kneel down. She, however, was not forced to plead for mercy, but she did anyway. Her only warning of what was to come was the creaking of trees and the rustling of leaves as the tree… moved.

And one of the people she sacrificed in the name of True Enlightenment came face to face with her.

AFTER ALL YOU’VE DONE TO ME?

said the new Watcher of the Woods.

DID YOU ACTUALLY THINK THE PAIN YOU CAUSED ME WOULD SEND ME TO AN EARLY GRAVE? DID YOU ACTUALLY THINK I COULDN’T BREAK THOSE CHAINS AFTER ALL THE HELL YOU MADE ME OVERCOME?

And then the new Watcher shifted his face into something vaguely familiar, and the young woman wept from fear at last. In front of Elin stood the man she betrayed to the Revered Father, who two years ago she had coerced into the woods.

Elin bowed her head and cried, “Please forgive me! I never wanted to do those things! They made me do them! I still love you!” She was willing to say anything, even lie through her teeth, if it meant she could walk out of this alive.

And the Watcher knew this, because he laughed before saying,

YOU WERE THE REASON I WAS CONSUMED BY THE DARK; THE REASON I WAS CONSUMED BY THE BLACK. I ALMOST LOST MYSELF IN ALL THE LIES YOU TOLD, BUT I’M BACK NOW, AND STRONGER THAN YOU’D THINK.

Noah Davis was a sweet boy when she first met him. His mother had just died, but he still had a spark in him. A spark that the Revered Father coveted, and would eventually claim. And maybe that’s why he was unrecognizable as he flung her around.

And now, as he leaned over her, she knew the humanity had really left him.

THERE’S A LOT OF HOLLOW SOULS OUT HERE IN THESE WOODS; A LOT WHO WOULD LOVE TO SEE YOU BURN. AND IF YOU DO SEE YOUR SO-CALLED “FATHER,” TELL HIM I’VE GOT A MESSAGE FOR HIM.

And he left her to die, there, alone.

Despite her faith, despite all that she sacrificed, she died unfulfilled. The only thing she held onto in her black heart was the hatred for the man who left her to die, who cheated her out of what she had been promised. She was glad that the Black Stag had taken his heart, for he could never know love again.

And if he did… well, nothing in these woods ever truly stayed dead.

tysm for reading! Next part coming soon!

#boosties #bad omens fanfiction

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aplaceinthedark · 15 days

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Blabbermouth

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader x Nicholas Ruffiio

Word Count: 5,650

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Unprotected sex. Oral (M & F receiving). Multiple orgasms. Elements of Dom!Nick & Sub!Noah. Alcohol Consumption.

Taglist: @somebodyels3 @herbhuntress

Masterlist

A/N: I feel like you guys have been super excited to read this, so apologies in advance if it doesn't meet your expectations 🥹🫣

Also. I am setting up a general taglist. So, if you'd like to be tagged in everything I post for Bad Omens going forward, let me know. I'm eventually going to set up a form.

Noah can be a real blabbermouth once he's comfortable around someone. When you first meet him it's hard to get him to open up, but once he knows you, and decides he likes you, it's hard to get him to stop. You'd been around all the guys long enough now that you were used to it and most of the time you could zone him out. But certain situations made it worse and much harder to ignore, this being one of them. He got chattier after a few beers and got especially bad whenever he had a pretty girl, naked and whining under him.

Technically, you were still fully dressed, but you were so, so, pretty. And the 4 beers he’d drank at the party before you’d dragged him upstairs were not helping. Noah was practically chewing a hole into his bottom lip as he watched you. You, on your knees in front of him, one of his hands weaved into your hair holding you in place as he rocked his hips into your mouth. His mouth was practically itching with desire to just word-vomit his entire stream of consciousness and he could feel the words building in his throat, teeth releasing his bottom lip to let out a moan and then the words were tumbling out before he could stop them.

Once he got started, it was like he couldn’t stop.

“Nicky’s gonna fucking kill me.” You were only half listening, too focused on what you were doing to be able to hear everything he said. But you caught enough of the words to make you raise a brow.

“Gonna get into so much trouble.” Each word was punctuated by moans as he sped up the movements of his hips. This was like dirty talk to him. Noah kept rambling, you’d zoned in on his words now, and the alcohol flowing through your own veins barely made it all make sense.

“Look at you. So beautiful.” You moaned at the compliment, hands gripping his thighs as he fucked his way into your mouth.

“Wish he could see this.” His hands pulled your hair harder as he spoke, he was getting himself off on the feeling of your mouth and his own words, the thought of you and him and you and Nicholas. Maybe you, him and Nicholas. He moaned louder then, and you both thought for a second that maybe someone downstairs would hear you. He wasn’t sure if he’d mind, if he was lucky it’d be Nicholas that came up and caught you both in the act.

“He’s gonna hate me. So worth it.” You tapped your hand against his thigh after that, he was talking too much and it was frying your brain a little trying to work out what he was talking about. He eased his grip on your hair at the tap and slid his hips back halting his movements, unable to stop the whine that left his lips as yours left him. You leant back on your heels as he released you, looking up at him.

“Can we not talk about my best friend right now, please.” You lifted your hand and wrapped it around him as you spoke, not wanting to ruin the moment, just slow it down. Hearing about Nicholas while Noah was in your mouth felt wrong, you were supposed to be focusing on Noah but all this talk had your best friend's face coming into view in your mind. And you felt bad. Thinking of Nicholas while you sucked Noah’s cock.

“Can’t help it.” He whined out hips hitching forward as your hand wrapped around him, that itch was there again, the incessant desire to start speaking without thought.

“You look so pretty like this.” You smiled up at him, increasing the speed of your hand, compliments went straight through you to your core and you were already soaked. The sexual tension between you and Noah had been building for weeks, and being so close to being full of what you wanted had you clenching around nothing.

“I bet Nicky would think you were pretty too.” You furrowed your brows, letting go of Noah, arms crossing over your chest with a frown.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Noah looked confused as first, his brain didn’t always work when he was like this. And it took him a second to piece together what he’d said. He’d gotten a little carried away.

“I didn’t- I don’t.” Noah stumbled over his words, cheeks flushing bright red as he tried to answer your question. You were glaring at him now and despite you being on your knees he felt smaller than you at that moment.

“You always talk about your best friend when getting off?”

“No, no it’s not. I just.” He couldn’t get his mind to work at all and he was mumbling, embarrassed, all his words mixed up.

“I don’t- I. I.” You had your hands on your hips, still glaring up at him.

“You what? Noah, are you into Nick? Is that what this is? Do you get off on talking about him while his best friend sucks your dick?” He looked taken aback by your questioning, stumbling backwards, his boxers still around his ankles.

“No. I mean yes, a little bit. But I’m into you too. And well Nicks into you and I- I promised him I wouldn’t do anything.” The words came out in such a rush you could barely make out one word from the next, your head spinning.

“He loves you. And I...” He whined as the words left his lips, not finishing his sentence, instead reaching to grab his boxers and pull them up. He didn’t know why he’d said it, but he couldn’t take it back. You stood up as he started to redress, your own brain barely functioning. Nicholas loved you?

“Wait.” You grabbed your phone from the bed, pressing dial on Nick's contact, your eyes never leaving Noahs as you waited for Nick to pick up. You could hear the music downstairs get quieter and then Nick answered, the sounds blaring through your phone.

“Hey! Where are you? Come back to the party.”

“Party's over. Kick everyone out and then come upstairs. My room. Now.” You didn't give Nick a chance to respond, you ended the call and threw your phone back on the bed. Noah's actions had stalled as he waited to see your next move, you couldn't tell if he was excited or scared, but you closed the gap between you both and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I'm not angry at you, I promise. I just want to speak to Nicky.”

The music had stopped, and you could hear the sounds of the crowd of people leaving out onto the street. Then Nick's voice, shouting your name.

“What's wrong? Is everything okay?” You put a bit of distance between you and Noah as you heard Nick's voice.

“Noah said you're in love with me.” Nick halted his line of questioning, eyes snapping over to Noah. Taking in his appearance, pants not zipped up, the flush of his cheeks and then onto you, your messed up hair and swollen lips.

“Noah said I'm in love with you, while you were… Giving him head?” You could see the confusion and hurt swirling through his eyes, as his brain tried to process what you were telling him.

“Well. Yeah actually that is how it happened. But-” Noah cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

“It just slipped out, Nicky. I- I didn't mean to.”

“Didn't mean to what? Get the girl I told you I'm in love with to blow you, or accidentally tell her I love her half way through.” You could tell Nick was furious, his eyes darkened and jaw clenched as he spoke. This isn't how you wanted this to go, you needed to get the situation back under control. You stepped towards Nick, one palm resting on his chest, the other hand moving up to his jaw making him look at you.

“So it's true? You're in love with me?” His eyes softened as he looked down at you, he was still furious with Noah for touching you but your hands on him calmed his mind. He mumbled out a soft ‘yes' searching your face for any hint of disgust. He didn't find any. Instead, you lifted yourself up onto your tiptoes and connected your lips, softly at first and then more insistently as Nick started to kiss back.

You heard Noah whine from behind you, not sure what to make of the sight in front of him. Nick had just been angry with him seconds ago, and although you'd told him you weren't angry a few moments before you'd called Nick up, he wasn't sure he was convinced. He thought maybe it would be for the best if he left, stopping only when your hand reached out to grab at him as he tried to shuffle past you and Nick.

As you pulled back from Nick, his eyes landed on Noah’s face, before Nick could do or say anything to scare him away you reached up and pulled Noah into a kiss, keeping one hand securely gripped onto Nick's shirt to stop him from pulling away. Noah's mouth was a lot more hesitant than it had been when you'd both first stumbled upstairs together, you could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him. You mumbled soft praise against his lips, moving your free hand up to thread into his hair.

You held him there as you pulled back, turning to engage Nick in another kiss. The three of you remained like this for a short while, you holding onto the both of them, kissing one and then the other. Moving back and forth between the pair. Neither of them speaking, allowing you complete control over the situation.

“Noah didn't want to upset you Nick.” Your hand released from Nick's shirt, sliding up to his cheek as you pulled him into another kiss, using the hand in Noah's hair to pull his face towards you so you could capture his lips the second you released Nicks. Neither of them were touching the other, two individual sets of hands holding onto your hips and waist.

“You just got a little carried away didn't you baby?” Noah made a noise, low in his throat, almost a whine as he connected his lips with yours. Nick took in the sight, appreciating for the first time the way you and Noah seemed to fit together. He'd been so wrapped up in his affections for you, that he'd never once considered that Noah may be feeling for you the same as him. Sure, Noah had always agreed when Nick spoke to him about how gorgeous he thought you were, but Nick hadn't realised the feelings went any further than that. The possibility of what could happen had Nick speaking before his brain could finalise the thought.

“Doesn't matter if he meant to or not, sweetheart. Noah betrayed my trust. He at least needs to be punished for that.” Nick's face was almost unreadable as he spoke, you and Noah separating from one another to look at him. He moved one hand from your waist across to Noahs, giving the man a soft squeeze. It was supposed to be reassuring, but Noah's brain had gotten stuck on the word ‘punished’ and he was ignorant to almost everything after that.

“Punished?” His brain whirled a million miles a second as it tried to figure out what he could be in store for. Completely zoned out of your conversation as he thought back over every drunken conversation he'd ever had with Nick about various kinks. He swallowed thickly, Nick's hand leaving his waist snapping him back to the current situation.

“Go take a seat Noah.” Nick motioned with his free hand towards the chair in front of your dressing table. You watched Noah hesitate, eyes resting on the chair for a good 5 seconds before he walked over, tentatively sitting down knees pressed close together, hands hooking under his thighs.

“If you want to be good, you better sit there and stay still. If you don't… If you don't, I'll have to tie you in place.” Nick turned his attention away from Noah, both his hands returning to grip your waist, removing all distance between your bodies as he pulled you into another kiss. Years of mutual yearning seemed to bleed into the moment. Your hands sliding up to his hair, his fingers digging into your sides as you whined against him. Your whine was echoed, the sound coming from your right. Noah. You broke the kiss to look at him, hearing Nick huff out a soft laugh as you both took in the sight. Noah was fidgeting, knuckles white and curled round the edge of the chair, desperately holding himself in place.

“I thought I told you to stay still.”

“I'm trying. I'm trying, please.” Noah’s eyes were wide, almost filled with innocence as he begged, the word please leaving his mouth on repeat as Nicholas took hold of the end of his belt. His fingers made quick work of the buckle, pulling the leather from the loops of his jeans.

“Think we should tie him up? Make sure he can't move. Make him watch.” Noah shook his head with a loud whine, eyes flicking to yours.

“She's not going to help you, Noah. Look at me.” Noah's eyes flicked away from you back to Nick, but when you turned, Nick's eyes were trained on you. Still waiting on an answer.

“If… If Noah's okay with it. I want him to watch. And then we'll take care of him afterwards. Right?” You moved your eyes between them both as you spoke, Noah may have been whimpering and begging just a moment ago but it didn't actually seem like he wanted things to stop. You saw Nicholas’s face soften, leaning in close to Noah, his belt still in his hands as he whispered to him. Noah's eyes landed on you as Nick spoke, you couldn't hear what he was saying but Noah looked pleased about it, eventually nodding his head in agreement.

“I'm going to tie Noah's hands behind the chair. Then he's going to use his mouth on you baby. And then. Well, I won't spoil all the surprises.” Nick moved round the chair as he spoke, his hands taking hold of Noah's wrists gently pulling them behind the back of the chair. He slid his belt round and looped it through, wrapping it round a number of times to secure it.

“If it's too tight, now is your only chance to complain.” Noah flexed his hands and shook his head, mumbling out a soft ‘okay’. Nick was happy with the answer, buckling it in place and then tugging gently to make sure it wouldn't release too easily. It wouldn't. He stood, and walked back round to you, his fingers reaching for the top of your jeans as he settled behind you, his chest against your back. You lent your head back against Nick's shoulder, letting out a shaky breath as the two of you looked down at Noah. He was sucking his lower lip into his mouth, that feeling of needing to talk slowly starting to take over as he watched you and Nick lean into each other.

“I promised Noah he could have a taste of you sweetheart, need you to take these off.” The words were almost whispered against your skin, his fingers reaching for the button on the front of your jeans, popping it open. Your hands joined his, pushing your jeans off your hips with a wiggle, sliding them all the way down till you could kick them off. Noah's mouth opened at that, a soft whine escaping him as he caught sight of your soft white underwear. You brought your hands up to the hem of your pants moving to push them down until Nick's hands grabbed onto yours.

“Nick-” He cut you off, pulling your hands away from your underwear.

“Let Noah have you like this. I want to be the first to truly have you.” You nodded, taking a step forward towards the chair.

“You said I could taste her. Please… Please.” Noah was whining, eyes blown wide with lust as he tugged against his restraints.

“Look how soaked she is Noah baby, you'll be tasting her plenty.” There wasn't going to be an easy way to do this. You steadied yourself with one hand on Noah's left shoulder, lifting your leg up and over the other. Nick's hands eased you forward slightly, till you felt Noah's nose nudge against your clothed core. You were grateful you'd decided to wear some relatively nice underwear for the party, the white cotton already soaked right through.

Your breath hitched as Noah's nose brushed against you again, pushing right up against your clit. His tongue flattened out against your core, the sensation was lessened with the cotton barrier between you, but it pulled a moan from you all the same. You couldn't make out a word, but he was whining against you, soft compliments and curses leaving his lips as he desperately tried to find your sweet spot with his tongue. You moved your hand from his shoulder up to his hair, pushing him into you, a moan of his name escaping your lips. Hearing you moaning for him had him squirming in his seat, wrists tugging at the restraint with the desire to get closer to you.

Nick's hands were helping keep you balanced, as you worked your hips against Noah's face. His fingers sliding up your shirt to caress your chest. Noah was trying his best, tongue lapping at the material that covered you, teeth trying to nip and bite against every inch of you he could get his mouth on.

“I need more.” You gasped, as Noah pressed his tongue right up against your clit, desperately licking and sucking at the material as he heard your reaction.

“Can't come like this, it's not enough. Noah please. I need more.”

Nick's hands slid back down to the waist, carefully pulling you away from Noah, helping place your leg back down on the floor. Noah's head tried to follow after you, a desperate whine leaving his lips when you were fully out of reach. More whines and begs leaving his lips as he tried to convince Nicholas to let him have you properly.

“Time to take these pretty panties off baby, then I'll look after you.” Your hands almost flew to the edges of your underwear, pushing them down your legs almost frantic.

“Give them to me.” You paused, ready to kick them off, lifting them up for Nick with a confused smile.

“Well these are practically dripping baby. Looks like you did a good job Noah.” You felt yourself blush, cheeks heating up as Nick moved away from you, your underwear hooked on one finger. You watched as he took a hold of Noah's jaw with one hand, pulling it open, pushing your underwear into Noah's mouth. Noah's cheeks were bright red now too, whether from the compliment or the soaked underwear now in his mouth, you weren't sure. Likely both.

“I think you've said enough tonight Noah, don't you?” Noah whined around the material in his mouth, the sound muffled but still just as desperate. Nick mumbled out a soft ‘good boy’ just loud enough for Noah to hear, stroking one hand through his hair before pulling away. With Noah now gagged and bound, Nick turned to you, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head before pushing you back onto the bed, kicking your legs open.

“My turn.” Nick leant down between your thighs, holding you open enough for Noah to see before he lent in, his tongue swiping over your exposed clit. You moaned, back arching off the bed as his tongue slid down, pressing flat against your entrance before pushing inside. Your ears were ringing, eyes tightly shut. Noah had gotten you warmed up, but Nick was sending you barrelling towards the edge.

You allowed yourself a moment to just revel in the pleasure of it all, your best friend, the man you'd had feelings for for years had his head buried between your thighs. His other best friend, a man you'd lusted over for months, was tied and gagged watching the whole thing.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, eyes unable to choose where to focus. Noah’s eyes were full of desperation, you could tell from the way he moved that he was pulling at his restraints again, watching Nick pull the orgasm from you, the orgasm that should have been his. Your eyes moved away from him, down to Nick, his eyes were closed, completely lost in your pleasure.

As your orgasm approached you found yourself drawn to watching Noah more. He was watching you too, taking in your every reaction to Nick's actions. Watching you fall apart under Nick's tongue almost seemed to have calmed him, he'd stopped writhing, more interested in watching you as your breaths seemed to quicken, chest rising and falling at an unnatural speed. You sunk one hand into Nick's hair, pushing your hips up into him, finding yourself unable to break eye contact with Noah. Nick slid two fingers into you, curling up to press against your sweet spot and that was all it took. Your eyes widened as it took over you and so did Noahs, his hips lifting off the chair with an embarrassed moan. You could tell from the look on his face, that he was riding that same high. His orgasm flowing through him at the same time, untouched, getting off on watching you fall apart.

You released your grip on Nick's hair as you slumped back against the bed, finally breaking eye contact with Noah.

“You liked looking at him baby?” You nodded, unable to formulate a response as you came down from your high.

“Yeah? I think Noah liked it too.” He rose up, turning to face Noah.

“That's right isn't it Noah? You had a good time?” You could hear Noah whine as he tried to respond, you wanted to watch but Nick's body was blocking your view. You managed to raise yourself back up onto your elbows, shuffling yourself back onto the bed as Nick started to pull Noah's jeans from his legs.

“Let's get you out of these clothes baby.” His hands made quick work of Noah's jeans and boxers, using his soiled underwear to clean Noah up as best he could. Fingers pulling your soaked underwear from Noah's mouth.

“Think you'll be okay to watch for a little longer?” Noah nodded, moving his jaw while he could to try and alleviate some of the ache.

“I wanna watch. But then I want her, like you-” Nick cut him off, balling your underwear back up into Noah's mouth.

“Can't have you spoiling all the surprises baby.” You raised a brow. Presumably this is what they'd agreed on when they'd been whispering. Nick looked almost smug as he turned back to face you, climbing onto the bed next to you, his own jeans now removed and thrown to the side with the rest of your clothes.

“Get on your hands and knees for me baby. Straight in front of Noah. Want you to keep your eyes on him.” You maneuvered yourself into position, head falling to rest on the edge of the bed as you caught your breath, still trying to settle yourself after that first orgasm. You could feel Nick moving behind you, you could hear the sounds of him removing the last remnants of his clothes, but you couldn't look, face buried deep in the bed sheets as you waited for his touch.

The touch started with one hand sliding through your hair, tugging your head up until you were at eye level with Noah. He looked even more desperate than before.

“Didn't I just tell you to keep your eyes on him? Don't start misbehaving for me now sweetheart, I can very easily untie Noah and swap your places.” You moaned, your brain beginning to paint a very nice picture in your mind. You pushed your hips back against Nick, another moan leaving you. You wanted him inside of you more than anything.

“I'll be good.” You nodded your head, pushing your hips back against him again. You felt the tip of Nick's cock brush against your opening and you moaned out. Noah was practically vibrating with desire, whimpering round the gag in his mouth as he watched Nick line himself up behind you. Nick held your head in place, forcing you to maintain eye contact with Noah as he slid into you, bottoming out in one long thrust. Your mouth fell open in awe at the stretch, a string of nonsensical moans passing your lips. Noah was squirming against his restraints still, whining against the gag in his mouth as he watched. He was painfully hard again, his cock still untouched and not being able to touch either of you was driving him crazy.

“She feels amazing, Noah. God, she's so fucking tight.” Nick wasted no time, his free hand gripping your hip, pulling you into him with every thrust so your hips met with a loud slap of skin on skin. He slid back and forth, slowly at first, watching his cock as it disappeared between your folds. Until finally, he tightened his hold on you and started to increase his speed until it was almost unmanageable, your arms wavering under the pressure to keep you upright with each thrust rocking your body forward.

“Fuck, Nick please-” He dropped his hand from your hip, reaching under you to press his fingers against your clit.

“Gonna cum for me again baby? Let Noah watch you fall apart on my cock?” He hummed under his breath as you clenched around him. He let his own eyes rest on Noah for the first time since he'd entered you, all the jealousy and anger he'd felt at the start of the evening was now long gone. If anything he wanted to thank Noah for being stupid enough to open his mouth in the first place. He made a silent promise to make sure they put Noah's pleasure first next time.

Next time. He was getting a bit ahead of himself.

Noah choked out a moan when he looked away from you to find Nick's gaze on him, you tried to turn your head to look but Nick held you in place. This moment was for him and Noah only.

“You've been such a good little audience for us haven't you Noah? Hmm.” Nick's pace seemed to increase tenfold, his voice wavering now as he spoke, his climax creeping up on him. You were clenching around him desperately, your own high approaching thick and fast.

“Shit. Noah…” You felt your stomach tighten as the man above you moaned the others’ name, your nails curling into the bedsheets with a whine. You tried to warn Nick of your impending orgasm, but you couldn't will yourself to open your mouth for anything other than a moan. Nick's gaze dropped back down to you, to his hand curled into your hair holding you in place.

“How pretty does she look like this, huh? Does she look pretty like this baby?” The words were enough to send you over the edge, clamping down around him as you came, loud moans of his name and Noah's leaving your lips as the pleasure took complete control of your body. Nick wasn't far behind you, spilling into you with one last deep thrust and a low groan.

His hand released the grip it had on your hair and your upper body finally collapsed into the sheets. Your arms had long since given up on you, his hand being the only thing that had kept you in place as he'd hammered into you. He slid out of you, hands caressing your hips as he rolled you onto your back, leaning in to claim your lips in a soft kiss.

“You can't be getting tired just yet sweetheart.” His words were soft and teasing, hands massaging your waist and lower back. The moment felt sweet, especially in comparison to your previous activities.

“Am not tired.”

“Yeah? Think you've got another one in you baby girl?” You nodded, though part of you was unsure, Nick had really taken a lot out of you. You sat yourself up and shuffled towards the end of the bed, reaching across till you could pull the underwear from Noah's mouth, throwing them to the side.

“You still-” You couldn't even get the sentence out before Noah started pleading, incoherent mumbles of ‘please’ and ‘need’ leaving his lips, words all jumbled up. The sentence may not have made sense but the words themselves served as confirmation enough of what he wanted. You stood from the bed and lifted one foot up to rest on the edge of the chair next to his leg. You did the same with the other, holding yourself in a squat position, your core dragging over the tip of Noah's cock.

You gave yourself a second to make sure you were stable and then you sunk down onto him completely. Your head flew back at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you. He let out a hiss, pulling at his restraints with a groan as you lifted yourself almost fully off his cock, sinking yourself slowly back down. Noah's head had tipped forwards resting in the crook of your neck as his lips and teeth scraped over your skin. Moans and whispers being lost against you, all the build up of watching and not being touched was almost too much for him. He just wanted to touch you.

Nick moved from where you'd left him on the bed, sliding one hand across your back as he passed you, kneeling down at the back of the chair. He loosened the belt around Noah's wrist, and Noah was pulling his hands free before the belt had even fully come undone. His hands grabbed at your waist, lifting you up with him from the chair with a growl, never detaching himself from you. He took a few wavering steps forwards and then lowered you to the bed, cock still resting inside you.

“Needed to touch you-” You grabbed at him, fingers bruising his shoulders as you pulled him closer to you, his lips meeting yours as he started to move his hips. Any uncertainty you held about your ability to orgasm for a third time was soon forgotten. Neither of you would last long like this. Especially with the way he seemed to pick up speed with every second that passed, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust in.

“Perfect- God so fucking perfect.” Even with his lips against yours, Noah couldn't help his talking, everything he'd been dying to say flowing out of him now he finally had the chance. This time you weren't trying to zone him out.

“Fucking knew it- God. Nick was right.” His words were tumbling from his lips, mixed with moans and whispers of your name.

“You feel so fucking amazing.” And you came just like that, his lips hovering over yours, him speaking his every thought about how you felt around him. The auditory stimulation was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before and it brought you to the peak faster than you anticipated, already sensitive from the two Nick had gotten from you.

You clenched down on him as you came, nails digging into the flesh of his biceps as you felt yourself fall apart for the third time. All of the time spent tied up, had Noah on the edge from the very second he'd entered you, so it didn't take much for him to join you, spilling himself inside of you with a loud moan of your name, reconnecting your mouths as you both rode out the high together.

As you tried to come back to normality, you tapped Noah's side with one hand, silently asking him to move off you. At your touch, Noah rolled himself off to the side, shifting himself back, further onto the bed, his hand reaching for yours to lace your fingers together as you both tried to catch your breath. Nick had disappeared from the room at some point while you and Noah had been together, and you both shared a look, worried he might not be returning.

“Nick?” It was Noah that spoke, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

“I'm right here baby, just went to grab some supplies while you finished off.” His voice came from down the hall. You blushed at his wording, shifting on the bed till you felt a pillow under your head. Pulling Noah along with you, his arm wrapping around your waist. Nick reappeared in the doorway, holding a large glass of water, a towel tucked under his arm and a collection of leftover party snacks in his other hand.

“Don't get comfy just yet, need to clean up and drink some water first.” Nick came over to the bed, placing the water and snacks down on the bedside table, taking the towel between your legs to carefully clean you up.

When you were done, Nick fully satisfied that you and Noah had drunk enough of the water, the towel thrown off to the side to join the pile of clothes, you curled yourselves up, all together, Nick behind you, Noah in front, laid on his back, your head resting on his chest.

“Noah?”

“Yeah Nick?”

“Thank you.”

#bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #nicholas ruffilo smut

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aplaceinthedark · 15 days

Text

prologue: JOURNEY to the OAKEN GROVE

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm.

Word Count: 1,011

CW: supernatural themes, character death, off-screen carnage, mind control, male dominating a woman's will

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

FEATURED CREATURES

@ladyveronikawrites @lilhobgobbler @deathblacksmoke @cookiesupplier @thatchickwiththecamera

At least that’s what she tried to tell herself as she bled out into the cold, dark earth.

Finally, she had felt certain that she was near the edge of the woods, when she had run into a familiar face. “Nick! Oh my god, thank goodness I found–”

And one of the people she sacrificed in the name of True Enlightenment came face to face with her.

AFTER ALL YOU’VE DONE TO ME?

said the new Watcher of the Woods.

DID YOU ACTUALLY THINK THE PAIN YOU CAUSED ME WOULD SEND ME TO AN EARLY GRAVE? DID YOU ACTUALLY THINK I COULDN’T BREAK THOSE CHAINS AFTER ALL THE HELL YOU MADE ME OVERCOME?

And the Watcher knew this, because he laughed before saying,

YOU WERE THE REASON I WAS CONSUMED BY THE DARK; THE REASON I WAS CONSUMED BY THE BLACK. I ALMOST LOST MYSELF IN ALL THE LIES YOU TOLD, BUT I’M BACK NOW, AND STRONGER THAN YOU’D THINK.

And now, as he leaned over her, she knew the humanity had really left him.

THERE’S A LOT OF HOLLOW SOULS OUT HERE IN THESE WOODS; A LOT WHO WOULD LOVE TO SEE YOU BURN. AND IF YOU DO SEE YOUR SO-CALLED “FATHER,” TELL HIM I’VE GOT A MESSAGE FOR HIM.

And he left her to die, there, alone.

And if he did… well, nothing in these woods ever truly stayed dead.

tysm for reading! Next part coming soon!

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #bad omens au #noah sebastian fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #Jolly Karlsson fanfiction #nick folio fanfiction #series: lost in the labyrinth #fic: looking for the meaning #author: aplaceinthedark

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aplaceinthedark · 17 days

Note

Lore corner for project hepad: what harm are these deities causing to the world, and why are guys specifically the ones chosen to hunt them down?

They haven't had to deal with actual gods yet, moreso people who want to summon them into the world. There's multiple strike task forces that serve special purposes, and Bad Omens just happens to have the specialty of dealing with the occult and tactical theology.

But there is one god, a "Type Black" called Murmur, that has been trying to breach reality so they can retake the world, and Bad Omens along with Mab have been drafted to deal with them.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #bad omens au #noah sebastian fanfiction #wip weekend #paranormal au

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aplaceinthedark · 17 days

Note

Looking for the meaning 3x3!!!!

Have some... fluff? Idk what it is. Just Taylor bonding with Folio.

“Hi Folio,” I said. An ear perked up at the same time his head rose to regard me. He let out a soft sound, almost like a boof, and rested his head back onto the ground. Well, at least he reacted to me. I sat down next to his colossal build. Even lying on his stomach, my head barely came up to his back. A couple of times I had found myself wondering how big he would've been if he had died and been cursed when he was a full-grown adult like the other two. I pulled out my headphones and set them over my ears, muffling the sounds of Jolly's guitar. I dug into my bag for the container and book I had brought with me. “Nick made steak and potatoes for dinner last night,” I said, opening the container. I saw one of Folio's eyes open as I held the leftovers out to him. “I know it's not a whole lot, but I thought you might–” I could barely finish the sentence when Folio stuck his muzzle into the box, nearly taking my hand off. The food was gone in less than two seconds. He made a sound that I thought sounded happy as he licked his lips, and then he licked my face. He then settled back down, but he curled up more around me.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #wip weekend #bad omens au #series: lost in the labyrinth

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aplaceinthedark · 17 days

Note

Tell me about Project HEPTAD. What's the premise, what's the story? Give me the details!

Project Heptad doesn't really have a "story" per se, it's supposed to be a collection of cases that Bad Omens takes along with their newest member, Researcher and Ontokineticist Mab Grey, who has a history with Noah. Kinda a "hates him but also kinda wants to fuck him" situation. Also there's faeries and monsters and paranormal stuff (Noah is half-fae, actually! He has homo sapiens tumuli lineage)

#bad omens rpf #bad omens au #noah sebastian fanfiction #paranormal au #wip weekend

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aplaceinthedark · 17 days

Text

i can see you in my fate

pairing: nick ruffilo x f!reader

summary: prelude to the euclid polyverse—a collection of little moments telling the story of how nick and reader met and fell in love.

cw: sex with strangers, public sex (kind of), pining, some of the sweetest fluff i've ever written in my entire life bc how could i not with these two

word count: 2.3K

author's note: a brainworm given to me by @darksigns-exe (as is almost always the case) turned into the poly origins i've been wanting to write for ages. i hope y'all enjoy it <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics 💐

“You have to come with us,” your friends had insisted. You’ve spent too long cooped up, and a band one of them is into at the moment is in town. It’ll be fun.

Not exactly your idea of a fun night, but unable to say no again, you find yourself here, alone and feeling awkward at the bar. Your friends have long disappeared into the crowd, but it’s fine enough. The music isn’t half bad—nothing you’d listen to on your own, but paired with the cheap drinks, it’s loud enough to shut out your thoughts.

Moments away from ordering your Uber and calling it a night, deciding you’ve more than honored your commitment, someone sidles up to the barstool next to yours.

Normally you’d ignore him, but something about him catches your attention. He’s unassuming, laughing brightly at something the bartender says when he orders his drink. He’s so pretty, his eyes kind when they meet yours. You hadn’t noticed yourself staring, but he doesn’t seem to mind, greeting you with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hi,” he says, and that toothy smile melts you, that sweet voice. “Can I get you one?”

You remind yourself that this isn’t why you came here. Your friends wanted to get you out of the house, and they did, and now it’s time to go home. It’s such a sweet offer from such a lovely boy, though, that you find yourself accepting it against your better judgment.

“Um…sure,” you respond, feeling more shy by the moment as you prattle your order off to the bartender. There’s a fleeting feeling that he’s going to judge you by your drink choice, but he’s still smiling at you when you’re done. You feel at ease, and it’s not at all what you expected from tonight.

“I’m Nick,” he says, extending his hand to you. When you take it in yours, you’re surprised by how soft it is. It’s warm and gentle and settles your nerves.

You learn he’s not from around here. He plays bass for one of the bands that played tonight, and you don’t miss the way his eyes light up a little when you tell him the name doesn’t ring a bell, that it wasn’t your idea to come tonight, that this isn’t really your scene.

He tattoos back home in Richmond, which explains the expanse of pretty ink littering his exposed skin. You wonder who the name on his neck belongs to, but decide it’s either none of your business or a question for another time.

You won’t get your hopes up for a next time.

There are so many things you want to ask him, not used to finding yourself so comfortable so quickly with strangers in dark and noisy clubs.

He’s so animated, talking with his hands about all his favorite things—the shows he watches, his favorite bands, the stories behind his tattoos. He doesn’t get to the one on his neck before he’s sidetracked, moving a mile a minute, and you don’t ask.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” he asks you, mock outrage clear in his tone. You think maybe he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. You shake your head, sneaking a sip of your drink to hide your shy smile. “Do you want me to shut the fuck up and leave you alone?”

You’ve never shaken your head so desperately, so rushed to answer in the negative.

“No, please keep talking,” you answer, feeling as your cheeks heat but not having it in you to feel embarrassed. He’s so close to you, having slowly shifted nearer, his knee grazing your own. You burn where he touches you.

You’re working against all of your instincts, against the much smarter girl who lives inside you, so entranced by him that there’s no hesitation left in you when you accept his outstretched arm and let him lead you into the bathroom with him. You need to get your hands on him, your lips on his. It’s empty, to your surprise and delight, but the way he wedges the door closed behind him implies that he’s done this before.

You can’t allow yourself to focus on it—not when he doesn’t waste a moment, his hand slipping into your underwear and fingering through your folds while sucking a mark into the side of your neck. It’s awfully presumptuous, the whole thing, but there’s no part of you that wants to complain. You don’t have even a moment to care what your friends will think, when they pick you up for breakfast in the morning to find bruises blooming all along your skin. It just feels so good. It’s so much that you’re dizzy as you slide your hands up the back of his shirt to claw desperately at his back.

“Nick,” you gasp, feeling as your fingernail catches on the skin of his back, skin breaking. He groans, biting down hard on the side of your neck. “Nick.”

“What is it, honey? What do you need?”

The sound of the endearment spilling from his lips has you holding him closer, kissing him harder. He smiles into your mouth, clearly amused by your sudden desperation. “You, Nick. Please.”

He doesn’t move to help, doesn’t back away from you for a moment, just brings his lips back to yours.

His mind seems to snap back into reality when you start fumbling urgently with the zipper of his jeans, pulling away from the kiss and fixing you with a look that’s so shocked, so shy, so wide-eyed for someone who has two fingers inside of you, thumb still rubbing insistently at your clit.

“You—” he starts, gasping a little bit like he’s shocked by the situation, even considering he led you both into it. You go to pull your hand back, immediately concerned that you misread the situation, but he shakes his head. His eyes are still so wide and you want to kiss the dumb expression off his face. “Do you want to?”

A sliver of doubt flashes through your brain. Before you really tumble over the edge into things you can never take back, you trace your fingers along the side of his neck—

“Denise won’t mind?” you ask, realizing you probably should have brought it up before you followed him into the bathroom, but he rolls his eyes before responding.

“I’d rather not talk about my mother right now,” he responds, an amused edge to his tone.

You feel awfully silly, but he’s grinning down at you, still pleased.

As you’re slipping out of your jeans and placing them on the grimy bathroom counter, your socked feet on the sticky floor, you make the decision to be disgusted later. You take the free pass you’ve afforded yourself to do something you shouldn’t as you hand the condom you keep in your bag just in case off to Nick.

It feels filthy because it is, but you won’t allow yourself to feel any shame about it. Not now, when he’s wrapping your legs around his waist, his jeans barely pushed down to mid-thigh, and pushing himself into you deliciously slowly.

The stretch burns in a way you weren’t prepared for, but it’s nice to feel full of him. He kisses you through it when you cry out, giggles into your mouth when there’s a deep, bellowing voice attached to the fist that’s pounding on the bathroom door—

He walks you to your car after, placing a kiss to your cheek before he asks if you’ll put your number in his phone. You don’t expect anything to come from it, but it’s an awfully nice gesture for him to make you feel wanted.

You’ve barely made it through the door when your phone lights up with a text from him.

Day off tomorrow. Let me buy you breakfast?

You want to play it cool, wait a little while to answer. You don’t want to seem too eager. But the thought of him making alternate plans because you’ve made him wait makes your heart sink. You don’t even really have to think about it—the prying questions from your friends will be more than worth it if it gets you some more time with him.

I know the perfect place.

You keep waiting for the line of communication to stop, and it just…doesn’t.

You anxiously await the day you don’t get a text wishing you a good morning. He’s bound to get bored of it eventually, you figure, but no matter where he is in the world, no matter how many hours ahead or behind, the message hits your phone before you’re out the door for the day.

It makes your heart swell each time you hear from him—the calls come more often than they don’t. It’s new, having someone this interested in you. It’s unexpected, having it be someone as lovely and busy and interesting as Nick.

You can’t help but feel it’s unsustainable, and there’s a dread pooling in your belly when you think about the end. The whens and hows of it and how you’ll possibly recover.

When a text from him comes through on your phone, you decide to save your misgivings for another time. With Nick, it’s always that—you have to enjoy him while you can and worry about the consequences of it all later.

Got you a postcard in Denver and realized I don’t have your address. Something for your gallery wall.

You had mentioned it so briefly, just a tiny passing topic while you were on the phone and he was falling asleep. He’d had a long day and you didn’t expect him to retain any of what you were saying, happy just to get a little bit of time with him at the end of your own long day.

He sends a picture over and your tummy fills with butterflies—always so busy, especially on tour, and still he manages to think of you. A random girl he met one night in a city he isn’t from, at a show you hadn’t wanted to attend.

It feels like an awfully lucky game of chance you both played.

I thought you might like this one. I miss you.

It’s a cutesy little thing, hand-drawn and vintage. It doesn’t fit the vibe of your wall necessarily, but you decide quickly that it will have to. You’ll make it fit.

He sends another photo of the back of the card, Wish you were here! scrawled on the back in his pretty writing, just missing an address. You give it without a second thought.

It’s the first time he ever told you he missed you, and you’re not quite sure how much he does, but the clawing emptiness you feel has you positive you miss him more.

The first time you go to visit him is more of a happy accident than anything else. He’s home from tour for a little bit and for once you have some time off work and—

When he floats the idea of you coming to stay with him for a bit, you don’t know how you’re supposed to say no.

Over a month since you met and missing him more by the day, it’s barely even a question, not even when he mentions his best friend Noah is in town, too. You start packing a bag before he even hangs up the phone.

Pulling up in front of his house to them sitting on the porch waiting for you makes your heart flutter. They’re engrossed in a conversation and you swear you can hear Nick’s big, silly laugh even through the closed windows of the car, but they’re up and smiling before you step out.

Every worry you had about feeling out of place here is pushed away when Noah pulls you into a hug first. You hear Nick whining from somewhere behind him, and you find yourself grinning, so welcomed.

You knew what a big step this was, meeting Noah. You’ve heard Nick talk about him enough to know how important he is. Either it’s not as big of a deal as you made it out to be, or it’s really just right, the way you’ve found yourself in Nick’s life.

“Noah, she’s my girlfriend,” Nick complains, before pulling you out of Noah’s embrace and into his. It catches you by surprise, but you find yourself not wanting to question it. It’s awfully presumptuous of him, but it’s so Nick at the same time. Deciding what he wants and having it.

“I’m your girlfriend?” you ask, an edge of teasing in your voice. His reply is delayed and for a fleeting moment, you worry he’d misspoken.

“You are, aren’t you?” he responds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s what I’ve been telling everyone. I don’t really want to take it back.”

It’s just right.

Everything fits so seamlessly well you wonder how you ever managed a life before him.

When he has an opportunity for a guest spot at a tattoo shop nearby, a second thought doesn’t pass through your mind before you tell him to take it, and don’t bother renting a place.

It feels like it should have always been this way when you come home in the evenings to Nick napping on the sofa, or cooking in the kitchen, or on a phone call with his mom. The nights he works late are made worth it when you’re roused from late evening naps to delicate kisses all over your face. Your life grows around him and everything fits.

It feels idealistic, a chilly winter walk, holding hands in his coat pocket. You feel giddy, like your first high school crush, but it’s something so tangible and overwhelmingly real.

He drags you into a café for a treat and an escape from the chill outside. His gloved hands are placed on the sides of your face to warm you up and there’s no instinct left to shy away from his gaze. His nose and cheeks are tinged the faintest pink. He’s gorgeous.

“I love you,” you say without thinking.

The surprised expression you’ve come to expect from him doesn’t make its appearance this time, just his big, pretty smile, like he was waiting for it all this time. “I love you more.”

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