#I've been absent because I felt discouraged

[doctor-dusk]

𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

a private session, as he said.

warnings: mutual masturbation, fingering (f receiving), exhibitionism and voyeurism.

word count: 3.4k

part 1, part 2

it took me longer than expected. ngl that i've been feeling a bit discouraged and insecure about my writing lately and i've been putting off posting. anyway, hope you like it :3

you haven't stopped talking for a minute since alex got your phone number. like, for hours, going into the early hours of the morning sometimes. 

you found out he lived a few minutes away from you and was a bartender at a night pub, so eventually he had to be absent when he was on his shift. of course you understood, but you couldn't help but miss talking to him when he was away for too long, especially at night. you found yourself looking at his profile picture, or at the photos he sent you throughout the days. 

obviously, at this point you already had a certain level of intimacy, so he didn't see a problem in sending you some kind of spicy photos, for example, after the shower. oh, these were your favorites. you loved his toned muscles glistening with water, the fluffy towel wrapping around his waist, the marked v line. and of course, you loved seeing the outline of his cock in the towel. 

a was a tuesday night. particularly rainy, the wind was not violent and the news reported that it could last until the next day, but that doesn't bother you. you were reading a book peacefully on your bed when you felt your cell phone vibrate under your pillow.

you fumbled around the bed looking for your cell phone, reaching under your pillow to grab the phone, turning on the screen and smiling when you saw that he had sent you a message.

“hi baby, just got back home.’’ he texted you.

you smiled at the nickname. it was already natural for him to call you that, but you still found yourself giggling about it whenever he called you like that.

“did something happen?” you texted him back. he should be working now, since he had said he had a shift at the pub that night.

“the power went out at the pub because of the rain,” he explained in another message after a while. “guess i'll have to go back tomorrow to make up the hours. yay.” 

you chuckled softly. it wasn't like he didn't like his job, he just found it tiring sometimes.

“what are you going to do now?” you asked him. 

“well, for starters, i’m gonna take a shower and eat something.” he answered, sending another message afterwards. “but first of all take off these clothes. i'm so fucking wet.” 

“hey, that's my line.” you joked, imagining he must have laughed when he read it. and he did.

“cheeky. later i'll make you wetter than i am now, what do you think?” he suggested. you bit your lip.

“i’ll wait for it.’’ you texted back, swaying your legs up and down like a teenager.

“good. i’ll call you in 30 minutes. wear something nice for me, love ;)” 

you thought you were dressed appropriately for him. a cotton cropped shirt and a flared mini skirt. but you thought there's something missing. it wasn't "nice" enough for him.

you opened your closet and drawers, looking for some suggestion. you didn't even know exactly what you were looking for. 

your eyes landed on your underwear drawer, remembering that you had a pair of white knee socks somewhere. you didn't know if he would like them, but knowing him well enough, you could deduce that was worth a try.

you put on the socks, the soft fabric gliding over your legs like a massage, the hem resting right above your knees. you looked at your reflection in the mirror, flexing your leg and bending your knee to see how it looked. then you turned your back, looking over your shoulder to see how it looked from this angle. it wasn't bad. it showed off your legs nicely. he might like it, but if he doesn't, he'll be polite enough to ask you to take it off.

you made sure your door was locked, turning the knob twice as a precaution. once confirmed, you jumped on your bed, grabbing your phone. as if on time, a message from him popped up on your screen.

‘’ready?’’

‘’yep.’’ you texted, settling yourself in bed, lying partially between your pillows, your back resting on the headboard, your knee bent so you could rest your phone on it.

seconds later, a video call popped up on your screen, and you answered it without delay.

oh, as always, he was handsome. unlike you, he was standing, probably walking around his apartment, the position of the camera revealed that he was holding his phone a little too low. and of course, shirtless.

‘’hey love, i- fuck, no, no! wait a minute.’’ he said before you could say anything, leaving his phone in a corner, the camera focusing on the ceiling was all you could see now. you waited for him to come back, listening for some noises and trying to figure out what it was. seconds later, he came back. ‘’sorry, i had to put the neighbor's cat out. the bastard tried to steal my last slice of pizza.’’ 

you laughed at what he said. you expected anything but that. 

‘’how did he tried to steal your pizza?’’ you asked as he was making his way to the bedroom, turning off the lights on the way.

‘’he came in through my kitchen window. can't turn my back for a bloody second.’’ he rolled his eyes, entering his bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘’you look lovely, baby. new necklace?’’ he pointed out. you looked at your chest, the silver necklace resting on your collarbone. you didn't even think he would notice that. but he was very observant, especially when it came to you.

‘’yeah, i bought it yesterday when i went out to shopping with my mom.’’ you answered and he hummed, his mouth was too busy eating a piece of pizza. ‘’although this isn't the necklace i was looking for.’’

‘’which one did you want?’’ he asked, his voice a little muffled as he was finishing the slice of pizza.

‘’your hand.’’ you answered him, causing him to cough almost uncontrollably because he almost choked on the piece of pizza. you would have laughed if you weren't so worried about him. “are you okay? i'm sorry, i-”

‘’no, no, i'm fine. wasn't expecting it, you can't do this to me, jesus.” he laughed after catching his breath, his face was a little red because of it. “you can't have my hand as your necklace if you choke me to death on a piece of pizza.”

“sorry, i didn't know you'd be so surprised.” you chuckled softly, watching him wipe his mouth with a napkin, throwing the paper in the trash.

“you just caught me by surprise, hon. you're not usually this forward.” he said. he was right, sometimes you were a little shy, even though you've done things that say otherwise. “by the way, are you wearing something nice like i asked you to?”

you nodded, adjusting your posture, getting into an angle so he could see your body when you stretched out your arm holding your phone in your hand, giving him a good view. he let out a low whistle, enjoying the view.

“no way, knee socks?” he asked with raised eyebrows as his eyes landed on your legs, making himself comfortable in his bed. it wasn't in a disapproving tone, by the way.

“yeah, did you like it?” you asked a little insecurely.

“hell, a lot.” he licked his lips, taking a look at you. “i have an idea, do you want to know what it is?”

you nodded eagerly. by the tone he spoke, he was certainly going to suggest something for you to do.

“take off your clothes. i want you in nothing but those knee socks. can you do that for me, love?”

the idea made your hair stand on end. you knew that eventually you would undress for him, but you didn't know that you would be so nervous about the idea and that it would be so exciting to be naked for him, wearing only a pair of white knee socks.

“you can take your time, baby. don't worry, i've got all the time in the world for you.” he reassured you, making you even more comfortable with the idea.

“shirt?” you suggested and he hummed in agreement.

“are you wearing a bra?” he asked and you shook your head. “good. i miss those nice tits of yours.”

you giggled, grabbing a pillow and placing it on the middle of the bed, positioning your phone so that it rests on it.

“is the angle okay?” you asked him, sitting with your legs spread on the bed. he could even get a small glimpse of your panties.

“amazing, baby. keep going.” he said. he didn't really care about the angle as long as he could see you and your body on full display for him on his phone screen.

you pulled your crop top up, pulling it over your head. the mere sight of your breasts on the screen made him groan, biting his lip as he palmed himself over his sweatpants, even though you couldn't see it for now.

‘’so beautiful. one day i'm going to suck those tits, mark my words.’’

you smiled at the idea. alex seemed like the kind of hungry man who could devour you if he could. and he really was. he wanted to mark you, to sink his fingers and teeth into your flesh, so that he and everyone else could see that he was the one who did this to you. he wanted to make sure everyday that you were his, that only he could see you like that and make you feel that way. 

you touched your boobs, adding a little more anticipation to the moment, your nipples hardening with the mere stimulation on them, your eyes rarely looking at him on the screen, focused on losing your shyness as you touched your left breast while your right hand went down your belly.

“the skirt too?” you asked him, tracing your index finger along the waistband of your skirt.

“everything.” alex answered, a minimally authoritative tone was noticeable in his voice, but you didn't think it was bad. it turned you on even more.

you shifted in bed, your fingers hooked on the sides of your skirt, slowly pulling it down, letting the material slide down your legs, his eyes watching every move without blinking, as if he would never see something like that again in his life. his hand tightened his grip on his cock, feeling that sooner or later he would have to take it out, such was the pressure inside his boxers.

“you have beautiful legs, love.” he praised you as he drank the sight of your semi naked body, the only thing that kept him from seeing you naked were your panties and knee socks.

“thank you.” you smiled, you liked it when he complimented you, even when it was something simple. you felt desired, in a way.

“you're nervous, aren't you?” he asked. he had never seen you in person and never lived with you physically, but he knew you well enough to know that.

“god, yes. i'm sorry, i've never done that.” you mumbled, closing your legs a bit so you wouldn't feel so exposed.

“that's okay, baby, you're doing so good. take your time.” he said in a reassuring tone, not wanting you to feel insecure or embarrassed around him. “just remember that sooner or later i'm going to see this pretty pussy of yours. and believe me, i'm going to gorge myself on it.”

you chuckled awkwardly, still feeling a bit insecure. he pouted slightly.

“hey, look at me.” he asked you, he couldn't just hold your face and make you look at him, so he expected you to look back at the screen, which is what you did. “don't worry about it. we're just going to have some fun, i want you to enjoy yourself with me, hm?” he spoke calmly and patiently, knowing he needed to be careful with his words.

you smiled, nodding in response to him. he knew how to reassure you, how to make you feel safe. you were in this together, after all.

you tried opening your legs again, your hand running over the fabric of your underwear, testing the waters as he swallowed hard at your actions. you touched your sensitive bud, feeling it contract inside your panties with the touch of your fingertip.

‘’mhm, that’s it. doing so good, love.” he said, his voice almost in a whisper as he stuck his hand inside his sweatpants, squeezing his cock more directly over his boxers, his thumb ghosted over his sensitive tip, leaking precum and staining the fabric of his underwear. 

he felt uncomfortable with this, shifting in bed to get his sweatpants and boxers down, freeing his cock, the angle he was lying at made the tip touch his stomach.

“you're making me hard as fuck.” he moaned in a somewhat anxious way.

“yeah? show me.” you instigated him.

fuck, you didn't even need to ask twice. he angled his phone so you could see his cock, his free hand grabbing it firmly by the base, massaging it deftly, working his way up until he reached the head, pulling back the foreskin so you could see his glistening tip practically taking over your screen.

you leaned against the headboard, supporting your body weight there while your hands were free. one hand hooked your panties, finally pulling to the side, showing him your most intimate area.

“beautiful. just like i imagined.” he bit his lip, watching your fingers firmly grip the fabric of your panties like a real hook while the fingers of your other hand roamed the skin of your crotch, teasing both you and him. “god, i can already imagine myself with my face buried in this pussy all day.”

you giggled, you loved how vocal he was. your index and middle finger wandered through your folds in an inverted 'v' position, sliding up and down your labia, feeling your digits getting wet.

“'wet?”

“so fucking wet.” you answered and he groaned. you also knew how to tease him with words, his dirty thoughts getting the best of him as he saw you touching yourself like this.

“yeah? think i can shove my cock inside you without needing lube?” he asked you, starting to pump his cock faster.

“oh, you have no idea.” you said in a sly tone, moving your hands away from there only to pull the panties down your legs, discarding them on the bed among the sheets. and you were just the way he asked, completely naked, except for the knee socks. oh, that made his cock throb.

“god, you're so fucking hot.” he hissed, pumping faster, his fist closed so tightly that his tip was getting redder and the veins were getting more visible. “touch yourself for me, love. please.”

you brought your index and middle fingers to your mouth, thinking about it. please. he never asked you “please”, not that you remember. he always asked, in a polite but authoritative tone, sounding like a gentle order. but never added the word please. 

it sounded like he's begging you. and you liked it.

“please?” you repeated the word, wetting your fingers, bringing them down to your sensitive bud that was aching to be touched.

“fucking please…” he said in a desperate growl, his eyes fixed on your body as you tesed him furter, circling your fingers on your clit, the contact making you hiss. “feels good?”

“mhmm, so good…” you hummed, circling your fingers counterclockwise, the way you always did when you pleased yourself alone in that bed in your room. “i wish you were touching me right now.”

“don't say that to me or i might come out in the rain and climb in through your bedroom window just to fuck you.” he panted, making you imagine the scene, a small whimper leaving your lips.

“yeah? would you fuck me good?” you asked, moving your fingers down, teasing your wet and slick entrance, your fingertips sliding in with ease.

“so good, baby. would you like it hard and deep?" he asked you, feeling the pleasure starting to get the best of him, he tried to hold on as much as he could.

you nodded eagerly, sliding two fingers inside your tight heat. he watched as you buried your own fingers inside your cunt until reached your knuckles, withdrawing them just to repeat the motion. nothing had ever turned him on as much as this. he felt like a teenager watching porn for the first time, but it was a thousand times better. it was real, and it was for him. only for him.

“so be it. gonna fuck you good, baby. the way you deserve it.” 

his words entered your mind like a virus, your eyes squeezed shut as your fingers went back and forth, coating them with your arousal. you couldn't help but vividly imagine him fucking you hard, his hips snapping against yours, his cock filling you to the brim as he squeezed your neck, calling you his little slut who takes his cock so fucking well.

“oh my god, please…” you whimpered breathlessly, your legs starting to tremble involuntarily, your head tilting to the side.

“are you going to come for me, love? you're so close, i can see it.” he hummed, watching you nodding, his fist was hurting, but he didn't want to stop, not when he was so close too.

“yes, yes, oh alex…” you moaned his name, making him grunt in response, his breath ragged and his body trembled, he could barely concentrate on holding the phone anymore, even though he doesn't want to miss a single second of you fingering yourself, chasing your climax.

“fuck, i can't hold back…” he almost whined, and you let out a satisfied smile, so close that you're already seeing stars.

“yes, fuck me, alex…” you moaned, and that was the last straw for him. he moaned loudly, his head falling back into the pillow as he came, making a mess of his own belly and chest, but he didn't stop, even though his senses were overwhelmed at this point.

as you watched him fucking his own fist through his orgasm and heard his whimpers, you followed him suit, cumming on your fingers, your free hand covered your mouth so you wouldn't moan loudly as the climax hit you, your trembling legs closed automatically around your hand as your fingers pumped and curled inside you to prolong your pleasure.

in the seconds that followed, all that could be heard besides the sound of the rain outside were the panting breaths as the bodies lay completely exhausted on the respective beds. it was so intense, you couldn't remember the last time you had an orgasm that good, especially when you were touching yourself.

after a few seconds, he broke the silence.

“still there?” he asked. you gave him thumbs up and he chuckled. you needed a few more seconds to recover.

“yeah, yeah…” you mumbled, taking a deep breath through your nose and letting it out through your mouth. then, you lifted your head, looking at him. he was as broken as you were.

“it just gets better, princess. you're amazing, really.” he said. and he was sincere, you could see it. or at least he gave you enough confidence to make you think that.

“you're amazing too. you must be even better in person.” you answered him next. it was like you were having pillow talk after sex. the difference is you hadn't had sex. not yet.

“well, baby, i'll try to impress you. i have to win you over every day.” he chuckled, groaning as he saw his own mess, knowing he would have to clean himself up. “hate this part.” 

“i wish i could lick you clean.” you pouted and he pouted too, chuckling at your boldness.

“you always get feisty after having your orgasm, huh?” he questioned and you giggled, picking up your panties to put them back on carefully, your legs felt like jelly. 

“only with you.” you winked at him, licking your fingers as he sighed at the sight of you. he was quiet for a while, just looking at you, his mind working in different ways. “what?”

“i want to see you.” he answered after a few seconds of silence.

“you’re seeing me already.” you chuckled and he shook his head after letting out a weak laugh.

“no, i want to really see you. to meet you in person.” 

oh. now that was another level.

[trafalgar-law-ask]

I hope this helps💕💕

Hey it's gonna be ok, things like this happen feeling dissapoinment in ur own creation is something that many artist and writters suffer and its totaly fine. As a artist myself i know what u mean sometimes it just feels like I could do SO MUCH better if I practiced enough it sucks but it is part of doing something even as a hobby.

But try not to beat urself about it remeber there are people that enjoy ur stuff and giggle for it. It can even make someone's whole day better :D

And besides ur content gives me serotonin.....serotonina? Zeeeero-tin-ing????? That shit that the brain produces to make us happy, ur blog gives me that (Idk how to spell LOOOOL 😆😆😆)

And U make Law look hot in ur artstyle. Idk why but seeing characters with cigarrates makes me go:

Idk if this helps but I want at least give a lil smile for it and remember that there's always light in the dark.

Hope u have a wonderful time uwu💕💕💕

Thank you very much to everyone who spoke nice words of support to me when I felt very discouraged, I really appreciate it ♡♡♡

(I thinks that, endorphin is the hormone of happiness, dopamine and oxytocin of ''love'' and pleasure and serotonin helps you to be relaxed and calm... I think it is something like that, haha)

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Born to Run / Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Marathon Runner f!reader (no y/n)

Rating: E for eventual smut

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: TW: Attempted assault (EVERYONE’S OKAY), creepy person being creepy, one punch, some light injuries sustained by reader, the beginnings of pining!Marcus.

Summary: A long training run on your favorite bike trail is interrupted. Marcus discovers the source of the scream and develops a lil crush.

A/N: And we're off! Thank you so much to everyone who said they wanted to be tagged in this! I've never written this much at one time in my LIFE. I'm sure updates will slow down as I am forced to stop writing and get caught up on my actual job that I'm supposed to be doing right now. Let me know what you think. I have no idea if the pacing is too fast, too slow, or just right, if the characters are believable, or basically anything, really. Turns out it's hard to make a silly fantasy in your head make sense as a fleshed out story! Who knew? Not me!

Prologue | Chapter 2

Marathon Training, Week 10

Long run: 13 miles

You

Harder. Faster.

Almost… there…

You tried to control your shaky breathing as you neared the end. You'd been at it for nearly two hours now and you were starting to really feel it. Your legs burned with effort. You were so close...

In-2-3-4, out-2-3-4.

Just one mile to go.

Signing up for a marathon (and signing your entire summer away for training) always seemed like a good idea in the beginning. During the first long runs of the beastly 18 week training plan, you were still fresh with motivation, with excitement, keeping your mile splits fast and your strides light and long. Now, at week ten, almost exactly halfway through the training program, the runs became harder, and longer, while your energy and motivation took a dive. The repetitive nature of the sport easily lent itself to tedium, causing many runners to ‘hit a wall’ as the weekly mileage increased to peak at twenty miles--only 4 weeks away for you. You willed yourself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. One more mile. Should be easy after seventeen of them, right? No problem. In about nine minutes, you can be drinking water and sitting down. Nine minutes. You can stick it out for that long.

You always joked to people who were shocked at your hobby of choice that your running skills were fueled by stubbornness and spite. You never felt like much of a natural athlete, so you considered your abilities to be hard won through years of resilience rather than through any innate talent.

Maybe you were politely asked at fourteen not to try out for the volleyball team for the second time, but you'd be damned if you couldn't wake up in your thirties and run more than a half marathon on a Saturday just for the hell of it.

You started today's run just before the sun's first light was starting to make its way across the sky and the last few drops of rain fell from the clouds above. An early spring thunderstorm had passed through just prior to starting your run, and as the sun began to rise, it bathed the departing clouds in pink and orange hues, giving the well-worn running trail an otherworldly glow as your GPS kept a running tally of the rising mile count in your ear. The threat of more rain must have discouraged other early morning runners, because for once, the popular trail was yours, and yours alone.

With the tempo-driven music thumping in your ears to the beat of your steps, you missed the pleasant sounds of a forest coming to life after a storm. The birds had begun their song, and far in the distance, a rooster crowed to signal the sunrise. With every gentle caress of wind, droplets fell onto the trail with a plop-plop-plop. The little frogs around a nearby pond beside the rather ornate cabin you sometimes admired (when it was visible, which was only when the leaves were absent in winter) were chirping again, but you didn’t hear it over the fast-paced music you’d curated with the sole purpose of driving your steps forward.

Now, the sun had officially risen, decorating the well-shaded trail in speckles of sunlight. Small rays filtered through the still-new leaves of May and flickered in your eyes occasionally, blinding you in small doses as you ran.

It was during one of these moments of split-second blindness that you made out the vague shape of another person ahead on the trail.

Marcus

Without giving much thought to the consequences, Marcus jumped out of the porch chair upon hearing the scream. His empty coffee cup toppled off his leg and rolled in a wide semicircle along the ground as he jogged down the stairs, coming to a stop only when the handle met the wood. He hurried as fast as he could in the flimsy slippers he was wearing towards the dirt path leading into the woods. Leading to the advertised bike trail? Marcus wasn’t sure, but it made sense. Was it someone on the trail who had screamed? He raced along the path, trying and failing to avoid the wettest areas, and caking his slippers in mud in the process. After a few too-tense moments of running on the slippery ground, Marcus finally burst through the trees onto a flat, paved trail and discovered the source of the scream.

You

As your vision focused on the person in front of you, the first thing you noticed was that they were not moving, and you registered that as being odd. They weren’t walking, running, or biking, as one would expect, but standing stock-still, on the same side of the trail as your approaching form. That was the first red flag. The next thing you noticed is that it was a man, staring directly at you. The unbroken stare from this unmoving obstacle caused a heavy stone of dread to sink down into your stomach and stay there. Remain calm. Remain calm. You purposefully pursed your mouth into your best ‘don’t fuck with me’ expression and avoided eye contact. He was still there, still there, still not moving, still staring as you purposefully passed onto the other side of the trail to give this creepy man a wide berth. Don’t acknowledge, don’t react. He was still not moving, still star--

His hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your arm as you passed. “Why are you in such a hurry, sweetheart?” he drawled, and you made the mistake of looking into his eyes, despite all your efforts to avoid it. His eyes were strangely vacant, his pupils dilated. There was still no one on the trail that you could see, but you hoped that another soul was just around a curve, or that someone in one of the wooded lots was awake and could hear what you were about to do. You took a big breath, and let out the loudest scream you could muster, hoping that someone would hear it.

“QUIET,” the man growled, tightening his grip.

“Get OFF me!” you shouted through clenched teeth. You had no idea how to throw a punch. Why would you? You’d never been in a fight in your life. Your knowledge of how to hit someone came only from watching movies, but if there was ever a time to reach inside yourself and pull out Captain-fucking-America, this was it. You awkwardly reached back with your free arm, and swung your fist with all your strength at the man’s face, sending him staggering back holding his now-bloody nose.

Your hand exploded with pain. They never mention that in the movies. They just punch and punch and punch until the fight is over and someone is down. But in real life, it fucking hurt. In real life, you didn’t have any super-soldier serum (or any knowledge of fighting), you were just a runner who put all of her strength behind an admittedly unpracticed swing, and it showed. Ouch, ouch, fucking-OUCH.

But, awkward and unsteady as it was, it worked. You wrenched your arm out of the man’s grip and took a few desperate steps forward, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins after nearly three hours of running made you shaky and unbalanced. You stumbled, of-FUCKING-course, and tripped over the toe of one of your shoes. Your elbows took the brunt of the fall and you felt the skin scrape over the rough asphalt of the trail as you lurched to your feet again, this time successfully putting one foot in front of the other without falling. You launched yourself away from the man and started to sprint at full speed down the trail. You barely made it a few wild steps before another man, this one wearing only pajamas and mud-caked slippers, rushed onto the trail from a small footpath.

Marcus

Marcus held out his arms in a way that he hoped was reassuring, signalling you to stop. His gaze was leveled on the man (still bleeding from his nose) who had attacked you. He barely had time to take in the scene before the man, rendered powerless now that he had an audience, frantically took off in the other direction.

“HEY!” Marcus shouted, starting to pursue the assailant as he fled. The other man hopped a small wooden fence and began crashing through the thick undergrowth. Marcus ran up to the fence and hesitated, turning to look at you, your chest still heaving with exertion, clenched teeth and fists, and equal amounts of fear and fury in your eyes. He looked down at his muddy footwear and decided to make sure you were all right, rather than give chase. It wasn’t that he doubted his ability to catch up to the man while running through brambles to God-knows where in only his pajamas. Nope, definitely not. He balled his fist and let out a frustrated “Shit!” before turning and hurrying back to you, standing alone on the trail.

He held out his arms toward you again--but purposefully not crowding you--in a universal sign of openness, and asked in a soft voice, “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did he-”

“I’m okay. I’m- I’m okay. He grabbed my arm and I… I punched him.” Still not quite catching your breath, you glanced down at your hand, which was beginning to swell angrily, and hissed through your teeth. The sudden attention to your injuries, combined with the retreating adrenaline in your system, made your hand throb in earnest. Funny how wounds never seem to hurt until you notice them.

“Perfect. That’s perfect.” Marcus nodded reassuringly. “I heard your scream. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You did great.”

You managed a shaky smile at his words, and looked down at your hand again. “No one ever tells you how much punching hurts,” you said with a small huff of laughter. He smiled in kind, and the still-bruised knuckles on his right hand from his stupidity earlier that week gave a little throb of sympathy.

Suddenly feeling weaker than you cared to admit from the waning adrenaline, not to mention the grueling run, the events of the attack caught up with you and you put your head in your shaking hands. “Oh, my God. Ohhhh fuck. Jesus, I can’t believe-- that fucking--”

“Hey, hey-- I know. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Marcus moved in slightly closer, still being mindful of his body language and his distance from you. At the words, I’ve got you, you looked squarely into his eyes for the first time, and Marcus felt a slight frisson of electricity as your wide eyes searched his. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, a little gentler still. You gave him a tiny nod and the corner of your mouth twitched upward a fraction. “Listen,” he continued, “I’m going to call the police. I’ll give them the address of the cabin I’m staying at so they can find us on the trail. It’s just back there--” he gestured vaguely in the direction he came from, “and I can tell them to head back towards us.”

You nodded again. “Okay. Thank you, really. I don’t know what I--” you huffed out a breath instead of finishing your thought. Marcus took in your sweaty, disheveled form. You were red in the face, still breathing heavily, with bits of hair sticking up in a way that would have looked comical in other circumstances, and your hand looked to be in bad shape. Yet, you had an obvious strength in the way that you held yourself, giving the unmistakable impression of power and poise. An athlete. As he watched, a bead of sweat from your forehead gained enough momentum to make its way down the bridge of your nose, and Marcus suddenly had the intrusive urge to touch it with his finger, transferring the small drop to his own hand. He mentally chased away the thought as you brought your own hand up to scrub at your face, dispelling the bead on your nose (and a good portion of those still on your forehead) in the process.

He shook himself. Not the time or the place. “We should get some ice on that hand, and I can get you some water, too. I- I want you to feel safe--I can bring you ice and water, maybe some bandages from the house. You can stay here, or you can come with, if you’re comfortable? Get cooled down, have a seat on the porch... Either way, I’m going to stay with you until the police come, okay? I want you to feel safe,” Marcus said again, gently. “Okay?”

You seemed to mentally shake yourself, dispelling some of the fear, discomfort, and leftover adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Your shoulders straightened imperceptibly, and your chin canted upward slightly, giving off a renewed aura of tenacity and toughness that Marcus found troublingly endearing.

“I, uh-- Heh. You uh, you had me at ‘water,’” you said with a small huff of laughter and a lopsided, wry smile. “Lead the way?”

Marcus couldn’t stop the smile that graced his face at your words and at the way you were clearly trying to dispel the events of the morning with humor. He stuck out his hand. “Marcus, by the way.” You swallowed and reached for his hand with your uninjured one, and shook it. Marcus tried and failed not to notice the softness of your palm on his, the firmness of your grip, and the fact that your hand, like the rest of you, was absolutely covered in sweat. Hands still connected, you gave him your name in turn. Marcus repeated it softly, then added, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you… Marcus.” You said his name while looking directly into his eyes again. Was it just him, or did the direct eye contact last just a fraction of a beat too long this time? When you finally dropped your eyes, was there a little bit of shyness lurking there beneath your lashes? Was he imagining things?

He was in trouble.

-

Tagging:

@deepstarsco , @thirddeadlysin , and @honestly-shite