#Hell Spot of exertion and time

[rulesforthedance]

I could probably take 30-45 seconds off my 5k PR, but I'm not masochistic enough to find out

[taurasiluvr]

WE GOT A DOPE LOVE, WE GOT A BOND THAT THEY SPOKE OF / TWO GUNS WE DON'T GIVE THEM HATERS NO LOVE ── BUECKERS⁵

how you can help palestine part one part two

★ i got a some requests for a last part for my paige fic, so here it is!! ★ "girlyy u shld add another part to ur paige fic where reader finally breaks up w her bf and ends up giving back to paige?? (p receives) queen ur literally feeding us rn🙇🏽‍♀️" /// "and NOW i think you should do a final third part of the paige x reader where reader leaves that bum ass boyfriend and finally gets with paige 😜😜"

 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; nsfw under the cut, mdni. homophobia (from ex), arguing, singular physical altercation (if you can even call it that), oral + fingering (r giving), lovey-dovey sex, break-ups.

 ⠀ ── ⠀word count ;; 3.8k

 ⠀ ── ⠀rylin's notes ;; requests are open for those who want to send them in :p

you and your boyfriend walk hand-in-hand into the crowded gymnasium, paige's jersey clad on your body. as you made your way to the bleachers, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness. again, you were wearing paige's jersey, a silent testament to the bond you shared, and you knew it would be noticed by everyone, including your boyfriend.

he glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "you're really supporting her, huh?"

"mhm," you replied, squeezing his hand. "she's important to me, you know that."

he nodded, his expression softening. "yeah sometimes i wish i played basketball so you could support me like you do her," he joked as you gave him a nervous laugh.

the worst part of that was – you kind wish he did, too.

you found a spot in the bleachers, settling in as the players warmed up on the court. the sound of basketballs bouncing and sneakers squeaking against the floor filled the gym. you scanned the court, your eyes quickly finding paige; she looked focused and determined, her movements fluid and confident. you felt your lips curve up into a subconscious smile as you watched her, and it filled you with adoration knowing how much she loved this sport, it made you fall in love with her even more.

as the game began, you cheered along with the rest of the crowd, your excitement growing with each play. paige was on fire (per usual), her skill on full display. you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride every time she made a basket or a crucial play. your boyfriend cheered too, his competitive nature coming out as he got into the game.

at halftime, the score was close, and the tension in the gym was palpable. you turned to your boyfriend, who was animatedly discussing the game with the dad next to him. he seemed to be enjoying himself, and you felt a small sense of relief. maybe things were starting to settle down.

as the second half began, the intensity ramped up. UConn was behind by a few points, and the pressure was on. you watched her closely, her determination evident in every move she made. with just a few minutes left on the clock, she made a play, stealing the ball and driving it down the court for a layup that brought the crowd to its feet.

you jumped up, cheering loudly, your heart pounding with excitement. your boyfriend joined in, his enthusiasm matching yours. as the final buzzer sounded, UConn emerged victorious, the gym erupting in cheers and applause.

you made your way down to the court, weaving through the throngs of celebrating fans. paige spotted you and jogged over, a huge smile on her face. she looked radiant, her eyes shining with triumph.

"my god, that was insane!" you exclaimed, wrapping her in a hug.

"i know!" paige replied, her breath still coming in short gasps from the exertion. she glanced at your boyfriend and gave him a nod.

he smiled, watching the interaction between you two. "you played a hell of a game, never thought women's basketball could be that entertaining."

you cleared your throat, nudging him slightly as you gave paige a sympathetic smile. "babe," you gave him a sigh, earning a shrug from him.

paige laughed, ignoring the comment. "well uh, maybe that's your sign to watch more."

"yeah, maybe."

there was a moment of awkward silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. you felt caught between the two people who meant so much to you, each with their own place in your heart (at least, that was what you were trying to convince yourself).

paige's teammates called her over for a group photo, and she glanced behind her. "aaliyah's boyfriend is hosting an after-party, if you're down," she didn't really acknowledge your boyfriend, her gaze fixed on you.

your lips curved up into a genuine smile as you nodded, and it felt like it was just the two of you for a moment. "yeah, we're down."

"okay, perfect." paige grinned before she turned around toward the team. you watched her go, your heart swelling with a mixture of emotions.

your boyfriend squeezed your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts. "babe, we have my function tomorrow morning, remember?"

"yeah, we won't stay out too late." your gaze stayed on the blonde before you glanced at your boyfriend, forcing a smile.

he nodded, though his expression remained wary. "okay, just don't want you to be too tired."

the drive to aaliyah's boyfriend's house was filled with a tense silence, your boyfriend focused on the road while you stared out the window, lost in thought. when you arrived, the house was already crowded, music and laughter spilling out into the neighborhood.

you spotted paige as soon as you walked in, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the chaos. she waved you over, her smile bright and inviting. "hey! so glad you guys could make it,"

"of course," you replied, returning her smile. "wouldn't miss it."

your boyfriend trailed behind you, glancing around the crowded room. "nice place," he commented, his tone neutral.

paige nodded, her attention shifting to him briefly before returning to you. "yeah, it's pretty great. come on, let's get you some drinks."

as your boyfriend found some of his friends, paige led you to the kitchen where a variety of beverages were spread out on the counter. as you poured yourself a drink, paige leaned in closer, her voice low. "you okay? you seem a little tense."

you gave her a small smile, grateful for her concern. "yeah, just a lot on my mind."

paige's eyes softened, and she gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "i'm here if you wanna talk."

"thanks, p," you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you at her touch.

the evening wore on, and you found yourself relaxing more and more as you mingled with friends and enjoyed the party. however, there was an underlying tension that you couldn't quite shake, a constant reminder of the complicated situation you were in.

toward the end of the night, you found yourself alone on the back porch, taking a moment to breathe in the cool night air. paige soon joined you, her presence a calming balm to your nerves.

"needed a break?" she asked, leaning against the railing beside you.

"yeah, just a little overwhelmed," you admitted, staring up at the stars.

paige nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "i get it. tonight's been a lot."

you turned to her, the unspoken tension between you palpable. "paige, you know i... i think that, um..."

paige's attention was fully fixed on you now, her eyes never leaving your face. "you think what?"

before you could finish, the door to the porch opened, and your boyfriend stumbled out, his expression exhausted but he immediately straightened up as he saw how close you and paige were. "hey, there you are. everything okay, what's goin' on?"

you sighed, your frustration bubbling over as you glanced back at him. "yeah," you muttered, annoyance taking over. with a scoff, you shook your head and began walking back into the house.

your boyfriend seemed confused and maybe even a little angry as he glanced toward you and paige. "the fuck is up with your attitude all of a sudden?"

"god, nothing," you retorted, rolling your eyes as you tried to push past him. "get outta my way."

"no! you think i'm fucking stupid?" his voice grew louder, anger seeping into his tone. he blocked your path, his presence imposing.

"just let me through," you insisted, trying to sidestep him.

"you've been acting weird all night, and now i find you out here with her?" he jabbed a finger towards paige, who had been watching the exchange with a concerned expression.

"jesus, you're overreacting!" you snapped, the tension in the air thickening. "it's not what you think-"

"oh, really? cus it sure as hell doesn't look like it," he spat back, his voice rising. he grabbed your arm and pushed you back outside, his grip tight as you let out a yelp.

the force of his grip was jarring, and the sharp yank backward sent you stumbling. your breath caught in your throat as you struggled to regain your balance, the pain from his grip making your arm throb. paige's eyes widened in alarm, and she took a step forward, her voice urgent.

"hey, asshole, let go of her!" paige shouted, her tone steely as she tried to pull you out of your boyfriend's grasp.

his grip tightened around your arm, his eyes locked onto paige's as his face contorted with anger. "don't fucking touch her," he hissed through gritted teeth. "you think you can just waltz in and steal her from me? you're a fuckin' girl and you're over here, corrupting her."

"corrupting her?" paige scoffed, her voice firm, her hands raised defensively. "what is this, the fuckin' 60s? are you kidding me?"

your boyfriend's grip on your arm tightened once more, and he turned to face paige, his eyes flashing with rage. "stay outta of this, you little bitch."

the insult hit you like a physical blow, and you flinched, your heart pounding in your chest. "don't call her that!" you shouted, your voice breaking with emotion. "let go of me!"

"or what?" he sneered, his grip still unyielding. "think you can just walk away from me?"

you could feel your anger and frustration reaching a boiling point. "god, just shut up! you're acting like a complete asshole."

"yeah, and who's the one sneaking around with this bitch?" he shot back, his words dripping with venom.

"i told you to not call her that!" you shouted, your voice cracking with emotion.

"or what?" he stepped closer to you, his face twisted in rage. "you gonna leave me for her? is that it?"

before you could respond, paige stepped between you, her gaze locked onto your boyfriend's. "you need to fuck off!"

"oh, so you're her knight in shining armor now?" he sneered as he finally let your arm go with a push, causing you to stumble backward. "fuckin' pathetic. you think you can take her from me? you're just a sad, desperate bitch who can't stand that she'll never want you like she wants me."

paige's jaw clenched, but she didn't move. "i don't need to take her from you. you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

"fuck you," he growled, pushing paige back roughly.

"don't fucking touch her!" you screamed, before getting his face.

the aggression in his actions was the final straw for you. "we are done," you declared, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt.

he turned back to you, his eyes wide with shock. "what?"

"you heard me," you said, stepping away from him. "i'm done with this. i'm done with you, no more breaks no more... no more of this, i'm done."

your boyfriend stepped back, his chest heaving with rage. "you think this is over? you think you can just walk away like this?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the quiet night. "for a girl?!"

paige stepped forward, her expression nothing short of pissed. "yeah, it is. you needa leave her alone, seriously, this shit is getting bad."

he glared at paige, his jaw clenched. "you think you're so tough, don’t you? just wait. you'll see what happens when i get back inside."

"oh yeah? i'm not fucking scared of you, i don't care who you think you are," paige snapped, she'd had enough of this guy the moment she met him – this was her last straw. "but what you're not gonna do, is step into my fucking place and threaten me or my girl."

"your girl? you gotta me fuckin' with me," he let out a bitter laugh as he took a menacing step toward paige, his eyes blazing with fury.

paige didn't flinch, her stance firm and unyielding. "yeah, my girl," she said, her voice laced with a dangerous edge. "and if you think i'm just gonna stand by and let you grab her like that, you're fucking crazy."

he sneered, his face contorting with contempt. "you really think she wants you? you're just a pathetic rebound, a distraction."

paige's eyes narrowed, her fists clenching at her sides. "this isn't about what you think. this is about you being an abusive asshole who can't handle the fact that she deserves better."

the words hit like a slap, and he recoiled, his face twisted with rage and denial. "you're fucking delusional," he spat. "she'll come crawling back to me. you'll see."

"not if i have anything to say about it," paige retorted, stepping forward to close the distance between them. "now get the fuck out."

the air thick with unspoken threats and barely contained anger. you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling torn and overwhelmed. this confrontation had been brewing for a long time, and now it was finally coming to a head.

he glanced at you, his eyes flashing with a mix of betrayal and desperation. "is this what you want? to be with her?" he demanded, his voice breaking with emotion.

you took a deep breath, your hands trembling. "i wanna be happy. i want to feel safe. and after tonight, i-i don't feel that with you."

for a moment, the silence was deafening, the only sound the distant hum of the party still going on inside. your boyfriend stared at you, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief, before finally turning on his heel and storming back into the house. the door slammed shut behind him with a resounding bang, the noise echoing in the quiet night.

you let out a shuddering breath, your knees feeling weak. paige wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a tight hug. "it's okay," she murmured, her voice soothing. "he's gone."

you clung to paige, the reality of what had just happened crashing down on you. the fear, the anger, the confusion – it all seemed so overwhelming.

"he'd... he's never grabbed me like that before," you murmured, your voice trembling as you clung to her. "never put a hand on me, ever."

paige held you tighter, her hand gently rubbing your back. "i'm so sorry you had to go through that," she whispered. "now you know his true colors,"

you buried your face in her shoulder, the tears finally breaking free. "don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice choked with emotion. "i don't know if i can handle this."

paige pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands and looking into your eyes. "you're stronger than you think," she said softly. "and you're not alone. i'm here for you, always."

you nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath. "thank you, p," you whispered.

she pulled you into a tight hug, her warmth and strength surrounding you. "you don't have to thank me," she murmured. "i care about you. and i won't let anyone hurt you, especially a 5"8 frat guy,"

you let out a tearful laugh, shaking your head as your grip tightened around her.

she gave you a small, reassuring smile. "come on, let's get you home and away from all this shit,"

you nodded again, allowing her to guide you back into the house. the noise of the party seemed louder now, a stark contrast to the quiet tension of the porch. as you walked through the crowd, you felt the weight of curious eyes on you, but paige's steady presence beside you gave you the strength to keep moving.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

"i'm sorry," you buried your face in paige's neck, the warmth of her bed comforting. the events of the night had left you emotionally drained, but here, wrapped in paige's embrace, you felt a sense of safety.

paige's hand gently stroked your back, her touch soothing. "you don't have to apologize," she said softly. "none of this is your fault, i promise."

you sighed, the tears still threatening to spill. "i just feel so stupid. i should have seen the signs, should have ended it sooner. i should have listened to everyone when they said he was toxic,"

paige pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours. "hey, don't blame yourself," she said firmly. "it's not easy to see things clearly when you're in the middle of it. what's important is that you're safe now."

you nodded, grateful for her understanding. "thank you for being there," you whispered. "don't know what would have done without you tonight."

"you don't have to think about what could've happened," paige's expression softened, and she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "i'll always be here for you," she promised.

you felt a surge of warmth at her words, the sincerity in her voice reassuring. you looked up at the blonde, the warmth in her eyes making you feel fuzzy inside. "i have to find a way to repay you for everything."

"nah, you don't have to, princess." her lips curved into a smile. "you know i woulda killed him right then and there if you weren't there, baby."

the petname made your face flush as you smiled up at paige, your heart beginning to race. "not just for tonight... i meant all the times you fucked me good,"

paige let out a breathless at the vulgarity in your words, her own face flushing as she licked her lips as they curved into a smirk. "really, princess? you're gonna make me blush," she teased, her voice dropping to a playful whisper.

"mhm," you batted your eyelashes up at her, making paige let out a laugh. your hands travelled to her naked stomach, your hand flush against it. "let me make it up to you, p,"

paige's breath hitched as your hands moved against her stomach, your touch sending shivers through her body. her eyes darkened with desire as she looked down at you, her smirk widening. "oh, baby," she murmured, her voice thick with anticipation. "what do you have in mind?"

you grinned, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her collarbone, your lips trailing a path of fire down her skin. "think you deserve a little pampering," you whispered against her skin, your hands sliding lower, teasing the edge of her waistband.

paige let out a low moan, her hands tangling in your hair as she arched into your touch. "fuck, you drive me crazy," she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

you continued your slow exploration, your lips and hands working in tandem to elicit more sounds of pleasure from her. you could feel the heat building between you, the air thick with anticipation. "relax and let me take care of you," you murmured, your voice soothing.

paige's eyes fluttered shut, her breath coming in shallow gasps as you continued your ministrations. your heart raced at her sounds, a surge of desire flooding through you. your moved with purpose, paige's hands roamed over your back, her nails digging into your skin as she struggled to hold on.

you moved downward, finding your place in between her legs. her hand was weaving through your hair, her eyes fixed on your face. you moved her underwear to the side as you licked a stripe against slick pussy, earning a low groan from the blonde.

"fuck, keep lookin' at me like that," paige let out a breathless laugh as she gripped your head.

you looked up at paige, maintaining eye contact as your tongue moved against her. her breath hitched, and her grip on your hair tightened. "god, you're so good at this," she moaned, her voice breaking with pleasure.

encouraged by her reaction, you continued your movements, your tongue and fingers working perfectly to bring her to the edge. the taste of her arousal and the sight of her coming undone because of you sent waves of desire coursing through your body.

paige's moans grew louder, her body trembling as she struggled to maintain control. "don't stop, baby," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "fuck yeah, princess, oh fuck,"

you had no intention of stopping, your focus solely on her and the pleasure you were giving her. you increased your pace, your efforts rewarded by the way her hips bucked against you and the cries of pleasure that escaped her lips.

she was close, you could feel it in the way her body tensed and the desperate sounds she made. you began flickering your tongue against her clit, quickly pushing her over the edge. paige's entire body shuddered, her back arching off the bed as she came with a loud, guttural groan.

you kept going, drawing out her orgasm for as long as possible until she finally collapsed back onto the bed, her body limp and trembling. you moved back up to her, pressing soft kisses along her stomach and chest as she caught her breath.

"fuck, that was incredible," paige managed to say, her voice hoarse. she pulled you up to her, capturing your lips in a deep, sloppy kiss. "you're incredible."

you smiled against her lips, your heart swelling with pride and affection. "love making you feel good," you whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

paige's eyes softened, and she cupped your face in her hands. "and i love you," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "more than anything."

"i love you too, p."

paige's eyes glistened with a mix of love and contentment, and she pulled you into another tender embrace. you nestled into her warmth, feeling a sense of peace wash over you that you hadn't felt in a long time.

"let's just stay like this for a while," you murmured, your voice muffled against her skin.

"absolutely," Paige whispered back, her hand gently stroking your hair. "just you and me, no one else."

the two of you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside fading into insignificance. in that moment, it felt like nothing could touch you, like you were both cocooned in a bubble of safety and love.

after a while, Paige shifted slightly, her hand trailing down your arm. "how about we get some sleep?" she suggested softly. "its been a long night."

you nodded, feeling the exhaustion of the evening catching up with you. "yeah, that sounds good."

paige helped you settle into the bed, her movements gentle and caring. she tucked the blanket around you, then slid in beside you, pulling you close once more. you could feel her heartbeat against your back, a steady, comforting rhythm that lulled you into a sense of security.

"goodnight, princess," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"goodnight, p," you replied, your eyes already drifting shut.

as you lay there, on the cusp of sleep, you felt a profound sense of gratefulness. despite the turmoil, you knew you had someone by your side who truly cared for you, someone who would stand by you no matter what.

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

[after-witch]

To the Top [Yandere Chuuya x Reader]

Title: To the Top [Yandere Chuuya x Reader]

Synopsis: Over the past few months of your pregnancy, you’ve never been sweeter to Chuuya. Little does he know that for every smile you’ve given him, you’ve stashed away something for your escape. 

Word count: 3100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader is pregnant, abusive behavior  (chains, restrictions, food control, etc)

Life in this shut-up penthouse was never exactly invigorating--but over the past few months it has become unbearable. And that unbearable, stifling heaviness weighing you down every single day has taken its toll in more ways than one. 

It’s made you feel like you’re going to lose it at any moment. It’s made you feel like you’d rather be anywhere than here.

You want to get out.

Chuuya had rules for you, of course, when he first started keeping you here. They came slow--a leash that tightened before you realized it--and sure. 

But now, with your belly swollen and growing bigger by the day, he’s completely taken control. 

You’re not allowed to go outside, even with Chuuya, even surrounded by bodyguards ready to take a bullet or unload them into any would-be assassins. Those brief bouts of fresh air were one of the few bright spots in your life, now blotted out from Chuuya’s paranoia of losing you. 

You’re not allowed to use your exercise bike or take a swim in the heated indoor pool tucked in the basement. It doesn’t matter how much you argue that you should be exercising for the sake of your health, because Chuuya says he does let you exercise. According to him, anyway.

He only lets you do the mildest--and you do mean mildest--of aerobic exercises in the pool. Only under supervision, and the moment you look like you want to start leaning into the water and getting in a nice backstroke, Chuuya orders you out and you’d best comply if you ever want to see the pool again for the next 2 years.

You’re not allowed to eat whatever you want, even when your cravings feel like they’re going to eat you from the inside out. He doesn’t starve you, no, no, no. But you can’t have a big juicy cheeseburger topped with bacon and a side of onion rings, a heavenly concoction that makes you drool just to think of it. 

If you must have a burger, and it’s a big if--Chuuya allows you to eat a made-from-scratch ground turkey burger with low fat cheese and a side of mashed sweet potato (no butter, no extra salt!) all courtesy of the well-trained personal chef Chuuya hired to live in the building. 

They’re the reason you are eating three square meals and two snacks a day, and the reason each and every meal is perfectly designed to eat every nutrition goal. Everything you eat is always nutritious and sure, the food isn’t disgusting… but it’s not fucking fair, is it, that you can’t just eat what you want when you want. 

Chuuya insists you eat only the best of foods. He makes sure every meal comes with a little cup of medicine--prenatal vitamins and anything else the doctor thinks will help keep you safe during your pregnancy. 

He doesn’t let you run around or fret or clean or do much of anything at all. He doesn’t want you to exert yourself, he says. You can’t eat what you want or do what you want or go where you want. 

It’s all too much.

You fought at first. You argued. You pleaded. But it didn’t do anything but make Chuuya tighten his hold on you.

And that’s why you accept his rules now with the utmost of patience and sweetness that you can muster. Oh, you haven’t given in. You aren’t meekly submitting to Chuuya and agreeing that he surely knows what’s best for you.

You’re just biding your time for the day when you can get the hell out of here.

Besides, you needed a little bit of freedom if you were going to escape. And a little bit of freedom was all you were going to get.

Early on in the pregnancy, Chuuya kept you locked in the bedroom when he was away because you fought him too much. A chain around your ankle kept you from even trying to get out the bedroom door.

Yes, you were given food by a stoic bodyguard throughout the day and it wasn’t like you were left to fend for yourself, but still. It would be impossible to leave if you were stuck in the bedroom all day.

Now, though, Chuuya lets you walk around the penthouse when he’s gone. He allows the chef to premake some of your meals so that you can microwave them if he’s not here to feed you; you can watch a movie in the living room or take a nap on your shared bed or whatever you’d like, as long as it’s quiet and calming. 

Because you’re good, and you’ve behaved, and you let him do what’s best for you. 

It’s not a lot of freedom. But it’s enough to give you the chance to start stashing away supplies for your escape; it’s enough to give you the perfect moment to pretend to fall asleep on the sofa before Chuuya leaves one day, so you can look just in time to see the passcode he enters on the electronic lock attached to the front door.

It’s enough to put you on the path towards freedom. 

--

Chuuya paces back and forth so rapidly that you’re starting to feel a bit dizzy. There’s a framed picture of flowers--your favorite--on the wall behind him, and you focus on that to keep yourself steady. Chuuya… flowers… Chuuya… flowers. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight. I could send someone else for this.”

“Chuuya.” 

“Or I can send one of my guards to stay in the apartment while I’m gone. Just to be safe? Shit, I don’t know.” 

“Chuuya.”

“Fuck it, I’ll call it in, I’m not going--”

“Chuuya.”

He stops, and you take the opportunity to step forward and grasp both of his hands in yours. You pull them against your chest and watch as his expression goes from agitated and fretful to sweet, almost puppy-love. Every time you touch him without being told, it’s like you can see a sweet light spark in his eyes. Too bad you lost your spark a while ago. 

“Go,” you say, soft and sweet and so fake you wonder that he can’t see through it. “I’ll be fine. The building’s being guarded, and the door will be locked.” The tension begins to melt from his shoulders, and you continue. “Just come home safe, all right?”

His frown holds for only a moment more, then it splits into a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah… You’re right.” He lifts his hands, taking yours with them, so that he can press a short kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll be back in the early morning--don’t wait up for me, you two need your sleep. Got it?”

We won’t be here when you get back, you think. “I know. We’ll go to bed early,” you say. 

And then you lean forward and kiss him softly on the lips, your stomach brushing against him as you do. 

He expects a kiss whenever he leaves and you’re almost happy to give it, tonight, because you know it will be the last one he ever gets from you. 

--

You don’t act right away. You’re not stupid. It’s about 2 hours after he leaves that the plan is ready to set into motion. In the meantime, you’ve read and reread the same page of your book a thousand times; sweat has begun to cling to your back as your eyes dart from the page to the clock. 

The sensation of your stomach in knots is equaled only by the frenzy of activity inside your belly--you swear they can sense what’s going on. Can they feel how your heart has begun to race? Can they tell that your muscles are tense? That your ears are strained, listening for the sound of his footsteps, in case he changed his mind?

You’re thankful that you’re not alone when you finally retrieve your bag from its hiding spot. You’ve got supplies. Some cash, food, a few water bottles. Underwear, clothes--yours and the babies--and some of the baby things Chuuya has already picked up. A blanket, a package of bottles, in case he doesn’t take to the breast.

It’s not a lot. But it will be enough to get you through to safety and freedom, and that’s all that really matters.

The bag shifts on your shoulders as you stand at the door, heart pounding, breath coming in short puffs. The guards outside the door are doing their rounds--back and forth, stopping in front of the front door of the penthouse and again at the door of the elevator just a few steps away, then going round the corner to complete a circle. 

It takes them 15 seconds to walk down the hallway once they walk away from the elevator. And you have about 60 seconds to get from the front door into the elevator before they come back. Maybe 90 seconds, maybe 2 minutes, if they stop to chat. They don’t do that with any regularity, so it’s impossible to plan for it. So you don’t. 

Instead, you count, one hand on your belly, one hand poised above the numbers on the electronic lock. It makes a noise so you have to wait to just… the right… time…

Now.

Despite all of the careful planning that went into this, as soon as your fingers press the code in, all thinking seems to cease. You are running on pure instinct. The door opens and you don’t even look to make sure the guards aren’t there, instead you fly right to the elevator door and push down.

It could all go wrong here. If someone is in the elevator, if someone is coming up from the floors, if the elevator didn’t return to the top after Chuuya left.

But the door has mercy and opens right away, and you rush into it, almost tripping over the threshold. Your finger trembles onto the close door button and it shuts. You don’t hear shouts. You don’t hear panic.

They didn’t see you.

Timing, again, is everything. You press the fifth floor so that the elevator will stop there long enough for the guards at the bottom to--you hope, you hope, you hope, if you timed it right--be around the corner as well. But there’s no telling if your timing is correct here. Maybe they don’t leave the doors at all, on the bottom floor. Maybe there are more guards, maybe they take shifts. All these maybes ball up in your stomach and take the air out of you as the elevator reaches the ground floor and opens.

You rush out without looking, but no one is there. You’re at the private back entrance and you don’t waste time thinking about how lucky you are or what to do next; you simply push yourself out the door and begin to run down the street.

It doesn’t take long for your feet to hurt. The house slippers Chuuya gives you are not meant for concrete, not meant for uneven sidewalks where people occasionally drop glass bottles and cigarette butts. 

You don’t let the pain stop you. You never have before. 

As you run, solid thoughts finally begin to return to your mind, which feels less fuzzy and more aware of the danger that you might be in. You did it. You’re out. You’re gone. You’re free. 

But not just yet, right? You need to stay hidden. You need to be safe.  You need, above all, to get off the highly visible streets. 

A sign for a bus stop catches your eye. Yes--a bus. You could let it take you as far as it will, and then go from there. But the sign says the bus stops on the hour, and there’s still 30 minutes to go--you can’t stay out on the street that long.

Instead, you slip into an alley just a little bit away from the sign. It’s close enough that you could press yourself against a wall and still keep an eye out for when the bus arrives. Will it be comfortable? No. Will it be smelly? Probably. Will you be out of public view? Yes--so that’s what you do.

You slip into the alley and immediately every nerve on your body raises because there is someone here with you.

No. Scratch that.

Two someones.

There is a man standing that you can only see from behind. He is shrouded in the shadows of the alleyway’s end, which isn’t lit by anything but the hint of light from the street. 

And there is a man on the ground, pressed against the farthest end of the alley, begging for his life. You only catch some of the words that tumble out of his desperate lips: I didn’t betray you, I swear, I swear, I can tell you everything you need to know, it wasn’t me, oh please, fuck, I swear--

And then he doesn’t speak anymore because the first man shoots him in the head. He falls backward and something hits the wall and you can't help the noise of startled horror that slips out of your mouth.

The man turns around, gun drawn, and you have just enough time to think--this is it--before he steps forward. 

And… says your name?

The man is Chuuya.

The man is Chuuya, who holsters his gun and, mouth gaping, has his hands on you before you can even think about running. He’s checking you over--for bruises or cuts or who knows what else--and his grip on your forearm is relentlessly strong. 

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” He says, not believing the sight of you, even as he touches you. “Babe, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Where’s--”

And then he sees the bag slung over your shoulder. Sees how full it looks. He glances down at your stomach. Then back  up at your face.

“You were trying to leave?”

The hurt on his face might induce pity, if you weren’t currently dealing with the most horrific adrenaline rush in the world. 

“No,” you sputter. “Yes. No. I--” 

And it’s then that your body and mind crash together, and the realization that you’ve been caught catches up with you. You should run. You will run. 

And you try, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t even have enough leverage to take a step back with how tightly he’s holding you. Your mind knows this, but your body doesn’t accept it quite yet, and you squirm fruitlessly against him.

He only needs one hand to keep you by his side as he takes out his phone and barks out an order at someone to come take care of the body of the poor dead man in the alley.

Then he looks back at you and hurt, fear, anger, play out on his face in a series of moments. 

“We’re going,” he tells you. He’s back on his phone, another order. A car to pick you up. 

His voice promises locked doors and lost privileges, yes, but there’s something else simmering in there that has you yanking back feebly as he drags you out of the alley and into an unmarked car.

--

Every guard Chuuya crosses stammers out apologies, swears they don’t know how this happened. Chuuya deals with them in clipped tones that make you wonder if they’ll survive the night. Reassigned, if they’re lucky.

The penthouse is just as you left it. Quiet. Clean. A now runny smoothie, fortified with vitamins and calculated with the perfect natal nutrients, sits on the counter; you didn’t drink it tonight.

Chuuya drags you through to the bedroom. All this time, he hasn’t let go of your hand. There will be finger-shaped bruises tomorrow.

You expect him to scream at you. Maybe even hurt you. A physical slap might hurt less than this all-consuming fear as he pulls you into the bedroom and gently guides you to sit down on the bed. What will he do? What will he say?

Your hand grasps your belly--please don’t hurt me.

Chuuya growls out bubbling anger, turns, and punches the wall so hard that his fist goes through the drywall. His knuckles have freckles of blood on them.

The sound, the sight of the blood, the anger pressing down on your shoulders--it’s all too much and hot tears spill over your lower eyelids and down your cheeks, salty, burning. 

He’s on his knees, immediately, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pressing kisses to your tear-stained cheeks.

“Babe, I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to scare you.” He hushes your hiccuping sobs, wiping and kissing your tears in alternate measures. “I was just so fucking mad.” 

At me? You think. 

“Those guards,” he continues, frowning. “They weren’t watching you like they should.”

“But I…” You don’t finish: But I’m the one who ran away.

Your confusion must show on your face, because he presses a kiss to your cheek, to your lips. 

“Hush. I know you’re prone to fits like this. I don’t mind. It’s why I do so much to watch over you, y’know?” He rubs at your cheeks with this thumb and cracks a smile. From the corner of your eye,  you can see the blood on his knuckles. “It was either the wall or one of those guys’ heads, right?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he kisses you, more lingering this time.

“You make me crazy,” he whispers against your lips. “You know that?”

“Chuuya,” you whisper, breath mingling with this. “Please, I want to… I want to…” Leave. Be free. All words you could say, that never make their way past your lips.

He sits up taller on his knees and rests his head against your stomach. There’s a flurry of movement inside you--does the baby know he’s there? What does the baby, in all its primordial growth, think of any of today’s events?

“I know it’s scary,” Chuuya murmurs. “You don’t have to tell me. We’re about to be parents. Anyone would be worried.” 

That’s not what you wanted to say. It’s hard to say if Chuuya knows it and pretends otherwise or simply doesn’t acknowledge your resistance at all. 

He sighs through his nose and closes his eyes.

“I’ll have to bring the chain back out for a while. Maybe until the baby comes.” He opens his eyes just a little and glances up at you with a smile. “But I can make it long enough for you to walk around. Doctor said you needed to stretch your legs every day, babe.”

He closes his eyes again and you don’t know what else you can do but reach out and rest your palm against his head. He leans into your touch.

“I know,” you croak out. There’s a few beats--of your heart?--and your fingers curl against his hair. “I’m sorry I went outside.” What else can you do, but lean into Chuuya, but apologize for doing what he insists you never do. Leave him, be free, live your own life.

He sighs and nuzzles himself against your stomach. He presses a soft kiss to it before pulling himself off the floor, leaning down, and kissing you on the head.

“I know, babe. Don’t worry. I’m not mad.”

You wonder what Chuuya might have done if he had gotten angry at you.

Perhaps it’s better not to know.

[pentechnics]

Can't Get Enough

pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader rating: E | explicit | 18+ only word count: ~1,200 tags: nsfw, hate sex, angry sex, penetrative sex, throat/breath play, rough sex, multiple orgasms, angst, reader and din hate each other yet can't get enough, din makes you sad, no physical descriptions of reader, no y/n

notes: This isn't my usual style, but I just kinda had to get some stuff out. Not really edited or fully flushed out, for that matter. But hopefully posting something new will help me get further in my other work! I have something due for the d20 writing challenge and I am so sorry that one hasn't happened dfghjsfkl

taglist under the cut❤️

He slammed you against the wall with a loud thunk.

Your throat was sore from exertion, your pulse quickening with each groan he released.

His hand found your neck again and held tight, forcing you to look into that visor and see your own lust-blown gaze reflected back at you.

Fuck, he pissed you off. He got to see you like this, but you didn’t. Every time you two wound up like this, it felt like another charge added to an invisible tab. Like he owed you something, because you always gave him everything.

The thought was brief, soon vanquished by another angry thrust, pain and pleasure melding together and turning your brain to mush.

You peered in deeper, willing his eyes to show themselves. You channeled every ounce of mental energy you had left into him – how much he hurt you, how angry he made you. How angry you were at yourself to have given into this again.

And why? Nothing ever changed. He’d come over, both of you would be pissed as all hell, take it out on each other, and then he’d leave. Neither of you walked away feeling any better.

… You never stopped to wonder why he kept coming back. It took two to keep this up, after all. You sucked on his thumb when he stuck it in your mouth, wrapping your legs around him to bring him deeper into you.

You hated this. You hated that it always came down to this for you to feel something. Ever since the two of you broke up you’ve been searching for something, but hell if you knew what it was.

You hated that he was still your answer. You surely didn’t love him anymore, but you hated that you still needed him.

Especially because he doesn’t need you.

He rammed into you, deeper and deeper, sending you into convulsions. You screamed into the humid air, grasping at his shoulders for dear life.

His own cries followed, a loud ‘fuck’ echoing into the darkness. He pried you off the wall and threw you down on the bed, putting the full force of his weight into each delicious stroke.

You couldn’t help the whines that spilled out of you. He had a way of dragging out every single sensation until you were drowning in it all. Drowning in him.

It was infuriating.

You pulled yourself up to his shoulder, kissing and biting at his salty skin. A gorgeous, vindicating sense of pride soared through you when he let out a whimper. 

You liked to think you were the only one who could make him do that.

It made him pound harder into you. Your bite matched, his skin muffling your screams.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you panted.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Good.”

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. Swears piled out of you. Your heart was pounding, your blood on fire. He had the nerve to fucking chuckle.

“You like that, don’t you?”

 “Bastard.”

He did it again. You wailed.

“Shit,” he whispered.

Any wittiness he had was gone. His pace became manic, one goal in mind. Your eyes rolled back as he continued to ram his cock against your g-spot.

“Close your fucking eyes,” he growled, pressing a hand over them.

The sensations grew stronger without the distraction of sight. Especially after hearing the familiar hiss of his helmet and feeling the subsequent mouth on your neck.

Your moan echoed around you both. Your hand came up to press against his head.

“Din-“

Your orgasm erupted without warning. He used his hold on your head to press you into the mattress, fucking you through it without relent.

“Yes, keep coming, baby.”

Wave after wave of pleasure had your legs flailing and your back arching. Stars appeared before you. The onset of tears built up behind your eyes.

“I’m not fucking done,” he mumbled.

His free hand began to swirl your clit. You thought you couldn’t scream any louder, yet he proved you wrong.

Your muscles tensed up all over again, that sweet coil threatening to break with each tiny movement.

“You better fucking come again,” he said through gritted teeth, like he was holding himself back.

The combination of thrusting and tight circles on your clit had you coming undone again with ease. Your second release was stronger, your body’s convulsions all the more erratic.

But he didn’t stop.

His hand left your eyes to grip your hips, and you had to fight with yourself to keep from looking at him.

“One. More.”

He pulled you to the edge of the bed and dragged you onto his cock over and over. The new angle was steeper, hitting something deeper inside that you weren’t aware existed.

“Oh god,” you sighed. “Right there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whined.

He let out a groan and picked up the speed. You threw your arm over your eyes, afraid you wouldn’t be able to control yourself for much longer.

His breath was labored, accentuated with deep heaving. He wasn’t going to last much longer, which meant—

“Runnin’ out of time, baby, you better give me one more.”

You squealed with each pulse of contact with your g-spot, but his words made a bead of annoyance interrupt your trance.

No, you thought. You’re not gonna get what you want this time.

You squeezed your muscles, clenching his cock tighter between your walls.

“FUCK,” he shouted. “Feels so good-”

His grunts were too much to bear, each one scratching that sweet spot in your brain that went straight to your pussy, but you had to hold back. He had to break first. You gripped the sheets with your free hand and clenched your jaw, desperate to keep the impending third orgasm down.

His grip on you tightened.

“Oh, fuck you,” he spat.

“You already are, dumbass.”

You didn't recognize the graininess of your own voice. But what came after told you it worked.

He leaned over you and continued the rapid pace, both of you moaning into the air just before coming in a heap of screams and roars.

He buried his head beside yours as he rode out his pleasure, taking yours with it.

He eventually slowed to a stop, standing back up and taking care to pull out the condom with his spend without spilling, just as he did every time.

You heard the plop of it getting thrown in the trash before he leaned over you once more, caging in your frame with his arms.

“Look at me.”

“I haven’t heard the helmet-”

“Look. At me.”

Even through his labored breathing, his voice was unwavering. He put his hands on either side of your face, forcing your gaze to meet his when you did peek your eyes open.

The tiny amount of air that had replenished in your lungs was gone.

He was a vision: skin glowing with sweat, eyebrows scrunched with a crease in the middle, sharp cheekbones and a hooked nose…

… But those fucking brown eyes. They were just downright unfair.

You put your hands over his wrists to keep his hold in place. A glimmer of hope dared to emerge in your head – is he letting you see him because he actually did care? Was there still something in him that loved you?

But then he let out a deep chuckle. Your heart broke all over again.

Why’d I even bother?

“You’ll never get enough, will you?”

You gulped. It always came down to this. But this time, you’d seen the truth.

Not only was this his last playing card, but you had a winning hand.

A confident grin bloomed across your face, the satisfaction already tasting so sweet now that you got to say this directly to his actual face. You’d get to see that smug expression die.

You’d get to finally be the one to let him down.

“Neither can you.”

****

taglist: @booksarekindaneat @bluemacaron @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @whataenginerd @girlofchaos @christina-loves @literallydontlook @the-little-ewok @salome-c @dear-fifi @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @keldabe-kriff @kurlyfrasier @booksaremyyoga @elegantduckturtle @artsymaddie

[poppurini]

ㅤㅤㅤ⎯ ㅤ𐙚 your general refuses to kiss you, but you always get your way. ⌇ princess!reader, tall general lilia, secret relationship TEHEURIGUEHEH

“Princess, I cannot kiss you.”

The general’s tone was as cold as ever. Standing tall, his posture was poise and proper compared to the royalty seated on the bed with swaying legs and a certain mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Lilia’s gaze was stern and sharp, locked onto yours without wavering and yet all it took was a soft tug from your delicate hands for him to sigh in defeat; he follows you to your bed, making sure the door was closed shut. It would mean hell for the both of you if anyone were to witness your intimacy.

“It’s not wrong for a girlfriend to ask her boyfriend for kisses.”

He always had a soft spot for you and really, who could blame him? You always looked so adorable and gorgeous whenever you got whatever you wanted. Those perfect smiles and precious laughter make his heart pound rapidly against its cage. As much as he hated to admit, the feared General Vanrouge was a weak man against his princess.

“No, it is not, but remember, I am not your lover at the moment. I am simply a general protecting her highness as she makes her escape from the ball.”

Lilia stared at you, his gaze now softened with a defeated look before crossing his arms and leaning against one of your bed posts. You couldn’t help yourself and admired the man’s figure towering yours, batting your eyelashes up at him with a smile you can’t quite control.

You held his hand and swayed it back and forth slightly, laughing softly when you heard another one of his sighs; you knew you’ve won. You always do. He always let you.

“Balls are boring,” you hugged his arm and leaned against it comfortably. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

The man exerted a sigh through an exhale, tilting his head to study you clinging onto his arm. His hand caressed yours before gently intertwining your fingers together, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand as you looked up with beautiful crescent eyes.

You were rather attached to him, he could tell. Lilia didn’t know when the lines between a general and a princess begin to blur and every night he was ashamed of himself for falling, but he couldn’t deny the flutters in his stomach, the smile that naturally stretches on his lips, and the ache pounding in his chest. Everything he felt for you was real.

The general used his free hand to caress your heated cheeks, brushing back your hair so he could admire every detail of your features that effortlessly captured his affection. You, however, whined a little, immediately pulling away and placing your hair back to framing your face as your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment and shyness.

“It’s prettier this way.”

A quiet mumble escaped you and Lilia blinked in stoic confusion. Chuckling, he gave your head a soft pat before crossing his arms again, this time leaning back against your bed post with amusement.

“My princess is prettiest whenever.”

He did it again. He flirts perhaps once a decade—which shouldn’t be that long in terms of fae years, no?—and this was one of the times. This was one of the times where your eyes would widen and your lips part in shock, freezing in your seat as your heart swooned in ecstasy before throwing yourself onto him and nuzzling in close.

[lilacliquors]

kinktober day seventeen: dirty talk

pairing: billy butcher x reader

word count: 398

notes: day seventeen! wow, i can't believe we're over halfway done with the month. work today was iffy but writing this made me feel better. and i'm interviewing for the full time position on monday!!

“fuckin’ hell, look at you …”

you were riding him like your life depended on it. he’d been gone for days, away on yet another dangerous supe chase, and just the sight of him home safe drove you wild. you practically tore each other’s clothes off, and there you were, lost in the feeling of him.

“mm, missed … missed you so much,” you panted, and he looked up at you with a smirk.

“i can tell. god, the way you take my cock … feel it fill you up? makes you feel full, doesn’t it? like you’ve been missing somethin’ the last few days?” he asked, and those questions alone made your stomach flop and your pussy throb.

“oh, god yes,” you breathed, nodding your head quickly.

“atta girl. and that’s not all you want to fill you up, is it? hm? want me to cum in that tight cunt, mark it as mine? no one else can fuck you like this, so why should i?”

you shuddered slightly and braced yourself on his abdomen, whining as you rocked your hips. he always knew just what to say, he had the foulest mouth of any man you’d ever met, and you loved it.

“tell … tell me more,” you begged, your legs starting to burn with exertion.

“more? such a naughty girl. tell you what, you milk my fucking cock dry, and i’ll bury my face between your thighs for as long as you want me to. that pretty pussy is nothing short of a feast, and i’m starving. hell, i’ll let you ride my fucking face and i won’t let you up until i’ve had my fill.”

you whimpered as his hands wrapped around your hips, and he began to buck up into you, hitting that sweet spot just right. you gasped, then threw your head back as he fucked into you, grunting and groaning as your walls clenched around him.

“that’s it, just like that. feels so fucking good …”

he relished your cries of pleasure, and he knew he had you right where he wanted you. too drunk off of him to protest, too needy for him to tap out. and it was the most beautiful sight in the world. he just couldn’t get enough, and he was going to make good on his promise to you.

you were in for a long night.

[ginnysgraffiti]

thigh riding, dirty thoughts, 18+

(the idea is not mine)!!

&. TIMOTHÉE x yn.

your skirt raised up, bunching around your hips as you moved against timothée's thigh. even through your panties, you could feel how his thigh muscle was tense over your sweet spot, whimpering at how good that feeling felt.

you had never been a great adventurer or scout prodigy of the woods.

no, you hated insects, their bites and everything that had to do with it.

however, timmy insisted so much on taking you into the woods that you even sent the mosquitoes to hell.

the idea was nice: an evening in a tent, meat on the spit in front of the fire and time to admire the stars under the sky of a cool and quiet evening.

but no, no skewer of meat would have stopped timothée from taking what belonged to him, not even in the middle of the woods; and now the grip he exerted to crush you against the tree was so strong that his physical need went against your expectations of that innocent afternoon.

your boyfriend brought a hand to your waist, helping you with your movements. his other hand did not remain idle; it flowed slowly down your chest, touching your breasts.

"you're so cute." timmy admitted, his hoarse voice taking over. he was mesmerized by the sight of you using him to pleasure yourself, when both of you already got too much needy. the way your head fell back, the moans that continually escaped through your open mouth. his pants were getting tighter and tighter, the blood rushing south.

“i could watch you forever.”

groaning, you nodded in agreement.

“i could do this forever.”

already, your orgasm was near the surface, settling warm under your skin. you dropped your head onto his shoulder, shifting and crying out at the new angle. timothée groaned at your reaction, taking your hand away.

even with a clouded mind, you had the decency to help your boyfriend. you dragged your hand awkwardly away, unbuttoning his pants so you could grasp his hardness. a high pitched moan at your touch, hips bucking into your hand. in the movement that the thigh makes against you, the muscles now flexed even more.

you screamed and moved even faster, barely managing to continue the uncoordinated hand work. your boyfriend watched, stunned, as you reached your climax, hips bucking against him. his hands rested on your waist to stabilize you, helping you down and repressing his most indecent moans biting his tongue.

panting, you let your head fall onto his chest. he laughed lightly, though his hands remained on your hips. he used a strong grip to ease you, moving from his thigh to his cock, urging you to continue the movement. you gasped at the sensation, still sensitive there from having just come.

“i know you just did it with my thigh, but can you ride something else now, babe?”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

This Didn't Happen

Notes: Just a silly thing; prompts 7 & 15 taken from this Morning After prompt list.

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexual implications; behavior expected of our fave billionaire stinky bastard man

Summary: Had you gone to the conference planning to sleep with Nathan Bateman? No.

Had you? Yes.

Were you regretting it? Absolutely.

"Stop smiling at me."

"I'm not smiling."

"Yes you are."

"How do you know? You're not even looking at me."

"I don't need to look at you, I can feel it from here." You tried to smooth your rumpled clothing before drawing in a deep breath to steady yourself, gathering your thoughts.

Had you gone to the conference planning to sleep with Nathan Bateman? No.

Had you? Yes.

Were you regretting it? Absolutely.

The sex had been (insanely, mind-bogglingly) good. You were still sensitive, still buzzing from your orgasm as you tried to plan a graceful exit. It was proving difficult, given the circumstances—but there was no smooth way to dip out of a one night stand. Almost all of the conference attendees were staying at the same hotel as you were. What if you ran into someone that you knew in the hallway? Your wrinkled clothes would give you away immediately.

You gathered your courage before you forced yourself to turn and look at him.

Nathan was smiling—lounging in the bed with a satisfied smirk as he put his glasses back on and fixed you with a knowing gaze. You wanted to slap the look off of his face, but some part of you was certain that he would enjoy it. Not only was he smiling, but he looked criminally gorgeous. His cheeks were still slightly flushed from exertion; his forehead was still dotted with sweat; you were trying to ignore the few streaks of irritated skin where your nails had dug into his shoulder.

"We're not gonna cuddle?" He teased, brows waggling. You scoffed, turning away and beginning to hunt around his hotel room for your shoes.

"Listen, Bateman—"

"You have my attention."

"Good, 'cause I'm really gonna need you to focus up right now." You faced him again, planting your hands on your hips and forcing a stern set to your brow. "This didn't happen. Got it?"

"Didn't it?"

"No."

Nathan blinked at you a couple of times, lips curling into a teasing smile as he glanced toward to marks on his shoulder.

"Huh. Then I wonder where these came from."

"The mystery may never be solved." Son of a bitch, where are you goddamn shoes—

"So if anyone asks what we got up to this evening—?"

"Make something up," You snapped.

"What's your alibi?"

"I'll figure it out when I get back to my room."

"What if you run into someone in the elevator and they ask?"

"I'll make something up."

"You oughta brainstorm now. You don't improvise well."

"Thanks for the tip."

"They're under the desk."

"What?"

"Your shoes."

You went still, slowly glancing in that direction, and wincing when you spotted them. How the hell did they get under there?

"You kicked them off," Nathan added. "Almost broke your neck. Remember?"

You ignored the goad, picking them up and hurriedly pulling them on before heading for the door. You heard the rustle of sheets as Nathan pushed them off of his lap and stood.

"Hey," He called out.

"What?"

"You sure this never happened?"

"Positive."

You reached for the doorknob, freezing as Nathan crowded up against your back. You shivered at the feeling of his body pressing against yours, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"I hope it doesn't happen again sometime," He murmured. You began to turn to look back at him, only to spot yourself in a small mirror by the door. Your eyes narrowed as you spotted a mark blooming on your neck, and you couldn't stop yourself from whirling around to look at him.

"Did you really have to leave a giant hickey on my neck?!"

Nathan smirked, gaze sweeping over your face before he tipped his head to the side, getting a better look at the hickey.

"What makes you think I did that?"

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde ; @rachelwritesstuff

[cottonlemonade]

How To Comfort People by Tsukishima Kei

word count: 961 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: Tsukishima x chubby!Reader

genre: angsty fluff, rivals to… whatever this is

warnings: horrible social skills

request: small-medium strawberry-passion fruit lemonade with extra ice and a slice of ginger for Tsukishima Kei || angsty-fluff, forced proximity and getting caught in a storm with rival Tsukishima

Tsukishima said Goodbye to the rest of the team and walked down the road alone. The thought of spending a whole bus ride with the others who were still downtrodden from their loss against Aoba Josai was too annoying. Instead he called his older brother to pick him up. Thunder rumbled above and the steely gray sky matched his mood. Tch, it was just a club. No reason to care so much. Hands in his pockets he spotted the small corner shop his brother told him to meet him at. It was still a little ways away but Tsukki didn‘t mind the walk. He kicked a pebble along the path. Then something wet hit his neck and when he looked up, big drops of rain splattered his glasses. Cursing extensively he fell into a jog, his limbs still screaming from the exertion of the match.

He sought shelter at a run down bus stop halfway to the intersection. Still swearing he shook his hair, brushed at his clothes and then took off his glasses, feeling around for a somewhat dry spot on his shirt he could wipe them on.

Once he could see again, he noticed a figure standing with him under the rusty, slightly leaking roof.

The thought that he had seen you before clung to him much like his wet jacket. Then when you nodded and smiled politely he realized that you were that pudgy manager from Aoba Josai. Just his luck. When he decided to simply ignore you until his brother came, the ribbed roof creaked and a small wave of icy rain water splashed into his collar, running down the back of his neck. He gave a decidedly embarrassing shriek and jumped to the side. To add insult to injury he stumbled and bumped into you. Perfect.

Muttering an apology with a small bow he turned to stare stoically out onto the slowly flooding road. After a minute or so he heard you take a deep breath.

“You guys played really well.“, you said, awkwardly holding onto the strap of your bag, “It was pretty impressive seeing so many first years on the starting team.“

Tsukki guessed you meant it as a compliment and he was not about to tell you that it was simply lack of team members that influenced the roster significantly.

In his opinion, it would have been perfectly fine to stand there in silence but his proximity seemed to jump start some kind of rambling in you because now you just wouldn‘t shut up, “I‘m sure you‘ll have better luck next time.“

Tsukki was certain you were just taunting him at this point.

He bit back, “Your oh so „Great King“ is not unbeatable. Everyone has a weakness and next time we‘ll find yours and destroy you.“ Where the hell did that come from? It seemed that the loss did bother him more than he thought. He almost sounded like Hinata.

Even worse, your expression changed from - what he had interpreted as - patronizing to shocked. He pressed his lips together. So what if you had been sincere? He would rather listen to Hinata babble about the Little Giant for two hours than apologize. But then again… you did look genuinely confused and even… hurt (?) at his words.

Long silent seconds dragged on between you two, the downpour on the thin metal roof drumming in his ears. He threw another glance in your direction and a little triceratops figure dangling from your bag caught his eyes. It was the same make as the parasaurolophus he had on his house keys.

Tsukki let out a small breath, then looked around, needlessly making sure that no one would see or hear him and then mumbled “sorry“ being 110% sure that it was entirely drowned out by the heavy drops hitting the metal above.

Lightning flashed across the sky and he saw you flinch and retreat a little into the corner. Great, apparently he was trapped here with a five year old. Thinking of the triceratops he pressed out a rather lukewarm “there there“.

When the thunder clap followed you seemed to shrink even further and Tsukki saw that your hands started to shake.

… What would his brother do if he was here? Akiteru was always the one with the social skills. He would make sure that you were okay and comfort you. Tsukki definitely already did that. And then he would probably prevent you from getting scared again. Resisting the urge to groan loudly at the pathetic display in front of him he reached up and took off the headphones around his neck. You looked up at him with impossibly big eyes when he placed them over your ears. They were top of the line so excellent noise cancelling was a given. Stepping a little to his right, he was now standing directly in front of you - tall enough to block your view of the sky and of the next lightning flashing through the clouds.

Teary eyes aside you were actually not that horrible to look at, he thought. Even… even quite cute, especially with the way his headphones seemed to squish your chubby cheeks together a bit more. Plus there was the triceratops. Always a sign of good taste, really.

A honk behind him ripped Tsukki from his thoughts. Akiteru‘s beat-up car waited in front of the dingy bus stop, engine running.

In one swift motion, Tsukki collected his headphones again and with a curt nod (more towards the key chain than you) he hurried to the passenger side.

His brother offered a sort of happy frown when he closed the door.

“Shouldn‘t I give your friend a ride?“

“No.“

And with that, the brothers drove off, making way for the bus behind them.

✨ @s4lemsstuff ✨ thank you for the request - it was lot of fun to figure out! 😂 hope you like it!

For requests see here

[thetypingpup]

Scattered bunny!seonghwa thoughts

He's playful as hell and always has a teasing expression on his face. Like he's the type to look up at you with mischief gleaming in his eyes while the tip of his tongue toys with your clit.

Very sensitive to your scent, so he can detect even the most subtle differences in your arousal just in your scent. So when you're sitting there, turned on and frustrated, when your scent becomes sweeter with arousal, that's when he likes to play.

He likes to turn you on with fleeting touches and soft kisses, focusing on the spots you like to be kissed most, and pull back just to see how you react. Sometimes he intensifies the teasing, showing himself off with different outfits (*cough* corsets and playboy bunny costumes *cough*), letting his tongue slide over his lips so you start thinking about him using his mouth, even going as far as bending over and wiggling his tail. It's truly a game for him, and he wants you to give chase and pursue him. Will get pouty if you tease him by making him wait or seemingly "ignoring" his advances knowing full well you're just as turned on. You just wanna see him get more blatantly desperate.

Honestly being chased and hunted is definitely a kink of his, and if you get him desperate enough, you can get him to admit that 😏. He just loves the rush of being pursued, the adrenaline from running and hearing you run after him, and the comfort he finds from submitting and being helpless beneath you. He fucking adores the sight of you on top of him, feeling the strength you exert to pin him down, and the hungry look in your eyes that portrays your desire to devour him. He fucking adores that so much, especially when he sees that same look while you use your mouth on him, or pin him down and fuck him. He trusts you enough to let you have your way with him, knowing everything you do is gonna make him feel so fucking good.

Likes being manhandled too, ofc. Grab him by the neck, pin his wrists down, straddle him to keep him in place, move him into whatever position you want, pull his hair and drag him back when you finally catch him, he loves the feeling of you exerting control so physically. Bonus points if you keep your hand around his neck while you ride him, maybe add in some biting too. Those little bits of pain just send his brain into overdrive and he's left arched up and whining desperately beneath you.

Has a secret weakness for you manhandling him while overstimming him. As a bun, sometimes he cums kinda quick, but he can still take more. So if you're riding him long after he's already cum, and when he sobs about how overwhelmed he is, you just growl and tell him to lay there and take it, all while pinning his wrists down or holding onto his hair? Oh that's enough to have him cumming again on the spot.

He's full on switch tho, bc sometimes you wanna lay back and be taken care of, and he's more than happy to oblige. Plus it's fun to set the pace and toy with you too, and he has a thing for you begging for him.

Lots of endurance he can seemingly fuck you forever. As soon as he mounts you, he's not stopping until both of you are completely spent. Even after he's cum over and over again he still has more energy, so he just keeps going and keeps filling you with more cum. And if he wants to breed? Especially if he's spurred on by the scent of you in heat? Oh he's going even longer. Even when he's filled you completely to the brim he's still going. Imagine the way he'd moan in your ear, all rough and feral, as he keeps fucking you, making you wonder what's gotten into your precious little bunny. Honestly has a thing for being called bunny when he's dominant he thinks the contrast is really hot. He'd cum in you so much it seeps out of you with every thrust, gushing out and making a complete mess, but he shows no sign of slowing. When he gets horny he gets really fucking horny, so he can go at it for a really long time.

Imagine being a predator hybrid and he teases you about letting him fuck you like this, letting him bend you over and mount you. He can't deny the cockiness he feels in that moment, loving the way he can draw out gasping moans with every intense thrust. He'd play with the pace just to see how you tremble and arch beneath him, drawing out different sounds by fucking you in different ways. The way you whimper and call him bunny when he bites your neck or nips your ear like he's claiming you, oh there's almost no greater rush for him.

That cockiness would fade into softhearted care if you express to him how much you love this, how much you love when he's the one fucking you, that you like him and want him to make you cum like this. And the fact that you're letting him, a prey hybrid, fuck you mount you bc you have feelings for him and trust him enough to be this vulnerable, this submissive, oh that goes straight to his heart. Suddenly this is less about fucking, less about breeding, and more about wanting to mate with you. He'd instantly slow the pace, pressing his chest to your back, wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing your back, wanting to be as close to you as possible, and roll his hips in smooth strokes, really wanting to indulge in your connection. He's so close you can feel the fluffy fur of his ears brushing against you, feel his breath fanning out over your neck. You can feel his desire to wanna make you feel good in the way he fucks you, searching for the spots that make you see starts, submerging you in pure bliss and making you cum as many times as you can handle.

[ivystoryweaver]

With You part 13

prev next || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Summary: Who left you that note on the counter? (It was Marc)

Pairings: Marc Spector x gn!reader, (Steven Grant x gn!reader, Jake Lockley x gn!reader) No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: angst, sprinkle of fluff (more under the cut)

Warnings: like a lot of cursing, spiciest chapter to date, nsfw tho the language is still gn and not overly explicit but you have been warned. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...

The three of you agreed that Marc just needed some time. As always, you decided not to take it personally. This was about him.

You beat Steven home again the following evening, and this time, waiting on the kitchen counter, was an envelope bearing your name.

'On the roof -M'

Just that little scribble - Marc's handwriting, that he'd taken the time to put into an envelope for you - had you gasping for air.

You bolted for the stairwell, clad in your scrubs and in no mood to wait the brief eternity for the lift. Taking the stairs two at a time, you heaved yourself breathlessly through the rooftop door, gasping out his name.

"Marc!?"

Your husband wasn't exactly the film-style, run-and-jump-hug kind of man, so you were going to have to work very hard not to tackle him.

"Marc? It's me!" you panted, more from the anticipation than from exertion.

Unable to locate him in his usual spot, you peered over the building's edge, down to the city below - in case he was hanging there like Spider-Man?

Dumb.

Scurrying around the rooftop, you checked behind cooling towers and anything else obstructing your view.

No Marc.

Cursing under your breath, you dialed his phone, hoping maybe you missed him somehow, but knowing full well that the roof of your building wasn't that big.

No answer.

So back down you went. Maybe he wasn't fronting anymore. Sometimes it happened, whether one of them wanted it to or not. Couldn't really blame him if that were the case.

That didn't stop you from ringing his mobile again as you raced back down the stairs, narrowly missing a dangerously close face-plant situation once arriving at your floor.

"Marc!" You cried, bursting back into your flat. Releasing a shuddering sigh, your eyes burned with the beginnings of frustrated tears.

Right then, he emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet, dark ringlets dripping down his cheeks, with a white towel tucked snugly around his hips.

"I'm here," he softly responded, approaching you slowly, stopping before even reaching arm's length. Realizing you were in some sort of distress, he withdrew, almost imperceptibly.

"M-Marc," you stuttered out, unable to believe it as actually him. And not just him - who you had missed terribly for two weeks - he was soaking wet and half naked.

Swallowing hard, he pushed his fingers through his drenched curls, sprinkling the floor with water droplets and creating one hell of a sexy mess.

He figured you must be really upset with him for being gone so long.

Neither of you moved. You just stood, staring, your chest heaving with emotion as Marc wilted, drawing in on himself.

Steven would probably be here soon. You had to do something. Anything!

"I-I saw your note," you blurted. "I ran upstairs to look for you. I- "

"Shit. I left the note earlier, in case..." Figures he would have sent you up to the roof on a wild goose chase. No wonder you were keeping your distance. The quick note had replaced a long letter he had composed for you. Something to try to explain. But he tore the letter up and replaced it with the rooftop note, because the letter was utterly inadequate.

Head dropping in shame, Marc's fists clenched by his sides. "I'm sorry," he choked out.

You had to try anything. Inching forward, you moved carefully, afraid of scaring off the elusive creature he'd become these past weeks.

Stretching your fingers out slowly, you made sure he could see your incoming touch with his eyes - then asked for verbal permission before you made contact.

"Baby...is this okay?" One fingertip grazed his knuckle like a whisper.

Realizing you were here, right in front of him - touching him - soothed his fears almost instantly.

Exhaling shakily, he stared at the floor, even as he pushed his fingers up to meet your palm. With the faintest caress, you traced the length of his fingers, slowly pushing your own in between each one until your hands intertwined.

"Marc...please - I need..." Chomping down on your tongue, you called upon every restraining force in your body to keep from pushing him away.

"What?" He whispered - wide, brown eyes flickering briefly up to yours. Water droplets made his impossibly long lashes glisten. He must have quite literally run from the shower. "What do you need?"

Tugging on your intertwined fingers, he pulled you close enough to feel the steamy humidity of his solid chest.

Feeling your shaking puffs of breath cool his heated skin, he wilted inside as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"I...is it okay if I hug you?" Your body twitched with nervous energy, your glassy eyes finally locking with his.

In them, he saw raw truth. He saw you. You weren't angry with him - you were something else. Maybe you needed him to touch you, but you wouldn't violate his safety to get what you wanted. Never. The restraint you were showing him was burning you alive.

'I'll burn down the whole world first.'

Your promise to never leave him flooded back to his memory, propelling him to dip his knees and scoop you up into his arms.

"I'll get you all wet," he murmured, even while nuzzling his sopping curls against your cheek.

"Then get me wet," you groaned, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hauling him into your embrace. "Please just...stay. Just a little longer, Marc, please."

Lips parted, you mouthed the damp skin of his cheek before pressing a kiss there.

Relief surged through him, simultaneously weakening his grip on you while fortifying his desire to stay here with you.

Feeling his hold on you loosen, you cursed yourself internally, face flaming as tears burned your eyes. It must be too much for him - the frantic searching, calling out for him - the pleas to stay and now, a soft kiss to his warm skin.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, releasing him. It hurt so badly, you could barely stand.

Playing the last 30 seconds over in his mind, Marc frantically attempted to figure out what he did wrong. What else he did wrong... You let go of him...although you apologized. For what?

"For what?" He uttered, reaching out for your arms, his fingertips electrifying your skin.

Ducking down again, his heart shattered at the sight of your tears. When would he ever stop fucking up your life?

As your gazes locked, he brushed his knuckles tenderly across your cheek. "I'm the one who's sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I missed you," you whispered, nuzzling into his touch. "Did you get my letter?"

Nodding, he dragged his fingers down the side of your neck to grasp your shoulder. "I'm sorry I did that to you, honey. I didn't mean to be gone so long. I was so tired..."

"It's okay, baby, that's why you have Steven and Jake," you attempted, your hands twitching with the pulsing need to touch him again. Touch him more.

Right. Jake.

The one Khonshu wanted. The one you wanted. The one who was now here with you, living life with you, moving his clothes into the closet, showing you who he was.

The preferred one. Giving you the love you deserved, along with Steven - so alive, full of hope. Steven was the glue in this whole thing, as much as you were. Without Steven, Marc wondered if he might somehow slip away into the recesses of his own mind, leaving your heart in more capable hands.

Moon Knight was certainly in far more capable hands.

"It shouldn't be okay," he sighed, his skin crawling uncomfortably. "It's not okay for your husband to leave you without telling you." Shaking his head, his arms dropped heavily down to his sides. "But I guess it was okay to you because you have Jake now."

Ouch.

Your lip trembled - he'd pulled away from you again. "I...I haven't had chance to talk to you, like I promised I would - about Jake." What the hell? You didn't want to talk about Jake right now, you wanted to see and feel and love Marc!

"A-are you mad at me?" You whimpered, trying to find your footing in this conversation.

"Mad at you?" He gasped in disbelief as his hands found his hips. "You're the one who should be mad. You shouldn't have to fucking live like this." Shifting from foot to foot, he grew restless, like he wanted to claw his way out of his own skin. Or have a drink. Fuck.

Blowing out a long breath, you tried to steady yourself. If you hurt his feelings, oh well. If he withdrew into his mind and you didn't see him for another couple weeks, so be it. You thrived on honesty and communication. The real. No more tiptoeing.

"Marc, I don't need for you to tell me how I should have to live. I can decide the life I want to have," you calmly explained, relaxing your body and boldly holding his gaze. "I'm not mad that you're a system or that you're going through something new or hard for you."

"I know you're not mad," he muttered. "You never are. Because I can't disappoint you or hurt you if you expect nothing from me."

He may as well have thrown ice cold water in your face and then slapped you.

But he wasn't done.

"Why do you want to be on this merry-go-round...roundabout?" He added the less American term. "My drinking, my fucking panic attacks, nightmares - all my shit," he spat, his chest heaving. "I asked myself how anyone could put up with this, or would even want to, and the answer is...obvious."

Pushing a hand back through his damp waves, he re-stated his worst fear. Something he found himself finally able to voice out loud, after two weeks in the headspace.

His dramatic pause was long enough that you cleared your throat and prompted him to go on. He may as well get all this off his chest, even if it destroyed you. "What answer is obvious?"

Daring to meet your eyes, he could see, in real time, how much he was fucking up. But it was like a plane crashing - he couldn't stop the descent.

"The answer is Steven," he rasped, his voice hoarse - thick with emotion. "You don't expect anything from me because Steven is so good to you. He's so good at everything. And now Jake..." his voice trailed off as his dark eyes clouded with moisture. "Jake stepped right into my shoes - with you, with Khonshu. I don't do anything. I don't give you anything. But you're a good person and you love me anyway. Believe, me, I could not be more grateful for that. Or any less deserving."

You were crying now - heavy, wet tears streaking your beautiful cheeks as you sank to the floor. He had actually done it. He had rendered even you speechless.

Without another word, he walked back into the bathroom and shut the door.

God, how every word out of his mouth cut you so deep. You could cry for a week, but where would that get you? He thought Jake had taken his place? If he wanted a taste of the shit you and Jake gave each other, he could have it. But no way would you spend another instant on this floor, no matter how your gut twisted with pain.

Racing over to the bathroom door, you pounded. "Marc, open the door!" You shouted, wincing as you realized this was probably the opposite of what he needed. Lowering your voice, you announced that you were coming in.

Marc was naked.

His towel was hanging up in its usual place and he was reaching for the underwear lying on the countertop.

Why was he getting dressed in the bathroom if you were married?

Whatever. Didn't matter. Fuck him.

"You don't need those," you said sharply, yanking the boxer briefs out of his grasp and tossing them aside. Pushing your fingers over the soft flesh of his abdomen, up onto his chest, your nails scraped his damp skin. "You think I don't need you, Marc?"

Gripping his face in your hands, you lifted up on your toes, crushing your mouth against his.

He was stunned for a moment, but slowly melted into your kiss as you slid your tongue over his demandingly.

His hands found your hips, gripping them tightly before yanking you hard against his chest. The two of you stumbled backwards, breaking your kiss and sending you crashing into him.

Reaching for his muscular arms to steady yourself, you panted, desperate for him in every possible way. That's when your eyes traveled down to plainly see that he wanted you too.

Jerking your scrubs off your body, Marc quickly joined you in yanking and pulling until you were as bare as he was. Between every movement, your lips chased one another's, licking and tasting - connecting at every possible point, until he pushed you up against the door.

The fire in your eyes had him weak for you.

You surprised him by returning to a deeper topic even as your bare bodies pushed and pulled against the other. "You treat my love and compassion as indifference? Fuck you."

He stilled for a moment, but you gripped his length firmly in your palm, tugging and making him groan.

"You think I should be mad?" You spat, working him roughly. "Congratulations. I am."

"Baby," he panted, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as his body submitted to your demanding touch.

"You think Jake took your place, here, with me?" You growled on his ear, biting his earlobe and tugging it between your lips. "Fuck you both. Nothing is taking you away from me."

Groaning your name, Marc's hips stuttered against your hand as his forehead dropped to your shoulder.

"You think I don't expect anything from you?" Yanking on his wet curls, you jerked his head back so you could see his face. "I really fucking do." Using your grip on his length, you guided him to where you really wanted to feel him.

"You think you don't give me anything?" You whined, as he entered you, your body shuddering with pleasure as he groaned on your ear. "You've given me everything." Moving on him slowly, you moaned as he pinned you against the bathroom door. "Give it to me, Marc."

"Fuck...baby..." he gasped, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

He couldn't help himself - after deep, frantic thrusts over and over - he finished before you, whimpering and desperate.

Good. You had him right where you wanted him. Vulnerable and sated. Or at least slightly relieved, maybe.

Yanking the towel off the rack, you handed it to him so he could clean up a little bit. "Go lie down on the bed," you ordered, your eyes dark and unreadable.

Swallowing, Marc nodded once and complied. As soon as he left the bathroom, you stared at yourself in the mirror, exhaling shakily. What just transpired between the two of you felt really fucking good, but it was more than sex. You were doing battle. And Marc wasn't getting out of your bed until he understood a few things.

Moments later, you climbed on top of your husband in bed, salaciously kissing him, draping your body over his.

"I want you to do something for me," you murmured after a long while, as both of your bodies stirred with new desire.

"Anything," he whispered, his hands finding their way between your legs.

Gasping as he teased you, you reveled in his touch, forgetting to finish your thought.

"What can I do, baby?" Marc hummed against your skin. Being needed by you? He lived for it.

You kissed him again, your body writhing under his caress. "I want you to stop deciding how I feel."

"O-okay," he groaned as your breath tickled his lips.

"I'm serious," you went on, forcing him still - waiting for him to look at you. "If I'm mad, I'll be mad. If I'm patient and understanding, you can't tell me to be angry."

He was trying to listen, but he really wanted you again. "Uh-huh," he ground out, thrusting upward, hoping...

"You see this?" Showing him your wedding band, you pushed your fingers through his. "You remember the vows I made?"

"Yes," he panted, desperate for you, wishing you would touch him back. "Please, honey..."

"I know," you cooed, kissing him again. His mouth, his cheek, his eyebrow. "Who did I make vows to?"

His eyes locked onto you and he melted. "Me."

"That's right," you smiled gently down at him. "So stop with all the bullshit you keep telling yourself. And stop telling me how I feel."

Feeling a little relief in the air, Marc sat up and kissed you urgently. "So damn bossy." He said this while continuing to stroke and caress you.

"You were being an asshole," you half teased, shivering as he grazed a particularly sensitive spot. "I definitely prefer your usual method of stress relief."

His eyebrows shot up playfully as he slowly removed his hand, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. "Is that right?"

The air between you crackled with electricity as you waited...

Wetting your lips, your eyes traveled down from his warm gaze, over his sharp nose to the fullness of his parted lips. The strong line of his jaw twitched with anticipation and that wasn't the only thing that twitched under the heat of your stare.

He pounced, rolling you underneath him, face down, nuzzling into your neck as his body smothered yours. "Are you sure, baby?" He growled, licking a stripe up the side of your neck while dragging his palms up your bare thighs. "Because I need a lot of relief."

With that warning, he pushed his way inside you, groaning on your ear. His strong hand slid around your abdomen, pulling your body against his as you began moving together. "I am sorry," he breathed.

"Shut up," you gasped as the hand on your abdomen traveled down between your legs.

You and Marc stayed in bed for hours, relieving a lot of stress. He had to re-visit the shower, not that you were complaining. The two of you did finally make your way to the rooftop, after the moon shone in the dark sky.

Wrapping his arms around you from behind, Marc nuzzled your cheek with his nose. "Can I ask you something? About your letter?"

"'Course," you murmured, tracing his forearm with your fingertips.

"What did you mean when you said I was the real Moon Knight?"

You thought for a moment, thinking back through the composition of your letter to him.

"Well...I mean - when Khonshu found you - or you found him, rather - he was in search of an avatar. The only reason he still has one is because you said yes. You're still the real Moon Knight," you explained. "I'm not saying you have to be him if you don't want to be. But if Khonshu wants Jake, he should be grateful to you. Otherwise, he might still be searching for an avatar."

"I guess so," he mumbled with a sigh. "Still prefers Jake though."

"For being a deity, he is dumb as a fucking rock sometimes," you sarcastically remarked. "I know you and Jake are different, but he may have noticed you share a body. If he needs Jake, he needs you. He needs Steven."

Marc was quiet for a few minutes, but it was a calm quiet, rather than the tension from earlier.

"I don't know, babe, I...I just can't seem to find my place in all this lately. And, believe me, I know how that sounds - a new husband, saying shit like that. It's not right."

"Sweetheart, you feel how you feel," you softly responded, resting your head against the solid warmth of his chest behind you. "You don't always have to make a judgment on that. You're too hard on yourself."

"That's what Steven says," he lightly chuckled. "You're much too hard on y'self, mate."

His terrible impression of his alter made you giggle.

"Well, you know he's right," you replied, "And - the other day, Steven told me I'm always right, so...I think you should really listen to us."

"Yeah..."

You hadn't noticed at first but the two of you had started to gently sway to the muffled tune drifting out a neighbor's open window. Something from the 1970s...American.

"Can I ask you something?" You echoed his question.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer.

"Do you want to be Moon Knight?"

He didn't answer for a while. And that pretty much told you everything you needed to know.

next->

@stormydaysxx @laaundromat @kindlover @flyestvenustrap @spxctorsslxt @deezisnotreal @stevenknightmarc @imonmykneessir @marvelouslovely-barnes @evilbubu @usualsworld @rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra @this--is--music @i-still-dont-like-your-face @cicithemess2000  @avengersinitiative2012 @lockleywife @poppyflower-22 @thursdaywritings @scoliobean peregrine-nation local-mr-frog @bitchotine @ren-ni @valkyrie05x @randomhoex @tsukkie-daisuke @thebestrouge @mintellaine am i missing anyone? dividers by saradika

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, flighty!reader, reader works in forensics, prohero!katsuki, aged up (around mid 20s)

a/n. this was fun to write lmao. this is definitely not self-indulgent :0 again, would surely appreciate reblogs and comments <3

You’re a runner.

And no, not in the dystopian, getting-out-of-a-manmade-maze sense.

You run from feelings.

And that happens to include the kind when someone gets a little bit too close for comfort.

But you also do run in the literal sense.

In fact, you just did.

Panting, you round the next corner of your office building’s hallway, what was once a sprint (at least, the type that was possible in a crowded skyscraper in Tokyō) now faltering into a light jog.

Huffing, you chance a peek behind your shoulder, a sigh wracking your body when you conclude that the man of the hour is finally out of sight.

“What’s up with you?”

The man’s red-headed best friend quirks an amused eyebrow at you when you halt at the sound, startled.

He slows down in his steps as he appraises the mess that you currently are; from the looks of it, he’s heading in the direction you’re desperately trying to run away from, and for a split second, you’re half your mind to drag him with you to the elevator and vanish before the man could spot the both of you.

Why the fuck are you acting like this?

“I—Was just wanting to—” At this point, you’re severely out of breath. And you’d chalk it up to the physical exertion you definitely aren’t used to, but you know it’s more than that.

The warmth of your cheeks seems to suggest that, too.

“Hold up.”

You look up at Kirishima, one hand still on your hip to help keep you upright despite the exhaustion.

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with Bakubro?”

Even just the mention of his name triggers your fight-or-flight response.

It also happens to send a flood of longing right through you.

“Yeah,” you rasp, before checking over your shoulder again. Coast: still clear.

“What are you—” Kirishima starts, eyebrows pinched in confusion, before what looks like realization and amusement flash across his features.

“Did he—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off before he could say it.

Apparently, being confessed to out of the blue by the man you’ve been in love with for a year cuts your sentence-formation capabilities to not more than one worded ones at a time.

Just as you expected, worry dances its way across Kirishima’s face.

“Are you running away from him?”

You choke on your spit.

“Hey, easy, Y/N,” Kirishima says while awkwardly rubbing your back as you cough your lungs out.

You stand upright when you finally gather your bearings, ready to explain, or attempt to explain to Kirishima (but more to yourself) why you just fled the meeting room where you and Bakugou were discussing the forensics of his new case.

It’s not like you didn’t see it coming.

The feelings, not the outright confession.

Midoriya, Kirishima, and his other friends have made it pretty obvious with their background teasing that the emotionally constipated blonde has taken a particular interest in you.

(Background because the aforementioned blonde would indubitably kill them if he found out they were teasing you, let alone about him.)

You just couldn’t bring yourself to believe it and hell—start to hope—until a while ago, when the Bakugou Katsuki himself slammed his fist on the table, spitting out the three words you’ve been dreaming to hear from him since you first worked on that gory ass mission together.

Well, four. If you count the curse slotted among the ‘I like you’.

But as it turns out, the reality of it all—Bakugou’s vulnerability, mutual feelings, and possibly dating a Pro Hero—scared you.

And so you ran.

And you were about to confess all this to poor Kirishima when a booming voice echoes through the hallway, effectively triggering your (definitely) flight response once more.

At that, you bolt to the elevators, leaving behind a speechless Kirishima.

Luckily for you, Bakugou has always been good at chasing what he wants.

[bellaxgiornata]

Borrowed Time |2: Helping the Devil|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Nurse!Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.6k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; heavy angst, hopeful but not happy ending, canon-typical violence, death

a/n: Because I've fallen for Matt and Reader in this series and I love their dynamic, I've altered a few things with this mini series--it now has a hopeful but still no happy ending (so it's a little less bleak). I've also tweaked the summary a little to fit better. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag List: @1988-fiend @danzer8705

Pushing your living room window up as far as it could go, the balmy heat of the evening seeped into your apartment, the humidity clinging to your skin. Taking a step back, you made room for the shadowy figure on your fire escape to slip through the opening, but when he emitted a soft groan of pain at the movement, you couldn’t resist shaking your head at him. Of course he needed your help again tonight.

“It is truly abnormal how fast you can scale a fire escape five floors up,” you greeted him. “Especially while injured.”

“Well maybe you're just slow,” he teased back. 

The masked man shot you a cheeky grin as he gradually righted himself. You noted how he was clearly favoring one side before he turned back around, shutting the window after himself and locking the heat back out of your apartment once more. 

You rolled your eyes at his back. “And maybe you're just a show off,” you countered.

He turned back towards you, one gloved hand reaching up and grabbing the edge of his mask. With ease he slipped it up and off of his head, revealing Matt's grinning face and sweat-dampened hair that was a mess on his head. He shot a wink in your direction that had you biting back a smile. 

“Only sometimes,” he replied, his face still flushed from exertion. “And only ever for you.”

“Right, well, how about you get cozy at your usual spot so I can patch you up, Casanova,” you said, gesturing over to the chair at your kitchen table. “I'm guessing that's why you're here.”

Without argument Matt made his way over towards his usual place at your dining table, hissing slightly as he lowered himself down onto the wooden chair. As he took a seat, you made your way into the kitchen, beginning to fill a glass with water at the sink for him. You knew full well that he needed it after running around Hell's Kitchen in this heat. 

Setting the glass down onto the countertop, you bent down and pulled out the above-average stocked first aid kit that you kept under your kitchen sink. You'd long since moved it from your bathroom vanity to here for easy access specifically because of Matt and his near constant need of medical attention.

Ever since he'd saved you from that speeding car nearly three months ago, Matt had been walking you home from the hospital whenever you had a shift unless he was otherwise occupied as the Devil. Usually you'd repay him for his time with some water and medical attention if he needed it before he slipped back out into the night. At this point the exchange between you both had become an almost nightly ritual now. 

But only a few weeks ago Matt had been so injured when he had showed up to walk you home that he'd finally had to lose the mask back at your apartment and reveal his face just so you could stitch his bleeding forehead. At that point, he had finally given you his real name–or at least, he said his real name was Matthew. You hadn't bothered to try and Google search the man after the fact, instead just trusting his word.

And that was how your weird and undefined relationship had formed with the masked vigilante, being the only one who apparently knew who his real identity actually was. Almost nightly he'd show up to walk you home from the hospital, having long since told you about his heightened senses which had made him aware of how terrified you always felt walking the streets alone at night. In return you helped keep him moderately healed and on his feet. Though it irritated you to no end with how often he'd show up the following night needing you to redo the same exact stitches you’d given him the night before which he’d gone and carelessly torn open.

But if you were being honest, you'd come to enjoy his company and the flirtatious, teasing banter he always brought with him. Even if you were exhausted at the end of a long and terrible shift, seeing him was always the highlight of your night when you left Metro-General. Truthfully having him either by your side or nearby as he walked you home always eased your fears, and you admittedly felt better knowing he wasn't bleeding out on the street somewhere because he couldn't get the medical attention he often desperately needed but so vehemently refused to receive.

“What was it this time?” you asked him, opening your kit and rifling through it on the kitchen counter. “Knife again? Or something more creative and equally likely to cause an infection?”

His amused chuckle broke on a groan. “Crowbar, actually,” he answered. “Edge of it cut me.”

“Mmm,” you hummed out, pulling out a few supplies from your bag. “That's a new one for you. I sure hope you're up to date on your tetanus shots.”

“Guess we'll find out,” he joked back. 

Your hands paused mid-gathering up of the supplies you'd pulled out of your bag, your gaze landing on him across the room. One of your brows quirked curiously up onto your forehead at him.

“You know, you should really be far more concerned about your well-being than you actually are,” you pointed out. “It’s a bit worrisome.”

Matt shrugged a shoulder lightly, pulling a face as he shook his head. “Eh, that's what I've got you for, right?” he teased.

Making your way over to the table towards him, some supplies cradled against your body with one arm and the glass of water in your other hand, you rolled your eyes at him once more. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” you told him. Setting the supplies on the kitchen table when you reached it, you thrust the glass of water towards him. “Now tell me where it hurts and then drink this.”

Matt grinned cheekily back up at you, the dimple forming in his cheek as he reached a hand out to accept the glass of water. “You know I love it when you go all sexy, bossy nurse on me,” he told you. “Maybe I should buy you a little nurse costume to wear while you stitch me up. We could roleplay.”

“Pretty sure your mouth alone explains why you end up with so many stitches on a weekly basis,” you shot back, grinning. “Now seriously, tell me what I’m patching up this time and then drink that entire glass of water. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

You watched as he drew the glass towards his mouth, your eyes lingering on his lips as he took a drink from it. Truthfully the thought of doing more than just patching Matt up at night had crossed your mind more than once before. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t steadily been developing feelings for him as the weeks wore on. Though so far, the pair of you only flirted back and forth–but the flirtations had gradually been growing progressively more inappropriate.

“Managed to get me on my right side,” he told you, his tone turning serious. “Right here.”

He set the glass of water onto the kitchen table and then he shifted in his chair towards you. His hands began pulling up the hem of his shirt until he’d entirely pulled it up and over his head. He emitted a sharp hiss between his teeth before tossing the black shirt onto your table. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the bleeding wound more visible on his side without the fabric obstructing your view. You winced at the sight of it.

“Yeah, that definitely needs a few stitches,” you murmured. “Here,” you said, placing your hands on his bare shoulders before gently turning him in the chair to give you better access to the wound. “Stay like this so I can work. And drink your water.”

You knelt down onto the floor in front of him, grabbing a pair of rubber gloves from off your kitchen table and beginning to pull them on. Though his cheeky ‘yes, ma’am’ had you pausing for a moment, shooting him a pointed look that you were sure he could at least feel.

“Alright, alright,” he said, that typical charming smile on his face. “I’ll behave.”

Focusing back on his injury, you began to work on cleaning and disinfecting it in silence. Meanwhile Matt remained true to his word, keeping his mouth shut except for drinking down the glass of water you’d given him after he’d removed his gloves. 

It wasn’t until you were beginning to stitch up his side that you’d decided to break the silence, knowing he preferred the distraction of conversation to keep him from focusing on the pain. Which is something you'd long since discovered for yourself because Matt would never have admitted just how much it hurt to have a needle repeatedly digging in and out of his skin with those senses of his. But you could always tell he was in pain by the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the way he usually curled his fists along your kitchen table. All of the things he’d begun doing the moment the needle first broke through his skin.

“Do you ever think about fate?” you asked him.

Matt’s head shifted a little over his shoulder towards you, his dark brows furrowing together at your question. “Fate?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” you said, intensely focused on the stitching your hands were doing. “You’re a man of faith, right? So, do you ever think about fate? Or destiny? God’s Will if you prefer,” you continued. “Have you ever thought about if it’s real or not? How it possibly affects the world around you? The consequences of your actions?”

There was a moment of silence that followed your words as you threaded the needle through his skin once more. You tried to ignore the way his body tensed again; if you became too sympathetic to him, there’d be no way you’d finish what needed to be done. 

“That’s a pretty deep question,” he pointed out. “Not usually the type of thing you ask me. What brought that up?”

You shrugged faintly, attention still focused on your hands. “Been on my mind often considering I work in a hospital,” you replied. “I see death a fair amount more than the average person. People who could have been saved if the situation was just a bit different. Plus, sometimes I find myself  wondering if…”

Voice trailing off, you shook your head. You hadn’t meant to spill that much truth, but your concentration on your stitching had caused your tongue to loosen.

“Sometimes you wonder what?” he prompted.

Lips pressing firmly together, you kept your mouth shut and continued threading the needle through his skin again. Matt shifted in his seat, turning towards you just a fraction. Immediately your hands paused, your eyes flying up to his face as you sent him an irritated glare.

“You damn well know you’re not supposed to be moving right now, Matthew,” you warned him. “Keep it up and I’ll be putting more holes through you tonight.”

“Is this about that car that almost hit you?” he asked, entirely ignoring your threat. “Is that what’s on your mind?”

Blowing out a rough breath, your focus shifted away from the obvious concern on his face and back down to the laceration on his side that was half-stitched up. “If I answer, will you stop moving?” you asked him. “Because I can't finish what I'm doing if you don't sit still.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Fine,” you relented. “We lost someone who’d been emitted into the ER tonight that hadn’t been brought in fast enough. And it had me thinking about fate again,” you confessed, your hands returning to their work, “and how if someone would have gotten to that accident faster tonight, maybe they could have still been alive right now. Just like that car that would have hit and killed me a few months back. If you hadn’t been there at just the right time, picking up on my fear of something else before that moment had even happened, I probably wouldn't be here, either. And it–it gave me this weird feeling.”

“Weird feeling?” Matt pressed curiously.

“Yeah,” you answered, tone softening. 

Ever since that night he had saved you, you'd been having this strange feeling on and off. It had taken you quite a long time to even make sense of what it was that felt like it had been gnawing away at your insides. On and off it would randomly come back to you, once more having you question things like fate and the idea that things might possibly be predetermined.

“Like what if that was my time to go?” you thought aloud. “And I’m just…I don’t know, living on borrowed time or something now? Just waiting for fate to correct the error of how things occurred that night?”

Matt's head tilted curiously to the side. Out of your peripheral you saw his eyes narrowing, the crease between his brows further deepening. 

“Are you saying you don't think I was supposed to pull you out of the way of that car?” he asked incredulously. “That you were supposed to die that night?”

You shrugged a shoulder, continuing to work. “Maybe,” you answered. “How am I supposed to know if I was or not? Maybe you interfering threw off the balance of things or something.” You shrugged again. “I don’t know, but it’s often got me thinking. Which is why I was curious what you thought about fate. How much you think things in life are predetermined by God or whatever and how much you think we actually have control over. And what happens if things are…altered somehow?” you continued. “Does fate ever correct itself? Or is there an entirely new series of events that arise from a single change of just one?”

“Well, clearly I don't think you were meant to die,” he told you seriously.

Your hands stopped what they were doing as you glanced up at him. “But how would you know that?” you asked. 

With your hands paused, Matt turned further towards you in his chair. His own hands dropped down, both of them firmly grasping onto your wrists as he focused on you.

“You weren't supposed to die that night,” Matt stated. “You hear me? Whatever sort of question you have about that, you should just let it go. Because you're here now. Alive. Making a difference in the world. Saving lots of people–me included.”

Sighing, you focused back on the last stitch you had left to make. As if Matt knew you were wanting to finish, he released his hold on your wrists and allowed your hands to continue their work on his injured side. 

“I suppose if you hadn't saved me there'd be no one making sure your ass made it back home marginally in one piece most nights,” you joked. “But it was just a question. I'm certainly glad you were there that night, don’t get me wrong. But, you know, the average person doesn't often have near death experiences like you do on a nightly basis. It's just got me thinking, I guess.”

As you finished up his last stitch, you were aware that Matt had grown uncharacteristically quiet at what you'd said. 

“There,” you told him, pulling off your bloodied gloves while rising back up to your feet. “All done.”

Matt continued to sit there silently, his lips drawn into a thin line as his hardened gaze remained fixed near you. Beginning to feel uncomfortable at his unusual silence, you made your way back into the kitchen and headed over towards your garbage can. You tossed the bloody gloves into it, but as you'd begun to turn around, opening your mouth in order to change the topic, you were quickly cut short when Matt's strong arms encircled your waist from behind. Mouth immediately snapping shut, your brows rose up onto your forehead in surprise at the unexpected embrace.

“I'm glad I found you when I did that night,” he said, boldly drawing the back of you in towards the front of himself. “All the teasing aside, you've certainly made an impact on my life. And I don't just mean because of all the free medical attention.”

You laughed lightly just before he lowered his head, burying his face against the top of your shoulder. Your eyelids closed at the intimate contact, your breath coming in shallower. This wasn't a normal interaction between the pair of you and you found yourself enjoying the feel of him wrapped around you. He'd never held you like this before and you couldn't deny that it was drawing forth a reaction from you that you'd been trying to ignore for a while now.

“I think God put me in the right place that night,” he whispered. “That's what I think. I think you're here for a reason.”

Biting your lip, you fought the urge to ask him the question that immediately crossed your mind at his words. What happens when you've fulfilled that purpose? 

“But maybe we should talk about something less depressing and bleak,” he suggested. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, eyes reopening as your hands rested on top of his forearms. “It was just a question, though, Matt. I'm fine, I promise. You can do that lie detector thing on me if you don't believe me.”

He withdrew his face from your shoulder, a huff of laughter leaving him. “I think what I'm more curious about is why your heart is beating so fast right now,” he teased. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as your hands removed his arms from around your waist, effectively releasing his hold around you. Turning around to face him, you spotted the cocky smirk already on his mouth, though his eyes were very clearly focused on your chest as he continued to listen to your heart, and that only had it beating a bit faster–especially because he was still standing there without a shirt on. It didn’t matter that some of his blood was still smeared and dried along his torso, you couldn’t deny how good he always looked.

“I'm going to go ahead and say you already know the answer to that,” you told him. 

His smirk grew into a wide grin as his head cocked to the side, his eyes narrowing playfully at you. “Is it because you're attracted to me?” he teased. “Could that be why?”

“Oh gee, I wonder,” you teased back, your focus shifting to the supplies still spread out on your kitchen table. “Maybe I just can't resist your bloodied and battered muscular body and that smart mouth of yours,” you continued, taking a step past him and over towards the table so you could clean up the mess. “Or maybe it's your ass in general, though it–”

Matt's hand deftly caught onto your wrist and gently tugged you backwards towards him. The gesture had cut you off, your words left hanging unfinished in the air of your apartment as you stumbled back towards him. He was smiling at you now, the expression on his face having shifted to one of something soft and sweet instead of teasing. His other hand slipped down around your waist before he pulled you in flush to the front of himself, the warmth of him once more enveloping you. He lowered his forehead to rest against yours next and you felt your stomach excitedly lurch up into your throat. 

“I like you, too, angel,” he murmured gently. “I just…hadn't exactly figured out a way to tell you before.”

Breath hitching at his unexpected admission, your gaze shifted to his mouth. You found yourself tempted to lean up and press your lips to his, wanting to know how they felt instead of just daydreaming about them.

“Though I'd been wondering if you'd caught on with how often I walked you home at night yet,” he mused. “Or if you'd…even want me with what I do.”

“Well I haven’t exactly been able to get rid of you yet,” you attempted to joke, though your words came out a little breathless. “Suppose I don’t exactly plan on it anytime soon, either.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out.

His hand released your wrist before it slid its way slowly up your arm, gliding over your skin and drawing forth goosebumps beneath the pads of his fingers. Eventually his hand came to rest along the side of your neck, his fingertips landing just over your pulse point. Your heart was still pounding so hard even you could feel it. Your eyelids fluttered briefly beneath his touch, but you fought to keep them open.

“So is that a yes on the nurse costume?” he murmured, lips drawing back into a smirk.

You snorted out a surprised laugh, one hand lightly swatting his bare chest. “You’re ruining the moment, asshole,” you replied.

Matt chuckled softly, nodding his head against yours. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Let me fix that.”

He leaned in, finally closing the distance between you both as he kissed you. This time you let your eyelids close, your body melting into his as your arms carefully encircled his waist. The pair of you stayed wrapped around each other for a while in your kitchen, mouths connecting in a myriad of kisses that gradually began to grow more passionate. And for the first time in months, the feel of his lips on yours had your thoughts about fate temporarily managing to disappear.

[lunarw0rks]

slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k

warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader

endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.

mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.

though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.

limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.

who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.

your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.

the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.

from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.

as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.

your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.

besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.

for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?

your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.

at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.

muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.

once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.

up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.

from the outside, it's... average.

only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.

after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.

the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.

you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.

through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.

against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.

motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.

as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.

the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.

aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.

caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.

the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.

your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.

younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.

"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"

he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.

but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.

you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"

you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."

but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."

you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.

the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.

in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.

rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.

you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.

he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.

lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.

"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."

you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.

he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."

his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.

once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.

further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.

when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.

you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.

the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.

you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.

thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.

standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.

quaint, mason jars and teeth.

fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.

you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.

you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.

shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.

possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.

they weren't belongings; they were trophies.

the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.

"find somethin' you like?"

his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.

frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.

but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.

despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?

your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.

"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.

you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.

eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.

your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.

as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.

despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.

eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.

"atta' girl."

‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊˚⊹

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Day 9: Chop-Top Sawyer (Pumpkin Spice)

Almost to double digit days! This is also officially day two of the Pumpkin spice week which will make much more sense when I post the final masterlist so stay tuned!

Notes: Minors DNI, Porn with a smidge of plot. No pronouns or descriptions of reader used. NSFW. Not really anything to raunchy but it's also Chop-top so proceed at your own risk lol. Kinda off AU really the other thing I changed for story sake is Nubbins being alive. Short and spicy.

"Bobby your brother could walk in!" You screeched at him.

He gave a laugh that more so resembled a witch's cackle before wrapping his arms around and pulling you further down on his lap, subsequently shoving his cock further into your plush walls.

Cock warming was something you and Bobby did often, especially since he got back from Vietnam. It would help calm him down after particularly rough nightmares about his time in war and helped him to shut up after fighting with Drayton. Though you two never had dared to do it with the door unlocked when Nubbins could easily walk in at any moment.

If you didn't know any better you'd think Bobby lied to you that the door was locked just to get your pants off.

"C'mon mama relax! Nubbins ain't gonna come in here and even if he does I'm sure you'll be good and quiet" He breathed into your ear letting out another signature laugh. He jutted his hips sharply into you and continued to laugh at the squeal that was produced from your throat at the feeling of the tip of his cock brushing up against the sweet spot at the deepest point in side of you.

"Chop I swear I'll never you let you do this again if you don't quit it" You snapped at him, him and you both knowing you didn't actually mean it.

He brought a hand up to your chest and rubbed your nipple through your shit while sucking on the pulse point on the side of your neck. You threw your head back and groaned.

Your eyes widened when you heard the oldest Sawyer brother approach the outside of the bedroom door.

"Bobby! Goddamnit Boy are you in there?!" Drayton yelled.

"Better find a way to get him to git before he opens that door mama" Bobby snickered before reattaching his lips to your neck and giving another few random thrusts.

'Bobby I swear to god if you don't answer me right now you'll sleep out in the barn!" Drayton yelled again.

"He's Busy!" You screamed through a moan as Bobby began steadily thrusting back and forth in and out of you. You heard Drayton grumble something about sex crazed young people before he walked away from the door.

Bobby's hands gripped your hips, no doubt leaving figure shaped bruises, and slammed you continually into his girth. You turned your head pressing your face into the dirty mattress to suppress your moans hoping to save a little dignity with his brothers.

"Bobby on my bed again?!" A voice yelled as the door swung open, But Bobby's thrusts didn't stop on account of his brother.

"Godammit Nubbins get the hell out!" Bobby yelled panting from over exerting himself with his thrusts. You suddenly started loosing yourself, not caring that Nubbins was in the room as you began to push your ass back into Bobby to meet his thrusts.

You were chasing your own climax and didn't give a fuck whether Nubbins was in the room or not.

"Y-you also do it on my b-bed, you g-got your own!" Nubbins yelled again seemingly not caring himself that his brother was nearly splitting you open in front of him on his bed none the less. Bobby didn't answer that time focusing on bringing you to your high. You could feel his cock pulsate inside of you and knew he was close too.

The ecstasy washed over you at once, You could feel your walls clench around him while you came as you milked his cock of the creamy warm ropes that shot out into painting your walls white.

"Oh fuck baby" You moaned, Bobby's lips connected back to your neck and his thrusts became erratic trying to give you every last ounce of his cum.

When the world stopped being spotty and you were brought back to earth panting with a grin that matched Bobby's, You lips met as the two of you started to cool down. Only one thing brought the two of you out of your sexed out state. The click of a camera.

"Nubbins Goddamn you!"

And there went tonight's peace in the Sawyer house.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

for the rollo event!

Coach Vargas: DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME FIFTY!!!!!

I know Rollo doesn’t get a NRC P.E. uniform, but just use your imagination for this 🤡

Like Fire, Hellfire.

It was already bad enough that he had been stripped of his regular attire and forced into what appeared to be a prison jumpsuit. Hatless, strands of his short silver hair noticeably stuck up. Rollo practically felt naked without the headwear and multiple long layers of fabric that provided a safe swathe from the world.

I look like a criminal in this, he bemoaned. No different than the typical delinquent students of Night Raven College.

Now the P.E. teacher was bellowing in his face, making absurd demands of him. 50 push-ups on the spot.

Rollo attempted to protest. “With all due respect sir, I don’t believe I’m capable of…”

He was cut off by a shrill blow from the whistle hanging around Vargas’s beefy neck. The instructor was short, but built like a tank.

“I don’t see those push-ups!” he noted, his tone warning. “I only hear excuses comin’ out of you!!”

Rollo pinched his mouth closed. Anger coiled up within him—but he knew better than to argue with figures of authority.

Vargas struck a pose, flexing his massive arms, well-defined muscles popping. How grotesque, Rollo thought, and such a pointless display of narcissism.

“Your body’s a temple, and you’ve got to build it up and worship it like one!!” Vargas declared, planting a kiss on his bulging bicep.

Rollo couldn’t help himself from making a face. Left without his handkerchief, his grimace was left in plain sight. Vargas boomed with laughter, seemingly oblivious to his true thoughts.

“I know, I know! You’re thinking, ‘there’s no way I could get a bod as sweet as Vargas-sensei!’s!’ But don’t feel down, not everyone can attain perfection! It’s enough for you boys to be physically fit. That’s a must for mages! So let’s hop to it, Flamme! Drop and give me 50!!”

Rollo’s eardrums blared, humming with the residual crash of Coach Vargas’s deep, rumbling voice. He begrudgingly fell to the ground and onto his knees. For once not for prayer, but for push-ups.

The first one was the most difficult. Rollo wasn’t built for push-ups—the most he had ever exerted himself were the early morning climbs up the bell tower. His legs and will were what was strong, not his arms.

Rollo’s toothpick arms wobbled as he tried to desperately propel himself back up. A searing pain bolted through his limbs, sweat beading on his forehead from effort. By the time he had completed one rep, he was about ready to collapse and flatten out against the ground.

A panting heap, drenched in his own sweat and failure.

But no.

FWEET!!

The whistle was quickly followed by Vargas’s call. “ONE!!”

Rollo gritted his teeth and willed himself to go down for the remaining 49.

He wouldn’t give in.

FWEET!!

“TWO!!”

Rollo winced. He’s going to do that for every single push-up?! What fresh hell is this…

“Nishishishishi!”

Rollo craned his head in the direction of the mocking laugh.

Students that had already finished their warm-ups were gathered in a pack. Some lazily sprawled out over the grassy field, others stood around chatting. They passed looks his way and sniggered smugly.

Among them, Rollo spotted a familiar crooked smile and a pair of hyena ears to match. He gazed back at the third year, the grin growing ever-wider.

“Welcome to NRC, Rollo-kun. Hope you enjoy your stay~” Ruggie chirped.